In a Cowboy’s Arms (11 page)

Nope, if not for her, he’d be tramping from town to town, trying to find a hint of where Daisy had disappeared to. He wasn’t at all sure he’d have had any success.

Even so, it still wasn’t going to be easy to find her.

Dade left his gelding at the livery and headed down the boardwalk. Hard to believe that several hours ago there’d been a holdup here. But then the town had looked much the same the day he rode in six months past.

Of course folks were hiding then after the murder of their sheriff. Now? Now they believed they were safe witha new sheriff and a deputy. Never mind that the deputy was green as grass and Dade was kin to outlaws.

He poked his head in the saloon. A trio of cowpokes were playing poker at a back table. Another was standing at the bar with a shot glass of whiskey in his hand.

The bartender looked his way and nodded. “Ready to wet your whistle?”

“I’ll pass for now,” Dade said. “That bounty hunter who came through a few days ago. You see him around?”

“Nope. Far as I know he headed out for good.”

He sure as hell hoped so. “If he comes back, let me know.”

“Sure enough.”

Dade headed across the street toward the jail. Not surprisingly, Duane Tenfeather stood outside the door. Seeing as he’d been a soldier, he knew the dangers he’d face upholding the law in Placid. He stopped before the man whose Adam’s apple seemed to be working double time in his dark bronzed throat. “How’s your gun hand?”

Duane lifted his right hand and flexed the fingers slowly. Too slowly. “I still got a good eye with a rifle.”

“What about sidearms? Have you been practicing?”

Duane’s skin darkened, looking more coppery than black. “No, sir, I surely ain’t.”

Just what Dade feared. “Then let’s head out to the bluff and see how you do.”

The last thing he wanted was to feel responsible for Duane getting killed. Nope, before he left this town, he wanted to believe Duane could hold his own against anyone. Including the Logan Gang.

Doc parked the buggy before the boardinghouse, and Maggie restrained herself from leaping out and sprintingto the front door. When he started to get out to assist her, she laid a hand atop Doc’s gnarled one.

“Don’t bother helping me down,” she said. “I can manage well on my own.”

“My bad knees appreciate your independence, Maggie.”

She smiled despite the worry nagging at her. “Thank you for seeing me to the house.”

“It was the least I could do after all the help you lent the Orshlins this week,” Doc said. “I fear things would have turned out badly if not for you.”

“I was glad to help.” She fidgeted with her handbag, hesitant to leave. “How much longer do you think it’ll be before you hear from your friend in St. Louis?”

“Wish I knew.” He slid her a questioning look. “You’re worried about this bounty hunter.”

“He could return any time. I’m afraid to venture out on the street now.” Afraid that she’d get caught and dragged back to Burland. God only knew what fate would await her then.

Doc fisted the reins on his knee and swore softly. “I’ll send another wire to the hospital.”

“Thank you.”

“Get some rest,” he said.

She climbed out and removed her small satchel. “I suggest you take your own advice. It won’t do if you fall under the weather.”

He laughed at that. “Point taken. Now go on with you.”

Maggie sprinted up the front steps, anxious to get inside. Yes, she was weary, but rest could wait. The desire for a bath throbbed in her veins, and she was determined to answer that call.

Mrs. Gant looked up from dusting the front room. “I hear you would have done Florence Nightingale proud with all the help you gave at the Orshlin farm.”

“The birthing was the most wondrous thing to witness,” Maggie said. “But caring for the babies the first few days was worrisome.”

“Doc certainly sang your praises.” She flicked Maggie a sad smile. “I know it’s wrong of me, but I couldn’t help thinking how wonderful it would’ve been if Lester hadn’t met such a deadly fate, and you and he married.”

Maggie smiled, hating the lie she’d woven here. Hating that she still didn’t dare draw Mrs. Gant into her confidence.

Deceit didn’t sit well with her, but she’d been afraid to trust. She was still afraid of revealing all.

She’d never dreamed when she concocted this plan to escape Nowell that she’d come to hurt those she liked so well. And she would hurt them when she left, for Doc or Dade would surely tell these kind folks the truth.

“Listen to me rambling on,” Mrs. Gant said. “You are surely exhausted and wish to rest.”

“Actually I long for a good bath.” She’d managed to work up a good sweat the week she was at the Orshlins’ farm.

Unfortunately their bathing facilities were a tin tub set up before the fireplace once a week and shared by all. Bath day was Sunday–today–so she’d missed out on that tradition.

Not that she was complaining, for she’d had no desire to join the family in their weekly ritual. “Availing myself of the washstand had to suffice during my stay.”

“Then a bath is what you shall have. I’ll get the water heated and start sending buckets up to you in the dumbwaiter.”

“Thank you.”

She climbed the stairs and deposited her satchel in her room. Having lived most of her life in Harlan Nowell’s mansion, she’d forgotten that most folks had adequatebathing facilities at best. Why, besides the company of her foster sister, the bathing chamber she shared with Caroline was what she missed the most.

While Mrs. Gant didn’t have a boiler in her cellar or pipes to feed into the claw foot tub, she did have a good substitute to provide her guests.

She slipped into the bathing chamber with a fresh change of clothes and gave the velvet cord a tug. A faint bell could be heard below.

Before long, the pulley inside the dumbwaiter began squealing as buckets were hauled up. While she took the buckets from the lift, Mrs. Gant chattered on.

“Why, I told Mayor Willis at the grocery store that you’d been orphaned when you was just a baby and didn’t remember your family at all,” Mrs. Gant said.

“That is true.” Even if they were talking about a different family, the end result had been the same.

“And your poor brother,” she went on. “Why, I was just thunderstruck when Lionel accused Dade of being kin to that gang and Dade said it was so. I imagine it shamed your brother and you to know family had robbed the town that he’d vowed to protect.”

From the glimpse she’d gotten of Dade, that much was true. Not that Lionel Payne believed it.

“He was upset by it all.” As was Maggie with this town for assuming the worst of Dade. “The liveryman’s son is taking on the job of deputy,” she said as she took the last bucket from the lift and poured the hot water into the tub.

“Duane? Why, he’ll do the town proud.”

“That’s what Doc said.”

She stripped to the skin and climbed into the tub scented with lilacs and rose oil. An aphrodisiac for the senses. She leaned back and welcomed the lap of water over her tired body.

She’d been sure that getting away from Dade Logan for a few days would temper these yearnings she had for him. Instead she caught herself thinking about him at odd times.

While she was dreaming fanciful thoughts about them that could never be, he was discovering her lie. But she wasn’t sorry that had happened. If he’d not ridden out to the Orshlins when he did, he’d have been in town when the Logan Gang road in.

Chills feathered over her heart at the thought of that happening. She barely knew Dade, yet she was sure he would have taken a stand against his father. He could have ended up like Lester, gunned down.

“I plumb forgot to tell you about the man that came round,” Mrs. Gant said, her voice carrying well up the shaft to intrude on Maggie’s musings. “He said he was one of those private detectives, but he was a rough character.”

Maggie gripped the smooth cool edge of the tub as cold hard reality destroyed her respite. “Dade mentioned that a bounty hunter came to town, looking for a thief.” For her.

Pots and pans rattled in the kitchen below. “When this man told me what this Sutten woman had done, I just couldn’t believe my ears. She stole from the kind folks who’d trusted her to care for their crippled daughter.”

“How horrid!” If Mrs. Gant only knew the truth.

“Right off I thought of you and Eloisa and how close you’d been,” Mrs. Gant said. “Of course, you was adopted into that family.”

Maggie pinched her eyes shut, dreading to know what Mrs. Gant had said. “What all did you tell this bounty hunter about me?”

“He wasn’t one for conversation. So I only told him the truth, that nobody but the sheriff and his sister lived here.” Mrs. Gant tsked. “My land, it surely tells you what kind of person this Sutten woman is to bite the hand that’s been feeding her for years.”

“So true,” Maggie managed to get out.

Maggie’s enjoyable soak was forgotten. If the bounty hunter had been the friendly sort, Mrs. Gant would have told him all about Daisy Logan’s and Eloisa Reynard’s stays here. He would have found out that Eloisa was a cripple, and he surely would have figured out their true identities.

Clearly using Daisy’s name any longer would be too risky now. If the bounty hunter dug deep enough in Manitou Springs, he might find someone else who remembered that Daisy Logan and a crippled friend had taken the waters there–and figure out that they used false names. That would have him coming right back here to Placid.

Maggie toweled off and quickly dressed, her body tensing once again. It was simply too dangerous for her to stay here much longer.

She’d have to come up with a new name and disappear. And she’d have to do it soon.

A mile outside town, the steady pop from Dade’s Peacemaker echoed off the canyon walls. He pitched the last can out from behind the boulder that shielded him, and before it began its downward arc, a bullet caught it and sent the tin spinning back into the air.

Worry had crouched on his shoulders over Duane Tenfeather’s ability to handle a gun again, but it had lifted as the deputy continued to hit the target.

Duane’s accuracy was dead on, but his lack of speed with a sidearm was a concern. His injured hand just couldn’t draw in a blink, which would leave Duane vulnerable in a showdown.

However the speed with which he handled a rifle more than made up for it. Dade was duly impressed with Duane’s inborn patience, his ability to wait out the best opportunity to fire.

Maybe that came from his Indian blood. Maybe he’d developed it from watching his pa pounding hot iron into shape at the livery. Whatever it was, that trait would be a benefit to him in this job.

He already stood back from folks and observed–something that likely came from his being a breed in a town that was mostly white. Patience could save his life if he got holed up in a standoff and risked running out of ammunition.

“Who taught you to shoot like that?” Dade asked.

“My pa.” Duane showed sense and respect as he handed the Colt to Dade. “He fought in the Civil War for the Union Army, helping them track renegades and bushwhackers. Come to find out the sergeant in my cavalry unit had ridden with him.”

A far nobler service than that of Dade’s pa, who abandoned his family farm after his wife died giving birth to a baby that died with her. Clete Logan had taken Dade and Daisy to an orphanage soon afterward, telling Dade that he and his uncles Brice and Seth were heading west to work on the railroad.

It wasn’t until Daisy was put on the orphan train that Dade learned the truth. Clete, Brice, and Seth Logan had thrown in with a band of outlaws who were terrorizing the west.

By the time Dade, Reid, and Trey escaped the orphanage, Dade had heard that the Logan brothers had formed their own outlaw gang. But while Dade longed to find Daisy, he had no desire to ever see his pa or uncles again.

He’d forged a new family with Reid and Trey. The foster brothers had formed a pact to stick together through thick and thin. That became easy after Kirby Morris took them in.

“Your pa know you volunteered to be the new deputy?” Dade asked.

Duane nodded. “He thought it was a good thing to do, but my ma and my intended ain’t so sure.”

“Didn’t know it had gotten that serious with you and Serena.” But he should have suspected as much when he saw the disappointed look on Serena’s face when Duane volunteered. “The women will worry about the danger you’re putting yourself in.”

“Way I see it, being a deputy is a damn site safer job than being an army scout,” Duane said. “And I sure as hell don’t want to take over Pa’s livery some day.”

Dade didn’t blame him none for shunning a job he hadn’t wanted. Dade had hated having his life planned out for him as well, which was one of the reasons why he banded together with Reid and Trey and escaped the Guardian Angel’s Orphan Asylum.

He wasn’t about to be railroaded into becoming a steel-worker or taking on some other trade in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. He wanted to live his own life. He wanted to find his sister, and damn anyone who stood in his way.

“Why’d you leave the army when it’s obvious you can still handle a gun?” Dade asked.

“I was tired of the killing. Tired of always watching my back. Tired of owning nothing but what was in my knapsack.” Duane looked at him. “I missed my family and home.”

“Yep, I know what you mean.” Hell, he missed the Crown Seven. Missed his brothers, even the one who had betrayed him.

“Nosiree,” Duane said. “Ain’t a bit sorry I mustered out.”

Dade smiled, hoping his deputy felt the same a year from now. “Would you want to be sheriff some day?”

A dull flush crept up Duane’s neck. “I ain’t trying to force you out, sheriff.”

“I never thought you was, Duane,” Dade said. “Fact is that I plan to move on. So do you want to be the town sheriff?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

Dade nodded, appreciating Duane’s honesty. “Then I’d best take pains instructing you on the ins and outs of being sheriff.”

“Like an apprentice?” Duane asked, the pitch in his voice betraying his excitement.