Defiant (10 page)

“And you had to show them all?”

“And myself.”

“You need help.”

“I know,” she said. “But I haven't been able to find anyone worth their salt who will take orders from a woman. Last hand got liquored up and nearly burned down the barn.” Her gaze suddenly turned speculative. “You know anything about ranching?”

Wade couldn't believe what he was hearing. She shouldn't trust him. Besides, he would be as good around a ranch now as a campfire in hell. “Don't even think it,” Wade said, forcing a hard edge in his voice. “I'm gone as soon as I can put one foot in front of the other.” She kept standing there, and he felt the need to put his intention more forcefully. “You sure as hell don't need a one-arm killer around here.”

A curious light came into her eyes but she changed the subject. “I'll get some fresh bandages,” she said. He had the unsettling feeling that his protest had made no impact at all. What kind of woman was she?

What kind of idiot was she? Mary Jo wondered as she walked around the main room of the ranch house. And yet she couldn't quite reject the idea that Wade Foster could possibly be the answer to some of her problems.

He was finally sleeping after her painful nursing of his wounds. The wounds that he claimed rendered him useless. But she didn't need his arm or leg. She needed intelligence and leadership to lure workers to the ranch.

He could help her while he healed. She could provide food and lodging until he was well enough to leave. And she could throw in a horse.

But a killer? A man who had taken an Indian as wife? From his nightmarish ramblings, there could be even worse. She and Jeff had been safe because he was so weak. But as he improved?

On the positive side, though, he'd not hidden the facts from her. There was his thoughtfulness toward Jeff. Jake liked him. And there was the undeniable fact that she had little choice.

The ranch was not mortgaged, but she and Jeff couldn't live here forever without cash coming in. They needed to develop a herd. They needed wheat for feed for the cattle come winter. They needed more horses, and they needed men. They needed someone like Wade Foster to find them. Once things were going well, she could take over, and Wade Foster could leave.

But how to get him to stay? She could blackmail him, of course. Threaten to go to the sheriff, but she wouldn't. She would lose the ranch first.

A simple trade, perhaps? A horse and wages for three months of his time. He would be well enough then to leave, go wherever he wanted, hide wherever he wanted. That, she suspected, was his objective.

She had no doubt he would balk at the idea, but it made so much sense, Mary Jo knew he would see reason. Eventually. Before he was capable of walking out of here.

Mary Jo had reservations. A million of them, not the least of which was Jeff's fascination with the man and the disappointment her son would feel when Wade Foster left. Another was the kind of example the man would set for Jeff. Did she really want someone who lived with Indians, someone who had killed, someone who obviously had other secrets, to influence her son?

A third reservation, of course, was that he really could be dangerous. But then he had a bad arm, and she and Jeff both knew how to defend themselves.

And dangerous in other ways? Wade Foster stirred feelings in her she'd thought she had laid to rest. Her breath grew shorter when she entered his room, her heart thumped harder. She was fascinated with the contradictions in him, the violent emotions that thrashed around inside. Her husband and Ty had been stoic, showing little emotion, suspicious of those who did otherwise. She'd learned to harness her own feelings for them, to keep from putting a hand in theirs in public, or saying words that might embarrass them.

And tears? Never.

Yet she had known they both loved her. In their own way.

She swallowed hard. She didn't want to care again, not about any man. She couldn't stand to bury another one, and Wade Foster had trouble written all over him.

But she had so few choices. It was already midsummer. The rain had washed away most of her vegetable crop. She had a few head of cattle, wearing the brand of the former owners of the ranch, wandering out on the range. They could die this winter if no one were to look after them. She would lose everything she'd worked so hard for these last nine months.

Wade Foster could be the answer to a prayer.

She hoped he wouldn't be the inspiration for a nightmare.

“Ma, rider coming.”

Jeff's voice carried throughout the ranch house as he opened the door and yelled out his message.

Mary Jo finished wiping the last dish and hurried into her bedroom. Wade Foster was sitting on the bed's edge, trying to put on the shirt she'd left on the chair for him.

His frustration was evident as he shrugged the shirt over his shoulders, then tried to get the left arm in the sleeve. She wanted to help, but he wouldn't appreciate it. And he'd have to learn to do it by himself sooner or later, especially if the right arm didn't mend.

Veins stood out on his forehead, and his mouth was clenched tight as he tried for the fourth time. He succeeded, a glint of triumph shining in his eyes.

“You heard,” she said.

He nodded. “I don't want you protecting me. I'll give myself up, say I forced you to help me.”

“Who would believe you?” she asked. “You can't take more than a few steps.”

“I can't stay here,” he said.

“You would rather hang?”

“You don't understand, Mrs. Williams,” he said through gritted teeth. “I don't want any more people on my conscience. Particularly not that boy.”

“There's no time now to argue about it. We'll discuss it later.”

She went out the door, closing it behind her, hoping he would heed her words. He was too unpredictable, but she didn't think he would do anything to hurt her, and revealing himself now could well do that. It would be obvious she had harbored him.

She moved swiftly to the front door. Matt Sinclair was dismounting. Jeff stood awkwardly nearby, placing himself between the sheriff and the front door. Mary Jo felt a little sick; she was teaching her son deception by keeping information from the law.

She hated it. Yet she had made up her mind.

“Sheriff,” she said. “Have you found your man yet?”

He shook his head. “We found a horse, but nothing else. We figure there must have been two of them, riding double now. Probably long gone from here. Rain erased any tracks. I'm just checking once more. I don't suppose you've seen any strangers around?”

“No,” she said. “Would you like some coffee?”

He nodded. “That would be appreciated.”

“Jeff, why don't you water his horse for him?”

A frown bent her son's mouth, but he nodded and took the reins. Mary Jo led the lawman inside. “I have some biscuits left from breakfast.”

He smiled crookedly as he took his hat from his head. He was a nice-looking man with intelligent brown eyes, friendly and not as laconic as the Rangers she'd known. “That sounds good, Mrs. Williams. I've been riding since sunup.”

“No one has seen anything?”

He shook his head. “That's why I think they're gone. Probably some drifters.” He stood while she poured a cup of coffee, then put several biscuits and a big spoonful of preserves on a plate. She set cup and plate down on the table, giving him a chair that put his back to her bedroom.

This was risky, she knew, but hospitality was expected out here. She hadn't offered any the first time, and she worried that he might think that unusual.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down across from Sheriff Sinclair. “Any problems from the storm?” she asked after he'd finished a biscuit.

“The Berryhills lost a calf. Drowned. Some crops gone,” he answered. “Looks like you suffered some damage.”

Mary Jo nodded.

“Still no luck in finding hands? If there's no more trouble, I can come over next week and give you some help.”

She hesitated, then plunged in. “Ty's brother promised Ty he would help me if anything happened to him, and I wrote him for help. He's had an accident, but he's coming here to recuperate and hire some men.” Mary Jo held her breath, but the sheriff seemed to accept the explanation. Everyone around here knew about her husband and Ty.

The sheriff nodded. “When will he arrive?”

“I don't know. Any day.”

“Well, I'll check with you in several days. See if you need help until he comes.”

“Thank you,” she said, trying not to see the interest in his eyes. Sheriff Matt Sinclair was a good man, and she tried hard not to encourage him. He was a bachelor, and she was one of the few single women in the area; his interest was natural, but she didn't want entanglements ever again. Wade Foster was different. He would move on; he had made that very clear.

“You're a good cook, Mrs. Williams.”

She smiled. “I appreciate your looking in on me. I know you have other ranches to visit.”

He shoved his chair back. “You'll let me know if you see any strangers?”

“I will.”

He hesitated. “There's a dance next week. I was kinda hoping …” The invitation dangled in the air.

“I'm sorry, Sheriff. It's just too soon. I'm still mourning.”

He nodded respectfully. “Maybe later.”

She nodded noncommittally.

“That's a fine boy you have.”

Mary Jo winced. The sheriff knew how to get to her. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “He's had a lot of grief.”

“So have you, Mrs. Williams.” He put his hat back on.

She opened the door to let him out. Jeff had watered his mount and tied it to the hitching post. Now he sat anxiously digging his hands into Jake's fur.

Mary Jo smiled at him, and the worry lines in his face eased. “Take Jake inside,” she said, “and feed him.” She winked at him, and he grinned.

She stood on the porch as the sheriff mounted his horse and trotted out the gate. She watched him until he disappeared, trying to figure out how she was going to convince Wade Foster to become Wade Smith.

7

Wade Foster glowered at her as she entered the bedroom. He was at the window, standing to one side where he couldn't be seen if the visitor glanced back.

“Who was that?”

“The sheriff.”

“What did he want?”

“You,” she said. “The man he was hunting the other day.” She avoided telling him what was probably the real reason, that the sheriff had started his courtship.

“Why didn't you tell him?”

“Why didn't you come out?” she countered. “Give yourself up? Tell him you're the killer?”

He frowned; his voice grew harsh. “Maybe I agree with you that no one would believe I held you at gunpoint. But they will in a couple of days, when I'm better.” He paused. “I
could
kill you then. You and the boy.”

“Like those three men?” she taunted him, calling his bluff, knowing he was only trying to frighten her.

A muscle flexed in his cheek. He didn't answer.

“Is it over now?” she asked. “Your … vengeance?”

His insolence faded, replaced by an even more frightening emptiness in his eyes. “Am I going to kill again? Is that what you mean?”

“Yes,” she said quietly.

He shrugged, leaving her to form her own conclusions. He had retreated inside himself.

“Mr. Foster.” Her voice was suddenly sharp. “I want an answer.”

“Or else?” he said coolly. “You had your chance to give me up.” He took a step toward her, and Mary Jo had to will herself not to move away from the heat suddenly raging in his eyes.

“I might kill again, lady. If this arm gets better. Even if it doesn't. I'm damned good at killing. One of the best, they used to say. I can't even remember how many men I've killed, and a few more don't matter.”

Mary Jo held her ground. She had learned long ago not to retreat in front of a man.

“Who used to say?”

He stared at her in amazement. “Doesn't anything faze you?”

“Women don't last long out here if they're easily frightened.”

“Easily frightened?” His brows furrowed together. “What in the hell
does
it take to frighten you?”

“Someone I care about dying,” she said softly.

His gaze fell, and he walked to the bed, sitting down heavily. His left hand trembled slightly as it rose to his wounded right arm, rubbing it, as if to bury his thoughts in a sea of physical pain.

“What about your son? You're putting his life in jeopardy.”

“Am I?”

“You don't know what I'm capable of.”

“You're capable of worrying about the feelings of a twelve-year-old.”

“That doesn't cost me anything.”

“And my feelings?” Her hands clenched, and she buried them in the fold of her skirt so he couldn't see them.

“That does cost,” he said with a direct honesty that surprised her.

“Why?”

“I don't understand them. I keep wondering about the price. What do you want, Mrs. Williams? Why did you take me in? Why did you doctor me? Why are you feeding me?”

She swallowed. Now was not the time to present her plan, not when he was in this suspicious mood. But it would be worse if she waited, if she lied to him.

“There was no reason in the beginning, Mr. Foster, except the one I told you. My son found you. I couldn't leave you out there to die.”

“And when the sheriff came by? Why didn't you tell him about me?”

“I don't know,” she said honestly. “I just … couldn't. You were still so ill.”

“And now?”

Mary Jo decided it was time. She had to be honest with him, or he would never trust her. “I … need you.”

His frown eased, as if he were pleased that his cynicism was proving true. “I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not what anyone needs.” It was obvious he wasn't sorry at all. His mouth was twisted in a mocking smile that held no humor, only bitterness.