Rough Wrangler, Tender Kisses

by Jill Gregory

  “I’m not going to let you kill her, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Come, come, surely you can demonstrate more affection than that,” Trent mocked. “That’s no way to win a lady’s heart,” he added with a low laugh.

  “And forcing yourself on her is?” Caitlin snapped. But an instant later she gasped as Trent tightened his arm around her throat.

  “Let her go, Trent!” Iron-cold fury surged through Wade. “Stop acting like a yellow-livered coward.”

  “Let her go?” The other man gave a soft taunting chuckle. “I don’t think so, Barclay. The lady stays right here by my side. In fact, she’s coming with me. I’m taking her back to Philadelphia to stand trial.”

  “Trial—what the hell are you talking about?”

  “Didn’t you know? She attacked me. Stole from me. A most valuable family heirloom. And she nearly killed me to get it. I have witnesses and proof. And the law”—he nodded at Piltson—“is on my side. Justice awaits her back east—the kind that will keep her locked up in a most unpleasant place for a very long time. If I choose to pursue it.”

  “What do you need him for?” Wade jerked a thumb toward the bounty hunter.

  “Added protection, of course.” Dominic Trent’s smile widened. “I’m going to be traversing a perilous land, with a dangerous lady in tow. I don’t want anything to happen to me—or to her—until she’s safely installed in jail and awaiting her trial.”

  Drew Raleigh stepped forward. He looked the worse for wear after a night sleeping out-of-doors. His clothes were wrinkled, his string tie askew, his eyes bleak and bloodshot, but his voice still held a note of confident authority. “It doesn’t have to be that way, Barclay. I’m here to broker a deal. Mr. Trent has assured me that if you sign the deed giving your share of Cloud Ranch over to the E. M. Piedmont Company, and also sign another document I’ve prepared in which you urge your brothers and Miss Summers to do the same, he’ll let Caitlin go and forgo pressing charges against her.”

  Silence fell outside Wolf Cave. A silence in which Caitlin swore she could hear her own heart beating—and Wade’s.

  Cloud Ranch was his life. His love. As it had been her father’s. He’d devoted himself to it. He loved every inch of it, every tree, rock, butte, every stone at the bottom of the stream.

  It would be like tearing off his arm to sign the deed over to Raleigh’s syndicate. Giving up part of himself. He couldn’t do it.

  He mustn’t.

  But she knew the man who stood facing his enemies with such still, effortless grace. She knew the sense of responsibility and honor that drove him, the private code by which he lived.

  He would sacrifice Cloud Ranch for her—but it would devastate him. Yet he’d do it anyway.

  “No, Wade.”

  His eyes pierced her as she called out to him in a trembling voice. “Don’t do it. I don’t mind facing trial. He can’t prove anything—I never stole from him—”

  “Shut up! This is for Barclay to decide.” Trent jammed the gun harder against her head, and Caitlin gave a cry of pain.

  “She obviously doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Trent continued softly. “I have witnesses who will back me up about my family heirloom. I’ve got a lawman who’ll testify that he heard her confess—”

  “He’s lying, Wade! I never . . . confessed to anything. He’s a filthy liar—”

  “Now, missy, that ain’t true. I heerd you myself.” The red-haired man grinned at her, his teeth glinting in the rising glow of the sun.

  “He’s not even a sheriff—not a real one!” Caitlin gasped. “Wade, I think he’s Hurley Biggs—I recognize him—he’s the rustler who shot those men!”

  Dominic Trent spun her around then, and whacked her across the jaw. Caitlin went spinning to the ground.

  Even as Wade took one uncontrollable step forward, Smoke Jackson and the red-haired man cocked their guns and pointed them at his chest.

  “Hold it right there! Not another step!” the bounty hunter boomed.

  Wade’s gaze was fixed on Caitlin. Fury ripped through him as she struggled to her knees and lifted her manacled hands to her jaw.

  He knew then that every man standing between them was going to die.

  “The next man who lays a hand on her is going to be the first one in hell,” he said. His deadly glance flicked from Trent to Piltson, to Smoke Jackson, and finally, contemptuously, to Drew Raleigh.

  “You’re not exactly in a position to make threats,” Trent mocked. “You threw down your guns. You’re not armed. How are you going to kill anyone?”

  “The question, Trent, is are you ready to find out?” Wade’s low, steely tone of utmost warning was not lost on anyone. Even unarmed, alone against four, he was an intimidating figure. Something in his stance, his eyes, his very voice, filled the others with that small seed of doubt that he knew could be any man’s undoing.

  “I’ll sign the deed. And whatever papers you want. Just let Caitlin come down here—now.”

  Caitlin heard his words through a fog of dizziness from Trent’s blow. She gave her head a shake, trying to focus. “No, Wade, you can’t . . . not Cloud Ranch . . .”

  “Caitlin, come here. Come down here to me.”

  “The hell she will!” Enraged that the foreman had given the wrong answer—that he’d agreed to give up his ranch for Caitlin Summers—thereby denying him the pleasure of having her left solely to his mercy—Trent struggled to maintain his composure.

  But some of his smug, self-satisfied assurance slipped as the morning sun grew brighter and rose with more brilliance in the clean-washed sky. The sun’s clear, burning light was hurting his head. It was throbbing like a drum. All Caitlin’s fault. And Barclay’s. All of it.

  Because now, Barclay had ruined everything. Instead of being crushed, Caitlin would know that the foreman was willing to make an immense sacrifice for her. Rage surged through Trent, swirling with the pain. As if from a great distance he heard Drew Raleigh’s voice, quick and relieved.

  “Wise decision, Barclay.” Raleigh was giving instructions. “Sign the deed and pass it over here and I’ll bring Caitlin to you myself—”

  “The hell you will.” Smoke Jackson blocked the easterner as he started toward the woman kneeling on the ground.

  “You didn’t really think I would let her go, did you, Raleigh?” Dominic Trent’s mouth pulled back in a sneer. “No matter which decision Barclay made, the end result was preordained. If you didn’t guess that, you’re even more of a fool than I thought. She goes with me—now, always. You were a tool, nothing more, and now,” he said coldly, “your usefulness is over.”

  Raleigh went pale. “We had a deal. If you don’t honor it, I . . . I will have no choice but to withdraw my help and cooperation in this venture as of this moment—”

  “That suits me fine, Raleigh. You’re no longer a part of this venture in any way, shape, or form.”

  Drew Raleigh grimaced, his ruddy face reddening still further with anger. “If you take Caitlin back for trial, I’m warning you I’ll use all my influence to discredit you and everything you’ve—”

  Dominic Trent lifted the gun he’d held to Caitlin’s head and pointed it at Drew Raleigh. Without blinking, he fired.

  Caitlin screamed as the shot thundered and Drew Raleigh fell down dead. Then everything exploded in a blur of noise and pain and fear as the clearing erupted into violence.

  With a lightning movement, Wade yanked a hideout gun from his boot. He and Smoke Jackson fired at each other simultaneously.

  A bullet slammed into the bounty hunter’s gut and he toppled backward, crashing to earth like an oak tree chopped off at the roots. But as Caitlin watched in frozen horror, Wade too fell in a spurt of blood.

  “No!” With a shriek she scrambled to her feet and started toward him, only to see Dominic Trent wheeling to point his gun at Wade as he lay upon the ground.

  There was no time to think or hesitate or plan—she hurled herself at Trent and knocked
his gun arm aside as he pulled the trigger. The shot went wide—then she and Trent were stumbling together down into the dirt, and he was trying to pin her beneath him.

  But Caitlin was driven by desperation, fury, and love. She wriggled aside, clenched her manacled hand into a fist, and struck Trent full in the face. He grunted in rage, fell back a moment, and then slowly pushed himself up with his hands.

  “You’re going to pay for this, my beauty—for this as well as everything else!” The mask of smug, cold control fell away and the mad simmering ugliness exploded from him with a fervor. “You and your crude ignorant foreman are both going to pay!”

  But suddenly, more gunshots brought them both spinning around. Someone was firing at Piltson from a high rock above Wolf Cave. The rustler dove into the dirt and returned fire.

  Caitlin peered up toward that high rock but the sun blinded her from seeing who was shooting. In a quick instant, all she could make out was a tall dark figure—a figure that she could have sworn was Wade, except that Wade lay wounded and bleeding a dozen feet from her. Suddenly she knew—Nick. It was Nick!

  Then all hell broke loose again and the clearing roared with gunfire. Piltson and Nick Barclay exchanged shots again and the next thing she knew Trent had trained his gun upon Nick as well.

  It all happened so quickly that afterward, Caitlin never quite remembered it all. All she knew was that she spotted Wade’s guns lying on the ground and without thinking, she grabbed up one of them, clutching it in both hands. As Trent squinted against the sun and took aim at the high rock, waiting for Nick to show himself, she lifted the heavy gun over her head and brought it down with all of her strength against Dominic Trent’s skull.

  There was a sickening crack, and Trent slammed to the ground.

  At the same moment came more gunfire. The rustler gave out a scream and he too went down, hitting the earth with a thud, his burly body twitching in the sun.

  Caitlin lost no time flying to Wade’s side. Her own hurts and pains were forgotten as she gazed into his gray face, at the blood pooling beneath his still body.

  “Wade. Oh, no, Wade, please.” She couldn’t breathe. Terror, fear, and disbelief rushed through her.

  He was still, so still. Still as death.

  “Don’t you dare die!” She fought off faintness as she saw the blood soaking the front of his shirt and swirling crimson beneath him.

  Frantically, she looked around for something to stanch the blood and remembered her shawl in the wagon. She ran for it and scrambled back a moment later, pressing it hard against the wound.

  “Wade, listen to me. You can’t die. I won’t let you!”

  “Still . . . as b-bossy and uppity as ever . . .” The whispered words were so low she might have imagined them. Then his eyes slowly opened. She gasped and clung to him as hope flickered in her heart.

  “Yes, that’s me, Wade. Bossy. Uppity. Now I’m telling you—ordering you—don’t leave me, stay with me.”

  “Not going . . . nowhere.”

  “That’s right, darling, you’re not.”

  She had to stop the bleeding and then, God help her, try to get him into the wagon, to town. He needed a doctor—and quickly. Caitlin’s thoughts whirled desperately as the blood soaked through her shawl and stained her trembling fingers.

  Terror that his very life was flowing from him on this bloodstained clearing brought tears to her eyes.

  “You’re . . . crying.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “You . . . never cry. Did . . . he hurt you?”

  “No, I’m fine, Wade. I’m going to get Raleigh’s buggy. We have to get you to Hope—”

  “Don’t . . . go. I have to tell you—”

  “I’ll be right back, I promise.” She spoke fiercely through her tears.

  “No. Listen to me. I . . . love you.”

  His words penetrated the choking fear that gripped her, and her tears flowed faster. “I love you, too—but I have to get the—”

  “Listen . . . to me.”

  She went perfectly still. Her heart broke, shattering into a thousand pieces as she stared into his pain-wracked eyes. “I’m . . . listening,” she whispered brokenly.

  “I’ll leave . . . Cloud Ranch. For you. If you don’t want to stay—we’ll go . . . anywhere. Anywhere you want. I won’t be like . . . Reese. I’ll follow you, Caitlin . . .”

  She began to weep, dying inside with every harsh breath that came from his chest.

  “I love you more . . . than anything.” Wade fixed his gaze on her as he spoke the words with effort. “Don’t . . . leave . . . me—”

  “I’ll never leave you, Wade. Never. And I’ll never leave Cloud Ranch. You’re going to be fine and we’re going to be a family, darling, you, me, and Becky—and we’ll have children of our own, as many as you want, but I have to get you to a doctor—”

  A voice that made her flesh crawl cut off her words. “An undertaker, you mean.”

  Caitlin dropped the shawl and spun around. Dominic Trent stood, swaying on his feet, directly before her. Blood poured from his head, turning his clothes crimson and smearing his face, and there was an eerie glitter in his eyes. Struggling to stay upright, he groaned and lifted his revolver just high enough to take aim at Wade as he lay upon the ground.

  “No!” Even as she screamed, she heard the shot, and then Dominic Trent staggered sideways and fell face first into the dust.

  Dimly she heard Nick’s voice, far off, shouting from the rocks behind the cave. As if in a dream she turned back to stare at Wade.

  “Now who needs . . . an undertaker?” Wade whispered.

  He gave her a weak, horrible shadow of a grin, then lowered the smoking hideout gun.

  And closed his eyes.

  Chapter 30

  Day blended into night, first one, then the next. And the next. Sunrise, midday, dusk. And all the bleak, endless, empty hours in between. They were all dark, all frightening, all the same.

  Caitlin lost track quickly. Her entire being was focused on Wade. Sitting by his bed, watching his fitful, fevered sleep, peering into his glazed eyes that stared at her without recognition during the few brief moments he seemed to come awake. Feeding him spoonfuls of broth, cleansing his face with a cool cloth, talking softly while he lay in strengthless sleep.

  And praying in the deepest, darkest hours of the night.

  Those were the things she could do for him—the only things she could do.

  She watched him from the rocker as the midday sun glided across a gleaming turquoise sky, not even glancing up when the door opened behind her.

  I love you . . . I’ll follow you, Caitlin . . .

  Silent sobs ached in her throat as she remembered his words in the blood-soaked clearing. Wade would have given up Cloud Ranch for her. Followed her. He loved her. More than the ranch, more than the home he’d known all his life.

  He loved her.

  He had proven it, and saved her life—and, in the course of that horrible terrifying night, he had possibly given up his own. She was the one who had doubted, hesitated, and run away—it was because of her own pride and stupidity that Drew Raleigh had so easily been able to turn her over to Dominic Trent.

  I love you, Wade. The words echoed through her heart. Come back to me, and I’ll never hide my love from you again.

  She’d held in her feelings for too long. Now it might be too late.

  Please don’t let it be too late, she prayed wearily as she clutched the arms of the rocker. Please let us have our chance . . .

  “Senorita, is there any change?”

  Francesca paused beside her, and Caitlin shook her head. She felt the housekeeper’s firm hand upon her shoulder.

  “You haven’t left this chair for more than a moment. You slept here all through the night, sí?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Come downstairs and eat a proper meal. Senor Nick and Senor Clint have finished their coffee. They will come sit here by his side while you�
��”

  “No, Francesca. Not yet. I want to stay a little longer.”

  Nick had sent a telegram to Clint in Colorado and Clint had arrived late yesterday, weary and covered with trail dust, his face ashen with worry as he’d flung himself from the saddle and vaulted up the steps to hear news of Wade.

  He was every bit as handsome in his own way as Nick and Wade, and somehow, the presence of the two younger Barclay brothers gave her reassurance. They were both so vital, so strong and splendid—just like Wade. And they had something else besides physical hardiness: inner strength, a strength that had been nurtured by Reese. A strength that would stand Wade in good stead as he fought the fever and the wound and the loss of blood.

  A strength that would never give up, Caitlin told herself as she’d been telling herself for days.

  “Are you certain, senorita? Senor Wade, he would not want you to fall ill from hunger—or anything else.”

  “I’m fine, Francesca. Perhaps I’ll come down in a little while.”

  Francesca let out a heavy sigh. The senorita had been saying that for days now. She’d taken no nourishment but what was brought to her on a tray, and eaten little of that.

  “If you change your mind, there are sandwiches of turkey and cold beef and ham—a basket of cookies from Senora Weaver. And Senorita Porter has brought a fresh peach pie.”

  Caitlin nodded, and smiled wanly, though her eyes had lost their sparkle. “Everyone has been so kind. You, too, Francesca. Gracias .”

  “Your sister—she is worried about you. We all are.”

  “Wade is the one to worry about. He needs all our prayers.”

  “Sí. But, senorita, he is very strong. The doctor, he may have his doubts, but I know Senor Wade since he was a little boy. Muy poco. He will get well.”

  “Yes.” At that some of the life seemed to come back into Caitlin’s pale cheeks. She squeezed the housekeeper’s hand. “Thank you, Francesca—for that. I know he will get well.”

  Her voice grew stronger as she spoke the words. She leaned forward and cradled Wade’s big, callused hand in hers. It was so large, and she well remembered its strength, yet there was no power in his grip now, no will or vitality in the long, capable fingers.