The Badger City Gang [Bride Train 7] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (26 page)

“I can’t see them leaving, but yes, I’d go anywhere with them.”

Walt pulled on his ear as he watched her squirm.

“Think they love you? Wimmenfolks ’round here don’t marry ’less’n they git loved back.”

She twisted her fingers together in tension. Did they? What they had now was so good, how could she tell? If they didn’t love her now, would they learn to love her over time, or not?

“I don’t know. They enjoy having me at the ranch, but I may be only a convenience.”

“If I kin prove they love ya, will ye marry the lot of ’em?”

“Walter Chamberlain, you’ll do no such thing!” erupted Lily. The two older people fought a silent war with their eyes.

“How can you prove anything?” asked Kate.

“I’ll tell ’em they kin have the ranch free and clear, all paid for, if they give you up and marry my rich, spoiled daughter. If they want you, I’ll pay out their half, but they’ll have to leave Tanner’s Ford. If they want you
and
the ranch, they’ll have to find the gold to buy me out.”

“You’ve got a daughter?” Kate looked at Walt in shock. Both he and Lily ignored her question.

“Oh, Walt,” moaned Lily. “Don’t play with them so.”

“A man hates to say he loves a woman,” said Walt gruffly. “It makes him feel powerless. But a woman’s gotta hear it, and believe it in her heart.” He sniffed and cleared his throat. “Only way to get a man to make up his mind, is to force him to piss or get off the pot. Pardon my French,” he added, as if that made his language acceptable.

Lily held up her hand. “You’re going to tell Zach and his partners that they can have the Running W and a spoiled wife, or Kate? You’ll make them choose?”

Walt jerked his head in an abrupt nod. He stuck out his chin at Lily like a billy goat about to charge.

“Of course, if they choose to keep the ranch, you’ll help Kate find a much better husband,” continued Lily. “Someone wealthy, of good family.”

Walt’s lip twitched. He nodded once more. Lily leaned back and sipped her tea, smiling like a cat with fresh cream. Walt scratched with his finger at a lump of something stuck to his pants.

“Why would you do this for me?” Kate asked him, bewildered.

“Can’t an old man do somethin’ fer a pretty gal?”

He blushed and sputtered and then rushed out of the kitchen as if a tornado was behind him. Lily smiled and patted Kate’s arm. A grandfather clock bonged twice. Lily pulled back.

“Goodness, is it that late? The stage should be leaving any minute. Life will be much more pleasant without Orville Rivers influencing the town.”

“What if he escapes?”

“Hush, don’t even suggest such a thing. I trust that Pinkerton agent to make sure his prisoner doesn’t get away.” Lily’s lips twitched. “But it would save the cost of a trial if he tried to escape and Sheriff Barstow had to shoot him.”

“Sophie says he’s a Pinkerton,” said Zach in reply to Rusty’s snort of disgust at the skinny man quietly drinking coffee.

The agent looked out the window from the far corner of the dining room as if he hadn’t a care in the world. With his sandy blond hair and black suit he looked like he’d recently come from an Eastern city and knew little of Western ways. Every now and then he lazily glanced around the room, his eyes never lighting on anything in particular. He ignored the two of them.

“That dude looks like a card sharp’s best friend, ready to be fleeced,” complained Rusty. He looked away from the man, curling his lip. “I wouldn’t trust him to stand up to a mule, much less a hard case like Rivers.”

Zach polished his deputy badge with his cuff. “If Pinkertons looked like Texas Rangers, no one would say boo around them. That’s why they look harmless and fade into the walls.”

Sure enough, when Sophie McLeod walked into the room with a plate of steak and beans, the dude’s limp body and expression hardened. He sat up and seemed to gain fifty pounds in an instant, all of it muscle. He stood as she approached, flashing her a wide, confident smile. She hesitated a second before continuing on.

“Hmm, I see what you mean,” conceded Rusty.

The agent took his plate from Sophie and thanked her. She flashed an uneasy smile and quickly turned away. The man watched her, bemused and interested, as she bustled toward the kitchen. Maybe it was the heat of the kitchen, but Zach thought she had a bit more color in her face than normal. The Pinkerton agent sat and dug in, sinking into his old pose and faded personality almost immediately. Rusty grunted at the man’s ability to seemingly change his size. Zach jerked his head at Rusty and stood up. They picked up their coffees and headed over.

“About time you boys moseyed this way,” said the Pinkerton agent without lifting his eyes from his dinner. He cut another piece off his steak, still without looking up. “Name’s Gibson. My belly and backbone have been too close to howdy for too long so I’d just as soon finish instead of shaking hands.” He continued demolishing his dinner.

“Zach and Rusty McInnes.” Zach hauled a chair around and sat, resting his arms on the back. It just happened to show his arm and chest muscles. Rusty followed a moment later, flanking Gibson with his back to the window. “Sophie’s one of the best cooks in town.”

“She runs an excellent hotel. I enjoy staying here.”

“You admit to visiting Tanner’s Ford before, Gibson?”

The deep voice came from behind Zach. He turned to find the sheriff lounging near with one shoulder against the wall.

“You know I never admit to anything, Sheriff.”

“Other than you’re hungrier than a scrawny dog with nothing to chew but a six-day-old bone.” Barstow blew out through his thick moustache. “No wonder Sophie’s looking strange at you. She said you had two breakfasts and planned to have another dinner before you left town. Better get Doc to tonic you for tapeworm.”

Gibson polished off the last of his beans and sat back with a sigh. “Can’t see why that woman’s not married if she can cook like this.”

“The mayor and banker threatened to shut her down for prostitution if she looked sideways at a man,” said Barstow. Gibson’s eyes tracked Sophie as she served a customer across the room. “’Course, that might change now that Rivers is in jail.” He gave the Pinkerton agent a keen look. “Why? You interested?”

Gibson’s eyes shuttered. “Pinkerton agents can’t be tied down. Got places to go, rustlers to catch, and varmints to haul in front of a judge.”

He pushed back his chair, so Zach and Rusty stood as well. Surprisingly, the man was only slightly shorter than they were. Rusty tilted his head and gave Gibson a good look.

“How do you shrink to look like the skinny weasel I saw when we came in?”

“Same way you stay in the saddle when you’re drunker than a skunk. Comes natural.”

Rusty glared at the insult. Gibson raised an eyebrow in return. Zach recognized the “you want to try something?” stare.

“Back down, boys, we’ve got work to do,” said Barstow. “Stagecoach is waitin’ outside. I’ve got two men from the Sweetwater guarding the hoosegow. Zach and Rusty’ll help ’em get the prisoner on board.” He shuddered like a fly-bitten horse. “Once Rivers is outta my jail, Hames’ll go, too. Blasted reporter’s flapping his jaw about freedom of the press and wantin’ to know everything. Maybe if he stopped flapping his gums, he might learn something useful.”

Gibson snorted. “That man’s mouth moves faster than a largemouth bass after a fly in spring. And his ‘freedom of the press’ is an excuse to print lies and slander.” He turned his gaze on Zach. “Don’t be surprised if your lady is tarred with a black brush. Hames’ll make Miss Sinclair and Mrs. Frost into Jezebels who trapped the poor mayor by selling their bodies for gold.”

“Molly Sinclair was an innocent of fifteen when Rivers killed her family and locked her away for himself.” Barstow’s expression showed the revulsion Zach felt. “If Hames tries that, he’ll get hisself hurt. Maybe trip and fall headfirst into a horse trough, with a bullet chaser just in case.”

“You can’t threaten the press, Sheriff, you’re a lawman.” Gibson’s mild words didn’t match his fierce expression.

“There’s nothing stopping me,” replied Rusty, cracking his knuckles eagerly.

Zach pulled back a grin, having been on the receiving side of Rusty’s fists many a time. Their boots echoed as they walked down the center hall of the hotel. Lumley, perched on his tall stool, pretended to ignore them, but Zach caught the eager flick of his eyes. They stopped on the porch and took in the scene. Nothing happening to their right, but there was lots of action up the street. A group of rough-dressed men clustered around the stagecoach waiting in front of the bank.

“That lot looks mighty eager for excitement,” said Gibson.

“Been a while,” said Barstow. “The last bit of wild fun in town was a rip-roaring dogfight in front of Baldy’s Saloon. Luke Frost and Gabe Downey went at it over Sarah Unsworth. She married Luke a couple months ago. Hired my Mary to work at her bakery. Expect they’ll be hopping today.”

“Heard it was a good knuckle-duster,” said Rusty.

Unfortunately, Zach had been finishing the Running W’s barn and missed the whole thing. This time he was in the thick of it.

“Expect you checked things out, Sheriff?”

“Stagecoach drivers are regulars, I searched the coach myself, and I got people watching to make sure nothing and no one goes in, on, or too close around,” said Barstow.

“Why didn’t you stop the stagecoach by the jail?” asked Rusty. He stepped onto the street, the others following.

“Townsfolk won’t be seeing Rivers take that last walk to the gallows. Figured the next best thing was to watch him get dragged across the street. Got a couple of guns aimed in his direction. Put Casey on Sophie’s balcony, out in the open. His older brother’s across the street in the Widow Johnston’s place. Told him to stay way back so’s nobody knows he’s there.”

Zach twisted his head to look back at the hotel’s second floor. A scrawny boy of about twelve leaned a hip against the railing. He had his arms crossed and stared at the crowd as if memorizing everyone.

“You trust that boy to do a man’s job?”

“Some are better men than those full grown,” said Barstow. “Those brothers’re new in town and don’t have a penny to rub atween them. They’re hungry and eager to do a good job. If I put someone like Casey up there with a rifle, easy to see, most folks’ll think that’s all there is.”

“Can the boy shoot?” asked Rusty.

“Where they come from, you don’t waste a bullet. I expect he can take out a horsefly from fifty feet.”

“Might be interesting to have us a shooting contest. Me, that Casey, and Ross MacDougal.”

“Better do it afore Jessie’s up and about after birthin’ that baby or all three of you might lose to her,” said Barstow to Rusty.

“Speaking of women, how are they holding out?” asked Gibson. He stepped around a clump of horse droppings in the middle of the street. “Heard there was a hen party last night.”

“They’re a mite under the weather,” said Barstow drily. “My wife says Beth Elliott’s cordial packs quite a punch. Hope it gives ’em all headaches and keeps them off the street. I trust Rivers like I would a rabid dog.” He opened the door to the jail.

“He’s got friends in places both high and low,” said Gibson quietly just before entering.

Hames, wearing a green-and-black plaid suit, stood nose to chin with Cole Taylor. Zach had met Byron Ashcroft last night. Both ranchers noticed them enter, but Hames, his back to the door, didn’t stop talking around his cigar. His molasses-thick Southern accent was so strong that Zach wasn’t sure what he was saying.

“Morning, Sheriff, gentlemen,” said Cole. He stepped aside and waved away the smoke. “You’ve got perfect timing. Between the stink of the prisoner and this here fella’s seegar, I plumb near lost my appetite. Don’t think y’all have met one of my partners, Byron Ashcroft.” He pointed to the tall and lanky man leaning against the wall. Byron touched a finger to his hat in silent acknowledgement and then brushed the blond moustache that drooped either side of his mouth.

“I’m Rusty and that’s Zach McInnes,” said Rusty to Cole before Zach could speak.

“Brother?” asked Byron.

“Close enough to,” said Zach. “He’s been a thorn in my backside for about twenty years now.”

“Aw, don’t get all sentimental on me,” cooed Rusty.

Hames had watched the exchange, scribbling in his notebook with a pencil stub. He stuck it back in his hatband and smiled. Though many women might think him handsome, Zach got the feeling of a rattler, coiled and waiting to strike. He was the only one in the jail, other than the prisoner, without a gun on his hip. He’d be the type to keep a widow-maker up his sleeve.

“Ah, the upstarts from Texas,” said Hames with obvious satisfaction. “Have you heard from your dear mother lately?”

He asked the question with a bright smile as if everything was cozy between them. “Last I heard, she was fine.” Zach dared the reporter with his eyes to say another word.

“Yes, she is. Congratulations are in order. You have another brother.”

Zach grabbed Rusty’s shooting arm before he could pull leather. He wiggled his fingers, eager to do the same, but that would mean explaining why. The man’s guileless smile wasn’t matched by the glint of triumph in his eyes. How much did the bastard know about them? That baby would be both half brother and cousin. Born from sin, though few would know it. Not the kid’s fault, but he wanted nothing to do with any of them.

“Thanks. If I need to know anything else, I’ll send a letter.” Zach faked a friendly tone into words forced past clenched teeth.

“Shame on you, forsaking your mother like that,” tutted Hames.

“You boys’re wound tighter than a pig’s tail at feeding time,” said Barstow. He looked from Zach to Rusty. “If’n you want to keep those irons, you’d better stand down. I don’t see Mr. Hames wearin’ a gun.”

Zach fought the need to punch the newspaperman’s barely hidden sneer. The bastard knew too much, and enjoyed it. He and Rusty shared a look. Rusty nodded, signifying he’d noticed the sheriff didn’t say Hames wasn’t unarmed. But weapons came in forms other than fists, knives, and guns. Words could flay a man, and the reporter seemed to take a great deal of satisfaction in doing so. His time would come. Somehow, some way, they’d find a reason to wipe that smile off his face.