All I Need Is You (7 page)

D
amian stood there with his hands raised, incredulous that he was being robbed again, and of the exact same money. Casey’s warning as they sat by the fire last night came back to him clearly now, word for word.

“Chances are, the money that Vince and Billybob stole from you is in their saddlebags or on them. Better to get it now, Damian, because whether the sheriff will turn it over to you any time soon is debatable. I’ve waited upwards of a week to collect a reward. I swear, lawmen and paperwork just don’t get along.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Damian had told him. “I can have funds transferred. In fact, I should go to the bank as soon—”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just take my word for it, Damian, and stay out of the banks when you get to town.”

The kid had changed the subject after that. And Damian had retrieved his money in Vince’s saddlebag—only to hand it over now to a bank robber.

The three men who had entered the Condon Bank were heavily armed with Winchesters and handguns. If that wasn’t enough of a clue to what they intended, they had immediately put the few customers and employees in the bank under the nozzles of those guns.

Two of the robbers were wearing obvious false whiskers. They all appeared young, though, in their early twenties. And they were deadly serious. There would be no bungling here, Damian was sure. It was in their eyes, that each one of them would kill without a moment’s hesitation if they didn’t get full cooperation.

Damian—again—didn’t have a weapon to be uncooperative with, even if he wanted to be. He’d turned the extra handgun that he’d been carrying in to the sheriff.

Robbed again. It was beyond belief. And in broad daylight, in the heart of town, with the streets teeming with people and workers. And the kid had known it was going to happen. He’d tried to warn Damian away. But Damian had decided he was just being overprotective—or being ornery, by trying to make Damian more nervous than the kid already figured he was. What could happen bright and early in the morning, after all, with people everywhere?

There were a few minutes of tense waiting around for the vault’s time lock to open at nine forty-five, during which time the customers had been ordered to empty their pockets. No one else entered the Condon Bank during that short period, but Damian did notice someone outside peering in the window. The fellow must have seen the drawn weapons and figured out what
was happening, because in the next moment, the alarm was being shouted out in the street.

That put an abrupt end to the robbery. One of the robbers swore. Another paled. They didn’t look too confident now, and in fact, they forgot about the vault and ran out the door with their guns firing. But the town was quick to defend its money. Guns had been grabbed all along the street. Pandemonium reigned out there.

Most of the people in the bank had hit the floor with the first shot. Damian didn’t notice, or think to do the same. He walked slowly to the door, where he witnessed the first casualty. Across the street, two more gunmen fled from the First National Bank with their stolen loot, and one man stepped out to intercept them. He was gunned down with a Winchester. Seconds later, two more bystanders died as they got in the way of the outlaws’ attempt to escape down the street.

And then a bullet flew past Damian’s ear, so close he could feel the sting of it, the one bullet out of all those flying around that broke his temper. But he had nowhere to direct his sudden burning anger—until he saw Casey run right by him in the direction the outlaws had gone.

It was a total bloodbath. Casey reached the alley where the Daltons had stashed their horses about a block down the street from the banks before the last shot was fired, but only in time to see it fired and Emmett Dalton go tumbling off his horse.

The gunfire had actually lasted only about five minutes. But in that time, four citizens had been killed, including a marshal who had been
in town and had traded gunfire with Grat Dalton there in the alley, neither of them surviving it. That alley had become a death trap. The outlaws had all reached their horses, but there were just too many bullets coming their way by then for it to do them any good.

Robert and Grat Dalton were dead, as were Dick Broadwell and Bill Powers. Doolin, whom Casey had overheard talking about the robberies, wasn’t even there.

In fact, his horse going lame that morning had kept him behind, though he obviously didn’t learn from the mistake of his dead friends, because he went on to start up his own gang after that to continue his lawless ways. Emmett Dalton was the only one to survive that day, and he was to face a life sentence in the Kansas State Prison when he recovered from his wounds.

Staring at the aftermath, Casey was spitting mad. She could have taken them all alive, at the very least, got them all down and disabled with some very painful leg wounds that would have had them surrendering in short order.

That way they would have survived. Not that she felt sorry for their demise. But they’d taken innocent bystanders with them, and that always turned her stomach.

All those deaths she might have been able to prevent if she had just gotten to Coffeyville a little sooner. And she should have. In fact, she would have arrived yesterday or even the day before, in plenty of time, if not for the excess baggage…

Damian and his damn stage robbers.

Vince and Billybob alone wouldn’t even have
detained her. They would have slowed her down just as they did, but she wouldn’t have felt obliged to go out and hunt for them this morning, knowing she was close to turning them in. It wouldn’t have bothered her at all if those two had gone a little hungry for a few extra hours. She still could have arrived in town in time.

But Damian was another matter. It hadn’t even occurred to her to tell him that the next meal would have to wait until they reached town, not when it was a known fact that most big men like him had voracious appetites. And he was an Easterner, which equated in her mind with helplessness on the trail. She had accepted responsibility for him when she had let him share her camp, which meant she had to feed him.

But he shouldn’t have been here. A big-city man like him never should have come West in the first place. That he
was
here was solely his doing, a decision
he’d
made, and because of that, she could place the blame for this whole fiasco on his shoulders. But he wasn’t right there in front of her, which was fortunate—the way she was feeling, she’d probably shoot him.

And then he was…

Casey became aware of that fact when she was slammed up against the nearest wall, her feet dangling far above the sidewalk, her poncho, shirt, and even the camisole under it all grasped in Damian’s large fist that was holding her up. His other fist was drawn back, aimed right for her face, just seconds from doing some serious bone breakage.

Casey should have been screaming for help by then, but she didn’t even flinch. She didn’t think he had it in him to hit a boy the age he thought her to be, and to her everlasting relief, she was right. With a low growl of disgust, he let go of her, then pierced her with his eyes, a turbulent, stormy gray at the moment.

She didn’t know what
his
problem was, but her anger was unabated. And Casey’s scruples were a mite different from his, as least when her temper was running high. Without hesitation, her fist landed right between his eyes, not exactly what she’d been aiming for, but with him being so tall, it was hard for her to gauge. That, of course, had him reaching for her again, whether to throttle her or restrain her, she didn’t wait to find out.

She drew her gun. He halted immediately, clenching those large fists at his sides. His face was turning red with what was now impotent fury.

Oddly enough, Casey’s temper was gone, now that she had the upper hand. Hitting him had helped some as well, not that she’d hurt him any, using her left hand as she did. But she knew better than to use her gun hand for hitting things. And she ignored the present throbbing in her left hand.

“Real fair about this, aren’t you?” he gritted out in a sneering tone.

“Considering your size, you betcha.”

The calmness of her tone served to enrage him even more. “You knew those banks were going to be robbed, didn’t you? Didn’t you!”

Casey didn’t answer that, said instead, “Let’s take this off the street, tenderfoot.”

Not that they were drawing any notice or being overheard, with half the town crowded in front of that alley trying to get a look-see. In fact, the nearby store that she pushed Damian into was quite empty, the owner just as curious as the rest of the citizens in town about what all the shooting had been about so early in the morning.

But as soon as she closed the door behind her, he repeated his question. She saw no reason to deny it now.

Her curt nod didn’t satisfy him, because he demanded, “
How
did you know?”

She saw no reason to keep that to herself any longer either. “I was in this hellhole a few weeks ago down south, and recognized one of the gang members. I was going to take him, was moving in for it, when I heard what he was talking about, or I should say bragging about, to his friend.”

“About robbing the banks here?”

“Yes.”

“The man was actually discussing it where he could be overheard?”

“He didn’t know he was overheard. I can be good at going unnoticed when I want to be. Besides, he was swimming in rotgut that night. He wouldn’t have noticed a fly on his nose, much less me.”

“So you knew exactly what was planned here and said nothing. Dammit, Casey, I could have been killed in that bank. Couldn’t you have
mentioned this last night when we spoke of it?” he asked, disgruntled.

“I only share that kind of information with lawmen. You should have trusted me and taken the warning as it was intended—to keep you safe and out of the line of fire. Why the hell didn’t you?”

To give him credit, Damian did flush slightly, having been so obviously caught ignoring her advice. “I was only going to be in that bank for a minute or two. I just wanted to make sure that I could get funds transferred out here if I needed them. And now they
are
needed, since those bank robbers relieved me of my cash again.”

“The least you deserve for not listening to me,” Casey said unsympathetically. “And let me tell you something else. There’s folks laying dead all over the street out there, if you hadn’t noticed, when they shouldn’t be. I could have prevented that if I had gotten here yesterday as I should have, and why didn’t I? Because
you
showed up. It’s also cost me a
lot
of money, your slowing me up, more’n ten thousand dollars in rewards for that bunch.”

He stiffened at that point. “Just a damn minute, kid. You can’t put the blame for those deaths on me, or any lost rewards. Or are you under the impression that you could have captured them all single-handedly, without a shot fired?” Damian scoffed. “I hardly think so.”

Casey sighed. “It’s what I do, Damian, remember? I track, hunt, and capture outlaws, while they do their best to avoid it. If I find a bunch of them gathered together, all the better. Most men aren’t foolish enough to draw a
weapon when they’ve already got one aimed at them. That’s just asking for a visit from the undertaker.”

“Desperate men will. You’re deluding yourself if you think otherwise. In fact, you probably would have gotten yourself killed for trying. If you ask me, it sounds more like I saved your life by keeping you from trying.”

Casey came just short of rolling her eyes. “We’ll never know for sure, will we? All I know is, I would have had enough money to retire after this, but now I don’t. I’m going to give you one last piece of advice, Damian. Go home. You don’t belong out here. Actually, here’s another piece. Stay the hell away from me.”

D
amian spent the next few days quite literally cooling his heels. He pampered his feet to give his blisters a chance to heal, which meant staying in his hotel room, even taking his meals there so he could avoid shoes. He’d also arranged for the town doctor to visit and have a look at his head wound, and after much tsking was told that the wound
should
have been stitched, but there was no point in doing so now, since it was already mending.

It was no hardship, remaining in the hotel. The room certainly wasn’t what he was used to, but it was nicer than some he’d stayed in since heading West. And there was nothing he cared to view or visit in this Western town anyway. He’d buy a new derby, hopefully, before he left—and a rifle. He wasn’t going to be caught again without a weapon. But that could wait until he was ready to catch the train to continue his journey south.

Keeping to his room, though, left him little to occupy himself with, other than rereading the
file he had on the men wanted by the law west of the Missouri line. The Dalton gang and all of their known members had been in that file. There were more members than had actually shown up to rob the Coffeyville banks, but at least the three Dalton brothers wouldn’t be appearing in any more files.

Damian also did a lot of thinking while he was recuperating from his “trail” ordeal. He was sorry, after he thought about it, that he and Casey had parted on such bad terms. He had liked the kid. Casey had given him his final advice that day of the robberies, then simply walked away. Damian hadn’t seen him since. Not that he was taking the advice to heart and trying to avoid the boy. He just hadn’t been out of his hotel to notice whether Casey was still in town or not.

However, Damian was feeling guilty, all things considered. Casey had helped him when he’d desperately needed it. He’d thanked him, yes, but then he’d also come damn close to beating him to a pulp. Hardly the way to treat a person who’d probably saved his life.

And one remark kept repeating itself in Damian’s mind.
I track, hunt, and capture outlaws, while they do their best to avoid it
.

Damian had already owned up to the fact that he personally knew next to nothing about hunting down Henry Curruthers. All he had was the name of the town Curruthers had last been seen in. But someone like Casey would know how to proceed from there to find the man. That was what the kid did for a living.

The idea to hire the boy came to him soon
after that, but he didn’t act on it immediately. And the reason he procrastinated was that he was used to getting what he wanted from people, yet he fully expected a flat refusal from Casey. He simply didn’t feel like facing rejection right now, after everything else he’d gone through.

Yet his common sense won out. Casey could save him weeks, months even, of wasted time. And it wouldn’t hurt to ask. If he got turned down, he could always find another bounty hunter. But he would prefer the kid, already being familiar with him and having witnessed firsthand his capabilities. He also trusted Casey, though he couldn’t exactly say why, whereas someone he didn’t know…

Having made the decision, he was then afraid that he’d lost his chance, that the kid would have moved on by now. But he made an effort to find him anyway. And he got lucky.

It was a rundown boardinghouse on the edge of town, the cheapest accommodations to be found. The slovenly owner steered Damian to the first door upstairs. He was worried that his weight was going to cave a few of the steps in, they creaked so loudly on his way up. And there was no answer to his knock. Surprisingly, the door was open, so he stepped inside to wait.

Damian wasn’t expecting the kid to be there at that point, yet he was. He came out of a tiny, closetlike bathroom rubbing a towel to the side of his head, having just washed his hair—which was undoubtedly why he hadn’t heard the knock. The poncho had been removed. It was the first time Damian had seen him without it.

For a boy of around fifteen or sixteen years, the kid was skinnier than Damian had thought, with very narrow shoulders. The too-big-for-him, white cotton shirt was tucked into his jeans, showing a waist small enough to be envied by most females. Even his feet were small and delicate-looking, noticeable without his moccasins on.

Actually, cleaned up as he was now, Casey looked damn near like a girl, and a pretty one at that. Perhaps Damian would have been doing him a favor to have landed that punch the other day. A permanently disfigured nose would have detracted a bit from that prettiness.

The boy went perfectly still, except for the narrowing of those golden brown eyes, when he noticed Damian by the bed. “How the hell did you get in here?”

“The door wasn’t locked.”

“Did it have a sign on it that said ‘Walk Right In’?” Casey replied sarcastically as he draped the towel around his neck to hang down his chest, keeping a grasp on each end. “Or have you taken to breaking into other people’s rooms now, Damian?”

Damian flushed. “The woman downstairs said you were in. When you didn’t answer my knock—I was just making sure you were all right.”

“I’m fine. But I’ll be even better—just as soon as you leave.”

“That isn’t very hospitable, Casey.”

“Sure it is. At least I’m not shooting you.”

Damian smiled. He couldn’t help it. Casey, disgruntled, was worse than a pouting female.

“I’d like to apologize for my behavior the other morning. I’ll admit, my anger got out of hand.”

“I noticed.”

“It won’t happen again,” Damian assured him.

Casey shrugged. “It don’t make me no nevermind if you fly off the handle. I won’t be around to see it. Now you’ve apologized. I’ll restrain myself from doing the same. The door is behind you.”

Damian sighed. The kid was
not
making this easy. And he’d switched to his inscrutable expression, the one that hid his emotions so effectively, and had caused Damian more than a little nervousness on several occasions. This wasn’t one of those times, though, since the kid was presently unarmed, his gun and holster hanging over the back of the only chair, which was on Damian’s side of the room.

“Before I leave, I have a proposal to make to you,” Damian said.

“I’m not interested.”

“It will be worth your while to at least hear me out before you decline the offer.”

“Now just how do you figure that, when I
said
I’m not interested?”

Damian ignored that comment. “I’d like to hire you to help me find a murderer.”

Casey sighed at that point. “Do I look like I’m for hire, Damian? I’m not. I do the picking and choosing of the men I want to go after. Clean and simple, with no one trying to give me orders, or pushing me to get the job done, or com
plaining that I’m not doing things the way they think I should.”

“I’ll pay you ten thousand dollars.”

That took care of the inscrutable expression. Casey was clearly incredulous. And the amount Damian had settled on wasn’t arbitrary, it was the figure Casey had claimed to have just lost out on.

“Are you crazy?” was the first response.

“No, just very rich.”

“That’s throwing away good money.”

“That depends on how you look at it. This man murdered my father, Casey, and it drives me crazy each day that he continues to elude justice. And I’ve already spent thousands of dollars on private detectives, who at least traced him as far as Fort Worth, Texas. But they lost him from there, which is why I’m on my way to Texas, trying to look for him myself. If your help can find him sooner than I could on my own, then what I pay you will be worth every penny to me.”

Casey moved to sit down on the edge of the bed. He stared at the floor for several long minutes. Damian didn’t say another word, letting him mull it over, hoping his own sense of justice would influence his final decision.

When he looked up, he said, “I have to be honest with you. I can think of a dozen men off the top of my head who would take on this job for a fraction of what you’re willing to pay. All good trackers, too. And then there are dozens of others if you know where to inquire, guns for hire that do this sort of thing for a living.”

“Your pointing that out, Casey, is the very
reason I want you for the job. I trust you not to steer me wrong or take advantage of my lack of knowledge about this part of the country. Anyone else I wouldn’t know or trust, so the offer is being made to you and you alone.”

Several more minutes of silence passed, more excruciating than before, since Casey wasn’t giving any indication at all of what he was thinking. Damian knew the boy would prefer not to deal with him anymore. But he also knew the money was important to him, or he wouldn’t have gotten so upset over missing out on the Dalton gang’s rewards.

Casey finally said, “All right, tell me everything you know about the man.”

Damian gave an inward sigh of relief. “I’ll tell you on the way.”

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll be going with you.”

“Like hell you will.”

“That’s part of the deal, Casey. I have to be there, to make a positive identification—”

“And then kill him?” Casey cut in, eyes narrowing. “I do recall you saying that was your intention. But if you think I’ll just stand there and let you shoot this man in cold blood, think again.”

“Isn’t that an unwritten rule in your own profession?” Damian pointed out. “‘Dead or alive,’ all those Wanted posters read, but without any fine print that tells you how to go about seeing to the ‘dead’ part.”

“I go by my own rules, Damian, and death doesn’t show up in them.”

“Yes, I’d already gathered that about the way
you do business. So don’t worry about it. I’m not going to kill him without provocation. I might be hoping for provocation, but I’ll settle for his spending the rest of his life in prison. Some men might consider that a worse punishment than death.”

“I have your word on that?”

“If you must.”

“Very well, we’ll ride out in the morning. Get you a horse—”

Damian cut in. “We’ll take the train to save time, at least until it’s no longer going in the same direction we are. I’ll pick up the tickets, since I will also be covering all travel expenses.”

The kid was now giving him a look that clearly said
Orders already?
but all he replied was, “It’s been my experience that trains
aren’t
always faster, but suit yourself.”