Willow: A Novel (No Series) (13 page)

Hope leaped in Willow’s heart, then sank again. Gideon, as deeply as she loved him, was an enemy, and she must not allow herself to forget that in the emotional upheaval of the day. “Once you’ve found my brother, there won’t be much reason to remain here, will there?”

They were leaving town, jolting and jostling over the cattle trail that was generously referred to as a road.

“I bought a house,” Gideon announced, his eyes on the far mountains, with their craggy, snow-traced peaks. “And several hundred acres of land.”

Again hope surged in Willow’s confused heart. “Why?” she demanded.

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know,” Gideon answered, and then they drove in silence for a long time.

The house, a spacious, wood-framed structure with two stories and a porch that nearly encircled it, had belonged to the widow of a prosperous rancher until her death a few months before. It was surrounded by tall cottonwoods and willows, and there was a pond within easy walking distance.

Willow felt a surge of delight as she took it all in. “You bought Mrs. Baker’s place!” she cried, forgetting, for the moment, that there had been a funeral that day.

Gideon smiled a slight, bruised smile and nodded.

“I used to come here for piano lessons,” Willow said, suddenly shy and quite at a loss. “Did you buy the furnishings, too?”

“Yes,” Gideon answered, as the horse splashed through the rain-filled ruts on the driveway leading toward the house. “But you can replace them, if you want to, with things of your own. Mrs. Baker’s daughter has already been here to collect her mother’s personal belongings—pictures and the wedding china and things of that sort.”

Willow gaped at this man who was and yet wasn’t her husband as he drew the rig to a stop at the base of the house’s front steps. “I?”

“If you’ll live here with me,” Gideon said quietly. “Will you do that, Mrs. Marshall?”

Willow was totally confused. For how long did he mean? For a day, a week, a year? Until after he had found Steven and seen him tried and imprisoned?

She stiffened.

Gideon caught one hand under her chin. His flesh felt warm and pleasantly roughened, an indication that he worked with his hands, if only sometimes. “What is it?”

A single tear welled up and trailed down Willow’s cheek. “You want to put my brother in prison,” she whispered, reminding herself as well as Gideon. “You might even want to see him hanged.”

Gideon looked away for a moment, wrapped the reins
around the buggy’s brake lever, and sighed. “I’m not certain that I even want to look for Steven now,” he admitted. “God help me, I’m not sure of anything, except that I need you very much, Willow Gallagher Marshall.”

Willow studied him. “You could have had me,” she pointed out, in her confusion, all too aware of how vulnerable she’d been to this man ever since that morning in the hills. “You slept in my bed, Gideon Marshall, and you didn’t so much as touch me. Exactly what is it that you need me for?”

Gideon laughed. “You’re
angry
,” he marveled hoarsely. “Good God in heaven,
you’re actually angry
because I didn’t make love to you, aren’t you?”

“I must admit,” Willow said loftily, “that I don’t understand.”

“It’s simple, hellcat. I couldn’t let you give yourself to me that way just because you wanted to comfort me. And knowing that your father and-and my mother—who happened to be dying at the time—were under the same roof didn’t exactly help.”

Again, Willow was confused. What an enigma this man was, first planning to use her to find her brother, then denying his own physical needs to protect her virtue.

Gideon smiled at the bemusement in her face, leaped to the ground, and helped Willow down after him, his hands strong and sure around her waist. Neither of them noticed the drizzling rain as they hurried up the wooden walkway and into the tall white house that awaited them.

The neat, uncluttered rooms inside Mrs. Baker’s house smelled of lemon verbena and cinnamon, and Willow was
delighted to see that the piano still stood near the parlor’s bay windows. She paused before it, lifted the cover, and idly played two bars of a favorite song. When she looked up, Gideon was watching her with quietly mischievous eyes.

“Can you play ‘My Love Lies Dead on a Sawdust Floor’?” he teased.

“I’m afraid not,” Willow replied, with a sniff of disdain. As Gideon caught her hand to pull her through the other rooms, though, she vowed to learn the piece as soon as she could find the sheet music.

*   *   *

The rain beading on his long canvas coat, Devlin Gallagher rode into the hills that were his solace whenever life became too much to bear.

This day, however, Evadne’s spirit seemed to follow him, accusing and full of hate.

Finally, when his horse was on the verge of collapse, Devlin stopped before a cave in the mountainside and solemnly began to make camp. As he gathered wood for a fire and assessed the dark skies, he thought of Dove and wished that he could be with her now, as the whole town of Virginia City probably thought he was.

Love Dove Triskadden though he did, there was no room for her on this particular day. He had taken Evadne for granted, had never expected her to die before he did, and now he needed time and silence to deal with the reality of her passing.

Had he loved Evadne after all? Devlin didn’t think so, but she had been his wife, there for him in every way except
one, and the bond between them had run far deeper than he had ever imagined.

No, Evadne hadn’t shared his bed.

But she’d stood straight and proud at his side, whenever they were together in public. Evadne had been a gracious hostess, often entertaining both friends and business associates, and although she’d probably never been truly fond of Willow, she
had
tried to mother the girl, especially early on.

Willow, so young and so frightened, wanting Steven, her protector, and finding herself among virtual strangers, hadn’t made things easy.

The rain didn’t let up but it did not hinder Devlin, for the cave he’d chosen as his refuge for the rest of the day and the long night that would follow was sheltered by the tall mountain pines. He built his fire, staked out his horse to graze, and sat down on the ground to think.

Memories of Evadne roiled in his mind, prickling like splinters. Dear Lord, what a comfort she’d been to him in those early days of their marriage. He’d been in jagged pieces after Chastity’s departure, and very slowly and with gentle care, Evadne had put him back together again, hope by hope, dream by dream.

Evadne had longed for another child, at first anyway, and Devlin would gladly have given her one, but no baby was ever conceived.

Devlin did not ask himself when things had changed between them; he knew. He’d encountered Chastity and succumbed and Willow had been conceived. He didn’t regret that, for the simple reason that he couldn’t begin to
imagine a life that didn’t include his daughter, but he did regret the pain his betrayal had caused Evadne.

Why, he wondered, couldn’t Willow have been
Evadne’s
child? Chastity hadn’t wanted her. Evadne, on the other hand, would have adored,
cherished
, a daughter.

Things might have been so different.

At first, Devlin
had
tried to reach his heartbroken wife, to earn her forgiveness. She had given that, after a fashion, and tried even harder to be a mother to the confused and rebellious little girl who had quite literally been dropped on her doorstep, but Evadne had drawn the line at letting Devlin share her bed.

For a time, he had managed to deal with that, too. But there came a day, or more properly, a night, when his loneliness and his needs could no longer be subdued by copious doses of whiskey and self-directed anger. He’d still been a young man, and a virile one, and into the void that was his life then came Dove Triskadden. Soft, willing, admiring Dove.

She’d been a rancher’s widow, back then. She’d come to Virginia City simply because she’d longed to live in a town again.

When had he grown to love her? He wasn’t sure, but one day the feelings he bore toward Dove were more than liking, more than desire. Devlin Gallagher had realized that the woman could stop the universe, realign the stars, and spin his world on the tip of one carefully manicured index finger.

Now, sitting at the mouth of a mountain cave, before a crackling fire, Devlin wept for all that he had not been to
Evadne, for all his wrongs, for all the tears he had caused her to shed. Because he believed himself to be alone, he gave free rein to his grief, sobbing hoarsely, shouting the occasional broken curse word.

The tall man came boldly to the fireside, sank to his haunches, and helped himself to a mug and coffee from the small pot simmering in the embers.

Devlin dragged one arm across his face, offering no verbal greeting even though he was glad, very glad, to see Steven.

Steven drank cautiously from the metal mug to avoid burning his mouth. “Willow is all right?” he ventured, after a long interval designed to let his father recover his composure.

Devlin nodded. “Your sister is fine.”

Steven sat down on the ground, crossing his legs like an Indian. The silence that ensued was more soothing to Devlin than any words of consolation his son might have offered.

When the time came to end that silence, the older man said, “Evadne died four days ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Steven replied. He must have heard about the death; he didn’t seem surprised. But then, Steven was a hard man to surprise. He’d grown up tough, learned to play his cards close to his chest.

Devlin sighed, his head down. “I’m afraid I wasn’t any more of a husband to her than I was a father to you.”

Steven said nothing. Having heard secondhand the story of Jay Forbes’s hanging and the way Chastity had died trying to protect him, he’d always blamed Devlin for
his mother’s death. It still amazed Devlin that, feeling the way he did, Steven had entrusted him with the person he loved better than anyone in the world—his sister.

There was another long silence, again broken by Devlin. “I want you to stay away from Willow, Steven,” he said, recovered. “You’re a danger to her now, and she to you.”

Steven’s blue eyes were intent and narrowed. “Why?”

“I think you know, but I’ll explain it anyway. The law is after you, Steven, and so is Vancel Tudd. Eventually, one or both are going to catch up with you. Do you want Willow to be there when that happens?”

Steven tilted his head back, sighed wearily, and then met his father’s gaze again. “Of course I don’t,” he answered finally. “I would do anything to keep her safe and you know it.”

There, perhaps, was the explanation for Steven’s bringing Willow to his father that long-ago night. He’d known that a little girl couldn’t be raised to womanhood among outlaws, and he had done what he thought best for his sister.

“Willow is married now.”

Steven’s jaw tightened. “I heard about that,” he said, after a long, charged interval. “Gideon Marshall tricked her into it, she said.”

“That he did,” admitted Devlin presently. “But he loves her.”

“She doesn’t seem to believe that,” remarked Steven.

Devlin chuckled gruffly, despite the thickness in his throat and the gnawing ache in his heart. “Gideon doesn’t think so, either, but he does. It isn’t safe to use any flammable substance around those two.”

Grudgingly, Steven smiled. “You think he’s good for her, then?”

“I know he is,” answered Devlin, with surety. “And she’s good for him, too. Which isn’t to say there won’t be an earthquake or two before they get the knack of being married.”

Steven laughed, then sobered at the expression on his father’s face.

“Steven, be careful,” Devlin said. “Gideon owns a share of the Central Pacific Railroad, and he’s as much as admitted to me that he’d like to hand you over to their agents for prosecution.”

It was several moments before Steven answered. “That puts Willow in one hell of a position, doesn’t it?”

“If anything spoils their chance to be happy, it will be that, I think,” agreed Devlin pensively. “Steven, will you lay off the goddamned trains? I’m a rich man and you’ll never bankrupt me that way.”

Steven grinned. “So you’re on to that, are you?”

“It wasn’t hard to figure out who you were trying to hurt. Everything you’ve ever stolen has been mine. Damnit all to hell, you don’t have to steal from me—you’re my son and anything I have is yours for the asking.”

The handsome face, a masculine version of Chastity’s, stiffened. “I don’t want—or need—anything from you.”

“Well, I want something from you, God damnit!”

Steven was on his feet, flinging down his coffee mug. “What?” he demanded furiously. “Do you want to make me a partner in your many businesses, Papa? Do you want to acknowledge me, the notorious outlaw, as your son?”

Devlin rose no less furiously to his feet. “What the hell do you mean, do I want to acknowledge you? I’ve never denied you!”

Fury crept, crimson, up Steven’s muscular neck. “No?” he bellowed. “Then tell me, dear Papa, why you never even looked for me? Tell me why you didn’t come for us!”

For the first time, Devlin realized the full depths of his son’s animosity toward him. In the face of the man, he saw the hurts of the child. “My God, Steven, I
did
look for you! I hired detectives, I—”

“You’re a liar!”

“And you’re a hardheaded smart-ass!” Devlin yelled back. “I did find your mother, Steven. In ’63. She was dancing in a hurdy-gurdy house. I begged her, Steven, I
begged
her to tell me where you were. She was afraid to, and rightfully so, because I would have stolen you from her without a second thought!”

“Why didn’t you keep trying?”

“Because I was a fool, that’s why. I spent the night with Chastity. God help me, I was married to Evadne and still I couldn’t resist your mother—and when I woke up, she was gone, along with every hope I had of finding you.”

Steven turned away, and an old grief moved in the powerful shoulders and tall frame he had inherited from Devlin. “I don’t believe you.”