Velvet Thunder (32 page)

Sims fell to the ground. His heart gave several strong propulsive beats, squirting blood from his jugular; it finally stopped when he was stone cold dead.

When Heath recovered, Shorty was standing in front of him, holding out his bandanna for a bandage.

“Where's Judge Jack?” Heath asked, ignoring his wound.

“He's dead,” Shorty explained, telling Heath and Jay what had become of the money . . . and Rachel.

Jay cursed long and loud. “Will I ever catch that bitch?”

“We'll get her,” Heath said.

“Heath,” Stevie cried, running up the street toward him.

Heath opened his arms and caught her up in a tight hug. “I'm all right, sweetheart.”

“I failed you,
Señor.
I untied her.” Donn Pedro looked so fatalistic that Heath almost smiled. The boy raised guilt-ridden eyes to Heath's sapphire orbs. His voice held a tint of bewilderment when he shrugged and said, “She cried.”

Heath nodded. The man had not been born who could resist this beautiful woman in tears.

Stevie's husky voice broke into their conversation. “Is it over?”

“Almost, sugar.” He stroked her back. “Judge Jack and his men are dead or have surrendered. But we still have to go after Rachel and her husband.”

“But you're hurt. Can't you let someone else go?”

“She's right, Heath. I can finish this,” Jay offered.

Stevie's head jerked toward the blond marshal who had spoken. She had been so concerned with Heath's safety, she had not noticed his partner.

“No, Jay. Adobe Wells is my assignment. I have to finish it.”

Jay nodded. He had expected no less. “Can you use a little help?”

“Always, partner.”

“I'm going too.” Stevie steeled herself for Heath's refusal.

But he knew his time with her was growing short. And he couldn't keep her tied up the whole time he was gone. Hell, she was so persuasive, he couldn't keep her tied up for fifteen minutes, not as long as there was a red-blooded male in the vicinity.

He and Jay exchanged glances. Jay nodded almost imperceptibly. Heath smiled. Together, they would keep her safe. And maybe along the way, he would convince her to be his wife. “All right,” he said softly.

She smiled incredulously. “Honest? You mean it?”

“Honest.”

Jay grabbed Shorty by the arm and pushed him toward the jailhouse. “Come on, my good man. Let's give the lovebirds a little privacy. I have a few questions for you.”

Donn Pedro followed close on Jay's heels. Seems there was no shortage of heroes in Adobe Wells these days.

Rachel and Judson Smyth drove the horses that pulled their private carriage with a vengeance. Granted, they had escaped with the money, Judge Jack was dead, and the others were engaged in a gunfight. But they doubted seriously if the victors of the shootout would let them get away with two million dollars unchallenged. Whoever remained alive would be after them soon.

Not accustomed to hardship—at least not lately—Rachel found the ride horrendous. The road was a grainy ribbon of mud ruts, gopher holes, and rocks the size of the Sangre de Cristoes. Dust particles blew through the window in heavy sheets, coating her face. She spat, sputtered, cursed, and damned every mile that passed beneath the horses' hooves.

The coach bounced, the stay chains rattled, the springy layers of leather thoroughbrace slings squeaked, the churning wheels clattered. Had she not been a homicidal maniac before the trip, this endless ride would have turned her into one.

Just when she thought she couldn't bear another moment, they arrived at a way station for the stagecoach. Solicitous as always, Judson bought coffee and sandwiches for them while Rachel stretched her legs and refreshed herself. But before long the stage arrived, they left the private carriage behind, and boarded the coach. They were its only passengers.

As they continued down the dirt road, only one of them was aware of the tall man in dark clothes who followed on horseback. He kept in the shadows, well off the beaten track, as was the plan.

The next evening they pulled into Two Forks, a small mining town in Colorado. Rachel announced that they would spend the night and continue on in the morning. “I want a hot bath and a decent meal.”

“Do you really think we should wait for the morning stage?” Judson was inordinately nervous. “If somebody trails us here, it'll be impossible to hide.”

“If you're afraid, you can go on alone. But the money stays with me.” Rachel's harsh, matter-of-fact statement ended the discussion.

Judson engaged a room in the town's only hotel. While Rachel soaked in a steaming hot bath, he brought the luggage, including the money bags, up to their room. Later that evening, they dined downstairs in the hotel restaurant.

Rachel was dressed to the teeth. It wasn't so much the style of her clothing that drew every eye in the room, though the cuirass bodice of her gown fitting tightly over her ample hips wasn't exactly demure. It was the color of her clothing that gave the more sedate matrons in the room pause. Her apron-fronted overskirt, puffed at the back over a giant bustle, was the brightest crimson any of them had ever seen. And her vivid pink satin underskirt was sufficient to strike them blind. Add orange-red hair fringed beneath a pink ostrich-plumed hat, and she was an arresting—if not visually painful—sight to behold.

Judson noted that his wife's mood was as bright as her clothing. Uncharacteristically, she laughed at everything he said, no matter how inane. When she ordered a second bottle of wine, a sense of foreboding flooded him. He suggested gently that they return to their room.

She vetoed the suggestion. And that was that.

 

 

After what seemed an eternity to Judson, Rachel indicated that she was ready to leave. He sighed relief and followed her upstairs.

When he unlocked the door and stepped inside, he was grabbed from behind by powerful hands. His assailant held him in a death grip. He gasped for breath, kicked and fought, but his struggles were futile against the strong arms that held him. His body convulsed in paroxysms and his eyes bulged. He wanted to scream for help, but he couldn't.

Fear for Rachel's safety all but paralyzed him. He twisted frantically, hoping to communicate to her to escape while the maniac held him. That's when he saw her, sitting in a wing chair beside the double windows, enjoying the macabre scene being played out before her.

The impact of her perfidy hit him as if it were a physical blow. She had planned his death and tarried in the restaurant to give his murderer time to prepare for their return. Tears blurred her hateful mask before his eyes. He had loved her, loved her with all his heart, and now she sat, watching him die, with a smile of betrayal sculpting her face.

The fight left him then. He went absolutely limp. His attacker twisted his head, breaking his neck with a loud snap. His body slid to the floor. Judson Smyth was dead.

“I've been waiting for you,” Rachel purred, not sparing her husband's corpse so much as a glance.

The smile that lit Preacher Black's face caused the hair on Rachel's nape to rise. “You have, have you?” He bore down upon her and slapped her across the face. “Where's the money, bitch?”

“In the bags. There on the floor.” She was truly bewildered. “What's wrong? Everything's gone just as we planned.”

Black struck her again, then hauled her to her feet. “I'll kill you just like I killed that worthless husband of yours if you don't stop playing games with me. Where's the money?” He shook her like a rag doll. Her head snapped backward, loosening a torrent of fiery red hair.

She tried to fight him, but her struggles were useless against his superior strength. When he struck her repeatedly about the face, her nose spurted blood onto his pristine white shirt. Pulling his Colt from its holster, he crammed the barrel into her mouth and cocked the hammer, breaking two of her front teeth with the force of his thrust.

Her eyes teared from terror and pain. Instinctively, she pulled a small knife from her waist pocket and jabbed it into his neck. Blood bathed her white-gloved hand, turning it a curious pink.

Black shoved Rachel's body away as he fell to the floor. Screaming like a wounded animal, he jerked the knife from his neck. He withdrew a handkerchief from his waistcoat and pressed the small cloth against his wound. Immediately, the cloth was saturated with blood. The room dimmed before his eyes. His hearing wavered, but he thought he heard footsteps in the hallway growing louder.

Rachel heard someone approaching. Satisfied that Judson and Black were dead but unable to retrieve the money from beneath Black's body, she slipped out the double windows and disappeared into the night.

The door opened slowly. Black stirred with his ebbing strength as three people entered the room. “Please, get a doctor.”

“I'll go.” Before Heath could object, Stevie ran from the room.

“Where's Rachel?” Jay demanded of the dying man. Black's gaze swung toward the double windows. Weapon drawn, Jay slipped through them.

Preacher Black and Heath were left alone in the room. “Want to clear your conscience and tell me your part in all this, Reverend?”

His voice low and thready from pain, Black began. “Rachel and I both worked for the First State Bank of Chicago when Colt Jack robbed it. We knew that sooner or later he would pull another job. So we followed him west. Rachel married Smyth about the time Colt came to Adobe Wells.”

Black coughed up blood. With his waning strength, he pressed the cloth to his neck.

Heath felt the quickening of sympathy. But remembering those who had died, he ignored it. “Keep talking.”

“When Judge Jack showed up in Santa Fe, Rachel confronted him. He cut her in on his diamond scheme. Then she convinced her husband to help her steal the money from Jack.”

Again Black coughed. His body was growing cool from the loss of blood. His teeth chattered as he continued. “I came to Adobe Wells shortly after the judge, disguised as a preacher. I trained for the ministry as a young man . . .” Black trailed off with a look that might have been contrition on his face.

“Tell me about Ted Reno.”

“Reno discovered that Rachel was wanted for embezzlement. I was afraid that if he called in a U.S. marshal, it would blow the scam. So I hired the men who killed him.”

Stevie returned with the doctor. A squatty man, barely sober, he entered the room and knelt beside Preacher Black.

Black's eyes were fixed and glazed. He stared blankly at the ceiling and began to whisper, “Dear Jesus, forgive my sins. Jesus, sweet Jesus, please have mercy on my soul. Wash me white as snow. Receive my spirit into your heavenly bosom . . .”

And then he was dead.

 

 

The doctor summoned four men to remove the dead bodies of Judson Smyth and the man known to Heath only as Preacher Black.

Heath stared at the pool of blood that remained where Preacher Black had lain. It never occurred to him to rush to Jay's aid. If his partner found Rachel, he would be able to handle her alone. Instead, he sat on the bed, sickened by the wanton killing Judge Jack's greed had caused. Taking his hand in her own, Stevie sat quietly at his side.

They were still sitting silently when Jay entered the room through the doorway thirty minutes later. Heath raised a questioning brow.

His face white with rage, Jay shook his head. Once again Rachel Jackson had slipped through his fingers. Silently, he crossed the room. He knelt beside the money bags and opened them.

So many had died—for two bags filled with newspaper clippings.

A whooshing air current as sweet as lilac perfume brought mid-morning to the sleepy little town of Adobe Wells.

The cornflower-blue sky above was accessorized by a gold-white sun, ringed by a profusion of swanlike clouds. The sea of blue flowed over and around the land, embracing it as far as the eye could see.

Delicate shafts of light dropped through the clouds, warming the threesome as they rode into town. Heath and Stevie rode side by side; Jay brought up the rear.

Heath was unaware of the beauty surrounding him. He shifted nervously in the saddle, drawing Stevie's notice. He smiled at her weakly, then quickly looked away before she saw the guilt in his eyes. The plan was to leave her safely in her father's care. Then he and Jay would replenish their supplies and go after Rachel. Stevie, of course, was not privy to the plan. Dreading the confrontation that was sure to arise when he told her she wouldn't be part of the posse was the source of his discomfiture. If he considered Rachel as part of the conspiracy, then so would Stevie. And she would deem it her right to bring Rachel to justice. He just had to convince her it wasn't in her best interest. Riding into town, he turned his attention to the people milling about, anything to preoccupy his mind.

Stevie noticed Heath's strange behavior and decided it was because they had come to the end of the road. It couldn't be because he suspected she was pregnant. She had just come to that realization herself a few days ago. And she had been very careful to keep the fact from him. His problem was undoubtedly that the threat to Adobe Wells was over, his job was complete, and he would be leaving soon.

She might never see him again. Her heart felt like a lump of coal in her chest. “I can hardly believe it's the same town,” she observed absently. “I never dreamed things would return to normal so fast.”

Instead of the brigands and gunslicks she had become accustomed to seeing, the local folks were going about their normal day: farmers and their runny-nosed broods, cowboys in town for supplies, ladies doing their weekly marketing. It should have been a comforting sight, but it wasn't. Normalcy meant that they no longer needed the handsome U.S. marshal who had stolen her heart. At least she would have his baby to remember him by.

“When the money dries up, bad men go elsewhere.”

Stevie barely heard Jay's observation. Her thoughts were full of the change that had come over Heath since last evening. He had been polite to her at best. She shouldn't be surprised that he wasn't his usual charming self, she scolded herself. Since his job was finished and he was leaving town, he wanted to erect an emotional barrier so their parting wouldn't be more painful than necessary, she reasoned. Actually, she should appreciate his efforts, not be hurt by them.

Just as she shouldn't be hurt by the fact that he had stopped proposing marriage to her. After all, how many times could a man be rejected before he gave up? Obviously, Heath had reached that limit. She wished he would ask again, if for no other reason than to reassure her of his love. Still, if he proposed right now, she doubted her answer would be yes. What a fickle woman she had become!

Confused and disheartened, she rode ahead of him. Reining in at Pilar's boardinghouse, she slid from the saddle without waiting for Heath's aid.

He was still frowning when she disappeared into the house. Moments later, Donn Pedro brought him a telegram. He thanked the child automatically and smiling Pedro went on his way. “What now?” Heath groused, staring at the telegram as if it were a two-headed viper.

Jay understood his partner's ill humor and ignored it. “Probably from the captain, calling us to Santa Fe for our next assignment.”

“We haven't finished this job yet,” Heath verbalized the obvious harshly, casting an unconscious glance toward the house.

Jay's expression soured. “Don't remind me.” He took the reins of all three horses in his hands. “I'll find fresh horses while you tell her you're leaving.”

Heath nodded and closed his eyes for a moment. He didn't want to leave Stevie, but he would be back. He tried to reassure himself. When he opened his eyes, he was alone. He shoved his hat off his head with two fingers and moved to the porch swing, out of the brilliant sunlight. He remained standing as he ripped open the telegram.

It read:

It was dated the day they left town, four days earlier. His knees weakened and he sat abruptly. The swing creaked under his dead weight. Fear, stark and vivid, swept through him. His stomach clenched into double knots of denial. Icy panic twisted around his heart. For a moment he feared he might faint. He drew deep, cleansing breaths through his mouth until his physical world righted itself somewhat.

He knew Chap was no alarmist. And he was a damn good doctor. For him to send such a telegram, their father must be gravely ill. Panic returned like a monstrous swell.

A thought—quick and devastating—drained the color from his tanned face. Like a poised cobra, it rose unbidden in his mind, striking before he could erect a defense against it;
perhaps his father was already dead.
The possibility tore at his insides, threatening to shatter his fragile control.

A groan of despair slipped past his lips. He dropped his head into his hands and stared at the flooring beneath his booted feet with unseeing eyes. He didn't just love his father, he worshipped him. The real possibility of losing him was almost more than he could bear.

“Heath?”

Stevie's concerned voice came to him as if from a long way off. He raised his head slowly, met her concerned gaze, but couldn't speak.

She stood before him, frowning. “What's wrong?”

Her tender concern was his undoing. He wrapped strong arms around her waist and pulled her to him roughly, burying his face in the pillow of her breasts. She was the only solid object in his voidless world of despair.

He embraced her so tightly that she could scarcely breathe. When she sifted her fingers through his hair and whispered nonsensical reassurances, he relaxed slightly.

She tried to absorb his mental anguish and make his pain her own.

After what seemed an eternity, he regained full control. He handed her the telegram as an explanation of his strange behavior.

Taking a seat beside him, she read the message quickly.

“Oh, Heath. I'm so sorry.” The sight of him struggling to hide his fear gripped her heart in a vise. “I'm sure he'll be all right.”

Her simple reassurance was surprisingly convincing. He held on to the solace and reached for her hand.

Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, she offered him a bolstering smile. “You did say he was invincible.”

Heath realized then how much he needed Stevie. Not just for love or lust, sex or seduction, but as the other half of his being. He didn't want to face the future without her. More to the point, he didn't want to face what awaited him in New York without her. His voice was raspy with emotion when he said, “Come with me.”

Stevie was awash with conflicting emotions. “Why?”

“Because I need you.” He remembered a long-ago promise he had made to himself, to remove Stevie and the children from this area before Indians and whites engaged in all-out war. This was his chance to do that. And God knows he couldn't bear the prospect of leaving her behind.

Stevie could think of a million reasons to refuse, but all that came to mind was “The children need me too.”

“We'll take them with us.”

“You're not thinking clearly. We can't take two children to New York.” The unspoken words,
two Indian children,
were thick in the air.

He misunderstood her hesitation purposefully. “Blue can go along to help.”

The picture of Heath waltzing into his New York mansion with his pregnant half-breed paramour, two Indian children, and a reformed hurdy-gurdy girl in tow was almost enough to make Stevie laugh. Almost. But too much was at stake to make light of the situation. “Have you forgotten that I'm part Indian?”

“I've told you I don't care about that, dammit.” He sounded more harsh than intended. His nerves were raw pieces of meat. His father needed him and he needed him now. He didn't have the time or patience to argue with her. She had to go with him. That was the beginning and the end of it.

“I'm sorry about your father. But, Heath, I can't go home with you. You have to leave right away. There's just too much unsettled between us. I'm not sure of my place in your life—if I even have a place in your life.”

“You know damn well that you do.” His voice was so full of conviction, Stevie was momentarily speechless.

Finally, she found her voice. It was very soft when she said, “Then maybe when your father is better, you can come back. Then maybe . . .” She trailed off.

Not willing to let it lie, he pushed his advantage. “I love you, Stevie. I've made no secret of that. And I know that you love me. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If you'll stop being so stubborn, you'll admit that marriage is the only logical conclusion to our love affair. Why should I have to come back? Why can't you come with me now?”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he placed his fingers over her lips.

“I'm sorry that we don't have time to marry before we go. My family in New York needs me.” He smiled at her gently. “But I need my family in New Mexico. I need you, and Winter, and the baby. Please say you'll go.”

Stevie couldn't hide the confusion in her eyes. She wanted to say yes. God knows, she did. Especially when she remembered the baby slumbering beneath her heart, Heath's baby.

She had been reared by one parent for most of her life. And she was the only parent Winter knew. She wanted better for her baby. She wanted him to have every possible chance in life, not just financial, but emotional as well. Most of all, she wanted him to know both his parents. But she couldn't go with Heath, not now, maybe later. “I'm so sorry.” Her voice broke. “I just can't. Not now.”

Heath's pain was visible. But he wouldn't beg. “No, Stevie. You can. You just won't.”

She knew she should say something. But what could she say?

“Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you don't love me,” Heath said.

She covered her sob with a hand and ran into the house.

Heath stared at the floor through a mist of emotion. Whether he was hurting for Stevie, his father, or himself, he didn't know; perhaps it was for all three.

Jay cleared his throat, announcing his presence, allowing Heath a moment to regain his composure before he stepped up onto the porch.

Silently, Heath handed him the telegram Stevie had thrown on the floor when she made her exit. Jay read it silently. “I'm sorry, buddy. But he'll be all right. You'll see.”

Heath merely nodded.

Jay rested a hip against the portal railing, crossing his feet in front of him. “Judge Jack's body's missing.”

This got Heath's attention, took his mind off his personal problems. “What did you say?”

“Judge Jack's body's missing. But I think I know where he is.”

“Hell?” Heath supplied.

“Afraid not. McGahee said he heard the judge and Rachel talking about going to New York after they pulled off the swindle.”

“Surely, you don't think the bastard's still alive.”

“That's exactly what I think. It would explain the paper clippings in the valises. He fooled Rachel and made off with the money himself.”

Heath had to admit that it made sense. His analytical mind whirred. “When I wire Chap that I'm on my way home, I'll send a message to the New York office to be on the lookout for the judge.”

“When do you leave?”

“Soon as I say good-bye to Stevie. I'll reach Delgado's by nightfall. Take the morning stage to Kansas City, then continue by rail.” He told Jay each of his stops, in case he had news of Rachel.

Jay's soft drawl hardened with contempt at the thought of Rachel. “I'd better get packing if I'm to reach Two Forks by dark. I don't intend to let her trail get cold.”

 

 

Inside the house, Stevie—the snoop, she derided herself—gripped the doorjamb. Judge Jack—the rotten bastard—was still alive. The man who had killed her brother, had her father shot, and stolen their home. He was alive. More than likely, living the high life in New York with money stolen from decent people. She took the stairs two at a time. Her decision was made before she burst through the door to Blue's bedchamber. “I need your help.”

“Sit down and get your breath,” Blue said. “Now. Who do I have to kill?”

“Don't tease me now, Blue. This is important.”

Blue's smile slipped away. “Anything. All you have to do is ask.”

“Will you take care of Winter and the baby for me?” Her voice broke, the thought of leaving her children tearing her apart. But she'd never be able to face them—or herself—if she didn't see this thing out with Judge Jack.

“You know I will. Where are you going?”

“New York.”

Misunderstanding, Blue's smile was genuine. “With Heath?”

“Not exactly.”

“Stevie?” she invited her to continue.

“Judge Jack's alive. Jay and Heath think he's in New York.”

“And Heath plans to catch him.”

“I suppose.”

“And he's going to let you go with him and help?” Blue's voice was incredulous.