Leather and Lace (2 page)

Daylight stole through the clouds in shades of dusty pink and purple. Casey and Morgan inched their way down the treacherous, narrow trail laden with ice and snow. Steep, glassy canyon walls stood between them and Willow Creek, hours more of gripping the reins and relying on the sure-footedness of her spotted gelding.

At times, her horse stumbled to his knees, then slowly struggled from the quicksand of snow to carry her on. Led by the faint light of a quarter moon and the stranger ahead of her, Casey wondered if she’d ever shake free of this night. The thought of plunging over the side of a cliff kept her rigid in the saddle and breathing deeply. If they ever reached Willow Creek, she’d find a way to break free of Morgan during the eight-mile trek south to Green River.

The gelding shook his head. “Easy, Stoney.” She patted his neck and pulled her bandanna down from her nose and mouth. “You’re doing good.”

Her chest ached from fighting the cold and trying to breathe the thin, high mountain air, and her eyes stung from lack of sleep and watching the trail. If only she could have slept a few hours before beginning this descent. Fear of frostbite needled at her, and she wished she had a little kerosene to rub on her hands—hard to pull a trigger without fingers.

Her mind twisted with the unknown identity of the man who was using her to get to Jenkins. No need to ask why. The outlaw had hurt and killed more folks than many saw in a lifetime. One haunting memory after another crept in unbidden, but those memories were why she’d rather die than go back to the gang.

Sunrise lifted over the horizon, a flicker of color rising to a myriad of candles blending into one across the eastern sky. The cliffs behind them and the lower elevation brought warmer temperatures, while trees, bent with the weight of winter, gladly shed their crystal cocoons. With the hint of warmer temperatures, Casey anticipated budding plants and lush patches of green. This might be April’s last grim reminder of winter.

If only her bleak past held the same promise of spring. She had a price on her head, and too many men carried bullets with her name on them. But soon all of that would be behind her. Still, the truth nagged her like a hurting tooth. She’d have to deceive good people to escape the past. Sometimes the dirt clung to her no matter how hard she scrubbed.

“How are you doing?” Morgan turned in the saddle to peer at her. “Thawed out yet?”

“When I can feel my hands, I’ll let you know.”

“You haven’t complained since we left.”

“What would you want me to say? Thanks for the good company?”

He tipped his hat and turned back to the trail. Morgan had something she craved—the strength of knowledge. What if Jenkins did catch up with her? The mere thought seared her soul. His ugly snarl and low, contemptuous laugh echoed from every direction.

She scanned the area around them. Jenkins’s scarred face flashed across her mind, features she’d never forget. Some women thought him fine looking with his dark eyes and thick black hair, but when he drank, his right eye jerked like a mad dog.

I’ve got to quit worryin’ on him. Morgan’s the danger here.

At the banks of Willow Creek, they stopped to dismount and water the horses. The cool morning air brushed across her face, smelling fresh and clean. White-capped water gurgled and rushed over rocks as if chased by what her ma had called a banshee. She knew the feeling.

Casey stretched her aching back. The night had been hard—too cold and dangerous. She removed her gloves and massaged her hands. “We made it,” she said and carefully examined Stoney’s legs to check for injuries.

“You had your doubts?”

“Plenty of times.”

“I never took you for one who scared easily.” His voice held curiosity. Good, maybe he’d reveal something about himself.

“I don’t. I’ve been on the run for a long time, and I’ve been in some pretty tight spots. But nothing like the blizzard we left in the mountains. As far as I’m concerned, fighting nature is a lot harder than outthinking a man.”

“I’ll be sure to remember those words of wisdom.” He grinned.

He was a pleasing man when he smiled, but looks could be deceiving. Perfectly straight white teeth were framed by upturned lips, and she saw a dimple high on his left cheek. Most of the men she encountered were toothless, either from fights or a rotten mouth. But none could be trusted.

“If you’re after Jenkins’s reward, he’ll thank you and blow a hole through your heart.”

“I imagine so, if that’s what I planned,” he said. “I told you before. I’m doing this for selfish reasons. Jenkins and I have a score to settle . . . and you’re the bait. Though if you feel grateful for the guide down the mountains, you can cook breakfast. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”

She glanced around at the open space, a clear target for anyone. “It’s a deal, except I don’t like the idea of being the worm on your hook.” The doubts about him lingered like a pesky burr. “I don’t feel like announcing our breakfast to the whole country, either.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His turquoise eyes sparkled and angered her. “I know a spot where we can see up or down the creek. Does that suit you better?”

“Much better.” Was he testing her, and if so, for what?

She wanted to know his business now, but patience might save her skin. The snow-covered mountains behind them had nearly won. How amazing that something so beautiful could be so dangerous. Folks said the same thing about her. She used to like hearing them, but not anymore.

“They’re most likely stirring up there with no idea you made it out during the night. Jenkins is cunning, and only God knows where they really are. We best eat and push on. Whereabouts you headed?”

She nearly laughed at his attempt to gain information. “Not sure.” She tucked a few strands of hair under her hat. “In the beginning, I only wanted to get away, but I can’t decide in which direction. West to California or on to Oregon sounds good, or even back east where the country’s civilized.”

“Somehow, I don’t think you’d fit into city life.”

“You’re probably right.” She stole another look at the mountains. Oh, how she’d like to believe she’d left the misery behind. “But I have to go somewhere, and I need to make up my mind.”

“Why not Texas?”

“Most wanted faces end up there or in Arizona. I’d like to think I’m different.”

“It’s a big territory. You could lose yourself in some remote town and start all over again.”

“Suppose you’re right. I’ve been there a few times and liked what I saw. You could ride for days from the spindly pines in the east to the dry plains of the far west. There isn’t much law, though—almost as wild as here.”

“Texas Rangers have cleaned it up.”

Did he think that was comforting? “Thanks. Sounds like my kind of place.” She laughed, and he joined her. “Do you always hand out good advice to outlaws?”

“I’m only suggesting. Of course, I’m partial. Can’t think of anywhere else on this earth I’d rather be, especially the hill country between Austin and San Antonio.”

“Do you have family there?” They talked easily, almost as though they were friends.

“Some,” he said. “My folks were originally from this part of the country, near Vernal, but they moved to Texas after the war.”

Now I see why you know this area. Suspicion settled into her bones. Vernal lay about twenty-five miles south, a rough town known for its ability to hide the worst of men. Its well-deserved reputation could have easily driven out a respectable family or caused a bounty hunter to set down roots. Before this was all over, she’d find out who Morgan’s identity. Then she’d see how friendly he really was.

“Did Tim know when you left?”

She questioned whether to answer him. Finally she figured she had nothing to lose. “No.”

“Just wondered.” Morgan pointed to a spot several yards to the right of them. “We’ll be fine back in the brush. I can fish if you’ll build a fire.”

Once Casey had gathered enough kindling and wood, she reached into her saddlebag for a precious match to light it, then nursed along the flame. Nearly sick with exhaustion, she sat on a log and closed her eyes. Her weakened condition had dulled her mind, but she had to keep her wits. The smell of burning wood tugged at her senses, and she remembered dried beef and hard biscuits the morning before. Her stomach craved food . . . her mind craved her guns . . . her heart craved freedom.

She warmed her hands over the flames and went through the motions of making coffee—the last of it. The comforts of a home sounded mighty grand, and she thought back to the last time she ate a decent meal, slept in a real bed, or enjoyed the luxury of a tub bath. Most likely at a brothel while the gang enjoyed the ladies. At least a real home now had substance and meaning. Sitting motionless, she fought the urge to sleep. Birds sang around her like a mama humming a lullaby. In an effort to stay awake, she pulled a hairbrush from her saddlebag and began to ease out every tangle she could find. The thought of searching through Morgan’s saddlebags for a gun nudged her, but she figured he had one eye on her and a revolver strapped to his belt. A quick glimpse in his direction confirmed her suspicions.

“Watching me, are you?” she said.

“That’s my job.”

Frustration inched through her. He had to rest sometime. A short while later, the smell of roasting fish yanked at her stomach. She could have eaten it raw.

They ate in silence. She preferred it—gave her time to plan a way out of this mess. Morgan yawned. When he slept, she’d make her move.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

“Don’t you want to rest awhile? The horses are wore out.”

“I said we’re getting out of here.” He doused the fire, and she saw a change in him. Hard. Cold. Hate.

Jenkins must have been on his mind.

They headed downstream toward Green River. The two rode side by side. Neither spoke.

“Just who are you?” she finally said.

“A man bent on ridding innocent folks of Davis Jenkins, and you’re going to help me.”

“How you going to do it?”

“Told you before. Use you as bait. Trade you for a chance to get Jenkins out in the open.”

The picture that crossed her mind wasn’t pretty. “What did he do to you?”

She waited for a reply. Nothing. Morgan reminded her of a mountain cat stalking his prey until the right moment to go in for the kill. But she had to give him credit. He was clever. For that trait, he’d earned her respect.

As the sun brightened, the water shimmered in a deep shade of bluish green—such a splendid sight after the preceding day’s dismal white—and they passed bare trees broken only by an occasional pine. All around the sweet, fragrant smells of new plants filled her nostrils. Her spirits lifted, and she wasn’t sure why. One man trailed her, and another held her captive. Maybe she’d crossed the line into madness.

Last night, she vowed she wouldn’t be camping this night along the Green River, but things had changed. She hated not being in control. Of course, once Jenkins made it down the mountain, he’d be right behind them. Soon she’d learn the truth about how Morgan planned to pull Jenkins into the open. Why hadn’t he shot the animal when he saw him and Tim riding together? Maybe she’d find the answer to that too.

Jenkins was a driving fool, relentless and easily agitated when he wanted something. He thought nothing of pushing horses and men till they dropped. When the time came to find fresh mounts, he’d steal from a nearby ranch or from other outlaws who might have horses hidden in a canyon. The frightening thought spurred her on.

With a heavy heart, she turned her attention to the peaceful countryside. Twisted pine trees grew monumental against a backdrop of slate-gray rock, timeless in a territory governed by lawless men. Somehow the beauty of nature clashed with the upheaval, or maybe it merely offered a reprieve for those who seldom took the time to appreciate its beauty.

“Brown’s Park has been a favorite spot for horse thieves ever since those days following the Civil War,” Morgan said, breaking the silence.

“I didn’t know it had been used that long.”

“It borders on the Wyoming and Utah territories and the state of Colorado. Seems to stop lawmen cold and keeps them confused as to jurisdiction. Just think about all the hideaways where outlaws can winter stolen animals.”

Did Morgan think she was stupid, or was he nervous and just talking? Of course she knew those spots. She’d been to most of them, and he knew it.

About a mile south flowed Crouse Creek. Casey anticipated meeting up with familiar faces at the crossing. The creek ranked as the most secluded spot in Brown’s Park. Unfortunately, some of the most detestable creatures known to humankind roamed there. Would Morgan want to wait there for Jenkins? She had to think of something soon. From the corner of her eye, she saw he’d slung her rifle over the other side of his saddle. At the first chance, she’d get it and break loose.

“Do you want to go wading?” Morgan said.

She shivered at the thought. “We nearly froze to death last night, and now you want to catch your death of cold?”

“It might wake us up.”

“I’d rather find a place to sleep.” She lifted her hat, then tucked her hair up before plopping it back on. “Providing I live through this, are you going to let me go?”

“I could use the reward.”

Too bad he had her knife too.

“I like this time of year best,” he said. “It might be the sight of things growing or winter passing, but whatever it is, the weather makes me feel lazy.”

“I don’t want to be lazy yet.”

“Didn’t you just say you wanted to find a place to sleep?”

“I’ll sleep when I don’t have to run from somebody.” And Jenkins isn’t the only man I need to watch out for.

He stared at her oddly, and a nerve twitched in his cheek. “Casey, during those years with Jenkins, did you ever spend much time in one place?”

She laughed at his ludicrous question. “No, but I did think on it.”

The two rode farther downstream and forded the river. The water splashed up cold against her legs, and soon she chilled to the bone. Suddenly Casey felt uneasy. She noticed Morgan had glanced back more than once. Foreboding bit at her heels. Jenkins must be close behind.