Jillian Hart (36 page)

Their fingers met. His gaze brushed hers, intimate as a touch. So much shaded his eyes, remained unspoken between them.

"Did you come to see your sons?"

"Not just my sons." He had dreamed of her touch at night, ached for her smile to light his day. All he loved was her, was connected to her, was from her.

"I just took a pie out of the oven." Lissa stepped back, tilted her head and met his gaze. "Come in, have a bite, see Joey. He's grown."

"I'd love nothing more." Jack followed her up the steps and into the house. Apple pie cooled on the counter, Puddles jumped up to bark a welcome, and a baby's startled cry filled the cozy room.

"Look at him. Isn't he something?" She lifted the baby from his cradle, all gentle elegance. "Well, when he isn't crying at the top of his lungs."

Jack laughed, his chest tight "The crying isn't so bad. As long as a person is deaf."

"Unfortunately, I'm not." She stepped close, cradling his son, held out one hand. The touch of her, the feel of her, was like a brand to his soul.

"You're here to stay?"

He heard both the hope and the uncertainty in her voice. How could he tell her how she filled him up, made him better, made him whole? "If you will have me."

"Any day of the week." She was magic and stardust and heart. She was his dawn and his dusk, his day and his night.

"Let me marry you the right way this time. Let me give you my name and my own promises." Jack held out his arms and she stepped against him. She felt perfect beneath his chin, next to his heart.

"And I will give you mine." She kissed his throat, his chin, his mouth.

She tasted like forever, like angel food cake and coffee. "I love you, Jack Emerson."

"I love you. Now and forever."

Her eyes filled, and he saw the depth of her affection for him, but it was nothing compared to the power of emotion that lived in his heart—and always would.

# # #

An Excerpt From

A Candle in the Window

Don't think you 're getting out of this alive, McKenna.

The bounty hunter's threat haunted him, as Luke McKenna gritted his teeth and took another stumbling step head-on into the howling fury of a mean Montana blizzard. The frigid wind knifed through the layers of wool and flannel, cutting to his bones with ease. The snow plunged in a gray-white gale that cut off the world from his sight.

The one good thing about this storm was that if he couldn't see his way through it, then neither could Moss.

"P-Pa? I'm c-cold."

"I know, darlin'. Just hold on tight to me."

"Okay." Beth's thin voice sounded tiny and frail compared to the howling fury of the wind. Tiny arms clenched around his neck as she burrowed against his chest. She might be safely buttoned inside his coat, but she was shivering hard.

He had to find shelter and soon. Beth couldn't stand this cold much longer, and neither could he, not with the way his bullet wound was bleeding.

He'd survived ten years as a Texas Ranger; he'd fought Indians and renegades and the toughest outlaws in three territories, and by God, he'd survive this storm, too. He'd survived what he couldn't bear to live through, and he wasn't about to fail now, not when all he had to fight was a blizzard. His child depended on him, and he wouldn't let her down. Not ever again.

A boom exploded behind him. Gunfire? Had Moss tracked him in this storm? Luke clutched Beth tightly and ran, kicking hard in the deep, unpacked snow. He sank up to his thighs but kept going. Then lightning flashed, and another boom pealed overhead, eerily muffled by the gale-force snowfall.

Thunder. Not gunfire. Relief burst through him in an icy wave, and Luke slumped to his knees, breathing hard. The child cradled against his chest began shaking with sobs.

"P-Pa? I'm really, really c-cold."

"I know." It tore him apart. "We're going to be warm and safe soon."

"You promise?"

"You can count on it." He'd go to hell and back for his daughter. He pressed his hand against the growing stain on his jacket. The blood was freezing solid and turning the ice driven into the fabric a bright red.

He stumbled forward and stared at the snow at his feet. The shod half circles of horse tracks were fresh and deep.
Moss
. That black-hearted killer had followed him into the storm after all.

Black fury roared through him. The child tucked against his heart sobbed again, her cries pitiful. Torn apart, he knew he'd gone as far as he could. His hopes of getting Beth out of this territory to someplace safe had ended. Moss had proven relentless, and now, cloaked by the storm, Luke could walk straight into the bounty hunter's sites and not know it until it was too late.

Hide and wait
. It was the only solution.
That, and hope Moss doesn't hunt you down
. Luke pressed his lips to his daughter's brow, and the layers of wool didn't diminish the sweet love he harbored for his child, helpless and innocent, or his fierce vow to protect her from ruthless men.

"It won't be much longer," he whispered, backtracking as the storm shoved him forward. He stumbled, pain shooting through his side, and he felt the hot, wet glide of blood on his skin.

He had to keep going; he had to keep his daughter safe.

A shadow jumped up out of the darkness. Then, quick as it appeared, it vanished. Luke tore the Colt .45 from its holster and aimed, thumbing back the hammer. Lightning cracked overhead, and thunder rumbled, eerily muted by the thick blanket of falling snow.

Where was Moss? Where had that bastard gone? The winds shifted, and there it was again—a dark splash of gold in the unrelenting gray-white world of wind and snow. A horse. It wasn't the bounty hunter's black gelding. The pretty palomino disappeared again behind the veil of white. There was a road ahead, and he could follow the tracks to shelter.

"Hold on, darlin'." Relief gave him strength, for they were no longer lost in the storm. He found the horse's tracks, and marveled at the force of wind already trying to wipe them clean. "It won't be long now."

"Do I getta have hot cocoa?"

"Absolutely." He pressed his lips to her brow and took off after the blur of gold that disappeared and then reappeared again much farther away, taunting him. Running with the last of his strength, he felt his wound tear wider. Hot, sticky blood warmed his skin from waist to hip.

He lost sight of the golden horse in the thick curtain of snow and wind. His vision blurred, and he couldn't seem to find the tracks he'd just been following.

Beth. He had to keep going for her sake. She was all that mattered. He couldn't control the weather and he couldn't control the forces driving evil men in this world, but he would find a way to get his daughter to safety.

Or at least he'd die trying. His knees buckled, and he hit the snow with bone-rattling force. The howling fury of the storm filled his ears, and he breathed in icy snow. The bitter cold wrapped around him and hurt like a knife paring through every inch of his body.

He was lost and losing hope, but the child buttoned inside his coat, next to his heart, kept him going. He stumbled until he couldn't walk, and then he crawled until the light faded from his eyes and there was only darkness—until not even his body responded to his driving will to survive.

Then there was only Beth's sorrowful cry and nothing, nothing but cold and death.

Molly Lambert shook the snow from her coat, shivering from the bitter storm. The house was cold and dark, but not as cold as the trepidation filling her at the unopened letter in her pocket

Her hound danced around her in excited circles as Molly hung her cloak to thaw. Iced snow tumbled like shards of glass and
plinked
against the wood floor. She patted her dog and hurried to stir the banked embers in the kitchen stove.

The hinges squeaked slightly as she opened the door. The unread letter felt like a lead weight in her pocket. She hadn't wanted to open it in town, and then a storm blew up on the road home and she'd barely made it to the stable before the blizzard struck with full force.

The scent of cured pine tickled her nose as she fed the weak coals. The dog nudged her; the wind howled against the north wall, and soon the flames snapped greedily as they grew in strength. All the while the letter felt heavier, as if it were dragging her skirt pocket down to her knees.

She wasn't ready to read it, not yet—good news or bad. The letter was from her mother, a woman whose heart was distant and cold and growing bitter as life passed her by. Molly didn't feel strong enough for more heartache, not today. Maybe she wouldn't read it. Maybe she would tuck it into the flames and watch the words burn.

The dog shot through the kitchen and lunged with both front paws at the back door, barking high and sharp.

"What is it, girl?" Molly opened the damper wide. The metal hinges squeaked and iron
clunked
against iron as she shut the door tight. "I'll let you out in just a second."

The dog whined louder and scratched harder.

"All right, all right. I'm coming." Maybe the white-tailed deer had returned, taking shelter in the lee side of her stable, knowing she would fork out bales of sweet alfalfa for them. "Is it time to feed the deer?"

Lady barked high and sharp—the animals must be close.

"Don't chase them," she ordered as she shrugged back into her icy cloak.

Lady didn't seem to be making any promises this time. Molly opened the door to the blast of ice and wind and stepped out into the harsh Montana blizzard. The dog loped on ahead, already lost in the gale-force snowfall.

This was her first Montana Rockies winter—she'd heard from Aunt Aggie how cold and hard they were. Well, Aunt Aggie was right, Molly thought as she struggled through the thigh-high drifts and kept her hand on the clothesline, which was tied from the back door to the stable so she wouldn't become lost in a storm.

Montana was a rugged place, but it was free, too. Free from the past, free from her mistakes. She was proud of this new life she'd made for herself—and this beautiful land she'd homesteaded.

Lady's sharp bark of alarm penetrated the howling wind and driving snow. Something was wrong—the dog didn't sound anywhere near the barn, and she'd never bark like that at the deer. Molly didn't dare let go of the rope; many a person had been blown off course by the wind and blinding snow and froze to death, but alarm beat through her, hot as flame.

Then she heard it, the painful rasp of a child's sob, faint and small when compared to the storm's mighty fury. Molly let go of the clothesline and tried hard to follow the sound of that sob and Lady's intermittent barking. The powerful wind tossed her around, and she wasn't certain she was making any progress at all.

Then all of a sudden there was the corner post of her split-rail fence. High drifts nearly hid it from sight, but a dark splash of color marked the snow.

Lady leaped up, grabbing hold of Molly's jacket hem to tug her along. The dark color became navy blue, then the shadow of a man's unbuttoned coat. He lay slack and unmoving, and the dark stain in the snow surrounding him looked like blood.

"Pa's dead," the little girl sobbed. "Just like my ma. He's all dead."

Lady reached the child first. The girl's eyes widened, but before she could react, the dog swiped at her freezing tears with a warm tongue. She buried her face in the dog's silky coat and cried.

"Come here, sweetheart." Molly reached out her arms, and the little girl moved from the dog's warmth to hers, wordlessly, her wrenching sobs of loss and grief heart-breaking.

Why, the child felt as fragile as a bird and shook from head to toe with those sobs. Molly cradled her tight, chest filling with sympathy. She pulled off one glove and laid two fingers against the father's throat.

A faint pulse beat against his cold skin. Relief shivered through her. He was alive, but with so much blood lost, how could she save him? He looked like such a big man. How on earth was she going to get him into her house?

"He's dead," the little girl sobbed.

"No, he's still alive."

Lady nudged her hand, and Molly knew she had to act fast. The temperature was dipping as the blizzard grew stronger. There was no way she could fetch the doctor in this weather. Chest tight with regret, she carried the child back toward the house, but the storm confused her. Where was the clothesline? All she could see was the white-gray swirl of snow, but then Lady's bark led her to the safety of the clothesline. Fighting the winds, Molly ran as fast as she could until the faintest glow from the window told her she was almost home.

"My papa," the child sobbed.

"I'll go back for him, but you have to be a big girl and help me. Can you do that?" Molly tumbled through the door and into the warming kitchen. "You have to stay right here by the fire and keep warm, so I can take care of your pa. Can you do that? Lady will stay with you."

"I want my papa." The child shook with terror and grief, and Molly held her tight, wishing she knew how to soothe away such deep, genuine pain. With every second that passed, she knew the child's father was closer to death.

Molly thanked heaven for the hound that nosed the child gently, intent on washing away those half-frozen tears.

The girl began to cry harder, filled with need, and it was all Molly could do to walk away. Again, she thought of the unconscious man bleeding and freezing in her backyard. Leaving the child safe and snug here was the father's best chance.

Suddenly Lady leaped away from the girl, snarling. The door smacked open, driven by the wind, and a shadow broke from the curtain of snow.

A man stumbled through her threshold, gun in hand and blood staining the front of his coat like a wide patch of crimson paint.

"Papa!" the girl cried just as Lady lunged, and the shadowed man tumbled to the floor, unconscious, his blood pooling on the snow-covered floorboards, his gun clattering to a stop beneath her lace-covered table.

Faster than lightning, the girl darted to her father's side and knelt, fingers curling into his coat. "Don't die, Papa. Please."