Fletcher's Pride Page 4

  “I’ll do whatever I can.”

  Bram and Camden stood, setting down their empty glasses. “Come on, lad. You’ve some decisions to make.”

  Chapter Four

  Carson City, Nevada

  Austin DeBell studied the cards in his hand, peeking over the top to gauge the expressions on the other men at the table. The cards were good. A winning hand, assuming he could draw in the others to increase his winnings.

  “You’ve got the damnedest luck, stranger.” A wiry man with a three day stubble and cigar hanging from his mouth eyed him from across the table. “Not sure I want to hand you any more money.” He groused a little more before throwing down his cards. Pulling his small pile of winnings toward him, the man stood. “See you around.” He eyed Austin as if he meant it as more than at the card table.

  A few more hands and the others at the table either grabbed a girl and headed upstairs or left the saloon. Austin didn’t mind. He’d accomplished what brought him to Carson City. Through casual, carefully worded questions, he’d learned what he needed and would ride out in the morning.

  Lifting the bottle, he topped off his drink, tossing it back in one smooth movement. His throat worked, the liquid burning its way down. The war ended over a year ago, taking with it the dreams he’d held of building a new, independent nation. Disillusioned and bone-tired, the ex-Confederate captain rode away from the devastation of Atlanta with no intention of ever returning.

  Movement next to him caught his attention. A woman of undeterminable age, her dark hair piled into a fancy twist, sat next to him, an empty glass in her hand.

  “Buy a girl a drink?” She nodded at the bottle before him.

  “Help yourself.” Austin’s gaze flickered over her as she filled her glass, setting it down before taking a sip.

  She leaned toward him, her voice lowering. “I hear you’re asking questions about a group of riders.”

  “Friends of mine.”

  Hearing his slight Southern accent, her brows rose, a corner of her mouth tipping up in skepticism. “Friends, huh? Hard to believe those ex-Union soldiers who rode through here would consider you a friend.” Lifting her glass, she took a small sip.

  Austin’s gaze narrowed, his respect for the woman increasing. “I’ve stopped questioning what I see. Dob Colbert and I met in Kansas. He asked me to ride along, but I had other priorities at the time.” He lifted a brow, hoping she read more into the gesture than it meant.

  “What changed?” Her tongue glided around the rim of the glass.

  “Time and money. I need more of each and Dob might be the man to help me find both.” He didn’t explain the money he’d get from bringing in the gang would provide him enough time to figure out what he wanted to do next in his life. “Do you know them?”

  Her gaze shot to the bar before returning to meet his. “Dob and his men rode through here about a month ago. I spent a little time with him.” She glanced up the stairs as further explanation. “They were on their way to Sacramento, but he also talked about a small town north. Conviction, I believe.” Finishing the whiskey, she picked up the bottle to fill her glass a second time.

  He didn’t care how much of the alcohol she drank. Her information was better than what he’d learned so far. “How many rode with him?”

  She shrugged. “Six, maybe seven. All real hard looking with short tempers. The sheriff hauled a couple to jail after they drew guns on a table of local ranch hands.” She cocked her head. “You sure these are the men you’re looking for?”

  Rubbing his chin, Austin’s upper lip curled. “Darlin’, those sound exactly like the men I’m looking for.”

  Settling her arms on the table, she propped her chin on a fisted hand. “Has what I told you been helpful?”

  Reaching into his pocket, Austin took out some bills, setting them on the table. Her eyes widened, a slow grin spreading across her face.

  “If you want to spend some time upstairs, I’ll consider it included.” She nodded at the bills.

  Swallowing the last of his whiskey, he pushed the bottle toward her. “Although I appreciate the offer, sweetheart, I’ve got other plans.” Standing, he didn’t say another word as he strolled to the door and walked out.

  Standing on the boardwalk of Nevada’s state capital, Austin pulled a tintype from a pocket, studying the faces. He’d bought it from a man in Kansas after the gang rode out. Seven men and a girl. Dob Colbert, Lew Quick, and Ross Sheehan were the men who’d offered him a place in their gang. They were the three he wanted. The three who matched faces and descriptions on the wanted posters he kept tucked in a pocket.

  Austin had learned more men had joined the gang and the girl no longer rode with them. He couldn’t help wondering what had happened to her.

  Thinking back, Austin kicked himself for not taking the offer. Then kicked himself again, remembering the fear on the girl’s face. He hoped to remedy both mistakes.

  Conviction

  Bay lay in bed, hands behind his head, the woman he’d taken to supper sleeping in the bedroom next to his. It was a sick game that he’d tired of long ago.

  He enjoyed the women’s company, respected them, and didn’t mind spending money for supper and the theater. They always ended up in the bedroom next to his, never in his bed. No matter how alluring, not one enticed him. The only woman who did slept a few houses away and would never grace his bed or be held in his arms again.

  Tonight had been particularly tiring. He’d paid for the actress to travel from San Francisco to visit him for two days. Bay had met her a month before on a trip to the large city on the Pacific, taking a chance she’d be a good companion. Instead, he found her to be narcissistic, able to talk about little except clothes, makeup, and the stage. She’d be leaving on tomorrow’s steamboat, and it couldn’t come soon enough.

  Tossing off the covers, Bay slipped into pants and a shirt. Taking the stairs to the first floor, he entered the study, heading straight to the decanter. Maybe a drink would help him rid his thoughts of Suzette, erase the image of the only woman he’d ever loved. A sardonic smile crossed his lips as he poured a drink. Whiskey hadn’t helped before. Bay hoped it would tonight.

  Maddy moaned, gripping her stomach while pulling her knees up to relieve the ache. Opening her eyes to slits, she winced at the bright sunlight streaming through the thin curtains hanging over her only window.

  Placing a hand to her mouth, she threw off the covers, jumping up to slide the bedpan from under the bed. Dropping to her knees, she bent over.

  “Morning sickness,” she spit out before losing the contents of her stomach.

  When the nausea passed, Maddy twisted so she could sit on the floor, her back resting against the bed. She wiped the moisture off her face with her nightgown, feeling a slight chill pass through her.

  “When will this end?” It was a silly question she’d asked herself every morning. So far, the answer remained elusive.

  A month had passed since she’d started at the hotel restaurant. Maddy loved the work and the people. The generous wage added to the savings in a jar hidden in a drawer. Soon, she’d have enough to buy the used crib she found at the back of a shop in Chinatown. It hadn’t been for sale, but the owner’s eyes sparkled when she’d asked about it. They’d agreed on a price, the man offering to deliver it to the boardinghouse once she earned enough to make the payment. Each day brought that moment closer and closer.

  Sucking in a breath, she blew it out before sliding the pan back under the bed. Pushing up, she settled a hand on her stomach, mouth twisting into a grim smile.

  Her biggest problem now wasn’t the morning sickness. Five more months. The roundness of her belly had increased enough for anyone who looked to know the cause. The fact she was pregnant and alone scared her, but not enough to regret keeping the baby. She’d never regret having Fletcher’s child.

  Splashing water on her face, she brushed her hair, twisting it on top of her head. Slipping into a blue cotton dress, she left her room, p
raying Mrs. Baker still had food left from breakfast.

  Stepping into the kitchen, she breathed a sigh of relief seeing her at the stove.

  Henrietta Baker glanced up at her approach. “I wondered where you were this morning, Miss Leigh.” Her gaze moved down, a brow raising. “I can make you eggs and toast. Will that be enough?”

  “That would be wonderful. Can I help with anything?”

  Henrietta let her gaze move over Maddy again, wrestling with a difficult decision. “Why don’t you pour us each a cup of coffee. You can eat in here.”

  A few minutes later, she set a plate of eggs and toast in front of her, sitting down next to her. Picking up the cup, Henrietta blew across the coffee before taking a sip. She waited long enough for Maddy to get a few bites of food in her stomach, then set down her cup.

  “How far along are you? I’m guessing about four months.”

  Maddy dropped her fork on the plate, hand shaking. Staring down, she did her best to control the dread at Henrietta’s question, surprised her landlord had noticed. No one else had detected the increased roundness.

  “Four months.” She stared at the food, her appetite vanishing.

  “You aren’t married, are you, dear?”

  Sucking in an unsteady breath, she shook her head, not looking up. “No, ma’am.”

  A few beats passed before Henrietta huffed. “I don’t allow pregnant, unmarried women in my boardinghouse. And I don’t allow children.”

  Maddy’s chest hurt, throat closing. She knew this could happen, hoping it wouldn’t. “How much time do I have before I must leave?”

  Lifting her cup, Henrietta took another sip, struggling with an answer. “Do you know who the father is?”

  Maddy’s head snapped up. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Her expression and voice hardened. “And he doesn’t want to take responsibility for the child?”

  Closing her eyes, she searched for the right answer, knowing there was just one. “He doesn’t know.”

  “Why not?” The incredulous tone didn’t surprise Maddy.

  She fought the moisture forming in her eyes. Lately, she’d been succumbing to tears more and more. It was frustrating to a woman who never allowed herself to cry or wallow in self-pity. Misery washed through her, wrapping around her heart, clouding her thoughts.

  Henrietta leaned toward her. “Miss Leigh?”

  Swiping at the tears, she sniffed. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Baker.” Starting to stand, she stopped when Henrietta placed a hand on her arm.

  “Sit down and finish eating. I’m assuming you’ve been losing too much of what you eat. You’ll need all the food you can keep down.”

  The tears started again as Maddy picked up her fork, her grip tight so it wouldn’t shake. “I’m not very hungry.”

  “Well, that’s my fault. I shouldn’t have said anything until you’d eaten everything on your plate.” The chair scraped against the floor as she stood. “I’m getting more coffee. You need to eat.”

  Scooping up a small amount of the eggs, Maddy chewed, all taste gone. Taking another bite, she swallowed it down with coffee. After a while, she gave up, setting down the fork.

  Henrietta picked up the plate, setting it in the sink before sitting back down. “Now, I want you to tell me all about the man who doesn’t know you’re carrying his baby.”

  Circle M

  Fletcher swung back into the saddle of the wild mustang, determined to stay on this time. He’d been thrown twice, and in his mind, that was two times too many.

  “Stay on, Fletch.” Bram stood on the last rail of the fence, his arms resting over the top slat.

  “You’ve got him, lad.” Camden watched from his spot by the gate.

  “How’s he doing?” Quinn asked, coming to stand next to his younger brother, Bram.

  He grinned. “Fourth one so far this morning.”

  Quinn stared into the corral. “Who lit a fire under the lad?”

  Bram didn’t answer. The reason was Fletcher’s to tell, and he doubted the explanation would come anytime soon.

  Fletcher stayed with the mustang as it quieted, not allowing himself to relax as he guided the horse around the corral. Several minutes passed, then a few more before he reined up, sliding to the ground.

  “Are you done now, lad?” Camden took the reins, holding the horse while Fletcher removed the saddle.

  Quinn clasped a hand on Fletcher’s shoulder. “Aunt Lorna sent me to bring you lads inside. She, Aunt Gail, and Emma have food ready.”

  “I’ll be coming in a few minutes.” Fletcher carried the saddle and bridle into the barn, needing a few minutes alone. For three weeks, he’d been struggling on what to do about Maddy, trying to make a decision about hiring a private investigator. Each day brought him closer to speaking with Sam again, giving him approval.

  Once she’d been found, he’d figure out what to do next. Fletcher no longer doubted how much he cared for Maddy. Having her in his bed wasn’t enough. He needed to discover if they could have more, if he could love her, make her a permanent part of his life.

  Soon, Fletcher would need to sit down with his da and ma, tell them about Maddy, and pray they’d accept his choice to see her again.

  Walking out of the barn, he brushed the dirt and straw from his clothes, took off his hat, and shook his head. Looking up, his brows furrowed at the sight of Bram’s brothers, plus Colin and Thane, riding up, their faces grim.

  “What’s wrong, lads?” Fletcher met them as they slid from their saddles.

  “We’re missing six horses. They were in the southern corral earlier. Now they’re gone.”

  Fletcher mumbled a curse. “I’ll saddle Domino.”

  Colin shook his head. “Nae. Let’s speak with Ewan and Ian first.”

  Fletcher looked back toward the southern corral. They’d built it less than four hundred yards from the MacLaren ranch houses, close enough they could see it from Ian’s porch.

  “They’re all inside.” Fletcher nodded toward Ewan’s house.

  Thane grabbed the reins of Colin’s horse. “You lads go inside and explain. I’ll wait here.”

  He didn’t wait long. Within minutes, most of the men hurried from the house, saddled their horses, and rode to the corral. Splitting up, they looked for tracks, regrouping when it became obvious the horses had been herded south toward another spread the MacLarens had purchased when Widow Evanston wanted to move to San Francisco.

  Approaching the ranch, Colin raised his hand for them to slow. Motioning for a group to ride to the left, another to the right, he rode straight ahead with a few men. Ten minutes later, they regrouped near the house, which had been the victim of a fire months before.

  “They aren’t here.” Bram barked out a curse, frustration and anger in his voice.

  Colin looked around, his jaw tightening. “We know someone opened the gate. Where would they go?”

  Fletcher shifted in the saddle, twisting to look in all directions. “They could be anywhere. Rustling six horses is easy. Hell, they could be partway to Sacramento or Nevada by now.”

  “Lads. You need to see this.” Quinn motioned for them to join him on the other side of the burnt down barn. “You’ll not be liking what I’ve found.”

  Riding toward him, they slowed when he pointed to a mound of dirt and rocks.

  “What is it, Quinn?” Colin slid from his horse, handing Thane the reins. Kicking aside the rocks and some of the dirt, he cursed. “Who is it?”

  Quinn shook his head, staring at the body as the others formed a circle around the mound of dirt. “We’ll be needing to dig the lad out. Maybe one of us will recognize who it is.”

  It took ten minutes to uncover the body. He lay face down, arms tucked under him, boots still on, and hat a foot away. The gunbelt still hung from his hips. Quinn and Colin turned him over.

  “Anyone recognize him?” Bram asked, staring down at the body.

  No one answered, all continuing to scan the prone form.

  Fletcher
leaned down, pushing aside the coat. “Ah hell.” When he moved aside, they all saw the badge. Kneeling beside him, Fletcher read the engraving. “U.S. Marshal.”

  Chapter Five

  Conviction

  Brodie MacLaren stalked out to the wagon holding the body of a U.S. Marshal and drew back the blanket. Staring at the body, studying the face, he shook his head before glancing at Fletcher and Quinn.

  “I’ve gotten nothing about a marshal missing in this area.” He blew out an angry breath. “I’ll send a telegram with a description to their headquarters. I’ll be needing you to take him to the undertaker when I’m done.”

  Fletcher stepped next to him, his gaze moving over the body. “We’ll be staying as long as you need us, lad. He was covered in dirt and rocks. I’d be thinking he’s been dead several days.”

  Brodie nodded. “I’m thinking the same.” He took a longer look before heading to the telegraph office. Stopping, he glanced over his shoulder at his brother. “Fletch, come with me. Quinn, do you mind staying with the wagon?”

  Quinn leaned against it. “Nae. You lads go ahead.”

  The Western Union office stood at the end of the street, just past the law office of Fielder and Donahue. Ira Greene stood behind the counter, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose. Looking up, he set down his pencil.

  “Sheriff, Fletch. What can I do for you?”

  Brodie stepped to the counter. “I’m needing to send a telegram to the Marshal’s office in San Francisco. We found a body. He’s wearing the badge of a U.S. Marshal. I’ll be waiting for a response.”

  Ira’s mouth opened, then closed before he grabbed his pad. Scribbling down the message, he sat down, punching the keys. “If you want, I can bring the reply to you as soon as it comes in, Sheriff.”

  Brodie shook his head. “Nae, Ira. This is important. I’ll be waiting.”