Twenty-six

Dear Mother Mary!

“What’s the matter, girlie, cat got your tongue?”

Glory knew without a doubt she’d found trouble.

It was the fault of this damnable wind. It carried seeds of destruction, scattering them with abandon wherever it went. She strove for some measure of calm, knowing her wits would be all that would save her. Terror gripped her.

“I’m looking for Horace.”

“Well, I can be whoever you want. Makes no never mind to ol’ Frenchie. Horace’ll fit the bill just fine.”

Keep him talking. When she made a move, it had to count. It would be her sole chance.

“I’m afraid I’ve lost my brother.”

“Who you trying to fool now? You ain’t got no brother.”

When the man touched her, she jabbed the walking stick into his midsection. He clutched her ankles on the way down. Loathing gave her courage to finish the job. She lifted the staff and drove it, bringing her full weight to bear. A crack and the loud oath that rent the air assured her she didn’t miss. She made a mad dash for freedom, ignoring briars and brambles that grabbed her clothing. The sky opened up, drenching her.

“Miss Glory, hurry! Over here.” Horace’s shout guided her, a beacon on a storm-tossed sea.

He led the way to the animals, helping her onto the mule. In the midst of thunder, lightning, and the curse of evil, they urged the mounts toward Santa Anna. The downpour pummeling Glory’s face and arms made it nigh impossible to hold the reins. At last Horace took them from her stiff fingers and led Caesar to some sort of shelter. While the noise of the torrent hadn’t faded, it no longer pounded against her. She got down slowly.

“Where are we?”

“Under a rock shelf. We can rest here. I’m sorry, so sorry.” Regret lay heavy in the air. The boy-man evidently assumed he’d failed and that their predicament was somehow his fault.

She laid a comforting hand on his arm. “Horace, you did real good. We’re out of the rain. We can catch our breath here.”

“But…but Mr. Luke depends on me. I’m supposed to take you home.”

“You will after the rain stops.” Glory took his hand. “You’ve done everything asked of you and more. No one but the good Lord has control over storms.”

Relief filled his voice. “And I didn’t let the ground eat you, did I?”

“You certainly spared me that all right.” She couldn’t hold back the tender smile. Heroes weren’t measured solely by the size of their brains. The depth of Horace’s heart more than made up for any lack. She’d sooner put her life in his hands than most anyone else she knew.

“Do you think Mr. Luke got swallowed up again?”

Bands around her chest squeezed, creating pain unlike any she’d known. Had the lovemaking been a sham? Had he laughed behind her back afterward? No, she would never believe that. He’d had a reason for what he’d done and said.

“I think he can take care of most anything, Horace.” She blinked away the hotness lurking behind her lids.

“Yeah, but are you sure?”

“Yes.”

For the sake of argument, perhaps he hadn’t meant those words. Perhaps he’d had a perfectly logical reason. And perhaps he knew she wouldn’t leave—unless he ran her off. The moment of passion could mean an apology. If she wanted to buy into that theory.

Luke’s hints of a dangerous undertaking that last night popped into mind. He’d said success of his mission would grant her father’s wish. He fought injustice and crime wherever he found it—the words in his proposed epitaph.

Did the fixer possibly think to set one more problem to rights? Yes, that’s exactly what he’d thought.

Her throat ached from lack of air. What he’d done today came out of caring—to save her.

Luke wouldn’t let anyone ride on his magic carpet who repulsed him, that much she could bank on.

Remaining doubt fled. But it let fear creep back.

Her stupid pride had placed Luke in unimaginable peril. What if he met with harm because of her? She might’ve gotten him killed. She couldn’t live with his death on her conscience.

One thing for certain, men like Frenchie wouldn’t think twice about ending the life of an infiltrator.

Unshed tears blocked her ability to swallow. Luke risked death to help her father—and her. If her surmising held truth, he was indeed a man of uncommon valor.

“I can almost guarantee he’ll survive come what may.” She patted Horace’s hand.

One man against a whole den of thieves and murderers?

“’Cause he has the key. Anyone with a key has special powers. He could probably kill a mean ol’ dragon even.”

Yes, he certainly possessed abilities of few mortals. No argument there. Only a man like McClain could unlock bitter hurt and bring a smile. She’d never have found the tenderness she’d long buried had he not entered their lives.

Uncommon to say the least.

* * *

Sheets of rain washed away the grime that Luke had carefully applied. With any luck, those yahoos below wouldn’t give him a second glance. Leastwise, he hoped not.

The horses looked awfully inviting, and if he had a lick of sense, he’d climb on one and ride out.

Except he hadn’t accomplished what he’d set out to do.

No one had ever given him a prize for being long on brains, but he was no quitter.

Jagged lightning struck an oak tree a few hundred yards away, close enough to raise the hair on his head and put a ringing in his ears. He gave one last yank to the ropes he’d hog-tied Frenchie with. The man lay unmoving.

His jaw tightened. Thank God he’d followed his instincts and waited or… He shuddered to think of Glory enduring one moment in the lewd outlaw’s company.

The blow delivered by the butt of his pistol would keep the man out for a while, he reckoned. For good measure, he stuffed his bandana into Slug’s mouth. Lord knows he wanted to give him worse than he had, make him pay for having to pull the legs from under the woman who’d shown him dreams didn’t mean a thing unless you had someone to share them with. Just so much emptiness. No one had given him so great a treasure.

Shame and misery burned a path where his heart once lay.

He’d lost her.

Should another opportunity come down the line to add to Frenchie’s grief, he’d damn sure grab it. Gut feeling told him the fight wasn’t over.

For now, he’d consider it a blessing to get word to Dan where to find the outlaw. Slug wouldn’t stay quiet for long. And though the man hadn’t seen who hit him, he’d surely suspect. If he should get loose, Luke prayed he couldn’t add two and two.

He gave the form a swift kick with the toe of his boot before he covered him with branches and ran for the hideout.

Gale-force winds almost ripped the trapdoor from his hand. He lost his footing and tumbled down the ladder when it slammed.

“Hey, watch where you’re slinging water there, Kidd,” Bill complained.

“What’s the matter? Don’t take kindly to bathing?” He offered the sarcasm, watching the waterfall stream off his hat brim. It soaked into the dirt floor around his feet.

“Not the regular kind. I do get one on occasion. Mostly when it’s accidental-like.”

Figured as much.

Lefty’s narrowed gaze gave him an attack of the jitters.

“Took you long enough, Tex.”

Luke bent to brush his soaked trousers. “Thought you boys would appreciate me calming the horses. The whole herd had the walleye. Don’t know how you do it, but where I come from we ride to a stage holdup.”

“What did ya do, sing ’em a lull-ee-by?” Creede threw in.

“Nope, mine’s more partial to ‘Dixie.’” Luke took a seat by the ladder, thinking it prudent. Just in case.

“You happen to see Frenchie out there while you was serenading?” Creede smelled something and it didn’t pertain to crusty underarms.

Stay calm, Luke reminded himself. He picked up a block of wood, opened his knife, and shaved off a pile of thin strips. “Nope.”

“A mite strange, seeing how you come back and he didn’t.”

Luke shrugged. “You sure he’s not on a bunk back there asleep?”

“I sent him to look for you,” Creede snarled.

Luke shivered under the half-breed’s glittery gaze. He plucked a matchstick from the ante pile Bill and Lefty used and stuck it in the side of his mouth. He regarded Creede’s high cheekbones that called attention to the sunken face. He could remember only a handful of men who’d made his skin crawl all the way from his feet to his eyeballs.

“Nope. Didn’t see him.” Luke shifted the match from one side to the other. “Lightning could’ve struck him though. It hit a tree and about knocked me for a loop.”

Bill scratched his head. A showering of white flakes fell to the poker table. “Reckon we oughta go look for him?”

Tension brought the whittling knife a shade too close to Luke’s finger. He smelled his goose cooking. The second before a bullet pierced his chest wouldn’t give much time to explain.

“Nah,” Creede scoffed. “Wait’ll the storm passes. I ain’t gonna get wet less’n I hafta. ’Course, the rest o’ you can if you got a mind.”

“Tomorrow’s soon enough for me.” Bill headed to the bunks. “Never did like him no how. Good riddance. Too damn mean.”

Their reluctance brought a wave of relief. Luke folded the knife and stood. “Think I’ll turn in. Anyone else?”

Creede leaned his chair against the wall. Danger flickered in the thorny stare. Luke hoped he’d never have to cross him. The quiet ones always made the stillness inside sit up and take notice. Luke fought for enough spit to swallow but failed.

“Got some thinking to do first.”

“Suit yourself.”

Nothing made Luke more skittish than turning his back on an enemy. The bunks lining one wall of the underground den seemed halfway to California. His wet boots squeaked with each step. He tensed for the sound of a forty-five clearing leather.

* * *

At last the storm showed signs of abating. Near as Glory could figure, the day had slipped into dusk. Hope and Squirt probably grew sick with worry. Horace fidgeted beside her.

“My pa’s gonna be real mad.”

“I’ll explain things to him.”

“He don’t listen. Pa never listens.”

The sorrow she’d noticed before reappeared, thicker and more somber. George Simon’s discipline bordered on cruelty. That much she knew. Small wonder Horace’d always had such an urgent way of speaking to her. He craved to belong, to someone, anyone who gave a damn. In his mind, he probably saw marriage as an escape. But it wouldn’t accomplish anything, merely enslave another. Simon wouldn’t turn his boy loose under any circumstances.

Funny how clear things had become since she’d risen that morning.

She reached for his arm and squeezed it tight. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure your pa understands.” And he’d better not punish the boy either. Glory didn’t exactly know what she’d do, but she wouldn’t stand idly by.

“It’s all right. Honest. Pa’s just making a man out of me like he says. ’Sides, my pa is all I got.”

Her heart broke. How sad that he feared being alone more than the razor strop. But in a different way, so did she. Alone and blind.

Horace straightened suddenly. “Miss Glory, there’s a man coming from the devil place.”

“Can you tell who? Is it Luke?”

“Nope, ain’t him. It’s that other man I saw.”

A painful jolt seized her. Frenchie? Maybe he’d followed. “Be real quiet. Has he spied us?”

“Don’t think so. Some branches are sorta hiding us.”

The horse’s approach penetrated the hammering in her ears. She held her breath. The rider probably came within a stone’s throw. She had to force air into her lungs when he galloped on.

“He’s gone, Miss Glory. Where do you suppose he’s going?”

A premonition told her Luke’s life possibly depended on them finding out. She grabbed the boy’s hand. “Come on, we’ve got to follow him.”

By the wind direction, she believed they rode west. She estimated they’d gone around twenty miles when Horace stopped. A logical guess would put them in Bead Mountain vicinity.

“Get off now,” Horace whispered.

“Where are we?”

“Oak Vale.”

“What’s the man doing? Can he see us?”

“Nah, he done went inside.”

“Can we get by a window or something without being seen?”

He took her hand. “You’ll hafta goose walk.”

“Huh?”

“You know, wiggle-waggle.”

She crouched and tried not to think about the pain the ungainly waddle cost her ankles.

“Shh.”

Rough wood scraped her knuckles after a few minutes.

Thank goodness. They’d reached the building without a hue and cry sounding. Voices from inside the structure drifted through the chinks. Two men. She didn’t recognize either.

“You’re positive the new man is McClain?”

“No mistake. Even with the eye patch, I recognize him now that he don’t have all that dirt on his face.”

Glory’s heartbeat stopped.

“Thank our lucky stars the rain came along before we let him in too deep.”

“Boss, he may have waylaid Frenchie. The weasel went out looking for McClain and never came back.” The man spoke in a deeper tone and had to be the one they’d followed.

“I may hafta give you a bigger cut this next time, Creede. You deserve it.” Pacing commenced along the breadth of the wall. After a few minutes, the boss continued. “Hmm, this calls for a change in plans. I don’t think we’ll skip this next job after all. There’s a gold shipment due through here tomorrow on the westbound stage. Just might be the thing.”

“You got an idea, Vince?”

Huddled outside, Glory could barely contain her excitement. Vince? As in Vince Foster? Was Vince Foster the gang leader? This could put an end to all their problems. Most of all, McClain’s. Sudden coldness seeped into her blood. The marauders had too much at stake to let Luke live. She pressed closer to the wood. Her beloved’s life depended on what she overheard.

“Have something special in store for McClain. After tomorrow I figure I’ll even the score once and for all.”

“Why you got it in for him anyhow?”

“He shot my boy, Willie. Took his life and left him for the varmints to eat. I got him kicked out of the Rangers to start with. An eye for an eye, I say.”

“That why you had Frenchie hang the old woman to make it look like McClain did it?”

“Yep. Besides, she was fixing to blab about the frame-up on Jack Day.”

Glory gasped. Intense pain seared the long-present scars. Foster had stolen something precious from her family just because he so desired. An acrid taste filled her mouth. What had her father ever done to this man?

“I’m done toying with McClain. It’s time he got his full punishment. He’s gotta die.” The pacing stopped and so did her breathing. “All right, here’s what we’re gonna do—hold up the stage tomorrow, steal the gold—and here’s the beauty of the plan, during the robbery, you boys’ll shoot the bastard and plant some of the gold on him. We’ll make it look like the stage driver drew down on him.”

“I’m worried about that captain in town. You think—”

“Nah, I can take care of one Ranger. No problem keeping him out of the way until the dust settles.”

Captain Roberts! That’s it. Glory had to get to him. She fumbled for Horace and whispered, “Let’s go.”

They didn’t speak until they got back to the animals.

“What’re we gonna do, Miss Glory?”

“Do you know where Captain Roberts is staying?”

“You bet. He’s at the boardinghouse in Santa Anna. The Ranger boards his horse at Pa’s stable.”

“If you’ll take me there, I won’t ask any more favors.”

“Shoot, I like being with you. Do you like me?”

“I think you’re pretty wonderful.”

Please let her stop this crazy scheme before she had to learn all over again how to go on without the charmer who’d taught her to love.