An Unlikely Lady (28 page)

Roscoe leaned forward. “Where is it, then?”

“Do you think I'm stupid? I'm not telling you anything.”

“She don't know where the million is,” he told his brother, who watched her with grave speculation.

“Are you willing to risk it?” Honesty challenged.

“What if she's trying to pull the wool over our eyes again, 'Bert? Last time she did this, that damn fool from the bar came after us. My nose still hurts.”

“Honesty,” Robert said smoothly, “it would really be in your best interests to tell us where that money is, or . . .”

“Or what, you'll rape me? Kill me? Torture me? Do what you will, I swear on my father's grave that you'll never see one red cent of that million.”

He weighed her sincerity for several long moments before finally kicking his horse into motion. “If you are playing me for a fool, I promise that you will regret it.”

She'd lied to him. The realization pounded through Jesse's brain as he went to collect his horse. Why it came as such a shock, he didn't know; Honesty had done nothing but lie to him since the day he'd clapped eyes on her. And he'd fallen for her anyway. What a fool he'd been to think one night with him could have changed her; to have trusted that she'd stay put and trust him to help her.

He'd not be anyone's fool ever again. He'd meant what he said, goddamn it. He'd not go after her. Let her face the harsh, cruel world on her own. He was sick and tired of putting off his own agenda to chase after her; it was time to focus his energies on picking up McGuire's trail.

“Jesse!”

He threw a glance over his shoulder, and recognition of the horse and rider galloping toward him had his brow creasing in bewilderment. “Ace?” What was he doing here?

Brett pulled his high-headed Arabian to a skidding stop. “I've been looking all over for you,” he announced breathlessly.

“Nothing's happened to Annie or the girls—?”

“No, nothing like that. Jess, I finally remembered where I'd seen your wife before.”

“Hell, man, you didn't have to send out the hounds to tell me that.”

The humor he tried to inject fell flat at the grave expression his friend's face. “You said you were looking for a fellow named George Mallory.”

“I was.” He wasn't anymore; Mallory was Honesty's problem to deal with.

“Do you know what he looks like?”

“Not a clue.”

“Then this might interest you.” He reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew an old newspaper page. “I met him down in Sweetwater
back in '76. The pair of them took me for a couple hundred dollars. She was quite a few years younger then, but it's her.”

Jesse didn't understand how meeting Mallory ten years ago could have any bearing on this, until he took the clipping Brett handed over. He stared at the smiling picture of a young fair-haired girl in her early teens, standing beside a man whose face had been burned into his memory since he'd first seen the sketch three months earlier. His eyes blurred. His nostrils flared.

His one link of finding McGuire had been under his nose the whole time. And he'd just let her get away.

“Are you sure she's headed this way?” Brett asked him for the umpteenth time as they headed south out of Sage Flat. “I haven't seen a single sign of her.”

“I'm sure,” Jesse told his friend, as certain of Honesty's intentions as he was of his own name. “She has a map, and Sweetwater was on it. She'll go to Spring Creek next. Whether or not she's actually following a trail set by McGuire remains to be seen.”

As he made the prediction, it occurred to him that it was something the old Jesse would say, and it caught him by surprise. When was the
last time he'd let his instincts guide him? When was the last time he'd felt so confident? When was the last time it felt this good?

About a mile out of town, a flash of blue cloth in the amber grass caught his eye. Jesse dismounted, something about it reminding him of the bandana Honesty wore to keep from breathing the dust. He brought it to his nose and inhaled the faint fragrance of lilacs. “This is hers.”

“Jesse, you need to take a look at this.”

He glanced ahead to where Brett stared down at a section of crushed grass and hoof-churned earth. Three sets of tracks converged into one. The bottom fell out of his heart, and his mouth turned to cotton. “Hell, they got her again.”

“They?”

“It's a long story,” Jesse said. “Help me find her and I'll fill you in.”

The trail led them to the edge of the Palo Duro Canyon. As it wound a crooked path down a steep and rocky decline, Jesse gave the lead over to his friend, who was more familiar with the area. He refused to let himself think of what Honesty might be going through. But as the hours passed with no sign of her, fearful anxiety joined the riot of emotions twisting inside him.

He didn't fool himself into thinking his drive
to find her stemmed from the fact that she was his only lead to McGuire. He blamed himself for the Treat brothers finding her. He never should have left her alone in the room. Never should have let her out of his sight. But after the night they'd spent together, he'd let her delude him into thinking she might want to stay with him. What was it that continuously tore her away from him? What was she was after?

A break finally came late that afternoon when they saw Honesty's mare galloping through the trees lining the river that cut through the canyon floor.

Jesse spurred his horse through a maze of hickory and huckleberry with Brett close behind. At the edge of the wood, he slowed, prickles of unease dancing up the back of his neck. He dismounted, leaving the reins trailing on the ground. Signaling for Brett to cut to the left, Jesse circled right and crept forward.

He spotted Honesty the instant he reached the edge of the tree line, sitting on a rock near the river bank, watching Robert stumble around the inert form of his bulky brother, who lay on the ground. Jesse reached for his Colt, prepared to barge in and rescue Honesty, when Robert's cold, slurred voice stopped him at half charge.

“You bitch!” he hissed, swaying in place. “What did you put in our whisk . . . ?” Then the
flask in his hand fell to the ground, and the man tumbled face down into the dirt.

Honesty leaned forward to poke his shoulder. “Robert?”

No response.

Jeez, what had she done to them?

The answer hit him when a smug smile slid across Honesty's face. “Sweet dreams, Mr. Treat. Thanks for an unforgettable afternoon.”

Jesse's chest swelled with admiration over her resourcefulness. Then his mind spun back to that foggy-brained sensation he'd felt upon waking that morning in Last Hope. So that's how she . . .

She'd drugged him! The conniving little wench had put something in his whiskey!

A rush of cold anger brought Jesse to his feet and he approached Honesty as she rifled through each man's pockets.

He folded his arms across his chest. “Well, well, well, if it isn't my sweet little wife.”

She spun around. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. For a moment relief filled the deep brown depths, and she started toward him, arms lifted in welcome.

Then she caught herself. Alarm replaced the relief.

And she bolted.

Jesse cursed. Forgetting the Treat brothers, he tore off after his fleeing wife. They leaped over
logs, splashed through brooks, and climbed over rocks before he finally tackled her.

She fought him tooth and nail. “Get off me, you filthy snake!”

Jesse finally grabbed both of her wrists and pinned them above her head. “Now, is that any way to talk to your
husband?
” he gritted out, breathing heavily with exertion. “The game's over, Honesty. We can do this the easy way or we can do this the hard way—but either way, you're coming with me.”

“I'm not going anywhere with you, you Judas!”

“Judas?”

Her lips curled in a sneer. “I know who you are.”

Jesse masked his surprise beneath a mask of indifference. “Is that so? And just who do you think I am?”

“You're one of those filthy Pinkerton Agents. Don't try and deny it.”

“Actually, I'm a damn good Pinkerton Agent. And is it a coincidence,” he drawled, then adopted a cold smile, “I know who you are, too.”

“G
eorge Mallory, Deuce McGuire—they're the same man.” His voice was silky steel. “So now that you know who I am and I know who you are, let's call an end to this little charade.”

Dread uncoiled in Honesty's stomach as she stared into Jesses's turbulent eyes. She'd known he would figure it out eventually, she just didn't know when he'd done it or how, since she had the telegram on her. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Damn it, Honesty!” The dull light of fury turned to hot rage. “I've given you every opportunity to tell me what you've been after, why you needed my protection so badly, and
now, even when I confront you, you still can't trust me enough to be honest with me.”

“Trust a Pinkerton Agent? That's a joke! You people are nothing more than glorified bounty hunters. Why should I trust you?”

“Because right now, I'm probably the only one you can trust.”

Oh, how she wished she could believe that. She hated keeping all these secrets from him; they ate at her insides like an incurable disease. But give him control over her destiny, the power to destroy her dreams? He asked more than she could give.

Jesse sighed. “I can see we're going to have to do this the hard way.” His left hand disappeared behind his back and reappeared with a pair of metal cuffs.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you to Denver. Maybe ten years in prison will loosen that stubborn tongue of yours.”

Honesty writhed beneath his weight, frantic to get away from him. But the strength and power that had once been so attractive were now a prison she couldn't free herself from. Tears of helpless frustration stung the back of her eyes as he caught one wrist in the manacle, then the other.

“What do you want from me?” she cried, hating that he could see her weakness.

“The truth. Who is McGuire to you, and why are you willing to foolishly risk life and limb to find him?”

“He was my father! And you want to know where he is? Fine, I'll tell you: buried in a little grave outside Salida.”

Jesse searched her eyes, and her heart warred with apprehension and relief that she'd finally confessed her secret.

Then his eyes once again hardened, and his lips turned up with a cynical smile. “Nice try, but I'm not buying it.” He rolled off of her, then hauled her to her feet. “The tears are a nice touch, by the way.”

“It's the truth! He was shot down by Robert Treat four months ago in Durango. We jumped a train, and he died from a gunshot wound to the stomach just outside Salida. Ask the old hermit who lives on the mountain, if you don't believe me. He helped me bury him.”

“That's a good idea—let's go.”

She wrenched out of his grasp, yanked his revolver from his holster, and aimed. “I said, I'm not going anywhere with you.”

He eyed the weapon she held on him, then looked at her. “You're out of your depths with me, Honesty. Now, look at this reasonably; I can either help you, or I can hurt you. If you don't put the Colt down, I'm going to have to hurt you.” He held up his hand and took a step toward her.

Honesty retreated just out of his reach and pulled back the hammer. “One step closer and I'll shoot. My aim isn't very good, but from this distance I can do some damage.”

“You aren't going to shoot me.”

She didn't waver. “I don't want to, but I will.”

“If this is the way you want it, so be it. But know this, my sweet Honesty: you will not get away from me. I will track you down to the ends of the earth if need be, but I will see McGuire brought to justice.”

“Why?” she cried. “What did he ever do to deserve being hunted down like an animal?”

“He stole two little girls sixteen years ago for ransom. After the money was paid, he killed them, then fled.”

Honesty paled, and the gun went limp in her fettered hands as the news hit her like a blow to her stomach, stealing her breath. “No.” She shook her head in denial. “He would never have done that.”

“He would and he did, and there's a ransom note to prove it.”

“There must be some mistake! My father might have done a lot of lawless things, but he would never hurt anyone, much less little children!”

“Then maybe you don't know him as well as you think you do.”

Jesse closed the distance between them, pulled the gun from her hand, and looked her over with contempt. “He's a crook, Honesty. A man who's left a trail of fraud and theft across half the country—and he made you a part of it.”

Honesty wished with all her heart that she could deny that, but it would be futile. Deuce
had
swindled people, and he
had
made less-than-scrupulous choices. But if Jesse expected her to believe that the laughter-loving, gentle man who had raised her could have done something so heinous as to steal two children from their family . . .

A sudden, crushing memory surfaced.
No matter what happens, sweet lass, remember that I've loved ye with all me heart.

Her mind spun back to a lifetime of evasive answers and outright avoidance, to her earliest memory—of a sky so blue it hurt the eyes and grass so green one could sink into its depths. Of salty winds and the rugged chisel of rocks and the mournful whisper of her name across a diamond-tipped sea.

Ye'll know soon enough.

The truth is hidden in the flowing stones.

“Oh my gosh . . .” She closed her eyes against the wash of pain that overtook her. If it was the truth, and she was one of the children he had taken, then that meant that the greatest con man in the west had played the greatest con of all.
On her. She lifted her lashes and fixed anguished eyes on the imposing man before her. “Jesse, I think I'm one of those little girls he took.”