Wyoming Wildfire (Harlequin Historical) (16 page)

Matt turned away long enough to compose his features. Inside, he was all but screaming. Jessie couldn’t have done this. And she couldn’t be gone. His mind could not accept what he’d heard until he’d seen solid evidence.

But wasn’t he holding that evidence in his hand right now? The leather pouch, with the five gold coins inside, was a sure sign that Jessie had been here. It didn’t prove she’d started the fire, or that she’d been trapped in the burning house, but it led reason in that direction.

“I loved Lil, you know, Marshal,” Virgil said, star
ing at the house. “I know it wasn’t right, her bein’ my brother’s widow, but we meant to be married after her mourning was done.”

“I’m sorry,” Matt said, thinking of what he’d have to tell Virgil later. According to the message from St. Louis, Lillian had been wed three times before she met and married Allister. All of her husbands had been wealthy, and each one had died under suspicious circumstances. But no investigator had been able to pin the blame on the glamorous widow.

Lillian had almost surely killed Allister as well. The motive, means and opportunity had come together when Frank Hammond had fled the corral with the stallion, leaving his rifle behind. Jessie must have guessed as much. But burning down the house, killing the one person who could prove her brother’s innocence, made no sense at all. Jessie wouldn’t have started the fire, not unless it had been an accident.

Heartsick, Matt walked as close as he dared to the burning house. Heat seared his face, singeing his hair and eyebrows as he stared into the flames. The inside of the house was an inferno. Nothing could be alive in there.

But Lord, how could Jessie be gone? How could he not know it? How could he not feel it in the black emptiness of his soul?

Only as he backed away did he happen to glance
down. There on the concrete step of the portico was a small, instantly recognizable boot print.

The first thing Matt noticed about the print was that it was leading away from the front door, not toward it. Jessie could have been leaving when she’d left the track.

Dropping to a crouch, Matt looked closer. His breath stopped as he noticed something else.

The print of Jessie’s thin, worn-out boot was etched in blood.

Jessie rounded the last bend in the road and saw, at last, the distant lights of the Tolliver Ranch. Pausing for a moment, she patted the mare’s lathered side. “Almost there, girl! Then it’s rest and oats for you!”

Straining her ears, she listened for the sound of galloping hoofbeats on the road behind her. She heard nothing except the wind whispering in the long prairie grass and the nighttime songs of crickets. Where were her pursuers? Had they given up? Had she finally lost them?

Nudging Gypsy to a trot, she headed for the light that glowed behind the windows of the rambling log house. Virgil’s hired thugs would know better than to follow her to the ranch, Jessie told herself. There would be enough armed cowhands around the place to hold off a small army.

Knowing the Tollivers, she’d likely be offered a
good meal, a hot bath and a clean, soft bed, all of which she would gratefully accept. Her bitten leg, which was still oozing blood, would need to be cleaned and bandaged as well. But first she would sit down with Morgan Tolliver and tell him everything that had happened. If he had any reservations about taking her in, she would leave first thing in the morning.

As the light grew brighter and nearer, her thoughts returned to Matt. Would he guess that she was here and come to her? Or had he washed his hands of her once and for all?

One way or another, Matt would learn about the fire. He would hear the accusations that were bound to arise and, likely as not, he’d believe them. Why shouldn’t he believe them? Why shouldn’t everyone?

Heaven help her, she was in so much trouble. Maybe the smartest thing would be to disappear, leave the territory, change her name and make a new start someplace else. But right now she was hurt and exhausted, and her mare couldn’t last another mile. Her plans for the future would have to wait until morning.

On closer approach, the ranch seemed unusually quiet. The bunkhouse was dark, the corral almost emptied of horses. It was branding time, Jessie realized. Most of the cowhands would be camped out on the range, rounding up the herds and branding the new calves before driving them up to summer pasture in the mountains.

In the house, lamps still burned in the curtained parlor. The hour was late, but not so late that everyone would have gone to bed. If Morgan was out with the branding crew, at least his wife might be home. At this hour she’d probably be reading or sewing, relaxing at the end of a long day.

Jessie hadn’t visited the ranch since before her parents’ death, so she’d never met the new Mrs. Tolliver. She could only hope Morgan had alerted his wife that she might be coming and that the woman wouldn’t be put out by her presence.

A vague uneasiness prickled through her as she looped Gypsy’s reins over the hitching rail and mounted the steps to the wide covered porch. The front door was closed. She rapped once, then again, her ears straining for an answer in the silence.

At last she heard a stirring from the parlor and the sound of light, rapid footsteps. The latch clicked and the door slowly opened.

The woman who stood in the dim entry, dressed in a simple blue gown, was only a little taller than Jessie herself. Her dainty features were enhanced by a tumble of dark red curls and expressive blue eyes—eyes that, Jessie realized suddenly, were wide with terror.

“You must be Jessie,” she said in a taut whisper. “I’m Cassandra Tolliver. Please—come in.”

Only as she crossed the threshold did Jessie see
the stocky shadow behind the door and catch the glimmer of lamplight on a gap-toothed grin. “’Bout time you showed up, girlie,” said the man called Lem. “Ringo and me, we been waitin’ for you.”

T
he cold pistol jabbing against her ribs told Jessie that she’d made a fatal mistake. She could only guess that Virgil’s hired guns had realized where she was going and taken some unknown shortcut to the ranch, planning to cut her off. Finding Morgan’s wife alone, they’d decided to force their way into the house and take her hostage.

Cassandra walked back into the parlor. She moved like a puppet, her body rigid and trembling. Following her, Jessie saw the reason why.

Ringo sat in an armchair with his long legs crossed and his rifle balanced across one knee. Across the room, huddled on the settee, were three children—a girl of five or six with her mother’s russet curls and a pair of younger twin boys with straight black hair and dark, frightened eyes. All three were dressed in
their nightclothes. They looked rumpled and dazed, as if they’d just been rousted out of bed.

Cassandra sank onto the settee and caught her children close, protecting them with her body. Ringo grinned, his mouth splitting the ugly white scar that zigzagged down his face.

“Right pleased to see you, Miss Hammond. My friend and I have orders to arrest you and take you back to Felton as our prisoner.”

“Arrest her?” Cassandra had recovered her spunk. “That’s poppycock! You two aren’t lawmen! What are you claiming she’s done?”

“The charges,” Ringo drawled, as if savoring each syllable, “are trespassing, arson and murder, namely the murder of Mrs. Lillian Gates.”

“You’ve got it wrong.” Jessie kept her eyes on Ringo, but her words were for Cassandra. “I admit to trespassing. But I didn’t start the fire, and I certainly didn’t murder anyone.”

Ringo’s skeletal grin widened. “That’s not what Virgil says. You come on back to Felton with us now, Miss Hammond. I’m sure we can get this little misunderstanding cleared up in no time.”

Jessie’s gaze darted from the gunman to Morgan’s wife, who was still huddled on the settee with her children. The Tollivers had offered her refuge and she had brought danger into their home. Whatever happened, she could not allow this precious family to be harmed.

Lem and Ringo would not be taking her back to Felton, she knew. They would have orders from Virgil to kill her and dump her body where it would never be found. But Cassandra and her children would be safer not knowing that. For their sake, she had to stage a show of bravery.

“Fine,” she said, stepping toward the door. “Let’s get back to Felton so I can tell my side of the story. I’m certain Marshal Sims will be very interested.”

The two men exchanged startled glances. Clearly, they’d thought she would put up a fight, and they’d planned to control her by threatening Cassandra and the children. Now that would not be necessary.

Ignoring the guns, Jessie strode toward the entry hall. “Well, what are you waiting for?” she demanded, pausing in the doorway. “Let’s get moving!”

She walked out to the porch. For the space of a heartbeat, she was tempted to make a break, run for her horse or dive into some hiding place. But that would leave the two gunmen alone with Morgan’s family. She would not risk their safety for her own chance to escape.

Lem went off to get their mounts, which he’d hidden behind one of the sheds. Ringo kept the rifle on Jessie. His reptilian eyes watched her every move as she climbed onto her mare. Gypsy was worn out, but the other horses would be, too, she reminded herself. Wherever they were taking her, they wouldn’t be able to hurry.

After Lem brought the horses around, he held his pistol on her while Ringo tied her hands behind her back. Jessie thought of Frank and the helplessness he must have felt as Matt cuffed his hands behind him. But she could no longer blame Matt for what had happened. He had only done what any lawman would do. It was her own interference, along with the sudden appearance of the vigilantes, that had triggered her brother’s accident.

Strange, she thought, how things became clear when one was about to die.

The two men mounted up, flanking her closely on either side. Lem shot her a leering grin as they moved out of the yard and passed beneath the gate. Jessie looked straight ahead, her mind working frantically. How much time did she have left? Hours? Minutes? She would use that time to learn all she could. The more she knew about their plan, the better chance she’d have of escaping. Right now, only one thing was certain—she had nothing to lose.

“You know, that fire on the ranch is bound to ruin Virgil,” she said. “You two boys probably won’t even get paid for this job, especially if your boss ends up in jail. If I were in your shoes, I’d be on my way to greener pastures somewhere else.”

There was a long breath of silence, in which the two men seemed to be digesting the fact that this woman wasn’t going to cry and beg for mercy.

“We already talked about that,” Lem said. “We’ll be clearin’ out afore long, maybe goin’ to California. But first we’s gonna have us a little farewell party—and you’re invited, girlie.” He snorted, spraying drops of moisture. “Invited, hell, you’re gonna be the guest of honor!”

“Shut up, Lem,” Ringo muttered. “You talk too much.”

“Oh, no!” Jessie protested. “I like parties! Please, tell me more!”

Lem spat between the gap in his teeth. “Well, this friend of ours, Ike Holdaway, he’s got a cabin up in these hills where we’re headed. Only thing is, Ike don’t need the cabin no more on account of he got sent up for bank robbery. An’ he don’t need the stash of whiskey jugs he left under the floor, neither. So me an’ Ringo we figured with the cabin, the whiskey an’ a purty little thing like you, we could have ourselves a real good time!”

Jessie suppressed a convulsive shudder. “And what about taking me back to Felton?” she asked innocently. “I’d like to tell my story to Marshal Sims.”

“That can wait,” Ringo growled. “Now stop yammering, you two, and let’s ride!”

He nudged his horse to an easy trot. Jessie did the same, hoping the faster pace would leave deeper tracks, in case anyone tried to trail them.

But she wasn’t optimistic about that. Morgan Tol
liver was on the roundup, and Matt would have no way of knowing she was in trouble. He probably thought she was still on the mountain, right where he’d left her.

At least Lem and Ringo didn’t plan to kill her right away, Jessie reminded herself. But if she couldn’t get away from them, she would wish they had.

Matt had spent a frantic hour searching the Gates Ranch and the brushy land around it. He had torn through the outbuildings, circled the scrubby hills and waded between the willow-hung banks of the creek. Everywhere he’d looked, he’d imagined Jessie huddled there in the shadows, wounded, bleeding and terrified. But all the shadows had been empty. He had found no trace of her.

Focusing his thoughts, he tried to put himself in her place. Her cabin was hours away, and the mountains were treacherous at night. If she was scared and bleeding, where would she go to find safety?

Unless she had friends he wasn’t aware of, there was just one likely answer.

Finding his horse, Matt sprang into the saddle and headed for the Tolliver Ranch at a gallop.

By the time he sighted the ranch house, the full moon had crested the sky and was slipping toward the western hills. Matt had not expected to find any
one awake at this hour, but the windows of the main house blazed with light. As he pounded through the gate, he recognized Morgan’s roan tied to the hitching rail. A slight, dark young man was leading a sturdy bay out of the barn.

Matt reached the house and flung himself out of the saddle. Morgan had come out onto the porch, followed by a petite redhead that Matt guessed to be his wife. Clearly agitated, she was carrying a heavy cartridge belt.

“Jessie Hammond—is she here?” Matt demanded.

“She was.” Morgan took the belt from his wife and buckled it around his lean hips. “You’re just in time to help me go after her, Marshal.”

“They took her,” Morgan’s wife broke in. “Two awful men, one with a missing tooth, and one with a scar, like this.” She traced a zigzag line down her pretty face. “They called each other Lem and Ringo, and they said they were taking her back to Felton—” She shook her russet curls. “I’m sure Jessie knew that was a lie. She went willingly, Marshal, but I know it was only because she was afraid they’d hurt the children.”

Matt swallowed stomach-curdling fear as the truth sank home.

“How long ago were they here?” he managed to ask.

“About three hours,” Morgan said. “Cassandra sent Johnny up to the camp to fetch me. We got back
here just a few minutes ago.” He nodded toward the slim, dark young man who was shifting the saddle from the roan to the bay. “Get the Marshal a fresh horse, too, Johnny. He’s going to need it.”

“Right away.” His pale face flashed in the darkness, and Matt was startled to see that his features were Chinese.

Morgan had noticed Matt’s surprise. “Johnny’s the son of Chang, our cook,” he explained. “Best damned cowboy you ever saw. He’ll make foreman one day if he stays around.”

Ten minutes later they were ready to go. Johnny Chang, who would stay behind and guard the house, had brought Matt a deep-chested gray gelding and taken Copper to the barn. Judging from the angle of the stars, the time was close to two in the morning.

It would be a dangerous mission. At the top of the porch steps, Morgan caught his wife in his arms for a brief but passionate farewell kiss. Watching them from his horse, Matt made a silent vow. If he had to choose between preserving his own life or Morgan’s, he would make sure this man returned whole and safe to his family.

Was Morgan his brother? The question flashed through Matt’s mind as they rode away from the ranch and picked up the trail where the riders had left the wagon road. But the answer no longer mattered.
Right now, nothing mattered except finding Jessie and getting her safely back.

The cabin was small but solidly built, with thick log walls and a corrugated tin roof. Out back there was a privy. Lem freed Jessie’s hands and held the pistol on her while she went inside to use it. The cramped space was filthy and infested with big cat-face spiders, but at least it offered some privacy.

In the darkness, she rolled up her pants leg and felt her calf where the dog had bitten her. The wound was caked with dried blood that had soaked her stocking and spread through the worn sole of her boot, but the oozing appeared to have stopped. The bite was the least of her worries, Jessie reminded herself as she came outside to a sky that was just beginning to fade in the east. Right now her captors were tired and hungry. This could be the best time to lull them into lowering their guard.

Lem did not retie her hands, but the pistol he jammed against her ribs was enough to keep her from running. From the front of the cabin Jessie heard the sound of splintering wood. Coming around the corner, she saw that Ringo had pried the padlocked hasp off the thick wooden door.

Inside, the cabin was as filthy as the privy had been. Half-eaten dishes of food moldered on the crude plank table, as if someone had left in the mid
dle of a meal and never come back. The tabletop was littered with mouse droppings, the floor with bones and bottles. Jessie clenched her jaws to keep from gagging.

A bed with a ragged quilt and a dirty, bloodstained mattress stood in one corner. Unable to bear looking at it, Jessie turned back toward the kitchen. “I don’t know about you boys, but I could do with some breakfast!” she declared. “There’s not much to work with here, but I’ll bet I could rustle us up some flapjacks!”

Lem’s pale eyes widened expectantly, but Ringo wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I’d rather starve than eat anything in this pigsty,” he growled. “All I want from here is a good drunk and a few pokes. After that, you’ll be bound for the promised land, Miss Hammond. So you can drop that cheerful act. You’re not fooling me.” His head jerked toward Lem. “Help me tie the little bitch to the bed. Then we’ll look for that whiskey!”

Jessie began to struggle as they grabbed her arms. Small as she was, she was fighting for her life, and it took both men to hold her. Ringo’s thin fingers, as strong as steel wire, closed around her arm. Twisting sharply, she found the back of his hand with her mouth and bit down with all her strength. For an instant she tasted the hot spurt of his blood. Then his free hand struck her face in a slap so brutal that it nearly broke her jaw.

Jessie reeled backward. Lem caught her from behind, pinioning her arms while Ringo slapped her again. Blood from his bitten hand streamed down the front of his clean white shirt. “Try that again, bitch, and I’ll kill you,” he snarled.

The two men gagged Jessie with a bandanna and maneuvered her onto the bed, which was no more than a platform supported by wooden posts at each corner. Lashing her wrists together, they pulled her arms to the corner of the mattress, dropped the rope over the edge and knotted it around one sturdy wooden leg. Jessie’s struggles only tightened the rough hemp around her wrists, making it dig into her flesh.

Hurting, she lay still while the two men pried up a floorboard and rummaged for the cache of whiskey. Lem’s raucous whoop told her they’d found it.

How drunk would they be when they turned on her? Jessie could only lie on the filthy bed and will herself not to feel what they would do.

Dawn was a sliver of light above the prairie when Matt and Morgan spotted the cabin. Leaving their mounts downslope, they took their guns and crept upward on foot through the trees.

The hillside structure was built like a fort—solid log walls and high, narrow windows. With enough supplies, a man inside could hold off an army. Matt hoped to hell they wouldn’t have to fight their way in.

Three horses were tethered nearby in the trees. One of them was Jessie’s mare. Unless they’d already killed her, Jessie would be inside the cabin, scared, hurt and likely raped by the bastards as well. The thought of what they might have done made him want to charge the door, kick it in and shoot them full of bloody holes. But he’d come to save Jessie, he reminded himself. In an all-out gunfight, she would be the first to die.

“I know this place,” Morgan whispered. “There’s a window in back, and the land slopes up behind it. If you can distract them from the front, I’ll go around and try to get the drop on them.”