Pale Moon Stalker (The Nymph Trilogy) (38 page)

Max chuckled grimly. "If it does, you can claim sole credit, m'lady."

They followed the Arkansas River for a couple of days, then neared a small town that was what Max judged to be a day's ride from the railhead. In spite of the gritty work done by the Colorado Fuel and Iron Company in Pueblo, the surrounding area was cattle country with thick, tough prairie grasses feeding large herds of what Bronc fondly referred to as "beeves." Max could see why the region east of the Rockies had made men like Zebulon McKerrish rich. He was glad McKerrish's spread lay over a hundred miles to the north.

"Tomorrow we'll reach Pueblo and the train to Denver," he said, studying her drawn, exhausted face. "Best we spend the night here."

"I can make it for another couple of hours," Sky said stubbornly.

"Well, the horses can't. And as for me, I would like to sleep in a bed tonight. If a train's leaving Pueblo when we get there, I'd prefer to climb aboard posthaste."

"You're still thinking about McKerrish, aren't you? I thought you said he was recuperating at his ranch."

Max shrugged. "Why take unnecessary chances? We can spend the night in..." He squinted at the weathered sign beside the river and read, "Welcome to Clean Sweep, Population two hundred seventy-one." Except the number one had been crossed out and a zero substituted for it. "Some poor chap must've been swept away recently."

"Or just simply shot," Sky said, looking at the clapboard buildings that lined several wide, dusty streets. She could see a corral and livery and several saloons. It was just like dozens of other towns they had stopped in on the trail to find Johnny Deuce. She rubbed her eyes, thinking that the quest seemed long, long ago, even though it had been only a matter of months. She was bone weary, but her exhaustion had less to do with their time on the trail than with the tension between her and Max.

She knew he was watching her, wondering if she was pregnant. Ever since they'd left the Cheyenne village back in the Nations, he had been solicitous beyond ordinary British courtesy. Irrationally, that irritated her, most probably because it meant she might have to face the fact that she was indeed carrying his baby.
Oh, Max, what will we do then?
If it was so, she would never know whether he had chosen to make their marriage permanent because of love or duty.

Even more irrationally, she desperately wanted to have his child. Her first husband had been sterile, but she, too, might be barren. After all the times she and Max had made love, she had not conceived. For some reason he felt the fertility drug the old Cheyenne woman had given them might make a difference. Considering the power of True Dreamer's medicine, it might be true. But her Sioux family had taught all young girls about the physical changes in a woman's body during pregnancy. Sky knew she exhibited no symptoms. Of course, not every woman experienced them.

But she was exhausted—was that not a symptom? She looked over at Max's drawn, haggard face and knew he was every bit as bone weary as she. No, their tiredness was simply because of all they had lived through. Max broke into her troubling reverie as they rode down the Main Street of Clean Sweep.

"Are you off gathering wool, love? I asked you if that hotel would suit. It looks as good as we'll find in this metropolis."

"What? Oh, yes, I don't care," she replied distractedly, looking up at the two-story building badly in need of a fresh coat of whitewash. Hung from the front balcony was a sign proclaiming, THE GOLDEN PROMISE HOTEL.

As they reined in, Max grunted. "It appears to be neither golden nor does it hold any discernable promise, but the windows are washed and the front steps swept—in accordance with the town's name. One might hope for clean linens, eh?"

A youth in shabby clothes emerged from the front door, sauntering toward the livery next door. When he caught sight of Max and Sky and their fine horses, he quickly approached. "Want them horses taken care of, mister? Me an' my brother, we own that there livery. Nice-lookin' horses. We'll treat 'em real good." He stood by, watching them intently.

"That would be fine," Max said, fishing in his pocket for coins as he dismounted. "And you are?" he inquired as he handed the boy the money.

"Name's Sam'el Broom," the lad replied, eagerly accepting the gratuity.

"Your name fits rather well with the town's name," Sky commented with a slight smile.

The boy nodded, studying Max with round eyes. "Yep, most everybody's a Broom hereabouts. That's why the town's called Clean Sweep."

Max and Sky dismounted and led the three horses inside the livery, which smelled of a mixture of fresh straw, hay and manure. They quickly removed their saddlebags and weapons, and several items from the packhorse, then handed the reins to the lad as an older man who bore a striking resemblance to the lanky youth appeared.

"This here's my brother Davie Broom."

The elder Broom offered a callused hand. "Pleasure, mister...?"

"Stanhope. Max Stanhope and this is my wife," Max replied as they shook hands. Neither of them commented on her Indian blood. Rather, both focused on Max. He could sense their wary curiosity and it made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

He dismissed the intuitive warning. His English accent had often elicited curiosity.
I'm growing paranoid.

As they walked out of the livery and climbed the steps to the hotel, Sky said wistfully, "Do you think we might be fortunate enough to have hot baths before dinner?"

"One can hope," he replied. "I'm more interested in food."

Sky looked at the shabby street and said doubtfully, "Don't expect Delmonico's."

"I am so flaming tired of beans, anything else chewable will suffice." He was pleased to see her face actually break into a wide smile for the first time in days.

They entered the lobby, a small place devoid of any amenities but at least clean and orderly. A skinny young man sporting muttonchop whiskers, doubtless to make him appear older, hurried from behind the desk in his eagerness to greet them. "I suspect there are vacancies," Max murmured to Sky.

"Can I help you, mister, missus?" the clerk inquired.

"Is the livery next door trustworthy?" Max asked.

"Sure is. Them boys who run it are my cousins. I'm Zeke'l Broom."

Again Max noticed that when he spoke, the townie's eyes almost glowed with excitement. Now his guts began to clench. Perhaps stopping here had been a mistake—but if not here, where? "Would you be so kind as to let me sign the guest register?" he asked.

Eager and excited as a puppy dog, Zeke'l Broom hopped over to the desk and swiveled the dusty ledger around so that Max could sign...and check who else might have registered earlier. The ledger indicated no recent entries. Perhaps he was mistaken.

Unaware of what Max was doing, Sky asked, "Do you have hot baths available on the premises?"

The clerk swallowed, but made no reply. Instead, he stared goggle-eyed over her shoulder. She could hear the creak of the floorboards as another person entered. When she turned, relief washed over her. The young man was probably several years younger than she and very well dressed in a fine three-piece suit of brown wool, a boiled shirt and well-polished cordovan shoes. Atop his well-barbered light brown hair a bowler hat perched at a jaunty angle. He would have looked at home in the financial district of New York. Then she sensed Max stiffen as he faced the newcomer.

Did he know this dude? Before she could inquire, the man swept his hat from his head and made a gallant bow to them both. When he did so, his suit jacket fell open and she noticed the hand-tooled leather holster and double-action Colt Lightning inside it.

The holster was strapped down.

Chapter Twenty

Smiling cordially, the young man nodded and said, "Mr. Stanhope, Mrs. Stanhope, good day to you both."

Sky suppressed a slither of fear. She watched Max lean casually against the registration desk and say, "You have us at a disadvantage, sir."

"My name is Taylor, Mr. Stanhope, and I fear I'm on an errand that will not make you or Mrs. Stanhope happy. Mr. Zebulon McKerrish is outside in the street and he wishes to have a word with you...and your wife."

"How did that scum know we were here?" Sky snapped, white-hot anger replacing the coiling dread in her gut.

Max shook his head at her while keeping Taylor's gun hand clearly in sight. "Ah, m'lady, we must strive to maintain the ceremony of civility, please," he said calmly. "Nonetheless, sir, my wife poses an interesting question."

"I'm not offended by your choice of words, ma'am," Taylor said, glancing at her while still keeping close watch on Max's slightest movement. "As to how he located you, sir, the answer is simple—because you're the famous Limey. Your gunfight with another Englishman in Fort Worth was written up in newspapers and word circulated as far north as Pueblo." Taylor shrugged. "McKerrish figured you were heading back to Denver, where your friend Steve Loring resides. He sent out scouts to cut your trail before you reached the railhead in Pueblo."

"And they reported back to him. He wanted to be here in person," Max said in a deadly cold voice.

In that same tone, Sky said, "So, the old pig wants to talk, does he? I would've thought after I rearranged his stable-yard mouth for him, he would be afraid to open it around me again."

Taylor's boyish grin widened. "A fine piece of work you did there. Mr. McKerrish had to have his gums slit open and all his teeth—the ones you left him—removed so he could be fitted for dentures." He laughed, never taking his eyes completely off Max. Then he gave a perfect imitation of McKerrish 's twangy drawl, saying, "Gauddammitahell! Tryin' ta eat steak with these here gauddamned chompers is like tryin' ta chaw straw through a picket fence!"

"Quite amusing. You're a most talented young man, Mr. Taylor," Max said, not amused at all.

"Just Taylor, Mr. Stanhope. I dearly hope you are correct...or I will not live to see the sunset."

"McKerrish wants more than just talk, does he not?" Max asked, watching the keen assessment in the young gunman's eyes.

"He intends to have you and your wife killed...especially your wife." He did not look at Sky as he added with what sounded like genuine regret, "When I took this assignment, I did not know it involved a woman."

Max's gut tightened as he envisioned what an animal like Zeb McKerrish would do to Sky. He tamped the disorienting thoughts down and asked coldly, "And if we refuse to meet McKerrish in the street?"

"He and his men will come in here and kill you both," was the matter-of-fact reply.

"And anyone else who gets in the way?" Sky asked, knowing the answer.

"Regretfully, that is true," Taylor replied.

Max knew she was thinking of Will Brewster and what happened when innocent people got in the way of crazed killers. "If we were to slip out the back and attempt to avoid a fight, what would happen?"

Taylor smiled, bemused. "I'm certain you know the answer."

"So, there is someone—or ones—out back, waiting for us." It was not a question. Taylor made no attempt to answer, but his very silence indicated what they all three knew. A cowardly bully such as McKerrish would have come with a small army to seek his vengeance. "It would appear your employer has left us no way out of this but to fight, would you not agree?"

This time Taylor replied. "There is no way out." Then he smiled in admiration. "You are establishing in front of this witness"—he gestured to the trembling clerk—"that you have been forced into this fight. Very clever...if you survive to worry about the legal repercussions. Now, if you will excuse me, I'm afraid I have to get back to Mr. McKerrish. He is a very impatient man."

Max raised his left hand. "Please exercise a bit of patience yourself, Taylor. What if you and I were to settle things right now? If you can kill the Limey, your asking price will at least double, perhaps triple." His tone was as genial as if they were discussing the weather.

Sky's heart, already racing, now nearly ceased beating as she looked at the young killer. If he shot Max, she would kill him. Taylor never spared her a glance. It was as if she had become invisible. Only he and the Limey were present.

Taylor studied Max for a moment. "I considered that very fact when Mr. McKerrish made me his offer, which was why I volunteered to come in here and relay his message. But he made it very clear that...such enterprise on my part would be punished most severely. If I take you, I'll never live to profit from the honor."

"And you're quite certain you could," Max prodded.

Taylor flashed a boyish smile. "I know you think killing me would lessen the odds out there...but the only way to learn if that's true has been taken out of our hands."

Sky spoke through cracked, dry lips. "Why not side with us if you're so good? We'll pay you three times whatever McKerrish promised."

For the first time in several moments, he glanced at her and again sighed. "Mrs. Stanhope—begging your pardon—although I've since learned that Zebulon McKerrish is so vile that coyotes wouldn't piss on him, I have taken his money. We shook hands over the deal. As I said, I didn't know a woman was involved, or I would have refused. But a deal is a deal and I've already made it." He shrugged regretfully.