The Trailrider's Fortune (33 page)

"I'm a friend
of Mr. Conley's," she announced as a wizened hand approached from around
the side of the residence.

"Ma'am, beg
pardon, but I been foreman here since Travis first started this ranch. Ain't
never seen you around these parts, not even at the town socials."

"I'm from
Kansas, and I don't mean Travis," she clarified. "I've come to see
Rafe Conley. He's staying here for the winter, isn't he?"

The foreman tilted
his hat back and scratched at a receding hairline. "Yes'm. Been here for a
spell. Stays in a cabin around back. But he ain't around just now. Went yonder
two spreads north of here with some of the men, gatherin' strays got loose
through a section of busted fence. Should be back by nightfall." The man
eyed her trunk. "You fixin' to stay awhile?"

"Yes. Might I
wait inside? It's a bit chilly out here."

He shrugged and
spat a gob of chaw. "Suit yourself. Front door ain't never locked."
He turned and disappeared the way he'd come.

"Gushin' host
you got there," her driver commented dryly as he carried her trunk inside
and accepted her fare. "Good luck, miss."

Sparkle closed the
door against the frosty air and removed her gloves. She sank onto the dark
russet sofa, curling gratefully against its back. The sofa had been covered
with a brightly colored crocheted throw in an attempt to hide several
threadbare sections of upholstery. Sparkle smiled. A man's house.

The front room was
warm and cheery as its color scheme, a jumbled mass of hues and shapes. None of
the furniture matched, with the exception that each pine piece might have been
chosen for comfort—by someone much taller than Sparkle. She thrust her legs
straight out and found she couldn't get her heels to catch the edge of the
coffee table. The sofa's cushions sagged into deep hollows. Its arms and those
of the chairs were broad and well worn.

Crackling flames warmed
the room from a massive stone fireplace. An oak clock ticked softly on an
adjoining wall. Much of the large room's cheer came from the pine paneled
walls. This wasn't a house where people sat in stiff-backed chairs or in
assigned places at a formal dining table. Cowboys propped booted feet up with
their spurs still in place…the gouges on the coffee table attested to it. A row
of pegs beside the front door waited for brimmed felt hats—one a broad charcoal
belonging to a certain lean gunslinger.

Sparkle could
easily see Rafe here.

Sprawled in a chair
near the fire in a work shirt and denims, dozing, evincing the false demeanor
that hid his predatory natural wariness so well. No wonder the parlor felt like
home. The foreman had mentioned a cabin, but she'd bet Rafe had been in this
room recently. She could almost smell his musky scent, picture his square-toed
boots crossed at the ankles propped on the coffee table.

A heel struck the
puncheon floor behind her. Sparkle came off the couch and whirled around. Her
heart leaped, then faltered. The man standing there wasn't Rafe, but someone
who looked a great deal like him. They both spoke up at once.

"I'll be
damned. You must be Sparkle."

"Travis?"

They each responded
with a silent nod and went on taking inventory. Travis appeared taller and
slightly thinner than his brother, but the wavy sable hair and deep brown eyes
were Rafe's all over again. Travis had more sharply-defined features, not
Rafe's rawboned look. He also wasn't wearing a gunbelt. Sparkle noted that he
did have on a pair of silvery spurs. Her smile widened at the sound they made
as he went to warm his hands before the fire. God, how she'd missed spurs.

For his part,
Travis had been struck immediately by the woman's distinctive eyes. Not that
any other woman was likely to have turned up here asking after Rafe, but Travis
could have pegged this particular filly in a whole herd of females. He shot her
a sideways glance. Rafe had said she'd probably been named for her eyes, that
she was a pretty little thing. She was far more than that. Outright stunning
was closer to it. A gal as fetchin' as this one could have her pick of men—in
any saloon, in any town, anywhere.

"I see your
foreman wasted no time advising you had a visitor," she said.

Travis coughed and
unbuttoned his coat. "Well, only woman ever visits is our sister. And you
lookin' for Raford comes as a surprise, since he said you'd passed him over for
another fella. Can't say I'd blame you."

Her eyebrows
lifted. "You wouldn't? That doesn't seem very charitable. He's your
brother. He happens to be mistaken," she added, with a glint in her eye,
"but you should still be naturally skeptical about me."

Travis slung his
coat over the back of a chair and studied her openly now. Damned straight he
should be wary, but how many gals would've said so? Feisty, all right. What
else had Rafe said? That talk in the barn was so long ago, Travis couldn't
quite recall the details.

"How about
some coffee?" he asked. "There's usually a pot on the stove. Maybe
you should take off whatever that is, if it's supposed to come off, and visit
my kitchen." His lips curved up into a smile.

Oh, that smile…so
like a grin she'd missed, too. She couldn't help returning it. "You look
and sound a lot like your brother."

"Only when I
get nervous."

She worked at the
laces at her throat. "Do I make you nervous?" She took off what
turned out to be a cloak to reveal a serge traveling suit. Travis had seen the
same sort of get-up on women in town, but he hadn't seen anyone fill one out
any better. "You're younger than Rafe?" she asked.

"Yep, by a
couple years." He gestured for her to precede him through the doorway into
the kitchen. When she did, he saw she was indeed petite. The top of her head
only cleared his elbows by a few inches. Nothing he saw fit the image of a
fallen angel. She looked and carried herself like a real lady. A lady who'd
come looking for his cantankerous, mule-headed big brother. Wonders never
ceased.

In the time it took
to set out the sugar bowl and get them both into chairs at the trestle table,
Travis had reached his decision. Without hearing her version of whatever had
taken place over in Kansas, he was sure Rafe had fallen in love for all the
right reasons. Any man who spent time around a gal like this would have to be a
blind or deaf idiot if he didn't find himself entranced.

Travis had never
idolized his brother, but always borne a healthy respect for Rafe. Deserving of
his hard reputation, just plain old impossible as the man could be, Rafe was a
force all his own. Looking over the rim of his coffee mug into prismatic
blue-green eyes, Travis experienced a whole new emotion:  envy. He envied Rafe
this elfin woman with her bewitching eyes and trim little figure.

"You hinted it
wasn't
you
left Rafe," he said softly. "Hard to believe he'd
be dumb enough to walk away from someone like you." He expected her to
thank him for the compliment. She didn't.

"Not without
what he believed was adequate provocation."

Well. Travis wasn't
sure what the heck to make of that. He said nothing for a few moments, let her
get some warm liquid into her innards. Then he sighed, "I've got to tell
you the truth. He's not doin' too well."

She frowned
slightly. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Travis purposely
pulled his features into a grim mask. "He was ambushed a few months ago
and took a bullet through his side. Friend rode him back here, but the gunshot
wound had festered. Doc said another day's delay and it would've been too late
to save him."

The story brought
exactly the reaction he'd been hoping for. Pain and fear clouded her eyes.
"Oh, my God! But he's all right…er, recovered?"

"Depends on
what you consider all right. He's up and walkin', ridin' again. But also sayin'
this is his last winter here. Still talkin' trash about goin' after Hoffman.
You know about him?" She nodded quickly. "And…I don't reckon he'll be
happy you've come. Whatever happened, he's awful bitter and he ain't
forgotten."

"Thank you for
being honest with me." Her lower lip trembled. "But it's not the
first time he's been hurt, and he felt he had to walk away from me."

"He's a damned
fool, if that's so."

She set her cup
down abruptly. "You're very hard on your brother. Remember, he doesn't
like feeling boxed in. He's not comfortable with anyone being too close to him,
physically or emotionally. But we've had time apart and maybe that will make a
difference."

"Philosophical
about it, ain't you?"

Sparkle took
another sip from her coffee cup. "I haven't come to cause him any more
grief. I'm hoping to spare him some, at least where Hoffman's concerned. All I
want is a chance to talk business. We'll see wh—"

"You came
lookin' to
hire
him? Thought this was personal."

"It is. That's
why I'd rather not go into particulars with you. No offense." A hint of a
smile played over her lips. "But I like seeing the heat in your eyes and
hearing you get defensive, so I'll tell you this much. If Rafe wants me, I'll
stay with him. If he doesn't, I'll move on. Everything I own is in that big
trunk in your parlor. I've had it with Kansas and trailheads. A gentleman
offered me a partnership in his card palace in San Francisco. I could go there
and make a fresh start."

Jonah and the
whale, what a pair! Travis inwardly cursed a foul string of oaths. Both his
brother and now this gal talkin' about the Barbary Coast. He wondered if Rafe
knew there'd be no escape from this filly. Even if he took off for Californ,
he'd only run into her again.

Travis took a deep
breath. "Either you honestly love my brother, or he left you
carryin'." He gave her a pointed, penetrating look.

"Only a torch,
Travis."

He stared down at
his own hands, wrapped around his mug. "I shouldn't say this, but I know
he loves you. It's tearin' him up. I can understand. You're the finest gal he's
ever had. Might be he's scared, you know? On account of you bein' so fetchin'
and remarkable to look upon. He's got that big scar fr—"

"I know. It's
one of the things I missed." Her hands gently closed around his. Together
they cradled Travis' mug as if it were a frightened bird.

"I want to
tell you something, because I want us to be friends. I left Kansas to avoid a
mistake I would have regretted the rest of my life. A doctor in Kansas City
wanted to marry me. Everyone thought he was perfect. He could offer me a
pampered life, what every girl's supposed to want. I almost let myself be
pressured into marriage, even though I didn't love him."

"You came out
here instead?" Truly, wonders would never cease. He realized belatedly
that she'd probably heard the incredulity in his tone.

"Perfect and
pampered isn't me," she responded. "When things are too orderly,
there's no room for spontaneity, no adventure. Your brother's not perfect. He's
scarred and stubborn, unpredictable, adventurous, sometimes charming, always
irreverent."

Travis had to
admit, she hadn't sold herself any pig in a poke. She had Raford down to the
bone. "That just about sums him up," he agreed.

"But times
with him were never dull."

* * *

Rafe came stomping
through the back door, shaking muddy slush from his boots. Travis waited at the
kitchen table, breaking into a grin as Mrs. Abbott bustled past Rafe, carrying
a steaming platter of food.

"You'll eat
plenty tonight, Raford," she muttered. "I fixed roast beef with
mashed potatoes and gravy." Rafe dropped into the chair to Travis' right.

"Guess you're
tryin' to tell me I been hangin' around too much," Rafe chuckled.
"First day I leave the spread, I ride back to find my favorite for supper
and my little brother in his Sunday best. Another social? Thought you just went
to one couple nights ago."

"I did.
There's no dance tonight."

"Well, shit
howdy if I don't feel downright honored. Duded yourself up just to share a meal
with me."

Travis saw Sparkle
step into the kitchen doorway. She'd brushed her hair and changed into a
rose-colored dress with lace edging the sleeves. Rafe was shoveling forkfuls of
potato into his mouth and hadn't looked up. "Not exactly," Travis
replied, his eyes on their guest. A subtle scent wafted into the kitchen,
competing with the aroma of roast beef.

Rafe glanced over
his shoulder, addressing the woman at the stove. "Taken to wearin' toilet
water, have you, Miz Abbot? Smells real nice."

"No." She
spied the younger woman across the room. "I—ah, need to take this platter
to the bunkhouse," she stammered. "I'll be back." Seizing her
shawl from the hook on the wall, she grabbed another large platter of food and
hurried into the winter darkness. The door banged shut behind her as she gave
it a swift kick.

"Remind me not
to pay her compliments," Rafe snorted. "Lit out of here like the back
of her skirt was on fire. Was just tryin' to be polite." He sniffed again.
"And if she ain't wearin' the perfume around here, you better change your
shavin' soap."