Trace (Bachelors And Babies Book 1)

by Pam Crooks

  “What’re you saying? She sent the cash with Harriett?” Trace demanded.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “Harriett came here with hardly more than a few diapers and the clothes on her back.” He spoke slowly, giving his mind time to comprehend the news and try to make sense of it. Its truth, most of all. “Who told you there was money?”

  “Emma’s old man did.” Billy’s lip curled. “From his jail cell. She told him she stole it from me, but she wouldn’t tell him what she did with it.”

  “Maybe she lied.”

  “She didn’t.”

  Trace didn’t bother to hide his skepticism. “Oh?”

  “No one knew where I’d stashed the cash before we hightailed it to Mexico,” Billy snapped. “No one but her and my gang, and they was with me. We had plans to come back for it after things cooled down in Texas. When we did, it was gone. Every cent.”

  Slick-Shot Billy Hayes, for all his shrewd skills in rustling, hadn’t figured on Emma taking matters into her own hands and turning the tables on the man who betrayed her.

  “Sounds like she was a mite smarter than you gave her credit for,” Trace said, glad she was, for once.

  Saddle leather creaked, as if Billy fidgeted from the knowledge. “Me and my boys need that rustling money, McQuade. We ain’t leaving ‘til we get it.”

  Trace smirked. “Might be a good idea to have a little talk with Johnny. You ever think Emma might’ve trusted him with the money, like she trusted him with her daughter and bringing her to me? Could be he helped himself to a little traveling cash on his way up from Texas and wanted to send you on a wild goose chase here in Kansas.”

  “Oh, we talked to him all right,” Billy said.

  “He didn’t know a thing,” Mae added.

  “And you believed him?”

  “We convinced him it was in his best interests not to lie to us,” Mae said, matter-of-fact.

  So, Emma’s cousin got roughed up to persuade him to the truth. Trace heaved a dramatic sigh. “You’re both wasting your time. We don’t have the money, either.”

  “Why would I believe you, McQuade?” Billy demanded.

  “Because it’s true.”

  “We’ll just go in that cabin and have ourselves a look around to make sure.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Morgana said sharply.

  Each outlaw turned toward her.

  “Well, what d’ya know,” Mae sneered. “Miss Hoity-Toity tellin’ us what to do.”

  Morgana ignored her but fastened her gaze onto Billy. “Your daughter, Harriett, is very sick.”

  “Yeah?” Billy looked suspicious. “What’s the matter with her?”

  The time had come to release their secret weapon, like an arrow from its bow.

  “Influenza,” Trace said.

  Billy’s gaze darted to Morgana, to Mae, then back to Trace.

  “How do I know you ain’t lyin’?” he asked.

  Mae blurted a cuss word that should’ve turned the air blue. “Think about it, Billy. Miss Hoity-Toity lives in that big fancy house in town. There’s a reason why she’s staying in this old cabin out here with McQuade. Can’t imagine her prissy folks would stand for it, otherwise.”

  “You mean you’re in quarantine out here, McQuade?” Billy asked, jaw dropped.

  Grim, Trace nodded. “Doctor Cooper will vouch for it.”

  Billy swore and rubbed a hand over his face.

  “I don’t want you anywhere near her,” Morgana said coldly, letting go of Trace’s hand. “I’m going in to get her to keep her from all of you.”

  The mother bear had come out in her, for sure. Got her fighting for her cub against the enemy, but Trace didn’t like seeing her walk away on her own, heading to the cabin. Anything could happen when he couldn’t see her inside.

  One of the gang shifted in his saddle. “Influenza is contagious, ain’t it?”

  “Very. You can get it just by getting too close to somebody.” Trace dragged his gaze off Morgana. “It also means Morgana and I could be contagious, too.”

  The nearest outlaw, a hooligan with a straggly beard, nudged his mount back a few steps to allow her to pass. “I ain’t gettin’ too close, that’s for sure.”

  She swept past him and disappeared inside, and time couldn’t tick fast enough to suit Trace until she came back out. He was too alone, too much at a disadvantage. Any of the outlaws could ambush him and go after Morgana and the baby next.

  His Colt still lay in the grass. Within easy reach. But to make a grab for it would leave him peppered with bullets. A dead man with no way to protect Morgana and Harriett.

  “Keep an eye on her when she comes out, Ray,” Billy said to the bearded outlaw, gesturing with his revolver. “Keep her away from us, but don’t let her escape, neither.”

  “What’s the matter, Billy?” Trace taunted. “Don’t even want to see your own daughter?”

  “I got more important matters to deal with,” the outlaw snapped. “Like finding my money in that cabin.”

  Trace’s lip curled. “Look in there all you want. You won’t find a dime.” A sudden thought landed in his head, like a rain drop from the sky. The Winchester he’d left behind. “In fact,” he added. “I’ll go in with you. If you find that money, I want to know where you did.”

  “She’s comin’ out,” Ray said.

  Again, Morgana held the outlaws’ attention while she struggled to maneuver the carriage out the door and off the front porch. No one moved, their fear of the influenza keeping them rooted in their saddles.

  “Stay over there, close to the road, Morgana,” Trace commanded.

  Her glance met his. He hoped she remembered her father’s promise to ride out to check up on them. Doctor Cooper’s, too. Might be they’d see her standing there, in the path in front of the cabin, and know something wasn’t right ...

  “Of course, I will,” she said, her nod telling him she remembered all right.

  “Let’s go, McQuade.” Billy dismounted but kept his gun leveled at Trace. “Try anything fancy, and we’ll fill you full of lead so fast your teeth will sing.”

  Not that Trace didn’t expect they’d do just that, but he held up his hands in a show of compliance and started walking, Billy and Mae close on his heels. He went in first, then Billy, and Mae hung back to bark orders to the two remaining men to keep Morgana in their sights, adding a terse reminder they weren’t finished with her yet.

  As soon as he got inside, Trace’s glance shot toward the crude table under the window. The Winchester was gone. Had to be Morgana who took the rifle, but what in the hell did she intend to do with it?

  “Why does it feel funny in here?” Billy demanded with a grimace, looking around.

  “The vaporizer.” Trace indicated the contraption on the table next to the bed. “Helps Harriett breathe better.”

  Billy merely grunted, strode toward the bed and yanked the sheets off, then ripped open the mattress with a pocketknife. He flung over the kitchen table and each chair, checking their undersides for anything hidden. He headed toward the pile of firewood next to the fireplace, tore through each piece and in a fit of frustration, threw Harriett’s white wicker basket across the room.

  Mae’s search was no less thorough, equally frenzied. The shelves on the kitchen wall, the pile of empty crates, not even the ice box escaped her hunt. She pulled down the sheet Trace had hung for Morgana in the corner and tossed it aside. Flinging open the trunk, she sifted through the garments, one after the other, shaking them out and leaving them strewn willy-nilly around her. Finally, she straightened and set her hands on her hips. “It’s not here, Billy.”

  Billy finished combing through Trace’s folded clothes, leaving them in a mess around him. He turned toward Trace, his features full of fury.

  “That money’s got to be here,” he said. “Don’t make no sense she’d hide it in Texas, knowing she’d be dead soon and no one else figuring where it is.” His chest heaved. “You lying
to me, McQuade?”

  “I don’t have it,” he grated. “Never saw it, and that’s the truth.”

  The man’s desperation filled Trace with unease. A man got dangerous when something he was convinced about didn’t turn out the way he thought it should. Made it worse when he thought someone was lying to him, too, and when it was over cold, hard cash, well, hell, it didn’t get any worse than that.

  “She’d want her kid to have the money,” Mae said. “Her baby is all the kin she had left.”

  “The carriage,” Billy shouted. “Search it. Check the kid, too.”

  Trace’s control snapped. “Stay away from them. Y’hear me? Stay the hell away.”

  “I’m going out,” Mae said, one hand on her revolver as she strode toward the front door.

  “Leave them alone!” Trace roared.

  He didn’t trust her. He knew what she was capable of, and he had to stop her. Stop her now before she hurt Morgana or the baby ...

  He leapt toward her, but too fast, Billy swerved, reaching for his weapon and blocking him from going after her. Just as quick, Trace slugged the gun aside, planted his hands against the outlaw’s chest and gave him a hard shove.

  “Out of my way!” he snarled.

  Billy stumbled back but recovered, returning the shove as forcefully as the first. Trace scrambled for balance, clenched his fist and drew back, ramming his knuckles into Billy’s jaw and sending him flying.

  Before Trace could get out the door, Billy was on him again, and they tangled like a pair of wildcats, falling over each other and the strewn furniture, getting up and starting all over again, until Billy fell into the only table that was still standing.

  The vaporizer on top wobbled and fell over, shattering glass on the floor. The flame inside the lamp stretched and licked at the sheets, the blanket, even the mattress, growing and raging and spreading, faster than Trace could even comprehend ...

  Chapter 14

  Mustang Mae burst from the cabin like her tail was on fire and headed straight for Morgana.

  Morgana was ready for her. With a quick reach into the baby carriage, she whipped out Trace’s rifle from beneath a pile of Harriett’s sleeping gowns and braced the butt against her shoulder.

  “Don’t you dare take another step closer, Mae,” she said in a cold voice.

  The outlaw kept coming, her hand hovering over the gun in her holster. Step after step she came with her boot soles rustling in the grass. Morgana never claimed to be a good shot, but she could hit a target if it got close enough. Her father had made sure of that, and she kept Mae in her sights, waiting until the last moment she possibly could.

  When it came, she fired a single shot into the dirt.

  It got Mae’s attention, all right. Harriett’s, too. Poor baby let out a howl from startlement after the crack of the rifle. As much as it broke Morgana’s heart, she couldn’t do a thing to comfort the child. She had to keep her eye on Mustang Mae.

  The outlaw leapt back while unsheathing her own weapon, lightning quick, in one motion, aiming the barrel at Morgana. Mae’s expression darkened in rage, but she didn’t shoot back. Clearly, she didn’t know what Morgana would do next.

  “We’ll call that your first warning,” Morgana said. “Next time, I’ll make sure the bullet hurts.”

  “I could kill you right now,” Mae said. “You know I can, don’t you?” She took another step, this one more cautious.

  Morgana bettered her grip on the rifle. “My father always said never trust a nervous person with a gun in their hands,” she said. “You’d best know I’m feeling really nervous right now, Mae. I’m not liking a sick baby crying her heart out when I have to keep my full attention on the likes of you.”

  A racket erupted from within the cabin, and Morgana’s pulse jumped in alarm. But she didn’t take her eyes off the outlaw. Whatever was happening in there, she hoped, prayed, Trace would be all right.

  Mae halted, throwing an uneasy glance over her shoulder. She speared one of her men, the bearded one, with a fierce look.

  “Ray! Find out what’s happening in there,” she ordered. “See if Billy needs any help.”

  He drew back, eyes rounding. “I ain’t going in there,” he said. “No tellin’ what kind of vermin I’ll pick up from the air inside that place.”

  “Do what I said!” she shouted.

  The cabin’s door burst open, and Trace stumbled out, dragging Slick-Shot by the armpits. The outlaw appeared barely conscious, and if his swollen, bloody face was any indication, he’d gotten the worst end of their fight.

  “Fire!” Ray yelled.

  To Morgana’s horror, flames flickered through the open doorway. Mae swung toward the cabin.

  “What the hell?” she choked.

  Trace seized both pearl-handled revolvers out of Slick-Shot’s holsters and gripped them in each hand, keeping one pointed at the outlaw he’d bested and the other at any of his gang who took a notion to charge toward him.

  But it was Mae he lashed with a ferocity that could melt steel.

  “Get away from Morgana and the baby, Mae,” he grated. “I’m not going to let you hurt them.”

  Suddenly, Ray fired a shot toward the trees, and then another. “Someone’s out there, Mae. I saw somethin’ move, I swear I did.”

  She swung again, this time in that direction, as if to see for herself. The second outlaw grabbed the reins to her horse and galloped toward her.

  “We got to go, Mae,” he said. “Now.”

  But she ignored him and twisted back to Morgana instead.

  “I ain’t leaving just yet,” she said, her tone lethal over Harriett’s cries. “Not until I get what I want.”

  “There’s no money in this carriage. If there was, I’d give it to you.” Morgana did her best to keep from sounding desperate, even though she felt it, clear into her bones. “I don’t care about Emma’s money. I’ve got plenty of my own.”

  At least, she would soon, in two months and she couldn’t even think how many days were left until her trust matured.

  “But not as much money as your old man has,” Mae said, her cold smile dripping like icicles in January. “He has that big ol’ mercantile, and I’ll warrant he’s fairly swimming in cash.”

  A chill rolled through Morgana, and even though she kept the Winchester aimed, the outlaw stepped closer still. Morgana knew she should pull the trigger. Just shoot, right at Mae’s heart, and be done with it. She had the bullet and the ability, besides.

  But she couldn’t. In spite of everything the woman had done, Morgana couldn’t.

  Still, Mae kept coming, until Morgana could practically count the wild hairs billowing around her face. Morgana stood her ground, keeping herself between Harriett and the outlaw, and if Mae thought she could kidnap Morgana again, or worse, take that sweet baby girl and hold them both for ransom as some sort of sick revenge ...

  Ray kicked his mount into a sudden run past Trace to escape. Trace lifted his arm and took aim, pulled the trigger, and the outlaw fell off his horse. The remaining outlaw gave up the reins to Mae’s horse, spun his own around and spurred him with a hard kick, but before he could cover much ground, Trace shot him, too, and down he went with a yell.

  Mae swiveled toward the downed men with a curse. Morgana made her move, gripping the Winchester like a baseball player gripped his bat, and swung out. The barrel connected with Mae’s wrist, breaking bone. She cried out, the revolver dropped, and she fell to her knees, clasping her forearm.

  Morgana kicked the gun out of reach, and it skidded into high grass, out of easy sight. A thundering the likes of which she’d never heard broke into her awareness, and she spun toward the sound with a gasp. An entire cavalry of horses galloped toward them in a cloud of dust and thrown dirt, some spilling from the thicket, others coming straight from Wallace, and it seemed every man in town who could ride was in that army.

  Leading them all was her father. And Sheriff O’Donnell. Behind them was Doctor Cooper, and Mr. Sherman, who o
wned the hardware store, and LeRoy with his whole construction crew, and oh, she couldn’t even identify them all as they raced into the yard, fanning out around the fallen outlaws, giving them no chance of escape.

  Morgana scooped up Harriett, who had succumbed into hiccupping sobs from all the turmoil, and cuddled her close with lots of kisses and murmurs that everything was going to be all right.

  Someone called out “Fire!” It didn’t take long for the men to divide up like a battalion of soldiers and start pumping water and dousing the flames. Before they were even out, Trace burst through the massive, churning pool of humanity and horseflesh.

  “Morgana! Are you all right? Is Harriett hurt?” he rasped, his features stricken with worry. More frantic than gentle, he plucked the baby right out of Morgana’s arms into his own. His gaze raked over her and then Morgana, inspecting them both.

  “No, no. She’s fine.” Relief pulled the words out of Morgana’s throat, making them shaky. “We’re both fine.”

  “I was afraid—I thought she’d been hit because of all that crying she was doing. Damn, Morgana, if I would’ve shot her, if anyone had—”

  “She’s just scared, that’s all. So much noise and yelling—”

  “If anything would’ve happened to either of you ...”

  The words trailed off. He didn’t need to say more, for his words were her own. Trace hooked his arm around her and crushed her to him, so tightly she could barely breathe. But she didn’t care.

  It was over. They were safe.

  Nothing else mattered.

  While they gathered together under the pleasant shade of a lone elm tree, Doctor Cooper pressed his stethoscope to Harriett’s chest, then turned her over and listened against her back, too. He checked her eyes, in her ears, and took her temperature, as thorough as ever, just like Trace knew he would be.

  Afterward, the physician handed her to Morgana; she cradled the child in one arm and offered her a bottle. With a vigor Trace hadn’t seen in the days since he’d taken her in, Harriett latched on to the nipple and sucked like she hadn’t eaten in a week.