The Trailrider's Fortune (41 page)

What stood up to
all of that? Something more had to.

* * *

Rafe greeted the
same stable boy from the incident with Bowlegs Barker and the Poe twins. The
kid told Rafe he was more wary of strangers now, and boasted he'd been saving
up to buy his own peacemaker. Rafe winced at the words and handed over a
twenty-dollar gold piece. "Forget the gun, Bub. Get a better job."

Nothing in Wichita
had improved during Rafe's absence. Sadie's, Bodacious Jones' and the Lightning
Strike were still dumps. Number Eight and the Rusty Nail had men lined up along
their battered oak bars clear out the front doors. Fallen angels lounged around
half naked in broad daylight.

Rafe shouldered his
way through the batwing doors into the Scarlet Lady. Twenty minutes later, he
crossed the street and entered the sheriff's office. The grizzled officer was
at his desk; his deputy was tacking up fresh Wanted posters. Rafe slapped Art
Thompson on one broad shoulder.

"Howdy, Art.
Frazer's on his way over to swear out a complaint."

"What
now?"

"He doesn't
like the beautifying I done to his nose," Rafe answered easily.

Thompson fought to
disguise a smirk, but kept his voice officious when Benton Frazer stormed in
seconds later. "Got to learn to be more careful around those swinging
doors, Benton. Hear they pack a wallop."

"
He
bwoke my fwiggin nose!" Frazer jabbed an accusing finger toward Rafe.
"Goddamned hired pishtol! Told you he'd come after me."

The marshal
frowned. "Conley, Mr. Frazer is one of our most respected local citizens.
Did you break his nose?"

Rafe drawled,
"He owes my woman three hundred dollars. Been out to cheat Sparkle since
the first time I met her, which you might recall, Art." The deputy nodded.
"He let her be abducted. He was supposed to watch over her for me.
Instead, he cleaned out her room, sold off her belongin's, and pocketed her
back pay. Want the money for her personal effects, plus the hundred she had
comin'. Cheatin' Sparkle is the same as cheatin' me."

"Don't owe no
fwee hundwed!" Frazer protested. It was tough to understand him with a
bloodied handkerchief pressed to his face. "Two, maybe."

Rafe shrugged.
"Fine. I'll take that, and you can keep the rest of your face the way it
is. But if I find out you're lyin', I'll be back to do some more
rearrangin'."

Frazer went back
across the street, returning moments later to count out two hundred before
glowering at the two lawmen. "You imbeciles! Sitting on your butts while
he exshorts money from me. You can be repwaced. If you're not going to do
anything about this."

"Frazer,"
the marshal intoned, "your saloon can be replaced too. Those temperance
wives would love to see it converted to a prayer meeting hall. Best have the
doc look at your nose."

Frazer was still
spouting foul words as the other man escorted him out. Rafe flopped into an
empty wooden chair and tipped his hat back. "Need a favor, Art."

"Didn't you
just use up a few?"

Rafe peeled off a
twenty-dollar bill from the stack Frazer had just given him. He laid it on
Art's desk. "You know, deputy, the local citizens don't appreciate your
long hours and dedication. Looks to me like you could use a shave and haircut,
maybe a nice hot bath and a hot meal. On the town."

There was a moment
of silence before Art picked up the money. "Now, for that favor," Rafe
went on, as if the last words had never been said. "Want you to wire
Sparkle, care of the Conley ranch outside Pueblo. I'll go to the bank and have
this money sent to her. Send a message sayin' I collected it from Benton Frazer
and I'll be back in a couple weeks."

Art grunted in
assent. Rafe squinted up at the Wanted bulletins lining the wall. "Heard
from Driscoll or Bregon lately?"

"Nope. Been
pretty quiet. I was hoping you'd be sticking around, but not if you've got a
ranch in Colorado. Settled in Pueblo, huh?"

"My brother's
spread. Sparkle's stayin' there temporarily. Been thinkin' about Denver. Little
gal wants me to hang up my Colt."

Art nodded firmly.
"I'd listen to her. That fortune teller always was a sharp young thing.
She read my cards, and we had us a couple nice evenings." Rafe's eyebrows
quirked, which made Art grin. "You're a damned lucky fella. Saw it coming
that day out in the street. She looked at you like your boots were made of pure
gold."

Rafe wondered how he'd
missed it…if there'd been a clue pointing to some liaison between Art Thompson
and Sparkle. Then he recalled how Art had enjoyed an eyeful of her naked
breasts in the monkey hall. Why was it everywhere Rafe went, he ran into
another man with a yen for his woman?

Maybe the fact his
woman was beautiful and had that twitch in her bustle…

Rafe got to his
feet. "You run across Driscoll or any freelancers, have them wire me care
of Zach Donaldson at the First Bank of Omaha. I'm in touch with him pretty
regular. Think I'll send a wire to Bregon's pa back East. Got a business
proposition for a couple of guns interested in steady work."

"Turning over
your hunting grounds? Shit. You'll be missed. Much as I hate paying you two
compliments in one day, damned few men have your talent with a peacemaker. Good
luck," Art said with a lecherous wink. "And say hello to Sparkle for
me."

"Like hell I
will."

Sparkle had spent a
good part of the late afternoon arguing with Travis about a barn dance at one
of the neighboring ranches that night. She didn't want to go. She'd been
feeling an indistinct worry, a vague sense of something hovering just on the
far horizon. It wasn't like her to be moody, but she just didn't feel up to
socializing.

"I could take
a long hot bath without needing anyone to stand guard, since you and the men
will all be gone," she tried reasoning.

Travis ran a hand
over his slicked-down hair, then set his cowboy hat at a jaunty angle.
"Listen, I need you to come along for another reason. Miss Sweeney'll be
there and I want you to read her cards, put in a good word. You know, tell her
fortune and say somethin' like her destiny's tall, dark and handsome."

"I don't know,
Travis. It—"

"Doesn't seem
so much to ask. You been livin' here for weeks now. Just one favor."

Sparkle saw it was
a losing battle. "I'll get my cards and my shawl."

She spent hours
smiling at townspeople she didn't know, telling fortunes at the Anderson's big
barn dance that had followed an outdoor cookout. She'd helped Mrs. Abbott
prepare several double batches of johnnycakes for the occasion. They and her
card readings seemed quite popular. Though she hit a minor glitch when Travis
came up and introduced her to a young girl named Pearl Sweeney.

She was indeed
attractive, every inch much like the gem she was named for—pale skin, light
eyes, and lustrous white-blonde hair. But all wrong for Travis. Sparkle had
read his fortune, too, and had seen a dark, unusual woman in Travis' future.
Not this ethereal, pampered blonde. But she knew better than to tell him that.
Clearly he was taken with Miss Sweeney.

Sparkle had just
laid out her cards for the girl and was about to come up with several standard
phrases she knew young girls liked to hear when a murmuring broke out and the
music stopped. People began to part like two forks in a stream, and there came
the rock dividing them. Rafe.

"Howdy,
darlin'. Miz Abbott knew where I'd find you."

"Rafe, you're
back!" She practically threw herself into his arms. He kissed her, the
fiddles started up again to the laughter and hoots of the rest of the
gathering. Pearl Sweeney and Travis were momentarily forgotten, but after a
briefly passionate reunion, Rafe growled in her ear, "Get your things.
We're leavin'."

"But I—"

"We're goin'
back to my cabin. Get your things."

She certainly
wasn't about to debate. She muttered an apology, knowing her face must be
bright red—could it be any more obvious that she and Rafe couldn't wait to tear
each other's clothes off?—and tucked her cards away before knotting her shawl.

Rafe led her
outside and hoisted her up onto his lap after he'd mounted the sorrel.
"I've missed you, and Snatch too," she said with a smile, patting the
horse. Rafe didn't say a word, just set his spurs to the stallion's flanks and
they trotted back to Crockhead Rest. He let her down outside the cabin and led
Snatch back toward the barn.

It was here,
Sparkle realized with a numb sense of shock. That vague unease hadn't faded
away with Rafe's arrival. It was worse, almost palpable. Something was wrong
and it terrified her. She took off her shawl, stirred the embers in the rock
fireplace, and added a new log. She had a feeling it was going to be a long
night…and not in the purely sensual way she'd at first hoped.

He stepped inside
the door and she got a good look at his face. "You've changed your
mind," she stately plainly, feeling the dread certainty in the pit of her
stomach. He looked like a condemned man.

"About what's
best for you. Ain't marryin' me. I think you should take that offer out in
Californ."

"Rafe, what's
happened? Clearly something dreadful must have, or—"

"A puling boy,
Sparkle. That's what happened. How the hell…? Didn't he have anybody with a
lick of sense around him to tell him it could be suicide? Gave him every chance
to just walk away, but he wouldn't, and I—"

She cut in before
he could say it. "You
killed
a young boy?"

"I shot him in
the leg. Enough to make him drop the damned rifle, but the point is that's
exactly the kind of situation that could happen again. And what if you were
with me, what if he actually got off a shot and it hit you, instead? I couldn't
take that, Sparkle. I just can't…"

Then his words were
gone and he dropped straight to the floor, moaning and sobbing.

Sparkle stared in
horror and disbelief. Rafe was never unsettled by gunplay. He never seemed to
have any remorse or qualms about doing what he had to do to survive, or to
complete a contract. His lecture about being like a wolf or other predator,
cleaning up the world for everyone else to live in a safer place. It was…

This is how much
he loves you. He needs you. You're the only one who can turn this around and
lead him out of this vicious cycle.

She knelt beside
him without a word and pulled him into her arms. It took awhile for the hoarse
sobs to subside and the shaking to stop. Eventually he drew a ragged breath.
"What was I supposed to do, Sparkle, just stand there and let him kill me?

"That would
have been easier for you. If he'd at least taken the first shot, you could
justify it easier in your mind. But you defended yourself. No one would blame
you. You didn't pick the fight."

He pulled back and
stared into her eyes. "Dammit, woman, you always goin' to
understand?"

"I'll always
try," she answered truthfully. "Though I can see there will be plenty
of times when we'll disagree. We have a lot of years ahead."

Fresh tears spilled
down his cheeks. "I want to believe that. I love you so much."

"Come
here," she whispered, pulling him toward the bunk. They lay atop the
covers, wrapped in each other's arms. She waited for his breathing to become
slow and even, then she sat up. "I think I should tell you
something."

He sat up, too,
watching as she fetched her tarot cards from her reticule and began shuffling
them. "This was my mother's best deck."

"Sorry. Tried
to get your cards back from Frazer, but he got rid of 'em after you left."

"I'd rather
have these. My mother used them to tell Roy McAllister's fortune."

She saw she had
Rafe's full attention now. "McAllister was an outlaw on the run. His horse
had thrown a shoe. Jace's father was a blacksmith and an old friend, so
McAllister came to the Flowers' farmhouse late one night and they let him
stay."

"You and your
ma were livin' there, too." It wasn't a question, but she nodded.

"Tarot readers
usually hold back negative aspects, things like fatal illness, financial ruin,
other events a person wouldn't want to know. The one time I ever remember my
mother telling someone about his own death was when she read these cards for
that outlaw. She predicted he'd be dead in less than four days. The very next
night he was shot and killed."

"Maybe a
coincidence," Rafe said quietly, though she could see he didn't really
believe so.

"That's always
a possibility, but what I find fascinating is that was also the last reading my
mother ever gave. This was her European deck, her favorite. Jace had burned her
other set in his father's forge. He was a hellion as a boy."

"Huh."

"To spite her
for making such a dire prediction, Roy McAllister took my mother's cards and
put them with his stolen money in a strongbox. He swore he'd laugh in her face
when he went back for his money later and dug her cards up with it." Now
Sparkle stopped looking at the formation she'd laid out on the quilt and
glanced into Rafe's eyes. "I know why she told him, Rafe. I knew the
second I held this deck in my hands. She knew she herself was doomed, too.
She'd given her final reading. She was murdered a week later."