It's Your Misfortune and None of My Own (Code of the West) (13 page)

Tap Andrews was awakened by his own shrill cry.

He found himself sitting up in a dark room in front of glowing coals from a fire. Sweat rolled down his forehead. His shirt collar was drenched. His temples throbbed.

The ranch. I’m not in Arizona.

Tap’s back was stiff and ached from sleeping on the hard wooden floor. When he stood to his feet, his left leg cramped, and he couldn’t get it straightened out.

He hobbled around in the near-total darkness and found a lantern. Lighting it, he glanced at the gray and white cat slee
ping near the fire. Then he went to the front door and stepped to the porch.

It was cold.

Dark.

And clear.

I slept until evenin’?

He took a deep breath. He felt the frigid air in his lungs and the night chill on his wet shirt. He turned back into the house. Digging through the kitchen, he scooped up a couple handsful of coffee from the floor where it had been dumped and tossed them into the coffeepot retrieved from the yard. He hooked it over the iron bar stretched across the front of the fireplace. Then he stirred up the fire, petted the sleeping cat, and changed back into his own now dry clothing.

His head still throbbed as he carried out a lantern and checked on his horse. “Brownie, you get some rest, because we’ve got a lot of ridin’ to do tomorrow.”

He spent the next couple of hours scraping things up in the kitchen and trying to return anything still useable to its proper place. The bed turned out to be in fairly good cond
ition, but the leathers were cut. He doubted if the mattress would ever dry out.

Having straightened up what he could, Tap drank one last cup of coffee. Then he gathered the two blankets and rolled them up in his now-dry bedroll. Tossing his yellow slicker over his shoulder, he picked up his saddlebags, be
droll, and Winchester and hiked over to the barn.

“Partner, it’s softer up in that loft than it is in the house. B
esides, I wouldn’t want nothin’ happenin’ to you tonight, now would I?”

He spread the bedroll on three feet of hay, crawled under the blankets, left both the Winchester and the Colt, fully loaded and hammers set, next to his right hand.

This time when Andrews fell asleep, he didn’t dream.

When he awoke, a predawn glow was beginning to lighten the eastern sky. The gray and white cat slept at his feet in the hay.

He toted his dried-out saddle blanket back from the house and got Brownie ready to ride.

“Cat, me and Brownie’s got work to do. We’re going to get Onespot back. And we’re going to settle this someplace b
esides my own ranch. You take care of things, ya hear?”

Tap rode south to the mouth of the canyon and then slanted southwest to pick up the main trail north from McCurley’s h
otel. The sky was a deep September blue, but the air felt cold. He wore his coat buttoned tight and his bandanna wrapped around his neck all day.

Since he had no food with him, there was no reason to stop for dinner. But he did rest the horse from time to time, loose
ning the cinch and walking the animal.

His thoughts bounced between rage and resignation all day long.

It’s always been this way. It doesn’t matter if I’m Tap Andrews, or Zachariah Hatcher, or Joe Jones. If there’s a scrap within five hundred miles, I get sucked into the center of it.

I have no idea what Hatcher would have done in such straits. But I do know what I need to do. No one
ever
steals a horse from Tap Andrews. Even if I succeed, I may have to move on up the road. Somebody will twist it around, and I’ll get the blame.

The sun was low on the western mountains when McCu
rley’s place came into view. He rode Brownie slowly as he approached, studying each horse and buckboard parked in front.

She’ll probably be standing at a window looking for me or something. Somehow I’ve got to tell her about the ranch without it worryin’ her to death. She already is frightened about the crowd at Pingree Hill. If I tell her I’m riding in there alone, she’ll pitch a fit.

Miss Cedar, out here a man can’t let someone ride in and steal his horse. We got rules to follow, and if you break the rules, well, you have to pay the penalty. And the penalty for stealin’ Onespot is havin’ to look down the barrel of Tap Andrews’s gun.

Yeah, I’ll just explain it to her straight and simple.

She’ll understand. I hope.

It was Bob McCurley who met him on the porch. “Hatcher. I didn’t know you were comin’ down.”

“I had a little trouble at the ranch and needed to get some supplies.”

“Trouble? What happened?”

“They stole Onespot and wrecked up the house pretty good while I was ridin’ the property line.”

“No.”

“I’ll need a few supplies. It seems like I’ll be taking a trip over to Pingree Hill if you’ll scratch me a map.”

“That’s a rough bunch .
 . . but I guess you already know that.”

“Yeah. I better go in and tell Pepper what ha
ppened.”

“Oh. You should, but you can’t.”

“What do you mean I can’t?” Tap pushed his gray hat back.

“She’s not here. She’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“Yep, she borrowed the buggy and left this morning.”

6

T
he trip back to the hotel had been a pleasant one for Pepper. Sitting in the back seat of the buggy, she wore an emerald green suede cape over her shoulders. A neatly folded lap blanket stretched across her legs. The September breeze was cool, but comfortable as long as the occasional rolling clouds didn’t block the sun.

Mr. and Mrs. McCurley seem mighty thoughtful. I expect they would make good friends for the Hatchers. I don’t su
ppose they’d feel the same about Pepper Paige, dance-hall girl. It’s been a long time, a long time since I’ve felt this good. Girl, you’ve just got to make it work. It just might be the only chance you get in this life.

When they reached the hotel, Mrs. McCurley led her up to the room she had used before.

“This will be your home until you and Mr. Hatcher get married,” Mrs. McCurley offered.

“Let me pay you something in advance.” Pepper reached for her purse which contained most of Suzanne Cedar’s inheri
tance. She handed her a twenty-dollar greenback.

“That will take care of things for several weeks. Now if you want to talk, just come down and look me up. I’ll prob
ably be stuck down in the kitchen most of today.”

Pepper fidgeted around in her room—sitting .
 . . standing . . . pacing . . . looking in the mirror . . . staring out the window. She kept worrying about what was happening to Zachariah Hatcher.

I need to be there. What if he finds out about me, and I don’t have a chance to explain? What if he learns what ha
ppened over at Pingree Hill? What if Abel Cedar rides in? What if Jordan Beckett shows up? If he and the others come back, they’ll kill him.

He did take care of himself rather neatly though. You wouldn’t think a man like Mr. Hatcher would have that much gun savvy. He probably has other surprises, too.

Of course, I have a few surprises for him.

Boy, do I have some surprises.

Borrowing some stationery from Mrs. McCurley, Pepper spent part of the morning composing a letter to the Wemberly Hotel in Fort Collins, instructing them to forward the trunks and other personal belongings of Suzanne Cedar to the McCurley Hotel.

She washed her one simple dress that she’d worn for the past two days and hung it in her room to dry. She took di
nner in her room and borrowed some sewing supplies from Mrs. McCurley. Sitting by the north window of her room, able to see if anyone rode in from the direction of Hatcher’s ranch, she began to alter one of her dance-hall dresses. Taking some material from a black dress that was too risque for redemption, she lengthened the dress, altered it to hang straight down, and reworked the bodice. Borrowing some lace from another dress, she attached a lace collar and made a shawl. Finally completing the renovation, she modeled the dress in front of the mirror.

Pepper, you can sew. You should have been a sea
mstress . . . instead of runnin’ off with a travelin’ man like Jeremiah McCabe—a man so reckless as to get himself killed in the first town we landed in. Why, you could be married to some bank clerk, livin’ in some little shack in Boise City, growin’ six barefoot kids, and havin’ to take in laundry.

She stared intently at the eyes reflecting back at her from the mirror and then broke into a grin.

Which, of course, is why you are right here today.

She wore the altered dress to supper and was pleased by the comments of those in the dining room. A well-dressed man wearing a black tie and a long coat sat down across the table from her.

“Miss Cedar, we haven’t met . . . but I learned your name from Bob McCurley. My name is Shelby Lindermann.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Lindermann,” she acknow
ledged. “What brings you to McCurley’s? If you will forgive me, you look a little overdressed for this area.”

“Yes, you’re quite right about that. I work for a Bo
ston banking group that’s interested in investing in western land. Specifically, in mining concerns.”

“Oh, my, do you mean there is some valuable ore in this -district?”

“That’s what we don’t know yet. I’m just gathering information. If it looks promising, we’ll send out our team of geologists. Say, I’ve heard you came from the East.”

“I wouldn’t call it the East. I just came out here from Ch
icago, but Kentucky is my home.”

“I worked several years in Chicago. Which part of town did you live in?”

“Oh, I never really lived there. . . . ” Pepper glanced around the table hoping to find a way to change the subject. “My mother just moved up, and I stopped by to visit on my way west.”

“Which part of town does your mother live in?”

“Eh . . . you know, by the . . . on the north side . . . I think. I really don’t know my way around there very well.”

“On the north side? Probably has one of those lovely homes near the lake. I should have known by your d
emeanor that you had that kind of heritage." Lindermann leaned across the table and spoke in a hushed tone. “I don’t mean to sound patronizing, but most folks in the West are so—so simple in mind and manner. Your charm really does stand out. As I’m sure you must know, you are a strikingly handsome woman.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Lindermann.”

You pompous prig. Do you think for a minute I don’t know what you’re after? I’ve been faking a smile at your type all my life. Why don’t you invite me up to your room for some imported wine and a discussion of French impressionistic painters? It would be a delight to slap your pasty-lookin’ face just to see the shock in your eyes.

“Perhaps after supper you would enjoy a stroll around the premises? I do enjoy a brisk walk after the evening meal,” he continued with a wry smile. “It’s one of life’s special pleasures, especially when accompanied by such a lovely lady. I find the fresh air clears my mind and helps me make better decisions.”

A walk in the woods? Oh, sure. Just to talk about mining claims, no doubt. Any particular decisions that involve me?

“Why, thank you, sir, but I’m afraid I must decline. I have more plans to make for my upcoming wedding,” she replied with a charming fake lilt to her voice.

“Oh . . . ah . . . wedding?” Lindermann glanced around the room. “I, eh . . . didn’t know. None of the men told me. Eh, is your fiancé here at the hotel?”

“No,” she laughed, “I’m fearful if he were here, you’d be loo
king down the barrel of a cocked .44. I’m afraid he’s rather protective, you know. But don’t let it keep you awake listening to night noises. Why, with any luck he’ll never hear about you makin’ a pass at me.”

“Oh, my. I didn’t think I was .
 . . I mean, I didn’t, did I? No offense intended, I assure you,” he stammered.

“And no offense taken.” She gave a quick nod.

Lindermann, looking visibly shaken, quickly excused himself from the table. She sat staring at his empty chair.

Maybe I overreacted. I mean, he wasn’t going after Pe
pper Paige, dance-hall girl, but he was addressing Miss Suzanne Cedar. Maybe it’s sort of what they do . . . I suppose he could have been on the square. Pepper, you don’t think they’re all a bunch of lyin’, cheatin’, unreliable woman-chasers. What would Miss Cedar have done?

After a final cup of coffee, she excused herself from the table and walked out to the veranda at the front of the hotel. Mr. Lindermann sat on the bench smoking a pipe and watc
hing the declining western sun.

“Mr. Lindermann? May I have a word with you?”

“Certainly, Miss Cedar.” He removed the pipe from his lips and nervously peered around the yard.

“I felt like perhaps I came across rather coldly with my comments at the supper table. I suppose I was acting as if you were .
 . . well, I could have been more polite. Forgive my effrontery.”

“No apology is needed. There are times in the West when I forget certain rules of civility.”

“The rules are different out here, aren’t they?” Pepper added.

“Yes, indeed. They seem to be enforced in a more defin
itive, personal manner. But I believe you understand them better than I.”

“That might be so. Will you be going on that walk now?”

“I believe I will, if you promise there will not be a jealous fiancé hiding in the trees with a pistol drawn.”

“Oh, no. He’s back at our .
 . . at his ranch.”

“What is this lucky fellow’s name?”

“Zachariah Hatcher. He owns—”

“The Triple Creek Ranch up on the state line, correct?”

“Why, yes. Do you know Tap?”

“Tap?”

“His nickname.”

“No, I’ve never met the man. But it’s my business to know who owns land in the area in case my e
mployers want to purchase property for mining exploration. So I keep up on all sales and claims in the district.”

“Do you mean there might be gold up on the ranch?”

“I have no indication of any valuable minerals in that area, but one never knows what might be discovered in the future. There is some copper not too far away, and it might stretch down to the Triple Creek area.”

“Wouldn’t that be somethin’?”

“I was wondering, where are you and Mr. Hatcher going to have your wedding? I haven’t heard of a church in this sector.”

“There’s none around close. We’ll have a service at the ranch.”

“When is the big date?”

“That’s a good question. According to the McCurleys, a Re
verend passes through here every couple of months. We’ll have him do the honors.”

“I was just down at Jack Rand’s place. There was a tra
veling parson, Methodist, I believe, visiting some families in the area. Perhaps he could . . . but I do believe he was headed toward Fort Collins.”

“Maybe he’ll be coming by here.”

“Perhaps. But he said he needed to be in Fort Collins by next week. I would suppose that means going up to Pingree Hill and then taking the river road.”

“Oh, no,” she moaned.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I don’t know this country very well yet. But I came through Pingree Hill on the stage not too long ago. Why would the Re
verend go there?”

“A large number of folks who could use some religion live around there, I suppose. There’s a dive called April’s. I’ve heard .
 . . I wouldn’t even mention to a lady of your sensibilities the things that I’ve heard about the women who work there.”

“Thank you very much for the information. Do you happen to know the Reverend's name? Perhaps I could send word to him.”

“Houston, I believe. But I’m not sure how you can reach him before he gets to Fort Collins.”

“I will certainly try. Good ev
ening, Mr. Lindermann.”

She spun on her heels and retreated into the dining room. Finding Bob McCurley talking to a man with a very bushy beard, she hesitated, took a deep breath, and then marched over to where they were standing.

Slipping her arm into McCurley’s, she smiled at the other man. “Bob, I apologize for this interruption, but I must talk to you immediately.” She curtsied to the bearded man and smiled widely. “With your permission, may I borrow Mr. McCurley for a few minutes?”

“Why certainly, missy. Me and Bob was just tryin’ to out lie each other anyway. I’ve been tellin’ him that Bill Hickok could have out shot any man alive, but he said that he saw some old boy north of here go face to face with five of Beckett’s men and never taste lead."

“You’re a real gentleman.”

“And I’m handsome and rich,” he bellowed with a gold-toothed grin. He took his coffee cup back for a refill.

“Mr. McCurley,” Pepper quizzed, “how can I get a message to a Rev. Houston who’s down at Jack Rand’s headin’ up to Fort Collins?”

“The Reverend? In the area? Why, that is good news. But there’s nothin’ between Rand’s and Fort Collins except for a few ranches and that riffraff at Pingree Hill.”

“If I were to ride over there, could I intercept him before he gets to Pingree?”

“I suppose it could be done, but it ain’t the kind of ride for a lady like yourself. Perhaps you could send a note to Pi
ngree Hill. ’Course, that all depends on how quick someone gets there.”

“Is there a trail over to Jack Rand’s?”

“Not from here, there ain’t. A person would have to cut over the mountains cross-country and pick up the road.”

“Can I borrow a horse?”

“You don’t aim to ride that by yourself, do you?”

“Yes. I’m not going to sit around for several months wai
ting to
see if a parson saunters by. Mr. McCurley, I assure you, I can -succeed.”

“Miss Cedar, I believe you could. But why don’t you send out to Hatcher and have him locate the Reverend? Now there’s a man who can handle himself.”

“Mr. McCurley, do you have a horse I can borrow or not?” she repeated.

“I don’t suppose I could talk you out of it?”

“I certainly doubt it.”

“Would you like to try it in a buggy? I’m not sure you could cross the mountains, but you could take it to Pingree Hill and then start south toward Rand’s ranch.”

“I would rather have a sure-footed horse if you have one -available.”

“You can have a horse, but I sure do wish you wouldn’t try this alone.”

“Some tasks are meant to be done by yourself. If I can’t do any more than hide in a ranch house, then perhaps this is not the country for me. I need to prove to myself that I can survive in this wild and reckless land.”

“What time do you want the horse saddled?”

“If it’s not raining, I’d like to leave at daybreak.”

“I got a feeling Mr. Hatcher ain’t goin’ to like me lettin’ you go off like this.”

“Mr. McCurley, in case you had not noticed, I didn’t ask your permission.”

“No, ma’am, you didn’t. I’ll have the horse ready.”

“Thank you very much. I will be ready to ride.”

“If it don’t rain,” McCurley added.

“Yes, yes . . . provided it don’t rain.”

It poured all that night and most of the next day. Pepper wasted the hours standing by her second-story window, loo
king at the road to the north, watching drops of water glide down the glass pane in front of her.

If Mr. Hatcher comes to town today, he will insist on going to find the Reverend. He’ll end up at Pingree Hill, and som
eone will tell him about me. I must get out and find the Reverend first, ’cause if the parson gets to Pingree, they’ll tell him about the young lady who died.

First, we must get married. Then later, after we’re sit
uated, after everything settles in . . . maybe after we have a baby, then I’ll tell Tap the truth. He may be shocked at first, but I’ll make sure he is in no way disappointed.