“Ward?”
“Hmmm?”
“I can’t run away,” she said softly. “I’m going to have to go back and face whatever has to be faced.”
Without warning he pulled her into his arms, holding her as if the sheriff were already trying to pull her away from him, and Leslie knew she was in love, and the knowledge that it had come too late filled her with sadness and unshed tears.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his lips nudging her cheek.
She laughed. What could she say? The man I love is an outlaw! A killer. Wanted by the sheriff. And I’m about to hang for murder…
“Hey!” That half-hysterical laugh told him volumes. He shook her and then folded her in his arms again. “I’m not going to let them hang you,” he said huskily.
“What about you?”
“Me either.”
“I have to go back, you know.”
Ward’s heart felt like it would burst. He pulled her closer, cradling her face in the crook of his neck and shoulder. She was insane, insisting on her right to be hanged. But insane or not, she had bewitched him from the very beginning with her passionate pursuit of her noble ideals. Her courage and honesty and spirit had shattered his defenses and played havoc with his unwillingness to fall in love.
“Then we’ll both go back,” he said.
“No, Ward! You can never go back there. I have a chance. You have none.” She clung to him tightly, trembling in spite of his warmth. “They’ll hang you.”
“Would you care?” he asked, holding her away from him so he could search her eyes. His own were strangely dark.
“I would die,” she said.
“Then stay with me here…for one week.”
“Why?”
“One week to remember and I’ll tell them I shot Summers.”
“No!”
“Why not? It won’t make a difference for me. I’ve killed other men.”
“No! I will not permit it. Never!”
“Because you don’t want to spend a week with me?”
“No,” she whispered. If she were going to prison or to hang, she would still want that week.
“Will you stay one week?”
“If you promise not to try to stop me from turning myself in.”
“I promise,” he said, burying his face in the fragrant black mass of her hair.
The week slipped past like a butterfly flitting from flower to flower, sampling the sweetness of the nectar until pleasurably sated. They teased and played and made love, pretending they had forever, and Leslie only fretted occasionally about the future. At those times she watched Cantrell closely, but if he was aware he lived under a cloud, it was not discernible. Except for a moment after he had saddled their horses for the long ride back. His blue eyes—so clear and untroubled this whole week—darkened as he lifted her into the saddle. In that second she felt the reluctance and tension in him, but no shirking. A lump rose in her throat. Cantrell would face whatever had to be faced, but she hated the fact that their future was now beyond their control.
Chapter Fifty-Three
“Leslie, wake up, dear. The sheriff is downstairs. He wants to talk to you.”
Leslie covered her head and groaned. The sun streaming in the window hurt her eyes. She opened one eye and squinted at Jennifer, who was smiling delightedly at her.
“Oh, no! I’m such a mess,” she groaned.
“You look wonderful,” Jennie said, smiling as if she meant it. “The sheriff will wait, but you had best be up and dressing.”
Leslie’s heart constricted with fear and alarm. “Where’s Cantrell?” she demanded.
“He’s downstairs with Chane and some gentleman.”
Leslie struggled upright in the bed, looking so confused and scared that Jennie pulled her into her arms and hugged her. “I’m so glad you’re safe!” she said. “We were so worried about you. Except I knew he would save you.”
Annette came in with a rustling of petticoats and excited exclamations in mingled English and French that went on the whole time Leslie bathed and dressed. Jennie withdrew, probably in self-defense, promising they would talk later.
“Have you seen Mr. Cantrell?” Leslie asked when Annette finished putting the last pins in her hair.
“Oui! He is so handsome! Magnifique, no?”
“Where is he?”
“Downstairs! With him!”
“Him? Who?”
“Him! John Loving. He’s here. In ziss house!”
Leslie grinned in spite of her fear. “So you finally got him here?”
“Oui!”
“Well, what are you doing up here wasting your time with me?” she demanded.
Annette shrugged. “He was busy with Mr. Kincaid, zee sheriff, zee governor, and some man I do not know. He scare me so bad.”
“Scared you? Who?”
“Oui! I opened zee door, expecting somezhing ordinary, and he is zere! Staring at moi with zee meanest face I have evair seen. Like he as soon shop off my head as say hello.” Annette shuddered.
“Who is he?”
Annette shrugged. “John King.”
“Where’s he from?”
“I do not know…Such good English…unless…Is Canvas a place to be from?”
“Canvas? Kan…sas?”
“Oui! Kan…sas! That is good, no?”
“No,” Leslie said grimly, cursing herself for coming back here. They had him! There was no turning back now. She was regretting so many things suddenly. And remembering what Ward had said when she railed at him for refusing to give her his seed. When she said that man-made laws couldn’t take away her right to have his baby: “They can take everything,” he’d said quietly, inexorably, “even my right to live.”
Her heart was pounding so loudly she could feel it in her toes. Annette stepped back to admire her handiwork, and Leslie stood up. Her heart fluttered at the base of her throat. She might never see him alone again, never feel the warmth of his skin against her own.
“Ready, mademoiselle?”
No! No! She wasn’t, but she nodded calmly in spite of that nerve-end jangle that threatened to betray her.
At the top of the stairs, she paused. Deep masculine voices were coming from the library. Here goes. Please, legs, don’t collapse. If he can face this, I can too…
She negotiated the stairs in a sort of breathless daze and stopped at the door of the library, watching them before they became aware of her presence.
They were clustered around the fireplace, sipping from coffee cups and looking pleased with themselves. She found Ward instantly. Annette was right. Clean-shaven, wearing a dark blue shirt and dark trousers, he was Adonis incarnate. Just the sight of him, leaning against the far side of the fireplace, his mouth set in that look of sensual reserve that she knew so well, was enough to double the force of that pounding in her breast. He hadn’t seen her yet. He was watching Kincaid and a strapping, well-dressed Negro man, warily, it seemed. Annette was right about the man. He had the most terrifyingly brutal face she had ever seen. Her heart almost stopped.
The governor and the sheriff were there also. But her eyes went back to the Negro. There was something ominous and frightening about him.
Ward glanced at the door and their eyes met. His seemed unusually dark and unreadable—without the slightest trace of sardonic amusement. Her eyes moved down that lithe familiar form and widened. He was not wearing a gun. Did that account for the unusually solemn cast of his handsome features? But why shouldn’t it? Ward Cantrell was a warrior, and a warrior should not be stripped of his weapons without a fight. Leslie writhed inwardly with the knowledge that he had laid down his guns and submitted to this civilized form of humiliation for her. Because he loved her. The realization that she had taken the man she loved and reduced him to this, that he should die or be imprisoned like an animal for deeds he could not help, was more than she could bear. The pain spread out in ever-widening waves until her chest ached and her throat felt rigid with anguish.
> Ward saw the pain reflected in her wide green eyes. “Let’s get this over with,” he said to Kincaid.
Chane came forward to take her arm. “Leslie, join us, please.”
They paused in front of the governor. “Leslie, you remember Governor Stanton, Sheriff Tatum, Reverend Abercrombie. Frank Johnston is president of the local Cattleman’s Association. Doug Paggett and Dusty Denton are friends of Warden’s. I’d like you to meet John King, from Dodge City, and John Loving, the new manager of the Texas and Pacific Railroad.”
Leslie glanced quickly at Ward, but he was concentrating on his coffee cup, his eyes averted from hers.
“Yes, there’ve been some changes taking place while you were away,” Chane said, smiling at John Loving.
Loving’s face broke into a glad chipmunk-cheeked smile of greeting to Leslie, but John King only watched her impassively. She forced herself to nod at each of the men. She wanted to go to Ward, touch him, reassure herself that he was all right, but Chane had a firm grip on her hand.
“Ahem!” Sheriff Tatum cleared his throat, looking around the room at the other men. “I guess since Miss Powers is here, we might as well begin. Would you like to sit down?” he asked solicitously.
“May we offer you tea or coffee?” Chane asked.
“No, thank you.”
“Very well,” he said, nodding at Tatum.
The sheriff asked a great number of questions, and she answered them honestly, casting glances at Ward to see if somehow she might be saying things that were damaging to him; but he only watched her quietly, his eyes as unreadable as before.
When she felt dizzy with so many questions, Tatum sighed with satisfaction and Governor Stanton stepped forward. “Miss Powers, it gives me great pleasure to present you with these checks for capturing Sandra McCormick’s kidnapper and the leader of the rustlers that have been preying on honest ranchers hereabouts for the last three years.”
Horrified, she looked from the governor to Chane. “You don’t understand,” she said, “I didn’t capture Cantrell—he saved me! I killed Tim Summers to keep him from killing Sandra, Cantrell, and Younger…”
“That is correct,” the governor said, smiling at her.
Leslie sighed. “No, you don’t understand…I killed Tim because he said he was going to kill them. I didn’t capture Cantrell!” she insisted.
Governor Stanton smiled. “Perhaps an explanation is in order. Chane?” he asked, passing the buck.
Chane grinned. “Leslie, you are a heroine. Tim Summers was the head of the rustler gang.”
“But…but I thought Cantrell was the…”
The governor smiled benignly. “Mr. Cantrell is an Arizona ranger, Miss Powers. His job along with Dusty Denton, Doug Paggett, and the others was to smoke out the real rustler chief.”
Chane took her hand. “When we discovered you’d ridden off Saturday, Sheriff Tatum and I took a posse out looking for you. We came upon Denton and the others the next day after they had recovered the herd from Summers’ and Younger’s men. We saved the herd, but most of the rustlers escaped over the border.”
Leslie barely heard him. She was stunned. An Arizona ranger! Ward knew from the very beginning she wasn’t going to hang for killing Tim! He knew he wasn’t in any danger of hanging either! Rage bubbled in her veins. What a monumental liar he was! She would kill him with her bare hands!
She turned on Ward, her eyes spitting fury, poised like an angry tigress, but he came forward and caught her hands before she could spring at him.
“Wait, Leslie. There’s more. We might as well get this all out in the open,” he said grimly.
“That happens to be more than enough!”
“I have to go back to Dodge City to stand trial for murder.”
Anger forgotten, her eyes went to John King and stayed there. She could feel her insides collapsing. Her hands dropped to her sides.
“They’ll hang you…” she whispered, fear squeezing so tight she almost could not speak.
The man named King stepped forward. He nodded. “There is hope, Miss Powers, else I wouldn’t be taking him back.”
“Hope? How can you say that?” she gasped.
“The men Captain Van Vleet killed murdered my brother-in-law, the captain’s friend, and his wife. The captain only killed after gross provocation, Miss Powers. He only killed in self-defense. I have…um, you might say…encouraged two witnesses to come forward who will testify to his innocence.”
Leslie closed her eyes and covered her face.
Ward sighed. “We should have talked this morning, but you were so tired…” Ward’s jaw clamped shut, and she could see the muscles in his lean cheek writhing as he decided how to proceed. The thought of him standing trial again, possibly going to prison and hanging, was insupportable.
Chane took her hand. “He’ll have good counsel, Leslie. He’ll have the support of his family and Mr. King this time. We think that will be enough to tip the scales in his favor.”
“What if you’re wrong?” she demanded.
“We have to start somewhere,” Ward said softly.
“I think we’d best leave these young people alone,” Kincaid said, herding the others out of the room.
Leslie barely noticed them. Her eyes were riveted to Cantrell’s face. Ward nodded at her, his eyes filled with that sharp light that dazed her. His fingers closed around her arm, above the elbow.
“You were a ranger this whole time?” she whispered.
“Since the day after my trial.”
“You knew you wouldn’t hang.”
“No. I didn’t know that. If I failed…”
“Why didn’t you tell me about Tim?”
He shrugged. Bitterness flickered in the blue depths. “Would you have believed me?”
She was watching him intently, her eyes riveted to his. “There’s more, isn’t there?” she whispered.
Ward took a deep breath. This could get him killed.
“You remember when I told you that I wasn’t romantically involved with Jenn?”
Leslie could feel her heart slowing down, like an engine preparing to stop. She looked quickly at Chane, but he was closing the door behind him. They were all gone except Ward.
She shook her head. There was cruelty and cruelty. To tell her now that he lied about loving her…
She backed away from him, her eyes spitting, cat green. “Don’t touch me! I don’t want to hear about the other women in your life.”
She backed slowly away, and he followed, stalking her the way he would an animal he meant to kill.
“Leslie, didn’t you ever wonder why I kept punishing you?” he asked softly, inching closer.
“No! I don’t want to hear it.”
But he was determined that she would hear it. His face was set in grim, unwavering purpose. She backed into the wall and gasped. She was trapped! But what had she done to bring out this streak of implacable cruelty in the man she loved? Why was he determined to tell her he loved another woman?
“Leslie,” he said softly, “Jenn is my sister.”
She couldn’t speak. Her jaw dropped. Her head began automatically, involuntarily, to shake from side to side, denying what she would not hear.
The clock on the mantel ticked loudly in the sudden stillness. Everyone had left the room. It was only the two of them now. “You tricked me!” she said incredulously.
“I didn’t mean to. I pretended to accept your noble sacrifice to punish you for not believing in me…I never meant to collect on that bargain. I was going to tell you at the dance, but you left. I only came here that night to tell you I was leaving Phoenix.”
“Oh! What a liar you are!” She jerked her arm free and grabbed one of the books off the shelf beside her and hit him with it. “You beast! Oh! How I hate you!”
“Ow! Leslie, stop it!” he howled, ducking.
She was like a panther, darting and striking at will. He was helpless against her. The only alternative was to run, so he did, with her behind
him, screaming invectives.
Jennifer heard the loud commotion and left the children with Mrs. Lillian. She had wanted to be with Chane when they told Leslie the truth, but a cry of pain from Amy had sidetracked her. Little Chane had tripped Amy, and she cut her lip. He was almost as upset as Amy was. It took both women to get them calmed down and patched up.
When she could leave them she sought out Chane.
“What happened to Ward and Leslie? I thought they were going to…”
Chane grinned, his hazel eyes filled with mischief. “I guess that will have to wait until after she kills him.”
Jennifer laughed, a low, sultry gurgle that still sent tingles up Chane’s spine. “Was she very angry?”
“Well, just a little,” he said. “Nothing Ward can’t handle, I’m sure.”
“I hope he’s as humble as you are.”
“I didn’t notice any humility as he ran past here—only a well-developed survival instinct.”
“Do you think she’ll catch him?”
Chane grinned, his warm green eyes twinkling. “I’m sure of it. He ran for her bedroom.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Leslie ran to the door of her bedroom and stopped, panting from the wild run up the long, curving staircase. The room looked empty. Hadn’t she seen his leg and boot disappearing into this very room?
She walked slowly inside, looking quickly from side to side. The sound of the rug being compressed under a heavy foot brought her whirling around.
“Oh!”
The door slammed shut. He was between her and the door, coming toward her slowly, his blue eyes reflecting a strange satisfaction, as if now he had her.
Unthinking fury surged up, blocking out reason. She lunged at him, her nails curved into talons.
She would have scratched him too, if his hands hadn’t caught her wrists and forced them down behind her back. He pulled her hard against him, taking both wrists in one hand so he could use his other hand to capture her head and hold it still.
She felt like a crushed rose. Furious, she squirmed and twisted, trying to get loose, but she was helpless. He leaned down and set his mouth over hers.
The Lady and the Outlaw Page 46
