CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
A knock came at Della Stark’s hotel room door, and she called out, “Who is it?”
The reply was immediate. “Manuel Garcia and Will Graham, Miss Della. We’re kinda worried about you.”
“Maybe it’s time to head back home, Miss Della,” Graham said.
Della opened the door, and said, “Come in.”
Hats in hand, the two spurred drovers walked into the room, filling it. Both wore Colts and knew how to use them, especially the fast, accurate Garcia, who was ranked among some of the best and had been a top gun in the Mason County War back in ’75.
“Sit where you can,” Della said. “I want to ask you both a question.”
Graham sat on a chair by the window, but Garcia remained standing, his back to the door, and Della didn’t push the matter. She remained in the middle of the floor, a normally lively, vivacious girl who now seemed subdued, her blue eyes troubled. It seemed that she had some trouble framing her question, and Garcia prompted her. “You have something to ask us, Miss Della?” he said.
“Yes, and this is just between us three,” Della said.
“Sets just fine with me,” Graham said.
Garcia nodded. “Just between us.”
Della took a deep breath and then said, “Do you think my father is capable of murdering the man I love?”
The question came at the drovers like a cannonballing express, and for a moment they were stunned into silence. Garcia recovered first and said, “Would this man be a doctor?”
“Yes, Dr. Ben Bradford. He is here in Fredericksburg,” Della said.
Graham, younger and less considerate of Della’s feelings than Garcia, said, “The story going around is that the boss wants you to marry another man.”
“Yes, Don Miguel de Serra.”
Graham grinned. “Heck, he’s a Mex and he’s fat and ugly.”
“And very rich,” Della said.
“And you don’t want to marry him,” Garcia said.
“No, I don’t. I wish to marry Dr. Bradford . . . Ben.”
“So you think your father wants to get the doc out of the way by murdering him,” Garcia said.
“I refuse to think that, but others do,” Della said. “I was told the assassins are already here in town.”
Garcia said, “Miss Della, I’m a vaquero and I know cattle, but that’s not why your father hired me.” He tapped on his holstered Colt. “This gun is why.” His clenched jaw relaxed and he conjured up a smile. “If your father wanted the doctor dead, he would’ve sent me to kill him.”
“Then who?” Graham said. Both Della and Garcia looked at him with blank faces, and he said, “If the boss doesn’t want Doc Bradford dead, then who does?”
“I don’t know,” Della said. “Maybe another doctor who doesn’t like competition.”
“Another doctor would invite him in for a drink and put poison in his glass,” Graham said. “He wouldn’t hire assassins to kill him. You have to admit that it seems unlikely.”
“Can you think of anyone beside your pa who might want to do Dr. Bradford harm?” Garcia said.
“No,” Della said. “I can think of no one.”
“Hell, Miss Della—pardon my language—why don’t you just ask him?” Graham said.
“Ask who what?’ the girl said.
“Ask your father if he hired killers to murder your doctor friend. Ask him straight out, and if he says no, which I expect Mr. Stark will, beg his help to track down the real culprits.”
Graham was a top hand, but usually he didn’t have enough horse sense to spit downwind and he’d just given advice to a woman without a lot of sense, either. Garcia, sharper than them both put together, was hesitant.
“Miss Della, right now I don’t think you should tip your hand to anyone,” he said. “If Dr. Bradford’s killers are already here, then let’s get him out of town. As soon as it shows dark, we can put him in the surrey and head for Austin, where there’s a proper police force to protect him.”
“No,” Della said. “Will is right. I’ll lay my cards on the table and see what Father has to say. I know in my heart of hearts he’ll be horrified to learn that Ben is being stalked by killers. This is my chance to convince him that I really do love Ben and won’t marry Don Miguel . . . ever . . . ever.”
Garcia liked none of that speech. He knew he was talking out of turn as he said, “Miss Della, I think you’re making a big mistake. Gideon Stark is a harsh, severe man, and I don’t think love enters into his thinking.”
“He loves me, Manuel. There is no doubt of that,” Della said, frowning.
Garcia was in deep, and now he dug himself deeper. “Before anything else, let’s see to the doctor’s safety. Me and Will can stay here in Fredericksburg and give him all the protection he needs.”
“My father can give Ben all the protection he needs,” Della said. “I’ll see to it.”
Reluctantly, Garcia played his hole card, knowing it could cost him his job. “Miss Della, your father wanted a son, and your mother died trying to give him one.”
“And what’s that supposed to tell me?” Della said, her face flushed as though her anger was on a slow burn.
“I can tell you what Gideon told me. This was a couple of years ago when we were up on the Llano chasing after horse thieves. We’d camped on the south bank of the river, and we’d both had too much to drink and . . . maybe I shouldn’t tell you this.”
“Tell me,” Della said. “You started it, now finish it.”
“Well, Gideon told me . . . he told me that he blamed you for his wife’s death,” Garcia said. “He said if you’d been a boy child, they would never have risked trying for another. But they did, and Annie Stark died giving birth to a stillborn baby. It was a boy, and Gideon had planned to call him Daniel.” Garcia looked like a man about to slam a door behind him. “Miss Della, your father said that there were times when he hated you.” He watched Della’s stricken face and said, “Gideon was well in his cups. When a man is drunk, he’s likely to say things he doesn’t mean.”
Della was silent.
Graham coughed and looked out the window into the street, suddenly seeing something of great interest.
Downstairs, dishes clattered in the kitchen.
Della spoke.
“I was four years old when my mother died, and I was never told about the dead baby. But you’re so wrong about my father. The years have made him a kinder, gentler person, and when he speaks to me it’s in the most tender terms. I have no doubt that after my mother died, he felt a dislike for me, but that is all gone. We had a disagreement about my marrying Don Miguel, and he did warn me that I’d be locked in my room until I relented, but that never happened.” She touched her hair with her fingertips and said, almost dreamily, “You can’t set store in the ravings of a drunk man. My father loves me. I know it, and everyone else knows it.”
“Yes, Miss Della, I’m sure he does,” Garcia said.
“Have you any doubts?” Della said. “If you have, say them now.”
“None, no doubts at all,” Garcia said, surrendering, the lies coming easy to him now that the girl’s mind was made up.
“What about you, Will?” Della said.
The lanky cowboy grinned. “Mr. Stark is like a man with a spotted pup. Seen the boss lovin’ on his daughter with my own two eyes.”
Della nodded. “Good. Will, you’ll take me back to the ranch just as soon as the surrey is ready. Manuel, you will remain in Fredericksburg and make sure that Ben stays alive until my father gets here. Do you need some money?”
“I can use a few dollars’ advance on my wages to cover the hotel,” Garcia said.
Della opened her purse, removed some notes, and handed them to the vaquero.
“Keep Ben alive,” she said. “Kill anyone you have to, but make sure he’s unharmed.”
“I’ll do my best, Miss Della,” Garcia said.
“Do better than your best,” Della said. “There’s already a man being paid to guard Ben, but I don’t have much faith in him. He’s some kind of tramp.”
“Then I’ll put him out of a job,” Garcia said, attempting a smile.
“And there’s a woman, a Pinkerton agent staying here in the hotel,” Della said. “Her name is Augusta Addington, and if you need help or advice, you can go to her. But above all, rely on your own judgment and skill with a gun.”
“You can depend on me, Miss Della,” Garcia said.
“I know I can,” the girl said. “If I thought otherwise, as of just a few minutes ago you’d be no longer working for the Stark Cattle Company.”