becoming a lady. She would hide out in Santa Fe as prim little Anabeth “Smith” and watch the gang’s movements. Then, when they least suspected it, Kid Calhoun would swoop down and wreak awful vengeance for her uncle’s death.
4
“Please let me pass.”
Claire Chandler lifted her chin as she met the insolent gaze of the cowboy standing in the doorway to Sullivan’s Mercantile. She should have stayed at the ranch until Jake arrived. She should have known better than to make the trip to Old Horse Springs alone. But she had sent her desperate message to El Paso over two weeks ago, and there was still no word from her brother. She had made the wire concise and to the point:
Sam murdered. Gold stolen.
Need help to save Window Rock.
Claire
Why hadn’t Jake responded?
Claire wasn’t going to be able to hold off men like the one standing in her way for much longer on her own.
“You’ll be needin’ help with that package, Miz Chandler,” the cowboy drawled, reaching out for it.
“I can manage.” Claire tightly clutched the cloth bag that contained five pounds of coffee, three tins ofpeaches, and ten boxes of .45 caliber bullets. She was expecting trouble at Window Rock.
Claire didn’t delude herself that any of the men who had approached a grieving widow with proposals of marriage were the least bit interested in her welfare. They wanted the ranch. Window Rock was a prime piece of land, located near some of the best water in western New Mexico.
Worst of them all was Will Reardon. How could she and Sam have been so wrong about the man! As their closest neighbor, Will had been among the first to come calling to pay his condolences on hearing of Sam’s death. When she had turned her face up to Will seeking comfort, he had looked her in the eye and said he would be glad to marry her and forget about the loan due on Window Rock. She had avoided answering his proposal by pleading her grief. He had left, but Claire knew he would be back.
Claire swallowed over the lump of sorrow that lodged in her throat. She had hoped the vultures would wait a little longer before beginning to circle. She couldn’t face the loss of Sam. She had scarcely recovered from the loss of her son.
Every single day she relived the memory of the last moments she had seen Jeffrey alive. Her son had been so pleased as he sat on his pony beside his father. A gap-toothed grin had split his face from ear to ear. He had been wearing a red-checked cotton shirt with pearl snaps, black jeans, and shiny black boots—all birthday presents.
Her tiny son, his white-blond hair tucked under a hat that was too big for him, had proudly ridden away with his father—and never come back.
Funny, how she could remember every detail of how Jeffrey had looked—and not one single thing about Sam’s appearance the day he had left Window Rock for the last time.
Oh, God! If only she could have that day to live over again!
Sam, Sam! I did love you once. I’m sorry I didn’t kiss you good-bye. I’m sorry I blamed you for losing Jeff. I’m sorry I turned my shoulder to you in bed. I’m sorry you died thinking I hated you. I’m so sorry!
The bag nearly slipped out of Claire’s hands. She grasped at it and caught it at her hip. The cowboy was quick to put his arms around it—and her. Claire worked to keep the desperation out of her voice as she said, “Let go of me.”
“Seems you need a man’s strong arms to help you out, little lady. There’s some hard-lookin’ desperados ’tween here and Window Rock. Bein’ widowed and all, you ain’t got a man no more to—”
“I’ll be seeing the lady home.”
The cowboy turned to cuss out whoever had been stupid enough to interrupt him and stepped back with an audible gasp. The size of the man standing there would have been enough to intimidate all by itself. The implacable look in the man’s gray eyes boded ill for anyone crossing him. A narrow scar ran through his mouth, turning it down on one
4
“Please let me pass.”
Claire Chandler lifted her chin as she met the insolent gaze of the cowboy standing in the doorway to Sullivan’s Mercantile. She should have stayed at the ranch until Jake arrived. She should have known better than to make the trip to Old Horse Springs alone. But she had sent her desperate message to El Paso over two weeks ago, and there was still no word from her brother. She had made the wire concise and to the point:
Sam murdered. Gold stolen.
Need help to save Window Rock.
Claire
Why hadn’t Jake responded?
Claire wasn’t going to be able to hold off men like the one standing in her way for much longer on her own.
“You’ll be needin’ help with that package, Miz Chandler,” the cowboy drawled, reaching out for it.
“I can manage.” Claire tightly clutched the cloth bag that contained five pounds of coffee, three tins ofpeaches, and ten boxes of .45 caliber bullets. She was expecting trouble at Window Rock.
Claire didn’t delude herself that any of the men who had approached a grieving widow with proposals of marriage were the least bit interested in her welfare. They wanted the ranch. Window Rock was a prime piece of land, located near some of the best water in western New Mexico.
Worst of them all was Will Reardon. How could she and Sam have been so wrong about the man! As their closest neighbor, Will had been among the first to come calling to pay his condolences on hearing of Sam’s death. When she had turned her face up to Will seeking comfort, he had looked her in the eye and said he would be glad to marry her and forget about the loan due on Window Rock. She had avoided answering his proposal by pleading her grief. He had left, but Claire knew he would be back.
Claire swallowed over the lump of sorrow that lodged in her throat. She had hoped the vultures would wait a little longer before beginning to circle. She couldn’t face the loss of Sam. She had scarcely recovered from the loss of her son.
Every single day she relived the memory of the last moments she had seen Jeffrey alive. Her son had been so pleased as he sat on his pony beside his father. A gap-toothed grin had split his face from ear to ear. He had been wearing a red-checked cotton shirt with pearl snaps, black jeans, and shiny black boots—all birthday presents.
Her tiny son, his white-blond hair tucked under a hat that was too big for him, had proudly ridden away with his father—and never come back.
Funny, how she could remember every detail of how Jeffrey had looked—and not one single thing about Sam’s appearance the day he had left Window Rock for the last time.
Oh, God! If only she could have that day to live over again!
Sam, Sam! I did love you once. I’m sorry I didn’t kiss you good-bye. I’m sorry I blamed you for losing Jeff. I’m sorry I turned my shoulder to you in bed. I’m sorry you died thinking I hated you. I’m so sorry!
The bag nearly slipped out of Claire’s hands. She grasped at it and caught it at her hip. The cowboy was quick to put his arms around it—and her. Claire worked to keep the desperation out of her voice as she said, “Let go of me.”
“Seems you need a man’s strong arms to help you out, little lady. There’s some hard-lookin’ desperados ’tween here and Window Rock. Bein’ widowed and all, you ain’t got a man no more to—”
“I’ll be seeing the lady home.”
The cowboy turned to cuss out whoever had been stupid enough to interrupt him and stepped back with an audible gasp. The size of the man standing there would have been enough to intimidate all by itself. The implacable look in the man’s gray eyes boded ill for anyone crossing him. A narrow scar ran through his mouth, turning it down on one
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