Patricia Potter (16 page)

Brady looked at Jupiter. The animal had been easy to follow, once Brady’s body was cleaned out. Tracking was a skill he hadn’t forgotten, and Brady had been one of the best in his time. He had scouted long ago for the army and knew every trick, Indian or outlaw, there was.

But he had needed none of that with Jupiter. The bull had left a trail a mile wide, and seemingly happy to see him, it emitted a long, lonely complaint as if asking why he hadn’t arrived earlier. It stood meekly as Brady roped his neck. Brady judged he was about twenty miles from the Taylor ranch, and already it was dusk. There were clouds in the sky, which meant the night would be dark, and he had no desire to drag the bull over rough country, risking its legs and those of his own horse.

He also didn’t much fancy staying on Newton’s land, where he was at the moment.

Brady unsaddled his horse and decided on a dry camp: no fire, no smoke. He tied Jupiter to a hefty cotton-wood and searched in his saddlebags for some jerky. It was all he could keep down.

The problem of Jupiter solved, he turned his thoughts to Willow and the trouble she was in. He could help build a new barn, of course, but he couldn’t do it alone, and almost everyone in these parts was scared of Alex. Truth be told, he would be, too, if he gave a damn about living. But he didn’t. Not since Nancy and his boy, little Brady, died.

He closed his eyes, as he always did when he thought of them. They had dropped by his office to bring him lunch and were crossing the street when the Lassiters emerged from the bank with stolen money, their guns blazing at anything that moved. He’d heard the gunfire in his office just seconds after his wife and son had left, and he dashed out in time to see one of the outlaws’ faces. He quickly identified the scarred visage from a poster.

Nancy lay in the street, her body over the boy, obviously trying to protect him. Both she and the boy were dead, and it had taken Brady weeks to accept, if not understand, the loss. His beautiful wife died because she brought him lunch.

He quit his job as sheriff a week later, when his posse had been unable to find the criminals. His jurisdiction went only as far as the territorial line. And that’s where he heard the Lassiters had headed.

Now he was afraid that something similar might happen to people he cared about. And he was terrified that he would be just as helpless to prevent a second tragedy.

Compounding that worry now was Willow’s stranger, the man who came from nowhere, who apparently claimed no name. Brady didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.

But what could he do?

Stay sober for one thing, an inner voice whispered.

But could he go back? Could he look at the scorched land where a barn had once stood? Could he face Chad’s disappointment? Or would the calm acceptance in Willow’s eyes be even worse?

He remained awake nearly the entire night, his system crying out for drink, every bone in his body aching, his skin covered with a cold sweat. He listened for every noise, each one sounding a little too loud.

It was early morning before his eyes closed.

E
VEN AFTER JESS’S
abrupt departure, Willow refused to be disappointed. He might have turned her down that day, but there was always the next.

The stew was dispensed equally, everyone taking a cautious look before venturing to taste. Much to Willow’s surprise, the meal was unexpectedly good, and food went to mouths with more haste than usual.

Estelle smiled shyly at the actions that said more than words.

When she smiled, she was almost pretty, Willow thought, even with the glass eye that Sullivan had substituted for the one that had been almost gouged out. Estelle no longer ran like a frightened rabbit when a stranger approached, though she remained wary and shy.

Estelle had been with Willow nearly two years. She was a thin woman who had been beaten nearly to death by a customer of the saloon where she’d worked. She had gone upstairs with him, and had stumbled down nearly unrecognizable an hour later. The customer had disappeared.

When she had finally recovered from most of her wounds, she had no place to go and no job. She was terrified of any man other than Sullivan and Brady, and even with them she didn’t seem at ease. Although she had lovely pale blond hair and fine features, she went out of her way to appear unattractive, tying the hair straight back from her face and wearing plain, bulky dresses.

Willow discovered that Estelle had been abandoned at thirteen by her mother, and that she’d worked in saloons ever since out of desperate need. There was a lost and hurt look about the girl that had touched Willow, and she offered to take Estelle in until the girl could get on her feet. Estelle never left.

She loved the young ones, particularly Sallie Sue, but she had no confidence in herself, and Willow always worried about leaving Sallie Sue with Estelle. Quite simply, Estelle panicked, but lately she had seemed to grow stronger. The fact that she had helped Chad when Sallie Sue fell into the well and didn’t hide when Jess entered the house were two major accomplishments for her.

And now she glowed with pleasure as the food she cooked was being eaten with relish. Again Willow wondered what would happen to Estelle if she had to leave the ranch, the one and only place of safety and security she’d ever known.

“Good,” Sallie Sue said, licking her lips.

Chad scraped the stew from his plate and looked at Estelle speculatively.

The twins eyed empty plates longingly until they were refilled.

Willow glanced over at Estelle, who was beaming.

“I…thought we might have…company,” Estelle said hesitantly. “I added some spices.” She ducked her head. “I just sorta guessed.”

So Jess had worked some more magic of his own, Willow thought, and had to smile. Somehow she knew he wouldn’t be exactly pleased at the knowledge.

But Estelle, apparently, had seen something in the stranger that made her trust him, a rare thing, particularly since it had apparently inspired her to do something other than drop meat in a pot.

There was even dessert. Cookies. Burnt cookies. But Willow thought they tasted fine. It was the first time Estelle had tried something on her own; in the past she had only copied Willow, afraid to stray from the most basic instructions, and even then somehow doing something wrong.

Everyone helped clean up after the meal, and then Willow and the children sat down for another episode of Odysseus. The legend was meaning more and more to each of them each day. They all in their own minds saw the stranger as their own particular Greek hero.

Tonight was the tale of the Cyclops, the one-eyed giants who took Odysseus and his men captive.

As Willow told the story, she reminded herself they were coming to the end of Odysseus’s adventures. He had left his wife, Penelope, twenty years earlier to take part in a great expedition against Troy, and after many years and more adventures he was trying to get back home to his Penelope.

But Willow didn’t want the story to end.

T
HE BARN RAISING
was planned for Saturday. By Thursday, Sullivan knew he would be lucky to have a handful of volunteers. Alex Newton had heard, and he had issued an edict. Any person who helped Willow Taylor would incur his displeasure.

No one in town could miss the increasing number of hard-eyed men with pistols strapped to their thighs wandering about town, visiting the saloon at night. The legend named Lobo, according to common gossip, was already at the Newton ranch. Pressed for details, one drunken cowhand said the gunfighter was seven feet tall, and as dark as the devil. Although no one quite believed him, the fear and rumors grew. No one, certainly none of the peace-loving townspeople, wished to arouse Alex’s enmity, and therefore that of Lobo, or any other of his breed. Everyone was walking on eggs.

But Willow, as usual, had faith. If only a few people came, they could at least get the barn started, and then, well, the rest would follow. Maybe Jess would reconsider. Perhaps Brady would come back, and he and Sullivan and Chad…

Maybe, maybe, maybe. Something would work. Willow knew it. Brady would return with Jupiter, and everything would be as it once was. She was beginning to doubt the existence of the man called Lobo. There had been rumors of his presence for a week, but she certainly had seen nothing of such a man.

As she drove out of town after school, she ignored the hard-eyed men standing outside the saloon, many of whom stared at her with everything from lasciviousness to open admiration.

“Like seeing whiskey from a jailhouse window,” one man said, sparking a loud and obscene comment from another, followed by coarse laughter. Willow’s face flamed and she shivered slightly.

The twins moved closer to her on the seat, and Willow urged the horses to a faster pace. Something was happening to this town, something evil, and she seemed helpless to do anything about it.

Where was Jess?

And where was the man named Lobo?

She wondered if the waiting wasn’t meant to intimidate and frighten.

Willow was terribly afraid the gunfighter was succeeding. For the first time she was beginning to know real fear.

H
ALFWAY BACK TO
the ranch with Jupiter trailing behind, Brady suddenly knew where he had seen the stranger before. The half-blurred vision had haunted him day and night, and then realization struck like lightning.

Lobo! The man who had been helping Willow and her family was the gunfighter who called himself Lobo.

The old bull bellowed in surprise as one of Brady’s hands unconsciously tugged hard at the rope.

Brady remembered now. Damn, he remembered it all so clearly. He had seen the gunman once in Fort Worth. Brady had been delivering a prisoner, and the sheriff had pointed out Lobo as one of the hired guns involved in a range war.

Brady had been particularly interested because the man, except for his cold eyes, did not look like the usual gunman. He dressed like any cowhand, was cautious toward the sheriff but not arrogant, and displayed none of the cockiness Brady associated with his breed.

Brady had asked the sheriff why the man was roaming the streets so easily, and the sheriff scowled. “He ain’t done nothin’ yet to break the law. But he will. His kind always does, and I’ll be watching.”

Lobo was one of Newton’s men, and Newton had only one objective: to obtain the ranch at any cost. So why was the gunfighter helping Willow?

To worm himself into her life? Why would that be necessary? There was little question that Willow would have quit the ranch if he and Jupiter had died in the fire. All Lobo had to do was stand by and watch.

One of the twins had called the man Willow’s knight in shining armor.

A gunfighter! And not just any gunfighter. Lobo. The wolf. And from everything Brady had heard of the man, he was aptly named.

Brady had always hated gunfighters. He’d never allowed them in his town, whether they were wanted or not. He would find some reason to lock them up until they left willingly. He’d never been able to understand men who killed for money, or simply out of plain meanness.

He’d never understood it until he went after the Lassiters, and he’d discovered the dark side of himself. That discovery, however, had made him hate gunfighters more than ever, for he hated himself.

He felt his stomach tighten again, but he couldn’t blame it on whiskey.

Brady had left Willow and the children alone with Lobo.

He didn’t know what the gunfighter was up to, but it couldn’t be any good.

He pushed his horse forward at a faster pace, ignoring Jupiter’s unhappy pawing at the ground and balking.

Several hours later he reached the ranch. Wispy smoke, apparently from the old iron stove, curled lazily above the ranch house. It looked peaceful and serene. Brady turned his gaze toward the corral, searching for strange horses, and was surprised to see the fence newly repaired. He stared at it with apprehension.

His attention was suddenly diverted as Estelle and Sallie Sue came out on the porch, and then Chad. Chad’s hand was heavily bandaged, and the look on his face was wary until he saw Jupiter. A smile broke out then.

Chad walked over to the corral and opened the gate. Brady led the bull inside and through a second gate, which would separate Jupiter from the horses. When Brady finished, he dismounted and joined Chad.

He unsaddled his horse, setting it across the top rail of the corral.

“Who fixed the corral?” he asked.

“Jess.”

“Who’s Jess?”

“The stranger. I was trying to fix it myself, but…” Chad looked down at his hand sheepishly.

“But?” Brady urged.

“But I dropped one of the posts on my hand, just when Jess came by. He went to fetch Dr. Sullivan, and then yesterday he fixed the corral.” Hero worship was written all over the boy’s face, and Brady felt sick. Hero worship for a gunslinger whose days were numbered! Well, he himself had certainly proved no example. Chad had had enough drunks in his life, and now the boy’s expression was wary as he steadily returned Brady’s gaze.

“Willow will be real pleased you found Jupiter,” he said.

“Where is this…Jess, Chad?”