Defiant (16 page)

Mary Jo heard the raw pain in his voice. “Is that why he was avoiding you?”

“Partly. And partly what you said. Guilt.” His hand held Jake as another shudder rippled through the dog's body when Mary Jo applied sulfur to the wound. Damn, but he knew how the dog felt. “Guilt,” he said, “can eat you up inside.”

He was talking more than he had since she'd met him. Warning her in a mild, nonjudgmental way. Revealing something of himself to help her son.

“I know,” she said. Her eyes met his. “And I don't want guilt to make you stay if you don't want to.”

“You think you read me pretty good, lady.”

“No,” she said. “Not good at all.”

“I'll stay long enough to hire you some men. But not because of guilt. I'm not twelve. I got over guilt long ago,” he added roughly as if sorry he'd said anything at all. “I just figure I need a horse.”

She nodded, not reminding him that she'd already offered him one. She turned all her attention back to Jake, washing the thick fur with what remained of the water. Then Jeff was back, holding a small but sturdy splint.

Wade Foster stayed long enough to keep the dog still as she and Jeff tied the splint to Jake's leg. After they were finished, Wade rose, his own broken arm held in a sling. He regarded Jake sympathetically for a moment, then turned and limped back toward the barn.

“Why is Mr. Foster leaving?”

“I expect he needs rest just like Jake does,” she said softly. “He shouldn't even have left that bed.” But it wasn't weakness that had forced him back to his lonely place in the barn. Mary Jo knew that. He had been angry he'd revealed so much about himself.

“He sure was pleased about Jake, wasn't he?” Jeff said, and Mary Jo heard that rough need for a man's attention in his voice. Her heart pounded with anguish for him, and not a little bit of fear. A few words had shattered him a few days earlier, had made him do something he ordinarily would never have done. Did she dare risk more exposure to Wade Foster, for Jeff's sake? For her own?

But she was so grateful for his happy grin after the past three days of gloom. “Yep,” she agreed. “I think he was.”

“He's going to stay, isn't he?”

“For a little while.”

Jeff's smile grew wider. “I knew it.”

“Don't get to liking him too much, Jeff. He will be leaving before long. Those mountains are his home.”

“We made a new home,” Jeff pointed out.

“That's different.”

“How?”

Mary Jo shook her head. “Why” and “how” were Jeff's two favorite words, and she was only too good at painting herself into a corner. “It just is,” she said. “Now let's get Jake fed.”

Jeff frowned, but for once Jake was on her side. His tail thumped frantically at the words “Jake” and “fed.”

Jeff reluctantly got to his feet to fill Jake's dish and water bowl, but his eyes told her he wasn't yet satisfied with her smugly inadequate motherly explanation.

But Mary Jo couldn't explain any better. She couldn't tell him that his Wade Foster had killed three men in cold blood, nor that he clearly had even worse secrets in his past, secrets he believed would catch up with him someday. He wasn't afraid they would. She suspected he was afraid of very little. He was simply waiting for the day.

Everyone who ever relied on me is dead
. He'd said the words with so much anger. So much hopelessness. She had seldom heard those two emotions combined, especially with such explosive poignancy. Two more words that didn't exactly fit. Except with him.

I'm damned good at killing. One of the best, they used to say
. She was well acquainted with men who killed. She knew them. She had been married to one, nearly married to a second. She had lived with them. She knew what killing did to them, the way they blocked away emotions, even when they killed for what they considered a righteous cause. From what Wade Foster had said, what he'd hinted at, she doubted that he considered all his transgressions righteous. He was a haunted man who doubted his worth, both as a man and as a human being.

He was, quite simply, the last thing she and Jeff needed in their lives.

A few weeks. A month. Then he would be a memory.

Wade Foster sat down on the cot in the barn. The walls were closing in on him, like a prison would, he thought. He tried to flex the fingers on his right hand, willing them to do as he instructed, feeling the pain as his injured arm strove to obey. Nothing.

He leaned back against the wall, exhausted from the effort, from the pain it had stoked. He tried again, welcoming the waves of agony that came with the attempt. He had to fill his mind with something other than the woman, the boy, and the dog.

He couldn't afford to feel again.

But he did. The depth of the feeling astounded him. He had fought to keep from touching the boy in shared jubilation, from smiling in companionship with the woman at the return of Jake. He had no right to do either. This wasn't his family.

He kept seeing them, though, in his mind's eye. Mary Jo Williams. So damned capable, so … composed. Never any fuss or feathers, no matter what happened. Not when she found a near dead man near her house, not when he'd admitted killing in cold blood, not when she lied to a posse, not when her son nearly drowned.

It must really have stuck in her craw when she couldn't find men to work for her. She was probably ten times as smart and capable as those who felt they couldn't work for a woman. And pretty. Too damn pretty when that auburn hair was burnished by the sun, and those green eyes flashed sparks.

He had no business thinking that way. He'd had no business kissing her, tasting her. Getting her in his blood. He'd meant to scare her off, to show her he was both unscrupulous and untrustworthy. It had backfired. It definitely had backfired. He had ignited flames that were consuming him now.

Wade tried to think of Chivita, and the tranquillity of the mountains. He'd thought he had peace then. And he had, of a sort. His son had been a gift he'd never expected, Chivita's quiet devotion and acceptance of him a balm to his wounds. Some of the nightmares had disappeared.

Don't think of them. Don't think of Drew. But the claws were in him now, memories like talons of a hawk. He buried his head in his good hand and felt his body shudder.

Mary Jo had just rebandaged her human patient's arm when Jeff came running. “The sheriff's riding in.”

Mary Jo straightened. “Are you ready?”

Wade Foster's gaze met hers. She had already told him what she had told the sheriff. He was Wade Smith, the brother of the man who'd left his ranch to her. He'd been hurt in a railroad accident, and would be recuperating here while he helped her with his brother's ranch. “Are you sure you want to do this? If someone finds out, you could be in trouble, too.”

“If I don't, I might lose the ranch.” There was not the slightest hesitation in her voice. She had gone over the problem too many times, had kept reaching the same conclusion.

“I don't know a damn thing about railroads.” That wasn't true. He knew something about wrecking them.

“I don't think he'll pry too much. He has no reason to. He knows Ty was a Ranger, and so was Jeff's father.”

“And you would be the last person to protect a killer?”

He'd lowered his voice so it was audible only to her, not to Jeff who had retreated back into the barn to watch the sheriff's progress.

“Yes,” she said defiantly, knowing he was baiting her again. He seemed to get some satisfaction out of doing that.

“What about Jeff?”

“He understands.”

“I wish I did.”

“Did what?”

“Understand,” he answered, “why you're protecting me.”

“I explained that. I need you.”

His eyes challenged her until they heard another voice outside the barn.

Mary Jo retreated under that steady gaze. She knew why he kept questioning her. He still didn't think he had anything to offer her. Even saving Jeff's life hadn't changed his thinking. The electricity that sparked so dangerously between them didn't help, either.

But then she didn't have any more time to think. A tall, rangy man was walking in the door, his hat in his hand. He nodded to her, but then his gaze went quickly to Wade.

“I'm Matt Sinclair,” he said, “the sheriff in this county. Jeff told me you'd arrived.” His dark eyes were cautious as they obviously and quite thoroughly took measure of Wade.

And he was no fool. Wade sensed that immediately. “Wade Smith,” he said. “My brother asked me to look out for Mrs. Williams if anything happened to him.” He paused and looked down at his arm in the sling. “It turns out she's been kind enough to look after me.”

Mary Jo listened to the calm, even lazy tone. His eyes never wavered, never dropped from the hard gaze of the sheriff, who continued to study him intensely.

“When did you get here?”

Mary Jo answered for him. “A few days ago. In time to save Jeff from the creek. I'm afraid he hurt his arm again.”

Matt Sinclair turned to her. “What happened?”

“Jeff went fishing, lost his footing, and went into the creek. If it hadn't been for Mr. Smith …”

The sheriff tensed, but his gaze went back to Wade, settling there, studying every feature.

Is anyone after you?

I expect so
.

Mary Jo prayed there weren't any posters, and then wondered at herself. She looked at Jeff's face, staring up at her so earnestly. She flinched at the thought of how many lies they now shared. Wade shifted his weight, and she wondered if any of her thoughts were reflected in her face. If so, his own didn't change expression.

Just then, the sheriff's glance shifted down to Jeff, softened slightly. “You all right, Jeff?”

Jeff nodded. “Jake got hurt, though. The creek took him downstream, and then someone shot him.”

Matt Sinclair swore before he caught himself, then apologized. “Begging your pardon, Mrs. Williams, but there's been several heifers slaughtered too, about four miles downstream. We found the remains. I've been wondering whether it had anything to do with that dead man we found. Still no strangers around?”

Mary Jo shook her head no. “Just Wade, and he's not a stranger. And Jake's going to be all right. I just couldn't understand why anyone would shoot him.”

“I don't think anyone who belongs around here would.” The sheriff's eyes turned back to Wade, and Mary Jo wondered whether she'd been wise to mention him again. But he just nodded. “Glad to see you have a man around for protection.”

“Perhaps if you hear of anyone looking for a job …?” Mary Jo asked.

“I'll send them out here. Mr. Smith got any experience ranching?”

“Some,” Wade said, moving a few paces closer to Mary Jo. Mary Jo saw the sheriff's eyes narrow slightly and a frown turn down the side of his mouth.

Matt Sinclair turned to leave. “I just stopped to see if there was anything I could do to help. You'll let me know?” The question was directed at Mary Jo.

She felt her face flush. There was antipathy between the two men. She knew the sheriff had been interested in her, and now he sensed a threat. Wade's face was closed, expressionless, but she had an odd, fleeting impression of a buck shaking his antlers in warning. Which was ridiculous. Their arrangement was purely business. She kept telling herself that.

“Yes,” she finally said. “And thank you.”

“And keep your eyes open for strangers,” he warned. “I don't like some of the things going on around here.” He turned toward Wade. “I haven't seen you before, have I? You look a little familiar.”

Wade shook his head. “I come from up north. Never been south of Denver.”

Matt Sinclair shrugged. “My mistake.” But his gaze lingered on Wade's face as if he were memorizing it. “Jeff,” he acknowledged. “Glad your little swim didn't do any lasting damage.”

“Thanks to Mr.—” Jeff stopped suddenly.

“Smith,” the sheriff said. “Real easy name to remember.”

“He looks just like his brother,” Mary Jo said. “Sometimes Jeff slips and calls him Ty. He has a hard time getting used to saying ‘Mr. Smith'.”

The sheriff just nodded and put his hat back on as he started toward the door. He turned suddenly, his gaze hidden by the brim of his hat, but Mary Jo felt as if it were boring into her. Then he took two fingers and touched the brim of his hat in salute. “Don't forget, Mrs. Williams, you have any trouble, see any strangers, you send for me.”

Mary Jo nodded. “Thank you.”

He went through the door and the three of them stood waiting until they heard hoofbeats. Mary Jo breathed again.

Jeff looked stricken. “I almost—”

“But you didn't,” Wade said gently. “You did real good. Why don't you go see about Jake?”

Jeff hesitated as if he sensed there was a reason for the request, there was something he wasn't supposed to hear.

“Go on,” Mary Jo urged. They had put Jake in Jeff's room and closed the door, so he wouldn't be tempted to use his injured leg, or roll in the dirt. The dog must be going crazy now, after hearing the hoofbeats; he always welcomed guests.

“You don't want me to know something,” Jeff accused.

“Jeff.” Mary Jo's voice held an authority she seldom used, and Jeff's rebellion folded. He went to the door, looked back in one last mute appeal, and then disappeared.

There was silence for a moment. “He's sweet on you,” Wade finally said. “He doesn't trust me.”

“You said once there might be posters on you?”

“Not recent ones, not in the last ten to twelve years.”

“What were the posters for?”

Wade's face tensed. “Shouldn't you have asked these questions earlier?”

“I want to know if there's any chance he might find them.”