Defiant (34 page)

“How old was he?”

“Thirteen.”

She wondered how long ago that was. Manchez was a man now, with a child of his own. And Chivita was his sister. Why couldn't she stop thinking about Chivita? Because of what her death had done to Wade?

“Is that how you became brothers?”

He nodded.

“Before you married his sister?”

His lips drew into a thin line, and for a moment she wondered whether he would answer. “Yes,” he finally said in a curt voice that effectively silenced any more questions. He stood. “We'd better get moving again if Jeff feels well enough.”

Mary Jo nodded. She went over to Jeff and stooped down, her hand gently waking him. He looked confused for a moment, and then grinned sheepishly. “I went to sleep?”

She nodded. “How do you feel?”

He moved slightly as if testing himself. “I'm all right.”

“Sore?”

He looked sheepish. “Maybe a little.”

She looked inside his shirt. The bandage was dry, the skin around it still pink and healthy-looking. “You'll tell us if you get too tired?”

He nodded, giving her that “I'm not a baby” look. She suspected it would come more frequently in the next months, the next years.

“Jake's going to be glad to see you.”

His face suddenly lit up. “I miss him. He would have gotten that old cougar.”

She smiled, hoping Jake would never be put to that kind of test. “I think he would have tried.”

Jeff stood, wincing a little but walking normally to King Arthur and mounting easily enough. She was proud of him, proud of that spirit.

She looked over to Wade, who nodded his own approval. His eyes appeared darker than usual, but he had a slight smile on his face. For Jeff, she knew. Not for her.

She mounted and waited as Wade mounted his gray. She waited for him to start out, leading the string of horses that were now hers, then allowed Jeff to pass her. She had wanted to be last so she could keep an eye on her son. But she felt lonely, left out of that momentary flash of masculine approval and pride that had passed between Jeff and Wade. She wondered for a moment whether she was jealous of her son, and how preposterous that would be. She knew, though, it wasn't that. She didn't begrudge her son one moment of that acceptance. She just wished that Wade would open his heart to her too, shed that armor he thought he needed for protection.

Perhaps tonight. Perhaps tonight, she could break open that shell. Tomorrow, she feared, would be too late. There were too many ways for him to avoid her at the ranch. And she suspected he would do exactly that.

He needs you
. Manchez's words. They had given her hope, until this morning. Wade didn't seem to need anyone, much less her. And he'd alluded again to secrets, to shadows she didn't understand.

But she
did
know him. She knew he was a good man. Not only had he twice saved her son, but long ago he'd saved a young Indian boy he didn't know. He had been instantly accepted by Tuck and Ed, and her neighbors. He had the respect of a people who had no love for his people.

Everything she learned of him only reinforced her certainty that he was a special man, no matter what he thought. But however could she convince him of that? How could she convince him that he didn't have to leave, that he had a place here? How could she light those dark places?

It was dusk when they finally stopped for the night. Wade had suggested stopping earlier, but Jeff had objected. He wanted to get home to Jake. So they had continued.

The path had widened. Mary Jo rode alongside the first of her newly acquired horses, behind Jeff and Wade. She watched the two of them, her son almost a miniature of Wade. Jeff had been watching and imitating everything Wade did, even his relaxed seat on the horse. He even held the reins in one hand, exactly as Wade did.

It touched her, and hurt her. She wanted so badly to shield Jeff from hurt, from caring too much about the man who had become a hero in his eyes, who was ten feet tall and had no faults.

As they dismounted, Jeff insisted this time on helping with the horses. He couldn't unsaddle his own, for it could pull the stitches, but he led the new horses by their rope halters to water and helped Wade establish a picket line as Mary Jo found wood for a fire. Mary Jo had wanted to stop him several times, but the flushed look of pride and determination on his face kept her tongue in check. She remembered the words from his note:
he will need help with the horses
. The thought that had sent him on his ill-fated journey. Her son needed to help now, to recoup some of the self-respect he'd lost, to try to make up for some of the trouble he knew he'd caused. Even if it hurt her to watch, even as she felt some of the pain and exhaustion she knew he must feel.

Consequences of actions. She would be paying for her own, too.

She'd tried so hard after her husband's death to rein in her own impulsiveness, to discipline her own naturally passionate nature, those headlong flights into trouble. Jeff's father had been so controlled, so very disciplined, she'd often felt like a wayward child when she'd wanted to race the wind or dance in the mud when it rained after a drought. She accomplished a certain measure of self-control, for Jeff's sake, and her own, but now those hidden longings were taking wing again, the common sense she'd tried so hard to cultivate in shreds around her. And every time she looked at Wade Foster, those scraps of sense became even more tattered. It had been a fraud, all of it, all those vows to herself that she wouldn't love again, couldn't love again. She had been able to close part of herself off only because there'd been no temptation, no Wade Foster.

She finished preparing the makings of a fire, and searched in her saddlebag for a match, striking it against a dried piece of wood. It flared in her hand, and she watched it for a moment before placing it next to the kindling. It seemed to waver, almost go out, and then the small flame caught, and flared, suddenly greedy.

Her sense of impending loss, of almost overwhelming loneliness, flared with it. She felt weakened by the impact of her feelings. She took several deep swallows of air, staring into the golden fire as it ripped through its fuel, consuming it. Like her need for Wade was ripping, through her, consuming what remained of a heart already wounded.

How could she bear losing him?
And she was losing him, with every step toward the Circle J. She and Jeff were losing him. And she didn't even know why.

Dusk had turned into night when Wade and Jeff had finished with the horses, and washing themselves, and joined her at the fire. She had not brought coffee on this trip, packing only essentials, and wordlessly she poured them water from the canteens while Wade passed out the dried meat and fruit supplied by the Utes.

Jeff, though his eyes were drooping, had a million questions as usual, most of them about the Utes. How long would they stay in the valley? How long had Wade known them? How did they live in winter when the mountains were cold? How did Utes marry?

Wade kept his attention on the boy, rarely looking at Mary Jo, and answered each question carefully. They would stay in the valley until the game was gone, perhaps another month. During the winter they retreated to another slope of the Colorado mountains, taking with them dried and boiled meat from the summer hunting. Utes married by consent and could divorce just as easily. A courting warrior would kill a deer and hang it on a tree branch near the girl's tepee. If she wished to accept him, she would skin and dress the animal, then build a fire and prepare her future husband a meal.

“Is that what you did?” Jeff asked, curiosity outweighing Mary Jo's earlier warning not to ask personal questions.

Mary Jo was prepared for the usual dark look when Wade was reminded of the past, but he surprised her with a small grin. “No, I just traded some horses for her.”

“She was Manchez's sister?”

Wade nodded.

“Was she pretty?”

Mary Jo held her breath, stunned that Wade seemed to be speaking easily of something that had been so difficult for him earlier. She wondered whether his visit to the Ute camp had eased a little of his grief.

“Yes.”

“Was she as pretty as Ma?”

Mary Jo went stiff with embarrassment, but she should have expected the question from Jeff.

Wade was silent for a moment, and she thought he wouldn't answer. But finally he looked at her, his mouth twisted in that strange little half smile that said so little. “You'll find, Jeff, that each woman is pretty in her own way. You can't compare two, for each is special in her own right. Chivita was the most gentle person I ever met, and that alone made her beautiful. Your mother—”

He stopped suddenly, and Mary Jo found herself holding her breath.

Jeff was waiting anxiously for an answer.

Wade's mouth twisted again with a bit more of a smile. “Your mother is embarrassed, and I think it's time for you to get some sleep.”

“Awwww.”

Mary Jo could have echoed that, but then she didn't want to hear lies from him, or flattery. She knew she couldn't compete with the woman Wade had once loved so well, for whom he'd killed, but she couldn't help the hurt that welled up inside her. “Wade's right,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Jeff gave a disgusted snort, but he finally lay down on his blanket. Wade and Mary Jo waited minutes in silence, then Mary Jo stood. “I'd better wash up.”

Wade stood with her. “I'll go with you. No telling what's out there.”

She shook her head. “I can take care of myself.”

He hesitated a moment, as if debating with himself, then sat down again. Reluctantly, she thought.

And reluctantly, so very reluctantly, she walked away from him, keeping her tears inside and her pride intact. She just wished it didn't cost so much.

21

Wade lay awake all night, fighting every natural impulse he had. Occasionally he sat, watching Mary Jo and Jeff sleep, wishing they were his, both of them. He frequently fed the fire, both to have something to do and also not wanting a repeat of Jeff's night of horror. But mostly he fought the temptation to move to Mary Jo's side, to pull her to him. Not to make love, but just to share warmth, to feel her next to him, to break the loneliness.

Now it was overwhelming. He had been able to tolerate it when he was alone. He had grown used to it, had even taken some satisfaction in it. A repentance of sorts for a past that still haunted him.

There was nothing, though, worse than being among those he wanted to care about, wanted to be part of, and couldn't. Never could.

He hadn't missed the hurt in Mary Jo's eyes earlier when he talked about Chivita. For the first time, talking about her and Drew hadn't been like driving a burning brand into his gut. The pain was still there, and so was the ache that would never quite go away, but it was becoming tolerable. He could remember good times with his family without the hot, fierce heat forming behind his eyes, without that white rage that consumed every human part of him.

He could look at a sunrise again and feel life fluttering inside instead of that dead weight he'd borne so long, surviving another day because there was nothing else.

He didn't want to die anymore, and that was most surprising of all. Even when Chivita and his son were alive, he'd not cherished life, had always felt that he didn't really deserve to live, deserve any happiness or contentment. Because of that, he'd pushed away the two people who loved him, and when they were gone that had hurt most of all.

And now he had to do it again, this time not for his sake, but for theirs.

Someone was laughing in the heavens, or in the lower regions.

He finally rose, stretched, and after making sure the fire had sufficient wood, walked down to the mountain stream where Mary Jo had gone earlier. He scooped up a handful of freezing water and splashed it across his face, feeling the new beard again on his face, and he cursed softly. Shaving was such a goddamn task with his left hand, yet to stop it would be admitting defeat.

He was not a little surprised that he didn't want to do that. He flexed his right hand and had more movement than before. He wished he could throw off the sling and try his arm, but it was too soon. He could do even more damage to it. A month at the very least, probably two, before he could even try to learn whether it had healed enough to be of any use. And if it hadn't …

He stayed there by the stream, by himself, away from the others he wanted so badly. He watched the first silver light filter over the horizon, trailed by layers of pink as the sun tipped the mountains. He splashed some more freezing water on his face and hands, then went to wake the others.

About mid-morning, Jeff saw where he missed the trail. He marked it in his mind. Someday, he would go back. Someday he would visit Shavna and Manchez and thank them. Someday he would learn more about their horses, and their magical soft deerskins, and their ways. He really liked their way of life. It was so free. No feeding chickens or milking cows. Or pulling weeds from the garden.

He hoped he could go with Wade, but although his friend had said more yesterday than usual, Jeff wasn't blind to the tension between him and his mother, nor did he fail to sense a kind of wall between them that hadn't been there before.

His chest itched and he wanted to scratch it. Manfully, he resisted, stretching back in the saddle as he'd watched Wade do.

Wade turned and gave him a brief smile. “Tired?”

He was. He shook his head no. Jeff watched as Wade turned around and looked at his ma questioningly. They exchanged a lot of looks, his ma and Wade. If only …

He settled back in the saddle and started plotting. They were only hours from home, from Jake. He moved his horse closer to Wade's. “Can I take the horses for a while?” he said.

He watched Wade hesitate, then nod his head. He undid the rope to the string of horses and handed it to Jeff, watching as Jeff tied it to his saddle horn and started moving slowly. Jeff felt the pressure of the rope, the momentary balking of King Arthur. He looked at Wade, who merely raised an eyebrow in question.