A Kiss for Cade (3 page)

Red
. She’d always be Red to him. He chuckled. Heck of a woman.

Children’s laughter caught his attention. Four boys and three girls played in front of the store, rolling a large hoop with a stick. Were some of them Addy’s kids? How old were they now? He couldn’t remember. He’d never seen them, let alone kept up with their birthdays.

Nudging the mare’s flanks, he rode on. Red wasn’t going to like his coming back and disrupting her life. But then, he had a strong hunch there wasn’t much she did like about him anymore.

Chapter Three

B
rody Wiseman, come away from the window.”

“Uncle Cade is comin’. I can see him—”

“Brody!”

“Golly, Zoe.” Jamming the rest of a biscuit into his mouth, the ten-year-old boy turned away. “Someone’s comin’, and I bet it’s him.”

Zoe wiped moisture from her forehead and then cleared the supper dishes. The heat was suffocating. Flies buzzed around the screen, attracted by the aroma of the evening’s cabbage. The small window barely allowed ventilation. Jim had thought the two cramped rooms were sufficient living quarters. She had agreed—for two people. Not for five and three pets.

A tight knot coiled in the pit of her stomach. So Cade had gotten her message. He was finally back. The last time she’d seen him he’d kissed her goodbye and said he was going in search of a wanted man who had a twenty-five-dollar bounty on his head. He wouldn’t be gone long, he said. She didn’t know what his conception of “long” was. In fifteen years, she’d received a few sketchy letters, a smashed box of fancy chocolates from New Orleans, and a Christmas doll with two broken legs and a cracked face.

His gifts were meaningless, except for the locket he had slipped around her neck before he left. Her fingers touched the small oval resting in the hollow of her bosom. She had needed
him
. She had ached to hear his voice and feel again the heat of his kiss and warmth of his arms—not eat smashed chocolates and sleep cuddling a doll with broken legs.

Over the years she had grieved for him until she could grieve no more. He’d pledged everlasting love and said nothing would ever separate them.

Nothing except a man with a bounty on his head.

As the years rolled by, she’d stopped believing he’d ever come home—except in a pine box. Addy told her he was just sowing wild oats and that he’d be back someday. Well, she didn’t have his sister’s faith. She had finally stopped looking out the window.

But now he was back, and how would she handle the situation? She wasn’t the young, foolish girl he’d left behind. His return changed nothing.

Cade Kolby was a stranger, a cold-blooded predator. It was only a matter of time before someone with a faster draw killed him, and at one time, she told herself, that would have suited her just fine.

Brody shuffled over to the table and sat down, staring at the sugar bowl. Since Addy’s and John’s deaths, he had been quiet and withdrawn. Where was the lively youngster Brody had been a few short weeks ago?

“I know it’s him.” The boy laid his head down on the table.

Of course it was him. Who else would be late for his sister’s funeral? Why, after all these years, did she want to run and peek through the windows like one of the kids? Had he aged? Was he still good-looking and twice as ornery?

“He won’t get here any sooner by you looking out the window,” she told Brody. “Besides, it’s not polite to stare.”

Her nerves were raw. Over the past few weeks, her orderly life had turned chaotic. Brody’s and Will’s bedrolls filled one corner of the kitchen. The children’s scattered belongings so cluttered the two rooms that she could barely move around. And the children’s pet dog and cat came and went, inside and out, adding to the confusion.

Sleep was just a fond memory. Little Missy insisted on sharing her bed. The five-year-old had elbows like water witching sticks.

Zoe carried freshly laundered sheets to her bedroom off the kitchen, tripping over eight-year-old Holly’s pallet at the foot of the bed. Stacks of clean children’s clothes were piled about the disheveled room. The place looked like a hovel, but at least she felt as though she had a family now. She had toyed with the thought of keeping the children from the moment Addy drew her last breath.

Finding the money to clothe and feed them wouldn’t be easy, but she could pinch a penny harder. In addition to the washing and ironing she took in, she would start a bookkeeping service. She prided herself on being good with figures.

It was highly unlikely that Cade would stay in Winterborn and raise them, and Zoe would die before she would allow him to take them with him. Nor would she allow him to give them to complete strangers. John’s great-aunt Laticia was the only other relative the children had, and she was much too elderly to assume their care. Cade had little choice but to let Zoe have them.

She recalled how John disciplined the children by fear, threatening to send them to Aunt Laticia if they didn’t behave. The photograph on Addy and John’s dresser portrayed a grim, no-nonsense matron sitting straight as a poker, with a stiff white ruffled collar that looked as if it were the only thing holding up her head.

Zoe had visited with the matriarch on the rare occasions when she came to town to see her nephew and his family. Aunt Laticia wasn’t as bad as her picture suggested, but no one could convince the children of that. They hid under their beds when she was there. Addy admonished John for making the children afraid of his aunt, but he only laughed and said he was half scared of her himself.

“When can I look?” Brody asked.

“When he gets here. It might not even be him.” But Zoe knew it was. The quiver in the pit of her stomach told her so.

Stepping to the mirror, she tidied her unruly hair. Why was red hair always so frizzy and hard to control? Dark circles under her eyes reflected the difficult past few weeks. Addy’s and John’s illnesses and then deaths had been hard. Comforting the children had been harder. They wanted their ma and pa.

The back door banged open, and a breathless Holly came in carrying a basket filled with plump, shiny tomatoes from the garden. Tendrils of dark brown hair were plastered to her sweaty features. “Somebody’s comin’.”

Little Missy entered the room behind her sister and raced to the window to look out. “Oooohhh, he’s all diwty. Is that my Uncle Cade?”

“Come away from the window, Missy, and wash your hands.” Zoe adjusted the starched curtain. Frowning, she moistened the tip of a dish towel with her tongue and wiped an imaginary speck off the already glistening pane.

At the sound of running feet thundering through the store, she folded the dish towel neatly and hung it on a peg. “Will? Is that you?”

“Zoe, come quick! He’s here! I heard Mr. Mallard say ‘There’s that little ruffian, Cade Kolby!’”

Gracious. It seemed that Herschel Mallard hadn’t forgotten that silly incident years ago when Cade had put a bonnet on one of his prize bulls. She hid a grin. The animal had looked ridiculous pounding through town with Herschel on its heels.

Zoe heard Will running back to the front door and racing outside. Shoving his chair back from the table, Brody jumped up and followed. Holly’s and Missy’s eyes were as round as tea saucers. Clutching rag dolls to their chests, the two girls hung back rather than running after their brothers.

“It’s all right, girls.” Zoe reached for their hands, getting a firm grip. “Your Uncle Cade won’t bite.”

Lifting her chin, she took a deep breath as they walked together toward the front door. She likened the moment to pulling a tooth. Painful but unavoidable.

Chapter Four

L
ifting her hand to shade her eyes against the blistering sun, Zoe searched the approaching rider. No wonder Missy had said “oooohhh.” Cade Kolby’s appearance was disgraceful. Long reddish-brown hair and a week’s growth of beard made him look as sinister as his reputation. She could see why he struck fear in the hearts of wanted men. He was leaner, meaner, and more blatantly male than she remembered.

Yet, beneath the trail grime, he was still as handsome as the young man she’d loved all her life. The years had treated him kindly.

Warmth spread through her like sweet molasses. She felt hot, intensely hot, then cold. She knew why she had never forgotten him. The man was unforgettable.

Walking his horse to a stop, his gaze met her eyes. She reminded herself to breathe when his mouth turned up in a faint smile. “Hello, Red.”

Here it was, the moment she’d been dreading since the day she’d sent the wire, and already she was reacting to him as if she were a smitten schoolgirl.

“You need a shave,” she said, ignoring the mischief in his eyes as he leisurely perused her.

“I see you’ve still got your red curls.”

Stiffening her spine, she looked away. She’d eat dirt before she’d let him know she had been waiting fifteen long years for him to come home. She’d been waiting all those years to tell him what she thought of a man who lied, how his father had lived in shame knowing that his son took lives for money. “Your watch stop, Cade?”

His slow, easy smile did little to temper her foul mood. “I kept in touch, didn’t I?”

“Three letters in all these years? That’s your idea of keeping in touch?”

He scratched his beard. “Can’t remember the last time I shaved. Must have been somewhere between here and the last town.”

Appalled by his lack of sensitivity, she shook her head. Fifteen years, three months, and four days since he’d ridden away with a pledge to be back soon. The promise never left her, but
he
couldn’t remember the last time he shaved. “Well, at least you made it,” she said, turning to go back into the store.

Brody grabbed her arm and stopped her. His eyes silently pleaded with her for civility. The boy wanted her to invite in the long-awaited uncle.
For his sake,
she thought,
only for Brody’s sake.
Swallowing her pride, she turned back to find Cade’s eyes still on her.