Lucky Penny Read online

  He shrugged and swallowed. “If he doesn’t come in, I’ll look for him come morning and do what I have to do.”

  Brianna shivered. A broken leg usually meant certain death for a horse.

  Just then, a joyous hee-haw cut through the night. Daphne leaped to her feet and shouted, “Lucy!” She went streaking out into the darkness, making Brianna’s heart jerk.

  But David only pushed calmly to his feet, hollering, “Mind your horse manners, Daphne!”

  The child’s voice came trailing back to them. “I will, Papa!”

  As David struck off after the child, Brianna forced her exhausted body erect and plodded after him. “What, precisely, are horse manners?”

  He slowed and curled an arm over her shoulders. The contact startled her, but his hard, warm hand cupped her opposite arm, holding her fast. “Easy,” he said, his voice pitched low. “You can’t see shit in the dark. I just don’t want you to fall. As for horse manners, I’ll teach you, but first we need to work on your directions. You can’t find your way out here if all you know is left and right. Where’d you grow up, anyway, in a barn?”

  Brianna bit back a startled laugh. “So you’re holding that against me, are you?”

  “Nah, my feelings aren’t that easily hurt.”

  She almost reminded him that she’d grown up in a convent, not a barn, but her memory of his past reaction to that information had her biting her tongue. Instead she peered with strained eyes through the darkness for a glimpse of her daughter.

  David apparently saw Daphne long before she did, for he strode forward without hesitation, his thigh riding her hip, his gun pressed so firmly against her that she might have been wearing it herself. The heat of his body radiated over her. She felt his strength, his hardness, and for the first time in her life, she found them soothing. Well, a little alarming, too. He made her feel things she wasn’t at all certain she wanted to feel. She could finally understand why so many women were so foolish as to marry.

  Soon Brianna saw her daughter and the equivalent of a small herd of huge beasts taking shape in the darkness. Daphne moved among the animals, patting them and rubbing their noses. The child had become particularly fond of Lucy and went up on her tiptoes to put her short arms around the mule’s neck as Brianna and David reached her.

  “Take care, Daphne,” Brianna called out.

  “I am, Mama. But Lucy won’t kick me or step on me as long as she knows where I am. It’s only when they get startled that they do things like that. She’s a dear heart.”

  “Watch and learn,” David whispered, drawing Brianna to a halt. “Until you have learned, stand clear. Even the best horse might kick if you’re standing in a blind spot.”

  A blind spot? Brianna had no idea what that meant, so she decided to err on the side of caution, watching David and Daphne move through the group of four-legged monsters. In the gloom, she picked out three extra mounts belonging to the miscreants, all saddled and blowing hard. Blue had done his job, gathering all of them up and bringing them home. Well, not home, exactly, but she had a feeling the roan considered David to be his safe place.

  David was quickly becoming that for Brianna as well—his strength, his fierce protectiveness, and his love for her daughter were a combination difficult to resist. It bothered her to feel that way. She disliked being dependent upon anyone. When you trusted people, you gave them an opportunity to do you dirty.

  “Good job, Blue,” David said, patting the roan’s shoulder and then scratching him behind the ears. “I can always count on you. You’re a good fellow.” He moved over to the bay. “And who’s this? A loyal man like you deserves a name. Daphne, that can be your job. Tonight while we fix supper, come up with a proper handle for this guy.”

  “I already have one!” Daphne said proudly. “Except for his black tail and mane, he’s close to the same color as an acorn.”

  “He is the color of an acorn, isn’t he? Hmm. I like that. Acorn, it is.”

  Once back at the fire, David left the animals untended while he cleaned the cut at the corner of Brianna’s eye. He’d ripped up a shirt and dipped a piece into the boiled water to dab at the wound. As he cleared away the blood, he saw that the gouge, which did resemble a bullet wound, was only superficial. She’d have a shiner come morning, but he doubted the cut would leave much of a scar. Surveying her face, he was damned glad of it. It would be a sacrilege for such perfection to be permanently marred.

  “Well?” she asked when he tossed the bit of cloth onto the fire. “Do I have a bullet working its way into my brain?”

  David bit back a smile. A lot of women would play it up for sympathy. All Brianna cared about was being proved right. “I think you’ll live to bedevil me another day. It’s a nasty cut, but there’s no debris to pick out. It should heal nicely, and over time, you’ll probably have no more than a pockmark to remind you it ever happened.”

  “As if I’m worried about a scar. As long as I’m able to work and care for Daphne, I’m happy.”

  David realized that this woman truly didn’t realize how pleasing her countenance was. It was little wonder that Daphne was, hands down, the most gorgeous little girl he’d ever clapped eyes on. She’d taken after her grandma Dory in looks, but she had her mama’s fine bloodlines, too. David knew the day would soon come when he’d be knocking horny young bucks off his doorstep to keep them away from his daughter. And, gazing at Brianna’s lovely face, he wondered if he was any more trustworthy than green, passion-driven boys. Looking at her gave him physical urges he suspected would send her screaming into the night if she knew he had them. Thank God she wore that damned jacket, night and day. Otherwise he’d be drooling and licking his lips like that big, leather-clad lout he’d killed earlier.

  But he’d seen Brianna’s curves before he’d lent her the coat, and his memory served him well. Maybe it was a reaction to his close brush with death, but he suddenly needed to celebrate life, and for him, sex was high on his list of favorite pastimes. His britches felt a shade too tight in the inseam as he tended to all the animals and then cooked supper, bantering with Daphne and giving her the job of simmering their syrup. They feasted on overcooked vegetables, ham, and hot johnnycakes drizzled with sweetness. Afterward, Brianna helped wash up, trying to conceal her stiffness. David pretended not to notice and began to play his fiddle to drown out the cries of the coyotes while she sneaked off to the packs, procured the liniment, and wandered off to the stream to apply it in private. He sure did wish she had some sore spots she couldn’t reach, but even if she did, he knew she’d never ask him to rub her down. Just the thought of providing that service had the crotch of his jeans pinching him again.

  As he moved the bow over the fiddle strings, watching his daughter dance, David knew he had waded into deep shit. He needed to get his head on straight because the feelings he was coming to have for Brianna might never be returned. She’d been treated badly by some fellow, or his name wasn’t David Paxton, and sometimes a woman could never work her way past that to trust again. All the same, they were married. She hadn’t entered into the union willingly, and neither had he, but regardless, they were hitched in the eyes of the law. Was it wrong of him to hope they might make something of that—something good and lasting, maybe even something wonderful?

  For Daphne’s sake, they needed to try.

  Chapter Thirteen

  W

  hen the after-supper festivities ended and all of them were bedded down, David lay awake, waiting to be sure Daphne was asleep before he went out to take care of unfinished business. He had three men to bury. No matter how far they had wandered from righteousness, they’d been human beings, and he needed to respect their remains, making sure scavengers didn’t drag them off.

  Bone weary, he didn’t look forward to all that digging with a short-handled spade. But he couldn’t wait until morning. Daphne might see the men, and they hadn’t died pretty. David guessed no one did, but the aftermath of a violent death was something no child should witnes
s. Hell, he was a grown man, and sometimes the things life had thrown at him still haunted his dreams.

  When David felt sure the child slept, he slipped from his bedroll, donned his hat, and went to get the spade. He had good night vision, so he needed no light. He’d have to cover the graves with rocks. Otherwise, coyotes would sniff out the corpses and have easy digging. Collecting stones would be the hardest part. He guessed he could leave that for morning. The important thing now was to cover the bodies.

  Determined to be finished before Daphne awakened, he went to work, consoling himself with the thought that he could sleep late in the morning. Digging with a short spade was always a back breaker. David couldn’t put much of his weight behind the blade. It was all arm and shoulder work, but with grim determination, he dug the holes—not as deeply as he would have with a proper shovel, but deep enough to satisfy the Lord.

  That accomplished, he turned his attention to the men. He’d shot one of them right between the eyes, a fine piece of work, nasty as the result was. He had Ace to thank for that. If not for all those hours of practicing with six-shooters as a boy, he’d be the one going into a hole. No gladness lifted his heart. He had killed before and probably would again, but there’d never be any joy in it for him. Although these men had made the decision to come after him, and he’d had no choice but to fight, there was a lump in his chest, making him feel as if he’d swallowed a rock. Long ago, Ace had tried to explain how being a gunman had eaten at his soul. David hadn’t understood back then, but over time, he’d come to feel exactly the same way. Each time he took another human life, something way deep within him felt as if it died, too.

  He crouched over the big fellow’s body, his nostrils burning at the stench. He needed to relieve each man of his personal effects. Maybe in the doing, he’d learn their names and could notify their families.

  The fire had burned low by the time Brianna slipped from bed, carefully repositioning the blankets over her sleeping child. Then she crept to the copse where she knew David toiled, digging graves. It was slow going for her, walking over uneven ground in the dark. Maybe he could see like an owl at night, but she couldn’t. Even so, she wanted to help.

  When she pushed past the bushes to reach the area where he’d dragged the bodies, she stood frozen until her eyes adjusted and she was able to see more clearly.

  “What are you doing here, Shamrock?” he asked matter-of-factly, telling Brianna that his hearing was as sharp as his vision. “This is no sight for a lady.”

  Shock. Brianna had seen only one corpse, her sister’s, but Moira had been as beautiful in death as she had been in life. These men—oh, dear God. Even blurred by shadows, the damage done by the bullets was hideous. The back of one man’s head looked as if a huge animal had taken a bite out of it. Her stomach lurched. She swallowed convulsively. So very much blood. The smell of it, along with the stink of the men’s unwashed bodies, hit her nose. It took all her self-control not to gag. A sweet, metallic odor prickled on her tongue and gathered at the back of her throat.

  Not wishing to embarrass herself by vomiting, she shifted her gaze from the bodies, sprawled in unnatural angles on the grass, and focused on David. Stunned disbelief washed over her in waves. He was emptying the dead men’s pockets.

  “Wh-what are you doing?” she cried.

  He jerked—with guilt?—and turned to look at her. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”

  “You just killed those men, and now you’re going through their pockets?”

  “Go back to camp, Shamrock. I don’t want you seeing this.”

  “These men, you mean? Or that you’re relieving them of all their valuables?”

  “They’ll have no need for any of this where they’re going,” he said calmly. “Go back to camp, Brianna, like I said.”

  “But you’re—this is despicable, the lowest, most immoral thing a man can do. You’re robbing corpses!”

  He looked up at her again. “I’m what?”

  “You heard me.” Brianna swung her hand at the piles of valuables. “I thought—well, I was starting to think—”

  He sat back on his bootheel. “You were starting to think what?”

  “That you were different! That maybe, at long last, I’d finally met a man I could trust! And now this? It’s worse than grave robbing! These men died at your hands.”

  He pushed erect and took one step toward her. “Is that what you think? That I’m stealing from them? It’s been one hell of a day, Shamrock. I’m exhausted and in a sour mood. Don’t speak before you think. Do I look like a thief to you?”

  Brianna bit down hard on her lower lip. In her skirt pocket, she still had the money he’d given her earlier. She had spoken without thinking. He’d proven to her in countless ways that he was a good man and as honorable as could be.

  Before she could backtrack and try to recall her accusatory words, he bent to sweep all the loot into his hands and then advanced on her. Grabbing for one of her jacket pockets, he stuffed everything inside—money, coins, watches, and other things she couldn’t identify in the dimness.

  “Take it! You need it a hell of a lot worse than I do. Maybe it’ll save you from digging through other people’s garbage to find morsels of food after I dump your ass off in Denver!” Even with night blindness to hinder her vision, Brianna saw the angry flash of his eyes. “Oh, yeah,” he went on with a snarl in his voice. “I’m finished. I’ve done everything I can to prove myself to you, even putting my life on the line tonight. If you’re still not convinced my stratum is good enough, to hell with you. Did it ever once occur to you that I’m looking for identification? And that if I find some, the money and valuables will go to these men’s families? No! You’ll always think the worst of me.”

  Brianna felt as if he’d given her a double punch in the stomach. He meant to leave her in Denver? Not that she could blame him. She’d had no business saying such an awful thing to him.

  She swallowed hard and found her voice. “I’m sorry. I was wrong to accuse you.” With trembling hands, she collected the things from her coat pocket and pushed them back at him. Coins and a watch plopped at her feet. “I have no need of these valuables.”

  Brianna swung away, caught her foot on a stone, and staggered to right her balance. Then she marched from the copse, blinded now, not by darkness but by tears.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  David kicked furiously at the dirt. For him, it had been an evening filled with regrets. When he’d found Brianna huddled behind a rock just outside of camp, he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion and acted like a complete ass, even threatening to turn her over his knee. Christ. In a temper, he had mush for brains. And to add insult to injury, he’d just jabbed at her about once being reduced to foraging in garbage barrels for food. He knew how prideful she was, and yet he’d thrown the reminder in her face anyway. Again. It wasn’t right to use one of a person’s worst moments in life as a weapon to draw blood. But had he hesitated? Hell, no, and when he’d thrown the words at her, she’d flinched as if he’d slapped her.

  He bundled the valuables in a handkerchief, no longer caring what had come from which man. If he could learn who they were, he’d divide the proceeds evenly among all three families, which seemed fair enough. The bastards had been partners, after all.

  So what if Brianna had accused him of robbing dead men? That was probably how it had looked to her. He had accused her of speaking without thinking, so why hadn’t he kept his temper in check until he’d had time to think? And then, to make him feel even worse, she’d been the one to apologize.

  God, he disgusted himself sometimes. Now she was probably huddled under the blankets with Daphne, battling tears. He made fast work of dragging the dead men over to the holes he’d dug and dumping them in. After he’d shoveled and kicked dirt over the bodies, he jerked off his hat and tried his damnedest to say something reverent over them. Only what? If David had made a single mistake during the lead-swapping contest earlier, he’d be dead right now, and
Brianna’s screams would be piercing the night. Maybe these fellows had once been decent, but somewhere along the way they’d veered way off course.

  He settled for reciting the Lord’s Prayer, then clamped his hat back on his head and jerked at the brim to turn it just right. That was as good as he could do for the bastards. He turned and left the copse, surprised to see that Brianna had kept the fire going and was sitting near the flames. Great. Now he had to dig deep for an apology, a chore he would have preferred postponing until morning, when his brain wouldn’t be foggy with exhaustion and sorrow. Killing was ugly business.

  When she heard his footsteps, she leaned forward to fill a tin cup with coffee. “I kept it hot for you. After doing such a despicable chore, you might welcome some coffee laced with sugar. It boiled too long and got a little strong, but it’s drinkable.”

  David sank onto the grass cross-legged beside her. He accepted the cup and took a sip, hoping the sear would clear his throat so he could speak. Only thing was, he needed some words to say, and he’d never been real handy with them. “Brianna—”

  “Me first,” she interrupted. “It was despicable of me to accuse you of stealing from dead men. I’m sorry I said it, even sorrier that I thought it, however briefly, and I don’t blame you a bit for wanting to dump me off in Denver.”

  David almost groaned. “After I had a minute to think about it, I could see why you thought what you did. I was going through their pockets. It must have looked bad. Just know that wasn’t my purpose. Even polecats have families. It’ll be good if I can notify their next of kin about how they met their end and where they’re planted.”

  “And send them the valuables,” she finished for him. “I can see that now, David. I’m sorry I didn’t right away. Men like that—well, their relatives may be poor. A few dollars here, a gold watch there—that might be very welcome if their families are struggling to get by as I have in the past.”