A Match Made in Texas

by Mary Connealy

  If Jim happened to be in town, they would no doubt deliver the message to him, but Neill had been gone so long, he had no idea what Jim’s schedule was anymore. He used to make regular town visits to oversee his carpentry shop and to let his wife, Cassie, visit with her folks, but he much preferred the solitude of their homestead near the Archer ranch, and spent most of his time there.

  “I’ll take care of you, Clara,” Neill vowed. “Mack will never get his hands on Harrison as long as I have breath in my body.”

  She turned her face so far into his chest that he nearly missed her whispered words. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Neill’s heart slammed against his rib cage as the rest of his body grew unnaturally still. Had she meant that the way it sounded? Could she actually be coming to care for him more as a man than a protector?

  He prayed it was so. Because it’d tear his heart out if he ever had to let her go.

  When they finally disembarked from the train late that afternoon, Clara worried that her legs would collapse beneath her. Neill’s strong grasp at her elbow kept her upright, but she couldn’t quite contain her sigh of gratitude when he guided her to an empty bench on the depot platform and directed her to sit while he fetched his horse from the stock car.

  She glanced around the busy station as she straightened Harrison’s blanket around his neck and head. Passengers mingled with friends and family, businessmen collected shipments, porters carted trunks and luggage. She scanned every face that came within view, ever diligent in case Mack should appear. Yet more than fear drove her to attend to the details around her. This was Neill’s home. He could probably greet many of these people by name. His history lay here, and at his brother’s ranch. That in itself made the place fascinating. It was part of the man she was coming to love.

  Clara spotted Neill crossing the platform, his long strides propelling him quickly through the milling crowd. “Mo’s unloaded,” he said when he reached her. “One of the stable boys will bring him around for us. I’ll need to ride over to the livery to hire a wagon, so I thought it’d be better for you to be inside. I should only be gone a few minutes, but I don’t like you out here on your own. Once the crowd disperses you’ll be too visible.”

  She nodded and reached for the hand he offered her, but a low voice boomed across the platform, freezing her in place.

  “Neill!” A monster of a man barreled his way toward them. Clara instinctively clutched Harrison tighter to her chest in an effort to shield him from whatever danger this man presented, but then she caught sight of the enormous grin spreading across Neill’s face.

  “Jim! Am I ever happy to see you.” He held out his hand to the man only to be yanked into a bear of a hug.

  “You been gone too long, kid,” the other man groused, not more than a hint of a smile warming his countenance, yet the affection between the two was undeniable. Jim stepped out of the embrace after a moment and regarded her with stoic eyes, his gaze traveling from her to the bundle she held. One brow lifted in question. “This the trouble you wired us about?”

  Heat flamed in Clara’s cheeks.

  Neill frowned. “Watch it, Jim.” His growled warning drew another raised brow from the large man.

  “Clara Danvers,” Neill said, taking her hand and helping her to her feet before wrapping a decidedly possessive arm about her shoulders, “this mannerless brute is my brother Jim.” Neill gave her a squeeze, probably to help shore up her courage. She found her chin ratcheting a few degrees higher in response, and she could have sworn she saw the barest flash of a twinkle in Jim’s eyes.

  Heavens, she really must be tired. Now she was seeing things.

  “The trouble is on our trail,” Neill explained in a voice low enough not to carry to any passersby. “I’m not sure how far back. Clara’s father-in-law wants to confiscate her babe so he can raise the boy as his own without her interference. Her husband is dead, and his father insists she give up all claim to the child, which, of course, she’s not willing to do. I offered her protection and figured the ranch was the best place to make a stand.”

  “You figured right.” Only three words, but they carried a simple acceptance that had Clara’s spirit soaring with gratitude and relief. Maybe the man wasn’t as hard as he appeared.

  Jim grabbed her small trunk and started walking toward the edge of the platform. “Come on. I’ve got a wagon waiting.”

  Neill gathered Harrison’s empty sleeping crate, then steered her into his brother’s wake. “How’d you know which train to meet?”

  Jim never broke stride. “Didn’t,” he called over his shoulder. “This is my third train today.”

  Clara stared after the man, amazed at the matter-of-fact statement and all it conveyed. The Archers were a dedicated, loyal bunch, it seemed. Neill had told her as much, yet she never imagined such loyalty would be extended to her after such a short association. Yet Jim hadn’t argued with his brother for even a moment or complained about him bringing trouble to their door. He’d just picked up her trunk and marched on as if the slapdash explanation Neill had offered was good enough for him.

  When they reached the wagon, she noticed a tall black man tying Mo’s lead line to the rear of the bed. He glanced up at their approach and beamed a smile at Neill. Clara felt a new energy surge through Neill’s arm in response.

  “Josiah! I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

  “And why not?” The man crossed his arms over his chest. “We’re partners, ain’t we? If trouble’s houndin’ you, it’s houndin’ me, too.”

  Neill handed her off to his brother and leapt forward to embrace his friend. The man uncrossed his arms, and the two thumped each other good-naturedly on the back.

  This was Josiah? Neill’s partner and closest friend? A black man? Clara’s arms trembled as the ramifications shattered her composure. Thankfully, Jim handed her up into the wagon seat just then, and she was able to support Harrison’s weight upon her lap without fear of dropping him.

  All this time she’d worried that Neill, despite his good intentions and kind heart, would come to resent her Comanche blood. Even if her heritage didn’t matter to him, she’d feared it would matter to others, and that would affect him. Wear on him. Lead to resentment.

  Yet here he stood embracing a black man—a man with a heritage as prone to prejudice as her own—without a single inhibition or care about what others might think.

  Perhaps marriage wasn’t as impossible as she’d thought. She ducked her head to hide the smile she didn’t want to explain when Neill returned to her side.

  “Are the kids safe?” Neill asked Jim as his brother swung into the saddle of a waiting mount. “I don’t want to put Travis and Meri’s brood in harm’s way.”

  “Cassie and her folks have them all corralled at our place. Joanna’s there, too.”

  “So Crock’s here?” Neill slid a quick glance in Clara’s direction. “Good.”

  She didn’t know what to make of the oddly intense look until she remembered his second brother, Crockett, was a preacher. Her heart gave a little leap. Was Neill still hoping to persuade her toward marriage? Because if he were, she doubted she’d need much convincing to change her answer. After all, she was falling more in love with the man by the minute. But what did he feel toward her? Obligation or some thing deeper?

  The wagon dipped as Neill climbed onto the seat beside her, sandwiching her between himself and Josiah, who was taking up the reins. She was about to ask why Josiah was driving when she noticed Neill’s ready grip on the rifle draped across his lap.

  “Just a precaution,” he said when he noticed her concern. His calm smile did little to impede the shiver coursing down her spine. The gun might be a precaution, but it also announced in no uncertain terms that Neill was prepared to fight for her, and the thought of what could happen to him if he did drove shards of terror through her heart.

  Chapter 11

  Neill scanned the trees lining the road as they slowly made their way throug
h the hills, straining his ears for any rustle or stirring in the underbrush that might signal an attack. He hadn’t been this vigilant since he’d been a boy, training under Travis’s watchful eye to guard the family and their land from all intruders. At least then they’d had the safety of the house and barn to retreat to when needed. Out here in the open, he, Clara, and Josiah were much more vulnerable. Neill bit back an impatient sigh. If they’d been on horseback, they could have been at the ranch by now, but Clara could never have mounted a horse, and it wouldn’t have been safe for Harrison, either. So instead they plodded along in the wagon, surrendering precious time to the man pursuing them.

  Clara fidgeted beside him, lifting her head from where she’d been lightly dozing against his shoulder for the past hour. She stretched her neck, twisting it forward and back as she rubbed at the soreness with her hand. “How much longer?”

  He watched her movements, simple, yet unconsciously alluring as she exposed the side of her slender neck to his view. Neill cleared his throat. “Thirty, maybe forty-five minutes if we keep this pace.” He itched to cup her nape in his hands and massage the tension from her neck and scalp, to release the weight of her hair by tugging her pins free, and to press his lips against the provocative freckle hiding behind her right ear.

  Swiveling his head away from her, he ordered his attention back to the trees. As delectable as the prospect of kissing Clara was, he couldn’t afford the distraction. Not when her life and her son’s future depended on him.

  “Where is your brother?” Clara asked. “I thought he was riding to the ranch with us.”

  “Jim’s scouting our back trail.” Neill tossed a look over his shoulder. “He’ll let us know if anyone is following.”

  “Do you think Mack could have—”

  “Shhh!” Neill held up his hand, a sound having caught his ear. Clara immediately fell silent.

  Josiah met his gaze over Clara’s head. He’d heard it, too. The Archer family signal, a bird call they’d perfected as children to communicate while hidden in the trees. It came again, and this time Neill placed it. Up ahead and to the right.

  He caught a movement in the trees in the same location. Just to be sure, he raised the rifle he’d borrowed from Josiah and tucked the stock into his shoulder but lowered it again when Jim emerged, his horse loping toward them.

  “Keep the horses moving,” Neill instructed when Josiah started to rein them in. Jim’s horse was lathered. That didn’t bode well.

  Jim came abreast of them. “Older man that matches your description is heading up the path. Got another rider with him. I took the game trails to cut out some distance, but they’ll be upon us in a matter of minutes.”

  Neill had played this scenario out in his head over and over during the last hour. He knew what had to be done. He gave Jim a sharp nod, tucked Josiah’s rifle under the seat and slid it down to where his friend could easily reach it, then climbed over the bench into the wagon bed.

  “Neill?” Clara tried to grab his arm, but he evaded her grip. “Where are you going?” Harrison started fretting at his mama’s sharp tone. Neill hardened himself against it.

  Coming up behind Josiah, he clutched the man’s shoulder. “As soon as I get Mo clear, race for the ranch. All out. Got it?”

  “I’ll get ’em there. Don’t worry.” Josiah adjusted his grip on the reins, ready to whip them over the horses’ backs.

  He trusted Josiah with his life, but somehow it still tore his gut out to leave Clara and Harrison in another’s care. He glanced back at Clara. A mistake. She’d turned in her seat, her eyes full of fear. For him. Shutting down his emotion, he pivoted away, grasped the side of the wagon, and started edging his way to the rear.

  But he couldn’t leave yet. Not without . . .

  Neill spun and lunged toward Clara. He wrapped his hand around her nape and kissed her with all the passion and love he’d been storing up over the last several days. She clutched his arm and kissed him back with a desperate enthusiasm that nearly buckled his knees.

  “I love you, Clara Danvers.” His husky voice rasped between them. “And when I get back, I aim to make you mine.”

  Her eyes shimmered. “I’m already yours.”

  Neill pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes scrunching tightly closed at the sweetness of those words. Then he shoved away. He’d already delayed too long.

  Whistling to Mo, he made his way to the side of the wagon, his step unsteady as the wheels continued rolling over uneven road. He untied the horse’s lead line and tossed it over Mo’s neck. Then, bracing one booted foot on the side of the wagon while he murmured encouragement to his gelding, Neill stood straight and grabbed for the saddle horn as he leapt onto the animal’s back.

  “Go!” he shouted to Josiah.

  The man needed little urging. “Hyah!” He slapped the reins against the team’s back, and the wagon lurched forward.

  Neill forced himself not to watch. Instead he turned Mo around to face whatever came down the road, pulling his own rifle from the scabbard on his saddle.

  “We stand together, brother,” Jim said, guiding his mount into position beside Neill.

  “Together,” Neill confirmed.

  A rumbling echoed from the south, growing louder as hoofbeats thundered closer.

  Mo snorted and sidestepped. “Steady, boy.” Neill leaned forward and patted his horse’s neck. “Steady.”

  All at once, Mack Danvers and his companion surged around the bend. Capitalizing on the element of surprise, Neill jammed his rifle butt against his hip and fired a round into the sky. The loud crack spooked the horses. They whinnied in distress and reared up, their hooves pawing the air. Mack and his comrade had their hands full just trying to stay in the saddle.

  “You’re not welcome here, Danvers,” Neill shouted above the melee. “You made your offer and Clara declined. Leave her be.”

  Mack wrestled his mount under control. “You want the little squaw, you can have her,” he spat. “But the boy is mine. I won’t leave without him.”

  “You won’t leave with him.” Neill narrowed his focus. The man had made no move to go for his gun since he and Jim already had theirs out and ready, but there was something about his demeanor that made the back of Neill’s neck prickle.

  “That boy’s my flesh and blood, Archer. The heir to the Circle D.” Mack’s mount started dancing nervously again, as if sensing his rider’s rising temper. “You’ll have to shoot me to stop me from retrieving my grandson.”

  A war cry burst from Mack’s lungs, and he charged.

  Neill clutched Mo with his knees and took aim with his rifle. He couldn’t let Mack steal Harrison from Clara. He couldn’t. His finger tightened on the trigger.

  But he couldn’t shoot a man in cold blood, either.

  And Mack seemed to know that, the blackguard. He’d taken a calculated risk, and it had paid off.

  Neill wavered. The man would be upon him in a blink. He could see the light of victory glowing in his eyes.

  No!

  He might not be able to shoot a man in cold blood, but that didn’t mean he was helpless to stop him.

  Neill flipped his rifle around, grabbed the barrel with both hands, and the instant Mack came into range, swung it like a club. Mack’s eyes went wide. Left with no choice, he dodged sideways to escape the blow, his frantic momentum toppling him from the saddle as the rifle butt grazed his skull. Neill followed, launching himself atop Mack, trusting Jim to deal with the second man.

  Fists crashed into flesh. Bone slammed against bone. Hardened experience battled youthful vigor, desperation lending both men enhanced strength.

  Neill’s head pounded from multiple collisions with the ground. Blood oozed from his nose, and his left eye was nearly swollen shut. His ribs ached, his hip throbbed, and he thought his right shoulder might have been knocked out of joint when Mack had flipped him over his head. Mack was in equally poor shape, gasping for air between blows. Yet when he threw his weight atop Neill and pinn
ed him to the ground, he gained the advantage.

  Neill kicked out at Mack’s gut even as the older man’s hands came up to crush his windpipe. Thoughts of Clara and Harrison darted through Neill’s mind as dark spots began to cloud his vision.

  His family. God above, don’t let me fail them.

  Chapter 12

  Clara held on for dear life as Josiah whipped the wagon around a corner and down a private drive. Bracing her feet against the front board and gripping the side of the seat with her right hand, she clutched Harrison to her chest with her left and prayed they’d somehow get to the ranch without the wagon flipping.

  They raced through thick stands of trees that nearly blocked the sun. Only when the pines began to thin did Josiah rein in the frenzied horses. He lifted off the bench slightly, using his weight to bring the team under control. At the same time, he let out a piecing whistle that left her ears ringing. The wagon hit a clearing and Clara gasped. Two armed men stood in their path, legs braced apart, rifles raised. She immediately twisted sideways and curled her body around Harrison, shielding her son as best she could.

  Her eyes squeezed tightly closed, Clara jerked when Josiah cupped her shoulders with his hands.

  “Come on, Miz Danvers. We got to get you into the house. I promised Neill I’d keep you and the little one safe. I can’t do that so good out in the wagon.”

  She grabbed hold of Josiah’s arm with her free hand. “But those men . . .”

  A smile broke across his features, his teeth shining brightly in his dark face. “Travis and Crock ain’t gonna shoot you, ma’am. They’s just making sure we don’t got any unwanted comp’ny on our tail.”

  “Travis?” Clara twisted abruptly toward the man approaching her from the opposite side of the wagon. With his gun now pointed harmlessly at the ground, she saw past the threat of the weapon to the face behind it. He was an older version of Neill. Tall, lean, and a bit more weathered, but definitely capable of lending aid.