by Jillian Hart
“It was my pleasure.” Lena gestured to the seat directly across from her, wanting Callie to sit close. Her black curls tumbled riotously around her face in tight little ringlets. “When I first came to live here, I had nothing, not a thing. Or a stitch of clothing. I arrived stark naked. Isn’t that a fact, Mariel?”
“One I can attest to.” Mariel tapped in from the kitchen, sporting three full plates piled with a thick sandwich and lots of carrot sticks.
“Really? Naked?” Callie blushed, thinking how humiliating that must have been. She pulled out the chair across the table from Lena. “Whatever happened to you?”
“Oh, Big Red tossed me out of the saloon. We had a big argument.” Lena blushed a little as she accepted her plate from Mariel. “I wanted to leave and he said no.”
“Did you work there?” Callie asked, concerned.
“Yes, ever since I came to town on the stage,” Lena answered.
“She was just fifteen.” Mariel set down a plate in front of Callie and marched to her chair at the head of the table. “Poor thing had no one, didn’t have a penny to her name.”
“My pa kicked me out when he got married again.” Lena shrugged as if it had been no big deal. “But I found a job with Big Red and I was a working girl for years. It wasn’t too bad. You get regulars, and some of them almost treat you well.”
“Oh.” Realization hit her. Lena hadn’t been serving drinks or washing dishes for this Big Red fellow. She’d been selling herself. She’d been a prostitute. “That had to have been difficult, making a living like that.”
“I can’t say you’re wrong.” Lena’s eyes shadowed, but her indomitable smile remained. “I’m just thankful Mariel had been friendly with me, told me she’d help if I ever needed it. So that night when I begged Big Red one more time to let me go, and he got mad and violent, I ran straight here. Of course I took the side streets and alleys, and I hid whenever I heard footsteps or a horse clomping toward me. I don’t think too many saw me. Now I’m working as a milkmaid over at a dairy farm. I’ve got the afternoon shift, so I’ll be heading to work soon.”
“Speaking of which, I found a job for you, Callie,” Mariel said around a mouth of chicken sandwich.
“A job?” She blinked, the food before her still untouched. She was hungry, but she didn’t feel like eating. Maybe because she was all tangled up over Mason and his chaste, platonic kiss. Her heart ached over that. She’d really wanted him to kiss her in a way she’d never forget. It would have been her first kiss.
“I didn’t know if you would be interested,” Mariel went on, reaching for her cup of milk. “But that’s me, I’m nosy and I meddle. If you stay with me, you’ll just have to get used to it. Mrs. O’Dooley just had a baby this morning, a precious little boy, but she’s doing poorly, the pregnancy weakened her, poor thing. You could help her with her newborn and her little toddler, until she’s feeling stronger.”
“Well, I am leaving on this afternoon’s train.” She felt badly, after Mariel had gone to all this trouble for her. “I have a ticket and everything.”
“Oh, well, if that’s what you want, dear, you should be with family after what you’ve been through. That’s best.” Mariel nodded sympathetically. “Don’t you worry. I’ll go over and help out Mrs. O’Dooley, right after I walk you over to the train depot, give you a proper send off. It’s just a shame your hopes here didn’t work out.”
“What hopes were those?” Lena asked curiously, as she munched on a carrot stick.
“Callie was going to marry Doc Reynolds,” Mariel answered. “She was to be his mail-order bride.”
“Oh, I know Earl.” Lena waved her carrot in the air like a wand. “He was one of my regulars.”
What? Callie dropped her sandwich. Plop. It tumbled onto her plate. A slice of tomato shot out from between the bread. Her hands shook as she shoved the tomato slice back into place. “Uh, Earl visited you to—?”
“Oh, yes. He came twice a week, as regular as clockwork. Literally.” Lena giggled. “Trust me, you didn’t miss out on much, if you know what I mean.” She wiggled her carrot stick tellingly and giggled again. “Sorry, Mariel. I didn’t mean to be rude and talk of man parts at the table.”
“It happens.” Mariel bit her bottom lip, turning pink from trying not to laugh. “But, trust me, that was more information about Earl than I wanted to know.”
“Trust me, me too.” Lena broke into laughter.
Callie blushed. “The more I learn about Earl, the luckier I am that this marriage didn’t work out.”
“That marshal, now.” Lena set down her carrot stick, growing serious. “I was looking out of my window when you were out there in the street with him. Unlike Mariel, I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just looking outside, but the way he looked at you. Boy. I would give anything to have such a nice man look at me that way.”
“Oh, he’s not really interested.” Ignoring the squeeze of hurt in her chest, she reached for her cup of milk. “He gave me a train ticket. I don’t think he’s wanting me to stay.”
“Mason is just doing the right thing. That’s who he is.” Mariel bit into her sandwich, chewing away, a knowing look on her face. “I was at his wife’s funeral. I saw with my own eyes how destroyed he was with grief. In all that time since, it’ll be coming up on ten years soon, a whole decade, he’s never shown any woman the kind of personal interest he’s shown you. Callie, if I were you, I wouldn’t be leaving town, not if Mason was that interested in me.”
“But he kissed me on the cheek. A platonic kiss, that’s all.”
“It wasn’t platonic from where I was sitting.” Mariel winked. “I saw it too, and yes, I was spying. You’ve got some time before the train leaves. I’d think about staying long and hard if I were you.”
Callie stared at her plate. Did she have it wrong? Did the marshal’s kiss mean more than she thought? She took a bite of sandwich, pondering that as Mariel turned the conversation to Lena’s new job, asking how it was to work with all those cows.
“How’s it looking up here?” Mason asked, strolling across the rooftop of the Clark Creek Feed & Seed. “Any sign of trouble?”
“None that we can see.” Pauly, his arm in a sling, lowered his binoculars. He stood in the beating sun, dressed all in black, six shooters strapped to his thighs, his repeating rifle leaning against the four-foot high false front of the building. The flat roof reflected the noon sun, making it feel hotter than it was. “We’ve kept a sharp eye out. Clem’s watching the side streets and alleys. I’m on all the main roads into town and keeping an eye on Miss Carpenter, just like you asked.”
“And I’m watching the area just around the jail,” Deeks spoke up, not lowering his binoculars for a second. “Everything’s been normal. No sign of the Folsom Gang.”
“They’re out there.” The back of his neck crawled, the pit of his stomach twisted. He could feel trouble coming like a storm bearing down on the town. “Anyone here want a break? I’ll stand in.”
“That’d be mighty appreciated.” Deeks grabbed his rifle and stepped away from the wall. “I need fifteen minutes is all. Enough to cool off, grab a bite. We’ve been rotating out for lunch and I haven’t had anything to eat yet.”
“Then go.” Mason accepted the pair of binoculars Deeks handed over. “Take your time. It’s gonna be a long day and probably a longer night.”
“That’s the truth,” Pauly agreed, not taking his attention from the back of the lot behind the jail. “If we had more men, we could hunt them down.”
“I’ve thought of that.” Mason adjusted the glasses, scanning the east road into town. Empty, just dust devils swirling in the wind. “I don’t want to leave the patrols and lookouts short. I’ve telegraphed the territorial headquarters this morning. More men should be coming before nightfall.”
“The Folsom Gang aren’t men who wait around.” Clem, one of the sheriff’s men, spoke up. “I’ve been reading up on them for Bart. My take on things is that they move fast, hit hard,
it’s always a surprise.”
“I appreciate hearing that, Clem.” Mason considered the information, moving his line of sight from east to north, carefully taking in details in the town along the way, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Mrs. Arnold crouched in her backyard garden pulling weeds, three teen boys played dodge ball on a dusty side street, and a black-haired young lady in a blue dress walked down the road leading to the Clark Creek Dairy, in the town’s northern outskirts. She stepped off the road, making room for a farmer hauling a wagonload of hay to town.
“It matches my information on the gang.” Mason frowned, trying to imagine just how they might do it. A direct raid would put the outlaws at a disadvantage, they’d be far outgunned. Plus, Mason and his men had the high ground. They could see the attack coming. It would be a foolish plan, but Mason couldn’t rule it out. “Whatever they wind up doing, we know the gang is going to hit fast and hit hard.”
“Whatever happens, we’ll see ‘em coming,” Clem promised from behind his binoculars.
“Maybe, but keep an eye out for the less obvious,” Mason said. “If they want in, they might do it undercover. As a farmer, so I’ve already checked that hay wagon. I know the man driving, so that’s safe there. Maybe they’ll walk in, keeping to the shadowed side of the buildings. Going from building to building, street to street. That would be harder for us to spot, and the gang would know that.”
“Then we might need another pair of eyes on the rooftops,” Pauly suggested, his attention firmly on the jail.
“I’ll talk to Bart when Deeks gets back,” Mason promised, swinging his binoculars along the ribbon of country road disappearing into the tawny foothills. All clear there, but the foreboding in his stomach grew. He had to listen to that. He drew his focus back to town, saw again the woman with the blue sunbonnet walking into the dairy’s milk barn, then spotted the farmer and hay wagon along the outskirts of town now, rolling down a residential street.
That wasn’t too unusual. Lots of folks in town bought hay for the upcoming winter for their horses. He swung the binoculars west, intending to check the main route in to town when he spied Mariel’s bright blue boardinghouse with its hard-to-miss bright pink trim. A slender, golden-haired young woman was in the side yard, among colorful blooms.
Callie. Seeing her was like a cannonball to his chest. He reeled, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The world faded, his every sense zeroing in on her, just her, standing next to a big pink rosebush gently cupping a bloom in her soft hand. She inhaled the fragrance with her eyes closed, her lips uptilted and a satisfied look on her heart-shaped face, and he could practically hear her moan of pleasure. He wished he was close enough to hear it, to know that sound. He wished that he’d been the one to make her moan.
His blood heated, hell if he could stop it. He shook his head trying to keep them back, but the images came anyway. Of her completely naked in the starlight, pale and creamy skin and tantalizing womanly curves, the blush of her nipples, the V of her inner thighs. He gritted his teeth, willing the binoculars away from her, but to no avail. The binoculars wouldn’t budge. Apparently not even his powerful will was as strong as his feelings. He wanted her. He wanted all of her.
Framed in the glass of his binoculars, she looked up from the rose she held and smiled at someone just out of his view. She took a step, her forehead crinkling, walking toward the side street. The back of his neck buzzed, his stomach clamped and he felt the danger like a brick to the back of the head. He swung the binoculars and spotted the farmer’s hay wagon stopped along Mariel’s property. Quick as a flash, an armed man popped out of the back of the wagon and grabbed Callie. She didn’t have time to scream or run, he was upon her. Mason’s heart jumped, slamming against his ribcage, recognizing Lew Folsom. The outlaw’s rough hands wrapped around Callie’s waist, swung her onto his shoulder and ran back to the wagon.
To her credit, she was fierce. She kicked, she hit, she bit, but it happened so fast. In a blink of an eye she’d been snatched and Mason was running, shouting orders, pounding toward the stairs, running, desperately running. Every breath, every step, every terrified fear in his heart focused on her. On getting her back. On cursing himself for not keeping an armed man two feet from her at all times.
“Why’d he go after her?” Deeks shouted from the alley, tossing his sandwich aside to untie his horse and the marshal’s. “It makes no sense for them to take her.”
“She should have been safe in my town.” That was the only truth that mattered. Mason pounded through the side door and onto the street. “There is something about that woman. She attracts trouble.”
“Can’t argue with you there.” Deeks mounted up, kicked his gelding into an all-out gallop and took off, rifle in hand.
“Keep that jail safe!” Mason shouted to the sheriff, who stood on the nearby boardwalk where he’d been on patrol, and swung up into the saddle.
He grabbed his horse’s reins and before he was fully in the stirrups, Indigo took off, focused. They were on the hunt. All he could think about was Callie. He leaned forward in his saddle, rifle slick against his sweating palm, as the gelding ran all out, eating up the ground. Thank God Deeks was up ahead, the street in front of Mariel’s was in sight now but not the hay wagon. He stood in his stirrups, straining to get a good look around, to see where the outlaws may have gone. Deeks disappeared around a corner, his horse kicking up dust.
Indigo followed without instruction, gaining ground, his every muscle straining to catch up. The wagon was in sight, now, stopped. Deeks was close to it, coming into range.
“C’mon, Indigo,” Mason ordered, willing the horse faster, jaw clenched, total concentration on the chase. The wagon stopped, Deeks dismounted, rifle up, moving in, not waiting for backup.
Couldn’t blame him. All that mattered was Callie. Mason dismounted before Indigo could stop, hitting the ground hard with a bone-jarring thud and kept running. Sweat sluiced down his forehead as he raised his rifle, out for blood, fury pounding through him with each booming beat.
“Don’t shoot!” The farmer hopped down, hands up, cowering. “Please don’t shoot me. It wasn’t my fault. They pulled a gun on me.”
“Where is she?” Mason marched to the tail of the wagon bed, saw the disturbed hay, the impressions where three bodies had lain. But no sign of Callie.
Where did she go? The question charged through him with cold hard fury, and he raced off the road and through Mrs. Ferris’s lilac bushes. There, that’s where they went. He followed the imprint of three sets of footprints in the clipped grass of the Ferris’s back lawn. His senses peeled, he listened to the wind whisper through leaves, a dog barking an alarm a few houses over and he whistled for Indigo, running, rifle in hand, instincts punching. He landed in the alleyway just in time to see two horses bolt out of a small stable, careening down the narrow lane. He caught a quick glimpse of Callie’s iris-blue dress skirt ruffle before the horses broke left, into the Thomas’s backyard and out of his line of fire.
Indigo skidded to a halt beside him and Mason mounted up, pulse pounding, driven in a way he’d never been driven before. Callie. She was all that mattered, all he wanted, everything else faded to the background. He was only distantly aware of the marshals rushing in to help or of the orders he barked out—pull in the off duty men, double the jail guard, form a posse, they were going hunting. All that mattered, all that he could focus on, was his raging iron-hard desire to get Callie back. Alive.
Nothing else was a possibility.
Indigo charged through the Thomas’s backyard, head stretched forward, ears laid back, full out, safely bolting around the Thomas’ little boys (who’d been playing with their toys on the lawn), and careened around the side of the house, following the trail. A cat on the front step darted into the bushes as they charged onto the next street, following the rise of dust. Mason caught sight of a horse’s black tail swishing out of sight around a house, two doors down, and Indigo followed without direction, his gait full-out.<
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They were gaining. Encouraged, he leaned forward in the saddle still clutching his rifle, charging past the Newberry’s kitchen window. There. Gotcha, he thought, spotting them not ten feet ahead. A flutter of blue ruffle caught his eye, letting him know Callie was still clutched on Lew Folsom’s lap, so Mason lifted his rifle.
“There he is!” One of the outlaws shouted. “Shoot him.”
“Kill him!” another outlaw bellowed, but Mason didn’t care, he didn’t pay them a whit of attention. He heard the pop of gunfire, felt something graze his arm, and Indigo sidestepped, staying a moving target as bullets peppered the air.
Calm, focused, steady, Mason aimed at the back of the Lew’s head and carefully squeezed the trigger. Unfortunately Folsom’s stolen horse shied at that exact moment and the bullet slid past one ear and into the small garden shed at the corner of the Newberry’s property.
“What’s going on out here?” Norman Newberry’s kitchen door slammed open with a bang. “Mason, is that you?”
But Mason was already firing again. This time the bullet hit, nothing but a graze to Lew’s ear and then Folsom was out of sight behind the Newberry’s border bushes.
Close, but not close enough. Mason grimaced, cursed, frustrated. He wanted Lew Folsom’s hands off Callie, whatever it took, and he wanted it now. As if in total understanding, Indigo stormed after them, Mason lowered his rifle, sitting back into the saddle as they followed the outlaw’s trail into the alley. The empty alley. He glanced around, but nothing. Where were they?
There, up ahead on the intersecting street, where fresh horses waited for them. They weren’t alone. Three other members of the gang laid down steady fire, meaning to kill, and Mason kept his saddle while Indigo reared back, taking shelter behind the Scott’s chicken coop. They were trapped. Mason let out an aggravated growl. Callie, beautiful Callie, was not going to die today.
Chapter Seven