Authors: J.A. Johnstone

Hard Luck Money (12 page)

BOOK: Hard Luck Money

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Chapter 21

Guided by her voice, he reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Miss Beatrice.” His voice was as quiet as hers had been.

She gasped and pulled away from him, but at least she didn’t scream. It would have drawn Grey’s attention and explaining to the outlaw leader just what his mistress was doing in The Kid’s room might have proven awkward.

For that matter, The Kid wondered, what
was
Beatrice doing there?

“Waco? Is that you?”

“Who else would it be?” The Kid asked dryly. “I was locked in here, remember?”

“That wasn’t my idea. I’m not sure why Alexander and Brattle don’t trust you. It seems to me you’re all on the same side.”

“You could say that,” The Kid agreed.
You could say that
, he thought,
but saying it didn’t necessarily make it true.
Beatrice didn’t have to know that.

His eyes had adjusted a little to the darkness, and he could vaguely make out her shape. She wore what appeared to be a light-colored robe.

He gave voice to the question uppermost in his mind. “I’m not tryin’ to be rude, but what are you doing here? I don’t reckon Alexander would take kindly to it if he knew you were in my room.”

“Why not?”

“Well ...” The Kid thought the answer to that question was pretty obvious, but if she wanted him to put it into words, he would. “I don’t think he’s the sort of hombre who’d cotton to having somebody messin’ with his property.”

A sharply indrawn breath hissed between her teeth. “I’m not Alexander’s property. I’m not anybody’s slave.”

“Well, then, his ladyfriend.”

For a moment she didn’t say anything. Then she asked, “Is that what you think I am?”

“It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

“Obvious to you, maybe.” She laughed softly, surprising him. “I’m not Alexander’s ladyfriend, Mr. Keene. I’m his sister.”

It was The Kid’s turn to stand in silence, unable to find the words to respond.

“Half sister, actually,” Beatrice went on. “He and I have the same father.”

“I didn’t have any idea,” The Kid murmured.

“There was no reason you should. You didn’t know any of us until a week or so ago. My mother was a servant who worked on the plantation after the war. She was an octaroon from Louisiana who’d been a slave when she was a little girl. Her mother brought her to Texas after they were freed. They both worked for Alexander’s father, and he ... took a fancy to my mother when she was fifteen. After I was born, she and my grandmother took me and ran away, back to Louisiana.”

“All right,” The Kid said. “That’s a pretty ugly story. How’d you wind up back in Texas?”

“My mother and my grandmother are both dead now. I didn’t have anyone else. So I came back to Texas to claim my birthright.”

“Things don’t work that way.”

“Why? Because I’m a bastard? Because some of my ancestors were slaves?”

“Take your pick,” The Kid said. “I’m not sayin’ it’s right, just tellin’ you how the law would look at it.”

“That’s probably true. Fortunately for me, when I showed up at the plantation and told Alexander my story, he welcomed me. He remembered me from when he was a boy and knew I was telling the truth. He said I was a member of the family. You see ... he hates our father as much as I do.”

“Is that why he set the place on fire when we left?”

“I suspect that’s right. He hasn’t said anything to me about it, and I haven’t asked him.”

They were standing in almost complete darkness. The Kid wanted to be able to see Beatrice’s face. If he could see her, he would be able to judge better if she was telling him the truth.

The Kid recalled matches laying on the table. “I’m going to light the candle, if that’s all right with you.”

“Go ahead.”

He found one and snapped it to life with his thumbnail. Squinting slightly against the glare, he held the flame to the candle wick. It caught and the flame strengthened, casting a circle of light into the room.

Hearing the floorboards creak a little, The Kid turned to see Beatrice easing the door closed. He had been right about the robe she was wearing. What he hadn’t been able to tell was that it was silk and clung enticingly to her body.

Her midnight hair was pulled back from her high forehead and tied behind her head. She was strikingly beautiful and The Kid knew he didn’t have to worry about her being Grey’s mistress.

But she was Grey’s half sister, which might also make him protective of her. Besides, The Kid had no interest in cluttering up his mission with unnecessary complications.

He was interested, though, in finding out what had brought her to his room. “What’s Alexander got against your father?” he asked, partly out of curiosity and partly to keep her talking.

“My father never recovered from losing his wealth and power because of the war. He let the plantation go downhill and became a lecher and a drunkard. He ... he raped my mother, and she wasn’t the only one. Eventually his wife—Alexander’s mother—confronted him about his behavior, and in a drunken rage, he choked her to death.”

“Good Lord,” The Kid muttered.

“When he saw what he’d done, he ran away. Alexander found his mother’s body. He was only ten years old. When the authorities discovered what had happened, they took him away. It was a horrible time for him.”

“I can imagine. This was after you’d already gone back to Louisiana with your mother and grandmother?”

Beatrice nodded. “Yes, thank goodness. Otherwise we would have been in the middle of that terrible mess, too. I didn’t even know anything about it until I came back to Texas and went to the plantation to see Alexander. He told me what had happened and then asked me to stay.”

“Wait a minute,” The Kid said. “How did he wind up with the plantation? What happened to his father? Your father, too, I reckon.”

“The law caught up to him eventually,” Beatrice said. “He had changed his name and become an outlaw. He was tried, convicted, and sent to prison for his crimes. The plantation was lost, of course. It went through several owners, but they were never able to get it back on its feet. By the time Alexander was grown and had made some money of his own, the place was empty when he came back.”

“Just like this one,” The Kid mused. “So he was just squatting there, like he is here.”

“The difference is he had grown up in that house and considered it his by rights, to do with whatever he wanted.”

Including burning it down when he was done with it, to wipe out the place where his mother had been murdered by his own father, The Kid thought. It made sense ... of a twisted sort, but still ...

“That’s quite a story. The sort of thing they make melodramas out of. But it doesn’t explain what you’re doing here in my room tonight.”

A flush spread across her lovely features. She lifted a hand to the robe’s neckline and toyed with the silk. “Do I really have to explain that, Waco?”

“Yeah, you do,” The Kid said bluntly. “You’ve barely looked at me since the night Brattle brought me to the plantation. What changed your mind all of a sudden?”

“Nothing, I ...” She looked more uncomfortable. “Darn it, Waco, why are you making this so difficult?”

“Because I figure on making some money workin’ with your brother, and I’d just as soon not have him shoot me for beddin’ his little sister before I can cash in on the deal.”

“Listen, when I came to the plantation, I didn’t know Alexander was an outlaw! It didn’t take me long to figure it out, though. This isn’t really the life I bargained for. I haven’t said anything to him about it, but I ... I’m afraid of what might happen.”

“So you want me to rescue you, and the two of us will run away together. Is that it?” The Kid put a tone of scorn in his voice as he asked the question. The thought had occurred to him it might be a test. Grey might have sent Beatrice to find out just how easily he could be persuaded to betray the gang. Maybe she was telling the absolute truth about everything, but he couldn’t afford to assume that.

“You don’t have to make it sound so crass,” she snapped as she glared at him.

“Why me?” he shot back at her. “Why not Brattle or one of the other men?”

“Do you really think Brattle would ever double-cross Alexander?” A humorless laugh came from her. “Besides, you’ve seen what he’s like. The same thing goes for the others. I’ve had enough of brutal men in my life. Besides, you’re new here, like I am. You don’t have the same ties to Alexander the rest of the men do.”

“You’re the one who’s related to him by blood,” The Kid pointed out.

Beatrice shook her head. “That doesn’t really mean anything,” she insisted. “I don’t even remember him from when I was a little girl. I was too young when my mother ran away from the plantation. For all practical purposes, I never laid eyes on Alexander Grey until about three weeks ago.” She paused and leaned her head to the side. “It’s true that he’s been very kind to me, and I’m grateful to him for taking me in. I don’t really want to betray him ... but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life cooking and cleaning for a gang of outlaws, either.”

She certainly sounded sincere, The Kid thought, but he still didn’t trust her. “Look, I owe your brother. I’d still be rotting in prison if it wasn’t for him. I don’t think I can help you.”

“Are you sure?” Beatrice’s fingers went to the belt knotted around her waist. “I was on my own for a while after my mother passed away. I had to do some things I’m not proud of to survive. I learned a lot. I know I could make it worth your while to help me, Waco.”

The Kid’s jaw tightened. Before his marriage, when he was still the spoiled, rich young man known as Conrad Browning, he wouldn’t have hesitated to take a beautiful woman like Beatrice to bed. The same was true of Katherine Lupo.

But he wasn’t that spoiled young man anymore, and he had a job to do.

On the other hand, if Beatrice was telling the truth, she might prove to a valuable ally somewhere down the line, so he didn’t want to anger her so much that she wouldn’t have anything else to do with him.

He reached out to touch her arm and stop her from untying the belt. “Let me think about it. We’re already here, so we might as well stay for a while.”

“Until you’re such a part of the gang you won’t want to turn on Alexander?”

“I can’t help you right now. That doesn’t mean things will always be this way. I’ve got to see how it plays out.”

She sighed and stopped fiddling with the belt. “All right. We’ll give it some time. But can I trust you not to say anything to Alexander about this?”

“Hell, he doesn’t trust me completely yet. He’s made that clear. So I’d be a fool to tell him his sister was in my room in the middle of the night, wouldn’t I?”

She smiled. “I suppose so. Just don’t take too long to make up your mind, Waco. I could change
my
mind, you know. It’s a woman’s prerogative, they say.”

“Let me take a look out in the hall before you leave. We don’t want anybody spotting you sneakin’ out of here.”

“Especially since we didn’t actually do anything. That would be a real shame, wouldn’t it, to get in trouble over nothing?”

“I wouldn’t say it was nothing,” The Kid told her. “It’s just not something yet.”

He opened the door enough to look out into the hall and see that it was empty. Then he went back to the table and blew out the candle before opening the door wide enough for Beatrice to slip through.

In the darkness, she somehow found his face and brushed her lips across his cheek. Then she was gone and The Kid closed the door quietly behind her.

The night certainly hadn’t gone the way he expected, he thought as he went back to the bed and stretched out on it.

He wondered if Beatrice was reporting to Alexander Grey that “Waco Keene” hadn’t fallen for the scheme, no matter how much she had tempted him. He wondered if she was really Grey’s sister or if Grey had concocted that melodramatic story as part of the plan to test the new recruit’s loyalty.

Everywhere The Kid looked there were unanswered questions, including the one of how he was going to get in touch with the Texas Rangers. And it didn’t seem the answers were forthcoming any time soon.

He rolled over and went to sleep.

Chapter 22

The night passed quietly, and the next morning Beatrice and Brattle went to the nearby settlement in one of the wagons. They came back that afternoon with supplies.

“Any problems?” Grey asked as he helped Beatrice down from the wagon seat.

“No,” she told him. “No one seemed to pay any attention to us. We didn’t stop anywhere except at the general store.”

Grey nodded, obviously pleased. “Excellent. We’re going to do our best to be good citizens around here.”

The Kid helped unload. He noticed they had bought enough provisions to last for several weeks.

For several days, everyone concerned themselves with putting the ranch house back in good shape and cleaning up around the place in general. The Kid did his share of the work without complaining, but he began to think he ought to speak up soon and ask Grey when they were going to pull their first job. He didn’t think Waco Keene was the sort of hombre to do such menial work without getting tired of it.

He still didn’t have a gun, and Brattle or one of the other men continued keeping an eye on him all the time except at night, when he was locked into his room.

He said something about it to Grey, pointing out that if the house ever caught fire, he would be doomed if no one came to let him out.

“That won’t happen,” Grey assured him. “You’re worth too much to us, Waco.”

“How do you mean?” The Kid asked. Surely Grey wasn’t alluding to the reward they hoped to collect on him. Not so early in the game.

“For your experience as a train robber, of course,” Grey answered easily. “We’re counting on you.”

The Kid grunted. “Haven’t seen any signs of it so far.”

“Soon, my friend, soon,” Grey told him.

The next day, The Kid had just carried a couple buckets of water into the kitchen for Beatrice when she said, “Have you thought any more about what we talked about, the first night we were here?”

The Kid glanced around to make sure none of the other men were close enough to overhear. He didn’t want anybody carrying the news to Grey that he and Beatrice were keeping secrets with each other.

“Don’t worry, we’re alone,” she told him. “Alexander is upstairs, and unless one of them followed you in, the rest of the men are outside. I wouldn’t have said anything otherwise.” She came closer to him and put a hand on his arm. “So have you thought about it?”

“Reckon I have,” The Kid admitted, and that much was true. He had pondered the question of whether Beatrice had been telling him the truth that night, or if the whole thing was just part of some convoluted plot by Alexander Grey.

If she’d been telling him the truth, he wanted to find some way to help her. But it was going to have to wait until he had broken up the gang, he had decided, assuming he could even pull that off. He would certainly do what he could to see to it the law didn’t treat her as if she were just another member of the gang.

“Well?” she prodded him. “What do you think? Can you do it?”

The Kid was saved from having to answer the question by a sudden commotion outside. Men shouted angrily, and as he turned toward the front door with a puzzled frown on his face, a gun went off, the report muffled somewhat by the house’s thick stone walls.

“What in blazes?” he exclaimed. Grateful for the distraction, he hurried out of the kitchen.

Grey appeared at the top of the stairs as The Kid started across the big front room. The ringleader had a pistol in his hand and wore a surprised expression on his face. “Was that a shot I heard, Waco?” he called as he clattered down the staircase.

“I reckon so, boss.”

The Kid reached the front door first and had just grasped the latch when Grey said sharply, “Wait a minute!”

When The Kid paused, Grey went on. “You’re not armed.”

The Kid thought Grey was going to go first, but the man surprised him by pressing the pistol into his hand. If there was any more gunplay, Grey obviously wanted The Kid to handle it.

Even with the small caliber pistol, it felt really good to wrap his fingers around a gun butt. The thought flashed across his mind that he could take Grey prisoner and use him as a hostage to get away. Then he could turn Grey over to the law and send the Rangers back there.

By which time the rest of the outlaws would have scattered, he reminded himself. And what would happen to Beatrice in the meantime? Could he manage to rescue her, too?

Doubts intruded instantly. He didn’t know for sure the gun Grey had just given him was even loaded. It could be a trick or a test of some sort, too.

The pause to consider all of that lasted only a fraction of a second.

Then The Kid did what Waco Keene would have done. He jerked the door open and charged out to see what all the ruckus was about.

A couple men were rolling around on the ground, fighting. Fists flew and thudded against flesh and bone. The Kid recognized one of the combatants as a man called Dodge, a member of Alexander Grey’s gang.

The other man was a stranger. A saddled horse The Kid hadn’t seen before stood nearby, moving around nervously as if spooked by the fight and the gunshot. He quickly put everything together in his mind. The stranger had ridden up to the house, Dodge had challenged him, and somehow heated words had been exchanged, leading to the battle.

The Kid spotted a revolver lying on the ground, and the stranger’s holster was empty. Clearly, the stranger had fired that shot, but it must have missed because Dodge didn’t seem to be wounded.

It was only a matter of time before the other men converged, drawn by that gunshot, but at the moment The Kid and Grey were the only witnesses to the battle.

Suddenly, the stranger landed a solid punch to Dodge’s jaw that sent him rolling away. He snatched up the fallen Colt and wheeled around, lining his sights on Dodge.

The Kid acted instinctively, firing before the stranger could pull the trigger. The small caliber pistol made a sharp, wicked crack as it went off.

The stranger yelled in shock and pain and dropped the Colt. He jerked his right arm back and cradled it against his body. Blood welled from the furrow The Kid’s bullet had plowed in his forearm.

“Don’t try it again,” The Kid warned, though he didn’t think it was likely the wounded man would.

“You shot me!” the stranger said.

“You were about to shoot one of my pards. You’re lucky I just winged you instead of killing you.”

In truth, that fancy shot had been more luck than anything else. The Kid was fast and accurate, but shooting the gun out of a man’s hand was the stuff of dime novels. He’d been trying to fire a warning shot in front of the stranger, but the bullet had nicked the man’s arm and produced an even more dramatic effect than intended.

“I wasn’t gonna shoot him!” the stranger protested. “I just didn’t want him jumpin’ me again!”

The Kid shrugged, obviously not moved by the complaint. “Looked to me like you planned to ventilate him.”

Dodge slapped dust off his shirt and pants. “That’s the way it looked to me, too, Waco. I’m much obliged to you for stoppin’ him.”

“Dadblast it!” the stranger howled. Blood dripped from his fingers as he held his wounded arm. “What loco kind of place is this?”

He was short, no more than five and a half feet tall, but his arms and shoulders were heavily slabbed with muscle. His high-crowned brown hat had fallen off during the fight, revealing close-cropped sandy hair. He was probably between twenty-five and thirty, The Kid judged, and his range clothes showed plenty of signs of wear and tear.

“All I did was ride up to see about askin’ for a job,” the stranger went on, “but after gettin’ shot I ain’t so sure I want to work here anymore!”

“You’re a ranch hand?” Grey asked.

Brattle and several other members of the gang came pounding around the corner of the house then, guns drawn, but Grey lifted a hand and motioned for them to take it easy, letting them know the situation was under control.

“That’s right,” the stranger said. “I’ve ridden for three or four outfits around here. You can ask the owners about me if you want. Name’s Tyler.”

“Well, Mr. Tyler, what makes you think we’d be hiring here?”

Those massive shoulders went up and down in a shrug. “Rode by the other day and saw somebody was fixin’ the place up. Old Jonah Rankin had a pretty good spread here at one time. I figured somebody finally bought the place from the county and was gonna try to make a go of it again. Seein’ as how I’m sorta between ridin’ jobs ...”

“Say no more,” Grey told him. “An understandable mistake, I suppose.”

Brattle asked, “You want us to run this peckerwood off, boss?”

“Not at all,” Grey said. “What sort of hospitality would that be, to shoot a man and then force him to leave?”

“It’d be more hospitable not to shoot him at all,” Tyler said through teeth gritted against the pain of his wound.

“Yes, I suppose.” Grey turned to Beatrice, who had followed him and The Kid to the front door. “My dear, do you think you could patch up this young man’s arm?”

“Of course,” she said, although The Kid thought she didn’t look too enthusiastic about the prospect of cleaning and bandaging that bloody bullet gash. She put a smile on her face and told Tyler, “Come in.”

Brattle said, “I ain’t sure you should trust this short-growed runt, boss.”

Tyler’s jaw thrust out pugnaciously. “Short-growed runt, am I? Mister, I’m so tough if I was any taller it wouldn’t be fair to all the other fellas in this part of the country.”

Grey laughed. “It’s all right, Brattle. I’m not going to offer Mr. Tyler a job, mind you, but there’s no reason we can’t be neighborly.”

“No job, huh?” Tyler said. “You sure about that? I’m a top hand, mister.”

“I’m sure you are, but I have all the riders I need right now.”

Tyler sighed. “Oh, well. Can’t blame a fella for tryin’.” He smiled at Beatrice. “I’m comin’, ma’am. I’m mighty obliged to you for fixin’ me up.”

The two of them went into the house. Grey told the other men to get back to their work, then said quietly to The Kid, “Would you mind keeping an eye on our visitor, Waco? He seems to be exactly what he claims, a drifting cowboy, but I don’t want to leave Beatrice alone with him.”

“That’s probably a good idea, boss.” The Kid looked down at the pistol on his hand. “You want your gun back?”

Grey frowned in thought for a second and then shook his head. “No, I believe I’ll let you keep it for now.”

“Oh? In that case, I’d rather have something bigger, like a Colt .45, maybe.”

Grey grinned and clapped a hand on The Kid’s shoulder. “Don’t push your luck, my young friend. I said you can keep it for now. And as soon as Tyler rides away, I expect you to give that gun to Beatrice. Understand?”

“Sure. You don’t trust me yet.”

“We’re getting there.”

The Kid nodded and followed Grey into the house. Grey went upstairs, and hearing voices in the kitchen, The Kid walked out there and found Tyler sitting at the table with his bloody sleeve rolled up while Beatrice swabbed at the bullet crease with a wet cloth.

Tyler winced a little at the pain, but kept a smile on his face. “I sure appreciate you takin’ care of me like this, ma’am.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Beatrice told him. “Now hold still. I’m going to get some whiskey.”

Tyler’s smile widened into a grin. “That’s mighty kind of you. I could use a drink right about now.”

“It’s to clean the wound, not to drink.”

The grin on the young cowboy’s face disappeared and was replaced by a crestfallen expression. “Oh.”

Beatrice laughed at his disappointment. “I’ll be right back.” She looked at The Kid, who had reversed one of the chairs at the table and straddled it. The pistol was tucked into the waistband of his jeans. “Don’t let him run off.”

“I won’t,” The Kid promised.

The Kid supposed Beatrice was going to get the whiskey from the parlor where he’d seen bottles of liquor. When she had left the room, he nodded toward the wounded arm Tyler had stretched out on the table. “For what it’s worth, I was just trying to make you drop the gun. I really didn’t mean to wing you like that. It was sort of an accident.”

Tyler smiled as he looked down at the raw furrow on his forearm. “I know.”

Then he lifted his eyes to meet The Kid’s. “Not even Kid Morgan is that good a shot.”

BOOK: Hard Luck Money

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