The Trailrider's Fortune

by Shannah Biondine

  He groped with his right arm, found her hand near his side. She jumped at his touch. She'd been wiping her nose, not looking at him. She did now and happiness flooded her puffy features.

  "Here," she coaxed, holding a cup to his lips. "Wet your lips and tongue. Don't drink too much." Rafe did as she instructed. The cool water broke the seal on his mouth. He tipped the cup and took another tiny sip.

  Miranda glanced at her husband, who stood near the door. "Find Travis. Tell him Rafe's awake."

  Zach left before Rafe could say anything. Miranda faced Rafe again, and he saw her dark eyes appeared almost haunted. She hadn't looked so dreadful since the day they buried Ma. "Travis sent for me," she informed him in a voice entirely too grim.

  Christ, had somebody else died? Rafe fleetingly wondered. But nobody else was left.

  "He didn't think you were going to live, Raford. Until a few hours ago, I wasn't certain myself. You were shot again. This time the wound got infected. You've been feverish." Her palm pressed against his bare shoulder, then tested his cheek. "You're still too warm, but if we keep bathing you with damp cloths and get some fluid in you, I think we can get your temperature back to normal."

  "Sorry to be a pain in the ass." He didn't know why that phrase had come out. Rannie didn't like crude language.

  "You've been a good deal more than that," she snapped. "Travis has been absolutely beside himself. I've never seen him so distraught. Don't you understand you're all that stands between us and death? Our parents and Simon are gone. I was thankful you were too young to go off to the war. So what do you do? Grow up to wage your own private one."

  "Rannie, come on now."

  "If you die, who's next? We are. Travis and me. It's so incredibly selfish of you not to see that. Leaving poor Travis feeling responsible for your welfare."

  "Ain't tryin' to burden Travis. Don't even know how I got here."

  "Your friend, or should I say cohort, Driscoll brought you, tied over your horse. He told Travis you were ambushed. Not that you don't use the same technique yourself, or that I feel particularly sorry for you. You probably had it coming."

  "Yeah, like you have this comin'." He pulled her down and gave her a smacking buss on her cheek with cracked lips. His gaze dropped to her midsection. "See you're fixin' to give Zach another mouth to feed. Where's Kayla?"

  "With Mrs. Abbot. I don't want her seeing you like this, Rafe. You'd only frighten her half to death. Please tell me you're finished with this business for good now."

  Rafe was still wiped out, too exhausted to tangle with her in that same old argument. "Don't start with that, Miranda," he groused. "I'm powerful hungry. Just woke up after a bad night. Need somethin' in my stomach. We can talk—"

  "Is that how long you think it's been?" she scoffed. "You've been here almost a week. Oh, here's Travis. Now you be decent to him, or I won't bring you any of the nice hot soup Mrs. Abbot made."

  The two brothers visited quietly until Miranda came back with a tray. "Travis, did you talk sense into him?"

  "Ain't sure."

  "What good are you, then?" she demanded in exasperation. "Either do something to help now, or get out of my way."

  Travis rose and moved aside. "Yes'm. Whatever you say, Mrs. Donaldson. You're in charge of the prisoner. Did you bring some of that moldy bread I'd been savin' for him?"

  "No. Just soup. You can get the leeches and moldy bread later. When he's strong enough to be taught a good lesson." Miranda narrowed her eyes at Rafe, then set the tray down and tied a kitchen towel around his bare throat.

  "Whoo-ee," Travis cackled. "If them gals from the town socials could see you now, Raford! Naked but for a dishtowel. If you ain't a sight."

  "You don't get your ass back to work," Rafe growled, "I'll blacken both your eyes so's you won't have to worry what a sight I am." He winced as he sat up.

  Travis ducked out of the room. Miranda sat on the edge of the bed and began spooning hot liquid into Rafe's mouth. The soup was actually good. He let her feed him most of the bowl. Then she had to upset the apple cart.

  "Travis wrote me some months ago about your peculiar 'situation'."

  "What situation's that?" Rafe frowned.

  "He says there's a woman who goes around claiming to be your wife. That you gave her permission to."

  "Travis blows hot air."

  She shook her head. "Not this time. He wrote me a two-page letter. He was deeply concerned. Apparently this is some saloon harlot. Seemed more than a passing fancy."

  "She wasn't a harlot. Just a pretty waiter gal."

  Miranda's hair, a shade lighter than Rafe's, was caught in a bun at the base of her neck. Golden highlights glinted in a shaft of afternoon light as she tilted her head, deep in thought. "Her name was something like that, wasn't it? Fancy or Glitter…Something unusual."

  Jesus. Don't say it. She doesn't need to know. Don't you dare open your mouth, Raford. Promised yourself you'd never speak that name again, ever.

  "Sparkle."

  His sister's brown eyes pinned him. "Where is this Sparkle?" He shrugged. "When do we get to meet her?" Rafe made an exaggerated production of stretching his legs and wiggling his toes.

  "I understand you lied to protect her," Miranda went on. "Still, considering your reluctance to even consider taking one, I find this 'wife' pretext a rather startling development."

  She hadn't asked a question, but Rafe was locked into the shrugging bit. His shoulders jerked again.

  Miranda pulled the dishtowel away and stood up. She bustled out with the tray, but Rafe's reprieve was too brief. She came right back. "I want to see Kayla," Rafe tried again. "Why don't you bring her in here? I don't look that bad." He ran his fingers over his face. "Hmm, take that back. Couldn't Travis at least shave me?"

  Miranda closed the door. "No, he couldn't. You were dying, Raford. A week's growth of beard was the least of his concerns."

  Rafe cleared his throat. He had no idea how a man replied to the news he'd been at death's door. He only knew he wasn't about to look Miranda in the eye just then. She'd turned into Ma Number Two, which meant another of her fire and brimstone lectures was due, complete with biblical quotations, verse by agonizing verse. Another sermon on the evil life of Rafe Conley.

  "Do you love the woman?"

  He'd never know why he told the truth…except Rannie had fooled him into dropping his guard, and maybe a dying man didn't have far to drop it, anyhow. "So much it's killin' me. I should've smelled that ambush."

  She moved to stand beside the bed. "Travis was angry. He thought she was after your money. I was pleased to learn you might be in love. And oddly enough, I liked what he wrote about her. A fortune teller with special cards. Travis thinks it's weird, but I think it's rather charming."

  Rafe groaned audibly. He wasn't charmed. Bedeviled, tormented, miserable. Not charmed. Not by a damned sight.

  "Why aren't you seeing her anymore?" Miranda searched his face.

  "You know what? Need to piss somethin' fierce, Rannie. Could you get Zach or one of the men to help me down the hall?"

  "Not until you answer my question. Is she why you were shot? You're right, you should have sensed an ambush. Maybe your friend lied about what happened. Could it be a jealous boyfriend, didn't appreciate her new 'husband' hanging around the saloon?"

  "Nope. Come on, Miranda, you fed me that broth. Now I need to go."

  She crossed to the dresser and brought down an empty cooking pot. "There you are."

  Rafe glared at her. "You're determined to make me suffer. If I was strong enough to drink the stuff off the spoon, I'm strong enough to make it through a door and let it back out. Just need one of the menfolk to help steady me, is all."

  "You've made me suffer," Miranda replied. "I'd like to send for Sparkle. Certainly she'd come, if she knew you'd been badly hurt."

  "No. Just drop it," Rafe commanded and his kin actually did.

  Three weeks after the Donaldsons went home to Nebraska, Rafe announce plans to mo
ve out to his cabin. Mrs. Abbott argued with him vehemently and sent for her husband. Joshua argued some more. Then he went to the boss, which Joshua disliked doing, because as foreman on this spread, he was expected to know how to run it. But this was different. Despite years of dealing with cantankerous cowboys, idiot cattle, lazy horseflesh, broken axles, wobbly wagon wheels, busted fences, and stubborn mules, Joshua had never met up with difficult like Rafe Conley.

  Travis paid Joshua Abbott and his wife pretty well, but there wasn't enough money in the world to get the ranch foreman to go up against a trained killer like Travis' older brother. If his years in the west had taught Joshua anything, it was that sooner or later a gunfighter resorted to pulling his weapon to enforce his point of view.

  Travis stormed into the front room, snowflakes clinging to his hat and the shoulders of his sheepskin coat. "Got better things to do than listen to my foreman run at the mouth over my pig-headed kinfolk. You're not stayin' in the cabin this winter, so just settle yourself back and hush up."

  Rafe stalked across the room, hunching over and whispering. "Makes me too nervous, Travis. Can't abide it no more."

  "Who? Abide what?"

  "That Miz Abbott. All the time flutterin' around here, movin' things. Tellin' me pick my feet up cause she's got to sweep. I pick 'em up, she says put 'em back down, cause I got a smear on the table and she just waxed it. Always foldin' laundry or scrubbin' somethin'. I'm tempted to pull my Colt and shoot the dad-blamed female just to watch the dust settle."

  Travis sighed in exasperation. "She's a housekeeper, Rafe. That's what they do."

  "And I aim to let her do it. Just don't want her fussin' around me. Besides, need some peace and quiet. I got contemplatin' to do."

  Travis trudged down the hall toward the back bedroom, wondering when he was ever going to win a round with Rafe. "I'll help you take your gear out."

  The cabin door creaked as it swung open. Travis grimaced, averting his face. "Jesus, smells worse than the barn! You skin somethin' out here before you left?"

  "It's always musty until I get it aired out," Rafe drawled. "Throw my duds on the bunk. I'll manage here on my lonesome. I'll come inside when that fool woman rings the supper bell."

  Travis dropped Rafe's saddlebags on the bunk. Rafe's was double the width of the wood frames in the bunkhouse. Like the log structure itself and its other spare furnishings, Rafe had made the bunk himself. It was nailed against one wall beneath a high window. Rafe slept with the small casement cracked open, even in January. Travis stepped up on the bunk now and unlatched the window, welcoming the fresh air.

  "That's better. I can't believe you put up with this stench every time you come back. Don't you dare leave it reekin' like this when you head out next spring."

  Rafe sat in his rocking chair and gave Travis a silent appraisal. "Won't be any next time. This is my last winter here. Need to take stock of my life, decide where to head to next. Lost my back-up man. Been reconsiderin' things lately. Visits here at Crockhead are one of 'em."

  "Rafe, we talked about this…how you'd go in partners with me and stay on. Help me build the spread up."

  Rafe shook his head. "You talked about it, Trav. I mostly sat there listenin' to your notions. Didn't say I agreed."

  "You're not ridin' back out and hunt down whoever ambushed you." Travis planted his feet apart and set his fists on his hips. It was the stance he took right before he started swinging his fists.

  "Didn't say I was plannin' on that," Rafe pointed out.

  "Christ. Parker's dead. Sad, but a blessin' in disguise, if you ask me. With no back-up man, maybe you'll finally give up the nonsense. Already got more money than anybody could need, Rafe. Zach told me you're set."

  "My money's none of your concern."

  But Travis was building up steam. "You're finally away from the painted cats and the damned saloons. Won't be gettin' the French pox or robbed blind by some flirtin' doxy. Your health's comin' back. No reason you can't stay on."

  "Except I don't want to. Makes me itchy, sittin' in one spot too long. I like the trail. You know that."

  "Well, hell no, my ranch house can't hold a candle to that bagnio in Wichita, with your slut mistress livin' upstairs. I'll give you that," Travis fumed. "You can play poker with the men any night of the week. Get liquor and gals in town. Not the kind you're used to. Decent folk." Travis' eyes went hard. "Only thing we ain't got here is trouble. Least we didn't, until you showed up, slung over Snatch's back. You bring trouble."

  "Knew you'd see the light," Rafe nodded, rocking.

  "Don't make me sorry I patched you up."

  "Little Brother, you'll be sorry, whether I make you or not. Don't expect me to change my whole way of thinkin' over one bushwhackin'. I miss Sam Parker every day. He was the best friend I ever had, next to you. But you're kin and nosy as hell, so it ain't the same. Reckon I'll find myself lookin' over my shoulder a dozen times before I get it straight that Samson won't be back there no more."

  Travis grunted in reply.

  "Before the ambush, I got a tip Hoffman's gone to Salt Lake. Been thinkin' I'd ride out that way once the snow's over. Maybe I'll find him, maybe not. Could settle in Oregon or Californy."

  "Californy?" Travis spat. "You mean as in the Barbary Coast? Rowdy as any Kansas cow town, plus you got fellas shanghaied. Anyplace wicked, where fools go sellin' their souls to the devil, my brother wants to jump in the thick of it. Just figures. Hoffman again," he snorted in derision. "Man's dead, or gone down to Mexico, Rafe."

  Rafe answered in a weary voice. "Could be. Listen, I'm not goin' anywhere for a couple months. Save your best shots, Trav. I'm plumb tucked out just now."

  "What about the other subject? Tried to step right over it, like you didn't hear me bring up that strumpet who was claimin' to be hitched to you. Rannie says the gal threw you over. Didn't I tell you saloon cats were trouble? Knew somethin' bad would happen. Why can't you—"

  "You know everything, don't you? Except I don't recall you knowin' Belinda Johnson was out to do the same to you. Want to ponder what's become of her? Maybe she's fat as a stuffed goose by now. Maybe her old man's got warts on his knees and likes to eat peach pie on Sundays. Want to set a spell and both of us ruminate on what we're missin'?"

  Rafe saw the answer in his brother's glower. "Tell you what…I won't jaw about your mistakes, if you don't dwell on mine," Rafe went on. "Don't want to hear the name Sparkle or nothin' about her again. If you forget that, I got a couple sets of knuckles to remind you." Rafe closed his eyes. "See you at supper, Little Brother."

  CHAPTER 19

  Majesta was waiting for Sparkle and Jace when their train pulled into the depot. She came forward to greet her husband, smiling warmly, ignoring the stares of curious onlookers as Jace moved stiffly across the platform, cane thudding.

  "Dr. Barlow's been asking after you, Jace," she said brightly. "He was surprised you'd make a trip so soon. I assured him Sparkle was along to look after you. I gathered from your wire things went well?"

  Jace set down his valise. His features went taut. "You defied me, didn't you? Do you expect me to believe he happened by the house? You've been to the hospital."

  "He did come to the house," she replied, winking at Sparkle. "He didn't know his lady friend was out of town until he came calling."

  Jace ignored her explanation. "You took the job at the hospital, after I specifically told you not to."

  Sparkle reached for her satchel. "It's clear you two need to talk. I'll go on home."

  "Sparkle, you understand someone has to put food on the table," Majesta announced. She gave Sparkle a beseeching look, then faced her angry husband. "Besides, what was I to do while you two were off gallivanting? I was bored, and they truly need my help at the hospital. When I saw Dr. Barlow this morning, I invited him to supper tonight."

  Sparkle inwardly groaned. Part of the reason she'd accompanied Jace to Texas was to put some distance between herself and her ardent new suitor. Kent had pressed he
r into becoming his almost constant companion. Jace and Majesta genuinely liked him, as Sparkle herself had grown to. But she'd reached the conclusion friendship was all she felt.

  "Excellent," Jace grumbled as they started along the sidewalk. "When he's eaten his fill at our dining table, you can explain you're forced to resign. He'll take the news better after some of your chocolate layer cake."

  "Be reasonable, Jace."

  "Things have changed, my dear. We'll discuss it at home."

  Now there was a classic understatement, Sparkle silently noted. Things had changed for all of them. She had less reason than ever to consider marriage to a man she didn't love, all the more to revive her dreams of Paris. Unless, of course, one would help bring about the other. Wouldn't the dashing and urbane Dr. Kent Barlow, with his artistic and cultural bent, be the perfect escort to tour France with her? She might be able to forget her previous romantic entanglement and view Kent in a different light over coffee in a Parisian café.

  Yet somehow she doubted it.

  That evening, Sparkle donned the purple velvet gown and her glittery jewelry. She tucked her hair up with a mother-of-pearl comb and lightly rouged her lips. Kent greeted her with an appreciative smile. She knew he was surprised by the finery, a marked contrast to her usual cotton day dresses. She smiled back. There would be fewer homespun or calico garments in her future. Less scrimping, more enjoyment of life. Tonight she had reason to celebrate.

  The trip to Fire Thorn had been a resounding success. Things had changed, all right.

  "I'm pleased to see you looking so fit, Jace," Kent remarked as they took their places at the table. Sparkle found herself inwardly chafing. Kent was sitting in Rafe's chair.

  Rafe's chair? Do you hear yourself? He was here once, for a few hours. He doesn't own that damned chair.

  He certainly didn't. But it wasn't the first time she'd noticed how he seemed to leave his stamp. Everything he touched seemed to wear his brand, including her. And because she still wore it, Kent Barlow seemed to be trespassing.

  "And doesn't Sparkle look festive?" Jace flashed her a brilliant smile. Neither had divulged beforehand the reason for their return to Texas. Neither had expected the substantial sum they'd found in the rusted strongbox. They were both beaming as their eyes met.