Desperate Hearts (10 page)

Elizabeth sighed. “I’m not happy about this, but from all that’s happened since I got here, I suppose I’ll have to give in and carry the
thing.”

“Good idea,” Swede told
her.

“Pack it up with some shot,” Mitch told Swede. “I’ll pay for it
myself.”

“I can pay,” Elizabeth told
him.

“This one is on me,” Mitch
insisted.

Elizabeth sighed. “If you
insist.”

Swede packed the gun and bullets into a box and tied it with string, handing it to
Elizabeth.

“Thank you.” She faced Mitch. “I will likely never use this
thing.”

“I hope you don’t find reason to.” Mitch held the paper for her and led her back outside and toward Ma Kelly’s. “I’ll be pretty busy between now and tomorrow night, so I can’t show you how to use that pistol right away, but at least you have it now. I can’t say how much I’ll be at Ma’s tonight and tomorrow—probably not at all. Knowing you’re there and safe will help me do my job and keep my attention on the right
things.”

Maybe
you’ll stay at Hildy’s
,
or
Sarah’s
, Elizabeth thought, a tiny part of her actually feeling jealous at the thought and then feeling ridiculously silly for caring. “Staying in my room sounds welcome anyway,” she answered. “I still get tired easily after all that’s happened, and my shoulder is giving me a lot of trouble. Being jerked into that saloon and forced to dance with those men didn’t
help.”

“I’ll get some laudanum from Doc and bring it to you,” Mitch told her. “It will help you sleep, and you still need plenty more of that.” They headed for Ma Kelly’s, past a number of saloons and businesses, men glancing their way but none giving Elizabeth any trouble. She knew it was because of Mitch. Part of her resented it, but common sense made her grateful. When they reached the entrance to the boardinghouse, she stopped and looked up at
him.

“I guess I should thank you for getting me out of that
saloon.”

“I guess you
should.”

“And since you are so bent on looking after me, perhaps after all the turmoil over the hanging is over you can rent a buggy or accompany me on a stagecoach back to Virginia City so I can buy a few books that I’ll need for teaching. I’ll also need a few more personal supplies. Maybe I can even find a couple more dresses. I didn’t have time to look around on the way here, because the stagecoach connection allowed me only a few
minutes.”

“And something tells me you packed up pretty fast to head out here—too fast to bring everything you would have liked to
bring.”

Elizabeth looked away. “That doesn’t matter
now.”

Mitch put a hand out and braced himself against the doorjamb, his tall presence making Elizabeth feel tiny and vulnerable. “Sure, I can take you to Virginia
City.”

“And then maybe you could accompany me out into the hills where the miners are so I can talk to some of the wives about teaching—at least those who have children
along.”

Mitch frowned. “Going out there might be a little
dangerous.”

“With
you
along?” Elizabeth quipped, meeting his intensely blue eyes
again.

Mitch grinned, a rare sight. Elizabeth was struck by how he looked even more handsome when he smiled. She wasn’t used to actually liking a man, certainly not used to trusting one, especially one built like Mitch Brady. She’d known the bad side of that kind of strength, so how she felt in Mitch’s presence confused her. Was it foolish to allow him to take her places where they would be alone at times? The man could break her in half, if he
wanted.

Afraid he would read her thoughts, she turned and went inside the boardinghouse. Mitch followed behind, his big frame filling the doorway. He actually had to duck a little when he came
inside.

“Be careful with that gun,” he told her. “Don’t try anything with it until I have a chance to teach you how to use it. A lot of people in these parts get hurt or killed because they buy guns to protect themselves but don’t know how to use
them.”

Elizabeth looked up at him. “I’ll be
careful.”

What was that she saw in his eyes? Why did she suddenly want him to hold her? She backed away. “Be careful out there. That brother you mentioned seemed very intent on making good on his promise to get you for bringing Hugh Wiley in to
hang.”

Mitch shrugged. “I’m used to
threats.”

“I’ve heard stories about vigilantes…at least a couple I read about in newspapers back East. It’s not all
good.”

Mitch put his hat back on. “No, it’s
not
all good. But a lot of men come out here thinking they can live just as lawless as they want, and that can’t be allowed. Most of the really bad stuff goes on outside of Alder—murders, cattle rustling, stage robberies, and such. Quite a few men came here after bad experiences in the war, some carrying big grudges because they lost everything—their farms, their businesses, family members. It’s mostly a rough and angry bunch of men who’ve come West over the last couple of years, but I can handle myself. I learned how years ago when I was an orphaned kid running the back alleys of New York
City.”

Elizabeth quickly averted her eyes. “That’s too bad,” she told him. “I’m
sorry.”

Mitch grasped the door handle. “Couldn’t be helped, but that’s why I know how you’re feeling right now, except that it’s worse because you’re a woman in a place where she sure as hell doesn’t
belong.”

Elizabeth swallowed back her secret terror. “Well, like with you, it couldn’t be
helped.”

“Couldn’t
it?”

Again he was trying to get more out of her. She refused to comply. “I’m very tired. I’m going to my room to lie down.” She met his eyes again. “Thank you for accompanying me and helping me find the right pistol. I’m sorry when I seem ungrateful. It’s just that I hardly know you, and like I said earlier, that makes it hard to trust you or anyone
else.”

“The trust will come, in
time.”

Mitch turned and left, and Elizabeth wilted onto a settee in Ma Kelly’s parlor. She’d never felt so confused about her decisions and her feelings in her life. Everything was twisted and turned upside down. Nothing was as it should be, and it had been that way since the night of her mother’s terrible and untimely
death.

“God, help me,” she whispered. She didn’t want Mitch to leave. She wanted him to stay right here beside her. What was happening? It couldn’t be love, because she barely knew the man, and she suspected his own life was one big mess like her own. Yet she found herself caring what happened to him. The thought of him being out there in the streets the next couple of days where men who hated him lurked in the shadows was unnerving. She wanted to scream at him to come back and stay in hiding with
her.

She went to the door and opened it, looking out. He was nowhere in sight. The man kept appearing just when she needed him most, then disappearing again, and she had no idea how to find
him.

She turned away and closed the door, feeling better remembering he’d promised to take her to Virginia City and maybe even out to the mines. She went upstairs to her room, leaving her pistol in the box and slipping it under some clothes in a dresser
drawer.

“What should I do, Claire?” Mitch downed a shot of
whiskey.

Claire McGuinnes smiled through painted lips. “I think that for tonight you should forget about that girl and concentrate on matters at hand. Sam Wiley could be out there anywhere. In fact, you should probably get over to the jail and help Randy out. He doesn’t have the skills you have, if somebody should try to get the lowdown on him and break into that
jail.”

“I know.” Mitch sighed. “I’m headed over, but for now Len is there. Not many men would try a jailbreak with that mean skunk
around.”

Claire grinned. “That’s true
enough.”

Mitch drank down one more shot of whiskey. “I just had to tell somebody how I’m feeling, and you’re always easy to talk
to.”

Claire stroked his arm. “I’d rather be helping you in other ways, you big
lug.”

Mitch studied the lines around her eyes, the scar on her cheek left by a man who’d told her that older whores weren’t worth paying and that he’d fix it so no man would want her again. Mitch had beat the man to
death.

“I’d gladly oblige,” he told Claire, “but that woman over at Ma Kelly’s has a hold on me, Claire. I’ve never wanted just one woman
before.”

Claire leaned against the bar, putting one hand on her hip, her bosom spilling over the top of her dress. “Then go charm her into your bed. You’re damn good at
that.”

Mitch just grinned. “She’s not easily charmed.” He frowned then, growing more serious. “Something happened to her, Claire. She’s afraid of everything and everybody, especially
men.”

“Well, then, it’s up to you to find out just what it is that’s got her so scared. And while you’re at it, ask yourself how you managed to fall in love with a complete stranger in just three days. I thought you had more common sense than
that.”

Mitch downed yet another shot of whiskey. “Lord, Claire, I didn’t say I was in
love
with
her.”

“Really? Why else would you suddenly not want any other woman?” Claire tapped his chest. “You’d better be careful, young man. You don’t know a thing about
her.”

“I know enough.” Mitch began rolling a cigarette. “I know she’s hiding something, and I think she’s running from someone. Whatever it is, I know she’s a
victim.”

“You see all women as victims. It’s your one big weakness. And don’t confuse feeling sorry for her with being in
love.”

Mitch shrugged, licking the cigarette paper and sealing it. “I’ve felt sorry for plenty of women without wanting them in other ways—and I’ve never been in love with one, nor do I intend to let that happen.” He shoved his shot glass
aside.

“You just might not be able to fight this one, young man. Just be on guard. See what you can find out about
her.”

“I know when a woman is no good just the same as when I can pick out the no-good men.” Mitch walked over to an oil lamp at the end of the bar and used it to light his cigarette, taking a deep drag. He returned to Claire, frowning. “I don’t know a damn thing about love, Claire. I’ve never felt it before, and Lord knows I’ve never
been
loved, so it’s all new to me and I don’t know how to tell for
sure.”

Claire re-pinned a curl that was coming loose from her graying hair. “You loved your mother, didn’t
you?”

An old pain stabbed at him at the words. “All kids love their mothers. Mine died so long ago, I hardly remember how it felt. Besides, this is different. Something about her makes me want to follow her around and keep her safe. Eventually I’m going to break that wall she’s built around herself and find out why in hell she came to a place like
Alder.”

Claire walked closer and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Promise me that for tonight you will forget about her and stay
alert.”

Mitch kept the cigarette between his lips as he smiled wryly. “I will.” He laid money on the bar to pay for his drinks and left the Saddleback Saloon, heading for the jail. Night had fallen, and every saloon was alive with drinking and gambling and dancing and talk of tomorrow’s hanging. Several miners had come in from the gulch for the big event. Mitch had seen neither hide nor hair of Sam Wiley or Bobby Spence, Hugh Wiley’s friend who’d also threatened him the day of the trial. He wore two six-guns and carried a rifle in one hand, ready for whatever might come, forcing himself to stop thinking about Elizabeth Wainright and keep all senses alert for any wrong movement or odd
shadow.

His deputy, Randy Olson, was at the jail with two volunteers who’d agreed to stand guard over Hugh Wiley and Jake Snyder. Mitch headed over there, keeping to the shadows himself and stopping to eye each alley he came to before crossing it. He stayed under overhangs whenever he could to help protect him if someone was on a rooftop figuring to ambush him. Luckily there were more tents than buildings in this town, making it difficult for a man to find many rooftop
angles.

When he reached the jail, which was made of cemented stones and barred windows, he finished his cigarette and stepped it out, tapping on the door. “Randy? Let me
in.”

The door opened and Mitch stepped inside. “Where have you been, Mitch?” Randy Olson asked. The young man walked to peer out a window, fingering his rifle
nervously.

“With that new gal, I bet,” Len Gray answered wryly. The older, graying man cast a sly grin at Mitch. A drifter all his life, Len feared nothing and was dependable in a pinch. He was known for his expertise with a rifle. The man constantly needed a shave yet never actually grew a full beard. He wore a plaid shirt with a cowhide vest that he seemed to wear constantly. Sometimes Mitch wondered if he slept in it. The dark-eyed, gray-haired man had the angled, weatherworn face of someone who’d lived outside more than inside most of his life, spending most of his years helping ranchers herd
cattle.

Randy, on the other hand, still had the taut skin of an eighteen-year-old. He was a kid from somewhere back East, come to get away from an abusive, alcoholic father. Randy always wore clean clothes whenever possible, kept his hair cut, and was usually clean-shaven. The green-eyed kid was a real hit with the whores because of his youthful good looks. He landed in Alder one day just as Mitch was cleaning out a saloon full of drunks, helped Mitch, and decided to stay on as a deputy just for the excitement and because he had no particular place to
go.

Mitch laid his own rifle on the wooden table that served as a desk in the tiny jail entrance. “If you want the truth,” he answered Randy, “I was with Claire over at the
Saddleback.”

“Whooee!” The jab came from a third man there to help guard the prisoners, Benny Carson—thirty, a farmer from Missouri who’d lost everything, including his wife, in the Civil War, which had affected thousands of men who then headed West to start life over. Benny was medium in every way—age, build, looks—and was a quiet man who never talked about himself but who’d done a lot of hunting in his life, so was handy with a
rifle.

“Let it be, Benny,” Mitch answered with a frown. “We were standing at the bar talking, that’s
all.”

“Well, I hope you didn’t drink too much,” Len told him, walking to the other window to look outside. “You need to be at your best
tonight.”

“I had three shots of whiskey. That’s like drinking a glass of water to most
folks.”

“What the heck does a man talk about with a whore?” Benny asked. “I don’t generally waste my time with
talk.”

“It’s that new girl in town,” Len repeated. “What’s wrong, son? Need a woman’s advice on what to do about
her?”

“One more word about Miss Wainright and I’ll open that door and throw all of you out in the street,” Mitch
answered.

“By God, Len, I think he means it,” Randy
joked.

“Getting nervous, Mitch?” The goading came from Hugh Wiley, who leaned against the bars of his cell. “You do know that my brother and some friends will make sure me and Jake here don’t hang tomorrow, right?”

“You’ll hang, all right. You’d better think about making things right with the Almighty tonight. If you don’t, after we stretch your neck tomorrow, you’ll be someplace where it’s damn
hot.”

Hugh chuckled, but Mitch could see the terror behind the man’s fake
confidence.

“Men like you enjoy watching a man kick and gag, don’t you?” Hugh sneered. “Vigilantes love stringin’ men up, and that’s what all four of you are—vigilantes. Vigilantes ain’t no better than outlaws and murderers.” He grinned. “What does that new little gal you rescued think of you, Mitch? Does she think you’re a murderin’ vigilante, or have you already charmed her into bein’ your own personal
whore?”

Mitch stepped close to where Hugh stood gripping the cell bars. Without warning he slammed the butt of his rifle against Hugh’s fingers. Hugh screamed out and went to his knees, cussing a blue streak and calling Mitch names that would make even the lowest man in a saloon cringe. “Shut your damn mouth, Wiley, or I’ll come in there and beat you till you can’t stand up,” Mitch
fumed.

More curses flowed from Hugh’s mouth, but they were mumbled as he curled up against the wall. Jake Snyder sat on his cot in the same cell, watching everything and saying nothing. He looked truly scared. Mitch threw him a warning glance and turned
away.

“It’s going to be a long night,” he told the others. “If one of you wants to go lie down on the cot in the corner there, we’ll take turns getting an hour or so of shut-eye through the night so we aren’t all four of us so damn tired by morning that we aren’t alert. I’ll be glad when this shit is over
with.”

“You’re not the only one,” Benny
answered.

“I get first dibs on the cot,” Randy stated. “I’ve been here watching those two worthless bums the
longest.”

“Hell, you’re the youngest among us, kid. You shouldn’t need any sleep at all,” Len
teased.

Randy shook his head and walked over to the cot, setting his rifle aside and lying down, leaving on boots and guns and putting his hat over his
eyes.

“You sure you’re up to this?” Len asked Mitch. “Only a couple days ago you were lyin’ over there at Doc’s place passed out from loss of
blood.”

“I’m fine,” Mitch argued, not wanting to admit that his side ached fiercely and he still had a strong desire to go back to bed. “I’ll get some more rest after the
hanging.”

“Suit yourself. I—”

Len’s words were interrupted by a shout from
outside.

“Mitch Brady! Come on out here and have them friends of yours release my
brother!”

Mitch recognized Sam Wiley’s gruff voice. Randy jumped up and grabbed his rifle. Benny doused the oil lamps to darken the
jail.

“I
told
you Sam would come for me!” Hugh Wiley
groaned.

“Shut up!” Mitch
ordered.

Hugh rose from where he was curled up on the floor. Holding his smashed right hand, he joined Jake Snyder as the two outlaws pressed themselves against the bars to hear what was going
on.

Mitch went to a window, pressing his back against the wall beside it and turning his head just enough to look outside. By the dim light of an evening not quite all the way dark yet he saw Sam Wiley standing in the street surrounded by four other men. Beside him, forced to stand there by Sam’s arm crooked around her neck, stood Elizabeth, looking
terrified.

“I’m ready to trade, Brady,” Wiley told him. “My brother for this pretty little gal
here.”

“Sweet Jesus,” Mitch muttered. “They have
Elizabeth!”