Lawless (15 page)

about Laurel Daniels. Wanted to know about Snowy Peaks Ranch.”

“Mind telling me specifically what he asked?”

“No, I don’t mind, but it was kind of casual like. Just mentioned her in passing, something ’bout he’d heard she’d been kidnapped, and was she back…that sort of thing.”

The same man had apparently asked about her at the general store, and the livery stable. Alice had happened to be in the store and mentioned it to him, because the stranger gave her an uneasy feeling.

If there was one thing he trusted, it was his wife’s instincts. When he started going around town asking about the man, it turned out his interest in Laurel Daniels included a few pointed questions about Cal Smith as well.

There was going to be trouble. He could practically smell it in the air.

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“You know what’s funny?” Henry frowned, a thick crease in the middle of his forehead. He scratched his beard. “He asked me if I’d seen Cal Riker.”

John narrowed his eyes. “Cal Riker? Here? Why’d he ask that?”

“How the hell do I know? He was one of those edgy hombres, you know the kind.

Fidgety and tight like pulled wire. I looked in his eyes and saw nothing there. No soul, you know what I mean? When someone like that comes in my place, I want them out as fast as possible.”

Rollins and his soul—or lack of—was interesting, but Cal Riker? Well, shit. That was the last thing John needed in Tijeras. Riker was by all accounts a gun-slinging desperado wanted in Texas for the murder of a judge and he hadn’t looked back since. He was supposed to have killed dozens of men, though the one murder charge was the only one John knew about, and even with that one, supposedly Riker gave the judge a chance at the first shot.

Cal Riker, lightning fast, accurate as sin. He was a legend, and the exact kind of legend no law enforcement officer wanted within a hundred miles of his territory.

Cal Smith
. John went very still, the realization hitting home like being thrown from a running horse. The man who rescued Laurel Daniels called himself Cal Smith.

Holy hell, that wasn’t what was going on, was it? Surely Cal Riker wasn’t the man romantically involved with pretty, sweet Laurel Daniels?

No, John told himself. No. Cold-blooded killers didn’t rescue damsels in distress and bring them home unharmed. The stranger was probably what he said he was, a drifter in the right place at the right time…

Only who else but someone like Riker could outface a group of thieving outlaws like the River Bend Outfit and get away with it? All along he’d wondered how in the hell one man had pulled off getting her away from them, and this made a lot of damned sense.

“Thanks, Henry.”

“Sure.”

He left the saloon and walked back slowly to his office, going in to sit at his desk, pondering what to do. He leaned back in his chair and stared at the empty cells, thinking.

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Rollins. He’d heard the name somewhere, but didn’t think he knew much about him.

He had the vague idea maybe the man was one of those aging legends, a one-time gunslinger who everyone figured was dead and gone but still hung on somehow, drifting on the edge. He was looking for Riker, obviously.

An outlaw looking for another one. That didn’t sound good.

What to do about this was a problem. Matthew Daniels had made it pretty clear the man he called Smith had not only saved Laurel from rape and whatever else might have happened to her, but delivered her back home without so much as a scratch and she was the one who wanted him to stay on. What Matt would say if he knew the identity of his guest was predictable, but then again, if the man hadn’t been Cal Riker, she would probably never have come home.

John got up, put on his hat and stalked out the door.

***

It was the second time it had happened, just out of the blue. Laurel stood up, her plate in her hands, and suddenly the world spun, the plate clattered to the floor and she grabbed the back of her chair for balance. A wave of nausea came with it, and she felt a wash of heat through her body even as strong hands caught her.

“Easy, sweetheart.”

Cal. Strong arms lifting her easily, the warm comfort of his broad chest, the tangy scent of man and pine with a hint of whiskey. Laurel closed her eyes for a second, resting against him, and then the moment passed, the queasiness subsided and her head stopped spinning.

What she was left with was the realization that she was cradled in Cal’s arms in front of her parents and brother and she’d almost fainted just from getting up at the dinner table.

This was going to be fun to explain.

Only, she wasn’t going to have to explain it. That was clear from the resigned expression on her mother’s face and her father’s growing scowl. Will too, seemed www.samhainpublishing.com 107

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suddenly absorbed in drinking his coffee, as if the liquid in his cup was the most fascinating thing on earth. She managed to say, “I’m fine. I must have stood up too fast.”

“Maybe you should lie down for a bit.” Cal frowned in concern, holding her like some precious object, which she would have enjoyed if it wasn’t for their audience.

“It used to happen to me too,” her mother said in a serene voice. “She’s right, she’s fine. It passes, by the way, after the first few months.”

She’d wanted to wait, wanted to give her family even more of a chance to get to know Cal before he told them just who he was, but it didn’t seem like that was going to happen from the darkening expression on her father’s face. He bit out, “Maybe Laurel should lie down and you and I should talk, Cal.”

She wasn’t about to be left out of
that
discussion. Laurel pushed lightly on Cal’s chest. “Put me down. We’ll all talk. I’m all right now. It passes very quickly.”

“This is between me and him.” There was an edge to her father’s voice she didn’t hear often.

“No,” she corrected in soft reproach, “this is between me and Cal. I love you, Pa, but I’m almost twenty years old and whatever has happened was entirely my choice, and as such, my responsibility.”

“Mind telling me just what
has
happened?” Her father looked angry, but not as furious as she expected.

“I love your daughter,” Cal said in his usual soft, slow drawl, still holding her. “I want to marry her.”

“I’m getting the impression you’d better.”

“My cooperation isn’t in question, sir. Remember that.”

“There’s a small problem but I think it can be just that, small.” Will sounded calm, his good-looking face composed and bland. “The deception was Laurel’s idea but Cal hasn’t told you his real name. He has a good reason, believe me.”

Laurel felt Cal’s reaction in the slight tightening of his arms, but otherwise he showed nothing as usual. “He’s right. My real given name is Calvin Steven Riker. I was 108

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born in San Antonio and last I knew I’m still wanted in Texas for the killing—no matter how much it was deserved—of a judge named Harold Watson.”

Neither of her parents moved, but her mother’s mouth parted and her blue eyes registered open dismay. Her father sat for a moment, and then asked in a voice that didn’t sound like his at all, “You’re Cal Riker?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Wanted.”

“You’ve heard of me apparently.”

“Hell, yes, son, I have.” Her father didn’t even apologize for the slip in his language, his face a little pale under his tan. “Let me get this straight. Cal Riker rescued my daughter from a gang of thugs, has been living under my roof, and apparently, if I haven’t jumped to the wrong conclusions, she’s going to have the child of the same notorious outlaw with a price on his head.”

Put that way, Laurel thought, not sure whether to laugh or cry, it sure didn’t sound too good. “Pa—”

“You guilty?”

Cal didn’t flinch. “Of killing Watson? Yes. Gave him a gun, though. Dared him to draw on me, goaded him into it, and finally he did. He missed, I didn’t. I don’t miss often.”

“So they say. As for the judge, that’s not murder if it was a fair draw.”

“I agree. What he did to my brother was murder. Tried his case half drunk, didn’t listen to the eyewitnesses, and had him strung up about an hour after the mockery of a trial was over. Two days later someone heard another man bragging over how he’d done the actual robbery and killing of the shopkeeper Robert was supposed to have murdered.

Watson was told, could have cared less, but let me tell you, he changed his tune when we stood face-to-face. No one is as sorry as a dead man. Let’s just say I ignored his apology.

Unfortunately, his family had a lot of influence. Mine does too, but not quite enough. I rode off to spare them another farcical trial and hanging.”

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Still clasped against him, Laurel sensed the emotion he didn’t show in his face or his voice, the pain of a nineteen-year-old boy who’d lost his brother, felt the desperation and the sorrow and the awful need for vengeance. She reached up and touched his cheek, her fingers light on his skin. “Oh, Cal.”

He looked down and it was as if he didn’t see her for a moment, but then he seemed to realize he still held her, and gently deposited her on her feet. “I’m not sorry, Laurel. I wish I could be, really, but I’m not. If Watson were here in this room right now, the same thing would happen all over again. As for the rest of it, well, I did my best to stay out of trouble but it wasn’t always possible. I’m not proud of everything I’ve done in my life, but I can look you or anyone in the eye.”

She gazed up at him, seeing how he stood there, motionless, watchful, guarded.

Alone. It wasn’t hard to guess how difficult it had been for him to ride away from his family and be adrift in the world.

Well, he wasn’t alone any longer. She reached over and took his hand, threading her fingers through his long ones much like he’d done the first time he kissed her, and turned to face her father. “This isn’t a threat but please understand, if Cal leaves, I’m going with him.”

“No one is asking him to leave, Laurel.” Her mother spoke with calm, soft conviction. “But forgive us for being a little startled.”

“A lot startled,” her father muttered, but he didn’t disagree.

Will said, “I think Laurel had the right idea. New name, new life, low profile and the world will eventually forget Cal Riker.”

“I think you’re being optimistic but I don’t see as we have a choice.” Her father rose from the table. “Now, Cal and I are going out to talk. Alone.” He gave Laurel a look that told her it would be useless to argue. “I need a whiskey and he and I have a few things to discuss.”

***

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He’d no more than set foot on the porch than he saw the rider coming. On a working ranch, there was a lot of coming and going, but Cal had self-preservation honed to an art and he took one look at the approaching horse and knew it wasn’t good news.

He just
knew.

Matthew Daniels glanced up, whiskey bottle in hand, and swore out loud, his eyes narrowed. “That man on his way up to the house is the local sheriff, Cal. I recognize his sorrel gelding. I have no idea what he wants, but let’s just hope for Laurel’s sake it has nothing to do with you.”

“Now you’re the one being optimistic,” Cal muttered, but he already felt it, the electric charge of danger, the twist in his stomach, the almost fatal calm that settled on him when his back was against a wall.

“I’ll do the talking.” Matthew went ahead and dashed some gold liquid in a glass and took a bracing sip. “John and I know each other.”

The sheriff slowed his horse to a trot and then halted by the front porch, slipping out of the saddle in one lithe movement as he tied the animal off. He was young, probably about Cal’s age, and he gave Matthew a brief greeting. Immediately his attention shifted to Cal and they took measure of each other.

Yeah, this was definitely about him.

Shit.

At least Laurel was inside. Matthew said coolly, “Want a whiskey, John? We were just about to sit down and enjoy this fine sunset. Have a seat and join us and you can tell me what brings you out this way.”

To his surprise, Cal saw the other man give a slow nod. “I think I will. Thanks, Matthew.”

“This is my future son-in-law, Cal Smith. Cal, meet John Evans.”

“Howdy.” Evans inclined his head.

“Pleasure,” Cal lied.

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cynically as he accepted a glass of whiskey he had no intention of drinking. If there was one thing he needed at the moment, it was a clear head.

Something flickered in the sheriff’s eyes. He said, “Congratulations. Laurel is a lovely girl. You’re a lucky man, Smith. On the other hand, Matthew tells me she’s pretty lucky to have you around also.”

“Right place, right time, I guess.” He hoped his shrug looked indifferent. At the moment, he didn’t understand the sheriff’s game. If somehow he’d figured out who he was, why didn’t he just arrest him? For that matter, if he knew, Cal was a bit surprised he hadn’t arrived with a posse in tow. With Laurel just inside, he’d go quietly…anything to spare her pain, but there was no way for Evans to know that. It would take more than one young lawman to haul Cal Riker off to jail if the deck wasn’t stacked against him. It was though, due to one slender woman who he’d die for in a beat of his heart.

Evans said in an even tone, as if he wasn’t stating the obvious, “That was a rough bunch of men. Most of them were wanted somewhere or other.”

“That so?” The less said about the River Bend Outfit, the better. Even if they weren’t all thieves and murderers what they intended for Laurel would make them vermin, and the fact they’d been wiped from the face of the earth was justice.