The Lady and the Lawman (37 page)

“
All
right. I’ll tell you. I only did what I was told.”

He
didn’t have enough brains between his ears to tie his shoes, so it
had to be the start of the truth.

“
Talk.”
He waved the gun at him, backing up his words.

“
What
d’ya want to know?”

“
Who’s
paying you?” He wanted confirmation of his thoughts. “Is it
Dalton?”

“
No.
Not Dalton.”

He
knelt down in front of the man in surprise, looking directly into his
face. “You’re telling me the man who’s paid you to do this
isn’t Dalton?”

He
was allowing the man time to recant before he punched him, sure the
man was lying.

“
I’m
telling you, it wasn’t him. He’s knows about all this though,
‘cause the meetings took place at his ranch. But the man who gave
instructions and paid me wasn’t him.”

“
Who
was he?” Grant shoved his gun into the man’s chest.

“
I
don’t know who he was. I swear I don’t. I’d never seen him
before.”

“
Why
don’t I believe you?”

The
man looked ready to cry. “Look, I’m telling the truth. I’d
never seen him before.”

“
Describe
him.”

“
He
was tall, but not your height, scrawny. He dressed real funny, stuffy
like, and told me never to touch your wife or hurt her, but only to
scare her.”

“
What’s
his name?” Grant asked, trying to think of men who fit the
description. Only one man came to mind, but was stunned at the
thought and had to be sure. More pieces fell into place.

“
He
never told me his name, but the other men referred to him as Hunt.”

Grant
swore under his breath. “You came here and kidnapped my wife?”

The
man shook. “Yes. I saw you leave so I knew she was alone.”

Grant
was ready to kill. He’d all but admitted he’d taken Maggie, not
once, but twice. Unfortunately, he needed more information. “You
took her to Dalton’s?” The man nodded. “Then what?”

“
The
man you’re askin’ after paid me. He said next I was to kill you.”

“
I'm
sure you didn’t go to Hunt alone. How many of your friends know
details about what this man planned on doing with my wife?”

“
The
other men from the stage are dead. Killed. I swear I'm not one of
them. Hunt told Dalton she was goin’ to stay there at Dalton’s
for a day, long enough for me to kill you. But you’ve been hard to
kill, and it took me longer to track you down.”

“
What
happens after you supposedly kill me?”

“
After
that, the man said he was taking her back home. Now I’m not sure
where that is, and that’s the truth.”

He
knew the bastard wasn’t lying. The puzzle now fit. Ever since he
threw Hunt off Tom’s land, he must have stayed in town, scheming
up a way to have him killed and to get Maggie he’d wanted back. The
bastard somehow had run into Dalton, and Grant was sure Dalton would
be up for a way to bring him low. He’d also expressed interest in
Maggie since the night at Croft’s, so he knew there was double
pleasure in this whole scenario for him.

He
threw on some clothes and dragged the man into jail in under an hour.
It took less time than that to put a posse together.

Knowing
many in the town were not overly friendly with Dalton, he went from
door to door seeking, and receiving, the help he needed. They rushed
to follow, pulling their guns, rifles and any other weapons they
could carry from their homes and businesses. On their doorsteps,
wives kissed their men goodbye, eager to have the town free of the
ruthless man once and for all.

***

Shots
were fired into the darkness around them. They had been riding up to
Dalton’s house, six men in total. As the first rounds were fired,
they dispersed and circled round the main building.

Grant
led the men, guns blazing. If Maggie was in there, he damn well was
going to get her, and fast. Tom had come to town to help, ready and
willing to accompany his brother.

Guards
standing watch were taken out quickly and easily, either shot dead
where they stood or surrendered without a fight. It took only ten
minutes until they were walking up the front steps of Dalton’s
mansion, guns ready.

Grant
found Dalton in his library, behind his desk. Waiting.

“
Where’s
my wife?”

“
That
whore from Croft’s? Fitting that you married her.”

“
What’s
that supposed to mean?” Grant growled.

Tom
entered the room and stood next to his brother, shoulder to shoulder.

“
Your
sister was also a slut. It must run in the family.”

Tom
cocked his gun, ready to shoot him.

Grant
put his free hand on top of Tom’s wrist, preventing him from
killing the bastard—yet. The man had answers and he needed them
before he shot him squarely between the eyes.

“
Where’s
my wife?”

Dalton
laughed, deep and corrupt. “She’s not here. Search the place, you
won’t find anything.”

Tom
left the room, only briefly, to instruct the other men to ransack the
house.

“
You’re
going to jail, Dalton. Why not come clean?”

Dalton’s
hands rested flat on his desk. “And I’m stupid enough to believe
that?”

“
All
right. You’re a dead man. Any last words?”

“
You
want me to incriminate myself. You believe I’m linked to the stage
robbery.”

“
I
know you’re linked to the stage robbery. And the murder of two men.
And the kidnapping of my wife. And the rape of my sister.”

Dalton
stuck his chest out like a strutting peacock. “What a proud list of
accomplishments. You killed my horse. I think we’re even.” He
leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “You think I’ll
go easily?”

Dalton
moved his hands to his lap. B
efore
Grant could fire, Dalton’s gun came up from behind the desk. He
heard the gun cock as another fired. Grant’s gun went off as well.

Acrid
fumes filled the air. Men rushed from different areas of the house as
Grant and Tom stared at Dalton’s dead body. One shot killed him
instantly, right between the eyes. The second hit lower, right into
his heart.

***

It
had been over a month since she was taken from Cranston. Margaret had
spent the weeks agonizing over Grant’s demise. William never let a
day pass he didn’t tell her he was dead, shot in cold blood. One
day he even added he'd been dragged out onto the plains, shot and
left for the vultures to pick over. Even though his words were only
meant to upset her, it had worked. He wanted to burn the finality of
the situation into her brain so she would accept it and adjust to
marrying him. As if she could ever do that.

The
journey back had been long and monotonous, lacking all excitement and
possibility the trip west had offered. She had not been allowed from
William’s sight for any amount of time, except in the evenings when
she had been locked in her room at the many hotels and way stations
they had stayed in on their trip. One night she climbed from the
window and walked along a precarious ledge before jumping to the
ground. She’d only taken five steps before William had grabbed her.
Punishment was severe, the bruises finally fading after three weeks.
The blows were to areas of her body that didn’t limit her ability
to be seen in public.

His
façade as a doting fiancé remained. Since that night, she’d been
too much in pain, and afraid, to try again.

Their
wedding was imminent. Hope was all she had, and that was fading
quickly.

The
short ride from Pennsylvania Station was in the back of his carriage.
The driver had met them at the train and escorted them directly to
the waiting coach. The bags would follow after them.

It
was a hazy afternoon, the August air humid, claustrophobic. Her
traveling dress clung to her skin. They had barely spoken since
Pittsburgh, and she made no move to hold conversation now, either.

It
had been over two months since she had originally fled from William’s
threats. Now, everything seemed different, not just the changing
seasons. Maybe it was her, but something had definitely changed. Lost
in her thoughts, she noticed too late they were not returning to her
house, the carriage instead heading downtown.

“
Where
are we going?” she asked, turning quickly from the window.

Seeming
unconcerned by her question, he removed imaginary dirt from his coat.
“We’re going to my townhouse. You don’t think I’m going to
leave you alone in that big mansion of yours with the chances of you
running away again? I don’t trust you, so I will be keeping my
investment,”—he placed a hand on top of hers then squeezed
painfully—“safe until we are legally wed.”

Her
anger flushed red. She yanked her hands out from under his. “This
is highly inappropriate, William. What are people to think?”
Hopefully his longstanding attention to propriety and custom would
change his mind.

“
No
one would question, Margaret. No man likes to watch his fiancé slip
away. You belittled me once, not again. Besides, there are the
servants, so we won’t be without chaperone,” he continued, adding
the last bit with a bit of sarcasm. The servants would offer her no
protection from his advances. He was their master and paying their
salary, and for all she knew, victimized just like herself.

He
opened the front door for her and followed her into the foyer.
Handing the coats to the butler, he ushered her into the library and
poured them both a glass of port. The room was beautifully appointed,
although not in the same class as her father’s mansion. Everything
was in its place and the home spotless.

Marrying
her would mean an alliance in the high society of Philadelphia for
William. It would be quite a coup. He was so desperate for all the
Atwater name offered, he had become
obsessed
with seeing this through. So driven, he was willing to murder, and
she was next.

She
would give the name, the money--everything--up for Grant. She would
turn her back on all of her wealth just to have what they had shared.

“
I’m
tired, William, and I’d like to rest before the theater,” she
said as she put her untouched glass on an end table. Early still,
William had plans for a final appearance as the affianced couple at
the theater that evening.

“
Of
course.” He led her toward the stairs and followed closely behind.
She was sure she could feel his breath creeping down her neck.

“
What
are you doing?” she asked, nervous and wary of his closeness.

“
Let
me show you to your room. You’ve forgotten yourself. You don’t
know where it is.” He took a firm grasp on her arm and led,
practically pulled her up the steps.

“
Let
go of me!” she all but screamed, struggling against his tight
grasp. Her cries fell on deaf ears. He continued to pull her up
the stairs using uncommon strength. Her toes barely touched each
riser. He stopped clo
se
to the top and shoved her to the ground, causing her to trip over the
top step and falling hard on the uncarpeted landing. She broke her
fall with her hands and the impact made her groan in pain. Turning
her head, she looked at his polished shoes and crisp pant legs. She
watched as his foot kicked her squarely in the belly. As she curled
into a ball, she all but hoped air would enter her lungs so she might
scream. Looking up into his face, she saw William’s face return to
its normal sickly pallor from the brilliant red of anger.