Defiant (18 page)

Then he helped her select seeds that still might have a chance of growing this late in spring.

“We need a brand for the cattle,” she said.

“Jumping the gun a bit, aren't you?”

“We won't get back here for a while, and I have faith in you,” Mary Jo said.

A large lump constricted Wade's throat. He didn't want anyone to have faith in him. But now was not the time to argue about it, so he merely shrugged. “Do you know what you want?”

“The Circle J,” she said. “It's Jeff's future.”

“The blacksmith can make it for you. Why don't you go tell him what you want, and I'll scout out the saloon. Maybe I can find some men.”

“The saloon?” Her voice was full of doubt and even some disapproval. Then he remembered what she'd said about the hired hand who'd almost burned down the barn.

He shrugged. “It's the place you generally find unemployed hands or hear about some who might soon be.” He stopped. “Look, it's not going to be easy. Everyone's gold and silver crazy.” And he needed to find men quick. He needed more people around the woman and himself. He needed to get the ranch going, and get the hell out of this valley.

She seemed to read his mind. That infernally appealing mischief fluttered around in her eyes again. His reluctance, his struggle against doing what he promised, always seemed to amuse her. He wished to God it amused him. He just felt damned all over again.

But she didn't say anything. He'd discovered she picked her battles, refusing skirmishes she didn't think really mattered. He wished he hadn't noticed that. He wished he didn't like her more and more. Hell, lust was one thing, but mixing it up with liking was something else altogether. He pushed his new hat down to shadow his eyes and watched her carefully, waiting for her approval, forcing her to voice it.

“The saloon it is,” she finally said, her mouth turning up in recognition of his tactic. “Jeff and I will go to the blacksmith's and then to the lumber yard. We'll need material for a bunkhouse.”

He just nodded, no longer startled by that incurable optimism and, even worse, that confounded faith in him, believing that he could pull off miracles. Dammit, he was getting more and more sucked into her quicksand, and that, he thought, was a lot deadlier than the quicksand that lay at the bottom of the Cimarron Creek.

Whether Mary Jo Williams had willed it, or whether it was just plain damn luck, Wade would never know. But he found two men that afternoon he thought might do. They had lost their jobs after spring roundup at a neighboring ranch and were at the Last Chance Saloon, trying to decide whether to head north for a cattle job, or west to try their hand at mining.

Wade listened with interest as they discussed what to do. Going north and trying to find another job seemed to be winning. They had no money to buy supplies, and they weren't too anxious to tangle with Indians. There had been recent tales …

Wade had nursed a beer, listening to the discussion. The faces looked honest enough and their callused hands spoke of hard work. When one of them glanced around, his eyes met Wade's and didn't waver. He liked that. He also watched the way they drank. Two beers, no more, and they drank slowly, like savoring a treat after long denial, rather than fast like a hard-drinking man.

After listening a while longer, Wade approached them. “Couldn't help but hear,” he said as the two men turned to him, looking him up and down. “I'm looking for some men … it'll be year-around jobs. Ranching.”

One of the men put down the beer he was holding. “How many cattle?”

“Just a few now, but the owner plans to develop a large herd.”

“What ranch?”

“The Circle J, some fifteen miles south of here.”

“Never heard of it.”

“You will,” Wade said. “Pay's good. Thirty-five a month and keep.”

The second man had been silent, watching, studying Wade. “We be working for you?”

“I'm foreman. The owner's a woman. Widow.” He might as well get it out now. “First job will be building a bunkhouse. You'll have to sleep in the barn until that's done.”

The second man who spoke looked at the other, then turned back to Wade. “Name's Durant. Ed Durant. This is Tucker Godwin. Everyone calls him Tuck.”

“Wade Smith,” Wade replied.

“What happened to your arm?” They were all weighing each other, and it was a fair question.

“Railroad accident.”

“You gonna marry the widow?”

Wade shook his head. “Just helping out. She was promised to my brother before he died.” God, he hated that lie, but he kept a bland look on his face. “She's a good cook.”

Their faces brightened. “Hell, why not?” Ed Durant said, turning to his friend. “We could try it.”

The other one—Tuck, Wade remembered—hesitated. “We were working for the Bryant ranch if you want to check us out.”

Wade shook his head. He'd learned quickly during the war how and who to trust, but he eyed the man called Tuck with renewed interest. A possible foreman? His eyes were intelligent, steady, though he might be a drifter, like so many cowhands, unable by nature to stay anyplace long. “When can you start?”

Tuck shrugged. “Today? Our gear's in front.”

Wade nodded. “Good. We'll go down to the lumber company and find Mrs. Williams. You go ahead, and I'll follow on foot.” He started out the door with the two men, then hesitated as he looked out at the street. He'd learned to be careful years ago.

Two men were riding into town from the east. Something about one of them caught Wade's attention. He pulled his new hat farther down on his forehead and stepped into the shadows as he studied the rider.

Like Wade's, the man's hat was pulled down, and his face was turned away, but he seemed so damn familiar. Then Wade's eyes caught the glitter of silver on the saddle and the man turned just enough for Wade to see his face. Bitter, violent memories came flooding back. He faded into the doorway until the two men passed, hoping that Mrs. Williams' new hands weren't noticing. They weren't. They were already mounting their horses.

Wade waited until the two men passed him, and then he headed for the lumber yard, which was in the opposite direction from where the two men were headed. Still, he felt … trapped, and wished like hell he had a horse. He wished even more he had a gun, that he could use one.

With his hat still pulled down, Wade limped down to the lumber yard, following his two new hired men.

Mary Jo was dickering with the lumber-yard man over prices, and she smiled when she saw him, her eyes opening wide as she saw the two men with him. The smile widened into something wondrous. “I knew,” she said, “we would need some lumber.”

Mary Jo looked toward the silent man next to her as the horses pulled the wagon toward home. Two men now rode horses behind them. Quiet men who had looked at her with curiosity and respect. She had been right about Wade Foster. He
was
her solution.

Jake was riding up on the seat, squeezed between her and Jeff. The wagon bed was filled with lumber. Her leg touched Wade Foster's, touched and burned.

He had tried hard to put her on the other side, but she had scrambled up, somehow not wanting Jeff between them. She wanted to share their success with him. But he was in no mood, apparently, to do that. He had retreated to whatever closed world he usually inhabited. There was no smile, no sharing, no anything. He might as well be a piece of wood.

Not for the first time, she wondered what she had done, forcing him into her life, hers and Jeff's. He was clearly uncomfortable there, and she knew she was already in water way above her head. She had told herself repeatedly that she was doing this for Jeff, for Jeff's future, but truth be told she was also doing it for herself. She needed the Circle J.

She refused to believe she needed Wade Foster for any reason other than to get the ranch going. She kept telling herself that. Yet every time they touched, every time their bodies were thrown against each other, she knew it was more than that. Every time she dared look in his eyes, she knew. He did too, and he hated it. She should, too. She couldn't afford to care about someone like Wade Foster.

A means to an end. Heaven-sent or hell-sent. She wasn't sure which. But she knew he could never be more than that to her. More than that to Jeff.

Just a means to an end.

12

They arrived at the ranch well after dark that night, and the next morning work started on the bunkhouse. It wasn't much, just one room large enough for ten bunks, but it was progress. It was the beginning of the Circle J.

All of them worked on it, the two new hired hands hardest of all. But Jeff did his share pounding nails and so did Mary Jo, who did double duty as cook. Wade did what he could with one arm, helping to carry and fitting boards into place. But frustration was written all over his face. It was the only emotion she had recognized since leaving the town of Last Chance. He had sealed himself off from Jeff and herself as if he'd gone to another country.

He drove the men, and he drove himself, and she knew it was because he wanted to leave. She had invited the men to eat supper with them the first full day they had worked, but Wade had declined.

“I would like to see more of the land,” he said. “There's about three hours before dark.” He already knew she owned five hundred acres and much of the surrounding land was open range. Ranchers branded and turned their stock loose, rounding them up in spring. Calves stayed near their mothers, thus making ownership easy to determine as long as trust remained strong between the ranchers.

Mary Jo searched his face, but it was blank, as if he'd taken a towel and washed all feeling from it. She nodded. “Jeff knows it well. He can go with you.”

“No,” he said sharply. “I want to get my own impressions. I can do it better alone.” He hesitated. “But I will need a horse.”

She nodded. “My mare's a little small. You can take Jeff's. One of the men can saddle him.”

“I'll do it myself,” he said, rejecting the offer. “They've worked hard enough without nursemaiding me.”

There was an edge to his voice and though his face still showed nothing, she felt the seething frustration in him. “All right,” she said without comment. She wanted to offer her own help, but he would hate that, the implication that he couldn't do something simple like saddling a horse for himself. She also knew he wouldn't attempt it unless he thought he could do it. She just hoped he wouldn't do more damage to himself.

She watched him limp from the porch, sensing he wanted to be alone. She suspected that was his real reason for leaving, not the one he'd given. He'd had little privacy the days he'd been here, and he was a man who cried out for that privilege. She'd wondered whether he had been that way with his wife, whether he'd been as alone as he seemed to be here. And then she wondered what she had been like, the Indian woman who had, if not tamed him, at least held him to her for years. She wondered whether Wade Foster had kissed his wife as he had kissed her, with that fierce hunger that melted so briefly into tenderness.

Jeff bounded up on the porch then, and she heard him ask Wade where he was going.

“For a ride,” Wade said shortly.

“I'll go with you.”

“No,” she heard Wade say, and then he hesitated a moment before adding, “You need some rest. Tomorrow will be even busier than today.” He strode off then, leaving Jeff standing there. He'd turned too quickly to see Jeff's face fall with disappointment. But Mary Jo did, and she felt stirrings of anger.
She
knew he was staying only out of obligation, but Jeff, for all he considered himself a man, was only a boy who didn't understand.

She couldn't bear to see him hurt. Mary Jo knew what she was doing, knew she was playing with fire, but she was convinced she could handle it. But Jeff …

She held her tongue during supper, tried to draw out the two new hired men. Both were experienced, both drifters following work wherever it led them. They were reticent around her, saying little directly to her but taking to Jeff who never stopped asking questions about trail drives. One of the men—Tuck—had actually followed the famed Chisholm Trail. But though Jeff seemed interested, he kept glancing at the door, obviously waiting for Wade.

He didn't come, and she began to fear that maybe he'd taken Jeff's horse and was returning to the mountains that were calling to him. He had every right. She had promised a horse; he had hired two men. He had never said how long he would stay.

The two new hired men excused themselves. They were staying in the small room Wade had occupied. He had said he preferred to sleep out in the open.

Jeff, exhausted from the day's physical labor, took Jake into his room. Mary Jo wandered around the house for an hour, then went out on the porch. The moon had turned into a sliver. She thought about saddling her horse, and going to look for him, but that would be useless. If he was going to return, he would. If not, he would be halfway to the mountains and she couldn't do anything about it.

She'd better get used to the idea, in any event.

Still, she sat on the porch. Waiting as she had years ago.

Wade had saddled the horse, taking satisfaction if not pleasure, in the act. He didn't feel quite so helpless. But it took a long time. Hell, everything did.

When he finally mounted, he felt free for the first time since he'd been wounded. King Arthur was a fine horse, well trained, and he wondered if Jeff's father—Mary Jo's husband—had worked with him. But Wade missed his own pinto. Sage had served him well; he had been intuitive, sensing Wade's commands before they came.

He tightened his knees and the horse gathered speed, racing across the hills toward the mountains. Wade threw back his head and let the wind whip his hair, burn his skin. His years with the Utes had taught him a great deal. They had riding contests between the warriors, and it wasn't unusual to see them running alongside a galloping horse, jump to its back and down again, the horse never breaking stride. While he'd never quite mastered that skill, Wade had learned to control a horse with the slightest of leg movements, a turn of his body.