for Hanford’s sister-in-law, who probably had more money than all the county’s poor ranch families combined, was an emotion he could ill afford.
“Look at me!” She caught his sleeve. “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”
Clint hardened his gaze. “I did what I had to, lady. Would you rather have been shot, or maybe raped? Would you rather they’d hurt someone else?”
“Of course not. But if you think I’m going to let those robbers ride off with my most precious possession you’re sorely mistaken. I’m holding you responsible, Mr. Lonigan. And if I don’t get that ring back, my brother-in-law, Mr. Hanford, has the power to make you pay!”
The mention of Roderick Hanford triggered a surge of bitter fury. Clint fought it back. “Fine,” he snapped, “but that will have to wait. For now, stop caterwauling and make yourself useful. You can look after Mrs. Simpkins while I check the guard and help the driver replace that broken wheel.”
Without waiting for her response, he turned his back on her and strode toward the front of the stage.
* * *
Seething, Eve watched him walk away. It wasn’t so much his argument that had offended her—on the contrary, it made sense that something had been needed to mollify the robbers. But his manner was insufferable. She was the widow of a nobleman, but he’d spoken to her as if she were a backward child. In England, no commoner would have dared address her with such insolence.
True, she was no longer in England. Everyone was a commoner here. But some were more common than others, and rudeness was rudeness. Mr. Lonigan was clearly no gentleman. For all she knew, he could be in league with the pair who’d held up the coach. He’d certainly appeared to know them. Perhaps he’d planned all along to give them her ring.
The ring was a devastating loss. But for the time being, there was nothing she could do to recover it, so Eve tried not to think about it. Instead, she guided Mrs. Simpkins to a nearby flat boulder, then hurried back to the stage for parasols, her reticule and a canteen of water. The sun was blistering, and there was no shade to be found.
“Are you all right?” Eve raised the woman’s parasol and pressed the canteen to her lips.
“I will be.” Mrs. Simpkins took several dainty swallows and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “My stars, what a fright! I’m so sorry about your ring, my dear.”
The familiar term was oddly comforting, even coming from a stranger. Eve let it pass. “Did you recognize those two robbers, Mrs. Simpkins?” she asked.
The woman shook her graying head. “One of the voices might have sounded familiar, but I can’t be certain. Given the state I was in, I wouldn’t have recognized my own children.”
“And do you know that wretched Mr. Lonigan?” Eve glanced toward the stage, where Lonigan was wrapping the guard’s wounded arm with a red bandanna.
“I know him, but not well. He’s got a small ranch north of Lodgepole. Paid cash for the land, I hear tell. He was widowed two years ago, but I never did meet his wife. They kept to themselves and she didn’t come into town. Not even for church. I’ve heard rumors of a scandalous past, but nothing I can tell you for sure. Mercy, but it’s hot!”
“Here, this should help.” Eve reached into her reticule, withdrew a black lace fan and snapped it open. Mrs. Simpkins accepted it with a grateful sigh.
“My, but this is lovely!” she exclaimed.
“Then it’s yours. Keep it as a remembrance.” Eve would have no need for it soon. She had long since resolved to set her mourning aside at the journey’s end. She’d agreed to marry Arthur Townsend, Sixth Earl of Manderfield, after he’d offered to pay off her father’s debts. Arthur had been a kindly man, and he’d treated her like a queen; but he’d been more than twice her age. She’d liked and respected him, but they certainly had not been in love. Three years prior to his death a stroke had left him an invalid. Eve had cared for him faithfully until the end—when his son, Albert, had stepped in, taken over the estate and cast her out like a common strumpet. But never mind. The past was behind her now. She was ready to make a new start.
And in such a wild place! Her gaze swept upward to the mountains, so tall and rugged that they seemed to pierce the sky. Even under the August sun, their rocky peaks bore glistening patches of snow. Below the timberline, forests of dark green pine carpeted the slopes, giving way to the green-gold of aspens and the grassy hills that fed thousands of white-faced Hereford cattle, the wealth of this untamed land.
From the train Eve had seen buffalo herds and wide-eyed pronghorn antelope that could outrace the wind. And she’d heard tales of the predators that prowled the forest shadows—wolves, bears and the fierce golden cat of many names: puma, cougar, catamount, panther, mountain lion.
But she’d come to believe that the most savage creatures in the untamed frontier of this country were the men. It was as if the fight for survival had beaten all the civility out of them. They were like snarling beasts, jumpy and alert, ready to reach for a weapon at the slightest provocation. When they met they sized each other up like bristling hounds, measuring size and speed, testing their power.
Foolish posturing, that’s all it was.
Her gaze returned to Lonigan. He’d finished tending to the wounded guard and was helping lift the stage off its broken wheel, raising the axle inch by inch while the aging driver braced it up with rocks. It was hard work. His leather vest and holstered pistol lay in the grass at the roadside. His shirt was dripping with sweat. The faded fabric clung like a second skin to his muscular body—not an unpleasant sight, Eve conceded. His eyes, she now recalled, were like sharp gray flint, deepening in hue around their black centers. If he were to submit to a bath, a barber and a suit of decent clothes, he could be quite attractive. Yet maybe it was better that he stayed as he was. His appearance now made no effort to hide the harshness of his true nature.
Lonigan was no different from other men she’d observed. At best, he was arrogant and ill-mannered. Short of that, he could be a thief or at least a friend of thieves. Worse, if anything, he was Irish. She would do nothing to rile him for now. Until their journey ended, she was uncomfortably at his mercy. However, once the stage reached Lodgepole and she was safely ensconced with her sister’s family, she would turn the matter of the ring over to Roderick and have nothing more to do with him.
* * *
With the spare wheel in place, the stage lumbered the last few miles toward Lodgepole. Clint had given the wounded guard his seat inside. Riding shotgun with the driver, he scanned the brushy hills. At any minute, he’d expected to see Sheriff Harv Womack and his deputies come galloping into sight, but it hadn’t happened. Maybe the rumor about the cash shipment hadn’t been a trap, after all. Or maybe Clint was just jumping at shadows. The truth might have to wait till he caught up with Newt and Gideon.
“Did you have any plans to carry cash?” he asked the driver. “I’m just wondering where those two galoots got the idea there’d be a strongbox.”
The driver spat a stream of tobacco off the side of the stage. “Not from me. If I’d been carryin’ a strongbox, I would’ve had a second guard up here. Lucky for us nobody got hurt worse’n that hen scratch on Zeke’s arm.”
“Are you planning to report the holdup?”
He shook his head. “I’ll let the sheriff know if I see him—or you can tell
