by Jill Gregory
Cole forced the words from his mouth.
“How much do you have?”
“About forty dollars—but I’m sure Wade and Tommy have more.”
“Fine.” He took a deep breath, hating himself. But it was for her, he was doing it for her. “One hundred dollars strikes me as fair.”
“Oh, yes,” she murmured faintly. “Quite fair.”
She took a step forward and clutched the back of a chair for support as he stalked once more to the door.
Business. This was only business for him—just as it had always been. How could she have been so stupid?
Her knees shook. Her hands felt limp and cold against the rough wood. As Cole opened the door, his large figure disappearing into the darkness outside, she heard him say casually over his shoulder, “Good night, boss lady.”
Then he was gone, and she was alone in the cabin, shaking like an autumn leaf caught in the bitter throes of winter.
In a moment Wade and Tommy and the others would come streaming back in, there would be laughter and jokes, the easy banter that seemed to characterize this gang flowing around her. Tommy might even still want to dance. But she had never felt less like dancing. Even though she realized that this was the night she ought to be deliriously happy, the night she had dreamed of for so long, the night she found her brothers, desolation shrouded her.
All the gaiety and warmth, the sense of belonging and of being loved that had bolstered her before, had fled. Cole was gone, taking her happiness with him. The intimacy and gentleness and sheer powerful passion that had exploded between them last night might never have been. Juliana was left drained, humiliated, and alone.
She felt dirty, and impossibly stupid. She never should have believed her feelings. She never should have let herself imagine that he might consider her any more seriously than he considered the dancing girls and whores he no doubt frequented in every town he passed through. Naive, that’s what she was. A silly girl who thought that simply because a man saved her life, and kissed her for his trouble, he actually could care for her—more than he cared for his horse.
By the time her brothers and Skunk, Gray Feather, and Yancy trudged back into the cabin, Juliana had her outward appearance well under control. She was clear-eyed and straight-backed, and her smile was brilliant, if a shade too wide. She even danced with Tommy, her feet skimming lightly over the floorboards, and convinced herself that no one was the wiser, that no one guessed the torment strangling her heart.
Once she caught Wade’s intent gaze on her and shot him a dazzling smile. But he didn’t smile back. He was too smart, that brother of hers, too perceptive to be fooled by anyone for long. But she desperately had to try.
Because if she couldn’t fool Wade and Tommy and the others, how could she possibly fool herself? How could she possibly get through this night, and the days to come —days when Cole would be near at hand, torturing her—if she couldn’t somehow convince herself that she didn’t care, she didn’t care, she didn’t care.
22
One night of devastation, that was all Juliana was determined to allow herself. She may have cried herself to sleep the night before, filled with an acrid, bitter sorrow, but by the morning, when she opened her eyes in the back room to a day full of sunshine, she had made up her mind that she was not going to allow Mr. Cole Rawdon to ruin her life. She sat up in bed, tossing her hair over her shoulders in a defiant gesture. She didn’t need him—she didn’t need anyone but her family, and now that she had them back, Cole Rawdon could ... could jump off Stick Mountain if he wanted to and she wouldn’t blink an eye.
Forget him, that’s what she was going to do. Forget about the way he looked and walked and smiled, the way his skin tasted against her lips, the spicy masculine scent of him. Forget the silky feel of his midnight hair between her fingers. Forget his muscular warmth when they had lain in that feather bed together, the way his hands stroked and aroused every intimate part of her body. Forget his voice, the way his eyes smoldered when she said something he took exception to, and the way they blazed right through to her soul when he was about to kiss her. Forget him!
Oh, yes, she was certainly going to forget him.
It wasn’t so very difficult at first. There was breakfast to see to, and she was kept more than busy helping Skunk with the bacon frying and biscuit-making and coffee-pouring. There were good-morning hugs from Wade and Tommy that helped fill the emptiness inside her, a warm greeting from the usually taciturn Yancy, and Gray Feather in his buckskin tunic and leggings sent her that wry, slight smile of his that she found so endearing and at such odds with his sharp features and generally fierce appearance.
Gil Keedy was especially attentive. She felt him watching her all through the meal, while the friendly banter was going on, while she was helping Skunk scrub the plates and frying pan.
Afterward, Wade suggested that he take her to meet Josie, promising that he would explain all about the girl and her baby along the way.
Juliana agreed only too eagerly. She wanted to get as complete a picture as possible about this entire McCray business. The sooner they removed the threat he posed to Wade and Tommy, the sooner Cole Rawdon could leave for Denver and settle the business with John Breen. Then she’d be free of both Breen and Cole for good.
I can scarcely wait, she told herself, drying her hands on a dishrag and following her brother outside into the open air. She had donned the trousers and shirt from yesterday since she had figured she’d be riding today, and her hair was swept into a long golden braid down her back. Out in the sunlight, Wade noticed that her cheeks were quite pale, and there were hollows beneath her eyes, hollows as gray as the rocks that made up the buttes crowning the mountain. But he made no comment, for Juliana still wore that brilliant, pasted smile of last night and obviously didn’t wish to discuss what had occurred between her and Rawdon. Wade wanted to punch him, but when, just as Juliana pulled herself into the saddle of Skunk’s mustang, Rawdon came riding up the trail looking cold as a pitcher of ice water in all-black garb, his hat low over his eyes, Wade forced himself to offer a curt greeting but nothing more.
Juliana had already informed him that she had hired Rawdon to help sort out this damned awful mess with McCray, and then with Breen, which was fine with Wade. They could use another man, seeing as now they had Juliana to protect, as well as Josie and the baby.
The whole thing had become too damned complicated, and far too dangerous for Wade to take lightly. Usually they were in and out quickly on a job—this Plattsville business with McCray had gotten out of hand and he knew it wouldn’t end now until either McCray, or the Montgomerys were dead.
“Come ride with us awhile,” Wade addressed Rawdon. He noticed the wary look that had come into Juliana’s eyes, but she held herself rigidly straight in the saddle and did no more than nod a greeting. Dignified as a princess, that was Juliana. She had a gentle heart, her brother reflected warmly, but plenty of backbone. Wade couldn’t help but be proud of her, even though pity swelled through him. That damned bounty hunter was breaking her heart; when this bloody business was all over, maybe Wade would give in to his instincts and beat the hell out of him, but for now they had to remember they were working on the same side. If they wanted to stay alive, and keep the women safe, they’d all have to stick together.
Rawdon’s horse fell in behind Juliana’s mustang as Wade led the way down the rocky trail. After a while they reached a level grassy basin where they could ride three abreast, and Wade had the opportunity to ask the bounty hunter just how familiar he was with this vast piece of land called Fire Mesa.
A ghost of a smile touched Cole’s lips. “Familiar enough,” he returned in his usual laconic manner.
“Cole’s family used to own Fire Mesa,” Juliana said quickly.
“Oh—Rawdon!” Wade snapped his fingers as if just recalling something. “That was the name I’d heard about.” He shot a piercing glance at the profile of the man beside him. “Seems there was some kind of story
about the family losing it years ago—then an Indian raid —old Joseph Wells never felt quite comfortable on the place.”
“Wells won it fair and square from my father in a poker game. No reason he shouldn’t stay.”
“He’s planning to sell. You know that?”
“I know that.”
A silence fell. Golden aspens rustled in the sharp morning breeze, a hummingbird sang, unseen but lovely, from a hidden branch. Before them stretched a vista of purple mountains, misty in the shimmering brilliance of the August sun. A pair of rabbits chased each other beneath a saguaro, and birds chittered overhead. There was no hint of the danger that seemed to hem them in on every side, a danger that all three sensed keenly. McCray and his men were desperate to frame and kill the Montgomerys. Cole still didn’t understand why. But he knew that McCray’s hired killers were out there searching, that being here in the relative openness of this plain exposed all three of them to ambush. Why hadn’t he insisted that Juliana stay back?
Strange that they should end up here, on Fire Mesa. Cole felt a tingle down his spine when he thought about the Montgomery gang hideout being here, on his grandfather’s land. Or Wells’ land, he corrected himself swiftly. He hadn’t come back in twenty years, and now all of this business was centered here. Why? Cole had a hunch, one that made his scalp prickle. Maybe it was his fate to die on Fire Mesa. Maybe he had cheated fate all those years ago when his entire family was wiped out. He should have died then, too, alongside Mama and Caitlin. Fire Mesa should have been his burying ground. Maybe it still would be. Maybe that was the reason for all this.
Cole wasn’t a superstitious man, but he had a powerful belief in Fate, or perhaps God—some higher power that had created all this spectacular beauty in the West, who tested men’s courage and mettle and honor, who dealt out life and death, pain and laughter, according to some secret plan that Cole couldn’t fathom but that he knew with every fiber of his being did exist. Maybe this was all part of His plan. Maybe he was destined to die here on the land his grandfather had loved, the land that had already soaked up so much of his family’s blood. If that was his destiny, it was fine with him. But he would take McCray and Jackson and their whole rotten outfit down with him when he went. He’d keep Juliana safe if it cost him every breath in his body, every last ounce of blood.
Seeing her this morning, being with her now, was torturing him. It would be different if he could tell her how he felt and explain the reasons why he was no fit husband for her or for anyone—but he knew that would only make it worse. She had a fiercely loyal heart. She was too headstrong for her own good. She probably thought she loved him. She would argue and resist him and use all her wiles to keep him by her side. And it would only make it more difficult when he had to ride away—or when she had to watch him lowered into the ground in a pine casket.
Better to break it off now—let her start turning her thoughts to Keedy or someone like him, as soon as possible. If she had started to hate him, so much the better.
But oh, damn everything to hell, what he would give to hold her again, to feel her softness against him, to kiss her lips, the pink nipples of her breasts, to feel her wrapped around him.
Juliana.
Never had he imagined a name could sound so sweet, or feel so warmly sensuous on his tongue. Never had he imagined he could feel so deeply, painfully for anyone ever again. He had thought in the orphanage, when night after night he’d endured beatings, hunger, and the virulent hatred of that institution’s administrator, that he had learned how base human beings could be—and that he was forever safe from being hurt by any one human again. He had stopped feeling pain, hunger, the need for love. Later, his experience with Jess Burrows had confirmed his opinion of human beings. Only fury and a relentless belief in himself had remained. It was these same qualities that had enabled him to survive the bloodbath on Fire Mesa, the cruel years of the orphanage, and being left to die in the desert when Jess had shot him in the back. Then Sun Eagle had taught him the ways of the Cheyenne, ways of strength and cunning, and he had become nearly invincible.
But not quite. A woman, delicate and lovely as a flower, had pierced his shield. A woman with emerald eyes that could sparkle and flash brighter than any gem, a woman with stubborn ways and a laugh as mellow as fine wine, and a heart that was open and giving.
She had taught him that he was not proof against love. She had taught him that arrogance was the way of fools. She had given him the only moments of real happiness he had known since his boyhood.
He wouldn’t repay her by saddling her with his troubles, and whatever dark fate lay in store for him. He would steer her in another direction, like a line rider driving a calf away from a dangerous precipice, and leave her free to love someone who would bring her far more than he ever could.
Wade’s voice broke into his reverie. “If you’re familiar with these parts, you may know the old Simpson place down by the river. The land borders Fire Mesa on the south. That’s where we’re headed. It’s deserted now, except for the woman we’re going to see.”
Cole glanced at Wade, deliberately avoiding Juliana’s silent form to his right. “And who is she?”
“Josie Larson—and her baby. They’ve left the place pretty much as it was, so that no one riding by could tell it’s inhabited. So far, McCray hasn’t found them. One of these days, I’m afraid he will. But Josie won’t come and stay with us at Stick Mountain. She’s stubborn, insists on staying on her own. We’ve been trying to protect her as best we can.”
The story Wade told them then about Josie Larson almost made Juliana forget about her own problems. When a scant hour later, they rode into an overgrown, weed-strewn yard and pulled up before a dilapidated one-story adobe house with the windows all boarded up and a tumbledown barn and well behind it, she was so intent upon meeting the unfortunate young woman Wade had described to her that she almost forgot about Cole Rawdon’s presence.
Almost.
When she stepped down from her horse, her foot caught in one of the long, tangled weeds strangling the front yard, and she nearly fell, but suddenly he was at her side, gripping her elbow, steadying her, the clean, masculine scent of him filling her nostrils.
She jerked her arm away. “When I need your help, I’ll ask for it,” she heard herself snapping.
“You’d have been asking from facedown with a mouthful of dirt and weeds.”
“I’m perfectly capable of looking out for myself.”
He touched a hand to his hat, then followed Wade to the door. She was right. He should have kept his distance. Trouble was, he was used to looking out for her now. It was a habit he’d have to break.
Broken steps and peeling paint, and more weeds sprouting right up to the threshold, gave the house a rundown air. Juliana wondered how anyone could live here as she picked her way after the men, her curiosity growing strong about Josie Larson.
A tall, willowy young woman was waiting for them inside, her baby boy clutched in her arms.
“I thought at first you were McCray,” she said, smiling with relief as she came toward them. The only light came from a kerosene lantern on the mantel, and from the open door, so it was difficult to see her face until she approached. “Then I realized it was you, Wade. I put on some coffee.” Gazing back and forth between Juliana and Cole, studying them with a swift, keen scrutiny, her smile widened suddenly. “You must be Wade and Tommy’s sister!” she exclaimed, her brown eyes meeting Juliana’s gaze warmly. “I’m so glad to meet you at last. They’ve done nothing but talk about finding you! And whoever you are, you’re welcome, mister, since you’re with Wade,” she said easily to Cole. “Come in and try to make yourselves comfortable.”
The inside of the house was more inviting and habitable than the outside, clean and free of dust and dirt, though it was a sparsely furnished little house with shuttered windows and bare floors and little in the way of adornment. But it was the young woman who had greeted them who drew Juliana’s attention. She liked the frie
ndly, plainspoken girl at once.
Josie Larson was as unaffected as a robin. She was perhaps twenty, slightly taller than average, and thin as a reed. Short amber curls spilled down about a pretty, heart-shaped face made most interesting by her wide-set brown eyes. She was not beautiful but, rather, warm and appealing with a direct manner and a calm, matter-of-fact voice that sat well with Juliana. Yet there was a troubled sorrow lurking in those clear brown eyes that touched Juliana. Knowing something of Josie’s story, she understood the reason behind the young woman’s careworn air.
But the baby, little Kevin, only seven months old, was a treasure from whom she could scarcely draw her eyes. While Josie served coffee to the men in the small, homey kitchen, Juliana settled down in a corner rocker with the baby on her lap, and found herself totally absorbed in his antics, chuckling over his every attempt to pull her hair, to poke her eyes out with his tiny stubby fingers. She cooed with laughter each time she ducked her head away just in the nick of time. This, of course, made him squeal with joy and immediately encouraged him to try again.
But as Wade and Josie talked, interrupted now and then by a question from Cole, she drew the baby close to her and listened. Gradually, all the pieces of the McCray puzzle began to slide into place, and the picture it made was a chilling one.
Like Henny, Josie had been victimized by McCray’s greedy takeover in Plattsville. She had been married to Clint Larson, the young owner of a livery stable, who had vociferously opposed many of the ideas McCray put forth for the town’s expansion, sensing that these plans would be for McCray’s benefit and no one else’s. Two nights after the town meeting when he had spoken out, Clint had been working late when a fire broke out in his stables near the far end of town. Seven horses had died, and along with them, Clint’s body was found among the ashes, his remains charred so badly, they were barely recognizable. Maybe an accident, maybe not, Sheriff Rivers had commented. He would certainly investigate.
