As the seconds passed by and she didn’t feel his fists, Cora Ann let herself hope. She peeked up at McCready’s face through her tangled length of hair but didn’t find any softening of his features.
McCready’s disgust deepened when she opened her eyes and gave him a terrified stare. “Stop it. We both know I won’t hit you. But you’re going to tell me all about Bill and what he wants with Maggie. You,” he emphasized, “are going to tell me everything I want to know. And when you’re finished, you’re getting the hell out of here.”
She believed him. But because he had showed himself to be soft, she dared make a demand of her own. “Swear to me that you’ll get me away from here before he finds me.”
“Who? I want his name.”
“The man called Bill is William Berger. Now, will you swear to help me?”
For a moment McCready was tempted to tell her to go to hell. That he wouldn’t lift a finger to help her after what she had done, not only to Satin but to him. But Cora Ann knew no other way than to bargain for every deal thrown her way.
“All right,” he agreed. “I’ll make sure you get out safely. Now talk.”
“Yeah, you do that, Cora Ann,” Maggie said. She stood in the open doorway, glancing from the rumpled bed to where McCready stood in front of Cora Ann.
“Maggie, you don’t think—”
“Don’t much matter what me thinks, McCready,” she answered, cradling her rifle and coming into the room. Wrinkling her nose, she added, “Sure does stink up here. Don’t you open a window?”
“Never mind the window,” McCready admonished, pointing to the bed as the only place to sit. “Have a seat. Cora Ann was just going to begin.”
Maggie chose to stand, but she listened quietly as the woman spoke.
“Berger threatened me into helping him. It doesn’t matter over what, it’s enough that I did.”
“More,” McCready stated very softly, retaining his stance in front of Cora Ann, not so much to protect her, but hoping Maggie would think twice about shooting her if he was in the way. A whimsical thought if he ever had one. Maggie’s eyes were about as friendly as the bores of the rifle she carried.
“Berger is working with a man up in Santa Fe. He’s the one that hired Quincy.”
“Berger hired Quincy?” McCready asked.
“No. Thadius Cornwallis. William’s partner. Quincy was supposed to marry Maggie and then kill her.” Cora Ann peered around McCready to see how Maggie took that news, and shivered at Maggie’s hostile look. “Quincy was supposed to have her make a will just like he would, so when she was dead, the mine would belong to him.”
“You sing a pretty song, Cora Ann,” Maggie said, coming closer. “But how do we know that you’re tellin’ the truth?”
“She wouldn’t dare lie to me.”
Maggie gave McCready a quick once-over look. “What’s to stop her, McCready? You gonna stop playin’ stud an’ not service her?”
He rounded on Maggie. “That’s enough. I said she wouldn’t lie, and that’s all there is to it. You’re the one wasting my time and your own, Maggie. Keep quiet and let her finish.”
Cora Ann’s smirking smile confirmed Maggie’s own fear. McCready was back to being McCready. His telling her off in front of Cora Ann stung her to the quick. Maggie had to drag out her defenses. She swore she’d never lower them again for him.
“Go on,” McCready ordered.
“There’s no more. Quincy was here looking for you with four men that he hired to help him. He left and a few days later Berger showed up.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know, McCready.” His slight move had her add, “I swear that. I haven’t seen him since before I let the dog go.”
Raking his hand through his hair, McCready turned to look at Maggie and found she was gone.
“Pack your bags. Slick and Ira can ride a ways with you.” He ran after Maggie, calling her, but she had already walked out by the time he got downstairs.
“Where’s Dutch?” he asked Ira.
“Left right after Maggie walked in. Said he had some business.”
McCready started running for the door. “Not now, Dutch,” he whispered to himself. “Not when Maggie’s primed for firing.”
But he was too late to stop Dutch.
From his vantage point in the Rawhider’s doorway, McCready saw Dutch leading the big blond lumberjack down the street while he yelled for Maggie to wait for him.
What McCready read in Larson Vladimir’s face sent a cold fury through him. The man was shocked to see Maggie. He wasn’t making any attempt to hide it. McCready wanted to rush out and tell him not to make the same mistake that he had. Maggie shouldn’t be judged by her looks; she was all the woman a man could want and more.
But that was his Maggie. The one he alone knew. The Maggie who stood in the middle of the rutted street, her legs spread for balance, her rifle cradled in her arms. The wild, proud Maggie, who would take on both Dutch and the lumberjack without a thought for herself.
McCready longed to take this moment and plunge it into freezing water until he had figured out a way to keep the last shreds of trust that Maggie had for him from being ground into dust. But he had no freezing water and his sleight-of-hand was strictly confined to being able to deal what he wanted from a deck of cards.
He should be thinking about saving his own neck. But he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Maggie. As if he were inside her mind, he knew she watched Dutch with all the wary instinct of a hunted animal. Her trust was shaken because of one C. V. McCready. He almost called out to her, almost turned his back to go inside, but he had never been a coward.
McCready walked out to stand beside Maggie.
Maggie didn’t know where her strength came from to stand there, waiting for Dutch. She needed to be alone. Needed to sort out Quincy’s betrayal and lies. But she needed to be held in McCready’s arms while he held everyone at bay for a time.
“Maggie,” Dutch said, “this is Larson Vladimir. He’s come all the way from Washington Territory to meet you.”
She kept her eyes on Dutch, having read the other man too well. He was looking at her like something that had crawled out from under a rock, and he didn’t know what to do with it. She’d seen that look enough times so that it shouldn’t have bothered her, but with McCready standing alongside, taking it all in, she felt unable to defend herself.
Dutch elbowed Lars’s ribs. “Go on. Talk to her.”
Lars felt he was choking, and it had nothing to do with the freshly starched linen collar he wore. This was Mary? She was no slender softwood sapling, easily bent to a man’s way. She was hardwood locust, ready to dull the edge of a man’s ax time and again from the look in her eyes.
“I ain’t got all day, Dutch. Maybe he’s swallowed his tongue. Send him back where you got him. I’m goin’ huntin’.”
Lars’s gaze dropped to the rifle she held as if she knew how to use it. Bad business this letting a woman carry a gun.
Dutch slapped him on the back. “You’ve got something important to say to Maggie, so get on with it.”
“
Ja
. I will do it.” Taking courage in hand, Lars tried to smile. He couldn’t manage one. He glanced around, looking for someone to offer them a place to talk in private. This matter was not … He lost his thought. Maggie turned heel and walked way. This was an insult not to be borne.
“You will wait until I say you go, Mary.”
Maggie took a deep breath, then two more. She turned slowly to face Lars. “Mister, you got somethin’ figured all wrong. No man tells Maggie O’Roarke what she does and when. An’ if you don’t want to find yourself eatin’ the wrong end of this here rifle, you’ll ’pologize right fast.”
“Right! I will give you what is right!” Lars tore papers from his inside jacket pocket, brandishing them as he advanced on Maggie. “You are a shameless woman. No more the wearing of men’s pants. No more the carrying of a gun. No more the rough talk.”
Maggie stopped him by placing the barrel tip in his gut. “Take a deep breath and back off, or I’ll use this. I don’t know what you’re in a lather about and don’t care. Just back off.”
“Do it, Mr. Vladimir,” McCready suggested. “Those of us who have come to know and love Maggie as she is, also know that she’ll do what she says.” He strolled to where they stood. “I would also suggest that you just tell Maggie what you’re holding.”
Lars glanced at the forgotten papers in his hand. He tugged at his collar. “The paper, it tells that you are my wife.”
“
Your
wife! I can’t be your wife. I’m his,” she hissed, jabbing the rifle at McCready.
McCready almost felt sorry for Lars when relief flooded his eyes. His body lost some of its stiffness. But McCready knew it was time for the real fur to fly.
“You will not question my word,” Lars demanded. “Dutch has read my papers. Your uncle lent me money to buy stands of timber and to build a sawmill. He asked no payment. But—”
“Seems it was a poor deal on Mohawk’s part,” Maggie cut in. But the words were spoken from a part of her that was still here. The rest of her was running. Running from the confusion that McCready’s continued silence caused. Why wasn’t he saying anything to stop this man?
McCready shoved his hands into his pants pockets to stop himself from grabbing hold of her and not letting go.
But Maggie was turning to him. “McCready?”
Her whisper cut through his turbulent emotions. He heard the silent questions she was asking him, begging for denial. And his silver tongue failed him.
“All Mohawk Pete asked in return from Mr. Vladimir was that he marry you by proxy, and if anything happened to Pete, the man was to come—”
“But you said—” Maggie stopped. Something was wrong.
“I had good reasons for what I said.”
Her eyes glazed over. Maggie moved because they were all waiting for action. She gave them what little she could. Without sighting, she peppered the front of the Rawhider until her rifle came up empty. No one tried to stop her.
She saw Pamela run from the mercantile and stop when she saw them grouped in the street. But Maggie wasn’t worried about Pamela. She was worried for herself. Somehow she had to walk back to her cabin. Somehow she would do it.
“Maggie, please, listen,” McCready implored.
With a shake of her head she focused on him. “You know what you are, McCready?” she said very softly. “You’re fool’s gold. Glitterin’ all fancy under dark waters, callin’ out for a dreamer to come get you. But bring you up to the light, an’ the shine’s all gone. Ain’t nothin’ left to hold but worthless rock. Like you.”
He whitened with every brittle word she spoke, but anger for himself, for Pete not trusting him alone to take care of her, and anger for Maggie so easily forgetting what they shared held him silent. He was not going to defend himself.
Lars cleared his throat. “I will call on you, Mary.”
“Don’t bother,” she snapped. “I ain’t for the likes of you. I don’t care what paper you have. No man’s telling me what for.”
Maggie closed her eyes, willing herself to move. She had a need so deep to crawl away and hide to lick her wounds in peace.
Pamela’s scream cut through the air. “Get down, Lars! All of you, get down!” Wringing her hands, she backed up until the solid wall of the store stopped her. She should have warned them after she overheard her father with Quincy and Ryder. Lars could be killed! The fool dived after Maggie, but McCready was already covering her body with his as the three men rode them down. Dutch had rolled clear and was inside the Rawhider. She had never felt so helpless in her life.
“Pa, don’t kill him!” she yelled as he rode by. “Please don’t kill him.”
Maggie ate dust. From her shoulder to her hip, she had her empty rifle cutting into her. McCready’s familiar weight pinned her down, and she knew that Lars had flung himself partly over them. It was too much to believe that McCready was shielding her with his body.
The ground beneath her cheek vibrated from horses at a full gallop. Maggie tried to make herself smaller, knowing what the trampling horses could do to a body. She couldn’t think, couldn’t move to do anything to stop them. Her belly heaved against the helplessness that gripped her.
Two warning shots kicked up dirt on either side of them. Maggie felt the tension in McCready. Questions and doubts were stripped in an instant. They were going to die. The terror of the storm came back to her. She had needed McCready that night, and he had come to her. She needed him now, needed to feel that he would care. Wiggling one hand out from under her body, Maggie managed to reach his arm. She gripped him tight, feeling the pounding of his heart against her, the slight move he made to gather more of her beneath him. His breathing was as labored as hers, but Maggie knew he had somehow understood, and she wasn’t really alone.
From the doorway of the Rawhider, Dutch watched the three men pull up with their guns drawn. The horses danced in place, making it almost impossible for Dutch to get off a clean shot. He was no marksman and knew it, but he swore when Burton and Quincy dismounted, followed quickly by Ryder. With them holding their restive horses, Dutch had no chance to shoot them without risking the three on the ground. He clutched his rifle tight and eyed McCready’s rifle by his side.
“Ira, you and Slick try getting around behind them. But don’t open fire unless Maggie, McCready, and Lars are clear.”
“We’re gone,” Slick answered, running for the back door with Ira.
“Get up, fancy man.” Lars felt cold iron press against his neck. For his slowness to obey, the gun was jabbed in warning.
“Peeling them off each other is almost as much fun as watching that little fat man peel off his money.”
“Shut up, Ryder,” Quincy ordered.
Andrew Burton nervously watched as Lars came to his feet. The man was as big as Dutch, red-faced with fury, and Andrew caught himself backing away. “Don’t take your eye off him,” he told Ryder. Looking up and glancing around, he worried that their shots would bring the miners crawling all over them.
“Settle down, Burton,” Quincy said. “This time I won’t fail.” But he, too, sent a quick searching glance around, dismissing Burton’s daughter cowering near the store. “Hurry up, Ryder. Get Maggie so we can get out of here.”
“Maggie,” McCready breathed into her ear, “run when I get up.”
“C’mon, McCready, you’re next.” Ryder hunkered down beside him to make sure that McCready felt the gun barrel he jammed against the back of his head. “Ain’t the big man now, flashing your money an’ giving orders.”
McCready knew everything rode on Dutch, and he prayed that Dutch wouldn’t fail him.
He rolled against Ryder, forcing him to lose his balance. Ryder’s shot went wild. McCready’s kick landed on his jaw and sent Ryder sprawling. Dutch called out and flung McCready his rifle. Andrew’s shot spit dust up between McCready’s feet, but McCready came up from his half-crouch, levering and firing in a blur of motion.
Maggie, ready to swing her empty rifle like a club, froze seeing McCready in action. Ryder’s gun was shot out of his hand. Quincy tried to stem the flow of blood from a shoulder wound, and Andrew writhed on the ground, churning up more dust, holding his bleeding leg. Lars’s solid punch flattened Quincy alongside Ryder.
The three of them—Maggie, Lars, and McCready—stood with chests heaving, ready to do battle. McCready was the first to recover and grabbed hold of Maggie, crushing her against him.
Time and place blurred for Maggie. McCready was holding her as if he would never let her go, and she was back at the cabin with him, safe and warm.
“Maggie, hold me,” McCready whispered. “I need you to hold me.”
She hugged him tight, but then pulled back to look at him. “You
can
shoot, McCready.”
“On occasion, Maggie mine, on occasion.” His blood still surged with the rush of fear he experienced for her.
“You could’ve been killed.”
“Yes, and you, too. So stop sounding so accusing, Maggie. What I want to know is how Andrew got involved with these two.”
“You go ask, McCready,” she said, jerking herself free of his arms. “I don’t want to know.” Bewildered by the need to get away from everyone, Maggie looked at Lars and found herself meeting Pamela’s tear-filled eyes while Lars cuddled her close.
Shouts and yells roared down the street from both ends, as miners, drawn from their search by the gunfire, ran to see what had happened. Maggie found herself pushed and shoved out of the way by the men crowding around McCready. Ira and Slick joined Dutch in slapping McCready’s back, then, screaming McCready’s name, the Rose came running, forcing everyone aside to get to McCready.
Maggie backed away from them, absently smiling and nodding to the miners.
“You see it? Mighty fancy shootin’ for McCready! Didn’t know he had it in him. Three they say—that true?”
Trying to clear her thoughts, Maggie shook her head. She felt as if she had to do something, but her blood was pumping at an alarming rate, and her heart felt as if it intended to pound its way free of her body. She stepped aside and looked down the street only to be jolted when she saw tiny Miss Mae standing on her porch with her dead husband’s dueling pistols in hand. She waved one and Maggie waved her arm, signaling her it was over.
But the first voice that yelled, “String ’em up!” told her it was just beginning.
“That’s Texas justice!” another man shouted.
“Hush yore fool mouth,” someone else ordered. “This here’s the territory of New Mexico.”
“Justice is justice,” came the rejoinder.
“Hold on, hold on,” Slick said, shushing those closest to him. “We’ll let McCready decide.”
There were murmurs of agreement, but McCready ignored them, trying to see over the heads of the men to where Maggie was.
“Can you see her?” McCready asked Dutch, then called her without waiting for an answer. The voices were louder now, demanding his decision of what to do with the three men, and McCready held up his rifle and fired the last shot in the air. He got the silence he wanted. “These three are guilty of trying to jump Maggie’s claim. She’ll decide what’s to be done with them.”
Maggie found herself facing a collective group of miners with blood on their minds. Jumping a claim rated a rope just like horse stealing. They expected her to order swift, harsh justice.
And too late, McCready realized he had made a mistake. She was ashen and he sensed that she was trembling but fighting to hide it. He shoved open a path for himself and reached her, only to have Maggie step away from him.