After Sundown (11 page)

The three walked over to the desk, Hazelgreen holding up a sheaf of documents. “I’ve had the papers drawn up, sir, the ones we discussed last night, granting you the deed on this place. Thought I’d bring them over first thing and introduce you to our town council.” He gestured to the two men. “Mr. Camden Fairfax, I believe you’ve met.”

The saloonkeeper extended his hand, his quiet voice marked by a refined English accent. “I trust you will accept my apologies, Marshal, for my being rather less than hospitable yesterday. Had you identified yourself as a peace officer—”

“Forget it, Fairfax.” Lucas shook his hand.

“And this,” Hazelgreen said, gesturing to the man in black, “is Reverend Gottfried.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Marshal.” The preacher grasped Lucas’s hand in both of his. For a man of the cloth, he had the crushing grip of a wrestler. “A true pleasure. I understand you are quite a lawman.” His wide grin revealed dimples in his apple-red cheeks.

Lucas shrugged. “Sounds like Travis has been passing around his penny dreadfuls.”

Hazelgreen laughed as he set the documents on the desk. “No need to be modest, sir. Your reputation is well known throughout the West. As soon as I spoke with my fellow councilmen here this morning, we unanimously decided we would like to make you an offer.”

“An offer?” Lucas asked warily.

“Yes, indeed.” Hazelgreen doffed his hat, clearly enjoying the opportunity to make a speech. “You see, some view this town as nothing more than a motley assortment of misfits, ne’er-do-wells, and dreamers. But I—that is, we—believe in Eminence. We want to save this place, make it what it once was. And we think we can do it in two words.”

Lucas managed to stifle a yawn, and wished more than ever for coffee. It didn’t even have to be good coffee. Lousy coffee would do. Just one measly cup.

“Narrow gauge,” Hazelgreen announced grandly, spreading his arms like a magician who had just pulled off an impressive trick.

“Mr. Hazelgreen,” Lucas said slowly, wondering if the banker might be a few dimes short of a dollar, “I’m familiar with ten-gauge, twelve-gauge—”

“It’s not a firearm, sir, it’s a railroad.”

“Railroad?”

“Narrow-gauge railroad. It’s been quite a success down in Pueblo, Florence, other parts of these mountains—”

“It is a new type of railroad,” Fairfax explained, “that allows trains to get through the high mountain passes.”

Gottfried nodded enthusiastically. “If we could persuade the Denver & Rio Grande to invest in a narrow-gauge line to Eminence—”

“It would bring in new settlers and help restore this town to its former glory,” Hazelgreen said confidently.

“Sir,” Lucas said, trying to remain polite, “I’m not sure I see what all this has to do with me.”

He also didn’t see how anything could restore Eminence to its former glory. He’d seen towns like this all over the West—and most boomed one year and went bust the next. Smart folks cut their losses and got out while they could.

“Marshal, if we only had a few hundred more residents,” Gottfried explained, “this area could be declared a county. And if we were declared a county, Eminence could be voted the county seat. Which would bring in new businesses and even more people—”

“And that is where you come in, my good man,” Fairfax said.

“Huh?” Lucas still couldn’t see what any of this had to do with him, though maybe his confusion came from lack of sleep, lack of food. Lack of coffee.

“If we’re going to attract more settlers, decent folks,” Hazelgreen told him, “we need law and order in this town. And... well, we’ve had something of a struggle in that area.”

Lucas frowned. “And why would that be, exactly?”

“A few rowdy fellows come through now and then,” Fairfax said, “especially around this time of year. Drifters. They come in for the winter, and sometimes they cause a bit of trouble—”

“You’ve already got yourself a fine place to stay, free of charge.” Hazelgreen tapped a finger against the documents on the hotel desk. “And we’ll pay you a salary of seventy-five dollars a week.”

The amount of money they were dangling almost made Lucas’s jaw drop. “To do what?”

“To become the town marshal, of course.”

Lucas shook his head, practically shuddering at the idea. The last thing he wanted was to stay here permanently. He couldn’t get out of Eminence fast enough. “I’m not planning to be here for long.”

“I understood from Travis that you would be with us several weeks,” Hazelgreen said. “Why not make something of your time while you’re here?”

“It would be quite a feather in our cap,” Fairfax said, “to have the renowned L. T. McKenna as our town marshal, even for a short while.”

Gottfried nodded enthusiastically. “Put this town back on the map. Probably get us mentioned in all the papers—”

“No thanks,” Lucas said flatly. He didn’t need a job. His money could hold out for two weeks, or even three or four, if it came to that. And he wasn’t going to be used as some kind of publicity stunt, in a misguided effort to lure settlers to a town that had seen its better days. “I’m not your man. I’m only interested in one prisoner—the one I’ve already got.”

“But Marshal—”

“Sorry.” Lucas shook his head adamantly. “Thanks, but the answer is no.”

The three men exchanged crestfallen glances. Hazelgreen sighed and pushed the documents toward Lucas, producing a fancy pen and small jar of ink from inside his suit coat. “Very well, sir. But if you change your mind—”

“I won’t.” Lucas signed the papers and handed them back.

After Eminence’s town council left him in peace, Lucas didn’t have much to do but sit and wait for his breakfast. As he stared at the door, the next two weeks seemed to stretch out before him like an endless desert. He wasn’t used to long periods of inactivity. Hell, he wasn’t used to staying in one place more than a few days.

Two weeks
, he told himself.

Much longer than that, he’d be lucky to leave Eminence with his sanity intact.

~ ~ ~

The prospector waited until after dark before he risked walking into town from his cabin on the outskirts. He kept his shoulders hunched and his head low, hoping he looked unworthy of notice with his scruffy beard and patched clothes. He ambled along at a slow, casual mosey—except when he passed old man Dunlap’s hotel, to which he gave a wide berth.

He was nervous, and being nervous, he was careful.

Music reached his ears before he pushed open the swinging doors of Fairfax’s Saloon and Gambling Emporium, blinking in the bright light. Some fool was doing his drunken best to pound “My Darling Clementine” out of the piano in the corner, though half the keys didn’t work. The saloon was crowded—if a dozen people could be accounted a crowd. Which it could these days, in Eminence.

The prospector spotted his friend in his usual place at the bar, making short work of tall glasses of beer, like this was any other night.

He walked over and took the next stool, slouching forward casually, keeping his voice low. “Looks like we got us a lawman in town.”

His friend studied the foamy rim of his glass, running a dirty finger along it. “Hyup,” he replied softly, licking his finger.

The drunken piano player began caterwauling a solo. “
In a ca-vern, in a can-yon, ex-ca-vaaaa-ting for a mine
...”

“A federal marshal.” The prospector’s mouth went dry just saying the words. “Some famous, federal goddamned marshal. Looks to be stayin’ a spell.”

“Dwelt a min-er for-ty nin-er and his dauuugh-ter Clem-en-tine...”

His friend took another long swallow of beer, looking as unconcerned and contented as a fly in a currant pie. “Hyup.”

“Oh my dar-lin, oh my dar-lin, oh my daaar-lin, Clem-en-tine...”

“Could be
trouble
,” the prospector whispered, annoyed that he had to point out the obvious, “if he chances to take a good long look at us. Unless you fancy movin’ on?”

“Nope.”

“... You are lost and gone for-e-ver...”

Slowly, the prospector began to smile. “You already got it planned, don’t you—to do somethin’, mebbe make it look like an accident?”

His friend finally looked up from his drink, with a familiar, dangerous glint in his eyes. “Hyup.”

“... Dread-ful sor-ry, Clem-en-tine.”

TRIO OF DESPERADOES GUNNED DOWN ON THE NORTH PLATTE

MARSHAL L. T. McKENNA HONORED BY MAYOR OF GUTHRIE

HERO OF THE RED RIVER STRIKES AGAIN

A
nnie barely tasted the last few bites of the waffle she was nibbling. She could hardly draw a breath—never mind eat her breakfast—and not just because of the pain throbbing across her ribs. As she skimmed one story after another, a queasy feeling began in the pit of her stomach, yet she couldn’t stop leafing through the newspaper clippings and penny dreadfuls strewn across her bed.

Yesterday, Travis had struck up a conversation with her about his favorite subject—the marshal—but Annie hadn’t believed the boy’s wild tales. So he’d brought over a few items from his collection this morning to prove he wasn’t making it all up.

Each one described Lucas McKenna’s daring, his resourcefulness, his bravery under fire. She wasn’t sure which she felt more: fascinated or frightened.

“Annie, you have to eat more than that if you want to get well,” Mrs. Gottfried admonished gently.

Annie glanced up at the preacher’s wife, who was setting out dishes of ham and sliced oranges and spoon bread with pumpkin butter on a marble-topped table beside the bed. Rebecca was indisposed today, and Mrs. Owens was busy helping Dr. Holt with a patient, so Mrs. Gottfried had been kind enough to bring Annie’s breakfast.

“I’m ... not very hungry,” Annie replied.

“Hungry or not, you need your strength.” Mrs. Gottfried handed her a plate of orange slices. The young woman’s blue eyes were gentle, her voice soothing. “You musn’t  give up hope, you know, even though... well, even though things look discouraging right now.” She frowned at the handcuff around Annie’s right wrist, then at the entrance to Annie’s room.

Or rather, her cell.

As Annie set the plate aside, the chain that attached the handcuff to the bed rattled. Lucas had spent several hours yesterday installing two more security measures: The wide doorway between the bedroom and sitting room had been fitted with a jail-cell door, made of black vertical iron bars, with a shiny new brass lock.

And as if that weren’t enough, he also took the extra precaution of handcuffing her to the bed whenever he left the hotel for a while—as he had this morning. He’d disappeared with no explanation, left Travis to keep an eye on things.

The boy was currently out in the hotel’s main room, playing a harmonica.

As Mrs. Gottfried poured tea from a chipped pot into a china cup, she glanced at the clippings strewn across the bed. “I don’t think those are going to help you get well,” she said with a rueful expression. “Are you feeling any better today?”

“I’m all right.” Annie gratefully accepted the cup of tea and sank back against the pillows, wincing.

Every small movement still brought pain, but thanks to her friends’ gentle care and hearty meals, and Miss Lazarillo’s ointment for her injuries, she was feeling a little better.

Or rather, she
had
been feeling a little better. Even as she sipped the tea, her eyes were drawn back to the
Trio of Desperadoes Gunned Down
story.

“I can’t believe these are all true.” Mrs. Gottfried set the teapot down and sat on the edge of the bed, picking up one of the newspaper clippings. “ ‘...
And then Marshal McKenna fired. One shot. From a distance of fifty yards
...’ Fifty yards?” she asked dubiously, glancing at Annie. “I don’t think that’s even possible.”

Annie shook her head, not certain
what
was possible where Lucas McKenna was concerned. She wrapped her hands around the cup of tea, trying to draw warmth from it.

“ ‘...
and his quarry perished forthwith, thus saving the good citizens of Guthrie the necessity of a trial
...’ ” Mrs. Gottfried’s voice trailed off and she didn’t finish. She started scooping up the clippings from the bed, putting them back into the cigar box Travis had brought them in. “Hokum. Fiddle-faddle. These journalists make him sound more like a gunslinger than a peace officer. What lawman worthy of being named a
hero
would purposely shoot a suspect?”

Annie gulped a mouthful of hot tea that burned her throat, remembering what had almost happened when Lucas found her. “I-I don’t know. But I think he’s... very...” She couldn’t come up with words to describe him.

“Difficult,” Mrs. Gottfried suggested with a frustrated sigh as she rose and carried the box away, sliding it sideways through the barred door into the sitting room. “Obstinate.”

“Determined.” Annie glanced at the floor beside her bed, where one stray clipping had fallen: the
Hero of the Red River
story. The accompanying illustration riveted her attention.

It showed a solitary, dark-haired lawman looking cool and confident despite being surrounded by armed opponents in a rocky ravine. Annie had to admit it was a good likeness: The artist had perfectly captured the lean, strong lines of Lucas’s face, the frosty stare, the look of determination.

And the gun in his hand. She would never forget that particular Colt. Not after seeing it from a criminal’s eye-view.

Hero... or heartless?
she thought as she studied the picture.
Man of peace... or avenging angel?

She should be thinking about other things—like trying to devise some kind of escape plan. But the man who held her prisoner also seemed to hold her thoughts captive.

Last night was the first time she’d noticed it, when the day’s light vanished and she had been left in the darkness, alone with him again. She hadn’t been able to look away as he stood on the other side of the barred door, stripping off his shirt.

For a moment, before he turned down the lamp, she had glimpsed an expanse of corded, rippling muscles, all tanned and hard and powerful, like he was made from the same steel as the .45 holstered on his hip.

Annie blinked to chase the memory away, trying to reassure herself that Lucas McKenna
did
possess some shred of gentleness. After all, he was allowing her friends to take care of her.

And he had slipped into her room that first morning and covered her with blankets when she was cold.

Those were not the actions of an unfeeling man.

But most of the time, he was harsh and curt and gruff. Colder than any Rocky Mountain wind that might slip through her windows. He hadn’t hesitated to torment her about what she had done, about James’s children. With cutting words that had struck more deeply than any bullet.

Because they were true.

“Annie?”

“I’m sorry.” Annie looked up from the sketch on the floor, embarrassed that she had lost track of the conversation. She wasn’t even sure how much time had passed, noticed the tea in her hand had gone cold. “What were you saying?”

Mrs. Gottfried gave her a puzzled look, standing at the foot of her bed. “Is there anything you might like me to bring for you when I return this afternoon?”

Annie looked around and couldn’t think of one more thing she might need. Yesterday afternoon, when Rebecca had visited for the second time, she had cleaned Annie’s room top to bottom and brought along some thoughtful touches to make the place feel more comfortable and less like a jail cell: clean sheets, warm blankets, extra pillows, a rug for the floor.

“No,” Annie said quietly, glancing down into her tea. “You’ve already been too kind.”

Mrs. Gottfried walked over to the hearth. “I thought perhaps some flowers, or a cheerful painting for you to look at.”

Annie noticed that Mrs. Gottfried seemed fidgety, almost nervous. In fact, she hadn’t sat down for more than two minutes since Lucas had locked the door.

Of course, the preacher’s wife had probably never been locked in a cell with an outlaw before.

Annie lowered her gaze. Mrs. Gottfried was only a few years older than herself, but she was a genuine lady, with her gracious manners, her light brown hair always pinned up in an old-fashioned style, and her prim dresses like the one she wore today, of pale yellow that was softer than sunshine. She was the very picture of respectability, refinement... virtue.

There couldn’t be a woman in Eminence who was more her opposite.

In fact, Mrs. Gottfried’s arrival this morning had been a surprise. Though she had always been friendly before, Annie had assumed the minister’s wife would want nothing to do with her now.

“Mrs. Gottfried, you... you don’t have to come back at all this afternoon,” she offered, keeping her gaze lowered. “I mean... I know what some people think of me—”

“Oh, Annie, I hope you’re not still smarting over what Widow Kearney said yesterday.” Mrs. Gottfried returned to her side.

Annie couldn’t look up, and couldn’t change how she felt. Though Daniel and Rebecca and her other friends had been steadfast, several people had reacted just as she’d feared.

Mrs. Kearney, who owned the boardinghouse, had been the most vocal, blustering into the hotel yesterday while Rebecca was here to voice her opinion: that Lucas should remove “that despicable murderer and disgraceful little tramp” from the vicinity as soon as possible, because women like herself were working hard to make this a
decent
town for
decent
people.

Annie took a sip of cold tea. “Some folks might be offended by your helping to take care of me—”

“Some folks are easily offended.”

“But, ma’am—”

“Other folks realize that things aren’t always as simple as they appear.” Mrs. Gottfried sat on the bed. “Don’t let Widow Kearney bother you. She rarely has a nice word to say to anyone about anything. She’s been bitter since the day she lost her husband, seems to think that because she was robbed of her happiness, nobody else deserves any, either.”

Annie stared down into her tea, at the black leaves that had settled on the bottom of the cup. She knew what she herself deserved... and it wasn’t happiness.

“Annie, nobody has the right to judge you,” Mrs. Gottfried insisted. “Mrs. Kearney and those others would be shocked if they knew there were
already
quite a few less-than-decent people living right under their noses. In some rather unexpected places.”

Annie looked up, startled. “What?” She hadn’t suspected that the minister’s wife might be aware of what Daniel and Mrs. Owens and Rebecca had revealed to her the other night . “Do you mean... you
know
...?”

“I mean me.” Mrs. Gottfried rose from the bed and walked toward the windows. “I’m no different from you. No different and no better.”

“That’s not true!” Annie replied instantly, thinking of all the times she’d seen Mrs. Gottfried in the general store—chatting with the women in town who all sought her approval. Or cuddling her young son. Or getting a hug from her gentle bear of a husband. “You’re... you’re respected and important and
good
. You’re the finest, most upstanding lady in this town.”

“If you judge by appearances.” Mrs. Gottfried stood in front of the window and reached out to touch one of the iron rods, tentatively, her hand trembling. “I take it you’d be surprised, if I told you this isn’t the first time I’ve been behind bars.”

Annie gasped in shock, barely even aware of the pain that wrenched her injured side. For a moment, the wail of Travis’s harmonica was the only sound in the entire hotel.

“I don’t tell everyone about my past.” The young woman glanced over her shoulder, her expression as soft and gentle as the pale sunlight that streamed through the window. “But I think you should know the truth. There was a time in my life—a few years ago when I was about your age—that I got into some trouble. I thought stealing was the way out.” Her eyes became sad and she shifted her gaze back toward the window, toward the sky outside. “But someone got hurt. And it was my fault. And I got caught and spent two years in prison, back East.”

Annie could hardly believe what she was hearing. It wasn’t possible. The minister’s wife had once been a
thief
? Had spent time in
prison
? “Does...” She could hardly gather enough breath to speak. “Does your husband know?”

“Oh yes, Uli knows. He was...” Mrs. Gottfried smiled ruefully. “He visited the prison to minister to the inmates. That’s how we met.”

“And he... a man like him, he...”

“Knew what I had done.” Mrs. Gottfried nodded. “And came to love me anyway.” She paused and turned toward Annie, her eyes suddenly glistening with dampness, and shook her head, as if she still had trouble believing it herself. “My time in prison changed me, Annie. You can’t imagine...” She seemed unable to continue for a moment, wrapping her arms around herself, shuddering visibly. “I don’t know if I could’ve endured it, without Uli.”

Annie set her tea on the table beside her bed. “Mrs. Gottfried—”

“Katherine is my Christian name, but I prefer Katja, the German version.” She came back around the bed. “It’s about the only German I can pronounce, much to Uli’s frustration.” She smiled, pulling up a chair and taking a slice of orange from Annie’s plate. “So, does knowing all of this change how you think of me?”

“No,” Annie said without a second’s hesitation. “What you were before doesn’t change who you are now. You’re kind and caring, you’re still... you.”