The complete oregon seri.., p.77
The Complete Oregon Series, page 77
Amy stopped at the river’s edge to allow Ruby a mouthful of water. While her horse drank, she uncorked her canteen and took a swig. Cool water trickled down her parched throat. She had been in the saddle since sunup—her routine for the past few days. Since you were stupid enough to almost kiss Rika. As much as she tried not to think about it, the thought intruded again and again.
She told herself she wasn’t really avoiding Rika. Dozens of tasks kept her out on the range: checking springs and waterholes to make sure they weren’t clogged with debris after the flood, riding line to keep the horses from drifting off the Hamilton land, and seeing how far along the hay was.
Yeah, sure. Truth be told, the main ranch would have kept her busy too. The shed could do with a new coat of paint, and Phin’s cabin needed to have a wood floor installed, but she’d decided to leave that to the boys.
Thinking about Phin’s cabin brought back images of Rika. With an exasperated grunt, Amy lifted the reins and directed Ruby away from the river. She rode along the gurgling stream bordering the eastern corner of their land. Something rustled in the hazel bushes ahead, and a squirrel skittered across the path.
Ruby tossed up her head and pranced sideways.
“None of that, girl.” She stroked Ruby’s neck, then pulled the mare’s head around and urged her up a hill.
One of their line shacks lay below. The small cabin held enough supplies to feed a ranch hand for a few days so he wouldn’t have to return to the main house. Dusk was settling over the hills; maybe she would stay at the line shack tonight. She had done it before, so Mama wouldn’t worry as long as she came home before breakfast.
She urged Ruby into a gallop, glad to have something to do other than think about Rika. As she neared the cabin, she slowed to a lope, then a walk.
The cabin’s corral lay empty, and the grass grew high.
Still, the fine hairs on the back of her neck prickled.
Ruby’s ears flicked forward.
“Someone here, girl?” Maybe a traveling man or a wrangler in search of a job. Amy didn’t mind. They were welcome to a few of the supplies, as long as they left a coin to pay for what they had taken.
She rode up to the cabin, a greeting on her lips, but something held her back from calling out. This time of year, it was better to be careful and watch out for strangers who were handy with a lariat and a running iron. Around here, even rustlers knew the worth of a Hamilton horse.
A quick glance showed her that the pile of stacked wood in front of the cabin had gotten smaller. Someone is here. Someone without a horse or Ruby would whinny a greeting. One name shot through her mind: Adam. Any other traveler would have a horse. Don’t be silly. She shook her head. Adam was long gone. This was probably just a down-on-his-luck wrangler who had lost his horse.
Nevertheless, she slid her hand down to the revolver at her side. Since the fire, she never rode out without Papa’s spare revolver.
Before she could reach her weapon, the click of a hammer echoed through the silence.
Fear stabbed her chest, robbing her of breath. Steady. She slid her gaze to the source of the sound and tensed her muscles against the impact of a bullet.
Nothing happened. Not yet.
“I told you you’d regret firing me,” someone said from behind her.
Adam. She clenched her teeth until her jaw muscles hurt. “I didn’t fire you,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm. “You gave your notice because you didn’t want to work for me. So let’s just go our separate ways without any bad feelings.” This wasn’t the moment to talk about the barn he’d set afire or his attack on Mama.
He didn’t answer. His footsteps circled around until he was facing her. Long stubble covered his cheeks, and the glint in his eyes made him appear even wilder and more dangerous.
Amy flicked her gaze to his weapon. If I charge him, maybe I can kick away his revolver.
He waved two fingers toward his chest. “Oh, yeah, come on. Try it.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Don’t think I wouldn’t shoot a woman. If you wear pants like a man and act like a man, I’ll shoot you like a man.”
Amy hesitated. He would shoot. But if he didn’t kill her now, what would he do to her? What was he planning?
“Get off the horse.”
She didn’t move, knowing that she would be at his mercy once she was on the ground.
“Get off the damn horse, or I’ll shoot her!” His revolver swung down, now aiming at Ruby.
“All right, all right. I’ll get down. Don’t hurt her.” Amy wrapped the reins around the saddle horn and swung her leg over the cantle. If she dropped down, Ruby would be between Adam and her, blocking his view. If she could draw her revolver...
“No.” Adam’s voice stopped her. “Not on that side. Climb off on my side.” The muzzle of the revolver swung back up and pointed at the middle of her chest.
Grinding her teeth, Amy dismounted on Ruby’s right side. She sent Ruby away with a clap to her rump. If Adam shot at her, at least Ruby wouldn’t be hit.
Ruby trotted to the corral but then stopped and looked back at Amy.
Home, Ruby. Go home and get help. But she knew she was Ruby’s herd at the moment. Ruby wouldn’t leave unless something scared her off.
“Hands up. Come over here,” Adam said.
She had no choice. Her thoughts raced as she stepped toward Adam, but with his revolver pointing at her, she couldn’t do anything.
His weapon still aimed at her, Adam used his free hand to reach beneath her jacket. His fingers slid over her body, making her shiver with revulsion. “Get your hands off me!”
“Oh, come on. You’re enjoying this.” His grin widened. Then his searching hand found the revolver she carried against her hip. “That’s what I thought.” He took the weapon. “Did no one ever tell you little girls shouldn’t play with revolvers?” He tossed it away and prepared to step back.
No! If she wanted to survive, she needed to stay close to him to fight for the revolver. If he stepped out of reach, he could shoot her from a safe distance. She lurched forward and hammered both fists at the spot where his neck met the shoulder of his weapon arm.
Her well-placed blow hit Adam before he could react. It worked, just as Papa had taught her. The revolver dropped from his hand.
With a cry, Amy dived for it.
The tip of Adam’s boot caught her in the ribs.
Pain lanced through her, and she fell back. Despite the throbbing pain, she groped for the revolver.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Adam snatched her collar and dragged her to her knees.
Amy struggled, but his grip was too strong. She couldn’t break free.
“Thought you could best me, huh?” Adam sneered, bending down.
Had he found the revolver?
As his weight shifted, his grip on her collar loosened.
Amy rammed her head into his stomach.
They fell and rolled. She stabbed her hand forward, trying to shove her fingers into his eyes, but Adam jerked his head to the side at the last moment.
Her blow glanced off his cheekbone.
He grunted. With his greater strength, he rolled them around again.
Agony shot through Amy when his weight pressed down on her. His tobacco breath washed over her face. She tried to hit his eyes, his ears, his throat, but Adam’s big hands clamped around her wrists, shackling them to the ground.
Get off me! Under the weight of his body, Amy struggled to suck air into her lungs. She thrust upward with her knee, driving between his legs, as Papa had taught her.
Adam’s eyes widened, his body stiffening against hers. An unhealthy flush shot up his neck. His mouth fell open, and he howled.
Yes! Her hands were free. Amy shoved at his chest and crawled out from beneath him. Her heart slammed against her ribcage. The revolver! She had to get her hands on a weapon before Adam recovered. Her gaze darted left and right.
All around them, the grass was trampled, but no metal glinted anywhere.
She scrambled to her feet.
Adam grabbed her ankle. With one sharp tug, Amy crashed to the ground. She spat out earth and clawed the grass. Facedown, she flailed her hands, searching for the revolver, a stick, a stone, any weapon at all.
Cold steel pressed against the side of her head.
Amy froze. Somehow, Adam had found either his revolver or hers. Her arms dropped to the ground. Pain flared through her ribs. “Adam,” she said through a constricted throat. “Don’t be stupid. If you kill me, my father will string you from the tallest tree in Oregon. And that’s if Mama doesn’t get you in front of her rifle first.”
They both knew it was true. No one, not even the law, would stop her parents if Adam hurt her.
Adam grasped her shoulder and pulled her around. He leaned over her, his face crimson and his eyes wild. “Yeah, but I bet Mama’s pretty little head is still hurting good. And dear Papa isn’t here now, is he?” Adam chuckled. The pressure at her temple increased, and his hate-filled eyes stared at her from just inches away.
“No,” an unfamiliar voice said from somewhere behind Adam. “But I am. And so is my Spencer carbine.”
Oh, thank God! Amy trembled, this time with relief, not fear.
Adam jerked his head toward the voice, still pinning Amy so she couldn’t see her savior.
The voice was female. A hysterical chuckle bubbled up Amy’s throat. Adam being defeated by a woman again. It was almost as good as knowing she would survive.
“Drop the revolver,” the woman said.
When Adam hesitated, another voice came from beside the first one. “Drop the weapon and step back, or you’ll be too dead to be sorry.” The voice was softer than the first one, but equally determined. The hammer of another weapon clicked.
Cursing, Adam withdrew the revolver from Amy’s temple and hurled it away. Moments later, tanned hands dragged him off.
“Careful,” Amy said. “My revolver has to be somewhere around here.”
“I got it,” the softer voice said.
Amy sat up and looked at her saviors. She’d thought the voice of the person with the Spencer carbine was that of a woman, but the hat, the pants, and the short hair told her she was wrong. The man held his rifle on Adam while his female companion hurried over and tied Adam’s hands.
When Amy tried to stand, the woman pressed her down. “Stay down until you catch your breath, Amy.”
“How do you know my name?” There was something familiar about the stranger, the way the sunlight reflected off her golden-silvery hair, the curve of her lips when she smiled. Had they met before?
“Because you look like your mother. And you fight like your father.”
Tess blinked at the young woman. With her green eyes, flaming red hair, and freckles sprinkled over a creamy-golden complexion, the young woman staring up at her looked almost exactly like Nora. Or at least like Nora did when she first came to work for me.
Then Tess took the time to study her more closely. Denim pants and mud-spattered chaps covered muscular legs, and Tess caught glimpses of a sturdy body beneath a canvas jacket and a men’s shirt. A piece of leather could barely restrain a mass of wind-tangled hair. During the struggle, a few tendrils had escaped and now fell into her face.
“How do you know my parents?” Instead of the wary caution Nora had often displayed, her daughter’s face showed dazed curiosity.
Not knowing what Nora had told her daughters about her past, Tess thought it best to keep things simple. “I’m Tess Swenson, an old friend from Missouri. I knew you when you were just a three-year-old girl.”
Did Amy remember anything about that time? Did she remember living in the brothel?
Lines of concentration formed on Amy’s brow, but no sign of recognition lit up her eyes.
Maybe it’s better that way. Tess reached down and offered her hand.
“Are you here to visit Mama and Papa?” Amy asked, accepting the hand and struggling to her feet.
“We’re here to see your mother and meet you girls,” Tess said. “We already met Luke in The Dalles.”
Amy beamed. For a moment, she looked like three-year-old Amy when someone had given her an apple for the horses. “So he didn’t run into any problems? All the horses are in good shape?”
“I didn’t ask about the horses, but Luke seemed all right. He was only worried about his family and the ranch.”
“We’re doing just fine.” Amy straightened and then clutched her side. An expression of pain rushed over her face.
Tess gripped her elbow. “Oh, yeah. Just fine. I can see that.” This young woman was as stubborn as her parents. “Did he hurt you?”
“No. I’m just a little winded,” Amy said.
If we hadn’t gotten lost searching for the ranch and stopped at the cabin to ask for directions… Tess shuddered. “Come on. Let’s get you home.” It was time to keep her promise and take care of Luke’s “chicks.”
Each of Ruby’s steps sent waves of pain through Amy, but she struggled not to let it show.
“Who is he?” the man Tess had introduced as Frankie asked, pointing his rifle at Adam. “Why did he attack you?” His voice was oddly soft for a man—so soft that Amy had mistaken it for that of a woman, but the hands holding the rifle looked as if they knew how to fight.
“Adam was one of our ranch hands, but he didn’t like working for a woman,” Amy said. Everything had been fine with Papa in charge, but so much had happened since Amy had taken over. She longed for Papa’s return, but at the same time, she wondered what he would say about all of this. Would he think she wasn’t capable of running the ranch on her own?
Tess directed her mare closer to Amy and threw a grim smile over her shoulder. “Oh, don’t we know that situation. Most men hate taking orders from a woman.”
“Mama had to threaten him with a rifle. She chased him off the ranch, and in revenge, he attacked her and set fire to our barn.” A shiver raced down Amy’s spine when she thought of that night, the panicked squeals of the horses in the burning stable, Rika’s skirt catching fire, and then Mama stumbling toward them, holding her head.
“Nora!” Tess blanched. “Is she all right?”
“She’s fine. She always said she’s got a hard head.” Amy forced a smile. Mama wouldn’t want her friend to worry about her.
Tess chuckled as the color returned to her face. “Oh, yes, that she did.” Her grin deepened the lines around her eyes and mouth, telling Amy that Tess was probably twice her own age, but Amy still found her beautiful.
“You can’t prove it was me,” Adam shouted from his place running next to the three horses.
“We can prove that you were about to shoot a defenseless woman,” Frankie said. “Now shut up and save your breath for keeping up, or I’ll drag you behind my horse all the way to the ranch.”
“Let me go, goddammit!” Adam struggled against the rope that bound his wrists together. He spat in their direction. “This is none of your damn business. No one will believe a word you say. I have friends in the area, and you’re just some stranger.”
Frankie jerked on the rope, almost throwing Adam off his feet.
“Oh, Frankie is not just some stranger,” Tess said. “She’s a railroad marshal.”
“She?” Adam and Amy echoed.
Amy’s head jerked around. Pain surged along her ribs, and she barely resisted the impulse to clutch her side. Instead, she looked Frankie up and down.
She wore pants, jacket, hat, and sturdy boots. But so do I, and I’m not a man. But not even Amy wore her hair as short as Frankie, and she bowed to convention and wore a dress or a split riding skirt to town.
Frankie swept off her hat and gave a bow. Her eyes twinkled. “Frances Callaghan, at your service.”
Why didn’t I see it before? Frankie’s salt-and-pepper hair was a lick too long, and her coat fit too snugly across her chest to pass herself off as a man. The gentle curve of her hips beneath the worn gun belt said “woman.”
“Goddamn women!” Adam cursed. “Has the world gone crazy?”
Another jerk on the rope silenced him.
Amy couldn’t stop staring even though she knew it was rude. She had never met a woman like Frankie. “Women can become railroad marshals in the East?” Maybe the East wasn’t such a bad place after all.
“Not usually. I’m the only one I know of,” Frankie said. “But I had some success as a Pinkerton detective, and that convinced the railroad bosses to hire me.”
A few of the stories Nattie read to them in the evenings starred Pinkerton agents. In the stories, they protected people and money transports, tracked down dangerous outlaws, and solved train robberies. Amy never imagined someone would hire a woman to do those things. Even more amazing was that Mama and Papa knew people like Frankie—and had never told their daughters about it.
Amy was still studying Frankie when they reached the ranch.
In the fading light of dusk, Amy made out a figure sitting in the rocking chair on the veranda. She didn’t need a second glance to know who it was. Mama often kept a lookout for Papa and her when they were late coming in from the range.
At the sound of hoofbeats, the door opened and Rika and Nattie slipped outside.
The light from Nattie’s lantern reflected off the rifle in Mama’s hands.
“Mama,” Amy called out. “It’s all right. It’s me.”
Frankie stopped her horse in front of the hitching rail and jerked on the rope.
Adam nearly tumbled into the water trough. Gasping for breath, he landed on his knees in front of Mama.
“Oh, look what the cat dragged in!” Hank hurried across the ranch yard and yanked Adam to his feet. “What’s that little bastard doing here? I thought he’d be all the way to Canada by now.”
“Amy?” Mama jumped up from the rocking chair. “What did you do? You hunted him down?” Her gaze turned to ice when she looked at Adam. “Or did you lurk in the darkness and attack her from behind, like you did me? God help me, if you hurt Amy...”
