RenegadeHeart (27 page)

The days and weeks passed with incredible slowness. Like a
dumb beast, Tyree moved obediently to the familiar tune of the whip across his
back, silently cursing Annabelle Walsh each time the lash bit into his flesh.

As the weeks became months, Rachel ceased to exist for
Tyree, as did everything else in the outside world. There was no room in his
life for thoughts of a golden-haired girl with sweet lips and honeyed flesh.
There was only room for hatred. Hate for Annabelle, for Montoya, for the guards
who ruled his every waking moment. There was no place for memories of happier
times. There was only room for hate, and for impotent dreams of vengeance.

Chapter Twenty-One

The days that passed so slowly for Logan Tyree passed slowly
for Rachel, as well. She refused to believe he was dead. Perhaps Annabelle had
nothing to do with the two men who had freed Tyree from jail. Perhaps Tyree had
somehow gotten word to those men that he was in jail and needed help. Perhaps
Annabelle had regretted her decision to be avenged on Tyree and that was why
she sent her men to break Tyree out of jail.

A dozen times a day, she looked out the window, or went to
the front door, eyes searching the horizon for some sign of a tall, dark-haired
man riding toward her. Nightly, she lay awake in her bed, praying he would come
for her. She would do anything he wanted, go anywhere he desired. Anywhere.
Even if it meant going to live with the Indians where he had once known
happiness.

But Tyree did not come, and as the days became weeks, Rachel
stopped waiting for him and resigned herself to the fact that he was not
coming—ever. The tears she had been holding back came then—hot, bitter tears
that somehow helped to ease the dreadful ache in her heart.

The twenty-fifth of May was the worst day of her life. She
spent most of the afternoon in her room, alone, staring out the window. Where
was Tyree? Fighting tears, she went to her closet and ran her hand over the
dress that was to have been her bridal gown. With a strangled sob, she snatched
the dress from the hanger and began to tear at the fabric with her hands and
when the material refused to give way, she grabbed a pair of scissors and
slashed the dress to ribbons.

“I hate you, Tyree!” she screamed. “Hate you, hate you, hate
you!”

Tears streamed from her eyes and she sank to the floor, her
face buried in the soft white material of the ruined gown.

Clint Wesley came to see her almost daily. At first, Rachel
was cold, almost rude, blaming him for what had happened to Tyree. But as time
passed, her anger turned to apathy, and then tolerance. Clint told her
frequently that he loved her, that he had always loved her. And when he kissed
her, it was the kiss of a man who knew his own mind, and not the kiss of a shy
boy. He brought her flowers and candy, courting her in earnest, determined to
make her love him. He took her to church every Sunday, escorted her to social
functions, took her for walks and picnics, anything to cheer her and bring a
smile to her face.

For Wesley, it was a time of waiting: waiting for Rachel to
forget Tyree, waiting for her affection to turn to the love he so desired,
waiting for the day she would agree to be his wife. He wooed her with kind
words and tender kisses, never pushing, never demanding, but the waiting was
hard.

He sought Rachel’s advice in decorating the old Miller
place, painted the rooms in the colors she preferred, bought furniture she
liked, arranged it as she thought best, always hoping that someday she would
share the house with him.

Once Rachel had convinced herself that she would never see
Tyree again, she tried to love Clint, tried to convince herself that she was
better off without Logan Tyree who had been nothing but an outlaw and a hired
gun, after all, while Clint Wesley was a fine honorable man whose thoughts and
actions were sincere and above reproach. Clint loved her dearly and proved it
in every way possible. But no matter how she tried, she could not persuade her
stubborn heart to forsake the love she felt for Tyree…

Once, she tried to explain to Clint how she felt, but he
kissed her to silence, declaring he did not give a damn how she felt about
Logan Tyree.

“I love you,” Clint had said firmly, “and I won’t give up on
us until the day you marry someone else. And if that man turns out to be Tyree,
then I’ll dance at your wedding and wish you all the best. But until then, I
aim to keep trying to win your love.”

John Halloran looked favorably upon Clint Wesley and the
possibility of having him as a son-in-law. Clint was a good man. He would be
good for Rachel if she would just give him half a chance. And perhaps Clint
would be good for the Lazy H, as well. Perhaps, with a lawman in the family,
Annabelle Walsh would stop trying to take over the ranch. Since Tyree’s
disappearance, Halloran cattle were being stolen from the new herd, fences were
being cut, crops were destroyed in the fields.

Often, Halloran wondered why Annabelle did not have him
killed out of hand the way she had killed others who opposed her. But no
attempts were made on his life, or Rachel’s. There was only a constant fight to
survive. It was not until Slash W cattle began filtering into his grazing land
that he realized Annabelle no longer considered him a threat.

Contemptuously, she allowed him to remain alive, knowing
there was nothing he could do to hurt her. Still, seeing Slash W cattle on his
range was like a slap in the face, but he could not fight, and he would not
run.

In July, Rachel’s mare gave birth to a long-legged bay
filly.

Rachel watched in wonder as the filly entered the world,
first two dainty hoofs, then a silky muzzle, followed by the head, body and
hindquarters. Morgana had an easy time delivering her first foal and Rachel
felt tears prick her eyes as the mare whickered softly to her foal, then licked
the filly’s face and ears. Within minutes, the filly was trying to stand.
Rachel did not interfere, knowing the foal needed to learn to control her long,
spindly legs, knowing there was strength in struggling. Finally, after several
attempts, the foal managed to gain her feet. Morgana blew softly, and then she
began to lick the filly dry.

Rachel grinned as the filly began to root around the mare’s
underbelly, looking for nourishment. Her thoughts were no longer on the miracle
of birth, but on a warm night in August when the gray mustang had sired the
filly. The night she had spent in Tyree’s arms. It was a night she would never
forget. Tyree had been like a stallion himself that night, wild and untamed,
bending her to his will, dominating her as the gray stud had dominated Morgana.
And she had reveled in it, had gloried in his strength as she surrendered to
him, totally and completely.

Tyree, Tyree, would she never be free of him? He was there,
wherever she looked. She thought of the night he made love to her before the
fire, the night he had danced her around the yard, the day they had spent at
the box social, the time he had saved Amy from harm, the hours he had spent
taming the gray stallion. Every room in the house held a memory of Tyree.

In August, John Halloran surprised everyone by proposing to
Claire Whiting, and she accepted. The wedding was held a week later at the
church in town. Claire was an attractive, middle-aged woman, and she made a
lovely bride.

Rachel wept quietly as the Reverend Jenkins pronounced
Claire and her father man and wife. The lovely ceremony, the timeless words
that united a man and a woman into one flesh, all seemed to mock the loneliness
in Rachel’s heart. She had been so certain Tyree would come back to her if he
could. So certain. It was hard to admit she would never see him again, harder
still because she was certain he was still alive. Somehow, she knew she would
feel it if he were no longer alive. Better to think of him alive and well in
some Mexican border town, even if it meant she would never see him again, than
to picture him dead, his vitality forever stilled. No matter what the future
held for her, no matter what man she eventually married, if she married at all,
she knew Tyree would always have a place in her heart.

She smiled wistfully as her father kissed his bride. She
recalled asking her father if he thought it wise to marry when they were having
so much trouble with Annabelle.

“If I don’t marry Claire now,” her father had replied,
giving her chin a squeeze, “I may never get the chance. Claire knows what I’m
up against, and she wants to share it with me.”

Fresh tears came then. If only Tyree were here to share
their troubles. She had never been afraid when Tyree was near. He had always
been so self-assured, so certain of what to do in a crisis.

Clint Wesley smiled indulgently as he handed his
handkerchief to Rachel.
Women
. They were so emotional, always crying at
weddings.

The reception, which was held in the schoolhouse, was lively
and well-attended, for John Halloran and his bride were well thought of by
their friends and neighbors in Yellow Creek.

Rachel sighed as her father and Claire danced the first
dance. Her father’s wedding had been everything she had hoped hers would be.

When the music ended, John Halloran claimed Rachel for the
next dance. “Well, daughter, what do you think?” he asked as he twirled her
around the room.

“I think you’ve married a wonderful woman,” Rachel said
sincerely. “I think you’ll be good for each other.”

“Thank you, child. Now, what about you? Why don’t you give
in and marry Clint? Don’t you think he’s courted you long enough?”

“What’s the matter, Pa?” Rachel asked, only partly kidding,
“Can’t you wait to be rid of me now that you’ve got another woman to look after
you?”

“Rachel!”

“I’m sorry,” Rachel said, ashamed. “I didn’t mean it. Maybe
you’re right. Maybe I should marry Clint, but—”

“It’s Tyree, isn’t it? You’re still hoping he’ll come back.”

“Yes.”

“Once I thought he would make a good husband for you, honey,
but maybe I was wrong. I don’t know if he’s dead or alive, but I do know that
some men are like wild horses. No matter how you try and gentle them, that wild
streak persists. You can’t beat it out of them, and you can’t love it out. It’s
ingrained too deep. Perhaps that’s the way it is with Tyree.”

“Perhaps.” Rachel gave her father a hug. “Stop worrying
about me, Pa. I’ll be fine.”

John Halloran kissed his daughter’s cheek as the dance ended
and Clint Wesley came to claim her. Wesley had matured in the last year,
Halloran thought. There was a new air of self-confidence about the man, an air
of assurance that had been heretofore lacking in his character. He had turned
into a damned handsome man, too, Halloran mused, and tonight he looked mighty
fine in a brown suit and tie. He glanced at Rachel and saw that she, too, was
aware of the change in the marshal. Maybe there would be another wedding in the
family before too long, after all.

“Take good care of my girl,” Halloran said to Clint. “She’s
the best there is.”

“Yes, sir,” Wesley agreed heartily. “The very best.” And the
most beautiful, Clint thought to himself. She looked incredibly lovely tonight
in a full-skirted cream-colored gown with long, billowy sleeves and a square
neck edged in ecru lace. Her hair, as gold as a new-minted coin, was held away
from her face with a wide satin ribbon tied in a big bow. She looked young and
vivacious and so desirable, it made him ache with longing just to look at her.

“Let’s get some air,” Clint suggested, and taking Rachel’s
arm, he steered her out the side door into the schoolyard.

It was a lovely night. The sky was a dark, dark blue.
Countless stars played hide and seek with a few drifting powder-puff clouds,
while the air was sweet with the scent of honeysuckle.

“They look happy together,” Clint remarked as they strolled
around the yard, “your father and Claire.”

“Yes. She’ll be good for Pa. He’s lived alone too long.”

“So have I,” Clint said huskily. Taking her in his arms, he
bent down and kissed her, a deeply passionate kiss that clearly revealed his
longing for the woman in his arms.

Clint’s mouth was warm, firm, demanding, touching a deep
chord within Rachel that left her feeling shaky and confused. Clint’s kisses
had never aroused her before. Was she so hungry for a man that any man’s kiss
would do?

“Rachel, Rachel,” Clint groaned. “Honey, please don’t put me
off any longer. I love you so damn much I’m going crazy.”

“Clint, don’t—”

“Marry me,” he urged, kissing her again. “Tonight, tomorrow,
just name the day.”

“I can’t.”

“For God’s sake, why not?”

“I don’t know,” Rachel said evasively. “I just can’t. Not
now.”

“It’s still Tyree, isn’t it?” Clint rasped angrily. “It’s
always Tyree. What is there about that bastard that has you so starry-eyed you
can’t see straight?”

“I don’t know,” Rachel answered in a small voice. “I only
know I can’t marry you.” Tears sparkled in her eyes. “I know this isn’t fair to
you, Clint. I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see me again. But I
can’t marry you until I’m sure it’s right, and I can’t promise you that it will
ever be right.”

Clint nodded, his eyes warm and loving as he took Rachel in
his arms and held her close. He murmured soft words to her while she cried, and
all the while he silently cursed Logan Tyree for causing her pain.

When Rachel’s tears subsided, Clint took her back inside and
kissed her goodnight.

“I’ll wait,” Clint murmured as he watched Rachel leave the
schoolhouse with her father and Claire. “I’ll wait until hell freezes over if I
have to.”

It was after midnight when the Hallorans started for home.
The back of the buggy was piled high with wedding gifts. A huge sign, tied to
the back of the buggy, proclaimed, “
Just Married
” in large red letters.

Rachel drove the team while her father and Claire sat
together, holding hands and making plans for the future. Claire owned a small
house in town and they decided to keep it for the time being, perhaps rent it
out.

Rachel drove automatically, her thoughts turned inward. If
Tyree had not come into her life, she would have married Clint and considered
herself a lucky woman. But Tyree had come, and everything had turned upside
down. She thought of Clint, and of Tyree, and she frowned. Maybe what she felt
for Tyree wasn’t love at all. Maybe she had been confusing lust with love.
Maybe she should just marry Clint and settle down and raise a family. Perhaps
she was being foolish to keep hoping that Tyree would come back to her. What if
Clint got tired of waiting for her to say yes and he found someone else; she
would wind up as a lonely old maid with no one to love, and no one to love her.