He hesitated. He hadn’t the right to hold her. She was his brother’s intended. But she trembled.

She drew him like a lost calf would. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her against him.

“It’s all right. You’re safe now,” he murmured. That much was true, and the reassurance came out so much easier than the lies.

“Are we getting married tonight?”

He jerked back. “No!”

She stared at him, going even paler, and her green eyes were wide. He had the ridiculous notion to kiss her freckled nose. What was wrong with freckles anyway?

Her eyes narrowed as color flooded back into her cheeks. “When, then?”

Hell’s bells, she thought he was Rafael.

“I’m Daniel. I’m going to be your brother.

Rafael—”

He stared at her as the color drained from her face again. Her mouth flattened and her eyes shot shards of bottle glass in his direction.

Then she shoved him away.

Katy Madison invites you to her

WILD WEST WEDDINGS

Mail-order brides for three hard-working, hard-living men!

Three penniless East Coast ladies are prepared to give up everything they know for the lure of the West. Will they find new beginnings, new families and eventual happiness as mail-order brides?

Their advertisements answered, three rugged frontiersmen await their new brides—with eagerness and not a little trepidation!

What have they all let themselves in for?

Read Olivia’s story in

Bride by Mail already available

and

Anna’s story in

Promised by Post

Look for Selina’s story,

coming soon!

Promised by Post

Katy Madison

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Award-winning KATY MADISON loves stories. At the age of eight Katy went to her mother and begged for a new book to read. Her frustrated mother handed her a romance novel and Katy fell in love with the genre. Now she gets to live the glamorous life of a romance writer, which mostly means she stays in her pyjamas all day and never uses an alarm clock. Visit her at www.katymadison.com

Books by Katy Madison

Mills & Boon® Historical Romance

Wild West Weddings

Bride by Mail Promised by Post

Visit the author profile page at millsandboon.co.uk

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Contents

Cover

Introduction

Wild West Weddings

Title Page

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

California rancher, in good health, age 26, dark hair and eyes, seeks agreeable woman for purposes of matrimony. Interested parties send photograph.

San Joaquin Valley, California, August 1862

Today was the day. Anna O’Malley slid her damp palm over the silk of her skirt and darted a furtive glance at her good friend Selina’s pinched face. They would meet their future husbands in just hours, perhaps be married by nightfall.

The stagecoach rolled over a rut, and all the passengers swayed. “Are you nervous?” Anna whispered.

Selina pressed her lips together, looked at the other occupants of the coach, all men, and then gave a quick nod.

After traveling with the others night and day for twenty-one days straight on this last leg of their journey, they all knew as much about each other as they were willing to share. Across from Anna sat a California miner returning from a trip back east to settle his recently deceased mother’s affairs. Opposite Selina was a one-armed soldier, mustered out of the army and hoping for a better life out west. Seated beside the soldier, a slender man wearing a threadbare suit cradled a case of paint jars and assorted brushes.

On the far side of Selina, a preacher dressed soberly in black bent over his worn Bible and mouthed the scriptures as they rumbled along. He was headed to a new flock in San Francisco. Three farm boys from Illinois riding on the backseat preferred California over getting conscripted. The youngest brother looked as if he should still be in school instead of worrying about fighting in Mr. Lincoln’s war.

Anna and Selina had reluctantly shared with the other passengers that they’d worked in a mill until the cotton shipments dried up over a year ago. The lack of work had forced them and their roommate, Olivia, to answer advertisements for brides. Knowing all they wanted to know about each other, the passengers’ conversations had descended into banalities about the ever-changing landscape, the weather and the monotonous beans and bread offered at the eating stations.

Most of the trip Anna had been concerned that Selina’s secret would be found out. But Anna could scarcely contain her own worries anymore. With each passing mile, her misrepresentations to her future husband had grown into massive cankers. She leaned close and cupped her hand around Selina’s ear. “I didn’t tell Rafael that I worked in a mill.”

Selina’s gaze flicked to hers. “Why? You had nothing to hide.”

Who would want to marry a dirty Irish immigrant? Anna whispered, “I told him my family was well-to-do.”

“Oh, Anna.” Selina put her hand over hers and squeezed. “Anyone who knows the real you will love you.”

Anna shook her head. She didn’t believe that. She was nothing special. Not beautiful like her friends Olivia and Selina. Not American born as they had been. They hadn’t been spit on for merely being Irish.

Anna’s friends had at least come from respectable families with property before the deaths of their fathers had drastically changed their circumstances. Certainly no stranger with a spread would want a freckled working-class girl like her. She’d written that her father was a successful businessman and she was one of only four children instead of one of more than a dozen.

In reality, her four older brothers built railroads, dug canals or laid road, and they lived in shantytowns. Two sisters and her mother worked as maids for the kind of families she’d told her fiancé she came from. Her father had died of cholera barely five years after leaving their farm in Ireland. After his passing, they’d been evicted from their tenement apartment. She and the rest of her siblings had scattered to the mills and factories that would hire them.

Her parents had endlessly debated leaving Ireland for the land of opportunity. But that drawn-out decision had been one of the worst of their lives.

No Irish Need Apply signs had turned them away from the best jobs. Without their own land, they were powerless to gain stability. She was determined to marry a landholder. Selina might have found a store owner acceptable, and Olivia had wanted to be certain her future husband owned a real house, but Anna had quickly weeded through the newspaper until she found advertisers who owned land. With land came the power to live independently. She’d fired off responses pretending to be worthy of a good marriage before she’d thought about the dozens of ways her husband could eventually learn the truth.

The seemingly endless journey across the country had given her too much time to fret. She was better off when she just acted and didn’t have a chance to worry about making the right choice.

Outside, the coachman cracked his whip, and the stagecoach jerked forward as the horses broke into a gallop. They bounced on their bench seats and grabbed for the leather straps. Anna cast a glance out the window, wondering if hostile Indians had been sighted. Maybe they had hit a patch where the driver felt vulnerable, or they had fallen behind schedule.

A rocky hill rose up beside the stagecoach until she could no longer see the horizon through the small opening. She leaned forward to look out the opposite window. The ground sloped up slightly less steeply, a fringe of the grassy meadow still visible beyond the rise, but they were in a gully or tight valley nonetheless. The stagecoach drivers didn’t like these narrow spots and ran the horses through them. Her breath caught as she waited for the pace to ease when they reached safety.

“Ya, ya—get!” shouted the driver.

A shout in what Anna suspected was Spanish rang out. A shiver ran through her. Her husband-to-be was of Spanish descent, even though he wrote in flawless English and his surname was northern European.

Of course, there were a lot of Spanish-speaking people in California. Other than the Indians, the long-standing residents had arrived when Spain owned the land.

The brake was applied with a loud thump, and the thunder of the horses’ hooves ceased with a jangle of the traces. The stagecoach screeched and jerked as the horses neighed. Wheels slid, no longer rolling. The occupants bounced around like beads in a baby’s rattle.

As the skinny artist slid off the center bench with a thud, his bottles clanking, Anna leaned toward the window. Dust clouded the air, obscuring the road.

Selina grabbed her and tugged her back.

“We’re being robbed,” the miner said tightly.

They all sat still as stones as the driver replied in that same foreign tongue. They’d very nearly made it to Stockton without any of the incidents they’d been warned about: no scalping by marauding Indians, no breaking a wheel and being stranded dying of thirst in the desert, no toppling over and floating downstream in one of the many waterways they’d forded.

The preacher began a prayer, but the soldier shushed him.

The miner held up a hand. “He says he has accomplices in the rocks. If we don’t get out, they’ll shoot, but if we cooperate, no one will get hurt.”

He squinted and tilted his head as he strained to listen to the exchange. “He says he’s looking for a man who cheated him in Santa Fe, but if he’s not on the stage, he has no affair with the rest of us.”

Anna looked at the men one by one. The wide-eyed farm boys gripped each other’s hands, and the soldier glowered at the silently praying preacher, while the artist carefully moved off the floor. None of them lowered their eyes or reddened with shame, nor were any of them likely to have been in Santa Fe lately, except the miner.

“Did you?” Anna asked their translator.

He shook his head. “I didn’t cheat no one. Not in Santa Fe, not anywhere.”

“Ain’t me,” said the oldest farm boy. “I ain’t been to Santa Fe ever.”

“I was fighting until three months ago,” the soldier said. The pinned empty sleeve of his shirt moved as if to point out he’d been in a hospital until coming on this trip.

“He wants the passengers to get out,” the miner said.

Anna got up from her seat and opened the door. “Soon as he sees the man he’s looking for isn’t here—”

Selina grabbed a fistful of her skirt and yanked, and Anna landed back on the seat. She couldn’t risk ripping her only good dress, a dress Olivia had painstakingly made over from the stash of her mother’s old gowns. It wasn’t as if Olivia were there to sew the green silk back together again with her perfect tiny stitches. No, she was in Colorado with her mail-order suitor—likely her husband by now.

“It’s just a ruse to get us out so he can take our valuables.” The artist pressed his case of paints to his chest.

The driver shouted back.

“What did he say?” demanded Selina.

The miner held up his hand again. “He asked for the name of the man who cheated him.”

There was a pause, and the robber yelled.

“He says the name doesn’t matter. It was like as not false.”

The sound of scrabbling above her head had Anna looking up as if a skylight might materialize to allow her a view through the roof panel. She hated not being able to see what was going on.

“The coachman told him if he put his weapons down on the ground, he’d let the male passengers disembark to be inspected,” said their translator.

“I wish he would speak in English,” muttered the preacher.

“Filthy Mexicans,” the one-armed soldier mumbled.

Anna flinched. It was too close to the “dirty Irish” or “white Negro” epithets hurled at poor immigrant families like hers. Were those of Spanish descent looked down upon, too? Did they have to deal with the equivalent of NINA attitudes?

“We should just get out and get this over with,” blustered the oldest farm boy. He put his hand under his coat and swung out the door. Gunmetal glinted under the edge of his jacket.

Her throat tightened.

“Hands up!” came the shout. This time in perfect English.

“Well, if he knows English, why isn’t he using it?” the preacher asked.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” hissed the miner. “No one’s been hurt yet.”

The farm boy slowly raised his hands. His two brothers followed him outside, then the preacher with his Bible. The artist clinked his way out the door.

The miner and the soldier exchanged looks, then checked their revolvers. With their weapons tucked in the back of their pants, they climbed out. Unable to stand not seeing what was going on, Anna followed. Selina was half dragged, since she’d never let go of Anna’s skirts. The preacher reached to hand them down.

There was a low call from above. “Ladies, get behind the stage and get down.”

Anna looked up the road where the robber’s voice had come from. A large boulder shielded him, but the bandit focused on her.

A cold chill ran down her spine, and her hands tingled.

Perhaps he wasn’t looking for a man who’d cheated him, after all.

A shot blasted from the roof. A mule kick to the center of her chest wouldn’t have jolted her more. She’d heard guns fired plenty of times, even fired them herself, but never at a man.

The robber raised his rifle and aimed. Passengers dived for the dirt. Pistols came out. The preacher knocked off her picture hat as he pushed her toward the rear of the stage.

The artist covered his head and hit the ground as the miner, the one-armed soldier and the two oldest farm boys fired.

The robber wheeled his horse all the way behind the massive boulder. Bullets pelted the stone and dirt where he’d been. Selina jerked Anna down to her knees.

A pfft overhead made Anna duck; then she twisted to look up.

A lasso swung through the air. The loop swirled around the outrider’s shoulders. The rope tightened, and the rifle flipped out of his hands. The line snapped taut, toppling the man backward off the stagecoach.

The outrider hung in the air for the longest time. His hands wagged like flippers, the rope restraining his flails.

His gun thudded in the dirt, and the lassoed guard thumped down with a grunt. The panicked horses dragged the stagecoach forward, the locked wheels scoring the earth.

The rope from the fallen outrider led behind the stage to a man on a horse. A multicolored cape hid his lower face, and he was working swiftly to uncoil the line from his saddle horn.

“Anna.” Selina tugged her.

The man looked directly at Anna.

It felt as if time had slowed to a trickle as she met his dark eyes. He stared back at her, and his hands stopped moving. Anna’s heart turned over, and she couldn’t look away. He briefly closed his eyes as if he needed a physical action to sever their locked gazes.

The rope dropped, and he spurred his mount away. Horse and rider raced up the incline beside the road. Leaning close to the horse, he moved with the animal’s sleek muscular lines almost as if they were one melded beast. Then he was out of sight behind the grassy hill.

The breath whooshed from her lungs.

“The gun. Under my skirt,” Selina hissed.

The spell broke. Anna sprawled in the dirt and grabbed the wooden stock. With Selina between her and the first bandit, she pulled out the rifle and positioned it against her shoulder. Anna checked her aim over Selina’s shoulder. A thousand thoughts rolled through her head. That she hadn’t fired this gun and didn’t know if it would pull left or right. No wind to speak of. Roughly thirty yards’ distance.

The mad firing around her stopped as the men’s guns emptied. Her fellow passengers scrambled to reload. The bandit came out from behind his cover and took deliberate aim with his rifle. Methodically he shot. A crack. The hiss of a bullet. The miner spun. Another crack. The oldest of the farm boys yelped.

“On three, roll away,” Anna said.

Selina’s eyes met hers, and she gave a grim nod.

“One, two, three.”

Selina rolled. Anna sighted down the barrel.

The terrified horses reared and stomped, neighing wildly. The driver fought for control. She was in the open, but so was the robber. She squeezed the trigger.

* * *

Daniel galloped his horse behind the large boulder where Rafael half sheltered. He reined in. “Vamonos, you loco idiot!”

“She shot me,” said Rafael with such a mixture of shock and horror that something broke loose in Daniel.

He laughed. “Good for her.”

“It’s not funny. That puta shot me.”

“You deserved it. What were you thinking?” Daniel grabbed the bridle of his brother’s horse and spurred his own mount. If they decided to give chase, he wanted to be well away. But Rafael was right; it wasn’t the least bit funny. “You shouldn’t call her that. She was just defending herself.”

“I wanted to see—” Rafael took his reins, yanked his poncho down to his shoulders and spurred his horse alongside Daniel’s “—what my bride looked like.”

“La Madre de Dios, you have a photograph,” hissed Daniel. A photograph that showed her trim figure and her hair as light in color, but it failed to do justice to her.

“I’ve never seen a photo...graph...of her.” Rafael pressed the heel of his hand against his chest.

Ah, hell. He’d never seen the photograph because Daniel had tucked it in his saddlebag for safekeeping and never turned it over to his brother. He’d handed over the rest that had come, but that one he’d held on to for just one more good look at the girl.

Heaviness pushed at Daniel as he tried to assess his brother’s injury. Not that he’d ever expected Rafe to hold up a stage, but if handing over the picture might have prevented his brother from his foolhardy attempt to see what his bride looked like...

“We’re going the wrong way,” said Rafael.

“Because leading a tracker straight to the ranch is such a good idea.” Daniel risked a look back. No signs of pursuit yet. The enormity of what they’d done slammed into Daniel like a bull at full charge. He’d just participated in a stagecoach—well, not a robbery, because Rafael hadn’t planned to take anything—not that the law would be inclined to see it as anything less. A stagecoach holdup, then.

“Right,” answered Rafael.

Why had his brother thought stopping the stage to get a look at his bride was a good idea? Daniel’s stomach burned, and his head buzzed. “I can’t believe you did that. Why would you shoot at them?”

“They shot at me first. I was only defending myself,” Rafael said. Grimacing, he pressed his palm against his upper chest.

“If you weren’t shot, I’d shoot you myself,” muttered Daniel. He jerked down the poncho he’d pulled over his face.

When Rafael had taken his new rifle, Daniel had followed him to get it back. Only he’d had to saddle a horse and then chase after Rafe for miles. He’d nearly caught up to his brother when they’d both seen the stagecoach rolling toward Stockton. Rafe had shouted back he was going to stop it, then spurred his horse toward a ravine the road ran through. Daniel hadn’t wanted any part of stopping the stage, but his protests had been ignored.

“I knew you’d help.” Rafael managed a smile despite the blood dripping down his poncho.

“I was just trying to keep you from being killed.” Daniel jerked back on his horse’s reins and caught the other horse’s bridle, pulling it to a walk.

Daniel’s head spun. He had to get Rafael away from the scene and back home before a posse was sent after them. “They could have recognized us or our horses, or, damn it, you could have killed someone.”

A vee appeared between Rafael’s eyebrows, and his eyes narrowed. The look of pain cut short the berating Daniel wanted to give him.

The enormity of what he’d done—they’d done—poured over him in a cold wave, worse than the time they’d gone to the ocean and Rafael had pushed him into the frigid surf and left him gasping for air. Not for the first time he felt old, much older than his twenty-two years. Older than the hills, older than his reckless brother.

There were times Rafael didn’t make sense. Over the past year, he’d been almost totally disengaged from the process of getting an Anglo bride, but he’d said he needed one to help their land case in the district court. Now he was acting ridiculously anxious. Daniel hoped a wife would temper Rafael’s drinking, disappearing for weeks on end and gambling in the raucous San Francisco farther west. Holding up a stagecoach was far worse than anything Rafael had done before.

“Don’t think I killed anyone,” Rafael observed as calmly as if he were talking about shooting bottles.

“Did you hit any of them? And where is my rifle?”

“Dropped it when I got hit. I can’t believe my bride shot me.”

The moment Daniel had stared at his brother’s fiancée he’d felt a punch to his gut. For a second it was as if time had stopped and he couldn’t look away. They’d been too far apart for him to see the color of her eyes, but the way the sunlight caught in her hair, lighting gold and copper strands, had caused a shift inside him, almost as if the ground shook underneath him. “Well, at least she’s pretty.”

Rafael coughed and slumped in his saddle. “Not so much. Probably freckled.”

“You’d better hope she doesn’t recognize us.”

Rafael’s mouth tightened, and pale lines bracketed it. He coughed again.

As if Daniel had been lassoed the same way he’d roped the outrider, his chest squeezed tight. “How badly are you hurt?”

“Through and through.” He spit. “Might have nicked a lung.”

“I should have left you to die.”

“You should have,” said Rafael before he slumped forward.

Chapter Two

My father wants me to marry one of the respectable bankers or businessmen he has presented to me, but I find them all boring. I dream of living in the land of milk and honey, but I am accustomed to certain standards. Please tell me the size of your home and how many servants you retain.

“Hey, he dropped that rifle,” shouted the artist from behind the boulder where the first robber had taken cover. The artist had run up the road as the two robbers galloped away. “I think you hit him, Miss O’Malley. There’s a bit of that cape here with blood on it.”

The sunshine dimmed, and the ground tilted. Selina grabbed her. “Don’t faint now.”

She’d shot a man. Goodness, what if she’d killed him? No, he’d been shooting at them. She’d done what she had to do. But there was a world of difference between shooting rabbits or squirrels on the outskirts of the city to supplement her family’s meager diet and shooting a human being.

“That was a great shot, ma’am,” the outrider remarked, awkwardly bending to pick up his rifle. “Where’d you learn to shoot?”

“My brothers taught me,” Anna managed. A lady never would have shot at anyone. Likely a gently bred lady never would have come close to a gun. Back in Ireland, her brothers had insisted she learn because they’d believed America was still beset by wild savages and knowing how to shoot would save her. They hadn’t encountered any wild Indians in New York. But when her next-in-age brother couldn’t see well enough to shoot the small game she pointed out, she had been able to take the shots for him.

“Right fine shooting, ma’am.” The oldest farm boy had his hand clamped over his right arm. “You saved us. Thought we were goners when all of us had to reload at the same time.”

Anna shook her head. How likely was it that a young woman of breeding would know how to shoot a gun? But then the green silk dress didn’t cover a lady, just another poor immigrant whose family had fled Ireland after the potato famine ruined them. “I just got off a lucky shot when the robber left his cover.”

The soldier stared at his bleeding forearm, probably hoping he wasn’t about to lose his remaining arm. That wasn’t right. A fiery ball fisted in her stomach. Selina turned toward him. The miner leaned against the stage and cussed a blue streak.

“Sirruh,” objected the preacher.

If she were really a lady, she likely would have fainted dead away at his language.

“Damn,” Anna muttered. And she certainly wouldn’t have known any swear words, either. Dropping to her knees beside the shot farm boy, she lifted her dirtied skirt, ripped off a clean petticoat ruffle and wrapped it around the young man’s injury.

How was it all the men bore wounds in their right arms? Their shooting arms. And only the men who’d had guns. The artist, the preacher and the youngest farm boy had not been wounded. The middle farm boy picked up the bent gun from where it had been shot out of his hand.

She twisted, taking in details. How could the man’s shots have been so accurate? Dear Lord. Her heart pounded and her hands shook as she secured the makeshift bandage around the young man’s arm.

“There were at least three of them,” said his middle brother.

Her dry mouth tasted like copper and dirt.

“Or four,” added the youngest farm boy, bouncing on his toes, his eyes bright.

His excitement sickened her. Lives had been on the line or at least the life of the man she’d shot. She’d aimed for his chest, but it looked like he’d intended to just disarm the men shooting at him. Which was pure foolishness. Any gunshot could prove fatal. Including the one that had come from her.

Nausea churned in her stomach while hot shards throbbed in her veins. She shook her head. “No. There weren’t. There were two.”

One hadn’t fired a single shot. No, he’d roped the outrider and yanked him from the roof before he could shoot a second time.

She fumbled with the makeshift bandage. Her hands wouldn’t hold steady. She couldn’t have hit the side of a building if she tried to shoot the rifle now. She could barely tie a knot.

“She’s right. There was the one behind and the one in front,” confirmed the guard, who couldn’t seem to straighten all the way. His face twisted as he braced his palms on his thighs.

Anna scrambled over to the miner while Selina bandaged the soldier. Whatever injuries the outrider had sustained in his long fall, the men with bullet wounds needed attention first.

Trying to keep her face composed, she urged the miner to sit and lean against the wheel as she ripped open his sleeve. A deep gash ran across his upper arm. Blood welled in the wound. Her stomach turned again, and she swallowed hard. She bunched another strip of petticoat ruffle and pressed it against his arm.

The miner sucked air between his teeth.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“No. Thank you,” he said. “Much as I hate to think a girl saved us, you did. Wait’ll they hear about your shooting in town.”

“Oh, no.” The last thing she needed was being made into a heroine. “I just was lucky enough to have the rifle fall beside me. Over that distance, it’s hard to be accurate with a pistol.”

“Reckon so,” said the soldier. “But most folks ain’t got the gumption to shoot a man when they’ve never done it before.”

“Well, I didn’t have time to think about it.” Sour acid burned her mouth, and her eyes watered. She’d shot a man. She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth for fear she was going to be sick. Oh, goodness, she’d shot a man—a robber for certain—but she’d never wanted to shoot a man.

The driver finally calmed the horses, and he climbed down from his perch. “We need to get to Stockton as quick as we can. There’s a doctor there.”

He drew to a halt and gaped at her dress. “Are you injured, miss?”

She followed his gaze to a smear of blood on her sleeve and another on her skirt. “It’s not mine.”

Her bodice was filthy; the dust of the road was streaked all down her front. Oh, no, this was her best dress. Her only good dress, really. The dress she planned to wear while being married. She brushed at the dirt and added a new blood smear. A lock of hair slipped from her head and in front of her eyes. She reached up to feel the whole mass of the once-neat bun hanging lopsided on her head.

She must look a fright. What would Rafael think when he saw her? He’d never think her a lady. A real lady wouldn’t have jumped out of the stagecoach, shot a robber or looked like a ragamuffin. No, a lady was always clean and properly coiffed and didn’t sweat as if she’d been digging ditches. Her hat lay in the dust of the road, and surely her fair skin was freckling under the harsh midday sun.

If they pulled into town and he saw her like this, he’d likely put her on the next stage back.

Anna tried to think what her friend Olivia would have done in this situation, but the truth was Olivia would never have been in this situation. Olivia had probably never touched a gun in her life, let alone known how to fire a one. Anna hadn’t even made it to Stockton and already it was clear she wasn’t genteel in any sense of the word.

* * *

Daniel had to get his brother home fast, but he couldn’t lead a posse directly to their ranch or they’d be dead men. Plenty of the newcomers to California didn’t trust Mexicans and would be glad enough of an excuse to hang Rafael and himself, even though Daniel was only half-Mexican.

“Are you going to fall off?”

“I’ll try not to,” answered Rafael. He coughed up a frothy pink spittle.

“Damn.” Daniel’s insides went watery. A lung shot meant the wound could prove fatal. “I need to get you to a doctor.”

“Can’t. Home.” Rafael straightened in the saddle. “Doctor won’t do anything Ma can’t do.”

If he took Rafael to the doctor in Stockton—likely the same doctor the men his brother had shot would see—the jig would be up. Everyone would know Rafe was the man who held up the stagecoach.

Besides, until recently there hadn’t been any doctors around. Men healed or they didn’t. A few years back when one of their vaqueros had been thrown from his horse, he’d broken ribs and been spitting blood the way Rafael was. Madre had wrapped his ribs and kept him in his bed. He’d been as good as new in a month. A doctor couldn’t do any more. Trying to get Rafael to San Francisco and a doctor who didn’t know him would likely aggravate the injury Rafael had.

Glancing over his shoulder, Daniel didn’t see any sign of pursuit, but they couldn’t wait around. He would have to patch Rafe up enough that he could make it home—fast.

He drew up alongside his brother. “Is anything broken?”

Rafael moved his shoulder in a small circle. “Doesn’t...seem so.”

Daniel tugged off the stupid poncho Rafael had thrown at him just before stealing his rifle and galloping off this morning. He wished he hadn’t followed or that he’d turned back sooner.

He should have lassoed him, would have, if he’d had any idea that Rafe would stop the stage as if he were robbing it. When Rafael had tugged his poncho over his face, he should have realized.

Using his bowie knife, Daniel hacked the bright material into strips and knotted a makeshift bandage around his brother’s shoulder. Then he tied Rafe to the saddle, just in case he passed out. That his brother didn’t protest knotted Daniel’s neck.

“We have to go,” said Daniel. He scanned the horizon, looking for a dip or a cluster of trees and shrubs that would indicate a waterway. They were at least twenty miles from the edge of their ranch. Making sure they didn’t leave tracks leading straight back would make it thirty, but the detour had to be taken.

He took the other horse’s bridle, headed toward what looked like the best possibility and prayed that no one would come across them.

Hours later, they finally drew their horses to a halt in front of the house, and Daniel dismounted. Fortunately, their hands were all out on the north range with the cattle.

Rafael was trying to untie himself, coughing. He’d said next to nothing for the past hour they’d run the horses toward the ranch. His face was chalky, but he’d held his own for miles and miles of hard riding.

“Madre!” Daniel shouted.

He untied Rafael. Dismounting, Rafael collapsed. Daniel staggered under his brother’s solid weight.

“Madre!” Daniel shouted again. “I need your help.”

Rafael opened his mouth, but ended up coughing again. He gestured and they turned to step onto the long wooden deck.

“I am cooking. Do not shout at me,” their mother retorted.

Rafael pointed at his chest and then raised his hand toward their house. “Tell...her.”

Daniel steered his brother, who was now weaving like a drunk. “Ma, Rafael’s hurt.”

Their mother appeared in the open doorway, her dark eyes open wide. She took one look at her older son and ran forward to help. Her footsteps shook the planks under their feet. “What happened?”

“He’s been shot,” said Daniel.

“What did you do, Daniel Werner?”

“I kept him from being killed,” Daniel told her, not that he expected his mother to appreciate that fact.

“How could you let him get shot? On the day his bride comes?” demanded Madre.

“Leave him ’lone, Ma,” said Rafael. “Not his fault.”

Their mother narrowed her eyes and glared at Daniel. In his younger days, he would have expected the paddle when she looked at him like that. Now he was just tired of everything being his fault. Defending himself to his mother was just wasted breath. He’d stopped trying years ago.

“Let’s just get him inside. You’ll need to plug the hole in him and get him bandaged up.”

“You’ll have to get Anna.” Rafael panted.

“No.” He couldn’t go get Anna. The moment when they had locked eyes crowded out his other thoughts. For that one minute all the rest of the world had melted away, and he could see nothing but her. Her image was seared into his brain.

Daniel shivered.

His brother’s bride had gotten a good look at him, too, the best look at him of anyone on the stage. Granted, he’d pulled the poncho up to his eyes, but if anyone would recognize him, it would be her.

“She can’t know,” Rafael groaned.

“Why not? Daniel, what is going on?” Madre likely would have put her hands on her ample hips if she weren’t helping to support Rafael.

“Tried to stop stage,” said Rafael.

“Why would you do that?” She lapsed into Spanish, calling on the saints and muttering indignations.

“He wanted to see Miss O’Malley. But people who stop stages are generally robbers.” Daniel glared at his brother.

“Did you do nothing to stop them, Daniel?”

“He...tried,” huffed Rafael.

His brother’s shortness of breath worried Daniel.

Madre shot him a dark look as they maneuvered Rafael through the doorway. “It was just a misunderstanding.”

“There was a gunfight,” Daniel said. “I don’t think anyone is going to call it a misunderstanding.”

“You shot at people?” screeched Madre, but she was looking at Daniel.

Rafael met his eyes, and Daniel closed his.

“No, Ma. Daniel didn’t shoot at all,” Rafael said and then stopped to pull in some breaths. “I did.”

“You would not defend your brother?” she demanded of Daniel.

“God, Ma.” Daniel tensed and then lowered his voice. He had no idea where the girl who helped Madre about the house was. She might be in earshot, although he hadn’t seen her. “It wasn’t my intention to help him stop a stagecoach. Now we can’t let Miss O’Malley know, or who knows what she’ll do.”

“Listen to him, Ma.” Rafael heaved in a whistling breath. “’S right. Anna can’t find out.”

“Oh, my poor angel.” Madre stroked Rafael’s hair.

All the way home, Daniel had just been thinking he had to get Rafael home before he collapsed, but now a hell of a lot more problems had to be dealt with.

“No one can know that it was Rafael, Ma. Otherwise they might arrest him.” Of course, he’d be arrested, too. And they’d both be hanged. Daniel’s throat tightened as if a noose were already strangling him.

“Go...get her...late,” mumbled Rafael. “If no one...”

If no one picked her up, people might wonder what was amiss. If even a whiff of suspicion came their way, they might suspect Rafael had something to do with the gunfight. It wasn’t fair that a lot of the new white settlers looked down on people of Spanish descent, but they did. He would have to go get Miss O’Malley. And Rafe was right; it had taken them so long to get back, he’d be late.

“Did they see your horses?” asked Madre. “You will have to get rid of them. Shoot them.”

A shudder ran down Daniel’s back.

He looked out at the winded animals that had galloped their hearts out getting them home. His mount bore a white blaze on its forehead and the single stocking on its back leg made it identifiable, and even though Rafael’s horse was a solid dun, the color was unusual enough to stand out. “I’m not shooting the horses.”

“Then you will get your brother hanged over a misunderstanding.” Madre glared at him. “You will shoot the horses.”

“Because that wouldn’t be a dead giveaway that we were involved,” muttered Daniel. She couldn’t be serious.

“You will do as I say,” Madre hissed.

“Ma,” Rafael protested on a puff of air. His voice was too faint. Madre turned her attention back to her favorite son.

“We just need to take care of Rafe.” Daniel steered his brother through the door, bearing most of Rafael’s weight.

“You still have to get rid of the horses,” she said.

Madre was right. The horses had to go, but he wasn’t shooting the poor animals.

“I’ll set them loose in the hills. I’ll tell the sheriff and your—” Daniel found himself unable to say bride for some strange reason “—your Miss O’Malley that the horses were stolen overnight, and you’re out tracking the horse thieves. That’ll explain why I’m picking her up and provide cover if anyone recognized our horses.”

“Good thinking,” Rafael murmured.

They passed through the long front section of the house into the open courtyard. “Get him patched up enough to hide his injury. Plus Miss O’Malley will need her own room.”

“But you were to go to the priest and marry her before leaving town,” said Madre.

“Can’t hide...gunshot from...a wife,” huffed Rafael.

Madre opened her mouth to say something.

“Open his door and get his bed ready, Madre,” Daniel said.

She threw back her shoulders and glared at him. She would hate that he was ordering her around, but he didn’t have time to coax cooperation out of her. Instead, he poked Rafael, so he’d prod her. Rafe had much better luck getting their mother to do things.

“Please, Ma.” Rafe slumped against his brother.

They staggered across the courtyard toward Rafe’s room.

Pressing her lips together, she hurried ahead to open Rafael’s door and yanked down the covers on the freshly made bed.

“Damn, this messes...up...every...thing.”

Daniel leaned close to his brother. “You’ll just have to wait until you’re healed to marry her. Tell her you’re giving her a chance to get to know you before...” Daniel’s ears heated as he thought of his brother bedding the pretty redhead. Not that women ever seemed to require a long acquaintance with Rafael before they were willing to share intimacies with him. In fact, they rarely even noticed anyone else in the room once Rafael flashed his smile at them. Although, neither of them had a lot of experience with respectable women. “After all, she’s been raised to expect courting.”

Anna wasn’t the kind of fancy piece men traveled to San Francisco or into Mexico to find. She was a rarity in California: a respectable unmarried woman. Even back when the rancheros had gotten together for regular fiestas and the daughters of the other ranch owners were there, they’d gravitated toward Rafael and all but ignored Daniel.

“But...” Rafael frowned.

“With Madre in the house, there is no impropriety.”

Rafael lowered his eyelids in an almost sleepy look.

Daniel wanted to kick him for even thinking about seducing his future wife. He shook his head at the odd spurt of jealousy.

Daniel got Rafael on the bed and backed toward the door. “You got this, Ma?”

“Daniel, you stay here and help,” ordered Madre.

“He needs t’ go.” Rafael insisted. “Can’t let it get any later.”

* * *

The light grew murky as Daniel neared the edge of town. He’d run the horses as much as he could but had had to slow them to a walk rather than look as if he was in a crazed hurry.

First he’d pick up Anna, then head to the sheriff’s, report the horses stolen and determine what the sheriff knew. Really, though, the idea of a rancher with one of the biggest spreads around stopping a stagecoach was ludicrous and the best protection they had against the law putting two and two together.

He tried to slow his breathing. If she recognized him from that moment when they’d looked at each other, he didn’t know what he’d do.

He turned onto the street with the stage office. In the gloom, a woman in white instead of green sat on the bench. A broad-brimmed hat with flowers covered her hair so he couldn’t see if it was red. Still his heart thundered in his chest. He just knew. It was Anna.

He drew closer and pulled the horses to a stop in front of her. The minute he saw her face, he couldn’t look away. His muscles tense, he waited for a glimmer of recognition.

She stood up, her gloved hands twisting in front of her. “Mr. Werner?”

“Yes.” Belatedly, he realized he couldn’t know her beyond her photograph. “You’re prettier than your picture.” What a stupid thing to say. “Miss O’Malley.”

She inclined her head, blocking his view with the wide straw brim of her hat. Then she met his eyes.

He tightened his hold on the reins, waiting for her to recognize him. Her head tilted.

She heaved a deep breath that made her chest rise and fall under her white gown. “I was beginning to think you’d never come.”

He dragged his eyes away from the lace over the material that covered her chest, but in reality added an extra layer. Forming words with his suddenly too thick tongue he said, “There was a bit of trouble back on the ranch.”

His throat clogged, and he had to clear it. He had to get down out of the wagon before she started to wonder what was wrong with him. Forcing his rigid body to move normally, he set the brake and wrapped the reins around the handle.

“It has been a trying day,” she said in a small voice. “When are we going to the ranch?”

She couldn’t be the one who shot Rafael. She’d have trouble swatting a fly. He swallowed a deep breath. The lies he’d rehearsed on the way into town threatened to choke him. “I’m afraid I need to speak with the sheriff before we leave.”

“Do you know, then?” Her face paled, and even in the dim light it made the scattering of freckles across her nose stand out. “About the robbery?”

Alarm jolted through his chest. Daniel tried to sound casual. “What robbery?”

In the normal course of events, he wouldn’t know about the stagecoach shooting yet. Attempting to smooth out the jerkiness his body seemed intent on imposing on him, he lowered the tailgate and waited for lightning to strike him dead. Damn Rafael for putting him in a position where he had to layer falsehood upon falsehood.

“There was a stagecoach robbery,” she said.

Daniel missed a beat as he tried to figure out how to respond as if he didn’t know. He stared at her and had to take a deep breath to force out what was likely the appropriate response. His hand fisted so hard his fingers cramped. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” The waver in her voice suggested she wasn’t.

He wanted to kick his brother for terrorizing an innocent woman. But Rafael must have it wrong. It must have been the other one who’d shot him. Anna’s friend, Selina, the one coming to marry the store owner.

Daniel stepped toward her. The urge to comfort her pulled at him.

The questions he should be asking jumbled in his brain. He knew she hadn’t had anything stolen, but a man in his position would ask. “If anything of yours was taken, we can buy new. Send back east.”

She hurtled forward and tossed her arms around his neck. “I was so scared.”

The contact of her body set him on fire. His breath whooshed out. Hell and heaven.

He hesitated. He hadn’t the right to hold her. She was his brother’s intended, but she trembled. She drew him like a lost calf would. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her against him.

“It’s all right. You’re safe now,” he murmured. That much was true, and the reassurance came out so much easier than the lies.

Damn, she felt delicious. Her breasts were against his chest, and her nose was tucked into his shoulder. Her scent—sweet, spicy—fogged his brain. He wanted to hold her forever.

“Are we getting married tonight?”

He jerked back. “No!”

She stared at him, going even paler, her green eyes wide. He had the ridiculous notion to kiss her freckled nose. What was wrong with freckles, anyway?

Her eyes narrowed as color flooded back into her cheeks. “When then?”

Hells bells, she thought he was Rafael.

“I’m Daniel. I’m going to be your brother. Rafael—”

He stared at her as the color drained from her face again. Her mouth flattened, and her eyes shot shards of bottle glass in his direction. She shoved him away.

Damn. He’d never let her loose.

“What was that?” she demanded.

Now she seemed like a woman not afraid to turn a gun on a man instead of the waiflike thing she’d seemed when he had driven up. Thank the Lord she’d be Rafe’s problem, because the last thing Daniel ever wanted was a strong-willed woman, no matter how good she felt curled against him.

Chapter Three

We have six hands that work the spread and you’ll have my mother and a girl to help you with the house. A neighbor comes in twice a month to do laundry. Life is probably simpler out here than you are used to. The hands all live in the house with us and we share meals like one big family.

“Comfort?” Daniel Werner said.

Anna searched the dark eyes of the man before her. His hug had felt nothing like what one of her brothers might have given her, and it had set off a riot of sensation deep inside her. But he was to be her brother-in-law, not her husband.

She wanted to drop through the boards under her feet or to smack him. But she’d thrown herself at him, not the other way around.

“You went through a lot with a stagecoach robbery.” He screwed up his nose and had the grace to look slightly sheepish. He reached for his forehead as if to adjust a hat, but then ran his fingers through his uncovered dark hair. “You have a trunk?”

Grateful for the reprieve, she turned around and pointed to the lone bags left on the walkway. There was nothing to do but march to the wagon and climb onto the seat. Then, of course, she realized a gently bred lady would have waited for assistance. She tried to gather herself together and ignore that the past few minutes in Daniel’s arms had been like a homecoming.

The minute she’d seen him, a sense of familiarity had come over her like a soothing bath, but he was the wrong man. She’d gone easily into his arms and felt welcomed and wanted by a man who would be her brother-in-law. Could the day go any more wrong?

Then again, as she watched her soon-to-be brother-in-law lift her trunk as if it weighed nothing, her stomach did somersaults. She tried to draw her eyes away from his broad shoulders, his easy stride. For heaven’s sake, she couldn’t dwell on the solid breadth of his chest against hers, but the thoughts and prickly sensations wouldn’t leave her.

God help her, his brother had better be an older version of him. Surely he was. Surely it was just a brotherly familiarity that had her heart galloping. Or the relief of knowing she had a home to go to after thinking she might have been abandoned. Or rejected outright for shooting a man.

She tried to shift through a thousand different thoughts. “Why is Rafael not here?”

“He’s tracking horse thieves.” Daniel thumped the trunk down into the bed of the wagon, set her carpetbag beside it and scowled. “We had some stolen last night.”

Horse thieves and stagecoach robberies. A shudder passed through her. “Are we going to the hotel, then?”

“No. To the ranch. It’s only a little over three hours’ drive. We’ll be home by midnight. But first I have to tell the sheriff.”

“But there’s been an armed stagecoach robbery and horses stolen from your ranch. I don’t think it is safe to travel after dark.” Not for three hours. Maybe fifteen minutes. She looked into the dark hills beyond the town. Going out there with criminals roaming around didn’t seem like the smartest idea.

“It’s perfectly safe,” said Daniel as he threw a leather strap over her bags and secured it to the wagon’s sides.

“Did you know about the attempted stagecoach robbery?”

His hands stilled. He had lovely hands, the fingers long and strong with a scattering of dark hairs across the tanned backs. “We don’t get the latest news until we or our hands come to town.”

He finished tying the strap, walked around and swung up beside her with a lithe grace.

“Is California so lawless? Is it normal for criminals to be running around?”

“No, it’s not normal.” He sounded terse as if her question bothered him.

“Then how can you think it is safe? The robber shot several men.” And she’d shot him. If he was the vengeful sort, she could be in deep trouble. Bad enough she had to wear her old Sunday best dress to greet Rafael—dressed all in white she was an easy target in the dark.

She didn’t want to tell Daniel that she’d shot the robber, because he would tell his brother and then she’d be exposed for the fraud she was. She just needed to convince him to stay in town and she wouldn’t have to reveal why she feared being targeted by the robber.

Daniel turned and looked at her. “My rif—my shotgun is just behind the seat.” He pulled back a leather flap and showed her. “Right here. I’ll protect you, but really no robber will be out in unfamiliar territory after dark.”

“How do you know it is unfamiliar territory? Do you know who stopped the stagecoach?”

Daniel’s gaze shot away. “We have to go.”

Anna stiffened and gathered her resolve. “I want to stay in town overnight. There is a hotel.”

“No.”

Anna scrambled for the edge of the seat to jump down. She wasn’t comfortable with the idea of going off alone with a man she didn’t know, a man who had hugged her intimately with one arm curling around her, fingers almost brushing her breast, and the other pressing her to him. “How do I know you are who you say you are?”

He caught her arm. His grip was sure and firm. “If you want out that bad, I’ll help you down, but we’re going to the sheriff’s first. He’ll identify me. Besides with the stage coming in today and the packet ship leaving tomorrow, the hotel is bound to be full.”

Anna settled back on the seat. His words and low, measured tone made her want to trust him, but she didn’t want to go to the sheriff. That she’d shot one of the robbers would come out. She’d just have to keep the sheriff from revealing her role and have him tell Daniel how bloodthirsty the bandit was—the one who had done the shooting—and convince him it was unsafe to travel with that man out there.

“He’s just a couple of blocks over,” Daniel said.

She knew that to be true. After the sheriff had allowed her to change and clean up in his quarters, she’d spent an hour sitting in a hard chair explaining what she’d seen, because she’d been the only one who’d gotten a good look at the second horseman. But when she’d tried to reveal details, she had been unable to tell them anything, beyond that his hat was low and his multicolored cape was pulled up below his dark eyes. At least she thought they were dark. She couldn’t exactly remember if she could see the color from as far away as she was. That she’d felt mesmerized by his gaze she had kept to herself.

“Why couldn’t Rafael come for me tomorrow?” She’d had to fight through her disappointment that he wasn’t there earlier to shield her from the barrage of questions the way Selina’s beau had shielded her friend. Of course, the stage had been early after they had galloped into town to get the shot men to the doctor.

“I’m here now, and we can’t travel to town at the drop of a hat. We have work to do. Besides, he’ll be worried if you don’t get in tonight.”

Not so worried that he’d come after her himself. She pressed her lips together. Surely the sheriff would be on her side when it came to traveling out of town in the dark.

In front of the sheriff’s office, Daniel set the brake and climbed down. He walked around and offered his hand to Anna. He had to convince her to leave with him tonight. He had to get back and set the horses free in the hills, then make his way to where he and Rafael had climbed out of the creek bed and obliterate their tracks before a tracker could find the spot. He hoped the false trail he set would lead a posse in the opposite direction. Hiding the truth was against his nature, but he couldn’t let them arrest Rafael. The very idea of losing his brother drove a spike through his chest and ripped it straight down, cleaving him in two.

His brother might have behaved like an idiot, but Rafe had been there for him when his father had died, stepping up and teaching Daniel how to ride, how to shoot, how to ranch, even though he’d barely been old enough to know how himself. They’d grieved together, gone everywhere together and grown up together. Rafael was his brother and best friend; he couldn’t risk the truth as much as lying pained him.

Anna slipped her hand in his with an odd demureness that seemed out of keeping with her argument to stay in town.

Daniel had to pound on the door to get the sheriff out of the back, where he lived.

The paunchy middle-aged man opened the door, and a triangle of light spilled out. “What is it, Danny?”

Daniel wished people wouldn’t call him that anymore. He’d turned twenty-two some time ago. Folks should recognize he could be addressed by his regular name now. “We had horses stolen last night.”

The sheriff looked at him for a full second. Daniel’s stomach turned over. Did the man have any idea he was staring at one of the men who’d held up the stage? Damn, Daniel hated lying to people who trusted him. Using the currency of his reputation for being honest and fair dealing made something inside him shrivel and wither. How would he ever face the townspeople again if they learned he had lied?

The man mopped a kerchief across his brow and looked pained. “Never rains, but it pours. Come on in.”

Daniel reached for Anna’s elbow and guided her in front of him. Somehow touching her calmed the stew of dismay churning in his stomach.

She crossed the room and sat in the chair by the desk. He started to cross to the other chair when he spotted his rifle leaning against the wall. For a second he froze, his foot in the air. Damn Rafael for dropping the rifle he’d taken from him.

The condemnation of his brother shamed him. Rafael wouldn’t have dropped the rifle if he hadn’t been shot. Blowing out a long breath, he turned to the woman who’d pulled the trigger. Her gaze darted away. She dropped her head, leaving him looking at that monstrosity of a hat. Not that it was her fault for shooting Rafael, either. He blamed his brother, but he couldn’t let Rafael hang or go to jail for a misguided attempt to see his bride.

The sheriff tucked in behind his desk. “Now, what did these horses look like, and what would you say their value was?”

The sheriff held a pencil poised above a blank piece of paper. Daniel described his horse first, the blaze and the one sock, then Rafael’s. Then because the sheriff seemed to be waiting and perhaps the two horses matched too exactly, he described his brother’s favorite piebald stallion.

He bit his tongue hard before suggesting the horses had been stolen by the men in order to rob the stagecoach. He wanted the sheriff to reach that conclusion, but forcing it upon him would be to paint the lily. During his hurried journey into town, the story had seemed to make sense, the inferences obvious, but now the wild concoction seemed to have more holes than the grounds basket for a coffeepot. A drop of sweat itched down his spine as he waited for the sheriff to reject his story.

The sheriff frowned. Was he now thinking that it could have been the Werner brothers who stopped the stage? “Where is your brother?”

“He went out to track the horse thieves. He wasn’t back when I left.” Daniel’s stomach knotted tighter and tighter as he made up excuses. “He told me to come get Miss O’Malley if he hadn’t returned in time.”

The sheriff glanced toward Anna, then back at Daniel. Heck, he wished the man wouldn’t do that. The silences were like the screech of splitting wood, and Daniel fought to keep his shoulders level instead of up around his ears.

“Sound like the horses you saw?” the sheriff asked Anna.

“It could be.” She leaned toward the desk. “There are some very bad men out there.”

Daniel tensed. Even though the sheriff was drawing the conclusion Daniel wanted him to draw, it only served to darken and twist his insides. He wanted to scream out he was lying. Instead, he recited an Ave Maria in his head—the first of the ten thousand or more he would be required to recite when he confessed his lies—unless God struck him dead first.

“Think it might be a couple of renegade banditos—Mexicans. They spoke in Spanish.” The sheriff set his pencil down and leaned back in his chair. “Do you agree, Miss O’Malley?”

“I wouldn’t know, sir.” She shifted in the chair as if it had suddenly grown uncomfortable. “I just know they are very dangerous. Murderous men.”

That wasn’t fair. He hadn’t fired a shot and Rafael had only winged the armed men to halt the shooting, not to kill, but he couldn’t make that argument. Daniel wanted nothing more than to run a finger under his collar, but he tucked his hand in his belt, willing it to stay still. Certain his every expression gave away the deception, he watched the sheriff.

“Any chance your brother could help track tomorrow?” asked the sheriff. “Sent one posse out, but they lost the trail. Going back out in the morning. Reckon Rafe’d be an asset with his skills.”

“I don’t know that he will want to, with his bride here and all.” Daniel cast his eyes toward Anna. If he helped track, he could steer them away from the real trail. More lies, but Daniel couldn’t let them know Rafael was injured. For years his brother had protected him, and if this was what it took to repay that, he had to get past his misgivings. “I could do it. He’s taught me what he knows.”

“Which is why we should stay in town tonight,” Anna said brightly. Then, as if she was afraid he might get a word in edgewise, she continued rapidly. “Tell him, Sheriff, how dangerous those men are and we should not be out on the road after dark. Why, we’d never see them approaching. And if we stay here, then Mr. Werner can be part of the posse in the morning.”

No. Daniel tightened all over. “I— We have to get you back to the ranch tonight. Madre—my mother will worry. Rafael will worry. Besides, the thieves are probably already in Mexico.” He tore his gaze away from Anna and cast a quick glance at the sheriff. “I’ll come back at first light.”

Anna shook her head. “It’s too dangerous, isn’t it?” She looked from the sheriff to him.

Damn. Her mouth looked adorably kissable, pink lips slightly open as if she was breathless. Daniel’s head spun. He tried to remember the reasons it was so urgent to get home.

“Danny’s right. They’re probably halfway to Mexico by now.” The sheriff leaned his chair back farther and nodded toward the gun in the corner. “And they lost their rifle.”

“I have a gun in the wagon,” Daniel said belatedly. Then it seemed like the wrong thing to have said, even if it was the truth.

“If you were to encounter any thieves, I reckon the two of you could take care of yourselves. The Werner boys are both great shots and you’re not so—”

“Fine, I’ll go.” Anna popped out of her seat so abruptly, Daniel stepped back.

The sheriff nearly fell backward off his chair before he managed to stand.

“But it is the height of absurdity. If I’m killed, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”

She flounced toward the door.

“Well, here, you might as well take this with you.” The sheriff leaned over and scooped up the rifle. “Don’t expect the owners are going to be back for it.”

Daniel was almost afraid to reach out and take his gun. A cold sweat broke out all over his skin. It was too easy.

“Reckon Miss O’Malley has a better right to this than most, seeing as how she managed to shoot one of them robbers and made ’em give up and run off.”

Her back went rigid, but she continued out the door. What had changed her mind all of a sudden?

Daniel reached out to take his rifle. All right, the thing belonged to his brother’s bride, and he’d probably be able to use it, even if he couldn’t claim ownership. As he went to pull it back, the sheriff didn’t let go.

Oh, hell, did he know? Chills snaked through Daniel’s veins. Had the sheriff just been toying with him to trick a confession out of him?

“You remember, son, that’s your brother’s bride.” The sheriff let go of the rifle.

Daniel stared at him. His brain was moving awfully slow because he’d expected a warning or an accusation, but not one about Anna. “I know that.”

The sheriff nodded. “I’ll see you at dawn, Daniel.”

* * *

Anna clasped her hands tightly in her lap. She wanted to keep swiveling around, checking for men following them. Except a lady of breeding and refinement would rely on a male escort to protect her.

Besides, genteel ladies didn’t fidget. The almost preternatural calm that Olivia always managed was not normal. Still, Anna hoped she could salvage her image as a pampered rich girl seeking adventure, not a desperate Irish immigrant who’d spent five years working in a mill, because her only choices were marriage to another poor immigrant or working her fingers to the bone.

They’d been driving for some time, and Daniel had said little since leaving the sheriff’s office. The bench seat was hard, unlike the padded seats of the stagecoach, and every bump jarred her teeth. If she relaxed, it wouldn’t be so bad, but her thoughts kept scouring the same ground. No man wanted to marry a woman who’d shot a man. No rancher would see her as a fitting bride if she didn’t know her place as a woman. Other women might see her as a heroine, but most men would see her as a freak.

“So you shot one of the banditos,” said Daniel.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” she said tightly. “And I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell your brother.”

Daniel leaned forward and twisted to look at her. “Don’t think it is the kind of thing I could keep from him.”

“I should hate for his first impression of me to be that I go around shooting people. It’s not very ladylike.”

Daniel’s mouth twitched. “Shot anyone else?”

Her jaw dropped. “No! Of course not. I haven’t even handled a gun in years.”

“Then I think we can count it as an aberration,” he said.

“It makes me sick just thinking I shot a man today, even if he was trying to kill us.”

“I would think if he was trying to kill you, some of you would be dead,” said Daniel tersely. He leaned back against the board that served as a backrest.

“That’s an odd thing to say.” She bit her lip. Though the fact that every wound was to the shooting arm of a man who’d pulled a gun had not been lost on her. Her brother once told her that the eye was drawn to muzzle fire and consequently so was the aim. That was just as likely an explanation for the similarity in wounds as thinking he just meant to disarm the men shooting at him. She certainly didn’t want to risk depending on the imagined benevolence of a renegade who’d shot four men.

“Did you get a good look at them?” Daniel asked, his voice less smooth.

“Not really. They had their faces covered.”

Daniel blew out. “Chances are we’ll never catch them.”

“You will try.”

“Huh?”

“Tomorrow when you try to track them. You will do your best to find them, right?”

“’Course. They took one of my favorite horses.” He slowly smiled, his teeth shining white in the moonlight.

Her breath disappeared in a whoosh, and a tickle wiggled through her belly and lower. No, this was not good. “Does your brother look like you?”

His expression went flat. “Yes. We’re ’bout the same height, same hair, same eyes.”

Same breathtaking smile? “What’s he like?”

Daniel’s jaw ticked. He took a second before answering. “He’s a good rancher.”

Which told her nothing. She sighed. “So will you tell him about the shooting?”

She gave up the pretense of being a perfect lady and folded her arms.

“Doubt if I’ll have to.” Daniel twisted the ends of the reins around his hand as if he felt the urge to fidget as strongly as she did. “Not much farther now. We’re on Werner land.”

If they were growing close, the time she would meet her affianced husband was drawing near. Her arms prickled with gooseflesh and a shudder ran through her.

“If you’re cold, there’s a blanket behind the seat,” said Daniel.

Would Rafael be so aware of her every move, too? If he was, she wouldn’t have a chance of persuading him she was anything other than what she was: an undeserving Irish immigrant who had lied about everything.

Chapter Four

Goodness, only one maid to help. Life must be much simpler. We have a dozen servants and two groomsmen. I can only assume it is because the population is so sparse. I am sure I will learn to make do.

After miles of nothing but grassy hills, they crested a rise and drove down into an open valley. A long, low and pale building loomed out of the darkness ahead. Anna’s heart fluttered with anticipation.

As she leaned forward, Daniel said, “That’s the house.”

Her future home. She tried to make out details as they approached. It seemed rather large, although only one level. Beyond the house a barn and fenced corral were barely discernible.

They pulled in front of a long wooden porch. Only moments away from meeting her intended, her palms grew damp. She scanned the porch, waiting for him to come out.

The house was nothing like she’d ever seen back east, and its foreignness only contributed to her uneasiness. Surely the creak of the wagon or the jangle of the harnesses would have been heard from inside. Yet no one had come out to greet them.

Her throat went dry. Anticipation at meeting her future husband, surely. “Where is Rafael?”

Daniel looked uneasy as he set the brake. “He might not be back yet.”

She had the oddest urge to grab Daniel’s arm and hold on. “I’ve come three thousand miles, and he isn’t here to greet me?”

“He planned to pick you up, but with the stolen horses...” Daniel’s voice trailed off as he hopped out of the wagon. “You should just come inside, and we’ll see what’s what.”

When she slipped her hand into his, tingles traveled up her arm. She jumped rather than attempt to find footholds in the dark and hold Daniel’s hand any longer than necessary. Even though the thought of driving away occurred to her, she didn’t intend to do anything so silly. No, this was to be her home, and she’d enter as if she deserved to be here.

He moved to the back of the wagon and shouldered her trunk with ease. She swallowed hard. She could not keep from looking at her future husband’s brother as if he were a refuge in this strange and frightening world of horse thieves and stagecoach robbers, where shooting a man seemed all in an ordinary day’s events. Plus she didn’t have a promise from Daniel that he wouldn’t tell his brother. Far from thinking her a refined eastern lady, Rafael’s first impression would be of a hellion who had shot a man.

“Through that door there.” Daniel nodded toward the dark porch.

So no particular welcome for her, unless Rafael waited inside. Her heart leaped into her throat, and her knees wobbled like jam. She stepped onto the planking, and her boots clunked shockingly loudly against the boards. She was about to tiptoe when the door swung open. Rafael? Hot and cold streams rushed through her.

“You are finally home,” said a short, round woman with dark hair sparsely threaded with silver.

Her hopes dropped like stones through her insides. Still, Anna tried to draw on the mask of a lady and not let her disappointment show.

“Madre, this is Miss O’Malley. Miss O’Malley, our mother, Consuelo Valquez Werner.” Daniel thumped up onto the low porch, her trunk hoisted on his shoulder.

Anna jerked to a halt and debated protocol. Should she extend her hand to her future mother-in-law? Press her cheek to hers? But she’d been too busy contemplating meeting her intended to think about proper greetings for his family members. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Werner. I’m glad to finally be here.”

“Come in, come in,” said the woman warmly. “Oh, I am so happy to see you. Welcome to our hacienda.” The woman enfolded her in a hug. “I have tamales for you.”

Well, that took care of that. Perhaps Rafael would hug her next. Perhaps the family hugged everyone, and she’d overreacted to Daniel’s embrace. Anxious to get inside and see if Rafael was waiting for her there, she peered through the open door. The angle was too much to see inside. Perhaps he was waiting with flowers or candy. That would be exciting and, she supposed, would render his failure to collect her in person forgivable.

“Is Rafael back?” Daniel asked in a very still voice. A cautious voice.

Why was his tone so careful, like a warning? Confused, Anna turned and looked at him. He ducked away as if her scrutiny made him uncomfortable.

“Sí, sí, but he is mucho hurt. He fall from his horse and hurt his shoulder. I have put him to bed.” Mrs. Werner waved her hands wildly. “I give him medicine to sleep.”

“Goodness,” said Anna. She should go to him, but if he was in his bed... No, she was to be his wife. “I will go to him.”

Mother and son seemed to exchange some silent communication, where Mrs. Werner’s brow furrowed, and she gave a tiny shake of her head. “No, no, you must sit. He is sleeping.”

Daniel moved through the room around a long table that seemed as if it were cut from one piece of wood, but much bigger than was possible. Anna stared at the table, not knowing what to do and trying hard not to twist her hands. “Is he badly hurt?”

“No, no,” answered Mrs. Werner. “Just sleeping.”

“Won’t you wake him? Wouldn’t he want to know I am here?” Anna asked. How could he sleep knowing she was arriving today? Did her fiancé feel none of the strange anticipation that was rattling through her?

“Better to let him sleep,” said Daniel.

How would he know that? She looked between Daniel and his mother. “This isn’t right. What are you hiding from me?”

Mrs. Werner spoke in Spanish. A chill ran through Anna, spinning her back to the shouts of the robber. She shook off the odd connection. This was California, and it had been part of Mexico until recently. Probably a lot of the locals spoke Spanish. And not that anyone had said, but Daniel, with his near-black hair and coffee-colored eyes, was at least part Mexican. His mother, with her darker skin and round face, looked completely Mexican.

Daniel frowned. “I’ll take your trunk to your room and see if Rafael can be woken.”

“Thank you,” Anna said tightly.

He went out through the open door opposite where they had entered, which seemed to lead outside. How was that possible? The house looked so much bigger from the outside. Either that or she’d lost all sense of space. She felt a little as if she’d entered one of those crazy tilted houses at a fair. The ones where they could make water run uphill.

Mrs. Werner bustled up to her, her dark skirts rustling. She wrapped an arm around Anna’s shoulders and steered her toward the table. “You sit here. I will feed you.”

Anna fought the urge to fling off the woman’s arm. She didn’t want to eat or sit. She wanted to meet her future husband. “I’m really not hungry, thank you.”

“Sit. Tell me—how was your trip?”

“Long.” She stared at the door Daniel had gone through. How could it have led outside?

Her stomach knotted. Well, she wasn’t just going to wait around forever. She’d been traveling for months. If Rafael was here, she didn’t see any reason she couldn’t meet him now. She got up and stalked toward the door.

Mrs. Werner moved in front of her and put her hands on her hips as if Anna were being rude. “Daniel will tell Rafael to come eat with you, if he is awake. You sit now.”

She sat in the chair she was led to because it didn’t seem she had much choice in the matter. In the low light of tin lamps, she stared at the unending grain of the table. Even that was impossible and made her feel off-kilter.

Mrs. Werner shouted in Spanish, and Anna nearly jumped out of her skin. A few seconds later a girl on the verge of womanhood entered through the open door. The smell of beef and maize wafted through with her. The girl carried several plates, looking as if she might drop them at any time. “This is Juanita. She helps out.”

“How do you do, Juanita?” Anna resisted the urge to spring to her feet and take dishes from the overburdened girl. A genteel lady would be used to being waited upon.

As Juanita moved to set the plates on the table, a big brown glob plopped right on Anna’s chest and slid into her lap, ruining her second-best dress.

Back in Connecticut Olivia had helped her turn the seams and they’d boiled it in borax for hours to rejuvenate the white. Still in places the material was damnably thin and the ruffles along the bottom covered hems that had frayed and worn through. Her hopes were wearing just as thin.

Now with it stained and the green silk filthy, she had little left to wear except a few work dresses. Even those weren’t clean. She’d worn them over the long stage trip and washdays hadn’t been in the schedule.

Mrs. Werner berated the girl in rapid-fire Spanish, while Juanita stared at the floor, her shoulders up around her ears. At least Anna rather suspected she was being berated. Anna just wanted the crazy, disappointing day to end. “That’s enough. It was just an accident.”

Mrs. Werner started. Her eyes narrowed.

Anna started to shake. She had no idea what a woman of breeding would do in this situation, but she was in no mood for any more ugliness. “It has been a long day. I believe I will retire. Juanita, will you show me my room and help me out of my gown?”

Perhaps if she rinsed out the stain soon enough, it wouldn’t set. She had less hope for the green silk. Blood was always difficult to get out.

“She doesn’t speak much English,” said Mrs. Werner.

Anna was torn. She really didn’t want to leave the girl alone with Mrs. Werner.

“Then translate for me.” Anna glanced toward the open door, wondering what was keeping Daniel. She had visions of him going through her trunk, unpacking her unmentionables. Heat washed through her. From mortification, she assured herself.

“You need to eat,” Mrs. Werner insisted.

The girl lifted her gaze from the floor and stared at Anna with dark accusation as if it were Anna’s fault Mrs. Werner was angry with her.

Anna’s stomach churned, protesting. She wasn’t exactly sure of the food that had been set down before her. Long yellowish things with a sort of brown gravy and a plate stacked with round flat bread. “Excuse me, please.”

Really what she wanted was a nice roasted potato dripping with butter or a hot slice of soda bread. Neither of which were likely to appear. Nor apparently was her fiancé.

If neither Mrs. Werner nor Juanita would show her to her room, then she’d find it herself, or find Daniel to guide her. Why had he disappeared for so long? How long did it take to put her trunk and carpetbag in her room and rouse Rafael? Or was Rafael not willing to meet her?

She headed for the door that Daniel had gone through. Juanita darted out ahead of her. For a second, Anna suspected the girl would push her back in to eat whatever it was that had been set down in front of her.

“I show you room.”

“Thank you, Juanita.” But mostly she was speaking to the girl’s back as she darted ahead along the covered walkway that encircled an open center of the building. Anna stared at the stars over the wall ahead of her. Juanita went to the corner, turned right, following the interior of the building, then opened the first door. Beyond the girl, Anna’s trunk sat at the foot of a narrow bed.

“You come to marry Rafael, sí?” asked Juanita.

“Yes.”

Juanita glared. “Fool—foolish are you. The ranch belongs not to him.”

What? “Who does it belong to?”

“Go home.”

Go home? She didn’t have a home to go to.

The girl darted off. Anna stood stock-still for a second. What on earth was Juanita trying to tell her? Rafael didn’t own the ranch. She’d pinned everything on coming here to marry a man who would take care of her, make sure she had regular meals, a man who owned his own land. Her legs muscles tightened as her stomach burned.

Her shoulders stiff, she returned to the main room. “Mrs. Werner, Juanita says the ranch doesn’t belong to Rafael. Is that so?”

“No, no, she did not say that.”

“Yes, she did.”

“I tell you her English is very poor. She say it wrong.” Mrs. Werner waved her hands wildly and looked away. “Of course the ranch belongs to Rafael. You do not worry. Juanita is a silly child who thinks Rafael will marry her when she grows up. You forget what she say.”

The reassurance didn’t settle her one bit. This was not how she had expected her arrival to be. No, she needed to meet Rafael and have him straighten this out. The sooner the better. Otherwise she wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink.

* * *

“I have to get back, or Miss O’Malley will wonder what is taking me so long.” Daniel had put Anna’s trunk in the room next to his and hurried across the courtyard to Rafael’s room. He hadn’t been certain from their mother’s look how his brother was faring, and he was relieved to discover Rafael in pain but completely lucid. They had to get through the next few days without Anna realizing he’d been shot.

“You need to meet her,” Daniel said. “You’ll have to pretend you’re well long enough to say hello.”

The bandage starkly white against his skin, Rafael groaned and rolled to the side. “Can’t.”

“She is already confused by me fetching her instead of you.” Daniel pulled his brother’s legs off the side of the bed. He’d get Rafe sitting, then get him dressed and standing.

Rafael grunted a protest.

“Just hold it together long enough to say hello.” Daniel tugged on his brother’s arm until Rafael was halfway upright.

Rafael ran a hand through hair that was matted and sticking up on one side. Had he been thrashing around?

“You look like hell.” Daniel scrutinized his brother. His stomach fell. Rafe wouldn’t fool anybody looking like he did. “Do you really think it wise for Ma to give out that you have a shoulder injury?”

The corners of Rafael’s mouth turned up for the barest second as if he’d meant to smile. “Got to give a reason...couldn’t track...the horse thieves.”

Daniel’s shoulders slumped. His brother had a reputation as a great tracker to protect. He, on the other hand, was going to have to “fail” to follow the tracks tomorrow to save them from discovery. “Wonderful. I can’t fake a fall to explain why I won’t be able to track the stagecoach robbers.”

“Not a robbery.”

“If you didn’t want people to think it a robbery, you shouldn’t have covered up your face, stopped the stage in a pinch point and pointed my rifle at the driver. If all you really wanted was to see your bride, you could have hailed them in an open spot and asked for her by name. And you dragged me into this mess. We’ll be lucky if we aren’t hanged.”

“Sorry,” muttered Rafael, which was unlike the sarcastic “You’re welcome” he usually would have shot back.

Daniel snatched a shirt out of Rafe’s wardrobe. “Try and get yourself together well enough to greet her. You can pretend to be groggy. Ma said she gave you something to sleep.”

“Wish she had.” Rafael rolled back onto the bed. His shoulder hit the pillows behind him, and he groaned. “She took away my whiskey.”

But not before he’d indulged, Daniel noted.

If Anna figured out they were the men who’d held up the stagecoach, she might very well go to the sheriff and turn them in. Speaking of her, he should probably go back to the main room, but he needed to tell Rafe that she didn’t want him to know she’d shot a man. “Rafe, she—”

A sharp rap on the door raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

“Mr. Werner, are you in there?”

Damn. Anna. Sounds didn’t carry through the thick adobe walls, but Rafael’s window to the courtyard was open to allow a cross breeze. What had she heard?

Rafael shooed him toward the door. “She can’t see...this,” he hissed, pointing at the bandage.

Daniel tossed the shirt in Rafe’s direction as he went to the door.

Anna stood on the other side, a shawl draped over her chest although the evening was warm. “Is your brother in there?” she demanded.

“Yes, I was just checking on him.” Daniel reached to take her elbow and guide her back to the main room. “You can’t have eaten already.”

Anna wrenched her arm away and darted toward the open door. “I want to see him.”

Daniel caught her around the waist and pulled her back before she could get past him. Squirming against him, she was like a kitten with claws. Heat, need and want slammed him hard. It had to be the feel of a woman against him, nothing more. He lifted and planted her in the courtyard and pulled the door shut behind him. “He’s sleeping.”

Anna scrambled away and swung around to face him. “No. He’s not. I heard you both talking. Why are you trying to hide him from me?”

“What did you hear?” Daniel asked sharply.

Anna’s eyes narrowed, and she stepped closer. “Something about whiskey. Is he some kind of drunkard? Is that why you and your mother won’t let me near him?”

Daniel let out a slow breath. If she thought Rafael a drinker, that was far better than thinking he had been the stagecoach shooter. “I’m afraid he’s not fit company—”

“I’ll have you know I’ve seen drunk men before.” She poked him in the chest. “And I’d like to see him.”

Her breasts rose and fell rapidly. Words deserted him with a heavy rush. He stared, knowing he was going to have to say something, but the swirling thoughts in his head were nothing he could have said out loud.

She flipped open the shawl. “Is this what you’re looking at? The second dress I’ve had ruined today.”

It took him a second to realize she was talking about the brown blotch in the center of her chest. His gaze was more drawn to her curves. Her breasts would fit perfectly in his hands. His palms even itched. No, this isn’t right.

“I’ve come clear across the country. I’ve had a very bad day. I want to meet your brother. Now.”

He dragged his gaze up to her pursed lips, only that was worse. He wanted to claim them and soothe the anger from her. “Anna.”

“What?” she retorted, then squinted at him.

He didn’t have the right to call her by her first name. “Miss O’Malley, it would be better if you saw him in the morning.” Surely Rafael could manage to be up long enough to meet her. “You are tired. He is—” Daniel struggled for the right words “—not up to meeting you tonight. Everything will be better in the morning.”

She stared up at him. Her skin glowed under the light of the moon. She was so fair. Her lips parted, and he wanted to close the distance between them, reassure her, distract her, taste her.

No. He didn’t. She was completely the wrong sort of woman for him. After dealing with Madre all his life, he wanted a biddable woman, one who wouldn’t fight him at every turn.

“Does he drink, then?” she asked in a low voice.

“We all drink,” said Daniel, folding his arms. Lying to her made his head hurt, but he hadn’t actually lied, and Rafael did occasionally drink more than he ought to.

“He isn’t really hurt at all, is he?” Her expression fell. “That was just to keep me from seeing him in the state he’s in. That’s why you had to get me.” She wrapped the shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I knew this was too good to be true.”

The urge to hold her, comfort her, returned full force, but comforting her was a dangerous thing. He’d reacted too strongly when she’d thrown herself into his arms in Stockton. And the way he’d been thinking about her made touching her again foolhardy. He tightened his hold across his chest just to be sure he didn’t brush the hair back from her temple. Didn’t trace a finger along her smooth cheek. Didn’t kiss her.

“My brother is a good man, he just...” Daniel floundered. Occasionally loses himself. He didn’t understand Rafael’s recent reckless streak. Ever since he’d returned from a hearing in Sacramento about getting the title issued for his land, he’d been acting odd.

Anna’s chin tilted up, and she pinned him with her gaze as if to say she wouldn’t tolerate any falsehoods.

“He’s a hard worker—the hardest worker I know. And after my father died, he taught me everything.”

“Your father?”

Daniel’s skin heated. “We had different fathers.”

Her fingers twisted the edge of her shawl. “Is he at all like you?”

“I try to be like him,” answered Daniel with painful honesty. Except on days like today when Rafael behaved like an idiot.

His loco behavior had started about three years ago, around the time of the hearing. Was his foolhardiness just because of that hearing? Granted, he shared Rafael’s fear that the request for the land title could be denied. The treaty between Mexico and the United States was supposed to honor the established land grants, but the United States was forcing the rancheros to prove ownership.

Two of their neighbors, men who spoke little English and whose families had been on the land for decades, had lost their claims, while an Anglo man who’d become a Mexican citizen to get his land grant and then switched his allegiance to the United States when California was ceded by Mexico had his title in a matter of months, unlike the years it was taking everyone else. It appeared that whites were much more likely to receive a patent for their land than Spanish were. But Daniel didn’t understand why Rafael was acting as though their case was hopeless. Not all the claims were denied. Besides, if it was hopeless, why bother marrying an Anglo bride to improve the odds?

Anna watched him silently for a moment; then her chin firmed and jutted up. “I’d still like to meet him. I’d rather know what I shall have to deal with. And I’d say he’s likely to be worse in the morning.”

With a small toss of her head, she started to step around him. Daniel caught her shoulders and pinned her against a post to the covered walkway. “You would see him at his worst, yet you don’t want him to know that you shot a man?”

The moonlight caressed her face. His breath was sucked from his body. Her eyes glittered. She didn’t look down or away as another woman might in her place. He tried to remember he hated such boldness in a woman, but, damn, his blood thickened.

“A thief and would-be murderer,” she corrected him firmly.

His brother wasn’t a murderer or a thief, but Daniel struggled to keep the objection to himself. So far she hadn’t recognized him. Didn’t suspect anything beyond Rafael being a drunkard.

“And I just think it best if he hears it from me.” Her features had a mulish cast. “When I am ready to tell him.”

She had a point. He cocked his head, studying her. “Fair enough, but don’t wait too long or he will hear it from someone else.”

She shuddered ever so slightly. Perhaps she had been frightened. He lightly massaged her shoulders and cursed himself for an idiot. He told himself to drop his hands, step back, but he couldn’t. Wanting to soothe her and reassure her, he stepped closer and lowered his voice. “He’s a good man—you’ll see. He won’t hold it against you that you defended yourself against a man you believed was intent on harm.”

“He was intent on harm,” she insisted. “Someone had to stop him. The rifle fell right by Selina, and she knew that I had fired a gun before.” Another tremble ran through her. “I had to shoot.”

No, she hadn’t needed to shoot, because in another three or four seconds he would have dragged Rafe away, but Daniel couldn’t say that.

“He was looking right at Selina and me,” she whispered. “There were two of them and—” her pause spoke loudly of fears a lady couldn’t voice “—two of us.”

Damn Rafael. Daniel’s stomach turned. She’d likely thought she and her friend were about to be kidnapped and then raped.

“It’s all right,” he murmured. “Don’t think about it. You are safe here.”

The less she thought about it, the less likely she would be to connect them to what happened.

“This is a very lawless place,” she said.

“No. Not usually. And I promise I will make certain those criminals will never be seen again.”

“How?” she demanded.

Because if Rafael had a wild idea like that ever again, Daniel would hog-tie him. But he had to reassure her in a way that made sense. “I’ll track them tomorrow. I’ll make sure they never come near here again. You’re part of our household now, and I always protect my own.”

She turned her head sideways, and her chin quivered. Santa Maria, she wasn’t about to cry, was she? She turned back toward him and placed her hand on his chest. “Thank you, Mr. Werner.”

His heart thudded. Could she feel it racing under her palm? His fingers tightened on her shoulders as he looked at her mouth, the slight bow of her upper lip, the cherry pink of her lower.

He should say something, but words flitted out of his brain before they were fully formed. Then he was leaning toward her, knowing he was going to taste those lips, knowing it was wrong yet not knowing how to stop.

“Whash all thish noishe?” slurred Rafael.

Daniel froze. Tension screamed through his muscles as he looked over his shoulder. Rafael leaned against the door frame.

Daniel sucked in a deep breath and then said, “It appears you will meet my brother, after all.”

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