by Stacey Kayne
“Wasn’t more than a quarter,” Tucker said, hooking his thumb toward the bureau.
“Garret’s not much of a drinker,” said Chance. “I do believe he’s announced intentions to court you, Mag.”
“A man full of whiskey will say just about anything. If you want to help Garret, follow the tracks and find out who did this to him.”
“We sent out riders,” Chance said, wondering at Garret’s decision to keep information from her. “You can bet we’ll be looking into it. We told him we’d send for his attorney.”
“What good will an attorney do?”
“Garret spent a few weeks trying to find the ones responsible for Duce’s murder and is convinced someone on the Cattlemen’s Association is responsible. Someone’s terrorizing the smaller ranchers and driving them out. Either the local law is stumped or they’re turning a blind eye. Garret hired a man to gather information on the new ranchers in the area, anything to help him narrow his search. We’ll send for the man he hired and see what he’s uncovered.”
“Don’t fret if you hear someone on the porch,” said Tucker. “Mitch said he’ll be keeping watch. We sure appreciate all your help.”
Maggie flushed and gave a slight nod.
“Night, Maggie,” Chance said, and followed his brother to the door. “Keep him alive for us.” A smile curved his lips before he disappeared into the hall.
What have I gotten myself into?
“Magpie?” Garret said from beneath the cloth.
Heaving a sigh, she sat beside him and raised the damp rag. “You behave,” she said, and rinsed the cloth. He remained silent as she gently swabbed each cut on his face and rinsed the dried blood from his hair. Best she could figure most of the blood had come from a cut just above his eyebrow.
“Thanks, Maggie.” He lifted his arm, inviting her to slide in beside him.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
His arm closed around her waist, hitching her breath. He pulled her close. The instant warmth of his body seeped beneath her clothes, easing the ache in her tired muscles.
“Holding you…is worth every bruise.”
The lump in her throat made it hard to breathe. “If I find out you set this up just to get me into your bed, you’re a dead man.”
His shoulders shook, his silent laughter ending in a groan.
“Sorry,” she breathed, touching her lips to his temple.
“No worries, Magpie,” he whispered, pulling her closer. “I feel better already. That’s saying a lot.”
She relaxed against his shoulder, her fingers dusting lightly over the bruises on his chest.
I need to be making a poultice, not lying in this bed.
She hadn’t liked standing in his large kitchen and had a hard time figuring out which of the many fireboxes to use on the massive stove. The thought of venturing back through the eerie shadows of his fancy house sent a chill across her skin. She preferred the warm security of lying in Garret’s arms.
All the more reason to keep her distance.
She eased back and his hold tightened.
“Stay with me,” he whispered, and her resolve melted.
“I’m just taking off my moccasins.” She unlaced the tall boots and removed her belt, setting them on the floor beside the bed. Closing her mind against the rush of reasons why she shouldn’t, she slid beneath the blanket, allowing him to guide her against his good shoulder.
Just for a little while.
He sighed as she settled against him, and Maggie savored the rare luxury of being held.
Chapter Twelve
G lass shattered against the wall, forcing the group of mercenaries to flinch away from a spray of glistening shards.
“It’s one woman!”
Nathan Strafford slammed a bottle of bourbon onto his desk. The brown streaks trailing down the office wall behind his men screamed of the mess they were making of his newly forged political ground. “I didn’t tell you to start a ranch war—I told you to bring me Mad Mag!”
“You told us to do what was necessary to track her down,” Smith defended. “We followed her to the Lazy J.”
“Then where is she?”
His foreman’s jaw twitched, the movement emphasizing a bruised mouth and swollen lips beneath his dark mustache. Gideon Smith, a man he entrusted with his life and his future, wasn’t often on the receiving end of a fist. Every man in the room nursed an injury of some kind: bandaged arms, busted lips and black eyes.
“You told me she had no allies! That you’d have no trouble bringing one woman to heel. Yet you come into my office in the middle of the night looking like a pack of kicked puppies to tell me she’s eluded you yet again.”
“She ain’t no ordinary woman,” said a man standing in the back, his sniveling excuse increasing Nathan’s rage.
“The hell she’s not! I’m paying an outrageous amount of money to hire seasoned mercenaries. If you can’t handle the job—”
“We can handle it,” Smith interjected. “Daines is working with her. He must be. He covered for her in Bitterroot and we know for certain she was on his ranch today.”
Garret Daines was not a complication he needed. No other ranch his size could meet the Association’s shipping penalties, yet Daines had passed over a bank note without so much as a flinch. He’d then helped in his humiliation. And Nathan had since discovered that Daines was more than a small-time cattleman. He’d stirred up a ruckus in Bitterroot Springs after his partner’s death and his family tie to the Morgan Ranch was enough to make any man think twice before crossing him.
“How many dead?”
“Larson is dead. He fell from his saddle on the ride back. A piece of his skull was bashed in. Guess the swellin’ killed him.” Smith shrugged, and Nathan felt his patience wearing thin, the vein ticking in his neck close to bursting.
“I meant the number of Daines’s men, not ours!”
“It was just Daines. The only other man on the ranch deserted him before we closed in.”
His gaze moved over the battered crew. “Are you telling me Garret Daines beat the lot of you like a bunch of school-yard bullies?”
“He also turned his rabid dog on us,” said Cabot, a broad-built man of tall stature, his forearm bound by a bloody cloth. “Good riddance to the both of ’em!”
“Daines’s place is built on a rise,” said Smith. “There was no way to sneak up undetected. We wore the hoods and rode in hard to surround the ranch. He and his dog got the jump on us but we got him under control.”
“And Mad Mag?”
“She’d come and gone by the time we reached the ranch. He wouldn’t admit to workin’ with her, but he has to be. He knew we rode for you, and she had his dog. Would also explain why she had a Morgan horse last fall. She’s been afoot since. As you well know, that woman don’t leave a trail or we’d have caught her by now. Only reason we traced her to the Lazy J is because she had the dog with her. We didn’t find no prints leadin’ away from the ranch. Nothin’ but the tracks of his man that road out.”
“Which way did he ride?”
“West.”
“Straight to the Morgans,” Nathan seethed. “Exactly why I told you to lay off Daines!”
Disgusted by their incompetence, he slammed into his chair and turned toward the darkened window. His reflection glared back at him, but it was her black hair and laughing blue eyes he saw.
Margaret Grace. She was taunting him. Like always.
He could still hear little-girl giggles, the maddening blend of piano recitals and his father’s praise echoing through the foyer halls, all of it grinding on his nerves. He’d waited too long to claim what was rightfully his. The moment she’d looked up in that alley, he knew he had trouble on his hands.
She’d taken him by surprise. He hadn’t expected her to be alive, much less in this part of Wyoming. He’d meant to bury her fourteen years ago, but the trapper had run off with her in haste. Nathan had been certain she wouldn’t last a week of such ill use.
He’d come too far, had worked too hard. He was on the verge of having the political career his father should have paved for him. She wouldn’t ruin this for him.
“You will finish this job, Mr. Smith,” he said, turning back to his overpaid crew. “Or your men will hang for the murder and cattle rustling that’s been going on around here.”
A roar of protests broke across the room. Smith merely smiled, the sheer delight in his eyes reminding Nathan of why he’d been drawn to him in the first place. The man was void of fear and thrived under pressure. He was one of only a few men whose company Nathan had ever truly appreciated.
“Don’t go gettin’ skittish on me now,” Smith said as he strode to the desk. He leaned in and braced his hands wide on the edge. “You wanted your ranging doubled. We doubled it and cleaned out the stragglers.”
Nathan reclined in his chair. “I didn’t order you to kill every rancher who got in your way.”
“I didn’t see you hangin’ crepe, neither. Why are you expendin’ so much effort on Mag? I’ll admit she was a serious pain in the ass last fall, but as you keep sayin’, she’s just one woman. How, exactly, is she such a threat to this operation?”
“Don’t overstep your bounds, Gideon. I’m the one giving orders and asking questions.”
Anger narrowed his foreman’s eyes, and Nathan realized his error. Gideon Smith wasn’t a man to be cowed before his men and Nathan knew better than to address him by his first name while in the presence of others. But damn it, he hadn’t expected to be disappointed!
“By what you just said,” Smith growled, “we’re the ones with our necks on the line. My men don’t face no risk without me. You want to issue threats, you’ll have to offer reassurances. Better yet, I’d say my men deserve some combat pay. Little somethin’ to soothe their injuries and…unease.”
Nathan conceded with a slight nod, certain a refusal wouldn’t be accepted. “Fifty dollars will be added to your wages.”
“Fair enough.” Smith straightened and turned to the men waiting anxiously behind him. “Y’all can head to the bunkhouse. And pick up the glass on yer way out. I’m not wakin’ my lil’ señorita.”
His crew didn’t hesitate, each man crouching to pick up the broken pieces before shuffling out the double doors. It was that kind of control that made Smith such an asset to Nathan’s ambitions. His eyes still alive with anger, he sat on the chair opposite Nathan and opened the cigar box on his desk. He clipped the ends then leaned back and propped his boots on the corner of the desk, a spur scraping the mahogany as he crossed his ankles.
“Comfortable?” Nathan asked, watching his lips as he lit a cigar.
“Not quite.” He pulled the cigar from his mouth. “You try to dress me down in front of my men again, Nate, and you’ll be paying in more than wages.”
“I admit I lost my temper, but I am your employer.”
“I let you pay me! You wouldn’t have a foothold on this county if not for me. I’m not one of yer goddamn cowpunchers and I refuse to be spoken to as such. Call me Gideon in front of my men again and I will knock your teeth out.”
Hard and ruthless as Gideon was, Nathan knew he also liked to be dominated—a combination that appealed to him as nothing else ever had. He’d never known another who matched him on every level: strength, ambition, desire. Fire and lead pooled in his groin at the mere thought.
Gideon glared through a cloud of smoke unfurling from his mouth, and Nathan supposed he’d guessed the direction of his thoughts. His boots hit the floor as he shifted forward.
“I’m being serious! You know damn well I kill folks for talkin’ to me in such a fashion—my men expect it of me. I can’t make exceptions—especially not for you. They’re loyal to a point. If any one of them suspected there was more between us than—”
“You’ve been living with me for over three years and no one suspects anything.” His “lil’ señorita” was one of two maids they’d bought down in Mexico. Neither spoke a lick of English and Gideon kept them confused and wary with sporadic kisses and swats on the butt in front of the men.
“They will if you go callin’ me Gideon and lookin’ at me like you just did! Every day I put all I have on the line for you!”
“And I don’t?”
“Don’t test me, Nathan. You won’t like the result.”
“I wasn’t trying to test you. You think I don’t know what’s at stake? I lost my temper! You don’t usually let me down!”
“I haven’t! I took care of Daines.” He pressed his tongue to a new gap in his lower teeth. “Lost a tooth in the process. I truly hope he’s dead.” He stood and shrugged off his heavy duster.
Figuring both their tempers needed soothing Nathan strode to the hutch on the far wall and retrieved two stout goblets. As much as he wanted to find faith in Gideon’s confidence, he couldn’t help but wonder if they’d stirred up a snake den of trouble. The Morgans had the kind of finances and connections any man would envy. Their spring colt sale had attracted buyers of political importance from all over the States. He’d hoped to have them as allies, not enemies.
Gideon crouched before the fireplace beside his desk and fed a log to the dying fire. Nathan picked up the bottle of bourbon and placed it on the small table between two high-back chairs. It had been Gideon’s idea to move into these grasslands and expand their cattle trade to gain some notoriety. So far their plans had played out rather smoothly—until Margaret Grace had shown up.
Even as he reclined in a tall cushioned chair, bourbon warming his chest, tension continued to mount. “I’m not so sure your attack on Daines hasn’t created a greater worry.”
“You don’t have to worry none about Daines. His outfit ain’t that big.”
“But his connections are. He’s got strong ties with the Morgan brothers. This isn’t a war I want to wage.”
“Won’t be no war.” Leaving his boots by the fire, Gideon stretched out in the chair beside him, the cigar clamped in his teeth. “If Daines survived that beatin’, he’s in for a few surprises.” He blew out a stream of smoke then smiled wide. “We got his brandin’ iron.”
“Which means?”
Gideon stared at him, his expression incredulous as he shook his head. “I know you got a lot of book schoolin’, Nate, but you need t’step outta this office more often. You really do.”
“We’re both men of action in our own arenas. I have my job. I’m trusting you to do yours.”
“Fair enough.” He raised his goblet and downed the bourbon in one swallow. “It means cattle’s been stolen. I’ll bet my boots there’ll be some Lazy J cattle in the stockyard next month with neighboring brands hidden beneath. Won’t be nothin’ the Morgans can do about it. Sometimes one of your own is just a bad seed. And in need of a hangin’,” he added with a gleeful grin.
Nathan couldn’t help but smile, and reached over to refill his glass.
“Ain’t your judge supposed to be here this week?”
“Tomorrow.” Judge Thornton would secure his hold on this county.
“He may be busy with cattle rustlers. That sheriff’s been chompin’ at the bit to arrest someone.”
Finally the scales were tipping his way.
“Mad Mag is a whole ’nother animal. I gotta tell ya, despite yer distasteful view of women, this one’s differ’nt.”
“My view isn’t distasteful, it’s accurate.”
“They’re not all weak, Nate. Some are pure hell on fire an’ bes’ not to be nettled.”
“When have you ever feared a woman?”
“Only had one fear as a kid,” he said before tossing back the second glass of bourbon. “That was Mistress Florence and her whippin’ stick. She run her orphan home like a battleship and could likely scare the starch outta any man.”
Nathan laughed at the confession.
“Now, I know Mad Mag got your knickers in a pinch when she knocked you on yer ass. The old broad had some fun at your expense and you want ’er dead. Understandable.
Trouble is, she’s ferret-footed and slippery as a beaver. Huntin’ her down could rouse attention you can’t afford now that you’re the mayor.”
“We can’t afford to let her live. Margaret Grace is not all that she appears.”
“Margaret Grace?” Gideon smiled as he swirled the dark splash of bourbon left in his glass. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“Mad Mag, as she’s called, is hardly an old woman. She’s still in her twenties and she’s a liability to everything we’ve built.”
“How so?”
He’d never told anyone his family secrets. Those who knew the truth were dead and buried. That he trusted Gideon enough to confide in him came as a shock.
“If that mountain woman is an old lover of yours, I swear to God, Nathan, I’ll be—”
“No,” he said, amused by his sudden agitation. “She’s my sister.”
His brow creased with a scowl. “Thought all your kin was dead.”
“So did I.”
“You didn’t know you had more than one sister?”
“There’s just the one.”
“Ain’t she buried at the other house?”
“I buried her, all right. Apparently she didn’t die as I had hoped.”
“Oh, hell,” Gideon said with a hoot of laughter. “You do keep life interestin’.”
“Now do you see the severity of my dilemma?”
“I surely do.” He flicked the last of his cigar into the fire. “Mayor Strafford can’t have no dead sisters comin’ back from the grave. But you don’t need to worry none,” he said, his eyes alive with mirth and a spark of desire as he leaned toward him. “I’ll make sure she gets in that grave where she belongs.”
Chapter Thirteen
A ll morning she managed to avoid the haunting allure of a room shrouded by heavy draperies. Streaks of light cut through the darkness, brightening silky pink wallpaper and piercing her memories, awakening images of another time—another life.
Instead of taking the stairs, Maggie stepped into the play of light and shadows of a parlor where dust lay thick on every surface. Fine-boned furnishings maintained a delicate beauty beneath the musty odor and a floating shimmer of intricate webs. A piano, alone in a corner, held her transfixed. Ghostly whispers of familiar melodies echoed in the back of her mind.