Safe in His Arms

THIRTY-ONE





Still in her mud-caked clothes, Margaret lay in her bed. She wasn’t sure she’d ever see her room again.

Inez bustled around the room tsking about the state of her clothes. Margaret gave her instructions about preparing the guest rooms for Lucy’s family who would stay with them until their house was rebuilt.

Daniel sat on the edge of her bed. He smoothed her hair away from her forehead. “I’m going back to town while you get some rest. Archie found his way home, by the way.”

“Oh good! I was afraid I’d lost him.” Her fatigue fell away and she sat up. “Why are you going to town?”

“After we got home, I got to thinking. Frank never mentioned killing your pa or shooting at us. If the gang didn’t target you and your pa, then who did? I want the sheriff to ask him and his cohorts about that.”

She frowned. “You’re right. What reason would they have to hurt Pa?” She studied his worried face. “You think the murderer is still out there?”

He hesitated. “I wonder if it was Calvin.”

She thought about it, then nodded. “He had a grudge against Pa for sure. It’s possible.”

“I want to make sure we’re safe here before we start planning the wedding. Stay inside and away from the windows until I get back. If we had one of those newfangled telephones, I could stay with you and make sure you’re safe.”

Her cheeks heated when he held her gaze and smiled. “Inez and Vincente will watch out for me.”

“I know they will.” He leaned down and gave her a lingering kiss. “I love you.”

“I—I love you too.” She stumbled over the unfamiliar words a little.

He rose and shut the door behind him. Her eyes drifted closed. She didn’t know how long she slept, but she awakened at the sound of a voice. Was Daniel back already? Her door was cracked open a bit, so she sat up.

The room was dark except for the glow of the lamp. Inez was sitting beside her on a hardback chair. “You are awake.” She rose to touch Margaret’s forehead. “No fever. Miss Lucy and her family arrived with some of their salvaged belongings. They’re all abed.”

The door opened, and Vincente entered with a teapot and a teacup on a tray. He paused when he saw his mother. “I thought perhaps you were resting, Mamá.”

“I could not rest when Margaret was unwell.”

He put the tea down and lifted the pot to pour it. “Of course not.”

Inez patted Margaret’s head. “You are like a daughter to me.”

The teapot clattered against the cup, and Vincente smiled. “Rest, Mamá. I will look after Margaret.”

His mother studied his set face. “Very well. I am tired. Call me if you need me.” She patted Margaret’s hand. “You sleep.” The room was silent when she hurried out and closed the door behind her.

Vincente set the tea on the stand and stirred sugar into it. “It’s hot.” He held out the cup.

Margaret looked at him curiously. “Are you all right, Vincente? You’re pale.” She spied a trickle of blood on his arm. “You’re hurt.”

“It is nothing. Here, drink your tea.”

“In a moment,” she said. “Let me see your arm.”

“I am fine. Here is your tea.”

Margaret wrapped her fingers around the warm cup and lifted it to her lips. Vincente’s face was red, and perspiration trickled down his face as he watched her. A strange agitation came off him in waves.

Her lips touched the rim of the cup, and she smelled a familiar blend. “Mm, Earl Grey.” She took a big gulp. There was a strange aftertaste. Laudanum?

He stared at her, then his eyes widened and his face went white. “Don’t drink it!” He knocked the cup from her hand, then sank to the chair beside the bed and covered his face with his hands. “I can’t do it.”

Margaret stared at him, her gaze lingering on his injury. The blood on his arm and his strange behavior . . . One of the men who had attacked her and Daniel had been shot. Surely Vincente hadn’t been the one. But staring at his injury, it looked very much like a gunshot wound.

“Vincente?” she whispered.

“You are my sister. I cannot harm you.”

Sister? “W-What are you saying? Sister?”

He lifted his head and held her gaze. “Yes.”

His mother and her father. Margaret swallowed hard. “Did my mother know?”

“My mother said she did not.”

She shoved the tea-stained sheets off of her. A numbing warmth began to spread through her, but he’d likely stopped her from drinking a deadly amount. If she wanted to live, she had to stay alert.

Vincente stood and paced the floor. “It was necessary if I was to have what is rightfully mine.”

Margaret swung her legs to the side of the bed. “But why wouldn’t Pa leave the ranch to you? He wanted a son. When Stephen was killed, there was no one else but me. It would have been logical to acknowledge you and give you the ranch.”

“So it would seem,” Vincente said.

“Did you talk to him about it?”

Vincente shook his head. “We never spoke of our relationship. He corresponded through my mother only. As far as he was concerned, I was an employee.”

How could her father have done such a thing? It was beginning to be difficult to think. “That’s cruel.”

“I agree.”

The door creaked, and a familiar figure stepped into the glow of the lamp with a gun in his hand. She gasped. “Lewis? You’re alive!” Her elation faded when she realized he was pointing his gun at her.

“Enough of this tender reunion. Our deal is off, Vincente. I knew you didn’t have the guts to do what had to be done. Since you can’t do it, I’ll do it myself. We’ve come too far to lose it all now.”

Deal. She tried to think past the growing numbness in her brain. These two men were the ones who had attacked her and Daniel. They tried to kill them. And . . . “You killed Pa. How could you? He’d been so kind to you.”

Lewis shrugged. “It was an accident. We argued and I shoved him. He hit his head on the sharp edge of the rake. I didn’t want him to die, but I wanted him to do the right thing.”

“And leaving me homeless was the right thing to do?” She didn’t know this man with the cold eyes.

“You would have had a home with me.”

“I loved you like a brother, Lewis. And Pa loved you. How could you do this?”

His eyes hardened even more. “You loved me so much you were willing to deed me half the ranch, weren’t you?”

She needed a weapon, but nothing was close at hand. “I sent Vincente after you when you left. I was going to tell you that I would give half of the ranch to you.”

His eyes softened, then hardened again. “I wish I could believe you, Margaret. I wish it could be different, but I’m going to have to kill you. You will tell the sheriff. And with you dead, I won’t need your charity. I won’t be bilked out of my inheritance. I’ll have what’s rightfully mine.”

“Rightfully yours?” She was having trouble forming her words. She couldn’t let the drug affect her. “My father built this place up from the homestead it was.”

“If my father hadn’t died, I would have gotten my fair share without your father’s charity.”

Her limbs were heavy with a creeping lethargy. “So you killed him and faked your death. How will you explain your reappearance?”

He smiled, but it was a soulless grimace. “No one will suspect me of having anything to do with your death. I’ll show up in a few more days, bloody and injured. I’ll talk about a drifter taking care of me after being shot by the robbers. Everyone will believe me. And with you dead, the ranch is mine.”

Her heart sank. She had no doubt everyone would react with joy at his reappearance. He would be able to move right into the house and take over. Her father had made it easy for him. The will stipulated that if she died without an heir, the ranch went to him.

She tried to look at Vincente, but his face wavered in her vision. “Did you have a hand in killing Pa?”

He shook his head. “That was all Lewis. I’d hoped when the will was read that our father would mention me, even in some small way. I was angry when he didn’t.”

“And hurt,” she said.

He inclined his head but said nothing. She tried to speak again, but darkness crowded into her vision. No, no! She struggled to stay conscious, but the blackness claimed her.




DANIEL TRIED TO keep things as quiet as possible when he returned to the ranch. He expected Margaret to come hobbling out of the house any second, but her bedroom window remained dark.

He started for his room, then reversed his steps and headed for the ranch house. Just a peek in on her would set his mind at ease. Inez wasn’t around either, and the house was dark. He barked his shin against a table in the entry, then walloped his elbow on the stair handrail but managed to keep from hollering. The steps creaked as he went up the stairs and down the hall to Margaret’s room.

Her door was closed. Propriety demanded that he waken her and not go barging in uninvited. Rapping his knuckles on the door, he called her name softly. “Margaret?” When she didn’t answer, he tried again. Again there was no answer. She had to be in her room. Staring at the doorknob, he made a decision to enter anyway. She might have his hide, but he couldn’t go to bed until he was sure she was all right.

He twisted the knob and pushed open the door, then fumbled for the kerosene lamp on a stand just inside the door. The light sputtered as he glanced around the room. Empty. The covers were rumpled, but Margaret was not in the bed. If she’d gone to the privy, she would have taken the lamp. Something about the room’s disarray alarmed him. There was a broken cup on the floor, along with liquid he assumed was tea or coffee. A dark stain was on the sheet.

“Mr. Daniel?”

He turned to see Inez in her nightgown. The candle in her hand cast shadows on the walls, and her hair was in a long braid over one shoulder.

“Where is Margaret?”

Inez frowned and glanced around. “She was in the bed. My Vincente, he bring her tea.”

He pointed out the liquid. “It’s been spilled.”

“Let me find Vincente.” She turned and went down the hall.

Daniel heard her calling for her son without a response. Could someone have come in here and forced them both to leave? His gaze lingered on the liquid on the floor. Why had it been spilled? Kneeling, he touched the fluid and sniffed his fingers. He stiffened at the smell of laudanum.

Someone had taken her. “Send someone for the sheriff! Have him look for Calvin.” He leaped to his feet and ran for his horse.