Carol Finch

His musky scent invaded her nostrils, heightening her awareness of him.

“It’s timing and precision,” Quinn said, his voice a husky murmur beside her ear.

Piper shivered, amazed at the unprecedented sensations that rippled through her. Why was it, she wondered, that this man affected her on so many different levels when none of her suitors ever had?

When she cocked her arm, while his hand guided the motion to ensure the proper flick of her wrist, she could feel his muscled chest pressed against her back. His solid thighs were meshed against the backs of her legs. The whisper of his breath caused gooseflesh to pebble her skin. Piper had difficulty breathing.

Sweet mercy! All she really wanted to do was turn in his surrounding arms and help herself to a taste of him…!

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Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Southwest Texas, June 1877

W
hat the devil am I doing, Piper Sullivan asked herself as she stepped up into the stagecoach to endure more endless hours of being bounced and jostled in her arduous journey westward. Thus far, she had encountered six unruly and offensive individuals during her exhausting trip from Galveston to Fort Stockton. And the rugged-looking traveler who sank down across from her had all the markings of further trouble. He looked unapproachable. And as disagreeable as the meal she had ingested at lunch.

Piper pegged the man as a shiftless gambler, judging by his style of dress and the well-used pistols that hung low on his hips. She watched him sprawl inelegantly on the seat across from her. His long, muscular legs straddled her feet to accommodate his six-foot-four-inch frame.

The solemn expression in his golden eyes assured
Piper that this was not a man who was teeming with charm and warmth. And worse, he kept staring at her.
Through
her was more like it, as if he was probing beneath her outward appearance to reveal the fact that she was an
imposter.

Piper had carefully disguised herself as an aging widow, complete with a thick concealing veil, gloves, cane and padded black gown that made her appear thirty pounds heavier. Unfortunately, she didn’t feel as well protected as she would have preferred when her companion kept appraising her astutely.

Piper thought it was ironic that for the first time in her life she
wanted
people to take her at face value and not probe deeper to discover who she was on the inside. But to her way of thinking, the
lack
of association with anyone during this trip was important. She also decided that making a
bad
first impression would help to protect her from trouble.

As she’d done with the others, Piper made a point to alienate her companion by getting in her bluff, right from the start. “Staring is considered rude where I come from,” Piper declared as she squirmed uncomfortably on the hard seat.

The man never changed expression and he didn’t move, which annoyed her because he still had her feet trapped between his long legs and she felt pinned in. That was not what she needed while battling the sour stomach caused by her midday meal.

“Would you mind giving me my own space,” she requested. “I paid for
half
of these meager accommodations, after all.”

When he whipped his head around his long dark hair scraped the collar of his jacket. His square jaw—that sported three days’ growth of stubble—clenched. His thick brows swooped down as he leveled an intense stare on her.

As stares went, this one was quite unnerving. But Piper had squared off against her domineering father enough times during her twenty years of existence to learn how to hold her ground. This rough-edged rascal was
not
going to intimidate her.

“You’ve got a complaint?” he drawled in challenge.

She nodded curtly. “Indeed I do.”

He made a stabbing gesture toward the ceiling. “Then ride up top with the guard and driver if you don’t like the company or the cramped space.”

His smirking voice was like gravel and grit and it set her teeth on edge. Was he purposely trying to annoy her? That was supposed to be
her
role to protect her identity.

Piper didn’t think
he
was putting on an act.

Resigned to an unpleasant journey with her disagreeable companion, she occupied her time by glancing out the window to pan the miles of rolling range that seemed to stretch out forever. And as she recalled her father’s unacceptable decree that she would soon wed a man he had handpicked for her, she stiffened her resolve. Traveling cross-country—for four endless days—with one offensive male companion after another was far better than marrying a man who inspired no respect and affection.

Piper had given up on finding the kind of love her older sister had discovered. Of all the men her father had
thrust in her direction since she turned sixteen, none of them interested her. She was tired of being told that she was too strong-willed and spirited and that she needed to change her ways to become a suitable wife for some dandy. In addition, she had given up trying to be someone she wasn’t, just to appease her father. Neither did she want her life decided for her without having a say in the matter.

Brace up, Piper. Your sister is waiting at the end of the trail and so is your new life. You just have to ride through hell to get there, is all.

When a cloud of smoke rolled over her, then swept out the window, Piper choked for breath. She glared at her inconsiderate companion who had lit his cigar.

“In case you haven’t heard it is not considered good manners to smoke in front of women,” she pointed out.

Undaunted, he took another draw on the cigar, then blew smoke rings that drifted toward her. She swallowed a chuckle when he tossed her a defiant smile. Having a man challenge her rather than fawn and pamper her was a refreshing change.

However, she had to remain in character. It wouldn’t do to let the ornery gambler know that he amused her. Her whole objective was to make sure he wanted very little association with her.

Determined to be as cantankerous as he was, she shot out her hand to grab his cheroot. After she tossed it out the window she waited to see how he would react.

He glared at her. No surprise there.

“That was an expensive cheroot,” he muttered at her.

“And you were being purposely rude. Now we’re even.” She nudged the calf of his right leg with the heel of her shoe. “And move your feet,
please.
I will not stay cramped for hours because you refuse to stay in your half of the space.”

Grudgingly, her companion shifted his shoulder against the corner of the seat and stretched his legs diagonally to grant her a fraction more space.

“Thank you,” she said aloofly.

“
Please
tell me that you’re getting off at the next stage stop,” he grumbled.

“Ah, that I could be so lucky.” She made a big production of flicking imaginary ashes off her sleeve. “But no. I’m bound for Fort Davis.”

The news didn’t appear to please him. He just kept staring intently at her.

“And you, sonny? Where are you headed?” she asked, hoping to divert his attention so he would stop evaluating her so closely.

His massive shoulders lifted and dropped lackadaisically. “Haven’t decided. I’ll stop for a drink and a game of poker whenever the mood strikes.”

She studied him for a long moment. “Do you find it rewarding to live a life of no obligations or commitments, drifting from one dusty frontier town to the next?”

He flashed her an one-eyed squint. “It’s a living.”

When he narrowed those unnerving amber eyes at her, she resolved to let him know she intended to stand her ground and that she was not a woman who could be pushed around or easily intimidated.

Having been raised in polite society, constantly told
to guard her tongue and to cater to the powerful and elite, she found it amazingly gratifying using her disguise as a curmudgeon to speak her mind. And she had learned the knack from the best, she reminded herself. In fact, her former instructor at finishing school was the inspiration for her disguise and her imperious demeanor. The old battle-ax had given Piper fits for years.

“Gambling is not much of a living, as I see it,” she replied. “Fleecing folks for profit is hardly what I would call respectable. A man should strive to make something of himself, not squander his life on cigars, card games and loose women.”

“This is going to be a helluva long ride through rough country, lady,” he told her gruffly. “Try to keep your nagging and lectures to a minimum because you’re liable to tick me off.”

“I thought I already had,” she said, biting back a mischievous snicker.

“Trust me, that’s the very last thing you should want to do, especially since this stretch of road has been plagued by outlaws. I might not be inclined to defend your honor if I’m so fed up with you that I’m ready to let the thieves have right at you.”

She chuckled from behind her dark veil. “If you are trying to frighten me into submission then you have wasted your breath. At my advanced age, I do not feel the need to kowtow to anyone, you and prospective desperadoes included.”

She poked the end of her cane into his sternum, pushing him back against the seat. “Trust
me,
mister, you don’t want to get on my bad side, either.”

He stared at the black cane that poked his chest. “You have a good side?”

“Not much left of it these days,” she said, then resettled her cane beside her.

“Not much left of mine, either, so don’t push it.”

He grabbed the hat beside his hip and pulled it low on his forehead. He closed those penetrating amber eyes that reminded her of a mountain lion’s.

Piper smiled in satisfaction when the gambler settled in for what she supposed was a nap. But he didn’t fool her into thinking that he was sleeping. No doubt, this pantherlike man was merely lying in wait.

Shifting sideways, Piper struck the same pose as the gambler and tried to catch a much-needed nap to soothe her churning stomach. The monotony of the overland trip was wearing her down. She wanted nothing more than to be reunited with her sister, Penelope, at Fort Davis, without losing the money and valuables she carried to make her new start in life. Learning that this area was crawling with thieves did nothing to reassure her.

The thought prompted Piper to push her reticule protectively beneath her hip before she closed her eyes and nodded off.

From beneath half-mast eyelids Quinn Callahan appraised the crotchety old hag who had finally dozed off. She was swathed in yards of black fabric, her head and face concealed behind an oversize plumed hat that was draped with a heavy veil. He could easily imagine what the witch looked like—beady eyes, hooked nose and pointy chin. And plump as a grain-fed old hen.

Yet, there was something about the way she moved, the way she held herself, that didn’t quite ring true. But Quinn reminded himself that he was cautious and suspicious by nature—and habit. It was difficult to grasp what there was about her that niggled him because he was too busy countering her taunting comments.

Which made him wonder if she was doing it to distract him. From what? He wasn’t sure. But every time he stared overly long at her she dreamed up something to say that dragged his attention away from the way she looked and forced him to concentrate on her challenging remarks.

And then there was her grating, nasal voice that sounded so unpleasant to his ears. If he didn’t know better he would swear she was purposely trying to alienate him. Just why was that? He didn’t know the answer to that, either.

One thing that didn’t escape his attention was how she had tucked her beaded purse protectively beside her after he mentioned the possibility of encountering outlaws. He was willing to bet she was carrying a great deal of money that would make her ripe for the picking.

Well, it didn’t matter what this persnickety—and obviously wealthy—old widow was up to, Quinn told himself. He was a man on a mission. He had volunteered to pose as a shiftless gambler who boasted about his recent winnings to every stage agent and employee he met along the route from Fort Stockton.

And Quinn would bet his life savings that the gang he was after—that spoke in code and referred to themselves as the Knights of the Golden Circle—had spies working for the stage line.

That was the only logical explanation for the accurate targeting of passengers who carried valuables and cash.

Quinn had made the same monotonous ride back and forth to El Paso three times in the last two weeks, and had gained nothing for his exhausting efforts. Tired, impatient and cranky though he was, he vowed to make this trip a dozen more times, if need be. He wouldn’t rest until he encountered the ruthless outlaws that had killed the one true friend he’d ever had. The attack had taken place six months earlier in a secluded canyon near Catoosa Gulch. He was going to become bait for the thieves so he could track them to their remote hideout.

His thoughts trailed off when the coach hit a deep rut and catapulted him against the ceiling. He braced himself as he watched the old woman tumble willy-nilly off the seat. She let loose with a shrill squawk when she sprawled atop his legs.

When he reached down to upright her she elbowed him out of the way and crawled onto the seat. “Keep your hands to yourself,” she demanded huffily.

“I was only trying to help,” he said defensively as he watched her fluff the dust off her gown and sink a little deeper into her corner of the coach.

“I’ve taken care of myself for years. Confounded conveyance coaches anyway,” she grumbled before she craned her neck out the window to scan the area.

Quinn studied her discreetly as she leaned farther out to survey their surroundings—to check for the outlaws he had mentioned earlier, no doubt. He kept waiting for the breeze to lift that heavy veil so he could get a good look at her. But she withdrew before the air rushing
past the speeding coach caught her veiled hat and sent it flying away.

“Well, thank God,” she said with a relieved sigh. “About time we had a rest stop.”

Quinn glanced outside to see the station a half mile ahead of them. He was more than ready to stretch his legs and boast of his supposed winnings to the stage line’s hired help. He silently willed the nest of outlaws to attack so he could do what he had been sent here to do. As for the perplexing widow, he thought that having her wits scared out of her might improve her disposition.

He glanced at her again as the stage rolled to a stop, then decided that being frisked and robbed would probably make her more difficult to deal with than she was already.

Piper didn’t wait for the gambler to exit the coach first so he could hand her down. She couldn’t risk having him touch her more often than necessary without arousing his suspicion.

Leaning on her cane to remain in character, she watched three Mexican attendants stride from the corral, leading a fresh team of horses. Her gaze strayed reflexively to the gambler who emerged from the coach. His long shadow fell over her, eclipsing the afternoon sun. Despite her better judgment, she found herself oddly fascinated by his rugged appearance and the confident way he held himself. The comparison to a graceful mountain cat came to mind as she watched him saunter over to strike up a conversation in Spanish with one of the attendants.