And rode serenely out of town.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When Malachi returned with the horses, Iris was already waiting for him, seated in a small buckboard wagon. She was wearing green brocade with a cocky little feathered hat, and the green went exceptionally well with her red hair.
Malachi tethered the horses and looked at her. "You're a beautiful woman, Iris," he told her.
She smiled and didn't flush. "Thanks, Malachi. You didn't need to say that."
"You don't need to come."
"Yes, I do," Iris said. "You don't know anything about the back entrance to Cindy's house. And you won't be able to run around in the town of Sparks, I promise you. You won't be able to do your brother one bit of good if you're arrested along with his wife."
"I don't like putting you into danger," he said softly.
"I won't be in any danger. Cindy's a friend of mine. I come into Sparks often enough. I'm known there."
"Still—"
"Malachi, I swear that I will be in no danger.
Malachi still didn't like it, but he knew he had no right to dictate to Iris. And her trip to Sparks had been monumentally important.
She had found Cole. He'd been sitting in the local saloon, his hat pulled low over his head. She hadn't recognized him herself at first, not until she'd leaned back and seen his silver gray eyes. He'd been wearing ranch clothes and a Mexican serape and his face had been covered with the rustic start of a beard and mustache. He hadn't looked at all like Cole.
He'd recognized Iris, though. Before she could talk to him, he'd come up quickly to buy her a drink, then he had told her he was going by the name of Jake Egan.
Iris had brought him to Cindy's place, a big gabled house her friend owned on the outskirts of town. It was a cathouse, of course, and Shannon was sure to hate it, but that was where they were going now.
Cole told Iris that Jamie was just over the border, and he had gotten word to him. The three of them planned to converge in Sparks, and take matters from there. Thanks to Iris and her friends, they would have a good place from which to plan and work.
Iris glanced toward the Haywoods. "Your wife ain't pleased, I take it?"
He shrugged. "I haven't told her yet."
Iris frowned. "But—"
"We had an argument. We didn't get that far," Malachi said briefly.
Iris lowered her head and a smile stole over her lips. "I hope you told her that I wasn't with you—"
"Iris, it doesn't matter—"
"It matters to me! I'd just as soon she not shoot me."
"She's not going to shoot you, Iris."
"Malachi—"
"Iris, the matter is solved."
"I don't think so, Malachi."
"And why is that?"
Well, as you might have noticed, Mrs. Slater isn't out here yet."
Malachi swore softly. He started up the porch steps toward the front door.
"Malachi!" Iris called to him. "I'm going to run back in. Reba might be up by now and I want to thank her for covering things for me yesterday."
Malachi nodded to her and hurried up the steps and opened the door to the parlor. Mrs. Haywood was just coming out of the kitchen with a big parcel in her hands. "Here you are, Captain Slater. Some of my best summer sausages and biscuits. And when you're heading back through, you make sure to come and see us."
Malachi nodded stiffly. "Surely, ma'am," he said, and he looked up the stairway. "Has she come down yet?"
Mrs. Haywood shook her head. "Maybe you should go on and hurry her along."
He nodded again. Mrs. Haywood was still staring at him.
"We wouldn't have hanged you, captain, you know."
"I'm glad to hear that, ma'am."
"And we couldn't have forced you into marrying your lady—not unless you wanted to."
He hesitated, staring at her. "Now, Mrs. Haywood—"
"Never mind. Maybe you're not ready to admit that. You go up and hurry her along. I'll take the vittles out to the buckboard. Iris is going with you?" Mrs. Haywood's eyes danced with merriment. "What a lively trip. I wish I were going. I wish that I was twenty years younger!" she said, and she laughed.
A slow smile curved Malachi's lip. He saluted her. "Yes, ma'am, it would have been nice to have you along."
Mrs. Haywood, chuckling, headed toward the door. Malachi went to the steps and started up them, two at a time.
He came to the door and noticed the splinters around the broken lock. He had already paid Mr. Haywood for the damages, but seeing the door made him feel ill. He had sworn he wasn't going to lose his temper, and he had. He had sworn that he wouldn't touch her in anger…and he had. He wanted to leave this place now. More than anything, he wanted to leave this place. Nothing could really be solved between himself and Shannon until Kristin was rescued, or…
Until they all died in the attempt.
"Shannon!" he called out sharply.
He stepped into the room. She was nowhere around. Other than that, the room was exactly as he had left it, not half an hour ago. "Shannon?" he called out again.
Damn her. She was angry, and she was playing some trick. Never! He never could trust her, not for one damned moment! He thought she had understood how close they were coming to Kristin.
He wandered to the foot of the bed and sank down upon it with a weary sigh. Where had she gone? Mrs. Haywood hadn't seen her downstairs. And…
He looked across to the hall tree. Shannon's shirt and trousers were still hung on it.
He rose, a frown knitting his brow. He went over to their saddlebags and ripped hers open. Her dress was still there. Wherever she had gone, she had gone wearing the slinky satin nightdress she had worn this morning.
He jumped up, trying to tell himself that she might have run into the mercantile store to buy something. More underwear, a new shirt, perhaps. Another one of the embroidered blouses like the one on the hall tree…
Malachi ran down the steps. Just as he reached the parlor, he heard screaming from the street. He burst out of the door and ran down to the street, his booted footsteps clattering over the wood of the steps until he hit the dust.
Iris was in the middle of the street, her arms around the blond, Reba.
Reba was lying in the dust, wrapped in a blanket, and held tenderly by Iris. Her eyes were closed. Her face was parchment white. A trickle of blood seeped onto the blankets.
The Haywoods were there, bending over.
"What happened?" Malachi demanded.
"She shouldn't have moved. She was trying to get to you. She wants you to kill him," Iris said, her voice rising hysterically.
"Kill who?" He looked from Iris to Reba. Her eyes remained closed. He leaned down and picked her up. He
glanced at Martha Haywood for assent, but the sturdy matron was already shooing him toward the house. "Right into the parlor, Malachi. Bring her to the couch. I'll send Papa for the doctor."
He hurried inside with the blond whore and laid her carefully on the sofa. He knelt beside her as Iris followed, smoothing back her hair. She had been beaten. Her lip was swollen, and one of her eyes was almost shut.
Her other eye opened slowly. She almost smiled, a caricature of a smile. "He wanted your wife, Mr. Gabriel. He wanted your wife."
"What?"
His heart thudded, then seemed to stop for a moment. Cold fear fell harshly upon him. He took Reba's hand in his. "Please, we know you're…hurting." The way the blood seeped from her, she was probably dying. Maybe she knew it; maybe she didn't. "Try to tell me."
She moistened her lips, nodding. "Kill him. You have to kill him. I saw him watching you. He was waiting for you to get to her; he couldn't make the noise to reach her. He tried…last night. Then he came up to my room with me." She paused. Tears trickled down her cheeks. "He's got your wife, Mr. Gabriel. He thinks I'm dead. He thinks he's safe… Get him. Kill him. He—" She tried to find breath to speak, and made one final effort. "He said that his name was Justin."