Dangerous Heart (6 page)

“Only a fool would think otherwise.”

Grant nodded in agreement. Blake was no fool. Grant walked next to him as they made their way through camp. “I figure she's seen more than just her pa and her brother.”

“I'd put money on it.” Blake dropped his tone. “As a matter of fact, I'm banking on Ginger's presence in the wagon train to draw them out.” His gaze swept the camp. “I told the captains of each section to double the guards for each section of the train.”

Grant nodded. “What about the scouts? Should we double them, too?”

“Makes sense. Numbers might discourage an attack. Let them go in groups of three, at daybreak. If there are any tracks ahead, I want them found before the wagons rolls over them.” He gathered a deep breath. “I don't want any more surprise attacks.”

“Something else to consider,” Grant said. “It's possible more than just Ginger's brother has come down with cholera.”

Blake scowled and nodded. “The thought has crossed my mind, as well. Unless we can get her to admit to being part of that outfit, how do we flush them out before they spread it to anyone else?”

“She may need to be confronted.”

All in all, Grant knew that Ginger had a good heart. She might not turn in her pa if it meant him going to jail or getting hanged, but he couldn't believe she'd want to be responsible for unnecessary deaths.

At least not if she was the kind of young woman he believed her to be. He just hoped he wasn't wrong about her.

 

Web eyed his opponent, sizing him up like he would anyone who dared question his authority. “Like I said, we're waitin' this thing out.”

Lane shook his head, refusing to back down. “We've got to leave these parts or we're gonna get ourselves caught.” His words carried across camp. Web sensed the tension in his men. They weren't used to outbursts such as this one. Web's word was law, and that was that. Even those who disagreed rarely said so. And if they did, they sure didn't say it twice. So why, all of a sudden was the one man he thought he could count on betraying him?

Throughout his years as leader of this band of outcasts and outlaws, Web had been challenged before and had always dealt with the upstart in his own way. This time was different. Lane's silver-talking tongue had earned him sway with some of the men. But as far as Web knew, they were still loyal to him. For now, anyway. He needed to appeal to their sense of loyalty. And he needed to do it fast. If this stomach ailment was what he suspected, he and two other men in camp had contracted cholera from them Indians.

“Listen, men.” Web held up his hand and moved in next to Lane. “A half-day's ride away is plenty far away from the wagon train. Even the trackers won't ride too far from the rest of the group. They're more concerned with immediate danger. As long as we keep our distance, we need to stick with the plan.”

Lane shook his head and raised his voice. “Don't be fooled by Web! He's only saying that because he has Buddy and Ginger both in that camp. You know they're spying for him right now.”

“What?” Web shouted, his head swimming with dizziness. The fact was, he wished he'd thought of planting a spy.
He could shoot himself for not, as a matter of fact. He didn't know where Buddy was, and he wasn't sure whether Ginger was still loyal to him or not.

“Lane, you know as well as I do that Buddy ain't nowhere near that wagon train.”

“Really? Then where is he, Web?” Lane's brow rose in challenge.

“Well, I don't rightly know that. He went looking for his sister—that's true—but he ain't daft enough to walk into camp and start callin' her name.”

“Well, I happen to know he is in their camp.”

Web narrowed his gaze at the man. In the back of his mind, he thought about Lane riding into camp late with a few rabbits slung across his saddle.

Lane's horse had been ridden harder than he let on. And harder than anyone would ride on a hunt.

Web leveled his gaze at Lane. “You been spying on the wagon train without letting me know about it?”

Lane nodded. “I saw him. He must have hurt himself, because they carried him into camp. It looked like he was unconscious. Seems like they must have found out he's connected to Ginger, because they took her to the tent where they're holding him.”

The news slammed into Web's gut, and he fought to keep from retching. He swallowed hard and gathered his composure. “Who told you to hang back and spy on my girl? You plannin' on doublecrossin' me?”

Lane's desire for Ginger had been common knowledge since she was fourteen years old and began displaying wom
anly qualities. Common knowledge, that was, except to Ginger. She was oblivious to anything romantic. Just as well. Without a mother, she'd been raised in a man's world. To her credit, she didn't have any evil feminine wiles, but also no feminine instincts that he'd ever observed. Her worthless mother had seen to that. The woman never was much of a mother—or a wife, for that matter. But whether Ginger knew Lane was sweet on her or not, he still didn't have any call to sneak around and gawk at her without her knowing. It just wasn't right.

“Did you hear me, boy?” he said. “What was you doin', staying back when the rest of us moved on?”

A lazy smile collected at the corner of Lane's mouth. “That's my business, I reckon.”

In a flash, Web snatched the front of Lane's shirt and yanked him forward. Fear replaced insolence, and the younger man's eyes widened.

“I'm makin' it my business, you two-bit idiot.” A wave of nausea swarmed his gut, but he fought it back.

Elijah stepped forward and spread his hands. “Let's not fight amongst ourselves. I'm sure it hasn't escaped anyone's notice that James and Murray are ailing. I'm guessing cholera. Do you think we ought to be concentrating on not spreading it?”

Web turned Lane loose with a jolt. “Elijah's got a point. Now, I don't want to hear any more. A half-day's ride is plenty far away. Anyone else what to challenge me?”

Web knew he was on dangerous ground when someone like Lane, who had ridden with him since he was just a boy,
could go against him for no good reason. The other men would lose confidence if he didn't do something quick.

He turned to the rest of the men, who stood in silence, waiting, watching to see what he would do. “Now, you men know me. Have I ever led you into anything that wasn't for the good of the entire gang?”

Murmurs of assent buzzed around the group. Confidence surged through Web. “All right then. I have my reasons for not riding away just yet.”

Lane seemed unable to let well enough alone. “Seems to me, if we're going to risk our necks for your so-called reasons, you ought to come clean to the rest of us.”

Web knew if he gave in to Lane's demands he would be in danger of losing his command of this ragtag bunch of misfits that he had pulled together and made into a family. And he couldn't let that happen. His biggest regret at the moment was ever treating Lane like a son. Still, he figured he'd best remind the men just why they'd left Missouri and followed the wagon train. It was his only defense against Lane's poison.

“Remember why we hit the wagon train in the first place?” He leveled his gaze and scrutinized the whole lot of ungrateful idiots. “Who joined the wagon train the same time as Grant Kelley?” He hesitated a moment for effect. “Harrison. Charles Harrison. Richest fella in Kansas. And ain't we lucky that he packed up, lock, stock, and barrel, and decided to head west with that idiot son of his, a pretty wife, and young daughter? How many of you got enough brains to figure out what he probably didn't leave behind?”

“His money?”

Poor Yuley. He was as slow as Harrison's son. His big grin flashed proudly.

Web clapped the simpleton on the shoulder with parental approval. “That's right, Yuley. His money. Now, how many of you want to ride off and leave all those thousands of dollars that I just bet are under a false bottom or in their supply wagon, locked away in a box?”

No one raised a hand. He turned in triumph to Lane. “I guess you got your answer. If you ever go against my word again, I'll put a bullet in you.”

Lane's eyes darkened further. “I don't like threats.”

“And I don't like my leadership questioned. Now, this was my outfit from the start, and I don't mean to hand it over to the likes of you before I'm good and ready.” He paused for a breath. “Unless I change my mind and hand it over to someone else.”

“All right. Your point is taken. But tell me, how do you plan to get us close enough to find the box and then steal it?”

“I'll let you know tomorrow.”

Because the fact of the matter was that Web had no idea how he was going to manage to grab the money and make sure his young'uns were safe. The best he could do right now was get away by himself somewhere and think on it a bit. He walked away from camp. But not so far that he couldn't keep the campfire in sight. Lane would like nothing better than to catch him out alone and do him in. The longer he walked the more he thought about Lane until he came to a sober conclusion. With the traitor's poison spreading through the group,
Web had no choice but to find out once and for all where Ginger's loyalties lay. He couldn't care less about whether or not she ever put a bullet in that doctor. In a raid, men on either side would be killed, and no one was to blame. War was war. And he didn't believe in revenge. It was a waste of time. Only once had he given in to bloodlust. That was his secret, and he'd never do it again.

He would enter the camp and introduce himself as Ginger's Pa that had been looking for his girl. She had friends there. If they trusted her, they'd surely trust her pa. It wouldn't take long to make friends with Harrison and find out about the money. Then Ginger could do what she needed to do, and they could grab the money and be on their way before anyone was the wiser. It was time to get on with the new plan. Ginger wouldn't be happy with her role, but she had no choice.

A grim smile slowly stretched his mouth as he imagined the entire plan in his mind.

Tonight, he would sleep like a baby. And in the morning, he'd join the wagon train and reunite with his two children. Hopefully, his stomach would settle down by then.

Ginger made her way through camp toward the supply tent where Buddy was kept, hoping she wouldn't be noticed in the bustle of nighttime activities. She'd hated to lie to Toni, but the only way to get out of the tent was to pretend she needed to go and do her business. The kind of business a person had to do alone.

Earlier, she'd heard Blake instruct Two Feathers to post one guard at the entrance to the supply tent. That was a mercy. Getting past one guard wouldn't be much of a challenge. Especially when that guard was Nate Lyons—not the smartest man Sam could have chosen to keep watch.

She figured Grant would have gone back to his own tent by now. And she was determined that her brother wasn't going to die while she slept in her warm tent. As she approached, she changed her course, snatching up a stone as she tiptoed around to the back of the tent. Aiming carefully away from the tent, she tossed the rock a few feet from Nate. He turned his head sharply—just as she'd intended. Predictably, when the sound didn't immediately repeat, he retook his position
and looked straight ahead. Ginger tossed another stone and another one. Nate took the bait. “Who's there?”

Cautiously, he walked toward the sound and away from his post, which would most likely get him a firm tongue lashing from Sam or Blake. A fact that made Ginger feel a little guilty, but not enough to stop her from her mission to get inside that tent where her brother was being kept. She stealthily moved along the cloth wall, making her way around the front. She ducked inside without being spotted.

She should thank her lucky stars that Nate was missing a few brains. Anyone smarter wouldn't have been fooled. As a matter of fact, she'd been meaning to speak to Blake about Nate's incompetence. Now she was glad it had slipped her mind.

“Buddy,” she whispered. “You awake?”

“Yeah,” came the returning whisper. “Boy, am I ever glad to see you. They tied me up. It hurts somethin' fierce. Can you cut me loose?”

Indignation flashed through her as she observed his precarious position. Poor Buddy's uninjured arm was stretched across his body where both arms could meet at the wrists. “Barbarians,” she said, blinking back tears of pity at what she knew had to be excruciating pain. “Hang on, Buddy, I'll have you out of that knot in a hurry” She knelt beside his pallet and yanked her hunting knife from her belt.

Buddy gazed up at her, his blue eyes filled with worry. “It won't get you into any trouble will it?” His voice sounded so weak, Ginger fought the urge to tear up. How could anyone tie up a boy that was not only hurt but also so sick? Just wait
until she got her hands on that idiot Grant. He would have been the last person to see Buddy. It had to have been him.

“Let it. I'm going to cut you loose. My brother isn't going to be tied up like an animal.” She gave a bitter laugh. “Worse than an animal. The horses and oxen roam free. How are you feeling?”

“Awful, Ginger,” he said, moaning. “I think I'm gonna die.”

“Don't you dare say that, you hear?” The blade made short work of Buddy's bindings. He sighed and rubbed his shoulder where it had been stretched.

“Thanks,” he mumbled as though speaking was too much effort.

Brushing aside his thanks, Ginger adjusted her position so that she sat cross-legged on the ground next to his pallet. “What were you doing out there, Buddy? Why did you stay behind after Web and the rest of the gang rode off?”

His eyes remained closed. “I told you…” he said weakly.

Memory washed over her, taking her back four months to late spring. Buddy had held Tulip's halter and stared up at her as he said, “If you don't get home before harvest, I'm coming after you.”

Funny how they measured time the same way the farmers in Missouri did. How often had Ginger gone to bed in some rowdy, bawdy house or shivering in the cold of a winter camp, wished for a home with parents who tilled the ground, planted, and brought in the harvest? Honest pay for an honest day's work. She and Buddy used to lay close and dream aloud about the sort of man their dream pa might be. Their dream ma. All they'd had was each other. And Clem.

Someone had brought in a washbasin of water and strips of cloth. She dipped the cloth and squeezed. “How'd you know I was with the wagon train?”

“Web.” He closed his eyes, and his face took on peace as Ginger pressed the cool cloth against his feverish forehead.

Ginger shook her head at a stinging realization. Even though Web had assumed she was with the wagon train, he hadn't thought twice about raiding them? He either hadn't thought about the possibility of someone's bullet connecting with her skull, or it was a risk he'd been willing to take. Probably the latter.

More troublesome, though, was the fact that Buddy was in the middle of the whole thing. “You were part of the raid?” Buddy had never done anything illegal. If he had ridden with Web's people and drawn a gun, he was guilty, too.

He shook his head once. “Snuck off to find you.” He moaned, the sound tugging on Ginger's heart.

“Don't try to talk anymore, Buddy. You need to save your strength.”

“One more thing…The doctor…he's a good man.”

Ginger released a deep sigh. “He is. I know he is.” It was the first time Ginger had admitted such a thing—even to herself. But hearing the words from her brother's lips, she knew he was speaking the truth. And he'd only known the man a few hours.

The more Ginger saw things with this new perspective, she realized that no matter what had happened that day so long ago, she wasn't unreasonable enough not to realize the man was mourning his own wife. No one but an out-and-
out saint would have dragged himself away from his wife to help one of the men responsible for her death. She knew that now. Still, there was a lot at stake. She dipped the cloth in the cool water and swiped it across Buddy's forehead. “Grant is a good man, Buddy. I've known him long enough to understand that. He would never willingly let a man die. But you have to remember not to let on where we come from. If he knew who we are, he wouldn't be lifting a hand to help. Remember—his wife died in that raid.”

“Ginger, I need…” Buddy's eyes shot to the bucket. She grabbed it just in time and held it until he was finished.

“Lay still. I'll tend you.”

She rubbed the wet towel across his forehead. His face was devoid of color and his skin clammy. His eyes closed, and she knew he'd fallen asleep. Ginger set the towel back in the basin of water and stretched out on the hard ground a few inches away from her brother's pallet. She rested her head on her bent elbow.

“God,” she whispered. “Please don't let Buddy die. He's all I have left.”

She watched the steady rise and fall of Buddy's chest as he slept. How many times had they fallen asleep this way over the last fifteen years? Too many to count, she figured. Before her older brother, Clem, died, he would lay down with her much the same way she did Buddy. Keeping her safe, making sure no harm came to her. And none ever had. Clem had taught her to ride, to shoot, to trap and fish. He might as well have been her pa. Without question, he was more of a pa than Web ever was.

If only Clem were still alive. He had promised her. One
last robbery—the stagecoach bound for St. Louis. And he would take his cut and the three of them would go to Texas, start a new life, maybe on a ranch of their own. Clem had fed into her big dreams of someday being a respectable citizen. Only instead of all of her dreams coming true that day, her worst nightmare had occurred. Clem had been shot by the driver of the stagecoach. But he might have made it if the doctor on board the stagecoach had helped him.

Pain squeezed her heart at the memory. Clem's death was as much her fault as the doctor who had let him bleed to death on the Missouri prairie. She had played the decoy, had stood in the road and waited for the stage to come. She waved them down and of course they'd stop for her just like all the others.

This particular ploy had worked too many times for Web to consider the possibility that the time might come when their tactics would fail. As she thought back on it, she supposed it was like Sam Two Feathers said during his last Sunday sermon around Toni's campfire when he described the giant crashing to the earth, defeated by a small shepherd boy with a sling and a stone. “Pride goeth before a fall.”

Web's pride in the way they'd profited that summer led him to be careless. When the stage driver pulled in the reins and everyone inside was distracted by Ginger's sudden appearance, Web and his gang rode hard from the woods, shooting into the air to create chaos and confusion. It had worked a hundred times, but this time the robbery went bad.

How could they have known there was a US Marshal on the stage? The fighting was hot, but when the smoke cleared,
Web and the boys took off, leaving Ginger behind and Clem bleeding on the ground from a gut shot.

“Sarah!” The scream coming from within the stage, mirrored the horror Ginger felt as she threw herself to the ground and lay across Clem's heaving chest. The stage door flew open and a man jumped out, pulling a woman with him. “Bring my bag!” he yelled to no one in particular as he gently lowered her to the ground. “My bag!”

“Don't bother.” Another man appeared, this one wearing a badge. “She was dead the second that bullet hit her.”

“I'm a doctor. I can save her. I have to save my wife!”

Ginger's heart had lifted with hope that only a child can muster in situations like that one. “Hang on, Clem. Please, hang on. There's a doctor.”

“Don't.” He'd barely gotten the strength to speak. “He won't help. I don't blame him. I'm good as dead, Ginger. I'm sorry about the ranch. Take care of Buddy.”

“Hang on, Clem,” she'd sobbed. “I'll be back.”

“No. Don't. Get out of here fast.”

But Ginger hadn't listened. She'd never leave him. Soaked in her brother's blood, she ran toward the doctor. “Help me, please.”

The man's brown eyes had lifted silently to hers. Dazed. “What?”

Fear had hit her squarely the second she saw the pain and anger in his face. “My—my brother. We got caught in that fight. The dirty outlaws shot my brother!”

“I don't think so, girlie,” the Marshal had said with a sneer. “He's one of 'em. And looks like you are, too.”

Her brother groaned. Ginger clenched her fist as the panic turned to desperation. She grabbed the doctor's shoulders and shook. “That woman's dead, but my brother isn't. I need help!”

Agony clouded his eyes. “That woman is my wife,” he'd murmured.

But Ginger hadn't cared who she was. The only thing that mattered was Clem. He had to make it. “Hurry!” she called to Grant. “He's dying! Don't let my brother die!” But it was no use.

And now Buddy lay sick. Another brother at Grant's mercy. She knew Grant was doing everything in his power, but the situation itself brought the memories and the pain as though it were yesterday. When she looked down at Buddy, with his dark brown hair than fell over his ears in unruly waves, it was as though she were looking at Clem himself. Even the scraggly whiskers along his jaw mirrored Clem's. Would he get the chance to become a man? Her sweet Buddy. He couldn't die. He just couldn't. In the darkness of the tent, Ginger prayed harder than she'd ever prayed before.

 

Grant woke with a start to the sound of footsteps creeping close. His hand went instinctively to the revolver at his side.

“Grant?” a woman's voice whispered into the night. “Are you in there? It's Toni.”

Anticipating possible trouble from the outlaws, Grant was fully dressed, including his boots. He was on his feet before he answered, “I'm awake.”

As he stepped outside, he was greeted by Toni's worried face. “Ginger's missing.”

“What do you mean missing?” he asked, his stomach dropping. “As in someone took her, or as in she wandered off alone again?”

“I honestly don't know. But it's very late, and she's not back yet.”

“Do you know when she left?”

“Over two hours ago. She said she had to…well, you know…” Toni ducked her head as he drew the obvious conclusion.

“You waited two hours to come tell me? Didn't you realize she wasn't coming back?”

“I'm sorry, Grant.” Her voice trembled with agony and self-condemnation. “I guess I fell asleep, because when I woke up the fire had gone completely out, and it was cold inside our tent.”

Grant slapped his hat on his head. He'd love to shake Ginger. He shot a glance at Toni. “You've done all you can. Go back to your tent. I'll look for her.”

Relief crossed her features. “Thank you. I probably should have gone to Sam or Blake, but either of them would have been too hard on her.”

“What makes you think I won't be?”

A soft smile tilted her lips. “Because you care for her.”

Grant frowned at her words. “I do care for her—like I do all of the members of the wagon train. If she's run off, I'll have to report back to Blake. She's walking a fine line as it is. I can't keep this from him.”

“I understand.” She placed a hand on his arm. “Don't be too hard on her, Grant. I have a feeling Ginger hides a lot of
pain. Sometimes, I think she has to be alone because it's the only time she feels free.”

He drew a sharp breath at the thought of what might have caused Ginger the kind of deep down pain that would jeopardize her position on the wagon train over and over.

“Goodnight, Miss Toni. I'll keep an eye on you until you get back.”

After she'd made it safely back to the tent she shared with Ginger, he headed toward the makeshift corral to saddle up his horse. When he got there, he realized Ginger couldn't have ridden off because Tulip was still penned up with the rest of the livestock. He frowned. Where was that girl?