Scotsman Wore Spurs (31 page)

But Gabrielle's father had recognized Kingsley's picture in the paper, Drew thought. Perhaps someone else had, too.

He had to find a way to keep both Kirby and Gabrielle safe. And he would try his bloody damnedest to do it without betraying
either
of their confidences. But if he couldn't … well, the hell with it. Their lives might depend upon them sharing their information with each other, and if it meant breaking his word to keep their blasted secrets, that was better than standing by and watching them get killed. A lot of good his self-respect and integrity would do him when he was standing over their graves.

But first … first he would try to do it their way.

Feeling as if he were picking his way through a briar patch blindfolded, Drew said, “Kirby, I think one of the men who committed that robbery with you is your ambusher.”

Kirby's head jerked toward him, the sky blue eyes piercing him like steel. “Why?” the rancher asked.

Drew gave him a negligent shrug. “Just a hunch,” he said. “I'm a gambler, remember? I live by my hunches. And they're almost always right. So, tell me—how can we find these three men?”

“We?” Kirby cocked an eyebrow.

“We,” Drew reiterated solemnly, holding the other man's gaze. “As soon as we get the cows to the railhead.”

Kirby winced. “Cattle,” he corrected. “
Cattle.
”

Drew grinned, hoping it didn't look as forced as it felt. His mood was anything but lighthearted. Whoever had ambushed Kirby knew where he was going and had had plenty of time to reach Abilene before the herd. If
he
were the killer, that's what he would do, rather than take the chance of finding the trail boss somewhere on the plains alone. The bastard probably thought he'd killed Kirby and would wait in Abilene to make sure.

That same killer would learn that a woman named Gabrielle was also on the trip. A woman on a trail drive was news, and Drew had learned how fast gossip spread.

“I want you to think back,” he said to Kirby. “Remember everything you can about each of those three men—anything distinguishing about them that wouldn't have changed over time.”

Kirby met his gaze, held it.

“You think he'll be waiting in Abilene, don't you?” he said.

“Don't
you
?” Drew replied.

Day had melted into dusk when they approached the spot where the drive at stopped for the night. Muted pastels colored the sky with whimsical patterns, setting the stage for Drew's favorite time of day. A slow, lazy time. A time that was normally quiet, peaceful. Restful.

Instead, chaos greeted them when they rode into camp.

Two wagons were pulled up near their own, two dilapidated, tattered vehicles overflowing with boxes and furniture. A man dressed entirely in black was shouting balefully at Gabrielle as Honor ran barking in circles around a skinny, whey-faced boy who cowered against the wheel of a wagon, plainly wanting to play with the dog and trying to get past the shrieking man to do so.

“Jeremiah!” the man warned in a booming voice. “Stay away from that beast!”

The boy slunk farther against the wagon, and Honor slunk underneath.

“I am
not
giving you this baby,” Drew heard Gabrielle shout back at the man as she clutched the child to her.

“You're interfering with the Lord's will,” the man said, drawing himself up rigidly. “And you, woman, should be ashamed, dressed like a whore of Babylon.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Kirby interrupted pleasantly. “I'd think a whore of Babylon might be wearing fewer clothes.”

The man spun around, his face mottled with anger. He struggled to control it as he noted Kirby's air of command. “At last, a man in authority,” he said. “I'm sure you'll agree that the little savage should go with us.”

“Savage?” Drew said softly. “I think savagery has to be taught, and it's not always the province of your American Indian.”

The man whirled to face him and drew himself up straight. “I'm the Reverend Joseph Dander. I understand that the infant is an orphan, and I'm demanding that you give him to us to be raised righteously.”

“Demanding?” Kirby said in a tone every hand on the drive would have recognized as dangerous.

“Demanding,” the man replied, oblivious. “We've come to bring the Word to the savages. You can't stand in the way of the Lord.”

Kirby's eyes cut to the boy cowering near the wagon wheel.

“The others sitting in the reverend's party—three women, four other men, two older boys, and a girl—looked on with anxious expressions.”

Kirby's eyes narrowed.

Drew looked at Gabrielle. He recognized the determined glitter in her eyes and knew that no one was going to take that baby from her. Not without a fight.

The reverend reached for the child, and Gabrielle backed away. Drew moved forward, placing himself between Gabrielle and the reverend.

“What in the hell are you doing out here?” Kirby growled at the man.

Reverend Dander turned to him. “We've been called to save the savages.”

“You got food with you, then?”

“Food?” The man looked blank.

“Food,” Kirby repeated. “You want to save them, then supply something they need. Salvation means precious little when you're starving to death.”

Drew's gaze remained fixed on Gabrielle, and he noted her surprise at Kirby's unexpected defense. The amazement melded into approval, and a small grin soon made her eyes fairly dance.

“Are you a disbeliever, then?” the reverend challenged, his cheeks flaming with fervor.

“That's none of your business,” Kirby said with deceptive laziness. “Be assured the baby will be well cared for.” His eyes turned toward the thin boy with the frightened face. “I would suggest you take care of your own flock.”

Reverend Dander's body went stiff with indignation. “The Lord will provide.”

“I expect you were hoping
we
would help the Lord,” Kirby said sarcastically.

The man's face gave him away. That was exactly what Dander had expected, Drew thought.

Kirby looked again at the reverend's forlorn band. “You're going west with just those two wagons?”

The reverend nodded.

“Hell, don't you know there's hostiles out there, along with outlaws who'd kill you for your horses?”

“The Lord will protect us.”

Kirby's lips straightened into a thin line. “That might be good enough for you, but what about those children? They look to be starving, and I don't think they're so anxious to meet their maker.”

For the first time, the man's stiff back dropped, and his maniacal gaze lost some of its shimmer. “We
are
hungry. We had a broken axle and—”

“And you want another mouth to feed?”

“It's our duty!” the man snapped.

Kirby shook his head, then turned to Gabrielle. “How much food do we have left?”

“We're running low,” she replied. “Just one more sack of coffee, a barrel of flour, a bag of beans, and some remnants of bacon. But we can probably spare a little of each.”

“I-I was hoping we might get a cow,” the reverend said hesitantly.

Kirby spun on him. “We don't slaughter steers—our own or other ranchers',” he said. “Besides, your family could never use all the meat before it spoiled, and I'll not waste an animal. You're welcome to join us tonight for a meal, and you can have what supplies we can spare.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “For the children.”

“And the Indian baby?” the reverend persisted.

“He stays with us,” Kirby said, glancing at Gabrielle.

Reverend Dander visibly struggled between his need for food and his desire to save a heathen. He surrendered to hunger as he sniffed the bacon and fresh bread on the fire. “We would be grateful,” he said stiffly.

But Drew suspected that he hadn't given up. Seeing Gabrielle looking helplessly between the chuck wagon and the fire, realizing she didn't trust the good reverend enough to put the infant down, he strolled over to stand beside her.

“I'll take the bairn,” he said in a voice meant only for her ears.

She hesitated, obviously reluctant, and when she looked up at him, he held her gaze steadily.

“I won't let Ha'Penny out of my sight,” he assured her.

Her eyes searched his in a way that did extraordinary things to his heart, that somehow stormed the barriers he'd erected to protect himself.

He reached for the child, and without further hesitation, Gabrielle handed him over. He felt nine feet high as the bairn snuggled against him, trusting and content.

He saw Kirby's amused eyes on him, felt the reverend's frustration.

He closed out both and did what he had vowed never to do. He lost his heart. Entirely.

Chapter Seventeen

Gabrielle kept an eagle eye on the reverend and his brood.

She'd known precious little about the West before she and her father had started out eight months earlier. But she'd had a university's worth of education thrust upon her since joining the drive.

She could eye the newcomers now with something akin to pity. They knew even less than she had. At least, she'd had the good sense to be frightened, to know she was doing something dangerous. And she had been alone, risking no one's safety but her own. At least she'd thought not. Now she knew that one tenderfoot could cost lives. One mistake could kill.

Her observation of Reverend Dander's band made her search her own conscience. Her preconceived notions had been proven wrong. She'd misjudged the drovers, believing that her “sort”—Easterners—had a monopoly on civilized sentiments. Though the drovers expressed theirs in starkly different ways—mainly with curses and wagers and joshing—their courage, kindness, and steadfastness humbled her.

Kirby Kingsley had also humbled her. She no longer questioned the Scotsman's loyalty to the trail boss. Although loath to show any weakness, the trail boss was a good man, decent to the bone. He was not her father's killer, and she owed it to him to tell the whole truth. Perhaps she would have discerned his character earlier had she not been so grief-stricken and obsessed with the convenient belief in his guilt.

Stubbornness, she knew, was her greatest fault. Once set on a path, she had difficulty leaving it. Her stubbornness was the reason her father had finally consented to come West. It was the reason he had died. Kirby Kingsley was not at fault.

Kingsley's startling defense of the Indian nations had astounded her, as had his ploy to get Ha'Penny milk from the cow. Clearly, he was a man who despised prejudice and injustice. And she had committed both against him out of her fierce but misguided desire to find justice for her father.

Justice? No, in honesty, she couldn't call it that. She had not set out from San Antonio with justice in mind. She'd only been seeking someone to blame for her sudden, unbearable loss.

Worse, still, she had tried to use the Scotsman to accomplish her ends. Not deliberately, perhaps. But could he ever see it otherwise?

As she stirred the pot of beans over the cookfire, she glanced toward Drew. He still held Ha'Penny, and she didn't miss the tender look in his eyes as he whispered comforting words into the babe's ear. She wished she could hear what he was saying. She wished he were whispering in
her
ear. Certainly not until she told Kirby Kingsley the truth, told him everything she knew.

But when? And how? She would have to find a way.

Reverend Dander's gaze followed her throughout the meal, his mouth pursed disapprovingly at her trousers and cropped hair. In honor of the visitors, she used the last of their canned fruit for dessert. The six children gobbled everything as if they hadn't eaten in a month.

“Where exactly do you plan to go?” Kingsley asked the reverend.

Dander shrugged. “Wherever we're needed.”

“You mean you have no destination?”

Dander looked indignant. “The Lord will guide us.”

“You know anything about any of these tribes?”

“I know they need the Word of God.”

Kingsley's sigh was loud enough to be heard in God's vicinity. Several of the drovers smirked, and one laughed outright. Kingsley silenced them with a look.

“They have their own god,” Kingsley said. “They have their own religion, and it's a right fine one. If you don't respect that, you'll never be welcome among them. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to speak to my wrangler.” He rose stiffly and strode off in the direction of the remuda.

Gabrielle watched him, more curious than ever about the man she had been so sure was a murderer. Seen with new eyes, he was far more interesting and complex than she'd realized.

She gathered up the dishes. She would have to wash them and start a new pot of coffee before being through with her chores. At least she had water to wash with and not just sand. She gave Honor the few scraps that remained on the plates, then turned to walk toward the river.

She hesitated when her gaze was caught by Drew's. He was sitting by the fire, Ha'Penny tucked in the crook of one arm and his supper plate balanced on his thigh. His golden hair and eyes both seemed to reflect the firelight. Dear Lord, how she loved him, loved the gentleness in him that he tried so hard to hide.

Hesitating, she approached him. “Will you come with Ha'Penny and me to the river?” she asked.

He cast her an ironic glance. “The good reverend will suspect the worst.”

“He does already,” she replied.

“In that case …” Drew handed her his plate and rose, babe in arms. “Aye, I'll come with you.”

Ha'Penny gurgled, letting out a tiny squeal of excitement, and Gabrielle tore her gaze from Drew's to see that the baby had grabbed the end of the red bandana tied around his neck and was tugging on it, clearly delighted with his toy.