This Gun for Hire Read online

  Calico thought it was interesting that there was no preamble to this information. Ramsey Stonechurch plunged in, expecting that she would know who he was and his role in the town. She did, but it rubbed her wrong that he was so confident of it.

  “There was a second threat perhaps a month later, suggesting that I should leave town and turn over the operations to the miners. That was not going to happen, and when I gave no indication that it would, there was an accident with my rig that could have been fatal if I had not been able to leap free of it. It went over the hillside, injuring the horse so that she had to be put down. It was shortly after that that I hired Mr. McKenna. He says he knows you.”

  “We are acquainted,” she said. “He should not presume to say he knows me.”

  Ramsey tapped the letter opener against the edge of the desk. His mien was thoughtful. “Yes. I take your point.” The tapping stopped and he laid the opener aside. “Mr. McKenna and I were discussing the merits of my daughter having her own protection versus her leaving Stonechurch altogether when Ann came to me with a proposal. She suggested completing a curriculum of liberal arts studies right here at home. She does not want to leave me, she says. Concern for my health is the reason she gives. I think there is a young man somewhere pulling on her like a magnet, but whether or not that’s true, she is adamant in her refusal to leave.

  “Mr. McKenna had proposed your name before Ann arrived with her scheme, but I was not yet set on the matter. Once he heard Ann’s intentions, he made a persuasive argument for you using the cover of educator to keep her safe. Naturally I prefer to have Ann out of harm’s way, but I fail to see how that can be accomplished at present. What I think might turn the trick is if you could discover the identity of the young man. If he were, say, removed as an influence, Ann could then be persuaded to leave.”

  “Removed? Kill him, you mean?” Calico thought it was to his credit that Ramsey Stonechurch was startled by the question. At least he appeared to be, she amended as cynicism asserted itself.

  “Hardly.” He frowned deeply. “Would you do that?”

  “Hardly.”

  “I confess that is a relief.”

  “Unless the young man proves to be a mortal threat to your daughter, of course, then I will shoot him, probably to wound, not kill, depending on the circumstances . . . and my mood at the time.”

  Ramsey blew out a long breath, watching her closely, trying to gauge how serious she was about the last thing she said. “I think I would like a drink. Sherry for you?”

  “Whatever you are drinking will be fine.”

  “I am drinking whiskey.”

  “Then whiskey is fine.”

  He got up and went to the drinks cabinet, where he poured liquor into two cut-glass tumblers. He filled them evenly and still allowed her to choose. He did not return to his chair but hitched a hip on the edge of his desk instead. “I was thinking more in terms of a bribe. Money. A job away from here. Whatever would motivate him to leave.”

  “Have you and Mr. McKenna identified any candidates for your daughter’s affection?”

  “None. Mr. McKenna is not convinced that a young man such as I described exists. And to your next question, he has eliminated several men I proposed who might make threats against me but has not identified new ones. You would be charged with the same task. This person could be a danger to Ann.”

  “All right.” She sipped her whiskey, smiled. “This is good. Very good.”

  “It is a pleasure to share a drink with a woman who appreciates fine spirits.”

  She raised her glass slightly. “That appreciation comes from sampling too much liquor that could make you go blind.”

  Ramsey laughed with genuine enjoyment. “You really are Calico Nash. I haven’t been entirely certain.”

  “It happens.”

  “Is it true that you tracked down Fairley Maxwell all the way to Brown’s Hole and held him there until Dan Butler’s posse caught up with you?”

  “That is what the Denver News reported.”

  “And that is a modest reply.”

  She finished her drink and rolled the tumbler between her palms. “Do you have questions for me regarding my ability to take on this assignment, something that will help you determine whether or not hiring me is what you really want to do?”

  “I appreciate you raising the subject. Actually, I do have questions. In order for this to work, Ann must be convinced that you are, in fact, a teacher. My daughter is quite a bright star, as was her dear mother, and if her suspicions are aroused, nothing will keep her from putting them to rest.”

  “A trait, I assume, that can be traced to you.”

  “And you would be right. My question, then, is how will you manage this business of serving as Ann’s tutor? Have you any experience in this regard?”

  “All my experience is as a student, not as a teacher, unless you count the time I instructed Zeke Blackthorn on the proper way to clean and grease his rifle and how to shoot long range with it.”

  Ramsey cleared his throat. “No.”

  It was tempting to laugh outright, but Calico resisted the urge. “In that case, I stand by my first statement. I have only been a student. However, you need to know that I have had the good fortune to be the student of many different teachers, every one of them with considerable knowledge in their area of interest. Not all of my education has been in subjects that you and others would find, shall we say, unusual. I hasten to add that this view is largely on account of me being a woman and that the same tutelage in scouting, tracking, and shooting would not raise a single eyebrow if I were a man.”

  Ramsey withheld comment and merely said, “Go on.”

  “I do not want to misrepresent myself. What would pass for my formal education in no way approximates what your daughter has experienced, and as you said, she is a bright star. No one ever said that about me.”

  “Not even your father?”

  “Not in my hearing, not that anyone has ever told me.” She thought that he regarded her through eyes that were oddly sympathetic. It both surprised and discomfited her. “Do not mistake me, Mr. Stonechurch. No one has ever called me a dullard either. If there is a situation where I cannot hold my own, then I have not encountered it. That is not a boast. It is a fact.”

  Calico looked around the study and pointed out the leather-bound books that lined floor-to-ceiling shelves on two walls. “You have the tools I will require here to support the deception you have in mind. I will be a student all of my life. I enjoy reading, Mr. Stonechurch.”

  “Hmm.” The sound vibrated at the back of Ramsey’s throat. His expression remained considering. “Ann cannot know about the threats against me or that because of some recent events, Mr. McKenna and I suspect she is also a target.”

  “She was hurt?”

  “Narrow escapes both times. A spill from the train platform and, more recently, the collapse of the book stacks in the town library that might have crushed her if her aunt had not pushed her out of the way.”

  “I understand. Warnings, then. To you.”

  “Ann already worries unnecessarily about my health, and any inkling that I am in danger will make her dig in her heels even deeper.” Ramsey tapped his belly with his fingertips. “From time to time I experience severe discomfort of the stomach and . . . let us leave it at the stomach. My doctor has diagnosed an ulcer, for which he recommends the most vile-tasting concoction as was ever conceived. It is Dr. Pitman’s contention that these spells of physical stress are also putting a strain on my heart.” Beneath his mustache, his mouth twisted to one side, revealing his disgust. “He shared this with Ann and Beatrice, and now neither of them will let it be. The comfort I derive from the occasional glass of whiskey and a fine cigar has been seriously compromised. You smile, Miss Nash, but I assure you it is true.

  “The first bout I experienced happened just days be
fore the arrival of Mr. McKenna. Ann, who took charge of every aspect of my care during that time, argued that I should not be allowed out of bed to greet him. She was being overly cautious, of course, because under her care, I recovered quickly. No one else was allowed to do anything for me. Even her aunt, who provided exemplary care for my brother after his accident, was forbidden to help.”

  “Perhaps the doctor’s snake oil also worked.”

  “Hah. I swallowed exactly two spoonfuls of the stuff. I dumped the contents when I was left alone and filled the bottle with chamomile tea, molasses, and a touch of whiskey. It still tastes vile, but at least I know what is in it and it will not kill me.”

  Calico smiled and there was no effort in it. No strain. That disturbed her. It was unexpected, as well as unwanted, that she felt something that might be akin to liking for the man.

  Ramsey Stonechurch continued, “As I said, my druthers are to put Ann on a train and send her back East. I could probably get her there if shackles were not out of the question, but she would either make her way back or remain and hate me for the rest of my life.”

  “I do not know if you will welcome this observation, Mr. Stonechurch, but regardless of your daughter’s reasons for staying here, what she has proposed is a rather elegant compromise.”

  “I would like to claim some influence,” he said, “but I have no experience with elegance or compromise. What I do have is sense enough to know what is in my best interests. Right now, Miss Nash, that would be you.”

  Calico heard no dry humor there. He meant it as seriously as he said it. She stood when he did.

  “The job is yours,” he told her, holding out his hand.

  Calico put out her hand in turn. “And I accept.”

  “Good.” He held her hand a moment longer and then released it. “If it is to your liking, you may sit with us at dinner tonight, but we will all understand if you choose to take the evening meal in your room.”

  “It is kind of you to think of that. I do prefer to eat alone tonight.”

  “As you wish.”

  Calico stood. When she turned to leave, he fell in step beside her and escorted her to the doors. As she climbed the stairs to her room, she was struck by the sensation of his eyes following her all the way to the landing.

  * * *

  Quill was lounging comfortably on the padded window bench in Calico’s room when she walked in, and he suppressed the urge to stand to greet her. At the very least, he suspected she would give him the gimlet eye. She might also threaten to shoot him. It was difficult to know the bent of her mind as she closed the door and leaned against it. She also closed her eyes and kept them closed while she sipped a breath of air and then expelled it slowly.

  By his reckoning, a full thirty seconds passed before she looked in his direction. Her features were dominated by fatigue. If she was out of sorts with him, she was too tired to show it. Quill shifted from the corner of the bench and sat up a little straighter. One leg remained outstretched along the length of the seat, but he dropped the other over the side and extended it until his heel rested on the floor. His arms were crossed loosely in front of him, and he unfolded them and set his hands together in his lap.

  “Do you want me to leave?” he asked. The shake of her head was so slight that he would have missed it if he had not been watching her closely. “Then will you sit down?”

  “A moment,” she said.

  Quill realized she was looking more through him than at him. He waited for her eyes to focus and her thinking to catch up with the rest of her. She seemed very far away just then, and the distance did not close until she pressed three fingers to her temple and blinked several times.

  “Ramsey Stonechurch is exhausting,” she said, pushing away from the door. “You could have warned me.” She crossed the room to the window seat, stared pointedly at his outstretched leg until he moved it, and then sat in the corner opposite him. Beneath her skirt, she drew her knees toward her chest and smoothed the material over them. She clasped her hands around her folded legs. “He is also not entirely unlikable. I did not expect that either.”

  Quill thought she looked as if she were still trying to make sense of it. “Would you have believed me if I told you that?”

  “About him not being a complete despot? Certainly not.”

  “There you have it. Did he hire you? Ann is on tenterhooks.”

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “Interesting, then, that it is you who are here and not Miss Stonechurch.”

  “One of us respects closed doors.”

  Her smile was wry. “Of course. The answer to your question is yes, he did offer me the job. That saves me from going after Felix Marion. His brothers broke him out of jail. He was being held in Cheyenne, but there is thinking that the gang’s moved south into Colorado. Joe Pepper offered me the chance. More trouble. Less money.”

  “So you would have joined a posse?”

  “Maybe. I don’t always. They make too much noise. But I might have offered to scout for them, depending on who was in charge.” She looked at him oddly. “You seem relieved.”

  Quill did not realize he had given himself away. He did not shy away from the truth, not that he had any real choice. “I am. I suppose I wouldn’t have been comfortable with the idea of you going after the Marion brothers on your own. If you scout for the posse, at least you would have them watching your back.”

  “Not that your comfort means anything to me, but have you ever ridden with a posse?”

  “The largest. U.S. Army Cavalry.” He was very much aware of her narrowing stare as she studied him for the lie. He held up his right hand as if he were prepared to swear to it.

  “You just keep getting more interesting, Mr. McKenna,” she said finally.

  Quill did not think she sounded particularly pleased about it. The small vertical crease that had appeared between her eyebrows vanished, but she was still regarding him with more suspicion than curiosity. It was a look he knew from his first encounter with her.

  “All right,” she said. “I will allow that is a kind of posse because it speaks to my point. The boys do not always have your back. They get busy fast watching their own.”

  “Joe Pepper said your father was an Army scout.”

  “That’s right.”

  He thought she might offer something more, but she did not and he let it go. “Did you have any other impressions of Ramsey Stonechurch besides deciding he is not entirely unlikable?”

  “He left me with no doubt that he loves his daughter; however, he was not quite as ruthless as I expected he would be on the matter. At one point I thought he was telling me he would sanction the killing of the young man who supposedly has Ann’s attention. He seemed genuinely taken aback that I would think that was what he meant. If I did not misread him, his reaction spoke well of him.” Her eyes narrowed fractionally. “I am not a murderer.”

  “I did not represent you that way.” He did not flinch from her hard stare, and she was the first to look away.

  “He thinks he knows me because he’s heard stories,” she said.

  “I imagine that’s true for a lot of people who meet you.”

  “Well, they’re mostly wrong. You thought I was—”

  “Taller,” he said dryly. “Yes, I remember.”

  Her mouth twisted to one side. “At least that was new. Usually it’s some expression of surprise that I am a woman.”

  “The trousers, duster, and Stetson might have something to do with that.”

  “Hard riding calls for specific clothes.”

  “You took the train here.”

  “All right. I did. I was feeling contrary.”

  That admission made Quill grin.

  “Don’t do that,” she said, staring at his mouth.

  “Do what?”

  “Smile like you swallowed the sun. It’s not n
atural.”

  His grin actually deepened. He echoed her earlier observation, “I’ve never heard that before.”

  “Then there is something wrong with people. It’s as if you have a mouthful of high noon. Somebody ought to have brought it to your attention by now.”

  A moment of stunned silence was followed by a staccato burst of laughter, and Quill did not get himself under control easily. The fact that Calico was staring stone-faced at him again struck him as more amusing than not. He could not quite flatten out his crooked smile.

  Mildly nettled, Calico merely shook her head.

  “Sorry,” he said. When she responded with a derisive snort, it was all he could do not to start grinning all over again. To keep that from happening, he posed a question. “Was there any discussion of Ann’s studies during the interview?”

  “Yes. I had to set his mind at ease that I could be at least as good a teacher as Ann needs to avoid making her suspicious. I was convincing.”

  “I entertained no doubts that you would be.”

  “Well, there is still the matter of carrying it out. I don’t fool myself. I told him I had an unconventional education, but only the broad strokes. Too many details, and he would have shown me the door.”

  Intrigued, Quill said, “One detail.”

  Calico’s expression turned thoughtful. “All right. I learned my numbers counting cartridges.”

  That seemed reasonable enough to Quill. He had it from Joe Pepper that she had grown up at outposts. “I was thinking of a detail from your later education.”

  “Well, then, Mrs. Riggenbotham instructed me in matters of carnal knowledge by recounting whore stories.”

  Quill was not certain he had heard correctly. “War stories?”

  “No. Whore stories. Mrs. Riggenbotham was not always the captain’s wife.”

  “I see.”

  “You asked.”