Cherished (4 page)

At just past six o’clock that evening the
Kansas Pacific chugged into the Denver station and discharged its
carloads of weary passengers. Juliana, stepping out into fresh,
mountain-cooled air, took a deep breath, reveling in the pungent
scent of pine. She hurried across the platform for a better view of
the town. She saw wide, dusty streets lined with wood-fronted and
adobe buildings, many of them saloons. Garishly painted signs
proclaimed names like the LUCKY DOG, GOLD DUST, and STAR DIAMOND
SALOON, the latter boasting of dancing girls and faro. Denver was
larger than she’d expected; rougher, too. Not at all like staid,
pretty, proper St. Louis. The streets were teeming with wagons,
horses, pigs, and people going about their business, and the faint
odor of manure in the air mingled strangely with the clear pine
scent drifting down from the mountains rising beyond the town.
Brown-faced, sunbonneted women in gingham dresses and men wearing
guns and Stetsons filled the streets. Tumbleweed blew down the
alleys, children skirmished in front of Dade’s General Store. She
heard the neigh of horses, the clomp of a hundred pairs of boots on
boardwalk, and the blare of tinny piano music and drunken shouts
emanating from the Gold Dust Saloon, directly across from the
depot.

“What an ugly, squalid,
dreadful
place.” Katharine Tobias shuddered. “Edward, I thought you said
Denver was a civilized town.”

“It is, my dear, compared to most on the
frontier.” Uncle Edward mopped his brow with a handkerchief, and
peered up and down the street. “It seems Breen’s man is late coming
to meet us. Well, let’s gather up the baggage and hope he arrives
by the time we’ve assembled it all.”

Juliana held back as her aunt and cousin
followed him into the baggage room. It would take some time to sort
through the piles of trunks, crates, and boxes being unloaded from
the train, and all she needed was a moment or two.

Quick as a wink, she slipped past a knot of
travelers about to descend the platform steps, hurried down to the
street, and then dashed toward the Gold Dust Saloon. It was the
nearest one and the largest, from what she had seen. Her heart was
pounding, for she couldn’t help feeling the very real possibility
that she might encounter her brothers within those swinging doors.
Of course, that was highly unlikely, but now that she was out West,
it
could
happen.

She was just about to enter the saloon when
suddenly gunshots roared from inside. The sound burst through
Juliana’s ears, stunning her. Someone screamed, windowpanes
rattled, and on the street all about her, people ducked for cover.
Juliana, one hand upon the door, froze with terror.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. She
was trembling all over, yet she was dimly aware of the rough town
behind her. She was aware of the April wind caressing her cheek,
aware of the unnatural silence that had followed those first
thundering shots. She was torn between an urge to flee, and an
almost overwhelming desire to burst inside and see what had
happened. But her legs wouldn’t move.

Then, before she could do anything, the
saloon doors swung wide and a man charged out, colliding full force
with Juliana. She was knocked sideways into the wall by the most
stunningly handsome man she’d ever seen.

He was young, seemed to be in his late
twenties, and very tall. Ink-black hair touched his shirt collar;
steel-blue eyes stared out from a rough, sun-bronzed face. He
looked as strong as Goliath, Juliana thought in a daze. She caught
a fascinating glimpse of curly black chest hair beneath the collar
of his shirt and something in the pit of her stomach squeezed
tight. The snug black trousers he wore tucked into his boots
emphasized rather than disguised a body that was lean and superbly
fit, splendid with muscles. His physique bespoke power, but his
expression bespoke danger. Dragging her gaze from that dark mat of
chest hair to his face, Juliana nearly gasped. She had never seen
anyone as handsome, and at the same time deadly-looking, in her
life.

Danger emanated from him like heat from a
stove. Beneath the black Stetson he wore the look of a man who had
never once been tethered by the softening influence of love. This
man had never been tethered by anything, Juliana realized. And
those keen, intense blue eyes were like none other she had ever
seen.

He
was like none she had ever seen.
As she steadied herself against the wall, recovering from being
knocked aside, his gaze bored straight into her without a flicker
of emotion.

“Beg your pardon, ma’am.”

He didn’t sound the least bit sorry.

His cold glance swept past, scanning either
side of the road. He spoke again, his voice soft and even as he
appraised the empty street.

“If I were you, ma’am, I’d step back a pace
or this hombre will bleed all over that pretty dress of yours,” the
stranger drawled without sparing her a second glance.

It was then that Juliana had the wit to tear
her gaze from that magnetic face. Looking down, she saw with a
quiver of horror that he was casually dragging behind him a man’s
blue-and-yellow-shirted, blood-spattered body.

Juliana had never fainted before in her life,
but she’d never seen a dead body before either. She took one look
at the blood and guts spilling from the dead man and felt a great
dry coldness sweep over her. The man was wearing a blue and yellow
shirt—oddly familiar. He had golden blond hair, thick and silky,
falling over his face.

The shirt, the hair ... it came to her with a
jolt, it looked just like ...

“Tommy!” she whispered with a breath of
horror, and then she pitched forward like a rag doll straight into
the stranger’s arms.

The stranger caught her just before she hit
the ground. Cursing, he was forced to release his hold on the dead
man’s shirt and to sweep an arm about the swooning girl before she
crashed onto the boardwalk.
Just what I need
, Cole Rawdon
thought in disgust.
A fool woman to slow me down
.

“Damn it all to hell,” he muttered under his
breath as her hat fell off and a tumble of gold curls cascaded
down, nearly touching the ground.

A crowd was gathering. Rawdon hated
crowds.

“What are you staring at?” He glared at the
sea of faces, and the onlookers scattered. With a grimace he turned
back to the woman, really seeing her for the first time. She was a
slip of a thing, no more. And pretty as pie. Pretty? No, Cole
decided. Pretty didn’t quite describe her. She was beautiful. For a
moment he forgot about the dead man and the crowd, and found
himself studying the girl.

Cole didn’t remember ever seeing skin so
creamy and smooth, or hair quite so pure and dazzling a gold. Or
features so elegant—as though they’d been cut from fine crystal.
Breakable, that’s how she looked. Like she belonged on a china shop
shelf, not the streets of Denver. For a moment he just stared at
her, mesmerized. Then he came to his senses with a start. Hell, it
was damned inconvenient to be stuck holding on to this female in
the middle of Denver when he had to get Gus Borden’s corpse to
Sugar Creek pronto. A two-hundred-dollar reward was waiting at the
end of that four-hour ride—and Cole meant to claim it, and get rid
of Gus, before the outlaw’s body started to rot. For a moment
longer he let his eyes slide over the girl’s willowy form, admiring
the soft curves beneath her fancy dress, the way her breasts
strained against the tight fabric.
Damn, she is something
.
Too bad I’m in a hurry
, he thought, his eyes narrowing
with regret.
If I had more time, I’d wait around to see if she
knows how to show a man proper gratitude
. He doubted it. Any
girl who fainted at the sight of a little blood was sure to be too
weak-spined and silly to be any fun at all. Besides, Ina Day was
dancing in the Red Feather Saloon in Sugar Creek tonight and she
always knew how to show him a good time.

Cole tore his gaze from the delicate planes
of the girl’s face with an effort. A thin man with dark whiskers
was watching him warily from ten paces down the boardwalk. “Hey,
you, come here,” he ordered. “Grab ahold of this woman and ... do
something with her.”

As the man nervously approached, Cole saw the
girl’s eyelashes flutter. About time. Suddenly she opened her eyes
and gazed up at him in a dazed fashion. He felt his insides
tighten. She had the most exquisite eyes he’d ever seen—huge,
expressive, green as a Montana valley, and filled just now with a
touching uncertainty that, if he’d been any other man, would have
tugged at his heart. But Cole had been delayed long enough, and
life’s hard blows had toughened whatever he’d once had of a
heart.

“Been a pleasure getting acquainted with you,
ma’am, but I’m afraid I’ve got to be going now,” he drawled, and
dumped her without ceremony into the bewhiskered man’s arms.
Without another glance at the girl who had interfered with the
orderly execution of his business, he seized Gus Borden’s shirt
collar and dragged him over to the sorrel horse tethered in front
of the saloon. Flinging the body over the saddle and tying it
securely in place, Cole forced himself to avoid looking at the
little knot of bonneted women, curious children, and silent men who
had gathered around the girl. He mounted Arrow and spurred the
horse forward, directing the sorrel through the town. Denver,
pretty much inured to violence in the streets and saloons, was
already getting back to normal.

So much for Denver, and fainting women. As he
left the town behind for the solitude of sagebrush and plains, Cole
tried not to think about the girl with the golden cloud of hair.
Tommy
, she had said, just before she fainted. She’d been
looking at Borden when she said it. Strange. Equally strange was
the fact that the girl had been about to enter the saloon. She
didn’t look like any fallen dove he’d ever seen; she looked damned
respectable—aristocratic, even—but then, Cole thought, spurring
Arrow on across the foothills, what did he know about women? Only
what he’d learned from Liza, and that was all bad. Ina Day and the
other dance-hall girls and whores he frequented now and then were
fine and dandy conveniences for fulfilling the needs of a man’s
body, but he didn’t know a damned thing about any one of them, and
he didn’t care to, either. Women were tricky, cunning, and
treacherous creatures, that’s all he knew or needed to know. The
prettier they were, the more dangerous they could be. According to
this way of figuring things, that gold-haired beauty back there
could be downright fatal.

Cole knew one thing. The sooner he forgot
about her, the better off he’d be. He turned his mind to Borden,
and the reward, and how he’d celebrate finishing the job by looking
up Ina and letting her entertain him for the night. That kind of
company he could handle. Short, sweet, and uncomplicated, a night
with Ina would make him forget all about the girl who’d fainted, a
girl Cole was certain he’d never see again.

The foothills rose about him as he rode away
from Denver, soothing him with their wildness, their solitude,
their lonely embrace. Cole settled down for the ride and fixed his
sights on Ina Day, a feather bed, and a bottle of the Red Feather’s
finest.

Juliana, meanwhile, came dazedly awake to
find herself in the arms of a thin, frightened-looking man with
black whiskers and a bulbous nose.
Ugh. No. That wasn’t the
face at all
. Dizzy, she shut her eyes again, and a soft moan
escaped her lips. She tried to summon up the image of a handsome
young face, rugged and strong and hard. Hadn’t she just seen that
face? Where had it gone?

Her uncle’s voice rang with cold fury through
the air, shattering her dreamy haze. “Juliana, what is the meaning
of this? What are you doing down here in the street?”

Her eyes blinked open. She found herself in
the center of a little crowd of people, all eyeing her curiously.
Aunt Katharine, Uncle Edward, and Victoria were glaring at her as
if she had just marched naked through a garden party. Why?
Frantically, she tried to clear her foggy brain.

“Is she yours, mister?” The bewhiskered man
peered hopefully at Uncle Edward. His cheeks were red with
embarrassment. “Not that I mind helping a lady in trouble,” he went
on hurriedly, and then glanced up and down the street with a
distracted air. “But, you see, my missus’ll be along any time now
and she might not ‘xactly understand why I’ve got a pretty gal in
my arms. You know how women can be.”

Several people chuckled, another man slapped
him on the back in sympathy, and Juliana’s memory came flooding
back with shocking force. Gasping, she jolted upright onto her own
two feet, ignoring the light-headed sensation that washed over her.
“Tommy!” she cried, and turned to Uncle Edward with terrified eyes.
“That man—the dead man—it was Tommy—Uncle Edward, I saw his shirt,
he—”

“Pshaw, girl, I don’t know who you thought
that feller was, but I kin tell you for right certain it was Gus
Borden, the lowest kind of rustler and killer you ever met.” An
old-timer with bushy white hair and a bent back peered at her from
under swooping eyebrows almost bigger than his leathered face.

“Are you sure?” Juliana put a hand to her
heart as its pounding gradually slowed. “Oh, mister, are you
sure?”

“Sure as shootin’, missy. There was a price
on Borden’s head. Feller that shot him was a bounty hunter, name of
Cole Rawdon. I saw the whole thing, and a damned fine bit of
shooting it was.”

“That bounty hunter shore was in a big
hurry,” the bewhiskered man put in. He had taken out a handkerchief
and begun mopping his perspiring brow, obviously relieved that the
lovely young woman was no longer reclining in his arms. “When he
told me to grab ahold of you, you could have knocked me down with a
feather. But damned if I knew what else to do. He looked mighty
fierce, and I didn’t want to do nothing to aggravate him—I’ve heard
of Cole Rawdon ...”