Wicked Temptations (23 page)

"Not every issue," Adam reminded her, cryptically.

Priscilla did not have to look at Lady Whittington to know that the woman knew precisely what Adam was referring to—not that the two of them had bedded down together, but that there was a very strong physical attraction between them, as Priscilla had already admitted to Lady Whittington. "And what issue is that?" she challenged, deciding it was time for Adam to admit to his mother that their relationship was nothing more than a physical attraction that would fade before anything more could come of it.

Adam studied her soberly, as if at a loss what to say. Then his eyes shifted to his mother and back to Priscilla, and he said, "We will discuss it at another time."

"No," Priscilla said, standing, "I don't believe we will, because it seems we have nothing
 
more to discuss." Turning from him, she marched out of the house and got in the coach to wait for Lady Whittington. It wasn't any time before Lady Whittington joined her.

After the driver gave the command, Lady Whittington said to Priscilla, "Adam was very troubled before I left, not over what's going on with the cattlemen, but because of something concerning you, but he didn't say what it was, only that it had to be done. When I tried to question him, he was back to being the bear of a man he's become when the subject of you is at hand."

"Then I have to imagine it had something to do with those two cowboys rushing off."

Lady Whittington nodded. "Yes, I'm sure of it. But that still doesn't change the fact that Adam's in love with you, so whatever he did, I have to believe he did it to protect you in some way, not for any other reason."

There was little more to say for the duration of the ride back to Cheyenne, and when they pulled up to the front of the house on 17th Street, Priscilla turned down Lady Whittington's invitation to come in and have tea, and instead got on her Rover and headed back to
The Town Tattler
building. When she stepped inside, to her shock, she found her printing press smashed beyond repair, as if someone had taken a sledge hammer to it.

She rushed to the backroom, intending to go through it and out the back door to Jim's place to verify that it was Adam's cowboys who had done it, and found Jim sitting in the corner of the room, hands and feet tied, a gag over his mouth, but otherwise unharmed. She quickly removed the gag, then went about working on the knots holding the cords on his hands, while saying to him, "Was it two cowboys who did this?"

 
Jim nodded. "They came
walkin
' right in, one with a sledge hammer in his hand. They first sent the women off, then they told me they weren't
goin
' to hurt me, just had to stop the paper from
goin
' out. They took me in here and tied me up. I heard '
em
smashin
' the press, but couldn't do
nothin
' about it."

Priscilla was almost too angry to speak, knowing that Adam was behind it. But now she had no feelings for him at all, in spite of what Lady Whittington insisted about Adam loving her. He'd managed to crush whatever feelings she might have had left for him when he'd had his men smash her press. "Well, there won't be any paper going out," she said, morosely.

After releasing the last knot holding Jim's hands and feet, she went back into the printing room to look for Frank Buchanan's written statement. When she couldn't find it, she said to Jim, "Do you have any idea what happened to the copy that Libby and Abigail were typesetting?"

Jim shrugged. "No. Ah was tied up in the back room."

When Priscilla couldn't find it, she said, "Well, this isn't over yet. I'll write out my editorial by hand and include everything Frank Buchanan told me and post it on the front of the Town Hall for everyone to read." That being said, Priscilla took out a page of paper, reached for the inkwell and a pen, and began writing...

The Daily Leader and The Daily Sun made claims that Ella Watson and Jim
Averell
were people of the lowest character, in order to distract readers from the real reason the pair were hanged. But when homesteaders fence in pastures, and dig irrigation ditches to water their stock, it upsets the cattlemen who lay claim to all of the government land around. Could it be that land disputes, not cattle rustling, are what the lunching was about?

CHAPTER TWELVE

'I do not want a husband who honors me as a

queen, if he does not love me as a woman...'

—
 
Elizabeth I to the French Ambassador

While sitting at the large conference table in one of the meeting rooms at the Cheyenne Club, Adam read Priscilla's hand-written editorial that she'd posted on the front of the Town Hall building the day before. It hadn't been posted more than a few minutes before one of the members of the club ripped it down and brought it in.

The problem was, Adam believed everything Priscilla had reported.

He'd heard, firsthand, Gene Crowder and Ralph Cole's accounts, and didn't doubt their validity. And Priscilla's recap of Frank Buchanan's eye-witness account sounded every bit as credible. But what Buchanan witnessed meant nothing unless he came forward, because his handwritten statement had been taken by one of Adam's boys when he found it laying on the composing table, and in his rush to return to the ranch with it, the paper came up missing. After retracing the men's tracks and not finding any sign of it, Adam assumed it had been taken away by the wind, so whatever Priscilla quoted Buchanan as saying in the editorial would mean nothing to a grand jury, without Buchanan's actual, hand-written and witnessed testimony to support it. So unless witnesses came forward, six men would get away with premeditated murder. Adam could see it no other way.

He hadn't gone to see Priscilla since she'd stormed out of the ranch house two days before, because he knew that after she'd returned to her place to find her printing press destroyed, knowing he'd been the one behind it, she wouldn't welcome him back in her life, and with good reason. But she had to be stopped from writing the editorial that day, for her own safety. Six men had just murdered a man and woman in order to send a chilling message to anyone who would get in the way of their cattle operations, and they'd make sure that whatever it took, Priscilla wouldn't complicate things by casting doubt on their proclaimed right to have a lynching party for their fabricated crime of cattle rustling. But that didn't mean he wouldn't cast the doubt.

He did not fear these men.

Eyeing the men staring at him, A.J. Bothwell, Tom Sun and John Durbin—all members of the lynching party—among them, he said, "I've been doing some checking into Ralph Cole's assertion that certain members of the association have been making false homestead claims by placing a cabin on a piece of land, filing a claim, then moving the cabin to another location to do the same. I wasn't surprised to find evidence that this has been taking place. Which also validates other claims Cole made when I was at Ella Watson's place the day before she and Jim
Averell
were murdered." He used the term
murdered
to make clear his position on the hanging.

"No one murdered anyone," said Lionel Merrill, one of the cattleman Adam suspected of making a claim with a moveable cabin. "Cattle rustling's a hanging offense. The men were just carrying out justice."

"Justice takes place in a court of law," Adam said, "not on the banks of the Sweetwater. What happened with Ella Watson and Jim
Averell
was premeditated murder, plain and simple." He looked around at the faces of the men, seeing not a friendly one in the room, and not caring. He started rolling up Priscilla's hand-written editorial.

Lionel Merrill slapped his hand down on the editorial to stop what Adam was doing, and said, "What do you intend to do about the woman who wrote this?"

"Move your hand, Merrill," Adam said, "or I'll throw you across the room."

The man moved his hand and stepped back, while waiting for Adam's response.

Adam continued rolling up the editorial. "If you really want to know, Merrill," he said, holding the man's gaze, "I plan to marry her." He shoved the roll under his arm.

The chatter of the men died. Adam looked around the room, his eyes moving from face to face as he said, while focusing on A.J. Bothwell, "In fact, I plan to make a lot of changes in my life, starting with resigning from the WSGA. I know I'll be blacklisted, and I don't much give a damn. What's happening behind closed doors here is not only unethical and immoral, it's also illegal, and I'm not going to be a party to it."

"Where are you taking that editorial?" A.J. Bothwell asked.

Adam held the man's caustic gaze. "Someplace where it will come back to haunt you and Sun and Durbin and the other murderers in your lynching party," he said, seeing the man's gaze falter, though only momentarily.

"Then you'd better be watching your back, Whittington," Bothwell said, "because once a man's blacklisted, his life isn't worth a plug nickel."

"I'll keep that in mind," Adam said. "In fact I might quote you on that."

Bothwell let out a loud guffaw. "Who are you going to quote it to, Whittington? Your plain-faced spinster so she can write about it in her scandal sheet? I don't imagine anyone would take seriously anything printed in that rag." He looked around at the men at the long table and was met with guffaws, and wry smiles, and nodding heads.

"Well, we shall see, won't we, gentlemen. Good day to you." Adam nodded to the men, then turned and left the Cheyenne Club for the last time. And for the first time since the day he met Priscilla and learned she'd absconded with his bride, he knew precisely what he was going to do, which would also get him back in Priscilla's good graces.

***

Priscilla leaned her Rover against the front of
Redman's Feed and Tack
, and went inside the store. She was immediately greeted by a bouquet of grain and molasses and leather, along with the disturbed voices of three men engaged in a discussion about the hanging. In fact, everywhere she went, the hanging was the topic of heated conversation, and emotions were running high. Mr. Redman, proprietor of the shop, who'd been leaning his elbow over the handle of a push broom, stepped away from the men, looked at Priscilla thoughtfully, and said, "You're the lady from
The Town Tattler
. I've heard a lot about your paper from my wife, who's been to some of your meetings. And I've been thinking about running an advertisement for the store, along with a special offer for the young chicks coming in, when they're purchased by the dozen."

"My paper is shut down temporarily, " Priscilla said, feeling her temper rise as she imagined Adam's cowboys taking a sledge hammer to her press and destroying her dreams. She was tempted to state who she thought was behind it, but refrained until she'd spoken to Adam directly to see what he had to say about it. It would be difficult for him to deny though, after seeing him coming out of the stables, followed by his two cowboys, who left at once, and whose description matched that of the men who tied up Jim. "As soon as I have things up and running again," she said, "I'll be able to include your advertisement. When a new advertisement first goes in the paper, I always include a short piece about whatever is being advertised... in your case, your young chicks. Are they layers or fryers?"

"Both," Mr. Redman said.

"Good," Priscilla replied. "Then maybe we can include some recipes for chicken dishes, if your wife would like to put some together. She can post her name along with the recipes, and they will be included in our recipe column, which has gotten very popular." Even as she passed on the information to Mr. Redman, Priscilla knew she was only just barely hanging onto her dream. But she couldn't let go. Not just yet.

Mr. Redman smiled. "I think Katherine would be pleased to do that," he said. "She's real proud of her recipes. Some have come down through several generations." He leaned his broom against the wall, and said, "So... what can I get for you today?"

"Just mash for my laying hens," Priscilla replied. "But this being my first visit to your store, I'll just look around a little." She was surprised at the wide assortment of items offered in the store, in addition to grain and harnesses and other tack, and the extent of them. The man also offered toy tractors and corncob dolls and small kitchen items and other small notions, which were tucked into every nook and cranny. She'd been so busy with the paper that, until now, she'd sent Jim or one of the women to fetch the grain and mash for her laying hens.

"You take your time," Mr. Redman said. He went back to sweeping the floor, and the other two men continued their discussion about the hanging. From what they were saying, Priscilla knew they hadn't seen the hand-written editorial she'd posted on the Town Hall building three days before, which disturbed her. She'd posted it early in the day, but no one she'd spoken to since then seemed to have seen it, so she had to presume it had been taken down by the first cattleman to spot it. Perhaps even Adam. But she was not going to let that stop her.

Deciding that the only way she could get the word spread was by word of mouth, she walked up to the two men, introduced herself as the owner and editor of
The Town Tattler
—which the men seemed to already know—and proceeded to tell them what Gene Crowder, and Ralph Cole, and Frank Buchanan had told her. The men listened with rapt attention, then assured her that they'd pass the word around. She offered to hold a Town Tattler meeting where people could get together and discuss what should happen next, but the men were too afraid for their families, and declined her offer.

The men had just left the store when a black man, dressed in farmer's clothes, walked in.

Mr. Redman, who'd been sweeping the floor, leaned the broom handle against the wall again and went to stand behind the counter. "Hello, Seth," he said. "Haven't seen you in a while. Sorry to hear about your mule." Mr. Redman shook his head in dismay. "After the hanging, folks are fed up with what's going on, and they're arming themselves, ready to protect what's theirs."

"That's what
ah'm
doin
'," Seth said. "Ah don't even like
leavin
' the missus and my
young'uns
home alone, so
ah'll
just get what ah need and be on my way."

"I suppose you came for hog feed?" Mr. Redman said.

"No," Seth replied, shaking his head. "A sack of grain for my mule."

Mr. Redman looked at Seth, curious. "A mule must have set you back some."

Seth shook his head. "No.
Ah'll
be paying off Mule when ah sell some hogs."

"Then you must have mortgaged your place?"

"Didn't have to," Seth said. "A man come by and said Mule was mine to keep, and ah could pay him if ah wanted, but didn't have to. He's the rancher
runnin
' for mayor."

"Lord Whittington?" Mr. Redman said, clearly surprised.

As was Priscilla, who stopped reading the label on the mash in the barrel in front of her and looked at the men.

"He's the one," Seth said. "He just showed up at my doorstep with Mule and said he wanted to give him to me."

Mr. Redman stroked his chin. "That doesn't make sense. Why would Lord Whittington give a homesteader a mule?" He glanced at the front window of the store at the impressive brick building across the street. "He's right in with the thick of them at the Cheyenne Club," he said. "I see him coming out from there with those men all the time."

Seth shrugged. "Ah don’t rightly know why he did it," he said. "but he did. My missus isn't so happy though. Thinks there's
somethin
'
brewin
'."

"I can't say as I blame her," Mr. Redman said. "There just seems to be no logical reason why a cattleman would give you a mule for no reason at all."

"That's what my missus says. But then ah heard that Lord Whittington gave a roll of barbed wire to Jack Lewis, after a couple of Lord Whittington's boys tore down Jack's fence. And Lord Whittington had his boys string the fence up for Jack and he also docked their pay."

"You're still talking about Lord Whittington?" Mr. Redman said, brows gathered in uncertainty, while stroking his chin.

"It was him all right," Seth said. "And he told Jack he didn't want
nothin
' for his trouble. It's like he's
goin
' around
fixin
' what them other cattlemen are
breakin
'."

Priscilla dumped a scoop of
 
laying mash into a bag and stepped to the counter. Eyeing the man named Seth, she said, "How long ago was it that Lord Whittington came to your place and gave you the mule?"

Seth rolled his eyes upward while contemplating, and said, "A month... maybe five weeks ago. Can't rightly remember. But Mule's a fine animal.
Ah'm
much obliged to Lord Whittington. And my missus and me plan to pay him back when we can."

Priscilla thought about that. Adam had never said a word to her about helping out homesteaders. It didn't make sense, his quietly helping out like that, almost as if he didn't want it known. And the barbed wire fence... Another puzzle. She was all but certain that Tom Rafferty and the cowboy Trudy referred to as Tanner tore down the fence and dragged it off, but Adam apparently took care of that as well, also without saying anything to her. Yet, she was certain that Adam was behind having her printing press smashed. She'd assume he'd done it to protect the interest of the cattlemen. Now, she wasn't so sure.