It was early yet when he and Candy trotted into town the next morning—they'd been up and on the road at first light. Candy, who had the day off and was headed into town for a shave, a haircut, and some courtin' with Miss Ester May Bradshaw, had been surprised to find Joe waiting, but had accepted the explanation of follow-up business with a shrug and a grin. The ride in was silent and peaceful … or, it would have been if Joe could keep his mind off Lina.
The more he thought about it, the more he didn't like their exchange at the livery, and he wished now he would have stuck around and made an issue of things. Well, no … he'd had Jamie to look after. Given all the talkin' the kid had done on the overlook, and then to Ben again when they'd got home, Joe's plan had been exactly the right thing. Still, he wouldn't be comfortable until he found Lina and got to the bottom of whatever had upset her yesterday.
One thing was sure, it hadn't been 'nothing'.
They were turning toward the livery when Clem stepped out of the sheriff's office buckling his gun belt. He saw them and waved them over. Joe and Candy changed direction, coming to a halt outside the familiar building.
"Clem." Joe nodded. "How's city life?"
"Oh, it keeps a man from getting bored." Clem exchanged a nod with Candy. "Look, I'd be obliged if you two could keep an eye open while you're here."
Candy quirked a smile. "Bad guys?"
"Yep. We heard the Marquez brothers might be in town—what's left of 'em, anyway. The one got killed a while back holdin' up a stage outside of some little town down south, but the other two and their friends shot up everything else and they're wanted for …"
It didn't matter what else Clem said, because Joe wasn't listening anymore. Everything had fallen into bright, startling place, and he didn't even realize he had hauled Cochise around and raced for the Continental until he was outside the big front door. He slid down, tossed the reins over the hitching post, and ran around back. Candy appeared as he stopped outside the little bakery.
"Clem's comin'. What's—"
"They were here." The words tore from Joe's throat as he spotted the door hanging open, the trays and supplies scattered around the room.
No. No, no, not again …
His brain shook itself and then kicked in hard. Lina might not have been here when this happened—but she should be here now.
She should be, but she wasn't.
Joe forced away the roaring that was building in his ears. He was not going to fail someone else that he cared about, not again. Think, Cartwright! He didn't know where Lina stayed, but he could make a guess. Joe bolted back down the alley, through an open gate, over a fence. Candy's lithe form kept pace, at his back without question, and he could hear Clem's boots behind them. Around another saloon, past a mercantile and a blacksmith, behind a set of storage sheds … and into the Mexican quarter. He remembered the little store where they had bought hot chocolate ingredients well enough, maybe they would know where—
"Señor Cartwright!" The proprietor met him on the front steps, but Joe could already see the disturbance down the street. A group of women in various states of night attire, draped in shawls and coats that were (in some cases) obviously not their own, hovered across the road from what looked like a boarding house. Several men carrying rifles stood with them, eyeing the building warily. Joe was too far away to catch any of their conversation, but the tone of rapid distress was clear. A tight grip clutched his elbow as Clem arrived, and Joe squeezed the elderly señora's hand before gently disentangling himself and drifting toward the scene. Candy kept close to his side. Behind him, the proprietor spoke anxiously to Clem.
"Cartwright!" the deputy's voice snapped behind him, but Joe was in no mood to listen.
This would not happen again.
They stopped beside one of the riflemen, and Joe nodded across the road. "What's goin' on?"
A woman answered. "I was preparing breakfast—many of my boarders must be out to their work before the sun rises—when two men came. They pounded on the door, and I told them to go away. I have only women staying, no men need come in the night." She shuddered, and gripped her wrap more tightly. "One said he would shoot through the window if I did not let them in." Dark eyes begged for understanding. "How could I say no?"
"Course you couldn't," Candy soothed, touching her elbow briefly. She offered a pale smile in return, and Joe shifted impatiently.
"They shouted when they entered, woke everyone, made all the ladies come out to the kitchen." She ran a trembling hand along her braid, shot through with gray. "When Lina Marquez came one of them started toward to her, but …" The woman shook her head. "I keep a rifle in the corner, and Lina was close enough to reach it. The men backed away, but they won't go! They have all three been there all morning, none going anywhere." She eyed her companions. "At least they let the rest of us leave."
Joe's chest ached, the anger burning fierce and cold. She had been afraid—he had always known Lina was afraid, and he had let her put him off, and now …
No. This would not happen again.
"Are they watchin' the road?"
Clem arrived in their huddle just in time to hear the answer.
"One of them is, or was." A man motioned with his rifle toward the small front window, barely enough for more than a single person to see through. "We tried to go across once, but shots were fired."
"Okay." Clem nodded. "First we need to get everybody cleared out of here. We'll—"
"I'll go around back, see if I can get in that way."
"You stay here!" Clem snapped. "We're not going to make things worse by—"
"I'm not gonna get her shot." Joe exchanged a glare with the deputy, then added, "Somebody's gotta go, Clem. How else do you plan to get in there?"
He was going no matter what Clem said, but it would be better all around if the deputy wasn't fighting him on it.
Clem growled softly, glowering across the road. He and the Cartwrights didn't always see eye to eye about these types of situations, but they had been in plenty together and he knew them for good backup. He also had to know that Joe was right—there weren't many other options, except for backing off and letting the Marquez brothers get away, possibly with their intended target.
"Fine." Clem shook his head. "Go around, but don't get caught. I'll try to get them talking from out here - I'll signal you if I need you." He sighed. "Canaday, you go along, make sure he doesn't get himself shot."
Candy tipped his hat, then swung around to follow Joe, who was already vanishing behind a nearby saloon. Behind them, Clem's voice rang out. "You men in there, this is Deputy Foster! Let's talk!" Joe and Candy made a wide circle around, so that when they finally crossed the street there would be no chance that anyone inside the boarding house could see them. They slowed as the boarding house appeared, crouched, and approached on soft feet. Locating a window low enough to the ground that they wouldn't have too much trouble climbing through, Joe ducked up against the house and waited for Candy to join him.
"What's inside?" Candy hissed.
"Bedroom."
"Locked?"
"Guess we'll find out." Joe gingerly nudged at the sliding glass, holding his breath. Luck was with them—nothing caught, and the window was at least smooth enough in its track that the noise wouldn't be heard all the way into the kitchen. He exchanged a brief grin with Candy, then ducked through into the little room. Candy followed, noiseless as a cat, and they crossed to the partially open door.
To the left, the hall led to more doorways of the same type. To the right, it ran about twenty feet before opening into a wider area that Joe assumed to be the kitchen. Joe pulled his pistol and stepped out, placing his feet carefully. He was glad of that precaution when one of the floorboards started to creak beneath his weight. He pulled back quickly, then stepped across to the opposite side, relieved when it seemed more solid. Joe crept along the wall, stopping when he caught sight of a man with a rifle standing at the little window. Candy's shoulder was solid at his back. Joe looked around, and Candy raised one eyebrow. Joe shook his head.
He couldn't see Lina, or the second brother. They weren't close enough.
"You can't keep this up forever!" Clem's voice rose from the outside. "The sheriff's comin', and he's bringing more men! We'll have this place surrounded!"
Was Clem bluffing, or had he sent someone back for Roy? It was hard to tell. Anyway, the Marquez brothers seemed unmoved by the threat—neither bothered to respond—which in Joe's experience was generally a bad sign. He edged a few steps closer, and laid eyes on the second brother. The man was leaning against the far counter, holding a pistol on the back wall. Lina must be there. For a moment the desire to see her, to know that she was unharmed, was so strong that Joe very nearly bolted out of hiding to jump the man right there.
That was an awful idea, and could very well get them all killed. Joe settled back, and forced a long breath out through his nose, and waited. They would get their chance. The Marquez brothers would let their guard down, even if only for a second, and he would be ready.
He wished he could see Lina, though. He wished she knew they were there.
"You've already got enough trouble. Come on out before things get any worse for you!"
The one with the pistol snorted. "I think they can only hang us once."
"I think I would not like to be hanged at all," the one at the window mumbled, craning his neck to peer up the road.
"I think you might have thought of that long ago."
Lina's voice, acidic and fatigued and blessedly alive, sent a rush of relief through Joe even though he had already known she wasn't seriously hurt. They would none of them still be here if she had dropped the rifle. Candy's hand fell briefly on his shoulder, and Joe tossed back a quick grin.
"Keep quiet, woman."
An indelicate snort greeted that, and Joe stifled a chuckle. It really wasn't funny, not now.
"We can stay out here all day!"
The one with the pistol shifted and settled back, stretching his legs one by one. "It's true, you know." He lifted an eyebrow toward Lina. "The longer we are here, the more likely someone will be hurt."
"Then leave," she snapped.
"Are you agreeing to come quietly?"
"What do you think?"
"Then we are back at the beginning, no?"
Not quite. Not with him and Candy here in the hallway, ready to strike. Marquez number two was right, though—the longer this kept up, the better were the chances of somebody being hurt, either on purpose or by accident. And the longer he and Candy crouched here in plain sight, the better were the chances that one of the Marquez brothers would notice them. If they stayed where they were, that probably wouldn't take more than a couple of minutes.
Crap.
Joe eyed the room. The kitchen was well-kept, scrubbed and swept clean. Not much lay scattered around. The table was between him and Marquez number two, an extra obstacle for either of them. If he could reach one of the chairs ...
Candy nudged him, motioning with his chin. Just inside the doorway, almost out of Joe's sight, a broom leaned against the wall. Joe sat back on his heels. It wouldn't do much damage on its own, but any projectile was generally enough to make a man flinch, no matter how much weight it carried. It was enough—he could work with it. Joe nodded, then pointed to himself and Marquez number two, leaving Candy the brother at the window. Candy slowly shifted from his crouch.
Clem would murder them both, probably with his bare hands.
Marquez number one spotted them. "Hey!" he shouted, and Joe lunged.
A pistol barked behind him. Praying that Lina would take cover, Joe seized the broom and flung it over the table. As he'd hoped, Marquez number two ducked automatically, which left him unable to avoid Joe's flying tackle. Staggering and swearing—not Candy's voice. Shouts from out in the street. Joe punched his man twice in the jaw, took one in the ribs and a boot to the knee, and delivered a hook that snapped his opponent's head back into the counter. As the man sagged, he heard Candy's sharp, "Uh uh, back off now." Marquez number one eased back from his fallen rifle, clutching a bleeding arm. Candy kicked it away, pistol steady on his opponent's chest. Joe heaved a long breath, then released his hold on Marquez number two's shirt and quirked a grin.
"Guess that wasn't so bad."
"Cartwright!" Clem's voice bellowed from the door.
Candy's wide smile flashed. "I think the bad part's still comin'."
"Joe?" Joe whipped around in time to see Lina scramble up from the floor. She was unsteady and disheveled, eyes wild, fatigue etched deep into her face, but somehow she had never looked better to him. Lina gaped at Joe, then at Candy. "What are you doing here? You could have been killed!"
"You could all have been killed!" Clem snarled, banging into the room.
"We weren't," Joe snapped. Lina hugged her arms around herself—a gesture so unlike the woman he knew that Joe forgot about arguing with the deputy. "Hey." Joe gentled his voice, reaching for her elbow. She moved away, and he tried to catch her eyes. "Are you okay?"
"Didn't have much choice, Clem," Candy added, stepping back as several more men entered, rifles still at the ready. Joe hoped nobody else got shot in the confusion. "They saw us."
"What part of don't let them see you wasn't clear?"
Candy sighed. "Weren't many places to hide."
"You could have been killed." Lina's voice shook.
"But we weren't." Joe ducked his head and stepped in front of her, trying to shield her in the increasingly crowded little room. For all her cheerful sociability, Lina Marquez was a private person who didn't enjoy too much attention. With the adrenaline starting to fade, Joe's own fear and frustration surged again. Now wasn't the time, though. He forced a smile. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"
She shook her head, eyes still fixed on some point near the floor. "Neither laid a finger on me."
"That's good." His grin widened, more real this time. "Good for you."
Joe watched Lina's rigid carriage relax just a touch. "What are you doing here?"
"Saw Clem when Candy and I rode in this morning. He told us the Marquez brothers had been seen around town—" her gaze flickered up, startled, "—and I just put it together. Figured you were in trouble, came looking."
Long fingers pressed over her mouth. "I didn't think you were coming back until the weekend."
"Yeah, well … seemed like something was wrong yesterday. I was worried."
Finally, her eyes met his. A bright sheen began to pool there, and Joe cursed silently. It wasn't right for Lina to be crying in front of all these people …
"Miss Marquez?" He was almost glad to hear Clem's voice. The deputy touched his hat to Lina, cast a neutral glance in Joe's direction—he and Candy weren't exactly out of the doghouse, but there was a job to do—and continued. "We're gonna need to talk to you about all this." Clem grimaced apologetically. "Now, I can do that here and now, let some of the boys take these two in," he motioned to where Candy and several of the other men were herding the brothers out the door, Joe's opponent still looking distinctly shaky on his feet, "or you can get cleaned up and rested, then come down sometime later today or tomorrow."
Lina straightened, a hint of her usual poise returning. "Not here, please."
"Course, ma'am." Clem tipped his hat again. "We'll talk in a while, then." He leveled a sideways glance at Joe. "I'll be talkin' to you too."
Joe quirked a grin. "I look forward to it."
Clem snorted, and disappeared after his prisoners into the street. Lina shifted. "He is angry with you."
"We didn't really talk out that last part."
She huffed out a quick, uneven breath. "You could have been killed."
"So could you." Joe pinned her with a hard gaze. "And I ain't letting anybody else I care about get hurt or killed, not if I have any chance to stop it."
Lina's eyes widened briefly, and then she touched his wrist—the first contact she had allowed since this whole thing started. "I am sorry, I did not think."
Anger flared. "Don't be sorry. This sure ain't about me. But don't be mad either, because I'd do it again." He smiled briefly, without humor. "I don't do helpless, remember?"
A distant smile played across her face, and Joe was relieved.
"Lina!"
The women must have been cleared to finally return—they rushed back into the kitchen, surrounding both Lina and Joe and speaking rapidly in Spanish. There was no mistaking both the concern and blatant curiosity in their eyes and touch, and Lina visibly tensed once again. She stepped back, found herself trapped by the counter, and raised her hands.
"Please! Por favor!" The din hardly subsided, but Lina pressed on in English. Apparently, she wanted to be sure Joe understood. "Please, I must go into the sheriff's office to give a report on what has happened. Mr. Cartwright has agreed to escort me, so I must be ready quickly. I do not wish to inconvenience him." Pleading eyes sought him through the crowd, and Joe nodded. She would have to face them sometime—she lived here, after all—but it didn't have to be right now.
The ladies reluctantly parted to allow Lina through and into the hallway, and Joe found himself suddenly the undivided center of attention. Under the weight of their concerted gaze, he offered a tight smile and backed toward the doorway. "I'll, uh … tell her I'll wait outside." Joe clapped his hat onto his head, turned, and fled the scene.
Lina joined him shortly, her dress fresh and hair rebraided, and together they started for the sheriff's office. For a long while silence went with them, comfortable for their familiarity but not for the subject between them. Joe fought with himself over it, but he finally couldn't help the question.
The accusation.
"It was them you saw yesterday, wasn't it?"
She hesitated, then nodded. He waited, but Lina didn't seem inclined to offer anything further.
He wasn't ready to let it go.
"Why didn't you tell me?" She bit her lip, looking away. "I asked you what was wrong, right then! Why did you lie about it?"
"Because I have seen them around every corner, dozens of time since I have come here!" Lina finally snapped, her voice frustrated and thick. "I was afraid they would come, afraid they would follow, and so my mind produced them at every opportunity." She swiped angrily at her wet eyes. "Had I bothered someone every time I thought I spotted one of my husband's brothers down the street or through a doorway, the town would by now think me entirely mad!" A sob broke free, and then another. Joe rounded on her, pulled her close, and let her cry.
He should have made her tell him sooner.
Joe wanted to scold her for ignoring her very real fears, for keeping the danger all to herself. He wanted to make her promise that she would tell him first thing if she ever felt unsafe again. He wanted to demand whether she didn't understand what it would do to him, to lose someone else he loved to something so senseless and violent.
It wasn't the time, and it wasn't about him. Joe just stood still and let her cry on him, in the middle of a back street between a saloon and a stable, both of whose inhabitants were probably laughing and watching to see what would happen next. He didn't care. If Lina needed to cry, this woman who had seen him through so much, he would be there for her.
"My mama died when I was very small, and my papa sent me to my grandmother to live." Joe could barely hear her, voice muffled as it was against his chest, but she seemed content and he didn't plan to ask her to speak up. "I loved my grandmother. She raised and taught me, and I cared for her until her death. I would have gone to Maria's home then—her mama and mine were sisters—but my father came to take me then." She shivered, and Joe ran a hand over her dark braid. "John Walker allowed his men to do as they wished with the farmers in the area." John Walker. Everything evil in Los Robles went right back to him. Joe suppressed a growl. The man was a menace, and he was glad that they had ended his reign of terror. "They often demanded payment for safety—money or … or wives." Anger flared, hot and deep. Joe clenched his jaw so hard he thought his teeth might break. He had faced men like these often enough—petty thugs who ran roughshod over the lives of others simply because they could. "My father arranged that I should marry Diego Marquez in order that no man of John Walker's would burn his crops or slaughter his cows." She was still now, her voice soft and flat. Joe tightened his grip. "He was … Diego was …" Lina shuddered, and shook her head. "No. He is dead now." She blew out a long breath. "When the Walkers were killed and his men no longer held such power in the town, Diego and his brothers and some of their friends turned to robbing stages." Disdain colored her voice, and Joe was glad to hear some trace of his Lina return. "My husband was killed, but the others shot all aboard and took everything. I knew that Juan would expect my father to give me to him now that Diego was dead," she shuddered again, deeply, "and so I ran." Another long, slow breath. "And here I am."
Here she was, and he was fiercely glad of it. Lina didn't deserve anything that he had just heard. No woman did.
"Is there anybody else who might come after you? Your pa, or any of the others?"
Lina shook her head. "Papa will not come. No ... no one else will come."
Joe smoothed her braid again. "Then you're safe now."
"Safe." She was silent for a long minute, then expelled a breathy, wondering laugh. Her head was heavy and warm against his shoulder. "I … I think perhaps I you are right."
He chuckled. "Smart woman."
A damp snort drifted up, and Joe tightened his arms around her.