by Linda Broday
Jericho raised one eyebrow.
Georgia’s narrow shoulders heaved on a sigh. “I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted. That doesn’t mean, however, that listening when you shouldn’t is all right. Neither is repeating what you’ve heard. You know better.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jericho hugged her close and kissed her forehead. “So, where did you decide to put your bed?”
****
Over Carolina’s excited chatter, Mary heard most of Jericho’s conversation with Georgia. She admired his method of correction in spite of how embarrassed he must be. He’d make a wonderful father. And imagine Martha thinking she should find a husband rather than another teaching position. Then Georgia jumped right to the conclusion that Jericho should be the one to marry her.
She wasn’t opposed to marriage. In fact, if not for the deceit of the man to whom she been betrothed, she would likely have her own family by now. She hadn’t come west to be a teacher, but circumstances had forced her hand. What else was she to do when Anthony abandoned her in Thankful to chase his dreams of wealth and power? She wished him well—the rat—and daily thanked God that he’d run before the wedding.
As their entourage reached the Bittner’s front walk, Jericho set Georgia on her feet. “Go tell Ginny to pack up.” Needing no other prompting, she raced for the door with Carolina right on her heels. Jericho moved close. “I know you heard that.”
Mary didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I’m sorry she embarrassed you.”
“How could I be embarrassed when she’s right?”
“What?” Mary stared up at him, stunned.
He lifted her hand and pressed a soft kiss to her fingers. “You are pretty. Good evening, Miss Henry.” Touching two fingers to the brim of his hat, Jericho strolled away, leaving Mary standing on the front porch, unable to do more than watch.
“He certainly has a way.”
Mary closed her eyes as humiliation washed through her. “Martha. How long have you been there?”
“Not long, honey.”
The woman who’d quickly become a friend came to stand beside Mary. “Our Jericho has lived through his share, but he is still tenderhearted. Unless you are the man he hunts.”
“Hunts? I though he wasn’t a lawman any longer.”
“Bounty hunter. He takes the worst of them and serves them justice. It is dangerous, but he does it to help others.”
Mary wrapped her arms around herself. “But he said he was hired to guard my brother’s wagon train. Wasn’t he?” When Martha remained silent, dread stole into Mary’s heart. Leaving Martha, she hurried down the steps. “Mr. Hawken. Wait.”
Jericho turned back when he heard her call his name, a cocky grin curving his lips. He lifted his hat in greeting, but his smile faded as she caught up with him. “Mary, is something wrong? Ginny?”
“You’re a bounty hunter.” Tension stole into him. She watched his spine stiffen, his shoulders straighten. She waited, but Jericho didn’t respond. “Were you with my brother’s wagon train as a hired hand or were you hunting someone?”
“Both, Mary.”
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “Who were you hunting?”
“King LeMasters.”
She gasped. “LeMasters? The leader of that gang of Missourians who…” She mentally brushed away off the rest of her words. Who he hunted was not important. “Why join the wagon train?” Jericho met her gaze, and she somehow knew what he would say—and hated him for it.
“LeMasters got himself hired on as a driver.”
“He was there and you did nothing? You knew what would happen and didn’t stop him? Worse, you got drunk and left him—you left my brother alone to die.”
“No, Mary. Not alone.” He captured her hand in his, needing her to listen. “The wagon master was a U.S. Marshal and there was another acting as assistant master. They weren’t defenseless, but I did leave them a gun short.”
Mary stared up at him, her gaze boring into him, wanting the truth. “Would your gun have made a difference?”
Jericho looked away. “I don’t know.”
Without another word, she pulled free. How could he leave those people like that, knowing LeMasters would murder them all? But, if he’d been there, he would have been killed, too. And then they’d have found the girls…
“Goodnight, Mr. Hawken.” Mary didn’t look back. Just when she started to like him, to trust him, to think of the future again with something like hope, he’d set her adrift exactly as Anthony had by abandoning her at the altar. But this time, she feared her heart could be broken as well.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Whew! It sure is hot, Miss Henry.”
Mary didn’t even glance at Daniel Olander—or maybe it was David—since it was the tenth time in as many minutes one of them had made the same comment. The boys were angling for a break from the tedious work of picking tomatoes and watering the garden, probably to go swim in the small pond behind their house.
Whatever had possessed her to add rows of beans and tomatoes and cucumbers to Jericho’s garden? Straightening, she pressed her fists into the small of her back and thought longingly of walking fully dressed into the pond herself.
“About finished?”
Mary glanced toward Jericho, working the opposite side of the garden, picking beans with Georgia and Carolina. He’d already harvested the cucumbers by the time she and the girls came out. He said he’d just stopped by to check on things, then insisted on helping. “I’m going to have to start canning soon or we’ll be buried beneath the fruits of our labors.”
One corner of Jericho’s mouth curved up in a grin and her tummy did a funny flip. Something about the man drew her. Stripped to his shirt sleeves, with the cuffs rolled back to expose sun-bronzed wrists, he looked at ease. Happy. But she knew he’d ridden all night, bringing in another of LeMasters’s cutthroats. LeMasters was still out there, but Jericho was slowly thinning the ranks of his followers.
Any other man would have turned his prisoner over to the law and headed straight to his own bed. Instead, she’d found Jericho in the garden picking vegetables at sunrise.
“Martha said you should let her know when you’re ready. There are several of the ladies from the Aid Society waiting to help.”
Mary looked at the basket of tomatoes at her feet rather than let him see the tears that stung her eyes. A few seconds later, his shadow enveloped her.
“Hey, now. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, truly. It’s just…” She let him lead her into the shade of the house. “The people here are so nice. Martha and Doc, Sheriff Tate, the Groveners, even Reverend Oltmann, and he’s only been here a month longer than I have. They’re all so generous, offering advice, bringing food, or lending a helping hand.”
“They’re good folks.”
“They are.” She hurried on, wanting him to understand. “I’m not used to kindness from those around me.” Jericho said nothing, waiting patiently for her to continue. He always paid such close attention, like what she said mattered to him. “We were always from the wrong part of town, Penn and I. Mama and Papa were the wrong kind of people; at least, according to our neighbors.” Pain swept through her at the remembered taunts and snubs. “It didn’t matter where we moved, we weren’t welcome. No day passed without us being reminded of the fact that we didn’t belong. Thankful was no different. But here…” She blinked back more tears. “Being included, talked to, smiled at…” Her lips curved in response to his widening grin. “I’m still getting used to being truly welcome.”
“You’re more than welcome here, Mary.” The sound of her name in his gruff whisper skittered over her skin, raising gooseflesh and her pulse. “Surely you know I—” He hesitated. “Everyone here loves you and the girls. We want you to stay.”
There was something in his words, his tone, that had Mary looking up to meet his gaze. What she saw on his face, burning in his eyes, had her heart pounding like she’d run the len
gth of Main Street. “Jericho?” From the corner of her eye she saw him slowly lift his hand to cup her jaw. He brushed a tingling path along her lower lip with his thumb, then bent his head toward her slowly, his gaze intent on hers.
“We’re finished, Mr. Jericho! Can we go now?”
Jericho’s eyes slid shut at the shout from David Olander, but he didn’t lower his hand. Somewhere, in Mary’s mind, a voice was shouting at her to move away, put a proper distance between them, but she couldn’t bring herself to break the contact. After what seemed like minutes, but could only have been a few short seconds, his fingers trailed down her cheek before he stepped back to answer the twins.
“Let’s see how you did.” Jericho strode into the sunshine to inspect the rows of tomatoes, now devoid of round, ripe treasures. “Bring another bucket of water each for the ends of these rows and you’re finished for today.”
Their whoop of delight broke the last of the spell Jericho had woven around her. As the boys raced for the well, heavy buckets banging against their legs, Jericho lifted a basket full of tomatoes and herded the girls toward Mary. “That’s enough for now. It’s getting too hot to be out here. Head on in and wash up.”
Georgia and Carolina trooped up the steps and disappeared into the kitchen. She could hear them call out to Ginny, who’d been assigned the job of sorting the produce into piles by size, readying it for cooking, canning, or storing in the root cellar.
“Thank you for helping this morning.” Mary motioned toward the chairs set to one side of the porch steps, where the house offered shade. They were alone, but the windows and door were open, the girls were close enough she could hear the splash of water in the wash basin, and Mrs. Olander was hanging wash not fifty feet away. If it wasn’t proper to rest in the cool shade with Jericho, then hang propriety. “I didn’t expect to find you out here so early this morning.”
He set the basket and his hat aside and ran long fingers through his hair, leaving furrows she longed to smooth. “I wanted to help. I’ve missed you. All of you.”
“I know you came in after dark.”
His brows arched over eyes the blue of an icy lake. “How do you know that?”
“Matt stopped by. He’s taken to checking on us each evening when you aren’t in town.” She fought against a grin. “Last night, Carolina had a plate of cookies she’d baked herself and a glass of milk waiting.” Giving up, Mary laughed aloud at the memory of the very kind sheriff washing down burned sugar cookies with the lukewarm liquid.
“I take it I should be grateful I wasn’t back yet.”
Mary lowered her voice so the little girl wouldn’t overhear. “It was her first attempt. And Matt isn’t fond of milk, as it turns out.”
“Despises it,” Jericho chuckled. “Always has.”
“He hid it quite well. He choked down every crumb, emptied the glass, then bid us a very proper goodnight before he strode away on what he described as urgent business.”
“Probably headed to the saloon for a chaser.”
“Undoubtedly. I’d imagine he’s glad you’re back.”
“Are you?” Jericho’s quietly spoken question arrested her laughter. He shifted to face her, his gaze serious. “Are you glad I’m back?”
Mary searched his gaze for any hint he was teasing her, but found only honest interest. And something she couldn’t define, something she’d never see in a man’s eyes before. “Jericho…”
“Don’t answer that. I’m pushing. I apologize.”
She touched his hand. “No, you’re not. It’s just that I’m not sure what to say.”
“The truth. That’s all I’ll ever ask of you, Mary.”
The truth, she considered. After all the tragedy and sorrow between them, she shouldn’t be glad to see him. But she was. “I am glad, Jericho. Glad you’re home and safe.”
He brushed the side of one finger along her jaw, barely touching her skin. “I used to think home was this town, this house, but now…” His rough whisper trailed away.
“Now?” She couldn’t have stopped the question if the whole town had been listening.
“It’s you, Mary. You and the girls have become home to me.”
His words melted whatever resentment remained. “Oh, Jericho.”
A giggle, a quick shush, and little-girl footsteps warned them they had an audience. “I’d better go inside.” Mary started up the steps only to pause when Jericho caught her elbow.
“Mary, I, uh…”
Jericho’s words trailed off, intriguing her. She couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t know what to say. Smiling, she waited him out.
“I was wondering, uh— Would you like to, uh— Would you have dinner with me tonight? The girls, too,” he hurried to add. “I don’t want you to feel I’m being improper—”
This time she stopped the words with the tip of one finger pressed to his lips. “I’ll do one better. Come to dinner here.”
“Here?” he repeated.
“Um-hmm. We’ll fix something special. Bring Matt, too, if you’d like. So you’ll have a chaperone.” Shocked at her own nerve, Mary bid him goodbye and slipped inside, waiting until he rounded the side of the house before sagging against the door. What had she done? Invited a man—a good and decent man to join them for a meal. And if the town tongues started wagging, so be it. She’d endured worse.
Besides, he was worth the risk.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jericho wiped the sweat from his face with one dirty sleeve, but nothing could take the grin from his face. Mary hadn’t told him to go away when he’d confessed his growing feelings. Even more amazing, she’d asked him to dinner. Wondering if he could find some wildflowers that hadn’t suffered from the heat, he strode toward the town square. Matt was probably not at the jail, but there was a chance he was there keeping an eye on his prisoner. Jericho was so intent on his task he didn’t know anyone approached until he heard his name. He passed his sleeve over his brow again before turning.
Recognition had the sweat running cold down his spine. “King LeMasters.”
“You remember me.” The outlaw’s evil was an oily stain on the air. “It’s good to know the man who’s going to send you to hell.”
“Only if you’re going with me.” Jericho heard shouts and running footsteps as folks cleared the streets. He wished, for an instant, that it was the sound of Matt coming to help, but there’d be no waiting on his friend. At least, no one would be near enough to get hit by a stray bullet. Though he didn’t plan to miss.
“Hate to disappoint, Marshal, but I ain’t done having fun yet.”
Jericho saw his fingers twitch, knew he was going for his guns. His own hands moved, but he was just slightly slower. In that instant, he knew he was going to die. Time seemed to slow. He’d never taste Mary’s sweet lips, never know the joy of making her his wife, of the girls completing their family.
But he would not leave LeMasters behind to harm another innocent.
Then someone screamed LeMasters’ name. The outlaw broke eye contact even as his finger squeezed the trigger.
Jericho cocked his revolver before it cleared leather and pulled the trigger as shots rang out. Taking advantage of the distraction, Jericho ran forward, yanking back the hammer to fire again, but LeMasters was already falling. When the outlaw’s gun was in reach, Jericho kicked it aside and aimed at his heart, intending to end it. He didn’t have to.
LeMasters was dead.
Glancing around, he expected to see Matt or the deputy. Or even Doc Bittner. Shock had his mouth falling open when he spotted Mary, a small coach rifle still aimed at the dead outlaw. “Mary! Did you—”
“Is he dead?”
Her voice was as steady as her hands. Jericho nodded.
“Make sure.”
Doing as she asked, he kept his own weapon pointed at LeMasters while he leaned close to look for any sign of life. Then he took a slow survey of the houses and alleys around them. LeMasters was rarely found alone. But nothing moved, no o
ne hid in the shadows. Satisfied the chase was over, Jericho straightened, uncocked his revolver, and slid it into the holster at his waist. “He’s dead.”
Even from this distance, he saw Mary start to shake. Covering the ground in long strides, he eased the rifle from her hands and pulled her close. “Damn it, woman, you scared me half to death.”
“He was going to shoot you,” she managed.
“Not if I’d gotten to him first.”
She put a little space between them in order to pin him with a glare. “I wasn’t giving him the chance.” Sagging against him, Mary held on until the shaking and tears stopped.
“How did you know he was here, honey?” Jericho offered his handkerchief.
Mary accepted it and dried her cheeks and dabbed at her eyes. “I was in the girls’ room, straightening up and saw him go by the house. I recognized him from the wanted posters.” She released a trembling breath. “I didn’t think. I just grabbed the rifle and ran after him.”
“Hawken.” Matt sent men to check for other members of LeMasters’s gang before approached from the side, giving Jericho an opportunity to put a polite distance between himself and Mary. “What happened here?”
Mary took two determined steps forward and positioned herself between the men. “He was going to shoot Jericho. So I shot him.”
Matt’s lips turned down in a frown. “It would seem your lessons paid off.”
“Lessons?” As Jericho came up beside her, Mary slipped her arm around his waist and hugged him tightly. A bit of his lingering terror eased. Over Matt’s shoulder, he could see Doc Bittner supervising the removal of the body.
“While you’ve been gone, the sheriff has been teaching Ginny and me to shoot.”
“You and… Ginny?”
“To defend yourselves,” Matt clarified. “I’m not sure this qualifies.”
“Sheriff, you told me shooting to defend my loved ones was—”
