Книга - The Ranger’s Woman

The Ranger's Woman
Carol Finch


WIDOW'S WEEDS COULD COVER A MULTITUDE OF SINSAnd when lawman Quinn Callahan got a look at what Piper Sullivan was hiding beneath them, he wanted to sin plenty! The woman was a glory to behold–all sass and bristling passion. But damned if he didn't know he was absolutely wrong for her…!Desperadoes, careening stagecoaches, gunfire–with Quinn Callahan, Piper Sullivan discovered the excitement never stopped. This rough-and-ready Texas Ranger was completely unlike any man she'd ever known. And riding with him, she was fast becoming a woman she didn't recognize–wild, free and aching for his touch!









The feel of his lean fingers sent a tingle of pleasure trickling through her.


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…!





Praise for Carol Finch


“Carol Finch is known for her lightning-fast, roller-coaster-ride adventure romances that are brimming over with a large cast of characters and dozens of perilous escapades.”

—Romantic Times




Praise for previous titles


Texas Bride

“Finch delivers another well-paced western with likable, realistic characters, a well-crafted backdrop and just enough history and sensual tension to satisfy western and romance readers.”

—Romantic Times

Call of the White Wolf

“The wholesome goodness of the characters…will touch your heart and soul.”

—Rendezvous

“A love story that aims straight for the heart and never misses.”

—Romantic Times




The Ranger’s Woman

Carol Finch







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


This book is dedicated to my husband, Ed, and our children, Kurt, Jill, Christie, Shawnna, Jon and Jeff. And to our grandchildren, Livia, Blake, Kennedy and Brooklynn. Hugs and kisses!




Contents


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




Chapter One


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.

Physically speaking, he was a rare specimen of brawn and muscle. Nothing like the gentleman dandies she was accustomed to. Not that she would ever be romantically interested in any of the suitors who treated her like a prize catch because of her wealth and affluence in polite society. Neither would she be interested in a man like this gambler, she assured herself sensibly.

Truth be told, Piper wasn’t sure she wanted any man in her life at the moment. And maybe never. She had given up on the idea of love and romance because she had never found a man who inspired her affection, no one who was willing to accept her for who she was.

The whole objective of this long jaunt was to gain control of her own existence without some man trying to dictate, manipulate and use her for his ulterior purposes, she reminded herself.

Her gaze narrowed in concern while she watched the gambler fish two silver dollars from the pocket of his gold brocade vest, then roll them over his fingertips. He had told her no more than three hours ago that thieves lurked in this area. Yet here he was, flashing coins that caught the rapt attention of the stage attendants.

Piper surged forward, tapping her cane in agitation. She clutched the gambler’s arm to draw him aside. “What the dickens are you doing?” she said with a quiet hiss. “Put those coins out of sight. You might as well send an engraved invitation to outlaws that you have money for the taking.”

Quinn stared down at the old crone who stood only a few inches over five feet tall. Her mouth, he decided, was bigger than she was and she never hesitated in using it. “Where did you get the idea that anything I do is your business?”

Her head snapped up and he knew instinctively that she was glowering at him. “Your carelessness and lack of discretion might affect me. Can’t you find something else to do besides flaunt your money?”

Quinn did exactly that. He pulled another cigar from his vest and lit it up. When he blew smoke over the top of that ridiculous-looking plumed hat she grew exasperated and tramped off. Her cane beat a sharp staccato on the trodden path.

“A relative of yours, gringo?” one of the stage attendants asked as his gaze followed the old battle-ax until she disappeared around the corner of the adobe station.

Quinn chuckled. “Not hardly. We just met. I’m hoping it will be a short acquaintance.”

To ensure that the attendants knew he carried valuables as well as money, he retrieved the expensive gold pocket watch to check the time. He also flashed the diamond ring he wore on his pinky finger. He noted the interest he had drawn from one of the Mexicans—the same man he remembered from his previous jaunts along this route. He took note of the fact that the man was wearing the same patterned red bandana around his neck that another attendant had been wearing at one of the relay stations.

Quinn frowned curiously as he ambled toward the barn to stretch his legs. As he recollected, at least one attendant at every stage stop between here and El Paso wore similar bandanas. Coincidence? He didn’t think so. He wouldn’t be surprised to learn that was how the ring of far-flung spies identified each other.

Quinn derailed from his train of thought when he heard a wild feminine shriek. Instinctively, he took off at a dead run. When he rounded the corner of the building he saw the widow plastered against the wall, staring at the mutt that bounded around her. When she jabbed her cane forward, the mutt gnawed on the end of it.

“Get away, you beast,” she said, scowling.

“Are you talking to me?” Quinn had to ask.

“No, this mongrel.” She jerked back the cane and the oversize pup approached her.

Quinn barked a laugh when the dog reared up on its hind legs and planted its saucer-size front paws on her bosom. “He’s not attacking. For some reason the pup likes you.”

That in itself surprised him because the old harridan seemed to go out of her way to ensure folks took a wide berth around her. He was still trying to figure out why.

“Get down!” she ordered the mutt. “And behave yourself. I have dealt with enough bad manners for one day.”

To his disbelief, the mutt sank down obediently on its haunches and stared adoringly at her. The dog was obviously so starved for affection that he was ready to align himself with the devil’s sister.

“That’s much better,” she cooed at the pup.

Quinn frowned, bemused by the abrupt change in her voice. His curiosity doubled when she reached down to scratch behind the pup’s floppy ear—the other one stood straight up. Whining, the mutt rolled onto his back, paws stuck in the air, so she could scratch his belly.

“Wonders never cease,” he murmured as he left the hag with her new friend—the first and last she would likely make during this trip—to get something to eat.

Piper waited until the gambler rounded the corner before she sank to her knees to give the pup another affectionate pat. The dog had startled her when he came bounding up from nowhere to pounce zealously at her. She had expected to be attacked, but from the looks of this scrawny creature all he wanted was food and affection.

“Come along, dog,” she encouraged as she got to her feet. “If this meal is as unappetizing to the palate as the one I had for lunch then you can have my portion.”

The pup bounded onto all fours and trailed along behind her—until the station manager gave him a kick in the flanks when he tried to walk inside. “Get out and stay out, you fleabag.”

Piper whacked her cane against the man’s shins before he could give the poor pup another painful kick. “Leave him alone!” While the barrel-bellied man glowered at her, she surveyed the shadowy dining area, listening to the buzzing of flies, noting the table still had food stuck to it from previous meals. “You may bring my meal outside and don’t be stingy with the portions. In fact, I’ll have two plates for supper,” she insisted as she plucked a coin from her reticule then handed it to the proprietor.

Leaving the man staring after her, Piper spun on her heels and hobbled off.

The pup followed devotedly behind her.

“That old lady sure is full of spit and vinegar, ain’t she?” the manager said to Quinn.

“Seems to be,” he murmured absently as he watched her move more swiftly than he might have expected of someone in her declining years.

The proprietor dipped up several cups of beans and sloshed them on the tin plates. “Here,” he said. “You take these out to the witch and tell her not to waste food on that mutt because he’s slated for execution. He showed up here two days ago and keeps trying to chase the horses for entertainment. I won’t put up with that. These horses have to stay in tip-top shape to pull the coaches.”

Carrying two platters of greasy beans, stale bread and a chunk of meat he couldn’t identify because it was burned to a crisp, Quinn strode over to the shade tree where the dragon lady had plunked down, her faithful mutt by her side.

“Don’t get too attached to the mutt,” Quinn cautioned as he handed her one plate and set the other one on the grass for the dog. “The manager is talking extermination. This could be the mutt’s last meal.”

Quinn started when the woman suddenly bounded to her feet with considerable speed and agility.

She thrust her plate back at him. “We’ll just see about that! Extermination indeed!”

And off she went, leaving Quinn to watch the mutt slurp up the beans, then devour the bread in two gulps. A moment later the crone approached, carrying another plate of beans. In disbelief, Quinn watched her set a second plate between the mutt’s oversize front paws.

“No one is going to turn you into tomorrow’s main course,” she told the dog in that nasal voice that reminded Quinn of someone raking fingernails across a blackboard. “Your miserable life just got better, dog. Wish I could say the same for mine.”

Quinn rolled his eyes when the woman plunked down to pat the mutt’s head while he gobbled the second helping of food. What was wrong with this woman? She could be civil and caring to a scroungy mutt, but she wanted nothing to do with him?

Well, what else was new? he asked himself as he handed her the supper plate, then walked off to take his meal indoors. He had been fighting for respect and acceptance for most of his life and never got it. He had been fighting, period. Hell, it was all he knew.

Since when did you start brooding over the hand fate dealt you, Callahan? You just play your cards the best you can and consider yourself lucky. Your life could be worse. You’ve already seen the worst humanity can rain down on each other. Just right the wrong and see to it that justice gets served.




Chapter Two


T his poor dog was not going to be rejected and cast off the same way her father had turned his back on her older sister, Piper decided as the gambler walked off. Indeed, part of the objective of this trip was to see that her sister received rightful compensation. She was here to ensure that at least one of Roarke Sullivan’s loud decrees didn’t stick. If Roarke hadn’t realized it yet, he would soon discover that he had lost control over both his daughters.

Resolved of purpose, Piper made sure the mutt was well fed and bathed and approached the waiting coach. When she alighted inside the gambler squinted at her.

“About time. We’re ten minutes behind schedule.”

The crooked smile that came and went in the blink of an eye suggested that he was purposely taunting her. Piper rose to the occasion. “Can’t imagine that it would matter much to a man who has no particular place to go and has no pressing engagement when he gets there.” She shoved his long muscled legs sideways with her heel to grant her half the floor space.

She snapped her fingers at the mutt that stared hopefully up at her. “Well? Are you coming or not?” When she patted the space beside her on the seat the dog launched himself inside, his wet tail banging against the opened door.

“You are kidding,” the gambler said in astonishment as he watched the pup turn a tight circle, then plunk down next to her. “You both smell like wet dog.”

“I have heard that cleanliness is next to godliness,” she countered.

He smirked. “Didn’t know God categorized folks by how often they bathed.”

“Perhaps not but I didn’t want the mutt to offend you when he climbed aboard with me. I certainly wasn’t going to leave him behind to die.”

“You’re all heart, ma’am.”

“Likewise, I’m sure.”

Piper hated to admit it, but she actually enjoyed their banter. Thus far, the other male passengers had let her be after one or two of her pointed remarks. But this gambler gave as good as he got. Plus, he hadn’t tried to impress her with polished manners and premeditated charm. Not that he had any to spare, of course. The fact that she found this man intriguing and physically appealing astounded her.

“By the way, what is your name? I see no reason for me to keep referring to you as the no-account gambler,” she teased.

“Cal.”

“Cal what?”

“Just Cal. Short and sweet.”

“Short, yes,” she said, chuckling. “But I’m not so sure about sweet.”

When he leaned toward her the mutt jerked up his head. But Cal didn’t seem the least bit alarmed that the dog had become protective of her. She rather suspected that he was trying to get a better look at her through the dark veil.

He tossed her a mocking grin. “What should I call you besides the nagging old hag?”

“Agatha Stewart,” she said without missing a beat.

“Agatha,” he repeated, rolling the name off his tongue. “Somehow that fits you. So…are you going west to torment anyone in particular?”

She snickered in amusement. “Just my sister. Luckily we are a great deal alike,” she replied, wondering why she was daring to spend so much time conversing with Cal. She knew she would be better off if they traveled in silence. But she had to admit that she was curious about him and wanted to get to know him better. “Do you have family somewhere, Calvin?”

His dark brows flattened and he frowned at her. “The name is just plain Cal.”

“So you say,” she said with a dismissive flick of her gloved hand. “Where does your kin call home?”

Something flickered in his eyes that made Piper think she had accidentally hit an exposed nerve. When he settled himself deeper into the seat and folded his arms over his broad chest, as if closing himself off from her, she stared bemusedly at him.

“I don’t have kin, Agatha.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” she murmured sincerely.

He shrugged. “Forget it.” A moment later a lopsided smile crossed his sensuous lips—and confound it, she was annoyed with herself for noticing. “I’m sure you just couldn’t help yourself. Meddling probably comes naturally.”

Piper was enormously affected by his smile because it altered his entire appearance and changed her perception of him. For the first time in their association she sensed hidden warmth in him, a flicker of humanity. Maybe he wasn’t as much of a good-for-nothing as she had first thought.

He had tried to upright her when the bouncing coach sent her plummeting onto the floorboards. He had also been the only one to rush to her rescue when the oversize mutt had startled her. Plus, he had carted out food to her for supper.

He was not without a few saving graces, she realized.

“I hail from Galveston,” she said conversationally, careful to keep the nasal twang in her voice. “My family is disgustingly rich and I have been pampered and spoiled my whole life. Extenuating circumstances, which I won’t bore you with, have made me wary and cynical.”

“Then we are the perfect traveling companions,” he replied. “We may seem like exact opposites, but I suspect we are very much alike.” He nodded his head toward the pup sleeping contentedly beside her. “Like the mutt, I’ve been kicked around, cursed, ridiculed and rejected most of my life. I’m a mite cynical and suspicious myself, but for entirely different reasons. So…are we about done with the idle chitchat, Agatha? It’s not one of my best talents.”

“I do believe we are done with the chitchat,” she said as she settled back on the seat.

His previous comment about leading a hard life aroused her curiosity. But Piper cautioned herself not to become overly intrigued by a man who was never going to be more than a temporary footnote in this chapter of her life.

“I could use some shut-eye,” he mumbled.

That said, he pulled down his Stetson hat, swung his muscled legs up on the seat and settled in for a nap.

Left with nothing to do—a hazard of lengthy overland coach travel—Piper stared out the window. She surveyed the rugged mountains that rose in the distance, admiring the looming peaks that were swathed in the red-and-purple hues of the sunset.

When the coach hit a bump in the road, she braced herself against the window frame, then patted the mutt’s head when he stirred beside her. Piper noticed that Cal simply shifted on the seat and braced his feet to counter the jarring motion of the coach. This time it looked as if he were actually sleeping rather than faking it.

Piper decided she might as well catch a nap, too. What else was there to do besides contemplate the man across from her? She had thought about him entirely too much already.



Somewhere around midnight, the coach ground to a halt and Quinn groaned tiredly. Having traveled this route recently he knew they had reached the isolated trading post that rented upstairs rooms to passengers. He stretched his arms and worked the kinks from his back. An amused smile quirked his lips when he noticed Agatha had conked out and lay at an uncomfortable angle on the seat. The dog had curled up between her bent knees and her outflung right arm.

Damn if Quinn could figure out why that mutt was so devoted to the old woman.

Well, yes, he could, come to think of it. Persnickety and outspoken though she could be, she seemed to have a soft spot for strays. She had defended the mutt’s right to survival against anyone who dared to cross her. It was encouraging to know that beneath Agatha’s prickly armor of defense beat a kind and caring heart.

He doubted, however, that she wanted many people to know that because it would destroy the standoffish air she tried to project. But why she wanted to keep people at arm’s length he couldn’t figure out. Of course, there were several things about Agatha that puzzled him, he reminded himself.

Quinn reached over to nudge her shoulder, which seemed to be strangely well padded. He wondered if it was her insulation against the rough coach ride from Galveston. “Agatha,” he murmured. “Wake up. There’s a cot with your name on it at this trading post.”

Her quiet moan surprised him. It sounded nothing like the grating voice he was accustomed to hearing from her. Frowning, he studied her in the dim lantern light that sprayed through the window. Yep, there was definitely something about this old hag that didn’t quite add up.

The thought turned to a flash of pain when she came awake with a start and accidentally banged her head into his chin when she pushed herself upright. His teeth snapped together so quickly that he bit his tongue.

“Oh, sorry, Calvin. Where are we? What’s going on? Are we being robbed?” she demanded in an unfamiliar voice.

“No, we’ve just stopped for the night,” he said, studying her suspiciously.

Abruptly, she became the old woman he thought he knew. Her voice changed, and so did her manner. Her image shifted before his eyes as she clutched her cane, then tapped him on the shoulder with it.

“You climb down first. I’ll be behind you when I get my wits together.”

And so he climbed down. He also waited beside the coach—just in case she stumbled and needed a hand down. The dog bailed out first and trotted off to the nearest scrub bush. Then Agatha’s plumed hat and veil came into view. For a split second Quinn thought he caught sight of her face in the light, but she ducked her head so quickly that he couldn’t tell what she looked like.

Having been warned off previously, he didn’t offer to take her hand, but he waited nearby in case she found herself in need of his support. He watched as she carefully extended her foot to the step. She anchored her hands on the door frame, then stepped down beside him.

“Nice place.” She smirked as she scanned the shabby stone and timber trading post that had been built at the base of the rugged mountains. “I’ve heard this part of Texas referred to as Hell’s Fringe. It seems to fit.”

“At least the place is reasonably clean,” he reported as he fell into step beside her. He flashed her a wry grin. “It even has a tub upstairs for those of us who need to bathe. Naturally, I’ll want to spiffy up so I won’t offend you.”

She burst out with a hee-hee-hee, much to his amazement. “Oh, come now, Calvin, surely you know me well enough by now to realize that I would have insisted that you ride up top with the driver and guard if I found you offensive.”

Curiosity got the better of him as they entered the crude trading post. “Let me guess, you ousted someone during the first leg of your journey. Forced them up to the luggage rack, did you?”

“Of course I did. The two heathens reeked of whiskey and turned offensively obnoxious. The stench was so overpowering that it made my eyes water. If I were younger I would have climbed atop the coach to avoid them.”

“It might help if you discarded that thick veil,” Quinn suggested. “It probably traps in smoke and foul aromas.”

“And expose this horribly disfigured face of mine?” she scoffed. “Trust me, Calvin, this veil is for your convenience and protection as much as mine.”

When the proprietor—who, according to the wooden plaque on the counter was named Ike—objected to the mutt following Agatha inside, she chastised the mammoth of a man. It wasn’t until she offered a silver dollar to pay for the mutt, that the proprietor backed off.

“Okay, lady, but keep that mangy animal off the bed,” Ike insisted harshly.

“Deal. But I just bathed him. He is as clean as the rest of us. And certainly much easier to get along with,” she said with a disgruntled sniff.

She plucked the key from his beefy hand and swept off, her cane thumping rhythmically against the floor and the steps as she disappeared from sight.

“Feisty old witch,” Ike muttered after her.

“Hey, leave her alone.” Quinn slammed his mouth shut, wondering why he was defending Agatha.

Apparently, Ike was wondering the same thing because he blinked at him in surprise. “That your granny or something?” he asked as he handed over the room key.

“No, but if I had one I’d want her to be just as full of sass and spunk as Agatha. She doesn’t take any guff and she doesn’t let anyone push her around. You gotta admire that about her.”

“Do I?” Ike pocketed the extra dollar. “Don’t see why I should. I get paid the same for meek and complacent customers, ya know.”

Quinn waited for the guard to haul in their luggage, and then carried his and Agatha’s belongings upstairs. When he knocked on her door, she opened it only slightly to determine who had arrived.

“Thank you, Calvin. You are turning out to be more considerate and sociable than I first thought.” She grabbed the handle of her oversize bag and dragged it into her room. “Well, good night. Don’t forget to check for bedbugs.”

“I’ll do that,” he said before he turned and walked away.

Piper waited until she heard his door click shut before she peeled off her veiled hat. She unpinned her long, silver-blond hair and shook it loose, letting it tumble down her back in springy curls. She breathed a long-awaited sigh of relief when she stepped from the cumbersome gown. No wonder she was so tired, she mused as she draped the heavily padded garment over a nearby chair. She wasn’t accustomed to carrying around this extra weight night and day.

She smiled fondly when the mutt plopped down at her bare feet. “Too bad you aren’t a man,” she said. “You, I would enjoy dealing with on a regular basis. Loyal, devoted and true-blue. Unlike most men I’ve met.”

On that thought, Piper stretched out in bed and promptly fell asleep, thankful not to be bouncing around in that dreadful coach and have her stomach churning constantly.



At dawn, Quinn headed down to the spring-fed creek to bathe and change into a clean set of clothes. He’d heard Agatha thumping down the hall earlier, requesting that Ike prepare her bath, so he granted her the luxury of the tub while he sought out more primitive accommodations.

After snooping around the barn, Quinn noticed a new hireling—a thin, wiry white man who wore a bright red bandana, which was tied in exactly the same place on his left shoulder as the attendant he had encountered the previous afternoon. Pulling the silver dollars from his pocket, Quinn wandered over to strike up a conversation while he rolled the coins over his fingertips. He also boasted about the big jackpot he had won at the gaming tables in Fort Stockton.

As he strolled off, he asked himself how a ring of spies might discreetly communicate their information about prospective targets when they were miles apart. Frowning pensively, he circled the coach that waited unattended while the guard and driver ate breakfast.

“Bingo,” Quinn murmured when he noticed the red bandana wrapped around the handle of the strongbox. Not only was he carrying the tempting bait of extra money, but also there must be valuable loot in the strongbox. Plus, the potential profit of whatever Agatha was carrying in her reticule.

When he heard voices he veered away from the back of the coach. His anticipation mounting, he predicted that he would finally hit pay dirt during the next leg of the trip. His only concern was how Agatha was going to react if this stage was held up. He could visualize her squaring off against the bandits and trying to protect the money she obviously carried.

If the stage were indeed robbed he would have to caution her to be careful what she said and did.

Amused, he watched Agatha toddle outside to set down a plate of food for the mutt. Agatha paid no attention to Ike who towered over her, complaining that he didn’t want the dog eating off “people” plates.

“Stop fussing at me, Ike. All I’m doing is keeping this poor dog from starving to death. It won’t hurt you to give the plate a good scrubbing.”

Quinn bit back a grin when Agatha flounced off and Ike sent a rude gesture flying behind her. Scowling, Ike lurched around and lumbered back into the trading post. Quinn had to agree that Ike was making a mountain out of a molehill and that Agatha was right. His plate had dried food caked on it and it could have used a good scrubbing.

“What are you smiling about this morning?” Agatha asked as she came toward him.

He opened the door of the coach for her. “I enjoy watching you set folks straight, as long as it isn’t me,” he said dryly.

When she climbed in, he caught a whiff of her appealing perfume. It reminded him of the wild lilac bushes that grew around his childhood home.

And that was about the only fond memory he had retained from childhood.

Well, no sense dredging that up, he told himself while he waited for the pup to bound into the coach. His life hadn’t been a fairy tale. So what? He had learned a long time ago to endure. As far as he could tell that’s what life was about.

“Are you getting in, Calvin, or do you plan to stand there woolgathering? And where are the driver and guard?” She looked him up and down, then said, “You look nice this morning in that colorful red vest.”

“Thanks,” he said, startled by the unexpected compliment.

As if on cue, the driver and burly guard scurried outside. For a moment Quinn appraised the shaggy-haired guard, wondering if he might be in on the robberies. He would make sure to keep a close eye on the man if they were held up so he could watch how he reacted.



Three hours later, as the coach bounced over the rock-strewn path that wound through a mountain pass, an eerie sensation skittered down Quinn’s spine. He jerked to attention to survey the looming granite walls that rose on each side of the narrow pass.

Soon, came the instinctive voice inside his head. He could almost feel danger looming in the distance, having dealt with it so often in the past.

He glanced at Agatha, who was carrying on a one-sided conversation with the mutt. “I’ve got a bad feeling.”

Her head snapped up and she tensed. “About what?”

“All my instincts tell me trouble is lurking. Do yourself a favor and don’t provoke the bandits if we get held up.”

“What?” she squawked, glancing this way and that. “Hell and damnation, this is just what I don’t need!”

Sure enough, she clutched protectively at her reticule again. Yep, she had something valuable with her, he predicted. If he could see her face, he knew it would be skewed up with alarm and anxiety.

Her hand shot out toward him. “Give me one of your six-shooters. I’m not going down without a fight.”

Quinn shook his head. “You shoot and they shoot back. Believe me, you would not like getting shot.”

“You speak from experience?”

He nodded grimly. “Yeah, it ain’t much fun. It would make you cross and cranky.”

She snorted at that.

“Okay, a lot more cross and cranky,” he amended wryly.

She poked her head out the window to study the towering stone precipices, and then she twisted around on the seat so that her shoulder and face were turned away from him.

“What are you doing?” he questioned, bemused.

Her head swiveled around, the thick veil swinging across the collar of her gown. “I’m unloading, of course.”

He saw her tuck something down the front of her gown. “If you don’t think bandits won’t frisk you because of your gender and age, think again. You might as well accept the fact that no one gets by untouched.”

“And you’re an expert, are you? Don’t tell me you supplement your lack of funds at the card table by holding up stages and banks.”

“No, but—”

Quinn’s voice dried up when he heard the first gunshot echoing off the rock walls, and then felt the coach lurch into a swifter speed.

“Oh, my God,” Agatha wailed as she grabbed hold of the window frame to prevent being launched into his lap. “This is going to spoil everything!”

He noticed the absence of the nasal tone in her voice again, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. He poked his head out the window to watch six masked riders descend from an elevated trail. Sure as shootin’, their faces were concealed by the same patterned red bandanas.

“It’s about damn time,” he said to himself. “Finally, some results.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing—”

The coach caromed around a sharp bend in the road, flinging him sideways. Agatha screeched, a high-pitched sound that nearly burst his eardrums—and sent the frightened mutt up in howls. When the coach rocked wildly on its springs Agatha was flung on top of Quinn before he could upright himself. He barely had time to register the fact that she felt as soft as a feather pillow before she planted her hands on his chest and shoved herself away.

Quinn peered out the window to see two riders thundering beside the coach. A moment later, the stage skidded to a halt.

“Hands up!” one of the masked bandits roared at the driver. “And you there, throw down that shotgun.”

“Ohmigod, ohmigod,” Agatha chanted as she laid a shaky hand over her bosom.

While the driver and guard were being disarmed, Quinn unfastened his holsters and laid them on the seat.

“I never would have taken you for a coward.” Agatha’s voice was harsh with disappointment. “You aren’t even going to put up a fight, are you?”

The condemnation of her words rolled off him like rain off a canvas tent. “No, I’m not. Money comes and goes. I might have the nine lives of a cat, but I’ve used up about half of them already. I don’t intend to expend another one of them today. Since you probably don’t have too many to spare yourself, I suggest you act complacent for a change.”

“When my money goes it’s gone for good,” she grumbled.

“Be quiet,” he said, making a slashing gesture with his hand. “I’m thinking.”

“Well, think fast, Calvin. We are in serious trouble here!” she muttered.

Although the outlaws wore bandanas to conceal their faces, Quinn made note of the ringleader’s bushy eyebrows and beady eyes that were shaded by his wide-brimmed sombrero.

Quinn quickly memorized the appearance of the outlaws’ horses, saddles, boots and spurs for future identification. When he brought these murdering bastards to justice he damn well intended to point an accusing finger at each and every one of them.

“Step down from the coach,” one of the men ordered gruffly. “And hurry up about it.”

Piper’s heart was pounding so hard that she swore it was about to crack a rib. She sat there second-guessing herself, wishing she had devised a better way to transport the money and valuables she had with her. Although she had tried to consider and plan for every risk involved on this cross-country trip, she had no way to forward the money she needed to make her fresh new start. Now she faced being robbed!

She cast Cal a panicky glance. For the life of her she couldn’t imagine how Cal could remain so calm and unruffled. It was as if he was sitting there staring out the window, taking mental photographs. What was the point of that? They would never see their money, valuables or these banditos again.

“I’ll go out first,” he said quietly. “This time you’re going to let me help you down, like it or not.” He stared grimly at her. “If you misstep and go tumbling down it might set off a chain reaction and all hell might break loose. Do not purposely get them riled up. Understand?”

Piper nodded jerkily, then watched Cal unfold his muscular frame from the seat and move slowly down the step. She had called him a coward, but she realized now that he was nothing of the kind. What she saw in his facial expression was utter fearlessness and coiled control. For all his projected casualness, you would have thought these bandits aiming their pistols at his chest were inviting him out to a Sunday picnic.

Her breath jammed in her chest when the suspicious thought that Cal might somehow be involved in this holdup hit her like a slap in the face. He had predicted this possibility earlier, she recalled. Plus, he hadn’t seemed the least bit alarmed by approaching bandits. Also, if she had heard the odd comment he’d made earlier correctly, she would swear that he was expecting this robbery.

Piper stiffened in outrage. That sneaky sidewinder! He would probably laugh himself silly while he retrieved the money she had crammed down the front of her padded dress. Well, they would see how long and hard he laughed when she grabbed her cane and hit him squarely in the crotch. Then he would be singing a different tune…and in a higher key!




Chapter Three


R oarke Sullivan pelted down the street of Galveston, hell-bent on his crusade to mount a patrol of capable men to track down his runaway daughter. Of course, he had a pretty good idea where Piper was bound. She had been pestering him for months to retract his decree that Penelope would be forever forbidden from acquiring her share of the Sullivan fortune.

Now, five days after Piper’s disappearance—and he had only received word an hour ago that she had not returned to her position as teaching assistant for the summer session at Miss Johnson’s Finishing School for Women—Roarke had to move quickly. He didn’t know how many days it would take his unruly, independent-minded daughter to travel across Texas, but she had to be somewhere close to her destination by now.

Roarke veered into the city marshal’s office to throw some weight around. Well known in this city, he expected his request to be met immediately.

“I need a posse to track down my daughter,” he said without preamble. “I’m putting you in charge, Drake. After all, I’m partly responsible for seeing to it that you were elected to this position.”

“Your daughter?” William Drake parroted as he drew his feet off the edge of the desk and bounded upright. “Which daughter would that be?”

“The only one I still claim,” Roarke said, and scowled. “I suspect she is headed to Fort Davis. My guess is that she took the train as far as the rails run then hopped a stage. She’s probably traveling under an assumed name so I can’t track her easily. I want you to notify law officials as far west as the telegraph lines run and order the formation of a posse.”

He loomed over the marshal who was a good six inches shorter and fifty pounds lighter. “I want reliable, responsible lawmen. Not two-bit gunslingers with the morals of hounds. I want Piper returned in the same condition she left and her fiancé-to-be damn well does, too!”

His voice boomed across the office and reverberated off the walls. “I am offering a five-hundred-dollar bonus for each posse member that escorts Piper safely back to me. There is another five hundred in it for you if you make the necessary arrangements.”

William Drake snatched up his hat. “Yes, Mr. Sullivan, I’ll get right on it.”

“I want Texas Rangers.” Roarke decided in afterthought. “Never mind about a posse.”

Drake fidgeted with the dingy hat that he had clamped in his hands. “Well, sir, that is not exactly the Rangers’ forte. They are frontier fighters, ya know.”

“They’ve been known to track down and rescue kidnap victims taken by Indians, haven’t they?”

“Yes, sir, but your daughter wasn’t exactly kidnapped, was she?”

Roarke flung his arm in an expansive gesture. “A technicality. We will quibble about that later. Just send the telegram to Ranger headquarters in Austin. I’ll add another five hundred to your bonus.”

When the marshal scuttled off, Roarke expelled an agitated sigh. “Confounded, headstrong female.”

He glared at the visual image that popped to mind. Piper had become as contrary as a mule after he had sent Penelope away without his blessing. And Roarke had paid the schoolmistress plenty of extra money to bring Piper under thumb for him.

Waste of time and money, he fumed as he wheeled around to stalk back down the street to his own office. He could buy, sell and ship merchandise at home and abroad by signing his name to contracts. But damn it, he couldn’t control that impetuous girl of his at all. He had money galore and barrels of influence and prestige. But what good did it do when he couldn’t handle one pint-size female who was the last heir to his vast fortune?

Damnation, he had found Piper the perfect fiancé, too. John Foster hailed from a distinguished family. He had been groomed to take over his father’s merchant business since the age of fifteen. This was to be an exceptional match, the merging of two influential families among the crème de la crème of Galveston society.

Until Piper had defied his wishes and left without notice.

Roarke growled in annoyance as he shouldered his way through his office door. Piper could run, but she couldn’t hide from him, he thought confidently.



Scowling mutinously, Piper eased a foot onto the narrow step to confront the desperadoes. She wanted to bite Cal’s offered hand instead of grabbing hold of it for support. And there was that cool, unflinching stare of his again—the one that indicated that he was nowhere near as rattled and upset as she was.

He should have been, damn his black soul. He had to be in on this!

“Ah, the black widow,” one of the bandits said in stilted English. “We heard you were on board.”

She shot Cal a murderous glare—not that he could see the fire in her eyes. Too bad about that. Now where could these men have heard about her, if not from this no-good, backstabbing gambler?

To her astonishment Cal tossed her a warning glance and discreetly squeezed her hand before he released it.

Now she was completely confused.

“You first, gringo,” the thief wearing fancy silver spurs demanded. “Empty your pockets.”

Cal accommodated by slowly reaching into the pocket of his breeches to retrieve a hefty roll of bank notes, then pulled off his diamond-studded ring.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Silver Spurs taunted as he raised his pearl-handled Colt and aimed it at Cal’s head. “What else ya got that’s of any worth?”

Cal fished into his vest pocket for the expensive watch and a handful of silver dollars. “That’s all I have,” he said. “You’ve wiped me out until someone takes pity and grubstakes me for another poker game.”

Silver Spurs gestured his head—which was concealed by the bandana mask and a wide-brimmed sombrero—to the two hombres riding a roan and a buckskin gelding. “Loot the strongbox while Granny hands over her valuables.”

“I have nothing valuable except sixty years of wit and wisdom,” she insisted.

Silver Spurs snorted. “You’ll have to do better than that, crone. Now hand over your money and valuables before I lose my patience.”

Quinn flinched when the old woman huddled closely behind him and commenced yowling about how she was so terrified that she was about to have a seizure.

“Don’t let them hurt me, Cal!” she shrieked.

“Nobody will be biting any bullets if you cooperate, lady,” Silver Spurs snapped. “Now hurry it up.”

Quinn tried not to show his surprise when he felt Agatha tug on the waistband of his breeches, then drop something down the back of his pants. Then she shuffled sideways to step into clear view of the four outlaws holding them at gunpoint.

“I told you I didn’t have much money,” she gritted out as she opened her beaded reticule. She waved one lone coin in Silver Spur’s masked face. “See? Only one lousy dollar. And if the fright you have given me over one measly coin becomes the death of me, I swear I will come back to haunt you.”

“Agatha…” Quinn muttered warningly.

“What? Just because I’m down to my last dollar and he’s taking it from me doesn’t mean I have to like it. And shame on all of you!” she shouted at the gang at large.

“Agatha—” he began again.

“Scaring an old woman to death like this,” she harrumphed. “If you don’t cease your wicked ways you will all wind up in the seventh circle of hell!”

“Will you please shut up!” Quinn growled, but quietly.

“Fine. I’m shutting up—” Her voice broke off when a shotgun blast erupted from behind the coach, startling the team of horses.

“Hey, boss, come look what we found,” one of the thieves called out a moment later.

Silver Spurs gestured his pistol toward the coach. “You two get back inside, pronto.”

Quinn grabbed Agatha’s hand, but she pushed him ahead of her. No doubt, she intended to block the outlaws’ view so they wouldn’t notice the bulge in the seat of his breeches.

“Some watchdog you turned out to be.” Agatha scowled at the pup that was sprawled out on the seat.

Quinn heard the cackles of delight coming from the back of the stage. Obviously the booty in the strongbox had pacified the bandits.

Six gunshots erupted simultaneously and the stage lurched forward. Harnesses jangled. Horses whinnied. Another round of gunfire sent the team lunging off at a swift pace.

Quinn thrust his head out the window, noting the driver and guard—their arms held high—had been left afoot.

The bandits split up and headed for the hills.

“Damn it to hell,” he muttered as the runaway coach careened around a sharp curve, hurling Agatha against the window frame.

Flinging open the door, Quinn tried to twist around to grab the luggage rail atop the coach. Agatha pulled him off balance and he sprawled backward on the floorboards. Snarling, he stared up at that veil-covered face. He was tempted to rip off that concealing getup so he could give her the full benefit of his irritated glare.

“What is the matter with you, woman?”

“You are not bailing out on me,” she snapped brusquely. “You are in on this scheme, aren’t you?”

He stared at her in disbelief. “Where did you get the idea that I’m part of that outlaw gang?”

“You knew we were about to be robbed,” she hurled in accusation.

“That’s because I have good instincts.”

She scoffed at that and tilted her head to a challenging angle.

“I wasn’t bailing out on you,” he insisted as he lurched to his knees. “In case you haven’t noticed, no one is guiding this coach. Unless you want to plunge off a cliff I need to climb onto the driver’s seat and get control of the horses.”

“Fine, but not until I have my money and valuables back!”

Grumbling, Quinn rolled onto one hip and dug out the heavy pouch that she had stashed on him for safekeeping. “There. Happy now?”

She bobbed her head a couple of times and clutched the leather pouch to her ample bosom.

Muttering at the woman’s obsession with her worldly possessions, Quinn plunked onto the seat and hurriedly strapped on his holsters. He couldn’t track those desperadoes until he stopped this stage and grabbed one of the horses. Agatha, insisting on retrieving her precious valuables, had cost him several minutes he didn’t have to spare. Those bandits could be miles away before he went after them.

Clamping a hand on the luggage rack again, Quinn leaned out to survey the road ahead of them. “Son of a bitch!”

He recoiled the instant before the opened door crashed into an outcropping of rock on the narrow trail. The door was ripped off its hinges and it shattered to pieces against the stone wall beside them.

Quinn collapsed on the seat and gripped the window frames on either side of him. He stared solemnly at the old harridan. “Agatha, if you’re a religious woman, I suggest you start praying. Now.”

“Why?” Her voice was wild with alarm.

He nodded his ruffled head toward the open doorway. “Take a look for yourself.”

She grabbed the window frame and peeked out. “Good God!” she howled in dismay.

“My sentiments exactly. And it’s been nice knowing you…sort of.”

The mountain pass they were traveling at breakneck speed had opened into a yawning canyon where the ledge plunged at least a hundred feet straight down. It would take only one wheel dropping off that unprotected curve in the road to send the coach plummeting off the cliff. No way could Quinn scramble atop the stage to gain control of the horses on such a dangerous bend of the road. All he could do was hold on for dear life and encourage Agatha to do the same.

The coach jostled and rocked on its springs. Fallen rock must have littered the path because the stage bounced violently. He and Agatha were simultaneously launched upward and tossed off balance.

The pup howled and cartwheeled onto the floorboards.

Timber cracked and shattered. Quinn had the sickening feeling that the front left wheel had broken into bits beneath them because the coach spun wildly, then tilted to a precarious angle.

“We’re going to die!” Agatha squawked as the swaying coach sent her lurching headfirst into his lap.

Quinn let go with one hand to grab hold of the nape of her gown, then jerked her up beside him. He felt the horses’ momentum swinging the wrecked coach into a hapless skid. It rocked sideways, teetered off balance for a few unnerving seconds…and then wham!

The coach crashed onto its side, hurling the occupants against the opposite wall. Quinn made a wild grab for Agatha when she toppled over him toward the broken door. There was nothing beneath the opening except a wide expanse of nothingness, a craggy tumble of rocks on the mountainside and a swift-moving stream riddled with white-capped rapids.

Agatha screamed bloody murder as she dropped through the opening, held aloft only by Quinn’s death grip on the neck of her gown.

Dust rolled around the confines of the coach, filling his eyes. Agatha’s terrified screams blasted his ears and his pulse hammered so hard in his chest that he could barely draw breath.

One false move, one careless shift of weight and the coach would be taking the short way down the mountain.

Quinn kept a stranglehold on Agatha while her legs churned to find solid footing. He could have told her she was wasting energy because there was nothing but air beneath her.

Carefully, he inched his legs farther apart without shifting to a position that would alter the perilous balance of the coach. Quinn hauled in a steadying breath. He had been in dozens of hair-raising scrapes through the years. But this one tested his mettle to the limits.

If he tried to save himself it meant that he had to release his hold on Agatha. Pain in the patoot that she could be at times, he didn’t relish the idea of watching her body bounce from one outcropping of stone to another until she hit rock bottom.

He really wished he could see her face, wondered if she had made peace with the world…just in case. But there was that damn veil standing between him and this cantankerous old crone that he found himself liking for reasons he was at a loss to figure out.

Quinn kept remembering the sound of her grating voice hurling curses at Silver Spurs, vowing to come back and haunt him in the afterlife. He figured if his tenuous grasp on Agatha slipped, she would be cursing him all the way down the mountain. That was one ghost he wouldn’t want breathing down his neck till the end of his days.

He swore colorfully when he heard the shoulder seam of her gown rip loose and saw her drop a quick six inches. She was staring death in the face. Knowing her, she would have something mean and nasty to say about that, too.

Gritting his teeth, Quinn tried to figure out how in the hell he and Agatha were going to get out of this mess alive.




Chapter Four


“S top thrashing about and grab hold of my arm!”

Piper stared up at the rock-solid man who stood between her and certain death. She was terrified and was having difficulty drawing breath, but Cal was his usual calm and collected self. It amazed her that nothing seemed to faze him.

But of course, he wasn’t the one hanging on by the thread of his torn shoulder seam. And honestly, considering how she had needled him the past two days she was surprised he didn’t just let her go with a feigned smile of apology.

“Hurry up, Agatha,” he demanded. “The horses are going to start shifting any second and this coach might topple off the edge and shatter to pieces. There won’t be a damn thing for us to hold on to if that happens.”

Piper eased the strap of her reticule up her arm, then clamped her free hand on his forearm and tried to heave herself up as if he were a human rope.

“Stop!” Cal growled when her mad scramble altered the precarious balance of the overturned coach. “No sudden moves. Understand? Just hang there and let me haul you up an inch at a time.”

The mutt that was somewhere behind Cal suddenly appeared by his right shoulder. He whined and wagged his tail when he spotted her.

“Stay there, dog,” she commanded as Cal lifted her another inch away from imminent death.

She heard the mutt’s tail bang harder against the wall and realized his intentions after she made the crucial mistake of speaking directly to him. “No! Don’t move!”

To her terror and dismay the dog bounded playfully around Cal to lick her veiled face and paw at her hat.

“Damn it, get back, mutt,” Cal muttered as the coach rocked unsteadily.

Another stab of horror knifed through Piper when the dog’s oversize paw connected with the side of her head, causing her plumed hat to shift sideways. When the mutt grabbed the feathers on her hat, as if they belonged to a bird that he was instinctively trying to shake the life out of, Piper shrieked.

Cal let go with his left hand that was braced against the window frame and pushed the dog out of the way. Piper’s veiled hat was still clamped in the mutt’s jaws as he tumbled helter-skelter inside the coach.

Sickening dread pooled in the pit of Piper’s stomach when she found herself staring directly into Cal’s shocked expression. She watched him appraise her without her protective disguise. She could see disbelief, condemnation and suspicion gathering in those golden eyes as he registered the fact that she wasn’t who she pretended to be.

She decided, right there and then, that it was not a good idea to shock the person who held your life in the balance. Cal was so stunned that she felt his hand loosen on her arm momentarily, causing her to drop a quick two inches before he regathered his composure and clamped a fierce hold on her.

“I thought there was something peculiar about you that didn’t add up,” he said, then scowled down at her.

“I can explain,” she squeaked, then glanced down at the empty space beneath her. “Oh, God!” She thrashed in attempt to find footing.

“Hold still!” Cal barked at her. The expression on his face was thunderous.

Piper froze in midair. Her heart pounded inside her chest and she reminded herself to breathe.

“I know this looks bad,” she chirped. “But please don’t let me go. And if I die, promise me that you will take my money and jewels to my sister at Fort Davis.”

“I already have one last request to fulfill,” he muttered. “I don’t need another one.”

“Then at least tell Penelope what happened.”

“Fine. I’ll do that. But in the meantime here’s what we’re going to do. On the count of three I’m going to throw myself backward and you’re going to lurch forward and grab hold of me. And get hold of that mutt with your free hand if you can. Ready?”

Piper wasn’t sure she would ever be ready because if this plan didn’t work she was a goner. He might be, too.

“One, two, three—”

Quinn threw himself backward with enough force to drag Agatha—who had turned out to be an exceedingly attractive young con artist—through the opening. The team of horses shifted uneasily, dragging the coach a little farther off the edge of the cliff. Quinn shoved the woman sideways to counterbalance the teetering coach. Then he vaulted to his feet.

“Get up and make it quick!” he told the imposter when she didn’t react swiftly enough to suit him.

Using the heel of his hand he popped open the door that was above him. He heaved himself up to sit atop the overturned stage, then thrust his hand back inside to grab Agatha—and he was dying to find out who she really was. Well, not dying to find out, he amended. That was a bad choice of words, considering they had come within a hairbreadth of catapulting into the hereafter.

To Quinn’s surprise and exasperation, she tossed the squirming dog to him. Frankly, it astounded him that she placed the mutt’s safety above her own. Then he reminded himself that she had saved the mutt from extermination and had gotten attached to him.

Quinn hooked his arm under the mutt’s belly, then set him aside. Then he clasped the woman’s arm and towed her upward. For the space of a moment, while they were face-to-face, he tumbled into the depths of eyes so blue that they gleamed like silver in the sunlight. Quinn glanced away before the woman’s astonishing beauty sidetracked him.

Whoever she was, she was the fraud who had teased and tormented him for two days. He wasn’t wasting more time or sympathy on her either, he promised himself. But for damn certain he was going to find out why she was charading as a crone and who was the rightful owner of the money and pouch of valuables that she had with her.

She had to be up to no good, he thought cynically. Most of the folk he encountered were, after all.

When he set the woman to her knees beside him, he spun around and hopped off the coach. As he reached back to pull her to safety the dog leaped to the ground—and got right under his feet. Scowling, Quinn tripped backward and the woman landed on top of him, forcing his breath out in a whoosh.

Any other time he wouldn’t object to having a beguiling woman sprawled on top of him. But not now and not this treacherous female. Muttering, Quinn hooked his arm around the woman’s well-padded waist and sent her rolling to the ground beside him.

Launching himself to his feet, he darted to the back of the coach to hurriedly unstrap their luggage before the coach tumbled off the ledge.

And sure enough, he barely had time to set aside the satchels and his bedroll before the horses pranced impatiently and the stage flipped upside down. Quinn darted forward to remove the pin that kept the tongue of the coach secured to the team of horses. He grabbed the reins to prevent the horses from charging off when the coach plummeted down the side of the mountain.

Debris scattered everywhere as the coach struck one jagged outcropping of rock after another. Shattered pieces of the stage kerplopped in the stream and floated away.

Quinn stood there for a moment, studying the wreckage and counting himself damn lucky that he wasn’t a part of it.

“As I said, I can explain…”

The woman’s voice no longer held that nasal, grating pitch. Quinn rounded on her, feeling deceived and betrayed. He’d had more than enough of that in his line of work, without this sneaky female pulling the wool over his eyes.

“This better be good,” he said, and smirked disrespectfully. “Posing as a persnickety old harridan who is probably carrying stolen money—and who knows what else—doesn’t say much for your integrity, does it? I’ve dealt with several treacherous bandits in my day, but you’re about as conniving as they come, Agatha.” He spit out her name like a curse, which is exactly how he meant it.

“My name is Piper…uh…just Piper,” she introduced herself.

“Another alias? Somehow I’m not surprised.”

The fact that she refused to provide her last name made him all the more wary of her. He would bet his right arm that she was a fugitive from justice, traveling incognito and carrying stolen money.

Vowing that a pretty face wouldn’t sway him—and she definitely had that going for her—Quinn stalked over to tether the horses. While Piper watched him curiously, he reversed direction to retrieve his satchel and bedroll.

“What are you going to do? Surely you don’t intend to leave me in the middle of nowhere!” she howled at him.

“Surely I do,” he said, refusing to be influenced by the shocked expression on her beguiling features. “I’m tracking the outlaw gang that killed my best friend six months ago in a canyon near here. You’re on your own, lady.”

She stamped her foot and glowered at him. Ah, that feisty disposition wasn’t just an act, he noticed. The woman was teeming with indomitable spirit and fiery temperament.

“Now, see here, Cal. You can’t just ride off and leave me here, knowing I’ll probably die.” She wagged her finger in his face. “And if I do, I will come back to haunt you. You can depend on it.”

“I’m sure you will. But you’ll have to get in line. I’ve heard the same threat from a number of folks.”

When she scurried after him, he stopped short and then grunted uncomfortably when she slammed into him. “Look, lady, I’m going to change into my usual attire before I grab a horse and ride out. I suggest you change into something more practical for riding, unless you want to hang around here waiting for the eastbound coach to show up.”

“And when will that be?”

“In a couple of days.”

“A couple of days?” she wailed in frustration.

He watched her draw herself up and tilt her chin at him. Quinn blinked when the image of Agatha-the-hag superimposed itself on Piper. Scowling, he whipped around, then strode off to change clothes, refusing to give the lovely shyster another thought.

Piper watched Cal disappear from sight, then hurried over to rummage through her luggage for appropriate clothing. Knowing she would be living at an army garrison, she had packed two pair of riding breeches and blouses.

Casting a cautious glance over her shoulder to ensure Cal wasn’t spying on her, she tugged the padded gown down to her waist, then shrugged on her white blouse. Sparing another wary glance in the direction Cal had gone, she shoved the gown and petticoats past her knees, then snatched up her breeches and boots. When dressed, she crammed the padded gown, undergarments and valuables she had retrieved from Cal earlier into her satchel.

She staggered backward a few steps when Cal rounded the corner and stopped short to gape at her. He regarded her with the same astonished expression that she had trained on him. In the matter of a few minutes they had both altered their appearance drastically.

It took some getting used to.

Cal had cast off the flashy vest, white shirt and trousers. Now an Indian headband, decorated with beaded designs, held his long hair away from his face. Although he wore a white man’s black shirt, his muscular legs were encased in buckskin breeches, leggings and moccasins.

An ammunition belt hung diagonally across his broad chest and the double holster rode low on his hips. He carried a bullwhip that was coiled over his left shoulder, and he had a sheathed dagger strapped to his right thigh.

Now who was the imposter? she wondered suspiciously. He didn’t look to be a full-blood Indian, though the sun had darkened his complexion. But he definitely dressed like an Indian. Whoever or whatever this man was, she had the inescapable feeling that he wasn’t the tumbleweed gambler that he had impersonated.

“Who are you?” Piper demanded when she finally recovered her powers of speech.

“Quinn Callahan,” he replied as he gave her the once-over-thrice. “I’m a Texas Ranger.”

His penetrating stare caused her to shift uneasily from one foot to the other. This was proof positive that her disguise had been a good idea. Thanks to her disguise, she hadn’t had to deal with speculative male stares during her journey.

Whoever Callahan really was, she didn’t believe for a moment that he was a Ranger. He looked more like a half-breed renegade to her. In addition, she wasn’t sure she could trust him not to take advantage of her vulnerability while they were alone in the wilderness.

He looked her up and down once again. His expression was so unreadable that she couldn’t figure out what he was thinking…or planning to do to her.

“I hope you’re packing hardware, Piper,” he said before he strode past her to retrieve a horse. “You won’t last a half a day in this wilderness, especially dressed in that garb. That getup advertises every feminine asset you have. If you come across any other men of less moral fiber than I have then whatever righteous virtues you might have left will be gone by nightfall. Guaranteed.”

“Which is why I relied on a disguise for my protection,” she pointed out. “I am not a complete fool, you know. I am fully aware that men are not to be trusted. They always want something from a woman.”

Quinn chastised himself for glancing over his shoulder to admire the appealing sight of this shapely female. She was right, he admitted to himself. He would like something from her, too, although he wouldn’t allow himself to yield to the temptation.

He made it a policy to avoid devious women whenever possible.

But the damnable truth was that Piper was the most strikingly attractive woman he had ever laid eyes on. Plus, every time he stared too long at her he lost his train of thought. That was not good.

Everything male inside him had responded fiercely the instant he rounded the bend of the road—and saw her standing where Agatha Stewart should have been. Agatha he could have handled. This woman he wasn’t so sure about. She was a distraction of the worst sort at the worst time.

“You don’t look like a Ranger,” she said doubtfully. “I want to see proof.”

It wasn’t the first time he had heard that demand. Quinn retrieved his sidearm from his left holster, then dug out the tarnished star that he only flashed about while making arrests. “This good enough for you? Or this…” He waved the small, leather-bound book in her face. “It’s a fugitive list that gives the names and descriptions of wanted criminals. All Rangers carry them.” He stared suspiciously at her. “I bet if I looked closely I could probably find you in it.”

“I am not on anyone’s wanted list. Well, except for perhaps—” She jerked up her head and glared at him. “Don’t try to sidetrack me, Cal. The point is that you could have stolen that badge and that little black book.”

“Right, just like you probably stole the money you’re carrying. My guess is that you trussed yourself up like an overweight old widow to conceal your identity and throw lawmen off track. Then you hopped a stage for parts unknown,” he countered. “Admit it, I’m right about you, aren’t I?”

She stamped her foot in frustration again. “No, you couldn’t be more wrong! I did not steal anything! And if you really are a Ranger then you should be more concerned about my welfare instead of threatening to abandon me!”

He tucked the silver star in his holster. “If you want sympathy and concern you’re barking up the wrong tree, lady. I already have an important assignment, and you aren’t it.”

Quinn released one of the horses hooked to the team, then grabbed his knife to cut off a section of the reins to fashion a harness. He had brought along his own bridle, anticipating that he would have to confiscate a horse. But Piper needed a means to control her mount when she rode off—in the opposite direction that he was headed.

He flicked her a quick glance, noting that watching him create a makeshift harness had distracted her. He rather thought she looked impressed by his adaptability. Not that he cared what she thought of him, of course. The sooner he ditched her the happier he would be.

“Here.” He thrust the reins at her. “This makeshift tack will get you to the next stage stop. You can catch the next westbound coach that comes through, if that’s what you want to do. It makes no difference to me.”

Leaving her holding the reins to the horse, Quinn fished into his saddlebags to grab his bridle and bit. Then he strode over to pick out a horse for himself.

“I will pay you to escort me to the next station,” she negotiated.

“With what? Stolen money?” He eased the bit into the horse’s mouth and placed the bridle in proper position. “No thanks. I have more pressing things to do besides play nursemaid to an imposter and thief.”

“I am not a thief!”

He derived tremendous pleasure in throwing her own words back in her face. “Fine, then prove it.”

She stalked over to station herself in front of him, determined to gain his undivided attention. His betraying gaze dropped to her heaving bosom and he cursed himself soundly for being the least bit attracted to a woman who was far more trouble and frustration than she was worth.

“I didn’t lie to you when I said I was bound for Fort Davis. I’m on my way to join my sister, Penelope. She is married to Captain Matthew Duncan. Part of the money and jewels I’m carrying are compensation for my sister.”

Okay, so maybe he could believe that part since her last wish—while she was dangling off the cliff—was to contact her sister. But Quinn had been fed so many concocted and convoluted lies in his day that he had learned never to take anyone at his word until checking the story thoroughly. He had no way of knowing how or where she had acquired the money and valuables.

“My charade as an elderly crone was for my own protection,” she repeated slowly and distinctly. “I am traveling without a chaperone and I was taking precautions so I wouldn’t invite trouble from untrustworthy men. Surely you can understand that my disguise was a necessary deception.”

She stared at him. “Especially since you were charading as a shiftless gambler.” She arched a challenging brow. “Double standards, Calvin? Hmm?”

Well, she had him there. But that didn’t change the fact that he had been traveling undercover on official business and now he had a ring of ruthless desperadoes to track down. He didn’t have the time or inclination to deliver Piper Whoever-She-Was to her sister. He knew she wasn’t being completely honest with him and he didn’t trust her, so he wasn’t going to bother with her.

Quinn figured Piper would be reasonably safe on the next leg of her westward journey. He couldn’t give her a guarantee, of course, because this isolated area of rugged mountains was home and hideout to all sorts of predators.

The bandits that had held up the stage had headed north, but that didn’t mean there weren’t smaller groups of desperadoes prowling the area. If she was lucky she might reach the next relay station without encountering difficulty.

He frowned thoughtfully. He would give her a fifty-fifty chance. He glanced at her appealing physique. On second thought, that was probably too optimistic.

Cutting away another section of the long reins, Quinn secured the leather strap around her horse’s girth, then tied her bulging satchel in place.

“I’ll give you a step up,” he offered, linking his fingers together to form an improvised stirrup.

She stared at him with those fascinating silver-blue eyes. “Perhaps we could compromise,” she suggested, flashing him a charming smile.

It was difficult not to respond to her smile, but he managed. “I never compromise. You start making exceptions then that’s all you get done. I was sent here to locate the outlaws’ hideout in this wild tumble of mountains so a Ranger battalion can attack. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“Then I’m going with you. Once you have pinpointed the hideout, you can escort me to Fort Davis.”

He stared incredulously at her. The woman had gumption, he’d give her that. “Lady, I will be traveling across rugged terrain. I’m used to it. You aren’t. By dark you will be whining and complaining and I have heard enough of that while you posed as Agatha Stewart. The answer is no.”

When she refused to accept the step up that he offered, he hooked his arm around her waist and swung her onto the horse. “You can’t miss the relay station at Perdition Pass. It sits at the base of the canyon, directly beside the road. You can probably make it there a few hours after dark.”

He handed her one of his Colts. “Keep your eyes peeled for varmints. These craggy peaks and valleys are known for panthers, wolves, rattlesnakes and a few other—” His voice dried up when she turned his own firearm on him.

Just went to show you that offering an ounce of kindness to anyone in this part of the country could get you shot, he mused cynically.

“In case you’ve already forgotten, I saved your life an hour ago,” he muttered as he stared at the speaking end of his pistol, and then glared at her.

“You aren’t finished saving my life yet, Callahan. I am going with you or you are going with me, but I’m not venturing off by myself. When my veiled hat went over the cliff with the coach I lost a vital part of my protective disguise. I do not intend to become the target of every scoundrel I might encounter.” She poked him in the chest with his pistol. “You chose which direction we’re going first. But we are going together.”

Quinn knew he could disarm this feisty female in the time it took to blink. But damn if he knew why he allowed her to keep the upper hand. Maybe it was because she was so impossibly attractive that he liked looking at her. Maybe it was the prospect of sending her off alone to be hurt—or worse—that got to him.

If she did meet with disaster he would probably feel guilty as hell about it.

He didn’t have to be a fortune-teller to know that the kind of men who might cross her path would use and abuse her for their own lusty pleasure. And she was right. Trussing herself up in that padded black gown wouldn’t do her much good if she didn’t have the veiled hat to conceal her bewitching face.

“Well?” she demanded impatiently. “It’s your call.”

Piper was dismayed when he turned his back on her momentarily to retrieve his horse. He didn’t even bother to look over his shoulder. Obviously he didn’t believe she would gun him down. Which she wouldn’t have. That would have defeated her purpose of trying to hire a guide and protector.

Considering that she had never fired a weapon in her life, Piper didn’t like her chances of making the long ride to the next stage station if she might have to confront predators of the four-legged and two-legged varieties alone. She had no idea what awaited her and that made her apprehensive and twitchy.

The only logical solution was to stick with the irascible Quinn Callahan. And if he was a Ranger then she was better off with him than riding west alone, wasn’t she?

She watched Quinn fashion another strap to hold his saddlebags and bedroll in place before he hopped onto the horse. Then he leaned out to slap one of the spare horses on the rump, sending it galloping westward. The remaining horses followed suit and disappeared around the bend.

Piper extended the firearm to Quinn, butt first. “Here. I really hadn’t planned to shoot you,” she admitted.

“Nice to know,” he mumbled as he holstered his Colt.

He trotted the horse right past her without saying another word. She gaped at him, pretty certain this hard-hearted rascal was going to abandon her. She knew he didn’t like her. He didn’t trust her or believe her story, either. Damn him, he was going to leave her alone to face whatever calamity came her way.

Just when she had given up and decided that Quinn Callahan didn’t have one smidgen of conscience or humanity in him, he halted his horse before he veered around the outcropping of rock. He stared grimly at her.

“Looks like we’re stuck with each other,” he said sourly. “Are you coming or not?”

Relief washed over her like a tidal wave. When she smiled gratefully at him he scowled. Clearly, he was not pleased with his decision to allow her to tag along on his mission.

“What made you change your mind?” she asked as she trotted her horse up beside him, then called to the mutt to join them.

“Must have been what’s left of my conscience,” he grumbled resentfully. “But I’m telling you here and now that if I give you an order, then I expect you to obey without question. No exceptions.”

Piper bristled immediately. He sounded exactly like her domineering father who insisted that the world follow his master plan. No exceptions allowed.

He squinted at her and a ghost of a smile twitched his lips. “Figured you would have a problem with that.” He nudged his mount eastward. “Regardless, if I tell you to duck then I want you to flatten yourself over your horse. If I tell you to ride hell-for-leather then you do it.”

“For my own safety and protection,” she murmured, then flashed him a smile. “I can do that.”

Quinn scolded himself harshly when he felt himself melting beneath her radiant smile, which made her unique eyes sparkle like starlight. Damn it, he didn’t want to be distracted or affected by this female that he was obligated to drag along with him. He predicted she was going to wilt like a delicate rose after scrabbling over this rough terrain for hours on end. Then what was he going to do with her?

Face it, Callahan. You are responsible for her welfare whether you like it or not.

Which he definitely did not.

He would have liked to think that she might have made the long jaunt to the next stage station without mishap. That was wishful thinking and he wouldn’t want to bet her life on it, nuisance though she was to him.

Resigned to traveling at a slower pace to accommodate Piper, Quinn aimed his horse in the direction of the site where the robbery had occurred. He didn’t hear a peep out of Piper, thank goodness, when he picked up the pace to compensate for lost time.



Commander Scott Butler hunkered over his desk at Ranger headquarters in Austin and frowned pensively at the telegram Lieutenant Cooper had handed to him. “Kidnapped female,” he murmured. “Age twenty. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Likely traveling by train or stage.” He glanced up at the lieutenant. “That’s not much to go on.”

“No, sir,” Vance Cooper agreed. “All we know is that the girl’s father thinks her abductor might be headed to the Fort Davis area. But there is no explanation as to who might have absconded with her and why.”

“We have a battalion working out of Van Horn that might be able to begin a search,” Butler commented, then frowned when he recognized the name of the man whose daughter was reported missing. “Good God! Sullivan? No doubt, the girl is being held for ransom and Roarke will be expected to spend half his fortune, in hopes of getting his child back.”

“Sullivan, sir?” Vance Cooper repeated.

Butler nodded. “Extremely wealthy merchant from Galveston. Owns half the businesses in town and controls a freighting company that ships all over the world.” He frowned pensively. “We’ll start by requesting information at stage stations to find out if a woman was on board that matches this description.”

“We have Callahan in the field,” Cooper prompted. “He has been riding the stage back and forth between Fort Stockton and El Paso for two weeks, trying to locate the criminals that have been plaguing the area. Too bad we can’t get word to him. He’s the best tracker we’ve got.”

Commander Butler readily agreed with that. He had worked with his share of frontier fighters during his thirty-four years of service with the Rangers. There were several standouts in the rare breed of men who policed this wild country. Quinn Callahan headed up that list. He was tough, resilient, intelligent—and about as affable as a grizzly.

Butler smiled wryly. Cal was a lone wolf who wasn’t much for small talk and lacked polished social graces, but he was hell on outlaws. Cal had kept to himself until Taylor Briggs had befriended him and refused to be held at arm’s length.

Honest to God, Butler never had figured out why two men who hailed from completely different walks of life had become as close as brothers. Taylor could have talked your leg off if you let him and Cal barely gave you the time of day unless it was important that you knew it.

Damn shame about Taylor Briggs, he mused. The man had been a credit to his battalion—until he had tried to follow Cal’s practice of venturing off on his own to scout and track the desperadoes that had been robbing stages, banks and plundering ranches in southwest Texas.

“Have you received more information about the outlaws who decided to call themselves the Knights of the Golden Circle?” Butler questioned.

Cooper nodded his auburn head, his countenance grim. “The news isn’t good, sir. One of our men has been interrogating a suspected member who has been jailed in San Antone. According to the report, the Knights aren’t simply looting and plundering for personal gain. This outbreak of thievery is bait for a trap.”

Butler’s thick brows flattened. “What kind of trap?”

“Word is that a band of Mexicans have recently joined up with the Knights to sell stolen livestock over the border. The outlaws even disguise themselves as renegade Indians and depredate the frontier.”

“Well, hell,” Butler muttered.

“According to our informant, the plot is designed to draw the attention of our Ranger battalions,” Cooper continued. “The gang leaders are bent on revenge and they intend to kill as many of our men as possible because we have been making their lives miserable and arresting members of their group.”

When Cooper hesitated, Butler glanced up and scowled. “It gets worse?”

Cooper expelled an audible sigh. “We also have reason to believe that this organized ring is trying to bribe Rangers as informants and destroy our battalions from inside out.”

Butler swore foully. “If there is one thing I can’t tolerate it’s a traitor among our ranks. I have seen a few Rangers go bad in my day and I have taken particular pleasure in punishing every Judas that betrays the frontier justice system for personal gain.”

He pushed away from the desk and came to his feet. “Contact the battalion in San Antone and tell them to put the squeeze on our informant and convince him that he will be protected if he starts naming names.”

“Yes, sir.” Cooper gestured toward the telegram lying on the commander’s desk. “Do you want to send out a troop to search for this high profile kidnap victim?”

Butler shook his head. “I plan to oversee this request personally because the region where the woman might have been taken is the same area Callahan is working. That place is a hotbed of trouble. We might be able to provide reinforcements for Cal, if he is able to locate the outlaws’ stronghold. We can investigate the woman’s kidnapping at the same time.”

He glanced curiously at Vance. “Were you able to pass along the possibility of a death trap when you were in communication with Cal?”

“No, the telegram from our Ranger unit in San Antone arrived only an hour ago.” Cooper came to attention. “Sir, I would like to volunteer for duty. I would bet my last dollar that Quinn Callahan gets some results. I would like to be on hand when we go up against those desperadoes.”

Butler nodded agreeably. “I’ll ask for four more volunteers and we’ll ride out immediately. If Cal can sniff them out then we’re going to let loose with all the firepower we can throw at those cutthroats.” He stared solemnly at Cooper. “And it won’t just be in the name of Texas justice. This will be for Taylor Briggs as well.”




Chapter Five


W hen Quinn reached the site of the robbery he was relieved to note the driver and guard weren’t lying in pools of their own blood. Apparently the two men had decided to hike the shorter distance to the stage station that sat on the east side of the mountains.

Quinn veered off the trodden path to follow the narrow trail that he had seen one group of desperadoes take when they made their getaway. He predicted he would find evidence that the outlaws had joined forces along this route. As anticipated, he noticed a menagerie of hoofprints coming and going along the trail.

“I’m curious about the combination of your style of clothing,” Piper remarked as he led the way up a steep incline. “Any particular reason for it?”

He didn’t bother to glance back at her. No need to torment himself more than necessary. She was too attractive and he wanted to consider her no more than an unwanted companion. Whatever else happened during this assignment, Quinn promised himself that he was not going to be physically or emotionally involved with this woman.

She was an inconvenience that would cause him frustrating delays and that was all she was to him.

“Well?” she prompted when he didn’t respond immediately. “Aren’t you going to speak to me unless you’re spouting orders that I am to obey without question?”

“I told you that I’m not long on chitchat,” he replied. “And yes, there’s a reason for this style of clothing. This is who I am.”

“Just who are you?” she asked interestedly. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

Not many people did, Quinn mused. But then, most folks weren’t interested in getting to know him, just steered clear of him unless they required his fighting skills for protection. But she dared to dig deeper than surface appearances. He should have known this female was inquisitive. That mind of hers seemed to be buzzing constantly.

“I was captured by Kiowas when I was twelve,” he confided. “I had to adapt to their style of dress because I had nothing else to wear.”

Why am I telling her this? he wondered. Maybe because she was one of the few who had ever bothered to ask.

“I’m sorry. That must have been a terrifying experience for a child.”

“It was no picnic, believe me,” he muttered, then tamped down the bitter memories that he had buried beneath layers of ruthless self-discipline. “I hated the Kiowas for killing my father when he tried to protect me. I hated them even more after I tried to escape their camp and they staked me out to a tree for a week to punish me and to make certain I didn’t repeat the attempt.”

Piper grimaced. She couldn’t begin to imagine the emotional turmoil Quinn had undergone as an impressionable child. The fact that the warriors who had taken his father’s life had become his keepers must have left him outraged, defiant and battling inner conflicts. How had he coped with the tragedy?

She thought she knew the answer to that question. He had buried the anger and grief deep inside him. But it was still there. She could hear it in his gritty voice. But she also knew that he was a master at concealing his emotions because she had seen him do it several times during their short acquaintance.

There had been times when his face had gone carefully blank and she had wondered if he felt any emotion at all. But it was there, simmering in places that he refused to reveal to the world.

“How did you escape from the Kiowa camp?” she asked curiously.

“I didn’t. When I was fourteen they traded me to a Comanche shaman who wanted an interpreter while he and the chieftains were conducting powwows with the army. Since I spoke English, Spanish and the dialects of both tribes they needed me as a go-between.”

Piper clamped her legs tightly to the horse’s flanks as they veered through a narrow passage that opened to a sheer drop—exactly like the one she had found herself dangling over a few hours earlier.

When anxiety threatened to swamp her she closed her eyes and concentrated on carrying on her conversation with Quinn. “What were you supposed to interpret for the shaman and Comanche chiefs?” she asked, her voice wobbling noticeably.

“Worthless peace treaties,” Quinn said, and snorted.

“The Comanche broke their promises?”

“No, the government did,” he said. “The army sent a strike force to our winter encampment in the Sierra Diablo Mountains north of here. They practically annihilated the clan I was living with. Those who survived were rounded up and herded like cattle to Indian Territory.”

Piper grimaced. This tale just kept getting worse. She felt ashamed of herself for harboring ill feelings toward her domineering father. They seemed trite and insignificant compared to the tragedy Quinn endured. Her trials and struggle for individuality hadn’t been life-altering nightmares like Quinn’s had been.





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