Wyoming Wildfire (Harlequin Historical) (15 page)

She had pondered long and hard about how to prove that Lillian had killed her husband. The woman’s affair with Virgil lent motive but little else. As for evidence, any that might have existed had been trampled into the ground. Only a confession, or the word of someone who knew, would tie Allister’s glamorous widow to his murder.

Jessie knew she’d be running a terrible risk. But desperate times called for desperate measures. When a rat wouldn’t come out of its hole, you put out bait and waited for the creature to make a move. That’s what she’d be doing tonight. But she would have to be excruciatingly careful. She was dealing with a very dangerous rat.

Emerging from the willows, she crouched at the edge of the road. From here she could see the house
with its ornate portico, ghostly under a fresh coat of whitewash. Light gleamed from the parlor windows. There was no sign of movement in the yard. Her timing, Jessie calculated, was about right.

As she rose to her feet, the folded note crackled in her pocket. She had written it on an end paper from one of her precious books, using a pencil stub she’d found in the cabin. The words, printed in crude block letters, had burned themselves into her memory.

The thought of what she was about to do turned the blood in her veins to cold jelly. She yearned for Matt’s quiet strength beside her. But Matt would have called her scheme crazy and done everything in his power to stop her. He would have insisted on keeping everything legal and above board—and Frank would go down in history as the murderer of Allister Gates. This was the only way to clear his name.

Would Lillian come to the cemetery? How could she not come? She would be too frightened, angry and curious to stay away.

The woman would surely bring a gun. And Virgil would likely be nearby, lurking in the shadows. But Jessie had no plans to confront them. She would simply watch and listen from a safe hiding place. If Lil
lian even showed up, it would be damning enough. If she shouted threats into the darkness, offered money or conversed with Virgil about what she’d done, it would be—as Jessie’s mother might have put it—frosting on the cake.

Tomorrow, if all went as planned, she would ride into Sheridan, find Matt and tell him what she’d learned. He would be furious with her, Jessie knew. But in the end he would have to believe her and take action to find more proof against Lillian.

And if he didn’t? Doubts gnawed at her mind as she crept toward the house. She forced them away. For all his irritating ways, Matt was a good man. She could trust him to keep her safe and to do the right thing.

But could Matt trust her? Jessie felt her knees weaken as the memories struck her like an autumn storm—Matt with his knife in his hand, ready to cut the breaking rope and save her life; Matt bending over her in the candlelight, his love carrying her to heaven and back. He had given her a taste of what they could have together. It could be hers—if only she abandoned this headstrong quest to clear Frank’s name.

Matt had asked for her trust. Going ahead with this plan would be a betrayal of that trust. He might accept her evidence and use it to arrest Lillian. But the fragile bond between them would be broken, never to heal.

Torn, she stumbled into the shadow of the barn
and sank to the ground. It wasn’t too late, she told herself. She could turn back now, find Matt in Sheridan and patch up their differences. A lifetime of love was waiting. All she had to do was stop right here, walk back to her mare and ride away.

Jessie pressed her hands to her face, struggling to clear her thoughts. No, she realized, she had to see this through.

Pulling herself to her feet, she crept on toward the house. Lamps still burned in the parlor, but nowhere else in the house. It stood to reason that the servants had finished their work and retired to their own quarters, leaving Virgil and Lillian alone.

The night was cool, but as she neared the new cement steps that led up to the portico, nervous sweat trickled down her body. So far everything had gone well. Too well, perhaps. Nothing seemed amiss, but she could not shake the feeling that something was wrong.

At the foot of the steps, she reached into her trousers for the note. Her hand was still in her pocket when she heard a low, menacing growl. The sound had barely registered before a huge black dog came charging around the corner of the house. Moonlight glinted on long, yellow fangs as it sprang for her.

There was no time to run. Instinctively, Jessie’s hands went up to shield her face and throat. She felt the hot, wet breath, smelled the foulness as the mas
sive weight struck her, knocking her to the gravel. Twisting desperately, she managed to roll onto her belly, but there was nothing she could do to protect her legs and back.

The awful fangs ripped through her trouser leg. Jessie felt them sink into her calf as the door opened, flooding the portico with light.

“W
ho’s out there?” The voice was Virgil’s. Jessie heard the scrape of his boots on the concrete steps, then the thud of a heavy object striking flesh and bone. The dog yelped, releasing its grip on her leg. Another blow sent it whimpering around the corner of the house.

Dropping the heavy iron bar he’d held, Virgil reached down and yanked Jessie to her feet. Lantern light glinted on his big, horsey teeth as he grinned down at her.

“I’ll be damned, if it isn’t another Hammond! The sister this time! That ugly mutt was worth every cent I paid for him!”

Jessie glared up at him in silence. She could feel the blood trickling down her leg and into her boot. But that was the least of her problems now.

Virgil’s clasp tightened on her arm, bruising her
flesh. “You’ve been here before, haven’t you, girlie? Sneaking around the house, looking in the windows. Care to tell me what you’re up to before I break your arm and throw you back to the dog?”

Jessie groped for an excuse that would mollify the man, but he had her dead to rights. There wasn’t a lie on earth that would save her. The only weapon she could use against him was the truth.

“Well?” He twisted her arm, making her gasp with pain.

“I…came to see Lil—Mrs. Gates.” Jessie spoke through clenched teeth. “Need to ask her something…”

“Ask her what?” He shifted the angle of her arm, increasing the pressure on her shoulder joint. Jessie’s knees buckled from the pain. She’d begun to feel nauseous. Virgil was enjoying this, she realized. It made little difference whether she told him anything or not.

“Please…” she whimpered. “Take me inside. Let me talk to her.”

“About what?” he demanded again. “Any business of Lillian’s is my business.”

“About my…brother. You’ll want to hear this, too.” A wave of dizziness swept over. She was going to pass out, Jessie thought. But her words had caught his interest. Abruptly he loosened his grip. Caught off guard, she crumpled to her knees.

“Come on!” Seizing her other arm, he yanked her
to her feet and up the steps. She stumbled after him, her left boot soggy with blood.

They passed through the entry hall, with its towering grandfather clock, and into the parlor. Hurt and frightened as she was, Jessie could not help being struck by the grandeur of the room, with its crystal chandelier, velvet furnishings and creamy, gold-patterned carpet. But all other thoughts vanished at the sight of the woman who rose from the settee—a woman whose beautiful face exuded a cold evil.

“Did you search her?” Lillian demanded.

When Virgil shook his head, she frowned. “You should have done that before you brought her in here. The little witch could have a gun or a knife on her.”

“I’m not armed. You can see that.” Jessie was still dressed in the close-fitting shirt and trousers she’d put on that morning. Even a small weapon would have made a visible bulge beneath her clothes.

Lillian’s cold eyes looked her up and down. “There’s something in your right pocket. Empty both your pockets, Miss Hammond. No tricks. Then you can tell me what you’ve been doing on our property.”

Jessie reached into her pocket and pulled out the leather pouch containing the coins from the race. Virgil took it from her, hefted it in one hand and, at a stern glance from Lillian, laid it on a side table.

“That’s all?” Lillian asked, one eyebrow sliding upward. “Turn your pockets inside out. I want to make sure you’re not hiding anything.”

Jessie pulled out the lining of the left pocket, which was empty. Her right pocket still held the note. For an instant she considered trying to hide it. But no, they would likely kill her in any case. If she was going to die, she would do it with the truth on her lips.

Meeting Lillian’s feral gaze, she reached into her right pocket and slowly pulled out the lining. The note dropped to the carpet. Lillian glanced at Virgil, who bent over and picked it up. Unbidden, he unfolded the paper and read what Jessie had written.

Watching him, Jessie saw the blood drain from his face. Her heart lurched as she realized what was happening.
Virgil hadn’t known!
Until now, he’d believed it was Frank who’d killed his brother. The truth had hit him like a shot of cold lead, straight through the heart.

“Well, what does it say?” Lillian snapped impatiently. “If the cat’s got your tongue, then give it to me! I’ll read it myself!”

She took the paper from his rigid hand. Jessie saw her pale beneath her rouge as she read it, but she recovered her poise, crumpled the note and tossed it to the floor. “Rubbish!” she exclaimed. “The girl’s delusional, or she wants money! Frank Hammond killed my husband, we all know that!”

“No.” Jessie spoke up boldly, knowing the words might be her last. “I was waiting for Frank by the creek that night. He told me what happened. Allister made him drop the rifle. Then the stallion reared, knocking Allister down. Frank jumped on the horse and got away, but he was so scared that he left his rifle behind.”

“No!” Lillian’s eyes swung from Jessie to Virgil, who appeared to be in shock. “She’s lying! It was that horrid boy who shot Allister! I know—I followed Allister outside that night. I was watching. I saw him do it!”

“You saw Frank leave the rifle,” Jessie said calmly. “As he rode away you saw your chance. You came out to the corral, picked up the gun and used it to make yourself a rich widow.”

“You little liar!” Lillian’s hand flashed out, striking Jessie’s face. Jessie stood like stone, her gaze unflinching.

“You know she’s lying, don’t you, Virgil?” Lillian’s voice betrayed a thread of fear as she reached out and clasped Virgil’s arm. “Tell me you believe me, dearest!”

He stared down at her white hand, where it lay on his dark sleeve. “You told me—and told the marshal—that you were in the house when you heard the shot. You never said you followed Allister outside. Not until now. So who’s lying? You tell me.”

She turned on him, suddenly wild. “You promised me you’d do it! That first night in your room, you said you’d kill him for me. But you didn’t have the guts, did you? I waited and waited. Finally I saw the perfect chance, and I took it! I did it for us, Virgil! For you and me!”

Virgil stared down at her, his mouth twisting with emotion. “I’d have promised anything to get you in my bed, Lil,” he said. “But murder my own brother? Lord, woman, I’ve done some bad things in my time, but I could never do that! When he got shot, and it looked like the Hammond kid did it, I figured maybe that was how things were meant to be.”

“It was! It is!” Lillian flung her arms around him as Jessie, almost forgotten now, edged toward the door. “We can have a fine life now, everything we ever wanted—”

He pulled away from her. “I’ve got to give this some thought, Lil.”

She seized the front of his shirt, her eyes savage now. “So help me, Virgil, if you turn against me now, I’ll take you down with me! I’ll say you were in on Allister’s murder, that we planned it together—”

Jessie didn’t wait to hear more. She was out of the parlor, racing through the entry hall, out the front door and onto the portico. Her leg was still bleeding, but her fear was stronger than her pain. She ran full out.

The iron bar Virgil had dropped lay at the foot of
the steps. Remembering the dog, Jessie snatched it up and kept on running. As she reached the corral fence, she heard the scream of a woman’s voice. The sound faltered, broke and ended in blood-chilling silence.

Jessie had just passed the barn when she heard the dog. It was coming fast behind her, panting and snarling. Knowing she couldn’t outrun the creature, she raised the bar and turned, braced to meet the flashing fangs.

But the sight of the bar was enough. As Jessie held it up, her arm poised to strike, the dog turned tail and slunk back toward the house. Weak with relief, Jessie gathered her strength for the final sprint to the creek. Virgil would be coming after her as soon as he could mount his big piebald horse. After what she’d seen and heard, Jessie knew he could not afford to let her get away.

Glancing toward the house, she saw a dancing light in the parlor window. But there was no time to wonder what was happening or to think about the scream she’d heard. She had to get to her mare and get away from here.

She could feel the spongy wetness in her boot as she ran, but there was no pain. When she got to a safe place, she would stop and wrap her leg. Until then it would just have to bleed.

A dry wind had sprung up, rippling the long pas
ture grass like waves on a waterless sea. Ahead in the moonlight she could see the willows that edged the creek. Gypsy snorted nervously at her approach, as if sensing terror in the air. Jessie untied the mare and flung herself into the saddle. As they turned toward the main road, some half-heard sound made her look back toward the house.

Flames were shooting out of the lower windows, rising as high as the roof.

By the time she passed the cemetery, Jessie knew she was being followed. Pausing to listen behind her, she heard, above the pounding of her heart, not one set of hoofbeats, but two. Virgil, she calculated, must have stayed behind and sent his hired guns after her. They would have orders to make sure she didn’t live to tell what she knew.

And what did she know? As the mare flew along the moonlit road, she tried to piece together what had happened. Before Jessie had escaped, she’d heard Lillian confess to shooting Allister and threaten to implicate Virgil if he turned her in. After that, judging from the scream, Virgil could have attacked the woman, maybe strangled or stabbed her, then set the house on fire to cover his crime. Or maybe they’d struggled, knocking over a kerosene lamp and setting the room ablaze.

A sickening fear curdled Jessie’s stomach as she realized what she’d set in motion tonight. It didn’t make any difference whether she lived or died. She’d
been at the ranch. Her tracks were on the ground. Assuming he survived the fire, Virgil would blame her for setting fire to the house—and he would be believed. Why not? It was no secret that she hated the Gates family, or that she’d burned her own ranch before Virgil took possession of the place. Who wouldn’t believe him?

Even Matt?

Her pursuers were still behind her, holding their own, maybe even gaining. This time there was no chance of losing them in the mountains.

Less than a mile ahead, a wagon trail branched off the main road and cut north toward the Tolliver Ranch. Jessie hadn’t wanted to involve the Tollivers in her problems but now she had no choice.

Hunching over Gypsy’s neck, Jessie dug in her heels and shot northward across the prairie.

Matt emerged from the trees below the burned-out Hammond place. Here, where the trail followed the open ridge, he could look out over the valley below.

What he saw stopped his heart.

Beyond Felton, where the land dropped down toward Goose Creek, a crimson glow blazed and flickered, spreading like a bloody wound against the dark night sky.

Fire. And the flames appeared to be coming from the Gates Ranch.

Even at a frantic pace, it took him half an hour to descend the steep trail. By the time Matt thundered down the wagon road and into the town, the streets of Felton were swarming with activity. Men, women and children were outside staring at the fiery sky as if the Second Coming were at hand.

“What’s going on?” He stopped a bearded man carrying several empty buckets.

“Fire at the Gates place! I hear the house is too far gone to save, but we’re goin’ out to help. In this wind…” He looked up at the sky and shook his head. “Maybe we can at least keep it from spreadin’ to the prairie.”

“Does anybody know how it started?”

“I heard tell it was the Hammond girl. Makes sense, bein’ she burned down her own place afore Virgil took it over.”

Matt had already known what he would hear. Still, he felt as if his heart were sinking into his stomach. All his instincts told him Jessie was innocent. True, she was rash and impulsive, but she was no fool. She would have known that she was sure to be blamed for such an act.

And the person who’d set the fire would have known it, too.

Steering his horse through the crowd, Matt made for the road that cut out of town to the Gates Ranch.

As he forded the shallow creek and emerged from
the willows, he had a clear view of the blazing house. It appeared that the fire had started on the ground floor. The lower walls had burned first. Now they were beginning to collapse under the weight of the second story. Anyone trapped inside would be cinders by now.

Tying Copper at a safe distance, Matt covered the rest of the ground on foot. His gut churned as he raced closer. Men, women and horses, bathed in the hellish glow of the flames, milled in the yard. A bucket brigade had been formed from the cistern to the barn, but it was plain to see that if the roof caught fire from windblown sparks, nothing could be done. The air was rank with smoke. It filled Matt’s lungs and burned his eyes as he searched the crowd for the one face he knew he wouldn’t find.

Virgil Gates was standing in the ring of watchers, a dazed expression on his soot-streaked face. There was no sign of Lillian.

Catching his attention, Matt beckoned him aside. He had to raise his voice to be heard above the din of roaring flames and shouting men.

“What happened, Virgil? Where’s Mrs. Gates?”

Raw-eyed, Virgil stared at the blazing house. “Lil’s in there. She couldn’t make it out, and I couldn’t get to her. It was that little Hammond bitch that done it! She set the fire!”

“Did you see her do it?” Matt forced himself to speak calmly.

Virgil shook his head as he fumbled in his vest pocket. “I was in the barn. Heard the dog barking, came out and saw the fire. But I know it was her. I found this outside.” He held up the leather pouch from the race, then thrust it into Matt’s hand. “I recognized her in Sheridan when she won this, Marshal, and I saw you ride off to give it to her!”

Matt swallowed the leaden taste in his mouth. “Where’s Miss Hammond now? Have you seen her?”

Again Virgil shook his head. “Fire started inside the house. Far as I know, she could be in there, too. Maybe the dog kept her from gettin’ out. He’s a mean son of a gun and he don’t like strangers. That’s why I bought him.”