Wild Is My Heart (6 page)

“Colt Andrews,” Colt said, extending his hand.

“Damn glad to meet you. I’m Dirk Faulkner. Things been a mite hectic around here since the Crowders came to town.”

“You own the saloon, Mr. Faulkner?”

“Naw, I only work here. The boss don’t usually come down till the action starts.”

“I understand the mayor often comes here in the afternoon. Is he around?”

“Not yet,” Dirk replied, “but if he’s on schedule he’ll show up soon. Enjoy your drink while you’re waiting.”

“Much obliged, I will,” Colt smiled, carrying his drink to the nearest table.

He was glad for the respite. He had some hard thinking to do concerning Samantha Howard, for he had no earthly idea what to do with the little spitfire. She was like no woman he’d ever known before. Beautiful, brave, foolish, feisty, exasperating, and thoroughly enchanting. And she could cuss with the best of them. Their all too brief conversations had left him with the unexplained need to know her better, to find out what drove her to such dangerous adventures as robbery. Colt’s mind was so consumed with Sam he thought his imagination was working overtime when he heard the man at the next table mention her name.

“I’m gonna call on Samantha Howard tomorrow, Molly,” the man was saying, the sly look on his face leaving an uncomfortable feeling in Colt’s chest.

“Why do you keep chasin’ that snooty bitch, Vern?” Molly pouted. “She’s turned your marriage proposal down so many times you’d be wise to forget her.”

“This time is different,” Vern bragged, smiling deviously. “At five o’clock she’ll lose that damn ranch she’s so proud of. With no roof over her head, no visible means of support and a young brother to raise, she’ll be grateful to me for rescuin’ her. Once the bitch is mine she’ll be sorry she turned me down all those times.”

Vern Logan, banker Calvin Logan’s son, Colt surmised as he sipped his whiskey and listened.

“A year ago Sam’s daddy borrowed money from the bank to buy cattle,” Vern explained. “Shortly afterwards Indians stole the herd and old man Howard got himself killed by the Crowder gang on one of their rampages through town. Daddy gave Samantha six months to repay the loan or lose the ranch. Time runs out today at five o’clock.”

“What do you want with an old ranch anyway?” Molly asked, wrinkling her nose.

“Daddy learned from influential friends in San Antonio that the railroad is plannin’ a route that crosses the northern section of the Circle H Ranch. He’s been able to buy up most of the land the railroad intends to build on except for the Circle H. Old Man Howard refused to sell to Daddy. That’s why Daddy was so eager to loan him money. Too bad about them Indians stealin’ his cows. Him gettin’ killed later was another stroke of bad luck.” Colt thought the tone of Logan’s voice indicated little if any remorse as well as hinting that he knew more than he was willing to divulge about the affair.

“Vern, honey,” Molly enthused, “sellin’ railroad rights to all those properties will earn your daddy a fortune.”

“I’m an only son, Molly. One day it will all belong to me. I’m tellin’ you this in strict confidence, you understand,” Vern said, fixing Molly with a baleful glare.

“You can trust me,” Molly huffed indignantly. “But I don’t understand why you want Samantha Howard when you’ll soon own her land whether she’s your wife or not.”

“Samantha is beautiful, smart, and will make me a good wife once she’s tamed,” Vern replied. “Besides, I always did have a yen for her. She’s much too independent and wears outlandish clothes, but I’ll soon have her eatin’ out of my hand. Once she’s ridden a few times and broken to the whip, she’ll make a proper banker’s wife. Daddy insists I marry soon and he favors Samantha. He says with her as my wife our children will have some backbone.” Vern snorted. “The old coot thinks he can run my life.”

“What about me?” Molly asked petulantly.

“Nothing will change between us, honey,” Vern cajoled with smooth words. “We both know I can’t marry you. Daddy will disinherit me for sure. But that doesn’t mean we can’t still make each other happy.”

“Howdy, Vern, what are you doin’ here at this time of day?”

Colt pretended disinterest as a man entered the saloon and sauntered over to where Vern sat with his blond floozy.

“Howdy, Keno,” Vern greeted in a friendly manner. “Daddy’s not feelin’ well today so I’m in charge at the bank.”

“Don’t ‘pear like you’re workin’ too hard to me,” Keno guffawed.

“Klaus Spindler is handlin’ things for a spell. I needed a little time off to…uh…wet my whistle.” He patted Molly’s posterior affectionately and winked at Keno. “What good is bein’ the boss’s son if you can’t take time off when you want it? ‘Sides, it’s nearly closin’ time and Klaus is perfectly capable of handlin’ business.” They shared a laugh, then Keno moved off to join the poker game in progress at the back of the room.

“As long as you don’t have to hurry back, we could go upstairs to my room,” Molly invited.

Vern licked his lips hungrily. His father kept him so damn busy lately he’d had little time to devote to Molly. An afternoon’s romp in bed was just what he needed to top off a perfect day.

Colt watched in disgust as Vern followed Molly up the stairs, fondling her generous bottom while she giggled and slapped ineffectually at his hand. Neither one had paid him the slightest attention nor noted the badge on his chest.

What Colt had overheard explained why Sam needed money badly enough to steal. It was ironic that she should choose to steal gold belonging to the very man who was planning on seizing everything she held dear. Suddenly an idea began to form in the back of his brain. An idea so bizarre he nearly abandoned it. Driven by impulse and the desire to thwart the Logans’ nefarious plans, he pulled out his watch and noted that it was exactly five o’clock. Too late to redeem Sam’s note, but perhaps not too late to keep the Logans from taking advantage of a helpless woman, and so long as Vern remained in Molly’s bed, Colt felt certain his plan would succeed. Deliberately he removed the badge from his shirt.

“I’m interested in buyin’ land suitable for farmin’ or ranchin’,” Colt told the young bank clerk sitting behind the cluttered desk.

“You’ve come to the right place, sir,” the man said importantly. “We’ve had several foreclosures recendy and some are still available.” He went on to list five parcels of land, none of them the Circle H.

“Hmmm …” mused Colt, “none of them seem exacdy what I had in mind. Vern Logan is a good friend of mine,” he lied, “and informed me only moments ago that somethin’ might be available north of the city.”

“You’re a friend of Herr Vern, you say? I don’t recall seeing you before. You’re a stranger in town, aren’t you, Herr … Herr …”

“Colter, Steven Colter. I met the Logans in San Antonio. I just spoke to Vern over at the Palace Saloon but he … er… had his hands full at the moment and couldn’t leave. He said to talk to his assistant. Are you Klaus Spindler?”

“Ja, I’m Klaus Spindler,” Klaus acknowledged, puffing out his chest. “And now that you mention it, I do recall hearing that the Howard ranch became available at five o’clock this afternoon. Miss Howard never showed up to pay the note due. But I’m surprised Herr Vern suggested it. I thought… well, never mind, obviously I was wrong.”

“The property sounds perfect for my needs. If it’s for sale I’d like to buy it. How much is it?”

“I see no problem if Herr Calvin agrees. The note is for three thousand dollars. Come back tomorrow, Herr Colter, and either Herr Vern or Herr Calvin will handle the sale for you.”

“That won’t do,” Colt replied evenly. “I want it done now.”

“But…but…” sputtered Spindler. “We close in less than an hour. I couldn’t possibly…not without Herr Calvin’s approval. Not even Herr Vern does anything without his daddy’s approval.”

“Was I wrong to assume you are in charge, Mr. Spindler? Are you too inexperienced to draw up the papers without help?” Colt used his most condescending tone and it appeared to produce the required results.

“No!” Spindler said huffily. “I’m a trusted employee. I’ve worked in this bank for over five years. There’s nothing I don’t know about procedures.” He knew that wasn’t entirely true, but close enough. Sometimes Klaus felt more like an errand boy than head clerk. The Logans, especially Calvin, kept him woefully uninformed about most of their secretive dealings.

“Then you’ll draw up the papers?” Colt prodded.

“I… I… This will require some time, and as I mentioned before we close promptly at six o’clock.”

“A hundred-dollar bonus is yours if you accommodate me before closing,” Colt replied, pleased to note the covetous gleam in Spindler’s pale blue eyes.

“That’s very generous, Herr Colter, but—”

“Two hundred, Mr. Spindler. Cash.”

Klaus’ eyes bulged greedily. Two hundred dollars! Except in the bank vault he’d never handled that much money at one time. It would give him the freedom he only dared dream about. He could leave Karlsburg, flee the straightlaced atmosphere of his father’s house and the homely bride chosen for him.

“I always did want to see New Orleans,” Klaus mused wistfully, unaware he had spoken aloud.

“A fine place to visit, Mr. Spindler.” Colt smiled knowingly. “Or settle, if one has a mind to. Two hundred dollars will go a long way toward establishin’ yourself, if that’s your wish.”

“I assume you have the money, Herr Colter?” Spindler asked cautiously.

“I have a letter of credit for five thousand dollars drawn on the San Antonio Bank,” Colt said. “More than enough to purchase the Circle H. The remainder can be deposited in an account in my name.”

The money represented the amount Colt had received for the sale of his father’s homestead. His daily needs were modest and he had saved most of his earnings over the past twelve years. Bounty hunting had proved most rewarding, and Colt’s savings had accumulated faster than he could spend them. A firm believer in being prepared, he usually carried the letter of credit wherever he went, though it represented only a portion of the monies deposited under his name in San Antonio.

“I’ll have you out of here long before six o’clock.” Spindler grinned, feeling more carefree than he had in years.

True to his word, it was fifteen minutes before six when Colt signed two copies of the transfer papers and accepted the deed to 20,000 acres of prime land. The rest of his money was safe in the bank, and Klaus Spindler had two hundred dollars in his pocket. Before he left, Colt penned a brief statement giving Samantha and Will Howard authority to live on the ranch until he saw fit to claim it on some future date. The note was clipped to the transfer document and left in a conspicuous place on the elder Logan’s desk.

A few minutes after six Vern Logan staggered out of the saloon, having overindulged in both whiskey and sex. He knew he should have returned to the bank before closing, but Molly’s soft flesh proved too tempting to leave so soon. Besides, he knew Klaus to be capable of handling whatever mundane transactions might have occurred during the past hour. But to salve his conscience, he walked past the bank and checked the doors to make certain they were locked before heading home.

It was dark when Colt returned to the ranch. His meeting with Mayor Mohler had taken longer than he had anticipated. But he felt he now had a factual account of the Crowders’ assault on Karlsburg. During the past six months they had inflicted untold damage and killed several innocent people, including Sam’s father. Many shop owners were paying the outlaws to leave them alone, and ranchers in the area found themselves minus their herds when the Crowders rode their way. Ten men in all made up the gang, most of them related. They delighted in terrorizing the town and had left the saloons in shambles too many times to count. The bank had been robbed once, but evidently banker Logan had struck up some kind of bargain with their leader for he’d not been bothered since.

Riding directly to the stables, Colt wondered where Sanchez was as he rubbed the horse down and put fresh hay in the stall. His own mustang was exactly where he had left him earlier that day. He didn’t tarry to find out whether Sanchez had replaced the thrown shoe but went directly to the house.

It was pitch black inside. In fact, it appeared so deserted Colt’s first thought was that somehow Sam had mustered sufficient strength to leave bed and flee, thinking he meant to turn her over to the sheriff. Of course, he had intended to do exactly that until he met the despicable man.