The Bride Wore Blue (2 page)

Aunt Alma laid a quaking hand on Vivian’s arm. “Now do you understand what I mean about judging by a man’s costume out here?”

Vivian nodded. “I’ll do my best to stay away from men who wear dusters and bandannas.” And gaudy belt buckles.

Carter Alwyn pinched the bridge of his nose. Tuesday was his least favorite day of the week. The
other women
usually created a stir on their designated morning in town. Not that they set out to do much more than shop for baubles and bustles, but the activity never failed to provoke at least one citizen’s self-righteous indignation and drive him—or her—to Carter’s office with his chin in the air. This week’s upstanding representative of the moral community scowled at him from the other side of his desk.

“It’s scandalous.” Mr. Updike stiffened to his full five feet five inches. “And we want to know when you’re going to do something about it, Deputy Alwyn.”

Carter leaned forward. If only he had a nickel for every time he had engaged in this same conversation. He had his own reasons for avoiding the
other women
, besides the obvious moral ones, but as long as they paid their fees and checked in with a doctor regularly, their services were a legal and accepted practice in Cripple Creek—an enterprise welcomed by many influential people here.

Mr. Updike tugged on the lapels of his oversized herringbone suit jacket and glared at Carter. “I’m here as a representative of the
business community, and we want change. We insist you outlaw such depravity.”

If the
business community
really was making such demands, a large segment of the
business
owners were shooting themselves in the foot. A lot of money flowed between Bennett and Myers Avenues. And Carter knew the banker would be the first to whine about the shortfall created by losing that breed of businesswoman. No doubt the man’s zealous campaign was on his wife’s insistence. It wouldn’t surprise Carter to see Mrs. Updike waiting outside the door with her hands planted on her hips, but he resisted the temptation to stand and look out the window.

He opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a file folder, then looked up. “Mr. Updike, you know about the recent rash of bank robberies this side of the divide. I’ve been more concerned with protecting your bank and the money that belongs to the fine people of Cripple Creek than with what our citizens choose to do with their money in the moonlight.”

“Yes, well, I do appreciate that, but—” The whistle on the incoming train blew, and Updike jumped.

It took all the self-control Carter could muster to stifle the laughter camped in his throat. He swallowed hard against it. “Mr. Updike, I suggest you raise your concerns at the next city council meeting.” He opened the folder full of wanted posters.

The banker huffed. “I can see I’m getting nowhere with you.”

Carter looked up. “By the very nature of my job, sir, I am a man with a measure of authority to enforce laws, but little say in the creation of those laws.”

Updike spun on his heels. The force of the door slamming behind him rattled the window and Carter’s nerves. The man was a weasel and probably just as nocturnal as the others.

Carter’s energy needed to go into keeping his town safe. He thumbed through the stack of posters. Robert LeRoy Parker, also known as Butch Cassidy. Clean shaven, square jaw. Rounded chin. Harry “Sundance Kid” Longabaugh. Narrow oval face. Dark eyes. And a guy known only as Pickett. Six foot two. Lean and lanky.

Carter tipped back in his chair and scrubbed his face, already stubbled by this time of day. Witnesses to the bank robberies over in Divide had described one of the three robbers as lean and lanky.

As soon as Jon, one of two deputies under the authority given to Carter by the El Paso County Sheriff, returned to the office, Carter would ride to Victor for a chat with Gilbert about the bank robbery there yesterday. None of the criminals pictured on these posters would spend any time in his town. He had to make sure of it.

Carter had just closed the folder when the telephone on his desk jangled. He lifted the earpiece from the hook and spoke into the cone.

“Deputy Alwyn speaking.”

“Yes, good afternoon.” As usual, the young woman’s voice sounded too sweet. “Deputy Alwyn, you have a call from Mr. Wilbert Ratcliff.”

“Yes, thank you.” Why would the agent at the Midland Terminal Railroad be calling him?

A click followed, then a sentence that made no sense to Carter, but its fevered pitch burned his ears and set his heart racing.

“Mr. Ratcliff, you need to slow down.”

“The train’s in. Bandits got the cash box. Jumped off just north of town.”

Carter leaped from his chair, knocking it against the wall. “Anyone harmed? You need a doctor down there?”

“I sent for one. But except for a nasty lump on the conductor’s head, no one was hurt.”

“Good.” Carter slapped the folder on his desk. “No one else steps foot off the train. I’ll be right there.”

On his way to the depot, Carter saw Jon walk out of the boot shop and waved him over. While they took long strides to the depot at the far end of Bennett Avenue, Carter briefed his fellow deputy on what little he knew from the station agent. Jon went inside the depot to let the agent know they’d arrived while Carter made his way through the crowd gathered on the wooden platform.

“Deputy Alwyn?”

Carter recognized the woman’s voice that rang loud and clear. He turned to see Mrs. Raines—his friend Tucker’s wife—standing in front of him, flanked by her two sisters, one holding a baby.

“Ladies.” He touched the brim of his Stetson and then glanced at the folder in his hands. “I have duties to attend to.”

They fell in step with him as he walked toward the train’s passenger car. “We have family on that train,” Mrs. Raines said. “No one will tell us anything. What has happened? We need to know if they’re all right.”

Carter climbed the metal stairs to the deck of the train car. Turning, he faced the impatient throng. “There’s been a robbery.” The murmurs rose to a hum, and he raised his hand for quiet. “No passengers were harmed. We need your full cooperation while we try to gain pertinent information from those on board. We’ll release the passengers and ready the train for its continuance as soon as possible.” He turned and pushed open the heavy steel door.

In contrast to the charged anticipation on the platform, the atmosphere inside the smoky car was solemn. He could have heard a feather drop on the hardwood flooring.

“Folks, I’m the sheriff’s senior deputy stationed here in Cripple Creek, Deputy Carter Alwyn. I need to speak to any of you who saw or heard something that may be useful in capturing the bandits.”

“Sir.” From a window seat several rows back, a matronly woman waved a gloved hand. “My niece here …” She glanced at the young woman sitting beside her. “She tripped one of the outlaws.”

Carter’s jaw tensed. “You did what?” He didn’t care that he’d shouted. This girl who had tried to play the hero couldn’t be a day over sixteen. He’d seen similar circumstances, and being reminded of their outcome soured his stomach. “Young lady, do you have any idea—”

“First of all, Deputy Alwyn …” She squared her shoulders and glared at him, her eyes a fiery brown. “I am not stupid. Nor am I heroic. I didn’t trip the man on purpose, so you can save your lecture. I haven’t the time or the patience for it.”

Perhaps she was older than she looked. Sassy, no matter her age.

“Secondly, bandannas covered the two men’s faces, and they wore long coats. None of us saw very much, so this is clearly a waste of time.”

Carter choked down his frustration. “Miss—”

“Sinclair.”

He met her defiant gaze. “Miss Sinclair, I am the professional here, and I’ll be the judge of what
very much
includes.” He had outlaws to track down. He didn’t have time to bicker with a petulant female.

Jon stepped into the train car, and Carter rested a hand on his partner’s shoulder. “Folks, this is Deputy Jon Ondersma. He’ll accompany those of you going on to Victor to hear your statements concerning the matter. The conductor will get the names and contact information from those of you planning to depart the train here.” Carter looked at the young woman sitting in the aisle seat five rows back. “And I’ll
speak to any of you who may have critical information. Miss Sinclair, if Cripple Creek is your destination, I’ll begin with you.”

“It is.”

Shifting his attention to the others, Carter walked toward the door. “Deputy Ondersma and the conductor will direct the rest of you. Please meet me inside the depot, ladies. Directly.”

His mother had taught him to get the most unpleasant tasks out of the way first, and he’d learned his lesson well.

Y
oung lady!

Were all lawmen in the West this cocky and sarcastic, or was this just her unlucky day and Deputy Alwyn happened to be part of its ill will? Vivian retrieved her satchel from the floorboard and followed the snappish deputy down the narrow aisle.

They made their way to the back of the car, and the deputy stepped out onto the platform and offered his hand to Aunt Alma. “Ma’am.”

Once her aunt had both feet on the platform, he held out his hand to Vivian. She didn’t need the man’s help but accepted it anyway. His firm grip matched the stern expression on his face.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome.” He let go of her hand and tugged his leather vest straight. Taking their satchels from them, Deputy Alwyn glanced toward a small brick building about two train-car lengths ahead of them. “We need to be quick about this. I’ll only detain you a few minutes.”

The promise had no sooner left his mouth when the crowd began closing in on them, her three sisters in the lead. Vivian waved.

“You’re Reverend Raines’s sister-in-law?” Placing far too much emphasis on the first word, the deputy quirked a dark eyebrow.

“Yes, one of three.”

Nell reached them first. “Are you all right?” She wrapped Vivian in a tight embrace, transporting her to a time and place that was familiar and freeing.

“They’re well, Mrs. Archer.”

The deputy was apparently acquainted with at least two of her sisters. It made sense that a lawman would know the preachers and mining officials in town. Probably the doctors too.

He brushed a midnight black curl under his hat and looked at her sisters. “I just have a few questions, and I’ll be quick about it. I have outlaws to track.” The deputy met Vivian’s gaze and motioned for them to make haste to the depot.

She hurried to keep up with him. Yet another instance in which a height greater than five feet two inches would prove useful.

The crowd around the depot hummed like a beehive. Inside, a man with deeply hooded eyes waved them toward an open door behind the ticket counter. “You can use my office, deputy.”

“Thank you, Wilbert.”

The office felt more like an oversized wardrobe. A small desk, one file cabinet, and two spindle-back chairs in front of the desk.

“Please have a seat, ladies.” Deputy Alwyn set their satchels on the floor between the chairs and pulled a notepad and pencil from his shirt pocket. Settling into the desk chair, he looked at Vivian. “Miss Sinclair, did you notice anything else about the two men, besides the bandannas?”

“They both wore soiled dusters. The taller man wore a flat-top straw hat and waved a pistol. I didn’t hear him say anything. The shorter man came through first, carrying a large metal box.”

Aunt Alma squared her shoulders. “Which narrowly missed hitting a man in the head when my niece tripped the thief.”

The deputy smoothed his mustache as if he were trying to hide a smile and met Vivian’s gaze. “Unintentionally, if I remember correctly.”

Her cheeks grew warm. “That’s correct.” Sitting a little straighter, Vivian forced herself to remember as many details as she could. “The surly one carrying the box was thick in the middle, spoke as if he had something in his mouth, and smelled of licorice root.”

The deputy flipped a page in his notepad and wrote feverishly before looking up at her. “Good details. Was he wearing a hat?”