The Outlaw's Return (21 page)

Slowly, as if her body had turned to clay, she shook her head no. “If you leave now, we have no future. Every time you walk out a door, I'll wonder if you're coming back.”

He held out his arms to show off his guns. “This is who I am.”

“It's who you
were
. Give God a chance—”

“I'm done with God,” he said without feeling. “If you're done with me because of it, I understand.”

Breath by breath, her silence built a wall. It thickened with the tick of the clock. J.T. felt the weight of his guns. The belt rode high on his hips, embracing him and pulling him into the dark where he'd find Roy and kill him. He didn't have to go. He could take off his guns and do nothing, but he'd never be the man Mary deserved, or the God-fearing man she wanted. He glanced at Fancy Girl and the puppies. If he killed Roy, he'd have to leave Denver without her. He'd never see his dog again. And Gus…he'd have to leave without saying goodbye. Was killing Roy worth the cost? His heart said no, but if he didn't protect Mary and her family, who would?

Just like in the alley in New York, God had blinked and a child had been hurt. Justice had to be served, and J.T. intended to do it. He looked at Mary a long time, etching her face in his memory the way he'd done on that first day in Denver, then he walked out the door.

 

She watched through the window as J.T. paced down the street. She touched the glass with a silent plea, but he didn't turn around. A door opened in the hallway. Turning, she saw her brother.

“Wh-what happened?” he asked.

“Gertie got hurt.” She stepped away from the window. “I'm going to get Bessie.”

“Will she be okay?”

“I think so.” She told Gus about Gertie's nose and Roy's threats. A week ago he'd have reacted like a frightened child. Tonight his eyes blazed with a man's instinct to protect the women in his home. He looked around the room. “Where's J.T.?”

“He's gone.”

“I heard you b-both shouting. Is he c-coming back?”

Gus had hardly stammered a single word. He'd grown up this week. If J.T. didn't return, the boy would learn another hard lesson. Surely she and Gus meant more to him than killing Roy, though she understood the desire for vengeance. If Gertie's nose didn't heal right, she'd be marked for life. If J.T. had stayed, she could have sent them both to get Bessie. Instead she had to rely on her brother.

“He's not coming back tonight.”
Maybe not ever.
“Would you get Bessie?”

The boy put on his shoes and hurried out the door. “I'll be fast.”

Mary went to the bedroom, where she saw Gertie at the vanity, dressed in a pink wrapper and examining her nose in the oval mirror. “It's broken. It'll be crooked forever.”

“Maybe not.” She told Gertie that Gus was getting Bessie, then she pulled a pin from the girl's disheveled hair. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Tears filled her eyes. “I can't bear to think about it.”

“It'll help to talk.”

Mary pulled a second pin, then another. Gertie's hair came loose, and the story tumbled out of her. As Mary brushed away the elaborate curls, she listened to a story that could have ended with far worse than a broken nose. Roy could have raped her and then murdered her to ensure her silence. Trembling for her sister, Mary combed out the last tangle. “This doesn't have to ruin your life. You can still go to New York when you're eighteen.”

Gertie shook her head. “I don't want to go.”

Dreams didn't die that easily. Mary gripped her sister's shoulders. “Why not?”

“I don't have talent.”

“Who says?”

“Everyone.” Tears filled the girl's eyes. “I made a fool of myself. The other actresses laughed at me. I heard them. And now my nose is a mess.”

“You've had a terrible experience.” Mary spoke to Gertie's reflection and her own. “There's no shame in quitting if that's what you really want, but how about waiting until you're older before you decide?”

A sheepish smile curved on Gertie's lips. “That's probably smart. Maybe my nose will heal straight.”

“Let's see what Bessie says.”

Being careful of Gertie's bruises, Mary laced her hair into a braid. As she tied the ribbon, Bessie stepped through the door with Caroline at her side. The nurse set her medical bag on the bed, then pulled up a chair next to Gertie. “How badly did he hurt you?”

“My nose is broken.”

“Anything else?” She touched the girl's arm.

Gertie understood the question. The fear that filled her eyes broke Mary's heart. “He tried, but I got away.”

“Good girl.” Bessie studied her nose with a clinical air. “It's broken, but I don't think it's displaced.”

“Are you sure?” Gertie sounded hopeful “As sure as I can be with all that swelling.” Bessie pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don't feel a bump.”

Caroline nudged Mary. “Where's J.T.?”

“He left.”

Before Mary realized what her friend intended, Caroline steered her into the parlor and guided her down on the divan. “Is he going after Roy?”

“I'm afraid so.”

Caroline gripped her hand. “Maybe he'll calm down before he does something stupid.”

“I hope so.” Mary slipped away and went to the window. She looked for J.T., though she didn't expect to see him. “If he comes back, there's a good chance he'll have blood on his hands.”

“Oh, Mary.”

“I've never seen him so angry.”

Caroline came to stand next to her. “Keep praying. That's all you can do.”

“I know. It's just—” She started to cry. An hour ago, J.T. had earned her complete trust. The last barrier to loving him had been shattered tonight. She hadn't said the words, but she'd given him her heart and he'd already broken it again. Forgiveness had come easily for what he'd done in Abilene, but tonight she felt bitter. “He left. How can I trust him?”

“Maybe that's not the right question,” Caroline said.

“Then what is it?”

“Can you forgive him? And I don't mean just more time.” The brunette looked past the street to the sliver of moon. “You know I was married once. I loved Charles with everything in me, but not a day passed that I didn't have to forgive him for something. The day he died was the worst. I begged him not to go that night. I knew some thing awful would happen, and it did. In the end, I had to forgive him for dying.”

Mary's chest tightened. “How did you do it?”

“Just like you'll forgive J.T. I did it one hurt at a time.”

“I don't know.” Her voice quavered. “If he goes after Roy, he'll be guilty of murder. He might not come back.”

“Give him time,” Caroline advised.

“How long?”

“As long as it takes.”

Mary smiled at her friend. “Thank you.”

She couldn't always count on J.T., but she could depend on the women of Swan's Nest. Through the dim glass she saw a thousand stars. She didn't know how long J.T. would be gone, but she'd be waiting when he returned.

W
ithout Fancy Girl at his side, J.T. felt as if he'd stepped back in time. The night air cooled his face but not his blood as he headed for the Newcastle. Tonight he had a job to do.

The stars followed him without blinking, and not a cloud could be seen for miles. Refusing to look at the unfinished church, he went to the side door of the theater, kicked it down and strode to Roy's office. Wall sconces lit his way, flickering as he passed them. When he reached Roy's door, he kicked it down and found more darkness. He didn't know where Roy lived, but he had a good idea where to find him. Attacking Gertie would have fired his blood. Market Street offered women, liquor and cards, just what Roy would want to satisfy his lust.

J.T. headed back down the hall. Stepping over the splintered door, he saw the scaffolding against the church wall. He'd never climb it again. Someone else would have to finish the bell tower.

With only vengeance in mind, he turned down Market Street. Peering into saloons and dance halls, he searched for Roy while intending to avoid Griff Lassen. He spotted Lassen in a busy saloon, ducked out of sight and crossed
the street to a place called the Alhambra. At the counter he saw Roy sipping whiskey. A smear of blood showed on his cuff, and he had a scratch on his jaw. J.T. approached him without a hint of anger. “Hello, Roy.”

“Quinn.”

J.T. signaled the barkeep. “Whatever my friend's drinking for him. Whiskey for me.” He wouldn't drink it. The liquor was a sign to Roy that he meant business. He kept his eyes straight ahead. “You jumped the gun with Gertie Larue.”

“You were dragging your feet.” He meant J.T.'s promise to stop Lassen.

“I told you I'd get back to you today. Here I am.”

“You were stalling.”

“I was being careful.”

“I don't believe you, Quinn.”

The barkeep set down the glasses and poured. J.T. ran his finger along the rim, distracting Roy as he slid his other hand inside the duster, resting it on his gun. “You've upped the price. I want two thousand dollars.”

Roy laughed. “For that little brat?”

“Don't test me.” He dug the Colt into Roy's side. “Bring the money to the Slewfoot Mine tomorrow at noon. You pay me off, and I'll finish with Lassen. If you don't—” he cocked the hammer “—I'll kill you for what you did to Gertie.”

Slowly Roy turned his head. “The little trollop's just like her sister.”

If they'd been in a lawless cow town, J.T. might have shot Roy on the spot. The only thing stopping him was the likelihood of getting caught. He needed his horse for a fast getaway, so he settled for twisting the gun hard enough to leave a bruise. “Do you want to die right here?”

Roy let out a breath. “Tomorrow it is.”

J.T. eased the hammer back in place. “The Slewfoot at noon,” he repeated. “Don't be late.”

He holstered his weapon and stood. Tomorrow Roy would die. When he showed up with the money, J.T. would challenge him to a duel. He'd win, of course. But Roy had enough skill to call it a fair fight.

He paid for the drinks, left the saloon and headed to Swan's Nest to get his horses, taking a longer route to avoid Mary's apartment. When he reached the mansion he went around the back to the carriage house. Working in the dark, he saddled the buckskin. Rather than take the pack horse, he decided to leave it for Gus. When he got back to the boardinghouse, he'd write a note to the boy. It wasn't much of a goodbye, but it would have to do.

He led the horse into the yard, climbed on and rode down the street. A block later he passed a buggy coming in the opposite direction. He recognized Caroline and Bessie and hunkered down. Suspicious of a lone rider, Caroline nudged the horse into a faster walk and passed without looking at him. He'd become nothing to them, a stranger. Soon he'd be nothing to Mary. She'd be wise to forget he'd ever come to Denver. Gus wouldn't forget him, but now the memories would hurt. He couldn't bear to think about his dog. Fancy Girl wouldn't understand at all.

He could still change his mind. Instead of killing Roy himself, he could go to the law. He could apologize to Mary and trust God for justice. The thought sent bile up his throat. Tonight the Almighty had shown His true colors. He didn't care, and He couldn't be trusted.

At the boardinghouse, J.T. tied his horse out back and went to his room. As always he left the door open until
he lit the lamp. Light flooded the tiny space, revealing both the contents and the emptiness as he shut the door and locked it. He missed his dog. He missed Mary. His gaze fell on the chapbook he'd left on the nightstand. Ignoring it, he took gun oil and a rag out of his saddlebag. It had been a long time since he'd prepared his weapons for battle, but he did it now the way a man greeted an old friend.

When he finished, he wrote the note to Gus on paper the landlady provided along with bedding and a wash-bowl. Tomorrow, when he finished with Roy, he'd deliver the note and the money to Swan's Nest and then leave town. He hoped Mary would keep the two thousand dollars. Not only was it Gertie's due, but he had nothing else to give her. He considered writing down his wishes, but talking about money seemed cold when he wanted to tell her he loved her.

Resigned to losing her, he put the note for Gus in his saddlebag, packed his things and then stretched on the bed and slept.

 

Morning came hard and bright.

So did hunger.

So did the knowledge he wouldn't be washing dishes for Mary ever again. He swung his feet off the bed, looked for Fancy Girl out of habit and felt melancholy. He tried not to think about Mary.

He shaved and washed, put on dark clothes and went to the kitchen for breakfast. He ate quickly and in silence, then returned to his room, where he put on his guns and duster. He'd told Roy twelve noon, but he wanted to arrive first. J.T. knew the road to the Slewfoot Mine well. He'd ridden it a week ago with Gus, and two weeks ago when he'd arrived in Denver with foolish dreams. The
ride to the mine glistened with memories of the camping trip. It was by the dying fire that he'd come to understand love. It was in the same spot he'd won back Mary's trust and dared to hope for a future with her.

His hope was dead, and the old J.T. was back in business. Riding slowly, he approached the played-out mine. Someone had boarded up the rectangular entrance, but time had eroded the planks and a man could get inside. Overhead the sky burned with a blue heat broken only by billowing white clouds. Today he felt no wonder at their distant beauty, only an awareness that clouds came and went. He rode past a hillside covered with gravel-like rock, then looked to the right where scattered boulders offered cover. The mine loomed in front of him. Knowing it led to a maze of dark tunnels, he turned away from it.

“Quinn!”

The raspy voice didn't belong to Roy. It belonged to Griff Lassen, and he sounded as mean as ever. J.T. was high on his horse in open space. He needed cover and he needed it now, so he backpedaled the buckskin to a lone boulder. Sliding out of the saddle, he gripped his Colt and sized up the terrain. He didn't like what he saw at all. The apron of rock above him would give neither cover nor purchase, and the road he'd just ridden stretched for a quarter mile before it turned. A couple of cottonwoods offered protection, but not much. Aside from the mine, he had nowhere to go.

He'd picked this place so he could see someone coming. Instead he'd ridden into a trap. He felt like a fool. Instead of Lassen doing in Roy, Roy had tricked J.T. into facing off with Lassen. There was bad blood between J.T. and Griff, but today they had a common foe in Roy. Before J.T. did anything, he needed to know
where he stood with his former partner. “Is that you, Griff?”

“Yeah, it's me,” he called back. “I can't say I was expecting you. Desmond's supposed to show up with the money he owes some friends of mine.”

Griff sounded downright pleasant. Maybe he'd forgotten about Fancy Girl and the squatters. “Funny you'd mention Desmond,” J.T. called with equal friendliness. “He's got business with me, too.”

“Maybe we should come out from behind these rocks and talk.”

“I don't know, Griff.” If J.T. moved, Griff would have a clear shot. “You weren't too happy with me about that dog incident.”

“I know.”

“I left you in a lurch.” He wouldn't apologize, but Griff would get the drift.

“Forget it, Quinn. I say we let bygones be bygones. Come on out.”

As a precaution, J.T. took off his hat and put it on a stick. “Here I come,” he called, waving the hat.

A bullet went through the brim. Pivoting around the boulder, J.T. jammed the hat on his head and fired back.

In the volley of gunfire, Griff cursed. “You're a traitor, Quinn! That squatter in Wyoming put out my eye. You're going to pay for that.”

J.T. had no intention of dying, but he'd gotten himself in a bind. The entrance to the mine offered cover, but he'd be trapped in the maze of tunnels—dark tunnels that went nowhere. He turned and looked down the road he'd just taken. It offered no protection at all. His best chance lay in making a deal with Lassen.

“Let's talk,” J.T. shouted. “You want Desmond. So do I.”

“I don't need your help.”

“Sure you do.”

Lassen answered with a low laugh. “Face it, Quinn. You're about to die.” He fired to prove his point.

J.T. counted to three, twisted around the boulder and fired back. He caught a glimpse of Lassen and fired again, but not before Lassen got off a shot of his own. The bullet ricocheted off the rock an inch from J.T.'s face. He'd die if he didn't make a move, so he broke for the mine, firing as he ran at full speed until his foot landed in a hole and he stumbled.

He heard a crumbling like dead wood, and then he was falling…falling…falling into a black hole without a bottom. Cool air rushed by him. His shoulder banged on the side of the shaft and he lost his grip on his gun. Rocks and dirt tumbled with him until he landed on his back thirty feet below the surface. Pain shot through his chest and shoulders. He couldn't breathe, not even a gasp. Vaguely he realized he'd fallen down an air shaft and landed in the belly of the mine. His thoughts formed an unwilling prayer.

Dear God, what have I done?

He'd gone off today like a stupid kid. He'd left Mary and Gertie at Roy's mercy, and now he was going to die. Silently, he endured the pain in his body, not crying out because he couldn't make a sound.

He managed a small, painful breath. Then another. Finally he could breathe a little and he realized he wouldn't be dying in the next ten seconds. Lying flat on his back, he took stock of his injuries. He'd had the wind knocked out of him, and he couldn't move his right shoulder without knife-like pain. He checked it with his
good hand and decided it was dislocated and not broken. His head hurt so bad he couldn't focus his eyes. He tried to sit up, but the pain forced him down.

Staring at the circle of blue sky, he thought of his horse. Lassen would steal it and take the money in the saddlebag. He'd also look for J.T.'s dead body and maybe fire down the shaft to finish the job. No matter how much it hurt, and how much he hated the dark, J.T. had to take cover. Swallowing bile, he dragged himself six feet into the pitch-black. Twice he nearly passed out, but he made it to the chiseled rock wall. Cradling his arm, he sat up and vomited. Whether the nausea came from the knock to his head, the pain or fear, he didn't know. He could only hope the mine had another way out.

Looking up, he saw a waterfall of light but not the mouth of the shaft. As a shadow erased the glow, a small landslide of dirt and rock tumbled over the edge. “You down there, Quinn?”

J.T. held in a curse. He couldn't let Lassen know he'd survived the fall.

“I saw you go down.” Lassen's chuckle echoed down the shaft. So did the click of a gun being cocked. “The mine caved in a year ago. There's no way out.”

Sweat poured down J.T.'s back. He wanted to scream, but he couldn't let the man know he'd survived. If he did, Lassen would shoot into the shaft. He didn't have a clear shot, but bullets could ricochet. Instead of leaving, Lassen pulled the trigger of his gun. The bullet hit two feet from J.T.'s thigh. By a sheer act of will, he didn't shout. Lassen fired again and again. The bullets flew and ricocheted until he'd emptied his pistol. Roaring with laughter, he holstered the weapon and walked away.

J.T. didn't have lead in his belly or his head, but sweat was pouring out of him in rivers. He could breathe almost
normally, but his bones felt as if they'd been crushed. Sitting up, he spotted his Colt six feet away in the circle of light. A lot of good it would do him. No one except Roy knew where he'd gone, and Roy wanted him dead. He'd never been more alone in his life. He stared at the gun a long time, then crawled to it and put it in the holster still tied to his thigh.

The walls closed in on him. So did the dark. He had to get out. There had to be a way…. Panting with pain, he leveraged to his feet and hobbled into what seemed to be a tunnel. He moved forward cautiously, dragging his good hand along the wall. Dirt collected under his nails. With each step, the mine grew colder. He sniffed for fresh air but smelled only dust and sweat. Ten paces later he reached a dead end. He backtracked and stumbled on a downed timber. He circled the area again, then a third time, and still there was no way out.

Cold and bleeding, he limped to the light. With his pulse thundering, he looked up at the sky and screamed for help at the top of his lungs.