The Bounty Hunter's Heart

by Jillian Hart

  * * *

  The muffled thump jolted Winn awake. He must have drowsed off, far too comfortable in the warmth. Jack snored lightly, in and out, and Winn had meant to remain vigilant through the night until dawn. But exhaustion and his tired, wounded body had betrayed him and he'd nodded off. Apparently, everyone was still safe.

  He fought down the pain, pushed out of the chair and battled down a wave of weakness sluicing through his every muscle like ice water. Too much blood lost, and he knew it. Recalling how the outlaw had hunted him through the storm and ambushed him with a surprise shot, he didn't know what he'd find when he headed outside. He needed his strength.

  And his revolvers. He grabbed his Colt from the kitchen shelf and headed through the dark to the back lean-to door. Sleep must have done him good. He got stronger with every step and so did his purpose, his resolve. Rage darkened and grew bright.

  I'm won't permit you to win, Brant, Winn promised, no matter what. Even at the price of his own life. He would die to make sure Jack had a safe life and a criminal like Brant could never harm him. He would trade his son's life for his any day.

  The thump came a second time. He followed the sound and realized too late the dog was coming up behind him, nails clicking on the floor. The big shepherd didn't seem alarmed. Well, that dog looked capable of recognizing danger, so he reckoned, for the moment, they were safe enough.

  He tugged back the frilly curtain and squinted out at pure darkness. He waited, letting his eyes adjust, for the surrounding world to come into focus. The snow had stopped and the wind was up, rocking through the evergreen trees and sending one bough randomly knocking against the roof. That explained the sound. Relief spilled through him. Not an enemy, after all.

  The dog bumped the top of his head against Winn's hand. Hard not to respond to that. He set his gun on the bench and gave the dog a good rub. It was a normal feeling, sitting down to pet the shepherd. Normal. He looked up at the tidy, everything-in-its-place kitchen with matching homemade curtains, varnished wood countertops, top of the line cookstove and the cabinets polished and new.

  It felt real good to let the ambiance of a real life, of normalcy, settle around him. He felt at home here in this beautiful two-story clapboard house.

  It was just a bit nicer than many of the homes, not shanties or cabins, but a real home like the ones he'd ridden by wishing for since he'd been on Brant's trail, and then Brant had circled back and been on his. How cold they'd been and exhausted.

  Whew, that had been an ordeal, all that had happened. He choked up, glad, so very glad, that Brant had stayed away during this storm, that he'd been able to hide Jack safely and there was no wild wolf of a man at Saydee's door.

  And now I will always live life on the outside looking in. He didn't feel as if he had a place in a world of coordinated rugs and curtains and lovingly made crocheted doilies and knit afghans, where a lady's warm care made a house a home and a man's heart live.

  A muffled sniffle caught his attention. Someone was weeping. The quiet sob faded away, and it wasn't from anywhere nearby, like down the hall. He glanced down the corridor at the closed bedroom door. It hadn't reached Saydee. The tan and black shepherd padded away from him, ears quirked, tracking the sound, on the job. The dog disappeared into the darkness, nails tapping on the polished floor and became one with the shadows.

  He heard the barely audible sniffle and his rib cage tightened with sympathy. A stifled cough shattered the silence, and he crossed the room as quietly as he could go. It was very early, and the last thing he wanted was to trouble her any more than he intended.

  "Pa?" A thin rasp of a sound, scratchy with sickness and full of painful fear. "Oh, good, there you are. You're here."

  "I'm right here, boy." He went down on both knees in front of the sofa. "Don't you be afraid, you are just as safe and cared for as can be."

  "But you weren't here. I didn't know where you went."

  "I know, and I'm sorry this isn't easier. Be a big boy for me and give me a hug, will you? I got lonely without you near me for a while."

  "I'll try, Pa, but I'm awfully very much sad." Jack hiccuped, part sob, part cough, part heartbreak. It wasn't easy knowing what was to come, not for either one of them. "I love you, Pa. I don't want you to go."

  "I know, and I love you too, my beautiful boy." The tap of shoes that interrupted them had a sprightly rhythm, as if someone in this house was a morning person, a chipper early riser.

  Saydee eased around the corner and into sight. "Good morning to my two house guests. I'm glad you're both here, but, um, are you all right, Jack?"

  The boy bowed his head and gave a heartfelt sigh. With little shoulders braced, he was doing his best to be good and handle what should never be borne by a child. Winn did his best to hold back his heart too. He scooped Jack into his arms and tucked him safe against his chest.

  Since he didn't know how to answer her question and because Jack chose silence and burrowed against his shirt, he said the first thing that popped into his head. "What are you making for breakfast? I can help you."

  "You can help me? Can you cook?" Her understanding blue eyes latched onto his and across the distance, across the shadows and the silence and the darkness, it looked as if she understood.

  "I do pretty good when you put me in front of a stove," he joked, but his cooking skills were no joke. Necessity had made them so. "What's on the menu? Maybe I've got some skills that can help you out."

  "I never considered that you might have some reasonable skills as a cook."

  "I do passably enough." He rested his chin on top of Jack's tousled dark hair, the same as his own. Father and son. "At least, I haven't poisoned us off yet."

  "That is a promising recommendation for your kitchen skills." Her chest ached, tightening up with a power that could make her heart stop beating.

  Memories rolled over her with the power that made the blizzard outside seem meek. She'd lost the dream of holding a child of her own, and now her life felt so empty, her arms felt too empty. Nothing would ease that pain. And this man, a stranger she didn't even know, had what she never would. She ached for herself, and felt glad for him. He had more than she did.

  His dark gaze met hers, gentle with an unspoken moment of understanding.

  She cleared the sad emotion from her throat. "How does Jack feel about pancakes? When I was little, it was my very favorite thing for breakfast."

  Jack nodded once and burrowed a little deeper into his father's arms. Tenderness softened the man's granite face. His gaze shot over to meet Saydee's, his look might still be dark with seriousness but was also steady and full of light, of a father's love. "We like pancakes."

  "Good, then it's settled. Although, you seem to have your arms full, so I think the best way to help with breakfast is to hold Jack and have him stay right where he is."

  "Thank you, Saydee." He held the child tight. A smile eased across the somber line of his mouth, softening his stony features, adding years and severity. "I can't get enough time with my son."

  "I'm worried about his breathing. And he looks like he has a slight fever."

  "He feels hot."

  "I'll get him something to help." Concern cinched up in her chest. She slipped back into the kitchen, into the light and did her best to keep her heart from leaning too hard in the man and boy's direction and heard Jack mumble, "I don't need any help."

  She put the kettle on the stove, her heart too tender. The fire snapped and crackled, and she gave a nod of thanks to the traveler who'd thought to build it earlier this morning. She eyed the well-stocked wood box nearby, and the pain inside her eased.

  She grabbed the mixing bowl from the cupboard, remembering how he'd looked with his son in his arms, so manly but tender, nice. She shut the cupboard door and tried to forget the memory of how hot his skin had been against her fingertips when she'd taken care of him.

  "There's no excuse for your behavior."

  She jumped, turning around. Severe looking, big hand
s loose at his sides, he seemed to drain all the light from the room. Overwhelmed, Saydee plunked the big bowl onto the countertop, her heart drumming so fast that each beat hurt like a razor's cut. "Excuse for what? What did I do wrong? Is it the pancakes?"

  "Yes, you started without me to help you, and I can't forgive you for that." He didn't sound severe, he sounded amused. "How did you guess pancakes were Jack's favorite?"

  "He's a child, that's why. Does he like blueberries? I have some preserves he can spread on them with the maple syrup." She paused, bit her lip, a little shocked by the feelings welling up for the man who opened the larder. She reached for the flour canister and lifted off the lid. "You might be interested in some eggs and bacon, too, maybe?"

  "You're an unkind woman, I can see that." He reappeared holding the basket of cool eggs, humor warming his words. "If you are going to torture me with bacon, then I am powerless to stop you."

  "How do you like your eggs?"

  "Any way I can get them." He set the basket on the counter, his half-grin of a smile warming up the cool in his dark, almost black eyes. But he turned instead, saying nothing else, and leaving the feeling of emptiness so large, it seemed to cool the air around her like a northern wind.

  My life has been so good and without hardship since I moved here to Montana Territory. It had been over a year of respite, now, and she had not forgotten how hard life could be. Or feel. Saydee bowed her head, filling with determination. Whoever this man was, he would never cause harm, not a man who held his son with such affection, not a man with his whole heart of love shining in his eyes.

  She turned to stir honey into the sweet tea she had steaming in a pretty blue cup. This would help the boy's throat, she thought, and set the spoon down. She glanced up to see the man closing the larder door, leaving the other items she would need to make breakfast lined up on her counter.

  "Let me cook," she told him, giving the cup a slight shove in his direction. "Take this to your boy and make sure he drinks every drop."

  "Thank you, Saydee." He gave her a soft smile, one that was sad even though it showed off a hint of a dimple. The image filled her with a sorrow so great she couldn't breathe as he ambled away, wide shoulders braced against the day to come.

  * * *

  Maybe I can do the dishes to repay her for cooking, Winn thought as he felt the brush and wonder of Saydee's gaze from the cookstove. He eased onto the sofa next to Jack. All ready for her day, she was a vision in a blue plaid dress, adorned with pearls and lace, he'd always thought so, but he couldn't get over the surprising kick of attraction and then guilt from it burdening him. A defeating sense of failure settled on his chest and squeezed tight.

  "Pa, I don't wanna let you go." Jack stared miserably into the steaming cup of tea.

  "I know, but don't you like her?"

  The boy didn't answer, his upset making his small body tense as he watched Saydee flip fried eggs in a skillet at the stove.

  Surprised, her gaze snared his, and Winn knew she'd already noticed how flushed Jack looked and the worsening rasp of congestion in his breathing. Maybe she had more home remedies that would help. The boy didn't appear to be sick enough to worry about. Yet. That was something to consider.

  Saydee set two platters on the table. His mouth watered, he couldn't help it. Hunger had become a way of life on the run. "That smells good."

  "I'm glad you think so, I've been told that I'm not the best cook. I'm fair to middling." She set the butter bowl and bottle of maple syrup on the table, and the worry tugging up the corners of her eyes was unmistakable.

  7

  "It smells pretty darn good to me. Based on your stew last night and the way that meal looks, you're the best cook I know."

  "Careful, or I might prove you wrong and I was fortunate to have that in the larder to warm up from leftovers from the weekend." But appreciation burned in her soft blue eyes, full of gentle good humor and deep concern for him.

  He swallowed hard, too moved by that to speak. How could he ever repay her for her help? He'd already fixed the damage to her wall and door, but exhaustion bruised the skin beneath her eyes, marring the sweet loveliness of her gamine face.

  She hadn't gotten much sleep last night, because he had been here, and he could plainly see her life was one of work and responsibility. How could he ease that for her?

  She looked at him as if she didn't know what to do with him, and he couldn't blame her. There was no escaping that he was a man with a price on his head. His guts tightened with premonition. The silence that settled between them felt full of uncomfortable tension.

  The click of her shoes on the hardwood floor and swish of her plaid skirts sounded like a roar above the continuous howl of the wind. It made him wary, sitting instead of laying a trail leading away, knowing Brant was nearby. Too darn close.

  What if Henson had marked his trail? Or told Brant where he'd been searching? All the outlaw would have to do was to follow his instructions or comb this area...he squeezed his eyes shut, unable to complete the thought.

  Too much had gone wrong and the worry tore at him now, as it had done through the night. Caution rippled through him, and he was thankful for the guns strapped to his thighs.

  "It sounds like Jack needs something stronger than that tea." Saydee broke the stillness between them, her tone warm and yet questioning. "If he doesn't mind, breakfast should come first. Then I can make a quick poultice for him."

  "Is it gonna be a real smelly one?" Jack stared at Saydee over the rim of his cup.

  "It's probably going to smell a bit, but there's worse." Saydee carried the pitcher of milk to the table and poured a cup. "We'll see if you're still not feeling very well afterwards, and if not, then you can avoid the smelliest one entirely."

  "I feel real good." The small joke came shyly, and Jack cut his gaze downward, too shy to say anything more.

  Cute. Winn's chest warmed a smidgeon.

  "Thanks, Saydee. Looks like you've got the meal ready. Come with me, Jack, you make sure you drink all your tea."

  The child hung his head, stared hard at the remaining bit in the cup and took one last swallow, draining it completely. Such a good boy. Love thumped in his chest, bittersweet because of the situation and because he knew what was behind Jack's reluctance.

  "Yes, come to the table," Saydee called quietly as she pulled out one of the chairs. "Breakfast is served. Does Jack feel well enough to eat, Winn?"

  Jack bowed his head and nodded again.

  Winn's rib cage cinched tight. He kept waiting for a bang on the door and, to ease Jack's worry, he stood up and tugged back the nearest curtain panels, letting in the weak gray daylight.

  Saydee slipped into her chair, scooted it into place and sat with her slender back straight and her jaw a delicate, tense line. She lifted a cup of coffee to her lips and took a dainty sip.

  "I don't see any trouble out there. Just snow." He pushed away from the icy window pane, quietly holding out one hand to his son. "Let's go see what damage we can do to that pile of pancakes, okay?"

  "Okay." The boy placed his small hand into his father's so much larger one and rose to his stocking feet.

  Winn noticed the way she glanced in his direction, as if she were unsure how to do more for them, and in leaving her alone at the table that was the rudest thing he'd done to a woman in a long time. He'd better get Jack moving.

  Here, in this lacy domicile of rose patterned plates and rosebud coordinated curtains, he felt fenced in and too big, like a bull in a china shop, all he had to do was to turn the wrong way and break something, or say the wrong thing and break her heart.

  Jack leaned against him and sighed, clinging to him hard. The boy felt hot, too hot. He couldn't leave a sick child behind, even with an outlaw on his trail. That hard snowfall outside would not keep trouble away for long.

  "Is there anything else I can do? Any way I can help?" Saydee's offer touched him.

  "You've already done it. You've been a great help." He heard
the clink of the spoon as she dished up steaming potato cubes from a serving bowl on the table. Jack drew in a deep breath and ducked his little chin to hide how sick he felt.

  "You won't leave me, yet, Pa, right?" His small frame trembled.

  "You know I have to go." His heart broke anew. "But for right now, this moment, we are still together. You come sit by me and get some tasty pancakes, okay?"

  "Okay, Pa. I know what needs to be done." He nodded with surprising strength, a little man determined to do a good job, and held on more tightly to Winn's hand as if he never wanted to let go.

  Neither did he. It was all he could do to keep his heart from cracking, and he hated the situation. Hated that he had to leave Jack. Hated that the unfair truth was something he could not change. How could he leave him behind? Love for his son banded around his chest like a cinch, ever tightening, and sorrow from the separation to come left him bleeding inside.

  The feel of Jack's smaller hand gripping him with such need broke him more as he squared his shoulders and led his son into the lamplit cheer of the kitchen. He unlocked his fingers, let the boy go and stepped away. "Go ahead and take one of the chairs."

  This was the last breakfast he would have with his son. His heart broke ever deeper as he sat on the comfortable cushion beside Jack, loss gathering like a hot ball behind his Adam's apple. He thanked Saydee for the dished up plate she handed him from across the table and he set it in front of his son.

  "These are for you," Saydee said, handing him a second plate. His hand faltered as he savored the sight of the stack of steaming pancakes hot from the stove and he set the plate down with a clunk in front of him.

  At least the hardship of being on the run was behind Jack. The fear and hardship of being ripped from his bed and, after grabbing just a few things, off they went into the night, riding the horse he'd been forced to abandon in the last town. It was some comfort that they had this easier, warmer time of comfort together, this moment, right now. He reached for the butter bowl and used his butter knife to cut a generous piece off the ball. He dropped it onto Jack's pancake pile and the boy's eyes, full of veiled sorrow, shimmered with a momentary glint, that wasn't happiness, but it was a moment of normal.