Defiant (37 page)

“I keep everything in mind.”

Kelly's eyes flickered for a moment, that uncertainty back for a fraction of a second, and then he grinned. “We understand each other.”

“We always did,” Wade said, his tone so neutral that Kelly could assume any damn thing he wanted.

It was a long ride home. Home. Odd how naturally that thought came to him. He'd never thought of the cabin he'd shared with Chivita as home. A shelter. A place to sleep. But never really home.

He'd been blindfolded again, for about an hour, he guessed. Trust went two inches, then retreated. Wade hadn't protested. In the first place it wouldn't do any good. In the second, it would raise suspicions. So he'd allowed Kay to blindfold him, insisting this time he use Wade's own bandanna. They'd finally stopped about an hour later, at Cimarron Creek. “I 'spect you can find your way from here,” Kay said, and Wade merely nodded, wanting to get away from him.

Wade spurred his horse before the gunman could say anything else.

He approached the ranch slowly, noting the cattle now dotting the hills around it, the new fences the two hired hands had fixed or built. A trail of smoke was rising from the chimney. Mary Jo was cooking again. His stomach rumbled at the thought as he cantered up to the barn.

Jake let out a belated bark, damn useless watch dog that he was, and then the ranch-house door sprang open, and Jeff was there, a wide grin on his face. He sprinted over to where Wade was dismounting.

“We were hoping you would get here for dinner. Ma's making fried chicken.”

Wade felt so damn ridiculously welcome. He didn't want the pleasure that snaked through his being, but there it was. He reached out and messed Jeff's red hair. “You doing all right?”

“I went out with Tuck. He showed me how to rope, but I'm not very good at it.”

“It takes lots of practice.”

“That's what Tuck says.”

“Well, he's right. I think he's right about a lot of things.” He wanted to put his hand on Jeff's shoulder, but he had no right. In another week, Jeff and Mary Jo would know exactly what kind of man they'd been harboring. He closed his eyes at the thought.

He wished there was another way, but there wasn't. He couldn't fight Kelly and Kay and the man called Jones. Hell, he could barely fire a pistol, much less a rifle.

“Where did you go?” Jeff asked, still filled with questions.

“Just checked on the cattle.”

“Can I go with you next time?”

“I think you should take it easy for a few more days. You don't want that cut to open up again.”

“Aw, it's nothing,” he said.

Wade sat on the corral fence, balancing himself on the top rung. “Come up here,” he told Jeff, who did so, his eyes on Wade.

Wade's heart turned as the boy imitated him, his eyes gazing up at him with such damn worship.

“It's time,” he said, “that you start thinking.”

Jeff's eyes searched his, but the smile on his lips faded.

“No more creeks,” Wade said. “No more running off. Your mother needs you, Jeff. You've shown you can do a man's job, but you have to start thinking like a man. Take a man's responsibility.”

Jeff bit his lip, and Wade was reminded that Mary Jo did the same thing when uncertain, when hurt. Yet he had to prepare Jeff. Wade had to know Jeff could be Mary Jo's strength, just as Mary Jo was his strength, at least for now.

“You're leaving, aren't you?” Jeff said.

“Soon.”

“Tomorrow?” the boy guessed.

“Yes,” Wade said shortly, the curtness of his voice covering the heartache he was feeling.

“But why? I thought you were going to stay longer.”

“You'll be all right now, you and your mother. You have something real fine in Tuck and Ed. Listen to them. Learn from them. They're damn good men.”

“No one can be as—like—you.” Jeff blurted out the words, tears forming in his eyes, and Wade felt like such a fraud. He'd allowed this, allowed Jeff and Mary Jo to care about a man who didn't exist.

“I hope not,” Wade said quietly. “You're going to hear some things about me, Jeff, and most of them will be true.”

Jeff looked him square in the eyes. “I don't care what anyone says about you.”

The earnestness in Jeff's face, the affection in his eyes was almost Wade's downfall. There was more he should say, but he couldn't. The words were caught in his throat.

Then Mary Jo came out. She had washed her hair and the deep red-gold auburn glittered in the sun. She was wearing a green dress, and her eyes sparkled when she saw them, he and Jeff. “Who wants dinner?”

Jeff looked at him, and Wade tried a smile and nodded. “We'll talk in the morning.”

“You won't leave until then?”

“No.”

Jeff looked at his mother, then to him, and Wade saw hope return to them, and he wished he'd been stronger, been able to tell Jeff the whole truth, to tell him not to hope, not to dream, not to wish. Not about him.

Jeff nodded his trust, then jumped down and jogged to the house, satisfied for the moment. Mary Jo smiled tentatively. “You looked deep in conversation.”

“Man talk,” Wade said.

She smiled that lovely smile he would remember for a long, long time. That and the green dress that made her eyes the color of emeralds.

“Jeff said you had fried chicken,” he said, trying to sound casual.

“And gravy and biscuits and green beans and apple pie.”

Everything she knew he liked. Hell, liked? Plain heaven. The ache inside was deepening. Ache, hell. It was more than that. Emptiness was clawing at him. Except emptiness should be painless, and this wasn't. Hellfire. How much deeper could pain get? He looked at Mary Jo, and his world changed, colored in such spectacular ways. And then he saw Kelly standing there under a tree, and he heard his threats toward Mary Jo, and he knew he'd deflected them only a short time. If Wade didn't deliver, Kelly would go after Mary Jo. He knew it.

“I'd better wash up,” he said.

Her eyes searched his, apparently wondering why he'd been gone all day, but she didn't ask, and that surprised him as it always did. It shouldn't anymore, he knew, yet her understanding and lack of questions still amazed him.

“Tell Tuck and Ed. They're both in the barn.”

He nodded and turned away. At least dinner would be some easier with the two men at the table. But afterward … afterward he would have to tell Mary Jo … what? Part of the truth anyway, in case he failed.

Dinner was, thankfully, an opportunity to get his thoughts—and emotions—back where they belonged. Tuck and Ed discussed what had been done while they were away. Ed had tracked the cat that had killed one of the young cows and killed it. The rest seemed to be doing well. Fences had been repaired, stalls added to the barn. Both men apparently were capable of working on their own.

Mary Jo would have the help she needed once he was gone. He was sure of that now, and his mind was partially relieved. He wouldn't be leaving her alone, unprotected. But he would have to drop a word in Tuck's ear, warn him about strangers. Neither man, though, was a gun hand, though they carried rifles, mainly against animal predators and snakes. They'd stand no chance against Kelly and his human predators. Which meant his plan had to succeed, as half-baked as it was.

After supper, Tuck and Ed retired to their own quarters. Jeff, who had watched Wade steadily throughout the meal, took up the dishes. Mary Jo stood and started to help Jeff. Uncertainty showed in her eyes, as if she knew something unpleasant was coming.

“Come outside with me,” Wade told Mary Jo.

She stared at him, obviously surprised and wary of the unexpected invitation.

“Please,” he said. He rarely used the word.

She set down the dishes she was holding and walked to the door, opening it herself and going out to the porch. She looked out toward the mountains where they'd stayed, and he saw her bite her lip. He would never forget the way she and Jeff did that. He swallowed hard. Whenever he saw her do it, he wanted to take her, hold her, wipe away that nervousness, that apprehension, she tried to hide. He closed the door behind him, and stood next to her, his left hand going to her cheek, his finger running along the lip she'd been biting. There was the slightest thickness. He swallowed hard. He wanted to touch her everywhere, not just stop here. But he did.

He took the few steps down the stairs and waited for her to join him, walking away from the house. He didn't want Jeff to hear any part of what he had to say. They walked out to the far edge of the corral, and he watched the enclosed horses for several moments as he tried to frame words.

He leaned against the top railing, wishing he didn't smell the scent of roses that always hovered around her. “You can depend on Ed and Tuck,” he said cautiously. “And now you should have enough horses for more hands.”

She didn't say anything, just waited. He turned and looked at her. Her face seemed pale in the moonlight. Her eyes seemed wider than usual, her lips trembled slightly. She looked so damn beautiful and vulnerable … and desirable. Yet, he also knew her strength now.

That didn't help one damn bit. It should. But it didn't. He wanted to be there for her, even as goddamn useless as he was. He looked around at the ranch, which had become home in such a short time, the porch where he'd sat talking to her. At the barn where he'd first made love to her.

He turned away. “I'm going to Last Chance tomorrow,” he said abruptly, not looking at her. “If I don't return by the following morning, go into town and take your money from the bank.”

There was a stunned silence.

He waited for the questions. He knew they would come this time. And they did.

“Why?”

“Because it might be robbed.”

The silence grew longer this time. He turned his gaze to meet hers, faced the questions there, the terrible unanswerable questions. “Not you?”

“No.”

Something in her face eased slightly, yet the implications of his statement were clear enough. She finally asked the question he knew was coming, the one that would have to be met, if not completely answered. “How do you know?”

His hand pressed down on the fence railing, barely feeling the sliver that dug deep in his palm. “I ran into … some men I used to know. They wanted me to join them.”

The silence again. The awful silence. She was as afraid to ask questions as he was to answer them. “Friends?”

“No.”

“Then why …?”

“They know something about me …”

Silence again. Hard, dead, cold silence.

Then, finally. “Those men you said you killed?” The question was asked almost hopefully, and Wade felt part of himself die. Again.

“Something else.”

The silence was even longer this time. He heard her intake of breath, the audible swallow. “You can't go to Matt then,” she said. It was more a statement than a question.

He didn't answer. A horse whinnied, stamped his foot nervously in his new, unfamiliar quarters. Wade was grateful for the distraction.

“And if
I
go to Matt, or tell anyone, Matt will wonder how I knew …” Her voice trailed off.

“If you don't, you'll be ruined and so will your neighbors,” he finished for her in a low, dispassionate tone.

“You're planning something,” she said in a bare whisper. Her body suddenly leaned against his, and his arm went around her as he felt her tremble against him. Her head lay against his heart, and he felt his shirt dampen. He wanted to tell her things would be all right, but they wouldn't. Not for them. Three fates awaited him after tomorrow: a bullet, a noose, or prison. He preferred the first. Then, perhaps she and Jeff would never discover what he'd tried to hide for so many years.

His silence answered for him.

“I love you, Wade. I don't care what happened in the past.” It was a plea, clear and simple, and it ripped through him. He knew she could tolerate him killing men who'd killed a child, but what if she knew he'd stood silent years ago when farms were raided, men taken and shot, and boys were killed. Oh, they were called men, but they hadn't been; hell, half probably hadn't started shaving. She wouldn't love him then. She would despise him as much as he'd despised himself all these years. He should tell her. He should tell her, so she could let go.

He couldn't do it. The words simply wouldn't force themselves through his teeth.

“Listen to me,” he finally said. “If I'm not back by the day after tomorrow, get Tuck to go into town and withdraw your money from the bank. Don't you go. Hide it someplace safe. Then I want you and Jeff to go to the Abbots and stay there. Tell them to withdraw their money too, that you heard some kind of rumor there might be trouble. If I'm in jail, don't come near me.”

“No,” she said.

“It's Jeff's life, too,” Wade said. “Both of you could be in great danger because of me. I won't let it happen again, Mary Jo. Don't make me watch it happen again.” His last words were little more than a tortured groan.

Mary Jo's hand caught his good one, pressed her fingers between his with a desperate possessiveness.

“Promise me, Mary Jo. Promise me you won't put Jeff in danger.”

“Go to the mountains,” she said. “I can talk to Matt.”

“And tell him what? Your foreman is not Wade Smith. That you've been harboring a murderer? How would you explain knowing there might be a bank robbery?”

He could almost see her mind working. She was not a devious person, but she was trying to be for him. Dammit, he didn't want to corrupt her as he had been corrupted.

“No,” he said. “Don't even think of ways. They wouldn't work, and this is my problem.”

“What are you going to do?”

“It's better you don't know,” he said quietly.