Scotsman Wore Spurs (35 page)

Gabrielle's heart was racing. She couldn't leave now. Not after they'd come this far. But she had no rational arguments to offer about why he should let her stay—except the truth. And she couldn't bring herself to put into words what she hardly dared let herself hope might come true if she were allowed to remain.

All she could do was look at him with her heart in her eyes and say, “Please. Please, don't make me go.”

He studied her long and hard. Finally, he said, “It's Drew, isn't it?”

She knew he could read the answer on her face. She couldn't have hidden it if she'd tried.

He looked at her for another long minute without speaking. Then, finally, he sighed. “All right,” he said. “You can stay—for
a while
.”

“Oh, thank you,” she breathed, relief rushing through her.

“Don't thank me yet,” he warned. “I want you to keep looking like Gabe Lewis—or at least some approximation of him. And I don't want any of the drovers to know who you really are, not even my nephews. It's too easy for someone to slip.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I … I don't deserve it.”

“You're Jim's daughter,” he said simply. “You deserve it, all right.”

And before she could reply, he turned and walked away.

Gabrielle stayed by the river. Wrapping her arms around herself, she huddled in their embrace, unsure and a little confused by the myriad feelings whirling inside her. She felt new, unburdened for the first time in months; she hadn't realized how heavy a toll it had taken on her to live a lie all day, every day.

She also felt humbled. She'd embarked on a quest to gun down a man who had turned out to be one of the best men she'd ever met. He might forgive her for being insane with grief, but she would never quite forgive herself for misjudging him so badly.

Mostly, she guessed, she felt frightened. Not of the danger facing her—though she supposed she ought to be afraid of that—but of the future. She wanted to allow herself to envision a future with Drew, but she was afraid to hope, afraid to dream. Afraid that, after all her lies, he would never really trust her again. She didn't even dare for more, though her own heart cried out for it.

Staring blindly at the black water flowing past her, she stood waiting, wondering when, and even if, he would come to her.

Ha'Penny was asleep in his makeshift bed, and the dog lay next to him, a self-appointed sentinel. Drew sat on the back of the hoodlum wagon, watching them both with bemusement, a warmth creeping in to fill the empty hollows of his heart.

He wished a part of him wasn't leery of that warmth, that he knew how to accept without questioning these new, unfamiliar feelings.

If he went back to her tonight, he knew he would be taking that risk. He would be making a commitment as surely as if he'd spoken it before God and man. He'd never considered himself a gentleman, but neither had he ever played with female hearts for the sheer sport of it. All his past liaisons had been with experienced women, the simple rules of engagement known beforehand. He seldom returned more than once, thus avoiding even the slightest hint of personal involvement.

But Gabrielle … ah, Gabrielle was different. Even her name warmed him. Excited him. Made him ache with an intense wanting he'd never known. She somehow made him smile inside, made his heart beat with a yearning so strong he could barely breathe. He suspected bedding her was not the way to exorcise her from his system. He'd done that once, and it had only made him want her more. If he did it again, she'd become even more entwined in the threads of his being and, he feared, more essential to him.

Sighing, Drew jumped down from the wagon to get himself a cup of coffee, but as he walked toward the fire, he saw Kirby emerging from the dark shadows of the trees. Drew stood and watched his approach, bracing himself for the questions he knew were coming.

“Drew,” Kirby acknowledged, coming to a stop beside him. “Gabrielle told me quite a story.”

Drew nodded.

“She said you knew about it.”

“Aye.”

“Found yourself in quite a dilemma, didn't you?”

Hearing the note of amusement in Kirby's voice, Drew replied dryly, “Seems so. Ever since I stopped in that bloody saloon and overheard the men plotting the ambush.”

Kirby grunted. “Can't say I'm totally sympathetic. I'd be dead if you hadn't.”

“You think the same man who hired those gunmen killed Gabrielle's father?”

“I'm sure of it,” Kirby said. “I'm just not sure why.”

“So you knew her father?”

Kirby nodded. “We were friends once. Before we let a dangerous sonofabitch talk us into robbery—and murder.”

Hesitating, Drew asked, “And Gabrielle? What will you do about her?”

Kirby eyed him thoughtfully. “She's staying on for a while. I don't think she'd be safe out there alone. Here, no one knows who she really is. I doubt anyone would connect our Gabe—or even our Gabrielle—with an actress named Maris Parker. At least, not anytime soon, they won't. But if someone's after her too, she won't really be safe until we discover who it is.”

“I know,” Drew said. “I'm guessing that the gunman took a shot at her because he thought she might have seen him—not because of any connection with her father and you—and the old robbery.”

“I agree,” Kirby said.

“Any ideas about who hired the gunman?”

“I'd bet everything I have it's Cal Thornton. But we all changed our names, and I have no idea what he might be called today or even if I'd recognize him. I didn't know him long, and he's a quarter of a century older. I do remember his eyes, though. Light blue. And cold. Like ice.” Kirby paused. “Gabrielle said she got a glimpse of the gunman. Said he was tall and lean and that he wears a hat with a silver band. Does that description fit any of the men you saw in the saloon?”

Drew tried to think back, tried to picture the three. But he'd been sitting with his back to them and hadn't really gotten a good look. They'd all seemed disgruntled cowhands out for an easy dollar. He shook his head. “I'm afraid not.”

“Then we have to assume whoever is behind this has the resources to hire several killers.”

“Inadequate, careless ones, though,” Drew said. “They missed Gabrielle, and they never checked to make sure you were dead, back there in Indian Territory.”

“I keep wondering about that,” Kirby said. “Only thing I can figure is the gunman saw my horses gallop off and assumed that if I wasn't dead, I soon would be. Or something scared him off. I sure as hell would have been dead if you hadn't found me.”

“So, what we need to know,” Drew concluded, “is how long it will be before they find out exactly how wrong they were.”

“And come looking and find Gabrielle as well,” Kirby added.

Their eyes met, and Drew smiled. “Perhaps they'll find a trap instead.”

“Exactly my thought,” Kirby said. “If we can catch the sonofabitch, we can find out who hired him. Except it could be dangerous for Gabrielle.” Pausing, seeming a little uncomfortable, he asked, “Do you think you could persuade her to go back East? At least for a while?”

Drew uttered a brief laugh. “I think that would be like telling a tornado which direction to take.”

Kirby grinned. “Yeah, she's got spunk, I'll give her that. Her father was my friend. I've missed him, but damn, his spirit lives on in her. Maybe that's why I took to Gabe Lewis, even when I didn't know who he … or
she
was.”

Drew was silent. He was pleased that Kirby and Gabrielle had clearly made peace with each other. And it seemed that Kirby didn't blame him for his own lack of candor. Yet his friend's absolution didn't alleviate his sense of guilt over withholding possibly vital information.

“Dammit, Drew,” Kirby said, interrupting Drew's musings. “I think the gal's waiting for you by the river. If it was me, I sure wouldn't be standing around jawing.”

“Kirby …”

“If you're worrying about not telling me all this before, don't,” the rancher said. “I held you to a secret, and Gabrielle did the same. I don't think less of you because you honored both. Besides, you seem to be my guardian angel, and I'd be a fool to risk going against Heaven.”

“I'm one bloody odd guardian angel,” Drew said bleakly. “It must be one of God's jokes.”

“Joke or not, I'm grateful to you. Now go to Gabrielle. I think she's worried about you. And don't worry about the babe. Either Hank or I will be in camp, and we'll listen for him.”

Drew nodded, some of the weight lifting from his soul. No more secrets. Yet a great deal of turmoil remained. He wanted Gabrielle. He wanted her more than he had any right to want a woman. But what did he have to give her in return?

Still, his legs moved him in the direction of the river and, as he approached, he saw her silhouette outlined against the black sky. Coming to a stop a few feet behind her, he spoke her name softly. “Gabrielle?”

She turned quickly, walked the few steps to him, and held out her hand. He took it, feeling the strength in it. She was such an appealing combination of vulnerability and toughness that his heart pounded from the sheer glory he felt being near her. Silently, they walked hand and hand far upstream, seeking privacy.

When the campfire was a mere dot of orange in the distance, he stopped. His arms went around her and he crushed her to him. Her arms circled his neck, holding tightly as if to keep him there forever.

Forever
was a word he'd never used.
Forever
scared the hell out of him. And yet he melted under the pure, sweet savageness of her need, of his own. His heart throbbed, and he had to strain for breath.

“You were right,” she whispered. “I should have gone to Kirby long ago.”

But then he cut off any other words as his lips caught hers and they clung to each other, savoring a new intimacy rooted in budding trust as well as unrestrained passion. Her right hand entwined itself in his hair, and her mouth opened to his. Love was in her every caress, a tenderness he'd never felt, never known before she came into his life.

It deepened the lust in his body, this passion of the soul. He was astonished at the aching longing he had for her. He wanted to touch and feel every part of her. His hands moved up and down her back, causing her to tremble as his kiss deepened.

A soft purr came from her throat as his tongue ravished her mouth; then her tongue reached tentatively to spread flames of its own. Nothing mattered now to him but to feed the fires raging within. He could no longer control them—and he didn't try.

He moved his lips from her mouth to the nape of her neck, and again he felt her tremble. He was aware, in some fogged part of his mind, of her hands leaving his back and unbuttoning his shirt, and then his own hands were on her shirt, her trousers, his fingers unusually clumsy as they fought to release buttons that were suddenly much larger than the holes.

And then he felt her body, slim and lovely and soft. He took off his shirt and spread it on the ground, then carried her down with him to kneel on the fabric. He found her breast with his mouth, licking his way to the taut nipple, caressing, teasing, until he felt it grow hard, and her body shivered.

Her hands were on his waist, then his trousers, and he was suddenly free of the last vestiges of clothing. The clouds chose that moment to free the moon, as well, and he saw the wondrous expectation in her eyes, the elation.

His body echoed her obvious yearning, the frantic hunger of hers, as they came together. He felt the desire—God help him, the love—as their lips met again. The universe seemed to explode in that kiss. An elemental force, as potent as a storm-whipped ocean pounding the cliffs, locked them together, and his desperate prayer for sanity went unheeded. The current was too strong, the force too great. In a soundless minuet, they were flat on the ground, his body stretched out above her, his manhood touching the soft curve of her belly.

Her breathing was ragged, but her face told him everything he needed to know. “Drew,” she whispered. “Andrew Cameron …” Any further words seemed caught in her throat.

Still, he knew what they were, but he didn't know how to answer. So he said instead, “Are you sure, lass?”

She nodded. “Very.”

And again, he hesitated, then said, “I'll try to keep from getting you with child.” He saw in her eyes the hurt he felt in the sudden stiffening of her body.

“I'll not trap you,” she said in a broken whisper.

“I'm thinking of
you
, lass.”

She didn't say anything more. Instead, she lifted a hand and her fingers touched his cheek. Her body trembled under his.

He felt his chest tighten as he surrendered to the raw yearning driving him. He entered her, slowly at first, then faster as the pulsing center of her gloved him. She gave a low, rasping cry of pleasure as his thrusts deepened, and their bodies joined in a magical dance, its rhythm quickening with every movement. He felt her arms tighten around him, felt the warm moisture inside her. Then he heard her small cry of rapture. He was barely able to control himself enough to withdraw and collapse upon her, quaking with his own surrender.

He rolled over, breathing heavily, his hand clasping hers. He'd wanted to stay within her. He'd wanted it so badly he'd almost betrayed both of them. But he would not get her with child. He would not bring a bastard into the world.

Gabrielle was quiet. Too quiet. Still, Drew swallowed the words he wanted to say, the promises he wished he could make. Because he hated promises nearly as much as he'd hated lies.

Gabrielle snuggled into Drew's arms, trying desperately to bridge the canyon she suddenly felt yawning between them. She'd seen the despair flicker in his eyes, and it had made her heart constrict painfully. Despite their stunning intimacy of moments ago, he seemed isolated again, detached, as if he'd hung out a red flag warning off anyone who might get too close.