Cotton's Law (9781101553848) (24 page)

“Go ahead. I got plenty of ponderin’ to attend to right now, anyway.”

When Jack left, Cotton tented his fingers and began chewing his lip. He looked over at Henry and said, “My friend, it is beginning to look like I’ll be needin’ your help with that Spencer in about four days. If you’re willin’, of course.”

“I be here,” Henry said, and he turned and left as quietly as he’d come.

Jack started down the boardwalk toward the hotel. He’d gotten about halfway when he saw Delilah coming from Bart’s bank. He waved at her. As they got closer, he asked how she was.

“I’ve seen better days, Jack. I’m not sure how I came to be in this place with that bastard Havens. First chance I get, I’ll be on the stage for Santa Fe.”

“What’s in Santa Fe?”

“I don’t know. Just as long as I’m not getting slapped around by a jealous jackass, I don’t really care. I’ll take in laundry if I have to.”

“Ha, now that I’d like to see. Delilah Jones sweating over a tub of water washing out some fella’s long johns.”

“It’d be better than black eyes and bloody noses.”

“Say the word, Delilah, and I’ll have a talk with Mr. Havens. I’ll bet we could come to an understanding, me and him.” Jack rubbed his hand over the butt of his Remington, raising both eyebrows and smiling at the lovely
brunette. He held out his arm. She slid hers inside his, hiked up her skirts with the other, and they walked up the steps to the hotel together. Once inside, she thanked him for his offer, saying it wasn’t necessary, though, and she went upstairs.

Jack sauntered into the dining room, where Melody sat sipping a glass of wine.

“Glad you could free yourself from the rigors of kissing Cotton Burke’s boots, Jack.”

Jack glared at her for a moment, then took a seat across from her, saying nothing.

Across the street from the hotel, Bart Havens had been watching from his front window. His face was flushed with anger. He slammed his fist down on a table, knocking over a vase Delilah had filled with flowers to add some class to the bank. The vase crashed to the floor, breaking into a million pieces and scattering cut flowers and water everywhere.

“Damn you, Delilah, I give you everything a woman could want, treat you like a queen, and the first man you come up to, you take him to your hotel room and bed him. Bitch!”

He spun around and stormed back to his office, slamming the door behind him. He fell into his chair, put his head in his hands, and cursed everything he could think of, even though there was no one within earshot. He pulled out a desk drawer and fumbled for a bottle of whiskey. He yanked out the cork, put the bottle to his lips, and began guzzling the amber liquid like it was spring water.

Well, my dear, enjoy your time with that worthless deputy while you can, because I have a plan for him that will even the score for J.J. Bleeker. It’s about time you realize just how much power I wield around this godforsaken collection of run-­down buildings, whores, and drunken cowboys. Tomorrow I start my final push to destroy Cotton Burke’s little kingdom. Mark my words!

The next morning, Bart Havens was waiting at the door of his bank.

“Delilah, it’s time for you to deliver my note to Deputy Jack Stump,” Bart said. He’d asked her to be in his office a half hour early so she could set things in motion now that he was well on his way to success. His particularly stern look and the tone of his voice gave her a start. She took the folded paper from her cloth purse and turned to do his bidding.

“Yes, Mr. Havens. I’ll do it right away.”

“That’s my girl. You hurry back as soon as you hand it to him. I need you here greeting all the sheep right when we open,” he said with an insincere grin. He ran a finger across his thin mustache.

Delilah rushed out of the bank and headed straight for the sheriff’s office. This early in the morning she wasn’t certain Jack would be there, but at least Cotton Burke should be. They had never met, but she liked what she’d seen from a distance.

She rapped on the door and, hearing no answer, tried the knob. It was open, so she went inside. “Hello, is anyone here?”

“It’s about damned time you brought my breakfast. I’m starving in here.”

Delilah peered around the corner and came almost face-­to-­face with a disheveled man wearing a rumpled vest, holding on to the bars of his cell. A frock coat was folded on the cot to make a pillow.

“I, uh, who are you?” she asked.

“Just one unlucky gambler, or maybe lucky, I haven’t decided which.”

“Why are you in here? Gambling isn’t illegal in Apache Springs, is it?”

“I reckon it is the way I was doing it. I, er, sorta got caught dealin’ off the bottom. I suppose I’m only alive to tell about it because of that deputy. He saved me from some rattler named Jackson who was fixing to put a hole in me.
But never mind me, why is a beautiful lady standing in the doorway to the jail?”

“I, uh, I am here to see that deputy you spoke of. I’m sorry, but I didn’t know you were expecting someone to bring food.”

“Yeah, well, service is piss poor around here. Better than being in Boot Hill, though.”

“Has Jack, er, the deputy been in this morning?”

“Nope. Hope he comes soon. I got some things that need tending to, if you know what I mean.”

“I’ll tell him if I see him.”

Delilah rushed outside to complete her mission and get back before Bart beat her black and blue for being late. He had been quite specific about her being in the bank when it opened promptly at nine o’clock. She looked up and down the street, half-­expecting to see Jack coming with a tray of food for his prisoner. All she saw was a couple of storekeepers sweeping the dirt away from their doors and the stagecoach loading up passengers for its run to Albuquerque.

She knew Jack was living with the woman that owned the saloon she’d turned into a bordello. She assumed he was thusly engaged, so she went across the street, stepped up on the boardwalk, and peered over the batwings. She saw no sign of Jack, and her time was running out. She went inside and immediately spotted a man behind the bar stacking glassware.

“Excuse me, but have you seen Jack Stump this morning?”

“It’s a tad too early for Jack to crawl out from under the covers. Do you need him for something?” Arlo said.

“I need to get this note to him. It’s very important,” she said.

“I’ll be happy to deliver it soon’s I see him stumbling down those stairs for his first drink of the day.” Arlo grunted, grinning at the picture he’d painted.

Delilah handed him the folded paper, thanked him, and hurried out and down the street. She walked in just as Bart was unlocking the door to the bank.

“Did you give it to him, girl?”

“Y-­yes, Mr. Havens.” She pushed past him to take her position before he could detect the lie on her face.

“Good, very good. Now, let’s get ready for the fleecing.”

Melody had been at the top of the stairway as Delilah was leaving the saloon. She drifted downstairs, holding her skirts up so she wouldn’t trip and end up in a heap at the bottom. She walked over to Arlo, leaning one arm on the bar.

“What’d that woman want?”

“She gave me something to give to Jack.”

“What did she give you, Arlo?”

“A note, Miss Melody. Said to give it to him personally.”

“Hand it over, along with a bottle of brandy. I’ll take both of them upstairs to Prince Charming.”

“I, er, don’t know. She said I was to—­”

“Hand it over, Arlo, unless you want to be unemployed in about ten seconds.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He handed Melody the paper and a bottle, both of which she yanked out of his hands. She slowly ascended the stairway, opening and reading the note. By the time she reached the top, her face was beet red. She wadded up the paper and threw it on the floor. She glanced back to see Arlo watching her as she entered her bedroom with a cheery “Good morning, sweetie. Here’s your breakfast.”

A
t exactly eight-­thirty that evening, Melody was standing on the wooden bridge over Spring Creek. That was the time the note had stated for Jack to be there. She looked around, assuming something had held Delilah up.
That’s all right, I can wait
, she thought.
In fact, I can wait till hell freezes over to tear your eyes out for trying to steal my Jack, you witch
.

She heard a rustle behind her. Furious at having another woman even think of enticing Jack away from her, she spun around expecting to see Delilah. Instead, there stood Buck Kentner, gun in hand.

“Where is he? Where’s Memphis Jack?” Buck said through gritted teeth.

“Wh-­who are you and what do you want with Jack?” she hissed, hands on hips, feet apart like she was preparing for a real knock-­down, drag-­out.

“None of your business, lady. Now, where the hell is he?” Buck’s impatience was reaching its peak. “He was
supposed to be here. Is he such a coward that he sent a woman to fight his battles?”

“What battle are you talking about? He was supposed to meet . . . damn! It was a
setup
, wasn’t it? A trap to kill Jack,” Melody sputtered, as she slowly caught on to the subterfuge. “You bastard!”

“Shut the hell up, lady! Where is he?” Buck raised his gun, pointing it directly at her chest. “Be a shame to ruin that pretty dress, but I will if you don’t tell me where Jack Stump is.”

“I’ll tell you nothing, you pig.” Melody’s eyes were aflame with anger. She showed no intention of acquiescing to this gunslinger, even if it meant risk to her own life. Melody had always been a selfish, self-­absorbed woman, but she didn’t react well to threats.

Buck cocked his Colt. Melody, out of a natural instinct for warding off pain, took a step back, catching her heel on a rotten piece of the old bridge. She lost her balance and fell just as Buck pulled the trigger. She hit her head on the railing, blacking out instantly. Buck stared at her lying there. A shiver of thrill ran up his spine. She didn’t move. He stayed for a moment, and then, finally assuming he had killed her, he turned to walk away before someone came after hearing the shot. That’s when he found he wasn’t alone.

“Comanche Dan! Wh-­what’re you doin’ out here?” Buck said as he slipped his Colt back into the holster.

“You kill her?” Dan asked.

“Yeah. Noisy bitch. No big loss. I figured if I left her alive, she’d tell Jack Stump I was plannin’ on back-­shootin’ him, and he’d want to face me down. I wasn’t eager to lose the advantage this little surprise meetin’ was meant to be.”

“Part of Havens’s plan, eh?”

“Yup. Didn’t he tell you? He sent a note by way of Delilah that Jack was to meet her. I don’t know why he didn’t show up. I planned to gun down the maverick.”

“Maybe he didn’t get the message,” Dan said. “Anyway, killing an unarmed woman was a mistake. Havens isn’t
goin’ to like that. I’m afraid I’m goin’ to have to help you make amends.”

“Make amends? What the hell you talkin’ about?”

“I’m not Comanche Dan Sobro. I got rid of him some time ago. My name is Thorn McCann, and I can’t abide any man who’d shoot a woman.”

Buck didn’t take McCann’s confession well. He had always been a man of action, not one for contemplation, thinking a situation through. He went for his Colt. McCann drew and pulled the trigger before Buck could clear leather. The outlaw fell, a red bloom staining his shirt and vest. McCann went to where Melody lay in a heap of satin and lace. He knelt down and put his arm under her back. He was at once puzzled by so little blood. A trickle of red ran down her forehead and onto her cheek. He pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed her face but was unable to see where the bullet had struck her. Just as he moved her, she groaned. He gently lifted her up to a sitting position.

“Wha-­what happened?” Melody mumbled, still not completely in her right mind. She was trying to blink away her confusion when Thorn’s face came into focus. Her hand went straight for her head. She winced as her fingers touched the wound. She quickly drew her hand away, staring at the blood on her fingers. “A-­am I dead? Did that skunk kill me?”

“No, you’re very much alive, miss. It appears you must have knocked yourself out when you fell. Good thing you did, too, because that must have been when he fired. He didn’t realize he’d missed you. You’re one lucky lady.”