Jane Bonander (20 page)

His earthy maleness left her weak. Suddenly, with painful clarity, she realized that she wanted to see that face every day, into eternity. And if she wasn’t given that glorious privilege, she would live the rest of her life as only half the person she could be. The realization was so shocking to her, and so painful, she feared she might stumble.

As Libby started toward him, she felt his gaze. Her heartbeat accelerated. She could hear the vows in her head.

“For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health”—those words were fine. It was “for better, for worse” that stuck in her mind, for her feelings were at war within her. He might stay and never love her. He might leave. Which was better, and which was worse?

Jackson took her arm and led her to the preacher, his touch almost possessive. She slanted him a glance, wondering if he thought she might bolt.

He gave her a lazy smile, as if reading her mind. A quickening in her stomach told her that quite possibly, if she was lucky and he learned to love her, that smile would thrill her for the rest of her life.

He glanced at her train, resplendent with fake roses. Leaning close to her ear, he whispered, “Nice save.”

Libby couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps things wouldn’t be as bad as she’d thought.

But after exchanging the vows that Libby had dreaded, Jackson bent to kiss her. If she’d been the dreamer she sometimes wanted to be, the touch of his mouth against hers would have given her hope. A promise of more to come. But she’d already told him there would be nothing between them. Somewhere inside, a little voice told her she’d be sorry, but practical woman that she was, she quite successfully suppressed it. At least she hoped she had. For now, anyway.

Dawn stood between them, her arms looped through theirs as they turned toward the small group of wedding guests.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the preacher announced, smiling broadly, “I present Mr. and Mrs. Jackson Wolfe and their daughter, Dawn Twilight.”

The knot of dread in Libby’s stomach refused to loosen, and as the reception got under way, regret surfaced anew. Jackson’s family, the bane of her new existence, pressed in around her, hugging her, kissing her, and making her foolishly want what she feared she’d never have.

Ethan Frost stepped into the jail. Axel Worth was in the chair, leaning against the wall, his feet on the desk.

Funny, Ethan thought, the kid was nothing like the father. Clyde Worth had been a trusted, albeit sometimes reluctant accomplice in the days of Ethan’s vigilante raids. Although far older than Ethan, he’d taken orders without question. He’d been calm and efficient, unlike the kid, who was nervous as a squirrel and not particularly dependable. Ethan would never have taken him into his confidence if Axel hadn’t discovered what his father and Ethan had been up to all those years ago.

He strolled to the desk and took a seat across from the kid.

“Been to the wedding?” There was sarcasm in Axel’s voice. “Bet you never thought she’d be marrying anyone but you.”

Ignoring the jab, Ethan poured himself a drink. “Is Mateo ready to buckle, or do we have another go at him?”

“Most of his sheep are gone, destroyed before shearing, which means he has nothing left but a few stragglers that got away from us. He basically ain’t got the money to pay his overdue feed bills, much less his mortgage.”

“What about Bilboa?”

“Cleb’s setting another raid on him, but it might take a few days. Bilboa has over a hundred sheep hidden away in a lonely corner near the Nevada state line. He thinks we don’t know about them.”

Ethan digested this, then asked, “What’s Wolfe up to?”

Axel displayed an evil grin. “You mean your lady friend’s new husband?”

Ethan held his temper. The wedding had come as a surprise, that was for damned sure. True, he hadn’t seen much of Libby lately, but he sure as hell hadn’t expected her to get married. Oddly, she hadn’t been as receptive to him as he’d have liked. When he heard she was marrying Wolfe, he assumed it was because of the breed. Women were like that sometimes, marrying for the damnedest reasons. Why she should care so much for the girl was beyond him. After all, she wasn’t even of Libby’s own blood.

He was a little discontented having sensed a few months before that she’d begun to see through his reasons for wanting to remarry. His boys were running wild, and he had no idea how to rein them in. He loved them, but he didn’t know how to discipline them. And truth to tell, he wasn’t disappointed in Libby’s marriage to someone else, because he didn’t want that breed in the package anyway.

Still, he’d hoped to get under Libby’s skirts. More than once he’d awakened from sleep hard as a bull after dreaming of being between her thighs. Now he’d have to set his sights elsewhere. Maybe someone who wasn’t quite as quick as Libby O’Malley. Someone a little less likely to question his motives. God, but he hated living alone. And he’d invested too much time in Libby, ignoring other possibilities. He wasn’t a monster. He admired most women and loved most children. He was handsome, he knew that. Women usually gazed at him with admiration. Surely he could find a suitable one.

Then again, maybe Libby would tire of Wolfe’s brutish ways and come to regret not having taken Ethan up on his numerous offers of marriage. He frowned. He’d still have to deal with the breed, though. As often as he’d tried to be pleasant to her, she’d never smiled at him. Never had bought into his facade. Too damned clever, for a breed.

“Surely Wolfe has learned something, with all his snooping around,” Ethan said in reply to Axel’s question. His latest meeting with the man had been disconcerting at best. Wolfe didn’t believe his claim of innocence regarding the trust fund. But the man couldn’t prove a thing. Fortunately, Ethan had destroyed all of the records. He was concerned about Wolfe, though. He knew Ethan held the paper on the ranches. Maybe he and his accomplices should lie low for a while….

“Yeah. Vera Roberts’s jaw flaps like an old woman’s. He’s got too much time on his hands.” Axel polished his gun with the tail of his shirt.

Ethan downed the liquor in his glass and poured himself another. “About what?”

Axel lifted his feet off the desk and settled into the chair. “Oh, something about the vigilantes who burned down the Indian villages some years back.”

Ethan went cold. He’d be forever sorry young Worth had learned about his alliance with his father. “What about them?”

“Seems the sheriff told Wolfe about your friendship with my pa.” He gave Ethan a sly look. “He also told him my pa was the only vigilante they’d ever been able to identify, but he suspected you.”

Maintaining control, Ethan asked, “How do know this?”

Worth shrugged. “I was waiting outside at Vern’s house to give the sheriff a message. Just happened to overhear is all.”

Angry and frustrated, Ethan clenched his jaw. Old Vera Roberts had been an easy lawman to evade—too old to give chase and too weary to care—but Wolfe was another story. If he decided to stay on, Ethan would have to play a different game. A very different game, indeed.

Ethan downed another shot of whiskey, wishing he could enjoy the bite, but his stomach clenched and began to burn. He should have known better. Straight whiskey would kill him.

He was so close to his goal, It was only a matter of time before both Bilboa and Mateo capitulated. Jackson Wolfe put a giant crimp in his plans. Something would have to be done about the newcomer.

D
awn trudged up the stairs. “It’s going to be hard to sleep without Katie in my bed. Why couldn’t they have stayed until morning?”

Libby heard the stifled yawn and smiled. “Your grandparents have animals that need tending, dear. You’ll see them soon enough.” Libby dreaded the trip.

“I thought someone was looking after their ranch.”

“Yes, but it must be very hard to look after two places at once. No doubt their neighbors are eager for them to return. Your grandparents spent a lot of time here before, you know.”

“Katie said the neighbors are descendants of African slaves, like Mahalia.”

They arrived at Dawn’s room, and Libby lit the lamp. “That’s what I understand.”

Dawn attempted to stifle another yawn. “Is Papa coming to say good night, too?”

Libby raised an eyebrow. “I don’t imagine he’d miss it, especially now.”

After Dawn had prepared for bed and slid between the covers, she asked, “When will you and Papa have a honeymoon?”

Honeymoon. Libby hid her distress by fussing with Dawn’s bedding. “We’re both too busy to take one, dear.”

Dawn frowned. “Oh, Mama, I think you should. I really do.”

“And why is that?”

“Because—”

Mumser pattered into the room and jumped onto the bed, growling at Libby as he settled into the curve of Dawn’s stomach.

Libby had the urge to return the sound. “Ungrateful mutt,” she muttered. “Doesn’t he know that after that stunt with my wedding dress, I could have his floppy, moppy head on a plate?”

Dawn kissed the dog’s topknot, which was tied with a pink ribbon. “He’s sorry.” She took the pup’s face between her hands and touched her nose to his. “Aren’t you, Mumser?” The dog licked her face.

Libby wrinkled her nose, unable to understand how anyone could get so close to a dog’s mouth. “Not as sorry as he’ll be if he doesn’t learn some discipline,” she warned.

Dawn wrinkled her nose. “I know, I know, but you changed the subject. I really want you and Papa to go on a honeymoon.”

“Why?”

Dawn pretended interest in Mumser’s fur. “Because I know why you and Papa really got married.”

“You do, do you?”

“Sure. It was because of me. Because … because I wouldn’t be happy living with just one of you. You did it for me.”

Libby sat on the bed, ignoring Mumser’s growl. “Does that bother you?”

Dawn’s smile was blinding. “Not at all. You and Papa aren’t getting on very well now, but … but I just know that one day you will, and then it will all have been worth it.” She reached out and grasped her mother’s hand. “Trust me. Everything will turn out fine, Mama. Just fine.”

Libby couldn’t help but smile. Giving Dawn’s fingers a loving squeeze, she answered, “You’re the eternal optimist, aren’t you?”

“Of course, I—” Her sunny grin returned. “Oh, hello, Papa.”

Libby jumped when Jackson’s hand touched her shoulder.

“I came in to say good night to my beautiful daughter.” He sat on the other side of Dawn.

Libby wryly noted that the dog didn’t growl at him.

“We’re a real family now, aren’t we, Papa?”

He tweaked her nose. “As real as anything.”

She snuggled under the covers. “I was asking Mama when you two were going to have a honeymoon.”

Heat crept up Libby’s neck.

“And what did your mother say?”

Libby didn’t like the sly sound in his voice.

Dawn sighed against the pillows. “She said you were both too busy, but I told her I knew the real reason.”

“Which is?” There was caution in his tone.

“That you two got married only because of me.”

His fingers swept the hair away from her forehead with a tenderness that wasn’t lost on Libby.

“That’s not such a bad reason,” he said. “In fact, it’s an excellent one.”

Dawn heaved another sigh. “I suppose, but I was kinda hoping …” Her glance moved from one to the other. “Well, you know.”

Despite Libby’s discomfort at the implication, she smiled. Her daughter was such a romantic.

Clearing his throat, Jackson got to his feet. “I think it’s time for you to get some sleep, Dawn Twilight.”

Good-natured girl that she was, she nodded and curled herself around the dog. “I can’t wait until we visit Grand-mama and Grandpapa.”

“Neither can I,” her father answered.

I can,
Libby thought as she stood up. “Sleep tight, dear.”

“And don’t let the bedbugs bite,” Jackson added.

Dawn rolled her eyes. “That’s what you say to little children, Papa. I’m almost thirteen, remember?”

Jackson turned out the lamp, and Libby followed him into the hallway. She had the urge to sprint away, until she looked at his worried face. “What’s wrong?”

He expelled a long, miserable-sounding sigh. “I’ve missed out on so much of her life.”

Feeling benevolent, Libby responded, “That’s in the past, Jackson.”

“I guess it’s a waste of energy to think about it,” he agreed. “I can’t help but regret all the time I squandered. If I hadn’t been such a coward after Flicker Feather’s death, if I’d listened to Grandmother, who tried to shame me into staying to care for Dawn Twilight. If I’d at least had the sense to tell my folks about her. But all the ifs in the world won’t change things, will they?”

Libby tried to smile, but her expression wavered. “If you’d told your folks about her, we wouldn’t be going through this. But worst of all, I would never have been her mother. I can’t imagine my life without her, Jackson.”

He studied her, his expression softened by the dim hall light. “When
are
we going to take that honeymoon?”

She glanced away from his penetrating gaze. “You know very well there won’t be a honeymoon.”

“You’d purposely disappoint our daughter?”

She rounded on him. “Unlike my dreamy, romantic daughter, I’m a practical woman. A realist.”

“There’s another word for what you are,” he countered.

She gave him a wry smirk before she walked away. “No doubt you have many words for what you think I am.”

“You’re hot Spanish nights.”

A dangerous jolt raced through her, but she ignored it and started down the stairs.

“You’re mulled wine, rich in spices.”

She attempted to ignore him, but her body continued to respond.

“You’re soft curves and hidden passions.”

“And you’re crazy,” she managed, trying to ignore the leaping of her pulse. “Why don’t you go to bed and leave me alone?”

He followed her into the kitchen. “Is that what you really want?”

She tried to light the lamp, but her hands shook. “It’s what I told you before, and it’s what I just said, isn’t it?”

He placed one of his big, warm hands over hers to steady it. She closed her eyes against the whirling sensation of his callused palm on her skin.

“I just wanted to be sure,” he answered, helping her light the lamp.

“You can be very sure I meant what I said.” Grateful to have something to do, she placed the leftover pie and bread in the pie safe, then tidied up the counter.

“Fine. I needed to be convinced that you won’t get your nose out of joint if I take my pleasure elsewhere.”

Her pulse raced, and a sheen of cold perspiration coated her skin. Nausea welled up into her throat. She swung around to face him, needing to know if he was serious. He appeared very serious indeed. Her nausea worsened.

She gripped the countertop so hard that her knuckles were white, but somehow she was able to look at him. “I can’t tell you what you can or can’t do. I suppose living the kind of life you have, unfaithfulness is natural to you.”

His gaze was unreadable, although his eyes were hard. “There wouldn’t be any need for it if you hadn’t suddenly become so damned stubborn.”

She turned away to avoid his gaze and to hide her own feelings, which she knew were mirrored in her eyes. “You could have simply done what you’re planning to do instead of stopping to tell me about it.”

“Ah, but I don’t want there to be any secrets between us, Libby.”

Knowing she could do without his blasted honesty, she continued to feel sick, hating the smug tone of his voice.

“Fine. You’ve told me your intentions. Now get out of here and leave me alone.” She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but it threatened to bring tears.

From behind her, he mused, “I can’t believe you really don’t care.”

With all her strength, she reined in her emotions, grateful she’d had so much practice. “The least you can do is be discreet. I don’t want Dawn to hear that her father, that paragon of parenthood, is out whoring around.”

Muttering a curse, he stormed from the room, leaving Libby so weak in the knees she was forced to sit down. The pressure of tears stung her eyes, and she folded her hands, pressing them against her mouth.

This was her fault, she knew that. But what choice did she have? To sleep with him would be to give herself over to him body and soul, heart and mind. She’d finally admitted to herself that for once in her life she wanted a relationship where she could give a man everything. If she couldn’t trust him and give him her all, she would give him nothing.

She drew in a shaky breath, expelling it noiselessly against her hands. But it hurt to admit this to herself. With this man, it hurt, because as much as she cared for him now, she knew she would grow to love him passionately if they fully shared a life together. And what would that get her if he could never love her?

Jackson left the house, slamming the door behind him. He didn’t know where he was going, but he sure as hell wanted her to think he did.

What was wrong with her, anyway? She’d enjoyed their night together as much as he had. And that was before they were married. He’d promised her more than he’d ever promised another woman. He had nothing more to give.

He stepped off the porch, the rain wetting his face, his shirt, his jeans. He didn’t care. He trudged through the muddy street to the jail where he was surprised to see a light and equally surprised to see two mounts hitched at the post. His heart rate accelerated when he discovered that one of them was a Tennessee high-stepper.

Throwing open the door, he stepped inside. Deputy Worth was playing checkers with Ethan Frost. Interesting ….

Axel Worth got to his feet so quickly that his chair scuttered along the floor. “Sheriff! Didn’t expect to find you out on your … er …” He colored.

“There were some things I wanted to pick up,” he lied, going to the cabinet and rifling through some papers.

The deputy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, obviously uncomfortable. “Well, I gotta get going. ‘Night.” Axel grabbed his hat and was gone.

The jail was filled with a stifling silence. With a folder in his hand, Jackson casually stepped to the window and glanced outside. One mount remained: the high-stepper. He concealed his excitement.

“I’ve heard rumors that you’re planning to stay on as sheriff,” Frost said.

Jackson meandered toward the desk. “Seems likely.”

“Yes, well I’ll admit that since Vern has been laid up, a lot has gotten past him.”

“That’s true.” Jackson feigned only mild interest.

“I’ll have you know I’ve extended some of the ranchers further credit, if they want it.”

Still carefully masking his newfound knowledge, Jackson asked, “And how many want it?”

Frost’s expression became concerned. “Not many, I’m afraid. You know, most of them just want to move on. Try their luck elsewhere. A pity, really.” He gave Jackson a falsely sympathetic smile.

“Oh, by the way,” Frost added. “Congratulations on your marriage.”

Cautious now, Jackson studied him again, looking for … what? “Thank you.”

“I suppose the best man won out,” Frost continued with a sly smirk as he rose and crossed to the door. “But then, I didn’t have a little half-blood in my comer.”

Jackson clenched his fists, itching to rearrange that perfect face. He knew he couldn’t. For years he’d settled things with his fists. This adversary was different. He was a bigot, a braggart, a thief, an embezzler, a bully, and probably a murderer. And Jackson had to break him, discover his dirty secrets.

“Well, I’ll be getting on home,” Frost announced. “My boys are probably waiting for me to tuck them into bed.”

Jackson wanted to warn him to keep his bullying son away from his daughter. He itched to tell him to watch his step, that he was right on his tail, and one false move would give him away. Instead, he murmured, “G’night,” pretending to be concentrating on something else.

Jackson returned to the window and watched Frost leave on the high-stepper. It wasn’t a common horse around these parts. Most men rode cow ponies. His discovery that Frost went to Eureka every month to play poker had been the beginning. “This is another nail in your coffin, you bastard,” he murmured to Frost’s retreating form.

Jackson raised his arms up and framed the window with his hands. His thoughts automatically turned to his dear wife. Fool that he was, he still wanted her in his bed, but he could be as stubborn as she.

Although she’d made it clear that she wasn’t interested in Ethan Frost, Jackson could see why a woman might be attracted to such a man. He was smooth, suave, and pretty-boy handsome. It rankled that the pile of shit had even kissed her. Groped her. And he was certain the bastard had, because who could resist her?

He made a fist and pounded the window frame. At least Frost hadn’t made love to her. Why did the very thought of it bother him? He hadn’t known she was a virgin when he’d taken her, and he’d wanted her just the same. Now, however, knowing that no one else had ever touched her made him jealous of anyone who might even have dreamed of it. Or tried.

Exhaling, he returned to the desk, doused the light, and left the jail. He trudged home slowly, not at all anxious to crawl into an empty bed.

As he opened the door, the motley cat shot between his legs, into the house. In the dimly lit entry, there were tiny wet cat paw prints on the floor, disappearing where they met the carpet.

He climbed the stairs, stopping briefly to look in on his daughter. She was still curled around the dog, one arm resting possessively on his back. Mumser wagged his tail; otherwise he didn’t move.