They rode in silence to the boardinghouse. Dade jumped off his gelding and helped her down, careful to keep his touch proper. He wished to hell he could keep his thoughts the same, but feeling the tremors in her had him longing to pull her close.
As soon as her feet hit the ground, she moved out of his grasp. “Thank you for the lessons.”
He suspected she meant more than riding a horse. “I’ll let you know when we’ll leave at supper.”
“All right. I’ll pack and be ready to go.”
Yep, he imagined she would be in more ways than one.
He led the horses to the livery, going over what needed to be done after he finished rubbing down the horses. He’d need to secure a packhorse and supplies, but not too many provisions as they needed to move as quickly as possible from here.
That meant traveling light with just the bare essentials. He dreaded thinking how a woman would complain over that news.
“You the sheriff?” a man asked, stepping into Dade’s path after he’d corralled the horses and stepped from the livery.
“I am.” He faced the man and carefully freed his gun hand, taking the man’s measure and sensing no threat. “You are?”
“Adam Tavish, U.S. Marshal,” he said. “I need a word with you when you can spare the time.”
Dade turned back to the mare and picked up the brush he’d dropped. “Talk away, Marshal.”
“Received a wire from Lionel Payne saying his bank had been robbed yesterday,” Tavish said.
He swore under his breath, guessing the reason for the marshal’s visit to town. “Yep, but if you’re looking for particulars, you’d best ask Payne or the mayor. I wasn’t in town at the time.”
“That’s what I heard,” Tavish said. “What I found interesting is that the Logan Gang was responsible, and you just happen to be a Logan.”
Dade faced the marshal again, and this time there was no mistaking the cool regard on the lawman’s face. “I’ve done told Mayor Willis and Payne that I had nothing to do with the hold up or the gang that did it.”
“Even though you’re Clete Logan’s son?”
“I haven’t laid eyes on my pa or my uncles since I was eight years old,” he said. “Don’t rightly care if I ever do again.”
Tavish stared at him, as if deciding what to believe. “Heard you were orphaned and taken in by Kirby Morris.”
“Who told you that?”
“Reid Barclay.”
Now there was another sore spot, but this one he didn’t aim to discuss with Tavish or anyone. “My deputy and me found out that the Logan Gang had been holed up in a mine north of here all winter.”
Tavish folded his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels, his features closed. “Then you must know a bounty hunter caught up with them. One dead and one close to it.”
Dade stared at the man, willing him to give their names. But Tavish just met his gaze without blinking. He was forcing Dade to ask for details, and damned if he’d give the lawman the satisfaction.
He’d find out sooner or later.
“Seth Logan died,” Tavish said. “Brice will be locked up, but between you and me he’ll likely die from his wounds before he goes to trial.”
One uncle dead. One dying. He didn’t attempt to drum up sympathy he didn’t feel. If the marshal thought him heartless, so be it. Like Kirby had taught him, you reap what you sow.
“Allis Carson will make a haul off their rewards,” Dade said. “What about Clete Logan?”
“He got away, but Carson vowed to bring your pa in,” Tavish said.
That was a given. So was the fact that his pa would vow to take down the bounty hunter for killing his brothers. The Logan Gang didn’t give a damn about their women and children, but they were fiercely loyal to each other.
“Carson thinks you’re the key to finding him,” Tavish said.
Dade figured as much. “Because I happen to be the sheriff in the town the Logan Gang robbed?”
Tavish nodded. “That and the fact that they wintered in a mine not far from here.”
Damn. If Allis Carson was convinced Dade could lead him to Clete Logan, he’d never be free of him.
“That was a surprise to me. Course I didn’t venture any further than I had to last winter.”
“It was a brutal one. I spent the winter in Maverick, Wyoming,” Tavish said, and Dade went as cold as ice inside. “There was talk in town that you and Trey March had rustled cattle off the Crown Seven the year before.”
“Bullshit! They were our cattle.”
Tavish nodded. “That’s what Barclay claimed.”
Dade stared at him, unable to believe the brother who’d sold him out had also backed up his claim. Had Reid had a change of heart?
He had trouble believing that. It’d been late last summer when he’d gotten word that Reid was back at the Crown.
It’d been the first time that he’d heard they all had until Christmas to claim their shares. He hadn’t been surprised that Reid had gotten there first.
“Was Trey March there too?” Dade asked.
Tavish shook his head. “Nope. Just Barclay.”
So Reid owned the Crown now. “What took you up north?”
“Tracking a horse rustler.”
“Reid’s thoroughbreds would be a temptation to a rustler,” he said. “He running cattle on the Crown again too?”
Tavish shrugged. “Right before I headed out of town I heard he sold the ranch.”
“Makes no never mind to me,” Dade said, which was a damned lie.
Anger speared through Dade, as hot and fresh as the day he’d heard that Reid had sold them out to Kirby’s cousin and gained majority shares. Kirby hadn’t been cold in his grave before his cousin ordered Trey and Dade to pay up or lose their shares.
Only way they could do that was to sell off their share of the herd. It was worth it to keep the land–the only home they’d ever known.
But when they went to sell the stock, the sheriff informed them they’d been charged with rustling. Didn’t matter that it was their own cattle because nobody believed them. They’d been double-crossed by Kirby’s cousin and Reid.
They lost their shares of the ranch and the cattle and the last of their family. They lost faith in their brother.
Trey hired on with a rancher he’d met at the stockyards. Dade decided it was past time that he find his sister. They’d promised to keep in touch, but Dade hadn’t heard from Trey since then. Hell, he didn’t even know where he was at.
He shook off his ire the best he could. That was part of his past, and he had no intentions of going back down that rocky road. If and when he did, it’d be to have it out with Reid.
“For what it’s worth, most folks I talked to in town are pleased with the job you’ve done here,” Tavish said. “That includes your deputy who speaks mighty highly of you.”
“Duane’s a good man from a good family.”
“He seemed worried about this woman Allis Carson is looking for,” Tavish said. “Swore that his description of her was nigh identical to a good many women in these parts, your sister being one of them.”
“That it is,” Dade said, and debated whether to show part of his hand now or not. “You hear why he’s after this woman?”
Tavish nodded. “Said she stole a hundred dollars or so off the lady of the house as well as a broach that’s a Nowell family heirloom.”
“Seems that piece of jewelry would be the easiest way to find her then,” Dade said.
“Unless she’s hocked it by now.” Tavish scrubbed a hand over his nape. “Seems a lot of fuss to go to for so little.”
“I thought the same.” And he still did.
It was the part of Maggie’s story that he found questionable. He hadn’t pressed her for answers before but he would once they left town.
That had to be soon. And it had to be done with forethought.
The plan he had in mind could backfire and have the marshal thinking that he and Maggie intende
d to meet up with Clete Logan all along, that the robbery had been set up with the Logan siblings conveniently gone from town that day. But if the marshal was as smart as Dade suspected, he’d see that notion was just too cut and dried.
Doc would back up what had taken them away–that Maggie had stayed on to help the Orshlin family and Dade had simply ridden out to check on his sister. The hold up was as much a shock to them as it’d been to the townsfolk.
Two events cast doubt on Dade’s story. He had ridden into town on the heels of a fracas that had taken the former sheriff’s life. About the same time, the Logan Gang set up camp in Myron Zule’s mine before Zule was cold in his grave.
There’s no way in hell Dade could convince Allis Carson that he wasn’t in cahoots with the gang. The truth could be interpreted two ways, and Dade had no proof to back up his claim.
He’d be on their trail unless Dade created a false one.
“You like being sheriff?” Tavish asked.
This time Dade spoke the truth. “Not particularly. All I ever wanted to do was raise cattle. Been thinking of heading back to Maverick with Daisy. She’d like it up there.”
So would he, now that Reid had sold the ranch and was gone.
“It’s a nice town,” Tavish said. “Reckon you’re homesick.”
Sick that he’d been swindled out of his home was more like it, but he kept that to himself.
Dade hoped that was enough to send the bounty hunter in that direction. By the time he realized his mistake, Dade and Maggie would be heading east to the settlement where Daisy was adopted off the train.
“You say Allis Carson is heading back here?” Dade asked.
The marshal nodded. “Likely tomorrow. Can’t see how he could get out of Denver any sooner.”
The bounty hunter could if he took the train.
If Allis Carson arrived before Dade could leave, he’d never shake the bastard. Hell, he stood a chance of losing Maggie if he failed to convince the man she was his sister.
That meant they’d best leave town before dawn. Even then they’d risk crossing paths with the bounty hunter.
“When are you and your sister planning to leave?” Tavish asked.
“In the morning.”
They’d have to take the north road out of town to look convincing. Somehow they’d have to cut off through the hills far enough north of town that nobody would notice.
From there it’d be a rough ride across trails best fit for wild game. And the whole damned time he’d have to hope that the bounty hunter hadn’t picked up their trail and wasn’t following them.
Dade knew it’d be like the man to lie in wait until they least expected trouble. Then he’d swoop in and grab Maggie. He wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet through Dade’s heart in the process.
“I take it you haven’t told Mayor Willis you’re leaving,” Tavish said.
“Nope, but when I hired on I told them all it was just temporary until I found my sister.”
Tavish’s rugged features softened. “You been separated from her long?”
“Twenty years or so.”
Dade shook his head, finding it mighty peculiar that he still felt that sting of abandonment so keenly after all this time.
“That’s a lifetime for some,” Tavish said, and Dade nodded agreement, knowing that was true.
If only they hadn’t separated him from his sister in the orphanage. If they’d just kept the family together and not sent her off on a damned orphan train.
“You planning on sticking around?” Dade asked.
“Nope. I’m being sent down to Pueblo. From what I saw, your deputy is going to do just fine.”
Dade surely hoped so. At least his fear that the Logan Gang would return to cause trouble was gone.
“Guess I’ll look up Mayor Willis and turn in my badge,” Dade said, and felt a weight lift off him at the thought.
He wasn’t an outlaw by any stretch, but he wasn’t cut out to be a lawman either. Nope, he was a sodbuster at heart.
Maybe one day he’d own a small spread. Farm a bit. Run some cattle.
Alone?
His thoughts turned to a beguiling woman with lips like honey and blue eyes a man could drown in.
Maggie Sutten was all wrong for him. She had plans for her life, and they surely didn’t include him. But that didn’t stop the wanting.
Nope, the next month was going to test his patience and the promise he had made her to keep his hands to himself.
The ride tomorrow was going to kill her.
Maggie pressed a hand to the small of her back and straightened from packing her satchel. Muscles she hadn’t known she had were aching something fierce. What she wouldn’t give to soak in the mineral waters in Manitou Springs about now.
Of course that wasn’t a possibility since they were headed east. To Kansas, of all places.
She folded another day dress as best she could and tucked it into her satchel. Thankfully she hadn’t taken much with her when she fled Harlan Nowell’s house. Escapes in the night tended to require that one pack lightly.
But she had to add one item to her wardrobe–if it could be found in town, that is. She had to buy more suitable riding attire. The dress and petticoats just wouldn’t do for a journey on horseback.
Unfortunately she had very little money, barely enough to pay for necessities once she reached St. Louis. But since she couldn’t sew a stitch, she had no choice but to buy ready wear.
“Are you still down in the back?” Mrs. Gant asked from the doorway.
“Some.” An understatement. “Do you suppose they sell riding skirts at the mercantile?”
“I’d be surprised if they did.” Mrs. Gant folded her arms over her generous bosom. “You’re still planning to leave on a horse?”
“Dade insists, and I agree it is the wisest course.” Though certainly not the most practical.
She had gone a long way toward learning how to tamp down her terror and control the horse, but she was still by no means ready to ride on her own. Yet she suspected that was exactly the picture Dade would present tomorrow when they left town.
“I may have just what you need,” Mrs. Gant said. “I’ll need your help finding it.”
The older woman turned and hurried down the hall to the far door, her limp more pronounced today than usual. Maggie wondered if the woman was beset by arthritis or if her infirmity was the result of an accident.
They mounted the stairs to the attic. Crescent windows in both gables let light in, but the years of dust coupled with an unusual assortment of trunks and the like absorbed the light.
Thankfully, Mrs. Gant made her way to a large trunk standing near the south windows. A swath of light played over the colorful stickers pasted haphazardly on the trunk.
“This has certainly journeyed far and wide,” Maggie said, fascinated by the places this trunk had been. “My, even Paris.”
Mrs. Gant’s smile was wistful as she ran a finger over that particular stamp. “That was a wondrous summer. Our troupe drew a goodly crowd every night.”
“Troupe?” Maggie asked.
“Bender’s Wild West Extravaganza. We traveled all over the world performing for ten years.”
“Did you sing?”
“Oh, yes.”
Maggie waited for her to go on, intrigued by the life this woman must have led. But Mrs. Gant fell silent as she fussed with the old clasp.
“There we go,” she said as the trunk finally creaked open.
One side of the trunk held garments on wooden hangers. The brilliant hues of the fabrics proved they were costumes.
“These were yours?” Maggie asked, fingering the rich velvets and silks.
“Most of them.”
Clearly the woman was closing the door on what had to have been an exciting past. If the costumes could talk, Maggie was sure she’d hear about a fascinating life in a world that few ladies knew anything about.
Mrs. Gant opened the middle drawer on the other side of the trunk an
d removed a dark blue garment. “Some years back a married couple arrived in town on horseback,” she said as she held the garment by the waistband and let it unfold.
“A riding skirt,” Maggie said, not quite believing her eyes or her luck.
“She called it a split skirt, and the quality of it told me she had come from money and from an area where such garments were necessary.”
Maggie agreed with that assessment. Whoever owned this garment had had it specially made.
“She left it here. You’re welcome to it,” Mrs. Gant said, and passed it into Maggie’s hands.
She clutched it close and resisted the urge to run to her room and try it on. It wasn’t just worry over Mrs. Gant getting to her feet and managing the stairs again.
No, there was a sadness pulsing in the attic as Mrs. Gant fingered a red lace shawl visible in the drawer.
“That’s truly beautiful,” Maggie said.
“Jack bought it for me when we were in Paris.”
Maggie smiled, hearing the affection in the older woman’s voice. She wanted to ask who Jack was. She wanted to know if Paris was the city of romance as she’d often heard it was.
But she wasn’t one to pry, for she knew the value of secrets more than anyone. So she stood patiently in the stuffy attic and waited for Mrs. Gant to say more if she wished to share a bit of her past with a stranger.
“Have I shocked you into silence?” she asked.
Maggie actually laughed at that, a bit of nerves and also appreciation for Mrs. Gant’s frankness. “I am simply waiting for the story to unfold, if you deem me a worthy audience.”
Mrs. Gant’s mouth twitched in what could only be a sly smile, and Maggie knew she’d given the correct reply.
The older woman pushed the drawer shut and stared into the opened trunk a long time, as if watching a slice of her life play out in its depths.
“Jack was my lover,” she said at last, her face wreathed in a smile so filled with love that Maggie felt a pang of jealousy for never having experienced such a deep affection. “He was married, and so was I, but neither of us lived with our spouses.”
“Because you were both performers?” Maggie guessed.
In a Cowboy’s Arms Page 14