McCrory's Lady (39 page)

      
“No share. Only slavery,” Tome whispered hoarsely.

      
“He does not speak false,” Echiva said as one claw like hand tugged on the doctor's sleeve. “Ask the old one you call Blue Braid in the mine camp. It is at the fork of Fox Creek. You will see we speak true.” Echiva's speech exhausted the last of his strength. He fell back on his pallet, sightless eyes staring at the ceiling.

      
Torres quickly examined him, then pulled the blanket up over his face with a muttered curse. Tome would join his companion momentarily, he feared. “We'll have to send word to Colin at once,” he said, rising as Eden did the same.

      
“You'll just have to pardon me if'n I don't see it that way” Lamp said with a snarl. He stood behind the two figures, gun drawn and leveled at Torres's back as he closed the door to the office. Damn, now he'd have to dispose of these two and try to hide the bodies!

      
“You can't kill us with all those witnesses outside,” Eden said with far more calm than she felt.

      
Lamp laughed harshly. “Witnesses, shit! They's Apach!”

      
“But Miss McCrory's father isn't,” Aaron Torres said reasonably as he turned to face Lamp. “If you harm his daughter your life won't be worth a red cent, Caleb. Don't be a fool. Get out of the territory while you still can.”

      
“Not till I collect what's owed me, but you're right, I can't kill you without raising a real ruckus.” He appeared to consider for a minute, then laughed. “But if you was to have a little accident, say have that buggy of yours get out of control and turn over, maybe by that steep ravine on the Prescott road…”

      
Torres knew that Lamp would not hesitate to kill him and Eden to escape his crimes. With speed born of desperation he slung the wet cloth he had taken from the dead Apache across the agent's face. “Get out of here, Eden! Save yourself!” He knocked Lamp's gun aside and it discharged in the air as the two men fell to the floor where Tome lay dying.

      
Lamp yelled for his police, who were waiting outside the office door, intimidating the Apaches in the infirmary. As he and Torres rolled across the room struggling, Eden raced to the window and climbed out. Lamp's men burst in, seizing Torres roughly and pulling him off the agent. Caleb struggled to his feet, brushing his stringy hair from his eyes as one of the police handed him his gun.

      
He leveled it on the physician. “Get that girl before she rides off.” He gestured to the open window. Two of his men raced from the office while the third climbed out the window after her.

      
Lamp turned to Torres with a grim smile. “Now, Doc, what can I do with you until I can arrange that little carriage ride?” He motioned for the doctor to sit down behind his desk, then said conversationally, “After the breakneck fall you're gonna take, one more knot on the head won't be noticed.” With that he raised his gun and sent the barrel crashing down on Torres's skull. The doctor slumped across the desk, unconscious.

* * * *

Tucson

      
Colin walked down the hall to his room at the Palace after passing a thoroughly exhausting day. He had pored over Lamp's records yesterday evening, then spent today talking with cattle drovers and clerks who worked for reservation contractors, comparing what scraps of information they would divulge about actual supplies sold and their costs with the doctored receipts and expenditures in the agency books. There were some discrepancies, but he doubted that the hirelings working for the rich, powerful Tucson businessmen would dare come forward to testify against their employers. He needed that buyer who had seen Barker's WB imprinted over the US brand and witnessed the illegal sale.

      
“Where the hell is Blake with that man?” McCrory muttered as he unlocked the door to his room. The instant he shoved it ajar, he froze and pulled his gun with lightning swiftness. Someone was in his room! Then, the faint essence of lilies of the valley wafted over his senses.
Maggie
.

      
He stepped inside as she walked out of the bedroom, dressed in a sheer aqua silk robe that gaped enticingly over the curve of her breasts. Her hair hung in dark, fiery splendor around her shoulders.

      
“Are you going to shoot me like an intruder?” she asked in a husky voice, gliding toward him. Her robe slid open, baring one slim leg as she walked nearer.

      
“I could've shot you,” he said as he holstered his gun. “What the hell are you doing here? I told you to stay at the reservation with Eden.”

      
“Eden's the reason I'm here.” She stood directly in front of him, inhaling the virile scent of his sweat combined with that essence that was uniquely her husband's. She reached up and ran one fingertip from his throat down the skin exposed where his shirt collar lay open, tracing a bead of perspiration. When his chest hair trapped the elusive droplet, she rubbed her finger over it, then brought it slowly to her tongue. “Salty,” she said in a whisper. “You need a bath. I've taken the liberty of ordering one.”

      
He felt the old familiar tightening in his loins, the heat curling through his blood, sending it racing. “What about Eden?” he asked gruffly, trying to ignore what her nearness always did to him.

      
“You'd feel more relaxed if you had that bath first. The porter's just poured the water. It's not too hot, just tepid.”

      
She reached up and began to unbutton his shirt but his hands closed over hers, stopping her. “I told you not to come here.”

      
“But you're not sorry I'm here now, are you, Colin?” Her eyes met his, daring him to deny what his tense body made so clear.

      
He released her hands and reached down to unbuckle his holster, tossing his gun belt onto the sofa while she continued working on his shirt. When she slid her hands down his arms and around his back to peel the shirt off, he sucked his breath in between clenched teeth and backed away from her with an oath. “Let me undress,” he muttered hoarsely, kicking angrily at the bootjack as one boot defied his attempt to pull it off.

      
Colin quickly finished undressing and followed Maggie into the bedroom, where a big brass tub sat filled with water. He sank into it and seized a cloth and a bar of soap before she could distract him with those clever soft little hands again. “Now, what is it about Eden you have to discuss?” he asked as he soaped and rinsed his face and neck.

      
“You know she's in love with Wolf.”

      
His head snapped up, sending droplets of water flying in every direction. “I know she's infatuated with the romantic notion of a dangerous gunman—and she’s flaunting the society that's scorned her by choosing a half-breed.”

      
“I admit I was worried about that possibility when I first sensed her attraction to him, but Wolf loves her, Colin. He knows how being an outcast hurts her, because he's always been one himself. This isn't the thrill of the forbidden like it was with Lazlo. I think they can build a good marriage.”

      
“With him supporting her by his guns? He'll end up dead in some back-alley shootout in a year or two.”

      
“Just like you almost did five nights ago?” she retorted.

      
“I'm not a hired gun—and even if I am risking my life right now, I don't have the responsibilities of raising any more children.”

      
Maggie felt a wrenching pain deep inside her and turned away, clutching the bedpost tightly as she gathered her scattered thoughts before replying. “Wolf won't be a hired gun either. He—”

      
“Blake won't take my charity and live off his wife. I know the man well enough for that.”

      
“Then we do at least agree he is a man of principle,” she said carefully, daring to turn and face him.

      
Colin busied himself with scrubbing down, trying to ignore the persistent ache in his nether regions that distracted him from thinking clearly. “Yes, I think Wolf has principles—he isn't out to deceive her like Lazlo, but dammit, Maggie, that isn't enough.”

      
“He's bright and well-read. Did you ever wonder where a half-breed came by his education?” She gave him no chance to reply. “His father is a wealthy man who disowned Wolf for his white wife. After her death, he wanted to reconcile with his only son. Wolf's willing to do it for Eden. How easy do you think that decision was for a man like him?”

      
Colin grew very still sitting in the tub. Pensively, he considered what she said. “Not easy at all, I would imagine. But there'll always be the stigma of his Apache blood, the blood their children would have—”

      
“That kind of bigotry has to end somewhere, Colin. Isn't that the reason you're fighting Barker and Lamp and all their kind?”

      
Images of bloody scalp poles and the drone of flies filled his senses for a moment. “My reasons for fighting are my own,” he replied with a shuttered expression on his face.

      
“She’ll go to him without your blessing. Is that how you want it to be?”

      
He stared at her, his eyes riveting her angrily. “And you've already given your blessing, superseding mine.”

      
Maggie shook her head. “You're her father. It's your blessing that she wants—that she needs, Colin. Please don't drive her away. It doesn't have to be like this.” As she spoke, Maggie stepped closer to the tub and knelt beside it, clutching the rim tightly with white knuckles, her voice impassioned.

      
He reached one dripping hand out and brushed her hair back, leaving a wet mark on her shoulder. Then, he tipped her chin up and held it in his fingers. She was crying silent tears. “You love her so much—as much as Elizabeth ever could have. Ah, Maggie, I just don't know...but I’ll talk to Blake when he brings in that cattle buyer.”

      
She sensed her victory. If he was willing to talk, it would all work out for Eden and Wolf. With a small sob she threw her arms around Colin's shoulders. He enfolded her in his embrace, soaking her hair and robe. Neither of them noticed…

* * * *

      
Colin stood next to the bed watching Maggie sleep. Lying nestled beneath the sheets with the first thin shafts of pale golden sunlight tinting her face and firing her hair, she was breathtaking. The inner war he had been waging against accepting her as his wife seemed suddenly pointless. Her past was past, just as his was. She would sacrifice anything for his daughter—and for him, he admitted. That night in the alley was etched in his memory forever.

      
I guess I do love you, Maggie
. A tender, rueful smile spread across his face as he bent down and planted a light kiss on her cheek.

      
She awakened drowsily and turned into his kiss, claiming his lips in a soft, brushing caress. “Good morning. Where are you off to dressed so nattily?” He was outfitted in the new suit he had purchased yesterday.

      
“I can't beard Win Barker in his lair dressed like a poor cowhand, can I? Go back to sleep. You should need the rest,” he said with quiet amusement dancing in his whiskey eyes.

      
Her cheeks bloomed under his gaze as she recalled their impassioned lovemaking. She wanted to know more about his plan to face Barker but dared not risk sitting up to talk for fear of triggering her morning sickness. “Be careful, Colin,” she whispered as he turned and left the room.

      
When he arrived at the mercantile, Colin walked through the crowded store, its countertops filled with everything imaginable, from cook stoves to calico. Mining tools filled one wall, while below them were stacked cases of dynamite and boxes of fuse line. Across the narrow aisle, pots and pans of graniteware sat gleaming. Bolts of fabrics filled another counter, which contained every grade from cheap, brightly colored cotton for the poor Mexican laborers to rare silks and velvets for the wealthy mine owner's wives to ooh and aah over.

      
The acidic aroma of freshly tanned animal hides mixed with the pungent spices from slow-cured hams and the sweet smell of dried peaches and apricots. Win Barker handled everything the inhabitants of a frontier territory rich in minerals, agriculture and livestock could need. Even if he went straight, he would still be wealthy; but Colin knew that for a power-hungry man like Barker money would never be enough. He wended his way to the narrow stairs at the back of the big store, where a surly-looking man with shaggy dark hair and a decidedly broken nose stood guard.

      
“Colin McCrory to see Win Barker,” he announced genially, brushing past the tough.

      
“Mr. Barker don't see nobody until I ask him,” the guard said in a guttural accent. He shoved his stocky frame in front of McCrory to block his path. Using the extra foot of height that standing on the first step gave him, he looked down into Colin's face. “Wait here.”

      
Colin shrugged and leaned against the wall. “He'll see me. Just tell him it's regarding a cattle transaction he made on the White Mountain Reservation a few months ago.”

      
In moments, Colin was ushered into Barker's big office. The small man sat behind an oversized desk cluttered with papers, reclining in a swivel chair with his fingers laced over his paunch. He reached for the large gold watch hanging on a chain from his brocade vest and flicked it open, as if granting McCrory a hearing with a time limit. He did not offer a seat.

      
“What can I do for you, Colin? Seems to me we aired our differences before Mr. Potkin a few days ago,” he added smugly.