Adrienne deWolfe (14 page)

Thinking fast, he lighted on a subject he hoped might woo her to stay. "You have a fine son in Topher, ma'am."

A strange sort of upset flickered across her features.

He sensed he'd just strayed into dangerous territory again.

"Thank you, but Topher isn't my son. He's an orphan, like the others."

Wes realized his blunder then. He'd assumed, because of the boy's fair hair and skin, that he was a relation of Rorie's.

"Well, he's still a fine boy," he said, uncertain why Rorie was splitting hairs. For all intents and purposes, Topher was her son now, so it seemed odd that she still referred to the boy—to all the children, in fact—as orphans. "I've never heard a name quite like Topher before. How did he get it?"

She toyed with the lid of her sewing basket for a moment, as if trying to decide whether to close it and the subject.

"Topher is the nickname I gave him," she said finally. "Two years ago, when Jarrod caught Topher stealing eggs from our henhouse, his speech was almost unintelligible. I thought it was cruel to call the boy Christopher, when he had such a difficult time pronouncing the name."

Wes was touched by Rorie's sensitivity. Although he had never lisped, he'd endured more than his fair share of heckling as a child, thanks to his freckles. To understand the shame and frustration Topher must feel because of his affliction didn't take much imagination.

"So Sinclair caught the little rascal stealing eggs, eh?"

Was it his imagination, or had the reminder of her husband made her even more uptight?

"Topher is no longer in the habit of stealing, I assure you." She closed the basket lid with a snap. "When I met Topher, he already had a long history of running away from the orphanage, but persuading Jarrod to let me teach the boy elocution was far easier than convincing him to let Topher live with us. Eventually, however, even Jarrod was forced to admit the boy might be shot by an angry farmer if he continued thieving to feed himself. So we adopted him."

Wes frowned. That was a hell of a cheap trick for Sinclair, taking on the responsibility of a child and then walking out the door. If Sinclair hadn't been ready for children, why had he filled his home with orphans? As far as Wes was concerned, if a man didn't want an obligation, he avoided entanglements.

He himself had been careful to live by that creed, pledging himself to Two-Step and the state of Texas. That was it. That was all he wanted—except, perhaps, to get his hand on the louse who had abandoned Rorie to rear four children on her own.

"Sinclair hurt you pretty bad, didn't he?" he asked quietly.

She raised her chin, but her knuckles turned white as she gripped the handle of her basket. "The children and I have survived quite well without Jarrod since the divorce. So well, in fact, that we are beyond missing him.

"No," she continued with a brittle smile, "the damage Jarrod did by leaving must be weighed against the good he did by giving the children a home. I know Topher would never have been better off in the orphanage or with that swaggering, big-mouthed Ranger who sired him. From what I hear, Bill Malone left his mark in every town."

Wes winced. He knew of Malone and Malone's reputation. It seemed the man had trouble keeping his pecker in his pants—or rather, he'd had trouble. About six months earlier, Malone had gotten caught in the cross fire in a range war out in Tom Greene County.

Wes felt his face warm under Rorie's cool stare. As much as he would have liked to defend Rangers, he didn't dare. Not while he was keeping his own identity a secret.

"Topher is lucky to have you. All the children are," he added, feeling guilty for deceiving her. "If I'd been tossed in an orphanage, I would have run away too. A boy needs more than gruel and discipline to grow into a man. He needs a whole lot of love."

Seeing the ghost of pain on his face—a phantom not unlike the one she'd glimpsed when he'd spoken of a massacred family that he couldn't defend—Rorie felt her heart twist. She wondered what had driven this man who so clearly valued family away from the kinfolk he loved.

"Wes, you were lucky, too, having an aunt and brothers to give you love."

He stiffened, and she knew she'd touched an unhealed wound.

He recovered almost instantly, though, flashing her a devilish grin and cloaking himself in the guise of a rogue. "I've always been lucky in love. Must be the star I... er, was born under."

His color heightened. She wasn't sure what had embarrassed him, but she thought it must have something to do with his confession. She'd always heard hired gunmen were superstitious. Here was yet another proof of his profession.

She regarded him warily for a long moment before gathering the courage to demand the truth. "Wes, are you a gunfighter?"

He looked genuinely surprised by her question.

"If by that you mean do I sometimes fight with a gun," he said carefully, "then I reckon I am. But"—he held her gaze steadily—"if you're asking if I'm on the run from the law, no, I'm not. I'm not a road agent, Rorie. I'm not a gambler or a bootlegger or a confidence man, either. I wear these six-shooters to protect myself, and I wouldn't ever hesitate to use them to protect honest people who need me."

She bit her lip. She wanted to believe him. She told herself she shouldn't be so gullible, that she had nothing but his word. From long experience, she'd learned that a sweet-talker's word was as changeable as the wind.

As she lost herself in the emerald fathoms of his gaze, though, a sweet comfort stole over her. She had prayed so long for a champion, one who would keep her and her children safe from the dragons, the Hannibal Dukkers of the world. Wes's armor might not be as shiny as some, but his gallantry certainly couldn't be denied. And by his own admission, as reluctant as it might have been, he held a deep and abiding respect for family.

Maybe she should give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she should learn how to trust again.

"I'm... glad to hear it, Wes. I was a little worried, you know. Losing Gator was a terrible blow to the children. They looked up to him, and they want to look up to you. So whether you like it or not, you're going to have an influence on them. That's why it's important for you to set a good example."

She waited, half-expecting him to bolt for the door. Instead, his expression turned wistful.

"No more tigers in Virginia, eh?"

She smiled, shaking her head. "No more tree-climbing either, I'm afraid."

He chuckled, reaching for his hat. "Well, I reckon it could be worse. I reckon you could have told me no more bee-sting salve."

She felt her face warm.

He tipped his hat. "Good night, ma'am," he drawled, giving her a naughty wink. "Pleasant dreams."

Chapter 7

Wes could have kicked himself for nearly telling Rorie he wore a star. He'd gotten too damned close to her mesmerizing eyes and the private hurt she tried to hide to remember the questions he'd meant to ask about Gator.

But he had learned a bit more about the enigma she posed, and why Elodea's gossips stayed busy at her expense. She'd been divorced.

Piecing together what little information Shae had told him about the children over the last two days, Wes suspected Po and Nita, like Merrilee, had wound up on Rorie's doorstep because of Sinclair's medical practice. Yet, while Sinclair might have mended their broken bones and tended their fevers, Rorie clearly had been the one to open her heart to them.

Just like she'd opened her home to him.

Wes winced, needled by guilt. The more he learned about Aurora Sinclair, the more he wanted to close his investigation and clear her name. In truth, he had a hard time reconciling his suspicion of her as a murder conspirator with the reality of her as a protective, caring parent.

A woman who cared that much about homeless children—and scarred young gunslingers—couldn't possibly be cold-blooded enough to conspire against the man who'd put a roof over her head. Hell, if she could have killed anyone, it would have been her husband, yet even he seemed to rate a redeeming quality or two in her fair mind.

Only against the Ranger force did that mind of hers show bias.

Wes frowned. He was bothered by Rorie's virulent dislike of everything he stood for, just as he was bothered by folks who claimed Rangers preferred keeping the peace to enforcing justice. He was proud of his badge and the men who had worn it—Samuel Walker, Big Foot Wallace, Rip Ford, and, of course, his brother. Even Bill Malone had been one hell of a lawman, in spite of his other foibles.

All of those men had made names for themselves by doing legendary deeds, and Wes wanted to follow in their footsteps. He didn't want Rorie to despise the entire Ranger force because of one man's indiscretions. In truth, he felt honor-bound to prove to her Malone was the exception rather than the rule.

Wes figured he could accomplish this mission over the next few days while he determined beyond a shadow of a doubt whether Shae was a viable suspect. In the meantime, he'd have to buy himself time if he didn't want Dukker riding onto the property and demanding the Sinclairs' eviction. Keeping Rorie and the children safe, though, shouldn't be too hard if the wire from Bandera Town proved the legitimacy of Shae's claim.

The trick would be getting to that wire without raising Rorie's alarm or Shae's suspicions. The two of them had just been to Elodea on Monday for supplies, and Wes needed a good reason to go back—preferably before Shae sneaked off for a romantic rendezvous with Lorelei.

As he bedded down in the barn, he decided he'd wake himself a couple of hours before dawn the next morning, ride into town, and demand to know from that surly telegraph operator whether he'd received his wire.

Unfortunately, he slept like a log that night, waking less than an hour before dawn on Thursday with a stiff back and his arms sore from two days of unaccustomed labor.

Since he couldn't possibly ride into town and back again before Shae stirred, Wes decided his next best course would be to sneak inside the house and poke around again, looking for clues that might prove Shae capable of extreme violence. Gator's old law reports, letters, or even a journal would be ideal, assuming, of course, that Shae hadn't burned them.

He shrugged into his shirt, then spent a few minutes working the kinks out of his muscles. Outside, the early morning air was pleasantly cool, with one of those pristine, clear skies that rolled across the hills forever. The stars were still bright, without a single cloud to mar their winking, jewellike beauty. On a night like this, he mused, a man could find himself longing for a sweetheart.

The thought was a dangerous one, and he hastily girded his defenses against the vision that was sure to follow: his sister-in-law's blue-black hair and violet eyes.

Instead, honey-brown hair and golden eyes shimmered into view.

He blinked, shaking his head. God help him, now he knew his brain was going soft. He was fantasizing about a marriage-minded lady with four children!

A soft mewing interrupted his thoughts. The cry sounded like that of a kitten... or a small child. He frowned and glanced sharply around the yard, spying a huddled form in a white nightdress weeping against a post of the corral. Judging by the long black hair that tumbled to her waist, Wes thought the child was Merrilee. She looked so small and alone, even with Two-Step, kind-hearted brute that he was, standing watch over her.

"Merrilee, sweetheart, what's wrong?" Wes asked, hurrying to kneel by her side.

She seemed startled by his appearance and retreated from his arms. "I'm sorry I woke you, Uncle Wes."

He smiled to reassure her. "You didn't, honey."

She bowed her head, staring shamefully at the ground, and he touched her shoulder.

"Merrilee, why are you crying?"

"I had another nightmare," she said in a tiny voice.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She sniffled, nodding. "It was about the bad men. The ones who came and burned our house."

Wes felt a sickness in his gut. It burned its way to his heart. "That sounds scary. What did the bad men do?"

She shuddered, at last shifting a few inches closer. "They hurt Mama. And Papa too."

She slipped her hand into his.