Jillian Hart (17 page)

    Roy Brown traveled only at night, bein' a wanted man and all. His men scouted ahead, just to make sure no do-good lawmen got the notion to take after them. Lawmen were pests, in his opinion, like flies on a dung heap. The world would be better off without them and the lawyers.
    Still, he had his Colts and his trusty Winchester, his men and a saddlebag full of bullets. They raced through the night, stopping to scare a farmer's wife into cookin' a late supper for them, and then headed north to Indian Trails.
    Every mile he grew angrier. If he hadn't lost his son to a sheriff's bullet, maybe he'd be in a mood to be more forgiving. As it was, he was about ready to tear that lawman apart for daring to touch his daughter.
    Even if the no-good slip of a girl had run off on him again. He didn't care about the girl–he never had– but she was his, and hell if he was gonna let her get away with her fool-headed rebellion.
    She wanted a life on the right side of the law. A pretty house with flowers. She was always uppity, as if she were too good for the likes of him. Well, she'd double-crossed him, double-crossed them all. He had her wanted poster tucked into his saddlebags. She knew where Roy Junior had hidden the Golden Gulch gold.
    Bitterness rolled in his guts. He pulled a flask out of his jacket and drank long and hard.

    Polly leaned back in the pillows. Her body thrummed, both excited and sated. Ben gathered her in his arms, and she cuddled against him, the afterglow of their lovemaking mellow and comfortable. Freezing rain tapped at the window, and Ben drew the sheets up around them. They cuddled, sharing kisses until desire renewed again, and he covered her with his body a second time.
    They moved together with a leisurely rhythm, their urgency already spent. His mouth played with hers, his tongue mimicking their bodies as they rocked together, then apart. Heat gathered down low, tightening the muscles that sheathed him.
    Release came in a tender explosion, and she clung to him, arching to take all she could of his pulsing shaft. Pleasure, pure and keen, whipcorded through her once and then again, snap after snap of pleasure. The intensity faded, leaving her languid and happy, cradled in Ben's arms.
    "Emily is going to be up soon." She pressed a long kiss to his throat, feeling the rapid thud of his pulse and tasting the salt of his skin. "I'd better get up."
    "The mornings aren't long enough to love you properly." His gaze caressed her as she crawled out of bed.
    She shivered. She wanted more of his touch. These weeks of loving him had passed quickly. Their days were filled with gold panning and adventuring and preparing for school. Their evenings were spent together, snug in the parlor if the weather was cold or outside riding horses if the sun was out.
    And the nights . . . Polly melted as she thought of the pleasure Ben had given her. She didn't know loving a man could be empowering. As much as she gave to him, he gave to her in return. Watching him climb out of bed, naked and tempting, she shivered.
    "I've got that sheriff's meeting in Paradise Bluff today." Ben grabbed a clean pair of drawers and denims and pulled them on. "I won't be home until late tonight."
    "Then maybe Emily and I will work out at the claim this afternoon. We need to close it up for winter. The river is getting ready to freeze over." She tugged on her favorite flannel shirt, blue to match her eyes, and a pair of lace-edged drawers. She found her favorite wash-worn Levi's in the clean-clothes pile she'd brought in from Mrs. Wu's Laundry.
    Ben gave her a long kiss that stirred her up. Then he left to milk the cow and care for the horses. She watched him go with a hitch in her heart–she was falling in love with him.
    How could she not? He was everything great and noble in a man. He was tender and courageous, strong and loyal–a man she could place her trust in. He was everything her father was not.
    "Good morning, Polly," Emily sang as she tapped down the stairs behind her.
    "Good morning, princess." Polly brushed a kiss along the girl's brow. "What do you want for breakfast?"
    "French toast." Emily skipped through the kitchen, waving her hairbrush. "With real maple syrup."
    "Sounds good to me." Polly pulled out a chair. "Come sit here and I'll braid your hair. It's a rat's nest."
    "I didn't comb it last night."
    "No kidding." Polly took the brush from Emily's hand and knelt on the floor. She worked out the tangles while Emily talked about school.
    Polly listened intently and asked questions. She finished braiding the girl's hair in one thick French braid and added some of Pauline's hair ribbons. "Go upstairs and pick out a dress."
    Emily took off at a dead run, and Polly watched, affection sharp in her chest. She grabbed her cloak and the match tin and hurried outside.
    A blast of cold air met her. Ice clung everywhere– overhead on the porch eaves and on the rungs of the steps beneath her feet. The bare limbs of the trees were dusted white, and the frozen ground crunched beneath her boots.
    She piled dry kindling from the woodshed and built her cooking fire. The flames crackled merrily in the freezing morning, and she headed back to the shed for more wood.
    A shadow slipped out from behind the structure, and it wasn't Ben. "Hello, daughter."
    "
Pa
." Polly stumbled. Her father stepped back and let her fall. Her knee struck the sharp edge of a rock, but the pain was nothing compared to the shock of seeing him. She'd changed her name and her life, she'd become Ben's wife. She hadn't seen him for more than six whole years and now, as she took in the number of men with him, she knew this was no social visit.
    Her hand flew to her hip, then she remembered. She'd stopped wearing her holster.
    "Git up." The toe of Pa's boot struck her in the shoulder. "I've got a score to settle with you, girl."
    "What score is that?"
    "Running off on me. I still haven't found me a good cook."
    "I can't imagine why. You're such an upstanding citizen. A true gentlemen." She climbed to her knees.
    "Don't get smart with me." His gloved hand shoved her back down. "You married a sheriff, vermin of the lowest kind. One killed your brother."
    "My brother was shot while stealing gold from a stage." She climbed to her knees, ignoring the bite of pain. "I want you and your men out of here–"
    "Don't give
me
orders." Pa's fist shot out and shoved her hard against the back wall of the shed. "Where's the gold."
    "What gold?" Pain dulled her thoughts, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. She would not show her father weakness. Not now. "I have money if that's what you want. You're welcome to it if you'll just go–"
    "The Golden Gulch heist. Your brother died for that gold, and I want it." Threat gleamed in her father's eyes as he cocked his revolver.
    Polly heard Ben striding across the frozen ground. His boots crunched as he approached, and then his voice rose above the driving wind and tap of falling ice. "Polly? Are you out here?"
    A wicked grin contorted Pa's face. "I'll kill him."
    "Don't you dare." She lifted her chin, ready for a fight. "You harm him, and I'll never tell you where Roy Junior hid the gold."
    It was a lie, but the threat worked. Pa pointed his revolver at the sky and released the hammer. "Git that sheriff out of here, then you and me, we'll talk business."
    Ice dripped down her neck, but that wasn't what made her shiver. It was the dozen men circling her, all armed well enough to fight a small army. She pushed past her father, angrier than spit, and caught Ben before he strode around the corner and got himself killed. First thing she vowed to do when she got inside the house was to put on her gun belt.
    She grabbed a few pieces of wood and hurried out into the yard.
    Ben lifted the pail. "The milk's half-frozen already. I've taken care of the livestock."
    "You're wonderful." She grabbed him by the arm and scooted him well away from the woodshed. She could feel Pa's gaze on her back. She could feel the cold deadly steel of a gun.
    "Is something wrong?" His eyes narrowed and his gaze darted behind her to the woodshed, as if he could sense the danger, too.

    "Did you get a good look at that sheriff?" Roy's right-hand man, Ensel, jammed his pair of Colts back into his holster.
    "I saw." Roy cursed at the cold and at his dead son for fumbling the Golden Gulch heist. If he'd done his job right, then they would all be in warm and sunny Arizona Territory visiting a pretty little thing he knew in Apache Junction.
    He swiped at the ice that was sliding down the back of his neck. "MacLaney. I'd recognize that damn traitor anywhere."
    Ensel knocked the ice from the brim of his hat. "He turned us in to the marshals."
    That had been a dark time for the Brown Gang. Roy had lost his brother to a knife fight in the territorial prison. He lost his youngest son to pneumonia after they'd broken free. That had been nearly seven years ago, but he hadn't forgotten.
    Or forgiven.
   
This just gets better and better
. Roy knocked aside a few sticks of wood and sat down in the woodshed. He'd get his cook back, the missing gold, and revenge on the one man his brother had trusted more than anyone.
    Who would have figured it? His Polly happened to wind up marrying the man who'd as good as put them in jail. Jonathan Benjamin MacLaney might be posing as a mighty sheriff, but he was a wanted man with a long-standing bounty on his head.
    "Ensel, take five men and ride hard to town for the deputies. I think they need to know about a fugitive in their midst."

    Polly silently fumed through the meal. She sent Ben and Emily on their way, hand on her guns as she watched them leave. Ben hesitated, the wonderful husband that he was, concerned that something was wrong. She assured him she was fine, gave him a kiss, and watched the buggy drive out of sight.
    At least they were out of Pa's reach. She could hear Pa's men in the back of the house. They had nerve thinking they could just walk back into her life and push her around the way they used to.
    She marched to the kitchen and saw half a dozen outlaws stooped over the table, eating the breakfast leftovers right off the plates like dogs.
    "I sure have missed your cookin'," Pa said from Ben's chair at the table. "How about fryin' me up some eggs and ham? It'll put me in a real good mood."
    "I don't care about your damn mood. Get your filthy boots out of my clean kitchen. Now." She grabbed the broom and gave the first man she saw a hard snap with the handle. Arlan jumped back, a little afraid of her.
    "Listen up, Polly." The chair scraped against the floor as Pa stood.
    "No, you listen up. You're going to get out of my house and you're going to show me some respect."
    Pa's mouth twisted. "Or you won't show us where the gold is."
    "That's right." Polly cracked the broom handle against Nelson's shins to get him moving, and he let out a holler.
    "Maybe you'll tell us where the gold is," Pa's hands fisted. "Or I'll turn your husband over to the marshals."
    "Ben?" Polly blinked. "I'm married to the town sheriff."
    "You're also married to a fugitive. Who's high and mighty now, missy? You wound up marrying an outlaw just like your old man." Pa's laughter had a lethal edge to it. "That would be him now, come to rescue you. Did you tell him I was here?"
    "He would never have ridden away if I had." Polly charged to the window and heard a horse's steel shoes against the gathering ice. "You hurt him, and you'll never find the gold."
    Pa's hand curled around the back of her neck, dangerous and threatening and harsh enough to bruise. "Jonathan Benjamin MacLaney and Ben MacLain are one in the same–the bastard who turned in your own family."
    Jon MacLaney. Recognition struck her like a punch to her guts. She twisted from her father's grip, trying to push out the name of the man who led the renegade gang her father sometimes joined up to ride with. It couldn't be. Ben was honest and upstanding and noble–everything an outlaw could never be.
    "You're lying to me." Fury blinded her and she forgot about her guns, forgot about the dangerous men she faced. Her hand fisted and her knuckles connected with Pa's face. "You will not take this from me. You took my mother, you took my childhood. And I'll die before I let you hurt my real family."
    Steel hands banded around her forearms. She cried out at the pain, but the rage inside her chest was stronger. She wrestled loose and stepped back.
    And noticed six men holding loaded revolvers not at her, but at the man in the threshold behind her.
    Ben. He stood like a hero with his chin up, his strong jaw set, his shoulders braced. He held a gun in each steady hand. "Let her go, boys."
    Her heart soared. Her father was wrong. Ben was no fugitive. "Pa, I'll go with you. I'll show you where the gold is." Even if she didn't know. "C'mon, let's go-"
    "Not so fast, Polly." Pa stepped forward, his gaze never leaving Ben's drawn revolvers. "Hello MacLaney. Nice house you've got here. Did you buy it with the money the government gave you for turning us in?"
    "I was merely cooperating." Ben moved out of the threshold. "Polly, go saddle up your pinto. I want you out of here."
    "Ben?" She took a wobbly step. "Pa called you 'MacLaney' and you answered."
    "That's right." Ben gestured again. "Your father and I have some business to settle. Go outside, and ride to town for the deputies."
    "I'm afraid it's too late." Victory rang sharp in Pa's voice. "The deputies are on their way. This time I'll be ridin' free while you rot in that hellhole they call a prison. Polly, come here."
    "Never."
    "Polly, head outside." Ben took a step forward.
    Pa's arm curled around her neck and yanked her hard to his chest. She stumbled, and one gun flew out of her hand. It skidded away, and Arlan grabbed the other from her grip. She was too stunned to fight. She could only look at Ben.
    He was a fugitive, just like her father.
    She couldn't fight She couldn't speak. A movement outside the window caught her eye. She saw the deputies closing in around the back of the house.
    They were coming for Ben, not for her father.
    Pa dragged her through the house and she was too heartbroken to fight.

Chapter Fifteen

    "I hate to do this, Ben." Woody closed the cell door. "I have a message into the marshals to verify the warrant."
    "Let me out of here, damn it." Ben wrapped his fingers around the steel bars. "That bastard has Polly–"
    "I got the tracker and half the deputies out searching for the Brown gang."
    "That's not good enough. I need outta here now." He shook the bars with frustration. "Hell, Woody, you know me. You know I'm not going to escape. She's my wife, damn it."
    "You're not the sheriff, Ben." Woody stared down at the warrant he held, the paper yellowed with age, shook his head and walked away.
    "Are you just going to sit back and do nothing? Damn!" Ben dropped onto the cot and rubbed his face in his hands. Fear drummed hot and fast in his veins. He closed his eyes against images of what a man like Roy Brown could do to Polly.
    As long as he lived he would never forget the look of heartbreak on Polly's face. She'd been so hurt she hadn't even fought her father. She'd just let him drag her off.
    She'd believed in him. She'd believed in his honor, in his goodness. In the man he'd made her see.
    Ashamed, he didn't even argue when the marshals arrived from Paradise Bluff, windblown and half frozen from their fast trek.
    "It's been two months shy of seven years, MacLaney." Marshal Powers strode up to the bars. "Two more months, and the governor's pardon would have worked. You hid your past well; I have to hand it to you. I don't like it, but I have to take you to Judge Parker. Then it's jail."
    "I don't care about my pardon." Ben launched off the cot. "I want to go after my wife."
    "So I've heard." The marshal unlocked the cell door. "A deputy met us on the road to town. Your tracker has found their trail and needs some reinforcement."
    "Is she all right? Is she still with them?" The door swung open and he bounded out of the cell. "I'll hunt those bastards down if it's the last thing I do."
    "Grab your jacket and get ready to ride. You're the best shot in five counties, MacLain. I wouldn't want to take a gang as mean as the Browns without the best gunmen at my side. Can I trust you not to run?"
    "I gave up running seven years ago." Ben pounded through the office and tossed open the door. "All I care about is my wife."
    "Then let's get moving." The marshal gestured at his men.
    Woody handed Ben his gun belt. "It will be good to ride with you one last time."
    Trust. These men trusted him. There was a time in his life when he would have chosen freedom, but a lot had changed in seven years. He had changed. He accepted his gun belt from Woody and followed his friends out into the cold.