No, it can’t be Maggie! But who, then…?
* * * *
Bart Fletcher felt pleased with himself. Well, perhaps pleased was not an adequate word to describe the bittersweet pleasure he was taking in an uncharacteristically noble act. He inspected his appearance in the mirror one more time and smoothed one immaculately manicured hand across his beard. Dressed in his favorite tan linen suit with a crisp white ruffled shirt, he looked every inch the son of a baronet, albeit a disowned one. His wretched cousin Evelyn had no doubt inherited the title by now. Little matter, the country estate had been mortgaged to the hilt when he had left England nearly thirty years ago.
Let Cousin Evelyn have it. He deserves the bloody pile of rocks·. I've made my own fortune. But all the money or titles on earth could not gain him the one person he desired above all others. His Megs. At least he had done something to make her future secure. Whistling, he set out, locking his hotel door and heading down the long hallway around the corner to the stairs.
He had planned to leave a note for a porter to deliver discreetly, asking her to meet him at the Cosmopolitan Dining Room again; but suddenly there she was, stepping out of her door. They nearly collided as she turned, startled by his appearance.
“Bart! What are you doing here?” She looked down the hall, but no one was in sight.
“I assure you I didn't plan a tryst, Megs. In fact, I didn't even know your accommodations were on the same bloody floor, but I do want to talk with you. There's—”
“Quick, come inside,” Maggie said as a maid carrying a huge clay olla filled with water rounded the corner.
They stepped into her suite and she closed the door before the girl noticed them. Nervously, Maggie walked across the sitting room and looked out the window. Bart studied her, looking for some telltale sign of her pregnancy. Dressed in a lavender blue silk suit and feathered bonnet, she looked as slim and lovely as ever.
“Impending motherhood seems to agree with you, Megs,” he said fondly.
She fingered the antique gold band on her left hand beneath the dainty blue glove she wore. “What do you want, Bart?”
He smiled and his pale eyes danced for a moment, then his expression grew rueful. “What I want and what I've come to tell you aren't at all the same.”
“Colin's out on business but he could return any minute. He's gone to see Win Barker,” she added worriedly.
He put up a hand. “I'll be brief. What I have to tell you pertains to your fear for your husband's life. He should be safe now. I've, er, neutralized the assassin.”
Maggie looked astonished. “How? Have you found out who Barkers hired? What—”
“Don't question it, Megs. You know my rather checkered past and unorthodox methods. Suffice it to say no one will be shooting at Colin McCrory from back alleys again. You can return with him to your ranch in the wilderness to rusticate and have babies—if that's what you want,” he added with a shudder of distaste. “As for me, I'll be heading to San Francisco in a few days. When I get settled, I’ll send you my address. If you ever need anything—anything at all, Megs—you'll know where to find me.”
Maggie looked at her old friend, realizing that he was walking out of her life for good. And that it was costing him dearly. He really did care for her. She crossed the room to him and placed her gloved hands on the shoulders of his pristine suit coat.
“I shall always consider you my dearest friend, Bart. I'll never forget you.” Emotion tightened her throat as she gazed into his face, now so wistfully sad. “Take care of yourself, you scalawag,” she whispered, leaning forward to brush a light kiss on his cheek.
“Well, isn't this touching.” Colin stood in the doorway with an ominous scowl on his face.
Chapter Eighteen
White Mountain Reservation
Eden's legs almost buckled beneath her as she crawled from the cramped water barrel where she had hidden after stampeding a dozen horses out of the agency corral last night. Knowing there was no hope of out riding Lamp's Indian police, not to mention the risk of breaking her neck in the dark, she had scattered them on a false trail.
Thank God for Rufus, who had saved her from the brute that Lamp had sent climbing out the window after her. She had given her other two pursuers the slip, but he had caught her. Seeing his mistress under attack, the big dog had leaped like a mountain lion at the Apache's throat. As they struggled, she had seized the rifle the man had dropped and used it to club him insensate. Then, Rufus had helped her chase the horses from the corral, driving them far out to the west. She prayed her pet had eluded the guns of the police.
If only she could slip inside the stable without being caught. Her own mare, specially bred for speed and endurance, was quartered there. The police had searched everywhere for her last night. They had opened several of the water barrels, then abandoned prying the lids off the rest and never noticed that one had been partially emptied. Her skirts were soaked and her legs ached with cold, but no one had found her. They all assumed she had ridden off on one of the agency horses. Lamp had the police out combing the area between the reservation and Crown Verde, searching for her. But she would fool them now and head south toward Tucson to her father. She could make it in less than a day.
The stock of the Spencer carbine she had wrested from the guard was wet, but the firing mechanism was dry. Her fingers were stiff with cold as she forced them to check the weapon. With it loaded and ready, she slid around the side of the dilapidated adobe brick stable. No one was in sight except for a few women who were headed to the post. Even if they saw her, she was certain they would not betray her presence. One lone police guard lounged in the shade of the back doorway. She could not risk a shot that would alert the rest of the post. Could she bluff him into believing that she would shoot?
There's only one way to find out. “Don't make a sound. Drop your weapon. I have nothing to lose. If I have to kill you, I will.” The guard reluctantly complied. She backed her squat, impassive captive into the stable after kicking his old Henry lever action against the wall. What to do next? “Lie on the floor—face down,” she said, motioning with her Spencer.
The hard obsidian gaze questioned her warily, but he knelt slowly, then lay down. Once he could no longer pierce her with his eyes, she felt a bit more steady. Cautiously, she stepped closer, steeling herself to do in cold blood what she had done the preceding night in blind panic. She raised the rifle stock; but before she could bring it down and crack him on the head, he rolled against her legs. With the speed of a striking rattler, he seized one slim ankle and threw her off balance.
Eden tumbled to the ground with a yelp of terror as her carbine went flying. He rolled on top of her, crushing the breath from her lungs. His lips curved into a grimace that might have been meant for a smile. He began to caress her body. She clawed and bit, thrashing beneath him, dreading the defilement that was to come.
Suddenly, a low feral growl erupted from the stable door and Rufus lunged at the guard. Man and dog rolled clear of Eden, locked in mortal combat. She could see the Apache struggling to free the knife at his belt as Rufus' fangs clamped savagely into his forearm. Eden scrambled quickly to where her carbine had fallen. She tried to use it as a club, but man and dog were thrashing too violently for a clean blow.
“Rufus, come!” she commanded just as the Apache freed his knife.
The dog released the Indian and jumped back, the glittering slice of the blade narrowly missing him. The guard yelled something in the guttural dialect of the Apache and Eden knew he was summoning help. Aiming the Spencer, she fired just as his knife again swept near the growling dog that stood between them.
With a sharp cry, the guard was thrown back against the rough planks of a stall. Red blossomed across his chest, but Eden did not take time to look as she raced past him, searching for Sunglow. “I don't know where you came from, Rufus, but your timing couldn't have been better.”
Locating her palomino, she murmured to the frightened horse as she led her
from the stables. “No time for a saddle, girl.” Eden vaulted onto the mare's back and raced away, with Rufus at her heels. The sounds of angry voices yelling in English and Apache echoed across the compound as they streaked away. Her pursuers would be after her in seconds.
Wolf rode east from Globe, preoccupied with the murder of Sug Rigley. After several days of fruitless searching, he had met a hopeful prospector who had stumbled across the body lying in the bottom of an old mine shaft with his skull caved in. Colin would be disappointed, but perhaps he had learned something in Tucson. For now, all Wolf was concerned about was seeing that Eden was safely back at Crown Verde before they pursued Win Barker and his murdering cohorts any further.
Looking into the bright morning sun, he could see the bleak silhouette of the post in the distance. Then, the sound of a shot, followed by hoarse yelling, broke the stillness. Wolf recognized Eden's gleaming silver-gilt hair streaming out behind her as she lay low against Sunglow's neck, racing breakneck away from the stable with her big red dog flying beside her.
He saw the reservation police, recognizable in their makeshift uniforms, converge on her, several sweeping down from the hills to the north, two more cutting her off from the south. Mounted Coyoteros seemed to materialize from all across the reservation, chasing Eden, but not firing their weapons. What the hell had happened?
With a curse, Wolf kicked his big roan into a gallop. Before he could reach her, she had been intercepted. He reined in just as he reached the milling band of police who had surrounded the palomino.
“Why are you pursuing McCrory's daughter?” Wolf asked their leader in the Athapaskan dialect.
“The agent has said he wants her returned unharmed to him. He gave us no instructions about you,” the hard-eyed Coyotero replied.
“Wolf, Lamp has Dr. Torres. Two dying Apaches, Tome and Echiva, told us he enslaved them—and dozens of others—to work in the coal mines.”
“Tome is my cousin,” one of the police said in English. “I have not seen him in two moons.”
“That's because he was forced to dig in the mine for Lamp until the smallpox struck. The guards there fled, and the slaves brought their sick to Dr. Torres,” Eden said, looking around the motley group of police.
“You all know the doctor, don't you?” Wolf asked. According to Colin, Torres had worked tirelessly among the Apache for years.
One man spat in disgust. “He is white and the whites bring us their diseases.”
“But this woman has come among you to help. She nurses sick Apaches, and when she found out your agent was an evil man, enslaving reservation men, she tried to stop him.”
There was low murmuring among the police. “What the half-blood says is true. She is a medicine woman who taught my sister how to tend the sick ones.”
“Echiva was taken from my old village by Lamp's white guards,” another added.
“We work for the agent. He pays us with fire water and fine ponies,” their leader yelled out, but several others chorused their agreement with the dissenters.
“The Yellow Hair's medicine is strong.”
“His heart is good.”
“Have any of you seen the men who were sent to work in the mines? Do you know they were forced against their will—beaten, starved?” Eden asked. Several shook their heads.
“Will you sell your warrior's honor for ponies and whiskey while your brothers die at the agent's hand?” Wolf could sense the tide turning in their favor as the muttering grew louder and the leader and a couple of his lieutenants were shouted down.
* * * *
Back at the post, Caleb Lamp extracted a leather-wrapped bundle from behind several loose adobe bricks in the wall of his office. He carried it to his desk and unfolded a ledger. As he flipped through it, making notations, Aaron Torres watched with narrowed green eyes.
“Tallying up what Barker owes you?” he asked from the corner where he lay, bound hand and foot.
“Quiet, or I’ll gag you,” Lamp said with a menacing glare.
“Since you plan to kill me, I scarcely think a gag is much of a threat,” Torres replied with surprising calm. If only Eden had escaped. Earlier this morning he had heard the guards report their failure to find her to Lamp, but a scant half hour ago a shot had rung out followed by a considerable commotion. As he waited, fearful for her life, nothing more had happened. He was daring to hope again. Lamp was obviously preparing to flee in any case.
“Barker isn't going to pay you, Lamp. Don't be a fool. You've become a liability. Too greedy,” he taunted.
“I told you to shut up,” Lamp replied savagely, rising and walking over to where Torres lay to deliver a vicious kick to his ribs. The physician curled in a ball, coughing as the air rushed from his lungs.
Just as Lamp prepared to strike another blow, the door flew open and Wolf stepped inside, his Colt leveled on the agent. “Don't,” was all he said, motioning Lamp back against his desk, away from the doctor.
Eden rushed in behind him and knelt beside Torres. “Oh, Doctor, how badly are you hurt?”
“I have a lump the size of a hen's egg on my skull and some very sore ribs, but I’ll survive,” Torres said as she struggled with the ropes binding him.
“Well, what have we here?” Wolf asked, glancing at the ledger Lamp was trying to shield with his body as he leaned against the desk.
“That ledger contains the real evidence of his deals with Barker—he had it hidden in the wall. I think he was planning to blackmail Barker and his cronies with it,” Torres said as Eden helped him sit up.
“Colin will really be interested in this.” Blake whistled low as he shoved Lamp into a chair and turned the ledger so he could glance through it. “Doc, how'd you like to use the ropes he tied you up with to truss up this patient?”
“My greatest pleasure,” Torres replied as he stood, stomping his legs to restore circulation. He took the length of scratchy hemp from Eden and approached Lamp. “I heard a shot and sounds of pursuit,” he said, looking at Eden as he bound Lamp's hands.
Eden bit her lip as she recalled her Apache attacker's blood-soaked chest. “I killed one of his reservation police when I was trying to escape. He...he attacked me.”
“It's an ugly story, Doc,” Wolf interrupted.
“But you did escape, Eden. That's all that matters,” Torres said as he finished tying Lamp.
“Thanks to Wolf—and your work among the Apaches,” she replied, quickly explaining how between them they had persuaded the reservation police to release her. “Then Tome's cousin and two other men disarmed Lamp's defenders and rode to the mines. Once they see what went on there, I don't think there will be any more workers recruited by force from anywhere on White Mountain,” she concluded.
“Especially not now that the agent here's being relieved of his job,” Wolf added, giving Lamp a chilling smile. “I think you have a date with a jail cell in Prescott.”
“No one'll believe you. It's my word against yours—'n you're a breed,” Lamp said contemptuously, although his eyes betrayed the fear he was fighting to conceal.
“They'll believe me, I imagine—and Eden,” Torres said in a steely tone. “Let me check on my patients here and then I'll ride with you to deliver the agent to the sheriff.”
“I think we should take these books to Father in Tucson as soon as Lamp is locked up,” Eden said.
“We?” Wolf eyed her with a mixture of admiration and exasperation.
“Yes, we. Don't you want to keep me under your protective wing?” she called over her shoulder as she followed the doctor out of Lamp's office.
“Barker plays for keeps, Eden. I don't want you anywhere near him. Remember what I told you about Sug Rigley?”
“All the more reason for us to stay together. Either I go with you or I ride back here to help the doctor,” she said, turning to face him. “I'm not going to sit home at Crown Verde and repine in the middle of a crisis.”
Wolf could not stop himself. Right in the middle of the post fi
lled with people, he pulled Eden into his arms and kissed her fiercely, trying to communicate all the love, the need, the fear that swamped his senses. She returned his kiss with fire, feeling the life-affirming warmth of his flesh pressed against hers. Nothing would ever separate them again.
When he finally came to his senses and realized where they were, he released her, whispering against her neck, “You win.”
“We both will, just you wait and see, Wolf,” she said, caressing his cheek.
Within the hour four riders headed to Prescott. Eden and the doctor rode first while Wolf kept guard on the very reluctant Caleb Lamp, with Rufus loping beside them.
* * * *
Tucson
Colin stepped into his hotel room and closed the door, struggling to control the furious surge of jealousy that made a red haze shimmer before his eyes. The trembling was not only from anger but also from hurt. He forced the pain aside and focused his wrath on the foppish Englishman who had been holding his wife. “Am I interrupting something, Fletcher?”
“Colin, you're mistaken.” Maggie stepped between them, placing her hand on his arm.
He brushed her hand away as if it were a poisonous centipede. “I’ll deal with you later, wife.”
Fletcher stood his ground against his larger antagonist, sensing the leashed fury in the big Scot. “I've just come to tell Maggie good-bye, McCrory. What you saw was quite innocent—at least on her part. I offered to take her with me to San Francisco. The lady declined.”
“And she was just kissing you good-bye?” Colin asked with a sardonic lift of his eyebrows.
“Just so. We are old friends, however much you might wish it otherwise.” He met Colin's blazing gold eyes with his poker player's ice blue ones.
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