Lakota Renegade

Creed Maddigan stood on the porch of Gratton’s Mercantile, his right shoulder propped against the white-washed upright that supported the sloped overhang of the general store, his left hand resting negligently on the ivory handle of the Colt holstered on his left hip.

He swore under his breath, his eyes narrowing as he watched the confrontation taking place in the narrow alley that ran between the rear entrance of the general store and the row of shoddy two-room shacks where most of the town’s prostitutes lived.

Shacks was a flattering description at best, he mused. Most were made of inferior lumber and tar paper. He’d only been back in Harrison a couple of weeks, but he’d heard there was a big push by some of the local ladies to have the shacks torn down and their occupants run out of town.

Maddigan grunted softly. He didn’t spend enough time in Harrison to care what happened to the town or its lightskirts.

Truth be told, he didn’t spend much time in any one place, although he had a permanent room in the hotel. It gave him a place to hole up when he wanted to be alone, and a mailing address so people interested in hiring his services could get in touch with him without too much trouble. The room at the Harrison House was the closest thing he’d had to a home in the last ten years.

The argument in the alley was getting louder now as three boys who appeared to be seventeen or eighteen years old continued to harass a red-headed girl who looked to be several years younger.

Creed frowned as they teased her about the color of her hair, about the fact that her mother and her older sister worked the cribs in the Lazy Ace Saloon across the street.

Tears formed in the girl’s eyes as the tallest boy shoved her up against the wall, his body pressing suggestively against hers.

“One kiss,” he cajoled. “That’s all.” He nodded toward his two companions. “One kiss for each of us.”

The other two boys grinned and punched each other on the shoulder.

“No, Harry!” The girl jerked her head aside when he tried to cover her mouth with his.

“Come on, gal, give me a little kiss,” Harry demanded. “My dad told me you’ll be working in the saloon in a couple of months anyway.”

“No!” Struggling to free herself, the girl drove her knee into the boy’s groin. It was a direct hit and had the desired effect.

Yelping with pain, Harry doubled over, his hands cradling his injured manhood.

The girl tried to dart past him, but Harry’s hand snaked out and grabbed her by the arm. He hung on to her in spite of her wriggling. Waiting, Creed knew, for the worst of the pain to pass.

And then the boy slapped her. Hard. Twice.

The two other boys exchanged uneasy glances.

“Harry, you don’t have to hit her.”

“Shut up, Billy!”

Billy tugged on the third boy’s shirtsleeve. “Come on, Trent, let’s go.”

Trent glanced at Harry and the girl, and then, apparently deciding that what had started out as a lark wasn’t fun anymore, he followed Billy down the alley.

From the porch, Creed shook his head. If only the kid hadn’t hit her.

Disgusted with himself for what he was about to do, he pushed away from the upright and vaulted over the porch railing.

Jassy McCloud gasped as the tall, black-clad man jumped the railing and dropped lightly to his feet. She had seen him before. You didn’t forget a face like that. He had been a frequent patron at the Lazy Ace Saloon during the last few weeks. She had heard all kinds of stories about him from her mother and from her sister, Rose. Maddigan, his name was. Creed Maddigan. He was a loner, a fast gun with a formidable reputation. A man without pity or mercy. It was rumored he was half Sioux Indian. Some said he’d even taken a scalp or two.

Now, seeing the determined expression on his face, Jassy believed every lurid story she had ever heard.

Afraid the gunman had come to help Harry Coulter, Jassy tried to wrest her arm out of Harry’s grip.

Unaware of the man coming up behind him, Harry swore at Jassy, cussing her with all the finesse of a hard rock miner, only to fall silent as Creed Maddigan’s fingers closed over his shoulder like the hand of doom.

“That’s enough, kid.”

Jassy stared up at the half-breed, surprised that he had come to her rescue. She tried to pull away from Harry again, but he kept a firm grip on her arm.

The gunman’s hold tightened on Harry’s shoulder. “Let her go.”

Sullen-faced, Harry released Jassy’s arm.

Creed yanked Harry around so they stood face to face. “That’s better. What’s your name?”

“Coulter. Harry Coulter.”

“You think it’s fun, hitting girls?”

Harry shook his head; then, to Jassy’s delight, the man slapped Harry. Hard. Twice.

“Go on, get out of here,” Creed said, giving the boy a shove. “If I ever see you picking on her again, I’ll break your arm. Do we understand each other?”

“You’ll be sorry for this,” Harry said, his hand massaging his cheek.

“Yeah? Why?”

“I’ll tell my old man, and he’ll…”

“He’ll what?” Creed took a step forward, his stance fraught with menace.

“Nothing,” Harry muttered. He shot a fulminating glance at Jassy, then turned and ran down the alley.

“You all right, girl?”

Jassy nodded.

Creed’s gaze moved over her in a long assessing glance. She was a little bit of a thing, with huge brown eyes. She wore a baggy blue dress that looked to be several sizes too large, and a pair of ugly black shoes badly run down at the heels. Her hair, as red as autumn leaves, was pulled back from her face and tied at her nape with a narrow black ribbon.

“You sure you’re all right?” Creed muttered, thinking she looked awfully scrawny in that hideous dress.

Jassy nodded again, unable to draw her gaze from his. His eyes were as black as the finely woven shirt stretched taut over his broad shoulders. He was tall and lean, with skin the color of her mother’s old copper kettle.

“What’s your name, girl?”

Jassy blinked up at him, mesmerized by the sound of his voice. It was deep and soft, almost gentle. “Jasmine Alexandria McCloud. And I’m not a girl. I’m a woman.”

Creed grinned. The name was bigger than she was.

“Most people call me Jassy.”

It suited her, he thought, right down to the ground. “You’d best go on home, Jassy girl. And stay out of alleys from now on, hear?”

“I will. Thank you.”

To his amazement, she dropped a proper curtsey, then ran across the street and up the outside stairway of the Lazy Ace.

With a rueful shake of his head, Creed resumed his place on the porch, a wry grin twisting his lips as he thought of that little bit of a girl curtseying to him like he was somebody.

* * * * *

Creed swung his legs over the side of the bed, grimacing as his hand rubbed his left thigh. The wound, inflicted by the last man he had hunted down, was only half healed, and still tender.

Reaching for the Colt hanging on the bedpost, he crossed the room, wondering who would be knocking at his door at this hour of the morning. He didn’t have any friends in town, at least none who’d be out and about this early in the day.

With his thumb poised over the hammer of the Colt, he unlocked the door to find Jassy McCloud standing in the hallway. He wouldn’t have been more surprised if he’d come face to face with Saint Peter.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked.

“I…” A wave of color swept into Jassy’s cheeks. “I just came by to…to thank you for what you did yesterday.” She thrust a napkin-covered plate at him. “I made these for you.”

Frowning, Creed shoved his Colt into the waistband of his pants. Taking the dish from her hand, he lifted the cloth.

“Cookies?”

“Gingersnaps,” she said shyly. “I hope you like them.”

It was all he could do not to laugh out loud. Cookies! He was a hired gun on the down side of twenty-seven and she brought him cookies. “Thanks.”

Jassy stared up at Maddigan. It was obvious she’d gotten him out of bed. His hair, as black as his reputation, was sleep-tousled. The beginnings of a beard shadowed the firm, square line of his jaw. He wasn’t wearing a shirt or shoes, and she experienced a funny fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach as her gaze moved over him, imprinting images in her mind. Finely chiseled lips. Prominent cheekbones. A broad slash of a nose. Well-muscled shoulders and arms. A deep chest sprinkled with curly black hair. A flat stomach ridged with muscle. Slim hips. His skin was the same copper color all over, not just where the sun had touched him.

He was, without doubt, the most handsome man she had ever seen. And he’d been kind to her. Suddenly, impulsively, she wanted to know him better.

Creed endured the girl’s scrutiny in amused silence. A lot of women were fascinated by his reputation and the color of his skin. He’d seen that same appraising look countless times before. Only Jasmine Alexandria McCloud wasn’t a woman, just a kid who probably didn’t realize what that look inevitably led to.

Jassy dragged her gaze from Maddigan’s rugged physique and glanced up and down the hall, hoping no one would see her standing outside a man’s room so early in the morning, knowing what conclusions were sure to be drawn.

“Can I come in?”

“What?”

Jassy swallowed hard. “Can I come in?”

Creed’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. That young pup, Harry, had said the girl’s mother and sister both worked at the Lazy Ace. Maybe the girl was older than she looked. Maybe she was hoping to get in a little practice before she took her place in one of the cribs, but it wouldn’t be with him. He’d never cared much for robbing cradles.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Jassy glanced past him, catching a glimpse of an unmade bed. The rumbled sheets reminded her of what her mother did for a living; suddenly going into a man’s room didn’t seem like such a good idea after all.

“I…thanks again,” she stammered and almost ran down the hall.

Creed watched her round the corner, then stared at the plate in his hand.

“Cookies,” he muttered with a wry grin.

He was still grinning when he closed the door.

Chapter Two

Creed sat across the table from Jassy, rolling a cigarette while she wolfed down a huge slice of chocolate cake. He didn’t see how she could possibly have room for dessert, considering the enormous meal she’d just put away, but she was lighting into that cake like she might never eat again.

It was funny, he thought. He’d been in town for almost a month and he’d never laid eyes on Jassy McCloud until that day two weeks ago when he’d gone to her rescue in the alley. Since then, he seemed to run into her everywhere he went.

If he walked over to Gratton’s to buy a sack of Bull Durham, she was there, likely at the counter, browsing through a mail order catalog.

If he went down to the livery to check on his horse, he invariably met her somewhere along the way.

If he stopped in at Jackson’s Restaurant for a cup of coffee, she was sure to show up with a bright smile on her face. Inevitably, he invited her to sit with him. And because he thought she was too thin, he usually ended up buying her something to eat.

Creed took one last drag on his cigarette before snuffing it out. They were in Jackson’s now. It was Creed’s favorite restaurant, mainly because most of Harrison’s high-class citizens ignored it in favor of the Morton House, which was a fancy eatery located uptown.

Creed sat back in his chair, rolling a fresh smoke as he watched Jassy nibble her way through a second slice of chocolate cake.

She was wearing a brown print dress today, similar in cut to the baggy blue one.

He struck a match on the sole of his boot, lit the cigarette, and took a deep drag. Why was he wasting his time in Jackson’s when he could be at the saloon? Why was he spending so much time with Jassy when he’d sworn never to get involved with another white woman as long as he lived?

But then, he thought wryly, Jassy McCloud hardly qualified as a woman.

“So,” he drawled, blowing out a thin column of smoke, “tell me about yourself.”

Jassy shrugged, suddenly embarrassed. How could she tell him about her life, about having a mother who worked in a saloon and liked it? How could she tell him that Rose didn’t know who her father was, and didn’t seem to care?

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“You live with your folks?”

“My mama and my sister.”

“They pick out your clothes for you?”

Jassy looked away, embarrassed. “Mama does.”

“Where’s your father?”

“I don’t know. He left when I was six.”

Creed nodded, wondering if he’d misjudged the reason Jassy was following him around. Maybe she wasn’t infatuated with him at all. Maybe she was just looking for someone to take up where her old man had left off. It rankled that he was probably old enough for the job.

Jassy put her fork down and stared at the crumbs on her plate. She could still remember the day her father had walked out. She’d come home from school to find him throwing his clothes into an old cardboard valise. Her mother had been standing beside the bed, crying, begging him to stay, promising that it wouldn’t happen again.

At the time, Jassy hadn’t understood exactly what was going on. But later, bit by bit, she had learned the whole story from Rose, who had told her how Gregor McCloud had met their mother, Daisy Shaunessy, in a saloon down in West Texas, how he had fallen in love with Daisy and asked her to marry him.

But it wasn’t in Daisy’s nature to stay true to one man. And finally Jassy’s father couldn’t put up with it anymore. So he had left, just like that, and Jassy had never seen him again.

Creed took a last draw on his cigarette, wishing he hadn’t asked Jassy about her folks. It was obvious she’d had a rotten childhood; judging from what he’d seen so far, her life hadn’t gotten much better.

“Come on.” He tossed a couple of greenbacks on the table. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Where are we going?”

“To Gratton’s.”

Jassy grinned, pleased that he wanted her to go with him. She loved to browse through the store, to look at the bolts of calico and gingham, to wander down the aisles. She didn’t go there too often because old man Gratton always followed her around, as if he expected her to steal something. But she loved the store. Mr. Gratton stocked a little bit of everything—pots and pans, straw hats, coffee, hoops of tangy cheese, barrels filled with crackers and pickles and sauerkraut.

“You’re limping,” Jassy remarked, wondering why she hadn’t noticed it before.

“Yeah.”

“What happened?” She hurried to catch up with him as they crossed the street.

“I got shot.”

“Shot! How? When?”

“Couple weeks back.” It was the reason he’d come to Harrison, to lick his wounds while he decided on his next move.

“Does it hurt very much?”

“Not anymore.”

“How did it happen?”

Creed let out a weary sigh, wondering if all girls were as curious as this one. “I was trying to take a man to jail. He had other ideas.”

“It’s true, then? You’re a bounty hunter?”

“Sometimes.”

“And other times?”

“I do whatever I’m hired to do. You gonna ask me questions all day?”

“Just one more,” Jassy said as they climbed the steps to Gratton’s. “What are you going to buy?”

“A dress.”

“A dress!”

She stared up at him, a cold knot forming in her stomach. She should have known. He had a girlfriend. Or a wife. Maybe both.

Creed shook his head, amused by the jealousy he saw lurking in the depths of her eyes.

“It’s for you, girl. I’m sick of looking at those baggy things you wear.”

“A dress,” Jassy murmured. “For me?”

The mere idea rendered her speechless and she trailed along beside him, wondering if he really meant it. A dress. One that fit. Oh, but her mother would never let her wear it. Daisy insisted Jassy wear clothes that hid her burgeoning figure, telling her she wasn’t to “flaunt” herself until she was old enough to get paid for it.

Jassy followed Creed into the store, trying to think of a polite way to tell him she couldn’t possibly accept such a gift, but the words died in her throat the moment he picked a frock off the ready-to-wear rack inside the door. It was just a simple day dress, made of dark green gingham. Modest in cut, it had a round neck with a prim white lace collar, puffy sleeves edged in the same delicate lace, and a full, ankle-length skirt. A wide light green sash tied in a big bow in the back.

It was the prettiest thing she had ever seen.

Creed held it up to Jassy, his eyes narrowed. He didn’t know the first thing about buying female duds, but anything had to look better on the kid than what she was wearing, and the green looked pretty with her hair.

“You like it?” he asked, though he could see she did.

“Oh, yes.”

He grunted. “Go pick out a pair of boots to go with it.

I’ll meet you at the counter.”

“Mr. Maddigan…I…”

“Creed,” he said. “Just call me Creed. Go on, now, before I change my mind.”

Hugging the dress to her, Jassy hurried down the aisle to the back of the store where Mr. Gratton kept the shoes. A new frock and new shoes! It was better than Christmas.

* * * * *

Daisy McCloud glared at her youngest daughter. “And just what did you give him in return for those things, Jasmine Alexandria?”

“Nothing, mama.”

“Nothing! No man spends that kind of money on a girl unless he expects to get something in return.”

“I didn’t give him anything, mama, I swear it.”

“We’ll just see. I think I’ll have the doc take a look at you to make sure.”

Jassy took a step back, the dress crushed against her breasts. “What do you mean?”

“I mean there are ways to tell if a girl’s been foolin’ around.”

“I haven’t! Please believe me, mama. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Daisy stared at Jassy for a long moment, then let out a sigh. Jassy had always been young for her age. She was going on seventeen and she was still as innocent as the day she’d been born, though how she’d managed to stay that way in a town like this was a miracle. Of course, dressing the girl in drab, shapeless clothes helped some. So did the fact that Jassy wasn’t as blatantly pretty or as buxom as Rosie. Nor did Jassy seem to crave the kind of male attention that had cost Daisy a husband.

“You didn’t tell me his name,” Daisy said.

Jassy licked her lips nervously, wishing she was a better liar. “It was Billy, mama.”

“Billy Padden? The preacher’s kid? You can do better than that, Jasmine.”

Jassy let out a sigh of resignation. There was no point in lying. All Daisy had to do was ask Mr. Gratton who had bought her the dress. She should have just told the truth in the first place.

Daisy tapped her foot impatiently. “I’m waiting, Jasmine.”

“It was Maddigan.”

Daisy stared at her daughter. “Creed Maddigan? The gunfighter?”

Jassy nodded.

“Saints preserve us,” Daisy murmured. And then she slapped Jassy across the face. “That’s for lyin’, and this is for…”

Jassy took a hasty step back as her mother raised her hand again. In an effort to avoid being slapped, she tripped over the wood box and fell backward, hitting her head against the edge of the hearth.

“Creed Maddigan,” Daisy exclaimed, her voice filled with disgust. “Girl, you haven’t got the sense God gave a goose. You stay away from that half-breed, you hear? Men like that are nothing but trouble.”

* * * * *

Creed frowned at Jassy. “What happened to your head?”

“Nothing. I fell down.”

Jassy looked away, ashamed to meet his eyes. Usually, she tagged after him, hoping he would notice her, but today, of all days, he had come looking for her.

“Why aren’t you wearing your new dress?”

“I didn’t want to get it dirty.”

Creed cupped Jassy’s chin in his hand and forced her to meet his gaze.

“Tell me the truth, Jassy.”

“Mama took it back. The boots, too.” She tried without success to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “She told me to stay away from you, that…that men like you are nothing but trouble.”

Creed grimaced. He couldn’t argue with that, much as he’d like to.

“Did she hit you?”

“No, she slapped me, for lyin’, and I fell and hit my head.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Does she hit you very often?”

“No.”

“What’d you lie about?”

Jassy’s gaze skittered away from his. “Nothing.”

“Did it have to do with me?”

Jassy nodded, though she refused to look at him. “I told her Billy bought me the dress because…”

Swearing under his breath, Creed carefully probed the ugly black and blue bruise near the corner of Jassy’s left eye. She didn’t have to tell him why she had lied to her mother. He knew why. Even a whore would consider herself a step above a half-breed who earned his living as a hired gun. It was no wonder Jassy had been reluctant to tell her mother where the dress came from.

He stroked her cheek lightly, marveling at the silkiness of her skin beneath his calloused hand. “Does it hurt much?”

Jassy shook her head. It didn’t hurt at all, not when he touched her like that, his big hand achingly gentle. His dark eyes caressed her face and she wished suddenly that she were pretty, like Rosie, or high-spirited and vivacious, like her mother.

“Go on home, Jassy,” Creed said. “Put a cold cloth on that bruise.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve got some business to take care of,” he replied, his voice harsh.

She watched him walk down the street, glad that his business didn’t concern her.

Daisy McCloud frowned as she saw the tall gunfighter enter the saloon. He was a frequent customer, but she had always avoided him. She liked men who knew how to have a good time, men who laughed and joked and made her feel like she was still young and pretty. She had never seen Creed Maddigan so much as crack a smile. And his eyes…there was something about those fathomless black eyes that frightened her on some primal, instinctive level.

She felt a shiver of apprehension as he crossed the room toward her.

“You Jassy McCloud’s mother?”

Daisy’s first thought was to deny it. But she knew, somewhere deep inside, that lying to this man would be a big mistake. She lifted her chin defiantly, not wanting him to know she was afraid of him.

“What’s it to you?”

“Don’t hit her again.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Jassy. Don’t hit her again.”

“Who the devil do you think you are?” Daisy exclaimed, her anger making her reckless. “She’s my daughter, and no concern of yours.”

“I’m making her my concern. You lay a hand on her again, and you’ll live to regret it.”

“Are you threatening me?”