The Ruination of Essie Sparks (Wild Western Rogues Series, Book 2) (27 page)

"I suppose Ollie told you everything." Essie glared at the girl from beneath her lashes.

"Only on a need to know basis. And since she left me in charge while she's gone, I needed to know."

By now, Essie was already imagining him in bed with Lucy or probably all of the other girls here. Kissing them. Touching them as he had her. He was a man, after all. On his own. Of course he would.

"You needn't worry. He's not mine, Lucy. We're... I'm not sure what we are. Strangers, I suppose." Except for the time he'd made love to her in that spring. Held her through the night. Saved her.

Lucy made a
tsking
sound. "And you two together all that time? Alone? Seems like a wasted opportunity, if you ask me."

Essie stayed silent, her thoughts traveling over the last few days together and all the moments that hadn't been about her being a hostage.

"'Course, maybe him bein' a half-breed and all, maybe that's just not your cup of tea. You wouldn't be the first town girl to hold such an opinion."

"First of all, I'm not a town girl, so stop calling me that. I'm a—I
was
a teacher. And second, whatever is or is not between Cade and me, it's our own private business. So I'll thank you not to call me a bigot to my face."

"Well," Lucy said, "I see that bath washed some of the timid right off'a you, eh? And just so you know, 'town girl' is the name we give every woman hereabouts who ain't one of us. Which makes you a town girl. And as far as Cade goes, ain't a female hereabouts who hasn't given him the old up and down. But even though he's Tom Newcastle's son, most of the town girls wouldn't be caught dead with a breed. Which is a shame, 'cause as lovers go—and we don't get too many of those in here—he's an ace. A five-carat stone. And that ain't sayin' nothing about what I think of him as a man. Well, I imagine you've gotten a taste of the kind of man he is by now. I can't think of another one I'd want at my back if the cards all went wrong. You ask Ollie. She'll tell you what's what."

Essie stared at her, speechless.

The girl put her hand on the door handle but said, "You school-learned girls? Sometimes you're the thickest ones when it comes to men."

And with that, she'd gone.

Now, Essie paused at the window to stare out onto the darkened street where oil lamps dotted the muddy strip called Minnesota Avenue in little splotches of light.
Even though he's Tom Newcastle's son...
Lucy had said. All she knew about Cade's father, aside from the fact that he'd rejected his own son out of hand, was that Cade didn't like talking about him. He didn't like talking about himself at all, from what she could tell.

It was the girl's certainty that Essie was a bigot that made her want to scream that she wasn't. She wasn't a bigot. She had no feelings either way about his Cheyenne blood. But she supposed, if she were honest, that wasn't exactly true. She'd never ignored the fact that he was half-Cheyenne. Naturally, it had been quite apparent from the moment they'd met. In fact, he'd used it against her. But as the days passed between them, she'd simply stopped noticing.

Was simply
seeing
the difference between them bigotry? But how could she not see their differences? They existed. They had ceased to matter to her, but they still existed. He was who he was, and she was who she was, and there was no changing that. But in truth, she couldn't think of anything about him she would want to change, except, perhaps his stubbornness. Certainly not the kindness he'd shown her. Or how he protected her at every turn. And not the way he looked—as beautiful as any man she'd ever met. Or how it felt when he touched her. Kissed her. Wrapped his warm weight around her and held her.

No, there was nothing she'd change about him, except the fact that he wasn't here, beside her. So if she was guilty of anything, perhaps it was that she wanted him more than he did her and she would just have to live with that.

She had the gut feeling that getting her to supply him with new clothing had merely been a ruse to get her to ride away from him. And now that Ollie had taken him fresh clothes, he might be miles from here already, looking for the boy, which she couldn't very well hold against him. Finding Little Wolf was all that mattered right now.

She sat on the chair beside the washstand and turned her face toward the window. If those men brought the boy into town, where could he be? Where would she even begin to look?

Think logically. Step by step. Where first?

She closed her eyes.
Think
.

The two men with him were surely up to no good, else Little Wolf wouldn't have been forced to drop his medicine bag or leave a sign on the trail down the mountain. He was certainly hoping someone would follow him, or at least understand he was in trouble.

She imagined the three of them riding into town.

Three. Three horses
.

Lalo.

Essie's eyes popped open. Of course, Lalo. The pony he'd stolen from the school. That pony had to be here somewhere. Or at least, someone might have seen it, passing through, if not the boy. If, indeed, Billings was their destination, Lalo would be here, too. Not likely on the street, but stabled somewhere. At a livery?

She shot to her feet.

How many of those could there be in this small town? Perhaps they'd even sold the horse, in which case someone could identify them.

Essie began to pace the small room. Ollie had advised her against going out on her own. And it was dark. She shivered, knowing that Ollie was right. But waiting until morning seemed unthinkable. What might happen to Little Wolf between now and then?

Quickly, she hurried out of the upstairs room and down to the first floor by the back stairs that led to the kitchen. Pink was at the sink, cleaning up the last of the dishes from the evening meal. She hurried to his side.

"Pink, I have a favor to ask."

"No more biscuits. They's all gone for t'night." Then he turned to look at her and his eyes went wide. His gaze swept down her in the gown Ollie had given her. She knew she must look considerably better than she had a few hours ago. But Pink smiled at her for the first time and gave her a nod of approval.

In the next room, the piano plinked away with another song she didn't recognize, along with the raucous sound of laughter and conversation.

"Those biscuits were incredibly delicious, but that's not what I wanted to ask."

"Don't you go tryin' t' butter me all up, Mrs. Sparks. It won't do you no good. I only make biscuits in the afternoon."

"Pink, it's something else entirely."

He stacked the last plate onto the sideboard. "Well, what is it?"

"I need... I need an escort."

He jerked his chin backward in surprise. "You need a
what
?"

"I need a man. To accompany me. Just for a little while. It's dark and it's late and I can't go alone."

He raised an eyebrow in agreement. "Go where?"

"I'm looking for a horse."

"A horse?" Pink looked relieved. "Well, I can get you one of those. We got half a dozen in our—"

"Not any horse. A particular horse. A horse that was stolen and is, possibly, stabled here in town somewhere."

"What for you need
that
horse?"

"That horse will, hopefully, lead me to the men who took him from the boy I'm trying to find. A boy who's missing and desperately needs my help. I cannot impress upon you enough how urgent this is."

Giving his smooth brown head a scratch, Pink frowned at her. "I ain't supposed to leave this place at night. Girls, they might need me."

"I know. But it won't take long. I have money. I'll pay you."

Insulted, he turned back to his dishes. "Ain't about the money."

Essie glanced out the glass window in the door at the darkened alley. "I only thought... for your trouble. But forgive me if I insinuated that you needed money to help me. I know that's not why you said no. But I think Ollie would make an exception for this. It's about Cade's nephew. He's the one that's missing and we both fear something bad might have befallen him. That horse, his pony, is my only clue as to where he might have gone."

Pink threw the dishrag into the water and left her standing there, disappearing into the salon where customers and girls mingled.

Well, that went badly.
Naturally, she'd mangled it all. Which left her on her own.

Hanging on a peg by the door she saw a red, crocheted shawl which she pulled down to wrap around her shoulders. At least Ollie couldn't claim she hadn't tried.

But before she could turn the knob on the door, Pink reappeared, wearing a patched brown jacket and looking like a dark raincloud.

"Well, if we's gonna go, let's get it done."

A smile broke out on her face. "Oh, Pink. You're an angel."

"I ain't no angel. And I ain't fond of barns at night—bats and owls 'n such—but let's us get it over with in a right hurry, 'fore Ollie come back."

With a quick nod, she tightened the shawl around her shoulders and headed out the door.

* * *

Cade swam up from the darkness, fighting the heaviness that held him down. Voices drifted toward him in waves and he tried to pick them out.

"No broken skull, is my guess."
A man's voice, low and steady.

"His cheek? It looks bad..."

And... Ollie?

Where was he? In a bed. Hard. In a place with echoes.

He felt the weight shift beside him as someone stood.

"Not sure I can say the same for that cheekbone of his."
A doctor?

"How can you be sure?" Ollie's voice now, coming from nearby. "About his head?"

"Tuning fork makes a certain sound on healthy bone and less so on fractured bone. I can hear it with my stethoscope and to me, sounds like he got lucky."

Lucky?

A wave of pain crashed through him. He kept his eyes closed. Feigned sleep. Afraid he knew exactly where he was.

"...put in a few stitches back there and in a couple of days, head'll feel good as new. Not much I can do for the cheek, though. Looks like maybe someone kicked him."

Even now, he could recall the sight of that rifle butt coming at him.

"...needs rest... been through a lot the last week," the doctor continued. "I'll check back in the morning if you want."

"I ain't sure that's necess—" the other man began.

"I
want
," Ollie insisted. "I'll pay for your time." He heard the sound of a few coins exchanging hands.

"You heard her, Doc. See you in the mornin'?"

"You will."

The sound of footsteps across a hard floor. A door opening with a little jingle bell. Ollie's fingers brushing his hair off his face.

He forced his eyes open and attempted to sit up. Pain knocked him back.

"Settle down, honey," Ollie told him, pressing him back to the cot. "You're hurt pretty bad."

He groaned and slammed his eyes shut again. "Ollie. Where... where am I?"

"In jail. Billings. But I expect that's no real surprise. Considering..."

A curse fell from his cut-up mouth. "Laddner."

"That's the one."

"Essie?"

"Safe at my place," she told him. "Don't you worry about her."

Gingerly, he touched his broken lip with his tongue, then fingered his tender cheek. "Get her on a train in the morning."

"You better be thinkin' about your own self, Cade. Because they aim to hang you. And not just for stealin' that horse the boy took." That didn't seem to surprise him either. "They think your girl's dead. Up there in those mountains. They think you killed her."

He half grinned. "Good. Better that than what they'd do to her if they knew she wasn't."

"Don't be a fool, Cade. You tell them she's alive. If you don't, I will."

He grabbed her arm. "No. You won't. And don't you tell her where I am either."

"I'll do no such thing, you stubborn, mule-headed—"

"Yes. You will. I'm a lost cause anyway, Ollie. They'll hang me and then destroy a good woman. She doesn't deserve that. So you won't." He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for a wave of pain to pass. "But I need you to find the boy, Ollie. He's... he's in trouble and I need you to find him."

Relenting, she patted his hand. "Don't you worry about him now. I'll find him, if he's to be found. You try to get some rest. I'm not giving up on you, Cade, so don't think you'll get off that easy. What were you thinkin', takin' that town girl anyway?"

"Instinct."

"Huh. Well, that Cheyenne instinct of yours could use some polishing up, I'd say."

Cade watched her through half-opened eyes with a rare fondness. She was the closest thing to a confidant as any person in his life, and he supposed it was because she knew, better than most, how to keep secrets. She did that well. But she could be a pain in the ass as easily.

She met his gaze with affection. Ollie's age was a mystery, but he guessed her to be closer to forty than thirty. She had an ageless face and not a strand of gray hair, which he supposed could be accounted for by the brassy auburn color that was her trademark.