Tom's Angel (21 page)

“
Yes, it does. When I thought Rusty had a chance of winning, I let myself think we could be married and everything would turn out fine. But things have changed. There's a genuine race horse in the picture, now.”

Tom gritted his teeth.
“Rosalie, once we're legally married, Zane will have to deal with both of us.”

She kissed him tenderly.
“If I'm indentured to him, what sort of marriage could we have? You'd be fighting mad every day to see me head for the Strickland home to clean and cook, instead of taking care of our home. And think about the McCabe family's reputation. Tom McCabe's wife an indentured servant? Unthinkable.”

Tom looked out the window, his expression hard.

“See? I'm right and you know it. We have to settle this. If Rusty wins, we'll be married. But, if he loses, I won't marry you until I've paid my father's debt and I'm free again.”

Tom
embraced her, then buried his face in her soft, thick hair, fragrant with lilacs. “I wish we could get on the train today and never look back.”

“
If I've guessed right about your family, running has never been something the McCabes have done. I doubt your father or brothers would cotton to the idea of starting now.” She kissed him, held him, yearned for him. “As far as I'm concerned, we're as married as if the preacher had performed the ceremony himself. I don't need a piece of paper to prove how much I love you, or that I've promised to keep myself only unto you for the rest of our lives. I belong to you, and you belong to me, isn't that right?”

“
Damn straight.”

“
All right, then, let's see if Josh can ride Rusty well enough to give him the edge he needs to win that race.”

“
I love you. Don't ever forget.”

“
How could I? Without you, I'm only half a person.”

<><><><>

At the stable, they found Josh already in the saddle, warming Rusty up, getting him ready to run.

“
See, Mr. McCabe? I can ride real good!”

“
Let's take him out on the road and see how well you can stick on his back when he's running full out.”

“
Yes, sir!”

They followed
Josh and Rusty to the Cold Spring Road, leading north out of Fort Worth.

“
Is there a landmark on this road, about half a mile away?”

“
How about the Devil's Fork?”

Rosalie explained that the tree, struck by lightning years ago, had been burned black.
Three branches remained, resembling a huge pitchfork. She'd always felt God had put it there to warn people entering the city about the evil that lay waiting in the Acre.

“
That's perfect, Josh,” Tom told him. “Ride to the Devil's fork, around it, then back here, as fast as you can. Wait until I give you the signal.”

Josh
pulled Rusty into position beside Tom and Rosalie. Tom raised his hand, lowered it, and Rusty took off. Tom counted in seconds, reminding himself not to count too fast just because it was exciting to see the big horse run.

When Rusty streaked past them, Tom nodded, impressed.
A hundred and fifty seconds. Faster than any horse on the McCabe Ranch, for sure. But fast enough to beat a thoroughbred on the track?

“
There's one thing we haven't determined about this race.” Rosalie linked her arm with his. “Distance.”

“
What's Rusty's best?”

“
He's quick on the start, unbeatable for a quarter to a half mile, but still shows amazing endurance in races a mile or longer. He's good at just about any distance, really.”

Tom had no idea what Triumph's best distance was, but he might be able to find out.
Most thoroughbreds were slow to start, best on a longer race. They could assume Triumph matched that pattern, but Tom wanted to know for sure.

“
You'll need to put the distance in the agreement.”

“
Yes, and then we'll keep it to ourselves until I show the agreement to the marshal. We'll have to hope he'll make Zane abide by it.”

“
I doubt he'd give in to Zane on anything. As for the distance on the agreement, let me do some poking around in town before you write it in. I'll see what I can learn about Triumph's racing record.”

Josh
brought Rusty alongside, puffing and snorting, pulling on the reins as though he wanted to run again. “How did he do?”

“
Great. We want you to ride Rusty in the race Saturday. Will you do it?”

“
Honest? You mean it? You aren't just funnin' me, are you?”

“
I never make jokes about serious matters. Will you do it?”

“
I'll have to ask my ma, but I know she'll say it's all right.” His eyes flashed above his gappy grin. “My grandpaw will be tickled!”

“
I'll talk to her if you want me to. Walk Rusty around until he cools off, then give him a good rubdown. We want him in top shape for the race. And pull everything off that saddle you can, to lighten it. The less weight he's carrying, the faster he'll run.”

“
Yes, sir.” He wheeled the horse around and headed back to the stable.

“
Josh!”

He pulled up.

“
Not a word about this to anyone, remember? No one's to know you're riding Saturday except your ma and grandpaw. I want you to bed down with him until the race. I don't want anyone messing with him while we aren't looking. And let me tell your mother.”

“
I'll stay with him every minute, I sw— I promise! I won't tell nobody.”

“
Good boy.”

Rosalie kiss
ed Tom. “You've thought of everything.”

“
Maybe. Will you have to recopy the agreement to put in the distance?”

“
There's room at the bottom of the page.”

“
Good enough. Let's get back to the hotel. I have some snooping to do, to see what I can learn about Triumph.”

Tom didn't have to go farther than Merchant's to find Luke Short and Bat Masterson in the midst of a crowd of race-rabid bettors.

“Strickland's horse is going to leave that gelding choking on dust from the word go,” someone in the crowd shouted above the din.

Luke Short drained a glass of beer, wiped his moustaches with one sleeve, then eyed the shouter.
“Triumph leaves the starting line like he's been let out of a corral into a pasture of good grazing. He eats dust until half a mile out. At the mile, he's the one in front, with the others eating his dust.” He glanced around. “Anyone know the distance on this race?”

Muttering among the crowd produced no answer.
Tom sat quietly, contributing nothing. He had what he'd come for. No need to get anyone excited yet.

Zane Str
ickland came in, brushing dust from his jacket and hat. “Damn town. Nothing but dust and heat.” He mopped his brow with one sleeve, pulled up a chair where Masterson and Short sat with their heels propped on the table, and ordered a beer.

Luke dropped his boots to the floor and leaned toward Zane across the table.
“How long is this race, Strickland?”

“
Does it matter?”

“
It damn sure does. We want to see those horses go at least a mile.”

“
Why?”

Luke explained.
Zane leaned back in his chair, took a long pull on the beer, then grinned. “How about a mile and a half?”

“
Sounds good. Who's taking the bets around here?”

Time to step in.
Tom scraped his chair back and stood. “Pardon me, gentlemen, but Mr. Strickland didn't initiate this race. Miss Kincannon did. She determines the length, and she hasn't made up her mind yet. She'll announce it at the race.”

Zane stood so fast, his chair skittered off to one side, landing on its back.
“Wait just a minute. In a race, both parties have to agree on distance.”

Short, Masterson and half a dozen others chimed in.

Tom waited until the furor had subsided. Arguing with Zane would do no good, and everyone here seemed to be on his side. So, Tom walked out of the restaurant without saying anything more. Footsteps behind him, coming fast, weren't unexpected.

“
Listen here, McCabe. You aren't running this show.”

“
Neither are you.”

“
Well, then, we'll see what that whore of yours has to say about it.”

Tom slugged
him before he knew what was happening. His head snapped back from a murderous blow to the chin. Tom's fist smashed Zane’s gut next. He sank to the ground, moaning.

“
If you ever call her that again, I'll kill you.”

Zane didn't have enough air in his lungs to answer.
Tom walked away as men from the restaurant poured outside to gather around Zane, and see what had happened.

Tom waited on the porch of the hotel until he saw Zane heading toward the livery.
A few minutes later, he left on a horse, headed for the Acre. The delay would allow time to visit the marshal.

<><><><>

“So Triumph is slow to start.” Rosalie's eyes flashed with excitement.

“
But fast at a mile or farther.”

“
Well, then how does half a mile sound for this race?”

“
Perfect. Let's get it written in and over to the marshal before Zane gets back.”

“
Will he make him sign it?”

“
He'll sign.”

They found
him in his office. He read every word of the agreement before making any comments. “Do you realize what this says, ma'am?”

“
My father used me to cover a $2000 bet in a card game with Mr. Strickland. I intend to free myself from this indenture by beating him in this race.” She took a deep breath.

Grim,
he read it again. “You want me to hold this agreement until after the race, is that correct?”

“
And see that Mr. Strickland lives up to it if he loses.”

“
And if he wins?”

“
I'll take the agreement to Denver. My word is good.” She lifted her chin and tried not to tremble.

He stared at her a moment, then nodded.
“You're a brave woman, Miss Kincannon.”

“
Thank you.”

Tom cleared his throat noisily.
“Thanks, Marshal, for helping to see this race run in a civilized manner.”

“
That's why I'm here. To keep this place civilized.”

The door slammed back.
Zane Strickland stormed into the office.

Tom tried to remain calm, overruling his impulse to smash
that bruised face again.

“
You didn't tell me she'd moved to the hotel.”

“
It’s none of your business.”

Strickland
's face reddened. He dragged one sleeve across his face, smearing blood seeping from his cut lip. “The distance in this race will be a mile and a half.”

Rosalie faced him.
“I've already set the distance at half a mile. It's in the agreement.”

“
What agreement?”

The
marshal held it up. “This one.”

“
But that's too short! I never agreed to half a mile.”

“
I shall not delay the outcome of this dilemma any longer than it takes for two fast horses to run half a mile, Mr. Strickland. I made the wager. I have set the terms. He will see they're carried out to the letter.”

Strickland approached the
Marshal. “She never told me about an agreement in writing or anything about the length of the race. All I agreed to was a race, between her horse and mine. She's trying to pull something here, and I won't let her get away with it.”

“
Is it true, Miss Kincannon that when you agreed to race, you didn't specify distance?”

Rosalie glanced at Tom, then back.
“That's correct.”

“
And you wanted the race to be how long, Strickland?”

“
Mile and a half.”

Tom spoke up.
“Since Miss Kincannon made the wager, shouldn’t she be the one to set the length?”

“
Hold on a minute, Mr. McCabe. You came to me because you want this race run fair and square and for all parties to live up to the terms of the agreement. Right?”

Tom nodded tersely.

“Well, then, I'm going to set the distance. One mile.” He reached for a pen on the desk and dipped the point into the ink well.