Chapter Twelve

“Don’t undress.”

Lettie glanced up at Hank Oliver in surprise. He had been acting strangely all evening, and on the way over to her house from the saloon he had continually kept looking back over his shoulder as if he suspected someone of following them. Who that someone might have been, Lettie had no idea. The Kid wasn’t even in town. Now Oliver was standing by her window, peeking out the curtain, and he didn’t want her to take her clothes off. The first prickle of unease crawled up her neck.

“What’s going on?” she demanded, not certain she really wanted to know and more than certain she didn’t want to be involved. Only a few days had passed since Oliver had told her about his “partnership” with Statler, and she hadn’t even had a chance to tell the Kid about it. Now something else was brewing.

Oliver did not answer her, though. Instead he said, “There he is,” and moved to the door. He opened it quickly and another man stepped inside.

Lettie frowned, not recognizing the newcomer. The visitor was a spindly scarecrow of a man who walked slightly bent over. His clothes were of good quality but considerably worn and his boots were down at the heel. His restless eyes glanced around the room, as if checking for intruders, and then those eyes lighted on Lettie. That was when she knew him.

“Statler!” she breathed, hardly daring to believe the change in him. He had lost at least thirty pounds since she had last seen him, and he had experienced a lot of pain, if the new lines in his face were any indication. One thing that hadn’t changed were his eyes, and Lettie shivered with apprehension as she looked into them.

Statler’s mouth twisted into a parody of a smile. “Lettie,” he acknowledged, “I’m surprised you recognized me.”

“Oh, I knew you right away,” she lied, forcing a pleasant smile in return. There was no sense in reminding him how badly he looked. He must be all too aware of his appearance, and Lettie knew he would be remembering who was responsible, too. “I’m glad to see you’re still alive. I’d heard you were,” she added quickly, “but I was afraid it was just rumors.”

“I’m alive all right, just barely,” he confirmed bitterly, “and no thanks to Cole Elliot. I heard he thought he’d pulled my cork, but it takes more than a two-bit gunslinger to get rid of Will Statler.” He laughed then, an unpleasant sound that made Lettie shudder.

“Sit down, Will,” Hank invited, indicating the one easy chair in the room.

Statler crossed to it slowly, moving carefully like an old man might. Lettie wondered fleetingly if he were still in pain but thought it unwise to ask. Instead she said, “I’ll make some coffee.”

“Put something stronger in mine,” Statler ordered, sinking into the chair.

As Lettie went over to the stove to start the coffee, Hank pulled out a straight-backed chair from Lettie’s table and sat down in front of Statler. “Have you figured out a plan, yet?” he asked with almost boyish eagerness. Lettie thought he sounded as if they were planning a picnic instead of what she guessed would be murder.

Lettie had her back to them, but she could imagine Statler tossing a questioning look her way.

“It’s all right to talk in front of Lettie,” Oliver assured him. “She hates that bunch as much as we do.”

“Do you, Lettie?” Statler inquired with elaborate casualness.

Lettie clenched her hands so they would not shake and took a deep breath. “Of course,” she replied with what she hoped was convincing assurance. She did not turn around.

“Well, then,” Statler murmured, “here’s what we’re going to do.” He began to outline the strategy of the attack on Cole Elliot and his men. The plan was remarkably simple, Lettie realized. They would wait until the spring roundup began in a few weeks, and then, one night while most of the men were sound asleep and not expecting any trouble, Statler’s men would attack. Since their object this time was not to steal the cattle but merely to wipe out Elliot and his crew, they would strike early in the roundup so the cowboys would not yet be expecting trouble.

Lettie soon realized from Hank’s comments that he thought he was to have an important role in the proceedings.

“And you still want me to... to do what we talked about?” Hank asked anxiously.

“Yes, and don’t worry,” Statler assured him, “You’ll get exactly what I promised you.”

Lettie could not imagine what Statler wanted Hank to do, but she simply could not imagine Hank riding on a midnight raid.

“Tell me, Hank,” she asked with forced lightness as she served the men their coffee with hands that trembled only slightly, “exactly what is your part in all this?”

Hank blushed scarlet and looked nonplussed, not daring to meet her eyes, but Statler stepped in and answered for him. “Didn’t he tell you? He’s bankrolling the whole thing,” he told her. “An operation like this calls for men with special talents. They don’t come cheap.”

Lettie felt certain that was true. Now she also understood Statler’s willingness to become “partners” with Hank. Although she did not know what Statler had promised Hank as his reward, she had a pretty fair idea he would never receive it. She even felt a little sorry for Hank until she reminded herself he was paying to have Cole Elliot murdered. Fortunately, Lettie was well practiced in hiding her true feelings, and now she hid her revulsion. “Where have you been keeping yourself, Mr. Statler?” she asked cheerfully. “I’ve heard stories that had you as far off as Indian Territory and New Mexico and as close as Mason.”

“Oh, Mason is about right,” he told her, sipping his coffee thoughtfully. “I’ve got a camp a little ways north of there.” Lettie did not like those pale gray eyes watching her, studying her, trying to read her face, but she felt compelled to get as much information out of him as she could. “Was that where you went after... after you had the fight with Elliot?” she asked.

Statler did not answer right away. He only kept on looking at her for a long moment. “Yeah,” he said softly when it seemed he had seen enough.

“You must have a lot of men working for you now,” she guessed, still smiling although her face was beginning to feel stiff. “You’d have to if you’re ready to face Elliot again.” This time he only nodded, his eyes never leaving her face. An awkward silence fell as Lettie realized with a slight panic that she had aroused his suspicions.

Hank forced a hearty laugh and threw his arm around Lettie, pulling her close to his side. “Lettie wants to be sure you can beat Elliot this time, don’t you, honey?”

“Yes, I do,” she agreed with phony enthusiasm, but she had a hunch Statler was not fooled. Her hands were still trembling, and she clasped them together in front of her to hide it.

Statler watched the gesture and then rose carefully to his feet, setting his empty cup on the floor. “I reckon I’ll be going now. I want to be far away come sunup,” he said, and started for the door. Lettie breathed a silent sigh of relief, even allowing herself to believe she might have been mistaken when she thought Statler saw through her. He wouldn’t be leaving now if he thought she was going to betray their plan, would he? She watched, still smiling her false smile, while Hank went with Statler to the door and checked to make certain the street was empty before allowing Statler to leave.

“What’s the matter?” Hank asked, turning back to her when Statler had gone. “You’re white as a ghost.”

Lettie shuddered, no longer bothering to hide it. “Statler makes my skin crawl,” she said.

“Yes,” Hank agreed, “he does look awful. I hate to think what he’s been through. They say he very nearly died when Elliot shot him, and looking at him now, I can readily believe it.”

Lettie’s shoulders slumped in defeat. Hank didn’t understand that her revulsion had little to do with Statler’s appearance, and she knew she was better off not trying to explain it to him. “Why did you meet him here?” she asked instead, suddenly angry at the way Hank had dragged her into his ugly plans.

Hank was a little taken aback. “Because I thought you’d want to know what’s going to happen, that it won’t be long until Elliot is taken care of.”

“Just don’t bring Statler here again,” she snapped, turning to pick up the empty coffee cups.

Hank watched her in puzzled silence, but then he shrugged off his confusion and began to concentrate on Statler’s magnificent plan. To Lettie’s relief, Hank was entirely too excited for sex. Instead, he spent the evening talking about how much he hated Elliot and how good it would be when the man had finally been put in his place. Lettie was only too glad to see him leave when he had at last run out of things to say. Once alone, she barely had time to draw a calming breath, when someone knocked on the door again.

Thinking it was Hank returning to get in one last word, she threw the door open in disgust. Before she could register who her visitor really was, Statler had pushed past her into the room.

“Surprised to see me, Lettie?” he asked malevolently, closing the door behind him.

“Hank’s gone,” she said, twisting her hands nervously in front of her and hoping to direct him away from her house and after Oliver.

“I know. I’ve been waiting for him to leave so we could be alone,” he said, taking one slow, careful step toward her.

“Whatever for?” she asked, smiling with false brightness in a desperate bid to distract him.

Statler smiled his evil smile back at her. “Well, I could pretend I just wanted to go to bed with you. We both know I’ve wanted that a long time. You’ve always been too busy for me, though, haven’t you? First with Elliot and now with Oliver. I’ve even heard you’ve got Kid Collins sniffing around, too. You’ve been a mighty busy lady, Miss Lettie.”

“I’ve never been too busy for you, Mr. Statler,” she lied frantically. “All you ever had to do was say the word. Even now...” she offered with a strained smile, more than willing to make a deal. She didn’t like the way Statler’s eyes were glittering, and she thought maybe if she went to bed with him, afterward she could get away and find Cole. She had to find Cole and warn him.

Statler was nodding at her suggestion. “Yes, now,” he agreed, “but first, I’ve got to teach you a little lesson.”

The blow was swift, too swift for her to avoid, and it knocked her to the floor. Momentarily stunned, half blinded by the lights glittering before her eyes, she had no chance of avoiding the second blow. Or the third. Or the fourth. Vaguely, she wondered how his frail, twisted body could muster such strength while she tried vainly to ward off the blows. Soon, however, she slipped into unconsciousness.

Later, although she never knew how much later, Lettie roused to a world dominated by pain. For a long time she lay there, unable even to sort out the many sources of that pain, but at last she managed to force her eyes open. One of them opened fairly well, but the other was little more than a slit. She knew without even touching it that it would be black and swollen.

From the absolute silence around her, she knew she was now alone. Slowly, she became aware of other details about her condition and the fact that she was laying sprawled, spread-eagled, on the floor with her skirts bunched up around her waist. The cool air on her legs told her she was completely exposed, and the searing agony between those legs reminded her of the last indignity Statler had performed.

He had said something, too. She could remember it vaguely, as if she’d heard it through a thick fog. He had warned her, told her this was only a sample of what she’d get if she even thought about warning Elliot. Statler knew. He had seen through her even if Hank had not. The thought made her smile, but she discovered Statler had also split her lips and that smiling was too costly to even consider.

So Statler had thought to scare her, had he? Well, if Hank had misjudged her, then Statler had equally misjudged her. Lettie didn’t scare easily. In fact, she didn’t scare at all, she decided, flexing her arms and legs tentatively to make sure she had no broken bones. If anything, Statler had only made her more determined to warn Cole. She must warn him. She knew she must. She couldn’t quite remember what she had to warn him about, but it would come to her. When she saw him, she would remember. But first she had to see him.

Cautiously, she pushed herself up on one elbow, gasping at the pain. She would rest a moment, and then she would move again. It would take a long time, she knew, but she would get there. She would find Cole. She would warn him.

Rachel came around the corner into the parlor and stopped dead at the sight of her husband having a conversation with their daughter. Of course, that wasn’t such an unusual sight. It was what he was saying that shocked her.

“Paaaa-paaaa,” he pronounced very carefully into the tiny, fascinated face.

“Ahh-gooo,” Colleen replied, grinning broadly and flailing her arms.

Cole was holding the baby up so her face was level with his, and he shook his head in disapproval. “No, no, no,” he chastened gently. “Paaa-paaa.”

“That’s not fair!” Rachel informed him indignantly and marched over to rescue her offspring from such treachery. “Everybody knows a baby’s first word is supposed to be ‘mama.’”

Cole had the grace to look abashed but he was still unrepentant. “Is that a rule?” he inquired, reluctantly relinquishing possession of the baby.

“Of course it’s a rule,” she replied haughtily, turning away slightly as if to shield Colleen from her father’s evil influence. “Eve made it a long time ago.”

“A mother! I should have known!” He made a playful lunge for the baby and succeeded in capturing both mother and daughter and pulling them both onto the settee with him. After a few hasty adjustments, he had them securely in his lap, and then he leaned over until he was nose to nose with die baby. “Paaa-paaa,” he tried again.

“Cole!” Rachel squealed, laughing uncontrollably.

He scowled up at her. “Well, it’s not fair! You get to be with her all day...”

“And half the night,” Rachel added.

“And I only get her for a few hours. How is she ever going to figure out who I am?” he demanded.

“I explain it to her when she’s old enough to understand,” Rachel offered generously, whooping with delight when Colleen grabbed Cole’s nose in a death grip.

“You women are all alike,” he complained, prying the baby fingers loose. “Always grabbing hold of something you shouldn’t.” He flashed Rachel a wicked grin that made her blush.

“If you mind so much, I won’t do it anymore,” Rachel informed him with mock indignation and feigned a struggle to get free of his embrace.

He only held her tighter and made a valiant attempt to kiss her.

“Cole! Cole, come quick!”

The alarm in the Kid’s voice broke them apart instantly. He was calling from out in front of the house. Cole wasted a moment wondering why he hadn’t just come on in if something was so very wrong, and then the voice came again.

“Cole! For God’s sake!”

Rachel scrambled up, allowing his to rise. He moved swiftly, a premonition of disaster prickling at his nerve endings. He threw open the front door and stepped out onto the porch, squinting in the bright morning sunlight. The Kid was sitting his horse at the bottom of the steps holding what Cole at first took to be a bundle of filthy, bloody rags. Then he noticed the Kid was crying.

“Good heavens! It’s a woman!” Rachel’s voice behind him startled him into recognition. It really was a woman. Before he could react, Rachel, who had come out right behind him after taking a moment to put the baby in her cradle, rushed past him down the stairs. “Who is she? What happened?” she asked.

The Kid did not reply immediately. Instead he continued to look at Cole. “It’s Lettie,” he said at last.

“My God!” Cole charged down the stairs then, frantically searching the battered face for any hint that what the Kid had said was true. After several agonizing moments, he finally recognized her. He lifted horror-filled eyes to the Kid.

“Who did this to her?”

“Statler.” He spit out the word as if it were a curse.

Cole did curse and Rachel gasped. Her eyes went first to the pathetic creature named Lettie and then to the Kid and finally to her husband. “Who is she?” Rachel asked.

Cole started slightly, as if he had momentarily forgotten she was there. “She's... she’s a girl who works at the saloon,” he hedged, not really certain how else to identify her.

Rachel watched his face, knowing this Lettie was far more than just a girl who worked in the saloon. A dozen different emotions warred within her, jealousy being a major one, but she was much too practical to let it conquer her now. Swallowing her feelings, she looked up to the Kid and was startled to discover he was weeping. “Is she alive?” she asked gently.

The Kid nodded. “Barely,” he said.

“Then let’s get her inside.”

Cole hesitated only an instant, until he had searched Rachel’s eyes to make certain she really intended for him to bring a saloon girl into her home. Then he reached for Lettie’s broken body.

“Be careful,” Rachel and the Kid warned in unison, but Cole was being very careful. When he had her securely, he started up the stairs. Rachel darted in front of him, rushing ahead to make preparations. “Lupe!” she called needlessly. The old woman met them at the door.

“You didn’t bring her all the way from town like this, did you?” Cole asked over his shoulder. The Kid had dismounted and was following close behind.

“No, I found her a couple of miles from here, just laying in the middle of the road,” he said, scrubbing a sleeve across his face. The Kid had left that morning to spend the day in town and see what gossip he could pick up and to tell Lettie what the cowboy Pinto had reported. “From the tracks, it looked like she’d been on a horse, but she must’ve fallen off. I guess she was too weak to hold on anymore.”

“Did she tell you anything?”

The Kid sniffed loudly. “I asked her who did it, and she said Statler did. Then she mumbled something about how she had to see you or tell you something. I couldn’t quite make it out.”

Cole cursed softly and looked down into the once-familiar face. At least she was unconscious now and wouldn’t be feeling any of this, he thought. He hoped she was only unconscious.

“Bring her in here,” Rachel called from her old bedroom. She had already turned back the bed. Cole laid his burden gently down and stepped back, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. Somebody had to do for Lettie, but he couldn’t ask his wife to take care of a saloon girl.

Rachel sensed his distress and shared it. She shouldn’t even have a woman like this in her house, but then Lettie, too, was one of Statler’s victims. Rachel might have ended up the same way if it hadn’t been for Cole. And Lettie was obviously Cole’s friend.

Or something.

“You and the Kid go on out,” she told him. “Lupe and I will take care of her.”

Cole cast her a grateful glance and then retreated, gently leading the Kid back into the parlor. He paused before closing the door. “If she wakes up or says anything, call me,” he requested, and Rachel nodded her agreement.

When he had gone, Rachel looked down at the broken body on the bed and for a moment shared Lettie’s pain. Tears stung Rachel’s eyes. “How could anyone do something like this?” she asked Lupe who had already begun to cut Lettie’s clothes off.

Lupe muttered something incomprehensible, and then said, “Help me.” Rachel did.

Awhile later, when Lettie had been bathed and bandaged and dressed in one of Rachel’s nightdresses, Rachel went out to give the men a report on her condition. She found them in the parlor. The Kid was slumped in the wing chair, nursing a glass of whiskey, and Cole was pacing, smoking what most certainly was not his first cigarette. Both of them came to attention as soon as Rachel opened the door.

“How is she?” they asked in unison.

Rachel studied both their faces, comparing. The Kid was in love with the woman, she judged, and his concern came from that. Cole was a little harder to figure. He was sincerely concerned, but exactly why, Rachel was afraid to guess and equally afraid she already knew. Still, she was reluctant to give them the news. “Not good. Lupe doesn't think she’ll make it. She’s bleeding inside from the beating she took.”

Rachel barely had time to register Cole’s reaction to her words when the Kid’s anguished cry distracted her. He surged to his feet. “Can I see her?” he asked.

Rachel did not have the heart to deny him, and besides, what could it possibly hurt? “She’s still unconscious,” Rachel warned, knowing that would not deter him. Hastily setting down his whiskey glass, he hurried into the bedroom.

When they were alone, Rachel moved closer to Cole, watching his face. He had been disturbed by her news but not nearly as disturbed as the Kid. She tried in vain to judge his true feelings. When she was no more than arm’s length away from him, she stopped. “Who is she?” Rachel asked again.

Cole blinked, a little startled at the question. “She’s... I told you, she’s a girl who works in the Silver Dollar Saloon,” he said.

“Who is she to you?” Rachel insisted.

Cole rubbed the back of his neck wearily. “She’s an old friend. She’s been helping us keep track of Statler. She hears all sorts of rumors at the saloon and she tells the Kid.” He made an apologetic gesture with his hand. “She’s his girl.”

“Oh,” Rachel replied, thinking this over carefully. “I thought she might be your girl.” The words left a sour taste in her mouth but she had to say them. She had to know for certain.

Cole's blue eyes narrowed as he tried to read her thoughts. “No,” he said after a minute. “She’s not my girl.”

“She was, though, wasn’t she?” Rachel maintained. “She was the one you went to... that night.”

At first Cole genuinely did not know what she was talking about, but the stricken look in her eyes jogged his memory. It was the same look he had seen that night, and he could almost hear her voice accusing him: “You’ve been with a woman!”

He wished he could deny it. He would have given anything to be able to swear an oath that he had never done such a thing. At least there was something he could truthfully tell her. “Nothing happened. I swear to you, nothing happened. As soon as I got there, I knew I’d made a terrible mistake. I left right away.”

She knew he was lying. “You reeked of her perfume,” she accused, hating the tears that sprang to her eyes at the pain of this ancient betrayal. The smell of Lettie’s perfume just now in the bedroom had triggered Rachel’s memories and made her aware of the truth. But as painful as the memories were, she felt compelled to probe the wound.

Cole sighed. “She... she tried to get me interested. But it just didn’t work, Rachel,” he explained, reaching out to her with an imploring gesture. Then he gave her a sad smile. “You’ve ruined me. I haven’t been able to enjoy looking at another woman since the day we got married.”

She watched him, her dark eyes large in her pale face. She wanted to believe him, and she searched in vain for any sign of deceit on his craggy face. Then, quite suddenly, she knew he was telling the truth. With a small cry, she threw herself into his arms, and he caught her gratefully.

Weeping tears of joy and relief, she clung to him and allowed him to soothe her with fervently whispered endearments. After a few moments, she regained her control and pushed far enough away so she could see his face. “You haven’t even looked at another woman since we got married?’ she asked in watery challenge.

He shook his head. “I didn’t say I haven’t looked. I said I haven’t enjoyed it.”

“Not even in Kansas?’ she insisted.

“Not even in Kansas,” he vowed. “Although,” he added, gently teasing, “if I’d known how pregnant you’d be when I got back, I might have been a little more tempted.”

“Oh, you,” she chided, punching him lightly on the chest.

He looked down at her with an adoration that slowly sobered her. “You’re not the only woman I’ve ever gone to bed with, Rachel,” he told her with regret. “There’ve been more of those than I care to remember, but you’re the only woman I’ve ever really made love to and the only woman I’ve ever loved. You believe me, don’t you?’

Rachel nodded and then laid her head back against the solid comfort of his chest. “I’m sorry I wasn’t your first woman, but I’ll settle for being your last. Your very last,” she added, giving him a warning squeeze.

He replied with a bear hug that almost cracked her ribs, but before he could kiss her, the bedroom door flew open.

“Cole, come quick. She’s calling for you,” the Kid’s frantic voice interrupted them.

In spite of all he had just told her, Rachel could not help the pang of jealousy that stabbed her at the alacrity with which Cole answered the summons. She took comfort in the way he grabbed her hand and dragged her right along with him. Once inside the bedroom, Cole dropped her hand and approached the bed with caution.

Looking down at Lettie, he wasn’t at first certain her eyes were really open, but she must have seen him. “Cole?” she whispered, her voice a slender thread of sound.

“Yes, I’m here,” he assured her, leaning over so she could see him and so he could hear her. “We’ll get him, Lettie. Statler will pay for what he’s done to you.”

“He’ll get you,” she warned, her swollen lips forming awkwardly around the words.

“No, he won’t,” Cole assured her. “We’ll be ready for him.” He made his promise lightly, in an effort to comfort her. But she would not be comforted.

“No...” she gasped, frantically grasping his hand with j surprising strength. “He has... plan... when you... round up... attack your camp... at night, when you... sleep...”

Coe frowned. This sounded like a genuine plan. It also sounded suspiciously like the last time Statler’s men had attacked them. “Does he want to steal our cattle?”

“No... just kill... you.”

Rachel gasped, but no one paid any attention to her. They were all straining to catch every one of Lettie’s words.

“Hank Oliver... in on it... too...”

“Hank Oliver? How on earth did he get mixed up with Statler?” Cole wondered aloud, not really meaning for Lettie to answer him.

She did, though, her battered face twisting into the grimace of a knowing smile. “Revenge...” she whispered, “... for Rachel.”

Rachel made a small sound of protest, and Cole’s expression hardened. He had misjudged the little storekeeper. The man had more gravel in his gizzard than Cole had given him credit for. He hardly noticed the way Lettie had suddenly lost interest in her story. Her gaze left his face and stared off somewhere, as if she were looking at something distant.

“Is that... baby?” she asked.

For the first time, the rest of them noticed Colleen’s fussing at having been abandoned. She was still lying in her cradle in the front room. When no one else answered Lettie’s question, Rachel finally admitted, “Yes, that’s our daughter.”

Lettie’s gaze found Rachel where she hovered at Cole’s shoulder. “Can I... see... it?” The request touched Rachel’s heart, making her forget she had once been jealous of this poor, broken creature.

“Of course. I’ll fetch her,” she said, hurrying off to do so.

Colleen’s fussing ceased the instant her mother picked her up, and she bestowed a beatific smile on her benefactor. Rachel returned the smile automatically even as she rushed back into the sickroom. Cole, she noticed immediately, had stepped away from the bed, and the Kid had taken his place. The Kid knelt near Lettie’s head, holding her limp hand as if it were a precious jewel.

Rachel stepped up beside him and held the baby down for Lettie to see. “This is Colleen.”

Lettie just looked at the child for a long moment, and then she lifted her free hand and lightly, reverently, stroked one baby cheek. “I’ll never... have one... now...” she murmured with regret.

“Lettie!” the Kid protested with strained enthusiasm. “Yes you will! You’ll get better, you’ll see. We’ll get married, you and me, and we’ll have a dozen kids, as many as you want, whatever you want.”

Rachel could have wept at the despair in the Kid’s voice, and she wished fervently that she might spare him the pain he was experiencing. Lettie, it seemed, felt the same. For just a moment, she turned her glance away from the gurgling infant and cast the Kid a pitying look. With those awful, swollen eyes, she told him how sorry she was his dream would never come true. Then she lifted her gaze to Rachel.

“My name... not... Lettie...”

“What is it?” Rachel asked, not certain why her true name could matter now.

“Leah.”

Lettie’s eyes held hers until the realization set in. Slowly, Rachel recalled the Bible story of the two sisters, Rachel and Leah, who had both loved the same man. That man, of course, had loved only Rachel in return.

“Put ‘Leah’... on my grave...” Lettie whispered when she was certain Rachel understood.

Rachel nodded, and then, clutching Colleen’s small body to her, she breathed, “I’m sorry.” For the first time in her life, Rachel felt greedy and selfish and extremely blessed in the knowledge of all she possessed in comparison with this poor, ravaged woman.

Lettie sighed, a sigh of surrender, and those awful eyes closed one last time.

Several minutes ticked by before the Kid realized the truth. “Lettie?” he asked in sudden panic.

Cole laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “She’s gone, Kid.”

“No,” he insisted, “she can’t be. Lettie!”

But she did not respond, not even when he lightly stroked her cooling cheek. “Lettie, don’t die!” he begged, tears streaming down his face again. But she couldn’t hear him.

They dressed her in one of Rachel’s gowns and put her in the plain pine coffin the men built for her and buried her in the tiny, fenced plot where Rachel had buried her father only a scant year earlier. The Kid fashioned a wooden cross and burned the letters of her name—her real name—into it. It wouldn’t last long, he knew, but it would do until the marble headstone he was going to order arrived.

That night Rachel and Cole did not speak as they prepared for bed. Both of them were lost in their own somber thoughts. Once more death had touched someone close to them, reminding them how fragile life really was. Rachel could not forget Lettie’s warning that Statler intended to kill Cole. The knowledge chilled her to the marrow. When Cole at last blew out the lamp and slipped into the bed beside her, she reached for him with a desperation that had nothing to do with physical desire.

Understanding only too well, Cole held her fiercely. “I love you,” he whispered. He no longer had any trouble saying the words. Or believing that she returned his love. Without waiting for her to speak her love back to him, he kissed her, sealing anew the commitment he had made to her.

Rachel returned the kiss, accepting his silent pledge and returning one of her own. They came together in a fury of need, as if their coupling could mystically protect them from the forces that would part them. Even when the blaze of passion had burned to embers, they clung together, as if to break their physical bond would endanger the emotional one.

But for once their lovemaking did not bring them the blissful oblivion of sleep afterward. Neither of them could forget Lettie’s pathetic face and her useless death, or what all that meant to their future. For a long time they simply lay together in the darkness, awake and only too aware of the dangers that surrounded them.

“What are you going to do now?” Rachel asked finally.

Cole sighed. “I’ve got two choices. I can go after Statler. We’ve got a pretty good idea where he’s holed up, but we don’t know exactly. That makes it hard. Our other choice is to let him come to us. That’s bad because he picks the time and we won’t know when he’s coming, but at least we’ll be expecting him.”

Rachel raised up on one elbow. She couldn’t see his face in the darkness, but she could still judge his mood. “You’re going to wait for him, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Think you know me pretty well, don’t you, Miss Smarty Pants?” he teased, but Rachel could hear the strain in his voice. He did not want to discuss these things with her, to worry her, and now he was trying to distract her. In his male wisdom, he would think she was better off not knowing all the gruesome details. He simply could not seem to understand she needed to know and that not knowing only gave her one more thing to worry about.

Colleen whimpered tentatively a few times before working to a full-fledged squall. Both her parents groaned in unison. “At least she waited till we were finished,” Cole remarked. Rachel was wondering from where she would gather the energy to even move, much less get out of bed to get the child when Cole eased her off him. “Stay put. I’ll get her,” he said, reminding her of the way he had fetched the baby for her on Christmas night.

Rachel waited while he sat up and struck a match to light a candle. Then she watched as he walked the few steps to the cradle and picked up his daughter. They made quite a picture, the baby in her pink nightdress and the father in nothing at all. Rachel gave them both a sleepy smile as Cole slipped back into bed and tucked the baby in between them.

Colleen’s cries had ceased the moment her father picked her up, and now she was gurgling happily. She didn’t refuse the breast her mother offered her, but she kept pausing to look back and flirt with her father.

“Now she thinks it’s playtime, Papa,” Rachel said with a tired smile. “You shouldn’t have lit the candle.”

“I’ll play with her,” he said, smiling back and stroking first one baby cheek and then the curving breast it nestled against. Each was equally soft and warm. Tempted beyond his ability to bear it, he leaned over and kissed them both.

“Hurry up, Colleen,” he whispered into the baby’s ear. “I want to play with your mama some more, too.”

Rachel groaned dramatically, certain he must be teasing. Speaking for herself, she would be lucky if she had the stamina to find her nightdress and put it back on. She wasn’t too tired to ask a question, though.

“While you’re waiting, you can tell me what your plans are for dealing with Statler,” she said with an anticipatory smile.

Cole scowled at her, but her smile did not waiver, so he tried the direct approach. “You don’t have to worry about it, Sweetheart. That’s my look-out.”

“But it’s my look-out, too. I’ll be sitting here at home and worrying, whether you tell me or not, so you’d better tell me ... If you want to ‘play’ any more tonight,” she added, giving him a provocative look.

He was still scowling, so she squinched her face into a scowl, too, and said, “I’m not made of glass, Cole Elliot. Tell me or I’ll beat it out of you.”

Not made of glass. Now where had he heard that before? Ignoring her threat, he sighed in resignation and said, “All right, you were right when you guessed I’d wait for Statler to come to us. I know just the place...” And so he told her the plan. It was a good one, too, even better than the last one. She only prayed this one would work. And that once again, Cole would return safely to her.

When Colleen finally drifted off to sleep again, Cole blew out the candle and hauled Rachel back into his arms.

“I'm too tired to ‘play,’” she protested, smiling in spite of herself.

“I thought that was your bribe,” he said, pretending to be offended. “You don’t have to ‘play,’ though,” he added wickedly. “You just lay there like a good girl, and I’ll take care of you.”

He did, too.

Cole remembered that night during the long, lonely ones that followed. He wasted no time getting started on the roundup, and he and the men pitched a camp the very next day. It was a little early in the year. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have started the spring branding for another few weeks, but Cole figured there was no point in waiting. Just to make certain word spread to all interested parties, Cole himself went to town that morning to stock up on supplies.

He needed great restraint to walk into the Mercantile and hand his list to Oliver without betraying any signs of anger. Rachel, he thought with some amusement, could never have done it. Every time she even thought about Oliver’s treachery, she started ranting and yelling and behaving in what Cole reminded her was a very unladylike fashion. She, of course, would tell him to mind his own business and keep on ranting. Cole was glad she had the excuse of the baby to keep her away from town for the time being. Given half a chance, she’d probably punch Hank Oliver right in the nose.

Smiling at that picture, Cole walked up to the counter and handed Oliver his list. As usual, Oliver treated him coldly, but for the first time, Cole detected a slight smugness about the storekeeper, as if he thought he knew something Cole didn’t. Cole had to bite his lip to keep from smirking right back.

“Looks like you’re going to start your roundup soon,” Oliver commented after reading the order.

“Yeah, I sent the men out this morning, as a matter of fact,” Cole remarked casually while pretending to be very interested in a pristine white Stetson displayed on the counter. Oliver betrayed himself with an indrawn breath, but Cole pretended not to notice.

Then Oliver cleared his throat. “I... uh... I heard a rumor that Statler’s been seen around these parts,” he ventured.

Cole could have laughed out loud, so delighted was he for the opportunity to throw his enemy off guard. He snorted derisively instead. “Rumors! That’s all it is. Statler’s dead. We’ve seen the last of him.”

“You’re sure? What about all the stories?” Oliver insisted.

“I’m sure,” Cole said with a disgust that was only partly feigned. Oliver was so excited that Cole was afraid the little storekeeper might wet himself. He almost hated to do this to him. He could see Oliver was satisfied—and delighted—at this information, but he wasn’t quite through yet. “By the way, have you heard about Lettie?”

Oliver was instantly wary. “I know she didn’t show up for work last night,” he admitted.

Cole judged Oliver really did not know what had happened. For awhile, he had thought perhaps Oliver had been in on Lettie’s beating, too, but no guilt clouded the storekeeper’s handsome face. “She’s dead,” he said bluntly, gratified to see Oliver’s horrified disbelief.

“She can’t be!” he insisted. “I mean, I just saw her night before last. She was fine then.”

Cole’s eyes narrowed down to dangerous slits. “For your sake, that better be true,” he warned. “Somebody beat her to death sometime that night. One of my men found her body on the road.” This was the story they had decided to give out so no one would guess Lettie had warned them.

“Oh, my God!” Oliver moaned, blanching.

Cole pressed his advantage. “You got any idea who might’ve done it?” he demanded.

“No, oh, no,” Oliver assured him quickly, and then added, “She was a whore, you know. She knew lots of men. Any one of them...”

Cole snatched up the storekeeper by the front of his shirt and dragged him halfway across the counter. “Lettie wasn’t a whore,” he hissed into Oliver’s terrified face.

“No, of course she wasn’t,” Oliver agreed in a high, nervous voice.

Cole knew an almost overwhelming urge to shake the little rat until his neck snapped, but unfortunately they still needed him. There would be plenty of time later to find out exactly what part he had played in Lettie’s death and to exact the appropriate revenge. Reluctantly, he released Oliver, letting him slide back to his own side of the counter.

Cole had glared at Oliver as the storekeeper had straightened his clothes and tried to resume his previous dignity. “If you hear anything about who killed Lettie, you let me know,” Cole had said, and Oliver had readily agreed before scurrying off to fill Cole’s order.

Recalling that scene now as he stood guard over the phony roundup camp, Cole smiled grimly. Yes, he still had a little score to settle with Oliver. He only hoped the storekeeper would be riding in the raid. It would make things a lot easier.

The camp looked fine, Cole judged, squinting into the midnight darkness. If anyone had happened by, they would have thought it completely ordinary. The bedrolls were spread in the usual haphazard manner, and the fire had burned down to coals. The two men riding night herd around the small bunch of cattle they had managed to collect so far were singing lazily to lull the animals and keep them together.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of Cole’s neck prickled. Nothing had happened, at least nothing any innocent bystander would have noticed, but Cole had gotten the signal. It was a clever one, if he did say so himself. No one would ever guess that when the singer had switched to the ballad “The Streets of Laredo,” he had alerted the entire camp.

This time there would be no stampede, or at least not one over the camp. Cole had chosen a spot with enough natural barriers between the herd and the camp so such a thing was simply not feasible. He suspected any stampede would be merely for distraction, but he also suspected this attack would come much more quietly than the last because this time Statler hoped to catch them all napping.

He did, too. In the dark, Statler’s men had surrounded the camp, and on a prearranged signal, they all opened fire, pumping bullets into the sleeping forms clustered around the fire. Not one of them even had a chance to escape.

In the distance, Cole heard the familiar rumble of running cattle, and the shouts and shots of the men who would be chasing the two cowboys on night watch. When that noise had died away, an eerie silence settled on the camp as Statler and his men waited for any retaliation.

There was none.

“Come on, men,” Cole heard a familiar voice shout. “Looks like we got ’em all!”

The waiting was agony, but Cole waited, crouching in his hiding place and gritting his teeth at the urge to fire off a shot in the direction of Statler’s voice. Shadows moved cautiously in the darkness, approaching the still forms on the ground. Someone threw some kindling on the fire and it flared up brightly.

“Hey, what the hell...” someone said in alarm, and Cole knew it was time. They had discovered the bedrolls were filled only with straw.

He pulled back the hammer of his gun, and the click sounded unnaturally loud to his ears. “You didn’t get us all, Statler,” he shouted. This was the other signal, and the rest of the Circle M men, hidden at strategic points around the camp, cocked their guns, too. “We’ve got you surrounded. Throw down your weapons.”

“No!” Statler’s voice boomed above the blast of his pistol as he fired in the direction of Cole’s voice.

The ensuing battle was bloody but brief. It was, to Cole’s disgust, like shooting fish in a barrel, and even though the victims had fully intended to murder him and his men the same way, he hated it. That was what had prompted him to give them a warning, and that was what prompted him to call out, “Hold your fire, men!” after only a few minutes.

When the shooting stopped, he called again, “If any of you are still alive, throw down your guns and put up your hands. We won’t shoot if you surrender.”

“The hell he won’t!” Statler yelled. “Don’t listen to him!” Cole knew a small regret that Statler had survived, but consoled himself that the man would have to stand trial for his crimes. Before Cole could think how to override Statler’s objections and get the ambushers to surrender, however, he heard sounds of a small scuffle, and then a strange voice called out from where Statler’s voice had last been heard.

“I got Statler’s gun, Elliot. He’s shot to hell. He won’t be causing any more trouble. The rest of us are giving up. Don’t shoot.”

“Throw down your guns and stand up real slow with your hands over your heads,” Cole commanded.

The surrender was accomplished with surprising ease. A few of the men were dead or dying, but most were not even seriously wounded. Only two of Cole’s men had been hurt in the firing, and their wounds were not serious. In short order, the Circle M cowboys had trussed up their surviving enemies and begun loading them onto the chuck wagon for transportation to jail in town. It would, Cole reflected, be a humdinger of a trial. Too bad Statler wouldn’t live to see it.

Cole walked over to where his nemesis lay dying. The stories he had heard were true. He might never have even recognized Statler under other circumstances. The man’s gaunted face glared up at him in the flickering firelight, full of all the hate Cole knew he must feel. Seeing the man soaked in his own blood, Cole could almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

“Looks like your number’s about up, Statler,” he said. Statler smiled a knowing smile but said nothing.

Cole had no desire to torture a dying man, not even a man like Statler who well deserved it, but he did want a little information. “Was it you who killed Mr. McKinsey?” he asked. He already knew the answer, of course, but he was hoping to make certain the right man had been punished for the crime.

Statler grimaced. “I wasn’t even with them.”

“It was your men, though, wasn’t it?” Cole insisted. “Which one did it?”

His smile never wavering, Statler said, “Remember the two men who ambushed you and Miles?”

“Kirk and his partner?” Cole asked.

Statler nodded. “They were the ones. I sent them out to get you, too. I guess they just weren’t as good when the odds were even.” He shrugged fatalistically.

Cole knew a moment of satisfaction. One score, at least, had been settled. Still, he did have another murder to solve. “I heard Hank Oliver was in on this little adventure. Where is he?”

Statler’s smile faded. “Who told you that?”

Cole’s blue eyes narrowed down to slits. “Lettie told me... just before she died.”

“She died?” Statler echoed faintly. “Too bad. I had plans for her...”

Impatiently, fighting an urge to hurry Statler along on his journey to meet his Maker, Cole squatted down next to the dying man. He had to remind himself there was nothing he could do for Lettie and that Statler was already paying the price for what he had done to her. Cole wasn’t going to let the last member of this little farce get away though. “What about Oliver? Was he part of this or not? There’s no use in letting him get off scott-free, not when you’ll have to die for it,” he pointed out impatiently.

Statler thought this over and his lips stretched into a smile again. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Oliver was my partner. He paid these men to kill you.” He laughed weakly at Cole’s furious reaction to this information and then grimaced with pain.

“Where is he then?” Cole demanded. “Was he with you?” Cole couldn’t wait to get his hands on the storekeeper.

But Statler was shaking his head. “No, he...” Statler’s voice was growing fainter and Cole had to lean closer to hear. “He’s not tough enough for this. He’s... more of a... lady killer. He’s... at your ranch.”

Cole cursed at his own stupidity. He had been so sure of his plan, so sure that he was the only intended victim, he hadn’t even left a guard at the ranch. He had been a fool! Rachel was there all alone with only Lupe and the baby, and now Oliver...

What would Oliver do to her? Frantically, he tried not to imagine, but he could hear Rachel’s words echoing in his head: “I’d die before I’d let another man touch me!”

He breathed her name, and then he saw the gun. Some distant part of his brain had noticed it one second earlier, had registered the fact that Statler should not have a gun, not even a tiny gun like this one. In that second he thought to reach for it, to turn it away, but he was one second too late. Just as his hand moved, the gun exploded in his face.