Her Lone Protector

by Pam Crooks

  “Oh, no.” Horrified, Gina made the Sign of the Cross.

  The cowboy peeped up at her through barely opened lids. “Now, don’t you go…prayin’ over me, Miss Briganti. I ain’t dead yet, far as I know.”

  She knelt beside him on a wave of relief. “How bad are you hurt?”

  “Bad enough, I reckon.”

  “You’re going to pull through,” Creed said. “Pa’s called for a doctor. He’ll tell you the same thing.”

  “It gets worse, Miss Briganti. Read this.” Graham tossed a newspaper into her lap. “The announcement was made yesterday.”

  She glanced at the headline emblazoned across the top of the Los Angeles Daily Times, enthusiastically proclaiming President McKinley’s impending arrival that very night to the thousands of people who would read it.

  The secret, no longer secret.

  “The article reveals the time his train will arrive,” Graham said. “Preparations are being made as we speak to give him a proper California welcome.”

  “The Sokolovs will know exactly where he’ll be. And when,” Creed said, mouth tight.

  “Yes,” she said, feeling his worry, too.

  “To complicate matters, the president has requested a visit to a hot mineral spring as soon as possible for his wife,” Graham continued. “This ranch has one of the nicest private bathhouses around. I rode out to request permission of the Sherman family and make arrangements. Needless to say, the attack on Lonnie has raised the risks against McKinley dramatically.”

  “But the brothers will know where to find him,” she said in alarm, the memory of finding her scarf, the knowledge that Nikolai had used the waters, too, still vivid in her mind.

  “If the president of the United States wants his wife to use the bathhouse, we’ll damn well find a way so she can,” Gus said.

  “We just have to capture them before she does, that’s all,” Creed said.

  Gina stared at him. “Why do you make it sound so easy?”

  “It won’t be. And it sure won’t get any easier the more we waste time talking about it.”

  The tension shimmered from him. His urgency to vanquish the enemy before it was too late. Cold fear clutched her by the throat. He could be hurt or killed, and how could she possibly stop him from going?

  Creed gave the injured cowboy’s shoulder a squeeze. “Take it easy until we get back.”

  “Sure thing, Creed. Whip their hides for me, will you?”

  “Count on it. Stan and Charlie will help Pa get you into the house.” He rose, swept the men with a grim glance. “Handle him with care, boys. The rest of you, get ready to ride out.”

  Gus didn’t move. “I’m coming with you, Creed. Don’t for a damned minute think I’m not.”

  Creed shot him a stern look. “It’s too dangerous. You’ve got Mary Cat to think of. The baby.”

  “There’s a war happening on Sherman land,” he rumbled. “You’re defending the president of the United States, but I’ve got things just as important to fight for.”

  For a long moment, Creed didn’t move, as if he weighed the risks against the need. The loss, too, if the fight turned wrong. Finally, he gave his father a curt nod. “Be ready in five minutes.”

  The circle broke quickly. Creed lingered, making sure his orders were followed. Only afterward did he glance down at her.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said.

  His lack of emotion chilled her. For the first time, she saw him for who he truly was—a soldier, prepared to kill. A mercenary consumed with the desire to destroy.

  He cared little about her concern for him. Or that he’d be leaving her behind. Obviously, he’d forgotten the closeness they shared only hours ago, too. The love they’d made, again and again.

  The hurt roared through her. His interest in her had only been physical, entertainment to enjoy until the time came to confront the enemy. Would he remember her when the thrill from the battle was over?

  “You do not have to do this,” she said, hovering on the brink of pleading with him.

  His eyes narrowed. “The hell I don’t.”

  “Wire General Carson if you must. He has more men—the Army can find Nikolai and Alex faster. It is their job to—”

  “It’s my job as well. You know it is.”

  She crossed her arms to keep from reaching for him. “I do not want you to go. Does the attack on Lonnie mean nothing? You must save the lives of your father and his men.” She swallowed, hating herself for being as scared as she sounded. “And you must save your own.”

  “Of anyone, Gina, I thought you’d understand.” His cold gaze switched to Graham. “You riding with us?”

  “I am, sir. Most certainly.”

  “I’ll have a horse saddled for you.”

  He turned, then, and headed for the barn. Graham hastened to keep up with him.

  Suddenly, he pivoted back toward Gina, his expression stricken.

  “Forgive me, Miss Briganti. I neglected to tell you—another reason I rode out here—in all the excitement over the cowboy, Lonnie—” His throat bobbed. “I forgot to mention your mother has been found.”

  Her fingers flew to her mouth.

  Creed swung toward him.

  “What?” they said in unison.

  His apologetic gaze jumped between them. “I’m sorry. Oh, God, I’m so sorry. It completely escaped my mind. I received the news only minutes before I drove out here.”

  Gina’s bosom heaved. “Where is she? Is she all right? Where has she been?”

  “She’s been in the care of Good Samaritan Hospital. The Los Angeles Infirmary was simply too full after the Premier fire, and when she was found, she wasn’t conscious, and thus she was unable to—”

  “Unconscious?” Her breath quickened.

  “Please be assured, Miss Briganti, she’s doing as well as can be expected considering her injuries—”

  “Injuries?” Gina’s voice raised an octave.

  “She’s quite coherent, as I understand it, and has been asking for you, so please try not to worry too much until—”

  “Try not to worry?” Gina had heard enough. “I must go to her.” She spun toward the main house, for her coat and hat in Marcus’s room.

  But an iron grip clamped on her arm, holding her fast.

  “No,” Creed said.

  Aghast, she stared up at him. “What?”

  A muscle ticked in his cheek. “Not yet, Gina. It isn’t safe for you to leave.”

  “You would deny me my mother?” The quaver in her tone revealed her shock, her absolute fury, that he would dare to do such a thing after all the pain, the tears, the heartache—oh, how dare he?

  “The Sokolovs are on Sherman land,” he grated. “I’d swear on Ma’s best bible that Nikolai is watching us now, from somewhere close. I can feel him, the bastard, breathing down our necks, and damn it, Gina, you’re not going anywhere until I have him dead or behind bars, I don’t care which.”

  “Mr. Sherman is quite right,” Graham added, looking so sympathetic Gina wanted to choke him. “Even if he were to engage a detail of armed men to escort you into the city, you’d be defenseless against a bomb thrown at you along the way.” He seemed to draw courage from his own logic. “For someone of Mr. Sherman’s expertise, it shouldn’t take long at all to track the brothers down. You’ll see.”

  Her mind raced. She forced down the fury.

  “When will you be back?” she asked, sounding calmer.

  “Tonight.” Creed hesitated. “Maybe tomorrow.”

  Did he really think she would wait so long?

  “Fine,” she said.

  He regarded her warily. “You’ll stay with Mary Cat. In the house. Nikolai can’t get to you there. She could use a hand taking care of Lonnie, besides.” His grip eased on her arm, but only slightly. “Agreed?”

  Gina nodded. Once. “Agreed.”

  “All right. I’ll see you soon.”

  He stepped closer, his intent to kiss her goodbye.
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  She stepped back, so he couldn’t.

  The muscle in his cheek moved again. “Go on in, Gina. I’m staying right here until you do.”

  “Fine.”

  She turned. With a controlled, even stride, she walked away. Toward the house. Into the yard. Onto the porch. Feeling him watch her, her hand reached for the doorknob….

  She dared a look over her shoulder. In his haste to begin the fight, Creed turned away and walked with Graham toward the barn, his trust in her obedience complete.

  And foolish.

  She hurriedly crouched into a corner of the porch, out of sight. Inside the house, she could hear Mary Catherine fussing over Lonnie. Outside, the sound of men’s voices near the barn melded into the thunder of horses’ hooves.

  Gina waited until the drone faded away. She didn’t dare enter the house to retrieve her coat and hat. Nor did she dare hurry to the barn to saddle her bay.

  But she dared to steal Graham’s runabout.

  With the reins grasped tight in her hands, she drove fast toward the city and prayed to the Madonna to forgive her for the sin.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Nikolai watched them ride away through the field glasses. An army of Sherman men, led by the tall American. Creed. All of them armed and smelling the blood of the hunt.

  His blood.

  He watched until only their dust remained. He slid the lenses slowly along the perimeter of the yard, past the barn and toward the big house, until he found her again, the beautiful Gina Briganti, on the porch. He kept his sights on her, his interest building as she climbed into the black rig parked in front. She drove down the lane at great speed. In the opposite direction of Creed Sherman and his men.

  Nikolai lowered the glasses in surprise.

  Toward the city?

  His mouth curved from his good fortune. He thrust the binoculars at Alex, sitting next to him on his horse. “We will go after her.”

  Alex peered through the lenses. “The Briganti woman?”

  Impatience flitted through Nikolai at the stupidity of his brother’s question. He felt it more often of late, this impatience. “Who else would I speak of? Yes. Gina.”

  He fought down his annoyance with a quick swig of vodka. Worried about the fever that had ravaged Nikolai last night, Alex had brought a bottle back with him from Los Angeles early this morning, along with another wire from Karlov and the latest edition of the Los Angeles Daily Times.

  At last, the information Nikolai needed to set his revolution in motion had arrived, yet so little time remained to prepare for McKinley’s arrival.

  For that, he needed Gina Briganti.

  “Forget about her, Nikolai. It is the American you should be concerned about,” Alex said, dragging the lenses over the horizon.

  Nikolai grunted and shoved the vodka back into his knapsack.

  “He has guards posted everywhere to protect his family,” Alex said.

  “I saw them.”

  “He is angry you bombed the line camp and injured one of his father’s men. You should not have played games with him. Now he wants revenge.”

  Nikolai steeled himself against the complaining and took up the reins. The vodka’s heat slid into his veins, numbed the pain in his thigh and diluted the fear.

  “Be strong, Alex. I will not let him hurt you.” But it wasn’t the mercenary who filled his thoughts. Instead, another gave him focus, drove him with a sweet urgency. His gaze touched on the lane, now empty of the black rig. “We must hurry, or we will lose Gina Briganti inside the city.”

  Creed squatted next to the banked campfire and leveled his hand over the embers. A faint heat shimmered against his palm.

  “They were here,” he said, grim. “A couple of hours ago.”

  “How can you be sure?” Marcus asked, seated on his horse behind Creed. “Might be anyone drifting through these parts.”

  “The East Camp isn’t far from here.” He squinted, gauging the distance, figuring in a ride from the bathhouse, too. “Nikolai’s wounded in the leg. It’d be hard for him to stay in the saddle long.”

  “This might be just the evidence you need, son.” Pa strode closer and handed him an empty bottle. “Found it in the weeds over there.”

  Creed read the label. “Manganese dioxide.”

  “Mixed with sulfuric acid, it becomes explosive,” Graham said.

  Marcus slid a whistle through his teeth. “There you go, big brother.”

  “I wonder how many bombs he’s made by now.” Graham looked worried enough for all of them.

  Creed tapped the mouth of the container against his palm; only a few remaining granules of black powder came out, and he tossed the bottle aside in disgust. “Enough to use up his supplies.”

  Pa’s glance met his. “Hard part’s knowing which way they went from here.”

  Creed read a different kind of worry in that glance. The close proximity to the main house. The possibility the brothers could slip undetected between the men keeping watch around the place.

  And damn, the damage a single bomb could do…

  “A rider’s coming, Creed.”

  Smoke’s warning cut through his thoughts. He stood. His gaze clawed rangeland before snagging on a figure emerging from a shroud of dust. The frenzied tattoo of the horse’s hooves made it plain whoever rode him was in one hell of a hurry.

  Leather creaked as Smoke all but stood in the stirrups to identify him. “Oh-oh. It’s Hube.”

  Creed’s mind ran wild with reasons why the cowboy would search them out when he’d been given orders to guard the road leading to the main house.

  And every reason ended with bad news.

  Hube pulled up with a spray of grass and dirt and with an expression as frantic as his ride had been.

  “It’s Miss Briganti,” he choked out. “She’s up and gone.”

  Creed’s heart dropped to his toes. “What do you mean, she’s gone?”

  “Didn’t know it was her at first. She was in the runabout, driving like her tail was on fire. Hell, Creed, I thought it was Graham until I remembered he’d stayed behind to ride with you.”

  “And you didn’t go after her?” he thundered, pivoting toward the palomino.

  “I started to, but then I saw a couple of riders watching her from on top of a ridge. I couldn’t get a good look at ’em, but I had a pretty fair guess who they might be, and I figured you’d want to know about it.” He sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry, Creed. I didn’t know what else to do but come lookin’ for you.”

  Creed stabbed a boot into the stirrup and swung up into the saddle. Pa, he noted, was already in his.

  “You did the right thing, Hube.” He clutched the reins. The adrenaline kicked through him, hot and thick. “You told us what we needed to know.”

  He spurred the palomino into a hard run and fought the sick feeling that he’d never get to her in time.

  Gina rounded the bend in the road with the fervent hope she wouldn’t get lost somewhere on the vast Sherman rangeland. She had to believe she was going the right way, that this road would take her straight to the outskirts of Los Angeles.

  Her entire being ached with the need to reach her mother’s bedside. Her pulse drummed a desperate beat with every second, every agonizing minute, keeping her away.

  She slapped the reins again. Faster, faster. Mama would be afraid. She would be confused and worried about why her daughter wasn’t with her, and oh, Gina couldn’t get the horse to run fast enough.

  The wind blew at her face, her hair. Her gaze clung beyond the road, onto the horizon, and then, they appeared. The faint shape of buildings. Tiny, indistinct, but they were there, and giddy, dizzying relief soared through her, filling her thoughts, her mind, with the glorious anticipation of soon seeing her mother again.

  An anticipation so intense she barely comprehended the sight of two men in front of her, on the road, blocking her path.

  Too late, she reacted, bracing her feet against the floorboard and pulling on the
reins with all her strength. The horse reared; his shrill whinny streaked through her ears. The rig lurched and swayed; she screamed from the sensation of tilting to one side, of being turned upside down. From the awful realization she would be hurt or killed, and oh, sweet Madonna, no, no, no…

  And then, nothing.

  Except for the air filling her lungs, helping her breathe. And the awareness that she lay full out on the ground with the rough prickle of range grass against her back.

  Her eyes opened, strained to focus, and blinked against the brilliant blue of the sky. She waited for pain, but the fire didn’t come. She expected noise, but heard only silence. She moved muscles, arms and legs and feet, and managed it.

  A shape formed above her. A giant of a man, blocking the sky. The weapon in his hand formed, too, and the bottle of vodka he pressed to his lips. He nudged her ribs with the toe of his boot.

  “Stand up, beautiful Gina,” he purred.

  Shaken and furious, she sat bolt upright. “Damn you, Nikolai!”

  “You will come with me,” he said and capped his bottle.

  “I will not.”

  She scrambled to her feet. Her gaze clawed over Graham’s rig, lying on its side, its rigging twisted and tangled. Dismay rolled through her, her only means of escape destroyed.

  “We must talk,” Nikolai said.

  Her glance jumped back to him. “No.”

  “I have much to teach you.”

  She took a step away, out of the grass and toward the road, a feeble attempt to distance herself from him and his fanatical ideas. “You will not convince me of anything you say.”

  The ominous-looking revolver waved a broad arc in the air. “President McKinley is coming today. Did you know that?”

  She kept his weapon in her range of vision. “Many people know.”

  “We must be ready for him.”

  A rosy flush stained his cheeks, and sweat glistened on his forehead. The fever that ravaged him.