In the Arms of a Cowboy

by Pam Crooks

  Suddenly, Elliott bolted to his feet. He whirled toward Hannah, a wild man, frenzied and panicked. He jabbed the revolver toward the door.

  “Get him out of here,” he ordered with a snarl.

  She made a sound of distress and tugged on Quinn’s arm. “Let’s go, Quinn.”

  Quinn shook her off, not ready to leave Elliott, not trusting him.

  “Give me the gun first,” he ordered.

  “Go. Now, damn it!”

  “Not until you give me the gun.”

  Quinn lunged, reaching across the desk to wrest the revolver from his brother’s hand, but too quickly, Elliott jumped back and produced another from the gunbelt strapped to his hip.

  Both weapons shook, their barrels ominous in their aim.

  “You win, just like you always do,” he choked. “Get out of here, Quinn. Leave me alone. Take Hannah with you. You can have the damned ranch, too. I don’t want it anymore. Do you hear me?” His voice rose to a shrill pitch. “I don’t want it!”

  “Quinn, we have to leave.” Frantic, Hannah yanked hard on his arm, and he stumbled back. “He’ll kill you! Can’t you see that?”

  “No,” he said, still resisting, still afraid to leave.

  From some herculean force dredged up within her, Hannah pulled him from the office and slammed the door closed, only moments before something hurtled after them. The black bag, maybe, crashing on the other side.

  They fell together against the wall. Hannah was trembling and crying, and Quinn hauled her to his chest, holding her hard.

  “He’s very sick,” she whispered. “He needs help. There’s nothing you can do for him. We’ll find the doctors he needs, Quinn. They’re the only ones who can help him.”

  “I have to go back in there,” he said, hating the revenge he’d been compelled to seek and tortured by a sense of dread so overwhelming he was forced to defy the risks. “He can’t be alone.”

  “Oh, God. No.” Raw fear paled her expression.

  Resolutely, he pushed her away. “Run out to the barns and find someone,” he ordered. “As many men as you can round up. Send them in here. Fast.”

  She pivoted to obey the command, but before she could take a step, before either of them could, a single gunshot thundered through the house.

  And with it, the muffled sound of a man’s body toppling lifeless to the floor.

  Chapter 21

  Word of Elliott Landry’s suicide hit the newspapers with all the sensationalism of a popular dime novel. Except this time, the gory details were all true.

  Neighboring cattlemen and scores of Amarillo citizenry streamed to the Star L ranch for the funeral, more out of respect and curiosity for Quinn’s return than grief for Elliott’s tragic passing. He was buried in the family plot, next to the father he’d despised and the wife he’d killed. The event made for some fascinating ruminating in front-room parlors and back-room saloons.

  And the story sold newspapers. Stacks of them.

  While waiting for a haircut and shave, Roger Fenwick read the well-thumbed issue of the weekly Amarillo Champion with more zeal than most. Though the incident had happened nearly a month before, the most recent accounting of it engrossed him as if it had happened only yesterday.

  “Them Landry boys gave folks plenty to talk about, didn’t they?” The amiable barber, his hair parted down the middle and slicked with tonic, gestured Fenwick into the velvet-cushioned chair. “Reckon if ol’ T.J. were alive today, he’d be none too pleased. He hated scandal.”

  Fenwick could care less about T.J. Landry. Or Elliott, for that matter.

  Only Quinn interested him.

  “Folks were mighty surprised to learn that Quinn came back with a wife at his side. Word is he plucked her right out of the nunnery. Holed up with some Mexican banditos, then married her.”

  The barber draped him and tilted the chair back; Fenwick set his booted feet on the foot rest. He hid his surprise at the news of the nuptials and lifted his chin to allow the barber to lather his cheeks and throat.

  “Pretty thing she is, with those red curls and hazel eyes. Saw her once, after the funeral. Slender as a willow reed. Landry won’t hardly let her out of his sight.” He chuckled and wielded the straight razor with the ease of a man who’d performed the task a thousand times over. “Can’t blame him. She’s all he’s got left in this world. Her and that huge ranch of his.”

  Fenwick let him talk while his brain sorted through the information.

  “Yes, sir. Those two make a fine pair. Anyone can see they’re as happy as twin bear cubs with a honey pot.”

  The razor halted near Fenwick’s lower lip and the angry scar left there from the swing of Landry’s club the night he broke out of Briggs’ penitentiary.

  The night he destroyed Fenwick’s Solution.

  “Nasty scar you got there.” The barber maneuvered the blade with extra care. “Get it from a fall?”

  “Yes,” Fenwick lied.

  “Gonna remind you every time you look at it.”

  Fenwick didn’t need the scar to be reminded of his hate for Quinn Landry or all he’d lost because of him. The opportunity to test his solution on Briggs’ inmates was forever gone; a small fortune and years of experiments wasted.

  After the shave was finished, the barber wiped off the remaining soap with a warm, damp towel, adjusted the chair and reached for his scissors.

  “You say Landry’s got a ranch around these parts?’ Fenwick asked.

  “Yep. Damned near a quarter-million acres up north a spell. The Star L spread. Can’t believe you’ve never heard of it.”

  “I don’t recall him mentioning the place.”

  “You’re acquainted with Mr. Landry, then?”

  “Yes,” Fenwick said smoothly. “We’re acquainted. And I’d be obliged if you’d give me directions out. I’d like to pay him a call. To express my condolences, of course.”

  The barber readily complied, and after leaving the chair, Fenwick paid him, tossing in an extra two bits for the pleasure of his conversation.

  Outside, he halted on the boardwalk and squinted into the morning sunshine. He’d have to find Briggs and that no-good guard of his and wrangle them away from whatever saloon and floozy they’d found to entertain them. Briggs would be keen on the news he’d gleaned and quick to lend his assistance to Fenwick’s plan for revenge. The warden had a vendetta of his own against Landry’s wife.

  But it would be him, Roger Fenwick, who would make her husband pay.

  He wasn’t so foolish as to think Landry would go back to prison. Not now, with the truth of his brother’s crimes out in all the papers. The warden would be most disappointed in that.

  No, indeed. But Landry was far from being vindicated. He still owed for Fenwick’s Solution.

  Giving the Champion article a final glance, he tossed the newspaper onto a bench situated outside the barber shop door and went in search of Briggs.

  A quick step onto the boardwalk sent the rowels on the concho spurs spinning. On the bench, the newspaper fluttered in the breeze, the printed words shadowed by the broad brim of a beaded sombrero.

  The Mexican picked up the paper, read the headline and the article beneath. Black eyes narrowed and watched Roger Fenwick enter a cantina and emerge shortly thereafter with a gringo wearing a scar on his face. Soon, another followed.

  Frank Briggs.

  The Mexican sucked in a breath.

  At last, the long wait had ended.

  Chapter 22

  Quinn was late again.

  Hannah sighed in wifely exasperation and set the heavy pot of stew onto a back burner to simmer. She opened the oven door, removed the pan of golden sourdough biscuits, and set then next to the stew.

  Supper was ready, but Quinn wasn’t.

  She glanced at the clock. Most likely, eating was the farthest thing from his mind. The approach of calving season absorbed most of his waking hours, and, she suspected, a portion of his sleeping ones, too. He worked long and hard to salvage
the herds Elliott had allowed to dwindle. By bringing the cows in off the range, where they could be watched during calving, he hoped to save each newborn and then begin the long process of building up the herds again.

  Yet when he wasn’t thinking of the ranch, she mused as she arranged plates and silverware on the table, he was thinking of her. No matter how grueling his day, he hungered for her at the end. Their lovemaking was fierce and passionate and driven by the need to consume each other’s souls and bodies, to saturate themselves with the truth of their love.

  Elliott had done that for them. Showed them the fragility of life, the permanence of death, and how happiness could so easily be ripped apart.

  And glory, she was happy. Happier than she had ever thought any woman could be.

  She felt guilty for it, sometimes. She didn’t deserve the happiness, had not repented nearly long enough for her past sins. Or Pa’s.

  Sometimes Hannah longed to confide in Mother Superior and be consoled by her wisdom and gentle advice. Too often lately, she thought of the old abbess and the test she’d given Hannah to decide her destiny.

  But to see Mother Superior, she must return to the convent. With Quinn or without him.

  Hannah could not ask it of him now. Not so soon after his homecoming. Elliott’s death had affected him deeply, had swept away the years of hate and bitterness to leave a part of him forever empty.

  No, he was still healing, and she could not leave him.

  The ranch needed him.

  She needed him.

  With the table setting complete, her glance inspected the tidy kitchen. It was hers now, and oh, she was proud of it. She delighted in cooking for Quinn, pleasing him, making this house a home with him.

  It was something Pa had never been able to give her. A home. Hannah hadn’t known how much it meant to have one.

  She glanced at the clock again and worriedly peered out the window. She saw no sign of his lean, hard body sitting erect in the saddle as he rode in from the range with his men gathered respectfully around him.

  Her mouth pursed. Perhaps he’d sent word of their delay to Juan Ramirez, Manny’s grandfather, the old Mexican who had been foreman under T.J.’s leadership. Juan prepared the meals for all the cowboys who worked the Star L. If anyone knew when they’d return, Juan would.

  Hannah left the room and headed for the front door to speak with him. But footsteps in the kitchen stopped her, and she pivoted to retrace her steps. She shook her head in wry amusement that he’d come home after all, despite her attentiveness at the window.

  “Quinn Landry, it’s about time you--.”

  Roger Fenwick and Frank Briggs stormed into the room with their expressions vicious and their rifles drawn.

  A scream rose in her throat. She whirled and bolted down the hall to escape them, but the front door flung open and Titus burst inside.

  Terror numbed her ability to think. To react.

  Oh, God.

  Titus closed his meaty hand around her arm and jerked her back into the kitchen.

  “Where’s Landry?” Briggs snarled.

  They crowded the room, filled it with their suffocating presence.

  “He’s upstairs,” she said, her bosom heaving. “Cleaning up for supper. He’ll be down any minute.”

  “You’re lying to me, woman!” Briggs raised a hand and slashed it across her cheek. Pain exploded inside her head, and she stumbled back from the force of the blow.

  “Don’t play us for fools, Mrs. Landry.” Roger Fenwick glared down his thin nose, the nostrils flaring with fury.

  “He’ll never let you get away with this.” Hannah sucked in air, refused to let them see how they terrified her. Her swollen lip pounded with an ache.

  “Reckon he ain’t gonna have a choice,” Titus said. He yanked a portion of hot biscuit from the pan and stuffed it greedily into his mouth.

  “Shut up, Titus!” Briggs shot him a look of disgust.

  “Answer the warden’s question,” Fenwick ordered. “We’re not schoolboys to be toyed with.”

  Hannah knew only too well the brand of men they were. Ruthless. Without mercy. And if Quinn had once frightened her with his savagery, these men did doubly so.

  “He’s out on the range. Sundown Valley,” she said finally. “He’ll be back any minute.”

  “Alone?” Briggs demanded.

  She nodded, knowing he wasn’t, that he’d be with some of the most loyal men in the Star L outfit. She tried to remember the direction in which he’d left this morning and could only hope he’d return the same way. “Cows are due to calve soon. He wanted to bring them in.”

  The warden exchanged a glance with Fenwick, as if unsure they should believe her.

  “You want to see him again, don’t you?” he demanded.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Briggs jabbed the barrel of his Winchester into her ribs.

  “Then take us to the valley you’re talking about. This spread is too damned big to waste time hunting for it ourselves. But I’m warning you, woman. Try anything funny, and I’ll kill you before we find him. You know I will, don’t you?”

  She refused to speak the answer he wanted. She refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was powerless against him. Against the three of them.

  He leered.

  “Too bad them friends of yours weren’t as smart as you.” He shoved her toward the door. “Never had an inkling they’d get a bullet in their backs for interfering in our affairs.”

  The rage rose within her with such speed she had no time to control it. She whirled, her hand lashing out to claw him with her nails, but he was too quick and caught her arm behind her back. And twisted.

  She was sure he’d break it. She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out.

  “You drew my blood once, woman. You won’t do it again. I’ll shoot you first!”

  “I hope you burn in hell for their deaths,” she grated.

  “Watch that tongue of yours! I’ll cut it out. Don’t think I won’t.”

  “And then you’ll shoot me?”

  “Damn right! And smile when I’m doing it!” He twisted harder.

  She winced. Pain swam before her eyes. “We know everything. How you killed Sister Evangeline and Father Donovan and planned to accuse me of it. We heard you plan it with Titus. We were right there, in the water, listening to you.”

  The grip faltered. “What’re you talking about?”

  “My husband has influential friends. A lawyer among them. He’s prepared to bring charges against you.”

  The warden released her abruptly. Hannah fought to keep from falling. Swearing, he cocked his rifle and aimed the muzzle inches from her head.

  “Briggs! No!” Fenwick barked. “Shoot her now, and we’ll have half the damned ranch to fight off. We need her to find Landry.”

  “She’s lying. Lying about everything!”

  “She’s tellin’ the truth, Warden. The dogs knew they was there that day. And you was talkin’ fast and free by that stream. I remember we stopped there to have a smoke.” Accusation darkened Titus’ expression. “She’s not lyin’ at all.”

  “I told you to shut up!” Briggs yelled at him.

  Titus’ scar quivered. Suppressed wrath glinted from the hooded eyes, but he said nothing. He ripped off another chunk of biscuit from the pan and stalked from the kitchen.

  “We’re wasting time,” Fenwick said to Briggs. “The longer we’re here, the sooner someone will find us.”

  Briggs pushed Hannah forward, but Fenwick gripped her chin, halting her again.

  The slender fingers dug into her flesh. His sinister gaze drifted over her.

  “You’ve come to mean a great deal to him, haven’t you?” he asked.

  She squirmed against his grip, but the fingers merely tightened.

  “You’ll raise the ante. That’s good. Very good.” His thin lips curved in an oily smile.

  “My husband is a powerful man,” she said. “Don’t underestimate him.
”

  Fenwick made a dismissive sound and released her. “A king will give up his kingdom because of a woman.” He gestured toward the door. “Landry will be no different.”

  Briggs hauled her outside, and she stumbled to a stop near his horse. Titus waited, a rope in his hand, then bound and gagged her.

  The three men mounted. Briggs sheathed the rifle. He took the end of the rope in one hand; in the other, a cat o’ nine tails he’d uncoiled from the saddle horn. He bettered his grip on the rawhide handle.

  His smile was cold. Ice cold.

  “Lead the way to them suffering cows, Mrs. Landry,” he said. “And you’d better be a-hoping your husband is with them.”

  She stared at the whip, at the nine knotted cords of leather.

  And a new kind of horror locked her within its clutches.

  Quinn glanced up at the sky and grimaced.

  He’d never make it on time.

  “She gonna hold supper for you?” Bobby asked, eyeing him knowingly beneath the sweat-stained brim of his Stetson. “Or make you eat it in the barn?”

  Quinn took the ribbing. He’d been late too many times not to.

  “Reckon she might do both,” he said.

  Bobby Ralston grinned. He was the top foreman of the Star L and enjoyed a friendship with Quinn based on mutual respect and dedication to the ranch. Quinn was fortunate to have him on the payroll.

  “Naw, she won’t,” Bobby drawled. “Hannah’s too crazy about you. She’ll slide that plate steamin’ hot under your nose and not complain a bit you made her wait two hours to do it.”

  A slow smile curved Quinn’s mouth. He didn’t need to be reminded he was a lucky man. “I’d wager you’re right about that, Bobby.”

  Suddenly impatient to get home to her, Quinn shifted in his saddle. It’d been a long day. Too long. He’d have to cut himself some slack, spend a little more time with Hannah. She might appreciate having him around.

  He narrowed an eye at the small herd of cows plodding toward them, a thousand head by his estimation. Several Star L cowboys urged them along, patient but persistent to settle them in closer to the ranch. The pregnant cows made for a slow trip. They were reluctant to move at all.