Morgan's Woman

by Judith E. French

  In Nebraska, Tamsin had paid a smith to fit both animals with special shoes, studded to give them better footing on rocky ground. This print wasn't large enough to belong to Dancer. It had to be Fancy's trail. And where the mare went, the stud followed. Someone might have been tough enough to get him out of the barn, but they couldn't stop him from going after his mate-not without killing him.

  Tamsin took a deep breath and started down the road. Her belongings were heavy, but she had no intentions of leaving them behind. Once she got Fancy and Dancer back, she'd put Sweetwater behind her.

  Tamsin guessed that she'd been walking for more than an hour when she reached the wooden gate with an oxbow suspended overhead. A large letter S, not upright but turned on its back, was burned into the weathered wood. Beneath the brand were the words SAMUEL STEELE, LAZY S.

  Not certain of what she would find or what she would do if these people did have her missing animals, she backtracked a few hundred yards and hid her saddlebags in the bushes just off the road.

  She was halfway up the lane to the sprawling log ranch house when a grizzled cowboy loped toward her on a black-and-white horse.

  The man pulled in his mount, touching the brim of his slouch hat with a forefinger in greeting, but he didn't smile. What she could see of his hair was sandy, streaked with gray. One cheek was covered with a purple birthmark. It was not a face to inspire confidence.

  "You must be lost, woman. This here's private property. You're trespassin'." He reined the piebald around so that they blocked her way. She noticed that the raw-boned gelding had one blue eye ringed in white, a feature she'd found linked to a nasty disposition in horses.

  "Are you Mr. Steele?" she demanded with more courage than she felt. "I've important business with him."

  The cowboy scowled. "He expectin' you?"

  "Not exactly, but if you tell him that Mrs. MacGreggor is here, I know he'll see me."

  "Nobody but Injuns and sodbusters walks out here, lady." The horse bared his yellow teeth and chewed at the bit.

  Tamsin caught the animal's bridle by the headstall and ran an exploring hand over his neck. "Easy, easy boy," she crooned. "There's an infection here," she said, glancing up at the rider. "It may be a splinter of wood or a thorn. You can feel the heat around the swelling. You'd best cut it out before it becomes serious."

  The cowboy's eyes widened questioningly. "You think that's what it is? I figured it for a bee sting."

  She shook her head and scratched under the piebald's chin. The horse blew noisily through his lips but then visibly calmed under her touch. "I know horses." She glanced toward the house. "I really need to talk with Mr. Steele."

  He shrugged. "Guess he can't do no more than run you off. Ma'am," he added respectfully. She let go of the bridle. He tapped the horse's rump with the end of the reins and continued on down the rutted lane.

  Tamsin hadn't gone another hundred feet before she heard the screaming whinny and the thud of iron-shod hooves against a barn wall. Dancer! She would recognize his angry bellow anywhere. And if her stallion was there, Fancy must be with him.

  Tamsin broke into a run, but as she neared the stables, she saw several men repairing a railing on the corral. One turned to stare at her, and she slowed to a dignified walk.

  "Hey!" the cowboy shouted.

  She ignored him and turned toward the house. A black gelding, hitched to a piano-box buggy with yellow wheels, stood near the front porch. The animal's sides were streaked with sweat, and foam dripped from his mouth.

  Tamsin circled the horse and carriage, stepped over a sleeping cat, and climbed the steps to the front porch. The door stood open. From inside came the sound of a man's swearing.

  "It's not what you think, Sam," a woman pleaded. "Henry-"

  "Henry's my brother and you're my wife! You've been whoring with him behind my back!"

  Tamsin heard a second man's voice, an older man. "I warn you, Sam. It isn't like that. Don't do anything you'll regret!"

  A woman's scream was followed by the crack of a gunshot. Glass shattered and the woman began to sob. "No! No! No!"

  Tamsin stood motionless, not sure if she should go inside or turn and run. Then the three burst through the door onto the porch.

  The woman, a petite blonde in her mid-thirties, bore the imprint of a man's hand across her cheek. Her eyes were swollen with tears, and her elaborately coiffured hair was disheveled. She clung to the arm of a muscular man with shoulder-length brown hair and a drooping mustache.

  "Sam, please," she begged. "It's not true."

  Cursing, he backhanded his wife and drove a clenched fist into the belly of the man Tamsin supposed must be Henry.

  The blow rocked the middle-aged gentleman in white shirt and waistcoat, and he doubled up, clutching his stomach. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

  "Get the hell off my place, Henry! If I ever lay eyes on you again, I'll blow you to hell!"

  Henry staggered back and steadied himself against a porch post. "Come with me, Sarah," he urged. "It's over. You don't need to stay with him anymore."

  "I warn you, I'll kill you." Sam's face darkened with rage. "I'll kill the both of-"

  "Not if I kill you first!" Henry flung back.

  Then, for the first time, Sam caught sight of Tamsin. "Who are you?" he demanded. "What the hell are you doing on my spread?"

  She blanched. "I'm Tamsin MacGreggor," she managed. "And I've come for my horses. A mare and a stallion, thoroughbreds, stolen last night from the livery in Sweetwater."

  "You're out of your mind," Sam grated.

  "Am I?" she dared. "Let's take a look in your barn."

  Henry wiped the blood from his chin and stared at Tamsin. She caught a whiff of hair lotion from his too black, obviously dyed hair.

  "I've got two thoroughbreds in my stable," Sam admitted. "Bought and paid for from a dealer yesterday. I don't know who the hell you are, woman, or what your game is. But if you're calling me a horse thief, you belong in a madhouse."

  "No! They're mine," Tamsin insisted. "I bred them both, back in Tennessee. I-"

  "Get the hell off the Lazy S," Sam ordered. "Broom! Willy!"

  The two cowboys, who'd been mending the fence, came on the run. A third man in a farrier's apron followed, still carrying his hammer. "Yeah, boss?" the first man said.

  "See these two off my land," Sam ordered. "If they come back, you're fired."

  "The judge, too?" The tall cowboy who had spoken first looked uncertain.

  Sam nodded. "You heard me, Broom." Sam seized his wife by the shoulders and pushed her roughly back inside the house.

  "Keep your hands off her," Henry said.

  "She's mine, brother. I'll do with her as I please."

  Tamsin turned toward Henry. "If you're a judge, you've got to help me."

  He scowled at her. "I'd advise you to get back where you came from. Accusing a man like Sam of stealing can get you in more trouble than you can imagine."

  The man Sam had called Broom held up his hands. "I'm havin' no part of this, boss. You want Judge Henry throwed out of here, you do it yerself."

  "Damn you, Broom," Sam snapped. "You can get off the Lazy S as well."

  The tall cowboy's weathered tan flushed beet-red. "You can't do that, Mr. Steele. I worked for your father since you were both mites. Who else is gonna hire me with my gimpy leg?"

  "You heard me," the rancher replied. "You haven't been worth your keep in years. Get the hell off this spread."

  "Not without my pay," Broom said. "I'm owed-"

  "You're owed shit. You don't follow my orders, you're fired!" Sam advanced on Tamsin with a clenched fist. "I warned you to git off the Lazy S, woman."

  She took a step backward. "I'm going."

  Broom took a swing at Sam, and the rancher hit him hard in the face. The cowboy got in a weak punch to Sam's chest, but the younger man's return blow caught him full on the nose. Blood spurted as Broom went down on one knee. Sam followed up with a vicious kick to the
midsection.

  Broom groaned and sank to the ground. "You bastard," he managed. "I'll get you for this."

  Sam kicked him once more before glancing at the second cowhand and the man with the hammer. Swiftly, they moved toward Henry.

  Swearing, the judge retreated to his buggy. "You'll regret this, Sam," he warned. "I'll be back, and we'll settle this for once and all."

  Tamsin touched Henry's arm. "I'm on foot," she said. "Could you at least give me a ride back to town?"

  He scowled at her. "Get back the same way you got here." The judge slapped his lines over the horse's rump and drove away without looking back.

  Sam gave Tamsin a shove. "Get moving," he warned.

  She winced as she heard Dancer's angry whinny from the barn. "I'm going," she repeated. But I'll be back, too, she vowed silently. You can count on it.

  Chapter 2

  By Tamsin's reckoning, it was close to midnight when she crept close to Steele's barn. She'd thought long and hard about what she meant to do, and it seemed that there was only one answer to her dilemma.

  She had to steal her horses back.

  The night was dark, the low, heavy clouds split by flashes of lightning. Heavy drops of rain were beginning to fall.

  If the lane to the ranch house hadn't been lined with pines, she doubted if she could see well enough to find her way to the stable. As it was, she wandered blindly until a jagged bolt illuminated the corral.

  She followed the split-rail fence to the barn door. Once inside, she threw caution to the wind and lit the small lantern she'd purchased in town. Then she lifted the lamp high and looked around nervously. Fancy would answer to her name, but Tamsin was afraid to call out to the mare for fear of alerting one of the cowhands.

  Outside, the wind was rising, blowing in gusts against the north side of the building. Common sense told her that she could stand in the middle of the barn and shout and not be heard above the coming storm. But she moved silently, placing one foot and then the other as though she were stepping on ice rather than hard-packed dirt.

  The first two stalls were empty. A third held a spotted pony. Beyond that, nearly out of the pale circle of flickering light was a high-walled enclosure. Tamsin hung the lantern on a post and had started for the gate when a loud peal of thunder vibrated through the stable.

  She jumped and clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. Another ear-splitting rumble rolled overhead, and waves of rain began pelting the tin roof. The paint snorted and paced anxiously. From inside the closed box stall came a high-pitched nicker.

  "Dancer?" Heart thudding, Tamsin hurried toward the familiar sound, then noticed the dark object lying on the floor. It looked like…

  "Sweet hope of heaven!" She uttered a startled gasp and dropped to her knees beside the crumpled form of a man. "What's wrong?" she asked. Then the sickly sweet scent of blood filled her head, and her fingers touched the soaked back of his rawhide vest. "Oh, no…"

  She drew back as though she'd been stung, and stared at her hand. Red smeared her palm. Horrified, she rubbed her hand in a heap of straw, trying to clean away the gore.

  Then, hesitantly, she touched his cheek.

  His flesh was warm, but he lay too still for a living man. She rolled him over and leaned close to see if she could detect any breathing.

  Sam Steele's eyes were open, staring.

  Tamsin stood, numb with fear, a dead man sprawled at her feet. For a long minute, she didn't move; then slowly, woodenly, she circled around the body and slid back the bar on the stall door.

  A horse's head nudged through the opening, a splendidly shaped head with black ears and nose and intelligent brown eyes. "Dancer!" she cried. She threw her arms around the horse's neck.

  Behind him, Fancy blew through her lips and pawed the bedding, jealously waiting to be noticed.

  "I see you," Tamsin murmured. She blinked back tears and stepped out of the stall. There was no time for a reunion. She had to get her animals away from here as quickly as she could.

  Deliberately, she kept her gaze away from the spot where Sam Steele lay. She'd noticed a tack area near the entrance to the barn and wasn't surprised when she recognized her own saddles and bridles among the others. "Thieving blackguards," she muttered. "If you steal horses, why not their gear?"

  As she saddled Dancer and Fancy with shaking hands, she couldn't help wondering who had killed the ill-tempered rancher and why. Doubtless, a horse thief had plenty of enemies, but it took a special evil to shoot a man in the back. By rights she should call out for help- tell someone that he was dead. But if she was caught here, who would believe her story?

  She swung up onto the mare's back and guided her toward the door with Dancer tied securely to a lead rope. Then she remembered the lantern. Even now it wouldn't do to leave it burning, for fear of fire in the barn.

  Tamsin backed Fancy until the lamp was in easy reach. She'd just taken hold of the handle when the barn door swung open.

  "What the hell?" a gruff male voice shouted.

  Startled, Fancy reared. Tamsin reined her in with one hand and leaned forward to bring the horse down on all four feet. The lantern wavered, and for an instant the light shone full in Henry Steele's face.

  "You!" Tamsin said. She didn't have to ask why he was here in his brother's barn at midnight. The answer was all too clear.

  The judge had kept his word. He'd come back to settle the score with his brother, and he'd put a bullet through his heart.

  Henry grabbed at Fancy's bridle, but the chestnut tossed her head and backed away. "Get off that horse!" the judge ordered.

  "You get out of my way!" Tamsin replied. "Murderer!"

  "What are you talking about?" He pushed back his hat and stood in front of her with water streaming off his face and rain slicker.

  Rain and wind battered the building. The storm was so loud that she could barely hear what Henry was saying. She pointed to Sam's body. "I saw what you did!"

  The judge ran to Sam and looked down at him. "He's dead," he said. "Shot in the back." Then he twisted and stared at her. "You killed him for those damned horses."

  Tamsin raised the lantern to her lips and blew out the flame.

  "I'm the law in this part of Colorado!" Henry's voice echoed through the pitch darkness. "Woman or not, I'll see you hanged!"

  "I didn't kill him," she protested.

  "Tell it to the jury."

  Tamsin ducked and urged Fancy forward through the open door. A pistol roared and wood splintered over Tamsin's head. She stifled a cry as Dancer plunged after them.

  A blast of wind and driving rain made it impossible to see. Tamsin pulled hard on the reins to avoid the corner of the barn, loosened the reins, and gave Fancy her head. The mare stretched out her long legs and broke into a gallop.

  "You won't get away!" Henry roared, firing a second time. "You'll never get away!"

  Tamsin guided Fancy along the line of trees until they reached the road and then pulled her to the right, in the direction of Sweetwater. The mare slid in the slick mud and nearly went to her knees, but Tamsin stayed in the saddle.

  Her only safety lay in putting distance between her and Sweetwater, but she couldn't go without her saddlebags. Her slicker was there, her blanket, her maps, and all her supplies. Only a fool would ride into the wilderness with empty hands. Teeth chattering from the cold, Tamsin soothed the frightened chestnut and rode on toward the spot where she'd hidden her things.

  Lightning shattered a tree a few hundred yards away, momentarily blinding Tamsin and sending both horses into a frenzy. Dancer reared, snapping the lead line, and Fancy began to buck. Tamsin clung to Fancy's mane and fought to keep her from bolting as the acrid scent of sulfur filled the air.

  "Whoa, whoa!" Tamsin cried. "Easy, girl!"

  Dancer lunged past them, brushing so close to the mare that Tamsin's leg was squeezed between the two animals. She gasped in pain and reined hard to the left, turning Fancy in an ever-tightening circle.

&n
bsp; Tamsin's boot slipped out of the right stirrup, causing her to lose her balance. She hung on, knowing that if she fell she could be crushed under Fancy's hooves. Finally, the mare's trusting nature won out over panic, and the animal came to a trembling halt.

  Tamsin dismounted, but her knees were almost too weak to hold her up. Whispering the mare's name, Tamsin closed her eyes and leaned against the animal's side.

  "What am I doing?" She was too scared to cry and too shaken to stand. She was drenched and freezing. Any minute, men with guns would be coming after her, and she was clinging to her horse paralyzed with fear.

  "Where's your backbone, girl?" she heard an inner voice demand. Her grandfather had asked her that question since she was a small child, and it had never failed to raise her temper.

  "I hear you," she muttered. It wasn't really her grandfather's voice; at least she hoped it wasn't. What she heard inside her was the echo of a personality too big to die when his old body gave out.

  With a sigh, she stood up, took Fancy firmly by the bridle, and started down the road. It was too dark to see Dancer, but he wouldn't go too far from his mate. She prayed that the dangling rope wouldn't trip him up.

  Another jagged illumination flashed, lighting the lane enough for Tamsin to get her bearings and to catch sight of her stallion a short ways ahead. There was no use in trying to catch him. Dancer would follow her, but he wouldn't be captured until he was good and ready.

  With a little searching, Tamsin found her saddlebags and donned her rain slicker. It was impossible to get any wetter, but at least the coat would cut some of the wind. In an outside pocket, stashed for just such emergencies, she found a shriveled carrot. She snapped it in half and offered one piece to Fancy.

  The mare took it gently from Tamsin's fingers. "Good girl," she murmured. "Good Fancy."

  Then something nudged Tamsin in the center of her back. "No carrot for you," she said. "You don't deserve any." But when the stallion nuzzled her neck, she relented and gave him the treat.