Madeline Baker - Lakota Renegade

by Lakota Renegade (lit)

  "Jassy, I . . ." The words backed up in his throat. What was the point of telling her he loved her? It didn't matter now. "Take care of yourself."

  She nodded, her throat clogged with tears. One more kiss, one more touch, and then Harrington stepped between them, shoving Creed into the back of the prison wagon and locking the door.

  The image of his face staring at her through thick iron bars imprinted itself on her mind, and with it the knowledge that she would never see him again.

  She ran after the wagon until she couldn't keep up anymore, her tears blurring his face. Then she sank down in the dirt and cried until she had no more tears left.

  Her steps were heavy as she made her way toward the Harrison House. The hotel clerk stared at her, a salacious gleam in his eye, as she crossed the lobby, but he didn't try to stop her.

  The room was small, not much bigger than her bedroom at home. She wandered around the room, running her hand over the bed he had slept in, picking up his razor, his hairbrush. She went through the chest of drawers. He didn't have much. Several changes of clothing. Another pair of boots.

  She found his saddlebags under the bed. Inside, she found an extra pistol and a couple of boxes of cartridges. A doeskin shirt that was almost white in color. A pair of well-worn moccasins. A choker made of blue and yellow beads. And four thousand dollars stuffed into a small buckskin pouch.

  She counted the money three times, unable to believe it was hers, knowing she would gladly give it all away to have Creed with her again. Four thousand dollars.

  A sudden rush of pleasure warmed her heart. She had money now. She could leave Harrison. She could go to Canon City to be near Creed.

  Humming softly, she counted out enough money to replace what she had taken from Rose and dropped the rest back in the pouch.

  She stuffed Creed's belongings back into his saddlebags. Rising, she considered packing his clothing and taking it with her, but in the end she decided against it because she didn't know how she'd explain it to Rose.

  She was about to leave the room when she turned and went back to the bed. Picking up the pillow, she shoved it into the saddlebag, too. She had never stolen anything in her life, but Creed had slept on that pillow. Now she would sleep on it, too, and dream of him.

  She crept into the house, peeking into Rose's room to make sure she was still asleep before going into her own bedroom. For once, she didn't notice how dark and dismal her room was.

  Shutting the door, she removed the money pouch from the saddlebags, then slid the heavy leather bags under her bed. Crossing the floor, she lifted from the wall a wrinkled picture of an angel holding a little girl. There was a small hole behind the picture where Jassy kept her father's watch. She held the money pouch for a few moments, then tucked it into the hole with her father's watch and replaced the picture.

  She smiled as she looked around the room. She wouldn't have to stay here much longer. There would be a stage leaving for Canon City in a couple of days, and she'd be on it.

  Finding a sheet of paper, she began to write a letter to the judge, telling him everything that had happened, swearing it was the truth, vowing she would take an oath on the Bible, if only he would believe her.

  When that was done, she wrote a long letter to Creed, pouring out her heart and soul, telling him that she would never forget him and didn't want to forget him. With tears staining the page, she wrote that she loved him, that she would wait for him no matter how long it took.

  She was sealing the envelope when the door swung open and Rose entered the room. "What are you doing?"

  "Nothing."

  "What've you got there?"

  "A letter."

  Rose shut the door behind her, then leaned against it. "A letter? To who?"

  "To Creed."

  "Give me that!"

  "No. I can write him if I want to."

  "You little tramp. If you can put out for that 'breed, then you can start working tonight."

  "He never touched me!"

  Rose snorted, her disbelief evident in her tone.

  "It's true."

  Rose held out her hand. "I'll take that letter."

  "No!"

  "Very well."

  With a shrug, Rose opened the door. She had a friend who worked at the general store. All she had to do was ask, and Tug would destroy any letters Jassy tried to send.

  Rose paused, her hand on the doorknob as she glanced over her shoulder.

  "Don't you go anywhere until you've made the beds and washed up the dishes, hear?"

  Jassy nodded. She frowned as she watched her sister leave the room, surprised that Rosie had given up so easily. She had never understood why her own sister disliked her so much. In the past, Jassy had tried to win Rosie's affection, but all her attempts at amity had been rejected. Now, after what Rosie had done to Creed, Jassy no longer felt any fondness for her sister, only a deep and abiding anger.

  Tucking the two letters inside her bodice, Jassy went into the kitchen. She had expected to find Rosie there, but apparently her sister had left the house. Perhaps she had gone to work early, Jassy mused. She did that sometimes, when she knew Coulter was going to work the early shift at the saloon.

  With a sigh, Jassy poured some water into a kettle and put it on the lopsided cast-iron stove to heat.

  She thought of Creed as she washed and dried the dishes, wondering how far the wagon had gone in the last few hours, praying that he would be well treated, that he'd be pardoned in a short time, that he would answer her letter. She smiled as she thought how surprised he'd be when she came to visit him.

  Putting the last chipped plate into the cupboard, she went into Rose's room. She made Rosie's bed quickly, slipping the money she had borrowed under the mattress, then went into her own room and straightened the bedspread, making sure Creed's saddlebags were out of sight.

  When that was done, she left the house and made her way across the street toward Gratton's Mercantile.

  The post office was located in the back of the store. Tug Harper smiled at her as she slid the letters toward him.

  "Hi, Jassy. Don't think I've ever known you to send a letter before, and now you've got two."

  Jassy smiled as she pulled a twenty-dollar gold piece out of her pocket and handed it to Tug. "Would you send them out as soon as possible?"

  Tug whistled under his breath as he took the coin. "Twenty dollars. Where'd you get this?"

  Jassy licked her lips nervously. "I earned it."

  Tug looked skeptical.

  "How long will it take for my letter to reach Canon City?"

  "I don't know. Probably two weeks, maybe longer, depending on the weather."

  "And the other one?"

  Tug made a vague gesture. "About the same, I reckon." He counted out her change and handed it to her. "Say hi to Rose for me."

  "Yes, I will. Bye, Tug."

  "So long, Jassy."

  Tug watched her out of sight, wondering where she'd gotten hold of a twenty-dollar gold piece. Earned it, she'd said. If that was true, he'd like to be her next customer.

  He stared at the two letters in his hand, frowning when he read the address on the first one. Why would Jassy McCloud be writing to Judge Parker? He swore softly when he saw the address on the second envelope. Creed Maddigan!

  Tug Harper grinned. That explained everything. Jassy had been hanging around with the gunman. Apparently that hadn't been all she'd been doing.

  Humming softly, he pulled the shade over the window. Rose had come in earlier, promising to make it worth his while if he intercepted any letters from Jassy. The way Tug figured it, two letters ought to be worth twice as much.

  "Four thousand dollars!" Ray Coulter whistled softly. "Are you sure?"

  "That's what the letter says." Rose pressed a hand over her heart. Creed Maddigan had left Jassy a fortune in cash, and the ungrateful little chit hadn't said a word about it.

  "We could go places with that kind of money," Coulter said, his voice soft and silk
y. "Get married, even."

  "Married!" Rose squealed. "Do you mean it?"

  "Why not? I got no reason to stay in this jerkwater town now that my boy's dead. We'd be good together, Rosie. Married, with that much money, we could be respectable. We could go west, to Califomia maybe, or east, to New York. What do you say?"

  Rose stared at him, her mind reeling. It was everything she had ever dreamed of.

  "We could even take your sister, if you've a mind to," Coulter offered generously. Jassy McCloud was a pretty little thing. He'd always wondered what was hiding under those shapeless rags Daisy had dressed her in.

  Rose shook her head. She'd never felt any affection or warmth for her sister, nothing but jealousy. Daisy had always protected Jassy, coddled her. Jassy had always been Daisy's favorite, and everybody knew it. Jassy could have gone to work at the Lazy Ace any time, but Daisy had kept her home, saying she wanted to keep Jassy out of the saloon until she was eighteen, even though she'd let Rose go to work at sixteen. In spite of all her talk that Jassy was too immature, Rose knew that Daisy had secretly hoped some decent man would come along and offer to many Jassy and thereby spare her a life of degradation.

  "Rose?"

  She blinked at Coulter. "What?"

  "You haven't answered me."

  "Jassy's a big girl now. Milt will hire her." Rose chuckled, thinking there was justice in the world, after all. "She can take my place."

  "Does that mean it's you and me?" Coulter grinned at her. "Come on, girl, let's blow this town and head for the big city."

  "You got any money of your own, Ray Coulter?"

  "I've got a few hundred stashed away." Taking her hand in his, Coulter gave her his most seductive smile. ''So, Rosie girl, where do you want to go first?"

  "I don't know." Rose smiled, suddenly excited by the prospect of running off with Coulter, of leaving this dreary little town and starting a new life in a new place. "Anywhere you want to go is fine with me."

  "I've always wanted to see Frisco, Rosie girl. You go home and change, and I'll pick you up in twenty minutes."

  With a squeal, Rose threw her arms around Coulter and kissed him. "Tell Milt I quit!" she exclaimed, then hurried out of the saloon.

  Chapter Eleven

  Creed stared, unseeing, at the passing countryside as the wagon lurched over the badly rutted road that led out of town. The handcuffs chafed his wrists and ate at his pride. As the miles passed by, he cussed Harrington for shackling his hands behind his back, making it impossible to swat the fly that was buzzing around his head.

  He was vaguely aware of the desultory remarks of the other two men in the iron-barred wooden cart. One had been convicted of murder, the other of bank robbery. Both claimed to be innocent, but then Creed had yet to meet a felon who admitted to being guilty. But, dammit, he was innocent, at least of the crime they'd convicted him of.

  Of course, he was guilty of a number of other things, not the least of which was falling in love with a girl who made him feel as if he had hung the moon and the stars just for her.

  Jassy. Sweet, sweet Jassy with a mane of dark red hair and luminous brown eyes. Jassy, with lips as warm as sunshine, as soft as dandelion down, as intoxicating as hundred-proof whiskey.

  Jassy. He wished now that he had made love to her that day in the valley, that he had buried himself in her sweetness, immersed himself in her youth and goodness. Right or wrong, he wanted to be the one to show her how good love could be between a man and a woman. He wanted to watch her eyes as he sheathed himself within her, hear the harsh rasp of her breath as she discovered what passion felt like.

  And yet, perversely, he was glad he hadn't touched her. It would have been a crime to steal her innocence, to rob her of her virtue and leave her with nothing. She deserved more than that. So damn much more. He'd done what he could. He had given her a stake. Now all he could do was hope she would use it to make a new life for herself.

  Sunk in despair, he withdrew into himself as Black Otter had taught him to do so many years ago. Staring at the raw planks beneath his feet, he blocked out the voices around him, the iron bars, the dismal future that awaited him. Traveling down the corridors of the past, he thought of places he hadn't seen since childhood, of people he had loved who were long dead.

  He didn't realize the wagon had come to a halt until one of the guards jabbed him in the back with the barrel of his rifle.

  "You there, Maddigan, haul your butt out here."

  Choking back the angry retort that rose in his throat, Creed stood up and made his way toward the door and down the narrow steps.

  There were three men guarding the wagon. Jack Watkins was the eldest, an easygoing Texan who knew all the tricks. Joe West was only a couple of years younger. He was tall and lean, with a pockmarked face and deep-set brown eyes. Mort Sayeski had only been on the payroll a short time. He had a shock of red hair and a temper to match.

  "Rest stop," Sayeski explained curtly. "Sit down over there and don't try nothing funny."

  Creed glared at the guard. Sayeski reminded Creed of a banty rooster, all bluff and bluster. He had scared eyes and a finger that constantly stroked the trigger of his rifle.

  "I need to take a leak," Creed said.

  Sayeski raised the barrel of the rifle until it was leveled at Creed's chest. "So do it."

  "Can't." Creed felt his jaw clench. Damn, but it was humiliating to have to ask a snot-nosed kid's permission to relieve himself.

  Mort stared at the prisoner for a moment before understanding dawned. "Turn around,"he ordered. "Jack, keep him covered."

  A muscle worked in Creed's jaw as the young guard unlocked the cuffs. He knew they wouldn't take the cuffs off him again until they reached Canon City and he knew a sudden, irrational urge to make a run for it before it was too late, before his freedom was taken from him forever. But the sure knowledge that he couldn't outrun a .44 slug squelched the urge.

  Obligingly, he turned around and held his hands out in front of him so the guard could slip the cuffs back on.

  Mort Sayeski swallowed hard as he saw the black rage smoldering in the half-breed's eyes. Unable to help himself, he took a step backward, then brought his rifle up, his finger curling around the trigger.

  "Stay where I can see you," he warned. "And don't try nothing."

  "Kid, if we were alone, I'd wrap that Winchester around your neck," Creed retorted. Turning his back on the bug-eyed guard, he walked into the bushes.

  He'd bide his time, he thought. Sooner or later, he would find a chance to escape and he'd take it. He had to take it, because there was no way in hell he was going to do twenty years behind bars.

  Jassy pulled the covers up to her chin, blinking against the bright morning sun that filtered into her room. Her first thought was of Creed.

  The second was of the letters she had sent. She knew, she just knew, that the judge would believe her story and that Creed would be acquitted. Only two more days, she thought, two more days until the stage bound for Canon City arrived; when it left again, she'd be on it.

  Smiling, she turned over and buried her face in his pillow. She took a deep breath, inhaling the faint scent of talc and tobacco smoke that lingered in the pillow covering. Closing her eyes, she relived those moments in Creed's arms, remembering the taste of his kisses, the feel of his arms around her, the husky sound of his voice when he whispered her name.

  "Creed." Just saying his name made him seem closer somehow.

  She remembered how he had come to her rescue in the alley, jumping into the fray like a hero in a storybook. He.had been there to comfort her when her mother died. He had bought her the first nice dress she'd ever had. He was, she thought, the first real friend she had ever had. And even though he was gone, he was still taking care of her.

  Scooting over to the edge of the lumpy mattress, she lifted the bedspread and reached under the bed for Creed's saddlebag.

  Sitting up, she dumped the contents on the bed, her hands moving lovingly over the soft does
kin shirt. Picking up the choker, she fastened it around her neck, her fingertips sliding over the smooth blue and yellow beads.

  She picked up the moccasins and turned them over in her hand. It made her feel good, wearing something he had worn, touching something he had touched.

  Slipping out of bed, she went to her hidey hole. Removing the wrinkled picture from the wall, she reached into the narrow opening. Her fingers closed on empty air. Standing on tiptoe, she peered into the opening. Her father's gold watch was gone. And so was the buckskin pouch.

  Feeling sick to her stomach, she hurried out of her room and went into Rosie's bedroom. It was empty. The bureau drawers were open and empty, as was the small wardrobe that had held Rose's clothes.

  Shaking her head in disbelief, Jassy went into the small parlor and then into the kitchen. Both were empty.

  Rosie was gone, and she had taken Creed's money with her.

  Feeling lost and completely alone, Jassy sat at the table, put her face in her hands, and began to cry.

  When she had no tears left, she washed her face and brushed her hair, then put on her green dress and new boots. Taking a deep breath, she left the house, determined not to return until she had a job.

  It took nearly three weeks to reach Canon City. During that time, Creed's nerves grew ever tighter as rage and anger built within him. The slow-moving cart seemed to close in around him, growing smaller and smaller each day. The cuffs that shackled his hands were a constant reminder of the freedom he had lost. He resented being told what to do, when to eat, when to sleep, and he knew it would only get worse.

  The young guard, eager to prove he wasn't afraid of a half-breed gunfighter, rode him hard after the first day. As if to prove his bravery, Sayeski began ordering Creed around, demanding that he gather wood for the fire, that he unharness the horses at night and put them in the traces in the morning. He was constantly making snide remarks about Creed's ancestry or derogatory comments about hired guns, declaring they were the lowest scum on the face of the earth.