Defiant (22 page)

“I heard,” Wade said.

“Rode right into the midst of Union Cavalry. He had guts.”

“Where were you?”

“Running like hell. I never pretended to be a martyr.”

Kelly had already turned his horse, and Wade followed him up through the brush to a stand of trees. Two men, one of them the man who had come down to meet Wade, were standing there with rifles in their hands.

“Meet Perry Jones and Johnnie Kay,” Kelly said. “This is Brad Allen, used to ride with Quantrill and Anderson.”

Wade was glad he didn't have to shake hands with them. They both looked as if they would sell their very mother to the devil. Kelly didn't, but he was just as apt to do that very thing.

“Kay, you keep watch.” Kay was the one who had escorted Wade. He was too young to have ridden with Anderson, though his hard eyes looked ageless. Young and dangerous as hell.

Kelly dismounted and went to a rotting log under a tree. As Wade dismounted, Kelly leaned down to poke around in some saddlebags and came up with a bottle in his hand. Kelly threw the bottle to Wade, who caught it with his good hand.

“Still good reflexes,” Kelly said wryly. “I think I would like to see that wound.”

“Don't trust me?”

“I don't trust anyone, not with a price on my head. Maybe you got a pardon, turned to the other side of the law.”

“Maybe, but I didn't. I'm hoping Brad Allen is dead.” He leaned against a tree. “Go ahead and look.”

Kelly gave him a cold, mirthless smile. He took the few steps to Wade's side and his hands applied pressure to the still bandaged wound and splint. Wade had to swallow deep to keep from crying out. It had been three weeks since the episode in the creek, when the wound had been reopened, but it still hurt where the bone had been hit. “Goddamn you, Clay,” he said.

“Just making sure,” Kelly said, apparently satisfied. “Good place to carry a gun.”

“I was also hit in my leg. Want me to drop my britches?”

“I don't think I can stand such an ugly sight. Sit down and have a drink.”

Wade gave him back the bottle, watching as Kelly sat down, cross-legged. Kelly took a long pull from the bottle. “Not many of us left, you know,” he said, apparently nostalgic now.

Wade felt absolutely no nostalgia for those days, only abhorrence and self-disgust.

“Can't find men like that anymore,” Kelly was saying. “These two … they would betray me in a minute.” He didn't bother lowering his voice.

“Why don't you get rid of them?”

“I'm on the run. I get who I can.” He looked at Wade speculatively. “What are you doing in these parts?”

Wade decided to tell the truth, without telling too much of it. “Someone took something from me. I evened the score, but got a couple of bullets doing it. I'm just resting here before going back up in the mountains.”

“Want to join us?”

“With this arm? I'll never be any good with a gun now.”

“You could do other things.”

Wade debated his answer. He didn't want to antagonize Kelly or alert him. “I'm tired, Clay. I know a place up in the mountains. I plan to lay low up there for a while.”

“Where you staying?”

Wade knew that question was coming. If Kelly had any idea that someone with Mary Jo's looks was within fifty miles, and had so little protection, he'd be at the ranch in a split-second.

“Squatter took me in,” he said. “Hasn't been feeling too well, and I promised to stay on a few days, look after him.”

“Always did have a conscience, didn't you?”

“No skin off my back. I don't have anything to get back to, and it was as good a place as any. But I'll be heading out if you have plans here. I can't afford to stay.”

Kelly shrugged. “Relax. I'm just waiting for an old friend who's being released from prison. Should be here next week. It was too hot for us to wait down in Texas, so we agreed to meet here.”

Why here? Wade
wanted to ask the question but hesitated. Curiosity was not usually welcomed among Kelly's acquaintances.
His
acquaintances, Wade reminded himself. He'd been no better than any of them.

“Anyone I know?”

“Barry Shepherd. He says he has a debt to pay someone around here.”

Wade remembered Shepherd. Like Kelly, he'd been a man without conscience, a man who enjoyed hurting. “How long has he been in prison?”

“Five years.”

Wade quietly sighed. Couldn't have anything to do with Mary Jo. He hoped the same applied to the ranchers who had helped her several days ago. The thought surprised him. A few weeks ago, he could have cared less about people like the Abbots.

He wanted to ask more about Shepherd, but questions would raise suspicions. He had the information he needed. There were apparently no plans to rob a bank, not here, not now. He took another draw on the bottle. “Guess I'd better be getting back before dark. I'm not all that familiar with this ground.”

“Sure you won't consider riding with us?”

Wade shook his head. “I can't shoot anymore. I'd get us all killed.” He got up, half expecting a bullet to go ripping through him.

“Allen,” Kelly said, stopping him in mid-stride. “We won't be here after today.”

“Don't trust me?”

“I don't trust anyone.”

Wade hesitated. “My word mean anything to you?”

“No.”

Wade smiled. “What do you want?”

Kelly smiled, but it was a chilling smile. “Don't cross me, old friend. A lot of people think Brad Allen's dead. They would be happy to know otherwise.”

Wade nodded. He'd gotten what he wanted. He walked slowly to his horse and mounted. He turned to Kelly and nodded again. It was all the civility he could manage. He turned King Arthur and started slowly down the hill, still surprised he was leaving alive. Kelly had mellowed in the past years.

Or had he?

The doubt stayed with him. What did Clay Kelly want? He turned upstream, away from the Circle J, aware that a man on horseback was following at a careful distance. He would have to lose him.

He wasn't particularly proud that old survival instincts were resurfacing again, that his mind was working as it had years earlier, that Clay Kelly wanted him, and saw in him a man like himself.

In fact, it scared the hell out of him.

14

Mary Jo had spent nearly all her married life waiting. Waiting to see whether her husband came back dead or alive. And then there was Ty. And friends. So many friends who had ridden off one day and had never come back.

She'd sworn she would never go through that again. Not only for herself, but for Jeff.

But here she was pacing the porch at twilight, just as she had so many other times. Her stomach was in knots. Her heart was in her throat. Where was he?

He hadn't recovered from his wounds yet. What if the horse had stumbled? What if whoever was responsible for the recent rustling shot him?

What if he'd left for good?

Jeff had been bitterly disappointed this morning to find him gone. She'd suggested that he take her mare and go into Last Chance with Tuck and Ed to pick up the new branding iron and some fence posts.

She had tried to convince herself last night that she would go with Wade up into the mountains.

He'll grow up hating people he doesn't know or understand
. Those words, and the intensity behind him, had echoed in her mind all night.
All Indians are not alike. Just like all whites aren't alike
.

By daylight, she'd known that she couldn't go with Wade, couldn't give up her fears, couldn't risk Jeff. She kept hearing her sister's screams, seeing her father's weary face after one of his endless searches. She saw her friend's body, mutilated in terrible ways, along with her mother and father and brother. She remembered the nights her family had huddled inside their small house, terrified of every noise. She could still feel the fear; she shivered even now. The Utes were no different. Everyone around here had a horror tale about cattle thievery and massacres. One massacre had taken place twenty years ago near this very ranch, and there were tales of more recent atrocities.

She'd trusted Wade with the ranch. She wasn't ready to trust him with her son. She'd already lost far too much.

But she couldn't forget his disappointment in her. She felt she might have lost whatever trust had been building between them.

Jake, who had been lying next to her, struggled to his feet and emitted a long, low growl that became a frenzy of barking as a lone rider came into view, shadowed by the late afternoon sun. Her heart pounded a little faster, her blood quickened. She had to force herself to remain still.

She watched as he guided the horse toward the corral. She was in the shadows of the porch, and if he saw her he didn't take notice. His shoulders were bent, he seemed tired, and she wondered where he had gone.

As he unsaddled the horse, she saw the side of his face, the rigid set of it. The lines in it seemed even deeper, as if some event today had hastened the passage of time. She hurt as she continued to watch him struggle with the saddle, unwilling to leave it for someone else to do. She was familiar with pride, the kind of pride that killed men, and she hated it fiercely for a moment.

But then he was done, and he started to lead Jeff's horse into the barn. Jake moved off the porch and limped off to greet him, his tail wagging fiercely. Wade stopped and waited for the dog to catch up with him, leaned down, and rubbed an ear. He glanced up, saw her, and hesitated a moment. He nodded respectfully, nothing else, then disappeared into the barn with King Arthur.

Mary Jo went inside. Nervous and restless all day, she'd put her energies into cooking as she used to do when Jeff's father and Ty were gone. Fresh bread. An apple pie. Gingerbread. She'd basted a ham in honey and cooked it. She sat for a moment and wondered what to do. Jeff was gone to town with Tuck and Ed; they would be gone for hours. She wanted to see Wade, to talk to him, but he obviously wanted nothing to do with her. Then she spied the gingerbread.

Hands shaking, she cut a large slice of gingerbread, plopped it on a plate, and poured a glass of milk. Bounty in hand, her legs shaking, she walked out to the barn, wondering whether it was the biggest mistake of her life.

Wade had apparently just filled a bucket of fresh water for King Arthur. He swung around at the movement behind him as if he expected trouble. She watched him visibly try to relax. Where had he gone? Why did he look so troubled?

She ignored her silent questions and tentatively held out her offerings. “I … thought you might be hungry.”

He smiled then, one of those rare smiles that lit his face. “I am.” His nose wiggled as if to prove the statement. “It smells good.”

“Gingerbread,” she said as she handed it to him. She had kept it on top of the stove and it was still warm.

The smile spread into his eyes. “Hot gingerbread,” he said, with an awe that made her smile. “I haven't had that since I was little more than a tadpole.” He took a bite, and he looked almost boyish in his pleasure.

Mary Jo wished she had made it before. Her Rangers had always enjoyed her cooking, particularly her sweets, but never had anyone reacted as if she'd given him a gift of inestimable value. She leaned against a stall and watched him finish it, wiping his fingers like Jeff did. She was enchanted at his enthusiasm, at the way a lock of hair fell on his forehead, making him look even more like an errant boy.

She silently handed him the glass of milk and he gulped it down. Had he eaten at all today? Where he had been?

“There will be more at supper,” she said.

The smile disappeared, but rare amusement sparkled in his eyes for a moment. “You do know how to tempt a man.”

“Do I?” she replied wistfully. She hadn't meant it to sound the way she instantly knew it did. The air was suddenly still with implication, with a thrumming, electrical tension that had nothing to do with gingerbread but everything to do with raw, naked desire.

His face changed, the mischief leaving his eyes, and something dark and brooding took its place. She felt her body move toward him, smelled the man scent of him, soap and sweat and leather, and then she felt swept into a whirlpool of feelings that were uncontrollable. Her face turned upward, inches from his.

Mary Jo heard his low curse, but then his lips were on hers, tasting of gingerbread. She had never liked it quite so much. Thoughts of gingerbread disappeared as his kiss became more and more demanding, desperate even, as if he were drowning again and grabbing for a line. She felt the desperation in every touch, in the way his lips possessed hers.

Her body leaned against his, her mouth opening eagerly for him. She'd never felt anything like it, not this wild, mindless elation. Tremors of pleasure ran through her body as his tongue entered her mouth and caused a flood of heady sensations.

She felt his arousal pressing against her, as his tongue searched, loved, seduced, until she felt her legs might collapse under her with her need for him, with her craving to be closer and closer to him, to be one with him. Everything about him was intense, and that intensity flowed into her, wiping away every vestige of caution, of common sense. She wanted to be a part of him, to share pain and joy and laughter and desire. She wanted him, needed him the way she needed the sun, or food.

Her arms went around his neck, and she felt his left arm drawing her close as he took his mouth from hers and his lips burned a trail down the side of her face. He then just held her cheek next to his heart, and she heard his quickened breathing.

“I want you,” he said in a voice hoarse with emotion. “You should run like the devil was after you.”

“I can't,” she whispered.

He pulled back, his eyes burning into hers, as if seeking answers. “I can't stay.”