Читать книгу Claiming the Cowboy's Heart - Linda Ford - Страница 9

Chapter One

Eden Valley Ranch, Alberta, Canada

August 1882

“I didn’t expect it to be so heavy.” Jayne Gardiner held the pistol between her fingers. She couldn’t bear the cold feeling of the stock against her palm. Her hand trembled and the shiny steel barrel winked in the sun like an evil tormentor. Panic clawed up her throat like threatening flood waters. She struggled to push it back. She knew firsthand the destructive power of a gun.

She stiffened her spine. Fear would not be allowed to rule her life. She would learn to defend herself and those she cared about. She’d be ready to take action if ever another life-or-death situation arose.

Behind her, her friend Mercy laughed. “It won’t bite.” But then, Mercy lived for adventure. That’s why she’d accompanied them on this trip west. As if ready for an escapade, she wore suede riding pants that she’d purchased before they left Fort Benton on their journey to western Canada and the Eden Valley Ranch, and her mahogany hair was pulled back in a braid.

Beside her, Sybil twisted her hands in the fabric of her fashionable pinstripe blue walking skirt. She completed the trio that recently arrived from England. More reserved like Jayne, she wanted to come on this visit to Canada to get over her parents’ deaths.

Jayne had come to visit her brother, Eddie—owner and operator of the Eden Valley Ranch—and his wife, Linette, though some might think she’d come to put the past out of her mind. She tightened her lips. People who thought that would be wrong. She didn’t intend to forget the lessons her past had taught her.

Sybil shuddered, causing the golden curls that had escaped the elegant roll to bounce around her shoulders. Modern wisdom said a woman with curly hair would be of gentle temperament. Sybil lived up to the expectation. “I hate guns.”

Jayne sucked back an echoing shudder. Her brown hair was thick and straight, supposedly indicating a strong-willed woman. So far, she’d proven the statement false but she meant to change that starting now. “I hate what guns do but I want to learn to shoot one.” She studied the target placed about fifty feet away.

The young women were in a grove of trees that sheltered them from the wind and provided slices of shade depending on the position of the sun. They were far enough from the ranch buildings to not alarm Eddie, Linette, or any of the other caring people there who saw no need for Jayne to learn to shoot a gun. Eddie had said it wouldn’t serve any purpose. It wouldn’t bring Oliver back. And, he’d carefully pointed out, there were plenty of cowboys around the place should it be necessary to shoot a gun. What’s more, he’d said with utmost conviction, he didn’t think such an occasion would likely occur.

Jayne had tipped her chin and vowed she’d learn with or without Eddie’s help. It wasn’t some foolish notion of undoing the past. She would not allow herself to ever again feel as helpless as she did on that horrible day. The events had been burned permanently into her brain.

The day she had in mind had been sunny and warm after days of damp sky. Her fiancé, Oliver Spencer, had suggested spending the afternoon together instead of abandoning her to her own amusements while he pursued his as so often happened. On several occasions, she’d objected mildly to the amount of time Oliver spent in gambling establishments. The promise of some quality time together, just the two of them, had caused her to laugh at his jokes, though, as usual, she failed to understand them. He must have thought her so innocent.

They’d been walking side by side along a street lined with shops inviting their business. She had glanced in one window and noticed a beautiful display of lace gloves and thought of purchasing a pair, but she hadn’t suggested a stop because she and Oliver were discussing the future. She didn’t want to distract him.

“We’ll live in the house with Mother and Father. There’s more than enough room. No need to own another house.”

Did he mean she would go from being under her parents’ direct supervision to being under his parents’? She wanted to be a woman with her own home. Of course, it made sense to start with. “Will we get our own home when we have children?” A hot blush had flooded her body at the intimate topic.

Before Oliver could answer, a man had jumped from an alley brandishing a gun and demanded Oliver give him everything.

Jayne had shrunk back into the recessed doorway of the building beside them and watched as Oliver emptied his pockets of quite a lot of cash.

“It’s all I have,” he’d said, his voice hard with anger.

The thief had jammed the money into his pocket. “You know that’s not all I want.” He’d waved the pistol. “Where’s the key?”

Jayne had glanced about, hoping for rescue but no one turned down the street toward them. No one noticed the robbery.

“I want it back,” the robber had growled.

Jayne had swallowed hard. People passed at the intersection a few yards away. She tried to call for help but her voice failed her.

Oliver had continued to say he had nothing more. He’d even turned his pockets out.

“Where is it? I can’t prove it but I know you cheated. You took everything I have.” The thief had lurched toward Oliver.

She’d never seen Oliver move so quickly. His arm slashed across the man’s wrist. The pistol dropped to the cobblestones and he’d kicked it toward Jayne.

“Pick it up. Shoot him,” Oliver had ordered as he and the thief tussled.

Jayne had stared at the gun just two feet away but she couldn’t move. She’d never touched a gun, let alone shot one. She didn’t even know how.

Oliver’s head had hit the ground with a thud and he’d lain stunned.

The thief had grabbed the pistol. A metallic click had rung through Jayne’s racing thoughts.

“Get up,” the thief had ordered.

Oliver had staggered to his feet.

“I’m done playing around. You know what I want. Give it to me.”

Oliver had swayed.

Someone from the nearby intersection had called out. “He’s got a gun.”

Then everything had happened so fast Jayne couldn’t say what came first. A shot had rung out. Oliver had pitched to the pavement. The thief had raced down the alley. A crowd had surrounded them.

Jayne had hovered in the doorway, too frightened to move while blood pooled around Oliver. Someone had leaned over him. A man had looked up, seen her and waved her forward. Her legs numb, her heart beating erratically, she’d managed to make the few steps and knelt at Oliver’s side. “You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.” She hadn’t believed the words she’d uttered.

He’d caught her hand. He’d struggled to speak past the gurgling in his throat. Something about gambling and winning from the man who had shot him. Then his words ended in a gasp. Gentle hands had pried her away. Someone had taken her home.

For days she’d sat in a straight-backed chair beside the cold fireplace and replayed the scene in her mind. The skin on her face had grown taut every time she’d come to the spot where Oliver had kicked the gun toward her. Fear as deep as the English Channel had shaken her insides. Oliver was dead because she hadn’t been able to act. Hadn’t known what to do with the gun that lay so close to her. All over some gambling money. The world had gone crazy.

One day Bess, her quiet younger sister, had pulled a chair to Jayne’s knees and taken her hands. “Jayne, I have always admired you for your determination and sensibleness. It amazes me you sit here day after day. I beg you to get up and start living again.”

Jayne had looked into Bess’s sweet face and made a decision. She would not be defeated by this event. With God’s help she’d use it to grow stronger. She’d pushed to her feet and hugged her sister. “Bess, you are right. Never again will I feel so helpless. So useless.”

Bess’s smile had widened with relief then faltered at the conviction in Jayne’s voice. “What are you going to do?”

She had no firm plan at the moment. “I’ll tell you what I’m not going to do. I’m not going to be a helpless woman.”

That conviction had carried her away from home and across the North American continent to a new, inviting country.

Now she lifted her arm and looked at her two friends in the grove of trees. “I will learn to shoot.”

Mercy steadied Jayne’s hand. “Hold it like this. Brace with your other hand. Look down the barrel to the target.” She guided Jayne into position then stepped back.

Jayne’s arms lowered until the gun pointed at the ground. “If I hadn’t been so scared of guns I might have grabbed the one Oliver kicked toward me. He might still be alive.”

“Exactly,” Mercy said.

“Or you might both be dead.” Sybil covered her face with her hands as if she couldn’t bear the thought.

Jayne wished she could as easily block the sight of Oliver’s death from her mind, but it wasn’t possible. Any more than it was possible to forget she was twenty-one, no longer planning a wedding, and not ever wanting to think of such things again. Oliver had taught her that life was too fragile to make dream-filled plans.

“You don’t want it happening again,” Mercy insisted.

Jayne cringed. “I don’t have another fiancé, you know.”

Mercy laughed. “Not yet, you mean.”

“Not ever.” Oh, she’d likely marry. Everyone did. But nothing on earth would convince her to again open her heart to such fear and pain and disappointment. Any more than she would ever again let herself become so weak and dependent on others. Though she’d only begun the journey toward living strong and free. “But you’re right about needing to learn to protect myself.” And people she cared about. Never again would she stand by, shaking in fear, while someone died. “I can do this.”

Mercy repeated her instructions on how to hold the gun, aim it and fire it.

Sybil crossed her arms and looked like she’d sooner be anywhere but there. “How do you know all this?” she asked Mercy.

“I sweet-talked one of the cowboys in Fort Benton to teach me.”

Jayne and Sybil looked at each other and shook their heads in unison. Mercy was notorious for sweet-talking men into doing favors for her.

Mercy saw their exchanged glances and simply laughed. “Jayne, pay attention. Aim, squeeze and fire.”

Jayne lifted the gun, steadied it as she squinted down the barrel toward the target. She closed her eyes and squeezed. The gun jerked upward, the noise of the shot making her squeal.

Mercy gasped. “You’re supposed to keep your eyes open and focused on the target.”

“Hi yii.” A yell came from a distant spot.

Jayne eased open one eye. Through the trees she saw a man leaning low over the neck of his horse as he raced away. Her heart clambered up her throat and stuck there like an unwelcome intruder. “Did I shoot him?” Her voice barely croaked out the words.

Sybil fell back three steps. “He might be after us. We better get back to the ranch.”

Jayne shook her head. “First, we have to check and make sure I didn’t injure him.” Her stomach turned over and refused to settle. “All I wanted to do was be ready to defend us against bad people. But if I’ve hurt someone instead—” The blood drained to her feet, leaving her ready to collapse in a boneless puddle. Much like it had when Oliver was shot. So much blood. Such a dark stain.

Tremors raced up and down her spine. Cold as deep as the worst winter day gripped her insides.

Mercy wrapped an arm about her waist. “I’m sure you only frightened him and he decided to get out of range of your deadly aim.” She laughed like it was no more than a silly joke.

“We need to check.” Jayne lifted the hem of her black taffeta walking skirt with its stylish Edwardian hoop underskirt and forced her milky legs to take one step forward and then another. Mercy marched at her side. Sybil hung back then, realizing she would be alone, rushed after them.

They passed the untouched target, pushed through some low bushes, wended between tall poplars with their leaves fluttering noisily in the breeze. The wooded area gave way to a grassy slope with a faint trail skirting boulders. Allowing her legs no mercy, she hurried to the trail and bent over, looking for clues.

She stopped at a round rock that could serve as a seat if they’d been inclined to sit and enjoy the view. A dark, wet streak dripped down the side of the rock. Her heart beat a frantic tattoo against her ribs. “Look. Isn’t that blood?”

The others joined her. Mercy touched the spot and lifted a stained finger. “Fresh blood.” She wiped her finger clean on a bit of grass.

Jayne’s eyes felt as if they might fall from their sockets. “I shot someone.” She straightened and stared in the direction the rider had gone. “What if—” Would she find a body down the trail?

Mercy grabbed her hand. “It was an accident.”

“Explain that to the man I shot.” She pulled Mercy after her and signaled Sybil to follow. “I have to see if he’s on the trail.”

“Dead, you mean?” Mercy said, putting Jayne’s fears out in the open.

“I knew this was a bad idea.” Sybil’s voice was high and thin. “Let’s go back and tell Eddie. He can look for the man.”

That sent resolve into Jayne’s insides. Her brother wouldn’t always be around to rescue her. Besides, he would be angry that she had ignored his directive to forget about learning to shoot. She squared her shoulders. “I don’t need Eddie to clean up after me.” She marched down the trail. But her courage faded with every step. Dark spots, some rather large, dotted the dirt. Once she touched a stain and lifted a damp finger.

“More blood,” Sybil moaned. “Lots of it.”

Jayne tried unsuccessfully to block the memory of blood pooling around Oliver’s body. So much blood. Sybil had no idea.

They passed between two table-size boulders and turned by a stand of thick pine trees whose distinctive scent filled the air. The majestic Rocky Mountains rose to her right. Such wild country. Open and free. Had she spoiled it for some poor, unsuspecting man?

She could see down the trail until it turned and disappeared. No rider. No limp body stretched out in the grass. “Guess he wasn’t injured too badly.” Please, God, let it be true.

Mercy chuckled. “If we hear of some cowboy dying mysteriously on the trail, shot by an unseen assailant, we’ll know who is responsible.”

“Mercy,” Sybil chided. “Show a little compassion.”

But Mercy only laughed. “Jayne knows I’m only teasing, don’t you? It’s probably only a graze. No more than a splinter to a man who lives in this country.”

Jayne’s tension relieved by the absence of a body, she tucked her arm through Mercy’s and pulled Sybil closer. “All’s well that ends well. Now let’s go back to the ranch and see if Linette needs some help.” Her sister-in-law was efficiency on two legs even though she expected a baby in four months.

Sybil glanced over her shoulder. “I pray that whomever you shot won’t be bleeding to death somewhere.”

At the teasing, Jayne faltered. “Maybe I should ask Eddie to ride out and check the trail.”

Mercy urged her onward. “Like I said, it’s likely only a flesh wound. If the man needs help he will seek it.”

Jayne nodded. The words should reassure her but they fell short of doing so. She couldn’t get the sight of a large pool of blood out of her mind. The last thing she needed was another death on her conscience.

* * *

Who was shooting at him?

Twenty-four-year-old Seth Collins bent low over his horse’s neck as they pounded down the trail. One minute he was sitting on a rock, enjoying a pleasant moment as he drank from his canteen and ate a couple of dry biscuits. The next, a shot rang out and pain gouged his right leg. It took two seconds and the sight of blood soaking his trousers for him to realize what happened. Then his only thought had been escape.

He glanced over his shoulder. Saw no sign of pursuit.

Why would anyone shoot him? He was just an ordinary, poor cowboy. Except for the wad of cash he carried. Had someone followed him? He’d joined the cattle drive north from Fort Benton to a ranch in western Canada for only one reason—to earn enough money to pay the special caregiver the doctor had recommended for Pa. A man with knowledge of how to manipulate paralyzed limbs. The doctor spoke highly of Crawford, saying he’d seen great success with other stroke patients. Some, he said, had even learned to walk again.

Now he had to get the money to Montana. If he didn’t, what would happen to his pa? Crawford had committed to staying three months. If he couldn’t help Pa in that time he wouldn’t continue on because he’d found he couldn’t do anything more after that. Seth had written the man saying he’d been delayed and would be there as soon as possible with the man’s wages. Crawford’s response had been terse. “I have others interested in my services. Please return immediately.” Seth had written again. “Please stay until I get there. I’ll be home in a week and I’ll pay you extra.” But he had no assurances Crawford wouldn’t leave and Pa would suffer. Pa was all Seth had left and he meant to get home and take care of him.

He spared a glance at his leg. His buff-colored trouser leg was dark and sticky with blood, which dripped from the heel of his boot. He would need to stop soon and tend to the wound.

And hide his money so those who shot at him wouldn’t discover it.

He rode on at the same frantic pace for fifteen minutes then pulled to a stop on a knoll that allowed him a good view of the back trail. After watching a little while he decided he had outrun the shooter. Or shooters. He reined into a grove of trees that provided a bit of cover yet allowed him to keep watch for anyone following him. As he swung off his horse, his leg buckled under him. What kind of damage had the shot done?

Knowing he had to stop the blood flow, he yanked the neckerchief from his neck and tied it around his thigh. He needed something to tighten it so he hobbled toward the nearest tree, biting back a groan at the pain snaking up his leg and wrapping around his entire body. He broke off a finger-thick branch then plopped, as much as sat, on the ground, stuck the length of wood between his leg and the neckerchief and twisted until the blood stopped. Resting his back against a tree trunk, he held the tourniquet tight and considered his plight.

The wad of money was his major concern. Seemed someone had discovered he carried four months’ worth of wages in his pocket and decided to lighten his load. He stared at his feet, trying to decide what to do. Hard to hide anything on the horse. He had his saddlebags, but that was the first place a thief would look after searching Seth’s person. No hiding a secret pocket in his ruined trousers. He continued to stare at his feet. Hadn’t he once heard of a man who hollowed out the heels of his boots to hide something?

He didn’t fancy trying to pry a boot off his right leg. Figured it might start bleeding again. For sure, it would increase the pain that even now hammered against the inside of his skull. Ignoring the protest from his injured leg, he used it to pry off his left boot then took his knife from his pocket and set to work. He glanced down the trail every few minutes to make sure he wasn’t being pursued.

By the time he’d worked the heel off and dug a hollow in it, his head had grown wobbly. He brushed at his eyes to clear his vision. Then he rolled his money into a tight wad and wedged it into the hole he’d made.

Now to put the heel back on. He found a rock the size of his fist to use as a hammer. Getting the heel on proved harder than removing it but after ten minutes he decided it would do. Had his foot swollen? Must have because he could hardly pull the boot back on.

His head seemed full of air. He swiped his eyes again. Tired. So tired. He shouldn’t have pushed so hard the past two days. Now he was paying for it. He’d rest before he moved on. Just a few minutes.

* * *

“Mister, wake up.”

Seth squinted against the blare of light assaulting his eyes. Awareness of his surroundings came slowly, reluctantly. First, pain. Then thirst. Then the persistent questions of the man kneeling at his side.

How long had he been lying on the ground? Asleep? Unconscious? Either way, he’d wasted precious time. He tried to sit up but the world spun and he decided against the idea. “Who are you?” he managed to croak.

“Eddie Gardiner. Who are you?”

Gardiner? The name seemed familiar but Seth couldn’t place it. “Water,” he croaked.

The man held a canteen to Seth’s lips and he drank greedily before he gave his name. “Seth Collins.”

“Let’s get you on your horse. I’ll take you where you can get help for that leg.”

Seth wanted to argue. Needed to. He had to get to his pa. But his leg hurt like twelve kinds of torture. A little tending wouldn’t go amiss so he let Eddie Gardiner push him onto his horse and lead him away.

He clung to the saddle, which took far more effort than he would normally exert. He managed to tell Eddie about someone shooting him. “Didn’t see them.”

They approached a ranch. A pretty place with a big house on a hill overlooking the outbuildings. Among the structures below the house were a couple of two-story buildings, a cluster of red shacks all alike, a log cabin and a barn. All laid out nice and neat. A bridge spanned a river on one side, leading to more pens and small buildings beyond.

They approached the big house. “This is where I live,” Eddie said. “You’ll get help here.”

Seth managed to swing himself off his horse but didn’t protest when Eddie grabbed his arm and steadied him.

A young woman opened the door.

Seth’s vision was clouded with pain but he was alive enough to note the brown eyes that seemed to smile even when her mouth didn’t, a thick braid of rich brown hair coiled at the back of her head and a flawless complexion. Peaches and cream, his ma used to say.

“This man is injured. He needs our help.”

Someone shoved a chair under him and he sat. Several women clustered around him.

Eddie answered their questions. “His name is Seth Collins. He’s been shot. I found him a few miles to the south.” He gave a wave in that direction. “He didn’t see who did it.”

One of the women addressed Seth. “You’re welcome here. My name is Mrs. Gardiner. This is my sister-in-law, Jayne Gardiner.” She indicated the young woman who had answered the door. Again, the Gardiner name seemed familiar but his brain couldn’t find any more information.

“These are her friends, Mercy Newell and Sybil Bannerman.”

He noted Mercy had reddish-brown hair and brown eyes. Sybil was a pretty thing with blue eyes and blond curls. He hadn’t seen any white women in days and now he was surrounded by them. And him in such a sorry state.

“I wish the circumstances of your visit were different,” Mrs. Gardiner said.

The other three women had been whispering together and now Miss Jayne Gardiner cleared her throat. “I think I might have been the one who shot you.”

Seth stared at this sweet, young thing. His mind couldn’t make sense of her confession. “Why would you shoot me?” How would she know about the money he carried? He pushed aside the remnants of his fatigue. Refused to acknowledge it was pain that clouded his mind. Had someone at the ranch heard he’d collected his wages and ridden south? Were they all in this together?

“It was an accident. I wanted—” she swallowed hard “—I wanted to learn how to shoot a gun so I could protect myself and the ones I care about.”

Eddie jammed his fists on his hips. “I warned you about messing around with guns. I told you to leave them alone. Now do you see why?” He glowered at his sister.

Jayne tipped her chin up and faced her brother. “I must learn how to defend myself. I refuse to be a helpless female.”

Eddie sputtered but before he could get out a word, his wife intervened. “Let’s get this man upstairs so I can look at his wound.”

Jayne brought her attention back to Seth. “It’s my fault. I’ll take care of him.”

Mrs. Gardiner made a protesting sound that ended abruptly. “That would be fine.”

Eddie helped Seth regain his feet and steered him up the stairs that swept to the second story. At the top, he turned them right and into the first bedroom. Seth settled himself on the edge of the bed.

For the first time he gave his leg a good, hard study. It throbbed clear to the top of his head. His trousers were blood-and dirt-caked. He didn’t anticipate the skin beneath looked any prettier.

Mrs. Gardiner and Jayne had followed into the room.

“Eddie, he’ll need to remove those trousers so we can get at the wound,” Mrs. Gardiner said.

“Not my pants.” Seth’s protest sounded weak and he clamped his teeth together. Weakness was not something he cared to reveal.

“We’ll wait outside until you’re decent,” Mrs. Gardiner said as the ladies left the room. He heard them murmur in the hallway, Mrs. Gardiner asking Miss Jayne about the shooting.

Eddie knelt at Seth’s feet. “I’ll help you with your boots and pants.” He tugged at a boot.

Seth would have protested but had to bite back a groan. Cold sweat beaded his forehead.

“Can’t you simply roll up my pant leg?” Seth asked through his clenched teeth.

“Seems to me you’d welcome a clean outfit. Do you have another pair in your saddlebags?”

He grunted in the affirmative.

“I’ll get them later. First, let’s get you cleaned up.” Eddie helped remove the second boot and the soiled trousers then eased Seth to the bed and covered him with a sheet, but not before Seth saw the dirty, bloody wound.

“I’ll send the ladies in to tend that.” Eddie piled Seth’s boots and pants beside the door. Good. So long as the boots were where he could see them.

Jayne and Mrs. Gardiner again entered the room, Jayne carrying a basin of water.

He closed his eyes knowing he must endure having the wound cleansed. Ironic that it was at the hands of the same woman who had inflicted it.

Mrs. Gardiner eased back the sheet to expose his leg. “This doesn’t look good.”

Seth nodded. “I saw it.”

“It’s very dirty.” She shifted her gaze to Jayne. “When did you shoot him?”

She swallowed hard. “It was yesterday.”

Yesterday? He hadn’t realized he’d slept through the night. The urgency of his task struck him. He could not afford this delay. He half sat then fell back. Wouldn’t hurt none to have the wound cleaned up before he moved on.

Jayne pressed to Mrs. Gardiner’s side. She gasped as she saw the wound. She looked at Seth, her eyes wide as she met his gaze. Whether he saw distress, regret or something else entirely, he couldn’t hazard a guess.

“It was unintentional.” She sounded so defensive that in spite of his pain and the awkwardness of being flat on his back with two women in the room, he grinned.

“Seems you should have tended it a little sooner,” Mrs. Gardiner offered.

“Got someplace to be.” Again urgency gripped his innards. The last letter from the caregiver, that one Seth picked up a few days ago at the ranch headquarters, had been dated three weeks ago and gave little information to ease Seth’s concern about Pa’s well-being. Expecting you soon with necessary wages. Job here done.

How could a man give so little assurance in his few words? Seth needed to get to Pa before Crawford left. Might be he was already gone. He’d signed up for three months and no more. If he wasn’t there, who would be looking after Pa? The uncertainty burned the inside of Seth’s stomach.

Mrs. Gardiner tsked.

“Is he going to be okay?” Jayne asked. Her eyes filled with concern. And well they might. She’d shot him.

“We’ll fix you as well as we can,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “But you’re going to have to be careful you don’t get an infection.” She turned to Jayne. “You can clean it up.” She gave instructions.

He closed his eyes to endure the pain that would surely come from having the wound tended.

At first her touch was tentative then it grew firm, more assured. She was gutsy. He’d give her that.

“Why is it so important for you to learn to shoot?” His voice sounded hoarse. He hoped they’d put it down to some strong virtue, not the pain that seemed to clutch every part of his body.

“I need to be able to defend myself and others if the need ever again arises.”

He lifted his eyelids. “Again?” He ignored the pain as he eased up on his elbows to watch her.

“You best lie still.” She pressed firm, damp hands to his shoulders. “Moving makes you bleed more.” Her face was so close to his he could see the porcelain purity of her skin, the dark streaks of brown in her irises and something more—the determination in her gaze. He was beginning to think she was a headstrong woman who gave little heed to the results of her actions. Just the sort of woman he normally gave a wide berth to. For now, though, he must submit to her ministrations.

He sank back on the pillow. “You’ve been involved in gunplay before?”

“Only as a spectator. I saw someone shot to death.” Her jaw muscles tightened. “And I did nothing to prevent it because I didn’t know what to do. Didn’t even know how to shoot a gun.” Her gaze had shifted to a distant place beyond the walls of this room. “That’s when I decided I would never again be a helpless, pampered woman.” She gave a decisive nod. “I will learn to shoot a gun and be ready and able to defend myself and those I care about.” Her voice rang with determination. “Nothing will stop me.”

Seth watched her warily. He knew the folly of insisting on doing foolish acts. Good thing he would be leaving here in a matter of hours. He wouldn’t be around to see the result of her decision. But pity poor Eddie Gardiner trying to keep a rein on his sister.

He hoped for both their sakes that the job wasn’t too much for the man.

If he had time to spare he might offer to help with the task simply to prevent a worse disaster than having her shoot some innocent passerby in the leg. But thankfully he didn’t have time. Because for a man like him who took his responsibilities seriously, this was the sort of woman who spelled a heap of trouble.