"He still here?" he asked, hoping to hell Jack had found someone else to bother. Because in the mood he was in right now, he just might have to whale into Jack and the devil take the hindmost.
"Nope. Rode out about an hour ago, headed for Cripple Creek. Said he'd be back in a week or two, though." Joe headed for the saloon, but paused alongside Brady for a moment. "Said you should be ready for him."
As long as he wasn't here today, Brady thought. Hell, if there was one thing he didn't want to deal with now, it was some drunk trying to build a reputation by killing Brady Shaw.
He had just a few more important things on his mind than some halfwit who thought himself a bad man. Like just who the hell Patience really was. And how she knew so damn much about him. And why she was here. And how he was supposed to keep sane.
Hell, if this kept up, Texas Jack wouldn't have to kill him. Dealing with Patience would take care of that job, real nice.
But as that thought registered, it put his back up. Damned if he was going to let some strange woman march into his life and cause more kinds of trouble than a brushfire in a drought. He wanted answers and by God, he was going to get them.
Now.
Pushing past Joe, Brady stomped through the saloon. He ignored the catcalls of the men gathered around the poker tables. Apparently the news about him and Patience being "engaged" had already spread through town on the local gossip wire.
He didn't see Davey sitting at the bar helping himself to another meal. He didn't notice Lily sitting off in a corner by herself. He didn't pay the slightest attention to anything but the door abovestairs. Behind which Patience waited.
#
Davey cringed as he watched Brady take the stairs two steps at a time. The man looked mad enough to bite through a ten-penny nail. A twinge of sympathy for the strange woman squeezed Davey's heart. Heck, he figured she couldn't help it none if she was peculiar.
But Brady wasn't the kind to slap a female around, and from what he'd seen already, that Patience could take care of herself. So rather than worry about some problem between grown-ups, Davey turned his mind to something really important.
His hoop.
Reaching down to his knee, from which the brass ring was hanging, he ran one hand over the warm metal as if to reassure himself that it was still there. He took another bite of hard-boiled egg and washed it down with a sip of the sarsaparilla Joe had given him.
A small swell of satisfaction washed over him. He was tired, but it had been a good day. He'd earned durn near a dollar and seventy cents. He'd helped Brady. He'd found a magic ring — though as soon as he thought the word "magic," he looked guiltily around the room. He'd have to keep it quiet, this magic ring. Else somebody would be after taking it from him.
And then he wouldn't have anything.
His fingers curled around the brass protectively as Joe stomped up beside him and set a box full of liquor bottles onto the bartop. The big man shot a glance at the upstairs landing and Davey did the same, frowning at the sight of Brady standing outside the woman's door, a look of fury on his face.
"He sure looks mad."
Joe snorted and shook his head. "That's what a female will do to you, boy. You pay attention."
"Yessir," Davey muttered, keeping his gaze locked on the man upstairs.
"You see," Joe went on, warming to his theme as he folded his arms atop the liquor bottles. "A man's got to be careful about letting a woman into his life. Oh, they seem right handy to have around," he mused, almost to himself. A smile drifted across his face briefly before he shot a quick, guilty look in Davey's direction and cleared his throat noisily. “But the minute you get a female stickin' her nose into things, your life goes to hell in a handbasket."
"Yeah?" Davey asked, shifting his gaze from Brady to Joe. The bartender nodded solemnly. "Just take a look at Brady up yonder," he said, his voice low and deep, carrying easily over the noise in the saloon. "You recall ever seein' him that mad?"
Davey thought about it for a long minute and finally said, "Not since the last time Texas Jack was here." He remembered the fight that night real well. Heck, Brady had tossed Jack right through that front window and the man had durn near bounced across the boardwalk and into the street.
"There you go," Joe said. "See? The only thing that'll make a man madder'n a female is some fella wanting to kill him."
Seemed right, Davey thought as Joe turned to go outside for another load of booze. Still, he told himself, watching the goings-on upstairs again, he figured he'd rather be dealing with Patience than with somebody as mean as Texas Jack Bigelow.
Then he shrugged, kept one hand on his magic ring, and picked up his sandwich with the other. Wasn't his business what grown-ups did. He just thought it a shame that what had been such a fine day for him had turned out so bad for his friend.
#
Patience set her hat down atop the scarred chest of drawers and glanced into the small, square shaving mirror hanging on the wall. Heart pounding, mouth dry, she stared at her own reflection and tried to understand what she'd just said to Brady.
The words had come of their own volition. She didn't recall summoning them. She only knew that when he asked her why he should let her stay, the answer had come to her. But once she'd actually said the words aloud, they'd reverberated in her mind until her body nearly shook with reaction.
How had she known that? How had she known something so private? The scene she'd described to Brady rose up in her mind and Patience saw it all so clearly. She could almost hear the thump of the paddle wheel as it slapped against the water. She could smell the river, see the lightning bugs, hear the laughter drifting down from the upper decks. It was all true. It had happened just that way, she knew it. But how was it possible that she should know it? He'd been only a child. She would have been, too, that many years ago.
She folded her arms around her middle and held on. Backing up slowly until the backs of her knees hit the bed, she slowly sank down onto the edge of the mattress and stared blankly at the floor. Children. She and Brady had been children.
Yet the memories she had of her own childhood had nothing to do with riverboats. Scowling, she recalled log cabins, women in long black dresses, and men wearing short pants, black hose, and buckled shoes. But that couldn't be right. Could it?
If she actually remembered the Pilgrims, it would make her over two hundred years old! A choked laugh squeezed past the knot of worry lodged in her throat.
She swallowed hard and muttered, "Don't be foolish, Patience." And just hearing her own voice in the stillness of her room helped.
From belowstairs came the muffled sounds of conversations, laughter, and the oddly out-of-tune tinklings of a piano. But here, in this one corner of quiet, she was alone with thoughts that plagued her.
What did it mean, she asked herself, hoping for an answer that wouldn't come. How could she recall someone else's memories so clearly? And why would she remember being a Pilgrim herself?
"Maybe I really am crazy," she whispered and just saying those words aloud sent a shiver along her spine. "No," she argued, "I'm just tired." Then continuing, her voice became a little stronger, more confident. "That's all it is. Exhaustion. The trip to Santa Fe. The coming wedding. Anyone would be a little confused. It's only natural."
Natural to recall someone else's memories? a small voice inside her asked.
She shook her head fiercely. That wasn't at all what was happening. That was impossible. Everyone knew that. So, obviously there'd been some sort of misunderstanding. There was, no doubt, a logical explanation. Now, if she could only think of one.
A knock at the door sounded out, sharp, impatient, and her head snapped up. "Yes?"
"It's me."
Brady. Of course it was him. Who else would it be? No doubt he wanted to talk about her "memory." And she could hardly blame him. She stared at the door as if she could see through it to the man beyond. Her heartbeat quickened until she wouldn't have been surprised to see it fly out of he
r chest. She swallowed hard, forcing the knot of emotion in her throat down, until it fell like a rock to the pit of her stomach.
And for the first time since she'd known him, Patience didn't want to see him. Well, she mused, amending that thought, to be completely honest with herself, she did want to see him. But what could she possibly say to him? No. Better to keep her distance until she was calm again. Until she'd figured out the answers to some of her questions.
"Go away, Brady," she called out.
"Not likely," he said through the door, and even muffled as it was, his voice carried a ring of frustration that she completely understood.
But she couldn't very well ease his frustration while still dealing with her own.
"I — um — have a headache," she told him, not lying, since a thrumming pain was just leaping to life behind her eyes.
"Well," he muttered darkly enough that she had no trouble hearing him. "Finally we have something in common." Then he rattled the knob and she jumped. "Damn it, Patience," he said, a bit louder this time. "Open this blasted door or so help me, God, I'll tear it off the hinges."
She gasped, drew her head back, and glared at the door. A quick jolt of anger flashed through her despite her own uneasiness, and since anger was so much easier to deal with than confusion, she gave in to it.
Instantly, Patience jumped up, crossed the floor, reached out, flipped the lock and grasped the knob. Turning it and pulling at the same time, she yanked the door open so forcefully, Brady nearly fell into the room. He caught himself, though, and, scowling at her, stepped inside. She slammed the door behind him.
Before he could open his mouth, Patience turned on him. Perhaps she might have been more restrained if her own nerves weren't singing at a fever pitch at the moment, but she'd never know for sure. But one thing she would always be certain of was that Patience Goodfellow was not a woman to be shouted at.
Tilting her head back, she met his pale blue gaze and said, "I won't be bullied by you or anyone else, Brady Shaw. And I resent having you threaten me."
"I didn't threaten you," he almost snarled.
"You threatened my door."
"I threatened to tear it off, and it's not your door. It's mine," he said. "My saloon, my door."
"My lock," she countered hotly, despite the ridiculousness of the argument. "And if I don't want to be disturbed I'll use it."
"Your lock is on my door and when I want to talk to you, you'll damn well open it or it'll come down."
Fury raged in his eyes and Patience met it with her own surge of temper. Crazy or sane, Pilgrim or not, she would never accept being spoken to in such terms. "I've told you before, Brady, I won't be cowed by a surly disposition."
"Surly?" he repeated, clearly astonished. "Lady, you haven't seen surly yet."
She ignored that comment and began walking a slow, tight circle around him, forcing him to turn if he wanted to keep his narrowed gaze on her. “I'm sure that men all over this town tremble in their boots when you give them that bad-tempered stare. But I will not."
"I didn't come up here to see you tremble," he muttered.
"Then why did you come?” she snapped, almost grateful for the chance to argue. At least it kept her from thinking and considering propositions that were clearly impossible.
"To talk to you," he ground out.
She stopped dead, sniffed haughtily, lifted her chin, and crossed her arms over her chest. "It is quite apparent to me that you're in no mood for a civilized conversation."
He loomed over her, but if he was hoping to intimidate her, he was doomed to disappointment. "You're right about that," he told her. "'Civilized' is not how I'm feelin' at the moment."
Neither was she, Patience thought. And when Brady's hands came down on her shoulders, any hope for calm dissolved. His touch only served to quicken her blood and send her heartbeat into a wild gallop.
She sucked in a long, deep breath, but it didn't help. She lifted her gaze to meet his and found no comfort in those pale blue depths. The man before her looked furious. And hard. And cold.
"I want to know, Patience," he said. "And I want to know now. How in the hell do you know so much about me?" His fingers tightened into her shoulders. "Who's been talking to you? And don't try to tell me you were there all those years ago, because I know for a fact you weren't on that riverboat when I was a kid."
"No," she said, wincing just a little as his fingers tightened even more on her shoulders. Instantly, he eased his grip, but he didn't let her go. "I suppose I couldn't have been there…" she shook her head, trying to make sense of it all. "But I remember it as though I were. And how else would I know?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out," he said through gritted teeth.
"You must have told me all about it," she said suddenly and as soon as she heard the words spoken aloud, she knew that was the explanation she'd been searching for. How silly of either of them to be so worked up over something so simple.
"No I didn't."
"Of course you did," Patience said, already clutching that truth to her chest. It explained so much. The clarity of the memory. The knowledge of Brady's despair, his pain. How could she possibly have known it if he hadn't told her?
There. She felt much better now.
Brady grabbed her tightly and pulled her close enough that she had to tip her head far back just to meet his gaze. Those eyes of hers glimmered with the sheen of innocence. She looked up at him with complete artlessness and he knew she believed what she was saying.
That momentary burst of surprise he'd seen in her eyes before was gone now. Obviously, she'd found an explanation and was sticking to it. Which didn't explain a thing as far as he was concerned. This was becoming stranger and stranger by the minute.
How did a crazy woman come to know so much about him? Hell, he'd never told anyone about that night on the riverboat. He hadn't thought of it himself in years. But the moment she'd mentioned it, that night had come racing back. Memory was so thick, he was choking on it and, damn it, he resented her for it.
He wasn't that lost kid anymore. And damned if he'd spend another minute thinking about the boy he'd been.
As the silence between them stretched on and on and he continued to stare into her eyes, he noticed something. That unshakable belief he saw written in her golden eyes began to dissolve. In its place came a shadowy hint of panic.
Something inside him shifted. He felt his frustration and anger slipping away to be replaced by a reluctant sympathy for Patience. Lord knew he hadn't asked for this, but had she? Was it her fault she was crazy? She'd sailed into his life full of her own confidence in the world and now he saw that sureness disappearing.
And despite how infuriating it was for him to put up with a woman who'd just attached herself to him… how terrifying must it be to be her? She had a whole world all made up in her confused head and when faced with its destruction she'd simply built another. Just to protect herself. And damn it, he couldn't really blame her for it, could he?
Wouldn't anyone else do the same? Hell, he'd practically done the same thing himself. In choosing to ignore his beginnings, to forget his past, he'd really created his own reality.
Just because he wasn't crazy didn't make his pretense any more right than hers, did it?
Man, too many questions and not nearly enough answers. But as he stared into those golden eyes of hers, he knew one thing for certain. He couldn't turn her out into the street any more than he could marry her.
"Brady?" she said and it bothered him that her voice was less sure than it had been before. "You do remember telling me about that night, don't you?"
Hope. A wild, desperate hope glittered in her eyes and, damn it, he couldn't ignore it. "Sure, Patience," he said before he could stop himself. "I remember."
She inhaled sharply, blew the air out again in a rush, and gave him that wide, brilliant smile that almost knocked him off his feet. "Oh, good," she said, shaking her head. "I was actually beginning to wonder if maybe I was im
agining things."
Maybe it would have been better to help her discover the truth now. But he just couldn't do it. There was a vulnerability to her at the moment that had Brady thinking that if he tried to force the truth on her now, it would be like kicking a puppy.
The tightness in his chest eased back a notch or two. Temper slowly drained from him and he was left with a hollow feeling. Patience Goodfellow was his problem, he told himself.
At least until he could figure out how to get her wherever the hell she really belonged. And until then, he'd just go along with her fancies, to keep her mind from shattering any more than it had.
With that thought in mind, he drew her closer, wrapping his arms around her in a move to comfort, not seduce.
She relaxed against him, nuzzling her head against his chest, right beneath his chin. He felt the tension slip from her body and he patted her back awkwardly. She sighed, slid her arms around his waist, and he was forced to remind himself that this wasn't sexual. The racing of his blood was just a normal reaction to the closeness of a female body.
It had nothing to do with Patience in particular.
He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.
"It'll be all right, Patience."
"Of course it will, Brady." she whispered. "We're together. And that's all that really matters."
Brady bit back a groan and told himself this wouldn't last forever.
CHAPTER SEVEN
This was how it was meant to be, Patience told herself and closed her eyes, the better to enjoy standing in the circle of Brady's arms. Her earlier fears, the confusion, melted away in the face of such utter contentment. It felt as though she'd waited years to feel his arms around her — though that couldn't be right. Still, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but being here. With him. The man she'd loved forever. She listened to the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear and smiled, when she held him closer, as his heartbeat quickened.
When the Halo Falls, a heavenly romance Page 7
