Foxfire Bride (6 page)

She'd just tied her horse to one of the trees when she heard Cutter Hanratty snarl, "Touch that mule, mister, and you're a dead man."

Whirling, Fox grasped the situation in a flash. Peaches was on one side of the money mule and Hanratty stood on the other side, a gun pointing at Peaches's chest.

Moving fast she came up on Hanratty's side, then slipped between him and the mule. The bags of coins pushed at her back, she felt the barrel of Hanratty's gun drop to her stomach.

And she suspected Hanratty felt the tip of her knife pressed against his side, just above the waist of his trousers.

"Put the gun down, right now." Her voice shook with fury. "You don't pull a gun on anyone in this party, understand?" Leaning forward, she let the knife press hard enough that he glanced down and swore.

"Nobody touches the gold."

"It's Mr. Hernandez's job to care for the animals and pack and unpack them." The gun didn't waver and neither did her knife. They stood close enough that Fox smelled him, could see little bubbles of spit at the corners of his mouth.

He bared his teeth. "Tanner didn't say nobody except Mr. Hernandez touches the gold. He said nobody."

"It appears I was shortsighted," Tanner said. His hand came down on Hanratty's shoulder and he spun him around, shoving down the hand with the gun, "I trust Mr. Hernandez to unload the coins. And I trust anyone here who wants to help him." His gaze locked on Hanratty's. "Stow the weapon, Cutter. Right now."

Peaches released a long low breath then threw up the tarp and studied the lumpy bank bags as if nothing had happened. "Where you want me to put these?"

"Put them near my bedroll and cover them with my saddle."

"Don't you ever do something like that again," Fox said to Hanratty, speaking between her teeth.

Hanratty moved backward and made a show of shoving the gun into a hip holster. "I was just doing my job. No harm done."

Fox studied his small eyes and rough, stubbled face. "And I was just doing my job. No harm done." But she was mistaken. A small dot of blood appeared on Hanratty's shirt above his waist. She'd either scratched or jabbed him. "Sorry."

Hanratty pulled up his shirt and stared at a small puncture in disbelief. "Well, goddamn," he said, turning to show Jubal Brown the drop of blood on his skin. "She knifed me!"

"You ain't never going to live that down," Brown said with a grin. They both stared at Fox like they were just seeing her. "Ma'am, that was the bravest, stupidest thing I ever saw anyone do. You know how many men this man has shot down?"

"I don't give a rat's ass," Fox said, returning their stares. "Just don't go shooting anyone in this party." They kept staring at her like she'd grown a foot taller.

"Whichever one of you is going to cook tonight, get going."

"Looks like you're the cook," Hanratty said to Jubal Brown. "I can't do it, I'm wounded."

It took forty-five minutes longer than it should have to set up camp and get the coffee and some steaks on the fire. They would get quicker and more efficient in the next few days as the group established a routine.

Fox washed the supper plates in the river and stacked them near the fire for breakfast. As with any good campsite, the coffeepot stayed over the coals and everyone had retained his cup. It pleased her that none of the men brought out a whiskey bottle. If they had a bottle, they were saving it for a special occasion. That augured well for the trip.

They sat in a ring around the fire pit, drinking coffee, not talking much as the sun dropped below the horizon in a burst of deep blue and gold. Immediately Fox felt the temperature plummet. With the warm days they'd been having, it was easy to forget that February was usually a cold month.

Jubal Brown tossed back his coffee then lit a cigar. "Might as well get this over with. Find out where everyone stands. Union or Confederate."

Fox was astounded. "I didn't imagine anyone out here cared about that."

"Most don't, but I'm on my way home to Georgia where I plan to join up." Brown's chin jutted forward. "My family don't own any slaves, so that part of it ain't important to me. What's important is the states should have the right to secede. The South shouldn't have to be part of a Union if we don't want to be."

"It's hard to grasp that Nevada is lobbying to become a state and join the Union, while the South is fighting to withdraw." Fox shook her head and watched one of the coals flare into a puff of flame. "I guess I don't have an opinion on this except to say I don't believe people should own people."

Tanner looked straight at Jubal Brown. "I'm for the Union."

Brown nodded slowly, and his mouth pursed, but he didn't comment.

Next they turned toward Hanratty. "Hell, I don't care who wins." He shrugged. "That fight is thousands of miles from here. It don't touch me."

"What's your opinion?" Fox asked Peaches.

"Well now, I have to agree with Mr. Brown," Peaches said after a minute. Fox's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Nobody should be forced to be where they don't want to be."

"How can you favor the Confederacy? They own slaves in the South!"

"Mr. Brown's family doesn't. Eventually slavery will collapse no matter who wins the war. How can the Confederates fight for free will and then deny it to their servants? You have to believe in the basic goodness and decency of all people."

"That's a noble sentiment, Mr. Hernandez, but I think you're wrong." Leaning forward, Tanner refilled his cup from the pot above the coals. "It's not that simple. The Southern economy is built around cheap labor. If slavery is abolished, the economy will likely collapse. I don't see the South willingly bringing themselves to that kind of disaster."

Jubal Brown covered a yawn. "Seems we got two Rebels, one Yankee, one undecided, and one don't-care." He thought a minute. "Doesn't look like much of an issue. You're taking the first watch, right?" he asked Hanratty. "Or is your wound troubling you too much to work? The wound you got when a woman knifed you."

Hanratty's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I think I can manage." Picking up his rifle, he stood and scanned the perimeter of the campsite. "Just for the sake of curiosity, ma'am, how many men have you knifed?"

"Not as many as I've shot. I've got a medical kit if you think your wound needs attention." If Hanratty wanted to pretend his small puncture was significant, she was willing to go along, but not without a broad hint of sarcasm.

Not bothering to reply, Hanratty moved beyond the fire's light and slipped among the trees.

"Reckon I'll be turning in right after I rub some of that horse liniment on my shoulder," Peaches said, rising.

"Do you want me to do it for you?"

"I'm telling you, stop fussing. It's just a touch of rhumitiz." Muttering he headed into the darkness toward the tether line, leaving Fox and Tanner beside the fire.

"Well? What do you think?" Fox asked, putting some distance between them. They were almost shoulder to shoulder and she didn't like the odd way his proximity made her feel. Sort of like she'd eaten something that made her stomach churn. "About the trip so far."

"We've only gone twelve miles, and it took a couple of hours longer than it should have."

"You can't hurry mules. If you try, you're likely to have a train wreck. It's always going to feel as if we didn't cover as much ground as we should have."

"I'm not criticizing, just noticing." When he turned his head, the firelight painted his craggy face in gold and shadow. "All in all, I'd say the first day went well. My guard didn't kill my scout, and my scout didn't kill my guard. We had steak for supper." A shrug and a smile lifted his expression. "Brown was right, you know. What you did was brave and stupid."

"Maybe," she said, gazing at the dying fire. "But Peaches and me, we've been together off and on for twenty years. That old man is the closest thing I've got to family. He took care of me for a lot of years. Now it's my turn to look out for him." In this light Tanner's eyes looked almost amber. Not that she cared. She didn't know why she had even noticed.

When Tanner didn't say anything, Fox continued talking. "I figure Hanratty and Brown are just this side of the law. Very likely they cross back and forth over the line."

A flicker of amusement crossed Tanner's expression. "Why would you say that?"

She met his glance before she pushed to her feet. "A man doesn't hire a preacher to guard his gold. You hire somebody who's used to shooting first and asking questions later."

Tanner stood, too. "Tough as shoe leather, aren't you, Miss Fox?"

"Miss Fox?" She smiled. "And tough? Life could have worked out differently, but it didn't. So, yes. I'm plenty tough, Mr. Tanner. That's what's kept me alive. By the way, we're going to pick up the pace tomorrow. There's been some trouble with the Paiutes so I want to get to Fort Churchill. That's about a thirty-mile ride."

"Thirty miles," Tanner repeated, staring down at her. "More than twice today's distance."

"I know. I said we'd take it slow for a few days. But it's smarter to spend tomorrow night under shelter rather than sleeping in the open." Annoyance thinned her voice. "Why do you keep looking at my hair? Is there something wrong with it?"

"Not at all. Your hair is a beautiful gold and red, particularly in the firelight. And a braid suits you."

Compliments cut the ground out from under her and left her with hot cheeks and speechless. Flustered, she walked away from him abruptly, calling good night over her shoulder.

For a time it appeared she was too rattlebrained to find her bedroll. When she did, she swore for a minute, then pulled off her boots and was folding back the blankets when she discovered the gloves.

"Peaches? Are you asleep? What's this?"

"It's gloves filled with bacon grease. You wear them while you're sleeping. Rub a little of that grease on your cheeks and lips, too. Just in case."

The dilemma she'd been discussing with Peaches was how to present herself when she shot Hobbs Jennings. If Fox killed Jennings looking like she did now, as herself, no one would care about her. The newspapers would dismiss her as an aberration, a wild woman, and they wouldn't wonder about her reason. But if she killed him looking like herself, Jennings would see how differently her life had unfolded from what it should have been. Jennings would see what he'd done to her and he'd be sorry.

On the other hand, if she transformed herself into a conventional young lady, even a young lady with rough edges, the newspapers wouldn't dismiss her as easily. They would clamor to know why a respectable young miss had killed a prosperous businessman, thereby giving her the opportunity to tell everyone what a thieving bastard Hobbs Jennings was. She wanted the truth about him in print. The difficulty with this option was that if she looked like a respectable young lady, it wouldn't appear that Jennings had injured her as much as he had. Maybe she wouldn't even be believed.

"I don't know," she said, holding the gloves to her nose and sniffing. Not too bad. The grease hadn't turned rancid.

"We have talked this subject into the ground, Missy." Fox heard a yawn. "You should give yourself a choice. Avoid the sun. Soften up your hands and face. I'm going to sleep now so don't go talking anymore."

"Avoid the sun," Fox muttered. Like that was possible.

"Wear the sun protection lotion I fixed up for you."

Peaches's advice about providing herself a genuine choice made sense. She thrust her hands into the gloves and made a face as grease oozed around her fingers and up under her fingernails. She suspected that trying to smooth her cheeks and hands would be about as effective as trying to pretty up a goat by trimming its hooves, but she guessed she'd give it a try.

Tossing her braid over her shoulder, she eased down into her bedroll and closed her eyes. Matthew Tanner sure did look good on a horse. He rode with his hat pulled down to shade his face, and one wrist resting lightly on the saddle horn. He looked like a man who had fifty thousand dollars to spare. Which was to say, he was as far out of reach to someone like Fox as the most distant star.

But he thought her hair was a beautiful color. If that didn't beat all. She never would have imagined that any part of her would look beautiful to a man like Matthew Tanner.

Tanner heated river water over the fire then shaved standing in front of a mirror he'd hung from a tree branch. Neither Hanratty nor Brown bothered with a razor. This was fine with Tanner. The rougher and more disreputable they looked, the less inclined anyone would be to challenge their party.

He'd wondered if Fox would seek privacy for her morning ablutions, but she didn't. She went about washing her face at the river and then brushing out her hair and replaiting it in a no-nonsense manner that suggested she wasn't aware or didn't care that all the men watched her with sidelong glances.

But of course she was aware. By now Tanner knew Fox was alert to everything happening around her. For that matter so was everyone else in the group. This created a sense of tension, but also enhanced security. It wasn't likely that anything would take them by surprise.

After breakfast, Fox announced they had a long hard day ahead and explained the reason. "Ordinarily the Paiutes don't attack without cause, but apparently they bushwhacked a rancher's cabin and killed the whole family. Rather than tempt fate, we'll ride past Miller's Station and go on to Fort Churchill."

"Who's to say the rancher didn't give them cause?" Hanratty asked, tossing out the remains of his coffee.

Jubal Brown frowned. "The soldiers at Fort Churchill, are they Union or Confederate?"

Fox gave him a long stare. "They're Indian fighters, Mr. Brown."

Tanner stepped up beside her. "Strictly speaking, the soldiers are Union since they're paid by the government. But they aren't fighting your war."

Brown's lips twisted and for an instant Tanner saw the killer beneath the good-old-boy facade. Cutter Hanratty looked like the gun-for-hire that he was. But in Tanner's opinion, Brown was equally dangerous, or more so, because his plain open face and apparent good humor lulled one into forgetting that his reputation was more ruthless than Hanratty's.