Scotsman Wore Spurs by Patricia Potter

Author:Patricia Potter
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: West
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

“Drew, wait! Please! Drew!”

Drew heard Gabrielle’s frantic words as he turned away, unable to listen to any more explanations, any more lies.

He lengthened his stride, wanting to outrun the sound of the husky voice that had very nearly stolen his heart.

Andrew Cameron, earl of Kinloch. Such a noble title, he thought bitterly, for a man made the target of so many schemes and lies. After learning of the greatest lie of all, he’d thought he would never be hurt by one again. Expect nothing, and a man could never be hurt.

But now he felt mortally wounded. For without being able to say when or how it had happened, he realized that he had begun to trust Gabrielle. She’d made him start believing in people again, believing that there was honor and loyalty and love, and that he might, at long last, have a piece of them.

Maris Gabrielle Parker had just smashed that assumption into the ground. His brother-in-law Ben and his sister must be an anomaly, the exception that always proved the rule.

It hadn’t been the lies, though he couldn’t quite understand the logic of using lies in search of the truth. No, it wasn’t the lies themselves. What had hurt was the fact she’d believed him capable of murder, that she’d used her body to ensure his betrayal of a friend.

At the remuda, he saddled Beelzebub, so named because he was difficult to control. Damien liked the black horse, but the other drovers avoided him. Drew mounted the sidestepping beast and headed at a full gallop across the river. Once on the other side, he raced over the prairie, determined to outrun the demons pursuing him—the betrayals he’d thought he left behind him in Scotland.

The earl of Kinloch. The fool of Kinloch. He heard his own laughter grabbed by the wind and carried off.

He also heard Gabrielle’s voice: Do you really want to be friend to a murderer?

Damn her.

He spurred the horse, aware of faltering light, of the night encroaching on the open prairie. He didn’t stop until he saw the foam on the horse’s mouth. Dismounting, he began walking the horse to cool him down. He had no idea how far he had ventured from the campsite, nor did he notice his surroundings. He did notice that Beelzebub’s sides were heaving, and as he walked he began looking for water for the overheated horse. In all his life, he had never mistreated a horse, and that he had done so now did not improve his black mood. Damn the devil, he’d ridden the animal nearly to the point of collapse.

He guessed he must be five miles from camp, at least. Beelzebub tried nipping his shoulder, showing his disgust for the night outing, but then the horse neighed, and Drew heard an answering whinny.

He stopped. A horse, or horses, were out there. He drew his rifle from its scabbard on the saddle, and stood still, listening. His eyes scoured the prairie, finding a ravine not twenty feet away, and he walked Beelzebub to the edge.

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