The Trailrider's Fortune (44 page)

"Arrrr! Rafe,
you started it. You can't just leave me like this!"

"Hmm, you have
a point. Cause knowin' you, the next time you start pleasurin' me, you'll stop
halfway to get me back. Reckon I better ponder this a few minutes."

"
Rafe
."

He flashed her a
thoroughly wicked grin. "Blackmail, darlin'. Learned it from you."

"All
right," she nearly screamed. "Whatever you want for breakfast. I
don't care if you eat sausage every day for the next two years. Just
help
me!"

"My pleasure,
ma'am."

Married for over a
month, they still resided in Rafe's cabin at the ranch while they waited for
their residence in Denver to be refurbished. Rafe refused to tell Sparkle
anything about the house or his new business venture, insisting both were her
wedding presents.

Other than
communicating by telegraph with the man in charge of the renovations to their
new home, Rafe had no pressing demands on his time. He'd ride into Pueblo every
few days to check his mail or send a wire, then come right back. He was gone
the entire day only twice since their wedding day. His wife couldn't have been
happier that he'd chosen to take some time off.

They needed this
glorious time together. They went for rides on Snatch, walks to the creek along
the back side of Travis' spread, visited town, spent hours in bed. Rafe still
needed time to recuperate from his near-fatal injury, but he was doing simple
chores like chopping wood again. He ate like a horse and was getting stronger
every day—taking better care of himself than he had before their union.

She made him
sausage and eggs for breakfast, then cleaned up after them. They were back in
the cabin when she realized Rafe had been oddly quiet all during the meal and
in the short time since. He climbed up on the bunk and pulled the window shut
and latched it.

Sparkle sat down in
the rocker. Something was up, she thought.

Rafe turned around
to face her and drew a deep breath. "I need to tell you somethin',
Sparkle. I wanted to before we got hitched, but the time was never quite
right."

She was instantly
wary. Was this going to be some horrible confession that he'd gone whoring
while he'd been out of town, or that he hadn't told her the truth about
shooting that young adolescent? "Am I going to hate this?"

"I don't
know," he said. "I hope not."

"Go on,"
she replied, steeling herself for whatever confession was about to spew forth.
Whatever came next, this was Rafe…and he was now her husband. She'd taken vows
to stick with him through thick and thin.

"It wasn't
rustlers or common lawbreakers who ambushed me and Sam," he surprised her
by saying. "Bringin' in outlaws was always just part of what I did. The
smaller part. Mostly I hire out to important men for special investigations.
Tracking people down, advice on security risks, personal escort service…things
like that. It pays damned well, but it also makes enemies. Enemies powerful
enough and rich enough to try to eliminate me."

"
What?
"
She leapt from the rocking chair. "You…you're saying.
My God
."
She smacked him in the face. Began pacing in front of the rock fireplace. Had
he calmly just informed her that someone else had hired out to kill
him
?

His soft voice and
explanations continued. She shut her eyes, collapsed onto the rocking chair,
and the world began to spin.

* * *

The world was still
spinning a month later. Rafe and Sparkle had taken the train to Denver; Snatch
rode along in a livestock car. Now they rode the big sorrel up a knoll on the
outskirts of the city and stopped before an imposing home at the top of a
narrow lane. Rafe slung the stallion's reins over the porch rail and
dismounted, reaching for Sparkle.

She slid down in
front of him. "Whose house is this?" she inquired, suspecting she was
about to meet one of his many wealthy employers.

"Ours."
She'd never seen a broader grin on his face.
Theirs?
Was he kidding her
again?

Double oak and
glass entry doors swung open. A mild man in a gray suit and spectacles beamed
at Rafe. "You're here, sir!" The fellow bustled forward, right hand extended.
"Excellent. The furniture was delivered yesterday. I presume your luggage
is on its way also?"

Rafe nodded, one
arm around Sparkle's waist. "Station master said he'd send some men out
later. This fine gal's your new mistress, Sparkle Conley. Darlin', this fella
here's Dan Pearson. He's our houseman, like a butler. Dan answers the door,
takes in mail and deliveries, helps out around the place." Her face went
beet red as Rafe added, "Except for the cookin'. I'm partial to the way
you make taters and sausage."

The old familiar
desire to murder Rafe was back.

He'd turned back to
Dan. "This bein' the first time I'm bringin' her into our new home, best
do it right. If you'd just open up those doors a bid wider…Thanks."

She was bodily
lifted into Rafe's arms and carried across the threshold as the amused houseman
looked on.

Sparkle gaped at
the opulent interior. Rafe had to be teasing. This had to be some elaborate
prank he'd staged, or maybe she was dreaming. This couldn't be their new home.

But the fiercely
proud expression in her husband's eyes said indeed it was. Entire layers of
Rafe's persona peeled away in that instant. The musty log cabin at the ranch,
acting lucky to save the cost of a hotel room by sharing her bed at the Scarlet
Lady…The man was a complete charlatan! A drawling, denim-clad, spur jangling,
irresistible charlatan.

Dan cleared his
throat delicately. "Mr. Bregon's waiting in your study, sir. Is there
anything I might get for you, Mistress Sparkle?"

Now she was certain
she was dozing on the train and this was a dream.
Mistress
Sparkle? She
shook her head, blushing and giggling as Rafe stalked down the marble hallway
with her still in his arms.

"Darlin',"
Rafe admonished as he set her on her feet, "my new partner might take
offense if you walk in snickerin'. He was a hired gun, like me. He's not one to
laugh much. I'm the clown of the outfit. He's the looks."

"Raford,"
she warned in a low voice, "I won't have you insulting my husband. I
happen to think he's a very attractive man."

"Might change
your mind after you see Wil. He has gals lined up for a mile behind him, though
he never seems to take much notice."

They entered the
study to find a man dressed in tan work pants and dark brown boots. He wore a
black cowboy hat tilted back on his head and a dazzling smile. He was whipcord
lean and taller than Rafe. He was also more than handsome. The correct word
would be breathtaking.

Though she'd found
everything about Rafe striking from the first—from the thump of his boots and
spurs to the cadence of his speech—she knew most people wouldn't notice those
details. Others saw Rafe as a typical frontier drifter. Not so different from a
dozen other men. He had a rugged, yet forgettable appearance, a major
contributing factor to his success. He blended in.

But there was
nothing forgettable about his partner. Wil Bregon couldn't blend if he tried.
Not with his tanned complexion and moss green eyes, set off by sunstreaked,
tawny hair. He looked out of place in this room. He belonged on a medieval
battlefield or seated on a throne with a broadsword in his hand. Modern garb
and spurs simply didn't do him justice.

Watching as her
husband poured a bourbon for Wil at a massive maple sideboard, Sparkle's heart
swelled. Even when compared to the chiseled features of his taller, admittedly
gorgeous partner, Rafe had an aura of power. His was the stronger presence. He
was far more than the clown of the outfit. He was also the father of Sparkle's
unborn child…but she hadn't told him yet.

Her eyes flicked to
the wall behind Rafe's desk. A few feet from the ceiling hung a brass hook.
Below it was a carved plaque. Sparkle began to laugh uproariously. Tears
trickled from her eyes. Wil mumbled an excuse to leave and closed the study
door behind him as he went out.

Rafe unbuckled his
holster, stepped up on a wood chair, and slung the holster over the brass hook.
His peacemaker was now suspended in air. He stepped back down. "Happy now,
Miz Conley?"

The sign below the
holster read:

Warning—don't tempt me to pull this down. My wife
ain't fond of gunplay, and she runs the place.

"I can't
tell
you how happy I am," Sparkle laughed. "Your office is very
impressive."

"This ain't my
office. Wil and I got a place downtown. I'll take you to see it some time.
Driscoll's comin' back to work with me, and Wil knows a couple good men. I
won't be out in the field much. Wil's not hitched, so he doesn't mind travel.
He'll take the risk working the cases. I'll just meet with the bigwigs and
charm the pants off 'em so they'll hire us. I got the connections."

"If you have
an office, what's this?"

"My study.
City fella's got to have one. Jace does," he reminded. "Anyhow, some
of the men will prefer meetin' me in private. They can come for a drink here—seein'
as how my wife frowns on me strollin' into saloons these days."

"You know, I
wouldn't have been so upset before the wedding if you'd told me the truth
before."

"Yes, you
would. You smacked me upside the head. Weren't too thrilled with the news, the
way I recollect that conversation goin'."

She glared at him.
"That's not the part I mean. You let me think—"

"What I needed
you to think. What I still need everybody else to think." His eyes were
deadly serious as he held her gaze. "Senators and owners of big lumber or
minin' outfits don't want outsiders knowin' their business. Let's go check out
the rest of our digs. Been real anxious for you to see the place."

He led her back
into the hall. "That's the parlor, of course," he gestured.
"Dining room. Beyond it there's another sittin' room, and a closet or
somethin'."

Sparkle fingered
the heavy brocade curtains tied with braid ropes at the entrance to the parlor.
"How'd you afford this big house, all the furnishings, and an office in
town? I never asked about your money or savings, but—"

"Senator's pa.
Took care of a problem for him three years ago. He basically said to name my
fee." Now Rafe looked slightly embarrassed. "Remember when we talked
about you growin' up in rags, and I promised you better? Here it is."

Sparkle's eyes
brimmed with unshed tears. "Aw, now don't start leakin' all over the new
rugs," he taunted. "Anyhow, when I decided to buy this place, I wired
him I needed furniture. He knew somebody and arranged for the decoratin'. But
if there's anything you don't like, we can send it back. You just say so. You
do
like it, though, don't you? The house?"

"How could I
help but like it? I'm just afraid to ask what sort of favor could possibly
warrant all this." Her voice had gone shaky toward the end.

Rafe frowned as she
sank onto a nearby bench. She was feeling lightheaded suddenly.
Dizzy,
mother-to-be lightheaded
, she secretly told herself.

"Don't assume
the worst," Rafe snapped. "Nobody got killed."

"Honestly? You
earned a houseful of expensive furniture by…doing what?"

"Can't say
precisely, but I'll give you some examples." He sat down beside her.
"Sometimes I check the background of every man on somebody's payroll. Or I
visit a bank to point out weak spots, tell how I'd rob it. Find out who's
makin' threats against a politician or who's sleepin' with his wife." His
eyes blazed as he caught her chin in the web of his hand. "Which, by the
way, I'm particularly good at. So don't take to hankerin' after somebody
else."

"There isn't
an ounce of hanker left anywhere in my body that isn't already aimed at you,
Raford," she purred.

He leaned closer
and kissed her parted lips. Her arms slid up around his neck and he pulled
away. "You're gettin' me sidetracked, Miz Conley."

He rose and slid
open a pair of pocket doors. The doorway revealed an octagon-shaped room with a
bank of arched windows. Dark mahogany, curved into a horseshoe shape, the desk
had a large floral upholstered chair behind it and side chairs around the
outside of its arch. A matching floral settee and potted palm were the only
other items in the strange room. "What do you think?" Rafe asked.

"I'm not sure.
What is it?"

"Your card
parlor. Ain't the Barbary Coast, I'll grant you, but you don't have to split
your profits. Got you a new tarot deck, too."

Sparkle stepped
forward as he pulled a deck out of the desk drawer. The backs of the cards had
a glittering aquamarine finish with one stylized word printed in gold across
them—her first name.

"You want me
to continue telling fortunes?" She glanced at him in mild surprise.

He shrugged.
"Ain't got to charge folks if you don't want to. I pondered on how you
slipped off to do free readin's for those folks in Wichita. You can do it here,
only folks will come to you."