Always You

by Jill Gregory

  “Where now?” she whispered on a half giggle, running alongside him.

  “The well house.”

  The well house?

  It proved to be cool, dark, and quiet in the well house and sheltered from the wind.

  They didn’t come out until dawn.

  Epilogue

  The hideout shack was cleverly concealed on a hidden shelf deep in Wild Horse Canyon. But not cleverly enough. Cal found it at sunup after five days of concentrated tracking. He left Rascal tethered to a rock some distance away and made his way stealthily down a rocky incline and through a trail of brush and scrub.

  Eagles arced beneath the glimmering sun. The cloudless sky was porcelain blue, delicate and smooth in contrast with the harsh abrasiveness of the land.

  Cal noticed neither land nor sky, however. His attention was completely focused on his quarry. Otis Strong had apparently found himself some new partners, outlaws no doubt as cunning and amoral as himself

  But Cal wasn’t interested in them either.

  Two of Strong’s companions were saddling their horses in front of the hideout shack when he spotted them. It didn’t take long for Strong to emerge as well. He swaggered out the front door with a bottle of whiskey in his hand, and Cal noticed that above his beard, the big man’s face still showed bruises from their fight. He was scratching his armpits and taking gulps of whiskey.

  With satisfaction Cal observed that he was also wearing his guns.

  “Nobody move!” He leaped out from the rocks less than fifteen feet from the three desperadoes, his Colt aimed straight at Strong’s belly.

  Strong and the other two froze.

  “This has nothing to do with either of you,” Cal barked to the strangers. All the while he kept his gaze riveted upon the incredulous face of Otis Strong. “You boys stay out of this and you can go to hell in your own good time. It’s Strong I want.”

  “You!” Recognition turned Strong’s ruddy skin the color of putty. “You low-down bastard. I’m going to kill you!”

  “I’m taking you in, Strong.”

  “The hell you are.”

  “You’re going to hang for the murder of Craig Deane.”

  “Like hell I am!” Strong’s mouth stretched into a sneer. “You’re the one going to die, mister. Right here, right now! Get him, boys!”

  Gunmetal flashed in the sunlight. The eagles scattered. And the high rocks echoed with thunder as a hail of bullets sprayed the desolate shelf of land.

  It was over quickly, and when the shooting stopped, Cal sprang up swiftly from the dust where he’d leaped and rolled and crouched while firing. He swept a cold glance over the bodies of the three dead men and holstered his gun.

  Walking slowly, he crossed the weeds to stand over Strong’s corpse, to study it dispassionately. “This is called justice, Strong. Evening the score. Now it’s over.”

  Killing a man had never given him cause for happiness or celebration, but as the pale blue wisps of gunsmoke dissipated in the clear, cold air, Cal’s lips thinned into a smile of grim satisfaction.

  Now he could go home. To Melora.

  It was almost his wedding day, and Cal knew if he didn’t make it to Rawhide in time, he might just as well dig himself a grave right here alongside Otis Strong.

  * * *

  Evening, September 30

  Tomorrow night, tomorrow night, I’ll be a bride tomorrow night.

  Cal Holden, if, you leave me standing at the altar, I’m going to skin you alive, Melora thought, lamplight casting an amber glow upon her furious countenance as she paced barefoot across her gleaming bedroom floor. Her diaphanous white silk wrapper swished in time to her rapid footsteps, whipping around her legs like a shimmering cloud.

  “Don’t worry, Melora.” Jinx stuck her head in the door with a sympathetic smile. “Cal will make it in time.”

  Melora’s dismay faded at the sight of her sister in her ankle-length blue flannel nightgown. Her eyes softening with pleasure, she watched the girl scamper across the floor and plop down on the bed, Blackie curled comfortably on her shoulder. It was so good to see Jinx well. She was not only walking now, but running, skipping, jumping. A miracle had come to pass. Not a day went by that Melora wasn’t thankful for it.

  But at this moment it was difficult to feel thankful, difficult to find a trace of the peaceful contentment that had enveloped her all the past month as she planned her wedding.

  “I’m supposed to be getting married in the morning, Jinx,” she grated out between clenched teeth. She wheeled toward the window, where the moon shone like her cameo against a sky of deepest ebony. Melora took a quick, panicky breath and brushed her fingers over the necklace, as if touching the cameo would bring her good luck. “All of the town will be there,” she whispered dejectedly. “All except the groom! I’m going to be the laughingstock of Rawhide—again!”

  Melora resumed her pacing, her hands tearing through her curling, freshly washed hair.

  The citizens of Rawhide had found it richly amusing that Melora Deane was planning a wedding for the second time to a man named Wyatt Holden, an altogether different Wyatt Holden. The corrals and stores and saloons and offices were full of folks grinning and shaking their heads.

  But not a soul had found anything funny about the criminal deceptions her original groom had carried out.

  Many of the townspeople and ranchers had met Cal when he’d arrived a few weeks ago to help move Jesse and the children into the Diamond X ranch house. They liked him and warmly welcomed him and his family. And they especially welcomed the fact that they could expect cattle ranching profits to go up and rustling incidents to go down now that at his hands, the rustlers’ ringleader, Rafe Campbell, was dead.

  But how everyone would roar, Melora fretted to Jinx bitterly, when she found herself abandoned at the altar, just like Campbell had been before. Why, folks would flap their jaws for months about how Melora Deane’s second attempt at a wedding had ended in failure.

  “Failure? Since when are you talking about failure?” Aggie broke in, following Jinx into the bedroom, her tone crisp as corn. “That man will not let you down.”

  “But—”

  “He’s a good man, Melora. I may have made a mistake about that other man, but this time there can be no mistaking. Cal Holden will come through for you—always—unless I sorely miss my guess. Besides,” she added, her eyes sparkling as they rested on the girl’s hopeful face. “I saw the way he looked at you the night the Holdens all moved into the Diamond X and we brought his family that delicious fried chicken supper.”

  “And I saw the way he kissed you in the kitchen when he thought no one was looking!” Jinx giggled.

  Melora couldn’t hold back a grin. “Cal does love me,” she muttered, closing her eyes and remembering how beautifully they fit together. “I know that at least. So I guess I have to dig down deep and find myself a little bit of faith.”

  But she kept on pacing.

  She scarcely heard Aggie urge Jinx to move along to bed. But she shook herself out of her reverie when Jinx whispered from the door, “Mel! Are you sure you want to marry Wyatt Holden?”

  The same question her sister had asked the night before her other wedding. Now their eyes met with warmth and love and sisterly laughter.

  “I’m sure.” Melora went to Jinx and knelt. She hugged her tightly, emotion swamping her. “Oh, Jinx, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

  It was quiet when Jinx and Aggie went to bed. The darkness of the midnight sky, the emptiness of the night haunted Melora as she padded to her closet and gazed at her mother’s wedding gown, wondering if she would have the chance to wear it come morning. It was so beautiful. Her fingers trembled over the elegant lace veil, the creamy satin bridal slippers, the flowing train...

  She never saw the man who swung through her window with single-minded purpose. She didn’t hear even a footfall until she was seized roughly from behind and yanked against his tall, hard frame.

  �
�Princess, don’t tell me you weren’t expecting me.” Cal’s breath tickled warm and enticing against her ear.

  He spun her around in his arms and drowned out her shriek of joy with a kiss so fierce it left her weak with happiness.

  “Where have you been?” she demanded, clutching him, her lips darkened from the force of the kiss, her whole body melting against his. “I thought you were leaving me at the altar!”

  “Never, Melora. Not if I’d had to crawl across the plains on my knees and elbows to get here.” He grinned. Then the grin faded, and his features became grave. As he caressed her cheek, every last glimmer of humor left his eyes. “I had business to attend to.”

  He picked her up, carried her to the bed, and set her down upon it very tenderly. As she drew him down beside her, she studied his serious expression with growing concern.

  “What kind of business?”

  “Otis Strong.”

  She bolted upright. Her golden brown eyes widened with a single crucial question.

  Cal kissed her cheek. “He’s dead, Melora. That hombre’s taken up permanent residence in hell.”

  She nodded, her gaze locked upon his. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “You’re welcome.” This time their kiss was longer, deeper. Cal tugged at the sash of her wrapper, discovering to his intense approval that beneath it she wore nothing at all.

  “Now about this wedding tomorrow—” he said.

  “What about it?” She had already stripped off his vest, and her fingers were skimming eagerly across the buttons of his shirt, freeing one after the other in rapid succession. She slid the shirt from his shoulders, her lips curving into a saucily tantalizing smile.

  “You’re sure you’re getting hitched to the right fellow this time?” Cal inquired, pulling her down on top of him and wrapping his arms around her so tightly her breasts were crushed against the hair-coarsened roughness of his chest. “I’d hate to see you make any mistakes.”

  “No mistakes.” Her slender finger traced his mouth, rubbing against the smooth warmth of his lips. “I love you, Cal,” she said softly, gifting him with sweet, tiny kisses. “Only you. Always you.”

  “That about sums it up for me too, Princess.” He grinned, and then the rest of their garments landed on the floor in a heap and there was nothing left to impede their lovemaking, nothing standing in the way of the happiness that swept through them with such passionate intensity that their bodies and hearts and souls burned like fiery spears with the heat of it.

  And when their passion had joined them together and made them blissfully one, when they’d touched the edges of heaven and floated back to earth, when the night was nearly gone and a silvered pink dawn was peeking over the horizon, they slept in each other’s arms and dreamed of their wedding and their future and their children and their home.

  And the angels that accompanied the dawn on its glowing journey across the earth paused that October morning. They glanced in the ranch house window and looked and nodded sagely to one another, for they felt the joy bouncing in the air, the peace and harmony and happiness, the quiet, pinging thrum of souls meeting. Loving. Touching.

  And the angels smiled.

  If you enjoyed Always You, I would be honored if you would tell others by writing a review on the retailer’s website where you purchased this title.

  Thank you!

  Jill Gregory

  Note from Jill

  Hello and thank you to all my readers! If you want to find my classic ebook western romances, look no further than my COWBOY HEROES WESTERN SERIES.

  From gunfighters Quinn Lassiter, Gabe Morgan and Roy Steele, to bounty hunter Cole Rawdon, rancher Tucker Garrettson, and Sheriff Wolf Bodine, my COWBOY HEROES are some of the toughest and most dangerous men in the West. You’ll also meet the brave and spirited young women who fall in love with them and win their hearts, and who find love, excitement, and adventure they never dreamed of.

  Why do I love writing about cowboys?

  Cowboys have always been my heroes. From the time I was a little girl, my favorite TV shows were “Fury” (every Saturday morning!), “Bonanza” (be still my heart, little Joe), and the “Lone Ranger”. I wanted Silver for my very own. As I got older, the “Rifleman” owned a piece of my heart. And then, of course, there was James Garner, so smooth as “Maverick”. Perhaps at the very top of my list was “Laredo” — I used to watch that show with my mom, and it had everything, hot cowboys, action, humor, great dialogue — and did I mention hot cowboys?

  I’ve always loved cowboys. And mine are all together under one roof, so to speak, in my COWBOY HEROES WESTERN SERIES.

  Happy reading!

  All my best,

  Jill

  Read an Excerpt from

  NEVER LOVE A COWBOY

  Another novel in the Cowboy Heroes Western Series

  NEVER LOVE A COWBOY

  Montana

  1882

  “Welcome home, honey.”

  For a moment Emma Malloy couldn’t reply to her father’s huskily spoken words. As she stepped across the threshold of the beloved two-story ranch house where she had grown up, her throat closed up, aching with emotion.

  She was home. Home. With lavender dusk gathering behind her across the great mountain-scalloped Montana skyline, the house of her childhood, of countless precious memories, welcomed her as no other place ever could. Cheerily lit, cozy, beckoning, the house invited her with the aroma of fresh-baked bread, the glow of a fire to banish the coolness of the night, and the warmth of the people who meant the most to her in the world.

  After five long years at school in the east, she was back at Echo Ranch, back where she belonged.

  And there was only one thing in the world that could possibly spoil it.

  But she wouldn’t think about that—about him. Not now.

  She wouldn’t let anything ruin this moment, least of all Tucker Garrettson.

  Her face shone as she turned in a slow circle and took in the familiar comfortable furnishings of her home.

  “Just as I remember,” she breathed.

  Her father set down her trunk and smiled. He’d seemed somewhat quiet on the ride home from town, and even though he’d insisted nothing was wrong, she still wondered. But now there was no mistaking the joy that lit his handsome, craggy face.

  “It’s good to have you back, Emma. Real good.” His eyes grew wet as she suddenly launched herself into his arms. “Ah ha, little girl,” he chuckled hoarsely, stroking her hair, “you haven’t changed so much after all. I see you still cry only when you’re happy, never sad, eh?”

  “True,” she gasped, dashing away the tears. “And Papa, I am happy—so happy to be home. I’ve missed you more than I could say. And I’ve missed the ranch and Whisper Valley. And...” she took a deep, emotion-laden breath, “and all of Montana,” she acknowledged with a fierce little laugh. “Philadelphia is splendid, but it isn’t home.”

  “Never will be?”

  “Never will be.”

  She hugged him tight, this big bear of a man who had raised her since her mother died when she was seven. He’d sent her east to school, as he’d promised her mother he would, to give her a taste of life outside Whisper Valley and Echo Ranch. And she’d missed him every day. She’d missed the way he’d tousled her hair when he greeted her in the morning, missed the low easy timbre of his voice as he gave instructions to the ranch hands at the start of each day, missed the quiet evenings they’d spent together in his study. During these evenings, Emma would have been curled in the armchair with a novel, and her father would have been at his desk, working, always working on the ranch books, with a cup of whisky-laced coffee at his elbow and the rich aroma of his cigar breathing masculine life and character into each corner of that sturdy, handsome room.

  She’d come back home the first summer, but not since, and though Winthrop Malloy had visited Emma several times a year back east, it hadn’t been the same as being together here, where they both belonged.


  Relief flickered in Win’s keen brown eyes as he heard her words and realized that her years at a fancy girls’ school among rich easterners hadn’t changed. her. Oh, she was taller all right, and as shapely as a beautiful young woman ought to be, and her rich silky black hair—which had almost always been either clamped in braids or left to fly in wild disarray in her youth—was now prettily curled and kept in place with a rose-colored velvet ribbon which matched her traveling dress. But she was still his darling bright-eyed Em, the girl with more spunk than any ten cowhands, the girl who could outride anyone this side of the Rockies, who could shoot a rifle as well as he could himself, and who loved Whisper Valley every bit as much as he did.

  “Corinne, look who’s back. Corinne! Hell, where are you, woman?”

  Before Emma even had time to take three steps into the large, high-beamed parlor, footsteps pounded through the hall from the kitchen and she was enveloped in cushiony arms that squeezed tight.

  “Wal, now look at you. All grown up and pretty as a picture. What happened to that scrape-kneed little monkey who used to steal chocolate cake when my back was turned?”

  “Guess she grew up.” Emma grinned as she leaned back in the embrace of the plump little gray-haired woman whose bright green eyes were no larger than peas.

  “I won’t cry again, she thought fiercely, blinking back tears as she kissed the housekeeper’s leathery cheek, and nearly overcome by affection for this plainspoken woman who had cared for her ever since her mother had died.

  “She sure did. Now hold still, and let me look at you. Turn around, Emma. My, my, what a dress. Made in Philadelphia, I’ll wager?”

  “Actually, Paris.” Emma waited patiently as Corinne inspected her from head to toe, her head tilted, bird-like, to one side. She seemed fascinated by the delicate black lace trim and elegant train of Emma’s rose silk traveling dress. And by the intricate beadwork on her matching rose shoes. Corinne also studied her face, the way she held her shoulders, and the line of her figure.