Velvet Thunder (27 page)

Blue was sitting on the portal with Nellie when the weary band approached the boardinghouse.. “There are oatmeal cookies and a fresh pitcher of lemonade waiting on the kitchen table for you two,” Blue said to Winter and Donn Pedro.

In tandem, the children looked at Heath first, then at Stevie. “It's all right,” she told them. “I'll be right out here.”

“Señor
Diamond, will you stay?” Pedro asked.

“I'm sorry, son. I've got to go. But I'll be at the Brass Tumbler Hotel if you need me.”

Donn Pedro nodded tersely. He stiffened his spine and mounted the steps, entering the house without so much as a backward glance.

Heath couldn't escape the feeling that he had let the child down again. But leaving the boardinghouse was for Pedro's own good; he didn't want the child close to him when violence erupted. Too many innocent lives had been forfeited already.

Stevie placed a hand on his forearm. “He'll be all right.” Heath nodded, grateful that Nellie and Blue had left him and Stevie alone. He touched Stevie's cheek gently, marveling at its softness even as he marveled at her inner strength.

“Why are you leaving us?” she couldn't help but ask.

“This thing is coming to a head. I don't want you or the children near me when it does. I'll keep an eye on you.” He smiled apologetically. “From a distance.”

Stevie studied the ground beneath her feet and shifted Summer up onto her shoulder. “That woman . . . the redhead, is she staying at the hotel?”

Heath's smile spread. Stevie's jealousy was very apparent, and it pleased him. “Probably.”

His answer was honest, if not the one Stevie wanted to hear. “Is she a friend of yours?”

“An acquaintance,” he hedged. Heath had kept his own council for so long, it didn't occur to him to explain his unpleasant past with Rachel. Actually, he wasn't thinking too clearly. The late afternoon sun playing on Stevie's platinum tresses had gained his rapt attention.

Blinded by jealousy and disconcerted by Heath's vague answer, Stevie assumed the worst, that Rachel and Heath were former lovers, that they would become lovers again, and that he didn't consider it any of her business. Had she been thinking with her head instead of her heart, she would have realized that he had never done anything to deserve this lack of faith. But her heart overruled her head. Her voice was cool when she said, “I'll pack your things and have Donn Pedro bring them over.”

“Whoa.” Heath grabbed her arms when she turned her back on him. She wouldn't face him. “This isn't necessary, sugar.” He meant her jealousy and withdrawal.

She thought he referred to Donn Pedro. “It'll give him something to do. Activity is the best antidote for grief.”

“Honey—” Heath began.

Summer chose that moment to awaken and announce to the world that she was wet, hungry, and in need of immediate attention. “Good-bye, Heath,” Stevie whispered.

Before he could protest her abrupt departure, she was gone. He considered going after her, explaining about Rachel, but decided against it. Somewhere along the way she was going to have to start trusting him.

Now was as good a time as any.

That evening Heath ate supper at the Brass Tumbler Restaurant, located just off the lobby of his hotel. The dining room was plush according to western standards, all polished wood and crystal chandeliers. He couldn't help but admire the elegance and beauty of his surroundings.

But it was nothing compared to his stomping ground in New York. Delmonico's, now, that was a restaurant! Allowing his gaze to wander the room, he realized how much he missed home. He dismissed the thought as soon as it came. He didn't need to be distracted. As he told Stevie, this job was rapidly coming to an end. He needed to concentrate, without allowing anything to pass his notice.

He scanned the restaurant with a professional eye. It catered mostly to businessmen and cattle barons, the wealthy men who were pouring into town in droves, eager to invest in Judge Jack's diamond mine.

In the past five minutes he had seen emissaries from such warring notables as Major L. G. Murphy, Alexander McSween, J.H. Tunstall—and the king of the Pecos himself—John Chisum.

He had overheard that these four men—the stuff of which legend was made—would arrive in town on the ninth along with the governor. He sincerely hoped not.

The vast expanse of New Mexico Territory was virtually a war zone, had been since shortly after the Civil War, when men like Chisum gathered up great herds of wild Texas cattle and headed south, carving their own private kingdoms out of the wilderness.

Chisum, McSween, and Tunstall had been fighting Murphy in the newspapers to this point, but the factions of these powerful cattle barons weren't content to sling words. They would sooner put a bullet between one another's eyes than eat when they were hungry.

One story in particular, involving a hot-headed kid, popped into Heath's mind. The boy was young, thin, fresh-faced, and innocent-looking. His name was William Bonney. Among other things, he was called Billy the Kid. In the beginning the Kid worked for Tunstall—a friend of Chisum's.

Billy quarreled with Chisum and subsequently declared a vendetta against the cattle king. He dropped into a cow camp in the Panhandle one night. It was a typical scene. Young boys—as wild and unruly as the herd they drove—were cooking supper, just going about their evening chores.

One poor soul was standing apart from the others, hobbling his horse. Billy approached the lad and asked him his name to which he replied, “Bennett Howell.”

Congenially, Billy asked Bennett whom he rode for.

Howell responded just as friendly, “Chisum.”

Billy smiled and said, “So. Then, here's yore pay.” He pulled his six-shooter, shot the cowboy in the head, and rode away, still smiling. The whole incident happened in less than two minutes, but when it was over, a boy lay dead, for no other reason than he was working for the wrong man.

It was enough to give Heath a heart seizure. Men like William Bonney were drawn to riches such as the judge promised like flies to an outhouse. Enforcers, Heath called them, men who looked out for their boss's interest, and their own. Having these men in such vast numbers and in such proximity was a nightmare.

Heath shifted uncomfortably in his comfortable chair. He hated to admit that the foul taste in his mouth was caused by stark fear. Not for himself, but for the innocent residents of Adobe Wells, especially Stevie and the children.

He had made some dangerous enemies. From here on in it would only get worse. Just being a lawman set him against the likes of Billy the Kid and Peg-Leg Smith. He was fair game. As he told Stevie, it would be better for her and the children to be as far away as possible.

But he didn't have to like it. Depressed and lonely, he had a negligible appetite. He ordered his customary dinner of beefsteak, potatoes, pie, and coffee, with little enthusiasm. While waiting for his food, he sipped a glass of red wine, pondering the events of the past two days.

He had assumed the three desperadoes he brought in were Judge Jack's men, that Jack had paid them to kill Marshal Reno. Now he thought differently. Jack had been surprised to see Reno dead.

But if the killers didn't work for Judge Jack, whom did they work for? Hired guns like Chi Chi, Montana, and Jones rarely shot anyone unless there was money to be made, or unless their prey posed a threat. And Ted Reno hadn't posed a threat to anybody. The boy was innocence incarnate.

Heath's musings were interrupted by Rachel's entrance into the restaurant. The hair on the nape of his neck rose in unison with his well-honed defenses.

As with any opponent, he studied her from head to toe. She was dressed in a closely fitted gown of crimson taffeta. Flaming red hair was piled high atop her head, decorated with magenta ostrich plumes and a spray of dog roses. Nestled between blue-veined breasts, she wore an exquisite diamond-and-ruby pendant. Matching earrings dangled from thick earlobes. The gown and jewelry were obscenely extravagant. The woman wearing them looked cheap.

Not aware of Heath's unflattering assessment, Rachel glided toward him. She knew her entrance had created a stir. The room had quieted as soon as she stepped to the door. Perhaps the diners wanted to get a good look at Judge Jack's lady friend. She preferred to think that they were stunned by her uncommon beauty. She was wrong on both counts. They were struck blind by her bright clothing and dyed hair.

Heath knew that she always dressed like this to call attention to herself. Why she would want to do that, he couldn't fathom. She wasn't beautiful in his eyes. She was repulsive. But he didn't allow this to show as he rose perfunctorily and bowed over her hand. She smiled down at his glistening black hair like a predator . . . or a gambler who held all the cards.

Heath straightened and met her eyes. Obviously she had not revealed his true identity to Judge Jack. He couldn't help but wonder how and when she would.

He needed to buy time until Jay could arrive from Santa Fe. In the next few minutes he had to convince Rachel that he was no longer a lawman, that he was as low, conniving, greedy, and evil as she. It would be the performance of his life. He prayed to the theatrical muses for artistic aid even as he pulled out a chair and imagined Rachel Jackson with a noose around her neck.

“Thank you, Mr. Diamond.” She tossed her head seductively.

The waiter approached as soon as Rachel was seated. “Will the lady be joining you for dinner?” He faltered slightly over the word “lady.”

“The lady will.” Rachel snatched the menu from the waiter's white-gloved hand and glowered at him. Crisply, she ordered white wine and fish baked with lime.

The man retrieved the menu and beat a hasty retreat.

Heath leaned back in his chair, appearing absolutely relaxed. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Rachel was the first to break the heavy silence. “What brings you this far west, Mr. Diamond?” she taunted, licking her rose-tinted lips. “Last I heard, you and your partner were combing the Nations for a dangerous escapee.” She rested her elbow on the table and leaned forward, giving him an unobscured view of her bosom.

For a moment Heath stared, not because he cared to see her breasts, but because he was sure she was going to fall out of the dress and he had never seen a woman's breasts land in a butterdish.

Mentally shaking himself, he listened to her factious prattle. She was laughing at him, there was no doubt about it. The bitch had killed two men, broken out of prison, eluded capture, and now sat, laughing at him. It was almost more than he could take.

But he maintained control and chuckled. “My partner is still there.” Slowly, he removed Jay's pocket watch from inside his coat and placed it on the table in front of Rachel.

She looked as if she'd been hit in the face with a shovel. “I never thought he'd part with that.”

Being from Athens, Georgia, and knowing the Hamptons since she was a child, Rachel was well aware of how much they treasured their watches. Jay almost died during the war when it fell out of his pocket during his escape from Danville Prison. The fool had actually risked capture going back for it.

“He didn't part with it.” Heath laughed harshly. “Voluntarily.”

She raised her carefully tweezed eyebrows, inviting him to continue. “Why, Mr. Diamond, you sound positively evil.”

“Even lawmen can change.” He lowered his voice. “Miss Jackson.”

She glanced around them frantically, hoping that no one heard him. “Don't call me that. My name is Mrs. Smyth. And what do you mean, even lawmen can change?”

“I mean, Mrs. Smyth”—he hesitated for emphasis—“that I tired of staying on the right side of the law.” He pulled a cheroot from his inside coat pocket and lifted it to her for permission to smoke. When she nodded like Queen Victoria acknowledging a commoner, he lit the cigar and took a deep puff, squinting his eyes against the blue plume of smoke he exhaled.

“Barnes Elder's gang robbed the River City Mining Company. Got away with the payroll to the tune of fifty thousand dollars. Jay and I gave chase. Found 'em holed up in a line shack. I killed Barnes. Jay got Barnes's little brother, Emmett. The others, Shotgun Taylor and Bullwhip Parnell, surrendered. We arrested them and confiscated the money. I didn't mind turning the prisoners in, but decided to keep the payroll. I offered to split it with Jay. Fifty-fifty. But you know the Hamptons. Honorable till the end. Well, Jay met his end.” He tried to look menacing, cold, and self-satisfied all at the same time. Most of all, he hoped he looked convincing, not an easy task considering that he was inventing the criminals and the crime even as he spoke. “Facing the wrong end of my six-shooter.”

Rachel sat and studied Heath intently. He made a conscious effort to relax, to breathe normally. When her rouged lips spread into a depraved smile, his answering grin was genuine. She'd bought it!

“What did you do with the money?”

Heath threw his head back and laughed. He hoped it sounded more sincere to her than it did to him. “I spent it. Fifty thousand doesn't go very far, especially when one wants to keep the ladies happy.”

Rachel began a slow perusal of Heath, starting at his head and sliding over every inch of him. “Why don't you come up to my room after supper. We can share a bottle of champagne. And whatever else comes up.”

Heath fought the urge to gag even as he cursed beneath his breath. How was he going to get out of this without insulting the slut?

“That sounds mighty good, Rachel.” He tried to look disappointed. “But I have to see a man about a horse.” Oh, Lord, he groaned silently. How stupid could he get? A woman was offering him her body and he turned her down in favor of a horse. That really oughta do her self-image good.

Rachel's face flamed. Men never turned her down! Well, not too often. “Maybe later,” she said without moving her lips.

“Absolutely,” Heath enthused.

For the rest of the meal they spoke infrequently and merely about inconsequential matters. Heath finished eating before Rachel did. “I'm sorry, but I really must go.” He rose, bowed gallantly—or mockingly, depending upon one's point of view—and left the spurned woman glaring at his back as he made his way from the restaurant.

He went up to his room and stood in the dark, looking out the window. In a few minutes he saw Rachel walk down the street, heading in the direction of the courthouse. He quickly retraced his steps to the ground floor, slipped out a side exit, and made his way to the courthouse too. From the shadows cast by the hulking building, he observed her enter.

He strolled back down the boardwalk toward the Silver Dollar Saloon. The walkways and streets were full of men going from one saloon to another. Some of them were drunk or well on the way; others were sober, just arriving in town for a night of merrymaking.

When he entered the Silver Dollar, he took a table next to the front window and ordered a drink. He had a clear view of the courthouse. Lights coming from two upper-level windows showed him that Judge Jack was in his living quarters.

The silhouette on the drawn shade was of a man and a woman. They talked momentarily, then came together in a heated embrace. Shortly thereafter, the lights went out.

Heath returned to the hotel somewhat relieved. He had confirmed what he had suspected all along. Rachel and Judge Jack were lovers. He seriously doubted they were talking about him at the moment. For reasons known only to Rachel, she was keeping Heath's identity a secret.

Entering the hotel lobby, he bounded up the stairs and turned left toward his room. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of a small form standing in the shadows at the end of the hall.

He dropped down into a crouch and pulled his weapon. Leveling the gun, he ordered, “Drop your gun and step out into the light.”

A very familiar wolf ambled forward. From somewhere behind the animal, an amused female voice said, “Don't shoot, he's not armed.”