Jane Bonander (14 page)

“Yes, I have a solution.”

Interested, she studied him. His expression was guarded. Unreadable. “Well? Don’t keep me in the dark.”

“We could get married.”

Her jaw dropped and she was out of her chair, leaning on the table for support.
“What?”

“It would solve everything, Libby.”

“It would solve
nothing.”

His grin was sly. “Don’t tell me that, since Dawn suggested it this morning, you haven’t considered it, even for a second.”

She expelled a sharp burst of laughter. “A second is about as long as the idea deserves to be considered.”

“Well, don’t think for a minute that you can get her away from me by marrying someone else and providing a home with a mother and a father. Like that … that
thief,
Ethan Frost. It wouldn’t work, anyway. I’m still her legal father.”

“I have no intention of marrying Ethan or anyone else,” she shot back. “And you have no proof that Ethan took your money.” Why she was defending the man, she couldn’t say.

“So we continue to butt heads?”

It was the plot of a melodrama. If it hadn’t been so serious, she might have laughed. Two people marrying merely to hang on to a child’s love. “I need time to think about it.”

He rose. “If it helps make your decision, I can promise you that I won’t bed you … until or unless you want me to.”

Libby’s flagging spirits sagged further. Oh, great, she thought morosely, another unconsummated marriage. “That’s very … gentlemanly of you.”

“It isn’t that I wouldn’t want to—”

“Stop.” She held up her hand. “Don’t say anything you might regret, Jackson.”

An odd emotion flashed in his eyes. “Well, don’t take too long to make up your mind. I’m not a patient man.”

She glared at his retreating form, wishing he were unattractive. But his wide, hard shoulders tapered to a narrow waist and long, strong legs. The muscles of his thighs were outlined beneath his snug jeans.

Turning at the door, he sent her a questioning look. “Are you coming?”

She gathered her papers, anxious to be alone. “I’ll be along.”

When he’d gone, she went to the window and watched him stride down the street to the jail. She could do worse. But again, the question rose in her mind: what was to prevent him from growing weary of family life and taking off again?

On one hand, if he did leave, at least by marrying him she’d be there to pick up the pieces when Dawn began to fall apart after being abandoned by him yet one more time.

On the other hand, she’d been quite happy with her life since Sean’s death. Her emotions had been carefully filed away, and until Jackson Wolfe rode into her yard, she hadn’t expected to have feelings for a man again, nor had she wanted to.

But for Libby, it all came back to Dawn, and what she would do to keep her daughter. Yes, she could do worse than marry Jackson Wolfe. He was basically good and kind. He loved their daughter passionately.

Ah, those words, “love” and “passion.” She meandered to the table and picked up her papers, shoving them into the pocket of her cape. It was silly, she knew, for even though she’d loudly professed to both Dawn and Chloe Ann that dreaming was a waste of time, Libby yearned for both love and passion in her life.

She had no doubt that if she allowed herself to, she could love a man like Jackson Wolfe. And her passions ran deep, although they were dormant, and had been forever, until he came along. She longed to unleash them, discover an excitement she’d read about but hadn’t expected to experience. But one couldn’t find passion in a one-sided relationship.

Jackson had offered marriage as a way to keep Dawn happy, Libby was aware of that. Being the sort of man he was, he couldn’t merely spirit his daughter away, knowing her feelings. And Libby was grateful for that sensitivity. What were his choices? She groaned. What were hers?

She would seriously consider his offer. Dawn was worth any price she had to pay, even if it meant tossing away her dignity. Even if it meant selling the rooming house. She’d poured her heart and soul into her business, yet it was, after all, just a business. Dawn and Dawn’s happiness were Libby’s life. Without Dawn, the business meant nothing.

Still, it wasn’t a decision she would come to quickly. Or lightly. Or without personal pain.

J
ackson stewed, pacing the jailhouse floor. What did the woman have to think about? As Dawn Twilight’s natural father, his custody was assured. He was offering to share his daughter with Libby, and it wouldn’t be a bad life. He was eager to settle down. He knew she suspected he’d leave again, but if she dragged her feet because she didn’t want to live with him, then she ought to be grateful if he
did
leave, for she’d still have his daughter.

But he wasn’t leaving, and it rankled that she wasn’t more amenable to his offer. Never again would he abandon Dawn Twilight. He’d lost too much precious time as it was. And as his thirty years pressed in around him, he longed for a peaceful life, one filled with many children and a warm, willing woman.

He’d been attracted to Libby O’Malley that very first day. Who wouldn’t have been? Not only was she capable, sensible, and strong, but there was a lushness about her that she couldn’t hide, no matter how tart her tongue. Her fury at discovering who he was had only added to her passion. Pasty, passionless people neither loved nor hated. Libby O’Malley did both with a vengeance.

Jackson cursed. Ever since Corey had suggested the possibility of a union with Libby, it had been on his mind. But he’d seen the fear in her eyes. Fear of what? She wasn’t a naive little virgin, afraid of intimacy; she’d been married before. Even so, fool that he was, he’d assured her he wouldn’t touch her until she was ready—if ever.

Other than that, what more could he promise? He’d do anything to keep Dawn Twilight’s love. Why wouldn’t she?

There had been a time when he would not have given a damn about any person who stood between him and his daughter. Even though it wasn’t intentional on her part, Libby had made him see that for Dawn Twilight to be happy, she must have both of them. Now he had to convince her that getting married was the right thing to do. But that had to be done properly. He’d have to court her, and courting wasn’t an easy concept for him. Women were usually more interested in him than he was in them. It had been a long, long time since he’d had to work at it.

His thoughts continued to grind away in his mind until the door opened behind him. It hit the wall with such force that the windows rattled.

Jackson turned, finding an impatient Danel Mateo filling the doorway. “Danel, what can I do for you?”

“They done it again, Sheriff. They done it again. They poisoned another herd of my sheep.”

Grabbing his hat, Jackson ordered, “Take me there, Danel. I want to see for myself.”

They rode east, into the low hills that rolled at the foot of the mountains, into the land of lush grasses and tree-lined rivers.

“Damned s.o.b. gunnysackers,” Danel growled, his drooping black mustache twitching with anger.

Gunnysackers, as Jackson had come to learn, was the term for the marauders who, wearing old cloth sacks over their faces with holes cut out for their eyes, continued their reign of terror against the sheepmen.

As they rode onto Danel’s land, Jackson detected the faint scent of saltpeter, which he’d discovered was poisonous to sheep but not to cattle.

Danel’s wail of despair alerted Jackson to the carnage. Sheep carcasses lay everywhere. Dominic was dragging them into a pile.

Jackson dismounted and picked his way through the battlefield. Saltpeter had been spread in the path of the flock during the night, so the hungry sheep would eat it, along with the grass, in the morning.

The sheep that had been killed the day after he’d arrived in Thief River had been burned alive. Others, he learned, had eaten grain laced with strychnine. Two nights after that, a herd of sheep had been rimrocked, stampeded, and driven over a cliff.

“You gotta do something! If you don’t, I will.” The pain in Danel’s voice was shattering.

“Don’t do anything foolish, Danel.”

Dominic, nearly as tall and as thickly muscled, stepped up to Jackson. His black eyes held sparks. His jaw was clenched. “Then
you
do something, Sheriff. Look at this slaughter. How much more are we expected to take?”

“I’m working on it, Dom. I just don’t want either of you getting hurt or doing something you’ll regret. We’ll catch him. This has been going on a long time. As much as you want it to, it can’t be settled and put to right overnight.”

“We’re not giving you much more time, Sheriff. We’re law-abiding men, but this,” Danel said, swinging his arm wide, “is more than a man should have to take.”

Jackson would make a trip to Eureka in the next day or two to check out his idea. If that didn’t pan out, he’d ride to Sacramento and do the same. Meanwhile, he’d continue to look for someone riding a high-stepper.

As he returned to town, he tried to recall the kind of horse Ethan Frost had ridden the night he’d tossed the banker off the porch. He swore at his lapse. He’d been so intent on getting Frost out of there, he hadn’t paid any attention to his mount. But in Jackson’s mind, all threads appeared to lead to the banker. Danel Mateo and Ander Bilboa, like most of the other sheep ranchers, were strapped to the gills with mortgages and loans, and Ethan Frost held the deeds to all their land.

After finishing the evening dishes, Libby grabbed her shawl and stepped onto the porch. She loved this time of day, when her work was done and the house was quiet.

A glittering field of stars caught her eye as she glanced upward, and for a brief, foolish moment, she made a silent wish.

I wish I were adored and cherished as someone’s beloved
.

A wry smile touched her lips at her fanciful thinking. Wishes and daydreams belonged to the likes of Chloe Ann and her daughter, both of whom had yet to face the hardships of life, not to pragmatic women like herself. Not to someone who had been married off to a man twice her age when she was barely into her teens. Nevertheless …

Wrapping her shawl tightly around her, she leaned against a porch pillar and gazed skyward again. She hadn’t come to a decision about Jackson’s less than enthusiastic proposal. A part of her knew it was the sensible thing to do, because it would allow her to keep Dawn, but emotionally, Libby had a difficult time with it. Yes, if Jackson got itchy feet and went away, she would be left alone with the daughter she loved. But she couldn’t abide another man leaving her, whether it was voluntary or not.

For so many years in her life she’d felt unnecessary, extraneous. Her father had openly admitted he’d wished for another son. Her mother had been a useless ally, for as far as Libby could tell, she’d merely been a receptacle for her father’s lust, never once telling Libby she was loved or wanted.

She might appear strong on the outside, but Libby had discovered, with the appearance of Jackson Wolfe in her life, that there was a soft inner core that was vulnerable and passionately impoverished. For some reason, he’d touched that core, and Libby couldn’t bear the thought of him marrying her out of pity.

The door opened behind her, and she knew immediately who had opened it. His presence affected her physically, making her want something from him that he undoubtedly wasn’t willing to give.

He stood beside her and followed her gaze into the sky.

“ ‘She walks in beauty, like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies.’ ”

Libby’s smile was brief. “So you quote Byron. Is there any end to your list of accomplishments?”

“Hmm. Sarcasm. Here I thought I’d impress you with my poetic soul.”

He smelled good. An undefinable scent that she’d come to expect only from him. It wasn’t cologne; it wasn’t sweat. It was simply … him.

“Nice night for a stroll.”

She pulled in a breath of crisp autumn air. “Yes.”

“Care to join me?”

She slanted him a wary glance, quietly questioning his objectives.

“You’re wondering about my motives.”

The smile she heard in his voice softened her. “So you’re a poet and a mind reader, among your other talents.”

He touched her elbow, sending tingles over her flesh as he guided her down the steps. “My other talents? Ah, yes. I know you’ve seen them; it’s nice that you noticed … and remembered.”

She flushed, grateful it was dark. Oh, she’d noticed, all right. Rarely a day went by that she didn’t remember how she and Mahalia had caught him wearing only his birthday suit.

Ignoring the remark, she fell into step beside him. “You can read minds. I thought perhaps you were a magician as well.”

He took her arm and drew it through his, a common enough gesture. Although Libby had the urge to lean into him, she stifled it.

“A magician?”

She nodded. “How else do you account for the fact that you’ve mesmerized Dawn?”

They strolled down the incline to the river. It rushed over the rocks. If she listened hard, she could hear the burbling echo of the water as it raced through the caverns that dotted the landscape along the riverbank.

Frogs croaked lazily. Crickets chirruped. The hoot of a gray owl sounded from somewhere in the trees.

“Not entirely. She won’t be happy with me unless you’re there, too.”

“I know that,” Libby admitted.

“Then why are you unwilling to marry me?”

She smiled sadly to herself. “I’ve been married once. And although it was a cruel thing to do to a fourteen-year-old girl, it turned out not to be so bad. If Sean taught me nothing else, he taught me survival and independence.”

Jackson muttered a mild curse. “Then what are you afraid of?”

Dared she tell him? Dared she bare her soul and tell him she wanted passion? Love? Commitment? “I don’t need your pity, Jackson.”

“Pity?” The word rumbled up from deep within his chest. “What makes you think I pity you?”

“I saw it in your eyes when we were with the lawyer.”

He snorted a harsh laugh. “You’re about the least likely candidate for pity I’ve ever met. Dammit, woman, you’re creating obstacles where none exist.”

She stopped walking and turned to face him. “I am not. I merely want—”

“What? What do you want? Love?” The word came out like a curse. “I can’t promise such a thing, Libby. Look what happened to me when I lost one woman I loved. I abandoned my daughter, fled to foreign lands, and made my living killing people.”

Of course. She hadn’t expected him to promise his undying love. What was wrong with her, anyway? A marriage between them was foolish. She was very possibly half in love with him already, but what did her love matter if it wasn’t returned?

“I can promise you a lot of things, Libby. Whether you want to believe me or not, I can promise you that I won’t abandon Dawn Twilight again. I can promise you that I’ll stay on here as sheriff, the town willing, so you won’t have to give up your business. I’ll be as considerate as I’m capable of being, whether we … er… you know …”

He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “But I’ll warn you right now,” he went on, “that if you agree to marry me, I intend to coax you into my bed by one means or another.”

Oh, my. There was that feeling again, that lush heaviness low in her belly. Hunger for him rose up to meet it. She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.

“There’s something between us, Libby. You can’t deny that.”

She took some solace in the knowledge that he felt it, too. Heavens, she continued to feel—that … that overwhelming urge to be with him, to touch him, have him touch her. It had been that way since he’d kissed her. But were those feelings enough? Surely they wouldn’t be, at least not for her, if it weren’t for Dawn. Even so, it was hard to commit herself. For once she said yes, there would be no turning back.

The fervent daydreaming side of her that she’d vowed didn’t exist came roaring to the forefront, and her emotions were a-tumble. She knew without a doubt that if she married him and fell completely and totally in love with him—and she very well could—she’d be devastated if he found love elsewhere. But she’d still have Dawn. If he broke his promise and set out again for the far corners of the world, she would feel as though she’d failed as a wife, but she would still have Dawn.

He drew her close. “Look at me, Libby.”

She lifted her gaze, slowly meeting his. He was a dark silhouette against the moonlight.

“You have some feelings for me,” he announced, his beautiful baritone rumbling through her. “I can see it in your eyes.”

She immediately lowered her gaze, but he tipped her chin up with his forefinger.

“As I said, Jackson,” she repeated, her own voice holding a slight quaver, “I don’t want your pity.”

His lips came down on hers, insistent, probing. She tried to remain passive, but that wasn’t possible. The force of his mouth opened hers. She slid her hands up his chest, grasping at the fabric of his shirt while he laved her with his tongue. A thrill raced through her, causing her to gasp.

At the sound, he groaned into her mouth and his hands moved to her waist and down over her bottom. He pressed her to him, allowing her to feel the hardness behind his fly. Keeping one hand on her rump, he moved the other up her side, to her breast. Even through her clothing her breasts swelled and tingled.

“A kiss is not enough,” he growled against her mouth. His fingers moved to her bodice, fumbling with the buttons. Libby knew she should stop him, but she couldn’t. She didn’t want to.

He cursed at his awkwardness, and she helped him, sliding the buttons quickly from their holes. He tugged her dress down over her shoulders, camisole straps and all, leaving her bare to the waist. Vaguely she felt cold air on her skin.

She pressed him close when he bent and pressed his mouth over the pulse that throbbed at her neck, then down over her freed breasts. He laved her nipples with his tongue, sending quivering spasms throughout her body until she was afraid her legs wouldn’t support her.

Raising his head, he kissed her again and took one of her hands, drawing it between them. He cupped her palm around him; he was long and hard the full length of his fly. She bit back a groan of pleasure.

“Is this pity, Libby? I dare you to tell me that what I’m feeling right now is pity.”

She was swimming with desire, allowing her fingers to touch him, stroke him. The memory of his nudity those weeks before spun inside her again, and she felt a yearning new and insistent, a yawning chasm of hunger.