Always You

by Jill Gregory

  Melora pushed the cane-backed invalid chair out of the way. “Wyatt, please bring her into the parlor.” Seizing Jinx’s hand, she hurried along with them as Wyatt carried the eleven-year old across the kitchen.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked anxiously, scanning the small pale face as Aggie followed close behind.

  “N-no, I banged my elbow, but—”

  “Anything else hurt?” Melora sat beside her as soon as Wyatt set the child upon the chintz sofa mounded with pillows.

  “No. I’m sorry to... scare you, but I wanted to surprise you. It was going to be my w-wedding present!”

  “And it would be the best present in the world!” Melora assured her, fighting to keep her own tears from spilling out of her eyes. “But it can wait, Jinx. There’s no hurry. Once the doctor finds out what’s wrong, I’m sure you’ll be walking in no time!”

  Jinx hadn’t taken a step since that early morning last spring when Craig Deane had been shot by rustlers on his own south range. Jinx, who had been out riding, had made the horrible discovery by herself, stumbling across their father’s body lying in the brush. He’d been shot in the head.

  In horror and shock at finding him Jinx had fallen from her horse and been knocked unconscious. Though no bones were broken and aside from some bruises she had no apparent physical injuries, the little girl had been unable to walk since that day.

  “I wish I could have walked. You would have been so surprised. I have only one sister, you know, and she’ll have only one wedding,” Jinx whispered, her head drooping.

  Melora’s heart ached with love and pain. If her willpower alone could have made Jinx walk again, the girl would have been running by now, fleet as the wind. But she couldn’t heal what was wrong with her sister; all she could hope to do was ease the sadness.

  “It doesn’t matter, silly puss. The only thing that matters is that you get better.” She hugged Jinx, gently squeezing her delicate shoulders, and smoothed the soft red-gold curls back from the pointed little face.

  Watching them together, Aggie thought how different they were, yet how alike. Melora, with her dark gold hair cascading past her shoulders, her tawny eyes and silken apricot complexion, looked like a delicate fairy-tale princess, but she had a will of steel and a temper from hell. She had inherited her father’s strength of purpose and his iron determination, while little Jinx was the image of their sensitive, dreamy mother, Alexandra Deane. Jinx possessed the same wide green eyes as Alexandra, and the same lush, fiery curls. Only her freckles were her own, a perky sprinkling across her turned-up nose. She loved to draw delicate, fine lined pen-and-ink sketches, she dressed up her three cats in bonnets and tiny vests that Aggie taught her to sew, she spent hours with her horse, Sir Galahad, and she often stayed up reading until nearly dawn.

  Just as Melora had been, she was bright and quick in school, but since the accident she had stopped attending the bustling schoolhouse. She didn’t want visits from any of her friends. Melora was distressed to see her sister cutting herself off more and more, but Aggie sensed that Jinx didn’t want anyone pitying her or staring at her.

  “She needs time, time to recover from the shock of finding your poor father, time to heal from the inside,”Aggie always said. “She’s got the Deane spirit in her, Melora, so there’s no need to fret about it. She’ll snap back, you’ll see.”

  As she watched the sisters now on the sofa, heads bent together, touching, Aggie’s heart thrummed with affection for both of them. Such good girls, going through such difficult times. But they both were tougher than they looked, she reflected proudly, and each in her own way. They loved each other and this ranch with the same fierce devotion their father had shown, and Aggie sensed that there was enough fight in both of them to conquer every obstacle in their path.

  Her gaze shifted to Wyatt Holden, smiling tenderly down at Melora. Bless the man. He would help them, both of them. His arrival in Rawhide a few months ago had been a godsend.

  “You will get better, Jinx,” he assured the child firmly, much to Aggie’s approval. “That’s a promise. We’re going to get you the best doctors the East has to offer, whether they’re in Boston or Philadelphia, Chicago, or New York. You’ll have the very finest care. And then we’ll find out exactly what you’re up against.”

  “And whatever it is, young lady, you’ll lick it,” Aggie put in confidently.

  “You sound just like Pop!” Jinx smiled, looking up at last, and her enormous olive green eyes shone with a glimmer of hope.

  “Well, he was always right, wasn’t he?” Aggie asked, wagging her finger.

  “Except when he argued with me,” Melora pointed out, grinning.

  “Speaking of arguments, I don’t want to hear any about what I’m going to say next. But it’s getting late, and you young ladies both should be getting along toward bed.” Aggie glanced meaningfully at Wyatt. “Your bride has to get her beauty sleep, mister. Unless you want a bleary-eyed hag to walk down the aisle tomorrow.”

  “Heaven forbid—not that my own true love could ever look like a hag,” he added with a laugh as Melora’s mouth dropped open in protest.

  “No, I don’t reckon she could, but her head’s already been turned quite enough with all the beaux she’s had, so there’s no sense in you adding to it,” Aggie told him crisply, though her eyes were warm. “Besides, poor Mel still has to pack! So you go ahead home, Wyatt, and let these girls get some rest.”

  An hour later, after Aggie, Melora, and Jinx had had their fill of milk and strawberry pie in the kitchen, Aggie thoughtfully retired to her own room on the second floor, leaving the sisters alone. Melora pushed the invalid chair along to Jinx’s room to help her get ready for bed; she was well aware that these were the last moments alone she and her sister would spend before she was married.

  After the accident they’d converted the small back parlor into a bedroom so that Jinx would not have to be carried up and down the stairs. It was snugly appointed, with Jinx’s own brass bed and bright patchwork quilt, yellow curtains, and a collection of favorite books and dolls on the shelf beside the window. Two of Jinx’s kittens snuggled at her feet, while the other held court on her lap as the girl sat upon the bed, her legs stretched out before her as Melora brushed her hair.

  “Isn’t Wyatt the dearest man, Jinx?” Melora drew the brush lovingly along the blaze of curls, thinking of the moment when Wyatt had placed the ribbon-wrapped box into her palm. “It was so sweet of him to give me this cameo tonight.”

  “It’s very pretty.”

  “And he’s certainly the handsomest man ever to set foot in Rawhide—next to Pop, of course,” she added, her eyes misting over. “And he’s so thoughtful and kind. Oh, sweetie, how did I get to be so lucky?”

  “Umm.”

  Melora paused, brush in hand, and peered suddenly, warily into her sister’s face. “Umm?”

  “I mean, I don’t know,” Jinx said.

  Melora stared at her “Jinx! What’s wrong? You do like Wyatt, don’t you?” she asked anxiously. There was a small silence.

  “You mean you don’t?”

  She looked so crestfallen that Jinx immediately bobbed her head. “Oh, I do, Mel. Really, I do.” She swallowed. The kitten rubbed its face against her knee. “It’s just that we haven’t known him all that long, and you know how it takes me a while to warm up to people, but I think he’s handsome as could be, and nice and—”

  “He’ll be good to us, Jinx, you’ll see.” Melora spoke quietly. She set the brush down and sank beside her sister on the bed. “We’ll be happy. All three of us. The sad times are behind us now.”

  Jinx chewed her lower lip the way she did when she was worried. “Don’t get me wrong,” she said, sounding so serious and so much like their father that Melora hid a smile. “I do think Mr. Holden is nice. But, Mel, are you sure you want to marry him?”

  “Of course I’m sure. Don’t I seem sure?”

  “Ye-es, but—”

  “But what? Out with it!” Mel ex
claimed.

  “I just wonder if you’re marrying him because of... me.”

  “You!”

  Jinx nodded. “You know what I mean,” she said slowly. “Because of my legs... because he’s rich enough to send me to the best doctors and—”

  Melora reached out and gently grasped her shoulders. “Oh, Jinx, no. Don’t ever think that. Of course I’m happy that Wyatt is rich enough so that we’ll be able to afford to take you back East, and do you know what else? He’s going to help us save the ranch! But I’m not marrying him because of that.”

  “You love him, then?”

  “I do.” Melora’s eyes shimmered like topaz in the soft light of the kerosene lamp. “I enjoy his company more than any other man I’ve ever met.”

  “But that’s not love,” the little girl protested. “Love is... when your souls touch.”

  Melora laughed and lightly pinched her cheek. “Silly puss! How do you know anything about love? Your head is always buried in your books. People’s souls don’t really touch, and they don’t see stars when they’re together. Believe me, Jinx, nothing like that happens at all! Love is pleasant, very pleasant! It makes you want to spend your life with someone because you know that he’s the only person in the world meant just for you.”

  “Yes, but, Melora, you thought you were in love with Walker Hayes too.”

  “That was different.” Melora’s cheeks pinkened, and she gave her head a toss, sending her ponytail swinging. “I was fifteen then—and ridiculous. Too flattered by the attentions of a boy three years older than I was to know any better.”

  “What about Line Bowden?”

  “That only lasted two weeks! Then I couldn’t bear any more of those dreadful love songs he kept braying under my window.”

  “And Mr. Rivers?”

  “He was our schoolteacher, Jinx. Ten years older than I was! Goodness, I had no idea he was going to come to Pop with a proposal of marriage.”

  Jinx giggled. “Must be downright inconvenient having every man within miles tell you you’re the prettiest girl in the territory, asking you to dances, and trying to win your picnic lunch at church socials,” she murmured, and Melora chuckled.

  “That’s all over now. I’m going to be a married woman.” She reached out impulsively and clasped Jinx’s hand. She held it tightly within her own firm, slender fingers. “And the three of us are going to be a family.”

  Jinx nodded, but the sadness deep within her eyes struck Melora like a rock lodged in her heart. “Is there something else, honey?”

  “I wish,” Jinx whispered, a catch in her voice, “that Pop were here to walk you down the aisle.”

  “Me too.” Taking a deep breath, Melora struggled to swallow down her own still-fresh heartache. She’d been at school in Boston when the news had come that her father had been killed. All during her grief-stricken train journey home she’d fought to contain the tears that would have drowned her if she’d let them flow. Never to see Pop again, to hear his hearty, cheerful voice, to kiss his rough, sage-scented cheek, or bring him a late-night glass of whiskey when he was doing paperwork until midnight. It was almost more than she could bear.

  But I still have Jinx, she reminded herself as she sat now in her sister’s softly lit room, listening to the night breeze play at the curtains. And Aggie. And Wyatt. She straightened her spine. “Pop will be watching,” she told Jinx softly. “He’ll be watching from the doorway of heaven, with Mama right beside him. I know it.”

  The words seemed to comfort her sister. Later, when Jinx was tucked in and ready for sleep, her kittens curled around her, Melora made her way up the wide oak staircase and entered her pretty rose-papered room, carrying with her the hope that Jinx would keep that comfort close when all their friends were gathered around them for her wedding day.

  Tomorrow night, tomorrow night, I’ll be a bride, tomorrow night. The refrain ran through her mind all during her bath. She was humming as she patted herself dry with a towel and when she slipped into a gossamer white cotton nightdress and began to brush her hair. She dipped and whirled before the mirror, admiring the delicate cameo still clasped about her throat and studying the way the low-cut nightdress clung to her curves. This was the last night she would sleep alone, the very last night. After this she and Wyatt would make love every single night; they would wake up in each other’s arms, kissing, touching...

  She twirled toward the closet where her hatboxes were stacked, her heart light. She never saw the man who glided like a dark ghost through her open window; she didn’t hear even a footfall until it was too late...

  The hand clamped down hard across her mouth, stunning her. Out of the blue she was seized ruthlessly from behind and yanked savagely backward against an iron masculine frame.

  Melora struggled wildly. Surprise and terror crashed over her as she tried to scream, tried to get away. But the strong hand over her lips dug in even harder, and her cries were muffled with merciless efficiency. Her fear grew, sweeping through her like a gale wind as she struggled desperately to twist around, trying to see the silent man who held her, to wrest free, to kick or strike him, but it was useless. She found herself imprisoned by arms far stronger than her own.

  Who is this? Melora wondered wildly, dread ripping through her as she struggled with all her might. Who had come into her room and seized her like this? Was it a rustler? One of the rustlers who had murdered her father?

  A single thought obsessed her mind. She somehow had to break away, to reach her carpetbag, where the small Colt pistol she’d packed lay atop her riding habit and traveling clothes.

  She slammed an elbow backward, catching her attacker, she hoped, smack in the ribs.

  He flinched, cursing softly, but didn’t loosen his grip even the tiniest bit. Matter of fact, he tightened it, his fingers digging into her with the strength of rawhide.

  Kick, bite, hit, Melora screamed silently to herself, but he was too strong. He held her helpless, and before she could do more than give out a stifled yelp of outrage, he had thrown her facedown on her bed, was holding her down, her face pushed against the coverlet, while he dragged her arms behind her and began tying her hands together.

  Fresh terror bubbled up into her throat. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t move. Panic swept over her.

  And then he slipped a blindfold over her eyes, stuffed a cloth into her mouth, and yanked her up again, none too gently. Melora drew great breaths of air into her nostrils. While before she had fought wildly, now her legs trembled so violently it was difficult to stand, and she felt clammy with an all-encompassing fear.

  Locked in darkness, Melora suddenly realized that another set of footsteps was moving about her room. There were scuffling sounds, whispers. How many men are with him? she wondered, her heart racing like a runaway bronco.

  Then a low, cool voice spoke into her ear. “Not one sound. We don’t want to disturb your father or sister, do we? That might prove unhealthy.”

  He dragged her ruthlessly sideways. Ten, fifteen, twenty steps. Stumbling blindly along with him, barefoot, Melora stubbed her toe and let out a muffled oath. She felt him stiffen. Then abruptly she was swept up in strong arms and carried down the stairs. Her heart pounded with fear as next she was borne across the hall and outside into the yard.

  Frantically she tried to keep some sense of her surroundings, but a cloud of terror descended on her when she was tossed up sidesaddle onto a horse, and her abductor immediately swung up behind her, his arms enclosing her like steel bars. She felt the solid pressure of a hard-muscled body against hers and shivered as the horse’s rough coat scraped her bare legs.

  This can’t be happening. I’m getting married tomorrow, she thought in horror as the horse moved forward, its trotting strides quickly lengthening to a gallop. Through the roaring in her ears she heard one—no, two—other horses galloping alongside.

  Sharp night wind slapped through the sheer nightgown, chilling her skin, whipping her hair. Behind the blindfold her eye
s ached to see. She wanted to spit out the vile gag but could not. She couldn’t even move her fingers; they were growing numb already from the rope.

  Melora bit back tears of fear and frustration. Her whole body trembled. Below her the horse gathered speed.

  And the stranger behind her tightened his arm around her waist and spoke again.

  His voice was even colder than the wind.

  “Sit back and enjoy the ride, Miss Deane. We’ve got a long ways to go before we make our first camp.”

  Chapter 2

  They rode for hours through oblique, windswept night.

  By the time the horse beneath her at last slowed to a canter and finally halted, Melora was so cold and so weary she felt she would stiffen up like a fence post and simply die. Only the warmth of the man riding behind her shielded her at all from the biting wind. The heat and strength and vitality of him surrounded her but gave her no comfort, for he was not her ally but her enemy. An enemy who would demand from her... only God knew what.

  She shivered from her neck to her ankles, and her senses spun dizzily when her captor dismounted and without warning yanked her down from the saddle.

  She nearly fell, her knees crumpling beneath her weight, but strong arms caught her and kept her upright.

  “Take it easy, Miss Deane.” That cool, deep voice again. She wanted to see the face it belonged to; her fingers itched to slap it. She was afraid, afraid of what was in store for her and of what would happen next, but rage curdled beneath the fear. And she made a vow to herself: She would not cry, would not plead, would not show the terror that tasted sharp and metallic on her tongue. No matter what this man and his companions did to her she would show no weakness. None!

  Steeling herself as she felt him loosen the gag, she tensed her shoulders. Pop had always said: Hold your ground, Mel, and fight for what you believe. He’d lived and died by that code. And so would she.

  They’ll find out quick enough that they can’t intimidate Melora Deane, she thought, summoning all her wits and her courage.