Forever and a Day

by Mary McBride

  “I can’t.”

  And she couldn’t have, Kate remembered. Perhaps not even if her little life had depended on it. Honey was that afraid of heights.

  A flaming piece of the front wall came down now, and the crowd surged back.

  “Jump, Honey. You can,” Kate breathed.

  The tall stranger on the hay wagon called up to her. When Honey only stood there unmoving, he dragged his fingers through his hair, then planted his fists on his lean hips. He glared up at the recalcitrant, terrified young woman for a moment, but then his hard expression broke into a wide, gleaming grin.

  “If you want to go to Kansas with me, bright eyes, then you’d best take that first step,” he shouted above the roar of the flames.

  Honey smiled, a smile far brighter than the fire at her back. And then Kate watched her terrified daughter leap—with perfect trust—into the stranger’s outstretched arms. He caught her easily, and for a moment it seemed to Kate those two were the only people in the world, holding each other, kissing and laughing with pure joy.

  With sparks shooting up from the burning hotel and the shouts of the crowd, for an instant the scene reminded Kate of the Fourth of July so many years ago when her daughter was conceived. The night Kate herself had leapt with such perfect trust into Race Logan’s arms.

  The tall, lean stranger was Gideon Summerfield. Kate knew that as surely as she knew her own name. And she was no longer afraid for her daughter’s life. It was Honey’s heart that was in terrible danger now.

  * * *

  Gideon saw the diminutive woman with the red-gold hair before Honey did. In a single glance he took in the purposefulness of the woman’s stride, the determined set of her mouth, and the delicacy of a nose that was identical to Honey’s. There was green fire in the eyes that locked on his as he lowered that woman’s daughter from the hay wagon to the ground.

  “Mama!” Honey’s exclamation hovered between surprise and happiness. Then, with a tiny squeal of delight, she threw her arms around her mother. “Oh, Mama!”

  Gideon jumped down from the wagon, still caught in the Logan woman’s hot emerald glare. Well, he deserved a look as hot as she could stoke, he figured. Or worse. He nodded to her. “Ma’am.”

  But fiercely as her gaze burned, the woman’s voice was cool. “Mr. Summerfield, I assume.”

  Honey stepped back from embracing her mother then, and Gideon held them both in his gaze. The shining daughter. The fiery, protective mother. Beauties, both of them. And both of them in his care now as, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Charlie Buck approaching them, his black eyes on the satchel in Mrs. Logan’s grip, one dark hand resting on the butt of his gun.

  There wasn’t a damn thing he could do, Gideon thought. Still, his mind swirled, reaching for answers, testing the grim alternatives. If the big half-breed didn’t get his hands on the ransom Dwight Samuel had sent him for, he wouldn’t hesitate to take both women captive and demand twice as much. Even though Gideon was sure he could take Charlie Buck, and even though he was willing to die trying, there was no way he was going to put Honey and her mother at risk.

  On top of that, tipping his hand now with this ransom would blow the banker’s plan to smithereens. If he did that, Gideon thought bleakly, he might just as well head for Mexico this minute because nothing would convince Dwight to follow him to Santa Fe after that, and nothing remained to prevent Logan from hunting him down and clapping him back in chains.

  There was nothing he could do. Nothing, that was, but break Honey’s unsuspecting heart, right here, right now, and hope to God he could repair it later.

  “Did she bring it?” the half-breed asked now, his dark eyes moving from Gideon to the satchel in Kate’s hand.

  Gideon’s gaze flicked to Honey. Suspicion already clouded the bright warmth in her eyes, and the smile that had been poised on her pretty mouth only a second before was wavering now as her mother raised the leather valise.

  “There’s your ransom, Mr. Summerfield,” Kate Logan said. “Take it. We’ve lived up to our part of the bargain so I trust you’ll allow me to take my daughter home now.”

  Honey stared at the satchel in her mother’s outstretched hand, then raised her eyes to Gideon’s—slowly, painfully—as if the sight of him right then were more than she could bear.

  “What’s in it, Mama? How much? How much was I worth to him?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Ten thousand,” Charlie Buck growled as he grabbed the valise from Kate’s hand and unbuckled it. “Better all be in here, too.” He shot Kate a last hard look before he began pawing through the contents.

  Honey wasn’t even looking at the half-breed. Her eyes were burning into Gideon’s now like sheer blue-green flame searing through gunmetal. “Was I worth it, Gideon? Was I? Did you get your money’s worth?”

  Gideon’s mouth twitched though he said nothing, and when he saw the blow coming, he did nothing to deflect it, allowing Honey’s hand to crack across his cheek.

  “Bastard,” she hissed, then spun on her heel and marched—head high and shoulders stiff with pride—toward the train depot.

  He didn’t lift a hand to rub his stinging face. Gideon did nothing to ease the pain that Honey Logan had had every right to inflict. Compared to the piercing pain in his heart, however, her slap had felt more like a caress. It was Honey’s mother then who touched gentle, cool fingertips to his jawline. Gideon blinked.

  “My daughter has her father’s blazing temper, Mr. Summerfield, as well as his blistering tongue,” Kate said quietly. Her earnest gaze searched Gideon’s face. “Unlike me, Honey doesn’t understand what’s happening here or just who the true villain is.” Her head tilted slightly now to indicate the half-breed, who was ignoring them while he continued to search through the leather valise. Her voice lowered another notch. “Thank you for preventing what might have happened.”

  “I didn’t have a choice, ma’am.”

  Kate smiled. “Yes, you did. But you chose my daughter’s safety. And mine, too. I’m grateful to you for that.”

  His eyes shifted toward Charlie Buck, gauging his distance and the extent of his interest in the satchel. Gideon’s voice was little more than a whisper as he leaned down toward Kate. “Tell your husband the plan’s still set. For the bank in Santa Fe. As soon as I can make it happen. I’d say two days. Three at the most.”

  Kate’s eyes narrowed on his. “I’ll tell him. But you need to be aware that things...well, my husband’s attitude has changed. He’s a very protective father. He would have come here with a gun instead of a satchel, if he had known about the ransom.” She drew in a wavering breath. “I don’t know what Race promised you, Mr. Summerfield, in return for your help. But, if I were you, I wouldn’t count on it now.”

  His mouth curved upward in a tight smile while his eyes remained a cool and humorless gray. “I never did, Mrs. Logan.” He angled his head toward the rapidly disappearing Honey. “Take care of her for me, will you?”

  A small ripple of laughter broke from Kate’s throat. “Easier said than done, Mr. Summerfield, as I’m sure you already know.” She extended her hand. “I want you to know that I saw my daughter’s face when she was flying off that burning roof into your arms. She looked happy as a new angel. Seems to me you’re the one responsible for that.”

  Gideon took Kate’s hand. The smile on his face now was more like a wince, as if she, too, had slapped him rather than given him a kind of blessing. “Angels belong in heaven, Mrs. Logan. All I seem to manage is hard times and hell.”

  Her emerald gaze met his squarely. “Well, Mr. Summerfield, I’d say it’s probably high time you had an angel on your side.” Kate turned then and followed in her daughter’s wake.

  Gideon watched her a moment, then turned when he heard the remaining walls of the hotel collapse in upon themselves. The whole building now lay in soggy, smoky ruins. Kind of like his heart, he thought. A lot like his heart. And if he stood here thinking about that even one second longer, he’d
be on his knees, crying like a baby.

  There’d be plenty of time for that in Mexico, he told himself. All the time in the world.

  “Let’s get going,” he snarled to Charlie Buck.

  * * *

  The train waited at the depot, snorting and shuddering like a big coal-colored beast while it built up a head of steam to carry it north, back to Santa Fe. Honey sat with her arms crossed, her shoulders dug into the leather-tufted seat, staring at the burned hem of her dress. Her eyes were stinging, just as they had when she had stood in the depths of the burning hotel, but now the fire was raging deep inside her. She was determined not to let her mother see her cry, and she vowed that even if she had to draw blood from the inside of her cheeks, she’d do it to keep the tears from spilling.

  Only moments ago Honey had rebuffed another one of her mother’s attempts at conversation, snapping, “Not now, Mama. I don’t want to talk now. About anything. And I especially don’t want to talk about that thief. That lying, conniving, snake-tongued son of a—”

  “That thief,” her mother had interrupted forcefully, “just saved your precious hide two times in the space of about ten minutes, Honey Logan.”

  Honey had sniffed and crossed her arms more tightly. Her response had been an icy hiss. “Of course he saved it, Mama. You bet he did. My precious hide was worth ten thousand dollars to him.”

  The locomotive lurched forward, and the last coach, in which they sat, jerked at its couplings then started to sway and creak as it rolled in the wake of the big engine. Honey closed her eyes to blot out the sight of the rugged, piñon-dotted hills where she had ridden with Gideon. She tried to erase him from her head, to erase him from the entire universe and pretend the man didn’t even exist. When that tactic proved unsuccessful, Honey willed herself to hate him. Hating Gideon Summerfield, no doubt, would be an easier accomplishment now than forgetting him. Oh, but loving him, she thought dismally, had been the easiest of all.

  Honey glanced at her mother, whose face appeared calm despite the fact that she seemed preoccupied with twisting the wedding band on her finger. For the first time in her life, Honey realized, she felt a kinship with her mother that surpassed their natural bond of mother and daughter. Kate Logan—the woman, not the mother—was going home to her man, Honey thought. A man who adored her. A man who would trade his own soul to the devil without a second thought to spare his wife a single moment’s pain.

  A knot of envy formed in Honey’s chest, pulling up tight. It was so easy for her mother. Why, why in the name of the Almighty, did it have to come so hard for her? she wondered. Why did she always do things wrong? She squeezed her eyes closed, as much to contain her tears as to make the hurting stop. But she couldn’t do either one. Pain sliced through her heart like lightning and tears streamed down her cheeks like rain.

  Kate leaned close to her daughter, her head tipped, mingling her red-gold hair with Honey’s dark tresses. “I can’t stop the way you’re hurting, Honey. I can only tell you it will stop. Eventually. One way or another.” She sighed. “Do you love him, Honey?”

  Honey swiped at one wet eye. “Gideon Summerfield? Right now I hate him.”

  A smile tipped the edges of Kate’s mouth. As she pulled a lace handkerchief from her reticule, she said, “Right now you’re hating yourself, Honey Logan, and wondering what it was you did wrong. I’ve known you longer than you’ve known yourself, Miss Fix-It, and don’t you forget that.”

  “Miss Fix-It can’t fix anything.” Honey accepted the hankie, then sank lower into her seat.

  “Sometimes there are things that don’t need fixing. They just work out by themselves. The right things do anyway, in my estimation.”

  Honey’s reply was a wet, forlorn sigh, after which Kate tipped her head even closer to her daughter and spoke in a tone that hovered just beneath the resonant chuffing and clacking of the train.

  “Honey, I never regretted that first time with your daddy. Even when I realized he wasn’t coming back for me, when I thought he’d left me for good and forever. Even then, as forlorn as I felt, I wouldn’t have changed what happened between us. Not one sweet kiss. Not one single touch. It was worth it, loving him the way I did. Being loved by him.”

  When Honey began to protest, Kate held up a silencing hand. “Hear me out now,” she said. “I married somebody else, for your safety and for propriety’s sake, but I never stopped loving your daddy. Don’t you let anybody make you feel that you did wrong if you know in your heart that it wasn’t.”

  With her eyes closed and her head resting against her mother’s, Honey whispered brokenly, “He traded me for a sack of money, Mama.”

  “He did it to spare your life, child. And it cost him dearly, only you were too blinded by your own hurt to see it.” Kate sighed. “My life, too. That big half-breed would have been only too glad to hold the both of us for twice the price.”

  “That big half-breed is part of Dwight Samuel’s gang. So is Gideon. Now.” Honey managed a tiny cluck of her tongue. “He’s Dwight Samuel’s cousin, you know. I guess that old saying’s true about blood being thicker than water. And that other saying, too. Once a thief, always a thief.”

  Kate tipped her head away, studying her daughter’s face. “He didn’t tell you then?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Summerfield’s working for your father,” Kate said quietly. “He’s supposed to link up with the Samuel gang and then lure them into Santa Fe so the Bankers’ Association can finally put a stop to all these robberies. Race got him out of prison to help. In return for Summerfield’s help, your father is supposed to arrange his release. Only...” Her hands fluttered in her lap. “Only now I don’t know what Race is going to do.”

  That explained it, Honey thought suddenly. All the puzzle pieces that hadn’t fit before—the way Gideon went about his robberies without apparent care or caution, his indifference to the spoils of each job, the lack of pursuit.

  She bolted upright in her seat. “Why in blue blazes didn’t he tell me?”

  “Probably for the same reason I almost wasn’t going to, Miss Fix-It.” Kate’s hand came up to touch her daughter’s tangled hair. “Honey, if anybody has a plan, they can always count on you to be the little monkey wrench that gets in the middle of it, twisting and turning and trying to make things right. Trying to prove to yourself and the world just how capable you are.”

  “What did you mean, Mama, when you said you didn’t know what Daddy’s going to do now?” Honey asked urgently. “If he promised Gideon...”

  Kate’s emerald eyes flashed at her. “That was all before his precious daughter inserted herself dead center into the plan. I don’t have to tell you how your father feels about you, Honey. Right or wrong, he feels a need to protect you. From everything and everyone.” A sudden sheen of tears glistened in her eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because he didn’t have you those first few years. Or because you were born with Ned Cassidy’s name instead of his. Maybe he feels he has to make it up to you somehow. I just don’t know.”

  But Honey wasn’t listening anymore. She was seeing Gideon’s gray eyes—gray and steely and cold as the bars of a cell. He wouldn’t go back to prison, he had said. Never. And if he still believed her father was going to get him out, then he’d be riding right into a trap. A trap that she’d helped set with her interference.

  Snap—like steel claws around the leg of an unsuspecting wolf. She knew what wolves did when they were trapped like that. Desperate to get away, they would chew off their own legs. Gideon would be that desperate. Just like a wolf.

  Honey stood up, clambering over her mother’s skirt toward the aisle. “Excuse me, Mama. It’s so close in here. I’m just going to step out on the platform for a minute to get a breath of fresh air.”

  * * *

  Race’s grasp on Kate’s arm was meant to guide her from the train to the carriage that waited in front of the station. If he knew how hard he was gripping her, Kate thought, his fingers would open immediate
ly, soft and harmless as the petals of a flower. And when he saw the bruise tomorrow, his eyes would cloud and his cheeks would color with shame.

  But that was tomorrow. At the moment her husband was mad enough to choke somebody with one bare hand. Knowing him the way she did, she supposed she was glad it was just her arm his fingers were digging into. Better that right now than her throat, or Gideon Summerfield’s.

  He practically tossed her into the carriage, then hauled himself up beside her. He picked up the reins, dropped them, then dragged his splayed fingers through his dark, silver-shot hair. His voice was harsh with anger, rough with frustration.

  “Katie! For chrissake, how could you let her go? Why didn’t you make them stop the goddamn train?”

  Staring straight ahead, unwilling to hazard the ice in his eyes, Kate said, “I tried, Race.”

  It was almost true. Right after Kate had gone out to the platform for a breath of fresh air herself, and right after she had seen Honey ballooning in calico off the back of the train then collapsing between the rails, Kate had almost plunged back inside to demand to the conductor that the train be stopped then and there.

  But something had stopped her. Kate had stood there a moment longer, fingers white around the metal railing, and had watched Honey—growing smaller moment by moment as the train pulled away—but at the same time growing larger than life itself as she got to her feet, swatted dust and cinders from her skirt, then turned and headed back toward Cerrillos.

  Kate had let her daughter go with a whispered blessing. Standing there on the rear platform of the train, she wondered how her own life might have been different if she had taken off after Race all those years ago rather than merely accepting the wretched fact that he was gone. It would have taken her only a day or two to catch up to him out on the plains where he was lying in the back of a wagon with the broken leg that had prevented his return. She never would have married Ned Cassidy then. Race would have been Honey’s daddy from the day of her birth.

  And, Kate thought now, Race wouldn’t be sitting like some granite statue beside her in this carriage, reading her his own unique version of the Riot Act.