A Cowboy's Heart. Liz Ireland

Was he thinking that Night Bird had taken Mary Ann? “Night Bird!” she repeated, the terrible thought attempting to catch hold of her mind like the fleeting memory of a nightmare. Trip stood and then nearly collapsed on wobbly legs, and Oat straightened in his chair, looking truly disturbed for the first time during the whole discussion.

      “Of course!” Trip said.

      But Paulie, after the first shock, wasn’t so certain. She tilted her head, mulling the idea over. “I’ve never heard of Night Bird kidnapping women.”

      Will sent her a dead serious look. He didn’t even have to say it. When it came to a renegade Comanche, a consistent code of behavior couldn’t be expected. “You said yourself that when Night Bird stole your liquor those times, you didn’t even hear him.”

      “Sure, but that was whiskey,” Paulie explained. “Wouldn’t Mary Ann put up more of a fuss?”

      Trip shook his head slowly, in an awed trance of dread at the very idea of Night Bird. “They say those three men he killed didn’t even know what hit them.”

      Paulie frowned. It wasn’t that she didn’t think Night Bird was capable of abduction—it just seemed so unlikely. Texas Rangers had taken care of most of the Indian trouble in these parts. For an Indian to just walk into a man’s house and steal his wife, or ambush her on her way to the outhouse, didn’t seem worth the trouble that he would bring upon himself by such a heinous act. “Wouldn’t there be at least a sign of a struggle? Mightn’t we have heard that someone had seen them somewhere?”

      “Maybe not,” Will said.

      “And what would Night Bird want with Mary Ann anyway?”

      Trip and Will exchanged stony glances, and Oat just looked depressed.

      Paulie shook her head. “I meant, why would he want her specifically? Killing three men is one thing, but he’s bound to know that kidnapping a woman is going to cause big trouble for him.”

      “You bet it is.” Will’s voice was thick with determination.

      A creeping dread began to snake through Paulie’s body.

      The two other men turned to him with questioning glances.

      “I’m going after her,” Will announced.

      “After Night Bird?” Trip asked.

      “After Mary Ann,” Will clarified.

      Oat was startled. “You’re going?”

      “I’ve known Mary Ann a long time, Oat,” Will explained. “I promised her father I’d look after her.”

      “Well, sure,” the old fellow rasped, “but after all, I’m her husband.”

      “Of course, you can come along if you want to,” Will allowed.

      At that suggestion, Oat looked even more startled than before. “What I meant was, I should be the one to go get help.” Even given his marital tie, the old man didn’t look at all eager to chase after a renegade Comanche to find Mary Ann. And who could blame him?

      “There’s no need for you to go anywhere, if you don’t want to,” Will said sharply. “I’ll find her.”

      The room was thick with tension. Paulie felt she was going to pop if she didn’t say something. “Why should either of you go after Night Bird? Oat’s got the right idea. Go fetch the army—or the Rangers. It’s their job!”

      “That’s true,” Trip said.

      “Should I ride all the way to Fort Stockton?” Will asked them. “Why waste precious days while Night Bird might be dragging Mary Ann into Mexico or God only knows where?”

      Because you’ll be killed! Paulie couldn’t voice the fear in her heart. It wasn’t necessary anyway; Will obviously knew the risks involved. So did Oat, who, wisely, was still hesitating. He took his third swig of tequila, bracing himself.

      A kind of hysteria began to build in Paulie. Here she’d been thinking that her problems were almost over—thank ing her lucky stars that Will was back. She’d thought Will would be around for a while, had even fancied the idea that he might develop a yen for her, even if he did think she looked like a crazy lady in her dress. But instead, no sooner had he arrived than he was going to ride off and get himself scalped or worse.

      “You sat there a while ago telling us that people attribute all manner of things to renegades, just to suit their own purposes,” she argued.

      “You think I want to believe that Mary Ann’s been kidnapped?” Will asked.

      His look of accusation was more than Paulie could bear. Of course he. didn’t. No one would, but for Will it was even worse. He might convince Oat that he was running after Mary Ann just because of some promise he’d made to Gerald Redfern, but Paulie knew better. He was in love with Mary Ann. More than Paulie had even suspected, apparently—enough to risk his life for her. But she couldn’t bear the thought of his going. “Bad enough that we have to worry about Night Bird coming after us,” she said, “without us going after him.”

      “Maybe if I go after him, we won’t have to worry anymore.”

      “You won’t have to worry if you get your throat slit like those three other men,” Paulie said, too upset to mince words, “but where does that leave the rest of us?”

      The thought of something happening to Will nearly drove her to distraction, but she faced him, holding back tears.

      Will stared evenly at her, his expression softening. “I’m not going to get killed.”

      He appeared so determined, so sure of himself and of what he had to do, in that instant even Paulie couldn’t imagine Night Bird getting the best of Will Brockett. But Will was a cowboy, not an Indian fighter! Sure he was good with a gun, but so were plenty of army men who had lost their lives to the Indians.

      “Can’t let Will ride off alone,” Oat said out of the blue. Clearly, he’d been off in his own daze struggling with this moral dilemma. “Me being her husband and all.”

      Will stood. “Come or don’t,” he told Oat. “I’m leaving in an hour.” And with that, he turned and strode out of the saloon, headed for Dwight’s mercantile.

      “Guess he’s going to get provisions,” Trip said.

      Paulie felt like running after him, but what purpose would that serve? She wasn’t going to change his mind. Once Will Brockett got it into his head to do something, that something always got done. She caught sight of herself in the mirror behind the bar. Her face was worried and pinched. And suddenly, she looked unbearably silly with her wild hair and her mother’s white dress. She didn’t want Will to ride off remembering her like this.

      She didn’t want him riding off, period. “Watch the bar for me, Trip.” She went back to the narrow stairwell that led to her room above the saloon. Her mind was racing, trying to think of some way to get Will to stay. As she was halfway up the stairs, she heard the sound of Oat gulping down his fourth glass of tequila.

      “Gol-darn it!” he hollered decisively, bolstered by spirits. “I’m a goin’ with him!”

      Poor old man, Paulie thought. Poor Will, too. Oat wasn’t going to be much of a help. She’d feel a lot better knowing Will had somebody along who would really watch out for him.

      Paulie froze for a split second as an idea began to hatch. Why not? Why shouldn’t she follow along with Will? She would be as much use to Will as Oat would!

      As decided as Oat was himself—only more so, because she was sober—Paulie ran the rest of the way up to her room, a blur of white frills and lace, smashing her hoop skirt close to her body as she took the stairs two at a time. Maybe it was a good thing that she looked silly in dresses, she thought, her mood picking up. They sure were a nuisance!

      When Will finally emerged from Dwight’s mercantile, he was