Just Her Type (19 page)

The sheriff was pouring a cup of coffee when they entered the office which was as cramped as the
Bugle's
. A small desk sat by a cell, behind it a wall filled with notices of wanted men.

“Did you two just get back from your ride? Douglas told me you left him a message that you were having a picnic.” Giving a cup of coffee to Mackenzie, he poured two more.

“We need to talk to you about something we saw up in the hills,” Luke said quietly. His eyes drilled into Mackenzie. “Don't we?”

She did not answer. So precarious was the balance between the three cattle barons, she was unsure what would happen if the truth was exposed.

When she remained silent, Horace pulled out the chair for Mackenzie and leaned against his desk. “Look, if you don't tell me what you saw, how do you expect me to do anything about it?”

Luke nodded. “I think the term Mackenzie used was rimrocking.”

“Rimrocking?” Horace stood straighter. “Where?”

“Northwest of town,” she whispered.

“Connolly's?” When she nodded with reluctance, Horace sighed. “I'd heard reports of sheep heading that way. I sent word to steer clear of Connolly's spread. I guess they didn't listen.”

Sitting on the corner of the desk, Luke laced his fingers together on the knees of his muddy denims. “So what do we do?”

“Nothing,” said Mackenzie.

“Nothing?” Luke swore. “Mackenzie, those men are criminally liable—”

As she went to the door, her shoes sloshed with the water trapped in the soles. She did not look back when fingers grabbed her arm, for only one man could make her tingle with just the brush of his skin against hers. “Let me go, Luke. I don't want to hear any more about this.”

“You will when it's printed in the paper.”

“It won't be in the paper.”

“Tell me why. You didn't want me to speak to Horace.” He gestured toward the man who was listening intently. “Now you're telling me you won't print this in the
Bugle
. This is hardly the crusading editor Mackenzie Smith.”

Closing her eyes in pain, she murmured, “Maybe you were right when you told me I was a poor excuse for a newspaper editor—”

“I never said that!”

“—but I must think of my son,” she continued as if he had not spoken. “To name names in the
Bugle
will guarantee trouble like you can't imagine. When are you going to learn this isn't Albany?”

“So Connolly can send his men to slay a herd of sheep and everybody closes their eyes?”

The storm blew into the room as she opened the door. “I don't like it any more than you do, but I'm not the one to change it.”

“Why not?”

She had thought Luke of all the people would understand. “I just can't!”

When she ran out the door, Luke exchanged an uneasy glance with the sheriff. Horace put his cup on the desk. “We can't force her to testify against Connolly.”

“She should!”

“Of course she should, but you know as well as I do why she can't. Who can those men take from her next?” Horace stared out at the rain, his brown eyes filled with pain. “Connolly has his eye on political office. What do you think he'd do to keep folks from learning about what's really happening out on his ranges?”

Luke shrugged. “Nothing worse than I've seen back east.”

“Probably not, but are you willing to chance Mackenzie's and Douglas's lives?” He held up his hand. “Before you answer, you need to know what happened while you and Mackenzie were out riding.” With a sigh, he sat at his desk, fatigue gouging into his face. “Doc Langhorne and Lacey were found dead.”

“Murdered?”

“Looks that way. Someone shot them.”

“When Mackenzie hears this, she'll be even more stubborn about keeping the rimrocking out of the newspaper.”

“Maybe she isn't wrong. I suspect this Jim who attacked Lacey may have come back to finish up the job so she couldn't accuse him. If he works for Connolly, he's not going to hesitate to kill again.”

“You think Jim killed them?”

“I don't know what to think.” He rubbed his eyes. “I just found them a couple of hours ago.” Standing, he leaned on his desk. “Luke, you have to ask yourself if you're willing to risk Mackenzie and Douglas for some sheep.”

Without answering, Luke put the cup on the desk and walked out. He was a newspaperman. There had to be something he could do.

FOURTEEN

The sun burned away the morning mist, as Mackenzie raised the platen on the press to read:

WYOMING 44TH STATE

Bentonville Celebrations Tomorrow

A smile oozed across her face, but it held a hint of sadness. Pa would have been thrilled. His last editorial had lambasted Washington for dragging its feet on statehood, along with the usual fiery comments about the need for peace on the ranges. At least, one of his dreams had come true.

Her smile vanished as she thought of the headline in the previous issue of the
Bugle
. Then she had to let everyone know that Doc Langhorne and his daughter were dead. Horace had asked her to keep the details to a minimum, so she had, announcing when the funeral was being held and giving no hint that it might have been murder.

At least, Horace had the good sense to see that confronting the Terrible Trio and their men with a blaring headline was not the way to undermine their power on the high ranges. Now, if she could just convince Luke of that …

Footsteps intruded, and she looked over her shoulder to see Luke coming in from the well. Water glistened on his freshly shaven face. Wiping a towel across the pale phantoms of soap clinging to his chin, he smiled. He draped the cloth over his shoulder as he walked toward her.

“Good morning, Mackenzie. How long have you been up?”

“Only an hour or so.”

“An hour?” He chuckled as he shook his head. “How are you going to dance with me tomorrow night at the box social if you're exhausted? I told you I'd help you.”

She kept her gaze on the press. “I didn't want to wake you. I figured you could do the inner pages while I cook up something for the social.”

“Is this your way of saying good-bye? Is that why you keep pulling away?” His tone became harder. “Or is it something else? Guilt, perhaps? Are you trying to hide from the fact that you said nothing in the last issue of the
Bugle
about the rimrocking?”

“Luke, you're being outrageous.”

“Am I?” He leaned his hands on the half-wall. “Look at yourself. As skittish as a motherless calf in a storm.”

“You've gained a real Western flavor in your language.”

“And you're avoiding giving me an answer.”

A pang raced through her, but she did not let her reaction show. Forcing a taut smile, she went to the door leading to the stairs. “If you'll excuse me, I have to get Douglas up.”

He grasped her arms and spun her against him. She gasped, but the sound was muted by his lips over hers. When he released her arms to draw her more tightly against him, her hands curved along his back. Spreading her fingers wide, she wanted to touch all of him. The hunger never lessened. Each time he loved her made her long for more rapture.

“Mackenzie, we have to talk about this,” he said, ruining her pleasure with his terse words.

“Not today when we must get out the paper.”

He nodded. “All right. I'll get to work. Later we'll talk about what you've been avoiding.”

“What we both have been avoiding,” she corrected as she ran up the stairs to wake her son and start a day which heralded a new life for Bentonville. She hoped it heralded as much for her and the ones she loved.

Mackenzie laughed as she applauded the enthusiastic, off-key music from the band playing on the steps of the school. Only the eager singing of “Battle Hymn of the Republic” masked the squeaks of Zared playing the piccolo.

She glanced back along the street, wondering how it could look so different in the daylight. Smoke and fire had damaged the mercantile, but it still stood. The walkway, which no one used, had been destroyed on both sides of the road near the saloon. Not burned, but ripped apart to feed the fire.

“Dessert at the church!” called Reverend Manning, drawing her attention back to the school.

“Run along,” Mackenzie told Douglas. “I know you want to get the best piece of pie.” When she patted him on the head, he shot her a smile and raced away.

She wondered where he found the energy at the end of the day. After preparing a basket for the box social, she had rushed through the day's events. The parade, the street dance, the horseback races—these last events won by the cowboys who had ridden into town to join the celebration. Finally the box social had arrived. She had not been surprised when Luke and Douglas together were the highest bidders for the box she had decorated with old copies of the
Bugle
.

Watching the people drift toward the church, she sighed. All day, she had been worried there might be trouble. She had seen Aaron O'Grady during the races, but had avoided him. Since Boswell had hinted OG Star cowpokes had played a part in Cameron's murder, she had not spoken to Aaron. She shivered, although the night was warm.

When an arm slipped around her shoulders, she smiled at Luke. He tilted his hat back and said in an exaggerated drawl, “Well, howdy there, ma'am. What do you say we hitch up the team and go fer a ride out under the stars? Yonder young'un's gonna be busy stuffing his face with pie.”

She laughed. “I hear this all the time, but it sounds all wrong coming from you.”

“Don't want to be accused of being a sissy.”

“I don't think you have to worry about that.” Her voice lowered as she added, “I'd love to go for a ride, Luke, but I promised myself that I'd get to bed early tonight.”

“Tired?”

“No,” she whispered as she turned to him. Her fingertips at the back of his head steered his lips to hers. When his hat bumped into the brim of her bonnet, she chuckled.

Luke offered his arm. When she put her hand on it, he said, “Ride first, then off to bed early. A wonderful end to a wonderful day.”

After she was seated next to him and the buggy was on its way out of town, he kept her busy telling him her impressions of the parade and the other events, and she knew he was composing his article for the
Independent
.

Pulling back on the reins, he brought the buggy to a stop at the edge of a field. With pines at their back, they could look out on the moon-streaked mirror of grass reflecting back the light. All humor vanished as he said, “I think this is a good place. Say what you want.”

“What I want? You asked me to come out here.”

He lit the small lantern at the side of the buggy. The whisper of light allowed her to see the intensity of his eyes. “But you're the one who seems afraid. What's happened, Mackenzie? When I first got to Bentonville, you were a fiery editor who admonished friend and foe equally. What kind of editorial does today's issue of
The Bentonville Bugle
contain? A flowery anthem to statehood.”

“Statehood is important.”

“As important as the editorial you didn't put in?”

A scowl rutted her forehead. “What are you talking about? I wrote every word of today's editorial.”

“But it wasn't the first one you wrote.”

“How—?” Anger propelled her words. “You read it without my permission?”

“It was on your desk.” His wide hands pinned her fingers to her lap. “It was also one of the best things you've ever written. Concise, loaded with facts about trouble on the high ranges, and containing enough names to keep this town talking for weeks.” He drew her closer. “Why did you kill it? Has someone threatened you again?”

She freed her fingers from his. “I didn't think that editorial was appropriate for such a joyous day.”

“Don't lie to me, sweetheart.”

“I don't want to lie to you. I mean—Oh, I don't know what I mean.”

He put an arm around her trembling shoulders. “You're scared, Mackenzie.”

“You're right I am!”

“Why? Horace knows the truth. He's the law in this territory.” A grin swept across his lips. “In this state.”

“What's one man against Connolly's crew?”

He shook his head and held up two fingers. “Not one. I'm with you on this.”

Clasping his fingers, she asked, “For how long, Luke? For you, this is a lark. It's not like that for me. Bentonville is my home. I want to print the truth. Hiding it is gnawing at me. But I can't! Don't you understand? What good am I to Bentonville if I'm dead, too?”

He enfolded her to him and held her as she quivered with the pain coursing through her. He whispered her name. When she looked at him, he tasted her mouth. She held tightly to him as he leaned her back on the narrow cushion. As his breath puffed into her mouth, he delved deep to find pleasure.

Mackenzie gasped as she heard footfalls. Luke swore and reached for the reins. She had too many guesses as to who might be stalking them in the darkness. She did not like any of them.

A man suddenly grasped the horse's bridle. Luke reached for the whip, but froze as a shotgun emerged from the darkness.

Luke glanced at her, but said nothing as the trigger clicked a warning. Several men rode closer and dismounted, but only one approached the buggy. Moonlight washed the color from his hair, but his laugh identified him.

Aaron O'Grady leaned on Mackenzie's side of the vehicle. The reek of whiskey billowed from him. He glanced at Luke, but said, “Well, howdy there, Mackenzie darlin'. We stopped by the newspaper to invite you to our party at Stub's, but you weren't there.”

“You know I don't go to Stub's,” Mackenzie retorted fiercely.
And you know why better than anyone else
.