Cherished (9 page)

“Something strange has been going on with
Breen,” Gil went on with a shake of his head. “I’ve heard a lot of
rumors about him maybe gettin’ married. And all of the cowhands
have been ordered to stay away from the ranch house—and the
visitors.”

Juliana felt the color draining from her
face. “So it’s true,” she whispered. “He’s made some arrangement
with my uncle—and he doesn’t want me to hear of it yet—and Gil ...”
She felt anger welling up within her. “You were fired merely
because we struck up a friendship that night!”

He took a few turns about the clearing, his
head bent in thought. “Maybe—maybe not. There’s a few other reasons
he might want to get rid of me, Juliana. I know some things about
his way of operating, things that stick in my craw. You could say
Mr. Breen and me have differin’ philosophies.”

Juliana paid no attention to the squirrel
that darted through the brush beside her, startling the horses. She
was watching Gil’s troubled face. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, I reckon we don’t agree on the right way
to go about acquiring other people’s land—and businesses. Mr. Breen
has his own method of getting people to sell out to him. He plays
rough, Juliana. And he always manages to get a real low price for
what he wants. By the time he’s through, folks are ready and eager
to sell to him and glad to still be alive.”

Stunned, she stared at him in growing horror.
“He coerces them. Isn’t that what you mean? Then you’re saying he’s
dishonest,” she cried, her eyes widening as she stared up at the
red-haired cowhand.

“I ain’t got proof of anything—but I will
tell you that Breen’s a dangerous man—ruthless as any I’ve seen. If
he’s built his whole empire using the kinds of tactics he’s
employed right here in Colorado, then he’s not a man to tangle with
lightly.” He grimaced, and the toe of his boot scuffed at the dust.
“I’ve been askin’ a few questions about him ... and I reckon he
heard about it and didn’t take too kindly to my curiosity. It all
boils down to the fact that he’s ordered me off the ranch.” He
regarded her searchingly. “That doesn’t matter much, but I’m
worried about you.” He reached out suddenly and gripped her hands.
“Is it true that you’re going to marry him? Mueller let something
slip to Shorty McMillen and the story’s spread through the
bunkhouse like wildfire.”

“I am not going to marry him,” Juliana
flashed, her jaw tightening. “Though my uncle might think
otherwise.”

Quickly she told Gil about her own suspicions
of the arranged marriage, ending with “I will have to make it clear
to my uncle that I absolutely won’t go along with his plans. He may
try to force me, though. He is my legal guardian.”

“He’d do somethin’ like that?” Gil asked as
she turned away and walked to the edge of the creek. Shaking his
head, he followed her.

“Oh, yes.” There was a bitter look in her
eyes. “He’ll no doubt tell me that I owe it to him to do as he
wishes, since he has supported me all of my life. He may even
threaten to cast me out if I don’t marry John Breen. And in a way
he’s right.” Her voice dipped lower. “I do owe Aunt Katharine and
Uncle Edward a great deal—they have cared for me since I was a
child. But,” Juliana said, turning and gazing back at Gil with a
forlorn expression, “I can’t repay them by marrying a man I don’t
even like —much less trust. If necessary”—she swallowed, realizing
the impact her rebellion could have upon her life from this moment
on—“I’ll leave my uncle’s house and his protection and set out on
my own. But I can’t agree to be tied to a man I find
repugnant.”

Gil’s heart nearly burst with pity for this
lovely, delicate girl who looked so unhappy. Juliana Montgomery
deserved to be loved, protected, not thrown out to that snake,
Breen, by her greedy, bootlicking uncle. He cast about for
something to say that would ease the pain reflected in her face,
then remembered what he’d been aiming to tell her all along.
Grinning, tilting her face up to his, he cocked an eyebrow at her.
“Maybe it’d cheer you to know that I got a handle on those brothers
of yours.”

Her emerald eyes lit with dazzling hope. “Oh,
tell me Wade and Tommy are in Colorado,” she begged fervently,
clutching his hand.

Gil was almost too distracted by her touch
and closeness to recollect what they’d been talking about, but her
radiant face recalled him to the subject at hand. Her brothers.
Dang it. He’d give a whole hell of a lot to have her be that
interested in his whereabouts and doings. “Easy now,” he drawled
after a moment of gazing into those luminous eyes. “I don’t know
precisely where they are, but I can tell you this—they’re alive,
knee-deep in trouble, and were last seen somewheres in the Arizona
Territory.”

“Where in the Arizona Territory? When? Who
saw them?” She fired the questions at him in rapid succession, her
eyes wide and searching.

“Whoa, there.” The lopsided grin split his
freckled features. “For a little lady, you’ve sure got a pile of
questions. Problem is, Juliana, I’ve only got a few answers. A
gambler in Miss Hetty’s Saloon told me he’d run across the
Montgomery gang in Tombstone ‘bout two months back. Played poker
with ‘em. All of a sudden the boys lit out—it seems there was a
posse after ‘em. A little matter of a payroll holdup.”

A payroll holdup. Juliana bit her lip. She
moved away from Gil, farther along the edge of the creek, and
stared down into the tumbling water. She had read the newspaper
reports, heard Uncle Edward’s condemnations, even told Gil herself
that Wade and Tommy were desperadoes, but it hadn’t seemed as real
as it did now, with Gil talking to her about a payroll robbery and
a posse. Dear heaven, what had happened to them that they had
become hardened outlaws, wanted men? She fought down the impulse to
cry in despair. If the law and the posses and the bounty hunters
like Cole Rawdon couldn’t find them, what chance did she have?

But I must find them, I shall
.
It’s more important to me than to anyone else and I’m going to
do it.

“Juliana.” Gil came up behind her and laid a
hand tentatively upon her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to
upset you ...”

“You didn’t.”

He turned her to face him, placing both of
his hands upon her shoulders. “I reckon I did.”

Fighting back her emotions, she shook her
head, “It’s not your fault, it’s just that ... Oh, Gil, I’m scared
...”

Suddenly, John Breen’s voice boomed down from
an outcrop of rock behind them. “Why the hell are you still on my
property, Keedy?”

Juliana whirled about, so startled, she
nearly fell into the creek. Gil’s hand steadied her and then he,
too, swiveled about to glare at the intruder.

Silhouetted against the sun, John Breen
looked like a tall, fierce Viking. A Viking in black shirt, vest,
and pants, sporting cowboy boots, with a .45 strapped to his
gunbelt, Juliana thought. It was difficult to see his face beneath
the wide-brimmed Stetson, but from his voice and the tense way his
fists were clenched at his side, she knew he was in no mood for
cordiality. Fear trickled into her heart, not for herself but for
Gil, who stood very straight and tall beside her.

“I stopped to talk to Miss Montgomery.” She
was amazed at how calm he sounded. Her heart was still thumping
wildly. Breen had startled her out of her wits. “Only you’re not my
boss anymore, are you, Mister Breen?” Gil went on in his lazy way.
“So I reckon it’s no concern of yours what I do.”

“You’re on my land. That’s my concern. You
were warned to leave.”

“It’s my fault,” Juliana spoke up, raising
her voice as she addressed the fair-haired man staring down at
them. “I waylaid Gil at the ranch and asked him to meet me
here.”

For a moment Breen frowned but said nothing.
Abruptly, he climbed down into the clearing, jumping the last few
feet with lithe grace. His face had an angry flush to it; the
deep-set eyes were hard and narrow.

“Why?” he demanded, his gaze scorching
her.

“I overheard you fire him and I ... wanted to
talk to him about his plans for the future.”
As if it’s any of
your business whom I talk to or why
. But she didn’t want to
antagonize Breen further at this moment when he was staring at Gil
as if he could shoot him on the spot.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone with
varmints like this one.” His tone was curt, but whatever anger he
felt toward Juliana he was suppressing for the time being. He swung
toward Gil, a muscle throbbing in his neck. “Keedy, get out. Now,
before I change my mind.”

“Sure,” Gil drawled, with mocking slowness.
“But first I’ll see Miss Montgomery back to the house. I don’t
cotton to leaving a lady alone when there’s snakes and coyotes
about.” Gil directed an unmistakably meaningful stare at his former
employer, a stare Breen had no trouble interpreting as the insult
it was.

“Why, you damned insolent whelp,” Breen swore
softly. His face changed, hardening into an ugly mask of wrath.
Before Juliana even realized what was happening, Breen’s fist shot
out and connected with a sickening blow to Gil’s nose. The force of
it sent the cowboy reeling backward against a tree, blood spouting
down the front of his blue shirt. John Breen sprang toward him and
hit him again, a cruel blow to the stomach. When Gil doubled over,
Breen kicked him in the face, then shoved him sideways to the
ground.

Screaming, Juliana flung herself down beside
him, but Gil pushed her aside. He stumbled to his feet, dazed and
bleeding, but furious enough to keep fighting. John Breen
laughed.

“Too stupid to quit, eh, Keedy?”

“Stop it, you’ll kill him,” Juliana cried,
trying to get between the two men. “Don’t you dare strike him again
...”

Gil stumbled around her and started toward
Breen with deadly rage in his eyes, but a gunshot thundered out,
echoing sharp and clear among the towering rocks above. Gil froze
where he stood, inches from John Breen.

“Don’t touch him, kid,” Bart Mueller called
down from the rocks above. His rifle was pointed straight at the
red-haired cowboy’s head.

Beside Mueller stood two other men, guns
drawn and at the ready.

Juliana, pale as ice, sucked in her
breath.

“Last chance, Keedy.” John Breen’s chillingly
pleasant tone made Juliana’s flesh crawl. “Clear out now or the
boys’ll have to shoot you for trespassing.”

Gil was gasping for breath. Blood streamed
down his face and neck. He wiped at it with his sleeve. “I’m not
... leaving her here alone ... with you,” he rasped out.

“I’m all right, Gil. Please, don’t worry
about me.” Juliana ran to him and gingerly touched his arm, gazing
in sickened horror at his bloody, pain-racked face. She was shaking
all over, but she managed to keep her voice steady as she swallowed
and said in a low tone, “Please, just go—you should see a
doctor.”

He was coughing now, spitting up blood.
Juliana was terrified for him—and fearful that if Gil didn’t leave
without more trouble, Mueller or one of the others would shoot him.
Her glance flew upward to the armed men on the rocks above, then to
John Breen’s taut face, and she knew she had to get Gil away
quickly. “Please, I’ll be fine,” she rushed on, her fingers
gripping his imploringly. “If you stay ... there will just be more
trouble and I couldn’t bear that! He won’t hurt me. Please, just
go!”

“If I were you, I’d listen to the lady,”
Breen recommended with a cold smile.

Gil glanced from him to Mueller and his
companions, then drew in a painful breath. “You’re sure?” he
managed in a low voice to Juliana.

“Yes, yes. Don’t worry about me. I’m so sorry
for all this.”

“Ain’t no need to be sorry.” Gil tried to
grin. “Breen got in a lucky punch,” he grunted. “Surprised me,
that’s all.”

Men and their ridiculous, overbloated sense
of pride! Juliana nearly stamped her foot in frustration, but she
managed to stay perfectly still as Gil walked slowly to his horse.
It hurt her to see him injured and bleeding, and she wanted to
strike out at John Breen. But she didn’t move, determined not to do
or say anything until Gil was safely away. How he managed to mount
she didn’t know, but at last, with a small salute to her, he rode
out of the clearing. He didn’t bother to glance at John Breen,
waiting patiently with his thumbs hooked in his pockets. When Gil’s
slumped figure disappeared down the craggy slope, she let out a
long breath.

Sunshine poured down. The day was still,
beautiful, filled with fragile beauty. And ripe with danger.
Juliana felt it all around her, throbbing beneath the surface. She
faced John Breen in the clearing with no trace of the apprehension
she was feeling showing on her face.

“Do you still need those men for protection?”
she inquired softly, but there were daggers in her eyes. She
smoothed a wayward curl from her face and met his stare with icy
hauteur. “I’ve no gun, Mr. Breen, and I’m sure if we came to blows,
you could defeat me.”

His jaw clenched. Dark rage suffused his
face, and for a moment she feared he would indeed strike her, but
then the blackness faded from his expression as quickly as it had
come, and instead he waved an arm and ordered Mueller and his
companions to leave.

“You sure are something,” he said when they
were completely alone in the clearing. The gurgling of the creek
sounded loud to Juliana’s ears. “You’ve got more spunk than ten
other women put together. When I saw you with Keedy, I wanted to
blow that boy’s head off.”

“Mr. Breen, let me make one thing clear.”

“No.” He grasped her by the arms and jerked
her forward so suddenly that her hat fell off. “Let me make
something clear, Juliana. It’s John—not Mr. Breen. It’s going to
sound mighty silly for a married woman to call her husband
mister.”

A hawk wheeled overhead, its shrill cry
piercing the air in a forlorn call. Juliana envied that hawk its
freedom. It could soar away, far, far into the distant treetops on
the farthest peaks. She stared at John Breen, wishing at that
moment that she was a hawk, or even an ordinary wren or a sparrow.
Anything that could spread wings and leave this man and this
isolated place behind.