His Most Wanted (15 page)

Chapter Fifteen

Kit felt more at home in a saloon among the other gamblers, swindlers, cardsharps and gunslingers of the river than anywhere else. That's why when Ben came to town with news from the ranch, he invited the grizzled old sot along for a drink and a game of cards with the mayor. If Thorntree felt relaxed enough in their company, he might say something that could lead to the truth behind Deputy Hazen's murder.

Yet soon after the card game began, Kit wondered if bringing Ben had been a mistake. The ranch hand and former soldier had polished off his first liquor bottle before the second hand was dealt. He'd told Kit about the message that had arrived at the ranch in his absence. The Wainwright family solicitor in St. Louis had arranged for the purchase of the ranch's first cattle from Texas. And a rider had come to notify that the animals were on their way. The messenger had also spoken of some other arrangements in St. Louis, but Kit couldn't recollect exactly what that was about. Probably more of his uncle's possessions had been sold or something trivial like that. So much had happened since St. Louis and Uncle Bart's death that the details seemed a distant blur.

The mayor dragged the whiskey bottle across the table and, finding it empty, waved to the bartender for another. He'd had less to drink than Ben, but his smiles were growing easier, his posture more lax.

Kit slapped him on the back. “When are you gonna come visit the Row with me, Mayor?”

Thorntree chuckled. “You seem to take a lot of interest in those ladies, Sheriff. Take care. Mustn't let the town see where your cock leads you.”

It was Ben's turn to shuffle. He attempted a flourish, but his gnarled hands sent the cards scattering across the tabletop. “Oh, lan's sake,” he grumbled.

Kit grinned and kept the conversation going as he helped Ben collect the strewn deck. “Come on. You have to admit there are some lovely ladies down in those old houses. The Willows especially.”

“I'm a married man.” Thorntree drained his glass, his eyes trained on the bartender.

Kit kept the conversation going, “Well, I've never been lucky enough to find a woman who would keep me, but if I did, I'd want a lady as vivacious as—”

The mayor stopped him with a lifted palm. “It's not polite to speak of the bordellos in public.” He shifted nervously in his seat, bristling with indignation.

Too soon.
He needed more whiskey. Where was that bartender?

“Yes, indeed.” Ben grinned sheepishly. “Back when the army was still here, before Cora Reilly owned the Willows, a lot of us soldiers used to go there. Had ourselves a good time, we did. Parties, drinking, music. 'Course, nobody talked about it afterward for fear we'd get in trouble or they would close the place down.”

Kit regarded the old man. Though it was difficult to imagine, he supposed Ben had been much like him twenty years or more ago. “Never had a wife of your own, old timer?”

Ben's eyes crinkled with a smile as he dealt the cards. “No. Back in my army days, visiting that hen house every so often was enough for me. I quit going after…well, never mind.”

“After what?” Kit knew the military had pulled out of Fort McNamara at least twenty years ago.

Ben belched and then lowered his voice, “After the Murtagh girl was born. I don't think any of us went back after that.”

Murtagh? As in Judge Murtagh? The question formed on his tongue, but catching the mayor's steady warning gaze, he let it drop.

Ben put the rest of the deck in the middle of the table. “Yep. Sad thing about bordellos in those days. All the babies.”

After two more hands of cards and another bottle, Ben was finished and Thorntree was too. The old man was drunk and needed their help to get to the hotel. Kit wanted to kick himself for enabling Ben to repeat the bad habit, and he vowed it would never happen again. The man was too valuable to him and the ranch, but more importantly, he'd become a friend. If helping Ben stay sober meant giving up the bottle himself, so be it. Kit would avoid the saloon.

Once they had the ranch hand safely in his hotel room for the night. Kit was alone with the mayor again. They strolled across the road from the cell where Cora was still being held, and he felt the tug at his heart, wanting to see her, speak with her again.

Later.

His anxious gaze found Jupiter and another armed volunteer standing guard in a darkened corner. They exchanged a nod.

Thorntree shoved his hands in his pockets. “Where are you staying, Wainwright? Or wait…don't tell me.” He shook his head and grumbled, “Still the Willows?”

Kit didn't answer, but he couldn't let this moment pass without one more attempt to get to the answers he needed. “Ben said there was a Murtagh born in the bordello. Did he mean…” Kit recalled Irish judge's now snowy white hair. Millie was a redhead. “Millicent?”

Ray's step faltered before he recovered. “I think it best if we don't speak of it either. That sort of thing can hurt a man's career.”

Without another word, the mayor turned and strolled back the way they'd come, leaving Kit alone to walk the rest of the way.

Could Millie be the judge's bastard daughter? Did the judge know? Did Millie?

A more chilling thing to ponder, had Sidlow and his deputy known? Perhaps that was why they were dead now. Cora had said Sidlow mentioned knowing a secret that would make the bordello rich.

Damnation, if his uncle had been such good friends with Judge Murtagh, he would've known about the baby too. Both of them had probably even gone to the whorehouse together.
Hypocrites.
How could they have sowed their oats back then and now condemn others for it, including Kit?

So Murtagh could have fathered a child at the Willows? If that were true, Kit knew how he might ferret out the truth.

The next day, feeling more anxious than a virgin on her wedding night, Cora chewed a fingernail as she waited by the jail's window while dusk fell. Somewhere far down the street, Kit and Jupiter lingered near the livery, too distant for her to see.

Kit's plan seemed a good one. She prayed it would work. Her life depended on it.

The Willows appeared to be thriving without her thanks to Millie's quick thinking. She and Kit had created an outlaw theme for the social. Andrea had fashioned masks made of velvet for the party guests that night. Customers would receive the masks when they arrived, thus taking advantage of Cora's reputation as Velvet Grace, the gun-wielding madam.

Millie had reported that nearly all the recipients of the invitations had accepted and even some of their wives.

Her friend had seemed so relieved things were going well with the club that Cora hadn't been able to break the news to her. Millie had no idea who her father was, so Cora felt she could wait a little longer. Cora knew Judge Murtagh by reputation, and the whole town had mixed feelings about the man's ideas of justice with all his hangings. If he'd known Millie was his daughter, he'd never bothered to claim her. Millie would need some time to accept her parent's complete abandonment of her regardless of who he was.

And then there was the chance that someone had killed the deputy to keep Millie's paternity a secret.

At Kit's request, Cora had written an anonymous letter to the judge, asking him to meet at the mercantile and bring two thousand dollars. If Murtagh was the killer, and even if he wasn't, hopefully he would show up to find out who'd written the letter. And if he did, Kit and Jupiter would be waiting for him. Meanwhile, the club and its party were under the protection of Kit's men.

Presently, a shadowy figure walked up the deserted street toward the livery. Cora's heart lodged in her throat. If only Kit would let her out.

She held her pistol and rubbed her thumb over the smooth mother-of-pearl handle, preparing herself. If things went badly and Kit needed her help, she would be ready.

Suddenly, the rusty chain jingled on her cell door and the lock fell away with a soft jangle, making her jump. She glanced back at the two figures in the street. They were still there, not seeming to have noticed the sound she'd heard.

Wielding her gun, she crept closer to the cell door as it opened.

“Cora?”

“Ray?” She lowered her weapon as the mayor poked his head inside.

“Are you all right? I've felt so bad about having you in here these past few days.” He came inside, hands outstretched as if to embrace her.

She hid the gun behind her back, remembering Kit and the trouble he'd be in if the mayor knew he'd armed her. “I'm as fine as a lady can be. Though an outhouse would be nice.” The chamber pot in the corner was a constant source of discomfort.

He shook his head sadly. “I'm so sorry. I've often thought about your circumstances.”

“You have? But you had me arrested.” Something in his demeanor raised the hair on her arms. And…was that the glimmer of his teeth in a smile?

He stalked closer. She curled a finger over the trigger of her gun.

“I think it best if you stayed behind bars. Better for the sheriff, better for the Willows, better for Millie—” His voice broke on her friend's name.

“Better for you, Ray?” she finished.

He nodded. “I love that lady, Cora. I'd leave my Estelle for her, but it wouldn't make any damn difference, because you don't allow Millie to see anyone.” His voice grew raspy, and he was close enough she felt his breath stir her hair. He circled her slowly, so she had to turn to keep the gun hidden. “She told me she loves me, wants to be with me like that, but she can't because of you. Says she wouldn't want to disappoint you. If she had her way of things, the two of us could be together.”

Millie had never told her about any of this, but the lady was very private. “Really, Ray. If you both want each other so bad, I won't stop you.”

“You're the only family she's got. She'd do anything for you.” He shot out a hand, grabbing her arm like a steel trap. “I'd do
anything
for her.”

His hold kept her from lifting the gun. She traded hands, bringing the gun between them in her left. She heard his sharp intake of breath, registering his surprise.

“Ray, don't make me use this.”

“I don't want to hurt you, Cora. I just…I can't.” He reached for her hand holding the gun, but she pushed back.

When he stumbled, she sprang for the open door and ran outside. But he was right behind her. He grabbed her elbow, spinning her around.

“You killed the deputy,” she shouted, struggling against his grip while he tried to pry the weapon from her fingers.

“No!” he cried. “I would never shoot anyone.”

He was stronger than she was, and his force on her arm bit straight to the bone, making her let go. He turned the gun, aiming it at her chest so she felt the metal through her clothing.

“I can't…I can't live without Millie,” he sobbed. “Please Cora, you've got to tell her it's okay.” He broke into tears and moved the gun away from her.

Relief flooded through her as Ray's head lolled forward, coming to rest on her shoulder. He was lovesick, not crazy. There was no way this man was the deputy's killer.

She sighed raggedly, touching his shoulder. “It'll be fine. I'll talk to her, but you've got to tell Estelle first. Let her down easy.” She rubbed his arm comfortingly, surreptitiously retrieving the pistol from his limp grip. “Don't you worry. If you love Millie, and she tells me she loves you too, there's nothing that'll stand in your way. Do you two honestly think me such a tyrant I wouldn't let you be together?” She bit the inside of her lip, wondering if Millie reciprocated the mayor's feelings. She'd never seen it before, but then again, Millie was extremely devoted to her and very private with her emotions. It was possible…

“No, Cora. She…we both like you. Christ, even my wife and half the town likes you. This week's been hell on me. Everyone keeps coming by, asking me to have the sheriff release you. I'm so sick of trying to do what's best for Fort McNamara. First, they wanted the club closed, and now they want it to stay open. Nobody can live up to their expectations.”

Nor could they allow a mayor to keep a bordello mistress. No wonder Ray was having such a hard time. “I think you need a drink.” She slid her hand in the crook of his elbow. Perhaps they could slip into the saloon and find a quiet corner with most of the town at the Willows tonight.

Yes, a drink for him, and then she could go check on Kit. She prayed it wouldn't be too late.

Chapter Sixteen

Kit rounded the corner of the livery, saddened by Judge Murtagh's approach in the darkened street. Apparently, Cora's threatening letter had worked, otherwise the man would be at home, entertaining his wife's dinner guests. The message left no room for misinterpretation.

I know you killed Jim Hazen and why you did it.

Bring $2000 to the front of the mercantile tonight after sundown or I'll tell everyone your secret.

Kit lifted the lantern in his left hand, illuminating the grim-faced judge in a signal he'd planned with Jupiter to notify the deputy of the older man's arrival. If all went well, Murtagh would answer Kit's questions, either admitting or denying his guilt in killing Hazen. If things didn't go well, Jupiter sat perched in the window of the hay loft ready with a rifle if needed—though Kit seldom required any help in that respect. When it came time to face an opponent's gun, he was always the last man standing.

Now if only he could be sure the judge was telling the truth.

Murtagh halted, eyes widening. “Christopher Wainwright? I never expected you to send me a threat,” he barked. His chest puffed with indignation, pulling tight the vest he wore over a white shirt. He wore no coat to hide the gun strapped on his hip, an old army-issued Colt Paterson revolver. His wise gaze traveled down the street, then up the building to where Jupiter was hiding.

The darkened loft provided ample cover for a lookout. Nevertheless, Kit flexed his fingers in anticipation, preparing to draw if necessary. “Did you bring the money?”

He squelched a sense of guilt at involving Jupiter. Being new to town, Kit only trusted him with the important endeavor, being as the young man was brave enough to do whatever it took to help Cora.

“You think I don't have any sense?” Murtagh spit on the ground. “Why would I give you two thousand dollars?”

“You don't want me tellin' your wife that you had a child with a prostitute.”

Murtagh took his pocket watch out and checked the time. Stalling, Kit figured, in an attempt to make him nervous. “Where'd you hear a thing like that, son? Did your uncle tell you that? Sounds like a gossipmonger's had your ear.”

“Oh, I know it's the truth. I have proof.”

The judge returned his watch to his pocket, his slow movement putting his hand above the grip of his weapon. “What proof?”

“A witness. One who's still alive to tell the tale.”

Murtagh stiffened, registering his caution now that he knew someone else was involved who might be watching him at that moment. “There isn't a witness because there isn't a child. My wife is the love of my life, and we never had a baby.”

“When you were in the army, your regiment frequently visited the Row.”

“So now you're after my money? I thought you said you owed me a debt.”

He heard resignation in the judge's tone, no longer denying the child. Disappointment weighed heavily on Kit and burdened his conscience. Perhaps there was still a chance of the man's innocence. Reluctantly, he continued with his plan. “I did you a favor, Murtagh. I became this town's sheriff. Now just like Sheriff Sidlow before me, I'm privy to your secret. You'll pay me or else.”

Murtagh took a deep breath but didn't deny Kit's speculation about Sidlow. “Pay you and then wonder who'll be next? Hell, no. I'll pay you when you kill your witness.”

Kit blinked, certain he'd misunderstood. Recollecting himself, he put on a cool grin. “That's my insurance. If you kill me, they'll kill you.”

“Not if I do business with them instead.”

The judge went for his gun, but Kit, lightning fast, had his out first. Then Jupiter's rifle fired a bullet into the dirt beside Murtagh's feet.

“All right, you bastards.” The judge lifted his hands in the air. “My money's in my vest pocket.”

Keeping his Colt on the judge, he set the lantern behind him and took the man's weapon. “Keep your damned money, Murtagh. Maybe you can share it with your new neighbors in prison.”

“Goddammit, Wainwright. You know it would kill my wife if she knew about that whore. We were preparing for our wedding when that woman became pregnant.”

Kit retrieved the lantern and gestured for the judge to turn around.

It was over. Thank God.

Waiting for Jupiter to join them, he prompted Murtagh to answer more questions. “How much did Hazen ask for before you shot him?”

“Hazen? What makes you think I shot him?”

“Don't play dumb. You wanted me to kill someone on your behalf and then you would've shot me. Of course, you killed the last man who knew your secret and threatened to share it.”

The judge worked his jaws as if he wanted to strangle him. “A thousand. Wouldn't have mattered if he'd asked for ten dollars. I wouldn't have paid a cent. Riffraff like you are better off dead. You're all replaceable. There ain't any difference between a lawman and an outlaw except the metal on your chest.”

“I'm sorry for your wife and her health, but you shoulda thought about who you'd hurt by lying all these years. The prostitute and the child too.”

“That baby became another damned whore.” He laughed. “I've never set eyes on her, but if I did, I'd hang her too. If it hadn't been me conceiving the bastard, some other man would've fathered it. Your uncle, probably. He was in love with the same whore before my regiment had her.”

Cold sweat broke across Kit's forehead. His uncle had been in love with a prostitute? Could it be true? He wanted to press Murtagh for more, but Jupiter was here now.

“What shall we do with him, Sheriff?”

His mood lifted. He handed the judge's revolver to Jupiter, who stuck it safely under his belt. “I think we have a cell that's about to be vacant.” His questions could wait, his heart couldn't.

They marched Murtagh to the stone building. Unable to resist, he called out to Cora, “Are you decent? I've brought a guest, darlin'.”

There was no answer from the cell. Odd. He'd expected her to be waiting at the window, watching to see if all was well.

He rounded the corner of the building. The cell door stood ajar, the chain and lock lying in the street. Shock jolted through him.

“Cora?” he called and swung the lantern inside the jail. The room was empty save for her bed.

“Sheriff!”

He swung around at the sound of Jupiter's cry. His mind on Cora, he didn't see Murtagh pushing the deputy at him until it was too late. Unable to fire his weapon without shooting Jupiter, he couldn't prevent Murtagh from retrieving his weapon from Jupiter's belt. The gun fired, and the bullet struck the young man's leg.

As Jupiter crumbled to the ground, Kit fired at Murtagh, but the tough old judge fired again.

The bullet seared through Kit's right arm. White-hot pain caused his grip to loosen. The gun dropped to the ground as fire poured through his muscle and tissue.

“Kit!” Horrified by the sounds of gunfire, Cora bolted from the empty saloon where she and the mayor sat. Dear God, she'd only gone inside for a moment, intending to pacify Ray with whiskey before coming back. But it was too late, things were already happening. Terrible things from the sound of it.

Outside the jail cell, Kit stood in front of Harvey Murtagh's gun. Jupiter sat on the ground hugging his leg.

She whipped out her pistol and started down the street for them. “Murtagh, drop that gun!”

He gave her a minute glance, keeping one eye on Kit. “You gonna shoot me like you did Sidlow? You did me a favor that night when you pulled the trigger on that bastard. Did you know that, gal?”

Jupiter reached for a rifle on the ground, but the judge kicked it away.

She stiffened. “Let them go, Murtagh. There's no way you can kill all three of us.” Dear God. Just as Kit had suspected, the judge had murdered Deputy Hazen.

Kit raised his hands in surrender and rivulets of blood ran down his right arm.

Her stomach squeezed.
Don't look at him.
She had to be strong and not worry about Kit.
One glance into his eyes, and she'd surely cry.

So the judge didn't think she had it in her? She took a step closer, spread her feet and aimed with arms outstretched the way Kit had taught her. Then she pulled the trigger.

Crack.
The blast sent dirt everywhere. She was too far away.

Murtagh chuckled and swung his firearm in her direction. “Dumb bitch. Just like the rest of those whores.”

She heard the mayor walking up behind her. Ray was unarmed, unable to help. She alone had to stop the judge from killing anyone else. Body trembling, she took three steps closer, bravely aiming for the man's chest this time.

Murtagh's eyes rounded with surprise, apparently not expecting her confidence, and his brief astonishment gave her the time she needed to cock the hammer and fire again.

Crack.
The judge's gun echoed hers in a final blast as he went down, but Ray knocked her off her feet with a timely shove. She dropped the gun from the impact of the fall.

“Christ!” The judge groaned.

She pushed herself up one elbow, scrambling to reach her weapon.

But Kit stepped between her and the judge just as the older man lifted his Colt again. She caught the glint of a weapon in Kit's left hand. “You didn't do my uncle any favor,” he said quietly, staring down the barrel of Murtagh's gun as they aimed at each other. “He owed you a debt because you broke his heart. I realize that now. You were his best friend, and you got the woman he loved pregnant. Then you convinced him he was better off leaving town than marrying her. He hated you for it, and now I understand his dying wish. He sent me back here to finish his business with you.”

Cora grabbed her pistol and rolled up on her knees, ready to shoot at the judge again. She couldn't make out where her bullet had caught the man, but he favored his side as he continued to stare at Kit.

“That's right, son. And I'm not ashamed of it. He was better off without her. She was nothing but a whore, and I proved it to him. She took my money just like she'd have taken any other man's. Just like that whore behind you.”

Kit shook his head. “Uncle Bart loved that woman. What you did was wrong.”

On her feet now, Cora moved to Kit's right side, keeping her sights on Murtagh. “You could've acknowledged your daughter, Judge. Millie's a smart, talented woman, but you've never given her a moment of your time.”

A smile slid over Murtagh's mouth. He looked between the two of them. “Go on and put a bullet in my heart, Wainwright. Settle that debt of old Bart's. I'm as good as dead now to my wife anyhow.” He opened his hand and let his gun fall.

Kit's aim tracked down the judge's chest, ready to do just that.

Leaning close to Kit, she touched his shoulder and felt the tremors coursing through him—the rage and pain he'd banked, allowing no one to see his emotions. He'd loved his uncle dearly and had witnessed the old man suffering for years, grieving for this lost love over the decades. Of course he wanted to avenge his uncle. But would he?

He'd said he always wanted to kill. Always desired to just squeeze the trigger.

She felt Kit shudder, and then he lowered his Colt. “Not this time.” He shook his head and kicked the judge's discarded gun away. Letting the bastard live was more punishment than killing him.

Murtagh scowled and glanced at her. “Oh, for God's sake! You do it, Cora Reilly. Velvet Grace. Or whoever you want to call yourself. You got more balls than half the town. Just shoot me.” His voice was raw and desperate.

“Are you trying to sentence yourself, Judge?” Cora scoffed. “Your wife is ill. If you're alive, at least she'll have that comfort.”

“Comfort?” he grumbled. “How would you know what my wife would find comforting?”

Jupiter limped over and collected his rifle while Murtagh continued to gape at her, incredulous.

“Because I know what it means to love someone,” she mumbled.

Feeling Kit's stare as they moved their prisoner to the jail cell, she turned her head, her face heating.

She'd said too much.

After putting the lock and chain on the building with Murtagh safely inside, the four of them headed toward the Willows since it was nearby. She kept plenty of medical ointments and supplies on hand, and the town doctor was likely already there, enjoying the party's entertainment.

“How's your arm?” she asked Kit quietly, carrying the lantern while they walked behind Jupiter. Her friend hobbled slowly with the mayor's assistance.

“Not too bad. I can move my fingers still. That's all a man could ask for.”

When Kit's hand caught hers and laced their fingers between them, her heart gave a solid wallop. She stopped, felt his gentle tug on her arm and let him haul her into his embrace. The others went ahead, leaving them to talk alone.

“How did you get out of jail? Where were you?” His lips moved against her forehead as he spoke before kissing her there. “You frightened me to death.”

“Ray came by. He wasn't himself. He's troubled over Millie. I'll explain later.” She buried her face against his chest, clinging to the support he offered and sinking deeper still when he took a long breath. His hands made broad strokes up and down her back as he murmured something incoherent against her hair.

No matter. Coming so close to losing him had scared her so much she refused to hide her feelings any longer.

Lifting her chin and along with the lantern, she made certain he could see her face. Then abandoning caution, she whispered, “I love you, Christopher Wainwright.”