by Jill Gregory
“See that you do.”
She was nearly through the door when his voice stopped her. “You’ve got a fair distance to travel, Miss Rawlings. Might be a good idea to stay overnight in the hotel and head out for the ranch tomorrow.”
“No, thank you, Sheriff,” she snapped. All she wanted was to leave this town behind. Not one person here would welcome her when they learned who she was—Bodine was right about that. Bear, why did you have to rob the bank in this particular town?
She had no desire to be stared at, sneered at, or accosted. She wanted only to be left alone. I’ve already killed a man this afternoon—certainly that’s quite enough of defending myself for one day.
“Your concern is touching, but I’ve no desire to stay in your flea-bitten little hotel.” Somehow she managed a derisive tone. “If it’s as small, dirty, and uninviting as the rest of the town, I am much better off on my own property.”
“Suit yourself. So long, Miss Rawlings.”
His voice followed her—mockingly, she felt—as she sailed out onto the boardwalk.
She slammed the door. Weariness and a pang of aloneness brought tears dangerously close, but she forced them away.
She’d survived too much with her dignity intact to let the fact that Wolf Bodine wanted her out of his town make her weepy. Besides, she thought as she forced one foot before the other, she hated weepy females. The thing to do was to concentrate on getting out to the ranch. Don’t think—do.
She’d need a horse and buggy. When that was arranged, she would retrieve her baggage, inquire directions at the hotel, and be on her way.
A short time later she emerged from the hotel dragging her trunk, with her velvet-banded hatbox tucked in the crook of her arm. She was trying not to notice the delicious smells emanating from the hotel dining room, or the growling of her stomach. But realizing how hungry she was did remind her of something: She ought to stop at the general store and buy some flour, eggs, beans, and other supplies before going to the ranch. She didn’t know what to expect when she reached it, and Bear had always taught her to be prepared for anything.
With that in mind she remembered the derringer tucked inside the pocket of her traveling gown. It was small but effective, as Mr. Scoop Parmalee had discovered. And it would come in handy in case ...
But she pushed that thought away as well. She couldn’t afford to worry about Neely Stoner or the others who were after the silver mine right now. At the moment her biggest problem was going to be hefting this trunk up into the wagon. It contained everything she had left in the world—which wasn’t all that much, but still ...
She grabbed hold of the trunk’s handle, but before she could try to lift it, a powerful hand covered hers.
“I’ll do that.”
Wolf Bodine met her surprised gaze with his own hard, gray one. “Wouldn’t want you to strain anything,” he remarked, and as Rebeccah hastily withdrew her hand from beneath his warm, strong palm, he grasped hold of the trunk. He lifted it without any visible effort and plunked it down in the wagon.
“You’re very kind,” she bit out icily, too surprised by his aid to think of anything else to say. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“Not so fast.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m escorting you out to the ranch.”
“You will do nothing of the sort.”
“I hate to argue with a lady,” Wolf informed her with a determined glint in his eye, “but it’s all settled. It’ll be near dark by the time you get there, and you don’t know the way. The last thing I need is to have you getting lost out in the foothills.”
Her voice was low. “I would think you’d be happy to be rid of me.”
“Not like that.”
Something in the way he said it made her heart skip a beat. She’d forgotten for a moment that she was dealing with a lawman here, not an outlaw or a gambler or a rustler, like those men who had been such good friends of her father’s. Wolf Bodine was of a different ilk. He might despise her and feel contempt for her because she was an outlaw’s daughter, but he would feel obligated to see to the protection of any lone woman within his dominion—even Bear Rawlings’s brat.
But she couldn’t afford to be beholden to him, and besides, she told herself firmly, she didn’t need his protection or his chivalry.
“It isn’t necessary,” she informed him, and set her hatbox into the wagon. “I have an excellent sense of direction, Sheriff Bodine, and Mr. Winstead in the hotel gave me very clear instructions—”
“Are you getting in this wagon or not?” he interrupted irritatedly.
“No, not yet. I’m going into the general store to buy supplies first. You needn’t be here when I get back.”
She turned on her heel and walked across the street with the assured grace of a debutante, but inwardly she was cursing as colorfully as Waylon Pritchard had earlier. She was weary, parched, and disheveled: her traveling gown was sadly wrinkled, the feathers in her hat must be drooping as tiredly as her shoulders, and she desperately wanted to lie down between cool sheets and go to sleep.
But she wouldn’t be sleeping for many hours to come, she knew. She also knew, without understanding how, that Wolf Bodine would be there waiting when she came out of the general store.
He was. He was saddled up on a handsome sorrel gelding that stood restively beside her stocky rented mare and creaky wagon. Stubborn, insufferable man, she muttered to herself as she crossed the street carrying a parcel of groceries in each arm, but she couldn’t help the rush of pink color that flooded her cheeks as she watched him from beneath her lashes.
This time he made no move to help her, but waited on horseback as she dumped her parcels in the wagon beside the trunk. “I thought I told you to leave me alone. I don’t need or want your help.”
“Ah-huh.”
His laconic calm infuriated her. She scowled at his tall, lean figure, though his face was shadowed by the gray brim of his hat. “Well?”
“Well, let’s go,” he returned evenly. He glanced pointedly at the darkening lavender sky. “Daylight’s almost gone, and we’ve got a fair-sized ride ahead of us.”
There was no getting rid of him now. Rebeccah was uncomfortably aware of his gaze on her as she mounted into the wagon and picked up the reins. “Shouldn’t you be going home to your wife and family?” she bit out at last, half turning toward him, and for the first time she saw something in his face besides that cool, steady nonchalance.
Pain flickered sharp as a knife blade behind his eyes for a split second. His whole body went tense. Then, just as suddenly, the signs of strain were gone. That cold distance was back. His mouth was straight, grim, unsmiling, the eyes unexpressive, and he was spurring the gelding forward without a word in response.
Rebeccah didn’t know what to make of that. Perhaps he didn’t deign to discuss his precious wife and son with Bear Rawlings’s daughter. Perhaps she wasn’t fit to speak of them.
She urged the mare forward, her shoulders aching with tension. Why did Wolf Bodine have to be the sheriff of Powder Creek? For eight years—eight foolish, unhappy, idiotic years—she’d dreamed of seeing him again, but not like this, not here. In her dreams Wolf Bodine had been smitten like a schoolboy when she’d encountered him again. He’d smiled in admiration when he saw her, lost his train of thought, and swept her into his arms. He’d whispered of how beautiful and fascinating she had become, kissed her as if he’d never stop.
He didn’t try to run her out of his town, he didn’t hold her in contempt, and he didn’t ride beside her in steely silence, driven not to passionate action and speech but to icy hostility, looking straight ahead, ignoring her as if she was a piece of driftwood or a rock.
Neither of them said another word as the sun crawled across the rosy-purple sky and a pair of eagles soared overhead, their calls echoing shrilly through the twilight.
They left Powder Creek behind and disappeared into the waving golden sea of buffalo grass.
&
nbsp; 3
The last rays of a blood-red sunset bathed the river valley as the wagon rounded a bend and the ranch came into view.
Ranch? Rebeccah stared in disbelief at the sprawling, one-story log cabin squatting a few hundred yards ahead. She swallowed hard, trying not to feel dismayed. The place stood between a dark clump of cedar and several small, unpainted wooden sheds. It was built of logs, with a sturdy clapboard roof, and though it was fair-sized, long, rambling, and probably roomy, its windows were gray with grime, the front-porch steps were crumbling, and there was no sign of bunkhouse, stables, corrals, pastures, or gardens ... no sign of prosperity, ranch hands, horses, chickens, or cattle.
Not much of a ranch. A log cabin and a small, unpainted cedar barn behind it. Bear, did you even live on this place? Were you ever here?
Douglas fir, spruce, and ponderosa pine darkened the surrounding hills. Beyond, the Rockies loomed—amethyst mountains outlined sharply against the fiery sky. There was the sharp tang of pine in the air, a stream ran nearby, and there was a lake, Wolf Bodine had told her, Snow Lake. So the land must be fertile and lovely by day, Rebeccah tried to reassure herself, but now it looked bleak and dark and dangerous—and lonely.
“Want to head back to town?” Wolf Bodine asked with satisfaction.
Rebeccah gritted her teeth against disappointment and a twist of fear.
“Certainly not.”
“Fine. Welcome home, Miss Rawlings.”
He cantered up a dirt lane to the weed-strewn yard and swung down from the saddle. “Place’s been empty these past five years. Amos Peastone drank too much. He never could make a go of it. When he lost the land in a poker game in Virginia City, he just moved on to California to try his luck there. But he never outright said who he lost the ranch to, and no one ever showed up to claim it—at least, not that I knew about.” He studied her a moment from beneath the rim of his sombrero. “You do have ownership papers, don’t you, Miss Rawlings?”
No, I’m Bear Rawlings’s daughter, so of course I’m a thief, trying to steal this run-down, good-for-nothing snake pit of a shack.
Rebeccah glared at him and, without answering, began to clamber down from the wagon. But the hem of her gown caught on the splintered old wagon seat, and she pitched forward with a panicked yelp. She would have fallen flat on her face in the dirt, but Wolf Bodine instantly spurred his horse forward and grabbed her as she toppled out. He scooped her up alongside him so that she sprawled across his saddle.
“If you aren’t the clumsiest woman,” he muttered, shaking his head in wonder. “You probably fall out of your bed every night.”
“I do not!” she snapped, strangely distracted by his nearness, by the sensation of being held in rocklike arms. “And what goes on in my bed is hardly your concern!” she flashed. Then, as her own words echoed in her ears, she turned scarlet.
The bright flush traveled up her neck, suffused her cheeks, nose, and forehead, and burned her ears.
“I didn’t say it was,” he replied softly, but his eyes were brimming with gentle amusement. “Unless you want to give me firsthand evidence ...”
“You ... oh!” She shoved hard against his massive chest, which only made his grin deepen. Dimples appeared within his bronzed cheeks.
Rebeccah pushed him again. “You’re the most vile-minded, insufferable man. I’m damned if I need your help! Set me down this minute!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He lowered her to the ground, still grinning. As she straightened her hat and twitched at the hem of her skirt, he shook his head. “Can’t see what you’re so all-fired upset about,” he commented mildly, just to irritate her.
“You! And this ... place. I expected this ranch to he a bit more prosperous-looking, that’s all. It’s a shock.”
He dismounted, then reached into the wagon for her trunk and lifted it down with ease. He set it beside her in the darkening yard. Her parcels and hatbox followed. “Maybe you should think about selling,” he said slowly. “It’ll take a lot of work and a lot of money to make a go of this place. I’m sure Jed Turner over at the land office would be glad to put it on the market for you. You could get a good price.”
So he was still trying to get rid of her. Rebeccah squared her shoulders and turned toward him. “Let’s get something straight right now, Sheriff Bodine,” she said quietly. “I’m not selling this property. I’m not leaving Powder Creek. This is my home, my ranch, and it’s going to be the biggest, grandest, most prosperous ranch in the territory before I get through with it, so you can save your long faces and dire threats for some stupid little ninny, which you obviously mistake me for, because I am neither stupid nor a ninny, and nobody tells me what to do.”
Now it was his turn to be angry. Even in the gathering dusk she could see it. He scowled at her from beneath his hat, and she sensed the tension in his tall frame. He reached out a hand, tilted up her chin, forced her to meet his gaze. “Let me give you a little warning, Miss Rawlings.” He took a step closer, and leaned down, his face very close to hers. “You’d better not be as low-down and crooked as your father was because we don’t put up with lawbreakers in Powder Creek. And being a woman won’t save you from getting plunked in jail if I get even a hint that you’re mixed up in any dirty dealings. If anyone shady shows up in town, I’ll be breathing down your neck so fast, you won’t even see me coming. I’ll lock you up in that nice little cell in my office and throw the key in the river, so help me God, I will. You understand? Because it’s easy to see you’re as stubborn and as bad-tempered as your father, but if you take after him in any other way—”
“Damn you,” Rebeccah cried. Her fingers balled into fists. “My father was not bad-tempered!”
“What?”
She was quivering with rage. She wanted to hit him so badly, her fingers smarted at her sides. “Bear was good-natured, do you hear me, Sheriff Bodine, as good-natured as any man you’ll ever meet —unless he was crossed. Unless someone did something really bad to him or to me—” Her voice broke, only for a moment, then gained steam again. “You didn’t know him, so don’t you dare speak to me about him. He may not have been honest, and he may have been stubborn and full of himself and a few other things, but he was kind, and good-natured, and gentle deep down, and as true a friend as any man could want to find, and I won’t stand here and listen to you speak ill of him!”
Wolf didn’t know what to make of her. She was obviously loyal to her father, and passionate in his defense, and it occurred to him suddenly that she must have loved Bear a great deal. Bodine found it difficult to believe that anyone could love the huge, barrel-chested, irascible outlaw known for his cunning and greed, but looking at Rawlings’s daughter, it was impossible to believe anything else. Those violet eyes shone with it, and beneath the love and obvious devotion he saw something else: loss. It seared through her as hot and painful as a branding iron. The girl was glaring at him, fearless as could be, and quivering with an unspoken agony. Bear had been dead a little more than four months now—shot down by a posse outside Laramie after a bank robbery. For decent, law-abiding citizens of the West it was hardly a loss—it was cause for celebration. For this strange, proud, unpleasant girl, Wolf realized grimly, it was hell.
Rebeccah Rawlings was grieving for her father.
“Fair enough,” he said at last in response to her tirade. “Guess I should know better than to speak ill of the dead.”
She nodded, her mouth trembling a little.
If she ever discovers the full extent of what Bear did in Powder Creek and how he was hated here, Wolf reflected, she’ll be devastated. He had a feeling it was only a matter of time before she did find out. But somehow he didn’t think she should have to make that unpleasant discovery tonight. She looked tired enough, weary enough—he almost hated leaving her here at this cabin alone—the place was scarcely habitable.
But she’s not your concern, he told himself. Why are you worrying about her?
“I’m leaving,” he said abr
uptly, deciding that the brief contact he’d had with Rebeccah Rawlings was somehow scrambling his brains. “One last time—you’re sure you want to stay out here all alone?”
“Sheriff, I can’t wait to he here all alone.”
Wolf’s eyes narrowed at her withering tone. She sounded so tough. It would serve her right if she got spooked out here tonight, with only the coyotes, wolves, and snakes for company. It sure was none of his concern.
He mounted Dusty, turned the horse toward his own property, which adjoined this one, and gave Rebeccah Rawlings one last glance. Silhouetted against the cabin that way, with the darkness settling down about her like a thick cloak over the land, she looked touchingly alone and vulnerable—yet somehow staunch, with her head held high and her lovely face set with cold determination.
“Stay out of trouble, Miss Rawlings,” he warned by way of farewell. “I’ll be watching.”
“Get me my money!” she shouted after him as he spurred the gelding into a gallop. She watched, biting her lip, until he had disappeared over a rise.
Miss Rawlings, may I have the infinite pleasure of kissing you?
Her own wishful dreams clamored in her head, mocking her, as the man who had played such a central role in every one of them rode away without a backward glance.
With a pang that seemed to puncture her heart, she turned slowly back to study the dilapidated cabin. Her shoulders drooped. Her temples throbbed. Her new home was nothing but a dreary eyesore.
And Wolf Bodine hadn’t even been gentleman enough to carry her bags inside for her.
Well, she didn’t need him, she told herself coldly. She didn’t need anyone.
A coyote howled nearby. The wind rattled through the trees. From behind her an animal skittered noisily through the brush.
Rebeccah glanced around, on edge now, then quickly hoisted her trunk with an unladylike grunt and dragged it as swiftly as she could toward the door.
4
There was a kerosene lamp on a counter in the kitchen. Thankfully Rebeccah had bought matches and candles, and she rummaged for them among her store-bought parcels. As she lit the lamp and turned up the wick, she took comfort in the cozy amber glow that flooded across the room. Somehow the light seemed a weapon against the gathering darkness outside. And so were the sturdy log walls of the cabin, she reminded herself, as she picked up the lamp and began an inspection of her new home.
