Dashing Druid (Texas Druids)

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  * * *

  DASHING DRUID

  By

  Lyn Horner

  CHAPTER ONE

  Bosque County, Texas; July 1874

  “Consarned critter! Why’d you have to go and get stuck in there?” Lil Crawford muttered. She tugged harder on her rope in an effort to pull the bawling calf from the mud wallow it had wandered into. No luck. The animal was mired nearly up to his shoulders in thick clay gumbo. No matter how hard she pulled, she wasn’t going to get him out.

  Nearby, standing beside the creek that had carved out the treacherous wallow along the bank, the calf’s mamma lowed plaintively as if blaming Lil for her baby’s predicament.

  “It’s not my fault,” Lil said, sending her a baleful glare. “You should’ve dropped him in the spring like you’re supposed to ’stead of in the middle of summer. Then maybe he’d be big enough to climb out of this dang mud.”

  Arms crossed, she studied the situation. She considered letting Major, her buckskin gelding, drag the calf out but feared injuring the little mite, possibly even breaking his neck. She sighed in disgust. There was no help for it; she’d have to get down in the mud and wrestle the calf out. It was either that or leave him there to die a slow, miserable death.

  Dropping to the ground, she tugged off her boots and socks. She set them near the edge of the wallow, then rose, unbuckled her gun belt and laid it atop her footgear, where she could reach her six-shooter if need be. Her hat joined the pile for good measure.

  Lil took a deep breath, set her teeth and stepped into the wallow, cringing as she sank up to her knees in the gooey muck. It squished between her toes and clung to her legs, plastering her britches to her skin. It also stank of rotting grass and other things she’d as soon not name.

  Crooning softly to the frightened calf, she wrapped her arms around his middle, coating her hands, arms and shirt with mud in the process. She braced herself, preparing to wrestle the animal free.

  A man’s deep-throated laugh caught her off guard. Jolted by the sound, she cried out in surprise and struggled to turn around, fighting the mud that imprisoned her legs. Once she succeeded, she stared, slack-jawed, at the stranger grinning at her from atop the most broken down nag she’d ever laid eyes on. The dude himself was a sight to behold. Togged out in a funny checked suit, with a derby hat atop jet-black hair, he made her lips twitch. However, her humor fled when she met his eyes. Brilliant blue, they shot sparks of light, brighter than the toothy grin splitting his handsome face.

  “Sure’n I must be dreaming,” he said in a lilting Irish brogue. “Or are ye truly a lovely faery maid sent to enchant me?”

  His foolish question broke Lil’s frozen stare and roused her anger. She knew she was far from lovely, and right now she was covered with nasty muck besides. “Mister, I’m no fairy and I don’t take kindly to strangers who ride up on me with no warning. So you can just turn that bag of bones around and git. Right now!”

  “Ah, colleen, will ye not grant this poor beggar a few moments of your company? ’Twould be my pleasure to help ye with the wee animal if ye like.”

  She snorted at his offer. “No thanks. I can get him out by myself. ’Sides, you wouldn’t want to muddy up your fancy suit, would you?” she drawled with a smirk.

  He looked down at himself and grimaced. “I take it ye don’t care for my fine attire.” Fine came out sounding like foin. “Well, you’re not the first. A layer of mud might not be such a bad thing, eh? With that in mind, will ye not reconsider and allow me to lend ye a hand?” He gave another roguish grin and splayed a hand over his heart. “In truth, your beauty so captivates me that I fear I cannot turn away.”

  Lil bristled at his absurd comment. Certain he was making fun of her now, for her beauty would never captivate any man, she narrowed her eyes. She’d teach him, by criminy!

  Without a word, she plowed through the mud over to where her belongings lay piled. She hastily wiped the worst of the mud from her hands onto the grassy embankment, then reached under her hat and drew her Colt. Coldly calm now, she turned to face the impudent stranger. It pleased her to see how fast he sobered with a gun aimed between his eyes.

  “This is Double C land, mister. You’re trespassing. I could shoot you dead and nobody’d blame me. So, unless you want a hole in your head bigger than your mouth, you’d best get moving.”

  Sighing, he crooked his lips. “As ye wish.” He tipped his hat to her, clumsily reined his horse around and started to leave, but then he pulled up and glanced at her over his shoulder. He held up his hands when she cocked her gun. “I’m going, colleen, never fear. But first, could ye be directing me to the Taylor place, by any chance?”

  Lil stared at him for a moment while questions raced through her head. Normally, she didn’t poke her nose into other folks’ business, but in this case . . . . “What do you want at the River T?” she demanded.

  He frowned testily. “I mean no harm, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m merely trying to find my sister. She’s wed to David Taylor. D’ye know him?”

  Lil drew a sharp breath. “You’re Jessie’s brother?”

  “Aye, that I am. So ye do know them.”

  “I know them all right,” she gritted. She should’ve guessed who he was from his damned Irish accent and those blue eyes that were so much like his sister’s. The two looked a lot alike in other ways, too, except Jessie’s hair was dark red instead of black. And he was handsome, not beautiful.

  Fiddlesticks! She didn’t care what he looked like. And she didn’t cotton to the way he was staring at her now, as if he was trying to see inside her head. It gave her an uneasy feeling. She wanted him gone. If giving him directions would get rid of him, so much the better.

  “Follow the creek. It’ll take you to their place,” she snapped, jerking her head in the downstream direction. “Now leave before my trigger finger slips. On purpose.”

  He blinked and seemed to come back to himself. “I thank ye for your kind assistance, milady,” he said mockingly. Facing forward, he kicked his sorry mount into a stiff-legged trot and headed down the creek, bouncing in his saddle.

  Watching him, Lil snickered. He was a greenhorn if ever there was one, and he was going to be mighty sore tonight. She waited until he was well out of sight before laying her gun aside and returning her attention to the mired calf.

  By lifting and shoving with all of her might, she finally muscled the loudly complaining critter onto dry ground. Once there, she, not he, made straight for her mother. Without a backward glance or a single moo of gratitude, the pair trotted off in search of greener pastures. Not that there was much green grass to be found anywhere on the range at this time of year, Lil thought as she set about cleaning herself up.

  A quick dunk in the creek rid her of most of the mud. Climbing out, she slapped her hat on, slung her gun belt over her saddle and mounted up barefoot, toting her boots to save them from getting wet. Then she directed Major toward her favorite swimming hole, about a mile upstream. She wanted more
of a bath before heading home.

  As she rode, she couldn’t help thinking about her run-in with Jessie Taylor’s pesky brother. Still angry over his mocking remarks about her so-called beauty, she also found herself wondering if he was here for a short visit or if he meant to stay. Did David and Jessie know he was coming? Then she wondered what his name was. Wait, she’d heard Jessie’s maiden name once. It started with D. Doyle? No. Dillon? No. Devlin! His last name was Devlin. Not that it mattered.

  * * *

  Tye Devlin rode away from the gun-wielding female, awash in despair that didn’t spring from his own lamentable thoughts. This flood of emotion emanated from the prickly, mud-covered colleen. It had overwhelmed all of his carefully wrought barriers, causing him to stare at her in disbelief, until she again ordered him to leave. Incredibly, her intense reaction had burst forth when he identified himself as Jessie’s brother. Why, he had no idea. He regretted causing her pain but saw no way to make amends. His attempts to charm her had only made her angry. If he turned and rode back now, she’d probably shoot him before he could offer an apology. Moreover, if he mentioned her private pain, she would surely question how he knew about it, and he wasn’t about to explain his gift to a stranger, no matter how enchanting she was.

  All that aside, he had enough trouble living with his own painful burden. He couldn’t deal with anyone else’s right now. All he wanted to do was see Jessie and make sure she was happy with her new life. If she was, perhaps he’d find a wee bit of peace.

  He wondered what kind of reception lay in store for him. Jessie would be glad to see him, he didn’t doubt, but David might feel differently. Tye knew he should’ve written to say he was coming, but he hadn’t made up his mind to visit them until he was halfway here. Where he’d go next, he didn’t know. Not back to Colorado, to the mines. Never that! The Tommyknockers had let him escape once, but he doubted they’d be so generous again.

  Tom Pearce had blamed every freak mining accident on those wicked elvish spirits. Even though Tye knew they were surely a myth, he’d picked up the same habit from his partner. His stomach knotted as he thought of the superstitious Cornishman, and he smiled sadly to himself. Tom had often accused him of having the luck o’ the Irish, another old wives’ tale.

  “Ha! Curse o’ the Irish is more like it,” he muttered.

  Guilt washed through him for the part he had played in Tom’s death. Memories of the deadly cave-in and its aftermath flashed through his brain, bringing with it a flood of terror. He broke out in a cold sweat and labored for breath, as if he were in the black pit again, about to suffocate.

  No! He mustn’t lose control now, when he was about to face Jessie. She’d worry and ask questions, and he couldn’t speak of it, not even to her. Desperate to hold the darkness at bay, he thought of sunlight on copper-gold cheeks that turned dusky rose with anger. Aye, better to think of her, his reluctant guide. She had made him forget the terror and guilt for a few moments. Perhaps he should be grateful for the confused directions he’d been given back in Clifton, the dusty little town where he’d rented his ancient steed. Otherwise he wouldn’t have gotten lost and he never would have met the fascinating, bad-tempered vixen.

  His first sight of her standing knee-deep in mud, trying to rescue a helpless calf, had awakened his buried sense of humor. It had also tugged at his heart. She’d brought to mind a guardian spirit – a faery maid – out to save her charge. Then she had turned around, allowing him to see her beautiful face and flashing dark eyes. He’d been instantly captivated.

  He wished she had allowed him to help her free the calf, but her wariness was understandable. After all, she didn’t know him from Adam. Now, having felt her flood of unhappy emotions when he told her who he was, he doubted she would ever want to know him. Did it matter? He’d probably never see her again anyway, since he didn’t expect to remain around here for long. Too bad, because he would really like to win a smile from her. Damnú! He hadn’t even learned her name. But David and Jessie would surely know who she was, since she was obviously a neighbor. With new eagerness, he shook the reins and nudged his tired steed forward.

  * * *

  Lil reached the swimming hole within minutes. Formed by a tight bend in the creek, the small cove was surrounded by trees, making it her favorite bathing spot. She punched cattle alongside the Double C hired hands and considered them her friends, but she wasn’t about to strip down and go swimming with them. This was her place, and since they all knew that, she never worried about anyone intruding on her privacy.

  Quickly peeling off her filthy garments, she washed herself clean, then scrubbed the remaining mud from her clothes and draped them over a low-hanging tree branch. Even in the afternoon heat, it would take them a while to dry, so she might as well relax. Releasing her long hair from its confining braid, she shook it out and slipped into the cool water. She sighed with pleasure as she lay back and floated on the gentle current. Closing her eyes against sunlight filtering through the leafy canopy above, she let her thoughts drift back to her encounter with Jessie Taylor’s brother.

  “No-account Irishman!” she grumbled. “He had no call to poke fun at me just cuz I ain’t all dainty ’n pretty like his pale-faced sister.” With her fiery hair, ivory skin and curvaceous figure, Jessie was everything that Lil was not. “She’s not a skinny tomboy who doesn’t know how to be a woman,” she sneered, bitterly repeating the insult David Taylor had once hurled at her. His words still cut like a knife.

  “Fool!” she hissed, recalling the day she’d tracked him down to speak her peace after he’d finally returned home two years ago, with a Yankee bride. She shouldn’t have let him see how much he’d hurt her, but her pain and anger had busted loose like a stampeding herd. She might as well have been fourteen again, learning he’d run off to fight for the Union without even telling her good-bye. Mercy, how she’d cried over him back then!

  For years afterward, she had told herself that if only she’d had time to finish growing up, if the war hadn’t come along, she would’ve been David’s wife. She’d secretly prayed that he would return for her someday. But he’d set her straight about that, hadn’t he – after she punched him in the jaw. She’d tried to scratch his eyes out, too, before he trapped her hands. Just as furious as she was by then, he’d told her bluntly that he never would have married her. He’d never loved her, had never seen her as more than a friend.

  Neither had any other man over the years, leastways none she could abide. And she didn’t expect any miracles now, at her age. Come September, she’d be twenty-seven. She was an old maid, bound to go through life alone.

  She sighed heavily. David was right, she didn’t know how to be a woman. Most of the time she wore britches and did a man’s job, but even in skirts she wasn’t the kind of female men hankered after. She wasn’t much for cooking and sewing, she didn’t like fussing with her hair and hated wearing a corset. And she refused to simper and flutter her eyelashes like a brainless ninny to attract a man. The very idea disgusted her.

  Of course it didn’t help that she’d turned out tall and lanky like her pa, taller than a lot of the men she knew. Besides that, her jaw was too square, her chin too strong and her nose, why, it actually had a tiny hook to it. And then there was her coppery skin, the reason David had nicknamed her “Little Red” when she was a bitty tyke. He’d always said it kind of fond like, but sometimes she wondered if he truly looked down on her for being a quarter Cherokee.

  Sighing again, Lil ordered herself to let it go. If a man, any man, didn’t like her the way she was, he wasn’t worth having. Her roiling thoughts gradually slowed and her eyelids grew heavy. She ought to get out of the water before she fell asleep.

  The next thing she knew, she awoke in a panic, sucking in water. After floundering for a second or two, she thrashed upward and broke the surface coughing. Planting her feet on the shallow creek bottom, she continued to cough and gasp for breath while fighting to push aside the veil of wet dark hair that blocked her
vision.

  Once she could breathe easily again, she waded from the creek on shaky legs, cursing her own stupidity. She’d nearly drowned herself, for criminy’s sake! Glancing at the sky, she noticed how far west the sun had moved. It was near suppertime. She needed to get home.

  She took a moment to wring water from her hair, then grabbed her damp clothes off the tree branch and wiggled into them. After jamming her feet into her boots, she belted on her gun, thinking how glad she’d been to have it close at hand back at the mud wallow. Without it, gosh knows what that lying, honey-tongued Irishman might have tried. She knew from her mother’s stories that a woman didn’t necessarily have to be pretty to end up raped, maybe dead. Was Devlin the kind to force a woman? She didn’t know and didn’t care to find out.

  Hastily finger-combing her damp hair, she slapped on her wide-brimmed hat and tramped over to where Major stood grazing on dry yellow grass. Once mounted and clear of the surrounding trees, she urged him into a gallop toward home.

  * * *

  Following the creek as directed, Tye eventually rounded a bend in the rolling landscape and spied his goal. He reined in his horse and gazed at the valley stretching out before him. In the distance sprawled a ranch house, barn and adjacent dwellings. This must be it, the River T. The buildings were constructed of logs and some kind of stone. With the tree-lined creek forming a dark backdrop, the scene made a pretty picture in the red hues of sunset.