Cowboy Bodyguard (Wild Rose Country Book 4) Read online

  Cowboy Bodyguard

  Wild Rose Country

  Linda Ford

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Western Territories, Canada, in the foothills of the Rockies, 1879

  “What’s this?”

  Birdie Howe jumped half out of her skin at her brother’s roar of anger. She’d been picking flowers from the garden but dropped them as she ran toward the house to see what had caused his shout.

  Harrison stood before the house staring at the door, his fists jammed to his waist and his legs spread in a fighting stance.

  Birdie looked at the door and gasped. A rag doll belonging to her eight-year-old niece, Megan, had been cut from chin to toe, the innards spilling out and the weeping shell nailed to the door.

  Harrison clattered up the steps and yanked down the ruined doll and tossed it to a shelf out of sight in case Megan should return. He turned to glare at Birdie. “Where’s my daughter?”

  “She’s gone to the woods to look for that doll.” Birdie raced in that direction. Was this someone’s sick idea of a joke, or a threat to Megan? A wave of fear washed over her.

  Harrison thundered after her. They entered the stand of trees, following the narrow path.

  Birdie thought she heard the sound of horse hooves. She stopped. “Listen!” Her heart hammered at her throat. Perhaps that was all it had been.

  Harrison ran past her to where Birdie and Megan always played. She dashed after him.

  They broke into a small clearing. Megan ran toward them, her cheeks streaked with tears.

  “Papa.” She threw herself into Harrison’s arms. “A man grabbed me.”

  Harrison held Megan tight and closed his eyes.

  Birdie looked past the pair, thought she saw a movement through the trees but it was too far away for her to be certain.

  “Who was it?” Harrison soothed, still hugging his daughter and stroking her hair.

  “A cowboy.”

  That covered about everyone in the district, Birdie thought.

  “I bit him,” Megan said, puffing her chest with pride. “And he let me go.”

  Harrison turned, gave Birdie a look so full of despair and fear that she squeezed his arm. “She’s safe.” She wondered if Megan might be exaggerating. The cowboy could have simply frightened her with his sudden appearance. Or there might not have been a ‘real’ man at all. Megan had always had a vivid imagination.

  She shook the hopeful thoughts away. The doll nailed to the door had been completely real.

  They returned to the house. Thank goodness, Harrison had moved the doll.

  “Go to your room and play,” Harrison said to Megan.

  “But I can’t find Miss Molly, my dolly.”

  “Forget Miss Molly. I’ll get you another.”

  Megan looked about to argue until something in her father’s expression stopped her, and she trotted to her room.

  Harrison faced Birdie. “Have you seen anything to give you cause to be frightened?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve always considered this a calm, peaceful place.” She had felt safer here on the ranch at the foothills of the Rockies than she ever had back East. There, she’d begun to feel every man leered at her, thinking that as a spinster she would welcome any sort of interest. She blamed Larry Nedler for that notion. She’d been a shy, socially inept twenty-year old when her mother died. After four years of nursing her mother and more time mourning her, Birdie had tried to find her way back into the activities of the community. Larry had thought her age made her desperate and willing to accept inappropriate advances. When he’d become free with his touches, her anger aroused. She hadn’t even ask him to stop the buggy before she’d jumped from it and marched toward home.

  His final words still rang in her ears. Better learn to have a little fun. After all, no man is going to want an old maid.

  Harrison went to the door. “Someone has left a clear message. I don’t intend to stand by and see what he plans next.”

  He called out for one of the hands crossing the yard by the barn. When the young cowboy hurried over, Harrison said, “Mount up. Go to the line cabin on the west side of the property and tell Clay I need him. And get someone to saddle up my horse and bring it to the house.”

  Clay? In the two years she’d been there, she’d never heard of him. That was odd because the line cabins were for cowboys in the summer when the distant boundaries of the ranch had to be patrolled to keep the cattle from wandering too far. Normally the cowboy would move to the ranch for the winter. Or pursue other interests. What was special about this Clay that he was the first person Harrison sought to help him?

  Perhaps the man was an excellent tracker and would follow the trail left by the man who caught Megan. That had to be it. Some wizened old man who had spent too many years wandering the West and come to roost under Harrison’s employ.

  * * *

  Clay Fisher stuck his rifle in the scabbard, threw his few belongings into a sack and tossed them into the saddlebag. He returned to the little shack that had been his home for two years and glanced around. Harrison would be sending someone else to ride the boundary until Clay could return. The man would bunk here. Clay tried not to think of another’s presence as an intrusion. The shack didn’t belong to him.

  His glance around the small space revealed nothing that would provide anyone a clue as to his identity or his interests. He’d left the few books Harrison had provided, which he’d read until they were worn and dog-eared. Clay returned to his faithful horse, Buck, who was prancing with eagerness for a trip.

  “Don’t get too excited, old boy, we’re not going far.” Just down to the ranch house where Harrison Howe lived. Two years ago, the man had found Clay sitting on the side of the trail, lost in his misery and sorrow. Back then, his clothes hadn’t seen care and cleaning in so long, they’d likely offended all but the most trail-battled cowboys. Folks had passed him right by, but Harrison had stopped, dragged Clay to his feet, set him on his horse, brought him home, and cleaned him up. He’d listened to Clay’s sorry story then outfitted him and sent him to the line cabin, telling him he could stay as long as he wanted. Clay rode the western boundary of the ranch all summer and trapped all winter, though he put less effort into the latter than the former. Harrison insisted on paying him.

  “A fair day’s wage for a fair day’s work. I know my cattle are safe so long as you’re up here.” More importantly, Harrison had never told anyone of Clay’s reputation or his whereabouts and Clay had enjoyed his solitude.

  This message from Harrison asking for help, was Clay’s chance to pay back his debt to Harrison. He patted his saddle bag and hoped whatever Harrison asked of him wouldn’t require the use of his pistol.

  Clay’s dog, Mutt, lay with his head on his paws watching Clay’s every move.

  Clay swung into the saddle. “You coming, Mutt?”

  The dog sprang to its feet and trotted at Buck’s side, looking up with a grin as if Clay didn’t bring the dog every time he left the cabin.

  Harrison’s message had been urgent but Clay knew better than to gallop over the rough ground. He kept up a steady pace as he rode down the hills, the rugged Rockies to his back. He’d only visited Harrison’s home twice before, once when Harrison dragged his sorry body out there and once to deliver a stack of furs for Harrison to sell.

  He passed the corrals, the ou
tbuildings, a bunkhouse with the floor of the verandah well-worn from the passage of many pairs of booted feet. A cookhouse stood next to it with a cabin behind. The flowers at the two windows of the cabin made Clay think a woman lived there.

  A cowboy peered at him from the barn. Mutt growled.

  “Quiet. We’re visitors here.”

  Mutt hunched forward, offended even though Clay had spoken kindly.

  They continued onward to the ranch house. His keen senses took in every detail. The trees growing along the nearby river. A scattering of cut flowers along the path to the garden, a well-kept garden with plenty of thriving vegetables, the wide porch surrounding the house swept clean as if a wind had blasted through. A breeze rippled the curtains at the window.

  Harrison’s wife had died some time back. Clay couldn’t say exactly when, only that it was before Clay had taken up residence in the little line shack. Seems Harrison must have found a woman to run his place because he knew Harrison had neither time nor skill to present such a welcome.

  A horse stood before the house, dusty from having been ridden.

  As he dismounted, Harrison came to the door. “Glad to see you. Come on in.”

  Clay motioned for Mutt to stay with Buck and followed Harrison, ducking his head as he crossed the threshold. He removed his hat. The delicious scent of roast beef made his mouth water. He straightened to look directly into a pair of brown, watchful eyes belonging to a woman probably close to his own age of thirty-two. She wore her blond hair pulled back in a severe bun, making her brown eyes seem large and full of caution.

  “Birdie, this is Clay Fisher,” Harrison said. “Clay, meet my sister, Miss Birdie Howe. She takes care of Megan.” Beyond Miss Howe was a table surrounded by six chairs, where the child sat watching them all.

  The child had hair the color of faded old grass tied in two bundles on either side of her head. Her blue eyes sparkled like sunshine on water, and the grin she gave him was so full of mischief and joy and life that he couldn’t help but smile back at her.

  “You remember my daughter, Megan,” Harrison said.

  Clay didn’t really but thought it best not to admit to it.

  “We need to talk.” Harrison waved Clay forward. “Have a seat.” Harrison’s voice held a steely edge.

  Miss Birdie stepped to the cupboard in the small kitchen. “Would you care for coffee? Supper will be ready shortly.”

  “Coffee is fine.” He pulled out a chair and sat, glad to know he’d get to taste the savory meat he smelled.

  A cup of steaming coffee was set before him. Clay took a couple of swallows, wondering again why Harrison had summoned him.

  Harrison pushed aside his cup. “This afternoon someone tried to take Megan.”

  Megan scooted forward. “He did take me.”

  “She got free,” Harrison added, his voice hard.

  “I bit him,” Megan said.

  Harrison wrapped his hands about his coffee cup, his knuckles white as old bone. “Megan, would you go to your room and play?”

  Megan looked ready to argue. Then she pushed to her feet, put her little fists on her hips and turned with a huff. As she marched away, she said, “A body could die in her bedroom and no one would bother to care.”

  Clay ducked his head to hide his smile. No need to wonder how she felt about being excluded from the conversation.

  Harrison waited until the door closed behind his daughter to continue. “Like I said, someone grabbed Megan this afternoon. But that’s not all.” Harrison went to a cupboard and pulled down a rag. He handed it to Clay. “Found this nailed to the door.”

  Clay blinked as he recognized it as a doll, slashed to shreds. “Someone hates you?”

  “There’s been a few things out on the ranch too. A steer killed and left to rot. One waterhole poisoned. The men noticed it before any harm was done. Seems someone wants me to know they’re mad, though I can’t say why or who.”

  “You want me to ride the range and see what I can discover?”

  “No.” Harrison put the torn doll back on top of the cupboard out of sight. “I want you to guard my daughter and my sister while I go find the person or persons responsible.” His jaw muscles bunched. “I’ve already searched around the place but I’ll be looking farther afield starting tomorrow.”

  Clay sat back as if someone had nailed him to the chair. Play nursemaid to a woman and child? No way. Not after losing Mary and the baby.

  Miss Birdie bolted to her feet.

  “I don’t need a man following me around. I can look after myself and Megan.” Her eyes fair blazed with resolve.

  A smile tickled the back of Clay’s thoughts at the idea of seeing a gun belt around her hips. Oh, how he admired a woman with some grit. At least, he once had. But now he knew how dangerous grit could be in a frail female.

  * * *

  Birdie faced the two men, anger and resentment stinging her eyes. Why didn’t Harrison trust her to look after Megan? And since when did she need a…a nursemaid?

  And who in the world was the person, this Clay Fisher?

  He pushed to his feet, and stared at her across the table with eyes so black and probing that she fought an urge to grab a shawl and wrap it about herself.

  She turned to Harrison. “I can shoot. You taught me yourself.” And she’d sharpened her skills in the years after Larry and the rumors he’d spread. That scary moment in his carriage had proved to her that she never wanted to be defenseless.

  Harrison shook his head. “It’s one thing to shoot at tin cans, another to outdraw and outshoot a man.”

  “You’d need a gun.” Clay’s harsh tone scratched along Birdie’s nerves.

  She dug in her pocket and pulled out her derringer. “I have a gun.” She palmed it to show both men. She carried it with her whenever they were out and about.

  “A derringer.” Clay’s voice was deadly calm, but he might as well have laughed.

  “A two-shot derringer.”

  Harrison planted his fists on the table. “I’m not leaving the protection of Megan to a gun the size of my fist. Besides, for all we know, you could be in danger too.” He turned to Clay as if the matter had been settled. “You’ll do this for me, won’t you?”

  The matter was far from settled as far as Birdie was concerned, but when Harrison mentioned Megan, Birdie snapped her mouth closed. She’d learned that when it came to his daughter, Harrison was immovable.

  The men stared at each other. It was hard to know if Clay had even heard Harrison’s question as he was as still as a wooden statue. The atmosphere changed, and she held her breath feeling as if she were watching a silent war.

  Clay tipped his head a fraction of an inch. “I’ll do it.”

  Harrison held out his hand, and the men shook on their agreement.

  Cosette, Harrison’s housekeeper, slipped in the back entrance. “Time to eat.”

  Birdie called Megan to join them, and the child marched into the room, crossed her arms over her thin chest, and faced them.

  “You done talking about me?”

  Birdie and Cosette exchanged smiles.

  Harrison laughed. “Never going to be done talking about you, sweetheart. Come and give your old pa a hug.”

  Megan instantly forgot her displeasure and raced across the room to throw herself into Harrison’s arms. He tickled her and rubbed his bristly chin against her cheek. Megan squealed with delight.

  Birdie turned from the scene, and her gaze collided with Clay’s. She’d expected to see amusement, perhaps a little surprise. But what she saw sent a cold chill through her.

  Clay’s jaw muscles clenched, and his eyes filled with emotion she couldn’t identify—anger, pain? Or was it bitterness?

  She shuddered and turned away. She couldn’t imagine having this man watch her every move, follow her every step. Why would Harrison ask a man with such dark feelings to watch over Megan?

  Chapter 2

  Clay wouldn’t look at Harrison with his little girl, but he
couldn’t block the love they shared from his mind. He’d once dreamed of the sort of life his friend had. Sure, Harrison had lost his wife, so it wasn’t all roses and rainbows. But he had a daughter, a home, and an atmosphere of love.

  Clay felt someone watching him and looked into the dark eyes of Miss Birdie. She jerked away from his gaze as if stung. She was clearly frustrated that she’d have to put up with him simply because his gun was bigger than hers. And faster, though nobody but Harrison knew that. But he worried she might have read something in his gaze that had bothered her that moment when he let the past slip into his present.

  He wouldn’t let the memories intrude again. The past was dead and forgotten. It would not be resurrected. He would protect Megan and her aunt. His debt to Harrison would be paid, and he would be free to go wherever he wanted. The trouble was, he could think of no place he wanted to go but back to the barren line shack.

  The Metis woman set food on the table then slipped out the back. “I go feed my man.”

  “Thanks, Cosette,” Miss Birdie called, her voice sweet and cheerful. Such a contrast to the angry tones he’d heard a short time ago.

  He watched Miss Birdie from the corner of his eye. In order to protect the pair, he would have to endure her company. An inconvenience. Nothing more.

  Harrison and Megan took their seats. “I’ll ask the blessing,” Harrison said.

  Clay bowed his head when the others did.

  The prayer ended, and the food was passed from hand to hand. The adults focused on the food, but Megan managed to talk between bites.

  “Papa, did you see the bald eagle today?”

  “Saw him soaring over the nest. Should be babies by now.”

  “Can we go see them?” The child squirmed.

  “Best we leave them be. You can watch them from the river.”

  Megan half rose.