Lady Outlaw Page 13

  With nothing to do except wait, she gnawed on her thumbnail, her stomach churning with nerves. The nervous action reminded her of all the times Caleb had noticed it and she lowered her hand to her side. She didn’t want to think about Caleb now, not in the middle of a saloon about to take money from thugs.

  To clear her mind, she reached into her purse for her pistol. She checked her gun again, even though she’d loaded it before leaving home.

  The sound of footsteps at the top of the stairs made her press against the wall. Holding her breath, Jennie trained her gaze on the last few steps. High-pitched giggles and the murmur of male voices moved closer.

  At last, she saw them. The tall redhead had his arm draped around the shoulders of the dark-eyed girl and the bearded man with the scar clasped the waist of the blonde.

  “Why don’t we buy you ladies a drink?” the taller one said.

  As the group walked to the bar, Jennie slipped out of the shadows. She put her gun back into the purse dangling from her wrist. She forced her feet to take slow, measured steps up the stairs, so as not to draw attention. When she reached the upstairs hall, she allowed herself a long, full breath at having made it this far.

  She counted the doors as she walked, stopping in front of the third one. She turned the knob and found it locked. Expecting as much, she knelt on the worn carpet and removed a hairpin from inside her hat. Like she’d learned, she stuck the makeshift key into the lock and jiggled it until she heard a soft click. She turned the handle and the door opened.

  Smiling at the relative ease of it all, Jennie rose to her feet and walked into the room. The sound of snoring brought her footsteps to a halt and made her heart leap painfully in panic. Nathan had told her there would only be two robbers. Did she have the wrong room?

  She leaned out the doorway and counted the doors off the main hallway. She had the right room. But who’s inside? She hesitated, unsure whether to proceed or leave, until the memory of Mr. Dixon’s notice with the ugly word foreclosure on top entered her mind. I’m not giving up yet.

  Squaring her shoulders, Jennie crept back through the open door. She shut it softly behind her. The room was modestly furnished with a dresser, a wash basin, a table and chairs and a bed.

  A large man lay facedown across the bed, his massive back rising with deep snores, his hand still gripping a bottle. Two more bottles and several dirty glasses sat on the table. The stench of alcohol hung in the stale air.

  Jennie made a slow canvas around the room, searching for the bag of money and keeping her steps mere whispers against the floor. The man on the bed continued his drunken slumber. She found two saddlebags dumped into one corner, but neither of them held the cash.

  Frowning, she set the bags back into place and surveyed her surroundings once more. Nothing appeared odd or out of place except a lumpy blanket wadded up beside the man’s feet. She tiptoed forward and knelt at the foot of the bed. Lifting a corner of the blanket, she pushed her hand under the fabric. Her fingers touched something smooth and hard—a bag.

  Squelching the urge to laugh, Jennie inched the bag toward her. A muffled groan made her freeze, her hand caught beneath the blanket. The bed shook as the man shifted his weight. Once more the room filled with the sound of heavy breathing.

  Jennie waited another half minute before resuming her task. At last the bag bumped softly against the footboard. In one quick movement, she lifted the edge of the blanket and pulled the bag onto the floor. She untwisted the metal clasp and peered inside. Neat stacks of cash brought a smile to her face.

  Jennie stowed her purse and gun inside the bag before taking it with her to the door. She needed to hurry; it had taken her more time than she’d intended to find the money.

  With a last look at the sleeping bandit, she walked out the door and closed it. She headed down the hall, hoping to slip out the saloon’s main doors unnoticed, but a short man blocked the way to the stairs. She stopped, and their eyes met.

  “I know you.” She pointed an accusing finger at him. “You’re one of the cowboys who stole my cattle for Mr. King. You were in Beaver the other week. Have you been following me?”

  She knew the answer even before his face blanched.

  “Why are you here?” She took a defensive step forward, the money and the bandits momentarily forgotten in the wake of her anger.

  Frowning, the cowhand hurried down the stairs, plowing into the tall redhead and the scarred dark-haired man coming up. Too late, Jennie realized her time had run out. She spun around, away from the bandits, searching for some way to escape.

  “Whataya got there, missy?” one of them asked.

  Jennie ignored him and sprinted toward the closest room. She prayed it wasn’t locked. She grabbed the knob and pushed against the door, throwing a glance at the men coming after her.

  “Hey, that’s our money,” the man with the scar on his face said.

  “It’s the little imp who’s been stealing everybody’s dough,” the tall one replied as Jennie bolted into the room and slammed the door behind her.

  Twisting the lock into place, Jennie frantically searched the empty apartment for a way to escape. There was only one choice.

  She crossed to the window, listening to the sound of the men’s boots smacking the floor outside the door. Soon they were pounding their fists against the wood. Shouted profanities and threats seeped into the room from the hallway.

  Visibly shaking, Jennie pushed up the window and stuck out her head. Crates of empty bottles and several old barrels were scattered along the outer wall, about ten feet below. She could probably jump and survive.

  Realizing the pounding had ceased, Jennie pulled back inside the room and stared at the door. Had they given up? The blast of a bullet through the door and into the nearby dresser told her otherwise. She considered firing back with her pistol, but that might end her chance for escape.

  She tossed the money bag out the window and crawled through the opening. Clinging to the casing with both hands, Jennie tried to determine the best position to drop.

  Another shot fired inside the room. Even if the men didn’t break the door soon, they’d be racing down the stairs and around the building to get her before long. Shutting her eyes, Jennie let go.

  For a brief moment, she felt the strange panic of free-falling until she crumpled to the dirt below. The impact knocked the wind from her, forcing her to lie still until she could breathe again. From above came the sound of the bandits crashing into the room.

  Come on. Get up. Thirty feet away, Jennie spied an alley between the saloon and the next building.

  She grabbed the bag and ran as hard as she could toward the alley. Twenty more feet.

  A shout shattered the air behind her. “Don’t let her get away!”

  Ten more feet.

  A gun exploded behind her.

  Five more feet.

  She stumbled on a bottle but righted herself. Then something hot and piercing bit through the side of her shoulder. Gasping at the pain, Jennie hurried into the alley and slumped to the ground. Pricks of light danced before her eyes. She reached up and gingerly touched her arm. When she let go, blood covered her fingers.

  “This isn’t happening,” she said with a moan. She pressed a fist to her forehead, hoping to clear the haze filling her brain. She had to get out of the alley and out of Fillmore, fast.

  Using a barrel as leverage, Jennie climbed to her feet. The men would expect her to exit the alley near the front of the saloon. She’d have to make her escape elsewhere.

  She held the money bag with her good arm as she searched along the back side of the next building for a suitable place to hide. At last she spied the rear entrance of a livery stable.

  Sucking air between clenched teeth, she reached the outer door, but it was locked. Jennie braced herself against the wall and removed another hairpin. After some fiddling, the padlock fell open on the ground.

  She pushed her way inside and shut the door. She could make out the odd shapes of
half a dozen carriages and buggies and heard the restless shifting of the horses in their stalls.

  Jennie hauled herself into the bed of the nearest buggy. She set her bag between her feet and removed her jacket, pressing it against her wound to slow the bleeding. Her near escape and throbbing arm brought the dizzy feeling back, stronger this time. She rested her head against the cool leather seat and gratefully passed out.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jennie forced open her eyes and blinked at the strange shadows around her. Why was she lying in a buggy indoors? Confused, she sat up. Her left arm throbbed. She stared down at the bloody jacket next to her on the seat and remembrance flooded her aching head. The stage bandits shooting at her from the second-story room. The bullet grazing her arm. The escape into the livery stable.

  She pressed her back against the seat, her muscles tensing as she waited for someone to materialize beside the buggy and snatch the money. No one appeared, though.

  Careful to put little strain on her injured arm, she climbed out of the buggy and picked up the money bag. She had to get out of Fillmore—now.

  Enough moonlight came through the high windows that she was able to locate the horse tack in one corner of the livery. Gathering what she needed, she walked down the line of horse stalls, assessing each animal. She needed a strong horse, one that could get her to Cove Fort and then to Beaver as fast as possible. Once there she’d make arrangements for returning the horse.

  Jennie opted for a black thoroughbred mare about sixteen hands tall that stood alert and awake in its stall. Sliding her hand along the horse’s nose, she let the animal nuzzle her to get used to her smell and presence before she entered the stall. She saddled the horse and tucked the cash, her purse and pistol into a saddlebag she’d found with the tack. After hiding the empty money bag beneath the straw in a corner of the stall, she looped the reins around her good hand. The horse whinnied softly as Jennie led her out of the livery.

  Outside, she used a broken crate to hoist herself into the saddle and tied herself to the saddle horn, in case she fainted. A wave of nausea from jostling her wound made her bend over the side of the horse and retch on the ground.

  Jennie drew a shaky hand over her mouth. She needed medical help and soon, but first she wanted to be as far away from Fillmore and the bandits as she could. Once she reached Cove Fort, she’d only be a day’s ride from home.

  She held the horse to a trot, hoping to avoid any undue attention, as they rode down the quiet street. Most of the windows still had lamps shining in them, which told Jennie that she hadn’t been unconscious for too long.

  A quarter mile outside of the city, she pushed the mare into a full gallop. The moon disappeared at intervals as the storm clouds moved across the evening sky. Jennie hoped the dark night and the horse’s black color would keep her from becoming a target for other thugs or Indians.

  The steady movement of the horse beneath her and the unrelenting pain in her arm lulled Jennie into a state of semi-wakefulness. Ahead of her, she could see the faces of the thieves she’d robbed. They watched her with hard, ugly eyes, their lips pulled back in angry sneers.

  Knowing she was half dreaming, Jennie tried to force the images from her mind, but another rose unbidden. The blond hair, the firm jaw, the handsome features she’d grown to know so well. Unlike the others, Caleb regarded her with tenderness as he had two nights before while they were dancing. But too quickly his expression changed to one of pain and anger.

  Jennie buried her head in the horse’s mane and squeezed her eyes shut against the apparition. He doesn’t despise me now, but he will if he ever finds out what I’ve done. How would she explain her gunshot wound to Caleb and her family?

  “Can’t I have the ranch and Caleb, too?” she asked the heavens. The rumble of distant thunder was her only reply, and yet, the answer pounded in her ears as if someone had spoken it aloud.

  She couldn’t hope to save the ranch this way and expect to win Caleb’s affection. Sooner or later she’d have to make a choice, between this man she realized she loved and the land she’d fought—honorably or not—to save.

  Moaning as much from the pain in her mind as the pain in her arm, Jennie allowed the blackness to overcome her senses again. Occasionally she startled awake when the mare slowed her step. Jennie would search for water and let the horse rest and drink, checking to make certain they were headed in the right direction, before urging the animal into a canter again and drifting back into unconsciousness.

  The pictures in her dreams ran together like the images in the kaleidoscope her father had brought home years ago. Happy pictures of the family before her mother had left, meeting Caleb in the store, kissing him out on the range. Then the vision would whirl and change into the frightening imageries of her other robberies and Mr. Dixon shoving the foreclosure notice at her again and again.

  She awoke, cold with sweat, when a crash of thunder rolled above. The horse responded with a nervous whinny. Rain began to fall, and a flash of lightning illuminated the landscape. In the sudden light, Jennie spotted the fort’s sturdy stone walls half a mile away.

  By the time Jennie reached the massive door, the rain was pummeling the ground in large, angry drops. She slid off the horse and landed in a heap in the mud. Her legs didn’t want to move. She half crawled the few feet to the fort’s west entrance and pounded a fist against the wood.

  “Open up,” she cried as loud as she could. “Please, open up.”

  Only the sounds of rain and thunder pulsed in her ears.

  “Please,” she repeated. She leaned her forehead against the door, giving in to the tears building behind her eyes.

  “Who’s there?” someone finally called out.

  Jennie choked back a sob of relief. “My name is Jennie Jones. I was here yesterday with the northbound stage. I’ve been attacked and I need some help.”

  The door jerked opened and a man hurried out, a lantern held high in his hand. “Let’s get you and your horse inside, Miss Jones.”

  * * *

  Warm sunlight shone on her face, and the smell of fried corn cakes and ham filled her nose. She’d overslept. Jennie opened her eyes and stared in panic at the door. Had the bandits come for her? Had Mr. King’s cowhand followed her to the fort?

  A knock at the door sent her heart racing. Were they here for her? She sat up, her injured arm protesting the movement, and searched the room for her gun. Then she remembered she’d put the pistol in the saddlebag.

  Before she could scramble out of bed, a woman with a kind smile poked her head into the room. “You’re awake.”

  Jennie released her held breath in relief. “Yes, come in.” She recognized the woman as the fort owner’s wife, Adelaide, who Jennie had seen before on her trips to and from Fillmore. The woman had bandaged Jennie’s arm upon her arrival and given her a nightgown to wear. “What time is it?”

  “About eleven o’clock. I’m afraid you missed breakfast, but there are some leftovers. Are you hungry?”

  “A little.” Jennie’s stomach rumbled, making them both laugh. “Maybe more than a little.”

  Adelaide approached the bed and set a folded piece of calico cloth next to Jennie on the quilt. “I thought you could use a new dress to replace your other one. I believe we’re about the same height.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I’m already indebted to you.”

  She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “No trouble.” She leaned in as if imparting a secret. “Would it ease your mind, if you knew the dress has never been one of my favorites?”

  Jennie gave a soft laugh. “That does make it easier.”

  “Good.” She pointed at Jennie’s left arm. “May I rewrap that for you?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  Adelaide gathered some supplies from the bureau and sat on the edge of the bed. Jennie pushed the nightgown over her shoulder and watched as Adelaide gently removed the bandage.

  “The bleeding’s stopped.”

  “It actual
ly feels better this morning,” Jennie said, grateful she wouldn’t sustain any permanent damage, beyond a scar.

  Adelaide rewrapped her arm and stood. “How did you get such a wound in the first place?”

  Biting her lip, Jennie mentally scrambled for a simple explanation. “A saloon brawl.”

  It’s half true, she told herself, her body stiffening as she waited for Adelaide’s judgment. What was she doing in a saloon anyway? she could imagine this proper woman thinking. But Adelaide’s green eyes shone with compassion.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. The good news is the wound isn’t too deep, and I think your arm will heal quickly.” She smiled. “Would you like some help getting up?”

  “I can manage.”

  Adelaide bent and patted her hand in a way that reminded Jennie of her grandmother. A sudden longing to be home brought the sting of tears to Jennie’s eyes. No matter the befuddled mess she’d made of things, she wanted to see Will and Grandma Jones. And Caleb.

  “Do you remember where to find the kitchen?” Adelaide asked, moving to the door.

  Jennie nodded. “Um...Adelaide...has anyone come asking for me?” She bit her lip, fearful of the answer, but the woman shook her head.

  “We haven’t had any new travelers since you came in early this morning.”

  Relieved, Jennie gave her a genuine smile. She waited until Adelaide shut the door before she swung her legs over the side of the bed to get dressed. Her sore arm made putting on the borrowed long-sleeved gown more difficult than she’d anticipated. When Jennie finally had all the buttons done up and her shoes laced, her breath came quicker and her arm ached worse.

  Running her fingers through her hair, Jennie stepped to the chair where her hat and saddlebag waited. She opened the bag with the money and started to recount the number of bundles when a wave of guilt washed over her. The fort owners had been more than gracious to her; they wouldn’t steal her money. Why did she always feel suspicious of others?