Rafe rode Rebel into town. His first stop had been at Bott’s livery, to hire a wagon for the supplies he intended to buy.
Will Bott was a giant of a man, topping Rafe by a good few inches. The livery owner admired good horseflesh, and Rebel was that. The big sandy-haired man asked a fair price to rent his wagon and a team. Rafe agreed, then asked if any dead or injured man had been found.
“Funny you should ask. Found a fella in the stable this morning. Had a lump on the back of his head the size of a shot glass. Said his horse got spooked and threw him. Didn’t appear to me to know how he got here. Wouldn’t know anything about it, would you?”
With all honesty, Rafe said he knew nothing about it.
“That man was cross as an old grizzly. Wouldn’t want to meet up with him again today.”
“You appear a man who could hold his own and then some,” Rafe remarked. He thought about the tracks. The feeling came back that Shell Lundy had something to do with the barrel-chested man.
“Like to wrassle some. Ain’t much good with a gun. Not to say I couldn’t use one if the need was there.” He eyed McCade’s lean body with a wide grin. “Ain’t had me a good man to tussle with in a while.”
“I can hold my own, but unlike you, I’m better with a gun. That man hanging around town?”
“Saw him go over to the Red Horse. You mind what I say. Be careful. He’s a mean-looking hombre. And I’ll bring the wagon around back of Jobe’s grocery for you.”
“Appreciate that.” Rafe handed over the dollar rental fee, then added another dollar. “Don’t know if I can get your wagon back tomorrow. I’ll need pack-horses, too. Four. Mountain-bred, if you’ve got them.”
“Got three mustangs. Ten dollars a head. Trail-broke, but I ain’t saying they’re good for more.”
“Tie them back of the wagon.” Once more Rafe counted out money, this time two twenty-dollar gold pieces. “I’ll be needing saddle packs for the horses. If the charge is more—”
“Plenty here. Stuff I got ain’t new. But say, you’re the fella with the little girl. J.P. said she was hurt. Apache attack, right. How’s she doing?”
“Better. I’ve got things to—”
“That Mrs. Inlow’s a mighty fine and knowing woman. She took care of my Bessie—that’s my wife—when she stole a honeycomb from the wrong hive. Had so many bee stings, a man couldn’t count them all. Them widows come by every day to tend her and the chores. Fine—”
“Yes. I know. I’ll see you at the grocery.”
Rafe led Rebel by the reins and walked into town. Hearing Will talk about Mary wiped every thought but those of her from his mind. But he had to go to the telegraph office before he found Mary. He had to know what was happening at the Cañón del Agua mine.
Unconsciously he must have been looking for the square-shouldered man from the saloon. His gaze lit on him blocking the door of the emporium. That was where Mary had gone.
Hearing Mary’s demand to pass, set Rafe to moving with a deadly fury.
Now, holding the man’s weapon on him, Rafe repeated, in a deadly-cold voice, a request to have the message delivered to his face. “Only we’ll step around back. Mary, did he hurt you?”
“No. But, Rafe—”
“I had a wagon sent over to the grocery. I’d be pleased if you’ll meet me there. This won’t take long.”
“Now, you hold on there, McCade. I ain’t going nowhere with you.”
Rafe clicked back the hammer of Balen’s gun. Then he smiled. “I have Samuel Colt’s word that you will do exactly what I tell you.”
Mary’s gaze followed Balen’s down to the gun barrel that nudged his stomach.
“I’ve heard that Colt’s impatient. And you’re straining mine. Move.”
Balen glanced at the men gathering in front of the store. He made a move to turn around. Rafe stopped him.
“No. Walk backward. I want you to face me at all times. I don’t shoot men in the back, as a rule. Of course, there’s always a first time for everything.”
Mary clutched her basket to her chest. How could Rafe sound so calm, but speak with a deadly menace that left no doubt he would shoot Balen as soon as talk to the man?
Rafe crowded Balen. The man moved backward along the uneven wooden sidewalk.
Mary followed them. When Rafe disappeared into the side alley, some unseen and unheard signal passed between men she knew—Dolly’s husband, Chad, Abel Nieven and Ollie Walker—to block not only her view but her passage.
“Be best if you go on with your shopping, Mrs. Inlow,” Chad suggested. He took hold of her arm to turn her away. “Ain’t for a lady to see.”
Mary didn’t waste breath arguing with him. Since they wouldn’t let her pass between them, she’d go around them. A loud grunt came from the direction of the alley. All she could think was that Rafe might get hurt.
Someone shouted that there was a fight. Before Mary took a step, men appeared from the saloons and shops, all running to see. Their backs presented her with a solid wall of male resistance.
She refused to be defeated. Hurrying along the sidewalk, she intended to go around the buildings from the other side. Nita came out of her shop. She caught hold of Mary’s arm.
“What’s going on? Who’s fighting?”
“Come and see.” Mary tugged free and ran.
Brush and broken bottles, assorted wooden boxes and puddles slowed Mary’s progress. But she managed to get around, with Nita hot on her heels.
Rafe had tossed aside Balen’s gun. His first blow sent Balen staggering, the second doubled the man over.
“That was for the disrespect you showed Mrs. Inlow. How many more blows you take depends on the answers I get.”
“Ain’t telling you nothing,” Balen snarled. He wiped his cut lip. He was shorter but heavier than McCade. And he knew every dirty trick to beat a man senseless. He came up swinging.
Balen’s hardened fist caught Rafe on the chin. Rafe’s punch sent Balen to his knees. He started to get up, and Rafe swung again, once more forcing Balen to his knees.
“Ain’t nobody ever whipped me with fists,” Balen boasted. “Ain’t no one making that claim.” He charged Rafe like a maddened bull, butting his head into Rafe’s midsection, until he pinned him against the wall.
Rafe landed a few blows, just enough to get Balen to back off. He brought up his knee and drove it into Balen’s belly, swinging his right fist into the man’s chin.
The fighting was cold and furious. Rafe caught as many punches as he landed. He tasted blood, but grimly hung in. He had to get answers from Balen.
Excited voices spewed encouragement and advice. Rafe heard it all as a muted roar. Balen tripped him, sending him to the ground, and followed him down.
“You’re gonna die.”
Silently Rafe made Balen the same promise. Jerking his head to avoid the thumbs Balen aimed at his eyes, he bucked, attempting to dislodge the heavier man.
Balen fumbled for Rafe’s gun. Rafe rolled, crushing the other man’s leg beneath his body. He saw Balen’s mouth open, but couldn’t hear what he cried. Balen had his knee pressed into his ribs. Rafe risked the blows to get his hands on Balen’s leg. He heaved and sent the other man sprawling.
Rafe sprang up, lunging at Balen. All his rage at his daughter’s suffering added strength to the blows he delivered without mercy.
Balen tried to get away. His punches were wildly thrown, missing his target. Rafe ducked and weaved his way clear of most of the blows. Balen feinted and caught Rafe with a solid punch to the belly, then tried to land another with his left fist.
Rafe knocked his arm aside. Civility fell away. His punches were fueled by every hour of Beth’s pain, his own fear of losing his child, and the agony of it all.
Balen’s knees gave way. He started to fall, but Rafe grabbed hold of his collar and jerked him upright. Three more punches landed before Rafe staggered and let Balen go.
The man fell face forward on the ground. He didn’t get up again.
Rafe stood over him. He wiped the sweat from his eyes and the blood from his mouth. His chest heaved with every breath he drew. He stood there by sheer force of will, and fought his body’s urge to sway.
He nudged Balen’s side with the toe of his boot. He wanted to issue his warning with witnesses. He didn’t know if one or all three partners in the newly acquired Cañón del Agua mine wanted him dead. If he was wrong, Balen might slip with another name.
“Listen to me so you can tell Vargas, Trent and Malhar they’re on notice. Buy-out talk could’ve opened this ball. They made music with bullets and men like you. I won’t dance to any man’s tune. I find you or any men they send on my trail and I’ll have bullets waiting.”
Balen’s grunt could have meant anything. Rafe hid his disappointment, but he also hoped Shell Lundy heard him. He’d get the message.
Men crowded around, slapping him on the back, offering to buy him a drink, although none knew the real reason Rafe had fought.
Their faces were a blur to Rafe. He looked for only one. And when he saw that pale face framed by red-gold hair and met a green-eyed gaze, he forced himself to move.
Mary, too, was trying to reach him. With Nita’s help, she pushed aside men who tried to keep her from Rafe’s side.
Someone had handed Rafe his hat. He held it when she broke through the circle surrounding him and had her first closer view.
Her stomach rolled over with a twist and a jerk. She fought down a cry, fought the first impulse to fling herself into his arms and make sure he was all right.
She could not give way to feminine needs in front of these men. She would still be living here long after Rafe and Beth were gone. More important, for Rafe’s sake, she could not shame him.
No tears allowed for his bruised state, she warned herself, taking another step forward. No scolding for the rips in the shirt she had carefully mended for him. No recriminations that he might have been injured or killed, and what would she have told his daughter..?
The fight had been short, but vicious. Rafe stood like a proud warrior, waiting for her. In his silent gaze she read what he wanted from her.
“You give a hard lesson in manners, Mr. McCade.”
“We’ll hope it takes.”
“Proud of yourself, are you?”
“I’m still standing.”
“Yes, there is that.” The calm of her voice was at odds with the emotions flaring inside her.
“You gonna reward him?” someone shouted. A few hoots and whistles greeted the suggestion.
“If you’ll come with me, Mr. McCade, I’ll tend to your battered face.”
“Go on, McCade,” several men encouraged.
“Yeah, she’s gonna kiss it all better,” another yelled.
Rafe tried to appreciate the lovely shade of pink Mary was turning. He found it difficult to do with one eye beginning to swell.
“Hush up, the lot of you,” Nita shouted, “before you end up with a dose of lye soap for your mouths! Come on, Mary,” she said in a softer voice, “let’s get you inside before you blush brighter than Grandpa’s new union suit.”
Nita used her elbows to clear a path. She went first and opened the back door of her shop.
Mary, accepting Rafe’s arm, walked alongside him. Nita scolded the men who attempted to come inside, then locked the door.
Mary never had a second alone with Rafe until they were riding home in the loaded wagon. Rebel and the three mustangs Rafe had bought were tied to the tailgate of the wagon. Rafe had his rifle by his side.
When Rafe pulled up just past the turnoff for the farmhouse, Mary turned on the wooden seat to face him.
“Why have you stopped here?”
“We need to talk, Mary. Here we can without interference, and without my compromising your reputation.” But now that the time had come for Rafe to put into words the idea he had been mulling over for a few hours, he found himself delaying.
The late-afternoon sun had already faded into the deeper shadows that warned of approaching dusk. Above them, magpies settled into the treetops. Flies buzzed annoyingly around the horses.
Mary faced front. “It’s rather late for you to consider my reputation. Not after the way you shopped.”
“You disapproved?”
“It’s not my place to—”
“Of course you did. Mary, you don’t need to say a word. You convey a wealth of opinion in your carriage and every glance you sent my way since we entered Nita’s shop, to say nothing of the daggers flying in the grocery.”
“As I started to say, it is not my place to approve or disapprove of anything you do.” She managed to sound prim, when inside she was quaking. Why? she begged to know. Why must you leave so soon? There was no other explanation for the amount of supplies he had bought and the presence of the extra horses and pack saddles.
“Mary, I can’t help enjoying spending money. It wasn’t what I bought, but how much.”
“Are you asking or telling me what I think?”
“Temper? Fine. Let’s have this out first. You didn’t mind choosing material for clothes for my daughter. You had a good time until I doubled everything. You balked when I wanted the length of wool for you. Let’s ignore the color being perfect for you. You can’t say you didn’t admire it, too. I thought you’d rub a hole in the spot you kept fingering. I admit I wanted to buy you something special, something you wouldn’t or couldn’t buy for yourself. You don’t condemn a man for that, Mary. I won’t let you do that to me.”
“You bought too much.”
Rafe heard her tight little voice, and gazed down at where she clenched her hands together in her lap. He had resisted the urge to take her hand into his. If he touched her now, he’d never get any of this said.
“So what if I did? Some dress lengths for the three of you? A few shawls? Some—” He had to grin, and it hurt him when she shot a glaring look his way. “All right, unmentionables.”
“You spent too much. You paid Nita a ridiculous amount to sew. You swept into Jobe’s grocery as if no one else might need to shop this week. Buying sacks, cases, barrels.” She took a breath, holding one hand up as she ticked off more.
Rafe watched the deep breath she took, and wished he was sitting in a big, comfortable chair, so that he could pull Mary onto his lap, lean back and let her rip into him. She had shown spirit, but this was temper, her face flushed, sparks lighting her eyes, and her back so rigid he thought a move might make it snap.
He wanted to kiss her senseless. And he needed to know all the secrets she hid behind sad eyes.
“You were saying?” he prompted.
“Eight smoked hams? If you had nothing else to eat for a month of Sundays times twelve, you couldn’t finish those. And between the sides of bacon and links of sausage, I lost count. If you fed Beth half of those sugarloaves, you’ll rot her teeth.”
“You had every bit as much fun as I did, Mary. And I’ll call you a liar if you deny it.”
Mary made the mistake of looking at him. His lopsided grin infuriated her. She lost track of where she had been with her complaints and twisted around to glance at the loaded wagon.
“No one uses a full barrel of dried apples. Unless, of course, you were planning to cook for a bunkhouse full of men. And three sacks of dried peas? Really. The amounts—Oh, what could you do with all that rice and those jugs of molasses? And the spices.” Mary closed her eyes briefly, one hand on her heart. “I swear, you must have money to burn to have bought so many.”
“And so much of each spice. You don’t want to forget that part, Mary.”
“Don’t poke fun at me. This is serious. You were…were reckless. I don’t know what poor Marcus made of you. Firing orders at him. Keeping his three sons racing from one end of the store to the other. People must think we’re harboring a madman.”
“That might not be far from the truth.”
“What?” Her gaze clashed with his, but then she saw that deepening smile and huffed her opinion of his teasing.
“You’re not mad. After all, you purchased a sensible amount of beans. The only thing that was—”
“Actually, I hate beans, Mary. They’re necessary, but I ate my fill of them, day in and day out, for more times than I ever want to remember.”
“I see.”
“I don’t think you do. Not really. You would have to have been so hungry that your belly and backbone met more times than not. But all that was a long time ago.”
“Rafe, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s in the past. I won’t look back. But you did forget a few things,” he said, wanting the sadness gone and her prim, starched manner returned. “I seem to recall decidedly pursed lips when I added another case of canned tomatoes to the one you ordered.”
“I don’t like tomatoes.”
“Well, there you have it. Common ground, Mary. We each have something we don’t like. Aside from my spending habits, that is. Now, since we’ve achieved a level of honesty, tell me that you did have fun.”
“You are a very persistent man, Rafe.”
“When I want something, yes. Will you answer me?”
Mary looked across the road and spoke softly. “I admit it was fun. I was married for ten years to a man who demanded an account of every penny I spent. It was humiliating to have him go to the storekeepers and check my bills. When my father died, my husband sold the property left to me and kept the money.
“But it wasn’t just money. It was accounting for my time, for who I spoke to, for a hundred small things that made life hellish. I don’t mean—”
He brushed his fingertips over her bent and bare neck. “Mary, take a lesson from me. Put it in the past and forget it. He’s dead. You’re very much alive.”
She hunched her shoulders, pulling slightly away from him. Rafe gave her a few minutes to collect herself. He had gotten more than he thought he would.
But he’d be damned before he let some ghost steal her happy mood. He found himself glancing back at the full load in the wagon’s bed. He mentally listed the items purchased that Mary had taken him to task over. One or two remained.
“Tell me, Mary, how do you feel about cornmeal?”
She jerked around, swiping one hand over her eyes. “Cornmeal?”
“Yeah. Do you like it?”
A smile lit her face. Impossible man. Anyone listening to him would believe he asked her opinion seriously. But she, too, wished to forget the memories that spoiled her mood. His silly game required attention.
“I like it. But that French milled soap—”
“Expensive? But scented like a flower garden?” And you stood sniffing it with such a look of rapture on your face, I had to buy it. Rafe left those words unsaid and thought of what he’d seen in his mind while she stood holding a bar. Mary, pale skin flushed with the water’s heat, slicked with scented soap, that glorious red hair tumbling…He had to shift in his seat. And his hat was put to better use in his lap. If Mary looked down, she’d run.
“I liked the soap, Mary.”
“Well, so do I!”
“I’ll make you a gift of it,” he offered in a very soft voice, while trying not to laugh at her indignant expression.
“You’ve done more than enough, thank you.”
“No, Mary, I haven’t. I couldn’t do enough for you.” Rafe leaned forward and caught her chin within his hand. “Look at me, Mary. Can you deny that winter’s coming?”
“What?”
“Winter? As in cold weather? The need-for-plenty-of-stocked-rations-and-warm-clothing kind of winter?” In spite of the silliness of the game they had played, it was worth pushing a little more to see her puzzled attempt to understand.
“Mary?”
“No. Yes. I’m not sure.” She couldn’t be expected to pay attention to what he said. She was far too busy doing as he wanted—looking. At him. And storing the memories against the time he would be gone.
Despite his slightly bruised features, the warmth of his gaze sent an equally warm butterfly sort of a feeling to spread from her breasts to the toes curling in her shoes.
“Your poor face,” she whispered. Lightly, her fingertips grazed his cheek. And the feeling inside her grew in intensity.
“Going to kiss me and make it better, Mary?”
Rafe braced his hand on the back of the wagon’s seat. The tip of his nose touched hers. There was a questing, teasing play to the up-and-down motion he made.
Mary couldn’t resist responding in kind. She rubbed the tip of her nose against his in a side to side motion.
“What contrary messages,” he murmured. “Is that regret in your eyes, or can I hope for a maybe? Lips ready to say no. But wait, Mary. What’s in your mind? Your heart?”
Her whole body was urging a yes past the smile on her lips. Her eyelids wanted to close and hide from the kiss already darkening his eyes.
“Sweet Mary, you made magic with me once before. Kiss me now. Let me taste your magic again.”
Her mind—as befuddled as could be—latched on to one word. Magic. Lord, had Rafe bought that, too? He didn’t need any. She should tell him that. And she would. In just another moment or two.
Right after she savored the quickening anticipation that filled her.
But her attempt to whisper of magic of his own became mere breath floating across his parted lips.
There was none of the fevered mating she expected and had longed for despite the fear it brought. Rafe sipped so delicately at her mouth, his touch so tender and soft, she could not tell when the kiss truly began. With leisurely moves, he shifted the angle of his head, while the coaxing ply of his mouth kindled her desire.