Velvet Thunder (31 page)

But he didn't interfere. It was important for Stevie to realize she could be accepted into white society, that she had in fact been accepted by most of the townspeople without her knowledge, that it had been her choice to remain isolated on the ranch and not their intention to shun her.

However, when Pat instinctively pulled her closer, so close her breasts brushed the leather fringe on his vest, Heath bolted. His long strides eating up the ground in a blur, he was standing behind Pat in mere seconds. He breathed deeply before tapping Pat on the shoulder more forcefully than he ought.

The only thing that calmed his jealous rage was the brilliant smile Stevie turned on him as she moved willingly into his arms. “That's it,” he whispered fervently against her ear. “No more dance partners for you.”

She tilted her head back and raised a brow, clearly amused, obviously delighted.

Heath smiled down into her face. “Except me, of course.”

She moved her hand from his shoulder and brushed the hair off his forehead lightly. “Of course.”

They were unaware that they had stopped dancing. Standing in the midst of the whirling, circling throng, they might have been a boulder in the center of a white water rapid. But they were oblivious of all else save the fire, the passion, the raw desire embracing them from roots to arch.

Stevie's world consisted of Heath. At this moment she existed for him alone. She loved him as she had never loved another. And she wanted him more than the next breath she drew. She didn't care what the morrow would bring. For tonight, she wanted him. It was as simple as that.

Reading the staggering need in her eyes and feeling the same ravenous desire, Heath took her trembling hand in his and led her into the night. As soon as they were cloaked in darkness, he leaned her against a tree and covered her body and mouth with his own.

While Heath and Stevie were lost in a world of their own, the governor, accompanied by three august personages and a host of armed men on horseback, pulled up to the courthouse.

Governor Ned Casson and the famous cattle king John Chisum emerged from the first carriage.

Judson Smyth, Alexander McSween, and J. H. Tunstall alighted the second carriage. Judson went to Rachel and dropped a cold peck on her cheek. Then, turning to the judge, he introduced his guests.

Even Judge Jack was impressed and intimated by coming face-to-face with three of New Mexico's most powerful citizens. Compared to Chisum, McSween, and Tunstall, the judge, the governor, and Smyth were of little consequence. The label living legends came to mind.

In for a penny, in for a pound, Jack chanted silently. Smiling to hide his uneasiness, he stepped forward to greet the men who would happily skin him alive for what he planned to do to them.

He started slightly when still another carriage entered town, carrying three men, led by John Carrington of Santa Fe. Carrington, the judge remembered, was Governor Casson's administrative assistant.

“Judge Jack.” Carrington used his official voice. “Allow me to introduce Theodore Howard and Victor Patton, attorneys for the San Francisco and New York Mining and Commercial Company.”

“Welcome to Adobe Wells. All of you.” Jack spoke to everyone assembled at once. “Mrs. Smyth has made the necessary arrangements for your comfort. She has prepared a place in my chambers where we can meet privately before attending a little dance the town is giving in your honor.”

“We'll talk, then leave,” Chisum stated flatly.

To a man, they nodded agreement.

Jack was nonplussed but careful to appear calm. “Certainly. Governor Casson, you and your party will want to meet with Mr. Shackelford alone first, I'm certain.”

Casson nodded.

Judge Jack eyed the men warily. “I'll be waiting in the courtroom.”

Rachel led the gentlemen to the judge's chambers. She'd had the plain pine furnishings removed and replaced by a large mahogany table surrounded by deep leather chairs. She had personally selected and arranged cut-glass ashtrays and delicate crystal glasses and silver pitchers of water for the convenience of the participants. They took no notice whatever of her careful preparations.

A bit nervous now, she waited until they were all seated, then left the room, closing the door firmly behind her. She raised a questioning brow at Jack, who sat in his official chair. He shrugged negligently.

Trying to appear as nonchalant as he, she said, “It'll all be over soon. Then we'll be rich beyond our wildest dreams.”

“We leave tonight” was all he said.

In a few minutes Judson Smyth opened the door.

“Judge, I believe we're ready to do business.”

With false bravado Judge Jack sauntered into his chambers and took the remaining seat. He quickly perused the men. He couldn't read their expressions.

Governor Casson was the appointed spokesman. “We're prepared to offer you two million dollars for your interest in the mine.”

It took conscious effort not to sigh relief as Jack inclined his head graciously.

Money changed hands, and less than twenty minutes later the governor and his party left for Santa Fe. Rachel remained behind to aid Judge Jack in tying up loose ends.

With all the fanfare of purchasing a glass of lemonade, Chisum, Tunstall, and McSween, the major shareholders in the San Francisco and New York Mining and Commercial Company, believed they had just acquired the greatest diamond mine on the North American continent.

And Judge Jack was two million dollars richer. He should have felt unparalleled elation. Instead, he knew a fear that was almost paralyzing in its intensity. If those men ever found him—after they discovered the swindle—they would make his life hell on earth. He would beg for death before they finished with him. Of that, he was certain.

Shrugging off the terrible foreboding, he and Rachel headed for his chambers. Henry Sims passed them in the hallway.

He flashed the judge a look Rachel couldn't define. She laughed uneasily and congratulated Judge Jack on a job well done.

Once inside his room, he patted two large leather cases full of money where they rested on the floor beside the valises holding his clothes.

In a few minutes they would leave for Delgado's, where they would catch the morning stage to Kansas City. There, they planned to catch the train to St. Louis, then travel to Cincinnati, Baltimore, Philadelphia, and finally New York. It would be several weeks before their fraud would be discovered, and by then they would have new identities, disappearing among the masses of the big city. They hoped.

Suddenly, there was an explosion along Main Street. “Stay here,” Jack ordered Rachel as he ran from the room.

After the judge's hasty exit, Judson Smyth entered through the rear door.

Rachel surged to her feet. “I thought he'd never leave.”

Judson looked toward the door as if Judge Jack would burst back in at any moment. “Quick, let's get the money and get out of here.”

Rachel grabbed her husband around the neck and squealed, “We've done it. While he untangles that mess you set up outside, we'll rob the stupid son of a bitch. We'll be on the night stage to Kansas City before he knows were gone.”

“Hush. Someone might hear.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “You worry too much, Judson.”

He didn't think so. Hurriedly, he grabbed the leather money bags and rushed for the door. He had already placed a small travel bag for each of them in the small carriage waiting in the alley behind the courthouse. When they arrived at the carriage, he automatically opened the door for his wife.

“Going somewhere?” a familiar voice growled from behind them.

They turned and saw Judge Jack holding a gun on them. A deadly smile stretched across his face.

“I'm disappointed in you, my dear.” He spoke to Rachel but was watching Judson for sudden moves. “You surely didn't think I would allow you to get away with my money, did you?”

Rachel spat a string of oaths that would embarrass a sailor. She reached into her pocket, withdrew a Remington Vest Pocket

.22, and with the quickness of a rattlesnake shot Jack in the chest. The judge's gun fell from his hand as he crumpled to the ground.

“Rachel, you killed him. You promised there wouldn't be any killing.”

“You're damn right I killed him,” she snarled at Judson.

“What do you think he planned to do to us?” She regarded first her husband, then Judge Jack, with utter disgust. “I hope he bums in hell. Now, put the money in the carriage. Or you're next.” She pointed her weapon in his direction for emphasis.

Head down, Judson did as he was told.

Before they could board, Carlos Garcia ran out the door of the courthouse. His gun was drawn, but Rachel ducked behind the carriage door and shot him through the heart.

“You killed him. How could you kill him?” Judson groaned as his wife shoved him into the carriage ahead of her.

She pulled the door shut behind her. “I killed my own father, two prison guards in Arkansas, and others I don't even remember.”

Leaving both bodies where they lay, the harsh woman and her white-faced husband headed toward Delgado's.

Heath and Stevie heard the shots from the portal, where they stood clenched in a passionate embrace.

“Señor.”
Donn Pedro spoke from the front yard. “Henry Sims said to tell you he's waiting.”

So this is it, Heath thought. He had known since his first night in Adobe Wells that he and Sims would square off against each other. Actually, he was surprised Sims had waited this long to force a gunfight.

Stevie followed Heath's train of thought and stiffened in his arms. “I'm going with you.”

He knew there was little use telling her to stay behind. She turned, facing town, only to be restrained by his tightening embrace.

Her eyes blazed. “Don't dare say I can't go, Heath Turner. You need my help. He won't be alone, you know.”

Stevie was a good gunhand for a woman, better than most men, Heath acknowledged. But she was no match for Henry Sims and Bear Jacobson. Besides, she was unarmed. He had been close enough to her tonight to know. Cupping her chin in his hand, he stared deep into her eyes, so deep he touched her soul. “You're my heart,” he whispered. “I can't let anything happen to you.”

“It's not your decision to make. I do as I please. Or have you forgotten that?”

“Come on, sweetie,” he cajoled.

Her jaw was set at a mutinous angle. He brushed a kiss against that stubborn jaw. She stiffened in his arms. In a blur he released her and retrieved the rope hanging around his saddle horn. Turning back, he wrapped it around her arms and body. She kicked and screamed and cursed, but in the end he succeeded in tying her to the post.

Just as she would damn his soul to everlasting hell, he covered her mouth with his own, pressing his body flush with hers. He kissed and caressed his fiery love until she went limp against him. Lifting his head, he smiled triumphantly down into her face.

“Damn you, Heath,” she spat out through her teeth when the sensuous haze cleared.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart. But I don't have time to argue.” He looked at Donn Pedro squarely. “Stay with her and keep her safe. But don't untie her unless the house catches on fire.”

Heath chuckled at the venomous look Stevie shot Pedro. “Don't look at the boy like that, doll. You'll scare him.” Heath kissed her thoroughly again, but quickly. “You'll thank me for this after we're married.” As he headed toward town, Stevie's curses floated in his wake. The last thing he heard her say was “Be careful, damn you.”

He smiled and waved without turning around. When he reached the plaza, he saw Henry Sims on his left, standing in front of the courthouse. The porch lantern and the lights inside the saloon washed over him, revealing his smug smile. Bear Jacobson stood across the street in front of the Silver Dollar Saloon. Both men were set to draw. Their accomplice, a gunslick Heath knew as Shorty, was crouched in the alley on the far side of the Gold Nugget, sporting a long gun, probably a rifle, making the picture even more dismal.

Sims fired his rifle into the air, supposedly to rattle his opposition.

Heath didn't flinch. He stood stock-still for a full five minutes. Then, drawing a deep breath through his nose, he edged toward the Gold Nugget Saloon. The thick white posts of the portal blocked him from Sims's view, which was his intention.

He spoke first to Jacobson. “All right, fat man. You've spent your life bullying people weaker than you; let's see what you can do with me.”

Bear glanced at Sims and saw him hold up his hand but failed to recognize the signal as a warning that Sims didn't have a clear shot. Thinking the two of them could take Heath, Jacobson edged his hand toward his 1848 Dragoon Colt and made his move. Heath fired before Bear could clear leather. The bullet hit the fat man in the belly, throwing him backward onto the boardwalk. Dust flew a foot high and boards cracked and splintered as he broke through the walkway.

Heath ducked and took a hopping step back. He expected Shorty to shoot any minute. But Shorty never raised his gun.

Mortally wounded but not yet dead, Bear rolled over and emptied his gun in Heath's direction. The shots went wild. Heath took aim, put another bullet into Bear, shattering his skull. The big man's body convulsed as he performed the final lethargic dance of death.

Heath reloaded and holstered his Navy. Then he stepped out into the street and faced Sims.

“Hey, Shorty,” Heath shouted. “I'm going to kill Sims first, then I'll get to you. So hold on and don't go gettin' impatient.” He paused for emphasis. “ 'Course, if you want to live, you can throw down your gun and move out here, where I can see you. It doesn't really matter a whole hell of a lot to me either way.”

“Now, Marshal Turner, that doesn't sound very professional.”

The soft southern drawl drew reaction all around.

“Marshal?” Sims croaked, his eyes darting to every shadow and crevice, trying desperately to discover who had spoken.

Shorty made to turn toward the voice, but a gun barrel was shoved in his back.

Heath just smiled. “You're a day early. Must've known I'd need you.”

“I was camped on the edge of town, just bedded down for the night, when I heard that rifle shot. Somehow I knew you'd be knee-deep in whatever was goin' on. But it looks like you got things pretty well under control, to me,” Jay complimented, a smile in his voice. “Sorry I left that nice warm bedroll now.”

Heath chuckled, never taking his eyes off Sims.

“I quit, Marshal,” Shorty interjected. “You remember that when this is over. Okay?”

Heath nodded toward Shorty when he stepped out into the street from the shadows of the alley. “Smart man.”

Grinning, Jay followed less than a foot behind. “He didn't really have much choice.”

Sims cursed beneath his breath. He was all alone. And not facing a fancy gambler as he'd supposed, but a lethal-looking lawman.

Heath stood in front of him, feet planted, half crouched. His eyes were cold, the promise of death in their depths. Sims knew he had to kill or be killed. He had forced the confrontation and now there was no way out.

Suddenly, he went for his gun. He was very fast, but Heath was faster. As Sims pulled the trigger of his Army Colt, he felt hot lead sink into his neck. The impact threw his aim off slightly so that his shot grazed Heath's left shoulder, spinning him around like a top.