Patricia Potter (35 page)

Even if he didn’t leave that day, he would leave soon.

But not too soon, God, she bargained, not too soon.

20

W
hen Willow arrived at the house, there were three strange horses there, and Chad was waiting for her at the corral.

“Mr. Morrow’s here,” he said, “and that gunfighter I heard you talking about.”

Willow’s heart stopped momentarily. It had been going at an accelerated pace, and now the beat stilled for several seconds. She remembered what she’d heard: Everyone wanted to see a fight between this man and Lobo.

But the man Jess called Marsh Canton was there with Gar Morrow, and that probably meant bad news of a different kind. Gar’s stream was no doubt finally dry, and he needed to drive his cattle over Willow’s land to the river.

She’d hoped to have more time, perhaps even time to build the dam. But she had promised Gar the water when he needed it, and that would hurry an open confrontation with Alex Newton.

“Where are they?”

“In the kitchen with Brady. Estelle saw them ride up and went to the bedroom. She doesn’t like Mr. Morrow.”

Willow knew why. Morrow was a widower and had often frequented Estelle’s bed. Willow didn’t think he’d been cruel to her, but Estelle flinched whenever she encountered anyone from that time.

Willow looked back to the direction from which she’d come. She hoped Jess would take his time coming back, and she just as fervently hoped she could end this business shortly. Fear replaced the pleasurable tingles down her back, and she didn’t much care for the change. What if he and this Canton met? What if there were a fight?

There shouldn’t be, she knew that. Not now when Jess no longer worked for Alex. But she also remembered how quickly Canton reacted at the dance, how quick-trigger angry he’d become and how fast he’d drawn his gun.

Willow also admitted briefly to another kind of fear: She didn’t want to be reminded that Jess, like Canton, was a gunfighter.

She went through the door to the kitchen, and saw Brady standing against the stove as he talked to Gar, Marsh Canton, and a third man who was a stranger. She was thankful that he didn’t look dangerous.

Willow looked at Canton, whose gaze had turned appreciatively toward her. Her hair was still down, she thought absently, and her dress was probably full of leaves and dirt. She suddenly felt terribly exposed and awkward in front of what seemed like knowing eyes.

But she tried not to betray anything. “Can I help you gentlemen?”

Gar took off his hat and so did Canton, followed slowly by the third man, as if he were not quite sure what was expected.

Gar Morrow flushed slightly and his tone was apologetic. “I know I’m bringing trouble on you, Miss Willow, but my stream’s gone dry and my cattle will be dying soon.”

Willow nodded. She had promised, and she could no more sit still and watch cattle die than she could sell the ranch to Alex. “Can you wait a few days?”

“How long?”

“A week.”

“Perhaps. No more.”

She nodded.

He turned to the man in black beside him. “You’ve met Marsh Canton.” It was a statement, and he had the grace to redden slightly as they both remembered the disastrous scene at the dance.

Her eyes were cold as her gaze turned in that direction. She nodded stiffly.

“He’ll stay here if you like,” Gar said awkwardly. “Alex will know we need your water.”

Canton turned the full force of his charm on her, and she knew he was a ladies’ man. There was both confidence and arrogance in the glance, and he had a breathtaking smile, but Willow saw the hollowness beyond it.

Willow would take Jess’s frown over that smile anytime. At least it showed an honest emotion. She wondered whether this man had any at all.

“We’re fine, Mr. Morrow. I thank you, but I think we can handle everything ourselves.”

Gar looked around, first at Brady, then at Chad, and finally the twins, who were gaping at the man in black. “Think about it, Miss Willow.”

“We have Jess!” Chad spoke up proudly.

The three visitors looked at Willow. Gar Morrow had heard that Alex Newton’s gunfighter had gone over to Willow, but he hadn’t credited it. Willow had nothing to offer; Gar knew she didn’t have any money.

“Jess?” It was Canton who asked the soft question.

But no one hurried to answer him, not even Brady, who’d stiffened.

Canton spoke again. He’d not heard of a man named Jess, but he had heard that maybe Lobo had changed sides. Now he wondered aloud. “I’d heard that Lobo left Newton…”

“He has.” The answer came from the doorway. Lobo stood there, seemingly at ease as he leaned against the doorjamb and surveyed the crowded room with glittering eyes that revealed little.

Willow felt her stomach turn over as she watched Jess and Canton eye each other speculatively. She’d never seen so much tension build so quickly in a room, so much wariness between two men, not even at the dance. Then it was a sudden squall, fast and dangerous, but over quickly. This…this was more like the lightning that precedes a long and violent storm.

Canton smiled again coldly. “Lobo,” he acknowledged with the barest nod of his head.

“Marsh,” Lobo replied with equal composure. His posture was still relaxed, but one hand was taking the glove from his right one, his gun hand.

“I’d heard you changed sides. Didn’t believe it. You come high.”

Lobo’s eyes had not moved from Canton, nor had they blinked. Willow wondered how that was possible. “Call it a whim,” he said.

“I never considered you a whimsical man,” Canton countered, but the wariness of his stance didn’t relax, nor did the coldness of his smile change.

Lobo shrugged, visibly conveying that he didn’t care what Canton thought.

Willow was suddenly afraid that Canton would take offense, but only amusement showed in his eyes. The energy in the room, the menace, deepened, and she felt fear run up and down her spine, a coldness replacing the warmth in her heart. She was watching Lobo now, not Jess. It was almost as if he’d become another person. Like a chameleon, he was changing in front of her eyes from a tender lover to a cold killer.

Canton, his eyes every bit as watchful as Lobo’s, hesitated a moment before speaking again. “We’re on the same side, then?”

Lobo shrugged again, “I’m working for Miss Taylor. You’re working for
him.”

Marsh Canton’s speculative gaze shifted to Willow, as if he were wondering what she had to offer a man like Lobo. Lobo didn’t miss the glance, and he stiffened, the fingers of his gun hand flexing. Canton saw the movement and lifted his hands, as if in peacekeeping.

The already high tension in the room increased tenfold. Gar Morrow stepped back; Chad edged toward Lobo; Brady’s fist tightened against the stove.

Willow had thought Marsh Canton’s eyes were hard, but they were nothing like the ice now in Jess’s. She suddenly understood how he got the name of Lobo. She’d never seen a more dangerous-looking animal. She shivered slightly. It was difficult to reconcile this predator with the man who had been a part of her, who had reached so deeply into her.

“We have no quarrel, Lobo,” Canton said carefully, although there was no apology or fear in his tone. “Mr. Morrow is here asking to water his stock, and I came along to offer protection.”

Lobo relaxed slightly, but his eyes didn’t change, nor did they move from Canton as he addressed Willow. “Miss Taylor?”

The voice was icy and Willow felt shivers run through her. “I told them we don’t need any more help.” Her voice faltered slightly.

Lobo’s jaw tightened, but his eyes never blinked, never turned toward her. “That’s your answer, Marsh.”

Marsh Canton shrugged. “If you need—”

“We won’t.” Lobo’s reply was like a gunshot, as sharp and short and emphatic.

Marsh ignored him and turned to Willow. “—me,” he continued, his eyes bright with new interest, “I’ll be at Morrow’s ranch.”

Everyone in the room turned toward Lobo at Marsh’s defiance. Expectancy vibrated.

Lobo’s hand touched his trouser leg, obviously fighting a need to react. Marsh’s hand moved similarly.

Willow, her knees shaking, moved between them.

Lobo’s hand dropped. His jaw clenched as he forced his eyes from her white face.

He turned to Marsh. “You have your answer,” he said.

Canton nodded. He’d made his offer, and there was nothing more to accomplish there, no reason to bait Lobo any further. He knew it had been dangerous, but he’d been hired to protect the woman, and he’d wanted to know Lobo’s interest. Now he did, and he was somewhat amused by it. Lobo was the last person in the world he’d ever accuse of sentimentality, but there was no mistaking the protectiveness of the man, or that brief agonized look before his usual implacable mask covered it.

Canton turned to Morrow, who looked embarrassed and awkward. His employer put his hat back on and tugged at the front of it in respect. “Miss Willow, we’ll go, then. I’ll let you know about the cattle.”

She nodded, unable to say anything, unable to take her eyes from the man that was all Lobo and none of Jess. She knew her eyes must show her confusion, and when he turned toward her, his face was comprehending and suddenly weary. His lips tightened.

After the three men had left, the remaining occupants of the room continued to stand. Brady’s gaze went from Lobo to Willow, and Lobo’s eyes clouded slightly as he searched Willow’s face. “Now you know exactly what I am,” he said bitterly. “Marsh and I are two sides of the same coin.”

“No,” she disagreed, but there was a new uncertainty in her voice that struck like a knife in the gut.

“You’re too smart not to see it,” he said grimly. “I was fool enough to forget it.” He went out and slammed the door behind him.

Willow started after him, but Brady stopped her. “Leave him alone for a while.” His eyes were unexpectedly kind as his hand touched her shoulder.

“But…”

“He needs to be alone,” he said.

“He thinks…”

“He’s right,” Brady broke in softly. “I saw your face, too. You’ve set him on too high a horse, my girl. You’ve never let yourself see the whole man.”

“I love the whole man,” she protested.

“Do you, Willow? Did you love him here in the kitchen or did he scare you?”

“Of course he scared me,” Willow said in a more temperate voice. “He…surprised me, but that doesn’t mean…”

“He’s a gunfighter, Willow. He’s been one for years. There’s not too many gentle ones of that breed alive.”

“He’s different,” she said.

Brady was silent a moment. “I won’t argue he’s surprised me some, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s a hard man, one who’s survived in a business that doesn’t allow human emotions or weaknesses.”

Willow swallowed. She had seen him mostly as a heroic figure, a mythical one. In her own mind she’d transformed him into her own Odysseus: strong, compassionate, a warrior for right. Even as he was telling her about his youth, she saw him as a David fighting against overwhelming odds.

She suddenly realized Brady was right. So was Lobo, when he’d seen her face. By continuing to call him Jess, she had steadfastly denied the other part of him, pretended it didn’t exist. But it did exist. And she’d just seen that part. Cold. Dangerous. Deadly. Ready to kill.

“If you try to change him, you’ll end up killing him,” Brady continued in a low voice.

“Would you care?”

“Strangely enough, I think I would,” he replied wryly. “Damned if I know why.”

Willow stared at him. He had been bitterly opposed to Lobo since he’d discovered who the stranger really was.

Brady shrugged, a gesture that reminded Willow so much of Lobo. Chad was also doing it.

“I have chores,” he said.

“Brady…”

He turned to her.

“Do you think he’ll leave?”

“Not until he finishes what he started,” Brady replied.

“And then?”

“Yes.”

Willow felt tears in the back of her eyes, and she turned away, not wanting Brady to see them. She knew that in some way she’d disappointed Jess—no, Lobo—that she’d badly let him down, and she hurt at the thought. She’d kept demanding that he be Jess. Perhaps he was. But he was also Lobo.

She didn’t know if she could ever accept that part of him.

L
OBO STOOD ON
top of the hill. He’d done foolish things in his life, but never any quite as crazy as that afternoon. Ever since he sighted the ranch, all his rules, all his precautions, had flown away with the wind. He didn’t know who he was anymore.

He’d half believed himself Willow’s Jess that afternoon. During those few moments after she’d left the woods, he’d even imagined that perhaps…

What in the hell had he imagined? Lobo and the schoolteacher? Lobo as a farmer, a rancher? As a husband, a father?

It all was ludicrous now after the encounter in the kitchen. His life was full of such encounters. It hadn’t meant more to him than just as another one, until he’d seen Willow’s face and the dawning realization in it. And then he’d wanted Canton to draw. He’d wanted it very badly, because the pain in him was so strong. Willow had looked at him like a stranger, like an animal to be feared, and that was what he was.