Undercover Bride (32 page)

Cotton’s mouth twisted into an ugly smile. “Sorry, the only time this bird sings is for his supper.”

Maggie slapped her hands flat on the table and leaned forward. “What were you doing at the jailhouse the other night?”

“How’d you—” He broke off and glanced at Rikker. “What makes you think I was there?” He drew a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed his forehead.

Maggie folded her arms across her chest. Well, what do you know? Cotton was sweating bullets. “So you
were
there.”

“I never said that.”

She glared at him. “And why did you offer to pay Linc to lie on the stand?”

“If the boy told you that, he’s a blasted liar.”

Elbows on the table, Rikker steepled his hand. “Why are you so anxious to get rid of your former brother-in-law?”

“Like I told her.” He tossed a nod Maggie’s way. “I blame him for my sister’s death.”

Maggie looked him straight in the eye. “I think there’s another reason. What do you think, partner?”

Rikker shrugged. “I think you’re right.”

“And what reason is th—that?” Cotton stammered.

“I think you’re hoping that once Garrett is out of the picture, you’ll find the rest of the money,” she said.

Cotton stiffened, and his gaze went back and forth between the two of them. “What money? Whatcha talking about?”

“Oh dear.” Maggie drew back and patted the bun at the nape of her head. “I misspoke.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Rikker said. “He’d have found out sooner or later.”

Cotton frowned. “Found out what?”

“That only half of the stolen money was recovered,” Rikker said.

It was a lie, of course, but one Maggie hoped Cotton would fall for. It had been more than two years since the robbery. Maybe he was desperate enough to believe anything.

Rikker continued. “That means thirty-five thousand dollars is still at large, and we have no idea where it is.”

“Do you?” Maggie asked. “Do you know where the money is?”

“I don’t know anything about no money,” Cotton said, and he sure in blazes didn’t look happy about it.

“Just thought we’d ask.” Rikker pushed to his feet. “Meanwhile, stay away from the jail.”

“And stay away from Linc,” Maggie added.

Rikker hammered his palm once again before pivoting.

Maggie and Rikker walked out of the restaurant together. She waited until they had left the hotel before speaking. “Do you think we overplayed our hand?”

“Absolutely.”

She gave him a playful punch on the arm. “You always know how to make a girl feel good.”

“I aim to please.”

“So what’s next?” she asked.

“I’ll keep my eye on Cotton. If he fell for our ploy, he’s got to be thinking about that missing money and where it might be. With a little luck, he’ll lead me to his partner in crime. Meanwhile, go to the stables and get yourself a fast horse. I’ll meet you at Thomas’s house. Unless I miss my guess, that’s where Cotton will head.”

Maggie felt a surge of hope.
Dear God, please help us to make this work.

Still, she knew the odds were against them. So much depended on a plan that was a long shot at best. What if they were wrong about Cotton? What if his only interest in Garrett really was revenge for the death of his sister?

“If he shows up at the house,” she said, thinking out loud, “that doesn’t prove a thing. He’ll deny he’s looking for the money. We need more. A confession.”

Rikker chuckled. “As you know, I’ve coaxed more confessions out of sinners than a Catholic priest. So quit your worrying and get ready. It could be a very long and interesting day.”

G
arrett sat on his cot and prayed long and hard. Things looked bad, real bad. But he refused to give in to despair. Maggie said that hope was the anchor God sent down whenever it was needed. If he ever needed something to hold on to, it was now.

This was worse even than Andersonville. At least then he didn’t have two children to worry about. What would become of them?
God, if You can’t save me, at least answer my prayers to save them.

He was so deep in his thoughts it took a moment before a familiar voice penetrated his brain. Not sure that he’d heard right, he looked up.

The last person Garrett expected to walk into the sheriff’s office was his former brother-in-law—not after the last angry words they’d exchanged. Maybe he came to apologize. Or simply to wish him well.

The thought left the instant Cotton pulled out a gun and pointed it straight at the sheriff.

“Put your hands up.”

Summerhay looked startled but did what he was told.

Stunned, Garrett couldn’t believe what he saw. “What are you doing with that gun?”

“Shut up,” Cotton hissed.

“But—”

“I said shut up!” Cotton stared at the sheriff. “Put your weapon on the desk,” he ordered. “Nice and easy.”

Sheriff Summerhay pulled his gun out of the holster and laid it down.

“Unlock that empty cell. Now!”

The sheriff rose from his chair and reached for the key ring on the hook. He hesitated, and Cotton jammed his gun into the lawman’s back. “I said unlock it.”

Summerhay fiddled with the keys before inserting one into the keyhole.

Cotton took the keys out of his hand. “Step inside, and take it nice and easy.” He waited for the sheriff to enter the cell and then slammed the steel door shut with a bang.

Garrett’s initial disbelief had faded into uneasiness. Was Cotton trying to help him escape? Was that it? It was hard to believe that his brother-in-law would do anything to help him. They had once been friends, but that was a long time ago.

Cotton’s talent for wheeling and dealing had come in handy when the two of them were locked in the stockades. Once, Cotton had even tricked a guard into giving them matches one wintry night for a fire.

Prisoners did everything they could to stay alive. They lied, they cheated, and they stole. Garrett did, too, but he hated it. He hated stealing clothes off dead men just to keep warm. He despised having to hide the bodies of men who died in the night just to claim the extra rations. But while he was often wracked with guilt and disgust, he never stopped asking for God’s forgiveness. Far as he knew, Cotton felt no such compulsion.

“You do what you have to do,” he’d said. That was his motto, even after the war.

Garrett had given him a job in the shop, but he’d lasted for only a few weeks. During that short time, he stole money from the till, was surly with the customers, and took shortcuts that undermined the quality of the tinware.

He wasn’t taking any shortcuts now. He made certain the sheriff was confined in one of the other cells before unlocking Garrett’s.

Garrett’s mind scrambled. This wasn’t the first time Cotton had helped him escape. The last time ended in the Georgia woods after they were chased down by hounds. Garrett had no reason to believe that this time would end any differently. Except perhaps to make him feel like a coward, and that’s not how he wanted his children to remember him.

“Don’t do this, Charlie.”

Cotton lifted the barrel of his gun till it pointed straight at Garrett’s head. “Shut your trap.”

He looked unbalanced. His eyes were too bright, almost wild looking, and his mouth twisted in an ugly line. Garrett stiffened as a terrifying thought came to the fore. His brother-in-law wasn’t there in some misguided way to help him. He was out for one thing and one thing alone—blood.

It took Maggie forever to rent a horse from the stables. No horses were available at first. Finally a gelding was returned, but the animal had thrown a shoe. While the farrier replaced it, Maggie practically paced a hole in the floor.

After leaving the stables, she urged the horse along the dirt road at a fast gallop to Thomas’s house. Rikker had told her to meet him in front of the hotel, but he never showed. Nor was he in his room.

If Cotton left town, Rikker would follow him. Maybe she would find them both at Garrett’s house.

Her gun was holstered around her waist for easy retrieval. Everyone in town now knew who she was; no need to hide her weapon.

The sun looked like a big orange ball, and a gentle breeze cooled her brow. A sudden unexpected bout of emotion assailed her. This was the same road she’d traveled to take the children back and forth to school. The same road they’d traveled to church. The same road she and Garrett had taken to the barn dance.

The stars had looked particularly bright that night and Garrett especially handsome. And, oh, how he could dance. She could almost feel his hand at her waist and his breath in her hair.

She shook her head and brushed away a tear.
Oh no, you don’t. You’re not going there.

Today could mean the difference between life and death for Garrett. It was no time to be distracted by painful memories or even painful regrets. She had a job to do.

She occupied her mind by going over the plan. If Cotton was already at the house, adjustments had to be made. If not, she was to hide her horse behind the barn. Her thoughts were interrupted by a movement ahead.

With a quick tug on the reins, she brought the horse to a halt. She rose from the saddle and craned her neck for a better look.

Dear God, no. Please don’t let that be Patches. Unless her eyes were deceiving her, that meant that Toby—

“Gid-up.” With a flick of its neck, the gelding took off running, stretching his stride as she urged him on. Reaching the house, she slipped out of the saddle.

It was Patches all right, and the horse looked happy to see her. He swung his tail and nickered as she approached. He nudged her hand with his velvety nose looking for treats.

“Where’s Toby, boy?” And what was he doing here? No matter. She had to get him to leave, and there was no time to lose.

Fortunately, there was no sign of Cotton, but that didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t there.

She tied the rented horse to the hitching post next to Patches and ran to the porch. The front door was locked. She raised her hand to knock but thought better of it. Never had she known Toby to close the door when entering or leaving the house. She doubted he would start now.

She pulled out her gun. Back pressed against the adobe, she ever so carefully peered through the front window. The house looked empty, but only the parlor and part of the kitchen were visible. She then noticed the scattered chessmen on the floor. The books pulled from the bookshelves. The chair cushions in disarray. Someone had searched the house.

Keeping her head low, she jumped from the porch and ran to the side of the house. She peered into the children’s bedroom. The drawers hung open and the mattresses had been pulled off the beds.

The shades were drawn in Garrett’s room. That didn’t necessarily mean anything, but it worried her.

She quietly tested the back door, but it was locked, too. Maybe Toby was in the barn or even the tree house. She measured the distance from the house. The barn couldn’t be reached without being seen from the house, but she had to take the chance.

Now, as always, she considered her options. Should she run in a random zigzag or straight line? The zigzag offered less chance of being shot or seriously shot, but running a straight line was faster. She glanced at the bedroom window. The shades were still drawn. Decision made, she ran a straight line to the barn.

Back against the barn wall, she held her gun in front and swung forward into the open doorway. A local farmer had taken the livestock and chickens to his place, so the two horses in the barn spelled trouble.

One was Cotton’s. She didn’t recognize the other, but maybe it belonged to his partner.

She hoped Cotton’s presence meant Rikker was somewhere nearby, lurking in the shadows. She hoped; she prayed
—Dear God, let it be true.
She strained her ears. Cotton’s horse snorted, but it was hard to hear much else over the thud-thud-thudding of her pounding heart. If anything should happen to Toby…
And blast it, Rikker! Where are you?
If he was on-site, he had to know that she was, too. Rikker was an expert in bird calls. So why hadn’t he signaled her?

She strained her ears. Cotton’s horse neighed softly, but now there was another sound as well. A soft scraping sound coming from—

She looked up. Someone was in the tree house. Cotton?

Since the loft had been boarded up, the only way to reach it was from outside.

Gun in hand, she peered out the door. Seeing no one, she slipped outside and raced to the ladder at the side of the barn. She glanced around. Still no sign of Rikker, or anyone else, for that matter.

The hay lift had stopped at the top. She stood at the bottom of the ladder and looked up. It could be a trap.

Dreading what she might or might not find in the children’s playhouse, she holstered her weapon and grabbed hold of the ladder. Gulping, she lifted her foot onto the bottom rung and started upward.

T
he climb up to the hayloft seemed to take forever, though in reality it took only seconds. She paused on the ladder before reaching the top. The air was still and the quiet, almost eerie.