The outlaw looked down the length of his cigarette. “Where were you born, Lizzie? I hear a hint of the South in your voice.”
Ethan didn’t jump in. She had to hold up her end of the lie, so she bent the truth. “I was born in Virginia.”
“Tobacco country. The fellow pretending to be Dawson spent some time there, too.”
Had he? She didn’t know. It was easy to shrug. “It’s lovely country. Almost as pretty as here.”
Ethan slapped his thigh. “Speaking of Dawson, I should have thought of this sooner. Sweetheart, do you have the advertisement you found in the trunk?”
“I think so.”
She rose, lifted the paper off the nightstand, handed it to LeFarge and sat back in the rocker.
The outlaw unfolded the paper and read. “I’m surprised I missed this.”
Fighting the urge to glance at Ethan, she said, “It was wedged behind a drawer.”
LeFarge sucked on his cigarette as he scanned the ad. “They were headed to California, all right. There’s a name of a bank written here. Looks like Fowler’s writing, too. May I keep this?”
“It’s yours,” Ethan answered.
Jayne opened Laura’s book of poetry and looked for the longest passage she could find. “Would you gentlemen like to hear Thoreau?”
Ethan nodded. “Why, sure—”
LeFarge cleared his throat. “Tell me more about the widow.”
The book pressed against her thighs like a stone threatening to drag her down into a lake of lies. Closing it, she forced herself to look at LeFarge. “There isn’t much to tell.”
“Did she say anything to you about family, or where she planned to go?”
“Not a word.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t have more to say to you. Women talk.”
“It wasn’t a social call. Some things are private, and a woman’s grief is one of them.” The line between saying too little and too much was like a fraying rope. The more she said, the more weight it would have to bear. Yet she had to hang enough lies to convince this man that Jayne Dawson was dead. “I wish I could help you, especially if she did something wrong, but I barely said a word to her, and she said even less to me.”
“She was about your size, wasn’t she?”
“Yes. You can tell from the dresses that we were about the same height.”
LeFarge rolled the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. “That was a fortunate coincidence.”
“Life goes on,” Jayne replied. “Ranching is hard work, and we can’t afford to waste anything. Her clothes fit me fairly well, but we need other things as you can see. I’m using the red skirt for curtains, and I’ll braid the scraps into rugs.”
“You must be skilled with a needle and thread.”
Jayne’s blood turned to ice. “I am.”
Ethan leaned forward in the chair with his forearms resting on his thighs. As cordial as a minister making a Sunday visit, he said, “It seems to me there isn’t much else to say.”
LeFarge stubbed his cigarette out on the hearth. “So it seems.”
Timonius pulled a second cigarette from his pocket and lit it. He disliked Ethan Trent with an intensity he usually saved for lawmen and preachers. Tonight’s picture didn’t fit with the ragged man he had met yesterday, but some men were just plain lazy about personal hygiene.
The woman was clutching the poetry book in her lap, but that didn’t mean much, either. He’d upset her on purpose. She’d stood the test well, though, answering his questions with facts and very little emotion. She seemed at home in the cabin and the dress from the trunk didn’t fit her shape. Jayne Dawson had been a seamstress, and Timonius figured that her clothing would fit well.
Eager to take a few nips from the whiskey flask in his saddlebag, he took a long drag on the cigarette, tossed the butt into the fire and rose from the chair. “I’ll bed down in the barn.”
Trent stood, and the woman rose with him. “I’m sorry we don’t have an extra room for you,” she said.
“Don’t trouble yourself.” Turning to the rancher, Timonius let his coat fall open to reveal his gun. “I’d like to get an early start for the Dawson woman’s grave, if you don’t mind.”
“I’d prefer that myself.” Trent picked up the lantern, smiled at his wife and patted her arm.
Timonius wasn’t familiar with the ways of husbands and wives, but the caress seemed natural. Mrs. Trent clearly had eyes for her husband, and Tim’s suspicions slid to the back of his mind like pebbles falling in a pond. His fishing trip was over, at least for tonight.
As soon as the door slapped shut, Jayne took off the eyeglasses she’d been wearing and collapsed in the chair the outlaw had used. His body heat was still radiating from the wood and she jumped up as if she’d sat on a pine cone. Tobacco smoke had thickened the air, but she didn’t open the window. As long as LeFarge was out of sight in the barn, she and Ethan would be safe. There would be no reason to carry on their charade by sleeping as man and wife, and she was sure he’d be relieved. LeFarge was the biggest threat by far, but their forced marriage had to cut straight to his heart.
She pulled the blankets from under the bed just as Ethan paced through the door. He scowled at the tangle of wool in her arms. “You can put those away. We’re both sleeping in that bed tonight.”
“It isn’t necessary.”
“Like hell it isn’t.” He lifted the blankets out of her arms and kicked them under the bed. Pivoting, he took his shotgun off the wall and snapped it open to check for cartridges. She stared with wide eyes as he raised the stock to his shoulder, aimed at the door and squinted down the barrel. Satisfied with the range, he lowered the weapon and faced her.
“Believe me, Jayne. LeFarge is no fool. He’ll be watching us, and that makes sharing a bed very necessary.”
After he leaned the gun against the wall, he stripped off his shirt, sat down on the mattress and yanked off his boots. They clattered to the floor like tumbling rocks, and she saw holes in his too thin socks.
Her heart skittered against her ribs. The moment was brimming with need, his and hers, the need to protect and the need to comfort. Her throat swelled with misery. She didn’t want to hurt this man, to remind him of Laura in any way. Nor did she want to need the security he offered.
Clinging to her dignity, she said, “We have to deal with LeFarge, but it’s not a good idea for us to sleep so close.” Her voice drained to a whisper.
“I can stand it,” he replied evenly.
But she wasn’t sure she could. With her life in danger and the baby doing funny things to her breasts, she felt like dry wood ready to go up in flames. She wanted to shout at the moon and shake her fist at the stars. She wanted to be bold and brave, but she also wanted to surrender to tears, to escape the tension and the fear, to take comfort in Ethan’s arms.
But that wasn’t smart. She had to stay alert to protect herself and the baby from harm. Clutching the ends of her shawl, she said, “I’d like to wait for you to go to sleep before I put on my nightgown.”
He leaned to the side and blew out the lamp. “That’s all the privacy you get. There’s not much chance I’m going to sleep at all.”
She knew exactly how he felt. “Maybe not, but I’d rather sit for a while.”
Obscured by darkness, he rose to his feet, stepped in front of her and rested his warm palms on her shoulders. His face glowed orange in the roaring light of the fire. “Come to bed. You and the baby need rest, and we have to come up with a plan.”
“We can talk here.”
His lips grazed her ear. “Not with LeFarge watching us. You can trust that I won’t take advantage.”
“Of course not,” she said in a rush. “In your heart you’re still married to Laura.”
His eyes drilled hers for one tense moment, then he let go of her shoulders and strode across the room. Keeping his back to her, he said, “Get your nightgown.”
He was standing by the heart-shaped mirror, with his feet planted wide and his
arms crossed over his chest. Glancing over her shoulder, she unbuttoned the front of her dress, stepped out of it and put on her white night rail. Once she was covered, she said, “I’m decent.”
Slowly, like a man not sure of what he’d see, Ethan turned and looked straight at her. Only then did she realize she was standing in front of a blazing fire in a thin cotton gown. She heard him suck in a breath, saw the twitch of a smile on his lips and heard the rustle of the sheets as he lifted the blanket from the bed.
“Go on now,” he said. “Get in. It’s not like I haven’t seen you half-dressed before.”
But it hadn’t been like this. She’d been ill with fever and he’d been half dead with grief. Two healthy bodies presented a whole new set of problems. Politely, she said, “I’d rather sleep on the edge than by the wall, if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind. I want a clear shot at the door.”
He was guarding her with his life, and it gave her some ease as she slid across the mattress. Rolling to her side, she faced the wall as he stripped off his shirt and climbed in next to her, still wearing his trousers.
As the bed dipped with his weight, gravity went to work. Her hips slid back as he rolled to his side. Their thighs met and then parted, staying close but not quite touching.
With Ethan lying next to her, she squeezed her eyelids shut and focused on the baby and staying safe. She imagined sleeping in her bedroom in Lexington, but with thoughts of home came memories of her mother.
You’re strong, Jayne. Stand tall. Be brave.
Her throat squeezed to a pinhole. She would not cry. Except her chest was aching and she could feel Ethan’s warmth spreading through the bed. If she moved an inch, she’d be pressed against him from her neck to her knees. She’d be safe in his arms, at least for now, and sheltered by his body, at least for tonight.
Tears pressed behind her eyes. She knew the value of a good cry. It healed the soul like rain ending a drought, but these tears were different. They had been born of weakness and want, and that wasn’t acceptable.
Sucking in air for courage, she rolled onto her back. His face was inches away, giving her a clear view of the rage in his eyes. Having to deal with LeFarge was terrible, but being with her in the bed he’d shared with Laura had to be like slicing open an old wound. Guilt overwhelmed her, but she couldn’t change the facts. She needed his help.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said, tugging the comforter up to her chin.
Ethan reached across his body, covered her hand and squeezed. “We should keep doing what we’re doing. LeFarge wants to see a grave, so I’ll take him out tomorrow. It’s a big mountain and my memory’s not so good, especially since the stream’s running hard after that blizzard. I’ll tell him the body must have been washed downstream. I’ll ride with him all day if I have to. Though I’ve got to admit, I’m running out of things to say.”
In spite of the tension, she chuckled. “You’re trying to bore him to death, aren’t you?”
“That’s the plan, though I’d rather skin him alive.”
“Aren’t you worried he’ll try something? I’m scared, Ethan. For both of us.”
“I’ll be back. I promise.”
“Hank said the same thing.”
Her voice trembled and the next thing she knew she was sobbing with her face pressed against the long johns hugging Ethan’s chest. He smelled like new cotton, her favorite smell in the world, and she clutched a fistful of the fabric for reassurance.
“I’m not Hank Dawson,” he said, pulling her close. “I’m older, smarter and a lot meaner when it comes to people I care about. I know these mountains better than LeFarge, and so far the ruse is working. I think he’s about ready to hop a train for Los Angeles.”
“Dear God, I hope so.”
“After he’s gone, we’ll ride for Raton. It’ll be safer than dealing with Handley.”
Jayne weighed the facts. If she left her trunk, she could roll her clothing and tie it to the saddle. The ten dollars was still in the hem of her skirt. If she left now, she could find work and be in Lexington by August.
“I’ll pack my things,” she said quietly. “I don’t need the trunk.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I can find a job in Raton.”
“It’s not safe.” His gaze held hers, a mix of amber and brown that melted into dark gold, then he touched her cheek with his thumb. “We took vows, Jayne. This may be a marriage in name only, but I intend to protect you until LeFarge is dead or in jail. You’ll be safer here than anywhere else.”
Danger had heightened her senses, making her aware of the taut cords in Ethan’s neck and the heat of his skin. She’d lost so much—her home, her business, her dream of loving a good man. Tears welled and spilled from her eyes.
Ethan brushed them aside with his knuckles. “It’ll be all right. I promise.”
But she couldn’t stop the throbbing in her chest. More tears spilled, thicker than the first ones, until Ethan tipped his head downward and kissed them away, trailing his lips from her temple to her cheek.
Did he feel it, too, this yearning for comfort? She couldn’t be Laura for him, not ever. But just for tonight, she could meet a need, both his and hers. She turned her head an inch so that their mouths were almost touching. Neither of them moved. The question had frozen on her lips, silent and dry, until his mouth melted into hers.
Together they explored the ragged edges of that kiss, the mix of desire and healing, hope and desperation. She took pleasure in the scratchy texture of his face against hers, the tug of his hands in her hair, then the slow, lingering trail of his lips against her cheek, her jaw, her throat. The heat of his breath penetrated her cotton gown and warmed her skin until he stopped at the heart-shaped line between her breasts.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
Bowing his head, he rested his brow on the hard bone of her chest, seeking an absolution she didn’t want to give. Couldn’t he feel this pull of life? An affirmation of a future bright with hope? Jayne did. It was pulsing low in her belly where the baby was a reminder that life was meant to be honored.
She took Ethan’s hand and placed it on her breast. “It’s okay. It’s a gift. Just for tonight.”
As she inhaled, the soft mound filled his palm. He jerked back his hand as if he’d touched the cold flesh of a ghost. “I can’t.”
“You mean, you don’t want to,” she whispered.
But he wasn’t listening. His eyes were riveted to the door where a knife-edge of light was glowing through a crack. Hoofbeats thundered past the cabin and a wisp of smoke reached her nose.
In a single beat of her heart, a glimpse of heaven turned into a fiery hell.
Chapter Nine
“T he barn’s on fire!”
Ethan yanked on his boots and raced out of the cabin just in time to see Timonius LeFarge galloping across the meadow. Through the barn door, he saw flames slithering up the back wall like spidery vines. The screams of the horses split the air, and he grabbed a damp shirt off the clothesline and raced across the yard.
As soon as he reached the barn, he knew what had happened. LeFarge had tipped over the lantern and a bale of hay had caught fire. Either it had been arson, or the man had gotten too drunk to be trusted with matches.
Praying for time and the mercy to rescue the horses, Ethan ran the length of the barn to the stall holding the roan. The smoke was thicker here and embers shot off the back wall as he opened the gate. The panicked horse was close to rearing. While its spirit was admirable, this wasn’t the time to fight.
“Easy there,” Ethan crooned. As he moved closer, the roan backed into the corner of the stall, splayed its legs and snorted. Ethan grabbed the halter, wrapped the shirt around the animal’s head and tugged. The horse wouldn’t budge. The flames were higher now, close to the roof and spreading to the sides of the barn. The dry wood crackled and popped, thickening the air with smoke. He had to hur
ry if he was going to save the gelding, too, but the roan was pulling in the wrong direction. “Come on, fella,” he urged.
Just as he gave the halter a second tug, a bale of hay exploded with a whoosh. The roan bolted from the stall, half dragging Ethan to the door. The shirt slid from the horse’s face and Ethan lost his grip. At the smell of fresh air, the horse coiled and ran into the night.
Ethan scoured the yard for Jayne. The clothesline had fallen on the ground and a puddle of water from the washtub was glistening in the moonlight, but she was nowhere in sight. Terror ripped through his chest.
“Jayne!”
“I’m right here.”
He whirled sideways and nearly lost his mind. She was inside the barn, silhouetted against the flaming wall with a wet skirt covering her back like a shield. Dragging a saddle with both hands, Jayne was as foolish and brave as any woman he’d ever known.
Flames were crackling just ten feet away. “Get the hell out of here!” he shouted.
“There’s still time. Get the gelding.”
She mattered a hell of a lot more than a horse, so he grabbed the saddle and tossed it out the door. Much to his relief, Jayne raced after it.
A current of air whooshed upward, drawing his gaze to the roof where an orange halo of flame rimmed a black hole of starry sky. He had a minute at the most, maybe two. With smoke burning his eyes and the heat blistering his skin, Ethan ran to the back of the barn where the gelding was screaming and kicking at the stall.
He prayed to God the horse would calm down. But either God wasn’t listening or the horse had a mind of its own. Because just as he opened the stall, the animal rose up and pawed the air, striking Ethan in the chest.
The blow sent him sprawling. His head smashed into the rim of a bucket and his back slammed against the floor, knocking the wind out of him. He couldn’t breathe. Even as embers blistered his back, he couldn’t make a sound.
A calm settled over him like a soft blanket. Was this what it had been like for Laura and the children? Had she told them to be brave? Had they struggled in the dark or had death come quickly from smoke and heat? This close to the ground, the air was almost cool, but he couldn’t suck it in. A few more breathless seconds, a few moments of pain, the peace of unconsciousness and then…heaven, with Laura and the kids.
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