Forever and a Day

by Mary McBride

  She arched on tiptoe and fit her lips to his before he could reply, and the next thing Gideon knew he was lost again in the deep, warm cavern of her mouth. A groan of pleasure unlocked in his throat and the wish that this kiss could go on forever blossomed in his heart.

  But it couldn’t. And much as he wanted to stand there with Honey in his arms and hope in his heart, he couldn’t. There was too much to do—beginning with keeping this beautiful woman alive long enough to get her back to Santa Fe and the safety of her father’s house.

  When he broke the kiss, she blinked. “You are irresistible,” she whispered.

  Gideon didn’t feel much like grinning, but he did. “Just as long as they believe it, darlin’.” He glanced toward the campsite where five pairs of eyes were now trained in their direction. “Can you act like you’re crazy in love with me till we get to Santa Fe?”

  “Better than that. I can do it till we get to heaven, Gideon Summerfield, and it won’t be any act.”

  They descended to the waiting circle of outlaws, where Dwight Samuel was smiling and shaking his head.

  “Well, if that just don’t beat all, cousin,” the bearded man said. “You got the ransom and you got the girl back, too. You’re something purely else, Gid.”

  Gideon winked. “Guess she thinks so anyway. Don’t you, Honey?”

  She leaned against him and answered breathlessly, and utterly sincerely, “You are something purely else.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Race Logan swore as he shifted on his haunches, all the while refusing to take his eyes off the street and the front door of Logan Savings and Loan. He felt as if he’d been here, scrunched up by the front window of the apothecary shop, for days rather than hours. To further blacken his mood, the druggist’s snub-nosed wife had snatched his last cigar right out from his teeth, tossed it out the front door and told him she didn’t care who he was or what, but nobody was going to be fouling the air in her establishment.

  About the way Kate had told him earlier in the morning he was spoiling whatever slim hope their daughter had for a happy future.

  “She loves him, Race,” Kate had said, “I saw a happiness on Honey’s face I’ve never seen before. And it’s my firm belief that Summerfield loves her back and has her best interests at heart.”

  “And I don’t?” he had shouted at his wife. “You’re telling me some hardened criminal cares more about my daughter than I do? Is that what you think, Kate? Good God, woman, you’ve taken leave of your senses.”

  Kate had just about run him through then with her bladed glare. “You might be better off taking leave of your senses for a few minutes and using your heart instead, Race.”

  As best he could remember, Race had just told her where she could put her own overwrought and senseless heart before he had stalked out of the house.

  Zack had followed quickly on his heels then, calling, “Wait up, Papa. I’m coming with you.”

  Race had turned, stunned to see his seventeen-year-old son carrying a rifle. Had everyone gone completely crazy in his house? he wondered. He had accosted Zack in the same gruff tone he had used with Kate. “Just what in blazes do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m going with you,” the boy had said, standing his ground and meeting Race’s dark gaze with one of his own. “I have about as much use for that outlaw as you do. I’d like to see him roast for what he did to my sister.”

  “If there’s any roasting to be done,” Race had shot back, “I’ll be the one to do it. Now back in the house with you. I don’t want to see your face or that weapon anywhere near the bank today. Do you understand?”

  The boy had held his ground, and his turquoise eyes were so much like Race’s own that for a moment Race had been taken aback by their glittering defiance.

  “Do you understand?” Race had repeated, his voice a low growl, his hand ready to snatch Zack by the scruff of his neck if the boy said anything other than yes.

  His son had blinked and muttered, “Yes, sir.”

  Sitting in the apothecary shop now, Race wondered if he hadn’t been a little disappointed in Zack’s capitulation. And as he played the scene over in his mind, he felt his mouth twisting into a lopsided grin. Honey wouldn’t have given in to him, by God. She was so much like him it almost frightened him sometimes, and that was probably why they butted heads so much. For all he ranted and raved about her Cassidy inclinations, Race knew his daughter was a Logan through and through.

  He squinted out into the sun-bright street. Love! Kate had said Honey loved Summerfield. Race told himself that was impossible. He tried to summon up a mental picture of the man and could only remember his eyes—cold, hard and gray as steel. They had barely talked that day when Race had met him beside the train tracks. What little conversation they had had was about bank locations and timetables. Summerfield had listened for the most part—cool, cautious, self-contained. A wolf, Race remembered thinking. A dangerous man. Surely not a man capable of love and tenderness as Kate claimed.

  Race recalled feeling a certain grudging respect for the convict. But not enough to hand his daughter over to him on a damn silver platter the way Kate seemed to expect.

  Hell! Was everybody blind except him? People didn’t fall in love in a few days. Love took time. It took...

  It took him all of a glance to fall in love with Kate, Race thought, shaking his head in bewilderment, finding it nearly impossible to believe that same lightning would strike his daughter and leave an irreparable scar on her heart. Even if the girl thought she was in love now, she’d get over it.

  She’d damn well have to get over it, he thought, because Gideon Summerfield—if he didn’t meet up with a bullet today—was going to be on his way back to Jefferson City and the penitentiary tomorrow.

  * * *

  The closer they came to Santa Fe the sweeter the air became with wood smoke. It filled Gideon’s lungs the way just looking at the woman who rode beside him filled his heart. He wasn’t sure he’d make it through the day. He was riding with vicious men, but they weren’t stupid and they’d turn on him as soon as they got wind of the trap he was leading them into. That trap, as far as Gideon knew, was set to catch him, too. And why not? If he were Race Logan, he’d do the same thing out of love for this dark-haired beauty who was smiling now, looking as if she were heading toward paradise instead of perdition.

  He reached out and clutched the mare’s bridle, drawing the horse closer so his leg brushed Honey’s voluminous calico skirt. “You’re almost home, bright eyes.”

  She gave him a smile that would have brought the devil himself to his knees, and the brightness in her turquoise eyes wasn’t because she was nearing home. It was because she was here, with him. All that light and love was meant for him. All that, and all the generous warmth of her body where he had lost himself so irrevocably the night before, where he longed to lose himself this minute. Gideon’s throat tightened with emotion as the rest of him quickened with desire.

  Tugging both their horses to a halt, holding the mare’s bridle firmly, Honey leaned into the space between them. “Let me taste your pretty mouth, darlin’.” One last time, he finished inwardly. One last sweet time.

  Her smile remained, only curved to fit his mouth, then parted to receive his tongue. Gideon struggled to keep his head clear, to capture every sensation—the softness of her lips as they cushioned her teeth, the tender warmth, the greedy little intake of her breath that stole his own away. It was so easy to forget there was anything or anyone else in the world. So easy to drown in the ocean color and depth of her eyes, the warm pull of her mouth, the silken streams of her hair.

  Too easy. He was going to need his wits about him today as he’d never needed them before in his life. He was a wolf who was about to turn on his pack. And then he’d be alone, his vicious brethren at his back, while the banker stood before him, dangerous and determined, and no longer bound by promises.

  He pulled away from Honey’s mouth with a rough sigh but kept his eye
s on her face, flushed now from his kiss. “The first time I laid eyes on you, Ed, honey, you reminded me of a brand-new spring blossom. You were like a windflower when it first opens, all hungry for sunshine and thirsty for rain. I loved you. Right then. And I’ll never stop loving you. I want you to remember that.”

  It sounded more like a eulogy than a declaration of love, Honey thought, and Gideon’s mouth, only a second ago so soft upon her own, had thinned now to a taut line. His eyes seemed to darken, like gray skies working up a storm. Her heart missed a beat.

  “Gideon, you promised me you’d stay out of the way during all this. Stay out of the way and then, when it’s all over, sit down with my father and tell him how things are with us.”

  His reply was a lazy drawl. “That’s still the plan, bright eyes.”

  Honey gazed around her at the familiar landscape. Ahead, over the shoulders of Dwight and his men, she made out the shapes of familiar buildings. She could see the territorial flag waving against the bright sky above the governor’s palace.

  Gideon was lying to her. The knowledge came so suddenly, with such sharp clarity, that Honey felt as if a knife had just slipped between her ribs in the vicinity of her heart. And he was doing it not so much to deceive her as to keep her calm, to keep her in the dark about what was truly about to happen. Of course he couldn’t stay on the fringe of the robbery as he had promised to do. In order to draw his cousin and the others into her father’s trap, Gideon had to go in first. If he didn’t, Dwight Samuel and his gang wouldn’t follow. It was that simple.

  That simple, and that terrifying. Honey saw clearly what awaited him. The betrayed outlaws, the angry banker and Gideon in the middle. He’d be lucky to get out alive. No wonder he’d sounded more like a preacher delivering a eulogy than a lover declaring himself.

  Nearly panicky now, Honey tried to think of a way to keep him safe. And she couldn’t. Her brain was numbed by fear for him and anguish for herself.

  Gideon reached over once more and caught Jonquil’s reins.

  “Where’s your house from here, Honey? How close?”

  She pointed. “Just a few streets from the plaza. Why?”

  “Can you get there without going by your father’s bank?”

  Honey tried to pull the mare’s bridle out of his hand. “I can,” she said, “but I won’t. You’re not just going to send me packing, Gideon. I won’t go.”

  Just on the edge of her vision, Honey saw that Dwight Samuel and the others had reined in their mounts. All of them—Dwight, Shooter, the half-breed and the two Mexicans—were watching as Gideon slid off his horse and gripped his hands around Honey’s waist, hauling her down and holding her tightly against his chest.

  His words were hissed, like a rattlesnake passing close to her ear. “Choose, Honey. Either head this mare back to her warm stable right now or I’ll handcuff you to the nearest hitching rail. And don’t think I won’t. I don’t want you anywhere near that bank and if I have to clamp you to a damn post to keep you out of harm’s way, then that’s just what I’ll do.”

  “I’m afraid for you, Gideon,” she whispered in a tone of utter desperation. “You’ll be right in the middle....”

  “I’ll be dead right here with five bullets in me if you don’t keep quiet,” he snarled. Then his tone softened as well as his tight hold on her, and his lips just grazed her ear as he continued. “I know what I’m doing, darlin’, but I can’t watch out for you and me both. Please. Please go home. Give me that peace of mind I need to get through this still in one piece and breathing.”

  Honey dragged in a long breath, assenting by her silence and by the way her body sagged against him.

  Gideon cupped her chin with one hand, tilting her face toward his. He wanted to tell her that no matter what happened the love she had already given him made him a better man, a man who might even be deserving of heaven after all. His throat thickened, though, and those words wouldn’t come. Only “I love you, bright eyes. I always will.”

  Always, he thought, watching her guide the dun mare up a narrow side street and then turn out of his sight. Chances were pretty good his always was about to run out and his eternity begin.

  Gideon nudged his mount in the ribs, pulling abreast of Dwight. His grin caught the warmth of the noonday sun. “You ready to see a man about some money, cousin?”

  * * *

  In the apothecary shop, Race Logan held his breath as he watched the outlaws converge on Logan Savings and Loan. They came from both directions, three of them coming west from the plaza, three riding east on San Francisco Street. Let them come, he muttered under his breath, hoping he’d adequately impressed his men—the score of men who were flattened on rooftops now and hunkered down behind windows up and down the street—to wait. Let them walk in, get the money, come out. Then. Then.

  Race could see Gideon Summerfield clearly. The man moved like a wolf—each step deliberate and wary, as if the street and sidewalk were strewn with invisible traps, steel jaws he couldn’t see but sensed all the same. His gray, cautious gaze swept the street, and damned if he didn’t seem to spot every window where Race had a man with a weapon hidden. He stared longest at the apothecary’s window, as if looking right in Race’s face. Then he pivoted, and followed the other five rough customers through the bank’s door.

  Hearing himself swallow, Race realized his mouth had gone dry as the desert floor. Wait, he told himself. He could see shadows through the bank’s plate glass window. Only shadows, yet he imagined poor Kenneth Crane, pale, trembling, six pistols aimed at his heart. All the teller had to do was walk into the office, yank the safe open, stuff all those very real bank notes and gleaming gold bars in sacks. Just as they’d planned.

  Sweat trickled down Race’s sides. It was going like clockwork, but each second seemed a minute, each minute drew itself out like an hour. Clockwork. So far so good. They’d be coming out shortly, loaded down with their booty, and then twenty men would appear with twenty rifles. Six men would be dead or behind bars by sunset. And tomorrow one of the six would be on the northbound train, in leg irons and wrist cuffs, going back the way he came. Race would personally weld the steel restraints onto the prisoner to prevent any chance of escape.

  Sudden movement out on the street sparked Race’s attention. Then his whole body, already wire-tight, wound tighter. His son Zack was edging down the bank side of San Francisco Street, a rifle hard against his hip. The boy wove in and out of the shadows made by the noon sun and the buildings, then he edged like smoke down the little alley beside the bank and disappeared.

  Race Logan’s heart moved into his throat. He stood up and walked to the door of the apothecary shop, estimating his own chances for crossing the street directly in front of the bank without being seen. Deciding it was impossible, fury and fear combined and twisted in a hard knot in the pit of his stomach. If that boy came through this without a scratch—Dear God, please! My son! My son!—Race was going to beat the living daylights out of him.

  And then, as if having a son in mortal danger weren’t enough, Race caught sight of Honey coming west from the plaza, dark hair flying as she rode Jonquil at a fast clip, then tugged the mare to a halt directly in front of the bank.

  Race called to her—a gruff, strangled plea. If she heard it, she ignored it as she stomped up onto the sidewalk, then strode through the front door of the bank.

  * * *

  At the sight of her, Gideon holstered his gun, then ripped the fingers of both hands through his hair, unleashing a string of curses.

  Dwight Samuel was squatting down in front of the safe, shoving bank notes into a canvas sack, but he stopped long enough to frame a grin between his black mustache and beard. “Well, lookee who’s back. Gotta hand it to you, Gid. You sure do know how to handle women.”

  Gideon answered him with a scowl as he grabbed Honey’s arm and towed her to a far corner of the office. He cursed again, too angry to form any other words, too fearful for Honey’s life to clear the shards of panic from hi
s brain.

  “If I’m with you, you’ll be safe, Gideon. No one will shoot for fear of hitting me,” Honey whispered urgently.

  “Be still,” he hissed. He was torn, part of him wanting to keep her close beside him where he could protect her, the other part wanting to shove her under the massive desk or even in the safe itself to keep her out of harm’s way.

  There wasn’t much left in the safe now. Dwight was stuffing the last few banded stacks into his bag.

  From the front window, Shooter called. “Not a soul in sight out there, Dwight. Looks like we’ll have a clean and easy getaway.”

  The souls who weren’t in sight were all on rooftops and hunkered down behind window after window. Gideon had almost smelled their anticipation as he had ridden down the street. He had felt scores of eyes boring into him, had sensed their hearts pounding like drums in a parade. Which one, he remembered thinking, had sweat-damp hands on the weapon with the bullet meant for him? One of them, certainly. Probably Race Logan.

  “Gideon, let me help you get out of this.”

  Honey’s whispered plea brought him back to the present.

  Then Dwight clamped a hand on his shoulder. “We got it all, Gid. Come on. You want to bring her along as a hostage?”

  Gideon shook his head. “She’ll only get in the way,” he said gruffly. “You go ahead. I’ll make sure she stays put.”

  “Just like you did before, huh, cousin?” Dwight laughed, then turned his dark, glittering eyes on Honey. “I thank you for the contribution to our retirement, missy. I truly do.” The outlaw turned to leave the office then.

  “Dwight.” Gideon’s voice brought his cousin to a halt.

  “Yeah, Gid?”

  Gideon gave a quick shake of his head. It was too late. It had always been too late for Dwight, just as it had been for Jesse and Frank and the others. Death always lurked outside the bank door. They knew every time they walked in with guns drawn that it might be the last bank, the last moment. The only difference was today Gideon knew it for certain. He knew, too, that Dwight wouldn’t hesitate taking as many innocent men or women with him as possible.