Jackson watched as Garrett deftly tightened the cinch on his gelding’s saddle. “You can’t just shoot ‘im in cold blood, although I understand the temptation.”
“Maybe, maybe not, but I think I can hurt him and put a little more fear into him. Or a great deal of fear.”
“Here’s some vittles from Carmen.” Jackson handed him a sack filled with cold chicken, bread, fruit and pastries, which the younger man secured to his saddle. “Use the telegraph to let us know what’s happening.”
“I will if I can.” Garrett put his gloves on and mounted. Before he could ride off, Jackson grabbed the reins.
“Be careful, son. Use the brains God gave you out there. Let your anger work for you, not against you. Wouldn’t hurt to check in with the marshal in whatever towns you’re in.”
Garrett nodded and walked the horse out of the barn as Jackson trotted alongside.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’ll track him back to St. Louis if I have to. Take care of her.”
“You know I will.”
Garrett nodded again, kicking up dust as he rode off without looking back. He didn’t see Libby standing at her window watching him go.
It had been four days since the men had rescued her, and his young wife was on the mend. The doctor gave her leave to vacate her sickbed after two days. She had barely seen Garrett in that time. He had not come to her bed. She was sore in some places and stiff in others, but moving around, while painful, seemed to help. She wished he would just have laid down with her and held her. Her marriage was becoming less convenient as the days went by.
Early on after this latest setback, she had wallowed in weakness and self-pity, and Garrett’s rather formal attitude toward her hadn’t helped. Like her train ride across the country, though, those two days gave her time to think. When she rose on the third day and let Carmen assist her in bathing and dressing, her steely resolve had returned. She was not leaving the West or Garrett of her own volition, no matter what he said or how he tried to push her away, and she was fairly certain he wouldn’t hogtie her and throw her on a passing stagecoach. She had finally found a place she belonged. If he truly didn’t want her, she didn’t think she could stay at the ranch although she dearly wanted to. She certainly belonged in the West, however. If her husband rejected her once and for all, she wouldn’t beg him, but she’d either stay in Montana Territory or move further west. Now it was three days since he had ridden off. And it was only four days until her birthday and her financial freedom. Surely, she could survive until then.
Nellie had visited, bringing with her a bag of peach puffs from Grandma Betty’s café. Libby finally told her friend the complete story of her stepfather, Edward DeJulius and the attacks on her. She also explained her marriage of convenience.
“Hmm,” Nellie said when she had completed her explanation.
“Hmm, what?”
They were sitting on the veranda, sipping tea. Nellie set her cup down. “Oh, perhaps that this marriage of convenience seems more than that to you.”
Taken aback at Nellie’s perception, Libby feigned ignorance. “What do you mean?”
“Just that when you mention your husband’s name, your eyes light up and also have this softness in them, like perhaps the sun rises and sets on him.”
Libby tried to dismiss her friend’s observation. How pathetic would she look if anyone knew she loved a man who did not love her? Oh my God, do I love him? I do. Lord help me. “I think you are confusing that with the look I was giving the peach puffs.”
Nellie laughed. “Face it, my friend, you’re in love with your husband. You could face a worse fate.”
Libby sighed. “Oh, all right. Yes, as irritating as he is, I am. Even though he doesn’t love me back. As sad as that is.”
Later that day, she sat at the lacquered pine table in the kitchen sipping chocolate as she eyed Carmen suspiciously. “Garrett cannot have been at the line shack for three days.”
“Oh? And why not, señora?” Carmen busied herself wiping down the counter, her colorful skirt fluttering from the breeze wafting through the open back door.
“He would have checked in by now.”
“There are many cows to brand.”
Libby took another sip of her drink. “You’re hiding something from me, Carmen.”
“What do you mean, señora?” She still hadn’t met the young woman’s eyes. She was so guilty. Libby was sure of it.
“You know what I mean. Has he left me?”
“Oh, no, cariña. How can you think that? He has gone to help you.” She put her hand to her mouth as if willing the words back inside.
Libby jumped up and approached Carmen. “To help me how? Where is he? What is he doing? Tell me.”
Carmen redoubled her wiping efforts, still refusing to look at Libby, whose eyed were boring a hole in her back.
And suddenly Libby understood. “Oh, no.”
“Everything will be fine. You will see. Garrett is a smart hombre.”
“He went after Edward DeJulius, didn’t he?”
“I…I cannot say.”
“Carmen…”
The woman’s shoulders slumped.
“He’ll be killed! Garrett is an honorable man, and Edward DeJulius will not play fair or honorably. He’ll stab him or shoot him in the back.”
“Garrett is very clever. He will be careful.”
“Yes, but he’s too good.”
Carmen just smiled at that. Libby sighed, balling her fists in frustration. She was torn between loving Garrett for so selflessly becoming her champion and wanting to shake him until his teeth rattled. She had no doubt he could handle himself on a level playing field, but Edward DeJulius would never make himself so vulnerable as to deal with Garrett honorably.
Libby returned to the table, picked up her cup and saucer and took them to the kitchen. She stood at the sink biting her lip and thinking and then suddenly strode off, a woman on a mission. She caught up with Jackson in his study.
“How could you let him go?”
Her father looked up from his ledger. “Carmen wasn’t supposed to tell you.”
“She didn’t. I guessed, and I can’t believe it took me this long.”
“Garrett is a grown man, Libby. He makes his own decisions.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t he? I am not a child.”
“You were hurt and recovering. We didn’t want you to worry.”
Libby made a rather unladylike grunt and plopped into a green upholstered chair. “Have you heard from him?”
“He tracked DeJulius to Butte and was heading to Three Forks yesterday morning.”
“Edward DeJulius is the devil.”
Jackson stood and walked around the desk to stand before his daughter. He placed his hands on hers and pulled her up and into his arms. “There is not a better tracker, shooter or man than Garrett Winslow. He would not have you living in fear or danger. That’s all there is to it.”
“I can’t lose him,” she almost whispered, and he hugged her tighter.
So this is what it’s like to be loved. What a simple gesture a heartfelt hug was, yet it brought such comfort and held such meaning. She may have been cheated out of this feeling for most of her life, yet some people never experienced it, so she felt nothing but gratitude. And suddenly she recognized the difference between Jackson’s feelings for her and Garrett’s. Jackson cherished her; she could feel it in her bones. Garrett wanted her, sometimes, it seemed, in spite of himself. And he felt honor-bound to protect her. Was there more to his feelings? Could there ever be more?
* * *
At that moment, the object of her frustration and doubt was pinned down behind an outcropping of boulders while two men fired at him and a third tried to circle behind him. It was the second time he had been attacked while tracking Edward DeJulius. The man obviously knew he was coming and was throwing at him every lowlife sidewinder he could purchase.
Outside of Butte, Garrett had been bushwhacked by a lone gunman. If his horse hadn’t stumbled at just the right moment, he might have been pushing up daisies by now. As it was, he had nearly had his hair parted, and his best hat sported holes, front and back. The bushwhacker wasn’t so lucky. Garrett shot him in the side and hauled him into the sheriff in Butte. Turned out the fellow was wanted, so Garrett guessed it was worth the inconvenience. He would get $500 for his trouble. That would more than make up for his lost wages and his expenses on this trip, if Jackson decided to dock him, which he doubted.
Ping! A bullet ricocheted off a boulder and whizzed by his right ear, bringing him out of his thoughts into the present. He hunched down and fired off a round, just to keep the polecats in front of him honest, then pricked up his ears, listening behind him. He heard leaves rustle. When he heard a closer twig snap, he turned and fired. A paunchy, swarthy cowpoke yelped, dropped to his knees and collapsed on the ground. Garrett could see he was unconscious and probably headed to the hereafter. He crawled to the outlaw and relieved him of his gun. It wouldn’t do to run out of firepower. Or to be wrong about his assessment of the man’s condition. Yep, he was a goner. Garrett felt no remorse; back-shooters didn’t deserve any.
The gunfire back and forth continued sporadically for another 30 or 40 minutes. Just as Garrett thought he might have to wait until nightfall and sneak past the two jaspers, one of the bushwhackers got careless and Garrett winged him. The man was an incessant whiner, and finally his partner in crime helped him onto a horse as he continued to grouse and they rode off. Garrett waited a while to make sure it wasn’t a ruse, then looked around for the now dead cowpoke’s horse. He caught the bay in a gully several hundred yards away and used a blanket secured behind the saddle to roll up the corpse before hoisting it up and tying it across the saddle.
“I’m coming, DeJulius,” he said, slapping his holey hat on his thigh to release the dust, as was his habit, and replacing it on his head. Then he began making his way to Three Forks and the marshal, pulling the horse with the corpse behind. Edward DeJulius had no idea of the fury he had unleashed. The young Butterman foreman couldn’t wait to catch up with him.
* * *
At the Three Rivers Hotel and Emporium in Three Forks, Edward DeJulius was getting nervous. He’d left Butte in a panic after he learned the stupid cowboy had shot the man he’d hired to take care of him. Luckily there were plenty of other men willing to do just about anything for money, and he’d hired three more. Winslow wasn’t invincible.
He unbuttoned his waistcoat and loosened his tie as he paced the surprisingly well- appointed room. The unholy men he had hired to kill Garrett Winslow should have been back by now. How could something have gone wrong? There were three of them, for God’s sakes. He had only paid them half the money he promised. The men were greedy, like the others he’d hired, so he knew they would return when they finished the job. Unlike the two he had hired to kidnap Libby. They must have just taken off with the half payment he had given them. One just could not trust people anymore. It was disgraceful.
For the hundredth time, he peered out the window of his hotel room at the street below. A man with a handlebar mustache and several pounds of trail dust staggered from a saloon, two little boys in ragged clothes rolled a barrel down the dusty street and a lady of the evening ignored the disapproving stares of two women carrying colorful pastel parasols as they passed on the boardwalk. Winslow should be dead and rotting in the ground. He wasn’t bulletproof. He was just some dumb cowpoke. Some incredibly lucky dumb cowpoke.
DeJulius quickly had figured out he would have to get Elizabeth’s husband out of the way if he was to claim her, and time was running out. He couldn’t believe his good fortune when one his spies had telegraphed that Winslow was on his way toward Butte. It seemed like a happy coincidence. But now he was starting to wonder, thinking it might not be a matter of happenstance after all. Maybe he needed to hire a bodyguard. Or several bodyguards. When would this damn thing be over? He needed Elizabeth’s dowry and he would have it. Time was running short. Curse everyone who stood in his way. If he ran into Elias Parminter, he would put a bullet in his brain.
And then he stopped in mid-pace. This could all work out, he suddenly realized. If his hirelings didn’t kill or severely wound Winslow—he wouldn’t mind a slow, painful death, as long as it didn’t take more than two or three days—and the cowboy came after DeJulius, he could be shot in self-defense. Yes, that would work quite nicely. Edward would invite him to his room, pretending that he wanted to parlay, and shoot him before he had a chance to say a word. Then he would fire the cowboy’s weapon to make it look as though he shot in self-defense. Ah, at last, now he could see a bright future. For the first time in days, Edward DeJulius felt truly confident. He should have realized it from the beginning. If you wanted anything done right, you needed to do it yourself.
With that cogent thought, he opened his traveling case and dug out his Colt 45. He wasn’t a sharpshooter, but anyone could hit a man from three feet away. For the first time in several days, Edward DeJulius smiled. And then he went back to the window, watching the street below.
* * *
As Elias Parminter traveled across the country, the buzzing in his head got worse, even as he had lounged in his luxurious private rail car, purchased from the sale of his some of his late wife’s extensive jewelry collection. The anger he felt toward his wayward stepdaughter had gone from outrage to a blinding hatred that only could be appeased by her suffering and ultimate death. He had noticed that the porters on this trip gave him a wide berth, but who needed them? Elias Parminter knew what he had to do, and no one would distract him or sway him from his objective. Instead of taking a stage for the last long leg of the trip, which he thought would take far too long, he’d had his butler purchase a horse. Not a great equestrian, despite having raised thoroughbreds, Parminter was fueled by his determination and loathing. Every discomfort along the way, and there were plenty, just added to his need for vengeance.
At one point, the horse stumbled and he fell off, banging up a knee and tearing his trousers. This, too, was Libby’s fault.
“I’ll get you; you’ll pay for this,” he kept saying, over and over, as a mantra, camping rather than stopping in towns during his journey. As his facial hair grew, his clothing frayed and his general appearance deteriorated, so did his mind. The Elias Parminter who had left St. Louis was troubled, cunning and ruthless. The man traveling ever nearer to Deer Lodge, Montana Territory was obsessed, vengeful and rather insane. But he was still cunning.
When at last he arrived in Deer Lodge, the disheveled man made haste to a ramshackle boarding house on the edge of town, where he found the disgraced Pinkerton man he had hired to keep tabs on Libby and her husband. The man, shocked by his employer’s appearance, managed to cover his amazement and distaste. So focused on his goal, Elias Parminter probably would not have noticed his expression anyway.
“Well, what can you tell me?” Parminter demanded. “Out with it, man,”
“The husband left a week ago, apparently to track down Edward DeJulius. Along the way, he’s killed at least one man who tried to bushwhack him.”
Parminter grabbed the bottle of cheap whiskey the man was holding and poured himself a long drink. “So he’s going after DeJulius. Excellent. Where?”
“Last I heard, DeJulius was in Butte, but that was several days ago.”
Parminter eyed him suspiciously, and the detective became nervous. This man was dangerous, hanging by a thread.
“Why would he be in Butte when he’s after Elizabeth?”
“He’s sent several gunmen to try and kill the husband, Winslow. He’s probably staying out of the area so he cannot be connected with the shooting.”
“What a coward,” Parminter spat out. Literally. Some of the whiskey in his mouth landed on the table. As low as his own standards were, it was all the detective could do not to cringe. How he’d gone from being a respected Pinkerton agent to this, he didn’t know. Well, actually, he did. It was the drinking. But a fella had to make a living. And please his clients if he wanted to get paid, no matter how downright deranged they were.
“Yes, he certainly sounds like one.”
Parminter poured himself more whiskey as the other man eyed him cautiously. The “gentleman” needed a shave and a bath, and his eyes darted around as if he were seeing something that wasn’t there. “I need someone who can get on that ranch where Elizabeth is and deliver a message.”
His companion smiled. “I know just the person.”