Since he was telling her and not asking, Maggie felt her back go up. “Is that what you’re sayin’? You didn’t know who was after me and me dog?”
Her eyes held his, caught with the morning sun and glittering with its heat. “That is exactly what I’m telling you, Maggie. The truth.”
“Once I figured you wouldn’t know the truth if it was in the bottom of a whiskey glass. News for you, McCready. I’m back to wonderin’ the same.”
In a very calm but most deliberate motion, he reached out and gathered her shirtfront in his hand, uncaring if the dog tore into him like her growls warned. “I didn’t lie to you about this. I was trying to save your life.”
She didn’t jerk free; she didn’t even look at his hand. Her eyes held to his, trying to read the truth there, for she no longer trusted herself. If she was right, McCready was setting her up. If she was wrong, Maggie knew she was going to lose and lose big.
Trouble was, she wasn’t sure she could continue trusting him. The long ride had made her yearn again for her freedom, but there was no way she could set aside the hours they had spent together. The hurt resurfaced over his refusal to tell her what had happened that brought Dutch to the cabin.
His eyes were intent on hers and very angry. Maggie reached up and uncurled his fingers from her shirt. “Do you trust me?”
“Trust you?”
“Yeah, McCready. You want mine, give over yours. Tell me why Dutch came.”
McCready gazed at the still-rising sun. If he had been granted more time with Maggie, time to understand all that he was feeling for her, he would tell her what she wanted. But he hadn’t been given time, and now everything was going to hell.
“You’ll find out as soon as we get back. Trust me.”
“That’s your answer?”
“That’s it, Maggie.”
“This is mine. You asked me to trust you when you said that Dutch had Satin an’ nothin’ would happen to her. I did an’ she’s the one got hurt. You asked me to trust you an’ said we’d share equal, like partners about me mines. I did. You asked an’ I gave meself to you with nothin’ held back. Now you’re askin’ for me trust again but refuse to tell me what’s wrong.” Maggie grabbed the reins from him. “Guess you’ll wait to find out.”
She put her foot into the stirrup and held the saddle horn, flowing smoothly up onto the saddle. She wavered when McCready put his hand on her leg.
“Maggie, for what it’s worth, I am sorry that Satin was hurt.”
“I wish I could believe you.” She jerked her horse around and kept at a walk for Satin to follow alongside. But she wished McCready had told her that he was sorry he had hurt her.
When Cooney Camp came into sight, Maggie veered off to go to her cabin. McCready cut his horse in front of hers.
“Come down to the Rawhider. It’s not safe for you to be alone.”
“Get out of me way. I’m goin’ home an’ getting me gun. Then I’ll come down to deal with Cora Ann.”
“You go beyond mule, Maggie. You go all the way to hard rock.”
“I’ve never denied it, McCready.” Maggie deliberately began shortening the reins and making her horse rear.
McCready had no choice but to back his horse away and let her go. He turned to look at Dutch. “Your call—stay or go?” “I’ll stay.”
“Take this,” McCready said, tossing him the rifle. “And I’ll hope you won’t need to use it.”
Dusk was fast closing by the time he got to the Rawhider, and he was in no mood to listen to Ira and Slick’s questions when he had one of his own.
“Where is Cora Ann?”
“Upstairs,” Ira answered. “Just like Dutch told us to keep her.”
Slick came from behind the bar to follow McCready up the short flight of steps. But when McCready turned and he got a good look at his face, Slick backed down. “Was just coming to see if you needed help.”
“The only help I need is to find the man responsible for shooting at Satin. You spread the word, Slick. You know I’ll be generous in rewarding the man or men who find him.”
“Ain’t no call for you to be offering to pay. That’s why no one’s around. They’re all out looking. Pete was damn good to a lot of men, McCready. Ain’t one of us forget that. We’ll do all we can to help Maggie without you asking.”
“Yeah. Maggie’s got herself an army of knights and doesn’t even know it.” McCready went up the stairs, but instead of going directly to Cora Ann’s room, he headed for his own. Never had he craved a drink so badly as now.
He held the bottle and suddenly stopped himself from pouring the drink. He didn’t need liquor; he needed Maggie. And once she met Larson Vladimir, she was going to kill him. Much as McCready wished it was the other way around that Larson would be the man killed, he wasn’t going to waste time wishing for what couldn’t be.
What he could do was to make sure that Maggie remained alive. Cora Ann held the key.
When he reached her room and saw that the key was missing from the lock, he cursed his own stupidity for not getting the key. It also hit him that it was too much trouble to bother.
“Stand back from the door, Cora Ann.”
“McCready? Oh, thank goodness you’re back. Dutch locked—”
The splintering door silenced and frightened her at the same time.
The second resounding kick that McCready gave the door sent it slamming open.
Cora Ann found herself in the corner of her room, with her hands spread on the walls as if to keep them from closing in on her. But when she read the fury in McCready’s face, her heart beat, jumped, and pounded just like his boots pounded across the floor and brought him in front of her.
“I warned you when you came here looking for work that I didn’t want any cheating at cards. And no damn trouble. I never took a cent that you made up here, did I? I told you to keep it all but don’t bring me trouble, right? And I warned you what would happen if you brought me any, didn’t I? I told you you’d answer to me.”
Cora Ann squeezed her eyes closed, trying to brace herself for the blows she knew were coming.
“Stop cowering,” he ordered, disgust filling him. He knew she expected him to beat her; most working girls were battered daily no matter where they plied their trade. He raked back his hair with both hands, wishing he had never given in to the miners’ demands to hire any women. And it was too late now to worry about it. But he had never hit a woman, and he wasn’t about to start now.
As the seconds passed by and she didn’t feel his fists, Cora Ann let herself hope. She peeked up at McCready’s face through her tangled length of hair but didn’t find any softening of his features.
McCready’s disgust deepened when she opened her eyes and gave him a terrified stare. “Stop it. We both know I won’t hit you. But you’re going to tell me all about Bill and what he wants with Maggie. You,” he emphasized, “are going to tell me everything I want to know. And when you’re finished, you’re getting the hell out of here.”
She believed him. But because he had showed himself to be soft, she dared make a demand of her own. “Swear to me that you’ll get me away from here before he finds me.”
“Who? I want his name.”
“The man called Bill is William Berger. Now, will you swear to help me?”
For a moment McCready was tempted to tell her to go to hell. That he wouldn’t lift a finger to help her after what she had done, not only to Satin but to him. But Cora Ann knew no other way than to bargain for every deal thrown her way.
“All right,” he agreed. “I’ll make sure you get out safely. Now talk.”
“Yeah, you do that, Cora Ann,” Maggie said. She stood in the open doorway, glancing from the rumpled bed to where McCready stood in front of Cora Ann.
“Maggie, you don’t think—”
“Don’t much matter what me thinks, McCready,” she answered, cradling her rifle and coming into the room. Wrinkling her nose,
she added, “Sure does stink up here. Don’t you open a window?”
“Never mind the window,” McCready admonished, pointing to the bed as the only place to sit. “Have a seat. Cora Ann was just going to begin.”
Maggie chose to stand, but she listened quietly as the woman spoke.
“Berger threatened me into helping him. It doesn’t matter over what, it’s enough that I did.”
“More,” McCready stated very softly, retaining his stance in front of Cora Ann, not so much to protect her, but hoping Maggie would think twice about shooting her if he was in the way. A whimsical thought if he ever had one. Maggie’s eyes were about as friendly as the bores of the rifle she carried.
“Berger is working with a man up in Santa Fe. He’s the one that hired Quincy.”
“Berger hired Quincy?” McCready asked.
“No. Thadius Cornwallis. William’s partner. Quincy was supposed to marry Maggie and then kill her.” Cora Ann peered around McCready to see how Maggie took that news, and shivered at Maggie’s hostile look. “Quincy was supposed to have her make a will just like he would, so when she was dead, the mine would belong to him.”
“You sing a pretty song, Cora Ann,” Maggie said, coming closer. “But how do we know that you’re tellin’ the truth?”
“She wouldn’t dare lie to me.”
Maggie gave McCready a quick once-over look. “What’s to stop her, McCready? You gonna stop playin’ stud an’ not service her?”
He rounded on Maggie. “That’s enough. I said she wouldn’t lie, and that’s all there is to it. You’re the one wasting my time and your own, Maggie. Keep quiet and let her finish.”
Cora Ann’s smirking smile confirmed Maggie’s own fear. McCready was back to being McCready. His telling her off in front of Cora Ann stung her to the quick. Maggie had to drag out her defenses. She swore she’d never lower them again for him.
“Go on,” McCready ordered.
“There’s no more. Quincy was here looking for you with four men that he hired to help him. He left and a few days later Berger showed up.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know, McCready.” His slight move had her add, “I swear that. I haven’t seen him since before I let the dog go.”
Raking his hand through his hair, McCready turned to look at Maggie and found she was gone.
“Pack your bags. Slick and Ira can ride a ways with you.” He ran after Maggie, calling her, but she had already walked out by the time he got downstairs.
“Where’s Dutch?” he asked Ira.
“Left right after Maggie walked in. Said he had some business.”
McCready started running for the door. “Not now, Dutch,” he whispered to himself. “Not when Maggie’s primed for firing.”
But he was too late to stop Dutch.
Chapter 19
From his vantage point in the Rawhider’s doorway, McCready saw Dutch leading the big blond lumberjack down the street while he yelled for Maggie to wait for him.
What McCready read in Larson Vladimir’s face sent a cold fury through him. The man was shocked to see Maggie. He wasn’t making any attempt to hide it. McCready wanted to rush out and tell him not to make the same mistake that he had. Maggie shouldn’t be judged by her looks; she was all the woman a man could want and more.
But that was his Maggie. The one he alone knew. The Maggie who stood in the middle of the rutted street, her legs spread for balance, her rifle cradled in her arms. The wild, proud Maggie, who would take on both Dutch and the lumberjack without a thought for herself.
McCready longed to take this moment and plunge it into freezing water until he had figured out a way to keep the last shreds of trust that Maggie had for him from being ground into dust. But he had no freezing water and his sleight-of-hand was strictly confined to being able to deal what he wanted from a deck of cards.
He should be thinking about saving his own neck. But he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Maggie. As if he were inside her mind, he knew she watched Dutch with all the wary instinct of a hunted animal. Her trust was shaken because of one C. V. McCready. He almost called out to her, almost turned his back to go inside, but he had never been a coward.
McCready walked out to stand beside Maggie.
Maggie didn’t know where her strength came from to stand there, waiting for Dutch. She needed to be alone. Needed to sort out Quincy’s betrayal and lies. But she needed to be held in McCready’s arms while he held everyone at bay for a time.
“Maggie,” Dutch said, “this is Larson Vladimir. He’s come all the way from Washington Territory to meet you.”
She kept her eyes on Dutch, having read the other man too well. He was looking at her like something that had crawled out from under a rock, and he didn’t know what to do with it. She’d seen that look enough times so that it shouldn’t have bothered her, but with McCready standing alongside, taking it all in, she felt unable to defend herself.
Dutch elbowed Lars’s ribs. “Go on. Talk to her.”
Lars felt he was choking, and it had nothing to do with the freshly starched linen collar he wore. This was Mary? She was no slender softwood sapling, easily bent to a man’s way. She was hardwood locust, ready to dull the edge of a man’s ax time and again from the look in her eyes.
“I ain’t got all day, Dutch. Maybe he’s swallowed his tongue. Send him back where you got him. I’m goin’ huntin’.”
Lars’s gaze dropped to the rifle she held as if she knew how to use it. Bad business this letting a woman carry a gun.
Dutch slapped him on the back. “You’ve got something important to say to Maggie, so get on with it.”
“Ja. I will do it.” Taking courage in hand, Lars tried to smile. He couldn’t manage one. He glanced around, looking for someone to offer them a place to talk in private. This matter was not … He lost his thought. Maggie turned heel and walked way. This was an insult not to be borne.
“You will wait until I say you go, Mary.”
Maggie took a deep breath, then two more. She turned slowly to face Lars. “Mister, you got somethin’ figured all wrong. No man tells Maggie O’Roarke what she does and when. An’ if you don’t want to find yourself eatin’ the wrong end of this here rifle, you’ll ’pologize right fast.”
“Right! I will give you what is right!” Lars tore papers from his inside jacket pocket, brandishing them as he advanced on Maggie. “You are a shameless woman. No more the wearing of men’s pants. No more the carrying of a gun. No more the rough talk.”
Maggie stopped him by placing the barrel tip in his gut. “Take a deep breath and back off, or I’ll use this. I don’t know what you’re in a lather about and don’t care. Just back off.”
“Do it, Mr. Vladimir,” McCready suggested. “Those of us who have come to know and love Maggie as she is, also know that she’ll do what she says.” He strolled to where they stood. “I would also suggest that you just tell Maggie what you’re holding.”
Lars glanced at the forgotten papers in his hand. He tugged at his collar. “The paper, it tells that you are my wife.”
“Your wife! I can’t be your wife. I’m his,” she hissed, jabbing the rifle at McCready.
McCready almost felt sorry for Lars when relief flooded his eyes. His body lost some of its stiffness. But McCready knew it was time for the real fur to fly.
“You will not question my word,” Lars demanded. “Dutch has read my papers. Your uncle lent me money to buy stands of timber and to build a sawmill. He asked no payment. But—”
“Seems it was a poor deal on Mohawk’s part,” Maggie cut in. But the words were spoken from a part of her that was still here. The rest of her was running. Running from the confusion that McCready’s continued silence caused. Why wasn’t he saying anything to stop this man?
McCready shoved his hands into his pants pockets to stop himself from grabbing hold of her and not letting go.
But Maggie was tu
rning to him. “McCready?”
Her whisper cut through his turbulent emotions. He heard the silent questions she was asking him, begging for denial. And his silver tongue failed him.
“All Mohawk Pete asked in return from Mr. Vladimir was that he marry you by proxy, and if anything happened to Pete, the man was to come—”
“But you said—” Maggie stopped. Something was wrong.
“I had good reasons for what I said.”
Her eyes glazed over. Maggie moved because they were all waiting for action. She gave them what little she could. Without sighting, she peppered the front of the Rawhider until her rifle came up empty. No one tried to stop her.
She saw Pamela run from the mercantile and stop when she saw them grouped in the street. But Maggie wasn’t worried about Pamela. She was worried for herself. Somehow she had to walk back to her cabin. Somehow she would do it.
“Maggie, please, listen,” McCready implored.
With a shake of her head she focused on him. “You know what you are, McCready?” she said very softly. “You’re fool’s gold. Glitterin’ all fancy under dark waters, callin’ out for a dreamer to come get you. But bring you up to the light, an’ the shine’s all gone. Ain’t nothin’ left to hold but worthless rock. Like you.”
He whitened with every brittle word she spoke, but anger for himself, for Pete not trusting him alone to take care of her, and anger for Maggie so easily forgetting what they shared held him silent. He was not going to defend himself.
Lars cleared his throat. “I will call on you, Mary.”
“Don’t bother,” she snapped. “I ain’t for the likes of you. I don’t care what paper you have. No man’s telling me what for.”
Maggie closed her eyes, willing herself to move. She had a need so deep to crawl away and hide to lick her wounds in peace.
Pamela’s scream cut through the air. “Get down, Lars! All of you, get down!” Wringing her hands, she backed up until the solid wall of the store stopped her. She should have warned them after she overheard her father with Quincy and Ryder. Lars could be killed! The fool dived after Maggie, but McCready was already covering her body with his as the three men rode them down. Dutch had rolled clear and was inside the Rawhider. She had never felt so helpless in her life.
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