Glory (8 page)

So much for starting a new life in this town. When people her own age wanted nothing to do with her, there wasn’t much chance of being accepted by older folks. How could they be so quick to find fault? She hadn’t spoken a word.
She hadn’t done a thing to them. Who did they think they were?

Glory tossed her head back and sniffed, wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands. Well, if they didn’t want her, she didn’t need them! There had to be other places she could go where people were nice like Jackson and the girls.

Although she’d spent only a short time with the party, they were never far from her thoughts. How could she have fooled herself into believing that others would be as considerate as they had been?

More likely most folks were like Amos. Her heart pounded at the memory of her narrow escape from him. What if he found her here? She shivered at the thought.

Shadows lengthened in the muddy alley, and a dampness rose from the ground, sending a chill through her thin clothing. She gazed at the strip of stars overhead. It was clear, no rain likely, but definitely a cool night ahead.

She heard manly voices at the end of the alley near the street. Cautiously, she peered over a crate. She saw silhouettes of men passing by, a few in pairs, others alone, all headed in the same direction. Each looming shadow looked like Amos. Throaty laughter and harsh shouts reminded her of the vile man and his taunting threats, his promise that she could never escape him.

Glory wanted to spring to her feet and run for her life, but she was frozen with fear. If she left her hiding place, she could likely run smack into him. One of those men could be him. If he tried to grab her, would anyone stop him? She
remembered the young couple. Not likely anyone in this town would come to her defense.

Behind her, through the wall, she could hear a tinny piano and the clink of glasses, followed by loud voices and the scrape of furniture pulled across wooden planks.

She crawled into an overturned crate, similar to the one where she’d sought shelter the night before. It was tight and cramped, but she’d be safe here. Maybe her luck would hold out again. Her fingers tightly gripped the rifle stock. She’d never shot a person, but if Amos appeared, it might have to be her last resort.

She remembered his rage. Surely Amos was in pursuit. Greed had sent him to Poppy’s cabin. He’d been prepared to do whatever it took to get his hands on Poppy’s gold.

Now something more would drive his search: revenge. She had escaped, and in the process she had hurt him. She knew that he would never tolerate that. Even when Amos had visited Poppy on earlier occasions, even when he’d acted friendly upon arrival, his good humor had always exploded into rage when Poppy had refused his demands. Poppy had warned her that his brother was evil. At the first sight of Amos, Poppy had sent her to the shed or anywhere so that she wouldn’t be around him.

A week before his death, Poppy had demanded that Glory promise him never to share the gold with Amos. The whole conversation had made Glory uncomfortable. She hadn’t wanted to discuss a life without Poppy, but he hadn’t been satisfied to drop the subject until she’d given him her word.

At this point, Glory was tempted to give up the gold in exchange for her safety, but she could never break her promise to Poppy. He’d asked so little of her over the years. Only one promise. He’d insisted that he’d saved the gold for her, to give her the start she deserved.

She’d gladly trade all the money to have Poppy back, to go back to her life with him in the cabin. She sighed; she couldn’t go back to that life. Poppy was gone forever. And Amos? Would he ever give up trying to find her and the gold?

She shook her head sadly. Not likely Amos would ever give up. She’d been foolish to think she could start a new life in this town. It was too close to Poppy’s cabin, only a few days’ ride. Sooner or later, Amos would show up here . . . if he wasn’t here already.

The thought filled her with dread, and a realization dawned on her. She had refused to continue with Jackson Lincoln and the girls, not because this town appealed to her. It had been because she knew that when Amos found her, and she had a scary premonition that he would, he would not hesitate to hurt her or anyone with her.

Her heart ached for the girls and Jackson, but she felt protective and loyal where they were concerned. They were the only people besides Poppy who’d ever been good to her.

The noise in the building behind her grew louder, the voices more raucous. Drunken shouts like those she’d heard from Amos startled her.

Poppy had mentioned that Amos spent most of his nights in saloons. Just her luck. In her embarrassment, she’d darted into the first alley she’d seen. Of all things, it was next to what had to be a saloon, and probably the most likely place for Amos to visit if he’d chosen to stop in Squatter’s Bend.

The night seemed endless, and sleep impossible. It was too dark to travel, only a sliver of moon. Glory vowed that she would leave this town at dawn’s early light.

As the noise diminished and the crowd thinned out, Glory allowed her eyes to close for just a moment. They felt so dry, they ached.

Through the thin wall behind her, she heard a sudden crash. Her body jerked convulsively, and her head thudded the top of the crate. “Ouch,” she muttered, rubbing the growing bump.

“Hear somebody?” a man asked, his words slurring.

Glory’s eyes flew open in alarm. Shuffling feet sounded nearby. She must have dozed, and someone had moved into the alley without her knowing.

“Yeah,” someone said gruffly, kicking over an empty barrel. “Suppose we got company?”

“Could be.”

Glory clutched the rifle in her stiff fingers. Her body hadn’t moved for hours, and she felt rigid. Cold fear made her shrink back into the crate as far as she could.

Closing her eyes tightly, she strained to hear footsteps drawing closer. Her eyes flew open again when she heard the crash of another barrel, this one very near.

“Come out, come out, whoever you are,” a man’s voice sang out in a mocking tone, followed by rumbling laughter. A howl echoed down the alley as someone kicked an empty crate. It tumbled until it crashed into the crate where she was hiding.

Desperately, Glory scooted out of the crate, her stiff knees slowing her down. She scuttled backward until she hit something hard. She pushed herself to her feet. Drawing the rifle to her hip, she called out hoarsely, “Stop. Don’t come any closer; I’ll shoot.”

The two men paused and swayed in the early light of dawn. They looked too thin to be Amos, but instinct told her that they could be equally dangerous.

“Sounds like a kid,” the tall man muttered, squinting in the shadowy light.

“More like a girl, if you ask me,” the short man chortled. “Well, well, now,” he said smugly. “This could be our lucky day.”

The two shared a meaningful chuckle as they spread their arms and shuffled toward Glory to block her escape.

Glory glanced over her shoulder. At the end of the alley was a fence, flanked on either side by doors to buildings, most likely locked from the inside. No time to test them, she knew. The men were effectively closing off her only avenue of escape.

“I’m warning you,” she said, panic lending her a menacing tone, “I’ll shoot you, both of you.”

“Oh, my,” mocked the short one, “I’m sooo scared.”

“Me, too,” the other agreed with a raspy laugh.

As they drew near, the short man lunged toward her, landing heavily on both feet. “Boo!” he hollered.

Instinctively, Glory swung out and caught the side of his head with the butt of her rifle. The man staggered, then keeled over backward.

The tall man sank to his knees beside his companion. “Charlie? You all right?” He touched the side of the man’s head, then jerked his hand back and stared in stunned silence at the blood on his fingers.

Glory seized her chance and raced past the two, keeping as far away from them as possible.

The tall man on his knees looked up as she raced by. “You killed Charlie,” he declared. “You killed Charlie Gulch!”

Glory raced down the middle of the street without looking back, but the man’s last cry came clearly to her as he shouted, “You’ll hang for this, you hear me? You’ll hang!”

Chapter Five

“We’re burning daylight, ladies!”

Jackson saddled the mare while the women finished breakfast. Overhead, the first pink rays of dawn filtered through oak branches.

Ruth took a pan out of Harper’s hand and extended it to the wagon master. “Care for the last biscuit and bacon?”

Jackson smiled, patting his flat abdomen. “The way you’ve been feeding me, I’ll have to start walking beside the wagon instead of riding in it.”

Ruth flushed beneath his praise. “Figure a man needs a square meal under his belt if he’s going to see a group of women safely cross-country.”

“Well, you’re going to make some lucky man a fine wife.” He grinned at her as he tugged the saddle cinch tighter.

Color flooded Ruth’s cheeks, and she turned away to dump the coffee grounds on the fire. “Seems the least we can do for you, Jackson.”

The girls pitched in, gathering up the plates and cups. Patience tucked the remaining strips of bacon inside the last biscuit and folded a napkin around it. “For later,” she murmured as she handed it to Jackson.

“Thanks.” He tucked the napkin into his shirt pocket, then shook out his coffee cup, his eyes scanning the hills behind him. A movement in the brush some hundred yards away caught his attention, and he froze. Was someone trailing them?

Casually he turned back to the group and handed his cup to Harper, who stood at the bucket rinsing the dishes. “Thank you kindly,” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” she replied without a glance. “I’m just a real sweetheart, ain’t I? Gonna make some man a real fine wife.” She threw back her head and laughed.

Jackson turned toward the hills and bent to pick up his gear, keeping an eye on a thin line of brush running the length of the ridge. This time he saw a speck of fabric and the quick bob of a head. He groaned as he looked down and shook his head. Glory. Now why on earth was she following them?

“Something wrong?” Ruth asked.

Jackson considered telling her that Glory was following them, but he dismissed the idea. No use getting the girls stirred up. If Glory was following instead of joining them,
she must have her reasons, though he couldn’t imagine what they would be.

“Just falling behind schedule,” he said. “Let’s get a move on.”

Sighing longingly, Glory parted the thicket for another look. The aroma of frying bacon still scented the air, and her stomach knotted with hunger. What she’d give for a serving of that breakfast. When the wagon started moving, she was going to search the camp for scraps. Her shoulders slumped. She knew that Jackson and the girls were careful not to waste food or leave anything behind.

She couldn’t run down the hill and join them, much as she wanted to. She’d told Jackson that it was time she started a new life on her own. Of course, then she’d thought she would stay in Squatter’s Bend. That was before she figured out that people didn’t like her there. Truth was, she didn’t like the people. And now she’d killed one of them. She sighed heavily. She could still see the two men who’d cornered her in the alley, the spurt of bright red blood after she’d struck one of them . . . could hear the snarled threat:
“You’ll hang for this!”

Not only would she have to hide from Amos, who was surely pursuing her for Poppy’s gold and his own personal revenge, but now she would also have to dodge the law.

Hiding here in the dark woods, she had considered returning to Squatter’s Bend to explain to the sheriff what
had happened in that alley. It had been a desperate act of self-defense. She’d never meant to hurt anyone, only to get away from those awful men who’d given her no means of escape. But would anyone believe her? She doubted it. Surely the folks in Squatter’s Bend would believe otherwise.

She was a stranger, and the tall man obviously lived there with Charlie. “You killed Charlie. You killed Charlie Gulch!” that man had shouted. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she corrected herself: the man who
had been
Charlie Gulch.

No one would believe her, and if she went back now, it wouldn’t bring the dead man back to life. If she returned, Amos would likely be there ready to tell his story, a pack of lies about her stealing gold that belonged to him.

No good could come of her going back. She gazed wistfully at the wagon below as the girls scrambled into the back. How she wished she could race down that hill and join them—let Jackson Lincoln protect her. The small party had provided the only warmth and security she’d felt since Poppy had died.

She shook her head and sank back on her heels. She couldn’t drag them into her troubles. Amos was on her trail, maybe lawmen, too. Jackson had enough problems. Besides, when he’d offered to let her join them, she’d flatly refused, told him she could take care of herself—been almost high-handed about it.

“Well, I’ve done a fine job of taking care of myself so far,” she muttered ruefully to herself as she watched Jackson
climb onto the wagon seat and gather the reins, ready to leave camp.