Defiant (19 page)

He finally pulled up. The sides of the horse were heaving, foam flecking its mouth.

Wade dismounted on the crest of a hill. He couldn't see Mary Jo's ranch from here, but he could see the shining mountains. If he was smart, he would make a run for them. They were his future, what little he had.

A rock had settled in his stomach when he'd seen the man in town. He could never forget Clayton Kelly. Never. He and Kelly had ridden together with Bill Anderson during the war, and after the war Kelly had carved out a reputation for being as ruthless as the James brothers. Banks, railroads; Kelly had robbed them all. And he didn't mind killing. He just wasn't as flamboyant and clever about it as Jesse and Frank. No cryptic self-serving messages, no justification. He'd simply gotten used to killing, and he'd never drawn the line at women and children.

What was he doing in a little town like Last Chance? Who was with him?

Memories had gnawed at Wade since he'd seen Kelly. He kept thinking of the missing cows Sheriff Sinclair had mentioned, of the bullet in Jake. Were Clay and his men hiding out around here someplace? Running from the law or planning a job? Whatever the reason, it meant trouble for this area. And Wade couldn't do a damn thing about it, not without revealing who he really was.

And then there was that Denver paper inciting the government against the Utes again. It had reported an upcoming meeting between the Utes and the government to renegotiate the treaty giving the Utes land in the San Juan Mountains. It was another blatant attempt to push the Utes out of Colorado to the arid Utah mountains.

It reminded him of his obligation to Manchez and his people. Christ, he needed to get back, to tell Manchez that his sister and nephew had been avenged. Wade felt sick inside, and tired. Long ago he had decided he never wanted responsibility for human beings again. And now he felt torn between two groups: Manchez and his people, and to Mary Jo Williams and her son, Jeff.

And he felt woefully inadequate to protect either.

Mary Jo watched Wade ride up. His shoulders were slumped. That was all she could see in the dim light. Yet he sat the horse easily, riding with a natural rhythm that Jeff, who had grown up with King Arthur, still hadn't quite achieved.

Wade had given his room in the barn to the two cowhands. He preferred, he'd said, to sleep outside and had folded several blankets along the outer side of the barn before he'd left on his ride.

Mary Jo walked down to the corral outside the barn and waited until he'd dismounted. He managed to unsaddle the horse, slinging the saddle on a fence post with his good hand.

He didn't acknowledge her presence until he finished, then he turned the horse loose in the corral and walked over to where she stood.

“Afraid I would steal your horse?” His tone was ironic, but not accusing.

“I've told you,” she said steadily, “you can have any of the horses you want. You can turn around and leave this minute.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“I don't know what it is,” she said, and she heard the desperation in her voice. She wanted him to stay. She wanted him to go. She didn't know which she wanted most.

He turned away from her. “This is good land. Good grassland. The buffalo used to roam here in the thousands. They're gone now.”

Mary Jo allowed a moment to go by. “You're thinking again of the Utes, the people you didn't want blamed for—”

“For what I did.” He turned back to her, his face still impassive. “They used to hunt these lands. Twelve years ago, there were still so many buffalo you could ride for days and never stop seeing them. And then the buffalo hunters came, and they were all gone in a few years, shot for hides with the meat left rotting on the ground.”

“You've been with them that long?” she whispered.

“Almost.” He looked away again, back toward the mountains.

“How? Why?” She had wanted to ask those questions for a long time.

“How? I was living up in the mountains. A band of Utes had camped not far away. I used to trade with them,” he said, “and I found them a hell of a lot more civilized than most whites. Before long, I seemed to be adopted by them.” His eyes avoided hers, and she knew he was leaving something out. He was leaving out a lot.

“Chivita?”

“Chivita is none of your business.” His voice suddenly turned cold and he moved away from the gate. “I think I'll turn in now.”

“Wade.”

He stopped, his body seemingly frozen. He didn't turn back toward her, just waited.

She went to stand next to him. “Jeff, well Jeff, he was hurt tonight.”

“I'm sorry,” he said, but his voice was cool. “We both know this is temporary. It's best that he knows it, too.”

“Best for whom?”

“Don't push me, Mary Jo.”

It was the first time he'd used her given name. “Why didn't you ride away tonight?”

He turned around then and faced her. “My own reasons, Mrs. Williams.” Mary Jo didn't miss his reversion to “Mrs. Williams,” as if he regretted using her given name earlier.

“As long as you
are
here,” she said carefully, “take care you don't hurt him. He's vulnerable now. He's lost so much.”

“So have you.”

“There's a difference. I made choices. I chose to marry a Ranger. I chose to stay at the Ranger station where Jeff could be hurt again. He didn't make those choices, but he had to live with them.”

“I don't think he would have had it any other way,” Wade said slowly.

Mary Jo knew that was true. Jeff never stopped talking about his father, about Ty, about the Rangers. She'd given him that world, and it was the only one he'd known. He'd never known safety and security and peace. That's what she wanted to give him now, and it was pure irony that she was trying to do it with the help of a man so obviously dangerous, as deadly as the men she'd chosen before.

Not for the first time, she wondered if she was drawn to that kind of man forever.

She didn't have to give in to it, though. She could take his temporary help, and then let go. She could!

Mary Jo turned back to the house, and walked the hundred steps to the porch. It took all the will she had not to turn around and look back.

The bunkhouse went up faster than Mary Jo thought possible.

On the second day after they returned from Last Chance, several of the neighboring ranchers drove up in wagons to help them. Matt Sinclair had informed them about Wade, his rescue of Jeff, and then mentioned the building project.

The Abbots, the Evans brothers, and the Green family came with tools and food. Mary Jo wondered why they would help now. But she knew. The surrounding families hadn't thought she could make it on her own. Now that there was a man around, they were willing to pitch in. Her gratitude struggled with resentment.

She carefully observed their reaction to her new foreman. There was curiosity, and then respect as Jeff told how Wade Foster had saved his life, handicapped as he was with his own recent injuries. None of her neighbors were overly curious men, relying on their own ability to judge a man. Personal questions were considered bad taste, and though they threw occasional glances toward the man they knew as Wade Smith, they kept comments to a minimum and appeared to respect his reticence.

About mid-morning, Wade disappeared into the house and Mary Jo suspected he had taken off his eagle necklace; she didn't see it when he shed his shirt later in the day to wash with the other men. She knew he was doing that for her, not himself, for she had learned only too well he had no apologies for his Indian wife.

Joe Abbot, whose wife, Jane, had brought a ham, came over at the end of the first day. “'Pears you have a good man there, Mrs. Williams,” he said. “Talked to me about buying some calves. You send him over to my place when we finish here, and we'll talk business.”

Mary Jo nodded and thanked him, though resentment choked her. She had asked him six months ago about buying some stock, and he'd said he had none to sell.

“Heard tell about your dog,” Abbot continued, sending a glance toward the porch where Jake sat, his leg still trussed in a cast. “None of us would shoot that dog. Been strange things happening, and we're real pleased you have someone here to help now. Mr. Smith, he seems like a fine man, and those two hands—hell, we can use them at roundup come spring.” He touched his hat before taking his leave.

Wade Smith had been accepted. He'd accomplished in one day what she hadn't managed in a year. What would happen when he left?

She wouldn't think about that, she couldn't. She watched him wash sweat from his face, remembering how hard he had worked, as hard as the rest of them, doing what he could with only one hand. Carrying lumber, balancing boards with one hand, working them into place, holding them while someone else pounded the nails. But nonetheless he had been frustrated by his inability to do more.

Within a week, the building was habitable if not exactly comfortable. Bunks had been constructed of wood and rope and Mary Jo made mattresses out of hay and several layers of cloth and blankets. Real mattresses would be purchased on the next trip into town.

Wade's strength was returning quickly, and he said he was gaining some feeling in the fingers of his right hand, but he still couldn't ball it into a fist. Mary Jo watched him try to work his hand repeatedly, saw the pain and despair on his face as the fingers didn't do as ordered. Those fruitless efforts made her heart crack.

He was also trying to do more with his left hand. He'd turned down her offer to shave him the last few times, and his face grew bristly again, as it had been the first day she'd seen him. Then it was clean again one day, although there were small nicks marring the rugged planes of his face. Their number, though, lessened as the days went on. He went riding at suppertime each night, wearing his gunbelt, and she was sure he was practicing with his left hand.

It was also an excuse to stay away from her and Jeff. She felt certain of that, too.

She saw the puzzlement in Jeff's eyes, and she felt his hurt. Yet Wade was right about avoiding them. The knowledge was bittersweet.

The night they finished the bunkhouse, Mary Jo met him at the barn before he could ride away. “Stay for supper,” she said. “I need to talk to you afterward.”

He hesitated a moment, then nodded.

Jeff's eyes brightened when Wade walked in and took a seat. He talked to the other two men about what needed to be done, particularly repairs to the fences. There were also a few head of cattle on the range that carried the C brand of their previous owners. Ed Durant and Tuck Godwin would search for them, while Wade purchased a few more head. They also needed several more horses.

Wade stayed, reluctantly, Mary Jo thought, after Ed and Tuck left. He kept glancing at the door, anxious to leave as soon as possible.

“Joe Abbot said he would sell me—you—some cattle,” Mary Jo finally said as she sat down at the table. “Will you ride over with me tomorrow?”

He gave her a brief nod.

She hesitated. “I don't have much money.”

Wade's eyes met hers. She knew he didn't want to ask any questions. He hated them himself. And yet he had to know, if he was to help her.

“I started out with two thousand dollars and the ranch,” she said. “Now, after supplies, seed, and the lumber, I'm down to eighteen hundred. That's going to have to last me until next spring.”

She saw disbelief flicker in his eyes. “Don't forget about the men you've just hired,” he said.

“And you.”

“I don't want anything,” he said abruptly. “But even then you're stretching it.”

“I know,” she said. “I hope I can get a loan at the bank once they see we have the ranch going.”

His eyes turned glacial. “The bank in Last Chance?”

She nodded.

“You keep your money there?”

She nodded again, wondering about the question. He never asked questions without a reason. Why wouldn't she keep her money there?

“What happens if you can't get a loan? If you don't have any cattle to sell come spring?”

It was a question she had asked herself over and over again. She had been banking everything on making this ranch go, and she'd refused to consider failure even when everything looked so bleak, and she couldn't so much as hire a decent hand. Then Wade Foster appeared, almost like a guardian angel.

A very dubious guardian angel, she reminded herself, and a very reluctant one. “I don't think about that,” she finally said. “I can't. I already love this valley. I want Jeff to grow up here.”

He sighed, as if admitting failure, but his mouth was bent upward in a small smile. “We'll see what we can do tomorrow,” he said, rising as if the discussion were ended.

“You need a horse of your own,” she said.

He hesitated for a moment. “If you trust me with Jeff's horse for a couple of days—if Jeff does—I can get several good horses in the mountains.”

She knew where he was going. It hurt unexpectedly. That faraway look was back in his eyes, the longing for something he'd lost. For his wife. His child.

Jeff had been listening to the conversation avidly. Mary Jo saw no reason why he shouldn't. The Circle J was his future as well as hers. “Can I go with you?”

Mary Jo saw Wade's eyes rest on Jeff. “Someone has to take care of your mother.”

“She could go, too.”

“There aren't enough horses,” Wade said.

“I could ride one of the team horses,” Jeff said hopefully. “We have an extra saddle.”

Wade's face hardened. “I'll be going into Ute territory. I'll be staying with them.”

“I don't care,” Jeff said bravely, though there was the slightest flicker in his eyes. He too had grown up on tales of Indian raids.

“I do,” Mary Jo said suddenly. This had gone far enough. Wade Foster might trust Indians. She didn't. She certainly wasn't going to risk Jeff. “Mr. Smith can travel faster without us.”