High Mountain Drifter (37 page)

"Keep drinking," Daisy advised, worry furrowing her brow. Her engagement ring winked in the lamplight as she poured another cup of the repulsive brew and scooted it across the round oak table in Verbena's direction. "The doctor says the damage to your throat and voice box isn't permanent, but you need to take care of it."

"So that means no arguing," Magnolia gently teased, leaning in to spoon in lots of honey. "Yuck. This stuff smells awful."

"It tastes even worse," Verbena rasped, her throat really sore. But what hurt even worse was the fact that after Zane had rescued her and held her with such great tenderness, he'd withdrawn. Went about the business of loading Ernest's body on Winchester's back and let Burton take him to the sheriff's office.

She'd hoped to catch a private word with Zane, but he'd been first surrounded by the cowboys, then the doctor had arrived and ordered him inside to inspect the bullet wound. Even now he sat at the far corner of the kitchen where the light was best, in a chair snatched from the dining room, stoically gritting his teeth while Doc Hartwell stitched up his shoulder.

"You got lucky," the doc was saying, sleeves rolled up, bent over his work. "That bullet didn't shatter the bone. Just nicked it. But I don't want you moving this arm much for a week or two."

"Sure." Zane's stoic answer didn't sound as if he intended to follow the doctor's instructions. "I'll see what I can do."

Oh, she knew he wouldn't take care of himself. She drained the cup, letting the last bitter, foul dregs of tea wash over her tongue. Her entire body shook at the vile taste, but she reached for another.

Her gaze stayed riveted on Zane. With his dark hair bound at his collar, whiskers darkening his jaw, he could have been one of those mountains outside the window. He seemed that remote. Her pulse stuttered, tripping over itself, because she knew he was still going to leave. All that love she'd felt, love that had burned in his eyes, resonated in their kiss, and it wasn't enough.

"At least the girls won't have to go through a trial." Burton stopped to sip on his cup of coffee, where he stood in front of the stove with the other cowboys, warming up and thawing out.

"That's good," Kellan answered with that terse, single nod the cowboys often used. "They've been through enough."

"But what about Klemp?" Shep asked over the rim of his coffee cup.

"Oh, I hear he's pleaded guilty." Milo moseyed over to pour himself a cup of coffee. "He'll likely get hard labor this time. He deserves it."

"Can't argue with you there." Gil raised his cup in a salute. "At least it's over."

Over. That word dug in, hooked into her heart, gave a painful wrench. This was typical Verbena, she thought, turning her attention to her cup. She stared at it, dreading the next swallow, traced the cabbage rose pattern on the china with her forefinger. Didn't she always choose the one man with a flaw? She'd done it more times than she could count. Once, she'd thought Ernest was the worst case of her picking the wrong man, but that was no longer true.

Zane was. Oh, he was everything a man should be. Honorable, truthful, trustworthy. He was tender, he was steadfast, he could do anything. Anything but stay. It was funny how Aumaleigh's advice kept whispering in the back of her mind.

"Guess I'll be on my way." Zane's baritone rumbled across the room, softly spoken, but somehow it rang above all the other conversations in the room. His chair scraped slightly against the wood floor as he stood. He shrugged his shirt back into place, covering the careful bandage at his shoulder, and buttoned up. "How much do I owe you, Doc?"

"It's on the house." Doc Hartwell snapped shut his medical bag. "You did some good here, son. We all appreciate it. You come on back anytime."

Zane opened his mouth, closed it again, his throat working as if he didn't know what to say.

"That's right," Beckett pushed his way off the staircase where he'd been perched on one of the steps. Carefully he stood, straight and tall, still in pain but didn't let it stop him. He held out his hand, shook Zane's. "I can't thank you enough. We're mighty grateful."

"Glad I could help." Zane shook his head, dismissing the compliments, wincing when he took a step. "I have to say the folks on this ranch are some of the finest I've worked with."

"Your horse is out front," Milo spoke up. "Come on, I'll ride out with you."

"Great." He nodded, relieved. That's what he needed, the company of an old friend to help him force his feet forward and do what had to be done. Even if it felt like it could kill him.

He took in one last long look of her. Verbena, sitting straight and poised in green calico, her hair cascading down her slender back. When their gazes met, it was like lightning. Quick, decimating, too bright to see anything else.

Everyone's goodbyes, thanks and well wishes were lost on him, just jumbled sounds. He nodded appropriately, he shook hands, thanked everyone in return as he wedged his injured arm into his coat sleeve, donned his hat, stepped out into the gusting wind. He didn't feel the cold.

In truth, he didn't know if he'd ever feel anything again. His heart had splintered, shattered into fragments too small to be ever put right again. Verbena had done this. Only her love could heal it, and that wasn't likely. She knew the truth about him. So he plodded across the porch, followed Milo into the yard. If only every step he took didn't feel like torture. Like he was leaving a part of himself behind.

He felt her gaze on his back. Remembered the way she'd felt in his arms, how beyond terrified, beyond sane he'd been when he'd spotted her fighting with Craddock on the road. That moment, when he'd thought she'd been choked to death had been the worst. His soul had been wrenched from him.

"Zane?" Verbena's voice, although hoarse and raspy, seemed as soft as a melody calling to him. Calling him back?

He whipped around, hoping for the impossible, that she would want him the way he wanted her. Hope beat hard in his chest, dying when he spotted the bakery box in her hands.

"Rose decorated these especially for you." She burst outside with only a shawl to cover her, the fringe whipping in the wind as she trotted out after him. In the dress he'd soiled that first day in town, pretty as could be, not a mud stain on it.

She walked toward him while everyone stayed in the house, looking on, her head down. She didn't look at him. The part in her hair, a straight line right down the middle of her head, made her look vulnerable, somehow fragile, reminding him of how small she was, and how very much he wanted the right to take care of her. He craved that with all of his soul.

She held out the box. "Rose put a lot of work into the frosting."

"Thanks." He didn't know what else to say. She kept her eyes averted, looking at everything but him. He took the box, breathed in the delicious aroma of chocolate. Maybe this was the time to say what he felt. But as he looked around at the impressive mansion she lived in with its gables and gingerbread trim, he couldn't imagine why she would want to settle for him. Regardless of what she felt. No wonder she was looking away.

She could do better. She could have any man she wanted. She deserved more than a man who'd never been anything good to anybody.

Although he wanted to be everything to her. He shook his head. Just could not see that happening.

"I appreciate the payment." The words felt torn out of him, sounded raw and strained. "Best wages I've ever earned."

"It's the chocolate." She stared at her shoes, but her voice smiled. "You'll take care of yourself?"

"Me? I'm in no danger." He wanted to trace the silken curve of her cheek, the porcelain dip of her chin, but he didn't. Kept his free hand fisted at his side. "You seem to be the one who gets into so much trouble."

"I'm through with trouble." She lifted one slim shoulder in a shrug. "I'll be just fine. You don't have to worry about me."

"Maybe I will anyway." He winced. She looked so sad. That told him her feelings had been sincere, and he hated that his honesty had brought her pain. They both knew he didn't belong with her. The pieces of his heart ached. "Now and then, when I'm driving through some town somewhere and I spot a mud puddle, I'll think of you and steer around it."

"Please, don't think of me then." She laughed, but she didn’t sound happy. "The dress is just fine, as you can see. I've decided to buy some calico with the money you gave me and make some little girl dresses for a nearby orphanage. I'll have to figure out where that is, but I'll do it."

"That sounds nice." That was just like Verbena, always thinking of others. He loved her for it. But if he stayed a second longer, he would embarrass himself by telling her that. Remembering how kindly she'd rejected that little guy in the church yard, the one with the handlebar mustache, he took a step back. Figured he'd save himself that particular heartache and humiliation. Hard to think as much as she cared, and he could see it was a lot, it couldn't be enough. He just wasn't a man who could be loved that much, not with his past. He wasn't that lucky.

"Goodbye." He choked the words out. They'd never been so hard to say. Leaving was the one thing he did well, moving on to the next job, the next town, blowing like a leaf in the wind. But not this time. It took all his self-discipline to force his feet back and away from her. Saw the disappointment in her eyes, knew the same thing shone in his.

Winchester nickered low in his throat, standing at the hitching post, untied and unblanketed, for Milo had apparently taken care of that. The gelding looked at him scoldingly, as if to ask what was taking so long. They had another job waiting, another outlaw to bring in.

Time to go. Zane swallowed hard, felt his feet dragging and forced his boots to keep going. Nothing had ever been this tough. He mounted up, set the box on one thigh, took up the reins in his free hand. Milo sat astride his horse, reined the animal around and plodded off.

Zane laid the leather strap against Winchester's dark neck, and the gelding shot forward, gait brisk, taking them away from McPhee Manor and Verbena standing on the lawn. Her presence pulled at him. When he glanced over his shoulder for one last look of her, the last he would ever have, the sight of tears running down her cheeks undid him. Now, that wasn't what he expected. Maybe a wave, maybe a sigh, but not the choke of a sob or the way she spun around to hide it.

With a nicker, Winchester quickened his pace, taking them into the line of trees that blocked any view of her. Zane twisted in the saddle, straining to catch a chance glimpse of her through the boughs and branches. Couldn't. His forehead furrowed, his chest cinched up, he couldn’t breathe knowing she was hurting, truly hurting. The sight of those tears stuck with him as Winchester trotted down the lane. How could he ride away knowing she was hurting like that?

"Something wrong?" Milo called out, waiting at the end of the drive. "You look like a man thinking about turning around."

"No." Habit made him say those words. So did self- preservation. He clamped his jaw hard, until his molars ached, trying to keep it all inside.

"I know you, Zane." Milo tipped back his hat, speculative, but kind. "Remember back in Pine Bluff, when those ladies banded together to picket the sheriff's office?"

"Well, I haven't purposefully thought of it for a long time. Until now." Zane drew Winchester to a halt at the end of the lane, where the country road rolled on toward the prairie, past the mountains, under the vast snow-cloud sky. "They succeeded, they drove me out of town. I learned a lesson, so I guess I'd better keep going."

"What they did wasn't right, and I told them that and the sheriff." Milo blew out a troubled sigh. "I wish it had made a difference, but you still lost your job."

"It made a difference." That was the simple truth. "You stood up for me, came close to losing your job. You're a good friend, Milo. I've never forgotten that."

"You had a hard time riding away then too." Milo adjusted his hat as the wind gusted harder. "You had a chance for a normal life then, and it didn't work out. I'd hate to see you lose out again."

"A normal life? Me?" He knew his voice sounded choked, he knew he wasn't fooling Milo. He couldn’t even fool himself anymore. The memories of packing up, of riding away from the friends he'd made--real friends--in Pine Bluff, of the only job he'd ever been proud of, well, it had cut him to the quick. It had stolen every last ounce of his hope. "I'm not cut out for that, even if she wanted me."

"Well, if that's what you think." Milo seemed to understand, his eyes sad. "Then let's go."

With a smile, as if he knew something Zane didn't, Milo reined his horse and rode on down the country road.

"C'mon, Winchester." Zane pressed his heels to the gelding's sides, but it felt wrong. All wrong. He drew back on the reins before the horse could take more than a few steps.

"Yeah, that's how I thought it was." Milo turned around in his saddle. Grinning. "I'll see you in town."

Zane nodded, hung his head. His ribs felt ready to crack, overshadowing the pain of the bullet wound by far. It consumed him, the image of her tears, the undying hope of finding everything he'd ever wanted. Even if she still wanted him, knowing his past, he didn't know the first thing about domestic life. About coming home at the end of a work day, about being a husband, or a father. Thinking of his own pa, he cringed. No, he'd likely be a terrible pa. It was best to keep going. To stick with what he knew, the only thing he was good at.

But it wasn't what he wanted. He bowed his head, reins in hand, the bakery box in the other, trying to find the strength to keep on going. Pain cannoned through him with force enough to crack every bone and he felt as if he were breaking, physically, emotionally, mentally into pieces that could never be made whole again. All he could think about was Verbena standing there with tears streaking down her face. Tears for him. As unbelievable as that was, as incomprehensible. No one had ever cared for him that much.

Whether he was worthy or not, he couldn't ride away and leave her like that so he swung Winchester around.