The Ranger's Woman. Carol FinchЧитать онлайн книгу.
weight night and day.
She smiled fondly when the mutt plopped down at her bare feet. “Too bad you aren’t a man,” she said. “You, I would enjoy dealing with on a regular basis. Loyal, devoted and true-blue. Unlike most men I’ve met.”
On that thought, Piper stretched out in bed and promptly fell asleep, thankful not to be bouncing around in that dreadful coach and have her stomach churning constantly.
At dawn, Quinn headed down to the spring-fed creek to bathe and change into a clean set of clothes. He’d heard Agatha thumping down the hall earlier, requesting that Ike prepare her bath, so he granted her the luxury of the tub while he sought out more primitive accommodations.
After snooping around the barn, Quinn noticed a new hireling—a thin, wiry white man who wore a bright red bandana, which was tied in exactly the same place on his left shoulder as the attendant he had encountered the previous afternoon. Pulling the silver dollars from his pocket, Quinn wandered over to strike up a conversation while he rolled the coins over his fingertips. He also boasted about the big jackpot he had won at the gaming tables in Fort Stockton.
As he strolled off, he asked himself how a ring of spies might discreetly communicate their information about prospective targets when they were miles apart. Frowning pensively, he circled the coach that waited unattended while the guard and driver ate breakfast.
“Bingo,” Quinn murmured when he noticed the red bandana wrapped around the handle of the strongbox. Not only was he carrying the tempting bait of extra money, but also there must be valuable loot in the strongbox. Plus, the potential profit of whatever Agatha was carrying in her reticule.
When he heard voices he veered away from the back of the coach. His anticipation mounting, he predicted that he would finally hit pay dirt during the next leg of the trip. His only concern was how Agatha was going to react if this stage was held up. He could visualize her squaring off against the bandits and trying to protect the money she obviously carried.
If the stage were indeed robbed he would have to caution her to be careful what she said and did.
Amused, he watched Agatha toddle outside to set down a plate of food for the mutt. Agatha paid no attention to Ike who towered over her, complaining that he didn’t want the dog eating off “people” plates.
“Stop fussing at me, Ike. All I’m doing is keeping this poor dog from starving to death. It won’t hurt you to give the plate a good scrubbing.”
Quinn bit back a grin when Agatha flounced off and Ike sent a rude gesture flying behind her. Scowling, Ike lurched around and lumbered back into the trading post. Quinn had to agree that Ike was making a mountain out of a molehill and that Agatha was right. His plate had dried food caked on it and it could have used a good scrubbing.
“What are you smiling about this morning?” Agatha asked as she came toward him.
He opened the door of the coach for her. “I enjoy watching you set folks straight, as long as it isn’t me,” he said dryly.
When she climbed in, he caught a whiff of her appealing perfume. It reminded him of the wild lilac bushes that grew around his childhood home.
And that was about the only fond memory he had retained from childhood.
Well, no sense dredging that up, he told himself while he waited for the pup to bound into the coach. His life hadn’t been a fairy tale. So what? He had learned a long time ago to endure. As far as he could tell that’s what life was about.
“Are you getting in, Calvin, or do you plan to stand there woolgathering? And where are the driver and guard?” She looked him up and down, then said, “You look nice this morning in that colorful red vest.”
“Thanks,” he said, startled by the unexpected compliment.
As if on cue, the driver and burly guard scurried outside. For a moment Quinn appraised the shaggy-haired guard, wondering if he might be in on the robberies. He would make sure to keep a close eye on the man if they were held up so he could watch how he reacted.
Three hours later, as the coach bounced over the rock-strewn path that wound through a mountain pass, an eerie sensation skittered down Quinn’s spine. He jerked to attention to survey the looming granite walls that rose on each side of the narrow pass.
Soon, came the instinctive voice inside his head. He could almost feel danger looming in the distance, having dealt with it so often in the past.
He glanced at Agatha, who was carrying on a one-sided conversation with the mutt. “I’ve got a bad feeling.”
Her head snapped up and she tensed. “About what?”
“All my instincts tell me trouble is lurking. Do yourself a favor and don’t provoke the bandits if we get held up.”
“What?” she squawked, glancing this way and that. “Hell and damnation, this is just what I don’t need!”
Sure enough, she clutched protectively at her reticule again. Yep, she had something valuable with her, he predicted. If he could see her face, he knew it would be skewed up with alarm and anxiety.
Her hand shot out toward him. “Give me one of your six-shooters. I’m not going down without a fight.”
Quinn shook his head. “You shoot and they shoot back. Believe me, you would not like getting shot.”
“You speak from experience?”
He nodded grimly. “Yeah, it ain’t much fun. It would make you cross and cranky.”
She snorted at that.
“Okay, a lot more cross and cranky,” he amended wryly.
She poked her head out the window to study the towering stone precipices, and then she twisted around on the seat so that her shoulder and face were turned away from him.
“What are you doing?” he questioned, bemused.
Her head swiveled around, the thick veil swinging across the collar of her gown. “I’m unloading, of course.”
He saw her tuck something down the front of her gown. “If you don’t think bandits won’t frisk you because of your gender and age, think again. You might as well accept the fact that no one gets by untouched.”
“And you’re an expert, are you? Don’t tell me you supplement your lack of funds at the card table by holding up stages and banks.”
“No, but—”
Quinn’s voice dried up when he heard the first gunshot echoing off the rock walls, and then felt the coach lurch into a swifter speed.
“Oh, my God,” Agatha wailed as she grabbed hold of the window frame to prevent being launched into his lap. “This is going to spoil everything!”
He noticed the absence of the nasal tone in her voice again, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. He poked his head out the window to watch six masked riders descend from an elevated trail. Sure as shootin’, their faces were concealed by the same patterned red bandanas.
“It’s about damn time,” he said to himself. “Finally, some results.”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing—”
The coach caromed around a sharp bend in the road, flinging him sideways. Agatha screeched, a high-pitched sound that nearly burst his eardrums—and sent the frightened mutt up in howls. When the coach rocked wildly on its springs Agatha was flung on top of Quinn before he could upright himself. He barely had time to register the fact that she felt as soft as a feather pillow before she planted her hands on his chest and shoved herself away.
Quinn peered out the window to see two riders thundering beside the coach. A moment later, the stage skidded to a halt.
“Hands up!” one of the masked bandits roared at the driver. “And you there, throw down that shotgun.”