A Cowboy Unmatched (9 page)

“Josiah! I wasn't expecting to see you here.”

“And why not?” The man crossed his arms over his chest. “We're partners, ain't we? If trouble's houndin' you, it's houndin' me, too.”

Neill handed her off to his brother and leapt forward to embrace his friend. The man uncrossed his arms, and the two thumped each other good-naturedly on the back.

This
was Josiah? Neill's partner and closest friend? A black man? Clara's arms trembled as the ramifications shattered her composure. Thankfully, Jim handed her up into the wagon seat just then, and she was able to support Harrison's weight upon her lap without fear of dropping him.

All this time she'd worried that Neill, despite his good intentions and kind heart, would come to resent her Comanche blood. Even if her heritage didn't matter to him, she'd feared it would matter to others, and that would affect him. Wear on him. Lead to resentment.

Yet here he stood embracing a black man—a man with a heritage as prone to prejudice as her own—without a single inhibition or care about what others might think.

Perhaps marriage wasn't as impossible as she'd thought. She ducked her head to hide the smile she didn't want to explain when Neill returned to her side.

“Are the kids safe?” Neill asked Jim as his brother swung into the saddle of a waiting mount. “I don't want to put Travis and Meri's brood in harm's way.”

“Cassie and her folks have them all corralled at our place. Joanna's there, too.”

“So Crock's here?” Neill slid a quick glance in Clara's direction. “Good.”

She didn't know what to make of the oddly intense look until she remembered his second brother, Crockett, was a preacher. Her heart gave a little leap. Was Neill still hoping to persuade her toward marriage? Because if he were, she doubted she'd need much convincing to change her answer. After all, she was falling more in love with the man by the minute. But what did he feel toward her? Obligation or something deeper?

The wagon dipped as Neill climbed onto the seat beside her, sandwiching her between himself and Josiah, who was taking up the reins. She was about to ask why Josiah was driving when she noticed Neill's ready grip on the rifle draped across his lap.

“Just a precaution,” he said when he noticed her concern. His calm smile did little to impede the shiver coursing down her spine. The gun might be a precaution, but it also announced in no uncertain
terms that Neill was prepared to fight for her, and the thought of what could happen to him if he did drove shards of terror through her heart.

 
 Chapter 11 
 

Neill scanned the trees lining the road as they slowly made their way through the hills, straining his ears for any rustle or stirring in the underbrush that might signal an attack. He hadn't been this vigilant since he'd been a boy, training under Travis's watchful eye to guard the family and their land from all intruders. At least then they'd had the safety of the house and barn to retreat to when needed. Out here in the open, he, Clara, and Josiah were much more vulnerable. Neill bit back an impatient sigh. If they'd been on horseback, they could have been at the ranch by now, but Clara could never have mounted a horse, and it wouldn't have been safe for Harrison, either. So instead they plodded along in the wagon, surrendering precious time to the man pursuing them.

Clara fidgeted beside him, lifting her head from where she'd been lightly dozing against his shoulder for the past hour. She stretched her neck, twisting it forward and back as she rubbed at the soreness with her hand. “How much longer?”

He watched her movements, simple, yet unconsciously alluring as she exposed the side of her slender neck to his view. Neill cleared his throat. “Thirty, maybe forty-five minutes if we keep this pace.” He itched to cup her nape in his hands and massage the tension from her neck and scalp, to release the weight of her hair by tugging her pins free, and to press his lips against the provocative freckle hiding behind her right ear.

Swiveling his head away from her, he ordered his attention back to the trees. As delectable as the prospect of kissing Clara was, he couldn't afford the distraction. Not when her life and her son's future depended on him.

“Where is your brother?” Clara asked. “I thought he was riding to the ranch with us.”

“Jim's scouting our back trail.” Neill tossed a look over his shoulder. “He'll let us know if anyone is following.”

“Do you think Mack could have—”

“Shhh!” Neill held up his hand, a sound having caught his ear. Clara immediately fell silent.

Josiah met his gaze over Clara's head. He'd heard it, too. The Archer family signal, a bird call they'd perfected as children to communicate while hidden in the trees. It came again, and this time Neill placed it. Up ahead and to the right.

He caught a movement in the trees in the same location. Just to be sure, he raised the rifle he'd borrowed from Josiah and tucked the stock into his shoulder but lowered it again when Jim emerged, his horse loping toward them.

“Keep the horses moving,” Neill instructed when Josiah started to rein them in. Jim's horse was lathered. That didn't bode well.

Jim came abreast of them. “Older man that matches your description is heading up the path. Got another rider with him. I took the game trails to cut out some distance, but they'll be upon us in a matter of minutes.”

Neill had played this scenario out in his head over and over during the last hour. He knew what had to be done. He gave Jim a sharp nod, tucked Josiah's rifle under the seat and slid it down to where his friend could easily reach it, then climbed over the bench into the wagon bed.

“Neill?” Clara tried to grab his arm, but he evaded her grip. “Where are you going?” Harrison started fretting at his mama's sharp tone. Neill hardened himself against it.

Coming up behind Josiah, he clutched the man's shoulder. “As soon as I get Mo clear, race for the ranch. All out. Got it?”

“I'll get 'em there. Don't worry.” Josiah adjusted his grip on the reins, ready to whip them over the horses' backs.

He trusted Josiah with his life, but somehow it still tore his gut out to leave Clara and Harrison in another's care. He glanced back at Clara. A mistake. She'd turned in her seat, her eyes full of fear. For him. Shutting down his emotion, he pivoted away, grasped the side of the wagon, and started edging his way to the rear.

But he couldn't leave yet. Not without . . .

Neill spun and lunged toward Clara. He wrapped his hand around her nape and kissed her with all the passion and love he'd been storing up over the last several days. She clutched his arm and kissed him back with a desperate enthusiasm that nearly buckled his knees.

“I love you, Clara Danvers.” His husky voice rasped between them. “And when I get back, I aim to make you mine.”

Her eyes shimmered. “I'm already yours.”

Neill pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes scrunching tightly closed at the sweetness of those words. Then he shoved away. He'd already delayed too long.

Whistling to Mo, he made his way to the side of the wagon, his step unsteady as the wheels continued rolling over uneven road. He untied the horse's lead line and tossed it over Mo's neck. Then, bracing one booted foot on the side of the wagon while he murmured encouragement to his gelding, Neill stood straight and grabbed for the saddle horn as he leapt onto the animal's back.

“Go!” he shouted to Josiah.

The man needed little urging. “Hyah!” He slapped the reins against the team's back, and the wagon lurched forward.

Neill forced himself not to watch. Instead he turned Mo around to face whatever came down the road, pulling his own rifle from the scabbard on his saddle.

“We stand together, brother,” Jim said, guiding his mount into position beside Neill.

“Together,” Neill confirmed.

A rumbling echoed from the south, growing louder as hoofbeats thundered closer.

Mo snorted and sidestepped. “Steady, boy.” Neill leaned forward and patted his horse's neck. “Steady.”

All at once, Mack Danvers and his companion surged around the bend. Capitalizing on the element of surprise, Neill jammed his rifle butt against his hip and fired a round into the sky. The loud crack spooked the horses. They whinnied in distress and reared up, their hooves pawing the air. Mack and his comrade had their hands full just trying to stay in the saddle.

“You're not welcome here, Danvers,” Neill shouted above the melee. “You made your offer and Clara declined. Leave her be.”

Mack wrestled his mount under control. “You want the little squaw, you can have her,” he spat. “But the boy is mine. I won't leave without him.”

“You won't leave
with
him.” Neill narrowed his focus. The man had made no move to go for his gun since he and Jim already had theirs out and ready, but there was something about his demeanor that made the back of Neill's neck prickle.

“That boy's my flesh and blood, Archer. The heir to the Circle D.” Mack's mount started dancing nervously again, as if sensing
his rider's rising temper. “You'll have to shoot me to stop me from retrieving my grandson.”

A war cry burst from Mack's lungs, and he charged.

Neill clutched Mo with his knees and took aim with his rifle. He couldn't let Mack steal Harrison from Clara. He couldn't. His finger tightened on the trigger.

But he couldn't shoot a man in cold blood, either.

And Mack seemed to know that, the blackguard. He'd taken a calculated risk, and it had paid off.

Neill wavered. The man would be upon him in a blink. He could see the light of victory glowing in his eyes.

No!

He might not be able to shoot a man in cold blood, but that didn't mean he was helpless to stop him.

Neill flipped his rifle around, grabbed the barrel with both hands, and the instant Mack came into range, swung it like a club. Mack's eyes went wide. Left with no choice, he dodged sideways to escape the blow, his frantic momentum toppling him from the saddle as the rifle butt grazed his skull. Neill followed, launching himself atop Mack, trusting Jim to deal with the second man.

Fists crashed into flesh. Bone slammed against bone. Hardened experience battled youthful vigor, desperation lending both men enhanced strength.

Neill's head pounded from multiple collisions with the ground. Blood oozed from his nose, and his left eye was nearly swollen shut. His ribs ached, his hip throbbed, and he thought his right shoulder might have been knocked out of joint when Mack had flipped him over his head. Mack was in equally poor shape, gasping for air between blows. Yet when he threw his weight atop Neill and pinned him to the ground, he gained the advantage.

Neill kicked out at Mack's gut even as the older man's hands came up to crush his windpipe. Thoughts of Clara and Harrison darted through Neill's mind as dark spots began to cloud his vision.

His family.
God above, don't
let me fail them.

 
 Chapter 12 
 

Clara held on for dear life as Josiah whipped the wagon around a corner and down a private drive. Bracing her feet against the front board and gripping the side of the seat with her right hand, she clutched Harrison to her chest with her left and prayed they'd somehow get to the ranch without the wagon flipping.

They raced through thick stands of trees that nearly blocked the sun. Only when the pines began to thin did Josiah rein in the frenzied horses. He lifted off the bench slightly, using his weight to bring the team under control. At the same time, he let out a piecing whistle that left her ears ringing. The wagon hit a clearing and Clara gasped. Two armed men stood in their path, legs braced apart, rifles raised. She immediately twisted sideways and curled her body around Harrison, shielding her son as best she could.

Her eyes squeezed tightly closed, Clara jerked when Josiah cupped her shoulders with his hands.

“Come on, Miz Danvers. We got to get you into the house. I promised Neill I'd keep you and the little one safe. I can't do that so good out in the wagon.”

She grabbed hold of Josiah's arm with her free hand. “But those men . . .”

A smile broke across his features, his teeth shining brightly in his dark face. “Travis and Crock ain't gonna shoot you, ma'am. They's just making sure we don't got any unwanted comp'ny on our tail.”

“Travis?” Clara twisted abruptly toward the man approaching her from the opposite side of the wagon. With his gun now pointed harmlessly at the ground, she saw past the threat of the weapon to the face behind it. He was an older version of Neill. Tall, lean, and a bit more weathered, but definitely capable of lending aid.

“You've got to go after Neill,” she blurted.

In a blink, his expression changed from one of curiosity to a hard stare that nearly froze her to her seat. It didn't stop her, though. Nothing would stop her. Not when Neill's life hung in the balance.

Dodging Josiah's grip, she leaned toward Travis and seized his shoulder. “Please. Mack is obsessed with taking my son from me. Neill stayed behind to head him off. But Mack will stop at nothing.
Not even killing. Not if it means getting control of his grandson. You have to help Neill. Please!”

“Josiah?” Travis looked past her, a brow raised.

Clara glanced between the two men. Why wasn't Travis rushing to fetch his horse? Did he not realize how little time they had?

“Jim is with him,” the driver said, his voice frustratingly void of urgency. “I promised Neill to look after his woman, so I'll be here to watch the house.”

Travis nodded once, then finally started issuing orders. “Crock, take the lady in to Meri. Josiah, see to the team. I'll saddle the horses.” Then he turned back to her. “You'll be safe here, ma'am. If you belong to Neill, you belong to all of us. No matter what happens, you and your child will be protected.”

“Thank you, but please go. Neill needs you more than I do right now.” She released his shoulder, barely restraining herself from shooing him on his way.

He grinned at her impatience, then set off at a jog toward the barn. Another man immediately stepped into the void he'd left and smiled up at her. The warm, natural charm he exuded softened the edge of her distress. “I'm Crockett, ma'am. Let me help you down.”

She thought to put Harrison back in his makeshift bed before alighting, but strong hands circled her waist and had her feet on the ground before she could blink. “Th-thank you.” He held her steady while she braced her wobbly legs beneath her. “I'm Clara, by the way. Clara Danvers.”

He winked at her. “Soon to be Clara Archer, I'll bet.”

She lifted her chin. “Yes.”

“Excellent!” He took her arm and led her to the log house standing a short distance away. “It's about time that boy settled down. Maybe now he'll quit galavantin' all over the state and stay put for a while.”

They hadn't even reached the porch yet when a lovely blond woman bustled out the front door. She had a slight hitch in her step, but the enthusiastic welcome glowing in her blue eyes erased all else from Clara's mind. How long had it been since she'd had true female companionship?

“Meri, meet Clara,” Crockett announced as he assisted her up the stairs. “Neill's intended.”

The instant she reached the top step, Clara found herself wrapped in a fierce hug. “Welcome to the family, Clara. I've been praying for the Lord to lead Neill to the right woman. And here you are.”

The right woman?
Tears welled in Clara's eyes. She carried Comanche blood and was the mother of another man's babe—yet this beautiful, kind-hearted lady took one look at her and not only accepted her but called her an answer to prayer. Her knees did buckle then.

“Whoa.” Crockett grabbed hold of her elbow and steadied her.

“I'm fine,” Clara insisted, waving away his help once she had her feet back under her. “I'm just a little worn out from the trip.”

“Of course you are.” Meri held out her hands. “Could I take the baby for you? Mine have gotten so big, it would be such a joy to hold an infant again.”

Clara hesitated only a moment, then nodded. “His name is Harrison,” she said as she handed her son into Meri's arms.

“He's beautiful,” the other woman enthused. “Such a dear. And so tiny. Why, he can't be more than a couple weeks old.”

“Two days.”

“Two days?” Meri gasped. “Good heavens! You came straight from childbed, didn't you? What was that boy thinking?”

Clara stiffened. “That
man
was saving my son. Leaving was necessary.” Why did they all speak of Neill as if he were still a child?

Meri looked taken aback, and then a slow smile spread across her face. “Yes. You are
definitely
the right woman.”

“Crock!” Travis's shout drew all eyes to the barn, where he emerged leading two horses. “Mount up.”

Neill's brother placed a hand on her shoulder. “We'll bring your
man
back to you safe and sound, Clara. Don't worry.”

She glared at his teasing grin. “See that you do.”

His chuckle warmed her, but the sound quickly dissipated as he bounded down the steps and across the yard to the waiting horses.

The men disappeared in a flurry of dust as they kicked their horses into a run. Meri led the way into the house, so busy cooing to Harrison that she didn't notice Clara's hesitation to follow.

She peered into the trees as if she could actually see Neill if she just tried hard enough. “Bring him back to me,” she whispered, the prayer lifting from the depths of her heart. “I need him.”

Mack's fingers tightened their grip on Neill's throat. Consciousness ebbed.

Then a vision of Clara swam through his mind. Clara alone. Abandoned. Her son lost to her.
No!
Neill forced the darkness back, a new ferocity thrumming in his veins.

Mack shifted position to press more weight against Neill's throat, and Neill seized the opening. With a surge of strength that could only be God-given, he raised both knees and jammed his boots into Mack's gut. He twisted and shoved with all his might, launching Mack sideways. Neill gulped blessedly sweet air.

Not taking any time to savor that sweetness, Neill immediately threw himself on top of Mack and slammed his fist into the man's body and face again and again until his adversary finally stopped swinging back.

“Clara is to be my wife,” Neill shouted down at the man moaning beneath him. “Harrison will carry
my
name. Be
my
son. You no longer have any claim to him. Do you understand?”

Mack stilled. Eyes that had been rolling back in his head suddenly sharpened their focus. “She named the boy Harrison?” His grunted words were barely decipherable, but Neill made them out.

“Yes.” Odd that the boy's name would have such an effect on him.

Mack lifted his head an inch off the ground, then collapsed back down. “My grandmother's . . . maiden name.”

Neill's brows rose. What were the chances? True, Harrison was a rather common surname, but for it to belong to both Clara's mother and Mack's grandmother smacked of something stronger than coincidence. Providence, perhaps? After all, he doubted Clara would have named her son Harrison had she known the family attachment Mack had to the same name. There was too much animosity between them for her to choose a name that reminded her at all of her overbearing father-in-law.

“Can I at least see him?” Mack murmured, his words slurring slightly. “He's all I've got left of my boys.”

Neill's gut screamed no. The man wasn't to be trusted. But stealing a man's grandson from him was no better than what Mack had tried to do to Clara. Harrison deserved to know his entire family, warts and all.

“Only on my terms,” Neill growled, “and only if Clara agrees.”

Mack's eyes slid closed, and the lines of tension etching his face eased. “Thank you.”

Neill rolled off the man and tugged him to his feet. “Harrison will be my son in the eyes of the law, an Archer, with all the protection of the Archer family. I will love him like my own and raise him accordingly. He'll know ranching, hunting, horses, weapons, and . . . if you can see your way to cooperating, he'll know his grandfather, too.”

Mack sucked in a harsh breath. “You . . . you won't keep him from me?”

“You'll only be allowed to see him on Archer property, and only with me or one of his uncles in attendance. But understand this.” Neill grabbed Mack's shirtfront and brought the man's face even with his own. “If you ever attempt to take the boy or if anything suspicious occurs while you are with him, your welcome will be revoked. Permanently. You'll never see him again. Understand?”

“What of the Circle D?” The man's shoulders stiffened slightly, a hint of the old belligerence creeping back into his voice. “Would you keep the boy from what is rightly his just to spite me?”

Neill shook his head. “When Harrison is old enough, we can discuss a visit. But I won't force it on him if he is unwilling. If you want to name him your heir, that's your business. However, don't be thinkin' you'll have long summers together to train him in the ranch's management. Not unless you prove yourself trustworthy first.”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” a voice behind them said. “Don't you think, Crock?”

Neill turned to find Travis and Crockett astride their horses, wrists crossed over their saddle horns as if content to watch the show from that vantage point.

“Yep. Plenty reasonable.” Crock winked at him. Neill grinned.

“'Bout time you two got here,” Jim groused, his own face sporting several new bruises as he shoved Mack's hired man in front of him to join the gathering.

Travis pushed back the brim of his hat. “Seems to me you two young'uns had things well in hand.”

Jim scowled. Crockett chuckled. And Neill could only think how good it was to be home.