Whispers on the Wind (5 page)

Someone was
laughing.

That’s when Mary noticed a
second man sitting on his horse, Stetson pushed back on his head,
as he leaned on his pommel and stared down at both of them.
Laughing, he looked much more friendly than the man beside her. “I
must admit, Carter, I’ve never seen you dismount quite like that
before.”

“Go to hell,
McCallum.”

“I thought we were in
hell,” Mary said.

Carter’s lip curled. “Not
yet, darling.”

She warily watched the
devil, or whoever he was, as he rose and brushed off his breeches
and coat. He reminded her of a bear with his huge heavy fur coat.
He looked like someone who could gobble her up. But instead of
shivering, she straightened her spine.

Mary Costner wasn’t afraid
of any man.

Of course, she’d never met
a man like this one before. He was very tall, broad-shouldered, and
no one she recognized, because she’d remember a face like his. It
was hard, rugged, and very handsome. “Who are you?”

He didn’t bother to answer.
Instead, he extended his hand toward her. She hesitated, trying to
comprehend what was going on. Did she really trust him?

“Grab my hand before your
coat and clothes get soaked.”

She watched him warily.
“Who are you?”

His expression was one of
pained tolerance. “I’m the poor soul who pulled you out of the snow
bank where I found you. The wisdom of which, I’m now questioning.
Now, grab my hand.”

Finally, she took his hand.
He jerked her to her feet, but her head hurt so bad that she
stumbled and fell against him. He was like a rock, she thought as
she grabbed her head and groaned. Why did her head hurt so
bad?

“I hope you’re not always
this stubborn,” he grumbled. “I could have taken advantage of you a
long time ago if you had appealed to me.”

Mary couldn’t believe the
arrogant jackass. “Like your friend told you, go to hell,
mister.”

Carter shook his head.
“Such language.”

“I do wish you’d quit
shouting. My head is killing me,” Mary grumbled as she tried to
straighten and stand on her own.

“I guess it does,” he told
her. He took her hand and placed it on her forehead.

“Oh my,” Mary gasped.
“How—?” She stopped as she remembered being thrown from her horse.
It had been her fault for not paying attention.

The big man found his
Stetson and slapped it against his leg to dislodge the dusting of
snow before mounting his horse. “I’d like to stand here and fill
you in on the little bit we do know about you, but it can wait We
need to get moving,” he told her, then reached down for her
hand.

“Where’s my horse?” Mary
asked, but at the same time took his hand and swung up behind
him.

The other cowboy rode up
beside them and answered her. “Good question. Did you have a horse
or did somebody dump you out there?”

Mary wrapped her arms
around the man in front of her. His fur coat felt soft and warm
against her cheek. She was getting ready to answer the other cowboy
when the sun caught something shiny on his chest.

Good heavens. He was a
lawman. And she’d bet a dollar that the man she had her arms
wrapped around was a lawman, too.

Did bad luck have to follow
her everywhere? Couldn’t she get a break just once?

She needed time to solve
the murder. “Ah,” she stammered.

“That’s okay,” the cowboy
assured her. “The doc said you might not remember anything when you
came to, but it will come back to you. Just give it
time.”

All right, she could go
with that They evidently didn’t know who she was, and she wasn’t
about to provide the information. Just as soon as they found out
that she’d woken up with a bloody knife in her hand, no memory of
what had happened, and a deed that stated if anything happened to
one partner then the other inherited—they’d throw her in jail.
Hell,
she
even
thought she looked guilty. “I’m just a bit fuzzy. Do I know you?
What are your names?”

“No, ma’am. I’d remember
somebody like you.” He smiled before he continued. “I’m Deputy Rick
McCallum and the man who looks like a bear is Marshall Carter
Monroe. We’re U.S. Marshals, so you’re in safe hands.”

Damn! Damn! Double
damn!
Of all the rotten luck! U.S.
Marshals? Well, she might as well ask. “Am I under
arrest?”

“Is there any reason you
should be?” Carter asked.

Mary almost blurted
out,
There is a murder that I’m trying to
sort out,
but she caught herself. “I—I
don’t think so.”

“You don’t sound too sure.
We’ll talk later,” Carter said in a deep voice that she found she
liked, even if he did seem to be very disagreeable. “Do you
remember your name?”

“Mary,” she said, but
quickly added, “I don’t remember my last name.”

“Well, Mary, you just hang
on, and if we’re lucky, we’ll be in Windy Bend by
nightfall.”

“I don’t know where that
is.”

“I should hope not,”
Carter said, “especially since you can’t remember
anything.”

Mary swallowed hard. She
was going to have to think before she spoke if she was to pull off
her deception. And that wasn’t something she usually did. However,
it would have been nice if she really couldn’t remember. She wanted
to wipe the sight of the murder out of her mind. Swallowing
quickly, she held her breath to prevent the tears that were
threatening to pool in her eyes.

U.S. Marshals were not
dumb. They were savvy hunters. They were also the best lawmen
around, and she had the feeling that the man in front of her was
one of the best, but right now she just couldn’t think anymore. It
made her head hurt too bad. So she closed her eyes and rested her
head against Carter’s strong back and let out a small
sigh.

Funny, here she sat in the
middle of a very dagerous situation with men who could arrest her
and put her in jail, yet at the moment she felt very
safe.

Trouble ... she was in a
world of trouble.

Chapter Three

Gregory Gulch was coated
with pristine white snow. The scent of green pines and evergreen
filled the air.

At first glance no one
would have imagined the grisly scene Marshal Forester had found
yesterday. He had only been in Gregory Gulch six months, having
replaced Marshal Stanley, so this disruption to the peace was new
to him. So far the camp had been quite peaceful during that
time—until yesterday.

Forester still wasn’t sure
he could believe the way Big Jim had been cut. How could the boy
have done something like that, but who else could have killed Big
Jim? Everybody in town liked him. But with the boy missing, he sure
looked guilty, Forester thought as he watched the miners lower the
pine box into the ground.

The miners had to use their
picks on the frozen ground. The clicks of the mining tools echoed
around them. Usually when someone died and it was this cold they
would store the body until it was warmer. But not this time. The
miners were determined that Big Jim would have a proper
burial.

The ugly rust-colored dirt
provided a harsh contrast to the pristine white snow. It was also a
reminder that though this pretty country looked clean, it was also
full of danger.

One of the men said a quick
prayer, his breath rising into the cold air like steam escaping a
locomotive. When he’d finished everyone said amen, then quickly
picked up their shovels and began covering the pine box with stiff
dirt that sounded more like rocks hitting the wood than
snow.

That was, all but one
man.

He was a stranger. Forester
recognized him as the snake oil salesman who’d arrived yesterday
morning. He wouldn’t have to wonder long who the man was because
the stranger was walking his way.

“Marshal.” The man greeted
him with a curt nod. “My name is John McCoy. I am Jim’s half
brother.”

“I heard you’d arrived
yesterday. Didn’t have any idea that you were related to Big
Jim.”

“I didn’t tell
anybody.”

Forester cleared his
throat. “So you got to see your brother before ... ?”

McCoy nodded. “Yep. I
parked my wagon near his house and Jim invited me to
supper.”

“Walk on back to the
office with me. I want to get what information you can give me,”
Forester said, but he didn’t wait for a reply. It was too damn cold
to jaw-jack in the street. And he wasn’t used to getting arguments,
anyway.

At the jailhouse,
consisting of two small rooms, Forester shrugged out of his coat
and hustled over to the potbellied stove to stoke the fire. The
strong smell of coffee beckoned him. “Have a seat,” he said over
his shoulder. “Want some coffee?”

“I’m fine.”

Forester poured himself a
cup of black coffee before sitting down behind his desk. He reared
back in his chair as he looked shrewdly at the man in front of him.
John McCoy sure didn’t look anything like Big Jim. This man was
downright skinny with black hair and small, shifty black eyes.
However, Big Jim had been broad-shouldered and had always worn
faded overalls with a blue flannel shirt, a gun and a bowie knife
tucked into his work belt He hadn’t been a young man, but a
weathered veteran. Big Jim would scare most men with his thick
black beard and long black hair tinged with gray.

Nope, these two were
different as night and day.

But then, Forester thought,
maybe he was judging the man too quickly. “So, tell me what you
know about what went on yesterday.” Forester steepled his hands in
front of him and watched McCoy. “You were probably one of the last
people to see Big Jim alive. Why did you come to Gregory Gulch,
anyway?”

“There’s no law against
visiting my brother, is there?”

“Not until a murder takes
place. Then I have to start asking questions.”

“I see,” McCoy said,
rubbing his chin. He paused and seemed to be thinking of what he
should say. “Well, I hadn’t seen my brother in a few years, so I
figured I’d come up and see what he had going for him. Thought I
might help him work his claim for a spell. Anyway, he told me to
come by his place about six, and I could have supper and meet his
partner.”

“And did you?”

“Yep.”

“So what
happened?”

“Supper started off
normal, but right after that the kid and Jim got into an
argument.”

“I’m surprised,” Forester
said as he got up and poured himself another cup of coffee from the
old silver pot on the stove. “Sure you don’t want a
cup?”

“I believe I will this
time,” McCoy said. Once he had his coffee in hand, he asked, “Why
would you be surprised? I’m not sure I liked the boy.”

“That a fact? Most people
in camp liked the kid. And yesterday I heard they struck another
vein of gold. They were in pretty good moods the last time I saw
them.”

“Their argument had
something to do with the gold,” McCoy said with assurance. “I
didn’t stay long after supper. I told Jim I’d meet him in the
morning, and ’course you know what I found the next
day.”

“As I recall, you were the
first person there,” Forester said and took another sip of
coffee.

“So what you going to do
about it, Marshal?”

Forester leaned forward and
placed his coffee mug on the desk. “MacHenry is going to sketch a
picture of the boy and then I’m going to have it circulated to all
the law offices in hopes that somebody finds him. I’m real
interested in what the kid has to say.”

“Must have been an evil
kid to do something like that.”

“For now, it’s just
suspicion of murder. We won’t know the whole story until we find
the boy and get some answers.”

McCoy shifted in the chair.
“I guess the mine belongs to me now that Jim is dead, seeing as I’m
his next o’ kin.”

Forester stared at the
man, wondering what was it about the man that struck him wrong.
From his appearance, he looked like an upright citizen, but
yet...
“I’m not too sure
about that, but now that you’ve brought up the subject, I’ll walk
with you to the Register of Deeds office and we’ll check. I
probably need to know that information myself.”

They trudged through the
snow to the second log cabin on the left and entered the building.
“Usually there’s a line. Guess we got lucky today,” Forester said
when they walked right up to the counter. “Jake. We need you to
pull Big Jim’s deed and see who he left it to.”

Jake nodded and went over
to a wooden file cabinet where he started rummaging through his
files. “Here it is.” He pulled out the deed, walked back over to
the counter, and unfolded the document “Let me see.” He scanned
down the paper. “It says if something happens to Big Jim that his
part of the mine goes to Mary Costner, but that must have been a
mistake. It should have said Mark Costner, his partner.”