Savannah Heat (49 page)

“Gunfight?” she repeated. Then her pretty face paled even more. “What—what about Mr. Hennessey?” She sat up a little straighter. “Is he—is he—”

“Barker picked that fight, not me. I won his money fair and square, and I shot him in self-defense.”

“Oh, dear.” She looked ready to faint again. “I don’t feel very well. I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Brendan pressed the cool, wet cloth against her brow. “Just lean your head back, and try not to think about it.”

The woman swallowed hard and closed her eyes, her thick black lashes making dark half-moons against her cheek. Eventually the color returned to her face, and he noticed again how pretty she was.

“Thank you,” she said softly, “I’m feeling a little better now.”

Brendan felt a wave of relief, then an unpleasant thought occurred. “Barker wasn’t your husband, was he?” Until that moment it hadn’t crossed his mind that a man like Hennessey could have a wife. Especially such a young and tender one.

She shook her head. “No. He’s the man my fiancé sent to escort me on to his ranch.” Her bottom lip trembled. “I never met him before, but he looked like a nice enough man.”

Brendan’s face grew taut. “There wasn’t a nice bone in Barker Hennessey’s body. He’d have killed me without a second thought if I hadn’t shot him first.”

Priscilla chewed on that for a while and took a long, assessing look at the man who squatted with menacing grace on the stiff salt grass beside her. His hair was as dark as hers, but a richer, warmer shade of brown, and he wore it longer than he should have. Several days’ growth of beard roughened his jaw, but his mouth curved nicely, and his eyes, a light shade of blue, watched her with a look of concern that melted away the fear she should have felt.

How could that be? she wondered. He had just killed a man—a man whose help she desperately needed. He was a gambler and a gunman, yet there was something
about him. Something that told her the words he had spoken were the truth.

“Does that mean the sheriff won’t arrest you?”

“Not as long as he knows I only did what I had to.”

Priscilla had a knack for judging people. She could size them up in a heartbeat. Even her aunt Maddie would ask her opinion, though she never admitted Priscilla’s assessment actually mattered.

And this man
had
saved her life—probably at considerable risk to his own.

When he took her hand and helped her to her feet, Priscilla gripped his arm to steady herself, and solid muscle flexed beneath his shirt. Though she stood taller than the average woman, Trask towered above her, his wide shoulders blocking the sun. Hard-edged, unkempt, and rugged though he appeared, even in his worn homespun shirt and frayed blue twill breeches he looked handsome.

When he discovered her watching him, Priscilla flushed and glanced away. “I—I can’t believe Stuart would have sent the kind of man you describe here to meet me. I don’t think—”

“This is rough country, Miss …?”

She swung her gaze to his. “Wills. Priscilla Mae Wills, and I believe your name is Trask.”

He nodded. “Where did you say you were headed?”

“Rancho Reina del Robles—the Triple R. Stuart Egan is my fiancé.”

Trask’s hard features closed up. There was an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before. “That explains Hennessey; he’s Egan’s right-hand man.”

“Then you know Stuart?”

He shook his head. “No, but I’ve heard of him. Most folks ’round these parts know who he is. Why didn’t Egan come for you?”

“Apparently he was shorthanded. The ranch is quite large, you know.”

“So I’ve heard.” Something flickered in his light blue eyes. “I’ll have someone get word to him, and he can fetch you home.”

Priscilla’s dark brows shot up. “But that would take weeks. I can’t stay here—” She felt his hand on her arm, halting her protest and urging her back toward the hotel.

Priscilla let him lead her down the street, trying to gather her thoughts. As she had said, it would take weeks for a letter to reach Stuart and just as much time for him to come or send someone to get her. In the meantime, she’d be alone in this wild Texas town—a place where people got shot in the streets! She had only enough money for a few days’ lodging and food. What would she do after that?

Trask tugged her the last few paces up onto the boardwalk, his grip a little harder than it should have been. “Where you from, Miss Wills?” He shoved open the door to the lobby, ringing the bell, then held it so she could walk in.

“I was born in Natchez, but I was raised in Cincinnati. As I told you, I was on my way to join my fiancé, which, thanks to you, has just become an exceedingly difficult task.” Priscilla felt like crying.
Difficult
was hardly the word.

“I suppose you’d prefer I let him shoot me.”

“Maybe. Maybe I would at that.” Shoulders thrown back, Priscilla marched up to the desk, where a green-visored clerk leaned over a huge leather-bound guest book.

“I’d like a room, please, and I need someone to obtain my trunks from aboard the steamship
Orleans
.”

The gray-haired clerk eyed her from top to bottom. “You ain’t by yourself?”

“Well, yes … I …” Priscilla lifted her chin. “My traveling companion fell ill some ways back. I was forced to continue alone.” She glanced at Trask,
daring him to contradict, and found his mouth curved up in amusement.

“This is a respectable hotel, miss. You look proper enough, but … well, if you got somethin’ else in mind, you’d best be lookin’ for a room somewheres else.”

Priscilla flushed crimson. “Surely you aren’t implying—”
Dear God, what kind of people are these
?

“Get the lady a room,” Trask ordered, resting his gun hand casually on the desk, “and be quick about it.”

The little man swallowed and shoved the guest book in her direction. “Yes, sir, Mr. Trask. Sign here, ma’am.” He dipped the quill pen in the inkwell near her elbow, handed it to Priscilla, and she scrawled her name in graceful blue letters.

“How long will you be stayin’?” the clerk asked.

She studied the sign on the wall behind him. Even at the modest rate posted, she couldn’t stay more than four days.

“I—I’m not really sure.” She’d expected Barker Hennessey to see to her needs until she reached the Egan ranch. She clutched her reticule tighter, wondering what in heaven she would do when her money ran out.

“She’ll be here at least three weeks,” Trask told the desk clerk. “It’ll take that long to get word to her people and for them to come get her.”

Priscilla swallowed hard. She couldn’t afford that much time, but she certainly wouldn’t tell him that. If only she could find someone to take Mr. Hennessey’s place. Someone who knew the country, a man who could protect her along the way. Priscilla glanced at Trask—hard, capable, determined—and felt a jolt of inspiration that seemed almost divine.

Trask could do it! He was obviously well suited for the arduous journey. And he owed her. He had shot
Hennessey—it was only fitting Trask should be the one to take his place.

She flashed him the brightest smile she could muster, which under the circumstances wasn’t all that much. “Do you think Mr. Hennessey booked passage in advance for our journey to Corpus Christi?”

“Probably. But I’m sure the steamship company will be happy to refund the money.”

“How far is it from there to the Triple R?”

“From what I know of it—and I’ve never been there—I’d say a good four-day ride over some very rough country. Why?” he asked warily.

“Surely, Mr. Trask, it is obvious I cannot remain unprotected in a town like this for the length of time it would take for Stuart to arrive.” She smiled again. “The most practical solution is for you to escort me in Mr. Hennessey’s place.”

“No,” he said simply.

“Why not? Since you’re the man who—who—posed this particular problem, you are obviously the man who should solve it.”

Trask shook his head. “Not a chance, Miss Wills. You’re Egan’s problem, not mine. Besides, I’ll be leaving Galveston at dawn. I’ve got a job waiting for me on the Brazos.”

Priscilla clutched the folds of her skirt, determined he would not see her cry. “What kind of job, Mr. Trask? Some sort of hired gun—or do you plan to make your money gambling, foxing weaker people out of theirs?”

Trask’s look turned hard, his full lips nothing but a thin, grim line. “As a matter of fact, I plan to do a little bit of both.”

“You owe me, Mr. Trask. Barker Hennessey was here to protect me. Who’s going to protect me now?”

Good question
, Brendan thought, for she had just voiced the problem that had been running through his
mind. Who the hell would look after her? Egan had chosen well with Hennessey. For all his faults, Barker was loyal to Egan and tougher than a cob. Now, thanks to Hennessey’s too-quick temper, the woman was left with no one.

He glanced in her direction, saw the worry she tried to conceal—and a surprising amount of determination. “Goddammit! This isn’t my problem.”

Priscilla spun on him in outrage. “Don’t you dare blaspheme! If you hadn’t been gambling in the first place, none of this would have happened. Mr. Hennessey would still be alive, and I’d be safely on the way to my fiancé.”

“There’s not a damn thing safe about the country you’ll be crossing on your way to the Triple R. And I’ll damn well swear if I want to.”

“I believe you have an appointment with the law, Mr. Trask,” she said with a haughty little tilt of her chin. “Surely the sheriff will have something to say about what happened to poor Mr. Hennessey. Thank you for your assistance, and good day.” She whirled toward the man behind the counter, but Brendan caught her arm.

“I told you I shot him in self-defense.”

“You shouldn’t have been gambling. It’s a sin, just like swearing. Now Mr. Hennessey is dead, and I’m stranded in the middle of nowhere with no money and no way to get to my fiancé.”

“No money? What do you mean
no money
? Surely Egan gave you the money to get here.”

She looked as if she wanted to cut out her tongue. “Mr. Egan offered; I refused. I’ve never even met the man, I wasn’t about to accept his money.”

“You’ve never met him?”

“We’ve been corresponding, of course, and my aunt Maddie had met him.”

Brendan turned toward the man at the counter, dug
into his pocket, and tossed the man a coin. “Have someone fetch the lady’s trunks up to her room.” He turned back to Priscilla. “I’ll pay for your stay. Egan will come for you, and everything will work out fine.”

“Not on your life. I wouldn’t accept Stuart’s money; I certainly won’t take yours.”

“It was Hennessey’s money. He would have used it to get you to Egan, so in a way it belongs to you.”

She chewed her bottom lip, and Brendan thought how soft and pink it looked, how delicate she looked all over.

“If I do take the money, I’ll simply use it to hire someone else.”

“The hell you will. You’re staying here. I’ll pay for the room in advance if I have to.”

“I’m not your prisoner, Mr. Trask. Somehow I’ll find a way to get to Stuart—with or without your help.”

Brendan eyed her from top to bottom. She was a fiery little thing when she got riled up. She just might try it. “You’d better take a long, hard look at the men in this town. Where you gonna find somebody you can trust?”

“There’s got to be someone. If Stuart’s as well known as you say, there’s bound to be someone who will take me to him. Stuart can pay him when we get there.”

“You’re bluffing. You’d probably faint again if one of those men came near you.”
But what if she wasn’t
? What if she was crazy enough to try it? A lot of those men were hardened gunmen; they’d chew her up in little bitty pieces—after they pleasured themselves with her soft little body.

Damn her!
“This is blackmail, Miss Wills, and I don’t like it one damned bit.” Grabbing her arm, he tugged her toward the door.

Priscilla let him lead her. “Where are you taking me?”

“I’ve got an appointment with the law, remember? You happen to be a witness. You can tell the deputy what happened—how I shot Hennessey in self-defense—and on the way we can discuss our trip.”

“I didn’t see that much.” Priscilla stopped short. “Does this mean you’re taking me?”

“It’s beginning to look like I’ve got no choice.”

She still didn’t budge. “Why?” she asked, suddenly wary.

Brendan almost smiled. “Probably because I’m crazy. But you’re right about one thing. Hennessey’s dead, and I’m the man who killed him. In a way that makes me responsible for you. Egan might not get your letter for weeks. In the meantime anything could happen.”
And probably would
.

“I’m sure Stuart will reimburse you for your trouble.”

“Word reaches him about Hennessey’s death before we get there, he’ll probably shoot me on sight.” Brendan tipped her chin up. “You realize you’ll be traveling with a stranger—a man who just killed another man right in front of you.”

Priscilla searched his face. “I trust you, Mr. Trask.”

“You don’t even know me. Why the hell would you trust me?”

“I have my reasons.”

“Such as?”

Priscilla flushed but didn’t glance away. “You’ve got kind eyes.”

“Kind eyes?” he repeated, incredulous. “You trust me because of my eyes?”

“That’s right.”

Brendan shoved his hat back on his head and looked at her with a mixture of amazement and frustration. “Then, Miss Wills, I guess I’d better take you. Any woman who’s that big a fool hasn’t got a chance in a town like this.”