Samantha James (2 page)

Sam’s mind was racing. Maybe, he decided, Roy had done him a favor after all. It had been an unpleasant surprise to discover that Dillon MacKenzie was still alive, and a lawman yet … Why, not six months ago the bastard had killed two members of his gang.

And that same day, MacKenzie had found out for himself why the legendary Stringer Sam had never been caught. No doubt
he
was the one MacKenzie had really been after, but so what? Sam had slipped beneath the long arm of the law too many times to be bothered by the likes of Dillon MacKenzie.

His mind sifted back. MacKenzie hadn’t been a lawman two years ago … He recalled that long-ago day he’d hauled MacKenzie from his stage-coach, him and his ladybird. Shit, but the man had a mouth! MacKenzie had sworn to see him in his grave … A smirk curled Sam’s lips. It was with a great deal of pleasure that he’d decided MacKenzie deserved a slow, painful death … He’d taken even more pleasure in taking MacKenzie’s woman as his own …

Cruel lips flattened in a vicious sneer. But the bastard hadn’t died, God rot his soul!

This time, Sam vowed coldly, he wouldn’t fail.

Roy’s eyes darted back and forth between Sam and the door. Could he make it? he wondered frantically. It was worth a try, he decided. But before he could make a move, Sam lifted his head. His smile was purely malicious.

In his hand was a length of rope.

Roy staggered back. “Please, Sam.” He was blubbering like a baby. “Please don’t kill me. Please …”

Down the street, the merry song-and-dance at the Silver Spur continued. A shout of ribald laughter drifted on the air as Rowdy Roy choked his last breath …

The townspeople found his body strung up from the gnarled branches of the old cottonwood tree behind the jail the next morning.

T
he house was two-story and sprawling, set back among a windbreak of towering cottonwood trees. Beyond the house and cluster of outbuildings, the Laramie Mountains rose in shadowed silhouette against the backdrop of a cloudless sky.

Abigail MacKenzie stood on the porch, her slender figure garbed in faded brown cotton. A gust of wind blew a stray strand of hair across her cheek; she pushed it away and flipped the thick chestnut braid from her shoulder to her back. A faint frown marred the honeyed skin of her forehead as she anxiously scanned the horizon.

Lord, but she regretted her argument with Pa this morning! She had stewed and fretted since he’d left, so much so that Dorothy had finally chased her outside.

Yet it wasn’t all her fault! Her life revolved around the Diamondback ranch, and her marital status—or lack of it—had never concerned her. But lately Pa had begun to bring up the subject more and more often. It didn’t help that Dillon had begun to chide her about it as well.

“No one could put up with you, little sister,” he’d told her just last week. “You’re too damned full of starch and sass. And no man likes to be told what to do—especially by a woman.”

The usually soft line of Abby’s lips tightened. Just thinking of Dillon’s lofty tone and mocking grin infuriated her all over again. And now Pa had practically called her an old maid, too!

Her father’s approval was the one thing she’d always sought—and most of the time she succeeded in getting it. She could ride and shoot and rope as well as any of the ranch hands, which was why she’d gone after that stray calf yesterday morning.

Sure enough, she’d managed to find him. He’d also managed to get himself cornered by a timber wolf; a skitter of excitement had raced through her. They’d lost a dozen calves and yearlings the last few months. Lucas was convinced a wolf was responsible. Could this be the one? And wouldn’t Pa be glad if she nailed this critter straight through the heart?

But the wolf had bolted, and he was a wily one indeed. He’d led her in circles for hours before she finally found his trail again, which was why she hadn’t gotten back to the ranch until well after midnight. Pa was pacing a hole through the rug in his study. Lord, but he could boom and bluster! He’d shouted so that Abby was certain she’d heard the windows rattling in their frames.

“God Almighty!” he exploded. “What possessed you to take off like that? Do you know what’s been going through my mind? I thought you were lost. Lying hurt somewhere—maybe even dead!” Duncan MacKenzie ran a meaty hand through the thatch of iron-gray hair on his head and glared at his daughter.

Abby dropped her gloves on his desk. “I told Lucas where I was going,” she said coolly. Lucas was her father’s foreman. “Besides, it’s not the first time I’ve chased down a stray calf.”

“It’s the first time you didn’t have sense to come back before nightfall!”

He leveled a gaze of fearsome intensity upon her—not that she showed any signs of backing down, or even bending a little. The seconds ticked by while they fought a silent battle of wills. Finally Duncan swore silently. Abby was a strip off his own hide, all right—and so was her brother.

“Isn’t it enough that your brother risks his damn fool hide trailing outlaws from here to kingdom come? And all in the name of law and order!” He snorted, and Abby was heartily thankful Dillon wasn’t there to hear him. “Now you’re chasing halfway across the country after a five-dollar calf!” he finished. “I’m not so greedy that I’ll miss that five dollars, missy!”

“But it wasn’t just the calf,” she proclaimed with a shake of her head. “There was a wolf on his heels when I found him. He ran off when I showed up but I tracked him down.” Her eyes gleamed. “I found the wolf’s den, Pa—and his mate.” She thought of the pelts tied to her saddle and tossed her head triumphantly. “I made sure we won’t lose any more calves to those two, Pa.”

It was a hollow victory. Pa remained unimpressed, and Abby slipped upstairs to her room, more than a little disappointed.

When she’d come downstairs before sunup this morning, she had decided it might be wise to say no more about the whole episode. They planned to start branding out in the summer pasture today. Abby had taken it for granted that she would be present as usual.

Pa had curtly refused.

Abby shoved back her plate and regarded him with narrowed eyes. “I haven’t missed a branding in years, Pa!”

“Well, you’re going to miss this one,” he shot back.

Abby glanced at Dorothy, who stood at the stove in the corner sliding flapjacks onto a plate. Dorothy was Lucas’s wife; she and Lucas had a small house out behind the barn, and Dorothy did the cooking and cleaning for them as well. Was it her imagination, or were Dorothy’s shoulders shaking with laughter?

Her gaze slid back to Pa. “You’re still riled up about last night,” she muttered.

“Damn right I am. I want you close to home, Abby, do you hear?”

When Abby said nothing, his eyes sought Dorothy’s. “Dorothy,” he said more quietly, “would you go out and ask someone to saddle up Brandy for me?”

Dorothy flitted from the kitchen, her lips twitching in amusement.

His gaze returned to Abby, who hadn’t relieved him of that accusatory stare. Her chin jutted out, a smaller, more delicate version of his. “Why?” she demanded. “Why now?”

“Because I can’t trust you further than I can see you, young lady.” Duncan’s chair scraped against the floor. “Maybe I ought to marry you off to Buck Russell and be done with you!”

Abby gasped. Buck Russell, who owned the neighboring ranch on their eastern border, had made it known to Pa that he wasn’t averse to uniting the two families—and their ranches.

“Pa, I can’t believe I heard you right! You don’t even like Buck Russell. Besides, we—we’re a team, Pa. You always said so and we—we love this place. Why, what would happen to the ranch if I weren’t here? Dillon wouldn’t be here for you like I am … you were right when you said he’d rather be off chasing outlaws than chasing stray calves!”

An odd expression crossed Duncan’s features; too late Abby wished she hadn’t spoken. While there was a part of him that was proud his son was Laramie’s marshal, she alone knew how deeply it pained him that Dillon had never been interested in the ranch. But she didn’t dare say so, for that very reason.

Instead, she let an uneasy laugh escape. “Besides,” she went on quickly, “you don’t like Buck Russell. We both know the only reason he would ever marry me is to get his hands on the Diamond-back!”

Duncan let his eyes drift slowly over his daughter, taking in the rich mane of chestnut hair that tumbled down her back. Her shoulders were stiff with pride, the tilt of her chin defiant. Her eyes were snapping, as blue as the summer sky outside. She was a beauty, all right. Oh, not the conventional kind—she wasn’t frail and fragile. He thought of how she’d grown up right before his eyes, and somehow he’d never even noticed until lately—or perhaps he hadn’t wanted to. But Abby was full of fire and passion, just like her mother—the kind of woman that drove a man to heaven and hell and back again … the kind that made each day better than the last.

Duncan plucked his hat from the peg on the wall. He stared at Abby, fingering the wide brim in his hands. “I’m not so sure about that,” he said slowly. “I don’t think there’s a man alive wouldn’t give his soul to get his hands on a sweet little thing like you, daughter.” He saw her eyes go wide with shock and knew he’d startled her with his bluntness. A grim smile etched his lips. “But Buck Russell knows how to run a ranch, Abby. And at least the Diamondback would be in good hands when I’m gone.”

When I’m gone
. It was odd, the effect those words had on her. Pa … dead. The chill that slipped over her penetrated clear to her bones. She shivered. She didn’t like to think of it. Nor could she ever remember him speaking of his own death before.

Now, hours later, that same prickly sense of unease ran up her spine. All at once the wind began to lull. There was a peculiar stillness in the air, as if the entire world held its breath. Even the bluejays ceased their screeching, as if in warning …

Abby’s hands tightened around the wooden railing of the porch. Something was wrong, she thought vaguely. Her reaction was more instinct than conscious thought.

The sound of drumming hoofbeats reached her ears. It was then that she saw a buckboard rounding the last bend in the road. Hazy clouds of dust spiraled skyward behind it. Hitched to the back was a strawberry roan that looked just like Brandy.

Abby stood as if paralyzed. Some strange force beyond her control held her rooted to the floor of the porch, like an ancient tree. She could only watch with a horrifying sense of inevitability as the buckboard drew nearer to the house.

There was a tall male form stretched out in the back, limp and prone.

Her first thought was that she’d never seen a dead man. Her second was that this was a dream … A dream? Dear God, a nightmare …

Because the man was her father.

Nor was he dead.

There was a low moan as the buckboard rolled to a halt. It was that sound which finally galvanized her into action. Abby flew down the stairs and climbed into the back of the buckboard. She sank to her knees and cradled her father’s head in her lap.

A thin aborted cry tore from her lips. “Pa! Oh, Pa—” A crimson stain darkened the front of his shirt. His skin was as white as snow. Her heart lurched. “Pa, what happened? My God, what happened?”

Lucas hovered across from her, his leathery face lined and anxious. “We got worried when he didn’t show at the branding site. Grady and I rode out to see where he was. We found him out near Sparrow Creek. He’s been shot, Miss Abby. Grady and I … we did our best to stop the bleeding … I sent Grady into town after the doc …” Lucas swallowed, unable to go on.

At that, Duncan’s eyelids fluttered open. Abby stared into blue eyes so like her own. Only Pa’s were dull and clouded with pain.

“It’s too late,” he rasped.

“Don’t say that! Don’t even think it!” The words were torn from deep inside her—a cry of outrage, a fervent plea.

Duncan’s lips twisted, more grimace than smile. “You’ll never change, will you, Abby?” His feeble tone tore at her heart. “Always … have to have … the last … word.”

Abby began to shake all over. “Pa,” she whispered.

His breath seemed to rattle in his chest. “Got to listen, Abby … Stringer Sam …”

“Stringer Sam! Is that who did this to you? Did he shoot you, Pa?”

His eyes closed once in silent assent. His lips barely moved as he spoke.

“Honey, you got to listen … Late last night when you were gone after that calf, Dillon came by … Had a prisoner in jail by the name of Rowdy Roy who was hooked up with Stringer Sam’s gang … Seems Roy knew where Sam’s hideout is. Dillon got Roy to tell him, so he rode out late last night to find … the hideout. Dillon said he’d catch Stringer Sam … if he had to wait forever. This morning Sam rode out here … after Dillon … I wouldn’t tell him where he was … only Sam—he laughed and said he already knew …”

Abby’s head was spinning. “Pa, wait! He knew that Dillon went after him?”

Pa nodded.

She groaned. “How?”

“Sam said Rowdy Roy turned tail on him … so he hunted him down … He broke into the jail last night and killed Roy and the two deputies … But before he did, Roy told Sam he’d already let Dillon know where his hideout was.… that Dillon intended to ride out after him today …”

Comprehension dawned with a sickening rush. Sam had come here to the ranch to kill Dillon. Instead he’d found Pa.

“Abby, if Dillon manages to find Sam’s hideout … he doesn’t know that Sam’s right behind him …”

Oh, God
, she thought, sickened. Her blood seemed to freeze in her veins.

Her mind traveled fleetingly back, to the time nearly three years ago when Dillon, based at Fort Bridger, had still been scouting for the U.S. Army. Both she and Pa had been surprised—but very pleased—when Dillon wrote to say he was engaged to be married. Rose had been the daughter of a captain stationed there.

The wedding never took place.

With a twist of her heart, Abby recalled how he and Rose had boarded a stagecoach headed for Laramie. Not far from the fort, the coach had been robbed—by none other than Stringer Sam. Beyond that, Abby knew little. Dillon had always been very close-mouthed about the details.