Fugitive hearts, p.16
Fugitive Hearts, page 16
The stuffy little sap took up his pencil. “What’s the name?”
Frank curled his hand into a fist on the counter. Mr. Prissy didn’t need to know her name or anything else about her. “Garrity.”
She cut him with a frowning glance, showing the first sign of good hearing since they’d walked in. Didn’t call him out. He reckoned he’d hear her objections once they reached the room. He had no plans to marry her, though she didn’t seem to expect it, which annoyed him.
The clerk finished writing with a flourish. “That’ll be five dollars. In advance.”
Claire went for her satchel.
“I’ll take care of it.” Frank dug into an inside coat pocket for the pouch with his money. She had plenty of other things to spend her cash on. He needed nothing, save the basic necessities, like food. “Bring us dinner.”
“I’d like to have a bath. I can pay for it.”
An image popped into his head of him lathering her breasts. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He’d leave before she started undressing.
“Make sure the water’s hot,” she added.
With the heat his body generated, he could warm it up with his finger.
While the clerk scribbled their order on a piece of paper, he shook his head, as if they’d asked for the moon.
Frank pushed a gold eagle across the counter. “That’ll more than cover everything, including the room.”
The clerk handed him the key.
Upstairs wasn’t much better than the lobby. The room smelled like one of those unwashed cowboys. A bed, covered with an old Army blanket, sagged in the middle. Other furniture consisted of a washstand and one cane-back chair. Holes were worn in a rug centered on the rough plank floor.
Claire had to be thinking about how poorly this place compared to the Belmont House. If she was disappointed, she didn’t show it. Another admirable trait. She wasn’t a complainer and made the best of whatever situation. Few women could come through what Claire had endured with such grace.
Frank tossed his overcoat on the chair and went to the window. When he lifted the pane, his nose was assaulted by worse odors than those inside. The stockyards were one street over. “We got a nice view of the cattle pens.”
“That’s one place we haven’t looked yet.”
He pulled his head in. “We haven’t checked all the outhouses either, but I don’t reckon he’ll be there.”
She slowly lowered her satchel to the bed. Perhaps afraid the rickety thing might fall apart. “He told me he’d become a cowboy if he couldn’t be an engineer.”
“Then we’ll check the stockyards.”
Moisture welled along her lower eyelids. Tears were more than understandable, given their uncomfortable truce and uncertain situation, coupled with Billy’s disappearance. “What if…what if something’s happened to him?”
The unhappy thought had crossed Frank’s mind numerous times, but he didn’t want her to think he’d given up. He took a step closer, struggled to maintain the distance. His defenses had been weakened from fatigue, worry, and an endless well of longing. “Billy’s a survivor. He’s out there, somewhere. We’ll find him. The reward will help.”
She blinked. Tears coursed down her cheeks. “How can you be sure?”
“Nothing’s certain. It’s the best next step.”
Her features twisted with despair. She put her hands over her face.
He couldn’t stand it. In two strides he reached her and pulled her to him. She gripped the lapels of his overcoat with her face buried against his chest. Her silent weeping was worse than if she’d wailed her grief.
“He-he thinks I don’t love him.” Her muffled voice wavered. “Frederick r-refused to sign the adoption papers. He agreed to do it, but he procrastinated. Billy must believe I don’t want him because I didn’t honor my promise.”
Frank held her tight. Her grief tore him apart. “Billy doesn’t think that. Last time I saw him, he bragged about being adopted as soon as all the papers got signed. He understands. He knows you love him. You show him that every day.”
“I never had a chance to be a good mother.”
“Don’t say that. You are a good mother, Claire.” Frank’s heart ached to offer her the things she longed for. Things she deserved like a home and a family. As a lawman, he couldn’t guarantee her safety, and he wouldn’t risk her life.
“I meant what I told him. I won’t give him up.”
Frank rubbed her back, soothingly. Sounded like she’d regained her courage, which was a good thing. She’d need it to get through what was still ahead of her.
When he found Billy, he had to take the boy to appear before the judge. Not even the Hanging Judge would condemn a twelve-year-old. Without a doubt, Billy would be taken away from Claire. She’d lied and covered up the situation that led to the shooting. Not to mention, Billy had killed a man. He might’ve been defending Claire, but that wouldn’t matter to the folks in Parsons. He’d be shunned, treated like a criminal. He couldn’t stay without his life being ruined. He had to go.
Frank wouldn’t say all that. Not now. He had to gain Claire’s trust him first. Only then could he convince her to tell the truth so they could find a way out of this mess. Then, he would help her put her life back in order before he stayed out of it for good.
Chapter 18
Claire relaxed in Frank’s embrace, grateful for his solid presence and tender comfort. She hadn’t thought he would hold her even if she needed to be held. He’d kept a careful distance all day, touching her only to assist her as any gentleman might.
He’d been very honest with her about his intentions. She could only assume he’d decided to put an end to their relationship for both their sakes. Despite knowing it was for the best, her misery had mounted by the hour, made worse by her weariness and her fears about Billy’s safety. By the time they’d arrived in the room, she’d been on the verge of tears.
As his large hands made slow, comforting circles on her back, she burrowed into his chest. She hadn’t meant to break down in front of him or use it as a ploy to entice him. But now that his arms were around her, she wasn’t strong enough to let him go.
He made her feel like a whole woman when he ushered her into that place where nothing mattered but mindless passion. For a time, she forgot the heartaches, her mistakes as a wife, and her failure as a mother.
He tugged at the ribbons holding her bonnet. Would he undress her again with slow deliberation, as if he savored every moment?
Desire rose like water in a flooded creek. She leaned into him, slid her arms inside his coat around his waist and splayed her fingers across his back. His hard, unyielding body offered a safe harbor in the midst of the storm.
His arms fell away. He hesitated a fraction of a second before he moved to set her bonnet on the bed beside her satchel.
Her illusion dissolved.
Frank wasn’t her haven and never would be.
Shaken, she backed away, hugging her arms, her vulnerability bare for him to see. She’d felt less exposed when she had been naked.
His expression flattened. He did that when he didn’t want her to know what he was feeling. He might be longing for the same things she wanted, but he had fears and doubts.
She looked away, chided herself for trying to read him, which would only lead to more disappointment.
“You ought to get some rest.” Before, his voice had been rough with concern. Now, it had a dull tone. He’d withdrawn again. “I got to find something to eat, and a place to sleep.”
He took up his overcoat from where he’d tossed it over the chair. Like Billy, he ran when he felt threatened. It stung her pride. She wouldn’t accost him. He needn’t flee from her desire.
She dried her eyes with a handkerchief before she straightened to face him without tears. “There’s no need for you to go. You ordered dinner. Stay here and eat. We can work out an acceptable sleeping arrangement.”
“You ordered a bath.” He buttoned his coat.
She squared her shoulders, gathered the tattered edges of her dignity. “If it makes you feel safer, when the bath arrives you can go downstairs.”
Surprise flashed across his face. “Me? I’m not the one who needs to feel safe.”
“No? Look at the way you buttoned up your coat. Like you’re afraid I’ll rip it off you.”
“Claire, you got it all wrong. Blame me, not you. I’m not the marrying kind, but I don’t want to treat you shabby. That’s why I need to stay away. So I won’t be tempted. You’re a hard woman to resist.”
“You seem quite capable of resisting. I’m the weak one.” How shameful, knowing she would go into his arms right now if he touched her.
He edged closer, put on an apologetic expression. “You got nothing to be ashamed of. There’s not a thing wrong with having urges. It’s perfectly natural.”
Her cheeks grew warm. “Don’t talk about urges. That makes it sound crude.”
“That’s not… I meant no offense, only that you ought not feel bad about something that’s—”
“I understand. You don’t have to spell it out. And yes, of course, you need to leave.”
If she had the least idea where Billy might be, she would leave too. She’d go out searching for him, despite being bone-tired.
She’d find nothing but trouble if she wandered around an uncivilized town after dark. Tomorrow, bright and early, she would resume her search, with or without Frank.
“When will you be back?” She moved to the bed and opened her satchel to look for her book.
“If you’d like, I’ll check on you in a couple hours.”
“You didn’t plan to return tonight?”
He didn’t meet her eyes. “Thought it best if I didn’t sleep here.”
The only other places that might have a free bed were one of the many brothels tucked behind the respectable part of town.
Claire’s heart constricted at a mental picture of Frank tangled in the arms of a soiled dove. He’d leave her to go lie with a whore. To take care of those perfectly natural urges.
“Fine. Don’t come back.”
He stood there a moment. Long enough for her to wonder if he’d changed his mind and would stay. Not so long that she had time to work up the nerve to apologize and ask him. He brushed her skirts as he walked past.
At the door, he paused. “Keep this locked. I will be back.”
By the time Frank made his way to the busiest part of town, dusk had fallen. The moon hung in a gunmetal sky. A few stars had popped out. The long-horned cattle were gone, traffic was back to normal, and sidewalks were crowded with rowdy cowboys. Most were headed in the direction of a tent town, located a short distance behind other amusements.
All manner of sinful enjoyment could be had in Denison’s darker district—gaming, dancing, drinking and whoring. Out of curiosity, Billy might’ve decided to check it out.
Frank hadn’t mentioned his suspicion earlier. He wouldn’t have taken Claire with him anyway. He would check around after he rustled up something to eat. Then, he’d get back to the hotel.
His instincts warned him against leaving her alone for too long. Too many things could go wrong. After her bath, she might take it into her head to go look for Billy. Fortunately, she was dead on her feet and would need to rest a bit and get something to eat. He’d be back before she worked up enough energy to set out. He could haul that chair out by the door and keep watch.
Claire’s sharp request that he not return stung. She had every right to be angry. When he’d tried to explain why he couldn’t remain in the room with her, he’d stepped on his tongue and nothing he said came out right. If he hadn’t given in and bedded her before, she wouldn’t be so hurt now. He didn’t know how to fix things, except to keep his distance, but he couldn’t win her trust if he ignored her. Damn, he’d made a mess of things.
Frank left the boarded walk when he came to the first tent. The city fathers wouldn’t spend money on sidewalks in this part of town. His shoes squished in the pungent mud alongside a row of shacks. Oil lamps were hung on hooks by the doors. The lights flickered through colored glass, casting a red glow against the unpainted wood.
It wasn’t just cowboys out here tonight. While visiting the working girls, railroaders left their signal lamps outside so they could be located in case train schedules changed. When the lamp was lit, it meant the owner was busy.
Farther along, strains of fiddle music filled the cool night air along with the savory scent of steak. The sounds and smells appeared to be coming from a large frame and canvas structure with a hand-painted sign mounted above the door.
The Lone Star.
He’d lost count of how many establishments used the popular name for the state of Texas.
Frank veered inside. He surveyed the combination saloon and dance hall. Customers crowded a bar constructed from barrels and railroad ties. On a makeshift dance floor, sawdust filled the air, kicked up by energetic dancers. Mostly men.
In these parts, males outnumbered females easily twenty to one. If men wanted to dance and couldn’t find female partners, they danced together. A piece of red cloth pinned to their sleeves indicated which fellow took the woman’s role. They weren’t practiced dancers, but what they lacked in skill they made up for in enthusiasm.
Any other time, Frank would’ve enjoyed the entertainment. Tonight, he was tired and hungry, and in a hurry to get back to the hotel to check on Claire.
Every seat at every table appeared to be taken, with the exception of one. In a far corner, at a table occupied by a lone man.
By the time Frank reached the table, he’d recognized the burly, dark-haired lawman hunched over a large steak. A U.S. marshal, ironically named Marshall Stokes. Made it easy to remember.
“Mind if I sit, Marshall?”
“Yeah, I do mind.” Stokes glanced up. His surly frown lifted in surprised recognition. “I know you. Garrity. You’re a sheriff now. Parsons, Kansas, if I recollect right.”
“Nothing wrong with your memory.”
Stokes straightened. His demeanor became a hair less impolite. “What brings you here?”
“Thought I’d ask you to dance.”
The marshal didn’t crack a smile. Or if he did, it wasn’t visible beneath the black mustache. The tough-as-nails lawman spent most of his time scouring Indian Territory. He’d chased down numerous scoundrels and scalawags holed up there. That kind of work would kill anybody’s sense of humor.
Twelve years ago, Frank’s life had been similar. Only, he’d tracked down border raiders and bushwhackers for the army. That was when he’d first met then-Lieutenant Marshall Stokes, who’d been almost as rash, but not as thirsty for revenge.
Frank grew tired of waiting for a polite invitation and pulled out the empty chair. “I’m on the lookout for a boy that’s gone missing.”
Stokes’s expression turned speculative. Then he went back to work on his steak.
Frank ordered. Soon as his steak arrived, along with a bottle of whiskey, he tried to focus on the food instead of the worries that nagged at the back of his mind.
After his stint in the Army, he’d become a lawman. An unbiased instrument of the system. If someone broke the law, regardless of who they were, they were apprehended and faced judgment. He’d never balked at doing his job—until Claire had confessed to killing her husband.
Even if he hadn’t figured out her ruse, he couldn’t see how justice would be served if she got locked up—or worse. And arresting Billy for defending her didn’t seem right, either. No matter what choice he made, both of them would suffer. He couldn’t protect them and perform his duty.
Frank pushed his empty plate away and downed another drink. If he left the bottle, he wouldn’t be tempted to finish it. He fished money out of his pocket to pay for his meal and the liquor, then filled the marshal’s glass. “Have a drink on me. Got to get back to the hotel.”
Stokes took a sip. “Before you go, tell me about this missing child.”
It made sense to enlist the federal marshal’s help. If Stokes happened across Billy, he would bring him in.
Frank gave him the description he’d used for the reward poster. “His name’s Billy Frye, twelve years old, freckle-faced, tow-headed, stands about four-foot-eight. He might be wearing a tan, fleece-lined coat. Last seen in the Parsons switchyard. We suspect he jumped a train headed south.”
The marshal set down his glass. “Sounds like the kid I’m looking for.”
Frank straightened in surprise. “Did Red Hall tell you about Billy?”
“Haven’t seen Red yet. Just got to town. I’m working on a case. A string of train robberies. The latest one occurred last week a few miles north of the Kansas border. Involved a Katy train.”
“Yeah, I heard about it. What’s that got to do with Billy?”
Stokes leaned back in his seat. “Don’t know if it has anything to do with him. One of the passengers reported seeing a boy run away from the train into the woods. He had blond hair, a tan coat. One of the outlaws rode off after him.”
A pit opened up in the bottom of Frank’s stomach. That would be one explanation for why they hadn’t found Billy at the rail yard in Denison. He could’ve left the train for some reason when it was held up. Why would outlaws chase him down?
“You know who robbed the train?”
“Jasper Byrne and his gang.”
Frank rubbed his hand over face. Things had just gone from bad to worse.
Jasper Byrne’s long string of crimes had started during the war. He hadn’t been much older than Billy. He’d ridden with Rebel trash. The same kind of men Frank had chased down and killed—or hanged from a nearby tree. After the war, the half-breed hellion had moved from raiding farms to robbing trains. There was no reason he’d know Billy or have any use for him.
“We’ve been hunting these snakes for years, but they’re slippery. And the Indians cover for them,” Stokes continued. “Before now, we hadn’t heard anything about a boy being part of the gang. If he’s your runaway, he might’ve decided he liked the adventure.”
