Reese (21 page)

At first, the townsfolk had held themselves aloof from their rescuers. This morning's incident with the cougar had put a crack in that barrier, and the people were beginning to follow Reese, just as his men did. Together, the six hired guns and the town would become a serious threat to what El Diablo had in mind.

With a leader and enough guns, Rock Creek could hold on longer than El Diablo. When a town became a home rather than a place to sleep, attacking it only made things worse. Folks defended their homes with all that they had. El Diablo knew that better than anyone.

Look at the foolish war the white eyes had fought only five summers past. The bluecoats had invaded the land of the gray, and the war had dragged on and on and on. Because the graycoats had defended their homes until there was nothing left to defend but dust.

"The one called Reese is the key," El Diablo said. "He is the one they respect. The one they will follow. If we can get rid of him, the others will scatter."

"How do we get to him?"

The teacher moved off toward the schoolhouse, and the man in black watched her until she disappeared inside.

El Diablo just smiled.

Chapter 13

Each morning, Reese taught the women. Sometimes Rico or one of the others helped—never Cash, of course, and that was probably for the best, considering the nature of those being taught.

The women learned quickly, now that they'd decided to, and while he missed spending that hour after dawn with Mary alone, having the townsfolk accept him made life in Rock Creek a lot less tense.

El Diablo had not returned. Reese had hopes that by the time he did, the women would be ready, and the combination of them, the older men and injured soldiers, along with Reese's men would convince the old Indian that continued attacks would be fruitless.

He hoped, but he didn't really believe.

They would have to kill a few more banditos before they made their point—maybe even the two top banditos. One of the first rules of war was to take down the leader if you could. Often that was all it took to make the rest run. Reese knew that better than anyone.

So if things were going well on the outside, why did Reese feel so awful on the inside?

Perhaps it was because the nightmares had returned; he was exhausted. Or perhaps it was because as soon as school let out every day, hell followed wherever he went.

Reese hid in the stall with Atlanta. He wasn't proud. If hiding kept him away from
them,
he'd stay in here all night.

Besides, he hadn't been paying nearly enough attention to his horse, as evidenced by the way Atlanta kept running his big nose down Reese's back and shoving him into the far wall.

Reese rubbed between the animal's eyes. He
had
named his horse Atlanta so he would remember the past. Not Sherman's march or the burning of Reese's hometown—as if that could ever be forgotten—but what Atlanta symbolized.

Reese's mistakes, his failures, his dead dreams. If he rode a horse every day named for the place that reminded him of those things, maybe he wouldn't make the same mistakes, fail so utterly again, or ever bother to dream.

But here, in Rock Creek, he had not been spending enough time with the animal, and therefore he'd begun to dream impossible dreams. The ones where he had a future—a life, a family, even a wife.

The morning at the creek had reminded Reese how foolish such thoughts were. The entire town looked at him as if he were a hero because he'd saved those children. But they'd never have been in danger at all if he'd done what he should have and hunted down the cougar the first time he'd heard the animal scream.

Little mistakes like that could ruin a whole eternity.

"Nice horse."

"Yeah, nice horse."

Atlanta snorted, lowered his head, and threw his nose back up, narrowly missing Reese's jaw. Reese sighed.

They'd found him.
Again.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Reese met two identical pairs of blue eyes, framed by shaggy mops of straw-brown hair—his latest shadows, the Sutton twins. Saving their lives seemed to have made him their new best friend.

"Papa said we didn't have to help in the store today on account of we almost died."

Reese rubbed his forehead. "That was nearly a week ago, and you didn't almost die."

"That's not what everyone else says."

Stepping out of the stall, Reese gave the horse a final pat. "Well, that's what I say. Carrie was in more trouble, and Rico saved her. Why don't you follow him around for a while?"

"He likes girls."

"So do I."

The twins scowled at Reese for a minute before deciding to ignore that issue and follow him anyway. Every time Reese had turned around this past week—after the hour of two o'clock—he tripped over a twin. So far he'd managed not to lose his temper—or his mind. But the cold sweat trickling beneath his hatband, and also down his back, was becoming tiresome.

"Go home." He spun, and they bumped into his belly. "I've got things to do."

"Can't we help? We want to be like you."

Faces flashed before his eyes. The adoring expression might be the same, but those faces were different than the ones before him now.

And long dead.

Reese turned on his heel and stamped away. For once, the twins did not follow.

But the ghosts did.

* * *

Mary sat on the porch each night in case Reese walked by. Perhaps if he saw her he might wander over.

She'd sat here every night since the incident at the creek, but she hadn't seen Reese, except from a distance.

Silly old maid, she was. Silly old maid, she would always be. But that didn't mean she couldn't dream of a handsome, dangerous man coming to call. What could it hurt?

The sound of the women practicing each morning, long after she left for school, had been a welcome distraction. Together the people of Rock Creek and the six hired men could save this town. Mary just knew it.

Teaching this week had been a monstrous task with the continued excitement of the children, but she'd managed. The Sutton twins came in every day with a new story about Reese. They seemed to be following him all over town—whenever they weren't in school.

That afternoon, Reese had waved his hat at them and shouted. They'd hung their heads and watched him walk off; then, moments later, they'd glanced at each other and scampered after him again.

Mary shook her head at the memory. The twins had found a hero, and that wasn't all bad. With a father like Baxter Sutton, she had worried how they might turn out.

Although Baxter had been extremely nice to her of late—falling all over himself trying to help her whenever she went into his store—he still wasn't much of a manly example.

Mary did not believe cowardice was in the blood. But if all those boys saw was a father with no gumption, how could they learn to become men worth their salt?

Though a hired gun wasn't exactly the best choice as a hero, the twins could do worse than emulate Reese. He was still a remarkable man. Too bad he didn't seem to care much for children.

"Mary!"

The whisper was soft, but the desperation in the voice made her jump to her feet, searching the darkness for whoever had spoken.

Reese lurched into view around the schoolhouse. Mary didn't pause to think he might be as mad as the cougar at the river; she ran to him.

His hat was gone, his hair as wild as his eyes. His shirt was half-buttoned, his chest damp with sweat. His skin had paled, the usual warmth of his flesh gone clammy. He stumbled, and she caught him in her arms. Luckily, he did not sag with all his weight. She was a strong woman, but she would fall too, and then where would they be?

Reese clung to her like a child, and like a child, she held him, whispering nonsense against his brow.

"What is it?" she asked when his trembling subsided a bit.

"Don't let them see me like this."

Desperation again—in his voice, in his eyes. "Who?" Her gaze swept the shadows surrounding Rock Creek. "Who don't you want to see?"

"The men. They've never seen me like this. And they never can."

The men?
His
men? That was a relief. When he'd staggered out of the darkness, she'd feared a secret sneak attack by El Diablo. And if the Devil had sneaked past the Rock Creek six, there would be hell to pay.

Her relief was short-lived, however. Reese managed to gain his feet. His tortured expression made her breath catch.

"Please," he begged. "Let me come in."

She hesitated, not because she didn't want him in her home; she wanted him there badly. But what she wanted, what she needed, what she dreamed, meant nothing in the face of his panic. She had never seen Reese show fear. Yet he
was
afraid of his men seeing this weakness—as only a strong man could be.

Mary set her shoulder beneath his arm. "Come with me."

He let her lead him, which scared her more than anything else. What had happened to cause Reese to tremble and sweat and beg?

They gained the porch and stumbled to the door. Mary managed the doorknob, but once inside, Reese's legs gave out, and he fell onto the rug in the hall.

She kicked the door closed and followed Reese to the floor. He murmured words that sounded like a prayer, and she leaned in until his breath brushed her cheek.

"Smells like linseed oil and sunshine. Better than smoke and death. The guns hurt my ears. Too many faces, too young to die."

The war,
Mary thought. There were so many men who had been crippled by it, and not just by losing a limb or an eye. Some had lost their minds, their hearts, their souls.

What had Reese lost? And how was she going to give it back to him?

Mary sat on her heels. Reese clutched the carpet. She brushed his damp hair away from his forehead, and his sigh drifted toward a sob. So she kept stroking his hair, something she'd wanted to do for a very long time. As the moments passed, they inched closer and closer until his arms were about her waist, his face pressed to her belly.

If anyone saw them she would be ruined, despite the layers of clothing and the hard shell of a corset that kept her from feeling his warmth where she wanted to feel it the most. Still, his lips were pressed to a part of her where no man's lips had been before, where none would ever be again. But Mary could not push him away, not even to save herself.

She hummed a tune from memory and played with his hair. The peace that washed over them both was worth whatever happened later.

Far too soon Reese shifted, then stiffened. Slowly, he sat up, and when he did, they were face-to-face, nose-to-nose, lip-to-lip.

She kissed him. She couldn't help herself. He might not love her, but he needed her. No one else ever had.

Slowly, she moved her mouth over his. With gentle touches of her tongue, with movements of her lips, she tried to make him forget everything but her. She feared he would deny her what she craved—the chance to comfort him in the only way she knew how.

Then he sighed and met her tongue with his own. Soft strokes, tiny nibbles at the fullness of her lower lip, the glide of his fingertips along the back of her hand, then the joining of palm to palm.

"Mary," he murmured. "I shouldn't have come."

"Where else would you go?"

She lifted the hand he did not hold and placed it against his chest. The thud of his heart echoed the pulse in her palm. Their gazes met; his slid away.

She touched his face and tilted his chin until he looked into her eyes again. "Whatever happened, it doesn't matter. It can't be worth this agony. Tell me what hurts you so."

He jerked free of her touch, his body vibrating with tension once again. She feared he would stand up, walk out the door, and leave her holding nothing. Instead, he threw himself into her arms and buried his face in the curve of her neck.

"Don't make me tell you. At least not right now."

Reese held her too tightly, but she couldn't pull away. Especially when his damp face stuck to her equally damp throat. It wasn't that hot in her house.

Mary cupped his face, lifted, then pressed her lips to his wet cheeks. No tear tracks, perhaps she was wrong.

What did it matter if he cried or not? Did the lack of tears make him any less upset? Would the tears make him any less a man?

She had been foolish to believe she could manage her feelings or his. Some things were unmanageable. As she held Reese in her arms and he clung to her, Mary's lonely heart fell in love.

Silly old maid. She'd loved him long before now—maybe from that first moment in Dallas when he'd asked if everything included her and he'd seemed as if he meant it.

Mary had no illusions that Reese might love her, but he wanted her. Perhaps, just once, that would be enough. If she had to spend a lifetime alone, at least she would have a single night with the man she loved.

She had wondered what she could do to give him back what he had lost. Maybe giving herself would do. Regardless, her body was all that she had.

"Reese." She pulled his hands from her waist and stood, not letting go of him lest he run. "Come with me."