Shelly, the black-haired lass who always welcomed him to the Social Club, had teased him about his desire for clean water and towels.
'You're wastin' good money, Ash,' Shelly said. 'Maudine charges you four times the goin' rate for a bath. And there ain't nothin' wrong with them towels.' She pointed to a heap of used ones in the corner. 'A man what's washed already ain't so dirty.'
Nevertheless, he'd had his way. He liked his bathing alone, door barred, heavy wooden shutters closed and bolted, and plenty of good food and drink within reach.
He rubbed a hand over his six-day beard. Hell's bells but he must look a sight. He'd trailed Dave Johnson and Nate Sanchez for three weeks, but the last one had been fierce.
'Wonder if I'm getting a little old for this work?' he muttered to himself. It was a question he asked a lot lately.
Lighting struck somewhere close, and the eerie glow illuminated cracks around the window shutters. It was a good night to be inside, he thought. And a bad night to be camped under the open sky as he'd done for the past month.
A rap at the door caused him to bolt upright and reach for the loaded rifle propped alongside the tub. 'Who is it?' he called.
'Ain't you done in there yet?' Shelly pleaded. 'There's two customers waitin' for a bath out here.'
Ash grinned and lay back in the water. A potbellied stove in the corner heated the rocks that made up the floor of Maudine's bathroom and kept the temperature pleasantly warm, no matter how cold it was outside. Ash had ridden thirty miles to get here today, and he wasn't about to be rushed.
'Ash, please!'
'Entertain them,' he answered. 'I paid for two hours, and I'm going to enjoy every minute of it.'
He scooped up a little soap and scrubbed his long hair for the second time. He needed a haircut and that was certain. He'd always worn his hair shoulder length, but now it was getting out of hand. If he didn't get to a barber soon, someone was likely to take him for an Indian and take a shot at him.
He didn't need that.
A bounty hunter had enough enemies. No reasonable man would go out of his way to make more. And Ash had always considered himself a reasonable man.
If Johnson and Sanchez had understood that, they might both be alive tonight, instead of lying stiff as logs in the undertaker's shed. Big Nose Johnson was a common bushwacker. He'd ridden with Texas Jack Cannon since the war, but Sanchez was hardly more than a boy. Sadly, he'd taken up with the wrong sort and paid for it with his life. Bank robbery was bad business, and Texas Jack Cannon's gang had cut a swath from Missouri west.
'Those that live by the gun…'Ash murmured under his breath. He hadn't wanted to kill either of them, especially not Sanchez. In the end, it was that or go under himself. A sensible man had to look out for his own skin, but he had two more deaths to explain to the Almighty on Judgment Day.
Most of the road agents he was hired to hunt down were the scum of the earth, and somehow he'd gotten the reputation of being as bloodthirsty as his prey. It wasn't true, not by a long sight. Ash didn't like putting a bullet through a man and watching the light in his eyes fade. He believed in the law. No matter how high the reward, it always made him feel better inside to bring a desperado to justice. Unfortunately, most of them would rather be dead than face a judge and jury.
'Come on, Ash,' Shelly called through the door. 'Come up to my room with me. The night's still young, and I'll treat you real good.'
'I know you would, sweetheart,' he replied. Once, he had been desperate enough for a woman's soft embrace to go upstairs with her. The sex had been quick and hot. Shelly knew her trade well. But he'd caught the scent of other men on her body, and her laughter had been a shade too forced. He had paid her fairly, but he hadn't felt so good about himself the next day. And he hadn't purchased the services of Shelly or any other lady of the night since.
An animal will rut with any female that takes his fancy, he thought. But when a man takes a woman, there should be more between them than just the physical act.
He couldn't stop his thoughts from drifting back to this morning when he'd caught sight of Jack Cannon's woman. He'd been trailing her when his path had crossed that of Johnson and Sanchez.
Tamsin MacGreggor looked too innocent to be with Jack Cannon, but there couldn't be two women in Colorado that fit that description. A fine-looking filly, tall as most men, with hair like molten copper, the Wheaton sheriff had said. And that's what had proved her undoing. Sunlight sparkling off those red tresses had nearly stopped Ash dead in his tracks.
She looked as wholesome as a ripe apple, but her heart was probably as rotten as hell. It proved that you just couldn't tell what went on inside a female's head by her appearance. Aunt Jane had always said that a bad woman was worse than a bad man. Maybe she was right. Some women were drawn to ice-cold killers. Still, he wondered how Tamsin MacGreggor had fallen low enough to trail after a murdering coyote like Cannon.
The bank trustees had sent for Ash the day after the robbery, and it had taken ten more days for him to get the message and arrive in Wheaton. The sheriff had told him that Tamsin MacGreggor had ridden out of town on a Monday morning. Texas Jack's gang had held up the First Nebraska Savings and Loan the following Friday, killing two innocent bystanders and the town deputy. Then, the way Ash figured it, the outlaws had divided the loot and split up.
Sanchez and Johnson had nearly four hundred dollars on them in fresh bills, money Ash was certain they hadn't come by honestly. He'd deposited that here in Sweet-water, in Maudine's safe. First he'd pay for their burial; the rest he'd hold on to as a down payment on the reward offered for Cannon's gang.
Texas Jack had vanished without a trace, as he'd done a dozen times before. But this time would be different. This time, Ash meant to watch Jack's lady. Sooner or later, he'd show up to claim her. And Ash meant to take him then.
The impatient rapping came again.
'Go away, Shelly,' he said, beginning to be a little annoyed. 'I'll take the room for the night, but I want clean sheets.'
'Good,' she answered.
'I'll pay your fee, prairie flower, but you'll have to find another place to sleep.'
'What?'
He laughed. 'You heard me, Shelly. I'll take your bed, but all by myself. I want twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep, and you're just pretty enough to be a powerful distraction to any man's rest.'
Truth was, he couldn't think about black-haired Shelly just now. His head was too full of questions about the redheaded armful that he'd seen outside of Mrs. Fremont's boardinghouse.
Chapter 3
The following afternoon, Ash Morgan faced Henry Steele and Roy Walker across a table in the Sweetwater sheriff's office. 'Are you certain that there wasn't a man there with her?' Ash asked.' I can't see this MacGreggor woman committing murder and horse thievery on her own. Jack Cannon or some of his boys had to be in on this.'
Sheriff Walker scowled. 'What do you take me for, Morgan? The woman killed Sam. That's plain enough. She went there to steal those horses, got caught, and shot her way out.'
Ash arched a dark eyebrow skeptically. 'If Sam happened on the robbery, wouldn't he have been facing Tamsin MacGreggor? Either that or he was running from her, and I don't buy that. She may well have done the shooting, but if she did, Sam's attention was on someone else.'
'But Henry arrived right after-'
The judge silenced Walker with an impatient wave of his hand. 'How long have we known each other, Ash? Since before the war, right?'
Morgan nodded. Henry Steele was no educated fool. He was shrewd, tough, and honest. If the judge hadn't seen anyone else there in the barn, they must have ridden out before he got there. Trouble was, the storm had
