Once an Outlaw (22 page)

She tore open the envelope and began to read, oblivious of Rufus Doily’s stare and Nettie Phillips’s keen gaze.

“Good news, honey?” Nettie inquired.

“Wonderful news.” Emily’s eyes shone. “My friend is well, and she’s coming for Joey. Oh, he’ll be so happy!” For the first time in days, Emily’s heart lifted. She couldn’t wait to get home and tell Joey that his mother would be with him soon.

“You’ll miss the boy, I reckon,” Nettie commented.

“Very much.” Emily nodded, a pang going through her. The cabin wouldn’t be the same without Joey. She’d miss his noisy card games with Uncle Jake, the way he called her Em-ly, his soft, fervent hugs when she tucked him in at night.

“But it’s all for the best,” she told Nettie. “He’ll be with his mother, where he belongs.”

“Could be you’ll have children of your own some day
soon. Of course you’ll want a husband first,” the woman added with a grin.

Emily’s throat tightened. More hints about Clint Barclay. Nettie had no idea how far off the mark she was. She had no idea that Uncle Jake might be breaking the law once more—and that Clint Barclay would enforce that law until his very last breath.

Neither did she know how deeply averse Clint Barclay was to marriage. He didn’t want to marry her—he didn’t want to marry anyone. He’d had plenty of chances to make a declaration of love—he’d never once said the word, or even hinted at it.

What he felt for her was lust, pure and simple. Yes, he’d been tender, he’d made her feel beautiful and desirable and as special as a rose in winter—but then he’d turned away from her, stayed away from her, and left town. Without a word.

He would never be her husband. She would never awaken by his side in the mornings, be swept away by midnight kisses, or cradle his baby in her arms.

A hollow ache more painful than anything she’d ever known began to throb deep inside her.

Good Lord. She loved him. She loved Clint Barclay.

Emily felt almost dizzy with shock at the supreme idiocy of her own foolish heart.

Somehow she managed to speak calmly, bidding good day to Nettie and Rufus Doily, despite the wrenching sadness crashing through her.

She found Pete lounging against the wagon, his hat pulled low over his eyes. Hearing her footsteps, he pushed back his hat, then his eyes narrowed as he saw her face.

“What’s wrong, Em?” he demanded.

“I just want… to leave this town. Please, let’s just go home.”

“Okay, Sis. Calm down.” He set her parcels in the wagon, helped her onto the seat, then sprang up beside her.

“You want to tell me what’s eating you?” he asked quietly, studying her with worried eyes.

“I’m anxious to get started on supper. And … there’s a letter here—it’s from Lissa. I need to tell Joey about it.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” If there were one thing in the world Emily knew she couldn’t explain to Pete, it was her feelings for Clint Barclay.

She threw one last, fleeting look at the closed-up jail-house across the street from the hotel and wished she could as easily lock, shutter, and close her heart.

MILY KNELT BESIDE THE TALL COT
tonwood tree as the school bell rang and straightened the collar of Joey’s freshly washed plaid shirt. “Don’t forget that you’re going home with Bobby after school today to see his new kittens,” she reminded him as he started to pull away to join the other children streaming into the schoolhouse.

“And Mrs. Smith asked if you wanted to stay to supper. Her husband offered to bring you back home afterward if you’d like.”

Joey’s eyes sparkled. “Yes, please! I want to play with the kittens as long as I can. Bobby said that the littlest one has a stripe down its back!”

“Remember to be gentle with them.” Emily gave the boy a hug. “And don’t forget to thank Mrs. Smith for supper.”

“When I come home, you’ll help me get ready for the spelling bee, won’t you, Em-ly?”

“You can be sure I will,” she assured him. “Go on with you now, you don’t want Miss Crayden to mark you tardy.”

“I sure don’t!”

He gave her one last squeeze and wheeled away, trotting for the schoolhouse door. But he stopped just as suddenly and spun around. “How many days till Mama comes?”

“Nine more days, Joey.”

He grinned so widely it appeared his small face would crack. “Whoopee! Bye, Em-ly!”

She watched as he dashed inside just as Miss Crayden was about to close the door. Emily smiled after him before turning the wagon toward home, filled with gratitude at the way Joey had blossomed over the past weeks. He certainly loved Forlorn Valley—especially the Smith children, as well as his other friends at school, and the little cabin on Teacup Ranch. And ever since she’d shown him Lissa’s letter and explained that his mother was coming for him, the last sign of his former burdens had seemed to lift from his shoulders.

All had been quiet this past week since she’d received Lissa’s letter. Uncle Jake and Lester had nearly finished the repairs to the barn and Pete had been out line riding every day. Margaret Smith had stopped by one afternoon with some muslin for a new Sunday dress, and she’d brought news from town.

Her husband’s parents, Bessie and Hamilton Smith, attending a banking convention, were still in Denver, as were the Mangleys for their dinner with the governor, but they were all expected to return on Tuesday. The blacksmith’s wife was expecting her fourth child any day now, and Rufus Doily had fallen off a ladder and been stitched up by Doc Calvin.

And oh, yes, Sheriff Barclay hadn’t returned from Denver yet either, Margaret reported casually, her gaze searching Emily’s as she relayed this news, then she cleared her throat and stood up tactfully to leave.

He can stay in Denver forever as far as I’m concerned
, Emily thought that Monday morning as the horse plodded back toward the ranch. She didn’t know how she would handle seeing Clint again, how she would manage to pretend he was unimportant to her when she encountered him on the boardwalk or in the mercantile. But she couldn’t bear the thought of him knowing her true feelings, of knowing how he’d hurt her by leaving town without a word. The Spoons had never had much in the world, but they had their tempers and their pride.

She was determined to keep mastery of both—even if it killed her.

Deep in thought, she drove toward home—until a sudden flash of movement through the trees caught her attention. Glancing quickly in that direction, she saw a man riding a gray horse across a gully, headed toward the foothills.

The man was Uncle Jake.

Emily reined in, staring. Uncle Jake had planned to go to town today—for more lumber and nails, he’d said. But Lonesome was located in the opposite direction.

She hadn’t been able to follow him the other night, but she sure could today. Emily jerked the reins, her mouth grim. She’d have to stay well enough back so he wouldn’t see or hear her. She’d risk losing him, but she’d try to track his horse’s hoofprints if need be. Fixing her gaze on the burly rider galloping fast toward some unknown destination, she turned the mare off the trail.

She didn’t know how long she followed Jake. The sun beat down, the hot, windswept air felt heavy as a blanket, and the ground grew steeper, more rocky and treacherous. So far she had managed to keep her uncle in sight, but as the trail became more winding and steep, it became
more dificult for the wagon to follow. At last she pulled the mare to a halt, jumped out, and unhitched the horse, her fingers flying. With every second that passed she feared Uncle Jake would disappear up ahead, but at last she had the horse free and she abandoned the wagon without a second thought. Standing on a rock, she managed to mount and then rode bareback, clutching the mare’s mane with trembling fingers. Just as she dug in her heels to urge the horse faster, she saw a flash of Jake Spoon’s blue shirt disappear at the slope of a ravine.

“Come on, Nugget,” she muttered, and then she was riding hard in pursuit. Since Uncle Jake wouldn’t answer her questions, she’d just have to find out what was going on for herself. She had no idea where he was going or what he was up to, but if he was planning a holdup, Emily knew one thing.

She had to stop him.

Keeping well back, she followed him down the ravine, along a narrow rock-strewn trail. Once she saw a bear lumbering across a high ridge to her left, and a hawk wheeled overhead, but she tried not to be distracted by her wild, lonely surroundings. Always she kept her eyes on her uncle’s tall hunched figure in the distance, praying he wouldn’t glance back and see her following him.

An hour must have passed. They were deep in the mountains. Jake had taken yet another path, one that wound upward and to the north. Emily clung to the mare’s mane and followed. When he again disappeared up ahead, she swore under her breath and urged the mare faster.

By the time she reached the spot where she was certain she’d last glimpsed him, there was only empty sky above, a steep hair-raising fall into a glinting silver
stream at the edge of the trail, and heaps of rocks and boulders. She paused, looking around, her stomach clenching.

Then she saw a place where the path forked—a small pathway that appeared to squeeze between two rocks. She studied it a moment, then heard the sound of a horse whinnying.

Another horse replied.

Both sounds had come from the direction of that side path.

Her throat dry as sand, Emily turned her mare onto the path and rode slowly, cautiously forward between towering rocks, her ears straining for the slightest sound.

It wasn’t long before she realized that she’d entered a narrow pass through the mountains, a pass invisible from both above and below. Faintly, up ahead, she heard men’s voices.

She slipped off her mare at a small dip in the path and left her to graze in a patch of grass hidden behind some rocks. Warily she crept forward, taking care to make no sound.

When she finally saw Uncle Jake, he was in a flat clearing thirty yards ahead. And he wasn’t alone, she realized, her heart starting to thud. She pressed herself up against the rocks beside her and took a deep steadying breath.

There were two other men in the clearing with him, and all three of their horses. She didn’t recognize the first man. He was big as a bear, wearing buckskins and cracked boots, his shaggy black hair and beard half hiding a cruel, swarthy face.

The other man, the one standing beside the horses, taking a long deep drink from a leather flask, she did recognize.

It was Slim Jenks.

The bottom seemed to drop out from her stomach. Emily sagged against the rock wall and tried to squeeze herself between the cracks, slightly around the corner, so that the men couldn’t see her from the clearing. She stood perfectly still, frozen with fear and dismay, as she heard the rumble of their voices.

“So the stage should reach Boulder Point by…” Jenks’s voice was blown away by a sudden gust of wind rushing through the pass.

“Your boys clear on what they have to do?” The man with the black beard strode toward Uncle Jake. Though her uncle was tall, this man with his huge hulking shoulders and great height and bulk nearly dwarfed him. “Make sure those two women get shot first, shot dead—then kill everyone else. They all have to be done breathin’, including the driver, before you and Jenks and those boys start helping yourselves to the loot.”

Slim Jenks eyed her uncle, the flask still in his hand. “There can’t be any witnesses left alive, you got that, Spoon? Not a single one.”

“I’m not stupid, Jenks, and neither are Lester and Pete.” Irritated, Uncle Jake wheeled away from the cowboy and addressed the black-bearded man. “We’ve robbed enough stages, Ratlin, to know how to pull this off. Isn’t that why you wanted me and my boys in the first place?”

“But you never killed anyone before, did you, Spoon?” Jenks persisted. He stuffed the flask in his pocket and stalked up to the older man.

“Happens I shot a man once after he pulled a gun on me. But I never killed no women,” Jake growled, meeting the cowboy’s contemptuous gaze. He shrugged. “For a nice pile of money, I reckon it’ll be easy enough.”

Jenks gave a hard laugh.

“Just remember, none of us get paid, not one red cent, if those Mangley women don’t die,” Ratlin growled. “That’s the whole purpose of—”

The wind swept through then, wiping out his words. Emily hugged the rock, horror crawling over her.

The two Mangley women. Carla and Agnes. She felt as if she were slipping, slipping into a faint, and she dug her fingers into the hard, rough surface of the boulder, trying to hang on, not to faint, to listen, to think …

But grief was washing over her. Uncle Jake, who had taken her in, given her piggyback rides, taught her to fish, was planning to murder a stagecoach full of people—and so were Pete and Lester.

Pete would never murder anyone
, she thought frantically. And Lester… dear Lord, Lester had bought Carla’s box lunch. The girl was half in love with him!

No, no
, a part of her whispered desperately,
it can’t be true
.

But she had heard it with her own ears.

“We get to keep whatever we take off the passengers, right? Plus the thousand dollars apiece Mangley’s paying?” Uncle Jake fixed Ratlin with a piercing glance.

Bile rose in Emily’s throat.
Mangley? Frank Mangley? Carla’s uncle?

“Whatever you grab off of them is yours.” Ratlin nodded. “You and your boys and Jenks can split it all. But don’t stick around too long counting it,” he warned, “because once Barclay comes after you, you’re dead unless you…”

He turned away, toward the horses and she couldn’t hear his next words. But she’d heard enough. Revulsion and a sick panic filled her.

She started back up the path, her only thought to return home and wait for Uncle Jake, to confront him there. She didn’t care what she had to do, she would talk him out of this terrible deed. She would stop him somehow. And then she’d deal with Pete and Lester.

Pain choked her, and she bit back sobs. She’d been living among strangers. How could they? How could they have promised her they’d go straight and all the while they were planning to murder a stagecoach full of people—including women from their own town.

The pain in her chest tightened as another thought came. The Smiths would most likely be on that stagecoach too. She thought of Bessie and Hamilton—Clint’s friends—and Joey. He was to have supper this very night with Bobby Smith, Bessie and Ham’s grandson …

“You headed to Denver straight from here?” Ratlin’s voice drifted to her once again, and she froze.

“Yep.”

“What about that niece of yours?”

“Going to tell her we’ve got cattle business down in…” The wind snatched his words away, then a few more reached her. “… Pete and Lester will be there by tonight… we’ll plan on meeting up with you and Jenks at the Oakey Saloon …”

Tonight
. Emily nearly gasped. She had to speak to Uncle Jake now, today. She had to stop him. And what about Pete and Lester … what if she missed them, or what if they wouldn’t listen to her?

They’d been lying all along—how could she believe they would really ride to Denver and call off the holdup instead of carrying through with it?