Ashes and Memories (21 page)

Suddenly her every perception about Reece seemed erroneous. He was not at all what she’d thought he was, a predatory scavenger who took advantage of others’ weaknesses to further his own selfish goals and amass more and more wealth. That was only part of the picture.

Something was driving him, she realized with a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, something dark and frightening and very powerful. She knew with a certainty that he needed help, but she felt utterly helpless and at a loss how to reach him. He might need help, but he obviously didn’t want it. He was hiding. Was that why he had chosen such a remote place to live?

Oh God, she’d called him a coward. Right here, in this room.

No wonder he’d been so disturbed that she would leave her father’s medal behind. She remembered the anger in his expression when she’d placed it on the grave and the vehemence of his words, neither of which had she understood at the time.

“
...it is not a toy or a mere memento to be left out where it will corrode in the sun or be stolen by outlaws
,” he’d said, and all she’d been able to think of was her own pain and her anger at his interference, his judgmental attitude.
 

Shame and remorse overwhelmed her. It didn’t matter that she’d gone back for her father’s medal, once the anger and the hurt had worn off. Reece didn’t know that, and besides, he’d been right. Someone had taken it, someone who had no idea of its true worth.

Reece MacBride was a war hero.

How could she have known? How could she have ever guessed? She’d known that he’d served in the war, but to have distinguished himself in such a way....

Emma was more confused than ever as to what motivated him. What had happened to the honorable man who had fought so courageously? Was he locked deep inside the ruthless, controlling man he was today?

Reece was haunted by the same demons that had destroyed her father. Her heart nearly broke at the thought of all that pain and torment locked inside him. Unlike her father, he’d managed to silence the demons, but for how long and at what cost?

The sound of shouting from the street below startled Emma. She went to the window and gazed out to see a crowd gathering at the end of town, the end where they’d been building the gallows.

Oh God, was he hanging people already?

Why couldn’t he let the legal system work? He’d told her last night about the traitor he’d dealt with fairly and what had happened as a result. But he had to realize that punishing everyone he encountered after that wouldn’t change anything, except maybe Reece himself. The toll on his soul must be devastating, and it was all for nothing because it would never make up for that betrayal. Why couldn’t he see that?

She had to stop him before he lost what little humanity he still possessed. She wanted to know what he’d done to receive that medal and she wanted to know what had happened to him since then to negate everything he’d been before. She needed to make him see he was destroying himself.

Setting her fear aside with an effort, Emma rushed from the room and across the landing. At the top of the stairs, she gazed down into the bar room to find it nearly deserted, and for that she was grateful. The few men who were present stared at her in open-mouthed astonishment.

The heat of a blush crept over her face as she hurried past them. She’d spent the night in Reece MacBride’s room, and she could well imagine what they must think.

A blast of frigid air hit Emma in the face the instant she stepped out the door. Her boots broke through a crust of ice that had formed on top of the snow overnight. She needed her coat, but she glanced at the newspaper office and knew she couldn’t go back there, not yet. Wrapping her arms around herself for warmth, she started up the street.

Dread overwhelmed her as she met more and more people heading toward her. They didn’t speak, not to one another and not to her. Most kept their faces downcast as if they’d experienced something so unsettling they couldn’t quite drive it from their minds.

Why did people feel compelled to witness hangings? Not once had she seen a happy crowd leaving one, no matter how much the convicted man might have deserved hanging.

She’d never witnessed one herself, had no desire to, but she’d seen the downcast faces of those who had, and looking at the crowd that met her on the street, she knew she was too late, not that she could have done anything to stop Reece from carrying out his own brand of frontier justice.

She rounded the corner and stopped short at the sight of two bodies dangling from the gallows the men of the town had worked so hard to erect. One of the bodies was already being lowered to the ground, and the undertaker waited with a wagon to haul them away.

Reece stood at the foot of the scaffold. Did he sense her presence or was it just a coincidence that he turned toward her at that moment?

The expression on his face, even from a distance, chilled her to the marrow. His jaw was set, his mouth grim, his eyes dark with some emotion she couldn’t name. More death, more darkness to smother whatever light might still shine inside him. Little by little he was destroying himself, destroying his soul. She might believe he had destroyed it already, if not for the regret in his eyes as they met hers.

What happened to you? She wanted to ask, and maybe she asked the question with her eyes. His expression hardened, and he stood a little straighter, as if challenging her to question his actions. He took a step toward her, hiding whatever he might be feeling behind a veil of arrogance.

“So, another day another hanging, huh?” she asked as he drew even with her.

Reece flinched as if she’d struck him, and Emma felt irrationally sorry for her harsh words. But the regret fled as quickly as the stricken look in Reece’s eyes turned cynical.

“Mr. MacBride?”

The man called Wilson rushed up to Reece at that moment, and Emma considered walking away, but she hadn’t finished speaking her mind.

“What is it?" Reece asked

“I got that injury report you asked for,” the other man told him.

“And?” he asked impatiently.

“Two men were burned, but not bad." Wilson began enumerating the injuries. “Doc patched them up and sent them home. We got three gunshot wounds, two of them pretty serious. Doc’s afraid of infection. One man got hit over the head and the doc’s gonna sew him up and watch him for the rest of the day. And Mr. Tyler from the drug store got beat up pretty bad, cracked ribs, cuts. He’s over at the hotel, too.”

As Wilson recounted the injuries, Emma watched Reece’s face for any sign of emotion, but his countenance remained immobile, his eyes fixed on something only he could see, perhaps a distant goal or a long ago memory that had hardened him to the point that human suffering effected him not at all.

“All right,” Reece said in his cold, authoritative tone. “Make sure all the men rest up today and make sure everyone has plenty of ammunition.”

“Yes sir.”

Wilson started to walk away, but Reece grabbed him by the arm, halting him.

“If Garrett and his bunch come back, I don’t want a single member of that gang to make it through our defenses.”

“Yes sir,” Wilson repeated, rushing off to follow orders.

“They were killers,” Reece said tautly, turning to face Emma, continuing the thread of their conversation as if they hadn’t been interrupted.

He moved past her, but her words halted him.

“I know what it’s like now, Reece,” she told him.

He stood with his back to her, his shoulders squared, his hand clenching into a fist at his side. The deep, shuddering breath he drew was the only sign her words had penetrated his protective wall. It was enough.

“Killing,” she said, as if he didn’t know what she meant. “I know what it’s like. A little piece of you dies every time, doesn’t it?”

Finally he gazed at her, and what she saw in his eyes rendered her immobile with fear. They were opaque and hard, as impenetrable as marble. Shadows lurked just below the surface, waiting to devour him. And in their depths she read a warning that she too might be destroyed if she got too close.

Maybe it was already too late to turn him from the path he’d taken. She might have to accept the fact that Reece MacBride was beyond saving, though the thought caused a pain in her soul.

Last night was still too fresh in her mind. He’d been so compassionate, so caring. She wanted to believe he could change. Last night she’d believed he could, but in the light of day, she wasn’t so sure.

He glanced away, unable to hold her gaze for the first time in their acquaintance. Without another word, Emma turned toward the hotel. At least there she’d be able to help people who needed her, people who would welcome her efforts, people for whom there might be hope.

Reece’s gaze followed Emma until she disappeared around the corner. His throat tightened and he tried to brush aside the twinge of shame that clawed at his insides. He had nothing to feel ashamed about. How dare she look at him as if he’d disappointed her. Living up to her expectations was not his purpose in life.

He didn’t speak to anyone or stop until he reached his office over the saloon. Shrugging out of his duster, he threw it onto a nearby chair, noting without surprise that his housekeeper hadn’t been there yet. The empty glass Emma drank from last night was still on the table beside the chair where she’d sat trembling, close to tears, filled with horror and remorse. He lifted the glass, closing his hand around it, remembering how her hand had trembled when she’d taken it from him.

He’d hesitated. He’d waited too long to go for her. If he’d acted sooner he could have saved her from being attacked, from the anguish of having to kill.

A growl rumbled up from his chest. The glass shattered in his hand, and he cursed in surprise and pain as the shards broke through his skin. He pulled a clean handkerchief from his coat pocket and tied it around his hand. The cut wasn’t deep, but it bled profusely.

Damn her! She thought she knew what it was like to kill. Killing someone who was trying to kill you was easy, like war. In war you didn’t think of the other person as a human being. You did what you had to do and hoped the faces would fade with time.

And though the war was over, he’d chosen to live in a place that resembled a war zone, a place where often a man had to kill just to survive, where there was always someone ready to take what was yours if you showed the slightest weakness, the slightest hesitation. But it was also a place where he planned to thrive, to carve out a niche for himself, a very large niche, if he had his way.

With a deep breath, Reece crossed to his bedroom. He opened the door and stepped across the threshold, stopping short at the sight of the disheveled bed. He breathed deeply, imagining the room still held her scent, a mixture of lilac soap and Emma’s own sweet essence.

Desire coursed through him, surprising him with its suddenness and its intensity. He grasped the door knob, collecting himself before closing the door and walking to the bureau.

Water stood in the bowl where she’d left it. He ran his uninjured hand through the cool liquid, imagining Emma’s hands scooping the water up and splashing her face, imagining Emma’s hands touching him as he caressed her, as he held her against him, made love to her.

With a groan, he splashed water on his face, cooling his fever and his ardor.

That was a fruitless fantasy, one that would never come true. No matter how badly he might want her, he could never touch her. The consequences were too great. And yet a voice inside him reminded him that was exactly what he’d planned to do. He’d thought of it as a game, not unlike other games he’d played in his life. For years he’d played by his own rules and damn the consequences.

Until now.

“
Everything you do, every decision you make has consequences
,” his grandfather’s voice reminded him, “
consequences for you and for others. Forget that, and the consequences are what will haunt you, not the actions themselves
.”
 

Reece reached for the towel she’d discarded on the bureau. He held the coarse material to his face, drying the moisture and breathing in her delicate fragrance that still clung to the cloth.

She’d invaded his sanctuary, and though she was gone, the room still vibrated with her presence. He couldn’t look at his bed without thinking of her in it.

Tossing the towel aside as if it were something offensive, he tore angrily at his vest buttons. He tried not to think of Emma as he washed and changed, tried not to look at that empty, tousled bed and imagine Emma in his arms, imagine making love to her.

Closing his eyes, he drove the images from his mind and forced the desire from his body. He was losing control, something he could not afford to do. He had to keep his perspective. Emma was a danger to him, a weakness, something to be purged from his life. She already held more influence with him than anyone else in his life, more than she realized, thank God.

He couldn’t afford to nurse fantasies about a virginal crusader who could look at him as if she believed he could save the world one minute and as if he were the devil incarnate the next.

What he did was none of her business. She should have learned that by now. He did what he had to do, though sometimes it was hard, like hanging two men before lunch. It had to be done. Did she expect him to let murderers go free?

No, she expected him to leave them in jail until the circuit judge came back to town. She just didn’t understand. He had to send a message to Garrett and his gang that a repeat of last night’s violence would not be tolerated. He’d done it for the good of the town, couldn’t she see that?

And why did he care? Why had that look of disillusionment in her eyes this morning cut him so deeply?

He shouldn’t care.

He didn’t care.

Thrusting his disturbing thoughts away, he finished dressing. He had work to do. The town was in an uproar, the damage not extensive but significant enough to warrant his attention.

He buttoned his clean vest and stalked from the room with one last glance at the unmade bed, his heart heavy with regret and longing.