Intimate Strangers (Eclipse Heat Book 2) (33 page)

“Thomas,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. “Or
number four
might fit just as well.”

After Joseph Mack loaded his girls into their old wagon and said goodbye, Ambrose ushered Lucy back into the barn where people stood in clusters whispering about the fight.

“We’ll do our celebrating now,” he told the stunned guests, directing the musicians to play a slow tune and keep the lanterns turned up high. As the story spilled through the watchers, Lucy saw more than one man or woman shudder in horror.

When Roberta would have taken the Myers girl to the house, Ambrose stopped her. “Not yet. We have one more thing to clean up first.”

Hiram came back to stand next to Roberta protectively. “You did good tonight. Just a little bit more and then you can rest.”

Roberta looked at him in disbelief. “Rest? Hiram Potter, I’ll have you know I’ve been behind the table serving punch and cookies all night. I’m going to dance.”

Hiram’s usual bland expression didn’t change when he agreed. “Dance you will, then.” But his voice was stern when he added, “But not ’til I take care of business at the house. You’ll have to partner the cookie table a spell longer tonight, Roberta.”

Lucy had to stifle hysterical laughter when the Myers girl whined, “What about my dress?” After all that had transpired, she was still single-mindedly pursuing clothes.

Hiram loomed over her and felt the material of her sleeve. “It’s dry enough to wear home. Had you not been flouncing around trying to stir up trouble, you wouldn’t smell like Quince apple cider.”

Eldon Myers stood close enough to hear the sharp scold delivered to his daughter. Pulling her toward the barn door and their already harnessed team, he said gruffly, “Hush up and get in the wagon. You’re lucky to be alive.”

Lucy walked between Quincy and Hiram Potter to the house to confront the fifth member of the Circle Five. “I’m glad Hamilton is there with Comfort.”

Ambrose snorted. “Don’t forget Mrs. Carmichael. I think Iris is secured whether she knows it or not. I’m just wondering what part she played in all this. She squalls like a baby whenever you try to question her, but by God every thread in the web leads back to the old lady.”

Hiram stated what they all knew. “It’s all tied in together. There’s no disputing that.”

“Let me inquire about her brother,” Lucy said. “We haven’t established that the monster just exterminated is, in fact, her Thomas.”

“I don’t believe in coincidence,” Ambrose said flatly.

Lucy didn’t either.

Mrs. Carmichael mentioned the fight as soon as they came through the back door. “Pretty big dustup out there.” She pointed with a long spoon toward the barn. “I could see yer company standin’ by the torches but they made a circle and I couldn’t see what went on.”

When nobody volunteered information, she said, “Well?”

Lucy said briskly, “There was an incident. We’re fine. We came to the house to make sure everyone here is all right too.”

Marta rolled her eyes in disgust. “The ladies are having brandy in the parlor, Hamilton is skulking around somewhere, and I’m minding my own business in the kitchen… so tell me what happened out there.”

Lucy headed straight for the sitting room. “I’ll join Comfort and Iris and leave the explanations to Hiram or Ambrose.”

Quincy stopped her before she opened the door. “Got your gun in your pocket?” he asked.

Lucy nodded. “And my finger on the trigger.”

Mrs. Carmichael’s expression changed to avid interest. “Maybe I should go with you and have a glass of liquor too.”

Ambrose agreed. “You do that. Lucy’s got some bad news for Iris and she might need a hand delivering it.”

Comfort sat marking a pamphlet she held and Iris faced her sipping her brandy. They both looked up expectantly when Lucy entered.

Comfort put down the pencil she held, sliding a merchandise catalog from her lap to stand. “Was there trouble?

“None we couldn’t handle,” Lucy said. Then she turned to Iris. “I had no idea your brother Thomas was our talented dance caller. Why didn’t you tell us, Mrs. Howard?”

Iris’ expression barely changed and she shrugged. “My family had standards. Why would I want people to know I’m related to a man calling dances?” Her voice filled with disgust as she spoke of her brother’s business. ”I severed the McCord name from my antecedents when he besmirched it.”

As soon as she admitted the relationship, Hiram and Quincy stepped into the room. Hamilton appeared at the hall door and called Comfort over to him.

“Your brother’s dead, Mrs. Howard,” Ambrose told her flatly.

The news of TC McCord’s death didn’t appear to surprise or upset her. Remembering how Clayton Howard had been shot in the back, Lucy had a horrible feeling that she’d killed her husband and now another thread tying Iris to crimes committed in Texas had just been discovered.

“Was it all your idea?” she asked. “Did you manage four men into a thriving cattle-rustling business?”

For a moment, an expression of pride flitted across Iris’ face. Then she dabbed artfully at her eyes with her handkerchief and once again assumed the guise of the feeble older woman they’d known. When they tried to question her, as usual her tears increased and she looked pitiful, only this time no one in the room believed her.

“Oh stop your playacting and blow your nose.” Hiram finally said in disgust.

Iris continued to sob and remained firm in her denial of wrongdoing even as the Texas Rangers escorted her away from the ranch.

“Do you think she’ll be punished?” Lucy asked Hiram.

“Hard to say. I figure she’ll bawl her way out of jail. No doubt she’ll be encouraged to leave Texas. If she wiggles out of the charges, let’s hope she goes back to Boston where they have
standards
,” he muttered.

“Well, I for one find it hard to believe a woman could organize such an operation. It just doesn’t seem credible,” Hamilton said.

Lucy rolled her eyes, exchanging glances with Comfort, but it was Mrs. Carmichael who let out a cackle of laughter and said, “Pshaw. Find a man doin’ somethin’ other than gruntin’ and breathin’ and you’ll find a woman tellin’ him how to do it right.”

It was half-light when the final wagons pulled out of the ranch yard. A surprising number of ranchers had wanted to talk politics with Quincy before they left. Lucy stayed in the house, lingering in the kitchen with Roberta.

The vivacious woman was unusually quiet. When Ambrose came in and saw them sitting there, he flexed his shoulders tiredly and sighed. “All gone. The place is ours again.”

Roberta apologized. “I meant to ride into town with Comfort and Hamilton, but they took Mrs. Carmichael and left me.”

Ambrose smiled and motioned out the back. “Hiram’s waiting in the wagon. He’ll not rest easy ’til he sees you to your door.”

Roberta perked up immediately. “I need to give him a good scold. I never did get to dance last night. The trip to town won’t be long enough…”

She whisked outside and Hiram lifted her up on the seat, then jumped up next to her, leaning down to listen as she scooted closer and tucked her arm in his.

“You reckon she has honorable intentions toward Hiram?” Ambrose drawled.

Lucy couldn’t stop her soft laughter from escaping. “I think Sheriff Potter is a wily fox. I expect he’ll let Roberta chase him ’til he catches her.”

Quincy chuckled and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. They stood hugging each other, savoring the promise in the new day as they watched the sun rise.

“Life is good, isn’t it Luce?” he drawled, his voice gruff.

Lucy leaned into him, enjoying his scent before she looked up. “Yes it is,” she agreed and then added, “And if that tub upstairs worked, it would be even better. I’d climb in and soak all day.”

He tightened his arms around her and chuckled. “You tryin’ to honey something out of me, sweetheart?”

“Of course not,” she denied, smiling as she said it. “Let’s lie down for a while before the kids rise and want breakfast.”

They climbed the steps together and halfway up, Ambrose stopped her. “That fancy tub big enough to hold the both of us?”

“I believe it is. Why?” Lucy gave him an innocent look, slid her arms around his neck, and pulled his head down for a not so innocent kiss.

Then she cupped his face between her hands and told him the truth. “I’ll cherish every moment of the rest of our lives together, Ambrose Quince, whether we bathe in Boston copper or Texas tin.”

“My God, woman, I love you.” Quincy urged her toward their bedroom and growled, “And the pipes’ll be in by next week.”

The End

Intimate Strangers
, received the ebook publishing community’s EPIC AWARD for Best Western & Best Erotic Western of 2010.

When I began writing this book, the original story was a short, unpublished diary I’d titled,
The Journal of Lucy Quince
. I had no idea it would lay the foundation for an eight book (as of now) historical western romance series set in the Old West and titled Eclipse Heat.

Book One: Quincy’s Woman (available now)
evolved from Lucy’s diary. Although I didn’t intend the story to be told as a narrative, Lucy’s behavior sometimes irritated me so much, I had to surrender control and let her continue in her own voice.

I feared I might emasculate my hero using this technique but, as it turned out, I didn’t need to worry about Ambrose Quince. Lucy’s authoritarian, hard-headed, over-worked, land-poor husband spoke quite well through his actions. 

I knew at the beginning of the book, these two people, both stubborn and worlds apart in background, were meant for each other. The mission became keeping Lucy from becoming a whining a weak Nellie, and Ambrose from Ambrose from being an overbearing, obnoxious ass.

Huh. I had no idea the magnitude or complexity of the task. But, I promised Lucy and Ambrose (and myself) that I would be honest in creating their personalities and as historically accurate as possible when describing their actions.

I hope you have enjoyed meeting Lucille McKenna and Ambrose Quince. Although their story ultimately ended in a
Happy Ever After,
Lucy and Ambrose had a dark, treacherous journey before they arrived. 

Private and state banking regulations, ranch practices, furniture, clothing, cattle drive routes, and weather conditions were all researched for the Eclipse Heat books.

        Eclipse Heat

An excerpt:

Chapter One

Miss Naomi Parker, deportment instructor at the Sparrow Creek Young Ladies Academy, stood between the Flat Rock Sheriff’s Office and the town saloon. In spite of the heated day, she shivered. 

Earlier that morning outlaws had attacked her school, carrying eight of her students with them when they rode away. Naomi had remained free during the raid because she’d jumped out the open window and hidden.

Even after the outlaws had gone, she'd huddled in the crawl space under the building, afraid to come out lest the kidnappers return for her too. Had she grown a backbone sooner, the caretaker might have lived. She’d found him dying by the barn when she’d finally emerged from hiding.

“Miss Naomi,” he’d wheezed, barely able to speak. She’d lifted him, trying to stop the wound with the fabric from her dress, but nothing slowed the blood as it leaked into the dust around them.

“Go to Flat Rock. Tell the sheriff—Comancheros.” Though dying, he’d had more wits about him than Naomi. Once he’d taken his last breath, she’d followed his direction and ridden to town.

Alternately crying, mumbling aloud and slumping lifeless on Patrick’s mule, she’d finally reached the sheriff’s office, ready to hand the nightmare over to someone else.

“No ma’am, though that’s a sorry thing that happened, first off, you didn’t get hit by Comancheros. They rounded that bunch up a few years back and we don’t get bothered by them no more. But, it makes no difference who it was. If outlaws are stealing females from hereabouts and took them girls, we can’t be leaving our own womenfolk unprotected.” Gene Stanton, the Flat Rock Sheriff, adamantly opposed doing anything.

“But they’ll get away. My students will be lost if you wait. If you follow them now…” She’d tried to reason with him.

“I’ll wire the U.S. Marshal, but I won’t be asking the Flat Rock citizens to chase down and fight them devils.” Stanton had cut through her attempts at persuasion.  According to the sheriff, it would take days for the law to put together trackers and a posse of men, weeks before there was any hope of catching the outlaws.

“Sheriff Stanton, it’s your job to catch criminals.” She’d tried to sound reasonable but had only gotten more hysterical as he’d shaken his head, denying her his help.

“You’re not protecting anyone sitting in this office. You can start right now and go after them.” Perhaps her words had been tart, but lives were at stake.

“It’s my job to see to the well-being of Flat Rock,” he’d snarled at her belligerently, any measure of civility he’d accorded her before disappearing. “Seems kind of funny you got away. How come you’re not ridin’ an outlaw horse right now?”

Shame that she’d hidden while her students had been abducted rendered her mute. Before she gathered enough wits to respond, they were interrupted. The deputy, who’d been lounging outside, poked his head in the door.

”The McCallisters are bringin’ in a string of horses with carcasses tied on back.” It appeared to be the escape the sheriff desired.

“I’ve got business now. Get my deputy, Sumner Sikes, to point you toward the hotel. You look like hell. You can’t run around town with blood on you. It’ll upset folks.” The sheriff had motioned at the open door, expecting her to leave. Evidently, dealing with the men riding into town was much more important than handling her students’ kidnapping.

Clean up?
She looked down at her dress where patches of sweat and blood darkened the fabric. Gazing at the material stained by Patrick’s death jolted her, reminding her why she needed to act and not tarry. Her students’ lives would be lost next. If the sheriff’s priority was her appearance rather than the kidnapping of young Texas women, it seemed evident to Naomi their rescue was up to her.

In spite of the day’s heat, her shivering continued. A white fichu at her neck, once crisp and cool, threatened to choke her as it reminded her of her duties as a teacher.

I have to do something!
She remained in the alley watching the three men riding down the main street.

“Who are the McCallisters?” Naomi asked Deputy Sikes.

“Meanest dammed bounty hunters in the country,” he answered. “The big redhead is Deacon. He used to be a preacher. Dumbest thing the outlaws ever did was kill his wife. He strapped on a gun, caught and executed the murderers, and then kept a huntin’.”

Naomi studied Deacon McCallister. He wore his hat pulled low over ragged red hair, his features disguised by a heavy beard. One hand held his reins and in the other arm he cradled a rifle. He glanced around the street and rubbed his jaw.

“First thing I need is a bath and a shave.” His words carried clearly to her and she wondered if he expected the local hotel to hurry and prepare a tub of water. Frowning, she glanced at the next man in line.

”That’s Sam McCallister. The outlaws call him Snake ’cause he can crawl up on a man and slit his throat without makin’ a sound. He’s a bad ’un for sure.” Deputy Sikes lowered his mumble to barely a whisper as the first two riders drew abreast of the alley.

“We need the tender attentions of women, Deak—after that, a card game and maybe a meal.” As if performing for an unseen audience hidden behind closed doors, Sam’s slow drawl grew louder.

Naomi studied this McCallister. Dark whiskers outlined his square jaw, contrasting with the light-colored hair trimmed short and barely showing under his hat. Below his holster, one hand rested on his thigh next to the knife strapped there.

Snake McCallister turned his head, meeting her gaze. His eyes were glacier blue and she froze as he appraised her before riding past where she stood in the alley.

The first two bounty hunters led the evidence of their success behind them—live prisoners cuffed and leg-shackled, walking beside the cargo of wrapped bundles loaded on pack animals.

The odor of ripe bodies—Naomi suspected both dead and alive—accompanied the caravan behind the McCallisters. One of the shackled prisoners whined a complaint.

“You damned McCallisters starve a man to death if you don’t kill him first. Ma Phillips cooks for the Flat Rock jail. I’m gonna have biscuits and honey or maybe her brown gravy slathered over potatoes.”

Naomi stepped back, her stomach rebelling at the suggestion of food as swarms of flies accompanied the caravan, invaded the narrow alley, and buzzed around her. The deputy flinched, batting at the insects and moving toward the boardwalk.

The town had been busy earlier in the day, Flat Rock’s citizens scurrying from one business to another. But as the trio rode down the street, people had disappeared behind shut doors, avoiding the three bounty hunters cloaked in arrogance and brutality.

Naomi knew the service the hunters provided was this land’s version of rough justice but remembering Patrick in death, it made her stomach clench. The bounty hunters seemed more like the killers who had attacked the school than like honorable citizens doing a needed task.

“What about the third man? Who’s he?” Naomi asked after Sam and Deacon McCallister rode past the alley.

“The breed’s Charlie Wolf.” The deputy didn’t elaborate, shrugging away further questions, and keeping his gaze on the ground, not looking at the man at the end of the string of horses. As the third man drew near, Deputy Sikes scuttled up on the boardwalk, leaving Naomi standing alone in the alley.

When the man named Charlie Wolf reached the space where Naomi stood, his horse snorted and pranced sideways. Turning the huge beast to face her, the bounty hunter drew rein.

How odd his eyes are—such a light shade of gray against his copper skin.
Naomi stared at him, trying to think of what to say but the savagery of his appearance drove important thoughts from her mind.

A sleeveless leather vest displaying bronze arms as sleekly muscled as the horse he rode covered his upper torso. But for the two braids framing his face, he wore his blue-black hair loose, cascading over his shoulders from beneath his broad-brimmed black hat.

He is actually quite magnificent.
As if waiting for her to speak, he leaned on his pommel, seemingly indifferent to everything else in the street. She doubted that his casual posture was anything more than a ruse. He was a predator, searching for danger behind her in the alley before raking her with his glance. Naomi struggled to find convincing words with which to petition him. But she couldn’t force any sound through her constricted throat as his fierce gaze measured her for threat and, finding none, dismissed her.

When she said nothing, Charlie Wolf’s eyes narrowed to slits and he turned away, riding to the front of the sheriff’s office. Naomi followed him with her gaze. When he’d sufficiently moved toward the others, she edged closer to the sheriff’s deputy so she could hear the discussion taking place.

Sikes stared horrified at the wrapped bundles of tarp stacked on the back of the pack animals before he began unloading them.

“Dammit, this pile of stink is smellin’ up the whole town. Next time just bring in their gear.” Sikes’ complaints were muffled since he wore his bandanna wrapped around his face, blocking the odor.

“Nope. Tried that. The sheriff didn’t want to pay on our word last time. Remember?” Snake McCallister shoved his hat high on his forehead as he mopped his face with a handkerchief. Ragged blond hair and rough beard didn’t disguise his handsome features. He laughed but the humor didn’t touch his eyes.

“Well, Sam, the sheriff sure as hell ain’t the one out here dealin’ with rotten corpses. Maybe you could take ’em on over to the undertakers,” the deputy suggested hopefully.

Naomi could see that as unpleasant as it might be, it was the deputy’s task to give each body a quick once-over and confirm its identity. But wrapped as each bundle was, he had to wrestle the dead on the ground in order to peek at each face.

“The poster says ‘Wanted Dead or Alive’. They’re dead—job’s done.” Deacon scratched his heavy red beard and settled wearily in his saddle. When the deputy glowered and spat, acting on his disgust, the red-haired bounty hunter sat up straight, his demeanor a warning. “Stop bitching and get a move on.”

“I’m hurrying as fast as this mess allows, Deacon.” The deputy quickened his pace, comparing the stack of wanted flyers with the corpses he’d unloaded, ticking them off one by one. “Crawford Bank Robbery—one thousand dollars for the capture of the thieves and one thousand dollars for the recovery of the gold coin.” Then he looked up at the bound prisoners. “You got both of the bastards. I don’t suppose they told you where they stashed the money?”

The dark-skinned bounty hunter caught Naomi’s attention again when he drew a heavy pouch from his saddlebags and tossed it at the feet of the deputy.

“Charlie Wolf,” the lawman muttered and flinched, acknowledging the receipt without offering insult by inspecting the content. He kicked the bag of money over to the office door and moved on to the six decaying corpses inside the heavy canvas wrappings.

“Henry Loco Miller, Thomas Wright, Juarez Sutter—payout for these is…” The deputy went down the line, reading off names and bounty rewards in amounts that boggled Naomi’s mind.

“Damn sonovabitch,” the deputy cursed after he unwrapped the next body. “I hope this one suffered before he died. He shot and killed the Austin bank president’s wife during the holdup. The Texas Bank Association put up the money.” Deputy Sikes kicked the carcass one last time and moved on, giving the last two bodies a cursory glance before replacing the tarp.

“Alsgood boys, five hundred each. They weren’t worth much alive and won’t fetch much dead.”

Listening to the tally rise as the hunters collected more money per outlaw than she could earn in years of teaching, Naomi’s depression increased. When the count was finished, the deputy pushed the live prisoners through the sheriff’s door and Sam and Deacon followed to get their reward money.

Charlie Wolf remained a silent, dark outline against the sun, facing the near end of the street, ignoring the caterwauling of the deputy. His gaze flicked to where she stood and moved on again. 

Muscles rippling beneath the dark bay coat, his horse pawed the dirt, making its own protest at the stench permeating the air.

“Eyaia Oyamossa,” the dark rider said, speaking a guttural language Naomi didn’t recognize as he patted the animal’s neck. But the horse understood and quieted.

Naomi tucked herself into the shadows as the Indian again glanced her way. Feverishly, she tried to think of ways to ask the man to rescue her students. When the door to the sheriff’s office banged open and the other two men emerged, the sound jarred her into action. She gathered her courage, ready to approach the one named Charlie Wolf.

But she was too late. Without a backward look, the men headed across the street, leading the string of horses now empty of their ghoulish burden. They left behind the dead bodies wrapped in tarp. The deputy continued to curse as the undertaker’s wagon creaked to a halt in front of him.

“The McCallisters work for hire?” Naomi stepped on the boardwalk.

“Yep,” Sikes answered, hoisting a body onto the wagon. “Deacon does most of the thinkin’, Sam does the killin’, and the half-breed…” His expression showed reluctant admiration. “Charlie Wolf can track a man to hell and back.” He scowled, finishing with his advice, “Pay the devils enough and they’ll find your students for you.”