Scotsman Wore Spurs (47 page)

“Don't stop.”

“How did you get to know Ben?” Drew asked him.

“It's a long, miserable story,” O'Brien said. “I hated the sonofabitch for years.”

Drew chuckled. “I can appreciate the sentiment. I felt somewhat the same way for a while. He tends to grow on one, though.”

“Does he?” O'Brien growled from his position behind the seat. “I haven't noticed.”

“Then why are you here?” Gabrielle asked, keeping her eyes forward.

“Damned if I know,” O'Brien said. “He wired and said he was in need of my particular criminal talents. It was a request I couldn't refuse. Masters being something less than righteous and noble I just had to see.”

Despite the cynical words, Drew detected a note of admiration in the man's voice. “Besides,” O'Brien added reluctantly, “like Merrill, I guess I owe him.”

Drew was going to owe him, too. He wondered how many other markers his brother-in-law had accumulated over the years.

They were coming to the turnoff in the road, and Drew directed the horses left. The first possible ambush site was a mile ahead. He felt himself tense, not for himself but for Gabrielle.

Silence fell among them, the only audible sound being the clip-clopping of the horses' hooves and the rattling of the wheels. Drew sensed O'Brien moving behind him, knew he was readying his rifle.

Gabrielle's fingers bit into his thigh, and he gave her a quick smile and started whistling a new tune. Her fingers dug deeper.

He saw the hill ahead, the incline rising to the right. He looked for a telltale glint of sunlight on metal but saw nothing. Nor did he see any sign of Ben.

The buggy continued toward the next possible hill, a half-mile away.

His hands tightened around the reins. Bloody hell, but he hated this waiting, hated using Gabrielle as bait. Shifting the reins to one hand, he reached to take her hand, and held it. He turned to gaze at her for a moment, finding her returning his gaze. Her eyes were incredibly blue, full of emotion. She was so brave, so gallant.

Was he insane bringing her along? Had he a choice?

He wanted to pour out his heart to her. He wanted to do it now, in case something would happen to him. He would make bloody sure nothing would happen to her.

But the words lodged in his throat. Now was not the time. When this was over …

He tried, though, to tell her with his eyes, with the hand he rested on her lap.

And she knew. Joy flooded her eyes, making his heart pound and his hands tremble.

Promises were made during the silence. Lasting promises.

A voice from the back broke the moment. “Keep your eyes open,” Kane O'Brien said dryly as if sensing their distraction with each other.

The warning was enough. Drew knew he shouldn't endanger someone else, and he bloody well didn't want to endanger himself, either—not this time. Not when the future stretched out in front of him, bright and full of promise.

They passed the gully without incident. The road was completely empty. Where in the hell was Ben?

The next turn in the road would reveal the site both Ben and O'Brien thought the likeliest for an ambush. Gabrielle stiffened at his side, and pride rushed through him. God, he loved her.

The road swung left, hills rising on both sides, and he saw several small logs lying in the road, as if they had spilled from a wagon. A steely calm came over him, as his right hand went for his hidden gun.

He slowed the horses. Thorpe was no fool. He'd known that his quarry would have to get out of the buggy to move the logs. Drew realized he would be out in the open, alone, and Gabrielle would be an easier target, too, without him beside her. She might even get down with him. Where in the bloody hell were Ben and Merrill?

But Drew knew what needed to be done. Thorpe would have to fire at them to be charged with attempted robbery and murder. He wondered how good a shot the man was and whether he had, after all, obtained help. If he had, Drew was sure Ben or Merrill would have discovered that fact by now.

If they were still alive.

Why in the bloody hell had he allowed Gabrielle to convince him to bring her with him?

As if turning to talk to her, he informed O'Brien, “There are logs lying in the road. I'll have to move them.”

“No,” Gabrielle said, her voice frightened.

“It's the only way, Gabrielle,” he said. “We have to trust Ben.”

A snort came from the back.

“Do you have any better ideas, O'Brien?” Drew challenged.

“'Fraid not,” the man said as Drew brought the buggy to a stop. “Unless you just sit there, too aristocratic to move a few pieces of wood. Our friend might get impatient.”

Drew was actually considering the idea when O'Brien offered another thought.

“Or,” O'Brien said slowly, “you might consider that the man will want the sun at his back, not in his eyes. That would mean he's positioned somewhere to your right. Move the horses as close as you can to the logs, then get down. Keep the horses and carriage to the right of you. Kick the first log out of the way and move the horses to the next one.”

Drew took a deep breath. It could work. “You and Ben must have been formidable, working together.”

“Hell, we were on different sides,” O'Brien said.

“Drew?”

He turned, and Gabrielle leaned over and kissed him, her lips sweet and loving against his.

“Be careful,” she whispered.

“You stay back in the seat, out of sight,” he ordered as he handed her the reins, aware that O'Brien's hands were nearby in case of trouble. “O'Brien, get her on the floor if firing starts.”

He stepped down, careful to keep the horses between him and the hill, kicking aside first one log, then another, trying to look as nonchalant and careless as possible while planning and timing every step. Only for a fraction of a second was he clear of the buggy.

And in that instant he heard a shot ring out and felt the impact of a bullet hit his shoulder. He heard Gabrielle scream as he stumbled, stunned.

The horses reared. He was aware of movement to calm them down, but they jolted a few feet ahead, leaving him exposed.

Where in the hell was Ben?

He heard another shot. Dirt splattered an inch away from him. Then a whirl of skirts descended from the carriage, even as O'Brien apparently fought to keep the horses steady.

“No,” he yelled. “No.”

But she kept coming, and then he saw the rifle in her hands. She threw it to him and he rolled over, facing toward the origin of the shot.

He thought he saw a glint of a rifle stock just as another shot hit where he had been seconds ago. He aimed and fired, though he had little hope of hitting anything.

Just then he heard other shots, and the carriage backed up, the team finally under control by O'Brien.

Drew managed to get to his knees, then his feet, pushing Gabrielle toward the carriage as another shot rang out, then a volley echoed through the air.

The horses reared again. Ignoring the pain that was now raging through him, he grabbed the edge of the carriage and managed to shove Gabrielle up into the backseat as O'Brien fought the frantic horses.

“Go,” he told O'Brien. “Get the hell out of here,” he added, slapping the rear of one of the horses to make sure his order was obeyed, and the carriage took off, leaving him alone.

He fell to the ground again, clutching the rifle. His eyes searched the hill and then he saw something move. He aimed again, but another shot rang out from a different direction and then a third. The movement in the rocks stilled for a moment, then something started to fall, rolling over and over.

He watched until the object reached the bottom and he saw two horsemen approach it. Then he relaxed his hold on the rifle, and rolled over on his back, fighting against the pain.

He had to know that Gabrielle was all right.

Part of him—only a part—heard approaching horses. His eyes closed for a second. He was so tired. But he forced them back open and saw Ben lean over him.

“It's over,” he said. “That was the damnedest shot I've ever seen.”

“I couldn't have …” Drew started.

“No, you couldn't have but somehow you did,” Ben said. “At least you crippled him enough that he missed me when I came in his gunsights. My bullet killed him, but he was already wounded. You never told me you could shoot like that. Sorry to be so damned late. He'd circled. We thought he was headed to a place farther ahead. We heard the shots and raced here. There wasn't any time to be subtle so we came straight in. If you hadn't hit him …”

But he didn't continue because the carriage was back. Drew vaguely heard the horses, but he didn't miss the flurry of skirts nor the kisses cooling his face.

She was all right. He closed his eyes for a moment of thanks.

“Don't you dare!” Gabrielle's voice was insistent, demanding, and he felt something wet on his face, something other than the soft feel of her lips. “Darn you,” she said. “Look at me.”

He did. The fancy hat sat askew on her head, its plumage bent and dusty. Her blond wig was half turned around, apparently upset when he'd pushed her into the carriage. He had to grin at the picture. She looked almost, not quite, but almost as disreputable as the old Gabe.

She shook her head as she stared at him, then finally grinned back, seeing herself through his eyes. Her fingers touched his cheek. “I love you,” she said softly, “and that darn silly smile of yours.”

Then her eyes turned serious as they stared at his new suit, much of it turning a bright red. “Drew,” she whispered.

“Not very bad,” he whispered, not really understanding why his voice was so weak.

“Damn,” Kane O'Brien, who was now crowding Ben, said. “No time for that now,” he chided them both. “We've got to stop that bleeding.”

Drew moved and couldn't quite stifle a small groan. Gabrielle gripped his hand as if it were a lifeline.

Ben stirred beside him. “Lisbeth will have my hide for this,” he growled, apparently oblivious to anything but that fact. He started unbuttoning Drew's blood-soaked frockcoat and shirt. “Too many damned clothes,” he muttered, getting frustrated and finally ripping the shirt open. He frowned as he saw the scars from Drew's earlier wounds, and his frown deepened as he looked at the fresh one. “Move your arm,” he commanded.

Drew did as Ben asked, the pain going deeper. But his arm moved properly, as did his hand.

“Just a flesh wound,” he said, shrugging casually, and Drew knew he was doing it for Gabrielle's sake. Her eyes were full of panic.

He decided to play his own part. “Is Thorpe really dead?” he inquired.

“Completely,” Ben said wryly. “And two ex-lawmen are on hand who will testify that they saw him attack the carriage of a naïve Scottish earl who was taking his lady for a buggy ride.”

Drew grimaced. “Is it necessary to put it like that?”

Ben grinned. “I sort of like it.”

“Who the hell cares how it's put?” O'Brien inserted. “Let's get that wound bandaged and get Cameron to a doctor. I have a wife to get home to.”

“So do I,” Ben said. “And she'll probably never forgive me for letting her precious brother get shot.” He glared at Drew, then took off his own jacket and started to unbutton his shirt.

“Don't even think about it,” Drew said. “I don't need your shirt and I don't need your doctoring.”

“What in the hell …”

“I have a louse to do it,” Drew said, struggling to lighten Gabrielle's still stricken face.

“A louse?” O'Brien questioned, puzzled.

“Me,” Gabrielle said, her eyes brightening with understanding. She released Drew's hands and pulled up her skirts to display her petticoat. She calmly tore it into strips, pressed a piece of cloth to the wound and competently tied it firmly. Her hands were extraordinarily gentle, tender, and her eyes were wide with love and compassion and pride.

Pride. He felt ten feet tall lying in the dirt.

O'Brien watched in amazement. “A louse,” he said, shaking his head.

Drew managed a shaky grin. “A bloody good one.”

She smiled slightly, even while her eyes worried over him. “He needs a doctor,” she said. “The bullet didn't come out.”

Two of the three men helped him into the carriage as Merrill held the carriage horses steady. Gabrielle climbed into the backseat and cradled his head in her lap as the carriage headed back to Austin. Her hands felt good. So did her lap. But the pain was growing. So was the weakness.

And the drowsiness. He could barely keep his eyes open, could barely move, and then he felt nothing.

He woke to the smell of flowers, to the touch of a warm hand, to a pure voice softly singing his Scottish lullaby.

And pain.

His eyes fluttered open, and he looked up into the bluest eyes he'd seen and a smile that could make angels sing. “At last,” she whispered.

He tried to move, but he was weak and swathed in bandages. Then he remembered: the drive back to Austin, the doctor, chloroform. The bullet had to be dug out. How long had he been here?

He looked around. The room was full. Ben. O'Brien. Merrill. Kirby. Even Damien. At his first movement, they grouped around him as he surveyed worried faces, then relieved smiles. All these people. People who cared.

Gabrielle's hand crept into his. Her eyes were suspiciously wet.

“Didn't think you were ever going to wake up,” Ben said, his mouth spreading into a grin.

“I thought you were heading … home to your wife,” Drew said. His gaze cut to O'Brien. “And you.”

Both men shrugged self-consciously and shifted their feet.

“Lisbeth would have horsewhipped me,” Ben said wryly, “if I left without knowing you were … in one piece. Besides, I wanted to see for myself. I don't have that many brothers-in-law to dismiss one so easily.”