Hot Lead and Cold Apple Pie Read online

  “Caught up in the allure of the criminal like the rest of the West? There’s not near as much romance in weeks of dirty clothing and hard rides as people think.”

  Allure? She squinted her eyes. “I have a professional interest in the subject. I work in a sheriff’s office.”

  “Oh, yes.” He didn’t seem properly impressed. Then, shifting her hand on his arm to a more comfortable distance, he started to walk again. “So, what do I need to know about Colorado?” He smiled.

  That’s when the idea hit her. Fluffy, the best watch-cat a woman could have. If this man did turn out to be a violent criminal, Fluffy’s services would become even more invaluable. She looked up. “Just be careful, Mr. Westwood. We have rabid mountain cats out here. You’ll know them by their scream.”

  “Point noted.”

  Soon they reached the sheriff’s office.

  The moment they passed through the door, she dropped his arm like hot coals. But not before Uncle Zak spotted her.

  He rose from his chair with unusual vigor. His leg didn’t seem to bother him at all today. Why hadn’t Uncle Zak escorted Cal?

  “I see you’ve already gotten acquainted with my niece. I’m Sheriff Thompson.” Uncle Zak held his hand out to Cal.

  Cal shook it.

  “She’s been secretary here for nearly four years now. Does great work.” Uncle Zak smiled at her.

  Secretary! She pressed her lips together. She did a lot more than secretarial work. But might as well not show Cal all her cards before she determined if he was a desperate fugitive trying to hide out in her town.

  “Come this way.” Uncle Zak motioned Cal toward the jail. Silas no longer sat behind jail bars. Uncle Zak must have released him early today.

  Dropping her parasol, she made to follow.

  “I’d like to see Mr. Westwood alone, Ginny.”

  She scowled and glanced at her newspaper. Deputy embezzled five hundred dollars from town and then fled. Reward of one hundred dollars for information leading to his apprehension. Walter Hobbard is six feet tall, has brown hair, and blue eyes. May be using alias. Her jaw slid down. Mouth gaping, she moved her gaze from the newspaper to Cal and back again. He matched the description exactly. This wasn’t just wishful thinking on her part as she strove for her impractical goal of becoming the first woman sheriff in Colorado. The man was a criminal. She had to save Gilman from him!

  “Why don’t you take a break? You certainly deserve it.” Uncle Zak smiled at her again.

  She spared one look at Cal Westwood that threw down the gauntlet in front of his pin-striped body. She’d be collecting that reward and donating the proceeds to arming Gilman’s volunteer deputy force, thereby keeping the town safe from the likes of this Mr. Westwood.

  “Uncle Zak, I have to speak to you!”

  “Not now, honey.” He motioned to the door.

  “It’s important, Uncle.” She moved between the criminal and her beloved relative, blocking Mr. Westwood’s view of her aging uncle with the mass of her not-very-large body. If only she’d worn a gun belt and brought her revolvers.

  “We can discuss whatever it is later.” Uncle Zak pointed to the door. There was no room for argument in his tone.

  It wasn’t as if she could just blurt out the fact that Cal was a criminal in front of the man himself. He’d run for sure, and they’d never apprehend Mr. Westwood. She grabbed her apple pie, at least Mr. Westwood wouldn’t have the opportunity to embezzle that, and marched out the door.

  ~*~

  Cal took the seat across from the sheriff. Sun from the window above warmed his hand, so different from the blistering heat of Texas summers.

  “You’re the famous Cal Westwood.” Sheriff Thompson propped one leg on his desk.

  With a nod, Cal pulled a telegram from his bag.

  “I appreciate you coming all the way from Houston for our gang trouble.”

  “I’ve been chasing this gang for three years. I’d go to the East Indies to put them behind bars.”

  A smile crossed Sheriff Thompson’s face. “Well then, we’ll just have to see if all that law school education makes you a better lawman than the hundreds of others who’ve tried.”

  Cal spread the telegram on the desk. “You’ve followed my directives and not told the town about my mission?”

  Sheriff Thompson nodded. “They don’t know about the gang aiming to take over the silver mine either. They’d be mighty alarmed if they did. Apart from the gang activity, you won’t find a quieter town than Gilman.”

  Cal gripped the slick wood of the chair’s arm. “I’ve seen a lot of good men die at the hands of this gang. Less your townspeople know, the safer they are.”

  He thought of his friend, Isaacs…just last year the blood had seeped from Isaacs’s chest as he called for help. Called for Cal. Cal had arrested five gang members that day, but he hadn’t saved his friend.

  Sheriff Thompson jerked up his head. “You think it’s unsafe for the townsfolk?”

  “More killings have been attributed to the Silverman gang than any other outlaws in the country.”

  “I want them caught and hung.” The sheriff's voice rose.

  “So do we all.” Cal pushed the telegram forward. “This is the latest news we’ve intercepted. I was only able to decode the first half.”

  “Why isn't it all decoded? Isn’t there a Rangers’ division devoted to outlaws’ codes?”

  “Yes. It’s me.” And Sam Angus.

  The sheriff narrowed his gaze as he studied Cal.

  Let the man measure. He’d been hand selected for the elite Texas Rangers and worked his way up to the hardest division in the organization.

  The sheriff slid his boot off the desk. “I should have sent Ginny to Denver the minute I heard tell of the gang.”

  “Too late now. With the Silverman gang infesting the region, an unescorted ride to Denver is insanity.”

  “I'd guard her myself.” A gust of wind blew the sheriff’s salt and pepper hair but did nothing to soften his brow.

  “One man would never prevail against the Silverman gang.” Though his trigger finger still itched to try.

  The sheriff leaned forward. “How do I keep her safe, then?”

  “Tell her nothing and she won't be a target.” Cal scraped his thumb against the polished metal of his revolver.

  “But we normally collaborate. She'll be hurt.”

  Discussing sheriff work with a female relative? Unusual. “Better hurt than dead.” He wrapped his fingers around the familiar handle. How many days until the gang situation deteriorated into a lead slinging contest?

  For a long moment, the sheriff said nothing. “What should I tell her and the townsfolk about you, then?”

  “Tell them I’m a deputy from Moobeetie.” Best stick with the story he’d invented from a glance at a newspaper’s headlines when the sheriff’s niece had asked him. He couldn’t risk the town discovering he was a ranger and then blabbing, when this gang had a price on his head.

  “Very well.” Like the strike of a clock moving the hand past the hour, the sheriff’s expression changed. “Before we delve into gloom and killing, how about a piece of pie?”

  The sheriff reached in front of Cal and blinked as his fingers closed on air.

  “Your niece took it.”

  “Oh.” The sheriff’s face fell. Raising his foot back to the desk, he smiled again. “Speaking of Ginny, what did you think of my niece? Smart gal that one. She’s been my right-hand help this last year with my leg beat up.”

  “Um.” Cal traced the toe of his boot across a trench between dusty floorboards. Miss Thompson with her chocolate-brown hair, pert nose, and cheeky smile…she looked like one of those golden-cheeked warblers that came to Texas in springtime and regaled ranchers with their songs. And she certainly had spirit.

  What did he think of Ginny Thompson? He wasn’t half sorry she had secretarial duties in the office he’d be using all summer.

  “Um, what?” There was an eagerness i
n the way the older man smiled and yet a protectiveness in his gaze.

  “She seems vivacious.”

  “A lot of folks in Gilman aren’t smart enough to keep up with her. You should spend some time with Ginny while you’re here. Tell her about lawyer things.”

  “I just might do that, sir.” Yes, he just might, indeed.

  2

  Ginny tried not to stomp as she wound her way back into town. Stomping was bad for heels, and she’d just bought this pair of boots. After Uncle Zak had arrived home tonight, she’d shown him that newspaper headline a dozen times and told him that the newcomer in town was actually the embezzling deputy from Moobeetie, but Uncle Zak still refused to believe her.

  If her own uncle couldn’t see the truth when she laid it out in front of him in print, she’d never convince the rest of the town. Mr. Westwood would become sheriff as her uncle intended and embezzle from the entire town, leading to Gilman’s ruin!

  She chewed her lip. She had to get Cal Westwood out of town—and fast, but how? The criminal had already weaseled his way into her uncle’s trust, and likely hatched a dozen thieving plans against Gilman.

  “Ginny!” Cherry raced up the street, the hem of her dress swishing through dust. “You met the man. I saw you walking with him. You have to tell me all about him.”

  A sigh had almost passed Ginny’s lips when a cannon ball exploded in her mind. No one could pester a man into fleeing faster than Cherry Mason.

  “What’s his name? What’s he like? Did he mention me?”

  “His name is Cal Westwood. He’s working with my uncle.”

  “Lucky!” Cherry produced a handkerchief and dabbed at the rouge on her cheek. “Now you’ll get to see him every day and steal my man.”

  Ginny rolled her eyes. “Yes, when Battle Mountain becomes a crater.”

  Cherry’s face brightened, only to fall again. “But he doesn’t like me. Gave me a disapproving stare.”

  “He may have told me you were the prettiest girl he’d ever laid eyes on, and he’d like to marry a gal like you.” Ginny fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. Was it really a lie if she used “may have”? The mountains stared down disapprovingly.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, but I think he might be real shy of girls. You should give him some encouragement.” Again, she’d said might, not was.

  “I definitely know how to encourage a man.” Cherry giggled and bobbed her chin, black curls bouncing.

  As Cherry skipped away, guilt stabbed Ginny—guilt for inflicting Cherry on Cal Westwood. But this was life or death, and she had to keep her town safe from the criminal in their midst.

  ~*~

  Cal headed out of the office toward the boarding house. Dust from the streets kicked up in the evening wind. Sheriff Thompson had given him valuable information in the two-hour long meeting. Now he needed to come up with a plan to beat this gang once for all.

  “Mr. Westwood,” a shrill voice called.

  Cal halted.

  Female fingers clawed his arm. “I’m so glad I caught up with you,” a black-haired woman panted. “I’ve run for two blocks now.”

  He moved his hand over the young woman’s trembling ones. “Are you all right, miss?”

  “No.” Her breath came in heaving gasps. “They’ve come!”

  His back went taut. “Stay composed, miss. You’re in safe hands.”

  He maneuvered the woman behind a storefront, out of direct sight and slid out his pistol. The faded wood of the building lent little protection against a direct shot, but it was cover. “What happened?”

  The black-haired woman giggled and clung tighter to his arm.

  Were there outlaws in pursuit, or was this woman simply deranged?

  Pistol out, he scanned the sloping hills that led up to the heights above. No gang members in sight. “Who’s pursuing you, miss?”

  She released her hold on his arm and fluffed her curls. “Oh, no one. I just wanted to see what a real lawman does. Your star looks mighty handsome.” She slid her finger down his chest and touched the bit of metal.

  The young woman stood a claustrophobic six inches away from him. Strange, but he hadn’t felt that way when Ginny stepped into him earlier today. He’d been more inclined to close those six inches to three and see if she’d be the first to move back. He got the feeling Ginny didn’t like to retreat.

  The giggling girl parted her lips, revealing pearly teeth. “Are you terrible shy? Is that why you didn’t ask me to go courting right off like you wanted?”

  He blinked.

  One hand still on his chest, the girl forcibly grabbed his arm with her other. “You can talk to me, Mr. Westwood. I know you’re sweet on me.”

  Jaw falling, he stared at the girl in front of him. On second glance, those pearly teeth looked more like poisoned daggers. “Don’t you have a father?”

  “Nope, dead.”

  “Other assorted male relatives?”

  “No, just poor little me, unprotected. Don’t you want to protect me, Mr. Westwood?”

  Cal groaned. “Remove your hand from my star. You’re smudging it.”

  “I’ll just walk back with you then.” The girl hopped on one foot.

  “That won’t be necessary, Miss—” He stopped as he realized he didn’t know her name, a state of affairs he vastly enjoyed.

  “Cherry.” She swung her shoulders in a flirtatious motion.

  “Good-bye.” He shoved his gun back into his holster and strode away. And the sheriff had called the town of Gilman quiet.

  ~*~

  Ginny swung her lunch pail of rainbow trout and strawberries. Her dress blew in the morning breeze and the sun painted the mountains a gorgeous array of orange and yellow hues. She figured she’d show up extra early and see what crimes Mr. Cal Westwood had committed in her office after she’d been ousted yesterday.

  Dragging her boots through the dust, she hummed an ominous tune. She would get rid of this new lawman, but how?

  “Howdy there, Miss Thompson. Give my regards to the sheriff,” a slurred voice called. Silas sprawled in front of the saloon, a bottle clenched between his fingers. He waved one dirty hand and smiled through broken teeth.

  “Good morning.” She smiled back at him.

  “Tell the sheriff I still need to buy him a drink.” With a hiccup, Silas dropped back into dirty rags.

  “Drink?” Her face lit. Moving closer, she knelt in the dirt. “Uncle Zak’s awful busy, Silas. But there’s a new lawman in town. You should show Cal Westwood around, take him to the saloon.”

  Scratching his unshaven face, Silas peered at Ginny. “You think a lawyer-educated man like Mr. Westwood would drink with the likes of me?”

  She pressed her lips together. What was all this fuss about lawyer-educated? Like reading Blackstone’s commentaries would teach the fellow how to arrest a man? She knew this town. She’d make a much better sheriff than Texan foreigner, Cal Westwood, even if he weren’t a criminal. Which he was.

  “He’ll drink with you.” She stood up. “Just tell him you have some case evidence.” A hot, guilty feeling spread up her chest like a rash. She hadn’t lied exactly, but she’d just encouraged Silas to lie. He drank anyway, so what was one more sin to his blackened soul? Besides, Rahab had lied to the King of Jericho and that had all worked out well. If Cal became intoxicated, then Mrs. Clinton’s temperance league would run him out of town and Gilman would be saved from his criminal schemes.

  “Case evidence?” Silas called after her departing back.

  “Yes. Silver mine business, or robberies, or something. You can make it up.”

  ~*~

  “Come over to dinner tonight and bring that nice young lawman,” Mrs. Clinton had said. Ginny almost misspelled derringer on the gun inventory while thinking about the conversation. Dusting off the last fire piece, she laid her report on the desk and stood.

  “Mr. Westwood.” She pounded on his office door. For the last three days, the city-dweller had closed his door, most
likely because he was hatching criminal schemes. He must suspect she knew about his criminal past, since he made no effort to keep his goings-on secret from her credulous uncle.

  “Come in,” Cal said as she shoved open the door.

  “You’re invited to dinner at the Clintons’ tonight. Uncle Zak and I will meet you there.”

  “Why, thank you.” Cal smiled. His dusty boots rested on the twenty-five-year-old office desk. He tilted his chair back at an angle.

  She gave him a brusque nod for his smile and barely that. He wouldn’t thank her if he knew that she intended to bring him to justice. Tilting her head, she squinted at the papers on his desk and tried to read them upside down.

  He flipped the stack over, hiding the evidence of his illegal activities. “I was wondering, Miss Thompson, what is there to do in Gilman?”

  She crossed her arms. “Just because we don’t live in a big city doesn’t mean we twiddle our thumbs all day.”

  His gun belt was slung across the desk, revolver butt in easy reach. His cotton shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing off arms fully muscular enough to wrestle down a steer, or an outlaw.

  If only he were punier, then she could arrest him more easily.

  “Of course.” Cal tilted his chair back even further. “But what do you do?”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Keep this town safe, of course.” And in her spare time, she avoided the Temperance League and the quilting bees like the plague. Also, she devoted much effort to dodging volunteer duty from the church pianist. Oh, and baking, lots of baking.

  “Would you show me around Gilman sometime?”

  “Um…very well.” She edged closer to the door. Now she almost felt guilty for her plan tonight, which was ridiculous. He was a criminal. She knew it. though why did he have such a forthright air?

  His chair clapped against the wood floor. His deputy star glinted, drawing attention to a lawman-like physique. That star should have been hers.

  He moved his hand, an all-too-manly appendage lined by calluses. If that trigger finger could produce as accurate shooting as the callous running across it suggested, she’d vomit. She’d worked her whole life for a star, and he, a crook, had gotten one within a half hour.