Promised by Post. Katy Madison
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corners of Rafael’s mouth turned up for the barest second as if he’d meant to smile. “Got to give a reason...couldn’t track...the horse thieves.”
Daniel’s shoulders slumped. His brother had a reputation as a great tracker to protect. He, on the other hand, was going to have to “fail” to follow the tracks tomorrow to save them from discovery. “Wonderful. I can’t fake a fall to explain why I won’t be able to track the stagecoach robbers.”
“Not a robbery.”
“If you didn’t want people to think it a robbery, you shouldn’t have covered up your face, stopped the stage in a pinch point and pointed my rifle at the driver. If all you really wanted was to see your bride, you could have hailed them in an open spot and asked for her by name. And you dragged me into this mess. We’ll be lucky if we aren’t hanged.”
“Sorry,” muttered Rafael, which was unlike the sarcastic “You’re welcome” he usually would have shot back.
Daniel snatched a shirt out of Rafe’s wardrobe. “Try and get yourself together well enough to greet her. You can pretend to be groggy. Ma said she gave you something to sleep.”
“Wish she had.” Rafael rolled back onto the bed. His shoulder hit the pillows behind him, and he groaned. “She took away my whiskey.”
But not before he’d indulged, Daniel noted.
If Anna figured out they were the men who’d held up the stagecoach, she might very well go to the sheriff and turn them in. Speaking of her, he should probably go back to the main room, but he needed to tell Rafe that she didn’t want him to know she’d shot a man. “Rafe, she—”
A sharp rap on the door raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
“Mr. Werner, are you in there?”
Damn. Anna. Sounds didn’t carry through the thick adobe walls, but Rafael’s window to the courtyard was open to allow a cross breeze. What had she heard?
Rafael shooed him toward the door. “She can’t see...this,” he hissed, pointing at the bandage.
Daniel tossed the shirt in Rafe’s direction as he went to the door.
Anna stood on the other side, a shawl draped over her chest although the evening was warm. “Is your brother in there?” she demanded.
“Yes, I was just checking on him.” Daniel reached to take her elbow and guide her back to the main room. “You can’t have eaten already.”
Anna wrenched her arm away and darted toward the open door. “I want to see him.”
Daniel caught her around the waist and pulled her back before she could get past him. Squirming against him, she was like a kitten with claws. Heat, need and want slammed him hard. It had to be the feel of a woman against him, nothing more. He lifted and planted her in the courtyard and pulled the door shut behind him. “He’s sleeping.”
Anna scrambled away and swung around to face him. “No. He’s not. I heard you both talking. Why are you trying to hide him from me?”
“What did you hear?” Daniel asked sharply.
Anna’s eyes narrowed, and she stepped closer. “Something about whiskey. Is he some kind of drunkard? Is that why you and your mother won’t let me near him?”
Daniel let out a slow breath. If she thought Rafael a drinker, that was far better than thinking he had been the stagecoach shooter. “I’m afraid he’s not fit company—”
“I’ll have you know I’ve seen drunk men before.” She poked him in the chest. “And I’d like to see him.”
Her breasts rose and fell rapidly. Words deserted him with a heavy rush. He stared, knowing he was going to have to say something, but the swirling thoughts in his head were nothing he could have said out loud.
She flipped open the shawl. “Is this what you’re looking at? The second dress I’ve had ruined today.”
It took him a second to realize she was talking about the brown blotch in the center of her chest. His gaze was more drawn to her curves. Her breasts would fit perfectly in his hands. His palms even itched. No, this isn’t right.
“I’ve come clear across the country. I’ve had a very bad day. I want to meet your brother. Now.”
He dragged his gaze up to her pursed lips, only that was worse. He wanted to claim them and soothe the anger from her. “Anna.”
“What?” she retorted, then squinted at him.
He didn’t have the right to call her by her first name. “Miss O’Malley, it would be better if you saw him in the morning.” Surely Rafael could manage to be up long enough to meet her. “You are tired. He is—” Daniel struggled for the right words “—not up to meeting you tonight. Everything will be better in the morning.”
She stared up at him. Her skin glowed under the light of the moon. She was so fair. Her lips parted, and he wanted to close the distance between them, reassure her, distract her, taste her.
No. He didn’t. She was completely the wrong sort of woman for him. After dealing with Madre all his life, he wanted a biddable woman, one who wouldn’t fight him at every turn.
“Does he drink, then?” she asked in a low voice.
“We all drink,” said Daniel, folding his arms. Lying to her made his head hurt, but he hadn’t actually lied, and Rafael did occasionally drink more than he ought to.
“He isn’t really hurt at all, is he?” Her expression fell. “That was just to keep me from seeing him in the state he’s in. That’s why you had to get me.” She wrapped the shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I knew this was too good to be true.”
The urge to hold her, comfort her, returned full force, but comforting her was a dangerous thing. He’d reacted too strongly when she’d thrown herself into his arms in Stockton. And the way he’d been thinking about her made touching her again foolhardy. He tightened his hold across his chest just to be sure he didn’t brush the hair back from her temple. Didn’t trace a finger along her smooth cheek. Didn’t kiss her.
“My brother is a good man, he just...” Daniel floundered. Occasionally loses himself. He didn’t understand Rafael’s recent reckless streak. Ever since he’d returned from a hearing in Sacramento about getting the title issued for his land, he’d been acting odd.
Anna’s chin tilted up, and she pinned him with her gaze as if to say she wouldn’t tolerate any falsehoods.
“He’s a hard worker—the hardest worker I know. And after my father died, he taught me everything.”
“Your father?”
Daniel’s skin heated. “We had different fathers.”
Her fingers twisted the edge of her shawl. “Is he at all like you?”
“I try to be like him,” answered Daniel with painful honesty. Except on days like today when Rafael behaved like an idiot.
His loco behavior had started about three years ago, around the time of the hearing. Was his foolhardiness just because of that hearing? Granted, he shared Rafael’s fear that the request for the land title could be denied. The treaty between Mexico and the United States was supposed to honor the established land grants, but the United States was forcing the rancheros to prove ownership.
Two of their neighbors, men who spoke little English and whose families had been on the land for decades, had lost their claims, while an Anglo man who’d become a Mexican citizen to get his land grant and then switched his allegiance to the United States when California was ceded by Mexico had his title in a matter of months, unlike the years it was taking everyone else. It appeared that whites were much more likely to receive a patent for their land than Spanish were. But Daniel didn’t understand why Rafael was acting as though