Beau wasn’t the least bit sorry he’d kissed Dani. Patrick had shattered her confidence. With that brush of their lips, Beau had given it back to her. He’d go back later for breakfast and pretend nothing had happened. It had been a kiss, one so chaste it bordered on brotherly…except for the way it made him feel. Alive. Strong. Privy to secrets she didn’t understand.
As he crossed the yard to the barn, he fought the urge to whoop like a fool. He’d given Dani something to think about, that was for sure. He hadn’t felt this good in years, maybe never. Lucy would have been glad he’d given Dani the handkerchief. Beau had put it in his pocket as a reminder, but he was in no danger of forgetting Clay Johnson.
Last night, when he’d seen the light in his room, he’d imagined Johnson harming Dani. He’d half expected to find her tied up with the outlaw’s pistol pressed to her temple. When he’d drawn his gun, he’d been ready for anything but what he’d found. Dani looking at the treasures he’d neglected to put away…. He’d seen tenderness in her eyes and a caring that linked the past and present. If he stayed in Castle Rock, he could take her for buggy rides and moonlight walks. If their hearts met—and he was certain they would—they’d be free to marry.
As he walked into the barn, Beau raked his hand through his hair. What was wrong with him? He’d made a vow to kill Clay Johnson. Until the outlaw met his eternal destiny, Beau couldn’t rest.
He went to Daff, reached down and checked her udder. The hot spot still felt normal. He’d noticed the change earlier. Seeing the glow from the kitchen window, he’d gone inside to share the good news with Dani and found her weeping. He’d never forget the hurt in her eyes. Irritated, Beau stood straight, scratched Daff and headed for his room. With each step, he thought of Patrick’s insulting words. Beau had meant what he’d said about taking his brother to the woodshed. Hurting or not, a man had to take responsibility. Beau understood about missing Beth. He knew about mistakes, too. What he didn’t understand was not loving Dani.
The wanting…He felt it now. Not in the way of bodily lust but in his soul, the place in his heart that wanted to protect Dani from all harm and provide for her. As he walked into his room, he thought of the saddlebags stowed under the cot. He lit the lamp and saw the scratchy bedroll where he’d sleep alone. At the sight of his gun belt on the chair, he almost asked the Almighty to help him catch Clay Johnson. Once the outlaw paid for Lucy’s death, Beau would be free. He could stay in Castle Rock and court Dani. He’d be Uncle Beau, not a bounty hunter cursed to work alone.
His jaw tensed. He thought of Josh preaching to the men at the Wednesday Ruckus. Don’t pretty it up, men. Speak your heart. God can handle a cuss word or two. Even more if that’s all you can manage.
“God—” Beau clamped his jaw shut.
The room seemed to press in on him, so he stepped back into the barn and blew out a breath. The thoughts in his mind were ugly but honest. Beau felt sure the Lord understood every cursed word. He was just as sure the Almighty didn’t care. Beau tipped his face up to the rafters. He heard hymns bouncing and closed his eyes, then he murmured what might have been a prayer.
“Let me kill him, Lord.”
“Vengeance is Mine…”
Beau muttered a foul word. He wanted to love and laugh and make Dani his wife. One bullet and Johnson would be dead. Justice would be served and Beau would be free. With his eyes shut tight and his hands knotted, he listened for God’s voice.
Daff mooed.
A horse snorted.
But the rafters stayed silent. Heaving a sigh, Beau went back to his room. God might have heard his prayers, but He hadn’t answered them.
“Now’s the time, boss,” Andy said to Clay. “I heard about it in town. Morgan’s living on a dairy farm with three kids and a pretty blonde. I say we go after him.”
The three men were sitting around a fire. Two days had passed since they’d raided the Rocking J. They’d ridden deep into a canyon with so many twists Clay wondered if he could find his way out. Last night they’d camped in a cave. Rain had washed away their tracks, so they’d decided to rest a day while Clay picked a horse. Goose had picked the spot well. The gorge narrowed, limiting the number of ways a posse could approach. If the law—or Beau Morgan—came after them, they’d have the edge.
Clay stubbed out his cigar. “Why are you worried about Morgan? He’s my problem.”
Goose shrugged. “He’s trouble for all of us.”
Andy played with his knife. “Right now, he’s a sitting duck.”
Clay didn’t trust the kid’s judgment. Before raiding the Rocking J, he’d sent Andy to town to listen for talk at the Silver River. The kid had spent two nights and come back late Monday. “How do you know about Morgan and the farm?”
“I went to church.”
“You what?”
Andy grinned. “That fool pastor shook my hand and invited me back.”
“That was flat-out stupid.” Clay tossed the stub into the fire. “We wore masks at the Rocking J, but you could still be recognized. The Baylors are church folk.”
Andy’s expression turned wicked. “Don’t worry, boss. I pulled it off.”
“Who does the minister think you are?” Goose asked.
With a blink, Andy’s face turned from leering to boyish.
“I’m a lost soul looking for work and Jesus. I tell you, church is the best place for talk. Women gab, and the young ones look at a fella like he’s special.”
Clay knew Reverend Blue. Several months before Randall’s gang started raiding ranches near Denver, the minister had ridden into their camp and asked for coffee. He’d said grace over their supper of beans and entertained them with a story about a man-eating fish. A kid named Chet had accepted Jesus that night. A week later, he’d left the gang.
Clay didn’t know what had become of Chet, but he knew where he stood with God. He’d killed a woman. That crime put him beyond forgiveness. When the time came, Clay expected to meet up with his brother in Hell. Sometimes the thought made him nervous. Other times he didn’t care. Lately he’d felt so bad about Lucy Morgan that he couldn’t stop thinking about a person’s final moments.
Goose stretched his legs. “Maybe Andy’s right.”
Clay didn’t like Goose, but the man had good instincts. “Why do you say that?”
“If the woman’s going to church, you can bet Morgan’s sleeping alone in the barn. We could hit the ranch late at night and string him up before anyone knew what happened. You’d be rid of him.”
Andy howled like a dog. “I’ve got first call on the blonde.”
Goose threw hot coffee at him. “Settle down. We’re doing this for Clay.”
Clay stared into the fire. When he’d told Goose and Andy about killing Morgan’s wife, he’d talked tough, as if he’d sniped her to pay for Zeke and had no regrets. They’d believed him, but it wasn’t true. Her death had been a mistake, one that filled him with profound regret. Sometimes he thought about what Joshua Blue had said about that giant fish. A man named Jonah had lived in its belly for three days. He’d come out alive and told the story. The Reverend said a man named Jesus had done the same thing. He’d died on the cross and risen from the grave. The Reverend said men could make that death their own. He’d told Clay he could die to his sins and be reborn. He didn’t have to be a murderer and a thief. He could be washed in the blood of the Lamb and be made brand-new.
Clay had thought about that talk for five years. He was still thinking about it. Sometimes he felt so bad about Lucy Morgan he wanted to die. If he prayed Reverend Blue’s prayer, what would happen? He was afraid to find out. Guilt made a man do foolish things, and Clay had enough guilt to build a castle.
“What’ll it be, boss?” Goose asked.
Clay’s mind turned to Beau Morgan holding his dying wife. He couldn’t stand the thought of putting another woman, let alone three little girls, in harm’s way, but he’d had all he could take of the chase. He wanted it to end, but on his terms. Face-to-face. Man-to-man. But then w
hat? Clay didn’t know exactly. He just knew he had business with Beau Morgan.
“We’re staying put,” Clay said. “This time I want Morgan to come to me.”
“But boss—” Andy whined.
“Shut up,” Clay ordered.
The kid winked at him. “Can I at least go back to church?”
“Sure, just don’t do anything stupid.” Clay wished he could go himself. He liked the story about the whale.
Chapter Eleven
Supper was over and Dani had put the girls to bed. Needing to think, she lifted her shawl off a hook and went out to the porch. With the moon shining bright, she sat in the rocker closest to the side railing. Pushing with her feet, she wondered if she’d ever feel like her old self.
Two days had passed since Beau had kissed her. Everything about the man was rough, but his lips had been rose-petal soft. When he’d come to breakfast, he’d acted as if nothing had happened. He hadn’t mentioned the letters and neither had she, though after he’d finished breakfast, Dani had fetched the letters she’d written to Patrick and burned those, too.
With the picnic on Sunday, she had a decision to make. She’d told Pastor Josh she wouldn’t be bringing a basket for the auction, but Beau’s kiss had given her second thoughts. The caress had been brotherly, but she’d seen a glint in his eyes that went beyond kindness. Considering how her own feelings had exploded into raw hope, she wanted to know what Beau felt for her. She felt certain he’d come to the picnic if only to keep an eye on her and girls. If he bought her basket, they’d be eating together. It would mean the kiss had meant as much to him as it had to her.
Rocking gently, she closed her eyes and pictured Beau sitting with her on a blanket under a tree, sharing a meal and trading sweet looks. The answer to her deepest prayers glimmered just out of reach. She knew how he felt about Clay Johnson, but she believed in a big God, one Who’d overcome hate with love through the gift of His son. Beau and God weren’t on speaking terms, but Dani had hope.
Closing her eyes, she asked the Lord to heal Beau’s heart. The words tumbled through her mind, mixing with her dreams until she heard Beau’s boots scuff the dirt. She opened her eyes and saw him awash in moonlight, standing with one foot braced on the bottom step and his hand on the post supporting the overhang.
“A penny for your thoughts?” he asked.
She managed a smile. “They’re worth more than a penny.”
“Tell me.”
Not in a million years. She hunted for another subject. “The girls are excited about the picnic.”
Beau grunted.
Dani thought the sound was charming, a sure sign she’d lost her heart. She smiled at him “What does that mean?”
“I’m not fond of church picnics.”
“Why not?”
Frowning, Beau climbed up the steps and sat next to her. Her rocker squeaked and thumped. His stayed still. “Is Adie doing a box lunch auction?”
“Yes, she is.”
“That’s how I met Lucy.”
Dani thought of the hankie in her pocket. Was it Beau’s love for Lucy that made him carry it, or was it a reminder of his hate for Clay Johnson? Dani understood grief. Time brought healing. Someday Beau would love again and she wanted to be that woman. Hate was different. It ate a man alive, feeding on his soul until there was nothing left. The only cure was forgiveness, a pardon that came from compassion.
Dani wasn’t about to preach forgiveness to Beau. She didn’t have that right, but she knew about love. So did Beau. Hoping to see the man who’d sung in the church choir, she turned the conversation to the past. “Did you buy Lucy’s basket?”
A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “No, but I arrested the man who did.”
“What did he do?”
“I knew this so-called gentleman carried a whiskey flask, so I kept an eye on him. Sure enough, he got drunk and caused a stir.”
“And you stepped in.”
“I sure did.”
Dani hummed softly. “I bet Lucy fell for you that very minute.”
“Nope.” He grinned. “It took six months of courting, mostly because she was enjoying herself.”
Dani envied Lucy with every fiber, yet she wasn’t jealous. They’d have been good friends. “She was blessed to have you.”
“I was the blessed one.”
She studied the square cut of his jaw, the arrow of his nose pointing west. He looked at peace in a distant way. “You liked being married,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Very much.”
“My parents were happy. So’s my brother.” She gave a light laugh. “Maybe there’s hope for me after all.”
Beau gave her a sideways glance. “There’s hope, all right.”
With you? If it weren’t for Clay Johnson, would you stay? She couldn’t ask the question without revealing her heart, but she could do a little fishing. “I think I’ll make a basket for the auction.”
Beau’s eyes narrowed. “What for?”
“For one thing, it’s a fund-raiser for the Baylor family.”
He said nothing.
“For another, it might be fun.” Dani paused, then jiggled the bait. “Maybe I’ll meet someone.”
With a bend of his knee, Beau put the rocking chair in motion. “Like who?”
“Whoever buys my basket.”
“That could be anyone.”
“It’s just a picnic,” she replied. “But that’s how things get started, isn’t it? A sunny day, sitting in the shade…”
Their chairs thumped in perfect time until Beau’s creaked to a stop. “If that’s what you want, bring fried chicken.”
She’d made a batch two days ago. “You liked it?”
“It’s the best I’ve tasted.”
Dani took his interest in the menu as a good sign. Blushing with pleasure, she smiled. “What about raspberry pie? Should I bring that, too?”
“Sure.” He drummed his fingers on the armrest. “There are some good men in town.”
He sounded matter-of-fact, as if he were discussing cattle. Dani’s heart sank until she realized Beau had put his rocker back in motion. Again, the rhythm matched hers. He was fighting his feelings. She was sure of it.
He stopped the rocker with a thud. “Sometimes I wish for things, Dani. But it can’t be.”
Her throat tightened. “The past hurts, I know. But the future—”
“Is out of my hands.”
But it wasn’t. He had a choice. Dani wanted to fight for him, but the set of his jaw brooked no argument. His eyes, though, glimmered with a longing for love, a family, peaceful nights and a full belly. He also wanted to avenge Lucy. He’d made his choice, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t change his mind. Dani didn’t know everything about Beau, but she knew he liked fried chicken.
She went back to rocking. “I’m definitely bringing a basket for the auction.”
“Good idea.”
“It’s going to have that chicken you like, fresh apples, slaw and sweet tea.”
Beau raised his chin. “Don’t forget raspberry pie.”
“I won’t.”
Dani kept rocking. Slowly, Beau matched the pace of his chair to hers, giving her hope that he’d bid on her basket. The conversation drifted to the cows, names for the new calves, the girls, the silo and the weather. Not once did their chairs lose their matching rhythms. She hoped it was a sign of things to come.
“There’s a problem with the adoption.”
Beau was seated across from Trevor Scott in the attorney’s office. The meeting hadn’t been planned. Twenty minutes ago, when Beau had dropped Dani and the girls at church, Adie had slipped a piece of stationery into his palm. The note had been from the attorney and had read, “Urgent. Come to my office during the morning service.”
Beau had the note in his pocket now. “What happened?”
“Harriet Lange wants all three girls and she’s prepared to fight for them.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
&
nbsp; “Don’t be too quick to judge, Mr. Morgan.” Scott leaned back in his chair. “I received a letter from her attorney.”
“What does it say?”
“Miss Lange is appalled at the thought of Miss Baxter adopting the girls. To quote her attorney, she believes ‘blood is thicker than water.’”
Beau had to grit his teeth. “Dani loves those girls.”
“I believe you, but that doesn’t change the facts. Unfortunately, my second letter stirred up a hornet’s nest.”
“In what way?”
“Miss Lange has enlisted the aid of other family members. They’ve pledged financial support for all three girls with Miss Lange acting as legal guardian.”
Beau frowned. He’d made a promise to Dani and intended to keep it. “I won’t agree to it.”
“You may not have a choice.”
“Why not?”
“Miss Lange is questioning your character.”
Since hearing Emma’s story about being slapped, Beau had regretted contacting Harriet Lange. He had his faults, but so did she. “What’s she saying?”
“That you’re a drinker.”
“That’s a flat-out lie.”
“Is it?” Scott asked. “The family hired a Pinkerton’s detective. He saw you in the Silver River Saloon.”
“Did he tell Miss Lange I ordered coffee?”
“Apparently not.”
“She knows you’re a former lawman, but the detective was quick to note your more recent profession. Bounty hunting—”
“That’s not the whole story.” Beau didn’t track killers for the money. He did it for the sake of justice.
“But you’ve lived that life.”
“I’m after one man in particular,” Beau said. “It’s like fishing. A few others took the bait and got caught.”
“That may be true, Mr. Morgan. But from what I understand, your profession has made you a wealthy man.”
Beau didn’t feel wealthy. Losing his wife had made him the poorest man on earth. “It depends what you call rich.”
Scott laced his fingers over his chest. “Nonetheless, the money is evidence of your lifestyle.”
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