"Why'd he kill your lawyer?"
"We have only been able to determine that the unfortunate man discovered him in his office, in the process of stealing the will I had just had executed that same day. It was the only thing missing from his office, according to his partner. And there were sev-eral witnesses whom he asked for directions to the lawyers' office. They all swear it was an Englishman who questioned them. And besides, it's not the first will I have made that has turned up missing."
"Sounds to me like all you need is a bounty hunter, ma'am, and that I'm not. Or better yet, just report what happened here to the town marshal over in Tombstone when you have the body turned in. All that's needed is this fellow's name and a description."
"But I don't know his name or what he looks like." At his frown, she quickly added, "John Longnose is just what we call him. All I know about him is that he's as English as I am."
"Well, chances are there's not another Englishman within a hundred miles of here, but you never know.
I've seen others passing through, so it'd be easy enough to make a mistake. Your best bet, then, is to entrench and let him come to you. You did say you have guards?"
"Yes, but—"
"Then you don't need another gun."
Before it registered that he was refusing her offer, his gun was out again and going off. Jocelyn turned to see a long snake now minus its head, though the body was still wiggling, and she shuddered at how close it was behind her. She hadn't heard it or sensed the danger. She didn't need another gun? He had just proved that statement false.
Colt glanced at her sideways after he tossed the snake away from them. He had to hand it to her. She'd been shot at, near snake-bit, and that was after her coach had crashed. And no telling what had happened before then. Yet she hadn't made a fuss about any of it. Of course, that snake had managed to shut her up. She was the talkingest woman he'd ever met. Not that he minded. That accent of hers was real soft on the ears.
He turned to stare at the dust cloud making its way toward them. Her people, he hoped, considering the size of that cloud indicated quite a few riders. He replaced the rounds in his gun just in case.
He glanced at her again and saw that she had pro-duced a small lacy square of cloth from somewhere and was dabbing it at her forehead. That sweet scent of hers drifted more strongly to him, stirring his blood again. Damn, but she was dangerous. Each time he looked at her, she somehow got prettier and definitely more desirable. And each time she looked at him with those beautiful green eyes, he had to fight down old instincts. If he had come across her six years ago, he would have simply ridden off with her and made her his. But he was "civilized" now and so couldn't fol-low his natural inclinations anymore.
But those instincts were strong, too strong, the rea-son that he didn't dare stick around to help her out with her troubles. It'd be different if she didn't already have help, more than enough help from the look of it. Then he would have no choice, because he damn well didn't like the idea of someone wanting to hurt her. She might not belong out here, but she was here, and she had crossed his path. He was going to worry about her now until she was safe. Just what he needed.
"Those your people riding in?"
Jocelyn started at his question, barely heard through the ringing in her ears from the gunshots. She had been trying to think of some way to change his mind about working for her. She didn't want him to just ride off to where she might never see him again. That was imperative, though she had yet to wonder why.
She saw the riders now, and recognized Sir Parker Grahame out in front. "Yes, my escort, and quite a few of the servants, by the look of it."
"I'll be taking off, then. Your men can find your team staked out at the river, less than a mile east of here — that is, if someone hasn't come along and sto-len them by now."
The unspoken words were implicit in his tone. If her horses were gone, so would be his gear.
"Thank you. I'm sure they will be easily recov-ered. But are you certain you won't change your mind and-"
"Ma'am, that's a small army you have bearing down on us. You don't need me."
"We will need a guide, however."
"You can find one in Tombstone."
Jocelyn gritted her teeth as she followed him to his horse and watched him mount. He obviously wasn't for hire, for any reason.
"Where is this town you mentioned?"
"About six miles or so directly across the San Pe-dro. It's big enough that you can't miss it."
"Do you live there, by any chance?"
"No, ma'am."
"But will I see you there, do you think?"
"I doubt it."
He hadn't looked at her since he headed for his horse, but he did now, and had to grip his saddle horn.
The disappointment was vivid in her expression, pulling at his gut with invisible cords. What the hell did she want from him? Didn't she know she was courting trouble with that look?
"I really wish you would reconsider," she said in a soft, imploring voice that wrapped around him, making him groan.
It was too much on top of everything else she made him feel. He had to get the hell out of there.
"Forget it, lady. I don't need that kind of trouble."
She didn't know he was referring to her and not her problems. She stood there and watched him ride away, feeling guilty for trying to embroil him in what was a very dangerous situation. He was right to refuse her. He had helped her enough as it was. But blast it all, she didn't want to see the last of him.
Chapter Six
Ed Schieffelin had been warned by the post commander at Fort Huachuca when he set out into the Apache-infested wilderness of southeastern Arizona that all he would find was his tombstone. The long-time prospector ignored the warning, and when he found the "strike" of his dreams, promptly named it the Tombstone. Other strikes followed in the area, but Ed's Tombstone was the one that lent its name to the town that sprang up around it in 1877. Four years later, the town boasted some five hundred buildings, with at least a hundred having been granted licenses to sell hard liquor, and maybe half that number op-erating as brothels and cribs on the east end of town past 6th Street, a small number really, when you con-sidered the town's population had grown to more than ten thousand.
Colt made a habit of learning about a town before he entered it, and he had found out all he needed to know about this one when he had passed through Benson, just as he had learned enough about Benson when he had passed through Tucson. Seeing it for himself now, he could understand why a seventeen-year-old boy on the run toward Mexico might linger here awhile. It was where he expected to finally find Billy Ewing. It was where he damn well better find the boy. After picking up Billy's trail in St.
Louis four months ago and losing it time and again, Colt was at the end of his patience and his temper.
The things he did for Jessie.
It wasn't going to be easy, however, locating a seventeen-year-old kid in a town this size. He'd been told there were five good-sized hotels and six board-inghouses, but who was to say Billy would be using his own name? He'd also been told now was not a good time to visit, that the town was heading for an explosion of violence between the outlaw element op-erating in the area and the town marshal and his brothers who had been clashing and feuding for some time now.
Colt stopped dead still in the middle of Toughnut Street, remembering that. Where had that piece of information gone hiding when he had spoken to the redhead? He had been heading for Tombstone with every intention of getting Billy out of there as quickly as possible, and yet he had steered a woman like that in the same direction. Had she shaken him up that much, or had he subconsciously wanted her going in his direction? Dumb, plain dumb. Now he'd have to see her again to tell her it'd be healthier if she didn't remain in town for long. No, seeing her again would be even dumber. He'd send Billy with the message-once he found him.