Renegade Bride (39 page)

Downing looked at him oddly. "Yeah, I saw."

"Eet was beautiful, no?"

"No." Downing slumped beside him, scratching his arms. "I want to get out of here, goddammit. This town gives me the crawlin' jitters."

The half-breed eased the hammer down on his gun with an ominous click. "Perhaps you 'ave lost your nerve,
mon ami
."

"This ain't a game, Pierre," Downing nearly shouted. "They got them WANTED dodgers tacked up ever' which way, with our faces plastered all over 'em. The longer we stay here, the better the odds somebody's gonna recognize us. And in case it ain't come to yore attention, we ain't as many as we used to be. Devereaux took care of that."

Pierre's black eyes took on the cold glint of malachite. "My attention?" He ripped the neck of his buckskin shirt open to reveal his bandaged left shoulder. "You zink I could forget thees? You zink I could forget what 'ee did to Étienne, or to my father? Saaa-aa! You 'orse's ass! I forget nothing."

Downing sat back in a silent stew, staring at the bottomless blue sky overhead. For the second time since their close escape by the river four days ago, he had the feeling of impending doom. Pierre was becoming more and more irrational.

He was the one who'd come up with the harebrained scheme of following Devereaux into Virginia City—dogging his trail into this booby trapped hellhole that boasted one of the strongest vigilance committees this side of the Mississippi. The same town where only months ago they lynched every living member of Henry Plummer's Innocents Gang, except, he mused uncomfortably, the ones they didn't find. Hell, it was only a matter of time before it all caught up with them.

He scraped a boot heel irritably against the wood-shingled roof. He should'a left that night Pierre rode up behind him, bleedin' all over himself. He should'a rode off and not looked back. That business with the Lochries had turned his stomach and watchin' the pleasure Pierre took out of tormenting that old bounty hunter, Kraylor, hadn't done much for his appetite neither.

Even though he'd had no actual hand in either one of those killin's and only one of the others of which they'd been accused, he'd been ridin' with LaRousse too long to come off smellin' like anything but stinkweed.

Pierre got to his feet and headed toward the back of the roof where the ladder was pitched against the alley wall.

Downing scowled, getting up slowly to follow. Past was past and the truth was—it pained him to admit it—he had nowhere else to go.

Except straight to hell.

Chapter 20

Four days.

Four hellish days since they rode into town, Creed thought, watching Mariah hesitate, then lean over the counter to kiss Seth goodbye on the cheek.

"I won't be long," she told him. Seth trapped her hands and pulled her closer to give her a kiss of his own.

Creed's grip tightened around the iron-rimmed hogshead full of crockery he was rolling across the floor and anger pumped through him like a fast-working poison. Dammit, what had made him think he could go through with this farce? Four days of working side by side, the three of them... together. He sighed in frustration. It would be laughable if only he could find the humor in the situation.

His gaze roved over the glove-like way Mariah's new gingham dress fit her—smooth and tight around waist, breast, and wrist, a layer of petticoats hiding her rounded bottom. The sight of her in proper woman's clothes stirred his blood and made it damned hard to concentrate on work.

"Maybe I should walk you down there," Seth suggested as she swept the apron over her head and slipped into a woven shawl. He rounded the counter, his persistent cough shaking his shoulders. "I don't like you walking unescorted."

"I'm just going to Emaline Fitzwilly's shop for a fitting," Mariah said, tying the black ribbon on her new straw bonnet. "I have to pick up the gown for the party tonight and have the last fitting for the... um, wedding gown." Her eyes flicked to Creed's, then quickly away. "Besides, it's only a few doors down."

"The end of the block."

"Seth's right." Creed said, straightening. "Let him walk you down there."

Mariah frowned at them. "You both have your hands full with this new shipment. I can certainly find my way to the end of the—"

Creed tilted the hogshead to the floor with a thud. "I'll take her."

Her face reddened. "You will not! Look, you two, if I'm going to live in this town, I'd better get used to walking around like everyone else."

"Everyone else isn't a woman." Creed moved a stack of pickaxe handles out of his way and watched that peculiar stubborn glint light her topaz eyes.

"You act as if I should be afraid of my own shadow," she argued. "The miners I've met have been nothing but gentlemen to me. You two give me more trouble than all of them combined."

Providence sent Jason Bender barreling through the door at that moment. "Hi, Seth, Creed." He stumbled to a stop at the sight of Mariah. "Oh, h'llo, Miss Parsons. Gosh, you look... awful pretty today, ma'am. I mean, you always look pretty, but today you look 'specially... that is..." His voice drifted off into an embarrassed mumble.

"Why, thank you, Jason," she said, with a pointed look at the two men. "I'm glad someone noticed I'm not in buckskins anymore."

"Oh, for..." Seth bit back the rest and rolled his eyes heavenward.

She ignored the look Creed gave her. "What brings you in this morning, Jason?"

"Ma sent me with a list of things to pick up." He handed a slip of brown paper to Seth.

Seth perused it and nodded. "I think we can fill this. And while I'm doing it, why don't you walk Miss Parsons down to Emaline Fitzwilly's dress shop. Perhaps she won't mind someone more neutral. There'll be two bits in it for you."

Jason's mouth opened and closed in a good imitation of a polliwog. "Me? Oh, yessir. You don't have to pay me nothin'. I'd be most honored to walk Miss Parsons down fer no money a'tall."

Mariah gave the basque of her bodice an irritated tug and smoothed a hand down the blue gingham, realizing she'd been outmaneuvered. "I can't think of a more pleasant companion. Come along, Jason. Let's leave these two worrywarts to their fretting."

Watching them disappear out the door, Seth shook his head. Holding his fist over his mouth, he half-coughed, half-laughed. "God, I'll say one thing. Life will never be boring with her."

Creed turned his head toward Seth. "No. I don't suppose it will." He put his shoulder to the hogshead and rolled it over in the corner, then took a crowbar to the top. The wood splintered against the force.

"You know, Creed, I've been thinking..."

"Uh-oh."

Seth laughed. "Well, it was my thinking that got us this store, wasn't it?"

Creed dug into the barrel and pulled out a sawdust-covered water crock and blew it clean. "As I recall."

"And this store has made you a man of means, no?"

Creed shrugged and dug out another piece. "What's your point, my wordy friend?"

Seth strolled over to the barrel and leaned against the wall of shelves with his arms folded across his chest. "I was thinking... why don't you leave bounty hunting behind... settle down here and become a real partner in the store. Not a silent one. You're good at this, Creed. You've been on the road for years now. It's amazing that you're still in one piece, considering the kind of life you've led."

Creed frowned and reached into the barrel again. "Mariah's right. You are a worry wart. I'm content with my life just the way it is."

"Are you? Maybe it's time to settle down. Find a woman."

Creed shot a look at him. They'd had this discussion before, but then the stakes hadn't been so high. "That's right for you,
mon ami
. Not for me."

Seth stared at the crock in Creed's hands. "Why? Is it LaRousse? He's most likely dead."

"I don't think so. It would take more than one bullet to kill a bastard like him."

"Maybe... just maybe it's time to let it go," he suggested softly.

"I'll know when it's time," Creed snapped. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving bits of sawdust there. "Look, I... I didn't mean to shout. I just... thanks for the offer. But the truth is, I'm thinking of cashing out."

Seth blinked in surprise. "Jesus, you can't be serious. You mean quit? Why? You're making money doing nothing."

"
Exactement.
And I don't feel right about that. Besides, it will be yours and Mariah's now. You don't need me taking food off your table."

"For God's sake, Creed, I hope you don't think that's what I meant when I asked you to come and work here. I didn't. I mean, I couldn't have gotten this place off the ground without the money you invested. I just wish we'd see more of you."

Creed gave a tight smile. "It's something I've been thinking about anyway. Shopkeeping's not in my blood."

"Bounty hunting is?"

"I have to finish with LaRousse once and for all."

Seth nodded, fingering the stack of heavy denim pants sitting on the counter. "I know. You have to do what you have to do. But don't cut yourself off here because of that. You may change your mind later."

"I don't think so."

Seth sighed. "Before you say no to everything, hear me out. There are rumors of a new strike up in a place they're calling Last Chance Gulch. Quartz mining. I hear the syndicates are looking for investors to come in on the ground floor. They intend to bring in crushers to get the gold out of the rock. I've been thinking of staking some of my profits there. If you've no interest in the mercantile, maybe we could pool our money—"

The bell over the door jangled before Creed could tell him no. He looked up to find Jesse Winslow, blond hair wild and windblown, standing spread-legged by the open door, holding his rifle in one hand and a tight rope on Mahkwi in the other. He looked every bit the mountain man he was reputed to be.

"Jesse!" Creed set the crock on the counter and strode over to shake his hand. "
Pardieu
, what are you doing here?"

Jesse's grin showed as a slash of white through his beard. He clasped Creed's hand. "I told you I was coming in to restock after I took care of our little friend. I just made better time than I expected. I had the wind at my back and songs of 'Nightingales' loomin' ahead." He sent Creed a wink. "Didn't figure it was time to dawdle. Howdy, Seth."

"Jesse." Seth grinned and shook his hand, too. "It's been a while. How's the trading going this year?"

"Can't complain. My packs are full of skins and empty of pots and pans."

"You're in luck, because we just got a full shipment in today." Seth cast a nervous glance at the wolf, who was sniffing curiously at Seth's crotch. "I see you've, uh, picked up a stray along the way."

"Mahkwi, mind your manners," Jesse told him sharply and the wolf obediently repositioned her head under Creed's hand for a stroke. "She's a pet, but you don't wanna tangle with her if she gets her dander up."

Seth backed up a few steps toward the dilly-smelling pickle barrel. "I'll, uh... remember that.

"I see that knock on the head she took hasn't dulled her instincts," Creed said, scratching her behind the ears.

"Nah... but, ya know, it's been mighty unfriendly since I got into town. Folks are dodgin' right and left to get out of our way." With a puzzled shrug he added, "I mean, I've got her on a short rope." Mahkwi yawned broadly in reply, showing off her razor-like canines.

"Yeah, what's wrong with people in this town anyway?" Seth commented with one eyebrow arched.

"Did you find Raven's people?" Creed inquired.

Jesse nodded. "The fellow she was intended to had just returned from a hunting party and there was a big celebration going on. Raven's return sent the festivities into the next day. Her uncle, Medicine Wing, who happens to be a chief among the Kainahs was, needless to say, very pleased to get her back and promised me good trading with the Bloods as long as sweetgrass grows along the Musselshell'."

The bell over the door jingled again as several miners came in to browse. Seth nodded to them and turned back to Jesse. "Quite an impressive promise coming from a Blood chief," he observed. "While we're on the subject of gratitude, Jesse, I'd like to add my own. I owe you a debt for what you did for my fiancée and for Creed. Not only by the river, but with regards to that bastard, LaRousse."