Sipping her coffee, she once more thought of the handsome Englishman, inwardly cursing herself for not finding out his name. He was obviously newly arrived out here. What had brought him here? Where was he heading? He must be about thirty or so. Married? Probably—a man like him. Why this thought caused a terrible stabbing pain in her heart, she dared not admit.
Chapter Two
Two days passed before a tired, dusty and triumphant Billy arrived home with the news Johnny had made it to safety. He was a tall, slim, cleanly shaven youth with flyaway copper hair. George watched as he devoured a handful of biscuits with youthful enthusiasm, only stopping every now and again to answer his father’s questions.
“What’s the matter with you, George?” he asked suddenly. “You’ve gone all quiet.” He flicked her under the chin with one finger and she irritably knocked his hand away.
“Leave me alone, why don’t you?”
“All right.” He raised his hands in mock surrender.
She suddenly felt ashamed of herself. He was a terrible torment, and she shouldn’t have snapped at him for something so minor. He had teased her for years, which had never worried her overmuch before.
“I’m sorry.” She forced a smile. “I feel sort of low since I got back. I can’t stop worrying about Johnny. There’ll be an even bigger price on his head now. He made fools out of those special deputies by escaping so they won’t rest until he’s caught.”
“It’s all right.” Billy instantly accepted her apology. “Let’s ride over to the Stanton ranch, I want to see Dave Gleeson.”
“I don’t know.” She hesitated. “I can’t stand Kathryn Stanton, stuck up snob always looks at me like a lump of manure.”
“Aw come on. Don’t worry about her, we won’t be going anywhere near the ranch house. I heard she’s busy.” He smirked.
“Busy?” George snorted. “Miss Kathryn Stanton has never done a day’s work in her whole life.”
George tossed her head, making the curls ripple across her shoulders. She always wore her hair loose indoors. If riding or working outside, she shoved it up inside her hat to keep it out of the way. Once she told McGuire she wanted to cut it off causing him to become so upset she never mentioned it again.
Glancing down at her brown pants, which were tucked into scuffed boots, she shrugged her acceptance. Why not go? She had nothing better to do. A ride in the fresh air might force out all the unsettling thoughts buzzing around inside her head. She shoved her hair up into her hat and followed Billy out of the cabin.
It was pleasant cantering along over the open range, the sun shone down from a sky that was vividly blue, except for one or two banks of fluffy white cloud. Birds swooped and flitted busily from tree to tree, every now and again calling out to each other.
The Stanton family was the wealthiest in the area and one of their nearest neighbors. Mrs. Stanton was a snob, while her husband, a retired Army Officer from a moneyed English family, had political ambitions. They only had one child, Kathryn and everyone knew they were anxious to find her a suitable husband, suitable meaning wealthy and preferably titled. They had arrived in the district a few years ago and were disliked and feared by small ranchers and homesteaders because of their arrogant, patronizing attitude and the fact that the law was virtually on their payroll. They had even used hired guns to force several small ranchers off their land. Dave Gleeson, Billy’s friend, was the son of their head wrangler.
“Looks like Stantons might be getting rid of Kathryn at long last.” Billy grinned.
“How do you mean, getting rid of?” George laughed, feeling much happier now.
“Getting hitched. Some cousin or other has turned up from England, a Lord’s son, I think. Dave reckons he looks like the victim.”
“Victim? What a way to put it.”
“She’s such a highfalutin thing, I’d pity any man who got hitched to her.”
“Me too. Let’s have a race. Last to the Stanton ranch has to do the dishes for a week,” she dared, and Billy immediately took up the challenge.
Tightening her chinstrap so her hat wouldn’t blow off, she waited for his signal.
When he dropped his arm down, she heeled the mare into action.
They raced neck and neck for a time until Billy’s horse surged ahead, and George realized she would have to do something drastic to win. Brandy was a good jumper. Dare she? Veering slightly, she put the mare at one of the fences. Sailing over it easily, she laughed in triumph.
Brandy charged across the paddocks, clearing a couple more fences. She would win by several hundred yards at least. It would be impossible for Billy to catch up now.
* * *
“Well, really.” Kathryn Stanton narrowed her eyes and tossed her head causing the black curls, which had been carefully caught up in a velvet ribbon, to bounce about her shoulders. Her lips formed themselves into a pout.
“I shall speak to my father about this. Dave Gleeson has no right encouraging those McGuires here. They’re white trash and should be in jail with the other outlaws.”
Marcus Lindquist smiled down at his companion. She was quite attractive this cousin of his, and he could do a lot worse than offer marriage. As an only child, she would provide a handsome dowry. His aunt and uncle were anxious for the match. His own parents must have had this idea in mind when they suggested he stay at their ranch.
Kathryn slipped her arm through his and he decided to leave it there as he watched the approaching horseman. That young cowboy could certainly ride.
“Those McGuires are no good, they’re mixed up with Johnny Valentine; everyone says he’s a regular visitor at their place.”
Johnny Valentine? The name sounded vaguely familiar. Before Marcus could remember where he had heard it before, he watched the horse stumble after clearing the last fence. It managed to regain its footing at the last minute, not the rider who somersaulted through the air and landed flat on his back.
Marcus started toward the youth who now lay motionless. “Leave them be.” Kathryn drew him away. “One of the men can see to things. Even Billy McGuire isn’t rash enough to jump those fences, but George is crazy. Imagine a girl dressing up as a...”
Marcus did not listen to the last couple of words but started sprinting to where the rider still lay.
He reached Georgina, just as Dave Gleeson and a wild-eyed youth who must be Billy arrived. “Don’t move her yet,” he ordered.
The others hesitated as he knelt beside the prostrate figure. Gently his hands slid down Georgina’s body feeling for broken bones. None to be found thank goodness.
“Georgina.” Her eyelids flickered. He loosened the chinstrap and pushed her hat back, causing her hair to tumble about her face and shoulders. “Georgina.” He suddenly found himself staring into her emerald eyes.
“My Englishman.”
He bent low to catch her whispered words. “Yes, your Englishman.”
She smiled before closing her eyes once more. Her face looked so white he could see the slight blueness of veins sketched under her skin. Even her lips appeared bloodless. When the others handed over a canteen, Marcus put it to her lips, forcing the water down her throat. She coughed and spluttered then tried to raise herself.
“Lie still for a moment,” he commanded. His hands, gentle yet firm on her shoulders, held her down.
“You beef-headed idiot, George. You could have been killed.” Billy’s color started returning.
“You all right?” Dave chimed in anxiously.
“Yes. I shouldn’t do such idiotic things; something just came over me and I couldn’t stop myself.”
“Here, try to walk.” Marcus pulled her to her feet causing her to groan loudly, screwing up her eyes to hold back tears.
“Ooh, my head feels like someone is banging a drum inside it. I’ve twisted my ankle, too, I think.”
She swayed, and before anyone else could react Marcus scooped her up into his arms.
“I’ll take you to the house where we can check you
out more thoroughly.”
“No, not the house.” She had an overwhelming urge to lift her hand and stroke his cleanly shaven cheek. He wore tight fitting pants tucked into highly polished knee boots, and his fine linen shirt caressed her cheek. His hair, ruffled by the wind, gave him a raffish youthful appearance.
Marcus glanced at Kathryn then at the other two who had dropped back and now hovered awkwardly in the background.
“Father does not allow hired hands to enter the house.”
“Georgina is not a hired hand.”
“Really, Marcus.”
George watched his jaw tighten and anger darken his blue eyes to violet.
“Didn’t you hear me? The McGuires are mixed up with Johnny Valentine.”
“I heard you.” He savaged her with one look and kept striding toward the ranch house.
“I don’t want to cause you any trouble, Marcus,” George said softly, liking the sound of his name on her lips.
He smiled with a flash of even white teeth and George’s heart galloped madly in her chest. He was the handsomest man she had ever seen.
“Your parents told me to treat this place as if it were my own home, I intend doing so.”
She watched with something akin to pleasure as angry color suffused Kathryn’s cheeks.
“They didn’t expect you to get mixed up with…with…” Kathryn waved her hand around to encompass George as well as the other two. “White trash.”
They stood in the garden now. They were beautifully tended and the fragrance coming from several lilac bushes was sweet, almost cloying. George, glancing around with interest, decided no weed would dare grow in these immaculate surroundings. There was even a white marble fountain with a birdbath out front.
They crossed a stone flagged porch before passing two giant marble columns guarding the impressive front door.
“I’m all right, Marcus, really I am.”
Ignoring both her protests and Kathryn’s fury, he carried her inside where they passed under an archway. A graceful, curved staircase led to a colonnaded first floor. This was capped with a huge dome, and sunlight streamed in from higher up windows. They entered a large parlor and he deposited her on a crimson brocaded couch.
George was awestruck, never in her whole life had she encountered such splendor. Down one end of the room was a huge black, marble fireplace and near the mantel stood a large urn full of colorful peacock feathers. The claret colored curtains were made of shimmering silky material.
“What a lovely room.” She touched the brocade, liking the softness beneath her fingertips. “I thought only Kings and Queens in story books lived in places like this.”
He made no comment, just stared at her, his gaze sweeping down the whole length of her body. For the first time ever, George wished she wore a pretty gown like Kathryn’s instead of brown pants and a short coat.
Marcus knelt on the carpet and rested her foot on his knee. George fought the urge to run her fingers through his hair. You fool. You almost kill yourself and all you can think about is a man’s hair. His hands were gentle as he removed her shabby boot, before probing her ankle with his fingertips.
“Does it hurt?” He applied a little pressure.
Excruciating pain shot through her leg and she nearly screamed.
He muttered a curse. “You little fool. If it hurts say so.”
“It hurts a bit.”
“A bit! The pain nearly causes you to faint and it only hurts a bit.”
“Don’t be angry, Marcus.” Daringly, she ran her fingers through his hair, loving the feel of it.
“I don’t think anything is broken.” He glanced up and stared straight into her eyes. Time suddenly stood still. Nothing was said, but George realized Marcus meant more to her than life itself. She wanted to be with him always, never to let him out of her sight. What an impossible dream. Marcus belonged to the English aristocracy; she was the niece of an impoverished rancher.
Fascinated, she watched a pulse convulse in his jaw. He opened his mouth to speak and before the words came out, Kathryn and her mother minced into the room.
“Now what is this I hear about…” Mrs. Stanton’s body became rigid as Marcus slowly climbed to his feet.
“Georgina had a bad fall. I wanted to check nothing was broken.”
“No need to bother yourself. One of the servants could have seen to her.”
Mrs. Stanton’s animosity left George in no doubt she was not worthy enough to even enter her home, let alone sit on her furniture. Horrible woman.
“It was no bother.” He hesitated for a moment before saying, “Georgina might like some tea.”
“No, thank you, I want to go home.”
I’d rather die of thirst than accept so much as a sip of water from here, she thought bitterly. As she went to rise, Marcus rushed to her side.
“You took a heavy fall. You should sit quietly for a while until you completely recover.”
“Please, Marcus, I don’t want to impose.”
For a moment he remained silent, obviously expecting Kathryn or her mother to deny George was causing an imposition. Angry color ran into his cheeks when they said nothing.
“I’ll help you outside, your brother is sure to be waiting with the Gleeson boy.”
“Billy is my cousin.”
He helped her on with her boot. She clung to his proffered arm as they started walking. The pain became so bad it caused moisture to bead her upper lip, yet she made no sound. They would have to cut my legs out from under me to stop me walking from here. I wouldn’t stay in the same room as those Stantons even if I had to crawl on my hands and knees. She trembled with the effort to keep moving as they headed toward the hallway.
“Georgina.” She suddenly stumbled; he scooped her up in his arms again and strode to the front door.
“Put me down. What will Stantons think?”
“I don’t care what they think. I’m sorry for what happened in there.”
“Don’t be, it’s what I expected. You’re newly arrived from England and don’t understand how things work here.”
“You sound bitter.”
“Haven’t I the right? That’s why we help the outlaws. Most of the time people like Stantons drive them to crime, grabbing up all the land, swindling people, paying the law to persecute us. We’re sick of being treated like dirt.”
“Georgina.”
“Put me down please, Billy can help now.”
Her cousin hovered outside the garden area with their horses. Brandy seemed all right thank goodness. In the heat of the moment, all thoughts of the mare had left her head.
“Are you all right, George?” Billy asked, wide eyed with worry.
“Yes.”
“You always did have a hard head.” He gave a relieved laugh.
“Marcus, this is my cousin, Billy McGuire.”
They eyed each other for a moment without speaking.
“How do you do, Billy?”
“Can’t you walk, George?”
As if suddenly remembering he still held her, Marcus set her gently on the ground.
“Her ankle is injured, see she rests it,” he said shortly, obviously annoyed at Billy’s deliberate snub.
“Goodbye, Marcus. Thank you.” She tried to keep the yearning out of her voice. They were unlikely to meet again. The pain in her ankle was nothing compared to the agony of never seeing him again.
With Billy’s help she limped to the horses and with Dave holding Brandy’s head she carefully mounted. A glance back over one shoulder showed Marcus standing on the porch staring after them. She lifted her hand. He did not return her salute, just stood there cold and remote as a statue carved from stone.
“You’re loco, George. Pa will blame me like he always does. You know what he’s like.”
“I’m all right.” She tossed her head. “We can tell him I tripped over he knows how clumsy I can be.”
“I’m meeting Johnny tonight Dave got a message.”
“Johnn
y! Where?”
“You can’t go now, not with your leg.”
“What does he want?” Thinking of Johnny caused fear to surge through her. He was becoming more daring, taking even greater risks. The cold hand of dread clawed her heart to shreds.
“It’s too dangerous, Billy. There are bounty hunters everywhere.”
“Yeah, I know. Colonel Stanton upped the reward to five hundred dollars dead or alive. Old varmint is in cahoots with the Federal Marshal. Dave reckons they’re bringing Indian trackers in from the reservation.”
“They’ll end up killing him, I know they will. He doesn’t stand a chance. Why doesn’t he vamoose while he can?” Her voice broke.
Billy shrugged carelessly yet she sensed his mounting excitement. It wouldn’t be long before he joined Johnny. If only Tom would come back; an older brother might have a steadying influence on him. McGuire, too eaten up with hatred of the authorities, couldn’t see what was happening around him.
George was amazed at these thoughts. Up until a few hours ago she would have been urging him on, even volunteering to go herself. Now all she wanted was for Johnny to be safe—and she wanted Marcus more than anything else in the world.
It was hopeless pining for a wealthy English gentleman who was all set to get hitched to his oh so suitable cousin Kathryn, pouting vindictive creature. Her shoulders slumped dejectedly.
“Come on, George. Hurry up. We’ll never get home at this rate.” Billy rode back to her after only a couple of minutes. He peered into her face and his eyes widened in surprise. “You’re crying.”
“No, I’m not,” she lied.
“Yes, you are, bawling like a bull.” Reaching out, he caught the single teardrop on his fingertip and surveyed it carefully. “I’ve been acting like a polecat, sorry.” Before she had a chance to protest, he vaulted on to her horse. His strong young arms wrapped themselves about her waist as he took the reins from her surprised hands.
“Billy!”
“Let’s go.” He heeled the horse into a canter, leaving his to follow of its own accord. She thankfully leaned back against him. Her head ached so badly she thought it might split open, while her ankle throbbed so much, she feared it was broken. She could end up crippled for life. The tears fell even faster.
Outlaw Girl Page 3