Wilma's doctor had said Cass was drugged, not poisoned—which had sounded like a bit of hair-splitting to his mind. Dr. Berger had hypothesized that Poppy must have pricked Cass's jugular vein with a super-powered jolt of opium. That's why he'd fallen asleep so fast.
Well, whatever that stuff had been, Cass didn't want to be pricked by it again. The stinger ring had given him a hangover with none of the feel-good benefits that made a headache worthwhile.
Grimacing into the stream of daylight pouring past his curtains, Cass yawned, stretched, and scratched his chest. Glancing south of his navel, he realized for the first time he'd been shucked.
Imagine that. Me butt-naked in a whorehouse, without a single redhead in sight. Where's Sadie?
He reached for his trousers. At about the same time, a commotion started in the hall. He recognized Collie's gruff, backwoods grumble.
"Where'd you hide my coon? He'd better not be in your travel bag. No coon of mine is sailing to New Orleans! You got that, Freckles?"
A tiny foot stomped in indignation. "I am not Freckles! Just for that, you're going to have to give me your harmonica."
"What?"
"You heard me," Jazi said imperiously.
"I don't have a harmonica!"
"Oh yes, you do. You stole Gator's."
"Shh!" Collie hissed. "Vandy dropped it in the tub of mudbugs."
Jazi giggled. "Serves you right."
"Listen here, you rotten girl. You said you'd give Vandy back if I whittled you a coon. Well, I whittled you a coon."
"Rotten girl, am I?"
Biting his tongue to keep from laughing, Cass cracked open his door. Jazi and Vandy had been inseparable last night, much to Collie's annoyance. Nevermind that Collie had hoisted the child from a would-be grave. Jazi had declared Vandy was her hero. To her mind, the coon had braved witches, snakes, and bullets to run to her rescue.
Collie had argued that Vandy heard a rattler, decided it was dinnertime, and did what comes naturally to coons. Judging by the stand-off this morning, Cass guessed that Collie was no closer to winning the argument. Jazi, who smelled like a strawberry patch, stood toe-to-toe with her red-faced opponent. Even though Collie towered two feet above her, Jazi wasn't the least bit intimidated.
"Just for calling me names, you owe me a whistle," she scolded. "And a shoe shine. And some salt-water taffy. Better make it orange-flavored, if you want your coon back."
"That's blackmail!"
Cass donned his poker face and stepped into the hall. "Is there a problem, folks??"
"Jazi stole my coon! You're a tin-star. Arrest her!"
"Good morning, Cass," Jazi chimed in brightly. "Collie's being an ogre again. Can you blame Vandy for preferring to be with me?"
"Not in the least."
"Hey!"
Cass chuckled. "Don't you two ever get divorced. It'll be hard on the cubs."
"Huh?"
Jazi grinned. "Cass knows all about grown-up things. Would you like an invitation to my tea party, Cass? I baked some lovely gingerbread."
"It's pretend," Collie warned.
Jazi sniffed. "Shows you how much you know. Vandy thinks it's divine."
"Well, that explains everything," Collie grumbled. "Vandy! Get your ring-tailed fanny out here!"
"Mon dieu," Wilma scolded, hiking her skirt as she hurried up the stairs. "Qu'est-ce qui se passe? Do you want to wake the dead, chirens?"
Jazi quailed, edging closer to Cass. "Does she mean the witch?"
"No, sweetheart." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Wilma was just worried about... er, folks who need their beauty rest. Like your mama."
"Speak for yourself, churl," Randie teased with a yawn. Appealingly rumpled, she was strolling out of Jazi's room in a flowing aqua gown, which couldn't quite hide the sweet little bulge in her womb.
Randie had confessed last night that she was pregnant with Baron's child. Apparently, she'd told Baron the news when he—or rather, Poppy—had invited her to Lampasas. Despite how Randie had misled him, she had high hopes that Baron would marry her, or at least provide for the child. Since he would no longer be taking Poppy's "medicines," his doctor expected him to make a full recovery. And Baron's attorney expected him to be fully exonerated.
Knowing Baron as well as he did, Cass didn't share the Pinkertons' belief that Baron had ordered the murder of innocents. But Cass did believe that a horrified, guilt-ridden Baron had tried to protect his wife from the law. For 20 years, Baron had been living a private hell, married to a mentally unbalanced woman—a woman whom, deep down, he had never stopped loving.
Cass hoped that Baron could finally be happy with Randie.
"Has anyone seen Sadie?" Randie asked. "I think Gator may have mistaken my traveling trunk for hers. They're practically identical, and mine's missing."
Jazi sucked in her breath. "Oh no! I put the gingerbread in Mama's trunk."
Collie blanched. "You did what?!"
Muttering a hair-raising oath, the boy turned and bolted down the hall.
As Collie's noisy clomping echoed in the stairwell, Cass hiked an eyebrow at Wilma. "What was that all about?"
The madam chuckled, shaking her head. "It appears that Vandy may be on the next train to Denver. With Sadie."
Chapter 24
Sadie checked her pocket watch and frowned. The time was 12 minutes past the hour. The train whistle should have blown by now. Two short toots would have signified the locomotive was chugging forward.
Opening her stateroom door, she looked up and down the Pullman's corridor. Passengers in sack suits and calico skirts were milling around the sleeper car, shoving battered portmanteaus into overhead berths or soothing cranky toddlers.
Finally, she saw what she'd been searching for: a chubby, huffing man in a black frockcoat, whose cap was wrapped with gold braid and affixed with a brass plate that had been engraved with the initials of the Gulf, Colorado, and Santa Fe Railroad.
"Conductor," she called, waving him to her door. "I have a connection to make in Fort Worth. What's the delay? Are the tracks flooded from last night's storm?"
"Oh no, Mr. Jones," the conductor said, pushing his spectacles up his perspiring nose. "It's the Rangers."
"The Rangers?"
"Yes, sir. The station master received a wire about twenty minutes ago. A couple of Rangers have been ordered to search the train for contraband."
"You mean, like firearms?"
"No, sir. Like gingerbread."
Gingerbread?
Sadie's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Before she could ask her next question, a cheer rose from the depot's porch. In response, the sodbusters and their children rushed eagerly to the east side of the car and peered out the windows. Their whistles and "Huzzahs" began rattling the walls.
Irritably, Sadie elbowed a spot for herself at a window. It didn't take long to spy the two rangy roughriders at the station. The sea of bowlers, bonnets, and parasols were parting to give them access to the train.
The younger of the men wore a chocolate-brown Stetson and a fringed buckskin coat that flapped open to reveal denim breeches. He balanced a Winchester on his shoulder and a .45 on his hip.
The older man was sheathed from head to toe in black. His Stetson was tilted at a rakish angle to allow a pale gold curl to blow across his brow. When he unleashed his dazzling smile, every female over the age of 13 giggled or fanned their cheeks.
"No reason to be alarmed, folks," Cass called, hooking his thumb under the lapel of his vest and showing off his tin star. "Just some routine, Ranger business."