Читать книгу Heart Of A Lawman - Patricia Rosemoor - Страница 11

Three miles out of the crumbling town of Silver Springs, Barton Quarrels pulled his four-by-four onto the washboard-dirt ranch road that would throw him back half a lifetime. Everything looked the same, he thought. Worn cedar and barbed wire fences. Yellowing grasses. A handful of mostly white-faced livestock grazing the high desert pasture.

What he feared was that everything would be the same.

His kids had been quiet all the way up from Albuquerque. Sullen, really. They’d get over it. Had to. He was doing this for them.

Well mostly, anyhow.

“Almost there,” he told them. In an effort to engage them, to rustle some little enthusiasm where he knew there to be none, he asked, “So, after you get your stuff settled in your rooms, what do you want to do?”

“Nothing to do out here but count cows,” Daniel mumbled.

“As I remember, you used to like that, ’cause it meant you were on a horse.”

“That’s when I was a kid.”

“Yeah, right. I keep forgetting.”

As far as Bart was concerned, sixteen was far from adulthood, but he needn’t alienate Daniel more. The air between them already bristled with teenage hostility.

Bart stopped the vehicle at the pasture’s barrier, and his son jumped out to open the metal pipe and wire gate. Daniel waited until his father had pulled through the opening before swinging the gate closed and clambering back into the passenger seat. The ritual was one repeated all over the ranch, whose nearly sixty thousand acres were broken down into manageable pastures.

Bart waited until they were once more on the prowl, past the scale house where cattle on the way to market were weighed before being shipped.

Then he tried making conversation again, this time with his daughter. “Hey, Lainey, honey, want to take some photographs around the place this afternoon?” Photography being her hobby.

He glanced in the rearview mirror to check out the twelve-year-old, whose attention was seemingly glued to those boring cows.

“Mom would hate this,” she suddenly said, head churning forward, green eyes exactly like Sara’s boring into the back of his neck. “She’d hate you, putting our home up for sale, making us move.”

Bart tore his gaze from the mirror and put it back where it belonged—on the road. “Your mother didn’t have a hateful bone in her body.”

Unable to help gripping the steering wheel, he couldn’t imagine ever completely erasing the pain of loss that burdened him.

“It’s not too late, Dad,” Lainey continued darkly. “The house didn’t sell yet, so we can still go home….”

“The Curly-Q’s gonna be our home now.”

Ignoring the interruption, the girl insisted, “You can get your deputy’s badge back and everything!”

Not that he’d really lost it in the first place.

Though he hadn’t told his kids—he didn’t want to raise their hopes—Bart had been smart enough to leave himself a safety net, just in case. He’d taken a long-term leave of absence and could go back to his old job as long as it remained vacant. The sheriff hadn’t wanted to lose him and so had promised to stall things, to keep his spot open for several weeks, at least.

Just in case.

But even a city as small as Albuquerque had growing problems that made Bart’s gut quake, not for himself, but for those he loved. He’d lost a wife to violence less than a year ago. He wasn’t going to give up his kids, as well.

After his mother’s death, Daniel had secretly joined a gang and had gotten into trouble defacing the high school with cans of spray paint. Bart wondered what he hadn’t gotten caught at. While he’d made his son swear to quit the gang, he knew the promise he’d wrung out of the boy was illusory. Peer pressure would get him in the end and he’d be sneaking out with his friends again. It was only a matter of time unless Daniel was removed from the path of temptation.

And Bart was willing to do anything to protect his kids…even sell his soul.

He stared out at the devil’s playground.

Rich, volcanic-based grasslands stretched around them as far as the eye could see. An optical illusion that plains gradually gave way to mountains. Though they were in the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo range, the foothills here were nearly seven thousand feet up.

Clear air. Piercing blue sky. A slice of heaven.

At least the land itself was….

They’d reached the pinñon-and-ponderosa-pine-limned rimrock, their future spread out before them in all its splendor. The road here was dotted with dark green cedar, rusting scrub oak and the occasional grayish juniper bush.

The skin along Bart’s spine prickled as he started the descent into the canyon cut by Silverado Creek, a fat ribbon of water that twisted and turned and rushed across the Curly-Q. Now its function was merely to appease thirsty cattle and to provide a water table for the surrounding grasslands, but at one time, the creek had serviced the mine, which lay farther up the canyon and connected to town by a road that was now all but impassable.

The first hairpin curve thrilled Bart as always, and, also as always, his stomach was ready for the second. What he wasn’t prepared for was the state of the road, rutted by washout rains. The vehicle dipped and bounced its way down and red dust swirled around them. One spot was so bad that he found himself clenching his jaw so that he wouldn’t bite his tongue.

What had his father been thinking—not taking care of the only road out before it became near-impossible to fix?

“I want you two to give this a chance,” he said as the house drew in sight. The sprawling adobe backed by a handful of outbuildings looked the same, too, he noted. “If you can’t do it for me, then do it for your grandpa.Remember, we don’t know how long he has.”

Again, he glanced in the rearview mirror and caught the stricken expression Lainey was quick to hide.

“But Grandpa’s got Uncle Reed and Uncle Chance,” Daniel mumbled.

“If they decide to return.”

Certainly neither Reed nor Chance were anywhere in sight. No one was. The handful of dusty old pickups—the newest of which had to be twenty years old—were ranch vehicles. Though he hadn’t counted on his half-brothers agreeing to the deal, Bart experienced a moment’s disappointment. Unsure that anything would drag Reed and Chance back into a situation they’d all hated, he’d still wondered what it would be like—the three of them riding herd together again. Maybe this time they were old enough to make peace with each other. Maybe they were wise enough to make it work.

But Reed and Chance didn’t have families to think of. They had no reason to accept the devil’s bargain the way he had.

Bart almost expected the old devil himself to be waiting for them as he pulled into the front yard and two yapping dogs rushed the truck. But Emmett Quarrels was nowhere in sight.

Instead, Felice Cuma, his father’s housekeeper of nearly thirty years, flew out the front door, called the dogs and ordered them back to the barn. A smile of welcome flared fine lines around her dark eyes and full mouth. She had passed sixty, but Bart thought Felice was still a fine figure of a woman and couldn’t imagine why she wasted her life keeping someone else’s home when he was certain she could make one with a man of her own.

Lighting on Daniel as he unfolded all six feet of himself from the front passenger seat, Felice’s eyes went wide. “Chico, you’re a man now!”

Daniel grinned at Felice and rushed forward so they could give each other a big hug.

Arms folded across her chest, Lainey straggled behind. No smile loosened the tight grip that held her mouth in a flat line. Felice stepped out of Daniel’s bear hug and stared at the girl, her hand going to her throat as if she’d just been struck speechless. And her dark eyes suddenly went luminous, Bart noted, as if she were holding back tears.

“Ah, chica,” Felice finally said, her voice trembling, “you’ve grown so beautiful. You look exactly like your sainted mama.”

Lainey softened a little and allowed a hug, if not with her brother’s open enthusiasm. Expression concerned, Felice sought Bart’s gaze over his daughter’s head. He shrugged and spread his hands in a helpless gesture.

“Hey, Felice,” he said with affection.

“Mr. Bart. It’s good to see you. You’ve stayed away far too long.”

He knew Felice meant more than the last year and a half. That’s how long it had been since he’d stepped foot on Curly-Q land—since well before Sara died. They’d driven their kids to the ranch for a visit every summer. Bart had sometimes stayed the night, but he’d always gone off on his own—usually back to Albuquerque where he buried himself in work—and then had to come back weeks later for the three of them.

Sara really had been a saint, Bart thought, considering she’d been able to deal with the old tyrant for weeks at a time, while Bart had trouble tolerating his own father for a day. Amazingly enough, the old man had treated his grandkids with far more respect than he ever had his own sons when they were growing up—maybe he’d learned something from his past mistakes, Bart hoped—and so both Daniel and Lainey had always looked forward to their visits to the Curly-Q.

Good thing, or Bart never would have agreed to the deal.

“Daniel, Lainey—how about getting your bags.”

“Right,” his son groused, shuffling back toward the vehicle, his daughter silently following.

Most of their things were already there—Bart had sent a truckload ahead and Felice had made certain the kids’ rooms were set up with familiar treasures in hopes that they would adapt to the move more easily. For a moment, he watched them, intent on unloading the vehicle, shoving at each other in their best, normal brother-sister fashion.

Suddenly, Lainey screeched as Daniel pulled back and raised his arm, her camera in his hand.

“Hey, maybe it’s time I learned to use this thing,” he taunted.

“Give that back, Daniel!” she yelled as the automatic camera whined and clicked several times. “Stop that! You’re wasting my film!”

“Maybe I’m creating art.” Her brother’s taunt was followed by more whines and clicks.

“Da-a-ad!”

“Give your sister her camera, Daniel,” Bart said quietly. “Now.”

Daniel lowered his arm and a livid Lainey grabbed it from him. She gave the instrument a quick once-over, as if to make certain it was all right. Her hands trembled as they ran over the camera that had belonged to her mother. Bart wanted to cuff his son, who knew exactly how important that camera was to his little sister.

“That was my last roll, you moron!” Lainey yelled. “Now I can’t take pictures of anything! I hate you! I hate this place!”

Bart’s insides wrenching, knowing it was the camera she was really freaked out about even if she wouldn’t say so, he promised, “I’ll get you more film later, honey.”

But Lainey wasn’t talking to him or her brother. She grabbed what bags she could handle and stomped toward the house. Apparently unconcerned, Daniel buried his upper body in the back of the vehicle.

Sighing, Bart finally turned his full attention to Felice.

“Where is everyone?” He avoided asking about his brothers. “Curt…Laredo…Enrique?”

“All gone. The only one left from the old days is Moon-Eye and he’s picking up supplies.”

All gone.

All driven away.

No wonder his father had been so anxious to turn the ranch into a family corporation, Bart thought. Undoubtedly, he figured that way his sons couldn’t walk out on him again.

“We’ve had a couple of hands come and go since spring,” Felice was saying. “Only one stuck—Frank Ewing.”

“That makes three of us, then, to run this place,” Bart said, realizing how impossible that would be. “I’ll have to hire a couple of cowboys right away. Unless Reed and Chance show. What are the odds there?”

“Your father seems convinced they will come home.”

Home? Would his two half-brothers think of the Curly-Q that way when Bart himself had had such a difficult time doing so? Finally, he got to it. “So, how’s Pa?”

The housekeeper avoided his eyes. “The same,” she said stiffly.

That bad. Despite the fact that he and his father had never been close—at least not since he’d been a kid—Bart’s gut constricted.

“I guess I’d better go tell him we’re here.”

“Mr. Emmett knows. He’s resting and said he would see you later.”

Bart swallowed hard and nodded. And only hoped he hadn’t brought his kids to more grief.

THE TERRITORIAL-STYLE building stood a welcome relief—a thing of gracious beauty amidst the ruins of Silver Springs. And the clack of the brass knocker against the door brought a beautiful woman to open it.

Wiping her hands on her lace-edged apron, the woman asked, “Can I help you?”

She quickly smoothed loose strands of thick blond hair from her face and checked the twist at her nape as if to make sure all was secure. The rest of her was equally elegant, Josie noted, from her pearl earrings to her Italian leather pumps.

“Are you Alcina Dale?” Josie asked in a hesitant, soft voice.

“In person.”

“I understand you rent rooms.”

Entrenched on the porch, face half-hidden by the shadow of a Stetson from which spilled her tangled light brown, shoulder-length hair, Josie felt anything but elegant herself.

“This is the Springs Bed-and-Breakfast,” Alcina agreed, eyeing the single, aging leather bag Josie had dropped on the porch.

Josie knew what she must be thinking. A typical guest of a place like this wouldn’t wear jeans ripped at the knees and dusty, down-at-the-heel cowboy boots, or a stained denim jacket slipped over a white T-shirt. But the town didn’t have a regular boarding house, which is what she’d been hoping to find. This was the best suggestion the guy at the gas station could come up with.

Suddenly she realized Alcina was staring at her waist, where an inscribed silver buckle proclaimed her initials to be J-W. Self-conscious under the close scrutiny, Josie brought a hand to her belt and quickly covered the engraving.

“The problem is…um, well…I’m looking for work.”

Alcina sighed. “The seasonal tourist rush is over, and I really can’t afford to pay for help.”

“I—I thought maybe if you had a really small room, you might let me help you around here for my keep…. All I need is a place to sleep and some food until I get a job. Then I’ll pay you with real money.”

The note of desperation in her own voice grated on Josie. Sighing, she glanced down the twisted road that made up Main Street. Nothing for her there. Only a handful of occupied storefronts waged war against abandoned buildings and rubble left behind fallen structures.

“You’re thinking you’ll find work in Silver Springs?” Alcina murmured ruefully.

“It doesn’t seem likely, does it? I’ve never seen a town still alive and so dead at the same time.”

“Decades ago, Silver Springs was thriving. That’s when my daddy and his two partners discovered a new lode of silver in the abandoned mine…but then the lode ran out. The town hung on for a while as if it could breathe life back into itself. But over time, everything changed. Businesses got tired. People got tired. Silver Springs just up and died. So, honey, unless one of the ranches around here needs a day worker, I’m afraid there’s nothing here for you.”

Having been nearly ready to plead for help, Josie firmly tightened her lips and nodded. Her eyes misted over as she stooped to lift her bag…and she winced because the movement hurt.

She noticed that Alcina had quickly glanced to the street behind her, no doubt looking for a vehicle. But she had no car and no money…no way of getting anywhere else but her thumb.

Sweeping a tangle of hair out of her face, Josie turned to go. Alcina stared, eyes wide. Josie knew she’d caught a look at the nasty bruise along the left side of her temple and cheek. She tried to hurry away then, before explanations were necessary, but the other woman put out a staying hand.

“Wait.”

Shoulders pressed down by the burden of having nowhere to go, Josie hesitated without looking directly at Alcina. She hated needing help. Hated being pitied as if she were a kicked dog or something as equally pitiful.

“What’s your name?” Alcina asked.

She softly replied, “Josie,” as she put her free hand to her middle, fingers tracing those initials on the belt buckle. She thought quickly. “Josie…Wales….”

“Josie Wales—now where have I heard that name before?” Alcina mused, pulling her mouth as if thinking about it. “Are you originally from these parts?”

“No.”

“Oh, well, it doesn’t matter, does it?” As if unable to help herself, Alcina said all in a rush, “I do have a small room off the kitchen that I don’t rent to tourists. Actually, it’s my ironing room, but there is a single bed and a dresser—nothing fancy.”

Josie snapped up her head. “I don’t need fancy.”

Relief poured through her, lightening her load. She blinked rapidly, stopping herself from outright crying.

Alcina rushed on. “And I guess the whole house could use a spring cleaning.”

“Spring?” Josie started. “But it’s fall…isn’t it?”

Confusion. Again.

Alcina said, “That it is, but it’s hard to get good help in a ghost town at any time of the year.”

“I’m willing to do anything you need.”

“C’mon inside, then. I’ll show you to your room, and after my guests finish their breakfast, I’ll feed you and give you the grand tour. You look like you could use a little rest. Then maybe later you can walk over to the grocery store and pick up a few things for me.”

“Anything! Thank you.”

Alcina stepped back to let her in. And yet she appeared troubled, as if she worried that she might have reason to regret her simple human kindness.

The flesh at the back of Josie’s neck prickled at the thought.

One last look out to the empty street reassuring her, she stepped inside and took a look around at the elegant Victorian decor, as, behind her, Alcina Dale firmly closed the door against the unknown.

FEELING A WHOLE LOT better on a full stomach and from a lie-down, and with the knowledge that she would have a roof over her head that night, Josie Wales set off for the small grocery store at the other end of Main Street.

Other end.

Three whole blocks, with only a handful of establishments lining the winding street cut through low hills open for business—café, law office, bar, whatnot, doctor’s office, home-and-feed, church, grocery, gas station.

And in between sat skeletal buildings in various stages of decay—reminders of a more prosperous era, as were those railroad tracks that went nowhere but along the boarded-up stagecoach stop. The single-story building of volcanic rock had wooden porches traversing the entire length of each side. Other rutted dirt roads on either side of Main Street led to a few dozen homes whose size, condition and state of occupancy varied, as well.

Just outside of Silver Springs, what was left of a row of miners’ shacks stood testament to the town’s origin—the old silver mine. Some were little more than stone foundations. As she’d hiked in from the highway, she couldn’t help but notice a strange-looking couple—squatters?—scurrying about the area, setting out displays that appeared to be made of animal bones. Odd, but nothing to unsettle her.

Not much to Silver Springs, Josie thought, but something about the town drew her, made her think she might be safe here.

Safe. Was she?

Despite the warmth of the late October afternoon, a chill swept through her, suddenly making her feel as if hostile eyes followed her every movement. She glanced around. Two women were chatting outside the doctor’s office across the street. A cowboy was hunkered on a bench outside the bar just ahead, his wide-brimmed hat bowed as if he were asleep. Behind her, an old junker of a car headed out of town. And at the end of the street, a fancy black SUV covered with red dust turned out of the gas station.

Nothing out of place…just like before, when the trucker had stopped his rig to let her out of the cab and she’d sworn someone was watching, though she hadn’t caught anyone at it…and yet…

What was wrong with her? No one could be following her. No one even knew where she was.

It was just that she hadn’t really felt safe since awakening in that hospital bed.

And now she was an outlaw on the run!

She glanced at the black SUV that crept along the street in her direction. The dark-haired driver seemed to be searching for something…or someone.

Her?

Muscles bunched, she was ready to bolt when he looked directly at her…through her…beyond her….

Realizing that she was of no interest to him, after all, Josie trembled with relief. Not that she could help being a bit paranoid. Undoubtedly that’s what was making her feel those invisible eyes on her.

Bringing her forefinger to her belt buckle, she traced the initials again and again.

J.W….J.W….J.W….

Josie Wales was as good a handle as any.

She had to calm down. Get herself straight. Make plans.

Stop imagining dangers where there were none.

Lost in thought, Josie at first ignored the faint sound coming from the abandoned building preceding the bar. But as she drew closer, she realized it was a cry of distress. Heart thumping, she slowed her step in the deep afternoon shadow cast by the structure and strained to hear.

A scrabble was followed by a sharp “Meow!”

A cat.

Relief shot through her. Just a stray animal.

But as she moved on, the cry grew pitiful, the scrabbling more frantic, and she stopped again as she drew even with the entrance.

“Mee-ooww!”

Josie closed her eyes and sighed. Undoubtedly she would be on a fool’s errand, but she couldn’t go on until she was certain the cat was all right.

The door hung crooked on its hinges and she had to throw her shoulder into the wood to budge it. The panel inched inward, then twisted so that the top hinge gave. Levering the unexpected weight, she took a quick look around, but nothing had changed—women still talking, cowboy still sleeping, SUV still inching along.

“Great. Add destruction of property to my crimes,” she muttered. “Not to mention breaking and entering.”

Another cat cry set her in motion.

Break and enter she did, stopping for a moment to let her eyes adjust, the interior being lit only by the smidgen of gray allowed through the grimy front windows, and that extending only a few yards before fading to pitch black.

How thrilling! she thought wryly. She’d never been able to see well in the dark….

Where had that thought come from?

Josie shook away another chill and concentrated.

Rubble decorated the interior of the abandoned shop as far as she could see—what was left of counters and shelves littered with plaster and rotting chunks of wood. As she moved with care, the floor squeaked and bounced beneath her boots. Her stomach tightened.

The place was dangerous, rotting, collapsing in on itself!

Stopping, she took a deep breath.

If any place could inspire paranoid delusions, this was it. Danger could lurk in every dark corner…in every inch of the area that she couldn’t see.

But of course it didn’t.

The only danger here was what she could inflict on herself.

Even so, reluctant to continue without reconnoitering, Josie softly called, “Kitty, where are you?”

A creak to her right startled her into stepping that way.

Until a loud “Mee-oow!” pulled her in the opposite direction.

For a second, she went rigid. Sounds from two directions? Then giddiness bubbled through her. The rotting wood was protesting, it being disturbed, was all. She veered left, feeling all but swallowed by the dark.

“Kitty, you owe me big time.”

She inched along until her foot hit something solid, the clank punctuated by a growl and a hiss.

Puzzled, she hunkered down. “Hey, I would never hurt you.” And reached out blindly, expecting to ruffle some fur. Instead, her fingers met an unexpected resistance, cold and hard. “What the heck…?”

Leaning forward, she ran her hand along the solid object and murmured reassurances. The cat continued to growl with increasing urgency. The angry-frightened protest raised the hair on the back of her neck even as Josie realized the poor animal was trapped in a cat carrier.

Who would leave a caged cat in an abandoned building?

Instinct snapped her upward, but upon rising, she whacked her shoulder into something ungiving. She took a misstep and twisted her ankle.

“Aah!”

Arms flailing, Josie tried to catch herself. She imagined hands on her even as she took another blind step. Rough hands. Hands that pushed her so that her boot heel came down hard and shoved right through some rotted boards.

For a second she felt suspended…her world turned upside down…a roller-coaster ride…only this time with no safety net….