Mud Creek (27 page)

“He can’t talk to you like that,” James fumed. “Not in my hearing.”

“Just let him go.”

Albert stared at her for a final, painful moment.

He looked young and bewildered, a man who’d lost everything and had no idea how to carry on on his own. She felt sorry for him again. He’d return to his cold, empty house, with no one to welcome him and only Violet for company.

It was a dismal scenario, but she couldn’t help him. He was no longer her concern. She’d made her choice. She’d escaped, and she had no regrets.

Without another word, he clicked the reins and urged the horse into a trot. The buckboard rattled away.

Helen and the others stood in a group, huddled together as he wound up the hill and disappeared over the top. Once he vanished, Helen sagged with relief, her knees suddenly so weak that they could barely hold her.

James wrapped an arm around her waist, and if he hadn’t, she might have collapsed at his feet.

“Do you think he’ll come back for us someday?” Carl asked, sounding afraid.

“Maybe,” James said.

“Could he…force us to leave with him?”

“No. You’ll stay here with me, for as long as it suits you.”

“What if he insisted?” Robert pressed. “What then?”

“That’s why I keep my shotgun loaded,” James claimed. “To chase off varmints.”

“You don’t mean that,” Helen scolded. “You wouldn’t point a gun at Albert.”

“Probably not,” James said, “but I wouldn’t hesitate to run him off if he was bothering Carl.”

“Thank you,” Carl murmured, visibly consoled by the offer.

“You’re welcome.” James spun them away from the road and the gloomy sight of Albert’s departure. “I bet Mary’s pie is out of the oven. Let’s see if we can convince her to give us a bite.”

He herded them toward the warm, cozy house. They went inside and closed the door.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Harry Carstairs.”

“Hello, my dear.”

Harry tipped his hat, as Violet sashayed down to the corner. He was leaned against the porch rail of the hotel. She’d hoped to stumble on him, but hadn’t thought it likely. He was a traveling man, and too many months had passed. What were the odds that he’d loiter in a dump like Mud Creek?

She and Albert were out of supplies, and when he’d announced that he was riding into town, she’d begged to come along. Normally, he didn’t even speak to her, so when he’d agreed, she’d leapt at the chance.

Her isolation was taking its toll. She was going
wind crazy
, which was the term she’d invented to describe what had happened to Florence. The wind just blew and blew, rattling the house, shaking the windows, and the roar of it sweeping across the prairie was too much to bear.

They were nearing the end of March, and still, winter wasn’t over. Albert claimed the weather wouldn’t improve until June.

June!

Her world had narrowed to the pathetic existence Albert provided. He was out all day, puttering around the ranch. He’d depart early in the morning—lunch pail in hand—when it was dark outside, and he wouldn’t reappear until it was dark again.

She was alone all the time. She sat, hour after hour, minute after agonizing minute, on the sofa in the front room, wondering what to do.

Despite how Albert griped and complained that he loathed Helen, that he wouldn’t have her back, Violet was anxious for her sister to return. Helen would cook and clean, would fret over Violet when she was feeling low.

Her moods had been increasing in length and intensity, and she blamed her ill-health on the fact that Helen had left. Helen’s absence meant no one cared about Violet, that there was no one to make a fuss.

On one, sorry occasion, Violet had decided
she
should leave, too. The rest of the family had moved to Blaylock’s place. Why shouldn’t Violet?

Once Albert was out doing chores, she’d packed a bag, saddled a horse, and headed for Blaylock’s ranch. As she’d approached his gate, she’d been practically giddy with excitement, but it had all gone terribly wrong.

Just as she’d started down his road, he’d loomed up out in the pasture, racing over on a big, fat horse to block her way.

He’d said that Violet wasn’t welcome in his home—not even for a quick visit. He’d snidely insisted that Helen knew his opinion and had acquiesced to it before she’d been allowed to stay, herself. Violet still couldn’t quite believe it.

She’d been so furious—but also so embarrassed—that she’d whipped around and trotted off. She hadn’t tried again, for she wouldn’t give the arrogant ass a second chance to humiliate her.

So…she was muddling through with Albert, but she couldn’t continue. She had to escape, but how? And if she
did
manage to flee, where would she go?

A single woman couldn’t simply pick up and wander the countryside. Besides its being dangerous, she couldn’t rent an apartment or open a bank account or settle in a neighborhood.

Violet had to find a man to assist her, but she needed someone who understood her, who recognized the type of person she was. She needed a man who wouldn’t stare down his finicky nose and order her to behave.

In other words, she needed a fellow exactly like Harry Carstairs.

She sidled up to him, her skirt brushing his trousers.

He was stylishly dressed in a wool suit and bowler hat, and he was just as handsome as she recalled. His blond hair curled to his shoulders, and his blue eyes twinkled with mischief as they meandered down her body and assessed all the pertinent spots.

“It seems we’ve met previously,” he said, grinning.

“We have. On the Fourth of July.”

“Has it been that long?”

“The whole blasted winter.”

“You have me at a disadvantage, darlin’. You know my name, but I’ve forgotten yours.”

“Oh, you rat!” She feigned a pout. “I’ve been pining away, and you haven’t thought about me, at all.”

“Now that is most patently untrue.”

“Prove to me that you recollect. Tell me one thing you remember.”

He studied her, and his grin widened. “We sneaked off to the blacksmith’s barn.”

“We did.”

“The preacher was in town. You hurried off to attend your sister’s wedding.”

“Yes, and when the ceremony was over, I came looking for you, but you’d vanished.”

“I had some trouble with a gentleman who took umbrage with my card playing.”

“You cheat?” She pretended to be shocked.

He leaned in and whispered. “Only when necessary.”

“You are too, too bad, Harry.”

He offered her his arm. “I was heading for the saloon. Would you care to join me in a drink?”

“I’d be delighted, but will they let me in?”

“I don’t know. I’ve noticed a few gals in there. Let’s try, shall we?”

It was the middle of the afternoon, but she didn’t hesitate to accept.

The street was actually very busy. Though it was cold as ice, snow covering the ground, it was market day. People had traveled in from the neighboring farms to sell eggs, butter, and other staples. The atmosphere was downright festive.

She glanced around, in case Albert was lurking, but she didn’t see him, which was a relief.

He wouldn’t approve of Harry, so she didn’t want to run into him. If he attempted to stop her, they’d quarrel, and then, he’d never permit her to come to town with him again. If that happened, she’d have to kill him. He absolutely could not keep her exiled at the ranch another second.

“Tell me your name,” he said.

“No.”

“Tell me.”

“Guess,” she demanded.

He sighed. “Susan. Charlotte. Eleanor. Mildred. Ruth.”

“Violet.”

“Ah yes,” he mused, “Violet. It suits you.”

She flashed her most flirtatious smile. “Flattery will get you everywhere with me.”

“I was hoping it might. You seem like my kind of girl.”

“I am, Harry. I definitely am.”

*    *    *    *

“Do you really suppose he’s rich?”

Harry peered over at Violet.

“He’s loaded,” she insisted.

“How can you be so sure? I’ve been roaming these parts for awhile now, and none of these farmers has much in the way of capital. They’re all barely hanging on.”

They were in the room he’d rented in a nasty boarding house behind the hotel. It was far beneath his usual standards and much less than he deserved, but he was short of cash.

Until he could win a few card games, or swindle a few fools, he couldn’t be choosey.

They’d tried to enter the saloon, but had been promptly evicted.

“No ladies allowed,” the bartender had intoned, scoffing with irritation when Violet had sauntered in.

Harry hadn’t argued, suggesting instead that they enjoy a drink in the peace and quiet. They’d sneaked to the alley and taken the rear stairs up to his room.

He was over by the window, gazing down at the muddy street, the ranchers’ wives huddled in their coats in the wind. They were hunched over, their faces lined from toil and hardship. It was such a ghastly, brutal existence. Why would anyone bother?

He walked to the bed, where Violet was already stretched out. She was sipping whiskey from his flask, but he didn’t mind. He liked women quite a bit more when they were inebriated.

He plopped down next to her, balanced on an elbow, his head resting on his palm.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Three? Three-thirty? Why?”

“I have to meet Albert at the hotel by four.”

“Albert is your brother-in-law?”

“Yes.”

He took the flask and downed several swallows, determined to get his share before she drank it all.

“If you’re so certain he’s hoarding cash,” he said, “how come you haven’t found it? I assume you’ve been looking?”

“I’ve searched and searched, but there are sheds and chicken coops and even holes in the ground. It could be anywhere.”

He nodded. “I imagine a fellow could hide it pretty well on a big place like that.”

“And the ranch is huge. He has all these cattle, and he sells them, yet he always whines that he’s broke.”

“He would say that. He wouldn’t be keen to let on how wealthy he is.”

“Precisely,” she eagerly concurred. “There’s just him and me, and he never spends a single cent on us. He must have an entire safe full of money.”

Harry dipped down and nibbled the soft skin at her neck, making her giggle. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him nearer.

From the sassy way she’d flirted with him, he’d doubted she was an innocent, and with each passing second, more of her corrupt character was revealed. There’d be no maiden’s tears with this one.

“If we could find his money,” Harry asked, “and you could do anything in the world with it, what would it be?”

“I’d move us to New York City. We’d buy new clothes and ride there in style, with first-class train tickets. We’d head east where people know how to live.”

“It sounds terrific,” Harry agreed, but he was lying.

He couldn’t ever set foot in New York State again. He had two wives there, both of whom had angry brothers who’d like to see him arrested and prosecuted for bigamy. There was also another more incriminating incident with a girl in Albany.

She’d claimed to be eighteen, but he guessed wrong on occasion.

Still, if Violet’s brother-in-law really was flush with cash, it might be worth his while to linger in Mud Creek for a bit. It could prove to be extremely beneficial to his fiscal situation. And of course, he’d have Violet to amuse him as he figured out the best method for scamming the hapless rancher.

“If I showed up out at your place,” he inquired, “and pretended to need a job, would he hire me?”

“What a great idea! He’s desperate. He’d probably hire a dog if he thought the animal could lift a pitchfork.” She scowled. “You’d have to accept room and board, though. If you requested a salary, he’d refuse.”

“All right. I’ll come by in a few days. I’ll tell him I’m down on my luck and willing to work for food.”

The story was true. He was down on his luck and always required food, but to
work
for it? The prospect was highly unlikely.

“He’ll agree,” Violet declared, “and if he balks, I’ll stick up for you. I’ll convince him he could use an extra pair of hands.”

“Once I’m there,” Harry asked, “what’s your plan for me?”

“We’ll let Albert think you’re there to help, but we’ll secretly hunt for his moneybox. When we find it, we’ll take the cash and the horses and ride off into the sunset.”

“To New York?”

“Yes—just the two of us together. Won’t that be grand?”

“It will be very, very grand.” He reached for the buttons on her dress and flicked the top one from the buttonhole. “Now then, you have to be over at the hotel in about twenty-five minutes.”

“That doesn’t give us much time, does it?”

“No, so we’d better hurry.”

Violet grinned and drew him even closer.

*    *    *    *

Albert was standing in the south pasture when he saw a man coming down the road.

People never passed by, especially not on foot, so it was an odd sight. He paused to watch, surprised when the fellow stopped at the gate, studied the house, then proceeded toward it.

He was older than Albert, maybe thirty or thirty-five, and he lacked the drained, exhausted look that was common among Albert and his neighbors. He didn’t appear to be a workingman, but he was wearing dungarees and boots, a bag slung over his shoulder.

Violet had seen him, too. As he approached, she opened the front door. They chatted for a moment, then Violet pointed to Albert and waved, urging him over. He climbed through the fence and joined them.

Violet huddled, assessing them, as the man stuck out his hand.

“Harry Carstairs.”

“Albert Jones.”

“I heard in town that you could use some help.”

“Who told you that?” Albert snapped, not caring to have gossips in Mud Creek tittering over him. “What busybody was spreading rumors?”

“I wouldn’t say they were rumors. Heard it at the hotel. Heard it at the mercantile. Folks are worried about how you’re faring on your own. I guess your pa died—my condolences about that—so you’re short-handed.”

“You walked all this way on a rumor?” Albert scoffed. “That’s quite a leap of faith if you’re expecting any charity.”