Page 11 of Promised by Post

He gave a nod that nearly toppled him over.

  Giving him an opening to explain or apologize, she said, “I expected you to pick me up in Stockton. I thought that was the plan.”

  “No,” said Rafael.

  “I would have thought...” She would have thought he would have wanted to see her, been just a wee bit eager, but, no, he’d stayed home and gotten drunk. Her mouth tightened.

  “Thought what?” prompted Daniel.

  Some drunks were mean. Would Rafael be one of those? “You’re not what I expected from your letters.”

  Rafael flashed a smile, but it never reached his narrowed eyes before it was gone. “And you’re more...spirited than I knew.” He pushed away from the wall, then weaved before plunking back against it with a grunt. His brow knit. “Hear you...shot a man.”

  She gasped. Cold water thrown in her face wouldn’t have shocked her more. She turned toward Daniel. He had the grace to look away. He’d not only ignored her request but hadn’t warned her he’d already told Rafael first when he’d brought it up.

  “Did you even wait five minutes before telling?”

  He couldn’t have.

  “Guess not,” Daniel said. He glared at his brother even as he moved closer to him.

  Of course his loyalty was to his brother, but after he’d just told her he protected his own and she was part of that circle, his betrayal was a punch to the gut.

  Well, that was how it was to be, then. She stiffened her shoulders and looked back at her future husband.

  Rafael looked on the verge of being ill.

  “I hope you’re not a mean drunk.”

  “Of course he isn’t.” Daniel leaped to his brother’s defense. Like her own brothers, they might be angry with each other, but they would defend each other to the death if any outsider stood against them.

  Rafael squinted at her. She supposed he was waiting for some justification from her. If she planned to make this work, she couldn’t just smack him for being drunk or making spirited sound like a defect.

  “The men in the stagecoach were missing their shots,” she explained. “I had to do something.”

  “No need...to shoot...anymore. I’m a crack shot.” Rafe puffed as if the words had required a great deal of effort. How much had the man drunk? “And Danny alwaysh hi’s his targets, don’t you?”

  “Usually,” muttered Daniel.

  “I’ll protect...you.” Rafael lifted the hand he’d braced against the wall and waved it expansively. “No one will get...you...here.”

  His knees buckled, and he scrabbled at the wall.

  Scowling, Daniel caught his brother. “I need to put him back to bed.”

  “Yes, do that,” said Anna. “I find I am tired, too.”

  She spun back and headed to the room with her trunk. Halfway there she pivoted. Both the brothers stared at her, while Daniel appeared to bear Rafael’s weight.

  As Daniel had said, they were much alike. Same build, similar height, same dark hair and eyes. Daniel’s face was squarer and his jaw stronger. Rafael appeared slightly more classically handsome with high cheekbones and a smoother brow. Although anything he gained by reason of his appearance, he lost in her esteem by getting drunk before greeting the woman who’d traveled over the breadth of the country to be his wife. And if he thought she was too spirited or she shouldn’t shoot, well, he’d just have to learn a thing or two.

  “I want my rifle with me.” She folded her arms. “Where is it?”

  “What rifle?” asked Rafael. “Why’s she have a rifle?”

  “The rifle the robber dropped,” Daniel said. “The sheriff gave it to her. Some folks appreciate good shooting.”

  She thought Daniel might have whispered something more to his brother, but she wasn’t certain.

  Rafael lurched forward, then stumbled. “You don’t need a gun.”

  Daniel steadied him.

  “It is mine. You are in no condition to fire a weapon. And you have no right to tell me what to do. Yet.” Good grief, if she let him make her angry, he might decide not to marry her at all.

  “Hey,” protested Rafael.

  Daniel shook his brother. “For what it is worth, Rafe is sorry he couldn’t pick you up in Stockton. He said as much before you knocked on the door.”

  The apology—belated as it was—came from the wrong brother. She wasn’t certain she believed Daniel, but he was at least aware of her disappointment, whereas Rafael probably wasn’t aware of too much. Her betrothed was a drunkard.

  Suddenly her body felt made of lead and too heavy to hold upright. After weeks of traveling in a stagecoach night and day, she should be thrilled merely to have a bed to sleep in. But the thought of having shot a man and quite possibly mortally wounding him left her restless.

  She told herself it could be worse. She could have killed the robber outright. Or Rafael could be an ugly, mean drunkard and he could have lied to her about owning a ranch.

  On the bright side, it did appear that meals were readily had—that was an improvement over her life in Connecticut, even if the food was strange. The house was much larger than she’d expected, big enough to leave open ground in the middle. And there was a lot of land. Daniel must have the right of it. Tomorrow everything was bound to look better, and she’d have the day to get to know her fiancé.

  She would marry Rafael. Even if he wasn’t what she hoped, life with him would be better than what she’d come from.

  “It is my rifle now, and I want it. Is it still in the wagon? I’ll go get it.”

  “I’ll bring it to you,” said Daniel. “After I get him to bed.”

  Rafael grunted and wobbled.

  Daniel braced a foot and pushed him back upright.

  She had seen strong drink affect her father and brothers. More so since life seemed to keep throwing them punches and they couldn’t find the security they’d enjoyed back in the old country.

  But Rafael owned a large ranch, had a loving and supportive family. What reason had he to drink other than he had had second thoughts about marrying her?

  * * *

  Daniel supposed life had greater ironies than having to hand over your own gun to the woman who’d shot your brother. Or having to steal your own horses so you wouldn’t be suspected in a robbery. Or perhaps being responsible for tracking yourself. Then again, nearly kissing your brother’s future wife, just because she looked in need of a kiss, might top the list.

  Rafael sagged against him. “Hell. Didn’t know...be so dizzy.”

  Daniel pushed him into the room and pulled the door shut. He guided Rafael to the bed. Then, just in case Anna was inclined to eavesdrop, he shut the window to the courtyard. “You rest. You have to get better fast.”

  Rafael eased back, reclining against the headboard. “Hard to breathe.”

  A chill ran down Daniel’s spine. “I’ll go get a doctor.”

  “No.” Rafael glared at him. If Rafe really thought he was dying, he wouldn’t turn down a doctor.

  “Guess you’ve made it this long without—a sawbones will only tell you to rest and quit drinking.”

  Wasn’t as if they needed one to dig out a slug; the shot had gone straight through him. He lifted Rafe’s feet and put them on the bed. His brother was likely just impatient with his weakened state. He wasn’t used to being bed-bound, but an injury like he’d sustained needed time and rest to heal. When the cattle were being branded, gelded or culled for slaughter, Rafe wouldn’t sleep more than an hour or two a night until the work was done. Once when he’d been laid out with a bad case of influenza, he’d kept trying to work until Ma dosed him with enough medicine to make a horse sleep.

  Rafe heaved a couple of breaths. “’Sides, if I die things will be...right.”

  His stomach knotting, Daniel stood by the bed. “No, they won’t. You’ll just mess up everything. So don’t.”

  “Ranch’ll be yours.” He breathed using all his body. He held out his hand. “Don’t let Ma—”

  “Stop it. You’re not going to die.” Daniel took the proffered hand and squeezed. He couldn’t face the idea of going forward without Rafael, so he determinedly shoved the possibility away. His brother had managed to get himself out of bed and stood—well, mostly stood—for a good ten minutes. He wasn’t on death’s doorstep. “Stop being a crybaby.”

  Rafael gripped his hand hard. “Listen.”

  Daniel rolled his eyes and tugged his hand free. Much as he adored his brother, he wanted to shake him. Still, he didn’t need Rafael getting all riled up. He needed him resting and getting better. “What?”

  “Don’t let Ma tell you...shouldn’t be yours.”

  “Okay, Rafe.” Daniel looked over his brother. Rafael’s grip was strong, although his breathing was labored. But surely a man who was going to succumb to a gunshot wound would be worse after twelve hours, not much the same, perhaps even a little better. “You’re just being stupid. Again. You’re not dying. Although you should be after the stunt you pulled.”