McCrory's Lady (15 page)

      
Maggie let out a startled gasp. “You're as quiet as Blake. He's supposed to be the Apache.”

      
“Half Apache. Do you fancy the type?” he asked, his face hidden in shadows.

      
She scoffed in disgust. “Wolf's young enough to be my son.”

      
Now, his face turned toward the light and one eyebrow arched sardonically. “You did get an early start, didn't you?”

      
She raised her hand to slap him, then forced herself to lower it and remain calm. “You'll never forget my start, will you, Colin? You were attracted to me the minute you walked in the Silver Eagle.” She turned and sighed in perplexity. “Hell, I was attracted to you the same way. But that's not the stuff of dreams, is it? It's only lust. Respectable businessmen with political ambitions like you can't afford to indulge.”

      
“You make me sound contemptible,” he said bitterly, disliking himself.

      
“You don't owe me for Eden, Colin.”

      
He raked his fingers through his hair. “Yes, dammit, I do owe you for Eden! You risked your life to save her from the Apaches. You saved her sanity after that bastard Lazlo abducted her.”

      
“What are you trying to say, Colin? That your sense of honor doesn't permit you to marry me, but doesn't permit you to walk away from me either?”

      
“I don't know what I'm trying to say. I never thought to marry again. Eden's mother was...was someone very special, a true lady who took an ignorant immigrant stockman and taught him...” He raised his hands, then dropped them with a sigh. “Taught him everything that was important.”

      
A true lady
. The words galled her. “Once, long ago, Margaret Leanna Worthington was a true lady, too,” she said softly.

      
“But you threw it all away and ended up with a man like Fletcher?” he accused, without really intending to.

      
She gave a shaky laugh. “Oh, I met a lot worse than Bart Fletcher.”

      
“What Maggie means is when she was my age she met a man like Judd Lazlo,” Eden said, emerging from the shadows on the porch.

      
“Eden, don't—”

      
“I have to tell him sometime, Maggie. He thinks I'm like my mother—perfect. That I was an innocent victim of Lazlo.”

      
“You were, Eden,” Maggie said as tears thickened her voice.

      
Colin stared from one woman to the other, with growing unease. “Would one of you mind telling me what's going on here?”

      
“Judd Lazlo didn't kidnap me. I ran away with him.”

      
Eden's words dropped like stones in the still night. Colin stood frozen, staring incredulously at his only child while tears ran silently down Maggie's cheeks.

      
“Lazlo used me. He set out to seduce me just so he could lure you into a trap when you followed us. I thought he was dangerous and romantic—all the same girlishly naive notions Maggie had back in Boston. You see, Father, I'm really more like her than like my perfect mother; but Maggie only ended up endangering herself. I could've gotten you killed as well. I wanted to die out there. I'm so sorry...”

      
Colin's trance broke as sobs began to wrack Eden's slender shoulders. He swiftly walked to her, opening his arms and taking her inside them. “There, there, Babygirl, don't cry. Damn, don't cry. It'll be all right. No one at home will ever know.” He stroked her silky hair and crooned to her.

      
“No, it won't be all right. Nothing will ever be the same again.” The words were muffled against his chest. “Louise helped me sneak off to meet Lazlo for weeks before we were supposedly eloping. When we get back home, everyone in Prescott will know what I did.”

      
Her words cut his last thread of hope. He looked over her head and his eyes met Maggie's. “You knew, didn't you?”

      
She nodded silently.

      
His thoughts raced. Eden's best hope was marriage. But Edward would never marry her now. Somehow he had to find a way to face them all down. He was one of the richest men in the territory. That damn well ought to count for something!

      
Maggie felt immense relief flood over her as she watched Colin hold his daughter. So, he could forgive his own flesh and blood, thank God. How much he must have loved Eden's mother! That thought cut her to the heart. She started to turn away, but Colin's voice stopped her.

      
“Don't go, Maggie. Eden—and I—both need your help.”

Chapter Seven

      
The mission was small and musty with a few splintered benches facing a modest altar. One shaft of brilliant morning sunlight struck the frayed linen altar cloth, making it gleam white as fresh snow. When he heard them enter, the priest, a thin elderly man with a weary smile, rose from the railing where he had been kneeling in prayer.

      
“
Buenos dias
—good morning,” he amended, seeing that the man and woman were obviously Anglo. “How may I help you?” His English was precise, laced with a faintly Germanic accent. “I am Father Schmitzhammer. Most here call me Father Jan. It's easier for them to pronounce.”

      
“Good morning, Father,” Colin said, holding his hat in his hands tight enough to wilt the edges of the weather resilient felt. An alien sense of discomfort came over him as he faced the elderly man in the black cassock. “I'm Colin McCrory; this is Maggie Worthington. We'd like for you to marry us.”

      
Father Jan tilted his head as his shrewd hazel eyes looked from the grim-faced man to the pale, solemn woman at his side. “Are you of the Catholic faith, my son?”

      
“I'm Presbyterian,” Colin replied gruffly, embarrassed because he attended the church of his childhood infrequently when in Prescott and then only to please Eden.

      
“I see.” A smile of understanding touched the priest's face as he turned from the tall Scot to his lady, who was dressed somberly in a brown traveling suit, not the formal sort of garment a bride would choose. “And you, my child?”

      
“I was raised Episcopalian, Father,” Maggie said in a low voice, remembering girlhood dreams about wedding lace and a big church filled with joyous people.
That was so long ago. Why does it matter now?
Because she wanted the reasons for this marriage to be so very different from what they were. She met the priest's kindly eyes, never daring to look at the ramrod straight, cold stranger standing beside her.

      
“Is there some problem with marrying two non-Catholics, Father?” Colin asked.

      
“No. I can certainly do it, as long as you are both agreed that you wish to wed.” He looked from McCrory's grim visage to Maggie's haunted expression.

      
“We wish it.” Colin's voice was emotionless.

      
Maggie merely nodded in agreement.

      
As the priest read the words from a frayed old leather volume, Colin stood as still as a felon on the gallows, damning Judd Lazlo to the hell he was surely roasting in and cursing the folly of all women. He had made a devil's bargain last night and he would honor it, taking Maggie Worthington to Crown Verde as his wife—in name only. That part had been a sop to both their senses of wounded pride. He had never wanted to marry her in the first place, and she had released him from his promise to do so back in Sonora.

      
But they both loved Eden enough to stand behind her through the ordeal ahead, and there was no way to explain Maggie's presence in their lives unless she was his wife. When Eden's future was secure, their marriage could be annulled. They would be free to go their separate ways.

      
Maggie listened to the tightness in Colin's voice as he repeated his vows. She could feel angry tension radiate from every inch of his body. He hated being forced. That was why he had asked Eden to remain behind at the hotel while they sought out the village curate. Eden had been tearfully happy when Colin agreed that they would marry. She still cherished naive dreams that they would fall in love after the fact. But once his daughter had returned to bed, Colin had asked Maggie for significantly altered terms to their agreement. Did he honestly think it salved her pride to make this a sham marriage?

      
He's ashamed of me and angry with himself for desiring me.
What else could she have done but hold up her chin with that pride he had scornfully accused her of possessing and say she was happy not to share his bed?

      
Colin listened to her softly spoken vows, all the while feeling the ring in his vest pocket as if it were burning through to his skin. Elizabeth's ring. He carried it with him always, ever since she had taken it off on her deathbed and pressed it into his hand. How could he place it on another woman's finger—especially a woman like Maggie? He had tried to find another ring, but in a small border town, early in the morning, there was nothing. He had grieved for fifteen years.
Maybe it's best this way.
What insidious voice whispered that in his mind?

      
“The ring?”

      
“Er, pardon me, yes, the ring.” Colin fumbled in his leather vest pocket and pulled out a small velvet pouch. Carefully pulling the drawstring, he let the gleaming gold band tumble into his palm. When he handed it to the priest, the old man smiled.
He probably thinks I bought it for her
.

      
Maggie looked up at him with a surprised expression on her face. Where had he gotten such a beautiful ring? It was antique, heavy gold with the flowers engraved all around it worn almost smooth. Suddenly, she knew it must be a family heirloom. Elizabeth's! As his large sun-browned hands held her slender one and slid the ring on her third finger, Maggie McCrory swallowed her tears.

* * * *

Tucson

      
Winslow Barker sat behind the big walnut desk that looked oddly oversized for such a small man. The huge room dwarfed his five-foot-three-inch frame as he stood up. His small, fierce, bulldog stance was at variance with the vest that strained over his paunchy middle. He believed that his thinning white hair made him appear distinguished and his hard, narrow, dark eyes made him look ruthless. Still, the wide hearty smile he affected, along with his back-slapping personality, made most people in Tucson like him well enough.

      
Of course, most folks in Tucson owed “Win” Barker money, so it really did not matter what they thought, as long as they paid up and did what they were told. Most of the politicians in Prescott were in his hip pocket, as was the man quietly sweating in the easy chair across from him.

      
Caleb Lamp dabbed at a trickle of perspiration rolling down his temple and silently cursed.
Fat little bastard!
“I offered you a fair price, Win. Them Apaches will save you thousands in labor costs.”

      
Barker lit a thick black cigar and puffed on it experimentally as he shook out the match. “They don't call me Win for nothing, Caleb,” he said. “Those Apaches will be conscripts—slaves really. They're hardly trained miners. You're asking too much.”

      
“They work real cheap. And when one dies”—he shrugged carelessly—“I'll just have my reservation police draft another to take his place.”

      
Barker gave the Indian agent a bland smile. “Sure you will, Caleb—for their cut of the profits from the mines. Question is, what's the White Mountain Reservation's share of the coal wealth going to be? I've brought in the geologists and mining experts, made all the arrangements. You're just skimming off the top, the same way you've always done with their beef, blankets, medicines, all the other things the federal government pays for and the poor benighted savages don't get.”

      
Lamp's angular lantern-jawed face was as ugly as seven miles of bad road. He narrowed his yellow eyes and met Barker's dark ones head on. “You made enough money to burn up a wet mule working with me over the years, Win. Hell, I've accepted more short shipments of tinned goods and lint blankets from your mercantile than from any other government contractor in the territory. I'm offering you a good deal with them Apach. Free labor in the mines for thirty percent of the profits.”

      
“Twenty-five, and that's my final offer. I'll have to hire extra pistoleros to keep their picks swinging, not to mention keeping them from escaping.”

      
The Indian agent sneered. “Who'd believe what a lyin' Apach said? Especially if he run loose from the reservation! Besides, that'd only help yer other business, selling livestock and supplies to the Army so they can ride out and catch more renegades.” Lamp appeared to consider, feeling Barker's piercing little eyes bore into him. Someday he'd wring the old fart's scrawny neck for the pleasure of hearing it snap.

      
Grudgingly, he conceded, “I'll take the twenty-five percent. When do you plan for the digging to start?”

      
“I’ll have to check with my contacts in the capital. It should be—” Barker stopped in mid sentence and chomped down on his cigar, then cursed violently as he stared out the window of his office, which fronted on the street. “That miserable cur bungled it! There's McCrory, looking as hale and hearty as he did the day he rode out of here.”

      
Lamp stood up and walked around the desk to peer out the window at the nemesis whom he had evicted at gun point from his reservation. “I thought you said he was taken care of in Mexico.”