Diablo (A Piccaddilly Publishing Western Book 6) Page 8

  “Why don’t you go join them?” Lee proposed.

  “Do you mean it?” Nelly said hopefully, brightening. “I mean, I shouldn’t. I latched on to you first, and my boss might not take kindly to my being with Vint.”

  Lee gave her a playful push. “Go ahead before you bust your corset. It’s not as if we’re engaged or anything.”

  The blonde dove squeezed him. “Thanks, Lee Scurlock. I owe you.” Her dress swirling around her ankles, she fluttered to the Texan’s side, a gaily colored butterfly drawn to the nectar she desired.

  Sighing, Lee ordered another drink. Now that he had a moment to think clearly, he realized that killing Morco had been unwise. Word was bound to spread, as words of gunfights always did. It would pass from town to town, saloon to saloon, until it reached New Mexico, and Lincoln. The men who were after him would know right where to come.

  Lee made a decision. Tomorrow he would pay his respects to the Hayses, then he would leave. Maybe, one day, if he was very lucky, he’d find a nice woman to fawn over him the way Nelly did over Vint Evers.

  One thing was for sure.

  It certainly wouldn’t be Allison Hays.

  Chapter Seven

  Lee Scurlock slept late the next morning. He had gotten in after two, his poke forty dollars richer thanks to a winning streak at poker. After shaving, washing up, and donning clean clothes, he strapped on his ivory-handled Colt, shrugged into his frock coat, and ambled out into the harsh glare of the Arizona sunlight.

  Almost immediately Lee noticed a change toward him. Where the day before he had walked down the street without attracting much notice, now some of those he passed gave him second looks. Some pointed, some whispered. It was not difficult to guess why.

  Lee didn’t help matters any by keeping his frock coat swept back behind the Colt and his right thumb forked under his belt close to his holster. He acted as if he was ready to unlimber at a moment’s notice, and he was. Jesse Bodine’s parting words and Vint Evers’s warning were fresh on his mind.

  Lee reached the Delony residence without mishap.

  The lawyer lived in a white frame home a block from the church. A picket fence, a rarity in Diablo, protected the dwelling and its garden from passersby. Flowerpots on the porch and drapes in the windows denoted a woman’s touch, while alphabet blocks on a green bench on the porch were a clue that Delony had children.

  Lee knocked loudly. Seconds later a petite brunette in a yellow dress answered.

  “Yes!”

  “Howdy, ma’am,” Lee said, doffing his hat and stating his name. “I believe I’m expected.” He hid the slight nervousness he felt at imposing on a family he didn’t know.

  “Why, yes, you are, Mr. Scurlock,” the woman said with a pointed glance at his Peacemaker. “Come on in. We’ll be eating in a few minutes.”

  “No one said anything about a meal,” Lee commented as he stepped into a narrow hallway. “Jim Hays invited me. I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

  “Nonsense,” the brunette said in kindly fashion. “I’m Ethel Delony, Bob’s wife. Any friend of Jim’s is a friend of ours. Make yourself to home.”

  A boy of ten or so dashed from a parlor on the left and hugged Ethel about the legs, his fascinated gaze rising to Lee. “Is he the one, Mommy?”

  “Hush, Kenneth,” Ethel scolded. “Run along and play.”

  The boy spun and ran up a flight of stairs at the end of the hall.

  “This way, if you please,” Ethel said, guiding Lee to the parlor. “Our guest has arrived,” she announced for the benefit of those within.

  Lee was taken aback to discover more people in the room than he had expected. Allison and her father were there, of course, Allison standing near a front window, her father in a nearby chair. Seated on a sofa was a man with brown hair and eyes, wearing a blue suit. In a rocking chair sat an old-timer in grungy jeans, scuffed boots, and a faded white shirt.

  “Lee!” Allison exclaimed happily. She had been up half the night thinking about him, reviewing every word he said, recalling his every gesture, his every mannerism. Try as she might, and she had made a few feeble attempts, she could not put the handsome southerner from her mind.

  That morning Allison had pondered heavily and vowed not to be carried away by her feelings. After all, her knight-errant was a footloose gambler and gunman, hardly an ideal prospect for someone who one day wanted a home and a family.

  Now, catching herself, Allison fell into the same detached reserve she had used the day before to shield herself from her own feelings. “I’m glad to see you could tear yourself away from your card games long enough to join us.”

  Lee almost turned and left then and there. He had not seen her since the day before, and the first words out of her mouth were more criticism. Some women, he mused, just naturally liked to nag men to death.

  Jim Hays stood to shake his hand. “I’m happy you came, too,” he said, and sobered. “We heard about last night. It’s all over town. I’m afraid you’ve made some powerful enemies.”

  “So everyone keeps telling me.”

  The man in the blue suit was next to greet their guest. “I’m Bob Delony. Jim has been telling us all about you.”

  “What little I know,” Jim amended.

  Lee acknowledged Delony’s warm handshake with a nod and a self-conscious smile, then faced the old-timer, who hadn’t budged. “And who might this be? Your pa or an uncle?”

  The oldster belly-laughed. “Not hardly, sonny! Any kin I have long since disowned me.” He rose with spry agility for one of his years. “I’m Abe Howard, and I’ll let you know up front that I don’t cotton to shootists.”

  “Abe!” Jim Hays said in reproach.

  “Well, I don’t,” Old Abe snapped. “Would you have me lie? I’d sooner cut out my tongue.”

  Lee was more amused than offended. So this was the man who had started the stampede of silver-hungry prospectors? The man Diablo owed its existence to? Howard had a flowing white beard and long white hair, more wrinkles than a hound dog had fleas, and, in contrast, lively green eyes. “I don’t see myself as a shootist,” he replied.

  “Then you shouldn’t go around shootin’ people,” Abe retorted. “First those whippersnappers at Wynn’s place, then that pistolero. At the rate you’re goin’, our undertaker will make a mint.” He wagged a finger. “The word is out on you, mister. You’re considered real bad medicine.”

  “The word is out on you, too, Howard,” Lee replied, holding his ground. “You’re considered a crazy old fool. But then, all you do is go around building churches and such.”

  For a few seconds their wills locked and clashed in mutual defiance. Finally the prospector’s mouth creased in a lopsided smirk. “I reckon I had that comin’, Reb. Maybe you ain’t a bad man, after all.”

  “Oh, no,” Allison said, unaccountably annoyed at how well Abe and Lee were hitting it off. “He’s just a gambler and a gunslinger.”

  Jim Hays addressed his daughter sternly, saying, “Lee is our friend, and I won’t have you treating him with disrespect. Or have you forgotten that he saved my life yesterday?”

  Chastened, Allison retreated into the shell she always did when she had overstepped herself.

  Her father cleared his throat. “Before we drop the subject, Lee, there’s something I need to know. It’s about Morco. Did you kill him on our account, because you thought he might come after us again, or was his death unrelated to the incident at Wynn’s?”

  Lee hesitated, mulling whether to admit the truth. It was bad enough that shooting Morco had confirmed Allison’s low opinion of him. If she learned that he had done it to protect them, she might be offended and claim it was just his excuse for throwing lead. The intense look she was giving him increased his unease.

  “Well?” Jim goaded.

  “He was spreading lies about me,” Lee said. “When I called him on it, he slapped leather.”

  “That was all there was to it?”

  Lee fiddled with his ha
t. “What more do you want?” he rejoined.

  Old Abe clucked. “A definite man-killer,” he said without rancor.

  Bob Delony stepped to the doorway. “Why don’t we head for the dining room?” he suggested eagerly. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m starved enough to eat a steer.” He winked at Lee. “In case no one told you, you’re in for a treat. My wife is the best cook this side of the Mississippi.”

  “Oh, Bob,” Ethel protested, though not too strongly.

  The lawyer’s praise proved well-founded. Lee had never tasted more delicious fried chicken. Baked potatoes, peas, buttery biscuits, and stewed apples completed the meal.

  For so modest a home, the dining room was elegantly decorated, down to the fine white china on which the meal was served. Lee wound up between Allison and Jim Hays, while across from him were Old Abe, Ethel, and the boy. Bob sat at the head of the table.

  “You’re a superb cook, ma’am,” Lee said as he started on his second helping.

  “Why, thank you,” Ethel said sweetly. “But I’m not the only one. Did you know that the lovely young lady beside you bakes the tastiest cherry pie in the Territory?”

  Jim Hays grunted. “I’ll vouch for that. Allison makes it hard for a man my age to keep a tight rein on his middle.”

  Bob Delony smacked his lips. “Trust us, Mr. Scurlock. There’s nothing quite like coming home to a freshly prepared meal steeped in love.”

  “Steeped in love?” Lee said.

  Ethel tittered. “He gets that from me. My grandmother used to say that a woman should always have love in her heart when she cooks. That way, everything she makes is manna from heaven.”

  Lee dipped his fork into the potatoes. “A home-cooked meal is a luxury I haven’t enjoyed in ages.” It stirred memories of Tennessee, of his ma bent over their big black kettle, of his pa smoking a pipe and his brothers and sisters scampering around like wild chipmunks.

  Old Abe was about to chomp down on a chicken leg. “What you need is a wife, Reb. I’ve had me three in my time, and as much aggravation as they were, I’ve learned that it’s better for a man to live with a woman than without one.”

  Allison became conscious of her father staring at her, and she was glad her long hair hid her burning ears. “Speaking for myself, the man I marry must be dependable and considerate. He has to be my partner in life, not just looking for someone to fill his belly.”

  Jim Hays pursed his lips. His daughter did not fool him for one minute. That comment had been her way of tactfully stressing the point she had hammered into their guest over and over. “Allison, don’t start in on Lee again. He’s here at my invitation.”

  All during the meal, Lee had been conscious of questioning glances thrown in his direction. Not only by Jim, but by the Delonys and even Abe Howard. The logical conclusion was that they had something on their mind, that their invite had a hidden motivation. “Why am I here?” he asked to get to the bottom of it.

  “How do you mean?” Jim Hays said.

  “I wasn’t born yesterday,” Lee said.

  Abe Howard chortled. “You’re not pullin’ the wool over this feller’s eyes, Jim. Might as well come out with it.”

  “Tell Lee what you have in mind, Father,” Allison added.

  Jim Hays appeared uncomfortable. Setting down his spoon, he said, “I’d rather wait until after our meal is over, but if you insist—”

  “I do,” Lee said.

  Scanning those at the table, Jim leaned back. “What do you think of Diablo?”

  “What’s to think? It’s a boomtown like a hundred others.”

  “To you, perhaps. To the people who live here, it’s much more. Bob and Ethel and Abe foresee a great future if certain elements don’t ruin it. As you’ve heard, Old Abe went so far as to donate the money needed to construct a church and a school. All of us want Diablo to flourish.”

  “What’s your stake in this?” Lee asked. “You live in Denver.”

  “Now we do, true, but I’ve given some thought to relocating my practice here a few years down the road. My main stake is my friendship with Bob and Ethel. He’s in a tight spot, Lee, and I’d like to help him out. If certain elements aren’t stopped, Diablo might wither and die from a blight of violence and bloodshed.”

  “That’s twice you’ve mentioned ‘certain elements.’”

  Jim’s face clouded. “You know who I mean. Allister Kemp, Frank Lowe, and the rest of their cohorts.”

  Lee deliberately turned to Allison. “That’s funny. I recollect someone telling me that Kemp is more of a gentleman than anyone else around these parts,” he said, quoting her.

  “My daughter still thinks highly of him, but I don’t,” Jim stated. “Even her faith has been shaken in light of recent developments.”

  Lee could not resist. “What did he do? Play a game of cards?”

  “No,” Allison said, stung but not offended. “He’s going to court.”

  “That’s right,” her father confirmed. “The reason Bob sent for me is that Kemp is in the process of trying to take control of Diablo.”

  “Hell, he’s been trying that ever since the town sprang up,” Old Abe said. “That varmint has used every nasty trick you can think of to force the homesteaders and us ore hounds to leave. Since that hasn’t worked, now he’s tryin’ to run roughshod over us. He has the misguided notion that the valley and all the land around it are rightfully his.”

  Lee did not see where any of this had anything to do with him. “What has Kemp done so far?”

  “What hasn’t he done?” Abe shot back. “Take the homesteaders. His punchers have threatened them time and again. Their livestock has been slaughtered in the dead of night. Their gardens have been trod under, their irrigation ditches filled in. They get up in the morning and find their plows busted, their tools smashed. All thanks to Kemp.”

  “There’s no proof he’s involved,” Allison said.

  Old Abe sputtered. “Who the hell needs proof, missy? Everyone knows he’s to blame.”

  Ethel, reaching for a pitcher of water, shook her head. “Watch your language, Abe, with ladies present. I won’t have swearing under my roof.”

  “Sorry, Ethel,” Abe said, not sounding sorry at all. To Lee, he said, “As for us prospectors and miners, Kemp’s cowboys gave us a hard time from the very beginnin’. They’d cuss us, hopin’ we’d go for our guns. A few fools did, and Jesse Bodine and his crowd made short work of them. But the town grew anyway, and before long prospectors and miners were being found dead. Others were robbed by masked bandits.”

  “Yet most of you stayed on,” Lee guessed.

  “Those with gumption,” Old Abe said. “So when all that didn’t scare us off, Kemp brought in Frank Lowe. They opened a store, started the bank, and took over a few of the dives.”

  “I thought Kemp wanted to shut the town down, not build it up.”

  “Not anymore. Not since he saw that it was hopeless. Now he wants to run it, lock, stock, and barrel. So Kemp has Lowe fleece everyone except the cowboys who work for him.”

  Jim Hays took up the account. “I think the church and the school were the last straw for Kemp. They made him realize the homesteaders and the miners are here for the long haul. So now he’s taking legal action. He’s hired three top lawyers, who have filed a motion claiming that Kemp has exclusive water rights in Diablo Valley.”

  Old Abe bristled like a he-bear. “Do you have any idea what would happen if the court agrees? Everybody would end up paying through the nose for every drop of water they use. Kemp would have us all under his thumb.”

  “No judge would ever go along with such a harebrained notion,” Lee said.

  Jim Hays let loose a brittle laugh. “You don’t know much about the legal system, do you? It’s not always whether a legal argument is based on solid law or even common justice that matters. It’s how much money one side or the other can spend to influence the verdict.”

  “You’re saying the court can be bought?”
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  “Any court can. We suspect that Kemp has influence where it counts. The preliminary hearing on his motion has been moved up, even though Bob asked for more time to prepare his case.”

  Bob Delony nodded. “Old Abe, on behalf of the Miners Association, asked me to represent him, and I sent for Jim because I’m in over my head on this one.”

  Lee got to the heart of the issue. “What does all of this have to do with me?”

  The law wranglers and the gristle-heel exchanged glances. “I’ll do the honors,” Old Abe said. “You see, Lee, Diablo is slowly but surely gettin’ civilized. Seven of us have been elected to a town council, and next Tuesday we’re votin’ in a town marshal.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Who we pick is crucial. If the Cowboy Faction appoint their man, they’ll have the local law in their pocket. So far we have two candidates. One is Jesse Bodine, foreman at the Bar K. The other is a Texian called Vint Evers.”

  “Know them both,” Lee said.

  “Bodine is a Kemp man, bought and paid. Three idiots on the council will vote for whoever Kemp wants. Two others will vote with me to pick who I want. That leaves Will Dyer. He’ll vote with us to spite the Englishman.”

  “So what’s your problem? Pick Evers and be done with it.”

  “I don’t want Evers.”

  “Why not?”

  Abe plucked at his beard. “Evers is a lone wolf. He blew into town and applied on his own. Kemp didn’t ask him, and neither did I.”

  “What’s wrong with that? Vint’s a straight shooter,” Lee declared, pleased to be able to do the Texan a good turn.

  “I ain’t so sure, Reb. I’ve been askin’ around, studyin’ his history, and I can’t guarantee he won’t throw in with the Kemp crowd. He was a cowboy before he pinned on a star, so he’s apt to be a mite too partial to the Cowboy Faction for my tastes.”

  “Evers will do the job better than anyone else you could find.”

  A hawkish smile lit Old Abe’s craggy visage. “Better than you, you reckon?”

  “Me?”

  Jim Hays spoke. “That’s why I invited you here today. I knew Abe would agree once I proposed the idea. We need someone reliable. We want you to put in for the position.”