by Jeanne Allan
She thought of Tom’s answer. “You may ask. Mebbe I’ll answer and mebbe I won’t.”
He laughed softly, and dropped a light, appreciative kiss on the tip of her nose. “Why are you so afraid of Ferris wheels?”
It was about the last question she expected, and it took a second to gather her thoughts, to decide whether to tell him the truth. He brushed the back of his hand across her cheek, settling the question. She was starting to care for this man. Which meant she had to be honest with him, no matter how humiliating the truth was.
“When I was twelve, four of us were on one. A girl I’d just met and two boys. The boys were showing off, and started swinging the seat. The other girl thought it was funny, but I was terrified and started crying. When we got to the bottom, the man running the wheel made us get off. He was furious and gave the boys a long sermon about safety. They all blamed me because I’d cried, said he wouldn’t have cared if I hadn’t been such a baby. My dad had just been transferred there, so I was a new kid. We were there for two years and I hated it the whole time. The kids never stopped teasing me about being such a coward.”
“I may not know much about you, boss lady, but I’m pretty sure about one thing. You’re no coward.”
“Thank you.” She hesitated. “Why did you ask?”
“I wanted to know.” He tugged playfully on a strand of hair. “Go in and take a hot bath, put on a warm nightgown and get into bed.” Turning her around, he nudged her toward the house with a light swat on the rear end. “Now, go.”
Tossing his wet towel across the bedroom chair, Jake climbed between the sheets. Nobody and nothing, short of a box of dynamite, was going to rouse him out of this bed until the sun came up. Nothing at all. Nobody. His mouth twisted in wry acknowledgment of the lie. One somebody could. One whistle from the big house and he’d race up there faster than Vegas ever trotted over to his call.
Just his luck to learn too late that green eyes and a generous mouth packed a more dangerous punch than a trainload of nitroglycerin. Damn it all to hell, he should be beyond being affected by a woman like Gwen. A fact certain overactive parts of his body couldn’t seem to remember. He hoped Gwen hadn’t noticed.
Not, he thought with satisfaction, that some of her parts hadn’t responded with equal fervor to their kiss. He could still feel her tight nipples digging into his palms. That skimpy shirt she wore had outlined her every luscious curve. Hell’s fire, he’d wanted to strip it off her and kiss every inch of bare naked cold skin. He’d have warmed her up fast. One look at her had warmed him up fast enough.
He shifted uncomfortably in the bed. Thoughts like these wouldn’t help him sleep. He forcibly turned his mind to the newspaper article Gwen had found in the museum. The article amused him in an odd sort of way. Not many men had the dubious privilege of reading about their own deaths.
Gwen hadn’t noticed the two things in the article of most significance to Jake. Most important, no mention was made of Luther. The paper said the other four bandits had escaped. The posse had lost them. So Luther had lived. That time. Not many bank robbers enjoyed long lives. A fact Jake had tried to drum into his younger brother’s head time and time again. Luther was young enough he still thought he was invincible. Jake had told him no man was invincible against lead. He wondered if Luther believed him after the bank robbery had gone wrong.
Six bullets had brought Jake down. He’d liked the way Gwen’s eyes had sparkled with indignation, but she’d been wrong calling it murder. Just as he’d been wrong in how he’d gone about trying to get Luther to quit the business. Instead of trying to talk sense into the kid, he should have thrown a rope on him, tied him to a horse, and ridden hell-bent for leather out of there. Instead he’d jawed on and on until he’d gotten as tired of listening to his words as Luther had.
Jake had wanted to believe the others had listened when he’d pointed out shooting people they robbed wasn’t smart. Dead men had relatives. A man could rob a bank in Kansas and go on a spending spree in Montana, knowing most lawmen wouldn’t bother you if you stayed clean in their town. A man with revenge-minded relatives on his trail was lucky if he could sit at a campfire long enough to boil a pot of coffee. The gang’s leader had backed Jake in this, but Jake wasn’t naive enough to believe the outlaws wouldn’t shoot if they didn’t think it necessary. And there was nothing to keep the victims from shooting back. Knowing this, Jake had ridden with the bunch with the idea of protecting Luther until he could get his brother to leave the owl-hoot trail.
Robbing the bank had been the fourth time he’d ridden with the gang. He thought about Marian talking to the reporter. She would have insisted on seeing his body. To make sure the dead man was him and not Luther. Maybe she’d have felt a twinge of remorse when she counted the six bullet holes.
Jake frowned. He’d been careless earlier. Running out without his shirt when he’d heard Gwen yelling for Mack. You’d think he’d remember, but he didn’t feel the wounds. The first second, there’d been unbelievable, searing pain, then nothing. The bullets weren’t in him. The undertaker had probably taken them as souvenirs of the time he laid out the great bank robber, Jakob Stoner. But Gwen would question the scars.
Gwen. His thoughts always returned to her. He’d wanted her so badly tonight, he’d hurt. That had never been true with Marian. Abstaining until marriage had been no hardship. Not sleeping with Gwen made a lot of things hard.
Had Michaels thought about what a woman like Gwen could do to him? Michaels probably figured Jake had no needs. Michaels had erred. Maybe this whole business was as mystifying to Michaels as it was to Jake. Michaels had never answered Jake as to why Jake hadn’t been sent straight to perdition. Maybe Michaels knew; maybe he didn’t. After today, Jake knew. He’d read it in the newspaper. The minister said he and his wife were praying for Jake’s soul.
The trail boss upstairs had heard their prayers. He’d answered them in his own way. He’d given Jake another chance. Ten chances to be exact. Ten chances to help people. Ten chances to redeem himself.
There had been one terrible moment tonight when he’d hesitated to go outside. When he’d wondered if Gwen’s need of his particular help awaited him. He never knew what he was sent to do. He only knew that when he’d done it, he left. He wasn’t ready to leave Gwen. For an instant, he’d selfishly considered not going to her aid. If he didn’t go out, if he pretended he didn’t hear Mack, if he didn’t help her, if she managed on her own...
He wished he could remember his other nine visits back. Had his help made a life or death difference? That’s what he didn’t know. And not knowing, he couldn’t risk Gwen.
Whatever the reason he’d been sent to help Gwen, he knew one thing with certainty. Once he’d done his deed, Michaels would take him away. In saving Gwen, he’d lose her. Forever.
Jake stared sightlessly at the ceiling. Gwen had called Jakob Stoner a hero. He wasn’t a hero. He was a man who’d done what he’d had to do. He couldn’t let that little kid get hurt. Any more than Gwen could refuse to care for her brother’s kid.
He was no hero. Just a man who wanted a woman. Not any woman. Gwen.
Gwen couldn’t remember the last time she’d awakened with a smile on her face. But then she’d never before gone to sleep thinking about Jake Stoner’s kisses. After he’d told her to go take a shower, she didn’t think his next words were meant for her ears, but she’d heard them over the clip-clopping of Vegas’s feet as Jake had led the horse down to the corral.
“Go,” Jake had said, “before I take you into my bed to warm you up.”
One of these days Jake Stoner was going to say something like that and Gwen would march right into his arms and tell him to do it. One of these days. When they got to know each other a little better. When she worked up the nerve. Rolling over in bed, she kept her eyes shut and imagined the scene played out a million different agreeable ways.
The ringing phone interrupted her pleasant reverie. Reaching out a bare arm, still smiling, Gwen picked up
the receiver. “Good morning to you,” she sang out.
A short pause ensued. “Gwen?”
“Yes, it’s Gwen, and this is a lovely day and how are you, Prudence?”
“It’s cloudy and overcast.”
“Good,” Gwen said. “I have developed a positive affection for rain.”
“Do you feel okay?”
“I feel super. Why?”
“You sound a little funny.”
“I suppose I’m coming down with a cold. We had some trouble here last night and I got a little wet.” Gwen wanted to laugh at the understatement.
“Trouble.” Prudence sighed heavily. “I was afraid of that. That’s why I called. Was Jake Stoner involved in any way in your trouble?”
Gwen thought about Jake untangling her from the severed barbed wire. “You could say that.”
“Damn. I should have dug deeper, questioned how he showed up out of the blue like that. I’m sorry, Gwen. This is all my fault.”
Gwen’s smile faded. She sat up in bed, and chilled, pulled the covers up over her lap. “What are you talking about? Who showed up? Do you mean Jake?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“I WENT looking because Gordon was making all kinds of noises about taking you to court over inheriting the ranch from Bert. He threatened to say you brought undue influence on Bert and a bunch of nonsense like that. No one who knew Bert would believe it, but to substantiate your claim if Gordon actually filed a suit against you, I researched the old records. They were interesting little pieces of old history, and I got carried away. Even dug out some old forgotten records buried in the basement of the courthouse. That’s where I found it. Or actually, didn’t find it.”
“Find what?” Apprehension crawled up Gwen’s spine.
There was a long pause before Prudence said carefully, “The title to Bert’s ranch isn’t quite as clear as I’d like it to be.”
Gwen crumpled the sheet in her fist. “What does that mean?”
“The land was claimed and filed on by one Jakob Stoner back in 1881.”
“Jakob Stoner owned this ranch?” Gwen asked in astonishment.
“Yes, and when he died—”
“He was shot.”
“How do you know that?”
“Never mind. Go on.”
“Jakob Stoner left the land to his brother, Luther.”
“Jakob had a brother?”
“Yes. Luther, along with his infant daughter, died in 1889 in a carriage accident. I found a copy of the death certificate. Then the records show a Gordon Winthrop leaving the ranch to his sons in 1921.”
“Gordon? As in Gordon Pease? Are you saying Gordon Pease really does have some kind of claim on the ranch?”
“Not Gordon. What’s missing is any record of the ownership of the ranch transferring from the Stoners to the Winthrops. There’s a number of ways Winthrop could have legally acquired the land. Relinquishment, for example. But if he didn’t get it legally, then a case might be made, if Luther Stoner left any relatives, they should have inherited the ranch. And any descendants of those relatives could make a claim against the property.”
“The ranch never belonged to Bert’s family? It belongs to descendants of Jakob Stoner?”
“I’m sure it belonged to the Winthrops. There’s just no proof,” Prudence said unhappily. “Stoner descendants could claim the Winthrops acquired the land illegally and claim it belongs to them. Over the years the Winthrops have made improvements, buildings, windmills, et cetera, so that would be in your favor, but the whole mess could be tied up in court for years. My guess is the Stoners somehow or other found out about the ranch and are snooping around to see if there’s anything in it for them. Unless they have some pretty concrete proof, a court battle would be as costly for them as for you. I think the Stoners saw a single woman with a child and no knowledge of ranching and thought they could intimidate you. Get you to settle with them out of court.”
“You keep saying the Stoners.” Gwen dug her fingers into the mattress. “You mean Jake Stoner, don’t you?”
“I’ve asked around. I can’t find anyone who’s ever met him or even heard of him before. Maybe the name is a coincidence, and there’s nothing to be concerned about.”
Gwen thought about the picture in the old newspaper article. “It’s no coincidence,” she said flatly. “I have to think about this. I’ll talk to you later.” She hung up the phone, her hand shaking.
Jake Stoner planned to steal her ranch. To take away her home. Gwen stretched the sheet between her fists. If he wanted to steal the ranch, why come here and work for her? Why waste time kissing Gwen? He must know those kisses wouldn’t influence her if they faced each other across lawyers’ tables or in court. What did he hope to do or learn here? Gwen knew nothing of the early origins of the ranch.
The answer came with heart-stabbing clarity. Jake hadn’t found the missing papers, either. He’d kissed Gwen with one purpose in mind. To romance himself into her bed and into her house. He must believe the papers were hidden somewhere in the main house. Sleeping with Gwen would give him an excuse to be in the house all hours of the day and night. He could search for the missing papers.
Gwen went down to breakfast determined to have it out with Jake. She’d debated not letting him know his secret was out, but there didn’t seem to be any advantage to that. She needed a ranch hand, but she didn’t need a disloyal one. An ugly thought halted her on the staircase. Was Jake somehow involved in cutting the fence last night? Had he been kissing her to allow his confederate to escape? Or to come back and complete his mischief? That thought sent her racing into the kitchen.
“About time, lazybones,” Jake drawled as Gwen burst through the door. “Tom and I got up with the chickens. I fixed that fence, and Tom doubled-checked the horses. He says they’re fine.”
She’d ask Tom herself. “Where is Tom?”
“Outside with Crissie. They’re teaching Mack a new trick.”
“Oh.” Gwen poured a mug of coffee, silently castigating herself for becoming so discombobulated she hadn’t even noticed her niece wasn’t at the table. Another reason to deal with the situation now. To deal with Jake now.
Jake refilled his coffee mug. “Soon as you eat, I thought we’d take a ride. Check out the other fences and the cattle. You might want to think about moving the cows and calves away from the main road.”
She fixed herself a bowl of cereal. “Why?”
“In case our midnight visitor comes back with other ideas.”
“I don’t see the point of him letting the cows loose.”
Jake shrugged. “Could be lots of reasons. Scatter them to cause us bother. Steal them.”
“Cattle rustlers in this day and age?” Removing her toast from the toaster, she carried it with a knife, butter and jam to the table. Did he really think to distract her with something so ludicrous? “I doubt it.”
“You think crime stopped with the twentieth century?”
“Crime, no. Cattle rustling, yes.”
“You’re wrong. The only difference between one hundred years ago and today is that cattle rustlers have changed how they operate. Tom says they drive up to the pasture, cut the fence, load a cow or two in the back of a pickup and sell it to a friendly butcher. Easy money for a rustler.”
“Then why would he cut the fence where the horses are?”
“Maybe he thought there were cows there. Maybe he was after the horses. Could sell them to someone who’s not too picky about where the horses came from. Or sell them for slaughter. That’s probably the safest. Nothing left to trace.”
Gwen stared speechlessly at him. Vegas and Susie killed for a few dollars. Surely Jake wouldn’t be a part of anything so wicked. She forced herself to probe. “I didn’t realize what kind of outlaws we still have around. Shades of your ancestor, Jakob Stoner.”
“Jakob never rustled beeves, and he wasn’t a horse thief.”
“Speaking of Jakob, what was the name of his brother?”
&nb
sp; “Luther.”
“Luther,” Gwen repeated slowly. “How do you know that?” Jake slanted her a quick look, then picked up his spoon and stirred his coffee. Gwen knew he drank it black.
“I could have read it in that newspaper article at the museum,” he finally said.
“No, you couldn’t have. There was no mention made of Jakob Stoner having any relatives. No,” she said as he opened his mouth, “I didn’t miss it. I read that article so many times I practically have it memorized. That’s not how you found out Jakob had a brother named Luther.”
Jake sipped his coffee, studying her over his mug. “Maybe Luther isn’t his name. Maybe the name just popped out.”
“Slipped out, don’t you mean? It would be very strange that the correct name of Jakob’s brother would hit you out of the blue. Luther isn’t exactly the commonest of names.”
“It was pretty common then.”
“Something else you learned in your research?”
“Research?”
“I should have caught on when you knew so much about the area. Too much for a man no one from around here has ever heard of.”
Jake set his coffee mug firmly on the table. “Why don’t you quit pussyfooting around and tell me what’s going on?”
“Funny you should say that. I was going to suggest the same thing to you.” When he didn’t answer right away, Gwen said impatiently, “Don’t bother trying to invent some stupid fairy-tale story. I know exactly why you’re here.”
“You know?”
“Prudence called this morning and told me all about it. Your secret’s out, Mr. Stoner. You have one hour to be off the premises or I’m calling the sheriff to escort you off.”
“If this is about that kiss last night, I apologize if I—”
“It’s not about the kiss and you know it. It’s about why you’re here.”
A deep frown creased his forehead. “Prudence is your lawyer, right? How would she know why I’m here?”
“Stop it, Jake,” Gwen said, weary of his cat and mouse game. “She told me about the missing papers. I can forgive a lot of things, but not lying. If you’d have come to me and told me, we might have been able to work something out. Now I’m going to fight you. Bert left this ranch to me, because it meant something to him, and he knew it would mean something to me. Bert knew Gordon would get rid of it as soon as he could. Lawrence Hingle is dying of cancer. Doris is staying on for now, but she told Bert she didn’t want her future tied to the place.”
