The Cowboy's Reluctant Bride (3 page)

“You mean spying on me then vandalizing my place?”

He nodded.

“They’re watching me?” She sounded more angry than alarmed.

He sneaked a look at her indignant features. If someone were hanging around, heaven help them. The woman had already held him at gunpoint twice for no other reason than just showing up.

They crossed the muddy road onto the soggy grass and reached the edge of the south woods.

“Has the railroad ever talked about coming through here?” he asked.

“Oh, they’ve been talking about it for years, but it hasn’t happened. Besides, if there were plans for a railroad, everybody would be chattering about it.”

She had a point.

As he reached the edge of the trees, she caught up to him.

“Do you really think you’ll find anything in there?”

“I don’t know.” He was checking anyway. He’d promised Smith.

“The rain will have washed away any footprints,” Ivy said.

“True, but there might be other signs that someone has been around.”

“Like what?”

“The remains of a fire, maybe, or a shelter or something.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll be right back.”

“I’m coming, too.”

When he hesitated, she said, “Two pairs of eyes are better than one.”

“Okay.” He led the way into the dark denseness. Thick branches still dripped with rain, and wet pine needles slid beneath his feet.

After several minutes of walking through the damp air, Gideon had found no sign of anything except rain. He wanted to find the spot that would give him the view shown in those drawings.

Looking over his shoulder, he could see daylight through the wall of trees at his back. “What’s beyond here?”

“More pasture.”

He watched as she began walking into the wooded area that faced her house. Ahead of her, between the trees and bushes, he saw a wedge of light.

He followed. At times he would see her white frame home, then it would vanish as if the branches closed up. A trick of the shadows, he realized.

As he came within a foot of Ivy, he could clearly see her house through two stubby pines. Without warning, she stopped cold. To keep from running her over, he clamped his hands on her waist. She jumped, unbalancing them both for a second. He steadied them then released her.

“Look,” she breathed, pointing at something in front of her.

He dragged his attention from the taut curve of her waist and followed her gaze to the patch of ground she indicated.

Sunlight filtered through the thickness of the trees, falling on a blackened pile of sticks. Gideon stepped around her and knelt over the remains of a campfire.

“Someone’s been here.” He touched the soggy wood. Because of all the rain, he couldn’t tell how recently.

“Do you think they’ll come back?” She moved closer, her skirts brushing his arm.

He stood. “If it’s the person causing trouble, yes.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, looking at the forest surrounding them. “Do you think someone is here right now?” she asked in a low voice.

He glanced down, seeing a flare of alarm in her eyes. She hid it well, but she was worried. He wanted to reassure her, which made him snort. He was hardly made for that.

Still, he tried. “It’s so quiet that I think we would hear if anyone else was nearby, and I haven’t heard anything.”

She nodded, but her gaze darted around.

He focused again on the slant of light through the trees and stepped to the left, completely concealed behind a thick pine. From here, he could see Ivy’s house clearly. Everything, including the barn, the corral, the road leading to her home. Just like the drawings.

It was a perfect spot to observe the farm and matched the view of the illustrations.

Nerves taut with the same instinct that had kept him alive in prison, Gideon studied the ground then bent to pick up a broken pine branch. With his boot, he cleared a spot on the soft ground then laid the branch next to the tree where they stood.

“What are you doing?”

“If someone does come back, they’ll likely build a fire here again.” He anchored the wood on either end with small rocks. “Not only because it’s a perfect place to watch your house, but also because I doubt they’ll risk marking another spot.”

He checked the other side of the tree, pleased to discover the Powell farm wasn’t visible from there. “When they get in place, they’ll break the twig.”

“That’s smart,” she murmured, “but an animal could break it.”

“Yeah, but if a person does it, there will be some other sign of that. A boot print, marks on the tree maybe.”

“That means you’re going to have to check here every day.”

“Right.”

“We can take turns.”

“I’ll do it.”

“I can help.”

“Miss Ivy, your brother sent me here to do this job.”

“I’m helping,” she said baldly.

She might look softer than velvet and be a whole lot prettier than Smith, but she probably had every bit as much grit as her brother. And she might need it.

The dead horse and the campfire remains proved someone had been here. To frighten Ivy? Or for something worse?

Gideon had to find out. Which meant he wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how badly Ivy might want him to.

Chapter Two

G
ideon Black’s face had gone from blank to grim upon seeing the remains of that campfire.

By the time they sat down to lunch, Ivy was impressed with the man, though she didn’t want to be. For whatever reason, she hadn’t thought to look in the woods for signs of the person causing her trouble.

Maybe because she was so tired. She’d barely slept last night for replaying the night of Tom’s death over and over. She’d managed to stop the memory, but not the guilt. As a result, she had slept poorly, and she couldn’t blame that on her guest.

Gideon gestured to the platter of ham and corn bread. “This is good.”

“Thank you.” Sitting across from him, her skin felt prickly.

And hot.

The man was the size of a mountain. He dominated the space, making even the table that could seat ten people look small. His face, rugged and strong, was weathered by the sun and life. Grooves cut on either side of his mouth hinted that he must’ve smiled a lot at one time. She’d seen no evidence of it.

Using the cloth napkin she’d laid next to his plate, he wiped his lips then took a sip of coffee. “When does your contract with the mayor end?”

So he was still trying to figure out why someone might want to cause trouble for her. “In a year.”

“Is there anyone who might want that?”

“Not to my knowledge.” She sighed. “The mayor will have to be told about the horse. I’ll need to drive into Paladin.”

“I’ll go with you.”

The thought of riding all that way in the wagon with him made her skittish. “It’s not necessary.”

“Still, I’ll go.”

Her own food sat untouched as he forked open another piece of corn bread and spread it with honey. Why had Gideon been in prison? Maybe it had been due to a mistake like her brother being wrongly identified as a train robber. A clerical error had incorrectly listed him as dead rather than as one of the prisoners transported to Leavenworth.

“Mr. Black?”

“Gideon.”

“Gideon. How long were you in prison?”

His head came up, those blue eyes burning into her. Wariness etched his features. “Five years.”

“Why were you there?”

He laid down his fork. A long moment passed. “For murder.”

She drew in a sharp breath. There was no need to ask if he was serious. His eyes hardened, squelching a brief flare of remorse and anger.

“And were you guilty?”

“Yes.” He watched her carefully, as if expecting her to order him to leave.

She wasn’t afraid of him. If Smith thought Gideon was dangerous, he never would’ve sent him.

Just as he took another sip of coffee, she asked, “Who did you kill?”

He shook his head.

“I think I have a right to know, Mr. Black. You’re living here.”

Looking pained and irritated at the same time, he set his cup down. “A rancher’s son.”

“Did you kill him in self-defense?”

“No.” His jaw tightened as he held her gaze, his entire frame rigid with tension.

She wanted to press him for more, but the raw bleakness in his face reached right into her chest and squeezed. She couldn’t do it. “Thank you for telling me.”

He said nothing, just resumed eating.

For a moment, the only sounds were the scrape of forks on the plates, the occasional call of a bird. The man clearly didn’t want to discuss himself. That was fine. She had other questions.

“Smith won’t talk much about his time in prison.”

Resignation chased across Gideon’s face, and he again set aside his utensils. His voice was flat. “He doesn’t want you to know.”

Because it had been horrible. Ivy’s throat tightened. Her brother was home. That was what mattered. Their parents and his wife, Caroline, were helping him heal. Who was helping Gideon Black? Did a murderer deserve help? Smith thought so. “Do you have any family?”

“No, ma’am.”

“No one at all?”

“No.”

His tone was polite, yet she could sense his agitation. “How did you and Smith become friends?”

After a longing glance at his food, he said, “There was a, um, misunderstanding between him and some other inmates. I helped straighten it out.”

His words were so careful, so deliberate that she knew he wasn’t telling her everything.

“Was that when you saved his life?”

“Yes.” His muscles were drawn taut beneath his buff-colored work shirt, his shoulders straining at the fabric.

“Was that when his leg was broken?”

The jerky nod and coiled energy in his body warned her off, but she couldn’t help another question. “Is that how you got those scars?”

His face completely closed up. She’d never seen anything like it. His features turned to granite, blue eyes blazing, his mouth white with restraint. Angry color slashed across his sharp cheekbones.

He rose, his massive frame blocking out the sun. “Would you like me to take my meals somewhere else, Miss Ivy?”

“No.” She stood, too. Would he really go? Absolutely, she realized. There was no bluff on his face. “Please, finish your meal.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then started to sit. The sound of an approaching horse had them both turning toward the open screened door. A couple of chickens squawked and hustled out of the way of a brown mare, its hooves flinging red mud as it trotted toward the house.

She held back a groan. “I wonder what he wants.”

Gideon strapped on the gun belt he’d shed for their meal. Plucking his hat from the peg beside the door, he looked at her over his shoulder. “You know him?”

“Yes. It’s Conrad, the stagecoach driver. Neal Conrad, but he goes by his last name.”

“Didn’t you say he was just here yesterday?”

“Yes. I can’t imagine what he wants.”

She stepped onto the porch, and her guest followed. An enticing mix of man and leather floated to her. She could feel the powerful width of Gideon’s chest at her back. While she appreciated the gesture, Conrad was an annoyance, not a threat.

The stage driver, a man with sharp features and flowing blond hair, jumped off his horse and whipped the reins around the hitching post. “I came as soon as I could.”

Giving Gideon a narrow-eyed look, Conrad reached her in two strides, arms outstretched.

She stepped back, managing to avoid contact. He was always touching her, and she didn’t like it.

His blue-checked shirt and dark trousers were clean. His eyes were deep brown, his features as perfect as a drawing and he possessed about as much substance as a piece of paper. He was trim and well built, a handsome man. And he knew it.

“What brings you out two days in a row, Conrad?” Ivy asked evenly.

“I came to check on you. See how you fared in the storm.”

“Just fine.”

He turned his attention to Gideon, his eyes hardening when he saw how close the other man stood to her.

“Who are you?” he asked sharply.

Ivy barely stopped herself from snapping that it was none of his business. Before Gideon could answer, she did. “Conrad, this is Gideon Black, a family friend.”

“Are you staying here or just passing through?”

As if that were any of his concern. Ivy fought the urge to order the stage driver off her property, but that wouldn’t be smart, businesswise. “He’s my guest, Conrad. He brought a message from my brother.”

The man scrutinized Gideon before his gaze swung to Ivy. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes. Gideon and I are just having a visit.”

The subject of the conversation had yet to say a word, but Ivy didn’t miss the shrewd glint in his eyes as he sized up the other man. She also didn’t miss the way he kept one hand on the butt of the revolver in his holster.

“I drive the stage,” Conrad announced unnecessarily.

“So Miss Ivy said.” Gideon folded his arms over that broad chest. With a scowl on his compelling features, he looked as approachable as a rattlesnake.

Seeming to dismiss Gideon, Conrad turned to her with a smile and took her elbow, towing her inside.

As he always did, he walked into her house without an invitation. Gideon followed them over the threshold, disapproval pulsing from him.

When Ivy pulled away, Conrad paused at the dining table, his smile still in place. “You were probably frightened last night. That storm really kicked up a fuss.”

“I wasn’t frightened,” she said stiffly.

“Maybe you’ve got some of that delicious coffee?” Conrad’s gaze fell to the two plates on the table. The two cups. Mouth tight, he sat in the chair next to hers.

She didn’t like it, but she didn’t need to upset the man who recommended her stage stop and was responsible for bringing passengers here.

Gideon remained at the door like a sentry. Tension arced in the room, and she thought she could physically feel him willing the stage driver to leave.

Conrad drummed his fingers on the table.

She took another tin cup from the cabinet that held the tin plates and mugs reserved for the passengers. Going to the stove, she wrapped the hem of her apron around the hot handle of the coffeepot.

As she poured, he said, “It would’ve been better if you’d been in town last night, not out here all alone.”

“I was fine.” Her words were short as she handed him the cup. She glanced at Gideon, noticing that his face hadn’t changed one bit. It still looked carved out of stone. Forbidding. Conrad was either blind or not intimidated.

“You know how I feel about you being out here all by your lonesome,” he said.

Yes, and she didn’t give two figs about it. It took effort to keep her voice level. “I appreciate your concern, but I can’t leave my home.”

“You shouldn’t be running this place by yourself.” He sipped at the steamy brew. “You shouldn’t be running it at all.”

“Conrad,” she said sweetly, her eyes narrowing. “I’ve been running it since Tom passed, and I intend to keep doing so.”

“Now, now, don’t get your back up.” He clumsily placed his cup on the table, liquid sloshing out as he stood and moved toward her.

Gideon took a step in her direction. Only one.

It was enough to stop the other man. Conrad blinked then turned to Ivy. “I’m only thinking of you. You need a man around here to help you.”

She certainly did not.

“She has one,” Gideon said.

Surprised, Ivy shot him a look.

The stage driver’s lip curled. “I meant someone she can depend on regularly.”

With the exception of her brother and father, there were no men she would depend on. If she needed a man on the farm, she would hire one.

She walked out to the porch, hoping the stage driver would take the hint. “Everything is fine, Conrad. Thanks for checking on me.”

After another slit-eyed look at Gideon, the man gave her a quick hug, moving away before she could remove his arm. He touched her often, never with permission, although he’d never tried more than a hug. Which was good, because Ivy wouldn’t hesitate to use the pistol in her skirt pocket.

“Is your stock all right?” Conrad asked. “All accounted for?”

“Yes.” She wasn’t telling him about the dead mare.

“I’ll check the horses. If any of them need shoes, I brought some.”

“That’s not necessary, Conrad.”

“It’ll just take a minute.”

“Only one of them needed to be shod, and Gideon did it this morning.”

“That’s really not your—” He broke off, glowering at Gideon before giving Ivy a sideways look. “That’s nice, but I usually take care of that for you.”

“And I appreciate it, even though I can take care of it on my own,” she said sharply. She was sick to death of Conrad acting as if she were helpless. At least Gideon hadn’t acted that way. Yet.

Wanting to hurry the stage driver along, she moved down the steps to his horse. “I’ll see you on your next stage run.”

“Yes, all right.” Coming to stand beside his mount, he looked over her head at Gideon, but spoke to her. “I’ll see you soon.”

She made a noncommittal noise as he mounted up and finally rode off.

Ivy exhaled, glad to be rid of him.

“Is he always like that?” Gideon asked in a low voice.

“Yes.” She turned, in no mood for him to start any of that silly man-take-care-of-woman business. “And I can handle him just fine.”

“You sure can. He must not know about that pistol in your skirt pocket. Why do you put up with the way he treats you?”

“He could discourage passengers from staying for a meal.”

“And that would cost you money.”

“Yes.” She moved past him and back into the house to clean up the dishes. Gideon followed, but stopped in the doorway. Sunlight haloed his giant frame.

“Besides, he leaves a lot quicker if he thinks he’s getting what he wants.”

A half smile tugged at Gideon’s mouth, and it made her smile in return.

She carried the plates and cups across the room and past the stove.

“You say he was here yesterday?” Gideon asked.

“Yes.”

“Before that, when was his most recent visit?”

“Four days ago.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Why?”

“That means he was here the day before—”

“The day before I found my horse killed,” she breathed, hastily putting the dishes in the dry sink. “Do you think Conrad had something to do with that?”

“Can you remember if he was around just before the other incidents?”

“I can’t remember about the chickens, but...he wasn’t here the day Tug went missing.”

Gideon frowned. “That you know of.”

“That’s right.” Did he take anyone’s word for anything? She bet not. Was that because he’d been in prison, or was there more to it? “He could’ve been in the woods, and I wouldn’t have known. He could’ve come across Tug. If he did something to my dog—”

“Hey, we don’t know anything yet. What motive would he have for causing you trouble?”

“To make me decide I need a man around here,” she muttered. “That I need
him.
I know it sounds ridiculous.”

“How long have you known him?”

“Since Tom and I married, almost ten years.” She appreciated that Gideon didn’t dismiss her theory.

Her guest looked her over slowly, sparking all her nerve endings. A muscle flexed in his jaw. “Does he always put his hands on you like that?”