Over the Barrel Read online

  He took her hands in his and kissed her knuckles. "I love you. You are my life, and if anything should ever happen to you, I don't know what I would do with myself," he explained. "I know that you come from a place where people never really cared or became a part of who you are. Those people no longer matter. I do. You have to learn to allow me to protect and to love you."

  "I'm sorry." Blair lowered her face, suddenly filled with shame and remorse. He was correct. "I will try to be more considerate of your feelings."

  "Let me get you something to drink," he whispered, easing her onto the mattress. He held the glass to her lips. "Drink up. All that crying made you dry."

  Blair leaned painfully against him as he hand fed her some cheese and smoked sausage and then held the glass for her to sip. She sniffed as she rested her cheek against his warm bicep, feeling drowsy as the day caught up with her. Her eyes grew heavy, and she felt Sloan picking her up and settling her on her side under the cool sheets.

  "Sleep, my girl," came his whisper. His hand slowly stroked her back and then traveled down the side of her hip. Back and forth he caressed her, slowly, and just light enough to help her to drift into a tranquil repose. "I love you."

  Blair groaned loudly as Madeline pulled back the curtains the following morning to awaken her. "Good Morning, Miss. Did you sleep well?" the maid asked, pleasantly.

  Blair sat up and grimaced. Her hair dangled in tousled knots around her face. "You are positively chipper this morning, Madeline. May I ask the reason?"

  "No reason, Miss Blair," the older woman smiled broadly, "I had a very enjoyable evening with Mr. Malcolm. He purchased dinner for me and then drove me home under a beautiful moon."

  "Madeline," Blair reached for her maid's hands and squeezed gently, "we don't know if he is involved with that Deuce character. He knew those men on a first name basis, and they knew him."

  "They play cards every weekend, and those men work as wranglers during herding season," Madeline said, sitting on the bed next to Blair. "I was listening for you. That is what you wanted me to do, was it not?"

  "You are a gem. I wasn't certain that you saw me tug at my ear."

  "I did! Mr. Malcolm hires a crew to drive his cattle east and those men ride the herd. Deuce is the one who divides the riders into quadrants and tells them where to go."

  "So that is Malcolm's only connection to this man?"

  "I don't think so, Miss. Deuce works with Mr. Clay."

  "The ranch foreman? I assume that is because Deuce is running his cattle."

  "Yes ma'am—I mean, no, ma'am. Mr. Clay lives in an old homestead east of Blue Sky, and Deuce is with him."

  "Is that unusual?"

  "Mr. Malcolm was surprised. He said 'grounded folk like Mr. Clay don't go much for the wranglers and did not know why they would share a space." Madeline wrinkled her nose as she tried to repeat Malcolm's statement in the same manner in which it was delivered, "He said that these types of men, those like Deuce, are driven by money, women, and running from the law.

  "Hmmm …" Blair tapped her chin with her index finger, "do you think you might be able to get us some information about Mr. Clay?"

  "I can try. I know he's been with Mr. Malcolm five years and they have not had one head of cattle stolen or killed since he arrived."

  "Please find out what you can. No, I can dress myself." Blair quickly raised her hand as Madeline shook out the soft linen chemise. "Why don't you go downstairs and see if Grandfather Malcolm needs any personal assistance."

  Madeline flashed a toothy grin, dipped her knee, and quickly raced away. Blair shook her head and carefully rose to her feet, clenching her teeth as flashes of sharp pain radiated down the backs of her legs. She slowly stretched her body as she tried to ignore the constant throbbing ache that focused on her rump. Biting her lower lip, she turned to look at her bottom in the tall dressing mirror.

  It was still a beefy red with a couple of chalky white patches on both crowns. Blair's hand drifted behind her as she tried to see the undercurve of her cheeks. Several small bruises were sprinkled over the area, and she rubbed gently, surprised that her flesh was still quite warm. She chewed on her lower lip, admitting that her actions had been both unwise and dangerous for both herself and Madeline. Well, Sloan made certain that she would think twice before making another foolish mistake. With a grimace, she slipped on a pair of drawers and then a pair of the boy's trousers over her hips. Blair wrinkled her nose as she tightened a rope around the loops of the waistline and then surveyed her shapely backside in the mirror. She then took the chemise, and using her knife, cut away the extra material from the bottom. She slipped it over her head and followed it with the boy's linen shirt. Quickly, she brushed out her long, dark hair and then tied it into a tight braid that hung over her left shoulder. Finalizing her new 'look' with her leather riding boots, Blair tucked the loaded Colt Dragoon into the waistband of her trousers and tracked down the stairs.

  The sound of male voices drew her attention to the study. She walked past Madeline's wide-eyed stare of disbelief and knocked on the closed door with her knuckles.

  "Come on in," Malcolm called out jovially. "Ah! Good Morning, Blair. How …"

  "What the blooming hell are you wearing, woman?" Sloan choked out. "Is that a gun in your pants?"

  "It is," Blair said calmly, setting the weapon on the side-table. "A Colt Dragoon. Not quite as heavy as yours, but with some practice I will be able to shoot a flea off the back of a squirrel."

  "Get these notions out of your head, girl. You don't need to be learning to shoot like a man," Malcolm said, with a smile. "Have a seat."

  Blair glared at him. "No, thank you; I prefer to stand. Gentleman, I request that you please accept my decision that, as long as I am living in this house, I intend to be able to do whatever is needed to make myself useful. That includes protecting myself from marauders."

  "Blair," Sloan said calmly, "please go upstairs and dress appropriately."

  "No, Sloan. Those skirts not only hamper my movement, but they make me appear weak. This is what I will wear from now on."

  Madeline touched her shoulder. "Miss Blair, it isn't proper for a lady to wear men's clothing."

  "Propriety is not my concern," Blair stated. "I am no longer part of that world."

  "Now, now, Blair," Malcolm shook his head. "You must obey your husband. If I am to be so bold, I assume that the reason you have failed to sit yourself in that chair is that you faced some chastisement last evening. You are a smart girl. Don't invite more discipline upon your backend."

  "Hold on a second." Sloan lifted his hand. "Blair? Do you really want to learn the ways of ranch work?"

  "I do."

  "Then you may learn. Starting with tending the garden."

  "I must speak with you first. In private, if you please," Blair said, picking up her Colt and tucking it away.

  "If it is to complain about how sore your backside is, I don't want to hear it."

  "Sloan!" Blair felt the heat rise to her cheeks as her Grandfather laughed. "I really must speak to you. Immediately."

  Sloan excused himself and followed Blair upstairs to their room. He sat on the edge of the bed and patted his thigh. Blair shook her head.

  "I am not up here to play. I need to tell you something." She expounded on the information given her by Madeline, avoiding the darkening look in Sloan's eyes.

  "I told you to let it go, Blair. Didn't you learn your lesson last night?"

  "Why are you being so incredibly stubborn? If I can help you solve this case, why won't you allow me?"

  "Darling, there are things that are too dangerous for you to get yourself into. These men are killers. They go from town to town, killing off prostitutes and anyone associated with them. They would not blink an eye when they put a bullet through your head. Please listen to me."

  "But if this Deuce and the foreman, Clay are involved in the murders, shouldn't Grandfather Malcolm know about it? They are using his ranch to hide out on."


  "I'm still not convinced that Malcolm isn't involved."

  "How can you say that? His wife was killed by these men."

  "That is what he says. There are things that just don't line up, baby girl. Come sit," he patted his thigh again. Blair reluctantly obeyed, gritting her teeth as she carefully perched herself on his knee. Sloan wrapped his arms around her. "Did you know that his wife was heiress to a ton of money?"

  "No."

  "That was the primary reason your Aunt Imelda despised her. She had the money that Imelda did not. And when she died, Malcolm received the whole bank-load."

  "Why would he have had her killed? He obviously had access to the assets."

  "Perhaps she was tired of his gambling and cut him off. People have killed for much less."

  "Well, I refuse to believe that. I like him. He is the only family who has ever treated me decently. No," Blair shook her head, "I refuse to entertain such mendacities."

  "I am not saying he is lying. I am simply evaluating all possible circumstances. It is what I do."

  "What you do? You really aren't a Texas Ranger, are you?" Blair suddenly said, pulling away from him. Her eyes widened. "You knew I was going to be on that train!"

  Sloan sighed. "I am a detective for the Pinkerton Agency."

  "A detective? You had better explain right now, Sloan Adkins!" Blair placed her hands on her hips and glared at him angrily. "I want the truth, and I want it now!"

  Sloan looked back at her steadily. "Your aunt contacted the agency to have an investigator follow you and find out the truth behind her sister-in-law's death. Apparently, she believed that she was being swindled out of her rights by her brother—your grandfather—and that foul play was afoot. The agency contacted several of us who had already been investigating a series of murders that lead to Manitou Springs—which, coincidentally was the area of your destination. A volunteer was requested to escort you there, which would allow one of us to enter the area without suspicion and give us the chance to look into the murders, as well as check out the claims your aunt was making. We had no inkling that your grandfather was even remotely connected to the murders."

  "So you just happened to show up on the same train, right?" Blair hissed.

  "It was a matter of coincidence that I was closest to your vicinity, so I accepted the assignment. I had been given your description and your train route, so locating you was not difficult. The incident with that man gave me the prime opportunity to escort you directly to your destination and get to know you more intimately. I figured having some sort of a friendship with you would help me obtain direct access to your grandfather. Of course I had no idea that we would be left stranded at that station or that we would be forced to take our trip to the trail."

  "Coincidence? I am appalled." Blair turned her back to him as she fought back her angry tears. "You used me. You used me to help that hateful old woman find a way to get money that was never hers."

  "Your aunt forwarded a large sum to investigate this case. Her sister-in-law had written her a letter a number of years ago that contained information regarding her suspicion that Malcolm was after her inheritance. Your grandmother stated that she was afraid for her life because he was so heavily in debt from gambling. Something occurred between then and now that brought that fear to your great-aunt's doorsteps. I am assuming it was this whole deal with you coming of age and inheriting the property. She was concerned that you would be his next target, and that was when she sent for us."

  "She wanted me to be the target and used me as bait, nothing more. Even you can see that. Otherwise she would have been looking into Grandmother's murder when it first occurred," Blair muttered bitterly, feeling as though her entire world was caving in under the weight of betrayal.

  "I believe you are correct, honey. I'm sorry." He stood and placed his hands on her shoulders.

  "I can't believe you have been lying to me all this time." Blair shoved him away, her eyes blazing with anger and betrayal. "How could you?"

  "It was a job at first. I was under cover and could not reveal myself because of the bordello murder investigation. I did not know there was any connection."

  "You lied to me." Tears dripped down Blair's face.

  "I lied about who I was, but nothing more. I love you, and …"

  "Get away from me. I never want to see you again. Take this," she threw the little silver ring to the floor. "It's over."

  "Blair, please listen to me. Blair!"

  Blair raced out as fast as she could, her tears blinding her. She slammed into Malcolm's body at the foot of the stairs. She looked at him and then turned to look up at Sloan as he stood at the very top. "I am leaving, Grandfather Malcolm. I am going back to Philadelphia and find a job as a governess. I don't want any of your money, that house, or him."

  "Blair? What's wrong? What happened?"

  "Ask him!" Blair shouted, sobbing into Madeline's arms.

  "Blair!" Sloan shouted, his path blocked by Malcolm. "Let me by."

  "Give her a chance to cool down, son. What happened between you two?"

  Sloan looked into the man's eyes. They were impossible to read. "She is having a tantrum because I don't want her dressing like that."

  "Let her dress as she wants right now. It won't hurt nothing," Malcolm patted Sloan's shoulder. "How about a drink?"

  "It's a little too early for whiskey, isn't it?"

  "Son, when it comes to women, it's never too early to drink. Blair, honey? Why don't you go take a walk and clear your head. If you really want to return to Philly, I'll arrange a coach for you."

  Blair nodded and walked outside, her heart burning with pain. Everyone she knew had hidden secrets and their own agenda. How could she ever trust anyone again? She needed to leave.

  Chapter 15

  Blair wiped her face with her sleeve as she tramped furiously down to the corral where Skinwalker rummaged quietly through a trough of hay, looking for stray oat stalks. He perked his ears forward as she approached him and then snorted indignantly as she interrupted his grazing to stroke his sleek neck.

  "He lied to me. All this time. He lied!" she lamented as she began to weep bitterly into the long white mane. "You are the only one who has been honest about how you felt about me the entire time, haven't you, boy? The only one who truly cared about me, without an agenda. What am I going to do? We need to get out of here,"

  "Pardon, ma'am. Can I help you?" a voice called to her.

  "No thank you, Mr. Clay. I'm going to just take Skinwalker for a little ride around the spread and get some fresh air." She avoided eye contact with the man as she wiped her sleeve across her wet face.

  "Yes ma'am. Be careful out there. There are squatters near the creek in the north sector, so you wanna stay away from them. Injuns are to the east and not the most social bunch. If you give me a moment, I can saddle up and escort you."

  "Thank you, Mr. Clay, but I'll be fine. I am quite capable of taking care of myself," Blair declared, running her fingertips over the gun she had slid under the back part of her waistband.

  "Are ya sure, ma'am? Won't take me but a minute," Clay said, entering the corral. Skinwalker laid his ears back as the foreman approached, baring his teeth until the man backed away. "That horse has a mighty nasty temper. You sure you wanna ride him? Maybe you should put some tack on him. It will be too easy to throw you without a bit and saddle."

  "Thank you for your offer, but I must decline. As for Skinwalker, he and I have an understanding. That includes not hindering either of us with a saddle or cutting up his mouth with a bit," Blair proclaimed, using a stool to swing onto the horse's back. She gritted her teeth as her tender bottom made full contact with the horse's firm flesh. She eyed Clay. "My husband and grandfather know I am out riding and are expecting me back soon. Good day, Mr. Clay, and thank you again for your offer."

  Blair avoided the urge to look back at him from over her shoulder as she gently nudged the large animal with her knees. Skinwalker, bearing only a simple rope brid
le, a saddle blanket and his rider, shot off like a bullet in the direction of an open field. Blair gave him his head and hunkered down close to his back with her arms on either side of his long neck. Her fingers clung to the sides of the bridle, and she closed her eyes while allowing her body to rock in rhythm with the powerful strides. To avoid the jolting that accompanied the pounding gait, Blair posted herself by using her knees to grip Skinwalker's sides, which lifted her sore backside off his back. She steered him west to avoid the dangers that Clay had warned her about. After a long twenty minutes, the horse began to slow and trotted in the direction of a shallow gully with its running stream. It took her several minutes before she found a clearing where she could safely gain access to the water.

  Blair slid her protesting body to the ground and walked down to the sandy knoll, leaving Skinwalker cooling down under a shade tree. Her heart ached as she kneeled by the water to wash off her tear-stained face. How could Sloan have been so deceitful? He used her! He had admitted that she was nothing but a paycheck to him and the means of solving a five-year-old crime.

  None of it made sense. All the stories were too intertwined and meshed together. She had no doubt that Imelda was as wicked as Malcolm claimed. Madeline confirmed his comments. But was Malcolm even worse? Would he go to the extent of having his own wife killed so he could gain access to her fortune? Why, then, would he offer to turn the ranch and property over to Blair? Unless he was planning on having her done away with as well. But again, it made no sense because Sloan, as Blair's husband, would inherit everything.

  But wait … Sloan was not her husband. Not legally. Did Malcolm know this? Blair held her hands in front of her mouth. Was Sloan in on this whole ruse? He claimed that his late wife was killed in the same manner as Malcom's wife. Was this whole ordeal meant to woo her into falling in love and gain him this inheritance that she had originally known nothing about?