High Mountain Drifter

by Jillian Hart

  "Cuz everyone was talkin' about your accomplice, and we know that would be me." George was jittery now, eyeing the flask on the shadowed ground as if he needed a good stiff drink. "Milo wants the accomplice caught too and brought to justice."

  "So?"

  "You done swore to me that if'n I helped you, I'd be okay. That we wouldn’t get caught. Fact is, you guaranteed it."

  "And I still do." Dumb country hick, Ernest thought, smiling as if he and George were the best of friends. That's how you treated folks--placating them along, let them think you liked them, that you were looking out for them. So they wouldn't see exactly how beneath you they were. He sucked every scrap of meat off the bones before giving it a toss into the underbrush. "Now eat. You've got nothing to worry about. I told you. I'll look after you."

  "The thing is," George took a shuddering breath. "I've heard about this one bounty hunter. There was an article on him in the Deer Spring Gazette years back. He'd tracked some big outlaw that had killed all kinds of people. This here bounty hunter finally caught him a few towns over. It was real big news. I told ya. He never fails, so that means we'd be smart to get outta here."

  "Do I look worried?" Still hungry, Ernest grabbed a roll from the pack and shoved it into his mouth. "No bounty hunter is going to stop me."

  "You mean we're stayin' here, we ain't leavin'?" George gulped. "I think we should lay low, go south or something. If we ain't out here, then that bounty hunter can't spot us."

  "If I'm not here, I can't get Verbena." He smiled, calm now. Committed to his purpose. "Don't worry, we'll kill anyone who gets in my way. Did you get extra ammunition like I wanted? We're going to need it."

  "I want to help you, really I do." George looked a little gray, like a man having second thoughts. Like a man about to be uncooperative. "I'm real worried."

  "That bounty hunter should be the one worrying about us. You're a good shot, George, better than I am." He looked in the saddlebag, wanting another roll. "You see him coming, you shoot. We'll be fine."

  "Sure." George didn't look sure as he stared at his drumstick miserably. "Whatever you think, Ernest."

  "Good to hear." Ernest nodded, satisfied. Little did George know, he was expendable. When he'd served his purpose, he'd wind up in a shallow grave in these mountains. He finished his meal standing up, devouring food like a savage.

  This is what Verbena had done to him, what she'd driven him to. He was going to hurt her and bad, even if it was the last thing he did on this earth. No one--not those mangy cowboys, that backward sheriff or even that famous bounty hunter--could stop him.

  Chapter Ten

  The fire crackled in the stone hearth, casting heat and light through the quiet library. The supper dishes were done and put away, the house tidied, all chores complete for the day.

  It was a relaxing, lazy feeling curling up in the warmth, her feet on the coffee table, a dime novel in hand. Verbena turned the pages back, realizing she hadn't comprehended the last bit she'd been trying to read. Her brain wasn't focusing. She kept thinking of Zane in this room, rendering her breathless. He was out there in the dark, alone, perhaps a target.

  She really hated that. With a sigh, she turned the page, realizing her eyes hadn't even looked at a single word. She went back, stared at the black letters against the white, tried to make sense of them. Nope, couldn’t do it. She couldn't think of anything but Zane and the slight quirk of his mouth that showed humor. The gentleness in his eyes that could also be stark and unreadable.

  "Bedtime." Iris set down her book, stifling a yawn.

  "Ooh, I'm tired too." Magnolia closed the thick literary volume she'd been engrossed in. "Tomorrow's another day."

  "Tyler will be here tomorrow," Rose pointed out, closing her book too and setting it on the end table. She waggled her brows. "No wonder she's grinning."

  "I can't deny it." Magnolia bopped to her feet and sailed around the couch, skirts rustling. "Can't wait. Good night!"

  Good nights rang out. Verbena hauled herself off the couch, felt exhausted all the way to her soul. She didn't like the night. She didn't know how safe the men were outside guarding them. It made her afraid to close her eyes, listening for a door opening or a window breaking. She hated being afraid, even if it was for other people.

  "You really like Mr. Reed, don't you?" Rose caught up to her on the staircase.

  "Zane?" Verbena shook her head, forehead furrowing. She gripped the banister, the polished wood smooth against her palm. "I guess. I hadn't really thought of it."

  "Really? Because it looks to me as if you aren't thinking of anything else." Rose padded alongside her, smiling knowingly. "Every time you talk to him, you’re a little dreamy."

  "Not dreamy," she corrected, a little startled. Honestly, Ernest had been enough for her. No more men. No way, no how. She was going to embrace spinsterhood and love every second of it for all the days of her life to come. "Maybe I'm affected, which is different. You first see him and think, big tough scary guy. But you get to know him a little and he's kind. He's a good man."

  "See? You've thought all this out." Rose waggled her brows again, so sure of her conclusion. "You like him."

  "I don't dislike him," she agreed amicably. No point in arguing. It would only make Rose think she was right, when she wasn't. "You know very well I'm not looking for a beau, unlike the rest of you."

  "Hey, I'm not looking, but since it happened I'm going along with it." Rose pushed open their bedroom door. "And I like it."

  "I'm very happy for you." Verbena stepped into the room, saw Magnolia at the window, one drape panel pulled back as she gazed out into the night. Off daydreaming of her handsome fiancé likely, or maybe worrying, too, about what lurked out there in the dark.

  Like Zane. Verbena's heart tugged, remembering the sad story of his childhood, and the way he'd made her feel. It was as if he'd reached out and touched her heart.

  Hmm, maybe Rose was right. She closed the door behind her. Maybe she did like Zane Reed a little too much.

  "Oh, that scared me!" Rose gave a shaky laugh. "Look at those glowing eyes."

  "Mr. Raccoon is back." Magnolia sounded nonplussed. "No, sorry, Mr. Raccoon, you can't come in the house. It isn't yours anymore."

  "And come tomorrow, this room won't be yours anymore, either." Rose pulled open a bureau drawer and hauled out her new pretty nightgown. "Think how wonderful that is going to be."

  "Tell me about it." Magnolia let the drape fall back into place, full of mischief. "A bed all to myself, no one talking in their sleep--Verbena--and no one putting their cold feet on me--Rose."

  "And no snorting," Rose countered, unbuttoning her dress. "Verbena and I won't know what to do without you turning over, giving a snort and waking us up."

  "Just think, the luxury of a good night's sleep." Verbena forced herself to cross the room as if nothing were wrong, as if she didn't have even more trouble on her mind. "What will we do, Rose?"

  "Rejoice?" Rose laughed, stepping out of her dress. "Hey, Verbena, are you okay?"

  "Fine." Feeling tangled up and off-center, she went straight to her set of drawers and blindly pulled one open. Oops, sock drawer. She tried another. "Just thinking how lucky we are. So much has changed since we've come here. Magnolia and Daisy are engaged, you have a beau. We have a comfortable life."

  "A wonderfully comfortable life," Rose agreed.

  "Just think of all the good things ahead." Magnolia sidled up to stare into the mirror while she tugged out her hairpins. "You're right, Verbena. We concentrate on the good, not the bad lurking out there. Ernest can't take away what matters most, because we won't let him."

  "He is not as powerful as he thinks he is," Rose agreed, shimmying out of her petticoats. "He's a coward and a loser. All his money and fancy lifestyle back in Chicago can't change that. Which means, Verbena, you need to forget him, don't let him influence your life at all. So maybe your no man vow will have to go."

  "Oh, no, don’t even. I love my no man vow."
Verbena rolled her eyes, remembering her promise to herself up on that mountain when she'd been tied up on Ernest's saddle, laying belly down, tears dripping off her forehead, the world upside down, knowing she was about to die. It was the vow she would live by, a code of honor, a commandment written on her heart. No more men. Ever. "You both know I am a bum magnet. If there is something wrong with a man, he will be interested in me and I'll start liking him."

  "Well, just because that happened with Ernest doesn't mean it's cast in stone." Rose scooped up her petticoats. "Things can change."

  "That's right. Ernest was just a chance thing," Magnolia agreed, trying to be supportive. "There are tons of nice men out there. Daisy found one. I found one. Rose's Wade looks promising."

  "Yes, he does," Rose agreed. "You have a lot of choices here in Bluebell. So many nice bachelors."

  "You mean like Lawrence Latimer?" She rolled her eyes.

  "Please. You know I'm talking about Zane Reed." Rose hid a little smile, a knowing look in those eyes.

  "Did you not hear what I just said?" Honestly. Verbena shook out her rolled up nightgown and draped it across the settee at the foot of the bed. "No men. Not ever. Not even one. If I let a man close to me, it's proof there is something wrong with him. I'm done with men who have something wrong with them. Look at the harm I've caused all of you."

  "That's backwards thinking," Magnolia pointed out, reaching for her hairbrush. "If I can find the fairy tale, then why can't you? Maybe your happy-ending is out there, but you just haven't found it yet."

  "Or maybe she has," Rose said as she turned around for Verbena to untie her corset laces.

  "I haven't," Verbena denied again, but a little niggle of doubt yanked hard in her chest. Maybe she wasn't telling the whole truth here. She blindly untied Rose's laces and hooked her finger in to loosen them. Hmm, she couldn’t deny the bounty hunter affected her, that when she was with him she felt safe and secure. She could see past his gruff exterior to the man within.

  Her heart twisted, just a bit. But that wasn't proof she cared about him too much, she denied. Okay, maybe it was.

  "Just believe," Magnolia advised, brushing her long, gleaming strands of sunny blond hair. "It's what I finally did and look what happened to me."

  "Right," she said gently, because she wasn't going to argue with her sisters, not about this. She loosened the last lace and Rose stepped away. No happily-ever-after, she thought. After Ernest, how could she ever really trust another man again? Even if he was swoon-worthy.

  No, she needed to admit what she really felt about Zane, because it was a lot. She didn't know how that had happened, the spark of caring had simply taken over her heart. And his story--the loss of his mother, the orphanage, having a father want him only to put him to work. Maybe Zane wasn't a loner out of choice. She ached for him, her heart simply crumpled. No one should be alone without family, alone in the world.

  Maybe that explained his kindness. He had to have a gruff exterior to protect his gentle side. She went to the window and eased back the curtain. Out past the glow of raccoon eyes and the little paw on the window trying to break in, lay the dark hush of foothills and mountains. The wilderness where Zane hid right now. She cared about him too much, she had to shut down her feelings. Their lives were too good here, there was too much to lose. She had to remember the other man out there--Ernest--and what he'd already cost them.

  Sadness washed over her, and she let the curtain fall back into place. The thought of Zane remained in her mind, in her heart, as if woven into her soul.

  * * *

  The wind gusted through the forest, bringing with it the scent of snow. Zane dismounted, told his gelding to stay and listened to the wind. The distant call of a coyote, the nearly silent flap, flap, glide of an owl, the scurry of some little creature in the bushes told him no predators were near, either of the wild or human variety. Rifle in hand, he pushed his way past branches, careful to make as little noise as possible.

  Just as he'd thought. It was a good vantage point. He knelt in the ferns and moss, ignored the damp ground seeping through the knees of his trousers, and pulled the binoculars from his pack. The manor house had gone dark, those women were early to bed, early to rise types unlike a lot of wealthy people he'd come across. Word had it they were running a fledgling bakery business in their kitchen. Interesting. He couldn't stop his thoughts from returning to Verbena. Again. Which he'd been doing all evening.

  She'd wanted to help him ferret out Craddock. He shook his head, almost smiling again. She had courage, he had to give her that. Not just beauty and a good heart, a rare combination. What man wouldn't adore her? He grimaced, because he was one of those men. Knew he shouldn't be. What was the point? No woman was going to want him. Let alone a wealthy one who'd want a man who could fit into her world.

  He grimaced. Well, he couldn’t deny that made his chest ache, as foolish as it was. He wasn't the type to ache over anyone. That's why he kept his shields up, his heart as hard as stone. It was easier that way. You couldn't be hurt if you didn't let yourself care.

  He shrugged. Maybe it was already too late for that. Resigned, he lifted the binoculars and studied the mountain ridge to his left. He'd followed tracks from several points--town, a back road, the river--all made by the same two pair of boots, judging by sizes, treads and gait patterns. Two men careful not to re-use the same paths too often, taking different routes through the forest, but converging on the same general region.

  Someone knew how to hide tracks--likely the accomplice--but he wasn't smart enough to realize he'd given himself away by the pattern of the parts of the trail he did leave behind.

  The night darkened as the clouds moved in, blotting out the last dregs of starlight, rendering the mountainside pitch black. Zane waited a moment until his eyes adjusted, until he could pick out the graceful arms of the trees, the rough contour of granite and rock, the shadow of an owl swooping low across the foothills below.

  With care and determination, he searched the ridge inch by inch with his binoculars, waiting patiently, searching every contour of rock, every shadowy spot between trees, waiting. He could sense his quarry out there, felt it in his gut. Rain began falling, tapping like hushed music across the world--hitting trees and rocks, earth and moss. Even his hat. Time passed. Maybe hours. The rain turned cold, began falling white. Snow began to cling to the trees.

  Then he saw it. An angle not found in nature. A faint shadow, not moving--Zane squinted, leaning in--looked like the round edge of a man's left boot. Just the toe. He nodded, certain now. Someone was sitting in the shelter of that jutting rock shelf, hidden in the dark, protected by pines surrounding him and by the undergrowth in the foreground. If Zane stared at the spot long enough, his eyes adjusted more to the blackness. He saw other things too. The faint gleam of a whiskey flask on the ground, the straight line of a rifle's barrel leaning against a rock, ready to be grabbed.

  Found you . Zane lowered his binoculars and smiled. Verbena and her sisters were going to be safe tonight. That thought gave him a happiness he'd never felt, the surety of knowing he'd done the right thing for someone who mattered. Pretending his heart wasn't aching, or that he wasn't remembering the impact and comfort of her touch, he slowly eased back into the trees, like the night itself, invisible.

  * * *

  The hour was far too late to be getting home, but she'd had such a good time visiting with Daisy, Beckett and Hailie. Aumaleigh shook the snow off her coat and hooked it on a wall peg, the silence of her rented rooms echoing around her. Dark, because she hadn't yet lit a lamp. Cold, because the fire was banked.

  She'd lived here a long while, needing to get out of the manor and away from her mother, whose sharp tongue had become unbearable. This used to be her sanctuary, where she could unwind after a difficult day of caring for her mother and working in the ranch's kitchen. It had become home.

  But now that she owned the ranch and the income it provided, she could afford something less leaky. She skirted
around a bucket in the middle of the floor. Plink, went a droplet falling from the ceiling overhead and into the bucket. Maybe she could find something closer to her nieces. She had real family now, and she wanted to be with them. Should she build a little place of her own, she wondered. Well, it was something to think about.

  Right now, she had other things on her mind. She found her way to the little table next to the kitchen by feel, pulled out a chair and settled onto the cushion. The lamp was in the center of the table, so she lit it with surprisingly unsteady fingers. Heart palpitating, she reached into her pocket and drew out Gabriel's letter.

  She frowned, staring at it. Was she being foolish letting herself admire the masculine, blocky shapes of his writing? Of her name in that writing marching across the front of it? Wistfully, remembering what had been. Hurting, wondering what it might have become. She ran the pad of her forefinger across those letters, the ones he'd written. Could she bring herself to open it? Did she dare open that door to the past?

  She blew out a sigh, troubled. There were several different postmarks on the envelope, the earliest read June 30, 1863 PA. Curious. She didn't know if her heart could take what he had written. After all this time, what could he have to say? Surely it would break her heart all over again, whatever it was. But this letter had waited more than thirteen years in that wardrobe, hidden away by her mother. Surely it deserved to be read.

  So she braced her heart and carefully tore open the envelope, pulse skipping, dread crawling down her spine. She unfolded the parchment and held it up to the light.

  Dear Aumaleigh,

  I hope this finds you well. I find myself in Pennsylvania under the command of Brigadier General John Buford. It's been a hard war, and I find myself thinking over a lot of things in my life. The things I'm most glad for and those I regret. You are both. I have never forgotten you. I married, I have two fine sons and a daughter. I've found everything that matters. I hope you've found the same. A good man to love you, children to fill your life, the happiness you have always deserved, that I've always wanted for you.