Wyatt Creed stood in the shadows, his hat pulled down low over his brow. Between the heat and the mosquitos, New Orleans had long ago lost its charm.

So had spying on Eliza Gentry.

He tucked the idiotic mask in his pocket and gave thanks that the party Eliza had attended required them. Otherwise she might have figured out that her dead childhood friend was very much alive.

Or maybe she wouldn’t have. When he looked in the mirror, he hardly recognized the skinny, scared kid with the gun aimed at him out on the Chisholm Trail.

Eliza and her pa had gone inside after her comment about Barnhart, and he could still hear their raised voices out here in the stables. What he couldn’t figure was why Eliza was so dead set against accepting Barnhart’s advances out at the river and now was defending him.

It made no sense. But then, there was much he didn’t understand about women.

Especially this woman.

And she had grown to be a beautiful woman. A woman who, no matter the feelings from his youth that he hadn’t managed to shed, was very much off-limits to him.

That part of his deal with the boss was ironclad and nonnegotiable. If he was found consorting with Eliza Gentry, her papa would contact the authorities in Texas and have him tried as a murderer.

And this time there would be no mercy. No second chance.

Wyatt shrugged off the thought. There was no need to worry.

His arrangement with Mr. Wyatt was to keep watch until he was no longer needed here. He’d already been informed that Mrs. Gentry was planning to return to Texas as soon as possible.

Though Mr. Gentry’s appearance here might delay that return, eventually the family would go back to the ranch, and he could go back to doing what he did best: being a hired gun with no home and no name.

Father and daughter were still arguing, and it seemed likely that wouldn’t change anytime soon. There was no sense in remaining here at the Gentry house when his partner was back at the party alone.

He found the groom and sent him for a fresh horse to ride back out to River House. There he could rejoin his partner and see what had become of Ben Barnhart.

His fists curled at the reminder of Barnhart coming after Eliza. He might never be able to have her or even to allow her to know he was alive, but he certainly was not going to stand by and let a liar and a murderer anywhere near her.

When Mr. Gentry had told him that the pair were threatening to run off together, he hadn’t needed to hear more. It would never happen. Not on his watch. He’d agreed to the terms and trained the rest of the security team himself.

Thus far they’d done a good job of keeping Barnhart away. Until tonight.

That breach would need to be investigated. Jim Bryant, the fellow he’d taken with him to River House tonight, was a good man he’d stolen away from his job at the Secret Service. Bryant was relatively new to this type of work. If Barnhart had gotten to him, there would be consequences.

Wyatt’s hand went to his vest pocket where the hair comb he’d found on the dance floor rested. He smiled when he recalled how her cousin Louis had used Eliza to capture the attention of the woman he wished to court.

Clever man, though he had no interest in the pretty but empty-headed type. No, give him a smart woman any day. A woman with whom he could match wits.

Or stare up at the heavens with and count falling stars.

It was the stars on that hair comb that had caused him to purchase it for Eliza. Diamonds for a woman who never left his thoughts but would never be his.

“Your horse, sir.”

Wyatt jolted. Somehow he’d completely missed the fact that the groom was leading a horse toward him until he arrived with it.

Yet another reason to avoid Eliza Gentry at all costs. The woman was dangerous.

Around her he forgot all safety procedures. He could have stopped her wild ride, but the sorry truth was he’d enjoyed every minute of it.

“Well, no more of that.”

“Sorry, what was that?” the groom asked as he accepted the coins Wyatt handed him.

“Nothing. Just a reminder to myself.” He climbed into the saddle and rode away before he could make a bigger fool of himself than he already had.

He got halfway back to River House when he spied a carriage coming toward him down River Road. The night was dark but the lamps made it easy to spot.

He checked his weapon and then reined in his horse to wait and see if this might be Mrs. Gentry. It was.

His agent was seated next to the driver looking none too happy. From his expression it was obvious he knew there would be a conversation between them once the Gentry woman was deposited on her doorstep.

Eliza’s mother ordered the carriage stopped as soon as she spied him. “I do hope my daughter has returned home safely,” she called to him.

“She has, ma’am,” he told her.

Her smile was much like her daughter’s. “Drive on then,” she said to the man at the reins. “But be in no hurry.”

“Might I have a word with my man before we depart?” he asked.

“By all means.” Again she smiled. “As I said, I am in no hurry.”

Wyatt climbed down from his horse and motioned for the agent to follow. Bryant stepped down and trailed Wyatt as he led him away from the carriage.

“Keeping track of Barnhart was the objective. What happened?”

Bryant shrugged. “I never saw him, Boss, and that’s the truth. I kept watch, but everyone looked alike with those blasted masks on.”

The truth, yet he couldn’t allow that as an excuse. “He got to Eliza. Would have harmed her if I hadn’t stopped him. I know it’s hard to tell who is who with masks on, but it is essential to keep eyes on Miss Gentry if we can’t determine who the men are.”

He ducked his head. “I did, sir, but then Mrs. Gentry asked me to dance with her friend, and what was I to say?”

Wyatt hid his grin by looking away. He’d been on enough assignments to know that this sort of thing sometimes happened. And when the boss’s wife asked, the employee complied.

As long as the request was reasonable.

“I’ll do better.” He straightened. “I saw Barnhart light out of here in a buggy about a half hour ago. He aimed his horses toward the city, but I figure he’s not stupid enough to try to go to the Gentry place, so he must have been headed elsewhere.” He paused. “He likes to gamble. And he has a lady friend.”

He gave Bryant a sideways look. “And when were you going to tell me this?”

“Once we finished for the night, I swear, Boss. I only just found out for sure this afternoon. I caught him coming out of the same house on Magazine Street a few times, but I wasn’t sure who lived there until earlier today.”

Wyatt thought a moment. “All right. Take the horse. I’ll get Mrs. Gentry home. I want you to find Barnhart and see that he leaves New Orleans.”

“How am I going to do that?” Bryant asked.

“I’ll leave that to you, but I don’t need details. Two rules though. Don’t break the law, and don’t fail.”

“That doesn’t leave many options.”

“You’ve already figured out which one you’ll use.”

“I have.”

He clamped his hand on his employee’s shoulder. “I want confirmation that he’s gone.”

At Bryant’s nod, Wyatt handed him the reins. He watched his new employee ride off toward the city and wondered if he’d placed too much trust in him. Only time would tell.

And this was not a job Wyatt would trust himself to do. Not without breaking the first rule. For what he wanted to do to the man who killed his father was definitely not legal.

So as much as he could, he stayed away.

Wyatt strode back to the carriage. He was about to take his place next to the driver when Mrs. Gentry waved him over.

“Join me, please,” she commanded.

Wyatt shook his head. “With all due respect, it wouldn’t be right to do that, ma’am. I’m an employee.”

“Nonsense. Get in, Wyatt.”

His eyes widened and cut toward the driver for just a heartbeat, and then his face went neutral again. Mrs. Gentry laughed.

“It’s all right. Martin has been with my family since I was a young girl, so he is discreet. He is also quite deaf. It’s one of the requirements I have of my drivers.” She shrugged. “I value my privacy but find it difficult not to speak my mind.”

He let out a long breath but complied with her order. Once he was situated across from his employer’s wife, the carriage set off again.

Wyatt sorted through his responses to Mrs. Gentry’s choice to call him by name but came up empty. He elected to continue to keep silent.

While Eliza got her red hair and curls from her father, everything else came from her mama. Looking at the dark-haired Mrs. Gentry was like peering into Eliza’s future.

That raised a smile.

“You’re wondering whether it’s safe to admit your secret, aren’t you?” She shifted positions and toyed with the feather mask lying next to her on the seat. “I assure you it’s quite safe. I want what you do.”

“And what is that?” he asked carefully.

“To see you and my daughter together.”

His gut tightened. Again he elected to say nothing.

“No, I don’t suppose you feel safe enough with me to admit to any of this. I understand that.” Her fingers stilled, and then she met his gaze. “I know you’re the one who convinced my daughter to try that ridiculous jump into a saddle. I used that to try to keep her off the trail that year so she could come with me to New Orleans. I wish I had succeeded.”

Part of him agreed. The other part was glad he’d had that one last trail ride with Eliza.

A look of vexation crossed her pretty features. “Do you intend to sit there and say nothing the remainder of the trip back to the city?”

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Ma’am, I mean no disrespect.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You were always a very respectful young man.”

They rode in silence for the better part of a quarter hour. Then he caught Eliza’s mother watching him again.

“It is unlikely that you and I will have another opportunity to speak frankly. Much as I will miss New Orleans, I miss my husband even more, so my daughter and I will be leaving tomorrow for Texas. I would very much like to finish this conversation.”

“Ma’am,” he said easily, “I have good news. Mr. Gentry arrived this evening and is waiting for you at home.”

She laughed. Not at all the response Wyatt expected.

“So he was there when Eliza rode in like a heathen with her braids and her security detective trailing behind her? Oh, that is priceless.”

He hid his grimace by turning away. When he returned his attention to her, Mrs. Gentry was still studying him.

“Which of you took the brunt of his temper?”

“That would be Miss Gentry,” he said. “The boss was particularly peeved that she had returned in such a state.”

“As I expected.” She shrugged. “And then what happened?”

“When I left to return to River House, she was giving him as much grief as he’d given her. Maybe more.”

This time her laughter was expected. “They’re perfectly matched, those two. I wouldn’t be surprised to return home and find the battle still waging.”

“Nor would I, ma’am,” he admitted.

He sat back and looked beyond her to the night sky. He found Orion and the Little Dipper. Somewhere not too far away, Eliza might be looking at those same stars.

“Was Ben Barnhart at the party tonight?”

The question took him by surprise. “He was,” Wyatt told her. “He made an attempt to speak with your daughter. I was able to divest him of that notion, but unfortunately, Miss Gentry took our horses before I was able to do anything further.”

“Of course she did.” Mrs. Gentry shook her head. “That girl and her horses. Or should I say that girl and her determination to do what she wants to do?” She paused. “Did you come upon the two of them in conversation?”

“I did. Barnhart did not realize she was being shadowed.” He paused to recall the conversation he’d overheard. His fists curled. “She was not receptive to his advances.”

“Well, good.” She let out a long breath. “I wasn’t completely certain that she was sincere about being over her silly romance with the Barnhart boy. He was never the right one for her, no matter what transpired between my husband and the judge.”

Wyatt could imagine what had transpired. Mr. Gentry would have had the responsibility as boss to report the loss of Pa to the authorities upon his return to Texas. He also might have told said authority—Judge Barnhart—exactly what happened.

Or maybe not, considering who actually did the killing.

In either case, there was likely an argument that made his fussing with Eliza look like nothing at all. Judge Barnhart’s only son never could do any wrong. Not in his father’s eyes, anyway.

“Young man,” Mrs. Gentry said, diverting his attention, “there has never been a fellow who could stand up to my daughter other than Wyatt Creed. I’ve missed him over the years.”

Then he spied a falling star. “So have I, ma’am, but I assure you that Wyatt Creed is dead.”

“Wyatt…”

“Ma’am, with all due respect, please don’t call me that. The man you miss—the boy, actually—is buried on the Chisholm Trail next to the man he killed.”

“He didn’t kill anyone,” she said, never breaking eye contact with him. “He wouldn’t have. Not under those circumstances. Not ever.”

Wyatt said nothing.

“What name do you go by now?” she finally asked.

“The name I was given at the beginning of my life, ma’am. John Brady.”

His maternal grandfather’s name. Anything he had learned about being a man had come from the years when his grandparents lived nearby.

And though he hadn’t been born with that name as an infant, that night on the Chisholm Trail he’d been given a new life. He stepped into that shallow grave as Wyatt Creed and walked away later—after the men had seen him covered up with dirt like his pa—as John Brady.

“Well, John Brady,” she said as the carriage turned onto the street leading to the Gentrys’ New Orleans home, “it’s a pleasure to meet you properly. You and your associates have taken good care of my daughter. I would like it very much if that arrangement continued.”

“That is up to Mr. Gentry, ma’am.”

The carriage stopped to wait for the gates to open, and Wyatt took the opportunity to say his goodbyes and climb out.

“Mr. Brady?” she called, drawing him back to the carriage.

“Yes, ma’am?”

Mrs. Gentry offered a smile that touched her eyes. “Your mother would be so proud of you. So very, very proud.”

She tapped on the carriage and was gone before he could respond. It took three times around the block before he could return to his post across the street without the telltale sign of the tears he’d shed.

As he leaned against the wall, he looked up at the stars and prayed that Eliza’s mama was right.