by Amanda Cabot
Perhaps it was only Zach’s imagination that the mayor appeared to preen as he considered the suggestion. “It might work,” he admitted.
Zach steeled his face to remain impassive, though inwardly he was exulting over the success of his ploy. “I’m confident the townspeople would agree if you presented the idea.”
Michel nodded. “You’re right. I will do that.” The mayor started to return to his home, then turned, as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him. “Oh, Zach, it would be best if no one knew we had this conversation.”
“Of course.” Zach was smiling as he entered the post office. Flattery had done the trick.
5
“Are you certain you don’t mind being saddled with a sick child?”
Priscilla smiled as she attempted to reassure the usually calm woman whose face was now lined with strain. It was a measure of Sarah’s distress that she’d entered Priscilla’s room while she was dressing. Though she visited occasionally, it was never in the morning. “I don’t mind at all.” Priscilla smiled again as she fastened the last button on her bodice. Once she’d brushed her hair, she’d be ready. “You needn’t worry about Thea. I had plenty of experience helping care for my father’s patients.”
Sarah’s obvious surprise that she knew how to treat sick children caused Priscilla to continue her explanation. “It’s true that his wealthy patients might not have appreciated having a child accompany their doctor, but Papa spent one day a week seeing people on the other side of town, the ones who couldn’t afford to pay for a doctor. He often took me with him.” Priscilla’s smile broadened at the memories. “I’m not sure which I enjoyed more—being with Papa or helping the patients feel better. But, thanks to him, I know how to deal with the grippe. I’ll be glad to watch over Thea today.”
The furrows between Sarah’s eyes disappeared. “Thank you. Normally, I’d stay home with her, but I hate to close school, even for a day. The children are so anxious to learn that I feel almost guilty about marrying Clay, knowing the school will close.”
Priscilla coiled her hair into a chignon, securing it with the long pins Sarah had purchased at the mercantile, then turned toward her friend. “Aren’t you the one who urged me to trust God? Trust him on this. Anyone can see that he meant you to marry Clay, and I’m sure he meant Ladreville to have a school. He’ll show us the way.” When Sarah nodded slowly, Priscilla headed toward the door. “Let’s tell Thea I’ll be caring for her today.”
Though the child was paler than normal, she grinned when Sarah explained the plan. “Cilla, me want drink,” she announced.
“And you’ll have one.” Priscilla held the cup to her mouth, watching while Thea took several swallows of cool water. “If you’re feeling better later, I’ll make one of my mother’s favorite beverages for you. Right now, though, you and Dolly should sleep.”
As Thea settled back on her pillow, the rag doll cradled in one arm, Sarah turned to Priscilla. “What are you going to make for her to drink? Chamomile tea?”
Priscilla shook her head. “That was Mama’s sleep potion. I’m going to give Thea mint. When you told me about her grippe, I remembered that Mama claimed mint tea would soothe an upset stomach. I’m sure it’s not coincidence that I saw some growing wild at the edge of the kitchen garden when I was walking yesterday.”
Each day, Priscilla managed to venture a bit farther from the house. Though she still looked over her shoulder, ensuring that no one was following her, the fact that it had been two weeks and no strangers had approached the ranch gave her the confidence to explore new areas, that and the knowledge that Zach or one of the ranch hands was close by. Though they had not spoken since the night they’d met by the corral, Priscilla had seen Zach almost every day. He kept his distance, but she knew he was there, ensuring her safety. It was a good feeling.
The day passed more slowly than Priscilla had expected, for she was unwilling to leave Thea’s bedside, and there was little to do there other than watch and wait. Despite the cool compresses she applied and the frequent sips of water she encouraged Thea to take, the little girl’s fever rose, and she failed to keep even liquids in her stomach. This was, Priscilla knew, the normal progression of the grippe. She was doing everything she could to soothe Thea, but the illness needed to run its course. Only then, when the poisons were out of Thea’s body, would the fever break and she be able to sleep normally.
It was mid-afternoon before the change came and Thea slept. Knowing there was nothing more she could do and that her presence now might disturb the child’s sleep, Priscilla left the house and headed toward the paddock. The sky was a faultless blue, the air a refreshing change from Thea’s sickroom. Priscilla took a deep breath, savoring both the beauty of the Bar C and the knowledge that Thea was mending.
“You’re such beautiful horses,” she murmured when she reached the railing. Clay must have taken the buggy into town today, for his stallion was grazing along with the sorrel mare that spent most afternoons in the paddock.
“That they are.”
Priscilla wheeled around, startled by the man’s voice. “I didn’t hear you coming,” she told Zach. Her heart began to pound with alarm, and her palms grew moist. It was foolish to react this way. Zach would not hurt her. But her heart returned to normal only when he stopped, leaving a wide space between them.
As he smiled, another thought assailed Priscilla. He already knew she was skittish. What must he think of a woman who talked to herself? “I didn’t realize I was speaking aloud. I spent the morning talking to Thea so she’d know she wasn’t alone. I guess I forgot where I was.”
Though it could have been otherwise, Zach’s smile was warm and friendly, not mocking. “How is the little one?”
“Better. She’s sleeping now, so I slipped out for a bit of fresh air.” This was silly. Priscilla shook herself mentally. She didn’t need to explain anything to Zach Webster. Only Sarah and Clay needed to know how she’d cared for Thea. But here she was, acting as if it was important that Zach understood and approved her actions. Silly!
“If you really want fresh air, in my opinion there’s no better way to get it than to ride.” Zach gestured toward the sorrel mare that was approaching them, apparently curious about the humans. “You could ride her. Nora’s a gentle mount.”
Priscilla could see that, although Nora was an older horse, she was not yet ready to be turned out to pasture. “I’ve always loved to ride,” she admitted. Riding had been one of her pleasures in Boston, but—with the exception of the time she had spent on the Ranger’s horse, which had been anything but pleasurable—she had not been on a horse since she’d left home.
“Then you should. I know Clay would be grateful to have you give Nora some exercise. She was his mother’s favorite horse.”
Nora’s ears pricked up, and she thrust her nose toward Priscilla, as if encouraging her. Sorely tempted, Priscilla stroked the horse’s muzzle. The day was perfect for a ride, and Nora would be an ideal mount. Priscilla knew that from the way the mare responded to her touch. “Perhaps tomorrow.” She had come out for a breath of air, not a prolonged excursion.
Zach quirked one eyebrow. “Why not now? Thea’s asleep, and Martina’s inside with her. She’ll come for you if you’re needed.” He propped one boot on the lowest fence rail, the picture of a man at ease. If only she could be so relaxed. Though he stood at least a yard away, Priscilla was deeply aware of Zach’s scent and the power of those long arms and legs.
As Clay’s stallion came to investigate the humans’ activity, Zach rubbed the horse’s muzzle. Though he kept his gaze on the horse, he addressed Priscilla. “There’s a sidesaddle in the barn. I could have her ready for you in a couple minutes.” He turned and gave her an encouraging smile. “C’mon, Priscilla. You’d be doing both Nora and Clay a favor if you took a few laps around the paddock.”
“I don’t know.” Even to her ears, the argument sounded weak.
Zach must have taken her mild protest for agreement, for he nodded
. “I’ll fetch the saddle. Why don’t you and Nora keep getting acquainted?”
Priscilla entered the paddock and approached the mare. “You’re a pretty horse, aren’t you?” She let Nora sniff her hand, then reached up to stroke her mane. As she did, Priscilla frowned, and her legs threatened to buckle. Though Nora was smaller than the Ranger’s stallion, she was still too tall to mount without assistance. That meant . . . Priscilla shuddered as her brain completed the sentence. Riding was a bad idea, a very bad idea.
“Here we are.” Zach slung the saddle over the fence, then whistled for Nora.
Priscilla held up a hand to stop him. There was no point in saddling the mare when she wouldn’t be ridden. “I’m sorry, Zach, but I can’t do this.” To her relief, though her limbs continued to quake, her voice sounded normal. Zach was far enough away that he wouldn’t witness her fear, since her words had not betrayed her.
Surprise filled those dark blue eyes that reminded Priscilla of the Texas sky. “Why not?”
“It’s just . . . er . . .” Oh, it was embarrassing, having to admit her fears. He must know how frightened she was of a man’s touch, for he kept his distance. Surely there was no need to put words to her craven thoughts. But Zach, it appeared, did not understand. Priscilla swallowed, mustering her courage. “How would I mount?” she asked.
“I’ll lift you.” As an involuntary shudder rippled through her, Zach’s eyes darkened with understanding. “I see.” There was no pity, no condemnation in those two words, only an acknowledgement of a problem. “We’ll find another way. You wouldn’t want to disappoint Nora, would you?” Nora, who’d been sniffing the saddle, looked at Priscilla, as if she understood her dilemma. “There’s a bale of hay inside the barn,” Zach continued. “You could climb on that and then into the saddle.” Unspoken was the promise that he’d be a safe distance away.
“All right.” It was as simple as Zach had made it sound. Within minutes, Priscilla was on Nora’s back, watching the mare toss her head, clearly eager to run. “Sorry, girl. I know you want to gallop, but not today.” They both needed time to become accustomed to each other. But a few minutes on Nora’s back convinced Priscilla they could trot, and so she let the horse increase its pace. It felt so good, so very good, to be riding again, and for a moment nothing mattered but the sensation of being one with this beautiful creature, enjoying the sun, the wind, and the clean air.
“The paddock’s a bit confining,” Zach said when Priscilla had dismounted, once again relying on the hay bale. “If you’d like, I can show you around the ranch tomorrow.”
There was no doubt about it; the opportunity tempted her. When she’d been on Nora’s back, Priscilla had been free of fears, released from the prison of terrifying memories. For the length of a ride, she had lived in the present, and it had been a present filled with pleasure, not foreboding. How could she not want to repeat that? When she’d started walking around the ranch, Clay had urged Priscilla to ride, arguing that riding would be an extension of her walks, a way to explore more of the place that was her home, at least temporarily. Each time he’d suggested it, she had refused. Though he had told her that women rode alone here, Priscilla wasn’t comfortable with the idea. Zach had solved that problem. With him at her side, she’d be safe. The question was whether she could impose on him. “I don’t want to take you away from your responsibilities.”
“Who said anything about shirking responsibilities? You can help me check the fences. I need to do that occasionally.”
Her last concern assuaged, Priscilla smiled. “I’d like that.” When Zach looked at the sky, as if assessing the sun’s position, Priscilla glanced at her watch and blinked at the realization that she’d been outside for more than an hour. The time had been so pleasant that she hadn’t been aware of its passage. “I’d better check on Thea.”
The little girl was awake and restless, both good signs. “Tell me a story,” she demanded when Priscilla had coaxed her to drink a few sips of mint tea.
“What kind of story would you like?”
“The one with the coach.”
The coach. Priscilla’s smile faded and her limbs began to tremble as images of the bandits attacking her stagecoach filled her mind. How did Thea know about that, and why— oh, why—did she want to hear that story?
“No, sweetie.” That was one story she would not recount, not to anyone, especially not to an innocent child.
“Please, Cilla.” Thea’s voice was filled with entreaty. “Pumpkin coach.”
Pumpkin. Of course. Relief washed over Priscilla at the realization that Thea wanted to hear the tale of Cinderella. It was only Priscilla’s traitorous mind that had turned a simple request into a terrifying memory.
“Once upon a time . . .”
It was easier than he’d expected. Jean-Michel slipped the key into the lock and turned it. Perfect! The gal who cleaned Monroe’s office was even dumber than the great man himself. A few kisses, some sweet words and she’d told Jean-Michel everything he needed to know. Thanks to her, he hadn’t had to break down the door, possibly alerting the guards Monroe stationed near his office. Thanks to her, he knew about the safe and the strange set of numbers she’d found glued to the bottom of a paperweight, numbers Jean-Michel was betting were the combination. Thanks to her, Jean-Michel Ladre would soon be a wealthy man . . . and a free one.
He closed the door behind him, grateful that the bars Monroe had installed on the windows did not block the moonlight. It might not be easy, opening the safe in near darkness, but Jean-Michel couldn’t take the chance of carrying a lantern. That would be dumb, and he was not dumb. No, sirree. He’d always known he was the smartest man in Ladreville. As the safe swung open, revealing pouches filled with coins, Jean-Michel chuckled. He wasn’t just the smartest man in Ladreville; he was the smartest man in the whole state of Texas.
With all this money, he’d have no trouble getting home, and when he did, everyone would see what an important, powerful man he was. Isabelle would beg him to marry her. Zach Webster would do his share of begging too, only his would be done at the point of a rifle.
Jean-Michel was still laughing as he loaded the gold into saddlebags and mounted the horse he’d taken from the livery. He was on his way to Ladreville, where the two sweetest things in life awaited him: marriage and revenge.
The trail was cold. Lawrence Wood paused at the top of the hill and looked at the countryside. This was what he had feared. Though he’d followed the route he thought the Dunkler brothers were taking, he’d been unable to find them. Perhaps they’d changed their minds; perhaps they were holed up somewhere, trying to decide what to do without Zeke. Lawrence didn’t pretend to understand a bandit’s mind. All he knew was that he hadn’t found them.
He should have chased them immediately. They would have had no chance of escape if he’d gone after them as soon as he’d sent Zeke to meet his Maker. That would have been the prudent course of action if he hadn’t been worried about Priscilla—Miss Morton, he corrected himself. No matter how much he wanted to capture Chet and Jake Dunkler, he couldn’t simply abandon her. A man had responsibilities, and caring for an injured woman was more important than apprehending criminals.
Lawrence studied the valley one more time, assuring himself there were no signs of the bandits. This valley was like the last three he’d checked—filled with pastoral beauty but no trace of riders. They couldn’t have vanished. No matter how seemingly insignificant, they had left clues, and it was up to him to find them. More than his reputation as a Ranger was at stake. That was important, for he’d made a vow he intended to honor when he’d joined the Rangers, but there was also the matter of his promise. He kept his promises, including the one he’d made at the Bar C. How could he tell Priscilla—Miss Morton—that he’d failed to catch the Dunkler brothers? He couldn’t.
Lawrence let out a short laugh as he urged Snip to gallop. Wouldn’t his sister gloat if she could see him now, his head filled with thoughts of a beautiful woman with st
rawberry blonde hair and green eyes? He couldn’t explain it. This wasn’t the first time he’d rescued a damsel in distress. Lawrence smiled at the term his sister had used. When he’d told her he was joining the Rangers, she’d declared it was because he had an inner need to be a savior of women. He’d scoffed at the time. He wasn’t scoffing now. Though he couldn’t claim that he’d saved many, Lawrence had seen women after brutal Indian attacks, others who were injured in saloon brawls, still others left half-dead by robbers. They had all been damsels in distress, but none of them had lingered in his memory the way Priscilla did.
Perhaps it was because he’d spent more time with her than he had with the others. This was the first time he’d done more than deal with the crime itself. In taking Priscilla to the Bar C, Lawrence had gotten to know her, and what he’d learned had surprised him. She’d been plucky on the trail, never complaining, even though her injuries must have made riding painful. Other women would have wailed and wrung their hands when he suggested riding through the night. Not Priscilla. She had borne the hardships of their journey staunchly. There’d been no tears except for that first spate that had ended so abruptly.
No doubt about it, Priscilla Morton was unlike the other women he’d met. That must be the reason why he couldn’t get her out of his mind, why he felt such a longing to return to the Bar C and announce that he had captured the Dunkler brothers. He would do it. Somehow.
“I need your help.”
Though Clay did not normally join Zach when he rode the range, this afternoon he’d volunteered to accompany him. The reason was now apparent. Clay wanted advice of some sort, and judging from the fact that Clay had waited until they were out of earshot of the ranch, that advice probably concerned his bride-to-be. Zach cringed at the thought of being drawn into another discussion of women. Gunther, Michel, now Clay. Why did they think he had any knowledge of the female of the species? They’d all been married; he had not.
