by Jillian Hart
Wishful thinking, Verbena sighed, knowing she was dreaming when she had to be practical. Zane Reed, legendary bounty hunter, was a man with no roots and he liked it that way. All she had was tonight with him, then he would be gone forever.
"I hope Beckett continues to mend." Zane leaned back in his chair, at ease, calm. "Thank you for the home cooked meal. I don't get a lot of those."
"Just take care of yourself." Daisy skirted through the doorway and out of sight, the first sister to leave the table. No doubt the others, including Aumaleigh, would be right behind her, eager to get the dishes done so they could get started on the evening's reading and sewing.
Was there a way to hold back time? Verbena wished there was. She planted her hands on the table and rose from her chair. Around her, her sisters broke into conversations as they cleared the table of china dessert plates and fancy silver forks. Zane rose from the table too, towering above them. He looked different in blue, she realized. It softened his edges, made him even more handsome.
Any minute now, he was going to go. Say his farewells and walk out the door.
"Why don't I fix some coffee?" she offered, aware of his gaze on her face like the softest caress. She lowered her eyes, not wanting him to see the longing she felt, the affection she feared was too strong to hide.
"I'd love some." Low and deep his voice, rough and revealing. He cared. She did not doubt that.
"You and I can take it in the sunroom." She felt Magnolia's hand on her sleeve, heard her sister say that she and Rose would make the coffee, to go on ahead. It felt good they supported her, that they understood.
When Zane held out his hand, so large compared to hers, she gave it to him. Let him link their fingers together and led him through the French doors into the parlor. A few lamps burned, casting sepia light across the imported carpet and furniture, illuminating their way into the hallway. He stayed by her side, his grip firm, his presence commanding and yet comfortable at the same time.
"This is nice." He followed her through the door, into the dark, echoing room. A chill came up through the floor and through the glass. Windows curved from floor to rafter, walled the room on two sides. Part of the ceiling gleamed darkly, glass too, offering a view of mountain and sky. "You can see the stars from here."
"I thought you would like it." She closed the door, let him tug her deeper into the room. "Since you sleep under the sky, I figured you must like seeing it."
"That I do." He couldn't deny it. The view was amazing, giving a glimpse of the big dipper, those straight, squared points of light. Stars, diamond-white, glittered across the black velvet sky. Trails of clouds sailed through them, absorbing their light, glowing like dark pearls. "I've spent most nights under that sky. It gets so I feel penned in when I have four walls around me. But here, I don't feel that way. Not at all."
"Tyler's crew finished the final touches today." Her soft alto filled the room, chased away the shadows. "They rolled out the carpet for us, but we don't have any furniture in here yet. Tyler is refinishing it for us."
"We don't need furniture." He sat down on the luxurious carpet and nudged her down with him. "This is more comfortable than most places I've slept."
"Says the man used to bunking down on rocks." Laughing, that voice. Easily happy.
This was who she must have been before Ernest, he thought, as he lay back. Bubbly, sweet, poised, confident. Resilient. The radiant stars above could not outshine her as she stretched out beside him, rested her head on his shoulder. She let him curve his arm around her so they were side by side, nothing between them.
"I loved the blackberry story." She rested one hand on his chest, turning into him. "This was when you were living with your father again?"
"Again? No." He wasn't a man of deception. He might not offer up his past voluntarily, but he didn't try to hide it either. There was no sense to that. Some things would always be a part of you, and he felt them now, dimming the stars, closing up his heart. He let out a sigh. "I never lived with my father before. Only after he came to the orphanage."
"Did he run off on you and your mother?" Tender-hearted her question, layered with sympathy.
"My mother ran off on him." It still hurt to remember his ma, a tough woman because life had made her so. In another place and time, different circumstances, she could have been beautiful with her long black hair and round face, green eyes as dark as moss. She might have wanted the sons she gave birth to. "My mother was traveling with her family when my pa and his gang attacked them on the Wyoming prairie. Pa and his men robbed and killed everyone but my mother. She was fourteen years old at the time. Pa took her captive, for himself."
"Oh." She gave a little gasp as the realization sank in. "You mean he kept her and--"
"Yes, used her for his pleasure. Made her cook and do laundry for everyone. He worked her ruthlessly and treated her worse." He had faint memories, vague pieces of that misery. The sound of his mother's sobs in the night as his father overpowered her, the blood across her face, the stripes of red across the back of her dress when he'd gotten more drunk than usual and whipped her mercilessly. The helplessness and terror he'd felt, not being able to help his ma.
"She managed to get away when I was three." He swallowed hard, past a dry throat. The memories were difficult. "I remember, because he almost caught us. Sheer terror. Ma and I hid in the hollowed out bank along a creek for hours in the night, while his men searched for us with rifles. When they went downstream and out of hearing range, Ma scooped me up and ran. She ran until dawn."
"Your poor mother." She blinked her eyes, as if fighting tears. "That's horrible. I'm so thankful she got away."
"It wasn't easy." He felt hollow, sounded hollow, remembering. "We were on the run for a long time. Sneaking into people's barns for the night, eating what little she could scavenge for us along the way. One day she collapsed in the middle of a country road in labor. An older couple came along and stopped. Mrs. Blintz helped Ma and me into the back of their wagon and took us home. After my little brother was born, we stayed on to help with whatever work they needed. They were getting on in years, so it was a good arrangement. Ma fixed up an old shed in the backyard and we lived there, her and my brother and me."
"And that was your first home?" She swiped tears from her eyes before he could see them.
"The only one." The notes of his voice rumbled low. "Ma worked hard, we scraped by. She took on any job she could find. Sewing, cleaning, field work. When I was five, she fell ill, and a fever took her within days. Mr. Blintz passed away too from the same fever. Mrs. Blintz was too old to care for a toddler and a child."
"That's when you went to the orphanage?"
He didn't answer, merely nodded. She didn't say anything more either, just let the silence settle around them, let the pain of his story settle within her. Overhead the constellations gleamed reassuringly, light blazing against the darkness. Someone knocked very lightly on the room's closed doors, and the faint rattle of silver and china reminded her about the coffee. She'd completely forgotten.
"I'll be right back." She tore herself away from his side, away from his warmth. The room felt cool, and cooler still with every step she took away from him. When she whipped open the door, no one was there. Just the tray on the floor, beautifully set for two. Coffee steam curling from the cups. Her thoughtful sisters. She plucked up the tray, elbowed the door closed and she turned around, bumping into him.
"I'll take that." He stole the tray, crossed the room. "You have a nice family."
"That's how it looks from the outside, doesn't it?" She couldn’t help teasing, maybe to drive away the sorrow from his story still lingering in the air. "I don't know how I put up with them."
"Yeah." He wasn't fooled, but he was smiling. The star shine cast enough polished-silver light to make out the lines and angles of him, the masculine curves and hard planes. He plunked the tray on the carpet. "They worked hard to make me feel comfortable tonight. Not many proper ladies would have done it."
/>
"Oh, my sisters aren't so proper. Except for Iris." She imagined them all rolling her eyes at her comment, if they'd been in the room. "I'm glad you felt comfortable with us. We all think pretty highly of you."
"No need for that." One corner of his mouth tugged higher, wryly, as he handed her a steaming cup radiating a rich coffee scent.
"That self-depreciation doesn't work with me anymore." She cradled the cup, stole two lumps of sugar from the little bowl on the tray. "I know your story now. You had a gentle ma."
"She was." He sounded surprised, looked away, took a sip from the manly mug Rose had thoughtfully poured for him. "How did you know?"
"I can see it in you." She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing her heart didn't show in those words. But they had. Maybe it was what Zane most needed to hear.
In the near darkness, he hung his head. Didn't say a word, just sat there. She set down her cup and laid her hand on his shoulder. Rock-hard, as if invincible, but the man was only human, after all. He had a heart, just like anyone.
"I was lucky." She thought of how hard his life had started, that he'd had so little. Really, only his mother and then his baby brother. "Although my sisters claim I was abandoned by gypsies and left on the doorstep, that I'm not one of them at all, it's only a joke. I had everything growing up. Parents who loved us and did their best for us. Sisters to play with and to argue with and play princess tea parties with. We had love. We still do."
"Next you'll be telling me that's worth more than all the treasures in this house." Another wry smile. He moved, caught her hand, took it in his.
"Yeah, I'm sentimental that way. Not really that materialistic." She smiled too. She wanted to be closer to him. Love so strong it hurt ached in her chest. "I gather from the berry and bear story, that you spent the rest of your growing up years with your father. The one you had to hunt down. He was an outlaw."
"Yes." He set his cup down too, turned toward her, and the shadows claimed him. The darkness became stronger than the light, seemed to dim the stars. His hand engulfing hers gave a caring squeeze. "Here's where I should change the subject. Where I skip forward and leave out the worst part of my past."
"How come?" She leaned in, trying to see him in the shadows, but he was lost to her, just a silhouette against shadow. "I don't think being a bounty hunter is a bad thing. You protect people."
"I hunt dangerous men and bring them in so they can't hurt anyone else, that's true." His breathing hitched, his head bowed forward a little more, as if humble or ashamed. "I do it because I'm good at it. And maybe because I have something to atone for."
"What do you mean?"
"I was a lost kid. Orphaned, alone, angry. I wish I could deny it." Grief filled those words, and such powerful regret the night vibrated with it. "I resented having to live with my pa. He was terrifying, and I had no choice."
"Of course not." Understanding, gentle. That was Verbena. "It wasn't right that he was anywhere near you."
"There were about a dozen men in his gang. We camped in the summer, holed up in abandoned shanties or cabins in winter. Sometimes Pa's men even threw out the owners or killed them for shelter." He felt hollow again, worthless, remembering that confused kid he'd been. Hating his father, fighting not to be just like him, giving up the battle. "When I turned fifteen, that was the day Pa initiated me into the gang."
"Y-you were an outlaw?" She went rigid, startled, but not pulling away. It was too early for that. She was probably too shocked, needed time to process before she showed him forcefully to the door.
"You deserve the truth." He owed her that. He loved her in a way he never thought possible. "It's no secret. Most folks see me coming and cross the street, mostly because of the guns, but there are some people who remember the truth about my past."
"I see." She withdrew her hand, quieter now, pulling back, biting her bottom lip in thought. She shook her head, retreating into denial, but that wouldn't last long.
"I rode with my pa for three years." He hated that about himself, but he'd been young beaten and abused, he saw no other option in life. Felt too worthless to believe he had any. It took all his inner strength to muster the dignity to keep going. "I robbed, I stole, I threatened, I took victory in other's pain and losses. Unlike everyone around me, including my pa, I didn't like it. I hated myself more than anyone could."
He stopped, focused on the windows, on the play of starlight on the mountainside, on the limbs of the trees. "One day history repeated itself. Pa took a liking to a pretty young woman in the stage we were robbing, shot her family dead, tied and gagged her, and brought her back to camp. Tossed her in his tent. He'd beaten her so badly, she was unconscious, so he was waiting for her to wake up."
"That's terrible," she whispered, aghast.
"While he was celebrating with whisky around the campfire, I snuck into his tent, cut her bindings, and escaped with her. She was fifteen. She didn't deserve what was waiting for her. I took her to the sheriff in the nearest town, Pine Bluffs, got there before sun up praying every step of the way Pa wasn't close on my tail. I told the sheriff where to find him, and he and his men went hunting. I stayed behind."
"You were an outlaw." Verbena repeated, as if needing to be sure of the truth.
"Yes." Nothing on earth hurt worse than having to say that one word. He hung his head, face to face with his past. No man could change what he'd done, erase the mistakes he'd made. Only go forward trying to do better, to make up for them.
"The sheriff located the girl's relatives and reunited her with them. He put me in jail too. I deserved it." That was just the truth. "I served less than five years for robbery and assault. Got a short sentence for the testimony I gave on the gang. I wasn't popular, I tell you that. Barely survived prison. But when I got out, didn't have any skills. That's when I started bounty hunting. But I wanted a better life, so I looked up that sheriff. He said he'd help me, if I wanted to change. I was an assistant deputy for a year in Bear Hollow, promoted to deputy for another. But it was too much. I couldn't escape my reputation. The sheriff took a lot of criticism for hiring me, so I left. It was better that way."
"And you went back to bounty hunting. You can capture outlaws so well because you understand them." She sounded distant, hollow, the denial gone. "Because you were one of them."
"Yes. I didn't know much about working in a store or on a farm. I didn't know how to be a cowboy or a schoolteacher. I had no other skills, I hadn't continued my education outside of the orphanage. Bounty hunting has been a good fit for me." He stood, a giant above her in the dark. "But I'm not like the outlaws I hunt. I'm a different man. Not many people see it, but it's true. I thought it was only fair that you know the truth before I leave. The way rumors travel, it might come up one day. I don't want you to feel like I was trying to fool you, the way Ernest was, by pretending to be someone I'm not."
"I would have never guessed your past." She hung her head too, feeling empty, spent. She should be angry at herself for falling in love with a man who was capable of violence against the innocent, she should be furious she'd made an exception to her no man vow, but she wasn't. She swiped away the tears seeping from her eyes. Hurt, loss, disillusionment, it all tangled up together.
"I wanted you know the man I really am," he confessed. Affection--no, love--rang in his words. So did regret. "That way you know the reason why I'm moving on come morning. It's why I can't stay."
"Because I wouldn't want a man like that?"
"Yes. Besides, I'm used to leaving." He strolled toward the door, blending with the darkness, becoming one with it so there was no sign of him, just the knell of his steps. "Thank you for how you treated me. I'll never forget you."
His words touched her, wrenched her into pieces. She opened her mouth with the words on her tongue. Don't go, she wanted to say, I'm in love with you, but she held back. She felt tinny with fear, suspecting if she bared her heart to him and told him of her love, he would walk out the door anyway. That she wasn't enough to hold him
here.
He opened the door, bathed in lamplight for the few seconds it took for him to cross the threshold and stride out of sight. When she heard the front door close, she knew he was gone forever. The tears came.
She hadn't been wrong about him. She knew that to the bottom of her soul. He might not be the man she thought he was, but he was more.
Much more.
He'd rebuilt his life, changed everything he'd been. She couldn’t imagine how hard that was. He'd walked a hard, straight life without friends to help him, without family to love him. He'd made himself into a noble man. All by himself. That took courage and a noble soul.
"Did he leave?" Rose asked from the hallway, sounding puzzled. "What about the cupcakes?"
"I don't think he wanted them." Scalding tears turned the world blurry. Thank goodness her heart was too numb from shock to feel anything. The love of her life had just walked away, he'd left her so easily. How was she supposed to feel about that?
"Are you crying?" Rose rushed into the room, alarmed. "What happened in here? What did he do to hurt you?"
"He's leaving tomorrow." That wasn't the whole story, she couldn’t bring herself to repeat the horrible ordeal of his past, of what he'd been through, of the man he'd once been. That story was one reason her heart was shattering, cracking into painful, irretrievable pieces. There were others.
"It's for the best," she said, unable to fight the sobs racking through her. "I always knew he was going to leave."
But somewhere down deep, in a secret place she'd dared not admit, she'd hoped he might stay. That his love for her would be enough. That when the time came, he wouldn't be able to ride away from her.
She'd been wrong. Inconsolable, she bowed her head, trying to hide the tears streaming down her face, dripping off her chin, and plopping onto the carpet. From this moment on, her heart was never going to recover, not ever. She would never be okay again.
