Patricia Potter (38 page)

He walked over to the window and watched her ride away, part of his heart going with her.

Marisa rode home slowly. She knew all hell would break loose when she arrived, and she wasn’t particularly eager to encounter it, not in the mood she was in.

More than anything, she needed to talk to someone. About her father. About Sullivan. She had been trying to catch Sullivan’s attention for years. Even as a girl she’d been fascinated by the tall, quiet, handsome doctor who always seemed so in control yet always alone. Her heart caught when she saw the gray eyes, solemn yet so caring, rest on children, or anyone in need. And then, when she was older, the fascination had turned into something more, something that made her ache inside.

The road went past Willow’s place, and she decided to stop by. Even if her father learned of it, Marisa didn’t think she cared. She loved her father, no matter what he did, and she knew he needed her. But she couldn’t support him in this obsession for vengeance.

It was past dusk, and the lights in Willow’s ranch house were like a beacon. Marisa had hardly reached the hitching post when the door flew open, and Willow stood there, her face eager. Marisa watched some of the expectancy fade away, but a smile remained. “Marisa, I’m glad to see you.”

Marisa dismounted and joined Willow. “Can we go for a walk and talk?” she asked.

Willow needed that as much as her guest apparently did. “Of course,” she said, closing the door.

They strode in silence to the barn, and Marisa looked at it with amazement. So much had been done since the barn raising days earlier.

“Lobo,” Willow explained. “Lobo and Brady together.” She’d decided that evening, after Lobo left, that the only way she could bring him back was to make him understand that she accepted him and all he was.

She’d thought and thought about him, wondering if she
did
love all of him? Or did she love only Jess, who had ridden into her life, silhouetted against the sky and blazing sun like a golden knight?

Could she love a tarnished one? A man who represented everything she’d been taught to fight. Violence. Death.

Then she’d felt that warmth he created in her, the sense of belonging, the gentleness she knew was rare. But could she accept the other part?

Was her fascination superficial, the need to bind wounds as she was wont to do? Was it merely the need of a woman to save a lost soul?

But she’d loved him before she knew the dark side. And when she discovered that other part of him, she still loved him.

But that was before she had seen him with Canton, had seen deadly things she hadn’t known before.

So many buts. The internal conversation had continued all afternoon and into the evening. She’d seen him ride back for Brady, and leave again. And she’d been unable to do anything but watch because she didn’t know how she felt.

Finally, she made a bargain with herself. She had to accept him as Lobo. She would try. Anything else would be a grievous wrong against him.

“What’s Lobo really like?” Marisa said curiously, her own problems momentarily laid aside.

Willow smiled softly. “He’s like the wind with all its moods. Gentle one moment, stormy and unpredictable the next.”

“Gentle?” Marisa questioned. She would never forget the harsh face and cold eyes, the cynical look that had raked her body that morning on her father’s land.

Willow grinned. Everyone seemed to see Lobo in a different way. “Yep,” she said with exaggerated humor.

“I don’t believe it.” But another look at Willow’s face, and Marisa did.

“Do you think he’ll stay?”

“No,” Willow said softly, “but I’ll take what I can right now.”

Marisa looked closer. Willow in love? With a gunslinger? Nothing seemed more unlikely.

“Do you love Lobo?”

Did she love Lobo as well as Jess? And the answer came swiftly. “Yes.”

“Even though…?”

“Even though,” Willow confirmed. Suddenly despite her afternoon’s debate, she knew she did, reservations and all.

Thoroughly fascinated, Marisa put all her surprise into one startled exclamation. “But he’s a hired gun!”

“He’s a lot more than that, Marisa. I’ve never seen anyone so good with horses, and the children…they worship him. Even Brady’s a different man since he came.”

“But he’s a killer.”

Willow had no immediate answer for that. Despite her brave words, she didn’t know much about that side of him, just what people said, just what she’d seen that afternoon. The potential. The ease. But she hadn’t seen the killing. She wondered whether she still really believed it. She only knew about the man she’d seen and been with, and the man she loved.

“What are you going to do?”

“Love him until he goes,” Willow said. “If he’ll let me,” she added, not knowing whether he would, after her reaction that afternoon.

“And then?”

Willow looked at Marisa helplessly. “Keep loving him, I suppose.”

Marisa couldn’t stop herself from sighing. “And I came to you for help.”

Willow immediately turned to Marisa, all concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Sullivan.”

Willow shook her head. “Stubborn as always?”

“I just threw myself at him.”

“And what happened?”

“He said I was too nice to marry.”

Willow smiled. “I doubt if he meant it that way. What exactly did he say?”

“That he thought a lot of me, and if he didn’t, he would go ahead and marry me.”

“Idiot,” Willow observed.

“He is not,” Marisa said, indignant.

“No, he is not. He’s just stubborn like another man I know. It must be a masculine trait.”

“You’re pretty stubborn yourself,” Marisa said, giggling.

They looked at each other and started laughing.

“What should I do now?” Marisa asked after their mirth subsided.

“Be patient. I’ve seen Sullivan look at you. I think unconsciously he’s been waiting for you to grow up and know exactly what you want.”

“I know what I want.”

The smile on Willow’s face faded slightly as she studied Marisa. “Are you sure, absolutely sure? Being a doctor’s wife isn’t easy.”

Marisa stopped walking. “Neither is being the daughter of Alex Newton. I hate this town now. I hate these…new gun hands. I hate what’s happening to my father and to this whole territory.”

Willow winced at the force of the words. “Do you want to come stay with me? There’s not much room, and it could be dangerous, but…”

Marisa put her hand on Willow’s arm. “Thank you, but I’m afraid that would just make things worse for you.”

“I don’t think it can be any worse,” Willow replied.

“Besides, I can try to reason with my father.”

“But you just said—”

“I don’t think anyone can now, Willow. It’s like he’s gone mad. Nothing matters except getting this ranch and ruining Mr. Morrow. But I’m the only one who can try.”

Willow took her hand. “You’ve been a good friend, Marisa.”

“No more so than you. I’ll try to warn you if my father makes a move. I won’t let him hurt you or the children.”

“We have Lobo now.”

“Have you thought he might be the spark that ignites this thing?”

“He won’t start anything, Marisa. He’s just here to protect the young ones. He…seems to be very protective of them.”

“And you,” Marisa said.

Willow didn’t answer, but her face went red, even in the soft glow of the moon.

“I’d better get back,” Marisa said. “Thank you for listening.”

“Sullivan will come around.”

“And your Lobo?”

Willow shook her head slowly. Perhaps for a day, even several, but no more. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Well, I’ll pray for both of us,” Marisa said unexpectedly.

“Be careful.”

Marisa gave her a quick hug, realizing she’d never done that with a woman before. She’d never had a close friend, not until Willow. “I will,” she said, and left before Willow saw her trembling mouth.

22

C
had appeared on the hill just as the sun was breaking over the eastern horizon.
The boy’s eyes were still sleepy, but he wore an eager-to-please smile on his lips.

“Brady asked me to take over the watch.”

Brady, Lobo thought, was suddenly taking much on himself, but still he knew the ex-lawman was right. Lobo was dog-tired, body and mind, and that wouldn’t do anyone any good.

Lobo regarded Chad’s face, and again remembered his brother. He wished he didn’t, yet the flashes came more regularly now, as if some barrier had been broken. “Can’t think of anyone I’d trust more,” he said gruffly, and was rewarded with a blinding smile.

Disgusted with himself for the momentary weakness, Lobo swung up into his saddle. A few hours sleep, that was all he needed.

He didn’t want to go back to the ranch but that was probably the only place to go. And then he thought about the woods where he and Willow had made love. It didn’t matter where he slept, outdoors or in the barn, as long as he was close enough to hear any shots.

Lobo turned his horse toward the river. Willow would soon be gone from the ranch, on her way to school, and then he would return, pick up Brady and something to eat, and they would finish the dam and start the irrigation ditches.

When he reached the woods, he looked around for a place to sleep and found the spot where he and Willow had made love. The grass was still bent where they’d lain, and the sight of it hurt.

A showdown was near—he could feel it with every instinct he had—and then he would go.

“Damn,” he whispered, knowing how hard leaving would be. But he had no choice. His name and reputation would only draw more of his ilk; Willow and the children would never be safe. Not that she would want him to stay, not after yesterday. He closed his eyes and swore a more profane curse.

He dismounted, taking the brimmed hat he kept tied to the saddle in case of rain but seldom used otherwise. Hats were a garment, a convenience, of the whites, one he’d never grown used to. But now he placed it over his eyes, his hands brushing stubbled cheeks as he did so. He was asleep in seconds.

B
RADY WAITED FOR
Lobo at the barn until past sunrise, and then decided to work on the dam on his own. He saw Lobo by the trail, and smiling at the prone form, he passed him and went to the dam.

He could hardly believe how much Lobo had done after he’d left the previous night. Only a trickle was going through. In another day Newton would have damned little water and there would be hell to pay. Brady went to work, using mud to fill in the remaining holes. When he was through, he cleaned himself in the river and went to wake up Lobo.

Brady knew about men and guns. He particularly knew you woke someone like Lobo very carefully. So he approached on foot, leading his horse, hoping to make enough noise to wake Lobo. As he expected, Lobo was sitting up, his gun out of the holster and probably lying under the hat sitting innocently in the man’s lap.

“Feeling better?” Brady said.

Lobo grunted.

“I finished the dam. What now?”

“Try to get some water to that garden.”

“How?”

“Plow a ditch from the garden to here, then blast the embankment and hope the force of the water will carry it to the garden.”

“It’ll be a damned long ditch.”

“Yeah.”

“Who’s going to do the plowing?”

Lobo raised one of his eyebrows. “Heard you been doing some of that. Pretty good too.

“Heard you like learning new things.”

Lobo smiled suddenly, and Brady was surprised. Brady was beginning to understand Willow’s attraction for Lobo, and that was downright frightening.

“Tell you what,” Lobo said with a gleam in his eye. “I’ll match you shots for it.”

“You know you’re a hell of a lot faster—”

“Not speed. Accuracy. I heard you used to be damned good.”

“Used to be is right,” Brady said bitterly. “Afraid to try?” Lobo taunted.

Brady shrugged. “Why not?” he answered, and those few words cost him a lot more than he indicated. He wasn’t at all sure he wouldn’t totally disgrace himself.

“You pick the target.”

Brady looked around. There was a soft pine that would absorb the bullets without ricochet. He went to the bank of the river, grabbed some mud, and drew two lines across, three inches apart. The pine itself was no more than four inches in width.

Lobo nodded his approval, and Brady remembered the challenge the night before. He wondered briefly if this was another one of Lobo’s tests. He felt a surge of anger, resentment and determination all at once.

Lobo stood easily, his legs slightly apart in a stance all too familiar to Brady. Lobo’s jaw was rough with bristle, and he looked more of an outlaw than before, yet Brady no longer felt the menace he once did.