Killing Texas Bob Read online

  Bob studied her eyes in the glow of the lamp and the flicker of fire in the hearth. She felt his gaze on her as she unwrapped the bandage enough to see the wound. ‘‘Don’t look at me. I’m a mess,’’ she said softly, giving a faint smile. Her forearm brushed aside a strand of loose hair from her cheek.

  ‘‘You’re an angel, you are,’’ Bob said in a whisper. He slid a hand gently around her waist as she examined the wound closely for any unusual discoloration or swelling. Satisfied, she pressed the bandage back into place and rewrapped its tails around his shoulder.

  ‘‘Was this just a trick to get me over here?’’ she said with the same faint smile, feeling his hand press her closer to him. She tucked in the ends of the bandage and patted his chest gently.

  ‘‘Only three days here and you’ve seen through all my tricks?’’ Bob sighed and relaxed back onto a blanket-covered saddle he’d laid there the night they arrived.

  ‘‘You’ve been easy to read, Tex,’’ Mary Alice said. ‘‘But then, I am an expert at reading men.’’ As she spoke she unbuttoned her dress, slipped it up over her shoulders and let it fall.

  ‘‘Shhh, don’t talk like that about yourself,’’ Bob said, his hand still behind her waist, caressing her warm satiny skin. He nudged her gently, and she stretched out alongside him, careful as always of his mending wound. ‘‘I mean what I said,’’ he whispered. ‘‘You are an angel.’’

  ‘‘You bring that out of me,’’ she whispered. Propped over him on her elbow, she looked down into his eyes. ‘‘It’s easy with you.’’ She brushed his hair from his forehead with her fingertips and leaned forward and kissed him long and deep. When the kiss ended she looked into his eyes, seeing no guile there, no deception, nothing that unsettled her, nothing that cautioned her against him.

  ‘‘I wish . . .’’ He hesitated, then continued, ‘‘I wish it would have been like this with us before.’’

  ‘‘You always were my favorite,’’ she said. She wasn’t going to ask if he’d felt the same. She wanted to know, but she wouldn’t ask.

  ‘‘Still, it was different,’’ Bob said. ‘‘I can’t say how, or why, but it was different then.’’

  ‘‘I know,’’ she said, and she kissed him again, tenderly, yet feeling an aching for him welling inside her as her lips lingered near his mouth even after the kiss had ended. ‘‘Different in every way,’’ she whispered into his parted lips. ‘‘This feels like—’’ She stopped herself short. It wasn’t that she thought he wouldn’t believe her saying it felt like the first time. She felt she could say anything to him and he would understand.

  ‘‘Like the first time?’’ Bob whispered, finishing her words for her.

  Mary Alice did not attempt to reply. She smiled to herself and nodded against his cheek.

  ‘‘Me too,’’ he whispered; and she felt her emotions overpower her. Tears welled in her closed eyes. She knew that a man held himself to limits when he lay down with a woman he’d bought and paid for. She knew as well that she and the rest of the doves held those same limits when money changed hands. It had been a long time since a man had held her this way—a long time since she had allowed it.

  She had admired Texas Bob those times when he’d come calling and chosen her over the rest of the girls. But these days with him, the two of them alone together, she loved him, she told herself. And she had to hold herself back to keep from saying the words aloud.

  As if hearing her thoughts, he drew her closer against him. ‘‘I know,’’ he whispered. ‘‘I feel the same.’’

  At his spot at the corner of the hearth, the big dog raised his ears and eyes in curiosity, seeing the woman and man become one in the orange shadowy glow of firelight. Then he settled his chin back down on the floor, let out a breath and closed his eyes.

  Later in the night, when the fire had burned down into a slowly crackling bed of embers, she awakened beneath a quilt he’d spread over her when he’d stepped up and dressed himself. Feeling the empty spot beside her, she looked up, almost startled by his absence, and saw him sitting at the table in a circle of lantern light. On the table lay his Colt, beside it a cloth and a tin of oil. She watched him hold the gun up close to his ear and click the cylinder slowly, listening for any imperfection down deep in the steel bowels of the weapon.

  She waited until he lowered the Colt and began loading it with six bullets standing in a row on the table like soldiers at attention. ‘‘You’re—you’re leaving?’’ she said quietly, hoping her voice didn’t reveal her disappointment.

  But it did, she realized, seeing him lift his eyes to her as he slipped another bullet into the Colt. ‘‘Come daylight, a little before,’’ he said.

  ‘‘Weren’t you going to tell me?’’ she asked, knowing her voice wasn’t hiding a thing.

  ‘‘I was.’’ He sighed. ‘‘I suppose I wanted to put it off long as I could.’’

  She rose to her knees, naked, found her dress, pulled it on and stood up and straightened it. ‘‘Do you mean put off telling me or put off leaving?’’ she said, in an attempt to lighten the matter.

  ‘‘One hurts as bad as the other,’’ said Texas Bob, sliding the Colt into its holster. ‘‘But I’ve got to go. You know I’ve got to.’’

  ‘‘Yes, I know,’’ she said softly. She walked to the hearth and picked up the coffeepot from the stone mantel. ‘‘I’ll boil some coffee.’’

  Near her feet, the big dog raised his head and watched her, then stood and stretched and shook himself, and walked to the door. Mary Alice opened the door, let the dog out and stood staring out into the gray starlit darkness for a moment, composing herself. She knew the silence behind her lay waiting to hear from her. After a moment, when she trusted her voice again, she said aloud to Texas Bob, and to the darkness before her, ‘‘God, Tex, if something happens to you, I’ll die . . . I just know I will.’’

  ‘‘Don’t say that, Mary Alice,’’ she heard him say behind her. She heard his footsteps approaching her and she turned in time for him to take her in his arms. ‘‘Nothing’s going to happen to me. Nothing ever does.’’

  ‘‘Tex.’’ She sobbed against his chest. ‘‘I get a terrible feeling about this, about you leaving—’’

  ‘‘Shhh. You hush that now,’’ he said gently but firmly. ‘‘I’m coming back here, to you, Mary Alice, if you’ll have me.’’ He held her tightly. ‘‘I give you my word. Nothing or nobody is keeping me away from you.’’

  ‘‘Take me with you, Tex,’’ she blurted out. ‘‘I’m so afraid.’’

  ‘‘You’re safe here, Mary Alice,’’ he said. ‘‘Nobody knows about this place except you and me and ole Plug there.’’ He nodded at the dog as it meandered around the dusty yard with its muzzle to the ground.

  ‘‘I’m not afraid for myself, Tex,’’ she said. ‘‘I’m afraid for you.’’

  ‘‘You’ve got to stop being, Mary Alice,’’ Texas Bob said firmly.

  ‘‘I—I will, Tex,’’ she stammered, getting herself under control. She offered a feigned smile. ‘‘What’s wrong with me anyway? I’m never this foolish. Look how I’m shaking.’’ She tried to be strong.

  ‘‘Mary Alice,’’ he said against her tear-moistened cheek. ‘‘It’s been a long time since either of us felt this way toward anybody. I expect it’s got us both a little spooked.’’ He tried a slight chuckle. ‘‘But there’s nothing says we’re going to come to a bad end. Let’s both show a little faith here.’’

  ‘‘I’m trying,’’ she said. ‘‘But I just feel so—’’

  He pulled his face back from hers and tipped her chin up to meet his gaze, cutting her off. ‘‘Look at me,’’ he said with gentle finality. ‘‘I’m going to find Sheriff Thorn and tell him what happened. Then I’m coming right back here.’’ He gestured toward his wounded shoulder. ‘‘This is nothing. I might wound easy enough, but I’m awfully hard to kill.’’ He smiled at her. ‘‘Especially when I’ve given my word . . . Especially when I’ve got my very own a
ngel waiting here for me.’’

  PART 2

  Chapter 7

  At dawn, Sheriff Mike Thorn crossed the dirt street of Camp Verde through a raw whistling wind. He held the brim of his Stetson bent down to shield his face from the sharp cold dust. ‘‘Confounded wind,’’ he growled to himself beneath the batting of his long loose duster tails. ‘‘This had better be good.’’

  At the plank door of a half-adobe, half-pine-timbered building, he hammered with his balled fist until the door opened just enough for him to squeeze inside. As he stepped sidelong, a black hand slammed the door behind him and slipped an iron bolt into place to hold it shut. ‘‘Mercy!’’ said the black man as he stepped back from the door. ‘‘I never seen such a wind in this river valley!’’ He grinned broadly. ‘‘In Mississippi I seen it blow so long and hard, when it stopped all at once all the cows fell over.’’ He chuckled in a deep voice.

  Sheriff Thorn stared at him coldly. ‘‘You summoned me here to tell me that, Elmore?’’ he asked flatly. ‘‘ ’Cause if you did, I already heard it.’’

  ‘‘No, sir, Sheriff,’’ said Elmore Gant, turning more serious. He gestured a wide hand toward two men who sat huddled at a wooden table. ‘‘This is Dulsko, from the Big Daisy Mine project up on Cleopatra Hill—’’

  ‘‘I’ve met Mr. Dulsko,’’ Thorn said briskly, taking off his Stetson and shaking dust from it.

  ‘‘And this is Andrej Goran,’’ said Elmore, swinging his hand from Dulsko to Goran. ‘‘We all call him Andy. He’s more sober now than when he arrived. He drank his way from one town to the next till he got here. Seems he just got back today from Sibley.’’

  ‘‘Oh?’’ Thorn’s attention was piqued at hearing his town mentioned.

  ‘‘Yes, sir, and he’s got quite a tale to tell,’’ said Elmore. ‘‘I thought you’d want to hear it right off.’’

  ‘‘Yes, I do,’’ said Thorn, looking the Croatian over good, seeing the dirty bandage on his forearm. ‘‘What happened to your arm?’’ he asked Goran.

  Goran stared blankly.

  ‘‘He got it burned in Sibley.’’ Elmore interceded, a look of satisfaction coming to his eyes, having something of importance to say.

  ‘‘Can’t he talk?’’ Thorn asked sharply, staring down into Goran’s dark bloodshot eyes.

  ‘‘Not so’s you and me would understand him,’’ said Elmore. ‘‘That’s why I brung Dulsko here when he started babbling something about a fire in Sibley, then about a gunfight.’’ Elmore stared at the sheriff expectantly.

  ‘‘Oh,’’ said Thorn, realizing the Croatian spoke very little English. To Dulsko he said, ‘‘Ask Andy here how he burnt his arm in Sibley.’’

  Ernst Dulsko turned to Goran and spoke to him in their native tongue. After a moment of listening closely while Goran spoke, the translator turned to Thorn and told him everything.

  Shaking his head slowly as he let the story sink in, Thorn finally said in a tone of regret, ‘‘I can’t believe Texas Bob would do something like that, ’less of course it was in self-defense.’’ He looked at Goran as he asked Dulsko, ‘‘Was Lady Lucky still alive when you left?’’

  Dulsko asked and Goran replied, nodding to the sheriff. To Thorn, Dulsko said, ‘‘Yes, as far as he knows. She was alive when he had his arm bandaged and left town. But he does not know what condition she was in.’’

  ‘‘Well, thank God she’s alive,’’ said Thorn. He placed his Stetson back atop his head. ‘‘I’m headed back to Sibley anyway. I expect I’ll speed it up some, maybe take some high ground and cut over through the ponderosas.’’

  Elmore and Dulsko gave one another a wary look. Elmore said, ‘‘Sheriff, you best want to stick to the trails twixt this river valley and Sibley. There ain’t nothing but trouble for a man out there—’’

  ‘‘I believe I know my way home as well as the next fellow, Elmore,’’ Thorn said testily, cutting him short.

  ‘‘Yes, sir, Sheriff, I know you do,’’ Elmore said. Then he shut up and clenched his jaw as if to keep from saying anything more. But he could contain his silence for only a few seconds before saying, ‘‘What are you going to do if Texas Bob is in the wrong on this? What if he did shoot everybody down and set fire to the saloon?’’

  Thorn stared at him blankly. ‘‘I suppose I’ll have to bring him in.’’

  ‘‘Ha!’’ Elmore scoffed. ‘‘I know Texas Bob. He won’t be taken no place he don’t want to go.’’

  Reaching for the bolt on the door, Thorn said in a sarcastic tone, ‘‘Then let’s hope he’s not wrong. Else I’d have to bring him somewhere he didn’t want to be.’’ He pulled the bolt to the side, opened the door and stepped out into a howling swirl of dust. ‘‘Blasted wind!’’ he shouted aloud. Bending his hat brim down over his face, he walked leaning sideways to the livery barn, where his horse stood grained and rested.

  ‘‘I hope you filled him good, Oldham,’’ Thorn said to the liveryman. ‘‘I don’t want to stop till we’ve got up out of Verde River Valley and cleared this wind.’’

  ‘‘He’s fed better than you or me either one, Sheriff,’’ said Oldham McCoy, rubbing a hand along the horse’s flanks and patting his rump. ‘‘But if it’s blowing this hard down here, what do you think it’ll be like up on the desert flats and the rock lands?’’

  ‘‘I’m banking on it being blown out by then,’’ said Thorn. Reaching for his reins he added, ‘‘It won’t matter anyway. I’ve got to ride through it. Had a saloon burn down and some folks shot to death.’’

  ‘‘Hmph,’’ said Oldham. ‘‘I thought stuff like that never happened in your town, Sheriff.’’

  Thorn stopped long enough to give him a hard stare. ‘‘Note that I wasn’t in my town when it happened, livery keeper.’’ He put a gold coin into the liveryman’s outstretched hand, swung up into his saddle and turned the chestnut toward the front door.

  Claude Price and Frisco Phil Page sat atop their horses a few yards ahead of Carter Roby, Ty Shenlin and Cinder Kane. After a three-hour wait, they finally watched the Cottonwood stagecoach lumber into sight on its weekly turnaround trip back from Flagstaff. Reaching up and drawing his hat string up tight beneath his chin, Frisco Phil said, ‘‘Here she hauls, pards. Better get ready. We’re going to do it.’’

  ‘‘Wait a minute! Do what?’’ said Deputy Price, holding his horse back, seeing Phil about to slap its rump with his gloved hand.

  Frisco Phil held his hand ready, but gave Price a bemused look and said, ‘‘Why, rob this big fat stage coming here, Deputy. What did you think we’ve been waiting to do, dance to a fiddling band?’’

  Behind them the other three stifled their laughter. Price shot them a bristling glance, then said to Phil in a stern tone, ‘‘I thought we were waiting to see who’s on the stage, not rob it!’’

  Frisco Phil took a deep breath as if trying to be patient with the part-time lawman. ‘‘We are going to see who’s on it, Deputy,’’ he said, ‘‘and of course if it’s full of armed guards or soldiers, we’re going to send it on about its business.’’ He held up a gloved finger for emphasis. ‘‘But let’s say there’s no armed guards, other than the shotgun rider. Wouldn’t it be foolish of us to not rob it? I mean, us being outlaws and all?’’ As he spoke he drew his Colt from his holster and cocked it threateningly. ‘‘Now get yourself out in front of us and let’s get going.’’

  ‘‘I’m doing it, but I don’t like it,’’ said Price. He drew his bandanna up across the bridge of his nose, masking his face.

  Frisco Phil quickly reached up and jerked it back down. ‘‘Are you dim-witted, Deputy?’’ he asked. The men laughed. ‘‘You can’t wear a mask! They won’t stop!’’ he said.

  Price looked confused.

  ‘‘We want you out there on the trail with your badge on, so’s they’ll see it’s you and rein down for us,’’ Frisco said. He gave the men a look of disbelief, bringing more muffled laughter.

  ‘‘But they’ll recognize me!’�
� Price protested.

  ‘‘Let me and our pards take care of that,’’ Frisco said gravely. ‘‘These folks ain’t going to recognize nobody, I can tell you.’’

  ‘‘I can’t go along with that!’’ said Price, feeling sick all of a sudden at what he’d gotten into. ‘‘That’s cold-blooded murder.’’

  ‘‘Now you’re disappointing everybody,’’ Frisco said coolly. ‘‘Hear that, pards? I know you all had your hearts set on robbing this stage.’’

  ‘‘I sure did,’’ said Cinder, all three of them nudging their horses closer. ‘‘It’s all I’ve thought about for days.’’

  ‘‘Me too,’’ said Ty Shenlin. ‘‘I owe some debts I wanted to take care of.’’

  Rising in his saddle, Carter Roby said, ‘‘Whatever we’re going to do, we best get to doing it. They’re almost inside the canyon.’’

  Frisco looked at Price with his gun cocked and pointed at his chest. ‘‘Can’t you see what a good thing we’ve got here? We’re working for the judge! No matter what we do out here, we can lay it on Texas Bob. We come upon a stage just in time to see him riding away. He robbed it and killed everybody. We got there just a minute too late to stop him.’’

  ‘‘I don’t know if that’ll work,’’ said Price, hoping to stall as long as he could. ‘‘What if Judge Bass won’t believe Texas Bob robbed the stage?’’

  ‘‘Oh, he’ll believe it,’’ said Frisco. ‘‘He’ll believe Texas Bob killed you too, if you don’t get cracking.’’ With no more on the matter, Frisco slapped the rump of Price’s horse and sent it bolting toward the trail.

  ‘‘Where did he ever find a lawman that stupid?’’ Carter Roby said to Shenlin and Kane. The three gigged their horses, but stayed back out of sight along a wall of rock while Price and Frisco Phil rode out into clear view of the oncoming stage.

  Midway, Frisco said to Price, ‘‘Wave them down, Deputy! Make sure they see that tin badge.’’