Max poked his own temple. “I don’t have a half-bad memory, for a pickled Texan
. Won’t Ryan be surprised to found out he hitched up with a wanted woman?”
Cameron shook his head
. “I daresay he knows already.”
“He knows
? But why —”
“— Quinn Ryan was the gambler Annie robbed.”
Max felt his mouth drop open. With an effort, he moved it enough to speak. “Then — then what the hell’s he think he’s doing?”
Judge Cameron glanced sharply at Max
. “I believe a lawman with your acumen deserves to be a sheriff, maybe even a U.S. Marshal at some time in the future.”
“A marshal —” Had the judge been drinking
? Weren’t they just talking about Quinn? Recovering from his surprise, he added. “But the President appoints those fellas.”
“Who the hell do you think appointed me
? My father-in-law is a United States Senator from the state of Connecticut. I assure you, Wilson, my name is well known to Chester Arthur.”
Max whistled
. “Well, I’ll be. I always figured you was a man goin’ places.”
“And I can take you with me, Max
. If only . . .”
Max leaned forward
. He could already picture himself sporting that U.S. Marshal’s badge, a woman on his arm even prettier than Annie Faith. Yessir. He’d figured early that with Cameron, he’d hitched his wagon to a star. He might hit the bottle now and again, but Max Wilson was no fool.
“There are certain entanglements,” Cameron continued
. “This blond woman, for instance.”
“I don’t care what Quinn says
. I’m bringin’ her in.”
“Maybe I don’t want her captured,” Cameron told him
. “Maybe I need her to disappear instead.”
“To disappear,” he echoed
. Was the judge suggesting what he imagined?
“Perhaps you could hang back a bit while Quinn goes after Hamby
. Perhaps you could double back and find this Annie Faith.”
“And then?” Max wanted everything spelled out
. What he’d have to do and what he’d get. Cameron could be slippery with his promises, and he’d lost out a few times on the judge’s insinuations.
Cameron looked annoyed, as if Max weren’t smart — or sober — enough to take his meaning
. “Take her somewhere private. Tell her you know who she is, and she’ll go with you. Who knows? She may even offer you her favors in order to secure your silence. But she can’t ever come back — and the body can’t be found.”
“And I’ll get to stay sheriff?”
Cameron nodded solemnly. “And so much more.”
Max nudged his gelding a step closer, then reached out to shake the hand of the man who knew the President
. After a moment’s hesitation, Cameron shook it. Then the judge’s stallion backed away.
“What about Quinn Ryan?” Max asked.
“Just stay out of his way. I’ll take care of him myself.”
* * *
The rifle’s barrel shook, despite the support of the V formed by two stout branches. Through a screen of leaves, Horace watched Cameron wheel around his horse then urge it northward at a ground-eating lope. Horace eased his finger’s pressure on the rifle’s trigger and watched the deputy.
Max lingered for a moment, staring after the judge, before he turned his mount toward town.
Horace sighed at his own failure. Certainly, he couldn’t have shot Cameron with the deputy sheriff right there. Nor could he miss the chance to listen to the incriminating conversation between the two. But even if Cameron had been alone, even if no murder had been plotted, he couldn’t say with any certainty that he would have pulled the trigger.
As much as he hated to admit it, he wasn’t the sort of man cut out to ambush anyone, even someone as deserving as Ward Cameron
. Or maybe the approach was right, only he had the weapon wrong. Instead of using the stolen Winchester to destroy the judge, perhaps Cameron’s conversation would do as well.
Clearly, this woman, Annie Faith, knew something
. Something Judge Cameron was eager to conceal. If Horace could find her before Max Wilson, he could warn her. Perhaps then she’d be willing to speak out, to hammer yet another nail into the coffin of Cameron’s corrupt reign.
* * *
Quinn nudged open his front door and carried in a crate containing flour, lard, coffee, beans, and bacon. Thankfully, Max hadn’t found the money he had hidden at the house, money he had needed for supplies. His healing shoulder ached a reminder that he hadn’t yet recovered from his bullet wound, so he quickly set the box onto the table.
“We’re going to need a pack horse if you keep bringing food,” Anna said
. She sat on the bed, where she braided her blond hair with quick, deft movements. He noticed she’d put on her jeans again, although she’d apparently brushed them to remove much of the dirt.
“The only pack horse I’ll need will be to haul Hamby — or his carcass — back to town
. Most of these supplies are for you while I’m gone. I don’t want you going out.”
She raised her eyebrows in mock horror
. “Not even to use the privy?”
“You can dump the pot at night.”
When her nose wrinkled, he continued speaking, not wanting to give her a chance to protest. “If you’re recognized, we both know what might happen.”
“There’s no
might
about it. Cameron would have me killed. That’s not the main reason I’m coming with you, but it’s a good one.”
He shook his head. “I thought we settled this last night.”
“We did. You need a guide, and I need to go home.”
“Why can’t this be your home, Anna?” Unable to keep his distance, he stepped closer and reached down to touch her face
.
She stood before his fingertips grazed flesh, then flipped the completed braid over her shoulder
. The serape slung over one arm, she took up her hat, which she’d stowed safely with her other things. Yet she didn’t move back. Instead, she stared into his eyes so intently that he couldn’t look away — could barely blink for fear of breaking a contact that felt as warm as summer sunshine.
Quinn measured the span of time she looked at him by the throbbing beat of his pulse in his ears
. He’d never before told a woman how much he wanted her, never before even desired to be with one forever. It felt as if he’d cracked open his chest and handed her his heart — a heart he couldn’t be completely certain she desired.
She smiled and stepped into his arms
. As he pulled her closer, he felt his lungs fill with air, though he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding his breath.
“There are people in the canyon who depend on me,” she whispered
. “You have forgiven the unforgivable. You have even offered love. I will always love you for what you’ve given me. But you must see that Copper Ridge does nothing but bind me to an ugly past. The canyon is my present. The canyon — and Rosalinda — are my future.”
He shook his head
. “You’re wrong. You only want to go back there to lick your wounds some more. You talk about a future, but what do you do there except relive the past? Relive our daughter’s death . . . You’re stuck there, Anna, stuck in a place that keeps you bleeding.”
In that moment, he could almost see the canyon walls, their red rock named for Christ’s blood
. Red rock that lay so vividly behind every stand of juniper, every grove of white-barked aspen. Red rock that jutted upwards toward the crisp blue of the Arizona sky. Was he telling her the truth? Did those walls imprison her spirit? Or were his reasons selfish excuses to try to keep her for himself?
He pulled at her shirt, pulled it up and gestured toward the scar across her belly
. “It was a bad wound, but it didn’t kill you. So don’t bury yourself there. Stay out in the world, with me. We don’t have to live in Copper Ridge. There are a thousand other places we could go. I’ll even take you to San Francisco. I remember, long ago, how you said you’d like to see it.”
She spun away from him, toward the door
. For a moment, he thought she might walk out and leave him, but she drew her back ramrod straight and seemed to gather strength. “I’m going with you, Ryan.”
“You are the most exasperating woman
. I’m not going to argue with you on this.”
“Good.” She favored him with a glance over one rigid shoulder
. “That will save us both some time, and you can’t very well tie me up for weeks while you’re off hunting outlaws. So where’s this posse you’ve assembled meeting?”
“Ah, the posse . . .” Quinn fumed at the way she’d so deftly turned the conversation — and at her reminder of this morning’s failure
. He’d gone out scouting for help, stirring up considerable excitement over his “resurrection.” He’d received four invitations for drinks, two for dinner, and one for a “free sample” from Liliana, who was hanging out the upstairs window of the Blue Streak. Her breasts, which appeared in imminent danger of escaping her low-cut bodice, further enlivened the crowd that gathered. But despite the festival atmosphere, Quinn couldn’t convince a single man to help him bring in Hamby. There were plenty of well wishers and quite a few hearty claps on his sore shoulder, but every able-bodied male in the vicinity suddenly remembered somewhere else he had to be. Quinn had even had to threaten to fire Max to make him come along. Sometimes, being on the side of right was damned humiliating.
Anna quirked a smile
. “I’ll be your posse, then.”
“Oh, hell
. Why not? At least then I can keep an eye on you, and you ignore orders just about as well as Max. I think he’s still mad about the house. Thought it was his ticket to matrimonial bliss.”
“So he’s not coming either?”
“Oh, he’s coming. Practically at gunpoint, I might add."
“Good
. If he stayed, sooner or later he’d mention me, and rumor might get around to Cameron.”
“That rumor wouldn’t have to exert itself at all
. Max is always slobbering at the judge’s heels, trying to catch some crumbs.” Quinn shook his head in disgust.
Max met them at the livery stable, where he was securing saddlebags on a rangy dun gelding already damp with sweat
. The deputy regarded Anna’s jean-clad legs with a poorly disguised mixture of lusty interest and disapproval.
“You ain’t thinking of bringing her along?” Max asked.
“If you’re addressing me,” Anna replied, “my head is up here. And if you aren’t, I wonder why not. I answer for myself.”
A red flush formed a background for Max’s coppery freckles
. His gaze swung abruptly toward familiar territory — Quinn.
“You can’t be serious,” Max complained
. “Way I heard you talkin’, this is a manhunt, not a honeymoon.”
Before Quinn could reply, the redhead turned what he probably considered his most charming smile back on Anna
.
“Ma’am, you don’t understand,” Max explained
. “This may seem glamorous, but it’s hot, dirty, dangerous work. There’s rattlesnakes, bad grub, and badder outlaws out there. It ain’t fitting for pretty little ladies. You stay home and work on some of those apple pies, ‘cause I aim to eat my fill once we’re back.”
Quinn noted the rising color in Anna’s face and sighed
. Some men seemed bent on self-destruction.
“In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve just come from the trail, and I’ve recently experienced ample evidence of what outlaws can do,” Anna said
. “And since this may well be as close as you ever get to a real honeymoon, you may as well enjoy it.”
Max winced, then his eyes narrowed
. “All right,
Mrs.
Ryan. You just come along, then. I’ll be riding right behind you.”
* * *
Elena’s heart thundered in her chest at the sight of Manuel leading the old
curandero
through the front door.
“The señora say she have fits
. Very bad ones.” Manuel caught Elena’s eye as she stood in the kitchen doorway.
“Where
? Where is Señorita Rathbone?” he demanded.
Her throat felt too tight to speak
. How could he have brought the
curandero
here? Would the old man guess?
“Why did you bring him
? She will want an American, the doctor,” Elena managed.
“The doctor ride halfway to Apache County to set a broken leg
. But the señora say she need help right away. Now where?”
Elena gestured toward the dining room, where both her rival and the ugly old woman lay past help
. Desperately, she tried to think of some convincing story to tell the
curandero
. But she could no more think than she could control her shaking.
Manuel and the old man hurried past her
. Tío Viejo knelt beside the body of the mean-faced woman and began to search for signs of life.
“Where is Señora Worthington?” Manuel asked
.
Alarm shot through Elena’s body as she realized Lucy was not where she had fallen
. Could the
gringa
have revived enough to crawl elsewhere to die? Surely, the dose that killed Señorita Rathbone would be enough to finish such a small, frail woman. Elena pushed past the healer.
“She was here — I swear it!”
“Then where is she now?” Manuel demanded. Elena could swear she saw suspicion in his eyes. Manuel was her cousin, the son of Mama’s sister. Working here as he did, he had no doubt reported her behavior to the family. Just as many others had, he’d tried to persuade her that the judge would bring her only grief. How much did he guess now? And would family ties keep him from public accusations?
The
curandero
sighed over the body, then bowed his head in prayer. Respectfully, he passed his hand over the staring brown eyes. The motion closed the lids as if by magic. Then he turned his own gaze, just as blind, toward Elena. His clouded pupils might not see her face, but she felt sure they saw to the core of her — and judged her.
No
! He might suspect, but how could he be certain? Once more, she tried to convince herself that Tío Viejo might be as cunning as an old coyote, but his knowledge was sparked by loose talk, not enchantment.
Still, her heart’s blood crackled with sudden ice when he rose to his feet and pointed directly to her.
Several moments later, his voice dropped into low, commanding tones, tones she could not imagine disobeying. “You must tell us. What have you done with the other
Americana
— murderess?”
* * *
From the shelter of the carriage house, Lucy peered at the two men entering the house. Urgent snatches of Spanish drifted her way from their conversation.
Spanish
. That meant they were Elena’s people, not hers. Possibly friends or relatives. In any case, it seemed clear the stoop-shouldered old Mexican was no true doctor.
Wait
. Hadn’t the judge called Manuel Elena’s cousin? A cold prickle of dread swept over her scalp. Could it be possible the two of them were in league? Dare she go inside, shrieking accusations?
Dear God, she had to get away from here, had to find people who wouldn’t talk around her in their foreign tongue, who wouldn’t plot to take her life
. The house was too isolated to escape to town on foot. Though her few experiences on horseback had been long ago and using a sidesaddle, Lucy could see she had no other choice except to ride. She peered at the two horses tied carelessly to a hitching post outside the carriage house. Cautiously, she stole forward, wondering which one she should take. Both were blowing and sweating from a gallop, but neither seemed in much distress. On closer examination, she realized the taller animal to her left was not a horse at all. Its long ears and dark gray coloring marked it as a mule. Normally, she would never consider riding such a humble mount, but at least the mule was saddled. Manuel had left too quickly to properly equip the sorrel horse.
Since she had no idea how to saddle the horse, she untied the mule’s reins and led it a short distance away
. But how to get on board? Its back looked so very high, and before when she had ridden, there had always been a coachman — or sweetly leering David — to assist her getting up. Her petticoats, too, would be a hindrance, much more difficult than her stylish equestrian attire at home. In the end, the mule laid back its ears and shuffled backwards in tight circles while she clambered aboard it as if she were a small boy attacking a large tree. But somehow, she ended up facing the correct direction.
Emboldened by her success and eager to get away, she dug in her heels the way she’d seen a cowboy do during the trip west
. The mule brayed loudly and shot off like a bullet — away from Copper Ridge — and help.
* * *
The more Ned thought about it, the surer that he felt. Black Eagle must have caught the blond woman and spirited her back to Copper Ridge. Judge Cameron wouldn’t give a good goddamn who brought her. He’d pay — and the conniving half-breed would pocket the whole bounty.
Ned slammed his fist into the cabin door in frustration
. Hop, lounging beside the fire, looked up at him and grinned.
“What the hell do you think is so funny
? It’s your share that half-breed made off with, too, not to mention your horse.” And probably his Ginger, too, which Black Eagle would take from the woman.
Hop brushed his hair out of his eyes, and Ned watched the younger man’s resentment flicker into life
. “Just thinking how you was gonna pop your stitches whacking at that door. But don’t you fret. I aim to settle up accounts with our old partner, too.”
Ned glanced down toward the uneven row of stitches Hop had sewn into his forearm
. Fortunately, the dark thread had held. Luckier still, his wounds looked to be healing. He’d half-expected hydrophobia, the way that dog tore into him. He was stitched in half a dozen places, from jaw to wrist to lower leg.
Despite his injuries, however, Black Eagle’s treachery rankled him more
. If he ever caught up with the half-breed, he’d tear into the bastard with a viciousness that would put the blond slut’s cur to shame.
Hop pulled a legged skillet of cornbread off the hearth and used a finger to test its doneness
. Yanking back his hand, he stuck one finger in his mouth, then blew on it to cool it. Steam rose enticingly from the skillet to mingle with the scent of the young goat they’d roasted.
“We’ve been in worse fixes
. Leastways, we got better food here and a cleaner cabin,” Hop said. “Thought we’d lay up here until you’re feelin’ better.”
Ned knew Hop was right, knew they’d never catch Black Eagle on foot
. He’d even admit that he could use a little healing time. But something about this canyon, in particular this
place
in the canyon, gave him a premonition of disaster. He wanted badly to be gone.
He swore under his breath
. He’d been so close to leaving this godforsaken territory, he could taste it. So close to collecting Cameron’s money and returning to Texas a success.
Once again, queasiness rippled in his stomach
. Something felt so wrong. Though nothing of the sort had ever troubled him before, he saw a fleeting vision of his mama, slowly dying. Dying without ever seeing him again.
Christ! He’d waited long enough
. With or without Cameron’s money, he’d get to see Mama, one way or another. Even if he had to kill his way back home.
* * *
Horace rode a half-mile back from the trio he followed. He’d watched Max Wilson leave town with Quinn Ryan and an attractive blonde wearing dark blue trousers. At the sight of the woman, Horace wondered what had gone wrong with Max’s plan. Surely, this was the same woman he was meant to turn back toward town to kill. Just as surely, she would not be safe here, either, with the ambitious deputy so close at hand.
He decided just to follow for a time
. He wished he could trail the group more closely without being detected. But as they rode out of town, the vegetation thinned in some areas, making it impossible to observe unseen from a lesser distance. Maybe during a meal break or after the group made camp tonight, Max would step away from camp to take care of privy needs. Then Horace could ride in and have a talk with Ryan and the woman.