The Trailrider's Fortune (29 page)

Kent took her by
the elbow and smiled. "It's not unheard of, gaps in a patient's memory
after some trauma like this. He had a particular amnesia before. We'll ease him
into the present, and give him whatever time he needs to adjust." He
escorted her into the room and grinned at his alert patient. "Good
afternoon, Mr. LaFleur. Your sister says you're feeling much better."

"My
sister?" Jace snorted, frowning. "I don't have any sister, and my
name's Jace
Flowers
. She's Sparkle Cummings, my best friend. But you got
to watch her, she likes pranks. This time she's come up with a real frolic. My
sister."

Sparkle ignored the
ominous expression on the doctor's face and spoke to the man in the bed.
"Oh Jace, I knew you'd come around! I prayed and prayed that someday you'd
remember Fire Thorn and our past. The tarot cards said to have patience, that
eventually you would."

"Oh yes.
Tarot. Eliza Cummings and her funny cards. How is she, and where's
Mother?" His face clouded. "Father's…gone, isn't he?"

She glanced
uncertainly at Kent. He gave her a small nod of encouragement. She reached for
Jace's hand. "I'm afraid so. He's been gone for years. That night in the
Fire Thorn cemetery was a decade ago. We've both grown up. Our parents are
gone, but you have a wife. A need to go get her. She'll be thrilled."

"A wife?
Ten
years
?" Jace sounded incredulous. "Sparkle, my God, that would
make me…"

"Going on
twenty-three in a couple months, and still my very dearest friend,"
Sparkle replied as she bent to kiss his cheek. "Dr. Barlow will tell you
whatever else you need to know. I'm going to get Majesta."

Jace grabbed her
hand tighter. "Majesta? What kind of name is that?"

"I don't
know," Sparkle said, shrugging. "Majestic?" She couldn't resist
a teasing smile. "It fits her."

"Oh, heavens.
What's she like?"

"Fairly tall
with light-colored hair. She's bright and proper, and…" she hesitated,
still finding it hard to admit this, "perfect for you. But your mother
changed your family name after your father died. Your last name—sorry,
our
last name's LaFleur now. It's French for—"

"Flower,"
he supplied, giving Sparkle a look of trepidation. "Majesta sounds too
fancy to be married to a plain old Flower. Guess I ought to leave the French
surname."

"You and
Majesta can decide. I've kept it all these years. I love you, Jace."

* * *

"You might
have warned me he wasn't actually your brother," Kent chided. They sat in
the parlor before a low fire. "You can't imagine what an unpleasant surprise
it was, to have my patient vehemently denying his own name and relationship to
a significant person. For a second, I was afraid we'd cut out his sensibilities
along with the bullet. That would have been some tragedy. We'd already disposed
of the slug. It wasn't as though we could put it back."

"Oh
Kent," Sparkle laughed. "You're incorrigible."

"As are you,
young lady. You should have confided in me. I thought we were closer than
that."

Sparkle took a deep
breath. "I swore an oath to Jace's mother never to tell. I was orphaned,
Kent. She could have left me to make my own way, just another guttersnipe. She
didn't, she took me in. Calling me Jace's sister was her idea. She claimed me
as her own in exchange for my silence. I never broke my oath, even after her
death. She wanted Jace to recall on his own."

"Perhaps
you'll make me a promise too, though not such a solemn one as that. When Jace
is back at home and things settle down, will you promise to spend all your free
time in my company, Miss LaFleur."

"Actually,
I've taken too much time off lately. I should find a position somewhere. Jace
has a modest trust fund, but the only way the household managed before was with
me gainfully employed."

He nodded.
"Majesta mentioned you were a teacher. I have a friend on the local school
board. I could put in a good word for you."

"No. I mean,
I…I don't think I want to be surrounded by children any longer," she
blurted.

"I
understand," he smiled, patting her hand. "It makes you long for your
own. That's why I don't work the children's ward, if I can avoid it. I've got a
soft spot for them. Plan to have a dozen or so of my own someday."

A dozen or so?
Sparkle swallowed, calculating. His wife would have to spend…
nine years of
her life pregnant
. Nine years bloated and waddling? Not her. She'd have to
temper his views on that subject.

"But Kent,
you're such a busy man, with a demanding schedule. A large family is…well, a
man would have to summon a great deal of fortitude and…" She colored,
trying to think of how to put it delicately.

"Income?"

"
Inspiration
…to
father twelve children. Not to mention tremendous patience and energy to rear
them all properly."

"I'd find the
time and forbearance." He raised her fingers to his lips. "With a
woman like you, inspiration and energy pose no hardship. Remembering I'm a
gentleman is much harder than finding myself…
inspired
."

Oh God. He'd
grasped what she was hinting at, all too eagerly. Now she was sorry she'd
ventured into such dangerous conversational waters. She purposely yawned and
got to her feet. "I'm sorry, Kent. This has been quite a day. I'm
exhausted, elated, grateful for your medical skills. However, I also need to
get some sleep."

He drew her into
his arms and kissed her. "Most inspirational," he mumbled, smiling as
he stepped out into the cool evening air.

Knowing what
genuine "inspiration" was, the memory of lying nude in Rafe's arms,
reflecting on things they'd done, forbidden fruit she'd tasted, she wanted
nothing less and no one else but Rafe.

She wasn't sure she
could compromise and devote her life to Kent. Many women would consider him
ideal, yet, as Majesta noted, each woman needed certain things from her mate.
Intelligence, stability, a sense of humor were all important to Sparkle. So was
having her bed sheets on fire.

And the man who
could set them ablaze was gone. The man she dreamed of kissing in Kent's place,
the man she fantasized was touching her, bringing her to a shattering climax—

Rafe was gone. She
was no one's woman now.

Travis wondered
whose tail was on fire. Someone was kicking up dust along the drive from
Crockhead's main gates. He'd put up supplies for the winter, brought back two
loads of hay the day before yesterday, didn't owe any merchants on his
accounts. He couldn't imagine why anyone would be in such a hurry to see him.
Nor did he recognize the fella bearing down on the ranch house full chisel.

Behind the
stranger, through the haze of billowing dust, came a familiar star sorrel. The
horse's rider was slung crosswise over the saddle.
Rafe
.

Travis' rifle
somehow appeared in his hands. He had no awareness of having crossed the porch
to get it. But whoever the bastard was who'd shot Rafe Conley, if he had balls
enough to show up here to dump the body, he was someone to be reckoned with.
Travis wasn't sure he'd let the man live long enough to turn his horse back
around. Or maybe he'd let the son-of-a-bitch think he was in the clear, then
drop him just as he reached the main gate. Shoot him in the back, the way he'd
probably shot Rafe. The way Travis and Miranda always feared he'd be killed.

"Ain't a
goner," the stranger shouted. "Just passed out. Got hit a couple days
ago. Bullet passed clean through. Bleeding stopped, but he needs a
doctor."

By now three ranch
hands had ridden toward the house, alerted by riders approaching. Travis turned
to two of them. "Put Rafe in the back bedroom." He barely glanced at
the third man. "Randy, fetch the doc."

Travis turned to
the stranger. "You, come inside." It wasn't an invitation of welcome.
Travis kept his rifle pointed at the man's chest.

Moments later,
Travis sat drinking strong coffee at his kitchen table with the fella,
listening to his tale. The man said his name was Driscoll. Said he and Rafe and
another man—the half-breed friend of Rafe's Travis knew, Sam Parker—had been
ambushed outside of Big Bow. There was a pregnant silence when Driscoll
finished his story, until boots entering the parlor brought Travis to his feet.

"You move from
that chair, Driscoll, you'll regret it." Travis accompanied the doctor to
look at Rafe.

Driscoll was
permitted to leave an hour later. He rode away wondering if he'd ever lay eyes
on Rafe Conley again. The man had a real talent with weapons. And a daunting
reputation that Driscoll fully believe the gunslinger had earned. But the past
few months, it seemed he'd lost his edge. Hard to imagine. Fella had taken out
Ned Slocumb. Rafe hadn't only fulfilled his guarantee to the cattle baron who'd
hired them, but done it with his lady card-reader half naked in the outlaw's
arms.

Now Rafe had taken
a bullet himself and lost his back-up man. Driscoll was no slouch with a
six-gun, but he lacked Conley's lightning speed or Parker's instincts. Driscoll
had thrown in with Parker two years ago, ended up riding with Conley a lot of
the time. Which was fine by him. The three of them had fit like pegs in
grooves, made real money. Taken out some vicious criminals, shared some good
times.

Hell, just a week
before, they'd been drinking at a rickety plank bar listening to Sam Parker
tell his bad Injun jokes. They'd slept under the stars, shared a campfire, each
trusting the other two with his life. Tight. Solid companions, a working team.

Now everything had
gone to shit.

The doctor said
Conley's wound was badly festered. He'd lanced it, drained the putrescence,
smeared some ointment over it. Driscoll knew as well as the doctor did—though
neither said a word to Conley's brother—sometimes the poison was already in a
man's blood and draining the wound couldn't save him.

Driscoll rode out
of Colorado alone. Worn out, busted, headed for Texas. Leaving one riding
partner behind in a shallow grave; the other, maybe already half dead.

* * *

Travis stood beside
the bed, staring down at his unconscious older brother. Feeling a bit haggard
himself as he wiped a palm over his stubbled cheek, Travis grimly realized he
hadn't used a razor in two days. Or slept. Since late Tuesday when the stranger
rode in, all he'd done was change his clothes, slurp bitter coffee, and prowl
this small room while either the doctor or the foreman's wife fussed over Rafe.

Well, he'd done one
other thing. Sent a wire summoning Miranda. He'd hated scaring her so badly,
especially with her being in the family way. And he'd questioned the wisdom and
necessity of his actions, even as he ordered the telegram sent. If Rafe woke up
tomorrow, he'd cuss a blue streak at learning Travis had gotten Miranda
involved. But if he
didn't
wake up…

Travis couldn't
think about that. Rafe would come around. He was too damned ornery to die.

He hadn't when some
outlaw tried to carve him up like a side of roast beef. He'd laughed over the
shot he'd taken in his upper arm last year. Rafe had been nicked by more
bullets than a practice tin can, yet he'd always come through. If a ten-inch
Bowie hadn't sent him to meet his Maker, how could a simple little rifle slug
that didn't even stay inside him possibly do it?

"You die on
me, Rafe," Travis warned aloud, stalking the perimeter of the silent bed,
"I swear I'll never forgive you. You die on me, I'll curse your soul to
eternal hellfire every day for the rest of my natural life. Don't forget, I'm
younger than you, Little Brother…And you
are
the little brother. Look at
you! Puny, all pasty. Look like some damned plucked chicken folks wouldn't
bother to even set to boil."

No response.

"I'd get up
and punch my brother right in the face for a crack like that if I was layin'
there. You gonna let me get away with that? What happened, rifle bullet knock
all the piss out of you?"

No reply, just
uneven breathing.

"You die on me
before Miranda gets here to see you one last time, I'll go out and shoot that
damned horse of yours. I'll come after you when I die. Find your miserable ass
down in Hades and drag it to barn dances every night. I swear I will. You die
on me, I'll tell every man on this spread how you and Rannie had tea parties
and you sipped lemonade like a girl. You give up and die, I'm never forgivin'
anything you ever did…that includes breakin' Ma's heart. You worthless,
ignorant mule. Never listen to no one, never bothered that we love you. You
ought to die and end the damned suspense. Go on, see if I care!"

Rafe never moved.

A choking sob
echoed in the small bedchamber. "Please, Lord, oh please…Don't let him
die. Don't let my big brother die."

* * *

Rafe heard her slip
into the room and come to the bed. He'd been lying still, burning with heat,
wanting her worse than he could remember since the very first time. She didn't
say anything. Didn't reach for him or say his name in that certain way she had
that made his gut clench and his manhood stiffen. He was already so hot, he had
to be hard as an oak limb. Damn, what was she waiting for? Didn't she know how
he wanted her? He tried to move his lips.