WildOutlaws (3 page)

Jack blinked. He pulled back his arm—the one wielding a weapon—and stared at Constance. His expression softened and he said, “You been talking about me, girl?”

She reluctantly nodded.

Mary Margaret had never heard anyone mention Jack. With such a plain name, she would’ve remembered.

“You been running that mouth?” he asked. The dangerous edge in his tone dripped with contempt all over again.

Hell and damnation. Mary Margaret had miscalculated what Jack might want to hear.

“No, it’s not like that,” Constance said, apparently giving up the fight they’d almost won.

Jack propelled the cocked gun forward. Again, he was too close to Constance’s head. Mary Margaret searched the dusty streets of Cripple Creek hoping she’d see the marshal or someone she knew entering or leaving the town’s only watering hole.

The streets were eerily desolate.

“You ain’t supposed to be talking about me, whore!” he screamed, drool creaming at the corners of his mouth. He released the gun lever and tossed the pistol to the bed. Immediately, he threw his body forward, towering over Constance as she shoved crossed wrists in front of her face and turned her cheek, an attempt to block any potential blow.

Before Jack slapped her face, a huge specimen of a man rushed inside the room, threw himself over the bed, and tackled Jack right square in the middle of Constance’s floor.

“You’ll regret this you son-of-a-bitch!” Jack screamed, apparently under the impression someone might perceive him as a dangerous opponent. 

A gun was drawn. Slurs and threats were exchanged.

“Stop! Please! Don’t hurt him!” Constance, who’d somehow held it together, outside of stifled cries here and there, started squealing in a high pitched voice.

The men tumbled across the small area of space. Jack was on top. The intruder—or more accurately, their hero—was on the bottom. Punches were thrown. Heads jerked as fists connected with jaws. Then came the dreaded sound, an unmistakable noise guaranteed to stop commotion.

Pa-pow! Pa-pow! Pa-pow!

Constance wailed louder. “Oh my God!”

Mary Margaret rushed her friend, noticing the man to her left, twitching. Wrapping Constance in her arms, Mary Margaret held her. “It’s all right, honey. It’s all right. You’re safe now. You’re all right. I’ve gotcha. Everything is just fine.”

Constance pushed her away. “No! No it isn’t! That man had a family! He had children!”

Mary Margaret jerked. “What do you mean he had a family? I thought when he said family, he meant—”

“He wanted me to be…” Constance dabbed her eyes and continued, “It was just complicated, Mary Margaret. He had other commitments but he was gonna take me out of here. He promised. He just struck gold in the mines and….and…”

“Honey, I’ve heard it all before—same song, different dance, with just another lover. Trust me, Constance. He wasn’t anything more than another customer pitching those pretty lies we’re all dying to hear, itching to believe.”

“This fellow didn’t have a penny to his name,” interrupted the man who pulled the trigger. “Anyone can look at him and tell he was broke.”

“He was not,” Constance informed the stranger. The past tense must’ve stunned her. “Wait a minute. Is he…is he…gone?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the cowboy replied, removing his hat as if he might feel remorse for killing a man he didn’t know.

“No! He can’t be!” Constance screamed, leaping from the bed and immediately draping her nude form over her fallen lover. “You don’t understand. Jack never meant me any harm. He was a good man. I promise you. He was a real good man. He just had a little too much to drink today. That’s all.”

The stranger stood and holstered his weapon. He reached inside his buckskin coat and withdrew a paper. He slapped the wanted poster on her bed, face up. “Read this. You may change your mind.” Stepping over the corpse, he stood in front of Constance. “I can see for myself you’re a young woman. You ain’t been taught what’s right and wrong. If a man strikes ya, he ain’t worth a cuss. If he pulls a gun on ya, he’s the one worth shootin’. That’s why he’s lying there in his own pool of blood. Don’t you ever forget it. Whore or not, a man don’t have a right to hit ya. And that fella there? He’s abused good people.” A minute later, he addressed Mary Margaret. “Can you direct me to the marshal’s office?”

“Yes,” Mary Margaret replied, picking up the poster and staring down at Jack’s face. “It’s at the end of the street on the left.”

“Thank you,” he said, turning his back. He exited the room but quickly returned. “By chance are you Mary Margaret?”

His dark chocolate eyes met hers as he awaited her reply. Her breath caught in her chest as she studied the fellow who’d saved her, the stranger who’d spoken so passionately about what a woman shouldn’t be forced to endure.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes,” she finally managed to reply. It was an effort to respond since her heart took off in a rapid flutter.

In all her life, Mary Margaret had never been on the receiving end of such a gentle gaze. The cowboy’s tight jaw relaxed and his expression changed. A warm smile tilted his lips and his wide grin literally took her breath away.

The outlaw possessed enough hair on his face to tickle anyone he brushed against but the fellow didn’t look like he was old enough for peach fuzz. Age must’ve been kind. Thanks to the way he carried himself and the deep guttural pitch to his voice, the renegade couldn’t have been a day over twenty-five.

“I figured you had to be the one we’re looking for. I’m Tuff McDonald. Several of us bounty hunters rode all the way from Tombstone. We wanted to meet you.”

“Me? Why?” she asked.

“I have a proposition for you. I’d like to discuss it in private when you have a chance. How about later this evening?”

“Sure,” she replied, patting Constance’s hand. “As soon as my girl here is all right, I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“That’ll do fine, ma’am,” he said, tilting the brim of his cowboy hat and exiting the room.

Mary Margaret listened to the continual rattle of the cowboy’s spurs as she quietly walked over to the marble top dresser, a magnificent piece of furniture Bob recently moved into Constance’s room. She opened the long bottom drawer and rummaged through Constance’s clothes. Retrieving a red satin dress with a black velvet torso and ribbons cross-tied between the bosom, she tossed the garment to the bed.

“Get dressed, honey.”

“I can’t work,” Constance said, terribly shaken.

Mary Margaret approached her. She picked up the worn piece of paper and studied the image and then glanced over her shoulder, looking down at the man who’d fallen victim to a bounty hunter’s gunfire. “He had it coming to him.”

“So did I,” Constance said.

Mary Margaret arched a brow. “Why would you say such a thing?”

Constance collected her composure. “We’re whores, Mary Margaret. We ain’t got a pampered future. Half the men we service here have guns and they all know how to use them. How long before you, me, or one of the others spills our tainted blood all over a polished floor?”

“We deserve better than to die at the hands of a monster like this, Constance.” She pointed at the wanted poster. “That man was hunted all over the state of California. He’s abused whores anywhere he can find them and I doubt he was short on selection.”

“He still had a family, Mary Margaret.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he told me about his wife and children, said if he didn’t have them he would’ve married me. That was the reason he became so possessive. He knew he didn’t have much in the family way to offer me but we were still in love. He planned to take care of me.” A beat later, her voice softened and she added, “He loved me. He just loved me so much he didn’t want anyone else to have me.”

“Honey, that’s not true,” Mary Margaret said gently. Oh Lord, she wished she had time to correct this poor girl’s way of thinking. Men like Jack were masters of deception and well practiced in fooling a woman. “This man was a con. He reeled you in and wanted you to trust him. It was a game he played. He wanted to hurt you and that poster there suggests he’d already harmed a lot of vulnerable women like you.”

“That’s not right, Mary Margaret! You didn’t know him! He was just trapped by commitment and circumstance.”

Mary Margaret sighed. Saloon owners had a hard time keeping the girls happy for this very reason. The young ones held fast to big dreams and aspirations, hoping one day they’d become some man’s wife.

Every customer was a potential husband. With every line pitched, a new round of bull shit was made to sound sweeter than church music on Sunday.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Constance said, crossing her arms over her body. “I don’t need your pity. Damn sure don’t want your opinions none either! I know what I had with Jack. It was real.”

“It ain’t real love when a man raises his hand to strike you.” Mary Margaret tilted her head toward the dead man. “And that fella there wasn’t anything you wanted in the first place. He’s a murderer.”

“They had the wrong man,” Constance said firmly. As if Jack’s death suddenly struck her, she collapsed to the floor and gathered the dead crook in her arms. Sobbing, she rocked him back and forth. Moments turned into minutes and finally she swiped her cheeks and said, “These bounty hunters and marshals are in cahoots. They always blame the wrong person. They put a large bounty on the men who are easiest to catch.”

“That’s a nice theory,” Mary Margaret said, helping Constance to her feet and directing her toward the dressing screen in the corner of her room. “Go on now. Get some clothes on. The marshal will be here any minute and you can’t be soliciting a lawman.”

Without another word, Constance disappeared out of sight. Mary Margaret sat on the bed with her hands folded in her lap. She stared at the blood pooling around the head of a murderer and rather than wonder what drove him to the heinous crimes the poster suggested he committed, she thought about her own life. And it only took a minute for her to draw conclusions about her potential fate.

Like so many, she was a victim trapped by circumstance, but she was smart enough to realize she wasn’t burdened by commitment. In fact, if she wanted to march right out of that whorehouse and saloon, she could start walking. There was no one to stop her and nothing to hold her down.

Mary Margaret rose without wasting a second and acknowledged the marshal as he entered the room. She wasn’t sure if she said anything or if she simply tilted her head in his direction when they passed one another. Either way, he must’ve understood she had no intentions of sticking around for questions.

“Going somewhere, Mary Margaret?”

“Yes, sir, I am. I’m getting out while I still can.”

Chapter Two

Tuff pulled up a chair and took a seat at a large round table in the center of the bustling saloon. The room was alive with piano music and laughter. The increase in activity included wall-to-wall people. Those there were either looking for trouble or searching for a good time. They were willing to pay for either—some in gold, others in blood.

“The marshal is upstairs cleaning up the mess. I sent a telegraph to Stockton and let the sheriff know we’ll work Arizona this winter. Maybe we can pick up the bounty in Tombstone.”

“Have you talked to the woman yet?” Buck asked, leaning over a stack of cards he’d yet to deal. Buck always carried a deck on the chance he might convince some unsuspecting soul to sit down to a game of poker.

“She was with that younger gal when I caught up with Jack.”

“I wish we could’ve taken him alive. After all the shit he’s done to those women, I would’ve had a fine time giving him a daily beating all the way back to California,” Creed said, looking up at the curvy woman draping her arm around his shoulder.

“If we don’t hurry up and talk with Mary Margaret, Creed and the others will be bedding these whores,” Buck informed him.

“I agree,” Tuff said softly. “Considering we ain’t had any pussy in about as many days as a turtle’s life, we may not see the prairie until year-after-next if we don’t keep our focus.” Not even a few seconds later, he added, “Though I gotta tell ya. After meeting our girl, I’m not too interested in going to bed with anyone else here.”

“That special, huh?” Buck pressed.

“Yeah,” Tuff replied, sighing. “She’s something else all right.”

“Then I reckon since you’d rather have a woman in your bed than a drink on the table, we’d better hurry on upstairs and find her.”

“That’s about the straight of it. And you ain’t lying. I’d rather have my
feel
of Mary Margaret than to have my fill of liquor.”

Thinking he had quietly made the statement only to his buddy, he was surprised when the woman at Creed’s left said, “You’re looking for Mary Margaret?”

“Yes,” Tuff replied.

“Why?” the girl inquired, a flash of envy in her eyes.

“Got some business to discuss,” Tuff said, noncommittal.

“Imagine that. Here you sit in a whore’s house and you want to negotiate.”

“It ain’t about whoring altogether. We need to talk to her.”

“You made it just in time then,” the woman said flippantly, rubbing Creed’s shoulder. “She’s leaving on the afternoon stagecoach.”

Tuff leapt to his feet. “I just saw her upstairs. She was supposed to meet us a little later.”

The woman shrugged. “Whatever you want to say to Mary Margaret will probably have to wait indefinitely. She’s cleaning out her room now.”

“Say she’s headed out on some sort of trip?” Tuff asked.

“Not exactly. Mary Margaret is getting out of here for good. She plans to teach.” Annabelle struck a pose and arched her brows. “Maybe she got tired of the never-ending recess around here. This playground ain’t always as fun as it looks.”

Tuff’s gaze skipped between the bar and the table. Buck and Creed, David and Jared wore expressions mirroring his concern.

“When’s she leavin’?” Tuff asked.

“Soon,” Annabelle replied.

“You gotta stop her, Tuff,” Buck said, standing.

“Me? Why me? Hell I don’t know the woman any more than you do!”

“Yeah, but you’re more convincing than the rest of us,” Buck reminded him.