Never mind the old men on the bench in front of the store. It was the Thornton girls who’d held his attention. Even now he couldn’t erase from his mind little Amy’s gap-toothed grin that had accompanied her offer of friendship.
But it was the oldest one, Sunny—she was the one he saw when he closed his eyes. Was she really as beautiful as he remembered? Or was he only fascinated because she was the first woman he’d seen in five years? It had been all he could do this afternoon to keep from reaching out and touching her.
Even without touching, just being near such softness, such loveliness, stirred up a fierce yearning deep inside. A yearning he had no business feeling. No decent woman would have anything to do with a man like him, a man with the stench of prison still covering his soul, a man labeled “back-shooter” by his own friends and neighbors. He wouldn’t want a girl as soft and innocent as Sunny Thornton tarred with that same brush.
When he finished what he had come here to do, when he had proven his innocence and revenged himself on the bastard whose lies had sent him to prison, he’d quit this town like a bad dream. Until then, he had no choice but to put up with the taunts of men like those four old geezers in front of the store today.
Lost in thought, planning how he could clear his name, Ash wandered out onto Ella’s front porch and finished his smoke. Getting used to windows with curtains, windows and doors without bars, would take time. The simple freedom of being able to wander from room to room, even step outdoors just because he wanted to, felt strange. The laughter and music from across the road swirled in his head. He concentrated on soaking in those sounds. They helped keep the past at bay.
He must have stood there leaning against the porch post for some time, for the next thing he realized, the dance was breaking up. People streamed from the tent into the mild winter night, some going to buckboards and heading out of town by the light of the half moon. Others strolling back toward town in small, laughing groups.
He watched Ella Standridge cross the street and head toward him, her dainty figure dwarfed by the big man at her side. Ash recognized her escort and tensed under the man’s hostile scrutiny. As the couple stepped onto the porch, Ash straightened away from the post. He smiled briefly at Ella, wondering why she never seemed to change.
He hadn’t seen her in five years, but the soft brown hair streaked with gray was still pulled back into the familiar knot at her nape. Her twinkling gray eyes still smiled at him with fondness.
“Heard you were in town, McCord,” her escort said. “How soon you leavin’?”
Ash had known coming back to Cottonwood Crossing wouldn’t be easy. He gave the man the once-over, searching for flaws, for hints of softness that might have developed in the past five years. There were none. Despite his fifty plus years and the gray in his hair, the man still looked fit and hard. Ash sighed as he met the man’s cold stare. Funny. He’d never thought of brown as a cold color, but Jamison could freeze a steer in its tracks with those eyes. “Evening, Sheriff.”
“I asked you a question, boy.”
“Jedediah.” Ella stared sharply at the sheriff. “Asher McCord is a guest in my home. Since you’re one of my boarders, you two will be sharing a roof and meals, and—”
“He’s what?”
“—And I expect you to treat him with the same courtesy you treat me.”
“Damnation, Ella—”
“Jedediah.”
The sheriff scowled. “Sorry.” He took a deep breath and faced her, turning a stiff shoulder to Ash. “I know you were his ma’s best friend, but that doesn’t mean you have to be takin’ a varmint like him into your home, for cryin’ out loud.”
“Don’t you take that tone with me, Jedediah Jamison. If you weren’t so all fired stubborn you’d realize what you’ve always known but were too bullheaded to admit—Asher is innocent.”
Ash had heard enough. “Save your breath, Ella.”
“I won’t do any such thing. If this big lout thinks he can tell me who to have in my own home, he can just find himself another room to rent.”
Ash smiled. Out of all the people in this town, people who’d known him most of his life, Ella was the only one who believed his story of what happened that day five years ago. He shook his head. “I won’t have it, Ella.”
Her brows arched upward. Fire still burned in her eyes. “Won’t have what?”
“I won’t have you throwing your tenants out in the street because of me. You’re like family to me, but I won’t hide behind your skirts, and I won’t have you fighting my battles.”
“The boy makes sense, Ella. Let him do his own talkin’.”
Ella glared at the sheriff, then at Ash. She planted her fists on her hips. The silk fringe on her shawl jiggled with agitation. “All right, here’s how it’s going to be. I’m going into the house and put on a pot of coffee. While I’m doing that, you two might as well make your peace with each other, because both of you are going to live right here in my boarding house where I can keep an eye on you.” With an emphatic nod, she whirled and yanked open the screen door. It whacked shut in her wake.
Ash McCord and Sheriff Jed Jamison stared at each other a long moment before Jamison finally spoke. “So why’d you come back, McCord? You got more balls than you got good sense. You had to know folks aren’t about to forget what you did.”
“Especially you, right?”
“Hellfire, me and everybody else. Look there.” Jamison pointed across the street. “There’s your reminder, boy.”
Ash braced himself and looked across the street where the sheriff pointed, knowing what he’d see. Ian Baxter. In a wheelchair. A man the size of a bear accompanied him, pushing the chair down the street toward town. Gus.
Baxter turned his head toward the boardinghouse. At a flick of Baxter’s hand, Gus stopped the chair. Ash could feel the hatred. It was mutual. It shot out of Baxter toward him, and it churned in Ash’s own gut.
A dull gleam on Baxter’s finger caught Ash’s attention. His stomach tightened. The ring. For as long as he lived Ash would never forget how that ring, gold and gaudy and shaped like a steer head, had glinted in the afternoon light as Baxter had aimed his pistol to fire a second shot at Ash’s father.
A shadow moved beside Baxter. Maria. She stood beside her employer now as she had that day more than five years ago. Devoted, loyal Maria. So devoted, so loyal, she would do or say anything Ian Baxter told her to do or say, the same as the big man pushing the wheelchair. Which was exactly what the two of them had done at Ash’s trial. Maria’s muteness had never stopped her from getting her point across. Just because she couldn’t talk, didn’t mean she couldn’t lie. Instead of the truth, she and Gus had—
“Proud of yourself, boy?” Jamison taunted.
Ash stared across the street, his stomach in knots. Even at that distance he could see the sheer terror in Maria’s stance. She knows, he thought. She knows why I’ve come back. As he watched, she sidled closer to Baxter’s wheelchair and crossed herself.
“Are you proud of yourself for putting a fine, upstanding man like Ian Baxter in that damned chair for the rest of his life?”
Ash looked the sheriff straight in the eye. “It doesn’t begin to make up for what he did to my father.”
“Don’t give me that cock-and-bull story about how your old man was unarmed when Baxter shot him, ‘cause I’m not buyin’ it. I didn’t buy it five years ago, and I’m not buyin’ it now.”
“You will.” Ash clenched his fists at his sides. “Before I leave this town, you will.”
Jamison leaned closer, eyes narrowed. “When hell sprouts icicles, boy.”
All the bitterness and frustration Ash had carried for the past five years threatened to choke him. But when he spoke, his voice came out deceptively soft and clear. “I’ve been called a lot of things over the years, Jamison, but I’ll tell you this once. You ever call me boy again and I’ll flatten you where you stand.”
The screen door to the house creaked. “Coffee�
��s ready, gentlemen,” Ella told them.
Ash stood his ground, waiting for Jamison to make a move. The sheriff gave him another long look, then shook his head and trailed Ella inside. Ash turned to follow.
“Mr. McCord?”
Ash stopped in his tracks. A hot tingling rushed down his spine. He’d know that voice in his sleep, even though he’d never heard it before that morning. Slowly, afraid he’d only imagined it, he turned.
At first he didn’t see the others. He only saw her. Sunny. With her clear, golden eyes, and lips that looked soft and moist and—
Ash forced himself to nod politely and take in the rest of the group. Sunny, whose voice still haunted him, carried her youngest sister on her hip. The child was sound asleep. The one who was only a few years younger than Sunny stood beside her. The man with them carried the next youngest and scowled. Ash hoped like hell—although what difference it should make to him, he didn’t know—that the man was their father, not Sunny’s husband.
“It’s late, Sunny. We’d best be getting back to the hotel,” the man said.
“In a minute, Daddy.”
Daddy.
Ash felt an unreasonable rush of relief.
The young woman stepped away from her father and stood at the first step of the porch. The lamp light spilling out from Ella’s parlor window lit only part of Sunny’s face, casting the rest in shadow. Ash didn’t need light to know streaks of silver softened the honey gold of her hair, that her golden skin looked softer than one of Ella’s rose petals, that her eyes were so light a brown they resembled clear, golden honey.
“Hi, Ash!”
Startled from his thoughts, Ash looked down to find the child at Sunny’s breast awake and grinning that gap-toothed grin at him. “Hi, Button,” he answered.
“My name’s not Button.” She giggled. “It’s Amy. Did you forget?”
Ash grinned. It was impossible not to. “I didn’t forget.” He tweaked her nose. Just having his hand that near Sunny Thornton was enough to make his heart pound. He held his gaze on Amy’s freckled face by sheer force of will. “But your nose looks just like a cute little button.”
Amy giggled again.
The man at Sunny’s side scowled deeper.
“I’m forgetting my manners,” Sunny said. “Mr. McCord, this is my father, Ross Thornton.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Ash said. Since Thornton’s hands were full with the daughter he carried, Ash didn’t offer his hand.
Thornton merely nodded, looking like he’d just as soon spit as shake hands.
But if Sunny Thornton was aware of her father’s attitude, she didn’t show it. She looked Ash right in the eye, her direct gaze curious, friendly. “I wanted you to know,” she said, “that we’re the family who bought your ranch right after…”
It was to her credit, Ash acknowledged, that she didn’t say, Right after you shot your neighbor in the back. Anyone else in town would have.
“Anyway, we have some things of yours, furniture and such, stored in the barn. You’re welcome to come out anytime and look them over.” She hitched Amy up a notch on her hip. “If you don’t have anyplace to put them, they can stay where they are until you’re ready for them.”
Ash stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out to feel if her skin was as soft as it looked. He inhaled sharply, then wished he hadn’t. Lilacs. She smelled like lilacs. He stiffened his knees to stop their trembling. “Thanks.” His voice cracked. “Appreciate it.”
“It’s late, Sunny,” her father said.
With her steady, serious gaze still on Ash, she said, “Coming, Daddy. Good night, Mr. McCord.”
“‘Night, Ash,” Amy said.
“Good night, ladies, Mr. Thornton.” Ash kept his gaze locked on Sunny until she disappeared in the darkness.
Behind him, the screen door squeaked again. “Lovely young woman, isn’t she?”
Ella’s question brought him back down to earth. Ash shook himself. Sunny Thornton was everything good and clean and bright in the world. She was softness, with a hint of steel. She was warmth and gentleness. She wasn’t for a man like him. If anyone, even Ella, linked his name to Sunny’s, the girl’s reputation would be in shreds. He turned toward Ella. “Who?”
“Who, indeed.” Ella grinned. “Come have some coffee.”
Ash followed her inside to the kitchen, relieved that Jamison wasn’t there. After one cup, Ash went to bed, but he couldn’t sleep. He’d thought that as soon as he stretched out on a real mattress—with sheets!—for the first time in years, he’d sleep like a baby. But it didn’t matter whether he closed his eyes or stared at the ceiling, he couldn’t sleep. He blamed it on his unaccustomed privacy, on the sweet smell of clean sheets, the soft feather pillow. On lying on something other than a thin pile of filthy, rotting straw on a dirt floor. On all the physical comforts he’d nearly forgotten existed.
But the truth was, the vision of Sunny Thornton’s face would not let him be.
Chapter Two
A foot in her stomach, a knee in her back, and an elbow in her eye woke Sunny just before dawn the next morning. She groaned.
This was the drawback to staying the night in town—she and all three of her sisters had to share the one lumpy bed in the hotel room. She stretched and shifted to ease the aches.
Her first rational thought—or was it irrational?—was of Ash McCord. She’d dreamed about him. She’d dreamed of whirling around the big tent last night on her father’s arm to the music of the fiddle. Then her father had changed, become slimmer, harder, taller, and she’d found herself dancing with McCord.
In her dream it had been thrilling to be held close in his warm, protective embrace.
Bullfeathers.
What could be even remotely protective about being held in the arms of a convicted back-shooter? She should have been terrified. She must have eaten too much chili to bring on such a fanciful dream.
Yet in all fairness she admitted to herself that up close, there really wasn’t anything terrifying about Ash McCord. At first glance, when she’d seen him riding into town and realized who he was, she’d thought him hard, vicious, even evil. But when he’d smiled at Amy…somehow Sunny knew that smiling man was the real Ash McCord.
Oh, he was hard, all right, the kind of man who would do whatever had to be done. But one look in his bright blue eyes and she’d known there wasn’t anything even remotely vicious or evil about him.
Yet he had shot Ian Baxter in the back.
She wondered again why he’d come back to Cottonwood Crossing. From the gossip at the dance, and what she’d overheard between McCord and Sheriff Jamison when she’d walked up to Ella’s last night, Ash McCord wasn’t being welcomed back with open arms. Not after what he’d done.
The growing light in the room drew her thoughts away from Ash McCord. The sun was coming up. Sunny climbed out of bed, purposely waking her sisters in the process. A half hour later, with Amy and Rachel still yawning, the four girls met their father in the hotel dining room for breakfast.
Sunny inhaled. Ah…coffee. Bacon. She didn’t drink coffee, but she loved the smell of it. The bacon aroma made her mouth water.
At the sight of the newspaper in their father’s hands, Amy’s eyes brightened. “Can we take it home, Daddy? Can I have it?”
Ross lowered the paper and smiled. “Sure ‘nough, baby girl. Soon as I’m through reading it, you can cut it up to your heart’s content.” He folded the paper and tucked it next to his plate. “There’s some mighty pretty fancies in here this time.”
Sunny smiled, knowing how much Amy coveted the newspaper’s elaborate borders and lettering—her “fancies.” Katy would help Amy cut out the ones that caught her eye. The ragged remains of the paper, Sunny knew, would end up collecting dust under Amy’s bed. The child never threw anything away. The letters themselves would be added to Amy’s already large collection kept in cigar boxes, to be hauled to the parlor several nights a week, where Amy spread her “fancies�
� out across the floor and arranged them into words.
Sunny credited Amy’s fascination with letters for the child’s ability to keep up with the older kids at school. At four, Amy was the youngest student, but the five- and six-year-olds had nothing on her. She was learning to spell with the best of them.
What Sunny had to remember was to ask for the paper before Amy got her chubby little hands on it.
After breakfast the girls returned to their room and packed last night’s party clothes in the battered old carpet bag, then met their father in the lobby. The sun was full up. Time to go home. The trip would take them a good three hours in the wagon. The ranch hands who had come to town for the dance would follow later in the day.
The Thornton clan was almost to the livery stable when Amy said, “Daddy! I forgot my fancies!”
Knowing Amy would be crushed if she had to leave her “fancies” behind, Sunny said, “You and the girls go on and hitch up, Daddy. I’ll go back and get the paper.” She tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders and headed back to the hotel.
The smell of soap lathered to a thick cream permeated the air as Sam Harvey ran his razor over the lean cheeks of the young man in the barber chair. To keep from being caught grinning—the customer, introduced to him as Erik Sutherland, looked scarcely old enough to need a shave—Ash leaned against the window frame with his back to the room and waited for his turn under the blade.
He scanned the street, taking in the early morning activity as people hurried about their business. The four old men, Harve, Mose, Skeeter, and Dutch, left the cafe and headed east toward their bench in front of Miller’s store. The old coots had been occupying that bench for so many years, Ash couldn’t remember ever seeing it empty.
A rough looking trail bum rode up and dismounted in front of the bank.
Three doors down, at the hotel, the Thornton family emerged. God, what a sight. Ross Thornton must just about bust his buttons every time he looked at his four golden haired daughters. Just the memory of Sunny’s voice sent that warm tingle across the back of Ash’s neck, the same as it had last night when she’d spoken to him.
Wild Texas Flame Page 2
