“Pa, don’t kill him!” she yelled as he rode by. “Please don’t kill him.”
Maggie ate dust. From her shoulder to her hip, she had her empty rifle cutting into her. McCready’s familiar weight pinned her down, and she knew that Lars had flung himself partly over them. It was too much to believe that McCready was shielding her with his body.
The ground beneath her cheek vibrated from horses at a full gallop. Maggie tried to make herself smaller, knowing what the trampling horses could do to a body. She couldn’t think, couldn’t move to do anything to stop them. Her belly heaved against the helplessness that gripped her.
Two warning shots kicked up dirt on either side of them. Maggie felt the tension in McCready. Questions and doubts were stripped in an instant. They were going to die. The terror of the storm came back to her. She had needed McCready that night, and he had come to her. She needed him now, needed to feel that he would care. Wiggling one hand out from under her body, Maggie managed to reach his arm. She gripped him tight, feeling the pounding of his heart against her, the slight move he made to gather more of her beneath him. His breathing was as labored as hers, but Maggie knew he had somehow understood, and she wasn’t really alone.
From the doorway of the Rawhider, Dutch watched the three men pull up with their guns drawn. The horses danced in place, making it almost impossible for Dutch to get off a clean shot. He was no marksman and knew it, but he swore when Burton and Quincy dismounted, followed quickly by Ryder. With them holding their restive horses, Dutch had no chance to shoot them without risking the three on the ground. He clutched his rifle tight and eyed McCready’s rifle by his side.
“Ira, you and Slick try getting around behind them. But don’t open fire unless Maggie, McCready, and Lars are clear.”
“We’re gone,” Slick answered, running for the back door with Ira.
“Get up, fancy man.” Lars felt cold iron press against his neck. For his slowness to obey, the gun was jabbed in warning.
“Peeling them off each other is almost as much fun as watching that little fat man peel off his money.”
“Shut up, Ryder,” Quincy ordered.
Andrew Burton nervously watched as Lars came to his feet. The man was as big as Dutch, red-faced with fury, and Andrew caught himself backing away. “Don’t take your eye off him,” he told Ryder. Looking up and glancing around, he worried that their shots would bring the miners crawling all over them.
“Settle down, Burton,” Quincy said. “This time I won’t fail.” But he, too, sent a quick searching glance around, dismissing Burton’s daughter cowering near the store. “Hurry up, Ryder. Get Maggie so we can get out of here.”
“Maggie,” McCready breathed into her ear, “run when I get up.”
“C’mon, McCready, you’re next.” Ryder hunkered down beside him to make sure that McCready felt the gun barrel he jammed against the back of his head. “Ain’t the big man now, flashing your money an’ giving orders.”
McCready knew everything rode on Dutch, and he prayed that Dutch wouldn’t fail him.
He rolled against Ryder, forcing him to lose his balance. Ryder’s shot went wild. McCready’s kick landed on his jaw and sent Ryder sprawling. Dutch called out and flung McCready his rifle. Andrew’s shot spit dust up between McCready’s feet, but McCready came up from his half-crouch, levering and firing in a blur of motion.
Maggie, ready to swing her empty rifle like a club, froze seeing McCready in action. Ryder’s gun was shot out of his hand. Quincy tried to stem the flow of blood from a shoulder wound, and Andrew writhed on the ground, churning up more dust, holding his bleeding leg. Lars’s solid punch flattened Quincy alongside Ryder.
The three of them—Maggie, Lars, and McCready—stood with chests heaving, ready to do battle. McCready was the first to recover and grabbed hold of Maggie, crushing her against him.
Time and place blurred for Maggie. McCready was holding her as if he would never let her go, and she was back at the cabin with him, safe and warm.
“Maggie, hold me,” McCready whispered. “I need you to hold me.”
She hugged him tight, but then pulled back to look at him. “You can shoot, McCready.”
“On occasion, Maggie mine, on occasion.” His blood still surged with the rush of fear he experienced for her.
“You could’ve been killed.”
“Yes, and you, too. So stop sounding so accusing, Maggie. What I want to know is how Andrew got involved with these two.”
“You go ask, McCready,” she said, jerking herself free of his arms. “I don’t want to know.” Bewildered by the need to get away from everyone, Maggie looked at Lars and found herself meeting Pamela’s tear-filled eyes while Lars cuddled her close.
Shouts and yells roared down the street from both ends, as miners, drawn from their search by the gunfire, ran to see what had happened. Maggie found herself pushed and shoved out of the way by the men crowding around McCready. Ira and Slick joined Dutch in slapping McCready’s back, then, screaming McCready’s name, the Rose came running, forcing everyone aside to get to McCready.
Maggie backed away from them, absently smiling and nodding to the miners.
“You see it? Mighty fancy shootin’ for McCready! Didn’t know he had it in him. Three they say—that true?”
Trying to clear her thoughts, Maggie shook her head. She felt as if she had to do something, but her blood was pumping at an alarming rate, and her heart felt as if it intended to pound its way free of her body. She stepped aside and looked down the street only to be jolted when she saw tiny Miss Mae standing on her porch with her dead husband’s dueling pistols in hand. She waved one and Maggie waved her arm, signaling her it was over.
But the first voice that yelled, “String ’em up!” told her it was just beginning.
“That’s Texas justice!” another man shouted.
“Hush yore fool mouth,” someone else ordered. “This here’s the territory of New Mexico.”
“Justice is justice,” came the rejoinder.
“Hold on, hold on,” Slick said, shushing those closest to him. “We’ll let McCready decide.”
There were murmurs of agreement, but McCready ignored them, trying to see over the heads of the men to where Maggie was.
“Can you see her?” McCready asked Dutch, then called her without waiting for an answer. The voices were louder now, demanding his decision of what to do with the three men, and McCready held up his rifle and fired the last shot in the air. He got the silence he wanted. “These three are guilty of trying to jump Maggie’s claim. She’ll decide what’s to be done with them.”
Maggie found herself facing a collective group of miners with blood on their minds. Jumping a claim rated a rope just like horse stealing. They expected her to order swift, harsh justice.
And too late, McCready realized he had made a mistake. She was ashen and he sensed that she was trembling but fighting to hide it. He shoved open a path for himself and reached her, only to have Maggie step away from him.
“Don’t make me do this, McCready,” she pleaded in a soft whisper that only he could hear.
Her voice was low and shaking, and he leaned close. “Maggie, stop being afraid to let these men know you’re a woman with a woman’s feelings. They won’t respect you less.” But he could see even when he finished that Maggie was afraid to reveal a softer side. He couldn’t blame her. Taking her hand with his, he squeezed it gently. “Think a tar-and-feather party will satisfy everyone? I can’t just let them go.”
Relief flooded her, and she knew McCready felt her shiver before she pulled her hand free. She even managed a lopsided smile for a few seconds until she remembered Andrew Burton.
“Pamela’s sure to be upset about her father.”
“I think she’s got other things on her mind right now,” McCready said, turning, and knew that Maggie had to follow his gaze to where Pamela appeared to be arguing with Lars. “I think your husband has his women
mixed up.”
“He’s not me husband. An’ the next man that says so will find out I’m not a soft woman.”
McCready ignored the warning in her voice, glad to see color return to her face. Her eyes were losing that glazed look, and that was all he cared about. Well, it was for a moment. From the corner of his eye he saw a man step out from behind the miners clustered around the three wounded men. His russet hide vest, chaps, and bowed walk pointed to him being a cattleman, and when McCready heard the jingle of his spurs, he confirmed it to himself. He moved closer to Maggie just as she did to him. He didn’t think either of them would forget how easily they dismissed Quincy as being harmless.
“Mighty nice shootin’, fella,” the man said, tilting his hat back and squinting at them. “Name’s Mike Grant and I call Montana home. Sorry I couldn’t take a bit of the action.”
Reading no guile in the man’s eyes or in his crooked smile, McCready took his offered hand. But he felt a ripple of jealousy at the way the man’s eyes darted to Maggie.
Mike touched his hat brim. “But you’re the little gal I’ve come to find.”
Maggie bristled at the male gleam in his eye. She only had McCready to judge by, but the look was the same. “Seems I’m gettin’ to be a bigger draw than a newly staked claim.”
“An’ any fool can see why, darlin’.”
“Maggie needs to go home,” McCready cut in, every male instinct sending him an alarm about Mike Grant.
Maggie wanted the same, but she wasn’t giving McCready the satisfaction of ordering her. She wasn’t this Mike Grant’s darlin’, or his little gal, but there was an open honesty in the warmth of his dark eyes and the deeply tanned face that set off his ready smile.
“We’ve got business?” she asked him.
“Sure do, honey. You see, Mohawk Pete, your uncle, is the one that staked me so’s I could buy a ranch I had my eye on. I’d helped Pete out of a mite of trouble, an’ he figured this was a way to repay me. Generous man, Pete was. Made sure there was enough money to stock the place. It’s been five years, an’ I’m doin’ real well. Was right sorry to hear about his dying. Wish I could’ve been here to help you. But that’s why I’m here now. Just learned of Pete’s passing.”
“Whatever you owed Pete, forget it,” Maggie said, liking the way his eyes crinkled up at the corners.
“Much as I’d like to, darlin’, I can’t be doing that.” Mike smiled at her and winked. “The man made me an honorable proposition, and I accepted it.”
“This is all very interesting, Grant, but Maggie can hear this later,” McCready once again cut in. “She’s had a rough time and—”
“Heard it all,” Mike said, turning serious. “I’m obliged to you for taking care of her the way you did. Ain’t many men that would put their life on the line for a woman.”
“Maggie’s not just any woman. She’s damn special to me,” McCready grated from between his clenched teeth, ignoring Maggie’s stunned expression. This cowpoke was getting under his skin, and he no longer cared if the man knew it. McCready turned to Maggie, basking a moment in her smile, intending to take her arm and drag her away if necessary, but Mike’s arm snaked between them and caught hold of Maggie’s hand, pulling her to his side.
“You did real fine, mister. But I’ll take over caring for her now. Maggie’s got packing to do so we can get a fresh start in the morning.”
“Packin’?” Maggie looked up at Mike in confusion. She peeled his hand from hers. She couldn’t make sense of this. “You’re mistaken. I’m not plannin’ on goin’ anywhere with you or anyone.”
Mike’s jaw angled out and he tugged his hat brim forward. “Right sorry to hear you feel that way. But, darlin’, you ain’t got a choice. This here paper I’ve got says we’re married—”
“Married!” Maggie yelled.
“…married, like I was saying, all nice and legal. My wife’s gonna obey me.”
“Wife!” Lars pushed his way to them. “No. You make a mistake. Mary is my wife.”
“Who the hell are you?” Grant glared at the newcomer, taking his measure and figuring he wasn’t all that big.
“Me,” Lars announced, pointing to his chest, growing tired of having to explain. “Larson Vladimir from the territory of Washin—”
“Washington and he owns his own sawmill,” Maggie finished for him. “Pete staked him to buy land and the mill. Right generous of old Pete, wasn’t it?” she asked of no one but herself, not understanding her uncle’s conniving. It was bad enough when McCready first had told her they were married—but two more? And she didn’t even want a husband!
“Ja. Mary tells this true. So she is my wife.”
“Can’t be, fella. I got papers right here.” Mike dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He almost tore it in his hurry to get it open and wave it under Lars’s nose. “Read that. Says here that Maggie O’Roarke was married by proxy on the seventeenth of June, eighteen-eighty.”
“But that’s almost four years ago,” Maggie cut in, rubbing her hands over her arms. What had Pete done to her? She saw Lars frown at her and wondered what he expected her to do. Behind them, the miners were listening and buzzing with their own speculations. She looked to McCready for help, but he was staring at Mike.
“That’s right, darlin’.” Mike nodded. “Mohawk Pete married you to me, Michael Grant, just like what’s written here, in Billings, Territory of Montana. And it’s signed by Captain Earl Austin, justice of the peace.”
“Ja. Ja. I see your paper. You look, too, at mine. My paper says that Mary O’Roarke is married to Larson Vladimir on the seventh of April in eighteen-eighty.”
Voices rose and fell from the crowd, but Maggie didn’t hear them. Why wasn’t McCready shutting them up? Why didn’t he tell them that she couldn’t be a wife to either of these men since she was already McCready’s? She turned to him. “McCready, show them the date on your paper.” Her demand was followed by a silent prayer that his date was older.
“His paper?” Lars and Mike chorused, facing Maggie.
She raked her hands through her short hair, trying to stop the growing feeling that something was horribly wrong. “Crazy. All of this. Crazy as Pete thinkin’ he could marry me off to three men. I ain’t married to you,” she told Mike, grabbing his paper and tearing it in half. “An’ I don’t want to be married to you, any more than you want me,” she informed a stunned Lars. But he wouldn’t let her grab hold of his paper.
“McCready? Tell them, damn you!”
McCready was seething for what Pete had done. He could put a stop to this by telling them that Maggie was married to him, but she and they were demanding a paper he didn’t have. Temper glared from Maggie’s eyes, and he knew she had been pushed as far as she would allow. Another woman would be flattered to know that men wanted her without her gold mine. But not his Maggie. She wanted his proof of marriage. And he didn’t have a shred of paper to show.
“Maggie, I can’t. I lied to you.”
“Just back off an’ leave me be!” Maggie knew she was about to start screaming. A roaring filled her ears, and she saw that McCready was talking, but she couldn’t hear him. Her insides felt as if they were crumpling and she helpless to stop it.
Then everyone was looking at her, making her feel caged. Shaking her head and whispering no, Maggie raised her fists.
Pamela provided unexpected rescue. She came to Maggie’s side, sliding her arm around Maggie’s waist, and confronting the men with tears glistening in her eyes.
“While the pack of you are tearing at Maggie, I tended three wounded men. No matter what he did, Andrew Burton is still my father. But how any of you could do this to Maggie after what she’s been through shows what a bunch of stupid men you are. Shame on the lot of you. Women need comforting, not badgering by a passel of men. I’m taking Maggie home to her cabin, and if one of you dares come near us, I’ll be the one doing the shooting!”
S
he caught their attention. Everyone knew that Pamela couldn’t hit a bucket unless she stuck the gun inside, but no one wanted to find out. There wasn’t one protest to be heard, least of all from Maggie.
“Belly up to the bar, boys,” Dutch offered and waited until the men turned away. He touched McCready’s shoulder. “You, too. She’s not going to want to see you at all.”
Chapter 20
McCready started to walk back with Dutch, trying to block from his mind seeing the same terror in Maggie’s eyes that she had the night of the storm. His hands clenched with the need to hold her, but he knew Dutch was right. She wanted to be left alone. Maggie was back to not needing anyone. Certainly not him. He had lost the soft woman he had found in his isolated cabin. And the loss right now was more than he could stand.
The sight of the three wounded men lying inside the doorway stopped him. “Berger,” McCready whispered, having forgotten about the other threat to Maggie. “Ira, get up to Maggie’s cabin and keep watch. There’s still one more we need to catch.”
Ira slugged down the drink he had just poured and, grumbling, left them.
Once Satin accepted her presence, Pamela bullied Maggie into using the warm water she heated to wash, then ordered her into a clean shirt and bed.
There was little in the way of food supplies, but she didn’t want to eat, and Maggie refused the moment she mentioned it. Pamela brought Maggie a cup of whiskey-laced coffee and sat on the edge of her bed to sip at her own cup.
Maggie thought Pamela looked as lost as she felt. No matter how bad her own untenable situation was, Pamela had to face the fact of what her father had done.
“You called out a warnin’ to us, Pamela. When did you find out about your father?”
“I thought you’d be snapping and snarling like a scalded dog, Maggie.”
“Well, I’ve had the snap and snarl shook out of me.”
Calico Page 21
