Lakota Renegade (2 page)

“No ma’am,” he replied quietly. “You can take my word to the bank.”

The retort that sprang to Daisy’s lips shriveled and died, unsaid. She took an involuntary step backward, repelled by the menace in his soft-spoken words, and by the warning she read in his eyes. This was what death looked like, she thought.

He took a step forward, his size intimidating her. “Do we understand each other?”

“Y…yes.”

“Good. I want Jassy to have that green dress. And those boots.”

Daisy nodded. She’d already spent the money on a bottle of Paris perfume, but he didn’t have to know that.

She’d make sure he didn’t know that.

Chapter Three

Creed stretched the kinks out of his legs as he studied his cards. Four queens and a trey. Lady Luck had been sitting on his shoulder all night, he mused as he tossed five silver dollars into the pot, and she didn’t seem to be in any itching hurry to leave.

He was raking in his winnings when there was a sudden commotion at a nearby table. Instinctively, his hand dropped to his Colt as he glanced over his shoulder, but it was just a brawl between a couple of soiled doves. All he could see was a swirl of red satin skirts and thrashing arms and legs as the two women tumbled to the floor.

With a shake of his head, he turned his attention back to the game, only to spring to his feet as a single gunshot echoed and reechoed off the walls.

A sudden hush fell over the saloon, and then it seemed as if everybody was talking at once, taking sides over who was to blame for the altercation.

“It was Mae who started it,” one of the house dealers said, nodding with an air of absolute certainty. “I saw the whole thing.”

“I didn’t start it!” the woman called Mae shrieked. “She did. I warned her not to try to cut in on my customers.” Without warning, Mae began to cry. “It was an accident, Coulter, honest. I didn’t mean to hurt her.” She dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her skirt. “You’ve got to believe me, Ray. It wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t pulled that gun.”

Creed slid a glance at the dealer, wondering if he was related to the kid who’d been giving Jassy a hard time. Ray Coulter wore the look of a man who was accustomed to trouble. A narrow scar marred what some might have called a handsome face. He wore his dark brown hair cut short; his eyes were a pale green, as cold as gun metal.

A couple of the doves started crying when the body of the dead woman was carried outside.

A few minutes later, the sheriff arrived and began asking questions. At that point, Creed scooped up his winnings and left the saloon. He didn’t much care who’d been shot, and the less he had to do with the law, or lawmen, the better.

News of the shooting in the Lazy Ace was all over town the following day. The good ladies of Harrison gathered together, telling anyone who would listen that the latest episode at the Lazy Ace only proved what they’d been saying all along, it was time to burn down those awful shacks and send the soiled doves packing. Let them go to Dodge or Kansas City or some other hell town.

Sitting in his favorite rocker on the porch of the general store later that afternoon, Creed heard bits and pieces of what had happened from people passing by. He hadn’t stayed around long enough to find out the name of the dead woman, but the general consensus was that the shooting had been an accident.

The incident at the Lazy Ace was the farthest thing from his mind as he re-read the letter in his hand. It was an offer of a job over in Black Hawk. A miner by the name of Reid Burton was having trouble with his claim and wanted Creed to “come over and put things straight”. An easy job, Burton wrote, but he was willing to pay three grand for Creed’s services.

Creed grimaced as he shoved the letter into his shirt pocket. If the job was easy, Burton would do it himself.

Still, three grand was nothing to sneeze at. Between bounty hunting and hiring out his gun, he managed to earn a fair living that allowed him to keep his own council and work his own hours.

Creed had sent the miner a reply that morning, saying he’d be there as soon as his leg healed up. He had meant to leave town weeks ago, but then Jassy had come into his life and he had found himself making excuses to stay another day, and then another. But he couldn’t put it off any longer. He’d leave tomorrow for sure.

The sun was setting and he was thinking about heading down to Jackson’s for dinner when he heard a muffled sob from the direction of the shacks along the alley, followed by some noisy sniffling. And then, as if a dam had burst, he heard the sound of crying. Not the kind associated with minor discomfort, but gut-deep, heart-rending sobs.

And for the second time in two weeks, Creed Maddigan did something completely out of character. He went to see if he could help.

Maybe, unconsciously, he had known it was her. She was wearing one of her baggy dresses and he made a mental note to have another little talk with her mother about getting that green dress back.

“You need help, girl?”

Jassy’s head came up at the sound of his voice. She could hardly see him through her tears, but she would have recognized that soft-spoken drawl anywhere.

Sniffling, she dabbed at her eyes with a corner of her skirt. “N…no. I…I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

She nodded solemnly, and then she began to sob again.

Feeling completely out of his element, Creed closed the distance between them and drew the girl into his arms. For a moment, he thought she was going to pull away. Her whole body tensed at his touch, and then she crumpled against him, her face buried against his chest, her shoulders shaking with the force of her tears.

He held her for several minutes, aware of people passing by only a few feet away. A couple of cowboys whistled and made crude remarks as they ambled down the alley toward Front Street.

Muttering an oath, Creed swung Jassy up into his arms and carried her across the street to his hotel room, deciding she didn’t need the whole town to see her crying in his arms. Ignoring her protests, Creed carried Jassy up the stairs to his room, closed the door behind him, then sat down in the big overstuffed chair beside the bed.

“Go on,” he said gruffly. “Cry it all out, whatever it is.”

His shirt front was soaked with her tears when, with a shudder, she finally fell silent.

“Want to tell me about it?” he asked, figuring that she’d probably had a fight with her boyfriend.

“My…my mother’s dead.”

Creed swore softly. ”I’m sorry. Was it sudden?”

“Yesterday. At the saloon.”

So, the dead woman had been her mother. Rotten luck, he thought, and then frowned into the gathering darkness, wondering what he could possibly say that would make Jassy feel better.

“The funeral’s tomorrow,” she remarked tonelessly. “Would you…would you come?”

He hated funerals, all that weeping and carrying on, people saying things they didn’t mean. “I don’t know…”

“Please. You’re…” She sniffed. “You’re the only friend I have.”

He let out a deep sigh of resignation. “All right. What time?”

“Nine. I know it’s early,” she added quickly, remembering that he liked to sleep late, “but…”

“I’ll be there.”

She looked at him solemnly, her brown eyes shining with tears, her nose red, her lips slightly parted.

“How old are you?” he asked, wondering why he cared.

“Sixteen.”

Sixteen! Creed swore under his breath. He’d known she was young, but hearing just how young made him feel as if he’d just been sucker-punched.

“Almost seventeen,” Jassy said quickly.

“Come on,” he said, sliding her off his lap. “I’ll walk you home.”

“You don’t have to.”

He nodded, feeling as though he’d aged ten years in the last ten seconds. “I know. Come on.”

She lived in one of the shoddy tin-roofed shacks that backed up to the alley. The paint was peeling. One of the front windows was covered with oilcloth, the other one was boarded up.

Jassy paused at the door, her face a pale oval in the gathering twilight.

“I seem to be thanking you a lot lately,” she said quietly.

Creed shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. And don’t think you have to make me any more cookies.”

“Didn’t you like them?”

He had, but he didn’t know if it was wise to admit it. Still, she was looking up at him expectantly, her expression as vulnerable as a newborn babe’s, and he couldn’t bring himself to hurt her feelings.

“I liked them fine,” he admitted gruffly. “See you in the morning.”

* * * * *

There were only seven people at the grave site, including the preacher.

Creed stood a little ways off by himself, hat in hand, while the parson talked about hell and damnation and the sure hope of forgiveness in the next life. He rambled on and on, warming to his subject as he talked of Mary Magdalene, and how her accusers had quietly dispersed when the Savior suggested that the one without sin cast the first stone.

All in all, Creed thought the whole sermon was in pretty poor taste, but he didn’t think anyone else was listening. Jassy, wearing a long black dress that obviously belonged to someone else, was staring down at the plain wooden coffin. Her face was pale, her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen with tears. Beside her stood a tall, slender woman, also dressed in black. Creed recognized her as one of the soiled doves from the Lazy Ace. He couldn’t remember her name. She was a pretty woman, with dark brown hair and brown eyes. A nice shape, too. And not bad in bed.

Milt Cambridge, owner of the Lazy Ace, stood on the far side of the grave, flanked by two of the doves from the saloon.

Creed watched Jassy’s face as the preacher said the final amen and the coffin was lowered into the ground. The tall, slender woman tossed a handful of dirt into the grave, and it occurred to him, with sickening certainty, that she was probably Jassy’s sister.

Minutes later, the parson took his leave and shortly thereafter, the grave site was deserted save for Creed and Jassy. She was crying now, making no effort to wipe away the tears running down her cheeks.

Shaking his head, Creed pushed away from the tree he’d been leaning against and started down the hill. He’d done what she’d asked, he’d attended the funeral.

Settling his hat on his head, he took a few more steps and then, cussing himself for being seven kinds of a fool, he went back to the grave side and drew Jassy into his arms, wondering what it was about her that made him feel so uncharacteristically protective.

A sigh slipped past Jassy’s lips as Creed’s arms wrapped around her. There was comfort in his arms, in his mere presence. She didn’t stop to wonder why he made her feel so safe, she knew only that she wasn’t afraid of anything when he was near—not the past, not the future.

She closed her eyes, wishing he would hold her like that forever. He smelled of whiskey and cigarette smoke, things she had always hated, until now. He didn’t say anything. No empty words of solace, no promises of a glorious reunion on the other side, he just held her close, one big brown hand gently stroking her hair.

Gradually, she became aware of other things: the silky texture of his shirt beneath her cheek, the strong, steady beat of his heart, the fact that she barely reached his shoulder.

Creed blew out a deep breath, a little bewildered by the emotions this girl aroused in him, and even more puzzled by her effect on his anatomy. She wasn’t much to look at, and he’d never been partial to red-headed women, yet she had taken up a good part of his thoughts since the first time he had seen her in that alley. He couldn’t help noticing how right she felt in his arms, and that scared the hell out of him, because she was far and away too young for him, and not just in years.

“Feelin’ better now?” he asked after a while.

Jassy nodded. Just being in his arms made everything seem all right.

“You ready to go home?”

Jassy thought of the dreary little shack in the alley, and the room she shared with Rose, and shook her head.

“Well, we can’t stand here all day. Come on, I’ll buy you some lunch.”

She smiled up at him as if he’d just offered to buy her a coach and four.

It crossed his mind that it probably wouldn’t do Jassy’s reputation any good, being seen in the company of a half-breed gunfighter, and then he grinned. Hell, her mother had been killed in a saloon brawl, so being seen with him probably wouldn’t tarnish her reputation much more than it already was. He took her to Jackson’s, where he ordered steak and potatoes for both of them, a glass of milk for Jassy, a cup of coffee for himself. And then, as the silence stretched between them, he wondered what he was doing, sitting there with a girl almost half his age.

“What are you gonna do, now that your ma’s gone?”

“I don’t know,” Jassy answered dully. “Rosie says I’ll be able to work at the saloon pretty soon.”

“Rosie?”

“My sister.”

Creed’s grip tightened around the cup in his hand. “She the dark-haired one standing beside you at the funeral?” he asked, praying that the answer was no.

Jassy nodded. “She says it isn’t so bad, most of the time.”

It caught him unaware, the sudden, killing rage that washed through him when he thought of Jassy going to work at the Lazy Ace, serving drinks to a bunch of no-good cowboys, letting strangers take her upstairs…

Get hold of yourself, Maddigan
, he chided softly.
She’s nothing to you.

“Is that what you want to do with your life?” he asked gruffly.

“No. I want to get married and raise a family. I don’t want to have to…to, you know.”

He did know. He’d done it with her sister. The thought slashed through him like a Lakota skinning knife.