Once Upon a Mail Order Bride - Linda Broday Page 0,86
invisible from the road. There lay the wagon on its side, the horses gone. Guns drawn, he and Hawk dismounted. Not a soul was in sight.
A piece of paper fluttered in the breeze, stuck to the wood of the wagon by the sharpened fork. Ridge pulled the note off and read the words. Better luck next time.
Dallas snorted and clenched a meaty fist tight. “I hope I meet up with them again.”
“So do I.” Ridge scoured the area and found what he was looking for at the other end of the gully. He squatted in the sand next to a lot of tracks—both human and animal. “Horses were waiting here for Tiny, Pickens, and the woman to make the transfer. They abandoned the wagon and rode off.”
“Wonder what they did with Jack’s horses from the wagon.” The big fiddle player scanned the area. “Did they take them along?”
“Either that or turned them loose.” Ridge let out a string of cusswords. They’d lose more time having to look for them. Dammit!
“Awful strange about that goldarned sassy woman. Did they take her with them?”
Ridge bit back deep irritation. He’d never known Dallas to be so full of questions. “It does appear that way.”
“Why? They didn’t need her anymore.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she was in on the whole plan.” Ridge strode to Cob and stuck his foot in the stirrup. “We need to look for Jack’s horses and get back to town. I’m interested in what the stage driver has to say.”
“If he hasn’t gone out on his run. But ain’t this Friday?”
“Yep.”
“That’s good luck for us. He always has a layover on Friday and won’t head out until tomorrow.”
Ridge spurred his gelding. They needed some answers, so they could be ready in case Tiny and Pickens returned.
After spending a couple of hours looking for the wagon team and coming up empty, they gave up and headed back to town. If the horses were loose, they’d eventually find their way to grass and water.
Ridge and Dallas aimed straight for the stage line office only to learn the driver, George Finch, had made tracks for the local watering hole. Being in the shank of the afternoon, the Wild Rose Saloon business seemed to be picking up. Piano music met Ridge’s ears as he pushed through the batwing doors. George sat a table with a cold, frothy beer in front of him, enjoying his short layover.
Ridge’s spurs clinked as he strode toward his quarry and pulled out a chair. “A good day to have a drink, I reckon, George.”
The driver looked up with a long face. “Never in all my born days have I seen the like.”
George Finch was about Ridge’s age, best he could figure, although his black hair and mustache sported a few silver streaks. The man was built like a bull, stout and tall.
“It’s been an odd one, that’s for sure.” The beer looked inviting, but Ridge had no time for relaxing. “You up to answering some questions?”
“Steele, I had nothing to do with that breakout.”
“I’m not accusing you, George. I need to know about the woman on your coach.”
“She flagged me down a couple of miles outside of town and gave me a dollar to ride on in and an extra two bits to let her sit up on top.”
“Any idea why on top?”
George took a big gulp of beer and wiped the foam from his thick mustache. “She said she wanted a good view of the town when she rode in. That’s all I know. If I’d have thought she was mixed up with those prisoners, I wouldn’t even have stopped for her.”
“We don’t know that for a fact.” Although it certainly appeared that way. “Did she give you a name?”
“Nope, but then I didn’t ask either.”
“How about any baggage with her?”
“Nope. Just her by herself. To me, it looked like she’d been hurrying, because of the way she was perspiring.”
“Like how?”
“Sweat stains under her arms and trickling down her neck into her…uh…you know.”
“Bosom?” Ridge tried not to laugh.
“Yeah, that. I tried not to look, but I couldn’t help it. She had real big ones, and the material of her dress was some filmy, see-through kind. Her lips were bright red and shiny.”
“What did the rest of her look like? You did lift your eyes up to her face, didn’t you?”
George flushed bright red. “I tried. Really, I did. But she kept fiddling with her buttons, and before I knew it, she…uh…she spilled out. I’m no pervert. I