Between Love and Lies (29 page)

Fear tightened his arms around Sadie as she raised her head to scan the room. Her puzzled gaze sought his. “What’s happening?”

His brother hadn’t even been able to voice those words, before he’d been swept away.

“Stampede.” He set her on the bed, then scrambled to don his clothing and gun belt. By the time he had, the bellowing of the cattle had joined the chaos.

“Why would a herd be loose in town?”

“Only one way to find out.” He headed for the other room.

She jumped to block his way. Her face had lost all color. “You can’t go out there. I won’t let you.”

“I can’t stand back and let someone die.”

She jabbed her finger toward the street on the other side of the wall. “Those people wouldn’t raise a hand to save you. They aren’t your brother.”

His breath left him in a hiss.

“Going out there won’t bring him back,” she added.

“You’re right.”

Her lips parted in surprise. “Then you’re staying?”

“No.”

“But you agreed!”

“What about Bat?”

Worry for the marshal flashed in her eyes before she ducked her head to hide her expression.

“When Bat hired me, he asked me to help him stay alive. He’ll be out there protecting the townsfolk. If I can save him or someone else, I have to go.”

She shook her head. “And who’ll save you?”

Capturing her face in his palms, he pulled her close and kissed her hard. “You will,” he vowed against her lips. Then he folded her into his embrace and held her tight, praying it wouldn’t be the last time. “You’ll save me,” he repeated. “By promising you’ll stay here, safe inside these walls, until I return.”

“To hell with that.” Her words came out hoarse. “I’m going with you.”

An image of her chasing after him only to be crushed by the herd flashed in his mind. The pain that stabbed his heart was a hundred times sharper than when he’d watched her try to shoot him and spooked his herd instead. He’d barely reached her before she’d been killed.

Any other time, he’d welcome her by his side. Not now.

“Come with me.” Taking her by the hand, he led her into the other room.

That she followed him without question, clasping his hand without reservation, filled him with a joyous wonder—until he stopped to lift the brass key ring from the nail on the wall.

Her hand went rigid. She fought him every step of the way back to the cell, struggling to break free and cursing a blue streak when he wouldn’t let her.

He couldn’t meet her gaze as he put her in the cell and locked its door to keep her there. Her sudden silence spurred him to run. He raced across the room to join the runaway herd and whatever else awaited him in their midst, leaving behind everything he loved.

CHAPTER 18

Through the bars
, across the room—so very near but impossible to reach and halt—Noah jerked open the door onto Front Street. The thunder of hundreds of hooves knocked her back on her heels. The bawling of the panicked beasts held her there. For a split second, Noah paused with his back to her, silhouetted against the surge of hide and horn racing by…then he slammed the door behind him.

The loss of the sight of him made her cry out. She pressed against the bars. She couldn’t hear him lock the door, but she knew he would. He’d taken the blasted keys with him.

A silent chant rose in her mind.
Come back. Come back.
A useless plea. The fastest way she’d see him again was by using not her voice but her hands.

She yanked a pair of pins from her hair.

With her cheek against the bars, she strained to see the keyhole her fingers found by touch on the other side. Turning the pins from the opposite direction proved time consuming. So did remembering to do everything in reverse.

Outside the jail, the din ebbed. Her fear receded with it, then came crashing back. If by some miracle Noah had lingered on the relative safety of the boardwalk, the lull in the stampede wouldn’t keep him there. He’d make his move to help the townsfolk now.

Every step he took away from her exposed him to more of Dodge’s dangers, both beast and man. She wouldn’t let him tackle this battle alone.

That she couldn’t even see him made her tremble, fumble and almost drop one pin. If she never saw him again— If he died—

The lock beneath her fingertips clicked open. She made a beeline for the door. A flash of movement in the window captured her attention and halted her there instead. Across the thoroughfare with just a few stray cattle loping between them, Noah stood, tall and unbowed.

Unhurt as far as she could see. And not alone. Thank the Lord.

Bat helped him guide several men who staggered, either dazed or injured, into the Dodge House Hotel. She turned to the door to follow them and stopped.

For the moment, Noah was safe, and she was the one who was alone. That hadn’t happened since she’d dashed across the street, shrouded by the night and a storm. This was her one chance to ensure Noah stayed alive by returning to the Star and killing both Gertie and Cora.

Her mind balked at taking a life. Could she do it? She had little time to decide, but whatever came next she’d do better armed.

On the other side of the desk, a cabinet full of long gleaming rifles drew her attention. She wouldn’t get anywhere near Gertie or Cora carrying a weapon that big and brash. Her hand went to the pocket sewn into her skirt. Perfect for concealing a palm pistol.

The trunks in the bedroom might— Her shoulders sagged. She’d finished her search. She hadn’t seen any derringers there. A rifle would have to do.

As she rounded the desk to collect one, she tried to ignore the knot in her gut. It grew in direct proportion to her dwindling odds of success. Leaving behind the last of her secrets might help Noah.

She paused when she reached the guns. She must do everything she could to increase the chances of his survival. The truth of Edward’s death could not be buried with her. It must be committed to paper and left in her stead. In search of pen and paper, she turned and opened a desk drawer.

The derringer atop a pile of paper took her breath like an arm around her throat.

The floral scroll engraving the barrel was unmistakable. Not so long ago, this miniature gun had threatened to finish her life when a card cheat’s luck had ended. No different than Dodge’s other ill-fated souls, Davenport’s belongings had come to rest in the jail. The thought that this tiny weapon might’ve been his only possession when he’d entered the Star made her limbs heavy as lead.

A life squandered. She straightened her spine. She would not waste what remained of hers.

She shoved the derringer in her pocket and dug through the drawer’s contents. A plethora of wanted posters and notices passed through her fingers. Useless without pen and ink. She found the deed to her farm, didn’t care, didn’t stop. She tossed a spare set of jail keys on the desk. Useless as well, now that she was out of the cell. Her hand reached the bottom of the drawer and a dainty, smooth-sided box with a metal handle.

She lifted it out and blinked in disbelief. In her hand hung an object even more familiar than the derringer in her pocket.

The tortoiseshell writing case was most memorable for its push-button release mechanism that had hindered the majority of attempts to open it. Sometimes the most effective lock wasn’t a lock at all, but a fussy fastener that even after one learned its idiosyncrasies must be approached with care. Like the case’s owner, Orin.

Had Masterson or one of Dodge’s other lawmen needed writing materials as well? Had they attempted to open the case, failed and deposited it in the desk to try again later? Only for it to be buried under a growing heap of paper and forgotten?

A shiver crept up her spine. This desk held the ghosts of too many who’d departed Dodge, both dead and alive. She shook her head, casting out the somber memories, so she might focus her mind and her fingers on the fastener.

When it opened, a folded slip of paper tumbled off the inkwells inside. Across its surface two words had been scrawled with a hurried but familiar flair:
My friends.

She groped for the chair behind her and collapsed on it. But her vision and hands, free of the illness that had previously plagued her, remained steady as she unfolded the paper and read.

Gertie forces me to pen a vile tale. Unaware, for every lie on one letter, I scribble a truth here. Gertie means to kill me. She has my father’s watch, my mother’s box. Says she’ll hide them in her piano, think of me every time it’s played, and laugh. Cannot bear the thought.

Find them. Steal them back.

Orin, Sadie—my friends whom I cherish more than any possession—I’m betting on you. Don’t let Gertie win.

Edward

Her stomach did a slow roll. All this time, Edward’s beloved heirlooms had been in the Star—under her fingers, never far from her thoughts. How many times had she listened to someone playing that piano and wished it were Edward? Or reached for the piano’s sturdy frame while struggling to find the strength to honor her promise to him?

She’d never once thought to look inside.

A strength of purpose swelled inside her, making her heart beat strong and steady. Finally, she knew the location of Edward’s watch and jewelry box…and she had his letter. The letter he’d begged her to find when she found him dying. All this time, she’d thought he was referring to the suicide note he’d held.

She skimmed what he’d written again, searching out one line in particular:
Gertie means to kill me.

Edward had named his murderer, written it down for all to see.

She leaped to her feet. She must show the letter to Noah. It’d buy both their freedom and their futures. Then no one else need die. She didn’t have to kill Gertie or Cora.

Clutching the letter to her heart, she ran to the window in search of him. She found him embarking on his return journey across the thoroughfare. Never had the sight of him brought her more joy.

Not once had he let her down—a woman for sale in a saloon. His herd trampling her farm was a thing of the past. She’d forgiven him days ago. He hadn’t meant for it to happen. He truly regretted the loss and pain he’d caused.

She couldn’t even rail at him for her more recent gripes: his bargain with her farm or him locking her so many times in the cell behind her that she knew every corner and cranny as well as she knew those at the Star.

In the end, he helped her regain her health. He’d made her smile. He was honest and protective to a fault and…she loved him for it.

Her heart skipped a beat. She loved him for more than that, so much more. Dear Lord, how she loved him. And now he wasn’t more than a dozen strides away, while she held the means to get them both safely out of Dodge.

A lanky man, collar turned up, hat pulled low, passed her window in a blur. He stopped on the other side of the door.

She jerked back and forgot how to breathe.

The locked doorknob rattled but held. Then footsteps echoed down the boardwalk. Running away. Fast.

Exhaling in relief, she pressed her cheek to the glass and peered outside along the wall. The man darted into the nearest alley. His long coat billowed behind him before he vanished. Who was he? Why had he tried to get inside the jail in plain sight of Noah returning across the street?

More footsteps pounded up the steps onto the boardwalk. Noah stood outside the door, his gaze on the alley where the man had disappeared—while two others closed in on him from behind.

A cry of warning rose on her lips.

One of them struck Noah on the head. He fell to his knees. The men dragged him down the boardwalk and into the alley where the first had gone.

Fear and anger made her reach for the nearest weapon. Her hand halted on her skirt pocket. Three men required three bullets. Davenport’s derringer was only a double barrel. She scrambled around the desk, picked the padlock on the cabinet and yanked the closest rifle from inside.

Muffled voices came from the back alley. Rough voices taunting someone, and laughing. Her chest squeezed tight as a steel trap. Noah was out there. He needed rescuing. What if she botched her attempt? She hadn’t shot a gun since she’d left her farm. Noah needed a hardnosed gunfighter like Bat.

But what would happen to Noah in the time it took her to sprint across the street and fetch the marshal?

Her gaze dropped to the rifle in her hands, and Edward’s letter as well. She’d forgotten she held it. Edward’s words guaranteed her and Noah’s futures. But what good was any future if Noah died before she could use the letter?

Hide it. Use the rifle and derringer to save Noah.

But if she failed with force, she’d need the letter. She could only use it once. Unlike the many weapons in cabinet, there was just one letter.

A solution rose in her mind, loud and clear. So did the rapid thumps and grunts of men fighting. Or men hitting Noah, hurting him.

The chances of them both surviving what lay ahead were slim. The breath she released was quick and full of acceptance. Once again, she must make the most of a losing hand. Time to gamble and bluff and lie.