Jillian Hart

by Lissa's Cowboy

  "Sounds like it's coming from Johanson's place. I'm going to head over there and see if Hans needs any help. Here's the rifle. Bolt yourself in the house. Don't come out, even if there's trouble."

  "But I can—"

  "The cows aren't worth your life. Besides, I need to know you're in the house in case I decide to shoot any prowlers. Agreed?"

  "Agreed." Lissa took the repeating rifle Will handed her. "I'll wait up until you come home. Be safe, Will."

  "I'll do my best." The young man dashed off, caught his horse, and galloped off into the night.

  The darkness felt ominous, the shadows deeper than before. The crispness of the night air made it clear. Summer was over, autumn was here. Shivering, Lissa headed for the house and bolted herself in.

  "The rustlers got away with nearly the entire herd." Sophie's quiet statement echoed through the staircase of the empty schoolhouse.

  "The entire herd?" Lissa nearly dropped the pie plate she carried. "Will only told me your losses were bad."

  "Bad isn't the word for it." Sophie stepped up onto the landing and led the way into the upper story, her moccasins quiet but her sorrow rang clear. "With Hans injured by those first rustlers, and now all but a few cows gone, we have nothing to sell—only the hay the neighbors helped him cut."

  "You won't have to move, will you?"

  Sophie set the crystal cake plate on the cloth-covered table. "Probably. When is Jack expected home?"

  "Any time." In truth, six weeks had gone by since he'd left—six weeks without a letter, without a word, without anything.

  "Hans wanted to offer him our land first. I don't know if it's worth much with the mortgage on it, but it's better to sell if we can than go bankrupt."

  "Oh, Sophie." Lissa set down the pie in order to give her friend a hug. Tears knotted in her throat, and she didn't know what to say. "I wish there was something I could do to help."

  "Me, too. But what's done is done." Sophie stepped away, the light of friendship bright in her eyes. "Tonight is a time to put sorrows aside. To dance and celebrate, and raise a lot of money for a lending library."

  Lissa tried to smile, but could not help feeling sad for her friend, for good people who didn't deserve such hardship.

  "The same thing happened to Maude Hubbard's family." Felicity James strolled in carrying two covered platters, bowed backward by the weight of them.

  Lissa jumped to help.

  "Nonsense, these big platters will poke you in your tummy." Felicity's eyes sparkled. "You can clear a spot on the table for me."

  "How about right here?" Lissa pushed pies and cakes aside to make way for the infamous James sisters' delicious fudge.

  "What happened to the Hubbards?" Sophie stepped forward and took one huge platter from Felicity before she accidentally dumped them both on the floor.

  "Rustlers struck two days ago. I just heard about it myself. Took their entire herd, except Maude's pet milk cows that were too stubborn to be chased around by a bunch of rustlers." Fudge safely on the table, Felicity led the way toward the staircase. "That's the third family in as many weeks."

  "What's Ike doing about it?" Lissa held the banister tightly, careful of the steep steps.

  "He's supposed to be hiring more deputies, although I don't know what good that will do unless he actually goes after the outlaws." Felicity shook her head. "Maybe we should elect your husband as sheriff, Lissa. At least he knows how to handle rustlers. How are you doing in this heat?"

  "Fine." She brushed the curls out of her face and stepped outside into the cooler breeze. Though the sunshine was hot, autumn was here. "I think we have just the cider to take up."

  "Felicity and I will do it. You shouldn't be carrying those heavy jugs." Sophie reached for a crate in the back of her wagon.

  "Then I'll start decorating the tables." Lissa climbed into her own wagon and found the box of candles. She scooted the carton to the edge of the tailgate with her foot, then hopped down to the ground.

  "Where's your man?" A shadow fell across the lawn at her feet.

  She whirled around, startled. "Mr. Hubbard. I'm not sure when Jack will return. He took the cattle to the sale—"

  "Did he skip town?" A vein throbbed along the side of his throat.

  "No, of course not He's coming home." His fury radiated like heat from a stove. "Is there something wrong?"

  "Damn right, there is. I knew your pa, but I can't keep quiet anymore. It ain't right, you hiding an outlaw in this town. We're peaceable people. Now look at what's happened."

  Her throat went dry. "I heard about your misfortune. We've had our share of trouble from the rustlers, too."

  "Funny how your man was out of town when all this happened. Who's to say he ain't behind all this, stealing from hard-workin' folk? The sheriff says he's a cattle thief."

  "The sheriff is wrong." Lissa held out one hand to stop him.

  Milt Hubbard slammed his fist against the bed of her wagon, shaking the vehicle, rattling the cider jugs. "This is your fault. Don't think I don't know what your husband's been up to."

  Lissa saw his naked violence, smelled the alcohol on his breath. She took a step back.

  Hubbard followed her, shaking his fist, his face growing redder with each word. "Go ahead and run. But you tell that man of yours, wherever he's hiding out, that he ain't gonna get away with it."

  Lissa's back hit the broad trunk of a pine. She couldn't retreat any farther. "Jack didn't steal the cattle, Milt."

  "No one else around here would do it." That fist slashed the air.

  Lissa thought of her baby, saw the unreasonable anger gleam in the drunk man's eyes. She reached up and slapped him, the sound reverberating in the schoolyard. "Don't you threaten me, you big bully."

  "Yes, how dare you!" Felicity ran up behind him and swatted him with her reticule, a heavy object that made a terrible cracking sound when it collided with his skull.

  "It's her fault. You heard what that man of hers is. Probably ain't even a legal marriage." Hubbard rubbed his head. "He ran off with your money, didn't he? Sold your cattle and kept the cash. Just like a thievin'—"

  Anger tore through her. "You don't even know Jack. He would never—"

  "Shame on you, harassing a pregnant woman." Blanche barged up and smacked the man with the brim of her hat. "And you smell like a vat of whiskey."

  Lissa was startled when Sophie touched her hand.

  "Come with me," the quiet woman whispered. Then she led her away from the scene. Lissa could hear Blanche warning Milt Hubbard that she was still in the clutches of morning sickness, and that made her terribly cranky. That would have been funny if Lissa hadn't been crying so hard. Anger warred with a terrible hurt that started deep inside her chest and radiated through her entire being.

  "Milt is drunk," Sophie whispered. "Jack would never do those terrible things."

  Rumors were powerful. Lissa took a deep breath, hoping Chad never had to hear what other men were saying about his beloved pa.

  Fiddle music drew Jack down the street. The lighted schoolhouse shone a block away. The night was cool as autumn tightened its grip on the land. The ground crunched beneath his feet.

  He saw her from the doorway, through the mesh of the crowd and the whirl of dancers. She wore a blue dress, the exact shade of her eyes, the color of heaven. Her hair was tied up in a fancy knot, with her soft, ringlet curls framing her angel face.

  The long hard miles of riding, the cold nights, the hardship of the trail, all faded, became nothing at the sight of her.

  "Pa!" The excited note of Chad's voice rose above the merry music and drone of voices from the crowd. The boy, just a little bit taller and wearing a black coat and trousers raced toward him, arms flung wide.

  "Hello, partner." Jack knelt to take the child in his arms, and his chest ached at the sweetness of Chad's hug. "I think you grew a whole foot while I was away."

  "I've been waitin' forever."

  Jack brushed at the boy's bangs, in his eyes aga
in. "I'm sorry I took so long getting back to you. But I had to take my time so I could find the right horse for my son."

  "You did get me a horse. Oh, boy!" Awe flickered in those big, dark eyes. "Just like you said."

  "Just like I said." Jack stood, took the boy's hand. "I have her tucked into the best stall in the barn back home, just waiting for you."

  "Can we see her right now?"

  "Let's ask your mother." Jack laughed, glad to be home, glad to see that he meant something, was something, and not just a man without a name, without a past. He was Chad's father. Lissa's husband. If that's all he ever knew about himself, it was more than most men could dream of.

  "Hey, Murray."

  Jack felt a blow to his back, and he spun around, releasing Chad's hand, feet braced. He didn't fall. The shove wasn't enough to knock him to the ground. He faced Milt Hubbard, red-faced and drunk.

  "I wanna talk with you, Murray. Or is it Plummer?"

  "Chad, go find your mother." Jack felt the low, tight clamp of his spine, knew he was looking at trouble.

  "Well, answer me." Hubbard shoved Jack hard.

  He braced his feet, caught the man by the wrist and held him prisoner. "Wait until the boy is out of the way."

  "Why would a man like you care about a little boy, or about anyone?"

  Jack released his grip. The rancher broke away and rubbed his wrist, the band of bruising already visible. "I care a lot. What's gotten into you, Hubbard? Last time I saw you it was at my wedding party. You were more than happy to eat the meal Lissa and her friends prepared. You weren't complaining then."

  "That was before I knew you was a liar and a thief."

  The music stopped mid-note. Faces turned toward them.

  Tense silence settled about the room, thick and cold as fog.

  "I'm no liar. And I'm not a thief." Jack saw a few men muscle close to Hubbard, saw the equally dangerous anger in their eyes, in their stance.

  He saw the guns holstered, felt the weight of his own. "This is a room full of people. Of women and children. Let's take this outside."

  "We wanna know what you done with our cattle."

  "Yeah, did you sell my cows with the rest of your herd?"

  "Yeah, Jack." It was Palmer's voice this time. "Tell them what you did with the cattle."

  "Tell us." Now there were five men closing in on him.

  "I didn't take anyone's cattle. Sheriff, help me calm down these men. You don't want any trouble in the school-house. People could get hurt."

  "You mean you could." Hubbard threw a punch.

  Jack sidestepped, unharmed. "I'm not Dillon Plummer. I have evidence. I—"

  "My boys ain't gonna have nothing to eat this winter because of you." Hubbard threw another punch, then a second.

  Jack dodged both of them.

  "The rustling has started up again, just about the time you were supposed to have left town." Jim Anders stepped forward, fists clenched. "I lost my entire herd. Everything. Even the milk cow. How am I gonna pay my mortgage? I got children needing food and a roof over their heads. And you stole from them. Get a rope, boys."

  "I got a rope," the sheriff offered.

  "No!" Lissa's voice, sharp and high. "Mr. Anders, you're drunk. You're all drunk. Don't you dare—"

  "Havin' a woman defend you, huh, Plummer?" Bob Riley jeered. "Hiding behind her skirts while you steal from us. Now lettin' her beg for your life."

  "Calm down, now." Jack held up both hands, trying to figure out how best to stop the men. He had guns, but violence was no solution. These were ranchers, not outlaws. "Anders, put down that rope and listen to me."

  "Grab his hands!" Anders shouted.

  "Let's take him outside," another added.

  "Yeah, the maple in the yard will be a good place to hang him." Hubbard balled his right hand into a fist.

  "No!" Lissa saw the punch, saw Jack dodge the blow. As powerful as he was, he was only one man.

  He stood tall and calm, his shoulders braced, trying to get the drunken men to listen to him. He dodged another blow, but Anders hit him from behind. Jack dropped to his knees, and the men descended on him.

  "Mama!" Chad's anguish tore through her. He hid his face in her skirts, crying for all he was worth. She could not leave her son. She could not save her husband.

  "Sophie will take him." Blanche fought through the crowd and lifted Chad by the forearms. He fought her, but he settled against Sophie, crying inconsolably, his heart breaking.

  "Palmer, stop those men right now." Blanche, still cranky from her bad bout of all day morning sickness, took after the sheriff. "This here is a civilized gathering—"

  Blanche's scolding became background noise as Lissa pushed her way through the crowd. Her round shape made it hard to squeeze through the wall of people frozen by the sight of violence.

  "Jack." She gasped. Men surrounded him, had lifted him up between them and were carrying him out the door. "Jack!"

  The men ignored her, tumbling out into the cool night. What would make them stop? She snatched a broom that leaned in the corner of the foyer.

  "That's enough, boys." Palmer shouldered past her. "Put him down. This is a civilized town. We don't stand for vigilante justice."

  "He deserves to hang." Hubbard grabbed the noose from Anders.

  "He will, trust me."

  Lissa watched in horror as Ike Palmer approached the group. Jack hit the ground; she heard the air rush out of his lungs. He lay on the cold, hard dirt, gasping for breath. She pushed past Milt Hubbard and dropped to her knees. "Jack."

  "Lissa, I don't want you in the middle of this."

  "I'm fine. But you're not." She laid her hand against his jaw, felt whiskery stubble, the heat of his skin, and the wetness of blood.

  "Out of the way, Lissa." Palmer took her by the shoulder. "I don't want to push a pregnant woman, but I will if that's what it takes for me to bring in my prisoner."

  "Prisoner?"

  "Your husband is under arrest."

  Chapter Eighteen

  The cell was cool with the night's frost Jack's head pounded, his lip bled, and his ribs ached something fierce, but he wasn't seriously hurt. It wasn't himself he worried about. It was Lissa. He had hated the horror on her face, hated knowing she had to live with consequences she hadn't created.

  Midnight passed; he could tell by the circling motion of the stars. The harvest dance had broken up an hour before. He'd heard the creak and rattle of buggies and wagons rolling past on the road outside. The small, barred window didn't allow him to see much, but he could hear the murmur of voices as families walked to their homes in town, and the faint tinny piano music at the saloon across the street.

  How was Lissa doing? It was all he could think about. The image lingered in his mind of her sitting at one of the candlelit tables, the light glittering in her golden hair, the softness of her face as she leaned to speak with one of the James sisters.

  Her pregnancy had advanced while he was gone. He'd known it would, of course. The roundness of her stomach was unmistakable now. She looked serene sitting there, happy, and the instant he'd stepped through the door, he'd taken that serenity from her.

  Bitterness twisted his stomach, soured his mouth. After finding the best price for their cattle, he'd spent an extra week trying to figure out who he was, or wasn't. The local sheriff wasn't too helpful. Sure, he tried, but he was young and new at the job. The former sheriff had died of a fever, leaving the office unfilled for a few months.

  So, Jack and Arcada had leafed through the wanted posters and the leaflets about wanted men, and tried to find a match. Nothing. At least he could say with confidence he wasn't an outlaw.

  He'd ridden home with such great plans. His conscience clear, he envisioned building up the ranch, maybe buying more land, adding an addition to the house with a playroom for Chad, a hobby room for Lissa, and a nursery for the baby. He even thought about breeding some horses, to diversify a little. Most of all, when the workday was done, he envisione
d coming home to bask in the light of Lissa's smile.

  How he'd missed her. How he'd ached for her, hurt without her to complete him. When the ranch had rolled into view, it was dark—no lights warming the windows, chasing away the night. Then he remembered her plans for the dance, and headed to town—headed straight into trouble.

  Until he could prove the sheriff wrong and hunt down the true rustlers, his wife and son would not be safe.

  "Now I got you right where I want you." Jack's head ached at the sheriff's triumphant voice. "I didn't throw the first punch, Palmer. You saw what happened. Half the town saw what happened."

  "Assault is only the charge I'm using to keep you here." Palmer's spurs clinked against the stone floor as he paced in front of the barred cell door. "This morning I'm getting the mayor to authorize sending a messenger. That damn sheriff's office isn't answering my letter. I bet they'll listen when they find out who I have cooling his heels in my jail."

  Jack's head pounded at the brightness of the new morning's light. "I'm not Dillon Plummer."

  "Bull." Palmer kicked the bars. The door rattled.

  Jack's head screamed with pain. He hadn't taken that hard a punch last night, but it had been directly over his old injury.

  A door squeaked open. "Palmer?" Lissa called, her voice tense and tight.

  He remembered how she'd fought through the crowd to reach him. He remembered being afraid someone would push her or knock her to the ground. She might be strong, but she was fragile, too, and she was carrying their child.

  "Don't get your hopes up. I'm not letting her see you." Palmer turned away. A door closed, and he couldn't hear anything more, but at least the piercing, bright sunshine had faded.

  In the dim corner cell, Jack rubbed his forehead. He knew Lissa would get him out. He'd made sure Arcada had the evidence they searched so hard for during their stay in Billings.

  "You thought I was angry before," she warned Ike the minute he stepped into the jailhouse. "It's nothing compared to what I'm feeling now."

  "Why did you bring him?" Palmer gestured toward the man behind her.