Daisies In The Wind (5 page)

“You can’t force me to leave,” she told Wolf
Bodine, her mouth dry. Why had she ever expected that anyone would
accept her, would let her start over in peace? She repeated the
words she had told Analee and the others. “I’m staying.”

Sunlight filtered in through the green
shutters, burnishing Wolf’s hair, casting shadows on the deep
coppered bronze of his skin.
He could never trust me, much less
like me
, Rebeccah realized with a rush of agonizing insight.
No one here will. I should go, after all.

But where?

There was no place else. She was alone. And
broke. She’d rid herself of everything Bear had given her, all but
a few clothes, some keepsakes—and the ranch.

You mustn’t cry
, she instructed
herself fiercely, blinking away the needle sting of unshed tears.
You mustn’t let him or anyone see that they can make you
bleed
. Bear had warned her how dangerous any sign of weakness
before enemies could be.

They’ll eat you like vultures
, he’d
said time and again.
There’ll be nothing left but gnawed-up
bones.

Wolf Bodine was watching her closely.

“I’m staying,” she said again, her fingers
clenching the delicate strap of her reticule.

“I reckon that’s your choice. But don’t
expect folks around here to welcome you with open arms. Your father
and his gang robbed the bank a few years back, before I came to
town.” He paused, seemed about to say something else, then changed
his mind and went on quickly, “They got clean away with money
belonging to a lot of folks. Maybe you’re wearing some of that
money right now,” he added meaningfully, his eyes fixed on her
pearl choker.

“What I’m wearing is none of your business.
I’m here in this office to get my reward money, Sheriff Bodine.
Now, are you going to give it to me or not?”

I’d like to give it to you, all
right
, he thought, but aloud he only said, “Take it easy, Miss
Rawlings. I intend to give you everything you deserve.”

Rebeccah stiffened, but she let the remark
pass. All she wanted was to get this entire business over with and
to get out of here. And if she never saw Wolf Bodine or this odious
sheriff’s office again, it would be far too soon.

In silence she filled out the papers he gave
her.

He in turn signed them without glancing at
her.

“I’ll have to wire for the money. I’ll bring
it out to you when I get it.”

“See that you do.”

She was nearly through the door when his
voice stopped her. “You’ve got a fair distance to travel, Miss
Rawlings. Might be a good idea to stay overnight in the hotel and
head out for the ranch tomorrow.”

“No, thank you, Sheriff,” she snapped. All
she wanted was to leave this town behind. Not one person here would
welcome her when they learned who she was—Bodine was right about
that.
Bear, why did you have to rob the bank in this particular
town?

She had no desire to be stared at, sneered
at, or accosted. She wanted only to be left alone.
I’ve already
killed a man this afternoon—certainly that’s quite enough of
defending myself for one day.

“Your concern is touching, but I’ve no desire
to stay in your flea-bitten little hotel.” Somehow she managed a
derisive tone. “If it’s as small, dirty, and uninviting as the rest
of the town, I am much better off on my own property.”

“Suit yourself. So long, Miss Rawlings.”

His voice followed her—mockingly, she felt—as
she sailed out onto the boardwalk.

She slammed the door. Weariness and a pang of
aloneness brought tears dangerously close, but she forced them
away.

She’d survived too much with her dignity
intact to let the fact that Wolf Bodine wanted her out of his town
make her weepy. Besides, she thought as she forced one foot before
the other, she hated weepy females. The thing to do was to
concentrate on getting out to the ranch.
Don’t
think—do.

She’d need a horse and buggy. When that was
arranged, she would retrieve her baggage, inquire directions at the
hotel, and be on her way.

A short time later she emerged from the hotel
dragging her trunk, with her velvet-banded hatbox tucked in the
crook of her arm. She was trying not to notice the delicious smells
emanating from the hotel dining room, or the growling of her
stomach. But realizing how hungry she was did remind her of
something: She ought to stop at the general store and buy some
flour, eggs, beans, and other supplies before going to the ranch.
She didn’t know what to expect when she reached it, and Bear had
always taught her to be prepared for anything.

With that in mind she remembered the
derringer tucked inside the pocket of her traveling gown. It was
small but effective, as Mr. Scoop Parmalee had discovered. And it
would come in handy in case ...

But she pushed that thought away as well. She
couldn’t afford to worry about Neely Stoner or the others who were
after the silver mine right now. At the moment her biggest problem
was going to be hefting this trunk up into the wagon. It contained
everything she had left in the world—which wasn’t all that much,
but still ...

She grabbed hold of the trunk’s handle, but
before she could try to lift it, a powerful hand covered hers.

“I’ll do that.”

Wolf Bodine met her surprised gaze with his
own hard, gray one. “Wouldn’t want you to strain anything,” he
remarked, and as Rebeccah hastily withdrew her hand from beneath
his warm, strong palm, he grasped hold of the trunk. He lifted it
without any visible effort and plunked it down in the wagon.

“You’re very kind,” she bit out icily, too
surprised by his aid to think of anything else to say. “Now, if
you’ll excuse me—”

“Not so fast.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m escorting you out to the ranch.”

“You will do nothing of the sort.”

“I hate to argue with a lady,” Wolf informed
her with a determined glint in his eye, “but it’s all settled.
It’ll be near dark by the time you get there, and you don’t know
the way. The last thing I need is to have you getting lost out in
the foothills.”

Her voice was low. “I would think you’d be
happy to be rid of me.”

“Not like that.”

Something in the way he said it made her
heart skip a beat. She’d forgotten for a moment that she was
dealing with a lawman here, not an outlaw or a gambler or a
rustler, like those men who had been such good friends of her
father’s. Wolf Bodine was of a different ilk. He might despise her
and feel contempt for her because she was an outlaw’s daughter, but
he would feel obligated to see to the protection of any lone woman
within his dominion—even Bear Rawlings’s brat.

But she couldn’t afford to be beholden to
him, and besides, she told herself firmly, she didn’t need his
protection or his chivalry.

“It isn’t necessary,” she informed him, and
set her hatbox into the wagon. “I have an excellent sense of
direction, Sheriff Bodine, and Mr. Winstead in the hotel gave me
very clear instructions—”

“Are you getting in this wagon or not?” he
interrupted irritatedly.

“No, not yet. I’m going into the general
store to buy supplies first. You needn’t be here when I get
back.”

She turned on her heel and walked across the
street with the assured grace of a debutante, but inwardly she was
cursing as colorfully as Waylon Pritchard had earlier. She was
weary, parched, and disheveled: her traveling gown was sadly
wrinkled, the feathers in her hat must be drooping as tiredly as
her shoulders, and she desperately wanted to lie down between cool
sheets and go to sleep.

But she wouldn’t be sleeping for many hours
to come, she knew. She also knew, without understanding how, that
Wolf Bodine would be there waiting when she came out of the general
store.

He was. He was saddled up on a handsome
sorrel gelding that stood restively beside her stocky rented mare
and creaky wagon.
Stubborn, insufferable man
, she muttered
to herself as she crossed the street carrying a parcel of groceries
in each arm, but she couldn’t help the rush of pink color that
flooded her cheeks as she watched him from beneath her lashes.

This time he made no move to help her, but
waited on horseback as she dumped her parcels in the wagon beside
the trunk. “I thought I told you to leave me alone. I don’t need or
want your help.”

“Ah-huh.”

His laconic calm infuriated her. She scowled
at his tall, lean figure, though his face was shadowed by the gray
brim of his hat. “Well?”

“Well, let’s go,” he returned evenly. He
glanced pointedly at the darkening lavender sky. “Daylight’s almost
gone, and we’ve got a fair-sized ride ahead of us.”

There was no getting rid of him now. Rebeccah
was uncomfortably aware of his gaze on her as she mounted into the
wagon and picked up the reins. “Shouldn’t you be going home to your
wife and family?” she bit out at last, half turning toward him, and
for the first time she saw something in his face besides that cool,
steady nonchalance.

Pain flickered sharp as a knife blade behind
his eyes for a split second. His whole body went tense. Then, just
as suddenly, the signs of strain were gone. That cold distance was
back. His mouth was straight, grim, unsmiling, the eyes
unexpressive, and he was spurring the gelding forward without a
word in response.

Rebeccah didn’t know what to make of that.
Perhaps he didn’t deign to discuss his precious wife and son with
Bear Rawlings’s daughter. Perhaps she wasn’t fit to speak of
them.

She urged the mare forward, her shoulders
aching with tension. Why did Wolf Bodine have to be the sheriff of
Powder Creek? For eight years—eight foolish, unhappy, idiotic
years—she’d dreamed of seeing him again, but not like this, not
here
. In her dreams Wolf Bodine had been smitten like a
schoolboy when she’d encountered him again. He’d smiled in
admiration when he saw her, lost his train of thought, and swept
her into his arms. He’d whispered of how beautiful and fascinating
she had become, kissed her as if he’d never stop.

He didn’t try to run her out of his town, he
didn’t hold her in contempt, and he didn’t ride beside her in
steely silence, driven not to passionate action and speech but to
icy hostility, looking straight ahead, ignoring her as if she was a
piece of driftwood or a rock.

Neither of them said another word as the sun
crawled across the rosy-purple sky and a pair of eagles soared
overhead, their calls echoing shrilly through the twilight.

They left Powder Creek behind and disappeared
into the waving golden sea of buffalo grass.

The last rays of a blood-red sunset bathed
the river valley as the wagon rounded a bend and the ranch came
into view.

Ranch? Rebeccah stared in disbelief at the
sprawling, one-story log cabin squatting a few hundred yards ahead.
She swallowed hard, trying not to feel dismayed. The place stood
between a dark clump of cedar and several small, unpainted wooden
sheds. It was built of logs, with a sturdy clapboard roof, and
though it was fair-sized, long, rambling, and probably roomy, its
windows were gray with grime, the front-porch steps were crumbling,
and there was no sign of bunkhouse, stables, corrals, pastures, or
gardens ... no sign of prosperity, ranch hands, horses, chickens,
or cattle.

Not much of a ranch. A log cabin and a small,
unpainted cedar barn behind it.
Bear, did you even live on this
place? Were you ever here?

Douglas fir, spruce, and ponderosa pine
darkened the surrounding hills. Beyond, the Rockies loomed—amethyst
mountains outlined sharply against the fiery sky. There was the
sharp tang of pine in the air, a stream ran nearby, and there was a
lake, Wolf Bodine had told her, Snow Lake. So the land must be
fertile and lovely by day, Rebeccah tried to reassure herself, but
now it looked bleak and dark and dangerous—and lonely.

“Want to head back to town?” Wolf Bodine
asked with satisfaction.

Rebeccah gritted her teeth against
disappointment and a twist of fear.

“Certainly not.”

“Fine. Welcome home, Miss Rawlings.”

He cantered up a dirt lane to the weed-strewn
yard and swung down from the saddle. “Place’s been empty these past
five years. Amos Peastone drank too much. He never could make a go
of it. When he lost the land in a poker game in Virginia City, he
just moved on to California to try his luck there. But he never
outright said who he lost the ranch to, and no one ever showed up
to claim it—at least, not that I knew about.” He studied her a
moment from beneath the rim of his sombrero. “You do have ownership
papers, don’t you, Miss Rawlings?”

No, I’m Bear Rawlings’s daughter, so of
course I’m a thief, trying to steal this run-down, good-for-nothing
snake pit of a shack.

Rebeccah glared at him and, without
answering, began to clamber down from the wagon. But the hem of her
gown caught on the splintered old wagon seat, and she pitched
forward with a panicked yelp. She would have fallen flat on her
face in the dirt, but Wolf Bodine instantly spurred his horse
forward and grabbed her as she toppled out. He scooped her up
alongside him so that she sprawled across his saddle.

“If you aren’t the
clumsiest
woman,”
he muttered, shaking his head in wonder. “You probably fall out of
your bed every night.”

“I do not!” she snapped, strangely distracted
by his nearness, by the sensation of being held in rocklike arms.
“And what goes on in my bed is hardly your concern!” she flashed.
Then, as her own words echoed in her ears, she turned scarlet.

The bright flush traveled up her neck,
suffused her cheeks, nose, and forehead, and burned her ears.