The Trailrider's Fortune (30 page)

"
Rafe
."

Was she crying?
Maybe she had a cold in her turned-up nose. She was sniffling. Was that why she
hadn't curled up against him? Even when he rolled away, she'd snuggle up close
when she thought he was sleeping. It was one of the things he loved about her.
The way she always knew he didn't mean to shun her. It was just hard for him
not to show too much sometimes.

Especially when he
looked into her eyes.

The color had
struck him that very first day, along with the crackling life in them. But now
that he really knew her, her eyes affected him for a whole different reason.

She watched while
they made love. Watched him move on top of her, watched him lick and suckle.
Most gals closed their eyes when a fella took them. Sparkle did too…but not
until just seconds before she came.

It was like a
dare. Let's see if you're man enough, Rafe. Make me close my eyes.

He always could,
but he had to get her to the very edge. So close to climaxing himself, he could
hardly hold back. Then those aquamarine pools would go dark, the lids would
squeeze shut. She'd begin to quiver and gasp his name. Seeing her, hearing
her…knowing he'd given her such intense pleasure, he'd lose control.
Gratefully. Explode deep inside her, where she was hottest. Unbelievably tight
and burning. Like his skin now.

"Too
hot," he mumbled. A cool wetness engulfed his brow. He felt her fingers.
"Darlin'?" He willed his leaden eyelids to raise a notch. Through
slits he saw it wasn't Sparkle, but Rannie, weeping.

He groped with his
right arm, found her hand near his side. She jumped at his touch. She'd been
wiping her nose, not looking at him. She did now and happiness flooded her
puffy features.

"Here,"
she coaxed, holding a cup to his lips. "Wet your lips and tongue. Don't
drink too much." Rafe did as she instructed. The cool water broke the seal
on his mouth. He tipped the cup and took another tiny sip.

Miranda glanced at
her husband, who stood near the door. "Find Travis. Tell him Rafe's
awake."

Zach left before
Rafe could say anything. Miranda faced Rafe again, and he saw her dark eyes
appeared almost haunted. She hadn't looked so dreadful since the day they
buried Ma. "Travis sent for me," she informed him in a voice entirely
too grim.

Christ, had
somebody else died? Rafe fleetingly wondered. But nobody else was left.

"He didn't
think you were going to live, Raford. Until a few hours ago, I wasn't certain
myself. You were shot again. This time the wound got infected. You've been
feverish." Her palm pressed against his bare shoulder, then tested his
cheek. "You're still too warm, but if we keep bathing you with damp cloths
and get some fluid in you, I think we can get your temperature back to
normal."

"Sorry to be a
pain in the ass." He didn't know why that phrase had come out. Rannie
didn't like crude language.

"You've been a
good deal more than that," she snapped. "Travis has been absolutely
beside himself. I've never seen him so distraught. Don't you understand you're
all that stands between us and death? Our parents and Simon are gone. I was
thankful you were too young to go off to the war. So what do you do? Grow up to
wage your own private one."

"Rannie, come
on now."

"If you die,
who's next?
We are
. Travis and me. It's so incredibly selfish of you not
to see that. Leaving poor Travis feeling responsible for your welfare."

"Ain't tryin'
to burden Travis. Don't even know how I got here."

"Your friend,
or should I say cohort, Driscoll brought you, tied over your horse. He told
Travis you were ambushed. Not that you don't use the same technique yourself,
or that I feel particularly sorry for you. You probably had it coming."

"Yeah, like
you have this comin'." He pulled her down and gave her a smacking buss on
her cheek with cracked lips. His gaze dropped to her midsection. "See
you're fixin' to give Zach another mouth to feed. Where's Kayla?"

"With Mrs.
Abbot. I don't want her seeing you like this, Rafe. You'd only frighten her half
to death. Please tell me you're finished with this business for good now."

Rafe was still
wiped out, too exhausted to tangle with her in that same old argument.
"Don't start with that, Miranda," he groused. "I'm powerful
hungry. Just woke up after a bad night. Need somethin' in my stomach. We can
talk—"

"Is that how
long you think it's been?" she scoffed. "You've been here almost a
week. Oh, here's Travis. Now you be decent to him, or I won't bring you any of
the nice hot soup Mrs. Abbot made."

The two brothers
visited quietly until Miranda came back with a tray. "Travis, did you talk
sense into him?"

"Ain't
sure."

"What good are
you, then?" she demanded in exasperation. "Either do something to
help now, or get out of my way."

Travis rose and
moved aside. "Yes'm. Whatever you say, Mrs. Donaldson. You're in charge of
the prisoner. Did you bring some of that moldy bread I'd been savin' for
him?"

"No. Just
soup. You can get the leeches and moldy bread later. When he's strong enough to
be taught a good lesson." Miranda narrowed her eyes at Rafe, then set the
tray down and tied a kitchen towel around his bare throat.

"Whoo-ee,"
Travis cackled. "If them gals from the town socials could see you now,
Raford! Naked but for a dishtowel. If you ain't a sight."

"You don't get
your ass back to work," Rafe growled, "I'll blacken both your eyes
so's you won't have to worry what a sight I am." He winced as he sat up.

Travis ducked out
of the room. Miranda sat on the edge of the bed and began spooning hot liquid
into Rafe's mouth. The soup was actually good. He let her feed him most of the
bowl. Then she had to upset the apple cart.

"Travis wrote
me some months ago about your peculiar 'situation'."

"What
situation's that?" Rafe frowned.

"He says
there's a woman who goes around claiming to be your wife. That you gave her
permission to."

"Travis blows
hot air."

She shook her head.
"Not this time. He wrote me a two-page letter. He was deeply concerned.
Apparently this is some saloon harlot. Seemed more than a passing fancy."

"She wasn't a
harlot. Just a pretty waiter gal."

Miranda's hair, a
shade lighter than Rafe's, was caught in a bun at the base of her neck. Golden
highlights glinted in a shaft of afternoon light as she tilted her head, deep
in thought. "Her name was something like that, wasn't it? Fancy or
Glitter…Something unusual."

Jesus. Don't say
it. She doesn't need to know. Don't you dare open your mouth, Raford. Promised
yourself you'd never speak that name again, ever.

"Sparkle."

His sister's brown
eyes pinned him. "Where is this Sparkle?" He shrugged. "When do
we get to meet her?" Rafe made an exaggerated production of stretching his
legs and wiggling his toes.

"I understand
you lied to protect her," Miranda went on. "Still, considering your
reluctance to even consider taking one, I find this 'wife' pretext a rather
startling development."

She hadn't asked a
question, but Rafe was locked into the shrugging bit. His shoulders jerked
again.

Miranda pulled the
dishtowel away and stood up. She bustled out with the tray, but Rafe's reprieve
was too brief. She came right back. "I want to see Kayla," Rafe tried
again. "Why don't you bring her in here? I don't look that bad." He
ran his fingers over his face. "Hmm, take that back. Couldn't Travis at
least shave me?"

Miranda closed the
door. "No, he couldn't. You were
dying
, Raford. A week's growth of
beard was the least of his concerns."

Rafe cleared his
throat. He had no idea how a man replied to the news he'd been at death's door.
He only knew he wasn't about to look Miranda in the eye just then. She'd turned
into Ma Number Two, which meant another of her fire and brimstone lectures was
due, complete with biblical quotations, verse by agonizing verse. Another
sermon on the evil life of Rafe Conley.

"Do you love
the woman?"

He'd never know why
he told the truth…except Rannie had fooled him into dropping his guard, and
maybe a dying man didn't have far to drop it, anyhow. "So much it's
killin' me. I should've smelled that ambush."

She moved to stand
beside the bed. "Travis was angry. He thought she was after your money. I
was pleased to learn you might be in love. And oddly enough, I liked what he
wrote about her. A fortune teller with special cards. Travis thinks it's weird,
but I think it's rather charming."

Rafe groaned
audibly. He wasn't charmed. Bedeviled, tormented, miserable. Not charmed. Not
by a damned sight.

"Why aren't
you seeing her anymore?" Miranda searched his face.

"You know
what? Need to piss somethin' fierce, Rannie. Could you get Zach or one of the
men to help me down the hall?"

"Not until you
answer my question. Is she why you were shot? You're right, you should have
sensed an ambush. Maybe your friend lied about what happened. Could it be a jealous
boyfriend, didn't appreciate her new 'husband' hanging around the saloon?"

"Nope. Come
on, Miranda, you fed me that broth. Now I need to go."

She crossed to the
dresser and brought down an empty cooking pot. "There you are."

Rafe glared at her.
"You're determined to make me suffer. If I was strong enough to drink the
stuff off the spoon, I'm strong enough to make it through a door and let it
back out. Just need one of the menfolk to help steady me, is all."

"You've made
me suffer," Miranda replied. "I'd like to send for Sparkle. Certainly
she'd come, if she knew you'd been badly hurt."

"No. Just drop
it," Rafe commanded and his kin actually did.

Three weeks after
the Donaldsons went home to Nebraska, Rafe announce plans to move out to his
cabin. Mrs. Abbott argued with him vehemently and sent for her husband. Joshua argued
some more. Then he went to the boss, which Joshua disliked doing, because as
foreman on this spread, he was expected to know how to run it. But this was
different. Despite years of dealing with cantankerous cowboys, idiot cattle,
lazy horseflesh, broken axles, wobbly wagon wheels, busted fences, and stubborn
mules, Joshua had never met up with difficult like Rafe Conley.

Travis paid Joshua
Abbott and his wife pretty well, but there wasn't enough money in the world to
get the ranch foreman to go up against a trained killer like Travis' older
brother. If his years in the west had taught Joshua anything, it was that
sooner or later a gunfighter resorted to pulling his weapon to enforce his
point of view.

Travis stormed into
the front room, snowflakes clinging to his hat and the shoulders of his
sheepskin coat. "Got better things to do than listen to my foreman run at
the mouth over my pig-headed kinfolk. You're
not
stayin' in the cabin
this winter, so just settle yourself back and hush up."

Rafe stalked across
the room, hunching over and whispering. "Makes me too nervous, Travis.
Can't abide it no more."

"Who? Abide
what?"

"That Miz
Abbott. All the time flutterin' around here, movin' things. Tellin' me pick my
feet up cause she's got to sweep. I pick 'em up, she says put 'em back down,
cause I got a smear on the table and she just waxed it. Always foldin' laundry
or scrubbin' somethin'. I'm tempted to pull  my Colt and shoot the dad-blamed
female just to watch the dust settle."

Travis sighed in
exasperation. "She's a housekeeper, Rafe. That's what they do."

"And I aim to
let her do it. Just don't want her fussin' around me. Besides, need some peace
and quiet. I got contemplatin' to do."

Travis trudged down
the hall toward the back bedroom, wondering when he was ever going to win a
round with Rafe. "I'll  help you take your gear out."

The cabin door
creaked as it swung open. Travis grimaced, averting his face. "Jesus,
smells worse than the barn! You skin somethin' out here before you left?"

"It's always
musty until I get it aired out," Rafe drawled. "Throw my duds on the
bunk. I'll manage here on my lonesome. I'll come inside when that fool woman
rings the supper bell."

Travis dropped
Rafe's saddlebags on the bunk. Rafe's was double the width of the wood frames
in the bunkhouse. Like the log structure itself and its other spare
furnishings, Rafe had made the bunk himself. It was nailed against one wall
beneath a high window. Rafe slept with the small casement cracked open, even in
January. Travis stepped up on the bunk now and unlatched the window, welcoming
the fresh air.

"That's
better. I can't believe you put up with this stench every time you come back.
Don't you dare leave it reekin' like this when you head out next spring."

Rafe sat in his
rocking chair and gave Travis a silent appraisal. "Won't be any next time.
This is my last winter here. Need to take stock of my life, decide where to
head to next. Lost my back-up man. Been reconsiderin' things lately. Visits
here at Crockhead are one of 'em."