Patricia Potter (45 page)

The wagon moved off at a fast clip. Chad kept expecting someone to holler at them, but no one did. He urged the horses into a faster pace, praying that nothing would happen until he arrived at the ranch.

T
HE CHURCH WAS
only half filled when the meeting started; there had been no time to contact people outside the range of the pealing bells. Those who filed into the building fidgeted with anxiety over what had called them out on a workday.

The meeting started with a prayer, as usual. Sullivan had already explained to the minister and mayor what was happening and had asked for their assistance. Both had demurred until they learned the wishes of the other townspeople.

Once the preliminaries were settled, Sullivan started to speak although his eyes kept looking for Marisa. “Willow Taylor’s in trouble.”

“Ain’t she always?” came a voice from the back. Sullivan sent the speaker a baleful look.

“It’s serious,” Sullivan said.

“Ain’t it always?” returned the unrepentant voice.

Sullivan ignored the speaker, the bartender at the saloon who regretted the loss of Chad’s very cheap services. “Marisa Newton says her father’s raiding the Taylor ranch this morning.”

“How come she’s tellin’ you?” the sheriff, disgruntled at being the last to know, spoke.

“That doesn’t matter,” Sullivan said impatiently. “What does matter is that we do something.”

“What can
we
do? We’re just storekeepers and farmers,” Mr. MacIntyre said.

“If we all go out there together,” Sullivan said, “and show Newton we’re united and aren’t going to tolerate this in our community, maybe he’ll see reason.”

“Old Alex ain’t never goin’ to see reason,” the stable owner said. “We all know that. But mebbe Sully’s right. Mebbe it is time we do something to end this damned feud, beggin’ the ladies’ pardon.”

“Our ladies can’t even walk the street anymore with all the gunfighters in town,” Mr. MacIntyre added.

“And if they decide to stay, this town won’t be worth a plug nickel. Lookit some of the other towns…Abilene and sech. Ain’t fit for women and children.”

“But we ain’t gun hands,” a doubter contended. “And Alex and Gar hired some of the best, according to hearsay. Why not jest let them go at each other, good riddance to both. Leave us in peace.”

“And what about Miss Willow?” piped up Mrs. MacIntyre, who’d decided to stay and make sure that John did the right thing. The children would be all right for an hour or so, she reasoned.

“She brought this all on herself,” the bartender said. “Besides, she has that gunslinger of her own now.”

There was a murmur throughout the crowd. “What about that, Dr. Sullivan?” said someone in the audience.

Sullivan silently groaned and damned Lobo. “There’s two men, including Brady Thomas, against an army. They don’t have a chance. Neither does Willow, and each of you know she won’t give in to Alex Newton.”

“What’ll we do,” complained a woman, “if we lose Miss Willow? Remember how much trouble we had getting a schoolteacher. Remember Abner Goodbody and Sam Morgan. I don’t know ’bout you folks, but I want my Ethan to have some learning. He’s been a different boy since Miss Willow came.”

“My Hiram too,” echoed another woman. “He’s only eight, and already he reads the Bible.”

Betty MacIntyre nodded her head fiercely, as did the other women.

Ethan’s mother stood up again, a solid, rawboned woman in her thirties. “You men here might be scared, but I’m not. I’m going out there to help her.”

Another woman stood up. “I’m with you, Opal. I kin shoot as well as my man.”

“I’m ain’t going to let my kids go with no schooling,” said a third. “Not like I did.”

Before long, every woman in the meeting was striding determinedly out of the church as their men stared at one another with astonishment before scampering after them. Standing alone at the podium with a bemused Sullivan was Mayor Stillwater, who had watched his usually gentle, peace-loving Susan add her hue and cry to the proceedings. Too dumbfounded to speak, he slammed down the gavel to end the already disintegrating meeting and hurried after his warrior wife.

T
HOSE FEW MOMENTS
of gentleness might never had happened, Willow thought as she studied Lobo. It had been nearly an hour now, and his face was expressionless, as if nothing had passed between them.

Lobo appeared at ease as he leaned against the corner of the window. But Willow knew that when he looked his most relaxed, he was at his most dangerous. Even if she hadn’t learned that in the past few days, she recognized the wolflike glitter in those fierce turquoise eyes and what it meant.

She swallowed, wondering whether she was right in risking his life. But she had faith in him, complete conviction that he could make things right without anyone getting hurt. He had explained to her what he intended with the dynamite, and she’d marveled at his ingenuity. It was, she thought, as good a trick as even Odysseus could devise.

She couldn’t take her eyes from him, from the tall, lanky body that she knew intimately, from its ridges and hard edges, its warmth and passion, the gentleness and violence. He was all violence now, all watchful, wary tension.

Willow wanted to say something to him, to beg him to stay after this was over. She knew that one victory here would mean only a greater defeat. She thought of the ranch without him. In so short a time he’d made such an impact on it, on everyone living here.

Willow forced her gaze from him, following the direction of his eyes. Jupiter was in his own section of the corral that Lobo had built. The other animals were milling around inside the larger corral. Lobo had not wanted to leave them inside the barn in case Newton’s men did succeed in setting fire to it.

The chickens, including Brunhilde, had been chased out of the small henhouse for the same reason and the door locked against their return. Willow could hear Brun-hilde’s loud protest as she poked angrily first at the door of the henhouse, then at the gate.

Willow looked back at Lobo, whose gaze now raked over her slowly, lingering at her breasts and then returning to the road. She saw his eyes soften almost imperceptibly even if his hard mouth didn’t, but the small flicker was enough. She reached out her hand and touched him, letting her fingers rest lightly on his arm. She wanted to do more, much more, but at the moment any contact was like a miracle. She saw him stiffen slightly, but he didn’t draw away; instead, his gaze moved back to her face.

There was smoldering need in his eyes, and desperate fear for another person, and an anguished regret that made her blood run cold. For a moment she almost wished that his eyes were shaded, as they had been in the beginning, because she didn’t know whether she could bear the message in them now. He was telling her that nothing had changed between them.

Suddenly she was in his arms, and his mouth was pressing hard against hers, as she sought with everything in her body to give to him whatever she could. Her hands went around his neck, drawing him into her world of sunshine and light and laughter. His lips softened for a fraction of a second. Then they both heard a shout, and his body stiffened, his hands thrusting her away and grabbing for the gun.

They both stared at the cloud of dust coming from up the road.

26

B
rady and Estelle saw the dust clouds at the same time.

“Godalmighty,” Brady said. “There’s a bunch of them.”

Brady was lying belly down on the floor of the hayloft, and Estelle was stretched out beside him. For the first time in her life she didn’t find it unpleasant to feel a man’s heat next to her.

She strained her eyes to see. The dust eclipsed the riders, making it difficult to tell their number. She let out a small gasp as the haze drifted away, revealing an army of men approaching fast.

Brady put a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. “Lobo knows what he’s doing.”

“So do you,” she said loyally, and Brady felt as if he’d sprouted another twelve inches. He looked down at his hands, and they were as steady as they had once been.

“If they start firing,” he said, “you move back.”

“No,” she said steadily. “I’ll stay here with you.”

Part of him wanted to say no, but he realized it would do no good, just as it had done no good to ask her and Willow to leave. Estelle was a hell of a lot stronger than anyone gave her credit for, but then she’d had to be strong to survive what she had.

He smiled suddenly, a warm, sharing smile of approval and liking, and he saw Estelle glow like candles on the trees he and his family used to decorate every Christmas. He wondered only briefly at the memory; he’d tried for years to shut out images of his wife and son, but now he welcomed them. He had never thought he could have anything like it again, but now…

Brady heard the creaking of a wagon, and his eyes turned again to the gate. He saw a buckboard move slowly, the upright figure of a man sitting straight in front, and he recognized Alex Newton. His gaze moved to the men surrounding him, and he quickly identified Keller and the ones who had come the other night. Those were the ones to watch.

Suddenly a gunshot came from the house, and there was an explosion just outside the fence, sending rock and dirt high into the air. Some of the approaching horses reared in fear, two of them throwing their riders. The advance stopped, and a few of the men even retreated. Brady aimed at the red ribbon marking another group of buried dynamite.

“Don’t come any closer,” Lobo yelled from the house.

Brady hoped his hands would remain steady. He was to fire if Newton continued to approach.

“Lobo?”

The shout came from the wagon.

“What do you want, Newton?” came Lobo’s reply.

“I want to talk to Willow.”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“I’ll give her anything she wants for the ranch.”

“Sorry,” Lobo yelled back.

“Lobo, damn you.”

“Get out of here, Newton, and don’t come back.”

“Hell I will,” Newton yelled. He lifted his hand to signal his men on.

Brady could barely see the small red marker, and there was a man near the buried charge. Close enough to be hurt? For a moment his hands trembled, and he murmured a brief prayer. He felt Estelle’s hand on his shoulder, and strength flooded back into his fingers. He pulled the trigger, and there was another explosion. More men were dislodged from their horses, while several rode away.

It took minutes for the confusion and panic to subside. Then Alex roared again. “This isn’t necessary, Willow. I don’t want anyone hurt. I know you don’t, but this land should belong to me. Tell me your price.”

Another shot was fired and a third explosion made the ground rumble. The horses pulling the buckboard reared and were brought down only through frantic effort by the driver.

Newton signaled again with his hands, and some of the men remaining with him took out their rifles, aiming toward the source of the gunfire. A volley of shots rang out, and Brady covered Estelle’s body with his own while Lobo did the same with Willow.

C
ANTON WAS UNSADDLING
his horse when a rider came galloping up to Gar Morrow’s place. For lack of anything else to do, Canton had been prowling the edges of the Morrow property, his searching eyes studying the thirsty cattle bellowing their need. Morrow wouldn’t be able to wait much longer, and that thought gave him pleasure. He was damnably tired of doing nothing.

He had partially amused himself by thinking of Lobo. The idea of his competitor defending the hearth and home of a schoolteacher had made him chuckle. As far as he’d known, Lobo had absolutely no weaknesses or attachments, which had made him very dangerous indeed.

He’d remembered the fury in Lobo’s eyes when he had intimated that something was going on between Lobo and Willow Taylor. And Canton had not missed the flushed look of Miss Taylor or the leaves on Lobo’s clothing. Nothing he’d been told about Willow Taylor had prepared him for the reality of the woman that day at her ranch, although he had seen her briefly at the dance. In just a few days time she had changed from a prim-looking woman into one most men would call beautiful. She’d had a glow that afternoon that was almost blinding.

He sorta envied Lobo.

The approach of the rider, however, quickly diverted his thoughts. There was an urgency about the man as he dismounted and ran up the steps of Morrow’s house to the door. Canton strode quickly to intercept him.

“Newton’s attacking the Taylor place,” the man said breathlessly as Gar Morrow opened the door. “Heard it in town.”

“Christ,” Morrow said. “I never really thought…”

But Canton was no longer listening. This was why he was hired, and he was eager to earn his pay. Besides, it would be interesting to work alongside Lobo. If, he thought with another brief chortle, the man still had his senses about him. He heard Morrow order his men to saddle up, but Canton didn’t wait. He hurried back to his horse, tightened the saddle straps which he’d just loosened, mounted, and galloped on ahead.

A
S
C
HAD FRANTICALLY
whipped the horses toward home, a strange parade was beginning to snake its way from town. Led by the Sunday carriage of Mayor August Stillwater, a line of every kind of conveyance, from a lumber wagon to the town hearse, was also heading toward the Taylor ranch. Some were filled with whole families, while two had only one occupant each, both women. Several men rode on horseback and one boy was mounted on a mule. Sullivan was astride his horse, his hands much too tense on the reins. He’d looked everywhere for Marisa, but she wasn’t anyplace to be found. Instinctively he knew she had gone to Willow. Yet he hesitated to leave the main party of Newton townsfolk. The mayor was too tentative by far, despite the stalwartness of his wife. And everything depended on the alliance—Willow’s life and future, the peace of this area, the future of the town. Even, perhaps, his future. His and Marisa’s.