The Wedding Ransom (27 page)

His hands fell away from her. Absently he used the towel to wipe them clean of greasy liniment. Then, with the gentlest of touches, he reached out and brushed away the teardrop that clung tenaciously to her cheek. Bliss water. The pirates had searched the world to find it for her. Bliss water helped save her from this misery.

How could he love her and not do everything within his power to spare her this pain? How could he love her and allow Lake Bliss to slip through her hands?

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. So where did that leave him? He damn sure wouldn’t let her marry Barlow Hill. While he could set up a scheme to obtain water for Maggie and her crew even if they didn’t live at Lake Bliss, he didn’t see how he could duplicate the mud baths anywhere else. If she needed the mud baths when she got this sick, then she should have them. She would have them.

Rafe didn’t have enough money to meet Hill’s price for the hotel. He could try and secure a loan, but in cash-poor Texas he knew of no one who had the kind of funds he required readily available. Luke certainly didn’t. His money was all tied up in the Winning Ticket Ranch.

Rafe inhaled a deep breath, then blew it out with a heavy sigh. His choices were limited. Real limited. A man couldn’t beg upward of fifty thousand dollars in the short time they had left before Hill threw the pirates out of Hotel Bliss. Neither could he borrow it. That left only one option.

He had to steal it.

R
afe took a quick glance at Maggie, assuring himself she was in no danger of drowning in her sleep during this second bath of the evening, and crossed the room to the door. Pulling it open, he stared out into the rain.

Could he do it? After all that had happened in the past, could he break his word and steal the money Maggie needed? The question had haunted him for the past two hours. A man’s word. A man’s honor. What was it worth?

A lot, that was for sure. Damn near every horrible thing that had ever happened to him could be traced back to a man’s lack of honor, either his own or someone else’s.

A scene from the past flashed across his eyes. His father standing in the front parlor of their home, confessing his sins only when the truth—the two wives, the two young sons—stood face-to-face.

Rafe’s thoughts leapt forward. Brothers reunited. Captain Nick Callahan of the Army of the Republic of Texas. Too selfish to keep his word and too cowardly to admit it. Blaming others for his own mistakes. Where was the honor when he and his lies put the noose around his brother’s neck? That memory led back to one Rafe had buried the deepest—the instance of his own broken word.

Luke, leaving home headed for the Alamo, hugged his children and kissed Rachel good-bye. Then, he held out his hand for Rafe to shake. “Watch over them for me, will you?” he asked.

“Sure, I will,” Rafe replied. “You can count on it.”

But two weeks later Nick Callahan had arrived and convinced Rafe to join up with the Texian army. Shortly afterward, rumors of the advancing Mexican army convinced Luke’s adored wife to take her children and flee in the panic that became known as the Runaway Scrape. The three of them had died while trying to ford the Colorado River.

Because Rafe had broken his word and wasn’t there to protect them.

Though he and Luke had never discussed it, Rafe knew it was the truth. Luke’s family had died because Rafe had broken his word to Luke. A shudder raked Rafe’s body. Here he was contemplating the dishonorable act all over again. Could he go through with it?

He turned his back to the rain and reentered the small cabin. His gaze sought and lingered on the woman asleep in the tub. A man’s word was worth a lot, true. But Maggie St. John was worth a hell of a lot more. For her, he could do it. Anything was worth sparing her more pain. For Maggie, he would willingly sacrifice his honor.

“I’ll do it.”

Rafe smiled. Maggie’s eyes fluttered open. Her gaze focused on his face. He was pleased to see that the strain in her eyes had eased a bit. “Feeling better? Has that Bliss water had time to go to work yet?”

She nodded. “I do feel better. The baths are a help. What will you do?”

“Wake you up,” he lied. “I’ve been afraid you would get waterlogged if you stayed in the bath much longer. It’s a good thing you woke on your own. Now I don’t have to give the cold water splash a go.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You were going to pour cold water on me?” she asked, her voice strong with affront.

Rafe made a show of scratching his cheek. “Well, no, probably not. You’re a vindictive woman, Maggie. You’d have paid me back in a way I wouldn’t have liked.”

“Bet on it.”

He flashed her his pirate’s grin and said, “Now, let me warm up a towel and then I’ll help you out of there.”

“I’ll do it myself.” She sat up straight, her movements easier than Rafe had seen since his arrival.

“Let me help—”

“No.” She shook her head. “Rafe, please. I’m feeling much better. I can do this myself.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you swooning on me or anything.”

She gave him a reproachful look. “You told me once before you didn’t take me for the swooning kind. Have you changed your mind?”

“I don’t guess so,” he replied truthfully. Trusting her to know her own limits, he turned around and walked back to the fireplace. He lifted the poker and jabbed and prodded logs as he listened closely to the sounds of Maggie rising from her bath. He heard the splash of water and a slight footfall on the puncheon floor, and held his breath as he waited to detect the near-silent swish of the towel against her skin. At first groan, all bets were off.

But Maggie didn’t groan. Instead, he heard her walk slowly into the bedroom. A minute later the bed ropes yawned, and he sneaked a look. Maggie had donned a demure white cotton gown. She sat on the bed with her hair draped over one shoulder, a silver—backed brush in her right hand.

Rafe caught her wince as she twisted her shoulders, and he decided that was close enough to a groan to warrant his interruption. He stepped into the bedroom and approached the bed. Slipping in behind her on the mattress, he swiped the hairbrush from her hand before she could manage a protest.

“You have beautiful hair, Mary Margaret.” The silky golden-red strands washed across his fingers, reminding him of gentle waters of the Caribbean island lagoon at sunset. He glided the brush through her hair, his strokes long and repetitive and tender. Emotion swelled in his chest, and Rafe felt compelled to voice the words that rumbled up from deep inside him. “It hurts me to see you hurting.”

Her spine stiffened. “Don’t, Rafe.”

“Don’t what? Don’t feel for you? Or don’t tell you how I feel?”

“Either one.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll distract me and I can’t afford to be distracted. Standing up to you requires a lot of energy, and I simply don’t have it right now. You’ll run right over me.”

“I won’t run over you,” he chided. “I’m not running anywhere, Maggie. I’m staying right here.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Rafe’s hands stilled on her hair. “Don’t be afraid of me, Maggie. You don’t ever need to fear me.”

“Papa Ben must have told you where to look for me. Why are you here, Rafe?”

He didn’t know how to answer her. He didn’t want to cause her any more upset; it couldn’t be good for her condition. But he didn’t want to lie, either. He set the brush down on the night table beside the bed and divided her hair into three sections. After braiding it loosely, he fished in his pants pocket for a string, which he tied at the bottom of the braid. He stood, propped the pillows against the headboard, and eased her back against them.

Maggie watched him expectantly as he pulled a chair close to the bed and took a seat. He took her hand, holding it gently, and studied her face. “You’re awful peaked-looking, Maggie. Why don’t we wait and discuss this when you’re feeling better?”

“Tell me why you followed me.”

Rafe shook his head slowly. The woman was laid out like a corpse, but still stubborn as a mule. He might as well put it all on the line or she’d get herself riled and to hurting again. “Ben believes you were headed to Triumph Plantation, but he doesn’t think you intended to stage a reunion with your long-lost father. The pirates think you were out to steal the treasure. Were you?”

She didn’t reply, just stared at him with her mouth firmed.

Rafe let go of her hand. He propped his feet on the end of the bed, leaned back in his chair, and folded his arms. “Of course, it’s possible you only intended to have a chat with your father, to try and convince him to work out a deal with the buccaneers.”

Maggie’s eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t speak to that man if he were the last person on earth. I know Ben felt he had to offer me the choice to acknowledge the man whose seed gave me life—I won’t call him a father, and I wish you wouldn’t either—but Ben should have known me better. I won’t kowtow to Montgomery. Him and his cryptic notes and contemptible demands. My papas need me, and they need Lake Bliss. You were there, Rafe. You saw Papa Snake. He might have died without a dose of Bliss water.”

Ah, Maggie. I see how it is with you. That’s all it takes
. “So, you’re admitting that when you left Lake Bliss you intended to steal the treasure from your, uh, from Montgomery?”

“It’s not stealing, it’s just taking back. Did you leave your ranch thinking you were going to stop me?”

He allowed the barest hint of his frustration to filter into his voice as he said, “From the looks of things, Maggie, you’ve already been stopped, and I had nothing to do with it.”

“I’ve been delayed, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’ll be back on my feet in no time. And I’ll get the treasure, you just wait and see.”

Rafe set his feet on the floor with a thud. “Since you seem to be feeling well enough to argue, why don’t we talk about that? How did you plan to do it? Waltz right into your father’s house and ask him where he stashed the treasure? And what were you going to do once you had it in your hot little fingers? Slip it into your handbag and carry it off? How much would a hundred twenty-five thousand dollars in gold weigh, anyway?”

“You are so-o-o funny, Malone,” she drawled, folding her arms across her bosom.

Rafe noted the movement and was distracted enough to flash a little smile. It was the first time he’d seen her move naturally since he’d arrived at Gallagher’s. Rafe stood and leaned over her. He lowered his head and kissed her cheek. “Quit your fretting, Maggie-mine. It’s bad for you.”

Straightening, he added in a casual tone, “I bet you’re hungry. Martha left a soup on, or if you’d rather, we could dig into that fresh peach cobbler.”

As he turned and headed for the outer room, her breathless voice brought him to a halt. “Rafe, I won’t let you stop me.”

He shot her a look over his shoulder. Despite her renewed vigor, the effects of her illness showed in the lingering brackets of pain visible around her mouth and eyes. His annoyance drained away. The words to tell her of his decision to steal the treasure hovered on the tip of his tongue. But for some strange reason, he couldn’t force them out, not even in the face of the suffering etched across her face. Well, hell. He had to tell her something to ease her mind, but what?

He sucked a deep breath into his lungs, then slowly expelled it. “I know how important saving Hotel Bliss is to you, Maggie. I understand it now better than ever. Listen to what I tell you. I won’t allow you to lose it, all right? One way or another, we will beat Barlow Hill at his own game.”

“You won’t try to stop me from going to Triumph?”

“I give you my promise that you won’t need to steal the treasure from Montgomery.”

Maggie’s eyes slowly blinked. “You promise? You’re giving me your word?”

“Yeah.” He turned away.

Her words surrounded him like a soft mist. “Then I can believe it. I don’t need to worry anymore. I know you value your word more than anything.”

He exited the room without speaking. It would have been kinder for her just to shoot him, he thought as he ladled hot soup into a bowl for her. Wasn’t that just like a woman to find a man’s most vulnerable spot and poke at it?

Of course, she hadn’t done it on purpose. She didn’t know she was as wrong as she could be. He had found something worth a helluva lot more than his word.

Rafe had found Maggie.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Maggie awoke the following morning, it took her a moment or two to figure out what was different. Her joints still protested any movement; little change there. The sky was bright, but that wasn’t it, either. The rain had ended and the clouds cleared off shortly before sunset last night. She pulled the pillow lying next to her on the bed over her face to shield her eyes from the rays of sunshine beaming through the window. That’s when she realized what it was.

The scent. His scent. He’d slept in the bed with her last night. For some reason that seemed even more intimate than the occasions when they had made love.

Before Maggie could decide how she felt about that, Rafe’s voice filtered into the room through the partially opened window. “Look what the coyote dragged in,” he drawled nastily.

His tone of voice was enough to cause Maggie to drag herself from the bed. She’d never heard Rafe speak with such loathing. Who could he be talking to? Gritting her teeth, she shuffled her way toward the rocker that sat beside the window. Sinking into it, she gazed outside.

A stranger sat atop a bay mare, both hands resting casually on the saddle pommel. A straw panama hat shadowed his face and a blue chambray shirt molded shoulders every bit as broad as Rafe’s. Maggie’s gaze drifted over him, stopping at the badge pinned to his chest. A lawman.

No wonder Rafe didn’t sound happy to see him.

The stranger said, “I was surprised when one of my lieutenants told me he’d witnessed your arrival here yesterday. I thought he had to be mistaken, but here you are in the flesh. What’s the matter, Malone? Did your conscience finally get the better of you? Did you decide to allow me the pleasure I have anticipated all these years?”