WM02 - Texas Princess (12 page)

Drawers columned both sides with a six-foot mirror in the middle. Little pedestal shelves framed the mirror ending at a marble desktop almost four feet long.

Tobin slid his hand across the wood just below the marble. No drawers, just wood from desk to oor. If it was hol ow, it would make the perfect hiding place.

“Libby,” he whispered. “I know you’re back there. It’s Tobin.” He didn’t know what to say.
Come out so I can kidnap you
didn’t seem right. She knew nothing of the favor he’d promised her father. She hadn’t said a word about wanting to cal off the engagement even though he’d guessed her feelings in her actions.

If he took her to Whispering Mountain, she’d miss her own wedding. The captain and she were having a ght last night, but for al he knew their ghts might be routine.

He could see a space between the wal and the dresser where she could have slipped in. Once through that smal opening, provided the back of the desk was hol ow, she’d have a nice hiding place. He tried to look in but could see nothing in the blackness.

“Libby, I have to take you away. I know you may not understand or want to go, but I have to get you out of here now.” If he had to, he’d carry her out by force, but he’d not trick her. “Libby, one way or the other, I’m taking you with me tonight.”

He heard a slight cry, then movement, and suddenly she was in his arms.

Trembling, she whispered, “Now. Take me away now.”

Tobin frowned. This kidnapping wasn’t proving as hard as he thought it might be. “Al right,” he said and lifted her up. He had no idea what she’d been through since they’d kissed on the porch, but whatever it was had frightened her. She held on to him as if she feared for her life.

He carried her down, pausing just before each oor landing to make sure he couldn’t hear anyone about. When he reached the kitchen, Anna had turned down the lamps and was waiting for him. She tossed a long coat over Liberty, stil cuddled in his embrace, her face dampening his shoulder with tears. “I packed any supplies you’l need,” Anna said. “You take care of her, McMurray, or you’l be answering to me.”

Tobin thanked the cook with a nod and crossed the kitchen thinking this had to be the world’s strangest kidnapping. It came catered.

“You’l tel the captain I took her.” He wanted Buchanan mad at him, not at Liberty.

“She didn’t run away.” He didn’t look back to see if Anna agreed; he knew she would.

“Tel him I forced her.” Tobin suddenly understood his duty. He knew why the senator had used the word
kidnapping.
Once Tobin stepped off this property, to al the world he’d be an outlaw.

Dermot waited by the back door with Tobin’s two horses. “I told the only guard when saddling up I heard a sound out behind the barn. He’s checking it out. Ye’ve only got a few minutes.”

Tobin started to lift Liberty on her own mount, but she wouldn’t turn loose of his neck, so without a word he carried her with him.

When Dermot handed him Sunny’s reins, Tobin whispered, “Sometime tonight, when it’s safe to slip away, can you get word to a ranger by the name of Wes—if he’s stil alive. He rode into town with the senator. Tel him what’s happened here. Tel him not to pass the news along to anyone but the senator.”

Dermot nodded. “I know a back way to town that I can travel even in the dark. If he’s with the senator, I’l nd him.”

“Tel Wes if he needs to talk, I’m near the north creek property line in a patch of cottonwoods. I’l wait there until rst light, then we’l be riding out hard and fast. I won’t be leaving any trail for someone to fol ow after that.”

Voices came from the house. Dermot stepped away and Tobin nudged his mount west in the direction of town. Their tracks blended with countless others in the road. Within a few feet they’d melted into the night. Tobin listened. He thought he heard the captain’s voice yel ing orders. Liberty hadn’t moved in his arms, but he could feel her breathing against his chest and knew she’d relaxed a little. For the rst time he wondered at what had frightened her so.

They’d have plenty of time to talk later. He kissed the top of her head, wishing he could tel her they were safe, but the truth was they were a long way from being out of danger.

Watching the trail, it took twenty minutes before he made out what he was looking for in the darkness. A rocky spot wide enough to turn the horses without leaving any trail.

Slowly, not wanting to disturb even the dirt, he moved off the trail and circled around until he was crossing open land thick with grass. Final y, they headed north. Even moving careful y, he knew the signs would be there for an expert tracker to nd. Tobin was betting no one with such skil would be with the captain. Tobin knew once Buchanan had the senator safe, he’d come after them.

He frowned. This life of crime was new to him, but not tracking. He and his brothers had played a game often when their grandfather visited them. He’d been an Apache who knew nothing of games the settlers play. He taught them games he’d played as a child and one was the Indian version of hide-and-seek. Travis had been the best at tracking, but Tobin was the most skil ed at leaving no trail to fol ow. He used those skil s now, riding over rocks, twisting different directions, riding down creek beds where tracks vanished in the water.

By the time he reached the cottonwoods on the north border of the property, Tobin doubted even Travis would have been able to fol ow.

Liberty was asleep in his arms, her hands stil locked around his neck. Careful y, he climbed down and settled her in the knees of one of the hundred-year-old cottonwoods. With the shadows of the branches lacing across her, no one would nd her if they didn’t know exactly where she slept. He would have liked to light a re but knew it would be too dangerous tonight. So he settled for covering her almost completely with her coat.

Unsaddling the horses, he left them several yards down the stream. Tobin wanted them close enough that he could hear them warn him if someone was around. He placed the saddles and gear beneath a tree across the clearing from where Libby slept so that it looked like someone might be sleeping there, then carried his rie and one blanket back to Liberty.

He crawled in between the roots beside her and she shifted, curling into his warmth as he covered them both with the blanket. If they were lucky they had four, maybe ve, hours until dawn; then they’d face a hard day’s ride.

Tobin didn’t sleep. Somehow al the pieces didn’t t together. He’d expected to have to pul her away from the house. It was her home. She was only a few days away from her wedding. She’d been mad at him after he’d kissed her, so why had she trusted him so completely in the attic? Why was she hiding away like a frightened child in the rst place? Surely not simply because her father left. An only child of a senator must be used to having her father leave, and Liberty was no longer a child.

Something had happened between the time they’d kissed and when he found her.

Something bad.

It also bothered Tobin that if the senator had wanted his daughter away so desperately, why hadn’t he asked the captain or taken her himself? Unless the captain were incapable of protecting her. But if that were so, why had Mayeld left his only daughter alone with the man?

Tobin leaned his head against the tree and mental y listed what he knew. One, she must have been in real danger, a danger that the senator had feared earlier or he wouldn’t have made Tobin promise the favor. Two, it didn’t matter whether he had proof or not, Tobin didn’t trust the captain. And three, he didn’t plan on stopping until they were back on Whispering Mountain property. They’d travel no roads and he’d make sure no one saw them along the way. It would take a few days longer, but he’d get her to his ranch safely.

The cal of a mourning dove drifted in the predawn light. Tobin sat up slowly and answered in kind. He knew, thanks to his brother, that if a ranger had made the cal , once it was answered there would be a short whistle to fol ow.

The short shril blast came from the trees near where Tobin had placed the saddles. A ranger. Tobin relaxed.

A buckskin-clad man stepped out from between two cottonwoods. He stood tal , thin, and wel armed. “Almost fooled me with those saddles, McMurray. If I hadn’t had some light, I might have thought you were sleeping there.” He spoke matter-of-factly as if he just happened to be walking in the woods.

Tobin stood, leaving Liberty beneath the blanket.

“I didn’t know if you’d come.” He crossed to the trees and motioned for Wes to fol ow so that they wouldn’t wake Liberty.

Wes rested his rie across his shoulders. “Why’d you take the senator’s daughter?”

Tobin saw no need to lie. “I promised.”

“Dakota and I kind of gured something like that even though we haven’t had time to talk to the senator about it. One thing about you McMurrays, come hel or high water, you always keep your word.”

“What’s happened?” Tobin guessed there was something Wes wasn’t tel ing him.

“Last night, halfway to town, we were ambushed. Michael, that pup of a ranger we had with us riding ahead as lookout, was hurt bad. Both men from the senator’s house were hit, but they’l recover. The two soldiers riding drag weren’t so lucky. One died

ghting. The other, I heard, made it back to the house to warn Captain Buchanan. The

ght was over by the time Buchanan and his men arrived.”

He shook his head in frustration. “It was far too organized to have been anything but a planned attack, and that road is rarely used by anyone but the senator and his people, so the trash who rushed us had to know who rode in the carriage.”

“Is Mayeld al right?”

Wes laughed. “You should have seen the old man. He came out ring like the fast draw in a stage show. Took the gang trying to surround the carriage by surprise.

Dakota

covered his back and no outlaw could get close.”

“And the senator? Was he hurt?”

Wes shook his head. “He was swearing and laughing when the gang turned tail. He said he was grazed a bit but not enough to slow him down. He would have given chase if I hadn’t stopped him. He’s one tough old bul , I’m tel ing you. Washington hasn’t softened him one bit.”

Tobin relaxed. “Does he want me to bring Liberty to him?”

Wes shook his head. “I don’t think so. Between getting the wounded in and guarding him, it’s been a wild night. Someone is out to get him and Captain Buchanan doesn’t have the skil to stop them. The senator needs to know why and who. He has to move freely and fast, and he can’t do that unless he knows his daughter is safe with you. He wants an end to this. I could see the determination in his eyes. He plans to get al those involved. Kil ing half the snakes in a hole don’t make it no safer.”

“But why did he leave her last night?”

Wes shrugged. “I’m just guessing, but I gure the senator knew he was the target of a real threat or he wouldn’t have asked for a ranger guard. He didn’t want his daughter getting caught in the cross re last night.”

Wes pul ed out a chew of tobacco. “What I don’t understand is why she went with you so easy. She’s one wildcat from what I’ve seen. How’d you get her out of that house without her screaming to high heaven?”

“Because”—Liberty’s voice reached them loud and clear—“I wanted to leave.”

Both men turned toward her and stared as she sat up and shoved her midnight hair from her face.

Wes swore.

When he saw her face, Tobin felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. “What happened?” he asked, not sure he wanted the answer.

Wes grabbed his arm. “If you did this, McMurray—”

Tobin jerked away. “Save it, Wes.” He knelt down beside Liberty waiting for her answer.

Liberty tried to smile, then winced in pain. Her tongue brushed across dried blood on her lip. “The groom wasn’t too happy when I broke our engagement. Al at once I became very accident prone.”

Tobin tucked his rst knuckle beneath her chin and lifted her face to the light. “I’l kil him,” he said calmly, promising, not threatening.

Wes knelt on the other side of her and frowned down at her. He didn’t seem to notice that swear words owed like air out his mouth.

Liberty looked back at Tobin. “How bad is it? Do either of you have a mirror?”

Both men said no at once. Then Tobin forced a smile. “It’s not so bad. Your cheek is bruised, your left eye is almost swol en closed, and your bottom lip is split.”

“On the bright side,” Wes added, “you stil got al your teeth and your nose don’t look broke.”

Liberty frowned at the man’s idea of the bright side.

Tobin brushed a strand of her hair back. “Why didn’t you say something last night?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t real y hurt that bad... compared to my side.”

Tobin met Wes’s questioning look.

“Are you shot?” Wes asked as he almost touched her shoulder, then seemed to reconsider.

“No. Samuel made sure I hit a chair arm when I turned to run from him. It hurts right here.” She placed her hand just below her left breast. “I think he planned to knock the breath from me. I thought once I could breathe it would be al right, but it stil hurts.”

Tobin stood. “You need a doctor.”

Wes shook his head. “The only doc within a hundred miles is at the fort and we can’t take her there without the captain knowing about it.”

“What if she broke a rib? The kind of riding we are going to do could be very painful on her.”

Wes scratched his chin. “She made it this far. Maybe she just bruised one or cracked it. If so we could wrap it. I’ve seen plenty of men wrap their chests after a bar ght when they get one too many knuckles plowed into them.”

Tobin looked hopeful. “Can you check it? Then wrap her if you think it needs to be.”

Wes shook his head. “No. I don’t know nothing about women. My number one rule is to spend my life avoiding the fairer sex, and I practice it religiously except on the rare occasions when I get too drunk to remember how to count. You got a sister. You do it.”

Liberty stood, holding her side. “Stop talking about me like I’m a dumb animal. The next suggestion from you two wil probably be that you have to shoot me and put me out of my misery.”