Brides of Texas (35 page)

“Unh-huh. Wow. Thanks.”

A gunshot echoed off the rocks. Wren’s scream mingled with it.

Wren clapped a hand over her mouth, but she knew it was too late. She’d given away their presence. One of the men on the other side of the rocks just killed his partner in cold blood. From the voices, she thought there were three of them, but she couldn’t be sure. She couldn’t tell where Mr. Gregor was either.

She huddled behind the bush and prayed she’d go undetected. Just to back up her plan, she carefully slipped her fingers into the pocket of her dress and withdrew the tiny pocket derringer.

For a split second, she clutched it to her bosom. Wren couldn’t help but wonder if she’d loaded it correctly. After all, she’d read the instructions countless times by the flickering light of her barely lit lantern. She’d gotten the tiny weapon from Mama after Papa died. Mama told her it was a ladies’ gun, so he wouldn’t have objected.

Now, though, she’d have to use it. How could she shoot another human being? How could she even manage to aim the weapon? Without her spectacles, she was virtually blind.

Curses filled the air. They came closer, too. Kathryn ducked down and pressed as far back into the cleft as she could. Gunshots fired from above her. Others came from several yards in front of her. At the same time a body tumbled from the rocks and landed mere feet from her, another man shot from around the side of the rocks. From the pause in gunfire, Wren assumed Chris was reloading his weapon. He’d stepped in to defend her. She could do no less. Her hands shook so badly, she couldn’t hold the derringer. Wren threw herself down on her stomach and rested both elbows on the hard ground to steady her hand.

The man sidled around the rocks and stood close enough that she saw a star shape branded into the leather on the side of his boot. Kathryn looked upward, saw badly worn trousers, a dirty plaid shirt, and a face that was too far away to focus upon distinctly. The sound of his pistol cocking made her blood run cold, and she shuddered. The action discharged her weapon.

“Whelan!” Chris fired as he shouted.

The man shot back, but just as he did, he jerked to the side and began to fall. His loud, raw words made it clear he wasn’t near death. He tumbled to the side and pulled the trigger, but the empty sound tattled he’d used all his ammunition.

“His gun’s empty!” Wren cried out.

Chris shouted, “Wren, get back!”

“Wren?” Whelan scrambled away. Mere seconds later, a horse galloped off.

Chris charged toward her. He halted briefly to confirm the other man was dead, then reached Kathryn’s side. He grabbed her by the arms. “Are you hurt?”

Tears slid down her cheeks.

He shook her gently. “Lass, are you all right?”

Eyes swimming with tears, she looked at him and lifted her right hand. She rotated it a bit, and he sucked in a sharp breath. Her hand started to shake, so he peeled the tiny vest-pocket derringer from her fingers and tucked it into his belt.

“So that’s why he flinched and missed me.”

“Dead.”

“Nae, lass. You dinna kill him.” He stayed close. “There’s blood on the ground. I probably got him. I know you did, too. I canna say for certain ‘twill keep him occupied. Whelan might double back on us. I’m getting you out of here.”

Wren shook her head. Her voice quavered but still held conviction. “He won’t come back.”

“You canna be sure.”

“His gun was empty.”
Gregor’s a bounty hunter
. Her shaking grew worse. “I shot him.”

“Aye.”

Her knees gave out on her.
I shot my brother
.

W
ren huddled under her shawl next to Chris on the seat of the buckboard. Two horses plodded along, tied to the back of the wagon where Wren couldn’t see them. A dead body was draped over each saddle. Chris scanned the landscape. The road with virtually no good ambush points led to the nearest town: Dogtail.

Once again, Chris assessed the situation. If Miss Regent weren’t so rattled, he’d gladly leave all her possessions behind. As for the thieves—dead was dead. Taking care of the living rated as the priority here. He longed to dump off one of the bodies, put her on the horse, and ride like the wind. He couldn’t. The poor lass would fall right out of the saddle.

“Whelan.” The name came out in a low, angry rasp. He’d been tracking the man ever since Connant was slain. If he didn’t have Wren along, he’d have followed the outlaw and apprehended him. As it was, all he had were two bags of loot and a pair of dead bodies.

And a witness
. Wren would be able to testify that the men had brought the loot. But could she identify Whelan? “Wren, you saw Whelan.”

She shuddered. “I couldn’t see his face.”

“Tell me what you saw.”

“The man fell.” Her voice quavered. “He was dead.”

“Aye.” He frowned at her pallor, then patted her. “But we’re alive. ’Twas either them or us. They started the shooting.” His words should have given her comfort, but it would probably take some time for a delicate lady to get over the shock of seeing a dead body fall within a few feet of her.

Whelan got away, but Wren would be a neutral witness who could at least connect him to the stolen goods. Pitiful as that charge was, if he’d killed anyone to gain those possessions, the connection would prove vital in court. “The one who got away—Whelan. What else did you see?”

“I didn’t have my glasses.”

“I’ll help you get some spectacles right away. Aye, I will. You willna feel so lost and helpless then. In the meantime, I’ll help you. I need your help, too. Was there anything else you did make out?”

“Just blue jeans. And boots.”

His breath caught. “Was there anything special about his boots? Plain, or any designs?”

“Plain. Only one star,” she said in a vague tone.

“A star? You’re positive of that, Wren?” The star on Whelan’s boot was a trademark piece of evidence. Lawmen knew about it, but they didn’t let common folk know. It was the sort of thing, if blabbed about, would make Whelan shed his boots. “What did it look like? How big?”

Her hand shook as she lifted it. Holding her thumb and forefinger apart about two inches, she said thickly, “This big.”

Whelan’s boot. Clear as could be. “Tell me anything else you saw and heard.”

“I shot him.” She doubled over, as if in agony, and shook her head.

He took off his bandanna, folded it, and poured water from the canteen on it. “You feeling sick?”

She moaned.

“You’ll be feelin’ better soon. Sure you will,” he soothed as he brushed several darling little curls from her nape, then pressed the cool cloth to her soft flesh. “The day’s turning hotter than the hinges of Hades. This’ll help. Just keep your head down for a few minutes and breathe slow and deep. Slow and deep. There you go. Take your time. When you’re ready, you can tell me more of what happened.”

After taking a few shaky breaths, she said, “I don’t want to talk about it. When we get to a town, I’ll speak with the marshal.”

“Whelan and his gang killed a dear friend of mine. I’m longing to get him.”

She nodded slowly and tried to straighten up.

He continued to apply pressure to keep her head down. Judging from her extreme pallor, he was sure she’d faint dead away if he let her up too soon. “So you know it’s Whelan.”

“You called his name, Mr. Gregor.” She turned her face toward him and opened her eyes. They’d darkened to pools of blue anguish. The bandanna slithered away, and he glided his hand down to her shoulder and drew her upright. She started to tremble again, so he nudged her into resting her cheek on his chest.

“Worse, I called your name,” he confessed grimly. “Wren is, unfortunately, a unique name. He’s shrewd. Once he overhears someone mention you, he’ll be able to track you down. I’ve put you in terrible danger.”

“No one will talk about me. I’m utterly forgettable.”

Chris snorted at that proclamation. Less than twenty-four hours after meeting her, he’d come to realize little Wren wasn’t at all what she masqueraded as. Just scratching the surface showed her to be intelligent, well-spoken, and resourceful. A good cook and a fine seamstress. Pretty, too. Some man was going to get a prize when he wed her.
If I can capture Whelan before he finds her
.

“From now on you’re Katie, not Wren. Not even Kathryn. Are you understanding me?”

She nodded slowly.

“Aye, and I’ll be sure you learn how to fire a rifle.” His brows knit with a sudden realization. “You lied to me!”

Looking indignant, she huffed back, “I did not!”

“You said you didn’t handle firearms.”

Blinking at him, she tilted her head. “Mr. Gregor, I told you I didn’t touch
men’s
weapons. We were discussing rifles, and I assure you, I haven’t touched a rifle. I’ve not lifted any other pistol, either. Mama specifically purchased the derringer as it was listed as a ladies’ firearm.”

“I imagine a derringer, however small, can still kill a man. Why draw distinctions? If it shoots bullets, it’s deadly.”

Katie blanched. Her eyes went wide with shock, and her lips began to quiver. “Mr. Gregor, do you think my bullet might
kill
Whelan?”

“Only if we pray real hard.”

Her face twisted with revulsion. “I couldn’t ever think to pray for the death of any soul!”

“I figured as much. Tell me, though—just what were you aiming at when you fired the gun at Whelan?”

She blanched.

No one in her right mind aimed a gun, fired it, and hoped the bullet wouldn’t do any damage. She was plumb crazy.
No, not plumb crazy
, the voice in the back of his mind corrected,
just very tenderhearted
. He steeled himself with a gusty breath and asked in a voice he considered to be remarkably conversational and restrained, “Miss Regent, gunshots can be—and often are—fatal. What possessed you to draw a weapon if you didn’t plan to inflict damage?”

“Please, don’t shout at me!”

“I’m not shouting!” He caught himself raising his voice enough to make the horse skittish. Embarrassed, he stated, “I’m merely being forceful. You cannot have the derringer back unless I’m absolutely certain you understand it has the capacity to take a life.”

“Oh, I’d never take deadly aim! It would be sinful! I simply…” She tore her gaze from his angry glower and looked at her hands as she twisted them in her lap.

“What was your intention?”

She whispered faintly, “I didn’t want him to hurt you. But don’t think I was brave. I was shaking so badly, the gun went off before I even aimed.”

“Courage isna the lack of fear. ’Tis acting in spite of the fear. You should be proud of yourself.”

She shook her head. “I’m ashamed of myself. All we’ve done is talk about me, and I never once inquired as to whether you were injured.”

She kept taking him off guard. She shifted like a prairie wind from one direction to the next without so much as a warning. For every irritating grain of sand the changes brought, there was also the sweet scent of wildflowers or a welcome gust of refreshing coolness. It made it impossible to be mad at her.

“I’m fine. I’ve got the Lord to thank—and you, too. I’ll not forget ’twas you who shot him.”

She rewarded his words of praise by scrambling down the side of the moving buckboard and getting violently ill.

She felt hideous. Mortified, too. Mr. Gregor actually held her head as she lost her meal. It served him right. After all, he’d forced her to eat breakfast. But she couldn’t bring herself to be mad at a man who’d been gentle with her. Patient, too. Never once did he say a harsh word about the spineless way she handled all of the feelings roiling inside.

“Miss Regent? Katie? We canna afford to stop and let you rest. I dinna know how bad off Whelan is, but he’s meaner than a stepped-on snake, and I want us as far from here as we can get. Are you understanding me?”

She nodded.

“There’s a good lass.” He lifted her into his arms, and she slumped against him like a rag doll. Katie tried to at least lift her head away from his shoulder, but he used his chin to nudge it back down. “Hold still. You’ve been through too much. ’Tis a wonder you’ve not swooned yet.”