Trail of Lust (12 page)

The horse went still as Graham gained another foot of ground between them.

Of course, Clay went on talking.

"Is there a woman down in the new town who would take interest in a brooding son of a bitch like you, Graham?"

"Prob'ly not."

"So it's a man, then?"

While Graham was not the sort of person to try to fit square pegs into round holes, he prickled a little with irritation that Clay thought he would be spending time with a male. He was married, for Christ's sakes!

Of course, his brother didn't know that.

"All right, so it's not a man."

"Very astute of you, Clay."

"I wouldn't say the town is devoid of pretty young things. I mean, there is that
house
, but I'm talking about honest women. Why, today, I set eyes on a glorious creature while Drew and I were in town making a sale. Auburn hair tucked up in the primmest blue bonnet with eyes that matched—"

Graham's limbs petrified. Forgetting the horse entirely, he swung to face his brother. “Auburn hair?"

"Yessir. And curves like this.” Clay cupped his hands around invisible curves as he outlined an hourglass figure. “A might pretty young thing. She couldn't have been more than twenty. And she was with a man, fetching the doc."

Graham's heart spasmed. Were they talking about the same woman? “Was she with an older gentleman? White hair and grizzled?"

"Nah, one of them Jenkins boys. You know the family from up on the ridge?"

Gulping, Graham closed the distance between them. The horse trotted behind him, giving an excited whinny at having escaped Graham's rope.

He fixed Clay in his glare. “A Jenkins man? About this tall?” He held up a hand.

"That's right. Now that I know the woman's name, I might feel the need to take a midnight ride of my own, right up to the Allen place."

Red spots burst in front of Graham's vision like a cannon explosion. He threw down the rope and hurled himself at Clay. Striking his brother full force around the waist, he took them both down into the dirt.

Graham was bigger and heavier than Clay, but his brother was a wiry little shit and able to weasel out from under a body. Before he could do just that, Graham hemmed him in with his arms, pinning him securely with his knee.

"What the fuck, man? Get the hell off!"

"Don't you talk about her that way. She is...my...wife!” He bit the words off without thought of the consequences, only determined to make his brother understand that Kathleen was off-limits.

Clay's eyes widened, and he stopped struggling to throw Graham off. “Your what?"

A shiver of shock sidled down Graham's spine. He rolled off and drew his knees up, dropping his face into his hands.

Clay sat up, dusting his hat and jamming it back on his head. “Your wife?"

"Yeah,” he croaked.

"What the...? Are you serious, brother?"

"Do I look like a man who isn't serious?” He turned his gaze on Clay, letting him see the full force of his anger.

Clay laughed. The chuckle sent the wild horse into a fit of theatrics. It reared and bucked, stomping close enough to them now that one of them could have reached up and grabbed its mane if they'd desired. So the black beast wanted to be caught after all, Graham thought.

But Graham hadn't wanted to be caught out with his secret. Not yet. He wasn't ready to share Kathleen with anyone until he was entirely certain she was safe.
Too late now.

"Fuck, Graham. You'd better start talking."

"I married the Allen woman—Kathleen. I've been spending the nights over there with her."

"But why?” A glint came into Clay's eyes, and he started chuckling again. “Ma is gonna tan your hide for being left out of the wedding plans."

"There were no plans. No one was present but me, Kathleen, and the preacher."

His brother stared at him unwavering, his smile fading. “You're not making this up."

"Hell, no. What reason do I have to lie? Kathleen is my wife. I married her in secret, and I plan to keep it that way for a while.” He lowered his brows in warning and urged his thickheaded little brother to take the hint.

Clay shook his head as if trying to understand. “Why would you marry in secret? Does her father hate you?"

"Not that I'm aware of. In fact, I helped him out a few days ago by pulling a calf."

"Then why?"

Graham ran his fingers through his hair. How to put his fears into words? Appearing weak before his brother wasn't an option. He was the oldest—the hard-ass among them.

"I can't really explain why yet. But I want to keep it a secret a while longer. Can you keep your mouth shut?"

"Well,” he drawled, resuming his role of taunting little brother, “put like that—"

Graham glared. “All right, if you want to play that way—
keep your mouth shut, Clay. Or else
.” He slammed his fist into Clay's gut.

His brother doubled up, laughing and choking. He leaned to the side, alternately howling with laughter and coughing. Graham watched him for a long minute, wondering how the man could be so carefree. Even when he was getting beat up, he was good-natured. Graham had never been that way.

As this thought crossed his mind, an image rose up—of him and Kathleen the previous night, rolling in the hay, sharing impassioned and playful kisses.

He fell still, staring at a point in the distance, past the horse he was meant to capture. Kathleen had done that for him—pulled him from his darkness and cast a wreath of light on his life. In just a few short days, she'd become his sun.

And he couldn't even claim her as his in broad daylight.

He jumped to his feet and extended a hand to Clay. His brother looked at it dubiously, severe mistrust in his eyes.

"C'mon, you ass. I'm not going to hit you anymore,” Graham said.

Clay gave him his hand, and Graham launched him to his feet. Wrapping an arm around his middle, Clay gave another whine. “Damn, that hurt, brother. It's been a while since we had a tussle. I'd forgotten that you never hold back, even with kin."

Graham leveled his gaze at Clay. “Get your hat. We're going to ride into town."

A dark brow lifted as Clay studied him. “For...?"

"I need your help. We're going to have a conversation that will draw out a certain man who might be a threat to her. And then you're going to stay up late with me and wait for him to strike."

Graham didn't come that night.

Kathleen waited up until the sun pushed its rounded head above the horizon, and still there was no sight of him. Disappointment and worry rocked her. She leaned against the side of the barn, arms wrapped around herself. There was a chill in the air. But she wasn't exactly shaking because she was cold.

Where was he? For the fiftieth time, she gazed in the direction he would come, wondering if she should go in search of him. Had something bad befallen him? Indians were known to travel these parts. Perhaps Graham had been set upon—

"Waiting for someone, Kathleen?"

She spun, knowing before she did who stood behind her. Jenkins had sneaked up on her and stood a few feet away. His breath plumed out in the cool air.

"I was on the way back from the outhouse when it struck me to watch the sunrise."

"Seems you've been doing that a lot lately—sneaking in when the sun comes up, and coming outside when the moon rises."

She shoved past him, but he caught her arm. Her skin crawled with disgust, each goose bump a reminder of why she must tell Graham about Jenkins being too familiar with her.

She shook off his hand and twisted back toward the house. “Once again, you overstep yourself, sir. I'd ask you to mind your own business."

As she hurried along, she found to her dismay she could not outstrip him without breaking into a run. Which she might. Instinct was taking over, telling her to escape his company as soon as possible.

With one swift move, he cornered her, using his big body to corral her. Fear gripped her as she found herself pinned between him and the side of the outhouse. Angry tears rose up to clog her throat, and she gulped them down, determined not to look vulnerable. When she was a child, her ma always told her the way to handle bullies was to not back down.

She glared at Jenkins. “Let me pass!"

He thrust his face close. “You hear me, miss. I see tracks coming in from the west. I've seen Hollis's horse hobbled up on yonder pasture. Seems mighty suspicious that now your pa's taken sick and a new man is suddenly coming ‘round."

Fear was an animal clawing at her chest. What on earth did he mean? That Graham somehow was responsible for her father's illness? She shook her head, trying to digest his words, to come up with a retort.

"You're talking nonsense. You must have tippled from that whiskey, and this time it's addled your brains!” The doctor had arrived yesterday and administered a dose of a new elixir. He had sat by her father's bedside for a long time, assessing him. In the end, he'd told Kathleen it must be a simple sickness and her pa would recover soon enough. But she couldn't shake the feeling that Jenkins had caused her father to be sick with his horrid rotgut drink. She hoped he'd guzzle an entire bottle and go straight to hell.

He leaned in closer. She plastered herself to the wooden wall, flames of fury licking her veins. She wasn't remotely strong enough to push him away, but she knew someone who could set him straight. Her husband.

"I'm sure your pa would be interested to hear that his daughter is sneaking out of the house and not returning until the wee hours."

"It's none of your concern!"

"What do you intend to do with that Hollis, Kathleen? Marry him?"

Ice trickled down her spine. She glared openly at Jenkins. “I have no idea what you're talking about."

He sneered. “Of all the Hollis men you chose to favor, you've picked Graham—the war criminal, the murderer."

She couldn't stop the shiver that passed over her features. The sight of it increased Jenkins's snide smirk.

"Why do you think I said your father's illness might have something to do with that man? He's no good, Kathleen. If you knew of his crimes—"

"It was the war, sir! Every man committed crimes and sins."

"I heard tell he had a woman. When she strayed, he killed her.” The singsong way he said this made Kathleen's blood run cold.

Deep in her heart, she believed Graham. Her trust in him was unbreakable. But Jenkins scared the life from her. Her heart tripped out of control. Staring into his wild eyes, she pondered his sanity.

What was she going to do? She was trapped here with her sick and helpless father and a crazy man. Graham hadn't shown up—

She froze. Her breath stuttered from her, and her heart seized. Had Jenkins done something to harm Graham? Laid in wait for him, ambushed him?

"Kathleen?” The faint strains of her father's voice drifted through the wall of the house.

Jenkins jerked, and she narrowed her eyes at him, aware that he didn't want to be caught terrorizing Silas Allen's daughter. She took immediate advantage of his weakness, going for the throat.

She pitched her voice low. “Listen here, Jenkins. Don't you believe for a minute you can continue to harass me. I have men who will stand behind me. And he's one of them.” She pointed toward the house where her father was calling her name with more force than he'd mustered in days.

Jenkins placed his palms on the wall on either side of her and then pushed away. He scraped a hand through his dirty brown hair, panting heavily with anger.

"I'll be watching you, Kathleen."

"You'll regret it if you do."

Her words hung in the air between them. The horses shifted within the barn, and a cow mooed. Her father called for her again.

On legs that were shakier than she cared to admit, she made her way to the house. Inside, she barred the door behind her. She didn't want to take any chances that Jenkins might sneak up on her while she was tending her father.

Panic was settling firmly into her bones. Where was Graham? Not only did she ache for him, but she needed him to come and give her that sense of safety she always felt in his arms. As if nothing could ever touch her.

Setting eyes on her father's face, she felt instantly better. His color was improved, and he was sitting up, leaning weakly against the wall. His hair stuck up in disarray.

Without warning, a laugh bubbled up her throat. She clapped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late. The sound erupted and filled the room.

Her father's lips twitched into a grin. “I must look a sight."

"Yes.” She giggled. “But, Pa, I'm so happy you're feeling better!” She dropped to the bed beside him and hugged him. His arm came around her, showing he was still weak. Just seeing him in this state—sitting up, talking, smiling—was enough for her.

"Was the doc here, Kathleen, or was that a dream?"

She nodded and moved back to stare at him. “He was here. He gave you some medicine. How are you feeling now?"

"Like a baby bird fallen from the nest. But I'll do, daughter.” He rubbed his stomach, which let out a big growl. “What do you have for breakfast?"

A smile spread across her face, and a ray of sunlight filled her being. At least her father was on the mend. Now she just needed to find out where her husband was.

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As Graham rode into the Allen place, he continually scanned the landscape for danger. He didn't know quite what he was looking for, but he was unsettled all the same. The sun was high in the sky, raising a bead of sweat that snaked from his hairline and ran into his eye. He blinked away the sting and spurred Old Gray on faster, eager to reach Kathleen.

An entire night without her had worn on his nerves. By dawn, he'd been a bear, snapping at everyone within distance, which happened to be his brothers, cousins, and pa. The work on the ranch hadn't gone as quickly as he would have liked, and he was eager to be away. Hell, he'd even bitten off his mother's head when she'd asked him to come in for a hearty breakfast.

He passed a hand over his face. Fatigue was a heavy fist, pounding him between the eyes. He and Clay had spent all night carousing in town, dropping hints that he was looking for Wabash. While no insects had crawled out of the woodwork at this news, Graham had received several pensive looks. So the men in town knew, and they would gossip like old biddies at a church picnic.