‘Brendan, either you learn to respect my position here and do it quickly or you can sleep in that rocky no-man’s-land canyon and not my comfortable bunkhouse. Is that clear?’

Brendan grinned.

‘I asked you a question. I’m waiting for an answer. And what are you grinning about, you fool?’

He took a step towards her, then another. She saw the intent in his hot gaze. He meant to kiss her. He’d always crossed from anger to arousal so easily, ending quarrels before their conclusion—one of them winning by default.

Now, before she could decide what she wanted, lightning-quick his mouth was on hers. She tried to resist the leather and lime smell of him.

But the battle was lost before it began.

AUTHOR NOTE

I hope you enjoy reading about Brendan and Helena’s reconciliation and glimpsing their past as well as the rich history of the Old West. After all, they’ve been with us from the beginning in QUESTIONS OF HONOUR— already fighting like cat and dog and secretly heartbroken over the loss of the other. The danger to them and to their hearts sparked all the full-length books. What great catalysts they were! I couldn’t wait any longer to write their story, although it took a while to create the perfect setting.

The kind of land-grabbing scheme depicted in THE TEXAS RANGER’S HEIRESS WIFE is typical of stories told and retold from America’s westward growth—as is the work of the Texas Rangers. Whether truth or myth, these stories have become part of the lore of the West.

Hopefully I’ve lived up to our exciting history.

As a child, KATE WELSH often lost herself in creating make-believe worlds and happily-ever-after tales. Many years later she turned back to creating happy endings when her husband challenged her to write down the stories in her head. A lover of all things romantic, Kate has been writing romance for over twenty years now. Kate loves hearing from readers, who can reach her on the internet at kate_welsh@verizon.net

Previous novels by the same author:

QUESTIONS OF HONOUR

HIS CALIFORNIAN COUNTESS*

A TEXAN’S HONOUR*

THE BRIDE WORE BRITCHES

(part of Weddings Under a Western Sky anthology)

*Linked by character

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

The

Texas Ranger’s

Heiress Wife

Kate Welsh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Prologue

Cautiously, Brendan Kane approached the church, keeping his sister, Abby, behind him. It was soon apparent no one hid in the dark shadows around the building. Once this meeting was over, he’d be on the night train, headed west toward his dream and away from a hangman’s noose. Had he known Helena’s damned guardian was trying and succeeding in framing him for murder, he’d have left long ago. Then he’d have been away from the torture of watching Helena from afar, knowing she was to marry Joshua Wheaton.

Brendan and Abby crept to the church doors and slipped inside. Odd, he thought. More candles glowed than the little church used for benediction.

In the candlelight, he saw her. His Helena. He loved her so much he’d rejected her, for her own good and his own peace of mind. Brendan hissed a word that shouldn’t be spoken in a church. Helena Conwell was an American princess. In the eyes of her world he was nothing but Irish-born scum, a dirt-poor coal miner and now an outlaw to boot.

Dear God. How many nights had he closed his eyes and pictured her in this church exactly as she was—wearing a beautiful white gown? Now, though, she was really there, standing near the altar talking to Father Rafferty. She turned and put her hand on the old priest’s arm, then walked up the aisle toward him and Abby.

“What are you doing here?” Brendan growled.

Hurt entered those bluer-than-blue eyes he so loved. “I’m sorry you aren’t glad to see me. I suppose that makes this all the more necessary,” she said, as she pulled a pistol from the folds of her elegant dress and leveled it at him.

“Is this all an elaborate trick to snare Brendan in your guardian’s trap?” Abby demanded. “I trusted both you and Joshua with my brother’s life.”

Helena smiled up at Brendan, not sparing Abby a glance. “Oh, no. It’s my snare to catch myself a husband. Father Rafferty agreed to marry us, darling, and time is wasting. I’m sorry it has to be this way. I know it’s because of me they’ve gone after you, and I’m sorry. Franklin Gowery was never meant to know about us, but he does and so here we are.”

“Your guardian is a bit of a poor loser, isn’t he?” Brendan grinned. It was a grin he used often to infuriate adversaries and throw them off their stride. It worked a bit too well this time, for Helena looked as if she wanted to slap it off his face. “Ya won’t shoot me, lovey,” he told her, living dangerously as always when backed against a wall. Tonight seemed to be ripe for that.

Helena didn’t rise to his bait, though. “No, I probably wouldn’t.” She swung the gun left. Toward Abby. “But I might—just might—shoot your sister,” she said in the most scarily calm tone he’d ever heard.

He drew in a sharp breath. Had it all been too much for her? Had his rejection, compounded by her guardian’s insistence she marry Joshua, Brendan’s childhood friend, caused her mind to surrender to the strain? “Have ya lost your mind?” Brendan asked. He’d meant to sound demanding, hoping to snap her out of her reckless behavior, but even he heard concern leak into his tone. Question was, had Helena heard it?

He glanced at Ab. She stared at him, her eyes sparkling with delight and not worry as Helena held the gun steadily on her. She’d clearly seen his worry and his love for Helena. “I do believe she means it, Bren,” Abby said.

“Father Rafferty won’t marry us this way,” Brendan stated, trying to interject some sense into the conversation.

“Actually, after I explained how you’d trifled with me, then rejected me, he was happy to agree. It’s his gun.”

Abby coughed, but only to cover a laugh. Then her eyes flashed with temper when she realized Helena spoke the truth. “After what happened to me, you did the same thing to Miss Conwell?”

“This was different. I only broke it off because she’s an heiress.”

Abby glared.

“I lost my head?” Brendan added.

“I’d say Miss Conwell lost something a bit less metaphoric. Her virginity,” his sister declared. “We’d best get on with this ceremony. You’ll be losing one form of freedom this night, brother mine, or so help me I’ll geld you myself. And I’ll be holding that pistol. Now that you’ll be my sister, I’ll be looking after your interests, Miss Conwell. A bride shouldn’t have to hold a gun on her groom. And don’t worry, if he refuses, I’ll shoot him where he sits. I suspect that’s near to where his brains have been of late.” She glared. “I wouldn’t kill my own brother, but just now, I wouldn’t mind a bit of maiming and knowing his ride out West will be mighty uncomfortable.”

Brendan sighed. He had to try one more time, for Helena’s sake. He had nothing to offer her. Not even his good name. “Sweetlin’, if we marry, you’ll be married to and travelin’ with an accused criminal. You could go to prison for aidin’ and abettin’. Gowery lied and put my name on the list of conspirators. Ab says the Pinkertons manufactured proof I blew Destiny to hell and gone. I wouldn’t do that to Joshua. I saved his life, didn’t I?”

“I know. Joshua and I have been spying on them to keep you safe. Joshua will see your name is cleared, but if you don’t want to get caught and see me swept up with you, we’d better get to it.” Helena looked toward the altar and raised her voice. “We’re ready, Father.”

“Enough stalling, brother mine,” Abby said. “Take her hand, walk down that aisle and say the words.”

Helena looked up at him, her eyes so full of love it made his heart ache. “It’ll be fine. We’ll go West and buy that ranch you want so badly. We’ll call it Shamrock and raise our children there.”

Brendan stared at Helena. All night he’d been in agony, thinking her and Joshua’s engagement was to be announced at her birthday party. Would leaving her behind to marry Joshua or any other man be easier for the distance? Out of options, and running out of time to think about that or catch the westward train, he did as Abby ordered and walked toward the altar.

“You can buy the ranch,” he told Helena as he walked at her side toward her doom. “You can call it whatever ya please. I’ll never lower myself to take your charity.”

“What’s mine will be yours in moments, so it won’t be charity,” Helena said. She didn’t wait for a rebuttal, but turned toward the priest and nodded.

“Dearly beloved,” Father Rafferty began.

It looked as if Brendan’s goose was well and truly cooked. But so was Helena’s. He wouldn’t touch her and they’d have this farce annulled.

All he had to do was keep his hands to himself. He glanced at his bride. God had better help him or he was a goner.

Chapter One

Heavy hoofbeats resounded through the house, sending spirals of fear shooting through Helena. Her heart started to race. Had the Ghost Warriors finally decided to move on Shamrock? She stood and dropped her needlework as her housekeeper rushed in, her eyes wide with fear.

The horses thundered by along the ranch road, but one rider advanced rapidly on the house. Helena grabbed the loaded shotgun she kept leaning against the fireplace, then moved to the front window. Cautiously, she nudged the curtain aside with the double barrel and peered out.

Anger flooded through her. Or was it really desperate, foolish hope? In the blink of an eye her emotions flipped back to anger.

“Brendan?” she whispered. He’d said he would never set foot on Shamrock. Typical. His word meant everything to him except with her.

He seemed to hesitate, one foot on the step up to the porch.

So, he remembers his vow. “Never is a very long time, isn’t it, Brendan?” she whispered, then cursed his contrary soul. She liked to relax on the porch in the evenings, and didn’t want to picture him there. Before he decided to go ahead and invade that special space, Helena threw open the door and marched toward her estranged husband.

He slowly eased his booted foot back to the ground. His emerald eyes were unreadable in the shadow cast by the wide brim of his black Stetson. He glanced down at the shotgun as he pushed the hat back on his head. His left eyebrow arched annoyingly as he looked up, snaring her gaze with the power he still held over her.

He stared for a long, uncomfortable moment, opened his mouth, then closed it, as if unsure what to say.

She managed to look away from his eyes. Oh, how he could make her want him—make her care. Even after he’d left her alone during the darkest days of her life.

When she forced herself to look back, those eyes that had captured her heart and made it his, sparkled with mischief and flicked for a split second back to her shotgun. “And here I was thinkin’ you might be glad to see me,” he quipped in his slight, musical Irish accent.

She might be glad. She was glad, damn him. But she’d had three years of pain and practice at hiding her feelings. She had her pride, too. She stiffened her spine. He’d never know what she still felt for him. Never.

“W-why? Why would you think I’d be glad to see you?” she asked, and looked down at the gun in her hands. No matter how many times she’d threatened it, she would never want to shoot him. Accidentally or otherwise. She took a moment to break the gun open and gather her composure.

Steadier now, she said, “I seem to recall you telling me you’d never set foot on Shamrock. I believe it was outside the title office, after we signed the papers for the ranch.”

Helena turned to her housekeeper, who’d followed her to the porch. “It’s all right, Maria. You can go back inside.”

Maria shot a black look Brendan’s way, “You are sure?”

Helena nodded, then glanced back at her husband. “Is there something other than rejection and scorn I’m to read from what you said that day, and what you’ve done the last three years?”

“Things change.” He looked suspiciously as if he was choosing his words as carefully as she was. Then his whole countenance changed. He looked...serious suddenly. Weighed down, even. “I’ve bad news. The raiders struck again. Belleza this time. Don Alejandro, the shepherds and their wives were all killed. Señora Varga and her daughter brought the don’s body to town for burial.”

Helena swayed and grabbed a porch column. “How on earth did Farrah and Elizabeth survive? The renegades don’t leave survivors, do they?”

“They’d been in town,” he explained. “They heard the commotion in time for Miss Varga to get off their ranch road. She hid her mother and the carriage, but Miss Varga, bein’ who she is, snuck to the hilltop overlookin’ the homestead. Thinkin’ she could help, apparently.”

He shook his head. Grimaced. “She saw them kill her da and was smart enough to know it was too late to help anyone down there. Some of the men from town are out there buryin’ the dead. Quinn’s gone on by here with a posse, chasin’ wild geese again. He’s hopin’ to track the raiders to their hideout this time ’round.”

“I thought the governor sent you here to stop these Ghost Warriors. Why aren’t you with Sheriff Quinn and the posse?”

“Because they’re wastin’ their time. The raiders’ll disappear into the hills. Mark my words. When the sun sets, all Quinn and the rest will have are tired mounts and saddle-sore behinds.”

She took a step back. It hurt too much to see Bren. Talk to him. She wanted him to go away. Far away, so she’d have a chance to heal from the new wounds his presence here caused. “Well, uh, thank you for bringing me the news. I’ll look in on the Vargas tomorrow. Where will they be?”

“The hotel. The house is gone. Burned. You’d have seen the smoke but the wind’s to the east today. I didn’t stop by just to tell you about Belleza. I’m movin’ here.” At her gasp, he qualified his statement. “Into Shamrock’s bunkhouse.”

“No. Absolu—”

“If you’re of a mind to try stoppin’ me,” he interrupted, “remember under the law I’ve a right to move all the way into your bedroom if I want. And remember, too, it was you who wanted this marriage and this ranch.”

Holding tight to her control and her expression, Helena put a hand on her hip. “I don’t care where you lay your head. I stopped caring long ago. But if you set foot on this porch, let alone in my bedroom, I’ll blow a hole in you big enough to read the front page of the Sentinel through.”

She’d started to turn away, so she could go slam the door in his arrogant, beautiful face, when he took hold of her arm. He’d always had the most incredible way of touching her. It spoke of an abundance of leashed power behind his gentle touch. She couldn’t control the tremor that rushed through her.

Then he said, “As far as the townsfolk and ranchers will know, I’m at Shamrock to stay, and livin’ with you.”

In shock, she stared at him, her mouth working like a hooked trout. “Why would they think that?” she finally muttered.

“Because it’s what I want them to think.”

“Then I’ll let them all know you’re only here to— Why are you here? Why did the posse ride onto Shamrock at all?” she demanded, her anger growing to the size of her pain.

Brendan, his eyes hooded, once again seemed to choose his words carefully. “I tracked the raiders across your northern border. Word is Shamrock doesn’t run cattle up there unless there’s a drought. They seem to feel safe takin’ that route. They’ve done it twice that I know of. Now that they’ve moved to bigger places, Shamrock has to be near the top of their list. I want to catch these bastards in the act, and as you’re a citizen, and I took an oath to protect the citizens of Texas, I’m here to protect you.”

That certainly stated in no uncertain terms where she stood with him. “You took an oath to love, honor and keep me, but that didn’t stop you from leaving.”

Fire entered his gaze. “I took that oath at gunpoint. It was your poor wronged princess act that had my own sister holdin’ the pistol, and forcin’ those promises out of me. And you said you’d honor and obey. You broke your vows the minute you got hold of your inheritance. Did you think I’d be able to hold my head up when folks learned the money for Shamrock came from you?”

She gripped the shotgun until her knuckles turned white. “Joshua bought the bank, so the bank account had both our names on it. Who’d have known?”

Brendan and his pride! It had ruined her life. She stared down at his hand on her arm, then up into those cold green eyes, refusing to remember the way he used to look at her. “You gave up any right to touch me the moment you rode off and left me to deal with hundreds of acres of land alone. I built Shamrock from the ground up, each day hoping you’d be back. One day I realized I’d stopped hoping. From that time forward, Shamrock’s success was for me and me alone. You have no place here.”

When he let go of her like a man afraid of losing his fingers, she knew he’d believed her lie.

“At the land office that day all I’d wanted to do was give you the life I thought you deserved.” She went on as if nothing had changed, because, though he no longer held her arm, he still held her heart. She was afraid he always would, and that made her furious. She wished she could hate him, but so far, she could only pretend.

How could his touch make her want so many things he’d never give her? “I was wrong, but not about buying the ranch. I was wrong about what you deserve. You deserve exactly what you’ve got, Ranger Kane. No place to call home, and whores warming whichever one of their beds you’ve paid to spend the night in.”

He raised that annoying eyebrow and grinned. “Unlike you, at least I’m warm.”

Helena’s heart clutched at his admission. She wanted to slap that grin off his face, but instead lifted her chin and managed another lie. “What makes you think I’m always alone in mine? Did you really think I’d wait for you to get over your childish snit and decide to honor your vows?”

Brendan’s grin faded and his eyes went cold. “Then why haven’t you filed for divorce? I’ve clearly deserted you.”

“Because, you ninny, you had to be gone for three years. It would have been three years in June. But now, one month shy of freedom, you’ve put it about town that you’ve moved here. That means when you decide to go off again, the waiting period starts all over. Three more years of my life gone to a man who cares only for himself and his precious pride. Once again you’ve stepped in with a unilateral decision to destroy my future.”

“Unilateral? Me? It was you who went ahead, like a spoiled princess, and plunked down the coin to buy the land you wanted. Have you ever done an honest day’s work? Do you understand how hard others have had to labor for what you were handed?”

Helena’s blood pounded in her head and drained from her face. She’d be damned if she’d tell him just how much hard work on Shamrock had cost her. She wouldn’t go there. She couldn’t. But she was sick to death of him tarring her and her father with the same brush as the man who’d all but forced Brendan into the mines. Her father had been an honorable man. “Handed? My father took a chance and invested a minor inheritance in all the right places. Handed? That man meant the world to me! He was all I had after my mother died. Oh, you’re so right. All I had to do to get my hands on his money was watch as he was gunned down in the street, then be left alone in the world with Franklin Gowery as a guardian. I earned every cent of what I inherited in the tears I shed that day and every day since. Go away, Brendan. I’ll take my chances with the renegades. They’ll just kill me. Not cut out my heart and leave me alive and bleeding.”

“Helena, I’m—”

“You’re nothing to me. Do you hear? Get off my land. You don’t want it. You don’t want me. And I sure as hell don’t want you around reminding me of the mess I made of my life because I believed you loved me as much as I once loved you.” This time she made it inside and slammed the door. But her home offered no solace and never had.

She was done.

She’d put Shamrock up for sale and go back East. And she’d never love another man. Men just dragged you from hotel to hotel, with only adults to fill your life, then left you alone in the world with not a friend to your name. Or else claimed they loved you, only to toss that love back in your face.

Helena sank to the floor and, instead of howling out her pain, stuffed the ends of her shawl in her mouth to muffle her cries. Tears poured down her face. Oh, she was done with him this time.

Done!

* * *

Brendan watched the door slam. Jaysus, the woman knew how to hurt him. He nearly took the one step up onto the porch to follow, but turned away and grabbed Harry’s reins instead, heading for the bunkhouse. Nothing would come of trying to talk to her now. But he wasn’t leaving. Not with the carnage he’d seen at Belleza. Whoever the animals were, he was going to find them and see them hanged. Every last mother’s son of them.

He rode to the barn to get Harry settled before heading over to the bunkhouse to find out if there was even room for him there. As he dismounted, he looked farther up the ranch road and saw Sean Mallory, Shamrock’s foreman, step out of the cottage he shared with his wife and children. Winchester in hand, Mallory stood staring his way. Brendan ground-tied Harry and walked to the cottage.

“Kane,” the foreman said as he approached. “What brings you around?” He didn’t sound welcoming. Loyal, Brendan thought. That was good. Helena was in good hands, as he’d heard.

“Belleza was hit. Twelve dead, Alejandro Varga included. His wife and daughter were in town, thank the good Lord. The wives of the shepherds weren’t as lucky.”

Mallory winced and glanced back at the cottage. “I wondered when they’d move on to one of the bigger spreads. We saw Quinn ride through with a posse. Why?”

“We tracked them across Shamrock’s northern boundary. I know you don’t run the cattle up there, for the most part. Got any idea who else might know that?”

“It isn’t a closely guarded secret, if that’s what you mean. But no Comanche would know it unless they’ve been watching us for years.”

Brendan paused and frowned. No one was supposed to know he was hunting anyone other than a band of renegades. He and Ryan Quinn had decided to keep their suspicions to themselves, even though it really ate at his gut. Brendan hated that everyone was so damned willing to believe ill of the Comanche. True, the tribe deserved the reputation, but they’d gone down in defeat and were buttoned up on the reservation. Yet all the men conducting these raids had needed to do was scalp their first victims, and everyone ignored all the inconsistencies marking these attacks as other than the work of the tribe.

By going along with the popular view, Brendan and the sheriff hoped they’d lure the ones responsible into making a mistake born of overconfidence. Brendan knew Quinn was new to being a lawman, but he was doing a passable job and was in no way stupid enough to spread their plan about.

So who had let the cat out of the bag about white men being suspect? “What makes you think it’s not Comanche?” Brendan asked carefully, eying Helena’s foreman with suspicion.

“You know my brother-in-law is foreman at the Rocking R,” Mallory said. “He told me their fence was downed and they’ve lost a few head over the cliff edge up where the R and Shamrock meet up with the canyon that separates both spreads from Avery’s Bar A. There were also tracks across that back edge of the spread that disappeared into the canyon. So I went looking up there. Our fences were downed, too. And there were tracks from shod horses. Now there’s been another attack and there’re more tracks. Can’t be a coincidence. I think the fences being downed is supposed to discourage both spreads from running cattle up there. Less chance of our men spotting something odd.

“If you add the tracks to Avery being the only one who’s bought land off those who were raided, he’s looking mighty guilty.”

Dammit. Brendan didn’t want loose tongues tipping off the bastard. “He’s not the only one who tried. Alejandro Varga offered several times to buy Adara. The last time was the day after it was raided.”

“But now Don Alejandro’s dead,” Mallory said, shifting the Winchester to lean it on his shoulder. “As far as I’m concerned that puts Avery at the top of the list. He hates sheep and now all the sheep ranchers are gone. I sure as hell know Varga’s son will sell off what’s left of his father’s flock.”

If Mallory’s suspicions were this well thought out, Brendan figured he’d better confide in him. He stooped to pick up a stick, then walked to the edge of the cottage porch and sat. He quickly sketched a crude map in the dirt. Mallory bent down on one knee, his gaze intent.

“The raids look random,” Brendan said, “unless ya plot it out from a bird’s-eye view. Then it makes sense.”

“So far Avery’s come off lookin’ like a real saint, savin’ the poor, desperate and terrified from complete ruin.” Mallory nodded.

Brendan drew in the dust as he spoke. “And in the meantime, he’s picked off targets here, here and there. He tried to get hold of the Harkens’ place here,” he said, and drew an F on another square he’d drawn. “But he failed, thanks to Joshua Wheaton and Alex Reynolds protecting young Billy’s interests. Avery offered for the Oliver place, too, but all he got was the sharp side of that young lady’s tongue.”

Another F, for failed attempt, joined the first, but that property was in the opposite end of the county. “Then these three fell. No survivors usually means family back East mourn and sell.” Those squares got an X.

“Lump together all these places we think he moved on, now add Belleza. Look at this. They all fall in a horseshoe around the town. Which is why I’m here. The Rocking R and Shamrock stand in his way. Shamrock is either the next to be moved on or he’s planning to acquire it another way.

“I’ve heard he’s trying to get to Helena’s heart.” Brendan hesitated, but decided to hell with what the foreman thought. “I couldn’t let that happen. So now that I’m here, he’ll move on us eventually. Probably before he thinks I can get Shamrock fortified. What safety measures have you taken?”

Mallory outlined a comprehensive plan of misdirection with regard to the number of men at Shamrock, the quality of their firearms and careful round-the-clock lookouts.

“Do you think Helena would tell Avery what she’s armed you all with?”

“She has no idea she bought the best. She lets me order what I want. No use getting outmoded equipment. As far as the wife tells me, Helena and Avery don’t talk about ranching.

“And about the boss, let me tell you something. She comes off brave, but she’s scared. We can’t station anyone inside the house, but we try to see she’s safe by posting guards near to it. Woman alone. Folks would talk if someone saw one of us was too close.”

Brendan winced. Helena had lied. No man had ever warmed her bed. Mallory wouldn’t worry for her reputation, were that the case. Why had Brendan believed her? Clearly, she’d been no more unfaithful than he had.

Because he’d wanted to believe she’d been, that’s why. It had eased his conscience. Made him feel justified in remaining apart from her. But the truth was, she finally needed him, and he intended to be here to protect her.

Chapter Two

Brendan put down the currycomb and gave Harry a pat on his neck. The gelding knocked him backward with a head butt to the chest. “Oh, it’s like that now, is it?” Brendan crooned. “You see herself again for a few days and right away I’m playin’ second fiddle. And who is it that feeds and brushes you till that black hide of yours shines like satin?”

Harry whinnied and lipped Brendan’s cheek. “Ah, but aren’t you the sweet talker.” Then the big black nuzzled his bulging pocket. “I see how the wind blows, you great phony. Just lovin’ me up for a treat.”

“I see you still talk to him more like a friend than just a horse,” Helena said from outside the stall.

Brendan gave Harry a carrot from his pocket, then stepped out into the aisle, saying, “Hear that? It’s ‘just a horse,’ she called you. Remember that and who it is that butters your bread, Harry m’ boy.” Then Brendan said, “He is a friend. And it was you who named him after your da, and spoiled him with apples all the way West. Do ya know the ribbin’ I’ve taken over a horse named for my father-in-law?” Even prepared to look at her loveliness, Brendan felt his heart speed up when their eyes met.

Helena’s smile faded and she sighed. “Were we ever that young and foolish? Where did all the love go?” She shook her head. “No. Never mind. It doesn’t matter anymore. We’re who we are and they were who they were.”

Brendan desperately needed to change the subject before he confessed that he still loved her more than life itself. “Is there something I could be doin’ for you?”

She blinked, clearly surprised by his offer. “Have you seen Jimmy about?” she asked. “Oh. Forget it. I asked him to help Al build a fence around the garden. I have to remember to order some of the wire Rhia Varga uses around her chicken coop. If it keeps her chickens safe from predators, it should do the same for ours, and keep animals out of Shamrock’s vegetable garden.”

She wants to order the wire. Brendan stared at her. He’d quickly come to see that Helena knew what she was doing around the ranch. And had to admit how little credit he’d given her. She knew what it meant to work. And it was damn hard work she’d done and still did.

“I’m sorry for that remark I made about you not knowin’ the meanin’ of work. It’s clear the men respect you and that you often work alongside them.”

“Don’t be sorry. You’d have been right once. The girl who came here didn’t know what hard work meant.” Her eyes glittered in the sunlight—with tears, he feared. “I’m not that naive, sheltered girl any longer. The truth is, you don’t know me and I don’t know you. Maybe we never did.”

He nearly protested that of course he knew her, but she turned away and went to her mare’s stall. Paint Box. The silly name made him smile.

He moved to pat the mare’s blaze at the same time Helena did, and his hand landed atop hers. She gasped and pulled away. Sadness nearly overwhelmed him. Once upon a time she wouldn’t have shied away. And he’d have never left her alone in her bed, either.

No one understood why he and Helena had gone their separate ways after banding together as they made their way to freedom. It had caused a rift in his family he’d yet to fully repair. Worse of all, Brendan was getting to a place where even he didn’t understand what kept them apart. And now it was too late.

He’d thrown away her love in a snit—one he still felt had been justified. But he wasn’t sure if feeling justified had been worth what he’d lost. Putting the thought away, Brendan realized he stood with his hand on the mare, staring straight ahead. And Helena was staring at him. “What was it you wanted Jimmy for?” he asked, to cover his discomfort.

“I wanted him to harness the gig. Elizabeth and Farrah Varga decided to bury Don Alejandro privately. Farrah’s note said they didn’t want to hear a lot of insincere platitudes. I can’t blame them. Some of the men at my father’s funeral were really more like rivals than friends. It made it so much more difficult sorting out who could be trusted and who couldn’t.”

Brendan frowned. He’d never met Helena’s father, who’d already been killed when she’d stumbled upon Brendan’s favorite fishing hole. Putting aside the precious memory of their first meeting, he brought his mind back to what she was saying.

“We decided to give them a tea to see them off. They’re going to visit family.”

That meant a trip into town. “Who are you takin’ with you?”

“With me? No one. I go to town alone all the time.”

That wasn’t happening again. “You can’t go alone.”

“You have no authority over me!” Helena declared. “I go where I want, when I want.”

As if he didn’t know that. “Jaysus, woman. Can we not speak a civil word between us? You could run into the raiders. Suppose that happened? Contrary to what you apparently think, they don’t just kill the women they come across on these raids. By time they’re done with them, the poor women are probably beggin’ for death. At least Miss Varga had the sense to stay hidden.”

Helena frowned. “Fine. I’ll take Al with me. The garden is the least important thing going on right now. Jimmy can work alone.”

Brendan thought about the young buck and his belly tightened with what he refused to call jealousy. Unfortunately, he was at a loss what else to call it. He wasn’t staking a claim to her. At least, that was what Brendan told himself. But even as he thought it, his heart protested. “I heard Mallory tell Al to ride out to check for laboring cows after fixing the fence. I’ll go along with you to town.”

She looked as shocked as he felt, and shook her head. “No. You said you were going to work on strengthening our defenses. You should have suggestions for Mallory about them.”

He had a few, but she and the foreman seemed to run a tight outfit. Brendan was here to protect Helena, but didn’t want to admit it to her. “I talked to Mallory about a few changes already. He’s off seeing to them. Right now I’m at loose ends, so I’m riding with you.”

“Fine! I’ll go put on riding clothes, and change back into my dress at the store. Just don’t talk to me. And when we get into town, go away! I’m sure the ladies at the Garter can keep you occupied.”

He summoned up a grin. “They usually do,” he lied. Then cursed his contrary nature when he saw hurt enter her eyes. What was it about Helena that made him do and say things he regretted before he could get his big mouth shut?

While she changed, he readied Harry and her mare for the ride into town. By the time they were halfway there, he was mighty sick of Helena’s stony silence. He managed to honor her demand, though, afraid that if he didn’t she’d sneak out of town for the return trip without him.

It was an hour of torture until they reached the edge of town. After setting a time and place to meet up, he peeled off without another word, hoping against hope she was as miserable as he was.

* * *

The Vargas’ farewell tea had begun to wind down when Helena said goodbye and slipped out the door. She set out for her sister-in-law’s general store to change back out of her dress. Then she’d have to meet Brendan for the ride home.

“Helena, wait!” she heard Patience Reynolds call as she reached the front of the store. “I wanted to talk with you,” her friend said, a happy grin on her pretty face.

In the fall of last year she’d married Helena’s nearest neighbor, Alex Reynolds, owner of the Rocking R. They were expecting their first child and were deliriously happy together.

Helena fought the disgraceful stab of envy she felt. It wasn’t that she begrudged her friends their joy. She didn’t. But it reminded her of all the things Brendan had stolen from her. Envy didn’t mean she couldn’t be pleased for them, though.

Resigned, Helena walked up the steps with Patience at her side. At the top, her friend stopped and turned to her. “Before I forget, Alex and I wondered if you two would like to come to dinner.”

“Two?”

“You and Brendan. We’re both so happy for you. Brendan did so much to help me. Alex has tremendous respect for him.”

Darn Brendan and his lie! But she trusted her friends and wouldn’t lie to them herself. “We aren’t back together in spite of what you must have heard. He’s moved to Shamrock only because he thinks it may help catch the raiders.”

Patience blinked. “But when Alex and I met Brendan he was clearly worried about you. And I know you’ve regretted the state your marriage was in. I didn’t understand then, but when I met him, he was so sweet. And kind.”

Brendan? Sweet and kind? He isn’t sweet and kind to me. Not anymore. I can’t want him back. I’d be a candidate for Bedlam if I did.

“He’s there to catch the Ghost Warriors,” Helena said. “That’s all.”

“Are you saying it’s too late? This could be your chance to show him how good life with you would be. Maybe cook him special dinners. You know, show him how much you love him.”

Helena shook her head. “No. I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll never try to manipulate him or anyone else again. That’s all that would be. If he doesn’t love me enough to accept me as I am, he isn’t for me. I’ve wasted enough of my life.

“Now let’s go see why Abby disappeared from the send-off.” It was a worry for Helena.

About a year after Brendan’s sister had arrived in town, she’d become the friend Helena had never had. For Abby, she would walk through fire.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Since becoming her friend, Helena had come to understand that Abby would have been a comfort after the accident. But by then it had been too late. By then Helena had managed to regroup, and remembered a lesson she’d learned early in her life—how to hide her pain behind false cheer.

She and Patience walked in, but the store was deserted. Helena glanced at her friend’s worried frown, then rushed into the back room, tucked behind a curtain. There she found Abby lying on a chaise with her eyes closed and a cloth on her forehead.

Eyes nearly identical to Brendan’s opened and widened as Helena hurried forward. Abby was pale as death and looked horribly weak.

Helena sat down on the foot of the chaise. “Abby, sweetie, what is it? You look awful.”

“I love you, too.”

At least her sense of humor was intact. “You know what I mean,” Helena said with a mock frown.

A frail smile tipped Abby’s lips. “I don’t know what anyone can do. I feel like death itself. I never felt this bad with Daniel.”

Helena stared. “A baby?”

Patience let out a little squeal of delight from the doorway and rushed to the other side of the chaise.

Helena did her best to be thrilled for Abby, who’d given up hope of having another child. But inside she felt hollow. Alone.

“Don’t tell my brother. He’s always been my rock, but he hovers, and I don’t want that right now. He’s pigheaded and won’t take no for an answer when he wants to help.”

Helena grimaced. “Rock-headed, you mean.”

“Good sweet Lord, are you two still going at it? I thought he’d moved home.”

“He made it clear he’s only there to catch the raiders. He thinks they may hit Shamrock next. Once he solves the problem of these raids, he’ll be gone again. Of course, he’s let everyone think he’s moved home, he says to protect me—”

“But that’s sent your desertion claim flyin’ out the window,” Abby said. “He really is a blockhead, but...but I know he loves you.”

A surge of anger blasted through Helena. It was so strong she couldn’t hold her tongue any longer. “Has it ever occurred to anyone that I might be done with him?”

“Oh, you can’t mean that,” Abby cried. Then she took in a sharp breath and stared for a long moment. “I’m sorry. It’s easy to forget how much you’ve had to deal with all alone.”

If she only knew the half of it. Helena wiped away tears she hadn’t known were falling. They’d blinded her to the worry and concern in her friends’ faces. “I’m fine. Having so much to do at Shamrock has kept me putting one foot in front of the other, with no time to think. It’s a strain having him there. I don’t need him. Not anymore. When I did, he was off nursing wounded pride. After he left me standing outside the land office that day, I got home, and all his things were just gone. He left me an object of pity to everyone around here when he disappeared.”

Abby’s expression brightened, as if she’d made a monumental discovery. “That’s why you kept to yourself after Brendan left. Not because you were angry at us.”

Helena was so tired of half-truths, but she had no choice; she told another. “He never wrote me, or asked after me when he wrote you. If you hadn’t kept in touch with him, and dropped little pieces of information about his life to me, he could have been dead for all I knew.”

Abby shook her head. “Brendan is an idiot. But, Helena, he did ask after you—when he finally got in touch. I wasn’t to tell you, however.

“You were brave and steadfast in your love for him. Suppose that monster of a guardian of yours had figured out that you and Josh were spying to save Bren? I shudder to think what would have happened. My great, giant, pigheaded idiot of a brother needs a good swift kick in the tail!”

Helena made her excuses after that, changed, then left Abby and Patience to their talk of babies. She retrieved Paint Box from outside the hotel and left Tierra del Verde and Brendan behind. But in the back of her mind, one phrase resounded.

He did ask after you.

* * *

Two or so hours later, Helena slogged through knee-deep mud to help her men pull a frightened newborn Texas longhorn to safety. The incessant lowing of the nervous mama in the background wasn’t helping settle the little one. But there was no hope of quieting the cow, which had probably delivered only the day before.

There was no better mother in the bovine kingdom than a Texas longhorn. To protect their progeny from a predator, the cows were known to band together in a circle with their horns outward, keeping their calves and heifers safely in the center. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much a cow could do if her curious offspring wandered into a mud pit that was normally a watering hole.

“It’ll be just fine, little one,” Helena murmured as she reached the struggling baby, which went still. Since her voice seemed to soothe the animal and stop its needless struggle, Helena kept up the low, quiet crooning. “I know you’re scared, but we’re here to help.” Big brown eyes stared into hers and stole her heart. This one was a keeper. Heifer or calf, this one would be staying at Shamrock to help build its future. “You’ll be back with your mama in no time,” she went on. “I promise.”

Over her shoulder she called, “Toss me a rope,” and her eyes connected with Brendan’s. She hadn’t even heard him ride up. Were she not in a life-or-death struggle, she’d have laughed at the nonplussed look on his face. She saw the exact moment he realized the full import of the men taking instructions from her. A look of surprise passed over his face and he backed up, bumping into his temperamental gelding. She grinned, then went back to caring for her endangered stock. But her thoughts were split.

“You were to tell me when ya were ready to leave town,” he shouted.

The calf balked at the sharp sound of Brendan’s voice, and its skull connected with Helena’s chin. This was the first time she’d really understood the term “seeing stars.” She shook her head, managing to catch the rope as it left Hodges’s grip and sailed toward her.

Forcing her mind off Brendan’s glowering image, she stuffed the end of the rope through the thick mud and positioned it behind the poor baby’s front legs. After fishing the rope out on the other side, she tied a bowline knot to keep it from tightening or loosening. All that was left was to toss the end back to Hodges.

“Get ready. When I release the suction the mud has on the calf’s front legs, keep a steady pressure on the line till I can free the hindquarters. I’ll let you know when to back your roan up and pull us both free.”

Once she nodded, it took only a moment. When she felt the rope tighten, Helena curled her toes in her boots so they’d come along for the ride. She felt the deep suction pull at her and the calf, then resistance, more resistance, and then, almost like a cork pulled from a bottle, she and the calf were free. It wasn’t a minute later that the mother and baby were reunited, and silence reigned but for the sound of suckling. Hodges dismounted and retrieved his rope.

Wearing a rueful grin, Yates handed Helena her hat. “At least this isn’t covered in mud,” he said. Then the two men stood there, awaiting her instructions.

A glance at Brendan, who remained tight-lipped, his hands on his hips, made the decision for her. “I’m not sure that calf can make it to the barn on his own, and I want them close so we can watch for any problems over the next few days.” She grabbed Paint Box’s reins and mounted. “I’ll take the calf if you’ll hand him to me. No sense in anyone else getting wet and muddy.”

Yates, the bigger of the two hands, moved toward the calf, and laughed when he got close. “You were right, boss. He is a calf. How’d you know? He was halfway up his belly in that mud.”

Helena chuckled. “Only a hardheaded male would ignore his mama and get into a predicament like that.” She rode over to the cow and her baby, on the off chance the mother got riled. But typical of the gentle longhorns Helena ran on her spread, the mama just bawled a little in protest as Yates picked up her babe and stretched the little calf across Helena’s lap.

Hodges glanced uncertainly toward Brendan and said under his breath, “You want us to come along, or keep checking this section for any cows having calving troubles?”

“Keep checking. And don’t worry about him. He’s harmless.” Physically, anyway. Emotionally, the man was poison. At least for her.

Yates took a clean bandanna from his back pocket and handed it up to her. “Don’t look harmless right now. Your chin’s bleeding like a stuck pig, thanks to his big mouth.”

Helena pulled off her muddy gloves and stuffed them in her back pockets, then took the cloth. Only now aware of the wound, she pressed it to her skin and hissed in a sharp breath at the burning pain. “Just keep checking the cows. There are less birthing problems with this breed, but there’s always a chance of a breech. I’ll be fine and so will Joker here.”

Hodges laughed. “Joker. Something tells me we’re going to have another bull roaming across Shamrock.”

She managed a grin, well aware she was being a tad too sentimental for a ranch owner. “I do have some extra time invested in this little guy, after all, and another bull will give us a second bloodline running through our herd. After the way we helped him out today, he’ll remember and be as friendly as King and Jack. I’ll see you all later. Let me know when you get back, okay?”

Both men nodded and went to mount up.

Uncomfortably muddy and wet, and now in pain, Helena was determined to avoid Brendan for as long as possible. Without a word or a glance for him, she waved to Yates and Hodges, then wheeled Paint toward home. She kicked the mare into an easy trot, but when she checked to see if the mama cow was keeping up, found she was lagging a bit. So Helena pulled back on the reins and settled Paint into a walk, and the cow closed the distance. Brendan had already mounted and was nearly at her side by then. She turned back around and stared straight ahead.

“You left town without me,” he accused when he drew even with her.

She’d have laughed at the irony of his complaint, but it still hurt too much. “How does it feel?” she muttered instead.

“If ya were tryin’ to teach me some kind of lesson, it was pretty childish to compromise your safety to do it.”

Helena bit back what she really wanted to say. Listening to Patience and Abby make plans for their babies, and discuss how their husbands were so protective of them, had been painful for her. Especially since the person she’d thought would protect her had abandoned her in a strange land at the first sign of trouble in their marriage.

Oh, who was she trying to kid? She’d always been alone, until the precious times she’d had Brendan in her life. But those magical times had ended when he’d turned his back on her.

Her anger at him spiked again and she retaliated in kind. “I told you, I don’t need you here. Besides that, you don’t matter enough for me to go out of my way to teach you a lesson. Particularly one you’ll never learn.”

“You certainly seem to need someone. Look at ya. That stupid calf hurt you.”

She dabbed at the cut with the bandanna Yates had given her. “I don’t need you,” she lied. She did the same work as the smaller men, but she couldn’t say she loved it. She’d rather spend her days riding for pleasure or doing embroidery or tatting, a lace-making skill she was still learning from Julia Hampton.

“I didn’t say it had to be me. Hire another hand. You aren’t suited to this kind of work.”

He couldn’t have said anything to anger her more. Who was he to judge her or her abilities? “For your information, this happened because of you. You scared the calf and he caught me where his horns will be in about a month. It could have been a lot worse if he were older. You might have even killed me then.”

“Don’t put that on me. After you got hurt, you went ahead and put yourself in danger again by helpin’ take that calf away from its mother. Suppose she’d turned on you, gored you?”

Helena let out a hefty sigh. “Longhorns are, for the most part, placid and gentle. Big long horns and all. If she wasn’t good-natured, she’d have gone to market long ago. I’d never let her breed a nasty disposition into my herd. The first thing I learned about longhorns was that if you can’t turn your back on one, it belongs on your table for dinner. Even longhorn bulls aren’t by nature mean.” That seemed to silence Brendan for a half hour or so.

“I’m sorry I scared it,” he said as they approached the home place. “I truly am sorry I got you hurt. I didn’t realize I’d startled it. Here.” He reached out to hand her a clean handkerchief, then he leaned down and opened the pasture gate.

She thanked him and rode ahead, the cow trailing behind her. Once he’d shut the gate after the lowing mama, Helena stepped out of the saddle, then pulled the calf down. She stumbled under his weight but managed to set him on his feet. Seeing him run to his mama and contentedly nurse made her smile. Then Brendan had to go and spoil the moment.

“Don’t put yourself in danger to spite me again. And get that cut looked at. It’s still bleeding.”

She brushed aside his concern. “I’ll be fine. Do you really think worse hasn’t happened to me in three years of ranching? As for why I left town, I had work to do out here and you said you had a stack of posters to get through. I didn’t have time to waste. This place doesn’t run itself. Spiting you was the last thought in my head. I told you, you don’t matter enough to influence my decisions.”

His lips tightened. “Fine. Just remember, town’s off-limits without an escort until we stop these raids.”

“You gave up the right to give me orders. You don’t tell me where and when I can do anything. You’re here at my sufferance, Ranger Kane. Try to remember that, and we might get through this without all these senseless arguments.”

Chapter Three

Brendan sat deep in his saddle as he and Harry stood atop the hill overlooking Shamrock’s ranch buildings. Helena’s home place was a neat package. He’d expected the main house would be a shining white edifice with columns soaring several stories high. But no. Not for Helena Conwell. Helena Conwell Kane, he amended, the last name almost, but not quite, an afterthought. He was at all times aware that she remained his wife.

Why the hell hadn’t he looked into divorce laws in Texas? Each time he’d stopped in to check with Major Jones he’d expected a packet of ominous-looking legal papers. Now he knew why they’d never appeared. And unless he broke his vows—which he had no intention of doing—it would be another three years before she’d be free to file for divorce.

It was infuriating that the thought of three more years of estranged marriage to Helena settled his contrary heart.

He forced his mind off that confusing thought and back onto Helena’s house. It wasn’t a palace. Not even a particularly large house. The long, low building formed a U, with a Spanish-style courtyard in the middle. Overlapping clay tiles covered the peaked roof. The walls were whitewashed adobe, with deep windows, and a homey porch ran the whole length, along the front and on both sides.

Helena had ordered him off that porch the day of the Varga raid. That was when he’d realized he’d never get another wink of sleep, worrying about her safety if—make that when—the raiders attacked Shamrock.

They’d been merciless with the wives of the shepherds at Belleza, more animals than men. While Brendan mourned the loss of all those women, at least they hadn’t had to live with the memories of what had been done to them. He’d never get that sight out of his head. The thought of Helena being next on the list had scared him right to her front door.

To a place he’d sworn never to set foot.

To protect a woman he couldn’t stop caring for.

A woman he couldn’t even talk to without a battle breaking out.

He squinted against the glare of the sun and stared at the white house with the red tile roof. She lived there, his Helena did. Slept there. Slept there alone, dammit. And she tempted him.

She’d been alone all the time he’d been gone.

Visions of her asleep in his arms haunted him, and had since the day he’d left her standing outside the land office. He’d assumed memories of their lovemaking would plague him. Those specters of the past did visit his dreams, disturbing his sleep. More often than not, he’d wake with an unmerciful hard-on, and memories of her fresh in his mind. He’d force himself to roll over, and hope to keep on dreaming.

But surprisingly, it was memories of her beautiful face as she’d slept, secure in his arms, that often rose unbidden to stalk even his waking moments. They were thoughts only constant danger kept at bay. Which, he supposed, was how he’d gotten his reputation for going into situations even other Texas Rangers shied away from.

Dealing with memories of Helena now led to one he tried to block, but never seemed to manage to for very long. His mind rolled back to the day it all went to hell....

* * *

“I have a surprise,” Helena said when she rushed out the door of their tiny shack of a house on the outskirts of Tierra del Verde. He’d been gone for two weeks, helping drive supplies. He’d picked up the job when one of the regular freight drivers got hurt in a brawl in the Golden Garter.

Since they’d arrived in the sweet little town of Tierra del Verde, Brendan had been putting in hours at the livery and anywhere else he could make a dollar to support them. If he had a bit left over at the end of the month, he put it aside to save for a small ranch. He longed to be his own boss. Then how hard he worked would have a direct effect on how much money he made. It was a small dream, but it was the Holy Grail to someone raised in Wheatonburg, Pennsylvania, in the shadow of Harlan Wheaton’s big house, his mining operation and the town he owned lock, stock and people.

Brendan was bone-tired and not sure he was up to a surprise. Still, he followed her inside, where she led him to the small settee that defined their parlor space. He forced a smile for Helena’s sake and took in her happiness. She was like air to a drowning man. He’d missed her so much. She’d given up everything to come West and live as his wife. “Now what is it you have planned?” he asked.

“Joshua, Abby and Daniel are here. They arrived the day you left. They wanted to surprise us.”

He’d missed his sister and nephew terribly. Joshua, too. “I’ve missed two weeks with them? How long will they be here?”

“They aren’t visiting. Joshua bought the bank and moved them here. He decided to follow Abby’s dream, knowing it was the best thing for Daniel. And speaking of best... Best of all is he did it, Bren.”

Brendan narrowed his eyes. “What is it my brother-in-law did?”

“Joshua cleared your name. He stood up in court back in Pennsylvania and proved you’d been framed by his father and Franklin Gowery. They were both forced to admit there’d been no evidence to prove you were involved but your badly forged initials in the company store’s receipt book.”

Brendan blinked, then let out a deep breath he felt he’d been holding for half a year. “He did it? I didn’t think he could. I’m free?” She nodded and watched the joy bloom on his face as the realization sank in. “I’m free.”

“Even better, Joshua untangled my assets from Franklin Gowery’s control. My guardian can never touch us again. We’re both free. And we’re rich.”

It was like having a weight lifted from him, only to have that same weight dropped right back on his shoulders again. Brendan’s efforts all these months were like a dandelion puff in the wind—weak and powerless. Once again she could buy and sell him.

“No. You’re rich, Helena. I told you the day we decided to make a go of this marriage you so handily arranged.”

She covered his hand with hers and he stared down at it. A hand that had been soft and lily-white was now rough and red with toil. His belly tightened with dread. Her hands now looked like his mother’s had. Would this life kill her, as sure as life in a mining town had killed his ma?

He could feel Helena willing him to look at her. When he raised his gaze to hers, he saw worry in her blue eyes. “But I told you I wanted to buy that ranch for us if I got control of my funds in time. That’s what the money’s for. For us. The ranch house isn’t much better than this place, but the land, Bren. It’s huge. And ours for the taking. We can build Shamrock, just like we planned. The widow woman says her husband had a herd of longhorns. They only need to be gathered in and the steers taken to San Antonio. Our Shamrock is out there waiting for us to rename it and make it into a legacy for our children.”

Brendan pulled his hand from under hers and paced to the open door, to stare out at the rolling landscape of the Texas Hill Country. “That’s your dream. I never wanted anything so grand. I want to build what you simply want to buy. I won’t have it.”

He wouldn’t live on her father’s ill-gotten gains. On what amounted to blood money—blood of men like his own father, who’d left his leg in one of Wheaton’s mines. Brendan didn’t understand how she could expect it of him.

“It’s our chance, Bren.” She sounded so reasonable. “We have to take it. An opportunity like this won’t come along again. If we don’t step up, there’s someone else who wants it. The widow doesn’t want to have to sell it to him, but she can’t wait any longer. She wants to sell to us. You’ll see. It’ll be a wonderful place to raise a family.”

“No,” he said flatly.

It hurt to see her anguish and realize she cared more for a piece of land than she did for his self-respect. Didn’t she know him at all? He’d told her they’d make it on what he provided. She clearly didn’t believe in him; it was as simple as that. He fisted his hand next to his leg. “You have to have everything now. You don’t want to work hard for it. You want it handed to you, the same way everything has been your entire life.”

She stiffened her spine and raised her chin. “It’s too late to back out. I already bought it. They’re waiting at the land office for us to sign the papers.”

“I won’t sign any papers. I won’t be bought.”

She stared at him, her eyes narrowed in thought or disbelief. He wasn’t sure he knew her this way. Maybe he’d never known her at all. “Bought? You think that’s what I want to do—buy you, like a slave? Imprison you?”

He felt the words like a knife slash to his heart. He knew she meant nothing like that, but he couldn’t give in on this point. “I won’t use that money.”

The hurt in her eyes hardened into anger. “Then you’re going to stand in the way of my dream, all because you’re too egotistical and bitter to see past your small, miserly hopes and goals to care about mine. Joshua followed Abby’s dreams here to the West. Why can’t you?”

That was a low blow. “Fine. I’ll sign the damned papers, but don’t think I’ll ever set foot there.”

She tilted her head and her lips tipped into a sly smile. “Yes, you will, because that’s where I’ll be. You’ll be here in town. You’ll see me all the time. And you’ll want me. Then you’ll come to me and we’ll be happy again. My dream is yours—it’s just bigger....”

* * *

And he’d known she was right. Brendan hadn’t dared stay. He’d known it would be just as she’d said: he’d have seen her, given in and gone to her. Then he’d have hated himself every day for the rest of his life, for stooping to use the money of a robber baron. Brendan had heard powerful men like that guardian of hers described that way. Harry Conwell couldn’t have been far removed from men like Gowery and Harlan Wheaton. Those men had conspired to frame Brendan, and therefore forced him to flee for his life, leaving his family behind.

He’d looked around the little house where they’d been so happy. Not a cross word had been spoken in the months after they’d arrived there. He hadn’t known he would miss it—and Helena—so much, but he had known he’d have to move on and find something to do that would keep him away. Then he’d found a new family, a new love—the Texas Rangers and the law.

Now, with his mind and heart still in turmoil, he watched Helena walk out onto the porch and stroll down the step, to the top of the rise behind the house. He noticed she did that every evening and every morning. She’d cross herself, then stand there, gazing out over the valley in prayer. After endless moments, head bowed, she’d retrace her steps. He’d seen tears in her eyes the one time he’d approached her as she’d returned to the house.

He wondered what she wanted. What was it she asked God for twice a day, every day?

Drawn to her now, he guided Harry down the hill to the home place. It was time to at least talk to her about the measures he’d taken to protect her. And why.

She turned as he approached, and this time she rushed to meet him as he dismounted. “Is something wrong?” she asked, clearly flustered. He couldn’t help remembering when the sight of him had had a bright smile blooming on her pretty face.

He shook his head and got back to the here and now. What was in her expression? Worry? Fear? She should be afraid; all her protests to the contrary, Helena was no fool. Look at how ready for a fight her men were.

“Nothing’s wrong as far as I know. Not yet, anyway. I still think they’ll hit you before they move on the Rockin’ R. Shamrock’s run by a woman. I doubt he thinks you’d be as ready for them as you are, or as ready as the R is bound to be.”

“He?”

Brendan damn near spit out a curse, but that would have made his slip of the tongue all the more noteworthy. “Just a figure of speech, and a boatload of evidence that’s more confusin’ than trying to follow their trail.”

“Oh? What do the Indian agents have to say?” she asked.

“As far as they know, all the Comanche war chiefs and their warriors are on the reservation, and have been.”

“Hmm. No matter who might come, Shamrock’s men are spoiling for a fight. But after what Farrah Varga told me...” Helena hesitated, pressing her lips together. Then she huffed out a breath, as if surrendering to an inevitable fate. “Okay. I admit it. I’m terrified, Bren. Those men are killers. I don’t want anyone at Shamrock to get hurt. Especially not defending me.”

He very nearly asked if that included him, but instead said, “You’ve a right to be afraid. No matter your feelings about the men, if you hear shooting, you need to duck and run for cover. Hide as best as you can,” he added, then waited for her to explode all over him for telling her what to do.

The explosion never happened. Instead, her eyes grew sad, her posture resigned. “That isn’t going to keep me safe and you know it. It’s as if the success of those early raids has emboldened the raiders. They killed every woman on Belleza. Do you think they didn’t hide? Farrah and her mother were blessed to be in town.”

“Blessed,” Brendan agreed, remembering well what had been done to those poor beggars.

“Alex Reynolds taught Patience to shoot as soon as they arrived, because the raids were worsening. He doesn’t think size will protect either of our places for much longer. Neither does Lucien Avery. He thinks I should move into town. I won’t do that, so I need to learn about guns, the way Patience did.”

Brendan pressed his lips together for a moment. The idea of Helena in the middle of gunplay turned his breakfast to stone. Carefully guarding his words, he said, “That they’ve picked on increasingly larger targets is true. You have a good point. You need to be taught to shoot and you have to be ready to kill whoever you aim at. You should have Mallory teach you.”

“Mallory already tried.” She shrugged. “I can’t hit the broad side of the barn, Bren. If they do come here—”

“Then I guess I’d better get to teachin’ you,” he interrupted gruffly, flustered by her unconscious use of his nickname as much as by the terror in her voice. “Got any empty cans or mason jars you can do without?”

She nodded. “I’ll buy new. This is important.”

Brendan bit back the insolent remark that nearly leaped off his tongue. Of course she could just go to town and buy new. She could probably buy out the company that made cans and jars, if she’d a mind. Instead of feeding the fires of discontent the way he seemed driven to do around her, he pointed to a fence off to the left. “Over yonder. Set them up on the top rail.” He stepped into the stirrup and swung himself back into the saddle. “I’ll go warn Mallory before we take ten years off the man’s life when we start shootin’. Don’t know why he never managed to teach you.”

She blushed adorably. “Um, Bren, Mallory really did try. I’d hate to hurt his feelings.”

Brendan forced a smile, trying not to react to her, and cursing himself for being so affected by her sweet blush. Damn the woman. And damn him for his weakness around her. “I’ll only say we’ll be doin’ a bit of target practice. That way you won’t be embarrassin’ me if the fault is with you and not the teacher.”

“If you mention me and shooting, you’ll have to ignore his laughter.”

Mallory didn’t laugh, though he did shake his head, consternation written on his sun-baked face. “Great waste of powder, if you ask me. I doubt it’s going to do her a bit of good.”

Brendan allowed that it wouldn’t hurt to try. Then, after handing Harry over to Jimmy, he walked to where Helena had set up the jars and cans, his Winchester balanced on his shoulder. He walked a bit beyond where she stood, to lean the rifle against the porch post.

“Let’s try this from the top. Mallory must have forgotten a step. Shootin’ a gun is easy if you know what you’re about. First hold up your thumb.”

She turned and frowned. “My thumb? I need to shoot, not paint.”

Brendan sighed, turned to the fence, pulled his Colt out of his holster and fired, sending the middle can spinning into the dusty corral as blue smoke expanded all around them. It dissipated in the breeze as he turned to her.

She stared at the now holstered gun. “How did you learn to do that?”

“I’ve good reflexes and I listened to the one teachin’ me. That and practice.”

Without a word she turned and held up her thumb.

His point made, Brendan said, “With both eyes open, cover that first can on the left with your thumb. With your left eye closed, is the can covered?”

She nodded.

“Now do the same with the right eye. Did your thumb seem to move?”

Again she nodded.

“Then when you choose what you’re aimin’ at, close your right eye and sight with your left.”

“Mallory just told me to point and pull the trigger. Thus the shotgun. With buckshot flying, I’d have a better chance of hitting something.”

Brendan shook his head. “At least we’re gettin’ to where you’ll have more than two shots, and you’ve not even picked up the gun. I’d prefer you hit what you aim at. Mind, if you do pick up a gun to defend yourself, you have to be ready to pull the trigger.”

“So you said. And I said that I am. I’d have to think of it as him or me, right?”

He gave a sharp nod. “There’s no room for guilt with these raiders. They’ve started this war.”

She nodded in turn. “I’d fire. I still have too much to do in this life.”

He wanted to ask what, but he’d given up any right to even wonder. And if he was honest with himself, he hated that he had. Wished he was the kind of man who’d be comfortable being kept. But Michael Kane hadn’t raised his sons to live off their women. And even if Brendan could get past that, there was the knowledge of where her wealth had come from to torture him. He’d been taught not to hate, too...but his father would have to be disappointed in his son, because Brendan did hate Harlan Wheaton, Franklin Gowery and, though he’d never met him, Harry Conwell by association.

He cleared his throat. “So about the actual shootin’. It’s important not to tense up.” He showed her how to load and unload his Colt in its half-cocked position. “This is a single action. Meanin’ you pull the hammer all the way back, through all four clicks, each time you want to fire.” He eased the hammer back and the clicks sounded in the silent clearing. “Now it’s ready to fire. You have six shots,” he went on, and handed the weapon to her. “Hold it with both hands and sight down the barrel.”

She turned to the targets.

“Now squeeze the trigger,” he ordered.

She did, but only the good Lord knew where the shot went.

“No. No. Don’t jerk it. That sends the barrel up or down. You don’t want to be hittin’ the bad guy in the foot, or blowing a hole in his hat. You need to keep the barrel parallel to the ground.”

He stepped behind her, caged her with his arms, his hands enveloping her small ones so he’d absorb the recoil and she’d see her next shot fly true. “Pull the hammer back,” he ordered, his voice suddenly rough. It was her—the rose scent of her—grabbing hold of his senses that was to blame.

Brendan swallowed as Helena readied the Colt to fire. The feel of her warm hands beneath his heated his blood to boiling. And the feel of her back nestled against his chest nearly undid him. He went hard below the belt. Luckily, her round bottom wasn’t nestled against him.

Helena went utterly still for a protracted moment. Then, apparently less affected than he, she said, “Now I fire?”

He cleared his throat. “Squeeze the trigger.”

The can she’d aimed at flew up into the air, then fell to the earth. He stepped back as she spun to face him, her face filled with delight. “I did it!”

Frowning at the effect her nearness had on him, he all but growled, “Don’t ever point a gun at anyone you don’t want to dig a hole for.”

She looked down at the Colt in her hand, then backed up. “Oh! Sorry.” She pointed the revolver at the ground. “But did you see? It flew up just like yours did.”

Brendan couldn’t help but grin at her happiness. He nodded. “Deader than a doornail, that dastardly can is. Now try on your own. Be ready to compensate for the kick.”

She fired, but a chip tore off the bottom rail. The rest of the cans fell off from the vibration. But the seven jars remained. Her shoulders drooped a bit in defeat.

“That’s okay,” he told her, trying to be encouraging. “Figuratively, you at least hit the barn this time. Try again,” he insisted.

Helena bit her bottom lip, then pressed both lips together as she pulled back on the trigger. And one of the jars shattered. Then two more exploded, one after another. “I did it. Oh, thank you.”

Maybe he should start hiring himself out to greenhorns. Or maybe she had one hell of an eye. That or it’d been beginner’s luck. “That’s good. Really good,” he forced himself to say. He took the gun, ejected the empty shells and reloaded it for her, noting her rapt expression as she watched. “There are six jars left standing,” he said, and pointed that way with the Colt. “Have at them.”

But he had eyes only for her as he heard one after another shatter. He finally looked at the fence and blinked. The fence was clear. Damn, but that’s enough to give a gunfighter a wet dream.

She sighed loudly and relaxed her tense shoulders. “At least if they do come, I can defend myself. You won’t have to worry about me.”

And that naive statement had him thumping back to earth double quick. How could she not know that was impossible?

* * *

Helena watched as confusion shadowed Brendan’s emerald eyes for a moment. Then he pressed his lips into a hard line. What had she done wrong now?

“Now there’s a load off my mind,” he all but snarled. “You can practice with a revolver on your own. Just warn the rest of us before you start.” He took the gunpowder-stained Colt and spun it into the holster on his right hip. “You do have one, don’t you?”

She looked at the gun, which had gone back where it had come from as quickly as it had appeared, and nodded. She’d bought one. Now she knew what to do with it. “Thank you,” she told him, bent on ignoring his shifting moods. But really, what had she done now?

“The lesson isn’t over,” he told her. “A Colt is a good weapon, but it’s a close-in weapon. Let’s give the Winchester a try.”

She looked at it, figuring it must weigh what she did. “But it’s so big.”

“No bigger than that shotgun you greeted me with. And it’ll blow a big hole in an attacker before he gets to your porch, and you’ll still have nine rounds to chamber, instead of two with the shotgun. I’d prefer it if you could defend yourself from a bit of a distance, havin’ ten full shots at the ready.”

She stared at him. He was so different from the man she’d married, yet still the same. She didn’t know why, but she had to know how much had changed. Could he finally see who she really was?

“Brendan, where have you been? Abby cagily mentioned whenever she got a letter, and let what you were up to drift into our conversations. But then I think the letters stopped coming, because she stopped doing so.”

He raised his left eyebrow, then nodded. “That’s a fair question, I suppose.” Still, he seemed a bit hesitant as he said, “I spent the last year or so before I came back here posin’ as a gun for hire in and around Corpus Christi. In doin’ that I managed to infiltrate and shut down a gang of outlaws who’d been terrorizin’ the residents in that part of the state. The Lyons gang, they were called. They’d eluded the law for four years before the major put me on their tails. I wired where they’d be on a certain day. Now all but three are in Huntsville Prison. The others are six feet under. They resisted arrest. The hit-and-run tactics Lyons used reminded the major of the raiders here.”

Helena tilted her head. “But they aren’t the same men—they’re in prison, right? And these are Indians. Ghost Warriors.”

“There’s a big difference between what went on down in Corpus Christi and the trouble here. Here they’re killin’ indiscriminately. Lyons was a former Confederate officer. He kept his men in check. They robbed indiscriminately, but never killed a soul. Nor did they steal horses, which is why they’re in prison and didn’t swing from a rope.”

“And you’re here because Sheriff Quinn wired for help.”

He shrugged. “Major Jones called me in and told me about these raids that started while I was...gone...and that Quinn had requested help. I have family here, so I came, but because of that I couldn’t come here posin’ as a gun for hire.”

She didn’t know why she wanted to know all this, but she did. There was an ache in her chest and she needed to understand what these last years had been about for him. “Why the rangers? It’s not what you said you wanted in the West.”

“Because of what your guardian tried to do to me.”

She frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Franklin Gowery lied to the law. They were going to arrest you because he did. You were completely innocent.”

Brendan stared at her, his green eyes narrowed and showing anger. “Why the rangers? Simple. I believe no one. I find out what needs to be discovered. I make sure what’s said is true before I put a man in shackles. I work for real justice, not some jumped-up little potentate who thinks his money gives him leave to wield power over those with no voice.”

Helena straightened her spine and planted her hands on her hips. She’d thought he felt as drawn to her as she was to him when he’d been showing her how to fire the Colt. She was such a fool! The lesson had only been about putting her fate in her own hands again. Nothing more. So once the Winchester lesson was over she’d be on her own.

And he’d once again lumped her in with Franklin Gowery and those like him. “You have a bad habit, Ranger Kane,” she snapped, her fury making his look like a child’s temper tantrum. “You forget facts at will and you judge others unfairly against your own narrow-minded yardstick of values. The poorer one is, the more noble, is that it? Sometimes the poorer the lazier, Brendan. And sometimes the lazier the more dishonest.”

She sniffed and took a step forward, poking a finger in the center of his chest. “You also seem to forget the months Joshua and I had to pretend to be engaged, so we could spy on Franklin Gowery and his Pinkerton cohorts. And you forget the night they would have put you in shackles. We risked our own freedom to spirit you out of town and save your life. And you forget the prison of a life Franklin was willing to force me into. Do you remember that period of time when all you did was stand by and watch, all but cheering him on? But that was just fine because, after all, I’m nothing but a filthy-rich heiress.”

Brendan stepped forward and reached out to her, but she knocked his hand aside, and with more strength than she knew she possessed, shoved him on his black-clad butt in the dirt. She didn’t even wait to see him land, just whirled and ran to the house. Then she tore open the side door, rushed inside and slammed and locked it. She pulled out the key for good measure, grasping it in a death grip.

She’d never let him in again.

Never.

Her breath stuttered in her chest and she wiped at her face. And stared at her wet hand. Tears! He’d made her cry. Again.

Damn him.

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