by Stacey Kayne
Greed was what drove her brother. Her father had been a wealthy man. Nathan had wanted him to stay in Connecticut. She recalled their frequent fights when Nathan would visit, her father shouting that Nathan had attended the best college, that he’d supplied him all the finances he’d requested of him—but Nathan wanted it all for himself. Of course he wouldn’t be satisfied with their father’s estate, he wanted all of Wyoming.
She walked around the mahogany desk, the scrolling across the front and ornately carved legs jarring her memory. Her father’s desk. She eased into the soft leather of Nathan’s chair. A standard desk, she surmised, that had once seemed so massive to her young eyes. She leaned forward, placing her elbows on the polished wood, and leveled her aim on the door.
Fourteen years ago she’d been too young to stand up to Nathan. The world had been bending to his will for too long.
Footsteps approached, and Maggie’s pulse began to pound.
The door swung wide and Nathan walked in wearing a pair of silky black pajama bottoms, his bare chest covered by a thick matt of black hair. His gaze fixed in the direction of the fire, he didn’t see her as he walked to the chairs and lifted a glass decanter from a small table.
Maggie clicked back the hammer on her rifle. Nathan froze. His gaze shifted slowly toward her.
“Hello, Nathan.”
The bottle slipped from his grasp and crashed against the floor at his feet as Maggie stood, her aim steady.
“Margaret Grace.” His gaze moved to her rifle then back up, his throat working over what seemed to be a lump of fear in his throat. “This is…unexpected.”
“I hear you’ve been looking for me.”
“And here you are. You can’t really mean to shoot me. As you can see, I’m unarmed.” He held up his empty hands.
“I do mean to shoot you, Nathan,” she said, a tremble in her voice, yet her hands were steady. “I wasn’t armed the first time you tried to kill me. Perhaps you remember that day?”
Eyes as blue as her own narrowed with anger. “What do you know of that day, Margaret Grace. You were a child.”
“And yet you tried to kill me!”
“Father forced my hand!”
“He was dead!” she shouted back.
“I sent him to the one place he truly wanted to be—the heaven he always talked about, with his angels.”
“You sent him?”
Nathan found some amusement in her apparent shock. Sweet, naive Margaret Grace, even in her buckskin rags. God, how she made him sick. “Only you didn’t have the good grace to join him.”
“Show some respect, Nate.”
He jumped at the sound of Gideon’s voice directly behind him. Margaret Grace had a similar reaction, her blue eyes surging wide as he stepped beside him, her aim shifting. Hopefully Gideon had the forethought to grab his gun.
“That’s no way to greet yer sister,” he said, stepping forward, fully dressed, a blessed revolver in his beautiful hand. “Aren’t you goin’ to introduce me?”
Nathan drew an even breath, Gideon’s relaxed presence helping to restore his composure. “Gideon Smith, Margaret Grace, my dead sister.”
Gideon smiled and Maggie shifted her aim, clearly about to take her one shot at him. Nathan ducked behind the chair as Gideon lunged for her. Knocking the rifle from her grip he dragged her over the top of the desk and threw her to the floor.
“Sorry, little sister,” he said, pinning her down, wrestling her arms over her head. “I’ve got far too much invested in your brother to let you do that.”
Nathan placed a hand on the chair and tried to catch his breath. “Don’t you have someone guarding the yard?” he demanded.
“Cabot should be at his post by now.” Gideon looked up from his captive, his lips tilting with a grin as his gaze raked over him. “We’ll finish this outside. You’re coming along, so go get dressed.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
Maggie stared up at Smith as Nathan left the room. He was a man of striking features and nowhere near Nathan’s height, yet his presence was twice as menacing. His slow drawl was a contradiction to the clear sharpness of his eyes. Eyes that didn’t blink as he stared down at her. All she needed was an ease in his grip to reach for her knife…
“E-e-easy, little sister,” he said, tightening his hold as though reading her mind. His weight settled more firmly on top of her, revealing his fully aroused body.
Maggie stiffened.
Smith grinned and leaned close. “Don’t get excited,” he murmured near her ear, the stench of tobacco gagging her, the touch of his mustache forcing her to turn her head. “That’s not for you.”
“If you’re going to kill me why not just get it over with?”
“Just between me and you, I’m a considerate man, an’ Nate tends to fuss about bloodstains on his carpets. We’re goin’ t’ sit up now, an’ I’m expectin’ you to be cordial.”
His body shifted as he sat back on his knees and yanked her hands forward, hauling her up. Maggie used the motion to slam her clenched fists into his face. His head reared back but his hold on her wrists didn’t loosen.
“Damn,” he said, laughing as blood dripped from his lower lip. “I’ll get ya back for that one. Ain’t a wonder he underestimated you. Yer two of a kind.”
“No, we’re not!”
“Are, too. A fight to the finish, I like that in a person. But here’s the lesson you won’t get to learn twice, little sister—if Nate had caught you by surprise, he’d a saved the sentimental banter an’ pulled the trigger.”
Her brother’s laughter announced his return, adding to the sting of Maggie’s error.
“Having fun?” he said to Smith.
“You know me, Nate. I always have a good time.”
He whipped her up and spun her around so fast Maggie nearly lost her balance. “Just like dancin’,” he said, twisting her arms behind her back until she thought her elbows would snap. A scream ripped from her lungs as he shoved her forward toward the fireplace. “She’s already feelin’ like the little sister I never wanted.”
Keeping his firm hold, he stepped into the boots by the fire. They followed Nathan to the front and out onto the lit porch.
“Cabot!” Smith shouted.
“Smith?” A man rushed into the brightness in the yard. “I thought you rode out.”
“Good thing I didn’t,” he said, ushering Maggie toward the steps.
“Where’d she come from?”
“The grave,” said Smith. “Time to put her back.”
A thick man with a wide face, Cabot stepped up to the base of the stairs. “She ain’t all that bad lookin’. We got to kill her right away?”
“I don’t know,” said Smith. “What’d you say the goin’ rate for Mad Mag was, Strafford, six beaver pelts?” He shoved at her back and sent her stumbling down the steps.
Maggie collided with the large man’s chest.
“Tie her up. We’re takin’ her for a little ride.”
Cabot grabbed one of her arms. Maggie reached for her blade with the other. Eyeing up Nathan on the porch, she turned and sent the knife spinning for his chest.
Smith shoved Nathan down and shouted as her knife pierced his upper arm.
Damn it! Cabot’s thick arms locked around her, lifting her off the ground.
Smith ripped the blade from his arm. His hostile gaze locked on her and fear snaked through her.
A gunshot cracked through the air and Cabot dropped her. Maggie turned to see Cabot hit the ground, a hole blown through his skull.
She glanced into the darkness as she pushed to her feet.
Garret?
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Smith collided against her, a sting slashing across her arm as he locked her against him like a shield.
Gunshots exploded, splintering wood off the porch banisters, spraying them with shavings and keeping Nathan back. Maggie strained to pull out her second blade. Gripping the handle, she thrust it into Smith’s thigh.
&nb
sp; He stumbled back with a cry of pain. Maggie pulled away and dived for the ground. The next gunshot sent Smith to ground beside her, clutching his gut.
“Maggie, run!” Garret stepped from the shadows, feeding shells into his rifle as he cracked off consecutive shots. Men’s shouts blended with the ringing in her ears and she knew ranch hands must be flooding from the bunkhouses.
Struggling to her feet, she ran for the cloud of gun smoke.
“Go to the horses,” Garret told her as she reached him.
A roar of male voices rose behind her. She paused to look back.
“Move!” he shouted.
She did, running into the shelter of the night. Avoiding wide patches of moonlight, she ducked under branches and scrub as she made her way for the river. Garret was beside her a few moments later, his hand closing over hers like a steel vise, forcing her to keep up with his longer strides.
When they reached the horses she was out of breath and planted her hands on her knees.
“Gideon!” Her brother’s shout rang clear as she struggled for a full breath.
“Are you hurt?” Garret whispered beside her.
“No,” she said in a pant.
“We can’t stop here.” His hands closed over her waist and tossed her up onto her saddle.
His horse set off toward the west and her mare followed. As they splashed across the river one thought plagued her mind.
They’d shot the wrong man.
Maggie watched Garret’s silhouette ride into another black outcrop of trees at the top of the hillside and knew he and the horses would outlast her. They’d ridden hard through streams, meadow and hillsides and her body ached with exhaustion.
Garret waited for her at the top of the rise just inside the first line of trees. He held the horse steady as he glanced over the moonlit ground they’d just covered. They’d stopped several times over the past hour to check for signs of anyone following their trail. She hadn’t detected any but each time Garret would set off again without a word. She followed without question, his route no different than she would have chosen on her own.
He stepped down from his saddle and Maggie barely stifled a moan of relief as she reined in. He rubbed at his left shoulder as he walked toward her and she knew his bruised body had to be hurting after a full day of hard riding. Before she could dismount, he dragged her from the saddle and set her firmly on the ground before him. His hands slammed down onto his hips. As her eyes adjusted to the shadows she realized his expression didn’t show a trace of pain—he was furious.
“Garret—”
“Just what the hell did you think you were doing?”
“Trying to kill that rotten bastard,” she ground out.
“They nearly killed you,” he shouted at her.
“I was handling myself,” she raged right back. “You keep forgetting who I am!”
“Oh, I know who you are, Margaret Grace Strafford. The most stubborn, infuriating woman I’ve ever come to know!”
“No one asked you to come after me!”
“All the fires of hell wouldn’t have stopped me! They could have killed you, Maggie.”
“People die, Garret! Grow up!”
“That supposed to be advice, coming from a woman who’s so afraid of life she hides herself away from the whole damn world?”
“I’m not hiding!”
“You use those mountains like a fortress. You live in a cave and have folks believing you’re some crazy old woman so they’ll leave you alone. And what’s keeping you from admitting you fancy me, but fear?”
“I doubt my fancying you is a big secret! Fear doesn’t control me. Lately it seems to be lust and I have no more morals than a—”
“You finish that sentence,” Garret said through gritted teeth, “and I’ll have you standing before a preacher by sunup. If all I wanted was sex, I’d visit a brothel. And if I wanted just any woman for a wife I’d snag me one on my ride out of town. I want you, Maggie! You have to know I care about you.”
“I don’t understand any of this—least of all you!”
“Which part don’t you understand, sweetheart? That I’m crazy about you? Or the thought of you risking your life rather than trusting me makes me mad as hell? Do you think so little of me?”
“You aren’t the problem, Garret!”
“I am sure glad to hear that. Then you should have no problem with being courted.”
“I may be inexperienced with relationships, but I’m quite sure we’ve passed the courtship stage.”
“I’m ready to risk marriage if you are.”
Maggie stared up at Garret’s fierce gaze, hardly able to believe his words. “They must have cracked your skull.”
“Was that a refusal?”
“Of what? You didn’t propose.”
He dropped to one knee and pulled her hand into his. “Then I’m asking.”
Her heart clenched at the picture he made, kneeling before her…he couldn’t be serious. She shook her head. “Garret, don’t.”
“Marry me, Maggie.”
“No!”
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t mean it!”
“The hell I don’t,” he insisted, straightening to tower over her. “I just blazed across fifty miles to keep you from killing yourself!”
“I wasn’t trying to kill myself—I was trying to kill my brother!”
Silence stretched as he stared at her and she knew she’d just hit on the root of his anger.
“Which brings us back to that trust issue,” he said, his voice a rumble of barely controlled fury. “How could you not tell me, Maggie? Did you think I wouldn’t fight for you?”
“This is my fight.”
“Anything that affects you, affects me. I love you, Maggie, and if you can’t understand that, then there’s no point in even talkin’ to you right now!”
Garret turned away and shoved his hands through his hair. He wanted to hold her, to hug her, but he was afraid if he touched her he’d find a way to stuff her into his back pocket. He struggled to gain a grip on his temper as a combination of rage, fear and adrenaline stormed through his system.
Had he just demanded she marry him?
Holy hell. As if they didn’t have enough against them, he knew better than to grab a rattler by the tail!
Leaves rustled behind him and he turned to find her sitting in a patch of moonlight, her arms strapped around her knees, her hair covering her face as she looked down at her feet. Dark streaks on her buckskin shirt filled him with new alarm
“Is that blood on your sleeve?”
She glanced at her arm as though just remembering she’d been cut. “Yeah. It’s not deep.”
He crouched beside her and reached for the matches he kept in a pouch on his belt. She’d nearly been killed by her brother and he’d just raged at her instead of checking her for injuries.
“What are you doing?” she asked, hearing his movement.
He struck the match and she flinched away from the light. “Let me see your arm.” She held out a mostly severed sleeve which had him swearing before he caught sight of the five-inch slash in her soft skin. The cut wasn’t too deep but blood still seeped in spots.
“That needs to be bandaged.” He shook out the match and went to retrieve her pack from her horse. Star stood just a few feet away, grazing on patches of tall grass. He removed her pack and found all he needed. She looked up as he knelt before her and he saw exhaustion clear in every line of her face.
“Let me patch you up,” he said, reaching for the belt at her waist.
She didn’t resist as he removed her belt and then her buckskin shirt. He cut away the sleeve of the cotton shirt beneath. Once he rinsed the long cut and wound a strip of clean cloth around it, he pulled another soft buckskin tunic over her head.
“We’ve about gone through your winter supply of hand towels, haven’t we?”
Her lips shifted slightly as she shoved her arms into the sleeves. She sniffed then wiped
at her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Magpie,” Garret said, sitting behind her. “I should have been checking you for injuries before now.”
“I’m not crying because of that little cut.”
He pulled her into his arms and felt a rush of relief as she relaxed against him. “I’d say you’re entitled to some tears. Your own brother just tried to kill you.”
She drew a shuddered breath. “Some things just never change.” She moved closer, leaning up to kiss his jaw. “Thank you,” she said, so softly he barely heard the words spoken against his skin.
“For what?”
“Coming for me.”
He stroked her back softly, wishing he knew the right words to ease the grief he heard in her voice. “Nothing could have kept me away. You never should have gone there alone.”
She looked up, her eyes searching his. “I’ve always been alone.”
“You’re not alone anymore, Maggie.”
He touched her chin. She leaned up to meet his light kiss. Maggie hugged him tight and Garret counted his blessings.
She was safe. For now.
“We have two choices, sweetheart. We can make camp or ride through the dark for a few more hours. Either way it will be late afternoon before we reach the ranch. Your call, honey.”
She melded against him. “Five more minutes and I’ll be asleep in your arms.”
“Then we’ll make camp.”
He stood, taking away her warmth. “Wait here.”
“Garret?” Maggie looked up to find him gone, his retreating shadow leading their horses farther away.
As much as she wanted to curl up on the ground and fall asleep, images of Nathan’s angry glare kept her eyes open.
You’re not alone anymore, Maggie.
He’d come for her.
Garret returned a short time later and fanned a blanket over the ground beside her. “I left the horses saddled,” he said as he sat down, using her canvas pack propped behind him for support. “Com’ere,” he said, opening his arms.
That was all it took for her to go to him, to let him guide her down between his raised knees and lean her back against the warm support of his chest. He fanned a second blanket over her as she snuggled against him.