Mountain Wild (Harlequin Historical Series) (21 page)

“The father still around?”

“No.” He opened one of the folders and shuffled through a stack of papers. “Thomas Strafford died in an Indian raid back in seventy-five. Nathan Strafford returned home with a hunting party to find the rest of his family slaughtered. Here’s a newspaper clipping I found.”

Garret took the thin paper.

“With his family connections and knowing that Strafford recently brought in his own judge, I doubt it will do you any
justice to file charges in Bitterroot Springs. I suggest we file with the territorial governor.”

Garret’s gaze was drawn to a small family photo. A younger Strafford stood behind an older man sitting in a wing chair. A little girl in ribbons and a ruffled dress stood beside him, her hand on the arm of the chair tucked beneath her father’s palm. Even in the black-and-white photo, he could tell her hair was pure black and her eyes…
were Maggie’s.

His gaze skimmed down to find her name.
Margaret Grace Strafford, age thirteen.

“Damn.”

“What?” said Skylar, leaning toward him.

“It’s Maggie.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

Garret handed her the article.

“Who’s Maggie?” asked Patterson.

Garret’s mind drifted to the first day he’d met her in the alleyway, the shock on Strafford’s face just before she rammed her rifle into his gut…He’d recognized her. And she’d laid him out.

Why did you stop me? Gentle society would be a better place without him.

She’d meant to kill him. And Strafford seemed to be doing his damnedest to return the sentiment.

“Shouldn’t a man who’s discovered his little sister survived an Indian attack be trying to help her, instead of putting a bounty on her head?”

“What exactly are you saying, Mr. Daines?”

“His sister’s not dead. She’s in my kitchen.”

“There was a death certificate.”

“It’s not real.” Strafford was her
brother.
He’d asked her point-blank and she hadn’t told him!

Nothing worth mentioning. I know who he is, what he’s capable of.

“You think the attack on his family was staged?” asked Tucker.

“I don’t know. She’s never mentioned how her family died. She only told me that Ira saved her.”

“Perhaps you should bring her in here,” Patterson suggested.

He glanced at the three of them. “She’s not real fond of crowds. I’ll talk to her alone.”

“Does this change our plans?”

“No. I’m filing the charges for Duce’s murder.” He stood and started toward the door. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I need to talk to Maggie alone. Can you give me a day?”

“Certainly.” Patterson closed his case before he stood. “I need to prepare the paperwork. If there’s a hotel you can recommend—”

“You can stay at our place,” Skylar said.

“I’ll come by tomorrow and then we can finalize everything.”

“Perhaps you’d like Maggie to come and stay with us until all this is settled?” Skylar asked.

As much as he wanted to tuck Maggie away in a safe place, he knew full well her idea of safety didn’t include a ranch teeming with people. “I don’t know that I can even talk her into staying here.”

“Should I draw up any paperwork on Miss Strafford’s behalf.”

Miss Strafford.
“No. I can’t speak for Maggie.”

“If I could meet with her—”

“She wouldn’t talk to you.” He wasn’t at all sure how she’d take being confronted about her connection to Strafford. A man concerned about his sister’s safety wouldn’t be sending out mercenaries like those he’d met.

“I’ll talk to her. I don’t want her brought into my battle. I don’t want Strafford to know she’s here.” Not that she’d be here long after he started demanding answers.

He led them to the front door. “I really appreciate you coming,” he said, stopping at the end of the porch.

“Tomorrow evening then,” Patterson said, pulling on his hat as he strode to the barn.

Skylar looked back at him.

“My boots are on the back porch.”

Skylar glanced at his stocking-covered feet and smiled. She gave him a quick hug. “Tell Maggie I hope to see her again soon.”

“I will,” he said, appreciating his sister’s understanding. “Be sure to give Cora and Chance my congratulations. I’ll be by tomorrow for supper.”

Anxious to ask Maggie about her brother he made his way back through the house. She wasn’t in the kitchen where he’d left her. His gaze was drawn to a splash of color by the stove. The dish towel baring his brand hung from the handle. An array of colorful flowers surrounded the insignia he’d stitched. His gaze shot to the corner by the door where her supplies had been for the past two days.

The corner was empty.

He hurried out the back door and shoved his feet into his boots. The paddock that had held her horse was empty, too.

Everett rode in from the side yard and Garret waved him over.

“Did you see Maggie leave?”

“Yeah. She rode out near twenty minutes ago.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“She’s stayin’ in the house with you. I figured you knew. She came out with her gear and asked me to fetch her saddle. She packed up and rode out without sayin’ another word.”

She wasn’t going to leave without a word to him. “Give me your horse.”

“You sure you’re in shape enough to ride?”

“Now!”

Everett’s eyes widened and he stepped down from his saddle.

“She head south for the river?” he asked, gritting his teeth against the pain in his sides as he mounted.

“Nope. She rode east.”

Garret’s gaze moved across the miles of green hills to the east, dread turning his blood cold. Had she been listening outside the study?

Strafford’s place was nearly a full day’s ride—he’d catch up with her.

L
ike a swarm of bats dispersing into the darkness, Nathan’s cowhands rode out for another night of rustling. As Maggie waited for the thundering hooves of twenty horses to fade into the distance, her brother’s shadow moved past a lit window.

Anger surged hot through her blood. Crouched low near the house, she bid her time. The long ride to Circle S only served to fuel her rage as she remembered all he’d taken from her. Her family, her security. At the age of thirteen she’d been too naive to recognize the feeling of unease she felt in Nathan’s presence had been warning signs of danger.

Nathan had moved into these hills like a plague. Garret had already suffered for helping her. She’d stop Nathan before he could cause further harm. This was a score she should have settled last fall.

Turning her face to meet a cool evening breeze, Maggie drew in a deep, calming breath. Her black hair a decent camouflage against the night, she’d left her hat with Star. Surrounded by the chirping of evening insects and intermittent murmurs from a bunkhouse off in the distance, Maggie straightened.

Clutching her rifle, a long blade tucked into each boot, she moved around to the front of the house. She kept her gaze on lights cast from bunkhouses farther out on the property as she ascended the front steps of his brightly lit porch. Her rifle resting against her shoulder, she stepped in through the front door.

No one stirred in the darkened foyer. The quiet house smelled of tobacco and wood smoke. Light seeped from a room at the end of the corridor, a door left slightly ajar. Her moccasins silent on the long carpet runner, she walked to the doorway. She stepped through the narrow gap, her gaze sweeping the dark paneled room. A fire crackled to her left. His boots had been left by the hearth. The only other light came from a small sconce on the far wall. A lit cigar sat in an ashtray on his desk at the back of the room.

He’ll be back.

She glanced at a hutch to her right displaying an array of crystal cups and decanters as well as pretty plates of silver and gold. A white oval plate she remembered seeing in their parlor sat near the top, the center bearing three grapevines and the words
Sigillum Reipublicae Connecticutensis
inscribed around the outer edge.

Greed
was what drove her brother. Her father had been a wealthy man. Nathan had wanted him to stay in Connecticut. She recalled their frequent fights when Nathan would visit, her father shouting that Nathan had attended the best college, that he’d supplied him all the finances he’d requested of him—but Nathan wanted it all for himself. Of course he wouldn’t be satisfied with their father’s estate, he wanted all of Wyoming.

She walked around the mahogany desk, the scrolling across the front and ornately carved legs jarring her memory. Her father’s desk. She eased into the soft leather of Nathan’s chair. A standard desk, she surmised, that had once seemed so
massive to her young eyes. She leaned forward, placing her elbows on the polished wood, and leveled her aim on the door.

Fourteen years ago she’d been too young to stand up to Nathan. The world had been bending to his will for too long.

Footsteps approached, and Maggie’s pulse began to pound.

The door swung wide and Nathan walked in wearing a pair of silky black pajama bottoms, his bare chest covered by a thick matt of black hair. His gaze fixed in the direction of the fire, he didn’t see her as he walked to the chairs and lifted a glass decanter from a small table.

Maggie clicked back the hammer on her rifle. Nathan froze. His gaze shifted slowly toward her.

“Hello, Nathan.”

The bottle slipped from his grasp and crashed against the floor at his feet as Maggie stood, her aim steady.

“Margaret Grace.” His gaze moved to her rifle then back up, his throat working over what seemed to be a lump of fear in his throat. “This is…unexpected.”

“I hear you’ve been looking for me.”

“And here you are. You can’t really mean to shoot me. As you can see, I’m unarmed.” He held up his empty hands.

“I do mean to shoot you, Nathan,” she said, a tremble in her voice, yet her hands were steady. “I wasn’t armed the first time you tried to kill me. Perhaps you remember that day?”

Eyes as blue as her own narrowed with anger. “What do you know of that day, Margaret Grace. You were a child.”

“And yet you tried to kill me!”

“Father forced my hand!”

“He was dead!” she shouted back.

“I sent him to the one place he truly wanted to be—the heaven he always talked about, with his angels.”

“You
sent
him?”

Nathan found some amusement in her apparent shock.
Sweet, naive Margaret Grace, even in her buckskin rags. God, how she made him sick. “Only you didn’t have the good grace to join him.”

“Show some respect, Nate.”

He jumped at the sound of Gideon’s voice directly behind him. Margaret Grace had a similar reaction, her blue eyes surging wide as he stepped beside him, her aim shifting. Hopefully Gideon had the forethought to grab his gun.

“That’s no way to greet yer sister,” he said, stepping forward, fully dressed, a blessed revolver in his beautiful hand. “Aren’t you goin’ to introduce me?”

Nathan drew an even breath, Gideon’s relaxed presence helping to restore his composure. “Gideon Smith, Margaret Grace, my
dead
sister.”

Gideon smiled and Maggie shifted her aim, clearly about to take her one shot at him. Nathan ducked behind the chair as Gideon lunged for her. Knocking the rifle from her grip he dragged her over the top of the desk and threw her to the floor.

“Sorry, little sister,” he said, pinning her down, wrestling her arms over her head. “I’ve got far too much invested in your brother to let you do that.”

Nathan placed a hand on the chair and tried to catch his breath. “Don’t you have someone guarding the yard?” he demanded.

“Cabot should be at his post by now.” Gideon looked up from his captive, his lips tilting with a grin as his gaze raked over him. “We’ll finish this outside. You’re coming along, so go get dressed.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

Maggie stared up at Smith as Nathan left the room. He was a man of striking features and nowhere near Nathan’s height, yet his presence was twice as menacing. His slow drawl was a contradiction to the clear sharpness of his eyes. Eyes that
didn’t blink as he stared down at her. All she needed was an ease in his grip to reach for her knife…

“E-e-easy, little sister,” he said, tightening his hold as though reading her mind. His weight settled more firmly on top of her, revealing his fully aroused body.

Maggie stiffened.

Smith grinned and leaned close. “Don’t get excited,” he murmured near her ear, the stench of tobacco gagging her, the touch of his mustache forcing her to turn her head. “That’s not for you.”

“If you’re going to kill me why not just get it over with?”

“Just between me and you, I’m a considerate man, an’ Nate tends to fuss about bloodstains on his carpets. We’re goin’ t’ sit up now, an’ I’m expectin’ you to be cordial.”

His body shifted as he sat back on his knees and yanked her hands forward, hauling her up. Maggie used the motion to slam her clenched fists into his face. His head reared back but his hold on her wrists didn’t loosen.

“Damn,” he said, laughing as blood dripped from his lower lip. “I’ll get ya back for that one. Ain’t a wonder he underestimated you. Yer two of a kind.”

“No, we’re not!”

“Are, too. A fight to the finish, I like that in a person. But here’s the lesson you won’t get to learn twice, little sister—if Nate had caught you by surprise, he’d a saved the sentimental banter an’
pulled the trigger.
”

Her brother’s laughter announced his return, adding to the sting of Maggie’s error.

“Having fun?” he said to Smith.

“You know me, Nate. I always have a good time.”

He whipped her up and spun her around so fast Maggie nearly lost her balance. “Just like dancin’,” he said, twisting her arms behind her back until she thought her elbows would snap. A scream ripped from her lungs as he shoved her
forward toward the fireplace. “She’s already feelin’ like the little sister I never wanted.”

Keeping his firm hold, he stepped into the boots by the fire. They followed Nathan to the front and out onto the lit porch.

“Cabot!” Smith shouted.

“Smith?” A man rushed into the brightness in the yard. “I thought you rode out.”

“Good thing I didn’t,” he said, ushering Maggie toward the steps.

“Where’d she come from?”

“The grave,” said Smith. “Time to put her back.”

A thick man with a wide face, Cabot stepped up to the base of the stairs. “She ain’t all that bad lookin’. We got to kill her right away?”

“I don’t know,” said Smith. “What’d you say the goin’ rate for Mad Mag was, Strafford, six beaver pelts?” He shoved at her back and sent her stumbling down the steps.

Maggie collided with the large man’s chest.

“Tie her up. We’re takin’ her for a little ride.”

Cabot grabbed one of her arms. Maggie reached for her blade with the other. Eyeing up Nathan on the porch, she turned and sent the knife spinning for his chest.

Smith shoved Nathan down and shouted as her knife pierced his upper arm.

Damn it!
Cabot’s thick arms locked around her, lifting her off the ground.

Smith ripped the blade from his arm. His hostile gaze locked on her and fear snaked through her.

A gunshot cracked through the air and Cabot dropped her. Maggie turned to see Cabot hit the ground, a hole blown through his skull.

She glanced into the darkness as she pushed to her feet.

Garret?

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Smith collided against her, a sting
slashing across her arm as he locked her against him like a shield.

Gunshots exploded, splintering wood off the porch banisters, spraying them with shavings and keeping Nathan back. Maggie strained to pull out her second blade. Gripping the handle, she thrust it into Smith’s thigh.

He stumbled back with a cry of pain. Maggie pulled away and dived for the ground. The next gunshot sent Smith to ground beside her, clutching his gut.

“Maggie,
run!
” Garret stepped from the shadows, feeding shells into his rifle as he cracked off consecutive shots. Men’s shouts blended with the ringing in her ears and she knew ranch hands must be flooding from the bunkhouses.

Struggling to her feet, she ran for the cloud of gun smoke.

“Go to the horses,” Garret told her as she reached him.

A roar of male voices rose behind her. She paused to look back.

“Move!” he shouted.

She did, running into the shelter of the night. Avoiding wide patches of moonlight, she ducked under branches and scrub as she made her way for the river. Garret was beside her a few moments later, his hand closing over hers like a steel vise, forcing her to keep up with his longer strides.

When they reached the horses she was out of breath and planted her hands on her knees.

“Gideon!”
Her brother’s shout rang clear as she struggled for a full breath.

“Are you hurt?” Garret whispered beside her.

“No,” she said in a pant.

“We can’t stop here.” His hands closed over her waist and tossed her up onto her saddle.

His horse set off toward the west and her mare followed. As they splashed across the river one thought plagued her mind.

They’d shot the wrong man.

Maggie watched Garret’s silhouette ride into another black outcrop of trees at the top of the hillside and knew he and the horses would outlast her. They’d ridden hard through streams, meadow and hillsides and her body ached with exhaustion.

Garret waited for her at the top of the rise just inside the first line of trees. He held the horse steady as he glanced over the moonlit ground they’d just covered. They’d stopped several times over the past hour to check for signs of anyone following their trail. She hadn’t detected any but each time Garret would set off again without a word. She followed without question, his route no different than she would have chosen on her own.

He stepped down from his saddle and Maggie barely stifled a moan of relief as she reined in. He rubbed at his left shoulder as he walked toward her and she knew his bruised body had to be hurting after a full day of hard riding. Before she could dismount, he dragged her from the saddle and set her firmly on the ground before him. His hands slammed down onto his hips. As her eyes adjusted to the shadows she realized his expression didn’t show a trace of pain—he was
furious.

“Garret—”

“Just what the hell did you think you were doing?”

“Trying to kill that rotten bastard,” she ground out.

“They nearly killed
you,
” he shouted at her.

“I was handling myself,” she raged right back. “You keep forgetting who I am!”

“Oh, I know who you are, Margaret Grace Strafford. The most stubborn, infuriating woman I’ve ever come to know!”

“No one asked you to come after me!”

“All the fires of hell wouldn’t have stopped me! They could have killed you, Maggie.”

“People die, Garret! Grow up!”

“That supposed to be advice, coming from a woman
who’s so afraid of life she hides herself away from the whole damn world?”

“I’m not hiding!”

“You use those mountains like a fortress. You live in a cave and have folks believing you’re some crazy old woman so they’ll leave you alone. And what’s keeping you from admitting you fancy me, but fear?”

“I doubt my fancying you is a big secret! Fear doesn’t control me. Lately it seems to be lust and I have no more morals than a—”

“You finish that sentence,” Garret said through gritted teeth, “and I’ll have you standing before a preacher by sunup. If all I wanted was sex, I’d visit a brothel. And if I wanted just any woman for a wife I’d snag me one on my ride out of town. I want
you,
Maggie! You have to know I care about you.”

“I don’t understand any of this—least of all you!”