Chapter 2
Rock Creek, Nebraska 1872
The stagecoach rumbled to a halt in Rock Creek, its wooden wheels kicking up a cloud of dust. Lara and Joaquin stepped out onto the road, a cool crisp breeze swept through the street, catching Lara's hat and sending it askew. Her long blonde tresses, once neatly bound, came loose from their leather tie, dancing around her face like wisps of gold.
Shielding her eyes against the brightness, Lara took a moment to let her vision adjust. Rock Creek sprawled before her, far more bustling than she had pictured. The streets pulsed with life, a steady hum of voices and the sound of horses' hooves. Buildings, though modest, stood proud and well-kept, their fresh paint and sturdy frames a testament to the town's prosperity.
With the keenness of a hawk, Lara's eyes swept across the scene, taking in the prominent landmarks and essential establishments. The general store's sturdy facade caught her attention, its windows displaying an array of goods. The quaint charm of the local inn beckoned weary travelers, its porch adorned with rocking chairs that promised respite. At the center of town, the jailhouse stood resolute, a symbol of law and order in the frontier.
"Lara," Joaquin called, his voice low and urgent as he pulled her towards the hotel. "Let's get a room and then have dinner."
"Good, I'm famished," Lara replied, following him closely. The journey had left her weary, and the promise of a meal and a soft bed was enticing.
As they approached the front desk of the hotel, Joaquin placed their bags down with a soft thud. "We'd like a room, please," he said, his tone polite but tinged with exhaustion.
The man behind the counter, gruff-looking and middle-aged, peered at Joaquin with narrowed eyes. His next words came out as a sneer, laced with disgust. "No Injuns."
Joaquin sighed, a weariness beyond physical fatigue settling into his shoulders. "I'm not an Indian," he stated, his voice level despite the clear insult.
The man leaned forward, his gaze scrutinizing. "You sure look like one," he muttered, suspicion dripping from every word.
Lara, sensing the rising tension, stepped in. Her voice was calm yet firm as she addressed the man. "Sir, we've been traveling for many days," she said, appealing to his sense of empathy. "We're exhausted," she added, hoping to diffuse the situation.
The man hesitated, his resolve visibly wavering. "It's just that we don't allow any—" he began, but Lara swiftly cut him off.
"He's my brother. We're both from California," she interjected, her interruption punctuated by a smile that hinted at mischief. Leaning in closer to the desk, she allowed a subtle reveal of her cleavage. "He's not an Indian. You have my word."
The man's demeanor shifted, visibly flustered by Lara's assertiveness and charm. "Well, I, uh... Sorry, ma'am, for my mistake," he mumbled, his tone contrite as he realized his error.
"Thank you," Lara said, her smile widening as she batted her lashes gently. The man handed Joaquin the keys, the earlier tension dissipating under Lara's gracious manner.
As they ascended the stairs, Lara trailed behind Joaquin, suppressing her laughter. Each step made her fatigue more apparent, her body yearning for rest. The moment Joaquin swung open the door to their room, Lara gratefully collapsed onto the bed, every fiber of her being craving the comfort it offered.
Joaquin allowed her an hour of undisturbed sleep before gently rousing her. Though tempted to let her rest through the night, he knew hunger would gnaw at her if she missed dinner. His touch was gentle as he woke her, his concern for her well-being evident in the softness of his voice.
Their footsteps echoed through the crowded halls of the hotel as they made their way to the restaurant. Yet, as they entered the dining area, they once again encountered the familiar reaction to Joaquin's presence. The air grew thick with judgment and suspicion, curious glances and whispered comments following them as they moved through the room.
Undeterred, Lara drew upon her charm once more. Her smile was disarming as she engaged the man guarding the entrance, her words carefully chosen to work their magic. With a mix of wit and grace, she persuaded him to grant them entry, though doubt still lingered in his gaze. As if to punctuate the moment, her stomach growled audibly, adding a touch of humor to the tension that had just dissipated.
They found a table in a corner of the room, somewhat secluded from the prying eyes of other diners. Lara sighed as they sat down, the weight of their constant struggle settling over her. "Small towns are a lot more difficult," she murmured, her voice tinged with weariness.
Joaquin shook his head, a mix of annoyance at their circumstances and amusement at Lara's quick thinking playing across his features. "I don't know how you do it," he said, a hint of admiration in his tone.
Lara's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Because men are so easily persuaded," she said, raising an eyebrow at him and offering a playful wink.
"You mean stupid," Joaquin retorted with a smirk.
"Sometimes," Lara conceded, her eyes scanning the menu. The earlier growl of her stomach had grown into a persistent ache. "I'm glad you woke me for dinner. I'm starving. What will you have?" Her voice carried a hint of eagerness as she turned to Joaquin.
But Joaquin's demeanor had suddenly changed. His gaze was fixed on the entrance, his body tensing as if ready for flight. "Lara," he said, his tone urgent and low.
Lara's senses immediately heightened, attuned to the shift in Joaquin's mood. "What is it?" she asked, her eyes following his line of sight.
"I have to leave," Joaquin said, his words barely above a whisper.
Understanding flooded Lara's features. "Go," she whispered back, her heart beginning to race.
"I'll get a message to you," Joaquin promised, already rising from his seat.
Lara nodded, her gaze now locked on the group of men gathered at the doorway. Her mind raced, calculating their next move.
"Joaquin, hurry," Lara urged, standing up as well. "Go."
As Joaquin slipped away, Lara's mind whirled with possibilities. She knew she had to create a diversion, something to draw attention away from Joaquin's departure. With a sudden burst of inspiration, she moved towards the front of the restaurant, her steps quickening as she neared the door.
Then, with a well-practiced move, Lara clutched at her chest dramatically. She allowed her body to go limp, her movements calculated even as she prayed she wouldn't collide with anything on her descent to the ground. Her plan unfolded flawlessly, a rush of relief flooding her senses as a crowd quickly gathered around her fallen form.
Concerned murmurs rose from the onlookers, drowning out any commotion that might have accompanied Joaquin's exit. Shielded by the swarm of worried patrons, the lawmen's pursuit was momentarily halted, their attention diverted by the spectacle before them.
Lara lay still, her breath shallow as someone fanned her face. Slowly, she fluttered her eyes open, the glimmer of consciousness returning as she played her part in the charade. Each beat of her heart was a reminder of the lengths she would go to safeguard Joaquin and preserve their mission.
An elderly man's voice rang out above the others, his hands waving frantically in the air. "Someone call the doctor," he urged, seeking assistance amid the commotion.
Lara's voice was weak but audible as she responded. "No, thank you. I'll be fine," she sighed heavily, glancing at the concerned faces surrounding her.
The elderly man helped her to a nearby chair, his weathered hands gentle but firm. "Are you sure, miss?" he asked, concern etched into the lines of his face.
"Yes, thank you, sir," Lara assured him, summoning a grateful smile.
As the crowd began to thin, a man approached. His shirt was adorned with a silver star, marking him as a figure of authority. "Are you alright, ma'am?" he asked, his features etched with concern as he sought to assess her well-being amidst the lingering chaos.
"Yes, marshal," Lara stammered, injecting a note of confusion into her voice. "I must be tired from all the traveling."
The marshal's eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of suspicion creeping into his gaze. "Where's your friend?" he inquired, his tone casual but probing.
Lara looked up at him, her eyes wide and innocent, as if she had just awoken from a deep slumber. Her act was woven with cunning precision as she replied, "Friend?"
"The man you were having dinner with," the marshal clarified, his gaze steady and searching.
Lara glanced around the restaurant with feigned sincerity. "Well, he's right there," she said, pausing as if confused. "Well, he was."
The marshal's expression hardened slightly. "Come with us, Ma'am," he said, extending his hand to help her to her feet.
Lara's heart raced, but she maintained her composure. "I don't understand," she said, following the marshal and his deputy back to their office.
As they entered the small, sparsely furnished room, the marshal gestured for Lara to take a seat. She perched on the edge of the chair, her posture tense despite her outward appearance of calm.
"What brings you to Rock Creek, Ma'am?" the marshal inquired, his tone conversational but laced with underlying suspicion.
Lara chose her words carefully. "I was, well, I'm just headin' east is all. I'm looking for an old friend."
"What's your name?" the marshal pressed, his piercing gaze never leaving her face.
"Lara Alba," she replied, her eyes darting around the office, taking in every detail.
The young deputy, who had been silent until now, chimed in. "You ain't from around here," he observed, his accent thick with local inflection.
"I'm from California," Lara confirmed, her voice steady despite the growing tension in the room. "Marshal, I'm feeling a bit faint, if you don't mind," she added, hoping to garner some sympathy and perhaps end the interrogation.
But the marshal was undeterred. He shut the door behind him with a soft click and pushed a chair in her direction. "Ma'am, where's Joaquin Vasquez?" he asked, his tone now more insistent.
Lara's heart skipped a beat, but she maintained her facade of innocence. "Who?" she asked, her brow furrowing in apparent confusion.
"The man you were havin' dinner with," the marshal clarified, his eyes locked on hers, searching for any sign of deception.
Lara shook her head, her expression a mixture of confusion and mild indignation. "You must be mistaken," she insisted. "He told me his name was Jack, Jack Mitchell."
"You're sayin' you don't know him?" the Marshal pressed, his gaze unwavering.
Lara forced a smile, infusing it with as much sincerity as she could muster. "Well, I met him on the train yesterday," she explained. "We both took the coach from Omaha here."
The deputy interjected again, his voice carrying a note of triumph. "You checked into the hotel with him."
A flicker of panic coursed through Lara, but she quickly suppressed it. How long had they been followed? She chided herself for not being more observant. "Oh, you must be mistaken," she said, her voice steady despite her inner turmoil.
The marshal leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "Mr. Billings, the Hotel owner, tells me you both checked in," he said slowly. "He said you claimed he was your brother."
Lara bit her lower lip, her mind racing as she glanced across the street at the hotel. She needed to think quickly, to find a way out of this situation.
"Ma'am?" The marshal pressed, his patience clearly wearing thin. He retrieved a wanted poster from his desk drawer, unfolding it with deliberate slowness. "This is him. Now, either you are helping him of your own free will, or he's forcing you to."
Lara's resolve hardened, her chin lifting slightly in defiance. "I told you, I don't know anyone named Vasquez," she stated firmly. "That man was escorting me to the hotel. The owner must have thought otherwise. He was simply carrying my bags for me, that's all."
The deputy, eager to contribute, chimed in once more. "He said you were up there for over an hour."
Lara stood up, her patience wearing thin. She raised an eyebrow, her tone turning icy. "Have you brought me here to be impertinent?"
The marshal held up a hand, silencing his deputy. "Just answer the question," he insisted, his voice low and serious.
Lara's composure never wavered as she met the marshal's gaze. "Either throw me in jail," she said coolly, "or I'll be on my way now."
A tense moment passed before the marshal finally nodded. "Thank you, Ma'am, for your time," he said, escorting her to the door.
As Lara walked across the street, she could feel their eyes on her back. She glanced back once, her face a mask of innocence, before continuing toward the hotel. Her heart raced, but her steps remained steady, determined not to betray the turmoil within.
Inside the marshal's office, the young deputy turned to his superior, confusion evident in his voice. "Why'd you let her go?"
The marshal's eyes never left Lara's retreating form. "She ain't done nothin'," he said slowly. "Just watch her, Peterson. She knows Vasquez."
"Alright, marshal," the young deputy nodded, his tone a mixture of respect and lingering doubt.
As night fell, Kid McCloud, the marshal, sat at his desk, the wanted poster of Joaquin Vasquez spread out before him. The presence of a wanted criminal in his town raised serious concerns, especially considering the potential danger it posed to the safety and security of Rock Creek.
The fact that the wanted individual was accompanied by a young woman, scarcely past her girlhood, only deepened the mystery. Kid's brow furrowed as he pondered the enigma of Lara Alba. There was more to her than met the eye, of that he was certain. And he was resolved to uncover the truth, no matter where it led.