Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

About The Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Copyright

“Of all the rotten, underhandedtricks I’ve ever heard!”

Kelsey drew back her elbow and jabbed Clay in the belly. “Get off of me!”

A little woof slipped through his lips as he grabbed his stomach. “Quiet, Kelsey, the sheriff will be here—”

She pushed him away with both hands and sat up. “You must think I’m a fool, believing this trumped-up story of yours. Sheriff coming to arrest me. Stolen jewelry—my foot! Of all the men I’ve known, Clay Chandler, you are the lowest, filthiest, rottenest skunk I’ve ever met!”

He sat up and braced his arm against thepillow. “Look, Kelsey, you’ve got it all wrong—”

Kelsey scooted sideways in the bed and reared back against the wall “Get out!” She kicked him with both feet.

Clay tumbled backward onto the floor. Springing to his feet, he glared down at her.

Kelsey’s cheeks flamed. He was naked…!

Dear Reader,

Outlaw Love is the first Harlequin Historical novel by Judith Stacy, who writes for other houses under her real name, Dorothy Howell We are delighted to bring you this heartwarming Western about a U.S. Marshal who comes to town to put an end to a series of payroll robberies, and inadvertently falls in love with the woman who is the leader of the gang responsible for the thefts.

Our titles for the month also include Knights Divided by Suzanne Barclay. In this medieval tale from one of our most popular authors, a young woman finds herself embroiled in a maelstrom of passion and deceit when she kidnaps the rogue whom she believes murdered her sister.

In Bogus Bride, by Australian author Emily French, a spirited young woman must convince her new husband that although he had intended to marry her sister, she is his true soul mate. And in Nina Beaumont’s new book, Surrender the Heart, a gambler and a nobleman’s daughter, haunted by their pasts, turn to each other for protection against falling in love.

Whatever your taste in reading, we hope you’ll find a story written just for you between the covers of a Harlequin Historical book. Keep a lookout for all four titles wherever Harlequin Historicals are sold.

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell,

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Hartequin Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325. Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609. Fort Erie, Ont L2A 5X3

Outlaw Love
Judith Stacy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JUDITH STACY

Judith Stacy began writing as a personal challenge and found it a perfect outlet for all those thoughts and ideas bouncing around in her head. She chose romance because of the emotional involvement with the characters, and historicals because of her love of bygone days.

Judith has been married to her high school sweetheart for over two decades and has two daughters. When not writing, she haunts museums, historical homes and antique stores, gathering ideas for new adventures in the past.

To David, Judy and Stacy, as always,

for your inspiration, patience and love

Chapter One

Missouri, 1876

Hanging was a hell of a way to die.

Clay Chandler pulled against the ropes binding his hands behind him and swallowed hard. He’d gotten himself into a devil of a mess this time. He might even get himself killed.

“You boys better call this off before it goes too far.” Clay dipped his chin toward the silver badge pinned to his vest “You hang me, and every lawman in the state will be all over these parts.”

Beneath the oak a few yards away, the two outlaws looked back at him. The tallest one gave him a wide grin.

“Well, they’re gonna have to find you first, Marshal.” He laughed and elbowed his partner. “Get the rope, Deuce.”

Deuce glanced nervously at Clay. “I don’t know, Luther. Maybe he’s right. Maybe we ought to wait for Scully—”

“Just shut your face, Deuce, just shut it Scully ain’t here now and I am, and what I say goes. Now do like I tol’ you and git that dang rope.”

Clay’s gaze swept the area. Their campsite lay in a meadow beneath two big oaks, the intertwined boughs forming a leafy canopy that blocked out the bright afternoon sun. To the north and east stood more trees, and to the south a rugged, rocky hillside. Good cover, Clay thought, if he could make it that far. He doubted Luther was above shooting him in the back if he made a break for it His gaze fell on his horse, tethered on the far side of the oak these two intended to hang him from—a long run, under the circumstances.

Clay shifted on the ground where Deuce and Luther had shoved him over an hour ago and stretched out his long legs. The ropes dug into his wrists. He glanced at the empty holster strapped to his thigh and mumbled a curse at the two outlaws, then one at himself.

Luther turned his way again. He was tall and lean, and his face looked like dry, cracked leather. “Yessi-ree, Mister Federal Marshal, we’re gonna show everybody what happens when some no-count lawman comes poking around these parts looking for the Dade gang.” He rubbed his hands together and looked at Deuce. “String him up, boy.”

Sweat trickled down Clay’s temple. He’d tracked the Dade gang for three days, hoping to find their hideout and bring Scully Dade in. But the gang had split up yesterday, and on a hunch he’d followed these two. Scully Dade, wanted in three states, had gotten away, and Clay had stumbled into an-ambush.

He dug the heels of his boots into the soft, damp ground. He’d made a greenhorn’s mistake. Now it looked as though he’d pay for it with his life.

Deuce advanced on him, the length of rope coiled in one hand, the noose dangling from the other. Young—maybe sixteen, Clay guessed—dressed in clothes that were most likely hand-me-downs. He seemed unsure of himself.

Clay looked up at him, his gaze steady. “Do you know what the penalty is for murdering a federal marshal, son?”

He stopped and turned back to Luther. “Maybe—”

“Git on with it,” Luther yelled. “I ain’t got all gol-darn day to stand around here.”

Deuce glanced at Clay once more. “But—”

Luther stomped over to them. “Are you tetched in the head, or just plain stupid?”

He gestured at Clay with the rope. “But he says we could get in big trouble—”

Luther yanked off his hat and slapped Deuce over the head with it “Would you just think for one gol-darn minute! You’re fixing to hang him—what do you ‘spect he’s gonna say?”

Deuce cowered, then straightened when Luther put his hat on again. “Oh.”

He nodded and walked away. “I’ll git his horse.”

Deuce looked at Clay, wary now, and grabbed his arm. “Get on your feet.”

With Luther’s back to him, and time and options running out, Clay took the only chance open to him. He surged upward and drove his shoulder into Deuce’s belly, lifting the boy off his feet. He stepped back, and Deuce fell to the ground, gasping for air. Clay dropped to his knees, groping with his bound hands, and pulled the pistol from Deuce’s holster.

A shot rang out, and a bullet whistled past Clay’s ear. Luther, arm extended, ready to squeeze off another shot, stood only yards away. In a split second, Clay calculated the odds of getting off an accurate shot from behind his back and ducking for cover before Luther could fire. It didn’t look good.

Luther pulled back the hammer. “Don’t make me have to kill you before I get to hang you.”

Clay rose to his full height, towering over both the outlaws. His broad chest and the star pinned to it made an easy target. Clay uttered a bitter oath and threw the gun aside.

“That’s more like it.” Luther walked closer, keeping a steady eye on Clay, and nudged Deuce with his boot. “Git up, boy. You are an embarrassment to outlaws everywhere. I am downright ashamed to be in the same gang with you.”

Coughing, Deuce struggled to his feet. “We’re not really in the gang, Luther. Scully just lets us ride along with him sometimes ‘cause—”

“Shut up!” Luther waved the gun again. “Do like I tol’ you to do.”

Deuce’s shoulders sagged. “Why don’t we just let him go, Luther?”

“We can’t let no lawman get away with hunting down Scully.”

“Then can’t we just shoot him in the leg, or something?”

“No! I’ve been wanting to hang me a lawman, and that’s what I’m gonna do.” Luther’s eyes were bulging. “If I shoot anybody around here, it’s gonna be you! Now shut up and get that dang rope!”

Deuce picked up his gun and straightened the rope. He slipped the noose over Clay’s head, while Luther kept the gun trained on him.

Cold-beads of perspiration broke out on Clay’s forehead. His muscles tense, he looked for any opportunity to get the jump on Luther. He gave him no chance, just held the gun steadily upon him while Clay climbed into the saddle of the horse Deuce led over.

“You go through with this and the whole place will be crawling with marshals,” Clay warned. “There won’t be a rock anywhere Scully Dade can hide under.”

“Scully’s got hisself a new hideout so good nobody’s never gonna find it And you ain’t nothing but some lowly marshal who don’t amount to a wad of spit Nobody’s even gonna know you’re gone.” Luther waved the gun at Deuce. “String him up.”

Deuce threw the rope over the oak’s lowest limb and tied it off. “Ready.”

A slow smile spread over Luther’s face. “Any last words, Marshal?”

Clay’s heart pounded in his chest Thoughts of his thirty-two years spent on this earth raced through his head, but nothing he wanted to share with these two.

He looked down at Luther. “I’ll see you in hell.”

“You can—”

Gunshots sounded, and two riders broke from the trees to the east. Horses at a dead run, they charged the campsite, bullets flying.

Deuce’s eyes widened. “What the—”

Clay’s spirit soared. He turned in the saddle. He’d tracked the Dade gang alone. No one knew where he’d gone. No one expected him to return. No one would come to his rescue, or so he’d thought Was this a last minute reprieve? Or was he caught in the cross fire of someone out for revenge against part of Scully Dade’s gang?

The riders drew nearer, their faces hidden behind red bandannas tied over their noses and mouths, and over-size hats pulled low on their foreheads.

“Gol-darn it!” Luther swore. “It’s the Schoolyard Boys!”

“Huh?” Deuce looked dumbly at Luther.

“Bunch of snot-nose kids trying to make a name for themselves! I’d like to tan their hides. Take cover!”

Luther ran to the oak, with Deuce stumbling along behind. They crouched behind its huge trunk, leaving Clay on his horse, hands bound behind him, noose around his neck.

“Whoa, fella, take it easy.” The saddle creaked beneath him as the horse pawed the ground. Clay kept his voice calm, trying to soothe the stallion as he frantically worked the ropes that bound his wrists. The riders kept coming. Luther returned fire, and punched Deuce in the shoulder until he did the same.

From the corner of his eye, Clay caught sight of another horse emerging from the pines to the north. It galloped toward the campsite, unnoticed by Deuce and Luther. The boy riding it wore the same shapeless clothing, red bandanna and oversize hat as the other two barreling in from the east.

Clay gritted his teeth. He was a sitting duck. If he didn’t get hit by one of the flying bullets, and his horse didn’t run out from under him, this outlaw would surely blow him to kingdom come with one easy shot. He held his breath, cursing himself, Deuce and Luther, and now these Schoolyard Boys.

The rider bore down on him. The horse beneath Clay stepped sideways, stretching the rope tighter around his neck.

“Whoa, fella, whoa.”

The boy pulled alongside, his horse tossing its head in protest. In a swift motion, he pulled a bowie knife from his trousers and swung it at Clay, cutting through the rope and sending tree bark flying.

Clay’s horse lunged sideways. He squeezed his knees tighter to keep his seat His head spun. Were the Schoolyard Boys trying to kill him, or rescue him?

Clay turned in the saddle for a glance at the boy who had cut him free, half expecting him to be gone, half expecting a bullet to explode in his face. The boy was beside him, knife in hand. Their gazes met for a split second. Amid the chaos of flying bullets and thundering hooves, that second lasted an eternity.

The boy nudged his horse closer, brandishing the knife. Clay felt the blade slide past his wrists and the ropes give way. Without giving Clay another look, he wheeled his horse around and crouched low as he raced back toward the pines.

“Gol-darn it!”

Luther let out a yelp and grabbed his shoulder as he dropped to his knees. “I’ve been hit! I’ve been hit by one of them dang fool boys!”

Deuce shrank back against the tree, watching blood spew from Luther’s shoulder. “Oh, God…” He turned away and threw up.

Clay pulled the noose from around his neck and swung down from his horse. He picked up Luther’s gun and disarmed Deuce, shoving the weapon into the waistband of his trousers.

The Schoolyard Boys stopped firing and turned north, toward the pines. The last rider’s horse went down. The boy flew through the air and landed hard on his belly. The other rider, not seeing what had happened, disappeared into the trees.

“Good! Serves you right!” Luther called to the fallen rider.

Clay took a length of rope and tied Luther’s wrists. Deuce sat up, his arms folded across his stomach, his face colorless. Clay thought he might cry.

He pointed his finger at him. “You stay put.” Deuce nodded quickly and shrank back against the tree trunk.

Clay mounted and rode out to the fallen boy. The horse was up and walking, seemingly uninjured by the fall. The rider hadn’t moved.

Clay slid from the saddle and knelt beside him as he lay facedown in the grass. The hat still covered his head, but the red bandanna had fallen below his chin exposing a gently curving jaw and the soft lines of a face that had never seen a razor. And never would.

Light footsteps brushed the grass behind him. Clay tensed and reached for his gun, then froze as cold metal pressed against his cheek.

“Eat dirt, lawman.”

The raspy, croaking voice sent a chill down Clay’s spine. He glanced up to find the barrel of a Winchester inches from his face. His gaze traveled upward and met with the large eyes of the rider who had cut him free, barely visible between the brim of the battered hat and the red bandanna. He’d looked bigger than life, charging into camp, wielding the bowie knife. Now Clay saw that he wasn’t much more than five feet tall; he could only guess at the slender build hidden beneath the clothing. But at the moment the Winchester added significantly to the boy’s stature.

Clay raised his hands. The third member of the Schoolyard Boys rode up, leading the horse that had gone down. The Winchester waved a silent instruction, and Clay turned his back and stretched out on the ground, facedown.

No one spoke, but he heard groans and whispers and finally horses galloping away. He turned in time to see the Schoolyard Boys disappear into the trees.

He mounted again and rode back to the campsite. Deuce was still sitting where he’d left him, while Luther moaned and cursed everything in sight.

“Gol-darn it, I can’t believe I got shot by one of them scrawny Schoolyard Boys. They’re not even dry behind the ears yet. I won’t be able to show my face in these parts again.”

“Don’t lose any sleep over it” Clay climbed down from his horse. “You won’t be showing your face anywhere but in a jail cell for a long time.”

“Dang it” Luther moaned as he sat back against the tree trunk. “I hate them boys.”

“I wonder where they’re from.” Deuce gazed off at the pines.

Luther kicked him. “Shut up, will you? They’re just kids. That’s how come they got the name Schoolyard Boys. Everybody’s asking that same question. Don’t nobody know nothing about them boys except how they’ve been making a nuisance of themselves robbing the stage.”

Clay turned toward the pines. There was no sign of the riders or their horses. But he’d learned something about the Schoolyard Boys that apparently no one else knew.

One of the Schoolyard Boys was a girl.

Kelsey Rodgers pulled back on the reins, and the horse pranced nervously in the soft earth. Her gaze swept the tall trees and the shallow stream running through the narrow valley. “This looks like a good spot. We’ll rest here for a while.”

“We should have let him swing.”

Kelsey slid from the saddle and gave her friend a scathing look. “I told you, Mallory, we had no choice. He was a lawman, for pity’s sake. Do you know what happens when one of them gets killed?”

Mallory dismounted and dropped her reins, allowing her horse to drink from the stream. “Yeah, I know.”

“Then you should know, too, that he could cause problems for us.”

Mallory tossed her head indifferently and sat down on the grassy bank.

Kelsey pulled off her hat. The long braid of her light brown hair uncoiled and fell down her back. “The last thing we need is a bunch of federal marshals swarming the countryside, which is what would have happened when word got out that a lawman had been hanged. Besides, with what we’ve got planned today, we’d most likely be the ones blamed for it.”

Mallory shrugged indifferently. “I still say we should have kept out of it and let the bastard hang.”

A chill swept up Kelsey’s spine. At times, Mallory’s recklessness alarmed her.

“Make her stop talking that way, Kelsey.”

Kelsey put her arm around Holly as she climbed down from her horse. “Are you feeling better? You took a hard fall.”

“I’m all right.” Holly patted the big bay mare and bit down on her bottom lip. “But what about her? What if she’s hurt bad? What if somebody finds out we took her—”

“Nobody is going to find out.” Kelsey glanced at the horse’s front leg. “Looks like she’ll need another shoe. I’ll take care of it when we get back to town.”

“You don’t think the marshal recognized me, do you?” Holly twisted her fingers together. “My bandanna came down. What if he knows who I am? What if he finds out? If I go to jail, I’ll never get to see—”

“He only got a glimpse of your face, not enough to accuse you of anything.” Kelsey patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”

Holly nodded. “All right. If you say so.”

Kelsey sat down beside Mallory on the bank of the stream. The ground felt cool and damp beneath her. They’d ridden several miles into the hills, a safe distance from the campsite. She allowed herself to relax.

“Lucky for that marshal we happened by and saw what Luther and Deuce were up to.” Holly shrugged out of her jacket and tugged at the waistband of the trousers that covered her plump figure. She plopped down on the bank.

Mallory rolled her eyes. “Yeah, real lucky.”

Holly untied the bandanna from her neck and dipped it into the stream. “It was nice of him to come and see about me when I fell.”

“But if it hadn’t been for Kelsey and her Winchester, God knows what he might have done.” Mallory scooped water into her hands and rubbed it onto her face.

Holly blushed. “My word, what are you suggesting?”

“If anybody knows what I’m suggesting, Holly Duncan, it surely is you.”

“How dare you!” Holly’s cheeks reddened, and tears pooled in her eyes. “That’s a filthy thing to say, Mallory Morgan—even for you!”

Mallory’s blue eyes flashed. “I don’t know why you act so innocent Everybody in the whole blessed town knows that when you supposedly went to visit your aunt last year, you were really—”

“All right, you two, stop it!” Kelsey got to her feet and stepped between them. “We’ve got enough problems without you two fighting all the time.”

Mallory shrugged and turned away. Holly sniffled behind her bandanna.

A long moment passed before Kelsey sat down between the other girls again. “How do you suppose. Deuce got hooked up with the likes of Luther and the Dade gang? He doesn’t seem the type.”

“One thing’s for sure,” Mallory said. “His pa is going to whip him good if he ever finds out.”

Kelsey nodded, suddenly feeling much older than her twenty-two years. Mallory, the same age as she, and Holly,’ who was four years younger, seemed to have aged immeasurably in these past months, as well.

“Do you think Luther will be all right?” Holly’s brown eyes looked hopeful. “I didn’t mean to really shoot him.”

“Luther is too ornery to die.” Mallory scooped water from the stream again and trickled it down the front of her shirt

“I’ve never shot anybody before—you know I haven’t” Holly wrung her fingers together.

Kelsey patted her shoulder. “Just be more careful next time.”

“Damn, it’s hot” Mallory stood and stretched her long legs. She was the tallest of the three, and her limbs were lithe and supple.

“How do men stand wearing these heavy trousers and big hats and thick shirts?” Holly tied the bandanna around her neck. “Can we be girls next time?”

“I’ll work on it.” Kelsey pulled a pocket watch from inside her jacket. “We’ve got to go. Holly, do you feel up to this?”

She glanced at Mallory, then nodded. “Sure.”

The three climbed onto their horses.

“Do you think the stage will be on schedule?” Holly shifted in the saddle.

“That old sissy Otis Bean would pop a stay if the stage didn’t get out of town on time.” Mallory fastened the buttons on her jacket. “It’ll be on schedule.”

“And you’re sure of what’s on board?”

Mallory smiled knowingly. “I have it on the best authority.”

“Let’s go.” Kelsey led the way into the woods.

A devilish grin crept over Mallory’s face as she eased her horse up beside Holly’s. “Maybe when we’re done we should double back and make sure Kelsey’s lawman didn’t get into trouble again.”

“Mallory, you’re awful. Just awful.” Holly pursed her lips. “He’s probably very capable.”

A slow grin spread over Mallory’s face. “Probably very capable, indeed. A man his size has got at least one thing in his favor.”

“Mallory!” Holly blushed. “The things you say—Why, you leave me breathless.”

“I’ll bet the good marshal could too.” Mallory laughed a low, husky laugh. “What about it, Kelsey? You saw him up close. What did he look like?”

Eyes slate gray, like a spring thunderhead. A day’s dark stubble covering a strong chin and square jaw. Even, white teeth set behind a full, expressive mouth. Broad, sturdy shoulders.

“I didn’t notice.”

Holly shrugged. “We’ve probably seen the last of him.”

“I hope so.” Mallory urged her horse to a faster pace. “A lawman is nothing but trouble.”

“Cold and heartless,” Holly added.

Kelsey felt the gazes of her friends upon her, but couldn’t bring herself to agree with them. They hadn’t seen the marshal the way she did. They hadn’t felt his breath on her face when she cut the noose from around his neck, or sensed the raw power he possessed when she freed his hands. They hadn’t seen the steel gray of his eyes melt into pools of blue when he realized she’d come to rescue him.

Kelsey touched her heels to the horse. “We’ll have to hurry to make it to Flat Ridge in time.”

She pushed the image of the marshal from her mind. The lives of too many people rested on her shoulders for her to waste time on such thoughts. She couldn’t allow herself to think of him. Not now.

She had a stage to rob.

Chapter Two

Clay pulled off his black Stetson and sat down on the rickety chair across the desk from Deputy Billy Elder.

“So them two ambushed you, huh?” The deputy’s amusement was thinly veiled, in the guise of taking down Clay’s report. “They got the drop on you. Bushwhacked you. Then tried to string you up. Is that about it?”

The chair creaked under Clay. “Yeah, that’s about it.”

Seated under the gun rack across the room, Sheriff Roy Bottom rubbed a cleaning rag over the barrel of a Winchester. Gray hair bristling from beneath his hat, he appeared content to let. his young deputy handle the paperwork.

Billy looked up from the report on his desk. “And it was only them two. Just Deuce and Luther. They were the ones who bested you.”

Around twenty, Clay guessed his age to be, with the look of an arrogant kid who ought to be taken down a notch or two. Clay had disliked him on sight. “Yeah, just the two of them.”

Billy consulted his report again. “And you’re a United States marshal, sent here on special assignment to clean up the gangs. Have I got that right?”

“You got it right.” Clay lunged to his feet and threaded his fingers through the dark hair at his temple. He’d had enough of Deputy Elder. He headed for the door.

“Chandler… Clay Chandler.” Sheriff Bottom stroked his chin and propped the rifle against the wall. “I heard about you. Brought in Cecil and Cyrus Reynolds, and the Fields gang, as I understand it, all on your own. You’ve got quite a reputation for yourself, marshal. Who are you trailing now?”

“Scully Dade.”

Billy snorted. “Shoot, the Dade gang makes the Reynolds boys look like ladies at a quilting bee.”

Cold determination hardened in Clay’s belly. “I’ll bring him in.”

Sheriff Bottom nodded slowly. “If what I hear about you is right, I believe you’ll do just that.”

Billy mumbled his disbelief and shuffled his reports into the desk drawer.

“Appreciate your help on this one.” Sheriff Bottom nodded toward the cells down the hallway. “At least that’s two less to worry about. Doc says Luther’s shoulder will mend in a few weeks. I’ll hold him here till the circuitjudge gets around again. Deuce’s pa will be by soon. He’ll probably beat the tar out of the boy. You can be sure he’ll stay in town till the judge gets here.”

“Who’s riding the circuit around here?”

The sheriff shifted. “We lost Kingsley.”

Clay had crossed paths with Judge Kingsley a time or two in the past “No loss. Most judges practice law from the bench. Kings ley did it from somebody’s back pocket.”

Sheriff Bottom shrugged indifferently. “We got a new judge now. Some fella name of Winthrope.”

The name coiled a tight knot in Clay’s belly. “Harlan Winthrope?”

He nodded. “Could be. I never met the man. He ain’t been out this way yet. You know him?”

Clay’s stomach churned. “I know him.”

“You’ll be gone before he gets here, huh?” Billy asked.

Clay nodded. He definitely intended to be gone from this town before Harlan Winthrope arrived. “I’ll be here a few more days, that’s all.”

He opened the door, then turned back. “Do you know about a gang called the Schoolyard Boys?”

“I sure as hell do.” Billy rose and swiped his blond hair back with his palm. “Them boys are making a name for themselves around here.”

The sheriff nodded wisely. “They hit the stage at Flat Ridge just this afternoon.”

“This afternoon? You sure it was today?”

“’Course I’m sure. Why?”

Clay nodded toward the cells. “Luther claimed it was the Schoolyard Boys that shot him.”

Billy’s brows drew together and he sucked his teeth. “Now let me besure I got this straight, Marshal Chandler. You were tracking Scully Dade, but lost him and got ambushed by Deuce and Luther and nearly hung. Then you came across the Schoolyard Boys, but they slipped through your fingers and robbed the stage coach not an hour later. Is that about the size of it?”

Clay pulled his hat low on his forehead and gritted his teeth. “That about sums it up.”

Billy nodded slowly. “Much obliged, Chandler. Good having you federal boys on the job.”

Clay turned and left the office. He strode down the boardwalk of Eldon’s Main Street, his gut churning.

He didn’t like being made a fool of. It was one thing that Scully Dade—a hardened lifelong outlaw—had eluded him. And even the likes of Deuce and Luther getting the drop on him could be palated. But he couldn’t abide being made a laughingstock by a bunch of kids—school-age kids, with a woman among them, at that.

Clay pushed his way through the swinging doors of the Watering Hole Saloon. He caught a few curious stares from the sparse afternoon clientele as he made his way to the bar. The badge on his chest always attracted attention.

“Beer.” He tossed a coin on the bar and took the mug the bartender slid his way. Clay settled in at a table in the corner, his back to the wall. He took a long drink and ran his fingers across the rope burn on his neck.

Clay pushed his hat back and rested his boots on the rung of the chair beside him. Here under special appointment from the governor, he and dozens of other marshals spread out across the country had been directed to get rid of the outlaws terrorizing honest, law-abiding folks, and make it safe for families and businesses alike. He’d been on the trail for months.

Clay took a long drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He’d asked specifically for this assignment. He’d bring in the Dade gang himself, and not just because it was his job.

Kelsey hurried down the boardwalk, doing her best to conceal the carpet bag in the folds of her pale blue dress, and slipped into the kitchen of the Eldon Hotel.

“Well, I wondered if I was going to have to cook this whole meal myself.”

Etta Mae Brown’s disapproving gaze met her when she stepped through the door. Kelsey untied her bonnet and hung it on the peg. “Like you’d let me help cook even if I were here all day long?”

Etta Mae giggled and stirred the boiling pots on the cookstove. “Oh, Kelsey honey, you know me too well.”

She smiled and darted into the small bedroom just off the kitchen. Quickly Kelsey dumped the contents of the carpetbag into the bottom drawer of her bureau and shoved it shut.

Kelsey hurried into the kitchen again. The large room held a massive cookstove, a pie safe, a sink, a sideboard and cupboards, with a worktable in the center. A pantry stood at one end, and a narrow service staircase to the second floor next to it. A small round table sat near the doorway to the bedroom Kelsey used when she stayed overnight at the hotel, which lately had been more than in her own bedroom at home.

“Smells delicious.” Kelsey made her way to the sideboard, careful to avoid the bits of dough, squashed peas and flattened potatoes that littered the floor. Etta Mae was a wonderful cook, but as messy as the day was long. She was short and stout from years of tasting her own creations, and her gray hair was streaked with white and arranged neatly on top of her head. Etta Mae had worked at the hotel since her husband passed away, over a year ago.

“Anybody new check in today?” Kelsey took a fresh apron from the drawer and tied it around her waist.

“Hmm?” Etta Mae looked up from the pots she tended. “Oh, no. No new guests.”

Kelsey sighed and mentally calculated the number of guests already in the hotel and the amount of income they generated. She hoped the supper crowd would be good.

“How’s things at the house today?” Etta Mae turned to Kelsey, water and greens dripping from her spoon.

“Everything’s fine.” Kelsey washed her hands at the kitchen pump, then took out a knife and sliced the apple pie cooling on the sideboard. She kept her head turned, avoiding Etta Mae’s probing gaze.

“And your pa?” She leaned closer, her brows bobbing.

“Pa’s fine, too.”

It could be true, Kelsey told herself. In fact, it probably was true. She just hadn’t actually been home today to know for sure. So it wasn’t really like lying. Was it? After all this time covering up her whereabouts, Kelsey still wasn’t used to it.

Etta Mae stirred the boiling potatoes, splashing water onto the cookstove. “Do you think your pa will be coming into town anytime soon?”

“No, Etta Mae, I don’t expect so.”

“He trusts you to run this place without him, hmm?”

She couldn’t remember the last time her pa had come to town to check on his hotel or any of his other holdings. He didn’t want to come, and Kelsey didn’t encourage him. It served no purpose for the town to see what Emmet Rodgers had become; it would only anger Kelsey further.

“You poor dear.” Etta Mae sighed wistfully. “I don’t know how you keep up with it all. If only your brother—”

“Seth will be home soon enough.” Kelsey pulled off her apron. “I’m going to check the dining room.”

They took turns preparing the tables. Etta Mae had done it today, in her typical fashion. Kelsey hurried about the room, turning the white cloths so that the stains and mends weren’t so readily apparent, straightening the silverware and refolding the napkins. The dining room faced the street, so Kelsey kept one eye on the boardwalk and one on the lobby, waiting and hoping for diners to appear. She desperately needed a large turnout tonight Tonight and every night

The supper crowd proved disappointing. The hotel guests were there, all four of them, and Bill and Virginia Braden, who owned the dry goods store down the street

Kelsey stood by the door, fretting over the number of diners, mentally calculating the price of their meals and what it had cost her to prepare them.

“You mustn’t frown so much, my dear. How will you ever catch a husband like that?”

A chill slid up Kelsey’s spine as she turned to find Jack Morgan standing beside her. Dressed in a white linen shirt with a brocade vest and dark jacket, he looked every bit the most prosperous man in Eldon. His eyes were warm, his expression was compassionate, but Kelsey saw past the benevolent facade he presented She knew the real Jack Morgan, and not just because he was her best friend’s father.

“Catching a husband is not high on my list of priorities, Mr. Morgan.” Kelsey struggled to sound pleasant

“Whatever you say, my dear.” He gave her a thin smile and slid his finger along the mustache above his lip. “What are we serving tonight?” ‘That he referred to the hotel as partly his rankled Kelsey no end. He didn’t own the place. Not yet. And she intended to see to it that Jack Morgan never took another thing from the Rodgers family again.

“Roast turkey. I’ll show you to a table.”

He smiled indulgently and gazed at the room. “No need. I believe I’ll have no difficulty in finding an empty seat.”

Stomach churning, Kelsey returned to the kitchen.

By dusk, business at the Watering Hole had picked up and Clay ordered his third beer. He made it a policy not to drink too much. A federal marshal was a temptation to a young gunslinger out to make a name for himself, or a local looking to liven up a Saturday night. Clay had to keep himself ready.

But today had been a hell of a day, so he indulged himself. He questioned that decision a few minutes later, when Deuce walked through the swinging doors. Clay dropped his hand to his side and rested it on his Colt.

Deuce spotted Clay and walked to his table. He stared at the floor for a minute, then took a deep breath. “I came to tell you that I’m sorry for what happened today.”

Clay rocked back in the chair. “Is that so?”

He nodded. “And I appreciate you telling Sheriff Bottom that it was mostly Luther that wanted to string you up.”

“He threatened to shoot you if you didn’t go through with it,” Clay pointed out. “I just told the sheriff the truth.”

Deuce’s cheeks grew red. “I appreciate you not mentioning to anybody that I threw up.”

Maybe it was the beer, or maybe it was the flash of memory from when he’d been sixteen himself, but Clay took pity on him. He pushed out the chair beside him. “Sit down.”

His gaze came up quickly. “No. No, I can’t.” Deuce glanced back over his shoulder, then looked at Clay again. “My pa was powerful mad at me when he got me out of jail. He whipped me good. I really can’t…sit down.”

Clay shook his head slowly. “I don’t think you’re cut out to be an outlaw, Deuce.”

He lifted his thin shoulders. “No, sir. Me either.”

“Did your folks give you that name, boy? Or was it just hung on you?” Clay took another sip of his beer.

“My name’s Dennis, but everybody calls me Deuce ‘cause I’m the second one. I got a twin brother.” He looked at the floor again. “We’re twins, but me and Jared don’t look much alike. He’s real big and strong, like my pa. That’s my pa over there.”

Clay peered around Deuce at the man standing by the swinging doors. Tall, with big, powerful arms and a full chest, a strong face set directly down on broad, muscular shoulders.

“He’s the blacksmith.”

“Holy Jesus…” Clay gulped down three swallows of his beer.

“Pa never let me work at the livery with him and Jared, ‘cause I’m so small. But he says now I have to work there everyday so he can see to it I don’t get into any trouble.”

Clay let out a heavy sigh and sat back in his chair. “If that were my pa, Deuce, I’d see to it I never got into a minute’s trouble again.”

Deuce’s father left his station by the door and crossed the saloon. He offered his hand to Clay. “I’m Ben Tucker.”

Clay got to his feet and accepted his iron handshake, the grasp of a man who worked hard for a living. “Clay Chandler. Glad to know you.”

“I wanted to tell you personal, Marshal, that I’m much obliged to you for putting in a good word for my boy with the sheriff.”

“I only told him what really happened.”

Ben nodded. “You can be sure Deuce here won’t be .hanging around with the likes of that Luther McGraw again. I put a stop to that today.”

Deuce grimaced and shifted uncomfortably.

Clay nodded. “I think he got in with the wrong bunch.”

“Well, it won’t happen again.” He gave Deuce a stem look. “That right, boy?”

He nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m beholding to you, Marshal. You need anything from my livery stable, you just say the word. Is that your bay stallion outside the sheriffs office?”

Clay nodded.

“I’ll bed him down at the livery. No charge. The boy here will take your gear over to the hotel.”

They turned and headed out of the saloon. When they reached the door, Deuce ventured a glance at his father. Ben gave him a cold stare and walked out ahead of him. Deuce’s shoulders sagged, and he followed along behind.

Clay fell back in his chair and took a long drink of beer. Thoughts of his own father, his own family, floated through his mind, and for a moment he allowed himself to indulge in the memories. Happy times, filled with the love and closeness of a family. Times spent with… Rebecca.

Anger coiled in Clay’s belly. He pushed his beer aside and surged to his feet, knocking the chair to the floor. The saloon quieted, and gazes turned his way. Clay pulled his hat low on his forehead and kicked the chair aside. He didn’t like to remember. It always made him angry. But the anger was easier to endure than the guilt that ate at him. Guilt for his actions—and his actions alone—that forever guaranteed that those happy memories were a thing of the past.

The saloon patrons gave him a wide berth—and plenty of stares—as he made his way to the street again.

Dusk had fallen, and Clay felt tired. He’d seen the hotel when he rode into town this afternoon, so he headed down the street in that direction. Shops were closing for the night, merchants and customers hurrying home to their families. They paused long enough to give him and the star pinned to his vest a curious look. He ducked into the alley, unwilling to be the object of any more idle gossip today. At times, the badge was a heavy load to carry.

Kelsey swept the last of Etta Mae’s meal preparations from the floor and dumped them into the bucket of dirty water waiting beside the back door. She straightened and groaned softly in the silent kitchen. The guests were all upstairs, and Etta Mae had gone home, leaving Kelsey to close up for the night. She didn’t mind cleaning the kitchen alone. Tonight, fueled by thoughts of her encounter with Jack Morgan, the work had gone quickly.

Kelsey wiped her hands on the linen towel and draped it over her shoulder as she looked around the room. Spotless. She carried the bucket onto the back porch. In the fading light, she saw the small stable and paddock across the dirt alley and reminded herself to take the mare to the blacksmith first thing in the morning, before its owner was ready to check out. Early, before prying eyes noticed.

A cool breeze stirred and Kelsey shuddered, anxious to finish her chores and get into bed. She drew back the bucket and tossed the dirty water into the alley.

At that instant, a man turned the corner of the hotel, and the water hit him square in the belly.

“Jesus Christ!”

Clay roared like a wounded tiger as the water splashed up his shirt and down his trousers and soaked his boots.

Kelsey gasped and looked down in horror at the incriminating evidence in her hand. She tossed the bucket aside.

His gaze impaled her, blazing like hot embers in the dim light. “What the hell are you doing?”

Her eyes rounded. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

A stream of filthy curses tumbled from his lips as he looked down at himself and flung water from his hands.

“It was an accident. I didn’t mean to—”

His frown grew more fierce.

“Let me help you.” Kelsey pulled the linen towel from her shoulder and hurried to him. Quickly she pressed the towel against his chest, mopping up the wetness.

“I didn’t see you standing there,” Kelsey explained hurriedly. She dipped the towel lower and pressed it against his belly. “I’m terribly sorry—really I am.”

Fire, more intense than his anger, suddenly ignited low in Clay’s belly. Through the layers of clothing that separated his flesh from hers, the feel of her fingers moving over him, dipping lower and lower, sent a surge of desire through him, swift and strong. Its urgency overwhelmed him.

He felt the towel against his belt buckle, then against the front of his trousers. Clay gulped and jumped back.

“Stand still.” She stepped closer. “I’m not finished.”

If she kept this up, she’d have a finish she hadn’t counted on. Clay pushed her hands away. ‘’Keep to yourself.”

Annoyed, Kelsey planted a fist on her hips. “Stop making such a fuss. I’m just cleaning you up.”

Raging heat consumed him. He glared down at her. “Didn’t your mama tell you that’s no way for a lady to act?”

Kelsey rolled her eyes. “This is hardly the time for concern over proper decorum. Besides, I have brothers.”

“Well, I’m not one of them.” Clay yanked the towel from her hand and mopped the water from his trousers.

Heat flushed Kelsey’s cheeks, and she felt them redden. She took a step back, needing to put some distance between herself and this man, and the feelings his words had evoked.

“I’ve had a hell of a greeting in this part of the state,” Clay grumbled as he wiped his hands on the towel. “This tops off my day just dandy.”

Kelsey’s back stiffened. “You needn’t stand there acting as if this were all my fault”

He looked down at her, his eyes narrow. “You’re the one who threw the water, lady.”

“Well, you’re the one sneaking around the alley.” She planted her fist on her hip.

He waded the towel in his big hand and pointed. “I’m going to the hotel.”

Her nose went up a bit. “I don’t know where you’re from, but around here, guests use the front entrance.”

He lowered his face, leveling his nose with hers. “And I can sure as hell see why.”

They glared at each other for a moment before Kel-sey stepped back and lifted one shoulder. “Well, anyway, I’m sorry.”

He grumbled, then flung the towel over his shoulder. “No harm done,” he finally said.

“Good. Now, give me your trousers.”

His chest swelled. “What?”

Kelsey’s cheeks flamed. She twisted her fingers together. “To have them laundered.”

He drew in a long, ragged breath, then handed her the towel. “I need a room for the night Where’s the hotelkeeper?”

“That would be me. Kelsey Rodgers.”

His brows inched upward, and then he touched the brim of his black Stetson. “Clay Chandler.”

Noting that he hadn’t said he was happy to make her acquaintance, Kelsey turned quickly on her toes and led the way into the back entrance of the hotel. She felt him behind her, his height and wide shoulders a force of their own. The man radiated a heat she’d never noticed in any of her brothers. His big, heavy steps sounded on the bare floors, drowning out the light scuff of her slippers.

She tossed the towel on the sideboard as they passed through the kitchen and led the way down the hallway to the small lobby. Modestly furnished, it held the registration desk, a settee and two upholstered chairs. The dining room was located at one end of the room and the staircase to the second floor was situated at the other.

Clay took in the lobby in one sweep, then sauntered up to the desk. He pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his black, wavy hair. Kelsey slipped behind the desk and turned up the wick on the wall lantern. Their first meeting notwithstanding, she desperately needed another guest in the hotel, and she would take this stranger’s money gladly.

She put on her best hotelkeeper’s smile and turned to welcome him to the Eidon Hotel. The words suddenly died on her lips. Pinned to his vest, shining in the lanternlight, was the badge of a United States federal marshal.

Raw terror ripped through her. A federal marshal! Right in her own hotel! Had he come for her? Did he suspect her involvement in today’s stagecoach robbery? Would he arrest her on the spot? Kelsey gripped the edge of the desk.

“I’ll be staying a couple of nights.” Clay dropped his Stetson on the desk. “Give me a room facing the street.”

Kelsey swallowed hard and forced her gaze from his badge to his face. Recognition coiled her stomach into a knot. This wasn’t just any federal marshal, but the marshal she’d rescued from a hanging only hours earlier.

Her gaze dipped to his neck, and she saw the rope burns inside his collar. At once she felt overwhelmed by the desire to press her fingers against the marks and soothe them with her touch.

She gave herself a little shake. What was she thinking? The man was a federal marshal. If he knew who she was and what she’d done, he’d slap her into jail without a second thought She had to get rid of him.

Kelsey perused the register and cleared her throat. “Sorry, but we’re full up.”

One thick, dark eyebrow crept upward, and he turned to gaze pointedly at the deserted lobby. Silence hung over the hotel. Clay eyed the cubbyholes on the wall behind the desk, the rows of keys to unrented rooms dangling there.

“You’re full up?”

Kelsey pushed her chin a notch higher. “Yes, we are. I couldn’t squeeze another guest in here with a shoehorn.”

Clay rested his forearm on the desk and leaned closer, his voice low and measured. “Look, lady, I’ve had a hell of a day and I need a place to sleep. If I have to, I’ll go from room to room until I find an empty bed, and when I find one—”

“Let me look again.” Kelsey dipped her gaze to the register once more, her mind whirling. He didn’t recognize her. He didn’t connect her with the hanging incident this afternoon. To protest his stay further would only call attention to herself, make him suspicious. She had no choice.

Kelsey forced a bright smile. “Well, what do you know? It seems we do have a vacancy. And it faces the street How about that! Just sign in, please.”

Clay straightened and scrawled his name in the register she pushed toward him. “The livery was supposed to send over my gear.”

On the floor near her feet, Kelsey found saddlebags and a rifle. She hoisted them onto the desk. “A new Winchester rifle? Nice.”

His hand froze on the saddlebag. He eyed her suspiciously. “You know about guns?”

Kelsey swallowed hard. “I told you I had brothers. Remember?”

Warmth spread through him as he recalled the incident in the alley, when her hands had been all over him. “I remember.”

She passed him the key. “Room four. Turn right at the top of the stairs. Good night.” Kelsey forced a smile.

Clay pulled on his Stetson and flung his saddlebags over his shoulder. “Good night.”

He picked up the rifle and climbed the steps. Half-way up, he turned back. “Don’t forget to lock that back door.”

Stunned, she simply nodded, then watched as he dis-appeared up the stairs. Kelsey sagged against the desk. A feeling of foreboding crept over her.

In her heart, she knew it would be a long time before she saw the last of Marshal Clay Chandler.

Chapter Three

The morning chill seeped through Kelsey’s shawl as the sun peeped over the Ozarks, doing little as yet to warm the air. She tugged the thin wrap tighter around her shoulders and pulled back on the lead rope, stopping the mare in front of the livery stable. She’d left the hotel at first light and kept to the back alleys, but still, it was nearly impossible to hide something as big as a horse.

“Good morning?” She peered through the open double doors of the livery. “Mr. Tucker?”

A light brown head of hair popped up from one of the stalls. Deuce smiled when he saw her. “Morning, Miss Kelsey.” He propped his pitchfork against the wall and walked out to meet her.

Deuce stood only a little taller than she, and probably didn’t weigh much more, either—a sharp contrast to his twin brother. It seemed to Kelsey he had always looked as he did right now, frayed collar on a too-large shirt, suspenders trying to hold up trousers Jared had long ago outgrown.

“I didn’t know you were working down here now.”

Deuce shrugged. “Just since yesterday.”

“How are your ma and the girls?” After giving birth to Deuce and his twin brother, the Tuckers had pro-duced five daughters. Kelsey saw them occasionally in town.

“Okay, I reckon.”

“Are you here by yourself this morning?” She needed the mare shod right away, and knew Deuce couldn’t handle it.

“No.” Deuce tilted his head toward the rear of the stable. “Pa and my brother are here.”

Kelsey peered past him, to the back of the darkened barn, and saw Ben and Jared, evenly matched in size and build, having coffee together.

Deuce patted the mare. “Need something this morning?”

Kelsey took in a quick breath and gave him the speech she’d rehearsed. “She lost a shoe—I’ve no idea how—and it’s a bit of a rush. Could your pa see to her right away?”

“What’s the problem?” Ben Tucker walked out of the stable and gave Kelsey a welcoming nod before turning a stern look on Deuce. “You finished cleaning those stalls, boy?”

“No, sir, I just—”

Ben jerked his thumb toward the stable. “I’ll tell you when you can come outside.”

Deuce ducked his head and hurried into the stable.

Kelsey shuddered. She wouldn’t want the wrath of Ben Tucker aimed at her.

“Now, what’s the problem here?”

“No problem,” Kelsey replied. “I’m just in a small hurry. I was hoping you could take care of her first thing.”

Ben ran his hand down the horse’s neck, studying the animal. “I’ll have the boy bring her back when I’m done.”

“Thanks.” With a sigh of relief, Kelsey hurried back to the hotel. Etta Mae would arrive soon, and she didn’t want to explain why she was out so early. She couldn’t be too careful. Not with a federal marshal living under her roof.

Clay bounded up the front steps of the hotel, feeling better than he had in a week, the night in a real bed and the bath he’d just had accounting largely for his good mood. The smell of food reminded him of his gnawing belly, since he’d elected to have a supper of beer at the Watering Hole last night.

In the dining room, morning sunlight filtered through the ruffled curtains, brightening the white linen and silverware laid out on the tables. Every eye in the crowded room turned Clay’s way as he sauntered to a table at the rear and sat down with his back to the wall. He dropped his Stetson in the chair beside him and gazed out the window.

The town appeared prosperous, with a number of shops doing a brisk business already. Wagons, buggies and horses moved along the dirt street. Women with small children, miners, men wearing suits with guns strapped to their thighs all moved along the boardwalk. Eldon seemed like a good town. Clay thought, growing, clean. A place a man could settle in, raise a family in, grown old in.

Annoyed with his thoughts, Clay turned away from the window. He needed a cup of coffee. The door from the kitchen swung open, and the serving girl swept into the room, balancing a tray of steaming food on one hand. It smelled delicious. Then an- other scent tickled his nose, and it took only a second for him to recall it from the night before. His breath caught in his throat as he recognized Kelsey Rodgers under that tray.

She’d seemed bigger last night, when she doused him with water, set his nerves on end mopping his trousers and tried to have him sleep in the street. Now, seeing her in the morning light, he realized she stood just a shave above his elbow. Her features were delicate. She was like a finely crafted china doll, with big, expressive green eyes and light brown hair. She bent to set the plates of food on the table beside him, and he saw the fullness of her breasts pressing against the tiny row of buttons up the front of her soft green dress. Clay’s belly tightened. He hadn’t realized last night how pretty she was, either.

He watched as she turned and her gaze swept the room with a critical eye, then came to rest on him. He saw the sharp intake of her breath, and his belly coiled again.

“Good morning, Marshal.” Kelsey stopped beside his chair and put on a bright smile.

Certain she gave that smile to every diner who took a seat at one of her tables, Clay sat back in his chair and gazed up at her. “Let me guess—the kitchen just closed.”

Her brows drew together. “No.”

“The cook dropped dead?”

She shook her head. “The cook’s fine.”

“You ran out of eggs.”

“No…” Kelsey realized he was teasing her for claiming the hotel was too full to accommodate him last night.

“Out of steak?”

“No.”

“Ham?”

Kelsey looked pointedly at him. “Actually, it seems we have more ham than usual this morning.”

He grinned, and to his surprise, she giggled. It was a sweet, melodious sound.

From her pocket, Kelsey took a small tablet and a nub of a pencil. “What can I get you this morning?”

“’Two of everything.”

She nodded and worked her way back to the kitchen, checking with the other diners as she went. Clay gazed out the window until the scent of Kelsey and the food brought his attention back indoors. Efficiently she placed a heaping plate of steak, eggs, potatoes and biscuits in front of him and poured steaming-hot coffee into his cup. She went about her business, but Clay found his gaze drawn to her as she moved about the room. Lord, she was a pretty little thing.

“Excuse me, young man.”

Clay looked up from his plate to find a tiny gray-haired lady standing over him. “Yes, ma’am?” He moved to rise, but she waved him into his chair with her lace-gloved hand.

“Sit down, sit down. A young man your size needs a good morning meal.” She smiled sweetly at him.

He swiped the napkin across his mouth. “Care to join me?”

She smiled again, her lips drawing into a tight bow, and squeezed her eyes closed for a second. “Why, thank you.”

He’d noticed her when he came in, seated at the other end of the room, having a biscuit and a cup of tea; Clay made it his policy to notice everybody when he walked into a room.

The lady settled into the chair across from him, taking a few minutes to adjust her skirt and shuffle her big, open straw satchel onto her lap. It was crammed full of all sorts of items, Clay noted, as every old lady’s satchel was.

“My name is Miss Matilda Wilder.” She smiled at him and touched her hand to the tiny hat nestled atop her gray head.

“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. I’m—”

She giggled softly and batted her lashes. “Oh, my, dear, I know who you are. Everyone in town knows. You’re the federal marshal sent to root out those awful outlaw gangs.”

Clay sipped at his coffee. “That’s right, Miss Wilder.”

She pulled a large flowered handkerchief from her satchel and waved it at him. “I just want to tell you how happy we are to have you in our town. It’s about time somebody did something to make our streets safe again.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Miss Wilder sat back in her chair and smiled proudly at him, as if he’d just recited a poem at the school play. She dropped her handkerchief on the table. “You’re a fine young man. I know you’ll do a good job.”

Clay couldn’t help smiling. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Miss Wilder drew in a big breath. “Well, I’ll be on my way now. I’m going to write to San ford—he’s my nephew in Memphis—and tell him all about you. He’s been after me to move down with him, and he’ll be pleased to know Eldon has a fine young man like you on the job.”

“Nice meeting you, ma’am.”

Clay rose as she got slowly to her feet, gathered up her handkerchief and stuffed it inside her satchel. She waved and shuffled away. He took his seat again, wondering if everyone in town would be as glad to have him there as Miss Matilda Wilder seemed to be. He’d find out soon enough. A lot of questions needed to be asked in this town, and he intended to start on them this morning.

Absently he reached for the saltshaker as he mentally reviewed the list of things he had planned for today. His hand came up empty, and he looked across the table to see the pepper shaker sitting alone. Clay scratched his chin. He was certain he’d seen the salt there when he sat down.

Clay shrugged and turned back to his breakfast.

Peeping through the swinging door, Kelsey watched as Clay sat back in his chair and started eating again. She hadn’t slept a wink all night, worrying about him in her hotel. She had to find out just how long he’d be in town. She had plans to make—plans that definitely did not include a federal marshal sleeping over her head.

Her best smile in place, Kelsey glided through the restaurant, refilling coffee cups, until she came to Clay’s table. He looked different in the morning sun-tight. Not cast in dim shadows, or ready to be strung up, he appeared strong and sturdy. Handsome.

“More coffee?”

He reached for his cup. The sleeve of his pale blue shirt pulled back, and Kelsey saw the rope burns on his wrists. She fought the overwhelming desire to run her fingers over the injuries and refilled his cup.

“Best meal I’ve had in weeks.” He sipped the coffee.

“The Eldon Hotel has the best cook in town.” Kel-sey shifted. “Etta Mae packs a wonderful cold meal. Could I have her fix something for you today?"He shook his head. “No need.”

“Oh?” She shifted again. “I thought you were leaving.

He lifted one wide shoulder. “No. Not today.”

“Then when?” Kelsey edged closer.

Suspicion crept over his features, and she saw his brows draw together. “In a while.”

Kelsey shrugged. “Just let me know, and I’ll be sure Etta Mae makes something special for you.”

Clay nodded slowly. “I’ll do that.”

Kelsey turned away, then whirled back to face him. “And don’t forget, I want your trousers.”

Heads turned, and she felt questioning gazes upon her. The marshall glanced around, then looked at her; a little grin tugged at his lips.

Kelsey willed herself not to blush. “Since you soiled yourself on hotel property, it’s my responsibility to pay for the cleaning.”

Nosy gazes swung to Clay, and it was all Kelsey could do to contain the smirk that threatened. He surged to his feet and crammed on his Stetson, pulling it low on his forehead. Kelsey’s gaze traveled upward. She didn’t remember him being this tall last night

“I’m flattered by your interest in my trousers, Miss Rodgers. I’ll keep your generous offer in mind.” He gave her a quick nod and left the dining room.

Kelsey plastered a smile on her face and wound her way through the tables and into the kitchen again.

The back door and windows stood open, the fresh air mingling with the smells of frying bacon and baking biscuits. Etta Mae hummed softly to herself as she flipped hotcakes on the stove.

“Kelsey honey, could you get me some more milk? We’ve got a hungry crowd this morning!”

“Yes, we do.” And thank God, Kelsey thought to herself as she placed the coffeepot on the edge of the stove. She wiped her hands on her apron and darted out the back door.

“Pssst!”

Kelsey gasped and spun around, seeing her friend a few feet away. She splayed her hand over her chest. “Mallory, you scared me to death!”

Quickly she glanced up and down the alley. “We’ve got to talk.”

“I’ll say.” Kelsey crossed the boardwalk and stood beside her. Mallory wore a dress of blue silk, with lace gloves and a matching hat—the height of fashion in New York, according to the dressmaker there who’d sent the fabric. Perhaps a bit out of place on the streets of Eldon, had it been worn by anyone but Jack Morgan’s daughter. Mallory wore her father’s wealth well.

Mallory unfurled her fan with a flick of her slender wrist. “Papa sent for the sheriff to come to the house early this morning, and I heard them talking in the study. Papa is fit to be tied over yesterday’s robbery. Fit to be tied!” Mallory giggled and tossed her head“Isn’t it wonderful?”

Kelsey pressed her palms together to stave off their trembling. “Does he have any idea—”

“That we’re the ones robbing his payroll? That you, Holly and I are the Schoolyard Boys—the thieves?”

“We’re not thieves, Mallory.” Kelsey’s expression hardened. “We’re taking back what belongs to us. Jack Morgan stole from us. If he hadn’t interfered in our lives, there would be no need to take his payroll. If we were common thieves, we’d rob a bank or a train somewhere.”

Mallory tossed, her head and giggled. “Anyway, Papa has no idea we’re doing the robberies.”

Kelsey let out a heavy breath. Thoughts of what Jack Morgan had done to her family, and Holly’s, riled her no end. “Then what did he and Sheriff Bottom talk about?”

“Papa is sending the payroll out again this afternoon.”

“Today?” Her eyes rounded. “After it was stolen just yesterday?”

Mallory nodded. “Papa insisted. He thinks the stage won’t be robbed because no one will expect the payroll to be on board so soon after yesterday’s robbery.”

A bold move on Jack Morgan’s part. Kelsey pressed her lips together. And totally unexpected. But she now had this inside information from Mallory.

“We’ve got another problem.” Kelsey pushed a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. “Remember the marshal we rescued yesterday? He’s staying here at the hotel.”

“Damn…” Mallory shook her head. “I told you we should have let him hang.”

Kelsey waved away her comment. “Well, it’s done now, and we’ll have to deal with it.”

Mallory snapped her fan closed. “It must have been him Papa and the sheriff were talking about this morning. He’s some big federal marshal, with quite a reputation. Sheriff says he’s tracked down and brought in dozens of outlaws.”

Kelsey rolled her eyes. “Oh, dear…”

“How long will he be here?”

“I’m trying to find out.”

Mallory shrugged. “Maybe it’s better he’s staying at the hotel. At least that way you can keep an eye on him.”

“That’s true.” Kelsey tapped her finger against her chin and paced the boardwalk. “We’ve got to do it. That payroll is too much money to let slip by. No one will expect another robbery this soon.”

Mallory battsd her lashes. “I’ll pay a call on sweet young Ernie at the express office this morning, as usual.”

“Good. Then drop by Duncan’s and let Holly know—”

“Do I have to go talk to her?” Mailory’s lip crept out in a pout. “You know she grates on my nerves sometimes.”

“I won’t set foot in Duncan’s General Store, not after what Nate Duncan did to my brother. Holly and I can’t speak in public, Mallory, and you know that.”

“Oh, all right.” Mallory fumed silently for a moment.

“Besides, if we get our way, Holly will be long gone from this town, which should make you very happy.”

“Oh, to be gone from this place.” Mallory sighed wistfully, but then her eyes danced with mischief. “But if I were gone, how could I annoy Papa?”

Kelsey drew in a deep breath. She couldn’t blame Mallory for the way she felt about her father or her involvement with the Schoolyard Boys. After the despicable things Morgan had done to her mother, Mallory took great pleasure in irritating Jack Morgan at every turn.

“Find out when the stage is leaving. We’ll stop it at Waterbow Curve.”

“What if the driver won’t stop this time?” Mallory asked. “We almost had to shoot at them yesterday. Remember?”

Kelsey paced, tapping her finger against her chin again. “I’ve got an idea. You’ll need to pick up a few things, then you and Holly get out to Waterbow Curve as quick as you can.”

“Where will you be?”

A little grin tugged at her lips. “I’m going to take a stagecoach ride today.”

Clay hurried out of the hotel and strode down the boardwalk, heat radiating through him. If that woman mentioned his trousers one more time, he wouldn’t be held responsible for what might happen. And the fact that she didn’t understand the effect her comments had on him was all the more maddening. Was she really that innocent? Or did she just think of him the way she would her brother, as she’d claimed in the alley last night? Either way, Clay decided, he’d spent too much time on the trail lately to be having conversations like that.

“Hey, Chandler!” Billy Elder waved to him from the jail. “Sheriff wants to see you.”

Clay crossed the street. Roy Bottom nodded when he entered the jail. “We’ve got a serious problem on our hands with those Schoolyard Boys. We’re recruiting you for the job.”

“Hold on a minute, Sheriff. I’m here on federal business, not local problems.” The Dade gang were his prey, not a bunch of kids who needed a good spanking.

“I don’t give a damn what you’re here for.” Jack Morgan rose from behind the sheriffs desk, his face drawn in tight, angry lines.

“Who the hell are you?”

Sheriff Bottom cleared his. throat. “This is Jack Morgan, one of Eldon’s biggest businessmen.”

“Eldon’s biggest” he corrected. “It was my payroll that got taken when that stage was hit yesterday, Chandler—the fourth robbery in the last six weeks.”

“Darnedest thing,” the sheriff mused. “Every time that stage gets hit, Morgan’s payroll for the mines is on board.”

“I built this town, Chandler. I own it” Morgan curled his hands into fists at his sides. “The governor is a personal friend of mine. I’ve got eastern investors coming out in a few days, men who’ve got a lot of cash to invest and can make something of this town. Sheriff Bottoms here tells me you’re some big-shot marshal. I’m sending my payroll out again today. I want it protected.”

Clay’s back stiffened “What’s that got to do with me?”

Morgan pointed a finger at him. “I want you on that stage this afternoon.”

Chapter Four

Ben Tucker stood at the doorway of the livery when Clay walked up. “Leaving town so soon?”

Clay shook his head. Though he’d like nothing better than to be on Scully Dade’s trail again, he’d gotten roped into riding shotgun for Jack Morgan’s payroll on the afternoon stage, delaying his own work for a while.

“No, Ben. I’ll be staying on here for a few more days.” Clay glanced back into the stable. “Is Deuce around?”

Ben’s brows pulled together. “What’s that boy done now?”

“I need to talk to him.”

“If he’s caused any more trouble, I’ll take a strap to him this time.”

The image Ben’s words conjured up didn’t sit well with Clay. “He didn’t do anything. I’m after the Dade gang, and I think Deuce might have some information on their hideout.”

“That boy,” Ben said, fuming. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him. When Miss Chalmers wouldn’t let him come to school anymore, I told his ma she had to keep him busy at home, but she couldn’t do anything with him. I never thought he’d end up in trouble with the law.”

“I think he’s learned his lesson. Besides, working here with you ought to keep him busy enough.”

“Maybe I should have done that from the start. But the boy’s so scrawny. If he hadn’t come into the world at the same time as my Jared, I might have doubted his ma’s virtue.” Ben shook his head. “I guess every litter has a runt.”

“Is it all right if I talk with him?”

“Sure thing, Marshal.” Ben led the way through the stable, past rows of stalls. The horses chewed quietly on grain, occasionally pawing the soft earth or uttering a nicker, content in the barn’s cool interior.

Ben stopped at the open door to the feed room. Barrels and sacks of grain lined one wall. A rickety desk sat against the other; papers peeked from the half-open drawers, and ledgers littered the top.

“Deuce! Get out here, boy!”

A second later, he appeared at the door. Perspiration dampened his forehead, shafts of straw clung to his clothes and stuck out of his hair, dirt smudged his face. His breathing was heavy and labored.

Deuce glanced at Clay, then his father. His eyes widened. “I didn’t do nothing. I swear, Pa, I didn’t.”

“The marshal just wants to talk to you, boy. And as soon as you get done, I want you to take that mare back over to the hotel. Understand? Then come straight back. You’ve got a lot more chores to get done before the afternoon.”

Glay thought the boy might fall over any minute, from fear and exhaustion. “I don’t want to keep Deuce from his chores. I’ll walk along with him while he takes the horse to the hotel and we’ll talk then.”

“All right. But you tell the marshal whatever he wants to know. You hear me, boy?” Ben turned to Clay. “You let me know if he gives you any trouble. I’ll take care of it.”

From the looks of Deuce, Clay doubted he had the strength to give anybody trouble at the moment.

Deuce led the mare from the stall. They walked in silence until they reached Main Street. Clay took the reins and tied the horse off at the hitching post outside Connie’s Cookie Emporium. “I’m pretty thirsty. How about you?”

Deuce wiped his sweaty brow with his sleeve and nodded.

“I’ll be back. You stay put.”

Inside the store, dozens of colorful candies sat in glass containers along the counter, and the display cases teemed with cookies, pies and cakes. The scents of vanilla, cinnamon and apples mingled in the air. Behind the counter stood a robust woman who appeared to have perfected her recipes by years of sampling her own confections. She eyed Clay up and down.

“You must be that new marshal I heard about. Welcome to Eldon. I’m Connie. I just took some oatmeal cookies from the oven. How about it?” Clay nodded, and she twittered, her cheeks going as round as ripe apples as she fetched a cookie from the display case behind her

He tasted and nodded quickly. “Give me a handful of those.”

“Well, hello again, young man.”

Clay turned to see Miss Matilda Wilder at his elbow. He touched the brim of his Stetson. “Good day, Miss Wilder.”

She shuffled her big satchel onto the counter, waving her flowered handkerchief. “Looks as though you have quite a sweet tooth.”

Clay grinned. “I sure do”

“Well, good for you. Keep up your strength. You’ve got a big job to do, and we’re all very proud of you, dear.” Miss Wilder gathered her handkerchief and satchel and made her way out of the store.

Connie wrapped the cookies in waxed paper. “How about some cider to go along with these?”

“Sure. Make it two.”

She poured the drinks and picked up her tablet to tally Clay’s purchase. Absently she reached in her pockets, then felt behind both ears and patted her neatly coiled hair.

“I swear to goodness, where is my pencil? It was here just a second ago.” Connie searched the counter, lifting the cookies and cups. “Where did it go?”

Clay dug coins from his pocket and dropped them on the counter, more than enough to cover his purchase. He thanked her, but she didn’t notice as she searched for her pencil.

Deuce was waiting on the bench outside, where he’d left him. He’d washed up at the water trough; his shirt was damp.

Clay plucked a piece of straw from Deuce’s shaggy hair. “You need a haircut, son.”

He swiped his hand across his forehead, pushing back his bangs. “Pa takes Jared and me to the barber at the same time. Jared doesn’t need a haircut yet.”

Clay sat beside him and passed him the apple cider. “How’s it going with your pa?”

Deuce gulped down half the cider and grimaced. “He’s powerful mad at me still.”

“Maybe you’d be better off working at home in- stead,” Clay suggested. Ben Tucker had been right about one thing. Deuce was too small to do manual labor.

Indignation and a hint of anger showed in Deuce’s eyes. “I’ve got five sisters at home. You think I should stay there? With all those girls? And do women’s work?”

“No, I guess not” Clay bit into a cookie.

Obviously, Deuce’s options were limited, and Clay could see how the boy, unable to attend school anymore, not wanted by his father and too prideful to help his mother, had been easy prey for the likes of Luther McGraw and the Dade gang.

“Your pa will come around, once you show him you’ve no intention of getting into trouble again.” “He don’t need me. He’s got Jared.” He turned away.

Clay swallowed the last of the cookie. “How did you get mixed up with Luther and the Dade gang, anyway?”

His shoulders slumped. “I wasn’t really part of the gang,” he said. “I met Luther here in town, and he claimed he had a mine somewhere up in the hills, so I signed on to help him. Luther knew Scully, but he wasn’t in the gang, either.”

“Luther sure acted like he was.” Clay touched his finger to the burns on his neck. “He seemed dead set on protecting Scully and his hideout.”

“Scully just let Luther ride with the gang ‘cause Luther could cook so good.” Deuce bit into a cookie. “It’s hard to find a good trail cook.”

“Were you ever at Scully’s hideout?”

“No. I only met up with the gang that one time, a couple of days before me and Luther—” Deuce glanced at Clay’s throat and quickly averted his eyes. “Well, you know.”

Clay ran his finger around the inside of his shirt collar. “Yeah, I know.”

Deuce chanced a look at Clay again. “I’m real sorry. I didn’t want any part of hanging you, but Luther kept going on about it. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Decisions in life keep getting harder, Deuce. You need to learn how to handle them. It’s part of becoming a man.”

Deuce’s mulled that over for a moment, then nodded. “I guess you’re right.”

“Nobody ever said it would be easy.” Clay chucked him softly on the shoulder. “But I can see you learned a lesson this time. I’d say that means you’re on your way.”

Deuce looked up at him again, and the tiniest grin tugged at his lips. “Do you think so?”

Shouts from across the street drew their attention to Duncan’s General store. After a moment, the raucous noise stopped, a door slammed, and a young woman left the store. Head high, shoulders straight, she marched determinedly down the street.

Deuce popped another cookie in his mouth. “Don’t give it no mind. It’s just Nate and Estelle Duncan. They fight all the time.”

Clay’s gaze followed the young woman along the crowded boardwalk. She looked vaguely familiar, but he’d only met a few women in town, and none so young. “Who is she?”

“That’s Holly, their daughter.” He finished the last of his cider. “She’s the reason they’re always fighting.

From what he could see, she was a pleasant-looking girl, fuller around the hips and waist than her corset could disguise. “Is she too willful to suit her ma?”

“More like her ma’s the willful one. Holly’s nice. She just got into a fix, I guess you’d say.”

Clay looked down at him. “What sort of fix?”

Deuce’s cheeks reddened. “She got in the family way.”

“She had a baby?”

Deuce shrugged his slim shoulders.. “I heard my mama telling my sisters about it, warning them about…you know. All of a sudden Holly’s ma sent her to visit her aunt, and she was gone for a long time. Her ma made her give the baby away—that’s what my mama said—because when she came back she didn’t have it with her.”

“What about the baby’s father? He wouldn’t marry her?”

“He couldn’t. He got caught stealing from Mr. Morgan’s hardware store and got sent to prison.” Deuce gazed across the street. “I don’t think Mr. Duncan liked him much, anyway.”

Clay blew out a heavy breath. Maybe Eldon wasn’t as quiet as he had originally thought

He turned to Deuce again. “Tell me about Luther. Does he know where Scully’s new hideout is?”

Deuce waved away the notion. “I don’t think Luther knows anything. I think he just talks like he does.”

“I’d say you’re right about that. And I’m glad to see you realize it” Clay rose from the bench. “If you hear anything from the Dade gang, let me know.”

Deuce nodded with less enthusiasm than Clay had hoped for, then rose and untied the mare from the hitching post.

“I’ve got to get over to Miss Kelsey’s.”

Clay’s stomach twisted into a knot at the sound of that name. “Kelsey Rodgers at the hotel?”

“Pa put a shoe on her mare this morning,” Deuce patted the horse, and it. nuzzled his shirt, knocking him back a step.

Clay patted the big mare. “What about Kelsey? Has she been out of town having babies?”

“Kelsey? Shoot, no. She’s nothing like Holly. Fact is, she and Holly don’t even speak.”

He didn’t know why he’d asked about her in the first place, but now he had to know more. “Why’s that?”

The mare pulled back. Deuce grabbed the halter with both hands. “Bad blood between their families. Emmet Rodgers—that’s Kelsey’s father—founded the town, along with Mr. Morgan. They’ve been partners since they were both young. They got rich together. The way I hear it, Nate Duncan thought Mr. Rodgers had done him wrong in a business deal, and they’ve been feuding ever since.”

Clay took hold of the mare to keep it from dragging Deuce across the street. “So Kelsey’s family is wealthy? Why is she running the hotel?”

“Her pa’s busy running other businesses, or something. I can’t remember the last time he even came into town.” He shrugged. “I expect that suits the Duncans just fine. Too bad, though. Kelsey and Holly used to be good friends. But since her brother—”

The mare tossed its head, pulling Deuce off his feet. Clay held the horse with a firm grip until Deuce got a hand on the halter again.

Deuce gave the horse a wary look. “I’ve got to go.”

“You’d better get back to the livery before your pa comes after both of us.”

Deuce’s stomach turned over, and headed off down the street leading the mare. It seemed nervous with the other horses around, so Deuce cut through the alley.

“Hey, boy! Deuce! Get yourself over here!”

He turned and saw Luther’s face wedged between the bars of the jail house window. He froze in place.

“What’s the gol-darn matter, boy? You think you’re too good to talk to me now?” Luther taunted him.

Reluctantly Deuce led the mare to the window. He glanced up and down the alley. “I could get in big trouble for talking to you again.”

Luther’s eyes bulged. “Well, what about me? I’m sitting here in the gol-darn jail cell, fixin’ to go to prison. How’s that for trouble?”

“I know, but—”

“And you don’t even have a howdy-do to say to me? After all I done for you? After the way I took you in when your own pa wouldn’t even pay you no mind whatsoever?”

Deuce’s shoulders sagged. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“’Course I’m right.” Luther pressed his face closer to the bars. “What have you been up to?”

Deuce jangled the lead rope. “Helping at the livery.

Luther squinted, then pointed and snapped his fingers. “Where’d you get that horse, boy?”

“I’m taking it back to Miss Kelsey at the hotel.”

His eyes widened. “Kelsey? That Rodgers girl at the hotel? Is it hers?”

“I guess.”

“Don’t you know where that there horse come from, boy? It’s the one that went down with them dang-fool Schoolyard Boys. Don’t you recognize it?”

Deuce looked at the mare, then at Luther. “No. I guess with all the commotion, I didn’t pay much attention.”

“That’s ‘cause you were puking your guts out while I was getting shot up,” Luther barked. He stroked his chin. “Now why would a nice little lady like that Rodgers gal have a horse that was used by a bunch of outlaws?”

“I don’t know.”

Luther’s brows drew together. “I’ll have to study on that a spell.”

“Look, Luther, I’ve got to go. If my pa finds out—”

“I’m stuck in this hole until the circuit judge gets around again, and all you’re worried about is your pa.” Luther waved him closer. “Get over here, boy.”

He glanced up and down the alley again, then ventured closer to the window. “What?”

“I’m getting powerful thirsty in this here cell,” Luther whispered. “How ‘bout you bring me a bottle?”

“No. I can’t do that.” Deuce backed up a step.

“You owe me, boy.” Luther pointed an accusing finger at him. “On account of you, I got shot, arrested and thrown in this here jail. I coulda got you in with the biggest gang in the state. Scully would have taught you everything he knowed about outlawing. You’d have been somebody, boy. And look at you now, shoveling up after horses in your pa’s livery. What kind of life is that?”

Deuce shifted from one foot to the other. “I don’t know, Luther.”

“Come back here after dark and bring me a bottle.”

“I’ve got to go.” Deuce pulled the mare down the alley.

“You better be back here! You owe me!”

He didn’t answer, didn’t even look back, just hurried through the alley and over to the Eldon Hotel. Deuce put the mare in the small paddock, then stuck his head inside the open kitchen door. It smelled of freshly baked bread.

Etta Mae turned from the stove, dripping water. “Hmm? Yes? What is it, dear?”

Aware now of how long he’d been away from the livery, Deuce bounced anxiously on his toes. “Is Miss Kelsey here?”

“Oh, no, dear.” Etta Mae turned back to the stove. “She went out to visit her pa this afternoon. Seems he’s not feeling well. And she was just out there yesterday, too.”

“When will she be back?”

“Hmm? Oh, I don’t expect her back. She took her carpetbag with her. Left some time ago.”

“Just tell her the mare is in the paddock.”

Deuce went down the alley, but in the opposite direction, away from the jail. He ran all the way back to the livery.

Clay ducked into the express office and walked up to the counter. The sheriff had told him—three times—when the stage would be through Eldon, but he wanted to check the schedule himself, as well as some other facts.

Otis Bean, the senior agent, looked up from his neatly arranged desk. A green visor crowned his bald head, and black armbands fit loosely around his crisp white shirtsleeves. In the corner, at a much smaller desk, sat a young man, his dark head bend forward, diligently shuffling through several stacks of papers; junior agents worked hard on their way up.

Otis Bean peered over the top of his spectacles. “Yes?”

Clay braced his hands against the counter. “I’m Marshal Chandler. I need to talk to you about the stage robberies.”

Otis looked Clay up and down, and his expression soured. “Well, you can be sure it had nothing to do with my stagecoaches—I don’t care what Jack Morgan says. He might own everything in this town, but he doesn’t own this office.”

“Seems a mite peculiar, don’t you think?” Clay hung his thumbs in his gun belt. “The only time the stage is robbed, Jack Morgan’s payroll is on it.”

“Hoodlums.” Otis tossed his head. “Don’t blame me if you law people can’t keep the stage lines safe for decent folk to travel.”

Clay inclined his head. “Makes me wonder who else knew the payroll would be on the stage. Morgan says he never sends it out on a regular schedule, just to keep anybody from learning the routine.”

Otis’s body went rigid. “Now you listen here, Marshal, I’m senior agent of this office, and I know my job. And so does Ernie.” He jerked his thumb toward the young man seated in the corner. “If somebody is shooting their mouth off about Jack Morgan’s payroll going out, it’s not coming from this office.”

The man had worked himself into such a snit, Clay felt inclined to believe him. “I’d like to see the journals for the days the Morgan payroll was stolen.”

Otis’s spine stiffened. “That is private information meant only for the stage lines.”

Clay straightened and squared his shoulders. He tapped the badge on his chest. “Not anymore.”

His eyes narrowed, and then he slapped his palms against the desktop and rose. “Ernie!”

The young man jumped from his chair. “Yes, Mr. Bean?”

“Get the records for the days of the last four stage robberies. Give the marshal whatever he wants.” Otis turned and glared at Clay. “And I should hope this will actually result in an arrest”

Ernie gathered the ledgers and brought them to the counter for Clay, then hurried back to his desk. Otis stood watching Clay as he leafed through the pages showing the routes, schedules, passenger rosters, and cargo manifests.

The bell jangled and the door opened. Clay glanced up to see a tall young woman in pale blue step inside. Her brown hair was carefully coiffed, and she looked like an easterner. Her eyes flashed as her gaze swept the three men.

“Well, good morning, gentlemen.”

She purred the words, like a cunning cat on the prowl, and sauntered over to Clay. She tapped the badge on his chest with her fan and smiled lazily up at him. “I do believe you must be that marshal I’ve heard so much about.” She tossed an impatient glance at Otis Bean. “Introduce us.”

Otis’s lips curled downward. “I’d like to present Mallory Morgan. This is Marshall Chandler. Mallory is Jack Morgan’s daughter.”

He touched the brim of his hat politely. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Mallory uttered a deep, throaty laugh and eased closer, holding her gaze steady on Clay’s. “Yes, Marshal, quite a pleasure.”

The young woman exuded a sensuality that perme. ated everything around her. All done up as she was, in that proper dress with the tight fitted bodice and the bustle that swayed provocatively, he sensed a recklessness about her, the kind that in his younger days he would have sniffed after like a dog on point; the kind he now knew could cause a man a world of trouble. Especially when packaged as the daughter of the town’s richest man. Clay eased back a step.

Mallory smiled sweetly and touched Clay’s chest with her fan again. “Well, I don’t want to keep you men from your work. I’ll just have a word with Ernie.”

Her gaze turned to Otis, and her brows arched, as if she were daring him to object He didn’t, and she giggled softly and wound her way back to Ernie’s desk, her bustle swaying.

Clay turned back to the ledgers, talking quietly with Otis. After a moment, he glanced up. Ernie, flushed and breathless, was on his feet. Mallory stood inches away, purring softly to him. She gestured with her fan and smiled seductively. He nodded and grinned like a babbling idiot, totally captivated by the spell she cast.

Clay turned back to the ledgers. He knew he’d worn the same dumb look as Ernie many times himself. What man hadn’t?

Mallory stayed only a moment longer, then leisurely left the express office, offering a goodbye from behind her fan. Ernie sank down in his chair, heaved a heavy sigh and wiped his forehead with his shirtsleeve.

Another hour passed, while Clay examined the stage records, before Jack Morgan and Sheriff Bottom arrived.

“Do you always put the payroll on the stage?” Clay asked.

“No reason not to,” Morgan told him. “I’ve sent it that way for years, with never a problem. Why should I go to the expense of paying my own guards, when the stage line will do it for the freight cost? I’m not throwing money around like that.”

Otis Bean lifted a pocket watch from its pedestal on his desk. “Stage is due to arrive in six minutes.”

Clay led the way onto the boardwalk. One passenger, a man in a yellow plaid vest, waited outside.

Otis paced the boardwalk, studying his pocket watch. “Five minutes! Stage in five minutes!”

“Anybody else taking the stage today?” Clay asked.

Otis consulted his schedule, clutched in his. other hand. “No. Only whoever boarded in Whittakers Ferry.”

Clay gazed down the street. “Where’s that?”

“Ten or so miles east of here. Four minutes!”

“And the next stop is Harmonville?”

“That’s right.” Otis consulted his schedule once more. “After leaving here, the stage stops at the swing station for fresh horses—that’s where. the mine foreman picks up the payroll—then goes straight through.”

Thundering hooves pounding the soft dirt street preceded the stage.

“Stage arriving!” Otis clutched his pocket watch.

The driver atop the big coach braced his feet and pulled back on the reins, stopping the team in front of the express office. The horses pawed the ground and tossed their heads. Leather creaked and the stage groaned, settling in a cloud of brown dust. The shotgun rider stood and stretched.

Clay’s gaze swept the stage with a critical eye, the men up top, the baggage tied on, the sturdy horses out front. He stepped off the boardwalk and opened the coach door. Inside sat an elderly man with a white beard, dressed in a bright green suit—the perfect complement to the next passenger boarding. Neither man would be a help in a shoot-out, but neither would try to be a hero and get someone else shot

Clay gave only a cursory glance to the widow seated in the far corner. No one liked to look at a widow. A bonnet and a thick black veil shielded her face. Black gloves covered her hands and the heavy gown draped the rest of her. In her lap she clutched her reticule and a small Bible.

A heaviness rose in Clay’s chest. Rebecca…

Determinedly he pushed the thought from his mind and replaced it with preparation for the task at hand.

Otis consulted his pocket watch. “Three minutest Stage leaving in three minutest!”

Clay watched as the strongbox was hoisted up top, then took the rifle Sheriff Bottom had brought for him and climbed up beside the driver. He paid no attention to the anxious look on Jack Morgan’s face or the sher- iff’s attempt at advice.

Nor did he give any thought to the little widow in the coach beneath him. For all the memories the sight of her widow’s weeds caused, she meant nothing to him. Just a passenger on the stage. Nobody important

He was sure of it.

Chapter Five

“Name’s Buck, Marshal. Better grab hold of something.”

The driver shouted to the team, and the stagecoach lurched forward. Clay closed one hand over the edge of the seat and kept the other on the Winchester resting on his lap.

“That back there is Mick.” Buck nodded toward the shotgun rider seated behind them with the baggage.

Clay turned and nodded, and Mick did the same. The man looked to be near thirty, Clay judged; he handled the rifle in his hand as if he knew what to do with it, and Clay was glad for that.

“Keep a sharp eye out behind for us,” Clay called. Mick nodded and turned to face the rear.

“Expecting trouble today?” Buck shouted above the noise of the horses’ hooves, the straining of the coach and the rushing wind.

“Always expecting it” Clay glanced at Buck seated to his right. He held the reins in powerful, callused hands, telegraphing his instructions to the team with expert care. A battered hat rode low on his forehead, and a gray-and-white beard covered his face.

“Morgan’s Crying it again? Just got robbed yesterday.”

Clay looked back at the strongbox. “He’s determined to send it out again today.”

“That’s Morgan.” Buck shook his head. “Gets what he wants.”

“Comes with having money,” Clay commented.

“Maybe so. But you don’t have to lie and cheat and walk over everybody in your path to get where you want to be.”

Clay hadn’t heard anyone speak out against the man before. “I take it you don’t think much of Jack Mor-gan.

“Nobody does,” Buck grumbled. “But nobody can afford to say it out loud.”

The man who owned most of the town carried a lot of weight, and after what he’d seen of Jack Morgan, nothing Buck said surprised him.

“Course after every one of them robberies, Morgan has to shut down the mine for a day while all his men come to town and get their pay in person. Morgan don’t like that” Buck grunted, “Serves him right, if you ask me.

The stagecoach pressed farther away from town, bobbing and swaying with the dirt road cut through the hills. Dense trees lined both sides of the route, then gave way to meadows, an occasional farmhouse, hills and valleys. The afternoon sun had reached its peak and was dipping toward the horizon. Clay kept a keen eye on the road, assessing likely spots for an ambush.

“Coming up on a bad spot.” Buck nodded ahead. “Benette’s Bottom. We got hit there a couple of weeks back.”

“By the Schoolyard Boys?”

“Yeah, that’s what people call them, I reckon.”

“Anybody hurt?”

“Shoot, no.” Buck chuckled. “Everybody’s making them boys out to be bad criminals, but they never even fired a shot. The way I hear it, they never once fired on anybody.”

Clay gazed at the road up ahead, where it dipped into a narrow valley for a few hundred yards, then climbed through the hills again. Buck was right. It looked like a prime location to stop the stage. Clay pulled his Stetson low on his forehead and tightened his grip on the Winchester.

They passed through Benette’s Bottom with no trouble, but Clay didn’t relax. He kept a steady eye on the landscape ahead.

“Swing station is up ahead, just a couple of miles other side of Waterbow Curve.” Buck shoved his chin in that direction. “Looks like we’re going to make it.”

Clay shifted on the seat. “Maybe so.”

The horses pulled the big coach up the next hill, and Buck tightened up on the reins as they headed into a long, slow curve. On the left rose a dense wooded hillside, and to the right a meadow dotted with elms.

“What the hell? Whoa!” Buck pulled back hard on the reins. The stage came to a halt.

Clay braced his boot against the footboard and pushed his hat back on his head. “Holy…”

From the branches of the elms dangled women’s undergarments. Lacy corsets, embroidered stockings, taffeta petticoats, chemises with tiny bows, all hung from the limbs, waving gently in the breeze. Across the ground, ruffled, delicate clothing lay piled in mounds. A saddled horse grazed near the elm, the reins dragging as it walked.

Buck and Clay looked at each other, then at Mick. Stunned, the three men turned back to the meadow.

“I never—” Mick’s voice cracked. “I never saw so many unmentionables in one spot in my whole entire life.”

“Look at all them ruffles and lacy things.” Buck shook his head in awe.

Clay swallowed hard and shifted on the seat. He’d been on the trail way too long.

“I’ll see what’s going on.” Mick climbed down from the coach.

“Watch yourself,” Clay called. His gaze swept the wooded hills to the left, then settled on Mick as he picked his way around the silks and linens. “Check behind that—”

“Drop ‘em, lawman.”

Clay froze as cold, hard steel pressed against the base of his neck. He tensed and lifted the Winchester.

Buck turned toward him and his eyes widened. “What—”

The gun barrel pressed harder against Clay’s neck, a silent command. He lowered the rifle onto his lap again and chanced a glimpse behind him. Black lace ruffled in the breeze. Clay’s stomach knotted. The widow.

A boy stepped from behind an elm, wearing a red bandanna and an oversize hat. He pointed a rifle at Mick, who dropped his gun.

The Schoolyard Boys. Clay mumbled a curse.

A low, raspy voice spoke from behind him once more. “I said drop them, lawman.”

The gun barrel jabbed his neck. Clay cursed and threw down his rifle and pistol. Buck did the same.

A horse emerged from the trees on the left, and the third Schoolyard Boy lifted a rifle and aimed it at the stage. Positioned in their cross fire, with no weapon and two passengers in the stage to consider, Clay could do nothing.

From the corner of his eye, Clay saw the pistol at his back wave at Buck, and he mumbled and cursed, too, but tossed down the strongbox. It landed with a thud in the soft earth. The boy under the elm poked Mick in the ribs, and he headed back to the stage. He climbed up top while the widow made her way to the ground on the other side.

Clay looked down at the widow below him. Both arms extended, she held the pistol on him. If a boy was under that dress, it was a hell of a good disguise. For an instant, he considered jumping her, to see if she would shoot. But the sound of her voice rang loud and clear in his memory. Hard, gritty determination. He wouldn’t chance it.

Buck picked up the reins and shouted to the team, and the stagecoach pulled away. Clay watched as the third rider followed them through the hills for several hundred yards, until they reached the crest of the next hill. The boy pulled up and waited, keeping an eye on the stage, making sure no one got off and doubled back.

“Damn it to hell…” Anger coiled in Clay’s belly. He was going to get those Schoolyard Boys.

Clay left the stage at the swing station, got a horse from the stationmaster and rode back to the scene of the robbery. He’d questioned both passengers before leaving, but neither could tell him anything about the little widow. Like Clay himself, the men had hardly noticed her, feeling uncomfortable in her presence.

She’d kept to herself. Then she’d done her talking with the pistol she took from her reticule and made the men draw the shades on the stage windows. The. last they’d seen of her was her dress flapping in the breeze as she climbed up the side of the coach.

He’d tracked the Schoolyard Boys through the hills after finding the empty strongbox under the elms, then lost them after they rode into a creek. Whoever they were, they knew the countryside. Local boys. They’d be harder to catch than outlaws like Scully Dade, who kept on the move.