“That was pretty stupid of me,” she admitted.
“Yes, it was.”
“I don’t mind telling you, I was so scared I don’t know how I managed to get my gun drawn, much less hit the fella. You were the one who gave Damian and me cover to get off the street, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Sure wish I’d known you were out there when they had me in that cabin later that night, waiting for Damian to show up so they could kill him.”
“I wasn’t. My horse came up lame. But I assume you managed to extricate yourself from that mess just fine on your own. At least it looked that way when I finally caught up to you and found you heading back to town with prisoners.”
Casey managed to keep from laughing at her own shortcomings. “Me? No, I just managed to come within an inch of dying, after drawing an empty gun on those fellas. It was Damian who got us out of that mess, and not a second too soon, breaking the door down when he did. He saved my life.”
“The tenderfoot did?”
“Don’t sound so skeptical. He’s never used a handgun, but he’s an expert marksman when it comes to a rifle. And he was adapting pretty good to our part of the country, before he headed back East.”
“Why did you even hook up with him to begin with? That’s something I never could figure out.”
Casey pulled the bank draft out of her pocket and tossed it on the table for her father to read. “Because he offered me way more’n the job was worth, too much for me to refuse for a couple weeks of easy work. And I was ready to come home. Figured a bit over twenty thousand dollars was enough to prove I don’t need a husband—till I’m ready for one.”
Courtney lifted her hand to her mouth to cover a grin she couldn’t restrain. Chandos put on his inscrutable look again, which gave no clue to what he was going to say next. What he did say surprised Casey.
“Yes, that proves that point well enough. And if any one of the Bar M hands could have seen you in action these last months, you’d probably have no trouble there either. But I still think you will have trouble, Casey, getting a bunch of wranglers, young and old, to follow your orders without argument. Trouble with men is, most of them think they know the right of it, and most of them have a hard time keeping their mouths shut if they disagree with their boss—and that’s if their boss is a man. If their boss is a woman, then they will know they’ve got the right of it, even if they don’t, and won’t hesitate to show the little woman up, if you get my drift. Now, when you prove them wrong, what’s going to happen?”
Casey sighed, understanding what he was getting at. “Bad feelings, of course. Wanting to get even by showing me up again, then more bad feelings if they’re wrong again. Or me being forced to fire them if they’re right, because it sets a bad precedent, feuding with the boss.”
Chandos nodded. “Now, having pointed all that out, which I really regret I didn’t do before, I won’t stop you if you still want to try running the Bar M. As long as you know what to expect, and, if you fail, that it won’t be a personal failure.” He grinned at her before adding, “Then again, little girl, anyone who’s accomplished what you have these last months can probably figure out a way to avoid what I’m predicting. Be a proud day for me if you prove me wrong.”
Chapter 45
Later, in her spacious bedroom, a room still in the pink-and-white tones of her youth, Casey sat in front of the vanity, wearing an old white cotton nightgown. Her mother stood behind her, brushing her hair as she used to do when Casey was much younger. Courtney was tsking every so often over its length, but Casey was enjoying the brushing anyway.
Courtney had knocked on her door not long after Casey had come upstairs. Casey had pretty much expected her. They’d always been close, always been able to talk with ease. And there were some subjects that just weren’t for discussing in front of Chandos.
“You’ve put on weight—but in the right places,” Courtney pointed out.
Casey blushed. She hadn’t really noticed, but her breasts and hips did have a bit more curve to them—at long last. She should be delighted by the observation, after waiting so long for it to happen. But all she felt was indifference, really, which was telling.
“Guess I finally reached that magic sprouting age you used to assure me would come around.”
Courtney nodded, but after a few more brush strokes, she remarked, “Your father seems to think something else is wrong, that you’re unhappy for some reason that doesn’t have much to do with everything else. Has something unusual happened that you’d like to talk about?”
“If you can call falling in love unusual, then I guess you could say so.”
Casey had sighed as she said it. She shouldn’t have said it. There was no point in talking about something that couldn’t be changed and couldn’t be resolved.
But Courtney seemed delighted. “Did you really? I was beginning to think that no one around here would ever hold your interest—but then, he’s not from around here, is he? The Easterner, I presume?”
Casey nodded with another sigh, though she assured her mother, “I’ll get over it.”
“Why should you?”
Casey blinked up at her mother in the mirror. “Maybe because he doesn’t return the sentiment. Maybe because he’s from the upper crust of New York society, and I’m just a country girl he’d never consider taking for a wife. And maybe because I’d feel so damned out of place in a city that big, I can’t imagine living there. And maybe—”
“Maybe you’re throwing up too many obstacles,” Courtney chided. “Are you sure he doesn’t return the sentiment? I find it hard to believe that any man couldn’t love you—once they get to know you.”
Casey chuckled. “Spoken like—my mother.”
“I’m serious,” Courtney insisted. “You’re beautiful, intelligent, and incredibly versatile in all the different things you’ve learned. You think nothing of taking on a man’s endeavors, yet are quite capable in your own. I think you’ve proved that there isn’t much of anything you can’t do, once you set your mind to it.”
“I don’t think all men would appreciate that,” Casey said wryly.
“No, perhaps not,” Courtney replied. “But your abilities give you a certain confidence that shines through and adds to your overall appeal. Was this—Damian, was it?”
“Damian Rutledge—the Third.”
“The Third, eh? Sounds impressive. But was he not attracted to you at all?”
Casey frowned, remembering the passion they’d shared. Still, had that stemmed from a mutual attraction or simply because, from Damian’s point of view, she’d been the only female around for most of the time they were together?
But to answer her mother, she pointed out, “A man can be attracted to a woman without wanting to marry her. There are other things to consider where a wife is concerned, like if she’ll fit into his life. He didn’t want me for his wife. That I am sure of.”
“Why are you so sure?”
“Because we were married and he couldn’t wait to get us unmarried.”
The brush fell out of Courtney’s hand. “You were what?”
“It wasn’t consensual, Mother, and it’s already been set aside.”
“What do you mean, it wasn’t consensual? Someone forced you two to marry?”
Casey nodded. “You may have heard of that ornery judge, Roy Bean, over in Langtry. He took it upon himself to decide that Damian and I were traveling in sin, which we weren’t, but he was after the five-dollar charge he’d get for marrying us, so he married us without a by-your-leave, and there wasn’t a thing we could do about it.”
“That’s—that’s outrageous!”
Casey agreed. “Yes, it was. Damian was furious, naturally, and looked for another judge to undo the marriage in every town we hit thereafter. We didn’t find one, but when we came through Langtry on the way back, that old judge did it again, took it upon himself to unhitch us, again without asking, just for another five-dollar charge.”
; Courtney sat down next to Casey on the vanity bench and gathered her daughter into her arms. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. That must have been especially hard for you, if you already loved him by that point.”
Casey tried to shrug it off. “It doesn’t matter. I knew all along that he wasn’t for me, that our lives were just too different for us to be compatible. He’s not comfortable out of a big city, I wouldn’t be comfortable in one, and there’s no middle ground there. I just wish my heart had kept that in mind instead of getting all soft on me.”
Courtney didn’t seem to want to accept that. “Remember what I just said about your being able to do anything you set your mind to? Why have you given up on this man? You captured killers. You’re going to take on the running of the Bar M. Why do you shy away from going after your heart’s desire in this case?”
“Because failing with him would hurt in a different way that I don’t think I can handle.”
“You’re handling losing him now? Aren’t you? Or are you utterly miserable because you didn’t give it your best shot? The obstacles you imagine in your mind can be dealt with, too, honey. Who says you’d have to live in the city all the time, or that he’d have to live in the country from now on? Who says you couldn’t live part of the year in both places and enjoy it—because you’d be together?”
“But he didn’t want me for his wife!”
“So change his mind,” Courtney said pragmatically. “If you can’t figure out how to do that, I’ll be glad to advise you.”
Courtney was blushing now. Casey smiled at her mother. She meant well. She wanted Casey to be happy. She was just overlooking one little point. How could Casey be happy, even if she managed to snare a proposal of marriage out of Damian, if he didn’t really love her?
Chapter 46
Damian was having a real hard time traveling with Jack Curruthers, despising him as much as he did. Being certain that the man was heading for a prison sentence after his trial didn’t help much. He’d stolen from a company, but rather than just run with the money, as most thieves would, he had tried to place the blame elsewhere and ordered a man’s death because of it, turning theft into murder.
Curruthers deserved whatever the courts dealt him. But Damian didn’t deserve to have to suffer his constant company on the long trip back to New York.
Jack didn’t show an ounce of remorse. He smirked, goaded, and bragged of his crime every chance he got. And in the parlor car on the train, there was no way for Damian to escape his presence. A gag could be shoved in his mouth, but the goading was still there in his owlish eyes.
Which was why, in St. Louis, Missouri, Damian left the train to find another parlor car, one with a separate compartment that Jack could be locked away in. Out of sight—at least partially out of mind. And he found just what he was looking for, a car with a separate bedchamber. Unfortunately, Damian was gone for several hours, arranging for the rental—the car had an in-city owner—and the delivery. By the time he returned, Jack had escaped.
It was the last thing Damian had expected to happen at this point. He had taken precautions against it. Jack had been chained hand and foot, shackles obtained from the Culthers sheriff, as well as the foot chain being secured to one of the bolted-down benches. And the car had been locked with a key, only the porter who serviced it having a duplicate.
The porter wasn’t under suspicion. He had had an obvious aversion to Jack after hearing about his crimes, and besides, he’d taken the opportunity of the train’s being in the city for the night to visit relatives he had here. Damian was quick to find several witnesses, one who had heard the noise in the car, which had been the breaking of the bench, and another who had seen Jack tumble out of one of the windows and hobble away. He was gone, and St. Louis was a large city, easy for him to find places to hide.
Damian immediately reported his loss to the local police, who were quite helpful, but not to the extent of finding Curruthers. After three days of dead ends, he telegraphed the detectives he’d used in New York; they put him in touch with contacts of theirs in St. Louis.
It still took another week before a definite trail was found, one leading directly to Chicago, Illinois. Apparently Jack had given up on losing himself in the vast openness of the West. He was going to try a huge city now, and Chicago ranked right up there in size with New York.
This certainly wasn’t how Damian had figured he would experience Chicago for the first time. In the back of his mind was the fact that his mother was there somewhere, but he managed to keep that out of his conscious thoughts. Maybe someday he would look for her, but he had too many other things on his mind to even consider it on this trip.
Casey, now, was a lot less easy to keep out of his thoughts—was constantly in them, actually. He was still angry at the way she had taken off without a bit of warning, simply sneaked out of the room they’d been sharing in the middle of the night. No good-bye. No chance to speak of meeting up again in the future…or anything else.
He had decided to talk to her about their marriage—or rather, their divorce. He wasn’t displeased that Bean had “unhitched” them. He’d just been furious that the judge had again forced a legality on them without asking. And that marriage had been a farce anyway. He’d been planning to take his pride in hand and ask for a real one. But Casey hadn’t given him a chance.
Just hours after getting her money for finishing the job he’d hired her for, she’d run off. Which pretty much proved how eager she had been to part company with Damian. She couldn’t even wait for morning to roll around. Nor had she been on the train when it had pulled out. He’d checked every car, hoping to find her, before he even went to collect Jack, who’d been stored in the local jail for the night.
Now, several weeks later, he was still stewing over her departure, and with time on his hands—the detectives had been adamant about not wanting an amateur tagging along with them—he had nothing to do but stew. At least when Casey had been searching for Jack, Damian had been actively involved, had even felt somewhat useful—occasionally.
When the thought occurred to him, Damian jumped on it like a starving man on a haunch of beef. Casey ought to be here in Chicago with him. He’d paid her ten thousand dollars to bring Jack to justice, but Jack was eluding justice again. Damian had not gotten his money’s worth.
But how was he going to find her when he didn’t know where she lived, didn’t even know her full name? Even the name he called her wasn’t hers; it came from the K.C. initials she used, which she had probably taken from the brand on her horse for lack of better inspiration the first time she’d been pressed for a signature.
There was that brand on Old Sam…
Bucky Alcott had sent Casey off to that ranch near Waco to look for her roots. Damian had dismissed that as a wild-goose chase, considering he knew she hadn’t bought the horse from the K.C. Ranch but had received it as a gift from her father. Yet that ranch was the only clue Damian had, since she had never once mentioned anything about her home that would point to its location.
It gave him something useful to do, heading back to Texas. There was another reason he was going, but he was still too angry to admit that, even to himself. Yet because he didn’t have much real hope of actually finding Casey, he figured he would probably just be wasting his time.
But wasting his time was preferable to sitting in his hotel room waiting for the detectives’ daily progress reports, which were monotonously the same—no leads yet. Jack had lost himself in Chicago, was smart enough not to use his real name this time. And how did you find a needle in a haystack, which was what he was in a city so big?
Surprisingly, Damian had every confidence that Casey would know how.
Chapter 47
It was a mansion by any standards, the K.C. ranch house. Damian had thought he was coming to another town when he saw it and the surrounding buildings from a distance. It was like no ranch he’d seen before in his travels in the West, and he’d passed by many.
He was impressed and y
et disappointed by its huge size, since a ranch so obviously successful would probably have no record or recollection of a single horse a young girl had named Old Sam, purchased by her father many years ago. Even if they did keep that type of record, he didn’t know her father’s name either.
He’d been hoping someone might remember the man from the description Damian could offer, but now he seriously doubted it. They must sell dozens of horses here every month. The many stables he could see as he got closer suggested they bred them as well as cattle.
He still had to try. Whoever had sold the horses here five or six years ago might have an excellent memory and still might be working here. And someone as dangerous-looking as Casey’s father appeared to be, when Damian had seen him that day in Fort Worth, had a better chance of being remembered than an average buyer.
He’d rented a horse in Waco after getting directions to the K.C. Ranch. Funny how he had done it without much thought, hadn’t even looked for a buggy to rent instead. But now he actually felt comfortable on a horse, something he would never have imagined a year ago.
There was a very long, wide porch on the front of the house. Two hitching rails, just as long, spread out on each side of the stairs leading up to the porch. Damian tethered his horse to one before approaching the front door.
While he waited for his knock to be answered, he faced the front of the porch. There wasn’t much to see out there but open plains, cactuses, and the occasional tree—then he realized the porch faced westward. And he’d seen some of the incredible sunsets they had in this part of the country. The porch must be extremely relaxing at the end of a hard day’s work, with such a magnificent view. The many chairs and tables scattered along its length said a number of the ranch folks here probably took advantage of that serenity.
The door opened. A quite handsome, middle-aged woman stood there; her light brown eyes were vaguely familiar, though in Damian’s nervousness he couldn’t think why. His hope of finding Casey through this place wasn’t high, yet it was the only chance he had. It was because he would find out today, one way or the other, that had him so nervous.