The Trailrider's Fortune

by Shannah Biondine

  The foreman tilted his hat back and scratched at a receding hairline. "Yes'm. Been here for a spell. Stays in a cabin around back. But he ain't around just now. Went yonder two spreads north of here with some of the men, gatherin' strays got loose through a section of busted fence. Should be back by nightfall." The man eyed her trunk. "You fixin' to stay awhile?"

  "Yes. Might I wait inside? It's a bit chilly out here."

  He shrugged and spat a gob of chaw. "Suit yourself. Front door ain't never locked." He turned and disappeared the way he'd come.

  "Gushin' host you got there," her driver commented dryly as he carried her trunk inside and accepted her fare. "Good luck, miss."

  Sparkle closed the door against the frosty air and removed her gloves. She sank onto the dark russet sofa, curling gratefully against its back. The sofa had been covered with a brightly colored crocheted throw in an attempt to hide several threadbare sections of upholstery. Sparkle smiled. A man's house.

  The front room was warm and cheery as its color scheme, a jumbled mass of hues and shapes. None of the furniture matched, with the exception that each pine piece might have been chosen for comfort—by someone much taller than Sparkle. She thrust her legs straight out and found she couldn't get her heels to catch the edge of the coffee table. The sofa's cushions sagged into deep hollows. Its arms and those of the chairs were broad and well worn.

  Crackling flames warmed the room from a massive stone fireplace. An oak clock ticked softly on an adjoining wall. Much of the large room's cheer came from the pine paneled walls. This wasn't a house where people sat in stiff-backed chairs or in assigned places at a formal dining table. Cowboys propped booted feet up with their spurs still in place…the gouges on the coffee table attested to it. A row of pegs beside the front door waited for brimmed felt hats—one a broad charcoal belonging to a certain lean gunslinger.

  Sparkle could easily see Rafe here.

  Sprawled in a chair near the fire in a work shirt and denims, dozing, evincing the false demeanor that hid his predatory natural wariness so well. No wonder the parlor felt like home. The foreman had mentioned a cabin, but she'd bet Rafe had been in this room recently. She could almost smell his musky scent, picture his square-toed boots crossed at the ankles propped on the coffee table.

  A heel struck the puncheon floor behind her. Sparkle came off the couch and whirled around. Her heart leaped, then faltered. The man standing there wasn't Rafe, but someone who looked a great deal like him. They both spoke up at once.

  "I'll be damned. You must be Sparkle."

  "Travis?"

  They each responded with a silent nod and went on taking inventory. Travis appeared taller and slightly thinner than his brother, but the wavy sable hair and deep brown eyes were Rafe's all over again. Travis had more sharply-defined features, not Rafe's rawboned look. He also wasn't wearing a gunbelt. Sparkle noted that he did have on a pair of silvery spurs. Her smile widened at the sound they made as he went to warm his hands before the fire. God, how she'd missed spurs.

  For his part, Travis had been struck immediately by the woman's distinctive eyes. Not that any other woman was likely to have turned up here asking after Rafe, but Travis could have pegged this particular filly in a whole herd of females. He shot her a sideways glance. Rafe had said she'd probably been named for her eyes, that she was a pretty little thing. She was far more than that. Outright stunning was closer to it. A gal as fetchin' as this one could have her pick of men—in any saloon, in any town, anywhere.

  "I see your foreman wasted no time advising you had a visitor," she said.

  Travis coughed and unbuttoned his coat. "Well, only woman ever visits is our sister. And you lookin' for Raford comes as a surprise, since he said you'd passed him over for another fella. Can't say I'd blame you."

  Her eyebrows lifted. "You wouldn't? That doesn't seem very charitable. He's your brother. He happens to be mistaken," she added, with a glint in her eye, "but you should still be naturally skeptical about me."

  Travis slung his coat over the back of a chair and studied her openly now. Damned straight he should be wary, but how many gals would've said so? Feisty, all right. What else had Rafe said? That talk in the barn was so long ago, Travis couldn't quite recall the details.

  "How about some coffee?" he asked. "There's usually a pot on the stove. Maybe you should take off whatever that is, if it's supposed to come off, and visit my kitchen." His lips curved up into a smile.

  Oh, that smile…so like a grin she'd missed, too. She couldn't help returning it. "You look and sound a lot like your brother."

  "Only when I get nervous."

  She worked at the laces at her throat. "Do I make you nervous?" She took off what turned out to be a cloak to reveal a serge traveling suit. Travis had seen the same sort of get-up on women in town, but he hadn't seen anyone fill one out any better. "You're younger than Rafe?" she asked.

  "Yep, by a couple years." He gestured for her to precede him through the doorway into the kitchen. When she did, he saw she was indeed petite. The top of her head only cleared his elbows by a few inches. Nothing he saw fit the image of a fallen angel. She looked and carried herself like a real lady. A lady who'd come looking for his cantankerous, mule-headed big brother. Wonders never ceased.

  In the time it took to set out the sugar bowl and get them both into chairs at the trestle table, Travis had reached his decision. Without hearing her version of whatever had taken place over in Kansas, he was sure Rafe had fallen in love for all the right reasons. Any man who spent time around a gal like this would have to be a blind or deaf idiot if he didn't find himself entranced.

  Travis had never idolized his brother, but always borne a healthy respect for Rafe. Deserving of his hard reputation, just plain old impossible as the man could be, Rafe was a force all his own. Looking over the rim of his coffee mug into prismatic blue-green eyes, Travis experienced a whole new emotion: envy. He envied Rafe this elfin woman with her bewitching eyes and trim little figure.

  "You hinted it wasn't you left Rafe," he said softly. "Hard to believe he'd be dumb enough to walk away from someone like you." He expected her to thank him for the compliment. She didn't.

  "Not without what he believed was adequate provocation."

  Well. Travis wasn't sure what the heck to make of that. He said nothing for a few moments, let her get some warm liquid into her innards. Then he sighed, "I've got to tell you the truth. He's not doin' too well."

  She frowned slightly. "I'm sorry to hear that."

  Travis purposely pulled his features into a grim mask. "He was ambushed a few months ago and took a bullet through his side. Friend rode him back here, but the gunshot wound had festered. Doc said another day's delay and it would've been too late to save him."

  The story brought exactly the reaction he'd been hoping for. Pain and fear clouded her eyes. "Oh, my God! But he's all right…er, recovered?"

  "Depends on what you consider all right. He's up and walkin', ridin' again. But also sayin' this is his last winter here. Still talkin' trash about goin' after Hoffman. You know about him?" She nodded quickly. "And…I don't reckon he'll be happy you've come. Whatever happened, he's awful bitter and he ain't forgotten."

  "Thank you for being honest with me." Her lower lip trembled. "But it's not the first time he's been hurt, and he felt he had to walk away from me."

  "He's a damned fool, if that's so."

  She set her cup down abruptly. "You're very hard on your brother. Remember, he doesn't like feeling boxed in. He's not comfortable with anyone being too close to him, physically or emotionally. But we've had time apart and maybe that will make a difference."

  "Philosophical about it, ain't you?"

  Sparkle took another sip from her coffee cup. "I haven't come to cause him any more grief. I'm hoping to spare him some, at least where Hoffman's concerned. All I want is a chance to talk business. We'll see wh—"

  "You came lookin' to hire him? Thought this was personal."

  "I
t is. That's why I'd rather not go into particulars with you. No offense." A hint of a smile played over her lips. "But I like seeing the heat in your eyes and hearing you get defensive, so I'll tell you this much. If Rafe wants me, I'll stay with him. If he doesn't, I'll move on. Everything I own is in that big trunk in your parlor. I've had it with Kansas and trailheads. A gentleman offered me a partnership in his card palace in San Francisco. I could go there and make a fresh start."

  Jonah and the whale, what a pair! Travis inwardly cursed a foul string of oaths. Both his brother and now this gal talkin' about the Barbary Coast. He wondered if Rafe knew there'd be no escape from this filly. Even if he took off for Californ, he'd only run into her again.

  Travis took a deep breath. "Either you honestly love my brother, or he left you carryin'." He gave her a pointed, penetrating look.

  "Only a torch, Travis."

  He stared down at his own hands, wrapped around his mug. "I shouldn't say this, but I know he loves you. It's tearin' him up. I can understand. You're the finest gal he's ever had. Might be he's scared, you know? On account of you bein' so fetchin' and remarkable to look upon. He's got that big scar fr—"

  "I know. It's one of the things I missed." Her hands gently closed around his. Together they cradled Travis' mug as if it were a frightened bird.

  "I want to tell you something, because I want us to be friends. I left Kansas to avoid a mistake I would have regretted the rest of my life. A doctor in Kansas City wanted to marry me. Everyone thought he was perfect. He could offer me a pampered life, what every girl's supposed to want. I almost let myself be pressured into marriage, even though I didn't love him."

  "You came out here instead?" Truly, wonders would never cease. He realized belatedly that she'd probably heard the incredulity in his tone.

  "Perfect and pampered isn't me," she responded. "When things are too orderly, there's no room for spontaneity, no adventure. Your brother's not perfect. He's scarred and stubborn, unpredictable, adventurous, sometimes charming, always irreverent."

  Travis had to admit, she hadn't sold herself any pig in a poke. She had Raford down to the bone. "That just about sums him up," he agreed.

  "But times with him were never dull."

  * * *

  Rafe came stomping through the back door, shaking muddy slush from his boots. Travis waited at the kitchen table, breaking into a grin as Mrs. Abbott bustled past Rafe, carrying a steaming platter of food.

  "You'll eat plenty tonight, Raford," she muttered. "I fixed roast beef with mashed potatoes and gravy." Rafe dropped into the chair to Travis' right.

  "Guess you're tryin' to tell me I been hangin' around too much," Rafe chuckled. "First day I leave the spread, I ride back to find my favorite for supper and my little brother in his Sunday best. Another social? Thought you just went to one couple nights ago."

  "I did. There's no dance tonight."

  "Well, shit howdy if I don't feel downright honored. Duded yourself up just to share a meal with me."

  Travis saw Sparkle step into the kitchen doorway. She'd brushed her hair and changed into a rose-colored dress with lace edging the sleeves. Rafe was shoveling forkfuls of potato into his mouth and hadn't looked up. "Not exactly," Travis replied, his eyes on their guest. A subtle scent wafted into the kitchen, competing with the aroma of roast beef.

  Rafe glanced over his shoulder, addressing the woman at the stove. "Taken to wearin' toilet water, have you, Miz Abbot? Smells real nice."

  "No." She spied the younger woman across the room. "I—ah, need to take this platter to the bunkhouse," she stammered. "I'll be back." Seizing her shawl from the hook on the wall, she grabbed another large platter of food and hurried into the winter darkness. The door banged shut behind her as she gave it a swift kick.

  "Remind me not to pay her compliments," Rafe snorted. "Lit out of here like the back of her skirt was on fire. Was just tryin' to be polite." He sniffed again. "And if she ain't wearin' the perfume around here, you better change your shavin' soap."

  "We have a dinner guest." Travis inclined his head toward the parlor.

  Rafe followed his brother's gaze and froze. He stared at the girl in the flowing rose skirts. She stared back. The taut silence was finally broken by Rafe's snarl. "You have her, Travis. Lost my appetite."

  Rafe bolted out of his chair, jerked the back door open and disappeared in the housekeeper's wake. The door banged shut so hard this time it nearly splintered off its hinges.

  Sparkle took the chair Travis pulled out for her, waited until he'd righted the one Rafe had vacated, then offered a weak smile. "That went well, don't you think?"

  * * *

  Travis spent the evening with his guest, and rarely had he enjoyed himself so much. They sat in the parlor after supper. Sparkle told his fortune with her tarot cards. He told about starting the ranch. They talked about Miranda and her family in Omaha. Sparkle asked intelligent questions and wasn't intimidated by verbal sparring. She turned taunts right back, Travis noted, though her eyes misted over whenever Rafe's name came up. Finally he escorted her to her room, squared his shoulders, and went out to face his brother's wrath.

  "You left this by the back door," Travis announced, tossing Rafe's heavy coat near the foot of the bunk. Rafe was seated on the edge of the mattress, swilling whiskey.

  "How could you do that to me, Trav? Sending for her, after I told Rannie not to. After I told you I wanted to forget I ever met the woman."

  "Whoa, hold on there! Rannie never said anything about sendin' for Sparkle. I didn't invite her here. Seems you did."

  "Like hell." Rafe tunneled his fingers through his hair. Travis thought the disheveled mop was symbolic of Rafe's general state nowadays. Ever one to see a barber regularly, Rafe had abandoned the habit since he'd been wounded. He'd let his hair grow into a mangy tangle—the perfect frame for his saturnine features and bloodshot eyes. The man was one hell of a miserable wretch.

  Travis shoved his hands down into his jean pockets. "You're the one who gave her my name, bragged how you stay here every winter. She showed up this afternoon in a carriage from the depot. What was I supposed to do, tell her to get off my land? I couldn't be sure you wouldn't want to see her."

  "Well, now you are," Rafe grumbled sourly. "Ain't talkin' to her. Said all I need to, and she damned well knows it. Whatever excuse she used for comin' here—"

  "Says she has business to discuss." There was no reaction, so Travis unloaded his big piece of news. "Told me she left some fella at the altar in Kansas City. Maybe you were wrong about her preferrin' somebody else. She's even prettier than you described. I'll admit I was wrong about saloon gals in her particular case."

  Rafe snorted. "You weren't wrong, and neither was I. Entire time I've known that woman, she never had but three or four dresses. Shows up here with a whole overflowin' damn trunk. Now, what's she got in there, furniture? Never trust a goddamned female. Especially not that one. There's no way I'm talkin' to her, about business or whatever else. Man can't just talk to Sparkle LaFleur, anyhow. Might start out jawin', but before long he's wantin' to do more."

  "I spent a fair amount of time talkin' to her," Travis retorted. "Don't know if I should agree with you or not. Be lyin' if I said there wasn't at least a couple minutes I thought what it would be like to cozy up to her. Damned pretty. How could a man not think like that?"

  Rafe's scowl deepened along with the pits of his eyes. "Poison. That gal's worse than a Gila monster. You see her tomorrow mornin', you tell her to get her little ass right back on the next train."

  "If that's the way you want it, Rafe."

  Travis headed back to the main house, thinking he'd found two things mighty curious during his visit to the cabin. Sparkle's trunk had been taken to the back bedroom before Rafe returned that afternoon. So how'd his brother know she'd bought a large trunk along, unless he'd been talkin' to some of the hands or snooping in the guestroom window? If he had no interest in the gal, why bother?

  That intrigued him.
So did the fact that despite forbidding Travis to ever mention the woman's name, Rafe had done it. Her name had tripped right off Rafe's tongue, natural as could be. He hadn't choked on it or hesitated, hadn't even noticed he'd spoken it. Which meant, of course, the name was on his mind. A lot.

  Natural to him as breathing, because it was in his thoughts.

  Travis grinned as he stretched out in his double bed beneath a pile of warm quilts and blankets. He wanted to be well rested for tomorrow's showdown. He had no intention of asking his beautiful houseguest to leave. If Rafe wanted Sparkle off the ranch, he'd have to tell her himself. And if his angry prediction was accurate, telling Sparkle anything was liable to lead to an entirely different interaction between them.

  Travis laced his fingers behind his head. Ranch life could be monotonous, especially during the long winter months. But here was a situation to make every man on the spread sit up and take notice, not to mention put up part of his pay. Sparkle would get Rafe to change his mind.

  She wasn't fooling Travis. She hadn't come to talk business.

  She'd come to hunt down the man who made a living hunting down other men. Travis chuckled aloud at the irony of that. After all those years of nailing men's hides to the wall, Rafe's hide was the one in danger of being stretched now.

  He'd stood up to the Bowie knife that left him scarred for life. Faced guns, bullwhips, rope, broken bottles, and just about any other weapon a man could turn against him. Battered, scarred, even barely breathing like the last time, Rafe emerged victorious.

  But he was no match for five little feet of Sparkle LaFleur…and he knew it.

  The coward was holed up in that cabin, afraid to get within arm's distance of her. Scared of a little bitty gal—who didn't need any weapons beyond her clear eyes and soft voice to bring the awesome Rafe Conley to his knees.

  It was damned comical. Rafe had always been rawhide tough. No one had ever seen him shed a tear. Pa, then Simon, eventually Ma were all laid to rest. Rafe had stood beside their graves in silence, features stoic as a headstone. Even as kids, Pa's leather strap in the shed never made Rafe cry. Simon once or twice, according to Ma. Travis had been too young to remember. He himself had bawled and carried on something fierce after a whipping. Kept crying until Rannie or Ma put honey in his oatmeal or held him and soothed him, made him feel better. Not Raford. He'd rather starve to death than show weakness. Wouldn't break down.