The Wayward Heart

by Jill Gregory

  And upstairs, down the long, oak-floored hall, the enormous bedroom suite that had once belonged to his mother and father. On the magnificent four-poster bed lay Bryony Hill, in a sheer white silk negligee, her soft cloud of dark hair falling temptingly over her milky shoulders, and she was smiling at him, beckoning him closer, leaning closer, beckoning, beckoning...

  He always woke up at that point, with sweat beading on his face, and a ferocious twist of desire in his heart. He dared not admit, even to himself, how much he wished the dream could be a reality.

  Admitting it would be too painful.

  He stared at his reflection in the mirror, and saw that he had changed.

  Bryony had done something to him that he hadn’t thought possible. She’d made him love her, made him care for her.

  After all these years of building up his defenses, of remaining cool and uninvolved, and independent of the whole damn world, he had fallen in love with a woman whom he could never hope to win.

  However much she’d been drawn to him on that night in the cave when they’d made such passionate love, she’d never allow her feelings to take over.

  She’d never contemplate a life with the man who’d killed her father.

  That had been made clear to him from the expression in those deep, gloriously green eyes. There was no hope of holding her in his arms ever again, of caressing her soft, sweet breasts, of kissing those exquisite lips—or of knowing the blinding joy that came from their union.

  And there sure as hell was no hope of any kind of future together—in Texas, or anywhere else.

  The dream would never come true, so his only course was to forget her, and to forget the powerful feelings she’d awakened in him.

  He was resigned to all this, yet he couldn’t shut her out of his mind. He knew that there was something he could and must do for her before he packed up and rode out of her life forever.

  He had to get to the bottom of this situation that threatened Bryony’s life. He knew full well the extent of her danger, and that it was only a matter of time and opportunity before Richards and his filthy partner got rid of her for good.

  I need to find that damned letter,Texas thought desperately.

  It was the only way to prove Sam Blake’s suspicions and provide him with a reason to round up Richards and his men. Only then would Bryony be safe.

  Grimly replacing the Colt in his holster, Logan found himself cursing aloud. If only he wasn’t obliged to find proof that Wesley Hill and Matt Richards and their unknown partner had been rustling Sam Blake off the range.

  Then he could merely challenge Richards and those coyotes who did his dirty work for him to a gunfight and rid Winchester of them for good.

  He had no doubt what the outcome would be of such a fight, for even distracted as he was by thoughts of Bryony, he still could outdraw any man in the territory.

  But he couldn’t settle things that way. Not this time.

  Blake had hired him to find proof that would help him legally recover some of the lost cattle. Jim was obligated to stand by their deal.

  All right, he thought, his eyes narrowing. I’ll get the proof and then I’ll send those bastards to their graves. I only hope Bryony watches her step until then. Because if anything happens to her...

  He couldn’t even bear to finish the thought. But there was a cold, deadly glint in his eyes as he left his room and strode downstairs to the hotel lobby.

  Jim had moved out of Ginger’s room in the Silver Spur several weeks ago, no longer able to endure her fawning attentions and her temper tantrums when he responded to her with undisguised boredom. He didn’t have the smallest desire to be with any woman save one.

  Maybe when he finished here and rode on to another town, he’d regain his old interest in good old meaningless sex with any pretty woman who was willing.

  But not yet.

  Not yet by a long shot.

  It was too soon to think of any woman but Bryony. Somehow she was always in his head, crowding out every memory of every other woman he had ever known.

  “Mornin’, Mister Logan,” Edna Billings’s lips twitched uneasily into a smile as he entered the hotel lobby, where she was sweeping the pine floor. Her nervous reaction to him was typical of what he encountered from most people—they treated him with a kind of wary respect and then breathed easier when he left the room.

  He’d grown accustomed to it over the years. Only two people had treated him differently. The first was Daisy Winston. She’d been his friend. The second was Bryony.

  “Mornin’, ma’am.” Giving Edna a nonchalant nod he walked toward the door with his usual unhurried stride.

  Logan pulled the brim of his sombrero lower over his eyes. At midmorning, it was already a scorching hot day, with no breeze to relieve the oppressiveness of the sun’s beating rays. The turquoise sky hung over the dusty little town almost menacingly, and against its vivid backdrop, the rugged mountains of red, purple, and lilac reared their craggy heads with regality, seeming to watch over the landscape sprawled below.

  Logan, squinting at those distant peaks, wished they could tell him the whereabouts of Zeke Murdock or Rusty Jessup. Nothing had been seen of the two since the attack on Bryony in May, though he’d checked everywhere.

  Well, he reflected purposefully, I’ll find them, sooner or later. They can’t hide out forever.

  As he walked along the wooden boardwalk, he scanned the faces of the passersby. The town was in a bustle of activity—everyone was eagerly awaiting the fiesta at the Circle H ranch on the twentieth.

  Only two days away.

  For the past week it had been the sole topic of discussion in the shops and in the street, and even in the saloon, where range hands had been busy bragging about the fancy duds they planned to wear for the occasion.

  Logan was fed up with hearing about it. Damn, how could he forget Bryony Hill when her name was buzzed about constantly all through the damn town?

  He had just stepped around an old dog sleeping in the shade when he caught sight of her, accompanied by one of her ranch hands. She was driving up in her freshly painted wagon, drawn by a pair of sorrel horses. As he paused to watch, oblivious of the people scuttling cautiously around him, the ranch hand helped her to dismount, then after a moment of conversation sauntered toward the blacksmith’s, while Bryony, attired in a red cotton dress, her dark hair loose and flowing over her shoulders, stepped quickly along the boardwalk toward the hotel.

  Logan observed her through narrowed eyes as she came toward him, greeting acquaintances and smiling. He was shocked by her drawn appearance. There were hollows in her cheeks, enhancing the sculptured look of her delicate bone structure, but indicating to his sharp gaze that she was under considerable strain. Her lovely eyes were shadowed, with none of their usual vibrancy. Even when she smiled at those who spoke to her on the street, he could detect the effort behind it, for he saw immediately that she had changed dramatically since their encounter on the mountain.

  When he’d run into her that time at Annie Blake’s he’d thought she looked somewhat subdued, but now, seeing her for the first time since then, when it had taken all of his willpower to refrain from running to her and crushing her in his arms, he saw that she was a ghostly version of her former self.

  A frown of concern twisted his lips as he watched her hurry along the boardwalk.

  Bryony was intent on reaching the hotel. She never even spotted Jim Logan as she rushed to meet Roger Davenport’s stagecoach. It was due in this morning, and she was anxious to find out from Edna if there had been any word regarding what time it would arrive.

  She planned to invite Roger to the ranch for supper so they could have an opportunity to visit together. She was looking forward to his visit with mixed feelings. Remembering his condescending attitude the last time they’d met, she wanted the satisfaction of showing him how well she had adapted to her new life. But she also looked forward to the company of someone from her past, someone connected with St. Louis and t
he life she’d known there.

  She hoped that talking with Roger would give her a brief respite from the low spirits that had settled so heavily on her, and which had been growing more burdensome every day.

  Peace of mind eluded her. She was still troubled about the allegations against her father, and she couldn’t stop thinking about Texas Jim Logan. Her heart felt like a dead weight in her chest, paining her with each breath she took.

  Suddenly, as she reached the corner where the feed store stood, she felt herself grasped by strong arms and jerked off the boardwalk. Gasping in fright, she began to struggle automatically, then found herself staring up at the man who for weeks had ruthlessly dominated her mind.

  She went still. “What... Whatever are you doing? Let me go at once!”

  Instead of obeying this command, Jim pulled her into the alley, out of the sight and hearing of passersby on the boardwalk. His grip on her arms was firm enough to hold her helpless but did not hurt her. He studied her upturned face.

  “What’s wrong, Bryony?” His voice was low, worried. “You can tell me. What’s happened to make you look so haggard?”

  The blood rushed into her cheeks. “Thank you for your kind compliment. I had no idea you cared a nickel’s worth for my welfare.” Pride made her eyes flash as she recalled the indifferent way he’d treated her at the Blake ranch. She was still smarting from that cold encounter.

  “I suggest you tend to your own affairs, and not concern yourself with mine,” she added icily.

  “Damn it, Bryony. I’ not interested in your fancy talk. I want to know what’s wrong—and I want to know now.”

  “It’s nothing!” She glared at him. “I’m perfectly well.” What else could she say? That she yearned to be with him again, for him to make love to her? That she was heartbroken and miserable because she loved him so hopelessly?

  No, never.

  She spoke, her voice a shade too shrill. “I’m merely a bit fatigued from planning my fiesta, that’s all. You have heard about my fiesta, haven’t you? It’s going to be a splendid party—the entire town is coming.”

  “So I hear.” His mouth was a thin, hard line. “I hope you enjoy yourself—dancing with Matthew Richards, the man who’s been trying to get you killed. I reckon it’s just the kind of stupid behavior I should expect from you.”

  “How dare you.” Her voice shook. “Matt Richards is a fine, upstanding man—and so was my father. You have no right to keep accusing them both—and I won’t stand for it!”

  “You don’t have anything to do with it,” he countered. “But brace yourself, little tenderfoot. You’re going to be in for a rude shock when the truth finally comes out.”

  “If you’ll excuse me, I don’t have time to listen to any more drivel.” Her eyes sparkled like green ice. “I’m on my way to meet a gentleman arriving on the stagecoach. I wouldn’t wish to be late. So if you’ll kindly let me go—”

  “Oh, yes, I heard about this easterner who’s coming to your party. A former boyfriend, I reckon?”

  Logan’s grip tightened as she tried to pull away from him. He drew her closer, his expression grim. “Listen to me, Bryony, I’ve heard about this dandy. Folks say he’s on his way to San Francisco, that he’s only stopping in Winchester for a few days. If you’re smart, you’ll go with him when he boards the stage for California. You’ll get out of Arizona for good. Go with this city boy and marry him, or do whatever the hell you want. Just leave Winchester before Richards makes another attempt on your life. It’s the only smart thing to do. For once in your life, be sensible!”

  Her thudding heart pounded still faster as fury rushed through her.

  “Take your hands off me this instant. You have no right to tell me what to do. I’ve already made it clear that I’m not leaving Arizona and no one is going to drive me away! Yes, I know that someone wants to be rid of me—I’d be a fool not to see that. But I don’t believe Matthew Richards is the culprit, and I intend to stay here until I find out who is behind it and why. But you needn’t worry,” she flung at him bitterly. “If you must know, I take adequate precautions for my protection. I’m always armed, and usually accompanied by one of my ranch hands wherever I go. Does that satisfy you?”

  She drew in a trembling breath and tried again, in frustration, to break free of him.

  “Let me go, damn you!” Her dark hair whipped about her face as a breeze rustled through the alley. “I don’t see why my welfare is any of your concern anyway—I was under the distinct impression that you couldn’t care less what fate might befall me. You told me so in almost those very words!”

  “Did I?” There was a huskiness in his voice as he stared down at her. “Then I lied, Bryony. I lied.”

  Abruptly, he pulled her closer. Her breasts were crushed against his chest as his mouth closed on hers. He kissed her fiercely. Desperately. Her senses reeled with the taste and smell and feel of him. The kiss was dark, urgent, hot. It made her forget everything else except the way he tasted, the way he held her, the way their bodies fit together. The kiss burned slowly through her, and as his arms tightened around her, she clung to his shoulders, wanting him. Wanting more of him. All of him.

  When at last Jim lifted his head, she saw despair in his eyes.

  “I love you, Bryony,” he said quietly. “Damn it, I love you so much. I can’t stand the thought of seeing you hurt—and that’s what’s going to happen if you stay in Winchester. You’re not safe.” He cupped her chin, frowning. “And you won’t be safe until I find that missing paper and expose Richards and your father and their filthy partner. You have to leave here.”

  Bryony shook her head. “No. If you really loved me... you wouldn’t do this.” Her eyes were filled with pain as they searched his desperately. “You wouldn’t accuse my father this way.”

  “I’m sorry. It can’t be helped.”

  “Yes, it can! You could leave town. Now. Immediately!” She was shaking uncontrollably. “Why won’t you forget all of these ridiculous suspicions? Go away and let me forget them—let me forget you!”

  “That’s what you really want?”

  “Yes... yes. I want to forget you. And I will. There’s no hope for us together. Who you are and what you’ve done will always stand in our way.”

  “I sure as hell know that.” There was grim acceptance in his voice. “But it doesn’t change what I have to do. I’m staying in Winchester until I prove that your father and Richards and their no-good friends have been rustling Sam Blake and others off the range.” He met her gaze steadily, though all he wanted was to hold her in his arms and soothe her. “And as sorry as I am to say this, nothing is going to change my mind. Not even you.”

  “Then you don’t love me.” Tears welled in her eyes as she yanked free from his grasp. “You don’t care how much you hurt me!”

  “Hell, Bryony, I do care! But, damn it, I still have to do what I have to do.”

  She raised tear-filled eyes to his face. “And I’ll do what I have to do. I’m staying here in Arizona.” Her hands clenched into fists. “I’m going to forget you. Everything about you. And I’ll pray that we never meet alone like this again!”

  His lean face now wore a mask of coldness. She could see no emotion in his eyes.

  “Yep. You do that, Bryony. I reckon it’ll be best for both of us.”

  She turned then and ran from him, trying to fight back sobs. Fleeing the alley, she hurtled back to the boardwalk. To the shops and the people and the wagons and horses.

  Away from the man who held her heart.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Bryony wiped frantically at her tears, trying to regain some semblance of composure. She had little time to do this, though, for almost immediately after stepping onto the boardwalk, she saw the stage drawing up at the hotel, the horses steaming and tired after their long run. For a moment she leaned against the wood-frame wall of the feed store to steady herself. She watched as the driver jumped off his high seat and let down the steps for the passenge
rs. Roger Davenport, looking stiff and uncomfortable, climbed gingerly down from the stagecoach, blinking in the bright southwestern sunshine.

  “Roger!” Bryony ran to him and threw herself into his arms. “Oh, how happy I am to see you!” she cried, her voice breaking a little bit.

  Roger, elegantly dressed in a dark suit that was considerably wrinkled from the journey, held her off at arm’s length, rather shocked by her enthusiastic greeting. He studied her with curiosity in his brown eyes.

  “Bryony? My darling, you’ve been crying. What’s the matter?”

  “Don’t be silly, Roger! I’m... just so overjoyed. To see you, of course. You... you can’t imagine how much I’ve been looking forward to this!”

  “I’m gratified, of course.” Smiling down at her in his old, indulgent way, Roger took her small hands in his. “Well, you certainly look wonderful. As beautiful as ever. Though I’m not sure Arizona quite agrees with you, my darling. You’re thinner than I remember, and pale.”

  He flashed his quick confident smile. “Have you been missing me? Or is it merely that you’ve had a difficult time adjusting to this barbarous frontier? I warned you, you know. Come, now, tell me the truth.”

  “Oh, no. Everything has been just wonderful. Perfect!” She couldn’t meet his inquiring eyes. Instead, she gamely hooked her arm through his. “Let’s bring your baggage to the wagon, then I’ll drive you out to the Circle H. You’ll be amazed at what a competent cattle rancher I’ve become.”

  “Wait just a minute, Bryony.” He stopped short. “I have no intention of staying at the Circle H with you. I’m going to stay here in town at the hotel.”

  “But why? We have plenty of comfortable rooms at the ranch, I assure you.”

  “No doubt you do.” Roger studied her with the chiding look he might have used with a child. “However, it wouldn’t be proper for us to stay together, with no chaperone, in the same house. We mustn’t set tongues wagging, you know.”