Wild Winds Read online

  Maggie nodded as her stomach growled in response. “I’m astonished I slept so soundly in that condition and with so much noise outside. I guess I was exhausted from the night before. I promise to hurry.”

  “I’ll wait for you downstairs; I’ll be having coffee.” He grinned and chuckled. “I need a strong cup to clear my head of what’s dazing it before me. I’m out of here, woman, because you’re much too tempting like that.”

  “You seem to show me more and more consideration and kindnesses every day, partner; thanks. Did you sleep well?”

  “Like a newborn baby, just as you did.”

  “Do I snore or toss or do anything else disturbing?”

  “Nothing more than cuddle up to me,” he said with another grin.

  “I’ll try to remember to stay on my side from here on,” she quipped.

  “I hope not; I like having you near me, asleep or awake.”

  My, aren’t we bold and romantic this morning. “I feel the same way.”

  “You look mighty fetching with your hair all mussed like that.”

  “You look mighty fetching any way I see you.” No good morning kiss? She watched Hawk boldly gaze at her for a minute, then grin and nod his head as if answering a mental question. “Is anything wrong?” she asked.

  “Nope, things couldn’t be much better. See you downstairs.”

  She observed his departure, his walk almost a swagger and his final glance as he closed the door most enticing. She would have adored waking up in his arms and making love again; and from his banter, that idea had crossed his mind, too. She was glad no strain existed between them this glorious new day following their intimacy. Heaven above, I love you, Hawk Reynolds, and I must have you forever. If not, surely I’ll perish.

  At breakfast, Maggie ventured to Hawk in a whisper, “Why would Barber be angry at Ben Carver for betraying him when I didn’t find any mention of incrimination in the trial notes or even any hints about it from the people I interviewed in Yuma and Prescott? As I told you yesterday, that was the impression he gave me, which I find odd.”

  Hawk recalled Toby Muns telling him Barber suspected Coot Sayers of stealing the hold-up money they had secreted near a rocky draw on Mount Union on March first before they went their separate ways to avoid being seen riding together. But when they met as planned at that site on March fourteenth to split up the money, Barber had slain Sayers during a challenge over its return after he found it missing, despite Sayers’ claim of innocence. Sayers had told Barber either somebody—perhaps a prospector—had happened upon its location or Carver had taken it. Since Ben had been captured in Tucson on the fifth and was in prison by the eighteenth, Barber didn’t believe either Ben or a stranger had committed the foul deed. Barber also said Ben was too smart and too afraid of him to pull a crazy stunt like that, and had lacked the time and opportunity.

  It was too bad, Hawk mused, that he hadn’t thoroughly searched Muns after finding and arresting that varmint; if he had done so, Muns wouldn’t have pulled that pistol hidden in his boot and forced him to shoot in self-defense, slaying his only witness against the others. From all he knew, but couldn’t reveal at that point, Hawk speculated, “Maybe Carver made off with the robbery money and that riled Barber against him.”

  “How is that possible? Why would Barber let Ben keep it for him?”

  “Carver could have doubled back after they hid it somewhere and took it with him or concealed it in another place. He could have stopped en route and telegraphed his father to meet him somewhere to set up his alibi. You can almost bet that hunting idea was Ben Carver’s.”

  Maggie realized she must question Newl about that possibility, and do so immediately; it was looking more and more as if her stepbrother was guilty. If that was true, she was in deep trouble as his escape accomplice! “You could be right.” But I hope not.

  She reminded Hawk about their photography sitting at two o’clock. “After we finish, I think I’ll go shopping for a hat and perhaps a new dress. I left my trunk with most of my possessions stored in Tucson because it was too bulky for horseback travel, and I want to look good for our picture. While I do that errand, why don’t you nose around to see what Barber and Jones are up to today?”

  Hawk surmised what she planned to do and was glad. If Newl related the truth, and if it was what he suspected, that would draw Maggie closer to him and further away from Ben. It also would give him the perfect chance to use that valuable ace up his sleeve …

  As soon as Hawk vanished down the street and around the corner, Maggie went to the telegraph office and sent a message to Newl via their regular method. She told him she was awaiting a rapid response. She told the office clerk she would return for a reply in an hour or so, so to hold it until she retrieved it in person.

  Afterward, she went to a dress shop nearby and delighted in finding the perfect outfit for their impending photograph session.

  It didn’t take Hawk long to locate his two targets, who were engaged in a poker game in a saloon. Since they appeared to be settled in for a while, he walked to H.H. Tuttle’s Tombstone Corral, saddled Diablo, and rode to Fairbank in hopes the small package he was awaiting had arrived …

  Maggie stood in the front of the telegraph office and read Newl’s reply. She was relieved he was honest with her, though his message dismayed her. Hawk’s speculation had been accurate: the hunting trip was Ben’s idea, and he had sent his request while en route toward Tucson from Benson, which would appear to make it impossible he had been in Prescott two and a half days earlier. She studied the map of Arizona on the wall and figured the timing required to cover that distance. If, after the early Thursday morning holdup, Ben rode like a wild wind almost around the clock, only halting for naps and quick snacks, and with two horses along as the gang was rumored to use, providing him with a fresh mount for frequent changes, he could have made it to Maricopa Wells to take a train to reach Benson by noon on Saturday. The two Carver men could have met near the Rincon Mountains that evening as they swore in court, camped overnight, hunted Sunday, camped again, then returned to Tucson on Monday in time for Ben’s capture that afternoon.

  Knowing or suspecting his face had been seen by someone who would recognize him, Ben would have been desperate to set up what he thought would be an unquestionable alibi; he would have sacrificed sleep and rest and even food and would have pushed his horses to their limits to acquire one. He probably never imagined his prestigious father’s word wouldn’t be accepted or that the authorities wouldn’t be fooled by his sly precautions. The court had assumed Newl was lying about the hunting trip to protect his only son, but no doubt her stepfather had told the truth on the witness stand and truly believed Ben’s vows of innocence.

  Newl also disclosed that his detective had learned that neither Frank’s nor the bank owner’s monetary status or property had altered since that robbery, so she was inclined to think her original speculations were wrong.

  Though the message was coded, Maggie shredded the paper, stuffed it into her skirt pocket, and headed for the hotel with her packages. In her distracted state, she encountered Pete Barber, who halted her to speak.

  “I been thinking about what you asked me yesterday and I reckon I can tell you a little about me for a story. Where can we sit and jaw?”

  Maggie’s wits weren’t so dazed by the offer that she didn’t remember to use her exaggerated southern drawl and southern bell charms. “I’m sorry, Mr. Barber, but I can’t interview you today; I have an appointment with Mr. Fly at two o’clock to have my photograph taken and to interview him about the gunflight between the Earps and the Clanton Gang. I just barely have time to eat dinner and get ready for my sitting. However, I have plenty of time after church tomorrow afternoon and evening. Would that be convenient with you? I truly hope so, because your life would make a fascinating story to write, and I’m sure everyone would love to read it.” She forced herself to keep a pleasant expression around the offensive man, and cautioned herself to be alert and carefu
l with him. Like yesterday, Pete Barber had himself under total control and was unreadable.

  “If’n I’m still in town tomorrow, where’ll I find you about three?”

  Don’t you dare panic and change your mind and appear too eager! “At the Carlton Hotel,” she reminded him, though she doubted he ever forgot anything or anybody. “I’ll wait for you in the lobby. They have a private sitting room to one side of it, so I’m certain I can arrange for us to use it for a few hours. I’ll also arrange for refreshments served.”

  “I’ll be seeing you about then, if’n I’m still around.”

  “I hope you can stay and tell me your story, but I’ll understand if you have to leave. And yes, I shall be glad to pay you a fee for your time and cooperation.” Careful, Maggie, don’t give him the impression you’re wealthy, or he might try to rob you. “However, it can’t be much because my expense budget is small until I earn alarger one by submitting several great stories.”

  “Ain’t no payment needed.”

  “That’s very kind of you, sir.”

  “I’ll be leaving, but we’ll be seeing each other again.”

  Maggie watched him depart with a cocky strut, his spurs jingling in his wake and his boots thudding on the boardwalk almost as heavily as her heart pounded within her chest. She couldn’t deduce if his last words were meant to be intimidating or threatening. She glanced around to see if Hawk was in the vicinity, since he was supposed to be shadowing Barber, but she didn’t see him, and thought that was odd. She decided he must be trailing Slim Jones as he had the last time when the two men were separated.

  After Maggie joined Hawk in the lobby following their meal and her retirement to their room to change clothes, she saw his golden brown gaze leisurely travel over her from the silk flower-and-ribbon-trimmed straw hat to feminine leather slippers.

  “You look beautiful, Maggie, prettiest I’ve ever seen you.” Blazes, I’m a lucky man! “Is that the dress and hat you bought this morning?”

  Maggie glanced down at a lovely polonaise with a softly draped bustle bottom and a square neckline which were both edged with ivory lace. The gorded underskirt in ivory batiste featured numerous ruffles from waist to hem. “Yes, it is, straight from back East. They’re perfect, aren’t they?”

  He knew she wasn’t fishing for a compliment, just assurance he liked what she had chosen. “Yep, they are. That color reminds me of Texas bluebells. It matches those beautiful eyes.”

  “Thanks. You look handsome yourself,” she told him with a smile as she eyed his black frock coat, black pants, black boots, stark white shirt, and silver bolo on a braided black cord. With his ebony hair, dark eyes, and bronzed flesh, the black-and-white contrast with them was splendid, enormously masculine and inflaming to her senses.

  “Thanks. I had everything except the shirt and tie. I bought them this morning and had my coat pressed at that Chinese laundry on Toughnut Street. Mr. Fong even polished my boots for me and cleaned my hat.”

  So, that’s where you’ve been hiding today; perhaps preparing yourself to impress me. And you certainly have, as always, even when you don’t try at all. Since his hair was neatly combed for their photograph, he told her—even newly trimmed she noticed—he didn’t don his Stetson, just held its brim between the fingers of his right hand. He cocked his left elbow toward her and asked if she was ready to leave.

  “Yes, and we make a fine-looking couple, I must say.”

  “So do I.”

  In Camillus Fly’s studio behind his Fremont Street gallery, Maggie stood next to a seated Hawk’s right shoulder for the first photograph, her left side slightly behind him, and with her left hand lying atop the area between his shoulder and neck and the other resting lightly at the crook of his arm.

  Several times Camillus peered through his camera on a stand which was situated a few feet away, then returned to them to make minor adjustments with clothing, head and body positions, or hand placements. It was evident the slender and genial man wanted everything to look perfect, which pleased both Maggie and Hawk.

  As they held that initial pose for a few minutes while Camillus vanished beneath a black cloth and made the photograph, each was highly cognizant of stimulating contact with the other’s body. With every breath taken, each inhaled the other’s arousing smell. Each heard and felt the other’s controlled breathing, and tasted the sweet flavor of elation coursing through their veins.

  For the second pose, Camillus had them stand before a large painting that featured a lovely outdoor scene which looked real, one of many clever “backgrounds” he had in his studio, each arranged area providing different moods and settings. Maggie was in the front, her body concealing less than half of Hawk’s left side, with his right fingers curled around the crook of her right elbow and with his left ones almost teasing around the curve of her waist, barely visible. In her left hand, resting casually near the edge of her polonaise parting, she held a lacy fan which Camillus supplied. Their heads faced forward, but were tipped slightly toward the other’s.

  Once more, Camillus made his adjustments until he smiled and said everything was “perfect, just perfect.”

  As they remained motionless, those previous heady perceptions assailed their senses again. Each hoped that the heat they radiated and tingles they experienced weren’t noticeable to the other two people present. Neither realized Camillus saw the adoring expressions on their faces and assumed they were deeply in love, as newlyweds should be, and hoped he captured that shared aura.

  Before they separated to assume their last pose, Maggie felt Hawk’s fingers give her waist and arm light squeezes. She glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled, and he sent her a near beaming one in return. Each concluded that the other also was enjoying this adventure.

  As they sat side by side on a short settee before another artistic painting simulating a lovely parlor, they exchanged grins as Camillus fussed with her folds and ruffles to get them just right. Each tried to seek distraction from further arousal by thinking about other things.

  For Maggie, it was making plans to send her new outfit to her mother via the mail for safekeeping with her other possessions, and attempting to visualize the three photographs and decide where to hang or set them.

  For Hawk, with that certain item in his possession now, it was trying to decide when and how to reveal the truth about himself to his wife …

  At last the man said he was finished, and the pictures would be ready for pickup on Monday. To get their minds and moods focused elsewhere, Maggie pretended to do her feigned interview with Camillus. As she took notes, Hawk assisted her ruse by asking clever questions and making comments.

  While Maggie changed clothes in their hotel room, Hawk lingered in hiding near Fly’s gallery to see if Pete Barber paid the photographer a visit following their lengthy sitting to question the man about them. Just as he suspected, within minutes after their departure, the redhead appeared down the street, walked to the gallery door, glanced in three directions, then entered the structure. Within fifteen minutes, not long enough to have a photograph taken to provide his motive, Barber left the building.

  Despite his curiosity, Hawk didn’t return to question Camillus; that could make the slender man more nervous than he probably was. He returned to the hotel and told Maggie what happened.

  “Do you think he’s suspicious of us?” she asked. “Was it a mistake for me to have mentioned Ben Carver to him the other day?”

  “I’m sure he was curious about you and your words, but our cover story should have him duped. Don’t worry, men like Barber are suspicious of everybody and everything; that’s how they stay alive and out of the Law’s reach. I’m sure he’s fooled by the precautions we’ve taken, so he won’t be coming after us before we’re ready to deal with him.”

  “I hope not, because he’s dangerous, probably the most dangerous man I’ve come across in my work and travels. I don’t want him becoming a threat to you because of me.”

  “Don’t worry about
me, Maggie; I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing so for a long time. I just don’t want you catching his eye and—”

  Hawk halted his sentence, and both looked toward the door.

  “Ella Mae, what are you doing here?” Hawk asked after opening the door to find his Tombstone informer standing there and looking nervous. “Come inside; hurry.” After peering down the hall in both directions and sighting no one, he closed and locked the door. He turned and asked, “Did anybody see you?”

  “No, I came around the rear and in the back door. I used the back servants stairs to sneak to your room; you told me the number the other night. I need to talk to you, alone, Hawk.”

  He glanced at a watchful Maggie, then faced Ella Mae. “It’s all right; this is Maggie Malone, my partner on this hunt. You can talk freely in front of her. Maggie, this is Ella Mae, a friend of mine who works in the Oriental Saloon, one of the fanciest and most profitable businesses in town. I pay her to gather information for me on the sly.”

  Maggie smiled at the young woman she was scrutinizing with a masked expression and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ella Mae.”

  “Likewise, ma’am.”

  The flame-haired, hazel-eyed visitor looked to Maggie to be in her early twenties, and was pretty. Her complexion was pale, with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her dainty nose and rosy cheeks. Ella Mae was a littl e shorter than she was and had a more ample bosom. Her brownish green gaze stayed locked on Hawk’s handsome face, and she stood as close to him as possible. Attired in a simple skirt and blouse, the female could have passed most places unnoticed except for those fiery red tresses which cascaded down her back and her voluptuous figure. Despite Ella Mae’s occupation and obvious infatuation with Hawk, Maggie didn’t sense any hint of past intimacy between the two.

  “You ast me to keep an eye and ear open for anything Pete Barber and Slim Jones does, so I listened to a talk they was having with one of the new girls at our place; she’s been here about a month or a little more. Her name’s Conchita Vasquez, but she goes by Chita; she’s Mexican, dark hair and eyes, a real looker the men say. She’s popular with customers ‘cause she knows all the tricks for pleasing a man. You know a customer can hire his favorite girl for the whole evening or for all night for a nice price; that’s what Pete’s planning to do, and pay her a hundred dollars in secret for helping him fool everybody.”