Intimate Strangers (Eclipse Heat Book 2) (28 page)

Wryly, Hamilton resumed the telling. “Hell, he groaned so loud, I thought his war wound had flared up.”

Lucy looked back at Ambrose and he was grinning, a flush marking his high cheekbones. “I took one look at you and nothing but having you mattered.”

“He was like a randy bull gone crazy on locoweed. Until he got you wedded and bedded, he wasn’t any use to the Double-Q, me, or anyone else.” Hamilton’s voice was disgusted and resigned. “We’d just gotten back from a war, Pa hadn’t been laid to rest for more than a month, ranchers and Indians both were trying to claim parts of our land, and Ambrose decided to go horse-hunting with your father.”

“Why do you think that was so, Lucy?” Ambrose asked.

“You needed my money?” Lucy offered weakly.

Quincy scowled down at her and Hamilton said, “Damn women and their one-track minds,” in disgust.

It seemed to Lucy that the Quince brothers couldn’t do much of anything separate. She folded her arms across her breasts. “Not in eleven years, Ambrose Quince, not before I was taken or since I returned, have you ever given me the words.”

“What words?” both men asked in unison. Lucy wanted to swear at them or smack both of them. But the warmth pumping through her veins thawed most of the ice from around her heart. Most—she still intended to hear him declare himself, but it seemed as though that could wait a while longer. Lucy reached down and plucked his palm from her thigh where it was distracting her.

“Well, figure it out, Ambrose,” she said dryly. “Because I’ll hear them before you put those big hands on me again.”

When she said the words aloud, Lucy felt rather like a spoiled child asking for another dessert because she knew Ambrose loved her. Sighing, she changed the subject, picking up her notebook and reading aloud her first notation. “
People I met after my kidnapping.
” Lucy paused and waited for a response. Both men were mulling that over so she read on.

“Roberta and Hiram Potter and the various cowboys I cooked for at Buffalo Creek.” She put down the notebook and explained, “It doesn’t seem likely that my rescuers would be my attackers but the man you’ve got tied up outside was there.”

“That’s true,” Quincy agreed with her. “Hiram Potter will be here soon from Buffalo Creek and he can explain some things, like how you ended up with the same horse before and after the attack.”

“That’s number four on my list, but I’ve been puzzling over that one a spell.” Lucy’s mind kept returning to Clayton Howard.

“Why would Mr. Howard keep reminding me about the horses if he was one of my kidnappers?” Cool reason had replaced rage, and she was glad Quincy had stopped her from going hunting.

Hamilton spoke grimly. “You know, Ambrose, Clayton was hanging around outside the sheriff’s office the day I found the note about Buffalo Creek. I’m not sure whose side he’s on in this hell broth.”

“What’s number two and three on your list, Lucy?” Ambrose steered them back to their purpose.

“Who brought in my father’s body when he died?” Even now Lucy could feel the horror of being told that Papa was dead. Snakebit? In Boston, nobody was bitten by snakes.

She shuddered at the thought. She’d been a devastated eighteen-year-old girl, alone among people she didn’t know—except Ambrose Quince had been nice to her and her father had trusted him.

When he’d come into the hotel parlor and taken her into his arms, she’d never stepped away again. Nor had she asked any questions. So she did now.

“I want to know how a grown man on a horse could get bitten by snakes, not one, but a bunch of them? That’s what I was told anyway. And I saw his body. He was swollen up and there were marks all over.”

Lucy was angry. She had been simmering with rage over her father’s death for eleven years, and it all came out in a rush. “How could that happen?”

“Well, as to who brought in the body…” Ambrose’s hand was back on her thigh. It calmed her and she relaxed a little, pretending not to notice. She knew that she’d told him to keep his paws off until he gave her the love words, but his hand felt good and she was glad for his touch.

“Owen Bailey brought him in.” Quincy’s voice was flat with dislike. Not surprising since the man had tried to hang him.

“Comfort’s husband, the sheriff?” Past or present, Lucy had never cared for the man.

“He wasn’t sheriff then.” Hamilton’s expression was grim. “Ambrose, you ever wonder, brother, how a two-bit cowpuncher became sheriff and then got enough money together to buy Old Man Kelly’s Mercantile?”

“Where was my father to have fallen in a pit of vipers?” She tried to steer Hamilton back to the conversation she deemed important but Ambrose segued off too, staring at Hamilton as if he’d had a revelation.

“That’s right. Bailey was working for wages on Pete Slocum’s spread.”

“What’s your other question, Lucy?” Hamilton’s voice was eerily quiet.

She cleared her throat and read the last question aloud. “When did the rustling start?”

Ambrose said, “About the same time Pete Slocum started growing his herd. He prospered while we fought thieves, wolves, Indians and mayhem.”

Lucy saw so many connections it made her head hurt.

Hamilton drawled, “Must have been those mysterious members of the ranching conglomerate we kept hearing about when we got back from the war. You know, the Circle Five.”

Ambrose said to Lucy, “As to where your pa found a snake pit to fall into, sweetheart, I expect Sheriff Bailey has the answer to that.”

She felt sick remembering the words of the rapist and knew it had been Owen Bailey.
Not so high-and-mighty now, Miz Quince, not so high and might now…

“There were three men, Quincy,” she reminded Ambrose. His hand anchored her as he patted Lucy’s leg.

“That there were, sweetheart. And the third man will name himself by his actions when we send the other two to hell. We only have to bring down the two to locate the third crazy bastard.”

Relief poured through Lucy. Even though the monsters were still free, for over three years she’d been unsure who was friend or foe. That had ended.

She was prepared to ride into Eclipse and shoot Owen Bailey down like the ravening dog he was. Again, Ambrose slowed her down.

“One more piece to fit to the puzzle, sweetheart. We need to talk to Hiram Potter first.” Lucy didn’t want to talk to anyone. She wanted to blast away, shooting until everyone who’d had a part in the conspiracy was dead.

When she said as much, Hamilton eased her bloodlust by reminding her, “Luce, you’re the one who pointed out it’s all got to be done legal. You knew then it was Bailey didn’t you?”

Lucy closed her eyes and sighed. “I guess I did. I just didn’t want to admit it.”

“Was he the man who cut you up?” Quincy’s expression was fierce and he looked ready to do his own killing.”

Lucy shook her head. “No.”

“Was it Pete Slocum? Because that bastard is neck-deep in this mess. He and the sheriff are buddies and Clayton Howard lives out on Slocum’s spread.”

“I don’t think it was Pete Slocum. He’s a horrible man, I agree. But…” How could she explain that he just didn’t fit the image in her mind of the man who had taken such pleasure in torturing her.

Lucy looked at him sharply. “The man who cut me was the boss. The other one,” she wet her lips and finished her sentence, “the other one said so.”

“Maybe,” Ambrose agreed. “I sure as hell know Slocum, Howard or Bailey couldn’t put together an operation like this, and the bastard who cut you had to be loco. I’m not sure a crazy man could be the boss. There might even be a fifth man pulling the strings. That would explain their Circle Five brand. We need the law riding with us when we brace them, so nobody gets loose and there’s no question of the wrong man swinging.”

At the idea of a trial and recounting her sorry story to the nosey, Lucy cringed, but when she muttered that she wanted them dead, not telling tales, Ambrose did the leg-patting thing again. “They won’t be talking when we get through with ’em,” he assured her.

* * * * *

Hiram Potter arrived the last part of the week, having ridden fast and hard when he’d gotten the message. He was ready to tear the head off the prisoner when he found out the man had attacked a party of riders that included Roberta.

“I’ve had about enough of this Eclipse hooliganism. The citizens over this way don’t seem to have good sense. That’s twice Roberta’s been in the line of fire since she came to visit Lucy.”

Then he looked closer at the shackled man and said, “Hell, I know you. You’re the miscreant Lucy shot when you bothered her in Buffalo Creek.”

“Hiram, I suspect if you hadn’t watched over Roberta and me so closely, neither one of us would be here today,” Lucy assured him. “Thank you.”

“All I want to know is which one of you bastards shot Roberta in Wichita?” Seeing a man the size of Hiram Potter was disquieting any time. But as he grilled the prisoner, the man trembled in fear.

Lucy expected the killer to blame it on one of his dead partners. Instead he flinched as Hiram leaned threateningly over him and said, “It was the boss. He said he was doing it himself since I missed getting her in Buffalo Creek.”

Hiram loomed so close his nose touched the other man’s. “Name him,” he ordered.

The prisoner cringed away from Hiram, confirming what everybody already suspected. “Owen Bailey, the Sheriff of Eclipse.”

Hiram inspected the dead bodies they’d stored in the icehouse and recognized them from handbills at his office. He declared both men to be wanted dead or alive outlaws and retied the live prisoner, returning him to his crude holding pen on the Double-Q.

Lucy invited the men into the kitchen where they joined Roberta who was unusually quiet, serving slices of chocolate cake with trembling hands. Brody’s eyes were still big as saucers as she poured the coffee. 

“How did my horse arrive in Buffalo Creek if you found me dying in the desert?” Lucy decided it was time to ask her questions.

“Well, Lucy.” Sheriff Potter paused, frowning as he remembered. “When I heard the moaning that day, I searched out the sound, and there you were, wounded and cast out to die.”

He grimaced at the memory. “I was trying to figure how to stop up the bleeding enough to get you back to Buffalo Creek when the mare wandered up and stood watching me. She was a fancy little thing wearing a side-saddle and it seemed likely she was yours, so I wrapped you in a blanket, put you on her back and led the mare.”

Ambrose leaned on the counter with his arm around Lucy’s shoulders, holding her protectively. “Your prisoner admitted he was hired by Owen Bailey to come to Buffalo Creek and kill Lucy. And Bailey shot Roberta by mistake, going after Lucy again. Then he sent his men to kill Hamilton. Regardless of how Bailey’s tied up with the rustling that took place over the years, I’m burying that sonovabitch.”

Lucy never appreciated Hiram’s pragmatic attitude more. “I’m holding a prisoner guilty of attempted murder and willing to swear Bailey hired him. I’ve got enough to arrest Bailey even if he is a lawman. We’ll sort out the rest once we’ve got him in handcuffs.”

Hiram finished his pie and picked up his hat. “Ambrose, when I got your message about hired killers, rustlers and attacks on your family and friends, I sent for a Texas Ranger I know and asked him to meet me in Eclipse. Logan Doyle’s his name. He’s a friend of mine and I figured I might need some backup.” His usual soft drawl changed to a roar, “when I clean up the goddamned trash who tried to kill Roberta.”

Then his face got red and he stammered an apologized. “Sorry for my language, ladies.”

Hiram seemed ready to shoot Owen Bailey without trial or jury and from his livid rage she decided he’d ask a friend to come and make sure he didn’t do just that. When the men had finished their talk and were ready to ride, Ambrose gave her a sideways look. “We’ll be back for supper with a hearty appetite. How about apple pie tonight?”

She shrugged and let him join the others outside before she hugged her children and told her friend, “If anything happens to us, Roberta, I’ve written a note making you Alex and Brody’s guardian. I expect to be home with Quincy by supper, so don’t worry. Let Brody help you cook—no, let Brody cook.”

Without invitation she joined the hunt, walking past the men already mounted to enter the barn. Ambrose followed her. “You’re not going.”

Lucy ignored him and continued saddling Sheba. Tacked up and ready, she put her carbine into the rifle boot and led her mount to Ambrose. “You want to give me a leg up, or shall I use the mounting block?”

The dead men were loaded on a pack animal. The live prisoner rode between two Double-Q guards. Hamilton waited outside the barn with Hiram for Ambrose to make her stay home.

“Lucy, I don’t want you there. Lead could fly and you could get hurt.”

Poised and ready to mount by herself if necessary, she asked, “Are we partners?”

“You know we are,” he growled.

“Then give me a leg up and let’s go. I’ll stay out of the way and watch your back.”

Lucy rode with the men to Eclipse, leaving Roberta in charge of the children and Double-Q ranch hands guarding all of them. She couldn’t say whether it was her cookies or the cattle drive, but since they’d returned, the men on the ranch had become her stalwart champions.