Brad had a lot more scars than any man had a right to own, let alone a preacher. After yesterday, it wasn’t hard to see how he’d gotten them, but he didn’t need any more. Just the thought of him getting more scared her in ways she didn’t want to define.
Another knock came at the door. Through the sheers covering the glass that bracketed the heavy wooden panel, she could see a small, slight silhouette.
“Evie?”
Mara. Oh shoot, she couldn’t let her see the painting. Brad would be mortified. He was senstive about how she’d painted him. A man’s pride was a delicate thing. And apparently his pride in his manhood the most delicate of all. “Just a minute.”
Before she could even lift the painting, the door swung open and Mara darted in.
“I don’t have a minute.” Turning so fast her skirts twisted around her legs, Mara closed the door behind her. Pulling the curtain back, she peeked outside.
“What’s wrong?”
Straightening, she turned around, a gamine grin on her beautiful features. “I’ve run away.”
“From Cougar?”
“Of course from Cougar.” She rolled her eyes. “The man missed his calling as a prison guard.”
Evie positioned herself between Mara and the exposed painting, hoping her skirts were a sufficient width to work as a shield. “You’re supposed to be somewhere you’re not?”
“To hear Cougar tell it, in bed wrapped in cotton wool for the next seven months.”
Seven months. She looked at Mara again, seeing nothing but a very slender woman with copper hair and cinnamon brown eyes. Of course, at two months, there wouldn’t be a sign. “You’re with child?”
“Yup. And Cougar’s about fit to be tied.”
“He worries about you. Ever since . . .”
She bit her tongue. Mara didn’t need to be reminded of that.
Mara sighed. “Since I miscarried, you mean. Don’t you start spinning there, too. It’s bad enough that Cougar can’t get past it.”
“With reason. You’re a very small woman.”
“And he’s a very big man,” Mara finished for her, stepping farther into the room, “but it’s not going to make a difference this time. This baby will be healthy.”
What could Evie say to that? “So where does Cougar think you are?”
“At home. I figure I’ve got the whole day to myself since he’s out helping the Reverend . . .” Her gaze dropped to the painting and her voice trailed off. “Holy smokes! You painted that? It’s gorgeous.”
Evie braced herself for criticism or laughter. “Yes.”
Mara cocked her head to the side. “You really are talented when it comes to capturing the real spirit of the man. I’ve always seen him as sort of an outlaw at heart . . .” Her voice trailed off. Evie had the urge to throw the tablecloth over Brad’s image. “He’s almost as beautiful as my Cougar.”
Cougar was a beautiful man, but in the way a wildcat was beautiful for the sheer lethal killing grace rippling beneath the skin. Brad was beautiful in a different way. His power was less overt, she realized as she looked at the painting, but there.
“That would be your opinion.”
“Of course,” Mara continued, the tightness of suppressed laughter in her voice. “There are some differences.” She pursed her lips in an effort to contain her smile, and met Evie’s gaze. “One thing’s for sure, either you were a virgin on your wedding night or you were one disappointed bride.”
It was hopeless to try to appear nonchalant, but Evie gave it a stab anyway. Ignoring the blush burning up her cheeks like wildfire, she cleared her throat and pulled the torn edges of paper over Brad’s image. “Not everything was in proportion.”
Mara’s brows arched. “Bet you were glad to discover that.”
A shiver shimmered down her spine as she remembered the slow push of his body into hers. “Yes.”
Mara waggled her eyebrows. “If you offer me a cup of tea, I’ll let you tell me all about it.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“Well, then, I’ll let you bribe me with a cup of tea not to pester you.”
It was easy to see why Cougar found Mara both frustrating and totally irresistible. The spirit inside her shone so brightly. Evie would love to capture it on canvas. She led the way into the kitchen.
“I can probably manage a cup of tea.”
“Thank goodness. We’re out, and Cougar tried to convince me coffee was just as good. Made me sicker than a dog.”
“I won’t offer you coffee then.”
“Thank you.”
Eve slid some sticks under the burner and put on the kettle before mentioning in the most causal way she knew, “I’d like to paint you sometime.”
“I might be open to the possibility.”
She turned, hearing the “but.” “What?”
“You have to give me breasts.” Mara stood beside the big farmer’s table and held her hands out a foot in front of her chest. “Big impressive breasts, like Jenna has.”
“Would Cougar like that?”
Mara tossed her head, sending her thick hair swinging. “It’s not about what he likes. It’s about what I want, and for once I’d like to look at an image of myself and see something that looks womanly.”
“I keep telling you, Angel, you’ve got to start seeing yourself through my eyes.”
Evie gasped and spun around. Cougar stood in the kitchen doorway, dominating it with his size, his personality.
“And there isn’t a prettier woman this side of anywhere.”
Mara squared her shoulders and sat down at the kitchen table. “I thought you were gone.”
“Obviously, since you’re not where I put you.”
Apparently Brad wasn’t the only one stuck on that “stay” rule.
He took a step into the room. And just as when Brad did, it immediately felt too small. Evie took an involuntary step back, drawing Cougar’s gaze. For an instant she felt the whip of his personality and then he was back to stalking Mara.
“I believe I told you to stay in bed.”
“I’ll go crazy if I stay in bed.”
Cougar frowned, his eyes glittering under the brim of his hat. He looked as mean as all get-out with his black hair falling around his high cheekbones, until Evie looked into his eyes again. If Evie wanted to paint Mara because of her spirit, she wanted to paint Cougar like this. Devastatingly human in his love for his wife. Almost vulnerable. Her fingers positively itched.
“You were sick this morning.”
“I’m better now.”
“It might come back.”
“Not if I eat, and Evie’s making me some tea.”
Cougar cut her a glance. “Seems to me she’s doodling.”
She was—on the counter, with her fingernail. Evie yanked her hand back. “I’m just waiting to see if Mara is staying.”
“Of course I’m staying.”
“Mara . . .” Another step and Cougar was within reaching distance. Mara caught his hand and pulled him closer, tugging until he bent and she could place his hand on her stomach. His hair fell around them, obscuring her face from view, leaving only the poignant silhouette of the big man cradling the hope of life with both fear and love.
His “You take too damn many chances” escaped the confines of the intimate moment.
Evie grabbed the pencil by the stove. There was nothing to sketch on. She opted for the pale wood of the countertop, working quickly, struggling to capture the emotion before it disappeared.
“Never with what’s important,” Evie heard Mara murmur.
“I want you home.”
“I’m as safe here as I am at home. Here Evie can keep track of me.”
Cougar looked up; his gaze went from the pencil to her face. Immediately, Evie felt like confessing.
“I—” She stopped right there. Cougar just wasn’t a man to whom she was comfortable saying, “You were too beautiful not to sketch.” People generally didn’t understand the compulsi
on to sketch that took her. Cougar looked less likely than others. She tried again. “It was just . . .”
Mara came to her rescue. “You’re a beautiful man, Cougar. She couldn’t help herself.”
“Shit.”
Evie didn’t know if that was good or bad. The McKinnely men kept their emotions close to their chests, and that made them hard to read, except, she realized, when they looked at their wives, as Cougar was looking at Mara now. Then, there was the barest hint of a schism that allowed outsiders to glimpse the depth of emotion that lurked behind the masks. She looked down at the drawing, the emotion captured in the few lines. Jealousy flared through her. She’d give anything to be loved like that, accepted like that.
“Please, Cougar,” Mara coaxed.
He muttered something under his breath.
“Evie will watch me like a hawk.”
“You won’t let her do anything?” he asked, cocking his eyebrow.
“Strenuous,” Mara hastened to tack on.
“Anything,” Cougar growled.
“I’ll watch her.” As much as anyone could.
Cougar grunted and spared her a glance. “I heard you’re sick yourself. Brad said your woman’s time is bad.”
“Brad told you . . .” It came out a strangled squeak. If a hole had opened up in the floor right then, she would have gladly fallen through it. “I’m better now.”
Cougar didn’t share her embarrassment. “Doc can probably help you with that.”
Evie’s “thank you” was a strangled rasp.
Mara groaned and shoved at Cougar. “Don’t you need to go somewhere and save someone?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Skimming his fingers down Mara’s cheek, he brushed her lips with his thumb. “You, I’ll see tonight.”
It sounded like a threat to Evie. Mara just smiled and kissed his palm. “I’ll be waiting.”
Cougar chuckled and headed out the door. He stopped on the threshold and pinned Evie with a glance that she imagined would have outlaws shaking in their shoes. “Take care of her.”
He didn’t have to say “or else.” It was implied.
As soon as the door swung closed behind him, Evie blinked. “I think I was just threatened.”
Mara shook her head and came over to the counter. “At best, warned. Cougar has trouble delegating responsibility and he sees me as his biggest challenge.”
She touched the simple sketch, her fingers lingering on the lines that made up the longing in Cougar’s touch before shifting to his face. When she looked up, her eyes were moist. “You really do see people, don’t you?”
Evie shrugged. “Sometimes.”
Mara touched the pencil marks that had captured the stern line of her husband’s mouth along with the hint of vulnerability at the corner. “No one ever sees that he can be hurt.”
“He’s a very intimidating man.”
“He’s a very good man.”
“Who doesn’t want me to paint you with watermelon breasts,” Evie pointed out.
Mara’s smile was very soft. “No, he doesn’t.” She tapped the sketch on the counter. “Will you finish this?”
There wasn’t a prayer that Evie had any choice. There was so much emotion in that moment that her fingers ached to complete it. A prospective father sheltering his wife and child in the love and hope he held for them. “Yes.”
“Now?”
She shrugged. “If you want.”
Mara smiled and reached for the cups. “I definitely want. And when it’s done, you can name your price.”
THE NOTE HAD said to come alone.
Brad pulled up just outside the clearing a mile shy from where he was supposed to be meeting Casey. He wasn’t alone, and if the hairs on the back of his neck were to be believed, his company had a gun sited on him. Shit.
If it was Casey, there was a fifty-fifty chance he’d pull the trigger before he got around to stating what he wanted. Casey could be unpredictable that way. Ambitious and aggressive, with an unstable temperament that couldn’t be trusted, the outlaw was a wild card. And he held Brad’s future in his hands. Shit again.
Is this a test? Because I’m getting sick of your tests. There was no answer. Just the squawk of a blue jay.
Brad pulled out his makings and waited. There was only so much foolishness a man could indulge in a lifetime, and he’d about used his up while playing preacher. A twig snapped behind him.
“I told you to meet me at the creek ten minutes ago.”
Brad didn’t turn to confront the speaker. Striking his sulphur, he shrugged. “I figured this was a pretty spot for a smoke.”
“Since when do you think you have a choice in anything?”
“Since I kicked your ass six ways to Sunday three years ago.”
“A lot’s changed in the last three years.”
That was the truth. Including who held the cards in this little confrontation. Brad took a draw on the smoke, relishing the simple pleasure, as a man did when it might be his last. “Not that much.”
“I was in town yesterday.”
So that had been Casey’s paint tied up outside the saloon. “A pity you didn’t stop by the church and say hello.” He’d have slit his throat and they wouldn’t be going through this dance right now.
“Heard tell you’ve got yourself a pretty new wife.”
“Been snooping?”
“It always pays to get the lay of the land before looking up old friends.”
“We’ve never been friends.” More like uneasy cohorts in crime. Casey had been the leader of the first gang he’d joined. He’d taught Brad a lot. Mostly how a man shouldn’t behave.
“Does she know who you are?” Casey asked around the unlit cigar in his mouth. The gun in his hand wasn’t a surprise. Neither were the new lines etched across his forehead and around his eyes. The outlaw life wasn’t conducive to longevity.
“I didn’t see any need to tell her.”
“Just planned on leaving everything in the past?”
Brad flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette. “Pretty much.”
“Even your friends.”
“I think we already covered that. We’re not friends.”
“Well, I’m still feeling a bit of camaraderie.” The hammer clicked back on the gun. “Especially when I consider you’ve got my wife and daughter.”
Shit. Casey always was good at lucky guesses. “I have them?”
“It has to be you. You’re the only one she’d run to.”
Only after the son of a bitch threatened his own daughter. Although Brenda was terrified of leaving Casey’s dubious protection, she loved her daughter more. Fear for Brenna was the only thing that had made Brenda go out in the world again. “Well, you must have missed someone else, because I don’t have her.”
“She took the train to Cheyenne.”
Brad shrugged, covertly studying the ridgeline for signs of Cougar. Had he followed Casey? “Maybe she kept on going.”
“Not hardly.” The muzzle centered on his chest. “I want my family back.”
“I don’t blame you.”
Casey smiled around the unlit cigar. “Good, then you’ll understand why you’re going to get them for me.”
Belle shifted and snorted, uneasy with the tension in the air. Brad patted her neck. “I’m not a bounty hunter.”
“But you do have something to hide.”
“I’ve got to be straight with you, Casey. If Brenda did find the courage to run, I’m not particularly moved to fetch her back.”
“Then I might not be too inspired to keep your identity a secret.”
Brad eased his hand down the reins. “Well, in that case, I’ll just have to put aside nostalgia and put you out of my misery.”
Casey grinned, his teeth surprisingly white for a man of his bad habits. “I’m the one with the gun.”
“And I’m the one with Gut’m McKinnely covering his ass.”
Casey’s smile disappeared. Brad’s grew. When all else f
ailed, bluff.
“You look disappointed.”
“Not at all.”
Because he hadn’t intended to kill him today, Brad realized. The same way Brad hadn’t intended to kill Casey. Not yet at least. Not until he knew what Casey knew and who he’d told about Brad’s “rebirth.”
“So tell me, how’d you know I was here?”
“Word gets around.”
Years of playing poker with a man came in handy. It familiarized the opponent with the other’s tells. When Casey flipped that cigar to the other side of his mouth, it was a sure sign that he was lying. At least the fact that Shadow Svensen was alive and living as the Reverend Brad Swanson wasn’t common knowledge.
“I’ve heard a few things about you, too.”
“Such as?”
“You’ve moved up from stagecoaches to trains.”
“Can’t hold a man’s ambition against him.”
“A woman was killed in that last robbery.”
“You always were squeamish about women.”
“So you’ve told me a time or two. What happened?”
Casey shrugged. The gun didn’t drop. “She got in the way after Bill shot her husband when he objected to donating to our cause.”
“It never pays to play the hero.”
“No,” Casey agreed, “it doesn’t, so why don’t you toss me that peashooter you’ve got tucked up your sleeve?”
“I’m a minister. I don’t carry weapons.”
“Those fools in town might buy your game. I don’t. Hand it over.”
Turning slowly, Brad raised his hands and shucked his cuffs. There was no holster. No gun. With Cougar as backup, who the hell needed them?
“Well, son of a bitch, you’ve become a preacher just like your daddy.”
He hated being compared to his father. Casey knew it. “Keep pushing me, Casey, and you’ll find that I haven’t forgotten everything.”
“Neither have I.”
Shit. Brad knew that look. He dropped back, grabbing the rifle as he fell, rolling under Belle’s belly. Two bullets peppered the ground beyond. Leaping to his feet, he whipped the rifle up. Belle squealed and pranced, but Asa MacIntyre had trained her and she held her ground through her terror, providing him with a shield. This close, Casey couldn’t get off a shot, but Brad knew Casey wouldn’t hesitate to kill the horse. Belle tossed her head, the whites of her eyes showing, looking to him for guidance. Ah hell.
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