The Outlaws: Rafe (44 page)

Chandler took two menacing steps forward.
 
"You can't dismiss me that easily, Angela.
 
I've devoted too much time to you and the mine to leave now."

"Is that so!" Angela challenged.
 
"We'll see what the sheriff has to say about that.
 
As of this moment you're trespassing on my property.
 
Move away from the buckboard, I can drive myself to town."

"You're not going anywhere," Chandler threatened.
 
"Let me remind you that we are virtually isolated out here.
 
Soon we'll be snowed in for the winter.
 
You and I...alone."

"Never!" Angela vowed.

Her protest made little impact upon Chandler.
 
"Do you know what's going to happen, Angela?"

Angela remained silent.
 
She didn't have the foggiest notion what Chandler had in his devious mind.
 
She didn't have long to wait to learn the answer.

"I'm going to move into your cabin and share your bed.
 
When your belly swells with my child you'll have to marry me."

"You're mad!
 
There's no way I'll share your bed.
 
I have...friends.
 
You won't get away with this."

"Friends?" he guffawed.
 
"You mean that over the hill lawyer?
 
A fat lot of good he'll do you."

Angela remembered Mr. Goodman's promise to come up to the mine and move her to town if he didn't hear from her in five days.
 
She had but two more days to wait for him to arrive.
 
But even more heartening was the sure knowledge that Rafe was nearby.
 
She knew he was watching, and when he didn't see her and Desmond leave together in the buckboard, he'd come to investigate.

What truly disappointed Angela was the fact that there was virtually no hope now of proving Rafe's innocence.
 
Anson could confess to her but it wouldn't mean a thing without witnesses.

"Have I rendered you speechless, my dear?" Chandler taunted.
 
He moved closer.
 
"Can I hope that you're looking forward to my attentions?
 
It's been a long time since you and that outlaw have been together.
 
You're probably hurting for it right now."
 
He touched her breast.
 
"I'll not disappoint you."

A gasp of outrage exploded from Angela's lips as she swatted Chandler's hand away.
 
"How dare you!
 
You have no right to touch me.
 
Your touch makes me want to retch."

"Bitch!" Chandler snarled.
 
"I'm going to enjoy taming you.
 
You're going to lie with me every night until you swell with my child."
 
He swung his arm to encompass the mine.
 
"I've come too far to lose all this because of one obstinate woman."

Angela let her gaze drift beyond Chandler, to the hillside above the mine.
 
"I wouldn't be too confident if I were you."

"Go inside and fix me something to eat," Chandler growled.
 
"I'm thoroughly sick of my own cooking.
 
And Dexter's clumsy attempts were even worse than mine."

"Cook for yourself," Angela shot back.
 
"I'm going to town for the law.
 
If you're smart you'll clear out of here before I return."

She tried to steer around Chandler but he blocked her path.

"You're not going anywhere.
 
Look up at the sky.
 
Those are snowflakes, if I'm not mistaken."

"Then I'd best get going if I want to reach town before the roads become impassable."
 
She pushed past him.
 
"Get out of my way."

He grasped her arm, bringing her up short.
 
"You're not going anywhere, Angela, except inside that cabin to await my pleasure.
 
I'm partial to roast beef.
 
We can while away the afternoon in bed while the beef cooks.
 
There are no duties, no one around, nothing to keep us from enjoying one another."

"Cook your own roast beef!" Angela spat, jerking her arm from his grasp.
 
"I'm moving to town."

She flew past him toward the buckboard.
 
She didn't get far.
 
This time when he grasped her arm he bent it behind her.
 
Pain exploded through her.
 
"Don't, you're hurting me!"

"That was my intention.
 
I'm tired of acting like a suitor.
 
It's time you learned to take me seriously.
 
I'm not someone you can push around."

"Since when have you ever acted like a suitor?" Angela hissed.

He twisted her arm higher.
 
Angela rose to her toes, the pressure so great she feared her arm would break.

"I can't cook your dinner with a broken arm."

"That's more like it," Chandler said as he eased the pressure on her arm.
 
Angela wanted to sob with relief but wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
 
"Go inside and wait for me while I unhitch the horses from the buckboard and pack up my belongings for the move over here.
 
I like mashed potatoes with my roast beef," he called over his shoulder.

"I'd like to give you poison with your roast beef," Angela muttered beneath her breath.

This is absurd, Angela thought as she returned to her cabin.
 
Roast beef indeed.
 
If Anson wanted to eat he'd have to cook the food himself.

The first thing Angela did was retrieve her pistol from the dresser in her bedroom.
 
She loaded it and shoved it inside her skirt pocket.
 
Chandler was crazy if he thought she'd let him get her with child.
 
A slow smile curved her lips.
 
Besides, she was almost certain she was carrying Rafe's child.

 
Angela left the bedroom, the gun a comfortable weight against her hip.
 
She wasn't certain she could shoot to kill; it all depended upon how determined Chandler was to have his way.

Angela glanced out the parlor window, letting her gaze drift upward, to the hillside above the mine.
 
She wondered if Rafe knew was nearby as she pondered her dilemma.

Angela had no idea what had sent Dexter fleeing in the night.
 
He was a coward, that much was certain.
 
He must have feared Chandler more than he wanted money.

Where was Rafe? she wondered anxiously.
 
Was he waiting on the trail for her and Dexter to pass by?
 
Too many puzzles, too few solutions.
 
She had just turned away from the window when Chandler burst into the cabin.

"It's that lawyer fellow.
 
He's coming up the road .
 
What in the hell does he want?"

A great shudder of relief passed through her.
 
But it was short-lived when Chandler said, "Get rid of him if you value his life.
 
It wouldn't be difficult to arrange an accident.
 
These mountains are full of hazards.
 
And he
is
an old man."

Angela blanched.
 
"You wouldn't!"

"Wouldn't I?"

The question hung in the air between them as a knock sounded on the door.
 
Angela moved to answer it.
 
Chandler held her back.
 
"Don't say anything to arouse his suspicion."

"Angela, are you there?"

"He's becoming impatient," Angela hissed.
 
"Let me go."
 
He released her arm and she hurried off to answer the door.

"Mr. Goodman, what brings you up here on such a raw day?" Angela asked brightly.
 
"Come inside and warm yourself by the fire."

He followed her to the parlor and lowered himself into a chair beside the fire.
 
"I told you I'd return, my dear.
 
The promise of snow brought me a day or two early.
 
Are you ready to..."
 
His gaze found Chandler.
 
"Am I interrupting?"

"Actually, you came at a good time," Chandler said, placing an arm around Angela's waist and pulling her against him.
 
"You see, Angela has just agreed to marry me."

Goodman's startled gaze swung around to Angela, his shaggy brows raised nearly to his hairline.
 
"Are congratulations in order, Angela?"

Angela fidgeted nervously.
 
If she told the truth, Chandler's threat against the lawyer's could become reality.
 
But to admit to being engaged to Anson was unthinkable.

"I haven't agreed to anything," Angela finally said.
 
"I fear Anson is overeager.
 
My divorce isn't final yet and may not be for a long time."

The word divorce sent Chandler's eyebrow shooting upward.
 
"Divorce?
 
What divorce."

Goodman sent Angela a look that indicated his understanding of the situation.

"I advised Angela to obtain a divorce from Mr. Gentry," Goodman said.
 
"She couldn't claim their marriage never took place when dozens of people witnessed the ceremony.
 
Divorce is a long, sometimes exhausting process."

Angela could see the wheels turning in Chandler's head.

"I'll wait for as long as it takes," Chandler said.
 
"We are both eager to cement our relationship with a child.
 
It's quite possible," he announced with sly innuendo, "that we may not wait for the nuptials to start a family.
 
It's going to be a long winter."

"I see," Goodman said, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
 
He knew darn good and well that Angela had torn up the divorce document.
 
Something was definitely amiss.

"I told Angela when I saw her a few days ago that I'd help her find lodgings in town for the winter.
 
You haven't changed your mind, have you, my dear?"

"That's out of the question," Chandler retorted.
 
"Angela and I are remaining here for the winter.
 
Don't worry, I'll take good care of her.
 
After all, she's almost my wife."

"If you have no other instructions for me, my dear," Goodman said, rising, "I'll take my leave.
 
The weather is worsening."

Angela jumped to her feet.
 
"Yes, you mustn't linger.
 
I'll see you to the door."

Goodman wasn't surprised by Angela's haste to push him through the door; he knew she was maneuvering him for a private moment alone.
 
He glanced over her shoulder and saw Chandler following them.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly.
 
"Can you tell me?"

"Find Rafe," she hissed.
 
"He's living in a cave above the mine.
 
Dexter has disappeared.
 
Anson is..."

"What are you two talking about?" Chandler asked harshly.

"Mr. Goodman just asked about Desmond," Angela lied.
 
"I told him my stepfather returned to Wichita on the morning stage."

"Is that all?" Chandler asked sharply.

Angela faced him squarely.
 
"Of course.
 
What else is there?"

"I'll bid you both good-bye," Goodman said, aware of the evil vibrations emanating from Chandler.
 
He hated to leave Angela alone with a killer but it was imperative that he find Rafe.
 
In fact, it was past time he alerted the sheriff to Angela's suspicions and let him handle Chandler.

Sleet and driving snow prevented Goodman from locating either Rafe or the cave.
 
After an hour of wandering around in the blinding storm, Goodman headed down the mountain.
 
Covered with snow and numb with cold, the old man stumbled into the sheriff's office and spewed out a story that sounded more fiction than fact.

"That sounds pretty farfetched to me, Mr. Goodman," the sheriff said, scratching his head.
 
"Are you sure you've got your facts straight?"

"Every charge against Rafe Gentry except the one stemming from Brady Baxter's murder has been dropped," Goodman said through chattering teeth.
 
"Rafe Gentry is not a killer.
 
Someone else killed Brady Baxter and Mrs. Gentry has sufficient evidence to prove that Anson Chandler is the killer.
 
She's alone with Chandler at the Golden Angel.
 
You have to go up there now, sheriff.
 
I fear for her life."