In the Arms of a Cowboy

by Pam Crooks

  Carleigh screamed. Terrified Liko would shoot her next, Trig dove toward her and covered her body with his, but she kicked, squirmed, and pushed away from him, her expression stricken, her eyes only on her father. Trig grabbed for her, but she evaded his grasp, scrambling on her hands and knees to where Chandler laid motionless in the grass. Liko swiveled toward her, both hands on the pistol.

  Trig yelled her name. He couldn’t move fast enough, couldn’t save her soon enough, and he braced himself for what would come next.

  Gunfire wrent the air. Once. Twice.

  Liko jerked again and again. The Slocum’s barrel flung skyward, and his shot went wild.

  He collapsed, dead.

  Trig whirled. Pale and shaken, Belle lowered her gun; beside her, Pierre lowered his.

  Half of the crew of the Liberty swarmed over the yard in pursuit of the Chinese peasants who scattered in fear. Captain Rooney appeared, a gun to Sam Kee’s back, his escape attempt at the back of the cabin foiled.

  Trig dropped to a knee beside Carleigh. She yanked at the collar of her father’s white shirt, ripping the buttons in her frenzy to help him breathe.

  “Hang on just a little while longer, Papa. We’ll get you to a doctor. You’re going to be fine.”

  “Carleigh, honey.” Chandler’s rasp revealed the air slowly seeping from his lungs.

  “Ssh. Don’t say anything.” She appealed to Trig, her features panicked. “We have to get him to a doctor right away.”

  The time had passed for that. He’d lost too much blood to survive a trip into town, but Trig barked an order to bring a wagon from the barn anyway.

  Chandler’s hand lifted, swayed in mid-air, as if he didn’t have the strength to touch her. She clasped his hand, clutched it to her cheek.

  “Can you . . . forgive me?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

  She blinked fiercely, fought the tears forming beneath her lids. “When you’re feeling better, we’ll discuss it. But not now. You must rest.”

  “I . . . didn’t lie to you about . . . everything, honey.”

  “Papa. Later. Please.”

  “I always meant it when I told you . . . I loved you.” He dragged in a breath, a gurgling sound that forced tears into streams down her face. “ . . . never lied ‘bout that.”

  “I know.” She pressed a kiss into his palm. “I know.”

  “ . . . always wanted the best for you.”

  “I know that, too.”

  “Mathison . . . best . . . my little girl.” His lashes lowered; he appeared to fight to stay conscious.

  “Papa.” Carleigh wept openly, rocked back and forth on her knees. She clutched his hand tightly against her, as if she tried to fuse some of her own life into his. “Papa, please don’t die. Oh, God, you can’t.”

  A shadow fell over them. Belle knelt beside her, slipped an arm around her shoulders.

  Chandler’s eyelids fluttered open. The haze of death lingered in his eyes, the ice Trig would always remember slowly melting away.

  Chandler struggled to focus on the woman he’d banished from his daughter’s life. And his own. She was still dressed in the drab brown dress of her prison uniform, a reminder of what he’d done, and Trig could only speculate if he felt any remorse.

  “Belle,” Chandler whispered.

  But before further words passed between them, he went limp.

  Carleigh cried out in anguish and curled into a tight ball over him, still clutching his hand. She wept, the sobs wrenched from deep inside her, her agony slicing and deep.

  They gave her time to grieve. All of them. Pierre. Belle. Captain Rooney and his crew. Pa.

  Most of all, Trig.

  Eventually, the time came to take Chandler away, and Trig gently lifted her from over the body. The need to comfort her, to cradle her against him and absorb her pain, ran strong within him.

  But she pushed him away.

  Her tear-streaked face jerked up to his. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

  He drew back, words of denial thick on his tongue.

  But he couldn’t say them.

  Because she was right. He’d wanted Chandler dead, hadn’t he? All along, the hate demanded justice. Payment for what he’d done to Nathaniel. To Pa. The demand for revenge ran that strong.

  But now . . ..

  Now, a daughter’s loss showed him that, despite Chandler’s greed, his underhanded and corrupt ways, he had borne a child who loved him. Whatever Chandler deserved for his crimes, Carleigh didn’t deserve to hurt as much as she was hurting now.

  “You’ve done what Papa has paid you to do. Your business with me is complete,” she said. “Life goes on, doesn’t it?”

  She pivoted, and without giving any of them a backward glance, she climbed into the wagon bed and took her place at her father’s side.

  She may as well have plunged a knife in Trig’s heart for the searing pain she caused him. After all the time they’d spent together, the loving, the surviving, she didn’t need him anymore.

  Ignoring Belle’s sympathetic glance, Pa’s frown, Pierre’s puzzlement, he strode into the cabin for the evidence he needed to close the opium-smuggling case against Judge Reginald P. Chandler.

  Chapter 20

  Word of Chandler’s drug syndicate spread quickly.

  An outraged California senator demanded a formal Inquisition and appointed a committee to investigate the corruption of San Francisco’s judicial and law enforcement system. The hearings packed City Hall; scores of witnesses were called to testify, among them special Chinatown police, regular police officers, customs officers, clergymen, journalists, Chinese merchants and various political figures for the city.

  At Trig’s suggestion, the committee participated in impromptu tours of Chinatown opium dens. There, they saw first-hand how rampant the addiction to the drug had become. The stench and filth alone shocked them, so much so that some were forced to cover their noses with handkerchiefs.

  It was at the Palace Hotel on Jackson Street that Trig saw Mai Wen again. She recognized Trig immediately, but when she would’ve fled in terror of an impending arrest, he convinced her she wasn’t responsible for Nathaniel’s death as she feared she’d be accused. After working out a deal with a Treasury Department lawyer for her testimony against Frank Kenner and Sam Kee, she left San Francisco with enough money in her pocket to start a new life in the East.

  After the Inquisition, the committee published their findings in a two hundred page document distributed to key political figures both in California and Congress, as well as any newspaper editor and state governor who was interested. Kenner was sentenced to enough jail time that he would never wear a police uniform again. Sam Kee’s young wife would be lonely for many nights to come while he served his.

  Only time would tell if the committee’s findings would result in a cleaner, more trustworthy judicial system. If nothing else, the workings of the Chinese underworld were exposed. Opium might never be eradicated, but with the discovery of Taku, at least, one more avenue for the smuggling of it was destroyed.

  Through all the publicity resulting from Reginald Chandler’s drug syndicate, Trig’s name was plastered in every headline and newspaper article written. With his role in the syndicate’s demise, his identity as a special agent for the U. S. Customs Service became common knowledge. And with it, the position taken away from him forever.

  When the Inquisition ended, he turned in his badge and walked away.

  Three months later

  Trig climbed down from the scaffolding, hefted another eight-foot-long board onto his shoulder and carried it to the saw machine. He laid the wood against the cross-cut guide and double-checked his measurements. One more board to cut, then he’d take a break for a smoke and a cold drink with Pa. They’d worked hard all morning. They’d earned it.

  Building a new house filled his days. Most times his nights, too. Designing the plans, clearing the land, laying the foundation, all the while working the farm with the multitude of chor
es that went with it, helped him forget.

  Some, anyway. But not much.

  After the Inquisition, it had been easy enough to get the deed Chandler confiscated to his father’s land registered once more under the Mathison name. But the walls to the cabin had closed in on him. He couldn’t shake the memories of the opium deals made within them. The spilled blood.

  Carleigh leaving him.

  He needed a new beginning, not only for himself, but Pa, too. The past was past. But they had the future. He intended to make the most of it.

  He placed his foot on the saw machine’s treadle and pumped. The belts moved, and the blade began to turn . . ..

  He halted at the sound of barking in the distance. A yip more than a bark.

  The blade stopped turning.

  He knew of only one dog who had a yip like that.

  His pulse lurched into a fast beat. A ball of white fur bounded toward him. Letting the lumber clatter to the ground, Trig bent and caught the Maltese up against his chest.

  Impeccably groomed, wiggly with excitement, Spencer licked his chin and jaw. A ridiculous surge of affection engulfed Trig, and he ruffled the white fur. The little dog had always annoyed him.

  Not anymore.

  A shiny, black carriage was parked in the road. Pierre sat on the box, the reins in his hands. Trig stared, forgetting Spencer, his gaze riveted to Carleigh as she walked toward him, a wicker basket on one arm.

  She was beautiful. More beautiful than he remembered. More so than in his dreams or when he was awake or any of the times in between that she’d been on his mind.

  Constantly. She was constantly on his mind.

  “Hello, Trig.”

  Her soft voice stroked him, filled the well of emptiness he’d lived with for three long months. Drop by drop. “Carleigh.” Her name came out raspy. Rough. He cleared his throat and tried again. “How are you?”

  “Fine. Thank you.”

  She affected him deep. Left him reduced to trite conversation and a mind that emptied of anything more intelligent to say.

  Why was she here? Why today, when he’d hoped, prayed, she'd come back long before now?

  She ran her gaze over the house he was still framing, allowing it linger over the rows of boards, the window openings, the porch which would wind along two sides. He was a long ways from being finished, but the structure would be a fine one when he did.

  And the view of the bay was spectacular.

  “You're busy," she said. “I shouldn't have stopped by unannounced." Uncertainty tugged at her brows. “I can come back another time."

  “No," he said quickly. A little too quickly. “I was just going to take a break anyway."

  “I won't stay long." She hesitated. “I brought you something."

  She knelt, set the basket on the ground and lifted the lid. Her hand dipped inside, and she lifted out a sleepy puppy, stirring and stretching from his nap.

  Trig set Spencer down and knelt beside her.

  “For you," she said and set the pup into his palm.

  “Me?" Trig stared at the little creature.

  And fell in love.

  “A man's dog," she said with a smile.

  “Damn, but he's cute." Trig held him up, took in the golden coat, the paws too big for the rest of his body.

  “He's a pure-bred Labrador,” she said. “Just weaned. He can be trained to hunt, when he’s old enough. He doesn't have a name yet, so if you--if you want to keep him, you can name him whatever you want."

  “Of course I’ll keep him, Carleigh. Thanks," he said and meant it. “But why?"

  She straightened. Trig set the puppy on the ground to scamper in the grass with Spencer, then rose, too.

  “A peace offering,” she said. “My behavior the last time I saw you was . . . despicable."

  “Forget it. It was a tough time for all of us.”

  “Yes. It was.”

  For a moment, she said nothing, and Trig knew she worked through the hurt. The haunting memories that would be a long time in leaving her.

  “How is Seth doing?” she asked, her voice quiet. Genuinely concerned.

  “Better than I’ve seen for a long time. We don’t have whiskey in the cabin anymore. And he sees a doctor for his rheumatism.”

  “I’m glad.”

  He sensed her relief. Yet he sensed her reluctance to leave, too, though her gift had been given and accepted.

  She would stay all day, if it were up to him.

  And the night, too. If she wanted.

  He reached out, brushed away the strands of hair blowing across her cheek. “What about you, Carleigh? How are you doing?”

  “Every day is a little better.” Her gaze roamed over the bay. “I've taken a small apartment. After all Papa had done, it sickened me to see the luxuries he’d bought with his drug money. I couldn’t stop thinking of the people he hurt with his selfishness.” She shrugged. “I gave the mansion away.”

  Trig blinked. He thought of Judge Chandler’s sprawling monstrosity of a house, of each room inside that dripped with wealth.

  “You gave it away?” he asked, incredulous in spite of everything.

  “Yes.” She glanced at him. “Have you heard of a woman named Donaldina Cameron?”

  Trig nodded slowly. “She works with the Presbyterian mission on Sacramento Street. Rescues Chinese girls from slavery and prostitution.”

  A remarkable lady. He’d admired her from the outset.

  “Mother has taken up her cause,” Carleigh said. “With the help of Miss Cameron and the other church women of the Oriental Board, she has established a shelter at the mansion. She lives there now. We sold off most of the elaborate furnishings, of course. The money should sustain them for quite a long time.”

  Carleigh’s generosity stunned him. Worried him. If she’d donated the bulk of the judge’s fortune to fight prostitution, how would she live herself?

  Is that why she was here? Because she was destitute?

  As if she knew what he was thinking, Carleigh’s mouth softened. “You needn’t worry, Trig. Papa set up a trust fund for me. My banker assures me the funds were legitimate. I’m quite comfortable.” She reached into her pocket, retrieved two biscuits and watched thoughtfully as Spencer and the puppy set to work crunching on them. “Luann and I spend our days teaching young Asian children at the First Presbyterian Chinese Church. The school they’ve established is wonderful. I find it very fulfilling.”

  How easy it would’ve been for her to withdraw from polite society amidst the scandal of her father’s corruption. Trig marveled at her ability to survive. To pick up the pieces of her shattered life and bounce back.

  To give back, when Chandler had stolen so much.

  Carleigh clasped her hands behind her back. Let out a breath. Twirled her toe in the dirt.

  After all she’d told him, filling him in on her life since she’d left him, Trig knew there was more.

  It worried him, what she hadn’t told him yet.

  “Quit dawdling, woman,” he growled. “Say what you came to say.”

  She squinted into the sun. “I'm going to have a baby, Trig. Well, the physician says there's two. I'm going to have two babies.”

  The earth rocked beneath him. His gaze dropped to her belly. Only then, did he notice the slight roundedness.

  “Twins?” he asked stupidly.

  “I'm not asking for help,” she rushed on. “I'm not as well off as I used to be, of course, but I’m independent, and I have enough to support us for a long time to come. And Luann will be with me. Mother is so excited, she's beside herself. But . . . I thought, that is, you’re entitled to know. They are, um, your babies, after all.”

  “My babies.” He glowered at her. “And you think I’m entitled to know.”

  She flinched at the rumble in his tone. “Yes.”

  “How noble of you.”

  Her chin snapped up. “I knew you’d react like this.”

  “Why would you know that?”

 
; “I just did.” She lifted her skirts to flee back to the carriage, but Trig grabbed her elbow and whirled her back again.

  He grasped her shoulders, hauled her closer, nose to nose with him.

  “What are you accusing me of, Carleigh? That’d I’d shirk my responsibilities to you and my children? Is that why you stayed away from me so long?”

  Her eyes flashed blue thunderbolts. “The babies will be Reginald Chandler's grandchildren. His blood will flow in their veins with yours. I delayed telling you because you hated him so much I was afraid that—.”

  “That I would hate my own children because of him?” he asked, incredulous.

  “That I wouldn’t be good enough to be a mother to them!” she shot back. “Because I’m a Chandler, too!”

  Shock rendered Trig speechless.

  Carleigh’s lower lip quivered.

  He swore and took her mouth to his in a savagely desperate attempt to destroy her worries forever, to convince her he loved her and his children, no matter who their grandfather was or what he had done. And that just because Chandler had ostracized Belle from his life, Trig had no intention of ever doing that to Carleigh from his.

  She melted against him. Her arms slid around his neck, and he knew the instant her apprehensions disappeared.

  “I love you, Carleigh,” he said, nuzzling the hair at her temple. “From the moment your father showed me your portrait in his office, I’ve loved you.”

  She cupped his face. “And I fell in love with you when you gave me your room in Visalia. I’ve never been so grateful to a man.” She cocked her head. “I suspect it was that night when we conceived the babies.”

  He grunted. “Good thing I came after you, then. I might never have known about them otherwise.” Her mouth formed a pout of disagreement, and he kissed her again, long and thorough, until she was forced to push away for air. “You’d best marry me quick so I don’t have to come after you ever again.”

  She laughed, a heavenly sound that circled his heart.