The Last Cahill Cowboy Read online

  The Fitzgerald boys? From what he recalled those two were the terrors of the county. Not exactly husband material. And, in any case, not for Ellie.

  Oscar hugged his wife and she melted against him. Chance stood transfixed at the sight. Then Oscar kissed his wife. Not like a married man, but like a young buck with his girl on a Saturday night.

  Minnie kissed him back and Chance had to look away.

  “You go on in, dear. I’m going to smoke a cigar.”

  “Filthy habit.” Minnie withdrew to the hotel, but her cheeks now held a healthy flush that made Chance squirm. He glanced to the kitchen, but Ellie seemed to have disappeared.

  Mr. Jenkins retrieved a cigar and lit it. Then he lit another. He held out the second cigar.

  “Do you smoke, Chance?”

  Chance froze as his heart sprang into his throat. Suddenly he was a boy again, caught spying.

  He stepped out from the woodpile and crossed the dusty backyard between the railroad tracks and the wide expanse of balconies flanking the hotel. Seemed every room had either a view of the town or the tracks.

  “How’d you know I was here, sir?”

  “Because if you weren’t out here with my Ellie, you’re not the man I think you are.”

  Knowing the former blockade runner thought him of such low character as to be outside trying to seduce his daughter did nothing to improve Chance’s spirits. “I’m sorry. It’s not what you—”

  “You misunderstand me, son. I mean to say I’d be disappointed.”

  He offered the lit cigar and Chance accepted it.

  Oscar clamped his teeth around the end and puffed a moment. “My wife cannot stand the smoke.” He grinned as he removed the cigar. “And so I find myself smoking more and more.”

  Chance remembered the kiss and thought Oscar enjoyed his wife more than he let on. He glanced at the glowing tip of the thick cigar, before placing the other end in his mouth. He gave it no encouragement to continue to burn as he clamped down on the rolled tobacco leaves.

  “I do not share my wife’s opinions where you are concerned. I’m sorry you had to hear my wife’s harangue. She only wants what’s best for her daughter. Unfortunately, she simply does not understand our girl well enough to know what that is. Ellie’s more like me, you see, and she just baffles Minnie. She isn’t plain.”

  “No, sir, she isn’t.”

  “I want to thank you for getting Ellie out unharmed. And if you need a place to stay, I’d be happy to have you here in this hotel.”

  “I don’t think your wife would approve.”

  Oscar laughed and rested a hand on Chance’s shoulder, giving his muscle a quick knead. It was a gesture that his father would have used and it made Chance achingly aware of what he had lost. Oscar’s hand slid away.

  “Nonsense. You think an old rum runner like me can’t get around a blockade? You just leave Minnie to me.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I plan on staying with Leanna. She has a gaming hall. I saw it from the train. Seemed like it had rooms upstairs.”

  “Don’t the girls stay there?”

  Chance smiled. “Why, I guess they do.”

  “Well, if that doesn’t work out as you expect, the offer stands.” Oscar puffed on his cigar. “Your father was a friend of mine. Funny things have been happening since his passing.”

  What kind of things? “Sir?”

  “You seen Leanna yet?”

  Chance shook his head.

  “Well, she’ll fill you in. Expect you haven’t met her husband then.”

  Chance cocked his head. “Come again?”

  “Caused quite a stir. She married a gambler name of Holden, Cleve Holden. They’re newly wed.”

  Chance’s muscles tensed. That was the man Leanna’s landlady had mentioned. The man who had followed Leanna from Deadwood. What on earth was going on?

  Chapter Three

  Oscar Jenkins did not seem to note Chance clenching his teeth, for he continued on.

  “Not everyone is pleased that Leanna placed her business this side of the tracks, Chance,” said Ellie’s father. “I’m not one of them, but she’s had a fight on her hands. Just wanted you to know.”

  “Obliged,” said Chance, and replaced his gray Stetson. He headed out of the Royale, coming to the street and heading west. This row of businesses had two fronts, he realized, one for those arriving by rail and one for those arriving from the street.

  Seemed the town was not all that had changed. Leanna was married! Chance wondered if she’d lost her damned mind. First the whores and then adopting that baby, and now she’d wed a gambler. It seemed his little sister was determined to live a life of ruination.

  Well, good for her. He was certain her decisions chaffed both Quin and Bowie and that pleased him even more. However, he had to admit he didn’t like what he had heard about her husband.

  Chance reached the gaming hall with its wide welcoming porch set with a row of chairs occupied by men drinking in the shade of the roof. A sign above them read Leanna’s Place. Below that the sign advertised Gaming and Spirits for Gentlemen of Refined Taste.

  He stepped from the sunny, dusty street to the cool lively interior. Inside, Cassie Magill, the piano player, plunked out a tune from her seat beside several dining tables, all occupied by male customers enjoying a meal. The floors were polished to a shine and the long bar held padded stools that were also occupied. He’d never seen a saloon with couches and armchairs before, but there were several lining the walls, allowing guests to have conversation and enjoy their tobacco. Chance made a full circle to take it all in, impressed as hell. This place was a palace. He felt proud and amazed all at once.

  He stopped when he faced the large stained-glass window. The outside sunlight made the image instantly recognizable. Leanna had chosen to have her artist recreate the 4C, with the ranch house in the center top and the horses grazing peacefully at the bottom. There was Night, Bowie’s black gelding, and Quin’s big bay, Cactus. Chance stared at Rip, his grulla Morgan, wondering how they found blue-gray glass. There they were, the horses of her three brothers, frozen in time and glass. Chance felt a hitch in his throat. He turned his back on the window and scanned the room, recognizing several of the female dealers as the former whores that Leanna had rescued from a life of shame. But he didn’t see his sister. He headed for the closest table and the tall raven-haired woman dealing cards.

  “Lucinda, where’s Annie?”

  The woman stood in surprise, then recalled the half-dealt hands and finished distributing the cards with haste. As the men looked at their cards, Lucinda looked at him.

  “Why, Chance, didn’t you make time? Miss Leanna is in the back at the high-stakes tables.” She pointed. “Just through there.”

  Chance headed toward the back of the hall.

  “Sure is good to see you, Chance, honey.”

  Several of Leanna’s girls had decided that he’d be a fine catch, so he steered clear of them when possible. He wasn’t the marrying sort. Why any woman would want to tie herself to him was beyond Chance. He sure had proved himself to be as irresponsible as they came. And bounty hunters didn’t exactly make good husbands.

  The piano music stopped so abruptly Chance wondered if someone had kicked the stool out from under Cassie.

  “Chance, sweetie, that you?” The piano player now had custody of his arm. Cassie clung to him like a tick on a dog, batting her lashes over green eyes. “My, aren’t you a sight?” She scratched his thick whiskers and then pushed playfully at his chest. “You need a bath, Chance. We got a tub upstairs.”

  His sister would break his legs if he let Cassie give him a bath.

  “Annie?”

  “Oh, I’ll take you to her. She sure will be happy to see you. Lots happened since we seen you last, sweetie. Though you ain’t changed any, still handsome as the devil hisself.” She led him along, her arm looped in his, as if she belonged there. Chance didn’t have the energy to shake her off.

  Cassie drew b
ack a velvet curtain and there sat Leanna, looking pretty as ever in a shiny blue gown with a modest, tight-fitting bodice. Beside her lounged a tall, dark-headed stranger with deep brown eyes and a set of duds that were clean and pressed. Chance scowled, not liking his fancy, satiny, bone-colored waistcoat or anything else about the man.

  “Table’s full, sir,” he said, his accent telling Chance he hailed from the south. So this was the gambler who had married his sister.

  Chance curled his lip and threw back his duster to show his guns. The man did not cower or rise, simply retrieved a small pistol from one of the four waistcoat pockets, placing it before him on the table and then laying his hand across the grip as he looked to Chance to make his move.

  “Chance!”

  His sister, Leanna, sprang to her feet and bounded toward him as if she were still ten instead of nearly twenty-eight.

  The gambler returned his weapon to his vest.

  Chance released his gun grips and hugged her and then drew back to look at her. She was as pretty as a blooming rose, her cheeks flushed pink and her blue eyes sparkling. Her black hair was swept up in an elaborate, elegant coiffure that made him realize with a jolt that she was no longer a girl, but a woman full-grown.

  “You got my letter?”

  Chance nodded, taking hold of Annie’s elbow to lead her…where?

  “Cassie, my blossom, could you take over the table?” said the stranger who had been seated beside Leanna.

  Cassie seemed grieved to leave Chance, but she did as the man bid her. Chance stared at the gambler as he unfolded from his seat. He was big, lean and his charming half grin peeved Chance to extremes.

  “Chance, this is my husband, Cleve Holden. We were married very recently.”

  Cleve extended his hand. “A pleasure, Mr. Cahill. I’ve heard so much about you, I feel as though we’re old friends.”

  Chance narrowed his eyes on the man and did not take his hand. “That right?”

  Leanna looked anxious now. “Aren’t you going to congratulate us?”

  He looked at his sister. She seemed hale and happy, but this whole thing had sprung on him like a wildcat.

  “I don’t know yet. Give me a minute, Annie.”

  Cleve dropped his hand, sliding both into his satiny waistcoat pockets. He reminded Chance of every gambler he’d ever met, amiable and untrustworthy. He didn’t like him, not one little bit.

  “We need to talk,” he said to Leanna, then glanced back at Holden as he spoke again. “Privately.”

  His welcoming smile never faltered and he took no visible insult. “I’ve got to get back to the table. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cahill. Welcome home, sir.”

  Chance lifted his brow. This town was no more his home than this man was family.

  “Come on,” said Leanna, gripping him about the arm. “Let’s go find a table.”

  His sister fed him a fine lunch of strong black coffee, sour pickles, slabs of white bread and a stew so thick you could stand a spoon in it and so good that he ate two full bowls. When he looked up it was to find Leanna looking both shocked and amused at the speed with which he had downed her fine meal.

  “You still eat like a wolf,” she mused. “Come on. Let’s go to my office.”

  He followed her to a room dominated by a large cluttered desk and a tall safe painted with an elaborate gilding. Chance leaned against the windowsill while Leanna sat behind the desk.

  Chance folded his arms, not realizing until that instant how bone-weary his body was. Days and days with little rest had made him as surly as a wet badger.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  “Quin and Bowie found out that Tobias Hobbs had hired some men to murder our folks.”

  “Names?”

  “Huck Allen, Vernon Pettit and Saul Bream. But they’re all dead.”

  Chance didn’t hide his disappointment.

  “Hobbs murdered two of his own men, but the third, Bream, agreed to testify against Hobbs, but he killed him, too.”

  “You mean Marshal Hobbs, the lawman?”

  Leanna nodded. “Before Bowie could catch him, a sharpshooter killed Hobbs. Quin said all along that Hobbs was working for someone. Seems he was right.”

  “Any idea who that might be?”

  She shook her head. “Bowie is working on that.”

  Chance didn’t know where to begin. His head was spinning so fast he felt like he was breaking horses.

  “I’ve been helping with Bowie. Before Hobbs died he made mention of Van Slyck. Bowie asked me to find out what I could about them. Of course we didn’t know which one he meant, Preston or Willem.” She must have seen his confusion for she elaborated. “You know him. He was Pa’s banker. We think he’s embezzling money from the 4C.”

  “That make him the killer?”

  Leanna gave him a look of impatience. “We don’t know yet. He has the money to hire help. And if he’s not our man it seems likely that he’ll know who is. When Quin gets back from Dodge, he’s demanding an audit. He’s bringing a bank examiner from Austin to look at the books. You know, someone from the outside.”

  “So we still don’t know who did kill Ma and Pa?”

  Annie sighed. “There’s no wanted poster, if that’s what you mean. Did you expect to just ride in here and shoot someone?”

  Pretty much.

  “If it were that simple, Bowie would have arrested someone. We just don’t know if Van Slyck is working alone. Someone has been cutting fences and rebranding cattle. Might be a partner or more hired help. And then there’s the sharpshooter who killed Hobbs. We just don’t know.”

  “So what am I suppose to do?”

  “Help us, of course.”

  “I don’t work for outfits anymore.”

  “Fiddlesticks. This is Mama and Papa we’re talking about.”

  “And you’re married?”

  “Don’t you take that tone with me. He’s a good man and you’d like him if you weren’t dead set against it.”

  “You know he followed you from Deadwood?”

  “I know it.” Her eyes flashed defiance. It was a look he had enjoyed watching her cast out on more than one occasion but was not in the habit of receiving it himself.

  “I don’t trust a man who spends more on his suit than his horse.”

  Leanna lifted her chin in an arrogant pose that used to drive Quin crazy. “You haven’t seen his horse yet.”

  The door creaked open. If it was her husband, he vowed to poke him in the nose. Instead, a little boy peeked in. His face was covered with freckles and his two front teeth were growing in, making him look like a speckled rabbit. This was another of the strays that Leanna had taken under her wide wings, a Deadwood orphan.

  “What is it, Melvin?” Leanna’s voice had gone all soft and she suddenly reminded Chance of their mother.

  “I heard Bowie was here.” He looked at Chance and his face lit up.

  “Melvin, you remember Chance?”

  He bounded in, stopping just before Chance to bounce as if he were on springs.

  “Hi, Chance. You remember me? I’ve been practicing my draw and shoot.” Melvin did an imitation of a fast draw from an imaginary holster using his finger as a gun. “You staying? You can sleep in my room. I got my own bed!”

  Leanna laughed and pulled him beside her with an easy hug. Melvin scrambled up into her lap and kicked his legs back and forth.

  Chance wondered how he’d gotten a scab on the bridge of his nose.

  Melvin stared at the twin pistols that crisscrossed Chance’s hips.

  “You catch any more outlaws?”

  Chance glanced at Leanna and she smiled encouragingly. He didn’t often speak to children and always felt awkward. The boy’s stare was too direct and his expression completely unguarded.

  “A few.”

  “Boy, I sure would like to be a bounty hunter and ride a fast horse.” He slipped from Leanna’s embrace and inched forward in a slow, steady advance, firing questions like bullets. “What k
ind of guns you got? Can I hold one? Will you teach me to shoot?”

  Chance found himself backing away until he hit the safe. Leanna giggled. “The mighty Chance Cahill run to ground by a boy.”

  “He asks a lot of questions.”

  “That’s sure.”

  The door creaked open to reveal the massive head of a large animal. Chance drew his gun as a huge dabble-gray hound stepped in.

  “Stretch!” Leanna’s sharp tone caused the enormous dog to halt on the spot. She turned to the boy. “He’s not allowed in my office. Please, take him out.”

  “Aww!”

  “Go on.”

  That was a tone he recalled from their mother, as well. When had Leanna become so maternal? Chance thought it suited her somehow.

  She had a hand on the boy’s bony back between his shoulder blades.

  “Is he staying with us? He could share my room. I wouldn’t mind.” Melvin turned to Chance. “Will you tell me a story before bed?”

  “No.”

  Leanna scowled at Chance, then spoke to the boy. “Scoot now.”

  She stood in the door watching the boy and dog retreat.

  “I almost shot that dog,” said Chance.

  “He’d never forgive you. He loves that dog and so do I.”

  “Whose is he?” asked Chance, coming up to stand in the doorway beside her.

  “Well, he’s ours, of course.”

  “Like that baby?”

  Leanna spun on him so quick he had time only to fall back against the door frame before she had her finger pressed deep into the muscle of his chest. Chance retreated a step.

  “Cabe is mine. You understand? Mine and Cleve’s. You tell anyone otherwise and I’ll never speak to you again.”

  Clearly, his sister had lost her damned mind. “All right. Understood. He’s yours.” Even though he knew different.

  Leanna continued to glare for another long moment.

  He dropped his scowl and lifted his hands in surrender. Leanna accepted her victory with good grace.

  “Where are you staying?” she asked.

  “Thinking of bunking here.”