Patricia Potter (49 page)

“It was my fault…your hand, your injuries, and now…going before…”

She hated the tears clouding in her eyes. She turned, not wanting him to see her weakness. He didn’t tolerate weakness. Not in himself. Not in anyone.

Willow felt his left hand touching her cheek just as it had weeks before.

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t cry for me.” He remembered another time she had cried. He had felt her tears on his cheek. It had been the first time he’d ever known her to cry. It had been the first time anyone had ever cried for him. It had been humbling and aching then. It was even more so now.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she said.

“I’m nothing but a mirage,” he said softly, awkwardly, trying hard to put his reasoning into words. He was so afraid that Willow still didn’t see him as he was, and that one day she would be bitterly disappointed in him. He couldn’t stand to see her love turn to disgust. “A picture in the sky, something that doesn’t really exist. I’m not your Odysseus. No matter what I call myself I’m still Lobo.” He hesitated. “I’ve never known how to love. I don’t know now,” he added flatly.

“You know better than anyone I’ve ever met,” she said. “Because you never ask for anything in return.”

“Don’t,” he said roughly. “I know what I am, what I’ll always be.”

Willow stood on tiptoe, her hand going to his face. He hadn’t been able to shave, and he looked now like a desperado, like the man he was trying to convince her he was. Her fingers touched the rough blond bristles and traced his clenched jaw.

“I love you,” she said. “You’re…not a mirage or a legend. You couldn’t be, not with all your stubbornness and bad temper and…and…”

Despite himself, Lobo was unable to move, lost in the intensity of her eyes, in the need to touch her one last time.

He leaned down, his lips caressing the soft skin. “And…what?”

Willow felt hope bubbling up inside her at his sensual tone.

“Obstinacy,” she said, but her voice teased him. “Like a mule.”

“A mule?” There was an encouraging challenge in the words.

She blushed suddenly. “Well, maybe not exactly like a…mule.”

His lips crushed down on hers then, with need and demand and want.

Fire erupted between them, as it always did, but now desperation made it glow white-hot. His lips possessed and loved and devoured, his good arm drawing her body close to his until they were nearly one again. Willow relished the stinging scrape of his beard against her skin, the clean, soapy, male scent, the angular plane of his bones, the firmness of his lips as he seemed to reach inside her and extract her very essence.

She prayed, silently and hard. She prayed that her love would communicate itself to him, would make him believe, would make him understand that he was good for them all, that he brought out the best in them all, that he’d made them all grow and take responsibility and stand tall.

Just as he had.

She tried to tell him that with her lips and her mouth and her body. But just when she thought she might succeed, just as his lips started to yield, he backed away, his eyes shaded and dark.

He studied the rough red marks on her cheek made by his beard, and the fingers of his good hand touched them very gently. “I always hurt you,” he said in a low voice.

“No,” she denied.

But his hand didn’t stop the soft probing. “You see,” he said, “I can’t even shave myself.”

“But I can do that,” she said. “And you will again.”

“The sawbones isn’t so sure.”

“That old woman,” she scoffed, finally bringing a faint smile to his lips.

“Don’t make this so hard.”

“And what will it be for Chad and Sallie Sue…and even Estelle? They all love you.”

“They’ll forget soon enough.”

“They will never forget. I’ll never forget. You can’t just walk in and out of people’s lives.”

“I’m a danger to you, especially now.” He looked down at his hand.

“No,” she said, the tears coming faster. She had to convince him.

Lobo looked back down at the saddle. “The longer I stay, the harder it will be,” he said. “For all of us. Help me.” It was an agonized plea.

“Where will you go?” she asked.

He shrugged.

Willow felt her heart crumble as she tried one last time. “We need you.”

“A cripple?”

“You. Everything you are. Everything.”

“I’m no damned good for anything. Not anymore.”

“You’re damned good at everything,” she said, and he looked at her in shock. He’d never heard her utter a profanity before, not even at the worst of times. His brows came together.

But Willow went on, disregarding his deep scowl. “No one thought of the dam until you came. No one could have finished the barn so quickly, no one could have held off an army—”

He started to speak, to say he could no longer do that, but she wouldn’t let him. “It was the intelligence, not the gun,” she continued desperately as he started trying to saddle his horse again. “And what about Brady and Estelle?”

“What about ’em?”

She sighed in exasperation. “Surely you’ve noticed the changes.”

He gave her a bittersweet smile. “Brady was already changing. Alex just speeded up the process.”

“Not Alex. You.”

“Don’t let Brady hear you say that.”

“He would be the first to admit it.”

“Then he would be wrong. No one really changes. They just wander off a trail now and then. Like I did here. It’s time to get back on it.”

“You are the most stubborn, pigheaded, unreasonable—”

“You’ve already said that,” he reminded her.

“Because it’s true,” she replied waspishly.

He clenched his teeth together. “Dammit, Willow, you’re better off without me. You may have buried the name, but you didn’t bury the man.”

“The
man
is what I want,” she said, the waspishness gone, replaced by softness.

He tried again to reason with her. “Even a stubborn, pigheaded…?”

Willow suddenly smiled through the tears. “Odd, isn’t it. But that’s exactly what I want…what we all want. Even the town. Why do you think they did what they did at the funeral? Everyone.”

The saddle dropped from his hand, and he swore softly before adding his most telling argument. “They didn’t think I would be staying. That was just their way of getting shed of me.”

“I think Brady made it clear that you might stay.”

A strange look flitted over his face. No one had ever wanted him before, much less a whole town. Even less a sheriff, for chrissakes, even an ex-drunk one.

“I still can’t read,” he argued in a low, shamed voice.

“You will,” she said, sensing victory.

“I’m restless.”

“Not for long.”

“I’m not a fanner.”

“What about a rancher?”

“Dammit, Willow, it won’t work.”

“Why?”

“Someone will recognize me.”

“What, a peace-loving rancher with a large family? With the respect of a whole town. Lobo?”

“The town will get over it quick enough. Tomorrow. The next day.”

“Everybody in town saw you take that bullet for Sallie Sue,” she said. “Everyone saw how you avoided killing anyone. Everyone knows what you did for Brady. There was even a town meeting—”

“A what?”

“A town meeting. When they decided to bury Lobo.”

“A town meeting, for chrissakes…”

“They’re usually about me,” she said with that serene smile that drove him crazy. “It’s time they had someone else to meet about.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Just think,” she said dreamily, “the two of us…we’ll keep them busy for the next twenty years.”

“Willow…”

“Thirty years?”

“Willow…”

“And you promised to show Chad some horse tricks.”

“Willow…”

“And I think you and I have some unfinished business—”

“Willow…”

“I love you, Jess.”

“Willow…”

“And Sallie Sue, Chad, and the twins…they love you.”

“Willow…”

“Of course, you may not want such a large family—”

He leaned down and kissed her hard. It was the only way to shut her up. But some of the words caught fire in him. Maybe, just maybe it could work, he thought as her lips parted under his. In the past few weeks, more and more of Lobo had been eclipsed by Jess, by the boy who’d once dreamed about a home, by the man who’d taken pleasure in the simple acts of building, of plowing, of holding a child. Perhaps Jess could make it work.

There would still be Lobo in him. There would always be Lobo, but there was also the dreamer again. He looked at Willow and knew that anything was possible. She had brought Jess back to life, Jess, who’d loved his brother, who’d looked at a cinnamon sky and saw beauty, and who’d craved a family like others had.

And now a town had made that possible. A whole town of people, people who could have turned their backs to him.

The whole town?

He chuckled, and Willow couldn’t decide whether she was offended. She’d never heard him chuckle before. “The whole town?” he asked as if he’d just comprehended her words. “The whole town wants me?”

She looked up at him delightedly. He looked so perturbed, so bemused by the thought that all his masks were suddenly gone, all the guardedness. She closed her eyes at the wonder of it.

“Maybe,” he said thoughtfully, even wistfully, “maybe I could try. I did promise Chad…”

“Gar said he would even give us some stock…because we let him use the water.”

Lobo…no, he thought suddenly. For the first time he thought of himself as Jess. He felt like Jess. Thoughts tumbled in his head as he considered her last words. His will. Willow had a surprise coming. But that could wait until later.

His good arm went around her suddenly, squeezing her tightly, and he didn’t feel the pain in his ribs. He felt only elation.

Elation and hope.

“Lady,” he said caressingly, “you’re plumb crazy.”

“Everyone says so,” she agreed happily as his mouth pressed tightly against hers, and even the gentle sound of rain outside was lost in the legendary magic of what both knew was a homecoming.

Epilogue

T
he entire town of Newton attended the christening of Penelope Taylor Martin.

It reminded some of the frequent town meetings of what seemed like several years earlier. There had not been one for eighteen months. Peace and tranquillity had been restored to the small town nestled in the rolling plains.

Reverend Cecil Mooney officiated. Mayor August Stillwater and his gentle wife looked on with indulgent satisfaction.

Sheriff Brady Thomas and his wife, Estelle, were the proud godparents. Sullivan and Marisa Barkley beamed happily behind them with their own eight-month-old son.

Jess Martin stood tall during the ceremony, and bent over only slightly to sign his and his child’s names in the church register. He did it with difficulty, not because he couldn’t write, for he did now, but because two of his fingers remained stiff. Still, he knew the most complete joy in his life. All the nights he had worked so hard to learn, all the frustration, had finally given him the one thing he wanted most after his family.

His family. It didn’t even sound strange anymore. Chad. The twins. Sallie Sue. They all stood as proud as he felt.

And Willow. His infuriating, remarkable, strong-willed but incredibly gentle Willow. Her face was soft and loving as she looked down at their child, the newest addition to their family.

He looked around the church and saw all the other children there, even some young adults. They had all been Willow’s children, were still her children. They looked at her with something akin to devotion. She had affected all their lives, was still affecting many of them, since she continued teaching, and Jess could no more try to dissuade her than he could stop breathing. He didn’t want to. Her love for the children, and theirs in return, had made his new life possible.

The love and affection the town had finally given Willow also enveloped him. Gar Morrow had helped him choose and buy cattle; other ranchers had helped him learn the business; the San Francisco banker had protected his identity when funds were transferred and Canton had sent his money. Willow had been incredulous at first, then quietly accepting, not so much for herself, but for him, because the money made it so much easier to build the dream her husband had, that of making a secure place for them all.

Strangers, gunslingers trying to make a reputation, had come at first, but they were quickly convinced by everyone that the man named Lobo had indeed died. They were all shown the grave, which usually had fresh flowers at the headstone. Willow took them often. It was Lobo, after all, who had given her Jess.

After the signing of the register, all the participants and guests went to a reception at the mayor’s home, even Gar and Alex. The two men spoke cordially, but they did not have the friendship they once had. Too many years of bitterness lay between them for trust. But Willow had hope.