by Jill Gregory
“How... how do you know so much about her?”
“After Sam Blake hired me, I spent a lot of time over at the Silver Spur, picking up range gossip and the kind of rumors cowboys thrive on. Daisy and I became friends.”
“Oh?” Skepticism shone from her eyes. “I can well imagine just how friendly you two were.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re wrong, Bryony, if you think that Daisy and I slept together. I respected her too much to seduce her.”
This insult seemed calculated to inflame her. It succeeded.
“Why, you—” She couldn’t continue. Tears of hurt and indignation blinded her, as she tried to scramble to her feet, but he grasped her wrists easily and held her still beside him on the blanket.
“I haven’t finished what I have to say to you yet,” he muttered, as she struggled in vain to free herself.
Bryony gritted her teeth, realizing the hopelessness of fighting him. She forced herself to sit still and silent beside him.
“Very well. Go on, damn you.” The words were a low, furious whisper.
To her relief, he released her and sprang to his feet, pacing restlessly about the cave as he spoke.
“Pretty damn soon it became clear to me that Daisy was frightened. Really frightened. She was terrified of your father—and of Matt Richards. It took some doing, but I won her confidence, and one night I got her to tell me enough to make me realize what kind of a man Wesley Hill really was. She confirmed Sam Blake’s suspicions, and she even informed me that there was a third party involved, though she had no idea who this might be. That’s something I still don’t know. It could be anyone.”
His voice grew bitter. A haunted look settled over his features. “I reckon I could have shot down your father and Richards pronto to end the whole matter, but that wouldn’t have helped me locate the unknown partner. Besides, Blake wanted proof he could show to a sheriff or judge in order to get some of his cattle returned. So I waited, doing my best to come up with some real evidence. And that worked out badly for Daisy.”
His face grim, he turned toward Bryony. “Daisy wanted to break off with your father once she learned what was going on. But he wouldn’t let her go. He and Richards both threatened to kill her if she spoke one word of what she knew to anyone. Daisy had guts, though. She told me what was happening, and I promised to help her. Then she mentioned that your father and Richards had quarreled after the Blake boy was murdered. Apparently, killing the boy shook up your father, and he told Richards he didn’t want any more needless killing. Richards argued that he and the third partner had agreed between them that the boy’s death was necessary.”
Jim shook his head. “Things got even uglier then. Threats were made on both sides. Later, your father told Daisy that he was going to write a confession implicating Richards, the third partner, and himself. He said he’d hide it in a secure place, as protection in case Richards decided to try to get rid of him. Then he warned Richards about it—explaining that the whole setup would be blown sky-high because the paper would fall into the appropriate hands if he should die. That was a shrewd move. He used that hidden confession to protect his life.”
“I never heard... such a ridiculous story in my life.” Bryony’s face was pale. “Do you realize the wild, unsupported accusations you’re making against my father? A man who’s dead and unable to defend himself? And against Matt Richards, the most respected man in Winchester? I think you’re crazy! You and Daisy Winston both!”
“Bryony—”
“No! Listen to me.” Her eyes sparked with anger. “If what that saloon girl said was true, and my father had drafted such a document, don’t you think it would have come to light by now? He’s been dead for months, and no such letter was found among his legal papers.”
Jim nodded grimly. “You’re quick, aren’t you? The truth is, I don’t know why the document hasn’t turned up—or where in hell it is.”
“It doesn’t exist. It never did! And none of this absurd story is true!”
“It’s true, all right.” He frowned at her. “Let me finish. Only two days before she died, Daisy told me she was going to find out from Hill where he planned to hide the confession. She promised to tell me, and in return, I promised her my protection until the whole dirty business was finished.”
Bryony stared at him. “Go on.”
“The next day I was over at the saloon when I heard some prospector passing through town mention a name that was familiar to me. It was a man who’d served with me in the Union Army—a good man, and I owed him a favor. He was in trouble down in Mexico. So I set out for Nogales, just below the border, to see if I could help him out.”
He shrugged as she stared at him in surprise.
“Believe it or not, sometimes my reputation with a gun comes in handy. There are times when my name alone scares off trouble, and I never even need to fire a shot. Unfortunately,” he went on with a frown, “this wasn’t one of those times. It was an ugly business, but I managed to get him out of a bad situation. By the time I returned to Winchester, two days had passed. I went straightaway to see Daisy in the saloon, but she didn’t have time to talk. Your father was coming to get her—bringing her out to the ranch with him for the night. Then Meg Donahue showed up just as Daisy was starting to tell me something and we had to break off our conversation.”
Jim’s blue eyes darkened with regret. “I figured I’d see her the next day and find out where Hill had hidden the damned paper. But that’s not how it worked out.”
He paused, but Bryony made no comment. It was obvious that he believed every word he was saying, but she knew there had to be a dreadful mistake. Her heart told her that her father had been a good, decent, honorable man. He may have been ambitious, but there was a big difference between ambition and outright greed. Between working hard to become successful, and stealing and killing to obtain one’s goals.
Her father hadn’t been capable of viciousness or dishonesty, she told herself. There has to be another explanation, she thought, as fierce, long held loyalty surged through her.
So she listened grimly to the tall gunfighter’s story, while her mind tried to untangle the bits and pieces of information she was hearing. It was up to her to prove that Texas Jim Logan was wrong. Her father was dead—unable to defend himself and his good name.
She had to prove his innocence for him.
When she remained silent, Jim strode toward her, his expression impenetrable. There was no trace of satisfaction in his voice, only a heaviness that indicated that what he was saying caused him considerable grief.
“I never had the chance to talk to Daisy again, Bryony. Riding back to town from Blake’s ranch the next morning, I saw vultures gathering in the sky above Cougars’ Bluff. So I rode over to investigate. I found Daisy.”
Bryony’s heart lurched. “What do you...?”
“She was lying under some scrub brush. Her clothes were torn and bloody. Her hair was matted with blood—”
Breaking off, he slammed his fist against the wall of the cave. When he spoke again, his voice was steely and his eyes shadowed with pain.
“She’d been beaten and strangled. It was one of the most brutal attacks I’ve ever seen, and believe me, I’ve seen my share. To top it off, the bastard who killed her left her there to die in the desert sun.”
“Do you mean... she was still alive?” Bryony gasped with mounting horror.
He nodded. “Barely. She died within seconds of my reaching her—there was nothing I could do. But she did manage to whisper one word. Your father’s name. That’s how I knew that Wesley Hill killed her.”
The icy note in his voice frightened her. Dark fury shone in his eyes.
“There were fresh carriage tracks on the trail near her body. I followed them into town. Your father had arrived just before me and was on his way into the saloon. The saloon, damn him. He’d just killed a girl and he was aiming to sit down and enjoy a round of drinks. I called him out on the spot.”
A mirth
less laugh escaped his taut lips. “Oh, he didn’t want to fight me. He knew he’d be standing in Hell before the sun had fully risen that day. But I challenged him—and by the code of the west he was obliged to face me.”
His tone was so cold. So hard. So pitiless.
Bryony felt a chill quiver through her.
“What you did... it was like murder,” she whispered.
“Like hell it was. He had an even chance. He was armed and able to defend himself. Unlike Daisy, who didn’t have a prayer in hell.”
The silence that fell between them then was long and painful. Bryony felt numbed by what he’d told her. At last she found her voice, and forced herself to meet his hard stare.
“There must be a mistake. My father wouldn’t... he couldn’t...”
“He could. And he did.”
“No!” She buried her face in her hands, wishing she could block his words from her mind. But she couldn’t.
She had to think, had to come up with the true explanation for the things he’d told her.
“There’s still the matter of that document. If all of this were true, then the document should’ve come to light by now. And since it hasn’t, it probably doesn’t exist, which means that Daisy Winston lied about it—”
“The document exists.” His tone was firm. “Apparently, it’s so well hidden that it escaped everyone’s notice. But it’s bound to be discovered soon. I’m not the only one looking for it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Matt Richards needs to find that confession before you or I do. If you find it first, his game is up. Don’t you see that? Don’t you see the threat you pose to him?”
She sucked in her breath as his words struck her. She remembered how the Circle H had been ransacked after her father’s death—and the study safe dynamited. She thought of her kidnapping off the stagecoach, and the attempt to murder her yesterday.
Suddenly, all of the events that had puzzled and frightened her since she arrived in Arizona took on a frightening new meaning. The chilling fear that had overtaken her as she listened to Zeke Murdock and Rusty Jessup from her hidden crevice in the mountaintop flooded back.
For the first time, the possibility that Jim Logan might be right sank in. It was a devastating prospect.
Even as she tried to absorb the possibility, he seemed to read her mind.
“I found Shorty Buchanan’s body when I rode out searching for you yesterday.” Jim’s voice was curt. “And I learned that Richards asked you to marry him, and that you’d refused—at least, for the moment,” he added quietly.
She stared at him, then nodded.
“Did Richards try to persuade you to move in immediately with him at the Twin Bars Ranch? For your own protection?” Jim asked.
The stunned expression in her eyes gave him the answer he expected.
“Don’t you see, Bryony? He needs to get you away from the Circle H so he can have a clear field to search for that confession. As soon as I heard that you’d spoiled his latest plan by turning him down, I had a hunch he’d resort to violence again. And he won’t stop until you’re out of the way. That’s why you need to leave Arizona until this is settled—until Richards is either dead or behind bars. As long as you’re in the territory, you’re a target for him and the low-down coyotes who do his dirty work.”
She felt a chill flash through her. His words rang round and round in her brain.
Could they be true?
“Look.” His tone softened. “Why don’t you tell me everything that happened yesterday before I found you. We’ll work this through together.”
He drew her close.
Bryony tried not to nestle against him, but his arms around her felt so solid. So reassuring. She leaned into him slightly.
Just for a moment, she told herself, her face pressed against his shirt.
“Bryony, you can trust me,” he said grimly. “I’ll help you. I’ll protect you. But you have to tell me how you escaped getting shot along with your foreman.”
Could he be right? she wondered. Could she really trust him?
Some place deep down, she knew she could.
Slowly, carefully, with his arms wrapped around her, she related the events of the previous afternoon. When she was done, he nodded grimly.
“I reckon that confirms what I’ve been telling you.” His voice was grim. “Rusty Jessup used to be your father’s foreman and he was one of the small group of range hands who knew what was really going on. He and Murdock must both work for Richards now. And he hired them to get you out of the way.”
Bryony felt too stunned and confused by all she’d heard to take in much more. She shook her head and murmured in a dazed way, “I know it can’t be true. There has to be another explanation for all this. My father—Matt—they can’t be evil men.”
With a grimace, Jim drew her gently into his arms. He wanted nothing more than to hold and comfort her. Damn it, she looked as white as parchment, and he could feel her trembling within the circle of his arms. But even as he held her, his lips lightly brushing her hair, she pulled away suddenly in agitation.
“No. Don’t touch me. What we did last night was wrong. It can’t ever happen again.”
“You seemed to enjoy yourself at the time.” He tried to ease the tension with a grin.
But tears stung her eyes and began to spill down her cheeks. “You know perfectly well that we shouldn’t have... that there’s no hope of any kind of friendship between us!”
A rueful smile touched his lips. “Honey, it wasn’t friendship I had in mind.”
At her anguished cry, he felt his gut tighten. “So, you still hate me for killing your father. Even after everything I’ve told you about Wesley Hill.”
“What you’ve told me is a lie or... a mistake. You killed him for something he never did—and how can I ever forgive that? Or forget it?” she choked out. “Even if I wanted to, I... I can’t. It’ll always stand between us!”
He frowned. A long silence fell between them.
“Sure, I guess you’re right,” he said at last. “Anything you say, ma’am.”
There was nothing but ice in his tone, all traces of kindness and compassion were gone. Before he could say any more, however, they were both startled by the shrill neigh of a horse from the mountainside, startlingly close. In two quick strides, Jim reached the mouth of the cave. He paused beside Pecos, whose ears had pricked at the sound.
“What... who is it?” Bryony whispered, aware that her heart was hammering with fear.
Logan returned swiftly to her side. “It’s that loudmouthed wrangler I knocked down yesterday. Buck Monroe. I reckon he’s searching for you, little tenderfoot. It appears that our nice little hideout is about to be discovered.”
Chapter Nineteen
Bryony rushed to the jagged mouth of the cave and peered down the mountain trail, shielding her eyes against the sun. Outside the cave, the daylight was now quite strong, and there was every sign that it would be a beautiful morning.
All traces of last night’s storm clouds had disappeared from the sky and in their stead, a sapphire blue dome crowned the awakening land. The violets and paloverdes seemed more vivid than ever after the rainstorm, and the plain below stretched like a golden carpet until it merged with the rolling green foothills in the distance.
Some miles beyond, she knew, the Circle H Ranch stretched across the sprawling green valley, and by now, everyone there would know that she and Shorty were missing. Her range hands were already searching for her on the plain below—she could make out a number of figures on horseback fanned out amidst the cacti and scrub brush.
Buck was one of them, of course, only he was much closer, already combing the trail of the mountainside, his flat-brimmed sombrero set squarely on his head.
When he suddenly called her name, the sound came clearly to her ears across the quiet mountainside, just as his palomino’s whinny had done.
But Buck was still some distance away, well below the entrance t
o the cave. She’d have time to gather up her things and go down to meet him.
For more than one reason, she didn’t want him or anyone else to discover that she’d spent the night in a secluded cave with her father’s murderer—a man who only yesterday had knocked down Buck himself.
Hastily, she spun back to the cavern’s dim interior, where Jim glanced at her in silence.
“I have to go down to him.” She stooped to gather up her neckerchief, then checked automatically for the derringer in her holster. As she began to turn away, she paused, meeting the gunfighter’s hard stare with an expression of uncertainty.
Without quite knowing why, she felt a strong reluctance to leave now that the time was actually here. She wanted to prolong this moment alone with him for just a little longer. She knew it would probably be their last.
If the situation was different, she thought, an unexpected ache inside her, she might almost imagine that she was falling in love with him.
But the situation was not different. There was no hope that love could flourish between two such different people. If the first seeds of it had somehow been carelessly planted in her heart, then she must do her best to uproot them.
It was the only way.
Yet for one more moment, she lingered, gazing into his eyes, aware of a sharp ache within her.
If only things could have been different between them...
“I reckon you’re planning to leave Arizona?” He broke the taut silence at last.
Bryony shook her head.
“What do you mean? Are you loco?” He stared at her. “I told you, you’re as good as dead if you stay here now. Don’t you realize that?”
She flinched at the fierceness of his tone, but then gave a shrug.
“I’m not sure I realize anything of the sort. It’s possible there’s no truth at all to your extremely farfetched theory.”
“Then how do you explain the attempt on your life yesterday? How do you explain your abduction from the stagecoach?”
“I don’t know.” Desperation crept into her voice. Why did he persist in badgering her about this? Why wouldn’t he leave her alone?
