by Jillian Hart
She'd gotten into enough trouble the last and only time she'd been inside that rough, rugged place. At least Judson hadn't turned up in her life again.
What was it about her that she attracted the nefarious types of men? She thought of Brennan and squeezed her eyes shut, drowning in the new wave of pain. Well, maybe he wasn't nefarious. He was rather quality. To the top degree.
She took time to amble out of the barn and down the path, squinting in the warm brush of the gorgeous evening. Tears still fell, but she did he best to take solace in the mustangs. They milled around their roomy corral, scenting the wild winds and racing the perimeter.
They looked at home and not miserable to escape. That was at least something good in a dark day. Two mares took the time to bat their long lashes at her. One of the foals ran up to her side of the fence and, braced on adorable hooves with those stick-like knobby-kneed front legs, watched her with curious eyes. Not quite ready to trust yet, but it was hopeful.
So she retraced her path back toward the house when Orville nickered from his stall door and trotted over, kicking up thistle seeds and pollen and a little dust. He gave her a horse-kiss, knowing she was devastated, and nibbled at her collar to tickle her. He made her laugh, even though more tears leaked out. Apparently not even his love could give her real comfort.
She closed up the barn around twilight, locked the doors and retreated to the house. There was no waking up from the bad dream of her heartbreak. Her heart hurt like she'd taken a bullet, but she kept it hidden from her sister the best she could. No one needed to know how truly destroyed at heart she was.
She breathed a sigh of relief when it was late enough to finally excuse herself to her room. She shut the door, tears rolling down her face. And she let them fall. The wind gently buffeted the screen mesh covering the open window, letting in the fresh breeze and the sounds of the night.
An owl hooted. A coyote called, howling at the moon. She had a perfect view of the bunkhouse, where she'd experienced the greatest pleasure she'd ever known. She remembered him building the frame for the barn, hammering away, chuckling at something she'd said, sun shining. He'd been six feet of handsome manliness, tempting her to fall in love with him.
Now, the desiring for him over, but not out of her body or her being. She watched the stars toss their platinum glow across the meadows and pastures of her ranch, and she felt intensely lonely for him. She did her best to make the sun go down in her heart, to put in shadow her love for him.
A knock on the door started her. Before she could swipe at her eyes, clear the emotion from her voice and call out, the door squeaked open.
24
"How are you doing?" Samantha propped one slim shoulder against the doorframe. "Don't give me that look. I know what I'm talking about. The windows in the house were open and I heard the whole thing."
"You did?" Shame filled her, and she tore her gaze away. Her sister knew she'd gone to bed with the handsome wrangler? Her face burned as it turned bright red. "I can't talk about it."
"You're hurting, I know, but you miss him already, don't you?"
"Not at all. I don't need anybody in my life like that. This really is for the best." Her chin went up. She was determined to mean it even if she didn't feel it. The pain, the hurt, the shock of being so vulnerable and in love with him only to realize he'd been paid to care. How foolish could she be? "You know what he did."
"I do," Samantha said quietly.
Then she remembered through the fog of her grief the care he'd shown the wild pinto mare when he'd knelt at her side after she'd first been led into the stall. The sensitivity he'd shown, the gentle hands and calming voice, so concerned with the mare on every level, not just her wound.
It had caught Skye's heart at the time, hooked deep, but it had been nothing incredibly great in Brennan's view. That was simply the way he did things. He was just showing her who he was.
Not exactly the behavior of a man who broke hearts. Who behaved badly toward someone he'd professed to worship, which was her. She hung her head, miserable.
Then again, she thought, staring hard at the toes of her shoes. Brennan is a good man. He just hadn't been good to me.
"Whatever is wrong, maybe you could make it better? He clearly cares for you so much." Samantha's hope rang in her sweet voice. "Maybe you could forgive him? You've never had such a good employee or a good man."
"He really was someone I thought was that." Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them back.
Something he'd said to Abe arrowed through the fog of misery wrapped around her heart. What had he said? She searched her brain for the memory of what he'd said. You didn't buy me for her. But you did need help with keeping her and her stallion safe.
And he had said that he'd worshipped her, why, didn't that mean he adored her? She bit the inside of her lip, torn between the way her soft heart forgave too quickly. And was wounded too easily.
"I like the way he looked at you, Skye, like you are just the most precious lady around. You're my sister, and I think so too, and not many men seem good enough for you. I thought he did. Abe adores him."
"Don't even get me started on Abe, I have a big problem with him, too." Her vision started to blur again. "I asked Brennan to leave, so that will be the end of that."
"I'm very sorry, Skye. Your heart must be broken. You must be hurting pretty bad."
Her throat closed up, preventing her from saying another word. She leaned her forehead against the cool window glass and let the wind through the screen breeze over her. It felt as if it blew right through her.
"Let me know if you need anything," Samantha said softly. "When you are ready to talk and tell me what happened, I'll be in my room next door."
"Thanks, I appreciate that." She let out a shaky breath. "I'll be better tomorrow. I promise it. I just need a good night's sleep."
"No, I don't think you're telling me the truth. You look worse than when your old fiancé broke things off with you. This hurt worse, didn't it?"
"More than I thought possible."
"Are you going to be okay?"
"No, I'm not. But that happens when you risk trusting someone and they aren't who they said they were."
"Oh, I think he might have been. I wish I could do something for you. It doesn't feel right to leave you alone now. Should I make us some tea?"
"No, you have reading to do, don't you?"
"I'm halfway through Around The World In Eighty Days. But that can wait."
"Are you serious? It's Jules Verne. You can't leave that book sitting. You had better get right back to it. I'm boring by comparison."
"You aren't fooling me. You are hurting and you need comfort to feel better."
"I just need some quiet time and to get to sleep early." That wasn't exactly true, but she did not want to trouble her dear sister. "I'll see you in the morning, okay?"
"Okay, but now I'm upset. I don't know why Brennan moved out, but he should have stayed. You need his skills here, he can handle anything. Anything. And I think he's in love with you."
A blade to her heart. Skye bit the inside of her mouth to keep the feelings inside. Why couldn’t she let him go?
Because she'd been carried away by feelings, by her love for him. What a mistake! She squeezed her eyes shut, but her heart didn't think so.
"I'll go." Samantha pushed way from the door. "But I'll be back to check on you and make sure you're all right."
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Skye alone in the soft lamplight. She felt the shadows more than the light as she turned her attention back to the window. The meadows and trees shone like polished silver brushed atop the black for as far as she could see.
She shivered. She had a strange feeling, as if she were being watched. Her stomach balled up, and although it was just exhaustion and upset, she figured, she let the curtain panel fall back into place. Unsettled, she sat in the silence and wondered if Claude happened to be back from town early?
One thing was for sure, it would not be B
rennan Mosley riding up the road or looking up at the house in the dark. Her heart thumped, aching for him. She was alone now, alone again. It was the way things were going to be. She simply had to accept it and get past the crippling agony of losing her ideal of him, the dream.
She'd given her heart and her body to him, and she was never going to get over this. She fought down sorrow and regret. Her heart was never going to be the same.
* * *
Brennan sat watchful in the shadows, his Colt strapped to his thigh, his Winchester by his side. He still had a job to do. For three and a half nights he'd been tracking the men through town and across the grasslands and pastures, including Skye's land. The heat of the day was still hanging on even though it had been dark for hours.
He could feel the quiet, unbroken for now, and it wouldn't be until the men drunk at the bar and furious over losing too many hands at poker were tossed out of the saloon for fighting. He gave a wave toward the other side of the pasture, where a shadowed man waved back, just one sparse movement and then he blended back with the dark.
Now, we wait. Brennan kept his senses sharp as the brisk wind rustled through the grasses, and in the near silence, his stomach rumbled. He hadn't been paying attention to meal times, driven more by the mission at hand than his own needs. He'd never get over the sight of Skye's tears streaking down her lovely, delicate face.
Staying was the right thing to do. He couldn't honor her request and walk away. He needed her safe. He took those problems on Skye's land seriously. Love was a lost cause, he knew it, but he'd still do his anyway, even if Skye despised him. He had no idea if that would ever change, but that wouldn't stop him from protecting her.
A faint blur of calico and blond braids in a flash of light caught his attention down in the draw below. Skye. She was outside? Yes, and she walked slow and subdued, head down, with a small lantern in hand heading for the barn.
She ducked between the rails of the corral and ambled over to the back of Orville's stall. She pulled open the top half of the door, and the big palomino stuck his head out and lipped her hair, tickling her.
She giggled a little, just a bit, before looking sad again, and the stallion shook his head up and down, looking besotted by her.
I know how you feel, buddy. Brennan couldn't see her face, she had turned away from him, but he could read her sorrow. It clung to her, hugging her body like a lead weight.
He really hurt. For a little while, he'd held a dream, in loving her. In that moment, he'd needed her so much he'd talked himself into thinking it wasn't too soon to take her to his bed. His love was strong enough, but not hers. Her love for him had been broken, too shattered by the truth.
Pain drilled through him like a thousand sharpened knives. He had no one to blame but himself. It was his fault. He'd never hurt like this before and seeing her once again blew apart every defense he'd tried to reconstruct around his heart. He hurt all over again.
He raked one hand through his hair, plopped the hat back on his head and realized his spine was tingling a warning. His instincts went on high alert. He sat up straight, searching the peaceful prairie with his binoculars.
Stars twinkled and a hawk called in distant flight across the Little Dipper. Nothing else moved. The night grew so still, he could hear himself breathe.
A tender neigh echoed from below. Orville's hooves clip-clopped as he moved around in his stall. Skye was too far away for him to hear what she was saying to her horse, but he was mesmerized just the same.
She disappeared inside the stall, likely to spoil the stallion up with a little more grain and a ton of love. Worry arrowed through him, and he resisted the urge to hop up and move in closer to better watch over her.
He sat unmoving, waiting for her to come back into view, and he wasn't disappointed. His heart warmed when she swished out into the corral, charmed Orville with a pat and a kiss to his forehead and closed him back into his stall, latched up and snug.
She grabbed the lantern from the wall peg and trekked back to the house. Brennan watched the light move through the windows and settle in one of the downstairs rooms.
Must be having trouble getting to sleep. He waited, alert. Minutes passed. Maybe thirty. He couldn't be certain, but he thought he spied a shadow move in the night-dark grasses near the woods.
He grabbed his loaded Winchester and crept in. Clouds moving in made the night darker, cutting the soft paintbrush of sparse, hard-to-find starlight across the open meadows, making it hard to spot anything.
The darkness of night hid his quarry, but it hid him as well. Feeling safe, he kept to the shadows, hunting.
A human shadow moved, too, separating from the deepest inky blackness of the night and slipped across the crest of the same ridge where he'd found human tracks sometime ago. A soft puff of a wind gusted, bringing the grasslands and trees to life. It whispered through grasses and rattled through leaves and disguised the sound of a man hurrying through the shadows.
Winchester in hand, Brennan kept creeping as low and as silent as he could, hidden by the night. He froze, watching three men hunkering down on the rise ahead, guns in hand.
He was outgunned, but he wasn't alone.
That was good. He had a view of Skye's house down the way, where the lamplight shining through the window went out. Skye was indoors for the night, safe, for now. Safe. That was one wish he had for her, and he would achieve it. Then he could leave town, if she still wanted it.
With his Winchester ready, he crept forward and gave a quiet signal. The night deepened, hiding his silent helper, who gave a hat wave back as clouds took over more of the sky and he was lost in total darkness. Brennan used the deeper dark to his advantage, circling in on the men silhouetted on the ridge.
"Guess that worked in our favor." A man's voice, the gunman's, whispered, barely audible above another puff of wind. He handed a flask to the man he spoke with. "We've got the place all to ourselves tonight."
"Yes, we do, the bunkhouse is empty. Now we can sneak in and rope the stallion." It was the hired hand. He took the flask and drank from it. "The three of us ought to be enough to do it. Are you sure this is what you want, boss? That stallion kicked you good that one time."
"Sure, I'm ready for payback. He's worth more per pound than all the gold in a bank. Let's see what pretty Miss Skye will do when she doesn't have that horse to flaunt around town after this." Judson's voice. He stole the flask from his cohort and took a long pull from it.
"If we can get him to cooperate. I brought the whip," the gunman said. "With enough pain, that Orville will do what I want."
"I don't want a mark on him," Judson ordered. "This is about profit. I've got a buyer in California who will pay a pretty penny for perfect merchandise. We can split it between us and live like kings."
I'm not surprised. Brennan gave the signal and he rushed in, aware of the full truth. Anger, strident and fierce, roared through him as he rose up, braced his feet and aimed straight at Judson's heart.
"You drop your guns, or I shoot you," he growled out. "Give me a reason to fire. Go ahead and do it."
"Outlaw, not many men get the jump on me." Judson froze, hand in mid-air. "This must be about the little lady. Lost her, did you?"
"Not your business, and that doesn't make her easier pickings for you." Brennan kept his eye on the two other men, too. "Don't even try to go for yours, Cliff. If you try to draw, I'll shoot your boss dead and then you."
"Relax, Cliff." Judson's order rang through the air, although he dropped the flask. "The lowlife, here, means it. I've got better things to do than to get shot because of you. I guess you romanced the horse and the land right out from under me, huh, Mosley?"
"You wouldn't understand." He wasn't distracted by the tactical jab of emotion, so he was quick on the trigger, when Judson fast-drawed. Gunfire flashed and Brennan's Winchester kicked, sending him back a step.
Judson went down. The shot was true. Horse-thieving was a hanging offense, and Claude ran up to patch the
wound.
So far so good, he thought, standing firm until he saw Claude kick Judson's gun out of reach and truss up the criminal.
Brennan tightened his grip on his Winchester. "You're next, Cliff. I'm warning you. I want your hands up over your head and down on the ground. You, too, gunman."
After the men complied, he tossed Claude the extra sets of cuffs. Relief hung heavy on him. Finally, there was no longer a threat to Orville or the mares, and Skye would remain safe. Regardless of what she thought of him, he'd completed his job here successfully. He'd always been working for Abe.
"Guess you do good, Mosley." Abe waded out of the dark grass, rifle poised, acting as their sharp-shooter keeping him and Claude safe. He still was, as he lent a hand chaining the three prisoners together.
It looked like his job here was done, and it was time to move on.
25
The bam, bam, bam on her front door continued. Skye set the lamp on the foyer table and peeked out the window. Darkness hugged the porch, but a slight glimmer of cloud-shrouded star shine illuminated one shadowy figure on her porch.
Brennan. He was back. Her heart leaped painfully and she drank in the sight. With boots braced apart, wide shoulders squared, dark hair whipped by the wind, he looked as untamable as the endless prairie, as wild as the sky, as steadfast as the mountains.
She wanted to see him, she wanted to forgive him, she wanted to be in his arms again. If only she could. She let the curtain drop and it swished back into place over the night-dark glass. Brennan. She still loved him. Her feelings for him had not changed.
And that was only going to mean more heartbreak. A sob choked her as she turned the bolt and pulled open the door. The night air breezed over her. She shivered, and not with fear, when she felt his nearness.
Her body knew him, responding with a flicker of desire and goosebumps from head to toe. He leaned in, just a bit, but close enough to bring him into the brush of the lamplight. He was pure male heat and stole the breath from her lungs.
