Patricia Potter (26 page)

“I’ll do that,” Lobo said. “And I’d be careful of those things you’re carrying. Someone might get the wrong idea.”

The man jerked his horse’s head around.

“Who should I say came calling?” The mocking voice stopped the Newton man, and he turned back. Lobo was standing there, still seemingly relaxed, but his stance had widened as if to gain balance, and his hand had lifted ever so slightly, enough to give him a clear path to the gun.

“Keller,” the man said.

“Then you can give Newton a message from me, Keller, since you’re so good at that. I’ve been working on that barn all day. I’d take it real poorly if something were to happen to it. Or,” he added in a lazy drawl, “if anything were to happen to Miss Taylor, or anyone who lives on this ranch. You understand?”

The man nodded.

“Make sure Newton does too. Tell him I’m here to stay.”

“You can’t fight all of us.”

Lobo looked at the retreating cowboys. “No?” The question was an open taunt.

Keller’s hand went to his pistol, but before his fingers even reached the holster, Lobo’s Peacemaker was in his hand and he had spun to an almost kneeling position, his legs bent, one hand under the gun to balance it. Very slowly, Keller took his hand away from his gun and rested both hands on the neck of his horse, his palms up.

He turned his horse slowly, as if not to provoke his antagonist any further, and the horses and men moved i toward the road.

When they were almost out of sight, Chad flew out the door, his eyes shining. “Galloping galoshes. I ain’t never seen anything so fast. Will you teach me?”

Willow followed him. “I’ve never,” she corrected Chad automatically, but she looked stunned.

“Will ya?” Chad persisted.

Brady turned away without a word and started toward the barn.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” Lobo said to Chad. “Now you go inside.”

“But—”

“Go inside, Chad.” Lobo purposely made his voice cold.

Chad stared at him as if betrayed, but he turned around as told, his shoulders slumping.

There was suddenly just Willow and Lobo standing there, as still as statues.

“Now you know what I do,” Lobo said. “I frighten people.”

“You don’t frighten me,” she said, but that wasn’t altogether true, and she knew he heard the tremor in her voice.

His hand went up to his neck. “Not as much as I should,” he agreed in an exasperated voice, his bright eyes clouding.

Willow swallowed. She’d seen every deadly movement he’d made, and she tried to dismiss their meaning from her mind. “He’s really not going to quit, is he?”

For the first time he heard doubt in her voice, and he was angered at how much he cared that doubt existed. He should be pleased. But he’d discovered he liked her strength, that unwavering belief that everything was going to turn out just the way she wanted. And he was fascinated with the way she always seemed to find the best in people, even in himself, chrissakes.

Seemingly of their own volition, his hands went to her shoulders and rested there. Her body relaxed slightly, and he felt her trust, even after what she’d seen of him. It felt so damned good. Warmth flowed through him like a healing river, and he felt incredibly alive, more alive than he’d ever been in his life. His hands tingled with the pleasant sensation of merely touching her, and he felt cleansed as his gaze met hers and he saw his worth in her eyes. Not because he was a gunslinger, not because he had saved the barn, but because she trusted and liked and cared about him as no one else ever had.

His hands trembled slightly, knowing the moment wouldn’t last. She had seen only what she’d wanted to see of him. When she discovered all the other parts, that light in her eyes would fade. How could it not be so?

She was a teacher. He couldn’t read or write.

She was a person who loved. He was a person who had never loved.

She was a person who cared, who saved broken lives. He was a person who took them.

She embraced life. He ran from it.

The last conclusion startled him even though he knew it was true. He’d certainly never considered himself a coward; he wasn’t afraid of death or pain or discomfort. But he suddenly realized he was terrified of caring for someone. He looked at his hands. He had never known them to tremble like that, to shake like Brady’s.

He wanted to run. Christ, he wanted to run just like Brady was running from his devils into a bottle. Lobo knew he was not a whit better, not even a mite stronger. If anything, Brady had it all over him in courage. He’d come back to the ranch after the fire. Knowing what he’d done, he’d come back and tried to make things right.

All Lobo wanted to do was saddle his horse and run while he still could.

“Did you mean what you said?” Her soft voice broke into his thoughts.

His gaze met hers. Her eyes were so blue. So pure. So irresistible. “Did I mean what?”

“That you’re here to stay?”

His mouth tightened in the scowl that was becoming hauntingly familiar to her. “Do you really want that?”

“Yes.” The reply was so damned honest and soft and—

“You’re a fool, then. I only bring trouble.”

“So far you’ve prevented it.”

“That won’t last…Willow. The good people of Newton won’t much take to my bein’ here.”

She smiled, her lips inviting. “I’ve outraged them before.”

He thought of Estelle and Brady, and a corner of his lips twitched as his eyebrow arched warningly. “I think I’m a different matter. You want to know how many towns I’ve been asked to leave?”

“I don’t think so,” she replied, a bewitching, impish grin on her face.

“And I’ll be asked to leave this one.”

She touched his right hand, which still rested on her shoulder, then leaned her cheek down on it. “I don’t care,” she whispered.

He stood there, slightly awed that he could feel so much from such a simple gesture.

“I’ll stay until there’s no more danger,” he said abruptly, taking his hand away although it was hard to do.

“And then?” she asked softly.

“And then there’ll be another job,” he replied hoarsely, and he spun around and left her staring after him.

F
ROM HER UPSTAIRS
room Marisa watched the riders return. Dread lodged in her throat as she wondered whether they had been successful.

Earlier, she’d heard her father give the orders to burn the Taylor barn, and she’d run to the stable to get her horse and ride ahead to warn Willow. But Cady, one of her father’s oldest hands, stood at the door and refused her admittance.

“Mr. Newton’s orders,” he said regretfully. “You’re not to leave.”

“Cady,” she pleaded.

“I’m sorry, Miss Marisa.”

Marisa noticed the foreman, Herb Edwards, coming their way. If she’d thought to cajole Cady, she knew it wouldn’t work now.

Herb tipped his hat slightly. “Miss Newton. Your father has left orders that you’re not to leave here unescorted anymore. There’s too many strangers in the area.”

Marisa glared at him. “In other words, you and my father are holding me prisoner.”

Herb sighed, which told her he didn’t like what was going on any better than she. “Talk to your father about it.”

“I will,” she said, and spun on her heel to confront her father.

But he was in a meeting with some rough-looking men, and when she entered his study, he told her coldly he would see her later. His voice was harder than she’d remembered, and she didn’t like the looks of the men in the room.

Minutes later she heard the sound of hoofbeats, and when she looked up she saw the riders. There was something about them, something ominous and dangerous that sent shivers racing up and down her spine. But when she ran downstairs to see her father, he would say nothing, only that it was now too dangerous to ride alone and repeated Herb’s words.

She wondered briefly why the gunfighter hadn’t been among the hard-eyed men in her father’s study. But then, everything she had seen of him had yelled “loner” at her. Whatever he did, he apparently did it alone.

Marisa wandered restlessly throughout the house. Questions battered at her. Why did her father hate Gar Morrow so much? Where was the man named Lobo? What was happening at Willow’s place?

She needed Sullivan. She wanted his confidence and the quiet integrity that made her feel warm and protected. But she needed him for other reasons too. Just being near him sent her senses reeling. Just his touch as he helped her up and down from his buggy sent delicious shivers through her. She had dreamed of him from afar for years, but the flesh and blood person was so much more than she’d imagined. He made her smile and laugh and care. He made the sun brighter, the moon larger, and the stars benevolent guardians. His slight dry smile could lighten her heart, and his chuckle delight it.

She had not known until recently he’d felt something of what she felt. And then she’d found his gaze on her, deep and probing, but most of all caring. She’d felt a glow spread through her, and in his own dazed look knew it was reciprocated.

But she didn’t understand why he did nothing about it, why he affected an aloofness and held her at arm’s length when she saw the sudden blaze in his eyes.

The house, a large two-story structure that somehow had always seemed out of place to her in this raw country, echoed with an emptiness that was becoming more and more real to her every day.

She finally went up to her room and leaned against the window, her eyes searching in the distance for movement. She didn’t know how much time had gone by when she heard the riders return. She looked out in the direction of Willow Taylor’s ranch, and saw only darkness. She relaxed slightly. At least there was no red glow of fire.

The men rode in at a hard gallop. The leader threw his reins to another man and quickly mounted the stairs to the porch. Marisa heard the quick knock at the door, and then the sound of it opening. She waited several minutes and then slipped downstairs.

The housekeeper had gone to bed, and the door to her father’s study was closed. She slipped off her shoes and silently moved closer to it.

“Dammit,” she heard her father say. “Can’t anyone do anything right?”

“You didn’t hire me to go against Lobo.”

“Lobo?” Her father’s voice was almost a roar of rage.

“He said he’s changed sides. He said he’s there to stay.”

“One man,” her father said. “One man, and twenty of you turned tail and ran?”

“I’d rather face twenty men than that one,” the answer came.

“Find a way to get rid of him, or you can pack and get out now.”

There was a long silence, and then the rough voice came again. “There might be a way. There’s a hill overlooking the road from the woman’s ranch into town—”

“Don’t tell me about it,” her father said. “Just do it. I don’t want to know the details.”

“It may…take a while.”

“I don’t care how long. No one double-crosses me, goddammit. I brought him here.”

Marisa heard footsteps nearing the door and she flew up the stairs. She reached the safety of her room and considered what she’d just heard.

Lobo had changed sides. She couldn’t believe it. Had he succumbed to Willow as the town had?

And was he to be ambushed?

Marisa watched her father’s visitor leave the house and walk to the bunkhouse. And she knew she had to warn Willow.

Somehow, she would get away tomorrow. She would visit Willow. And then?

She suddenly realized that this whole mess had started because of Gar Morrow. Perhaps she would go to Morrow’s ranch herself and ask him why the bitter feud.

He could only order her away.

But first she would have to slip by her guardians. And she knew exactly how.

16

M
onday morning broke clear and still, a golden haze spreading over the horizon.
Willow looked out the window for the first sign of a cloud, but there was none. The sky was a light gray-blue, relieved only by a pale yellow sun, which would soon turn egg-yolk dark, hot and fiery.

Yet she felt strangely content, and she knew exactly why. He’d said he would stay.

Willow didn’t know why he made her feel so safe, particularly after the night before. She supposed she should have the same fear so many others did of him; she’d never seen one man drive off so many…and with only words and a gesture, ominous as it had been.

Not even the man at the dance had been that fast at drawing his gun.

Jess was all danger and vitality and strength and grace. And complexity.

He so wanted her to think badly of him: Lobo—outlaw gunslinger, White Apache. An uncaring, unfeeling killer.

Although part of her realized some of that was true, she could see the other Jess shining through the fragile armor like a nugget of gold long hidden beneath the surface. She’d learned to spot it long ago, when she’d nurtured young boys at her father’s school, many of them frightened, many of them belligerent because of that fear.