A Kiss in the Sunlight

by Marie Patrick

  Teague nodded. “He came in on the afternoon stage.” He debated telling her exactly what Alexander had told him but decided not to reveal the details of their conversation. Let her brother give her the bad news, though it seemed she already suspected, given the paleness of her face.

  “Oh.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and stared at her feet for a moment or two before she looked up and pinned him with her straightforward gaze. “I never lied to you, Teague. I told you I was a journalist the first day we met. I told you I wanted to do a story on you and―”

  “No, you never lied. You never told me the whole truth, either.” He sank into the chair beside her and took her hand. “But that’s beside the point, Ryleigh. Like I said, I will tell you everything, but I want your promise that nothing―not one word, not one statement―is printed in the newspaper.”

  She licked her lips, but her gaze never left his face. “All right, Teague. I promise not to print what you tell me in the newspaper.”

  Her capitulation came too quickly, and he stared at her, stunned to his core. He never thought she’d give up the very thing that had brought her here, the thing that had been so important to her. What changed? He continued to stare at her, wondering if she lied, suspicion flaring in his gut, but her eyes were wide and guileless and so vivid, he believed her.

  He gave a slight nod, then opened his mouth, but no words would come forth. He sipped at his whiskey, allowing the warmth to flow to his stomach, hoping it would loosen his tongue as it had his father’s. It worked, and when he opened his mouth this time, the words were there. “I failed, Ryleigh. Not only as a brother but as a lawman. I should have just opened the cell door and let Jeff Logan walk out instead of waiting for his gang to ride through my town. I didn’t keep people―my people―safe. Hell, I didn’t keep my family safe. Kieran is gone. Mary. Such a lovely woman. Matthew. All gone. Brock and Eamon almost died. Because of me.”

  “No, Teague. Not you. It wasn’t your fault.” She laid her hand on his arm, and he felt the comfort of her touch, enabling him to continue.

  “The whole thing actually started before the Logans rode into town. I knew they’d been in the area. I had received a telegram from Marshal Thompson over in Durango, letting me know people were losing their cattle and their horses to rustlers. He assumed, correctly I might add, that it was the Logans.” He drew in his breath and glanced at her, then quickly turned away, unable to bear the sympathy in her violet blue eyes.

  “They liked to come around every couple months to raise havoc and take what they could, but they were smart, staying just one step ahead of the law.” He rose to his feet and started pacing, looking at everything except her.

  “I stepped up my routine patrols, even had Cooter pull a few extra shifts, but it didn’t help. They struck anyway. I was out at Whispering Pines, having dinner with the family when we heard the horses. Kieran and I ran outside in time to see men on horseback leading several of his horses away from the house. They were running like the wind and disappeared into the darkness, but I knew exactly who they were. So did Kieran.” He turned the whiskey glass in his hand but didn’t take another drink. Instead, he placed the tumbler on the fireplace mantle and continued pacing.

  “We chased them, but they were long gone . . . except for Jefferson, the youngest Logan. He just happened to have chosen Kieran’s Pride to steal. He couldn’t have known when he did how difficult that was going to be. Pride doesn’t like to be handled or ridden by anyone except Kieran, Shep, or myself. He’ll buck and kick and scream and eventually, throw whoever rides him off his back, which is how I caught Jeff.” He grabbed the glass of whiskey from the mantle and finished it.

  “I guess his brothers realized he wasn’t with them after a time. I don’t know if they decided to turn around and saw me help Jeff to his feet and cuff his hands behind his back or if they saw me bring him into town. Maybe they simply assumed he’d been caught when he didn’t catch up to them. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. The fact is, the Logans wouldn’t stand for one of their own getting locked up.”

  “They attacked a day later, rode into town like the devil was on their tails, shooting at everyone and everything, killing . . . so many. I wasn’t as ready as I should have been.” He stopped and swallowed the lump in his throat, the one that threatened to choke him. His vision misted, and he blinked quickly to rid himself of the moisture. The action didn’t help. His eyes remained watery, despite his will.

  “You asked me where I learned to kiss and to dance. It was Sally Hanlon. Sweet Sally. She taught all us MacDermott boys how to kiss, as well as a few other things.” He smiled at the memory, but it disappeared quickly as sadness overwhelmed him. “She died that day, Ryleigh. She was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. That good woman left behind three small children and a husband who misses her still. I miss her.”

  He turned to face her, wondering why she hadn’t spoken. In an instant, he knew. Her eyes brimmed with tears, her lashes spiky with wetness. Several tears rolled down her cheeks. She didn’t wipe them away as she clutched the glass in her hands.

  “What happened in town was only the half of it. Jeff had made some threats while he sat in my jail cell . . . and I believed him. What’s more, I was scared, right down to my bones. I had telegraphed both Brock and Eamon, asking for their help. The plan was to clear out Whispering Pines, make sure Kieran and his family were safe, but we . . . I . . . was too late.”

  “Lucky, Dal, and I rode out for Whispering Pines as soon as the shooting in town was over. What I saw there, Ryleigh . . . I still . . . ” He stopped pacing and just stood in the middle of the room. His heart thundered so loud and so hard, he thought it would beat right out of his chest. “Hell, this is so damned hard.”

  Ryleigh rose from her seat and wrapped her arms around him. She rested her cheek against his shoulder and sniffed. “It’s all right, Teague. You don’t . . . You don’t have to tell me.”

  He took a deep breath and moved out of her embrace, his gaze sweeping over her face as he leaned against his desk. “I do. Nate and Celia were right. So were Josiah and Elizabeth. I’ll never find my peace if I don’t.” He picked up his father’s pipe and cradled it in his hand.

  “I found Eamon on the front porch. He’d been shot. The bullet missed his heart by an inch, but he still lost a lot of blood. I sent Dal back to town to fetch Nate. As I was trying to stop the flow of blood, I heard crying―that frantic, scared, indignant crying only a toddler can produce. I knew it was Desi Lyn.” He couldn’t look at Ryleigh, couldn’t see the expression on her face or the tears flowing freely down her cheeks and continue, so he stared at the fireplace, his vision unfocused as memories assaulted him.

  “I admit, I was not prepared for what I found when I walked into the house. Kieran, Mary, and Matthew were dead, bullets through their heads. And Brock . . . He had bullet wounds, too―three of them in his back―but he was alive. Barely. I learned later that he had thrown himself on Desi Lyn, taking the bullets meant for her. She was alive because of him.” He swallowed against the lump in his throat, the one that always rose when he thought of how he’d found his niece.

  “While Brock was mending, he told me that Kieran had flat-out refused to the leave the ranch, wanting to face the Logans head on if they set foot on his property. And because he wouldn’t leave, Mary wouldn’t go, either. By the time Brock convinced her that she needed to go with the children―Shep and his family as well as the ranch hands were already gone―it was too late. We MacDermotts are a stubborn lot, and that includes the women we marry.”

  His attempt at levity failed, and the smile he’d had forced to his lips disappeared. “Brock recovered, then took off to hunt down Zeb Logan, the man who’d shot him as well as Kieran, Mary, and Matthew. He got his man.” He sighed, letting the anger as well as the sadness dissipate.

  “Eamon left not too long after Brock. Physically, he was healed, but not in his head. I went in to check on him one morning, and he was gone. He left
behind a two-word note. It said I’m sorry. I looked for him for over two months, but I couldn’t find him. I didn’t hear from him again until three years later. He’d hung up his guns. Gave up being a U.S. Marshal because he thought it was all his fault Kieran, Mary, and Matthew died.” His fingers smoothed over the bowl of the pipe, drawing some solace from the smooth, burnished wood that had once belonged to his father. He could feel his father’s presence, guiding him as always, letting him know it was good to make a clean breast of all the memories he’d held in his heart.

  “He’d run across the Logan gang several weeks prior to the shoot-out, but he couldn’t give chase because he was transporting prisoners to Canon City. By the time he handed over his prisoners, the Logans were long gone, but he still held himself responsible.” He put the pipe down without lighting it, his hand knowing exactly where it belonged without looking.

  He finally focused, his gaze falling on Ryleigh. She had moved while he stared at the fireplace, once more ensconced in his chair, her head lowered, her face hidden by her hands. Her body shuddered as she cried, though she made no sound.

  He pushed away from the desk and knelt in front of her, then gently moved her hands away from her face. Tears left streaks on her cheeks, and he wiped them away with his thumb.

  “Oh, Teague.” Her voice was thick and hoarse as she flung herself into his arms. “I knew Kieran, Mary, and Matthew passed away and that you nearly lost Brock and Eamon, but I didn’t know how you’d found them or Desi Lyn. I’m so sorry.”

  He held her closer and stroked her hair, and once again, tears filled his eyes. He blinked them away and took a breath. “It’s all right, muirnīn,” he murmured. “You couldn’t have known. Not many do.”

  As he ran his fingers through her hair and held her in his arms, giving her the comfort she desperately needed, taking as much as he gave, he came to the stunning realization that his heart didn’t hurt as much as it did before . . . and for that, he was grateful.

  • • •

  “There you are! I’ve been looking all over town for you!”

  Ryleigh stiffened but didn’t glance up from the cup of coffee she’d been staring at since Mrs. Dunleavy poured it for her more than twenty minutes ago. She didn’t have to. She recognized Xander’s voice and groaned inwardly. She hadn’t gone back to the Prentice after leaving Teague this morning, because she knew Xander had taken a room and she didn’t want to see him yet.

  She was still too raw and unsettled after everything Teague had told her.

  Her eyes were gritty and red from crying, and her heart hurt more than it ever had. She and Teague had just held each other all night, never leaving the floor of his study. Thirty minutes ago, when she’d finally left him, Teague seemed lighter, as if speaking the memories aloud had started to heal him. She hoped so. No one deserved to live with such guilt, especially if he truly wasn’t to blame.

  “Mind if I join you?” Alexander didn’t wait for an answer as he pulled out the chair across from her and sat. “Ryleigh?”

  She finally looked up to see her brother grinning at her. “Hello, Xander.” Her voice came out hoarse, and she cleared her throat.

  “Hello, yourself.” He pushed his dark hair off his forehead, something she’d seen him do all her life, only to have the heavy, unruly locks fall right back into place. She had to admit, she missed seeing that. Actually, missed seeing him. What she didn’t miss was their rivalry for their father’s attention and the knowledge that Magnus Steele preferred Xander over her. In all things. “I see your adventure hasn’t done you any harm. In fact, you look . . . well, not great, but not bad, either.”

  A sideways compliment if there ever was one. Ryleigh chose to ignore it. Truthfully, she hadn’t expected anything different. If he noticed her red-rimmed eyes, he didn’t mention it as Mrs. Dunleavy handed him a menu and poured his coffee. He scanned the menu quickly, then selected scrambled eggs and bacon with a side of fried potatoes and toast. Mrs. Dunleavy rushed off to fill his order, her footsteps heavy on the wooden floor.

  Once the woman was out of earshot, Ryleigh studied him. “Why are you here, as if I don’t know?”

  That grin was back in place. “Time’s up. Father is furious.”

  “As we both knew he would be. How did he find out? Did you tell him?”

  Alexander shrugged and brushed imaginary lint from the sleeve of his dark brown suit. “I had to confess the truth about your whereabouts and what you were doing after Vanessa and Peter came back from Santa Barbara and you weren’t with them.”

  “I see.” She took a breath and glanced out the window then back at her brother. “What about Mother? Is she angry as well?”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Not in the least. Actually, I think she rather enjoyed seeing Father lose control like he did. Said she thought it was good for him to know he couldn’t control everyone and everything. Especially you.”

  That made Ryleigh smile. She always knew her mother supported her decisions, whatever they may be, but her smile didn’t last as she studied her brother. “Did he send you to bring me home then?”

  “Kicking and screaming, if necessary.” His grin widened, letting her know he was enjoying the trouble she once again found herself in. “When the great Magnus Steele bellows, those of us who value our skin obey without question.” He chuckled and the sound grated on her already raw nerves. “Although that has never been you. If there was a way to make Father’s blood boil, you always found it.” He sipped at his coffee and made a face. It wasn’t up to his standards, but then, many things weren’t up to Alexander Steele’s standards. He’d learned from their father quite well. “Did you finish the article? I must confess, I’m looking forward to reading it.”

  She drew in her breath and stared at him. “I didn’t write it.”

  He seemed startled, his eyebrows rising upward. “What? Why ever not? After all the manipulations we went through so you could come here―I lied to Father, right to his face―and after spending almost two months in this Godforsaken town, you didn’t write it?” He let out his breath. “What about the bet?”

  “I . . . I couldn’t write it, Xander, bet or no bet. Father was right. I don’t have the heart.” She glanced at her coffee, which had gone cold while she stared at it then back at him. “Besides, as furious as Father is, I doubt he’d ever let me have that position now. I knew it was a possibility.” She shook her head as Mrs. Dunleavy brought his food. He dug into his eggs and made another face, but this time, it was different. Apparently, the eggs were to his liking. “I’m not leaving, Xander, kicking and screaming or otherwise. I’ve decided to stay, so you can get right back on the stagecoach and go home.”

  He paused with a forkful of fried potatoes hovering in mid-air. “You’re staying? I don’t . . . ” He said nothing more, but his gaze continued to bore into hers over the fork in his hand. After a moment, he lowered the utensil, and one corner of his mouth lifted in a knowing grin. “You fell in love with him. You came out here to write a story about Teague MacDermott, and instead of doing that, you fell in love with him.”

  There was no way she could deny his statement, not with the tell-tale flush rising up her face. “Yes.”

  “I see.” He shook his head, then stopped to study her. After a moment, his eyes narrowed, and his smile disappeared completely as he pressed his lips together and inhaled and exhaled through his nose. “And does the good sheriff love you as well? Is he going to marry you?”

  “Yes, he loves me, and no, we haven’t discussed marriage.” She shrugged. “Frankly, I don’t care if we marry or not. It’s never been in the cards for me. As you know, I was never one of those girls waiting for Prince Charming to sweep me off my feet.”

  “How will you support yourself?”

  “I have my inheritance from Grandpa George and a few investments.” She smiled then. “And I’ve been offered a job.” Her smile grew.

  “A job? Doing what?”

  “Writing for the Paradise Falls Gua
rdian, and once my book is written―”

  “Book? What book? Good God, Ryleigh, you’re not making any sense.” He took a deep breath and blew it from his lips in a long sigh, a sure sign of his frustration, one she’d seen all his life. He did it to force himself to remain calm. And it usually worked, but not this time. His face was still flushed, the tips of his ears bright red. “Are you deliberately trying to confuse me?”

  She didn’t answer his question, though she wasn’t trying to confuse him. “I am writing a book about Sheriff MacDermott, his brothers, and the Logans. The longer I stayed here, the more I realized that writing one newspaper article wasn’t going to be enough. The sheriff’s story needs to be told. Everyone should know what I know.” Mrs. Dunleavy replaced her cold coffee with a fresh cup, and she took a sip. “I’ve already started it.”

  He shook his head, his breakfast forgotten and getting cold on his plate. “Does he know?”

  “Not yet, but I plan on telling him,” she said, though that thought put a little fear in her heart. She didn’t know how he would react to that.

  “What are you saying, Ryleigh?”

  “I don’t think I can make myself any clearer, Xander.” She flashed a smile, knowing it would annoy him. “I’m staying in Paradise Falls with Teague, if he’ll have me. I’m going to work for the Guardian, and I’m going to finish writing my book. I will not be returning to San Francisco with you when you leave.”

  “So that’s it then.” He shook his head slowly, his steady gaze on her. “You want me to go home and tell Father that you’ve fallen in love and you’re staying in this Podunk town that doesn’t even have a railroad to be with a man who may or may not marry you.”

  She stiffened, her defenses rising. “Paradise Falls is a lovely place. The people here are kind and loving and accepting, so different than the world you and I grew up in. No one here cares that I trip over my own two feet or that I am outspoken and bold. They have embraced me and shown me friendship. I love it here. I can be myself, not the person everyone expects me to be. Most of all, Xander, I am happy. Happier than I’ve ever been.”