My Darling Gunslinger (8 page)

“Shit,” he muttered before turning away to stomp along the fence, his long legs eating up the ground until he was almost running.

Running from the lady who could never be his, from a lifetime of shame and regret, from a future that spread out before him in one long, endless collection of lonely days and nights.

There is little difference between a child in the midst of tantrum and a fully grown man taken by an ill temper.

Nanny Bettelheim

Charlotte watched Tyler Morgan walk away.

Good Lord, the man moved quickly considering that less than two weeks previously he’d been burning with fever and unable to rise from the bed without assistance.

“What’d you say to spook the lad?”

Charlotte turned to watch Magnus limp toward her, one hand pressed to the old wound on his thigh.

“You’re overdoing it again,” she chastised as she met him beneath the shade of a gnarled old tree.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled.

Charlotte sat upon a weathered bench and patted the space beside her, smiling as her dear friend lowered his bulky form to sit, giving a grunt of satisfaction before pinning her with eyes as green as new grass.

“I’ve been thinking,” she began.

“A dangerous task, that,” he interrupted with a chuckle.

“Uncle Jasper intentionally lost that hand of cards,” she continued, undaunted by his teasing.

“No man bets a ranch on two pairs,” Magnus agreed.

“He was gone a long time.”

“Long enough to have taken his sweet time finding just the right man.”

“Mr. Morgan is a gunfighter, not a rancher.”

“Anybody can learn to herd cattle.”

“And sheep.”

“Nasty little buggers,” Magnus said with feeling. “But it takes a certain inborn talent to live by one’s gun.”

Charlotte shivered at the image of Tyler Morgan living by his gun. How many men had he killed? How many times had he been wounded? She’d helped to tend him after he’d fallen unconscious on her front porch. She’d seen the scars peppering his chest and back.

“Genau das was die Dame braucht.”

“Huh?”

“Just what the lady needs,” she explained. “Apparently Uncle Jasper kept muttering the phrase while he was losing the Zeppelin.”

“Did he?” Magnus looked toward the path the gunslinger had taken.

“Ken and Ethel will be leaving soon.” It pained her to say the words aloud, pained her to contemplate their departure.

“Is that the way of it?” Magnus asked, and in his softly voiced question, Charlotte heard the same pain.

“They haven’t said so, but we both know it’s only a matter of time,” she replied.

“I thought…ach. Well, this land is right pretty. Might be they could make a home here, start a family.”

“Who in their right mind would start a family anywhere near Sebastian and me?” Charlotte asked in mingled anger and sorrow.

Magnus didn’t answer. What was there to say? He could hardly deny her words, not after seven years on the run. He’d been with her since the very beginning, since the first time Frederick had attempted to rid himself of the only thing standing between him and an earldom.

“I’m not as young as I once was,” he finally whispered into the silence.

Charlotte knew what the admission cost him.

“I’d protect you and the boy with my last dying breath.”

She laid her hand over his, felt both the strength and the frailty beneath her fingers. She blinked in a furious attempt to hold tears at bay.

“Might be the daft Prussian knew what he was about,” Magnus said.

“It’ll take more than you and Akeem to watch over Sebastian,” she agreed. “He’ll be starting school soon.”

“The boy finally talked you around to letting him go with the other wee ones to the schoolhouse, did he?” Magnus asked with a gruff chuckle.

“I can’t keep him tied to my apron strings forever.” As much as she wanted to do just that.

“Can’t say as how I’ve ever seen you in an apron.”

“I might still learn my way around the kitchen.” But she knew she wouldn’t. She’d spent enough time learning skills she’d rather not possess. Skills more necessary to survival than cooking.

“You’ve other talents,” he replied as if reading her mind.

“Talents I never thought to possess.”

“Those, yes. But you’ve also a way of inspiring loyalty in all who meet you,” Magnus said. “That’s no mean trick.”

“Promise me…” she began.

“Don’t start in on that again, my lady.” He gifted her with a ferocious scowl.

“It’s been tried before.”

“You’ll not allow any man to get ahold of you, lassie.”

“But—”

“It was years ago,” he interrupted. “Before you’d learned to protect yourself. Lord above, you were little more than a girl then, a widowed child still grieving your man. That girl is long gone. And while it’s a right shame she had to grow up too fast, the woman you’ve become is stronger, more capable. Hell, lass, you’re a warrior now, make no mistake.”

“You’ll make my head spin with your flattery,” Charlotte teased.

“So what are you going to do about Morgan?” Magnus asked, refusing to veer off course.

“I’m not entirely certain,” she admitted. “I suppose I could offer him a fortune for his services.”

“I’m thinking he might come out offended,” Magnus replied.

“He’s a hired gun,” Charlotte argued.

“A retired hired gun,” he countered. “He’s a rancher now.”

“He knows nothing about ranching.”

“He knows more than you.”

“I never pretended to be a rancher.”

“Maybe not, but you own one-quarter of the Zeppelin. He owns the rest and it seems to me he wants to do more than pretend.”

Charlotte trusted Magnus. He had an uncanny ability to read people, one that had saved her son’s life on more than one occasion.

“So what do you suggest?” she asked.

“You might not like it,” he cautioned.

“Go on with you. When have I ever not agreed with you?”

“I didn’t say you wouldn’t agree, only that you wouldn’t like it.”

Charlotte sent up a silent prayer that he wasn’t thinking what she suspected he was, and began to prepare her arguments for staying right where they were.

“I’m thinking you ought to marry the man.”

“What? Have you taken leave of your senses?” Her voice rose with each word, until the last was little more than a high-pitched squeal that sent three birds soaring from the branches above them.

“Now, my lady, hear me out.”

Charlotte leapt from the bench, her skirts tangling around her legs, her petticoat catching on the holster strapped to her left thigh. With impatient hands she wrestled the fabric down, smoothed it until her skirts draped fluidly toward the ground once more.

She paced away from Magnus, felt his eyes on her back, and spun around to face him once more. “I cannot believe you think I should marry a stranger, a dark angel who kills people for monetary gain. We know nothing about him.”

“We know he intends to make this land his home.”

“We know no such thing,” she argued. “He was lucky enough to run into Uncle Jasper and have the Zeppelin all but fall into his hands. He could grow bored, start to miss tracking men and disappear next week.”

“What man in his right mind would miss weeks in the saddle chasing down killers and robbers? Riding through rain and snow? Sleeping on the hard ground with no one for company but his horse? Hell, lassie, what do you think he’s been doing it for?”

“For money. Adventure. Fun,” she hissed, her hands on her hips, her chin jutting out.

“There’s a bank book in his saddle bags says he’s been saving for near to twenty years. What’s a man like that saving for, if not to retire from such a life?”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“His eyes damn near light up whenever we talk about the ranch. He stands at the window looking down on the land like a boy staring at a shiny new toy.”

“A boy with a new toy?” she asked with a wave of her hand. “That’s the best you can do? He’s playing.”

“That man hasn’t played a day in his life!” Magnus lunged to his feet, his face mottled, his breath wheezing.

“Magnus, calm down,” Charlotte cried in alarm as she ran to him.

“Quit your mothering,” he hollered, batting at her hands when she attempted to push him back onto the bench. “Listen to me, Countess. Jasper knew what he was about when he lost this ranch to Tyler Morgan. He saw him for the man he is. I see him. Chang and Akeem see him. You’ve got to see him.”

“I see him!” she yelled, her face right up in his.

“You do?” he asked in confusion.

“Of course I do,” she growled, not yet ready to give up the fight. “I’ve been living with an older version of him for seven years.”

Magnus fell back onto the bench with a roar of laughter.

Charlotte stood glaring at him.

“Well, bless me,” he wheezed around his laughter.

“Did you think I didn’t know you’d been a mercenary?” she demanded as the anger drained away. “Why do you think I turned to you for help?”

“Then why won’t you turn to Tyler Morgan?” Magnus demanded, serious once more.

“I never said I wouldn’t,” she countered. “But why must I marry the man? I didn’t marry you.”

Magnus barked out a whooping chuckle that shook his bulky frame. “I don’t remember asking you.”

“And neither has Mr. Morgan,” she pointed out. “And he isn’t likely to. He doesn’t even like me.”

“Oh, he likes you just fine,” Magnus replied with a grin. “All you’ve to do is bat your lashes, lassie, and he’ll be at your feet.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes at the idea of the big, dark, silver-eyed gunslinger at her feet.

“The Zeppelin is his and you can bet your bottom dollar he’ll fight to keep it,” Magnus said, his grin falling away. “If you were his wife, he’d battle to the death to keep you and the boy safe.”

Charlotte suspected he was correct, that Tyler Morgan’s loyalty, once given, would be as strong, as unchangeable as the mountains surrounding the land on which they stood.

“Whatever would I do with such a man?” she asked.

“Same as any wife does with her husband.”

The thought of taking Ty to her bed sent a shiver down her spine.

Do you want to kiss me?

She cringed remembering the impulsive words she’d whispered to the man and his instantaneous reaction.

Briefly she wondered what the whore who’d perched upon his knee looked like.

She’d likely been all soft, round curves and winsome smiles.

Charlotte imagined a pretty, red-haired woman with merry green eyes and breasts large enough to overflow a man’s hands.

Had Ty taken the woman to his bed to celebrate his newfound fortune?

Charlotte doubted very much he’d banged his head hard enough to leave a goose-egg attempting to evade her puckered lips.

She needed his help, but contrary to what Magnus believed, it was glaringly obvious marriage was not a viable option.

“I’ll talk to him, make him an offer,” she said. “After all, he’s on the ranch anyway. Why wouldn’t he agree to earning a bit of coin while Sully teaches him the intricacies of running a ranch that only has a few hundred head of cattle and a small herd of sheep?”

“It’ll be interesting to see what he makes of the lack of stock,” Magnus replied.

Charlotte wasn’t fooled by his ready acceptance of the change of topic. She knew Magnus hadn’t given up on his idea of marriage. He was simply retreating in order to regroup, just as any former gun for hire would do.

Reformed whores make the best cooks on account of their willingness to experiment in the kitchen.

Jasper Heimlich

“Two hundred and fifty head?” Ty asked in confusion.

“Thereabouts,” Tom Sullivan replied, his bushy gray mustache twitching.

“Ten thousand acres of land and we’re running less than three hundred head of cattle?”

The two men were seated in Jasper Heimlich’s study tucked away beneath the stairs. The room was little more than a cubby hole with dark wood paneled walls and rough-hewn floors. A giant stuffed lion stood on its back paws in one corner, his lunging shadow falling over the scarred desk that dominated the room.

Ty had taken the big, ornately carved chair behind the desk while the ranch foreman lounged in one of two mismatched chairs wedged against the wall next to the door.

“Jasper was only getting started, hadn’t owned the ranch but two years,” Sully replied. “He bought a few dozen cows and a handful of bulls. Takes time to build up a herd.”

The explanation made sense, but somehow it still didn’t seem quite right.

“And the sheep?”

“Weren’t never intended to do more than provide a bit of wool and mutton,” Sully answered.

Ty stared hard at the man who was doing his best to keep back his laughter.

The ranch foreman was a tall, lanky fellow with thinning hair and a tanned face crisscrossed with lines. His brown eyes were hidden behind thick-lensed spectacles. His mustache was a truly amazing work of art, thick and steel gray and curving up into perfect curlicues over his weathered cheeks.

“What’s with the horses?” Ty demanded irritably.

“Now them horses were Jasper’s pride and joy,” Sully replied with a grin. “He had the first thoroughbreds shipped from Ireland, started breeding them with the wild ponies we rounded up from the foothills. Then he brought the shaggy ones over from Scotland and started adding them to the mix.”

“And people buy the giant beasts?” Ty asked.

“We made a pretty penny at the horse fair in Helena last year,” Sully assured him.

Movement beyond the window caught Ty’s attention, and he watched as Charlotte and Chang set off on their daily constitutional.

He’d looked the word up in his dictionary. Why the lady felt the need for five syllables when one would do he couldn’t begin to guess.

Ty had convinced himself that if she’d only spoken plain from the get go, they might have taken a pleasant walk together. Instead he’d been on edge from the moment she’d walked into his room, and it had only gotten worse.

Even a rough-mannered gunslinger knew a man did not turn his back on a lady and stomp off in a fit of…what? There’d been temper roaring through his head, but it had been lust that had sent him storming into the copse of trees on the other side of the fenced sheep enclosure. Lust and anger and frustration.

And why not? He’d just figured out that he’d been played for a fool by an equally foolish Prussian cardsharp with too little sense to recognize that Ty was the last man his niece needed.

Jesus, what had the man been thinking to place his niece into Ty’s hands for safekeeping? How had he seen beyond the dangerous gunslinger to the disillusioned man within? How had he known the damn deed and the woman who came with it were the answer to all of his dreams?

And now here he was, faced with endless years lusting after a woman so far beyond his reach he might as well have been lusting after the Queen of England.

He turned to find Sully watching him warily.

“When’s the next time you and the hands have a night off?” Ty asked.

“We get Saturday nights off,” the foreman answered.

“Do the hands go into town?”

“Weather permitting.”

Ty eyed the cloudless sky.

“Carousing with the hands is a double-edged sword,” Sully cautioned.

“Beyond the ride into town, you won’t see hide nor hair of me till tomorrow morning,” Ty assured him.

“Right then,” Sully replied as he rose to his feet. “We’ll head out after supper and be back before morning.”

Ty watched the man leave, his boots shuffling over the worn wooden floor.

Feeling better than he had since he’d stormed away from the temptation of Charlotte’s luscious pink mouth and the treasure beneath her ruffled skirts, Ty left the cramped study, the smells of what had to be roast chicken calling him toward the dining room at the front of the house.

He found Miss Daisy just finishing setting the table for dinner.

“Will you be joining us this evening, Mr. Morgan?” she asked with a shy smile, her hazel eyes lowered to the buttons running down his chest.

“Ty,” he corrected for the dozenth time.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she replied as she circled around him, careful to keep her skirts from brushing his legs.

“Suit yourself,” he muttered.

Her eyes darted up to his face before just as quickly falling back down.

A glimmer of recognition shifted through his mind. It was the same sense of familiarity he’d felt each time he’d encountered her in the two weeks he’d been on the Zeppelin Ranch.

Ty might not know fancy words or the workings of a ranch, but he knew faces, had a memory for them. He needed to in his line of work.

His former line of work, he reminded himself.

And there was something familiar in the shy lift of Miss Daisy’s gaze.

“Have we met before?” he asked, stepping into the woman’s path.

“It’s unlikely,” she whispered, her hands twisting in her skirts.

“Look at me,” he ordered softly so as not to scare her any more than she already was.

Again her gaze darted up, but this time she held it steady on his.

He saw her in a different place, a different time.

Her brown hair had been lose around her shoulders, her eyes rimmed with kohl, and her mouth a lush cherry red wrapped around…

“Holy Fuck,” he growled, taking an unsteady step back.

“Don’t tell Charlotte,” she whispered as tears sprang to her eyes.

Ty took her hand and pulled her through the dining room and out into the hall. Looking first left then right, unsure where to find a bit of privacy in a house near to bursting with inquisitive people, he halted.

“This way,” Daisy whispered, pulling from his grasp and turning down the hall.

Ty followed her into a small closet off the kitchen filled from floor to ceiling with shelves of dishes, cut-glass, and stacked linen. He pulled the door closed, the hinges squeaking.

Light flared and he spun to find Daisy lighting a small lantern. She blew out the match she held and raised her chin defiantly. “We only have a few minutes. I’ve a duck in the oven and they burn easy.”

Unsure where to begin, Ty only watched her warily as she placed the lantern on a shelf and came toward him, stopping right before him.

She reached for his belt buckle.

Ty grabbed her hands in his and pulled them to the sides away from their nearly touching bodies. “What the hell are you doing?”

“It’ll be good,” she promised, not looking at him. “I’ll make you feel good and you won’t tell Charlotte.”

“Ah, hell,” Ty muttered, dropping her hands as if they burned.

“Please.” A single tear fell to roll down her cheek.

“I’m not going to tell Charlotte anything,” he whispered, undone by the tears now cascading down her pale cheeks. “A little a saloon outside Kansas City, wasn’t it?”

“That was another life, a different woman,” she replied, scrubbing at her cheeks.

“And no one here knows?”

“Only Jasper knows. He found me in St. Louis and brought me to the Zeppelin,” she replied, finally meeting his eyes. “He gave me a second chance, a chance for a better life.”

“I won’t take that chance away from you,” he promised.

“Charlotte wouldn’t understand,” she began.

“Hell, no,” he agreed with a rusty laugh.

“How could she understand? What with her being a lady and all.”

They heard the screech of the hinges at the same time. Before either of them could do more than step back from their near embrace in the cramped closet, the door opened and light from the hallway spilled into the dim little room.

Startled blue eyes swept over the scene, taking in the intimacy of the close quarters.

Ty imagined they both looked guilty standing there, his fists clenched at his sides, Daisy twisting her fingers in her skirts.

Ty met Charlottes eyes, cringed at the scathing look she sent him.

“Pardon me,” she said, her voice as cold and crisp as a winter wind. “I did not mean to intrude.”

“Oh, no, Charlotte,” Daisy replied in obvious false cheer. “Mr. Morgan was helping me to get the cut crystal from the top shelf.”

Charlotte eyed the shelf the housekeeper indicated and Ty followed her gaze. Tall, fluted glasses sat in neat rows upon the topmost shelf.

“How extravagant,” Charlotte declared, her upper-crust accent never more pronounced. “Although, I’m not altogether certain champagne is the proper accompaniment for roast duck. I myself prefer a crisp Riesling. You’ll find the wine glasses right behind you. Within easy reach.”

With that, the lady turned and disappeared, pushing the door closed with a decisive, squeaking snap.

“Oh, no,” Daisy whispered and Ty knew she was about to start crying again.

“She won’t blame you,” he hurried to assure her. “She’ll think I was trying to get my dirty hands on you.”

“The way she spoke to me,” Daisy murmured. “Like I was nothing more than a bothersome servant.”

“You’re her housekeeper,” Ty reminded her carefully.

“But she’s never treated me like one,” Daisy explained, her eyes imploring him to understand. “Since the day she arrived, Charlotte’s been nothing but kind. She’s been my friend.”

Ty took her meaning immediately. In the weeks he’d been at the Zeppelin Ranch, he’d never witnessed the lady of the house treat her housekeeper as anything less than a cherished member of her odd little family.

“Oh,” Daisy breathed into the silence.

“What?” Ty demanded.

“We’d best get out of here.” She pushed past him and out the door without a backward glance.

With no other choice, Ty exited the closet and followed the sound of the housekeeper’s footsteps into the dining room.

Charlotte stood by the head of the long table, her hands fisted beside the narrow skirt of the lilac gown she wore.

“I’m sorry, Charlotte,” Daisy whispered, stopping beside the lady who met her gaze squarely and calmly.

“Think nothing of it,” she replied. “I can assure I’ve forgotten it already.”

“It wasn’t what it looked like,” Daisy persisted.

“It never is,” Charlotte drawled.

“I’ll just go check on the duck.” Daisy shot a quick look back at Ty, who’d halted just inside the brightly lit room, before vanishing through the swinging door to the kitchen.

No sooner did she disappear than Charlotte turned and pinned Ty with a look meant to sear him to his toes. It nearly worked.

He’d faced down seasoned gunman, posses intent upon stealing a bounty from his grasp and bands of marauding Indians. None of them had anything on Charlotte Green in a temper.

Before she could lash out at him with whatever angry words hovered on her tongue—words he likely wouldn’t understand—Sebastian careened into the room, nearly plowing into Ty’s back.

If the boy had been a man intent upon murder, Ty would be dead right now.

He’d been so focused on the lady before him, on the sparks shooting from her eyes, on the defiant lift of her chin, on the rosy glow in her cheeks, he hadn’t heard the boy coming.

This is how she’d look beneath him, caught up in passion.

The thought shot into his head even as he turned to steady Sebastian.

“Sorry, Ty,” Sebastian said with a grin that showed the gap in his teeth. “Daisy’s duck sure smells good.”

“Did you wash your hands?” Charlotte asked her son.

“Aw, Mother, you always ask me that,” Sebastian grumbled. “I’m not a baby, you know.”

“Of course not, Sebastian, but even grown men tend to dirty their hands,” she replied with a pointed look at Ty’s hand on her son’s shoulder.

He held his hands up, turning them this way and that. “I washed.”

“In the last two minutes?” she asked with an arch look that settled between his shoulder blades like an ice pick.

Ty felt his ears heat, imagined the tips were bright red.

What the hell did she imagine he’d been up to with Daisy in the linen closet? And how the hell would a lady even guess at such things?

“You’d best just show her,” Sebastian suggested. “Else she’ll be after you to go and wash them again.”

“That’s hardly necessary,” Charlotte replied with a look that dared him.