The Countess and the Cowboy

Ever mindful of the wind and the dogs, he slipped into the shadows to wait.

* * *

Eve had finished unpacking. Her dresses and cloak hung in the wardrobe. Her brushes and toiletries lay on the mirrored dresser. Her underthings were folded into drawers. She still yearned for the books she’d been forced to leave behind at Manderfield—the volumes of poetry, science, history and literature that had sustained her through the years of Arthur’s illness. They’d been hers, an inheritance from her father, who’d died two years after her marriage. But now, by law, in the absence of a will, they belonged to her late husband’s estate. Her stepson’s family had allowed her to take only a bible and a few precious volumes of Shakespeare’s plays. They would have to do.

Eve was tired beyond exhaustion. Common sense told her she should finish undressing and get ready for bed. But something was tugging at her, some deep urge crying to be satisfied. And suddenly she knew what it was.

She had yet to say goodbye to her sister.

Earlier Roderick had mentioned that Margaret and the baby were laid to rest under a large cottonwood that grew a short distance from the house. He’d offered to show her the grave, but Eve had wanted to visit the spot alone. She’d put him off with an excuse and the evening had passed without another chance.

It wasn’t too late to go. The moon was bright, and the tree would make the mound of earth simple enough to find. Maybe some solitude beside her sister’s grave would help her accept the news that still seemed no more than a terrible dream.

She took a moment to button her bodice. Then, leaving the lamp in her room, Eve moved out into the hall. Once her eyes became accustomed to the dark it wasn’t too difficult to make her way down the stairs. Her senses prickled as she stepped out onto the front porch and closed the door behind her. A warning of danger lurking in the darkness? No, she told herself, it was just the strangeness of being in a new place at night. It would pass.

The wind lifted her hair as she descended the front steps and walked out into the yard. There was no lawn, only dry, gravelly earth that crunched beneath her shoes. Margaret had always loved flowers. Had she tried to plant them here, in this inhospitable place?

Eve could see the big cottonwood now, a stone’s throw from the corner of the house. Its trunk was thick and twisted, with upward-reaching limbs as thick as a man’s leg. Clouds of silvery leaves glimmered in the moonlight.

As she neared the tree, Eve felt the prickling sensation again, like cold fingers brushing the back of her neck. She hesitated—but no, she was being silly. And now she was close enough that she could see the narrow mound of fresh earth below the tree. Bracing herself against a rush of emotions, she walked toward it.

* * *

The countess glided like a queen across the yard, hair and skirts fluttering behind her. Clint watched from the shadows, transfixed and puzzled. What the hell was she doing out here alone in the dark?

Hadn’t she been warned about Hanford’s dogs? She was new here. Her scent could set them off just as easily as his.

Whatever her silly reason for coming out alone at night, he couldn’t deny that it suited his needs nicely. Now would be the perfect time to speak to her, without fear of drawing attention from the rest of the house. But caution and curiosity held him back. Where was she going?

He followed her at a short distance, keeping out of sight. On the far side of the big cottonwood, she dropped to her knees. Only as he moved forward did Clint notice the patch of heaped earth littered with the dried remains of flowers.

He was about to step into view when she spoke.

“Forgive me, Margaret, for arriving too late.” Her voice was a choked whisper. “I should have been here for you, at least to hold you in my arms and say goodbye...”

Still in the shadows, Clint hesitated. He was wasting precious time, but this was a private moment and an emotional one. Discretion held him in check.

“I promise you, here on your grave, that I’ll look after your children,” the countess continued. “I’ll care for them as my own, and they’ll never want for love...” A sob cut off the rest of her words. Her shoulders shook as she pressed her hands to her face.

Clint took the ring from his pocket and stepped into sight. “I’m sorry about your sister, Countess,” he said softly.

Her hands dropped from her face. She stared up at him with startled eyes. “You!” she whispered. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to return this.” He held out the ring to her. “I’m hoping you’ll accept it without asking too many questions.”

“I’ll certainly accept it.” She rose, snatched the ring away from him and thrust it onto her middle finger. “But I have the right to ask as many questions as I choose, and you’d bloody well be prepared to answer them.”

Clint found her mild profanity oddly sensual. She might be an elevated lady, but she was clearly a passionate woman. Though he’d prefer to see that passion directed at something other than ordering him around. It shouldn’t surprise him that the lady was accustomed to giving orders, he reminded himself. Back in England, she’d probably had the servants quaking in their brogans. But she was about to learn that he wasn’t one of her subjects.

“Listen here, Countess—” he began.

“This is America. I’m Mrs. Townsend. Eve.”

The silkiness of the name, emerging between ripe lips, triggered a fleeting fantasy about being Adam. But Clint had come here for a far different reason.

“Well, as I was saying, Eve, you’re new here and you need to understand a few things. First, since I know you’re wondering, the answer is yes, I did know those young stage robbers. They’re just a couple of fool boys. I gave them your ring to get them out of harm’s way. When I caught up with them I demanded it back.”

“Fine.” Her eyes blazed up at him, moonlight reflecting in their azure depths. “So why did you have to sneak up in the night to return it? Why couldn’t you have called at the house during the day like a proper gentleman?”

“Because your brother-in-law would’ve set the dogs on me. He’s my enemy, and the enemy of every decent, honest rancher in this valley.”

It was a bold statement, meant to shock her. And he could see by the startled widening of her eyes that it had. Before she could reply he continued.

“Hanford and his cronies in the Cattlemen’s Association want to drive the farmers and small ranchers off their land and leave the valleys open to graze their cattle. Their hirelings have burned houses and barns, ripped out fences, killed men, women, even children. Their favorite trick is to frame a man for cattle rustling, then string him up on the spot.” He took a step closer, his face inches above hers. “You’ve landed in the middle of a range war, lady. And I’ve heard rumors it’s about to get worse.”

Clint paused for breath. He’d taken a dangerous plunge, revealing himself to a woman in his enemy’s household. But even if she went running to Hanford to share everything later, he hadn’t told her anything Hanford wouldn’t already know. He’d only informed her that she was living with an evil man.

She drew herself up, meeting his gaze with her own steel. “So what’s all this got to do with me?”

“You can close your eyes to what’s happening or you can try to make a difference.”

“Make a difference how? What are you suggesting?” she challenged him.

“In Hanford’s house, you’re bound to see things, hear things. If you’re willing to pass on what you learn, you’ll be helping to save innocent lives.”

“You’re asking me to be a spy.”

“If that’s what you want to call it, yes.”

He heard the sharp intake of her breath before she spoke. “Listen to me, then, Mr. Lonigan. I know Roderick’s no angel. But he’s the father of my sister’s children. Those precious little ones are in my care now. As long as they’re under Roderick’s roof, I’ll do nothing—nothing—that might compromise my ability to protect them. Do I make myself clear?”

There was a note of ferocity in her voice, like the snarl of a tigress defending her cubs. Her stunning eyes glinted with defiance.

“I understand that the children are your priority and you don’t want to get involved,” Clint said. “But if you change your mind—”

“I have no intention of changing my mind. Now please get off this property and leave me alone. You won’t be welcome again.”

“Fine.” Time to back off, Clint told himself. He’d planted a seed. That would have to be enough for now. But there was one more thing he had to know. “Before I leave I’m going to ask you a question,” he said. “And I want an honest answer.”

“Ask it,” she said coldly. “I have nothing to hide.”

“The boys who held up the stage were expecting to find money from the Cattlemen’s Association in Cheyenne. They assumed it would be in a strongbox, but they didn’t find it.”

“Yes, I remember that. Go on.”

“Were you carrying that money—either in your baggage or on your person?”

Her eyes widened. A gasp of indignation lifted her breasts. “Absolutely not,” she snapped. “I don’t know anything about the Cattlemen’s Association or their money, nor do I wish to. My only concern is my sister’s children. Are you satisfied, Mr. Lonigan? Do you believe me?”

“I have no reason not to—” Clint broke off, sensing a sudden change. It was the breeze, he realized, finally identifying the feeling. It had shifted. “Lord, the wind...”

“What?” She stared up at him. “What is it?”

As if in answer, a sudden clamor rose from the kennel beyond the house—a burst of yelps and snarls that rose to a hideous, howling chorus.

Chapter Three

“Take your hands off me!” Eve sputtered as Clint Lonigan seized her shoulders. His grip was rough enough to hurt as he spun her in the direction of the front porch.

“Run!” he growled. “Get in the house!”

“Why should I? What is it?” She struggled, resisting.

“Hanford’s dogs. They’ve scented us, and they’re sounding the alarm. If he orders them set loose, they’ll tear any stranger apart, including you. Now run, damn it!” He pushed her forward.

A light had flickered on in Roderick’s window. It was moving back and forth, as if signaling. Suddenly the hellish baying grew louder, coming from around the far side of the house.

Eve broke into a sprint. For her, the safety of the front door was mere seconds away. She could no longer see or hear Lonigan, but the dogs would be after him, too. And, unlike her, he’d have no safe place to go.

Tripping over her long skirts, she plunged up the front steps and raced across the porch to the door. Her fingers fumbled with the latch. It held fast. Had it somehow locked behind her when she’d left the house?

As she shrank into the doorway, a half dozen sleek forms came flying around the corner, baying and snarling as they plunged ahead.

Brindled coats flashed in the moonlight as the pack swung away from the house. She wasn’t the one they were after. They were going for Lonigan. He might not be her friend, but that didn’t mean she wanted him mauled to death. She had to stop what was about to happen.

Frantic, she flung herself against the door. “Roderick!” she screamed, shaking the latch and pounding on the heavy oak slab. “Roderick, it’s me! Call them off! Call them off!”

With a sudden give, the latch released and the door swung open. Eve stumbled into the entry, then changed her mind and raced back onto the porch. She couldn’t see Lonigan or the dogs, but the pack’s chilling cry echoed across the moonlit yard.

“Roderick!” she screamed again. “For the love of heaven, call them back!”

For an instant time seemed to stop. Then three blasts of a steel whistle shattered the night. The baying dropped to a subdued chorus of yelps as the dogs wheeled and came loping back into sight. Eve shrank into the doorway as they skirted the corner of the house and vanished in the direction of the kennel.

There was no sign of Clint Lonigan. She could only hope he’d made a clean escape. Friend or enemy—whichever he might be—no man deserved to be ripped apart by those nightmarish creatures.

Knees sagging, she closed the door and slid the bolt into place. Roderick loomed at the top of the stairs, wearing a maroon velvet dressing gown and holding a lantern.

“Eve!” He addressed her as one might lecture a naughty child. “What were you doing outside after dark? Those hounds are trained to guard the property. They could’ve torn you to pieces.”

She willed herself to speak calmly. “I wanted to visit my sister’s grave. I didn’t know about the dogs. You should’ve warned me.”

He didn’t even have the grace to look guilty, though her answer did seem to mollify him to an extent. “I would have, if I’d known you were going to wander around after dark.” He glided down the stairs, pausing two steps short of the landing. “Were you alone out there? I thought I heard voices.”

“I spoke a few fitting words over Margaret’s grave. You may have heard me. I’m guessing the dogs did, too.” It was a half-truth. A flicker of caution kept her from mentioning Clint Lonigan.

“Tomorrow I’ll take you out and introduce you to the pack, let them get to know you. If you can spare an article of clothing, something that carries your scent, bring it along to leave with them.”

“Can I assume the children will be safe around them?”

“Those hounds are like puppies with the children, as they were with Margaret. You might even want to wear one of her dresses when you visit the kennel for the first time. No need to wear mourning in this country. To be sure, there’s plenty of cause for it, but with the dirt and the weather, women say black’s too impractical here.”

“I’m glad of that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going up to bed.”

She started for the stairs, expecting him to move aside and give her room to pass, but he stood fast, offering her the barest space against the wall. “I was hoping—” He broke off, staring down at her hand. “I didn’t see that ring earlier.”

Eve’s pulse skittered. “It was my late husband’s, one of the few things of his I was able to keep.”

“But you weren’t wearing it at supper. It’s very impressive. What’s a bauble like that worth?”

“It’s late, Roderick,” Eve said, cutting him off. “I’ve just had a fright, and I’m exhausted. All I want is to go upstairs and sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Very well. I’ll bid you good-night then, Eve.” He finally moved back against the railing, allowing her room to get by, but barely. His hand brushed the small of her back as she hurried past him.

By the time she reached the landing, Eve felt vaguely ill. She hadn’t counted on this. With the earth barely settled on his wife’s grave, Roderick was already acting as if he owned her. If it weren’t for Margaret’s children, she would pack up and leave on the next stage. But her promise to look after Thomas and Rose would bind her to this house, perhaps for years to come. And anyway, she had nowhere else to go, Eve reminded herself, shoulders slumping. So here she would stay, for better or for worse. She would just have to prepare for a reckoning with the man.

She took a moment to look in on the children. Both were slumbering, but Thomas’s young face was streaked with salt where his tears had dried, and Rose was whimpering in her sleep. Eve adjusted their blankets and brushed a finger kiss across each silken head. These precious little ones would be a long time healing. She would be there for them every step of the way, Eve vowed—regardless of their father’s behavior.

In her room, she bolted the door. Unsteady hands unbuttoned her black dress and let it fall to the rug. As she strained to unfasten her corset, she felt the burn where Clint Lonigan’s strong hands had gripped her shoulders. A glance confirmed that he hadn’t left bruises on her skin. But he’d shoved her toward the house with an urgent force that lingered, if only in her memory. What if he hadn’t been there? What if she’d been caught off guard by Roderick’s killer dogs?

The ruby ring felt cold and heavy on her finger. For now she would put it away in a safe place. Wearing it would only tempt possible thieves and set her apart from her neighbors. But she couldn’t deny she was glad to have it back. Lonigan had risked his life to return it. But that was only half true, Eve reminded herself. The ring had masked the rascal’s real intent—to recruit her as a spy.

She’d been right to refuse Lonigan’s request, of course. Nothing he’d said about Roderick had surprised her. But this range war was neither her doing nor her business. Her only concern was for her sister’s children.

Clint Lonigan had her answer—her final answer. The wise course now would be to turn her back and never speak to him again.

Still, as she walked to the open window to shut out the night chill, her eyes scanned the moonlit yard. Deny it though she might, the question haunted her.

Was he safe?

* * *

Out of the ranch’s earshot, Clint spurred his tall buckskin to a gallop. The night wind cooled the sweat that had beaded on his face. It had been a damned narrow escape. Hanford’s hounds had been so close on his heels that he could smell their foul breath. He’d been about to wheel and draw his pistol when their keeper’s whistle had called them off.

It was the countess’s screams that had saved his life. Since the dogs were chasing him, not her, he could only surmise she’d cried out to save him. It was a comforting thought. She may have refused to spy for him, but at least she’d been sympathetic enough to help him get away.

Or maybe she just couldn’t stand the sight of blood. But no, he doubted she was the missish type. She had too much steel in her for that.

When she’d denied carrying money from the Cattlemen’s Association, those azure eyes of hers could’ve melted stone. But how could he believe her, when logic told him that if anyone on that stage was hiding cash, it would’ve been the bewitching countess?

Eve. Her name was like a whisper of wind. He remembered how she’d looked leaning out the upstairs window, her loose black hair framing her face, her breasts pale half-moons above the lace edging of her camisole. The sight of her had stirred yearnings he hadn’t felt since...

With a muttered curse, Clint forced her image from his mind. He was fighting a war, damn it; and if the countess wasn’t with him, she was against him. As long as Eve lived under Roderick Hanford’s roof and cared for his children, there could be no trusting her.

Right now Clint had other urgent concerns to deal with. One of his neighbors had lost half a dozen spring calves. A Dutch farmer, Yost had spotted the calves with a herd belonging to cattleman and county judge Seth McCutcheon. Yost was determined to get them back, even if he had to steal them.

Clint had seen this tactic too many times not to be wise to what would happen next. His neighbor would take his animals back—and McCutcheon’s men would make no move to stop him. But once they were back in his possession, Yost would be accused of cattle rustling and strung up without a trial. His widow and children would be run off their farm and the cattle barons would move in like vultures to seize the land.

It was up to Clint to find the man and talk some sense into him—tonight, before it was too late. After that, assuming he was successful in talking Yost down, Clint might manage to grab a few hours sleep before his own morning chores and a visit to check on the Potter ranch. Blasted fool boys. Just when things were heating up, and he needed their guns and sharp eyes, they had to go and get in trouble.

Tomorrow, once the chores were done, he’d ride into town and nose around into the investigation on the stagecoach holdup. With luck, he’d be able to learn whether Sheriff Womack was looking for Newt and Gideon. If the coast was clear, it might be safe to bring the boys home.

Clint also needed to look into the rumors of money from the Cattlemen’s Association. If they were true, and hired gun sharks were coming to Lodgepole, he would need to spread the word and come up with a plan.

But what plan? What could immigrant farmers and small ranchers do to protect themselves against seasoned killers? What chance would they have? He needed a way to learn more—how many, where and when they planned to strike.

Smitty in the Three-legged Dog and Etta Simpkins in the bakery might be good for passing on a bit of gossip. But gossip couldn’t take the place of solid information.

For that he needed the countess on his side—and the chance of winning her over was about as good as tying up a wildcat with a piece of string.

* * *

Eve sat at the dining room table helping Thomas with his multiplication tables. Rose sat across from them, practicing lines of alphabet letters in her notebook. The one-room school in Lodgepole was too far for a daily drive, especially in winter, so Margaret had schooled her children at home. She’d done an admirable job, which Eve hoped to continue.

It was only her second day here, but Eve had already made a number of discoveries. One was that Roderick had little interest in his children’s upbringing or the running of his household. Those matters had been left to Margaret—and had now fallen to her. Another discovery was that Alice, the elderly housekeeper, was suffering from rheumatism. She could manage in the kitchen, but tasks like doing laundry and trudging up and down the stairs with mop buckets and chamber pots were becoming too much for the poor woman. Eve had resolved to find her some younger, stronger help, the sooner the better.

After the children’s lessons she would take the buggy into Lodgepole for some needed supplies. And while she was there, she would pay a visit to Etta Simpkins at the bakery. Surely a woman who knew the town so well could recommend a sturdy, trustworthy girl who needed work.

Eve glanced at the children as they labored over their lessons. She would ask Roderick to let her take them into town. Maybe some peppermint sticks from the general store or a couple of small toys would bring a smile to their sad little faces. The three of them might even stop for a picnic on the way home.

As if the very thought of him could summon the man, Roderick strolled into the dining room. He was dressed like the country gentleman he’d never been in England, in jodhpurs, a tweed riding jacket and knee-high calfskin boots polished to a gloss.

“Are you ready, Eve?” he asked. “I wanted to take you out back to meet my hounds this morning.”

A knot tightened in the pit of her stomach. After last night she had no desire to meet Roderick’s baying, snarling dogs face-to-face.

“The children,” she protested. “They’re still doing their lessons.”

He did not spare Rose and Thomas even a glance. “They can finish alone. Bring something that has your scent on it.”

Eve thought of the black silk bombazine she’d worn so long that it was stiff with sweat and dust. She’d had a mind to burn it on arrival, but literally throwing it to the dogs would work just as well. It was too far gone to survive washing, but maybe she could salvage a strip of it as a mourning band to wear for Margaret.

As she hurried upstairs to fetch the gown, the shock of her sister’s death swept over her afresh. Dear, gentle, faithful Margaret. How Eve longed to hear her voice and see her patient smile again. Older by three years, Margaret had always been the solid, sensible sister. Growing up, it was Eve, the impulsive one, who was always finding ways to get into mischief. Yet it was Margaret who’d married a rough-edged adventurer bound for America, and Eve who, to save their father from financial ruin, had dutifully wed the middle-aged Earl of Manderfield.

While he lived, the earl had been the soul of kindness and generosity. Eve had never been in love with him, but he’d earned her gratitude and her lasting devotion, even in the latter years of his life, when her role toward him had been more nursemaid than wife. Margaret, who’d been so giddy with love for Roderick that she’d ignored warnings from friends and family, had paid dearly for following her heart. The thought of her sister enduring this uncivilized country and that pompous brute of a husband for eleven long years was enough to make Eve weep. If only she could have been here to give Margaret some love and support. Now she could only try to do as much for her sister’s children.