Margaret Brownley (12 page)

She handed him a sheet of paper containing her carefully written copy.

“What is this?” he asked.

“An article I wrote to go with the photograph. You said if I wrote it, you would print it.”

“So I did,” he said, “but I’m only paying you for the photograph.”

She could have argued with him but she knew it would do no good. “I talked with Mr. Wolf. It seems only natural that I should be the one to write the article.” Once everyone read how he saved her from the stagecoach robbers, the ridiculous rumors would be put to rest.

She decided it best not to mention that she had been trapped in a sinkhole with him. Nor that she had stayed up half the night trying to turn what little she knew of the man into more than a couple of sentences.

She tapped her toe impatiently while he read her carefully written words. His face remained neutral.

He tossed the paper on his desk. “All right, you’re hired,” he said. No doubt that was as close to a compliment as she was likely to get from the man, but it was enough. “But I’m warning you, there better be no more blunders in the future.”

“There won’t be,” she said.

“Very well, then.” He tapped his fingers together and she could almost see the wheels turning in his head. If he hadn’t already hired her, she might have been inclined to think he had something up his ink-stained sleeve.

“I want you to go to Garland and ask to see a prisoner by the name of Phelps.”

“Phelps?” she asked.

He cleared his throat. “There’s . . . uh . . . speculation that he might be one of the . . . uh . . . stagecoach robbers. If he is, you might recognize him.”

Her heart raced with excitement. “I’m sure I will, but only if he’s one of them.”

Though she didn’t get a good look at the bandits without their masks, she would never forget their eyes or voices.

“If it is one of the . . . uh . . . robbers, you can take a photograph and we will run it on the front page.”

She couldn’t believe her good fortune. It was her first real assignment as an actual employee and she was determined not to mess it up. “It will take a couple of days,” she said.

The train did not yet go to Garland, which meant she would have to take a stage. That would be two days there and two days back.

“Take as long as you need.” He was considerably more accommodating than usual. Apparently he liked her photograph and essay more than he let on, and she intended to use this to her full advantage.

“I expect the paper will pay for my expenses,” she said, bracing herself for the battle that was bound to follow any monetary request.

“Of course,” he said without hesitation.

His willingness to comply with her demands surprised her. Obviously, he’d not considered the full extent of expense a trip like that would incur. “I’ll need money for stage fare and lodgings, plus food,” she clarified.

He opened the drawer of his desk and handed her what could only be described as a pittance.

She continued to hold out her hand. Taking the hint, he dropped another coin in her palm and, after more prodding on her part, reluctantly parted with several more coins.

Satisfied at last that her expenses were covered, she dropped the coins into her reticule, tightened the drawstrings, and slipped the bag onto her wrist.

“I’m not sure photographs are worth all this trouble and expense,” he muttered.

She gave him a reassuring smile. “I promise you’ll sell more papers than you ever thought possible.”

She was still smiling and Barnes still grumbling when she left the office.

Wolf eyed the flock of grackles that took to the sky with harsh, raucous cries. Something or someone was nearby. The rabbit he hoped to nab for supper knew it too. It froze momentarily, its ears pointing straight up, before quickly popping into a hole.

Saved by a hair. Or was that hare? Grinning at the unintentional pun that came to mind, Wolf crouched down low, straining his ears.

Nothing.

For once, it wasn’t a certain blue-eyed beauty that intruded. Unless, of course, she had tracked him down and now stood waiting in the early morning shadows with that infernal camera of hers. However much she complicated his life, he didn’t find the thought all that unpleasant.

Spotting a broken branch, he picked it up and examined it. The distinct straight grain and open pores told him it was ash. A cabinetmaker by trade, he enjoyed checking out the wide variety of trees in these woods. He could hardly wait to finish his business and return to his craft and the job waiting for him back in the Panhandle.

In the short time he’d been in Rocky Creek, he’d spotted oak, ash, mesquite, cherry, even mahogany. It was like finding a gold mine. Around the mission where he was staying he’d even found some trees not native to the area but probably planted there years ago by missionaries.

A rustling sound like dry leaves in the wind made him tense. He strained his ears but all was quiet again. Around him the trees stood like sentinels. Not even the call of a bird broke the early morning silence; not a breath of air stirred the boughs.

Convinced it had only been a foraging animal, he tossed away the tree branch, placed two fingers in his mouth, and whistled for his horse. He then stepped through the edge of the woods to the meadow where he’d left Shadow to graze.

Momentarily blinded by the rising sun, it took him a moment to realize he wasn’t alone. Three men faced him, two with their guns drawn.

“Drop your weapons and put your hands up,” one of the men called. Noting that the man wore a sheriff’s badge, Wolf slid his rifle holster down his arm to the ground, along with his knife. He then raised his hands shoulder high.

The lawman walked toward him with a languid stride. “Name’s Slacker. Sheriff Abe Slacker.”

“It’s not against the law to scavenge for wood,” Wolf said.

The sheriff stepped in front of him and kicked Wolf’s knife into the bushes. “Since you’re such an expert in the law, then you must know that we don’t tolerate people who go around terrorizing other folks.”

“Terrorizing?”

“You near scared the Trotter boy to death.”

“I chased him away from my belongings.”

The sheriff continued as if Wolf’s explanation was of no consequence. “And then you terrorized Miss Fairbanks.”

“Miss—” Wolf sputtered. He doubted if anything could terrorize that brash woman. “I can assure you I had no intention of causing Miss Fairbanks any . . . discomfort.”

“The
Gazette
referred to you as only Wolf. What’s your full name?” the sheriff asked.

“David Wolf.” He was in the newspaper? Drat!

The sheriff pursed his lips. “Are you from Indian Territory?”

“I’m not a member of any Indian tribe, if that’s what you’re asking.” Not Indian, not white. He lived in no-man’s-land. “And no, I’ve never been to Indian Territory.”

The sheriff scrutinized him. “What brings a half-breed like you to these parts?”

Wolf glanced at the two deputies who continued to hold him at gunpoint. One deputy was flabby, his stomach swollen like a flour sack over his gun belt. The other deputy was so young and inexperienced he kept looking at the sheriff for direction.

“I reckon that’s my business,” Wolf said, turning his attention back to the sheriff. The man struck him as all bluster and little action. No doubt he depended on his deputies to do the dirty work.

“Is that so?” The sheriff hung his thumbs from his belt. “I have a nice jail cell that might convince you otherwise.”

Wolf gave the sheriff a look of disdain. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d landed in jail for no other reason than the question of his race. “Out of your jurisdiction, aren’t you?”

“My jurisdiction is wherever the good folks of Rocky Creek travel.”

Slacker signaled to his men and they closed in from both sides.

Just as those youths had closed in all those years ago
.

Instinctively, Wolf stiffened. The flabby deputy shoved his gun in his holster and grabbed Wolf’s arm. Reacting purely by instinct, Wolf swung his fist into the man’s doughy face and the man dropped his hold. Just as he’d counted on, the man was as slow as he was soft. A second fist and the deputy fell to the ground with a curse. It happened so fast all three men were caught by surprise.

The second deputy poked the barrel of his gun into Wolf’s side, and with a glance at the sheriff he said, “Hold it right there.”

Wolf stiffened and raised his hands again. The sheriff walked up to him, handcuffs dangling.

Just then Shadow came bounding out of the woods. It was just the distraction Wolf needed. Elbowing the younger deputy with lightning speed, Wolf finished the job with a bone-crunching jab. The man fell back, clutching his nose, blood oozing down his chin.

Wolf twisted around just as the sheriff drew his weapon. Wolf kicked the gun out of the sheriff’s hand. By this time the pudgy deputy was on his feet again. He made a flying leap, knocking Wolf to the ground. The two rolled down a short incline. Wolf reached through the bushes for the sheriff’s gun with one hand and fired a shot. His opponent rolled off him.

Still on his back, Wolf pointed the sheriff’s Colt revolver and the three men froze as he staggered to his feet. He swung the gun in a sidewise arc and stepped back.

Pudgy reached for his holster. Wolf fired another warning shot and the man pulled his hand away from his side.

The deputies looked toward the sheriff, who gave a slight nod. Wolf backed away into the nearby woods. Out of sight of the men, he ran.

He whistled for Shadow and the horse whinnied back, the sound echoing among the trees. Wolf turned in a circle, trying to determine which way to go. A shot rang out and something exploded in his thigh. It felt like he was hit by a rock. He ducked through the brush, breaking into a full run. A river of warmth ran down his leg, followed by a searing pain that stopped him in his tracks. Wincing, he looked down. One leg of his buckskin pants was covered in blood. Limping now, he forced himself to keep moving but it wasn’t long before his head began to spin. He tried to hold on to the gun but it slipped through his fingers.

Out of breath, he collapsed to the ground. Shadow approached him slowly, cautiously, and nudged him. Bracing himself against his horse’s leg, Wolf tried to stand but darkness washed over him. He shook his head in an effort to chase away the fog. The horse snorted and jumped back.

Hands all over him. Rough hands. Powerful. Just as they had been all those years ago. Feet kicking, arms flailing, he fought with what little strength he had left. Fought the three men on top of him. Fought the nightmare that had haunted him all these years.

In the end, it was no use. Weakened by shock and the loss of blood, he could no longer ward off the darkness that closed in around him.

Voices.

A strange smell permeated the air. Wolf opened his eyes but the light blinded him.

Then another voice, this one close. “Take it easy.”

Wolf stilled. Some long-ago memory stirred. He had to open his eyes now. Had to put a face to the voice.

Turning his head away from the light, he forced his lids upward. His vision was blurred and he blinked to clear it.

A rough brick wall. Where was he? More voices. Bars. He was in a jail cell. Several men stood outside the cell, their eyes glued to him like he was a freak show in P. T. Barnum’s “Greatest Show on Earth.”