Jonas swallowed heavily, almost surprised an event he couldn't remember could affect him so deeply.
"It was quick, boy," he said, obviously reading the expression on Jonas's face. "I doubt she knew what had happened till she got to the Pearly Gates and Saint Peter himself told her about it."
Good, Jonas thought. Good. It didn't matter now, surely, twenty-five years later… but he was glad she hadn't suffered.
"Your pa, though." Elias went on, clearly determined now to get everything said at last, "he was still hangin' on. Like he'd waited for us to get back." The older man shook his head in silent admiration. "That was a tough man."
His voice drew a picture and Jonas thought he could almost see it. A lonely campsite, somewhere in the mountains. Two men, one of them dying, a dead woman, and a boy watching his world end.
A part of him almost remembered.
"He told me then why they'd left Massachusetts." Elias said. "About that Guild and how they wanted you to have a different life. A life you could choose for your own self. A life not burdened with other folks' expectations, he called it."
Somehow, Jonas found his voice. "He told you he—I—was a witch."
Elias snorted a choked, strained laugh. "He did. Can't say I believed him. Figured if he was, he could've stood off those Indians that had killed him and his woman. But he said how not even magic can defeat destiny," he shook his head again and smiled sadly. "He had a fine way of talking. Even then."
Jonas's heartbeat pounded in his ears. He felt every ounce of blood rushing through his veins. He measured every breath and told himself to hear it all, though all he wanted to do was leave this barn and pretend none of this had happened. He wanted his life back. As it had been yesterday. Hell, as it had been an hour ago.
Elias seemed to sense what he was feeling. His speared into Jonas's eyes, refusing to back down. Refusing to stop.
"He made me promise to care for you, which was no hardship, since I was already fond of ya."
Jonas sucked in air like a drowning man.
"And," the older man went on, "he made me promise not to tell you about them. About who you are and where you come from."
"So you lied." Three little words that summed up the last twenty-five years. "You lied to me my whole life."
It was a simple statement. One that ripped the solid floor from beneath his feet and left him floundering in uncertainty.
"It was a deathbed promise, boy," Elias told him, his voice steady and hard as it had been when he was a younger man. "I gave him my solemn word."
Jonas knew the value of a man's word. Elias had taught him that.
Honor.
Honesty.
It was laughable now, considering.
"And what about your word to me, Elias?" he snapped, feeling a fresh wave of anger rising within him "What about that? You spent my whole life keeping this from me and you can talk about honor?"
"You think it was easy hiding this from you?"
"Must've been," Jonas shot back, stalking down the center of the aisle to stare out at the starlit ranch yard beyond. Turning his head, he speared the other man with a glance. "You managed it fine for twenty-five years."
"Your folks made me swear."
"And your word to a dead man was worth more to you than me." He nodded somberly, biting down hard on the bitter taste in his mouth. "That's good to know."
"Damn it boy, that ain't the way it was."
"That's how it seems." Jonas shook his head fiercely, then marched back to take a stand in front of the man he'd loved for most of his life. Now Elias looked like a stranger to him. How many other things were tucked away in that gray head?
"Don't you see, I couldn't tell ya?" he asked.
"When I was a kid, maybe." Jonas was willing to give that. "But as I grew older, I had a right to know, damn it."
"Would you have believed me any more than you believed Hannah?"
"Probably not, but you could've tried!"
The older man rubbed his jaw and shook his head. "It wasn't just me keeping the secret, boy."
Jonas loomed over him, forcing Elias to tip his head back to meet his gaze.
"Who the hell else knows?"
"You do—or did."
This was way too much, he told himself as he threw up his hands in disgust. "Explain," he muttered, though something inside him really didn't want any more information tonight.
"To make extra sure you'd forget," Elias said, his suddenly old and tired, "your pa did somethin' to ya."
"Did something?" Jonas's gaze narrowed again. "What? Painted me blue? Had me howl at the moon?"
Elias scowled at him. "No call to get so damn smart."
"No call?" Jonas asked, amazed. "I think I'm being damned patient under the circumstances."
"Is that so? Well, I didn't raise you to sass your elders."
Jonas laughed shortly. "You didn't raise me to lie, But that didn't stop you any."
"It's easy enough to sit by twenty-five years later and what should have been done," Elias grumbled. "It was different then. It was just me, left to care for a kid."
Jonas wouldn't be swayed by emotion. Not now. Later, he'd recall how much this old devil had done for him. Right at the moment, all he wanted was to hear everything, once and for all then put it out of his mind for good.
'Tell me what my father did."
"Wasn't much," Elias recalled. "Laid his hand or your forehead and said—"
"Forget." Jonas finished for him and gasped as closed door inside him was thrown suddenly, violently open.
He held his head in his hands and groaned as a flood tide of information surged into his mind. Images, vivid and real, staggered him. He saw his parents and wondered how he could ever have forgotten their faces.
And when he'd barely caught his breath from that first, wild onslaught of memories, more came to him crashing through him, racing across his brain. Knowledge, old and deep. Ancient, centuries-old secrets. It was all there. In his heart and mind and soul. And Jonas had no idea how to get rid of it all.
Realizing that, he felt lost. For the second time in his life.
Moments passed. The throbbing ache in his head and heart eased and finally, slowly, Jonas lifted his head to look at Elias.
"You remember it all now, don't ya?"
Remember? God, it wasn't a big enough word to describe what had just happened to him. It wasn't only his own memories he'd regained. But the memories of hundreds of people. All Mackenzies. The knowledge of the ages had poured into him in the wink of an eye and he still trembled from the impact.
"Yes," he muttered thickly. "Damn me, I do."
Turning, he walked down the length of the barn and into the yard. Elias just on his heels.
"And damn you, too."
"Why me?"
"You should've kept lying. Hell, you'd been doing it for twenty-five years. Why not a few more?"
"Now you want me to lie?" Elias spat.
"What I want is to be alone."
"Where you goin'?" the old man asked.
"To bed," he snapped, then stopped short, seeing the light spilling from the windows onto the dirt. He couldn't go in there. Hannah was in there. And if there was one thing he didn't need at the moment, it was one more witch.
Elias cleared his throat and Jonas realized he wouldn't be able to sleep in the bunkhouse, either. The old coot would keep yammering at him all night.
Making a sharp right turn, he started walking again, unwilling even to take the time to go back into the barn and saddle a horse. He needed some distance between him and the people around him. He needed to think, damn it.
He stalked past the corral and kept walking, rocks and pebbles sliding beneath the soles of his boots. The night wind caught and tugged at his hair and he realized he hadn't even brought his hat with him.
Grumbling darkly, he kicked at the far corral post and winced when his foot exploded in pain. He kept walking, hobbling slightly and cursing himself for a fool as he went.
<
br /> At the edge of the ranch yard, he stopped and looked back. Elias still stood where Jonas had left him. Light still poured from the house, making a golden splash against the earth.
Everything looked the same, yet it was all different now. He was different now.
Just to cap everything off, thunder rumbled, and directly overhead a spear of lightning was tossed across the sky, white-hot fingers scraping at the darkness. Rain, cold and pelting like bullets, fell on him, drenching him in seconds, and he scowled at the sky before glaring at the home he didn't dare enter—not even in this storm.
"Damn it, this is my ranch," he muttered. "Why the hell am I leaving?"
But he didn't get an answer, so he stepped into the shadow of the tree line, losing himself in the rainy darkness.
* * *
"It's the only way," Jonas said and folded his across his chest.
"But you need me," Hannah argued futilely as she stared up into his shuttered blue eyes.
More than she knew, he thought, but his rigid stance didn't weaken a bit. "We'll get by," he said, despite the moan of distress from Stretch Jones, who stepped past him to load Hannah's carpetbag into the wagon.
"Who'll cook?" she demanded and snatched up Hepzibah before the little cat got stepped on.
"Elias," he said, "or me."
"Good Lord, save us," Stretch muttered, then hurried back to the corral when his boss glared at him.
"But Jonas—"
"Hannah," he interrupted, "I'm sorry it's come to this but you've got to go."
He didn't look sorry. Just determined.
Dawn was just streaking the morning sky with touches of pale pink and rose. He'd hardly given her time to dress before announcing that Elias would be taking her to the stage, where she could catch a lift to the train station.
Her gaze slipped past Jonas to the wagon, horses hitched and ready to go. Her carpetbag was stowed behind the driver's seat and the horses were stamping in their traces, the harnesses jingling quietly in the still morning air.
Reaching out for him, she grabbed his forearm and drew him to one side. Lowering her voice, she looked up at him and said. "What about last night? What happened with the herd?"
They hadn't talked about any of it. And she'd needed to. What he'd done… what she'd seen… even the memory of that one moment was enough to steal her breath away. Oh, she'd known the Mackenzie was a powerful warlock. But knowing something and actually witnessing it were two different things.
And in her heart, she silently admitted to a twinge of envy. She'd realized that she would never command the kind of abilities the Mackenzie possessed. No matter how much she practiced, how many books she read, the strength of his powers would always elude her.
With that realization, a long-held dream had died. But she'd reminded herself that she was a Lowell and so had much to offer him anyway.
If he would only listen.
His jaw tightened even further, something she would have wagered was impossible.
"I don't want to talk about it," he shifted his stance, his boots scuffing on the still-muddy dirt. His gaze drifted from the house to the corral and back to her. Eyes narrowed, he whispered, "I want my life back, Hannah. The way it was before you came. Before I… remembered."
She understood, really. But he had to see that was impossible. "You can't go back, Jonas. We can only go forward. Together."
Hepzibah yowled and scrambled in her arms, trying to reach her favorite man. But Hannah kept a tight grip on the little cat.
Jonas inhaled sharply, gave a quick look around to make sure no one was near, then dipped his head a bit, meeting her gaze with his own. "There is no us. Hannah. There can t be, I've already told you that."
Moving quickly, before she could start talking again, Jonas picked her up, marched to the wagon, and plopped her down on the bench seat beside Elias.
She glanced at the older man, who shrugged, then looked away guiltily. Then, turning her gaze back on Jonas, she asked. "Can you let me go so easily?"
He tugged the brim of his hat down low over his eyes and squinted up at her. In those icy blue depths, she read his pain and regret, but it didn't help.
"Nothin' about this is easy," he admitted.
"Jonas—"
"It's been real interesting knowing you, Hannah," he said, cutting her off, and slapped his palm down the backside of the closest horse. "Have a safe trip home."
The wagon took off with a lurch and she grabbed hold of the seat to steady herself. "Elias," she said.
"There's no talkin' to him about this, missy," the older man said. "Best if you just go on home and forget about him. And this place."
Forget? About her destiny?
How could she forget, when she knew that this failure would cause harm to so many people? Without her marriage to the Mackenzie, Blake Wolcott would be able to force her to marry him. Then he would simply kill whoever tried to stand against him.
She turned in the seat to look at Jonas one last time. Tall and lean, he stood as he had lived most of his life.
Alone.
And in that moment, as she left him, Hannah realized how much she'd come to love the man who was turning his back on their destiny.
* * *
A half hour later, Jonas was drinking his second cup of coffee and enjoying the quiet in the room. He scowled to himself, shifted in the chair and moved his shoulder as if trying to shrug off a discomfort.
Had it always been this quiet?
"Yeah," he muttered and told himself he'd forget about Hannah soon enough. The fact that she wasn't standing at the stove humming to herself wouldn't bother him in a few days.
He looked down at his coffee and his lips twitched as he remembered fishing white feathers out of his morning brew. Another thing he wouldn't miss, he thought.
Feathers. What the hell had that been about? he wondered and told himself that he'd never know the answer to that now. Now that he'd sent her away.
Jonas looked up at the open doorway and his mind conjured her there, smiling at him, morning sun gilding the gold in her hair. She was so real, he almost spoke to her, but then she dissolved like morning fog in sunlight.
She was gone and that's what he'd wanted. He just hadn't expected to miss her so much, damn it.
"That's enough of that," he muttered and shifted his gaze to the black surface of his coffee. Emptying his mind, he tried to find the peace he needed so desperately.
But in an instant, a strange image rose up in front of him. The wagon, he thought, scowling. Elias driving, Hannah talking, naturally.
Jonas watched a scene unfold before his eyes and told himself he was imagining things, even as his heartbeat skittered and his palms went damp.
Hannah on the stage, then arriving at the train station. A tall man coming up behind her, grabbing her. She spun around, looked up at him, and went pale as a ghost. Jonas's teeth ground together as the man smiled at her fear and half dragged her onto the train. Hannah's frantic gaze swept the station platform futilely, searching for help that wasn't there.
Searching for him. Jonas.
Jaw tight, he rubbed his eyes and shook his head. What the hell was going on? he wondered. Why was that fellow grabbing Hannah and why was she so scared?
He sat up straight, pushed his coffee cup into the middle of the table, and gave it a wary look.
Witchcraft.
Horseshit.
He jumped to his feet.
It didn't mean anything. Just his imagination, that was all.
He stomped out of the kitchen and headed for the barn. Hannah wasn't in trouble. And there was no reason to think she would be. That Guild she'd talked about… well, that wasn't his concern. Quickly, he saddled the stallion, then swung aboard, riding the black beast out of the barn and heading him toward the road to town at a fast trot.
Didn't mean a damn thing, he told himself as he bent low over the horse's neck. Just a daydream. Too tired, that was all. He probably just needed some sleep. The miles fle
w past, with the only sound the drum of his horse's hooves against the hard-packed dirt.
When he saw the wagon ahead, a wash of relief doused him from head to foot and he didn't even bother trying to figure out why.
Pulling his horse up alongside them he noted Hannah's quick smile and the shine in her eyes. Something inside him sparked into life and that worried him far more than any damn vision he'd seen in his morning coffee.
"What's goin' on?" Elias demanded, still angry over the night before.
Though what he had to be mad about, Jonas didn't know. It was a good question, however. One he didn't have an answer to. What was going on?
"Changed my mind," he said flatly, refusing to respond to the brightness of Hannah's smile. "Just turn it around and head on home. We got things to do."
"Then I don't have to leave?" she asked, reaching out one hand toward him. He shook his head and accepted the inevitable. "Not today, anyway."
"I wish you'd make up your mind," Elias grumbled and tugged at the reins, turning the horses back the way they'd come.
"I have," Jonas snapped.
"So you say."
"Just drive, you old goat."
"Jonas," Hannah said, her voice rising to be heard over the men, "I'm so glad. I didn't want to leave. Not until we've—"
He leaned both hands on the saddle horn, caught her gaze, and spoke up quickly. "Understand me. Hannah. Nothing's changed. I'm not getting married and I still don't want to talk about witchcraft."
The smile died from her features slowly, as a dream dissolves when a sleeper wakes.
His chest tightened at the fading gleam in her eye. A few weeks ago, he hadn't known Hannah Lowell existed. And now he'd give anything if she'd just smile at him again.
God help him.
"You can't ignore this, Jonas," she said patiently. "Pretending you're not a warlock won't change a thing, you know—"
"Stop!" he said and gathered up the reins again, almost regretting keeping her from leaving. Almost. "One more word, Hannah, and I swear, I'll be howling at the moon myself!"
Chapter Thirteen
Jonas's gaze swept the open meadow, searching for signs that anyone else might be nearby. Spring grasses rippled in a soft wind. Tree limbs rattled together. From off to his right, a small stream ran swiftly with the recent rains and the water chuckled over rocks worn smooth over the years.
Wish Upon a Cowboy Page 17
