Wild Winds Read online

  Chapter

  Sixteen

  After breakfast, Maggie went to a mercantile store where she bought wrapping materials and was given assistance by the owner’s genial wife with packing the photographs and her unneeded possessions. As they worked, the older woman remarked that the pictures and the dress she had chosen were lovely and romantic, and that the couple’s expressions revealed their deep love for each other, to which Maggie agreed with a beaming smile. She walked to the post office and mailed the package to the ranch in San Antonio, in care of her husband. She also sent a letter to Abby before she went to the telegraph office to send a cleverly worded message to Newl.

  After she heard several knocks on her door, as a safety precaution in case Pete Barber had doubled back to seek revenge on her, Maggie asked without unbolting it, “Who’s there?”

  “It’s Matthew Lawrence, Maggie. Abby sent me with a message.”

  She unlocked the door and stared at the man who was standing there with an expectant expression on his face. “Why did she send you here?” she asked anxiously. “Is something wrong in Yuma?”

  “No, everything’s fine there; so is Abby. She’s just worried about you.”

  “Why?” Maggie asked, then added, “Come inside,” in the event her love-blinded friend had confided their secret in her sweetheart. “Have a seat,” she offered, pointing to the short settee. “Now, why are you here?”

  “Mr. Mercer received news that somebody has been checking on you back East at the boarding school.”

  Maggie tensed in apprehension, but masked that reaction. “Checking on me? Whatever for? Who?”

  “He doesn’t know, but a man went to the school and asked questions about you. The headmistress thought it was strange, so she sent word to Mr. Mercer. I suppose because he mentioned Abby several times since you two roomed together and were best friends. Mr. Mercer was going to let it pass as a mystery until he received another message that a man—perhaps the same one—was checking on you and the Mercers in Virginia.”

  Maggie’s anxiety increased as she wondered if her misdeed had been exposed, or if she and the Mercers had fallen under suspicion because the relationship between her and Ben had been discovered and because she was visiting the prison Commissioner’s family when he escaped. She prayed they wouldn’t be incriminated and jeopardized or face a nasty scandal. “Someone was investigating the Mercers, too?”

  “Mr. Mercer’s ex-business partner was at a newspaper office when the man came in to ask if you were employed there or maybe at another Virginia newspaper. The editor told him he’d never heard of you, or met you at any of the other offices he had visited. His ex-partner notified him because his name was mentioned again in connection to yours.”

  “What kind of questions was this man asking?”

  “Where you live. If you moved back to Virginia after your father’s death in Texas. What you’re doing now. How he could locate you. Since nobody had those answers, he asked where the Mercers live in case they knew where and how to reach you through Abby. He seemed the most interested in where you work and your current address.”

  Who could be trying to find me and why? How does he know about my past? Did this news frighten Abby into breaking her promise of silence? “Is that all you came to tell me, about those two suspicious incidents?”

  “Yes. Mr. Mercer told Abby to write and inform you, but Abby asked me to deliver the message and as fast as possible, and on the sly.”

  Maggie wondered if he thought Abby’s actions were odd. “I guess she thought it was important I know immediately,” she hinted.

  “Yes, because of your work. Don’t be upset with her or worry about me revealing your identity, but she told me you’re a detective and you’re working secretly on an important case; so she figured it could be somebody involved in it checking on you. She figured somebody in Prescott traced you back to Yuma and them to get that starting point. If you’ve got a person worried to this point, Maggie, he could be dangerous, so if anybody strange comes around questioning you, you should contact the sheriff for protection.”

  She recalled she had used the journalist cover on one other case, but nobody involved in it had been told where she was born or where she had gone to school. In fact, the only person she had related those facts to was Hawk; but if he had asked an agent to investigate her, he would have revealed that action to her by now. “I will, Matthew, and thank you for coming to see me so promptly. You’re marrying a smart woman, Abby’s speculations match mine. But until somebody contacts me for information, I’m totally puzzled by this matter. Are you planning on staying here overnight?”

  “No, I’m catching the return train to Yuma. I only have another hour before it pulls out, so if you’ll excuse my rush, I’ll be heading back to the depot at Fairbank. I hired a wagon driver to haul me over and return me; he’s waiting outside for me.”

  “Tell Abby my current case is going fine and I’m perfectly safe. In fact, I just mailed her a long letter th is morning telling her I’ll be finishing and leaving in a day or two. I’ll send her news of my new location soon.”

  “She’ll be glad to hear you’re safe; she was plenty worried. I guess your kind of work can be dangerous at times.”

  “Only on rare occasion; and I know how to defend myself and how to seek help when I can’t. Thank you again, Matthew. By the way, how is your romance with my best friend progressing?”

  “Perfect, just like Abby. Her parents know we’re courting seriously now and they seem to approve of me and our match.”

  “The Mercers are wonderful people. You’re lucky to be marrying into that family, and Abby’s lucky she found you.”

  “Thanks, I’ll be sure to tell her you said so in case it escaped her keen mind,” he jested with a lopsided grin. “Well, I’d better hightail it for the depot. I don’t want to miss the train. You take care of yourself, Maggie; so long for now. I’ll be seeing you this winter at our wedding.”

  “I’ll be there, Matthew; I wouldn’t miss it for anything. I know you and Abby will be very happy together.” She decided not to delay him by relating the good news about her own marriage; Abby could tell him later.

  “I fully agree. I can hardly wait to get back to her.”

  “Good-bye, Matthew. Hug and kiss Abby for me.”

  “I will.”

  Maggie closed the door and leaned against it. Who was checking on her and why? Since the queries involved her current cover story, it had to be someone in Prescott because the timing was wrong for it to be somebody in Tombstone or from her past job. So, she pondered, whom • had she intrigued so deeply in the territorial capital and

  why? Who had sicked a detective on her? Could it be Frank Moore and/or the bank owner? If Ben was guilty and they’d told the truth about him and the robbery, why would he or they be worried about her nosing around there? It was a very strange occurrence indeed.

  She almost jumped at the pounding noise behind her as another knock came to her door. She unlocked and opened it, thinking Matthew had forgotten to say or give her something.

  “Two telegrams, Mrs. Reynolds. One was sent to Margaret Malone, but you told our office that’s your maiden name. Right?”

  “That’s correct, and thank you for delivering them. Wait a moment,” she said and fetched a token to give him for his trouble.

  Maggie hurried to the settee to sit down and read the telegrams. She hoped one was from Hawk saying he had captured Barber and was en route back to her. She quickly learned that neither message was from him, but both—in a way—involved her husband.

  The first one, addressed to her maiden name because she hadn’t exposed her marriage to Hawk, was from Newl in response to hers that morning. In their prearranged code, she had told him it was urgent she head to Sante Fe and speak with Ben about important discoveries in his case. It revealed Ben’s location, so she sighed a breath of relief. Now, as soon as Hawk returned, they could head out fast to recapture Ben. She had told Newl about Slim’s arrest for
a local crime, but said to alert Ben to stay put because Pete was still on the loose and a threat to his survival.

  The second telegram was from her boss in St. Louis and in code. As she deciphered it, her heart began to drum in trepidation and confusion:

  Be alert for deceit and danger. Had a friend check on your new rank. Invalid. No marshal named Hawk Reynolds on record. Had him checked in Texas. Bounty hunter. In pursuit of family’s killers. Repeat. Not a marshal. Put distance between you fast. Will continue to investigate mystery.

  Maggie shook her head forcefully as if in a desperate attempt to clear it of doubts. She told herself that her boss and his sources had to be mistaken. Perhaps, she reasoned • in near panic, Hawk’s name wasn’t recorded because he worked undercover. Yet, her defiant mind recalled, Howard Carlton had contacts everywhere who had clever ways offinding out anything and everything, even closely guarded secrets in government files. Several other facts leapt into her troubled mind to further distress it: Hawk hadn’t told the local sheriff about the Prescott robbery, which was what had propelled them to pursue Barber and Jones. In addition, he had told her not to reveal she was a deputy marshal, to say only that she was a detective and his wife. He had known in Yuma that she had aided Ben’s escape and had learned en route to Prescott about the boarding school, her journalist claim, and about being from Virginia—exactly the areas somebody had checked on in an attempt to verify her profession and address.

  As pain knifed her heart and conscience, Maggie scolded herself for what she was thinking when surely Hawk could explain those curious points and coincidences. She was plagued by anguish and was speculating wildly about the man she loved and trusted, her husband. Or was he? If he wasn’t a marshal who worked undercover, Hawk Reynolds might not be his real name. It that was true, her marriage wasn’t legal under a false one!

  No, Maggie, even Howard verified that’s his real name. But if he isn’t a marshal, you’re wed to a bounty hunter and a liar and a cunning trickster. And if he isn’t a marshal, he can’t prevent your arrest by working with him on his alleged case. But as a bounty hunter, he can capture you for a reward, and as revenge for helping Ben escape, for being the stepsister of one of his family’s killers. Would the authorities agree to a wild idea about busting a convict out of prison to let him lead you to his cohorts and stolen goods? That strategy doesn’t sound likely. What if, after learning you were a detective, Hawk came up with a ruse he was sure you’d fall for: a marshal making you his deputy? Maybe he’s blinded by hatred and a hunger for revenge and he’s only using you to get it.

  Perhaps, she fretted in torment, this traitorous dilemma was the reason for that premonitory feeling during their last talk before Hawk left!

  Get a good hold on yourself, Maggie. Stop letting your imagination run wild and your emotions go crazy. Think calmly and rationally.

  Despite that stern order, her ravaged mind asked how he had duped her so quickly and easily and completely about who he was and what he wanted from her. An answer came too fast to suit her: he had told her what she needed to hear in order to be ensnared; he had used her love for him to entrap her to obtain her assistance. He had convinced her Ben was guilty of both crimes and others, but was he? Had her speculations about a frame been accurate? Was the fact that Ben had suggested the hunting trip a clue to his guilt, or had Hawk only used that angle to inspire doubts within her? Had she tried to turn all she’d learned against Ben because Hawk had sworn Ben was partly to blame for his family’s killings and she’d felt remorse for freeing him and she’d believed her husband’s allegations? Had Hawk only needed her to help him get to Pete and Slim? Maybe he had no intention of returning to her later; maybe that was why he hadn’t wanted her to accompany him during his pursuit of Pete; maybe he would just keep riding after Pete was either captured or slain. Maybe he knew Ben wasn’t involved in his family’s murders and had no interest in Ben, except for his reward.

  Have I allowed you to dupe and mislead me? Should I wait for you here so you can explain, or should I continue my crucial mission alone? Can I trust you to speak the truth? And to not slay Ben when we reach him, if Muns really told you Ben’s your fifth target?

  Yet, it didn’t elude Maggie’s astute mind that Hawk had arrested Slim and had gone after Pete to do the same, not challenged either to a lethal showdown for revenge. Even so, Muns and Sayers were dead. And Slim and Pete hadn’t yet made it to the gallows or prison alive …

  Maggie went to see the sheriff and told him she was leaving town shortly to carry out her next assignment and she could be reached through her St. Louis agency when and if she was needed to testify at the villains’ trials. She also told him she wasn’t married to Hawk Reynolds, saying that claim was just a ruse to provide a safe cover for their joint investigation, which was over now that Barber and Jones—his targets—had been exposed.

  On an inexplicable whim, she asked if he knew or had seen Berk Barber, Pete’s notorious brother.

  “Yep, I’ve seen him a few times when he rode into town either alone or with Pete and Slim.” The sheriff confirmed Berk’s notorious reputation.

  “Could you give me a description of him in case I come across him?” Maggie asked. “If he somehow learns I was in on his brother’s fate and he’s the vengeful type, I’ll need to avoid him.”

  “I can do better than words, Miss Malone. There was a reward poster put out on him about year back for cattle rustling. It was called off when Berk came up with an abili for that night, but I kept it for some reason. I got it in my desk. Yep. Here it is.”

  As Maggie stared at the worn paper, her emotions sank lower as she was given the last piece of evidence she needed to expose Hawk’s pretense. The man drawn there strongly favored Ben Carver, down to the same height, hair and eye colors, age, the two men even rode the same type of horse. Hawk had to be aware of the similarities. There could be only one reason why Hawk had kept that crucial secret….

  She deduced that the fifth man Hawk was seeking for revenge—and possibly the fifth bandit in Prescott—was Berk Barber, not Ben Carver. And she wasn’t about to lead a greedy and devious bounty hunter to her stepbrother!

  A heart-sore and angry Maggie faked a smile, thanked the sheriff as she returned the old poster, and left his office.

  Afterward, she telegraphed Howard to ask if he could gather more facts about Hawk and find out who was checking on her and why. She revealed she was leaving Tombstone alone to question Ben Carver, her stepbrother, and outlined the facts about Ben’s prison break and that she was helping him prove his innocence, leaving out the pertinent detail that she had effected his escape. She told her boss and friend she would contact him soon with her new location.

  She went to the mercantile store again and purchased trail supplies, relieved the owner’s wife wasn’t there, as the woman might perceive her change in mood and wonder about it. Had it been only a few hours ago, she fretted, that she had been happy and eagerly awaiting Hawk’s return? How quickly and painfully one’s life could be altered forever! She pushed aside her distracting anguish, as she had work to do.

  At the hotel, she bought food for her impending journey, filled her canteen, and packed her belongings in a hurry. As she did so, she noticed that Hawk had taken all of his possessions with him, as if he didn’t intend to return. But in case he did, she wanted to be gone, vanished like a mist following sunrise. She addressed an envelope to him at his ranch, inserted the wedding ring and deputy badge—both fakes, to her mind—and left the oppressive room where she believed for a while she had found true love.

  At the registration desk, she handed the envelope to the clerk and told him, “If Mr. Reynolds returns within the next few days, please give this to him; if not, please mail it to him for me.” She paid her bill and gave him enough money to cover the postage if necessary.

  At the hitching post, Maggie loaded her gear on her saddle, having claimed Blaze at the stable before returning to the hotel. Since the last train at Fairbank had left for
the day, she mounted to ride overland to Benson where she’d take the next eastbound one to New Mexico. Afterward, she would ride Blaze to Sante Fe for a rendezvous with Ben Carver and somehow extract the truth from him, whatever it might be.

  Maggie covered the distance between Tombstone and Benson in two hours, riding at a pace that wouldn’t overexert Blaze beneath the ninety-degree sun. It was a smooth journey in the San Pedro Valley along a well-worn road near a river by that same name. The sky was clear and blue, so she didn’t have to worry about rain or a storm slowing her down. Yet she traveled with a heavy burden on her shoulders as she headed to see Ben, and another one gnawing at her heart as she abandoned a traitorous lover.

  Fortunately, she arrived in town not long before the afternoon train’s departure. She spoke with one of the railroad workers to learn that not only would other horses be transported in an open railed car for fresh air but also a man would be inside to keep them calm and tended along the route.

  “I’m so sorry, but we have to move fast,” she told the chestnut roan as she stroked the animal’s forehead and neck before Blaze was led up a plank and into the car where her reins were secured to an iron ring. Maggie noted the water buckets, feed sacks, and fresh straw, which she was told would be changed frequently for cleanliness.

  After her saddle was stored nearby, she took her seat in one of the many cars where other passengers were chatting and waiting. She sighed a breath of relief when the engineer blasted the whistle and the train left the depot on schedule without Hawk making a sudden appearance.

  With many freight and mail stops to be made between Benson and her first destination of Las Cruces, the trip would take thirteen hours, with an expected arrival there at six o’clock in the morning.

  Maggie settled back and watched the rocky outcroppings of the Little Dragoon mountains slip behind her. In an attempt to keep her mind off her troubles to her rear and the challenges before her, she glanced here and there at the rugged terrain where numerous scrubs, mesquites, agave, cacti, and other trees and plants grew. Grasses waved in a constant breeze which also cooled the car’s interior, but her spirits stayed low.