Defiant (17 page)

“Could be, if someone kept one, but I looked a lot different then.” He didn't elaborate, even though she looked at him with that same challenging, questioning look.

“You aren't going to tell me, are you?”

“No,” he said softly. “But I'll leave if you want.”

“You would like that just fine, wouldn't you?” she replied angrily.

“Ask me to leave,” he invited her. They were no more than inches apart, and the heat between them could have ignited the barn.

Her, hand reached up and touched his cheek. She had shaved him this morning, and his skin was still smooth. She remembered how rough it felt earlier.

His body shuddered at her touch and then his good arm went around her, bringing her close to him, so close she could hear the thunder of his heart. “You're playing with fire, Mrs. Williams,” he whispered in her ear.

She couldn't think of a single retort. She was only too aware of that particular fire, of the blazes that enveloped both of them.

His eyes closed, and then with a heavy sigh, he leaned down and his lips brushed hers. Not with the rough anger of several nights earlier, but with a sweet, lost wistfulness that grabbed her in its spell. Her mouth opened to him, seeking, comforting, wanting comfort of her own.

Buried in the exquisite poignancy of his touch, of his mouth on hers, she wasn't prepared for the sudden, raw violence as his lips hardened against hers. His arm pulled her so tight against him that she felt every muscle of his body, including the swelling, hardening member that reached out toward her, startling tremors in the core of her, tremors that spread a fiery craving throughout her body. A craving she'd never experienced before, not like this. Not so fierce and needy. Not so uncontrollable.

Even through their clothes, her body played with his, making movements that shocked and shamed her. It was inviting him, seducing him, just as his was seducing hers. Still, she couldn't seem to stop.

His tongue invaded her mouth, just as his body was blatantly seeking hers. A moan ripped from his throat, and then he seemed to tear himself away with such violence that she stumbled back, almost falling.

But any hurt she might have felt was lost as she saw the screaming agony in eyes usually so closed to emotion. He turned away from her, but she saw the bunched muscles in the shoulders, heard the labored breathing. She didn't move, couldn't move. She wanted to go to him. She wanted to touch him.

She didn't. She knew it was the last thing in the world he needed. She didn't know the cause of those demons in him, but she knew they were eating him alive, and there wasn't anything she could do.

Mary Jo swallowed hard against her own craving, her own desire, her own need to touch and comfort him. Instead, she backed away, out the door, closing it behind her with a small click. Then she leaned against a wall, and buried her head in her hands, wishing with all that was holy that she could absorb a portion of his pain.

11

Wade damned himself for being a fool and a bastard.

But Mary Jo Williams had looked so appealing, so pretty, yet so resolute. That strength and courage to do what she thought had to be done had attracted him from the very first.

Why in God's name hadn't he learned his lesson from the first kiss he inflicted on her? Why had he ignored that lesson, succumbed to that brightness that always enveloped them when they were together?

When all he had to offer was darkness?

Perhaps he should have told her everything. That would take away some of the light. All of it.

Right now, she thought he'd killed to avenge his wife and son. She could accept that. He knew she couldn't accept the rest of it. No decent person could. He slammed his fist against the wall. Why in the hell couldn't he stay away from her?

But he'd made her a promise, made Jeff one. Of all his sins, breaking promises hadn't been one of them. Nor not paying debts.

It was dangerous for him to stay. He'd seen the speculation in the sheriff's eyes, the recognition of what he was, if not who he was. He also sensed the sheriff's own interest in Mary Jo, and that would only increase his suspicions. He would bet all he had that the good sheriff had gone straight back to his office and started looking through wanted posters.

Wade doubted he would discover anything. Too many years had passed. But the sheriff was the kind who might start sending out inquiries, who might keep looking, who might somehow link the recently discovered murdered man with a newcomer. He might just check Wade Smith's credentials, or lack of them. Wade wondered exactly how long he had.

He sure as hell didn't know that much about running a ranch. But he did know about farming and horses, and some about cattle. He had helped bring a herd up to the Utes last year. He knew exactly how ornery and difficult beeves could be.

And he knew men. Hard experience had taught him to tell the good from the bad, the honest from the cheats.

If he could find a few good, reliable ranch hands, he could leave with a clear conscience—in this matter, anyway. And that sure as hell would be something.

That meant, though, he had to stay away from the woman. And the boy, too.

Wade drove into Last Chance with Mary Jo and Jeff a day later. It was fifteen miles northwest, which meant an all-day expedition by wagon. They left at dawn. It would be evening before they returned.

Wade was handling the reins. Mary Jo had given them to him without comment before climbing up on the buckboard, and Wade had taken them. He was damned if he would let her see any uncertainty about handling them with one arm. Jake reclined regally on a blanket in the wagon bed. The dog had complained bitterly with soft, insistent whines when he sensed he was going to be left behind, and it was Wade who finally suggested they take him so he wouldn't try to follow on three legs.

Mary Jo had packed enough food for lunch and supper and filled canteens with lemonade and water. They had to buy seed to replace the plants washed away by the heavy rain and purchase grain for the horses. Wade would try to hire some hands.

Going into town was risky, Wade realized, but even being at the Williams' ranch was dangerous. No one would suspect a murderer, a wanted fugitive, to brazenly show himself in town. Both he and Mary Jo had decided that gossip and speculation would be best fought openly.

They'd discussed it after supper last night, after Jeff had taken Jake out for a few moments. Dinner had been quiet. Wade had been a reluctant guest at the table, steeling himself against uncontrollable emotions. But it wasn't fair making Mary Jo or Jeff bring his supper out to the barn, and neither did he like the notion of hiding from his own stupidity.

The silence, though, was uncomfortable and even Jeff had been quiet, sensing that something was wrong. He'd confined most of his conversation to comments on how Jake was doing, and squirreling away small bits of stew for the animal. Wade was beginning to understand it was more a game between Jeff and his mother than any real need to pilfer treats.

Damn, but he'd felt awkward, like an outsider everyone was trying to convince belonged. But he didn't belong, and he never would. Eventually, even Jeff was affected by the pall, because he left the table quickly, of his own volition.

“I'm sorry for today,” Wade had told Mary Jo. “It should never have happened.” He didn't have to explain what “it” was. “It” was like a horse rearing on the table. Too big and dangerous to be ignored.

“I'm not,” she said with that damnable honesty of hers. He wished she was like other white women he'd known. Less forthright.

“What would your husband have thought? Or the man who left you this place?” Wade struck out viciously. “Lying to a lawman, protecting a murderer?” He ignored what he considered the worst of it: that kiss that had robbed them both of any common sense.

Her eyes clouded for a moment, the bright emerald-green dulling for a fraction of time. “My husband would have been grateful,” she finally said. “You saved his son.”

Wade felt his good hand clench into a fist, and he asked the last question he should ask. He shouldn't want to know anything about her dead husband. Nor the man she'd almost married. Yet he needed to know. Some devil inside compelled him to discover what kind of men had helped shape her into the woman she was, to show her how wrong he was for her. “A lawman? Grateful to me? Jeff never would have gone to that creek if it hadn't been for me. If he hadn't heard—” He stopped.

“Jeff's father was a fair man,” she said quietly. “He understood a great deal.”

“You miss him?”

“Yes,” she said. “And I missed him when he was alive. He was gone most of the time. Both he and Ty.” There was grief in her eyes now, and Wade regretted being the cause of it. He also felt something like jealousy. He had his answer. And it hurt like hell, even though he knew it shouldn't. She'd had her own share of pain, both during and after her marriage.

He started to rise and leave.

“Wade,” she said, his name coming easily to her lips. Wade wasn't sure how he felt about that. “We have to talk about tomorrow.”

His eyes questioned her.

“I need seed for the garden. I think you should go into Last Chance with me. Let people see you, explain your presence. Try to hire some men.”

“You still want to go through with this?” He couldn't believe it, not after this afternoon.

Her gaze was steady. “Yes.”

“I can't promise what happened this afternoon won't happen again.”

“I'm not sure that I want you to.”

Damn, he was beginning to fear that directness. “You should. I'm nothing but trouble, Mrs. Williams.”

She sighed. “I know.”

“You're crazy.”

“Probably,” she said affably, but her eyes were sparkling, even teasing now. She confounded him. Again and again, she confounded him. “We'll leave at dawn. It's a five-hour drive.”

She had left him little to say. He couldn't think of anything. She had overridden every one of his arguments, his objections …

And now they were on their way into town, the sun hiking upward into the sky, spreading its soft morning glow across the golden hills and snow-tipped blue mountains.

Wade was only too aware of Mary Jo, who sat on the end of the bench, Jeff between them. He'd made sure of that. Being with her all day would be torture enough, without having her body thrown against his every time the wagon hit a bump in the rutted road.

She was wearing a daisy-yellow dress. He'd never thought yellow flattered redheads before, but it suited her. The dress was simple, the color faded slightly with use, but it molded her slender form with grace. It had a high neck and puffed sleeves, and she clutched a lacy shawl around her arms to keep them protected from the sun and dust. Her back was straight, but not rigid, just proud, and a few escaping tendrils from a no-nonsense bun under her hat framed a face lightly dusted with freckles.

Jeff chatted next to him, full of information about Last Chance. Wade considered the picture they must make. A man, a boy, a pretty woman going to town. Normal. Except nothing about this was normal. For one long, wistful moment, he almost wished it was.

They stopped at mid-morning to water the horses in the Cimarron Creek, which wound along the same route they were taking. Mary Jo put the canteen with the lemonade in the cool running water and tied it with a rope. Jeff and Jake both kept a respectful distance away from the water, although the creek had receded and was now babbling softly. The ferocity of several days ago was gone.

The sun felt good to Wade. Healing. He could almost feel himself grow stronger in its rays as he stood watching the horses drink. His arm didn't hurt quite as badly when he moved it, and the wound in his leg was now only a nuisance.

He shifted in the too-tight clothes. He hated wearing a dead man's clothes. He longed for his own comfortable deerskins. He was, though, wearing the eagle that his son had worn. It rested underneath the blue cotton shirt, hidden from view.

Just before they resumed their journey, he ate some fresh baked bread with cheese and took a long swallow of lemonade. The meal was sweet with old memories from his childhood. Until Mary Jo and Jeff had found him, he'd not had lemonade since his mother died, since his family had sat around on the porch after finishing the day's chores. He'd been so restless then, so eager to escape the farm. He hadn't realized how much he would miss it.

With Mary Jo's help, he hitched the team back to the wagon and watched Jeff boost Jake up on the bed. He felt a now familiar heat crawl into his groin as Mary Jo lifted herself gracefully up to the buckboard seat, the calves of her legs showing as she did so.

Wade stepped up to the wagon seat. Jeff had chosen to sit in the wagon bed with his dog, and Wade became only too aware that Mary Jo Williams and the sweet scent of flowers were inches away. He snapped the reins in his hand and the horses hurried their pace. Last Chance couldn't be close enough for him.

The town of Last Chance obviously had been established with the hope of luring money from would-be miners headed up into Ute country in search of silver and gold. The town consisted of one bank, a blacksmith, two saloons, a lumber yard, a small hotel, a sheriff's office, and several general stores loaded with miner's goods: picks, shovels, pans, heavy clothes, guns, ammunition, maps.

Wade picked up one of the latter, and noted that trails led right into land given the Utes in the last treaty. He knew how much those treaties were worth, particularly with maps like these purporting to show likely sources of gold and silver. He also picked up a copy of the
Rocky Mountain News
and scanned it quickly.

Mary Jo had given him a little money, enough to buy some clothes, and he selected two dark-colored cotton shirts and sturdy denim trousers along with a cheap hat. An advance on his salary, she'd said. He hated accepting it, but he hated wearing her husband's clothes even more. Once he returned to his mountains, he would make sure she was reimbursed with one of his horses. Still, it galled him to take her money.