Maureen McKade (6 page)

Kit’s lightheartedness fled. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep the ranch, much less afford to give Johnny his own horse.

“Johnny why don’t you take Treasure into the barn? I’ll be in there in a minute to help you unsaddle her,” Jake suggested.

Eagerly, the boy did as Jake had said.

Once Johnny was out of earshot, Jake asked, “Is something wrong, Kit?”

Dismayed, she wondered if her feelings were as transparent now as when she’d been a young girl. She forced a smile. “What could be wrong? Thanks for giving Johnny the riding lesson. You don’t have to feel obligated to give him another.”

He shook his head. “To be perfectly honest, I enjoyed it. Johnny reminds me of me when I was a boy.”

Kit’s breath caught in her throat. “What do you mean?”

“I bothered Pa to no end when I was Johnny’s age, wanting him to teach me how to ride.” His eyes clouded. “He never had the time. So I know how Johnny feels.”

Kit felt the sting of Jake’s censure, and guilt gave her voice a sharp edge. “It’s hard finding the time in between all the work on the ranch and the recordkeeping, not to mention the cooking and cleaning.”

Jake cupped her cheek, and said quietly, “I’m not comparing you to my father, Kit. I know it must be hard for a woman alone to raise a child.”

She fought the urge to lean into his gentle hand. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing the right thing.”

“Maybe Johnny would be better off if you sold me the ranch and took him to live in town,” he said.

Betrayed, Kit jerked away. “Stop it, Jake!”

“What?”

“Don’t use Johnny to get the ranch,” she said hotly. “He’s the reason I bought the place. I wanted something to pass on to him.”

“But he’d be better off around children his own age.”

“Like I was ‘better off’ with other children?” she demanded bitterly. “You and I both know how cruel kids can be. And we both know how quickly he’ll be labeled a bastard. Out here, I can protect him.” Her anger abated. “Like you protected me.”

Jake studied her with a steady, tight-lipped expression. “You’re not going to change your mind, are you?”

She met his gaze without hesitation. “No.”

His jaw muscle clenched. “I’d better go give Johnny a hand with Treasure.”

With stiff shoulders and long-legged strides, Jake left her standing alone by the corral.

Kit closed her eyes, breathing deeply to calm her thundering heart. She hadn’t meant to cross horns with Jake, but his obsession to own the ranch rankled her. Hero or not, he had no right coveting her home.

After a few moments, Kit followed after Jake. She found him helping Johnny unsaddle Treasure and rub her down. He gave Kit a startled look, then turned his attention back to Johnny. She scooped a handful of oats into Treasure’s feed box and waited for Jake and Johnny to complete their task.

“Always remember that your horse’s well-being comes before your own,” Jake said to Johnny. “He’s been the one working to carry you all day while all you’ve done is sit on his back. So before you eat or sleep, you take care of your horse.”

“Even if I’m really tired?” Johnny asked. “Ma says I get crabby when I’m tired.”

Jake smiled down at the boy. “Even if you’re really tired and crabby. Because without your horse, you’ll be alone and on foot. And believe me, you don’t want that to happen.”

With Johnny serving as a buffer between them, Kit and Jake walked back to where Zeus was tied.

“I’d best get back to town,” Jake said, unwrapping the reins from the post.

“Do you have to?” Johnny asked, his face downcast.

Jake hunkered down beside the boy. “Don’t look so sad, kid. I’ll be back in a few days.”

“That’s forever. Why don’t you stay here, like Charlie and Ethan? There’s room for him, isn’t there, Ma?”

Jake glanced up at Kit’s gaping mouth. “I’ve got my own room at Freda’s, and I’ve got a job in town. You think about what I taught you, okay?”

“Okay,” Johnny agreed reluctantly, then he brightened. “Thanks for teaching me how to ride. I had lots of fun, and I think Treasure liked it.” He frowned. “But I don’t think Toby did. He doesn’t like to be locked up in the shed.”

“Until you’ve had a few more lessons, Toby will have to stay there when I’m teaching you.” Jake straightened, and smiled at Johnny. “You’re a fast learner, kid.”

Jake mounted Zeus, and looked down at Kit. “No hard feelings?”

She shook her head. “Not on my side.”

“Good. Next time you’re in town, drop by my office.” He waved, then wheeled his palomino about, and headed back toward Chaney.

Kit dragged her attention away from his receding figure. “It’s past chore time, Johnny.”

“I did good, didn’t I, Ma?” Johnny asked excitedly.

“You did better than good.”

With a grin, the boy scurried off.

Unease rippled through Kit. Her son liked Jake; he liked him too well. If Jake was using Johnny and his riding lessons as an excuse to try to talk her into selling the ranch, Johnny was bound to get hurt. The Jake she’d known wouldn’t have done something so underhanded, but there was a sharper edge to this Jake. She had no
idea how far he would go to acquire his father’s former ranch.

Charlie joined her, banishing her somber thoughts. “I seen Cordell with Johnny. Watchin’ them, a person might think they were father and son,” he remarked.

Kit opened her mouth, then abruptly closed it. “A person
might
think that.”

“Iffen you’re hiding something from Cordell, I’d think twice about it,” Charlie said. “A man like him ain’t gonna take kindly to secrets involvin’ him.”

Kit studied her observant hired man a moment and sighed. “Jake would be miserable if he had to settle down in one place.”

“Why don’t you leave that up to Cordell? He doesn’t seem to be in a big hurry to shake Chaney’s dust from his boots.”

Kit’s muscles tensed. “What happens to Johnny if he does decide to leave? I won’t lose him, Charlie. Johnny’s all I have.”

“Don’t you be frettin’, Miz Thornton. Mr. Cordell won’t be hearin’ anything from me. You got my word on that.”

Kit squeezed his work-roughened hand. “Thank you.”

She turned away from the corral and walked toward the copse of trees that hid the house from view. Her steps as heavy as her heart, she followed the worn trail.

Was the resemblance that obvious? Shaking her head, Kit hoped not. She couldn’t keep Johnny away from town, where keen-eyed folks might spot the similarities. Neither could she deny Jake the chance to get to know his son, even if he didn’t realize Johnny was his flesh and blood. At least that would assuage her guilt for keeping silent.

She couldn’t figure out Jake’s preoccupation with his father’s former ranch. Why did it have to be this specific
place? Why couldn’t he buy another parcel of land and raise horses, if that’s what he truly wanted to do?

The more she saw Jake, the more she realized how much her girlish infatuation had colored her perception of him. She suspected he hadn’t given up on the ranch, despite her flat refusal to sell. One thing she did know was that Jake Cordell had a stubborn streak a mile wide.

She rested her hand against the cheek he’d cupped and imagined she could still feel the heat of his palm. It would’ve been so easy to give in to temptation and let him hold her like he’d done years ago. When one of her animals had died, Jake had dug a hole for the lifeless bunny; he hadn’t laughed when she’d cried over the tiny grave. Instead, he’d wrapped his arms around her, understanding her grief.

She and Jake were adults now—strangers who’d shared a friendship years ago. The only connections between them were the ranch and the son whom Jake didn’t even know existed. And the dime novels.

Kit wrapped her arms around her waist and shivered. It was safer to keep her distance. Safer for Johnny.

And safer for her.

The following afternoon, as Jake pounded the last nail into his new bookcase, his first visitor knocked at his door. His hammer slipped, slamming his thumb instead of the nail head.

“Son-of-a—”

“Mr. Cordell?” A blond man entered Jake’s law office.

“I already have insurance.”

The stranger blinked, and a red flush started at his neck. “Are you Mr. Cordell?”

Pulling his sore thumb from his mouth, Jake glared at the man. “Who’re you?”

“David Preston, owner and editor of the Chaney
Courier
,” the man introduced himself.

Jake’s scrutinized him, noting his fashionable blue and black striped trousers and the stiff, overly starched shirt cuffs showing below the sleeves of his elegant wool overcoat. He could see why Johnny didn’t want the dandy for a father. “Did your mother dress you?”

Flustered, Preston blinked and glanced down at his clothing. “No, my mother doesn’t even live here.”

Jake sighed in mock relief. “Good thing.”

Preston flushed. “Mr. Cordell, I didn’t come here to be insulted.”

“Then why
are
you here?”

“I was hoping to interview you.”

Jake set his hammer on his desk, then studied his completed bookshelf. “Where do you think I should put this?”

“I have one suggestion.”

The strutting rooster had a backbone after all. “All right, Preston, ask your questions.”

The reporter appeared surprised by Jake’s acquiescence. He fumbled with his buttons and removed the heavy coat. Reaching in a side pocket, he pulled out paper and a pencil. Preston licked the lead and stood poised to write. “Why did you become a bounty hunter, Mr. Cordell?”

“Because I believe in upholding the laws of our great country even at the considerable risk to my own life,” Jake answered with a straight face, though it was difficult to keep the sarcasm from his tone. “Besides, I’m the hero and defender of justice.”

Preston narrowed his shifty eyes.

“I read that in one of my books,” Jake retorted with feigned indignation.

“I feel you’re not taking this interview seriously,”
Preston said, lowering his arms to his sides. “Let me be frank—”

“You can be anyone you want to be.”

A bead of sweat rolled down Preston’s cheek. Insinuating two fingers between his stiff collar and thin neck, he tugged at the constricting cloth, then drew back his shoulders. “I believe you are a fraud, Mr. Cordell. The man in the dime novels is a caricature, a character created by a deluded writer. You are nothing but a hired gun with no morals who kills without conscience, drinks without reason, and has no regard for anyone but himself.”

Jake considered his words, then nodded. “You got that right, newspaperman. Now, if you can convince everyone else that I’m not the person in those dime novels, I’d be obliged.”

Again Preston appeared startled by Jake’s candidness. “Most men would like to have your reputation.”

“Next time you see them, tell them they’re welcome to it.”

The reporter studied him for a moment. “I understand your father was a lawman, then a judge.”

“That’s right.”

“Is that why you’re hanging up your gun and setting up this practice? To follow in your father’s footsteps?”

Jake turned away from Preston to move the bookshelf against the wall nearest the door. He brushed his hands together and lowered himself to the chair behind his desk. “My father and I were not what you’d call close. What I’ve done with my life has nothing to do with him.”

“Didn’t you originally become a bounty hunter when you went after the man who killed him?”

Painful memories of the day he’d received the news of his father’s death assailed Jake. Recently graduated from college, he’d been working as a clerk in a law
office in Boston when he’d gotten the message. He’d left immediately after receiving the telegram, and he’d barely made it home in time for the funeral.

It was while he’d stood at the edge of his father’s grave, with the north wind chilling him to the bone, that he’d sworn to get Jonathan Cordell’s murderer. The killer had taken something away from him that could never be regained: the chance to make peace with his father.

“Did you hear me, Mr. Cordell?” Preston asked with a twinge of impatience.

“I heard you,” Jake replied with a scowl. “The man was my father, and some son-of-a-bitch killed him. What was I supposed to do—walk away?”

“Most law-abiding people would have.”

Jake leveled an angry gaze at Preston. “I never was very good at letting other people take care of my business.”

The reporter’s face remained impassive. “I see that even though you proclaim yourself a lawyer, you continue to wear your gun. It is nearly the twentieth century, Mr. Cordell. People do not need to carry weapons on their person anymore. We’ve progressed beyond those days of violence and barbarism.”

“Ah, but with all life, there are throwbacks, beings who refuse to advance with the future,” Jake began in a professor-like tone. “And those lowlifes are the reason I keep my gun close at hand.”

“You’re an intriguing man, Mr. Cordell. On one hand, you behave like an uncivilized boor, while on the other, it is obvious you are well educated. Who is the real Jake Cordell?”

Jake leaned forward in his chair and planted his elbows on the pockmarked desktop. “That, Mr. Preston, is a very good question.”

The two men parried gazes for a long moment. Preston
looked away first, then shrugged into his overcoat. He opened the door, but paused and glanced over his shoulder at Jake. “I hear you’ve been over to Kit Thornton’s place.”

Jake crossed his arms. “I’d forgotten how fast gossip travels in a small town.”

“Stay away from her, Cordell. She’s not for the likes of you.”

“I suppose a fine gentleman like yourself is more her type?” Jake scrutinized him from his pomaded hair to his shiny shoes.

Preston’s jaw muscle twitched. “Stay away from her.” He started to leave.

“Mr. Preston.”

The reporter stopped.

“Take my advice and get yourself some tooth powder.”

Puzzled, Preston left and Jake listened to his footsteps descend the rickety wooden stairs. Scrubbing his face with his palms, Jake considered the man’s parting shot. Although he shouldn’t care if the newspaperman was courting Kit, his gut twisted in protest. Kit and Johnny deserved better than a stuffed shirt who couldn’t see beyond the tip of his imperious nose.