Drew looked at the baby, then gestured with a nod toward Honor. “I think Honor has deserted the calves for Ha’Penny,” he said, amusement coloring his tone. “’Tis the greater need in his eyes.”
Gabrielle loved the sound of laughter in his voice. “He’s probably been waiting all his life to be a nanny,” she said.
“Aye,” he said. “He’s a fine dog.”
“Have you ever had a dog?”
“Nay,” he said. “My … father did not believe in keeping pets, and I was sent away to school when I was verra young.”
“Sent away?”
“Aye, ’tis the way of it in Scotland, and Britain, too.”
“It must have been lonely.”
He shrugged. “’Tis the way of things,” he said again.
His words said almost nothing, but those unvarnished facts told her more than he knew.
“Is your father still alive?”
“Nay,” Drew replied. “He met the devil ten years ago,” Drew replied.
“And your mother?”
“She died when I was away at school.”
“And you had no brothers or sisters?”
He smiled suddenly, a wistful half-smile. “I have a half-sister. She’s in Denver.”
Gabrielle remembered his offer made weeks ago of someone in Denver who might be able to help her. “You mentioned someone in Denver?”
He nodded. “My sister Lisbeth’s husband.”
“You’re close to them?”
“Not close, really.” He hesitated, then spoke in that careless, indifferent tone she’d come to recognize as veneer for his deepest feelings. “You see, Miss Parker, I’m a bastard, in fact if not in law. My so-called father gave me the use of his name because he dinna want the world to know he’d been cuckolded. But it dinna lessen his hatred o’ me.” Ice edged Drew’s words, and his brogue deepened as he continued. “I grew up wi’ no real family. ’Twas not till a year ago that I learned of my half-sister. Nor did she know of my existence. So, you see, we’ve only recently discovered each other.”
Tears welled in Gabrielle’s eyes, and she reached out to touch his arm. She felt him trembling and had to bite her lips to keep a cry of sadness from escaping, sadness for the stark loneliness of this splendid man’s life. It nearly put her own recent grief to shame.
Drew looked at her hand on his arm, then raised his gaze to meet hers. She knew he saw her tears.
“All that I spoke of occurred a long time ago,” he said. “Ye ha’ far too tender a heart, Gabrielle.”
“But a shallow one?” she asked, remembering his comments about her maternal capacity.
“I dinna say that.”
“But it’s what you think.”
“I think a child is one bloody hell of a responsibility, ’tis all,” he said.
As if to emphasize that point, Ha’Penny chose that moment to rouse once more, his eyes opening and his face screwing up before he let out a holler. There was nothing wrong with his lungs, Gabrielle thought. Again Honor jumped to his feet, staring at her, reminding her of her duties.
She tested the babe’s bottom and found it dry. “Would you be wanting some attention, then?” she crooned softly. “Or is it time to eat?”
He was so soft, so sweet cuddled against her. She bowed her head, letting her cheek touch his. She already loved him with all her soul, with all the yearning of a heart that hungered to love.
The baby quieted again, though he stayed awake, looking at her with his great dark eyes. He was such a solemn little thing.
She looked at Drew through the wetness in her eyes. “I will always love him,” she said. “I know you don’t believe me, but I will. He’ll smile and laugh and learn to play. And to trust.” As I would like you to trust.
Pausing for a moment, she began thoughtfully, “You said your friend in Denver is a lawyer. Could he help me adopt Ha’Penny?”
Drew regarded her warily. He obviously disapproved. But she knew no lawyers, nor how to go about finding a trustworthy one. She did know that she would trust any man that Drew trusted.
“The bairn may have relatives,” he said.
“Living?” she said skeptically. “Not his mother. And his father probably died in battle.”
“Probably is not good enough,” he said. “Ben will want to make sure.”
It was another subtle challenge to her integrity. Did she care enough about the child to try to find surviving kin who might take him?
“I want to be sure, too,” she said.
The corner of Drew’s mouth turned up in a slight smile, and his eyes warmed considerably.
“I intend to finish the drive though,” she added. “If Mr. Kingsley will let me after …”
The smile disappeared from Drew’s face. “I’m not sure you should,” he said. “When whoever shot at Kirby discovers he’s not dead, they’ll come after him again. I don’t want them to find you, too.”
She frowned. “So you really think the two incidents are connected.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” he said simply.
But Gabrielle sensed that he knew more than he was telling her.
“No outsiders will know Mr. Kingsley survived until we reach Abilene, will they?” she said worriedly.
“We’ll be going into a small town tomorrow for supplies,” Drew said. “News travels fast out here, especially about a drive as big as this one.”
She shivered, thinking about the possibility of another ambush. Of Kirby Kingsley being shot. Of Drew being shot, because he would try to protect his friend. Suddenly, she realized that she didn’t care nearly as much about finding her father’s murderer. Nothing, not even that, was worth another life.
“No one would fault you for leaving,” Drew said, obviously misunderstanding her shiver.
“No,” she said. “It’s too late for Mr. Kingsley to get a new cook. He needs me. And so do the calves and Billy and Honor and all the hands.” And you need me, she added to herself. And if I leave now, I’m afraid I’ll never see you again. “I won’t go,” she announced. “Not unless Mr. Kingsley makes me.”
Drew’s eyes darkened, he swore under his breath. Then his hand went to her cheek, touching it lightly. “I don’t want anything happening to you, lass,” he said.
Too late, she thought. It’s already happened. He had happened to her. And she would never be the same.
His hand was hard, callused, against her cheek, yet it was the finest texture she had ever felt. “Drew, I don’t want to leave you,” she whispered. “I can’t leave you.”
Drew groaned, and suddenly his lips were on hers, hard and forceful and demanding. She felt the fierceness of his desire—and the tenderness she’d feared she had lost forever. He joined his mouth with hers in a delicious, erotic mating that made the tension build inside her, that wondrous craving that made her entire body sing. Tremors ran through her as his hands ran up and down her arms, trailing fire.
His arms came around her, and he started to pull her to him, then stopped, foiled in his efforts by the baby she held.
“Bloody hell,” he swore softly. Then, with a groan, he pulled away far enough to look down at Ha’Penny. When he lifted his gaze to hers, the pure, undisguised passion in his eyes sent waves of heat wafting through her.
“I want you, lass,” he said, his voice ragged.
She gave him a breathless smile. “He’ll go to sleep after I feed him.” And it was just as well this way, she thought, for she couldn’t have made love with the baby awake and there, with them.
The backs of his fingers brushed her cheek, then clasped her chin gently. She felt so small next to him, even fragile.
“I’m not sure this is even wise,” he said slowly, but his voice was thick with need.
“I’ve never been terribly wise,” she said.
He smiled at her. “Neither have I.”
She shook her head. “Oh, but you are.”
He snorted softly. “Ye donna know me.”
�
�I do,” she said. “I know your generosity and your integrity and your gentleness. I know all I need to know.”
“No, lass,” he said softly. “Donna make me into something I am not. I’ve led a profligate life. I hav’na had any ties, and I donna want any now. I ha’ bloody little to offer anyone but trouble.”
His words held a warning she had no intention of heeding. From her parents’ example, she had learned to believe in love. Now that she was testing it for herself, she felt greedy for more. She would value every minute she spent with Drew Cameron, regardless of the outcome. The awakening feelings, the glorious splendor, the sweet magic—no matter how short-lived—would last a lifetime in her heart.
Gabrielle swallowed at the emotions welling in her throat and put her hand to his face in a gesture of trust, of love.
His eyes softened. “I never expected …”
But he didn’t finish the sentence. Ha’Penny began crying again.
She gave Drew a rueful look. “He’s hungry. I have to feed him soon.”
“Aye,” he replied. “You go. I’ll see to the dishes.”
She nodded. “And after Ha’penny’s asleep …?” She let the question trail off.
“I’m not on duty until morning,” he replied.
“We could … take a walk.”
“Aye. We could.”
Gabrielle swallowed, the invitation in his eyes leaving no doubt about where their walk would end. But she had one other thing she had to do first.
“I want to talk to Mr. Kingsley,” she said, “before we … before our walk.”
Drew nodded. “I’ll stay near the wagon and listen for Ha’Penny for you.”
She hesitated. “I don’t want to tell him that you’ve known all this time.”
“Then, that won’t be telling the truth,” he admonished gently. “If you don’t, I will.”
Again, she hesitated. “Drew, I never meant to make you a part of it.”
“I made myself a part of it,” he said. “I’ll go with you if you wish.”
She shook her head. “No. I have to do this alone.”
Taking her hand in his, he kissed her palm.
Gabrielle felt the warmth of his lips travel throughout her entire body. An hour. Perhaps a bit more. He would be hers again. For a while.
Drew watched Gabrielle walk back to camp with Honor at her heels, and as he stood staring after her, the sense of belonging that had evaded him all his life flooded him.
Still, foreboding nagged at him. He had bloody little to offer Gabrielle, not even the faith that he knew how to love. And he couldn’t, wouldn’t, disappoint a child. He’d never offer something he couldn’t deliver or make a promise he couldn’t fulfill. So wasn’t it better not to offer anything at all?
Still, he ached like bloody hell. He tried to smother the flames licking at his groin, but nothing he told himself worked. He wanted Gabrielle as he’d never wanted anything in his life.
With a humorless, self-deprecating laugh, he turned to the dishes Gabrielle had left by the water. As he knelt to scrub them, he thought about how he must look. If only his old gambling companions at the Edinburgh clubs could see him now, washing dishes and dressed as he was. He’d always taken pride in his clothing, choosing fine fabrics and careful tailoring. And here he was, his cotton shirt and denim pants dulled with dust and dried sweat, his hair untrimmed and combed with fingers instead of a brush. He was used to excellent meals; now his menu consisted of beans and jerky and bread. His hands, more accustomed to cards than to cattle, were sun-browned and callused.
Yet he’d never felt better in his life. No more mornings after from heavy drinking the night before. And no more nagging regrets—regrets that he’d won money from people who couldn’t afford to lose it, regrets that he was wasting a life simply to get even with a man long dead.
His companions had enjoyed him because he was good with a quip and a joke, but he’d had damned few friends he’d trust at his side in times of trouble. Westerners had an expression: I’d ride the river with him. Drew had never had a friend with whom he’d ride the river—not until he’d come West. Now he had several. Kirby. Shorty. Hank. His brother-in-law Ben. Men he could trust. It was a fine feeling.
And then there was Gabrielle. Pretty, independent, stubborn Gabrielle. Gabrielle, who was offering her heart to him.
He had been able to resist her when he felt she was using him. But her confession today had been like a crack in a dam; all his defenses came tumbling down. It had taken courage for her to admit she’d been wrong, and even more to admit it to someone she’d schemed against. He’d admired her before for her grit, for her determination, but never more than he did now.
He wanted to tell her what Kirby had told him earlier, that he had participated in a robbery many years ago. But it was Kirby’s business, Kirby’s secret, Kirby’s past. Still, the rancher would surely grasp the connection when Gabrielle told him about her father.
If she told him.
Drew clenched his jaw, shoving aside the doubt that had leaped into his mind. She would tell him. She had said she would. And he would not doubt her again.
Quickly finishing the dishes, he took a few minutes to wash up a little himself. Then, gathering the dishes, he headed back to camp.
He had a rendezvous to keep with a lady.
Kirby Kingsley watched Drew approach camp, carrying an armload of dishes. He’d seen Drew and Gabrielle leave camp, he carrying the baby and she the dishes, and the dog running in circles around them.
He hid a smile behind his coffee cup. He envied Drew and Gabrielle a great deal. They were so obviously falling in love. Their glances alone would ignite dynamite, although both, he’d noticed, were trying desperately to conceal their feelings.
He liked Gabrielle, enough to risk keeping her on the drive despite her gender. She had learned fast, had taken over easily from Pepper, and she never complained. She was gutsy, and really quite pretty once she’d washed off the trail dust and lost the coat and hat that had nearly swallowed her.
He did wish he knew more about her, though. Drew Cameron was his friend. Hell, he seemed to be his guardian angel. He would have liked to keep the Scotsman on after this drive, but he doubted that would be possible. Drew was not the kind of man to take orders for long. He was doing it now because he wanted to learn. But once he’d mastered these lessons, he would seek new challenges.
He watched Drew dump the dishes into the chuck wagon, then walk to the back of the hoodlum wagon, where he stood for a moment or two, speaking to Gabrielle. She was visible, sitting inside the wagon, feeding the baby.
Finally, Drew walked over to join him at the fire. Four drovers were playing poker a few feet away, and several others were already asleep. All was quiet from the Dander brood, too, tucked up inside their wagons.
“A bonny night,” Drew observed.
Kirby smiled to himself. The Scotsman added a special flavor to the drive, no doubt about it. Some of the other hands were even answering in ayes and nays.
“Could be some rain coming,” he replied.
“Will you be scouting out in the morning?”
Kirby nodded.
“Is Terry going with you?”
“Don’t think there’s any need. Not till after Caldwell. We haven’t met up with anybody who might report that I’m still alive.”
Drew paused, then said, “What about that army lieutenant?”
Kirby shrugged. “He’s heading straight south.”
“Still, I’d feel better if someone rode along with you.”
“You want to go?” Kirby thought he knew the answer before it came. Hell, anyone would rather ride scout than eat cattle dust. And while the Scotsman-already seemed to have a sixth sense about danger, maybe he could teach him something new, the rudiments of scouting.
“How would Damien feel about it?” Drew queried.
“Damien’s needed here to ramrod the cattle while I’m gone.”
Drew was silent for a moment. Then
he said, “Perhaps I should wait to say yes. By tomorrow, you may not want me around.”
Kirby looked at him, baffled. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
But Drew didn’t have a chance to reply. At that moment, Gabrielle emerged from the hoodlum wagon and came toward them, and Kirby noticed that her steps were missing their usual lightness.
Coming to a stop before him, she said, “May I see you alone, Mr. Kingsley?”
Kirby looked at Drew, whose eyes were enigmatic. Then he stood and guided Gabrielle away from the fire, out of camp, toward the river’s edge, where conversation would be private.
“Are you quitting on me?” he asked her.
“No, sir,” she replied, “but you might soon be asking me to.”
“Scotty just told me the same thing,” he grumbled. “I would like to know why.”
“I’ve been lying to you.”
“Hell, I knew that.”
She turned to face him, looking straight up at him as she said, “I joined your cattle drive to kill you. I thought you’d killed my father.”
Kirby was too stunned to speak. It was all he could do to keep his jaw from dropping open. His mind shuffled frantically through the past, seeking some clue for what in hell she could be talking about. He gave up. Surely the man who’d been killed in the robbery couldn’t be Gabrielle’s father.
“Who …” he began.
“My father was once Jim Davis,” she said.
Kirby’s blood ran cold at the name, and it nearly froze in his veins as she continued.
“All my life, though, I knew him as James Parker. He was shot down in San Antonio nearly four months ago. He … mentioned your name as he died.”
Kirby could barely think for the memories, the sheer force of emotion. The four of them, his old gang: Sam Wright, Jim Davis, Cal Thornton, and him. And on the fringes, as far away from danger as he could keep him, there was Jon. Standing there, on the bank of the Cimarron, the nightmare became real again.
“What name—” He broke off, cleared his throat and tried again. “What name did your father say? Kingsley or—”
“Kirby Kingsley,” Gabrielle replied. “He recognized you from a sketch in the San Antonio paper with an article about the drive. He’d torn it out.”
Scotsman Wore Spurs Page 25
