by Jill Gregory
And shortly after that, Daisy had been killed.
Hell, Jim reflected furiously, Meg must have gotten the news to Hill that Daisy was betraying him. Damn her!
And Meg had obviously set him up last night by sending him out on a wild-goose chase, giving Murdock and Jessup the chance to ambush him at Beaver Pass. And like a greenhorn, he’d fallen for it.
This was his chance. Meg was alone in the cabin, engrossed in the happenings outside the window. Tensing his muscles, he drew in a deep breath, and with agonizing effort hurled himself to his feet and across the cabin toward her. Even with the shoulder wound and the effects of the beating, he was quick enough to take her by surprise.
He hauled her against him, one hand jammed over her mouth, while the other struggled for possession of the gun. She fought vigorously, but he overpowered her easily and gained the weapon. He sucked in his breath as his shoulder throbbed unmercifully, but his iron hold on Meg Donahue never slackened.
“Sorry, Meg,” he muttered through his teeth, “but I reckon you’ve got this coming.”
Raising the butt of the gun, he hit her on the back of the head with a carefully measured blow. She sagged against him like a leaded sack.
Lowering her roughly to the floor, Jim moved to the door. Fresh blood from his wound streamed down his arm and across his chest, but he held the Colt steadily as he edged out the door to swiftly survey the scene at the edge of the cliff.
When he saw Bryony at the cliff’s edge, surrounded by the three men, red-hot fury coursed through him. His eyes glinted like polished steel as he moved toward them with silent stealth.
Ten feet from the ledge, he halted and leveled his gun.
“Let her go, Richards!”
All four men spun to face him, shock registering on their faces. Then everything happened at once. With a roar, Murdock raised his gun, but Jim shot first, killing the other man instantly. A second later, Rusty Jessup hurtled forward in a diving tackle aimed at Jim’s legs, and Matt shoved Bryony to the ground as he joined the fray.
Bryony pushed herself to her knees, her heart pounding as she saw Jim wrestling with the other two men in the dust. Without his injuries, he would have been more than a match for either of them, but now, wounded and hurt, she saw in horror that he was in terrible trouble. Matt landed a blow to his stomach, while Jessup hit him in the face, sending him slumping to the ground.
Somehow he found the strength to get to his feet, delivering a powerful kick to Jessup and stunning Richards with a blow from his good right arm at the same time.
But instantly the two men closed in on him again.
The gun had been thrown aside in the fight and Bryony saw it glint from beneath a rock. She was on her feet, running toward it, her heart in her throat, even as she saw Richards pull his own gun, trying to get a clear line on Jim.
She screamed to warn Jim, but he was busy with Jessup, aiming brutal right-handed blows at the ex-foreman’s swollen face, pummeling him with an unexpected surge of strength into unconsciousness.
But just as Jessup collapsed in a heap, Matt took aim at Jim, rapidly releasing the safety.
A gunshot thundered.
Jim spun about just in time to see Matt Richards collapsing in the dust, blood splattering everywhere.
Stunned, Jim stared at Richards unmoving form. Then he turned toward Bryony.
She stood a few yards away, her face white as parchment, and shock written all over her beautiful features.
The Colt was clutched in her trembling hands. As he watched, she dropped it and stared in horror at Richards’s corpse.
Her shot had been straight and true—right through the heart. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound emerged.
Then her fingers opened and the gun fell to the ground. Bryony began to weep.
“Bryony.” Jim limped toward her. “Bryony, it’s over,” he whispered.
Gently he drew her into his arms. She clung to him—crying, shuddering.
“I know, sweetheart.” He stroked her hair. “It’s rough—killing a man, but especially a man you knew and cared for at one time, I reckon—”
“No!” She broke away from him, the tears still shimmering in her eyes. “It’s not that! I’d kill him again—I’d kill all of them, if I could. I had to help you—save you!” Her green eyes glistened with tears. “Oh, Jim, I love you so. If anything had happened to you, I wouldn’t have been able to bear it! I would’ve wanted to die, too!”
He stared at her and for the first time, his own heart began to thump with an unbelieving hope. He searched her face in wonder.
“Bryony, I love you—there could never be another woman in the world for me. Only you.”
He kissed her then, with a fierceness that came from almost having lost her. She closed her eyes, responding to his kiss with a passion that was deeper than anything she’d ever imagined—a surging, overwhelming force of love rushing through her, sweeping aside any shreds of caution or doubt. Love flowed through her, buoying her heart, and filling her with a hope that knew no beginnings and no ends.
At last he drew back and she instantly yearned again for the feel of his lips upon hers.
“Why are you stopping?” she breathed, her arms winding around his neck.
He held her close as he searched her face.
“I have to know. Does it matter still—the fact that I shot your father? Can you ever—”
For once, Texas Jim Logan didn’t seem to be able to speak the words that came to him. He looked into her eyes, searching...
His question circled in her brain. Did it? Bryony wondered.
Her heart told her the answer. Wesley Hill had been a criminal—an unscrupulous, greedy, conniving rustler. A man who’d stolen from his neighbors, and murdered his mistress.
Had he ever been a real father to her? Had there been anything good and decent and honorable about him? She doubted it.
She gazed at Jim, who for all his cool, cynical exterior, was a man capable of deep love and understanding. A man who despite his tough, cool demeanor possessed compassion and true decency.
Her eyes reflected the depth of her feelings as she spoke to him in a voice that was soft with love.
“No. It doesn’t matter.” Tenderly, she touched his battered face with her fingers. “It couldn’t. Not now. I’d be a fool to throw away your love. My father wasn’t worth that sacrifice. I know that now.”
In spite of his pain and exhaustion, Jim smiled. Here they were in the midst of death, surrounded by corpses and blood on this forsaken mesa, yet he felt reborn, as if he’d been given a second chance at life, a second chance at happiness.
He stroked the thick dark hair of the woman in his arms, knowing that she was responsible for this. His sweet, spirited Bryony with the emerald eyes and honeyed lips. He kissed the top of her head.
“In that case, little tenderfoot,” he drawled in his deep, lazy voice, “I reckon there’s only one thing to do. We’re just going to have to get married.”
A smile to match his lit up her eyes as she lifted her lips for his kiss. “Yes, Mister Logan,” she breathed. “I reckon you’re right.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Bryony soaked lazily in the big porcelain tub in her bedroom at the ranch. It would be her last bath in this tub, her last night in this room. Tomorrow morning she was to marry Texas Jim Logan.
She sighed happily, leaning back languorously in the perfumed bath water. Ten days had passed since that awful dawn on the mesa, and a great deal had happened. Her father’s hidden confession had indeed been found inside the lining of Daisy Winston’s black-feathered pink hat, and on the basis of the information it provided—as well as their blatant crimes against Bryony and Jim—Meg Donahue and Rusty Jessup were locked up in jail in Tucson, along with several other rustlers implicated as accomplices in their activities.
Bryony had sold the ranch piecemeal to several neighboring ranchers—Sam Blake among them. At the price Bryony asked, it was a bargain, for she was ea
ger to be rid of it and everything it represented. She was starting a new life tomorrow, making a new beginning, and in order to do this, she had to free herself of all reminders of her father’s illegal past.
After the ceremony tomorrow, she and Jim would depart on the afternoon stage for their honeymoon in San Francisco, leaving the bulk of her possessions to be shipped later. To where they’d be shipped, she didn’t yet know. They hadn’t planned beyond their honeymoon, but whatever plans they eventually made, she knew she would be happy. Jim’s presence assured her of that.
Her lips were curved dreamily in a happy smile when suddenly, without warning, the door to her bedroom burst open. She shrieked, her heart hammering as she bobbed up in the tub, staring with parted lips and wide eyes. What she saw astonished her. Jim was dressed all in black with a red bandana around his neck. He lounged in the doorway, his vivid blue eyes glinting as he grinned at her.
“Jim! What are you doing here?” she gasped. “Never mind. Go away—I’ll come downstairs and talk to you after I’ve dressed. I can’t imagine why—”
She broke off as his smile merely deepened, and he strolled casually into the room, closing the door behind him and coming to stand a few feet away from her.
He paused before the fruitwood dresser. His shoulder wound was healing cleanly, and he looked stronger and more intimidating than ever. But Bryony was not intimidated. She stared at him, indignation sparkling in her eyes.
“What do you think you’re doing? Please leave, and wait for me downstairs!”
“Sorry, little tenderfoot,” he drawled, amused by the expression on her exquisite face. “I reckon I’m staying right here.”
“But why? Is... something wrong?” For a moment, she wondered wildly if he’d changed his mind about getting married, if he’d decided at the last moment that he preferred his freedom.
Was he leaving her? A sick feeling rushed through her, but it faded to anger as he continued coolly.
“I’ve reached a decision about our future after the honeymoon, and I wanted to tell you about it. I’ve got a lot of other ideas, too.”
From the way his eyes gleamed as he studied her in the tub, Bryony hadn’t much difficulty guessing what was on his mind. Furiously, she dipped lower in the tub crossing her arms defiantly over her breasts.
“Jim Logan you... you... beast! We’re not married yet, you know, and if you think you can just burst in here and expect me to... to give myself to you the very night before our wedding—”
He grinned. “It wouldn’t be the first time, little tenderfoot. And I reckon I don’t feel like waiting.”
She stared at him, her eyes blazing. His arrogance was unbelievable. But she’d teach him that he couldn’t always have his own way. Stubborn, arrogant man!
“I’ll see you tomorrow at the courthouse,” she said firmly. “Now please leave this house immediately.”
He picked up the thick towel she’d left on the small table beside the tub and held it teasingly.
“Come on, Bryony, you can’t stay in that tub forever, you know. I’ll help you get warm and dry.”
“Jim!” Her cheeks flushed. “It’s getting quite cold in this tub, and I really do wish to get out now, so if you’ll kindly hand me that towel and get out of my room, I’ll be most obliged.” Her chin lifted as if the matter was settled, but he just chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement.
“If you want this towel, little tenderfoot, I reckon you’ll have to come and get it,” he drawled politely.
“Ohh!” Bryony’s eyes flashed fire. It was growing cold in the tub, damn it. Her teeth clenched tightly together as she quickly stood up, and with as much dignity as she could muster, she stepped out of the tub, reaching swiftly for the towel in his hands. But he grasped her wrist and pulled her close to him, wrapping the towel about her slender, shivering form, and to her fury, he began to rub her dripping body with it.
She struggled to escape him. “Jim! You’re incorrigible! If you think you can come in any time you please and expect me to—”
But her words trailed off as warmth and pleasure seeped through her. His strong hands on her body always had this effect, driving her to distraction, bringing every inch of her flesh tinglingly alive. He held her nude form tautly against him, letting the towel slip unnoticed to the floor while his hands slid to her breasts.
Fire flared in her as her mouth explored his hungrily and her arms entwined themselves about his neck. Effortlessly, he swept her up and carried her to the bed, lowering her gently onto it, their lips still locked together. She helped him shed his clothes swiftly, and then he moved atop her, bracing himself with his arms.
Bryony ran her fingers ecstatically over the hard muscles of his back as together they rediscovered each other, their mutual passion mounting to a towering peak. When he plunged inside her she cried out in pure pleasure as the gnawing ache inside her found fulfillment, and together they were consumed in a torrid world of fierce, intoxicating sensuality. They touched and kissed, licked and savored, as soft words and touches flowed between them.
It was a long time later that they lay peacefully in each other’s arms, their nude bodies shiny with sweat and entwined as though they were one person. Bryony’s mouth moved tenderly against Jim’s hard shoulder.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“And I love you, my darling little tenderfoot.”
She snuggled closer, her eyes half opening as she remembered something he’d said earlier.
“Jim?” It was the merest whisper on the night breeze.
“Yeah?”
She touched his broad, muscular chest, her fingers tracing a pattern on the dark hair there. “What was that you said about a decision you reached? About our plans after San Francisco?”
“So you remembered.” Gently, he shifted so that her head rested on the pillow as he pushed himself up on one elbow to gaze down at her.
“How’d you like to live in Texas, my love?”
She stared up at him, her black hair flowing over her shoulders, her eyes brilliant in the moonlight that spilled softly into the quiet bedroom.
“Live in Texas? Do you mean... your home? Your family’s ranch?”
She could scarcely believe it when he nodded. A joyful smile lit her face as she threw her arms about his neck.
“You know that I’ll be happy anywhere as long as we’re together,” she whispered, “but I’m so glad you decided to return home. Does this mean...”she searched for the right words, “that you’ve come to terms with your father...?”
“Yes.” Jim stroked her hair as he spoke quietly. “I reckon I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. I took a good, long look at myself. Remember what I said to you that day in the cave about not being able to forgive myself? Well, I think maybe I can do that now. I’ve seen the way you handled this whole ruckus with your father, and that you came to terms with it. You’ve broken your ties with him, and with the past. That took a lot of courage and a lot of guts.” His deep voice went on thoughtfully as Bryony leaned against him “I reckon it’s my turn to come to terms with my family, my past—to face it, and stop running.”
He drew a long breath. “My father wanted to make peace before he died—that’s why he left the ranch to me as well as to Danny. I couldn’t accept that before. I didn’t think I deserved it. But now... now I reckon I can. Damn it, Bryony, I’ve got to. I owe it to him and to myself to forget the feud that separated us and to go home. That’s the one way—the only way—to heal the old wounds, to make peace in the family once and for all.”
He grinned at her, but she sensed the painful introspection which had gone into making this decision, and which lay behind his words.
“And besides, Danny’s been begging me to give him a hand running the place for so long, I’m beginning to wonder if the grand old homestead can survive much longer without me. That kid—”
“You miss him, don’t you? You miss Danny,” she interrupted, laughing.
His vivid blue eye
s gleamed with warmth. “Damn right I do!” He chuckled. “And now that I’m going to have a wife, and someday a family to look after, well, it’s time to go home.”
He kissed her gently, and smiled. “Think you’ll like being mistress of a seventy-five thousand acre spread?” he drawled. And then his expression grew serious.
“You know, Bryony, we’ve always had plenty of household help and all at the ranch, but I thought you might want to ask Rosita if she’d like to move to Texas with us and stay on to give a helping hand. Would you like that?”
She kissed him exuberantly, bouncing up in the bed. “Jim, that’s a wonderful idea! It would be lovely to have Rosita with us—I’ll ask her first thing in the morning!”
“Morning’s coming soon enough,” he replied, and glanced out the window where the midnight blue sky was just beginning to lighten. “But just make sure she understands that she’ll be traveling to Texas alone, not coming along to San Francisco on our honeymoon with us! I want you all to myself on that little excursion, lady.”
Bryony tossed her head and her jade green eyes danced. “Oh, you do, do you, Mister Logan? Well, I have some news for you. I received a letter from Roger Davenport just yesterday, and he told me about this marvelous young lady he met at the theater his very first night in San Francisco.”
She could barely conceal the mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “He said he only wished I could meet this paragon of every possible feminine virtue, and so I thought—”
“No, Bryony,” he growled, and pulled her tightly against him, his hands beginning to stroke her again, but she squirmed away, laughing, and went on.
“Listen,” she insisted, but he cut her off.
“I don’t want anything to do with that dandy and his lady-friend,” Jim said firmly, but she touched her fingers to his lips, silencing him with a burst of laughter.
“Do you know who she is?” Bryony asked, laughing. “She’s Diana Oliver—a girl I traveled with on the stagecoach! A horrid, odious, stuffy girl! Roger sounds as if he’s in love with her!”
