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The sunshine dimmed, and the ground tilted. Selina grabbed her. “Don’t faint now.”
She’d shot a man. Goodness, what if she’d killed him? No, he’d been shooting at them. She’d done what she had to do. But there was a world of difference between shooting rabbits or squirrels on the outskirts of the city to supplement her family’s meager diet and shooting a human being.
“That was a great shot, ma’am,” the outrider remarked, awkwardly bending to pick up his rifle. “Where’d you learn to shoot?”
“My brothers taught me,” Anna managed. A lady never would have shot at anyone. Likely a gently bred lady never would have come close to a gun. Back in Ireland, her brothers had insisted she learn because they’d believed America was still beset by wild savages and knowing how to shoot would save her. They hadn’t encountered any wild Indians in New York. But when her next-in-age brother couldn’t see well enough to shoot the small game she pointed out, she had been able to take the shots for him.
“Right fine shooting, ma’am.” The oldest farm boy had his hand clamped over his right arm. “You saved us. Thought we were goners when all of us had to reload at the same time.”
Anna shook her head. How likely was it that a young woman of breeding would know how to shoot a gun? But then the green silk dress didn’t cover a lady, just another poor immigrant whose family had fled Ireland after the potato famine ruined them. “I just got off a lucky shot when the robber left his cover.”
The soldier stared at his bleeding forearm, probably hoping he wasn’t about to lose his remaining arm. That wasn’t right. A fiery ball fisted in her stomach. Selina turned toward him. The miner leaned against the stage and cussed a blue streak.
“Sirruh,” objected the preacher.
If she were really a lady, she likely would have fainted dead away at his language.
“Damn,” Anna muttered. And she certainly wouldn’t have known any swear words, either. Dropping to her knees beside the shot farm boy, she lifted her dirtied skirt, ripped off a clean petticoat ruffle and wrapped it around the young man’s injury.
How was it all the men bore wounds in their right arms? Their shooting arms. And only the men who’d had guns. The artist, the preacher and the youngest farm boy had not been wounded. The middle farm boy picked up the bent gun from where it had been shot out of his hand.
She twisted, taking in details. How could the man’s shots have been so accurate? Dear Lord. Her heart pounded and her hands shook as she secured the makeshift bandage around the young man’s arm.
“There were at least three of them,” said his middle brother.
Her dry mouth tasted like copper and dirt.
“Or four,” added the youngest farm boy, bouncing on his toes, his eyes bright.
His excitement sickened her. Lives had been on the line or at least the life of the man she’d shot. She’d aimed for his chest, but it looked like he’d intended to just disarm the men shooting at him. Which was pure foolishness. Any gunshot could prove fatal. Including the one that had come from her.
Nausea churned in her stomach while hot shards throbbed in her veins. She shook her head. “No. There weren’t. There were two.”
One hadn’t fired a single shot. No, he’d roped the outrider and yanked him from the roof before he could shoot a second time.
She fumbled with the makeshift bandage. Her hands wouldn’t hold steady. She couldn’t have hit the side of a building if she tried to shoot the rifle now. She could barely tie a knot.
“She’s right. There was the one behind and the one in front,” confirmed the guard, who couldn’t seem to straighten all the way. His face twisted as he braced his palms on his thighs.
Anna scrambled over to the miner while Selina bandaged the soldier. Whatever injuries the outrider had sustained in his long fall, the men with bullet wounds needed attention first.
Trying to keep her face composed, she urged the miner to sit and lean against the wheel as she ripped open his sleeve. A deep gash ran across his upper arm. Blood welled in the wound. Her stomach turned again, and she swallowed hard. She bunched another strip of petticoat ruffle and pressed it against his arm.
The miner sucked air between his teeth.
“Sorry,” she muttered.
“No. Thank you,” he said. “Much as I hate to think a girl saved us, you did. Wait’ll they hear about your shooting in town.”
“Oh, no.” The last thing she needed was being made into a heroine. “I just was lucky enough to have the rifle fall beside me. Over that distance, it’s hard to be accurate with a pistol.”
“Reckon so,” said the soldier. “But most folks ain’t got the gumption to shoot a man when they’ve never done it before.”
“Well, I didn’t have time to think about it.” Sour acid burned her mouth, and her eyes watered. She’d shot a man. She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth for fear she was going to be sick. Oh, goodness, she’d shot a man—a robber for certain—but she’d never wanted to shoot a man.
The driver finally calmed the horses, and he climbed down from his perch. “We need to get to Stockton as quick as we can. There’s a doctor there.”
He drew to a halt and gaped at her dress. “Are you injured, miss?”
She followed his gaze to a smear of blood on her sleeve and another on her skirt. “It’s not mine.”
Her bodice was filthy; the dust of the road was streaked all down her front. Oh, no, this was her best dress. Her only good dress, really. The dress she planned to wear while being married. She brushed at the dirt and added a new blood smear. A lock of hair slipped from her head and in front of her eyes. She reached up to feel the whole mass of the once-neat bun hanging lopsided on her head.
She must look a fright. What would Rafael think when he saw her? He’d never think her a lady. A real lady wouldn’t have jumped out of the stagecoach, shot a robber or looked like a ragamuffin. No, a lady was always clean and properly coiffed and didn’t sweat as if she’d been digging ditches. Her hat lay in the dust of the road, and surely her fair skin was freckling under the harsh midday sun.
If they pulled into town and he saw her like this, he’d likely put her on the next stage back.
Anna tried to think what her friend Olivia would have done in this situation, but the truth was Olivia would never have been in this situation. Olivia had probably never touched a gun in her life, let alone known how to fire a one. Anna hadn’t even made it to Stockton and already it was clear she wasn’t genteel in any sense of the word.
* * *
Daniel had to get his brother home fast, but he couldn’t lead a posse directly to their ranch or they’d be dead men. Plenty of the newcomers to California didn’t trust Mexicans and would be glad enough of an excuse to hang Rafael and himself, even though Daniel was only half-Mexican.
“Are you going to fall off?”
“I’ll try not to,” answered Rafael. He coughed up a frothy pink spittle.
“Damn.” Daniel’s insides went watery. A lung shot meant the wound could prove fatal. “I need to get you to a doctor.”
“Can’t. Home.” Rafael straightened in the saddle. “Doctor won’t do anything Ma can’t do.”
If he took Rafael to the doctor in Stockton—likely the same doctor the men his brother had shot would see—the jig would be up. Everyone would know Rafe was the man who held up the stagecoach.
Besides, until recently there hadn’t been any doctors around. Men healed or they didn’t. A few years back when one of their vaqueros had been thrown from his horse, he’d broken ribs and been spitting blood the way Rafael was. Madre had wrapped his ribs and kept him in his bed. He’d been as good as new in a month. A doctor couldn’t do any more. Trying to get Rafael to San Francisco and a doctor who didn’t know him would likely aggravate the injury Rafael had.
Glancing over his shoulder, Daniel didn’t see any sign of pursuit, but they couldn’t wait around. He would have to patch Rafe up enough that he could make it home—fast.
He drew up alongside his brother. “Is anything broken?”
Rafael moved his shoulder in a small circle. “Doesn’t...seem so.”
Daniel tugged off the stupid poncho Rafael had thrown at him just before stealing his rifle and galloping off this morning. He wished he hadn’t followed or that he’d turned back sooner.
He should have lassoed him, would have, if he’d had any idea that Rafe would stop the stage as if he were robbing it. When Rafael had tugged his poncho over his face, he should have realized.
Using his bowie knife, Daniel hacked the bright material into strips and knotted a makeshift bandage around his brother’s shoulder. Then he tied Rafe to the saddle, just in case he passed out. That his brother didn’t protest knotted Daniel’s neck.
“We have to go,” said Daniel. He scanned the horizon, looking for a dip or a cluster of trees and shrubs that would indicate a waterway. They were at least twenty miles from the edge of their ranch. Making sure they didn’t leave tracks leading straight back would make it thirty, but the detour had to be taken.
He took the other horse’s bridle, headed toward what looked like the best possibility and prayed that no one would come across them.
Hours later, they finally drew their horses to a halt in front of the house, and Daniel dismounted. Fortunately, their hands were all out on the north range with the cattle.
Rafael was trying to untie himself, coughing. He’d said next to nothing for the past hour they’d run the horses toward the ranch. His face was chalky, but he’d held his own for miles and miles of hard riding.
“Madre!” Daniel shouted.
He untied Rafael. Dismounting, Rafael collapsed. Daniel staggered under his brother’s solid weight.
“Madre!” Daniel shouted again. “I need your help.”
Rafael opened his mouth, but ended up coughing again. He gestured and they turned to step onto the long wooden deck.
“I am cooking. Do not shout at me,” their mother retorted.
Rafael pointed at his chest and then raised his hand toward their house. “Tell...her.”
Daniel steered his brother, who was now weaving like a drunk. “Ma, Rafael’s hurt.”
Their mother appeared in the open doorway, her dark eyes open wide. She took one look at her older son and ran forward to help. Her footsteps shook the planks under their feet. “What happened?”
“He’s been shot,” said Daniel.
“What did you do, Daniel Werner?”
“I kept him from being killed,” Daniel told her, not that he expected his mother to appreciate that fact.
“How could you let him get shot? On the day his bride comes?” demanded Madre.
“Leave him ’lone, Ma,” said Rafael. “Not his fault.”
Their mother narrowed her eyes and glared at Daniel. In his younger days, he would have expected the paddle when she looked at him like that. Now he was just tired of everything being his fault. Defending himself to his mother was just wasted breath. He’d stopped trying years ago.
“Let’s just get him inside. You’ll need to plug the hole in him and get him bandaged up.”
“You’ll have to get Anna.” Rafael panted.
“No.” He couldn’t go get Anna. The moment when they had locked eyes crowded out his other thoughts. For that one minute all the rest of the world had melted away, and he could see nothing but her. Her image was seared into his brain.
Daniel shivered.
His brother’s bride had gotten a good look at him, too, the best look at him of anyone on the stage. Granted, he’d pulled the poncho up to his eyes, but if anyone would recognize him, it would be her.
“She can’t know,” Rafael groaned.
“Why not? Daniel, what is going on?” Madre likely would have put her hands on her ample hips if she weren’t helping to support Rafael.
“Tried to stop stage,” said Rafael.
“Why would you do that?” She lapsed into Spanish, calling on the saints and muttering indignations.
“He wanted to see Miss O’Malley. But people who stop stages are generally robbers.” Daniel glared at his brother.
“Did you do nothing to stop them, Daniel?”
“He...tried,” huffed Rafael.
His brother’s shortness of breath worried Daniel.
Madre shot him a dark look as they maneuvered Rafael through the doorway. “It was just a misunderstanding.”
“There was a gunfight,” Daniel said. “I don’t think anyone is going to call it a misunderstanding.”
“You shot at people?” screeched Madre, but she was looking at Daniel.
Rafael met his eyes, and Daniel closed his.
“No, Ma. Daniel didn’t shoot at all,” Rafael said and then stopped to pull in some breaths. “I did.”
“You would not defend your brother?” she demanded of Daniel.
“God, Ma.” Daniel tensed and then lowered his voice. He had no idea where the girl who helped Madre about the house was. She might be in earshot, although he hadn’t seen her. “It wasn’t my intention to help him stop a stagecoach. Now we can’t let Miss O’Malley know, or who knows what she’ll do.”
“Listen to him, Ma.” Rafael heaved in a whistling breath. “’S right. Anna can’t find out.”
“Oh, my poor angel.” Madre stroked Rafael’s hair.
All the way home, Daniel had just been thinking he had to get Rafael home before he collapsed, but now a hell of a lot more problems had to be dealt with.
“No one can know that it was Rafael, Ma. Otherwise they might arrest him.” Of course, he’d be arrested, too. And they’d both be hanged. Daniel’s throat tightened as if a noose were already strangling him.
“Go...get her...late,” mumbled Rafael. “If no one...”
If no one picked her up, people might wonder what was amiss. If even a whiff of suspicion came their way, they might suspect Rafael had something to do with the gunfight. It wasn’t fair that a lot of the new white settlers looked down on people of Spanish descent, but they did. He would have to go get Miss O’Malley. And Rafe was right; it had taken them so long to get back, he’d be late.
“Did they see your horses?” asked Madre. “You will have to get rid of them. Shoot them.”
A shudder ran down Daniel’s back.
He looked out at the winded animals that had galloped their hearts out getting them home. His mount bore a white blaze on its forehead and the single stocking on its back leg made it identifiable, and even though Rafael’s horse was a solid dun, the color was unusual enough to stand out. “I’m not shooting the horses.”
“Then you will get your brother hanged over a misunderstanding.” Madre glared at him. “You will shoot the horses.”
“Because that wouldn’t be a dead giveaway that we were involved,” muttered Daniel. She couldn’t be serious.
“You will do as I say,” Madre hissed.
“Ma,” Rafael protested on a puff of air. His voice was too faint. Madre turned her attention back to her favorite son.
“We just need to take care of Rafe.” Daniel steered his brother through the door, bearing most of Rafael’s weight.
“You still have to get rid of the horses,” she said.
Madre was right. The horses had to go, but he wasn’t shooting the poor animals.
“I’ll set them loose in the hills. I’ll tell the sheriff and your—” Daniel found himself unable to say bride for some strange reason “—your Miss O’Malley that the horses were stolen overnight, and you’re out tracking the horse thieves. That’ll explain why I’m picking her up and provide cover if anyone recognized our horses.”
“Good thinking,” Rafael murmured.
They passed through the long front section of the house into the open courtyard. “Get him patched up enough to hide his injury. Plus Miss O’Malley will need her own room.”
“But you were to go to the priest and marry her before leaving town,” said Madre.
“Can’t hide...gunshot from...a wife,” huffed Rafael.
Madre opened her mouth to say something.
“Open his door and get his bed ready, Madre,” Daniel said.
She threw back her shoulders and glared at him. She would hate that he was ordering her around, but he didn’t have time to coax cooperation out of her. Instead, he poked Rafael, so he’d prod her. Rafe had much better luck getting their mother to do things.
“Please, Ma.” Rafe slumped against his brother.
They staggered across the courtyard toward Rafe’s room.
Pressing her lips together, she hurried ahead to open Rafael’s door and yanked down the covers on the freshly made bed.
“Damn, this messes...up...every...thing.”
Daniel leaned close to his brother. “You’ll just have to wait until you’re healed to marry her. Tell her you’re giving her a chance to get to know you before...” Daniel’s ears heated as he thought of his brother bedding the pretty redhead. Not that women ever seemed to require a long acquaintance with Rafael before they were willing to share intimacies with him. In fact, they rarely even noticed anyone else in the room once Rafael flashed his smile at them. Although, neither of them had a lot of experience with respectable women. “After all, she’s been raised to expect courting.”
Anna wasn’t the kind of fancy piece men traveled to San Francisco or into Mexico to find. She was a rarity in California: a respectable unmarried woman. Even back when the rancheros had gotten together for regular fiestas and the daughters of the other ranch owners were there, they’d gravitated toward Rafael and all but ignored Daniel.
“But...” Rafael frowned.
“With Madre in the house, there is no impropriety.”
Rafael lowered his eyelids in an almost sleepy look.
Daniel wanted to kick him for even thinking about seducing his future wife. He shook his head at the odd spurt of jealousy.
Daniel got Rafael on the bed and backed toward the door. “You got this, Ma?”
“Daniel, you stay here and help,” ordered Madre.
“He needs t’ go.” Rafael insisted. “Can’t let it get any later.”
* * *
The light grew murky as Daniel neared the edge of town. He’d run the horses as much as he could but had had to slow them to a walk rather than look as if he was in a crazed hurry.
First he’d pick up Anna, then head to the sheriff’s, report the horses stolen and determine what the sheriff knew. Really, though, the idea of a rancher with one of the biggest spreads around stopping a stagecoach was ludicrous and the best protection they had against the law putting two and two together.
He tried to slow his breathing. If she recognized him from that moment when they’d looked at each other, he didn’t know what he’d do.
He turned onto the street with the stage office. In the gloom, a woman in white instead of green sat on the bench. A broad-brimmed hat with flowers covered her hair so he couldn’t see if it was red. Still his heart thundered in his chest. He just knew. It was Anna.
He drew closer and pulled the horses to a stop in front of her. The minute he saw her face, he couldn’t look away. His muscles tense, he waited for a glimmer of recognition.
She stood up, her gloved hands twisting in front of her. “Mr. Werner?”
“Yes.” Belatedly, he realized he couldn’t know her beyond her photograph. “You’re prettier than your picture.” What a stupid thing to say. “Miss O’Malley.”
She inclined her head, blocking his view with the wide straw brim of her hat. Then she met his eyes.
He tightened his hold on the reins, waiting for her to recognize him. Her head tilted.
She heaved a deep breath that made her chest rise and fall under her white gown. “I was beginning to think you’d never come.”
He dragged his eyes away from the lace over the material that covered her chest, but in reality added an extra layer. Forming words with his suddenly too thick tongue he said, “There was a bit of trouble back on the ranch.”
His throat clogged, and he had to clear it. He had to get down out of the wagon before she started to wonder what was wrong with him. Forcing his rigid body to move normally, he set the brake and wrapped the reins around the handle.
“It has been a trying day,” she said in a small voice. “When are we going to the ranch?”
She couldn’t be the one who shot Rafael. She’d have trouble swatting a fly. He swallowed a deep breath. The lies he’d rehearsed on the way into town threatened to choke him. “I’m afraid I need to speak with the sheriff before we leave.”
“Do you know, then?” Her face paled, and even in the dim light it made the scattering of freckles across her nose stand out. “About the robbery?”
Alarm jolted through his chest. Daniel tried to sound casual. “What robbery?”
In the normal course of events, he wouldn’t know about the stagecoach shooting yet. Attempting to smooth out the jerkiness his body seemed intent on imposing on him, he lowered the tailgate and waited for lightning to strike him dead. Damn Rafael for putting him in a position where he had to layer falsehood upon falsehood.
“There was a stagecoach robbery,” she said.
Daniel missed a beat as he tried to figure out how to respond as if he didn’t know. He stared at her and had to take a deep breath to force out what was likely the appropriate response. His hand fisted so hard his fingers cramped. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” The waver in her voice suggested she wasn’t.
He wanted to kick his brother for terrorizing an innocent woman. But Rafael must have it wrong. It must have been the other one who’d shot him. Anna’s friend, Selina, the one coming to marry the store owner.
Daniel stepped toward her. The urge to comfort her pulled at him.
The questions he should be asking jumbled in his brain. He knew she hadn’t had anything stolen, but a man in his position would ask. “If anything of yours was taken, we can buy new. Send back east.”
She hurtled forward and tossed her arms around his neck. “I was so scared.”
The contact of her body set him on fire. His breath whooshed out. Hell and heaven.
He hesitated. He hadn’t the right to hold her. She was his brother’s intended, but she trembled. She drew him like a lost calf would. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her against him.
“It’s all right. You’re safe now,” he murmured. That much was true, and the reassurance came out so much easier than the lies.
Damn, she felt delicious. Her breasts were against his chest, and her nose was tucked into his shoulder. Her scent—sweet, spicy—fogged his brain. He wanted to hold her forever.
“Are we getting married tonight?”
He jerked back. “No!”
She stared at him, going even paler, her green eyes wide. He had the ridiculous notion to kiss her freckled nose. What was wrong with freckles, anyway?
Her eyes narrowed as color flooded back into her cheeks. “When then?”
Hells bells, she thought he was Rafael.
“I’m Daniel. I’m going to be your brother. Rafael—”
He stared at her as the color drained from her face again. Her mouth flattened, and her eyes shot shards of bottle glass in his direction. She shoved him away.
Damn. He’d never let her loose.
“What was that?” she demanded.
Now she seemed like a woman not afraid to turn a gun on a man instead of the waiflike thing she’d seemed when he had driven up. Thank the Lord she’d be Rafe’s problem, because the last thing Daniel ever wanted was a strong-willed woman, no matter how good she felt curled against him.
Chapter Three
We have six hands that work the spread and you’ll have my mother and a girl to help you with the house. A neighbor comes in twice a month to do laundry. Life is probably simpler out here than you are used to. The hands all live in the house with us and we share meals like one big family.
“Comfort?” Daniel Werner said.
Anna searched the dark eyes of the man before her. His hug had felt nothing like what one of her brothers might have given her, and it had set off a riot of sensation deep inside her. But he was to be her brother-in-law, not her husband.
She wanted to drop through the boards under her feet or to smack him. But she’d thrown herself at him, not the other way around.