“All right,” Teddy said. She did not have to look far for Rhys Delmar. He was walking up the sidewalk when the stage rolled out. His black, flat-brimmed hat was pulled low on his forehead. His shoulders were squared.
“Speak of the devil,” she said.
“Teddy!” He stepped up close.
He had a savage look in his eye. She saw a dark bruise beneath a pronounced cheekbone and a not-quite-healed cut on his lower lip. She thought of Strong Bill’s warning about Joe Luther. She wondered if the outlaw had hunted Delmar down before he got himself shot. A pang of guilt hit her because if that was the case, all other differences aside, Rhys had come to harm as a result of being a passenger on the Gamble Line. The pang lasted only until another emotion came into play. His cocky walk, the perfect fit of his clothes, the way his gaze was leveled on her—all triggered desire. She felt it but didn’t recognize it for what it was. “Been tangling with that hussy again?” she asked.
He snarled at her. He’d spent five days practically a prisoner of Mae Sprayberry’s. The landlady had taken a motherly interest in him while he was recovering from the beating he’d been given. He was still sore, tired of being cooped up, and guilty of spending too much time deliberating on who was responsible. “I think,” he said bluntly, “I am victim to a conniving she-cat who’s too underhanded to fight her own battles.”
Teddy didn’t like the implication, which—as near as she could tell—was that she was somehow responsible for his getting in a fistfight. “What are you hinting at, Delmar?” she asked hotly. “If you mean me, I’d say whoever punched you rattled some spokes loose.”
He stepped so close the lapels of his jacket brushed against the fringe of her shirt. People on the street paused to stare before going on about their business. Neither Teddy nor Rhys noticed. Teddy was only conscious of his fiery breath on her face. Rhys was convinced she was the most exasperating woman he’d ever known.
Beneath the bruises, his face flushed with anger. “Are you saying you know nothing about the three men who five days ago ambushed me and warned me to leave town?”
“You’re here, aren’t you?” she shot back.
“No thanks to you.”
Teddy doubled her fist and waved it at him. “Mister, I do my own fighting and shooting and it’s face to face. So don’t blame me for a scrape you got in on your own. Sure I wish you weren’t here but I’m not low enough to hire thugs because of that. You and I have business together whether we like it or not and that business will be settled fair. Understand?”
“I understand. But if I find out that you were in any way responsible—”
“You ought to soak your head,” she said scornfully. “By the way, where have you been since you got that licking?”
“At Madame Sprayberry’s,” he replied, beginning to concede that Teddy might not have arranged the assault, but indignant that she assumed he had not given as good as he got. “It might surprise you to know there are some people in this town who treat a stranger with kindness.”
“It might surprise you to know there are some strangers who deserve it,” she spat back.
Rhys drew himself up taller and stared harshly down at her. “Madame Sprayberry is a fine, charitable lady.”
“That old hen.” Teddy reared back and laughed so hard her hat fell off. It dangled on her back, held there by the thin leather lanyard tied beneath her chin. “She’ll coddle you to death if you don’t watch out. But I reckon that’s the kind of looking-after a tenderfoot needs.”
Teddy’s eyes glittered with her poorly concealed contempt. Rhys’s mouth compressed into a tight and unpleasant line. Teddy’s mockery had come too close to the truth. Mae Sprayberry had nearly smothered him with kindness. And when she wasn’t sitting at his bedside or pouring hot broth down him, Justine had been there dutifully watching and working her embroidery. Today he’d had to slip out while they were both in the kitchen. Women liked an invalid, he supposed—except Teddy, who more likely preferred making one.
“I can take care of myself,” he said stiffly. “I think I’ve proven that.”
“Ha!” Teddy jeered, her voice cold, her tone condescending. “Any boy in knee britches can make a lucky throw with a rock. Around here you’ve got to shoot straight and ride hard to prove yourself.” Her next words cut like a rusty razor. “And the rule is, a man’s not a man unless he’s still standing after a fight.”
His body went rigid, his nostrils flared, and, for a moment the muscles convulsed in his cheeks. He wanted to shake her, but that wouldn’t have been a safe thing to do—not with his temper raging—not when he wasn’t sure whether or not he would break her neck. He might regret it if he did. It was a pretty neck, long and slender. He needed to do something about that mouth, though. She talked like a saddle tramp and she always went too far.
For an instant he toyed with the idea of grabbing her there on the street and kissing her so soundly she would regret her caustic words and beg his forgiveness for saying them. He’d make her swoon like any of the dozens of other women he had held in his arms. But then none of them had been wearing a gun—and liable to use it should he be wrong this once about his powers of seduction. Damn her! She had begun to make him question what he had always taken for granted, his manhood.
He did swear, loudly. Sacré bleu! “You are one heartless—”
Teddy huffed. “Don’t say it!”
He didn’t. He had noticed the way the sun was lighting streaks of gold in her hair and revealing, now that her hat was off and she was heated up, that it smelled faintly of summer flowers. He nearly, involuntarily, reached out and touched the glistening strands. But he did not. He let her get away with one more affront, contented that he’d found one more dent in Teddy’s tough facade. She might shout and swear, wear leather and spurs and case her legs in trousers. But she used a sweetly scented soap—this spitfire who brooked no recognition that she was a woman.
The facade held on another front, though. Teddy lacked even a shred of sympathy. She had obviously felt no concern for his apparent disappearance. She had in fact, counted his absence a blessing if her behavior today was any indication. She would like it ever so much if he went away and was never seen or heard from again. Oh yes, she would like to make him a “silent” partner. If she had not been responsible for the mishap which had left him battered and bruised and, admittedly, embarrassed, she certainly wasn’t respectably displeased it had happened.
He had endured all the taunts and all the temptation he could stand for one day. “Step aside!” he demanded.
Teddy braced herself. “Not for you.”
It was the final straw. Rhys gripped her stiffly set shoulders, lifted her and set her out of his way, surprised by her lightness. He’d half expected she’d be made of lead. Angrily, briskly, he walked off.
“Where are you going?” she shouted after him.
“For a drink.” He didn’t glance back. “Lots of them.”
“Oh hell,” Teddy grumbled out the words. “Now I’ve sold my saddle for sure. He’s heading to the Diamond.”
***
In his cozy back office, Parrish Adams sat like a monarch in his leather chair. He drank a blended whiskey, not the gut-burning redeye he served at the bar. His thin mustache was waxed to perfection. He was basking in the glow of a favorable editorial written about him in the Wishbone Gazette. He commended himself on the wisdom of ordering from a foundry a bell cast for the empty tower that had sat atop Wishbone’s only church.
“See this, Norine,” he said. “See how they praise my generosity.” He pushed the paper toward her, leaned back and drank of the expensive whiskey. “Money will buy anything,” he extolled. “Friends, respect, anything.”
She drummed her long nails on the soft newsprint. “I knew that. I’ve always had a fondness for money—and you.”
“You mean anybody with money.”
A knock interrupted them. “Adams,” Len Blalock’s baritone came from the bar side of the door.
> “Get upstairs,” he said. “See if those girls are earning their keep.”
Norine, resplendent in a form-fitting gown of black, blew him a kiss and silently eased out the back door. Adams invited the sheriff inside when she was gone.
Blalock had his hat in his hand. “Wanted to tell you Delmar is up and about today.”
“It’s past time,” Adams said. “What’s it been? Nigh on a week?” He shook his head. “You disappoint me, Sheriff. I thought you were smarter than Boyd and Pete. That’s why I sent you along. I wanted Delmar roughed up and scared, not beaten senseless.”
“Wasn’t my doin’. Your boys got carried away.”
With both hands on the edge of his desk, Adams leaned hard against it. “And a lot of time got by. Time I didn’t want to wait.” Adams eased back in his chair, shrugged, then stood and took a handkerchief from his pocket. As if the sheriff were not there he folded the white cloth and took a moment to polish the two-carat diamond in his gold stickpin. “Now am I going to have to hunt for Delmar or are you going to see he pays me a visit?”
“I set that up already,” Blalock said, uneasily shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He’d looked in on Delmar after Justine told him about the assault. It hadn’t been one of his finer moments, pretending outrage and concern to his daughter for an act he was responsible for. But he had done it and Justine, mercifully, had not suspected his duplicity. “I told him you heard of his...misfortune and sent your regards and that you would stand him a drink when he was well enough to visit the Diamond.” He stared at Adams’s face looking for a sign of approval. “If he’s like most men he won’t waste much time getting here.”
“If so, you’ve done one thing right, but I suggest you get out on the street and make sure he doesn’t forget where that free drink is waiting.”
“Yes, sir.” The words slipped out. Blalock felt some of his lifeblood drain out with them. They lumped him in the same category as the Smith brothers and where the unfortunate Joe Luther had been. He was now one of Adams’s boys.
Chapter 19
Rhys had one stop to make before he cooled down with a drink. He’d used his time of forced rest to pen an overdue letter to Alain Perrault. He wanted to get it in the day’s post. Mae Sprayberry had told him that the place to take care of that was at Penrod’s Mercantile. Milt Penrod, besides running the town’s general store, also served as Wishbone’s postmaster. Mae had offered to take care of the chore for him, but Rhys had endured enough of the woman’s probing questions.
For a man trying to keep his past a secret, Mae Sprayberry was a trial. He did appreciate her kindness, though. Without her care he’d have suffered much more than he did, and doubted he would be up even yet. Teddy could take lessons from Mae. By all of hell, Teddy could take lessons on politeness from anybody.
He’d reached Penrod’s, and walked past the barrels and benches in front of the store, when a tall, thin man in pinstripe trousers and crisp white shirt stepped from the doorway. The man pulled a broom straw from the corner of his mouth. “Mornin’,” he said.
“Bonjour.” Rhys tipped his hat. “I was told I could post a letter here.”
“Delmar, isn’t it?” The man stuck the straw between his lips and looked Rhys over from head to foot. “ ’Course you are. Couldn’t be anybody else. I’d know. Reckon the postmaster gets to know ’bout everybody in town.”
“I am Rhys Delmar.” Rhys extended a hand.
“Milt Penrod.” The thin man shook Rhys’s hand. “Postmaster, storekeeper.” The straw in the corner of his mouth wiggled up and down as he talked. “Come on in. I’ll take care of that letter for you.” He gave Rhys a friendly pat on the back as they walked inside the store. “Saw you talkin’ to Teddy. Reckon she’s right grateful to you for catchin’ that holdup man.” Penrod wove through the intricately stacked goods with practiced ease. Rhys followed. “Too bad about him gettin’ shot before the trial.”
Penrod had walked behind a small counter with a wall of pigeonholes behind it.
“A shame, yes,” Rhys replied. “Sheriff Blalock was greatly distressed that his prisoner escaped and endangered the life of Mr. Adams.”
“That saddle bum was short on smarts to stay around once he was free,” Penrod said. “Reckon he wanted to fill his pockets and his gullet before he headed for the border.” The storekeeper shrugged and looked around as if he didn’t already know there was no other customer in the store. He motioned Rhys in closer to the counter. “Tell you somethin’ though, I see things around here nobody else sees.” He made a wide sweeping gesture with his arm, one that encompassed the whole of the storefront. “All day I’m lookin’ out that big window glass at who rides in and who rides out. Sometimes I’m here late, workin’ my books. Between you and me I’ve seen that Luther fellow goin’ in the Diamond at all hours, sometimes after it’s closed.” A knowing smile slid onto Penrod’s face. “So I’d say that Luther was expectin’ to get somethin’ besides food and drink over there.”
Rhys smiled too. “Ah, you mean a woman.” He pulled the letter from his coat pocket and laid it on the counter.
“That or somethin’ else.” Penrod suggested as he rather absently took the letter and glanced at the address. “Anyhow Luther sure picked the wrong place this time. ’Course it didn’t do Parrish Adams any harm bein’ the one to gun him down. Made folks take notice—those that hadn’t already. Wouldn’t be surprised if Adams ran for mayor next election.” Rhys’s letter waved in Penrod’s hands punctuating each word he uttered. “Heck,” he went on, “way he’s been buyin’ up land around here he’ll soon own everything anyway.” Pausing, he took a closer look at the letter then glanced up at Rhys. “London,” he said. “Friend or family?”
“Friend,” Rhys replied, fearing Milt Penrod was about to prove as nosy as Mae Sprayberry. “How much is the postage?”
Sensing Rhys was in a hurry, Penrod quickly calculated the postage, took the money Rhys produced and handed back the change. “You expectin’ a reply?”
Rhys was silent for a long moment, wondering just how Alain would respond to his tardy letter. Surely Jenny’s son would not believe he was responsible for her death. Surely not. And yet the inner turmoil, which had never settled since that event, roiled more strongly within him as he considered the great risk he took in writing to Alain. Jenny’s son could alert London authorities and soon, though he was thousands of miles away, he could expect that he would be hunted down. But he had to do it. He had to tell Alain what he knew of Jenny’s death and he had to trust that Alain would be his ally in spite of the charges made against him.
“Perhaps,” he said quietly, then nodded a curt goodbye to Milt Penrod and wended his way out of the store in what was akin to a sleepwalker’s daze. He never consciously noticed the curious assortment of goods lining his path, those tall stacks of denim trousers, rows of sturdy leather boots and hatboxes labeled Stetson. Only one thing actually caught his eye, a long, framed-glass counter housing a selection of pistols, but even so, he did not stop to look.
Outside, he stood a moment on the sidewalk’s parched boards, breathed heavily of the fresh air then set a course for the Diamond. He needed a drink more than ever now, even though it was midmorning.
He found the Diamond quiet. The girls had not begun their workday, for which he was glad. He wanted a few moments of solitude to clear his mind before he looked for a game and an opportunity to replenish his empty purse. He thought, too, once he had done so, he might return to Penrod’s and purchase a pistol. The men who had assaulted him had taken the derringer he carried. And if he were going to be in Wishbone for a time, as it appeared he would, he wished to be armed.
He ordered whiskey and took the bottle to a table.
Mae did not allow drinking in her house. Despite his insistence that a good whiskey had medicinal qualities, she had refused him even a drop during his convalescence.
He slowly took the first swallow. The taste was sharp, the quality below grade, but it was t
he effect he was after. With the glass at his lips, he leaned his head back and allowed the raw heat of the whiskey to trickle down his throat. He felt his unsettled nerves calm as the heat penetrated.
“I can offer you better,” Parrish Adams announced matter-of-factly. He had come out into the saloon at once after Harley stepped from behind the bar and advised him that the Frenchman he’d been watching for had come in. “I keep a private stock of fine blended whiskey in my office and do enjoy sharing it with the few people in Wishbone who can appreciate the difference,” Adams added. As he talked he hooked his thumbs into the small vest pockets that held a hand-scrolled gold watch in addition to a heavy gold chain which stood out smartly against black silk. “If I am not off the mark, you are a man who appreciates fine things.”
“I’ve no aversion to them,” Rhys replied. “So if the offer is genuine, I accept.” He corked the bottle he had brought to the table and pushed it aside. “Adams, isn’t it?”
“Parrish Adams,” the other man said. “The Diamond is mine,” he explained as they walked off, “although saloon keeping isn’t my mainstay.” He stopped at the threshold of his office and ushered Rhys inside. “Ranching’s the primary thing for now,” he explained. “I’m building one of the biggest spreads in these parts and building the finest cattle herd in the territory. Out here that takes a lot of land.”
Rhys nodded. He would have settled for the good whiskey without the conversation. He still had Teddy on his mind. No woman had ever made him feel more useless. He considered the irony of it. She disdained all the qualities he’d spent a lifetime trying to acquire and admired those he’d left behind. Courtly demeanor and clever conversation were lost on her. She expected a man to prove his worth with hard work and sweat. If it didn’t have him in such a pinch it would all be laughable. Here he was in the wrong world with a longing for the wrong woman and a desperate need to figure out what he was going to do about it.
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