He looked at poor Jezebel, whose head drooped like a sunflower in a drought. Smith felt guilty pushing the mare hard, but damn, that reward was a whole piss-load of money.
As soon as he washed the trail dust from his throat, he’d settle Jezebel in the livery, but right now he needed a drink.
Then, after a short night’s sleep, he’d find that bank robber, and become a rich, lazy gentleman rancher. Maybe he’d even marry that sweet filly in Sweet Springs with the big brown eyes who thought he was “the handsomest man she’d ever laid eyes on”. Of course, she was a working gal, and probably called all the men handsome even if they were plug ugly. She sure knew how to please a man in the hay, though. Even if she couldn’t make hotcakes, Smith could live with her pleasing him for the rest of his life.
He strode into The Tanglefoot and stepped up to the bar. The place was all but empty. Years of ground-in dirt covered the wooden floor, making it the color of tar. Tobacco stains near the spittoons spoke of more than a few near-misses. There was no piano, no faro tables and no dance-hall gals. The mirror over the bar was cracked and several jagged pieces were missing. The room held a few scarred tables and a couple more broken-down chairs. There seemed to be nothing to do in in The Tanglefoot but drink.
The barkeep was leaning on his elbows and talking with one lone customer who looked about ready to collapse. The bar counter was the only thing keeping him upright.
“I’s telling ya, Jim, she’s prim and proper on the outside but underneath, she’s wearing nothing but a sporting’ gal’s duds.”
Jim, the bartender, nodded in agreement. He turned toward Smith and lifted his head. “What’ll you have, stranger?”
“Give me a beer and a shot of your cheapest whiskey.”
Jim, a bushy-yellow-haired older man, chuckled as he poured the drinks. “It’s all one price, pardner. What you in town for?”
“Business,” Smith said as he settled against the counter. Business with Mad Maggie West.
The drunk made his way down the bar, shuffling his feet and fighting to keep a grip on the rail. He sidled up next to Smith. Alcoholic fumes wafted up Smith’s nose. “Hey, wanna hear the news?”
What he wanted was the man to move away so he could breathe without choking. The man smelled like the back end of a bull.
“Leave him be, Peterson,” advised the bartender as he set the two drinks in front of Smith. He waved a meaty fist at the drunk, who didn’t so much as blink.
Peterson moved closer. Smith stepped back a pace. “What’s the news?” he asked.
Jim snorted. “Peterson’s all het up about the prisoner the sheriff arrested.” His bushy brows rose a fraction and he gave Smith a knowing grin. “A woman.”
Smith returned the smile. He drained the shot of whiskey in one burning gulp. Heat burst inside him as it hit his empty belly. He took a slow swallow of the beer, and eyed the bartender. “Oh? What’d she do? Sneeze in church? Cuss at the ladies’ sewing circle meeting?”
Jim laughed outright. He wiped his hands on the front of a dirty gray apron tied carelessly over a round belly. “A bit more serious than that, I’d say.”
“Ain’t right, I’m tellin’ ya,” Peterson said.
Jim nodded at the drunk. “It don’t matter what she done. He don’t allow as how a woman should be thrown in jail no matter what the charge.”
“And what would that be?” Smith asked in a friendly tone, practically salivating over his good fortune. This might turn out to be the easiest money he’d ever make. The only woman who could be arrested in Grand Fork had to be Mad Maggie West.
“Bank robbery.” Jim’s wide face broke into a bewildered frown. “They say she robbed the bank over to Dena Valley and shot up a man while doing it.”
“That so?”
“Yep. Hard to believe, ain’t it? But the townsfolk here in Grand Fork didn’t rightly agree with putting a woman in jail alongside men, even if she is a bank robber. So until the sheriff in Dena Valley can come fetch her, the townsfolk made our sheriff house her in his own home. Don’t that beat all? Poor Sheriff Magrane.”
“Magrane, did ya say?”
“Yep, Sheriff Chance Magrane.”
Damn. The one and the same. Smith drained his glass, pulled a few coins from his pocket and dropped them on the counter. “Where can I get a room and a bath?”
Jim gave a short bark of laughter. “This time of night, the bathhouse is closed, but you’re in luck, stranger. Annie V.’s is just down the alley a ways, and she can give you both plus a woman that’ll put a smile on your face.”
“Thanks.” As he turned away from the bar and headed for the doors, a tall man with a black Stetson pushed them aside and stepped in. He turned to look at Smith, but Smith ducked his head, murmured hello and passed him without meeting his eye.
Smith paused outside the door and listened to the conversation.
“Hey, Sheriff,” called Jim. “How does Grand Fork look tonight?”
“Quiet,” came the familiar voice of Chance Magrane.
“Want a drink?”
“Nope. Just making my nightly rounds before I head on home.”
“To that purty red-haired gal?” joked Jim. Smith heard him chuckle.
“That purty red-haired gal is a criminal and well you know it, Jim.”
The barkeep laughed outright, obviously not the least bit disturbed by the sheriff’s intimidating tone. “Chance, I walk by that house of yours at the end of street every day on my way here. And every day since you arrested that woman, I slow down when I get to the picket fence. I just mosey by real slow-like and take a long whiff. Whoo-ee, the smells comin’ from inside like to bring a man to his knees. If that woman robs banks as well as she bakes a pie, she’s a real danger. But I’d be willing to forgive and forget for that cooking.”
“Maybe you would, but the law wouldn’t.”
“That may be so, but I tell ya, even when I close up here early in the morning and go home, I can still smell apple pie when I walk by. I don’t rightly know how you get any sleep at all, Sheriff.”
Smith climbed onto Jezebel and walked her down the deserted street. So much for a bath and a room. Right now would be a good time to snatch Mad Maggie West. The sheriff was busy and probably wouldn’t be home for a while. The timing couldn’t be better.
Smith guessed he wouldn’t have any trouble finding the sheriff’s place either. He’d simply follow his nose.
Trixianna rolled over and blinked in confusion. Something had wakened her from a sound slumber. Disoriented and half-asleep, she glanced uneasily around the room. Inky black surrounded her in a cocoon of shadowy darkness. She remembered the Perry brothers, and wondered if they were up to their old mischief.
She reached for the oil lamp by her bed. A dark figure stepped from the shadows, knocking her hand away. Trixianna scooted back, but a gloved hand gripped her wrist. She opened her mouth to scream for Chance, when another hand, smelling of horse and leather, clamped over her mouth.
She thrashed her legs to get free, but encumbered by the bedcoverings, it had little effect on the man, now leaning across her body holding her down. His body odor turned her stomach, and he smelled of whiskey. Terrified, she clenched her free hand into a fist and punched his chin with all her mite. Pain flew up her arm. She drew back her hand, then unfolded her stinging knuckles against her chest. Her hand throbbed with sharp pin-needles of pain. Surely, she’d broken every one of her fingers.
She heard him grunt, then draw a quick breath. With a deftness of motion, he covered her mouth with a piece of cloth and tied it around the back of her head. He trussed her wrists and legs in separate lengths of rope. Strong arms tossed her over his shoulder. He moved to the window, and easily held her against his body while crawling over the casement. As he moved like a wraith in the darkness, his silence and determined, unknown purpose chilled her to the bone.
Trixianna, her heart hammering, could scarcely draw breath through the bound cloth over her mouth. Icy fear thudded in
her chest like a fist. Several feet in front of her nose, the ground loomed. Afraid he’d drop her on her head if she fought him, she didn’t move, and instead waited for a better opportunity to escape.
The kidnapper stopped not six feet from the window. A horse, ground-reined, chomped at the meager grass. She and the horse met eye-to-eye. Trixianna noticed the dew sparkling on the grass in the moonlight, and heard an owl hooting in a tree overhead. She thought she might be losing her mind; she kept thinking she would wake from this dream, but it seemed frighteningly real.
Trying to keep her head while fighting for composure, she concentrated on remembering details so she could relate them later…after she’d escaped. She had no doubt she would. Then she would hit him over the head with something other than her fist.
The man stepped into the stirrup and hoisted her across his thighs, her bound hands on one side of the horse and tied legs on the other. With a jarring gait, he took off, one large hand splayed intimately across her bottom.
Dressed in her thin night rail, she shivered as drafts of cold air skittered up her exposed legs. Her head bounced up and down against his denim-clad knee. Certain she would be sick to her stomach in minutes, Trixianna held on as the horse galloped out of town in total darkness.
* * *
The stranger in The Tanglefoot looked familiar to Chance. His stance. His gait. The way he wore his hat cocked at an angle. He was sure he knew him from somewhere. His mind kept playing with the image of him leaving The Tanglefoot. He would recall it sooner or later. He prided himself on never forgetting a face.
He’d put off going home, too. Fanny’s reaction to his kiss still swirled around his mind. Thoughts of his impending marriage, looming like a disaster on the horizon, kept him away. Thoughts of Mad Maggie in her warm, cozy bed, an empty reminder of the love he could never have, also kept him away.
Grand Fork was quiet for the night. He had no more excuses. He started home, his thoughts bouncing between Fanny and the stranger in The Tanglefoot. It hit him like a blow to the jaw. He stopped stock-still, stunned with the realization.
Sam Smith.
He was well known as a plodding, not overly bright bounty hunter. And they’d crossed paths before. The man would do just about anything for a buck. What might he do for five hundred dollars?
Chance sprinted the rest of the way home. He arrived at the front gate, uneasy, surrounded by a chilling black silence. He’d no more than stepped over the threshold when a shiver of apprehension skittered up his spine and settled in the pit of his belly. He drew his revolver and stood motionless, listening, waiting. As his sight adjusted to the dim light, he crept through the house, his eyes searching. He stopped outside Mad Maggie’s door, and held his breath. He heard nothing but the pounding of his heart, and turned the handle. The door swung open. Inside the room, the bed covers lay snarled on the floor. The window was flung wide. Smith.
Cussing to himself, Chance lit a lantern and dashed outside. He examined the dirt beneath the windowsill. Two sets of footprints were clearly visible, one coming toward and the other leaving the house. Large men’s boots.
She’d made her escape, all right, but unless his instincts were shot to hell, she’d not gone willingly. His gut tightened at the thought of that single-minded bounty hunter putting his hands on Trixianna.
So furious he could hardly see straight, Chance saddled his horse and was on their trail within minutes. He knew exactly where Sam Smith was going. Toward Dena Valley and that five-hundred-dollar reward.
Simmering with mounting rage, he headed south toward Dena Valley, pushing his horse dangerously hard through the night darkness. Angry thoughts raced through his head as well. Once before, the man had stomped on Chance’s dignity. He wasn’t going to let Smith do it twice. And he wasn’t going to let Smith lay a hand on Trixianna. Chance would kill him first.
Rider sat up on the sofa. He rubbed his eyes and looked around the dark room. He’d slept like the dead for the first time in five years, but something woke him. As he strained to listen, he heard nothing but ordinary night sounds—an owl hooting, a dog’s bark. Maybe what he’d heard was Chance coming in, although he was surprised Chance hadn’t seen him, woken him and thrown him out into the night.
It wasn’t like Chance to be so unobservant. Of course, Rider thought with a grin, maybe Chance was anxious to look in on his female houseguest.
Rider sank back and closed his eyes. Tomorrow morning was soon enough to face Chance’s wrath.
Bile burned in Trixianna’s throat. She knew she was going to be sick and with the cloth covering her mouth, she’d surely suffocate. She thrashed her arms and legs, and released a muffled scream.
The silent kidnapper jerked back on the reins, and they skidded to an abrupt stop. She turned her head to stare at the man and tried to wriggle off the horse. He clamped a hand around her waist.
He must have seen the panic in her eyes. He dismounted, helped her to the ground, removed the covering over her mouth and deftly untied the rope around her ankles.
She rushed to the side of the road, sank to her knees and emptied the contents of her stomach into a patch of weedy ground. Her head ached, her stomach rebelled and fury coiled hot and heavy in her belly. “Who are you and why have you done this?”
When she looked up, she found him standing close, no discernible expression on his face. He untied her hands and gave her a dampened neckerchief; then he squatted on the ground beside her. She wiped her face and handed it back. He stuffed it in his coat pocket. Reaching for a blade of grass, he began chewing. His eyes followed her every movement.
“Sam Smith,” he finally answered.
Trixianna shivered. From the cold or his odd behavior, she wasn’t certain. He didn’t frighten her as she might have expected. He just didn’t seem that menacing or calculating. Just annoying. Or maybe annoyance simply overrode her fear. Still, he had kidnapped her. Determined not to show her anxiety, she took a deep breath.
“Mr. Smith, what are you going to do with me?”
He chuckled. With a fluid motion he stood up, pulled her to her feet and escorted her to the horse on the other side of the road. Reaching inside a saddlebag slung across the horse’s withers, he yanked out a thin army blanket. With careful deliberation, he wrapped it around her shoulders.
“Well?”
He said nothing, just chewed and stared off down the road.
“Aren’t you going to answer my question?”
“No, ma’am.” He re-tied her hands in front of her, lifted her onto the horse’s back and climbed on behind her. “I’m leavin’ your legs free so you can sit astride, but don’t try nothin’…and don’t talk, neither. I can’t abide a gabby woman.”
They cantered along the dark, dusty road. One mile. Trixianna stewed. Two miles. Trixianna simmered. Three miles. Irked beyond belief, she turned around and confronted him. “I am not gabby, and besides, I have a right to know where you’re taking me.”
He looked down his nose at her from disbelieving smoky gray eyes.
“I want to know what you’re going to do with me and I wnat to know right now.”
“Hmff.” He stared down the road and made no reply.
“You are insufferable.”
“And that’s a bad thing, ma’am?”
Trixianna glared at him, then became the victim of his steely glare. “I demand to know what your intentions are.”
“Hmff.”
“You’re not going to answer, are you?”
He slowed the horse to a walk, then turned her by the shoulders so she could see him. He stared at her as if he’d never seen a woman before. She swallowed a nervous lump in her throat. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to bait one’s kidnapper. “I recall telling you I can’t abide gabby women. Now, ma’am, if’n you don’t shut up, I’ll do it for you.”
“What does that mean, Mr. Smith?”
He shook his head. “Ma’am, you’re awful damn polite.”
“Thank you…I think.”
>
He shook his head again. “I’ll cover your mouth again, that’s what it means. Now shut up.”
“Well, I never…”
“That’s what I’m hoping, ma’am,” he muttered.
Trixianna gave him a tight-lipped smile, then turned forward. She pulled the blanket close around her shoulders. An uneasy silence fell between them. She didn’t know if this had something to do with her being mistaken for Mad Maggie West, or if the polite Mr. Smith had some other nefarious notions in his pea-sized brain.
The sun would be up soon, and the thought of riding down this public road with her bare legs showing and clad in only her thin nightclothes made Trixianna more than a little uncomfortable. To say nothing of being in close proximity to the taciturn Mr. Smith and his closedmouth demeanor. She tried not to think about his intentions.
Her head bobbed to the steady rhythm of the horses’ hooves and she soon found herself nodding off. Trixianna couldn’t believe she could actually fall asleep under the conditions. She mentally gave her posterior a hard kick. She simply wouldn’t allow it. She needed a plan. A damn, good one. She though about Chance. What would he do if he were in her place? Huh! He would never be in this predicament. Where was the man when she needed him?
She soon came up with a means of escape so simple, she even allowed herself to smile. She could escape this man’s evil clutches without much trouble at all.
Dawn soon broke over the horizon in a dazzling array of pink and gold. It cast the surrounding fields and pastures in an amber glow. Trixianna waited until they were alongside a wide stretch of prairie grass as tall as her shoulder. She pretended to yawn, then glanced over her shoulder, giving her captor an agonized expression. “Mr. Smith, I, um, I need to, that is—”
He actually blushed. His neck and cheeks turned a fiery shade of crimson. Hauling back on the reins, he vaulted off the horse before the beast came to a complete stop. He reached up, grabbed her by the waist and settled her on the ground in front of him. He untied her wrists. “Go,” he instructed.