Jane Bonander (5 page)

Ah, hell. He had a job to do. Remembering the effect he usually had on women, he knew he had to tred softly. His sheer size was intimidating, but he couldn’t help what he was—a man scarred by life, a man who’d lost all tenderness, a man who found it hard even to smile.

Then, as he’d studied the woman, the boy had turned and stared in his direction, directly into the lens. Nate had felt as though he’d been punched. He’d fallen to his knees, pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, allowing his pain to devour him.

Even now, he could still remember his torture when he’d looked into the child’s eyes. Five years. It had been five years since he’d learned that his wife and son had been killed, and yet, it could have been yesterday.

He still prayed for the day when the raw edges of his pain would quit cutting him to pieces and become a dull, aching memory. But even if the pain went away, he knew the guilt never would.

Yeah, he had to go back and see Susannah Walker. He’d been paid well by Sonny Walker to do a job, and he needed the rest of the money. He shook his head, disgust making him frown. If anyone had told him ten years ago, when he’d been a new husband with a pretty young wife, that one day he would become a heartless, callous bounty hunter, he would have laughed them off the face of the earth.

S
he slogged through the water, the muddy bottom sucking wildly at her feet. Behind her, Sonny gained steadily, his slick, indecent smile pressing her on. Her gaze was glued to the opposite bank, to where Corey reached for her, crying, calling her name. She had to get to him; she had to protect him. She flung herself forward, touching the dirt on the shore. It crumpled beneath her fingers, seeming to slide away, leaving her farther from land than she was before.

She clawed her way to Corey, her lungs bursting, her ears ringing with his cries. Lunging for the shore again, she touched a booted foot. She clung to it, pulling herself out of the water. She glanced up into her savior’s face, and her blood ran cold. Harlan stood before her, dangling Corey in front of her, bloody scissors poised at her son’s throat. Panic—raw, liquid and cold—spread through her, and the smell, so familiar, so cloying, gagged her. . . .

Like a whip crack, Susannah was alert, the nightmare still crawling over her heart. The smell clung in her nostrils as though it were real. It was always there and always the same, especially if the dream held visions of Sonny. Pressing her hands to her chest, she sat up and glanced around the room, grateful to be awake, but dismayed that the nightmares continued to haunt her.

Her bed no longer inviting, she threw on her flannel wrapper, stepped into her slippers and went into the other room to heat some water. It was barely dawn. At one time, rising early had been a habit. Now, when it wasn’t necessary that she get up before the sun, she couldn’t stand to stay in bed.

After making a fire in the stove, she checked on Corey. The images from her troubled sleep were still vivid, almost real, and she tried to shake the memory of them away, for they gave her a sharp thrust of guilt. She and Corey would always be running, wouldn’t they? She knew they would eventually have to leave this place in search of another, safer one. She didn’t dare stay too long anywhere, and, as she thought about the stranger, she wondered if perhaps they’d stayed in Angel’s Valley too long already.

She left Corey’s room, made herself a cup of tea and sat in a chair near the stove, thinking about the man’s verbal assault on her the night before. She’d been forced to defend herself against a life she’d hated, been forced to lie about something she wanted everyone to know—that a man has no right to inflict pain on his family.

Other memories crept in as well. Her abject fear when Corey had spilled his milk, and her surprise when the stranger hadn’t responded like she thought he would.
The stranger
. Odd, they hadn’t even exchanged names, yet he’d been around a good part of the day.

He’d mentioned a son. She envied the woman who was married to a man who did not bully his children. This man, this stranger, had treated Corey’s mishap as if it were the most natural thing in the world for a child to do. She instinctively knew it was, but Corey had not had a natural upbringing. She would blame herself for that for the rest of her days, in spite of finally having done something about it.

She often wondered if she would have ever dredged up the courage to leave had Harlan not started threatening Corey.

Again, her thoughts went to the man who had chopped her tree into firewood. She wondered why he had come into their lives, why he felt such a need to protect them. Why would he care if Eli Clegg wanted to peep into her bedroom window? Why would he care if she couldn’t get a stupid tree chopped into firewood? She also wondered why she was so anxious to have him gone, but deep inside, she knew. She was afraid he’d been sent by Sonny to spy on her. Eventually he might come himself, but Sonny always had others take care of the preliminaries.

But this stranger who had come into her life wasn’t the sort of man Sonny would call upon for help. She knew the kind of people Sonny associated with. She was certain she could spot the kind of man he’d send after her. Surely it wouldn’t be a man who was so tender with her son, it made her want to throw herself at him in gratitude. And it wouldn’t be a man who would willingly do a job for her without getting paid—or at least trying to get her into bed as payment. That was Sonny’s style. What honest, decent man would take Sonny’s dirty money and chase down a woman?

No, her suspicions were just a natural part of her guilt. After all, it wasn’t the first time she’d had such a feeling. Foolish as it was, when she first moved here, she’d thought Eli Clegg, himself, had been sent by Sonny because he made such a pest of himself.

“Mama?”

She put her teacup on the table and opened her arms for her son. He crawled into her lap and they sat together, listening to the sounds of the morning as it awakened around them.

“What do you hear, sweetheart?”

Corey snuggled close, eager for the game they played so many mornings. “Corey hear birds.”

“What do they sound like?”

He whistled, a clear, disciplined sound. She’d been stunned the first time she’d heard him.

“Anything else?” She smelled his hair, adoring the scent.

Corey sat very still. “Corey hear el’fants.”

Susannah laughed. “Now you’re teasing Mama,” she answered, giving him a quick hug.

Later, after they were both dressed, Corey sat at the table, playing with a set of building blocks while Susannah tried to fix the locked wheel on her sewing machine

Max barked, and Corey crawled down from the chair and toddled to his bench that stood under the window.

“Big man coming, Mama.”

Frowning, Susannah’s hand stilled over her machine.
Now
what did he want? The more she saw of him, the more her suspicious nature told her he had ulterior motives for stopping by.

Crossing to the window, she stood behind Corey, watched the stranger dismount, hunker down in front of Max and scratch his ears. When he glanced toward the window, Susannah’s stomach twisted anxiously.

As if with a mind of their own, her fingers found the handkerchief she’d tied around her hair, and removed it, smoothing back the curls that fell around her face. She went to the door, opening it just as he stepped onto the porch.

“Good morning, ma’am.” He stood before her, tall and roughly handsome, his hat in his hand.

Despite her generous feelings toward him earlier, Susannah crossed her arms over her chest and appraised him. His hair was neat, as if he’d used his fingers as a comb. He hadn’t shaved, for dark stubble reached up, hiding the slightly sharp ledges of his cheekbones and the rolling cleft in his chin that she’d noticed the day before. His shoulders strained at his shirt, and she remembered her reaction to him as he wielded her ax. Something warm expanded inside her, and again, the revulsion didn’t come.

She nodded a greeting, attempting to stay aloof even though her pulse thrummed. “Did you forget something?”

He cleared his throat. “Actually, no. I’ve . . . ah . . . I’ve come to apologize for my behavior last night. I had no right to question you the way I did. It wasn’t any of my business.”

Telling him he was right was a temptation, but she didn’t. “You came all the way out here to apologize?” She tried not to sound skeptical, but she failed. Her own words rang cynically in her ears.

“Yes, ma’am. And . . .” He looked away briefly, then said, “I know you haven’t asked for help, but I noticed how badly your steps need repair. In fact,” he added, gripping one of the splintered columns that held up the slanted roof over the porch, “these posts don’t look like they’d hold up that roof in a high wind.” He found her gaze and caught it. “The same thing would apply. I’ll fix them for an occasional meal.”

Hesitating, Susannah narrowed her gaze and gave him a firm stare. “Why would you work for just food? Surely you can find a job that would pay you.”

“I have one waiting for me. Until then . . .” He shrugged. “I have some time to spare.”

She fought the converging feelings inside her. He’d looked at her boldly when he talked, not allowing his gaze to shift. That had to mean something, didn’t it?

Scolding herself, she glanced away, nervously fingering the buttons on her dress as she surveyed the splintered and weather-torn surface of the porch. Yes, it needed repair, but how could she even
think
about letting him do the work? Despite his kindness, he could still be there to spy on her.

But what if she was wrong? What if he was just what he said he was—a stranger passing through with some time to kill? She needed the porch fixed. Oh, but it was a hard decision for her to make. After he left the night before, she’d been happy to see him go. Relieved, even. It was too hard to trust anyone. It complicated her life.

Max loped to the porch, and the man spoke to him softly. Again, she knew she’d be foolish to trust the instincts of a dog, but again, she did.

“All right,” she answered cautiously. “You can pick up what you need in town. Tell them . . . tell them I’ll come in and pay for it later.” She didn’t know if she had enough money tucked away, but she’d scrape it together somehow.

He turned to leave, then stopped and gave her that same rusty, seldom-used smile. “And who shall I tell them will pay them later?”

For a brief moment, she sensed a trap, then knew it was either her guilty conscience or her imagination. “Susannah . . . Quinn. And, just who is going to be working on my porch?” she asked, surprised at the playful tone in her own voice.

“Nathan Wolfe.” He extended his hand.

Susannah stared at it, reluctant, remembering other hands, not as large, but perhaps as powerful. Her gaze traveled to his face, to his eyes. Something in them gave her confidence. Slowly she took his hand, then quickly pulled hers away as a strange, pleasant warmth moved up her arm, to her elbow.

She clamped one hand over the other and looked away, puzzled by the lingering feeling. When she glanced up, he was already riding toward the road.

The pleasant sensation was quickly replaced by a queasy one that reminded her who she was, and why she was there. She almost called to him and told him not to bother. But he was gone.

Still wrestling with her anxiety, she went into the cabin. Her solitude had been infringed upon, and she had a sense of foreboding that she would never get it back.

As Nate sawed wood for the steps around the side of the cabin, he could hear Susannah’s throaty laugh as she played in front with Corey and the dog. She was good with the boy, better than his wife, Judith, had been with Jackson. But Judith hadn’t been as wholesome or as healthy. She’d been petite and delicate.

How many times had he wondered what his life would have been like if it hadn’t been for that damned war? Hell, he’d spent years mulling it over in his mind The war had changed his life forever. No longer did he have a wife and son to love and care for. He had thousands of acres of beautiful land, but no one to share it with. It lay fallow, blowing and drifting with only the wind as guidance. Like him. He was an outsider wherever he went, and he wanted it that way. No entanglements. No emotions ripping him apart.

But now, as ridiculous as it was, he felt left out of Susannah’s little circle. Seeing the boy still made him ache in places he’d long thought were dead and cold, but part of him craved the time to spend with the boy. In spite of the fact that the memories hurt, he missed fatherhood. Out of necessity, he’d been damned good at it. He’d been a far better father than a husband. . . .

He swore, the dark curse a mere hiss on his tongue. Who in the hell was he trying to fool? What good would it do to get Susannah Walker’s confidence? He’d only have to dash it later. In spite of everything, he considered himself an honorable man And he’d already taken money from Walker. Whether he liked it or not, he had to finish the job.

He was getting soft, letting a woman and a boy get to him. And he still didn’t know how he would implement Sonny’s plan to get them back to Missouri. Susannah—Quinn, Walker—whatever the hell she wanted to call herself, didn’t trust him. With damned good reason, of course, but she didn’t know that yet. She hadn’t come to her decision to let him work for her lightly; he’d seen the wary uncertainty in her eyes.

He’d paid for the supplies himself, not wanting anyone to connect the two of them. God, how he hated this bounty job! All of his life he’d fought for the underdog. It sickened him not to. And here he was, taking money—a lot of money—from a slime like Sonny Walker to track down a woman and a boy.

When he’d taken the job, he thought it would be easy. A murderer was a murderer, right? And murderers needed to be brought to justice. But Walker didn’t want him to bring the woman back and turn her in. He wanted her brought to
him
. A warning bell should have sounded in Nate’s head, but at that point he wouldn’t have listened, anyway. All he saw was the money. Lots and lots of money. Money he needed to finally put his ranch in running order again. He wanted to go home, even if there was no one there but his old friend and caretaker, Nub Watkins, to greet him.

Despite his rationalization, he felt a wave of disgust that he’d sunk to such an all-time low to get what he wanted.

He lifted the wood he’d just sawed into his arms and walked around to the front of the cabin. Susannah had her back to him. Occasionally she turned to the side, and he saw the fullness of her breast as it pressed against her dress. His gaze lingered there and a pinch of hunger tweaked at his current state of celibacy.

She laughed as Max wrestled Corey for a stick. The sound was foreign to him. He’d hardly seen her smile, much less laugh. It was a purely feminine sound, lusty yet warm, provocative yet filled with mirth.

A thought struck him as he watched her. She reacted like a child herself, almost as if she’d never had a childhood of her own.

But she wasn’t a child. Even though Nate didn’t think she was yet twenty, she had some of the signs of having already lived a lifetime. That fragile vulnerability he’d seen in the depths of those big brown eyes the day before told him she’d seen more hardships than any young girl her age had a right to see.

And she was always alert. Always wary. She held herself aloof around him But there was no reserve about her now, no pretense, no wariness. She was just being herself, and he found it appealing.