The Wayward Heart

by Jill Gregory

  “Rosita has taught me so much,” she told him, pouring plum wine from the flask into the two crystal-stemmed goblets she’d carefully packed. “She’s a wonderful cook, and has promised to teach me her own special recipe for chili.”

  “Rosita is a talented woman. It’s too bad she doesn’t like me. I sure wish I knew what I’ve done to earn her disapproval.”

  Bryony felt a blush steal into her cheeks. She was sorry if Rosita’s attitude had hurt Matt in any way, and in a rush, began to apologize for her housekeeper, but Matt interrupted her with a wave of his hand.

  “It’s all right, Bryony. I don’t care what the woman thinks of me. It’s your opinion I value.”

  Her blush deepened. “You needn’t worry about that. My opinion of you is quite high, I promise you.”

  “I’m glad.” He was regarding her so intently that Bryony began to feel a little embarrassed. She started repacking the remnants of their picnic lunch, searching her mind for a more neutral topic of conversation.

  It was Matt, though, who changed the subject, remarking in a quiet tone, “I hear you go quite often to visit your father’s grave. I hope those visits haven’t been too upsetting for you.”

  “No, I’ve accepted what happened,” she replied softly, raising her eyes to meet his penetrating gaze. There was a tiny pause while she tried to think how best to express her feelings in words. “I can’t quite explain why I visit the graveyard so often,” she went on earnestly. “Maybe I’m searching for some sense of my father, something to which I can relate. I didn’t know him very well, you see.”

  He nodded sympathetically, as if he understood. Bryony realized that she barely understood it herself.

  She could picture vividly the way it was each time she visited the graveyard, with its deep silence and eerie peace. Her father’s grave was neat and well-tended, adorned by a massive white headstone inscribed with the words: WESLEY HILL-1829-1874.

  But no matter how long she stood there, staring down at the patch of land that would house her father’s body for all of eternity, she couldn’t gain any sense of the man that he had been.

  Once, she had hunted for the grave where Annie Blake’s brother rested, and she’d found it some distance from her father’s site. She’d learned that the boy’s name was Johnny, and it was true—he’d been only fifteen years old when he died.

  Without quite knowing why, Bryony had left his grave feeling more shaken and depressed than ever. She remembered the unutterable grief and hatred in Annie Blake’s eyes, and her heart went out to the girl. How terrible that she believed that Bryony’s father and Matt Richards were responsible for the boy’s death. Bryony wanted fervently to make Annie realize that all of her bitter feelings were unfair and misplaced, but she wondered if that would ever be possible.

  Matt’s voice, quiet and gentle, brought her thoughts back to the present.

  “I understand how you must feel.” He sighed. “Wes’s death was so sudden. It wasn’t as if he had a chance to say any farewells.” His hooded eyes searched hers. “I don’t suppose he left you any sort of letter or anything...”

  “A letter? No, how could he have?” She glanced at him in surprise. “He didn’t know he was about to die.”

  “Of course not,” Matt agreed hastily, taking her hand. ‘I just wondered if he left you any personal papers that might sort of, uh, comfort you now.”

  She stared at him. “Do you mean a diary or something of that nature?”

  “Yes, something like that, I reckon.”

  “No, unfortunately, there’s nothing like that to be found. At least, I haven’t come across it yet. The only papers I have are his will and the deed to the ranch, and legal documents of that sort.” She glanced up at him with the sudden, dazzling smile that had fired up so many male hearts in fashionable St. Louis.

  “Maybe I should start a search! Perhaps my father had a secret diary hidden away that he meant only for me to read!” Her eyes lit with excitement as she toyed with this fanciful possibility, but Matt looked far from amused.

  “Now, Bryony, don’t go raising your hopes with farfetched ideas,” he advised her quickly. “Forget I mentioned it to you.” He paused, and then said slowly, gently, “I don’t want to see you hurt, you know.”

  His husky arm reached for her and pulled her closer. He smiled warmly. “I didn’t bring you here on this picnic to talk about your father.” Leaning closer to her, gazing into her eyes, he was just about to kiss her mouth, when for the second time that day, she broke the spell of the moment and pulled away from him.

  “Matt, listen to me!” she exclaimed quickly, very aware of his arm holding her close.

  “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. It’s important. I meant to discuss it with you sooner, but then I became so busy with the ranch and all. It’s something I dearly need to know.”

  He frowned and released her. “What is it?” he asked warily.

  Her vivid eyes burned with urgency. “Why did Jim Logan kill my father?”

  There was a long silence. “I wish to hell I knew, Bryony,” he finally replied.

  “Judge Hamilton told me that according to local gossip, a girl named Daisy Winston was involved.”

  Matt looked grim. And uncomfortable. “Yes, but just how she fits into this, I’m not sure.”

  “Who was she?”

  Leaning back, he propped an elbow on the blanket, studying her. “Well, Bryony honey, you might as well know the truth since you seem hell-bent on asking a lot of questions.” He sighed. “Daisy Winston was a saloon girl who worked at the Silver Spur. She was also your father’s lover.”

  Bryony went still. “No. I... I don’t believe it!”

  “It’s true. Pretty little thing she was, barely nineteen years old. Yellow-haired, big blue eyes, as wild as the flower she was named after.” He regarded her solemnly. “Now, Bryony, I can see you’re shocked, but there’s no reason to be. Your ma’s been dead many years now, and you can’t have expected your father to lead a monk’s life out here in the wilderness. Right?”

  She nodded, still stunned by this revelation. What he said was perfectly true. There was no reason why her father shouldn’t have become involved with a woman.

  But—a saloon girl? Only nineteen years old? It was a shock.

  “Are you sure about this?” she asked unsteadily. “Did you know this girl well?”

  “Pretty well. She was nice enough, though ignorant, and of a poor background. I think your father felt sorry for Daisy, Bryony. He met her at the saloon and sort of took her under his wing. She didn’t have any family or anything. They were seeing each other for some time before she died. Before she was killed, I mean.”

  Matt cleared his throat. “You see, Daisy was found beaten to death the night before your father and Logan shot it out.” Matt paused, hesitating. “There was talk that your father knew it was Logan who killed her, and that’s why he went after him and challenged him in the street. No one can say for sure, of course.”

  A sick, cold feeling swept over Bryony. The pieces of the puzzle were sliding together at last—but the picture that was emerging was altogether terrifying. It was clear to her now why her father had put his life on the line to fight a duel with Texas Jim Logan. All too clear.

  Her father had been in love with Daisy, or at least, he cared for her deeply. And Logan had killed her.

  She closed her eyes. No. It can’t be, she thought frantically.

  But reason whispered in her brain.

  Why would her father risk facing off against a professional gunman unless he believed Logan had killed the woman he cared about?

  A chill went through her as her thoughts tumbled together. Grieving for Daisy, in fury and pain, her father had challenged her killer. He’d given his own life trying to avenge her death.

  Covering her face with shaking hands, she found herself remembering all too vividly her own violent encounter with Jim Logan—the coldness in his eyes; the strength in that hard, muscled b
ody. He could have killed her at any moment, and it was a miracle that he hadn’t. The man must be half-mad to have beaten to death a poor, defenseless girl.

  He’s a monster, she realized. A monster with a handsome face.

  And she’d allowed him to kiss her, to touch her. To hold her.

  It was unbearable.

  As sobs shook her, she felt herself enveloped in warm, strong arms. Matthew Richards gently pulled her hands away from her face, and forced her chin up so that she had to meet his eyes. There was concern in them, and tenderness. His arms tightened around her.

  “Don’t cry, Bryony, honey. I’m sorry I told you all this. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  She spoke in a ragged voice. “You know the truth, don’t you, Matt? Jim Logan killed Daisy. That’s right, isn’t it?”

  His dark, hooded eyes were sad. “I reckon so, honey. That son of a bitch killed the girl, and your father went after him for it. That’s my guess, and I’d give a lot to know for sure.”

  “Oh, it’s true, I’m sure it’s true,” she cried, and shivered in his arms. “I just can’t believe that same awful man saved me from those men in Gilly’s! Why? It doesn’t make any sense!”

  “Damned if I know, honey. Men like Logan are a strange breed. He’s no good, that’s for sure, but maybe he had his own reasons for getting you away from those hombres.” Matt stroked her cheek.

  “Don’t cry,’ Bryony,” he said tenderly. “Try not to think about any of this. There’s no need now for you to be unhappy or scared. It’s true—this is a wild, brutal region, where terrible things can happen, especially to a young woman alone. But, honey, you’ve got no reason to be frightened. You’re not alone. I’m going to take care of you. I’ll see to it that no harm comes to you. Believe me, I will.”

  Before she could speak, he pulled her gently down upon the blanket. He leaned over her and touched his lips to hers. It was a long, tender kiss, a kiss filled with reassurance. Her bonnet had slipped down at a haphazard angle upon her head, and with a chuckle, he removed it and began to stroke her silken black hair. Some of the long, dark, strands came loose from the braided chignon and wisped delicately about her face.

  Matt leaned in closer, and kissed her again, his hands lovingly caressing the length of her body.

  Bryony closed her eyes and tried to relax. Matt’s kisses were pleasant, and his strong arms were comfortably reassuring, but she felt no surge of passion at his touch. His light, deliberate kisses failed to ignite anything within her. Much as she wanted to respond to his lovemaking, her heart and body remained calm and unexcited, like the waters of a small, clear pond without even a ripple.

  As she parted her lips to receive Matt’s kiss, willing her body to respond, she couldn’t help but remember another man, another kiss—one that had swept her into a hot swirl of passion. It was a kiss that had ignited every inch of her body.

  As the memory flooded back, she felt herself shrink instinctively from Matt’s embrace, her body tensing of its own accord.

  He stopped kissing her abruptly and stared down into her face, studying her as she gazed uncertainly at him. And then he chuckled.

  “Bryony, honey, you’re as innocent as a little kitten, aren’t you?” He took her chin between his fingers and planted another kiss upon her mouth. His dark eyes shone warmly down into hers. “Don’t worry that I’m trying to take advantage of you. My intentions are honorable.”

  “It’s not that...” Bryony began, struggling to sit up, but this time he held her firmly in place upon the blanket. She stopped squirming and stared up at him, not knowing how to explain.

  “It’s just that... I don’t feel... I mean, I...”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “You’re adorable, honey. Now stop stammering and listen to me.” Pausing, he smiled at her.

  “Ever since you arrived in Winchester, Bryony, I’ve admired your beauty, your spirit, your determination to carve out a life for yourself out here on the frontier. I realized that we’re alike, you and I. We’re both devoted to building our ranches into the biggest, grandest spreads in the territory. Isn’t that true?”

  “Well, yes,” she allowed, wondering uneasily where all this was leading. She wished Matt would let her go so that she could sit up and stare him frankly in the face, but he seemed determined to keep her lying upon the blanket, her head tilted rather awkwardly up at him.

  “I do want to run the ranch successfully, and to achieve my father’s goals for the Circle H, but—”

  “But that’s exactly my point, Bryony! We both want the same thing—and together, we can achieve it all!”

  “Together?” she echoed faintly.

  He nodded, his black eyes glowing down at her, his breath warm and rapid on her upturned face. She felt the pent-up excitement charging through his thickset, powerful body, and wished he would let her sit up.

  “Yes, together,” Matt repeated, and kissed her again, letting his mouth linger on hers. “I want you to marry me, Bryony. The frontier is no place for an unprotected woman, but if you marry me, you’ll know complete safety and security. We’ll join our two ranches into the single largest spread this territory has ever seen—and you’ll live with me up at the Twin Bars, never wanting for comfort or money or safety.”

  His grip on her tightened almost painfully with his excitement. “Marry me and I’ll make you happier than you ever dreamed possible.”

  Bryony’s heart sank. With dismay she realized that her fondness and admiration for Matt Richards had encouraged him to expect more from her than she could ever give. She only wanted his friendship, not his name in marriage.

  “Oh, Matt,” she began, as tears of regret welled up in her eyes. “I’m flattered—I’m very flattered that you want me to be your wife. But I can’t accept. I’m truly, truly sorry, but a marriage between us isn’t possible.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. It was obvious that the possibility of rejection had never occurred to him.

  “Bryony—I know you don’t mean this!” he rasped finally, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat and went on quickly. “Do you realize what you’re saying? You’re giving up the chance for a cattle empire! For wealth, security, comfort—for everything a woman could possibly want!”

  “No.” This time, when Bryony struggled to sit upright, he released his hold upon her.

  “I’m sorry, Matt,” she said in a low tone. “But there’s something more that I want some day from life—from the man that I marry. Love. I’m sorry, but there’s no love between us, and without it—”

  She spread her hands helplessly, leaving the sentence unfinished.

  His confused expression underwent an abrupt change. One moment he was glaring at her, the next, sunshine spread across his dark features. He grinned, reaching out for her. “Apparently I’ve given you the wrong impression, Bryony,” he remarked ruefully. “With all my talk about cattle empires and security, I’ve overlooked the most important reason for our marriage.” Again his arms encircled her, but this time, instead of returning his embrace, she kept her arms limply at her sides.

  “I do love you, honey,” he told her firmly. “If I didn’t make that clear before, I’m sorry. I want to marry you as much for love as for any of those other reasons. You’ve got to believe that.”

  She stared intently into his eyes, searching for confirmation of his words. His eyes were glowing with strong emotion, and there was great tenderness in his face. She’d never suspected his feelings for her ran so deeply. They’d been friends, they’d spent some comfortable and pleasant time together—but love? She was surprised, and sorry for him.

  “Matt,” she returned softly, wishing she could spare him this pain. “I don’t love you. I’m sorry. I’m very fond of you. I admire you and respect you greatly, but I don’t love you.”

  He sucked in his breath sharply, but after a moment he laughed, and there was a derisiveness in the sound that made Bryony stiffen.

  “Love? What does a young girl like you know of
love? You’re a child! I’ll teach you all you need to know about love, honey. I promise you, all that will come in time. But right now, isn’t it enough that we care for each other, that there’s affection and respect between us? I reckon you’ve read more than your share of those silly romantic novels, and you probably have some downright foolish ideas about the subject of marriage.” He smiled indulgently at her.

  “But Bryony, honey, this is reality, and you’ve got to face it. If you stay on at the Circle H without a husband to protect you, you’re letting yourself in for all kinds of trouble. The frontier is more savage than anything your pretty little head can imagine. All kinds of things could happen—things that would make your blood curdle.”

  She felt a shiver of shock down her back. There was a threatening tone in Matt’s words, as if he was deliberately trying to frighten her.

  “If you marry me, Bryony, and come to live up at the Twin Bars, I’ll see you’re cared for like a little china doll. You’ll never have to fear man or beast again. I promise you that.”

  His lips brushed lovingly over her hair. “I’ll make you happy, Bryony, and you’ll grow to love me in time as I love you.”

  Then he began to kiss her again, but this time Bryony jerked away.

  “No!” She pulled away from his kiss, and tried to break free, but his arms were wrapped tightly around her. Once before, when Roger Davenport had begged her to marry him, she’d wondered if she was truly in love—and how she’d know for certain.

  But today she had no need to wonder. Marriage for the sake of security or comfort held no appeal for her. If she ever married, it would be purely for reasons of the heart. She wouldn’t be influenced by monetary concerns or those of safety. All she wanted was a real love—something genuine and strong that would bind her joyfully to one man.

  Maybe these were a schoolgirl’s dreams, as Matt seemed to think, but even so, she’d stand by them—and fall by them—if need be.

  But he appeared unwilling to accept her decision, and as she struggled in a rather undignified fashion to free herself from him, he only held her more closely, more tightly, as soothing words of love streamed from his lips.