Jazi giggled. "Serves you right."
"Listen here, you rotten girl. You said you'd give Vandy back if I whittled you a coon. Well, I whittled you a coon."
"Rotten girl, am I?"
Biting his tongue to keep from laughing, Cass cracked open his door. Jazi and Vandy had been inseparable last night, much to Collie's annoyance. Nevermind that Collie had hoisted the child from a would-be grave. Jazi had declared Vandy was her hero. To her mind, the coon had braved witches, snakes, and bullets to run to her rescue.
Collie had argued that Vandy heard a rattler, decided it was dinnertime, and did what comes naturally to coons. Judging by the stand-off this morning, Cass guessed that Collie was no closer to winning the argument. Jazi, who smelled like a strawberry patch, stood toe-to-toe with her red-faced opponent. Even though Collie towered two feet above her, Jazi wasn't the least bit intimidated.
"Just for calling me names, you owe me a whistle," she scolded. "And a shoe shine. And some salt-water taffy. Better make it orange-flavored, if you want your coon back."
"That's blackmail!"
Cass donned his poker face and stepped into the hall. "Is there a problem, folks??"
"Jazi stole my coon! You're a tin-star. Arrest her!"
"Good morning, Cass," Jazi chimed in brightly. "Collie's being an ogre again. Can you blame Vandy for preferring to be with me?"
"Not in the least."
"Hey!"
Cass chuckled. "Don't you two ever get divorced. It'll be hard on the cubs."
"Huh?"
Jazi grinned. "Cass knows all about grown-up things. Would you like an invitation to my tea party, Cass? I baked some lovely gingerbread."
"It's pretend," Collie warned.
Jazi sniffed. "Shows you how much you know. Vandy thinks it's divine."
"Well, that explains everything," Collie grumbled. "Vandy! Get your ring-tailed fanny out here!"
"Mon dieu," Wilma scolded, hiking her skirt as she hurried up the stairs. "Qu'est-ce qui se passe? Do you want to wake the dead, chirens?"
Jazi quailed, edging closer to Cass. "Does she mean the witch?"
"No, sweetheart." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Wilma was just worried about... er, folks who need their beauty rest. Like your mama."
"Speak for yourself, churl," Randie teased with a yawn. Appealingly rumpled, she was strolling out of Jazi's room in a flowing aqua gown, which couldn't quite hide the sweet little bulge in her womb.
Randie had confessed last night that she was pregnant with Baron's child. Apparently, she'd told Baron the news when he—or rather, Poppy—had invited her to Lampasas. Despite how Randie had misled him, she had high hopes that Baron would marry her, or at least provide for the child. Since he would no longer be taking Poppy's "medicines," his doctor expected him to make a full recovery. And Baron's attorney expected him to be fully exonerated.
Knowing Baron as well as he did, Cass didn't share the Pinkertons' belief that Baron had ordered the murder of innocents. But Cass did believe that a horrified, guilt-ridden Baron had tried to protect his wife from the law. For 20 years, Baron had been living a private hell, married to a mentally unbalanced woman—a woman whom, deep down, he had never stopped loving.
Cass hoped that Baron could finally be happy with Randie.
"Has anyone seen Sadie?" Randie asked. "I think Gator may have mistaken my traveling trunk for hers. They're practically identical, and mine's missing."
Jazi sucked in her breath. "Oh no! I put the gingerbread in Mama's trunk."
Collie blanched. "You did what?!"
Muttering a hair-raising oath, the boy turned and bolted down the hall.
As Collie's noisy clomping echoed in the stairwell, Cass hiked an eyebrow at Wilma. "What was that all about?"
The madam chuckled, shaking her head. "It appears that Vandy may be on the next train to Denver. With Sadie."
Chapter 24
Sadie checked her pocket watch and frowned. The time was 12 minutes past the hour. The train whistle should have blown by now. Two short toots would have signified the locomotive was chugging forward.
Opening her stateroom door, she looked up and down the Pullman's corridor. Passengers in sack suits and calico skirts were milling around the sleeper car, shoving battered portmanteaus into overhead berths or soothing cranky toddlers.
Finally, she saw what she'd been searching for: a chubby, huffing man in a black frockcoat, whose cap was wrapped with gold braid and affixed with a brass plate that had been engraved with the initials of the Gulf, Colorado, and Santa Fe Railroad.
"Conductor," she called, waving him to her door. "I have a connection to make in Fort Worth. What's the delay? Are the tracks flooded from last night's storm?"
"Oh no, Mr. Jones," the conductor said, pushing his spectacles up his perspiring nose. "It's the Rangers."
"The Rangers?"
"Yes, sir. The station master received a wire about twenty minutes ago. A couple of Rangers have been ordered to search the train for contraband."
"You mean, like firearms?"
"No, sir. Like gingerbread."
Gingerbread?
Sadie's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Before she could ask her next question, a cheer rose from the depot's porch. In response, the sodbusters and their children rushed eagerly to the east side of the car and peered out the windows. Their whistles and "Huzzahs" began rattling the walls.
Irritably, Sadie elbowed a spot for herself at a window. It didn't take long to spy the two rangy roughriders at the station. The sea of bowlers, bonnets, and parasols were parting to give them access to the train.
The younger of the men wore a chocolate-brown Stetson and a fringed buckskin coat that flapped open to reveal denim breeches. He balanced a Winchester on his shoulder and a .45 on his hip.
The older man was sheathed from head to toe in black. His Stetson was tilted at a rakish angle to allow a pale gold curl to blow across his brow. When he unleashed his dazzling smile, every female over the age of 13 giggled or fanned their cheeks.
"No reason to be alarmed, folks," Cass called, hooking his thumb under the lapel of his vest and showing off his tin star. "Just some routine, Ranger business."
"Is it Hawkeye Jenkins?" one eager adolescent called from the crowd. "The mean-eyed, ornery varmint who robbed the bank in Belton?"
"No, son. We've got our sights set on another varmint. One who's more of a kitchen thief."
A kitchen thief?
Suspicion flurried through Sadie's mind. She noticed the ever-faithful Vandy wasn't trotting at his boy's heels.
Damn.
Ducking her head inside the train, she hurried back to her stateroom and closed the door. Surely Vandy hadn't stowed away in her portmanteau. She hadn't packed anything remotely tasty!
Except maybe lip paint.
Groaning to envision red, oily stains all over her white unmentionables, she knelt, digging the trunk's key from her overalls' pocket and wrestling with the lock.
It wouldn't open.
Now she was beginning to see the dilemma. Gator had grabbed the wrong portmanteau.
A sleepy snuffling reached her ears. It was followed by muffled scratching.
"Yes, yes, I brought my widdy," she grumbled, tugging the lock pick from a secret pocket beneath her shoulder strap. "You should be more careful. You could have gone to Hatsville. That's right. Suffocated! And who would Collie have blamed? Me! That's who."
Vandy whined to hear his boy's name.
Poor little coon.
At last, the locking mechanism clicked, and the lid popped open. Fifty pounds of wriggling varmint leaped into her arms.
Ugh. Sadie turned her face away from Vandy's eager, slurping tongue. Not so little after all.
"Don't you dare chew my beard, you tubby menace!"
Suddenly, the door crashed open. Cass loomed on the threshold, one great scowling mass of mischief.
"Hands up!"
"Oh, you're a real crack-up, wise-guy."
Her arms were completely encumbered by Vandy, who was now trying to eat her hat brim.
"That's Ranger Wise-Guy to you," Cass retorted, holstering his gun. "Deputy!"
Collie's scowling face bobbed behind Cass's shoulder. "Yeah, yeah. Put a sock in it."
He pushed his way into the room. Vandy squirmed with excitement, reaching a paw for his boy. Suddenly, the flinty gray of Collie's eyes warmed, and a dimpled grin softened the harsh angles of his jaw.
"Dang coon," he said gruffly, stooping to lift Vandy out of Sadie's lap. "Didn't I warn you about lids with locks? And strawberry smells that ain't nothing but perfume?"
Like a toddler, the coon clasped his paws around Collie's neck and whuffed with affection.
Sadie's heart turned over. She sneaked a peek at Cass. The deep blue of his eyes danced like sunshine on water. He was fighting a lopsided grin.
Collie shot them both dagger glares.
Cass cleared his throat, looking official and grave once more. "Lock up the bandit, deputy. I don't want to be hearing any more tales of gingerbread theft. Not for a coon's age!"
Some eavesdropper snickered. A few others guffawed.
Turning beet-red, Collie tugged his hat lower and stalked into the corridor, where he was greeted by whoops, whistles and lively applause. Children wanted to pet his coon. Old-timers thumped him on the shoulder. Even Collie couldn't keep a straight face under that onslaught of adulation.
Sadie suspected Cass had just turned the Kentucky-born thief into a life-long Ranger.
Bracing his weight against the jamb, Cass stuck his head out the door. "Conductor! Find me a stateroom for those trunks I brought along. Then tell the rapper to rattle her hocks! We're burning daylight!"
Sadie arched an eyebrow. Since when had Cass learned to speak railroad slang?
"Yessir, Ranger Cassidy, sir!"
Cass preened.
But the moment he slammed the door and turned to confront her, he wiped the barn-sized grin off his face. "As for you, hotfoot, you're under arrest!"
"Is that a fact?" Pleased that he'd dragged her portmanteau all the way from Wilma's house, Sadie decided to play along. "And what, pray tell, is the charge?"
"Disturbing my piece!"
"Uh... did you just say what I think you said?"
"Damned straight." Merriment lurked in his gaze. "Legs spread, hands over your head. Prepare for a strip search."
"Dog." Her lips twitched. "I think this Ranger business has gone to your head."
"Ranger Cassidy does have a nice ring to it."
"Yes." Wistfulness crept into her tone. "Yes, it does. But I should probably warn you, Rangers don't have deputies."
"Collie will be wearing his own badge soon enough." He cocked his head. Nothing got past those coyote instincts of his. "You have a problem with that?"
"Not me. But a couple of tribal reservations might object after we cross the Oklahoma border."
"Not to worry. My best friend—er, I mean, my other best friend—is a Cherokee."
The long-awaited toots came from the train whistle. Steam hissed. Wheels whined. Sadie braced herself as the sleeper car jolted. The long string of Pullmans began inching their way north like a monstrous black caterpillar.
"Uh... Cass?"
"Yeah, sweets?"
"The train's leaving."
"I can see that."
Donkey butt.
"Don't you have somewhere else to be?"
"Now you're talking." He dragged down her bed, flipped back the blankets, and bounced on the mattress to test the springs. "Not bad. 'Course, anything would beat a bedroll with a tree root jabbing your back." With a wink, he sailed his Stetson onto a hook by the door.
She hid her smile. Always the showboater.
"Come over here, detective."
"I like where I am, thank you."
"Aw. Do beards make you shy?"
She snorted. "Apparently, we're not communicating."
"I noticed that too." Shrugging out of his vest, he tossed it on a chair.
"What I meant," she said dryly, "is that you should be on your way to Ranger Headquarters. To get your next assignment."
"You are my next assignment." He started unbuttoning his shirt cuffs. "Sterne said he'd have my neck in a noose if I let you disappear like that other Pinkie did."
Sadie hiked an eyebrow. "You talked with Rex?"
"In a matter of speaking. You know, that telegraph under Wilma's Voodoo altar sure comes in handy. She wired Sterne, and the station master, and burned some herbs against evil spirits too."
Sadie suspected Wilma would never live down that incident.
"Cass," she said more sternly. "Ranger jurisdiction is limited to Texas. Didn't you rob a stage coach in Denver?"
He removed the .38 from his forearm. "As I recollect, I robbed three."
"Three?!"
"Those were the glory days, eh?" He tossed a stiletto and a Bowie knife onto his growing arsenal.
"You have a bounty on your head! You can't disembark in Denver!"
"Sure I can. The police chief runs the racquets. Besides. I stole the silver for him." With a cheeky grin, he popped off a boot.
She wanted to box his ears.
"Not to rain on your parade, hotshot, but I have news for you. My chief isn't so lax about the law. And since I'm supposed to be meeting with him in four days, I suggest we part ways in Fort Worth."
"Naw. Hell's Half Acre would seem a tad too tame after Dodge." He popped off the other boot. "'Sides. I've got a hankering to meet your chief. I'd like to ask the all-mighty Allan Pinkerton why he sends womenfolk to war."
Uh-oh. Sadie was pretty sure she'd blanched. "Please tell me you're not going to shoot my boss."
"Okay." He indulged her with a fallen angel's smile. "I'm not going to shoot your boss."
She groaned. She was definitely going to have to ditch Cass before they reached Denver.
Rising from the mattress, he unbuckled his gun belt. Then he sauntered toward her, all sizzle and sin in his gaping black shirt and adorably darned socks. Tufts of golden hair curled past his sagging placards. Sunlight glanced off the thigh-hugging leather that sheathed his legs. Tawny stubble roughened his chin, allowing the roguish cleft to play hide and seek with her fingertips.
As she smiled into his eyes, mischief flared anew in their sapphire depths.
"You know," he drawled, stroking a knuckle along her chestnut sideburn, "I've been a Ranger for a whole damned day, and I still haven't put a man in handcuffs."
"Poor darling. I can see how that might distress a big, brazen tin-star like yourself."
"Wanna get arrested?"
She hid her smirk. "Well now. That all depends on how you negotiate my surrender."
Chuckling wolfishly, he dragged her forward for his kiss. Her beard didn't slow him in the least. He plundered her mouth with velvet thrusts; he teased her lips with toe-curling nibbles. He tasted like salt and cinnamon; he smelled of sandalwood, leather, and cloves. The erotic mingling of flavors and scents made her pulse quicken and her skin flush.
Luxuriating in all his chiseled planes and angles, she shimmied closer, and he rewarded her submission, kneading her buttocks. She reveled in the shower of sparks, heating her belly. His expert petting promised the kind of pleasure a saint would have sinned for.
And she had never been a saint.
Abruptly, he raised his head. He licked his lips. Flames danced in the dark centers of his midnight-blue eyes.
"Well? You want to be my prisoner?"
"Hot damn." She didn't mind that she was panting. Not one little bit. "I think I'm tempted. But consider yourself warned, Lucifire. A tricky She-devil like me usually winds up on top."
"I'm counting on it, Tiger."
He loved her like a firecracker. A rocket. A shooting star. He prolonged her ecstasies, taking her to exquisite pinnacles that even she'd never climbed to before. The fortress of her heart cracked open, and sentiment began to flow. She confided that she'd miss
ed him over the years. That Lucifire and Destiny were songs about him. That writing lyrics and singing their melodies were ways of remembering all the good times they'd shared. She confessed how she wanted to see him happy, but that it was hard to let him go.
"Hell, I'm not going anywhere, woman," he growled against her ear, "except to Denver. With you."
She smiled a little at his promise and snuggled closer, resting her check on the downy fur of his chest. "I'm glad," she admitted.
"You are?"
"Didn't I just prove it?"
He chuckled. "I reckon you did."
Tucking the blanket around her shoulders, he began to stroke her hair. The steady thrumming of his heart lulled her. Wooed her. She was beginning to slip into a nice, fuzzy doze when his voice rumbled once more beneath her ear.
"You think we should get ourselves a coon?"
She started awake, imagining stolen jewelry. Gnawed beards. Lip paint trampled into her bloomers. She grimaced.
"No."
"But what if Vandy meets a lady coon and—"
"No."
"You know, having folks to love isn't a bad thing."
She bit her lip, relieved for the cloaking shadows of cedar trees, limestone bluffs, and cumulus clouds as they sped past her window. "What... um... do you mean?"
He kissed her hand. "Ask me again. After we get home from Denver."
He twined his fingers through hers. They were strong and thick, warm and callused. He squeezed. She squeezed back.
Denver. She closed her eyes and sighed. In four more days, she would have to report to Allan Pinkerton.
Until that time, she supposed she could dream.
The End
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