Outlaw Wife

“You’re supposed to be in bed, goldang it.”

“I need some coffee—some real coffee, not the stuff you drugged me with this morning.”

“I was going to bring you something when I finished here.”

“Kind of you, John. But I think I’ve imposed on your hospitality enough.”

“Hog swill.”

Simon smiled and motioned to Porter Smith, the hotel’s only waiter, to bring him some coffee. “Are you two about ready to set out for Cheyenne?” he asked the marshal.

Torrance stabbed a piece of his well-done steak. “That’s what we were just discussing when you arrived, Grant.”

His tone warned Simon that something was amiss. “Is there a problem?”

“We’ve had word from the deputy over at Cat’s Butte. He says the remaining members of the Davis gang were seen staking out the road between here and Cheyenne.”

“You figure they’re going to try to free their boss?”

“As sure as a puppy knows how to bark.”

John’s round face was creased with worry. “You can’t ride out there to be ambushed, Marshal.”

Sneed was the only one at the table with whiskey rather than coffee. He lifted the tumbler and took a deep drink. “I wouldn’t mind meeting up with that crew,” he said, swiping his hand across his mouth.

“I don’t intend to be ambushed, John,” the marshal replied. “We’ll skirt around them—ride through the hills.”

“There’s some rough country,” the sheriff pointed out.

“I’d rather deal with rough country than that quartet of Davis’s. Jake Patton alone can drill a nickel at sixty paces. And he’s a mean son of a gun with his fists.”

“He’s none too gentle with his boots, either,” Simon added.

John shook his head. “I say you all wait here until they can send reinforcements. Call in some help from the army.”

The marshal pushed away his plate. “No. We’ll handle it. Go easy on that, Tom,” he said as his deputy drained his glass.

Simon and John shared a glance that mirrored each other’s doubt. “At least let me keep the girl here,” the sheriff said finally. “Davis is the one you really want to nail, and you’ll have a better chance without a female along.”

“When the female’s as tasty as that little cottontail, she’s no trouble at all,” Sneed said with a leer.

“Shut up, Tom,” Marshal Torrance barked. “You might have something there, John. It’s Seth Davis I want to see swinging. I don’t really give a damn about the daughter.”

“I can hold her until the Davis gang clears out of the territory. Then you can send someone to fetch her.”

The marshal considered for a moment. “All right,” he said, standing. “I’ll take you up on your offer. One less problem for me to worry about. C’mon, Sneed.”

The deputy rose unsteadily to his feet. John stood along with them, but Simon stayed sitting, letting comfort take precedence over courtesy.

“Do you need me to go open the cell for you?” John asked.

“No, finish your supper. We know where the keys are.” Torrance and John shook hands. “I’ll send word when I make arrangements for the girl.”

The two lawmen said goodbye and walked out of the restaurant, leaving John to settle back down in his chair. “So it looks like I have a real prisoner on my hands for a while.”

“I don’t know why you offered to keep her. She’ll be madder’n hell when they take her father away, and you’ll be the one she’ll take it out on.”

“We’ll be the ones,” John corrected.

“Uh-uh. I’m going home.”

“You’re not riding for two more days, remember?”

“If you’ll let me have another dose of that stuff you gave me this morning, I can just float home.” Porter came over to the table to fill their coffee cups, and Simon ordered a steak.

“Bloody,” he told the stocky old gentleman who had been waiting tables at the Buckhorn Inn as long as Simon could remember. “Tell Mrs. Harris to just pat the cow on its head and send it on in here.”

Porter chuckled and shuffled off into the kitchen.

John resumed his argument. “Just because you don’t feel the pain, doesn’t mean you’re mended. Do you want Cissy riding out to Saddle Ridge to give you a piece of her mind?”

“Not especially.”

“Then just forget about it. You and Miss Davis will be nice cozy roommates over at the office for the next couple of days.” One of John’s white eyebrows shot up. “Anyway, I didn’t notice you finding it a hardship to look at her.”

“Looking’s one thing. Listening’s another.”

“Listening?”

“Before I came over here she was trying to talk me into letting her and her pa go. She said I owed it to her because she saved my life.”

John gave a whistle. “I expect that could be a powerful argument for a softy like you, Simon.”

“I wasn’t tempted,” Simon said, not entirely sure he was telling the truth.

“Good lad. But it’ll be close quarters over the next two days. Do you think she can change your mind?”

“I may be soft when it comes to kids and old folks like you, John, but I have no charity in my heart for outlaws.”

“Not even pretty ones?”

Simon hesitated just enough to let a grin begin to light John’s face, then said firmly, “Not even pretty ones.”

Chapter Three (#ulink_f2ba025b-309b-5073-a43c-245fa0e7b7e4)

When John and Simon returned to the sheriff’s office, the pretty outlaw was clearly upset. The minute they opened the door she launched herself against the bars like a caged wildcat and said in an anguished voice, “You have no right to keep me here. I want to go with my father. He’s not well. He…he needs me.”

Her attractive features were strained and desperate and on closer perusal, Simon could see traces of tears on her cheeks. But she wasn’t crying now.