In a Cowboy’s Arms (6 page)

“’Be true to yourself.’”

The stab of betrayal sank into Dade’s heart. Logic said his sister must have lost the broach somewhere in her travels. Margaret Sutten had found it.

Yep, that made sense.

He’d found his ma’s locket, but Daisy was still lost to him.

“Good words to live by.” But were there initials under it?

Hell, was
TL
struck below the saying on Margaret Sutten’s broach? He only had her word, and he was doubting that now.

Dade blew out a deep slow breath when he longed to cuss like a trooper. Dammit all, he’d been conned good. But it explained why he’d had less than brotherly feelings toward the woman posing as his sister.

The woman who stirred his lust was Margaret Sutten. Thief. Liar. God knows what else he could tag onto that.

Annoyance vibrated along his nerves like a mirage shimmering over the dry high plains of Wyoming. He’d spent six months here for nothing.

“You sure you haven’t seen her or the blue cameo?” Carson shifted his tense form almost in a show of defiance, and again Dade caught a glimpse of the pearl handle on his sidearm.

He thought of Carson hauling Margaret Sutten back to Burland, Colorado, and cringed.

She’d be answerable to Carson. She’d be a victim to his rules and to his baser desires. She’d get no mercy from this man.

Not that Dade should give a damn one way or the other. She’d stolen Daisy’s broach and her identity.

But he couldn’t turn her over to Carson now.

“Afraid not,” Dade said.

She might be the only clue to finding Daisy. But how could he get to the truth of what happened to his sister when a ruthless bounty hunter was on the Sutten woman’s trail?

Only one way he could see. He’d have to continue to pretend that Margaret Sutten was his long lost sister.

Instead of upholding the law, he was bending it badly in hopes of finding out how this woman came by the broach and what she knew about Daisy Logan.

“Reckon I’ll ask around town.” The bounty hunter left without another word.

Not that there was anything more to be said.

Silence thundered in the room and set Dade’s nerves to twanging. This must be how the old miners felt when they hauled a load of nitroglycerin up a mountain trail. One wrong move, and they’d blow themselves to hell and back.

Dammit, he hoped nobody in town connected Daisy Logan with the imposter Carson was trailing. Hoped Carson would decide Margaret Sutten wasn’t here and move on.

He hoped he could get over to Mrs. Gant’s and tell Margaret she’d best stay hidden. But as soon as he left the jail he’d likely draw the bounty hunter’s attention.

So he damned sure couldn’t head right to the boarding-house. Nope, he’d have to make it look like he was taking his rounds. Had to go slow and talk to folks and shoot the shit with Duane when every instinct in him screamed to run over there.

Then it’d be a wait and see game.

Dade thumbed his Peacemaker’s hammer to half cock and rotated the cylinder, ignoring the tightening of his gut and the sweat tickling his nape. Six chambers, six bullets, same as the last time he’d checked it.

Hell, he couldn’t remember when he’d last fired a shot. Couldn’t remember why.

Dade clicked the cylinder back in place and carefully released the hammer. The boiling inside him eased to a simmer as he stood and slid his revolver into the holster.

He knew Carson would kill anyone who got between him and Margaret Sutten. Knew too that nothing short of a bullet would stop Carson from taking her back to Burland.

Dade couldn’t let that happen, not now. Maybe not ever. He glanced at the outlaws on the wall, certain their smug grins were just for him. They’d be damned proud he was set on protecting a thief.

“Go to hell,” he told his kin, then stepped out the door like he’d done every day since he’d taken on this job.

He moved with slow determination down the boardwalk, noting the town looked the same as always with nobody in any hurry to do anything. It was a peaceful town.

A shotgun blast split the air, driving that thought from his mind. His blood ran cold. Trouble had come knocking again.

Dade whipped his revolver from the holster, trying to pinpoint where the shot came from. His gaze honed in on the bank down the street. Not one horse was tied in front.

The clerk peered out the window, seeming as curious as Dade. The bounty hunter stood beside the banker in the open doorway. Both men were looking down the street as well.

The trouble wasn’t at the bank. Didn’t involve the bounty hunter either. But was Margaret safe?

He longed to run to the boardinghouse to check but he didn’t dare. Not with Carson watching him.

The bounty hunter crossed his arms, as if letting Dade know he’d get no help from him. Fine by him. Dade didn’t want Carson’s brand of swift justice.

Dade glanced south toward the livery. Duane Tenfeather had closed one stable door and stood just outside its twin, staring uptown. Duane’s pa was just inside the open door with his big hands clamped on Raymond’s scrawny shoulders. No doubt the boy was straining to get a look out.

Dade inclined his head marginally in a silent message for Duane to stay put and keep watch. He started up the boardwalk. His heart had settled into a steady gallop, and his senses were honed razor sharp.

He needed a calm head, for he didn’t want to die this day because some fool had gotten trigger-happy. When Dade was halfway between the grocer and the butcher shop, another shotgun blast exploded.

This time he knew the source. He took off at a lope toward the lone saloon at the edge of town.

Two men burst out the door and took a tumble into the street, scarcely landing in a puff of dust before they scrambled under the boardwalk.

One man was the town drunk who’d spent every Friday night in the jail. The other was a young cowboy who’d gotten a job sweeping the saloon floors over the winter and still hadn’t found an outfit that’d hire him on.

Dade ran across the street and slammed his back against the saloon’s rough log wall in the alley, hoping to hear what the hell was going on inside. It was too damned quiet.

He hurried to the side door and turned the knob, careful not to make a sound. The bartender should be talking sense to whoever had fired that shotgun. But instead of talk or cussing, all he could make out was a whimper.

Shit, that wasn’t the sort of noise he’d ever heard in a saloon before. Had somebody plugged the bartender? Had the shooter left the saloon already?

He took a fortifying breath and stepped into the narrow back room that was used for storage. The calico cat hunched atop the crates gave him a quick look before resuming her vigilant stare at the doorway leading into the saloon.

“Stop your damned whimpering, boy,” came a gruff voice tinged with disgust.

“I c-c-can’t as long as you’re p-p-pointing that shotgun at m-m-me,” a young man said, his tone unnaturally high and strained.

The responding curse was low and guttural, summing up the first man’s regard for the younger one. “Already told you I ain’t gonna shoot you dead unless you decide to hightail it, though I’d prefer that to having you kinned up with me.”

Dade slid his Colt back in the holster, finally recognizing the gruff voice as well as the situation at hand. MacGarren had a small ranch ten miles or so outside of town and kept a handful of cowboys on full time.

Word around Placid was that MacGarren was overpro-tective of his two daughters, both shameless flirts who were likely itching to find a young man. One of them had run off with a soldier from Fort Carson last year.

From the sounds of it, the other one had found herself a cowpoke to warm her bed. Now there’d be a shotgun wedding, which was a damn site better than a funeral.

Dade eased into the saloon, snaring the bartender’s and MacGarren’s attention. “Shooting your firearm off in town carries a fine.”

The rancher worked his mouth into a knot. “It was worth it to run this no-account to ground.”

“I thought you was aiming to kill me,” the younger man said, keeping a white-knuckle grip on the back of the chair he was straddling.

He didn’t appear to be much older than eighteen if he was a day.

Thank God the cowboy hadn’t taken a shot at MacGarren or he likely never would have lived to see nineteen.

MacGarren had been an army scout and had true aim. If he’d wanted this boy dead, he’d have gotten the job done with one shot.

“Now that you got him cornered, I suggest you put your shotgun back in its saddle scabbard,” Dade said.

The older man snorted. “I’ll do that once he’s behind bars.”

“The boy broken some law?” Dade asked.

“He stole a horse.”

Now that was a damn serious crime and one that could get him strung up in most places. “You want him tried for rustling?”

“Nope, just keep him under lock and key until I can fetch the preacher,” the older man said.

Dade looked at the boy and saw he was eager to flee. No doubt he’d do just that after the vows were exchanged. But at least the girl would be married and the child would have a name.

“Let’s go then.” Dade motioned for the cowboy to get a move on.

He was on his feet and out the door, but had the good sense not to run. Dade reckoned part of the reason was that MacGarren was right on his tail.

The trio proceeded across the street under the curious stares of those who’d ventured out of their shops as well as those watching from behind the relative protection of closed doors.

The banker was still on the boardwalk but Carson was nowhere to be seen. Panic knifed through Dade. Where the hell had the bounty hunter gone?

He hoped to hell he hadn’t decided to visit the boarding-house. If he caught Margaret there, he’d haul her out of Placid before Dade could stop him.

Dade hustled the boy into the jail with MacGarren trailing him. Damn these people for causing a ruckus at the same time the bounty hunter was searching for Margaret.

“If all goes as planned,” MacGarren said as Dade closed the cell door with a resounding click, “we’ll hold the wedding tomorrow.”

The cowboy stared at MacGarren with more courage than he’d shown so far. But then he was where the older man couldn’t get his hands on him.

“Is Charlene all right?” the cowboy asked.

MacGarren swore. “She’d be better off if I’d never hired you on, but what’s done is done. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Tell her I asked about her,” the cowboy said, earning a curse in reply.

“You going through with it?” Dade asked.

The cowboy puffed out his scrawny chest. “Yes, sir. Ain’t no secret that I’m sweet on Charlene.”

Ain’t no secret that the boy was leg-shackled good and proper, even before the vows were said.

Dade had misjudged him. The cowboy would stay married to her, produce a passel of kids, and maybe one day earn his father-in-law’s respect if he busted his ass hard enough to provide for MacGarren’s daughter and the children they’d likely bring into this world.

Damn the cowpoke and MacGarren for causing this brouhaha. But at least having a prisoner gave Dade reason to head to the boardinghouse.

Mrs. Gant provided a cooked meal when Dade had a prisoner. Another reason why he figured the town drunk made certain to spend at least one night in the jail each week.

“You hungry?” Dade asked.

The cowboy scratched his belly and grinned. “I could eat.”

“I’ll be back in a spell then.”

Dade stepped out of the jail and scanned the street. Every thing seemed back to normal from one end of town to the other. Folks here just expected him to settle things like he’d done the moment he’d ridden in last fall.

He set off for the boardinghouse, mulling over what he’d say to Margaret Sutten. If he confronted her now, she might make like a wild hare and run off again. He couldn’t risk that.

Fact was he didn’t want Mrs. Gant to know the truth yet either. So that left him waiting to get Margaret Sutten alone. And where in the hell was he going to do that with Allis Carson in town?

Have to be at the boardinghouse, maybe when Mrs. Gant went to town. Or deep into the night when the lady was asleep.

And dammit all if the thought of getting Margaret alone in a bedroom didn’t rouse other urges in him, ones that he was free to feel for her now. If he was fool enough to.

All he wanted from the pretty thief was information about Daisy. Margaret–no, Carson said she went by Maggie.

That name surely fit the cunning woman who had grit to steal from the richest man in Colorado. Who had convinced everyone in Placid, including him, that she was his sister.

He couldn’t trust her behind a broom stray with both eyes on her. She was trouble he couldn’t afford to have, and yet he couldn’t let her go.

He found Mrs. Gant in the kitchen, busy shaping dough into loaves. “What was the shooting about?” she asked before he could get a word out.

“A rancher and his impending son-in-law had a disagreement.” He gave the lady a brief version of what had happened.

She tsked as she slid the pans of bread into the oven. “I’ll fix a plate then and take it down to the jail.”

“Thanks.” That would give him time alone with Margaret.

Mrs. Gant wiped her hands, her gaze reaching down the hall before coming back to him. “Is Daisy still visiting with Doc Franklin?”

The simple question had anger and frustration colliding in him. “Not that I know of. Last I heard she said she was coming back here.”

“I guess she changed her mind.”

Or somebody changed it for her. Somebody like Allis Carson. Shit!

Dade hiked back across town to Doc Franklin’s, but the sign on the door proclaimed he’d left on a call and wouldn’t return until early evening.

He checked the stores in case Maggie Sutten had decided to do a bit of shopping. He ventured inside the church in case she had gone there to ask forgiveness for the mountain of lies she’d told. He stopped at the depot to see if she was waiting for the next train.

But she was nowhere to be found. Neither was Carson.

Worry settled over him like a cold wet blanket. What had happened to Maggie Sutten?