Wind Rider (32 page)

The doorknob rattled again. “Let me in,
Hannah.” His voice was softly wheedling. “Let
me comfort you. I’ve been thinking about you
a lot since my good wife died. We can give each
other comfort.”

“The bastard,” Ryder snarled beneath his
breath. “Is he another of your lovers?” He took
a step toward the door.

“Ryder, no! You’ll hang for sure if you do
anything foolish. I’ll get rid of him.”

Suddenly her key fell to the floor as Harley
inserted a spare key in the lock on the other
side of the door. The panel was flung open
and Harley held a lamp aloft, illuminating the room and its two occupants. He took one look
at the nude couple, his expression registering
total shock.

“You little slut! How dare you entertain cus
tomers behind my back? Did you intend to
keep all the money for yourself? From now
on I get my cut. And,” he added crudely, “I
get to sample the wares.” He turned to Ryder.
“Get dressed and get the hell out of here. Next
time deal directly with me if you want to bed
the little doxy. And 111 collect now, if you don’t
mind.” He held out his hand.

Red dots of rage burst behind Ryder’s eyes. Not only did he hate Harley for mistreating Hannah, but also for assuming she was his for the taking. Flinging himself across the bed, he leaped for the man. Harley blanched, knowing
he was no match for his powerful opponent. Not
the bravest of men, he decided retreat was the
wisest choice. Whirling on his heel, Harley ran.
When coal oil splashed from the lamp he was
holding onto his hand he dropped it. It smashed
on the landing, setting fire to the frayed carpet.
Turning the momentary diversion to his advan
tage, he fled down the stairs.

Harley’s leg, still stiff from having been broken previously, refused to do his bidding, twist
ing beneath him. He fell forward, grabbing for
air, and bounced down the stairs. He clung
for a brief moment to the second-floor land
ing before spiraling downward. At the bottom
of the stairs his head slammed into the brass
railing of the bar.

“Oh, my God!” Hannah stood, frozen, while
Ryder beat out the fire with a blanket.

“Stay here,” Ryder growled once the fire
was out. Then he descended the stairs. A
long silence ensued before Hannah heard him
returning.

“What happened?”

“He’s dead,” he said without remorse. “Serves
the bastard right. Get dressed and let’s get out
of here.”

But it was not to be. A commotion at the front
door sent them scurrying into their clothes. A voice drifted up to them.

“What’s the ruckus in there? Open the door, Harley. It’s Sheriff Douglas. I was making my rounds and heard a commotion inside.”

“Go,” Hannah cried, giving Ryder a shove. “Go out the back. I’ll take care of things here.”

“You’re coming with me.”

“No. Don’t you see? If I leave, they’ll think I
killed him. Go, please go, Ryder. Leave Denver.
Go back to Red Cloud.”

Leaving Hannah to her lover was the last
thing he wanted to do, but white laws confused him. He pulled her hard against him and
slammed his mouth down on hers. “Your lover
will not have you. I will kill him first.” His kiss
was fast and hard and brutal. Then he turned
and fled down the stairs.

Hannah watched him disappear into the
darkness. Then she followed, avoiding Harley’s
body at the foot of the stairs. Composing her
face, she opened the door. I’m glad you’re here,
Sheriff. I was on my way out to find you.”

The inn was quiet, having been closed by order
of the sheriff. Dawn was breaking over the city.
Sheriff Douglas had questioned Hannah for two
solid hours, and when he left shortly before
dawn he seemed satisfied that Harley’s death
had been the result of an unfortunate acci
dent. None of the rooms above stairs had been rented, so there were no witnesses and, lacking evidence of foul play, the sheriff had accepted Hannah’s version of what had transpired.

Deliberately vague, Hannah had told Sheriff Douglas that she had been sleeping when
she heard Harley tumble down the stairs. She
had expressed no opinion on how he might
have tripped or what he was doing roaming
around so late at night. Douglas had ordered
the body carted off to the undertaker and told Hannah to get some rest, saying he’d return in
the morning to take a look around.

Hannah had moved quickly after that. She
had no idea what would happen to her now
that Harley was dead. Would they sell her
indenture to someone else, or would she be free to live her life as she pleased? The longer
she thought about those indenture papers, the more frightened she became that Trent would
manage somehow to purchase them. When an
outrageous idea occurred to her she acted
without reservation or conscious thought of
wrongdoing.

Desperation drove Hannah as she made her
way to Harley’s room. She opened the door and
hesitated. But when she thought of being sold
again she marshaled her courage and moved resolutely to the desk, where she assumed he
kept all his important documents. She knew
instinctively that she’d find her papers in the
one drawer she found locked, and she began
a methodical search of the room for the key.
Twenty minutes later she located it in the pocket of one of Harley’s vests, hanging from a hook on
the wall.

The drawer slid open noiselessly and
Hannah’s hands shook as she drew forth her indenture papers. Her one fear had been
that Harley had already sold them to Trent,
who had told her that they had nearly reached
an agreement. Thank God the sale hadn’t been finalized. She tucked the document in her bod
ice and returned everything exactly the way she
had found it. Afraid to hide the document, lest
the sheriff find it in his search of the inn, she
decided to carry the papers on her person until
she had time to think more clearly.

Promptly at eight o’clock the next morning,
Sheriff Douglas returned with two deputies and Trent Gilmore. “Hannah, I just heard. Are you
all right? How terrible it must have been for
you.” Trent was effusive in his sympathy.

“I’m fine, Trent. Actually, I was sleeping when
it happened.”

“The sheriff has returned this morning to make a thorough search of the place. It’s customary, you know. He has to notify the next of
kin. Do you know if Harley had any relatives?”

“I’m not sure. I think he might have had
someone back East; a cousin or something.”

“He’ll have to be notified so he can let us
know what to do about the inn and whatever
else of value Harley left behind.” Hannah knew
Trent was alluding to her articles of indenture.

“Take us to his room, Miss McLin,” Sheriff
Douglas directed. “That’s as good a place to start as any.”

Hannah stood silently by as the men began a
methodical search of Harley’s belongings. They found a cashbox under his bed with a substantial amount of cash. Douglas was impressed
with Hannah’s honesty; she could have taken
the money and run.

“At least there’s money to pay for his burial,”
Douglas muttered as he handed the cashbox to one of his deputies. Then he concentrated on
the locked drawer he found in the desk. Not bothering to look for the key, he broke the
lock with the butt of his gun. “Ah, here’s the address of a Percival Harley. Must be some kind of relative. I’ll send a wire immediately.”

“What else did you find, Sheriff?” Trent asked
sharply. He was more than a little surprised that
Hannah’s indenture papers weren’t found in the
locked drawer.

Douglas rummaged around for several min
utes longer. “Ah, a sealed will, some bank state
ments, a bank book, a few bills; nothing of
value.”

Trent gave Hannah a searching look. “I under
stood Miss McLin was an indentured servant.
Are there no indenture documents in any of the
drawers?”

“Look for yourself, Lieutenant,” Douglas said
shortly. He didn’t appreciate Gilmore’s intru
sion into something that he could handle quite
adequately without the army. “There is no mys
tery here. It’s an accidental death, pure and
simple.”

“I’m not arguing that fact, Sheriff. I’m merely curious as to the disposal of Miss McLin’s articles of indenture.”

To humor Gilmore, Douglas directed his
next question to Hannah. “Did you know that
your articles of indenture were missing, Miss
McLin?”

Hannah’s mouth went dry. She was never able
to lie convincingly, but this time she must. “Just tonight Mr. Harley told me he’d sold them.” She didn’t dare look at Trent, but she heard his shout
of denial.

“Did he say who bought them?” Douglas
asked, ignoring Gilmore’s obvious shock.
Hannah shook her head. “I imagine we’ll
know soon enough,” Douglas continued. “The
man is bound to show up soon to claim
his property. Meanwhile, the inn will remain
closed, but you’re free to stay on until your
new owner shows up.”

Hannah touched her bodice, where the
papers rested against her breast. “Thank you,
Sheriff.”

“I’ll be on my way, Miss McLin. I find noth
ing to suggest that Harley’s death wasn’t accidental. I’ll be keeping an eye out for your new
owner. If you need me for anything, you know
where to find me.”

After the sheriff and his deputies had left
Gilmore remained behind. Hannah could tell by the simmering anger in his eyes that he was
upset at the turn of events.

“I don’t understand, Hannah. Harley promised he’d sell your articles of indenture to me.
Are you sure you don’t know who purchased
them?”

”I-no, he didn’t tell me.”

“I had plans for us, Hannah. I rented a house on a quiet street, and I meant for us to live there. You wouldn’t have to work hard, as you’re doing
now. All you’d be required to do is please me. I
really am quite fond of you, my dear. Perhaps
even fond enough to marry you, should you
prove fertile and give me an heir.”

“I’m sorry,” Hannah said, trying to sound contrite while in truth she was elated. “If you
don’t mind, Trent, I’d like to rest now. I was
up all night, answering Sheriff Douglas’s ques
tions.”

“And I must return to duty. There’s talk of the militia riding out soon on a search-and-destroy mission. The Sioux and Cheyenne are getting bolder. They’re striking more frequent
ly. Denver is virtually cut off from eastern trav
el. I’ll try to stop by frequently until your new owner arrives. I’m most anxious to learn who
purchased your articles of indenture. I shall offer to buy them myself.”

Staring at the dingy ceiling gave Hannah little comfort. Despite her weariness, sleep would not come. She had hoped and prayed that Ryder
would come for her, but he had not appeared. She knew she had hurt him by saying that she
and Trent were lovers, but it had been for his
own good. She had advised him to go back to
Red Cloud’s village, and now she wondered if
he had done as she’d suggested. God, what a muddle her life had become. When she’d left Ireland it had all seemed so simple: serve her
seven years indenture to pay for her passage and then send for one or two of her siblings after she
found a paying job and saved some money.

She hadn’t counted on complications like Mr.
Harley, or Wind Rider, or Lieutenant Gilmore.
How innocent and naive she must have been.
And to further complicate matters, she had
stolen her articles of indenture. Worse yet,
she didn’t know what to do with them. The
sheriff would become suspicious when no one showed up to claim her, and he might even
reverse his thinking about Harley’s death and
charge her with robbery and murder. Yet out of it all had come the one pure emotion she
might never have experienced if she hadn’t ventured to America. She might never have known love—not the kind of love she’d found
in Ryder’s strong arms. And she wasn’t sorry, not one tiny bit.