The Trailrider's Fortune (19 page)

"Tolover seems
to think your idea will work, though. And I'm downstairs working as your
partner
,
remember?"

Rafe swore a stream
of colorful expletives. "If I hadn't already taken money up front, I'd
pull out, Sparkle. Never done that before. Ain't never
felt
like doin'
it. But ain't never been so mixed up, or pissed off and boxed in before,
either. Never in my whole life."

"I'm not
boxing you in," she replied gently. "If that's how you feel, why
won't you take me to the depot? This town's full of whores. I don't need money
badly enough to ruin our—" She changed tacks. "To disrupt everything
for you."

"Sparkle,"
he croaked. "You know how I feel about that." He dropped back onto
the mattress and drew her into his arms. "I hate havin' you here, but I'd
hate
not
havin' you even worse. That's exactly what I mean. Whichever
way I go at this, it makes me ornery."

"You are
that," she smiled, planting a kiss on his cheek.

His tone softened.
"It's always been just my own hide," he said while casually stroking
her bare bottom. "I never stopped to consider someone might go after you.
Should have, but I didn't. Won't take the risk again. Keepin' you close is the
only way I can be sure you're safe. If I let you board a train, I wouldn't be
able to keep my mind on what I'm doin'. That's likely to get me killed."

She hugged him
tightly. "I'd miss you, too. And I certainly don't want you taking
needless risks. We just had Doctor Stone patch you up. So I guess I'll stay,
and you'll have to get over feeling jealous. You are, you know."

His eyebrows shot
up. "Always laughed at other fellas for actin' like jackasses. Now I'm as
big a jackass as any of them. It's loco. I know it, when everybody thinks
you're my wife. But you're so pretty, while I'm nobody's idea of a prize."
He touched the ugly center of his chest.

"Stop
that," she chided. "There's no reason for you to be upset. You're
being absolutely pigheaded and ridiculous." She brightened, hearing her
own assessment. "Why, yes, you are! Thank you."

"You're
thankin' me for goin' loco?"

"I thought I
was the only one unreasonable enough to want to shoot a man for checking on his
horse." Rafe searched her eyes, then released a slow chuckle and hugged
her back.

"I'm partial
to that sorrel, but it ain't nearly the same. Bein' jealous of me spendin' time
with my horse is the craziest thing I've ever heard."

She got up and
began donning her clothes, today the blouse and skirt Alice loaned her.
"Who are we trying to entice here, anyway?"

"A rustler who
stole near a hundred head of prime beef stock. Rancher's put up a big reward to
make sure it won't happen again. Took part of my pay up front and guaranteed
success. Easier to get the outlaw to come to me than chasin' him all over Hell
and gone."

"You
guaranteed success?" she frowned. "Why would a rancher hire you to
catch a rustler? Isn't that what sheriffs and marshals are for?" Rafe
handed her a hairbrush he'd dug out of his pack.

"Law ain't
helped. Cattlemen hire freelancers all the time. Their cowhands won't generally
shoot a rustler, cause they figure they get paid to herd cows, not risk their
lives to defend 'em. The boss can always replace a few steers. Besides,
shootin' at wolves or coyotes is one thing. They don't shoot back."

"I guess it
makes sense they'd feel that way. I wouldn't risk my life if someone tried to
rob Frazer. I would've helped the crook fill his sack."

"Rustlers
usually don't stop at a few head, though. They'll come back, again and again.
And with this particular fella, things are tricky. Law can't do much. Wouldn't
be any witnesses comin' forward to make him dance at the end of a rope."

The full
implication struck as they left the room and started down the staircase. If the
law couldn't make him pay and Rafe had guaranteed to stop the rustling…Her
voice came as a shocked whisper. "Rafe, you hired out to commit a
murder."

The drawl was
absent from his speech. "I hired out to put an end to a problem. With this
particular fella, wouldn't matter whether I was out to shoot him or ask him to
the Saturday night dance. Outcome would be the same, even if I tried to have
him arrested. He'd never let it happen. It's him or me. Wouldn't matter who
tried to bring him in. That's the way it stands."

Sparkle abruptly
plopped down onto the top riser. She shouldn't ask, but she had a right to
know. She was already involved, to her increasing regret. "Just who are we
talking about?"

Rafe folded his
legs to sit beside her. "Ned Slocumb."

Sparkle's blood ran
cold. Frazer had been warned about Slocumb. Art Thompson had shown the whole
saloon staff the Wanted poster. Ned Slocumb had done more than rustle cattle.
He'd killed three ranch hands and a lawman who went after him, then shot a
buyer at the cattle auction who wouldn't agree to Slocumb's asking price. That
poor soul survived, but he was blinded in one eye.

Rafe was going up
against Ned Slocumb…and Sparkle was the bait.

They walked to a
small café several blocks down Front Street. Sparkle numbly eased into the
chair he pulled out for her, but sullenly stared at the tablecloth while he
ordered ham and eggs. She refused to order anything. Rafe told the waitress to
bring coffee for both of them, potatoes and toast for Sparkle. "Got
another long night ahead," he sighed as the girl hurried off. "Need
to keep your strength up."

"What
for?" she hissed. "Slocumb's going to get me upstairs and beat it out
of me before you ever get that panel open." Her fingers shook so badly
when the food arrived, she couldn't keep the jelly on her toast, let alone get
the gooey plank to her mouth. She gave up and dropped it on the plate.

"Sparkle."
Rafe's hand reached across the table to steady hers. "Slocumb's a known
ladies man. Saloon gals are his weakness. I'd damned sure rather have this
fight on friendly turf. Tolover and his men will be there to back us up. I'll
be upstairs behind the panel. Sam will follow you up the main stairs; Driscoll
will take the back set along the monkey hall. You'll never be alone with
Slocumb. He'll
think
you are, for all of about two minutes. And trust
me, in those two minutes he ain't about to kill you."

"How can you
be sure?" Her voice was a terrified whisper. "He's a
murderer
,
Rafe! He kills anyone who gets in his way. I'm not even a real whore. I don't
know how to act. I'll never convince him I'm an expert in being good with a
man."

"Sparkle
La-Goddamned-Fleur." He got her undivided attention then. "You're so
good at it, I can't tell you. Explainin' would make me crazy for another go.
Why do you think I get jealous over you smilin' at other men? Don't you know
why I kept you in that brass bed half the day?"

"I thought
that was more you than me," she answered quietly, without meeting his
gaze.

"Listen.
Slocumb likes his gals alive and kickin'. He's never murdered a woman. But
there's somethin' else you ain't considered."

"Wood
preference for my coffin, or what I'd like carved on my tombstone? Should I
write it down for you?"

"Put your
claws back in. How come the rancher figures I can take Slocumb when nobody else
has? There's no shortage of cattle detectives. The rancher's a big man. He can
afford any gun he wants to hire. So why me? Ask yourself that. He's payin' five
thousand dollars, Sparkle. That kind of money says I must be good, but I'm
better than good. I'm one of the best."

She studied his
face. Rafe had touched briefly on his reputation before, but never openly
boasted. It wasn't his way. She knew he wasn't bragging now. He was stating
solid fact.

"That's how
you can offer me a thousand and still pay Parker and Driscoll," she
concluded. "Five thousand dollars." Something like awe crept into her
voice.

Rafe cleared his
throat, sipped at his coffee. "You're takin' a chance. Won't lie about
that. Slocumb's a nasty polecat. But I won't let him hurt you." He scanned
the street. Sparkle had almost stopped noticing how he constantly checked his
surroundings, but it was important to remember.

"A thousand's
a lot more than you lost in Wichita," he pointed out. "The fancy
evenin' dress and earbobs won't fit Snatch, and I don't wear silk, so I reckon
you best keep the duds as part of the deal."

He was teasing
again. The cloud clutching her heart brightened just a bit. She took her first
healthy bite of toast, followed by a forkful of potatoes. "I'm hungrier
than I thought. Must have been all the activity earlier." Her eyes flicked
down to his silver belt buckle.

"More potatoes
for the lady," Rafe called out, motioning to the waitress. When the slim
blonde approached, he spoke with mock sobriety. "Better toss a slice of
ham on her plate while you're at it. My wife gets powerful hungry stayin' in a
hotel. Not that her own cookin' ain't the finest. She cooks like nobody's
business."

"I'm sure
she's great." The girl shrugged, removing Rafe's empty plate and heading
for the kitchen.

Rafe's eyes raked
over Sparkle's bosom, then locked on her face. His lazy grin came back full
force. "Yep, cooks like nobody's business, 'specially when she ain't
nowhere near a stove."

After two more
evenings in the cream silk, Sparkle convinced Rafe to take her back to the
dressmaker's shop. This time she selected a deep purple velvet gown with a
dipping heart-shaped bodice and gathers below the bustle, spilling down the
back. She could tell Rafe wasn't pleased by her choice, but the dress wasn't
for him. It would attract Ned Slocumb. Sparkle wanted to conclude the awful
business.

Rafe had explained
Slocumb's tastes. He'd learned about them from old whores like Big Al and a man
he'd met, reputedly one of Slocumb's associates. During a poker game, the
fellow talked of his partner's strange sexual proclivities. Slocumb couldn't
wait to get his hands on one bit of pussy, the fellow claimed, because Slocumb
heard she'd come from a Mexican cantina where the girls appeared on stage with
a donkey. Slocumb was known to frequent bordellos from Santa Fe to New Orleans,
St. Joe to Laredo. The more exotic or brazen the prostitute, the faster he'd
pony up to get into bed with her.

Sparkle was now the
talk of Dodge. Said to be the illegitimate daughter of a French peasant girl
and a Hungarian prince, she'd been credited with giving oral sex to an American
politician under the table during a state dinner attended by the crowned heads
of Europe. Gossip reported she told fortunes in the gaming hall and did
unspeakable things in her private salon upstairs, in the finest and largest
pleasure chamber in all of Dodge. But the price for passion with her was so
exorbitant, few men could boast of the experience. This bold tale should draw
the outlaw.

The woman herself
found the exaggerations more than appalling, yet she had to admit part of the
fable was true. She powdered the tops of  her breasts, put kohl on her eyes,
and rouged her lips and cheeks nightly, knowing her price was beyond high—it
was utterly unattainable for anyone save Slocumb. Rafe had gone to visit the
reportedly ferocious lawman in town, a fellow Rafe knew personally. They'd
reached an agreement. The law would look the other way if Rafe confined his
activities to the Bold Adventuress and the specific task he'd been hired to
perform. He left his gunbelt behind when outside the saloon. Left it in the
ornate room where Sparkle LaFleur did indeed do "unspeakable" things.

Things that had
been unthinkable before meeting Rafe Conley.

He barely spoke to
her in the evenings, choosing to clamp the lid on his jealousy by ignoring her.
When at last they'd give up their vigil for the night and settle into the big
bed, Rafe would roll away from her. Sparkle would wait until he'd fallen
asleep, then snuggle close to his broad back. With her gunfighter's deep
breathing and warmth beside her, Dodge City wasn't so horrible and Slocumb
wasn't a threat. She could blot out reality and sleep.

But in the early
mornings, when the saloon was at last quiet…when all across Kansas farmers
paused to wipe sweat from their brows while their wives churned butter or hung
out the wash, Rafe would reach for her. He'd awaken her and overwhelm her. One
kiss or a light pinch to a rosy nipple and Sparkle went willingly into his
arms. Resistance was pointless. He'd conquer her even if she tried to remain
indifferent. She'd be wet and whimpering in less than two minutes when he
touched her; panting and gasping, begging for mercy in as little as ten.
Craving the foreplay that fired her blood as much as the final release from the
torment.

Rafe had taken her
in the bed and tub, in the chair, even against the wall. And that very
morning…Sparkle blushed just thinking back to what he'd done that morning.

He'd pulled on his
jeans and slipped downstairs before dawn. She'd felt him rouse. She'd watched
him disappear, returning a short time later with a tray of oysters and a jar of
apple butter. She'd remarked that it seemed an obnoxious combination to her.
He'd laughed, a throaty low chuckle, and informed her oysters were said to
enhance a man's virility.