Night Hawk (7 page)

“I can do that, but equipment's busted up so bad, I can't receive anything back. I'm sorry. Been waiting weeks for new parts.”

Ian saw the crestfallen look on her face. “Where's the next closest working telegraph?”

“Topeka hasn't been working for the past couple of days because of a bad storm that went through. Poles down and everything, according to the railroad conductors, so probably Abilene.”

Abilene was a good two days away. Ian sighed. “Okay. Let me send the message. Have the operator on the other end send the reply to Abilene and I'll pick it up there. Tell them to send it care of the town's sheriff.” Ian didn't know anyone in Abilene, so having it sent to the sheriff's office would keep it from being lost or misplaced. He'd used the method successfully in the past, especially on occasions when he was unsure about the day of his arrival. Usually the local lawman didn't mind.

Ian wrote out the message he wanted sent and handed it to the clerk.

The old man read what he'd written and his eyes rounded. “You're Vance Bigelow? The Preacher?”

Ian held on to his irritation. “Yes.”

“I'll send this off first thing in the morning,” he promised, eyeing Ian with awe. “Wait till I tell the missus I met the Preacher.”

“What time does the westbound train come through tomorrow?”

“Around nine.”

“Any place in town where we can get a room for the night?”

“Try Wilma's down the street.”

The disappointment on Maggie's face made Ian wish he'd come into the office alone and saved her hopes from being dashed. “We'll get this straight, if we have to go all the way to Denver to do it.”

“Let's go find Wilma's.”

J
ust as the old telegraph operator promised, just up the street they found a small whitewashed house with a hand-painted sign that read: “Wilma's Emporium—Eats, Drinks, Rooms.”

Inside, it was more saloon than emporium. There was a bar with a huge cracked mirror behind it. There was an old man in a threadbare white shirt banging out an unrecognizable ditty on a piano badly in need of tuning. At one of the place's three tables were a couple of men drinking. Seated with them were two rouged-up, past-their-prime women in skimpy, well-worn dresses, one red, the other green. The one in the green got up and came over to greet them. On the way, she sized up the marshal and apparently liked what she saw. “Name's Wilma. Can I help you?”

“Bigelow. Pleased to meet you. Looking for a room.”

“Don't usually take coloreds but I'll make an exception for you.” She gave him a winsome smile that might have been effective had she not been missing her two front teeth. Still grinning, she appeared to see Maggie for the first time. The smile faded. “One room for the both of you?” she asked him.

“Yes.”

“Too bad. You look like you'd give a girl a good time.”

Maggie stood silent.

“How much?” he asked.

She quoted a price, and after the coins disappeared down into the bosom of her dress, she led them down a narrow hallway to a small room in the back. “Clean sheets is extra.”

Maggie had never heard anything so outrageous in her life, but he handed over the amount without complaint, asking, “Meals come with the price of the room?”

“Nope. That's extra, too.”

Maggie knew that beggars couldn't be choosey but at the rate he was being charged, he would be beggared by the time the woman was through, but he didn't complain.

Wilma immediately sent the handful of coins down into her bosom with the rest. “Your sheets and food'll be here directly.”

Before she could leave, Maggie asked, “Where are the facilities?”

“Back down the hall. First door,” Wilma replied while visually feasting on the marshal again. “You sure you don't want to put her in a room of her own? I can give it to you at half rate.”

“One will do.”

She sighed her disappointment and left them alone.

The room's furnishings consisted of a large four-poster brass bed, and a nightstand topped with an old oil lamp. The shutters were open on the one unscreened window. The frayed wallpaper sported bright pink cabbage roses on a field of green. She could feel his silent scrutiny. She hazarded a glance over her shoulder and was again captured by the intensity in his eyes. Looking away, she set her pack on the floor. “I need the facilities.”

He gestured her towards the door.

“You're going with me?”

“Just to make sure there's only one way in and out.”

“Scared I might run off again?”

He stood over her, arms folded, silent.

“It's nice to know I've gained your respect, so let me lead the way. Wouldn't want you to lose me on the walk down the hallway.”

She swore he smiled, but as always it was gone so fast she wasn't sure. When he stepped aside she led him out.

A
fter his inspection of the facilities, Ian walked back into the room and stood in front of the window. He couldn't believe her sassiness. She was obviously unaware of his outstanding reputation or how legendary he was. To her he was merely someone she'd outwitted, which apparently earned her the right to crow. Maggie Freeman was neither mild nor meek, and the longer he was around her the more his curiosity about her rose. What kinds of things had she done since the death of her parents? How had she survived? Her singing last night still resonated. Who was she really?

He heard a commotion out in the hallway. A man was yelling at someone heatedly. A female yelled right back. Realizing the voice belonged to Maggie, he hurried from the room.

He stopped at the sight of her arguing nose to nose with a short Black man in a checkered suit. She was grabbed by her arm and before Ian could bellow challenge, the stranger hauled off and struck her across the face with the back of his hand. She went flying and Ian did, too.

In the next breath he'd grabbed the little man by his fancy starched collar, raised him up, and slammed him against the wall so forcefully the plaster split. The man whimpered in shock, and his eyes widened to find himself within an eyelash of Ian's glacial fury. “You okay, Maggie?”

“No. Damn that hurt.” She had her hand against her jaw as she struggled to her feet.

Ian locked eyes with his prey, he growled, “Who is this?”

She gingerly worked her jaw as if to make sure it was in one piece. “Carson Epps. Kill him, please.”

“No!” Epps cried out in terror.

“Better yet,” she added, eyes blazing, “just hold him there a moment.” Hand still cradling her jaw she walked over. “Can you move to your left, just a bit, Marshal?”

Confusion on his face, Ian moved the lower portion of his body a step to the left but kept the squirming Epps pinned.

Suddenly she pointed at the ceiling. “Oh my goodness! Look at that!”

When both men looked to see, Maggie punched Epps hard in the groin. His mouth opened in a silent scream and his eyes bulged.

Ian was so stunned and surprised, he turned Epps loose, not caring that the man slid to the floor, where he immediately curled up and began rolling back and forth. Studying the lightning in her eyes, Ian folded his arms and didn't know what to make of her, or what to say. Instead he gently moved her hand aside so he could assess her injury. The jaw and eye were already swelling. “You need a steak.”

Epps was rocking back and forth. He seemed to have regained his voice because he was moaning softly in rhythm with his writhing.

By then, Wilma and some of her male patrons had come to investigate all the commotion.

Utterly fascinated by the small woman before him, Ian glanced away for a moment. “The lady needs a steak for her eye.”

Wilma surveyed Maggie, then took in the man rolling on the floor. “What happened to him?”

Still contemplating the hellion that was Maggie Freeman, Ian replied uncaringly, “He fell. He'll live. About that steak?”

She appeared genuinely confused by the scene, but when Ian showed her another silver dollar, she snatched it from his fingers. “I'll see to that steak.” Still eyeing Epps curiously, she hurried off, and the men followed.

Ian finally tore his attention away from Maggie and walked over to where Epps lay on the floor still in the throes of distress. Ian hunkered down beside him and Epps let out a moan of fear. When Ian placed his star on the floor where Epps could get a good look at it, the whimper rose an octave.

Ian's voice was soft but clear. “Name's Preacher. I'm a bounty hunter. I'm also a deputy U.S. marshal. Here's some advice. The next time you see that lady over there, go the other way. If I find out you even tipped your hat, I'm going to hunt you down and make you have the worst day of your life. Do we have an understanding?”

Epps nodded hastily.

Ian picked up the star and rejoined Maggie, who was still simmering and had every right to be. Only a coward would hit a woman. “Come on. Let's find Wilma and get that steak.”

He saw her shoot Epps one last furious glance before they left him where he lay.

Chapter 7

“S
o how do you know him?”

Maggie was seated on the top step on Wilma's back porch, holding a steak on her eye and cheek. The sun was going down and the marshal was above her braced against the post. “I worked for him about six years ago.”

“When'd you see him last?”

“Six years ago.” Maggie wondered how long she was supposed to keep the clammy meat against her skin. It had been in place for only a few minutes, but the feel of it was most unpleasant. Shelving talk of Epps for a moment, she asked, “Who came up with the idea that placing a piece of uncooked meat on a black eye was beneficial?”

“Can't answer the first part, but it's supposed to take down the swelling.”

“Does it work?”

“Seems to. Why's Epps still so mad if it's been six years?” Last they'd seen of him, he'd been half limping, half crawling his way out of Wilma's establishment under the derisive laughter of her customers. He eyed her closely. “This isn't like that business with the Quigley woman, is it?”

Maggie thought back on the root of Epps's anger and allowed herself a bittersweet smile. “I suppose it could be viewed that way.” For a moment she lost herself in the memories. “I was nineteen, and he was the first man who ever paid attention to me, you know.” She glanced his way to see if he understood her meaning. “Sitting here now, I can't believe how naive I was, but I thought he loved me. He'd declared it to me often enough.”

She was having a bit of difficulty speaking with her painful jaw but she wanted to explain.

“How'd you meet him?”

“At church. I was singing in the choir at a little Baptist church down near Council Grove where I grew up and he was the nephew of the pastor. He'd come to visit, and after church asked me if I'd like to join a traveling troupe he managed because he was impressed by my voice. Said his troupe was going to be more heralded than the famous Fisk Jubilee Singers. I had no ties to bind me in Council Grove, and I was impressed by his speech, his dreams, and ultimately him.”

She set the steak aside and gazed out at the slowly dying sun. “It took only a few days to realize he wasn't the man I thought. He did have a troupe. There were four other girls, but we were never given any of the money he was paid for our performances. He always had a ready excuse to explain why there wasn't any left: he'd spent it on our rooms, or train tickets or meals. In the meantime, I also learned that I wasn't his only true love. He had a woman in nearly every town we visited. I'd given him my virginity because he told me I was special, but apparently I was simply a new link in a very long chain.”

“So what did you do?”

“I went to his room while he was out having dinner with his lady du jour—”

“And stole the money?”

“No, Marshal. He always kept his money on him.”

“So what did you do?”

“Put red pepper sauce in his rubbers.” Maggie watched the marshal's eyes widen and then his laugh split the evening air. He laughed so hard, she thought he was going to fall from the porch. She liked his laugh, it was full and deep. She wanted to join in but couldn't. “Stop laughing,” she scolded. “You make me want to laugh, too, and I can't because it hurts.”

“You put pepper in his rubbers?”

“What better revenge for a man like him. And after he and his woman returned and went to his room, it wasn't long before the agonized screaming began. That was the last time I saw him.”

The marshal's chest was heaving up and down. “Woman, you are something.”

“Thank you.” She decided she liked his smile as well.

“Surely he hasn't been after you all this time?”

“No, he said he just happened to be in town. He's a salesman of some sort now. Apparently he saw us ride in.”

“And he couldn't resist coming by to pay his respects.”

“Yes.”

“Bad choice on his part.”

“Only because you were around. I'd probably be needing an entire cow to heal me up if you hadn't been, so thank you.”

“You're welcome. He got what he deserved. No honor in manhandling a woman.”

“I agree. Next time he wants to assault someone, I hope he'll remember what happened to him today.” From the degree of difficulty he had in making his exit, she thought he just might. He also might be a soprano for the rest of his life, too, but she didn't care about that. In truth he'd gotten off lightly; she'd wanted to geld him. Thinking about her time with him, and that one awful night she'd endured in order to prove she loved him, made her angry all over again, so she drew in a deep calming breath. “My life has not gone well since my parents died. I've spent years on my knees, either scrubbing or begging. I've been beaten, slapped and accused of theft. Now I might still be facing a judge for something I didn't do, and today, Carson Epps reenters from the wings to assault me. You wouldn't happen to have a magic lamp on you so I could wish this life away and be given a new one, would you, Marshal?”

He held her gaze steadily. “Is that what you'd do? Wish for a new life?”

He seemed to be peering into her soul, so she turned away. “Yes. I'm tired of being a tumbleweed and having no permanence in anything, not employment or steady meals or a place to lay my head.” She paused for a moment and looked over at him. “I'd prefer not to be poorer than a church mouse, as well, since you're asking.”

Silence floated between them until she added softly. “I'd like to be able to read books again and wear a nice dress. I'd like to look out the window of my own kitchen and watch my flowers and gardens grow. I want to teach school.” Hearing herself, Maggie stopped. “My apologies. I rarely let myself sink into despair this way, but I've done it twice now in the past twenty-four hours and you've been witness to both. You must think I'm trolling for sympathy, but I'm not. I know you don't care about my dreams. After we part in Abilene, you'll go back to your life and I'll continue to be mired in mine. Thank you again for aiding me with Epps, though.”

“Again. You're welcome. Nothing wrong with having dreams.”

“True, but how do you face the possibility that they'll never bear fruit?”

“Bible says, God will bless you with all abundance.”

“Have a little faith, is that your meaning?”

“Sometimes, that's all we have.”

“So you really are a preacher.”

“No, I'm a man who used the Bible to overcome the murder of my wife.”

Maggie's heart stopped. Dusk had risen so it was difficult to see his expression clearly, but she didn't need full light to sense his pain. She also sensed that this wasn't a subject he discussed freely or often, so why now and with her, was curious. “I'm sorry for your loss,” she responded softly. “May I ask how long ago you lost her?”

“Eight years. We were married for two.”

Maggie wondered what she'd been like. Would a man with his strength be pledged to a woman of equal substance, or less?

He turned the tables on her. “Ever been married?”

She scoffed, “Me, no, and not likely to be, either.”

“Why not?”

“The few men who've called on me were uncomfortable with my education. One went so far as to declare he would never marry a woman who had more schooling. His loss, I say.”

Wilma stepped out to interrupt them. “You done with that steak?”

The question caught Maggie off guard. “I suppose so.”

“Need it for one of the diners.”

The marshal straightened. “I already paid you for it, remember?”

“You paid to use it. Got somebody inside paying to eat it.”

Maggie shook her head with amusement. “You'll be returning some of his money, correct?”

The firm tone got Wilma's attention. She fished down into her bosom for some coins. After grudgingly making the exchange she and the steak returned inside.

Maggie cracked, “Quite the businesswoman, isn't she?”

“Makes the capitalists back East look like rubes.”

The silence rose again. Maggie found her mind drifting over the past events in her life like a canoe set adrift. The faces of people she'd known were followed by experiences she'd had. And now in the present, she wondered what the future would hold. “How long will it take us to get to Abilene?”

“Couple of days.”

And once there they'd separate. A part of herself was disappointed at the prospect because she wouldn't be able to learn more about him. “Where will you go after?”

“Home to my ranch in the Wyoming mountains.”

“I've never seen mountains.”

“Some of God's prettiest work.”

“Do you farm?”

“A little, but mostly raise cattle and round up wild horses.”

“You sell them, the horses?”

“Yeah.”

A rugged man for a rugged land, came the thought. Maggie looked out at the now-darkening countryside. She had a natural curiosity for everything, it seemed, so she wanted to ask him a dozen questions about Wyoming, his life, his wife, but didn't because the answers didn't matter. As she had mused earlier, once they parted, she'd never see him again.

“How's your jaw feeling?”

“Been better, but like Epps, I'll live. Planning to stay away from mirrors for the next few days, though. I'm sure I'll be rather frightening come morning.”

“Maybe not.”

She wanted to believe him but doubted he'd be right. Instead she concentrated on the beautiful night. She hadn't been able to sit under the stars since being jailed back in Dowd. The twin pleasures of hearing the wind spirits whispering in the grasses and feeling the kiss of the breeze grace her cheek were something she'd always taken for granted, but not anymore.

“Did your mother's people have a name for the wind?”

“
Waucondah
,” she replied, and stared up at him with mild astonishment. “Few people would know to ask such a question.”

“I have friends among the Arapaho. They've taught me a great deal.”

She found that astonishing as well. Once again, there were a hundred questions she wanted him to answer. She settled for one. “Are they still on their land?”

“No, they're on the Wind River Reservation.”

“The Kaw were forced into Indian Territory in '73. When they were removed there were less than five hundred members of a tribe that once numbered in the thousands.” They were decimated by disease, poverty, and the theft of their lands and way of life by a government whose word held no honor. “We should probably go inside. I'd like to wash my face so I don't draw flies while I'm sleeping.”

He stood. “After you.”

O
nce inside the rented room, Maggie walked over to the bed and pulled back the bed quilt to make sure they'd gotten the clean sheets Wilma had charged the marshal extra for, and was pleased to see that they had. Her jaw throbbed much less. Maybe the steak had done the trick. It was still sore, however.

“Sheets clean?” he asked while removing his gun belt.

“They appear to be.”

Watching him place the folded leather on the nightstand, she wondered what type of sleeping arrangements he might propose. She dearly wanted to sleep in the bed because there was no guarantee she'd get another opportunity anytime soon, but his weariness probably equaled her own and he undoubtedly wished to sleep in the bed as well. “Do you mind sharing the bed so that neither of us has to sleep on the floor?”

His compelling gaze captured her from across the room. She'd never been more aware of a man in her life. “Um, just for sleeping. Nothing else. Did your mother have green eyes?”

“No, my grandfather.”

“Is he still alive?”

“I believe so. I saw him a few months ago.”

“Where does he live?”

“Coast of Scotland.”

She went still. “Why Scotland?”

“ 'Tis where he was born,” he told her in a thick Scottish accent.

Her eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth.

A smile teased his lips. “I was born there as well.” That time he used the voice she was more accustomed to hearing.

Both confusion and awe claimed her. “You're Scottish?”

“And Black.”

She remembered him saying he hadn't known his father but it never occurred to her that he might be foreign born. “How long have you lived in America?”

“Since I was twenty, so eighteen years.”

That made him thirty-eight, thirteen years her senior. She found him to be so very interesting she sensed she could question him about himself from now until sunrise and still need days more to ask the rest.
Scotland.
She'd never met a person of color who hadn't been born in the United States. How in the world had he gone from being a Scot to a bounty hunter and to a marshal? Sadly, it was yet another question that would go unanswered once they separated. She refocused on the situation at hand. “Are the sleeping arrangements agreeable?”

“Yes.”

She wondered if she should be the first to move to the bed or wait and let him take the lead.

“I'll sleep closest to the door,” he said to her. He sat down on the edge of the bed and removed his boots.

She walked over to the side he'd designated as hers and sat to remove her boots as well. When she finished, she turned to him and went still at the sight of the handcuffs he held. His green eyes held no hints of amusement, just purpose.

She blew out a short exasperated breath and extended her left wrist. He locked the bracelet around it and attached the ring's twin to his right wrist.

“No need in getting mad,” he said, leaning over to douse the lamp. They were lying side by side. The chain linking the bracelets was long enough for them both to move comfortably.

“Who says I'm mad?” she responded crisply.