Jillian Hart (23 page)

Chapter Fifteen

"Mama, Puddles doesn't know how to share."

Lissa looked up from creaming sugar and butter to see Chad sitting on the floor, one cookie in hand, the other hand empty. Puddles sat on his lap. Winston sat daintily next to her boy, her belly hiding her toes.

Puddles leaped up and grabbed the last cookie from Chad's fingers, and the child laughed. "See? Winston and me outta get some too."

"I see." Laughing, too, Lissa set down her mixing bowl and stole two more gingersnap cookies from the crock.

Scenting the treat, Puddles leaped up, her mouth still lined with cookie crumbs, eyes bright and happy.

"Smells good in here." Jack's smiling voice spun her around. He stood shirtless in the threshold, framed by the mid-morning light, bronzed skin glistening.

"Pa!" Chad jumped to his feet, racing across the room to wrap his arms around Jack's knees. "We've been eatin' cookies."

"Got any for me?"

"Yep!" Chad raced back to the table, the puppy bouncing at his heels. The lid to the crock clinked.

Jack's gaze brushed hers, warm but not intimate. "Thought I'd stop by and bring the men some cider. It's getting hot out in those fields."

"I got caught up in preparing for the ladies' club meeting this afternoon. It's my turn to host." Lissa glanced at the clock. "I should have thought of you and the men working under that sun."

"Don't worry about it. I like taking a break to see my family." He thanked Chad for the handful of cookies.

The sight of the big man and small boy—standing in the sunshine nibbling gingersnaps while the puppy jumped up, trying to join in—made Lissa's heart ache.

She gave Winston a final pat and knelt to pull up the cellar door. Cool air met her. She grabbed a jug of unopened cider.

Two big hands reached down out of the light. "Let me. That's pretty heavy."

"I can manage." She looked up, saw his handsome face, his smile that did not reach his eyes.

"I know. But let me do it. Make me feel manly."

She wasn't fooled. She handed him the heavy jug and started up the short ladder. At the top, Jack took her arm, helping her up. She didn't need the help, but he had been busy doing small tasks for her, things she could handle and always had—because she was pregnant, she knew. It was nice that he worried over her.

With the sheriff's visit everything had changed. She didn't want to lean too much on Jack. Didn't want to depend on him, need him. If his fears were true and he was the missing outlaw, then he couldn't stay no matter what his promises were, no matter his honor.

It was there, in the way he held himself just a step away, in the cool sadness of his eyes even if he smiled, in the lack of his touch. He knew it, too. His time with them could end. All he had accomplished here, everything he'd become, wouldn't matter one whit against the wrongs of his past.

Sheriff Ike Palmer wished to hell he could have arrested Jack—rather, Dillon Plummer—on the spot Plummer was the cousin of a notorious criminal, and notorious in his own right. Arresting him would be a boon to his career.

Palmer wanted to be more than a small town sheriff. He had bigger aspirations, dreams he couldn't reach while sitting behind a desk piled with papers. He needed money, real money, and the chance to prove himself. In this land of the free, home of the brave, any fool could be voted governor. He didn't see why in blazes he couldn't be there one day.

A fine home, money, a beautiful wife. Most of all, power. That was what he really craved—being able to destroy a man, any man, with the snap of his fingers.

The jailhouse door crashed open. Deakins scrambled inside, out of the bitter heat. "No mail from the capital."

"Damn that sheriff's office." Were they a bunch of morons?

"Maybe next week, Sheriff."

"Next week isn't good enough. I want that bastard out of the way now." He should have hired better guns, ones who could have brought down that outlaw when they had the chance instead of getting themselves killed by him.

Palmer made a decision. He hated to spend money, but this time he had no choice, unless the sheriff's office decided to answer their mail. "Get ahold of Clayborne. Tell him I'm going to need some more men. The best he's got."

* * *

"Lissa, I can't believe the devastation." Felicity James stepped down from her buggy while her sister, still perched on the seat, set the brake. "We're just lucky that wildfire didn't reach town. We owe a lot of thanks to your husband and the men who did what they could to stop it."

"The rain stopped it," Maggie added as she climbed down, balancing a crystal cake plate. "But the men sure took the vigor out of it, or we would all be in terrible straits."

"We managed to save the house, so I don't feel like I have cause to complain." Lissa accepted a hug each from the James sisters, then thanked Arcada, who hurried from the barn to take their horse and buggy. "Come in. I have some lemonade and ice tea."

"Look. There's Blanche."

A wagon kicked up a dust cloud, but the woman behind the reins was a welcome sight. "You're looking much better, Lissa. The burns have healed."

She held up one bandaged hand. "Just have this one left to go. Sophie's balm worked wonders. And so did your loving care."

"I do what I can for my friends." Warmth from nearly two decades of caring shone in Blanche's eyes. "Here, take this plate of tarts from me. I'm going to spill the entire thing if I try to get down without tripping on my skirt."

"Where's your buggy?" Lissa reached up to take the covered plate, balancing it quickly when the tarts started to slide. "Did Jeremiah take the children somewhere?"

"Jeremiah is itching to head up to Billings before school starts and he'll need the wagon for that. All those books he gets to buying wouldn't fit inside that buggy, not with all our little ones." Laughing, Blanche dropped to the ground, kicking up dust and offering a hug. "Wait. We can't start without everyone else."

"There's Sophie." Felicity pointed.

A woman on horseback, skirts flying, crossed the burned out fields, loping toward the house.

"It's hot in this sun." Lissa swiped her brow. Her morning sickness always came in the afternoons and stayed. This pregnancy was no different. She took a step toward the house. "Go inside and help yourselves to refreshments. I'll stay to greet Sophie."

"No. We'll just stay right here." Maggie offered a mysterious smile.

"I heard someone has a big secret," Felicity teased. "Probably as a result of all those sleepless nights in the company of her new husband."

"Yes," Blanche chimed in. "Certain pleasurable activities can result in certain conditions."

"All right, who told?" Blushing, Lissa took a step back. Their shade trees had been burned somewhat by the fire, and Will had the men chop them down. Now there was no shade.

Blanche's eyes twinkled. "All right, it was me. I can't keep a secret that big. Besides, I thought everyone should know. We can celebrate, especially after all that's happened." She gestured with one upturned palm toward the scarred land and fields, the missing trees, the scorched yard and garden.

"We're all so happy for you, Lissa." Felicity beamed. "Tell us when the baby's due."

"January. It seems so far away." Worry knotted in her stomach, but excitement bubbled there, too. She was almost afraid to hope that this time the baby would live, that she would carry to term.

Maggie took her hand and squeezed. "It will be here before you know it. And that handsome husband of yours, he must be happy with the news. What with him losing his own son back in St. Louis."

Lissa's throat closed. No one knew of Jack's secret, that he wasn't truly John Murray. Apparently the sheriff was keeping that piece of information to himself. For now. "Jack is very happy."

"We'll keep our fingers crossed for a son." Blanche laid her arm across Lissa's shoulder. "Not that little girls aren't nice, because that would be wonderful, too. But a son, seeing as how both you and Jack have lost sons, it would be a nice gift to get one back."

"Yes." Tears filled her eyes. Friendship, true friendship, was a rare thing. She cherished these women like her own family. They all knew her fears, and in their quiet congratulations she knew they understood. "Hello, Sophie."

The Indian woman slid off her bareback pony. "Baby Evan is teething, and I just couldn't get him down for his nap for Hans. Hans is a good father, he just doesn't know what to do with a teething baby."

"Who does?" Blanche teased, earning laughter from everyone.

"Elise. Susan." A second wagon rolled up, the tanner's wife and the merchant's wife side by side. They weren't in their own buggies, either.

"Let's just show her now," Blanche suggested.

"Yes, let's." Sophie handed Arcada the reins to her painted pony and adjusted the leather sack slung over her shoulder. "The plants won't do well drying out in this heat."

Lissa swiped her brow. "What's going on?"

"Surprise." Susan leaned over the back of the wagon and lifted a canvas. "We heard from Will when he came to buy supplies for the ranch that your gardens were damaged—"

"So we all took plants from our own gardens for you to start a new one," Blanche finished.

"I brought herbs and native plants." Sophie unwrapped her sack, revealing yew and yarrow and strong-scented sage and wild licorice.

"Susan and I brought flowers and roses from our yards." Elise brushed her fingers over the soft petals of red and pink roses, over dogwood and lily, their sweet fragrance filling the hot summer air.

"And the James sisters and I brought vegetables. Everything you can think of. Beans and beets, and cooking herbs."

"And the men and I will plant them for you," Arcada added, returning to unhitch the wagons. "You ladies go ahead inside. Lissa, you just call if you need anything."

"Thank you." The words felt so small when compared to her friends' generosity. She saw Jack at the barn watching, his gloved hands wrapped around the handle of an ax. He'd been working hard, and sweat darkened his hair, sparkled on his shirtless shoulders and chest.

It hurt, not being alone. And for once in a very long time, she was grateful.

Jack tried to peek in the window, but Winston sat on the sill, blocking his view. The wind breezed back the curtain, and the screen obscured what he could see of the room on either side of the cat. The women's voices, breaking into laughter, rose and fell. He was too far away to make out what they were saying.

"I wonder what women do when they're all alone." McLeod grunted as he lifted a heavy shovel full of dirt.

"They talk about men." Will unwrapped a wet cloth from around a tomato plant and fit it into the ground, careful not to damage the roots.

"Nah, they talk about babies." Arcada knelt to water the potato plants he'd just transplanted from the back of Blanche's wagon. "Women like babies."

"And religion," the youngest hand, Jesse Winters, piped in. He looked up from his digging. "My mother and sisters always prayed a lot."

"Probably because they had you in the house," McLeod teased, and the men laughed.

Jack pulled his hat brim low against the sun. He didn't know what the women were doing, but he was certain he'd heard the shuffling of a deck of cards.

His gaze shifted to the acre-size garden. Most of the sweet corn and root vegetables had survived the heat from the fire, but the beans and peas, the patch of tomatoes, and the carrots had taken a beating. Much of her hard work had been ruined.

He was touched by the kindness of Lissa's friends. They cared for her. She'd grown up in this town, and her relationships with others were lifelong. He'd heard from Hans how Lissa had helped after Sophie's baby was born, and Sophie fell ill, how the other women had pitched in, just as the men had to cut Hans's hay fields.

How would they feel once they knew he was an outlaw? Dillon Plummer. How that name sparked glimmers of memories in the blank part of his mind. The dreams he'd had flashed back to him—stalking men in a field, standing in a jail, hunting others—as a criminal, as a man who killed?

He didn't want to shame Lissa that way. Worse, he hated waiting, hated wondering what the sheriff was going to do next, what information he'd gathered.

"All done, boss. Except for the roses." Arcada straightened, holding an empty bucket in each hand. "McLeod said he'd plant the rose bushes."

"Then let's get started on the fence. I have a feeling the deer will be by tonight if we don't." Jack dug another fence posthole, sweat dripping off his back. The harder he worked, the less he had to think, but he couldn't help it.

The women's laughter rose again. Whatever plans they were making for the harvest dance must be amusing them.

Good. He wanted to see the shadows gone from Lissa's eyes, the worry from her face—the worry he'd put there, the fears he'd planted.

He believed he was who the sheriff thought he was. Nothing else made sense. Hating the trouble he knew would come, and all because of him, Jack turned his back to the house and the women's laughter, and forced the shovel deep into the ground.

Lissa pushed open the screen door, the coming night alive with the drone of insects, the hoot of an owl, the first distant calls of the coyotes. Twilight cloaked the land with a purple-gray haze, the shadows deepening over hill and forest.

She saw him in the garden, heard the rhythmic scrape of a saw, smelled the fresh, sharp scent of sawed wood. Head bent, saw gripped tightly in one hand while he held a piece of wood with the other, Jack worked in silence as the night enfolded him. Darkness stole him from her sight.

"It's too dark to work," she said.

He dropped the saw with a clatter, then swore. "I didn't hear you there."

"You were pretty absorbed in your work." She stepped out onto the porch, hugging herself.

"I want this gate to latch right. I'm an inch or two off." He returned to his work, his breath labored as he sawed the thick length of the board. She could see only the brush of his movements against the darkness.

"I can light a lantern for you," she offered.