Carol Finch Page 3

  “Nice place.” She smirked as she scanned the shabby stone and timber trading post that had been built at the base of the rugged mountains. “I’ve heard this part of Texas referred to as Hell’s Fringe. It seems to fit.”

  “At least the place is reasonably clean,” he reported as he fell into step beside her. He flashed her a wry grin. “It even has a tub upstairs for those of us who need to bathe. Naturally, I’ll want to spiffy up so I won’t offend you.”

  She burst out with a hee-hee-hee, much to his amazement. “Oh, come now, Calvin, surely you know me well enough by now to realize that I would have insisted that you ride up top with the driver and guard if I found you offensive.”

  Curiosity got the better of him as they entered the crude trading post. “Let me guess, you ousted someone during the first leg of your journey. Forced them up to the luggage rack, did you?”

  “Of course I did. The two heathens reeked of whiskey and turned offensively obnoxious. The stench was so overpowering that it made my eyes water. If I were younger I would have climbed atop the coach to avoid them.”

  “It might help if you discarded that thick veil,” Quinn suggested. “It probably traps in smoke and foul aromas.”

  “And expose this horribly disfigured face of mine?” she scoffed. “Trust me, Calvin, this veil is for your convenience and protection as much as mine.”

  When the proprietor—who, according to the wooden plaque on the counter was named Ike—objected to the mutt following Agatha inside, she chastised the mammoth of a man. It wasn’t until she offered a silver dollar to pay for the mutt, that the proprietor backed off.

  “Okay, lady, but keep that mangy animal off the bed,” Ike insisted harshly.

  “Deal. But I just bathed him. He is as clean as the rest of us. And certainly much easier to get along with,” she said with a disgruntled sniff.

  She plucked the key from his beefy hand and swept off, her cane thumping rhythmically against the floor and the steps as she disappeared from sight.

  “Feisty old witch,” Ike muttered after her.

  “Hey, leave her alone.” Quinn slammed his mouth shut, wondering why he was defending Agatha.

  Apparently, Ike was wondering the same thing because he blinked at him in surprise. “That your granny or something?” he asked as he handed over the room key.

  “No, but if I had one I’d want her to be just as full of sass and spunk as Agatha. She doesn’t take any guff and she doesn’t let anyone push her around. You gotta admire that about her.”

  “Do I?” Ike pocketed the extra dollar. “Don’t see why I should. I get paid the same for meek and complacent customers, ya know.”

  Quinn waited for the guard to haul in their luggage, and then carried his and Agatha’s belongings upstairs. When he knocked on her door, she opened it only slightly to determine who had arrived.

  “Thank you, Calvin. You are turning out to be more considerate and sociable than I first thought.” She grabbed the handle of her oversize bag and dragged it into her room. “Well, good night. Don’t forget to check for bedbugs.”

  “I’ll do that,” he said before he turned and walked away.

  Piper waited until she heard his door click shut before she peeled off her veiled hat. She unpinned her long, silver-blond hair and shook it loose, letting it tumble down her back in springy curls. She breathed a long-awaited sigh of relief when she stepped from the cumbersome gown. No wonder she was so tired, she mused as she draped the heavily padded garment over a nearby chair. She wasn’t accustomed to carrying around this extra weight night and day.

  She smiled fondly when the mutt plopped down at her bare feet. “Too bad you aren’t a man,” she said. “You, I would enjoy dealing with on a regular basis. Loyal, devoted and true-blue. Unlike most men I’ve met.”

  On that thought, Piper stretched out in bed and promptly fell asleep, thankful not to be bouncing around in that dreadful coach and have her stomach churning constantly.

  At dawn, Quinn headed down to the spring-fed creek to bathe and change into a clean set of clothes. He’d heard Agatha thumping down the hall earlier, requesting that Ike prepare her bath, so he granted her the luxury of the tub while he sought out more primitive accommodations.

  After snooping around the barn, Quinn noticed a new hireling—a thin, wiry white man who wore a bright red bandana, which was tied in exactly the same place on his left shoulder as the attendant he had encountered the previous afternoon. Pulling the silver dollars from his pocket, Quinn wandered over to strike up a conversation while he rolled the coins over his fingertips. He also boasted about the big jackpot he had won at the gaming tables in Fort Stockton.

  As he strolled off, he asked himself how a ring of spies might discreetly communicate their information about prospective targets when they were miles apart. Frowning pensively, he circled the coach that waited unattended while the guard and driver ate breakfast.

  “Bingo,” Quinn murmured when he noticed the red bandana wrapped around the handle of the strongbox. Not only was he carrying the tempting bait of extra money, but also there must be valuable loot in the strongbox. Plus, the potential profit of whatever Agatha was carrying in her reticule.

  When he heard voices he veered away from the back of the coach. His anticipation mounting, he predicted that he would finally hit pay dirt during the next leg of the trip. His only concern was how Agatha was going to react if this stage was held up. He could visualize her squaring off against the bandits and trying to protect the money she obviously carried.

  If the stage were indeed robbed he would have to caution her to be careful what she said and did.

  Amused, he watched Agatha toddle outside to set down a plate of food for the mutt. Agatha paid no attention to Ike who towered over her, complaining that he didn’t want the dog eating off “people” plates.

  “Stop fussing at me, Ike. All I’m doing is keeping this poor dog from starving to death. It won’t hurt you to give the plate a good scrubbing.”

  Quinn bit back a grin when Agatha flounced off and Ike sent a rude gesture flying behind her. Scowling, Ike lurched around and lumbered back into the trading post. Quinn had to agree that Ike was making a mountain out of a molehill and that Agatha was right. His plate had dried food caked on it and it could have used a good scrubbing.

  “What are you smiling about this morning?” Agatha asked as she came toward him.

  He opened the door of the coach for her. “I enjoy watching you set folks straight, as long as it isn’t me,” he said dryly.

  When she climbed in, he caught a whiff of her appealing perfume. It reminded him of the wild lilac bushes that grew around his childhood home.

  And that was about the only fond memory he had retained from childhood.

  Well, no sense dredging that up, he told himself while he waited for the pup to bound into the coach. His life hadn’t been a fairy tale. So what? He had learned a long time ago to endure. As far as he could tell that’s what life was about.

  “Are you getting in, Calvin, or do you plan to stand there woolgathering? And where are the driver and guard?” She looked him up and down, then said, “You look nice this morning in that colorful red vest.”

  “Thanks,” he said, startled by the unexpected compliment.

  As if on cue, the driver and burly guard scurried outside. For a moment Quinn appraised the shaggy-haired guard, wondering if he might be in on the robberies. He would make sure to keep a close eye on the man if they were held up so he could watch how he reacted.

  Three hours later, as the coach bounced over the rock-strewn path that wound through a mountain pass, an eerie sensation skittered down Quinn’s spine. He jerked to attention to survey the looming granite walls that rose on each side of the narrow pass.

  Soon, came the instinctive voice inside his head. He could almost feel danger looming in the distance, having dealt with it so often in the past.

  He glanced at Agatha, who was carrying on a one-sided conversation with the m
utt. “I’ve got a bad feeling.”

  Her head snapped up and she tensed. “About what?”

  “All my instincts tell me trouble is lurking. Do yourself a favor and don’t provoke the bandits if we get held up.”

  “What?” she squawked, glancing this way and that. “Hell and damnation, this is just what I don’t need!”

  Sure enough, she clutched protectively at her reticule again. Yep, she had something valuable with her, he predicted. If he could see her face, he knew it would be skewed up with alarm and anxiety.

  Her hand shot out toward him. “Give me one of your six-shooters. I’m not going down without a fight.”

  Quinn shook his head. “You shoot and they shoot back. Believe me, you would not like getting shot.”

  “You speak from experience?”

  He nodded grimly. “Yeah, it ain’t much fun. It would make you cross and cranky.”

  She snorted at that.

  “Okay, a lot more cross and cranky,” he amended wryly.

  She poked her head out the window to study the towering stone precipices, and then she twisted around on the seat so that her shoulder and face were turned away from him.

  “What are you doing?” he questioned, bemused.

  Her head swiveled around, the thick veil swinging across the collar of her gown. “I’m unloading, of course.”

  He saw her tuck something down the front of her gown. “If you don’t think bandits won’t frisk you because of your gender and age, think again. You might as well accept the fact that no one gets by untouched.”

  “And you’re an expert, are you? Don’t tell me you supplement your lack of funds at the card table by holding up stages and banks.”

  “No, but—”

  Quinn’s voice dried up when he heard the first gunshot echoing off the rock walls, and then felt the coach lurch into a swifter speed.

  “Oh, my God,” Agatha wailed as she grabbed hold of the window frame to prevent being launched into his lap. “This is going to spoil everything!”

  He noticed the absence of the nasal tone in her voice again, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. He poked his head out the window to watch six masked riders descend from an elevated trail. Sure as shootin’, their faces were concealed by the same patterned red bandanas.

  “It’s about damn time,” he said to himself. “Finally, some results.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing—”

  The coach caromed around a sharp bend in the road, flinging him sideways. Agatha screeched, a high-pitched sound that nearly burst his eardrums—and sent the frightened mutt up in howls. When the coach rocked wildly on its springs Agatha was flung on top of Quinn before he could upright himself. He barely had time to register the fact that she felt as soft as a feather pillow before she planted her hands on his chest and shoved herself away.

  Quinn peered out the window to see two riders thundering beside the coach. A moment later, the stage skidded to a halt.

  “Hands up!” one of the masked bandits roared at the driver. “And you there, throw down that shotgun.”

  “Ohmigod, ohmigod,” Agatha chanted as she laid a shaky hand over her bosom.

  While the driver and guard were being disarmed, Quinn unfastened his holsters and laid them on the seat.

  “I never would have taken you for a coward.” Agatha’s voice was harsh with disappointment. “You aren’t even going to put up a fight, are you?”

  The condemnation of her words rolled off him like rain off a canvas tent. “No, I’m not. Money comes and goes. I might have the nine lives of a cat, but I’ve used up about half of them already. I don’t intend to expend another one of them today. Since you probably don’t have too many to spare yourself, I suggest you act complacent for a change.”

  “When my money goes it’s gone for good,” she grumbled.

  “Be quiet,” he said, making a slashing gesture with his hand. “I’m thinking.”

  “Well, think fast, Calvin. We are in serious trouble here!” she muttered.

  Although the outlaws wore bandanas to conceal their faces, Quinn made note of the ringleader’s bushy eyebrows and beady eyes that were shaded by his wide-brimmed sombrero.

  Quinn quickly memorized the appearance of the outlaws’ horses, saddles, boots and spurs for future identification. When he brought these murdering bastards to justice he damn well intended to point an accusing finger at each and every one of them.

  “Step down from the coach,” one of the men ordered gruffly. “And hurry up about it.”

  Piper’s heart was pounding so hard that she swore it was about to crack a rib. She sat there second-guessing herself, wishing she had devised a better way to transport the money and valuables she had with her. Although she had tried to consider and plan for every risk involved on this cross-country trip, she had no way to forward the money she needed to make her fresh new start. Now she faced being robbed!

  She cast Cal a panicky glance. For the life of her she couldn’t imagine how Cal could remain so calm and unruffled. It was as if he was sitting there staring out the window, taking mental photographs. What was the point of that? They would never see their money, valuables or these banditos again.

  “I’ll go out first,” he said quietly. “This time you’re going to let me help you down, like it or not.” He stared grimly at her. “If you misstep and go tumbling down it might set off a chain reaction and all hell might break loose. Do not purposely get them riled up. Understand?”

  Piper nodded jerkily, then watched Cal unfold his muscular frame from the seat and move slowly down the step. She had called him a coward, but she realized now that he was nothing of the kind. What she saw in his facial expression was utter fearlessness and coiled control. For all his projected casualness, you would have thought these bandits aiming their pistols at his chest were inviting him out to a Sunday picnic.

  Her breath jammed in her chest when the suspicious thought that Cal might somehow be involved in this holdup hit her like a slap in the face. He had predicted this possibility earlier, she recalled. Plus, he hadn’t seemed the least bit alarmed by approaching bandits. Also, if she had heard the odd comment he’d made earlier correctly, she would swear that he was expecting this robbery.

  Piper stiffened in outrage. That sneaky sidewinder! He would probably laugh himself silly while he retrieved the money she had crammed down the front of her padded dress. Well, they would see how long and hard he laughed when she grabbed her cane and hit him squarely in the crotch. Then he would be singing a different tune…and in a higher key!

  Chapter Three

  Roarke Sullivan pelted down the street of Galveston, hell-bent on his crusade to mount a patrol of capable men to track down his runaway daughter. Of course, he had a pretty good idea where Piper was bound. She had been pestering him for months to retract his decree that Penelope would be forever forbidden from acquiring her share of the Sullivan fortune.

  Now, five days after Piper’s disappearance—and he had only received word an hour ago that she had not returned to her position as teaching assistant for the summer session at Miss Johnson’s Finishing School for Women—Roarke had to move quickly. He didn’t know how many days it would take his unruly, independent-minded daughter to travel across Texas, but she had to be somewhere close to her destination by now.

  Roarke veered into the city marshal’s office to throw some weight around. Well known in this city, he expected his request to be met immediately.

  “I need a posse to track down my daughter,” he said without preamble. “I’m putting you in charge, Drake. After all, I’m partly responsible for seeing to it that you were elected to this position.”

  “Your daughter?” William Drake parroted as he drew his feet off the edge of the desk and bounded upright. “Which daughter would that be?”

  “The only one I still claim,” Roarke said, and scowled. “I suspect she is headed to Fort Davis. My guess is that she took the train as far as the rails run then
hopped a stage. She’s probably traveling under an assumed name so I can’t track her easily. I want you to notify law officials as far west as the telegraph lines run and order the formation of a posse.”

  He loomed over the marshal who was a good six inches shorter and fifty pounds lighter. “I want reliable, responsible lawmen. Not two-bit gunslingers with the morals of hounds. I want Piper returned in the same condition she left and her fiancé-to-be damn well does, too!”

  His voice boomed across the office and reverberated off the walls. “I am offering a five-hundred-dollar bonus for each posse member that escorts Piper safely back to me. There is another five hundred in it for you if you make the necessary arrangements.”

  William Drake snatched up his hat. “Yes, Mr. Sullivan, I’ll get right on it.”

  “I want Texas Rangers.” Roarke decided in afterthought. “Never mind about a posse.”

  Drake fidgeted with the dingy hat that he had clamped in his hands. “Well, sir, that is not exactly the Rangers’ forte. They are frontier fighters, ya know.”

  “They’ve been known to track down and rescue kidnap victims taken by Indians, haven’t they?”

  “Yes, sir, but your daughter wasn’t exactly kidnapped, was she?”

  Roarke flung his arm in an expansive gesture. “A technicality. We will quibble about that later. Just send the telegram to Ranger headquarters in Austin. I’ll add another five hundred to your bonus.”

  When the marshal scuttled off, Roarke expelled an agitated sigh. “Confounded, headstrong female.”

  He glared at the visual image that popped to mind. Piper had become as contrary as a mule after he had sent Penelope away without his blessing. And Roarke had paid the schoolmistress plenty of extra money to bring Piper under thumb for him.