again.”
Clint’s fears eased some, but Newt and Gideon weren’t out of the woods yet. Damn it, he should’ve asked somebody to ride herd on those boys. They’d earned the right to be part of his operation—a handful of small ranchers who’d banded together to protect each other and their neighbors from the cattle barons who wanted their land. But the brothers were always pushing the limits. If they got themselves caught thieving and were scared enough to name names to avoid a noose, all hell could break loose.
The young fools were well-known and easy to recognize. Now four people besides Clint had seen them holding up the stage. The driver and guard were from Casper. They could describe the robbers but didn’t likely know them. Mrs. Simpkins knew the brothers, but she’d been frightened out of her wits. Clint could only hope she hadn’t guessed who they were. At least she hadn’t shown any signs of recognizing them. As for the countess...
The image of that Madonna-like face glimmered like a phantom in his mind. Yes, she was the dangerous one. She’d lost a priceless heirloom and she was determined to get it back at any cost. Worse, she’d have the ear of Roderick Hanford, the most powerful and ruthless rancher in the county.
Clint cursed his own shortsightedness. He’d only wanted to get Newt and Gideon out of harm’s way. But he’d stepped in it this time, up to his well-meaning chin.
This couldn’t wait. He had to find the boys and get that damned ring back.
* * *
The driver had let Lonigan off at the livery stable on the edge of town. As the coach rolled into Lodgepole, Eve raised the edge of the canvas cover for a look at her new home.
She stifled a groan.
Lodgepole’s main street was a long strip of dirt. Ugly clapboard buildings, most of them wanting paint, lined both sides, fronted by a sagging boardwalk. Eve recognized a saloon, a general store, a bank of sorts and a gaudy-looking structure that might have been a brothel. A farm wagon, drawn by a plodding, mismatched team, rolled down the opposite side of the street. A horse tied outside the saloon raised its tail and dropped a steaming pile of manure in the dust.
Tucked between the general store and the bank was a neat little shop with a Closed sign in the window. That would be Mrs. Simpkins’s bakery. At least it had curtains and a flowerpot on the sill. As for the rest of the town...
But never mind, Eve lectured herself. Soon she would be with Margaret and the children. That was the only thing that mattered.
Though they’d been apart for nearly eleven years, the two sisters had remained close. They’d written to each other every few weeks, sharing secrets, sorrows and small victories. Anyplace with Margaret would be home. And Eve would so enjoy the children—Thomas, who was eight, Rose, who was six, and the new baby. It would be almost as good as having children of her own.
True, she’d never cared for Margaret’s husband, Roderick, whom she’d known since childhood. The second son of a neighboring farmer, he’d always been something of a braggart and a bully. But that hadn’t kept Margaret from marrying him and following him to the wilds of America. Eve had never tried to mask her dislike for her brother-in-law. But at least he’d agreed to take her in. For her sister’s sake, and for harmony in the household, she would make every effort to tolerate the man.
The stage was slowing down. Eve’s pulse raced with anticipation as it pulled up to the covered porch of a two-story building that appeared to be a hotel. She glimpsed three figures on the porch—a tall man and two children.
It had to be Roderick. Eve hadn’t seen him in more than a decade, but she’d know that gaunt scarecrow figure anywhere. There was no sign of his wife. Did that mean Margaret had already given birth? Was she home with the baby?
Mrs. Simpkins motioned her toward the door. “Go ahead and get out first, my dear. You’ve come such a long way. You must be exhausted.”
With a murmur of thanks, Eve swept back her veil, unlatched the door and stepped out onto the boardwalk.
It was indeed Roderick on the porch with the children—such beautiful children. Thomas was dark and solemn like his maternal grandfather. And Rose was like her name, a dainty little fair-haired flower. Wondering what she should say first, Eve hurried toward them.
Their stricken faces stopped her cold.
Eve’s hand crept to her throat. Even before she heard it, she guessed the truth.
Roderick broke the silence. “It’s good you’ve come, Eve. Margaret died in childbirth ten days ago.”
“And the baby?” Her question emerged as a choked whisper.
Roderick shook his head. “The baby, too.”
“You mule-headed bunglers! Don’t you know what could’ve happened if you’d been caught?” Clint had found the Potter brothers hiding in his barn. He could only hope his tongue-lashing would scare some sense into them. “What in hell’s name did you think you were doing, holding up that stage?”
“We heard tell there was money on it.” Newt cringed against the side of the milking stall. “Money for hired guns, to drive us off our land. Don’t be mad, Clint. We’d’ve told you but you wasn’t here. We had to do somethin’.”
“Where did you hear about the money? Who told you?”
“Smitty passed it on,” Gideon replied. “Said some of Hanford’s men was talkin’ about it at the bar.”
Clint scowled, weighing what he’d heard. Smitty, the one-legged bartender at the Red Dog Saloon, had always been a reliable source. If he said he’d heard about the money, it was likely true.
Had the cattlemen discovered that Smitty was passing information to the small ranchers? Could they have fed him a lie to set a trap?
The failure of the sheriff’s men to appear and spring that trap would argue against it.
So what if the information about the money had been true? What if the cash had been on board the stage, after all—not in a strongbox, but hidden on one of the passengers?
Which one? He could probably rule out Etta Simpkins, who was little more than a harmless chatterbox. That left the mysterious beauty draped from head to toe in sweltering black silk.
What had the countess been wearing under those widow’s weeds? He’d bet the farm it wasn’t just lace-trimmed petticoats and silk drawers—unless she’d hidden the stash in her trunk.
“That ring you took—where is it?” he demanded.
Newt fished the ruby ring out of his pocket, spat on the stone and rubbed it on his shirt. “Purty thing. Looks like it might be worth a piece. How much d’you reckon we could get for it?”
“Here in Lodgepole, all you’d get is a necktie party from Roderick Hanford. That widow on the stage was Hanford’s sister-in-law. The ring’s hers.”
“The countess?” Apparently Gideon had heard the rumors. “Didn’t count on her bein’ such a looker. What were you doin’ with her ring?”
Clint
