How to Lasso a Cowboy (28 page)

Delaney went down.

Elizabeth staggered away from him, her eyes wide and stunned.

Ignoring the pain in his side, Seth strode over to Delaney. He leaned down and checked the pulse in his neck, then pulled the mask from him.

He was dead.

He took Elizabeth in his arms, cradling her. She was safe. That was all he needed at the moment.

And the man he thought he hated had saved his life, and he had saved McGuire's.

TWO
hours later, Evans appeared. He saw the body on the floor and raised one eyebrow.

Seth stood with him in the main room, bandaged and shirtless. It was amazing, he thought, how Elizabeth's doctoring could soothe the pain.

She had offered him some laudanum, which he had refused, and then taken her father to his room. She had not emerged yet.

“He apparently was shot in the first few minutes of the ambush,” Seth explained. “He tried to take Elizabeth hostage.”

“I imagine the army won't be too upset,” Evans said. “Better than a messy court-martial.”

“I want my brother cleared.”

“I doubt that will be too difficult, especially if you swear to be . . . discreet about what happened here.”

“Some people are owed their land back. And cattle.”

“I'll see what I can do.”

“Thanks.”

“I've been wanting that bastard for a long time,” Evans said. “You ever need a job . . .”

“I might take you up on that,” Seth said. He still didn't have anything. No money, no land, no cattle.

“Anytime. All right to leave the cattle here and let people come pick up what's theirs?”

“I don't think the McGuires will object.”

“Then good night, or is it good morning to you? Don't forget that job.”

Seth nodded and Evans left.

Weary, he sat down in a chair. When Elizabeth was finished with her father, he would say good night. He would return to the valley and tell Dillon what had happened. He and his friends would have to remain hidden for a bit longer, then . . .

Elizabeth suddenly emerged from her father's room. She looked oddly uncertain and held something in her hand. She offered it to him.

He took it and glanced at the text. “The deed to the ranch,” he said, a lump lodging in the base of his throat.

“Papa and I want you to have it. It's yours.”

“And you and your father?”

“We will find a place.”

He had learned in the past few days how much this land meant to McGuire as well as to Elizabeth.

He reached out and touched her cheek. “I thought I wanted it more than anything. I was wrong.”

She watched him with those wide hazel eyes. Waiting.

“I want
you
more than anything. Perhaps we can . . . share.”

She still waited, eyes questioning.

“A partnership,” he struggled. “Oh hell, what I mean is, well, I want you to marry me.”

She looked stunned. He realized then how much she had been willing to give up for him. Her home, her livelihood. She had never expected . . .

But then neither had he.

Where had he heard that once you saved a life, you were responsible for it forever?

He smiled. The devil had a very strange sense of humor.

Or was it the angels?

“Will you?” he asked her, realizing that he hadn't quite managed the question very well.

She reached up and touched his mouth with her hand as if still disbelieving the words, then stood on her tiptoes to kiss him.

It was all the answer he needed.

 “
HE'S COMING! HOWIE
just rode in and said he saw dust in the distance.”

Marilee barely paused for breath as she skidded in front of Elizabeth. Marilee had been haunting the front porch for the last two weeks, at times worrying herself to tears.

Elizabeth dropped the cloth she was using to dry the supper dishes. Her heart jounced with joy and anticipation.

Six months. Her husband had left six months earlier on a cattle drive to Kansas City. She had wanted to go, but she had just discovered she was carrying a child.

She had not told him. She had not wanted him to feel as if he had to stay. This drive was too important to him. To her. To the community. He had been the one person who could bring together all the ranchers—Texans and newcomers alike—to combine the herds. It meant top price—and survival—for many of them.

What would he think when she told him the news—that he had a newborn son?

Would he feel the same joy she did? Or would he be angry she had kept that secret from him? She glanced down at the cradle. Her wee gift was two weeks old and waiting for a name.

She wished she had time to brush her hair. She had none. She ran from the kitchen out to the porch where Marilee waited while jumping on one foot, then another in anticipation. Howie had one foot on the corral fence, looking out toward the setting sun, a hand shading his eyes as he watched for Seth.

Marilee had come to love her brother with all her heart. He had been patient, and heartbreakingly tender and, bit by bit, had won his sister's adoration. She was nearly wild with anticipation of showing the baby to her brother.

Out of the dust individuals emerged, and her heart pounded. Elizabeth saw Seth first and he filled her eyes. Then Dillon, who had been cleared of all charges and now worked the ranch with his brother.

Thank God they had returned safely. She knew how treacherous the drive could be: indians, rustlers, drought, stampedes.

His clothes were as dirty and dusty as he had been that first day she had seen him but now he raced his horse toward her and tumbled off to fold her in his arms. He had obviously shaved in the morning, but bristle tickled her face as he leaned down and kissed her. A very long, a very heartfelt, a very needy kiss.

She cherished every second of it.

Then he straightened as if aware of the eyes on him. “Tonight,” he whispered, then he leaned down and hugged Marilee. “Hello, sweetpea. Have you been taking care of my girl?” he asked.

“Oh yes, I helped birth—”

“She was a great help,” Elizabeth broke in. This was something she wanted to tell on her own.

He looked at her curiously and took her hand.

“It was everything you hoped?” she asked.

“We were one of the first herds there,” he said. “We got good prices. Enough to buy a bull and build a new barn.”

She led him inside, pulling him toward the kitchen where the baby lay in the cradle.

He stood still, stunned, as his gaze went to the cradle, and then to the infant lying in it.

His eyes were full of questions as he raised his head to meet her gaze.

“Your son,” she said, presenting him.

He looked disbelieving for a moment, then he leaned down and picked up the sleeping child and cradled him. “You didn't tell me.”

“I wasn't sure until just before you left. I didn't want to keep you from going.”

“You didn't want me to go,” he reminded her. “Why didn't you—”

“I never want you to be gone that long,” she interrupted, her fingers touching his lips. “I never want you to be gone at all. But I knew how important it was to you. To us.”

“You think it was more important than my child?” His voice had a dangerous edge.

“There was nothing you could do for me, love. Howie and Marilee were wonderful. So were the neighbors.”

“I could have been here for you.”

“You
were
here. In my heart,” she said softly.

She watched as he tenderly whispered something to their child.

“What did you say?” she asked.

“I told him you were a stubborn, independent woman,” he said but he had a twinkle in his eyes. “It's a good thing I like stubborn, independent women.”

She relaxed. “He needs a name.”

Their eyes met. “I think it should be Michael,” he said immediately.

Emotion flooded her. Seth and her father had grown close in the first year of their marriage, perhaps because they both cared for her. He had mourned with her when her father died.

“I was thinking perhaps Garrett for your father.”

“Then Michael Garrett Sinclair?”

Tears burned behind her eyes. She still missed her father. His stories. His capacity to love. She nodded.

Reluctantly, Seth handed young Michael to Dillon, who had followed them inside and was watching with great interest. He looked startled at first, as if he were being handed a box of dynamite, but then a wide smile creased his hard face.

Seth took her in his arms again and showered her face with tender kisses. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for my son.”

Her heart trembled as her gaze went from his face to her son's. Her cowboy. Her two cowboys.

“Welcome home,” she murmured just before his lips sealed hers and the enchantment began all over again.

EMILY CARMICHAEL

 
TESS ANN MCCABE
brushed the trail dust from her jeans and slapped her weather-beaten hat against the hitching post before stepping into the Bird Cage Saloon. The warm, dusky interior washed over her with comforting familiarity, but the scowl on her face didn't ease. She had to do what she had to do, Tess told herself. But dadgummit, she didn't have to like it. Life could sometimes be downright unreasonable.

Heads turned when the clunk of her boots on the plank floor announced her presence, but the men enjoying their liquor, cards, and the attentions of the saloon girls didn't pay her much mind. The newcomer was just Tess from the Diamond T. Nothing to get stirred up about.

But when she brought down her fist upon the polished top of the long bar, eyes turned her way.

“I need a man!” Tess announced. A shameful confession, but there it was. “Now. Today. I need a goddamned man.”