Scotsman Wore Spurs

by Potter, Patricia;

  Kirby couldn’t catch his breath. That damned picture. Someone had sketched him, and it had been a good likeness. But he’d changed in twenty-five years; he hadn’t thought …

  “Did your pa say anything else?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said slowly. “He was losing blood pretty quickly, but …” Her voice quivered, trailed off, then began again. “He said, ‘The article. Kingsley. It’s him. Danger.’ And I thought he meant it was you who’d shot him—or that it was you who’d hired the gunman.”

  She took a ragged breath. “He also told me about a letter he’d left in his trunk. He’d written it to me because he’d seen the article and the sketch, and I think he was worried something would happen to him. He wanted me to know why.” She paused, then finished, “The letter told all about a robbery. But you already know about that, don’t you?”

  Kirby didn’t even consider trying to bluff his way through this. She already knew the truth. And he was damned tired of lying, of hiding. Besides, whoever had shot Jim Davis, he realized, had to be the one behind the attempt on his own life. The connection was too direct, too clear, for it to be otherwise.

  “Which one were you?”

  Her question jolted him from his thoughts. He immediately knew what she meant, but he wasn’t quite ready to answer. He was finding it hard to give up the habits of a lifetime.

  Sighing, he looked out across the river. “Tell me first—what happened to your father? Where did he go after the robbery?”

  She was silent for a moment, then said, “He went East, met my mother, who was an actress, and joined her in touring the country. She died two years ago, and he and I continued touring together. I wanted to come West. He didn’t want to come but … but I convinced him.”

  Kirby heard the guilt in her voice. Christ, he knew how guilt could eat away a soul.

  He heaved another sigh, remembering Jim Davis, his friend who was always whistling or humming a tune. He’d played a mouth organ, too. And he had been the most reluctant of them all to rob the bank, the one who had suffered the most when the clerk was shot. But Cal Thornton had convinced them all that no one would be hurt, that they were only stealing money from greedy bankers. Kirby hadn’t realized until later that they were stealing from ranchers and small farmers and merchants, who lost everything they had in that robbery.

  “If you thought I murdered him,” he said, “why didn’t you go to the law?”

  “I did,” she admitted. “No one would believe you could be involved in murder. They wouldn’t listen to me and finally they wouldn’t even talk to me anymore.” Her voice dropped to a murmur as she added, “They didn’t put any credence in a singer and some-times-actress accusing one of the most powerful men in Texas of murder.”

  “So you decided to beard the lion yourself,” he concluded, shaking his head. “Young lady, I don’t know whether you’re the bravest woman I’ve ever met or the craziest. If you thought I was a murderer, didn’t it occur to you that I might have killed you, too?”

  She looked at the ground, seeming to study it as she replied, “I didn’t care if I died. When I left San Antonio I was … well, it didn’t seem to matter what happened to me.”

  God, he could almost have cried for the pain he heard in her voice—a voice far too young to feel such grief.

  Uncomfortable with such strong emotion, and with the protective instincts she roused in him—that he was now certain she’d roused in his Scotsman—Kirby sought to divert them to less painful ground. Giving her a brief, sideways glance, he said, “So, you’re a singer, like your pa?”

  She nodded. “And an actress, like my mother, though Daddy and I both liked singing best and, after Mama died, that’s all we did. We had an engagement at the Palace in San Antonio. My name is Gabrielle, but my full name is Maris Gabrielle Parker.”

  Kirby remembered her. He remembered several ranchers talking about the lovely singer at the Palace. The name had meant nothing to him, nor had he any inclination to travel hours to see a performance. Now he wished he had. Perhaps he would have recognized Davis, perhaps he could have somehow prevented …

  “Mr. Kingsley, my father was a good man,” Gabrielle said, her gaze meeting his directly once more. “Everyone liked him. I couldn’t believe … I mean, he never said anything about Texas. I didn’t even know he’d ever been here. I don’t understand how … how he could have …”

  Kirby heard the grief in her voice. And the bewilderment.

  “You would have had to be there to understand,” he said quietly. “You would have had to be there.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Gabrielle held her breath as Kingsley hesitated.

  Anguish deepened the lines in his face as he began to speak. “Both your father’s father and mine had small farms along a river near what is now Austin.” He gave her a fleeting, half-smile “When they weren’t much older than I thought Gabe Lewis was, they both fought against Santa Anna, then settled on adjoining property that fronted on a creek. Your father and I played together when we were small. My brother was much younger, and your father had no brothers or sisters.”

  He gave a short nod. “We had good land, some of the best, because of the water. Apparently, it was too good, because another rancher tried to buy out both Jim’s and my father’s land. When that didn’t work, our fathers were conveniently killed while taking cattle to New Orleans. Apaches, it was claimed. But we never believed it. Especially when the bank called in their loans and the farms were promptly sold to the man who’d been trying to buy us out. My mother was already dead, and Jim’s mother died soon after losing the ranch.

  “I was seventeen, and my brother Jon just a kid. Your father was sixteen. We were angry, bitter, hot to get even. The rancher wanted us out of the area, made sure we couldn’t get work. My brother was hungry. Hell, all three of us were hungry. Then we started running with Cal Thornton and Sam Wright.”

  Shaking his head slowly, Kingsley hooked his thumbs in the top of his trousers and took a couple of paces along the edge of the riverbank. Stopping, he swung around to face the river again, then continued. “Cal said he came from north Texas, said the same thing had happened to his pa that happened to our fathers. Sam was his shadow. I never did know much about him. One night we all got liquored up—Cal provided the bottle—and we talked big about how it would solve all our problems to rob just one bank. Cal goaded us on. We were fool enough, young enough, and desperate enough, to listen when he explained how easy it would be. He swore to us that no one would be hurt.

  “The next morning, neither your father nor I wanted to go through with it. But Cal had the tongue of a serpent—said we owed it to our fathers, taunted me for not taking better care of my brother.” Kingsley shook his head. “That was all I needed to hear. I was already feeling guilty as hell about not taking good care of Jon. So we finally agreed.”

  When Kingsley paused, Gabrielle took a deep breath. Her father had never spoken about his parents, and she’d always wondered why; if she asked, he simply said they’d been dead a long time. Perhaps, she thought, he’d never talked about them because any mention of them would have led to reminders of a past that he wanted to forget.

  “I’ve often wished to God I could take back that day,” Kingsley continued. “And I know damned well Jim felt the same. He said so. Right after we did it.”

  Gabrielle recalled her father’s letter, its every word dripping with remorse. Hesitantly, she asked, “What … what happened that day?”

  “We rode into town at midday and watched the bank until all the clerks had left but one. Then we went inside. Jon was to wait outside with the horses. Your father stood guard at the door, and Cal held a gun on the clerk while I rifled the cash drawers. When Cal told the clerk to open the safe, the man said he didn’t have the combination. Cal hit him until he remembered it. Then, when Cal had taken the money out of the safe, he turned and shot the clerk. For making him wait, he said.”

  In her mind’s eye, Gabrielle could see the hor
ror on her father’s face as clearly as she heard it in Kingsley’s voice. Two frightened youths—hardly more than boys—who’d lost their homes and families. She ached for her father, and for the man now telling the tale with such visible pain.

  “We ran out,” Kingsley went on. “Damn, but I was scared—and sick to my soul at the easy way Cal had shot that clerk. It was so damned pointless. But I kept thinking of my brother—and, admittedly, myself—and we rode like hell out of there. When we divided the money we decided it was best to separate. Each of us would change our name and head in a different direction. Jon and I went south to another part of Texas, Jim headed east, Sam was supposed to go west, and Cal north. I never saw any of them again.”

  Kingsley sighed deeply as he came to the end of the story, and silence settled between them. The night was still except for the distant lowing of cattle.

  Then he took a few steps toward her and reached out, placing a large hand on her shoulder. “Gabrielle, Jim Davis was my friend,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”

  Somehow, his sympathy touched her more deeply than had anyone’s since her father’s death. Gabrielle nodded. “Thank you,” she said tearfully.

  “Now—” He looked at her expectantly as he let his hand fall from her shoulder. “Tell me why you decided not to shoot me dead the first time you saw me.”

  Lowering her gaze, she turned away from him to face the river, watching the reflection of the half-hidden moon and stars ripple across the black surface as she spoke. “I told myself I wanted to wait until you were away from your ranch,” she murmured. “That I was waiting for the chance to get you alone. But, looking back now, I don’t think I ever really would have done it. At least, I hope I wouldn’t have. Then, the night of the stampede, with Juan’s death and Ace getting hurt”—she let out a ragged sigh—“I don’t know. Somehow, having so many horrible things happen at once sort of shocked me out of where I’d been, inside myself. And I realized that I couldn’t kill you. That I couldn’t kill anybody.”

  Kingsley was silent for a moment, then said, “And now? Why, after all this time, did you suddenly decide to risk telling me the truth?”

  “Because in the past few weeks, I’ve seen who you are,” she said simply. “I know now that you couldn’t possibly be responsible for my father’s death. Oh, I wanted you to be, or I would have admitted the truth to myself sooner. I thought … I thought I wanted justice. But now I wonder whether I only wanted to blame someone besides myself.”

  “Hell, girl, you had no way of knowing your papa would be running into danger in Texas. For God’s sakes, don’t blame yourself!”

  She turned her head to look at him. “Then who?”

  His head turned toward her and their gazes met, and she saw his face harden in the sliver of moonlight.

  “I can make a good guess,” he said. “Cal Thornton. Some months back, just about the same time your father was shot, someone tried to ambush me. Drew saved my life.”

  Gabrielle hesitated, then spoke in a voice that was barely audible. “Someone shot at me, too. The gunman who killed my father. When he’d shot Papa, he took aim again to fire, but Papa threw me down under him as he was falling.”

  Kingsley’s eyes widened. “Dammit … Gabrielle. You mean to say you came after a man you thought was gunning for you, too? All by yourself?”

  Mortified that she’d so misjudged Kingsley rather than for her own reckless behavior, Gabrielle flapped her hand helplessly. “I was only thinking about Papa, that I couldn’t let anyone get away with killing him. Besides”—she waved her hand again—“I knew once I cut my hair and started being Gabe Lewis, no one would recognize me.”

  “Well, hell, that’s the truth,” Kingsley muttered, though his tone held a trace of amusement. “You sure had me fooled well enough.”

  “Until I fell into the river,” she said, adding disconsolately, “Twice.”

  His lips twitched. “Poor Drew,” he said. “How much of this does he know?”

  Gabrielle wanted to lie for Drew. She wanted to tell Kingsley that Drew knew nothing, had concealed nothing from him. But she knew she couldn’t. “He knows everything,” she said. “I told him just a few days ago. And I swore him to secrecy,” she added hurriedly.

  “Dammit, but that man must be a vault of secrets,” Kirby murmured. Then, abruptly, he asked, “What made you decide that I couldn’t be involved in your father’s death?”

  “A lot of things. But mostly what you did for Ha’Penny,” she admitted.

  He grinned suddenly, and the transformation was so unexpected, she was startled. She also thought he should do it more often.

  “I was afraid I’d lose my cook—and maybe even my best hand. I’ve seen the way Drew looks at you when he thinks nobody’s watching.”

  She bit her lip. “You won’t blame Drew?”

  “No,” Kingsley said. “He keeps his word, and God knows it must have pained him. He tries so damn hard to mind his own business.” A chuckle escaped him. “And fails so miserably.”

  Oh, she did like Kirby Kingsley. Her father’s friend. A lump rose in her throat as she wondered if he would become her friend, too. At that moment, she knew she would like that very much.

  “I think Jim did very well for himself,” Kingsley said softly. “I envy him. And I’m sure your mother was a wonderful woman, too.”

  Gabrielle nodded. “She was. It nearly broke Papa’s heart when she died.”

  Kingsley sighed. “I’m glad that he found someone. I didn’t have his courage. I was afraid someday …” His voice trailed off.

  She saw the loneliness now. No wonder he kept everyone at arm’s length.

  “Mr. Kingsley, I know it isn’t enough,” she said, feeling horribly inadequate, “but … I’m sorry that I misjudged you so badly for so long. I don’t have any excuse to offer that makes up for believing what I did of you.”

  He gave his head a quick shake. “Forget it. People think and do all sorts of things when they’re grieving that they’d never do otherwise. It’s best not to dwell on them but to just move on. The thing we’ve got to do now is figure out how to find Cal Thornton before he finds us.” Frowning, he muttered, “I’d stake my life it’s him. Now that I know about Jim—and you. One way or another, it seems you’re in as much danger as I am.”

  Gabrielle didn’t want to believe him, but it would have been plain stupid not to. “And you’re sure it was this Cal Thornton,” she said. “What about the other man, Thornton’s friend?”

  Kingsley shook his head. “Sam didn’t have enough sense to put on a hat during a rainstorm. No, it’s Cal, all right. The only other question is why. Why, after all these years?”

  “He must think he might be recognized,” she said. “He must be in a position where you could see and identify him.”

  “After all this time?” Kingsley shot her a dubious look. “And what about your father? From what you said, he’d just come back to Texas.”

  She thought hard. What else would her father and Kirby Kingsley have in common? What, after all these years, could have spurred this sudden burst of violence?

  Kirby also had a thoughtful look on his face. “At least,” he finally said, “Thornton can’t have any idea that you’re with us now. But maybe it would be best if you left before we reach Abilene—so you’ll have no obvious connection with me.”

  Gabrielle looked at him. She knew he was only thinking of her safety, but …

  “I want to stay,” she said, her heart suddenly pounding. “Besides, I got a glimpse of the man who shot my father.”

  Kingsley’s head jerked toward her.

  “I didn’t see much,” she admitted. “It was dark, and he was at the end of the street, in the shadows. But I know he had a silver band on his hat, and his build was … was like Drew’s. He was very tall and lean, and he moved …”

  “Like a cat,” Kingsley finished for her. “Smooth, fluid, like it doesn’t take any effort.”

  She nodded. “Yes.”


  “Hmm.” Kirby stared at the ground for a moment or two, then as a sudden thought struck him, he looked at her quickly. “You didn’t think that Drew …”

  Miserably, she nodded. “When I first saw him, I did. But not for long. And not at all after … after the trip to Willow Springs.” Gabrielle felt heat rising in her cheeks, felt Kingsley staring at her, and was glad the moonlight was obscured by the clouds.

  “Sonofabitch,” Kingsley swore softly, “I think it’s time I turned in my spurs. Things going on under my nose, and I don’t see them. Hell, I should—” He broke off, and even in the watery moonlight, Gabrielle could see his face turn a ruddy red. An instant later, he started sputtering an apology. “I keep forgetting you’re a lady. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  Gabrielle couldn’t hold back a giggle, blessed relief after so much worry.

  “It’s hard getting used to Gabrielle after Gabe,” Kingsley said in his own defense. “Gabe eventually made a real fine louse.” He gave a crooked smile. “Wonder what Pepper would have thought. In fact, I wonder if the old dog knew from the beginning.”

  Gabrielle somehow liked the thought, even if it didn’t say much for her acting abilities. “I miss him,” she said.

  “We all do. He was a fine man,” Kingsley agreed. “Question is, what do we do now? At least, now I know something about why someone’s trying to kill me, and I thank you for it, but I want you out of danger. You should go back East.”

  Gabrielle shook her head. “There’s no reason for me to go East. I don’t have any other family, and … Mr. Kingsley—”

  “Kirby.”

  She hesitated, then offered him a tremulous smile. “Thank you. Kirby. But, please, I don’t want to go. I want to find out who killed my father.”

  “Oh, we’ll find out, all right,” he said. “And we’ll let you know. But, meanwhile, you’ll be safe. Jim would skin me alive if he were here and I let you stay on, knowing somebody’s gunning for you.”

  Gabrielle’s heart was racing. She couldn’t leave now. Not after they’d come this far. But she had no rational arguments to offer about why he should let her stay—except the truth. And she couldn’t bring herself to put into words what she hardly dared let herself hope might come true if she were allowed to remain.