Carol Finch (3 page)

As he strolled off, he asked himself how a ring of
spies might discreetly communicate their information about prospective targets when they were miles apart. Frowning pensively, he circled the coach that waited unattended while the guard and driver ate breakfast.

“Bingo,” Quinn murmured when he noticed the red bandana wrapped around the handle of the strongbox. Not only was he carrying the tempting bait of extra money, but also there must be valuable loot in the strongbox. Plus, the potential profit of whatever Agatha was carrying in her reticule.

When he heard voices he veered away from the back of the coach. His anticipation mounting, he predicted that he would finally hit pay dirt during the next leg of the trip. His only concern was how Agatha was going to react if this stage was held up. He could visualize her squaring off against the bandits and trying to protect the money she obviously carried.

If the stage were indeed robbed he would have to caution her to be careful what she said and did.

Amused, he watched Agatha toddle outside to set down a plate of food for the mutt. Agatha paid no attention to Ike who towered over her, complaining that he didn’t want the dog eating off “people” plates.

“Stop fussing at me, Ike. All I’m doing is keeping this poor dog from starving to death. It won’t hurt you to give the plate a good scrubbing.”

Quinn bit back a grin when Agatha flounced off and Ike sent a rude gesture flying behind her. Scowling, Ike lurched around and lumbered back into the trading post. Quinn had to agree that Ike was making a mountain out of a molehill and that Agatha was right. His plate had
dried food caked on it and it could have used a good scrubbing.

“What are you smiling about this morning?” Agatha asked as she came toward him.

He opened the door of the coach for her. “I enjoy watching you set folks straight, as long as it isn’t me,” he said dryly.

When she climbed in, he caught a whiff of her appealing perfume. It reminded him of the wild lilac bushes that grew around his childhood home.

And that was about the only fond memory he had retained from childhood.

Well, no sense dredging that up, he told himself while he waited for the pup to bound into the coach. His life hadn’t been a fairy tale. So what? He had learned a long time ago to
endure.
As far as he could tell that’s what life was about.

“Are you getting in, Calvin, or do you plan to stand there woolgathering? And where are the driver and guard?” She looked him up and down, then said, “You look nice this morning in that colorful red vest.”

“Thanks,” he said, startled by the unexpected compliment.

As if on cue, the driver and burly guard scurried outside. For a moment Quinn appraised the shaggy-haired guard, wondering if he might be in on the robberies. He would make sure to keep a close eye on the man if they were held up so he could watch how he reacted.

Three hours later, as the coach bounced over the rock-strewn path that wound through a mountain pass,
an eerie sensation skittered down Quinn’s spine. He jerked to attention to survey the looming granite walls that rose on each side of the narrow pass.

Soon,
came the instinctive voice inside his head. He could almost feel danger looming in the distance, having dealt with it so often in the past.

He glanced at Agatha, who was carrying on a one-sided conversation with the mutt. “I’ve got a bad feeling.”

Her head snapped up and she tensed. “About what?”

“All my instincts tell me trouble is lurking. Do yourself a favor and don’t provoke the bandits if we get held up.”

“What?”
she squawked, glancing this way and that. “Hell and damnation, this is just what I
don’t
need!”

Sure enough, she clutched protectively at her reticule again. Yep, she had something valuable with her, he predicted. If he could see her face, he knew it would be skewed up with alarm and anxiety.

Her hand shot out toward him. “Give me one of your six-shooters. I’m not going down without a fight.”

Quinn shook his head. “You shoot and they shoot back. Believe me, you would not like getting shot.”

“You speak from experience?”

He nodded grimly. “Yeah, it ain’t much fun. It would make you cross and cranky.”

She snorted at that.

“Okay, a lot more cross and cranky,” he amended wryly.

She poked her head out the window to study the towering stone precipices, and then she twisted around on the seat so that her shoulder and face were turned away from him.

“What are you doing?” he questioned, bemused.

Her head swiveled around, the thick veil swinging across the collar of her gown. “I’m unloading, of course.”

He saw her tuck something down the front of her gown. “If you don’t think bandits won’t frisk you because of your gender and age, think again. You might as well accept the fact that no one gets by untouched.”

“And you’re an expert, are you? Don’t tell me you supplement your lack of funds at the card table by holding up stages and banks.”

“No, but—”

Quinn’s voice dried up when he heard the first gunshot echoing off the rock walls, and then felt the coach lurch into a swifter speed.

“Oh, my God,” Agatha wailed as she grabbed hold of the window frame to prevent being launched into his lap. “This is going to spoil everything!”

He noticed the absence of the nasal tone in her voice again, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. He poked his head out the window to watch six masked riders descend from an elevated trail. Sure as shootin’, their faces were concealed by the same patterned red bandanas.

“It’s about damn time,” he said to himself. “Finally, some results.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing—”

The coach caromed around a sharp bend in the road, flinging him sideways. Agatha screeched, a high-pitched sound that nearly burst his eardrums—and sent the frightened mutt up in howls. When the coach rocked wildly on its springs Agatha was flung on top of Quinn
before he could upright himself. He barely had time to register the fact that she felt as soft as a feather pillow before she planted her hands on his chest and shoved herself away.

Quinn peered out the window to see two riders thundering beside the coach. A moment later, the stage skidded to a halt.

“Hands up!” one of the masked bandits roared at the driver. “And you there, throw down that shotgun.”

“Ohmigod, ohmigod,” Agatha chanted as she laid a shaky hand over her bosom.

While the driver and guard were being disarmed, Quinn unfastened his holsters and laid them on the seat.

“I never would have taken you for a coward.” Agatha’s voice was harsh with disappointment. “You aren’t even going to put up a fight, are you?”

The condemnation of her words rolled off him like rain off a canvas tent. “No, I’m not. Money comes and goes. I might have the nine lives of a cat, but I’ve used up about half of them already. I don’t intend to expend another one of them today. Since you probably don’t have too many to spare yourself, I suggest you act complacent for a change.”

“When
my
money goes it’s gone for good,” she grumbled.

“Be quiet,” he said, making a slashing gesture with his hand. “I’m thinking.”

“Well, think fast, Calvin. We are in serious trouble here!” she muttered.

Although the outlaws wore bandanas to conceal their faces, Quinn made note of the ringleader’s bushy eye
brows and beady eyes that were shaded by his wide-brimmed sombrero.

Quinn quickly memorized the appearance of the outlaws’ horses, saddles, boots and spurs for future identification. When he brought these murdering bastards to justice he damn well intended to point an accusing finger at each and every one of them.

“Step down from the coach,” one of the men ordered gruffly. “And hurry up about it.”

Piper’s heart was pounding so hard that she swore it was about to crack a rib. She sat there second-guessing herself, wishing she had devised a better way to transport the money and valuables she had with her. Although she had tried to consider and plan for every risk involved on this cross-country trip, she had no way to forward the money she needed to make her fresh new start. Now she faced being robbed!

She cast Cal a panicky glance. For the life of her she couldn’t imagine how Cal could remain so calm and unruffled. It was as if he was sitting there staring out the window, taking mental photographs. What was the point of that? They would never see their money, valuables or these banditos again.

“I’ll go out first,” he said quietly. “This time you’re going to let me help you down, like it or not.” He stared grimly at her. “If you misstep and go tumbling down it might set off a chain reaction and all hell might break loose. Do
not
purposely get them riled up. Understand?”

Piper nodded jerkily, then watched Cal unfold his muscular frame from the seat and move slowly down the step. She had called him a coward, but she realized now
that he was nothing of the kind. What she saw in his facial expression was utter fearlessness and coiled control. For all his projected casualness, you would have thought these bandits aiming their pistols at his chest were inviting him out to a Sunday picnic.

Her breath jammed in her chest when the suspicious thought that Cal might somehow be involved in this holdup hit her like a slap in the face. He had predicted this possibility earlier, she recalled. Plus, he hadn’t seemed the least bit alarmed by approaching bandits. Also, if she had heard the odd comment he’d made earlier correctly, she would swear that he was
expecting
this robbery.

Piper stiffened in outrage. That sneaky sidewinder! He would probably laugh himself silly while he retrieved the money she had crammed down the front of her padded dress. Well, they would see how long and hard he laughed when she grabbed her cane and hit him squarely in the crotch. Then he would be singing a different tune…and in a higher key!

R
oarke Sullivan pelted down the street of Galveston, hell-bent on his crusade to mount a patrol of capable men to track down his runaway daughter. Of course, he had a pretty good idea where Piper was bound. She had been pestering him for months to retract his decree that Penelope would be forever forbidden from acquiring her share of the Sullivan fortune.

Now, five days after Piper’s disappearance—and he had only received word an hour ago that she had not returned to her position as teaching assistant for the summer session at Miss Johnson’s Finishing School for Women—Roarke had to move quickly. He didn’t know how many days it would take his unruly, independent-minded daughter to travel across Texas, but she had to be somewhere close to her destination by now.

Roarke veered into the city marshal’s office to throw some weight around. Well known in this city, he expected his request to be met immediately.

“I need a posse to track down my daughter,” he said without preamble. “I’m putting you in charge, Drake. After all, I’m partly responsible for seeing to it that you were elected to this position.”

“Your daughter?” William Drake parroted as he drew his feet off the edge of the desk and bounded upright. “Which daughter would that be?”

“The only one I still claim,” Roarke said, and scowled. “I suspect she is headed to Fort Davis. My guess is that she took the train as far as the rails run then hopped a stage. She’s probably traveling under an assumed name so I can’t track her easily. I want you to notify law officials as far west as the telegraph lines run and order the formation of a posse.”

He loomed over the marshal who was a good six inches shorter and fifty pounds lighter. “I want reliable, responsible lawmen. Not two-bit gunslingers with the morals of hounds. I want Piper returned in the same condition she left and her fiancé-to-be damn well does, too!”

His voice boomed across the office and reverberated off the walls. “I am offering a five-hundred-dollar bonus for each posse member that escorts Piper safely back to me. There is another five hundred in it for you if you make the necessary arrangements.”

William Drake snatched up his hat. “Yes, Mr. Sullivan, I’ll get right on it.”

“I want Texas Rangers.” Roarke decided in afterthought. “Never mind about a posse.”

Drake fidgeted with the dingy hat that he had clamped in his hands. “Well, sir, that is not exactly the Rangers’ forte. They are frontier fighters, ya know.”

“They’ve been known to track down and rescue kidnap victims taken by Indians, haven’t they?”

“Yes, sir, but your daughter wasn’t exactly kidnapped, was she?”

Roarke flung his arm in an expansive gesture. “A technicality. We will quibble about that later. Just send the telegram to Ranger headquarters in Austin. I’ll add another five hundred to your bonus.”

When the marshal scuttled off, Roarke expelled an agitated sigh. “Confounded, headstrong female.”

He glared at the visual image that popped to mind. Piper had become as contrary as a mule after he had sent Penelope away without his blessing. And Roarke had paid the schoolmistress plenty of extra money to bring Piper under thumb for him.

Waste of time and money, he fumed as he wheeled around to stalk back down the street to his own office. He could buy, sell and ship merchandise at home and abroad by signing his name to contracts. But damn it, he couldn’t control that impetuous girl of his at all. He had money galore and barrels of influence and prestige. But what good did it do when he couldn’t handle one pint-size female who was the last heir to his vast fortune?

Damnation, he had found Piper the perfect fiancé, too. John Foster hailed from a distinguished family. He had been groomed to take over his father’s merchant business since the age of fifteen. This was to be an exceptional match, the merging of two influential families among the crème de la crème of Galveston society.

Until Piper had defied his wishes and left without notice.

Roarke growled in annoyance as he shouldered his way through his office door. Piper could run, but she couldn’t hide from him, he thought confidently.

Scowling mutinously, Piper eased a foot onto the narrow step to confront the desperadoes. She wanted to bite Cal’s offered hand instead of grabbing hold of it for support. And there was that cool, unflinching stare of his again—the one that indicated that he was nowhere near as rattled and upset as she was.

He
should have been,
damn his black soul. He
had
to be in on this!

“Ah, the black widow,” one of the bandits said in stilted English. “We heard you were on board.”

She shot Cal a murderous glare—not that he could see the fire in her eyes. Too bad about that. Now where could these men have heard about her, if not from this no-good, backstabbing gambler?

To her astonishment Cal tossed her a warning glance and discreetly squeezed her hand before he released it.

Now she was completely confused.

“You first, gringo,” the thief wearing fancy silver spurs demanded. “Empty your pockets.”

Cal accommodated by slowly reaching into the pocket of his breeches to retrieve a hefty roll of bank notes, then pulled off his diamond-studded ring.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Silver Spurs taunted as he raised his pearl-handled Colt and aimed it at Cal’s head. “What else ya got that’s of any worth?”

Cal fished into his vest pocket for the expensive watch and a handful of silver dollars. “That’s all I have,”
he said. “You’ve wiped me out until someone takes pity and grubstakes me for another poker game.”

Silver Spurs gestured his head—which was concealed by the bandana mask and a wide-brimmed sombrero—to the two hombres riding a roan and a buckskin gelding. “Loot the strongbox while Granny hands over her valuables.”

“I have nothing valuable except sixty years of wit and wisdom,” she insisted.

Silver Spurs snorted. “You’ll have to do better than that, crone. Now hand over your money and valuables before I lose my patience.”

Quinn flinched when the old woman huddled closely behind him and commenced yowling about how she was so terrified that she was about to have a seizure.

“Don’t let them hurt me, Cal!” she shrieked.

“Nobody will be biting any bullets if you cooperate, lady,” Silver Spurs snapped. “Now hurry it up.”

Quinn tried not to show his surprise when he felt Agatha tug on the waistband of his breeches, then drop something down the back of his pants. Then she shuffled sideways to step into clear view of the four outlaws holding them at gunpoint.

“I told you I didn’t have much money,” she gritted out as she opened her beaded reticule. She waved one lone coin in Silver Spur’s masked face. “See? Only one lousy dollar. And if the fright you have given me over one measly coin becomes the death of me, I swear I will come back to haunt you.”

“Agatha…” Quinn muttered warningly.

“What?
Just because I’m down to my last dollar and
he’s taking it from me doesn’t mean I have to like it. And shame on all of you!” she shouted at the gang at large.

“Agatha—”
he began again.

“Scaring an old woman to death like this,” she harrumphed. “If you don’t cease your wicked ways you will all wind up in the seventh circle of hell!”

“Will you please shut up!” Quinn growled, but quietly.

“Fine. I’m shutting up—” Her voice broke off when a shotgun blast erupted from behind the coach, startling the team of horses.

“Hey, boss, come look what we found,” one of the thieves called out a moment later.

Silver Spurs gestured his pistol toward the coach. “You two get back inside, pronto.”

Quinn grabbed Agatha’s hand, but she pushed him ahead of her. No doubt, she intended to block the outlaws’ view so they wouldn’t notice the bulge in the seat of his breeches.

“Some watchdog you turned out to be.” Agatha scowled at the pup that was sprawled out on the seat.

Quinn heard the cackles of delight coming from the back of the stage. Obviously the booty in the strongbox had pacified the bandits.

Six gunshots erupted simultaneously and the stage lurched forward. Harnesses jangled. Horses whinnied. Another round of gunfire sent the team lunging off at a swift pace.

Quinn thrust his head out the window, noting the driver and guard—their arms held high—had been left afoot.

The bandits split up and headed for the hills.

“Damn it to hell,” he muttered as the runaway coach
careened around a sharp curve, hurling Agatha against the window frame.

Flinging open the door, Quinn tried to twist around to grab the luggage rail atop the coach. Agatha pulled him off balance and he sprawled backward on the floorboards. Snarling, he stared up at that veil-covered face. He was tempted to rip off that concealing getup so he could give her the full benefit of his irritated glare.

“What is the matter with you, woman?”

“You are not bailing out on me,” she snapped brusquely. “You are in on this scheme, aren’t you?”

He stared at her in disbelief. “Where did you get the idea that I’m part of that outlaw gang?”

“You
knew
we were about to be robbed,” she hurled in accusation.

“That’s because I have good instincts.”

She scoffed at that and tilted her head to a challenging angle.

“I wasn’t bailing out on you,” he insisted as he lurched to his knees. “In case you haven’t noticed, no one is guiding this coach. Unless you want to plunge off a cliff I need to climb onto the driver’s seat and get control of the horses.”

“Fine, but not until I have my money and valuables back!”

Grumbling, Quinn rolled onto one hip and dug out the heavy pouch that she had stashed on him for safekeeping. “There. Happy now?”

She bobbed her head a couple of times and clutched the leather pouch to her ample bosom.

Muttering at the woman’s obsession with her worldly
possessions, Quinn plunked onto the seat and hurriedly strapped on his holsters. He couldn’t track those desperadoes until he stopped this stage and grabbed one of the horses. Agatha, insisting on retrieving her precious valuables, had cost him several minutes he didn’t have to spare. Those bandits could be miles away before he went after them.

Clamping a hand on the luggage rack again, Quinn leaned out to survey the road ahead of them. “Son of a bitch!”

He recoiled the instant before the opened door crashed into an outcropping of rock on the narrow trail. The door was ripped off its hinges and it shattered to pieces against the stone wall beside them.

Quinn collapsed on the seat and gripped the window frames on either side of him. He stared solemnly at the old harridan. “Agatha, if you’re a religious woman, I suggest you start praying. Now.”

“Why?” Her voice was wild with alarm.

He nodded his ruffled head toward the open doorway. “Take a look for yourself.”

She grabbed the window frame and peeked out. “Good God!” she howled in dismay.

“My sentiments exactly. And it’s been nice knowing you…sort of.”

The mountain pass they were traveling at breakneck speed had opened into a yawning canyon where the ledge plunged at least a hundred feet straight down. It would take only one wheel dropping off that unprotected curve in the road to send the coach plummeting off the cliff. No way could Quinn scramble atop the
stage to gain control of the horses on such a dangerous bend of the road. All he could do was hold on for dear life and encourage Agatha to do the same.

The coach jostled and rocked on its springs. Fallen rock must have littered the path because the stage bounced violently. He and Agatha were simultaneously launched upward and tossed off balance.

The pup howled and cartwheeled onto the floorboards.

Timber cracked and shattered. Quinn had the sickening feeling that the front left wheel had broken into bits beneath them because the coach spun wildly, then tilted to a precarious angle.

“We’re going to die!” Agatha squawked as the swaying coach sent her lurching headfirst into his lap.

Quinn let go with one hand to grab hold of the nape of her gown, then jerked her up beside him. He felt the horses’ momentum swinging the wrecked coach into a hapless skid. It rocked sideways, teetered off balance for a few unnerving seconds…and then
wham!

The coach crashed onto its side, hurling the occupants against the opposite wall. Quinn made a wild grab for Agatha when she toppled over him toward the broken door. There was nothing beneath the opening except a wide expanse of nothingness, a craggy tumble of rocks on the mountainside and a swift-moving stream riddled with white-capped rapids.

Agatha screamed bloody murder as she dropped through the opening, held aloft only by Quinn’s death grip on the neck of her gown.

Dust rolled around the confines of the coach, filling his eyes. Agatha’s terrified screams blasted his ears and
his pulse hammered so hard in his chest that he could barely draw breath.

One false move, one careless shift of weight and the coach would be taking the short way down the mountain.

Quinn kept a stranglehold on Agatha while her legs churned to find solid footing. He could have told her she was wasting energy because there was nothing but air beneath her.

Carefully, he inched his legs farther apart without shifting to a position that would alter the perilous balance of the coach. Quinn hauled in a steadying breath. He had been in dozens of hair-raising scrapes through the years. But this one tested his mettle to the limits.

If he tried to save himself it meant that he had to release his hold on Agatha. Pain in the patoot that she could be at times, he didn’t relish the idea of watching her body bounce from one outcropping of stone to another until she hit rock bottom.

He really wished he could see her face, wondered if she had made peace with the world…just in case. But there was that damn veil standing between him and this cantankerous old crone that he found himself liking for reasons he was at a loss to figure out.

Quinn kept remembering the sound of her grating voice hurling curses at Silver Spurs, vowing to come back and haunt him in the afterlife. He figured if his tenuous grasp on Agatha slipped, she would be cursing
him
all the way down the mountain. That was one ghost he wouldn’t want breathing down his neck till the end of his days.