Last Chance Cowboys: The Outlaw

by Anna Schmidt

  “Hotter than hell in here,” Ollie grumbled as he brushed past Seth and shut the door. Seconds later, he heard Ollie shout, “Hold it down, will ya? Some of us have to work tonight.” The window slammed shut, silencing the sounds from the yard next door. But nothing could shut out the image of Amanda looking at Jim Matthews and laughing as the druggist assured her she was safe.

  Seth lay down on the cool sheets of his bed. Even though his room was at the front of the boardinghouse, away from the Baxter property, with the window open he could hear the faint aftermath of the game—the boy chiding his sister, the housekeeper suggesting cold lemonade, and most of all, Amanda’s laughter. The likelihood that he would get any sleep now was probably not good. On top of that, he could smell the chicken and peppers Bessie was preparing for supper. He wondered if she’d told Miss Dooley he was back. He wondered if he might be able to change his mind about joining the others for the meal. He wondered if he would be able to eat while listening to Amanda regale everyone with details of the baseball game.

  Later, when he reached the dining room, he needn’t have worried about the evening’s conversation. There was none. He glanced around the table and saw everyone focused on the food. Bessie came and went, removing dishes and bringing dessert. Ollie muttered something and left for work. Mrs. Rosewood went to her room. Miss Jensen tried to gain his attention, but Amanda kept her eyes on her dish of butterscotch pudding, scraping the last remnants of the dessert from the sides of the small glass bowl before dabbing her napkin to the corners of her mouth and standing.

  “Lovely meal, Miss Dooley,” she said. “I think I’ll take a short walk before turning in.”

  Seth saw his chance and hastily devoured the rest of his dessert before rising as well. By the time he grabbed his hat and reached the street, Amanda was at least a block ahead of him. She walked with purpose, nodding to the few people she passed along the way. He had crossed the street to keep her in view and was about to break into a trot to catch up when he realized she was not just out for a walk. She was entering the drugstore—Jim Matthews’s drugstore. As soon as she was inside, someone—Jim, he assumed—shut the door and turned the sign that dangled from a string to read Closed.

  Seth slowed his pace to a stroll. He crossed the street again, mostly deserted at this time of day, and continued down a side street. As he passed the alley behind the row of shops, he noticed the back door to the drugstore was open. It wouldn’t hurt to check on her—to be sure Matthews wasn’t taking advantage.

  He edged his way closer to the rear entrance and heard Amanda’s laugh. There was another female voice, and he realized that Jim’s daughter Ginny was also inside. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

  “I’m sure Mr. Grover…” The rest was lost to the sound of a wagon rattling by on the side street. By the time the creaking vehicle passed, Ginny was the one talking. Her voice was high-pitched with excitement, and again he heard Amanda laugh. “Slow down,” she said.

  So this was a meeting to plan something—but what? Knowing Amanda, she was about to place herself and Matthews and his daughter in some situation that could turn dangerous in a hurry. Should he make his presence known? Act as if he’d just been passing by and thought maybe he might buy an after-hours sarsaparilla to ease the lingering heat of the day?

  How about tending to your own business, Grover? How about concentrating on the fact that something is going down soon, and you don’t yet know what it is? How about you stop mooning over Amanda Porterfield and do your damn job?

  Resolutely, he turned away from the shop and headed back to the boardinghouse. He would leave Amanda a note about the Baxter kid’s midnight ventures then collect his jacket—and his gun. Not once since coming to Tucson had he forgotten to strap on his gun belt whenever he left the boardinghouse…until now. This fascination with Amanda had to stop before he got himself shot.

  * * *

  As she joined the others for breakfast the following morning, Amanda used the silence to recall her meeting with Jim and his daughter the evening before. She had no doubt that Jim Matthews was the kind of man her mother would think of as a perfect match. “Opposites attract,” Constance Porterfield often preached to her four children. “Just look at your father and me—two more different people never walked this earth, and yet never was there a love story like ours.”

  It seemed ever since Amanda’s father died, her mother had been on a mission to find proper matches for her children, Chet for Maria, and Addie for Jess. Now Amanda supposed it was her turn. And the truth was she found Jim appealing—as a friend, and someone with whom she could discuss anything. She knew that working with him on the jail reform project would not only be productive, but also fun. He had great ideas, and his daughter Ginny was a fireball of energy. The way he’d immediately agreed to Amanda’s idea of working with Eli on his baseball skills showed him to be a man of kindness. Oh yes, her mother was going to love Jim Matthews.

  The problem was that Amanda still spent a good deal of time thinking about Seth. Whenever she was around him, she found herself paying far too much attention to the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders, or the way his hands seemed hardened by work, but at the same time could handle one of Miss Dooley’s crystal glasses as the fragile thing it was. His eyes fascinated her—the way he appeared to notice everything without seeming to be looking around. And those dimples! The way he didn’t have to deliver a full-blown smile to bring them to life. She refused to allow herself to consider his mouth, because that inevitably led to images of those lips meeting hers. The way her breath quickened whenever she had such thoughts told her she was unlikely to abandon the memories kissing him stirred.

  And that would, of course, be a disaster. A man like Seth Grover had no doubt made love to a string of women. He certainly would not be satisfied with a couple of kisses.

  “Are you unwell again, Miss Porterfield?”

  Amanda roused herself from her thoughts when Mrs. Rosewood dared raise this question in spite of the mandate not to speak during meals. Everyone around the breakfast table looked up from their plates and stared at her.

  “Because you are quite flushed, my dear,” Mrs. Rosewood continued. “I do hope you will have the good sense to isolate yourself if you are coming down with something—no doubt something you picked up from those children or your new friends at the jail.”

  For an instant, Amanda’s gaze settled on Seth. He was watching her intently, a slight frown marring his handsome features. Did he agree with the widow? Was he afraid she might be carrying some malady that could infect him and the others?

  “I am well,” she murmured, embarrassed to have attention called to her, especially when she was all too aware that any rosiness in her cheeks had been brought on by thoughts of kissing Seth. Well, what else was a girl to do but daydream when normal conversation had been banned? “If you will all excuse me, I have a busy day ahead of me,” she announced as she stood and placed her napkin on her chair, then left the room. As she climbed the stairs, she could hear the others speculating on her health.

  “Did you not think she looked feverish, Mr. Grover?” Mrs. Rosewood demanded.

  Amanda paused on the stairs, curious in spite of herself to hear Seth’s reply. “I find Miss Porterfield to be one of the liveliest and most energetic people I’ve ever met,” he said. “Perhaps, as she said, the tasks ahead of her today were on her mind and caused her some momentary discomfort.”

  Good heavens, the man was talking about her as if she were livestock—lively and energetic, indeed. She heard Miss Dooley clear her throat, a definite signal that this particular discussion was at an end. In the ensuing silence, Amanda went to her room, shut the door, and sat on the edge of her bed trying to control her ire at Seth’s analysis of her.

  She saw the folded piece of paper lying just inside the door and immediately recognized the handwriting as Seth’s. “What now?” she mutt
ered as she bent to collect the note.

  We need to talk. Name a time and place. S

  Who did he think he was? Did he really think she would dance to his tune? Well, she wouldn’t.

  She unfolded the paper fully and noticed an addendum.

  It’s about the Baxter boy.

  What could Seth have to tell her about Eli? He’d already passed along Ollie’s warning, and indeed, Amanda was aware of Eli’s mischievous side, which bordered on something far more serious. But getting him involved with Jim Matthews might be the solution she had hoped for. Eli now came to class with his homework done, and he fully participated in the work she assigned. Of course, that was because she held out the carrot of time for baseball worked into the day’s schedule.

  She turned the paper over, just in case Seth had provided other information. The back was blank. She refolded the note and tapped it against her palm. She really could not afford to ignore Seth, if indeed he had information about Eli.

  Tomorrow was Sunday and her day off. She had planned to rent a horse and ride back to the ranch to surprise her family. At breakfast, she would state her intention and hope that Seth picked up on the hint.

  Sure enough, she had barely left Tucson behind on the following morning when she saw a lone rider coming across the desert. The man was dressed in black, but this was not Seth. This man was larger, heavier. Once again, she had allowed her impulsive nature to overrule her common sense. She thought of Seth’s warning that night he’d found her walking alone.

  She spurred her mount and the roan took off at a trot. She had foolishly believed that dressing in her brother’s clothes might allow her to pass anyone she might meet unnoticed. But that had not exactly worked that night in town. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the stranger spot her and turn his mount in her direction. Her heart pounded as she tried to decide what to do.

  She knew that Fort Lowell was only a couple of miles away, but the other rider was closing in on her. “Oh please, let someone come,” she whispered as she urged the horse to a full gallop.

  Her prayers were answered when she saw a prospector walking across the range, leading a pack mule. She turned her horse and rode toward him.

  “Hello!” she called, then immediately realized the need to lower the tone of her voice, if she was going to be seen as a boy.

  The prospector looked at her and then at the rider coming her way. He waved, but it was not a greeting. He seemed to be waving her away, as if to warn her. She hesitated, saw the other rider turn toward the prospector, and used the opportunity to ride away as fast and as far as she could get from the two men.

  Still, she was not so far away that she missed hearing the single gunshot, and when she looked back, she saw the prospector lying on the ground, and the other rider headed back the way he’d come. Amanda reined in her horse.

  She felt bile rise in her throat and her entire body shook. A man had been shot. What should she do? Her instinct was to go to the prospector’s aid. But what if the other rider came back?

  Well, she couldn’t just leave the man lying there. She turned her horse’s head and rode back to where the prospector lay moaning, blood pouring from the shot that had hit him in the chest. “Oh no, you don’t,” she muttered as she slid from her horse and ran to him. “You are not going to die if I can help it, do you understand?”

  The man opened his eyes, then smiled and closed them again. “Made it straight to heaven,” he whispered.

  “Not yet, you didn’t,” Amanda grumbled as she searched for something she could use to stem the flow of blood. She pulled the prospector’s blanket free of his pack mule and wadded it into as tight a ball as she could, then shoved it against the wound, the way she’d once seen her father do when one of their horses had gotten tangled in a barbed wire fence. The man let out a yelp of pain that echoed across the barren land.

  “Sorry.” She sat back on her haunches and saw dust in the distance—a sure sign of somebody coming their way. She prayed it was not the shooter returning.

  “Lie still,” she instructed the man. “Help is on the way.” She hoped she wasn’t mistaken as she shielded her eyes with one hand and waited for the dust to clear. It was a wagon, so not Seth—or the shooter.

  “Stay put,” she said again as she mounted her horse and headed toward the wagon, praying the vehicle did not represent even more danger. She was thinking of her father, who had been left to die alone, and she no longer saw the prospector lying there. She saw her father.

  “Help!” she shouted as she rode toward the wagon. “We need help.”

  To her relief, the wagon slowed, then turned in her direction. Two people were on the seat, one of them female. Surely, that was good. Amanda let out a breath. “Over here!” she shouted.

  As the wagon came closer, she realized the driver was Jim Matthews, and Ginny was with him. She felt her breathing steady for the first time since she’d spotted the rider in black. She jerked off her hat and waved it high above her head. “He’s been shot,” she shouted, pointing to the prospector. “He needs a doctor.”

  Jim pulled his team to a halt and leapt down to examine the situation. “What on earth happened?” he asked as he checked the man’s shallow breathing and instructed Ginny to bring him the tablecloth from their picnic basket. Amanda filled him in on the bare details.

  “If we could lift him into your wagon, we’re closer to Whitman Falls, and I’m sure Addie could help. Of course, my family’s ranch is even closer, but we’d still have to wait for Addie and…”

  “Ginny, you take Amanda’s horse and ride ahead to town and get Addie. Meet us at the Porterfield ranch—Addie will know the way. Amanda, let’s get this old-timer bandaged up as best we can and into the wagon.” He gently pulled the blanket free of the wound, but the man still cried out in pain. “Check his pack, Addie. My guess is there will be a bottle of whiskey in there somewhere.”

  She did as he asked and found a full pint-sized bottle to bring him. “Should I try to get him to drink it?”

  Jim nodded. “But just as much as it takes for him to pass out. We’ll need the rest to clean the wound.”

  Amanda knelt next to the prospector and lifted his head. Eagerly, he sought the bottle, and she had to take care the precious liquid didn’t spill down his chin. “Easy there,” she said softly. Meanwhile, she heard Jim ripping the tablecloth into strips.

  “What are you and Ginny doing out here?” she asked as she doled out the whiskey in small sips. To her surprise, Jim smiled.

  “Ginny had this idea that we should go on a picnic, and then she suggested we stop by the boardinghouse and see if you might want to join us. When Miss Dooley told us you’d gone home for the day, nothing would satisfy my daughter but that we set off after you. We could be company for you on the ride back to town.”

  “And you fell for that?” Amanda said as she recapped the bottle of whiskey and eased the prospector’s head to the ground.

  “Let’s just say I didn’t object.”

  Their eyes met for a long moment, and Amanda thought again what a good man this was and how she might make a good life with him. “You do understand that Ginny is matchmaking?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, not taking his gaze off her. “Like I said before, I didn’t object.”

  The prospector’s loud snore broke the moment, and Amanda passed the whiskey bottle to Jim, who soaked a larger piece of the tablecloth with the potent liquid and pressed it onto the wound. The man startled but did not cry out, so Amanda and Jim wrapped and bandaged the wound with strips of cloth. As they worked, their heads were close together and their hands brushed often. Amanda was aware of Jim’s long fingers, his freshly shaven face, and the scent of piñon soap.

  And once again, she could not stop herself from making comparisons—ones that still had Jim Matthews coming out the loser.

  * * *

  On his
way to get his horse and catch up with Amanda, Seth ran into Rusty, the prisoner from the jail.

  “Hey, Grover,” Rusty called out. He kept glancing over his shoulder as he skulked close to the shade provided by the shops. He was obviously more than just nervous. The man was scared.

  “Rusty.” Seth acknowledged him but kept his tone brusque on purpose. “I see you got off.”

  “Yeah, well, they don’t fool me. That sheriff’s got it in for me, so I might as well be dead. And that ain’t all. That stuff I talked to you about? You done anything with that?”

  “Look, I have an appointment I need to keep, Rusty. Good seeing you.” Seth attempted to move past the man, but Rusty stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “You need to move now,” Seth told him.

  “I’m begging you, man. Take me with you wherever you’re heading. If they see me with you, they’ll think everything’s jack. They been watching you, but the kid they’ve got with them told them he knew you from some jobs pulled back north.”

  Seth had to work hard not to react to this bit of information. The man had to be talking about his brother. “Look, I don’t know who ‘they’ are, but my advice would be to put some distance between you and whoever you think might want to see you dead. Other than that, I can’t help you.”

  “I helped you—told you what you wanted to know.” The man was near tears.

  “You didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know.” He pulled some coins from his pocket and pressed them into the man’s palm. “Stagecoach will be through in an hour. I suggest you get yourself a ticket and be on it when it pulls out. Now, let me pass.”

  Rusty studied the money. “Okay,” he whispered. “Yeah, okay.”

  Seth walked the rest of the way to the livery, where he collected his horse and rode out of town, trying to make up for lost time. He was familiar with the trail that led to Whitman Falls and pretty sure that was where he would catch up to Amanda. Once he did, he intended to tell her about the Baxter boy’s adventures and leave it at that. He had more important work to do than to worry about the banker’s kid. Now that he had his best reason yet to believe that Sam was part of the gang, he needed to focus his attention on making sure his brother didn’t end up dead.