Jillian Hart (24 page)

"If I need one, I'll do it." His voice was light and friendly, but his words stopped her.

He wasn't mean, he wasn't harsh. Lissa knew he was still the same man, strong and hardworking, keeping what promises he could, but since Sheriff Palmer's visit, Jack had withdrawn. So had she. While neither had said it, they both knew their relationship, the happy future they were working for, was forever changed.

"I left your supper in the oven. It's still warm."

"I'll be in after I'm done here. It may take a while." He shrugged. "I know that you were sick a lot today. You must be tired. Don't wait up for me."

Midsummer had passed, but the nights were still late in coming. Winston rubbed against her ankles, hopping up from her cool spot beneath the porch and ambled into the house.

"What if I want to wait up for you?"

Her question lingered in the warm breezes. She heard Jack put down his saw, heard wood
thunk
to the ground. Saw the shadows of his movement, felt his approach.

"I'm going to be in very late." His words rang low, and he knelt on the ground. She heard the sounds of wood rubbing against wood, and the jingle of a hinge. "Besides, I don't want you getting tired, not in your condition. You need your sleep."

"I'll miss you." She wanted to find a way to erase Palmer's words and Jack's fears, to make it all right again. To bring him back to her arms.

"It's harvest time. We don't know what's going to happen, Lissa. I want to get as much of this work done as I can. For you. In case I have to leave." The bang of a hammer shattered the stillness. Three pounds, and he stopped, then pounded twice more. "There. Now it fits."

She heard the whisper of a hinge, heard the click of the metal latch as the new gate shut tight Most of all she felt his sorrow. The first star of the night peeked low over the horizon, and her hopes felt like that star, only a speck in the darkening sky.

"The fence is beautiful."

"I aim to please." He knelt to gather his tools. She heard the
clunk
and
clink
of wood and metal coming together.

"I carved the posts and cut a heart into the garden gate. I'm glad you like it."

"I do." She laid her hand over the smooth knob of the posts. "I can't believe you stopped your work to do this."

He stopped, sighed. "All the trouble your friends went to, bringing you new flowers. I would hate to have those deer hanging out there in the grove eat up all your new rose bushes before morning."

Thinking of her, that was all he seemed to do, and of her son—for she had heard from Chad of how Jack had promised to rebuild the tree house this weekend. He was such a proud man, so determined to do the right thing.

Discovering he could be a killer and an escaped criminal had hit him hard. "Will you talk to me now?"

"I wasn't aware that I ever stopped." Jack opened the gate, then closed it. The fence separated them.

"I think we should discuss what happened. About the sheriff's threat."

His silence was his answer. He took a step away, then another. "I don't see there's anything to talk about. As long as there are doubts, I'm not good enough to be your husband. You're a fine woman, and if it's true then I'm nothing but a criminal, and I don't belong here. End of story."

"How can you think that? You've been a hero to me. You saved my ranch and my son. You even saved me."

"I killed men for you, nothing heroic in that"
A hero?
He wanted more than anything to be wrong, but in his heart, a darkness answered.

How he ached, hearing both the hurt in her voice and the affection. She cared for him, truly, just as he'd wanted so long ago.

He walked away from her, afraid to reach out. Was he an outlaw? If so, he wasn't good enough for a woman so fine, as beautiful as dawn, didn't deserve her, would bring shame to her.

He heard her behind him in the dark, fumbling with the latch. It was new and stiff and made a crisp
clink
when she finally opened it.

His chest tightened. He didn't want to talk about what was to come. "Lissa, please. Let me work."

"But—"

He caught the gate before it snapped shut, held it open for her. Her sunshine-sweet scent tickled his nose, filled his being.

He wanted nothing more than to take her to bed, strip away her clothes and kiss every part of her, to love her as he had throughout their marriage. But did he have that right?

Not until he knew for certain who he was, and what promises he could make to her.

"Come on. I'll put you to bed."

"It's early." Her protest shivered through him, and when he took her hand the heat of her, the gentleness of her, touched him all the way to his soul.

Tonight, he would lead her to their room, help her with her clothes and into her nightgown. He would tuck her in safely with a kiss good night. Then he would walk away. He had work to do, this woman to honor.

He would honor her best by respecting her, by giving her nothing more to regret.

Chapter Sixteen

"I'm heading out with the hands to cut the cattle." Jack sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on his trousers. "We have to decide which to keep for breeding and which to sell. Did you want to come?"

Lissa squinted against the low morning rays slanting into the room. He stood up from the chair, his steely frame casting a long shadow into the room.

Her heart stopped just looking at him. "Blanche is coming this morning. We're making preserves."

"Did you need me to watch Chad?"

"No. Blanche is bringing her children. They will play together in the yard. Her oldest can keep an eye on the younger ones."

"Just let me know if you need anything. Will shouldn't ride all day with his leg still mending, so he should be in the fields or the barn. Just send him to fetch me."

"I will." How she wished she could touch him, wrap her arms around his strength, breathe him in like air, but he'd avoided her touch. He wasn't cold, just cautious.

She heard his footsteps retreat, and reached for her blue gingham work dress. Soft calico whispered against her fingers as she tugged the dress on. In the heat, she wore only drawers and a camisole. The cotton caressed her skin as it slid down her body, her hips, her legs.

"Jack, do you want me to bring breakfast out to you and the men?" She began buttoning her dress.

"We'd appreciate it." His voice came muffled through the thick walls of the log home. "It's going to be another long day. I can send Will in to get the food. Would that be easier?"

Her fingers stilled. There, at her waist, was a gap in the fabric. The buttons didn't meet She looked up and caught her reflection in the mirror. The white muslin of her chemise showed against the edges of blue checked placket

"Lissa?" He hesitated outside the room.

She could only stare at her stomach, at the dress that had fit her just yesterday.

"Lissa?" His hands cupped her shoulders, gentle as always. "Is something wrong?"

"Not wrong." Her throat closed. She could not talk, could not breathe.

"Your dress doesn't fit" Jack's words were soft against her ear.

"No, it doesn't" She found her voice. She had lost babies. Now she laid her hand on her stomach, hoping this time would be different.

"The baby?" His hand covered hers, and she could lean against him, feel the steely hardness of his chest the strong protection of his arms.

"This is just the beginning. Before too long I'm going to be too big to button my shoes." How she wanted this child.

"You're going to need new clothes." His voice against her ear sounded so good, so happy.

"I already have them. 1 just need to dig them out of the attic."

"I'll do it. I don't want you climbing any ladders, not unless there's a roof fire." He squeezed her, his hug warm and tender, sustaining. "And no heavy lifting. Agreed?"

"Sure. I'll just stand around while you do my bidding."
Really.
"This is a farm, Jack. I can still do my normal work."

"No climbing. No heavy lifting." He released her, but his heart, his affection didn't end when he stepped away, or when he headed toward the door. "What do I look for up there?"

"A trunk. It's the blue one."

His smile flashed and it almost, almost, felt right, without strain, just as it used to be between them.

Pregnant.
He'd been worried about that ever since the sheriff paid him a visit and levied his threat just to insert a wedge in their marriage.

It had worked. Jack considered the baby. Although in his heart he feared Palmer was right, that he was the missing killer, Jack had to find a little hope. For Chad, for Lissa, and most of all for her baby.

"These cows here are the springer heifers Lissa bottle-raised two years ago." Will gestured with one gloved hand into the unforgiving rays of the sun. "These are usually the best breeding stock. They're tame, gentle, and easy to handle. Plus, they come when they see a bucket. Easy to take care of come winter."

"Looks like they come without a bucket." Jack laughed as the curious cows lifted their big heads, watching the men with thoughtful eyes. One sniffed the air, then hurried over.

"That's Clover. She's a handful. There's nothing worse than a pet cow, you know. They don't herd well."

"Or behave well." Jack laughed when the big brown cow came up and nosed Will's saddlebag.

"Hey, that corn in there is for my horse." Will waved his hand at the cow, who wouldn't budge.

Encouraged by Clover's boldness, the others followed, maybe fifty of them, all curious tongues outstretched, trying to figure out where the grain was hidden.

"I guess we leave these. We'll never get them to the railroad in Billings."

"Right, boss. Not unless we took wagons of corn for them to follow. Feedin' them all that way would put a ranch out of business."

The cows became obstinate over the lack of grain and refused to move aside for the horses.

"Like I said, they make great breeding cows. Easy to handle if there's a calving problem." Will shook his head. "Outta my way, Clover. I'm not giving you any grain."

A movement caught Jack's eye. A brown blur down low in the field, running adjacent to the big, split rail fence. He blinked, and there Pete was, dashing toward them in this pasture instead of the other.

"Do we have a fence down?"

"Didn't last night when McLeod rode it. Every inch of it, just like you wanted."

"Then we have a problem. That bull shouldn't be in with these heifers." Jack had made sure the fence was too high to jump, strong enough to deter a stampeding herd. "Come on."

The gentle cows would not scatter at the wave of his hat, so he had to weave around them. Pete, dashing full speed, skidded to a stop in greeting just before he collided with Jack's gelding.

"Will, got that grain?"

"It's for my horse," the young man insisted. Then he laughed. "Some days, a man just can't win."

"I know the feeling." His gaze traveled to the fence line, then back to Pete, who was licking the toe of Jack's boot. "Come with us, Pete. Will has a treat for you."

"He prefers a bucket." Will untied the small burlap bag from his saddle pack and held it high.

Pete's nostrils flared and his big pink tongue shot out.

"Follow us, Pete." Jack led the way down the fence line and shook his head when the gentle cows followed, too, hoping for some of the corn.

There it was, a hole in the fence. Piles of shavings and the clean cut of the wood left no doubt.

Rustlers.

"Mama, I can't find Winston." Chad poked his head in at the kitchen door, his hair rumpled with bits of grass from his morning of playing.

"Maybe Winston doesn't want to be around so many loud children," she teased, turning from the stove.

"If I were her, I'd run from all those ruffians out there," Blanche added from the basin, where steaming water curled into the already hot air. "Look at those wild things. Whose children are they, anyway?"

Lissa laughed. "Apples don't fall far from the tree."

"I think they've had too much summer. I'll be glad when school starts." Blanche gingerly lifted a steaming hot jar and dried it with care. "Jeremiah is already planning his lessons. Is Jack going to be taking the cattle up to Billings before or after the dance?"

"Before, I think." He hadn't spoken much of anything. He was working so hard in the fields. Already stacks of hay dotted the south side of the barn, which sported a fresh coat of whitewash and a repaired roof, just as Jack promised long ago. "Cattle prices are up. With the tough winter we had last year, many animals died."

"That will be good news for the ranchers. And maybe for our fund-raiser." Blanche glanced up at the clock. "It's time, Lissa. Let me grab the hot pads, and we'll get these preserves off the heat."

Lissa held the pan while Blanche skimmed off the foam with a long handled spoon. Then together they filled the sparkling clean jars. The scent of sugar-sweetened berries lifted with the steam, and the purple-blue jam brightened the wooden counter.

"Whew, is it hot in here." Blanche whisked the emptied kettle from Lissa's grip. "A red-hot stove in the middle of August is never a good idea."

"I can smuggle up some of the lemonade I mixed this morning. It's in the cellar."

"Do it. The children don't need to know we sneaked a few glasses. There has to be some reward for slaving away to make the winter's preserves."

Laughing, Lissa pulled the ring handle in the floor and stepped down into the dark cellar. She grabbed the covered pitcher, cooled and sweet-smelling. She handed it up to Blanche, whose hands were dripping with washwater.

"I noticed your stomach is showing." Blanche grabbed two cups from the cabinet.

"Just barely." Lissa curled her fingers around the pitcher's metal handle.

"Excited?"

"And scared." She didn't mention that today, even though she tried to not think of it, was the day her last baby was born. "But that's normal."

"That makes two of us. I didn't want to say anything at our last club meeting, because of your announcement, but—"