Jillian Hart

by Lissa's Cowboy

  "Come on. I'll put you to bed."

  "It's early." Her protest shivered through him, and when he took her hand the heat of her, the gentleness of her, touched him all the way to his soul.

  Tonight, he would lead her to their room, help her with her clothes and into her nightgown. He would tuck her in safely with a kiss good night. Then he would walk away. He had work to do, this woman to honor.

  He would honor her best by respecting her, by giving her nothing more to regret.

  Chapter Sixteen

  "I'm heading out with the hands to cut the cattle." Jack sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on his trousers. "We have to decide which to keep for breeding and which to sell. Did you want to come?"

  Lissa squinted against the low morning rays slanting into the room. He stood up from the chair, his steely frame casting a long shadow into the room.

  Her heart stopped just looking at him. "Blanche is coming this morning. We're making preserves."

  "Did you need me to watch Chad?"

  "No. Blanche is bringing her children. They will play together in the yard. Her oldest can keep an eye on the younger ones."

  "Just let me know if you need anything. Will shouldn't ride all day with his leg still mending, so he should be in the fields or the barn. Just send him to fetch me."

  "I will." How she wished she could touch him, wrap her arms around his strength, breathe him in like air, but he'd avoided her touch. He wasn't cold, just cautious.

  She heard his footsteps retreat, and reached for her blue gingham work dress. Soft calico whispered against her fingers as she tugged the dress on. In the heat, she wore only drawers and a camisole. The cotton caressed her skin as it slid down her body, her hips, her legs.

  "Jack, do you want me to bring breakfast out to you and the men?" She began buttoning her dress.

  "We'd appreciate it." His voice came muffled through the thick walls of the log home. "It's going to be another long day. I can send Will in to get the food. Would that be easier?"

  Her fingers stilled. There, at her waist, was a gap in the fabric. The buttons didn't meet She looked up and caught her reflection in the mirror. The white muslin of her chemise showed against the edges of blue checked placket

  "Lissa?" He hesitated outside the room.

  She could only stare at her stomach, at the dress that had fit her just yesterday.

  "Lissa?" His hands cupped her shoulders, gentle as always. "Is something wrong?"

  "Not wrong." Her throat closed. She could not talk, could not breathe.

  "Your dress doesn't fit" Jack's words were soft against her ear.

  "No, it doesn't" She found her voice. She had lost babies. Now she laid her hand on her stomach, hoping this time would be different.

  "The baby?" His hand covered hers, and she could lean against him, feel the steely hardness of his chest the strong protection of his arms.

  "This is just the beginning. Before too long I'm going to be too big to button my shoes." How she wanted this child.

  "You're going to need new clothes." His voice against her ear sounded so good, so happy.

  "I already have them. 1 just need to dig them out of the attic."

  "I'll do it. I don't want you climbing any ladders, not unless there's a roof fire." He squeezed her, his hug warm and tender, sustaining. "And no heavy lifting. Agreed?"

  "Sure. I'll just stand around while you do my bidding." Really. "This is a farm, Jack. I can still do my normal work."

  "No climbing. No heavy lifting." He released her, but his heart, his affection didn't end when he stepped away, or when he headed toward the door. "What do I look for up there?"

  "A trunk. It's the blue one."

  His smile flashed and it almost, almost, felt right, without strain, just as it used to be between them.

  Pregnant. He'd been worried about that ever since the sheriff paid him a visit and levied his threat just to insert a wedge in their marriage.

  It had worked. Jack considered the baby. Although in his heart he feared Palmer was right, that he was the missing killer, Jack had to find a little hope. For Chad, for Lissa, and most of all for her baby.

  "These cows here are the springer heifers Lissa bottle-raised two years ago." Will gestured with one gloved hand into the unforgiving rays of the sun. "These are usually the best breeding stock. They're tame, gentle, and easy to handle. Plus, they come when they see a bucket. Easy to take care of come winter."

  "Looks like they come without a bucket." Jack laughed as the curious cows lifted their big heads, watching the men with thoughtful eyes. One sniffed the air, then hurried over.

  "That's Clover. She's a handful. There's nothing worse than a pet cow, you know. They don't herd well."

  "Or behave well." Jack laughed when the big brown cow came up and nosed Will's saddlebag.

  "Hey, that corn in there is for my horse." Will waved his hand at the cow, who wouldn't budge.

  Encouraged by Clover's boldness, the others followed, maybe fifty of them, all curious tongues outstretched, trying to figure out where the grain was hidden.

  "I guess we leave these. We'll never get them to the railroad in Billings."

  "Right, boss. Not unless we took wagons of corn for them to follow. Feedin' them all that way would put a ranch out of business."

  The cows became obstinate over the lack of grain and refused to move aside for the horses.

  "Like I said, they make great breeding cows. Easy to handle if there's a calving problem." Will shook his head. "Outta my way, Clover. I'm not giving you any grain."

  A movement caught Jack's eye. A brown blur down low in the field, running adjacent to the big, split rail fence. He blinked, and there Pete was, dashing toward them in this pasture instead of the other.

  "Do we have a fence down?"

  "Didn't last night when McLeod rode it. Every inch of it, just like you wanted."

  "Then we have a problem. That bull shouldn't be in with these heifers." Jack had made sure the fence was too high to jump, strong enough to deter a stampeding herd. "Come on."

  The gentle cows would not scatter at the wave of his hat, so he had to weave around them. Pete, dashing full speed, skidded to a stop in greeting just before he collided with Jack's gelding.

  "Will, got that grain?"

  "It's for my horse," the young man insisted. Then he laughed. "Some days, a man just can't win."

  "I know the feeling." His gaze traveled to the fence line, then back to Pete, who was licking the toe of Jack's boot. "Come with us, Pete. Will has a treat for you."

  "He prefers a bucket." Will untied the small burlap bag from his saddle pack and held it high.

  Pete's nostrils flared and his big pink tongue shot out.

  "Follow us, Pete." Jack led the way down the fence line and shook his head when the gentle cows followed, too, hoping for some of the corn.

  There it was, a hole in the fence. Piles of shavings and the clean cut of the wood left no doubt.

  Rustlers.

  "Mama, I can't find Winston." Chad poked his head in at the kitchen door, his hair rumpled with bits of grass from his morning of playing.

  "Maybe Winston doesn't want to be around so many loud children," she teased, turning from the stove.

  "If I were her, I'd run from all those ruffians out there," Blanche added from the basin, where steaming water curled into the already hot air. "Look at those wild things. Whose children are they, anyway?"

  Lissa laughed. "Apples don't fall far from the tree."

  "I think they've had too much summer. I'll be glad when school starts." Blanche gingerly lifted a steaming hot jar and dried it with care. "Jeremiah is already planning his lessons. Is Jack going to be taking the cattle up to Billings before or after the dance?"

  "Before, I think." He hadn't spoken much of anything. He was working so hard in the fields. Already stacks of hay dotted the south side of the barn, which sported a fresh coat of whitewash and a repaired roof, just as Jack promised long ago. "Cattle
prices are up. With the tough winter we had last year, many animals died."

  "That will be good news for the ranchers. And maybe for our fund-raiser." Blanche glanced up at the clock. "It's time, Lissa. Let me grab the hot pads, and we'll get these preserves off the heat."

  Lissa held the pan while Blanche skimmed off the foam with a long handled spoon. Then together they filled the sparkling clean jars. The scent of sugar-sweetened berries lifted with the steam, and the purple-blue jam brightened the wooden counter.

  "Whew, is it hot in here." Blanche whisked the emptied kettle from Lissa's grip. "A red-hot stove in the middle of August is never a good idea."

  "I can smuggle up some of the lemonade I mixed this morning. It's in the cellar."

  "Do it. The children don't need to know we sneaked a few glasses. There has to be some reward for slaving away to make the winter's preserves."

  Laughing, Lissa pulled the ring handle in the floor and stepped down into the dark cellar. She grabbed the covered pitcher, cooled and sweet-smelling. She handed it up to Blanche, whose hands were dripping with washwater.

  "I noticed your stomach is showing." Blanche grabbed two cups from the cabinet.

  "Just barely." Lissa curled her fingers around the pitcher's metal handle.

  "Excited?"

  "And scared." She didn't mention that today, even though she tried to not think of it, was the day her last baby was born. "But that's normal."

  "That makes two of us. I didn't want to say anything at our last club meeting, because of your announcement, but—"

  Lissa studied her dear friend's smiling face. "You're pregnant, too?"

  Blanche nodded. "I wasn't sure last month, but I am this one. I suppose your morning sickness has passed already?"

  "I'm still a little queasy in the afternoons."

  "Then we can be sick together. And fat."

  "And happy." Lissa filled both glasses. "This lemonade tastes like heaven. I took a sip this morning, before you came."

  "Hmm. It does. I think we should set out the meal, I—"

  A door swung open, and Lissa heard Jack's low laughter, rich and merry as he stepped into the kitchen with Chad at his knee, saw the big rugged man with his riding boots, his shirt half-buttoned, his hat gripped in one hand. He listened patiently to Chad's account of the morning. When he looked up, his gaze arrowed to hers, and he smiled, truly smiled. But she saw the shadows in his eyes—trouble.

  "I'm going to town," he said, "do you need anything?"

  Chad spoke up. "Candy."

  Jack laughed, but all Lissa could manage was a wobbly smile. She recognized the tense set of his wide shoulders, the clenched angle of his jaw. Something was wrong.

  He caught her hand, his touch reassuring. She felt the calluses on his fingers, the strength of him. He pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I have some business to take care of. I can't say when I'll be back."

  "I'll walk you to the barn." Her stomach tightened. Something had stirred Jack's anger.

  "It's best if we talk later. Stay and have a good time with your friend. And don't worry. Promise?"

  His blue eyes sparkled with warmth, with caring. There was a time when he would have held her tightly to his chest, as close as possible, instead of standing with the room between them.

  She nodded, and he was gone. The power of his stride carried him quickly from her sight. Her chest tightened. She ached in a way that made her feel empty and lonely without him, even if she didn't want to.

  She never wanted to care for any man that much, so that his loss, his absence, left her less of a person, with less of a heart.

  * * *

  Jack pushed open the jailhouse door, prepared to meet trouble head-on. Anger drove him and he waited in the threshold, met the sheriff's gaze.

  Palmer sat behind his desk, surprise widening his eyes. That quickly faded. "Didn't think you were man enough to darken my door."

  "Did you think I was a coward? That I'd spend my time hiding from the law?"

  A muscle jumped along the sheriff's temple. "Truth is, I never figured you for a coward. Or a fool. You know I'm itchin' to lock you up."

  "Got to have charges that will stick." Jack slammed the door behind him. They were alone, just the way he wanted it ."How about bothering some real criminals? Lissa has some more rustlers."

  "I thought you killed them." The sheriff stood. The set of the man's mouth, the lack of surprise in his eyes, told Jack something.

  "I did. But now there's a few more. Not more than two or three, judging from the tracks. They took a few of the springer heifers, some of our better stock."

  "Lissa's pet heifers?"

  "No. So far, the rustlers haven't been able to drive them off." Jack thought about that. Lissa's gentle cows would bring a good price, not for beef, but for breeding. Ranchers would pay good cash for such stock and not ask any questions. "I imagine it's just a matter of time. I know your opinion of me, Palmer, but we both don't want to see Lissa lose everything."

  "No." The sheriff's mouth was hard, but the flicker in his eye, the lift of his voice, spoke otherwise. "Planning on going somewhere?"

  "I guess it depends on you." Jack looked his enemy straight in the eye, saw the cold hard heart of the man, felt the same power in his own. "I'm not afraid, either way. And as far as the rustlers go, if you don't catch them, I will."

  "You can count on me." The sheriff smiled, and Jack wasn't fooled.

  He wasn't fooled at all.

  "The rustlers are back," Jack said as he pushed open the screen door, the hinge squeaking. "And we're on our own. The sheriff isn't going to help."

  Lissa looked up from tightening the lids on those jars cool enough to close. "Did we lose much stock?"

  "A dozen or so heifers."

  "The very valuable animals." She tried not to meet his gaze, tried not to feel the distance between them. "Did Johanson have some losses, too?"

  "No. Just us. So far." Jack hung his hat on the peg. "Where's Chad?"

  "He went home with Blanche. Puddles went, too."

  "That's why the house feels so empty. Do I smell huckleberries?"

  "Blanche and I made preserves today. Her family is going to go picking this evening. I wanted to go, too, but I wasn't sure when you would be back."

  "I see." He unbuckled his holster. "So it's just you and me for the night."

  "Looks that way." Her chest squeezed. She feared what he did not say, feared he didn't want to be alone with her. "I want to get enough berries to dry so I can bake with them this winter. I was going to ride up into the hills and do a little picking."

  "Up in the hills?" He gazed out the window, troubled. "I don't want you to go alone."

  "I guess I could ask one of the men. I've always been safe. I'm not going far."

  "There are clouds on the horizon. It smells like rain. We could have another thunderstorm."

  "I know how to avoid lightning. And wildfires." Really, it was better that she stand on her own two feet, even though she was weary of it, even if she just wanted a strong shoulder to lean on now and then. She'd learned the hard way depending on someone wasn't always for the best

  "I left your supper wrapped up in the cellar. Some leftover chicken and potato salad. And there's a glass or two of lemonade left in the pitcher."

  He caught hold of her arm, his grip gentle but as binding as steel. "Let me go with you. I can eat later."

  She wanted to be with him, but was it a good idea? He'd been pushing away from her, keeping himself distant She had been doing the same.

  "I insist." Jack reached for his gun and his hat. "Come on. I'm pretty good at berrying. I used to pick huckleberries all the time when I was a boy."

  A coldness arrowed through her heart "Are you remembering?"

  A look of surprise crossed his face, a face made handsome by the warmth of his eyes and the gentle brush of his very masculine, very sexy smile. "I guess I did. Hmm. Maybe I'd better eat a bunch of those huckleberries and see what else I can remember."r />
  She laughed, the flicker of humor in his gaze so welcome. This was the Jack she knew, the one she cherished. At the same time, she feared what he would remember—and how it would tear them apart.

  The wind felt cool and the sky cloudy when they reached the line of trees. Tall pines and firs crested the low hills, and Jack scented the breeze as he dismounted. Rain.

  He caught hold of Charlie's bit and the big horse waited patiently as Lissa swung down, ruffling skirts and all. Charlie nudged him, looking for a treat.

  "Here." Lissa withdrew a new carrot from her skirt pocket. She held her hand, palm up, while Charlie lifted the treat daintily with his lips. The wind whipped her skirts around her legs, hugging her form. Jack could not force his gaze from the length of her legs, from the curve of her hips, or the small roundness of her stomach.

  Not sure what he should feel, what he should think, Jack grabbed down the metal pails from his saddle horn and tethered his gelding to a low tree. He reached for Charlie's reins, the big horse still crunching on his carrot, and did the same.

  "Look. It's a wonderful crop this year." She breathed the words. She lured him when he should turn away and force distance between them. "I'll start right here. My bucket, please."

  She held out her hands, elegant, stained purple-blue from her preserve making. Those hands, he knew how they felt laid flat against his chest, knew how soft they were, how gentle. His blood thickened as he remembered all the ways she'd touched him, how he wanted her to touch him again, and shouldn't.

  He handed her the bucket, unable to speak. She smiled, and he could not look away, even when she turned and knelt down before a low, flat-leafed bush, then began plucking ripe, huckleberries from supple stems. The berries plunked into the bottom of the bucket. He stood there, simply watching her, craving her like air and sunshine and late night passion.

  Just pick the berries, he told himself. He'd made a promise, one she knew nothing about He would do right by her. He wanted to make sure she never regretted their time together.

  He left her picking berries and knelt down before a bush several yards away. He could hear her if she called out, but he could not see her. It was better that way. If he couldn't look at her, then it didn't hurt so much not being able to need her.