Cherished (12 page)

A sense of power filled him, swelling through
his arms, his chest, his bones, his very soul. No one could save
Juliana Montgomery from him now. She was his, as surely as if she
had spoken her marriage vows this morning. They would be bound
together by something more than a mere wedding. They would be bound
by revenge, by hate, by the sheer-volume of his power. Those things
would bind them for as long as he wanted her around. He would teach
her about all of them before he was through. He would make her
sorry she had ever set foot on man’s green earth.

The sun blazed like a torch above the
ramshackle town of Cedar Gulch, deep within the territory of
Arizona. Looming mountains slumbered in the hazy June heat. No wind
stirred the dust in the narrow, dung-filled street, no color
brightened the flat grayness of the dozen decrepit buildings along
either side of a crumbling wooden boardwalk. Even the Red Snake
Saloon was quiet, the gold-vested piano player passed out over his
tinny keyboard. The town was smack-dab in the middle of nowhere,
huddled beneath the lip of a towering granite mountain under the
Mogollon Rim. Few lived in this godforsaken region of Arizona
beneath the sheer towering red cliffs and pine forests of the
Mogollon except a small collection of hardy souls eking out an
existence along the stagecoach line. Juliana, sitting with her
fellow passengers inside the dining room of the Tin Horn Hotel,
could see why. The town was a forsaken, squalid pesthole, dwarfed
by the wild, awesome landscape that surrounded it. Who could
survive long here, amid the filth and isolation? The only people
she had seen since they’d arrived, other than the hotel
proprietor—a thin, sullen fellow who had served them greasy fried
prairie chicken and hardtack biscuits—were a trio of savage-looking
men who had ridden in like a swarm of hornets a few moments ago and
headed straight for the saloon. Watching them through the dining
room window, Juliana had shuddered. The men had looked filthy—and
mean. They were caked with dust, and she had a feeling they smelled
as bad as they looked. She wasn’t exactly at her Sunday best
either, she reflected wryly, smoothing a hand over her soiled,
wrinkled muslin skirt, the delicate rose color faded from repeated
washings during the journey. She knew she must look a sight. Though
her face had been scrubbed clean that morning, by now it felt
gritty with dust. How she longed for a basin of clean, cool water.
At least her hair was neatly combed and fastened in a topknot, so
as to keep her neck cool during the long and arduous journey across
this treacherous land. Reaching up to secure a hairpin, she
realized that several gold tendrils had escaped and were wisping
about her face in a disheveled fashion. So much for looking
presentable. But then, crossing the plateaus and canyons of Arizona
was not exactly a civilized venture. Grueling, dangerous, and
exhausting perhaps, but not very civilized.

Two months had passed since her escape from
Denver. During that time she had sold Columbine in Amber Falls and
traveled by stagecoach through the Colorado Rockies and down into
the wild hills and canyons of Arizona, passing through dozens of
dirty towns like this one along the way, each one miles from any
other glimpse of civilization. During all this time Juliana had
kept mostly to herself, conversing little with the other passengers
on the journey. At first she had been in constant fear that John
Breen would come galloping up to overtake the stagecoach, that he
would throw open the door and demand that she get out and go back
with him to Denver. Thankfully, nothing of the sort had come to
pass, and by the time she neared the Arizona border, she had begun
to feel safe. John Breen may have had his men search for her for a
time, but he must have given up before long, she had reasoned. By
the time she reached the border, she felt convinced she was well
beyond his reach. No doubt he had forgotten all about her, and as
for Aunt Katharine and Uncle Edward, well, they would have gone
back to St. Louis empty-handed—and, she thought morosely,
furious.

Well, there was no help for it now. She had
severed every tie with those who had raised her and with the only
home she had known. Her stomach felt queasy every time she
reflected on the enormity of what she’d done, and guilt plagued her
when she thought of Uncle Edward’s disappointment. But every time
she thought of John Breen, his perfect smile, his grating air of
patronizing warmth, and, most chillingly of all, his viciousness to
Gil Keedy, she was thankful she had had the courage to act—and
thankful she had escaped. Now, Juliana told herself as she took a
final sip of coffee, every time her limbs ached after a torturous
day in the stagecoach, every time her parched throat cried out for
water when there was no water to be had, and every time she
despaired of ever finding Wade and Tommy, she had to keep looking
ahead. She had to think about Wade and Tommy, about settling down
with them in a little house on a ranch somewhere, far away from
John Breen, Uncle Edward, and everyone else. She had to think about
cool starry nights on the prairie, and meadows of flowers, and a
house of her own with lace curtains at the windows. And she had to
think about her beloved older brothers corning home to that little
house each day with fresh game for supper, complimenting her on her
rhubarb pie, and playing checkers before a fire in the evening.
Such dreamy thoughts had sustained her during the many long hours
of grueling travel, and they would have to sustain her for as long
as it took to find Wade and Tommy.

Starting out the journey by stagecoach hadn’t
been as difficult as she had expected—they had met no Indians, or
desperadoes, or trouble of any sort during the first leg of the
trip—the twisting mountain trails and long hours in the cramped and
stuffy coach had provided their share of discomfort, but her sore
muscles and fatigue would be worth it, she had reminded herself
many times, once she was reunited with her brothers.

In a grimy border settlement ten miles east
of where Colorado met the Arizona territory, during a midday break
in the journey, disaster had struck. When the passengers alighted
to stretch their legs and drink a cup of coffee, a pickpocket had
stolen Juliana’s purse. By the time she realized what had happened,
the culprit could not be found. Juliana, to her shock, was left
penniless on the boardwalk, with nothing left of value except a few
small pieces of jewelry, including the small locket that was the
only memento of her mother, and a hair comb of ivory and pearls
that she had worn to her first coming-out party. But the gold was
gone, and with it her means of supporting herself until she reached
Tombstone. Despair had almost overcome her. To have eluded John
Breen and his search party, to have come all this way, and then to
find herself stranded without money at the Arizona border, made her
want to weep. But she hadn’t wept, Juliana reminded herself as she
shooed a fly from her hardtack biscuit and gazed out at the
desolation of Cedar Gulch. She had continued on by stagecoach to
the next large town, and there had found herself a job in a
flea-bitten hotel. She had swept floors, laundered bed linens, and
helped in the kitchen, saving up her weekly wages with excruciating
care. After just a little more than a month she had enough to
continue on her journey, and the money would get her all the way to
Tombstone, if she was careful.

She would be careful, she promised herself as
she set down her empty iron cup. No more delays, no more letting
down her guard. Not when she was getting so close to the last place
Wade and Tommy had been seen.

The stagecoach driver stuck his head into the
dining room just as she folded her napkin and set it down beside
her plate. “Horses ready,” he bellowed. “C’mon, folks.”

A number of passengers groaned at the
prospect of continuing their torturous journey, and they slowly
pushed back their chairs and headed out of the hotel. Juliana,
though eager to leave Cedar Gulch, hung back a moment. In every
town she had passed through for the past hundred miles she had made
inquiries about Wade and Tommy, so far without luck. But her hopes
kept rising as she journeyed deeper into Arizona, for surely the
closer she got to Tombstone, the more chance there would be that
someone would have seen or heard of them. Unfortunately, the sour
demeanor of this hotel’s proprietor didn’t hold out much hope of
helpfulness from him, but she couldn’t afford to let an opportunity
pass. She straightened her shoulders and approached him as he came
shuffling through the kitchen door.

“Excuse, me, sir, may I have a moment of your
time?” He froze, his brown hound dog eyes scanning her up and down
with glaring hostility. Juliana flushed at his ill-mannered
scrutiny but forced herself to offer a dazzling smile, hoping to
soften him up a bit. “I’m looking for two men. My brothers. It’s
urgent that I find them. Their name is Montgomery, Wade and Tommy
Montgomery. Have you heard of them?”

Something flickered behind his eyes. Maybe
recognition, maybe just greed. He scratched his ear. “Could be I
have,” he said indifferently. “What’s it worth to ya?”

Juliana started. She felt a small flame of
hope, but managed to keep it in check. Quickly, she opened her
reticule and removed a gold piece, which she held up between her
fingers. “Have they been here? In Cedar Gulch? Can you tell me
when?”

He was silent a moment, studying the slender,
beautiful young woman before him with suspicion. His glance darted
back, and forth between her and the gold piece. “What you want them
for, girl?”

“I told you—they’re my brothers,” she said
impatiently. “If you know anything about them, please tell me
quickly. The stagecoach will be leaving any moment.”

He jerked his thumb in the direction of the
saloon. “Try Kelly in the Red Snake.” He regarded her with a
leering smile. “I reckon he knows ‘em better than I do.”

Juliana dropped the coin into his palm and
spun about toward the door, pausing outside only long enough to
request that the driver wait a few moments for her. She hurried
across the street to the saloon, trying to subdue the excitement
within her. She knew her fellow passengers, watching from the
stagecoach window, would be scandalized to see her enter the
saloon, but there was no help for it. If only she had inquired a
few moments earlier! But she had not truly expected to meet with
success. Now she had to find this “Kelly”—probably the bartender,
Juliana decided—and convince him quickly to tell her all he could
about the Montgomerys.

She pushed through the double doors of the
saloon and found herself in a dimly lit, seedy chamber containing a
dozen small tables flanked by broken-down chairs. The stench of
liquor and tobacco and men’s stale sweat overpowered her. Spittoons
lined the walls beneath boarded-up windows. A piano stood against
one wall beneath a lurid painting of a naked woman, and slumped
over the grimy keys, asleep, was a thin-shouldered wisp of a man in
a gaudy gold vest. Opposite the piano, along the near wall, stood a
rectangular wooden bar littered with half-filled glasses and empty
bottles. Behind it loomed the hugest man she had ever seen. He was
a bear of a figure, well over six feet tall, and nearly as broad,
with coarse red hair and bushy eyebrows and big, puffy cheeks. His
bulbous nose was bright red in the dingy light, his chin full and
wide. Powerful forearms encased in a sweat-soaked green flannel
shirt bulged with muscles; his denim overalls were worn and stained
and barely seemed to contain his enormous girth. The giant had a
rusty beard that reached his shoulders, and his hands were the size
of rocks.

For a moment, Juliana paused in trepidation
at his intimidating form, but she quickly regained her composure
and hurried toward him.

“Kelly?” she inquired, putting a hand to the
bar, which felt sticky to the touch. She dropped her hand back to
her side.

The bartender swiped at the perspiration
dripping down his forehead with a damp sleeve and peered at her
from beneath his brows. “At your service, me dear. What can I do
for the likes of you?” he responded genially, his friendly tone a
welcome contrast to his ferocious appearance.

Juliana, grateful for this amiable greeting
and the kind way he regarded her, began quickly to question
him.

Eager to learn something of her brothers, and
pressured for time, she was totally oblivious of the effect she was
having on the other occupants of the saloon. There weren’t more
than a handful, but among them, gaping in openmouthed admiration
from a table several feet away, were the three disreputable-looking
men she had seen ride into town.

Cash Hogan licked his lips and shivered all
over as he feasted his eyes on the prime little filly who had just
waltzed in the door. Seeing a woman like that in the Red Snake was
a shock, for the girl looked like she belonged in some highfalutin
parlour back east, eating cake and drinking tea out of a fancy
china cup. She looked as delicate as a china cup, too, like she’d
bust if you squeezed her too hard.

I’ll have to remember that
, Cash
thought, his gaze traveling over the soft curves of her figure with
hungry delight.
It’d be a shame to bust anything so downright
purty.

His partners, Bo and Luke Curry, had their
own thoughts about the woman, and were about to call out to her to
get her attention when the name
Montgomery
reached them.
All three men started, glancing at one another. Cash set down his
glass. Luke, his long, stringy brown hair parted in the middle,
grinned broadly at his brother. In answer, Bo put a nail-bitten
finger across his lips, signaling the other two for quiet.

The bartender, Kelly, regarded Juliana in
amazement. “So those trouble-hunting rascals are your brothers, eh,
me girl? Well, a rowdy pair they are, and that’s for sure. They
were here, with some of their boys, about a month ago and broke up
me place.”