Seven Brides for Seven Texans Romance Collection

by Amanda Barratt

  Someday Caro might understand why her father had to go off and fight, but she wasn’t there yet, and he had to accept that. She’d been through enough. If loving her meant leaving her for her own good and losing his share of the ranch in the process, no doubt about it, that’s what he’d do.

  Sleep had eluded Caro most of the night, so when dawn broke, she welcomed the chance to go down to start breakfast. She dressed quietly, leaving her mamá sleeping.

  When she reached the main floor, she stared at the hall tree. Señor Reynolds’s boots and hat were not in their customary place. Had he stayed out all night with the herd? Maybe there’d been another cow that needed help, or worse, trouble with the rustlers. If Chisholm and Whit were still here, she’d ask them to go check, but they’d skipped out in the night. Why had they left without catching the rustlers? Had they received word from their superiors? It didn’t make sense, but perhaps Ricardo would know something.

  She crossed the yard to the barn and tugged open the door. The acrid scent that greeted her told her the stalls had not yet been tended. She made her way to the area that contained Ricardo’s cot and personal effects. His bed was still made up. That was odd. Glancing around the area, her gaze landed on Ricardo’s edged sheath knife. Its silver handle, inlaid with mother of pearl, made it hard to miss. Ricardo was never without the weapon. Ever. It had been given to him by his father, and he cherished it almost as much as his—

  She whirled and looked above the doorway. Ricardo’s rifle was there, too. He knew too much about the dangers of Texas to leave either of the weapons at home. Even if he’d gone to town to drink, he’d have taken both weapons.

  Fear inched up her spine, prickling her skin. Something was wrong, but what? If only Chisholm hadn’t left when she needed him most.

  Chapter Ten

  Rustlers could at least have the decency to show up when Chisholm and Whit gave up sleep to look for them. It sure would have made it easier. He and Whit could have arrested the miscreants and left the Brady City area without a second thought. Well, he’d have second thoughts about Caro, probably for the rest of his life, but at least she could move on.

  They reached Brady Creek, which marked the separation of the two ranches. While the Mesquite herd was grazing a couple of miles away, the Walking Diamond’s filled the plain. It was a good-looking herd. Bigger than Chisholm thought, too. Hank Reynolds should be proud, and with the mild spring weather, the calves should be putting on weight in no time.

  Three cowhands kept their eye on the cattle, and Chisholm imagined a couple others were out looking for strays. Chisholm didn’t see Ricardo’s or Hank Reynolds’s horses, so he hoped the two men had taken care of the cow and gotten some much-needed sleep.

  Bullet and Buckshot ambled toward the ranch house of the Walking Diamond. Neither Chisholm nor Whit felt the need to push their horses. There were no new leads, so what was the point?

  Caro bolted from the barn, waving her arms.

  Chisholm nudged Bullet to a gallop and hopped from his horse when he grew close. “What’s wrong?”

  Her dark eyes flashed with anger. “How could you leave?”

  “We didn’t leave. We went to look for the rustlers. I wouldn’t leave without saying good-bye.” He blinked. “Caro, what’s going on? Why do you look undone?”

  “Ricardo is missing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She glared at him and held up the sheathed knife. “See this? His knife and his gun are here, but he isn’t. He would never leave his weapons behind. I’m telling you, something is wrong.”

  “Is his horse gone?” When she nodded, he went on. “Caro, maybe he forgot them.”

  “He was almost lynched! If you were him, would you go anywhere without your gun?”

  Chisholm rubbed his stiff neck. Caro had a point, but Ricardo was hardly a reliable person. He glanced at Whit, still on Buckshot, and knew his partner was thinking the same thing.

  “I’m sure he’s fine, but we’ll go look for him. Where’s Hank Reynolds? I’d like to talk to him first.”

  “And I didn’t think of that?” Caro swung the sheathed knife in her hand as she spoke. “He is not here. He didn’t come home, so he has no idea what’s happening.” Her voice broke. “What if Slade’s men have come back and taken him?”

  It was a possibility, but since he and Whit had been at the Mesquite, watching the herd, he found that doubtful. It was more likely that Ricardo was off drinking somewhere again.

  Chisholm’s stomach growled, but given Caro’s state of mind, he reckoned asking for breakfast was out of the question. Instead, he squeezed her arm and mounted his horse. “We’ll find him.”

  They turned at the sound of the pounding of hooves. One of the Walking Diamond’s cowboys rode in fast. “Twenty head went missing from the back quarter this morning. Mr. Reynolds said you should come while the trail is hot.”

  Chisholm looked from the concerned cowboy to a distraught Caro. He wanted to hold her and tell her everything would be all right, but instead he had to do his duty. “Caro, I’m sorry. We have to check this out, but I’ll go look for Ricardo as soon as I can. In the meantime, promise me you’ll stay here. I can’t look for him if I’m worrying about you.”

  Caro hugged her waist as she watched the men depart. She’d always known Chisholm would choose duty over her, but the pain of it now made her stomach knot. What if Chisholm’s duty cost Ricardo his life?

  She wandered back into the barn and sat down on Ricardo’s cot. Ricardo had volunteered to come with her mamá and her when they fled Mexico. Until recently, he’d been their rock. He’d taken care of them and made sure that he found work at a ranch where the two of them could also be hired. And now he was in trouble. Where was he?

  She’d promised not to leave the ranch, but she’d not promised not to look for Ricardo. Maybe one of the cowhands had seen him. After heading outside, she took the narrow path down to the bunkhouse and knocked at the shack’s ramshackle door. No one answered. She nudged it open a crack. “Anyone home?”

  When she didn’t receive a response, she gave the door a push and entered. Bunk beds lined the walls, and the room smelled of unwashed bodies mingled with tobacco. She wrinkled her nose. Clearly, Ricardo wasn’t here. She turned to leave and spotted the branding iron by the door. She picked it up and studied it. The Walking Diamond’s brand was two diamonds with stick figure feet on them. She drew the Mesquite’s mountain-peaked M brand in the dust on the floor, then lowered the Walking Diamond’s brand directly on top of it. A perfect fit. Could it be that simple? The Walking Diamond was rebranding the Mesquite’s cattle while claiming they’d lost stock, as well? No wonder they couldn’t find them. Was this the truth that Ricardo had discovered?

  Her heart drummed against her ribs, and her breath quickened. Chisholm needed to know. If Señor Reynolds was in on the rustling, then Chisholm and Whit could be walking into an ambush.

  Still holding the branding iron, she hiked up her skirt and ran up the narrow path toward the barn. She considered filling her mother in, but there wasn’t time. She set the branding iron aside, and in minutes, she had Angel saddled.

  Taking hold of the bridle, she started to back Angel out of her stall.

  “Where are you going, Caro?”

  The deep voice made her blood freeze in her veins. She looked up to see Señor Reynolds in the barn’s doorway. In his hand he held an ebony-handled pocket revolver.

  “You know, don’t you?” He looked from her to the branding iron. “I can see it on your face.”

  She tried to make her face a blank slate. “What are you talking about, señor?”

  “Don’t toy with me. I see the branding iron. You’ve always been too smart for your own good.” He approached with the handgun and snagged a coil of rope from a hook. “Turn around, hands behind your back. And before you give me trouble, remember: You might be able to run, but your mother is not nearly as spry.”

  A heart-pounding, palm-sweating, mind-numbing
fear consumed her. She had to protect her mother.

  Caro slowly spun and did as he asked. Lord, help me. Her mind raced. She had to find a way out of this and warn Chisholm, but how could she risk her mother’s life? Was this what Chisholm had felt? Torn between two impossible choices?

  Once her hands were bound, Señor Reynolds lifted her by the waist and unceremoniously deposited her on Angel. He took the horse’s bridle and led her out of the barn. “And remember, Caro, don’t try anything.”

  He kept the gun trained on her as he mounted his roan.

  She flicked a glance over her shoulder, hoping against hope Chisholm would return and save her.

  So much for not needing him.

  “Looking for the Rangers? I’m afraid they’ll not be serving this great state much longer.”

  “And Ricardo?”

  “Oh, you’ll see him again.” He gave her a rueful laugh. “I promise.”

  With Bullet running at a gallop, Chisholm kept his gaze on the road ahead. A few miles from the ranch house, Whit had suggested he and Chisholm split up. Whit would handle the possible rustling and Chisholm would return to the ranch and look for Ricardo, just in case the man was actually in trouble.

  Chisholm used his riding time to go over the rustling case. He tried to envision the tracks he saw on that first day out. He recalled the loose shoe. Loose shoes happened a lot on ranches, but Caro had mentioned that Ricardo had reshod Hank Reynolds’s horse yesterday and today Ricardo was missing. Could be a coincidence. But whoever shot at them that first day knew the route they’d be traveling.

  Something wasn’t adding up. They’d watched over the Mesquite’s herd last night, and they’d seen the Walking Diamond’s huge herd on the way home this morning.

  Wait.

  The Walking Diamond was supposed to have the smaller of the two herds, but that wasn’t what they’d seen this morning. Hank Reynolds had a good hundred head more than Slade McCord. With all of his losses from the rustling, how could that be?

  Unless—

  He envisioned the brands of the two ranches. How had he missed it? The Walking Diamond’s brand fit perfectly over that of the Mesquite’s.

  Chisholm spurred Bullet to a run. Maybe Ricardo knew too much about their operation.

  He rode up to the summer kitchen. “Caro!”

  Her mother emerged, her face full of anguish. “Oh, señor. She is not here. When I awoke, I saw her riding off with Señor Reynolds. Ricardo is gone, too. Do you think he’s hurt? Did the señor come and get Caro to help?”

  Fear spiked in Chisholm’s chest. Even though Caro had promised not to leave the ranch, she would go with the owner if he asked.

  Maria wrung the towel in her hands. “I can see the worry in your face. Please tell me what is going on.”

  “I don’t have time to explain.” Chisholm fought to control Bullet, who, still full of energy, pranced in a circle, stirring up the dust. “But I’ll find her, ma’am. I give you my word.”

  Nearing the barn, he reined in Bullet and dismounted. After wrapping Bullet’s reins around a hitching post, he hurried toward the barn, careful not to disturb any prints. Inside, he immediately noted that Angel was missing. He studied the area. Caro hadn’t been alone inside the barn. He leaned close to examine the prints in the stall. A man’s boot prints left a clear mark in the dirt. Something lying in the straw drew his attention. He brushed the straw away and lifted the Walking Diamond’s branding iron.

  Blood drummed in his ears. Had Caro stumbled onto the same truth as he and confronted Hank Reynolds? If so, what would the cornered man do to her?

  Chapter Eleven

  Branches slapped Caro’s face as Reynolds forced her to ride through the trees with her hands tied behind her back. She’d prayed since the moment they left for a chance to flee, but with Reynolds holding Angel’s reins, she had little choice but to follow. How could she leave Chisholm a trail to follow? He’d come for her eventually—if he could.

  She closed her eyes and recalled the things he’d told her about tracking. He looked for things that others missed. Could she leave him some clues to follow without alerting Reynolds? She fingered the binds around her wrists and found a rough hemp thread protruding. She tugged on it and it finally gave way. She flicked it, praying it would land in the grass, but she knew it was a long shot. She didn’t even know if it was on the ground or stuck on the saddle’s cantle.

  The path they were on was packed hard. There would be few prints, but Chisholm could follow the marks along the path better. She’d spent hours training Angel on leg cues so she could direct her to the right or left without the use of reins. Nudging Angel’s left side, the horse moved a bit to the right, stepping into the grass without Reynolds noticing.

  Caro waited a few minutes before trying again. This time she spotted a pecan tree to the north. Surely a few of last year’s pecans had fallen near the path. She urged Angel over and heard a satisfying crack beneath her hooves.

  On and on she went. Broken blades of tall grass. Hoofprints in softer soil. Small broken branches.

  And lots of prayer.

  She urged Angel to the left.

  Reynolds whirled around. “What are you doing?”

  “Riding. Getting hit in the face by branches. Wishing I’d had breakfast.”

  His brows drew close. “Why can’t that horse stay on the path?”

  “Maybe because you won’t let me have the reins.” She shrugged. “Are we almost there? Have you hurt Ricardo?”

  “You should be more concerned with your Ranger friends.” He chuckled. “At least at the moment.”

  Fresh fear wound around her heart and squeezed the breath from her lungs. “What did you do to them?”

  “They’re getting too close.”

  “Why are you doing this? I thought you were a good man.”

  “People change.” He sighed. “I never planned to hurt anyone. I thought if I let those Rangers stay at the ranch, then I’d know what they found, and I could throw them off my track if necessary.”

  “That was your plan all along?”

  “Yep. Then Ricardo refused to help with the rebranding, but when I threatened kicking you and your mother out, he agreed to keep quiet.” He glanced back at her. “Don’t look so disappointed in me. You’re the one who went nosing around. Too many people know too much. I have to take drastic measures to get it under control. I have no choice.”

  “You always have a choice.” Her words sounded bitter, even to her.

  “It’s my duty to protect my men.”

  “Duty?” She could hardly believe her ears. “Duty is a moral obligation. It’s knowing there are some things more important than yourself. I didn’t realize it before, but I witnessed that in my father and I see it in Chisholm. Duty is love in action.” She noticed he’d slowed their progress. “But there’s no duty in what you’re doing. Don’t fool yourself. It’s self-preservation, pure and simple.”

  Señor Reynolds grew silent as they descended toward Brady Creek. Was he having doubts about his intentions? Caro prayed that he was indeed, but when he turned toward her, his eyes were granite-hard with resolve.

  He brought the horses to a stop, and Caro searched for a sign of Ricardo. Trees lined the swollen creek’s bank. It must have rained last night to the north of Brady City for the water to be moving this swiftly. But where was Ricardo? She finally spotted him, his back to a tree. His hands, like hers, were bound behind him.

  Señor Reynolds dismounted, then lifted her off of Angel. “Go say your good-byes, but make it quick.”

  Tripping over her skirt, Caro hurried to Ricardo. She dropped to her knees in front of him. He looked at her, one eye bruised and almost swollen shut. When he tried to speak, his swollen lip wouldn’t cooperate.

  “He needs some water—now,” Caro shouted to Señor Reynolds, who remained with the horses several yards away.

  Señor Reynolds laughed. “Oh, he’ll get plenty soon enough.”

  Caro opened her mo
uth ready with a retort, but Ricardo cleared his throat. “Don’t, mi prima.“ He licked his cracked lip. “I tried to protect you. I’m sorry I failed.”

  “I know you did, and this is not your fault.” She leaned closer. “Listen, Ricardo. We have to take care of ourselves. Do you understand? I don’t know if the Rangers can come for us.” Her voice shook at the thought of what Chisholm might be facing right now. As much as she wanted to go to Chisholm, she had to focus on saving Ricardo right now.

  Señor Reynolds lumbered over to them, took out a knife, and cut the ropes that bound Ricardo to the tree. “Enough chitchat, y’all.” He sheathed his knife and picked up his revolver. Its silver barrel glinted in a shaft of sunlight. “Hope you said your good-byes. It’s time to get this over with.”

  Chisholm stopped to examine the crushed pecans near the trail. The faint imprint of a horseshoe left him no doubt that he was on the right track. So far, the clues had come at regular intervals, and he couldn’t be more relieved at Caro’s quick thinking.

  He jumped back onto Bullet. The horse’s strong muscles bunched, almost as if he sensed Chisholm’s urgency. Chisholm headed to the top of the hill, praying he’d find Caro on the other side, safe and unharmed.

  Keeping Bullet to a walk, he paused to survey the terrain. He spotted Caro, and his heart pounded so hard it hurt to breathe. Reynolds stood with a revolver on Caro and Ricardo, prodding them toward the wide, turbulent creek.

  Chisholm whipped out his rifle, but he was still too far to make a safe shot. What if he hit Caro or Ricardo? He stormed forward, praying he’d arrive in time.

  Ricardo suddenly broke free from the rope, spun, and kicked the revolver out of Reynolds’s hands. Reynolds dove at Ricardo, knocking him into Caro, who went flying into the creek.