Over the Barrel (28 page)

"Let me
get you something to drink," he whispered, easing her onto the
mattress.
 
He held the glass to her
lips.
 
"Drink up.
 
All that crying made you dry."

Blair leaned
painfully against him as he hand fed her some cheese and smoked sausage and
then held the glass for her to sip.
 
She sniffed as she rested her cheek against his warm bicep, feeling
drowsy as the day caught up with her.
 
Her eyes grew heavy, and she felt Sloan picking her up and settling her
on her side under the cool sheets.

"Sleep,
my girl," came his whisper.
 
His hand slowly stroked her back and then traveled down the side of her
hip.
 
Back and forth he caressed
her, slowly, and just light enough to help her to drift into a tranquil
repose.
 
"I love you."

Blair
groaned loudly as Madeline pulled back the curtains the following morning to awaken
her.
 
"Good Morning, Miss.
 
Did you sleep well?" the maid
asked, pleasantly.

Blair sat up
and grimaced.
 
Her hair dangled in
tousled knots around her face.
 
"You are positively chipper this morning, Madeline.
 
May I ask the reason?"

"No
reason, Miss Blair," the older woman smiled broadly, "I had a very
enjoyable evening with Mr. Malcolm.
 
He purchased dinner for me and then drove me home under a beautiful
moon."

"Madeline,"
Blair reached for her maid's hands and squeezed gently, "we don't know if
he is involved with that Deuce character.
 
He knew those men on a first name basis, and they knew him."

"They
play cards every weekend, and those men work as wranglers during herding
season," Madeline said, sitting on the bed next to Blair.
 
"I was listening for you.
 
That is what you wanted me to do, was it
not?"

"You
are a gem.
 
I wasn't certain that
you saw me tug at my ear."

"I
did!
 
Mr. Malcolm hires a crew to
drive his cattle east and those men ride the herd.
 
Deuce is the one who divides the riders
into quadrants and tells them where to go."

"So
that is Malcolm's only connection to this man?"

"I
don't think so, Miss.
 
Deuce works
with Mr. Clay."

"The
ranch foreman?
 
I assume that is
because Deuce is running his cattle."

"Yes
ma'am—I mean, no, ma'am.
 
Mr. Clay
lives in an old homestead east of Blue Sky, and Deuce is with him."

"Is
that unusual?"

"Mr.
Malcolm was surprised.
 
He said
'grounded folk like Mr. Clay don't go much for the wranglers and did not know
why they would share a space."
 
Madeline wrinkled her nose as she tried to repeat Malcolm's statement in
the same manner in which it was delivered, "He said that these types of
men, those like Deuce, are driven by money, women, and running from the law.

"Hmmm
…" Blair tapped her chin with her index finger,
 
"do you think you might be able to
get us some information about Mr. Clay?"

"I can
try.
 
I know he's been with Mr.
Malcolm five years and they have not had one head of cattle stolen or killed
since he arrived."

"Please
find out what you can.
 
No, I can
dress myself."
 
Blair quickly
raised her hand as Madeline shook out the soft linen chemise.
 
"Why don't you go downstairs and
see if Grandfather Malcolm needs any personal assistance."

Madeline
flashed a toothy grin, dipped her knee, and quickly raced away.
 
Blair shook her head and carefully rose
to her feet, clenching her teeth as flashes of sharp pain radiated down the
backs of her legs.
 
She slowly
stretched her body as she tried to ignore the constant throbbing ache that
focused on her rump.
 
Biting her
lower lip, she turned to look at her bottom in the tall dressing mirror.

It was still
a beefy red with a couple of chalky white patches on both crowns.
 
Blair's hand drifted behind her as she
tried to see the undercurve of her cheeks.
 
Several small bruises were sprinkled over the area, and she rubbed
gently, surprised that her flesh was still quite warm.
 
She chewed on her lower lip, admitting
that her actions had been both unwise and dangerous for both herself and
Madeline.
 
Well, Sloan made certain
that she would think twice before making another foolish mistake.
 
With a grimace, she slipped on a pair of
drawers and then a pair of the boy's trousers over her hips.
 
Blair wrinkled her nose as she tightened
a rope around the loops of the waistline and then surveyed her shapely backside
in the mirror.
 
She then took the
chemise, and using her knife, cut away the extra material from the bottom.
 
She slipped it over her head and
followed it with the boy's linen shirt.
 
Quickly, she brushed out her long, dark hair and then tied it into a
tight braid that hung over her left shoulder.
 
Finalizing her new 'look' with her
leather riding boots, Blair tucked the loaded Colt Dragoon into the waistband
of her trousers and tracked down the stairs.

The sound of
male voices drew her attention to the study.
 
She walked past Madeline's wide-eyed stare
of disbelief and knocked on the closed door with her knuckles.

"Come
on in," Malcolm called out jovially.
 
"Ah!
 
Good Morning,
Blair.
 
How …"

"What
the blooming hell are you wearing, woman?" Sloan choked out.
 
"Is that a gun in your pants?"

"It
is," Blair said calmly, setting the weapon on the side-table.
 
"A Colt Dragoon.
 
Not quite as heavy as yours, but with
some practice I will be able to shoot a flea off the back of a squirrel."

"Get
these notions out of your head, girl.
 
You don't need to be learning to shoot like a man," Malcolm said,
with a smile.
 
"Have a
seat."

Blair glared
at him.
 
"No, thank you; I
prefer to stand.
 
Gentleman, I
request that you please accept my decision that, as long as I am living in this
house, I intend to be able to do whatever is needed to make myself useful.
 
That includes protecting myself from
marauders."

"Blair,"
Sloan said calmly, "please go upstairs and dress appropriately."

"No,
Sloan.
 
Those skirts not only hamper
my movement, but they make me appear weak.
 
This is what I will wear from now on."

Madeline
touched her shoulder.
 
"Miss
Blair, it isn't proper for a lady to wear men's clothing."

"Propriety
is not my concern," Blair stated.
 
"I am no longer part of that world."

"Now,
now, Blair," Malcolm shook his head.
 
"You must obey your husband.
 
If I am to be so bold, I assume that the reason you have failed to sit
yourself in that chair is that you faced some chastisement last evening.
 
You are a smart girl.
 
Don't invite more discipline upon your
backend."

"Hold on
a second."
 
Sloan lifted his
hand.
 
"Blair?
 
Do you really want to learn the ways of
ranch work?"

"I
do."

"Then
you may learn.
 
Starting with
tending the garden."

"I must
speak with you first.
 
In private,
if you please," Blair said, picking up her Colt and tucking it away.

"If it
is to complain about how sore your backside is, I don't want to hear it."

"Sloan!"
 
Blair felt the heat rise to her cheeks
as her Grandfather laughed.
 
"I
really must speak to you.
 
Immediately."

Sloan
excused himself and followed Blair upstairs to their room.
 
He sat on the edge of the bed and patted
his thigh.
 
Blair shook her head.

"I am
not up here to play.
 
I need to tell
you something."
 
She expounded
on the information given her by Madeline, avoiding the darkening look in Sloan's
eyes.

"I told
you to let it go, Blair.
 
Didn't you
learn your lesson last night?"

"Why
are you being so incredibly stubborn?
 
If I can help you solve this case, why won't you allow me?"

"Darling,
there are things that are too dangerous for you to get yourself into.
 
These men are killers.
 
They go from town to town, killing off
prostitutes and anyone associated with them.
 
They would not blink an eye when they
put a bullet through your head.
 
Please listen to me."

"But if
this Deuce and the foreman, Clay are involved in the murders, shouldn't
Grandfather Malcolm know about it?
 
They are using his ranch to hide out on."

"I'm
still not convinced that Malcolm isn't involved."

"How
can you say that?
 
His wife was
killed by these men."

"That
is what he says.
 
There are things
that just don't line up, baby girl.
 
Come sit," he patted his thigh again.
 
Blair reluctantly obeyed, gritting her
teeth as she carefully perched herself on his knee.
 
Sloan wrapped his arms around her.
 
"Did you know that his wife was
heiress to a ton of money?"

"No."

"That
was the primary reason your Aunt Imelda despised her.
 
She had the money that Imelda did
not.
 
And when she died, Malcolm
received the whole bank-load."

"Why
would he have had her killed?
 
He
obviously had access to the assets."

"Perhaps
she was tired of his gambling and cut him off.
 
People have killed for much less."

"Well,
I refuse to believe that.
 
I like
him.
 
He is the only family who has
ever treated me decently.
 
No,"
Blair shook her head, "I refuse to entertain such mendacities."

"I am
not saying he is lying.
 
I am simply
evaluating all possible circumstances.
 
It is what I do."

"What
you do?
 
You really aren't a Texas
Ranger, are you?" Blair suddenly said, pulling away from him.
 
Her eyes widened.
 
"You
knew
I was going to be on that train!"

Sloan
sighed.
 
"I am a detective for
the Pinkerton Agency."

"A
detective?
 
You had better explain
right now, Sloan Adkins!"
 
Blair placed her hands on her hips and glared at him angrily.
 
"I want the truth, and I want it
now!"

Sloan looked
back at her steadily.
 
"Your
aunt contacted the agency to have an investigator follow you and find out the
truth behind her sister-in-law's death.
 
Apparently, she believed that she was being swindled out of her rights
by her brother—your grandfather—and that foul play was afoot.
 
The agency contacted several of us who
had already been investigating a series of murders that lead to Manitou
Springs—which, coincidentally was the area of your destination.
 
A volunteer was requested to escort you
there, which would allow one of us to enter the area without suspicion and give
us the chance to look into the murders, as well as check out the claims your
aunt was making.
 
We had no inkling
that your grandfather was even remotely connected to the murders."