Reckless Territory (18 page)

“Yes. I can’t believe it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Cole asleep before.”

“Can’t say as I have often either. Usually he has one eye open all the time. He needed it before now.”

She first helped herself to a cup of coffee, grateful it wasn’t Greer’s satanic brew, and then went to sit at the table. “I’d offer to help, but—”

Robert grinned and gave a mock shiver. “Heaven forbid. Just sit there and be beautiful.”

“I’d find that offensive,” she retorted with a small smile, “but I am too happy to be back here to condescend to comment.” Then she sobered. “Will you tell me now what happened? Cole only said it was settled. We rode half the night.”

Jace might have hedged to protect her, but Robert was much more contemplative. He waited a minute, his fingers working the biscuit dough, and then he said quietly, “We had some trouble in town, and then here at the ranch. It wasn’t anything we thought we could avoid forever, but in this life I believe it comes down to what is in store for you, whether you want it or not. We didn’t go looking for it, but there it was just the same.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

Cole hadn’t even made love to her but simply held her close until he drifted off, maybe more at peace than she’d ever seen him.

“Lawrence Saxon is dead, along with most of his outfit.” Robert dusted off his hands, wiped them on a towel and lifted his broad shoulders. “It was coming. Us or them, one way or the other… They tried to burn us out. I know compared to what you were used in England it seems harsh, but—”

She interrupted with a lifted brow. “Harsh compared to centuries of fighting off invading armies, our own civil unrest during the Roundhead reign, not to mention our oppression of Scotland and Ireland? I don’t think we are at all more civilized, we just pretend to be.”

After a moment, he laughed and inclined his head. “I suppose that is all true, Lady Victoria. I just hoped you would not be too shocked by the violence.”

In the past she’d been shocked. When her father’s debt had surfaced and she realized that her family had left her adrift, the loyalty of a few servants all that had gotten her through that dark time. Then she’d set sail for America, the clothing she owned her only possessions, and she’d even lost that in the wagon train massacre.

However, she’d learned that material needs and protocol were hardly the measure of a person’s life. “I’m never going to celebrate another person dying,” she said quietly, holding her warm cup cradled in her palms. “But I am not ever going to judge anyone again either. Whatever you did was necessary or you would not have done it. Cole would not be sleeping for the first time since I’ve known him if it hadn’t been unavoidable.”

“Unavoidable.” Robert said it as if testing out the word. “I suppose that is the best way possible to explain it. Not a good thing…men dying is never good, but sometimes it is an event that is destined to happen. If this means anything, it won’t weigh on my conscience.”

It meant quite a lot, actually. Jace was hot-tempered and rash, if the most sentimental, and Cole was rational, cool and without a doubt the most deadly. But Robert was a reasonable man, torn from his sedate roots much like her, and they shared a kindred spirit there.

“Your thoughts do mean something to me.” Victoria took a sip from her cup, reveled in the taste of what she used to consider a bitter beverage before the past five days, and smiled. “Have I ever mentioned that I think you make the most heavenly coffee?”

“No, but I’ve heard about Greer’s black cup of death.” He moved toward the woodstove, easy and lithe in his loose shirt and fitted pants, his worn boots scraping the floor. “Don’t try and win my heart with false compliments.”

“I don’t just love you for your coffee,” she said recklessly, but then again, she needed to say it. Jace had certainly said it to her often enough, and Robert had also, and when he straightened, his face very still, she could only summon a shaky smile. “I do,” she added softly. “Love you, that is. And Jace and Cole. Can a woman be in love with three men at the same time? I keep asking myself that question.”

Of any of them, he was the one to talk to about this subject.

“It isn’t exactly the same principle, but I have two sisters. I go back to Boston now and again to see them because despite that I’ve chosen a very different life, we are a close-knit family. If I had a third sister, I am sure I’d be fond of her too. Love isn’t a finite commodity, Victoria, measured out in specific increments. I think that yes, one woman can honestly love three very different men. There is no romantic standard here that anyone will hold you to.”

Emotion tightened her throat. “This should be complicated, but it also seems so simple.”

“It is.” At first she thought he’d come to take her in his arms, but then he stopped and just looked at her, his hazel eyes soft. “No, you aren’t wrong.
We
all love
you
. Why can’t you return it? You’re everything any man could want, and we aren’t stupid.” His grin was a bit crooked. “Well, now and then I suppose we are, but finding you was the single best moment of all of our lives. We can’t even fight over you. What does that say? If you felt forced to choose,
then
it would be complicated.”

She didn’t know what it meant. It wasn’t like it hadn’t occurred to her more than once that maybe it was natural for them to be jealous, but they didn’t seem to be. “I…I suppose you have a point.”

“I’m never going to say we share you.” Robert set down his cup and looked her in the eye. “
You
share
us
. And you know, we’re all so damn glad of it, any one of us would lie down this fine morning and die for you.”

“Don’t.” Her voice was poignantly charged. “Don’t die for me. Not any single
damn
one of you. Now you’ve all said that to me at one time or the other and I don’t want to hear it again.”

His chestnut brows rose. “Lady Victoria, did you just curse?”

“Yes, I did. Are you going to tell someone?”

“Never.” His voice went soft. “Never. What happens here on this ranch is just between us.”

She supposed that was true. “I am doing my best to get used to it.”

With an exaggerated courtier’s bow, Robert said, “If you need convincing at any time, my lady, I am sure any one of us would be happy to oblige.”

It was impossible not to laugh.

“We need to repair some damage to the fences of the north pasture,” he said, expertly scooping biscuits off the griddle. “I’m going to take a few of these and head on up there. Jace rode out two hours ago.”

There was something in his voice that told her the damage was directly related to what had happened, but she didn’t ask, and just nodded. “I will tidy the dishes up. It is the least I can do to repay you for giving me coffee I can actually drink.”

When he left she finished her biscuit, the light crumbs drifting from her fingers as she absently brushed them off, her thoughts abstract as she got up. The well was in the courtyard, the space a bit untidy but pleasant enough in the morning sun, the walls broken but still quaintly foreign with their clinging vines and the shade of the overhanging cottonwoods.

Maybe Robert was right and she was simply too conventional. Emotions rarely fit into neat slots and…

She glanced up, startled, as a shadow fell across the path along with the slow scrape of steps on the uneven stones. The man was a stranger, with a hat pulled low to shade his face. A dusty hand held the reins of his horse loosely as he boldly came into the circular courtyard.

“Howdy, ma’am.” He lifted his head enough she saw a glimpse of a faint, menacing smile, before he drawled, “Now ain’t you pretty.”

Cole rolled over, found that the soft, completely beguiling female body he sought was gone, and opened his eyes. Not just daylight, he registered, but bright sunshine spilled across the floor at an angle that told him he’d slept far longer than he ever allowed.

Warrior code required strict obedience to self-discipline and lying in bed until midmorning was hardly representative of his usual schedule. He levered himself up on one elbow, brushed his long hair out of his face, and recalled recent events with a different sort of clarity.

Lawrence Saxon was dead.
Good
.

There was coffee—he could smell it—and biscuits, and that was good as well.

He slid out of bed, looking around for his pants, finding them on the floor about a dozen feet away.

The kitchen was deserted, the coffee pot on the old rusty stove, and he helped himself to a cup, taking it black, like always.

He had to admit he felt as if the weight of the past years had lifted from his shoulders. Lawrence’s death didn’t bother him…the bastard had been nothing but a thorn in his side since that fateful day in Arkansas. Frank was a coward who would never be a threat without his older brother, and Cole thought the two other Saxon gang members who got away were probably not interested in pursuing a vendetta that wasn’t theirs in the first place.

Was it possible that after all this time, he could put that incident behind him?

No
.

His gods told him first, a slight prickling along his skin and then a tightening in his gut. Where was Victoria? The house was quiet. It was possible that Robert and Jace had taken her with them, but he doubted it. They were going to repair the burnt fence posts and three unmarked graves in the vicinity might upset her.

He got to his feet and moved silently to the door. Outside there was dappled sunlight on the worn porch, dust motes drifting in the courtyard, a slight breeze rustling the leaves of the big cottonwood…

He spied the horse, reins trailing, its head bent to the broken trough, and a jolt went through him when he realized it wasn’t familiar.

Son of a bitch
.

“It appears your menfolk are out working.”

The stranger with the glittering eyes had backed her into the barn, his threat of using the gun in his one hand or the knife in his other enough to make her unsure of what to do except retreat, step by step. “I’ll…I’ll scream.”

“They going to hear you all the way out there?”

“Cole is in the house.”

The man’s head lifted and his smile was so chilling she felt nearly faint. “That so? I’ve been kinda wanting to see him again, so that would be just fine. So Thune has him a woman?” The man swept her with another insulting glance. “No problem spreading your legs for an Injun outlaw?”

Victoria nearly stumbled over a stack of hay and caught her balance at the last minute. “None,” she said coolly. “Who the devil are you?”

Her accent took him aback. He blinked and then narrowed those cold eyes again. “Just an old friend I bet Cole can’t wait to see either. Him and me, we go way back. But until that happens, there’s no reason you and I can’t get better acquainted.”

She’d seen that lascivious look before. Back in London, in a proper drawing room while offered a most improper arrangement. It appeared to be much the same, even in an entirely uncivilized environment. She’d hated it then, and she didn’t care for it now. Victoria edged around two bags of feed. “I politely decline the honor.”

“Seems to me I wasn’t giving you a choice, now was I?”

The idea of being violated…Victoria shuddered, no more amiable to it than she had been back in England, palms damp, her stomach churning, and then she remembered the tack room.

She was closer.

He was bigger.

In a swift moment of decision, she turned and ran. The door had no lock so she didn’t bother to try to shut it, but instead went for the wall, grabbing up the bow and an arrow from the quiver Cole had hung there.
Notch the arrow
, turn… Hands shaking she did so, but her aim as she brought it up was steady…
think of the bull’s-eye, take your time
…

The man pursuing her merely strolled after her, thinking she was trapped now, and she was, so when he filled the doorway, she took in a breath to still her quivering hands and let the arrow fly.

The thud was sickening, the whistle of inhaled breath even worse, but that horrible gleam faded from his eyes suddenly, and he dropped both the gun and the knife as his hands went to the shaft protruding from his chest.

Then he mumbled something unintelligible and pitched forward at her feet.

That’s when she also saw the knife protruding from his back and realized that Cole stood in the doorway, his normally swarthy skin pale and his bare chest heaving. He jumped over the man’s prone body and caught her to him, his arms a strong, solid circle. “I’m sorry. Victoria, my love…”

“Why should you be sorry? You…you were asleep.” She was glad he was sorry, because she was sorry also…and shaking like a leaf, with tears in her eyes, though they certainly weren’t for the horrible person who had just tried…

His mouth pressed her temple. “I know. Entirely my fault.”

“Did I kill him?” Her eyes closed briefly.

“I don’t know.” Trust Cole to never give her anything but complete honesty. “I think we may both have had a hand in it. How did you learn to use a bow?”

“Archery.”

“What?” He cradled her close, his arms strong.

Perhaps she should have gone ahead and wept. Maybe later she would. “English ladies have some useful skills after all. It is fashionable at house parties to compete in archery. I was always fairly talented at the sport. Tell me, who is that awful man?”

Cole glanced over at the crumpled body. “It appears to me that it is Samuel Saxon, the man I shot years ago.”

Her eyes opened. “What?”

“I was never sure if that shot was true, because by then there were people running everywhere, and the owner of the girl he’d assaulted had come out of the house and was screaming… Damn all if this doesn’t explain why Lawrence was so dogged to find me and have me hanged. It wasn’t just him, but Samuel, alive all along and wanting me dead.”

She pressed her face into his shoulder. “I’m so glad you were here.”

“Of course I am.” His fingers gently smoothed her hair. “As intrepid as you’ve just proven English ladies might be, you’ll never be alone.”