by Jill Gregory
“One of his hired thugs. It’s a long story.” Cole shook his head. “How much do you remember?”
Juliana groped to bring back the events that seemed so long ago. She shivered a little as she recalled the endless questions, the fists, the black boot aimed at her face ...
“You got me out of there, didn’t you?” she said slowly, the icy cold panic dying out of her as she looked into his face. “I thought it was a dream ...”
“Some dream.” A muscle clenched in his jaw.
Words floated back to Juliana: “I had to shoot them, angel ...”
“So you did come back for me. Why?”
His eyes razored in on hers. He had cleaned her up, washed away the blood from her bruises, bandaged her ribs, and seen her safely tucked into bed. That had been two days ago, and she still looked so deathly pale and drawn, filled somehow with a haunting sadness, that he almost told her he’d always meant to come back for her, that he never intended to leave her with Lucius Dane. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. That would be exposing too much of himself ... she might get the wrong idea. He set his jaw and tried to harden his heart against the open innocence of her face. “I went hunting for answers in Plattsville and got bushwhacked. By the time I found out that Knife and his boys had gone after you, it was almost too late. I got you into that mess—I thought it was up to me to get you out.”
Obligation. That’s what had motivated him. Some strange code of honor. She supposed she should be grateful, but she had been hoping for something more. What, exactly, she didn’t know, and she pushed away the silly tears that threatened behind her eyes. Sunlight touched the scar showing clearly against his bronzed skin, delineating the raw, dried-blood edges.
Juliana swallowed, feeling weak. “When ... how long have we been here?”
“Two days.”
“Two days!” Shocked, Juliana stared at him in disbelief, as if he were making up a tale to tease her.
“I recall my sister reading a storybook once—my grandfather had sent all the way to Boston for it. All about a girl named Sleeping Beauty. That’s all I could think of while you were lying there—you looked just like the girl in those pictures.” A grin lightened his face. “But as I recall, she was sweet and obedient, and didn’t spend every day of her life getting into trouble.”
She was lost in the deep sea of his eyes as he smiled at her and it took a moment for his words to penetrate. But when they did, she looked at him.
“You have a sister?” she blurted out.
Immediately she regretted her words, for the smile vanished, the familiar shuttered expression came over his face once again, and he drew back from her a full step. Secrets. This man was full of secrets, and he had no intention of sharing any of them with her. As if to illustrate the point, he spun about and stalked to the window.
“This discussion isn’t about me, it’s about you. You’re going to have to give me some answers, Miss Montgomery.”
His muscular frame seemed to fill every corner of the one-room dwelling. Beyond him, through the cabin’s only window, a tiny slit in the chink of the log walls, she caught a glimpse of hazy emerald mountains and open sky. The most beautiful spot on earth, he had said. She longed to see it. After being in that jailhouse she needed open space. But she was his prisoner once again. Weariness washed over her. She had hoped ... What had she hoped? It was too foolish even to explore.
“I’ve already told you all I know.” She rubbed a hand across her eyes. “You didn’t believe my side of the story before ...”
“It’s time I listened a little better.”
Her hand dropped. She stared at him, bewildered. But it was hard to see; her eyelids felt heavy and thick.
He must have seen the exhaustion in her face. “Later, when you’re feeling better,” Cole said, “you’ll tell me again. Everything. And maybe we can figure out why you and those damned brothers of yours are so important to Line McCray.”
Line McCray. The name was familiar, but the dizziness seeping over her again made it difficult to concentrate. She closed her eyes. “I want to know some things too ...”
“Sleep first. Then we’ll talk.”
“I’m hungry.”
“Sleep first.”
He hadn’t changed. That same air of command, so infuriating, so ... comforting. At least it was right now. She didn’t feel capable of dealing with anything at all at the moment. Cotton wool clogged her brain, her body was still tender and sore, and the light-headedness drifting over her in waves made it impossible for her to argue ... for now.
Juliana opened her eyes once and saw Cole standing over her. There was a strange expression in his eyes. He didn’t look one bit dangerous for once. He looked ... anxious? About her? She was hallucinating, that was it. Cole Rawdon hated her. Yet he had returned for her, injured as he was, he had fought—killed—to get her away from those men.
She brought herself up short. It wasn’t as if he truly cared that she had suffered. He felt responsible, that was all, because he had left her at the mercy of savages. Decent of him to feel this regret, but he would have felt the same for anyone whom he had left vulnerable to attack. Even a liar and a thief who was wanted in Denver for a two-thousand-dollar reward.
“Where did you bring me?” Her voice was subdued, weary. “Where are we going from here?”
“We’re not going anywhere until I’m sure McCray’s men have lost the trail. And until I’ve got a handle on what’s going on here. So sleep.”
“But—”
“Later.” He sounded irritated. “Get some rest or I’ll have to knock you over the head with a frying pan.”
“This place doesn’t have a frying pan,” she murmured.
It didn’t seem to have much of anything, but it was shelter. Shelter from Knife Jackson and his friends, from Lucius Dane and that horrible Plattsville jail. Cole was going to listen to her, give her a chance.
She wanted to talk, to figure everything out, but somehow the knowledge that he was there watching over her made every limb in her body go slack, and she relaxed. Her troubled mind stilled. Her breathing slowed and she let the cascade of weariness pour over her in great, gentle waves.
Juliana slept until the sun set.
When she awoke she was alone in the cabin once more. Daylight had fled, replaced by a soft, blue-gray dusk. She heard a bubbling sound, and smelled something delicious. Soup. No, a stew. Great plumes of fragrant steam sailed up from the huge pot over the fireplace. Juliana’s stomach grumbled noisily.
She managed to sit up and peer around the cabin without too much discomfort this time. Immediately she noticed the man’s clothes folded across one of the cane chairs, along with a pair of boots.
Maybe not the latest Paris fashion, but they sure beat the saddle blanket. Wincing only slightly, she put on the yellow and blue plaid shirt and dark trousers, then grimaced at their huge size. She had to roll up the sleeves of the shirt and tie the hem in a knot at her waist to keep it from dwarfing her. The trousers were even worse; in addition to rolling up the cuffs, she had to fashion a belt from a bit of rope she discovered in the wood box in order to keep the pants from falling down around her knees. She frowned as she stuffed old dishrags into the boots to approximate a near fit. It irked her to know she must make a comical sight, but the delicious aroma wafting from the stew pot distracted her. Examining the cupboard at close range, she found that the cabin was better stocked than she had imagined. By the time Cole Rawdon walked in the door, she had a pot of beans heating on the stove, biscuits warming inside it, and the table set for a meal. The stove had given her some trouble at first, but she’d finally managed to light it after several unsuccessful tries had finally spurred her to kick it with all her might. That had done the trick.
“It’s not fancy, but it’s the best meal I’ve ever eaten,” Juliana declared between mouthfuls of the venison stew. “Where have you been anyway? I thought you were standing guard. That’s why I slept so well.” She broke off, embarrasse
d. He pretended not to see the pink flush that blossomed on her cheeks.
“I’m asking the questions around here, remember?”
But there was a teasing gentleness in his voice that she hadn’t heard before. Looking up quickly, Juliana saw him studying her. Embarrassed, she tried to smooth her hair.
Loose, wild, it glinted in the light of the kerosene lantern he had removed from the wood box, fascinating him. His old plaid shirt was ridiculously large on her, he observed, his chest tight, and so were the trousers, but their bulk only emphasized her femininity. She looked adorable. More fetching than the pictures of Sleeping Beauty in Caitlin’s storybook. More fetching than any woman he’d ever seen.
Cole knew himself to be in unfamiliar territory here—dangerous territory. Best to stick to business, he reminded himself in alarm. That meant to stop looking at her, stop thinking about her. Sticking to questions and answers, facts, information. Yet when she leaned over him with the soup ladle, spooning more stew into his bowl, and her hair accidentally brushed his cheek, he felt a tightening in his loins.
Dangerous, that’s what she was. She could blast a man’s resolve to smithereens more effectively than any dynamite he’d ever come across. Just his luck that the woman wanted in Denver hadn’t been some tub-bellied cow with a leathery face and dirty fingernails instead of this porcelain-skinned hellion who could alternately rile or entrance him with a single word or gesture.
“Maybe you ought to tell me exactly what happened between you and this John Breen.” He set down his cup of coffee and regarded her in the growing shadows that spilled in through the window slit. “The whole story this time, angel.”
So she told him. Leaning forward across the table, her always expressive face flushed and animated even more than usual, the words spilling out one over another, she told him how she had come west to find her brothers, how her uncle had arranged the marriage to John Breen without her knowledge, how she had disliked Breen from the very first moment.
“So you ran away? All alone?”
His stupefaction made her mouth tighten with defiance. “Well, not all alone. I had Columbine. The horse I stole from John Breen,” she explained, and added quickly, “If you think I’m sorry about that, or I deserve to go to jail for it, you’re wrong! I only took her because there was no other way, and I wasn’t about to be sacrificed for any man, however much he might desire it. I control my own destiny—or at least I did, until you came along. But I never stole five thousand dollars. John Breen made that up so he could trick men like you into bringing me back. You never would have bothered with a mere horse thief, would you?”
Cole didn’t answer. She had a point. His blood was boiling. Fury, cold and deep as the thrust of honed steel, pierced through his chest until he could hardly breathe. He’d been used. Used to capture and torment a woman who had just wanted her freedom, used to satisfy another man’s selfish will. Years ago he’d sworn never to be used by any human being ever again—and now this bastard Breen had framed Juliana Montgomery, put every bounty hunter west of the Missouri on her trail by dangling that filthy two-thousand-dollar reward for her capture, and in so doing had snared him into this ugly, private game of vengeance.
Why hadn’t he listened to her in the first place?
Because Jess Burrows and Liza White had soured him on believing in anyone ever again. Because even his own father had betrayed his family’s trust, because his years in the orphanage had taught him that cruelty ran deep in human beings, and that appearances were always deceiving.
Excuses. He had plenty of those. But it didn’t change the ugly part he had played in this.
Now he was in it deeper than ever—they both were—and it wouldn’t be over for her until this mess with the Montgomery gang was settled, McCray was out of the picture, and this confounded tycoon John Breen was dealt with. He swore savagely to himself that when this was over, Juliana Montgomery would be free to do as she pleased. But not until then.
Cole didn’t pull any punches. “You’re in danger,” he told her, eyes narrowed. “Until we figure out what McCray is up to and why he wants your brothers so badly, you’ve got to stay hidden. Can you think of anything that was said when they were roughing you up, anything that might give us a hunch what kind of burr is under Mc-Cray’s saddle?”
Chin on fist, Juliana stared straight ahead, concentrating. It was hard to summon up the memories of that night without shuddering, hard to recall the angry torrent of questions—and fists—without feeling fear knot in her throat. But then she nodded suddenly, nearly jumping from her chair with excitement.
“They asked me if Wade was planning to rob a freight payroll ... the Henshaw freight payroll, if I’m not mistaken.”
“That payroll will be coming through north of Plattsville in four days time. If the Montgomery gang does plan to waylay it, and we can figure out where they plan to stage the holdup, we might catch up with those brothers of yours yet.”
“Why are you so interested in helping me find them all of a sudden?”
Juliana couldn’t hide the suspicion edging her voice, or the worry that knit her brows together. If he thought she would do anything to help him capture Wade and Tommy and then turn them in for a reward, he was dead wrong. She would fight him every step of the way. But Cole sent her an exasperated look.
“Settle down, Juliana. I’m not your enemy anymore, McCray is. He’s opened fire on both of us, as far as I’m concerned, and what I want to know is why.”
“Do you know this Line McCray?”
“We’ve met.” Hard lights glinted in his eyes. “I don’t think much of him, but he’s been mighty successful. Owns some valuable property in southeastern Arizona and down in New Mexico. Now,” Cole said, swinging away from the window to pace restlessly about the room, “it seems he’s taken over Plattsville lock, stock, and barrel.”
Juliana recalled what she had learned from Henny, and told Cole about it, trying to put the pieces together. “So McCray forced Henny to sell him the hotel after her husband died—or rather, was killed,” she said slowly while Cole frowned down at her in silence, “and when her son objected to his tactics, he died too.” She jumped up from the chair, distraught once more as she recalled the scene in the jail. “And Sheriff Dane was threatening her other little boy, Cole, as sure as I’m standing here. He had the poor woman terrified of even peeking at him sideways.”
She wheeled about and marched up and down the small width of the cabin, her oversize boots scraping the floor. “I wouldn’t believe one word that awful man uttered,” she exclaimed furiously. “If Dane claims Wade shot Hank Rivers in the back, the truth is that he probably did it himself—so he could take over the sheriff’s job or ... or because McCray wanted him to ...”
In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Cole couldn’t help but grin at the sight of her all worked up and stalking the cabin floor furiously. “You’d make a pretty good Pinkerton detective,” he commented. “I think you’re right.”
Silence. He did?
“You do?” For a moment she thought the beating she had endured had affected her hearing. This man who had never done anything but argue with her and order her around—he was actually agreeing with her about something?
Then he grinned and came forward, grasping her by the shoulders. “The man who gave me this”—and he pointed to the gash on his cheek—“admitted to me that he was the witness with Rivers when he died, the one who swore it was Wade Montgomery who did the shooting. He also slipped his own special concoction in my drink and beat the hell out of me afterward, all on orders from either Line McCray or Knife Jackson. Some witness. His testimony was all part of the setup. For some reason, McCray wants to pin Rivers’ murder on your brothers, along with whatever else he can find—and get the Montgomery gang out of the picture. When we track them down, we can find out why.”
“I remember something else,” Juliana said, her heart hammering against her ribs with painful thuds as she stood before him, so close she co
uld feel the heat and tension rippling through his body. Kissing close, she realized, conscious of his firm hands on her shoulders holding her lightly, of his eyes searching hers, not as if she were a piece of outlaw scum, but as someone who counted, someone to listen to and consider.
“Knife ... and the others.” She moistened her lips with her tongue, trying to keep her mind running in a straight path. “They asked me about you—and about someplace called ... Fire Mesa.”
In the absolute silence that followed, she could hear his breathing, shallow and harsh. From outside came the sound of wind blowing through trees, of birds singing faintly in the distance. Was it a cactus wren? Or a grouse? She saw the tension bite through the powerful muscles in his neck, saw the narrowing of eyes that suddenly looked like chips of sapphire ice. This mattered. She didn’t know why, but it mattered. Maybe more than anything else.
“What did they ask you?” His voice was deliberately casual, but it didn’t fool her for a moment.
“If you planned to make a bid for Fire Mesa.” Juliana stared up at him. “What is Fire Mesa?”
For answer, he gripped her arm suddenly and led her to the door. Then they were outside the cabin and Juliana caught her breath. She stared through widened eyes at the stunning rose-kissed beauty of a world so radiant, it tore her breath away.
“This,” Cole said, still holding her arm, “is Fire Mesa.”
From the tiny window facing south she had glimpsed mountains, but she had not guessed at anything like this. For who could imagine paradise? The cabin before which they stood was an insignificant twig cupped at the foot of a great red rock mountain so immense it seemed to touch the clouds. Steep gray-and red-hued canyons wound their way to the north, and to the distant south and east stretched a breathtaking panorama of golden green mountains so majestic, so like spires in a king’s jeweled crown, they took her breath away. Nearer, luscious valleys dipped and wound their way around buttes and mesas, which climbed gradually into soft purple and gray foothills that rolled gracefully away. And far below the rocky mesa on which the cabin was perched, a glint of silver shimmered in the dusk. A river, racing, jumping. Flashing like quicksilver through the cottonwoods below. Juliana, turning slowly in a circle to see every angle of the spectacular view, saw great lonely rocks in the distance, shimmering lavender in the sunset, spruce and fir and pine high above, gilded by the last dying rays of the sun. The mossy-green foothills were alive with wildflowers, and wild goats roamed through the north canyon walls. It filled her with awe, this wild, splendid land of distant purple sagebrush, of towering ponderosa pine that rose and dipped in a zigzag line as far as the eye could see.
