Dorothy Garlock (14 page)

“Get down, Mr. Malone.” Ben broke the silence that followed and darted an angry look at his sister for not extending the invitation. “Get down and make yourself to home.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Malone,” Rosalee said reluctantly. She had to back Ben’s invitation, although she desperately wished the man would ride on. He had surely seen Logan’s horses in the corral and he would know the team and wagon didn’t belong to them. Their wagon was behind the house.

“Thank you, ma’am. I’d like a drink of water if it’s not a bother.”

“And while you’re about it, Case, you might want to see some of Clayhill’s handiwork,” Mary said and led the way into the house.

Rosalee groaned inwardly. What in the world was Mary thinking of? She walked stiffly into the house and went to stand at the head of the bunk where Logan lay.

Ben and Case Malone came into the cabin and Ben, anxious to make him feel welcome, motioned him toward the waterpail and the dipper that hung on the wall.

Case drank thirstily, then hung the empty dipper on the nail. “That was mighty good. Thank you.”

“Come take a look at Logan Horn, Case. I’m sure you’ve heard about the
savage
who had the unmitigated gall to buy land Clayhill has been using all these years. It took no less than four Clayhill riders to do this to him. If Josh and I hadn’t come along, Shorty Banes and the riffraff that rides with him would have beaten him to death. That’s not all; beating him senseless wasn’t enough! They had pulled down his britches and exposed his privates. We got there just in time to prevent them from castrating him.”

The breath Rosalee took into her lungs was sharp and quick. She held it for a long time and it finally came out in small puffs. Her face was the picture of flagrant outrage, her beauty highlighted by the high color in her cheeks and the sparkle of unshed tears in her eyes.

“The sons of bitches!” Case looked down at the man on the bed and cursed.

“It was Shorty Banes. That pie-eye of his has been tied to my hitching rail so many times I’d recognize it a mile away. They stole Logan’s money belt when they saw us coming and took off like they were shot out of a cannon. You see, Case, everyone wants to stay on the good side of the woman who runs the whorehouse, even scum like Shorty Banes.”

“Gawddamnit, Mary! Hush up talkin’ like that!”

“It’s true, Case.”

“You don’t have to put words to it!”

“Mary doesn’t have to mince words around me, Mr. Malone. I’ve known from the first what goes on in the house between here and town.” Rosalee darted a warning look at Ben to keep quiet.

Mary laughed. “It isn’t your tender sensibilities that bothers Case, Rosalee. But let’s forget about that for now and spread out a meal. Case, you and Ben carry the table out under the shade tree. Meta fixed up a basket and we can pretend we’re on a picnic. There’s no need for us to stay in here and disturb Logan. That man’s been to hell and back again. He needs some peaceful sleep.”

Meta had sent fresh bread and wild strawberry preserves, boiled eggs, cold, sliced ham, and fried pie made from dried peaches. Ben enjoyed the meal. Rosalee often accused him of having hollow legs when he sat down at the table. Josh and Case ate heartily, Mary ate very little, and Rosalee scarcely anything. Her mind was on Logan and her stomach was in too much of a turmoil to accept the food.

When the meal was over, Mary lingered at the table to talk to Case and Ben took Josh to where Grace, their old cow, was staked out to feed. The cow had been limping for the last few days and Ben wanted Josh to look at her foot.

Rosalee excused herself and went into the cabin. She was grateful for this time alone with Logan. His forehead was still hot and he moved restlessly on the bunk. She dipped a cloth in a pan of cool water and bathed his hot face. He had pushed the quilt down to his waist. The golden tone of his arms, chest and ribs were marred with large purple bruises and raised red welts. Her heart gave a painful twist when she looked closely at the raw, swollen side of his face. For a moment she wanted to cry. Instead she blinked furiously so she could study his face while there was no one around.

It was the same face she remembered—well shaped, the chin stubborn, the jawline obstinate. A stubble of beard covered his cheeks. Dark, straight brows over wide-set eyes looked as if they had been painted there with a paintbrush. She wished she was bold enough to trace their line with her fingertip. She held the wet cloth to his puffed, skinned cheekbone. “Oh, Logan,” she breathed. “Your poor face!”

Heavy lashes lifted and she was looking into his eyes as dark as midnight almost as soon as the words left her mouth. Their faces were a mere foot apart. “Rosalee . . . Rosalee . . .” Her name came from his lips on the fragment of a breath.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.”

“Are you thirsty?”

“I feel like I could drink the spring dry.”

Rosalee brought the dipper rimming full of water. He raised up on an elbow and she held it to his lips while he drank. When he finished it his head sank wearily to the pillow. He caught her hand before she could move away.

“I’ll get more water—”

“Don’t go.”

She sat down on the bench.

His lips moved and she had to lean close to hear what he was saying. “Stay with me . . . for awhile.”

Rosalee swallowed hard. He was holding her with his dark, feverish eyes. A flush tinged her cheeks.

“Are you feeling any better?”

“I think so. I’m sorry to come in on you like this. And I’m sorry about your pa.”

She nodded and looked away from him, then back. “Mary is still here. She’s going to make sage tea to help break your fever,” she said for the want of something to say. He didn’t say anything, just watched her with those great dark eyes. “You’re going to be all right. You’ll stay here with me and Ben until you’re well again.”

“I shouldn’t be here. I’ll bring my trouble down on you.” His hand squeezed hers hard. “But I wanted to come . . . wanted to see you again.”

“I’m glad you came back,” Rosalee whispered shakily. “I wanted to see you. I was worried about you.” Their eyes were locked, establishing a communication that didn’t need words. They shared their desire to be together again naturally, with no awkwardness between them.

Fathomless eyes looked into blue-green ones for a long time while his thumb absently stroked the back of her hand. Logan’s gaze moved over her calm, composed features to the dedicated arched brows and hair the color of a young fawn. It was pulled straight back from her forehead, gathered at the nape of her neck and braided in a long loose braid that hung over her left shoulder and down over her breast. He gazed at her face as if to etch it in his memory, then wearily closed his eyes. “You’re so . . . peaceful.”

Rosalee felt the tears welling in her eyes again. She placed her other hand over the hand holding hers and gently stroked the skinned knuckles. His hand was long and slender and the forefinger on his left hand turned toward his thumb at the first joint. She wondered if it had been broken and healed stiffly, but no, he flexed the joint when he curled his fingers around hers.

She raised her eyes to his face and saw that he was watching her again through half-closed lids. She looked back at him, her gaze unwavering. Rosalee was suffused with the warm glow of happiness; content beyond measure to be with him, holding onto his hand, taking care of him. It seemed to her that she had lived all her life just to reach this point in time.

“I’ll leave . . . come dark.”

She shook her head. “You’ll stay here until you’re well.”

“They’ll come looking for me. I don’t want to meet up with them here. You and the little girl—”

“My sister went home with the Haywards, our neighbors to the east. Where will you go, Logan? How can you hope to hold that land by yourself?”

“I have men coming—good friends who don’t think of me as anything other than a man. We’ll hold the land. I’m going to make them my partners, help them get a start so they can bring out their families. Clayhill won’t run us off.”

“But they’ll kill you before your men get here!” Rosalee cried in a distressed voice.

“Don’t worry, little Rose. There’s a maze of canyons on my land. Although I wasn’t raised an Indian, I have all the survival instincts of one. They’ll not find me until I’m ready to be found.” His eyes closed. “I’ll rest here awhile, then I’ll go.”

“You’ll not leave here until you’re fit,” Rosalee said staunchly. “If the Clayhills come they’ll face three guns instead of one. I can shoot and so can Ben.”

His eyes opened and he looked into hers with something like amazement in their depths. When he spoke it was slowly and carefully. “You’d do that for . . . me?”

“Of course,” she whispered fervently. “Wouldn’t you do it for me?”

The sound of Mary’s voice reached her from the doorway.

“Rosalee . . .”

She stood and Logan dropped her hand. “Try to go to sleep,” she murmured to him. “I’ll be back.” She could feel his eyes on her. At the door she looked back and they were closed.

“Riders coming,” Mary said urgently as soon as she stepped outside the door. “The old bastard himself is leading the pack.”

Rosalee reached inside for the loaded rifle that stood beside the door since the day her father was killed. “Logan will try to get up,” she said anxiously. “He won’t let us face them alone. What’ll we do?”

“We’re not alone. We’ve got Josh and . . . Case.”

There was a proud tone to Mary’s voice and Rosalee turned her gaze from the approaching riders to look at her. Her eyes were on Case. He stood with his back against the side of the house, one leg bent at the knee, the bottom of his booted foot flat against the wall. He lounged there casually, his hat pulled low over eyes that were focused on the riders, twirling a twig between his fingers as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

Rosalee darted another glance at Mary. “I’d not count on him,” she said briskly.

The sight of the big, white-haired man sitting majestically on the rapidly approaching white horse sent a floodtide of anger through Rosalee. Her hate for this man who controlled so many lives in this valley was powerful and frightening. It bubbled up from her toes, flooding each vein with unrestrainable force. All the pent-up fury she had pushed back since her father’s death broke loose as she moved to the middle of the yard and lifted the rifle to her shoulder.

She stood waiting, a slender girl in a faded blue dress. The breeze was behind her, pushing her skirt against the backs of her legs and lifting strands of hair from the top of her head to swirl around her face.

“Stop right there!” she shouted before they reached the house yard.

She scanned the faces of the six men who pulled their horses to a halt behind Adam Clayhill. Shorty Banes and Shatto were not among them, but the two young drovers that had accompanied them the night they caused her father’s death were there.

“You’re not welcome here,” she called in a voice made shaky by her anger. “Get off our land.”

Several of the men hooted with laughter. “Feisty, ain’t she?” The man who spoke spit a stream of yellow tobacco juice in her direction.

Ben moved up alongside of her, lending her his support. She was never more proud of him.

“Now see here. I don’t want any trouble with you,” Adam bellowed. “I came by to tell you I’m sorry about your pa.”

“You’re so sorry you’ve still got the men who caused his death working for you. I’d say you’re the one whose
sorry,
” Rosalee said bitterly.

“You watch your mouth, girl. I let you stay here because I felt sorry for you. I should have known better.” He took his agitation out on his horse and yanked on the reins. His mount danced halfway around and back again.

“You’ve
let
us stay here?” Rosalee said in a cold, sarcastic voice. “That’s very generous of you, considering we bought this land from the government and our deed is recorded in Denver.”

“I was the first white man to come to this valley and I stamped it as mine. I drove off the stinkin’ redskins and I drove off the riffraff, the scum who follow the trailblazers to a new land and feed on the strong.” He lifted his fist and shook it toward the western range. “I’m not backin’ up a foot, hear! I never would have let you settle in here, but your pa told me he’d be blind and you’d be moving off in a year or two. I was doin’ him a favor. I’ll do another, now he’s dead, and pay his kids twice what he paid for the land. Pack up and be off this property by sundown tomorrow.”

“You’ll not get this land at any price.”

“She shore talks big, boss,” a lanky drover said, and leered at her openly.

“Gawddamnit, girl! I’ll not offer again.”

Adam had been surprised to find Case Malone at the Spurlock ranch. The men told him he had left the bunkhouse at first light and he had expected him to be in Junction City by now. His eyes flicked to his horse, the bedroll behind the saddle, and the bulging saddlebags. From the looks of the table in the yard, the
local
madam had brought food to the bereaved family and Malone had been invited to stay. He’d seen her slink inside the cabin as they rode up. The bitch didn’t have the guts to face him! When he finished with the Indian he’d run her out of the country, too. He should have done it long ago.

Adam decided the girl was all bluff and that Malone had no interest in this. He might be a sanctimonious bastard, a drifter and a gunslinger, he reasoned, but he’d stayed alive for a long while by using common sense. He was smart enough to know when the cards were stacked against him. Adam wasn’t quite sure about the mule skinner who worked at the whorehouse, but if he had any brains at all he’d not go against seven men. Adam calculated the risk, kicked his horse, and moved in.

“Stay back!” Rosalee said sharply. When Adam continued to walk his horse toward her she aimed the rifle between the front legs of his mount and fired. The impact of the bullet hitting the ground sent sharp, stinging clods of dirt up under the horse’s belly. The frightened animal reared and almost upset a startled Adam.

“I said, stay back!” The recoil, when she fired the rifle, spun Rosalee off balance for an instant, but she recovered quickly and recocked the gun.