by Anna Schmidt
Seth raised his hands, releasing Mrs. Rosewood, and slowly turned to face his latest enemy. “Rudy Stock,” he drawled. “It’s been a long time.”
The outlaw ignored him. “You okay, Ma?”
“You let me worry about that. Didn’t you hear the fire bell? Before we know it, this town is gonna be crawling with folks. How the hell do you think we’re gonna make it out of here?”
Rudy hesitated.
“She’s got a point, Rudy,” Seth said. “Those saddlebags filled with loot are heavy, and they’ll slow you down.” He glanced down the alley toward the bank, hoping to see Sam, hoping to signal him to get going.
“Move,” Rudy instructed as he positioned his gun at the base of Seth’s neck.
Mrs. Rosewood—or whatever her real name was—led the way. “Where’s Orson?” she demanded when they were within ten feet of the others.
“Right here, Ma.” The other Stock brother emerged from the shadow of the bank’s side door, one arm wrapped tight around Sam’s throat. “Got ourselves a traitor here. What do you think I should do with him?”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Orson, shoot the boy or wring his fool neck, whichever is quicker. We need to move.” She took the reins of a horse and, with an agility that Seth would not have believed, hoisted herself into the saddle, pulling the skirt of her gown high over her knees to give her the access she needed. “And do the same with this one,” she added, pointing to Seth.
“One question,” Seth said. “Back there, you called me ‘detective,’ and I want to know how you knew. Your sons have always thought I was an outlaw—at least a gambler. One of their kind.”
She relaxed in the saddle, the reins still wrapped around the horn. “Your friend Miss Lillian has—”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Let me finish. I was about to say she has this bartender, Pete? Well, Pete Townsend is my uncle—he works with us. He figured it all out.”
“Pete wouldn’t betray Lilly.” Seth took a step closer.
“Oh, but he would,” she replied, and laughed. “Everybody has a price, Mr. Grover.” She turned her attention to her eldest son. “Are we done here?”
“Just have to clean up these last details, ma’am.” Orson wrestled Sam back into the bank, and Rudy shoved Seth to follow.
Once Seth and Sam had been pushed against the wall, Rudy pressed his gun to Sam’s temple. “How about you watch me shoot little brother here, Grover?”
Seth could see that Sam was trembling with fear, but there was little he could do about that. “How about you shut your filthy mouth, and listen to me—the both of you?”
“Okay,” Orson said, “we’re listening. I’d sure get a kick outta hearing you beg, but make it quick.”
“You’re being double-crossed,” Seth said, even as he racked his brain for some plausible story to back up that statement. He gained time when both brothers burst into laughter.
“You don’t say,” Orson managed finally. “I think you’ve got things backward, Grover. We’re pulling the double-cross here. The banker thinks he’s gonna be all right, but he’s gonna find out different.”
“Then how did I know where and when to be here tonight? And ask yourself if I would be so stupid as to try to take on half a dozen of you without backup.” He paused and pretended to listen intently. “It’s gotten mighty quiet out there where your ma is waiting.”
Both Stock brothers turned toward the door that led to the alley. That was Seth’s chance. “Go to the roof,” he ordered Sam as he rushed at both outlaws, pushing them into each other and the door, praying Rudy would drop his gun. He heard the clatter at the same time one brother threw his elbow into Seth’s face, and he heard a bone cracking.
Oblivious to the pain and the taste of blood that told him he’d been cut or his nose had been broken, he fought on as the two outlaws found their footing and fought back. He was aware of the sound of Sam’s boots on the metal stairs and nearby voices in the alley, shouting as horses whinnied and snorted. He hoped Sam had made the leap to the mercantile and managed to get to a horse, and was now racing for the fort. Knowing he couldn’t beat both men, he tried edging his way to the stairs with the intent of following Sam, but Rudy’s gun was still on the floor.
He had backed his way up three steps when Orson came for him, and he saw Rudy pick up the gun. Gripping the iron railings to either side of the stairs, he catapulted himself toward Orson, striking him full in the chest with his boots and sending him staggering back into his brother.
The sound of the gun going off was like an explosion in the small, dark hallway. Orson slumped to the floor, his body blocking his brother’s escape. Seeing his chance, Seth hurried up the stairs to the roof, where he found Sam curled into himself in a corner, sobbing.
“Come on, Sam, we gotta go,” he said gruffly, hoping it would spur his brother to action. Eventually, Rudy would realize he’d shot his brother, and he would be furious. He would come after Seth, and nothing would satisfy him but killing Sam—a brother for a brother. Seth understood that. Some things in the West were unwritten but inviolable laws.
Seth dragged Sam to his feet and to the far side of the roof. “Take a running start, and then jump,” he ordered. “It’s not as far as it looks, and it’ll be over before you have time to be scared.” He gave Sam a shove, and to his relief the kid took off, sailing through the night sky and disappearing.
Seth held his breath until he heard the thud of Sam landing on the roof of the mercantile, then he followed. Just as he flew through the air, he was pretty sure he smelled smoke and saw flames below.
* * *
After she had rung the bell long enough to rouse interest from the saloons at the far end of town, as well as the concern of guests now pouring out of the Baxter house and into the street, Amanda climbed down the ladder. But halfway down her dress got caught, and she was forced to waste precious moments freeing it. Her intent had been to direct both the men from the saloons and the party guests toward the alley, blocking off either end, so the outlaws could not escape. Instead, everyone was headed toward the plaza.
With a last desperate tug that ripped her dress, Amanda freed herself and ran toward the men from the saloons.
“Where’s the fire?” Ollie Taylor hollered.
“It’s the bank!” she yelled back. “It’s being robbed!”
As the two groups met and shouted to be heard above each other, suddenly there was the sound of a shotgun blast, and everyone froze. Sheriff Richter stood on the second rung of the bell tower ladder and fired the gun a second time to assure he had everyone’s attention.
“Folks, I don’t know what’s going on here or what kind of prank this little lady thinks she’s pulling, but there is no fire, and from where I’m standing, the bank looks just fine. Now everybody go about your business, and enjoy your evening.”
Amanda was dumbfounded to realize they believed the sheriff. Several men brushed past her and muttered rude comments, and she could hear Ezra’s guests gossiping about her as they slowly walked back to his house.
Meanwhile, across the way she saw the flicker of flames reflected in the side window of the pharmacy. “Fire!” she shouted, and pointed as Richter gripped her upper arm. “Fire!”
Thankfully, a few people looked back, saw what she’d seen, and took up the cry. Jim and his daughter ran toward the store, and Amanda took advantage of the sheriff’s momentary confusion to wrench free and join them.
Blessedly, the fire was not coming from inside the shop. Rather, they could see the flames through the open back door that led to the alley. Fumbling with his keys, Jim finally got the door unlocked, and the three raced toward the rear of the store, where the back door stood open.
When they reached the alley, Eli Baxter was emptying bottles of German bitters and Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound—both full of alcohol—to fuel the fire alrea
dy burning hot and spreading fast.
“Eli!” Amanda screamed, although she knew he would not hear her above the chaotic scene. Horses reared and pawed the air in panic as men yelled directions that went unheeded.
“Don’t go out there,” she heard Jim say, but she saw Seth running toward her.
“Go back!” They shouted the same words at the same time—each ordering the other to return to safety while both ignored the instructions.
Amanda was nearer to Eli. If she could just grab him and pull him inside the drugstore… But she had forgotten she was wearing a dress—a dress with a full skirt and layers of material. And as she screamed Eli’s name and held out her hand, she was too busy to notice that the flames had begun lapping at the hem of her gown, until Eli turned and dropped the bottle of Pinkham’s tonic. His eyes went wide with terror, and he froze as the fire spread around him.
“Take my hand,” Amanda begged, aware that her breathing was shallow, and her eyes stung. From behind her she felt two strong hands grab her waist and drag her away from Eli. “No!”
“Stop fighting me, Amanda,” the voice she had come to love ordered. He flung her into waiting arms, and before she knew what was happening, she found herself on the floor as Ginny Matthews batted at the smoldering dress, and Jim doused her with water from a bucket he kept near the back door.
“Seth!” she shouted as she peered through the smoke and haze to see what was happening. A moment later, two figures stumbled into the drugstore, and Jim shut the door behind them.
Seth had Eli slung over his shoulder. He lowered the boy onto the counter and turned to Jim and Ginny. “You got this?” he demanded, and when they nodded and turned their attention to Eli, Seth knelt next to Amanda. “Woman, you are going to be the death of me yet. Now will you please stay put and let me handle this?”
Amanda coughed and felt her chest burn as if the fire had infiltrated her body. “Stop bossing me around,” she managed to croak. “I could have saved Eli, if only—”
“It’s not Eli I’m worried about. It’s you.”
“I don’t see why. I am perfectly capable of—”
Seth pulled her close so their faces nearly touched. “You want to know why? How about because I care about you? How about because I’m in love with you? How about because I’ve been thinking we might spend the rest of the time we’ve got together? How about—”
All she heard before she passed out was I’m in love with you.
* * *
“She needs a doctor,” Seth said as he eased an unconscious Amanda to the floor. “Do something.” He could see that Eli Baxter sat upright, his face and hands blackened but otherwise seemingly all right, while Amanda’s breath came in spurts and she wasn’t moving. Meanwhile, he heard gunshots from the alley, and his first thought was of Sam. He stood and found himself face to face with the pharmacist. “I’ve got to…my brother’s out there.”
“Go,” Matthews said as he opened the door just enough for Seth to squeeze through without allowing too much smoke in. “That fire’s getting close. We’ll get them both back to the boardinghouse. Go…I won’t let Amanda…”
The two men looked at each other for one split second, and in that instant, both understood that the other loved Amanda, and that Amanda would be the one to choose.
Another gunshot, and Seth was surrounded by smoldering debris that had fed the fire and a heavy fog of smoke that made seeing what was happening impossible. He eased his way down the alley until he could make out the players outside the bank. Behind him he heard the clang of the fire wagon and the cries of the townspeople as they formed a bucket brigade to squelch the inferno. Ahead he saw the limp bodies of the soldiers who had delivered the payload and the outlaws mounting their horses as they prepared to make their escape. He did not see Sam, and that made his mind run wild with scenarios he did not want to consider—most ending with some version of Sam being dead.
He saw a figure exit the side door of the bank and then a second man—a man he recognized as the sheriff. He moved closer. The first man was Rudy Stock, shaking hands with the sheriff as he handed Richter a fat envelope Seth suspected was stuffed with currency. They clasped hands, and then the sheriff turned to go.
Richter hadn’t gotten three steps when Rudy shot him in the back. Calmly, the outlaw twirled his six-shooter and replaced it in its holster as he walked to the sheriff’s lifeless body, kicked it with the toe of his boot, and then bent and retrieved the envelope of money.
“Let’s ride, boys!” he called out as he mounted his horse and passed the envelope to his mother.
The far end of the alley was unobstructed. Everyone was focused on the fire. Eli’s ploy had backfired, and now the Stock gang would get away clean. Seth knew he had to do something, but what? He had no horse. His ankle had swollen so much he certainly couldn’t run.
But he had a gun. And he knew how to use it.
He hurried forward and took aim at the outlaw most likely to cause the others to stop. The very woman he had sat next to at meals for the last several weeks.
Seth squeezed off a round and smiled when he saw her hat go flying through the air. She yelped and ducked. Of course, that startled her horse which, having already endured gunshots and a fire, was inclined to rear or bolt.
Seth ducked as the horse leapt over the wagon and raced down the alley.
“I’ll kill you with my bare hands,” he heard a voice shout, and the next thing he knew he was on the ground, wrestling with Rudy Stock.
Eleven
“Where’s Seth?” Amanda asked the minute she regained consciousness. Ginny and Jim knelt next to her. “I need to…” She started to get to her feet but began coughing and sank back to the floor. Her chest felt as if it had been filled with wet mud, her throat like it was lined in sand.
“He’ll be fine,” Ginny assured her just as they heard a gunshot followed by a horse’s shrieks and hoofbeats pounding past the door of the pharmacy.
“Help me up,” Amanda pleaded. “I have to know. I have to see.”
Using Jim’s shoulder as support, she pushed herself to her feet and stumbled to the door. When she stepped into the alley, Ollie and other men from town were moving toward her, sloshing water onto the remains of the fire.
“They’re going to get away,” she managed to say, although surely, since she was waving her hands wildly in the direction of the horses gathered at the other end of the alley, her message should be clear.
She was just able to make out Seth’s familiar form when she saw a large man throw himself on him.
“No!” she choked as she stumbled forward, unheeding of the footsteps behind her and the pleas for her to wait. “Stop!”
“Oh, Amanda, thank heaven,” a woman cried. “These horrible men were taking me as their hostage, and who knows…”
Still dazed, Amanda peered into the darkness. “Mrs. Rosewood?”
The next thing she knew, someone had his brawny, smelly forearm around her neck and was dragging her backward. “Ma, this here’s the one saw me shoot the prospector.”
Ma?
Amanda’s eyes sought and found Seth, who looked as if he might be ready to singlehandedly take on the gang—and their mother. “Let her go,” he growled. “You need a hostage, take me. Wells Fargo will pay the ransom.”
None of this made sense to Amanda. Mild-mannered Mrs. Rosewood was the mother of outlaws? And why would Wells Fargo care in the least what happened to Seth? She needed answers, but she could hardly breathe, much less raise questions, with her body pressed against the outlaw.
Recalling a stage tactic that a friend had once shown her for faking a faint, she allowed her body to go limp, and in the instant it took for the man holding her to adjust to this shift in her weight, she drove her elbow into his midsection with all her might as she twisted away from him. The air came out of him with a satisfying whoosh.
> What happened next was a blur of motion and noise. Gunshots as Jim and others dove for cover. Seth coming toward her as he fell face down in the street. Behind him, Mrs. Rosewood slowly lowering the gun still smoking from the discharge.
Amanda dodged the outlaw’s attempt to recapture her.
“Leave her,” she heard Mrs. Rosewood order. “I should never have believed you boys could pull this off. Now mount up, and let’s get out of here before that mob strings us all up from the nearest tree.”
To Amanda’s surprise, all the men followed her orders, mounting their horses and riding away hard and fast. At the far end of the alley, she saw shadowy figures moving toward her through the smoke from the extinguished fire. She knew they were calling to her, but she couldn’t make out their words.
All she knew for sure was that if Seth was dead, then she had lost everything she had ever dreamed of having in her life. And if that was the case, what did she care if outlaws got away? What did she care about anything? Without Seth, she had no future, and Amanda had spent far too much time daydreaming about her perfect future to let anything—or anyone—stop her now.
* * *
Seth felt the balm of water, drops that dotted his face and trickled down his cheeks to his neck. He was cradled against someone—a woman—and for an instant he thought maybe in death a fellow returned to his youth, and the days of being held by his mother. That was comforting.
He struggled to open his eyes, wanting to see what things were like on the other side. But the searing pain in his back made it impossible to focus. There was a woman all right, and she was crying, which explained the wetness on his face. There were others as well, crowding around, shouting orders, tugging at the woman holding him.
“Come on, Amanda,” he heard a man say. “Let me take a look at him.” Seth thought he knew that voice—the pharmacist.
He understood then that he was not dead, and the woman holding him was not his mother, but Amanda. He fought for full consciousness so he could reassure her that it would take more than a bullet in the shoulder to keep him from spending the rest of his days with her. But then he heard another voice, also male, but rougher. The banker.