“Hey,” Larado said with a grin, “look who’s comin’.”
Lark walked along the wooden sidewalk carrying her small valise. She knew the stage stopped in front of the butcher shop near the bank. She’d wait there for it. Where she was going, she couldn’t be sure. She ought to yell “calf rope,” which was Texan for admitting defeat, and wire her uncle. He would be forgiving, but Lark was not only defiant but proud. How could she go home, hat in hand, where no doubt her twin sister, Lacey, the perfect example of young womanhood, was now planning her perfect wedding to young Homer What’s-his-name?
She heard the sound of horses and turned to see that Texan from last night and the bad hombre, Snake, who had been cheating him at cards. What was the Texan’s name? Oh, yes, Larado. He was either stupid, drunk, or blind not to have seen what was going on at that poker table, yet here he was riding into town with the bad hombre.
She was almost abreast of the bank now, trying to decide whether to acknowledge that rascal Snake and the cowboy who had cost her her job.
She heard the two men dismount.
“Miss,” Larado called.
She turned, not sure what to expect. The look in the Texan’s dark eyes told her what he’d like. Land’s sake, just because she worked in a saloon, did every man think she’d fall on her back for a few coins? “Yes?”
The Texan touched the brim of his hat. “Mornin’, ma’am.”
She almost wanted to scream at him: You cost me my job, you hare-brained idiot, and now you speak to me? Instead, she gritted her teeth and barely nodded to him.
Larado smiled that engaging, crooked grin. “You don’t seem the type for a saloon, miss.”
She felt herself color. “That’s hardly your business,” she snapped. “A girl’s got to eat.”
“You two stop all that jawin’,” Snake griped. “We got things to do.”
“Miss Lark.” Larado took off his hat. “The hitchin’ rail’s down for the street repair. Maybe we could get you to hold our horses while we do a little business?”
“I reckon I can be obliging.” She took a deep breath. The Texan was not only handsome with a lock of black hair hanging in his dark eyes—that grin would rock any woman back in her high-button shoes.
They handed over their reins.
Larado pushed his Stetson back. “We’re much obliged. Won’t be gone a minute.”
She set her small valise down, took the reins from the pair, and watched them swagger into the bank. She didn’t know what business they had in there. She figured the cowboy was broke after last night, and Snake was a ruffian, not the kind who put his money in banks. She fidgeted a long moment, wondering when the stage would arrive.
Abruptly, the early morning silence was shattered by the sound of gunshots from the bank.
The two horses reared and whinnied at the sudden noise, and she hung on to the reins for dear life. People hurried out of buildings, shouting and running. Lark fought to hang on to the rearing horses. What in God’s name is happening in the bank?
Chapter Two
Larado was still feeling like the dogs had been dragging him around under the porch as he and Snake went into the bank.
“Damn, I’m cold,” Snake muttered. He had his hat pulled low and his collar turned up.
Larado felt cold too, and his nose was dripping. As they approached the teller’s cage, he pulled out his red bandana and brought it up to wipe his nose.
The little teller looked up as the two approached the counter. With alarm, he noted that they didn’t look like anyone to fool with. What’s more, one of them had his collar up as if to hide his identity, the other appeared to be holding a bandana over his face. Before either of the two could say anything, he yelled, “Mr. Barclay, come out here, we’re being robbed!”
“What? Mister, you’re makin’ a big mistake—” Larado blinked as the fat owner came running out of the back room, waving a shotgun. From the corner of his eye, he saw Snake go for his Colt. Instinctively Larado grabbed for his too. His hand was still shaky from the booze, and he dropped it. When the Colt hit the floor it went off, and the bullet hit the big kerosene light fixture with a resounding roar, resulting in a shower of broken glass.
“Don’t shoot!” the little teller begged. “We’ll give you the money.”
“Over my dead body!” the fat owner yelled.
Snake pointed his pistol at the bank official. “Mr. Barclay, I reckon that can be arranged.”
“Snake, are you loco?” Larado said. “We ain’t—”
“Shut up!” Snake snapped. “You! Open that damned safe!”
The fat man was shaking as he laid the shotgun on the counter and turned to open the door to the big black safe. He pulled out two leather sacks and tossed them across the counter. “Just don’t kill us.”
Snake grabbed both sacks as Larado, his vision blurred, leaned over and picked up his pistol. From outside, he heard the noise of shouting and running as people on the street must have figured out what was happening.
“Let’s get out of here!” Snake commanded.
Larado needed no urging. How had he gotten mixed up in this anyhow? He saw the fat man reaching for the shotgun again and that put wings on his feet. As they ran out the front door, the shotgun roared and Snake screamed, “I’m hit!” followed by a string of oaths. Larado stopped to help him even as Snake stumbled and dropped one of the bank bags. Larado grabbed it up.
The fat banker ran out of the bank waving the shotgun and yelling, “Stop them two robbers! They’ve just killed my teller!” He aimed and fired again.
“Oh hell!” Snake swore. “He’s reloaded. We may get the next one in the butt!”
That’d make for mighty sore riding. Larado ran even faster. Out on the wooden sidewalk, Lark hung on to the reins gamely although the scared horses reared and almost lifted her off the ground.
With a curse, Snake yanked his reins from the girl’s hand and tried to mount. Around them, people were running and shouting for the sheriff.
“We got to get out of here!” Larado yelled and helped Snake mount up.
Lark’s dark eyes were wide with surprise. “What are you two—?”
“Shut up!” Snake snarled.
“It ain’t polite to tell a lady to shut up!” Larado scolded him.
“We got a town comin’ to lynch us, a riled-up banker wavin’ a shotgun, and you’re worried about how to treat a lady?” Snake said.
“Well,” Larado said, “after all, I am a Texan.”
The banker fired again and Snake let loose with a string of oaths. “We’ll meet at my camp on the bend of Rock Creek. You know the place?”
Larado nodded.
“Then let’s get the hell out of here!”
The fat banker now stopped to reload his weapon as men ran out of businesses carrying rifles and shotguns.
They didn’t look like a crowd who would listen to any explanation, Larado thought. He jerked his reins from Lark’s hand and mounted up, leaving the astonished girl staring up at him as he galloped away. He wished he had time to explain to her that the whole thing was a big mistake, but there appeared to be a lynch party gathering up and he didn’t intend to be the honoree. At the end of the street he and Snake