Defiant (44 page)

“And maybe you would have been killed, too,” she interrupted gently.

“It would have been better,” he said. “I wanted to kill every Jayhawker I could find. So I joined Quantrill and Anderson, and we raided farms just like ours, and killed farmers just like my father. I was sixteen and seventeen and I hated. God, I hated.” His fingers had balled into a fist, and her hand tightened around that fist. “That's how I knew Kelly and Jesse James and the Younger Brothers. I knew them all. I pillaged with them all, and everything was justified in my mind. These were the people who killed my people. And then—” He stopped, his voice cracking, and a wetness started to rim his eyes.

“Then?” she asked softly.

“There was a little town in Missouri called Centralia. The Yanks had taken it, but Anderson made a successful raid and we won the town back, temporarily. A train came into the station, loaded with Union soldiers on furlough, and we stopped it.” He hesitated. “Both Anderson and Quantrill rarely took prisoners in any event, and just a few days earlier some of Anderson's men were hanged. It was all the excuse he needed. The Yanks were ordered off the train and ordered to strip. None of them resisted. They were so damned scared. They stood in a line, naked and shivering with fear. And then Anderson gave the order to fire. Some of them tried to run, but they didn't get far. I saw several of them scalped.” He closed his eyes, and Mary Jo knew he was there again, seeing it all. She could only hold on to his hand, even as she recoiled against the horror of what she heard.

He swallowed after a moment. “One soldier, no more than a kid, probably hadn't even started shaving, made it behind some trains. Anderson sent me after him. I hadn't fired, but neither had I done anything to stop it. To this day, I don't know why I didn't yell out against it, try to stop the killing. I just didn't think it would happen, though I knew deep down Anderson was capable of it. Hell, he was capable of anything, but most of his men would follow him to hell and back. I was that way for a long time.”

“The one he sent you after?” she prompted.

“I went after him. I knew he had a chance that way. I was just going to let him go. But Anderson sent another man, and he reached the kid before I did. I yelled for him to stop, but he shot the boy in the back, and leaned down to finish him. I yelled at him and he turned to fire on me.” He paused. “I killed him, instead, killed one of my own kind.”

He looked at Mary Jo and saw a single tear rolling down her cheek. “I dismounted and checked the boy,” Wade continued. “He was dying. He asked me to write his mother.” Wade closed his eyes. “He was naked and ashamed of it, and thinking of his mother. He rambled on about home, his farm. Christ, but he reminded me of my brother. The same earnest face, the same love of home and family. I stayed with him until he died, found something to cover him with, then mounted and rode away. I'd finally had enough killing until …”

He hesitated, trying to keep up his own courage. Mary Jo looked devastated, but she had to know all of it. “I thought I could never hurt anyone again. I went up to the mountains not to hide from authorities but from myself, what I'd become.” He tried to pull his hand away. “The beast never goes away, no matter how much you want it. When Chivita and Drew were killed, I reverted to what I was twelve years earlier. It was so damn easy.”

“That's what Kelly knew?” she said.

“He was with us that day in Centralia. Everyone with Anderson was wanted for … what happened that day.
I'm
wanted. Matt Sinclair has a poster.”

“Is that why he locked you up?”

Wade nodded, his eyes wary.

Mary Jo felt numb as the last of his words penetrated. Now she remembered talk of the vicious fighting in Kansas and Missouri, even the name Quantrill. But she couldn't even imagine the horror of what he was telling her, and she couldn't believe Wade Foster had taken part in it. She understood the other, the dead miner; she would have killed anyone who harmed Jeff. But this other—raiding, killing farmers, people like her father. Her hand still clinging to his, she battled to keep her emotions from showing on her face. At his next words, she knew she had failed.

“I'm sorry, Mary Jo. I tried to tell you I wasn't what you wanted to believe.”

He sounded so defeated; he had retreated behind a wall of defenses once more. He had torn it down a few days before when, risking imprisonment or worse, he'd revealed to Matt Sinclair the truth about his past. And he had done it for her, for Jeff, for the town she now called home. He'd done none of it for himself.

The numbness started to leave. She felt his pain, and her own. “What is Matt going to do?” she asked.

His eyes were blank as he moved slightly, turning away from her, shutting her out. He shrugged as if it were a matter of great indifference. “He's going to take me to Denver when I can ride. He's going to try to get a pardon.” He sounded as if he didn't really care whether Matt did or not, and Mary Jo knew she had drawn some more of his blood, that she had just wounded him as badly as that bank robber had. And all she'd wanted to do was heal.

“Wade?”

“The name is Brad Allen,” he said curtly. “And I would like to be alone.”

She bit her lip. “It doesn't matter, none of it matters,” she started.

“You're not a liar, Mary Jo. At least you weren't until you met me. I corrupt people. I get people killed. And it
does
matter. I saw it in your eyes, and I don't blame you. You
should
be disgusted. I appreciate everything you've done, but I don't need you anymore.” His voice almost cracked. “Just get the hell out of here and take the damn dog with you.”

She stood there, unseeing.

“Goddammit, get out.” There was so much pain in his voice now she found herself shaking.

She swallowed hard. “Jeff—”

“Go home, Mary Jo, and take your kid with you. If you give a damn at all, go home.”

“Wade …” Jeff's voice came from the doorway. He was holding a tray, but he looked small, uncertain. Mary Jo wondered how much he'd heard. Her gaze went to the man in the bed, the man she'd known so well, thought she'd known so well.

“I—I can't,” she said.

His shoulders lifted slightly. “Then stay in town but stay away from me,” he said in a low voice. “I don't want you here.”

Jeff's lips were trembling. He took the tray over to the table beside the bed and with great dignity set it down. “I want to stay with you.”

“If you want to do something for me, go home and take good care of those horses I raised. I've been worrying about them.”

“Tuck will take good care of them.”

“Never depend on someone else to take care of your animals,” Wade chided. “Not if you want to be a real rancher.”

Jeff shifted from foot to foot. “I don't want to leave,” he said stubbornly.

“Doing things you don't want to do is part of growing up, Jeff.”

Jeff hesitated.

“Do it for me,” Wade said.

“You're not going to stay with us, are you?”

“I have some business in Denver, then we'll see.” It was a lie, and Mary Jo knew it was a lie. She'd just ruined any chance with that one unguarded response she'd made.

Jeff's eyes started to tear, but he simply held out his hand like a man. “It's been an honor knowing you, sir,” he said formally. It was the first time Mary Jo had ever heard such words come from his mouth. He'd been taught to say sir to his elders, but the rest …?

Jeff turned and nearly ran from the room, becoming a boy again.

Mary Jo hesitated another minute.

“Please go,” he said again, and it was the please that did it. The word seemed to crack in his mouth. He wasn't going to listen to her now. Maybe later. She turned around and left.

Wade had known it was too damn easy, that he'd had no right to hope, to allow Matt Sinclair to dismiss his past lightly. He turned to the wall, ignoring the pain. It was minor compared to how he'd felt when he'd seen the horror in Mary Jo's eyes as he told her about Anderson, about Centralia. She'd tried to hide it, but she couldn't. Just like he could never hide that part of him again.

I love you, she'd said days ago. And because she had, she would have tried. She would have tried hard to love him, to forget that dark side of him. But he would never know when it might surface again.

Laudanum. Damn, but it would be welcome now. But that wouldn't work, either. The ache ran too deep.

He tried to sit. God, it hurt. He twisted back down into the bed. He looked at the tray Jeff had brought. He wanted to sweep it on the floor. But the stronger he got, the faster he could leave. Denver. Jail. A trial. He no longer believed in a pardon. No more than he believed Mary Jo could ever accept what he was.

Six days later, Wade insisted on going to Denver where the other two prisoners had been taken. That's what he considered himself now, though Matt Sinclair had shrugged off his suggestion that he stay in jail. The simple fact was that Wade didn't really care where he was. He just wanted to get away from Last Chance.

He had not seen Mary Jo again although Matt said she'd asked about him.

Had she gone home?

Sinclair had become Matt. A friend, even. And now he shrugged. “You have to give her time,” he said. “You threw a lot at her. I didn't like it when you first told me, either.”

“You still don't like it.”

Sinclair shrugged again. “That doesn't have anything to do with the man you are today.”

“I wish I could believe that,” Wade said ruefully. “I wanted to kill Kelly.”

“But you didn't.”

“Only because I didn't have a chance.”

Matt gave him a disgusted look. “A lot of people think otherwise, including me.”

Wade was eating a bowl of stew Matt had brought him. It didn't taste nearly as good as Mary Jo's. Probably better than what he'd get at the jail in Denver, though.

“When do we go?” Wade asked.

“Tomorrow since you're so eager. We'll take a wagon. I don't think you're up to a saddle yet.”

Wade smiled for the first time since the robbery. “Hell of a place to get shot.”

“Every other place seemed to be used up,” Matt said. “Doctor can look at that arm in Denver.”

A barber came later that day. The shave was free, he said. He'd had money in the Last Chance bank. The owner of a general store dropped in to leave a new set of clothes. He'd also had money in the bank. The doctor, the smell of whiskey on his breath again, checked his wound and said there would be no charge.

The mayor came a little later, stood awkwardly, then cleared his throat. “Sheriff Sinclair said you were donating the reward for a school. It'll mean a lot to this town.” He hesitated. “Anything you need, you let us know. That bank means a lot to the people in this area. So does Matt,” he said as an afterthought as he glanced at the sheriff.

Sinclair winked at Wade. Still, nothing could quite stifle Wade's loneliness, that aching need for Mary Jo and Jeff. Part of him wished they had come back, had defied his wishes. In fact, he'd kept expecting her quick step, Jeff's bright smile, and Jake's rough tongue. He found himself repeatedly glancing at the door.

With every moment that passed without their arrival, his loneliness grew.

The mayor finally left, after saying how much he would like, the entire town would like, Wade to return to Last Chance.

After he left, Wade turned to Sinclair. “Does he know about Centralia?”

“Yep.”

“Does he know I took a Ute wife, fathered a half-Ute child?” He couldn't say half-breed.

“Now I was a little bit more, ah, quiet about that. I did say you had lived with them, that because of you they helped find young Jeff Williams.”

“I won't hide it.” Wade didn't know why he was even discussing this. He would be in prison.

“You got to give them a little time,” Sinclair said. “We're throwing a whole lot at them, just like you threw a lot at Mary Jo at one time. It takes a little adjustin' to.”

“Mary Jo couldn't take it,” Wade said bitterly.

“You're the one who ordered her out.”

Wade's eyes narrowed. “What did she tell you?”

Sinclair grinned. “Do you always underestimate everyone?”

“I've found damn few reasons to do otherwise.”

Sinclair shook his head in disgust and changed the subject. “You might want to get some exercise. I warn you, though, you go outside and everyone in town will want to shake your hand.”

Wade shut his eyes. Christ, he couldn't stand that. He still thought of himself as one of Anderson's raiders, a man without honor. Mary Jo had finally realized that—and hers was the only hand he wanted. Jeff had given him his, but he hadn't known yet about Anderson, about all the killing.

He would start walking in this room. It was a little larger than a cell. He'd better get used to cramped spaces. He went over to the window and looked down. He wanted to see a tall, slender figure with red hair. Just one more glimpse. The man he recognized as the banker looked up and saw him, waved. Wade turned away.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would leave Last Chance forever. The name was ironic as hell. He'd thought he might have one, but Mary Jo's absence proved he didn't.

They left at daybreak. Because of the hour, Wade didn't expect to see anyone. What must have been practically the whole town, though, was assembled in front of the boardinghouse. Matt just shrugged when Wade threw him an accusing look.

They all wanted to shake his hand, to wish him well. Several women handed them picnic baskets, one of the men a bottle of whiskey. It was the damnedest thing Wade had ever seen. But Mary Jo wasn't there, and he didn't think he'd ever see her again.

Matt had acquired a sturdy wagon, and had equipped it with a mattress in back and some cushions on the driver's bench. Sitting down, though, still was an ordeal. It was going to be one hell of a long journey. Three days, maybe four in this wagon, Matt Sinclair had said.