Black Conley (2 page)

Two weeks after the funeral, Clayte was at her door. “I've come up with a solution to
our
problem,” he began.

She set a piece of pie and a cup of coffee in front of him. “I didn't know
we
had a problem,” Belle said, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

"Of course we do. You're running this spread alone and I have a passel of younguns that need a ma. If we were to combine forces, so to say, I could take over the running of your ranch and you could take care of my kids and me."

The memory of Clayte's words still grated on Belle's nerves. As soon as he'd spoken them, she'd grabbed the coffee pot and dumped its contents over his head. He'd yowled in pain and vowed she'd regret her actions.

Since then, several steers from her herd went missing, one or two here and there until the total was over thirty. She knew Clayte was behind it, but couldn't prove it. What she needed was a man, and not in the way everyone would think. She needed someone who was good with a gun and sneaky enough to catch Clayte in the act. The problem was where to find such a man. Looking through the paper that came every week from Denver, she got an idea. She'd advertise for a hired gun. It wasn't like she couldn't afford it. She had enough money to pay for several such men, but for now one would be enough to satisfy her.

From the parlor she could hear the stage driver and his two passengers sweet-talking Janna, Lacy and Cara. The girls would make good money tonight, meaning that in the morning Belle's share would be added to the money she used for running the ranch. If business for the girls remained this brisk, Janna would have enough money to move on to California soon. She hated to lose her, but that was part of the business. Janna wanted to open her own house in San Francisco, and Belle couldn't blame her. With winter coming, things here would slow down and by spring there would be a new girl knocking on the door wanting a job.

"There's a lone rider comin’ in,” Kate said, returning to the kitchen after checking the stock.

Belle nodded. “Don't know who it could be, but be ready just in case you don't get the night off after all."

"It's not like I couldn't use the money, Belle, you know that, but I sure do hope he ain't wantin’ a roll. I'm dog-tired."

"You go on up to bed then. If he's from town, I'll try to steer him away. I just heard Janna go up as well as Lacy. With luck, Cara will join them and I won't have to do any explaining about why the girls are entertaining men in the parlor."

The words no more than passed her lips than she heard Cara's light step on the stairs, followed closely by those of a man's heavy boots.

Outside, the sound of a horse's hooves signaled the arrival of the stranger. Rather than wait for him to come to the door, Belle grabbed her shawl and shotgun before going out to the porch to greet her visitor, giving Kate time enough to get upstairs.

"Something I can help you with, Mister?” she asked once the door closed behind her, and pointed her gun directly at his chest.

"Heard you were lookin’ for ranch hands for the winter,” the man replied. He carefully dismounted, holding his hands in the air.

She assessed him as he walked the short distance that separated them. He was dressed in black and wore a pair of six-shooters on his hips. They were hung low, as though he needed them at just the right height for a fast draw. Once he mounted the steps of the porch, he put his hand on the barrel of the shotgun, pushing it harmlessly down toward the board floor.

"Seein’ that gun pointed at my heart makes me a mite uneasy. What do you say we talk about that job I heard about?"

His manner and the fact he disarmed her so easily made her want to raise the gun and fire, but his strong hand holding it down stopped her. “If you heard that, you also heard that they call me Ballbuster Belle. I didn't get that name without working for it."

"I heard. Now, if you'll just put down that shotgun, maybe we can talk about the fact you need a hand more than I need a hole in my chest."

"You seem to have me at a bit of a disadvantage, but don't think for one minute that I won't shoot you if you give me any cause ... or I just feel like it. I expect a hard day's work and I pay top wages, but I don't take none to being pushed by any man."

He took off his hat to reveal a mane of black hair that fell to just below his shoulders. “Heard all about you in town. I doubt that you'd be able to scare me off quite as easily as you could some of the others. The name's Black, Black Conley, and I'm lookin’ for a job for the winter. Won't fool you none, I plan to move on come spring, but I still need a place to bed down, three meals a day and a job to do. I think I know all about your operation. You see, my ma ran a ranch like this in Texas. She made damn good money from the cattle and as much from the girls who worked for her, if you get my drift."

"I get your drift. Are you any good with that gun?"

He laughed heartily. “I would have thought that once I told you my name, you would have figured out who I was. It worked for them fellers in town. Had the bartender shaking so hard he could hardly pour me a glass of whiskey."

She nodded. Black Conley wasn't exactly what she'd expected him to be, but she knew about him, all right. From the stories she'd heard, he'd killed over thirty men and all of them in fair fights. She'd thought he would be older and more hardened, yet his brown eyes told her that it was possible a little boy still rested behind them. He didn't use the offensive language most men used when they came here looking for a job. To be truthful, he sounded like an educated man.

So why was he here on her doorstep, offering to work as a ranch hand? For that matter, why was he out here in the middle of nowhere when his guns could make him more money in one of the bigger frontier towns? In thinking about it, she knew if he was as good with his guns as the papers said, he was exactly what she was looking for.

"I do know who you are, Mr. Conley. Come on in. I can't offer you whiskey, since I don't allow it in the house, but I can get you a cup of coffee while I heat you up some of the stew we had for supper. It looks like you could use a good meal."

He agreed and followed her into the house. Once inside, she could get a better look at him. The long black hair framed a dark-skinned face, with brown eyes that any woman could easily drown in. His background could be anything from Mexican to Comanche, considering he said he came from Texas.

"If you take this job, my rules are simple. Like I said, I allow no whiskey at this ranch. If you want to drink, do it on your own time and do it at the Purple Moon in town. If you come home so drunk you cause a disturbance, you're fired. Do your work during the day and at night, if the girls aren't otherwise occupied you can take a poke at them, but not for free. They're working girls, and what they do at night brings money into the coffers of this ranch. Another thing; I pay a good wage, and I expect loyalty in return. What goes on here stays here."

"Fair enough. My ma's rules were pretty much the same. ‘Course, she didn't have too many men who would come to the ranch for anything other than the girls. How much do your girls get for a night? I came here to work, but nighttime entertainment might not be such a bad thing."

"Depends on the customer. The stage driver gets his for two bucks a roll, while the passengers pay four. As for you, I would imagine we could work out an arrangement where you could get yours for, let's say, a buck and a half."

"It sounds fair to me. A good roll never done anyone any harm, just so long as it doesn't get in the way of what a man has to do during the day. I saw you eyeing my guns before. Any reason why you're so interested in them?"

She ladled the stew into a bowl for him before replying. “Guess there is. I was thinking of putting out an ad for a hired gun. I've been having a lot of trouble with rustlers. Of course, I'm certain I know who's behind it. I just need proof. I need someone who is willing to find out just what's going on and use his guns if necessary. I'm losing the cattle on the range that borders the Diamond A. Clayte Adamson wants this ranch and he wants me. If he's the one stealing the cattle, it would certainly answer a bunch of questions."

"I take it you don't want him."

"That's right, I don't. Him and my pa had some harebrained idea about the two of us getting married and putting the ranches together. I set my pa straight the first week I was here. Clayte was harder to convince. About a month ago he lost his wife, and he was sniffin’ around two weeks later. He had the nerve to suggest we get married in order to combine the ranches and give his seven brats a mother. That's about the same time I started losing cattle. It wasn't hard to put two and two together, and I came up with four and not some other number."

Black's smile was unnerving. “I take it you told him what he could do with his offer, and did so in no uncertain terms."

"You bet I did. He's probably still nursing the burns from the coffee I dumped over his head."

"Like I said, I need a job for the winter and I came here to work. You can depend on me doing a good work for you; just don't get in my way while I'm doing it. If I ain't mistaken, you need my guns more than you do my skills at ranchin'. I'll make certain you get both. I can live by your rules, Ma'am, and I can take care of that little problem. I won't kill the bastard, but I can make him wish he'd never messed with your or the Double Bar B. Just point me to the bunkhouse and I'll stow my gear as soon as I take care of my horse."

"We haven't used the bunkhouse in years. This place has six bedrooms and I usually only have four to five girls working for me at any given time. Right now there's only four, so I have an empty bedroom. As soon as you get your horse stabled, come back up to the house and I'll get you settled."

He nodded and left the warmth of the kitchen. She couldn't miss his tight ass and the broadness of his shoulders. She wondered what he would be like in bed.

Where did that thought come from? I must be losing my mind. The last thing I need is a man in my bed. Ten years ago I promised myself never again to be taken in by a sweet talking man. I refuse to go back on my promise.

Belle's mind drifted to the years she spent in the East with her Aunt Mable. She'd been but five years old when her mother died. Her father knew he couldn't run a ranch and take care of a child at the same time, so he wired his wife's sister to come out and get Belle. In Aunt Mable's home, she'd received the love and attention she deserved as well as a good education.

She'd been sixteen when Preacher Martinson's son, Ronald, came sniffing around her aunt's door. Ronald had been handsome and when their meetings turned sexual, he assured her that there was nothing wrong because they were in love and as soon as her aunt agreed, they'd be married. He'd known the right way to seduce her, and she'd been ripe for the picking. In the months that they experimented with sex, she'd been transformed from girl to woman. When she told him she was carrying his child, he denied that it could be his.

As soon as news of her condition became public knowledge, Preacher Martinson and the good women of the town branded her a whore. It was then that her aunt sent her to a convent not far from their home. There, she'd abided by the strict rules of the nuns and gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, who was taken from her within hours of the birth. She prayed that her child had been given to a loving home.

Once she left Ohio, she came back to the Double Bar B and her father, vowing never to let another man touch her that way again. She'd kept her vow, and wasn't even tempted by the sweet-talking men from the East who wanted her more than they did the other girls.

So why did Black make her drawers wet when he took her hand to shake it? Just the thought of him sleeping down the hall from her was enough to make her change her mind and reopen the bunkhouse. Of course, she knew she wouldn't do that to him. The bedroom wasn't being used, so why heat another building all winter? She'd just have to make certain the man kept his distance from her and occupied himself with the other girls.

Once she told Black where his room would be and watched him walk toward the barn, she went upstairs to tell Kate about the new man. “That stranger who just rode in is here for a job. He's a gunslinger. Can't say I'm upset about him coming here. I gave him the room across from yours. You being forewoman here, I thought you should know."

"A gunslinger, you say? What's his name?"

"He calls himself Black Conley. I've heard of him. Seems he's killed over thirty men, and all in fair fights, if you can believe what they write in the papers."

"Black Conley,” Kate replied, the name rolling off her tongue as though she was contemplating it. “I have heard of him. His ma ran an operation like this in East Texas. I should know. One of the women I worked with in Nevada worked there for a while. He might be interesting company for tonight."

"Thought you were dog-tired."

"Things change, especially when Black Conley comes calling. I'm sure you gave him a deal on being with each of us. I think tonight will be on the house, though. You know, sort of a welcome to the Double Bar B."

Belle nodded her head. “All I ask is that you girls keep him busy. I don't want him getting any crazy ideas about me. I'm sure you understand what I mean by that."

"I get it, Belle, but somehow I think this one has you interested. You really should try it. If you don't, you won't ever know what you're missing,” Kate teased. “I'm certain you'd like it a lot better when you're getting paid for it."

"I like it a lot better when I'm the one taking the money and handling it for you girls. I don't want any part of the other, thank you."

After learning where he would be bunking, Black left the ranch house with a smile a mile wide on his face. He didn't care about the other girls. The one he wanted was the boss. She was just about the prettiest thing he'd seen in a long time. Her long white-blond hair was styled into the latest fashion, and her green eyes were ones that any man could die and not mind once he'd seen them. It was no wonder her neighbor wanted her in his bed. Any man would have to be a fool not to want to call Belle Barton his own.