Devil in Texas (Lady Law & The Gunslinger Series, Book 1) (42 page)

"Yeah," she murmured, "on the inside."

"What?" Rex demanded.

She gave him a wan smile.

Suddenly, she felt tired. More tired than she'd ever felt in her life.

"Nothing. It's getting late. I have a report to write."

She turned on her heel and headed for her mare. Rex fell into step beside her.

Charcoal clouds boiled over a full moon. Thunder boomed a final warning. Before Sadie could untether her mare, the rain finally started pouring down.

* * *

In a special, morning edition of the
Lampasas Dispatch,
Poppy Westerfield was memorialized as a model citizen, a big-hearted philanthropist, a tireless devotee to women's rights, and a loving wife.

With mixed feelings, Sadie snipped the article and included it in her Pinkerton report, along with Bo Bodine's obituary, and a third clipping that announced the date of the legislative hearing to determine Baron's fate in the senate.

Sadie was sure Baron's attorneys would find some way of convincing the court that any illegal correspondence that had ever come from the senator's pen had been forged by his wife. Personally, Sadie couldn't believe that Baron didn't know
something
about Poppy's crimes. Just like Sadie couldn't believe that Pendleton hadn't worked to cover up her conspiracy with Hank. After all, Pendleton had faithfully served the Westerfields for two decades. He'd managed their business accounts. He'd lived in their house!

Then again, neither Pendleton nor Baron had ever guessed that Poppy was poisoning her husband.

Sadie sighed.
It's all out of my hands now.

Shaking her head at the convoluted nightmare her investigation had uncovered, she pasted down the flap of her plain brown mailing envelope. She was glad to be done with Baron's case. She was in a hurry to get her package to the post office and her portmanteau to the train station before the whole household woke to learn she was leaving. Fortunately, the residents of Wilma's boardinghouse didn't begin stirring until noon.

"Are you sure you won't reconsider,
chere?"

Wilma had joined her in the solarium, where they could bask in glorious streams of November sunshine. The madam was sipping a fragrant cup of chamomile tea, laced with anise, cloves, honey and—judging by the silver flask sitting by her elbow—a dollop of bourbon. Wilma looked especially refined in her gray-satin day dress, with its demure lace bodice and pinstriped skirt.

Sadie looked more like an underfed muleskinner. She sported a scruffy beard and a stringy, shoulder-length wig that could easily have served as a bird's nest. As for her clothes, she'd traded her sodbuster's sack suit for a miner's overalls.

"You saw the telegraph, Wilma.
'Agent missing.'
Delta Belle hasn't wired headquarters for six days. And that's two days longer than a Code Red."

Like Sadie's own code name,
Scarlet Diva,
Delta Belle was an alias for a Pinkie. The agent's real name was Araminta "Minx" Merripen, a Saint-Louis native, who'd been assigned to a mission in Denver. The wire from headquarters hadn't revealed any additional details. All Sadie knew was she'd been summoned to the Denver office for a debriefing.

"Allan Pinkerton is a reasonable man,
chere.
You need several days to heal. Wire him about your black eye—"

Sadie snorted. She hadn't worked four years to earn the Agency Chief's respect, only to concede now that she was soft—too soft to do a job when the Master Detective had ordered her to report to Denver.

"I'm traveling as a man. The shiner will give me a brutish look. Nobody wants to quarrel with a brute. And that means I'll get plenty of sleep on the train."

Wilma was careful to keep her gaze on her toddy as she lowered the dainty, rose-patterned cup to her saucer. "Are you sure you're not running away?"

Sadie stiffened. "Are you sure you're not trying to piss me off?"

Wilma was never daunted by Sadie's temper.
"Talk
to Cass. Wouldn't you want the same courtesy?"

Sure. Talk to Coyote Cass.
The man could make any lie, any absurdity, sound plausible.

Last night, after the doctor had announced Jazi would soon be feeling as good as new, Sadie had crept upstairs to visit the child. Approaching the sickroom's open door, she'd heard Cass's merry laughter; she'd spied him sitting on the bed, his golden head close to Jazi's cheek. The child had snuggled in her nightgown against his chest. Randie had perched on the mattress beside his knee. The threesome had looked like the perfect, wholesome family—the ideal portrait for
Ladies Home Journal.

Sadie had wanted to cry.

"Cass needs his sleep," Sadie said briskly. "He's the worst patient ever, although I hear Collie ranks a close second."

Wilma tossed her one of her incredibly annoying, insightful glances. "I think you're making a mistake."

"The
mistake
would be to wait around here, wasting time. Cass is a Ranger now. He's confined to Texas. I've been called to Colorado."

"Did I mention that Mace is in Denver? And he recommended you for this mission?"

Ugh.
Sadie wrinkled her nose. "Don't we have any other male operatives in the west?"

"Of course we do. But Mace pulled rank. Apparently, he's looking forward to working with you again."

"Right. Like he's looking forward to a toothache. Did he really request me for this assignment?"

"Apparently, he considers you the lesser of two evils."

"Now that's disappointing. Who's more evil than I am?"

"Pinkerton's mistress."

Sadie smirked. That actually made sense. Mace would have to tow the line with the Agency Chief's woman. "Then I'll consider that a compliment." She plunked her miner's hat on her head and tucked her envelope under her arm.

"What should I tell Rex?" Wilma demanded.

Sadie winced. She hated long good-byes. Mustering a devil-may-care grin and a breezy tone, she quipped: "Tell him I'll see him the next time I'm in Texas."

"And you think he'll be satisfied by that?"

"Honestly, Wilma." Sadie stooped to buss the Cajun's cheek. "It's not like he's my father."

With a cheerful wave, Sadie swept past potted palms and baskets of trailing poppymallow. She was so intent on getting to the door, she didn't bother to glance out the window. If she had, she might have noticed a tow-headed youth under the sill, whittling an image of his raccoon.

* * *

Feeling like a cotton pod had exploded in his brain, Cass dragged himself out of bed and splashed water on his face. He didn't like that he still felt groggy after his encounter with Poppy's stinger ring. No liquor of his acquaintance had ever packed that kind of wallop, and that was saying a lot, because he was pretty sure he'd cozied up to every liquor ever distilled from grapes, juniper berries, agaves, sugar cane, potatoes, corn, rye, and wheat. Hell, if spirits were distilled from turpentine, he'd probably drunk them too. And mostly in Dodge.

Wilma's doctor had said Cass was drugged, not poisoned—which had sounded like a bit of hair-splitting to his mind. Dr. Berger had hypothesized that Poppy must have pricked Cass's jugular vein with a super-powered jolt of opium. That's why he'd fallen asleep so fast.

Well, whatever that stuff had been, Cass didn't want to be pricked by it again. The stinger ring had given him a hangover with none of the feel-good benefits that made a headache worthwhile.

Grimacing into the stream of daylight pouring past his curtains, Cass yawned, stretched, and scratched his chest. Glancing south of his navel, he realized for the first time he'd been shucked.

Imagine that. Me butt-naked in a whorehouse, without a single redhead in sight. Where's Sadie?

He reached for his trousers. At about the same time, a commotion started in the hall. He recognized Collie's gruff, backwoods grumble.

"Where'd you hide my coon? He'd better not be in your travel bag. No coon of
mine
is sailing to New Orleans! You got that, Freckles?"

A tiny foot stomped in indignation. "I am
not
Freckles! Just for that, you're going to have to give me your harmonica."

"What?"

"You heard me," Jazi said imperiously.

"I don't have a harmonica!"

"Oh yes, you do. You stole Gator's."

"Shh!"
Collie hissed. "Vandy dropped it in the tub of mudbugs."

Jazi giggled. "Serves you right."

"Listen here, you rotten girl
.
You said you'd give Vandy back if I whittled you a coon. Well, I whittled you a coon."

"Rotten girl,
am I?"

Biting his tongue to keep from laughing, Cass cracked open his door. Jazi and Vandy had been inseparable last night, much to Collie's annoyance. Nevermind that Collie had hoisted the child from a would-be grave. Jazi had declared Vandy was her hero. To her mind, the coon had braved witches, snakes, and bullets to run to her rescue.

Collie had argued that Vandy heard a rattler, decided it was dinnertime, and did what comes naturally to coons. Judging by the stand-off this morning, Cass guessed that Collie was no closer to winning the argument. Jazi, who smelled like a strawberry patch, stood toe-to-toe with her red-faced opponent. Even though Collie towered two feet above her, Jazi wasn't the least bit intimidated.

"Just for calling me names, you owe me a whistle," she scolded. "And a shoe shine.
And
some salt-water taffy. Better make it orange-flavored, if you want your coon back."

"That's blackmail!"

Cass donned his poker face and stepped into the hall. "Is there a problem, folks??"

"Jazi stole my coon! You're a tin-star. Arrest her!"

"Good morning, Cass," Jazi chimed in brightly. "Collie's being an ogre again. Can you blame Vandy for preferring to be with me?"

"Not in the least."

"Hey!"

Cass chuckled. "Don't you two ever get divorced. It'll be hard on the cubs."

"Huh?"

Jazi grinned. "Cass knows all about grown-up things. Would you like an invitation to my tea party, Cass? I baked some lovely gingerbread."

"It's pretend," Collie warned.

Jazi sniffed. "Shows you how much you know. Vandy thinks it's divine."

"Well,
that
explains everything," Collie grumbled. "Vandy! Get your ring-tailed fanny out here!"

"Mon dieu,"
Wilma scolded, hiking her skirt as she hurried up the stairs.
"Qu'est-ce qui se passe?
Do you want to wake the dead,
chirens?"

Jazi quailed, edging closer to Cass. "Does she mean the witch?"

"No, sweetheart." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Wilma was just worried about... er, folks who need their beauty rest. Like your mama."

"Speak for yourself, churl," Randie teased with a yawn. Appealingly rumpled, she was strolling out of Jazi's room in a flowing aqua gown, which couldn't quite hide the sweet little bulge in her womb.

Randie had confessed last night that she was pregnant with Baron's child. Apparently, she'd told Baron the news when he—or rather, Poppy—had invited her to Lampasas. Despite how Randie had misled him, she had high hopes that Baron would marry her, or at least provide for the child. Since he would no longer be taking Poppy's "medicines," his doctor expected him to make a full recovery. And Baron's attorney expected him to be fully exonerated.

Knowing Baron as well as he did, Cass didn't share the Pinkertons' belief that Baron had ordered the murder of innocents. But Cass did believe that a horrified, guilt-ridden Baron had tried to protect his wife from the law. For 20 years, Baron had been living a private hell, married to a mentally unbalanced woman—a woman whom, deep down, he had never stopped loving.

Cass hoped that Baron could finally be happy with Randie.

"Has anyone seen Sadie?" Randie asked. "I think Gator may have mistaken my traveling trunk for hers. They're practically identical, and mine's missing."

Jazi sucked in her breath. "Oh no! I put the gingerbread in Mama's trunk."

Collie blanched. "You did
what?!"

Muttering a hair-raising oath, the boy turned and bolted down the hall.

As Collie's noisy clomping echoed in the stairwell, Cass hiked an eyebrow at Wilma. "What was that all about?"

The madam chuckled, shaking her head. "It appears that Vandy may be on the next train to Denver. With Sadie."

Chapter 24