Comanche Cowboy (The Durango Family)

by Georgina Gentry

Maverick looked at her. “So? Why doesn’t your old man do something about it? Isn’t he supposed to be such a good shot?”

  “Against three men?” she asked. “My stars! Even if he weren’t disabled because of the Indian torture, he wouldn’t have a chance against three top guns. Besides, there’s the children’s safety and—”

  “And?” He stared at her, his gray eyes as cold and remote as stone.

  She looked away, not wanting to voice her suspicions but she must. “I don’t know why Papa hasn’t called in the Rangers. Maybe—maybe he’s hiding something. Maybe a long time ago, he knew Bill Slade and the outlaws have something on him.”

  “Bill Slade?” He looked at her keenly. “Someone else mentioned him to me once; said he was mean as hell and a top gun.”

  Her face colored with shame. “So you see what I’ve lured you into,” she said. “Without warning you, I’ve lured you into coming back with me to face him and his partners down.”

  She waited a long moment but he only stared at the town in the distance, chewing the end of the unlit cigarette. Whatever she had expected—anger, indignation—she had not expected him to simply stare into the late afternoon horizon. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

  He tossed away the cigarette. “I heard. You didn’t have to tell me, knowing I’d probably get on my horse and ride away. You could have let me ride into a showdown I’d have to fight my way out of. Why did you bother?”

  He turned and looked at her, and she shook her head helplessly. “Because I love you, Maverick, you surely must know that by now.”

  His hands came up, clasped her shoulders, and pulled her to him. “How much?” he whispered. “How much? Would you be willing to go off with me, be my woman, leave here without a backward glance?” His face was contorted with emotion and his hands trembled on her shoulders.

  She slid her arms around his neck. “I—I can’t imagine living anywhere but the Lazy M, leaving my family. But for you, Maverick Durango, I’d turn my back on it all, go anywhere with you, be your woman.”

  “Oh, Cayenne!” He pulled her to him, kissing her feverishly. “I’ll ride out to your ranch, deal with your damned outlaws, and then I’m gonna take you away with me forever!”

  She clung to him, loving him so deeply she would have sacrificed anything to stay by his side forever. “I love you, dearest; whatever you want I’ll do even if it means living on the trail, maybe a shack somewhere.”

  He kissed her again and pulled her to her feet. For a long moment he stared down at her. She almost thought he would make a confession, too. He seemed to be caught in a turmoil of emotion. Finally, he said, “I’ve got something to do, but after that’s over, we’ll have each other and never look back! Now let’s go to town!”

  Out at the Lazy M, Joe heaved a sigh of relief as the little girls and old Rosita loaded into the buggy with much giggling and rustling petticoats. He leaned on the porch rail and admonished them. “Now, you enjoy your supper and prayer session at the Harrison’s ranch, you hear? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Lynnie said, “Why don’t you go with us, Papa?”

  “I got prayin’ of my own to do right here.” Tonight, he thought, Monday evening. In another hour, Slade’s gang would try to move on that payroll coming in on the stage from Austin. He not only wanted the citizens safely in their homes, Joe wanted his beloved little girls safely away from this ranch. “I’m gonna do some praying all by myself,” he said again. And to himself, he thought, I got to pray that the Rangers get here in time.

  The buggy creaked as the lop-eared old mule pulled away with the children, Juan, and fat Rosita. Joe waved automatically as the little girls set up a shrill chorus of good-byes.

  “And Angel,” he said automatically, “please remember to keep your thumb out of your mouth.”

  He stood there a long moment, thinking as the noise of the creaking buggy moved farther and farther away. What to do now ? Maybe he should do nothing at all. Let the Rangers deal with it. After all, he was in no danger if he kept quiet and let Slade’s boys ride into town in a few minutes. If they did rob the stage without being stopped, they’d head up to the old hideout and he could tell the law where to find them later. At least, with the children gone and the townspeople all having the evening prayer session he’d requested, nobody would get hurt.

  Could he possibly do anything to stop that trio all by himself? He limped inside, went into the parlor, and stood before the stone fireplace, thinking about the guns hanging there. Common sense told him to do nothing at all since, besides his physical problems, he was so outnumbered. Did he hear a horse leaving the barn at a gallop? No, maybe he was mistaken. When they got ready to go for the holdup, there’d be three horse leaving.

  Bill Slade stood staring after Trask as he galloped out on his dun horse. He turned to the Mexican standing beside him in the barn door. “I told him to circle around, intercept that buggy, take it on to town.”

  The Mexican tipped his sombrero back and laughed. “Si, good thinking! That way, we’ll have those little McBride girls and the servants to use as hostages or shields if anything goes wrong when we hold up the stage!”

  Bill chewed his lip and looked across the landscape toward the rambling ranch house. “It’ll be dark in about thirty minutes. You got our horses saddled so we can meet Trask in town when the stage rolls in?”

  “Si, boss,” he nodded over his shoulder. “Right here. What you gonna do about McBride?”

  Slade snickered. “What you think I’m gonna do about him? You think I’d plan to ride out and leave him alive to tell where our old hideout is so we can be found later?”

  “You got no qualms about shootin’ a man in his shape?”

  Slade spat on the ground and lit a cigar. “You know me better than that, Mex. Follow me on up to the house with the horses. After I kill him, I intend to take that fancy rifle hanging over the fireplace.”

  “Si, boss, I’ll be right behind you.” He scratched his swarthy face. “What do you intend to do about Wilbur?”

  “I took care of that stupid little hick.” Slade checked his pistol. “Now that we know the details of the gold shipment, we don’t need him no more and one less means more for us to split.”

  The Mexican’s white teeth gleamed. “What’d you do?”

  “I sent him a secret coded message tellin’ him to meet us to get his share.” He named the place he had indicated.

  Mex snorted with laughter. “That place is a gathering spot for Indians!”

  Slade shrugged. “Stupid little Wilbur doesn’t know that. If the Injuns get him, not only do we not have to share with him, we don’t have to worry about that stupid little hick in his green eyeshade leadin’ the law to us. Which reminds me, I’d better go finish off McBride.”

  Slade strode on across the barnyard to the silent house, his big spurs jangling. It wasn’t too long ’til dark, he thought as he blew smoke. He and Mex would finish up here and meet Trask in town just at the moment the stage pulled in. All he had to do now was walk in and shoot his unsuspecting old partner down.

  Cayenne and Maverick reined in at the end of Main Street. “That’s strange,” she said, standing up in her stirrups, looking around. “Where is everybody?”

  Maverick muttered. “This town always so deserted?”

  Cayenne shrugged. “Not usually.”

  Loud music and laughter drifted to her. “Of course banker Ogle’s saloon never closes.” She frowned, staring. “I’d swear that’s the Lazy M buggy tied up in front of the general store.”

  Maverick hesitated. “Comanches are like wolves sometime; we can almost smell a trap.” He looked at her.

  Her mouth fell open. “You don’t think I’d set up an ambush for you? What reason could I possibly have? I love you, Maverick!”

  He didn’t answer, looking away as if he knew something he didn’t want to share with her. “Well, if there’s no problem, I see redheaded kids in that buggy, maybe you better go see about them.”

 
She nodded, dug her heels into Strawberry’s sides, and started through the pale dusk of evening down Main Street. When she turned in her saddle and looked back at Maverick sitting like a dark, forbidding spectre on his ghost-gray horse, the scripture came to her again. . . . and hell followed with him.

  The thought disturbed her and she waved at her little sisters, yelling as she approached them. When she glanced back, Maverick was gone.

  What was he up to? Had he decided he wanted no part of facing those three gunfighters at her papa’s ranch? Or had he already headed out there to deal with them? No, the Lazy M lay to the south of town. He’d have to ride past her to get there.

  “Sis! Sis!” The little girls waved and she rode up, dismounting.

  Only then did she notice the Mexican servants in the buggy. “Juan! Rosita!” She hugged them and reached to kiss all her little sisters. Automatically she straightened Stevie’s pigtails, tied Gracie’s sash, and pulled Angel’s thumb from her mouth. “What are you doing here?”

  Serious little Lynnie pushed her glasses back up on her freckled nose. “We were going to the Harrison’s ranch for dinner, but Trask came riding after us, said there’d been a change in plans.”

  Old Rosita nodded, “That’s right, Senorita. Trask say there is to be a surprise party here in town for your papa. We’re to sit quietly until they bring him in, too. Then everyone who’s in hiding in the stores and houses will jump out and yell, ’Surprise!’ ’Surprise!’ ”

  Cayenne looked around. The town looked pretty deserted to her. “So what happened to Mr. Trask?”

  Rosita shrugged. “He went into the saloon, said he needed to get wine for the celebration.”

  Cayenne’s face furrowed. “Someone should tell him Papa doesn’t drink.”

  Lynnie cocked her head seriously. “I think the idea of a surprise party is stupid! Doesn’t this all sound strange to you, Cayenne?”

  Cayenne had a sudden, strange intuition that Papa was in danger. Suppose this Trask had slipped out the back way and was on his way back to the ranch? The only way to find out was to see if his horse was tied around behind banker Ogle’s saloon. She slipped quietly along the edge of the building into the alley. Where was Maverick now that she needed him? He’d promised to help her; he’d promised.

  She rounded the corner, sighing with relief to see a dun horse tied there. She heard a slight sound like a man dragging a lame foot. But before she could turn around, a man stepped out of the dusk and stuck a gun in her back. “Evenin’, miss. Just what are you up to?”

  “Nothing,” she blurted, feeling the barrel digging into her back. Whoever this man was, perhaps he thought she was looking at the horse to steal it. “You misunderstand,” she stammered. “I’m Cayenne McBride and—”

  “Old Joe’s girl?”

  She could only nod, suddenly frightened at the menace in his tone, the way he slipped his arm around her neck from behind as if to throttle her should she scream.

  Somewhere in the distance, she heard the crack of a whip, the noise of the stage rattling along the road toward town.

  The man with the gun in her back laughed under his breath. “Here it comes after all! I was beginnin’ to think we’d been lied to. Is there anybody with you?”

  “No.” She must protect the children, must protect Maverick. He’d been right after all about an ambush in the shadows.

  She heard the stage rolling along at the edge of town now, the whip cracking, the driver yelling at the horses.

  The man pulled her up against him so that she felt the heat of him all the way down her back and buttocks. “Honey, you feel real good to me,” he whispered against her ear. “Now you just keep quiet, you hear? Slade and the Mex should be coming in from the Lazy M any time now. We’ll catch this stage unawares as they stop to change teams, get away with the gold.”

  So this must be Trask, the third man in Lynnie’s letter. Robbery. They were going to rob the Austin stage. Here she’d expected to have Maverick confront the trio out at the ranch, and instead, there was going to be a showdown on a deserted Main Street.

  The man nuzzled the back of her neck. “Honey, I just love that scent you’re wearin’. How’d you like to go with us when we ride out?”

  She was so stiff with fright that her body couldn’t bend to fit the contours of his as he pulled her up against him. She felt his maleness harden with desire as he rubbed it against her hips. “I . . . why don’t we go now? I don’t want to see the children get caught in any cross fire.”

  “Why do you think I got that buggy parked there?” He laughed, rubbing his unshaven face against her neck, and she winced from the sting of his whiskers against her delicate skin. “Now you must behave yourself until the stage pulls in. It’s really lucky you happened along. We’ll walk out there casuallike, as if we was going to board, and the guard won’t be suspicious of a couple of sweethearts.”

  He glanced up at the setting sun. “The stage is a mite late and so are my pards. Slade and the Mex should be in place by now.”

  Maverick had sensed a trap and had ridden Dust Devil behind a building, out of harm’s way. Now he tiptoed quiet as his Comanche ancestors through the alley. He wished there were some way he could move that buggy. If there was going to be trouble, he didn’t want it caught in the cross fire. The black hair along his neck went up in a prickle of warning that had saved his life many times. Now just where had Cayenne gone off to?

  She wasn’t anywhere in sight. He heard a noise, looked off, and saw the Austin stage rolling in toward town. By damn, what was going on? He took a deep breath.

  Maverick had spent the first half of his life among the Indians and all his senses were keener than white men’s. He hesitated, took another breath. Vanilla. He almost smiled. She was somewhere close by, all right. He heard a sound he couldn’t identify. It sounded almost like a man dragging a lame foot. Maverick crouched against the hardware store, listening to the stage roll down Main Street. It was strange as hell for the stage to be rolling in and only one man coming out the front door of the saloon to meet it.

  He turned and crept quietly around the building. For a moment, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Cayenne stood in a man’s embrace, her back to him while he nuzzled along her neck. She had said she loved him, but what was going on here? He had the most terrible surge of jealousy, the likes of which he hadn’t felt since the night Annie died in his arms. And then he saw the last dying rays of sunlight reflect off the gun barrel.

  He stepped out, cocked his own. “Step away from her or you’re a dead man!”

  If she had been any other woman, she would probably have frozen in place, immobilized by fear, Maverick thought with admiration. But as he watched, the peppery little redhead slammed her elbow into the man’s soft middle. As he bent with a moan, stumbling backward, she hit the ground. “Now, Maverick! Now!”

  Maverick fired at the same time Trask did. Trask’s bullet went wild, hitting the man who had just left the saloon. But Maverick’s bullet found its mark. The shot echoed and reechoed through the shadows of the empty streets as the man screamed, grabbed his chest, and stumbled backward.

  When he went down on his back, Maverick holstered his pistol, strode over, and kicked the gun from the dead hand. A look of surprise froze forever on the dead face, the eyes staring straight into hell. Blood spread slowly across the dirty shirt.

  “Maverick! Maverick!” She fell into his arms, weeping, and he held her against him, kissing her hair.

  She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “I was so scared! The kids’ll be afraid! What happens now?”

  “If the other gunfighters were in town, they would have showed themselves by now just as the citizens are.” He nodded toward curious faces peeking out of surrounding buildings, upstairs windows. “That means they’re out there with your dad. I’ll have to corner them there.”

  “Oh, dearest, I’m so afraid for you!”

  He kissed the tears off her face, and she turned to see the stage driver climbing o
ff the seat, bending down to look at the fallen man.

  “Who is this?” the driver shouted.

  “Banker Ogle!” Someone said, “That wild shot got banker Ogle!”

  “Baby,” Maverick said, “you haven’t changed your mind about leavin’ with me; no lookin’ back, no questions asked?”

  “Oh, no! No!” She kissed him feverishly.

  “Then wait here for me, baby, go look after those kids!” He thrust her away from him and mounted, trying not to look at the little red-haired girls staring up at him from the buggy as he rode right past them, setting out on the road south to the Lazy M. He would take care of things, all right, he thought grimly. Sure, he’d finish off those other two, but he still had a vow to fulfill to Annie, the one he’d made when he was fourteen years old . . . the night he killed her.

  An eye for an eye, he thought with fury, trying not to hear the children talking excitedly to Cayenne. He was going to make orphans of them all, come back and carry off his woman; gamble that he could take her far enough away that she’d never hear what happened, never know Joe’s blood stained Maverick’s hands.

  He urged Dust Devil into a lope and didn’t look back at the curious people coming out into the street behind him as he rode toward the Lazy M to finish his quest.

  Joe put his hand against the rough stone of the fireplace. Cicadas began their rhythmic hum outside as they always did as dusk settled in. He felt suddenly hungry, remembered he had forgotten about dinner. Rosita had said something about leaving a plate of cold chicken on the long oak table. He should leave the parlor, go into the dining room. . . .

  He heard a sound, a man crossing the barnyard leading a horse. He had thought Slade’s bunch had already left. Joe puzzled about it, listened without moving. He heard the creak of the squeaky porch, the jingle of spurs as if the owner moved stealthily. His heart started to pound faster as if it sensed danger. “Bill?”

  “Sure, it’s me.” Joe didn’t turn around as he heard the man enter the room behind him. Why did he sound so tense, so nervous? “Just wanted to say good-bye to an old buddy,” Slade said. “We’re pullin’ out now. Maybe we’ll meet again some time.”