Never Marry a Cowboy (24 page)

Christopher held Kit's gaze. “Have you no curiosity as to what brought on Father's first stroke?”

Kit shrugged and gave his brother a grim smile. “I should imagine he was yelling at one of the tenant farmers for not managing his crops to specifications.”

“He was yelling at me. He'd found the letters you'd written to me. He was not at all pleased that I had turned to you for advice.”

“You were a fool not to burn them as soon as you finished reading them.”

“They contained far too much wisdom. I referred to them often…had considered making them into a book, actually.”

Kit scoffed. “It would be a very short book.”

“I realize that, but still I consider a short book of wisdom more useful than a long book of nonsense.” Christopher leaned forward. “The overall management of Ravenleigh I understand completely. It's the details that thwart me from time to time. You're so bloody good with details. You always were. That's the reason I suggested we manage Ravenleigh together. I suppose it angered Father to realize he had selected poorly.”

Kit studied his brother's dejected mien. To be toppled from an exalted position was much harder to accept than being lifted to one. Christopher's willingness to expose the truth was a testament to his integrity. “Father did not select poorly. You carefully measure every decision, determining where the benefits will be best achieved. You are exactly what Ravenleigh needs.”

Christopher laughed, a sound Kit had not heard from his brother in a long time.

“What so funny?” Kit asked.

“You do not see yourself as the lord of the manor?”

Kit shook his head slightly. “In all honesty, no.”

“Then what
are
you here, if not lord of the manor?
You are responsible for the welfare of these people. In the short time I've been here, I've had more questions thrust upon me than I have in the whole time since I assumed management at Ravenleigh.”

Kit pondered his brother's observation. In an odd way, he was a lord, but he did not have absolute power, only absolute responsibility dictated within the confines of the law. “Interesting. I suppose we could argue that if I am lord here, I have no need of Ravenleigh.”

Christopher settled back in his chair. “No, we cannot argue that. Father was wrong to deny you your birthright.”

“Who among us is without sin?”

“Perhaps that is true, but that does not change the fact that you are the rightful heir.”

Kit held up his father's journal. “It is not as simple as you make it out to be. I shall consider the matter very carefully and let you know my decision on the morrow.”

With a heavy sigh, Christopher stood. “Regardless of your decision, my feelings for you will not change. I could not have asked for a finer brother.”

Kit swallowed hard, the words incredibly difficult to accept, harder to speak. “I feel the same. You were a blessing in my life.”

“You say that as though your life were over. I
am
a blessing in your life and shall continue to be so. I'll be off so you can get some much needed and deserved rest.”

Christopher walked to the door, stopped, and turned slightly. “I'll see you at breakfast.”

“I have some matters that need my attention in the morning. I'll visit you and Father shortly before noon,” Kit said.

“Before noon, then. Arrive with the answer I want, not the one I expect.” Christopher stepped outside and closed the door.

Kit set the journal aside. His father had gone to great lengths to ensure that Christopher was the heir apparent. Ironically, tomorrow a stranger named Jasper would unwittingly fulfill his father's deepest wish.

“I
don't know who I am,” Christopher said quietly.

“You're Christopher Montgomery.”

Chuckling low, he glanced at the woman walking beside him in the moonlight wearing nothing but her nightgown. She had gladdened his heart when she hadn't questioned his disturbing her in the middle of the night, but had simply suggested that they walk so he could talk out whatever was bothering him. Against his better judgment and his earlier resolve not to do so, he'd eaten dinner at her house every night. She possessed a calmness—when her daughters weren't threatened—that drew him like a siren's song. “Kit said the same thing. But who is that, Elizabeth?”

“I don't see that it's any great mystery. You're you.”

He stopped walking, turned, and faced her. “My entire life, I have been Viscount Wyndhaven with the knowledge that one day I would become the Earl of Ravenleigh. Now, I'm only Christopher.”

She folded her arms beneath her breasts, and he fought not to lower his gaze. “You put too much stock
in a name. A name doesn't make you who you are. Until I was seventeen, I was Elizabeth Morgan. Then I got married and was Elizabeth Fairfield.” She pressed a hand flat against her chest, above her breasts. “But I was still just Elizabeth, in here where it mattered.”

He shook his head, wondering how he could possibly explain to someone who had not grown up in his society how he viewed himself. “You were a daughter, and then a wife.”

“Daughter, wife, mother, friend—it doesn't matter
what
I am;
who
I am is Elizabeth. You can be a viscount, an earl, a king, a farmer, and you're still Christopher.”

“A farmer?” The thought was incredible enough to make him want to burst out laughing.

“Nothing wrong with being a farmer.” He heard the solemnity of her voice and was grateful he hadn't laughed.

“I can't see me as a farmer.”

“Don't reckon your brother ever saw himself pickin' cotton or herdin' cattle.”

He sighed heavily. “No, I don't suppose he did. A farmer, heh?”

She started to walk and he fell into step beside her.

“I could always use some help around here, if you're of a mind to stay.” She darted a quick glance his way.

He smiled. “I'll consider it.”

“No you won't.”

“You're right. I won't.”

“Still feeling lost?” she asked.

“Not as much, although I must apologize for getting you out of bed—”

She interrupted him with a burst of laughter. “You are the most apologizingest man I've ever met. Friends are supposed to be there when you need them no matter what the time or situation.”

“But it seems I'm the one always in need of you. I can't see that I've given you anything in return.”

“You spared me from having some lonely evenings.”

“That hardly suffices to make us even, especially since I benefited from those evenings as well.”

She shook her head. “Friends don't keep a tally sheet.”

“Perhaps not,” he murmured. He walked her to the porch, said goodnight, and watched her disappear into the house. He had not known Elizabeth long, and yet he knew he would always carry the memory of their evenings together with him.

 

Kit crouched beside the bed and watched his wife sleep, carving her features onto his memory. The past week, returning to Fortune, had been hard on her. She would no doubt sleep the day through, which he preferred.

She would awaken to discover that she was a widow, but at least she would not have to go through the worry of waiting to hear the news.

How ironic that their roles had reversed. He had married her because she was dying, and now he was the one who faced death. He considered waking her,
but he did not wish his last memory to be gazing into eyes that no longer sparkled.

He much preferred the memory of her sleeping.

The shooting would no doubt awaken her. He should not have accepted Jasper's terms so readily. He had not considered that meeting these men at the south end of town would give those within the boardinghouse a clear view of the fight. He could only hope they had the sense to keep down and out of the way.

He laid a white rose beside her on the pillow before unfolding his body. For all the hardship and sorrow that had come at the end, he would not trade a single moment of the time he'd spent with her. The joy she had brought him could not be measured, but it would carry him through eternity.

Quietly, he walked out of the room and down the stairs, where another goodbye awaited. Unfortunately, this one would not be silent.

He knocked on the door to his family's room. Christopher flung open the door, worry clearly etched on his face.

“What are these rumors I'm hearing about some ruffians calling you out?” Christopher demanded.

Kit stepped into the room and closed the door. “Good morning to you, as well.”

“Damnation, Kit. Mrs. Gurney said that a notorious band of outlaws—”

“Mrs. Gurney tends to exaggerate.”

“Perhaps, but she does not lie. I want the truth.”

“You heard correctly. There is to be a duel of sorts at noon. The gauntlet was tossed, and I accepted the challenge.”

“Why in God's name did you do that?” Christopher asked.

“Because I'm the marshal—”

“Who doesn't wear a gun!” Christopher snatched up a dime novel from the bedside table. “
The Marshal Who Didn't Wear A Gun
. This is you, isn't it?”

“I don't use pistols, but I'm skilled with a rifle.”

“A rifle? You're going to engage in a duel with a rifle?”

Kit sighed heavily. “It's not a duel as you envision it. An outlaw has taken offense because I hit him, and later, when he was attempting to rob the stagecoach upon which I was traveling, I killed two of his men. He wants justice.”

“Justice? Justice would be him hanging from the nearest gallows.”

“Yes, if we were in civilized England, which we are not! He has threatened to burn this town to the ground, and by God, he will do it if I don't meet him and his men at noon.”

Christopher straightened his shoulders. “Then I shall stand as your second.”

Kit had never loved his brother more. “You bloody well will not. Your doing that would leave Ravenleigh without an heir, and that possibility I will not tolerate.”

“Then I shall stand in your stead.”

Kit shook his head. “You can best serve Ravenleigh and me by staying here.”

Christopher glared at Kit, not only doubting his brother's words, but wondering why he was damned eager to partake in a duel that according to Mrs. Gur
ney he had little chance of winning. “The whole purpose in our journey was to bring you back to England. Now is as good a time as any for us to take our leave.”

“The safety of this town falls upon my shoulders,” Kit said with determination. “Granted, I indulged myself for several weeks and left it without a keeper, but that does not lessen my obligation to its citizens. Unfortunately, I have many things yet to finish. I have a list—”

“You don't think you can win?” Christopher asked, dread creeping along his spine.

Kit met his gaze squarely. “Not against six.” He smiled cockily. “But I shall take as many into hell with me as I can.”

He extended the paper toward Christopher. “I would ask that you see to my plans. Ashton wishes to return to her brother in Dallas. Make certain that she arrives there safely. I've spoken with the banker. My money shall be placed into a trust that you shall oversee. Ashton is to have everything her heart desires, and when she…”

Christopher watched his brother swallow as though he fought unbearable emotions.

“I want you to make arrangements for one white rose to be placed upon her grave every day. The remainder of the trust is to be given to St. Mary's infirmary in Galveston for medical research.”

Christopher shoved the words past the knot in his throat. “I swear that I shall ensure that all is managed to your satisfaction.”

“Thank you.” Kit turned to his father. “I realize, sir, that I have been a constant disappointment to you,
but I want you to know that you have never been a disappointment to me. A son could not have asked for a better example of a father. I did not read your journal as Christopher suggested, for I saw no need in doing so. You always placed the welfare of Ravenleigh above all else as your duty dictated. And now I shall see to mine.”

Christopher watched tears surface within his father's eyes and willed him to say the words that needed to be spoken. Instead, his father simply gave a brusque nod and turned away.

Kit glanced at his watch. “Well, I'd best be off or I'll be putting out fires.” He extended his hand toward Christopher. When Christopher took it, Kit pulled him close, hugging him tightly. His voice was low, rife with emotion. “For what it's worth, I understand why you could not be with Clarisse at the end. I will not deny that I loved her, but I know now that my love was not equal to yours. I'm grateful she had you, Christopher.”

Christopher felt an ache in his chest that threatened to crush his ribs. Words clogged his throat as Kit abruptly released him. He watched his brother stride to the door, jerk it open, and freeze.

Grayson Rhodes and Harrison Bainbridge stood just beyond the threshold, guns strapped to their thighs.

“What in the bloody hell do you think you're doing here?” Kit demanded.

“You're skilled with a rifle,” Harrison said, “but I wager you can only shoot four, which leaves one for Gray and one for me.”

“Neither of you has ever killed. Believe me, it's not something you want on your conscience.”

“And you think knowing our trusted friend died with no one beside him is something we prefer to have on our conscience?” Harrison asked.

“Bloody hell, Harry. You're right handed. You need that hand to hold a cane, not a gun.”

Harrison angled his chin defiantly. “I only need the cane to walk. I can stand for quite some time without it. I can easily release the cane and quickly draw my gun—”

“And leave your wife a widow. Has either of you given any thought to that? Or to the fact that your children will be raised without fathers?”

“We both discussed our decision with our wives through the night,” Grayson said.

“And they gave you their blessing?” Kit demanded.

“They gave us their understanding,” Grayson said.

Kit shook his head. “Knowing that they would give you a burial?”

“Not if we stand together,” Grayson said. “You've stood by us in the past, Kit. You can't expect us to abandon you now. We came here together—”

“No man has ever had truer friends, but this fight is mine and mine alone. I wounded Jasper's pride. I'll not have others pay the price for my actions.”

“You also killed two of his men while they were breaking the law attacking a stagecoach with robbery in mind. Now he's threatening our town,” Grayson pointed out. “Everyone else may think this is your fight, but not I. I haven't worked as hard as I have these past five years so some arrogant ass can destroy
my happiness. I'll not have my wife and children threatened by the likes of men such as him. If he wins, Kit, in the end we all lose, because more of his ilk will follow. I say we stand together now so we won't have to tomorrow.”

Kit sighed heavily. “There's not a bloody thing I can say to change your minds on this matter, is there?”

“Not a thing,” Grayson and Harrison said at the same time.

“Then I'll need to deputize you so everything is legal.”

“By all means,” Harrison said. “I don't fancy a hanging shortly after I've become a hero.”

Christopher couldn't believe his brother was chuckling as he closed the door behind him. He turned to his father, who was staring at the portal through which his first born son had just disappeared.

“After all you've just heard and witnessed, do you still feel that I shouldn't have told Kit the truth?”

 

With Gray and Harry flanking him, Kit walked down the center of the dusty street. Now and then, he saw someone peering out a dirty window, but for the most part the citizens had apparently heeded his advice and sought cover far from anyplace where a stray bullet might strike.

“You are not to draw your guns until one of them makes the first move,” Kit commanded his comrades.

“I'll wager that little rule ensures that at least one of us gets shot,” Harry said caustically.

“It's the law,” Kit pointed out. “To do otherwise changes our actions from self-defense to murder. I
shall attempt to convince them to turn themselves over to me—”

“You'll be wasting your breath on that endeavor,” Gray cut in.

“Still, I shall try.”

Six men sauntered out from between two buildings at the far end of town. Kit's mouth went as dry as the dirt his boots were kicking up. “Regardless of how things turn out, I want you both to know that I have always considered it an honor to have the privilege of calling you friend.”

“Don't get sentimental. We may make it through this yet,” Harry said.

“And if we don't,” Gray said, “we shall reign together in hell. I wager it must be cooler there than it is here.”

“I'll take you up on that wager,” Harry said.

Kit couldn't prevent himself from smiling. No man had truer friends.

They halted a short distance away from Jasper and his five comrades. Kit doubted that they would stand as firmly by Jasper.

Jasper spat tobacco into the street. “Well, Marshal, you ready to meet your Maker?”

“No, actually, I'm here to arrest you.”

“Arrest me?”

“Yes. I know you are responsible for the deaths of at least three men. I've written up a detailed account of the stagecoach robbery in which you participated, and I've forwarded it to the stage line, as well as several law enforcement officials in neighboring towns. I've included a sketch so they'll be able to spot you a
mile away. Surrender to me now and I shall do all within my power to see that you go to prison and not the gallows.”