Desperate Hearts (29 page)

Dirty Hand stared at Lem’s inert form
uncomprehendingly, then turned his angry, malevolent glare on Jace.
“You killed my partner!” Instead of putting down his gun, to Kyla’s
utter amazement, he lifted his revolver and extended it the full
length of his hamlike arm to point it at Jace. Another shot rang
out and Dirty Hand fell like a sack of meal into the pine needles,
facedown. The smell of burning sulfur was thick.

Jace approached slowly, then rolled him over
with his foot. A bright red stain bloomed in the center of his
chest. Prying the gun from the dead man’s hand, he threw it into
the woods with what looked like his full strength. Then he turned
to Kyla. His face was pale and blank, and his eyes narrowed, as if
against the gunsmoke hanging over them

“
Are you hurt?” he asked,
worry overlaying voice. He yanked down the bandanna that served her
gag. “Did they hurt you?”

She shook loose of the scarf. Now that the
emergency had passed, she felt the remains of her courage ebbing
away, leaving her shaky and rubber-limbed. “No, I’m not hurt. Oh,
God, Jace,” she said in a low, quivering voice, “I didn’t think I’d
ever see you again. I thought . . . I thought you were dead.” Tears
edged her eyes and she lowered her gaze to hide them.

He drew his long hunting knife from the
scabbard at his waist and cut the ropes tying her wrists and ankles
with two swift strokes. Pulling her into a tight embrace, he
murmured against her ear. “It’s all right now, it’s all right.
You’re safe.”

Kyla tried to stop her tears, but the longer
he held her and reassured her, the harder her sobs came, and she
poured them out on his shoulder. He stroked the back of her hair
and she clung to him, feeling as if she could be safe only in his
arms. Her face pressed against the canvas of his duster, she
smelled the familiar and comforting scents of him—horses, leather,
fresh air—so much different from those of unwashed, sweat-stale
bodies and rotting teeth. “How—how did you get away?”

He backed up and took her face between his
gloved hands. “Hell, honey, I’m a lot smarter than they bargained
for. I know what kind of track your horse leaves when you ride him.
The man they put on Juniper weighed a lot more than you. I figured
out what they were up to.”

Was there anything that this man didn’t
know? Couldn’t do? Hadn’t seen? Kyla knew that Hobie McIntyre would
have easily killed a man less capable Jace.

His gaze drifted over her face and
shoulders, down torso to her legs and feet. “You’re sure you aren’t
hurt?”

She shook her head. "Just a little bruised
from being pushed around and thrown over a horse’s back. And
cold—they took my coat.” She stole a glance at the bodies sharing
the small clearing. “If you hadn’t come when you did, though—well,
I guess you heard their plans.” She sighed tiredly. “Are the others
really dead?”

He looked at her straight on. “Yeah. It was
them or me.” His voice reflected the weary sound of a man who had
seen too much in his years. Perhaps that was why, when the light
was just right, lines emerged in his young face, the ones around
his eyes. He pulled off his glove and rubbed the back of his neck.
“This is a hard life, you know. And it doesn’t get easier.”

She wasn’t sure if he referred to life in
general, or his own. “Jace, please—take me away from here.”

Nodding, he stood and pulled her to her
feet. Pins and needles shot through her legs, and her backside was
soaked from sitting on the wet forest floor.

“
I’ve got the horses tied
up on the other side those trees,” he said, gesturing in a westerly
direction.

“
Oh, did you bring Juniper
back? Is he all right?” she asked, hope giving her new
energy.

“
Yeah, he’s a sturdy mount,
even if he doesn’t like snow. Can you walk?” he asked, lifting his
hat resettling it.

“
I think so—” But her knees
buckled and he swung her up into his arms. His muscles flexed under
her, strong and capable, and she hid her face against his neck to
shut out the gruesome scene.

“
We’ll go back to the cabin
so you can dry off,” Jace said. “Then we’ve got to get you another
coat somewhere.” He laughed humorlessly. “Damn, Kyla, you need to
hang on to your horse and stop losing your gear.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

In his life Jace had learned that there were
a number of to insult a man. They included questioning his
heritage, his courage, and the size of his privates. In his
opinion, the person doing the insulting usually revealed more about
his own shortcomings than anyone else’s.

And to his way of thinking, no affront was
worse than to willingly leave a dead man unburied.

So while he was inclined to abandon Hobie
McIntyre’s worthless carcass and those of his men to the coyotes,
decency would not let him. He had discovered a spade outside the
abandoned cabin, and after taking Kyla back to rest and warm up, he
returned to begin the backbreaking job. As he rode away from the
graves he had dug for them, his shoulders ached but he was
satisfied that he had done the right thing.

Kyla had said nothing about his decision,
but he could tell she was baffled. Hell, maybe no one would
understand it. But he didn’t have anyone to answer to except
himself. The one thing he would not do, though, was mark the
graves. Burying those bastards was enough—certainly more than they
would have done for him.

This day never should have happened, he
thought grimly. He realized now how obvious the trick had been to
lure him out. It was a clever enough scheme for a man of Hobie
McIntyre’s limited intelligence. But Jace had years of
experience—he had outmaneuvered men like McIntyre a dozen times or
more.

The plain truth of it was that Jace had
gotten sloppy, careless. And it was because he’d let himself fall
into the arms of Kyla’s comfort. For a brief moment, he’d permitted
himself the luxury of needing someone and filling the emptiness
that he’d begun to feel lately.

Crossing the open range, silent and autumn
gold beneath the clear, late-day sky, he gazed at the cabin ahead.
The weather had finally broken, and the landscape was serene and
peaceful, giving no hint of the blood spilled here today. If he
blocked the day’s events out of his mind, he could almost picture
that scene again, the one that had him riding home to a warm
kitchen and a hot meal. Lying with Kyla last night had made the
image sharper, brighter. There she was in the open doorway,
flame-haired and welcoming, waiting for him.

Trouble was, he couldn’t block out today, or
any of the days that had gone before. And she had to be told
that.

* * *

“
It’s done?” Kyla asked,
watching him unsaddle horse. The low sun filled her hair with fiery
glints and turned her turquoise eyes translucent. Jesus Christ, but
she was beautiful, with a faint roundness to her cheeks that he
knew would reach full bloom if she ate three meals a day and wasn’t
living on the run.

“
Yeah, it’s done. I guess
it might be hard for someone else to understand.” He hobbled his
own horse next to Juniper, then glanced up at her. "I suppose I
hope that when my time comes, someone will do the same for me, and
not leave me out for the buzzards to pick at.”

“
Oh, Jace," she said, her
voice dropping to barely than a whisper, “please don’t talk like
that. I was so worried today, so scared. Not just for me, but . . .
for you.”

His head came up sharply. Strange—even
though no woman had ever told him she cared about him, he knew that
was the emotion hovering behind her words. It was more than her
reluctance to lose the man she’d hired to do a job for her, or a
woman’s fear of losing her protector. A lot more.

No, Kyla, don’t say it, he willed her
silently. Don’t think it. She stood aside to let him pass into the
cabin, and he paused to lightly grip her shoulders.

“
Listen, now, don’t start
worrying about me.”

“
How can I not, after all
that’s happened? Jace, after this is over, after Hardesty is taken
care of, maybe then we—maybe together—” She left the sentence
unfinished but her meaning was plain enough, the possibilities she
implied as bright as a morning. She gazed up at him, trusting,
vulnerable, her moist pink mouth just inches from his
own.

She was right—they had been through a lot,
and he’d almost been killed. A kiss, he could permit himself that,
a small celebration of his own survival and hers. Her eyes drifted
closed and her clean fragrance, of sage and new-mowed grass,
floated to him from her body heat. And beneath the rough shirt and
jeans he knew she was smooth and lush. A familiar heavy tightness
gathered in his groin. He lowered his head to her upturned lips,
his mouth just grazing their warmth—

No, he couldn’t let it happen. He pulled
back suddenly and turned from her, avoiding her puzzled expression.
Where she was concerned, he couldn’t afford to let himself be an
ordinary man with ordinary desires. He needed to be stronger.
Pacing over the flooring, he pulled off the duster and flung it on
the table.

“
Come here and sit down.”
He pulled the flimsy chair forward with the toe of his boot. “I
need to make you understand something.”

Kyla edged toward the chair and perched on
its rough seat. Her posture, rigid and taut, spoke of her
apprehension.

“
You could have been killed
today,” he began. “If that had happened I’d have had no one to
blame but myself.”

He would have thought it impossible, but she
snapped up even straighter in the chair. “How can you say
that?”

He resumed his pacing in narrow circles
around cabin floor. Every muscle in his body was tight. “If I’d
been paying attention, McIntyre and his men never could have lured
me away from here. But I wasn’t on my guard—I was busy thinking
about how it felt to make love with you.”

She glanced down at the floor, but not
before he a glimpse of the blush that stained her face. “Well, I’m
sorry . . .” she murmured. Her hands were folded into a tight knot
on her lap.

He dropped to one knee in front of her.
“Jesus, Kyla, don’t think I’m blaming you for what happened.” He
put his hand on top of hers, but then withdrew it. “It was my
fault—”

“
Why does it have to be
anyone’s fault, yours or mine?" she demanded then, trapping him in
an angry glare. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting a normal life,
to be close to someone.”

“
No, there isn’t, and you
should have that. But don’t expect to have it with me. I don’t have
a normal life and I can’t. There will always be a Hobie McIntyre
out there someplace." He felt as if he were on his knees before
her, begging her to understand his situation, one that she
stubbornly refused to see.

“
But he was looking for me,
not you,” she pointed pressing her hand to her chest. “It wouldn’t
have mattered if they found me with you or by myself. Hardesty sent
them.”

“
Do you think it should
have taken five men and a plan to steal you? They were hunting for
you, yes, but McIntyre had a bone to pick with me, probably because
of the kind of work I do. He
wanted
to kill me. Even if Hardesty ordered him to do
it, I knew from the first time I saw him that the idea had him
drooling to get at me. Kyla, there’s a territory full of men out
there bearing grudges like that, or kids who want to face off with
me in the street to see if they can outdraw me. I’m just one man—I
have to watch my back all the time and I’m the only one doing it. I
can’t let anything distract me that could get me killed.” He paused
and added in a lower voice, “I’m not afraid of death, but I’m not
rushing to meet it, either. And you might get caught in the
crossfire.”

“
You could quit—do
something else like—“

“
Like what? Ranching?
Farming?” he asked, lacing the words with a sarcastic edge. He
stood up impatiently and began pacing again. “I can’t quit. I don’t
want to quit!” he lied.

“
You’re scared!” she
charged, jumping to her feet.

“
The hell I am!" he said,
taken aback. No one could accuse him of being a coward, and no one
had since Lyle died. “I’m not scared of anything or
anybody.”

“
Oh, yes, you are. It isn’t
that you can’t care about anyone. You’re just afraid to. It would
mean admitting that you need someone besides yourself. To you,
facing men with loaded guns is safer.” They stood almost chest to
chest, breath coming hard, the rising tension like sparks between
them.

Jace felt a flush creep up his neck and over
his face. “You’re treading on dangerous ground, Kyla,” he warned in
a low voice. “You’d better leave it alone.”

Unflinching, she lifted her chin, stubborn
and challenging. “No. After last night and today, I think we should
talk about it,” she dared him. “Tell me the truth.”

“
We’re not going to talk
about it
,” he stressed in a tone that had
made mule skinners back down in saloon fights.

But this tough female—damn, she only
swallowed and kept her eyes fixed on his.

Unable to withstand the piercing,
soul-searching look she directed at him, he turned away and changed
the subject. “We’re leaving tomorrow so you’d better get something
to eat and turn in. You take my blankets.”

“
No, thank you.”

He turned back to her and stabbed an index
finger in her direction. “I still get the last word here, and
you’re to do as you’re told. So take my blankets and don’t argue.
We’ll get you a coat and a bedroll tomorrow.”