McCrory's Lady (28 page)

      
“A subpoena of all Caleb Lamp's and Win Barker's records would be the real help, but I doubt that's at all likely to happen,” Colin said cynically.

      
“I take it you've tried?” Ed knew the answer. She smiled slyly. “Perhaps I might have a bit more luck perusing those records. Reporters, unlike men looking for government appointments, don't need subpoenas.”

      
“That's not only illegal, it's damn fool dangerous—even for a man, much less a woman!”

      
“Your wife warned me you might be the weest bit autocratic. Have no fear, Mr. McCrory, I won't do anything too rash—for the moment. You meet with that investigator from Washington. I'll see what I can turn up between here and the reservation in the meanwhile.”

      
As she started to rise, Colin hurried to pull out her chair, a courtly gesture that surprised her. “Miss Phibbs, I had meant to say thank you for the way you handled the article about Maggie and Eden.”

      
“As I said, Mr. McCrory, I'm not a gossip monger,” she replied, flustered.

      
“Then you're the only one in Prescott who isn't,” he replied bitterly.

      
“I know there's been some...er, speculations about your hasty marriage and your daughter's absence, but it'll all blow over.” Her jaw jutted out defiantly as she added, “Let's give the town some real scandal to read about—honest black and white facts.”

      
“Miss Phibbs, I think you could grow on a man,” Colin said with grudging respect in his voice.

      
The indomitable Esmeralda Doucette Phibbs amazed him and herself by blushing.

* * * *

Crown Verde

      
Eden scanned the note, then turned to Eileen and said, “I have to go to the White Mountain Reservation.”

      
The housekeeper's eyebrows shot up. “And what would a slip of a girl like yerself be doin' ridin' out amongst a bunch of scalpin' Apaches?”

      
“There's a smallpox outbreak. Dr. Torres needs help, and since he vaccinated me for it when I was a girl, he knows I'm immune. I'm going, Eileen,” she said with determination and bypassed the old woman's formidable bulk.

      
“I'll see that Riefe Cates sends some men with ye,” Eileen called after her retreating back as Eden raced upstairs to throw some clothes into a carpetbag. Sighing, Eileen began to trudge down to the stables. After all the troubles that young woman had been through, she would make certain that Eden did not set foot off Crown Verde land without protection.

      
Wolf Blake rode up to the corral and dismounted just as she reached the stable door. He tipped his hat courteously and saw the wary look in the old Irishwoman's eyes. He was used to it. “Afternoon, Mrs. O'Banyon.”

      
“And the same to ye, Mr. Blake. Aren't ye to be workin' at the timber mills?”

      
“The problem there seems all ironed out,” he replied with a touch of cynicism in his voice.

      
She saw the way his hand rested lightly on his shooting iron as he spoke.
A clever cub, I'll give ye that
. But it only made her mistrust him more. “If yer lookin' fer the mister, he and Miz Maggie are off to Prescott—meetin’ up with some fancy feller from Washington. I expect ye could—”

      
“Oh, hello, Wolf,” Eden said breathlessly as she raced down the path to the corral, carpetbag in hand with Rufus trailing after her, tail wagging.

      
Wolf drank in her loveliness. She was stunning, even in a simple, pale blue shirt and tan riding skirt. Her big golden eyes danced and her silvery blonde hair was plaited in a fat shiny braid that bounced with every step she took.

      
“Afternoon, Eden,” he said. A devastating smile slashed his dark face. “Where are you off to—joining your folks in Prescott?” He patted the dog.

      
“Heavens, no!” The very thought of facing all the dignitaries in the capital, not to mention their wives, made her ill. “I'm going to the reservation to help Doc Torres with an outbreak of smallpox.”

      
His smile vanished. “That's crazy! A beautiful white woman has no business riding to such a dangerous, disease-ridden place. It's hell on White Mountain. I ought to know.”

      
“Good sense, Mr. Blake. Listen to him, Eden. He knows the truth of it,” Eileen encouraged.

      
Eden ignored her and said to Wolf, “I've been vaccinated—I can't catch it but I can nurse those who are sick. Eileen insists I need an escort to the reservation—besides Rufus. Would you consider the assignment?” Her gold eyes met his black ones, holding them.

      
“Ye shouldn't be goin’.” Both of them ignored Eileen's red-faced remonstrance.

      
“She'll go with or without our approval, Eileen,” Riefe Cates said with a crooked grin. “I cud ride with you, Miz Eden, but I got me a mighty sick foal I hate to leave.” He looked at Blake uncertainly.

      
“I'll take you, Eden, but I think the doctor ought to be whipped for asking you to do this.”

      
Eden mounted up and kicked her filly into a canter, leaving Wolf scrambling to catch up to her. When he did, she smiled at him. “I dare you to tell Aaron Torres that he should be whipped.” He grunted in reply, grim-faced.

      
They rode in silence for several minutes, watching Rufus caper around, chasing butterflies and rabbits. Finally Eden said, “You really don't mind coming with me, do you?”

      
“No, but I think it's dangerous for you to be on White Mountain land.”

      
“I've done it before, with my father and Doc Torres.”

      
“At least you realize you need protection,” he said gruffly. “The Apaches aren't all grateful for white medicine.”

      
“It's white disease that's killing them. I expect that makes their hostility understandable,” she replied, studying the harsh beauty of his dark profile. “These are your people, Wolf. Don't you care about what's happening to them?”

      
“The Apache aren't my people—white men aren't either. I don't belong anywhere, Eden.” His voice lashed out, but he did not look at her.

      
Eden's eyes widened with hurt at his angry tone, but then she realized the anger was turned inward, not at her. “Tell me about your life, Wolf,” she asked simply.

      
He looked over at her abruptly and felt himself drowning in those whiskey gold eyes. “I spent my first seven years with the Cibeque. My white father was a drifter who traded with the Indians—and took advantage of a foolish young virgin.” The instant he said it, he wanted to call back the words. Regret flooded him as he saw the stricken look in her eyes. “Eden—my mother—what happened to her, it had nothing to do with you. I didn't mean—”

      
“It's all right, Wolf. I know you didn't. Please tell me what happened next. You weren't raised Apache but white. Your father must've come back for you.” She watched his inner struggle before he finally continued.

      
“She died the winter of my seventh birthday—ironically enough of smallpox. All the smaller bands wandering around the Arizona-Sonora border had already been decimated. Game was scarce, the weather harsh. They were literally starving to death. Then my father rode into the camp one evening. I hadn't seen him in three years.”

      
“Did you recognize him?” Eden couldn't imagine her father deserting her—or any child of his, no matter his relationship with its mother.

      
He shrugged. “Hell, I don't know. Maybe some part of me remembered the stories my mother had told me about him. He recognized me I reckon. I may have the eye and hair coloring of an Apache, but my features...”

      
“Your face is beautiful as sin,” Eden blurted out, then blushed scarlet.

      
He favored her with one of his rare smiles. “Why thank you, Eden. That’s the handsomest compliment I’ve ever been paid.”

      
She could sense only sincerity in his voice, not a trace of male arrogance or mockery. Swallowing for courage, she cleared her throat and directed the conversation back to his story. “What happened next?”

      
“Well, I looked white enough to satisfy him. He bargained with the tribal elders. They were glad enough of one less mouth to feed. So he took me with him.”

      
“Why had he waited so long?”

      
“He had a white wife in Pecos even before he took up with my ma. He settled down and bought a hardware store. Planned on raising an heir to inherit it, but his wife was barren. After all those years, I guess he figured he'd get no children from her, so he came after me.”

      
“If your mother hadn't died, would he have taken you and left her behind?” Eden's voice couldn't hide her horror.

      
Wolf smiled sadly at her soft maternal instincts. “She was only an Apache squaw to him. And when he brought me into Hessia Blake's house, I was only a dirty Apache half-breed to her.”

      
“I guess it might be hard to accept another woman's child when you couldn't have your own; but surely she couldn't keep blaming you for what your father had done?”

      
His black eyes riveted her. “You've been raised in Arizona Territory, Eden. You know how people here hate Apaches. Well, they don't feel any different in west Texas. She blamed
me
. My pa was a hard man, and she had to abide by his decision; but every day of my life under that roof she vented her spleen on me. I was the tangible proof of her bareness and shame. I used to hear them arguing behind closed doors, her calling me dirty Injun scum. She tried everything to get my pa to get rid of me. Accused me of breaking things, muddying up her fancy carpets, even stealing her jewelry. Pa'd strap me. I guess he thought all Apaches were dirty—and thieving as well.”

      
Tears filled Eden's eyes. As they approached a stand of ponderosa pines with a small stream gurgling past the towering evergreens, she reined in and dismounted. “Let's rest the horses for a bit while you finish your story,” she said in a choked voice. The dog followed her as she made her way to the water.

      
Blake swung down from his big roan and walked over to sit beside her on the stream bank. Her tears touched him deeply. “No one has ever cried for me, Eden,” he said softly as he reached out to her. The pad of his thumb gently dried the trickle from one silky cheek, then the other.

      
“What did you do? How did you stand such coldness and abuse?” she asked, sensing the sudden intimacy and feeling shy about it.

      
He withdrew his hand, feeling suddenly shy himself. “I knew I couldn't go back to my ma's people. It didn't take much to figure they'd all be dead soon. Anyway, as a white man's get with no father in the band to adopt me, I knew I could never have a place with them either. I decided to learn—no, maybe that's not true—Miss Huxleigh decided I would learn. She taught school and sort of took me on like a challenge, I guess.” He smiled in remembrance. “She looked rather like that Miss Phibbs in Prescott—kind of bony but with a spine as starched as her white shirtwaists.”

      
“She sounds like a strict taskmistress.” Eden smiled, scratching the dozing dog's fur as he lay beside her.

      
“I learned to read and write and cipher. I acquired quite a taste for books. Read everything she could give me from Homer to Mark Twain...” His voice faded away.

      
“What happened then?” Eden sensed it must have been something awful that led him to become a hired gun.

      
Wolf was the one who now had to swallow for courage. He had never told anyone this, and thinking of it still brought a stab of agony to his heart. “My pa always wanted me to learn his business—to take over running his hardware stores—by then he had opened two more in nearby small towns. I hated the drudgery of cataloging tools and lumber. What was even worse, I hated being polite to customers who treated me as if I were a leper—but I did it. Then one day when I was fifteen, over twelve thousand dollars came up missing from the month's accounts.”

      
“Surely your father didn't think you'd steal what would one day be yours?”

      
“He had no one else easy to blame, especially with Hessia there urging him on, saying he should never have let me take over the bookkeeping. She took the money—not because he denied her anything. Just to drive me away. She’d become really jealous when he stopped strapping me for my boyhood mistakes and started to recognize that I had a head for figures. He'd let me do the books for about three months when the discrepancies began. At first, he blamed the clerks and fired several newer ones; but then when so much was gone...well, he couldn't see what I'd tried to tell him—that it had been her all along.

      
“The day he told me to get out and never come back, she was standing behind him. The smile on her face was pure evil. I'll never forget it.” His voice was stony and his expression shuttered.

      
“And your father? How could a man who'd risked public censure to bring a half-caste child into his home turn on him that way?”

      
Wolf steeled himself, trying not to remember the look on Gideon Blake's face. “He was crying. That big hard man had tears in his eyes...but he didn't relent. And I didn't beg. I walked out and never looked back.”

      
“How did you survive?”

      
“I didn't only sell guns. I practiced with them, one of the side benefits of being in the hardware business,” he said with a mirthless grin. “I drifted and worked odd jobs until I had enough to buy my first gun. Ended up in El Paso working as a bounty hunter.” He shrugged. “One thing sort of led to another and my reputation grew. People may still spit and call me names, but not to my face. Not anymore.”