Wildfire in His Arms (31 page)

It had been a companionable time. They talked about things that didn't strike any nerves, and they'd gotten in the habit of watching the sunset together each evening. Dakota had some real pretty ones that filled up the sky with deep reds and oranges, with no trees or hills to obstruct the view from their location. She would take the chair outside for him, then sit on the ground next to him. He always glanced down at her to catch her smile just as the sun slipped below the horizon, and she would look up at him. She liked the way he looked at her at that moment. For some reason, when their eyes met, she found it more intimate than kissing.

It would have been a good time to warn him that helping her might not be as easy as he thought. She had been counting on Carl's being alive, but Degan was convinced he wasn't, and she could no longer cling to her hope that Degan was wrong about that.

But he didn't know just how revered Carl had been by the people in town, so much that no one there would need a trial to be convinced of her guilt. The moment they saw her, they'd probably drag her to the nearest tree and lynch her, and not even Degan could protect her from an angry lynch mob that numbered in the hundreds. Evan Bingham was going to be flat out of luck at getting a ring on her finger then, wasn't he? Well, at least in the end the Binghams wouldn't get what they wanted, though she wouldn't be around to gloat over it.

But that was a nerve-striking subject, so she continued to avoid it. Still, she'd have to tell Degan before they started south. She didn't want to take him out of his way and
then
convince him to let her go on alone. Or just sneak off. That was still an option, too, and one that wouldn't include an argument.

She'd been giving the latter option more thought. How could she not when now would be the perfect time to slip away? Degan was better. He could take care of himself now. He could even get back to Bismarck, where he could continue his recovery in comfort. She'd like to leave him a note though to thank him for his offer of help and explain why helping her could get him killed. In convincing her that Carl was dead, he'd also convinced her that her plight was hopeless. She wouldn't tell him that, though. Unfortunately, the trapper didn't have any writing materials. In the end, she couldn't bring herself to ride away without leaving Degan a note.

Today she'd exercised the horses by racing them up and down the wide, open stretch that led to Bismarck, and then she'd gone hunting and done some cooking and baking. It was nearing dusk now and she decided to take her horse with her to the pond. After bathing she planned to ride to the other side of the woods to see what was over that way. She'd be real annoyed if she found a town that Jackson had failed to mention.

She'd already served Degan an early dinner: roasted pheasant, stewed mushrooms, and misshaped corn muffins she was able to bake with Artemus's bread tin. But Degan had eaten so much he had fallen asleep before she'd even cleaned up, so they probably wouldn't catch the sunset tonight. She should still be back in time for it in case he woke up.

Max stripped down and entered the pond with her bar of soap. Degan knew where she was bathing every day. He didn't like her going there alone and had been walking her to the pond the last few days—yet another sign that he was getting better, asserting his druthers again and getting away with it. Even without his full strength, Degan could be adamant. He hung back about twenty feet or so from the pond, within shouting distance, so she could have her privacy.

She was wading toward the edge of the pond to get out when she saw that she was no longer alone, and froze. The man was tall, stocky, and already had his gun drawn and pointed at her. He'd come out of the trees from the south. The ones along the western edge shaded him, so she couldn't quite make out his face. Then another man appeared behind him, then a third. They had their guns drawn, too, and all three were walking slowly toward her.

She had nowhere to run. The pond was too small to help her in any way. One of them could reach her before she got to the other side of it—or shoot her for trying. Without her clothes she couldn't even bluff them into accepting her outlaw persona, much less try to convince them she was a boy. In a moment or two they'd see that she was a woman, if they hadn't already.

She'd brought her saddlebags only because she didn't want to carry the wet bar of soap back in her hands. But they were nearly empty, containing only her ammunition. She'd already removed the clean clothes she'd brought, which were hanging on a bush near the edge of the pond next to her dirty ones. All of her other belongings—her cooking gear, her spices, her creamy soap that she only used every three days so it would last longer—were at the cabin. She also had her money. There'd been no reason to unpack it, which was too bad, since it was probably about to be stolen.

Maybe the strangers would be satisfied with that. Or maybe they wouldn't. They definitely weren't friendly with their guns already drawn. Fear was sneaking up on her pretty fast. She'd probably be dead already if they didn't want something else from her. . . .

She was too far from the cabin for the sound of her scream to reach it, even if Degan was awake to hear it. He'd hear a gunshot, though. Her gun belt was hanging on her saddle pommel, under her vest and coat. But the three men now stood between her and her horse.

Then the closest one to her said, “It's time to go home, Max.”

She tensed and peered at the speaker more closely, then suddenly felt a wave of dread wash over her. “Is that you, Grady Pike?”

He didn't answer, but she recognized him now. Black hair worn longer than usual, probably because he hadn't paused long enough in getting up here to cut it, green eyes drawn close together in a frown. Knowing who it was didn't remove her fear, though; it just added to it.

Grady Pike was Bingham Hills' sheriff and had been Carl Bingham's puppet. Nearing forty, he'd been sheriff for as long as she could remember. Carl had made sure of that. As mayor, Carl had determined when and if elections would be held, and if anyone had started talking about running for sheriff, he had changed his mind pretty quick.

Grady used to be a nice guy when he was younger. He'd toss her a jawbreaker candy whenever he saw her in town, used to keep a pocket full of them. When she was a kid. Before Carl had run into roadblocks like her and had started doing underhanded things to get around them. And all without anyone knowing. But Grady knew.

Grady's deputy, Andy Wager, was the second man. Short, chubby, with curly, brown hair and brown eyes, and around thirty now, he was another who followed orders without question. Andy had led the posse that had chased her all the way to Kansas. He didn't usually have much gumption, so he must have been promised something special to have gone that far, maybe Grady's job when he retired, not that she could imagine Grady ever retiring from a job that appeared to be his for life.

She didn't recognize the third man, who looked younger, maybe twenty-five, with blond hair, blue eyes, and a slight limp in his right leg. A tracker they'd hired? How else had they found her out here?

She asked that first, “How did you find me?”

“Get out of the water,” was all Grady said.

Max shook her head. “Not without some privacy to dress.”

She was pushing her luck. Grady probably didn't want to let her out of his sight. Yet he signaled the men to turn around and did the same. He was still standing between her and her horse, though, so she quickly got out of the water and dressed.

With her pants and shirt on, she asked again, “How did you find me?”

All three turned toward her again, and Andy answered, “We probably wouldn't have if you weren't traveling with Degan Grant. It's easy to follow him, as memorable as he is.”

Degan was right. Gran's letter had been tampered with. They'd obviously followed it straight to Luella. She must have told them that Max was with Degan, or Madam Joe had provided the information. But that didn't explain how they had found her in the middle of nowhere in Dakota. Grady and Andy were town men; they weren't trackers.

Grady was frowning. Apparently, he didn't approve of ­Andy's talking to her. He waved his gun toward her horse and told his deputy, “Get her weapons,” and said to her, “You don't get to ask questions. We didn't enjoy coming up here, and then you weren't even in Helena when we got there. You're more trouble than you're worth, so just keep your mouth shut or you can go home in chains.”

She bristled. This was the man who'd dragged her to Carl's house that fateful morning. She had no doubt that he had known what Carl had been up to and had still done it.

“You can at least tell me if Carl's dead or alive,” she demanded.

“Maybe you should have stuck around to find out,” Grady growled. “Chains it is then.”

“All right!” she conceded.

Andy went through her saddlebags. He'd dumped her coat and vest on the ground and looped her gun belt over his ­shoulder.

Max was fuming as she put on her vest and coat, then sat down to put on her boots. She was glad she had her coat with her. She had a feeling they would be riding hard to put as much distance as possible between them and Degan. Or were they confident because they outnumbered him? Or did they think their badges would keep Degan from killing them?

She decided to test that, asking, “Can I at least get the rest of my things and say good-bye to Degan?”

“Now that's funny, it really is,” Andy replied.

He didn't look amused. And she caught him glancing nervously in the direction of the cabin. Had they been watching it and waiting to get her alone? They knew who Degan was,
what
he was. They wouldn't have risked apprehending her in front of him when that might not have worked out in their favor.

“Rich, ain'tcha?”

Her eyes went back to Andy, holding her wad of money. “That belongs to Bingham Hills' bank. Wilson Cox gave it to me by mistake.”

“So you kept it all this time to give it back?” Andy asked incredulously.

“Course I did.”

Andy snorted. “Yeah, sure.”

With her hat and boots on, Max glanced in the direction of the cabin. With most of her belongings still at the cabin, Degan wouldn't think that she had left of her own accord, would he? Or would he think she'd sacrificed her belongings so that he'd waste time looking for her in the woods first?

She couldn't see the cabin through the trees, but if she could just get closer to it, Degan might hear her yell. Or would they shoot her in the back for trying? He'd definitely hear a gunshot, but it wouldn't do her much good if she was already dead.

Still, she had to try. Grady's not telling her what she could expect in Texas could only mean one thing. If they admitted they were taking her home to hang, they would expect her to fight tooth and nail the whole trip, and it was still a long way to Texas. But did they really think she'd be docile not knowing? Maybe. False hope could make you do dumb things—such as ride along peacefully with your executioners.

“You don't want to make me angry, Max,” Grady said as he clamped a hand on her arm.

Was he a mind reader now, knowing she'd been about to run? He already looked angry. She supposed she would be, too, if she'd had to travel this far to collect someone. But she'd lost her chance to get closer to the cabin. Grady was now leading her in the opposite direction.

She spotted their horses through the trees about a minute later. A fourth man was standing with them. When he turned, she recognized who had led Grady right to her.

“You son'bitch!” she yelled at Jackson Bouchard.

She charged toward him, ready to rip him apart, but Grady yanked her back.

Jackson looked completely unperturbed. The bastard even shrugged. “You never said you were wanted by the law.”

“Sure, I'm a killer and a bank robber. I go around telling that to anyone who will listen. And if I get loose, I'm going to add you to my list of dead men.”

“Shouldn't she be tied up?” Jackson asked.

Andy chuckled. “You were guarding the ropes, Mr. Bou­chard.”

She did get tied then. But getting gagged, too, infuriated her even more. They rode through the trees for a while until they were so far from the cabin that it couldn't be seen when they left the woods to ride hard toward Bismarck. As they'd mounted up, Grady had said something about getting there before the morning train departed. If they managed that, she knew Degan would never catch up—if he even tried.

D
EGAN WASN
'
T SURPRISED HE
'
D
slept so long. He was going to get fat and lazy if they didn't leave soon. Eating and sleeping was all he'd been doing here. He supposed his body needed it, but Max made too much food. But then she didn't have much else to do here except cook and nag him to eat and rest. She was good at nagging, and chattering—and enticing him without even trying. He smiled. She was good at a lot of things.