Remember Me (Defiant MC)

by Cora Brent

  While she carefully savored the bites of angel cake, the growl of a name caught her ears.

  “Cutter Dane.” Mr. Swilling had said it with the tone of an uttered obscenity.

  “Cutter?” she asked with surprise and the men stared at her.

  Mr. Townsend was irritated by the feminine interruption to their conversation. “Yes, Miss Larson. No doubt his name has the sound of poetry to the eastern tenderfeet who believe the pulp garbage written about him.”

  “Albert,” James frowned.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Annika firmly told the mayor of Contention City. “I only thought his name sounded vaguely familiar.”

  James was watching her. “As you gentlemen know, Miss Larson was accosted on her travels by The Danes.”

  “How dreadful.” Mrs. Swilling fanned herself with a linen napkin as if the thought of Annika’s brush with danger was too much for her.

  James continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Miss Larson, the name Cutter Dane may ring familiar due to his violent deeds in the Territory.” He smiled grimly. “Easterners like to make heroes out of horse riding thieves and murderers.”

  Crumbs fell into Mr. Swilling’s beard as he spoke with his mouth full. “Ebson reckoned he wasn’t present with the other Danes during yesterday’s robbery, though I’m sure he’s enjoying the fruits of that crime today.” He swallowed and took another bite. “Cutter Dane is a big man. Would seem almost too big to sit a horse. And twice as vicious as the worst scoundrel in the Territory.”

  The mayor was wrong. The man’s distinctive name wasn’t known to Annika by way of any lurid dime books. It was familiar for another reason.

  “And I won’t hear no goddamn argument about it or you’ll be facing Cutter.”

  Those was the warning issued by Mercer Dolan when he’d stopped her assault at the hands at one of the other Danes.

  James Dolan was still watching her with the cool gaze of a seasoned lawman. “Dane still walks because nothing’s ever been pinned on him officially. The law,” he said, looking around with raised eyebrows, “is somewhat uneven in the Territory.”

  “Is it?” Annika asked quietly, thinking of Mercer.

  As the evening ended and the Swillings’ guests prepared to depart, Annika was again reminded of the difference between Crawford and Contention City. The hour would have been considered late by the standards of the sleepy Crawford dairy farmers. Yet the town’s main street, Contention Way, was a rollicking chaos of lurching, troublesome men and the occasional ill-reputed woman.

  “Payday,” James said through clenched teeth, holding his rifle across his lap and issuing steely glares in every direction. He was obviously a man who commanded respect because none of the rough characters cavorting about seemed eager to answer his scowl.

  James must have seen the blank expression in Annika’s face. “Payday at the mine,” he explained, “translates into an excuse to drink until the belly rebels and also seek out other…ah… entertainments,” he finished delicately.

  “I see,” she answered, clinging tensely to the seat as a pair of disreputable-looking men leered at her underneath the balcony of The Rose Room. As to Mercer Dolan, Annika wondered if he was included in the number of Contention City men seeking out ‘entertainments’ that evening.

  “Where does he live?” she asked abruptly. James gave her a sharp glance and her face flushed but she couldn’t gracefully back away from the question. “Mercer, I mean. I don’t imagine he lives with you. Does he?”

  James Dolan looked at Annika with an expression crossed between suspicion and regret. She was sorry for the sad realization on his face. Yet Mercer had somehow crawled under her skin, no matter how she tried to deny it.

  “No,” he said slowly and with some bitterness. “He does not. Lizzie keeps a room for him, no matter how long he is absent or what kind of trouble he finds.”

  Nonetheless, James was a gentleman. When he deposited her safely at the schoolhouse there was not an ounce of bitterness in his manner as he bid her a nice evening and promised to follow up with a carpenter in town about the remainder of the school’s furnishings.

  As he drove away Annika stared after him, wishing he was the brother whose face haunted her, whose body she wanted to feel. Then she scolded herself silently for her own silliness. Annika had not come to the Territory to find a husband. It was no easy task for a woman to make her way in a country which awarded her a fraction of the rights of a man. No, she did not even want a man, not really. Yet even while the thought crossed her mind she knew it to be untrue.

  As she lit the lantern and began to undress she was occupied with thoughts of Mercer Dolan. If he were to cross her threshold just then she feared she did not have the resolve to stop the hard urgency she felt between his legs as the most primal aspect of his manhood searched for an opening. She would let him take what he wanted.

  Her breathing ragged, Annika sat there in her shift for a long time, listening to the rustling mysteries of the night. She wished every sound brought him. And then she immediately prayed that it didn’t.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Contention City, Arizona

  Present Day

  The door was unlocked and she must have been used to coming and going at will, yet she knocked anyway. As she beat a nervous staccato on the front door and waited, Maddox knew why; she had seen his bike in the driveway. Yet he didn’t move from the couch. He sat in mute stillness.

  When the front door of his father’s house opened, the only girl he had ever loved walked through it. She was not as slight as she had been at eighteen. She had grown into a full woman’s body. Her black hair was pulled into a ponytail and she wore a pair of dark frame glasses which made her appear younger.

  Gaby merely looked at him, not shocked, not frightened. She was waiting for him to set the tone.

  “Gabs,” he said quietly and for the space of a long breath she closed her eyes. It was what he used to call her. He guessed no one had called her that since.

  She swallowed. “Hey, Maddie.”

  Mad crossed one leg over his knee and grinned. He could play this casual. “So what the hell is new, Gabriela?”

  Her eyes narrowed. She wasn’t fooled by his easy tone. Nothing about this was easy. “You see your father yet?”

  Mad’s smile dropped and he stood. “Of course. Why the hell do you think I’m here?”

  Gaby began to look weary. “Christ, let’s cut the acrimony at the outset, shall we? It’s been a long damn time and I’m glad you’re in one piece. Let’s just go from there.”

  Maddox was really trying to not be terrible. It was difficult. Too difficult. He shook his head and advanced on her. “You’re mighty generous, darlin’.”

  The words appeared to hit her like a punch. Maddox felt a small ounce of triumph as he knew she remembered where she’d heard them before. From him on the night they’d met, only a short time after he’d almost run her down as he escaped with a case of stolen beer. The Hassayampa was full of recently fallen rain and he was drinking on the banks with a few shitheads he ran with when she hiked casually toward them out of nowhere.

  “Hola, senorita,” he’d called, pleased to see her again.

  She’d cut him down quickly. “I don’t speak Spanish, you fucking prick.”

  He had figured she would hurry away but she didn’t and Maddox left his friends behind to walk with her. Slowly he extracted pieces of information. Gabriela de Campo was from Seattle and her mother had died recently. Her father, who’d never been strong, shipped her back to his hometown of Contention City to finish out high school while he tried to tend to his grief.

  “De Campo,” said Maddox slowly. “You’re Old Juan’s granddaughter?”

  She nodded, kicking the river rocks fretfully. “I am. Papa is the sentimental sort. Likes to say shit like ‘Before there was gold and before this country rose, there were de Campo’s here.’” She shrugged. “Like it makes any damn difference.” She frowned up at him
. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

  “Maddox. People call me Mad. A nickname and a state of mind. Mad McLeod.”

  Gabriela stopped in her tracks. “McLeod?” Something like recognition lit her face as she looked at him more carefully. “You have a brother.”

  “I do,” he said, surprised. “You’ve already met Jensen?”

  She nodded. “He was in line behind me yesterday in Basha’s. He spotted me a five when I was short on cash. We got to talking. He looks like you. He’s nice.”

  “Oh,” Maddox smiled. “Well, I’m not. Nice, I mean.”

  “I know,” she said, fixing him with an indecipherable look in her dark eyes.

  He’d kissed her then. Maddox had kissed more girls than he could easily count but there was never such a moment of pure impulse as he grabbed her and brought her close. She had responded, leaning into him and answering with a tease of her tongue. But when his hand traveled boldly under her shirt, she pushed him back. He’d blinked, staring at her. She had already begun to walk away.

  “Don’t worry,” she called as she headed into the dusk. “I won’t tell anyone about the beer you stole.”

  “Well,” he’d said, recovering somewhat and knowing he would need to find an answer, somewhere, to the hard throb in his pants. “You’re mighty generous, darling’.”

  Ten years later, he faced her in Priest McLeod’s living room and remembered that night. Her face seemed troubled and for that Maddox was pleased. Let her be fucking troubled, he thought.

  Then he thought better of it. He was a man now. His father was dying in the next room. It was time to let shit lie.

  “Well, Gaby,” he said carefully. “I’m ready to move on from here if you are.”

  She tilted her head archly. “I don’t know about that. Seems like you still hate me.”

  Maddox laughed. “No, Gabs. I never really hated you. You shredded my fucking heart but I never hated you.”

  Her eyes widened and then shifted away, her expression pained. She seemed to hear the suffering behind his words. He had one more thing to say and then he wouldn’t talk about it anymore. Maddox moved within inches of her. She had no choice but to look up to see him.

  “Just remember, Gabriela de Campo, you never knew me. Not really. Everything between us was nothing if you could turn your head so easily.”

  “Mad-“ she started to say.

  “No,” he held up a hand. “That’s it. Jensen did what he did and you did what you did. It’s over.” He held out a hand. He knew it was childish. “Shake on it.”

  She wouldn’t. She crossed her arms and sighed, then brushed past him to head down the hall and check on Priest.

  Maddox had been a dick after all but he wasn’t sorry. He was glad he’d said it to her. She could chew on that for a while. These last few days of his father’s life would be the final ones he would ever spend in Contention City. It would be the last time he would deal with any of them. Already he longed bleakly for his boys. He removed his phone from his back pocket. He would call Brandon. That guy could cheer him up even when he wasn’t freaking trying to.

  Mad didn’t want his words echoing through the small house with Gaby inside. He opened the front door, intending to make the call outside. There was, however, a boy standing there. He was wiry and black-haired and had his mother’s eyes. He smiled at Maddox shyly.

  “You’re my uncle, aren’t you?” he asked with a heartbreaking note of hope in his voice.

  Maddox leaned against the thin doorframe, feeling the strength drain out of him. “Miguel,” he said. “Miguel McLeod.”

  The boy nodded, staring up at him with obvious awe.

  “Yeah, I’m your uncle,” he admitted, rattled by this confrontation with the flesh and blood embodiment of an old betrayal. No, that wasn’t fair. The boy was not to blame.

  “I’m glad to finally meet you,” Maddox said and he meant it.

  His nephew, Jensen and Gabriela’s son, smiled.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Contention City, Arizona Territory

  1888

  Lizzie Post was an interesting woman. Her brisk knock startled Annika shortly before sunrise. When she opened the door, the woman’s bright green eyes sized her up in an instant. Annika was glad to be used to greeting the day on dairy farm hours. After introducing herself, the caretaker of the Dolan boys nodded with satisfaction that Annika was already up and dressed.

  “Glad to have you, gal,” she said, shaking Annika’s hand hard as if they were men. She stood a head shorter but her lean body spoke of a strength Annika could only wish for, even after a laborious girlhood on her father’s farm. Lizzie Post jerked her gray head in the direction of a wobbly wagon tied to a pair of spry mules. “Brought ya some supplies.”

  As Annika assisted with the unloading, she was humbled and astonished by the array of provisions, not the least of which was a feather tick mattress for her bedframe. The carefully canned food had to have been from Lizzie’s own personal supply. Annika fingered the jars of pickled beets and gratefully accepted the bags of flour. Lizzie saved the best for last, however. With a gleam in her gray eyes she unwrapped a precious pane of glass for the single window in the teacherage.

  Once they had successfully placed the glass in the window Annika stood back, admiring it. Lizzie grinned at her. With her hands folded behind her back, Annika awkwardly offered to pay her back for the cost of the supplies out of her teacher’s salary.

  Lizzie didn’t blink. “That won’t be necessary. I’ve heard you make quite an impression, Miss Larson.”

  Annika was never one to dance around a subject. “Do you mean James? He described you like a mother. He’s been very kind to me since I arrived.”

  Lizzie’s weathered face split into a grin. “James is a good boy. But he ain’t the one who talks about you in a special tone of awe.” She waited for Annika to catch her meaning. When she didn’t respond, Lizzie raised her eyebrows. “You seem like one capable of talking plainly. Mercer seems to think so. Don’t tell me we’re both wrong.”

  Annika swallowed, staring down at the dust covering the lower inches of her skirts. “I know about Mercer,” she said quietly.

  Lizzie wasn’t phased. “I know about Mercer too.”

  “Does James?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Must put him in a fix, him being the law and all.”

  Lizzie Post considered that. “You come from a more orderly place, Miss Larson. Things ain’t so up and down here.”

  “Really?” Annika countered. “Seems the miner hung recently for gold theft might be of a different opinion.”

  “You’re sharp,” she nodded, more to herself than to Annika. “The boy said so.” Lizzie took a bold step closer and looked directly into Annika’s eyes. “He’s not bad,” the woman told her flatly. “Just seems so at times.” She waved her hand toward the recently unpacked supplies. “All this, it comes from Mercer, you know.” Lizzie Post abruptly climbed into her wagon, finished with the task she had set out for. She gave Annika a brief smile. “You ought to thank him.” And then, with a yell and a jerk, she was on her way.

  Annika stared at the array of supplies. If they were indeed from Mercer Dolan it was an act of supreme generosity. Perhaps he still felt some guilt over the stage holdup. Or perhaps he expected something in return. She touched the thick glass of the window pane. Glass was expensive, especially this far away from the civilized cities. Mercer had shelled out a pretty penny. With a start, Annika realized the money he used had to have come from his outlaw deeds with The Danes.

  In her mind’s eye she saw him sitting on his horse with his face disguised and a pistol pointed at her. The memory was equal parts revolting and fascinating. Gritting her teeth, she walked briskly over to the schoolhouse and began to sweep the floor in preparation for the children.

  Soon the students began to arrive. They were a wide mix of tempers and abilities. It was a bit overwhelming, gauging the dissimilar educations of forty plus pupils. Aston
ishingly, some of the eldest students were scarcely literate.

  The day passed quickly and at the end of it Annika sighed and sat on the upside down water barrel which had been serving as a chair until something better could be arranged. As she looked around the empty classroom she smiled at the memory of her students.

  “Pleased with yourself, are you?”

  The deep male voice caused Annika to gasp and topple from the barrel.

  Mercer Dolan stood in the doorway of the Contention City School and laughed at her.

  Annika haughtily brushed off her dress and glared at him. “Do you enjoy scaring the daylights out of me, Mr. Dolan?”

  He walked toward her, still smiling. “I thought we were done with formalities, Annika.”

  She swallowed, trying to calm her breathing. She could not allow him to know how his presence rattled her. “You take your hat off if you’re going to enter my school.”

  He obeyed, running a hand through dark hair which was a shade too long. “Whatever you say, ma’am.”

  “What if I say I want you to leave?”

  “Then I would say you were being dishonest.”

  Annika closed her eyes. Damn him, he could see right through her. The dastardly outlaw of The Danes said nothing as she sorted through her thoughts. If she were caught with a man in her quarters, let alone a man like Mercer Dolan, it would likely be grounds for termination of her position. Being alone with Mercer risked not only Annika’s livelihood but her virtue. Yet as she opened her eyes and met his intense gaze she also knew it would be impossible to turn him away.

  “Would you like to join me for some supper, Mercer? Pickled beets and baking powder biscuits, if you can stand it.”

  Mercer was the essence of politeness throughout supper. He stretched his legs on the floor of the schoolhouse and claimed Annika was a fine cook.

  “Liar,” she smiled.

  “No,” he answered, “not when it matters.” He broke character and let his gaze skate over her in a studied manner. “Annika?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”