My Desperado E-Book

Lois Greiman

• Herausgeber: NYLA
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 419

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 1994

Beschreibung

"Gushing over with humor and passion at it's very best! If laughter and love are the best medicine, My Desperado is a fountain of youth!" –Literary Times A riotously hilarious and passion-filled adventure of historical romance in the Wild, Wild West… The prim and prudish Katherine Simmons, a proper Boston schoolteacher, never expected to step foot in those godforsaken lands of the Wild, Wild West…let alone figuring out how to hide a dead body… Katherine Simmons liked her life the way it was – predictable, boring, but safe. Innocent of the more earthly pleasures in the world, Katherine has never lost her head to passion and intends to keep it that way. That is, until this puritanical schoolteacher inherits a saloon – or what some might call a brothel – in the Wild West town of Silver Ridge. Refusing to step down from a challenge, Katherine leaves for Silver Ridge, with the plan of bringing some of Boston's morality to the outlaw West. But when the Mayor of Silver Ridge dies in the throes of passion right there in her saloon, Katherine tries to sneak his body out and is caught by Travis Ryland, a sexy outlaw. When the townspeople of Silver Ridge see them together, both Travis and Katherine are accused of murder and must work together to prove their innocence. Travis Ryland expected a little trouble when he was hired by Silver Ridge to put an end to the payroll robberies at the mine. A little trouble, but mostly a simple job for a man with simple talents. What he didn't expect was a beautiful schoolteacher from Boston to turn his life…and his heart into chaos. Katherine may be innocent, but she's willing to learn…and lucky for her, there's a sexy outlaw more than happy to educate the schoolteacher…

Leseprobe

My Desperado

by

Copyright © 1994 by Lois Greiman

Dedicated to:

Mary Vigoren, a God-sent friend, who is never too busy to listen or too rational to understand.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Discover Lois Greiman

About the Author

Chapter1

Silver Ridge, Colorado

"Dead?" Katherine bolted upright in bed, her eyes wide, her mind still dulled with sleep. "What do you mean dead?"

"Dead!" Daisy squeaked hysterically. "Dead as me shoe."

"But he can't be dead," Katherine denied, gripping the bed sheet painfully in clenched fists. "How could he be dead? He was alive when he came in!"

"Course 'e was alive," moaned Daisy, wringing her hands. "You think I'd diddle a..." She halted in mid-sentence. It wasn't nice to shock ladies like Katherine Simmons, and it certainly wasn't smart, especially since Katherine was her employer—at least for the moment. "'E was alive as you and me is," she assured. "Livelier."

"Then, did he fall?" Katherine questioned, desperately trying to make some sense of it all. This couldn't be happening. Her life had always been so serene. So wonderfully predictable. Boring even, she'd thought three weeks ago when she'd been young and foolish. Now, however, boredom seemed to be nothing less than a synonym for heavenly. She shook her head, feeling as if her brain were rattling inside her skull like dry seeds in a pod. "Was he ill?" she asked weakly.

"No. No," exclaimed Daisy impatiently. "George was always 'ealthy and raring t' go. If you take me meanin'."

"Then how... Ohhh!" Katherine deduced dizzily. Daisy was merely pulling her leg. These westerners had a strange sense of humor. The little English tart may have a heart of gold, but she couldn't quite control her penchant for practical jokes. That was all there was to it. She was merely jesting. "Don't tease me, Daisy," Katherine whispered hopefully, but the other's face was as solemn as a dirge.

"I ain't teasin' y' Miss Katherine. 'E come late, as was 'is way. And we... " Daisy shifted her gaze and pulled a face, trying to spare her new employer's sensibilities. "Well, we done it right off," she continued nervously. 'Then 'e asks me t' wake 'im four hours after midnight. Said 'e 'ad 'im some important business t' see to. George, 'e liked t' feel important," she said, wringing her hands again. "So I always fussed over 'im, 'y know. 'E was such a 'armless old gent. Drank a tad too much, 'e did. But... But I didn't mean t'... t'... Ohhh!" she wailed, grasping for Katherine's hands. "What am I gonna do? I didn't mean t'... I never thought 'e'd..." she stammered, not quite able to complete a single sentence and squeezing Katherine's fingers even harder. "'E woke up early. In a frisky mood, 'e was, and wanted to 'ave another go at it. And I didn't know. I mean I ain't never... I ain't never killed any of 'em afore!" she wailed in quiet terror. "I ain't never. But just after we finished, 'e..."

Daisy paused, eyeing Katherine's ghostly pale face in the darkness of The Watering Hole's largest bedchamber. "Y' don't look so chipper yerself there, missy."

"I'm fine." Katherine's voice sounded as if it came from the far end of a narrow tunnel. Her eyes were focused on something indiscernible, and her heavy dark braid stood out in sharp contrast against the bleached whiteness of her modest, buttoned-to-the-chin nightshift. "I'm just fine," she intoned ghostily. "We Simmons are heartier than we look."

Daisy eyed her dubiously in the darkness and sincerely hoped it was true, for Katherine Simmons looked about as hearty as a crushed leaf in a windstorm. There was little time to worry about her, however, when there was an unsightly corpse lying nose up on the next room's bed linens.

"What am I gonna do?" Daisy whispered frantically. "What if they say I murdered 'im? What if they lock me up? I'll never 'ave me own little 'ome with the picket fence. I'll never 'ave me a man to call me own. No little ones to love. Me 'ole life will a been fer nothin', just like me old pap always used to say. Ohhhh," she moaned. "They're gonna 'ang me. I know they is."

"Now don't panic!" Katherine gasped, dropping the bed sheet to grasp Daisy's wringing hands. "They're not going to hang anyone."

Daisy sobbed, her half-bared chest heaving above her hastily donned gown. "What am I gonna do? I'm too young t' die. I ain't never 'urt nobody. Least ways I ain't tried. Ohhh, Miss Katherine, I don't want t' be 'anged. It'd be so 'umiliatin'—gaspin' and swingin' and—"

"Shush!" admonished Katherine, feeling her consciousness waver and desperately grappling for lucidness. But emotional shock and lack of sleep conspired against her. Silence entered the room as her brain scrambled for sanity, then, "We'll take him outdoors."

Daisy's mouth fell open, her eyes enlarging. She mouthed a few words, which failed to be audible then gasped, "But 'e's dead!"

"I know he's dead," Katherine hissed in return. “That's why we have to get rid of him."

"But Miss Katherine. 'E's..." Daisy leaned closer, whispering furtively into the other's pale face. " 'E's bare-assed naked."

Katherine's hands fell away. Her eyes looking glazed, but Daisy's low, piteous moan returned her to reality.

"Ohhh, I'm gonna be 'anged and fer nothin' worse than givin'a man pleasure."

Katherine refocused her eyes and brain with an admirable effort. "Now quit that," she ordered. "No such thing is going to happen. We're going to..." She closed her eyes for a moment, her hands shaking like aspen leaves in a northerly wind. God save her immortal soul. "We're going to get him dressed and take him out onto the street."

"The street?" Daisy leaned close again, her eyes round.

"It'll appear as if he simply died of natural causes," Katherine whispered.

"It was natural." Daisy nodded, causing her blond, disheveled ringlets to bob against her plump bosom. "Ain't nothin' more natural than—"

Her speech stopped with Katherine's palm firmly plastered to her mouth.

"Please," Katherine whispered hoarsely. "Don't talk. Let's just do what needs doing."

In a moment the two were slinking side by side down the night-silent hall. Dusky wall flowers nodded to them from the faded paper as they crept past, holding on to each other as if they would collapse without their partner's support.

Daisy's bedroom door creaked open. The women entered with trembling timidity, clinging together like wilting vines.

A small flame flickered from an oil lamp, casting wavering light across the bed. Katherine stole a glance in that direction. The corpse was blessedly covered with a wrinkled sheet, leaving only his balding head exposed. His complexion was a pallid gray, and on his face was a smile.

Katherine snapped her frantic gaze from the corpse to Daisy, who shrugged apologetically, easily reading Katherine's thoughts.

"It was just after." Daisy nodded solemnly. "'E was feeling fine."

"God help us," Katherine whispered shakily.

"Amen," responded Daisy.

Katherine nodded jerkily toward the floor by the bed, still holding Daisy's hands in a petrified grip. 'Those must be his clothes."

"Yes, 'um."

"Daisy..."

"Yes, 'um?"

Katherine's haunted eyes lifted to the other's face, her knees going weak and her stomach flip-flopping fishily. "I can't do it. I've never... I've never..." She gulped.

Daisy scowled for a moment before comprehension dawned, and her eyes widened. "Y' ain't never seen a bloke naked afore?"

Katherine shook her head, and Daisy straightened somewhat, feeling rather maternal with her superior knowledge.

“There now, miss," she said, pulling one hand free to pat Katherine's and share her worldly wisdom. "If the truth be told, there ain't that much t' see."

That knowledge imparted, Daisy studied Katherine's face for signs of relief but realized with a scowl that her employer looked only marginally healthier than poor George himself.

"Now, now, Miss Katherine," she crooned, feeling stronger by the minute. "I'll do the dressin' of 'im. You'd best sit for a spell."

"No!" Katherine shook her head in vehement refusal. There was no way on God's green earth she would be seated in the same room with a smiling corpse. Her eyes strayed foolishly toward the bed, but she shuddered and withdrew her gaze before it reached its awful destination. "I'm fine." She drew a deep breath that rattled down her throat like an overloaded freight train. Remembering her father's words of wisdom, she swallowed hard and closed her eyes. "Adversity is good for the soul."

Daisy scowled. "It may be good for the soul, Miss Katherine," she theorized with a singular shake of her head. "But it's 'ell on the pocketbook. The mayor 'adn't even paid—"

“The mayor?" Katherine whispered, with eyes wide in shock and disbelief. "You killed the mayor?"

Daisy nodded nervously. "'E wasn't much of a mayor, but 'e tried, specially since the last sheriff run off." She shook her head, gazing kindly at the balding man. "'E was right lively in the sack."

Katherine's knees buckled, and she dropped weakly into a chair.

"Now, Miss Katherine, we ain't got much time for swoonin'. P'raps y' could gather up 'is things now and swoon later."

"Things?" Katherine lifted her head to look at Daisy. "What things?"

"George always 'ad 'im a walkin' stick and bowler 'at." Daisy turned to scoop the mayor's clothes from the floor. "But t'night 'e 'ad 'im a satchel along, too. We'd best take it out with 'im, I spect."

"I suppose," Katherine intoned weakly. Daisy was lowering the sheet, her movement quick and efficient now.

"Where're we gonna put 'im?"

"I don't know," Katherine said, then stood and left the room to think without the distraction of the naked mayor.

How had this all come about? She'd only recently learned she'd inherited The Watering Hole from her aunt and had no intention of staying. But she couldn't simply throw the girls out of work, and so she'd remained in Silver Ridge while seeking a buyer for the saloon.

Who would have thought she'd be dragging a corpse out of her establishment only three days after her arrival there? She obviously was not cut out for this line of work. She'd have to sell the place and leave town, especially now. But the bright mineral that had inspired both the community's rapid growth and its name was rumored to be running low, leaving the citizens uncertain of their futures. There were no prospective buyers for a saloon in a waning western town, and the fact that public officials were dropping dead in the place was not likely to heighten interest in Katherine's property.

If she couldn't make some kind of profit off the place, she wouldn't have sufficient funds to return east. It seemed her employees hadn't been paid in over a month, and since Aunt Dahlia's bank account was notably emaciated, Katherine had felt compelled to pay bills from her own pocket, leaving her frightfully impoverished.

"God help me!" she whispered weakly.

The West wasn't merely a bold challenge, as the little novels had said. It was wild and unpredictable and scary and...exciting. It was true. The place was exhilarating and stimulating, but she did not belong here. She belonged in the security of a Boston schoolroom. But in order for her to go home, she had to first sell the saloon, and she could hardly sell it with a smiling corpse as bedroom decoration.

Katherine drew herself straighten She'd simply have to take things one step at a time, as she'd always taught her schoolchildren. And the first step was to find a temporary resting place for poor George.

Taking a deep shuddering breath, Katherine returned to Daisy's room. "Are you finished?"

"Yep." Daisy nodded, scowling at her handiwork. "'E's decent. Or decent as a man can be. Probably more so cuz 'e's dead. What now?"

"Across the street in front of the mercantile one of the steps is loose," Katherine explained. "We'll leave him there. It will look as if he fell and hit his head."

"Coo, that's a right good plan, miss. I knew you was a thinker, I did."

Katherine cautiously eyed the now dressed and grinning mayor. "How do we get him there?"

"Oh that," said Daisy with a dismissive toss of her hand. "Not a problem that. I been draggin' blokes about since me brothers got their first taste o' ale. Couldn't 'ardly leave 'em lyin' facedown in the mud, so I'd drag 'em off t' bed." Placing her fists on her hips, she eyed their burden. "Course, they weren't so 'eavy like. But..." She shrugged as if she was considering nothing more serious than an overloaded sack of flour. "You take his feet. I'll take the other end."

They did just that, lugging poor George from the bed to plop him to the floor. Already they were breathing hard. Each woman now took a booted foot as they prepared to drag their burden out of the room, but suddenly Katherine remembered his possessions.

"Right again," Daisy said, then hustled off to retrieve the good mayor's belongings. The satchel was placed on the man's chest, the hat crammed onto Daisy's own riotous curls, but the cane was an ungainly nuisance. She grappled with it for a moment then finally bent to thrust the thing beneath the waistband of the man's baggy trousers. It skimmed beneath his pant leg, settling solidly against his thigh, and Daisy gave a single nod before straightening with satisfaction.

Katherine, however, was shocked to immobility.

"Daisy!"

"What?" asked the other with a squeak and a start.

"You can't put it there," Katherine whispered nervously. "It's indecent."

"And diddlin' 'im t' death ain't?" Daisy scowled, pragmatic to the last. "But any'ow, 'e's dead. 'E don't mind. And we're in a bit of a rush, aye?"

The reminder was as subtle as Daisy could be and was the perfect means of jolting Katherine into motion. They heaved together, dragging George through the doorway and standing red-faced in the hall, drawing breath in deep gulps.

"George," Daisy explained laconically, "'e liked 'is pleasures."

Katherine could only assume the other was explaining the mayor's rather ponderous form, but she couldn't help blushing nevertheless. After all, if old George had employed a bit more discretionary self-discipline, they'd all be a sight better off.

They heaved again. The hall was runnered by a worn scarlet carpet, which muffled the sound but did nothing to speed their progress. Eventually they arrived at the steps.

Katherine eyed the descent and grimaced. He was far too heavy for them to carry. They'd have to drag him. She closed her eyes with a silent apology. She'd come from a conservative Protestant family, where speaking ill of the dead was considered a sin. What would they think of dragging the same down a flight of stairs by his heels? She shivered, prayed again, and took a step backward, refusing to look as poor George's head bumped against the top step.

After a grizzly eternity the threesome was outside. The street was still quiet. A grinning full moon sliced out from behind a dark, bubbling cloud, casting its spooky light upon the shadowed town. The women shuffled backward down the boardwalk, crossing the hard-packed clay of Silver Ridge's main thoroughfare and reaching the broken step with a lurch and a groan. Their breathing was labored, their muscles aching, but they'd reached their destination.

"We've done it." Katherine paused, still trying to catch her breath. "Now we have to make it look like a natural fall."

"Right-oh." Daisy grasped the walking stick to pull it from George's pants. Katherine shuddered and snatched his hat from the tart's head, placing it just so, a short distance from the corpse.

The satchel, which had caused them a good deal of difficulty by insisting on sliding from the sloping plane of George's chest, was now placed just out of reach of his hand.

The women stepped back a pace, studying their handiwork in the waning light of the moon.

"What do you think?" Katherine asked, nervously twisting the heavy black braid that had fallen over her shoulder.

"'E looks right peaceful t' me," Daisy whispered, hands on hips. "Y'd never know 'e was drug from there t' 'ere."

"You think not? Maybe we should turn him over. Maybe--"

"Maybe," a deep voice from the shadows suggested, "you should wipe that grin off his face."

Chapter 2

The two women gasped in unison, clutching each other with frantic fingers.

"Who are you?" Katherine demanded in a whisper not loud enough to shake the dew from a dandelion puff.

Silence held the street in its chilly grip, but finally was broken by a smoky voice. "Can I give you ladies a hand?"

Katherine mouthed an inaudible response, found her voice with great difficulty, and squawked, "This isn't at all as it appears."

The shadow's head tilted, proof he was looking at the corpse then straightened again. "And how does it appear?" he asked in a tone deep as the night.

"Well..." Katherine could feel herself tremble. They'd been caught dead to rights. God help them! And she was barely able to raise her voice above a murmur in her own defense. "Well it might look as if..." She was completely out of her depth.

To date, her most traumatic experience had been when little Johnny Tensel had put the toad in her coat pocket and the entire classroom had erupted into howling chaos when she'd fainted dead away.

She wished she could faint now, but her consciousness was stubbornly intact. "It might look as if..." she began again, swallowing hard and glancing, against her will, at the ghoulish corpse."Well... How does it look?" she sputtered suddenly.

If she wasn't mistaken, the shadow chuckled, the sound so deep and quiet she had to cock her head to catch just a whisper of it.

"It looks like he's dead," came the response finally. "Real dead." The shadow approached a step, causing the women to retreat cautiously backward, still gripping hands in desperate terror.

"Oh!" Her mother had been right, Katherine thought in frenzied retrospect. She should never have read those dime novels about the heroes of the West. She should have married Edgar Winston when he'd first asked and should never have left Boston. "Well yes, actually," she admitted with a spasmodic nod. "He is dead. Quite dead, I'm afraid. But we aren't responsible." She was breathing hard and wishing she'd had those twelve babies of Edgar's, even though he was potbellied and holier-than-thou.

There were worse things than being married to a sanctimonious stuffed shirt.

Being hanged for instance. Being hanged was at the very bottom of her list. "I mean," Katherine continued, "we are responsible, but we didn't mean to do it."

"Looks like he died happy," said the dusky voice from the darkness.

Katherine scowled, canting her head again and wishing to God she could see his face. "I beg your pardon."

"He died happy," the shadow repeated. "I can only assume one of you two should get the credit for that."

Daisy and Katherine turned face-to-face, seeing the identical mixture of horror and confusion in the other's expression.

"Which of you was it?" he asked quietly.

The women's eyes widened to an even greater extent.

Daisy moaned in silence. She'd never see that picket fence, never have babies and give them a better life than she'd known.

Poor Mother, lamented Katherine in anguish. She'd die of shame when she learned the truth of her daughter's demise. But it had been Katherine's decision to accept the saloon as her inheritance and with that the responsibility of looking after her employees.

"Me," they said in squeaky union, each courageously trying to save the other.

"Who?" The stranger's tone was mildly surprised, and the two women turned inward, each telepathically ordering the other to silence before staring at the shadow again.

"Me," they echoed a second time.

"Riding double?" intoned the stranger, taking a step forward and seeming to grow in size as he nodded briskly toward the corpse. "He was a lucky man."

The women squeezed closer together, backing away, with Daisy moaning a bit in utter mental anguish. She'd held so tenaciously to the hope of a better future.

Katherine felt Daisy's emotional agony like a stab in her conscience. Her own life had been so uncomplicated that she'd fantasized about enduring and miraculously overcoming the hardships of the West. While Daisy on the other hand, had never been given a chance at a decent life. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right, and Katherine couldn't bear to have her take the blame for a death she hadn't meant to cause.

"It was my fault," Katherine blurted. "All mine. But I didn't kill him."

"'E died o' natural causes," chimed Daisy. "Real natural."

The stranger tilted his head slightly. "There's nothing more natural than—"

"Please, sir," interrupted Katherine, frantically hoping not to hear the word he was about to say. "There's been no foul play here. I promise you I—"

"It ain't none of my concern."

Utter silence gripped the place, then, "What?" both women questioned numbly.

"I'm in town to conduct business and get out. What you ladies do to entertain your friends is none of my affair," assured the whiskey-voiced stranger.

Katherine knew she should be grateful. She knew God had saved her foolish skin, and she should chant salutations of praise and promise everlasting holy servitude. "But he's dead," she said abruptly, somehow appalled by the man's callous acceptance of the situation. "Dead."

"Looks damn dead to me," remarked the shadow dryly. "So if you ladies will excuse me, I'll leave you to your diversions and see to my business." He turned slightly, ready to leave.

Katherine was shocked speechless, while Daisy, made practical by circumstance and a strong desire to survive, pulled her hands from her employer's grip and took a pace forward.

"That's specially kind of y’ stranger," she called, smoothing a hand down her waist to her hip. "P'raps I can repay the favor."

The man stopped, pausing a moment before tipping his hat. "I appreciate the offer. But I only have a couple of hours before my business appointment, and I can see a woman like you would deserve more time."

Daisy, flattered by the words spoken in a gravelly, seductive tone, straightened her back. "After yer business?"

"It's unfortunate, but I'm meeting a man and then I leave."

"Cooo." Daisy cocked her hip in open invitation. "Seems a pity. But maybe at a later time. What's yer name, stranger?"

Quiet held the street.

"Ryland," he answered. "Travis Ryland."

"God save us!" Daisy's sudden desperate plea was no more than a whimper. "Y've really come, then. God save us!" She stumbled backward, but Katherine caught her about her hunched shoulders.

"Daisy. What's wrong? What is it?"

"Ryland!" the woman whispered, raising a limp hand toward the towering shadow. "It's really him! The one they calls The Ghost."

Katherine had never heard of Ryland, The Ghost, but could guess by Daisy's response that his presence there was not good news for them.

The large shadowy figure had gone perfectly still.

"Don't 'urt us," pleaded Daisy.

The shadow flexed. "I've sworn off eating helpless little soiled doves," he said.

"What do you want here?" Katherine whispered.

"It's none of your concern. My business is with the mayor."

It felt as if Katherine's very life was seeping from her body onto the darkened street. Daisy was slumped beside her like a broken doll.

"Mayor?" Katherine's voice was so squeaky and weak that Travis had to step forward to hear her, and it was with horror that Katherine learned she had no strength left to retreat. "You're here to see the mayor?"

Ryland loomed closer, towering over her. She saw his face was bearded, and his eyes shone down from just below the rim of his hat.

"Do you know the mayor?" he asked, his voice slow, dramatically deep, and cautiously quiet.

"Know him?" Katherine asked, hoping to buy some time. "In what sense do you mean?"

She doggedly refused to allow her gaze to stray to the smiling corpse. Sweat had suddenly appeared on her shaky hands, and a quiver shook her voice. She didn't want to die on a dusty street so far from home. Maybe she'd been all wrong about adventures. Right now her once thrilling dreams seemed frightful, terrible things that made her quake from the inside out.

"Do you know him?" repeated the stranger. "Biblically, or otherwise?"

Katherine's mouth opened to respond but she could think of no clever lie.

"No." She shook her head. "No, I didn't know the good mayor."

"You didn't know him?" The man took a step nearer. "You didn't know him?"

"I mean..." Katherine failed again to back away, though Daisy had slipped behind her and was tugging weakly at her nightshift. "I mean... I don't know him. I don't!" She shook her head again. There'd be no need for him to shoot her. She was going to die of sheer fright right here on the spot.

The moon eased from behind a silver-gilded cloud, laughing at such human melodrama and casting just a glimmer of light on the deadly stranger. But the illumination gave Katherine no added hope, for his shoulders were double the width of her own, and his body looked huge and hard, awaiting action.

"You killed the mayor?" he asked now, his voice still even. "You humped the mayor to death?"

Never in all her days had Katherine ever imagined she would hear such a question addressed to her. She'd been known to blush at the mention of a body part as innocent as an elbow.

Her mouth fell open, her lips moving hopelessly, her skin burning.

"Is the money in the bag?" he asked in a gruff voice.

"What money?" Katherine asked, but Ryland was already lifting the satchel from the dirt. "You can't do that," she said weakly, her sense of decency immediately offended. "It's not yours."

"He brought it for me," countered Ryland darkly.

Katherine's overdeveloped sense of fairness was absolutely affronted now, allowing her to raise her voice above a whisper. "How do you know it was meant for you? Perhaps it contains his personal..."

Daisy's gasp stopped Katherine's words. From the satchel the stranger had drawn a tidy stack of rectangular papers.

"Coo," breathed Daisy as she peeked over Katherine's shoulder. "'E's Ryland all right. But 'e ain't no ghost. Leastways, if 'e is, I can't tell. 'E's come t' croak Delias fer stealin' them miners' wages, and there's the bills t' pay 'im."

Deftly Travis Ryland removed the bands of rubber to fan the papers then shifted his gaze to the women. "Where's the rest?"

"The rest?" Katherine gulped, hearing the threat in his gravelly tone.

"I was promised a goodly sum," said Ryland. "This..." He lifted the bundle. "This is only two bills at the ends of blank pieces of paper. And I'd like to know where the rest is." He took a step toward them, and they stumbled back in unison, with Daisy's small form pulling Katherine along.

"We don't know anything about the money!" declared Katherine quickly.

"I want to know where it is," exclaimed Ryland evenly. "I don't mind killing Delias," he said in a midnight voice, "but I expect to be well-paid for it."

Katherine could feel her heart thumping against her ribs. "I don't know anything about this. Honestly."

"But you were the one who humped him to death," he reasoned.

"No," she wanted to scream. She'd never even met the mayor. Never laid eyes on him before an hour ago. But Daisy hadn't taken the money. Katherine knew it in her soul. 'That's such a crude way to refer to it," she said.

Silence.

"You're the damnedest whore I've ever met."

"I see no reason for you to be rude just because I'm..." Katherine sputtered, flapping her hands as she searched for the proper term.

"You're the one who loved him?" Ryland asked abruptly, toning down his speech for the girl's apparent sensibilities.

She'd hate to claim to have loved the man. Indeed, she'd never actually seen him alive. "Well he seemed like a nice enough gentleman, but I wouldn't say I actually loved—"

"Goddamn it, woman, did you sleep with him or not?" Ryland gritted, stepping up close to her in one fluid motion.

Katherine's jaw dropped. "Yes, I did," she whispered faintly.

“Then he must have paid you." The giant man was bent over her, growling into her face. "Did he take the money from the satchel?"

"Pay?" Katherine squeaked. The moon had probed beneath the brim of his hat, faintly lighting his face. It was bearded and hard-looking.

"Did he pay you from the satchel?" he asked again, his voice dropping another notch.

"Ahh." Katherine glanced over her shoulder at Daisy's paled face. "Ummm..."

"Not till after," Daisy squawked suddenly.

"What's that?" asked Ryland.

"The gents—they pay after."

Absolute stillness held the street, but suddenly Ryland grasped Katherine by the front of her nightshift, lifting her to her tiptoes. "That's just as well," he growled, "since you'd already taken far more than your share." He shook her lightly, and she felt like an abused rag doll.

"I didn't," Katherine managed. "I promise you I didn't."

For a moment she was sure she would die, but his fist loosened as he settled her back to her feet.

"Ladies," he said quietly. "I don't mean to be unpleasant, but there's a happy dead man lying in the street, a dead man who seems to be short about six thousand dollars."

"But we didn't take it," Katherine breathed, to which Daisy shook her head in emphatic agreement.

"Then where might it be?"

"I wouldn't know," piped Katherine.

"Listen, ladies. I learned a few things a long time ago. The first is never to draw a gun when the sun's in your eyes. The second is that generally folks are mostly understanding about murder in this sort of town." He shifted his weight slightly and wiggled his gloved fingers near the butt of his holstered gun. "But take their money..." He shook his head slowly. "Take their money and they'll hound you till you're dead and damned. You catch my drift?"

No answer.

"Do you?" he snapped.

Katherine jumped, gasped, and shook her head.

"I'm saying the good folks of Silver Ridge scraped their money together to pay me to kill Delias," Ryland explained patiently. "Now the money's gone. The mayor's dead and Delias ain't. Who do you think they're going to blame?"

"You?" Katherine guessed timidly.

"No." He shook his head again, more slowly yet. "Not me. I've done enough deeds to damn me without taking credit for things I didn't do." He stood quietly for a moment, then dropped the stack of papers into the bag and tossed the thing to the ground. "Good luck, ladies," he said, and turned away.

"Where're you going?" Katherine gasped.

He stopped for a moment, looking over his shoulder. "Where does Thomas Grey live?"

"South side of town. On Aspen Street. Big white house with green shutters," Daisy babbled.

He turned again.

"Who's Grey?" Katherine asked.

Travis didn't answer, for his long strides were already taking him quickly down the darkened street.

"Thomas Grey," Daisy whispered. "'E's a rich duffer. They say it was 'is idea t' 'ire The Ghost. But I didn't think they'd really dare. Not 'im!" She nodded toward Travis's broad retreating back. "'E's killed more men than the plague." She shivered. "I didn't think they'd get 'im."

Katherine's mind spun. If there had indeed been more money in the satchel, someone would be accused of theft, and if Ryland convinced Grey he was innocent, she was likely to be accused.

"We can't let him go," she whispered.

"What?" breathed Daisy in shocked disbelief.

"If he tells Grey about this..." Katherine's words quivered to a halt. "Wait!" she called to Travis.

"Miss Katherine," gasped Daisy, gripping her arms from behind. "Are you off yer crumpet? What're you thinkin'?"

"We have to convince him we're innocent."

"Convince The Ghost we're innocent?" Daisy whispered dazedly.

"Don't you see? If he tells Grey what he saw, it'll seem as if we killed the mayor and took the money. We have to stop him. Wait!" she called a bit louder, stepping forward to follow Ryland, but Daisy now gripped her nightgown in a tenacious hold.

"No, Miss Katherine! Don't go!" Her bare feet were planted on the outsides of Katherine's as she was dragged along the dirt course. "No! 'E's a mindless killer. Kills just fer fun. Y' make 'im mad, 'e'll croak y' without even blinking."

"But we're innocent."

"I know we's innocent, but let's not be dead," Daisy pleaded, dragging along behind. "Please, Miss Katherine. I got me some friends. We can 'ide out in New Prospect. Work at the Red Garter till I make 'nuf money t' send you back east. Please, Miss Katherine."

"But we're innocent!" cried Katherine, and suddenly she broke free of Daisy 's grip and was sprinting down the street, her bare feet pattering like raindrops beneath the hem of her uplifted nightshift.

Chapter 3

"Wait!"

Ryland had already mounted his horse when she reached him.

"Wait," she gasped, coming to a halt a safe distance from him. "Mr. Ryland. Please. I didn't mean to kill him. And I didn't take the money."

"It's not my problem, lady." At his nudge the horse turned away.

Katherine watched him. What was she to do with a satchel of paper bills and a smiling corpse? "Mr. Ryland!" She scurried after him, running to keep up with his mount. "I tell you I didn't do it."

He refused to look down. "And I tell you it's not my concern."

"But..." She was panting slightly. The horse had begun to trot in long, smooth strides, and Katherine reached out, grasping Travis's pant leg with desperate strength. "If he asks who killed the mayor, what will you tell him?"

"I might try the truth."

"Then he'll think I killed him. And he'll think I took the money."

"Better you than me, lady." Ryland clicked to his mount, and Katherine's grip tightened as panic overcame her.

"But I didn't do it," she yelled, desperate to convince him of her innocence.

"Life's hard." The horse shifted into a slow lope.

Katherine was running full tilt now, her night rail billowing behind her. "You can't do this."

His leg was pulled from her grasp, but desperation made Katherine clutch frantically for a new hold. Her fingers found his stirrup leather and wrapped tenaciously about the thing. Her legs pumped wildly, and she gasped for air. "I'm..." she rasped, but suddenly she stumbled, half falling beside the loping stallion, but refusing to loosen her grip as she was dragged along beside."Oh! Oh!" she shrieked.

"Damn it, woman!" Travis gritted, hauling his mount to a sliding stop. "Who the devil are you?"

Katherine scrambled for footing then grappled her way up his leg, struggling to an upright position and drawing in shaky breaths. "Katherine." She brushed away the wisps of midnight hair that had come loose from her braid and tried not to tremble. "Katherine Amelia Simmons."

Despite her fear there was a hint of pride in her tone, and Travis bent slightly nearer to stare down into her upturned face. "Katherine Amelia Simmons," he growled, "you're the biggest nuisance of a woman I've ever met."

She blinked twice. The tears came nevertheless, squeezing from beneath heavily forested eyelids. "But I didn't kill him," she choked, her voice rising into hysteria.

"Quiet!" he ordered. Hysterical women made him nervous, and this one was blubbering herself toward a real fit. "Hush."

"I didn't e-even know I was inheriting... I mean, how was I supposed to know? And then all the girls... and then poor G-George expired, and I was just trying to... to..."

"Hush. Hush." Travis's voice had softened as he glanced nervously about. "Shhh."

"I didn't know what to do," she babbled. "I couldn't abandon the girls, and Mother would die if she knew and—"

"Lady," he whispered, seeing a flame flicker to life in a nearby window and thinking it would look bad for him if poor George was found toes up on the street while he was being screamed at by a hysterical woman dressed in a flimsy nightshift. "I ain't saying you killed him. But I sure as hell didn't kill him either."

"But Mr. Grey will deduce that I did. After all, it might seem somewhat suspicious, what with Daisy and I dragging him out into the street and the money being gone."

"You think so?" Travis asked wryly.

"So I have to go with you to prove my innocence."

"I ride alone, lady," he said, straightening slightly and nudging his horse.

"But Mr. Ryland," she pleaded, walking again as she found her former hold on his pant leg, "who knows what the townspeople will think? I need to talk to Grey—tell him the truth."

"The truth?" he scoffed, not looking down at her. "Like you told me?"

"I did tell you the truth," she said, her voice squeaking again as it always did in a lie.

He lowered his face now. She could feel his hot gaze on her.

"Sure you did, lady," he said, and clicked to his stallion again.

Fresh panic showed in Katherine's face, but Travis Ryland knew far better than to care. Caring for another human being was the single most efficient way to get oneself killed. He pressed his horse into a canter.

"Mr. Ryland," she gasped, running along again. "Just listen!"

They were picking up speed.

"Let go!"

"Mr. Ryland!"

"Let go!"

Her legs were giving out. Still holding on, she yelled out to him, desperation forcing the words out on a windy gust. "I'll tell them you killed him."

The horse skidded to a halt, nearly plowing over Katherine's legs, but suddenly Travis reached down, grasped her by her nightshift, and snatched her effortlessly across the pommel of his saddle.

"All right, lady," he gritted. "You want to go. We'll go."

The saddle horn burned like fire as it dug into Katherine's abdomen, but it was the humiliation of her present position, with her bottom wriggling practically in his face, that made her gasp. "Wait. I can't go like this. Not in my nightshirt. It's indecent."

The big horse shifted into a trot, a pace which Katherine was certain would cause her death.

"Let me get this straight. You say you sleep with men for a living. Only this time you were a bit too enthusiastic and your customer wound up dead. So you dragged him out in the street by his heels, and now you're worried that going around in your nightshirt is indecent?" He shook his head, steadying her with a large hand on her bottom as he shifted the buckskin into a lope. "Lady, you're about one bean short of a full pot. You know that?"

He heard her grunt of pain as Soldier jolted ahead and with a mental sigh eased her over the horn until she was pressed against his abdomen for safekeeping. The nightgown had crept upward a bit, he noticed, revealing slim, pale legs that kicked rhythmically.

"Let me down," she demanded.

Travis had to admit that she sounded as if she was nearly ready to die from sheer embarrassment, and he knew without looking at her that she was blushing from head to toe.

"You said you wanted to come, lady."

They jolted into a rut in the road, jamming her sharply against the most private part of Ryland, which Katherine absolutely refused to contemplate. "I can't go like this. I can't!" she insisted. "Take me back. It'll only take me a minute to dress. We can talk about this like adults."

Her bottom was round and soft beneath Travis's hand, reminding him just how adult she was, despite her childish antics. "Lady," he said in a tone harder than he'd planned. "If we go back, I got me a whole helluva list of things I'll do with you before we talk."

Katherine could only be grateful he couldn't see the hot blush that infused her face. They hit another hole, but she swallowed her grunt of pain and hoped she'd faint before she had to face him again.

It seemed like hours before they finally stopped. Katherine's feet were numb when they hit the ground, and she tumbled backward, her bottom striking the earth with a thud.

"It looks like we're here," Travis said, throwing his leg over the cantle to dismount with more dignity than she.

Katherine wanted to glare at him, but first she had to make certain her nightshift covered all the essentials.

"Are you sure?" She scrambled to her feet, staring at the house. It was huge and somehow seemed foreboding, with the windows looking like large eyes watching them with malevolent curiosity. "Are you sure?" she asked again, but in a whisper now.

"I'm sure, lady," replied Travis, reading her fear with ease, for he himself felt the same apprehension as a nagging pain ground at his ribs—a pain he'd like to believe was nothing more than the scrape of an old pellet against his bones. He had no use for premonitions. "So you just march yourself up to the door and tell Grey how the good mayor died."

Katherine took an involuntary step backward, her hand fluttering to her chest. "Alone?"

"You wanted to tell him how you killed old Patterson. Remember?"

Katherine's bravery was ebbing away, and the small hairs along her arms stood on end. The truth was she didn't know how poor George had died. And she had no wish to try to explain that to anyone that would live in the looming mass of that darkened house. "I've been thinking," she said. "There'd be no reason for me to speak to Grey if you'd promise not to—enlighten him about my part in the incident. You could simply say you found the mayor on the street. That he must have tripped on the broken stair. Bumped his head. Died naturally," she suggested quickly.

"There's nothing more natural than—"

"Please," she whispered. "Don't tell."

Travis stood perfectly still. He couldn't see her clearly in the darkness, but could tell she was a pretty thing. Her hair was dark, long, and braided, her eyes huge and luminous.

"You might have guessed I ain't the kind of man who does something for nothing," he said quietly, not moving.

Katherine grasped her frazzled braid in a clammy fist, a nervous habit from childhood. "What do you want from me?"

Travis smiled. She had the throaty voice of a born seductress, but her eyes were wide with innocence. Stepping nearer, he noticed how each lace of her nightshift had remained tied, making it seem as if she'd done nothing more than step out for a breath of fresh air. Her braid, however, was coming loose, fraying away from confinement as if in testimony to the ordeal she'd come through. He noticed the set of her shoulders, her stiff stance, and passed her by to circle behind.

There was a light breeze blowing out of the east, and it flattened the woman's nightgown against her tidy body, outlining it perfectly. She had a sweet little bottom, Travis thought with a mental sigh of longing, knowing, no matter what she said, that she was out of his reach. "What can you give me?" he asked, nevertheless.

Katherine's mind spun. "I don't have any money with me," she whispered.

Ryland shrugged. "Bartering's a time-honored tradition in these parts."

It took her several seconds to realize his implied meaning. He was referring to personal favors, she thought in fresh panic. She didn't... She wouldn't... Well, she just couldn't! Could she?

But her choices were so few and very unfavorable. "I could..." she began, but found she didn't even know the right words to say.

"You know, lady," Travis said, stepping casually before her again, "most doves I've known have been real bold talkers. Have you always been so tongue-tied?"

"I'm not tongue-tied," Katherine denied, offended. "My diction is exemplary."

He was silent for a moment, then, "Right. What's your offer?"

"A kiss!" she spat out before it could catch on her tongue.

He laughed. "A kiss?"

"Yes."

Her mother would simply die if she knew what her daughter had come to, but her mother wouldn't be particularly pleased to learn Katherine Amelia had been hanged for murder either. "But just one..." She held up a singular finger.

"A kiss?" he repeated, and shook his head as if unable to believe he'd heard properly.

Have I been too forward? Katherine wondered dismally. Had she shocked him? "I've got no money," she whispered.

The street was as silent as death.

"Is it a deal?" Katherine breathed, feeling all her blood had drained to her feet.

"It'll depend on the kiss."

"No!" she said, knowing she couldn't kiss worth a hoot, for in truth, she'd never tried, and did not wish to be hanged for lack of ability in that arena. "You have to agree first."

He tilted his head sharply. "It seems to me I got the upper hand in this bartering business, lady. You'll have to kiss first. I'll decide if it's worthy."

She had no choice, Katherine thought dizzily. She'd have to go through with it.

The distance between them seemed the longest she'd ever traveled. Her knees felt weak, her head light, and when she reached him, he seemed to tower above her like a mountain.

She hesitated for a moment, and then, using every ounce of willpower she possessed, she rose to her toes, brushed her lips to his cheek, and jumped back.

Travis Ryland remained perfectly still. Katherine waited, breath held.

And then he laughed, the sound floating out in rich, deep timbre from the massive breadth of his chest.

"What are you laughing at?" Katherine scowled, knowing he was making fun of her and worrying what the consequences of a bad kiss would be. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," he said, unable to control his chuckles.

Her scowl deepened, and she placed her fists on her hips, thinking him quite rude, even for an outlaw. “Then is the bargain met?"

"Lady..." He chuckled again, lifting a hand and seeming to wipe at his eyes. "If your worst crime was spreading gossip about the preacher's wife, I might consider that little chicken peck enough to buy my silence." He shook his head, finally attempting to still his laughter. "But the mayor was... Well he was loved to death, and I'm afraid you ain't got what it takes to keep me quiet about that."

"Well!" Why she was so offended Katherine wasn't certain, but apparently this oversized lout was insulting her feminine appeal—something she'd spent very little time worrying about in the past. "So you think I can't kiss?"

"No," he said quickly, lifting a hand as it to ward off any zealous advances. "It's just that I thought old George was overstimulated. But now I see he died of boredom."

Katherine narrowed her eyes and ground her teeth. Died of boredom, indeed! How dare he! She'd give him a kiss that would fuse his boots to his feet.

"Hang on to your hat," she growled, and stepped forward again.

Lightning struck her lips as they touched his. A trail of flame sizzled down her neck, crackling along her arms to burn at her fingertips. His hands had somehow settled around her waist, heating her body with inexplicable fire as his lips moved across hers.

He smelled of wide open places and leather. His tongue touched her lips, and suddenly her mouth was open, too, allowing her own tongue to taste him in heated, first-time exploration.

Her head swam. The world shifted, and she lifted her hands, steadying herself against his chest.

His beard tickled her chin, and his hands moved upward slightly, blazing a trail up her back as he pulled her closer.

For the first time in her life Katherine was fully alive, each fiber of her body alert, every nerve vibrating with awareness. So this was a kiss! Her tongue touched his again, shocking her with a new jolt of sizzling excitement. So this was why George was smiling.

George! The memory of him blasted through to Katherine's brain. The mayor! She drew away, pushing on Travis's chest with trembling hands and trying to remember her mission.

"Well?" she asked foggily.

He was absolutely quiet for a moment, then, "Any other sins you'd like me to keep quiet about?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"No." She shook her head slowly, her lips parted and burning. "This is my first."

"Lucky George."

"He's dead."

"It might be worth it."

She blinked at him, not comprehending his words.

"See that grove of trees?" Travis asked, not raising his eyes from hers. "I want you to take Soldier in there with you. Wait ten minutes. If I don't come out, you get on Soldier and you ride back to wherever it is you came from."

"But I can't go back to The Watering Hole."

"Lady!" His fingers tightened against her back. "I ain't talking about the saloon. You ride east till you can't even remember Colorado in your dreams."

"But what about—"

He shook her slightly, stopping her words. "Promise me!"

"But what about you? What are you doing to do?"

"I swear to you, lady, if you don't hightail it, I'll make them damn rumors come true and haunt you for eternity."

Her mouth fell open as she realized the implication of his words. Not only was he expecting trouble, he was expecting big trouble. "But I can't ride," she whispered.

"You can't ride?" He glowered into her face. "Then what the hell are you doing in this kind of country?"

Tears formed without warning and she sniffed. "I inherited—"

"Don't!" He changed his mind about hearing her explanation and held a hard palm toward her. "Don't tell me. Just remember. Ten minutes. If I'm