Scotsman Wore Spurs

by Potter, Patricia;

  She had no time to realize anything else, nor did she have eyes for anything but the tall, lean figure who squinted at her against the sun as he strode over to them.

  “Gabrielle! What in the bloody hell are you doing here?” Drew exploded.

  “Now, that’s no way to greet a lady who’s ridden all this way to see you,” Ben growled.

  Only then did Drew shift his gaze to her companion, and his eyes narrowed. “So, you tell me, Ben, why did you bring her?”

  “Because, like you, she doesn’t take no for an answer,” Ben replied comfortably as he dismounted. “Your manners have certainly deteriorated since you left Denver. It’s the last time I’ll suggest you go to Texas.”

  While the two men were glaring at each other, Gabrielle slipped down from her horse, feeling a little sick inside. She’d dreamed of being grabbed up and hugged and told how much she was missed, followed by declarations of love.

  Ha!

  She held her spine stiff as a rod and did some glaring of her own. “You’re a bloody fraud,” she told Drew.

  Both men turned and stared at her. “Earl of Kin-loch, indeed,” she said, fury coloring her voice. “I’m almost regretting trying to save your sorry hide.”

  She grabbed the reins of her horse and started toward the barn, aware of the sudden silence behind her. She got inside the barn before her shoulders drooped and the magnitude of her despair socked her in the stomach. He didn’t love her. He’d never loved her. She’d merely been a plaything to a titled rogue. But this time she wouldn’t cry. She would die before she cried for him again.

  Yet she found herself burying her face in the mane of her horse. She would leave for Denver tomorrow. Then she would find a home of her own where she and Ha’penny—and Honor and Billy and Sammy—could build a future together. Without the maddening Scotsman.

  A sob escaped her throat. And she got madder.

  Then a hand touched her shoulder, and she whirled around, ready to flail out. Instead, Drew caught her in his arms, and somehow her arms ended up wound around him.

  She looked up at his ravaged face. She’d never seen so much longing in a man’s eyes.

  She didn’t want to be moved. Didn’t want to be mollified. She didn’t want to reach out and touch his face.

  But she did, with her heart thundering like a cattle stampede. And her anger turned into another kind of ache that lodged in her throat and made it difficult to breathe.

  “Gabrielle,” he said raggedly. “I’ve missed you so.”

  “You glared at me like I was the pox,” she said, unable to keep the pain from her voice.

  A groan came from deep inside his chest. “I wanted you to go to Denver so you wouldn’t be in danger.”

  Emotions were roiling through her so fast that she didn’t know which way to turn. She couldn’t think when she was this close to him. Her mind ceased functioning when he looked at her with so much tenderness. Her anger was rapidly cooling. Nothing else was, though. The air between them had turned decidedly steamy.

  Torrid.

  Blistering.

  And then his mouth descended on hers, and she didn’t care about anger or sanity or truth or lies or anything else. She cared only about the man in her arms.

  Drew had never been so glad to see anyone in his life. He didn’t even mind the sparks of anger in Gabrielle’s eyes. He loved everything about her, particularly that independent and indomitable spirit that thumbed its nose at all things safe and comfortable and conventional.

  Contrarily, though, the very qualities that attracted him to Gabrielle worried him bloody near to distraction. He didn’t want to change her, but he did want her safe. He wanted her here with him, but he didn’t want her exposed to any violence that might ensue.

  But such thoughts fled his mind the moment their lips met. The kiss was like spontaneous combustion, their responses to each other frantic and desperate and needing. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’d registered her hurt but furious reference to his damnable title. Despite her fevered passion he knew her well enough to realize that her wounded anger was probably gunpowder to the explosion happening between them. It would have to be dampened, her feelings salved. But later.

  Right now, he buried his hands in her hair, so soft and sweet, as his lips tried to tell her how much he cared. He should have told her in words, rather than leaving as he had, but he hadn’t known how. Not then. Not even now. So he just held on for dear life, binding her to him with his arms, with his lips, with his body.

  Then he heard the clearing of a throat, a not-completely-polite interruption. Gabrielle stiffened, and he fought the sudden urge to kill his brother-in-law. He reluctantly straightened and glared at Ben, who was grinning at him.

  “This young lady is under my protection,” Ben said smoothly, “I would like to know your intentions.”

  “My intentions?” Drew said dangerously. “Maybe to make my sister a widow.”

  “Now is that any way to greet a brother-in-law who’s come to lend a helping hand?”

  “I don’t need a helping hand.” Drew turned his glare on Gabrielle, who looked up at him defiantly.

  “Well, then, I’ll just take care of my horse,” Ben said. “And Gabrielle’s,” he said pointedly. “They’ve earned a rest.”

  “Did you have to bring her?” Drew demanded.

  Ben shrugged. “She was coming one way or another. I thought you would prefer she had an escort.” He shook his head in mock sadness. “Such ingratitude!”

  Drew hesitated a moment. He was bloody unused to friendship, to generosity. When he’d sent Gabrielle to Ben and Lisbeth, he had never meant for him to travel to Texas on his behalf. And his brother-in-law’s trail-weary appearance, unshaven, dusty, had come as a shock. So he responded with the irritable challenge that characterized their relationship.

  “Shouldn’t you be home with Lisbeth?” he grumbled. “What about the baby?”

  “Not due for several more months, and Serena is with her,” Ben said. “She insisted I come. She was worried about you.”

  “So now she’ll worry about you, too,” Drew countered.

  “She knows I can take care of myself.”

  Now Drew really wanted to throw a punch. “And I can’t?”

  “As Gabrielle said, you’re not a gunman.” Ben was suddenly serious, all amusement gone. “Drew, I have experience that you don’t. And contacts with other law officers.”

  Drew couldn’t deny that. Still, the interference rankled.

  Ben held out his hand. The banter was over. “It’s good to see you again, Drew.”

  Drew swallowed his pride and took Ben’s hand. “I do thank you for coming.”

  It was a solemn moment, but neither man could countenance deep emotion for very long. Amusement soon crept back into Ben’s voice.

  “From what Gabrielle said, you’ve turned into a real-live hero. Again.”

  Drew winced, even as his heart lurched crazily. Gabrielle wasn’t entirely angry with him, though he’d given her reason enough to be.

  Ben chuckled at his discomfort. Then the smile disappeared. “You going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Kirby and I have a plan,” Drew said.

  “I can imagine,” Ben replied, a gleam in his eyes. “Let’s take care of the horses and talk about it.”

  Drew glanced at Gabrielle. She looked exhausted and stunned and not a little frustrated at being left out of the men’s conversation. Devil take it, but she was beautiful. Stubborn and beautiful and reckless and wonderful.

  “I won’t go away,” she said quietly to him.

  “I know,” he said gently. “I know.”

  They waited for Kirby. One week. Ten days. There was no telegram, but then Drew expected none. Kirby would come his own way, in his own time. He wanted to leave no clues for Killian until they were ready.

  Ben spent some time in San Antonio, using the telegraph, querying law enforcement friends about Philip Thorpe. He learned that the man had come to T
exas five years earlier at the end of the war, one of the many Northern businessmen descending upon the state to plunder the Confederacy. Though Drew knew that Ben had fought for the North, his brother-in-law expressed only contempt for the carpetbaggers, especially, he said, after making friends with a Rebel renegade who had saved his life. He had fought as fiercely for the man he called Diablo as he’d once fought for the Union.

  Drew received his brother-in-law’s help with mixed feelings. Though he had often been reckless, he’d never considered himself a fool. He’d known the risks he and Kirby were willing to make. Still, Ben’s arrival had narrowed the odds considerably. A former U.S. marshal and now a lawyer, Ben Masters was formidable indeed.

  But Drew had never asked for help in his life, had taken pride in his ability to handle himself in almost any situation. But it wasn’t his life that was at risk. It was Kirby’s and Gabrielle’s and Jon’s. He’d become embroiled in these people’s lives, was no longer responsible only for himself, and he was edgy, nervous, and distinctly uncomfortable having to depend on others and having others depend on him.

  It also made him sullen, irritable, and impossible to get along with. As much as he loved having Gabrielle near, he withdrew into himself. He was grateful that she seemed to sense that he was like dynamite on a short fuse, ready to explode at any moment. She gave him his distance, but he often caught her looking sad, which made him feel even worse. Maybe it was just her loneliness for Ha’penny, he told himself. Hell, he was missing the little bairn, too.

  Drew frankly didn’t understand what was happening to him, didn’t begin to comprehend the new needs that were tugging his emotions every which way. And until he did understand it, he concluded, he had no right to speak—or even to trust—his heart.

  So he waited. Gabrielle waited. They all waited.

  Gabrielle sensed how impatient Ben was growing, how much he must want to return to Lisbeth. And she saw how irritable Drew was becoming. She had never seen an irritable Scotsman before; she didn’t think she wanted to again.

  She tried to persuade herself that it was the waiting and not her that made him so moody. After all, his eyes still lit when she came into a room, and they followed her every move. She decided he simply wasn’t willing to admit the strength of his feelings yet, and she didn’t want to push him. Ben had taken her aside one afternoon and told her that he had been much like Drew himself, afraid to believe in love, afraid to love. It took time, he warned her, to overcome a lifetime of distrust.

  Kirby and Damien arrived two weeks after Gabrielle and Ben. Terry and the other hands would follow in the next week or so with Billy Bones, Samson, and the string of cow ponies.

  Finally, the men and Gabrielle sat down to refine their plans for drawing out Killian’s employer. Ben had discovered a great deal about Philip Thorpe. He was very rich, and he owned a huge amount of land around Austin. He had also helped pay for a new school. But dark rumors about his past business practices abounded. Some claimed he was a war profiteer, other claimed that he had sold weapons to anyone with cash, including rifles to warring Indians. Witnesses to these activities always seemed to disappear, however, and open gossip had subsided since his arrival in Texas.

  “Keeping his nose clean,” Ben said.

  Puzzled, Gabrielle asked, “But why would he run for governor and risk exposing himself?”

  Ben’s lips thinned with cynicism. “Contracts,” he said. “Railroad contracts, road contracts, building contracts. All available with bribes, substantial bribes. And power for power’s sake draws many men to politics. He probably thought he’d long since outrun his past. Something—or someone—must have jolted him out of his complacency.”

  Kirby took a sip of brandy. “We know James Parker wasn’t the cause,” he said. “And until now I didn’t even suspect Thorpe was Thornton. That leaves Sam Wright.”

  Ben leaned forward. “Tell me everything you know about Sam Wright.”

  Kirby shrugged. “He followed Cal Thornton around like a puppy. Didn’t have much in the way of brains. Easily influenced. Drank a lot.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Back then, he was tall and skinny, regular features, black hair.” Kirby narrowed his eyes, remembering. “He had a small finger missing. Something happened when he was a kid.”

  Ben nodded. “I’ll wire a friend in Austin, see whether anyone with a missing finger has turned up dead.”

  “You think …”

  “This Sam Wright doesn’t sound bright enough to make it on his own. He probably never left Texas,” Ben said. “Maybe he tried to blackmail Thorpe.”

  Gabrielle could almost see Ben’s mind click, adding and discarding possibilities. But it was Drew who presented the next possible conclusion.

  “And,” Drew said, “Thorpe suddenly realized that all of you who had been involved with him in the robbery were possible dangers.”

  “But how did he find us?” Kirby asked.

  “You never left Texas,” Ben replied. “Detectives could have tracked you down easily enough. Gabrielle’s father may have been an accident. Thorpe might have seen him on stage.” He shrugged. “Or maybe James Parker wrote to you, Kirby, after seeing your sketch in the San Antonio paper. The article came out several days before he was killed, didn’t it? Might your father have done that, Gabrielle?” Ben queried, turning to her.

  Gabrielle was stunned at the thought. Running through her father’s last words in her mind once more, she thought, yes, perhaps that was what her father had tried to tell her. Perhaps he hadn’t been accusing Kirby but rather he’d wanted her to warn him.

  “I—I don’t know,” she stammered honestly. “The only letter he left was addressed to me, but he did say Kirby’s name and the words danger and be careful. I suppose he could have been trying to tell me to warn Kirby about Thorpe.”

  Ben turned back to Kirby. “It’s also possible that if Thorpe had detectives on you Kingsleys, they might well have intercepted mail. A bribe here and there can work wonders.”

  Still stunned by the possibility that she could have so misinterpreted her father’s dying words, Gabrielle looked up to see Drew watching her. His gaze held a world of understanding. He knew, his eyes told her, how guilty she’d felt for her role in convincing her father to return to Texas. Don’t let this make you feel even more guilty, he seemed to be saying to her. Then, amid the comfort and tenderness she saw in his amber gaze, another message came through: We’ll find your father’s killer. His death won’t go unavenged.

  A shiver raced up her spine. She appreciated his commitment and his desire to help her. But if the price of vengeance—or justice—was his life, she wasn’t willing to pay it.

  “We can’t prove any of this, of course,” Ben was saying.

  “But we know it’s gotta be true,” Damien put in. He was sitting next to his father and had been listening silently. All his former bluster was gone, Gabrielle noted. He’d even been cordial to Drew.

  “We have to be able to prove it,” Kirby said to his nephew.

  Apprehension snaked down Gabrielle’s back at Kirby’s calm comment. She’d guessed that was the intent, but somehow it seemed more dangerous put into words. She didn’t want to see any of these men in peril.

  “When?” she asked quietly.

  All the men turned toward her.

  It was Drew who finally answered. “The sooner the better. Even if Killian took his time coming back, he’ll have heard the news you’re alive. I’ll bet anything he’s hanging around San Antonio, waiting for news of Kirby’s return.”

  Kirby drew on the cigar he was smoking. “If we get Killian alive, we can get Thorpe. And Killian wants me.”

  “I hope you’re not saying what I think you’re saying,” Jon said.

  “I’m going to San Antonio tomorrow to transact some business. I’ll stay a few days. There’s no other way,” Kirby said. “Either I make myself a target, or none of us will be safe.”

  “I’ll be there,” Ben said. �
�And Drew. Neither Thorpe nor Killian knows us.”

  “I want to go with you,” Damien said.

  “I need you to stay with your father,” Kirby said. “He’s probably a target himself. And,” he added, “I need someone I can trust to take care of the ranch.” Kirby gave his nephew a smile of approval.

  Damien sat up straighter, and Gabrielle thought that he had grown up a great deal on the drive.

  Gabrielle turned her attention toward Kirby, mentioned the possibility that had been worrying her. “It’s possible that the law will find out about the bank robbery, isn’t it?”

  Kirby’s lips thinned. “That damned secret has caused too much heartache already. If it comes out, well, I’m ready. God knows, I’ve lived with it all my life. No need to involve Jon, though. He was only holding the horses; he didn’t know what was happening.”

  “Well, maybe it won’t be necessary,” Ben said. His gaze rested on Kirby for a moment, as if considering the ethics of a former marshal and present lawyer ignoring a crime, even if it was twenty-five years ago.

  Kirby shrugged. “I don’t care anymore. I would just as soon it all came out.”

  Damien jumped to his feet. “Dammit, you shouldn’t have to pay forever.”

  “A man died,” Kirby said. “That fact’s haunted me all my life. I’ll go to San Antonio tomorrow, stay in town until Killian shows.”

  Gabrielle hated the helpless feeling in the pit of her stomach. She knew Kirby was doing this as much for her as for himself. The others would assist him for the very same reasons. And all of them would be in peril. But Ben and Kirby and Drew had made up their minds. And all she could do was pray.

  The three of them—Ben, Kirby, and Drew—reached San Antonio the next day. They took separate rooms in the town’s most popular hotel, then separated. Kirby stayed in his room, and Drew and Ben sought out saloons—and the information that always circulated there.