The Lady Takes A Gunslinger (Wild Western Rogues Series, Book 1) (18 page)

Evie smiled. "No. For himself, actually. And he did quite well, indeed. Indirectly, though, he helped Texans sell the cotton they so desperately needed for revenue. I'm afraid that left him quite in the middle of things here, politically speaking. There were those who weren't unhappy to see him go after the war. James and I weren't among them.

"He's a good man, Grace, despite everything. And he's stubborn, and angry, and even a little scared—"

Grace's eyes darted to Evie's in surprise.

"—but he'll never show it," Evie went on. "One must look beneath all that with a man like Reese. It's a bit harder to find, but what's there is worth the trouble."

"He doesn't trust me. He thinks I'm"—Grace looked miserably at her hands—"bubbleheaded."

"Oh, no," Evie said consolingly.

"Yes," she said, nodding with a sniff. "What I said upstairs was true. It's my fault he's here at all. My fault he was imprisoned for murder and has a bullet hole in his side. I never meant for any of it to happen, but I can't blame him for hating me. Why, I had to blackmail him to get him to come with us!"

This revelation made Evie press her lips together to hold back a smile of disbelief. "You did?"

Grace nodded miserably. "It was all for a good cause, of course," she said, wiping her nose on the napkin Evie had given her, "that being my brother, Luke."

"Luke," Evie echoed, confused now.

"Mm-hmm." Grace sniffed. "And if it hadn't been for him... well, I'd be home, safe and sound in Virginia simply reading about adventure instead of living it. But I couldn't just leave Luke there, could I?"

"Of course not, dear. Where?"

"Querétaro."

"Ah-hah." Evie's smile faded. "You mean Mexico?"

"Exactly!"

"Oh, dear. There's a revolution going on in Mexico."

Grace's head bobbed again. "I know. The emperor Maximilian means to have him shot as a spy."

"Oh, dear." Evie paled. "Your brother?"

Grace nodded behind the napkin.

"Is he?" Evie asked gently.

Grace blinked uncomprehendingly. "Is he what?"

"A spy?"

"Heavens, no! Why, he's an American. A lieutenant in the United States Army. He was working in the diplomatic service," she admitted, "but a spy? He's never even been to Mexico before. And no one will even tell us why he went there in the first place. It's as if they've washed their hands of him. I've tried everything. Donovan is my last hope of getting him out." Grace dropped her face into her hands. "So you see, it's a terrible mess."

"Yes," Evie murmured, "I see." She stood, smoothed her hands down the sides of her cotton wrapper. Then, deliberately, she drew down the shade on the kitchen window and bolted the door. For good measure, she propped a spindle-back kitchen chair beneath the handle.

Fresh guilt assailed Grace. "I'm so sorry. We shouldn't have come here. We've probably put you all in danger."

"Nonsense." Evie's expression was adamant. "We wouldn't have had it any other way. But"—she brushed her hands together—"precautions are prudent, don't you agree?"

Steam rattled the large kettle on the stove, and Evie hurried to remove it. Wrapping her hand in her apron, she lifted the kettle off and poured some into the feverfew decoction. She glanced up at Grace. "You should rest. I have a room just upstairs—"

"I'm not tired." It was a blatant lie, but regardless, she knew she couldn't sleep with Donovan upstairs fighting for his life.

"Well, in that case, I could use a hand with Reese."

"He probably doesn't want me there. After all," Grace said abjectly, "who knows? I might just stumble across some sharp object, or something to wound him with."

Evie smiled slowly. "On the contrary, I think you might be just what that bullheaded man needs."

When they reached the room, James had undressed Donovan and washed the trail dust from his face and arms. A cool cloth lay across his forehead. He was still, with blankets tugged up beneath his armpits, his eyes closed. Grace couldn't help but notice the strong, thick muscles of his arms and the relaxed curl of his powerful hands against the blankets.

Heavens, he was a beautiful man, Grace thought. No, not beautiful—magnificent. It seemed unlikely that she'd ever see Reese Donovan so vulnerable again—if he lived, that is. He'd spent a lifetime erecting walls around himself so high and so thick that few ever penetrated them. Perhaps it was that very challenge that made Grace want to do just that—made her want to discover the man behind the wall, the one Evie seemed so convinced was worth the trouble.

Resisting the temptation to reach out and smooth back the dark hair on his forehead, she curled her hands into fists and watched as James applied the steaming poultices on either side of Donovan's waist.

James looked up at Grace. "I don't know when he'll be fit to travel. He's lost a lot of blood and he's fighting this infection. If he comes through it, a day, maybe two."

If he comes through it.
"Will he live?"

"Reese is strong. It depends on him, now."

Grace moved to an open window and looked out into the darkness. "We haven't much time."

"So he said." James wiped his hands on a clean linen towel. "Which leads me to the next piece of bad news, I'm afraid. Gil Lambert."

She met his eyes. "What about him? Donovan said he'd take us over the border and even as far as—"

"Grace," James interrupted. "Gil died three months ago."

* * *

The duster-clad men rode three abreast down the center of Elizabeth Street, Brownsville's main thoroughfare, drawing curious glances from the few pedestrians still roaming the darkened span of roadway. The grim purpose of the strangers' steady advance discouraged any friendly greeting. If anyone questioned the unusual firepower each of the men carried, or the lanterns tied to the cantles of several saddles, none dared question the trail-weary travelers.

Dusk had fallen two hours ago. Here and there, light still spilled from a false-fronted building. Strains of a slightly off-key hurdy-gurdy drifted from a saloon called
El Caballo Blanco
, The White Horse. Connell Smith gave it only a passing, wistful glance before Sanders pulled his horse to a stop in front of the Miller Hotel, a two-story balconied affair with rolled canvas awnings and thick hitching posts sunk like so many tree stumps at the entrance. Inside, beside the narrow stairway leading to the rooms, were a small registration desk, a barroom, and a restaurant. The registration clerk eyed them nervously as the men strode through the small lobby, then heaved a silent sigh of relief when they didn't stop at his desk.

Instead, they followed the swell of noise to the smoke-filled barroom, one of the hotel's finer selling points. A long oak bar with brass foot rail and appointments lined one side of the room. The bar-keep, a burly hulk of a man, assessed them as they walked in, then turned to lift a bottle of whiskey onto the bar for an already drunken patron.

It didn't take long to find Mollen, one of the men Sanders had sent on ahead, sitting alone at an empty table. With his chair tipped back on two legs, he was in the process of polishing off the last in a long string of whiskey shots when Sanders kicked the chair out from under him.

Hardly a head turned when Mollen landed with a crash, cursing until he looked up and saw his attacker. Eyes wide, he reached for his fallen hat and stuffed it back on his head as he got to his feet.

"Marshal... I, er... I was waitin' for you."

"You jackass!" Sanders growled in a low voice. "I hired you to do a job."

"An' I was. I was. I been watchin' for 'em all evenin'."

"Through a shot glass?"

Mollen uprighted his chair. "It wouldn'ta mattered none. He ain't here."

"I can see that, you idiot. Where the devil is he?"

"Never showed. Me an' Tobins, we stationed ourselves at the waterfront and on the road comin' into town. He woulda come through one o' them, sure as rain—but nothin'. Tobins is still down by the river, lookin' out. You said to meet you at the Miller Hotel. That's what I'm doin'."

Sanders cursed foully and dropped into a chair, pouring himself three fingers of Red Dog from Mollen's bottle. Tossing it back in one gulp, the marshal hissed a breath through his teeth and backhanded the line of whiskey that trickled down his chin.

Mollen watched him warily. "I thought you was followin' 'em. Did ya pick up their trail?"

Hidalgo spun a chair around and straddled it backwards, arms folded against the back.
"Si, hace tres horas."
He glanced at Sanders and brushed his long ebony hair over the bandolier crossing his shoulder. "Three hours ago. We find the trail. But in town,
en la calle
—the street, no?—it vanishes." He picked up the Red Dog. "Like good whiskey, no?" Tipping the bottle back, he took a long swig.

Connell slumped into a chair. His eyes stung from the smoke in the room. He was too tired to talk. Too tired to think. Donovan had outwitted them somehow, taking a serpentine route through town and losing his tracks amidst the thousands of others. It would suit Connell just fine if Sanders accepted that he was gone and let the thing go now that they'd made the border. But he knew that would never happen.

He glanced up at Sanders. It didn't seem to matter that he'd left his jurisdiction six hours ago, or that the border looming across the wide river was off limits to U.S. law officials. The look in Sanders's eyes was glacial, driven. Not a shred of mercy in that man's bones, Connell thought. For Donovan, or for him. Donovan had killed Sanders's only kin, worthless though he may have been. His retribution would be biblical, if not legal. An eye for an eye. A life for a life.

On the ragged-sounding piano, a black, derby-hatted musician started playing "Dixie." Several drunken patrons lent their voices to the familiar melody.

"Maybe they crossed over already on one o' them lighters," Mollen suggested over the noise. "'Fore we got here."

"No," Sanders said, shoving out of the chair, "they're here, somewhere. Hidin' out like wood rats. I can smell 'em. We'll smoke 'em out of their little hole. I figure it's Donovan that's hurt." He turned to the half-breed. "Hidalgo, find Tobins. Put the word out on the waterfront. Let it be known there's reward money in it if they turn Donovan and his bunch in to me."

He shifted his Henry rifle onto his shoulder. "At daybreak, we canvas the shops. See if anybody's buyin' bandages, medicine. Find out who Donovan knows." He glared through the painted window toward the darkened street. "Me, Mollen, and Smith'll check the hotel, then take the first shift for sleep. We'll relieve you and Tobins at three a.m."

Hidalgo got to his feet. "And if we do not find them,
patron?"

With eyes cold as flint, Sanders took a step until his face was only inches from the half-breed's. "That ain't a possibility I want to hear comin' out o' your mouth again, Hidalgo.
Comprende?
We'll find 'em, all right. Then God help the sons of bitches."

Chapter 10

Fire. Flames licking at every edge. Gunsmoke. Death. Faces—young, old, pleading.

The river of blood deepened, sucking at his feet, trying to pull him under. Stop! Make it stop!

Don't make me shoot you, John! Don't make me! The woman's scream echoed the retort of the gun. Tell them the truth, Jake. You saw me warn him. But Jake only laughed, his hands holding the rope of betrayal. Adriana, her face floating over him. "Fool, did you really think I loved you... loved you... loved you... loved—"

"Reese! Reese, lie still."

Frantically, Grace put her weight to her task, pinning the thrashing man to the bed. It was no good. Even burning with fever, he was ten times stronger than she. He'd been at it for ten minutes already and her strength was rapidly waning.

Though sorely tempted to scream for James or Evie to help her, pride stopped her. She'd sworn she could handle things while they got some rest. For twenty-four hours, they'd insisted on hovering over Donovan and Brewster alike, despite her demand to be of some use. Sleep and food were what Brewster needed, and he was feeling better. Evie had scolded that Grace needed rest as well after their ordeal—that she'd be no good to either Brew or Donovan if she was dead on her feet. Indeed, she'd been so exhausted she'd slept like a corpse for nearly a whole day. Now, with Evie and James getting some much-needed sleep of their own and morning still hours away, it was her turn.