Jillian Hart (16 page)

"I want my mama," he choked out above the puppy's terrified whines.

Jack spun his gelding around. He saw no sign of Lissa in the herd. Gunplay punctuated the terrified drum of driving cattle, frightening the wild animals into greater panic. She had to be gone, he knew.

Grim, he kicked his tired gelding straight into the fray. Cows, eyes white-rimmed and nostrils flaring, dove around him. One steer after another slammed into the gelding's shoulder, once almost bringing them all to the ground.

"Lissa!" Her name tore from his throat, but he couldn't shout loud enough to be heard. Yards felt like miles. His fear was so big that he could taste it. Cattle thundered over the spot where he'd seen her fall. In a flash he saw the torn earth, the mud where her body should lie. There was nothing.

"Lissa!" He stood up in the stirrups, one hand holding Chad steady, the other trying to keep his gelding from being knocked over by the oncoming cattle.

Then he saw a shiver of blue beyond the shelter of a pine tree, the tall, rugged trunk reaching high but not wide enough to fully protect her from danger. Jack kicked his gelding into a hard gallop, cutting his way to her.

Every step of his horse brought him closer, but he could see her bleeding, see her take another blow from the sharp end of a steer's horn as he raced past.

Jack's breath stopped as he reached out, unable to help her. She didn't go down, though, and then he finally swept her into his arms, onto his lap, holding her alive and whole against his chest, against his heart.

She didn't speak, but he felt her need, felt all he could be to her. He held her and her son tight, felt her tears of relief as if they were his own. Chad was safe. She was alive. It was all that mattered.

'Jack, I—"

"Shh," he interrupted her with a kiss to her temple. They could talk later. He helped her to the ground near the strong split rail fence he'd built, then lifted down Chad and his puppy.

That woman and little boy were his everything. Anger beat hard and lethal in his heart; anger at the men who had dared to put his wife and son in danger.

Jack wheeled the gelding around the charging animals. He saw his profit running away down the road, past fenced barriers to the forest and freedom beyond. He saw the fight up on the hill, where his men had the rustlers trapped. Gunfire filled the air, fast and furious.

"Is Lissa all right?" Will handed him a loaded revolver.

"For now. But not if we don't get these bastards." Jaw clenched, Jack slid to the ground, dodging the bullets whizzing past, thudding into the trees behind them. He kept low, running fast for cover. "You boys did good. You've cut off their only escape."

"What do we do now?"

"Draw 'em out. "Jack knew in an instant what he needed to do, felt it in his blood as if he'd done it all his life. He wanted those bastards, dead or alive. He didn't care. They could have killed Lissa or Chad, taken his whole life from him.

"We've got you cornered," Jack shouted to the cowards hidden behind a boulder. "Toss out your weapons."

"Not on your life, Murray."

"Then it will be on yours." This was personal. That scared him. It told him something else. With the better fences and the night watches, only a fool would risk stealing cattle in plain sight, or someone with a different purpose. They had stampeded the cattle past the house. They could have taken the back way, even with the higher fences.

"What do you want?"

"You, Murray," said a deep voice, one Jack didn't recognize. "You killed a friend of ours. And you're next."

Jack spun open the chambers of his Colts. Empty. He thumbed in bullets. He lowered his voice, leaned close to Will.

"We go in after them." Jack took a breath, knew what he had to do. "Will, I want you to circle them from behind."

"And then what?"

"Shoot." He thumbed back both hammers, knowing all too well the fear before battle. "You'll be all right. Just follow my lead."

"You're the boss."

Jack came out shooting. He wasn't scared. He didn't have time to be, with bullets whizzing past him. Anger focused him, made him cold and accurate. He saw nothing but the image of Chad, muddy and crying, of Lissa screaming her son's name.

He smelled the panic in the air, sensed the rustlers' desperation. Every step brought him closer to them, to the men who had nearly killed his family. Jack's Peacemakers spit fire and bullets, and he took down one of the outlaws. Only five more to go. He felt a burning along the outside of his arm, the sting of a bullet. It only iced his determination.

Will's firing dropped one rustler, scared the others out of hiding. Jack was ready for them. Before they could turn on Will, he fired a volley of shots that caught two more of them, killing all but one of the men. He swung around and dropped him, but not in time. Will's knees hit the ground, blood staining his left side.

"It's not bad, I don't think." The young man looked pale. Strain tightened his face.

"Hold on." Jack checked the dead first, making sure there was no pulse, kicking the revolvers far out of reach. Only then did he check Will's wound.

"You're going to need a doctor." He pressed Will's shirt back over the injury, found a handkerchief and added pressure.

Blood stained his own shirt, but it was nothing, not when compared to the young man's wound. They had to get him to town, and fast.

Jack's gaze swung past the bodies, already wondering how the lazy sheriff would take to the news, then lingered on Lissa's face. Shock slackened her jaw, and he realized for the first time what she must see, realizing for the first time the true heart of the man she married—a man able to kill.

Jack could not remember his past, but he knew this about himself as well as the sight of his own face in the mirror, with a certainty that left no doubt:

He didn't belong here in this haven of peaceful sky and reaching meadows.

Chapter Eleven

"You're a lucky man, Jack Murray." Doc's voice echoed in the small room. "Another inch and you would have lost a kidney."

Jack saw again the image of the stampede, tasted the fear when he'd searched for her in the mud. He knew if he didn't stop the rustlers she would never be safe. "How is Lissa?"

"She's bruised pretty bad, but nothing that can't heal." Doc tied the last edge of the bandage into place. "You're a good man, Jack. She's alive because of you. I'm glad you came to this town, came to her."

Jack reached for his shirt. "Has the sheriff been by?"

Doc shook his head as he moved toward the door. "I sent a message over to the undertaker. He took the bodies, as far as I know."

"Did you recognize any of them?"

"Can't say that I do. I see a lot of people from all over this countryside. I can say with certainty that those men weren't from around here." Doc stepped out into the hallway. "I'll check on Will."

"Thanks, Doc." Jack slipped on his shirt, teeth clenching at the pain in his side and then again in his right arm.

When he'd first rushed to town, he'd been worried over his foreman's bullet wound and Lissa's injuries. Now that the crisis was past, the realization of all that could have gone wrong, all that could have happened, ached through his heart.

What if he would have lost Chad? Or Lissa? Pain as black as his memory wrapped around his heart He'd done what he'd come here to do, and now they were all safe. He could rebuild the ranch and give Lissa the chance to love him, the way he was beginning to love her. He had a new start, a future, a family that meant more to him than his own life.

Jack headed down the hall, and she was the first thing he saw. Her tangled blond curls, her gentle face, her goodness as soft as morning's light.

He noticed the worry tight around her eyes, and he headed toward her. "Will's going to be fine."

"The doctor told me." She stepped forward, hand out, then hesitated. Her skirts whirled around her ankles, moving after she had stopped, and he saw the length of the room, felt the distance she wanted between them.

He stopped, not at all sure what he should do. He wanted to wrap her in his arms; he wanted to tuck her close to his heart where she was safe, where she was closest to him.

"Pa!" Chad dashed across the room Lissa would not cross and wrapped his little arms tight around Jack's knees.

Affection so bright warmed his chest, in the cold dark places a man didn't talk about, didn't want to feel. He knelt down and hugged the boy, his son, and felt the pure power in Chad's tight hug, felt the gentle sweetness of a heart that only knew love, not hatred. Jack knew he would protect this child all the days of his life.

"Chad." Lissa's voice was soft as always, but different, somehow.

The boy stepped away. Jack looked up at her, saw the shadows around her eyes. Lissa took Chad's hand in hers and headed toward the door. "I promised him we would get straight home to Puddles, as soon as the doctor finished treating you. He's worried about his puppy."

"A boy should be concerned for his dog." Jack wanted to touch her, wanted to see for himself the bruises on her body, make sure nothing was broken, to kiss each hurt away. He held back, wary, sensing her uncertainty.

"Puddles and me got all scared by the cows." Chad caught hold of Jack's trousers and hung on hard.

"I got scared too, partner." Jack laid his hand on the boy's head, ruffled his straw blond hair, his heart tight. "How are you, Lissa?"

"I've been better." Her voice was light, but her eyes looked dark. She reached for the door and he caught her hand, watched how his touch shocked her, saw the distrust ripple across her dear face.

"You've been hurt." He saw the smudge of a bruise marking her chin, another across her left cheekbone. He would die before he saw her hurt.

"It's not so bad." She tried to smile, failed.

He laid his hand alongside her cheek, gently cupping the side of her face, wishing he could change what had happened, erase her pain and fear—mostly, her fear. "I need to know what is wrong."

To his surprise, tears filled her eyes, tears so big and silvery he could see the pain in them. "You saved my life."

She said the words with enough reverence to shock him, to make the ache in his chest draw tighter, but the shadows in her eyes remained, darker than ever.

He would do everything, work as hard as he could to be a man she could trust with not just her life, but with her heart. He opened the door, then placed her cool hand in his, leading her out into the street, dreaming of home.

"Murray!" The sheriff's voice was dark and low.

Jack cringed. He had expected trouble. He just didn't want it to happen in front of Lissa and the boy. "Let me get my wife and son in the wagon and headed for home first. Then we'll talk."

"Going to try to run, Murray?" Ike quirked one brow, the curve of his mouth a challenge. He took pleasure in pushing others around, in causing pain.

"I have no reason to run, Palmer, and you know it. I shot only in self-defense. I did what I had to do." Jack guided Lissa away from the red-faced sheriff and the silent town.

Nobody moved as they approached the livery. His chest tightened, and the same cold fire filled his blood as it had in the gunfight. Judging by the sheriff's venom, Jack knew without a doubt that he had a fight ahead.

"It will be all right," he promised Lissa after paying the livery owner to hitch the wagon for her. "It will take Phillips a few minutes to do his job. Please take Chad to the store and get him some candy, anything to help make today a little better."

A gaze as blue as heaven found his. "I think it's better if I speak with Ike. He listens to me. I—"

His kiss silenced her, melted the distance between them, drew her hard against his chest and into his arms.

"I'll come home to you." He stepped away. "On my word."

"Is it true?" Susan Russell met Lissa at the front door of her mercantile, eyes wide, voice low. "Did your husband catch the rustlers?"

"Yes." Lissa saw the relief on her friend's face, felt the same in her own heart. "Both Jack and Will brought them in."

"Dead, I heard." Susan's hand rested on Lissa's arm. "Good for Jack. We've needed a man like him in these parts. He's saved most of the local ranchers from more serious losses."

Pride washed through her chest, ebbing away some of her fear. Still, the image of Jack on the rise of that hill, charging armed outlaws, shooting them dead, chilled her. She knew Jack had been a deputy, and a deputy protected, and upheld the law, but she had seen him kill with the cold ruthlessness of an outlaw.

"Peppermint, please." Chad tugged on her skirt, his smile trembly but visible. "And a piece for Puddles, too."

Her son was alive today because of Jack Murray, because Jack had shown no fear when he rode straight into a stampede, because Jack had faced armed men and put an end to their lives.

The two sides of him puzzled her—professional killer and tender protector—yet there was no denying what he'd done for her, what he'd come to mean to her.

"And lemon sticks for me," she told Susan. "Oh, and Jack needs more coffee beans."

"On the house. I insist." Susan held up her hand when Lissa tried to protest. "Our livelihood depends upon the ranchers. What he did today helped us, too."

"Pa saved us." Chad sighed, proud of his father and pleased with his paper sack full of peppermint sticks.

Susan turned from measuring out a pound of coffee beans. "The mail came in this morning with a letter for you. Go ahead and help yourself."

"For me?" Who would write her? Lissa had no family. The only mail she had regularly received was Jack's letters.

Curious, she circled around the edge of the counter and found the parchment envelope.

"Need anything else?" Susan handed her the candy and coffee.

"Not when you won't let me pay for it." Lissa thanked her friend for her generosity. "See you at next week's meeting?"

"Count on it. Raising funds is very important." Susan's eyes sparkled with mischief. The fact that their ladies' club had been formed for the sole purpose of playing cards was a well-guarded secret, even from their husbands.