Читать книгу The Texas Ranger's Heiress Wife - Kate Welsh - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Brendan sat deep in his saddle as he and Harry stood atop the hill overlooking Shamrock’s ranch buildings. Helena’s home place was a neat package. He’d expected the main house would be a shining white edifice with columns soaring several stories high. But no. Not for Helena Conwell. Helena Conwell Kane, he amended, the last name almost, but not quite, an afterthought. He was at all times aware that she remained his wife.

Why the hell hadn’t he looked into divorce laws in Texas? Each time he’d stopped in to check with Major Jones he’d expected a packet of ominous-looking legal papers. Now he knew why they’d never appeared. And unless he broke his vows—which he had no intention of doing—it would be another three years before she’d be free to file for divorce.

It was infuriating that the thought of three more years of estranged marriage to Helena settled his contrary heart.

He forced his mind off that confusing thought and back onto Helena’s house. It wasn’t a palace. Not even a particularly large house. The long, low building formed a U, with a Spanish-style courtyard in the middle. Overlapping clay tiles covered the peaked roof. The walls were whitewashed adobe, with deep windows, and a homey porch ran the whole length, along the front and on both sides.

Helena had ordered him off that porch the day of the Varga raid. That was when he’d realized he’d never get another wink of sleep, worrying about her safety if—make that when—the raiders attacked Shamrock.

They’d been merciless with the wives of the shepherds at Belleza, more animals than men. While Brendan mourned the loss of all those women, at least they hadn’t had to live with the memories of what had been done to them. He’d never get that sight out of his head. The thought of Helena being next on the list had scared him right to her front door.

To a place he’d sworn never to set foot.

To protect a woman he couldn’t stop caring for.

A woman he couldn’t even talk to without a battle breaking out.

He squinted against the glare of the sun and stared at the white house with the red tile roof. She lived there, his Helena did. Slept there. Slept there alone, dammit. And she tempted him.

She’d been alone all the time he’d been gone.

Visions of her asleep in his arms haunted him, and had since the day he’d left her standing outside the land office. He’d assumed memories of their lovemaking would plague him. Those specters of the past did visit his dreams, disturbing his sleep. More often than not, he’d wake with an unmerciful hard-on, and memories of her fresh in his mind. He’d force himself to roll over, and hope to keep on dreaming.

But surprisingly, it was memories of her beautiful face as she’d slept, secure in his arms, that often rose unbidden to stalk even his waking moments. They were thoughts only constant danger kept at bay. Which, he supposed, was how he’d gotten his reputation for going into situations even other Texas Rangers shied away from.

Dealing with memories of Helena now led to one he tried to block, but never seemed to manage to for very long. His mind rolled back to the day it all went to hell....

* * *

“I have a surprise,” Helena said when she rushed out the door of their tiny shack of a house on the outskirts of Tierra del Verde. He’d been gone for two weeks, helping drive supplies. He’d picked up the job when one of the regular freight drivers got hurt in a brawl in the Golden Garter.

Since they’d arrived in the sweet little town of Tierra del Verde, Brendan had been putting in hours at the livery and anywhere else he could make a dollar to support them. If he had a bit left over at the end of the month, he put it aside to save for a small ranch. He longed to be his own boss. Then how hard he worked would have a direct effect on how much money he made. It was a small dream, but it was the Holy Grail to someone raised in Wheatonburg, Pennsylvania, in the shadow of Harlan Wheaton’s big house, his mining operation and the town he owned lock, stock and people.

Brendan was bone-tired and not sure he was up to a surprise. Still, he followed her inside, where she led him to the small settee that defined their parlor space. He forced a smile for Helena’s sake and took in her happiness. She was like air to a drowning man. He’d missed her so much. She’d given up everything to come West and live as his wife. “Now what is it you have planned?” he asked.

“Joshua, Abby and Daniel are here. They arrived the day you left. They wanted to surprise us.”

He’d missed his sister and nephew terribly. Joshua, too. “I’ve missed two weeks with them? How long will they be here?”

“They aren’t visiting. Joshua bought the bank and moved them here. He decided to follow Abby’s dream, knowing it was the best thing for Daniel. And speaking of best... Best of all is he did it, Bren.”

Brendan narrowed his eyes. “What is it my brother-in-law did?”

“Joshua cleared your name. He stood up in court back in Pennsylvania and proved you’d been framed by his father and Franklin Gowery. They were both forced to admit there’d been no evidence to prove you were involved but your badly forged initials in the company store’s receipt book.”

Brendan blinked, then let out a deep breath he felt he’d been holding for half a year. “He did it? I didn’t think he could. I’m free?” She nodded and watched the joy bloom on his face as the realization sank in. “I’m free.”

“Even better, Joshua untangled my assets from Franklin Gowery’s control. My guardian can never touch us again. We’re both free. And we’re rich.”

It was like having a weight lifted from him, only to have that same weight dropped right back on his shoulders again. Brendan’s efforts all these months were like a dandelion puff in the wind—weak and powerless. Once again she could buy and sell him.

“No. You’re rich, Helena. I told you the day we decided to make a go of this marriage you so handily arranged.”

She covered his hand with hers and he stared down at it. A hand that had been soft and lily-white was now rough and red with toil. His belly tightened with dread. Her hands now looked like his mother’s had. Would this life kill her, as sure as life in a mining town had killed his ma?

He could feel Helena willing him to look at her. When he raised his gaze to hers, he saw worry in her blue eyes. “But I told you I wanted to buy that ranch for us if I got control of my funds in time. That’s what the money’s for. For us. The ranch house isn’t much better than this place, but the land, Bren. It’s huge. And ours for the taking. We can build Shamrock, just like we planned. The widow woman says her husband had a herd of longhorns. They only need to be gathered in and the steers taken to San Antonio. Our Shamrock is out there waiting for us to rename it and make it into a legacy for our children.”

Brendan pulled his hand from under hers and paced to the open door, to stare out at the rolling landscape of the Texas Hill Country. “That’s your dream. I never wanted anything so grand. I want to build what you simply want to buy. I won’t have it.”

He wouldn’t live on her father’s ill-gotten gains. On what amounted to blood money—blood of men like his own father, who’d left his leg in one of Wheaton’s mines. Brendan didn’t understand how she could expect it of him.

“It’s our chance, Bren.” She sounded so reasonable. “We have to take it. An opportunity like this won’t come along again. If we don’t step up, there’s someone else who wants it. The widow doesn’t want to have to sell it to him, but she can’t wait any longer. She wants to sell to us. You’ll see. It’ll be a wonderful place to raise a family.”

“No,” he said flatly.

It hurt to see her anguish and realize she cared more for a piece of land than she did for his self-respect. Didn’t she know him at all? He’d told her they’d make it on what he provided. She clearly didn’t believe in him; it was as simple as that. He fisted his hand next to his leg. “You have to have everything now. You don’t want to work hard for it. You want it handed to you, the same way everything has been your entire life.”

She stiffened her spine and raised her chin. “It’s too late to back out. I already bought it. They’re waiting at the land office for us to sign the papers.”

“I won’t sign any papers. I won’t be bought.”

She stared at him, her eyes narrowed in thought or disbelief. He wasn’t sure he knew her this way. Maybe he’d never known her at all. “Bought? You think that’s what I want to do—buy you, like a slave? Imprison you?”

He felt the words like a knife slash to his heart. He knew she meant nothing like that, but he couldn’t give in on this point. “I won’t use that money.”

The hurt in her eyes hardened into anger. “Then you’re going to stand in the way of my dream, all because you’re too egotistical and bitter to see past your small, miserly hopes and goals to care about mine. Joshua followed Abby’s dreams here to the West. Why can’t you?”

That was a low blow. “Fine. I’ll sign the damned papers, but don’t think I’ll ever set foot there.”

She tilted her head and her lips tipped into a sly smile. “Yes, you will, because that’s where I’ll be. You’ll be here in town. You’ll see me all the time. And you’ll want me. Then you’ll come to me and we’ll be happy again. My dream is yours—it’s just bigger....”

* * *

And he’d known she was right. Brendan hadn’t dared stay. He’d known it would be just as she’d said: he’d have seen her, given in and gone to her. Then he’d have hated himself every day for the rest of his life, for stooping to use the money of a robber baron. Brendan had heard powerful men like that guardian of hers described that way. Harry Conwell couldn’t have been far removed from men like Gowery and Harlan Wheaton. Those men had conspired to frame Brendan, and therefore forced him to flee for his life, leaving his family behind.

He’d looked around the little house where they’d been so happy. Not a cross word had been spoken in the months after they’d arrived there. He hadn’t known he would miss it—and Helena—so much, but he had known he’d have to move on and find something to do that would keep him away. Then he’d found a new family, a new love—the Texas Rangers and the law.

Now, with his mind and heart still in turmoil, he watched Helena walk out onto the porch and stroll down the step, to the top of the rise behind the house. He noticed she did that every evening and every morning. She’d cross herself, then stand there, gazing out over the valley in prayer. After endless moments, head bowed, she’d retrace her steps. He’d seen tears in her eyes the one time he’d approached her as she’d returned to the house.

He wondered what she wanted. What was it she asked God for twice a day, every day?

Drawn to her now, he guided Harry down the hill to the home place. It was time to at least talk to her about the measures he’d taken to protect her. And why.

She turned as he approached, and this time she rushed to meet him as he dismounted. “Is something wrong?” she asked, clearly flustered. He couldn’t help remembering when the sight of him had had a bright smile blooming on her pretty face.

He shook his head and got back to the here and now. What was in her expression? Worry? Fear? She should be afraid; all her protests to the contrary, Helena was no fool. Look at how ready for a fight her men were.

“Nothing’s wrong as far as I know. Not yet, anyway. I still think they’ll hit you before they move on the Rockin’ R. Shamrock’s run by a woman. I doubt he thinks you’d be as ready for them as you are, or as ready as the R is bound to be.”

“He?”

Brendan damn near spit out a curse, but that would have made his slip of the tongue all the more noteworthy. “Just a figure of speech, and a boatload of evidence that’s more confusin’ than trying to follow their trail.”

“Oh? What do the Indian agents have to say?” she asked.

“As far as they know, all the Comanche war chiefs and their warriors are on the reservation, and have been.”

“Hmm. No matter who might come, Shamrock’s men are spoiling for a fight. But after what Farrah Varga told me...” Helena hesitated, pressing her lips together. Then she huffed out a breath, as if surrendering to an inevitable fate. “Okay. I admit it. I’m terrified, Bren. Those men are killers. I don’t want anyone at Shamrock to get hurt. Especially not defending me.”

He very nearly asked if that included him, but instead said, “You’ve a right to be afraid. No matter your feelings about the men, if you hear shooting, you need to duck and run for cover. Hide as best as you can,” he added, then waited for her to explode all over him for telling her what to do.

The explosion never happened. Instead, her eyes grew sad, her posture resigned. “That isn’t going to keep me safe and you know it. It’s as if the success of those early raids has emboldened the raiders. They killed every woman on Belleza. Do you think they didn’t hide? Farrah and her mother were blessed to be in town.”

“Blessed,” Brendan agreed, remembering well what had been done to those poor beggars.

“Alex Reynolds taught Patience to shoot as soon as they arrived, because the raids were worsening. He doesn’t think size will protect either of our places for much longer. Neither does Lucien Avery. He thinks I should move into town. I won’t do that, so I need to learn about guns, the way Patience did.”

Brendan pressed his lips together for a moment. The idea of Helena in the middle of gunplay turned his breakfast to stone. Carefully guarding his words, he said, “That they’ve picked on increasingly larger targets is true. You have a good point. You need to be taught to shoot and you have to be ready to kill whoever you aim at. You should have Mallory teach you.”

“Mallory already tried.” She shrugged. “I can’t hit the broad side of the barn, Bren. If they do come here—”

“Then I guess I’d better get to teachin’ you,” he interrupted gruffly, flustered by her unconscious use of his nickname as much as by the terror in her voice. “Got any empty cans or mason jars you can do without?”

She nodded. “I’ll buy new. This is important.”

Brendan bit back the insolent remark that nearly leaped off his tongue. Of course she could just go to town and buy new. She could probably buy out the company that made cans and jars, if she’d a mind. Instead of feeding the fires of discontent the way he seemed driven to do around her, he pointed to a fence off to the left. “Over yonder. Set them up on the top rail.” He stepped into the stirrup and swung himself back into the saddle. “I’ll go warn Mallory before we take ten years off the man’s life when we start shootin’. Don’t know why he never managed to teach you.”

She blushed adorably. “Um, Bren, Mallory really did try. I’d hate to hurt his feelings.”

Brendan forced a smile, trying not to react to her, and cursing himself for being so affected by her sweet blush. Damn the woman. And damn him for his weakness around her. “I’ll only say we’ll be doin’ a bit of target practice. That way you won’t be embarrassin’ me if the fault is with you and not the teacher.”

“If you mention me and shooting, you’ll have to ignore his laughter.”

Mallory didn’t laugh, though he did shake his head, consternation written on his sun-baked face. “Great waste of powder, if you ask me. I doubt it’s going to do her a bit of good.”

Brendan allowed that it wouldn’t hurt to try. Then, after handing Harry over to Jimmy, he walked to where Helena had set up the jars and cans, his Winchester balanced on his shoulder. He walked a bit beyond where she stood, to lean the rifle against the porch post.

“Let’s try this from the top. Mallory must have forgotten a step. Shootin’ a gun is easy if you know what you’re about. First hold up your thumb.”

She turned and frowned. “My thumb? I need to shoot, not paint.”

Brendan sighed, turned to the fence, pulled his Colt out of his holster and fired, sending the middle can spinning into the dusty corral as blue smoke expanded all around them. It dissipated in the breeze as he turned to her.

She stared at the now holstered gun. “How did you learn to do that?”

“I’ve good reflexes and I listened to the one teachin’ me. That and practice.”

Without a word she turned and held up her thumb.

His point made, Brendan said, “With both eyes open, cover that first can on the left with your thumb. With your left eye closed, is the can covered?”

She nodded.

“Now do the same with the right eye. Did your thumb seem to move?”

Again she nodded.

“Then when you choose what you’re aimin’ at, close your right eye and sight with your left.”

“Mallory just told me to point and pull the trigger. Thus the shotgun. With buckshot flying, I’d have a better chance of hitting something.”

Brendan shook his head. “At least we’re gettin’ to where you’ll have more than two shots, and you’ve not even picked up the gun. I’d prefer you hit what you aim at. Mind, if you do pick up a gun to defend yourself, you have to be ready to pull the trigger.”

“So you said. And I said that I am. I’d have to think of it as him or me, right?”

He gave a sharp nod. “There’s no room for guilt with these raiders. They’ve started this war.”

She nodded in turn. “I’d fire. I still have too much to do in this life.”

He wanted to ask what, but he’d given up any right to even wonder. And if he was honest with himself, he hated that he had. Wished he was the kind of man who’d be comfortable being kept. But Michael Kane hadn’t raised his sons to live off their women. And even if Brendan could get past that, there was the knowledge of where her wealth had come from to torture him. He’d been taught not to hate, too...but his father would have to be disappointed in his son, because Brendan did hate Harlan Wheaton, Franklin Gowery and, though he’d never met him, Harry Conwell by association.

He cleared his throat. “So about the actual shootin’. It’s important not to tense up.” He showed her how to load and unload his Colt in its half-cocked position. “This is a single action. Meanin’ you pull the hammer all the way back, through all four clicks, each time you want to fire.” He eased the hammer back and the clicks sounded in the silent clearing. “Now it’s ready to fire. You have six shots,” he went on, and handed the weapon to her. “Hold it with both hands and sight down the barrel.”

She turned to the targets.

“Now squeeze the trigger,” he ordered.

She did, but only the good Lord knew where the shot went.

“No. No. Don’t jerk it. That sends the barrel up or down. You don’t want to be hittin’ the bad guy in the foot, or blowing a hole in his hat. You need to keep the barrel parallel to the ground.”

He stepped behind her, caged her with his arms, his hands enveloping her small ones so he’d absorb the recoil and she’d see her next shot fly true. “Pull the hammer back,” he ordered, his voice suddenly rough. It was her—the rose scent of her—grabbing hold of his senses that was to blame.

Brendan swallowed as Helena readied the Colt to fire. The feel of her warm hands beneath his heated his blood to boiling. And the feel of her back nestled against his chest nearly undid him. He went hard below the belt. Luckily, her round bottom wasn’t nestled against him.

Helena went utterly still for a protracted moment. Then, apparently less affected than he, she said, “Now I fire?”

He cleared his throat. “Squeeze the trigger.”

The can she’d aimed at flew up into the air, then fell to the earth. He stepped back as she spun to face him, her face filled with delight. “I did it!”

Frowning at the effect her nearness had on him, he all but growled, “Don’t ever point a gun at anyone you don’t want to dig a hole for.”

She looked down at the Colt in her hand, then backed up. “Oh! Sorry.” She pointed the revolver at the ground. “But did you see? It flew up just like yours did.”

Brendan couldn’t help but grin at her happiness. He nodded. “Deader than a doornail, that dastardly can is. Now try on your own. Be ready to compensate for the kick.”

She fired, but a chip tore off the bottom rail. The rest of the cans fell off from the vibration. But the seven jars remained. Her shoulders drooped a bit in defeat.

“That’s okay,” he told her, trying to be encouraging. “Figuratively, you at least hit the barn this time. Try again,” he insisted.

Helena bit her bottom lip, then pressed both lips together as she pulled back on the trigger. And one of the jars shattered. Then two more exploded, one after another. “I did it. Oh, thank you.”

Maybe he should start hiring himself out to greenhorns. Or maybe she had one hell of an eye. That or it’d been beginner’s luck. “That’s good. Really good,” he forced himself to say. He took the gun, ejected the empty shells and reloaded it for her, noting her rapt expression as she watched. “There are six jars left standing,” he said, and pointed that way with the Colt. “Have at them.”

But he had eyes only for her as he heard one after another shatter. He finally looked at the fence and blinked. The fence was clear. Damn, but that’s enough to give a gunfighter a wet dream.

She sighed loudly and relaxed her tense shoulders. “At least if they do come, I can defend myself. You won’t have to worry about me.”

And that naive statement had him thumping back to earth double quick. How could she not know that was impossible?

* * *

Helena watched as confusion shadowed Brendan’s emerald eyes for a moment. Then he pressed his lips into a hard line. What had she done wrong now?

“Now there’s a load off my mind,” he all but snarled. “You can practice with a revolver on your own. Just warn the rest of us before you start.” He took the gunpowder-stained Colt and spun it into the holster on his right hip. “You do have one, don’t you?”

She looked at the gun, which had gone back where it had come from as quickly as it had appeared, and nodded. She’d bought one. Now she knew what to do with it. “Thank you,” she told him, bent on ignoring his shifting moods. But really, what had she done now?

“The lesson isn’t over,” he told her. “A Colt is a good weapon, but it’s a close-in weapon. Let’s give the Winchester a try.”

She looked at it, figuring it must weigh what she did. “But it’s so big.”

“No bigger than that shotgun you greeted me with. And it’ll blow a big hole in an attacker before he gets to your porch, and you’ll still have nine rounds to chamber, instead of two with the shotgun. I’d prefer it if you could defend yourself from a bit of a distance, havin’ ten full shots at the ready.”

She stared at him. He was so different from the man she’d married, yet still the same. She didn’t know why, but she had to know how much had changed. Could he finally see who she really was?

“Brendan, where have you been? Abby cagily mentioned whenever she got a letter, and let what you were up to drift into our conversations. But then I think the letters stopped coming, because she stopped doing so.”

He raised his left eyebrow, then nodded. “That’s a fair question, I suppose.” Still, he seemed a bit hesitant as he said, “I spent the last year or so before I came back here posin’ as a gun for hire in and around Corpus Christi. In doin’ that I managed to infiltrate and shut down a gang of outlaws who’d been terrorizin’ the residents in that part of the state. The Lyons gang, they were called. They’d eluded the law for four years before the major put me on their tails. I wired where they’d be on a certain day. Now all but three are in Huntsville Prison. The others are six feet under. They resisted arrest. The hit-and-run tactics Lyons used reminded the major of the raiders here.”

Helena tilted her head. “But they aren’t the same men—they’re in prison, right? And these are Indians. Ghost Warriors.”

“There’s a big difference between what went on down in Corpus Christi and the trouble here. Here they’re killin’ indiscriminately. Lyons was a former Confederate officer. He kept his men in check. They robbed indiscriminately, but never killed a soul. Nor did they steal horses, which is why they’re in prison and didn’t swing from a rope.”

“And you’re here because Sheriff Quinn wired for help.”

He shrugged. “Major Jones called me in and told me about these raids that started while I was...gone...and that Quinn had requested help. I have family here, so I came, but because of that I couldn’t come here posin’ as a gun for hire.”

She didn’t know why she wanted to know all this, but she did. There was an ache in her chest and she needed to understand what these last years had been about for him. “Why the rangers? It’s not what you said you wanted in the West.”

“Because of what your guardian tried to do to me.”

She frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Franklin Gowery lied to the law. They were going to arrest you because he did. You were completely innocent.”

Brendan stared at her, his green eyes narrowed and showing anger. “Why the rangers? Simple. I believe no one. I find out what needs to be discovered. I make sure what’s said is true before I put a man in shackles. I work for real justice, not some jumped-up little potentate who thinks his money gives him leave to wield power over those with no voice.”

Helena straightened her spine and planted her hands on her hips. She’d thought he felt as drawn to her as she was to him when he’d been showing her how to fire the Colt. She was such a fool! The lesson had only been about putting her fate in her own hands again. Nothing more. So once the Winchester lesson was over she’d be on her own.

And he’d once again lumped her in with Franklin Gowery and those like him. “You have a bad habit, Ranger Kane,” she snapped, her fury making his look like a child’s temper tantrum. “You forget facts at will and you judge others unfairly against your own narrow-minded yardstick of values. The poorer one is, the more noble, is that it? Sometimes the poorer the lazier, Brendan. And sometimes the lazier the more dishonest.”

She sniffed and took a step forward, poking a finger in the center of his chest. “You also seem to forget the months Joshua and I had to pretend to be engaged, so we could spy on Franklin Gowery and his Pinkerton cohorts. And you forget the night they would have put you in shackles. We risked our own freedom to spirit you out of town and save your life. And you forget the prison of a life Franklin was willing to force me into. Do you remember that period of time when all you did was stand by and watch, all but cheering him on? But that was just fine because, after all, I’m nothing but a filthy-rich heiress.”

Brendan stepped forward and reached out to her, but she knocked his hand aside, and with more strength than she knew she possessed, shoved him on his black-clad butt in the dirt. She didn’t even wait to see him land, just whirled and ran to the house. Then she tore open the side door, rushed inside and slammed and locked it. She pulled out the key for good measure, grasping it in a death grip.

She’d never let him in again.

Never.

Her breath stuttered in her chest and she wiped at her face. And stared at her wet hand. Tears! He’d made her cry. Again.

Damn him.