"Want me to stir up the coals? You look as if you need some tea."
"I just need you." Her gaze met his, her big, luminous eyes drawing him closer, drawing him in. "I didn't want to wake you, so I came out here. I'm still angry over what those men—men who were good friends to Michael and me, men I went to school with—accused you of—"
"That was desperation talking. And hopelessness." He settled down across the table from her, leaning into the pool of light that surrounded her like a halo. "Lambert and some of the other men lost everything they have worked for."
"That gave them no right to do what they did tonight. Scaring Chad. Upsetting me. Nearly attacking you."
"They are entitled to their anger. They just need to direct it at the men causing the trouble, not at me." He took her hands in his, felt the tremble of fear and anger. "I will put an end to this. You can count on it. When I find the men responsible, all of this heartache will stop."
"You shouldn't have to do Palmer's job just to prove yourself." Absolute faith rang in her voice, clear as church bells, certain as dawn. "You never need to prove yourself to me."
What had he done to earn that? He'd married her, done right by her, that was all. "I guess the right woman found me in the road last spring. Think where I would be if old spinster Mills came across me."
"She's a terrible cook. You're very lucky I picked you up and claimed you." Lissa laughed, leaning into his arms, the night shining in her eyes.
"Damn lucky," he agreed, then led her back to the warmth and comfort of their bed.
Chapter Twenty
Lissa heard the laughter, muffled by the log walls and thick chinking. She caught herself smiling. Jack must be back from town.
"Here's my head count of the springer heifers." Will handed her the account book. "I have them in the southwest pasture. Twenty of them were your orphans from last year. I figure they should start calving early spring."
"Thanks for moving them closer to the barn." Lissa pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sank down into it, grateful to get some weight off her aching feet. "What about last year's calves?"
"The hands and I herded them into the small pasture directly behind the barn. That mountain cat is dead, but that doesn't mean there aren't others." Will's youthful face looked more serious with his responsibilities. "We'll have a small herd of steers. That has me worried, because prices go sky high come spring."
"We'll buy in late winter, when some ranchers are running low on feed and want to sell extra animals." Once again she heard the high call of laughter outside, where snow laced the ground in a thick cover and dripped off trees beneath the midday's sun.
"Jack wanted me to keep you current on all this," Will explained. "Sounds as if he's back from the bank."
"I hope he got the mortgage." Lissa pulled herself out of the chair and headed toward the window. Sunshine sparkled on the glass. Outside, a broad-shouldered man ran around the yard with a little boy, flinging snowballs. "Looks like we just bought the Johanson's land."
"Yep. It's good for the Johanson's. They won't be going bankrupt from their losses." Will closed the tally book and straightened. "And it's real good of you to let them stay in their home for the winter. I'm proud to work for people like you and Jack."
"Will, I'm glad to have friends like the Johansons. And you. You've stuck by me, no matter what. I can't tell you what that has meant."
"Jack let me know that with the big bonus he paid me from the cattle drive." Will ducked his chin, hiding emotion. "Well, I best be getting back to the barn."
Her heart twisted. "Thanks, Will."
The foreman strode out into the cool day. Lissa set the teakettle on the stove to heat and grabbed her cloak. She pushed open the door. Wind gusted. Cold air stung her face, and made her breath rise in great clouds. How she loved winter.
"We own another five hundred acres," Jack announced, then dodged a snowball.
"Gonna get you, Pa!" Chad vowed, scooping another handful of snow into his mittened hands.
"I don't know about that," Jack teased. "I'm fast."
"Me, too." Chad tossed the clump of snow.
Jack didn't try very hard to elude it. The snowball slapped against his chest. "You got me. I can't believe it."
"See? I'm good." Chad laughed when Jack came after him and then tackled the boy. They rolled together in the snow, Jack gently tickling him. Laughter rang merry and loud. Then Jack was on the bottom and Chad was sitting on his chest.
"I give up. You win!" the big man declared, much to the boy's delight Jack's eyes twinkled when he looked her way. "There's your mama just standing there. She's a pretty big target, don't you think?''
"Don't you dare." Lissa was laughing. "I just came out to see if the sale went through. Sophie is my dear friend. I want to make sure everything went well."
Both Jack and Chad stood. Both reached down to pack snow into their mittens.
"It went well." Jack's lopsided grin gave away his intentions. "Hans has the money he needs to see them through the winter and into spring. Sophie is happy, because she doesn't have to worry about moving with a baby in these temperatures. We have more land. It's a great situation."
Lissa took a step back. "I see that I'm so glad the banker trusted you to take over their mortgage. You are a pretty shady character."
"The shadiest." Jack stalked closer, despite Chad's giggling. "I'm also a sure shot with a snowball."
"No!" Laughing so hard made it tough to run.
The soft snow splatted against her shoulder. She turned around. "You're going to pay for that I was going to make you both hot chocolate with whipped cream, but I've changed my mind."
"Not fair," Jack protested, catching up to her, sweeping her safely into his arms. He kissed her hard, a wonderful passionate kiss that made her blood heat that filled her with pure happiness. "Give us the chocolate or I'll dump you into the snow."
"Never," she squealed, choking on laughter as Jack tipped her downward, the cold ground ever closer.
"Change your mind?"
"Yes!" He swept her back to her feet, but he didn't let go of her. His touch was claiming, and left no doubt that he loved her as she loved him.
"We get whipped cream, too?" Chad asked.
"Whipped cream, too," she promised, almost too happy to speak. They headed toward the back door, stomping snow off their boots and sweeping snow off their coats.
It was good to be a family. So very good.
"Where are you taking those tarts?" Jack's protest filled the front room.
Lissa tucked the last pastry on the platter and covered it. "These are for my ladies' club meeting. We are discussing the bid for purchasing a building. By the new year we should have a location for the lending library."
"And you need to eat strawberry tarts for that?" He rose from the chair and set aside the book he'd been reading.
"Sugar helps keep the mind clear when making decisions." She tugged the plate out of his reach. "I left plenty for you and Chad in the pantry."
"I'm glad to know you didn't forget me and your only son." His eyes sparkled. "Want me to drive you to town? It's snowing pretty hard."
"Charlie is safe as a kitten. I can handle him myself." Lissa reached for her coat. "But you could harness the sleigh for me."
"Sure. Let me do the heavy work." He winked, then stole a kiss, leaving her lips tingling.
"I have to make you earn those strawberry tarts."
"I thought I earned something last night."
"What happened last night? I don't seem to remember." She let him open the door for her, then stepped out onto the porch.
"Is my lovemaking that forgettable?" His voice rumbled against her ear, driving hot sparks of desire through her veins.
"Oh, right. I remember now." She started down the steps. "My memory is a little foggy."
He chuckled harder. "I guess I will have to refresh your memory. Say, tonight. After Chad is asleep. Meet me in our bed."
"Now, that's a p
romise I can keep." Her heart felt full, so very full. Snow fell, making the world new and fresh, making their problems feel small and far away.
Will led his mare into the barn to unsaddle her out of the wind and snow. "The rustlers hit again. Ranchers can't afford to lose entire herds. They're angry."
"And desperate." Jack wondered just how long it would be before other accusations came his way, questions about a past he no longer had, a life he did not remember—and up until now, hadn't wanted to.
"Who was it this time?" He bent to retrieve a harness.
"The McBains." Will swept off his hat and shook the snow from the brim. "They're my cousins."
"Lost everything?"
"The rustlers cleaned them out last night while they slept. They didn't hear a thing."
Jack saw the herd huddled together in the field against the cold north wind and snow. Their ranch hadn't been hit lately. It made him look guilty, for a man who was stealing cattle would not steal his own herd.
"Do your cousins think I did it?" Jack hung the harness on its peg, his gaze never leaving Will's.
Will's expression wavered. "Ian isn't going to come riding up to your front door with a gun in hand, if that's what you're asking."
"That's not what I'm asking."
"My cousin thinks there's a reasonable chance you're guilty, but then he knows me enough to know the last thing I would do is work for a rustler."
Jack considered that. "He's willing to listen to reason?"
"Maybe."
"Would he let me take a look at his fields?"
"We can ask." Will stood tall. "I'll ride out with you. He's just on the other side of town."
If he could find the real rustlers, he could wipe away all suspicion—for once and for all.
Palmer nearly slid off his horse at the sight of the man riding tall and silent beside Will Callahan. Jack Emerson looked like U.S. Marshal material, no doubt about it. Tough, proud, intelligent, not a single glimmer of fear as he faced the townspeople who suspected him of devastating crimes.
They suspected him because Deakins had been spending time in the saloons, planting the idea. It was all according to plan. Tonight his men would hit another ranch, one neighboring Lissa's. Even though the price of beef was low, it wasn't too hard to drive the herds north. Pay off enough people, and anything was possible—especially for profit.
His bank account was getting fatter. He didn't need Lissa's land. He didn't want her, anyway. He had enough cash to leave Sweetwater Gulch, to move on and move up.
"Where's he heading?" Palmer lowered his voice as he dismounted, so only Deakins could hear him.
The deputy tethered his horse, but his gaze never left the sight of the two men parading right through the center of town. "Look at those revolvers strapped to their belts. And rifles, holstered."
Palmer didn't miss the gun-power. His spine quaked a little when Jack Emerson and Will Callahan rode close.
Jack didn't blink, but met his gaze steadily—a challenge, no, a dare. That damned marshal was taunting him.
Emerson rode on past, straight through town, his hired man at his side. Wagons and riders moved aside for the men, letting them pass.
"Mount up," he bit out. "I want to know where those men are going. Maybe I can use it to prove his terrible guilt. Rustling is a hanging offense in this county."
Poor Jack Emerson. By tomorrow, he was going to find himself swinging from the knotted end of a rope.
"I appreciate you letting me take a look at what happened." Jack could see the worry on McBains' face, knew the man was facing near ruin. "You say the rustlers came sometime after midnight?"
"I heard a mountain lion, or I thought I did, so I mounted up and rode out about ten last night." Ian was a young man, friendly and pleasant, and as he rubbed his jaw, muscles flexed in his arm. He was a strong man, too. "I spent a long while riding the meadows, making sure the cattle were safe."
"Nothing unusual?"
"Not even any cat tracks, so I rode in. I walked through my front door just as the clock was ticking off midnight. I heard the cat again, so I climbed out of bed around four. When I rode out, I found my herd gone."
Jack saw the tracks of shod horses, clear, crisp tracks frozen into the snow, maybe ten men this time, more than the last bunch, but one thing was the same. Jack crouched low to study the imprints of steeled horseshoes. "Isn't this Phillips's work? He's left-handed, and our horse's shoes look just like this."
"Then it is someone from town." Will knelt down to look at the distinctive prints, too. "Yep, sure does look familiar. What do you think, Jack?"
"The horses were shod or purchased from the town livery. I'm going to head out and check with Phillips." Jack straightened, gazing up at the sky. Snow clouds hung low along the northern rim of mountains, dark and ominous.
Ian McBains looked, too. "You had better head home before the storm hits."
Jack looked again at the tracks. Sheriff Ike Palmer came to mind. He was the only man in town who had nothing to lose, and he had been damn angry when Jack had put a stop to the first round of rustling.
Now all Jack had to do was to find proof of the sheriff's guilt. He would start with the livery owner. He'd learn who had recently bought or shod a lot of horses.
"I'm going to stop by my mother's house," said Will. Wind blew hard against them, smelling of snow. "She is heartbroken at Ian's losses. He sold his beef cattle almost as early as you did, so it was his breeding stock that he lost."
"You stay on with your family if you need to, Will." Jack eyed the sky. "This storm isn't anything to be riding in. If you're needed at home, maybe it's best to stay."
"We'll see what happens." Will tipped his hat and headed his horse east, down the street off Main, where picket fences lined the road.
Jack dismounted in front of the livery, tethering the gelding with a single knot. The horse nosed his hand, and Jack patted the animal. "We'll be home where it's warm in a bit, fellow."
He looked up and saw Deakins ride into sight. It wasn't hard to figure out why Palmer's deputy had been on the road out of town. Not hard at all.
Instinct twisted hard in his guts, and Jack knew he was right. He knew before he stepped foot inside the livery that the sheriff was guilty.
* * *
He had the answers he needed. Now he had to figure out the best course of action. The wind grabbed at his hat brim, sliced through his wool coat, howled through the trees. He was the only one on the road from town; even the birds had found shelter.
He heard the click of a hammer, the only warning before the bullet knocked off his hat, dropped him from his saddle. He hit the ground hard. Breath whooshed from his chest. Something warm ran down his face—blood. Something cold wet his back—snow.
He grabbed for his holster, anyway, had both revolvers in hand and firing, even though he couldn't focus. He saw a blur of dark movement against the white ground and squeezed off two bullets, saw the form tumble forward, saw another, and shot.
"Hold it right there." The sheriff's voice. Cold, biting steel pressed against Jack's temple. The gun was cocked and ready. "Give me one reason, any reason, to pull this trigger."
The fight was over. Jack looked up at a man capable of hurting those he'd known his entire life, a man who had a name and friends, a past and memories. All that though, weighed little against the blackness of Sheriff Ike Palmer's heart.
Lissa pushed open the mercantile's front door, her platter empty, laughter in her heart. Blanche was talking about Jeremiah's dusty office and how she hoped to go through the room to donate books to the new lending library. The boardwalk at her feet was slick with new snow. She looked down, careful of her step.
Blanche clucked her tongue. "Look at that."
Far down the street she saw horses and riders, all but obscured by distance and the thickly falling snow.
"Looks like Ike has himself a prisoner." Blanche shook her head, stopping before Russell's General Store. "It's about time he actually go
t some work done. I swear Jack ought to run against him next election. He'd win for sure on looks alone—"
Blanche's voice faded. All the sounds on the street faded except the quiet plop plop of the snow and the clomp of horse hooves on ice. She saw a bay with three white socks that looked just like Jack's gelding. And—
Lissa's knees wobbled. Her feet shifted, threatening to slip out from under her. She grabbed the post outside Susan's store with both hands. Somehow the air had thickened, and she couldn't draw it into her chest.
Those were Jack's boots on the feet of the man slung over the back of the bay gelding, tied to the saddle like a dead man.
"No!" Horror moved her forward. Her feet slid on ice. She righted herself, her bulk awkward, and ran out into the street. Snow slapped against her face, clung to her eyelashes, hampered her skirts.
"Jack!" She caught hold of his ankle, then grabbed the gelding's bit. The animal slowed, but could not stop.
The man holding the reins turned around in his saddle. "Lissa. Get back on the boardwalk."
She grabbed hold of the reins and yanked hard. They tumbled out of Palmer's grip. She soothed the agitated gelding with her voice and a pat to his neck as she circled around him. Jack lay head down, face down over his saddle. The dark gold of his hair hiding his face was stained with blood.
"Lissa, stop it." She vaguely heard Palmer's voice, the din of bystanders, the whisper of snow.
Was he dead? She could not believe the worst. Couldn't bear to. Jack. Tears filled her eyes and made her movements jerky as she reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder.
No, he was breathing. Relief washed over her as cold as the snow, stronger than her fear that he was dead. Her hand shook as she smoothed back the tangled locks from his face, saw the bloody wound from his hairline to the crown of his skull.
"Lissa." Big hands cupped her shoulders.
"Get away, Palmer." She pushed him hard. "You did this to him."
"He didn't give us a choice. He's the rustler, Lissa. I hate to be the one to tell you—"
Jillian Hart Page 24
