Samantha James (26 page)

She paused, staring out where dusk gathered along the horizon, pink and amber and glorious. “Kane said he wasn’t a wanted man in this territory,” she said quietly. “I don’t know why he’s wanted by the law elsewhere—maybe he’s a horse thief, or a bank robber—I don’t know. But whatever it is, I—I have this feeling it weighs on his conscience—that he regrets it. He saved me from those awful men, Chester and Jake. And he killed Sam—my God, Dillon, you’d be dead if it weren’t for him! As far as I’m concerned, he deserves another chance.” She met her brother’s gaze, her own anxious. “I promised him you wouldn’t put him in jail. You won’t, will you?”

Dillon’s eyes narrowed. There was something in her tone he couldn’t quite place … He glanced from the man lying prone near the fire back to his sister. “You don’t have any doubts about him, do you?” he said slowly.

“I trusted him with my life,” she said quietly. “And I trusted him with
yours
.”

Dillon hesitated. Abby wasn’t flighty and frivolous, like some women. She had a good head on her shoulders. She wasn’t one to place her faith lightly in someone else …

He sighed. “I can’t very well jail a man who saved my life. That sure as hell would weigh on
my
conscience.”

A rush of relief so intense it was almost painful swept through her. Abby kissed his cheek, then checked on Kane, who had yet to regain consciousness. Though she wanted desperately to curl up beside him, she didn’t dare—their physical relationship was the one thing she hadn’t shared with Dillon. She shook out her bedroll near the fire and soon fell into an exhausted sleep.

Dillon left at dawn to ride into town to notify the authorities of Stringer Sam’s death. Kane still hadn’t roused, and Abby was beginning to get worried. Mid-morning she set a pot of coffee on to boil. When she straightened, she discovered Kane’s eyes trained on her.

His gaze was bleary and pain-filled. She rushed to his side, dropping to her knees beside him.

“Jesus,” he muttered, “it feels like somebody stuck a branding iron into my shoulder. What the hell happened?”

“Stringer Sam and Dillon were struggling. Dillon got knocked to the ground. Stringer Sam grabbed Dillon’s rifle and turned it on Dillon. You shot Sam, but then he turned the rifle on you.”

“I remember now.” Kane’s eyes half-closed. He winced as he tried to move his shoulder. “Did the bullet go clean through?”

“No. Dillon … He took it out.” Just thinking about it made Abby shiver all over again.

It was a moment before Kane spoke again. “I take it Sam’s dead.”

“Dillon buried him yesterday evening,” she said quietly. “He rode into town to send a telegraph to the territorial sheriff and bring a doctor back to look at you.”

He grimaced. “Don’t need a doctor if the bullet’s out.” He tried to prop himself on his elbow to raise himself up. Beads of sweat popped out on his brow.

Her hand against his good shoulder, Abby pressed him back. “Oh, no you don’t,” she admonished firmly. “You’re in no condition to get up just yet.”

He didn’t argue; that alone was testimony to his weakened state. Abby wet a handkerchief with water from her canteen, then returned to bathe his brow. She frowned—he was so warm!

She ran the cloth down the tendons of his neck. “You were lucky.” She hesitated, her voice very low. “It scared the life out of me when I saw you lying there. I—I thought you were dead.”

His eyes opened to stare directly into hers. “I may be yet when your brother finds out who I am.”

Abby returned his gaze steadily. “He already knows—” A hint of a smile curved her lips. “—though he didn’t until
after
we dug the bullet out.”

“Jesus,” Kane muttered. “I’m surprised he didn’t push me in alongside Sam then.”

Abby’s lips firmed. “I told you he won’t put you in jail—and he won’t. Even if he wanted to, I wouldn’t let him.”

Another time, and Kane might have voiced his skepticism. As it was, he was simply too damn tired to care right now …

Abby watched as he drifted off to sleep once more. He woke again near noonday. She managed to get him to eat some of the beans she’d fixed, but he hadn’t finished more than half before he’d dropped off again. She hovered near his side until Dillon returned early that evening. A stab of dismay shot through her as she saw he was alone.

“Where’s the doctor? Why isn’t he with you?”

Dillon dropped to the ground. He rubbed his hand across his forehead with a grimace. “He wasn’t due back until tomorrow morning. His wife gave me some bandages, and some salve that’s supposed to help it heal. She said to watch for redness and a green discharge—said that’s what you don’t want to see.”

Abby looked ready to cry. Dillon patted her shoulder awkwardly. “Look, she said if he made it through the first day, likelier than not he’ll make it through okay.”

Abby didn’t argue—she couldn’t bear to think that Kane might die. He roused when she changed his bandage and spread the pungent salve on the wound; he ate and then slept once more. Her fears eased somewhat when he awoke the next morning looking a little less haggard. He sat up to eat, refusing any help from her or Dillon.

When he’d finished, Abby took his plate, then excused herself to go wash up in the stream. Dillon poured a cup of coffee; wordlessly he handed it to Kane.

Unsure what to expect from the other man, Kane watched Dillon resume his place on the other side of the fire. Every sore, aching muscle in his body was on guard.

“Abby tells me you used to ride with Stringer Sam.”

Kane braced himself and met the other man’s gaze. Surprisingly, he discerned neither accusation nor condemnation. But the unwavering directness he read in Dillon’s eyes made him only slightly less uneasy.

A faint red flush crept into his cheekbones. “I won’t he to you,” he said shortly. “I was framed for something I didn’t do. I ran and eventually hooked up with Sam. I rode with him for almost a year. We parted company six months ago.”

Dillon rested his forearm across his knees. “Mind telling me why you left?”

“I did what I had to do to stay alive,” Kane said evenly. “Sam would just as soon kill a man as look him in the eye. But his way wasn’t mine. I got out before I got dragged down any further.”

Dillon’s ice-blue eyes never strayed from Kane’s features. There was no doubt that Kane could be a dangerous man—hard, maybe even cold. But that very same instinct told him it was just as Abby believed—Kane wasn’t evil, not in the way that Sam had been.

“Abby said you’re not a wanted man in this territory. Is that true?”

“Don’t ask me why. Maybe because we spent a lot of time in the Dakotas. Or maybe because every lawman this side of the Mississippi was itching to get his hands on Sam.” Kane gave a harsh laugh. “God knows I’m sure as hell not lucky.”

“Oh, but I think you are.” Dillon’s tone was matter-of-fact. “There’s a sizable reward out for Stringer Sam. You’re entitled to it. But I’m afraid you’ll have to make the trip to Laramie to get it.”

Kane’s lips pulled back over his teeth. “What! Collect a reward so you can throw my hide in jail? Thanks, Marshal, but I’d like to stick around a few more years.”

Dillon didn’t bat an eyelash. “I promised Abby I wouldn’t do that, and by God, I won’t. You took care of my sister and you saved my life. I’m willing to turn a blind eye to whatever happened in the past. But you cross the line in the future, now that’s another story.”

Kane pushed aside a niggling pang of shame. Did he dare tell him there was a warrant out for his arrest in New Mexico—that he’d escaped from jail? He’d been stunned when Abby told him it was Dillon who had removed the bullet from his shoulder. It might be that Abby’s brother was a decent sort, even though he was a lawman—it might be that he wasn’t. Kane decided it might be wise to reserve judgment for a while. As for going back to Laramie with them, well, that was where this Whole thing had started. He might as well return there as anywhere.

That he would soon be saying good-bye to Abby was something he refused to think about.

The next morning he pronounced himself well enough to travel. Abby vented her disapproval as he voiced his intention. He paid no heed, but struggled to his feet with a grimace, shunning both her help and Dillon’s.

They headed out an hour later; Abby rode behind Dillon. It was almost noon before they reached the nearest town. Abby suppressed a wry smile as they rode down Main Street. They were a rather disreputable-looking trio, she reflected. The two men were rough and unshaven, distinctly on the unsavory side. Her own appearance was no better. She was covered with dust from head to toe. Her clothes were wrinkled and filthy; they looked like she’d slept in them, which she had, for more nights than she cared to remember.

Dillon insisted they take the stage back to Laramie. Abby was heartily relieved. She hadn’t been looking forward to the long ride home, nor was she certain Kane was in any shape to handle it. She held her breath when Dillon made the announcement. She half-expected Kane to argue. She was secretly relieved when he didn’t.

Unfortunately, the nearest stage line was another four hours away. It was early evening when they stood on the platform, waiting for the stage to arrive. Dillon had moved away to check on the horses.

At noon, she and Dillon had rigged up a sling to restrict the movement of Kane’s shoulder. Abby had argued that he should see the doctor before they departed, but Kane curtly declined.

Now she approached him once more. “The stage won’t be here for nearly an hour. There’s plenty of time to get that wound dressed properly.”

He didn’t bother to look at her. “It’s fine, Abby.”

Her chin came up a notch. “It’s hardly a pretty sight, Kane, and I’d say it’s far from healed,” she said sharply. “In fact, it probably still hurts like the very devil. A doctor could probably give you something to ease the pain, too.”

One corner of his mouth curled up. “Consider it penance for my many sins.”

Abby’s jaw clamped tight. The man was impossible!

Abby settled herself next to Dillon in the stagecoach, while Kane took the seat across from them. They were the only passengers. The hours slid by, one into another. A deep purple haze of twilight draped the earth. Beside her, Dillon was quiet and subdued.

Disturbed by his mood, Abby touched his sleeve. “What’s wrong?” she asked quietly.

Dillon remained silent. Abby twisted slightly on the seat, straining to see him. His profile was stark and barren, his eyes bleak.

“I—I thought you’d be glad that Stringer Sam is dead.” She spoke tentatively. “Dillon, he’ll never hurt anyone again.”

At last he spoke. “You’re right. He’ll never lay a hand on anyone again. But it’s too goddamned late for Rose, isn’t it?”

Rose
. Abby caught her breath. Oh, but she should have known … Since Rose had died, Dillon had been so—so different. There were times—times like now—when she glimpsed a brooding hardness that hadn’t been there before. Abby hated feeling so helpless, but Dillon wouldn’t even try to let her help.

“I know it hurts to think about it,” Abby said softly. “But Rose is gone. Stringer Sam is dead. Dillon, it’s over.”

But it wasn’t, Dillon thought blackly. Because while the world had rid itself of one less piece of scum, there was still one left … And the memory of Rose wouldn’t rest easy until that man lay cold in his grave, as cold as Stringer Sam.

“Dillon—” Abby probed as gently as she could. “—maybe it would help if you would just talk about it.”

The line of his lips hardened. There was so much Abby didn’t know. But he couldn’t. Not now. Maybe not ever.

He thrust his hands through unruly dark-gold hair. “What do you want me to say, Abby? My God, Pa’s dead! And I keep thinking that if I hadn’t gone after Sam, Pa would still be alive.”

“And
you
might be the one dead,” she reminded him. “It was you Stringer Sam came to the ranch to kill.”

He stared down at his hands. “I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself,” he said, his voice so low and so raw she hurt inside. Her chest ached; she knew Dillon felt responsible for Pa’s death—maybe even Rose’s death—in much the same way that she felt responsible for Kane being shot.

Her gaze slid fleetingly to Kane. His head was tilted back against the seat, and his eyes were closed. He looked a little uncomfortable, his long limbs folded between the narrow seats, but she sensed he was asleep.

Her hand slid out to cover Dillon’s. She was very much afraid nothing she could say would ease his guilt. Only the passage of time could dull the hurt he felt right now, but she had to try. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she offered the only reassurance she could and prayed it was enough.

“Pa loved you, Dillon. You had a job to do. Pa understood that—and he was proud of you! I’m sure that wherever he is now, he doesn’t blame you. You’re safe, and that’s all that matters.” She squeezed his fingers. “I think Pa would agree, don’t you?”

He sighed. “How did you get so smart, little sister?”

“I guess I take after my big brother,” she said with a watery smile.

Abby was glad to note that although his mood remained somber, some of the bleakness had left his features. She pillowed her head against his shoulder and let the rocking rhythm of the stage lull her to sleep.

She didn’t know that Kane wasn’t asleep at all. His shoulder throbbed like hell. He felt extremely awkward eavesdropping at such a moment. Oh, he’d tried not to listen, but his hearing was just a little too keen at times. He’d heard every word the pair spoke; he’d seen her misty, tender smile, a smile she had yet to bestow on him. And try though he might, he couldn’t vanquish the burning in his veins. He envied their closeness. He envied Dillon for being the recipient of such obvious love and adoration.

He jammed his hat down over his forehead, thoroughly disgusted with himself. Jesus, if that didn’t beat all—he was jealous of her brother!

It was two mornings later when the stage pulled into Laramie. Dillon nudged Abby awake. She straightened, whisking stray wisps of hair from her cheeks and behind her ears as her eyes went straight to Kane. He was stirring as well. Abby tried to cover her anxiety as they disembarked from the stagecoach.