The Anonymous Bride (7 page)

Maybe that was enough. Garrett didn’t know if Luke had any money to his name after being in the cavalry for so long; and even if he did, it wasn’t a cousin’s place to advertise such information.

What else?

A woman’s looks were important to most men, but character went a long way, too.

Town marshal, 6'2", with dark brown hair and eyes, wants pretty wife who can cook. Must be willing to move to Texas.

Garrett smiled. “That should do it.”

Now he just had to decide where to place the ad.

CHAPTER 7

Southern Kansas

Carly Payton’s stomach swirled so badly she thought for sure she’d retch any moment. Her mount trailed a few yards behind the two horses carrying her brother, Tyson, and Emmett, a member of her brother’s outlaw gang. They slowly rode into a mid-sized Kansas town whose name she didn’t even know. She scanned the rugged wooden and brick buildings for the bank and found it toward the end of the street.

She studied the town again, as Ty had taught her. Knowing the layout could well save their lives later on. Several horses stood tied to rails outside the saloon and the doctor’s office, while a wagon sat in front of the only general store. Few people ambled down the boardwalks of the sleepy town in the heat of the noonday sun. Carly swiped at a trickle of sweat running down her temple.

A woman dressed in calico and wearing a straw hat held the hand of her daughter as they jogged across the dirt road in front of the riders. What would it feel like to walk so freely down the street of a town without concern that someone might recognize her brother as the leader of the Payton gang?

She shook her head. What a hoot to think she could ever be a lady. Why, she didn’t even like wearing dresses anymore.

Ty swung around in the saddle and glared at her as if he thought she’d tuck tail and run. She’d tried that once, and Ty’s threats to either shoot her or hand her over to the gang made her too afraid to run again. Sometimes she wondered if she’d have been better off if he hadn’t come for her after Ma died. At least she didn’t have an aching back from bending over a washtub all day like her ma had done—or cracked, reddened hands from hot water and lye soap, or blisters from chopping wood to heat the water.

“Quit hangin’ back, Carly.”

“I’m not.” She kicked her horse into a trot and caught up. She wiped sweaty palms on her pants, wishing she were back at camp, cooking up a rabbit stew. If Clay hadn’t gotten shot and killed last month, she might well be. But a man short, Ty expected her to take his place.

They passed the sheriff’s office, and she yanked her gaze away, but not before she noticed half a dozen wanted posters tacked on the outside wall. Was there one on her yet? Or had folks even figured out that the Payton gang had a woman in it? She worked hard to disguise her feminine attributes during the two train robberies and the other bank heist Ty had forced her to participate in. From under her hat, she peeked back at the posters. She might end up famous with a bounty on her head like Jesse James or Belle Starr. How much would she be worth on her wanted poster? Fifty dollars? One hundred?

As much as she dreaded the robberies, there was a strange excitement to them. Yet afterward, guilt ate at her so badly she could hardly eat or sleep. Her brother said there weren’t nothin’ wrong taking from other folks that had so much. Even their pa had been an outlaw before U.S. Marshals had gunned him down.

They dismounted in unison, and Emmett held the reins. He hobbled between two of the horses and stooped down as if pretending to be checking its leg for injury. Getting shot in the foot two weeks ago made him too slow to go in the bank, so he was stuck tending the horses. “Make it fast,” Emmett said. “I don’t want anyone getting suspicious of me out here.”

Ty glanced at her. His dark blue eyes looked cold as dusk in the heart of winter. His lips pressed together into a thin line. He was probably wondering if he’d be safe with only her at his side. He jerked his stubbled chin toward the bank. “Let’s get this done.”

She started toward him but stopped when he scowled. “Don’t forget the bag.”

Returning his glare, she snatched the burlap feed sack out of her saddle bags. Making sure her hair was stuffed up under her hat, she followed him up the bank’s steps, heart pounding and stomach churning. She would do her part, but she couldn’t help being nervous.

Ty had taken her in after their mother died when no one other than the saloon owner had shown any interest in her. At fourteen, most folks must have assumed she could make it on her own, or more likely, they weren’t willing to help the daughter of the town’s laundress. Once he found out their ma was dead, Tyson had come for her. He let her cook for his gang of outlaws, although he’d nearly sent her packing after the first meal. She smiled, remembering Will, the oldest of the outlaws and former chuck wagon cook for a ranch. If he hadn’t taken her under his wing, they’d all have starved. If only he hadn’t been pumped full of lead during a train robbery last year.

What would it feel like to get shot? She knew it hurt, from the moans of the gang members injured during robberies. She swallowed hard, hoping nobody got hurt today.

Her brother was a cranky sort and often griped at her; but for years, he’d protected her from his gang members and vowed to shoot anyone who laid a hand on her—at least until the day she’d decided to leave.

She shoved back her shoulders and pushed aside all thoughts but the duty at hand. Daydreaming could get them all killed. Their boots echoed on the boardwalk, spurs jingled. As they entered the dimly lit building, Carly’s eyes took a moment to adjust. The fresh scent of wood polish made her stomach roil, and well-shined boards creaked beneath their feet. At the counter on the right, two female clerks stood talking to each other. Carly bit back a smile. There were no barred windows on the counter and no guard. Obviously, this bank hadn’t had trouble for a long while.

Ty leaned close to her ear. “This bank is ripe for the pickin’.”

An empty desk to the left probably belonged to the manager. Ty had surveyed the town for ten days, watching people come and go, and had timed their entry with the manager’s lunch break. Her brother might not be honest, but he was smart.

The two clerks turned toward them, and the taller woman stepped up to the counter. She smiled, revealing pearly whites with a wide gap between her top middle teeth. “May I help you?”

“Need some information on opening an account here.” Ty flashed a wide grin that generally melted the hearts of any nearby females. With his black hair, blue eyes, tanned skin, and comely features, women would battle their best friend for his attention. He sauntered up to the counter, looking as if he had all day. He leaned casually on his elbows, grinning at the unsuspecting clerks, and shook his head. “I’m surprised this bank ain’t overflowing with men, considerin’ how pretty you lovely ladies are.”

Carly rolled her eyes at the blush on both women’s cheeks. The second clerk giggled behind her hand.

“I’m Miss Holt, and this is Mrs. Springer.” She batted her lashes as if she’d been in a dust storm. “I apologize, but Mr. Wattenburger, the bank manager, is the only one who can open accounts. He’s currently at lunch but will return soon.”

Carly eased toward the wall, fascinated by the elaborate gold brocade wallpaper that blended well with the dark wainscoting. Never having seen anything so fancy, she reached out and touched the raised surface. Ty cleared his throat, pulling her mind back to their business. If she inched to her left a few feet, she’d be behind the counter.

“I’m only in town a short while. Maybe there’s someone else here who could help me?” Ty glanced toward a back room where the vault was probably kept.

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Wattenburger is the only one that can help you.” Miss Holt glanced at a watch pinned to the bodice of her stiff white blouse. “He should be back in less than a half hour. Could you wait?”

“Perfect. That gives me just enough time.” Ty straightened and reached for his gun.

Her Colt ready, Carly did the same and slipped behind the counter.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t come back—” Mrs. Springer slammed her mouth shut and frowned at them. Miss Holt gasped and stepped back.

Carly pulled the burlap sack out from under her arm and held it out. “Just fill this up, and make it fast. We don’t want nobody gettin’ hurt.”

With shaking hands, the two women emptied the cash and gold coins from their teller drawers into the bag. They cowered together, all visible admiration for Ty gone.

“What about the vault?” he asked.

“I–it’s closed.” Miss Holt hiked up her chin.

Mrs. Springer gasped and nudged her friend with her elbow. “Tell him the truth. I don’t want to get shot. I have two little ones, you know.”

Ty narrowed his gaze and stalked to the back room, then reappeared in the doorway. “Get back here. Both of you.”

Mrs. Springer whimpered but plodded forward, arms linked with Miss Holt. “Please don’t shoot us. I’ve got children, and I’m a widow. They don’t have anyone else to care for them.”

Carly’s heart went out to her, knowing her mother had been in the same situation.

“Hey, kid! Get that bag in here.”

She jumped and hurried to the vault, coins clinking in the bottom of the sack. Ty dumped in handfuls of money that were banded with a paper wrapping around the middle. Carly’s eyes widened at the sight of so much cash. Robbing trains never brought in anything like this, although they had ended up with some nice watches.

Ty threw the bag over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Carly scurried out of the room, and Ty stopped, waving the gun at the two women. “You keep quiet until the manager returns. I’ll have a gunman watching the door, and if you call out an alarm, he’ll shoot you. Understand?”

Tears rolled down Mrs. Springer’s cheeks, and she nodded. Miss Holt was slower to respond.

Ty stepped up to her. “You understand, Miss Holt? I’d hate for such a pretty little thing to end up with a hole in her chest.”

He pressed the barrel of his gun to her bodice, and her eyes went wide. She nodded. Ty grabbed Miss Holt suddenly and kissed her hard on the lips. Mrs. Springer squealed, wobbled, and collapsed with a thud on the ground. Miss Holt looked as if she would join her any moment.

“C’mon. We need to get outta here,” Carly yelled, careful not to say her brother’s name. The clerks had already seen their faces.

Grinning wide, Ty stormed past her. She followed, glancing back at the door to make sure the women stayed where they were. Outside, they vaulted onto their horses. Emmett headed one way while she and Ty went the other. Folks were so busy tending to their own business that nobody noticed a thing. Bank robbing was as easy as picking clothespins off a laundry line—and a lot more profitable.

Just outside of town, Carly pulled her horse to a stop, leaned over, and spilled her guts.

CHAPTER 8

Rachel sat on the settee in the parlor sipping tea with her good friend Martha Phillips. “So, how has Hank been? Has he been very busy doctoring folks?”

“No, not too busy. With the warmer weather, there haven’t been as many people taking ill.” Martha nibbled on a sugar cookie then dabbed her lips. “I suppose you’ve heard by now that Louise Chambers had her baby a few days ago. Hank delivered their third son.”

“No, I hadn’t.” Rachel shook her head, thinking of the three baby boys she’d lost. Still, she mustered some excitement for the kind lady she’d met at church. “They must be delighted. How is she doing?”

“Fine, last time Hank checked.” Martha let out a sigh and looked down. “I wish that I could become with child. We’ve been married two years now.”

Rachel watched a fly creep up her floral wallpaper as she considered her response. She knew that saying it was God’s will didn’t help one bit. “You’re still young yet. Sometimes these things take time.”

“Not for you. Guessing by the age of your daughter, you must have gotten with child on your wedding night.” Martha’s eyes went wide and her hand lifted to her mouth. “Oh dear. I beg your pardon. Hank talks freely to me of such things, and I tend to forget that such topics are not proper conversation.”

Rachel forced a smile. Martha hadn’t lived in Lookout back then, didn’t know the circumstances around her pregnancy with Jacqueline—but then, neither did anyone else. Once again she breathed a prayer of thanks that her daughter had been so tiny at birth. Everyone assumed she’d been born early. “Think nothing of it.”

“Hank is continually telling me to think before I speak, but I confess that I find it difficult. I tend to just blurt out whatever comes to mind.” She lifted her cup to her lips and gazed out the window. Her eyes suddenly went wide. She stood and set the cup and saucer on the end table. “I’m afraid it’s time I was going. I need to get Hank’s supper on the stove.”

Rachel peered out the window to see what could have disturbed her guest. Agatha Linus and Bertha Boyd barreled down the street toward the boardinghouse like a locomotive at full steam.

“Thank you for offering to make those pies for the church bazaar.” Martha tied on her bonnet and reached for the screen door. “Next time, you must come to my house for tea.”