McCrory's Lady

by Henke, Shirl Henke

  Torres knew that Lamp would not hesitate to kill him and Eden to escape his crimes. With speed born of desperation he slung the wet cloth he had taken from the dead Apache across the agent's face. “Get out of here, Eden! Save yourself!” He knocked Lamp's gun aside and it discharged in the air as the two men fell to the floor where Tome lay dying.

  Lamp yelled for his police, who were waiting outside the office door, intimidating the Apaches in the infirmary. As he and Torres rolled across the room struggling, Eden raced to the window and climbed out. Lamp's men burst in, seizing Torres roughly and pulling him off the agent. Caleb struggled to his feet, brushing his stringy hair from his eyes as one of the police handed him his gun.

  He leveled it on the physician. “Get that girl before she rides off.” He gestured to the open window. Two of his men raced from the office while the third climbed out the window after her.

  Lamp turned to Torres with a grim smile. “Now, Doc, what can I do with you until I can arrange that little carriage ride?” He motioned for the doctor to sit down behind his desk, then said conversationally, “After the breakneck fall you're gonna take, one more knot on the head won't be noticed.” With that he raised his gun and sent the barrel crashing down on Torres's skull. The doctor slumped across the desk, unconscious.

  * * * *

  Tucson

  Colin walked down the hall to his room at the Palace after passing a thoroughly exhausting day. He had pored over Lamp's records yesterday evening, then spent today talking with cattle drovers and clerks who worked for reservation contractors, comparing what scraps of information they would divulge about actual supplies sold and their costs with the doctored receipts and expenditures in the agency books. There were some discrepancies, but he doubted that the hirelings working for the rich, powerful Tucson businessmen would dare come forward to testify against their employers. He needed that buyer who had seen Barker's WB imprinted over the US brand and witnessed the illegal sale.

  “Where the hell is Blake with that man?” McCrory muttered as he unlocked the door to his room. The instant he shoved it ajar, he froze and pulled his gun with lightning swiftness. Someone was in his room! Then, the faint essence of lilies of the valley wafted over his senses. Maggie.

  He stepped inside as she walked out of the bedroom, dressed in a sheer aqua silk robe that gaped enticingly over the curve of her breasts. Her hair hung in dark, fiery splendor around her shoulders.

  “Are you going to shoot me like an intruder?” she asked in a husky voice, gliding toward him. Her robe slid open, baring one slim leg as she walked nearer.

  “I could've shot you,” he said as he holstered his gun. “What the hell are you doing here? I told you to stay at the reservation with Eden.”

  “Eden's the reason I'm here.” She stood directly in front of him, inhaling the virile scent of his sweat combined with that essence that was uniquely her husband's. She reached up and ran one fingertip from his throat down the skin exposed where his shirt collar lay open, tracing a bead of perspiration. When his chest hair trapped the elusive droplet, she rubbed her finger over it, then brought it slowly to her tongue. “Salty,” she said in a whisper. “You need a bath. I've taken the liberty of ordering one.”

  He felt the old familiar tightening in his loins, the heat curling through his blood, sending it racing. “What about Eden?” he asked gruffly, trying to ignore what her nearness always did to him.

  “You'd feel more relaxed if you had that bath first. The porter's just poured the water. It's not too hot, just tepid.”

  She reached up and began to unbutton his shirt but his hands closed over hers, stopping her. “I told you not to come here.”

  “But you're not sorry I'm here now, are you, Colin?” Her eyes met his, daring him to deny what his tense body made so clear.

  He released her hands and reached down to unbuckle his holster, tossing his gun belt onto the sofa while she continued working on his shirt. When she slid her hands down his arms and around his back to peel the shirt off, he sucked his breath in between clenched teeth and backed away from her with an oath. “Let me undress,” he muttered hoarsely, kicking angrily at the bootjack as one boot defied his attempt to pull it off.

  Colin quickly finished undressing and followed Maggie into the bedroom, where a big brass tub sat filled with water. He sank into it and seized a cloth and a bar of soap before she could distract him with those clever soft little hands again. “Now, what is it about Eden you have to discuss?” he asked as he soaped and rinsed his face and neck.

  “You know she's in love with Wolf.”

  His head snapped up, sending droplets of water flying in every direction. “I know she's infatuated with the romantic notion of a dangerous gunman—and she’s flaunting the society that's scorned her by choosing a half-breed.”

  “I admit I was worried about that possibility when I first sensed her attraction to him, but Wolf loves her, Colin. He knows how being an outcast hurts her, because he's always been one himself. This isn't the thrill of the forbidden like it was with Lazlo. I think they can build a good marriage.”

  “With him supporting her by his guns? He'll end up dead in some back-alley shootout in a year or two.”

  “Just like you almost did five nights ago?” she retorted.

  “I'm not a hired gun—and even if I am risking my life right now, I don't have the responsibilities of raising any more children.”

  Maggie felt a wrenching pain deep inside her and turned away, clutching the bedpost tightly as she gathered her scattered thoughts before replying. “Wolf won't be a hired gun either. He—”

  “Blake won't take my charity and live off his wife. I know the man well enough for that.”

  “Then we do at least agree he is a man of principle,” she said carefully, daring to turn and face him.

  Colin busied himself with scrubbing down, trying to ignore the persistent ache in his nether regions that distracted him from thinking clearly. “Yes, I think Wolf has principles—he isn't out to deceive her like Lazlo, but dammit, Maggie, that isn't enough.”

  “He's bright and well-read. Did you ever wonder where a half-breed came by his education?” She gave him no chance to reply. “His father is a wealthy man who disowned Wolf for his white wife. After her death, he wanted to reconcile with his only son. Wolf's willing to do it for Eden. How easy do you think that decision was for a man like him?”

  Colin grew very still sitting in the tub. Pensively, he considered what she said. “Not easy at all, I would imagine. But there'll always be the stigma of his Apache blood, the blood their children would have—”

  “That kind of bigotry has to end somewhere, Colin. Isn't that the reason you're fighting Barker and Lamp and all their kind?”

  Images of bloody scalp poles and the drone of flies filled his senses for a moment. “My reasons for fighting are my own,” he replied with a shuttered expression on his face.

  “She’ll go to him without your blessing. Is that how you want it to be?”

  He stared at her, his eyes riveting her angrily. “And you've already given your blessing, superseding mine.”

  Maggie shook her head. “You're her father. It's your blessing that she wants—that she needs, Colin. Please don't drive her away. It doesn't have to be like this.” As she spoke, Maggie stepped closer to the tub and knelt beside it, clutching the rim tightly with white knuckles, her voice impassioned.

  He reached one dripping hand out and brushed her hair back, leaving a wet mark on her shoulder. Then, he tipped her chin up and held it in his fingers. She was crying silent tears. “You love her so much—as much as Elizabeth ever could have. Ah, Maggie, I just don't know...but I’ll talk to Blake when he brings in that cattle buyer.”

  She sensed her victory. If he was willing to talk, it would all work out for Eden and Wolf. With a small sob she threw her arms around Colin's shoulders. He enfolded her in his embrace, soaking her hair and robe. Neither of them noticed…

  * * * *


  Colin stood next to the bed watching Maggie sleep. Lying nestled beneath the sheets with the first thin shafts of pale golden sunlight tinting her face and firing her hair, she was breathtaking. The inner war he had been waging against accepting her as his wife seemed suddenly pointless. Her past was past, just as his was. She would sacrifice anything for his daughter—and for him, he admitted. That night in the alley was etched in his memory forever.

  I guess I do love you, Maggie. A tender, rueful smile spread across his face as he bent down and planted a light kiss on her cheek.

  She awakened drowsily and turned into his kiss, claiming his lips in a soft, brushing caress. “Good morning. Where are you off to dressed so nattily?” He was outfitted in the new suit he had purchased yesterday.

  “I can't beard Win Barker in his lair dressed like a poor cowhand, can I? Go back to sleep. You should need the rest,” he said with quiet amusement dancing in his whiskey eyes.

  Her cheeks bloomed under his gaze as she recalled their impassioned lovemaking. She wanted to know more about his plan to face Barker but dared not risk sitting up to talk for fear of triggering her morning sickness. “Be careful, Colin,” she whispered as he turned and left the room.

  When he arrived at the mercantile, Colin walked through the crowded store, its countertops filled with everything imaginable, from cook stoves to calico. Mining tools filled one wall, while below them were stacked cases of dynamite and boxes of fuse line. Across the narrow aisle, pots and pans of graniteware sat gleaming. Bolts of fabrics filled another counter, which contained every grade from cheap, brightly colored cotton for the poor Mexican laborers to rare silks and velvets for the wealthy mine owner's wives to ooh and aah over.

  The acidic aroma of freshly tanned animal hides mixed with the pungent spices from slow-cured hams and the sweet smell of dried peaches and apricots. Win Barker handled everything the inhabitants of a frontier territory rich in minerals, agriculture and livestock could need. Even if he went straight, he would still be wealthy; but Colin knew that for a power-hungry man like Barker money would never be enough. He wended his way to the narrow stairs at the back of the big store, where a surly-looking man with shaggy dark hair and a decidedly broken nose stood guard.

  “Colin McCrory to see Win Barker,” he announced genially, brushing past the tough.

  “Mr. Barker don't see nobody until I ask him,” the guard said in a guttural accent. He shoved his stocky frame in front of McCrory to block his path. Using the extra foot of height that standing on the first step gave him, he looked down into Colin's face. “Wait here.”

  Colin shrugged and leaned against the wall. “He'll see me. Just tell him it's regarding a cattle transaction he made on the White Mountain Reservation a few months ago.”

  In moments, Colin was ushered into Barker's big office. The small man sat behind an oversized desk cluttered with papers, reclining in a swivel chair with his fingers laced over his paunch. He reached for the large gold watch hanging on a chain from his brocade vest and flicked it open, as if granting McCrory a hearing with a time limit. He did not offer a seat.

  “What can I do for you, Colin? Seems to me we aired our differences before Mr. Potkin a few days ago,” he added smugly.

  His oily smile grated on Colin's nerves, but he remained impassive. “You think you've got that fool Potkin all sewed up—you and your friend in the legislature.” He watched as Barker narrowed his eyes and snapped his watch case closed.

  Win composed himself and chuckled malevolently, swinging the watch hypnotically by its chain. “You do continue to surprise me with your Scots tenacity, McCrory. You're determined to dig until you turn up sufficient evidence to destroy me.”

  “I already have sufficient evidence,” Colin said baldly. “A man named Rigley's done some talking about how you sold his boss WB cattle—only they weren't really your brand. He saw the running marks and the forged bill of sale. They were US cattle from White Mountain Reservation. He's ready to testify that you're no better than a common cow thief, Win.’’

  Colin placed his hands on the front of Barker's desk and loomed over the balding spidery little man; but instead of betraying any trace of fear, Barker just smiled evilly. The hairs on the back of Colin's neck prickled with unease.

  “You know, McCrory, you look quite forbidding—almost savage—standing there like that, threatening an unarmed businessman. But then, I imagine you've had lots of practice being savage...as savage as those poor devils you scalped.” Barker could not contain the triumph that flashed into his eyes. Dark and beady, they looked pig like and crafty in his wrinkled little face.

  “Just what do you mean, Barker?” Colin's expression remained impassive but his heart was hammering.

  “You were a scalper, McCrory. Ah...” He tsk, tsked in mock reproof. “A bloodthirsty renegade. You rode with a delightful fellow who became sort of a legend on the border a quarter century ago. Jeremy Nash—the Aussie, I believe they called him. Not exactly the sort your idealistic crusading friends back East would approve, was he? But then you were only a poor immigrant lad. A pity the sins of one's youth can come back to haunt a man after he's worked so hard to become respected in the territory.”

  He knows everything! But how? Ed Phibbs had ferreted it out, but she was far more interested in her exposé of the ring than in one piece of scandal about a prominent rancher. Yet Barker would have no reason to suspect him, unless someone who knew the truth had told him. Colin forced himself to set aside his jumbled questions and stare levelly at Barker.

  “You're talking crazy, Win. You can't prove those accusations, but I can prove you're a thief.”

  Barker dropped all pretense at geniality and stood up, his eyes black with spite. “I can tell old Fatty Algren enough to ruin you in Prescott. Then, what will your friends in Washington think about the credibility of your charges against me? Of course, that's not even considering how the scandal will affect your lovely new wife and your poor unfortunate daughter.”

  Colin reached across the desk and grabbed Barker by his jacket lapels, yanking him forward until his feet left the ground. “You do anything to hurt my family and I'll break your scrawny neck!”

  “Don't be a fool, McCrory. You kill me and you'll hang—if my men don't shoot you first,” Barker gasped, his face turning red as he squirmed in McCrory's harsh grasp. “Your daughter's reputation is already in enough trouble. If this comes out, she'd never recover—but,” he hastily amended, “it doesn't have to come out. I won't breathe a word about your sins...” He waited for Colin to release him, letting the bargain hang pregnant in the air.

  “You're blackmailing me!” Colin let go of his jacket and shoved him back across the desk.

  Barker struggled and quickly regained his balance, then straightened his shirt and jacket, his calm, oily assurance returning. “A harsh word. I prefer the term ‘bargain.’ You desist in your crusade for the Apaches and I’ll keep the grim secrets of your past.” He waited, trying to read behind the cold, set expression on McCrory's face. A dangerous man.

  “You are the lowest form of scum that ever crawled out of the ooze, Barker,” Colin said through clenched teeth.

  “You're a fine one to call me names after all your bloody butchering against the very savages you're so nobly trying to save now—or is that the reason? To assuage a guilty conscience?” His expression turned ugly. “Salve your conscience some other way, McCrory. Don't interfere with my business to do it.”

  He picked up a small bell sitting on the edge of his desk and rang it sharply. In a trice, the burly guard from downstairs opened the door, flanked by two other men, equally hard-looking and well armed. “Mr. McCrory was just leaving. Escort him from the premises.”

  Colin stepped away from the desk, but before he walked toward the door he stared at Barker with burning eyes. “I don't give a damn if I go down; but if you do anything to besmirch Eden, nothing on earth or in hell will save you from me, Barker.” He turned and stalked out the door, shoving one of the
gunmen against the wall as he passed.

  Colin walked out into the bright hot sunlight, dazed by Barker's blackmail. He would be ruined politically if his past came out. No one in Washington would ever speak to him again. Hell, he thought with grim irony, even the good folks of Prescott would shun him. They hated Apaches right enough, but being a professional butcher who hunted them down and hacked off their scalps for bounty was not something a respectable community leader would dirty his hands doing. He would be a pariah and place Eden in even more jeopardy. God, how could he face the horror, the accusation in his daughter's eyes?

  He had condemned Maggie because of her past. Now, she would see that his own was scarcely blameless. Maggie! Colin stopped dead in his tracks. How had Barker found out if Ed Phibbs had not told him? Who else knew? His thoughts flew back to those feverish nights when Maggie sat beside his bed, tending his wounds, bathing down his fever. Had he babbled about the Aussie, about the way he had made his stake in Mexico? Or had she, who had spent years living in Sonora herself, always known? Was she a spy working with the ring?

  Absurd. Or was it? There had always been that incredible attraction between them from the moment they met, but it had never really explained the outrageous bargain she had proposed. She could have been in on a conspiracy. But she had risked mortal danger to save Eden from those Apache raiders and even placed herself between him and an assassin's bullet the other night in Prescott. Had her feelings for him grown strong enough to make her repent her betrayal? He had been coming to believe he was in love with his wife. Could Maggie be in love with him as well—perhaps just as unwillingly?

  The only way to learn the truth was to confront her. Then, he would have to decide how to deal with Barker. Perhaps, it would be best to wait until Blake completed his mission. The two of them had a lot of serious talking to do about Eden. If her future was secure with the half-breed, that would allow Colin a lot more leeway to tackle Barker and whoever else was involved—even if it was his own wife.