Millard flushed with anger, then crumpled. ‘Oh, Mary! I’ve let her down; she’ll be furious.’
Jonah grinned humourlessly. ‘Maybe it’s just as well you won’t be going home tonight.’
Millard let the gun drop to the ground as he began sobbing. Jonah looked to the women.
‘Just cover him while I get him cuffed, then I’ll see to Robinson’s arm and we can get home.’
The late arrival of the stage in Motherlode, with bodies strapped to the roof, and the line’s owner in handcuffs, caused something of a sensation. Marshal Tapton grumbled from behind his moustache, but Jonah and Robinson persuaded him to put Millard in the cells and wire the county sheriff. With that done, Jonah promptly announced that he needed to fix Robinson’s injury and hustled his friend away, leaving the marshal to take care of the bodies, the injured guard and the rest of the mess.
Back at the parlour house, Jonah stitched and bandaged the wound. A bullet had glanced off Robinson’s collar-bone, breaking it and leaving a gash across the top of his shoulder. With the wound tended to, and a sling for his arm, the newspaperman declared himself to be comfortable. Louise appeared from the kitchen, bearing a plate of fresh, hot vanity cakes.
‘I don’t reckon as how I’m very good at saying thank you,’ she said, offering around the crisp, brown cakes. ‘This seemed as good as anything.’
‘How clever of you to bake something I can eat with one hand,’ Robinson observed, taking one and biting into it.
‘I do appreciate that you cared about what happened to me,’ Louise continued, setting the plate on the table. ‘That ain’t happened much afore. It’s . . . it’s good to feel it.’ She gave a quick nod and left without waiting for a reply.
Jonah looked at Jenny. ‘You know I’m only too glad to help.’
‘I do. Every woman in town should be grateful that Brewster and his friends are dead.’
A clock chimed and Jenny quickly glanced at it. ‘Good heavens! I have to bathe and get ready for tonight. You’re both welcome to stay and enjoy yourself with the compliments of the house this evening.’
Robinson brushed crumbs from his chin. ‘I’m afraid my injury rather prohibits me from enjoying any sport with your ladies at the moment. As much as I enjoy their company, I’d rather like to get down my impressions of today’s events while they’re still fresh in my mind. My letters about the stagecoach business will have a most thrilling conclusion.’
Jenny nodded. ‘I understand. Oh, yes. You lied when you told Millard that you heard a dying confession. I never heard anything.’
Jonah looked at Robinson in surprise. The newspaperman smiled.
‘Well, yes; it was a partial untruth. Miss Erica swore that one of the others confessed of Millard’s part in the robberies, remember? I believe her, but Millard would not, and neither would many other men. So, I claimed to have heard a confession in order to persuade Millard to surrender to us peacefully. I am willing to swear to it in a court of law if necessary.’
‘It may not come to that,’ Jonah said. He rose gracefully. ‘I’ll be glad to accept the invitation for this evening, but I want to go to the hotel to get washed up and change.’
Robinson struggled awkwardly to his feet and the two men made their farewells.
Business was very good at the parlour house that evening. Word had spread of the women’s involvement in the stagecoach attack and Millard’s arrest, and men wanted to find out more. With the relief at a troublesome gang of outlaws being dealt with, a party atmosphere soon developed. Takings at the bar were excellent and all the girls had as much custom as they wanted. Jenny was busy all night, telling her version of events over and over, as well as with her usual work as hostess. By the time the last customer had left, several of her girls had already retired to bed and the rest followed soon after.
In the end, Jenny was left in the private parlour with Jonah, sipping at tea. She let her head rest against the back of her chair and smiled at him.
‘I’ve hardly spoken to you all night. Did you have a good time?’
‘Certainly,’ he replied, his dark eyes on her face. ‘It’s good to feel that this is all over and we can rest for a while.’
‘There’s no need to ride out anywhere tomorrow,’ Jenny agreed. ‘Which may be as well,’ she added, nodding towards the window.
Heavy rain was drumming on the glass and draughts around the frame made the curtains stir now and again.
‘It’s not a nice night to be out,’ Jonah agreed.
Jenny finished her tea. ‘There’s no need for you to get soaked going back to your hotel. There’s an empty room here you can sleep in.’
‘Thank you.’ Jonah stood up. Standing by her chair, he looked down at her and held out his hand. ‘I’d really like it if you’d share it with me tonight?’
Jenny was taken aback by his question. Her relationships with men had always been centred around money: as prostitute, madam and business owner. Jonah was the only one who ever seemed to be interested in her for herself, as a friend. She looked at him, handsome and vital. A man who could charm any woman he chose and afford to pay for the best available. As she met his eyes, she saw anxiety. She was puzzled for a moment, then realized that this handsome, kind and generous man was worried in case she rejected him. She smiled.
‘I will.’
She took his hand.
Sins of Motherlode Page 11