Wilda's Outlaw (11 page)

“Watch your mouth, child. Besides, I have nothing with which to pay him.”

“You could steal something.”

“Tyra, shame on you.” She regarded her cousin. “Like what?”

“Oh, yes.” She clapped her hands. “Silver from the kitchen perhaps.”

“What a dreadful little imp you are, child. Just take the note and we’ll see where this goes from there.”

“But it would be so much fun.”

“Fun? To steal?”

“Well, to get away with it.”

She paddled the child playfully. “I'll tell Lord Prescott you're not feeling well and have retired for the night. Now get along with you, and be careful you’re not recognized. Come to me when you get back, let me know it’s arranged.” She took her cousin’s shoulders in both hands. “I’m counting on you…in a way we all are. But don’t put yourself in danger. Be very careful.”

Tyra twisted from her grip. “I know how to handle myself. Don’t worry, you can count on me. Oh, this is so exciting.” The girl tucked the note inside her shirtwaist. “I can’t imagine how excited you must be.”

“Hush, now. Hush. Say nothing else, lest you let it slip. You understand?”

The door snicked closed behind the girl, and Wilda went to the window, stared out into the night.

Oh, let this work. Keep us all safe. And let me ride away, free of this place. Oh, please.

Even should her ravaged body be found one day out there on that wild prairie, bones bleached white by the sun and wind, such a fate would be better than the one that awaited her if she remained at Fairhaven and married Blair Prescott.

****

Darkness crept over the bustling town of Victoria City like a blanket drawn by huge hands. In windows up and down the street, lamps came to life. Smith lit a lantern and hung it from the lean-to post in front of the smithy where he and Joshua had worked into the night.

“Wash up and we’ll go git us something to eat.”

Calder stopped pumping the bellows that kept the coal fire glowing in the forge and straightened to massage the aching muscles in his back. Sweat drenched his body, and he went to the trough to splash tepid water over his head and shoulders. As he turned to dry himself on the large scrap of cloth Smith kept hanging nearby, he almost ran into a youngster who stood there gaping up at him. Dressed in too long trousers and a shirt that almost swallowed him, the kid wore a woolen hat that must have been hotter than the hubs of hell in this weather.

“Joshua?” the boy asked.

“Yes. Who might you be?”

“A friend of Wilda’s. She sent you this note.” Pretty eyes, silver in the lamplight, danced in features delicate enough to be a girl’s. But he’d made that mistake before with one of Rachel Johnson’s brood, so he discounted the feeling.

“Wilda?” he asked, not believing the kid could possibly mean that lovely English girl he couldn’t keep out of his mind for more than a minute at a time. The one he couldn’t look at without losing every bit of good sense he might ever had.

“Wilda Duncan. She’s staying out at Fairhaven?” the messenger prodded.

“Yes.” He snatched the folded piece of paper with Joshua written on it in a flowery script, stuck it in his pocket before Smith joined him.

“Thanks, kid. Thank you very much.”

The boy faded into the night, laughter trailing out behind him.

Strange, sure didn’t act like a boy. Still, the way he was dressed…

Calder shrugged and followed Smith across the dusty road toward the Manor. He was hungry enough to eat a horse with a bear chaser, but anxious as he was to read that note, he dared not open it until he was alone.

What could she possibly have written him about?

By the time they returned from a tasteless English supper, and he scooted off to his small room and lit a lantern to read by, he was nervous as a stallion around a filly.

The note looked as if it had been wadded. Perhaps she’d had second thoughts. He read the neatly scripted words twice before he made sense out of them, and even then he wasn’t so sure he understood. She wanted him to come to Fairhaven, hide in the barn and signal her he was there. Hell of a thing. Sounded almost like he might be saving her life. He couldn’t figure that out at all. Still, who could say no to a woman like her? Maybe it was a trick and the sheriff would be there waiting to clap him in chains and drag him off to jail. Or worse, some vigilante posse ready to string him up to a beam. Right there in that fancy barn.

That was stupid. If that was her wish, why go to such trouble when all she had to do was turn him in to the sheriff? Whatever it was, he couldn’t very well not go. Curiosity would soon get the best of him. He’d be a fool not to answer a call for help from such a lovely lady.

Calder hesitated, gazed at her handwriting, ran a fingertip over the swirl of each letter, so feminine and exquisite. Sniffed at the paper and its flowering fragrance.

God, what was wrong with him? This could mean nothing good for him at all. What in the world could this woman want with a no-account outlaw fixing to rob the bank in the very town where she lived? Such a meeting was dangerous and foolish. For both of them. Well, he wouldn’t go out there and wait in the dark like a summoned servant. His turn to wad the blamed thing up and throw it away before he did something so utterly dumb he ought to be taken out and shot. Might be, in fact. He held the balled paper in his palm for a moment, then opened it carefully, smoothed out the wrinkles and folded it into his pocket.

Blowing out the lantern, he fetched Gabe, threw a saddle on him and led him around front. Ought to go now, before he lost his nerve. Find out what this was all about. Smith was staying with a family up the street, so he didn’t have to explain where he was going to anyone. All he had to do was mount up and ride out to Fairhaven.

Once there, what then? Signal her. Perhaps there’d be a lantern in the barn he could light. Wave it around like some fool. Who knew who might see it? Who might come a running. Who might shoot him for a trespasser, no questions asked. Or she could expect him to hoot like a blamed owl.

Toeing the stirrup, he lifted himself into the saddle and clicked his tongue at the bay. Called himself all sorts of a fool. Might as well face it. There wasn’t a chance in hell of him
not
going out there. She might as well have waved a sack of gold coins in front of him. Or lifted those cumbersome skirts to reveal a shapely ankle. Trap or no trap, it was set and him faunching to spring the blamed thing. Couldn’t wait.

Women could very well be the death of a man. Could turn ’em all stupid and gaga eyed, tripping over our own tongues with our whackers stuck out like a pump handle.
He chuckled at the amusing picture.

With the lights of town at his back, he kicked the gelding into a gallop, all the while muttering aloud, like Gabe might care what was up. “Always were a fool for a pretty face. Especially one you know you don’t stand a chance with. Don’t need…don’t want. Got better things to do. Got to rob me a danged bank.”

A golden moon slipped above the horizon to shine in Calder’s face, and bask the rolling plains in its glow. A night breeze cooled the heat of day, carrying the scent of prairie flowers and the Smoky River off to the south. Tempting to simply ride on down there, stop by the hideout and have coffee with Deke and Baron, forget all this nonsense. But he didn’t. Sure as hell, they’d want to know what he’d done about casing the bank, which was absolutely nothing. In the two days he’d been in Victoria City, he hadn’t once gone near the bank. The only reason he was there in the first place.

The nearer he got to Fairhaven the more he squirmed. He carried an itch worse than when he went without bathing for a long spell. And at the nape of his neck, a creepy feeling that something was about to happen that might change his life forever. But he couldn’t know a thing like that, could he? That was fear of the unknown, the same as he felt every time he boarded a railroad car, pulled the hammer back on his Colt and shouted, “Be easy, ladies and gents, while I relieve you of your valuables.”

Only this time, he figured someone was about to relieve him of something, and it might be more valuable than a gold watch or ring. He touched the pocket that held her cross. Ought to return it to her, even if he couldn’t help her out any.

At the crest of the hill, he reined up and stared down at the Englishman’s castle. Eerie sight, out here on the plains. Over yonder was Hays City, the wildest town in the west, where almost daily someone got shot or hung. A town even Wild Bill Hickok hadn’t tamed. Close at hand, the fort was filled with soldiers who had two things on their minds. Women and fighting. And these folks come across the waters to build castles almost within shooting distance of both. Sure was strange.

He forced his mind back to Fairhaven and this most unusual assignation. Best if he didn’t go riding right in. Most of the windows were lit, like these foreign folks didn’t have anything to spend their money on but candles and coal oil.

Considering the bright moonlight, he gave the place a wide berth, circled around to the west and came in behind the barn, just in case anyone was watching.

Was she looking for him? Or was this some big joke she’d concocted to play him for a fool? Why in God’s name did she need his help? That had a funny ring to it. Like something a man might tell a woman to lure her into his bed. That in itself might not be too bad, but he was certain there was way more to it than a roll in the hay.

At the back of the barn, Calder dismounted quietly, dropped the bay’s reins to the ground and slipped into the shadows. In one of the stalls a horse nickered and Gabe replied. Whispered horsey secrets in the night. He froze and waited, but nothing happened. The smell of leather and droppings mingled with the scent of fresh cut hay. Moonlight splattered like liquid gold through gaps in the unfinished barn. When all remained quiet he moved on toward the other end, which offered a full view of the castle.

He found a lantern hanging on a hook just inside the opening. Hunkered behind the stub of finished rock wall, took a sulfur match from his breast pocket, struck it and touched it to the wick, lowering the glass globe carefully. Well inside the doorframe and down out of the line of fire, he extended the lantern as far as he could into the open. Slowly, he counted to ten, drew the light back, waited a while, then did it again. If she didn’t see that, she’d gone blind. Hope to hell no one else had. With a shrug he turned down the wick until it spluttered and went out.

Now he’d wait. Pretty simple, really. Except everything could go wrong. He wished he’d decided how long to give her to show up when he was making his plans. For the life of him he couldn’t figure out what a reasonable length of time would be. Five minutes? Twenty? She might have to sneak out and that could take a while. So, he’d give her a while. Why? Because, well…because he wanted to see her again.

Backing his butt up against the wall, he slid to the hay-strewn floor to wait.

****

As soon as everyone retired to their rooms for the night, Wilda crept silently to the library to begin her vigil. How long she would have to await the arrival of Calder Raines, she had no idea, but from the large windows there she would have a clear view of the barn. The servants kept lamps burning in all the ground floor rooms until they retired, so she didn’t have to creep around in the dark getting settled. On the other hand, she must be careful not to get caught if he hadn’t arrived by the time they came to extinguish the lamp in this room.

Sitting on the floor between the heavy drapes and the window, she hugged her knees and waited. A late rising waning moon peeked above the horizon and trailed across the starlit sky. Its silvery glow illuminated the prairie and barnyard, cast shadows around the skeleton of a barn. After a while, the groom extinguished the lantern in the tack room and in a few minutes rode off toward home. The echo of horse’s hooves faded into the night, and still there was no sign of the outlaw. Perhaps he could not get away…or worse, perhaps he simply would not answer her summons. Ever. How many nights would she wait before searching for another solution to her problem?

The grandfather clock ticked loudly in the silence, chimed its way past ten o’clock. A servant padded into the library and extinguished the lamp. Still no sign that the outlaw had arrived.

Maybe he wasn’t coming. She had been a fool to think he would, a fool to summon him in the first place. Relief and regret left her weak with indecisiveness. There must be another solution to her problem. While she could no doubt survive in this new world, she did not want to be the cause of Rowena and Tyra being turned out as well. Though the way Prescott had looked at Rowena at the table this evening, that might not happen. How nice if he decided to court her sister instead, and be rid of the nuisance of a woman who did not love him, did not even like him. Pride would probably keep him from doing so, though, and the dolt was stuffed to the ears with that.

She had almost made up her mind to give up her vigil and speak to Rowena about such a possibility when a light flickered from amidst the framework of the barn. Rubbing her eyes, she looked again. Yes, it was a lantern burning, though it appeared to float there like an apparition. Keeping her eyes on the wavering light, she rose on legs that trembled so she was forced to brace herself against the windowsill.

There it was again. She must go. Now.

Before she could take a step the light went out. Disappeared, just like that. Panic surged through her. What if he thought she was not coming? What if he left? She could not let him go.

She scurried to the door, inched it open and peeked out. No one was about. With a deep breath, she raced to the big front doors, grabbed the handle and heaved. It refused to open.

They had been locked for the night.

Wait for me. Oh, please, wait.
It was all she could do to prevent shouting the words aloud.

Fleeing back to the library, she fumbled with the cumbersome latch on one of the windows. The drumming of her heart most certainly could be heard throughout the immense house. Under frantic fingers the latch finally gave, but the window was stuck. Muscles straining, she shoved upward with all her might. The wooden frame shifted with a squeal. She shuddered, paused, listened for someone to come investigate. All remained quiet. Frantic, she shoved the window wider. It groaned and squealed again. Surely someone heard this time.