McCrory's Lady (40 page)

      
His oily smile grated on Colin's nerves, but he remained impassive. “You think you've got that fool Potkin all sewed up—you and your friend in the legislature.” He watched as Barker narrowed his eyes and snapped his watch case closed.

      
Win composed himself and chuckled malevolently, swinging the watch hypnotically by its chain. “You do continue to surprise me with your Scots tenacity, McCrory. You're determined to dig until you turn up sufficient evidence to destroy me.”

      
“I already have sufficient evidence,” Colin said baldly. “A man named Rigley's done some talking about how you sold his boss WB cattle—only they weren't really your brand. He saw the running marks and the forged bill of sale. They were US cattle from White Mountain Reservation. He's ready to testify that you're no better than a common cow thief, Win.’’

      
Colin placed his hands on the front of Barker's desk and loomed over the balding spidery little man; but instead of betraying any trace of fear, Barker just smiled evilly. The hairs on the back of Colin's neck prickled with unease.

      
“You know, McCrory, you look quite forbidding—almost savage—standing there like that, threatening an unarmed businessman. But then, I imagine you've had lots of practice being savage...as savage as those poor devils you scalped.” Barker could not contain the triumph that flashed into his eyes. Dark and beady, they looked pig like and crafty in his wrinkled little face.

      
“Just what do you mean, Barker?” Colin's expression remained impassive but his heart was hammering.

      
“You were a scalper, McCrory. Ah...” He tsk, tsked in mock reproof. “A bloodthirsty renegade. You rode with a delightful fellow who became sort of a legend on the border a quarter century ago. Jeremy Nash—the Aussie, I believe they called him. Not exactly the sort your idealistic crusading friends back East would approve, was he? But then you were only a poor immigrant lad. A pity the sins of one's youth can come back to haunt a man after he's worked so hard to become respected in the territory.”

      
He knows everything!
But how? Ed Phibbs had ferreted it out, but she was far more interested in her exposé of the ring than in one piece of scandal about a prominent rancher. Yet Barker would have no reason to suspect him, unless someone who knew the truth had told him. Colin forced himself to set aside his jumbled questions and stare levelly at Barker.

      
“You're talking crazy, Win. You can't prove those accusations, but I can prove you're a thief.”

      
Barker dropped all pretense at geniality and stood up, his eyes black with spite. “I can tell old Fatty Algren enough to ruin you in Prescott. Then, what will your friends in Washington think about the credibility of your charges against me? Of course, that's not even considering how the scandal will affect your lovely new wife and your poor unfortunate daughter.”

      
Colin reached across the desk and grabbed Barker by his jacket lapels, yanking him forward until his feet left the ground. “You do anything to hurt my family and I'll break your scrawny neck!”

      
“Don't be a fool, McCrory. You kill me and you'll hang—if my men don't shoot you first,” Barker gasped, his face turning red as he squirmed in McCrory's harsh grasp. “Your daughter's reputation is already in enough trouble. If this comes out, she'd never recover—but,” he hastily amended, “it doesn't have to come out. I won't breathe a word about your sins...” He waited for Colin to release him, letting the bargain hang pregnant in the air.

      
“You're blackmailing me!” Colin let go of his jacket and shoved him back across the desk.

      
Barker struggled and quickly regained his balance, then straightened his shirt and jacket, his calm, oily assurance returning. “A harsh word. I prefer the term ‘bargain.’ You desist in your crusade for the Apaches and I’ll keep the grim secrets of your past.” He waited, trying to read behind the cold, set expression on McCrory's face.
A dangerous man.

      
“You are the lowest form of scum that ever crawled out of the ooze, Barker,” Colin said through clenched teeth.

      
“You're a fine one to call me names after all your bloody butchering against the very savages you're so nobly trying to save now—or is that the reason? To assuage a guilty conscience?” His expression turned ugly. “Salve your conscience some other way, McCrory. Don't interfere with my business to do it.”

      
He picked up a small bell sitting on the edge of his desk and rang it sharply. In a trice, the burly guard from downstairs opened the door, flanked by two other men, equally hard-looking and well armed. “Mr. McCrory was just leaving. Escort him from the premises.”

      
Colin stepped away from the desk, but before he walked toward the door he stared at Barker with burning eyes. “I don't give a damn if I go down; but if you do anything to besmirch Eden, nothing on earth or in hell will save you from me, Barker.” He turned and stalked out the door, shoving one of the gunmen against the wall as he passed.

      
Colin walked out into the bright hot sunlight, dazed by Barker's blackmail. He would be ruined politically if his past came out. No one in Washington would ever speak to him again. Hell, he thought with grim irony, even the good folks of Prescott would shun him. They hated Apaches right enough, but being a professional butcher who hunted them down and hacked off their scalps for bounty was not something a respectable community leader would dirty his hands doing. He would be a pariah and place Eden in even more jeopardy. God, how could he face the horror, the accusation in his daughter's eyes?

      
He had condemned Maggie because of her past. Now, she would see that his own was scarcely blameless.
Maggie!
Colin stopped dead in his tracks. How had Barker found out if Ed Phibbs had not told him? Who else knew? His thoughts flew back to those feverish nights when Maggie sat beside his bed, tending his wounds, bathing down his fever. Had he babbled about the Aussie, about the way he had made his stake in Mexico? Or had she, who had spent years living in Sonora herself, always known? Was she a spy working with the ring?

      
Absurd. Or was it? There had always been that incredible attraction between them from the moment they met, but it had never really explained the outrageous bargain she had proposed. She could have been in on a conspiracy. But she had risked mortal danger to save Eden from those Apache raiders and even placed herself between him and an assassin's bullet the other night in Prescott. Had her feelings for him grown strong enough to make her repent her betrayal? He had been coming to believe he was in love with his wife. Could Maggie be in love with him as well—perhaps just as unwillingly?

      
The only way to learn the truth was to confront her. Then, he would have to decide how to deal with Barker. Perhaps, it would be best to wait until Blake completed his mission. The two of them had a lot of serious talking to do about Eden. If her future was secure with the half-breed, that would allow Colin a lot more leeway to tackle Barker and whoever else was involved—even if it was his own wife.

      
No, it can’t be Maggie!
But who, then…?

* * * *

      
Bart Fletcher felt pleased with himself. Well, perhaps pleased was not an adequate word to describe the bittersweet pleasure he was taking in an uncharacteristically noble act. He inspected his appearance in the mirror one more time and smoothed one immaculately manicured hand across his beard. Dressed in his favorite tan linen suit with a crisp white ruffled shirt, he looked every inch the son of a baronet, albeit a disowned one. His wretched cousin Evelyn had no doubt inherited the title by now. Little matter, the country estate had been mortgaged to the hilt when he had left England nearly thirty years ago.

      
Let Cousin Evelyn have it. He deserves the bloody pile of rocks·. I've made my own fortune.
But all the money or titles on earth could not gain him the one person he desired above all others. His Megs. At least he had done something to make her future secure. Whistling, he set out, locking his hotel door and heading down the long hallway around the corner to the stairs.

      
He had planned to leave a note for a porter to deliver discreetly, asking her to meet him at the Cosmopolitan Dining Room again; but suddenly there she was, stepping out of her door. They nearly collided as she turned, startled by his appearance.

      
“Bart! What are you doing here?” She looked down the hall, but no one was in sight.

      
“I assure you I didn't plan a tryst, Megs. In fact, I didn't even know your accommodations were on the same bloody floor, but I do want to talk with you. There's—”

      
“Quick, come inside,” Maggie said as a maid carrying a huge clay olla filled with water rounded the corner.

      
They stepped into her suite and she closed the door before the girl noticed them. Nervously, Maggie walked across the sitting room and looked out the window. Bart studied her, looking for some telltale sign of her pregnancy. Dressed in a lavender blue silk suit and feathered bonnet, she looked as slim and lovely as ever.

      
“Impending motherhood seems to agree with you, Megs,” he said fondly.

      
She fingered the antique gold band on her left hand beneath the dainty blue glove she wore. “What do you want, Bart?”

      
He smiled and his pale eyes danced for a moment, then his expression grew rueful. “What I want and what I've come to tell you aren't at all the same.”

      
“Colin's out on business but he could return any minute. He's gone to see Win Barker,” she added worriedly.

      
He put up a hand. “I'll be brief. What I have to tell you pertains to your fear for your husband's life. He should be safe now. I've, er, neutralized the assassin.”

      
Maggie looked astonished. “How? Have you found out who Barkers hired? What—”

      
“Don't question it, Megs. You know my rather checkered past and unorthodox methods. Suffice it to say no one will be shooting at Colin McCrory from back alleys again. You can return with him to your ranch in the wilderness to rusticate and have babies—if that's what you want,” he added with a shudder of distaste. “As for me, I'll be heading to San Francisco in a few days. When I get settled, I’ll send you my address. If you ever need anything—anything at all, Megs—you'll know where to find me.”

      
Maggie looked at her old friend, realizing that he was walking out of her life for good. And that it was costing him dearly. He really did care for her. She crossed the room to him and placed her gloved hands on the shoulders of his pristine suit coat.

      
“I shall always consider you my dearest friend, Bart. I'll never forget you.” Emotion tightened her throat as she gazed into his face, now so wistfully sad. “Take care of yourself, you scalawag,” she whispered, leaning forward to brush a light kiss on his cheek.

      
“Well, isn't this touching.” Colin stood in the doorway with an ominous scowl on his face.

Chapter Eighteen

White Mountain Reservation

      
Eden's legs almost buckled beneath her as she crawled from the cramped water barrel where she had hidden after stampeding a dozen horses out of the agency corral last night. Knowing there was no hope of out riding Lamp's Indian police, not to mention the risk of breaking her neck in the dark, she had scattered them on a false trail.

      
Thank God for Rufus, who had saved her from the brute that Lamp had sent climbing out the window after her. She had given her other two pursuers the slip, but he had caught her. Seeing his mistress under attack, the big dog had leaped like a mountain lion at the Apache's throat. As they struggled, she had seized the rifle the man had dropped and used it to club him insensate. Then, Rufus had helped her chase the horses from the corral, driving them far out to the west. She prayed her pet had eluded the guns of the police.

      
If only she could slip inside the stable without being caught. Her own mare, specially bred for speed and endurance, was quartered there. The police had searched everywhere for her last night. They had opened several of the water barrels, then abandoned prying the lids off the rest and never noticed that one had been partially emptied. Her skirts were soaked and her legs ached with cold, but no one had found her. They all assumed she had ridden off on one of the agency horses. Lamp had the police out combing the area between the reservation and Crown Verde, searching for her. But she would fool them now and head south toward Tucson to her father. She could make it in less than a day.

      
The stock of the Spencer carbine she had wrested from the guard was wet, but the firing mechanism was dry. Her fingers were stiff with cold as she forced them to check the weapon. With it loaded and ready, she slid around the side of the dilapidated adobe brick stable. No one was in sight except for a few women who were headed to the post. Even if they saw her, she was certain they would not betray her presence. One lone police guard lounged in the shade of the back doorway. She could not risk a shot that would alert the rest of the post. Could she bluff him into believing that she would shoot?

      
There's only one way to find out.
“Don't make a sound. Drop your weapon. I have nothing to lose. If I have to kill you, I will.” The guard reluctantly complied. She backed her squat, impassive captive into the stable after kicking his old Henry lever action against the wall. What to do next? “Lie on the floor—face down,” she said, motioning with her Spencer.