Larkspur (15 page)

“I didn’t mean to criticize. It’s like a war, isn’t it? You really shoot at each other.”

“Yes. Someone will die before it’s over. I intend to make sure that it isn’t me, or Moss, or . . . you.”

She looked at him quietly, trying to read his thoughts. The silence stretched between them like a taut thread. The moment came to an end when she drew in a ragged breath.

“You’re right, Mr. Lenning. What people think about me shouldn’t matter. It’s what I think of myself that’s important. I accept your offer and thank you for it.” She reached across the table to extend her hand. “I’ll look after your father and tend your house in exchange for your protection.”

Buck grasped her slender hand tightly in his large rough one. When she smiled, her eyes moved over him like a touch. Watching her lips spread and her eyes light up, he was filled with a quiet peace. He suddenly felt the desire to hold this soft woman in his arms, kiss her lips and beg her to stay here in this house he had painstakingly built and tried to furnish, and to care for him in all the ways a woman cared for her man.

The thought was so real that before he could comprehend what was happening, his own body responded to his thoughts. He dropped her hand quickly and turned to Moss, who had risen from his chair.

*  *  *

It was dark by the time choir practice was over and Bonnie Gates came out of the church.

Del Gomer was waiting.

Bonnie recognized him immediately and put her hand in her pocket and grasped the little derringer Bernie insisted that she carry.

In the three days since Bernie had helped Kristin Anderson get out of town Del had eaten every meal at the restaurant. Mike Bruza had been there several times. He was loud and a braggart, but he’d been polite to Bonnie. Del always waited until the man had gone before he left himself.

“Miss Bonnie—” The tall man stepped out of the shadows and came to walk beside her. “You shouldn’t be out alone at night.”

“My safety is no concern of yours.”

“It is very much a concern to me.”

“I have a derringer in my pocket and I won’t hesitate to use it.”

“You need a real gun. That little pistol wouldn’t stop a man unless you hit his heart.”

“It would stop him if I aimed it between his legs,” Bonnie said staunchly, and continued walking.

“It would slow him up a bit, that’s sure.” His hand cupped her elbow, she shook it off, stopped and waited for him to walk on. He stayed beside her.

“I don’t need your protection.”

“Yes, you do, Bonnie. But don’t worry. Anyone who bothers you will answer to me.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want your attention. I don’t even like you.”

“Yes, you do,” he said again. “You just won’t admit it.” He walked along beside her as she hurried down the road. “I’ve been watching to see that you’re not bothered.”

“Spying on me, you mean.”

He chuckled. It was a strange sound coming from a killer, soft and musical.

“It wouldn’t take much spying to know what you do. You work too hard. All you do is go to the mercantile, to church, to visit with Mrs. Gaffney. You didn’t even go to the ball game on Sunday afternoon.”

“If you hurt Rose Gaffney, I’ll shoot you! I swear I will.”

“She’s in no danger from me.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

He ignored the sneer in her voice.

“Would you like to go to Laramie or Denver, see a stage play and buy some nice clothes?”

“In exchange for what? Sleeping with you? No, thanks. My brother and I have a business to run. That takes up most of my time.”

“Let me take care of you, Bonnie. Don’t you get tired of waiting on men who take a bath once a year?”

“Look, it doesn’t matter to me if they
never
bathe. I’m doing honest work. I don’t kill people for
my
living.”

“I’ll be away for a few days.”

“Lucky me! Is Forsythe sending you out to kill someone? How much is a life worth to you, Mr. Gomer?”

“Watch out for Mike Bruza. Don’t get close to him. If he grabs you, shoot him.”

“I’ll shoot anyone who grabs me, and that includes you.”

“Bonnie.” He stepped in front of her so that she had to stop. “I’ll never hurt you.”

“How about my brother? If Forsythe told you to kill him. would you do it?”

“It depends.”

“On how much money he’d pay you?”

“No. It’d depend on if I wanted to or not.”

“You’re a cold-blooded bastard.” She spat the words with disgust and tried to step around him.

“You liked me once.”

“I didn’t know what you did for a living then.” She moved again to go around him. “Get out of my way. My brother is expecting me home.”

“Believe me. I’ll never hurt you.”

“And you believe me. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“I accept that for now.” He cupped her elbow with his long, slim hand. “Don’t pull away,” he said sharply. “I’ll see you safely home.”

Bonnie walked along beside him, hoping and praying that her brother would not be waiting for her at the foot of the steps leading up to their rooms over the restaurant.

She had liked Del when she first met him. He had come to town shortly after she and Bernie had arrived and opened the restaurant. He was quiet, well mannered, attentive, and appeared to be genuinely interested in her.

He lived in the hotel, came and went at odd times and never seemed to be short of money. That bothered her as did his evasiveness about his personal life. She began to suspect that he was married. Then later, he had killed a man in the alley behind the mercantile, and no explanation was ever given.

Jim Lyster was the law in Big Timber. He made a big show of it, walking up and down the street with a big tin star on his chest. He never arrested anyone except a drifter or a railroad bum. It was well-known that he was on Forsythe’s payroll.

No one knew the man Del had killed or why he had killed him. He never mentioned the incident to Bonnie. Cletus had told her of Del’s connection to Forsythe. At first her disappointment had been great. Then she began to chide herself for being so blinded by his good looks and polite manner.

Now she despised him.

Bonnie saw with relief that Bernie was not waiting for her. As soon as they reached the stairs going up the side of the building, she jerked her elbow loose from Del’s hand and hurried up the steps.

“Good-bye, Bonnie. I’ll be back at the end of the week.”

She ignored him, but at the top of the landing she looked back. He was standing there, waiting for her to go inside. She rearranged her angry features so as to not alarm her brother, shoved open the door and stepped into the room. She looked toward Bernie’s bed, where he usually lay reading this time of night, giving his knee and stump relief from the wooden peg.

The bed was empty. Her brother lay on the floor beside it, his face a bloody pulp. Her breath caught in her throat. She let out a little cry of anguish and rushed toward him.

Abruptly she was grabbed from behind. A wiry arm wrapped around her neck as another arm locked hers to her sides and pulled her tightly against a chest.

“Hold on, sister. I ain’t through with that bastard on the floor yet. I ain’t goin’ hurt ya none if ya behave yoreself.”

Fear knifed through Bonnie and with it came a shriek that was cut off by a hand over her mouth and nose. Her attacker was holding her head so far back that she couldn’t see Bernie. She struggled and tried to kick backward. The hand tightened, cutting off air to her lungs. Then a voice penetrated the roar in her ears.

“Let go of her.”

The arm around her dropped as did the hand over her mouth and nose. As she gasped for air, she heard a loud
bang.
Staggering to a chair, she grasped the back of it to steady herself. While she drew air into her lungs, she looked around. Through a daze she saw Del Gomer shoving his gun back into the holster that lay against his thigh. The man he had shot had been flung back against the wall and lay crumpled on the floor. Bonnie’s frantic eyes sought her brother.

“Bernie? Please . . . no! Ber—” Her voice deserted her. She dropped to her knees beside him.

His face was almost unrecognizable. Blood poured from his nose and seeped from the broken skin on his face. It oozed from a deep cut on his forehead. His crippled leg was folded beneath him as if his good leg had collapsed, letting him fall to the floor.

“I’ve got to get a doctor!” Bonnie jumped to her feet only to bump up against Del, who was holding a wet towel.

“Put this on his face and let’s see how bad he’s hurt.”

Bonnie grabbed the towel. At this moment she would have accepted help from the devil himself. Del knelt down on the other side of Bernie and carefully lifted his hand and placed it on his chest. Bonnie gently mopped her brother’s face.

“Please, Brother, don’t be hurt bad,” she whispered over and over.

Her sight was blurred by the tears that fell on her hands as she wiped the battered face. She wasn’t aware that she was crying or that it was Del who placed a pan of water on the floor beside her. She rinsed the bloody cloth and dabbed at the wounds again while Del straightened Bernie’s leg. She was aware, however, that it was Del who brought the lamp, set it on a chair, knelt down and looked closely at the wound on Bernie’s forehead.

“He needs a doctor.”

“Doctor’s gone to Billings.”

“Oh, Lord.” Bonnie reached for Bernie’s hand.

“Don’t touch it, Bonnie.” His fingers closed around her wrist. “His fingers are broken.”

“Oh . . . oh merciful God! Why did he do this?” Her eyes flew up to meet his.

“I’ll put him on the bed, then go get some things to patch him up. I think the bastard knocked him out and then stomped him. That cut on his head needs a couple of stitches.”

“You can do that?”

“I can do it. First I’ve got to get rid of that trash in the corner.”

Bonnie’s legs were so weak when she stood that she stumbled to hold on to the end of the iron bedstead.

“Who is he?”

“Can I borrow this towel. I’ll wash it in the horse tank and bring it back.” Without waiting for permission, he wrapped the towel about the dead man’s head, picked him up and slung him over his shoulder.

“Who is he?” Bonnie demanded again.

“A mouthy piece of horse dung named Miller.”

“Why’d he come here to hurt Bernie?”

“Because he knew
you
wouldn’t be here.”

“He didn’t even have a gun in his hand when you killed him,” she said accusingly.

“He had
you
in his hands. He knew better.”

Del looked out the door before he went out and down the stairs. He walked quickly between the two buildings and back toward the livery and the pole corrals. When he reached the fence, he dumped the body over the rails. The horses nickered and shied away. Del reached through the bars and snatched the towel he had wrapped about the bloody head to protect his clothes.

“Dirty bastard,” he muttered. “You knew what you’d get if you put your hands on her.”

*  *  *

It was an hour past midnight.

Kyle Forsythe lay in his bed with his hand cupped about the naked breast of his housekeeper, Ruth DeVary, and ignored the sniffles the woman was trying to conceal. He cared not a whit if she bawled all night. He teased her by rolling her nipple around between his thumb and forefinger, plucked at the pelt of hair between her legs and yawned sleepily.

In his younger years he had been able to achieve an erection each and every night that a woman was available. Tonight he had exhausted himself trying to gain satisfaction. Lately it had been taking longer and longer for him to reach his climax and he hated it. It must be the woman’s fault. Finally, frustrated, he had slapped her hard across the face with his open hand. After that, either she had worked harder, or else his dominance over her had created a spark that had fired his blood. In a matter of minutes he had rushed to completion.

He would have to remember that.

His thoughts traveled back to all the women he’d had. Barmaids had been enamored of his good looks and his station in life. Society women, including his late wife Cindy Read Forsythe, had fallen in love with him. He’d charmed an Arkansas hill woman and had married her under the false name of Kirby Hyde. After he’d tired of her, he’d gone off to war, and let her believe he’d been killed. Later she’d had a child she
claimed
was his.

Good grief! Time had passed quickly.

The ringing of the bell on the door broke into his thoughts.
Hell! What now?

“Ruth!” He elbowed the woman beside him. “Go see who’s at the door. Tell them to come back tomorrow. Then get back here. I may want you again.” In the back of Kyle’s mind was the slap he’d given her. He wanted to try it again and see if that was what had aroused his limp flesh.

Ruth hurriedly left the bed. She donned a dressing gown before she lit the small lamp and carried it out into the hallway and down the stairs to the door. The night caller was persistent. The bell continued to ring up to the time she opened the door and saw Del Gomer standing there.

“Mrs. DeVary.” Always polite, Del tipped his hat. “I want a few minutes with Colonel Forsythe.”

“He’s in bed, Mr. Gomer.”

“Then tell him to get up.”

“He told me to tell whoever was here to come back in the morning.”

Del pushed gently, but firmly, on the door and she backed away as he came into the foyer.

“I’ll see him down here or upstairs.”

“Please . . . don’t, Mr. Gomer—”

The lamp she was holding cast a light on the swelling on the side of her face and on an eyelid that drooped. He lifted his hand and trailed his fingers across her cheek, then took the lamp from her hand.

“Where is he?”

“First door on the right. Please . . . don’t say anything—”

His cold-eyed stare stayed on her face until she turned her head away.

Ruth followed him up the stairs, not knowing whom she feared the most, Del Gomer or the colonel.

Forsythe sat up in bed when Del entered the room.