Her Outlaw (32 page)

“What do you mean?”

“Your hope is to prolong my life, correct?”

“It is.”

“Recall that I had you and your family investigated before you arrived at Chatham Park. In light of those discoveries, one must wonder if presenting myself at Willow Hill might not be the final act of my misbegotten life.”

“Why do you…oh.” She grimaced. “Papa.”

“Trace McBride will surely want to kill me.”

“Yes, but he won’t do it.” She hesitated, chewed on her lower lip. “Maybe I won’t send that telegram, after all. I think it’s better if we simply surprise them. Papa will be so happy to see me, he won’t think about killing you. Not right away.”

“Wait a minute,” Logan interjected. “Am I understanding that Trace McBride is Emma’s father? You ran off with Trace McBride’s daughter?”

“Technically, she ran off after me.”

“Trace McBride.” Logan shook his head, then laughed. “And you’re gonna waltz into his house with his daughter on your arm with no ring on her finger? Damn, MacRae. I don’t know if I want to be party to this. Dying is one thing. Suicide is something else.”

Dair pursed his lips. His friend did have a point. “Emma, would it make things easier for you if we stopped somewhere and got married before reaching Fort Worth?”

“Was that a marriage proposal?” Irritation snapped in her eyes.

“If you’d like it to be.” He would be fine with marrying her if that’s what she wanted. Although, he couldn’t imagine she’d want to be a two-time widow. He truly didn’t know what was best. He simply wanted to make this as easy on her as possible.

“The romance of the moment overwhelms me,” she dryly replied. She smiled then, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Thanks, MacRae, but who said I’d marry you anyway?”

After that, there didn’t seem much more to say.

“She sure is something, Dair,” Logan murmured in his ear as they followed Emma onto the train. “If you beat this death sentence, then I’d say you’re the luckiest man on earth. And if you don’t, well, I reckon you’ll understand when I say I hope like hell I live up to my nickname.”

“Shut up, Lucky.” Dair didn’t want to think about his Emma in the arms of Logan Grey or any other man. He didn’t want to think about the upcoming meeting with Trace McBride, either. That’s why, for the first time ever, when he felt the first telltale signs of an oncoming headache, he smiled.

Some kinds of pain were easier to deal with than others.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Fort Worth

T
RACE
M
C
B
RIDE
’
S BACK HURT
like a sonofabitch. “Ah, hell, treasure,” he said to his wife, Jenny. “Not another trunk. We’re not moving to Scotland you know.”

“Quit whining. I’m taking gifts for the Rosses. I’m not arriving at Rowanclere castle empty-handed.”

“Is this all of it, then?” Trace eyed the pile of luggage at the bottom of the stairs and scowled. “Where are the boys? They need to be helping me load the wagon. That’s the reason I had boys to begin with.”

“Don’t give me that. The boys did load the wagon, all but these last few pieces.” Jenny walked out of the dining room shuffling through the pile of mail she’d stayed up half the night preparing. “I sent them over to Kat’s and Mari’s to help Jake and Luke. We were about done and they’ll need the help with all the children.”

Trace shut his eyes and shook his head. “If they bring half the amount of stuff you’ve packed, Jenny, we might as well hire our own ship to take us across the Atlantic. I should have left yesterday by myself. Traveled fast and light.”

Jenny looked up from her pile of mail and her eyes softened with compassion. “Darling, I know you’re worried. I’m worried, too. But think about what Jake has told us about this Dair MacRae. He’ll take care of Emma. We have to believe that or else we’ll worry ourselves sick long before we ever reach Scotland.”

Trace set his teeth and raked his fingers through his thick salt-and-pepper hair. “I’m scared, treasure.”

Jenny set down her mail and wrapped her arms around her husband. Laying her cheek against his chest, she murmured, “I know. Me, too.”

How quickly life can change, Trace thought as he stood in the foyer of his Fort Worth home, Willow Hill. Yesterday, life had been pretty damned good. They’d celebrated the christening of Maribeth’s new additions to the family and Kat’s marriage to a reformed scoundrel who—though he wasn’t good enough for Kat—made her happy. Then, during the barbecue reception Trace and Jenny were hosting on the back lawn at Willow Hill, a messenger arrived with news that shook the McBride family to its collective soul. A murder warrant had been issued in Scotland for Emma and she was on the run.

Now, the entire family was leaving on the evening train. While Trace didn’t like the idea of taking the womenfolk along, he knew he could use the help of his sons-in-law. Jake Kimball knew the man Emma had run off with. Luke Garrett had a lawman’s badge that might come in handy if professional courtesy came into play. Since neither man would leave their families behind—not that Kat or Maribeth would let them do it anyway—and his own Jenny sure as hell wouldn’t remain in Fort Worth with Emma in trouble overseas, Trace hadn’t fought the idea of taking the family too hard. They’d make the Highland home of the Rosses their base of operations, and if all went well, they’d be back in Fort Worth in time for the Harvest Ball.

How’s that for positive thinking?

Trace gave Jenny one more squeeze, then stepped away. “I’d better get the rest of the luggage loaded. But let this be the last of it, all right? I’m worried I’ll throw out my back. The only good thing about an ocean crossing is having all those hours with nothing to do but make love to you, and if a trunk full of geegaws prevents that from happening, I won’t be a happy man.”

“And I won’t be a happy woman. This trunk holds our pillows. If that’s too much for you, wait, and I’ll help as soon as I finish my paperwork.”

Trace smiled for the first time that day. “I do like a woman with a sarcastic tongue.”

Jenny snorted a laugh. “What you like is a woman who knows how to use her tongue.”

He waggled his brows. “Often.”

She slapped him on the butt. “Go load the wagon, McBride. Don’t forget to lift with your knees.”

Trace placed a satchel atop the lightweight trunk on his shoulder, then sauntered down the sidewalk, his mood temporarily lightened by the byplay with his wife. Jenny had that touch, the ability to make even the darkest days brighter. He wouldn’t have survived those black months when they thought Kat was dead or the awful time after sweet Susie was killed without Jenny. No, the day Jenny Fortune decided to move her dressmaking business into the building where he’d lived with his Menaces was beyond a doubt the luckiest day of his life.

Setting the trunk on the ground behind the wagon, Trace frowned. He’d need to do some rearranging. He climbed up into the wagon bed and using his legs, not his back, shifted the baggage around, his thoughts drifting between past and present.

Luck. Good luck and bad luck and the Curse of Clan McBride. Mari and Kat were all excited about the news out of Scotland. Crazy girls. They were certain Emma was about to break the infamous Bad Luck curse.

Trace didn’t know how he felt about the whole idea. There was no denying that the McBride family had a tough time when it came to love. He and his brother, now Mari and Kat, all had to overcome great trials before finding happiness in marriage. And poor Emma, losing Casey like she had…no one would accuse her of being lucky in love. Now she was running around Scotland with a man who Luke had found out this morning had his name listed on a dozen different wanted posters.

Why is it my girls go after men who live their lives on the wild side of trouble?
When he’d asked that question last night while lying sleepless in bed with his wife, Jenny had responded that young women often look to marry men like their father. He hadn’t had a good response to that one.

Trace gave a suitcase a shove. Unlucky in love, he could buy, but a fairy curse? That stretched superstition to a whole new level. Could Trace actually make that leap? He wouldn’t even consider it, except…those pendants weren’t paste.

Say there was something to this legend. Would Emma be safer or in more danger if she were about to break the fairy prince’s curse? Chances are, the guy wouldn’t like it. What sort of nasty tricks could a fairy prince pull on his little girl?
Good God, I can’t believe I’m even thinking such nonsense.

“I’ve lost my mind,” Trace grumbled beneath his breath. “I’ve finally cracked from the stress.”

He jumped down from the wagon and shoved a trunk off to one side, leaving the perfect amount of space for Jenny’s carpetbag. His mind occupied with the geometry of fitting the rest of the luggage into the wagon bed, Trace glanced over his shoulder when he sensed someone behind him. “Hand me your mother’s bag there, would you please, Emma?”

She did as he asked and the bag slid right in. Good. They might just make this in one trip after all. Trace started up the front walk toward the house where the last pile of bags waited. Halfway there, his mind registered what had just happened. “Emmaline?” he said, whirling around. His heart stuttered.

There she stood, his eldest, his sweet beautiful darling Emma. Safe. Sound. And not, thank God, in Scotland.

“Baby.” He held his arms wide and rushed toward her even as she flew at him. Once he held his little girl in his arms, Trace felt the axis of his world shift. All was right again. “Ah, Em. You had me so scared.”

“I’m sorry, Papa.”

“I was coming to get you.”

“You were? Why? Didn’t you get my letters telling you everything was fine?”

“Uh-huh.” He loosened his hold on her, took a step back. She looked tired. Weary. Sad, even. “You don’t look like a murderer.”

“Murderer!” She winced. “Oh.”

“You want to tell me about it?”

“Not necessarily, but something tells me I don’t have a choice.” Her voice trembled slightly as she said, “Papa, I—”

“Emma!” Jenny let out a squeal of delight that echoed through the city streets.

Then Emma was out of his arms and into her mother’s, and Trace folded his arms and watched the reunion with a wide grin on his face until he belatedly realized somebody else observed the scene, too.

The man stood by the wagon. He was tall with broad shoulders and large hands. Hard, silver-colored eyes glowed with a possessive light as they watched Trace’s daughter.

The goddamned Scot. Had to be. Stupid sonofabitch actually came with her? Trace drew his gun. “MacRae, tell me why I shouldn’t shoot you where you stand.”

Damned if the man didn’t laugh. “Like father, like daughter,” he murmured before his expression went serious. “You can’t shoot me, Mr. McBride, because your daughter is in love with me.”

“Hell. That’s never stopped me before.” Trace’s finger flexed. The gun exploded. Emma shouted, “Papa!

Outlaw MacRae took the hat from his head and fingered the bullet hole in the crown, his confident gray eyes gone wary.

Trace McBride smiled.

D
AIR WONDERED JUST HOW GOOD
a shot Trace McBride was. Had he hit the target he aimed for or had he missed?

“Papa! Stop it.” Emma pulled from her mother’s arms and faced her father. “Put the gun down.”

“Why? Give me one good reason why I should.”

“You can’t kill him.”

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“Then I can kill him.”

Emma rubbed her temples with her fingertips. “He did ask me to marry him, Papa. I refused.”

“Oh for crying out loud.” Trace sent his wife an aggrieved look. “We have to go through this again?”

Jenny gave Emma’s hand a squeeze, then moved to her husband’s side. “She’s home, Trace. He brought her home.”

It took a moment, but eventually Trace McBride lowered the gun.

“Let’s go inside, shall we?” Jenny continued. “It’s too unbearable to be standing out here in the afternoon heat. Besides, I’ll need to call Kat and Mari and tell them the news. Claire and Tye, too.”

Scowling, Trace nodded, then a sly look entered his eyes. He acknowledged Logan Grey’s presence for the first time by saying, “Emma? Did you bring this other fella with you, too?”

“Yes, Papa. I’d like you to meet Mr. Logan Grey. He’s a friend of Dair’s.”

“That’s handy for you, MacRae,” Trace said. “You’ll have help unloading the wagon. Bring everything inside and leave it at the foot of the stairs.”

Then, with his wife on one side and Emma on the other, Trace disappeared inside his home. Dair breathed a little sigh of relief.

“Well, that was quite an interesting welcome,” Logan observed, eyeing the bullet hole in Dair’s hat. Then, frowning at the baggage piled high in the wagon, he added, “Helluva way to treat a dying guest, though.”

“I’m not their guest,” Dair snapped. He intended to take a room in one of the hotels downtown. Neither was he dying—at least, not that the McBrides would know. That was one hard-won promise he’d extracted from Emma during the train trip, one difficultly negotiated deal. He’d be honest and forthright with her precious doctor as long as she kept her mouth shut about it.

He had not left his pride behind in Scotland. He’d told Logan and the others because circumstances required it. He’d told Emma because the tiny bit of conscience he still possessed required he do so. Other than that, the fact he had a tumor growing in his brain was nobody’s business. “C’mon, Lucky. Give me a hand with the bags. As much as I’d like to walk away right now, for Emma’s sake I’d rather the old man not suffer a heart attack while toting this small amount of luggage.”

Logan arched a brow. “Small amount?”

The two men started grabbing trunks and bags and hauling them inside Willow Hill. Hearing sounds of conversation coming from a room toward the back of the house, Dair set down the trunk and took a moment to look around the house where Emma grew up.

It was nice. Comfortable. Warm and homey. In a room off the entry hall, he spied portraits hanging on the wall and curiosity drew him near. His gaze went first to Emma, of course, and he smiled. She wore a burgundy gown that complemented the necklace around her neck. The artist had captured her perfectly. Her mischievousness, her confidence. Her wholesome beauty. A smile that held just a little bit of sadness. The portrait must have been painted after her husband’s death.