Untamed Cowboy (C Bar C Ranch Book 1)

by Pam Crooks

  “You son of a bitch!” Durant’s lips pulled back in a feral snarl, his revolver swung toward him—

  But Penn’s finger was faster. The Winchester fired. Durant’s body jerked from the force of the hit, and his shot went wild. Crimson bloomed stark against the white of his shirt.

  Carina screamed. Durant dropped from his horse and didn’t move.

  They slid off their mounts. Carina rushed toward Durant and bent over him. Penn followed, his rifle aimed. Durant’s revolver lay in the grass, and Penn kicked it aside, out of reach.

  “You’ve killed him!” she gasped.

  “Didn’t have a choice,” he said and lowered the Winchester.

  “Now we won’t find out where Callie Mae is.” She straightened; with a frustrated cry, she planted both palms against Penn’s chest and pushed, hard enough he had to take a step back to keep his balance. “Do you hear me? He would’ve told us where she is!”

  “Not until he had the money, Carina,” he grated. “By then, it would’ve been too late.”

  “If I’ve lost her, I’ll make you regret it to your dying days. I swear I will.”

  “I’ll find her,” he said, the avowal fervent.

  Her bosom heaved as she fought to control her frustration. Violet lightning sparked from the stormy depths of her eyes. “You lied to me.”

  He tried to remember when. And failed. “No.”

  “You said you were an office worker. You weren’t, were you?” Her fury gathered steam. “Are you a killer someone hired to go after Durant and Rogan? Or a bounty hunter?”

  “No. Nothing like that.”

  “Durant knew you. How? From Rogan?”

  “Carina.”

  Penn didn’t want her to find out like this. The deception he’d kept in place to satisfy his revenge. Up to now, his motives were his own. So were his methods. She had enough on her mind worrying about Callie Mae.

  But Durant’s death changed everything.

  “I’m an agent with the Secret Service. The Treasury Department. Or at least I used to be until I resigned to find Rogan,” he said. “I never lied to you about working in an office. I did.”

  “You’re a government agent?” The fury wavered. “What has Rogan done that made you want to hunt him down?”

  “He’s a master thief,” Penn said, giving her the truth. She wouldn’t have settled for anything less. Not anymore. “He was part of an elusive counterfeit ring. He’s helped bilk banks of hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

  “What?” Shock stole the blood from her face.

  “Just like he’s trying to bilk you.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “He killed the woman I intended to marry.”

  The words rumbled from him of their own accord, the purging of the hate, the anguish, he’d lived with month after month. Abigail’s betrayal, and the price she paid for it.

  “Oh, my God,” Carina said again and pressed her fingers to her lips. “He’s a criminal, a murderer, and he has my daughter!”

  Penn’s mouth tightened. She didn’t need to hear how much that scared him. “Yes.”

  “Mavis.” Carina’s breathing quickened. “Does she know? Or is she involved with his counterfeiting, too?”

  “She’s not involved. As far as her knowing of his crimes, time will tell if she does.”

  He’d combed through Rogan’s background, investigated his activities with every resource available. Nowhere had he found evidence of the woman’s involvement.

  “Callie Mae is safe with her,” Penn said. “If it’s any comfort.”

  “It’s not.” She curled her arms and fumed into the sky. “He’s such a bastard. I want to kill him myself.”

  Penn reached out, took her elbow, pulled her against him. “Not unless I kill him first.”

  She came willingly, a sign she’d gotten used to him touching her. Might be she needed him to right now anyway. Penn was happy to oblige.

  Her warmth soaked into him and brought with it an awareness of the fullness of her breasts pressed to his chest, of how the hems of her riding skirt flapped against his Levi’s, and the bulk of her gun belt pressed low against his belly.

  Yet the rigidity in her slim body revealed the tension still inside her. The fear, the worry, from Durant’s death. Penn figured they both needed a few minutes to absorb what just happened.

  “This woman you wanted to marry—” But she halted, her voice stiff against his shoulder.

  He sensed the curiosity about Abigail her pride struggled to contain. He removed her hat, let it hang against her back from its cord, then met the violet-blue in her eyes, no longer stormy. But troubled.

  “She was a government agent for the Treasury Department, too,” he said. “I met her when we were assigned to Rogan’s case. I never knew she was working with him until the day we were to be wed.”

  A faint shake of her head revealed her sympathy. “She double crossed you, then.”

  “I wasn’t smart enough to see it coming.”

  “You’re one of the smartest men I know, McClure. She must’ve been good at it to fool you.”

  He grunted. How many times had he tried to convince himself of that very thing?

  “Are you still in love with her?” Carina asked, chin kicked high.

  He held her proud gaze. She’d be thinking of the kisses he’d taken from her, the ones she gave freely and he enjoyed without guilt.

  “Hard to keep loving a woman who never loved anyone but herself,” he said gruffly.

  The hurt was gone, he realized. Crumpled to nothing beneath the ugliness of all Abigail had done. Carina herself had shown him how deep a woman’s love could be for the things that meant most to her. A child, a home and land.

  Or a man…

  “Once you realized she betrayed you, then what happened?” Carina asked in a tone turned commiserating.

  His thoughts dragged backward to the past. To Rogan. “Things turned ugly. When the smoke cleared, I’d killed two men in Rogan’s counterfeiting ring. He’d shot Abigail and escaped. He has as much revenge to exact off me as I do him.”

  Carina drew back. “And now my daughter is in the middle of it.”

  Penn hesitated. Recognized the unfairness, same as she did. “Yes.”

  “I won’t rest until he’s in jail or dead.” Her gaze turned hard. “I prefer dead.”

  Penn admired a woman whose thinking followed his. “So do I.”

  As if impatient for it to happen, she abruptly stepped away. Durant, blood-soaked and motionless, lay on the grass at their feet.

  She frowned. “In the meantime, we have him to take care of. And my herd is closer to Dodge City than we are.”

  Her urgency reached out to him. He put away his rifle, and they set to work taking care of matters while his mind filled with what lay ahead. Repercussions from Durant’s death.

  But Rogan’s response to it, most of all.

  Callie Mae sat on a wooden bench outside the Salina train station and watched her grandmother pace back and forth. The conductor had already made the first call to board for the trip to Kansas City, and there were only a few people left on the platform.

  Rogan wasn’t one of them.

  Grandmother didn’t know where he was. Callie Mae didn’t, either, but she was as sure as could be he wasn’t coming. Grandmother was convinced he was just late and would arrive any minute.

  Callie Mae let her go on thinking it.

  Rogan had been all pouty and cold as a fish last night at dinner, and later, at the Opera House. He hardly even looked at her, let alone spoke a civil word to her, so why would he want to go to Europe with her?

  Callie Mae didn’t care one whit what he did or didn’t do. She had other things to worry about.

  Like how to escape Grandmother.

  Her heart pounded her ribs from being scared she wouldn’t find a way. She just couldn’t get on that train. If she did, she’d have a terrible time finding her way home again. By then, Mama would’ve given Rogan the m
oney for her herd and lost the C Bar C.

  Callie Mae couldn’t let that happen.

  She’d caused enough trouble already.

  She didn’t have much time left. Minutes, maybe. What would she do when the conductor made the final call to board?

  “Oh, where is that boy?” Grandmother fussed, shading her eyes and peering down the street toward the Metropolitan Hotel. Again.

  “Guess he’s not coming,” she said.

  Callie Mae’s gaze slid toward the baggage car and the last trunk being loaded. Except for the red plaid taffeta one she was wearing today, all her beautiful new dresses and shoes were in that car. If things worked out right, she’d never see them again.

  “That’s ridiculous. Of course, he’s coming.” But Grandmother bit her lip and looked worried.

  Callie Mae’s gaze switched direction. Toward the rail yard. Trains came through Salina all day, every day, she knew. From every direction, too.

  “He never did know what a clock was for,” Grandmother huffed. “How dare he be so irresponsible? And today, of all days.”

  One of those trains would be going to Dodge City…

  “I’ll insist the conductor wait for him a little longer.” Grandmother nudged her satchel closer to the bench for Callie Mae’s safekeeping. “Stay right here, darling, while I speak to him.”

  She turned and strode toward the man, her skirts swishing, her heels clomping in determination on the wooden platform.

  Callie Mae’s heart pounded harder.

  Now. She should run now…

  But she couldn’t.

  She was too scared.

  The clomping stopped. Grandmother tapped the conductor’s shoulder. He swung toward her with a smile.

  Callie Mae had to think. She had to be smart. Could she do it? Run away to Dodge City by herself even though she’d never been there before?

  It was so far away…

  Grandmother’s thin nose lifted in that hoity-toity way of hers. She said something, and the conductor’s smile faded.

  Callie Mae knew she had to act soon, but she had no food, no money.

  Still, she reminded herself, she was ten years old. Old enough to take care of herself if she had to…

  The conductor shook his head. Grandmother’s words came louder, more insistent. Demanding. He pulled his watch from his vest pocket, read the time and shook his head again.

  Callie Mae slid to the edge of the bench. She stared hard at the rail yard, the trains heading west. Long trains, with empty cattle cars, big enough to hide in.

  The voices fell silent. She swiveled her stare back. Grandmother removed her leather wallet from her pocketbook, withdrew a few bills, thrust them at the conductor. His face turned red with outrage.

  Callie Mae’s gaze clung to those bills. She’d never stolen a single cent before. Ever. But she’d give her eye-teeth for some of that money right now. Any way she could get it.

  The conductor drew himself up and returned his watch to its place in his pocket. He spun on his heel and strode away from Grandmother.

  “All aboard!” he shouted to the few people lingering on the platform. “Final call! All aboard!”

  Callie Mae’s heart jumped to her throat. No! Not yet! She couldn’t get on that train. She had to escape. She had to hide and find a way to survive, and she just couldn’t let Grandmother give the conductor those tickets—

  Her panic halted.

  The tickets!

  Grandmother had tucked all three into the side pocket of her satchel, keeping them within easy reach for their boarding. Callie Mae could see them now, the ends sticking out….

  Except, Rogan wasn’t coming. He wouldn’t be using his passage to New York, and Grandmother paid so much money for him to go.

  Money Callie Mae could use to get to Dodge City.

  Money that would go to waste if she didn’t.

  She didn’t take time to ponder if it was right or wrong; she just bent down and plucked his ticket out, then quickly stuffed the slip of printed paper into the pocket of her red plaid dress.

  And before Grandmother caught her at it, too. She still looked mad about the conductor refusing to delay his train on Rogan’s account. Which meant she’d be extra mad about Rogan not showing up and ruining her plans.

  She strode across the platform with another round of loud, indignant clomping.

  “Let’s go, Callie Mae,” she said sharply. “We’ll leave without your father and have a wonderful time, just the two of us.”

  She snatched the satchel and stormed toward the train. In her fury, she didn’t take Callie Mae’s hand, like she always did, and before her grandmother could notice, Callie Mae took a breath, bolted from the bench and ran in the opposite direction.

  Dodge City, Three Days Later

  Rogan had the sick feeling something was wrong.

  He sat in the Long Branch Saloon and stared broodingly into his glass of whiskey. His plans didn’t include sitting at this table, in a dark corner, alone. Durant should be with him, fine-tuning the details that would close the deal against Carina.

  He wasn’t. In fact, Durant wasn’t anywhere in this stinking cow town. Rogan had scoured every hotel, every boardinghouse, every brothel, looking for him. He walked the streets, up and down, and hadn’t found a sign. He searched the liveries and the saloons and even the local jail.

  Nothing.

  Rogan lifted the glass, frowned, thought of how he’d escaped Salina in the dead of night, before his mother had an inkling he was gone. He’d endured the long ride to Dodge City solely on the anticipation of meeting up with Durant again to finish the last phase of their scheme. They’d agreed upon the day, the time, the place.

  Durant wouldn’t have forgotten.

  Where was he?

  Did Mother have something to do with his absence? Her wrath could be formidable, her vengeance nothing less. Had she been so furious from realizing Rogan had no intention of going to Europe that she tried to ruin his plans in revenge?

  It’d be just like her, the conniving shrew.

  But then, she’d have to know he’d retaliate, too. Incriminate her by telling of her part in their blackmail plan first chance he got. Why would she risk it?

  Rogan swirled the amber liquid, shifted his thinking toward possible motives for the gunslinger’s disappearance. Was Durant out on the trail, following Carina, making sure she stayed cooperative? Had something happened to her or the herd to throw them off the trail and off schedule? Or had Durant changed his mind about the blackmail?

  As soon as the last thought formed, Rogan discarded it. Durant wouldn’t walk away from all that beautiful money. Not a chance.

  No, he had to be in trouble. How or where or by whom, Rogan didn’t know yet, but if it wasn’t Mother, the idea Penn McClure might have something to do with it turned his skin clammy from a cold sweat.

  He threw back the last of the whiskey. The burn in his throat cleared his mind, filled him with a rush of comfort.

  There was no way Penn McClure could connect him with Durant.

  Was there?

  Rogan vowed to be more careful than ever, just in case. He had to think through every angle, expect the unexpected. He was so close to getting Carina’s money. So close…

  Hell, maybe Durant was just fine and had tried to contact him about his whereabouts. A possibility Rogan hadn’t thought of until now. The gunslinger could’ve sent a wire while Rogan was in Salina, and the message might be waiting for him at this very moment.

  Rogan set his glass down, pulled the brim of his hat lower over his eyes and hustled out of the Long Branch. It didn’t take long to reach the telegraph station. Took even less time to read the paper the operator gave him.

  Rogan’s blood chilled at the words.

  Durant’s dead.

  The message was signed by Penn McClure.

  Chapter 16

  Outside of Dodge City

  Carina sat on the lush Kansas grass, tilted her head back and stared up into the
night sky. Stars sparkled down at her; crisp evening air filled her lungs. A short distance away, her beloved herd rested, their long-horned, blackened shapes visible as far as she could see.

  She’d lost track of the hour, knew only that Sourdough would’ve cleaned up supper by now, and the outfit would be sprawled around the chuck wagon, bellies full from his infamous son-of-a-bitch stew, bodies tired from this, their last day on the trail.

  She should’ve been exhausted, too. Relieved the drive had finally come to an end. Filled with cautious hope and anticipation of finally getting her daughter back soon.

  She was all those things, yes. Yet she battled a strange melancholy that left her with the need to spend some time alone to sort through it.

  McClure had been gone for five days, and she missed him more than she’d ever thought she could miss a man.

  At some point, Carina gave up fighting it. Which would’ve been about the time she accepted the fact she’d fallen in love with him.

  It shouldn’t have happened. She’d broken her own rule about getting involved with one of her hired men, but this feeling, this obsession, was unlike anything she’d felt since she fancied herself in love with Rogan Webb back in her wild, foolish days.

  And look where that got her.

  She had plenty to think about now that they had finally reached Dodge City. Like how she’d have to toughen up instead of feeling all mushy inside whenever she got to ruminating about Penn McClure. Which was just about every spare minute. Or when she looked for him to ride up from over a bluff, or around a curve in the trail. Which was the whole day through.

  Sighing, she removed her hat and set it on the ground beside her. Ironic he hadn’t been the one to drive her cattle to Dodge City, after all, but saw to it that Jesse and Stinky Dale did in his place. He’d taken Durant’s body into Ashland for the local mortician to care for, said he had some business to attend to once he got there.

  Secret Service business. What else could it be? Her pride kept her from asking for sure or even when he’d be back, but she couldn’t help being struck by how Durant’s death had changed the cards on her. Put them in McClure’s favor. Helped bring him one step closer in satisfying his revenge against Rogan.