by Linda Broday
“We’re a sorry pair, you know that, Bullet?”
The dog whined in sympathy and lay down at his feet. They stood listening for the jangle of harnesses until well after dark, when it became painfully apparent that Monday’s curse had taken one more toll.
She wasn’t coming.
Part of him wanted to believe her party had started a day late. But the loudest part drowned out that hope, saying the lady had changed her mind.
Clay finally turned and went inside the earthen house to empty silence and let the wildflowers he’d picked fall from numb fingers onto the rough plank floor.
Two
Dawn crept through the window the next morning, jarring Clay awake. Bullet’s long, wet tongue snaked out to lick his face. “Go away.” He turned over to go back to sleep only to have the hound clamp down on his shirt and pull. Clay pretended to resist for another minute or two before releasing a sigh and letting himself be tugged out of bed. “All right. I get it. I’m up.”
After the coffee boiled, he took his cup and went out, hoping the fire had been nothing but a nightmare. It wasn’t. The thick smell of smoke lingered in the air, his town a pile of ash.
Hell!
Things looked even worse in the bright light. Bullet ambled to the rubble and sniffed at the ground. Jack and Ridge came from their tents to poke around in the ruins, salvaging what they could. A dull throb in his chest, Clay joined them, his low spirits saying it was useless.
Jack met his gaze. “We found a few things beneath the rubble.”
Ridge rubbed Bullet between the ears. “A few, but not enough. What do you think happened with your bride?”
Clay took a sip of coffee and kept his voice even. “Maybe she got smart.”
“That’s crazy thinking. A dozen things could’ve kept Luke Legend from arriving with her yesterday, so stop with the gloom and doom.” Jack pulled a hammer from the ash.
“I know. I’m just afraid to hope anymore. How many times have I been down this road?” Clay set his empty cup down and closed his hand around a rake, determined to make the day worth something.
* * *
Afternoon came and went, then suddenly, Luke’s owl hoot and the jangle of traces filled the air, announcing their arrival.
She came.
Bullet barked and raced toward the wagon. Clay returned the call and hurried into his dugout to stuff the limp flowers he’d pulled yesterday into a mason jar. Nerves made his hands tremble. Clay gave the dugout one last glance, wishing it were made of wood, not dirt.
But if wishes were golden nuggets, everyone would be rich. If Tally was marrying him for his house, she’d figure out soon enough he wasn’t the man for her. One day, he’d be able to give her better, but until then, the dugout would have to do. Assuming she stayed, that is.
His pulse racing, Clay went to meet his new bride.
He tugged the brim of his hat low and waited for the approaching wagon, recognizing one of the women as Luke’s blond wife, Josie—which made the other one Tally. Her flame-colored hair glistening in the sunlight was breathtaking. Funny that she’d never mentioned the shade of her hair, only describing herself as tall and homely. He kept his eyes on her as the wagon slowly made its way to him.
Homely his hind leg!
But what drew him most was the defiance on her face and the determined glint in her eyes. Hard eyes that had seen too much pain and disappointment. She wouldn’t back down easily—from anything. The gun belt and Colt strapped around her waist bore witness to that.
Her simple, yellow print dress matched the daisies he’d picked. He deduced from her appearance that she didn’t cotton much to frills and such. He added that to the mental notes he kept of things she’d revealed in their correspondence, such as her love for watching sunrises and the beauty of sunsets. The clean smell of rain and her fondness for storms.
And how she hated men who kept women under their thumbs, unworthy of having an opinion of their own.
Tally had also revealed the fact that she was hunted and that there was five hundred dollars offered for her capture. She’d made no secret about it, as early as the first letter. He had a duty to see that no one claimed it. In those same letters, she’d spoken of a longing to walk free one day, to find a deep peace. He would try his best to see that she got that.
The wagon came to a stop. Clay couldn’t take his gaze from the two women sitting on the high seat. “Ladies,” he murmured in welcome. “Luke.”
Luke Legend took in the rubble, his face hardening as he set the brake and swung down. “What happened?”
Clay forced himself to look away from Tally. “Montana Black took exception to a town here and burned it to the ground.”
“Do you think Black is close?”
“Anyone’s guess. We had a bit of a skirmish. He rode out on a spotted gray, bleeding like a stuck pig after I shot him, vowing to burn down the town every time we rebuild.” Clay’s glance strayed to Tally, her gaze on the burned buildings, the dugouts and tents. He winced and prepared himself, but she stayed silent.
Clay struggled to keep his voice even but didn’t feel very successful, hoping Tally didn’t notice. “I won’t lie, Luke. I’m tempted to walk away, but I have others to consider now.” He let out a loud sigh. “If Tally’s willing, I’ll rebuild one more time.”
“Good.” Luke squeezed Clay’s shoulder. “Come meet your bride while I see to Josie’s needs.”
Jack and Ridge stepped from the makeshift jail to holler and wave at the company. Both had said they’d stay out of the way and let Clay have this time with Tally. But right now, he wished for his friends to join them and help with the awkward meeting. A deep breath of air bolstered him.
Everyone else faded into the background as he strode forward. He took Tally’s hand, helping her from the wagon. “Welcome to Devil’s Crossing.”
Her eyes met his, and he found them the pale blue of a winter sky. She didn’t smile, but she didn’t frown either, so he took that as a positive sign. “Thank you, Mr. Colby.”
The next thing that drew his attention was a small, diamond-shaped tattoo on her cheek, like the brand ranchers used to mark their property. A small letter C was in the center.
Clay fought down rising anger. A woman, especially Tally Shannon, was no one’s property. If he got a chance, he’d find pleasure in making sure whoever left that mark knew it.
“We’re informal here. Just call me Clay.”
“Clay, then. Come, Violet.” She turned to lift a little girl from the wagon. Clay wondered if Luke and Josie had taken in a stray. The whole Legend family opened their hearts to unwanted children, so it stood to reason.
He turned to the matchmaking couple. “Miz Josie, you’re looking like a rose in bloom.”
Josie laughed. “More like a swollen watermelon.” She laid her hands on her large belly. “I only have a little further to go before I can get my girlish figure back, thank goodness. I’m tired and I’m grouchy.”
Luke put his arm around his wife’s girth. “We can’t wait to welcome our first.”
“Looks like you’ve already started with the girl.”
“She’s mine,” Tally declared, her voice holding a challenge. “If you want me, you’ll take her too.”
Three
Tally’s eyes narrowed as she watched surprise ripple across Clay’s tanned face. He scrubbed the back of his neck, and if she could hazard a guess, he was probably cussing a silent blue streak. Cuts from a recent scuffle lined his face, and bruises had begun to form along his jaw. Was this what she’d bargained for? Was he a man always spoiling for a fight? Still…he’d spoken with a gentle voice despite his hard, dark eyes. She recognized the longing buried beneath the words. Not like the men she despised, who cared for no one but themselves.
The man before her appeared different from the one she’d seen in the letters they�
�d exchanged—compassionate, seemingly able to read her mind, offering her a home. She’d read those notes over and over, hardly daring to believe he was real.
She was unsure he could deliver on his promises to provide a safe home—not sure she could deliver on her own promise to give him time either.
Part of her wanted to turn and run—except her feet were already firmly planted on this soil.
She’d thrown him for a loop, but it couldn’t be helped. “I didn’t have time to warn you that Violet was coming. The child needs me. If you want to back out, I understand. No hard feelings.”
Clay Colby’s eyes shifted, and he glanced down at the eight-year-old. Tally felt him size up the situation. Violet was clinging to Tally’s dress with one hand and clutching a rag doll with the other. The large black dog had stopped barking and seemed friendly enough. It wandered over to Violet and licked her arm. She whimpered and jerked back in alarm.
“The dog’s friendly, sweet girl,” Clay said quietly.
“His tail is wagging to beat all and I think I see a silly, little smile on his face,” Tally said, reassuring Violet. “What’s his name, Clay?”
“Bullet.”
Violet fumbled to locate the dog’s head and petted it. Tally studied Clay’s face and spotted the moment he figured out that Violet was blind. A pained look crossed his chiseled features.
“I welcome you both.” Clay met Tally’s eyes. “I hesitated only because this complicates things a bit. You see, I don’t have a bed for her. If I’d known—”
“The apology is mine to make. I’m sorry for springing this on you.” Tally placed a palm on the girl’s shoulder. “I didn’t know myself until I was about to leave and saw how devastated Violet would be if we were separated. She doesn’t trust easily and we’ve formed a deep bond.”
Clay shifted, widening his stance. “Anyone can see she’s a special child.”
He seemed to speak with conviction that came from a place deep inside, and from his letters, he didn’t appear to be a man who said things he didn’t mean. Their lives depended on her being right about his character.
A word in the right ear would put her and the others behind bars. She’d been taking care of the Creedmore escapees from the beginning—she was everyone’s protector. Now she longed to be the one taken care of, to not have to lie awake listening for trouble.
Just once, she wanted to know what being protected felt like.
Clay Colby appeared more than capable. But what sort of husband would he be? Gentle? Domineering? Would he treat her as an equal? His voice was kind, but what of the physical part? Would that be a different story? He was so much larger. She could probably fit both of her hands into one of his. Tall and lean, he loomed over her, wearing some kind of invisible shield that said he’d suffered disappointment and despair.
The man who’d burned his town had probably struck a severe blow. In his letters, he’d spoken of his dream of building something lasting that would stand long after he was gone. Now, it lay in ash. Such a disaster battered a man’s pride.
That kind of pain lived inside her as well, so she knew some of the frustration and anger he must feel. She wanted to reach out and comfort, yet she kept her hands on Violet.
Despite his recent loss with the town, she could see strength in his determined jaw and that appealed to her. Weak men didn’t interest her. The muscles in his tanned forearms stood out and his torn shirt stretched tight across his broad chest and back. Tingles danced up her spine. Soon she’d lie beside this husband-to-be of hers. He already seemed too rugged, too…powerful.
Too able to read her thoughts.
The urge to take a step back came over her, but instead, she tilted her chin and met his brown stare, letting him know she would stand her ground. Luke strode from the wagon, his arm around Josie, silver conchos that ran the length of his black pant legs glinting in the sun. He still looked every bit the elusive outlaw he’d once been. For years, he’d been far more than a friend to Tally—he was the family she’d lost. The creak of the windmill drew her gaze. She closed her eyes for a second, soaking up the scrape and grind of the rod as it pumped water from the earth. When she was young, she’d often fallen asleep lulled by the music of a windmill. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed that until now. Standing before her future husband, in the wake of so much devastation, that sound grounded her and gave her hope.
Josie pulled away from Luke’s side as they neared and hugged Clay. “I’m sorry about the fire. So devastating. When you first came to the Lone Star seeking our help, I knew you were a good, strong, decent man. The destruction here just makes me want to cry.” She directed her next words at Tally. “You’ll get no better husband than Clay. If you don’t take him, why I’ll…I’ll divorce Luke and marry him myself.”
“You’ll have a fight on your hands, querida. No one can sing your bawdy saloon songs quite like you,” Luke growled.
Tally didn’t know what Luke was referring to, but Josie’s face colored and she gazed up at Luke in adoration. Tally loved watching them together. They hadn’t been married very long, but even so, Tally wanted what they had.
Could she find it with an outlaw like Clay Colby? The question pressed on her mind.
If he discovered how damaged she was, he’d likely run far and fast, and she wouldn’t blame him. Her chest pains that came and went, swollen ankles, aching feet—the nightmares—all would test his commitment. Guilt rose at keeping silent.
He was surely getting a pig in a poke.
Luke glanced at the wagon. “Before I unload, you two go somewhere and talk. Clay, if either of you want to call off this wedding, I’ll take Tally and Violet back home.”
“I’ll do as you ask, but I don’t need to think about it,” Clay answered. “I want both of them.”
Tally left Violet with Josie and followed Clay into his dugout. She liked the strong set of his jaw and broad shoulders. He gave the impression that he wouldn’t give under a heavy load. The two-inch scar down his face and the revolver swinging from his lean hip suggested he’d seen trouble too many times to count. His dark hair sported a few silver stands at the temples and curled possessively over his collarless shirt like a gunslinger’s hand around his gun.
She scanned the dim interior of the dugout, not caring that it was part of the hillside. She loved the scent of the earth and the safety Devil’s Crossing represented. A stack of uncut leather lay in a corner, and the pink and yellow flowers on the table added an unexpected homey feel, even if they were a bit limp.
Tally eyed them closer and found roots hanging from a few. Well, the thought counted. This outlaw was already surprising her in a lot of ways.
“How old is the child?” he asked.
“Eight. She’s small for her age.”
“Have you tried teaching her to get around by herself some?”
“A bit but not enough. And all those lessons are no good here, where everything is new.”
“It’s important. I want to make sure she knows the layout, because here, you never know when she might need the information. I’d like to work with her, unless you object.”
“Violet has this strong distrust of men, but with time, it’ll get better.” Tally motioned to the leather. “What do you make?”
“Saddles, harnesses, boots, you name it.” Clay flicked her a nervous smile. “I know this doesn’t look like much, but it’s only temporary. As soon as I can, you’ll have a real house.”
Her mouth tried to turn up in a return smile but her nerves wouldn’t let it. She sat at the table in the chair Clay pulled out for her and folded her hands in her lap. “Don’t say anything you don’t mean. I’ve been lied to enough.”
He stood at the window, the sunlight casting his shadow across the plank floor. “Look, Tally Shannon, I never waste words, and what I say, you can count on. I want something better for you and already h
ave the land picked out.”
That statement dispelled some of her fear and put her more at ease. “What do you expect of me, Clay?”
“I dream of building a town here—proper, with establishments and a stage line. True, the men here are outlaws, but they’re as determined as I am to mend their ways. Tally, I want far more than a six-shooter and notoriety. I want to thrive instead of only existing. I want…you.” He paused as though fearing he’d revealed too much too soon. “But I can’t do it alone. You can help turn this dream into reality. I’ll protect you and Violet. If anyone gets past me, it’ll only be because I’m dead. I expect you to sleep beside me, to share whatever comes our way, raise our children.”
His sincerity rattled something deep inside her. She could almost imagine a life with him. Something told her he was probably as scared of the whole deal as she was.
“What are you wanted for, Clay?” she asked quietly.
With a heavy sigh, he pulled out the other chair and sat down. “Murder. Get one thing clear—I didn’t choose this life. It chose me. I dispense justice when there’s none to be had and I’m not sorry for it. Even so, I yearn for the day when there is no need for guns.”
“This land continues to be too dangerous. I’ll wear mine until it’s safe to remove it.” She wouldn’t be caught unaware when trouble came.
“You might as well know that twice now I’ve tried to settle down and marry. But once the women found out what being married to me entailed, they changed their minds and I was left nursing hurt pride. All I’m asking for is one chance to show you the man I can become.”
Tally was silent, watching his eyes. Eyes didn’t lie. They showed a man’s true heart. Clay spoke quietly, his voice breaking when talking about his struggle. This was the kind of man who’d still be standing when all others were lying on the ground.
