The Trailrider's Fortune (13 page)

Sparkle threw the
covers aside and drew on her robe. "Thank you for…" She blushed
hotter than ever. "For trying to be gentle and for…understanding. I think
I'll go take a bath."

A rapping sounded
at the door. She peered out to find Ruby Ann standing in the hallway looking
tense. "Some men are here asking for Rafe. One's that tall Indian.
Frazer's steamed again."

Rafe gave Sparkle a
rueful glance. "Sorry, darlin', wasn't expectin' Sam and his buddy to come
for me just yet. Got some important matters to discuss. I'll have that item
sent over from the drugstore and catch up with you this evenin'."

"Rafe, is
there some kind of trouble?"

He crossed back to
embrace her. "I like hearin' that worry in your voice. Just somethin' I
need to look into. Dammit, I'm tempted to rip this off you and have another go.
Heard tell the best thing for gettin' thrown from a horse…" He grinned,
but the gleam in his eyes was soft, not lecherous. "You ain't the only one
who liked it." His hands roamed over her curves, proving how easily he
could unsettle her.

"I'm
not?"

He tilted her chin
up to search her eyes. "Last night was about the best night of my whole
life. Except tonight. It won't hurt at all next time. I'm buyin' you a pisser,
and when I get back here…" He kissed the side of her neck and whispered
into her ear.

"Good grief!
Rafe Conley." Sparkle knew she didn't truly sound offended, and that he'd
seen the laughter glinting in her eyes.

"You keep
sayin' my name like that, I'm liable to forget you ain't ready for babies yet,
Miz Conley. Start unpackin'. " He tipped his hat and went out, once again
the casual rover with the lazy grin.

Sparkle closed the
door after him and sank back onto the bed, uncertain her legs would carry her
down the hall to the bathroom. It was at least twelve feet away. Too far for a
woman whose heart was pounding so fast. Too far when the spot between her legs
still ached and the legs themselves were limp as cooked macaroni. But she was
certain her limbs would find the strength eventually. She had no intention of
being anything less than fresh and nicely perfumed when Rafe came back.

* * *

Joe Brooks was
straightening bottles of aromatic bitters and rheumatism balms on a shelf
behind the counter. Boots thumped into the drugstore. He turned to find a dream
come true. Rafe Conley had entered the store with two strangers. Three horses
stood at the hitching rail outside.

"If it isn't
my friend Conley," Brooks acclaimed cheerily. "Heard you put some
ruffians to rout the other day and got injured in the fracas. Trust it wasn't
serious. You need some dressings or liniment?"

"It's just a
scratch, but I could use some more bandage cloth, thanks. I actually came by
for—" Rafe paused, tossing the others a pointed look. They stepped back
out onto the porch. Rafe's voice dropped a notch. "It's for my wife. She's
havin' some…you know, troubles." He waved vaguely toward his nether
region.

"Of a female
nature?"

Rafe nodded and handed
Brooks some money as Brooks held out clean bandaging. "Can you send a
pisser over to the Scarlet Lady? I'd take it to her myself, but I'm headed out
on business."

"Certainly. We
carry a fine quality pessary from the East. Your change."

"Keep
it."

A boy of about
twelve popped in from a back room, smoothing his shirt collar. "I'm back,
Mr. Brooks," he squeaked. "I can make another delivery."

Rafe nodded.
"Better yet. Give him the change for makin' that delivery. Appreciate
it."

Brooks handed a
small package to the boy as Rafe and his associates mounted up. Brooks watched
them ride off, smiling to himself.

Sparkle Conley
wasn't going to need a pessary for a tryst with her husband. Not tonight, nor
ever again.

Rafe Conley was,
after all, in such a hazardous profession. Anything could happen to a fellow
like that. To either of them, Joe supposed wickedly, when one considered
Sparkle's equally dubious occupation.

Joe had telegraphed
a certain man two days before, advising Conley was hold up with his bride here
in Wichita. The wire had set everything in motion. Lovely Sparkle was on the
verge of being widowed. So young, too. Fortunately, Brooks knew of several
excellent preparations for melancholia, all much more effective when
administered with a dose of personal sympathy from a congenial admirer…who she
would never know had actually been the one who sprung the trap.

* * *

The item from the
pharmacy arrived with printed instructions that referred to all manner of
strange afflictions and maladies, none of which applied to Sparkle. Mortified,
but sensing no alternative, she was forced to consult Ruby Ann about what to do
with the pessary. Getting it positioned was a distasteful chore, and it brought
Sparkle face to face with what she'd done.

She'd ventured into
a whole new arena by giving Rafe her virginity. She not only felt no lingering
regret, but acknowledged that she was fully prepared to experience lovemaking
with Rafe again. Even though it meant betraying Jace.

It wasn't truly a
betrayal, was it? After all, it wasn't as though Jace had spoken of abiding
love for her. He'd never asked her to be faithful. He didn't understand that
they were meant to be together. And she'd already waited, shrouded in
loneliness, for years. What if Jace never regained his memory?

He would, though.
The cards predicted it. She had to believe one day they'd be together. She'd
given her heart to Jace when they were children. She felt the same rush of
tender emotion each time she visited and looked into his trusting blue eyes.
She had a deep, abiding love for Jace. She didn't love Rafe. He was different,
only a…
Just what the hell is he, Sparkle?

A temporary
diversion. Someone you're close to in a different way. A unique friend, but not
a man you should entrust with your dreams.

It was late, time
to stop spinning cobwebs in her attic and get downstairs for the start of her
shift. She fussed one last time with the fit of her dress and checked her lip
rouge. Not that she wanted to look especially nice tonight for any particular
reason. Not that she hoped Rafe's eyes would light up when he came through
those batwing doors. Not much.

She was dumbfounded
when Michael Malloy appeared as soon as she'd reached the main gaming parlor.
Face tight, he crossed to her table with jerky strides. Thinking he'd come to
deliver another of his unwanted diatribes about her "witchery," she
opened her mouth to shout for Frazer, but snapped it shut at Malloy's startling
words.

"My wife's
fearsomely distraught, Miz Conley. I was hoping you could come talk some sense
into her."

"Elmira?
What's the matter?"

"She took sick
a few days back. Doc says it's nothing serious, but she's got it in her head that
she's dying. Nothing I say can shake her feeling of doom. I don't know what
more I can do."

"Dying? Oh
Lord, she can't really believe that."

"But she does!
That's why I thought if you'd bring your cards and come see her…I would've
fetched her over here, but she won't leave her bed. And this isn't a fit place
for a man to bring a decent woman." The last words came out in a hush.

Sparkle sighed and
let the insulting comment go, mentally calculating how long she'd be working
tonight. Whenever Rafe arrived, he'd expect her to stop telling fortunes and go
upstairs. And she'd want to go, even if the saloon was still bustling. It was
still late afternoon, too early for the evening patrons. If she visited Elmira
and came right back, maybe she'd only have to endure a brief skirmish with
Frazer when she put her tarot deck away later. Or let Rafe handle him…

"I'll get my
shawl and cards and be right with you."

She dashed back
upstairs to get her oversized flowered shawl. It covered most of her costume.
She knotted it around her shoulders and put her spare tarot deck in her
reticule, then hurried back down.

"Frazer, I
have to go out for a little while."

"For Christ's
sake, Sparkle, it's past four! I need you here to get the men soaking up the
Panther Piss. What's the problem now? Husband shot up again?" The harangue
started before she could get a word in. "Always some damned problem! I
thought he'd be good for business, but I swear, having you working for me and
married to that gunman is—"

"He wasn't
shot again. This isn't about Rafe. He'll be back later. I'm going out to call
on a sick friend. I'll be back by five, I promise."

Frazer watched her
go and blued the air with curses. He scowled at a faro dealer who'd overheard
the discussion. "Bobby, let that be a lesson to you. Should have left her
ass out in the street, even if I had to lick that gunfighter's boots. She's
been a royal pain since I bought this place, and so's he. Parlor games, one
disruption after another. Those two deserve each other."

That prophetic
statement was etched in Benton Frazer's mind two hours later, when Sparkle
hadn't returned and a ransom note mysteriously appeared on the bar. After
swearing there'd be no more trouble at the Scarlet Lady, Frazer had to hand a
note over to the local law advising Sparkle had been kidnapped. He'd thought it
rather unusual, that fellow coming to see Sparkle Conley. Gent wasn't a regular
customer. But Frazer hadn't been concerned enough to send one of the dealers to
follow them. Didn't even find out which way she'd headed. After promising that
lethal husband of hers he'd keep an eye on her.

Now the man's wife
was missing.

Well, Benton Frazer
wasn't answering for that, no sirree! He had a saloon to run. He wasn't Sparkle
Conley's private nursemaid. And as her employer, he could only take so much. He
left the ransom note with Deputy Thompson, marched back into the saloon, and
pulled the tarot deck from the drawer in Sparkle's table. He was disgusted with
that girl, her ruthless husband, cow towns, the saloon business, and life in
general.

It made Frazer feel
one hundred percent better to dump those weird cards of hers into a brass spittoon
and set them on fire.

Sparkle was
confused as Elmira's husband led her to an unfamiliar part of town. She'd
questioned him when they headed west instead of east. He'd mumbled something
about new quarters. She barely heard his words now before he abruptly ducked
down a narrow alley. "So long, witch."

Then a new voice
spoke. "Rafe Conley's little bride! This is indeed an honor. Tobias
Bannister." Sparkle turned and met the gaze of a well-dressed stranger.
Every instinct said he meant her harm, though she had no idea who he was or why
he should put her off.

"Mr. Malloy
went to get his wife. They're coming right back," she lied, edging against
a building with paint peeling away from its rotted wood siding.

"Mr. Malloy
will be only too glad to have you out of Wichita," the dandy assured her.
"He thinks you're in league with Satan. He doesn't trust your influence on
his wife and other local ladies. I'm more interested in your influence on your
husband. Any time now, your employer will inform Wichita's lawmen you've been
abducted. Conley will be told where to meet me if he wants to see you alive
again."

"No!"
Sparkle balked, but the man clamped a hand over her mouth. She kicked and tried
to push his powerful hands away. Within minutes, he and another fellow had her
hands tied behind her back and a gag in her mouth. They threw her over the back
of a horse and rode quickly out of town. Sparkle couldn't tell which direction
they'd gone or exactly how long and far they rode. Eventually they stopped and
offered her some water and something to eat. Only a short while afterward, when
she began feeling strange and woozy, did she realize she should have refused.

They'd drugged her.
She had no idea where they were taking her.

She awoke still
trussed, laying on a cot in a filthy shack. A tattered blanket provided limited
warmth. Weak light flickered from a grimy lantern. Beyond the slatted walls,
she picked up the voices of several men.

Where was she, and
how long had they kept her in this rotten place? Not more than some hours,
maybe a day. She was still clad in the infamous red trash from the Scarlet Lady
and her shawl. The garments weren't torn or all that dirty, despite her dusty
ride. She didn't feel famished, just thirsty…though she was nervous about accepting
anything else from the men.

Where in God's name
was Rafe? He'd been due back the same evening she'd been taken. He must know by
now. Sparkle wasn't about to advise her captors they'd made a mistake about her
marital status. If they knew the truth—that she was no more married to Rafe
Conley than Ulysses S. Grant—they'd probably slit her throat and leave her body
to rot in this hellhole.

She had one
pressing, immediate problem. She needed to relieve her bladder, which seemed as
good a reason as any to raise a ruckus. She began kicking and screaming behind
the gag until someone came to unlock the door. Tobias Bannister appeared.
"Mrs. Conley, I'm going to remove this cloth from your mouth. You're in my
camp, a good distance from any other inhabitants. Shout your pretty little head
off. No one will hear you." He untied the gag. Sparkle spat in his face.