Carol Finch Read online

  Waste of time and money, he fumed as he wheeled around to stalk back down the street to his own office. He could buy, sell and ship merchandise at home and abroad by signing his name to contracts. But damn it, he couldn’t control that impetuous girl of his at all. He had money galore and barrels of influence and prestige. But what good did it do when he couldn’t handle one pint-size female who was the last heir to his vast fortune?

  Damnation, he had found Piper the perfect fiancé, too. John Foster hailed from a distinguished family. He had been groomed to take over his father’s merchant business since the age of fifteen. This was to be an exceptional match, the merging of two influential families among the crème de la crème of Galveston society.

  Until Piper had defied his wishes and left without notice.

  Roarke growled in annoyance as he shouldered his way through his office door. Piper could run, but she couldn’t hide from him, he thought confidently.

  Scowling mutinously, Piper eased a foot onto the narrow step to confront the desperadoes. She wanted to bite Cal’s offered hand instead of grabbing hold of it for support. And there was that cool, unflinching stare of his again—the one that indicated that he was nowhere near as rattled and upset as she was.

  He should have been, damn his black soul. He had to be in on this!

  “Ah, the black widow,” one of the bandits said in stilted English. “We heard you were on board.”

  She shot Cal a murderous glare—not that he could see the fire in her eyes. Too bad about that. Now where could these men have heard about her, if not from this no-good, backstabbing gambler?

  To her astonishment Cal tossed her a warning glance and discreetly squeezed her hand before he released it.

  Now she was completely confused.

  “You first, gringo,” the thief wearing fancy silver spurs demanded. “Empty your pockets.”

  Cal accommodated by slowly reaching into the pocket of his breeches to retrieve a hefty roll of bank notes, then pulled off his diamond-studded ring.

  “Don’t stop on my account,” Silver Spurs taunted as he raised his pearl-handled Colt and aimed it at Cal’s head. “What else ya got that’s of any worth?”

  Cal fished into his vest pocket for the expensive watch and a handful of silver dollars. “That’s all I have,” he said. “You’ve wiped me out until someone takes pity and grubstakes me for another poker game.”

  Silver Spurs gestured his head—which was concealed by the bandana mask and a wide-brimmed sombrero—to the two hombres riding a roan and a buckskin gelding. “Loot the strongbox while Granny hands over her valuables.”

  “I have nothing valuable except sixty years of wit and wisdom,” she insisted.

  Silver Spurs snorted. “You’ll have to do better than that, crone. Now hand over your money and valuables before I lose my patience.”

  Quinn flinched when the old woman huddled closely behind him and commenced yowling about how she was so terrified that she was about to have a seizure.

  “Don’t let them hurt me, Cal!” she shrieked.

  “Nobody will be biting any bullets if you cooperate, lady,” Silver Spurs snapped. “Now hurry it up.”

  Quinn tried not to show his surprise when he felt Agatha tug on the waistband of his breeches, then drop something down the back of his pants. Then she shuffled sideways to step into clear view of the four outlaws holding them at gunpoint.

  “I told you I didn’t have much money,” she gritted out as she opened her beaded reticule. She waved one lone coin in Silver Spur’s masked face. “See? Only one lousy dollar. And if the fright you have given me over one measly coin becomes the death of me, I swear I will come back to haunt you.”

  “Agatha…” Quinn muttered warningly.

  “What? Just because I’m down to my last dollar and he’s taking it from me doesn’t mean I have to like it. And shame on all of you!” she shouted at the gang at large.

  “Agatha—” he began again.

  “Scaring an old woman to death like this,” she harrumphed. “If you don’t cease your wicked ways you will all wind up in the seventh circle of hell!”

  “Will you please shut up!” Quinn growled, but quietly.

  “Fine. I’m shutting up—” Her voice broke off when a shotgun blast erupted from behind the coach, startling the team of horses.

  “Hey, boss, come look what we found,” one of the thieves called out a moment later.

  Silver Spurs gestured his pistol toward the coach. “You two get back inside, pronto.”

  Quinn grabbed Agatha’s hand, but she pushed him ahead of her. No doubt, she intended to block the outlaws’ view so they wouldn’t notice the bulge in the seat of his breeches.

  “Some watchdog you turned out to be.” Agatha scowled at the pup that was sprawled out on the seat.

  Quinn heard the cackles of delight coming from the back of the stage. Obviously the booty in the strongbox had pacified the bandits.

  Six gunshots erupted simultaneously and the stage lurched forward. Harnesses jangled. Horses whinnied. Another round of gunfire sent the team lunging off at a swift pace.

  Quinn thrust his head out the window, noting the driver and guard—their arms held high—had been left afoot.

  The bandits split up and headed for the hills.

  “Damn it to hell,” he muttered as the runaway coach careened around a sharp curve, hurling Agatha against the window frame.

  Flinging open the door, Quinn tried to twist around to grab the luggage rail atop the coach. Agatha pulled him off balance and he sprawled backward on the floorboards. Snarling, he stared up at that veil-covered face. He was tempted to rip off that concealing getup so he could give her the full benefit of his irritated glare.

  “What is the matter with you, woman?”

  “You are not bailing out on me,” she snapped brusquely. “You are in on this scheme, aren’t you?”

  He stared at her in disbelief. “Where did you get the idea that I’m part of that outlaw gang?”

  “You knew we were about to be robbed,” she hurled in accusation.

  “That’s because I have good instincts.”

  She scoffed at that and tilted her head to a challenging angle.

  “I wasn’t bailing out on you,” he insisted as he lurched to his knees. “In case you haven’t noticed, no one is guiding this coach. Unless you want to plunge off a cliff I need to climb onto the driver’s seat and get control of the horses.”

  “Fine, but not until I have my money and valuables back!”

  Grumbling, Quinn rolled onto one hip and dug out the heavy pouch that she had stashed on him for safekeeping. “There. Happy now?”

  She bobbed her head a couple of times and clutched the leather pouch to her ample bosom.

  Muttering at the woman’s obsession with her worldly possessions, Quinn plunked onto the seat and hurriedly strapped on his holsters. He couldn’t track those desperadoes until he stopped this stage and grabbed one of the horses. Agatha, insisting on retrieving her precious valuables, had cost him several minutes he didn’t have to spare. Those bandits could be miles away before he went after them.

  Clamping a hand on the luggage rack again, Quinn leaned out to survey the road ahead of them. “Son of a bitch!”

  He recoiled the instant before the opened door crashed into an outcropping of rock on the narrow trail. The door was ripped off its hinges and it shattered to pieces against the stone wall beside them.

  Quinn collapsed on the seat and gripped the window frames on either side of him. He stared solemnly at the old harridan. “Agatha, if you’re a religious woman, I suggest you start praying. Now.”

  “Why?” Her voice was wild with alarm.

  He nodded his ruffled head toward the open doorway. “Take a look for yourself.”

  She grabbed the window frame and peeked out. “Good God!” she howled in dismay.

  “My sentiments exactly. And it’s been nice knowing you…sort of.”

  The mountain pass they w
ere traveling at breakneck speed had opened into a yawning canyon where the ledge plunged at least a hundred feet straight down. It would take only one wheel dropping off that unprotected curve in the road to send the coach plummeting off the cliff. No way could Quinn scramble atop the stage to gain control of the horses on such a dangerous bend of the road. All he could do was hold on for dear life and encourage Agatha to do the same.

  The coach jostled and rocked on its springs. Fallen rock must have littered the path because the stage bounced violently. He and Agatha were simultaneously launched upward and tossed off balance.

  The pup howled and cartwheeled onto the floorboards.

  Timber cracked and shattered. Quinn had the sickening feeling that the front left wheel had broken into bits beneath them because the coach spun wildly, then tilted to a precarious angle.

  “We’re going to die!” Agatha squawked as the swaying coach sent her lurching headfirst into his lap.

  Quinn let go with one hand to grab hold of the nape of her gown, then jerked her up beside him. He felt the horses’ momentum swinging the wrecked coach into a hapless skid. It rocked sideways, teetered off balance for a few unnerving seconds…and then wham!

  The coach crashed onto its side, hurling the occupants against the opposite wall. Quinn made a wild grab for Agatha when she toppled over him toward the broken door. There was nothing beneath the opening except a wide expanse of nothingness, a craggy tumble of rocks on the mountainside and a swift-moving stream riddled with white-capped rapids.

  Agatha screamed bloody murder as she dropped through the opening, held aloft only by Quinn’s death grip on the neck of her gown.

  Dust rolled around the confines of the coach, filling his eyes. Agatha’s terrified screams blasted his ears and his pulse hammered so hard in his chest that he could barely draw breath.

  One false move, one careless shift of weight and the coach would be taking the short way down the mountain.

  Quinn kept a stranglehold on Agatha while her legs churned to find solid footing. He could have told her she was wasting energy because there was nothing but air beneath her.

  Carefully, he inched his legs farther apart without shifting to a position that would alter the perilous balance of the coach. Quinn hauled in a steadying breath. He had been in dozens of hair-raising scrapes through the years. But this one tested his mettle to the limits.

  If he tried to save himself it meant that he had to release his hold on Agatha. Pain in the patoot that she could be at times, he didn’t relish the idea of watching her body bounce from one outcropping of stone to another until she hit rock bottom.

  He really wished he could see her face, wondered if she had made peace with the world…just in case. But there was that damn veil standing between him and this cantankerous old crone that he found himself liking for reasons he was at a loss to figure out.

  Quinn kept remembering the sound of her grating voice hurling curses at Silver Spurs, vowing to come back and haunt him in the afterlife. He figured if his tenuous grasp on Agatha slipped, she would be cursing him all the way down the mountain. That was one ghost he wouldn’t want breathing down his neck till the end of his days.

  He swore colorfully when he heard the shoulder seam of her gown rip loose and saw her drop a quick six inches. She was staring death in the face. Knowing her, she would have something mean and nasty to say about that, too.

  Gritting his teeth, Quinn tried to figure out how in the hell he and Agatha were going to get out of this mess alive.

  Chapter Four

  “Stop thrashing about and grab hold of my arm!”

  Piper stared up at the rock-solid man who stood between her and certain death. She was terrified and was having difficulty drawing breath, but Cal was his usual calm and collected self. It amazed her that nothing seemed to faze him.

  But of course, he wasn’t the one hanging on by the thread of his torn shoulder seam. And honestly, considering how she had needled him the past two days she was surprised he didn’t just let her go with a feigned smile of apology.

  “Hurry up, Agatha,” he demanded. “The horses are going to start shifting any second and this coach might topple off the edge and shatter to pieces. There won’t be a damn thing for us to hold on to if that happens.”

  Piper eased the strap of her reticule up her arm, then clamped her free hand on his forearm and tried to heave herself up as if he were a human rope.

  “Stop!” Cal growled when her mad scramble altered the precarious balance of the overturned coach. “No sudden moves. Understand? Just hang there and let me haul you up an inch at a time.”

  The mutt that was somewhere behind Cal suddenly appeared by his right shoulder. He whined and wagged his tail when he spotted her.

  “Stay there, dog,” she commanded as Cal lifted her another inch away from imminent death.

  She heard the mutt’s tail bang harder against the wall and realized his intentions after she made the crucial mistake of speaking directly to him. “No! Don’t move!”

  To her terror and dismay the dog bounded playfully around Cal to lick her veiled face and paw at her hat.

  “Damn it, get back, mutt,” Cal muttered as the coach rocked unsteadily.

  Another stab of horror knifed through Piper when the dog’s oversize paw connected with the side of her head, causing her plumed hat to shift sideways. When the mutt grabbed the feathers on her hat, as if they belonged to a bird that he was instinctively trying to shake the life out of, Piper shrieked.

  Cal let go with his left hand that was braced against the window frame and pushed the dog out of the way. Piper’s veiled hat was still clamped in the mutt’s jaws as he tumbled helter-skelter inside the coach.

  Sickening dread pooled in the pit of Piper’s stomach when she found herself staring directly into Cal’s shocked expression. She watched him appraise her without her protective disguise. She could see disbelief, condemnation and suspicion gathering in those golden eyes as he registered the fact that she wasn’t who she pretended to be.

  She decided, right there and then, that it was not a good idea to shock the person who held your life in the balance. Cal was so stunned that she felt his hand loosen on her arm momentarily, causing her to drop a quick two inches before he regathered his composure and clamped a fierce hold on her.

  “I thought there was something peculiar about you that didn’t add up,” he said, then scowled down at her.

  “I can explain,” she squeaked, then glanced down at the empty space beneath her. “Oh, God!” She thrashed in attempt to find footing.

  “Hold still!” Cal barked at her. The expression on his face was thunderous.

  Piper froze in midair. Her heart pounded inside her chest and she reminded herself to breathe.

  “I know this looks bad,” she chirped. “But please don’t let me go. And if I die, promise me that you will take my money and jewels to my sister at Fort Davis.”

  “I already have one last request to fulfill,” he muttered. “I don’t need another one.”

  “Then at least tell Penelope what happened.”

  “Fine. I’ll do that. But in the meantime here’s what we’re going to do. On the count of three I’m going to throw myself backward and you’re going to lurch forward and grab hold of me. And get hold of that mutt with your free hand if you can. Ready?”

  Piper wasn’t sure she would ever be ready because if this plan didn’t work she was a goner. He might be, too.

  “One, two, three—”

  Quinn threw himself backward with enough force to drag Agatha—who had turned out to be an exceedingly attractive young con artist—through the opening. The team of horses shifted uneasily, dragging the coach a little farther off the edge of the cliff. Quinn shoved the woman sideways to counterbalance the teetering coach. Then he vaulted to his feet.

  “Get up and make it quick!” he told the imposter when she didn’t react swiftly enough to suit him.

  Using the heel of his hand he popped open the d
oor that was above him. He heaved himself up to sit atop the overturned stage, then thrust his hand back inside to grab Agatha—and he was dying to find out who she really was. Well, not dying to find out, he amended. That was a bad choice of words, considering they had come within a hairbreadth of catapulting into the hereafter.

  To Quinn’s surprise and exasperation, she tossed the squirming dog to him. Frankly, it astounded him that she placed the mutt’s safety above her own. Then he reminded himself that she had saved the mutt from extermination and had gotten attached to him.

  Quinn hooked his arm under the mutt’s belly, then set him aside. Then he clasped the woman’s arm and towed her upward. For the space of a moment, while they were face-to-face, he tumbled into the depths of eyes so blue that they gleamed like silver in the sunlight. Quinn glanced away before the woman’s astonishing beauty sidetracked him.

  Whoever she was, she was the fraud who had teased and tormented him for two days. He wasn’t wasting more time or sympathy on her either, he promised himself. But for damn certain he was going to find out why she was charading as a crone and who was the rightful owner of the money and pouch of valuables that she had with her.

  She had to be up to no good, he thought cynically. Most of the folk he encountered were, after all.

  When he set the woman to her knees beside him, he spun around and hopped off the coach. As he reached back to pull her to safety the dog leaped to the ground—and got right under his feet. Scowling, Quinn tripped backward and the woman landed on top of him, forcing his breath out in a whoosh.

  Any other time he wouldn’t object to having a beguiling woman sprawled on top of him. But not now and not this treacherous female. Muttering, Quinn hooked his arm around the woman’s well-padded waist and sent her rolling to the ground beside him.

  Launching himself to his feet, he darted to the back of the coach to hurriedly unstrap their luggage before the coach tumbled off the ledge.

  And sure enough, he barely had time to set aside the satchels and his bedroll before the horses pranced impatiently and the stage flipped upside down. Quinn darted forward to remove the pin that kept the tongue of the coach secured to the team of horses. He grabbed the reins to prevent the horses from charging off when the coach plummeted down the side of the mountain.