Mountain Wild (Harlequin Historical Series) (19 page)

“Just Boots, huh?”

Her crooked grin put a kick in his pulse. “You don’t spend two months with a pet and not get a little attached.”

“Sassy.” He grabbed her wrist before she could turn away and tugged her toward him.

Maggie gasped as she landed on Garret’s lap.

Her hands touched down on his warm chest as she collided against his bruised side. His eyes flinched.

“Garret, you’re going to—” The gentle glide of his fingers against her cheek stopped her protest.

“I’ve missed you, Maggie.”

The admission softened her heart, weakening her hold on a storm of emotions she’d been fighting to contain all morning. “You’ve had a hard few months.”

“I’ve had better. I’ve also had worse. Right now I feel damn lucky to be holding the prettiest woman in Wyoming.”

“You keep talking like that,” she said, unable to fight her smile, “and folks will start thinking
you’re
the crazy one.”

“You’re not crazy, sweetheart. Just cautious. Can’t say I blame you.”

His understanding sent a wellspring of emotion spilling across her conscience. She leaned in and brushed her lips lightly over his, careful not to hurt his bruised mouth. Garret’s hands slid up her back, holding her captive as he returned the gentle touch. The tip of his tongue skimmed the seam of her lips. Wanting his deep kiss, Maggie shivered, longing to kiss
him in the way he’d taught her…in a dream. She sighed against his mouth at the memory and her arms drew a little tighter around his neck. Garret answered by kissing her with greater intensity. She returned every rhythmic touch, all thought of restraint forgotten. He groaned, his arms locking around her.

Realizing she was all but devouring him, she jerked back. Garret’s tight embrace kept her on his lap.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” he said, staring at her mouth.

Her heart raced. Short of breath, she tried to draw air. “Neither was I.” She broke away from his hold and stood. “Drink your tea.”

“I’ve had a whole pot already,” he said.

She dropped into the chair across from him, still trying to get her heart rate under control. “The herbs are good for you.”

“I’m beginning to think passion is the best medicine,” he said, smiling behind the mug.

He needed rest, not passion. The first pot of tea had definitely relaxed him and eased his pain, but the second was guaranteed to knock him out.

“Is there more between you and Strafford than that scuffle I saw in town?”

The unexpected question sent a shot of steel up her spine. “Why would you ask that?
Is he the one who did this to you?
”

“I was referring to the wanted posters he had issued for your capture. A five-hundred-dollar dead-or-alive bounty is usually reserved for murderers and train robbers. Mayor Strafford seems anxious for your capture.”

“Mayor Strafford,” she said, her voice drenched in disgust. “Folks of Bitterroot Springs must be dumb, deaf and blind.”

“Strafford can put on a pretty good show and he’s been tossing money into their town. Being one of the newer ranchers in the area, he hasn’t accumulated as many enemies as some of the other larger cattle barons.”

“He’s new to this area but he’s not new to rustling. His cattle crew is too good at it to be new. Not that the rest of the ranchers are any better.”

“We’re not all ruthless thieves, you know?”

“You may be surprised by how many of you
are.
”

“I am shocked that you know so much about the local cattle trade.”

Maggie tensed, realizing she was revealing more than she should. “Just because I keep to myself doesn’t mean I can’t see what’s going on out here. I follow the rivers through the spring and summer, which means I’m frequently near homesteads. I’ve seen the herding done late at night when no man should be driving stock. Mostly on the east side and north through the canyons. I didn’t think you’d been having trouble.”

“These days everyone has trouble. We haven’t encountered more than small-time rustlers lookin’ to fatten their herd. I reckon they’re trying to make up for stock stolen to the east. I have a feelin’ the problem is bigger than skimming herds. When I paid my dues last fall there were quite a few surprised and unhappy bigwigs. There are those who’d prefer to monopolize the market.”

“Seems to me that those who have the most tend to want it all.”

Garret couldn’t argue. He was somewhat amazed and a whole lot impressed by her knowledge and observations. He rested an elbow on the table and noted the ache in his ribs had dimmed considerably, while the weight of his eyelids seemed to increase by the second. “So, your deal with Strafford—”

“I don’t have a deal with Strafford,” she protested, her biting tone telling him she harbored some serious animosity toward the man.

“That day in town was your only run-in with him?”

Her slender eyebrows pinched inward. “Why do you ask?”

Hell.
She didn’t evade questions unless she had something
to hide, and he didn’t doubt that learning Strafford had sent his hired guns to his ranch to find her would set off the temper he saw brewing behind her angry blue eyes.

“Honey, those wanted posters are a real threat. The men who jumped me mentioned ’em.”

Her blue eyes flared.

“They said they’d spotted you with Boots.”

Worry replaced the anger in her expression. “Garret, did they—”

“They also told me to stay out of the stockyard next month. They’d have to beat me a damn sight harder to make that happen.” He blinked against a sudden increase of weight in his eyelids. He felt awfully damn relaxed—too relaxed given their topic of conversation. His gaze fell to the empty mug in his hands.

She wouldn’t.

He looked up. Maggie held his gaze from across the table.

“Maggie? What’d you put in that tea?”

Her sly grin confirmed his suspicion. “A few herbs to help you feel better and a bit of honey.”

“You
drugged
me.”

“I did.” Smiling, she plucked the empty mug from his hand. “You’re hurting and you’re stubborn. The madweed will help you rest easily. And unlike the whiskey, you won’t wake with a headache.”

He blinked several times, but the weight of his eyelids only increased. “You planning to sneak off while I’m passed out?”

“I’ll stay until tomorrow.”

Garret breathed a silent sigh of relief.

She walked around the table. “Let’s get you up to your room before you fall on your busted face.”

“Don’t try to cushion my pride, now,” he said, rising from the chair, sleep descending on him like a coastal fog.

Maggie pressed against his side. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You can be a harsh woman, Magpie.”

“They don’t call me Mad Mag because of my needlework.”

Garret laughed, and hugged her close, not caring what name she went by, so long as she wasn’t rushing off before he was able to look out for her. He’d find a way to keep her safe until he took care of Strafford.

A serenade of crickets echoed into the house as Garret poured himself a cup of strong coffee. He took a deep drink, the thick brew coating his tongue like tree bark and settling in his gut like warm mud.

“Perfect.” He downed the cup, warding off any lasting effects of Maggie’s
medicinal
tea. He was well rested after his herb-induced nap. He’d made sure Maggie napped right along beside him and he hadn’t minded her serving his supper in bed, so long as she settled in with him.

He refilled the mug and started for the back door, knowing his nursemaid would be preoccupied for a good long while. He smiled at the thought of her slackened expression as he led her into the bathroom where a water-filled porcelain tub waited for her. He’d taken care to lay out one of the embroidered nightdresses he’d found in a bundle by the back door. His offer to stay and scrub her back answered with a glare, he’d left her alone. He’d bathed while she slept and felt like a new man after the long, hot soak.

He stepped into the cool evening air and shuffled down the back stoop. Following the racket of voices and guitar strumming, he headed for the bunkhouse. A full moon overhead dimmed the twinkling stars in the black sky. Movement near the corrals caught his attention.

Everett’s brown hair stood out in the soft light, his bony shoulders silhouetted against a night sky. He sat on the fence, staring into the corral holding Maggie’s horse.

“Everett?”

He turned. “You’re up!” He jumped down and rushed over. “How are you feelin’?”

“Little worse for wear, but otherwise fine.” Now that he could hold his eyes open for more than five minutes. “What are you doin’ out here?”

“Nothin’,” he said, his expression glum. “I counted the branding irons like you told me to and we’re short one. Do you think the raiders took it?”

“Yeah,” he said, taking a drink of coffee to wash down the sense of dread welling in his stomach. “I do.”

“Clint wanted to talk to you about it this mornin’ but Miss Maggie wouldn’t let ’im.”

“She wouldn’t let him?”

“She said we’d have to wait ’cause she wouldn’t wake you. She also said anyone who didn’t knock on the back door before comin’ in might not be walkin’ back out.”

Garret grinned, not doubting she’d told them just that. He hadn’t thought about his crew clamoring in the back door as they usually did, and likely causing her a bit of fright. She’d never admit to it, but he knew it was fear that kept her wary. She’d likely instilled some in his crew of cowpunchers.

“She sure don’t like me none,” Everett said. “I only did what you told me to. If I knew they was—”

“You did the right thing, Everett. You brought help, just like I told you to.”

“I’d have stayed and fought ’em with you,” he insisted, his hands fisting at his sides.

“I know you would have, but it’s just as well you didn’t. Have the fellas been giving you a hard time?”

“No.”

“You can bet they would if they thought you’d neglected your duty.”

The kid shoved his hands into his pockets, seeming to ponder that thought.

“Come on,” Garret said, nudging him toward the longhouse. “Anyone ride out today?”

“Nope. Clint thought it best to stay close. We all found work on the ranch. Mitch and I finished the roof.”

“Mitch is here?”

“Yeah. Two others from the Morgan ranch stayed on to help out.”

Garret shuffled up the steps and was reminded of the sorry state of his ribs with each stride. He opened the door to a smoky room and a hum of guitar strumming and conversation. Jesse sat in his bunk on the far wall, strumming the chords to one of his cowboy ballads while Kuhana played poker at one of the long tables with Chavez and the two men from Morgan’s ranch. Clint and a few others sat in the cushioned chairs spaced around the fireplace in the corner. He was talking to Mitch who lay on the floor before the fire. Boots was beside him on the rug, busily chewing on a bone.

“Evenin’,” he said as he ventured farther into the lantern light.

Heads turned, eyes flinching as they looked in his direction.

“Damn,” Kuhana said, tossing his hand of cards onto the table as he stood. The others followed suit with a combination of swearing and greetings.

Boots abandoned his bone and ambled toward him, favoring his front paw.

“’Bout time you showed your ugly mug,” Clint said, his long frame unfolding from the chair.

“Looks worse than it is,” he said, stopping to greet Boots. “My nephew Josh could have put up a better fight.” He knelt down to inspect the patch of matted hair on his dog. “Boots and I were holding our own until one of those sorry cowards shot him.”

“Get over here and take a load off,” said Clint.

Pleased to find his dog on the mend, he continued toward the fire and eased into the chair Clint offered. “Thanks.”

“Smoke?”

He glanced at the roll of white in Clint’s fingers and recalled Maggie’s reaction to the scent of tobacco when she’d entered the bunkhouse the day before.

“Nah.”

“Figured your mountain woman still had you tied to the bed.” Mitch grinned as low laughter rumbled from the men gathering around them.

Garret tensed, his hands curling into fists.

“For
doctoring,
” he clarified. “I’ve got more sense than to make rude remarks about a woman with enough starch to stand the sight of you.”

“She really Mad Mag?” Chavez asked, pulling up a chair.

His gaze moved from the cowhand’s coffee-shade eyes to the dozen curious expressions fixed on him. Their curiosity reminded him of what it was costing Maggie to be here, the kind of exposure she’d avoided for years.

“Yeah. Her name’s Maggie. Everett said she kept you out of the house this morning.”

“Hell, we thought to come check on you,” said Clint. “Yer little woman wouldn’t have it and looked ready to skin anyone who thought to oppose her demands.”

“You all appear to be unharmed,” he mused.

“We not stupid,” said Kuhana. “Do you know who jumped you?”

“We been trying to figure out why they would beat the hell out of you and not bother the herds,” said Clint.

“I think they’re more interested in controlling the stockyard than stealing my cattle.”

“If they got your brand,” said Mitch, “they’re likely interested in hangin’ you.”

“Even if they managed to get me in a noose, my ranch goes to my sister, so what would they gain? This is about more than cattle. Mitch, can you ride back to the ranch in the morning and see if Tucker’s been able to reach my attorney?”

Kuhana grunted. “You tell us which rancher, we go take care of it.”

Flushing out the mayor of Bitterroot Springs wasn’t going to be so simple.

“We’re going to take care of him,” Garret assured him. “But first I want to know exactly who I’m dealing with.”

The familiar sweet scent of wildflowers was a welcomed and arousing distraction as Garret stepped in through the back door. Maggie stood before the warm stove towel-drying her hair. Instead of wearing the embroidered nightdress he’d set out, she wore a plain ivory shirt tucked into light buckskin britches with fringe running down the legs where it disappeared into the tall shaft of her moccasins.