Elizabeth Lane - The Countess and the Cowboy

There were just two robbers, their hats pulled low and their faces masked with bandannas. Slim and erect on their mounts, they could’ve been schoolboys. But there was nothing childish about their weapons—heavy pistols, cocked and aimed.

“Is everybody out?” Eve recognized the nervous voice of the robber who’d ordered them from the coach.

“We are.” Lonigan faced him boldly. Eve remembered the gun under his vest. Did he plan to use it? “As you see, boys, it’s just me and these two good widow ladies. None of us has anything worth stealing. So pack your pistols and go home before somebody else gets hurt.” His eyes flickered toward the wounded guard. “Damned lucky you didn’t kill that man. You could end up swinging by your fool necks.”

Eve glanced at him from beneath her veil. Something didn’t seem right, and suddenly she knew what it was. Lonigan didn’t seem the least bit afraid. He was lecturing the robbers like a stern uncle.

He knew them!

* * *

Lonigan swore silently. He’d told the Potter brothers to lie low and keep things quiet while he was away. What in Sam Hill were they doing holding up the stage, especially in broad daylight? The bandannas couldn’t hide their builds and it sounded as if they hadn’t even tried to disguise their voices. Didn’t the young fools understand what could happen if they were recognized?

When he got them alone, he’d give them the tongue-lashing of their lives. Meanwhile, he needed to get them out of this mess before things went from bad to worse.

“It’s the strongbox we come for,” Newt, the older of the brothers, said. “Throw it down, and we’ll go.”

The driver shook his shaggy head. “Man, there’s no strongbox on this stage.”

“That ain’t what we was told.” This time it was Gideon who spoke. “A box of cash from the Cattlemen’s Association in Cheyenne. They was sendin’ it to hire gunfighters.”

Lonigan suppressed a groan. He’d been in Cheyenne with his ears open, but he’d heard nothing about any cash, nor had he seen any signs of a strongbox when they’d loaded the coach. It had to be a mistake or, more likely, a trap.

A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face. The Potter boys had become part of his secret operation two years ago, after their father was framed and hanged for cattle rustling. They’d long since proved their courage, but they were young and reckless. If someone had planted the rumor about the cash to draw them out, the sheriff’s men could already be on their way to arrest them.

He had to get the boys away from here. But how could he do it without showing his own hand?

The driver shrugged. “There’s no cash on this stage. Look for yourself.”

Newt nodded toward his younger brother. “Go on. I’ll keep ’em covered.”

Gideon dismounted and checked the front boot, where the strongbox was usually kept. He shook his head and moved on to search the rest of the stage. Clint glanced at the two women beside him. Mrs. Simpkins seemed ready to collapse. The countess stood ramrod straight, supporting the terrified woman with one arm.

Looking over, Clint noticed that Newt was staring at the countess, as well. He was the volatile one of the brothers, with a nervous tic and a jumpy trigger finger. Anything could set him off. “I don’t like it when I can’t see folks’ faces,” he snapped. “Lift that veil, lady.”

Hesitating, she glanced toward Clint.

“Do it,” he growled.

Her free hand caught the veil’s lace edge and swept it back.

Clint had resolved not to gape at the woman, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d expected a grim widow approaching middle age. But the countess couldn’t have been much past thirty. Raven hair framed a porcelain face with classic features. Her full, almost sensual mouth was accented by a tiny mole at one corner. When she glanced toward him, the eyes that met his were a startling shade of blue, framed by dark-winged brows and lush black lashes.

Clint bit back a curse. The countess was, without doubt, the most stunning woman he’d ever seen.

Not that her beauty mattered to him either way. He wasn’t looking for a woman, especially not one going to live in the enemy camp. Everything she saw and heard today would go straight back to her brother-in-law, Roderick Hanford. And Hanford was no fool. If he managed to piece things together and realized that Clint recognized the men responsible for nearly shooting up the man’s sister-in-law, they’d all be in trouble.

“The strongbox ain’t here,” Gideon announced. “I looked everyplace, even underneath.”

“Damnation!” Newt spat a stream of tobacco into the dust.

“I’d say you’ve been fooled, boys.” Clint spoke calmly. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll swing those ponies around and head for the tall timber.”

Gideon was back in the saddle. Half turning his horse, he glanced at his brother. “Let’s go,” he said.

But Newt was building to an explosion. Clint knew the signs—the twitching eyes, the shaking hands. The boy could be unpredictable when he was out of control, and the law could be here any minute.

Newt’s pistol quivered in his hand. “We come this far. We ain’t leavin’ empty-handed.”

Clint struggled to curb his anxiety. There was only one thing left to do, and the countess wasn’t going to like it. He fished in his pocket and came up with the ruby ring. “This will make it worth your trouble. Take it and get the hell out of here.”

The countess gasped as Newt leaned down and snatched the ring. Clint exhaled as the two would-be stage robbers wheeled their mounts, spurred them to a gallop and thundered over the crest of a nearby hill. They were safe for now. But those young hooligans had put his whole operation at risk. When he saw them again, he was going to give them Jesse, and he wouldn’t let up till he had some solid answers about who had told them such a damn fool story, and why they’d been thick enough to believe it.

Right now he had other problems—not the least of them a riled woman who wanted a piece of his hide.

“How could you?” The countess’s eyes blazed blue fire. She looked as if she wanted to fly at him and claw his face to bloody ribbons. “First you take my ring so it won’t get stolen! Then you give it to the thieves! That ring was in my late husband’s family for generations. It was all I had left of him! Now it’s gone!”

As she glared up at him, Clint saw tears brimming in her azure eyes. He forced himself to turn aside. Pity for Hanford’s sister-in-law, who probably had more money than all the county’s poor ranch families combined, was an emotion he could ill afford.

“Look at me!” She caught his sleeve. “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

Clint hardened his gaze. “I did what I had to, lady. Would you rather have been shot, or maybe raped? Would you rather they’d hurt someone else?”

“Of course not. But if you think I’m going to let those robbers ride off with my most precious possession you’re sorely mistaken. I’m holding you responsible, Mr. Lonigan. And if I don’t get that ring back, my brother-in-law, Mr. Hanford, has the power to make you pay!”

The mention of Roderick Hanford triggered a surge of bitter fury. Clint fought it back. “Fine,” he snapped, “but that will have to wait. For now, stop caterwauling and make yourself useful. You can look after Mrs. Simpkins while I check the guard and help the driver replace that broken wheel.”

Without waiting for her response, he turned his back on her and strode toward the front of the stage.

* * *

Seething, Eve watched him walk away. It wasn’t so much his argument that had offended her—on the contrary, it made sense that something had been needed to mollify the robbers. But his manner was insufferable. She was the widow of a nobleman, but he’d spoken to her as if she were a backward child. In England, no commoner would have dared address her with such insolence.