Defiant (24 page)

“Please,” Jeff pleaded.

He nodded. “I have to wash, too.” He also needed to think, to get control of his feelings, to harness them as he had years ago—until that day he had come back to the cabin. Since then, they'd been on a rampage.

Jeff grinned, whirled around, and disappeared out the door.

Mary Jo turned to him. “Thank you for not disappointing him.”

“And you?”

She smiled, and it was as if the sun had appeared from under heavy clouds. “And me.”

He put his hand to her face, caressing it. “You're a remarkable woman, Mrs. Williams.” Her face leaned against it for a moment, and he savored the gesture of trust. Even if he didn't deserve it.

When he looked at her, he thought how easy it would be to forget Manchez and Clay Kelly. But he knew his blood-stained past would always taint him. And he refused to have it taint—worse, destroy—those who cared for him.

“I'll be there shortly,” he said.

She hesitated, reluctant to leave his touch. “You were planning to leave tomorrow … for the mountains.”

He shrugged. “Jeff's horse needs some rest. I'll leave at daybreak the next day.” It would give him a chance to see Tuck and Ed work, to judge their expertise. And he needed rest as much as Sir Arthur. He still wasn't up to full strength; his arm ached and so did his leg.

But he did need to return to the mountains. He had to get the horses and come back quickly, in case Clay Kelly started any trouble. It would be easy for Kelly to discover where he was staying. Gossip seemed to be a big business in Last Chance, and apparently, the talk recently had been about the new foreman at the woman's ranch.

Feeling torn apart by responsibilities, he turned away from Mary Jo. He hadn't wanted any, and now …

He couldn't figure out how this had happened. Hell, his whole damn world was going crazy.

15

Supper was agony for Mary Jo.

Her body had been awakened, and so had her heart, and she didn't know what to do about either.

The two hands had disappeared quickly after eating a meal best remembered for its lack of conversation, she thought wryly. Ed and Tuck, and even Jeff, couldn't shovel in food fast enough. Wade, on the other hand, had been quiet, watchful.

As soon as they finished, the two hired hands left, obviously ill at ease in the house.

Wade too wanted to make an escape, but Jeff stopped him.

“They were talking in town about the Indians, how they should go to Utah.”

Wade's eyes narrowed and his mouth thinned slightly. “What do you think?”

Jeff looked up at him. “I don't know,” he said earnestly, his thin shoulders hunching up. “You like 'em, don't you?” It was obvious to Mary Jo that anything Wade liked merited consideration with Jeff, even though her son was familiar with the Indian wars in Texas.

“Yes,” Wade said simply.

“Why?”

Jeff's standard question caused Wade's tight-lipped expression to ease some. He looked up at Mary Jo, as if expecting her to object. He knew only too well how she felt. But Mary Jo held her tongue.

“My son,” he said slowly, “wasn't so different from you. He always asked why, too. He liked to fish, and he liked to play, and he wanted to know how things worked, and why the sky was blue and the grass was green.”

Pain edged his eyes as he spoke. The deep, painful sorrow never went away, but now it was exposed for everyone to see, something he'd seldom allowed since that night when he'd been so ill. She suspected that night was the first time he'd allowed himself to really feel the loss. Perhaps because he'd refused to talk about it, to admit his grief, the loss remained a suppurating wound that would always be raw. She felt it bleeding now.

“He was half Ute,” Wade continued softly, almost as if he were alone. “His mother was one of the gentlest people you would ever meet, and his uncle, Manchez, loved him dearly.” He hesitated again, then looking straight at Mary Jo as if in challenge, he added, “Manchez is my brother.”

Jeff's eyes grew wide. “Your real brother?”

“My blood brother as well as my brother-in-law,” Wade said, his tone changing, reacting to Jeff's sudden enthusiasm, Once more submerging that grief. “He rides like the wind. He rides without a saddle and he can lean down and pick up an object from the ground at a full gallop.”

“Jumpin' Jehoshaphat,” Jeff said. “I sure would like to see that.”

Fear arched down Mary Jo's back. She didn't know why, but she felt it. A shudder shook her body. She rose from the table. “I think it's time for bed, Jeff. It's been a long day.”

“But—”

Wade rose, too. His expression had eased somewhat as he talked, but now his face was closed. His gray-green eyes were blank again, curtained against intrusion, and Mary Jo's heart dropped with the sudden and immediate sense of loss. But she didn't want Jeff enraptured by tales of Indians. It was like that river. Jeff had too little fear and much too much curiosity and any challenge attracted him.

“I'll be leaving,” Wade said. “It's late, and tomorrow will be a big day.”

But Jeff wasn't to be mollified. “Will you take me to see Manchez?” he asked.

Mary Jo stilled, waiting for an answer. She didn't want to be the one to say no.

“You're needed around here,” Wade replied gruffly. “There will be a lot to do with those new cattle.”

“But—”

Mary Jo wanted to shake him. Next to “why,” “but” ranked second in Jeff's vocabulary.

“You want to hold up your end, don't you?” Wade prodded.

Put that way, Jeff didn't have an argument. He nodded glumly, obviously unconvinced that his help was of great value.

Wade gave him one of his rare smiles. “It's rough growing up,” he said, and Jeff's frown disappeared in that moment of manly confidence. He reluctantly said good night and under Mary Jo's expectant eyes finally went into his bedroom, followed by Jake.

Mary Jo followed Wade to the door. “Thank you,” she said.

He looked at her levelly for a moment. “He's your son,” he said noncommittally, his eyes curtained again. It was as if he regretted this afternoon, regretted those few remarks at dinner. He was distancing himself again, and she felt a deep hole opening up inside her heart. She wanted him to touch her, to say something … anything.

But he just touched his forehead in a gesture of impersonal farewell, turned and left. She bit her lip and swore she wouldn't cry. She didn't have to worry. The hurt was too deep for tears, the loss so much more than she'd expected.

Mary Jo watched apprehensively as the branding continued throughout the day. Jeff was given the job of tending the fire while Tuck and Ed wrestled down the steers. It didn't take long to discover they needed two men to do that, and Wade was enlisted to apply the brand, something he could do with his left hand, albeit awkwardly.

Mary Jo also had another chance to admire Wade's skilled handling of a horse. King Arthur hadn't been trained as a cutting horse, but Wade, using his knees and one hand, easily guided him between the penned cattle, cutting away the calves found with branded Callaway cattle, along with the cattle bought from the Abbots. The calves would be branded for the first time, the Abbot cattle with a second brand, the new Circle J design.

The sun was hot, the air still, the smell and sound of burning hide sickening, the bawl of the cattle heartrending. But the three men and boy worked perfectly together, their shirts clinging to their bodies with sweat. Words were rare; they communicated mostly by gesture and instinct.

Mary Jo couldn't take her eyes from Wade. Every muscle in his body was outlined by damp clothes. He had asked Jeff to roll up his left sleeve, revealing a length of tan skin between the cotton and a leather glove he wore on that hand. He would frequently reach up with that hand and wipe his brow, pushing away an errant lock of hair.

Remembering last evening, her heart thundered, her body hummed, tingled, and did other rebellious things as she looked at him.

Even with his right arm still in a sling, he was remarkably effective and efficient. He was one of those rare men who seemed instinctively competent at nearly everything they did. Despite his own feelings to the contrary—caused, she felt, by circumstances he couldn't have prevented—he had a natural assurance and ability that couldn't be learned or taught. It was obvious that he was winning the strong respect of the two men he'd hired. They jumped when he made the merest suggestion.

And Jeff. Dear God, every time he looked at Wade, his eyes fairly glowed with hero worship, just as they had last night when he'd asked Wade about the mountains just beyond their range.

Was she losing Jeff as well?

She knew she'd never had Wade to lose. She'd had a taste of something wonderful, no more. She'd tried to convince herself she needed no more, that a taste could last her. She'd tried to tell herself she didn't want another man in her life, one she most likely would lose, just as she had lost others. She tried to tell herself all that, but none of it worked. She did want him. She wanted forever. She was so tired of minutes. Of small pieces.

A woman's lot, another woman had said at Ty's funeral. Well, she was damnably tired of it.

The sun beat down unmercifully. She went inside to prepare a midday meal. Something cool. Sliced pieces of the chicken she'd cooked earlier. Cold water from the well. Keep busy. Don't think. Not about today, nor tomorrow when he would leave.

That night, Jeff made preparations to follow Wade. He'd never been so tired, but he felt good. He had done a man's work today, and he'd noticed the approving glances Wade had sent his way.

Jake eyed him sorrowfully from the floor as if sensing his friend was not only leaving, but leaving without Jake. Jeff was sorry about that. Three weeks ago, he would have taken Jake as protector and companion, but Jake was still healing, the leg splinted, and he couldn't possibly follow on foot.

Today had given Jeff confidence. He could do anything. Well, almost anything. He could certainly follow Wade. Everyone in town had been discussing the Utes and where they had settled in the mountains. They shouldn't be hard to find if he just followed the trails, even if he did lose Wade. But he wouldn't. His father and Ty had both taught him something about tracking, had even taken him out and taught him how to recognize certain signs and to tell how old campfire ashes were. He'd also been reading one of the dime novels about an Indian tracker. It seemed easy enough, and Wade said the Utes were peaceful. His friends.

Wade wouldn't have friends he didn't trust. And if Wade trusted them, then Jeff could. Blood brothers, Wade had said. Even the sound of it made Jeff's blood stir.

Jeff had seen Indians in Texas. Apache scouts, mostly, since Comanches never came close to the Ranger station. Tame Indians, the Rangers had called them. They had often accompanied the army on punitive expeditions, and various army units had stopped at the Ranger station, sometimes for information, sometimes to enlist more manpower. Everything else Jeff knew about Indians had been bad—until he'd met Wade.

Jeff had heard tales of terrible things, especially massacres committed by the Comanches. He knew about his aunt, and knew about other raids, too. They'd been discussed behind closed doors to keep him from hearing, but he'd listened avidly at keyholes. He'd learned to be very good at that, since there was so much grown-ups believed only they should know. He'd also read about General Custer and the Little Big Horn. But all that seemed a long way away, little more than stories.

And now Wade talked about Indians with liking and respect, and Jeff wanted to know more. Not only that, he wanted to be with Wade, and he realized their new foreman wouldn't be here much longer. He'd said as much. But maybe … just maybe, he might stay if he had a … reason. Like a son. Not like his real one, of course. Jeff knew he could never be a substitute for him, just like Wade would never take his pa's place, but …

He left the “but” up in the air. He didn't know what he expected. He just knew he didn't want Wade to leave them. His ma didn't, either. He knew that too, though she would never say so.

So it was up to him. Jeff knew his ma would never let him go up to the Utes, to show Wade that he was worthy of his friendship. And Wade would need help if he brought fresh horses back with him. Jeff could show him how much help he could be, almost like a son. How much help he would continue to be if Wade stayed with them. And his ma worried too much. She didn't realize he was old enough to take care of himself. Most of the time, he thought wryly, as he remembered his near drowning. But this was different. He merely had to catch up with Wade.

And despite what Wade had said, he knew he wasn't needed here. The big job—branding—was done, and Tuck and Ed had only a few cows to herd out to the range.

He finished gathering what he thought he needed: a spare shirt and pair of trousers. A knife. Some matches. Three cans of fruit and some bread. Also some jerky his mother had made for the hands when they were out all day. He rolled everything up in a spare blanket to make a bedroll.

He had thought everything through. He knew Wade would leave early. He always did. Jeff would invent some excuse not to accompany Tuck and Ed as they took the newly branded cattle out to graze. And when he'd finished that chore, he would tell Ma that he was going out to meet them. That should give him more than half a day before anyone discovered his absence. He would ride hard and try to catch up with Wade. He knew the road his friend would take, and he hoped to catch sight of him before Wade headed up into the mountains, so he could follow. Jeff had already written a note, telling his mother not to worry, that he would be with Wade. He knew she trusted him.

He looked out the window, scorning the bed, too excited to sleep. He thought for an instant of his earlier mishap at Cimarron Creek, but then forgot it. He wouldn't be crossing any creeks or rivers, and he would be near Wade. Wade could do anything, could protect anyone, even with his wound. He was almost as good as his pa had been. And Pa had been the best. The very best.