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  But was he watching all the fun? No, he was stuck here in the jail because they had two greenhorns who’d be hanging soon. It wasn’t like they’d be going anywhere.

  Bob and Horace—Ori—had been friends from way back, when they’d run away from the orphanage to work for Dr. Newhall’s Traveling Medicine Show. They’d make the miracle cure the Doc sold by soaking a rattlesnake’s head in a jug of kerosene, then straining it and adding moonshine along with some laudanum. Did the trick every time, Doc swore, and by the time the suckers realized it was more like to kill them than cure them, they were long gone. But Ori had learned how to draw in the crowds and persuade them this elixir would cure everything from a bellyache or catarrh of the lungs to failure of a man’s prick to rise to the occasion.

  Those were the days.

  Until after one of Doc’s patients got wise and called in the law. Bob and Ori took off, and Ori came up with a new scam: he’d point out how filled with sin a town was, but he’d help them clean it up. They’d clean up, all right, but it was cash money they’d help themselves to, and then they’d move on. Eventually they arrived here in Willow Crick, and in less than a month—as usual, with the help of the boys—Ori was running the town, while Bob, as sheriff, smoothed over any difficulties.

  Bob walked back into his office and put a pot of coffee on the cast iron stove.

  Ori was gonna owe him bigtime for making him miss all the fun.

  The door to the jail opened. “Sheriff McCloud?”

  “Yeah?” His tone was rough until he looked up. His lips curled in a grin. Or maybe not. One of the prettiest women he’d ever seen strolled in. “Yeah. What can I do for you, ma’am?”

  “I’m new to town, and I just had to meet you.” She crossed to him, an alluring sway to her hips. “I heard what a brave deed you did the other day, arresting those wicked men who’d murdered that poor man.”

  “Just doing my job, ma’am.” He raked his gaze over her. Her dress was like nothing the ladies of Willow Crick wore, not even the whores before they’d left town. It cinched in her waist so a man could fit his hands around it, and made her bosoms stand out as if they were begging for a man’s touch. And then there was that bustle thing at the rear. His mouth went dry and his fingers itched to explore what was under it.

  “You’re too modest.”

  “Huh? Oh, yeah.” He puffed out his chest. “And actually, they killed two men. Would’ve killed more if they’d had the chance, but I put a stop to it.”

  “Please, tell me all about it?”

  “Well, now.” It had been a long time since any of the women in town had looked twice at him, let alone wanted to talk to him. “There really isn’t much to tell. Three men came to town and went crazy, shooting up Main Street.”

  “How horrible!”

  “Yeah. And like I said, they killed a couple of men, including one of their own.”

  “And you arrested them? How brave!”

  He grinned at her. “Say, I just made a pot of coffee. Would you like a cup, sugar?” Maybe he’d be able to talk her into his bed. That would really make up for missing the fight at the livery stable.

  “I’d love a cup of coffee…with you, Sheriff,” she said breathlessly. She fluttered her lashes and peeked out from under them. “But please. My name is Georgiana.”

  “Well, then, it’s my pleasure, Georgiana.” He winked at her and turned to take a cup from the shelf. It wasn’t too clean, and he made sure his back was to her so she wouldn’t see him pull out the tail of his shirt to wipe it.

  Pain exploded at the back of his head, and he slumped to the floor. Even greater pain erupted in his jaw, and then everything went black.

  Chapter 48

  The one man George hadn’t shot stared down at the men he had, shock written on his face. This had to be Weatherford. As Charlie had said, he was dressed just like the alderman back home. Then he stared at George, his teeth gritted.

  “You…women don’t do that!”

  George fluttered his lashes and said in a voice dripping with saccharine, “This woman does when her man is threatened.”

  “Georgie!”

  Bart and Frank were beside him, so it wasn’t them calling his name. He glanced around to see Steve, thank God. His face was a little battered, his shirt was torn, and he was leading three horses: Bart’s Aramis, Frank’s Athos, and Fox’s Davy Crockett. And…

  What the?

  The kid George had left behind rode up on the big gray stallion, holding the banjo he’d carried on his back almost as if it were a rifle.

  “You planning on a hoedown?” Frank asked.

  The kid gave him a flat look and responded the same way he had to the brothers. “I don’t play.” He put the banjo back into its canvas case.

  Frank looked puzzled. George couldn’t figure it out either, but he had other things to think of. “Are you okay, Steve?”

  “Yeah, Georgie.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. Chris?”

  “Back at camp.” George turned his gaze back to Weatherford, who wasn’t looking well. “I understand you’ve been a busy boy.”

  “Where’s…where’s the sheriff?” Weatherford demanded. “If you’ve hurt him, I’ll see you hang, even if you are a woman.”

  “He’s fine. You can go see for yourself.” He jerked the barrel of the rifle toward the jail.

  “You’ll pay for this!”

  “The price won’t be as high as the one you’ll pay.” George aimed the rifle directly at the notch of Weatherford’s thighs.

  “You’re a horrible excuse for a woman!”

  “I am, aren’t I?” George could see Weatherford was taken aback by his easy agreement. “Next time, don’t underestimate a woman.”

  Weatherford swallowed heavily and turned even paler when George cocked the rifle. He hurried up onto the wooden walk and almost bolted into the building.

  “You’ll take care of him, Frank?”

  “You bet, Georgie.” Frank held up a key ring and shook it, setting the keys to jingling. He went into the jail and closed the door behind him.

  “Where’s Fox?” George asked Bart.

  “From what they said, his body is in the ice house until they can figure what to do with it.” Bart looked sad.

  Albert Fox had been a greenhorn who’d have needed a lot of help getting his farm started, but he’d been a good man.

  “I’ll go get him.” Bart went to Steve and took the reins of Fox’s horse. “Then I’ll fetch Salida.”

  “Thanks, Bart.” George watched as he mounted Davy Crockett and rode down the street. They’d come so close to losing each other…He caught the kid staring. “Bart and I have only been married a short time.”

  Steve chuckled. “Newlyweds.” He glanced at the kid, and George was surprised to see how fond his expression was. Of course Steve deserved to be happy, but how could they have gotten so friendly so quickly?

  He had no answer for that, so he turned to something else.

  “I’m sorry I had to take your horse,” he told the kid.

  “I would have given you the gray or Sorrowful.”

  “Sorrowful?”

  “The pinto.” He pointed to the gelding that stood ground tied at the other end of the street.

  “Yeah, I reckon he is kind of sad-looking. The thing was, I had to get back faster than they could have gone. Ezra and Eli pushed them hard.”

  “I could see that from the marks they left on their horses’ hides.”

  George frowned. He’d have been willing to shoot those two sons of bitches just for what they’d done to their horses.

  “I was afraid they’d killed Bart,” he went on to explain. “I’m glad you shot them.” He crossed to where the kid sat the gray and held out his hand. “Thank you.”

  “It was my pleasure, ma’am.” The kid removed his hat and shook George’s hand. “I’ve run into the brothers before.”

  “Georgie, this is Sharps Browne,” Steve said. “You’v
e heard me mention him.”

  “The kid from Sharpsville? Well, it is a pleasure to meet a genuine hero.” And now he understood how they could like each other so quickly.

  Sharps put his hat back on his head, but not before George saw the color in his cheeks. “Ah, Cap…”

  “He never saw himself as that,” Steve said. “Even though it earned him his first promotion.” He smiled when the kid blushed an ever darker red. “Sharps, this is Mrs. Georgiana Hall. I bought Salida from h-her.”

  “Salida was yours? Then that was why she wouldn’t come back when I whistled for her.”

  “Yes. You see, I raised her from a foal after my papa gave her to me for Christmas.”

  The sound of hoofbeats had them all tensing and looking around, but it was Bart coming around the side of the building. He rode Salida and led Davy Crockett with Fox’s body fastened to the saddle.

  “We’ve got to get Al buried soon, Georgie.”

  George nodded. “Bart, this is Sharps Browne. Steve talked about him.” He turned to Sharps. “This is my husband, Bart Hall.”

  Sharps touched the brim of his hat. “Hall.”

  “Browne.” Bart handed Davy Crockett’s reins to Steve and dismounted.

  The gray tried to sidle closer to Salida, but Sharps tightened his grip on the reins and patted the stallion’s neck to quiet him. The gray’s nostrils flared, but he settled down.

  “Good boy, Twilight,” Sharps murmured. He met George’s gaze. “I reckon you should take back your mare.”

  “Thank you. I don’t have the money to pay you back for her—”

  “Not necessary, ma’am. She was a gift. But you can talk to the captain about it.” He glanced at Steve, who smiled and gave a small nod. “I would like my saddlebags and my rifle?”

  “Sure.” George returned his rifle. “You’re a good man.”

  “Pardon me, ma’am?”

  “You had grain in your saddlebag, as well as equipment to care for your horse. I’d hate to think what Ezra and Eli had in their saddlebags.”

  “Just things for themselves, although I couldn’t figure why Eli was packing a red silk dress.”

  “Maybe it was his?” Bart suggested, his expression innocent.

  George poked his shoulder, and Bart pulled him into a hug.

  “Let me joke, hummingbird,” he murmured. “I was so certain I’d lost you.”

  “Never.” Ignoring their audience, George tucked his head under Bart’s chin, then kissed the side of his neck before stepping out of his embrace.

  He went to Salida, and the mare turned her head and nibbled on his shoulder.

  “Welcome home, querida. I’ve missed you.” He rubbed the star on Salida’s forehead, then took the saddlebags and brought them to Sharps.

  “Are we ready to head out, Georgie?” Steve asked.

  “As soon as Frank’s done.” George looked around. “Why hasn’t anyone turned up to see what all the shooting was about?”

  “Hell if I know.”

  “Cap!” Sharps looked shocked. “There’s a lady present!”

  “Who shot three men to kingdom come,” Steve muttered, but he made himself appear abashed. “Sorry, Georgie.”

  George turned his head to hide a grin, but Bart made no effort to conceal his amusement.

  Steve held out Aramis’s reins, and Bart took them and mounted. He’d become a competent rider on their journey to the valley they planned to call home.

  “Frank.” Bart raised his voice. “Get a move on.”

  Frank came out of the jail, carrying three rifles and a holster that held two revolvers. He handed a rifle and the holster to Steve, then slid the second rifle into the scabbard of Davy Crockett’s saddle. He paused to study Sharps. “I’m Frank Thompson.”

  “Sharps Browne.”

  “Pleased to meet you.”

  Sharps nodded but didn’t say anything.

  “Is Weatherford locked up tight?” George asked Frank as Steve handed him Athos’s reins.

  “Yeah, in the cell next to the sheriff. And the door to the back room is locked too.” Frank grinned and displayed the ring with the keys on it. “They won’t be going anywhere soon.” He pulled the door closed behind him, locked it, and dropped the keys into a rain barrel filled with scummy water that stood at a corner of the building. “They’ll have to break down both doors and take the cell doors off by the hinges.”

  “You always did have the brains.”

  Frank removed his hat and bowed.

  “Mount up. We have to get out of here before someone does show up.”

  “You’re coming too, Sharps,” Steve said.

  “I am?” The kid looked at him wide-eyed.

  “You bet your boots. It’s been too long, and I’m not losing track of you again.”

  “Okay, Captain.” Sharps looked as if he’d been handed the moon.

  “You called me Steve once.” And Steve smiled.

  So that was the way it was. George swallowed his own smile. They’d stopped at a few towns on their trip to the Dakota Territory and met plenty of people along the way, and not once had Steve looked at anyone the way he was looking at Sharps.

  “Okay, Steve.”

  George reached for Bart’s hand, and brought it to his mouth to brush a kiss across his knuckles.

  “Hummingbird?”

  “Let’s get back to the wagons. I don’t know why those shots didn’t draw an audience, and I don’t want to wait around here to find out.”

  “Good idea. Besides, they’re starting to attract flies.” He nodded toward the bodies in the street.

  George looked away and nudged Salida’s sides with his high heeled shoes. He’d be so glad when he didn’t have to wear women’s clothes anymore.

  “How long till we reach your valley?”

  “Our valley, querido. Three or four weeks, I reckon.” He frowned when Bart groaned. “What’s wrong? Did that bastard hurt you? Dammit, I should have stomped on his hand like I did Lewis St. Claire and his bastard father.”

  “No, no. I was just thinking…it’s going to be that long before we can make love again.”

  “I reckon we can find a remedy for that.”

  “How? We’ve got to make tracks out of here.”

  “Trust me, Bart. I’ll find a way.”

  Bart gazed at him with so much love in his eyes…That was the way it was for him and Bart too.

  Chapter 49

  George was relieved to be back in camp. He supposed he should be devastated to have killed those three men, but Bart, Frank, and Steve had been threatened, and Mr. Fox was dead. George felt nothing but fierce satisfaction.

  Noelle, Charlie, and Thomas ran to him, crying in relief, even though they’d seen him hours earlier.

  “Didn’t you think I could take care of those varmints?”

  “Y-yes.” Noelle dried her eyes on her sleeve. “But…”

  “You should have let us go help you.” Charlie frowned and scrubbed the tears from her cheeks. “I’m not some helpless girl.”

  “No, you’re not. I apologize, and the next time this happens, I’ll make sure you come with us.”

  “What do you mean, the next time?” Bart came up behind George and slid an arm around his waist. “There had better not be a next time. My heart couldn’t stand it.”

  “Just a figure of speech, querido.” But frankly, George’s heart couldn’t stand it either. Until he’d returned to camp and heard the story from Charlie, he hadn’t known if Bart was dead or alive. George pulled Bart into his arms, held him tightly, and rubbed his cheek on Bart’s shoulder. “If anything happened to you…” He drew in a breath and turned to his sisters and little brother. “But we’re all back, and we’re all okay.”

  “Is Frank really okay?” Noelle asked.

  “He is, but you can go ask him yourself.”

  She ran to Frank, and he caught her up and whispered in her ear, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on.

  George exchanged a
glance with Bart. “She really cares for Frank.”

  “I reckon she does. And he cares for her.”

  Steve had been riding Bella around the area he’d chosen for the wagons. Now he came up to them.

  “You’re looking a little battered, Steve,” Bart said.

  Steve grinned, then winced when the cut on his lip pulled. “I’m fine. Fox, though…we’d better get him buried. Over there, I thought.” He pointed out a spot in a grove of trees that wouldn’t be obvious.

  George and Mama had often taken the girls to the cemetery of the Beloved Apostle, taking a picnic lunch and spending the afternoon with Papa. It was sad that Mrs. Fox and her children would never be able to lay flowers on Mr. Fox’s grave come Sundays in the spring, but they had to bury him now. They didn’t know who’d be coming after them or when.

  Bart and Frank picked up a couple of shovels, paced off the spot, and began digging.

  “Sharps, would you mind lending a hand?”

  Before Sharps could respond, Mrs. Fox ran to the brown horse and embraced her husband’s body. “Albert! Albert!” She stroked his hair and began weeping hysterically.

  George, in his guise as a woman, was about to cross to Mrs. Fox and offer her comfort, but the kid stepped forward. He didn’t embrace her, just spoke quietly and took his bandanna from around his neck and dried her cheeks. Mrs. Fox threw her arms around him and wept down his front.

  George saw the way Steve watched them, as if it had abruptly occurred to him he’d lost something precious, and George wondered if he’d misread Steve’s expression earlier when he’d looked at Sharps. Had George, being so happy and wanting everyone else to be happy, mistaken friendship for something deeper? How could he have missed that Steve had developed a fondness for Mrs. Fox? Of course Steve would never have acted on it while her husband was alive—he was an honorable man—but now it seemed his chance with the widow had slipped through his fingers.

  Steve joined Bart and Frank, took up a pickaxe, and set to work loosening the ground.

  “Cap?” Sharps brought their rifles so they would have them handy in case they had visitors. He had the banjo case slung across his back.