A Texan’s Honor (34 page)

"If it's not, then not a one of us is worth all that much, I don't think." Reaching out, he grasped Will's hand. "Will McMillan, I am hereby releasing you of your duties with the U.S. Marshals. Thank you for your honorable service."

After shaking his hand, Will stood and gave one of the most upright men he'd ever met a formal salute. "It was a privilege, sir."

Sam saluted right back, then handed Will a packet. "You're going to be needing the contents of this, I think. There's a formal commendation for your honorable service as a U.S. Marshal, a letter of recommendation from me, and some compensation for your services. God be with you."

"Thank you, sir," he said, before turning around and walking out, packet in hand.

For the first time in his life, he was about to do something for himself. Not for his family. Not for his country. He blinked quickly so no one would see the tears welling in his eyes.

S
hawnee , Oklahoma, wasn't much, but Scout didn't need it to be. All that mattered was that it had a decent saloon, with a couple of desperate men interested in playing highstakes poker, and that not a single person in the dark, ramshackle building dared look at him close enough to ask if he really was the infamous Scout Proffitt.

"You playing or posin'?" the drunk across the table from him snarled.

A couple of the men on either side of him flinched, but it had been a long time since he'd been cowed by a greasy old man who couldn't hold his whiskey. "I'm in," he said, tossing a few chips into the center of the poker table.

The game progressed as the hours rolled onward. Two men left at midnight, their spaces taken by fresh blood, cowboys who looked eager to spend their hard-earned cash on highstakes chances. Whiskey flowed and the flashy women posing in his line of sight got little to no attention.

All while the drunk across from him imbibed more rotgut, lost more money, got angrier, and turned more desperate.

For his part, Scout was winning. He didn't care about the money, only about the time. The longer he was at the table, the less time he'd have to figure out how to sleep at night.

As cards slapped the table, men around him groaned. He had won again.

"You're cheatin'! I know it!" the drunk yelled.

Scout stilled. "I don't cheat."

"Of course you do. Look at you. Dressed in black from head to toe, silver pistols at your side. You look like a bandit."

The men around him gasped.

"Do I?" Scout was getting a little tired of being chewed on. Quietly, he said, "Is that what you really think? That I look like an outlaw? A no-good, lying, cheating outlaw?"

Maybe it was his silent glare, or the way it was obvious he couldn't wait to beat someone to a pulp.

Maybe it was his half-smile. But the man's eyes opened wide and his brow started to sweat.

Around them, the room seemed to grow quiet as each person looked at Scout just a little more closely. Perhaps one or two of them even started to imagine that his black wardrobe and the scar on his cheek looked almost familiar.

Or maybe they were waiting to see just how far a drunkard with half a brain could go.

Seconds passed. Scout leaned back, his hands resting loosely at his side before he was even conscious of it.

But then the drunk cleared his throat. "My mistake," he mumbled. "No offense."

Looking at the others, Scout said, "Are we still playing?"

"We're playing," one said. "Bill, you out?"

It was evident the man had used his last nickel. "No." Grabbing the back of an advertisement tacked to the wall, he held out a hand. "Somebody get me somethin' to write with."

"Bill—"

"Do it."

A pen was pushed into his hands. The man hastily scrawled a message on it. "Okay. I'm in now."

"What is that?" Scout asked.

"Deed to my farm."

One of the men to Scout's right closed his eyes.

But Scout finally felt a glimmer of hope burst up inside him. "Where's your farm?"

"Not here. It's in Texas."

That sounded even better. "Where?"

"West of Texarkana. It ain't much, but it's worth a fair amount."

One of the other men coughed loudly. "Don't you have a family, Bill? Ain't that your homestead?"

"I'm dying. Cancer. They're moving on anyway." Belligerently, he stared at them all. "Y'all in or not?"

Two men left, obviously too high and mighty to risk taking a man's land. Two others quickly took their places though. And then the bidding progressed.

The stakes were high, the cards flying quickly.

And for the first time in his life, Scout was sure that a higher power was on his side. Because one by one he acquired the cards he needed.

Men folded. Another raised.

The drunk, looking pastier by the second, raised the bet.

And then it was time.

Scout presented his set of four aces.

The drunk lumbered to his feet, his eyes wide and his expression full of fire. After emitting a good long stream of profanity, he pointed one bony finger at Scout's chest. "You're a no-good cheater. You're going to pay—"

Slowly, Scout got to his feet. "I didn't cheat. And I'm not going to pay you a dime." With deliberate moves, he gathered the chips and examined the paper. "You need to sign this."

The man's skin turned a grayish-white. "I . . . I can't do that. I can't give you my land."

"It's too late. You bet it, and I want it. You'd best sign it now or I'm going to finally put you out of your misery."

The men around him nodded. Scout might have been scary, but he was right.

Grudgingly the man signed his name as the rest of the men around Scout paid up and got to their feet. But just as the old man handed him the paper, he lifted his chin, showing his last bit of respect. "Who are you? Who have I just given my farm to?"

"Do you really want to know?" Scout said. "Because if you know my name for certain, I will have to kill you."

He turned away then. Not a shot rang out as he left the premises. Scout made sure he didn't turn around because then someone would see his smile.

He was a landowner now. And for a man who'd ached all his life for a home, there was nothing sweeter.

A woman ran after him, her bright red dress standing out like a cardinal in winter. "What's your hurry, honey? Don't you want some company for a while?"

Scout paused. He almost considered it, but then shook his head. "Nope." He was done looking for easy company and temporary relief.

And with that, he left Shawnee, Oklahoma, and the crowded company of worn-down men. Mounting his horse, he headed south to where both his past and his future lay.

He was going home to Texas.

J
roning pillowcases was a thankless job in the afternoon's humidity. Jamie brushed away the few strands of hair that kept sticking to her cheeks and forehead and picked up another iron from the fire.

After smoothing out the pillowcase, she deftly ran the hot iron across the cloth, finding comfort in how the soft cotton instantly smoothed.

Oh, if only life was like that. If only she could grab a hot iron and quickly smooth the wrinkles away and make things even and perfect again.

But, of course, such a thing was never going to be possible. She was now forever marked by her past. And if her daylight hours didn't confirm that, her nightmares surely did.

With a flick of her wrist, she snapped the pillowcase taut, then easily folded it into thirds. For good measure, she ran the iron over the folds one last time.

"It's funny. During all the times I've thought of you, I've never pictured you once doing something so domestic," a voice drawled behind her. "I wonder how come."

Jamie almost burned herself as she set the iron on the plate. To gain herself some time, she picked up the completed pillowcase and added it to the stack. As she did so, Jamie noticed that her hands were shaking.

Most likely, she was not hiding a single thing from the most observant man she'd ever met.

Well, it was probably just as well that she was noticeably trembling—her insides were quavering something awful. "I don't know," she finally answered. "Perhaps you didn't really believe I was a domesticated woman, Mr. McMillan?"

"Will.
It's Will," he corrected. "Remember? You promised to call me by my Christian name."

"Will," she repeated, his name feeling like both an unexpected treat and a source of sorrow on her lips. If she turned around, what would she see in his eyes?

Afraid to face him, she plucked up another pillowcase. But she didn't have the will to set it on the board. Instead, she only fingered it lightly. And tried to keep her composure.

Her lack of welcome didn't seem to bother him. "As for your ironing, I suppose I should have guessed you could do the chore so well. After all, I knew you were a lady of worth . . . and so much more to me."

There was a new yearning in his voice that was hard to ignore. Husky and deep, he sounded like he was measuring each word carefully before speaking. As though he had so many words floating around in his head that he was worried about the wrong ones spilling out.

She knew what that was like. At the moment, it was her feelings that were leaning in that direction. Or was it her heart?

Even though she'd faced bandits and hunger and shame, she was still afraid to turn around. The sight of him would be too much like her dreams, and she didn't know if she could handle that. "Why are you here?"

"I couldn't stay away."

Her heart clenched. "That's not how you acted when we said good-bye in Dodge City. When I got on the train, you seemed content." Her throat worked, making her continue even though she wasn't sure how to explain herself. "You made it seem like you doubted a future with me."

"I didn't doubt you, ma'am. I doubted myself. I've been in a distant place from anything of worth for a very long time."

"I'm afraid I'd have to disagree, Will. You, I'm sorry to say, are the most honorable man I know."

"Jamie?" Impatience settled in. "Jamie, are you ever going to turn around?"

Her mind worked over the words. Tried to convince her breathing to work with her lips. When it felt as if she finally had control of herself, she admitted her weakness. "I'm afraid to see you."

"Why is that?"

His voice was closer now. So close that she could sense his body behind her. Though she considered reaching a hand out to him, she still waited. Hope and need were sorry companions to disappointment. "Because I'm afraid you won't be who I remember you to be. And . . ." She sucked in a breath and tried to get her bearings right. "And, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed too. Now that we're out of danger, you'll see that all I am is myself. Nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary." Nothing like him.

"Never. You've always been far more than ordinary to me." Now he was close enough that she could smell leather and the underlying scent that belonged to Will McMillan alone.

Her mouth went dry as his hand curved around her shoulder, and gently squeezed. Not hard. Just enough to let her know that he was there. He was present and he wasn't going away.

But it was easy enough to jerk her shoulder out of his grasp if that was what she really wanted. She didn't. "Why are you here?" she repeated.

"Because a very smart man reminded me that here was where I needed to be."

"In Kansas City?" She honestly wasn't sure about how much to hope for.

"I need to be with you, Jamie."

It sounded like there was a smile to his voice now. She could imagine it just as if he were standing in front of her instead of behind. Then with his other hand he gripped her other shoulder, effectively caging her in. Holding her close. When he sighed, she felt his breath cascade against her neck.

But even more powerful than his proximity were his words.

"Jamilyn, when I was with you, I swear it was the hardest time of my life. Not even during the war was I so afraid. Every minute of the day I was terrified I was going to misjudge a situation and get you killed. I was afraid I wouldn't be man enough to protect you, that I wasn't going to be strong enough to help you survive."

"I had no idea you felt that way."

"I didn't know I could admit it," he whispered, his voice sending fresh waves of awareness down her neck.

For the first time, he'd let her feel his weakness. But instead of making her turn away from him, it made her finally turn around. Instantly, his gaze searched hers. Blue irises flared as he silently conveyed everything they were both afraid to verbalize.

As she'd anticipated, his hands dropped when she moved her body. They stayed at his side when she faced him completely.

Chest-to-chest. Hip-to-hip. Little separated them except worries and doubts, unsaid promises and unspoken fears.

But even with all that, there was something far stronger holding them together. Love. "I fell in love with you," she said. Surprise flickered in his eyes before he carefully tamped it down. "Will, back when you were worried about being everything for me, I fell in love with everything you were."

"Was it enough?"

This time, she was the one who reached out. Running a finger along a wrinkle lining the outside of his eye, she tried in vain to ease his lines of worry. But they were too embedded, coming from a lifetime of hard work and living dangerously, to be removed with one soft touch. "Oh Will, don't you understand? All along, you were more than enough. You were more than I'd ever known."

"The hardest thing I ever did was let you go on that train with Edison."

"I got the feeling it was." When a ghost of a smile appeared, she slid her hand lower and brushed her thumb against the curve of his bottom lip.

"What? Was that day at the train station not the hardest day for you?"

"Not at all." When he stared at her in surprise, she chuckled. "Will, letting you go was easy, because it was the right thing to do. I wanted you to feel all right. I wanted you to feel good about yourself."