The Texas Ranger's Heiress Wife. Kate Welsh
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mine. Joshua followed Abby’s dreams here to the West. Why can’t you?”
That was a low blow. “Fine. I’ll sign the damned papers, but don’t think I’ll ever set foot there.”
She tilted her head and her lips tipped into a sly smile. “Yes, you will, because that’s where I’ll be. You’ll be here in town. You’ll see me all the time. And you’ll want me. Then you’ll come to me and we’ll be happy again. My dream is yours—it’s just bigger....”
* * *
And he’d known she was right. Brendan hadn’t dared stay. He’d known it would be just as she’d said: he’d have seen her, given in and gone to her. Then he’d have hated himself every day for the rest of his life, for stooping to use the money of a robber baron. Brendan had heard powerful men like that guardian of hers described that way. Harry Conwell couldn’t have been far removed from men like Gowery and Harlan Wheaton. Those men had conspired to frame Brendan, and therefore forced him to flee for his life, leaving his family behind.
He’d looked around the little house where they’d been so happy. Not a cross word had been spoken in the months after they’d arrived there. He hadn’t known he would miss it—and Helena—so much, but he had known he’d have to move on and find something to do that would keep him away. Then he’d found a new family, a new love—the Texas Rangers and the law.
Now, with his mind and heart still in turmoil, he watched Helena walk out onto the porch and stroll down the step, to the top of the rise behind the house. He noticed she did that every evening and every morning. She’d cross herself, then stand there, gazing out over the valley in prayer. After endless moments, head bowed, she’d retrace her steps. He’d seen tears in her eyes the one time he’d approached her as she’d returned to the house.
He wondered what she wanted. What was it she asked God for twice a day, every day?
Drawn to her now, he guided Harry down the hill to the home place. It was time to at least talk to her about the measures he’d taken to protect her. And why.
She turned as he approached, and this time she rushed to meet him as he dismounted. “Is something wrong?” she asked, clearly flustered. He couldn’t help remembering when the sight of him had had a bright smile blooming on her pretty face.
He shook his head and got back to the here and now. What was in her expression? Worry? Fear? She should be afraid; all her protests to the contrary, Helena was no fool. Look at how ready for a fight her men were.
“Nothing’s wrong as far as I know. Not yet, anyway. I still think they’ll hit you before they move on the Rockin’ R. Shamrock’s run by a woman. I doubt he thinks you’d be as ready for them as you are, or as ready as the R is bound to be.”
“He?”
Brendan damn near spit out a curse, but that would have made his slip of the tongue all the more noteworthy. “Just a figure of speech, and a boatload of evidence that’s more confusin’ than trying to follow their trail.”
“Oh? What do the Indian agents have to say?” she asked.
“As far as they know, all the Comanche war chiefs and their warriors are on the reservation, and have been.”
“Hmm. No matter who might come, Shamrock’s men are spoiling for a fight. But after what Farrah Varga told me...” Helena hesitated, pressing her lips together. Then she huffed out a breath, as if surrendering to an inevitable fate. “Okay. I admit it. I’m terrified, Bren. Those men are killers. I don’t want anyone at Shamrock to get hurt. Especially not defending me.”
He very nearly asked if that included him, but instead said, “You’ve a right to be afraid. No matter your feelings about the men, if you hear shooting, you need to duck and run for cover. Hide as best as you can,” he added, then waited for her to explode all over him for telling her what to do.
The explosion never happened. Instead, her eyes grew sad, her posture resigned. “That isn’t going to keep me safe and you know it. It’s as if the success of those early raids has emboldened the raiders. They killed every woman on Belleza. Do you think they didn’t hide? Farrah and her mother were blessed to be in town.”
“Blessed,” Brendan agreed, remembering well what had been done to those poor beggars.
“Alex Reynolds taught Patience to shoot as soon as they arrived, because the raids were worsening. He doesn’t think size will protect either of our places for much longer. Neither does Lucien Avery. He thinks I should move into town. I won’t do that, so I need to learn about guns, the way Patience did.”
Brendan pressed his lips together for a moment. The idea of Helena in the middle of gunplay turned his breakfast to stone. Carefully guarding his words, he said, “That they’ve picked on increasingly larger targets is true. You have a good point. You need to be taught to shoot and you have to be ready to kill whoever you aim at. You should have Mallory teach you.”
“Mallory already tried.” She shrugged. “I can’t hit the broad side of the barn, Bren. If they do come here—”
“Then I guess I’d better get to teachin’ you,” he interrupted gruffly, flustered by her unconscious use of his nickname as much as by the terror in her voice. “Got any empty cans or mason jars you can do without?”
She nodded. “I’ll buy new. This is important.”
Brendan bit back the insolent remark that nearly leaped off his tongue. Of course she could just go to town and buy new. She could probably buy out the company that made cans and jars, if she’d a mind. Instead of feeding the fires of discontent the way he seemed driven to do around her, he pointed to a fence off to the left. “Over yonder. Set them up on the top rail.” He stepped into the stirrup and swung himself back into the saddle. “I’ll go warn Mallory before we take ten years off the man’s life when we start shootin’. Don’t know why he never managed to teach you.”
She blushed adorably. “Um, Bren, Mallory really did try. I’d hate to hurt his feelings.”
Brendan forced a smile, trying not to react to her, and cursing himself for being so affected by her sweet blush. Damn the woman. And damn him for his weakness around her. “I’ll only say we’ll be doin’ a bit of target practice. That way you won’t be embarrassin’ me if the fault is with you and not the teacher.”
“If you mention me and shooting, you’ll have to ignore his laughter.”
Mallory didn’t laugh, though he did shake his head, consternation written on his sun-baked face. “Great waste of powder, if you ask me. I doubt it’s going to do her a bit of good.”
Brendan allowed that it wouldn’t hurt to try. Then, after handing Harry over to Jimmy, he walked to where Helena had set up the jars and cans, his Winchester balanced on his shoulder. He walked a bit beyond where she stood, to lean the rifle against the porch post.
“Let’s try this from the top. Mallory must have forgotten a step. Shootin’ a gun is easy if you know what you’re about. First hold up your thumb.”
She turned and frowned. “My thumb? I need to shoot, not paint.”
Brendan sighed, turned to the fence, pulled his Colt out of his holster and fired, sending the middle can spinning into the dusty corral as blue smoke expanded all around them. It dissipated in the breeze as he turned to her.
She stared at the now holstered gun. “How did you learn to do that?”
“I’ve good reflexes and I listened to the one teachin’ me. That and practice.”
Without a word she turned and held up her thumb.
His point made, Brendan said, “With both eyes open, cover that first can on the left with your thumb. With your left eye closed, is the can covered?”
She nodded.
“Now do the same with the right eye. Did your thumb seem to move?”