The Bounty Hunter's Heart

by Jillian Hart

  Before he could move, the men spotted him. The one on the right, riding the bay, gave him a nod and touched the brim of his hat. His fellow rider didn't move a muscle, his gaze as cold as the arctic air. Since there was nothing else he could do, Winn swung closer to the edge and sat down, booted feet dangling down, and set his binoculars aside.

  He kept his head bowed so the brim of his Stetson would hide his face. "Howdy, there, is there anything I can do for you fellows?"

  He pitched his voice so it would carry into the wind, wishing the snow wasn't blowing into his face. He squinted to keep the snowflakes from hitting his eyes and hindering his vision. He didn't take his gaze off the men drawing their horses to a halt in the yard beneath him. Both men looked up, studying him quietly. If they recognized him, they gave no hint of it.

  "We're looking for a fugitive on the loose." The second rider shifted in his saddle, leaning forward to rest his reins hand on the pommel of his snowy saddle. "Have you seen anything suspicious?"

  It was hard to know how to answer that honestly. He thought of the fugitive, Henson, he'd left tied to the hitching post in front of the jail and tipped his hat down, to hide more of his face. "Who's asking?"

  "I'm Deputy Littleton." The man on the black gelding knuckled back his hat, sending a small cascade of snowflakes tumbling off his brim. "We're looking for a man on the loose in this area. Do you know anything about that?"

  "I'm not the man you're looking for." At least he was sure about that, but he didn't want to be recognized either. No trace, no one to know who he was or where he'd been, that was the only way to keep Jack safe. Not to mention sweet Saydee. He ignored the wave of tenderness in his chest. "Are you deputies checking with every homeowner around?"

  "Something like that." The other deputy had remained quiet, watching him thoughtfully, and patted his bay gelding on the neck absently, not moving his gaze away from Winn's. "Sometimes men on the run from the law come this way heading north for Canada."

  "Canada?" Winn's hands shook so hard, he didn't dare try and move. The trembling would give him away.

  The thoughtful deputy straightened tall in his saddle, looking up to the loft of the barn, staring with hard judgement. "We have reason to believe that a fugitive from justice is on the loose."

  "Is that so?" That's not news to me. He gazed down at the deputies, seeing them clearly through the snow. The barn door below was closed up tight, but not locked, and although he could touch the top of the frame with his boot, he could not stop them from opening up and asking questions, and he didn't want that.

  The deputy's hand lifted, as if considering moving to rest on the grip of his holstered revolver. "I don't recognize you, Mister. Are you new to town?"

  "No, I'm just visiting an old family friend. I've got work that takes me near here." The absolute truth, and yet there was no way to explain another truth. He drew in a slow breath and swiped snow out of his eyes. "Is there a way I can help you deputies? I've put in time as a deputy long ago. Got shot in the line of duty for the effort."

  "I'm sorry to hear that, Sir." The thoughtful lawman's hand lowered to a rest back on his saddle. "If you see anything, we would sure appreciate you bringing us that information."

  "I'll do my best." It was all Winn could promise. Honor sat hard and heavy on his chest, a solid weight on his heart. Would the lawmen figure out he had something to hide, like his identity? Like his son from a terrible man? Icy fear spilled into his bloodstream, and he trembled. He didn't want trouble and he didn't want to explain.

  "Maybe you ought to come on down here so I can take a look at you." The man shifted in his stirrups, ready to dismount, if need be.

  "Sure thing, Deputies." He put steel into his voice as he shoved to his feet and stood. Falling snow struck his face. What had the deputies seen? Was Brant close? He drew himself up straight, steeled his spine and squared his shoulders, prepared to have a conversation with the lawmen when he didn't want that. But a shadowed movement in the veil of falling snow behind the deputies caught his eye. A gray and white dappled horse trotted into view tugging behind him a little black sleigh filled with three grinning people.

  "Hey, there, Mike and Bob!" An amiable round-faced man in robust, middle-aged prime pulled his sleigh to a stop on the driveway alongside the mounted deputies. "What are you two lawman doing on my niece's place?"

  Mike turned his bay gelding a bit to nod respectfully at the newcomers. "Howdy, Stan. Good to see you, Mrs. Thurman and Miss Nola."

  "Good afternoon, Deputies!" A kindly faced lady with a winter hood framing her brown curls warbled. "Ask them what they're doing here, Stan."

  Her husband responsibly squared his shoulders, gave a dignified nod and sent Deputy Bob a pleading look for help. "Tell me what brings you fine deputies to Saydee's place?"

  "Just asking all the residents if they've seen anyone unusual in the area." The deputy turned his horse too and gazed up at the loft where the stranger to the area stood. "Do you know this man?"

  "Why, he must be Saydee's long lost would-be fiancé!" Stan's wife lit up, beaming. "Can it be that the attachment your mother wrote about and begged us to encourage you to accept, and we didn't, all that time ago worked out after all? Nola, dear, you did say that Saydee received a letter from her mother."

  "That was the postmaster who told you," Cousin Nola answered with laughing eyes. "I didn't know that man her stepfather kept insisting she should marry would show up here. I thought he was someone she turned down."

  "Not so, apparently," Stan's wife beamed. "Tell them, Stan."

  Stan cleared his throat and snapped the reins, sending the horse forward. "Looks like this is Saydee's intended, and what a welcome bit of news that is. Pleased to meet you, young man."

  "I'm happy to meet you, Uncle Stan and Aunt Peg. Hello, Miss Nola." His baritone quavered with amusement. "I'm not exactly Saydee's fiancé."

  "I bet it's just a technicality. Bob, this is a man from Saydee's past, a very good man. Now he can't deny that, can he? I've heard you know a lot about running a business."

  "Well, I do have my own business, of sorts, I work for myself, yes, and yes, I'm someone from her past." That was the simple truth, and he could see the deputies turning their mounts in the direction of the main road, relaxed, chuckling to one another. Just like that, all was well and they remained uninvolved. Saved.

  Winn bowed his head, thankful, a bit ashamed of using the situation and taking a moment to wonder what to do. When he looked up, they were only shadows riding away through the storm, and the women down below were handed out of their sleigh by Uncle Stan, who carried the big hamper tucked in the back seat with them toward the house.

  By the time Winn had climbed the ladder and made his way through the small barn to the door, everyone else was gone and so was the trouble trailing him apparently. Snow feathered against his face as he grasped the dappled gray gelding's cheek strap. The horse gave a friendly nicker of greeting and let him lay a land on the blaze on his nose and give him a half dozen strokes. Nice horse, he thought warmly, before leading the big boy through the doorway and dragging the sleigh across the straw-stern floor out of the tumbling white downpour.

  "So, you came here to make good on your marriage offer, did you?" Stan Thurman stomped snow off his boots against the doorframe when he returned.

  Startled, Winn shook his head. "I didn't hear you walking back."

  "I don't let just any stranger handle my good buddy, here. That's Chester." Stan's grin tugged upward, making the rest of his friendly face smile.

  "Chester and I were just getting to know each other."

  "So, I see. Thanks for unhitching him and getting him out of this cold." Stan turned around to tug the barn door closed against the brunt of the blowing snow and wind. Lantern light tossed a golden sepia glow over the man, accentuating the lines wisdom, time and experience had etched into his kind face and illuminating the concern in his eyes. "I don't suppose too many people in town know about you, but it won't tak
e long. My guess most folks will hear all about you by sunset."

  "I suppose that can't be helped." Winn lifted the heavy horse collar over sweet Chester's head, freeing him from the sleigh. He lowered the collar and leaned it against the wall, careful to lead the gelding forward and into the waiting stall.

  "Are you staying at the boardinghouse in town? I expect so, or I would have heard about you. A good friend runs the hotel, so I would have known if you stayed there. Well, I do know you wouldn't be staying here and destroying my niece's good reputation, a fine man like you."

  "Not my intention, sir." He didn't want to dodge the truth, and he was already walking a narrow line that made his integrity sting. He liked Stan. "I'm not the man you think I am."

  "I should hope not. I don't think much of my sister-in-law's second husband." Stan lifted the oilcloth off the back of the sleigh to reveal the boughs of evergreen and the sweet, piney scent of cedar. "I hope you are a great deal better than word through the family grapevine has painted you."

  "I'm not the man you're thinking of." How did he begin to explain? Winn took a deep breath, thinking of Jack's safety and the necessity of keeping him that way. Of Saydee's safety and these fine people's, especially the local lawmen's. "I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding."

  "Good, I'm glad of it. Help me get this in the house, would you?" He tugged loose the rope holding the blanket covered bundle in place on the back of the sleigh, big enough to be a piece of furniture. "You got yourself good intentions, son, that's all I'm concerned about."

  Stomach tight, Winn grabbed the heavy end of the blanket and hefted it off the back of the sleigh on the count of three. It wasn't too heavy, he thought as he followed the older man outside, who carried the lighter end.

  "I've grown mighty fond of my niece, don't think I haven't, especially since she came to town." Stan stopped so that Winn could heave the door shut and they were off again, tromping toward the house. "Our Saydee's a good girl, but I look out for her now. I'm not easy like her mother and stepfather, that's for sure. You are going to have to live up to my standards."

  "I will be happy to try, Sir."

  "Good. It's a wonder how she turned out so good and gentle, unlike her mother. We're real fond of her, proud of her, she has a heart of silver linings and gold stars. I can see you love her."

  Winn's boot caught on the uneven snow and he pitched forward just a bit surprised by the man's words, perhaps, unprepared for the feeling that he wished life could have unfolded differently. He wished he wasn't a marked man. He peered up through the snowfall toward the beacon of lamp's glow tumbling through the large window, and his heart swelled at the sight of her, his Saydee, his hope like light on a dark winter's night.

  The door swung open as he stomped his boots on his way up the steps. His heart nearly broke with affection. His Saydee.

  She smiled in approval at him. "That's a welcome sight, a handsome, strapping man carrying Uncle Stan's latest woodworking project."

  "I'm glad to be so handy. Mind if I bring it in? There's a bit of snow on it."

  A small nod. "That will be no hardship. Right this way, Winn. Uncle Stan, what am I going to do with you? You shouldn't spoil me like this. But I adore you for it. And don't think I won't pay you for it."

  "Fine, then make me a cake," the older man quipped, leading the way inside the home. "Save me from your aunt Peg's cooking. I fear I'm being poisoned."

  "Oh, pshaw!" Aunt Peg laughed merrily at the joke from the kitchen table. "Give a man a sick stomach once, just once in your marriage, and you never live it down."

  "It was the ham," Stan explained, "we fear it was cured badly and oh, how we suffered. I'm afraid to say we were worse for the wear for some time. And my mother blamed Peg for years, and she will still never allow her to cook the holiday meal."

  "It's a sore spot, and perhaps something worth mentioning, since Thanksgiving dinner and November will be here before you know it. Time is speeding away with every tick of the clock." The sweet, curly-haired older woman let her eyes sparkle in the younger man's direction. "Will you be staying as long as the holiday, Mr. Green?"

  "Uh, call me Winn, my given name, please." His boots knelled on the polished wood behind her, his voice as warm as a dream. "You may have my name wrong."

  "I don't think so!" Peg called from the table, laughing as if he'd made the funniest joke.

  Stan chuckled. "Keep following me, Winn, I've got the spot picked out right here in the dining room, because she doesn't have a stick of furniture in this room and it would make a nice sewing room for her, since she's all alone. And look at me, little did I know you would be coming along. Right, Saydee?"

  The older man glanced over his shoulder at the pretty young woman trailing after them and didn't miss an opportunity to reward her with his approving smile.

  "I'm not sure what to say, Uncle Stan." She said, pausing in mid-stride to tromp across the large area rug on the floor that Pete liked to sleep on when the sun was shining through that window.

  "Don't say anything, hi there, Pete," Stan said. "I'll take it from here, Saydee, and oversee this furniture business. Someone has to be in charge. I'm appointing myself the boss."

  "I don't see a better man to do it," she smiled back, skirting to the side as Winn set down his end of the bundle against the wall. His dark gaze caught hers and for an instant, her heart soared.

  "Goodness, who do we have here?" Uncle Stan's deep voice rang with surprise, warmth and delight. "How old are you, young fellow?"

  "I'm six years old." The boy's chin went up, full of pride and manners and perhaps doing his best to speak up, since he was a little shy. "Who are you?"

  "Saydee's Uncle Stan, which is what you can call me too." Stan zeroed in on the boy, hardly noticing as wide-shouldered, capable Winn knelt down to draw the blanket carefully off the end of the piece of furniture. Wool rustled as he worked, his boots whispering on the carpet as he freed the other end of the blanket.

  Saydee took another step backward toward the kitchen, where she knew Aunt Peg was all ears and her cousin Nola was holding back unending amusement at the situation, the lone holder of the truth.

  "He's awfully nice, not to mention handsome." Peg's voice, low and melodic, carried a note of bare, unrestrained hope.

  Saydee hesitated by the table. "Winn? Well, he is rather fabulous."

  "Just fabulous? Are you sure?" Nola quipped, stirring sugar into her tea cup. "Judging by the look on your face, there's more to it than just fabulous."

  Peg gasped, keeping her voice to a whisper yet it vibrated with excitement. "Say it's true, oh, please, Saydee. Is he going to marry you?"

  26

  "Marry me?" Saydee hoped she looked amused and not sad as she swished past the window, not feeling like herself at all. Her normally silent, empty-feeling house no longer echoed with loneliness. The lit room glinted back at her in the glass, reflecting the room behind her, the smiling and hopeful faces, so dear, the overly large overstuffed chair standing at a slight angle against the wall and a strapping, broad-shouldered man, head bowed, folding up the blanket.

  She glanced over her shoulder, squinting through the lamp's glare and across the span of the rooms, and Winn's gaze latched onto hers with an odd steadiness, like both light and shadow, like both homecoming and forever parting, and she understood the sad smile that touched his mouth.

  The men in the yard, the deputies, had talked to him and had ridden away, but that hadn't changed anything. He was still in danger. They would not be.

  "Looks like you are in love with him." Peg whispered, bustling past her into the kitchen. "I have eyes. I can see it quite clearly. Why else would he travel so far to visit you? And here no one, not one soul, knew anything about it. How many times has this happened?"

  Saydee blinked. Had she heard her aunt correctly? She nearly walked into the counter. Befuddled, she fumbled with the knife laying on the cutting board, nearly dropping it, as if that were perfectly normal. "No, of course not. Thi
s, Winn, has never happened here before."

  Or at all, she didn't add, dropping the knife with a clatter. Did Aunt Peg know about the sleeping arrangements? She feared what came next, sensing it like snow on the wind, and desperately attempted to think up anything to change the conversation, but her brain refused to cooperate. Fortunately she'd hidden the extra beds back in the spare room just in time. She was still sweaty from the quick, fast-moving, desperate effort.

  "And here I know next to nothing about the man's marriage offer you refused to accept."

  "Neither did I," Saydee said truthfully.

  "That little boy, as cute as a button, needs a mother, that's just common sense, anyone can see it. Why, of course that kind man would be tenacious with his offer of marriage. I don't seem to recall your mother mentioning what he did for a living. Or much about him at all."

  "I would prefer that my mother not know about all this. I've done my best to do right by her, but it is never easy and in the end it's a losing battle."

  "You're not telling me anything I don't know, and don't think that I'm fooled about the man. I can see what's going on." Peg ambled over to the stove to check on the steaming milk. "That sister of mine and her husband got in the middle, meddling in your budding relationship. That's my guess. Oh, don't tell me I'm wrong. I can see how that man looks at you, so there's no point in denying it. I'm just glad your Winn cared enough to come visit and keep right on winning your heart. Or, maybe your hand in marriage?"

  Ouch, that hurt. Saydee concentrated on slicing the bread loaf into even slices. There was no possibility she could lie to her aunt. But it wasn't her truth to tell, it was Winn's. Not only that, she did not want to shock her aunt unduly all at once. She had delicate sensibilities. How did she begin? Perhaps in small pieces, one at a time to start. "Uh, Aunt Peg?"