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  Perhaps Mustang Pete had given him a bum steer, although the cowboy had seemed pleasant and sincere. What course did he have now other than making another visit to each of the many saloons to inquire if anyone could point him in Jake's direction? It was even possible the gambler had left town. There were probably many places where crooked cards could be a lucrative venture.

  Feeling in a pocket, he realized he'd left his wallet in his room. Back there, then, before he began his next search. He'd probably have to buy a drink or two, using liquor to elicit information.

  After picking up the wallet and slipping it into his hip pocket, Zach paused to look down at the street. He started to turn away from the window when a buckboard traveling south down Allen Street caught his eye. The driver was female, apparently young. Wisps of reddish hair slipped out from the dark scarf wrapped around her head and neck. Something about her seemed hauntingly familiar. He leaned forward to get as good a look as possible. Could it really be?

  "Mary Ann?" He barely registered that he'd spoken aloud. "If I hurry I can catch up, see if it's really her."

  Wheeling from the window, he headed for the door, determined to get downstairs and catch up with the buckboard if he could. For a moment, he stopped. Was someone standing just inside the doorway?

  The shadowy figure's face looked feminine but the person wore masculine attire, blue trousers and a matching jacket. How strange. The vague image vanished before he reached the portal. He hadn't been drinking-maybe his writer's imagination was playing tricks on him. Even in a wild place like Tombstone, surely no woman would be seen out and about in trousers!

  Rushing down the stairs, he turned to go south down Allen Street. The slab-sided horse drawing the buckboard seemed unwilling to move faster than a jog. They were still in view when he emerged from the boarding house. Zach broke into a run, taking to the edge of the street itself to avoid bowling people over on the busy boardwalk.

  He'd done a bit of running in school, and though it was harder in heavier clothing, he hadn't lost the knack. Moving at a brisk pace, he soon gained on the trotting horse. When the driver halted the animal in front of the Silverado Mercantile, Zach caught up with them.

  The woman climbed down, every movement slow and awkward. As she turned, Zach saw she was definitely in the family way. His knowledge of such matters was sketchy, but she appeared not too far from giving birth. Still, her face, shadowed by the scarf, wasn't clear enough for him to identify her positively.

  He sucked in a quick, deep breath. "Mary Ann? Is it really you?"

  She turned then, facing him fully, her gray eyes-so much like his-going wide and her mouth shaping a silent "O" of distress. She shook her head as if denying what her senses reported.

  "No! Go away, please. If Jake sees anyone talking to me, he'll kill us both. I just came to town for a few things and I have to hurry straight home. I'm in a rush. Please, Zach, just pretend you didn't see me. You shouldn't even be here!"

  Zach stepped closer, reached to rest his hand on her arm. "I can't do that! There's no way you can be happy with that beast, sis. I've heard how he treats you. I've come to take you home." He spoke forcefully, urgently. He had to reach her, to break through her protective shell of isolation.

  "No! He'll kill you, Zach! I'll not have my brother's blood on my hands adding to my other sins. And once you're dead, he'd make my life pure hell." She spread a hand over her swelling abdomen. "Look at me. I can't go home this way. It's too late."

  The anguish in her face and tone tore at him like icy blades. Whatever foolish wrong she'd done, she was still his beloved little sister. The one who'd dogged his steps for the first sixteen years of her life, sought his protection when their stern father's manner became too harsh. Zach searched for the right words. How could he convince her none of her errors mattered, that he still loved her?

  Before he could reply, she whirled away, fleeing into the store as fast as her thickened body would allow. His worse fears were confirmed. She was being held against her will, and clearly feared for her safety, her very life. Now, with the child to consider, it was going to be even harder to effect her escape.

  "If you know what's good for you, Dude, you'll stay clear of my woman."

  Zach wheeled to face the voice. A man about his own age strode toward him along the boardwalk. "Jake McEuen?"

  "What's it to you?" Handsome in a dark, dissolute way, the man stopped, feet apart and right hand hovering over the pearl-handled pistol on his hip. He wore black, the traditional frock coat and brocaded vest of the gambler. His close-set, dark eyes flashed a wicked warning, thin lips twisting into a sneer under the narrow line of his black moustache.

  Zach straightened, throwing his shoulders back to stand tall. "I'm Zach Tremaine, Mary Ann's brother. Unless you can show me a marriage certificate, I've more right than you to speak to her."

  "Why buy the cow when milk's so cheap?" the man said, his tone full of scorn. "If I was through with her, I might let you have her back, but I think I'll keep her a while. She's obedient, she can cook, and she has other uses. I might even want the brat she carries. Children have their uses too. Some bring a good price."

  Bile burned in Zach's throat. He swallowed it with the cutting words that might end his life-and any possible help for Mary Ann. He hesitated, keenly aware in spite of his rage that he was unarmed. While every instinct urged him to charge the gambler and smash a fist in his face, reason said such a display of foolhardy bravado would only make Mary Ann's plight worse.

  He took a steadying breath before he spoke. "We'll see about that. Even in Tombstone, it isn't legal to hold anyone against their will. Slavery was outlawed by Lincoln in '64."

  The gambler laughed, a cold, harsh sound like ice breaking. "So what do you propose to do about it, Tremaine? There are no chains on the woman. You can't prove anything." He turned to follow Mary Ann's route into the store.

  Gritting his teeth in impotent fury, Zach started back the way he had come. He found he was shaking, almost overcome with the rush of anger still pounding through him with each heartbeat. His thoughts flew in a thousand directions at once, seeking a method to avenge Mary Ann and get her safely home. Fighting for calm, he admitted he had to approach the matter deliberately, make a reasonable plan, and then carry it out.

  Since arriving in Tombstone, Zach had used his investigative and fact-finding skills to good advantage. He'd managed to elicit scraps of information from almost everyone he spoke with, scraps that he later assembled into a pattern that revealed more than anyone might suspect.

  The timing of most recurring events in the town was firmly fixed in his mind. The plan of its streets and buildings had been similarly recorded. He'd even located the places most convenient for a possible ambush and where "accidents" could easily be staged, more to avoid hazards than to utilize such means.

  Somehow, he'd find where Jake and Mary Ann lived and arrange to visit when Jake was away, probably at night. Evening hours were the most profitable for gamblers since the night shift in the mines utilized fewer men than the day, and the evening of the weekly payday was the best time of all.

  Thinking quickly, he slipped into a narrow passage between two buildings to watch until Mary Ann and Jake departed from the store. He'd follow them at a discreet distance, perhaps find where they now resided. Though not naturally patient, Zach had learned to persevere. He could out-wait the most placid when he had to.

  As he stood quietly in the shadowed passage, he vowed he'd purchase a handgun at once and begin to practice with it. To go unarmed in Tombstone was almost tantamount to exhibiting a death wish. He had too many years and adventures he didn't want to miss to run that risk.

  Zach smiled ruefully to himself. With those tiresomely constant iterations of "turn the other cheek." and "the meek shall inherit the earth," Father would spin in his grave at the idea of a pistol in his son's hand. Still, had the old man been a bit more reasonable, Mary Ann would not have fled in the night to fall into the clutches of a wretch
ed conscienceless rogue like Jake.

  There was also the Biblical tenet of an eye for an eye, one that Zach found imminently more practical. Whether or not Jake had a sister, Zach didn't know. He probably hadn't the heart to abduct her anyway, but there were other means of inflicting punishment. While he hoped to use the law to aid his cause, he'd handle matters himself if he must. He had a promise to keep.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Mulling his revenge, Zach waited for what seemed like hours for Jake and Mary Ann to emerge from the store. Finally they did, Mary Ann carrying her purchases, although she seemed to struggle with the burden. She stretched to deposit them in the buckboard while Jake stood aside, his arms folded across his chest.

  Zach boiled. Why didn't the blackguard help her? That was no way for a man to treat a woman, especially one carrying his child! His hand itched for a chance to teach the arrogant young gambler some respect. The day will come, Zach promised himself. The day will come and he will pay.

  Finally Mary Ann struggled up to the buckboard's seat. Jake did untie the horse and hand her the reins. Zach was too far away to hear what the gambler said, but from his expression and the way he shook a fist, it was a lecture, probably even a threat. Mary Ann hunched, head bowed, almost as if she anticipated a blow. If she responded verbally, Zach could not hear her.

  A twist of pain caught in Zach's gut, but he stayed silent and hidden. This was not the time. When Jake slapped the gaunt horse's rump, it started off at a stiff trot that had Mary Ann bouncing on the narrow seat. Zach seethed, but with Jake watching, he could not follow her, at least not in plain view back along Allen Street.

  He moved through the gap to the alley, turning sideways to squeeze through the narrowest part. The two structures were clearly not built perpendicular to one another. Once in the alley, he ran to the first cross street. From the corner he could see neither the buckboard nor Jake. That meant Mary Ann had turned.

  Fueled by urgency, he ran to the opposite end of the block and again out to the front to look. Allen Street essentially ended, cut off by an arroyo, not far beyond the Birdcage Theater. Certainly she hadn't gone that way. He looked back the other direction and caught a glimpse of the buckboard, now apparently turning down the Charleston road, although she'd started off to the east. Ah ha. So they were living out of town.

  Well then, where had Jake gone? No doubt back to whichever saloon he currently frequented, perhaps to resume a game. Zach stopped to lean against a pillar supporting the veranda roof of one of the less notorious establishments-a dry goods store, according to the sign-while he contemplated his next move.

  A sudden flurry of activity up Allen Street drew Zach's attention. He saw a crowd had gathered in the street. They looked to be right in front of the entrance to Nellie Cashman's boarding house, where he was staying.

  The gawkers seemed to be staring at something or someone lying in the street. He hadn't heard gunfire, so it was probably not a shooting victim. What might it be? The reporter in him had to find out.

  He set out at a jog, again running along the edge of the street rather than the congested boardwalk. As he drew nearer, he glimpsed a supine figure clad in blue denim pants and jacket. The clothing reminded him of the vision or specter in his doorway, a short while earlier. Curiosity well piqued, he edged his way in from the outer ring of spectators.

  "Jest appeared, right there. I seen it."

  Zach recognized the speaker as a crippled former miner who cadged drinks at the poorer class of saloons. "Lucky Lem" they called him. What was lucky about the unfortunate man escaped Zach.

  "Folks don't just appear, Lem. He-er, she-must'a fallen off o' something."

  Zach wasn't sure who had spoken that time.

  Lem shook his head, playing to the audience. "Nope, I seen 'er, just kinda rise up outten the dust, right there. Some kind o' magic or maybe an apper...a...well, like a ghost or somethin'."

  Several of the spectators hotly debated the issue of what was and was not possible while Zach edged closer. Finally, looking over the heads of a couple of young boys, he got a clear view. Like the vision he'd glimpsed in his doorway, the person had feminine features, tumbled coppery-gold curls, and a slight form, clad in blue denim.

  Even as he watched, the large knot on her forehead grew even bigger and began to turn a mottled red and blue. Wherever the person-perhaps a child since she was small-had come from, she had suffered what might well be a serious injury. Blows to the head, Zach knew, should never be taken lightly. From the looks of it, this one was a dilly, too.

  Pushing his way through the spectators, Zach knelt in the dust at the stranger's side. He scanned the crowd quickly, seeking a helpful response. Wasn't anyone going to do anything? "Isn't there a doctor in town? This child's been hurt." His irritation sharpened his tone.

  Upon closer inspection, he recognized the person was definitely female but definitely not a child. A gust of wind blew her jacket open, revealing a shirt of some soft, clinging fabric that shaped over a very nicely rounded bosom.

  Caught just short of trying to pick her up, Zach rocked back on his heels in surprise. He'd never seen a woman dressed in such manner before. This certainly looked like a story or a mystery.

  At that moment, a woman dressed in calico pushed her way through the crowd to Zach's side. Though small, her presence and demeanor commanded respect. He recognized his hostess, Nellie Cashman. A handsome lady of middle age, Nellie was recognized and admired by almost everyone in town. She took in the situation with a glance before slanting a questioning look at Zach.

  "Can you carry her, young man? The poor child needs to be inside, out of the sun and wind, out of the dust. I've sent for the doctor, though what good it will do God only knows. The wretch is probably intoxicated as usual. Still, we can get her inside, away from prying eyes and fools who don't know what to do." When her keen black gaze swept the crowd, every man and lad fell back, most wearing shamefaced expressions.

  Stooping forward again, Zach carefully slid one arm beneath the small woman's shoulders and another under her legs. Rocking back on his heels once more, he lifted her into his arms, and with a bit of effort, got to his feet. She wasn't all that heavy, only an awkward burden due to her limp, unconscious state.

  For the moment, all thoughts of Mary Ann and Joker Jake slipped to the back of his mind. Here in his grasp was a tantalizing mystery and perhaps the first installment of a new adventure.

  ~*~

  Emily came awake slowly, first aware of a pounding pain in her head, and then of a cool, damp cloth pressing gently across her brow, at the very spot that hurt so badly. When the cloth was removed, she opened her eyes.

  The room was totally unfamiliar, and the dark-haired woman who bathed her head was also unknown to her. "Wh...where am I? What happened?" She tried to look as far to each side as she could without moving her head. Even that scant effort produced more pain, anguish so intense she feared her skull might either explode or fall off if she actually moved.

  "Hush, child, everything will be all right. You either fell on or were hit in the head. We found you lying out in the street, but that nice young man from back East brought you inside. You've been an hour coming around. I was beginning to worry."

  Emily's gaze slid slowly around the small room. She felt the rough texture of the counterpane at her fingertips, scanned the faded floral wallpaper for a clue. Nothing triggered any recollection. She then focused on the grayish light seeping through the lace curtaining the single tall window opposite the double bed on which she lay. "What time is it?"

  "I would guess about six thirty. I'm going to have to get back downstairs to oversee the serving of supper shortly." The woman bent forward and peered at her intently. "Hmmmm."

  She lifted a small lamp from a table at the bedside and brought it close to Emily's face. An oil lamp, the flame flickered gently from the stirring air. Emily searched the room again, but saw no sign of electric lights. Was this the only light available? Authenticity was wonderful, but
this was a bit much.

  "Look at the lamp, dear," the woman said, drawing her attention back to the light. "Ah, that's good. Your eyes are reacting normally, which is a good sign. I hate to leave you alone, though..."

  Just then a voice spoke from beyond the half-opened door. "I can watch her, Mrs. Cashman. I know you've work to do."

  The voice was masculine, low-pitched and somehow musical in its rhythm and tone. Something about that voice seemed familiar. Since the door was off to her left, out of the range of her vision, Emily risked turning her head a little to try to see the speaker. After she moved, everything in her vision shifted and swam. The acute pain had subsided a bit, but moving was still a bad idea.

  From the sound of approaching footfalls, the voice's source advanced into the room. He entered the circle of light cast by the small lamp. Although her eyes didn't seem to focus perfectly, Emily saw he was tall, slender, and dark haired. He looked to be dressed in dark trousers and a white shirt under a dark vest.

  The lady stood up, shook out her skirts, and moved toward the door. When he took her place in the straight-backed chair beside the bed, she paused and half-turned to look back at them.

  "I'll send Angelina up with your meal, Mr. Tremaine, as soon as it's ready, or-no, she can relieve you once she's served the dining room. It's really not proper, you alone with a young woman this way, but there's no one else I can detail. If she needs anything before that, come to the door and call. We'll leave it ajar, of course."

  "Yes, Ma'am."

  As the lady left the room, he turned to look down at Emily. "Hello, miss. I'm glad to see you're awake. There was no telling how badly you were injured when I first saw you. It looks as if you took a nasty bump, though. Can you recall what happened?"

  Emily shut her eyes a moment, struggling to sort through the cotton wool in her mind. She wanted badly to reconstruct some memory and find a rational explanation for where she was and how she'd gotten there. Everything she had seen so far seemed to indicate she was no longer in Tombstone, at least not in 2000, but the other possibilities were too fantastic to believe.