Drew (The Cowboys) (42 page)

“Good. With David in the hospital, I’ll need all the help I can get.”

Drew was glad to be relieved of the responsibility of capturing Earl, though she didn’t like being left out altogether. But of course it would be disastrous if the reporters guessed what they were doing. She turned to them, forcing herself to smile and appear relaxed. “I’ll be happy to answer a few questions,” she said, quieting the hubbub, “but I can only answer one at a time.”

For the next ten minutes, Drew did her best to satisfy the reporters. But no matter how much information she gave them, they wanted more. Cole helped, but his attention was divided. She was halfway through an explanation of the kind of ranch she wanted when Earl emerged from the shop and headed off at a quick pace.

“Remember, keep them talking,” Cole said as he and Myrtle ambled away in Earl’s wake.

“I heard the police suspected you of being part of a gang of robbers,” one reporter said. “What can you tell us about that?”

Drew didn’t know where the man had gotten his information, but she couldn’t ignore the question. It was obvious from the expressions around her that the reporters were much more interested in this answer than in anything she’d said so far.

“They don’t suspect me any longer,” Drew said, “but it’s true there’s a gang led by a woman pretending to be me. You’ll have to talk to the federal agents in charge of the case if you want to know any more.”

Drew had answered two more questions when a chorus of female voices raised in indignant protest caused everyone to turn.

“It’s Sophia d’Elbe!” one of the reporters shouted. “The police must have raided her brothel.”

In less time than it took to breathe, Drew found herself abandoned for a more interesting story. Female sharpshooters who manage to survive a dunking in the Mississippi might be interesting, but they couldn’t compare to a beautiful madame who was reputed to be the mistress of the most powerful man in the city. When his enemies were angry enough to have her arrested, the reporters could scent enough scandal to fill their papers for weeks to come. Drew Townsend was forgotten.

Relieved, Drew headed after Cole.

Cole didn’t know how he was going to arrest Earl. He’d come straight from the hospital. He had a weapon, but no backup. Earl had both. All Cole had was the element of surprise—if Earl didn’t happen to turn and recognize him before he reached his destination. This operation had been cockeyed from the start. No reason to expect things to change now.

Earl hadn’t gone half a block before he turned and entered the Louisiana Bank and Trust. It was eleven o’clock, exactly the time the bank opened. There probably wouldn’t be any customers inside yet.

But before Cole could reach the bank door, a woman and her daughter came from around the corner and entered the bank right behind Earl. Fearful of what might happen, Cole broke into a run.

He stopped just inside the building. He looked through the glass doors that separated the inside of the bank from the lobby and his blood froze. Earl’s two goons stood a little behind and to either side of him. Each held a gun pointed at the tellers. Earl, a charming smile on his face, handed his bag to a teller. He held the little girl by one hand. The other hand held a gun, which he had pressed against the woman’s temple.

Cole couldn’t decide what to do. If he went around and tried to come in through the back, he might be too late. If he could slip inside without Earl noticing, he could try to shoot the gun out of Earl’s hand. He wasn’t nearly as good as Drew, but he thought he could manage it at close range. Once he had disarmed Earl, he would have a chance for a successful arrest. He opened the door very quietly and eased his way in. He thought he’d been successful at escaping notice—Earl and his partners were too busy watching the bank tellers to notice him—until the little girl turned and saw him.

“That’s the man from the Indian show,” she cried.

At that, Earl turned and saw Cole. Cole aimed and fired. Then all hell broke loose.

Fortunately for Cole, Hawk and Zeke materialized from the back of the bank to overwhelm Earl’s two helpers. Cole had succeeded in shooting Earl’s gun from his hand, but Earl used the child and her mother as a shield to move toward the back door. The child and her mother were jumping about so much, Cole didn’t dare chance a shot.

“Drop down,” Cole called. “Fall flat on the floor.”

They did as he asked, but it was too late. Earl had disappeared through a side door.

“Somebody look after them,” Cole hollered as he ran past gaping tellers to the door through which Earl had escaped. It opened onto an alley. One way led to private homes that abutted the street. The other led toward the main square. Cole guessed Earl would try to disappear in a crowd, and he ran toward the square.

He emerged from the alley and ran into Drew.

“What happened?” she asked.

“We caught the others, but Earl escaped,” he said, scanning the crowd for the familiar figure.

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know. There he is,” he said, “over there, near the man selling rabbits.”

Earl had hiked his skirts up so he could run faster. He would disappear into the maze of streets in the French Quarter in another minute. Cole held out his pistol to Drew. “You’ve got to stop him.”

“That pistol isn’t very accurate past twenty-five feet,” Drew said. “Earl’s more than twenty-five yards away.”

“It’s the only weapon we have.”

“I can’t shoot into that crowd,” Drew protested. “I might hit an innocent bystander!”

“You have every right to be proud of your skill with a gun,” Cole said, “but it’s a worthless talent if you can’t use it when you really need it. If Earl gets away, we’ll never clear your name. You can do it, Drew. You make much harder shots in the ring every night. You just need to have faith in yourself.”

Drew took the pistol form him, took careful aim, waited for the split second when she had a clear field of vision, and pulled the trigger. Across the square, Earl cried out, then fell to the ground.

“I shot him in the leg,” Drew said. “Only a man would hike his skirts up to his knees in public.”

Chapter Twenty-four

Wild West Show Star Foils Robbery Attempt

New Orleans, Nov. 17th—Miss Drew Townsend, the sharpshooting star of the Wild West Show that has been entertaining the people of New Orleans for the last week, aided federal agents in catching a gang of robbers that had evaded capture by government agents for the last two years. Miss Townsend, helped by several employees of the show, followed the gang leader and stopped him in the midst of the robbery. When he attempted to escape, she brought him down with a spectacular shot across a crowded square.

“I couldn’t let him get away,” Miss Townsend said when asked why she dared attempt such a dangerous shot. “Who knows what he might have done to the next woman or little girl who happened to get in his way?”

Earl Odum, the owner of the Wild West Show, had used Miss Townsend’s presence in the show to divert suspicion from himself. He disguised himself as a woman, often displaying some feat of marksmanship so authorities would connect the robberies with Miss Townsend and her brothers.

When asked how she’d had the courage to attack him on her own, Miss Townsend smiled and said, “I knew I could shoot better than he could.” Miss Townsend’s fearless action prevented the villain from depriving the citizens of New Orleans of more than $100,000.

“Where is Cole?” Drew asked her aunt. “You promised he’d be here tonight.”

“I don’t know,” Dorothea said. “He accepted the invitation.”

“Maybe he is too tired,” Jake said. “Running the Wild West Show for the last week must have taken a lot out of him.”

The last week had been incredible. Demand for tickets had been so great that despite Earl’s arrest, they’d had to schedule ten extra shows. The stands had been packed every night, the ticket sales exceeding even the most optimistic predictions. With Earl in jail, Cole had been asked to take over running the Wild West Show. He and Drew had barely managed to see each other for more than a couple of hours a day, most of it spent practicing or performing. The performers had voted to ask Cole to take over the show permanently. He’d promised to give them an answer by tomorrow.

Through the Randolphs, Dorothea had secured invitations to one of the most exclusive balls of the season. The weather had cooled enough so that the hundreds of candles in the three huge chandeliers and dozens of wall sconces didn’t make the room too uncomfortable. A dozen huge mirrors and a highly polished floor reflected the light until the room seemed to glitter like a diamond. New Orleans society had turned out in numbers, with women dressed in lavish gowns and glittering jewels. Drew could at least take comfort in knowing she was dressed as expensively as anyone in the room.

She had allowed her aunt full rein to dress her for the ball. Dorothea had enlisted the aid of the finest dressmaker in New Orleans. And hairdresser. And jeweler. And what seemed like a dozen other people whose job it was to make Drew completely unrecognizable, even, to herself. She wore a gown of emerald-green silk decorated with gold knots and lavishly trimmed with cream lace. Emeralds flashed at her throat and in her hair, which was piled high on her head in a coronet.

“Cole’s probably trying to decide what he’s going to do,” Isabelle said. “Being asked to take on the show is a great honor, but it’s a big responsibility.”

Drew took no comfort from the thought that just as she had made up her mind what she wanted to do, Cole might be unable to decide what he wanted.

At least ten times an hour she had regretted her decision, been on the verge of changing her mind, but she didn’t have the heart to ruin her aunt’s happiness.

Don’t lie to yourself. You’re afraid this is the only way you could ever keep a man like Cole Benton.

Having Cole’s mother and Sibyl Owen follow him to New Orleans made things even worse. Cole might not want to marry Sibyl, but she stood for all the women who were everything Drew wasn’t.

“I don’t see how you’ve had time to miss him,” Jake said. “There’s been a line of young men begging to dance with you all evening. You’re a celebrity.”

In addition to the robbery, the reporters had managed to discover that she was the adopted daughter of a wealthy rancher, the niece of a New York society matron, and heir to a New York banking fortune. It seemed every eligible bachelor and ne’er-do-well within a hundred miles had managed to wangle an invitation to the ball. She had been mobbed from the moment she entered. They said she was beautiful, captivating, breathtaking, and so many other things she couldn’t remember them all. Even if every man had meant every word he said, it was meaningless.

Cole hadn’t said those things.

While the orchestra took a break, she had retreated to a corner, shamelessly using her aunt, Isabelle and Jake, and Rose and George as a shield. She’d tried to get Hawk and Zeke to come, but they’d flatly refused. After a short twenty minutes, the musicians returned to their seats and began to tune up for the next dance. The line of would-be partners had already begun to form.

“I don’t want to dance anymore,” Drew said to Isabelle. “I want to go home.”

“It won’t be any better in the hotel, dear. You’re a celebrity.”

“I mean Texas. I don’t want to see New Orleans ever again.”

“You can’t mean that,” her aunt said. “You’re the most beautiful young woman here tonight. Imagine what would happen if you let me take you back to New York.”

Drew didn’t have any thoughts to spare for New York. Her heart was in her throat. Cole had just entered the room. He stood for a moment, his gaze scanning the room. Drew was in the act of thrusting her arm up in the air to wave to him when two people entered the room behind him. His mother and Sibyl Owens.

Drew jerked her arm down and grabbed hold of Jake. “Dance with me,” she said.

“Why? There are a dozen handsome young men waiting for the chance.”

“I don’t want to dance with silly young men who are more impressed with my aunt’s money than they are with me. I want to talk about horses and cows, about the clean air and quiet nights. I
don’t
want to talk about parties and listen to another compliment on my eyes, my hair, my dress, my—”

Her voice broke. If she didn’t get control of herself, she was going to break down right there.

“Dance with her, Jake,” said Isabelle. “I want to talk to Dorothea, and I don’t want your long ears listening.”

Drew didn’t care that the suitors showed disappointment. She held tight to Jake, secure in the knowledge he loved her regardless of how she looked. She buried her head in his chest when they started to dance.

“You really love him, don’t you?” Jake said.

“Yes.”

“He loves you too.”

“Then why did he get here two hours late?”

“I didn’t see him.” Jake turned his head to look. “Where—”

Drew reached up and turned Jake’s head back toward her.

“He’s by the door, directly behind you.”

“Then why don’t you let him dance with you?”

“He brought his mother and his old girlfriend.”