High Mountain Drifter (21 page)

But then she really didn't need to read them. She could feel his heart as sure as the gray-sky wind breezing against the side of her face. He didn't want to leave either. It hurt him to go. That realization made her throat burn. Her heart, in synchrony with his, ached too.

"You'll be careful right?" She hoped he could hear what she was asking, the concern she couldn’t give words to.

"I always am," he assured her. When he shifted his attention to her, his gray eyes were unguarded. "I'll be safe. Don't worry."

But what he was saying was far more. That he'd be careful. That this was how he lived, he wasn't used to comfort. That he'd miss her too. He cared far more than he should.

Well, it seemed like they had that in common.

"Now that you have more freedom, what's up for the rest of your day?" He held out his gloved hand, palm up, steady. "Do you have some wild sewing planned?"

"You're making fun me." She laid her hand on his, palm to palm. The tanned leather of his gloves between his skin and hers was no barrier to the snap of connection that charged between them, soul-deep. "You're the one with the wild excitement in your life, Mr. Bounty Hunter. And for the record, I find sewing wonderfully thrilling."

"Is that right?" Humor changed his face, softened the line of his mouth, the granite plains.

"You never know what is going to happen when you sew, much like your job I imagine." Now she was teasing, wanting to see the gray glimmers in his eyes, the light within him she knew was there. "You could miss a stitch, or your thread could knot. You might baste in a sleeve only to find out it doesn't sit right and you have to rip it out. It's dangerous too."

"Dangerous?" He arched a dark brow. "Sure, I can see that. Those hoop things you ladies use look like they could make a good weapon. Maybe to beat off anyone trying to steal a bobbin of thread?"

"Exactly. The needles are sharp. You never know when one might stab you. It happens, that's all I'm saying. I've drawn blood more times than I can count."

"Me, too." Laughter looked good on him, softening out the rough edges, chasing away his stoic, steely nature. Like this, relaxed and engaged, he was the most handsome man she'd ever seen. He had no idea, either as he leaned closer, intent. "I've had to learn to sew. Saddles, bridles and rigging need mending. I have to darn my own socks and sew on a button, unless I wanted to hire some lady to do it."

"Who would have guessed we'd have sewing in common too?"

"Don't even joke about inviting me over for your next sewing circle gathering." Dimples framed his mouth, deep and dashing. His fingers tightened around hers, holding on. "You'll stay with your sisters while I'm gone, right? Make sure Burton or one of his men is with you? I need to know you're all right, Verbena."

Because he'd worry. She knew what he hesitated to say. Worrying implied caring, and caring would take them down a road neither of them could go, for different reasons. Him with his wandering life and she with her no man, not ever vow. The one she didn't think she should give up. Even if he made her want to believe that there might be just the right man, the one, rare, stalwart right man.

"I'll be good." She squeezed his hand for emphasis, sealing the promise. "Well, after today."

"Why? What do you have planned for today?"

"After we're done here, I'm going over to the sheriff's office." Her confession came a little wobbly, because immediately his face darkened. He turned to iron and reined-in fury right before her eyes, not that she was intimidated. "I want to see Ernest behind bars, right where he belongs. I need that closure."

"Then you'll do it right now." He took his boot out of the stirrup. "You'll do it with me."

"Right now?" She felt breathless again, whether over the prospect of seeing Ernest or being up on that saddle with Zane, she didn't know. "But my sisters--"

"They'll know where you've gone," he said dryly, nodding to the window behind her. "You're in plain sight. Come on, hop up. I'll give you a ride over. Don't want to get your shoes and that pretty dress muddy."

"I saw that smile." She moved forward, toward him, letting him pull her around the rail to the steps with his strength--it really was immense, she couldn’t have fought him if she wanted too. "Or was it a smirk?"

"A smirk," he confirmed as she fit the toe of her shoe into the stirrup. She gave a little hop, but he lifted her into the air with no effort and the next thing she knew she was sitting sidesaddle, up on that dizzying height on his shockingly tall horse. The ground had never looked so far down. His arms closed around her, snug and safe. "Don't worry, I won't let you fall."

"It didn't cross my mind that you would." He felt like warmed iron, smelled pleasantly of winter air and clean man. Nothing had ever felt so wonderful, so close. His chin brushed her cheek as he leaned in to gather the reins and turn his horse around in the street.

At the first rocking gait, she didn't slip or slide. No fears there. Zane kept her tucked to him, at ease, rock-solid. She'd never felt so close to any man--at heart, where it counted. Her vow unraveled like a basting thread, slipping away until it was gone, completely gone, as if it had never been.

Over Zane's wide shoulder she caught a glimpse of the mercantile's front window. Her four sisters standing in a row, mouths open, chattering with delight, watching the hunky bounty hunter ride away with her.

How she felt was no secret to them. Or, she realized, to Zane as he tucked her cozily against him. She let him, leaning against his muscular strength. Nothing--not one thing--had ever felt as right.

"Sure you want to do this?" Zane's voice rumbled in her ear as he halted his horse in front of the sheriff's office. "You can always change your mind."

"Not this time." Her chin went up, she grabbed hold of the saddle horn, but before she could lower herself, he caught hold of her and eased her to the boardwalk. Emotion hitched in her chest. It was a good feeling having him care for her. She stood safely out of the mud while he dismounted, the saddle creaking. The wind gusted, the temperature falling, as he stomped up the steps, knuckled back his hat and laid a hand on the small of her back. His touch was commanding but reassuring, letting her know she was not alone. That he would stand by her.

Her heart gave another little flutter.

He opened the door for her, surprising the deputy at his desk. Wade Whetherby, Rose's new beau, looked up from his pile of paperwork and stood up quickly, a little befuddled.

"Howdy there, Miss." He reached up to tip his hat politely--except it wasn't there.

"Hello, Deputy." She smiled politely in return. It was clear what Rose saw in the lawman. He was kind and a tad endearing, and Rose certainly deserved someone like that. Even if it was too bad Rose couldn’t see there was another man in town who also cared for her, but she seemed to only notice the deputy.

"Miss McPhee." Milo strode in from a back room, a pile of papers in hand. He looked surprised too, his gaze going from her to Zane and back to her. "Has there been another problem?"

"No," she said quickly, realizing what the men must be fearing. "Everything is fine. Quiet, just like we expected it to be."

"Whew, you had us worried there for a second." Milo pretended to mop his brow and smiled. He had a quiet smile, not big and bright, but a little on the shy side. It was incomprehensible why Iris disliked this man so much.

"I wanted to see for myself that
he
was locked up good and tight." It was hard to say the name now that she was so close to him, harder to make her gaze reach beyond the iron bars in the corner to the disheveled, scruffy, dirty man hunched up on a mattress, slumped, unshaven. She never would have guessed the polished, urbane, fastidious man, one of Chicago's most eligible bachelors, would end up like this. She set her chin, fisted her hands. "I wanted to see for myself that he was here. That he lost."

"Oh, and he has," Milo ground out, a promise he looked determined to keep. "I've sent the papers in. He's formally charged. I'm asking he be held with no bail. I know the judge personally, and I'm confident he will comply. Judge Brewster isn't partial to men who hurt women."

"Good." At least she could trust in the justice system. That the law and the men paid to enforce it would not let her down. She moved away from Zane, straightening her spine, squaring her shoulders. She needed to do this on her own. Stare down the miserable excuse for a human being who was pushing himself off the bed, standing up, lifting his unshaven upper lip to sneer at her. As if he still thought himself so fine.

"You," he snarled, fingers wrapping around the bars of his prison, giving them an angry shake. "Have yourself another admirer do you? I saw that bounty hunter's hands all over you."

Her knees trembled, remembering he'd been unshaven that night too, when he'd grabbed her from her home. Images from that night, ones she'd intentionally pushed down and buried, rose up, flashing before her eyes. She tried to fight them back as she crossed the room, but they didn't oblige. They filled her brain, spun her backwards, overtook her senses. The scraping burn of the rope on her wrists, abrading her skin. The metallic taste of fear in her mouth, the rapid, gasping breath as she panicked, his hand on her bare thigh, the ripping sound of fabric as her dress was torn. She blinked, banishing them. She was stronger than those memories.

"Milo, what happened to the gag?" Zane's voice rumbled in the background.

"He claimed he was thirsty, so after letting him bang on the bars for a while, we took him a cup and took off the gag," the sheriff explained, moving in, watchful. "I'm regretting it now."

Verbena drew in a sustaining breath, feeling the air fill her up all the way to the bottom of her lungs, staring at him in his cell. A caged animal. She would never be afraid of a man like Ernest again. Because this is what he was. The money, the polish, the veneer of his practiced behavior had hidden it, but he'd been unmasked. This is what he was.

"Look what you've done to me." Ernest trained his cold, eerily empty blue eyes on her, and in a flash, that malevolence disappeared, replaced by the wounded look of a man with a broken heart. "I've lost my mind over you, Verbena. You shattered me. I just loved you so much. Maybe too much."

"This is on you." She stood before him, her knees steady, her chin set, stronger than he could ever understand. "I'm coming to the trial, Ernest. You tried to hurt me and my family, and I'm going to make sure you pay for that."

"Okay, fine, I lost control." He tilted his head to one side, a lock of dark hair tumbling over his forehead. His crystal-blue gaze shone brightly, as if full of pain. "I was in denial, but you have to believe I was desperate. You have no idea what it's like to be hurt. You are the love of my life, dear Verbena. The woman I wanted on my arm, by my side, for the rest of my days."

"You really have that good guy act down, don't you?" She asked, crossed her arms over her chest, a barrier, a shield. Maybe this is what she needed, to see how she'd been fooled. If she'd just met him, if she knew nothing about him, she would believe him. He seemed so sympathetic, so genuine, such a poor guy. "I'm not buying it anymore, Ernest, so you can stop. You're where you belong, and that's what I needed to see."

Anger worked its way across his mouth, bunching and churning. "I should have killed you when I had the chance. I see now my mother was right. You were never worthy of me. I'll make you see that one day."

Oh, she saw, all right. She reeled back a step, the predator showing once again.

"That's enough, Craddock." Zane stepped in, his shadow falling across her, engulfing her. "Verbena, you don't need to hear any more of this. Let's go. Milo will take it from here."

"Agreed." She felt sick now, exhausted. Facing Ernest had taken more out of her than she'd imagined. She was thankful for Zane's light touch at her shoulder, turning her around, escorting her to the door--he was such a good, good man.

"I'll keep you posted," Milo said. "If there's anything I can do for you, just say the word."

"Thank you, Sheriff." She really did like Milo. "He wasn't the only reason I came. I wanted to talk to you too."

"Oh?" He hiked up a brow, curious.

"I want to thank you for all the work you and your men did for us. I know there were many long, hard nights you all spent out there on the mountain or riding the valley searching for him." She could never be thankful enough. "So I thought I'd bake you all something. Do you happen to like chocolate?"

"We'll like whatever you make," Milo said, as he opened the door, holding it for her. "It's not necessary."

"Maybe I'll start with cinnamon rolls, move on to chocolate cupcakes next week." Considering it, she tumbled onto the boardwalk, grateful for the fresh air icing her face. She breathed it in, feeling like a whole new woman. Stronger. More sure. Back in control of her life. No man was ever going to take that away from her again.

"I'll send word," Zane told Milo. "Let you know when I've caught Klemp."