The stock saddle with the high pommel and the flat-topped horn took some getting used to. But the dun gelding Rhys had borrowed from Felicity Gamble had a smooth gait and an easy mouth. Half a mile from the ranch, Rhys had abandoned the posting style he was accustomed to and adapted to moving his body with the horse.
Even so, he would not have been mistaken for a cowboy, not in the close-fitting knee-high riding boots and snug buff-colored trousers topped by a superbly tailored black jacket. Had there been any doubt left, the black silk ascot Lucien had expertly tied inside his starched collar would have removed it.
Lucien, outfitted in a hammertail frock coat and bowler hat looked even more the odd fellow. Unaccustomed to riding, he had adjusted to neither horse nor saddle. Staying astride his mount had proved to be a struggle, made all the more difficult because of his lameness. After the first few minutes he had abandoned the stirrups due to the discomfort they gave him, and put all his concentration into gripping the leather-clad horn. As a result he bounced loosely around the worn seat of the saddle and would surely have fallen to the ground had not the curve of the cantle served as a buffer to his slipping and sliding. Thankfully, too, the old mare he rode was slow and patient with her inexperienced rider.
Patience, however, quickly deserted Lucien. “I tell you, Monsieur Rhys, I belong in the city, where there are cabs and drivers to be had. This place—” In a moment of despair he threw up his hands and nearly tilted himself off the horse. “This animal,” he said, abruptly seizing the horn and righting himself, “I cannot abide.”
“I should have insisted you stay behind,” Rhys said, realizing that somewhere along the journey from London to Wishbone, Arizona, Lucien had ceased being the preemptive caregiving servant and had become an anxious and apprehensive friend. That being the case, he felt duty bound to make a change in the association they had. “But now that we are here,” he said “and because I do not think you would undertake the return journey alone, I feel I must make amends for having imposed my troubles on you.”
“There is no imposition, monsieur.”
Rhys did not know how his words would be received but he felt compelled to speak his mind. The open country of Arizona, the great sweeps of desert and towering bare-faced mountains made a man aware he need only have the limits he chose for himself. Rhys had begun to question the ones he had, more often than not, chosen by default. Of more concern was the worry that he had chosen for Lucien, too. He did not know how, or even if, he might rectify what was amiss in his life, but he knew wholeheartedly that Lucien must have the chance to pick his own way. Here and now, he was convinced, was the place to begin. “I think it is only right that I dismiss you from your duties,” he announced.
Lucien paled. “You are dismissing me? Monsieur!” Lucien sputtered. “What am I to do?”
“I am dismissing you from service only,” Rhys explained. “You are free to stay with me if you wish, but as an equal, not as servant to his master.”
“Monsieur!”
“Lucien, I insist,” Rhys said. “Be your own man. You have the wit, find the will. Both of us know you are nearly as adept at the tables as I am. Find a game. You could make a decent living. Better yet, open an establishment of some kind. Here or elsewhere. Put your talents to use. I’ve no doubt you can do better for yourself than I have done for you.”
A few minutes later, having recovered from his shock, Lucien, who had begun to find the prospect of freedom intriguing, put a question to Rhys. “And you, monsieur, what will you do? Surely you do not wish to stay here longer than is necessary.”
Rhys smiled. Old habits held fast. “You forget yourself, Lucien,” he said. “I am Rhys to you now.”
The former servant looked uncertain then broke into a big grin. “As you wish,” he said.
“I stay as long as I must,” Rhys continued. “I mean to get what is mine.” He got a devilish gleam in his eye. Lucien had seen it when Rhys knew the table was rich and the players overrated. “And not to be toyed with in the process,” he added. The smile he gave then was off-center and Lucien knew he was thinking of Teddy Gamble. “I mean to return to London with my pockets full.” He straightened in the saddle as he spoke. “That dimwit who gave evidence against me was paid by someone. He might forget his lies for more gold. Whether he does or not, I am curious to know what act of mine has made an enemy who would take such pain to ruin me.” The smile was gone now. His eyes had grown shadowed, his expression grave. “I have had long nights to think on it,” he pronounced grimly. “What happened was planned long in advance. What’s more, Jenny knew why she was killed. She wanted to tell me but lacked the strength to say the words.”
“Then you did not mean it when you told Mademoiselle Gamble you might keep your shares of the stage line?”
A silence ensued as Rhys considered the question. He had not meant it when he said it, but, having put it to voice he had found the prospect of an entirely different life held some appeal, as did Teddy Gamble. Should he find the wagering high in the local saloons he might bankroll his defense in London solely with his winnings. After all, a stage company, if well run, would be worth more in the future than now. To Lucien he said, “My friend, when one is wishing there is the whole world at hand.”
***
An hour later the pair rode into town and attracted more than a few stares when they paused in the middle of the street to flip a coin. “There are two saloons, Lucien. One for you. One for me. Take your pick.”
Lucien looked about and decided the plainer front of the Brass Bell held more appeal for his simple tastes. “Heads,” Lucien called.
Rhys tossed the coin. “Heads,” he said. “The beginning of your lucky streak,” Rhys told him.
They left the horses at a hitching rail, agreeing to meet again at nightfall, the size of their winnings determining whether they would return to the ranch or find more comfortable lodgings in town. Rhys watched Lucien limp away, then, with what he swore was the last loan he would take from his former servant weighty in his pocket, turned down the board sidewalk toward the Diamond Saloon.
He did not get far.
“Mister! Delmar!” The summons came from the open doorway of an office that appeared to be a small and dark cubicle.
Hearing the clank of spurs and the stomp of boots coming his way, Rhys stopped and turned. The man who had spoken to him wore a badge on his chest. For one damnable minute Rhys wondered if he’d already been traced and was about to be arrested, but then remembered that the young woman on the stage had said her father was the law officer in Wishbone.
“Sheriff Blalock?” he ventured.
“Right. Been looking for you,” the man said. His face showed the strain of a demanding day. Len Blalock pushed back his hat, revealing a line of white skin on his forehead that the sun had failed to reach. “Come on in the office,” he said. “Want to say a few words to you.”
Still not entirely certain if he was to be commended or arrested, Rhys followed the sheriff. The room was larger than it had looked from the street, narrow up front and widening to a T in back where a pair of cells had been set into thick adobe walls. One was empty. The other housed the prisoner he was responsible for capturing. The man was stretched out on a bare cot and had crisscrossing strips of white bandage around his head. The look the man gave Rhys made it entirely clear what he would do if there were no bars between them.
Rhys turned his back to the man and sat near a cold pot-bellied stove close to the sheriff’s desk. “Is there something I can do for you, Sheriff Blalock?” he asked.
“You can let me thank you,” the sheriff replied solemnly. “My daughter tells me you were quite a hero during that holdup yesterday.”
“I did nothing,” Rhys insisted. “If the truth be told your daughter is the one who spared us whatever those bandits intended to do. She but spoke your name and they flew.”
The man in the cell snorted but Rhys attributed the sheriff’s sudden stiffening to a lawman’s alertness.
“She’s a brave girl,” Len Blalock said. “Foolish but brave. I sent her off to school in Philadelphia.” He gave a mirthless burst of laughter. “I wanted her to stay there, get a good start in life.”
“Perhaps she’ll go back,” Rhys offered, for clearly the man was grieved that his daughter had not valued the chance he’d given her.
“Maybe,” Len Blalock said. “Anyway, just wanted to let you know I owe you for helping Justine. You need anything in Wishbone you let me know,” he declared firmly. “By the way,” he added as Rhys was about to leave. “What is it that brings you to our town?”
“Business,” Rhys said without hesitation.
“Business? I had you figured for a gambling man.”
“My business started at the tables,” Rhys explained. “I met a man called Zack Gamble.”
“So Zack wound up clear out of the country,” Blalock said, knowing Adams would be glad to learn of the prodigal Gamble’s whereabouts. “How is the that old card stripper?”
“Dead,” Rhys said. “Which is why I come to be here.” He explained how Zack’s departure had left him holding marks and the unwanted shares of the Gamble Line and how, though it was an inconvenience of great magnitude, he had come to collect from the other partner.
“Well, I’ll be damned!” Len Blalock felt like a man reprieved. This was what Adams had been wanting, a way to get a death grip on the Gamble Line without depending on the likes of Luther and the Smith brothers. Men like those three were a risk because there was always one who would sell out if the price and the time were right. The Frenchman, though, would be an easy mark for a man like Adams. The proper persuasion and he could buy the man out. With what had once been Zack Gamble’s share of the company he’d have his hooks so deep into Teddy Gamble that she would be forced to sell out to him. Maybe, too, Adams would be grateful enough to reward him for finding out about Delmar. Maybe he would be able to take Justine and leave Wishbone for good.
All this he thought with some pangs of conscience. Teddy was a few years older than Justine, but the girls had been friends growing up. He’d had his differences with Ted Gamble but—
He swallowed his pride and his guilt one more time. He had to think of himself now, and of Justine. Nobody else mattered.