Scotsman Wore Spurs by Patricia; Potter Page B

Drew said. “You be careful with that.”
    â€œI’ll pin it to my clothes, right next to my skin,” Ace said with a smile, then added hesitantly. “Scotty …?”
    Drew lifted an eyebrow in question. He and Ace and Juan—the foreigner, the one black, and the Mexican—had shared the worst parts of a cattle drive, and a bond of sorts had grown between them. When Ace held out his hand, Drew sensed how tentative a gesture it was, how fearful he was that the offer would be rejected.
    Drew grinned and grasped the injured man’s hand tightly. “You’ll be back in the saddle in no time.”
    Ace looked skeptical but his handshake was firm. “I’ll never forget what you did,” he said. “Coming back for me like that.”
    â€œAnyone would have done the same, anyone on that drive.” Drew dismissed the sentiment, but he gave the other man’s hand a squeeze before letting go.
    Ace shook his head. “No, not everyone woulda done it. And I’ll always be beholden to you an’ Mr. Kingsley.”
    Inwardly, Drew squirmed with discomfort. He disliked gratitude.
    Ace sighed. “You and me, we never did get to play poker together. That’s how I got the name, you know. I drew a straight the first night I came to Mr. Kingsley’s ranch. Ace high. First time ever.”
    Drew had heard the story several times. But, smiling, he let Ace continue. The injured man obviously wanted to prolong the conversation.
    Drew just nodded. “You’ll do it again. Get some rest now. Take care of yourself. And when the drive is over, I’ll look for you. Leave word with the doctor where you’ll be. If I ever get a ranch, I’ll need a bloody good hand.”
    Ace’s eyes misted slightly. He nodded. “I’ll do that,” he said.
    â€œTake care of yourself,” Drew said.
    â€œYou too, Scotty.”
    Morosely, Drew headed toward the town’s one hotel, his thoughts occupied by Ace and his uncomplaining acceptance of a life marred by injustice and tragedy. The other drovers had ignored Ace, isolating him as they had isolated Drew in the beginning. But they had never accepted Ace as they were gradually accepting Drew. Bloody hell, but he was weary of class and race distinctions. That was one reason he left Scotland. One of the reasons he loathed his title.
    As he reached the hotel, he tried to force all thoughts except sleep from his mind. He’d sell his soul for a hot bath and clean bed. What with a storm, a stampede, and two days in the saddle without sleep, he was as exhausted as he’d ever been. And more confused. For a man who had always considered self-survival and opportunism much-desired virtues, he was finding himself involved in more and more lives.
    Feeling oddly unsettled about the perverse direction his character was apparently taking, he entered the hotel, only to find a disheveled Two-Bits sprawled asleep in a chair. The hat was gone, fallen to the floor, but the grime remained. Still, Two-Bits looked impossibly young—and innocent—with long eyelashes covering those indigo blue eyes that always regarded him so warily. Dirt and dust, though, layered the face, distorting and disguising the lad’s features.
    Damn, but he felt protective of the little imp. And the harder Gabe Lewis tried to reject his protection, the more compelled he felt to offer it. He didn’t understand himself, not at all. He’d decided years ago that caring was for fools; it was usually for naught and bloody well painful to boot.
    The desk clerk was gone, and it appeared as if the small hotel was full. Looking at the bare hooks where keys would normally hang, Drew noted that they were all empty. He leaned down and shook Two-Bits, who stirred a little, then curled back up. Drew shook him a little harder and the lad’s eyes opened slowly. Their blue was glazed by sleep, but an instant later, when he succeeded in focusing