34

Don’t worry. It was one thing for Thea to say it, another for him to follow through. No matter what he told himself, Jackson couldn’t stop worrying, especially when he’d returned to Cimarron Creek and learned that Travis had been looking for him.

“Glad you got my message.” Travis rose from behind his desk and reached for his hat. “Ben Fowler sent me a telegram,” he said, referring to the sheriff of a nearby town. “Claims someone saw two men and a woman heading for an abandoned ranch about ten miles north of here. Thought it might be the Gang.”

And so, though his heart urged him to return to the Harris ranch and Thea, Jackson saddled Blaze and rode in the opposite direction, refusing Travis’s offer to accompany him. He’d lost a brother and had a partner severely wounded by the Gang; he wouldn’t add Travis to the list of their victims.

It was simple to find the ranch and even simpler to confirm that the Gang had indeed been staying there. There was no mistaking that perfume or the gouges in the wall where an apparently furious Charity James had vented her anger. But the tumbledown house was now empty, leaving Jackson no closer to his quarry than he’d been at the beginning of the day.

Discouraged and anxious to see Thea again, he headed back to Cimarron Creek. If he was fortunate, by the time he reached the Harris ranch, Ethel would have had her baby and Thea would be ready to go home.

He’d just crossed the bridge when he spotted two strangers entering the Silver Spur. The moon, more than half full tonight, revealed two men of medium height, medium weight, probably sporting medium brown hair.

His hackles rising, Jackson hitched Blaze in front of the saloon, confident that one of these men also sported a jagged scar. This was the break he needed.

“Evening, Faith.”

“Evening, Red.” The proprietor of the Silver Spur touched her auburn hair, then grinned. Jackson kept his face neutral, but inside he rejoiced at the fact that Faith had given him that nickname, saying that two redheads had to stick together. It was far better that she referred to him as Red rather than Ranger, especially tonight.

“What can I get you?”

“A glass of whiskey.” He had no intention of drinking it, but he wasn’t going to raise suspicions by ordering sarsaparilla. When she’d poured him a generous portion, Jackson made his way across the saloon, keeping his head down and choosing a seat that would put his back to them as he took a table next to the strangers. He couldn’t risk their recognizing him, but the quick glance he’d shot in their direction showed that the two men looked enough alike to be brothers and that one of them had a prominent scar on his forehead.

“We’re close,” one man said to the other. “I can feel it in my bones.”

The second scoffed. “I heered that before. Them bones of yours ain’t very reliable.”

“But Charity is.”

Jackson raised his glass, pretending to drink from it, though he wanted to crow with relief. He’d been right. The fact that these two medium-everything men knew a woman named Charity confirmed his suppositions that Cimarron Creek’s latest visitors were none other than Will and Rob Michener.

“Don’t know why she wunt let us go out to the ranch with her. You don’t reckon she’s gonna cheat us outa our share.”

The first man scoffed. “She wunt do that. Not Charity. She just don’t want you around. I reckon she’s afeared you’ll kill someone else.” The gurgling sound of whiskey being poured into a glass accented his words. “She still ain’t forgiven you fer killin’ Daniel.”

Jackson gave a quick nod at the confirmation that his instincts had been correct. The person who’d killed Daniel Michener had not been the one who’d slit Helen Bradford’s throat.

“He was cheatin’ us.” The second man sounded defensive.

“Mebbe, but Charity coulda gotten him to tell her where he hid the gold. She’s good at gettin’ information out of folks. We’d all a’ been rich if you’d kept your hand off the trigger.”

“He had it comin’ to him.”

“And we got gold comin’ to us. Charity done figgered it out,” the first man continued. “She’s gonna take care of Daniel’s widow tonight. She tole me the Ranger that’s been protectin’ her done come back alone. I tell you, Rob, she’s gonna find that gold for us.”

Jackson shuddered. His worst fears had just become reality. Charity was the leader of the Gang, and she knew where Thea was.

“He’s a handsome one, ain’t he?” Ethel beamed with pride at the infant in her arms.

“That he is.” In reality, he looked like many newborns—red, wrinkled, and bewildered by his new surroundings—but he was alive and healthy, which was far more important than physical beauty, at least to Thea.

Ethel’s labor had progressed more rapidly than Thea had expected, with the youngest Harris making his appearance at 8:03. Thea wasn’t certain who was more relieved—she because Ethel’s wailing had ceased or the mother herself—but she could not deny the sense of wonder she felt over the successful delivery. If there was one lesson she had learned from her own experience, it was that life was both precious and fragile. This child did not appear fragile, but he was indeed precious.

Thea smiled as she looked at the baby. It had taken a while to clean him and perform all the tasks that Ethel had declared were essential before the new father could enter the room, but now they were finished.

“Are you ready for me to call Angus?”

Ethel touched her hair, which Thea had just rebraided, and fussed with the ruffles on her bed jacket. For a woman who’d never before shown signs of vanity, she had been insistent that she look her best before her husband saw her again. She had even demanded that Thea bring her her perfume and the pot of rouge that she’d hidden in a corner of a bureau drawer.

“I reckon I am.”

“All right. I’ll get him.” Though her work was not complete, for she would spend the rest of the night here, checking on the newborn and his mother every hour, Thea was looking forward to a brief respite from her demanding patient. She was also looking forward to seeing Jackson again. Though she’d told him not to rush, she had thought he’d be back before now. Perhaps Aimee had had trouble soothing Stuart, and Jackson had stayed to help her.

Thea closed the bedroom door behind her and headed for the kitchen, expecting to find Angus waiting there. To her surprise, the room was empty, as was the parlor. It was later than she would have thought he would be outside tending to the livestock, but perhaps he’d decided to wait on the porch rather than remain indoors and have to listen to his wife’s screams. Thea couldn’t blame him for that, especially since Ethel had cursed him more than once, claiming he cared more about his dogs than he did about her.

Thea opened the front door and stepped onto the porch, expecting the dogs to come running or at least bark at her, but the night was eerily silent. “Angus,” she called. Surely the man would not go too far away when his child’s arrival was imminent. “Angus.”

When there was no response, the uneasiness that had begun when she saw the empty kitchen grew. Where was he? Her eyes moved slowly, searching for the father, then stopped abruptly at the sight of a body slumped on the porch floor.

“Angus, what’s wrong?”

“Nothin’s wrong, Mrs. Michener. Everythin’s just right.”

Before Thea could register what was happening, a tall woman emerged from the shadows and grabbed her, wrenching her arms behind her.

“You and me’s gonna have a nice talk about that husband of yers and what he done with my gold,” the woman announced as she tied Thea’s wrists.

“I don’t—”

“Save your breath. You’re gonna need it where we’re goin’. Now, you stand right there.” She shoved Thea against the house, then reached into her pocket. Within seconds, she had gagged Thea with a bandanna, a bandanna scented with the same perfume that she had smelled on Daniel’s shirts.