by Stacey Kayne
“Here,” he said, holding up a long strip of dried venison.
Realizing she was hungry, she took the dried meat.
“We can’t risk a fire tonight.” He set a canteen on the ground beside them.
Completely drained of energy, she leaned into him as she chewed on the tough meat. They ate in silence, nothing stirring but a cool breeze. His lips intermittently brushed her hair as his hand gently caressed her back, melting away her anxiety.
“How’s your shoulder?” she asked as her eyes began to droop.
“Just fine. How’s yours?”
She smiled. “Fine.”
“What were you thinking, Magpie?” The gruffness of his voice told her he’d soothed her anxiety while holding on to his own.
“That Nathan needed to pay for what he did.”
“You should have told me.”
She turned to look at him. “This is my fight.”
“Our fight. We’ll find a way to beat him together. One that keeps us both from hanging.”
“It would have been worth it. He’ll be after your ranch now.”
“Magpie.” He brushed his lips over hers. “I would never choose my ranch over your life. I’ll walk away from my business before I see you come to harm. You have to know I care about you.”
“And I care about you,” she said, leaning back against him. “Fighting for something you care about is never in vain. You taught me that.”
Garret shook his head, flattered and infuriated by her reasoning. He closed his arms around her middle and brushed his lips over the shell of her ear.
“I’m the reason he attacked you, the reason your partner was killed.”
“You didn’t kill Duce. You weren’t the one who sent henchmen to my ranch. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
She shifted, her cheek resting on his chest as her arms slid around him, and Garret thanked God he held her, safe and unharmed.
“Rest. I’ll keep watch.”
Just when he thought she’d fallen asleep her whispered voice broke the silence.
“We didn’t get him, Garret.”
“We will,” he said, his arms tightening around her.
Chapter Sixteen
A gray sky loomed overhead as thirty-seven men gathered around the double grave site. Most of them ranch hands and cowpokes Nathan had never met, he couldn’t have named five of them if his life depended on it. He stared at their downcast faces in a kind of wonder as words of a eulogy droned in his ears.
He knew their ranch had expanded considerably, but he had no idea just how many men he employed. Gideon had handled all the ranching particulars. Outside his personal security consisting of Gideon’s gang, he’d never given the rest of them much thought. They’d be looking to him to give orders now.
A strain of panic flared inside him. He needed Gideon. It had been a mistake to allow someone to become so integrated in his life.
The men beside him stepped forward and Nathan watched as the five remaining men of Gideon’s gang lowered his casket into the ground—the only men he had entrusted with Nathan’s safety. The moment they stepped back, others from the cattle crews began filling in the wide grave. As he watched dirt spatter onto the wood casket grief and rage clawed at the numbing cloak that had settled over him as he had watched Gideon breathe his last. Even as death had encroached on him, his blood spilling through Nathan’s fingers, Gideon’s first thought was to protect him as he pressed his revolver into his palm. “Damn it, Nate, take cover.”
Nathan tucked his hands into his coat pockets, his right hand sliding over the gun. His eyes felt hot as a fist seemed to squeeze his lungs. Not about to disgrace his memory by showing a shred of weakness, he turned away and strode to the house.
“Mayor Strafford?”
He glanced back. One of the cowhands hurried toward him. Gideon’s posse closed in fast behind him. They hadn’t shrugged their duty simply because their leader was laid into the ground.
The cowhand stopped before him and tugged on the brown hat he’d been holding.
“What can I do for you, Mr….?”
“Rawlings. Jim Rawlings.”
Jim Rawlings glanced side to side as Gideon’s men encircled them.
“Gentlemen,” he said, his unease revealed in his tense expression. “Real shame what happened to Smith and Cabot.”
“It was,” Nathan agreed.
“I figure you’ll be needin’ a new foreman to manage the crews straight away and I’ve been workin’ with cattle my whole life.”
“Is that a fact?” Jim Rawling’s whole life couldn’t equate to a full twenty-five years. “You think you have what it takes to run this place?”
“I do. Ain’t nothin’ I don’t know about managing stock and I got experience with rough ridin’. Spent some time working jobs with a gang down south, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I believe I do.” The man was a braggart, which meant he likely lacked skill. “I see you wear a Colt .44.” Nathan held his hand out. “May I?”
“Well, sure.” Like the young fool Rawlings was, he passed over his firearm. “It’s a fine revolver. Seen me through a lot of trouble.”
Nathan closed his hand over the grip and tested the weight of the gun. He glanced at the men beside him and noted their slightly amused expressions.
“Smith preferred a .45 Schofield Smith & Wesson. I bet he has two dozen in the house.” He knocked open the carriage, glimpsing a full round. “Impress me, Mr. Rawlings. Who, exactly, were the notable rough riders under your command?”
“Well, sir, I rode with—”
“You rode with? Did you lead or did you follow, Mr. Rawlings?”
“I held my own,” he said, squaring his shoulders, his young features firming.
“Either you lead or you follow, Mr. Rawlings, or you have no loyalty. These men rode for Smith. Smith did a hell of a lot more than simply hold his own. He demanded respect and loyalty. Now I’m curious, how does an unarmed man who claims to merely hold his own expect to run my ranch and evoke such loyalty in his men?”
“Well, I—”
“What do you say, boys?” Nathan glanced at the men standing at his side. “You think Mr. Rawlings here can take the place of Smith?” Rage put a tremble on Gideon’s last name.
“No, sir,” his men answered, their narrowed gazes fixed on Rawlings.
Nathan looked back at the man who dared to compare himself to Gideon as dirt was being shoveled over his grave. “Guess that’s a no,” he said, watching his eyes round as he raised his gun and emptied the chamber into Rawlings’s chest. The blasts echoed across the silent plains as Rawlings fell, dead before he hit the ground.
Nathan tossed the gun onto his bloody shirt and glanced at the wide-eyed crowd watching from a short distance. “Anyone else interested in being my foreman?”
“No, sir,” came a chorus of low mumbles.
He glanced at the men beside him. “Bury him down by the river and get the sheriff out here. We’ve got murderers and rustlers to round up.”
He turned back to the house and didn’t slow his stride until he was inside.
“Señor Strafford?” His maid approached with a silver tray holding his breakfast.
“Not now.” The moment he shut the study doors, the heavy scent of cigar smoke swirled around him, and a pain like he’d never known gripped his chest. His legs buckled. His knees hit the floor as his vision blurred. He tried to drag in a breath as grief ripped at his lungs. He crumpled forward, pressing his hands to the flood of tears scalding his face.
She’ll pay for this. He’d see the both of them dead!
Chapter Seventeen
H e wasn’t about to wake her. The sheer wonder that Maggie had slept soundly so far past sunrise was testimony of her exhaustion.
After easing away from her and tucking her into the warmth of the blankets, Garret had prepared and eaten a small breakfast. He sat by the low fire, still trying to fight the images of Maggie held at knife
point from his mind.
She sat bolt upright in a tangle of blankets and appeared disoriented.
“Magpie?”
She didn’t look at him. Her complexion pale, her expression tense, she glanced to one side and then the other.
Something was wrong.
“Honey, what’s—”
She threw off the blankets and darted into the woods.
What the hell? Garret lunged up and chased after her.
When he caught up to her she stood leaning forward, her hand on her knees.
“Maggie—”
“I’m okay,” she said in a pant. “Just…go.”
Go? His heart was about to thump clean out of his chest. “What can I—”
She leaned over and retched into the shrubs. He stepped close and she waved him off. “Go on. I’ll be fine in a minute.”
Garret went back to camp and wet a bandana. When he returned she was reclined against a tree, her hand on her stomach. Her slow, deep breaths suggested she was still fighting the nausea.
“Here,” he said, holding out the bandana.
“Thanks.” She held the wet cloth to her face. “I don’t usually get sick this early.”
This early? “It’s midmorning.”
She looked up, seeming shocked by the sun’s high position in the overcast sky.
Garret’s mind flashed with the two times in the past few days he’d seen her sick to her stomach.
She sighed and leaned back against the tree as she shut her eyes.
“You gonna be sick again?”
She shook her head. “It’ll pass. Just a nervous stomach.”
A nervous stomach? Last night she’d had reason to be nervous aplenty but she hadn’t gotten sick. He only knew one ailment that caused a woman to be sick in the morning.
“Holy hell,” he muttered beneath his breath. Was she hiding a pregnancy from him, as well?
She wiped her face with the cloth again and straightened as she drew a deep breath. Her cheeks began to take on some color. “Thanks.”
Garret moved beside her and pressed his lips to her hair. After fighting last night, he wasn’t ready to start another just yet.
“There’s hot water on the fire,” he said as they walked into the small clearing. “I wasn’t about to toss in herbs and have us both knocked out.”
She grinned up at him as she set to the task. “You’ve been up for a while,” she said, glancing at the skillet. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You needed sleep.” Garret settled beside her as she steeped her tea. “I fried up some of your venison and potatoes. Don’t suppose you feel up to eating?”
“I’m starving.”
Garret served her what was left in the skillet. She dug right in, not the least bit hampered by the queasy stomach that had her doubled over not ten minutes ago.
She polished off her breakfast in minutes, but her gaze remained fixed on the low fire, her thoughts having taken her miles away.
Garret took her plate. “What are you thinking about, Magpie?” he asked as he stood and began packing up the rest of their supplies.
Her frown deepened before she looked up at him. “Nathan told me he killed my father.”
“You didn’t know that?” Garret asked, surprised.
“No. When I woke they told me he’d had heart failure. When Nathan found his will and saw provisions had been made for my dowry and to send me away to an expensive school, and he went crazy. He chased me down and started beating me. Our staff was there, but no one would help me. They just stood there…watching.”
“Different folks have different reactions to fear. I’ve seen a lot of men freeze up and even die when they couldn’t react to what was happening around them. Or maybe your brother wasn’t working alone. How did you get away from him?”
“He got winded and I ran for the woods. He came after me.”
“That’s when Ira found you?”
“Nathan had knocked me to the ground and Ira…he just appeared. I was so scared. For days I thought someone would come after me. But they didn’t. Nobody looked for me.”
“Your father wasn’t the only one to die that day.”
“What do you mean?”
“My attorney showed me a newspaper clipping about your father’s death. Seven people died that day. Six actually. According to Nathan’s accounts there was an Indian raid and he returned home to find everyone slaughtered.”
Maggie shook her head. “No.”
“I reckon he made sure there was no one left to oppose his claims of how he came into his full inheritance. I would imagine he had people in that house who sided with him.”
Everything packed, he went to Maggie and held his hand out to help her up.
“He killed them because of me?” she said as she stood.
“No.” He pulled her close. “He killed them because he has no value for anyone’s life above his own. This sure explains why he’s put so much effort into finding you. Murdering his family would be a hell of a thing to come to light if he’s counting on a seat in the senate once Wyoming’s granted statehood.”
“He’s going to be after both of us now.”
The fear and regret in her eyes tore at his heart. The reminder that she’d gone to face him alone had him tightening his hold on her. “Fine by me. Because I’m going to be after him.”
He released her and picked up the supplies. As they reached the horses he shifted the pack into place behind her saddle and Maggie began tying them down.
“You still feeling okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. Especially since I ate.”
“How long have you been having an upset stomach like that?”
“Just since leaving my cabin again.”
“A week?”
She gave him a questioning glance. “I guess.”
“And only in the morning?”
She secured a knot in the rope and seemed to ponder the question. “Yeah.”
“Have you thought something other than nerves might be upsetting your stomach?”
“Like what?” Finished with her task, she stepped back, her blue eyes wide with curiosity as she gazed up at him. She wasn’t hiding anything from him—she didn’t have a clue.
“Like, maybe you’re with child?”
She reared back, her expression creased as though he’d cursed at her. “I’m pretty sure my belly would swell up instead of turning inside out.”
“Takes about four months before you’d see any signs in your belly.”
“Oh. Then why would you think—?”
“You’ve been sick every morning for a week. Have you had your monthly since we were up at your place?”
Her mouth dropped open. Color flamed into her cheeks as she stared at him and Garret realized that was likely a personal sort of question—no more personal than the woman he loved carrying his child.
“Maggie?”
She shook her head. “I haven’t. I thought…that maybe…”
“You’re pregnant.”
Maggie felt as though the breath had been knocked from her. She never once guessed…“I can’t be.” She’d accepted long ago that hers was no kind of life to offer a child.
Oh God. “I can’t have a baby.”
“Here,” he said, pressing the reins of her horse into her hand. “You’re coming back to the ranch with me.”
“Garret, I can’t.” She’d had enough years behind her to realize her longing for a baby had been selfish and immature. She’d long since given up all hope.
“You’re obviously not thinking clearly. I’m not about to let you ride off alone, sweetheart.”
“I’ve caused you so much trouble already.”
“Hey,” he said, the slide of fingers over her cheek capturing her attention. “You aren’t to blame for the actions of your brother. I’m glad to know you, Maggie. I want to marry you.”
“I wouldn’t be a good wife, Garret. Or mother.”
“Guess I don’t want a good wife. I want yo
u, Magpie, the woman of my dreams. And I know firsthand that it doesn’t take a dress or any fancy manners to make a fine mother. You’re the finest woman I know. So get used to the idea.”
Her heart clenched at his description. She touched a hand to her belly, shock staggering her mind as the realization took hold. A child. Garret’s child. Her heart didn’t hold a deeper desire than to be loved by him, to love him in return.
That she now had so much to lose horrified her. She’d once lost all she loved—she wouldn’t survive losing Garret, the promise of the life he’d just described for her.
“He wants you dead, Maggie. That part’s clear enough. I’m not leaving you alone. You’re coming home with me.”
“Okay.”
Her easy acceptance surprised Garret. The bleakness in her eyes as she looked into the distance sent a cold wave of dread crashing through him. He knew, too well, the expression of a woman trapped in a fate she didn’t want.
The sun neared the western rim of mountains by the time they reached a high point on the riverbank near his ranch. Even at a good distance, Maggie could see there were an unusual number of horses in the yard.
She reached into her saddlebag and pulled out her brass scope. “Here,” she said, holding it out to Garret. “Be careful of the sun’s position. It can reflect off the lens.”
“I am aware,” he said, his lips slightly tilted as he looked through the telescope toward his ranch. “The sheriff.”
“And Nathan,” she said, knowing by the chill in her skin he was among those gathered in the cluster.
“And Nathan,” he agreed. “I want you to stay here. I’ll circle around before I ride in to see what’s what. If—”
“No. You said we’d stay together.”
“I’ll come for you. If I’m arrested, you go to my sister’s—”
“They could hang you, Garret!”
“Not with a dozen witnesses on my ranch. Worst Bartley will do is arrest me.”
“And then they’ll hang you!” she whispered harshly. “That’s what they do to rustlers—no questions asked, drop-you-from-a-tree hangings!”
“I’ve known Sheriff Bartley for ten years—”