A Wanted Man (16 page)

“Why would you ever paint up that face, when it obviously could not be improved on?”

Her mouth fell open. “Sam?”

Abruptly he dropped her wrist, disappointing her more than was wise. “Powder away,” he said. “I’ll be brave.”

I
t took them most of a day to reach the gates of the Silver Spur. They approached as the sun dropped to the horizon, the sharp horizontal lines of the fence dark and crisp against the long grass, glowing gold in the fading sunlight. Farther back low, crumpled mountains climbed higher, a few swathed with wide bands of dark evergreens, most bare and brown.

The day had been long for Laura, unused to extended hours in the saddle. He’d suggested once that they stop for the night but she, understanding how anxious he was, had refused. He looked over at her now, lines of exhaustion drooping on her face.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have insisted we stop.”

She straightened, more steel in that narrow back than anyone who looked at her would have expected. “I’m the boss, remember? I said no.”

“We could have gone back to the cars. Thrown ourselves on Mrs. Bossidy’s mercy, explained the whole thing. Maybe she would have—”

“You know better than that.”

“But—”

She scowled at him, more like Baron Hamilton’s haughty daughter looking down on the foolishness of normal mortals than he’d ever seen her, and he shut up. “Okay, okay,” he said. “You’re right.”

“But of course.”

The shadow of the huge gate that guarded the ranch fell across them. The letters were two feet high, black iron, topped with a spiked star. Two guards, rifles in hand, flanked the gate, awaiting their approach.

“This is it,” he said. “Last chance to back out. I could find another way.”

Find another way that almost ensures you’ll get beaten to a pulp,
Laura thought.
Or killed
. “After I went through so much trouble to fix you up? I can’t wait to see how my handiwork’s received.”

“Nice to know you’ve got such pride in your work.” If Sam were a better man, he would rope and tie her and drag her safely back to her guards. Maybe Crocker’s men assumed they’d chased him off for good, and he could sneak onto the ranch and investigate. Not nearly as well as he could in this guise, where he’d have freer access to the compound, but some. Probably not enough, he admitted, but he wouldn’t need
her
.

But even if he were caught he could easily pretend he’d duped her, too, and she knew nothing of his quest. Plus the ever-present specter of her supremely powerful father was as much protection as any woman got.

No, she’d be fine, and appeared to be rather enjoying the adventure.

And, he admitted, he wasn’t quite ready to say good-bye to her yet. Which was the stupidest reason of all, but there it was just the same.

“But of course,” she said. “Now get behind me like a good boy.”

She tapped her heels against the side of her mount, which provoked no more response than a desultory switch of its scraggly gray tail. “Darn it.” She banged harder, prodding the disinterested horse into a lurching trot. “Yoo-hoo, there,” she called brightly, waving at the guards as she approached the gate. “I’m here!”

He nudged Harry, the gelding he rode, after her, careful to stay appropriately behind her. Harry wasn’t half the horse that Max, the fine stallion he’d regretfully left at a boarding stable in Omaha, was, but Laura’s nag made Harry look like a potential Derby winner. The third horse, bundles of canvases strapped to its side, a pile of leather-bound luggage on its back, trailed reluctantly behind, as if its pride were damaged by being pressed into service as a packhorse.

Laura glanced over her shoulder at him, which pitched her too far over to one side and made his heart stagger before she righted herself. Then she frowned.
Don’t ride so well,
she mouthed at him.

Darn it. He snapped his back into a stiff line, so his rump banged against the saddle with each trot, an impact he felt all the way up his spine.

“Hullo!”

The guards kept looking at each other, then back at her, as if they didn’t know what to make of her. They were obviously not used to ladies bouncing up to the front gate of the Silver Spur, two horses and one “assistant” in tow.

She trotted right up to the gate before she reined in her old mare. Much too close to the men with guns to his way of thinking. He halted his horse a few yards behind hers, his head down, shoulders hunched. But he
felt the weight of the pistol he’d insisted on against his side beneath his jacket.

“Open up,” she said, a regal tilt to her head as if it never occurred to her that they wouldn’t follow her orders. Finally, one of them sighed and ambled over to the gate, his rifle held crosswise in front of his body.

“Ma’am? Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but we don’t allow sightseers at the Silver Spur.” He gestured with the rifle. “Now move along.”

“Ma’am?” Her voice went high with offense. “That’s
miss
. Miss Laura Hamilton, and I’m expected.”

“Miss Hamilton?” He sidled over to another guard and held a whispered conference. Then he dropped his gun to his side. “We didn’t expect you for another three days.”

“I’m impatient.” Her laughter trilled, the giggle of an accomplished flirt who knew her foibles were enchanting and that she was allowed a wider latitude than most.

“Beggin’ your pardon,
miss
, but it was our understanding that our engine was to bring your cars back on the next scheduled trip to the switching station.”

“I got tired of waiting,” she said, an edge to her voice that any maid who served a mercurial mistress would recognize, and obey, immediately. “There was nothing to do out there.”

Another whispered conference, while Sam slumped on his horse and hid his admiration. He didn’t know she had it in her to dissemble like an experienced sharper, playing the indulged heiress like she’d been born to the part. Well, she had, hadn’t she? He’d just never seen her use it before.

“Wait here,” said the man who stood in front, apparently the one in charge. Big and burly and red-haired, he was hatless, very unusual in this country, and Sam
was almost certain it was his oversized boot that had found its way into Sam’s rib cage.

“Wait here? Oh dear. It’s been
such
a trying journey,” Laura waved her hand in its pretty lace glove in front of her face. “Can’t you just let us in?” Her tones were perfect, wheedling and sly and just a little miffed that men so obviously below her station weren’t immediately jumping to do her bidding. This was precisely the woman he’d assumed her to be before they’d met. It was more than a little unsettling to realize she could assume the role so well.

If this
had
been the Laura Hamilton he’d met, he’d have no qualms about using her for entrée and never giving her a second thought.

“Unless you think that we might be some”—she giggled—“
danger
to you.”

Raw, angry red burned in the man’s cheeks, clashing with the brassy orange of his hair. “Sorry, miss, but Mr. Crocker’s instructions are very clear. No one’s allowed in without prior authorization. And we weren’t told to let you in today.”

“Who are you, sir?” she demanded.

“Red Monroe, ma’—miss.”

She pouted prettily. “Surely you’re aware I’m expected? What difference does it make if it’s not precisely when and how I’d originally planned? You do know a girl reserves the right to change her mind, don’t you?”

Red exchanged glances with his second-in-command. “Jonce, here, will ride back and get permission, miss.”

“How long do you think that will take?” Her voice quavered, as if she were going to burst into tears at any moment. Red gulped.

“Only an hour each way,” he hurried to explain. “In the meantime, you can just rest up and—”

“Out
here
?” she asked incredulously. “Unless you’ve some sort of a structure here that I can’t see that I can utilize as shelter, I’m afraid that simply won’t do. Because I do think this sun is on the verge of doing me in. I’m sure my daddy—you do know my daddy, right? Leland Hamilton? Of course you do—will be ever so grateful if you take proper care of me. He’s
so
good that way.”

Sam coughed. He couldn’t help it. It was either that or burst out laughing.

“And I’m certain,” she went on, “that Mr. Crocker would
want
you to let me in. He came to visit us once, you know. Though he did
not
like the cruise Daddy arranged. Not an ocean man, he said. I recall that quite clearly. Of course, he always remembered me after that. Sent me a present nearly every Christmas. Once it was a pair of cow horns as thick as my arms.” Her nose wrinkled. “It was very kind of him, I’m sure.”

Red shot another glance at Jonce, who shrugged, clearly not inclined to be a party to the decision.

Red bent to one side, peering around Laura. “Who’s that?”

Dangerous situations were part and parcel of Sam’s life. He always faced them coolly, his breath steady, his heart calm. Mostly because he figured death had already had a good run at him, and any extra time he got from then on was a bonus. It was a good part of why he commanded such high fees.

A man who cared too much what happened in any given confrontation, who worried too much about living, was a man who made mistakes.

He’d rather have faced them flat out, guns drawn,
than like this. The situation was mostly out of his control, too dependent on Laura’s charm—though she was doing a brilliant job—and the guard’s stupidity.

He forced a smile, as wide and vacant as he could manage, and ignored the furious glances Laura was shooting his way, the frantic, furtive gestures intended to get him to hide behind her. But if they were going to recognize him, best to do it now and get it over with.

“Oh, that’s Mr. Kirkwood.
Artemus.
He’s my…well, I guess you could call him my new apprentice. Maybe my assistant? Which do you think sounds better? It’s so nice to have someone to wash brushes and stretch canvases, you know.”

“You can come,” Red decided. “But he’s gotta stay.”

“I could
never
leave him behind!” she cried. “It just wouldn’t do. Daddy would
never
let me go with all of you unescorted. It would be unseemly.”

“Huh.” He gnawed on the inside of his cheek. “Seems to me you already been running around with
him
unescorted.”

“Oh, that’s different.” She tittered.
Tittered
. Dear God, what had he released in her? “Don’t be ridiculous. Artemus is
no
threat. At least not to me.”

Red frowned at Sam, who grinned at him so hard his cheeks hurt. He’d rather have pulled out a gun and started shooting.

Instead, he dropped one shoulder, leaned in Red’s direction…and winked.

Red darn near strangled on his tongue. He scrambled back, nearly dropping his gun in the process.

“Collis!” Red bellowed at the youngest of the hands, a chubby, baby-faced boy all of twenty or so, dressed in solid black like he thought it would make him look tough. “Open the gate.”

“But—”

“I said open the gate.”

He scrambled to obey, though he clearly wasn’t happy about it.

“Jonce, Collis, make sure they get to the main house,” Red ordered.

Faces glum, they fetched two horses from the four ground-tethered twenty yards down the fence.

“Come on, then,” Jonce said unhappily. He trotted perhaps ten yards before he looked back to see if they were coming. “Need help?” he said, lip curling in disdain.

“Oh, no,” Laura said serenely, as though she could afford to be pleasant now that she’d gotten her way. “We got this far, didn’t we? And truly, Artemus only fell off twice. He’s really getting
so
much better. I’m so proud of him.”

Collis gave Sam a disgusted look as he swung his bay around to bring up the rear. Sam tapped his heels against Harry’s side, too hard, for which he mentally begged the horse’s pardon, and lurched forward, clinging to the reins as if they were the only things holding him in the saddle.

The gate clanged shut behind him.

No going back now. His focus narrowed, the steady, intense awareness that came over him when he entered into a difficult situation, the preternatural alertness that kept him alive more than once.

If only he could have done this without Laura’s help.

But then she turned in her seat and shot him a triumphant smile. The woman was having a wonderful time, clearly thoroughly pleased with her accomplishment. The instant he got her alone, he thought, he would thank her properly, and occupied himself quite nicely for a few moments planning the best way to do
that. Until he had to shift uncomfortably in the saddle and remembered he most certainly could
not
thank her like that.

They were traveling south, the sun sinking beneath the high ground to their right, Jonce in the lead and Collis at Laura’s side. The land they traveled rose and fell gently, but all around them it surged higher and higher, folding into mountains. They weren’t high enough to hold snow at their summits, not this late in the season, blunt-topped instead of the brutal peaks they’d rolled past in the Wyoming Territories.

Sam tried to locate and memorize landmarks along the way. There weren’t many—a line shack that listed against a narrow ledge, a cluster of sumac, a sharp, dry gulch. He supposed it was possible that Griff had simply gotten lost somewhere out here; there was a confusing sameness to the landscape, a dun monotony. But that seemed a lousy end for a man who’d survived the brutality of Andersonville. It should have taken a lot to kill Griff, more than just wandering around disoriented until his stamina gave out.

Besides, if it were that simple, why would they have tried so hard to keep Sam from looking around? Unless there was something else to hide. That was always a possibility. It would be a mistake to get so focused on Griff that he overlooked other explanations.

Laura kept up a steady chatter, bless her. A random spill of comments and complaints, tales of the East that the men could have absolutely no interest in, a torrent of words that had their eyes glazing over. But now and then she’d throw in a question, offhanded, careless queries that would never have aroused a moment’s suspicion, the kind of things Sam would have asked if he could have done so without drawing attention.