Patricia Potter (9 page)

She swallowed. Except for finally meeting their obviously reluctant knight errant, it had been a disastrous day.

What would they do now? All the hay was gone, all the tack. They still had the buckboard but none of the necessary equipment to hitch the horses to it.

The weather would start changing soon, and they no longer had shelter for the animals. The garden, from which Willow had hoped to supplement their food supply, was dying in the drought.

Willow allowed herself several moments of panic, even of thoughts of giving up. But they fled quickly. Jake had trusted her. The children depended on her.

And Estelle.

And Brady.

Her heart suffered for Brady. When he’d fully recovered from the aftermath of whiskey and smoke, Brady had realized exactly what had happened. He had crumpled with remorse and self-recrimination.

Willow had tried to reassure him. Possessions meant little. Only people mattered, and they were all safe.

But face ravaged, eyes red, he would accept none of it. Brady said he would ride bareback to town and obtain a saddle, then find Jupiter. After that he would leave the ranch, the town, perhaps even the territory. He had caused enough trouble.

“But we need you,” Willow had protested.

Brady laughed bitterly. He remembered hearing a voice saying,
You sure as hell don’t need any enemies.
The words had pierced his half-conscious mind and had stuck there. They would never leave him.

“Please, Brady,” Willow begged.

His head aching, his throat burning, and his stomach cramping, Brady turned and looked at her. “You have enough problems without me, Willow.”

“But—”

“And now it seems you have someone to help you.” Brady remembered little about the morning, only arms lifting him and dropping him, and those few words. But Chad had filled in some of the blank spots. The boy was bursting with admiration for the heroic stranger who seemed always to appear in time of need. Brady wished like hell he could remember something of the man, but the earlier hours of the day were only painful blurs.

He did ascertain from Chad that the man meant well. He was probably just a cowhand who had wandered onto the farm for water and then had checked back to see if everything was all right. There was a certain code in the West about helping women and children.

Perhaps the man could help Willow against Lobo. Maybe it would be even better if she moved back to town, where Sullivan could watch over her. One thing Brady knew for sure: he himself wasn’t of any use, not to her, not to himself, not to anyone. It was time he moved along.

So he shook his head gently at her next protest. “I’ll find Jupiter,” he said with finality, “and then I’m leaving.”

“But where will you go?”

He shrugged. “A drunk doesn’t care where he is.”

There was so much self-accusation, so much self-hate in his eyes that Willow wanted to cry for him. But she didn’t. Pity wouldn’t help anything.

“But I’ll find Jupiter for you first,” he promised.

Willow nodded, her mind working. She would find a way of making him stay. He had been doing so well. He had even been happy in a small way. Sallie Sue adored him, and the twins often followed him around. Only Chad, who’d seen too much drinking in his own father, was wary.

After Brady had left, Willow and Chad went out to the still-smoldering ruins of the barn. There was nothing salvageable, not even a stray piece of lumber. Her credit was already stretched to the limit at the store because of the seed, and if there wasn’t rain, she would lose that too.

She thought very briefly about Alex’s offer for the ranch, and even Gar’s, but a sale to either would mean a bloodbath in the valley. She had to find another way.

As Chad looked after the horses, she thought again about the man who had helped them, and the magnetic force that had flowed so vibrantly between them. He was not handsome in the traditional sense, and yet the face was strong and compelling. She wondered how a smile would look upon it. He seemed to have precious little experience with that. She had never seen eyes quite as protected as his, or a mouth quite as grim.

Yet he had risked his life for them three times now, declining even thanks.

Like Odysseus, he seemed to come from nowhere to confront obstacles and disappear as quickly. She wondered if he had a Penelope waiting for him. It was a shattering thought and one she didn’t wish to dwell upon. Not, she thought, that it made any difference. He certainly had shown little interest in her as a woman. And who would want all the trouble that came with her? A ready-made family, a run-down ranch in the middle of a feud, and one disaster after another.

But she knew a need and want she’d never known before, a feeling of unfulfillment that was new, an aching that wouldn’t go away.

The doctor arrived almost at dusk and was immediately claimed by Chad, who told of the latest calamity. Sullivan’s face creased with concern.

“What are you going to do, Willow?”

“I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t Newton?”

“Yes,” she said slowly, “but I almost wish it had been. Brady won’t forgive himself for this.”

Sullivan sighed. “I thought he’d defeated his craving for alcohol.”

“It’s all this gunfighter business.”

“And your white knight?” he teased, remembering that she had mentioned the mysterious benefactor in that fashion.

“He was burned pretty badly,” Willow said, “but he didn’t want any help.”

His face grew serious. Burns were nothing to ignore. “Perhaps I’ll look for him tomorrow. You have no idea where he came from or who he is?”

She shook her head.

Sullivan looked worried. “I’ve been asking around. No one else knows either. Perhaps tonight we’ll hear something.”

“I really don’t know if I should go to the dance.” She didn’t want to go. She wanted, instead, to think about the stranger, about the new kind of emotions he stirred in her.

“Yes, you should,” Sullivan said firmly. “You need to get away for a while.”

“But Brady’s not back, and I’m worried about him.”

“If Brady and Jupiter aren’t back by morning, I’ll help you find them, and tonight we’ll see about a barn raising.”

Willow lifted her gaze to his eyes. “Do you really think…?”

“We won’t know until we find out,” he said, but he hid his reservations. Alex wouldn’t like anyone helping her, and people here still paid attention to Alex.

Without more argument, Willow fetched her shawl. It had been a long time since she’d been to a social gathering. Perhaps she should mix more with the townspeople, but there was always so much to do, and she had a tendency to become impatient with their warnings and censure.

Despite her reservations, however, there was something reassuring about the people, the music, the laughter when they walked into the hotel dining room that had been cleared for the occasion. Willow tried to ignore the sudden cessation of talk as she and Sullivan walked in and curious eyes turned her way, but almost immediately the chattering started up again.

Although Willow knew he would not be there, she couldn’t stop her gaze from wandering around the room. All the faces were familiar, all but one.

The man stood alone, dressed entirely in black, including a black hat he hadn’t bothered to remove. There was something about the casual arrogance of his stance and his watchful eyes that made her gaze linger. His hair was dark, and his eyes obsidian and cold.

Was this Lobo?

But then she saw Gar Morrow walk over to him and speak quietly, and both their faces turned toward her and Sullivan.

So this was Gar’s man. So this was the look of a gunfighter. She thought briefly of the dime novels she’d often found in the hands of her students, and wondered whether this man had deliberately dressed to meet that image. Did Lobo also have that look of ruthlessness, of cold professionalism? She felt herself shiver slightly as Gar and the man approached them.

As if sensing her disquiet, Sullivan placed a hand under her arm, his fingers tightening against her skin with reassurance.

Gar declined his head politely. “Miss Taylor, this is Canton. He’s at your service,” he said. The man in black smiled, but the smile lacked any warmth.

“Miss Taylor,” he acknowledged.

Willow met his gaze directly. “Mr. Canton,” she replied. “I told Mr. Morrow, I don’t need any help.”

“Oh, but I think you do,” he said smoothly. “If what I heard is true.”

“And what have you heard?”

“That Lobo has been sent to run you out.”

Sullivan touched her elbow. “Do you know this man Lobo?”

“I do.”

“What does he look like?”

“You couldn’t miss him. His eyes…they’re a peculiar shade of blue. But he would also announce his presence. He doesn’t take much time with preliminaries.” Canton smiled again, a remote, impersonal smile.

Blue. That didn’t help much, Willow thought. Half the people in the world seemed to have blue eyes. She did. Her courageous stranger did. Well, blue-green anyway. But where Canton’s dark eyes were cold and blank, her palladin’s eyes had been angry and bewildered.

“You haven’t seen him yet?” Canton persisted.

She shook her head.

Gar looked puzzled. “As far as I can tell, no one else has either, but one of Newton’s men told one of mine that he’s here. He’s been camping out on the Newton’s ranch.”

“It’s not like Lobo to waste time,” Canton remarked, and there was professional admiration in his voice.

“I heard you had some trouble at the ranch,” said another voice, and Willow turned around. Mayor August Stillwater had approached and was listening.

Canton’s brows went up. “Trouble?”

“An accident. A lamp spilled over in the barn but we got the animals out, thank God.”

“You know I would buy the ranch,” Gar said quickly. He didn’t have anything close to the money that Alex had, but he could scrape up a decent price.

“I would no more sell it to you than I would to Alex,” Willow said softly but determinedly.

“You may not have any choice,” he retorted. “Without a barn—”

“I’m trying to arrange a barn raising,” Sullivan broke in smoothly, and Canton looked at him inquisitively, an eyebrow raised.

Gar looked from man to man. There was a sudden tension in the room.

“I’ll send my men,” Gar offered.

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Sullivan said. “It’ll just make Alex angrier.”

“All right, Sully. But remember, Willow, if there’s anything I can do to help, contact me. Or Canton. He’ll be nearby.” He retreated.

Canton stood there for a moment, tipping his hat slightly. “Miss Taylor,” he said with a smile that made her shiver before he turned and followed his employer. Everyone backed well out of his way.

Despite the merry sound of a fiddle starting in the background, Sullivan’s face was grim as he turned back to her. “I have a feeling all hell’s going to blow loose here.”

“If only Alex and Gar…”

“I know,” Sullivan said. He visibly tried to relax. “I wanted you to enjoy this evening. Will you dance with me?”

She smiled back and curtsied. “I would be honored, sir.”

Sullivan was an adequate but not easy dancer, and Willow was grateful she had to pay attention. She didn’t want to think about Canton or Gar Morrow or Alex Newton. She didn’t want to think about the storm clouds forming over the valley. But just as her eyes kept casting around the room for a tall, blond cowboy, she caught Sullivan’s eyes also searching—for, she suspected, the black-haired daughter of Alex Newton.

When the music ended, she excused herself to go talk with Betty MacIntyre, wife of the general store owner and mother of her prize pupil, Robert.

The news about the barn and the planned barn raising had already reached the woman, and she clasped Willow’s hands. “Mr. MacIntyre will be there to help.”

“I don’t want him to get in trouble with Alex because of me.”

“He’ll be there,” Betty insisted, though Willow knew her husband wouldn’t be as enthusiastic, just as he wasn’t that enthusiastic about seeing his son go to college halfway across the country.

Just then there was a commotion at the door, and all heads turned to watch Marisa Newton and the Newton ranch foreman make a grand entrance. Right behind them was a second man, a rough-looking individual Willow had never seen before.

Willow’s gaze automatically went to Sullivan and watched as his gray eyes hungrily followed Marisa. Marisa was a lovely girl, slender and graceful with long dark hair and dark brown eyes. She wore a simple but obviously expensive blue dress that hugged her soft curves. There was an exciting quality about Marisa, a vitality that made everyone turn and look.

Willow saw the girl’s glance find Sullivan, and something golden flared in those eyes before she turned away. Something had once happened between those two; Willow would wager on it if she were of the betting persuasion. But although she had always felt something urgent and alive between the two, Sullivan had said little.