Jillian Hart

by Lissa's Cowboy

  "I'm eating almost as much as I'm picking." Her voice tempted him. "How about you?"

  "Looks like I'm guilty, too." He looked up, his picking forgotten, to see her approaching with a brimming bucket "Did you want to head home?"

  "I'd like to get more." She knelt near him, smelling of forest and spice and sweet, wild berries. "But it's starting to rain."

  "A little rain never hurt anyone." He stood, held out his hand. The leaves and branches overhead shielded them, but he could hear the occasional thud of a raindrop.

  "I'm going to empty my bucket so I can pick more berries."

  He should let her go. The pail wasn't heavy. She would come to no harm doing it by herself. When she walked from his sight, though, he felt bereft, so he climbed to his feet, his bucket nearly full, too, and joined her. He took the canvas sack from behind his saddle and held it so she could empty one pail, then the other.

  "I have a good gallon, don't you think?" She looked up, her eyes as blue as those berries, as rich and sweet.

  "A good gallon." He could only repeat her words. Heaven help him, she affected him like no other.

  "Did you remember anything more?"

  "No. No image. Just an impression. Sunlight. Laughter. A brother, maybe." The memory was impossible to capture. "My remembering, does it frighten you?"

  "A little." She set down the empty pail, then reached to take the sack from him. "My family used to pick huckleberries every year. We were poor, but happy. My mother used to be the best cook. She made huckleberry juice and preserves, tarts and pies and cakes, pancakes and syrup, and dried berries for winter. We needed a lot of gallons for that. Mama would pack both a dinner and supper, and we spent all day in the woods."

  "Where is your family now? Do they live far from here?" Jack followed her into the clearing, where rain fell in slow, hesitant drops.

  "They're dead. When I was ten, we all got sick with scarlet fever." She bowed her head, her sadness as gray as the rain. "Only my older brother and 1 lived. And he was killed in a mine accident a few years later."

  "I didn't know."

  "I don't talk about it much."

  She was alone. No wonder she had no one to help her with the ranch, no one to depend on, to reach out to. She'd been alone for so long, growing up without anyone to lean on. He'd been trying to keep his distance—to do her justice by keeping his promises and by not taking anything she would regret giving him later—but she looked so lost, remembering her sorrows. He laid his hand against her cheek, felt the silken heat of her skin and the cool rain mixing with quiet tears.

  She'd told him several times she didn't want to lose another husband. It hadn't occurred to him, it never occurred to him, how much she still cared, how much she needed him.

  His lips found hers, and she opened for him, molding her body against his. She felt like summer heat and autumn storm. She was passion and need in his arms. He held her tight, and she clung to him. And then somehow they were on the ground, in a bed of soft grass surrounded by fern and berry bushes, guarded by silent pines.

  Jack tore his mouth from hers, out of breath, uncertain if she wanted him, but the way her eyes flashed affection changed something deep inside him, some long ago belief, some wall he'd always kept around his heart. Whatever it was, he felt vulnerable and unprepared for the way she cared about him, cared for him.

  "Don't stop." Her hand curled around the back of his neck and pulled his face to hers. Her lips caressed and teased and nibbled. When he reached for the button at her throat, she kissed him harder, erasing all doubt.

  He tried to resist her, control his need for her, yet it burned brighter than ever, endless and everlasting. Jack fumbled with the last of her buttons, saw the calico fabric give way to soft muslin beneath. He undressed her, and she undressed him.

  Rain tumbled from the sky—ever harder, skin temperature—drenching them as they lay together, naked and wanting. She was so beautiful that it stole his breath and all of his heart. Her soft breasts, generously pink-tipped, filled his hands, fuller than before. Her stomach curved a little, drawing his attention, too. When he laid his hand there, and then his kisses, she grew still. Their gazes met. All he could not say knotted in his throat, burned in his chest.

  She was carrying his child, and the wonder of it, the power of it, washed away the past and gave hope to the future. As if Lissa knew his thoughts, she pulled him over her and his shaft brushed her inner thigh.

  He wanted to enter her slowly, but she reached for him, pulled him down into her with one fast movement. Everything he felt everything he was, was her—sweet love and body heat and rippling pleasure. He held her tight already fighting the lure of release. But he was too frantic and she was too ready, and when she came, her muscles gloving him tight he did, too—in one long agony of pleasure that left him so in love with his wife that it hurt.

  He held her tenderly, kissing her face, her lips, her throat. The rain fell, making them new.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lissa looked into Jack's eyes, the nighttime all dark around them. She knew he wanted something. She didn't know if she could give it to him. A heart was a fragile thing, and already she'd lost too much of hers, buried with those she had loved. He kissed her, and now wanted more than a kiss, wanted deep, intimate affection, a love she was afraid to give again.

  "Cattle prices could go higher, but I doubt it. I want to take the herd in now. We'll make a decent profit with the current high prices. What do you think?"

  She looked at her husband, seated at the table, tossing a few ripe huckleberries into his mouth. How handsome he looked, with his hair rumpled and wind-tossed, his shirt stretched tight over those rock-hard shoulders. "Will and I can take care of the ranch while you're gone."

  "The rustlers may be a little trouble, but I figure they won't be able to herd all those pet cows of yours, the ones I'm keeping for breeding, so maybe we won't have too many problems." His grin flashed in the low lamplight.

  She broke a smile, knowing he was teasing her. "I'll miss you."

  "I'll miss you, too. I may be gone longer than a month. Depends on how fast we can move the herd in this heat, and on how long it takes in Billings."

  "I know." Michael had always waited until the weather was cooler to move the cattle, but she knew as well as Jack did that the prices would be lower the longer they waited. "You're leaving now to get out of having to help me put up the garden."

  "You caught me red-handed." The chair scraped, he stood, and he strode toward her in the half darkness, those sexy dimples framing his lopsided, kissable smile. "I'm just trying to get out of all the work."

  "Yep. It's just a leisurely ride up to Billings. Not work at all."

  "Exactly." He folded his arms around her, and she settled against the firm warmth of his chest. He smelled like ripe berries and grass and rain, especially rain. "Take me to bed. Have your way with me. It's your last chance for pleasure for a long while."

  "Oh, you never know when I might find myself another husband lying in the road."

  "You'd better not." His laugh rumbled through her, touching every part of her, as rich as late night dreams.

  "Pa, you can't leave." Chad had a death hold on Jack's knees, and he couldn't take a single step. "You gotta stay. Me and Puddles need you pretty bad."

  "I need you, too, partner." Jack laid his hands on the boy's back and hugged him as tight as he could. Love bubbled in his chest. "You know I have to go sell the cows. They can't make it all the way to Billings all by themselves.''

  "I know." There was so much sorrow in that sigh. "But can't Will do it?"

  "No. Remember how Will got shot? He can't ride all day for a while yet. That means I have to go."

  "But you were gonna help me teach Puddles. She still don't sit so good."

  "Your mama can help you." Jack knelt down.

  "But I want you." Chad's arms were wrapped tightly around his neck.

  "There's another reason I have to go to Billings." Jack kissed the boy
's brow. "Remember I told you that once you learned to take good care of your puppy, you would be ready for your own horse?"

  "Oh, boy. Is it true, Pa? Do I really get my own horse?"

  "I'm going to pick one out for you. Just like I promised."

  "Thank you!" Chad's hug turned bruising, then he hopped away. "You'd better hurry, Pa. I need that horse pretty bad."

  When Jack turned to Lissa, he was laughing, and so was she, but strain crinkled the areas around her eyes. The wind brushed her soft face, danced through her golden hair, played with the loose, blue-flowered dress not quite concealing her stomach.

  He didn't want to leave her. He couldn't bear to ride away, but he was doing it for her—selling her cattle, insuring there would be money in the bank to pay her debts and the hired help and see her safely through the winter—just in case he wasn't there.

  He had to prove Palmer wrong, too. He had to try to find out who he wasn't.

  "Be safe, Jack." She laid both hands on either side of his jaw, her blue eyes clear and luminous, showing the strength and colors of her heart. "You come back to us."

  "I promise it," he vowed, and he would.

  Blanche's backyard afforded little privacy, but he kissed her anyway, tasting her lips, breathing in the summer scent of her hair, remembering the feel of her. It wasn't enough, but it had to see him through the nights ahead, sleeping on the ground without her in his arms.

  He rode away, glancing back only twice. She waved once, and then stood still and silent, her skirts ruffled by the wind, watching him leave.

  "Tell me you didn't climb a ladder to pick these peaches," Blanche said the moment she stepped through the threshold. "Sophie, tell me you didn't let her."

  "I didn't let her." Sophie patted her little son on the back, then put him down on the floor. "Hans and I are going to come over and pick the fruit in the orchard for her. Will is too busy with the second cut of hay, and he's helping Hans with the work. It's the least we can do in return."

  "You don't need to do anything." Lissa reached down a third glass to fill with cool cider. "But I do appreciate the help."

  "You're really starting to show." Blanche cringed as children's shouts echoed outside the house. "Four more days until school starts. I'm counting."

  "I don't know how I'll ever let this one leave my skirts." Sophie sighed, her gaze affectionately fastened on her son, who immediately rolled himself over on the floor.

  "Believe me, you'll be glad to get rid of him in five years." Blanche yanked on her sunbonnet strings, the bow stubborn. "I'm cranky today. Morning sickness."

  Lissa handed her a glass of cider. "Maybe this will help."

  "Thanks." Blanche sipped. "Jack has been gone a while. Have you heard from him?"

  "No. I don't expect to. He's taken all but the yearlings and the breeding stock."

  "Selling off the herd?"

  Lissa reached for a paring knife. "We've had more trouble with rustlers. Jack wanted to sell the cows before they were stolen."

  Sophie quietly reached for one of the knives on the counter. Lissa saw the way her two friends exchanged looks.

  "What?"

  "It's just a rumor. Something Jeremiah heard the other night when he stopped by the general store." Blanche lifted the bucket of fragrant peaches from the floor. "You know how rumors are."

  "Hans heard it, too. It's about Jack."

  "It's that sheriff, that's what it is." Blanche set the bucket on the counter. "He told Susan Russell's husband to let him know if anything was missing out of his store. This was after Jack and your hired man Arcada came in for supplies, just before they left town."

  "Did Ike accuse Jack of stealing something?" A cold foreboding spilled through her. "Jack's gone. He can't defend himself from those kind of rumors."

  "Then Ike told the Russells that Jack was only posing as Michael's cousin, that John Murray never showed up at all." Blanche waved her hand dismissively. "Now, I don't believe that for a moment. Anyone can see what fine a man you married."

  "And look how he's helped out, with Hans still recovering from that bullet in his back," Sophie added. "A liar and a thief wouldn't do something like that."

  In her heart, Lissa knew Sophie was right. "Jack isn't Michael's cousin. He isn't John Murray."

  Blanche paled. "Do you mean the sheriff is right?"

  Lissa saw Jack's credibility and his reputation disintegrate, like old leaves in a strong wind. "Jack is a good man. The truth is, he's never regained his memory from the accident. We don't know who he is."

  Shocked silence filled the room. Sophie peeked around the kitchen wall to check on her son, who was struggling so hard to try to crawl.

  "Does that mean the rumor is true?" Blanche whispered the words as if she, like Lissa, was too afraid to voice them aloud. "Is Jack the missing outlaw? The one who's killed up to twenty innocent people, they say, and has done everything from robbing banks to rustling cattle?"

  "Jack isn't that outlaw." Lissa felt it with a certainty. "He's the most honorable man I know."

  "Others don't feel that way." Sophie's words were kind. "Hans won't say a word against Jack, not after how he's helped us, but some people are having hard times on their spreads. They're looking for someone to blame."

  "Some think Jack's been behind the cattle rustling in these parts. It's nearly bankrupted some ranchers. It's a serious thing." Blanche hung her head. "I don't believe the rumors," she added.

  "But you know how rumors can get."

  "I know." Lissa's hand shook as she grabbed a peach from the brimming bucket. She sliced it in half, then pitted it. Anger scorched her chest, made her breathing rough.

  "Maybe the rumors will die down by the time Jack returns." Sophie sounded hopeful.

  "Maybe." In her heart, Lissa knew differently. She could feel it like a dark, cold wind.

  As Lissa clutched the strings of her reticule tightly in both hands she knew she was angry enough to snap the strings in two. Light shivered in the sky as afternoon turned to evening. A cool breeze whispered in the trees and kicked up small dust devils in the street.

  She didn't even knock, just pushed open the jailhouse door. Anger rang in her step, in the strength of her arms as she pushed the door too hard and it slammed against the wood wall.

  "Hell, Lissa, You scared the crap out of me." Ike Palmer swiped one hand through his dark locks, the other hand firmly gripping a loaded Peacemaker.

  "You haven't seen anything yet." She yanked the door shut, withering the protesting deputy with a single stare. The lean-limbed man bowed his head and mumbled about checking something outside.

  "There's one thing I find greatly unattractive," the sheriff began in that smooth voice of his. "And that's a woman with a temper."

  "I've known you most of my life, but I'm only now beginning to see the real Ike Palmer." Distaste for the man soured her mouth.

  "You haven't the faintest idea." He looked smug.

  Anger flared. "You started those rumors. You told everyone Jack is an outlaw. You know he isn't—"

  "I don't know that."

  "Don't interrupt me." She slammed her fist on the edge of his desk, rattling the gun and the box of cigars lying there. "How can you hurt a good man?"

  "A good man? He's a killer. He's—"

  "But you, you're the sheriff. You were too lazy to get off your duff and hunt down those dangerous men."

  "I tried—"

  "Don't lie to me." She heard her voice rise, knew she was the most angry she'd ever been. "Don't you ever call me friend, stop me on the street, or think that for one instant I would want you for my husband if Jack weren't around."

  "But Lissa, I never—"

  "I know you did. I don't want you spreading any more rumors about Jack."

  "What are you gonna do to stop me? Yell a little louder?"

  His insult felt like a slap, this from someone who had always been her friend. "You've gone too far this time, Ike. I'll never forgive you for this."

 
"You'll thank me in time. He's a criminal, and I'm going to prove it. The mail is due on the stage today. If I get what I'm looking for, I'm going to hunt him down. I told him not to leave town."

  "He went to sell the cattle, and you know it."

  "I just hope he brings back your money, and so do a lot of people in this town, people who are hurting because of the outlaws. Who's to say Jack isn't behind all their trouble?" Ike sounded sympathetic, but she wasn't fooled.

  Ike's spurs jangled in the silence, echoing in the empty jail cell. He pulled open the door. "I'll look for you at the harvest dance. You'll save me a waltz?"

  "Never."

  "Well, we'll see what happens between now and then. A woman in your condition and without a proper husband just might have to change her mind."

  What she wanted to do was give the sheriff a good kick in the shin. Lissa stepped out onto the street, her anger so hard and tight she didn't know what to do. The day had been long; she'd been helping Blanche put up gallons of plums since dawn. Now she was tired, so very tired.

  Jack should be home in a few days.

  Lissa jumped out of bed. She couldn't remember the dream that woke her, but the pop of gunfire echoed in the night air. A cool breeze fluttered through the curtains and she pulled them back, gazing out at the darkness.

  She saw silvered shadows and a thousand shades of black. Will had brought the breeding cows close to the barn, where they would be more easily defended by one man, but the animals were quiet, bedded down on the ground for the night. Only Pete the bull seemed disturbed, restlessly roaming the length of the solid fencing.

  The gunfire continued, but it wasn't over her animals. Lissa grabbed her housecoat and slipped her bare feet into her shoes. She checked on Chad—sound asleep with his puppy—and hurried outside.

  She saw a flicker of light in the barn, and then a man emerged, orange flames lighting his face. "Will. Do you know what's going on?"