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“Get that knife away from my neck first,” Milo said.
“No. When your men are on their way to the door, then I let you go. And then you get the hell out of this town.”
“Even with your handy-dandy sidekick over there,” Milo said, indicating the older man who had entered behind the newcomer, “you’re outnumbered.”
“Doesn’t matter. If you don’t let those women go and get the hell out of here, I’ll show you what two men can do.”
“The girls will die.”
“So will you.”
Milo’s eyes gleamed with a fury that seemed to glow red, but he was clearly aware of the blade at his throat. He growled a command.
His gang began releasing the women and heading for the door. “Not outside!” Milo bellowed. “Not until I’m with you.”
If not for the deadliness of the situation, it might have been amusing to see the way they collided with one another in an effort to stop and turn around. Finally the tall newcomer removed the blade from Milo’s throat and pushed him toward his comrades. “Get out now, and leave this town be,” he said quietly.
At the door, Milo turned back. “No one tells me what to do.”
“No one can stop a man bent on sheer stupidity,” the newcomer returned. “But I’m warning you—stay the hell away from here—or else.”
“I don’t take kindly to threats, friend,” Milo said.
But apparently he’d wanted only to get in the last word, because he turned and left, his gang of outlaws following quickly.
For a moment there was dead silence in the saloon. It was as if everyone were waiting, listening for hoofbeats, the assurance that the outlaws were really gone.
When the hoofbeats came, then died away, cacophony followed.
Girls left their hiding places, racing toward the stranger.
“Oh, my God, you saved our lives!” one cried. Alex thought she looked new to life as a scarlet woman. Her hair was naturally red, and she had an innocence about her.
“The Good Lord alone knows what might have happened,” another crooned—this one older, harder, a tall brunette, attractive, but with calculating eyes. She didn’t look mean, just worn down by life. Alex thought she’d met her a few years back. Sherry Lyn, her name was. Victory was a small town. “Decent” women didn’t usually mix with saloon girls, but there was just no way out of the fact that you were going to meet at the general store.
“You can have anything in this place that you want, young man,” said a third woman. Maybe she was the madam, Alex thought. She was of medium height, buxom and a bit stout. Her hair was hennaed, and she had the weary look that came from too many years of scraping along in life.
Ignoring the offer, the golden-eyed man said, “Ladies, listen to me. You’ve got to stay close for the time being. Lock your doors at night, put up a sign saying you’re closed to the public, and don’t go letting any strangers in.”
His words were greeted by silence.
His older friend cleared his throat and nudged him, grinning.
“This is a … funhouse, Cody.”
The brunette was the first to speak. She cleared her throat. “Honey, I don’t know how to put this delicately, but … if we don’t invite people in, this place ain’t going to be in business long.”
“I see,” Cody said gravely. “Well, you’re still going to have to be very careful. When you’re not … entertaining, you need to lock your doors. And don’t fall prey to anyone seeking entrance when they shouldn’t be.”
“And when would that be, sugar?” the buxom woman asked. “And by the way, I’m Dolly. I keep things running around here.”
“Dolly,” Cody said, “you have to keep an eye out for things that don’t seem … quite normal, for men like that bunch that were in here just now. You have to fight them. All the men—and women—in this town need to learn to fight them.” He paused, looking at the bright-eyed female faces staring at him as if he were a god who had come to earth. He shook his head, as if realizing that he wasn’t being understood. “I’m Cody Fox, and this is my friend Brendan Vincent. We’ll be sticking around for a while. We’re going to try to find out what’s going on here.”
The sound of furniture being shoved across the floor startled everyone, and all eyes in the room were suddenly focused on the piano. It was just Jigs, who had risen from his hiding place at last.
Alex noted that Cody Fox already had a hand on his gun belt.
“You two some kind of lawmen?” Jigs asked. He epitomized the popular image of the perfect piano player with his fine suit, bow tie and misty-gray top hat that nicely complemented his ebony flesh. Tall and lean, he lent just the right touch of class to a place frequented by cardsharps, fast women, ranchers, cowboys and transients.
“Lawmen? No. Just concerned citizens,” Cody replied.
Brendan Vincent said, “I had kin who lived out in Brigsby. There’s not hide nor hair of them to be seen.”
“Well,” Dolly said dryly, making no mention of the state of things in Brigsby, “you’re mighty welcome here. As you might have noticed, we’ve yet to see the sheriff or his deputy.”
Cody was an extremely attractive man, Alex thought. He had a handsome face, if somewhat gaunt. His eyes were a golden hazel, and when he dusted his hat on his knee, she saw that he had rich wheat-colored hair. Tall and rugged, like many another cowboy, still he had something that was entirely unique. Alex found herself curious about him, and it was no wonder the working women in the saloon seemed about to have the vapors.
“Ma’am, to be quite honest, I think we’re looking for a rooming house of some kind, a place where we can have a bit of peace and quiet, a place to think some of this out,” Cody said politely.
“Then you want to be staying at Alex’s place,” Jigs said.
Alex hadn’t realized that Jigs had even seen her, but now he stared at her, grinning. “Welcome home, missy,” he said softly.
Everyone in the place was staring at her now, and she didn’t like the sudden attention. She felt her cheeks grow warm and flushed, though she didn’t know why. It must be the stranger, she told herself. Cody Fox.
He looked at her for a long moment. A very long moment. Then a hint of a smile touched his features and he tilted his hat in greeting. “How do you do, miss?”
She had the feeling she looked like a worn-out school marm. Most of the women in the saloon were showing a great deal of flesh and wearing vivid colors.
She was basically wearing travel dust.
“Fine, thank you—considering the circumstances. How do you do?” she replied courteously, feeling inexplicably awkward.
“You own a boardinghouse?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, unable to make further conversation, but then again, it had been a yes-or-no question.
“And might you have a couple of vacancies?” he asked politely.
She started to turn to Jewell to check, then remembered with sudden clarity and horror that Bert was lying unconscious—or worse—back at the boardinghouse. “Oh!” she gasped, and without replying, she raced out the door and across the street to the house. She rushed in, dropping to her knees by Bert’s prone body.
She patted his cheeks and called his name, and after a moment he let out a groan and opened his eyes, staring up at her blankly.
“Bert?” she said anxiously.
He blinked, then started to speak, but his words froze in his throat, and he grabbed her arm in a surprisingly strong grasp. She turned to see that Cody Fox and Brendan Vincent had followed her.
“It’s all right. They stopped the outlaws,” Alex said soothingly.
“Stopped them?” Bert said, staring at the other men skeptically.
“They killed one of them and convinced the others to ride away,” Alex said.
“The sheriff?” Bert asked.
“Nowhere to be seen,” Alex admitted.
Cody hunkered down by Bert’s side. “Looks like you took a hell of a wallop,” he said, his eyes sympathetic. “Do you think you have any broken bones?”
Bert looked at him, still suspicious, but said, “I think I can get up.”
Cody offered him an arm. Bert got to his feet slowly, wincing. He continued to study Cody, but he nodded in thanks as he said, “I’m all right.”
“Still, you might want to sit for a spell,” Cody suggested.
“The library,” Alex suggested, leading them toward the comfortable overstuffed sofa in her father’s—no, her—library.
She got Bert settled, then backed straight into Beulah, who had come in like a whirlwind, followed closely by Jewell and Tess, and Brendan Vincent.
“Oh, Bert, look at you!” Beulah said, taking his hand, along with a seat next to him.
“I’ll get him a whiskey,” Jewell decided.
“Maybe tea would be better,” Tess suggested.
“Maybe we should put the whiskey in a cup of tea,” Jewell countered.
“I’m sure that will be fine,” Beulah said.
Jewell and Tess turned to leave the room, but not before sighing softly and looking with rapt eyes at Cody Fox. Alex looked at Bert, rolled her eyes and winked, then grew sober again. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Fine, just embarrassed that I couldn’t protect my own household,” Bert said. He looked past her to stare at Cody and Brendan. “How the hell did you get that man and his human refuse out of town?” he asked.
“Just threatened him the way he threatens everyone else. Milo wasn’t about to lose his own life, and he knew I would take it,” Cody said, then cleared his throat. “Brendan and I are looking for accommodations, if they’re available?”
“I just got back to town this afternoon, so to tell you the truth, I don’t know,” Alex said, and looked at Beulah, still at Bert’s side. “Do we have any vacancies?”
Beulah let out a very unladylike snort, staring at her as if she had gone daft. “Do we have any vacancies? Child—we have nothing but vacancies. No one is coming out this way to stay anymore. No bankers, no railroad men. No new whores desperate to try out the place.”
Alex smoothed her hand down her skirt. “Well then, gentlemen, you’re certainly welcome to stay.”
“It will be right nice to have you here,” Beulah added with considerably more enthusiasm. “Breakfast is from seven to eight, and supper is served precisely at seven. If you’re here, you eat. If you’re not here, we assume you’ve made other arrangements. I’ll just see to your rooms. If you’ll excuse me?” She rose and started for the door, then suddenly stopped, a look of horror on her face.
“Levy!” she said. “Oh, dear, where is Levy? I haven’t seen him since all this began.”
Alex closed her eyes and groaned, hating herself. She’d forgotten the stable hand, as well.
“I’ll check the basement,” Bert said, rising carefully.
“I’ll run upstairs,” Beulah said.
“I’ll take the stable,” Alex said.
As soon as Beulah and Bert were out of the room, Cody Fox caught Alex’s arm. Like Milo, he had a grip of steel, though he wasn’t using it to hurt her. Still, she stared at him in indignation at being stopped so summarily.
“We’re missing a member of the household. Please let go of me so I can go look for him.”
“What does he look like? We can help,” he told her.
“He’s our stable hand, medium height, curly brown hair, thin face, dark brown eyes,” Alex said, pulling her arm free.
“I’ll head out to the street, see if the outlaws shot anyone we haven’t discovered yet,” Brendan Vincent said.
“I’ll go out back to the stable with you,” Cody said. “I think they’re all long gone, but just in case …”
Alex ignored him and raced down the hall to the back door. The town had stables and a livery, but they had their own small stable out back, along with a smokehouse.
As she burst outside, the laying chickens began to squawk.
“Levy!” she cried, sprinting past the flustered birds.
Cody Fox ran by her toward the stables.
The outer doors were open and he headed inside without pausing. Alex followed quickly, still calling for the stable hand.
The stalls were to the left; Beau was in the first—kicking at the wall, which was uncharacteristic for the normally phlegmatic draft horse mix that pulled the work wagon. Cheyenne, Alex’s palomino, neighed excitedly, pacing the small confines of his stall, and even Harvey, Bert’s usually placid gelding, was putting up a ruckus.
“Levy?” Alex cried again.
She felt hay particles falling on her head and looked up to the loft.
And there was Levy. She could just see his face as he peeked down at them.
“Oh, thank God,” she breathed, and started for the ladder. Once again Cody Fox grabbed her arm. “Wait.”
“Wait? Why?” she demanded, but he was already heading swiftly up to the loft.
Alex followed. “Levy, are you all right?”
When she reached the loft, Cody Fox was already standing over Levy, offering him a hand to help him to his feet.
“Were you attacked?” Cody demanded. “Did those men hurt you … in any way?” he persisted intently.
“No, no, no,” Levy said, rising and shaking his head emphatically. He looked at Alex with shame. “I knew they were here. I should have … I should have come out, but I came up here, up in the hay, and I just hid. The horses were going crazy. I … well, we’ve all heard about what happened over to Brigsby.” He took Alex’s hand. “Miss Alex, I am so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You were behaving sensibly and nothing more,” she said firmly. “There was nothing you could have done except maybe get yourself killed. I’m just grateful that you’re alive and well.”
Despite her words, Levy hung his head. She reached out, lifting his chin. Levy was a real asset. He was strong, despite his slim physique, and intelligent; he loved books. The horses responded to his gentle ways, and when he was done with his work, he was a charming conversationalist. As a child, he’d come from Eastern Europe with his parents, who had been running from persecution, and now he was an integral part of the mix of ethnicities that made up Victory.
