Jack of Spades
Despite a persistent feeling of squalor¾evident in everything from a neglected livery stable to a rough-hewn trading post, complete with willow sticks, mud and manure as chinking between the logs¾Scott opted to spend the night. A hot bath, slow-cooked meal and enough ale to wash the dust from his throat, was all the incentive he needed to leave his horse in the care of a grubby-faced stable hand. There was no hotel in Whiskey Gulch¾just a handful of rooms above the local saloon, intended for travelers or less scrupulous callers who desired the company of a female companion for the night.
Pausing outside, Scott swatted excess trail dust from his thigh-length buckskin jacket and brown pants. Removing his hat, he rifled dirt-stained fingers through his unkempt hair, then settled the hat more comfortably on his head. Stepping through the cantina doors, he was greeted by the overpowering stench of pipe tobacco, greasy food and stale sweat. At the edge of his senses, weaker but still detectable, lingered the stomach-curdling reek of vomit and urine.
Ignoring the offensive combination, Scott stepped to the bar and inquired after a room. The proprietor/barkeeper was a thickset man, lumpishly built, with a grizzled beard and frog-like features. He eyed Scott openly, pausing to consider the other’s well-tailored clothing before pointing him up the stairs. Desiring nothing so much as washing four days of filth from his body, Scott turned toward the steps, saddlebag and rifle slung over his shoulder. Immediately, two of the saloon girls latched onto his arms, smiling suggestively and offering to accompany him above.
“Ladies¾” Effecting his most charming smile, Scott attempted to disentangle himself. “I really just want a bath and a meal.”
“All alone?” A dark-eyed brunette batted her eyes, coiling a possessive hand around his upper arm. Leaning into his side, she raised her lips to whisper huskily in his ear. “I’ll help you with the bath, cowboy. Afterwards you won’t want a meal. I ain’t never left a man unsatisfied.”
“No doubt,” Scott muttered, slightly flustered by the attention. While he’d routinely plied his own charms on women in the east, including those who’d frequented bordellos, he wasn’t accustomed to blatant physical confrontation. On his right side a pixie-faced blonde, barely past sixteen slipped her hand beneath his jacket, boldly cupping the curve of his buttocks. “Okay, that’s it!” His voice jumped an octave at the intimate touch. Smiling tightly, Scott deliberately set both women aside. “Ladies.”
Enjoying the pointed dismissal, as well as the slight flush of color on his cheeks, both girls giggled.
Shaking his head, Scott started up the steps. From the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a third girl, her arm draped over the shoulder of a long-limbed wrangler. Seated at a table in the rear, the wrangler was busy devouring a plate of fried pork and onions, while the girl replenished his shot-glass with rye. Halfway up the steps the girl’s eyes met his, and Scott had a momentary impression of red-gold hair, beguiling green eyes, and fawn-colored skin tinted with rose. The fleeting hint of a smile lifted the girl’s full mouth, but just as quickly the moment was past and her attention shifted back to the wrangler.
Barely pausing, Scott frowned. Saloon girls and prostitutes were part of every grimy border town in existence, just as eastern cities catered to high-priced bordellos. Though he’d frequented enough in his day, it bothered him to see an attractive woman reduced to selling herself in a rat-infested hole like Whiskey Gulch’s squalid cantina. Worse was the thought of the young blonde who’d openly fondled him. Barely more than a child, she was already adept at her trade.
Disturbed, Scott deposited his gear in the room, stopping only long enough to gather clean clothing from his saddlebags. Exiting the rear of the building, he walked two doors down to the communal bathhouse. Despite the late hour, he was able to rouse an attendant who grudgingly prepared a large wooden tub with heated water. As the man wandered away, mumbling despite an excessive tip, Scott stripped and climbed into the tub. Sinking beneath the water, he luxuriated in the indulgent sensation of heated warmth closing over his head. Emerging seconds later, he swept dripping hair from his eyes, content to settle against the rear of the tub, arms stretched on the wooden rim. Wet, his dark blonde hair appeared more brown than fair. Water trickled from the ends, weaving spidery trails of moisture over his back and chest. Eventually, when the water began to cool and hunger nipped at his belly, Scott made a concentrated effort of scrubbing caked grime from his skin and hair.
Later, dressed in clean clothes, he returned to his room. Still slightly gritty, he took the time to shave before venturing downstairs for an evening meal. Attired in a garnet-red shirt and gray pants, his hair damp from the recent bath, he guessed himself cleaner then the utensils supplied with his meal. Dinner choices were minimal: fried pork and onions, or stew. Scott opted for the latter, selecting a table by the stairs, where he could view both front and rear exits¾a strangely disturbing habit he’d picked up from traveling with Johnny.
Both saloon girls¾blonde and brunette¾attempted to entice him again, extra attentive now that he’d emerged looking more presentable then most customers they’d seen in recent months. The cut of his clothing marked him as wealthy¾an added bonus for any courtesan who could entice him to her bedroom, where practiced skills might earn more than a handful of coins. The younger girl was particularly forward, intimately brushing against him as if by happenstance, though clearly by design. Scott maintained a polite demeanor as long as possible but resorted to bluntness in the end. Sulking, the girl retreated with her companion, seeking an easier target among a rowdy group of drunken cowhands.
The stew was barely tolerable, laden with clumps of gristle-marbled beef, overcooked potatoes, and soggy greens. Too hungry to complain, Scott swallowed most of it, camouflaging the taste beneath overly warm ale and coarse, black bread. When the meal was finished, he reclined in the chair, stretching long, booted legs beneath the table.
The activity in the saloon while boisterous, centered around four cowhands engaged in a game of cards. Two others¾a prospector and a scout, sat at separate tables to the rear. Three men lingered at the bar, guzzling beer and tequila, entertained by the sultry smile of the brunette saloon girl. The blonde hovered near the card game, one arm draped over the shoulders of the nearest man. The red-haired woman Scott had seen earlier was also present, perched in the lap of a gruff-looking wrangler. Unlike her companion, who seemed to enjoy the ribald humor and crude manners of the group, this girl looked slightly uncomfortable.
Again, Scott was struck by her appearance. Though her eyes were lined with kohl and her full mouth reddened with lip rouge, she didn’t have the hard edge the other two girls possessed. As Scott watched, she leaned forward, whispering something in the wrangler’s ear, while slowly slipping her hand inside his shirt. Uncomfortable, Scott swallowed a mouthful of ale. It slid down his throat, bitter and sickeningly warm. In another time and place, he’d relish that distinctly feminine hand touching him with the same intimate slowness.
It’s been too long since you’ve had a woman, Lancer. Stay any longer and that conniving little blonde won’t seem like such a bad idea.
Pushing back his chair, Scott stood, intending to depart before latent desire got the better of him. A woman’s gasp drew his attention back to the card game. The wrangler had snared the red-haired girl about the wrist, holding her fast as she struggled to leave. Laughing at her insistence that he let her go, he propelled her to the floor.
Before he had time to consider the consequences, Scott lunged across the room. Grappling the startled man by the collar, he hauled the wrangler from the chair. Stoop-shouldered and portly, the shorter man crumbled like a sack of potatoes when Scott struck him.
“Miss, are you all right?” Even as Scott turned to assist the barmaid to her feet, he heard chairs scrape the floorboards behind him. Whirling, he drew his pistol in a maneuver that would have earned passing admiration from Johnny. Though he’d never have his brother’s quicksilver reflexes, Scott had learned the importance of a fast draw since first arriving at Lancer. Gun poised, he considered three potential adversaries. The fourth¾the humiliated wrangler¾angrily pulled himself upright. “Is there a problem gentlemen?” Scott asked neutrally. Behind him, he felt the barmaid hover uncertainly at his shoulder.
“As sure as a rat’s hog-fodder,” the wrangler spat. “That two-bit whore is gonna see me upstairs, sure as I’m willin’ to pay. She ain’t got no right gittin’ high ‘n mighty, changin’ her mind, after she done started the game.”
Scott’s expression soured. The girl touched him lightly on the elbow as if mutely seeking protection. “Maybe she doesn’t like the company.”
“Ain’t got no choice,” one of the other card players inserted. “When Daws is done, I’ll keep her abed and busy for a spell.” A toothy grin followed.
“He’s right, Mister.”
Scott’s attention shifted to the bar, where the chunky proprietor held a sawed-off shotgun leveled in his direction. “These girls ain’t here for no tea social. You want that one, you pay¾by the hour or night, it don’t make no difference. Otherwise you keep clean of it.”
Hesitating, Scott looked from the four cowhands to the grim-faced proprietor. Forcing the issue would likely lead to gunplay and he was dreadfully outnumbered. On the other hand, a glance at the girl told him he couldn’t leave her to fend for herself, no matter the circumstance she’d created. Frowning, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a handful of bills. Catching the girl by the wrist, he crossed to the bar, deliberately dropping the wad of paper money beneath the proprietor’s nose. “For the night,” he said pointedly. The amount far exceeded any he was expected to pay, evident by the blatant flash of avarice in the saloon owner’s eyes.
Tugging the girl behind him, Scott confiscated a bottle of rye and two glasses then led his companion up the stairs, into his room.
**********
The room was cramped and dark, prompting Scott to move to the far corner in search of a lantern. Setting aside the glasses and whiskey, he located the lamp by feel. As he struck a match to the wick, he heard rustling movement behind him. Amber light spilled from the lantern, trickling outward in a semi-circle, dispersing slumbering shadows like vapor to the air. “What’s your name?” he asked the girl.
As Scott turned, he realized she’d unpinned her hair, leaving a luxurious cascade of red-gold silk splayed over her bare shoulders. Head bent, she worked at unlacing a gaudy, sleeveless corset. Alarmed, Scott realized the soft swell of her breasts was partially revealed by the gaping material. “Don’t do that,” he said quickly, averting his eyes.
Surprised, she raised her head. “You paid for the night.”
“Just . . . lace your dress.” With effort, Scott crossed to the other side of the room, keeping his back turned. Sensing her bewilderment, he struggled for control. “I didn’t mean for you to . . . that is, I didn’t want you to . . .” Frustrated, he cleared his throat. He was rarely tongue-tied with the opposite sex. The situation was simply more awkward then any he’d encountered previously. “I just wanted to get you away from those other men. You don’t have to, um . . .”
The girl behind him chuckled softly. “That’s very sweet of you, but you paid a lot of money for nothing.” Stepping in front of him she laid a hand on his arm. Though she’d laced her dress as requested, the invitation remained in her eyes. “I don’t mind earning my keep.” Wetting her lips, she ghosted her fingertips up his sleeve. “Not with a gentleman like you.”
Regaining his control, Scott spared an arch glance. “How do you know I’m a gentleman?”
The girl smiled. Up close her eyes were leaf-green, slivered with flecks of midnight blue and gold. “I saw how you acted with Erin and Trudy. If you weren’t a gentleman, you’d have taken advantage of one or both. Even rubes who can’t pay, know how to grope for free.”
Scowling at the distasteful image, Scott retreated to the corner. Uncorking the bottle of whiskey he poured an ample amount into each glass. “What’s your name?” he asked again.
This time there was no hesitation. “Jane. Jane Hall.”
“I’m Scott Lancer.” Turning, he passed her a glass, then raised his own in an off-hand toast. “Might as well get comfortable Miss Hall, because you’re here for the night.”
Her gaze over the top of the glass was oddly cryptic. “Mrs.”
“Pardon me?”
“Mrs. Hall,” she clarified. Sipping on the whiskey, she settled on the edge of the bed. “I suppose I should thank you, Mr. Lancer, for what you did downstairs. Since you’re not inclined to undress, maybe you’d appreciate some conversation?”
Frowning openly at her candor, Scott perched on the edge of the only chair in the room. Bracing his legs apart, he rested his forearms against his thighs, holding the glass cradled in his hands. It wasn’t just her frankness that disturbed him, but the unusually articulate flow of her speech. While he’d known higher-priced courtesans to be well spoken, he’d yet to encounter a border-town prostitute who was eloquent. Though it was difficult to judge with the heavy make-up she wore, he guessed she was about Johnny’s age. “What happened to your husband?” he asked.
Shaking the fiery cascade of curls from her shoulders, Jane smiled sadly. “He died of diphtheria in ’68.”
“I’m sorry,” Scott said quickly.
“Don’t be. It was a marriage of convenience. Stanley was nearly three times my age.” Pausing, she studied the topaz liquid in her glass. Head bowed, kohl-blackened lashes drawn against her cheeks, she looked tired and world-weary. “I was a fourteen-year-old girl who’d lost both parents as a child, and who’d been raised in a Catholic Mission. I read and write better than most landowners, which is what attracted my husband¾he needed someone to manage his accounts, limited as they were. He wanted a wife, and I wanted an alternative to the Mission.” Laughing softly, she raised her head. “You really don’t want to hear this, Mr. Lancer.”
“I think I’m the best judge of that.”
Shrugging, she downed the remainder of the whiskey. “Aren’t you just a little above socializing with someone like me? Look at you¾all fine and proper. I bet you’re from San Francisco or some place uppity like that.”
“Boston,” Scott corrected.
A perfectly arched brow inched higher on her forehead. “An eastern gentleman? What are you doing in a rat-hole like Whiskey Gulch?”
“Passing through.” Rising, Scott snagged the bottle from the table. Crossing to the bed, he sat beside her, draining his own drink before refilling both glasses. The gauzy material of her short, yellow dress lay draped over his knee¾a stark contrast of vibrant color against his soot-gray pants. “What did your husband do?” he asked, attempting to refocus the conversation.
“Farmer. Not very good at it, and certainly not very loving.” A sour smile tugged her lips. “But he provided for as long as he could. After he died, I had to give up the farm. I drifted for awhile trying to do the proper thing, then met a man who was far worse than Stanley. It took me a year to leave him, and when I did, I ended up here¾doing the only thing I could make a living at. I’ve learned to adapt by necessity.” Titling her head, she studied him critically. “You’re frowning, Mr. Lancer. Don’t you believe me? The only living a woman can make in Whiskey Gulch is one she earns flat on her back.”
Irked by her flippancy, Scott tossed down his drink and poured another. “You could have went elsewhere.”
“My money didn’t run out ‘elsewhere,’ it ran out here,” Jane retorted sharply. “I don’t need some well-to-do cowpoke with back-east puritanical values judging me.”
“I’m not judging you,” Scott snapped. Tipping the bottle to his glass, he poured another drink. He couldn’t determine if he was flustered or annoyed, and decided to let the alcohol sort it out. Despite her tawdry outfit and heavy make-up, he was attracted to her. It’s the whiskey. “What happened downstairs?”
“I changed my mind.” Leaning forward, she reached past him, setting her glass on the bedside table. He tensed unexpectedly as her leg brushed his and her hair tumbled over his arm. Withdrawing, she met his gaze. “That wrangler was drunk and obnoxious. I knew what I was supposed to do¾what I’m paid to do¾but when it came down to it, I couldn’t go through with it. I guess he didn’t like my change of heart.”
She was sitting just a little too near now, and Scott had the distinct impression she enjoyed the upper hand. There was something intensely tantalizing about her presence¾ a provocative sensation that left him feeling off-kilter. A buried part of his mind wished he wasn’t so ethical, while his reasoning capability countered any involvement with a courtesan would be a fatal mistake. Still¾he couldn’t ignore her dilemma. “My father and brother and I, own a ranch just a few days south in Morro Coyo. If you really want to leave Whiskey Gulch, I’ll take you with me. I think I could find you legitimate work in town, where you wouldn’t have to . . . uh . . .”
Smiling, Jane studied him openly. “I think I like it when you’re flustered, Mr. Lancer.”
“Scott,” he inserted. Through the fabric of his pants he was acutely aware of her thigh nestled against his.
“Scott,” she agreed. Dipping her head, she hesitated before looking at him again. “Why would you help me like that?”
Scott grinned crookedly. “Let’s just say I have a habit of sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.” The smile died slowly as he beheld the uneasy scrutiny in her long-lashed eyes. Belatedly he thought of her husband, and the man she’d described as “worse.” “There’s no ulterior motive involved if that’s what you’re afraid of,” he tried to assure her. Uncomfortable, he downed his whiskey, averting his gaze to contemplate the half-empty bottle.
Jane shifted beside him. Uncertainly she raised a hand to finger the damp threads of his hair. “I wish there were,” she said quietly.
Surprised, Scott faced her. In the soft, jeweled glow of lantern-light, her make-up didn’t appear so garish, her dress so cheap. Her gaze was steady and expectant, void of pretension. Raising one hand, Scott cupped her cheek, slowly tracing his thumb over a crest of petal-smooth skin. Before he had time to reconsider, he leaned forward, pressing his mouth to hers, parting her lips beneath the heated warmth of his kiss. She responded willingly, locking both arms around his neck, slipping work-roughened fingers into his hair. Scott gathered her closer, forgetting for one heady moment, whom she was and what he was doing. There was only the sheer bliss of holding her body next to his, the shared honeyed-whiskey of the kiss, the press of soft, supple flesh beneath his hands.
Coming abruptly to his senses, Scott withdrew. “I’m sorry, I¾” Disconcerted, he paced to the window, nervously sweeping aside the burlap covering to let air into the room. “¾I shouldn’t have, um . . .”
“You sound agitated, Mr. Lancer.”
“I’m not agitated, and I told you¾it’s Scott.”
“No.” Discouraged, Jane adjusted her dress, smoothing the cheap silk over her thighs. “I think in all likelihood it’s ‘Mr. Lancer’ after all.” Standing, she hugged her arms to her chest as though to ward off a chill. Long hair spilled over her shoulders in a tumbled veil, more concealing then her plunging neckline. “Were you sincere about taking me with you?”
Scott’s mouth was dry. “In the morning.”
“I’ll repay you. Eventually.” A bitter smile touched her lips. “In cash¾since you’re obviously not interested in anything else.” Half-heartedly she glanced about the room, noting the dismal surroundings, narrow, rope-backed bed, and one uncomfortable looking chair.
Guessing where her mind was headed, Scott cleared his throat. If she left the room to return to her own, she’d be open to advances again. Retrieving his saddle roll, he nodded to the bed. “You take the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor.” Slipping free the tie-downs securing the blanket, he dropped it beneath the window. A draft of sticky night air scattered the bangs on his brow. Kneeling, he patted the blanket smooth then rolled on his side, his back to Jane.
Behind him, he heard her shuffling around¾hesitantly at first¾then more at ease as she settled on the bed. Without turning, Scott reached for the lantern, pulling it down to eye-level so he could extinguish the wick. The room plunged into darkness¾close, black and velvety¾affording welcome concealment.
Replacing the lantern, Scott rolled on his back, crossing his arms behind his head to stare at the ceiling. A few feet away he was acutely aware of Jane’s presence, every nerve tuned to the soft flutter of her breath. The memory of her kiss lingered¾forbidden nectar, as intoxicating as it was taboo. It wasn’t her past that bothered him so much as impulsive behavior on his part. He was tired and on-edge after a lengthy trek to Fulton Gorge, delivering a prized stallion to Murdoch’s friend, Aaron Muir. His attraction to the red-haired woman was an impetuous reaction, prompted no doubt, by her unfortunate circumstance, and his inherent need to offer assistance. Whiskey and a woman in trouble went a long way in crafting an attraction.
Tomorrow, when his head wasn’t so muddled and he could think clearly, he’d realize he only wanted to help her¾nothing more. Rolling onto his side, he closed his eyes, but even in the gray haze preceding sleep, the memory of her kiss remained.
**********
Jane was gone when he awoke. Alarmed, Scott dumped water in the wash basin, scrubbed away morning grit as best he could, then hastily gathered his gear. As he turned toward the door, it creaked inward, admitting a slightly different Jane Hall. Gone were the tawdry dress, tight corset and heavy make-up. This girl was fresh-faced, her own dewy glow offsetting the lush glimmer of green eyes and gold-laced hair. Dressed in a faded floor-length skirt, and blue-print cotton blouse, she looked younger than Scott had originally guessed. In the light of day, her red hair drawn back in a loose ponytail, she barely looked eighteen.
Swallowing hard, he thought unexpectedly of Teresa. This girl was not much older, yet she’d seen, and been subjected to, all manner of vile occurrence. Last night he’d even entertained the notion of¾
The thought broke off, leaving him nauseated when he considered her age. “You look . . . different.”
Ignoring the comment, Jane deposited a small bundle on the bed. Opening the top, she withdrew a frayed handkerchief. Nestled within was a handful of hard crackers, chunks of pilot bread and bits of cooked bacon. “I thought you might like some breakfast,” she said conversationally. “There’s not much to eat until Lodus gets the stove going, but I swiped this from the back.”
Holding up a hand, Scott shook his head. “I’ve got food in my saddlebags¾we can eat on the trail.” Drawing a breath to quicken his resolve, he nodded toward the door. “Ready?”
Jane smiled¾a delightfully engaging turn of her lips. The sight sent Scott’s blood racing, his heart triple-beating against his ribs. How could anyone who appeared so young and virginally innocent, be so well versed in the ways of the flesh? “Ready,” she confirmed, seemingly unaware of the effect she had on him. Apparently she’d already dismissed their brief encounter last night.
Deciding it was for the best, Scott waited while she gathered her pack, then led her down the stairs, toward the stable, and away from Whiskey Gulch.
**********
Jane Hall shifted uncomfortably, unwilling to complain. They’d been riding for hours now¾traversing ground that was rocky and uneven, pocketed with coarse landbridges and washout areas. Sun, wind, and time had long ago dried trickling streams to weathered troughs, where loose pebbles and shale skittered over depressions of rock.
Tightening her arms around Scott’s waist, Jane pressed her cheek to his back. He flinched unexpectedly as though bothered by the intimacy. Pleased by the reaction, she smiled. Though the journey was arduous, there were definitely finer points involved, including riding double with Scott Lancer. Aside from escaping the squalor of Whiskey Gulch, the journey also gave her the opportunity to nestle against a man she found infinitely attractive. That allure wasn’t just physical, though there was no question Scott Lancer was strikingly handsome. Tall and lean with silver-blue eyes and dark-blonde hair, her benefactor was a man who’d easily turn heads. His features were refined, near classical. But beyond his physical attractiveness, she sensed a man intent on honor and decency. A chivalrous protector, akin to the valorous knights she’d read about as a child, when first discovering legends of Arthur, Lancelot and Tristan.
Throughout most of her life, Jane had been subject to one kind of abuse or another¾whether neglect by a husband who didn’t love her; possessiveness by the sadistic man who’d followed; or humiliation at the hands of drunken cowboys, her life had been a series of setbacks and defeats. Though she’d managed to develop a hard exterior and an attitude that made her appear older than she was, inwardly she’d grown tired and despondent. She’d almost convinced herself life would end in Whiskey Gulch in a manner befitting most prostitutes¾murdered or dead of addiction¾when Scott Lancer had offered her freedom.
“Janie, do you need to stop?”
The low murmur of Scott’s voice¾seductive without even trying¾brought her back to the present. Somewhere over the course of the morning he’d taken to calling her “Janie,” perhaps because he’d realized how young she was, or simply from growing intimacy. During the course of their travel he’d told her about his past in Boston and how he’d come to Morro Coyo, meeting a brother and father he’d never known before.
She envied him that new life¾the chance to start over, free of past entanglements. Straightening, she raised her head, drawing back slightly while maintaining a hold on his hips. “I’m fine,” she lied. The breeze shifted and she caught his scent¾musky, distinctly male¾a blend of soap, perspiration and sun-heated leather. Lowering her eyes, she considered her fingers resting on the edge of his gunbelt. An absurd desire prickled her senses¾the over-whelming need to let her hand drift lower on his thigh, where sinew and bone pulled the fabric of his pants taut. Gathering her wits, she sat straighter.
“We’ll stop,” Scott said, apparently deciding she wasn’t being completely truthful. Turning in the saddle, he offered his arm, holding tightly as she slid to the ground.
Jane stepped back from the horse, watching quietly as Scott dismounted. The respite was brief, but welcome after lengthy hours in the saddle. Unaccustomed to riding for extended periods of time, Jane found her back and shoulders ached from the jostling movement, her legs stiffer still.
“We’ll try something different,” Scott said, fifteen minutes later when he remounted. Bending at the waist, he extended his arm. “Step into the stirrup.”
Complying, Jane did as instructed. As she pushed upward, he caught her beneath the arms, pulling her forward into his lap. She landed unexpectedly, shifting sideways, legs dangling to Scott’s left. Unprepared when the horse started forward, she hooked an arm around his neck, bracing herself against his chest.
Supporting her back, Scott gathered the reins. “Maybe this isn’t the best idea,” he murmured.
She felt him tense; delighted in the fact she could easily curl against his chest. Instead she smiled enticingly, her eyes ablaze with jeweled depth as she beheld his gaze. “I like it just fine.”
Though the flicker of a smile touched his lips, he refrained from comment. Jane settled against him, content to watch the landscape until he relaxed enough to make conversation. Over the next few hours he talked about Boston, about Lancer, and his family. Jane spoke briefly of her past, but the recollections were fleeting for she had no pleasant memories to share. She preferred to listen to the sound of his voice, feel the rise and fall of his chest. Loosing her arm, she turned slightly, settling her back more comfortably against his chest. Late morning passed into early afternoon and eventually later day.
Though they stopped twice more for brief respites, it wasn’t until sunset, that they camped for the night. Scott saw to his horse while Jane tended the fire and started preparations for dinner. The meal was small¾fruit and biscuits, with dried beef and sugared coffee. Afterwards, with the sun sinking into the smoked-purple cradle of the horizon, Scott prepared his bedroll for Jane.
“Where will you sleep?” she asked neutrally, watching as he situated his upturned saddle for a pillow.
“I’ve got another blanket,” Scott replied without turning. She liked the care he took in positioning her bedding for the night. She’d never had anyone cater to her needs before, and found the experience wantonly pleasant. When he was through with saddle and blanket, he located a separate spread, dropping it unceremoniously by the fire. Guessing it was where he intended to sleep, she realized he was acting as a gentleman, despite any less than noble thoughts he might secretly entertain.
Squatting by the fire, Scott poked a stick at the coals, stirring displaced ash to life. Ruby flames jumped erratically, audibly hissing in the stillness. With a glance for the deepening sky, Jane dusted her hands against her arms. As night descended the air grew cooler, blowing across the ragged terrain with moist, crisp edges. “I suppose you’ll want to get an early start in the morning.”
Scott nodded, sparing a glance over his shoulder. Frowning at the way she sat huddled, he stood and removed his jacket. “With any luck we’ll reach Lancer by late afternoon.” Walking to her side, he crouched next to her, encircling her shoulders with the heavy buckskin. His touch lingered as he adjusted the fit of the garment to her slighter form. Lifting her head she looked into his eyes, expecting to see detached concern and nothing more. A heated flicker of desire surprised her, as startling for its unexpectedness, as her dry-mouthed reaction.
Raising his hand, Scott brushed a stray strand of hair from her eyes. “You should get some sleep.” His voice was soft, his touch nearly insubstantial, as he lowered his hand to trace the curve of her cheek.
Riveted by the contact, Jane met his gaze. Part of her longed to return his touch ¾to press the sensitive pads of her fingertips against his lips; to dip her hand into the open “v” of his shirt, luxuriating in the sheer warmth certain to follow. Though it certainly wasn’t “lady like” to entertain such desire, she’d been ousted from proper society long ago.
“You’re very considerate,” she whispered, a sad smile hovering on her lips. Surely a man as upstanding as Scott Lancer appeared to be, had no use for a near-waif with a sordid past. From the small amount he’d shared of his background, Jane knew he was Boston-bred and college educated. Accustomed to the finer things in life, he was a man who moved in genteel society, squiring debutantes to elegant balls and high-profile nights at the theater. If there was any longing in his eyes, it was the base desire of a healthy man for a backwater strumpet, nothing more.
Disturbed by the thought, she lowered her eyes. “Thank you for your concern,” she mumbled. Tightening her fingers on the jacket, she drew it closer.
Sensing a change in her, Scott nodded crisply and withdrew. Stopping by the fire, he bent and added a few spindly sticks to the flames. The resultant play of flickering light across his face ignited the depths of his eyes with pure silver, and riddled his hair with amber thread. One corner of his mouth twitched in a scowl, etching a smattering of fine lines around his lips. A moment later he stood and retreated to the edge of the campsite, his back turned as he studied the horizon.
Jane retreated to the bedroll he’d prepared and wrapped herself in the blankets. Somewhat selfishly, she kept his jacket around her, comforted by his familiar scent. She never heard Scott return almost an hour later and settle beside her. Fatigued by the long journey, and the painful tug of her seesawing emotions, she dropped into an exhausted sleep, and did not waken until dawn.
**********
Scott stirred, sluggishly waking to a gray world. Cracking an eyelid, he focused half-heartedly on the bleak haze proceeding dawn. The air had grown brisk with the night, laced with the shivery chill of impending rain. Beneath his bedroll, the ground was damp, saturated with dew. A singular pocket of warmth nestled against him, creating an indulgent cocoon of heat he was loath to disturb. With a start, Scott realized Jane Hall lay snuggled against him, her head on his shoulder, a slender arm draped across his waist. Sometime during the night, she’d unconsciously sought the warmth of his body, cuddling close to mute the biting chill.
For a time he lay motionless, staring at the whitewashed sky overhead, it’s eastern edges betraying only the barest tincture of color, as a bloody sun struggled to climb above the horizon. The air was moist and cool against his face, prompting him to turn his head marginally. Jane shifted in his arms, and he reacted impulsively, lightly brushing his lips against her hair. She murmured in her sleep¾a purely innocent sound that was somehow brazenly seductive for it’s drowsy appeal. Dislodged by her movement, her hand dropped from his waist, resting dangerously low on his belt-line. Scott tensed, sucking down a ragged breath as molten desire lanced through him. Groaning inwardly, he buried his face against her hair. “Janie.”
She’s only eighteen.
Every instinct told him to withdraw; that he was perched on the precipice of a fatal mistake. But his body reacted differently, burying rational thought beneath a heated deluge of white-hot desire. He’d spent yesterday riding double with her, the soft curves of her body intimately nestled against his. Even his dreams had been filled with snippets of their day together¾snatches of candid conversation; the vibrant flash of her eyes; the alluring curve of her smile; the tilt of her head when amused or challenged. Like it or not, struggle as he might to deny it, Scott knew he was smitten.
From the moment he’d first spied her in Whiskey Gulch’s filth-riddled cantina, he’d become hopelessly enamored, despite the knowledge of how she’d earned a living. The ethical voice of his conscience tried to rationalize his involvement, insisting he only wanted to help. A more stringent voice maintained it was improper for a twenty-six year old man to entertain romantic notions about an eighteen-year old girl¾a girl nearly as young as his adopted sister. Though it was true many women bore children by the time they were Jane’s age, most wed from necessity or hardship. In Boston, young women were sheltered and pampered by overly-protective fathers, who routinely scrutinized prospective suitors, curtly dismissing those deemed improper or too old.
Scott considered himself both.
Jane shifted again. This time her hand grazed below his belt, brushing the overly sensitized area between his legs before settling on his thigh. Scott stifled a groan. Mornings frequently induced a prominent reaction in any healthy man, but Jane’s innocent stirring left him fighting a sudden, uncomfortable tightness in his pants. It took every ounce of control he had to temper mounting desire.
He had no right to take advantage of her. No right to force his affection, when she’d been burdened with unwanted and painful relationships most of her life. He’d agreed to help her. An honorable man wouldn’t muddy the water with desire, no matter how strong the attraction.
Disentangling himself, Scott rolled away from her. Climbing to his feet, he turned his back, straightening his pants before she could witness the effect she had on him. As she stirred groggily awake, he squatted and folded his bedroll. “ ‘Morning,” he said shortly.
Focusing belatedly, Jane pushed to a sitting position, using one arm to brace herself. “Good morning,” she returned, clearly still half asleep. His jacket hung off her shoulders, and her unpinned hair lay rumpled in tangled waves over her back. The top three buttons of her blouse had come undone during the night, providing an alluring view of creamy flesh where her breasts swelled against the material. Though he normally would have averted his eyes, Scott stared entranced. Flushing, Jane drew his jacket closer, prompting a sting of color in his own cheeks.
Uncomfortable, she stood. “I’ll get breakfast ready,” she mumbled, clearly self-conscious.
As she moved away, Scott swore softly. Sometimes he was far too adept at creating difficulty.
**********
Rain halted their progress three hours into their trek. As they neared Lancer the ground grew greener, rolling in peaks and valleys, and gently undulating hillsides. Leafy trees sprouted in lush groves, creating momentary shelter from the drizzling mist, only to prove insignificant in any downpour to follow. Tugging his horse to a halt, Scott paused beneath the ponderous branches of a massive ash tree. Using the back of one hand, he flecked moisture from his face, sweeping aside rain-dampened bangs. Behind him, Jane eased her grip on his waist.
“There’s a line shack just a mile over that ridge,” he explained with a nod for the horizon. “It’s on the northern edge of Lancer, and should be fairly well stocked this time of year.” Frowning, Scott considered the sky. Billowing clouds massed overhead, their underbellies distended and black with caged rain. Sensing the impending storm, his horse shied nervously. “We’ll stay at the shack until the storm passes,” Scott told Jane, mostly because he needed the distraction. For hours now, he’d been acutely aware of the intimate press of her body against his back and hips. With effort, he focused and nudged his restless mount from beneath the shelter.
Jane tightened her grip on his waist, prompting his mouth to go dry. They’d spoken little that morning, each painfully aware of the unsettled air between them. Forcing the pace of his horse, Scott tried to outdistance the storm. Rain broke when they were still a mile from the line shack, bursting from bloated clouds in a cold deluge. By the time they found the shack, tucked among green hills and a small copse of trees, they were soaked through and shivering.
Scott drew his leg over his horse’s neck to dismount, then helped Jane to the ground. While he’d had his heavy buckskin jacket as protection against the rain, she’d had only her blouse. Saturated by the downpour, the material clung to her like a second skin, accentuating every flawless curve of her body. “Get inside,” he instructed, stopping to free her cloth-bound bundle and his saddlebag from the horse.
Jane sprinted onto the small covered porch, but waited until he joined her. Crackling to life on the green-black rim of the sky, lightning hung momentarily suspended then faded¾a ghost-like impression hovering in its wake. Cold sheets of rain battered the roof, chased by earsplitting tails of thunder. Catching Jane by the arm, Scott pulled her inside the shack.
The cabin was fairly clean, having seen recent use. Shelves were well stocked with sundry items, including can goods, sacks of cornmeal and flour, and an unused oil lantern. A small hearth, rope-backed bed, square table and chairs, and a wooden workbench comprised the room. Firewood rested in a wooden box by the hearth, kindling and logs, neatly sized and stacked. The front window, bare of adornment, permitted an infusion of gray, watery light which eagerly curled into the four corners of the room.
“I’ll get a fire started,” Scott said quickly, noting how Jane stood with her hands huddled over her arms. Dropping his hat and their bags on the table, he squatted before the kindling box. Within moments of stacking the hearth, he had a small blaze going. The acrid reek of smoke and ash tangled with the mustier scent of rain and the stale air of the cabin. Standing, Scott removed his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair. Between the garment and his hat, he was mostly dry, his shirt spattered with a few wet patches, his pants already drying where the material had gotten wet.
Jane however was fairly soaked, blouse and skirt plastered to her arms and legs. Though the front of her blouse was dry where she’d pressed against him, runoff from her dripping hair saturated the cotton fabric even now. Standing inside the door, arms huddled to her chest, a puddle of water slowly spreading at her feet, she looked like some bedraggled creature from a Dickens novel.
“You need to get out of those wet clothes.” With a glance for her belongings in the cloth bundle, Scott scowled. Water puddled beneath the makeshift pack, oozing across the coarse wooden boards where it rested on the table. Anything carried within was likely unserviceable. Opening his leather saddlebags Scott retrieved a shirt, then crossed to the bed and snagged the blanket. “This will do.” Turning, he offered the items to Jane.
Frowning, she eyed him skeptically. “If you wait outside. On the porch?”
There was something ironic about her modesty. She’d shed her clothes often enough in the past to become suddenly demure now. Cringing, Scott berated himself for the cruel thought. In one respect he’d been treating her like Teresa¾a fragile innocent. In the next, he entertained notions of her previous profession, expecting her to react accordingly. Confused by his own muddled feelings, he nodded curtly. Passing her the blanket and shirt, he stepped from the shack onto the porch. A blast of cool, rain-moist air struck him in the face.
Frustrated, he propped a shoulder against a support post and raked a hand through his damp hair. When he thought of her inside, stripping off her wet clothes, it grew difficult to breathe. He couldn’t decide if he was acting like an idiot or a man. A tight smile crossed his lips when he considered most women would claim them one in the same.
He didn’t know if it was his own rigid upbringing beneath Harlan Garrett’s overly correct eye, or an inherent desire to protect those less fortunate, but most of his life he’d been attracted to the wrong kind of woman. His dalliances in Boston had been mostly inconsequential with a few exceptions. He’d courted the blue-blooded daughters of prominent Boston families, but he’d also squired women deemed less-than-respectable by society’s standards. In venturing west he’d hoped to break the pattern, but since arriving at Lancer, he’d fallen into a similar vein. In the last year alone he’d dallied with Zee, Glory, Julie Barrett and even Moira McGloins¾all slightly less than reputable, all tarnished in one respect or another. He could easily see himself repeating the same errors with Jane. To make matters worse, she was appalling young, even if life had burdened her with a mature edge.
The best thing to do was get her to Lancer as quickly as possible, where he’d have the distraction of other people. If he remembered correctly, Murdoch had planned a party for the ranch hands two days hence to celebrate the successful conclusion of a recent cattle drive. It was one of the reasons he’d left Fulton’s Gorge when he had, so he’d arrive in plenty of time for the festivities. Parties were not to be missed. Though a western social couldn’t compete with a Boston soiree, Scott had never quite outgrown his taste for entertainment, lavish or otherwise.
The door creaked behind him, drawing his attention.
“You can come in now,” Jane announced, looking around the corner. She stepped away from the door when he entered, moving self-consciously to a chair by the fireplace. She’d dried her hair as best she could, then scattered her clothes on the backs of chairs placed before the fireplace. More lay strewn over the tabletop. Uncomfortable at the sight of her undergarments, Scott swallowed dryly. Though she held the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, it didn’t quite reach the floor. He could see her bare calves and feet, bronzed with golden light from the hearth. The collar of his own royal blue shirt peeked from the edge of the blanket at her throat.
Awkward and uncertain how to pass the time, Scott rifled through his saddlebag. “Are you hungry?”
Jane shook her head.
Feeling trapped in the small confines of the room, Scott paced to the window. Water streaked the grimy glass, leaving a dirt-stained impression of the landscape beyond. Trees distorted and bled through the prismatic effect of rippling rain on glass. Biting down on his lip, Scott paced to the door and tugged it open. Raising his hand above his head, he gripped the edge, holding it in place. “Lancer isn’t much further,” he announced without turning.
“I wish I understood why you’re helping me.”
Though the drumming effect of rain on the roof nearly drowned Jane’s voice, the quiet utterance drew Scott. Surprised, he turned, closing the door to mute the sound of the downpour. “Do I have to have a reason?”
“Most men do.”
“I’m not most men.” As soon as the words were past his lips, he grimaced, realizing how arrogant they sounded. Striding to the hearth, he rested one hand against the heated bricks and stood looking down at her. “Do you regret leaving Whiskey Gulch?”
A tart smile crossed Jane’s lips. “What I regret has nothing to do with Whiskey Gulch, and more to do with the ups and downs of your actions. This morning¾”
“Forget this morning,” he said quickly, recalling how he’d been unable to mask the desire in his eyes. That brief moment when she’d awakened and he’d stared, openly entranced, had hovered over them ever since.
“I told you I’d pay you. I’ve lain with men for a lot less than saving my life. If that’s what you want, all you have to do is tell me.”
“Damn it, Jane.” Irrational anger twisted his face. Part of him wanted to grab her and rattle sense into her for deeming herself chattel for barter. The other wanted to wrap her in his arms and show her how pure attraction could be, when both parties were on equal terms.
She shrugged. “I don’t understand you, Scott.”
“No,” he muttered, more frustrated then angry. “Maybe it’s better we keep it that way.” He started past her, but she caught his arm, lightly holding onto his wrist. Her touch, somehow uncertain, was riveting for its hesitancy. Looking down on her¾on her upturned face, her eyes green and searching; her skin, still damp from the rain, an intoxicating blend of cameo cream and golden honey¾he felt his resolve wither like a sun-scorched root. Barely daring to breathe, he traced his fingertips over her cheek, then her lips, marveling at the smooth texture of satiny flesh. Her mouth parted beneath the touch, inviting him to continue. Trapped on the threshold of desire, Scott struggled to reassert control.
Raising her hands, Jane pushed the blanket from her shoulders. It crumbled behind her on the seat of the chair, leaving her clad only in his blue shirt. The sight of her bare legs and the rapid rise and fall of her breasts, pushed him over the edge of reason. Gripping her beneath the upper arm, Scott pulled her to her feet. He slipped one arm behind her waist, used his other hand to cup her chin and tilt her face up to his. Her lips were chill with the lingering touch of rain, but they heated rapidly when he covered her mouth with his own.
Jane melted into his embrace, desiring the contact every bit as much as he did. The lines and planes of his body were deliciously taut, from chest to hip to thigh, and she reveled in the feel of that exquisite firmness, pressed to her softer flesh. He kissed her hungrily, not forcefully as most men did, with the desire to pleasure as much as take. A warm spiral of heat spread outward from her belly, gently cascading through her limbs. Scott slipped his hand into her wet hair, tugging her head back, then bending to trail open-mouthed kisses across her throat.
She trembled in his embrace, undone by the contact, by the sheer strength of his presence. His hand slid from her waist, dipped lower to catch the edge of her shirt and push it above her hip. As he claimed her lips yet again, probing deeply with his tongue, he cupped her bare bottom with one hand, pressing against her. The hard buckle of his gunbelt caught her in the stomach, the unmistakable swell of his arousal lower still. The breath caught in her throat, and she thought of the bed in the corner¾of how much she wanted him, of how unlike her previous experiences with men, he proved to be.
She fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, slipping her hand inside the soft material, delighting in the hard, smooth plane of his chest. He kissed her yet again, moving his mouth over hers, teasing now, never quite making contact, hovering just shy as his tongue flicked the edges of her lips. Moaning, she locked both hands behind his neck, trying to pull his head down to seal the kiss. In a distracted part of her mind, she abruptly realized he was quite adept at the game of love, and had probably entertained more women than was considered respectable. In the past, it had been difficult surrendering control. Though the men in her life had always held the upper hand, she’d never completely yielded to their manipulations, particularly in bed. This time was different. This time she wanted to lose herself in the heady passion of Scott’s skilled lovemaking.
She felt the warm whisper of his breath against her ear; the heat of lips against her cheek, her temple; the sheer ecstasy of his hand cupping her breast, his thumb stroking her nipple to a rigid peak. “Janie, do you have any idea how much I want you?” he whispered huskily against her ear.
An anticipatory shiver rippled through her body. “I told you¾” she murmured against his lips, seeking his kiss. “¾all you had to do was ask.”
As though doused by a bucket of cold water, Scott drew back sharply. Gripping her shoulders, he held her at arm’s length, his expression a disconcerted snarl of bitterness and confusion.
“Scott?”
Shuttering all emotion from his face, he shook his head. “I was wrong. This was a mistake.”
Bewildered, she stared. The beautiful ecstasy of what they’d shared a moment ago crumbled worthlessly at her feet. A cold knife sliced through her, shredding fragile feelings that had only now begun to bloom . “How can you say that?”
“Because I’m more cynical than I seem,” Scott shot back without thought. “Get dressed. The storm’s letting up.” Releasing her, he glanced aside. “You can keep the shirt since it’s dry.”
Jane’s temper flared. How dare he treat her like a . . . a . . . an object of desire and then condescend to offer his shirt. “I wouldn’t keep your damn shirt if it was the last article of clothing from here to Christmas, and I had to ride naked all the way to Lancer.”
Scott’s mouth tightened into a white line. “Fine. If you want to proclaim your profession to the rest of the world, who am I to stop you?”
“You bastard.” Incensed by the slur, she struck him across the face. The stinging crack of her hand echoed loudly in the small cabin, but the blow barely fazed him. His expression didn’t alter.
“I’ve been called worse.”
“Get out!” Jane shrieked, jabbing a finger in the direction of the door. “You might think you can put your hands all over me, but you’re not going to stand there and watch me get dressed.”
“If I paid, would it make a difference?”
The blood drained from Jane’s face. Something ugly had transpired. Something to turn her chivalrous knight into an arrogant, overbearing demon. Words failed her at the cruel insult, leaving her white-faced and trembling. She felt the sting of tears behind her eyes and blinked rapidly to keep from breaking down like some foolish girl-child. “Please leave, Mr. Lancer,” she said in a rigidly controlled voice. Her face remained unyielding, her gaze as implacable as stone.
When he turned gruffly and stalked outside, slamming the door behind him, she collapsed into the chair. Still uncertain what had transpired to turn his loving attention into cruel dismissal, she pressed one hand against her lips. Her fingertips trembled. The breath came harsh and rapid through her lungs, dispelled in lurching gulps of air. Burying her face in her hands, she let the tears come, powerless to stop them.
Against her better judgment, she’d fallen in love with him. Even as the anguish of that knowledge tore at her heart, she knew he considered her nothing more than a strumpet, to be used and discarded at whim. Straightening, wiping tears from her eyes, she drew a calming breath.
It didn’t matter. She’d survived before. Once she got to Morro Coyo, she’d make it on her own¾without Scott Lancer.
**********
Scott sat rigidly on his horse, intensely aware of Jane’s presence behind him. Unlike before, she didn’t nestle against him, but kept space between them, her hold on his waist almost insubstantial. When she’d come from the cabin, dressed in her own wet clothing, he’d made a half-hearted attempt at an apology, but the effort had gone unaccepted.
She’d thrust his shirt at him as though it were a cast-off snakeskin, then waited¾arms crossed over her chest, eyes turned resolutely into the distance¾while he’d gone back inside to gather his gear.
With the passing of intervening hours, Scott felt increasingly guilty for his callous remarks. He was still angry over what had transpired between them, even hurt, but his verbal attack had been unjustified. He might have fallen in love with her, but her comment “all he had to do was ask” made it clear she’d simply been rendering payment for his assistance. He’d never wanted her to feel obligated, but had hoped her desire for him was as great as his need for her. Yet it was clear from her behavior at the cabin, she perceived him as a paying customer, and only wanted to satisfy the debt and be done with him.
The truth stung. As much as he wanted her, he wouldn’t lay with a woman who saw him as an obligation.
When they stopped a short time later for a brief noon meal, Jane remained distant and uncommunicative. The air between them grew strained, bristling with unspoken tension. Agitated and moody, Scott kept to himself, hunched over a cup of distastefully bitter coffee. A short distance away, a small fire snapped and crackled, the only sound in the pudding-thick stillness. Though the ground remained wet and muddy, a hazy sun gradually burned moisture from the air.
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell your family what I did in Whiskey Gulch,” Jane announced suddenly, breaking the silence. Seated a few feet away on the trunk of a fallen cypress, she looked at him bleakly. Her glance was unexpressive, the spark of animation missing from her pine-colored eyes. “I’d like to start over in Morro Coyo, and I won’t find work in a respectable establishment if my past becomes common gossip.”
Scott nodded. He’d already thought ahead, intending to tell anyone who asked that she was a widow come on hard luck, when she’d lost her farm. It wasn’t an entire lie, just not the complete truth. Standing, Scott tossed his coffee away. “I think that’s best.” Hesitating, he turned the tin cup over in his hands, looking at the small indentations in the worn metal. “I’ve got a connection or two in Morro Coyo with people who might be able to help you. Mrs. Claiborne at the dress shop, and the Kaufmanns, who run the local eatery.” Scott looked at her uncertainly. “If you still want my help.”
Folding her hands in her lap, Jane gave a barely perceptible nod. “That would be most kind, Mr. Lancer.”
Mr. Lancer.
Damn, he hated when she called him that. It erected bridges and barriers and unbroachable walls. Dismissing the matter, he snagged the coffeepot, then dumped its contents over the flames. As the wood hissed, he kicked the drenched embers with his foot, extinguishing all trace of the fire. “Let’s go,” he said crisply. “I want to reach Lancer before nightfall.”
Wordlessly, Jane followed him to the horse. Scott didn’t stop again until the white walls of Lancer rose before him, gilded with the butter-gold light of late-day sun. It seemed like he’d been gone an eternity. The prospect of his own bed, fresh clothes, and a home-cooked meal, marginally lifted his spirits, despite the staid woman at his back. When Johnny strode onto the veranda, Scott succumbed to an irrepressible grin. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
“Same goes for you, horse soldier. Get down off that gangly beast.” Grinning, Johnny strode from the porch, halting abruptly when he caught sight of Jane. “Uh . . .Brother . . . did you know there’s a gal attached to your waist?”
Burdened with the strained, uncomfortable air of the last few hours, Scott was doubly appreciative of his brother’s casual banter. “Johnny, this is Jane Hall.” Reaching behind him, Scott caught Jane’s arm, easing her to the ground. As he did, Johnny sprang to her assistance, catching her about the waist and helping her step lightly from the horse. His hands lingered longer than necessary, his smile a trifle too charming.
Frowning at his attention, Scott cleared his throat. “Jane¾my younger brother, Johnny.”
“How very charming,” Jane responded, even as Johnny released her and stepped backward.
Scott swung down from the saddle, clapping a hand to Johnny’s shoulder in greeting. “Good to see you’re still in one piece. Where’s Murdoch and Teresa?”
Johnny cocked his head toward the house. “Inside.” Curiously his eyes drifted back to Jane. “We didn’t expect company.”
“Come inside and I’ll tell you about it,” Scott suggested. Turning, he made to offer his arm to Jane, but Johnny beat him to it. Smiling appreciatively, the red-haired girl wrapped her hand around Johnny’s arm, murmuring a silky “thank you.” Grinning over the top of her head, Johnny cocked an eyebrow at Scott, enjoying the game of one-upmanship. Scowling, the fair-haired man followed his troublesome brother and their guest inside.
Scott introduced Jane to Teresa and Murdoch, providing the explanation he’d decided on earlier. Her stay at Lancer was to be temporary, until she settled in town, but Murdoch and Teresa both agreed there was no rush for her to go anywhere. Delighted by the prospect of having another female in the house, Teresa ushered her upstairs, chattering the entire time about clothes they could share and hair adornments she’d only recently acquired.
When the two females had left, Johnny looked pointedly at his brother. “A widow at her age?”
Uncomfortable, Scott shrugged. The memory of the cabin was still fresh in his mind, and he didn’t want any conversation that might betray his feelings for her. “Her life’s been on the difficult side.”
“Not to mention passing attractive.” Johnny’s mouth quirked in a grin. “The fact that she’s so pretty wouldn’t have anything to do with your helping her, would it, big brother?”
“Johnny.” Murdoch’s glower was reprimanding, but the younger man waved him off.
“Come on, Murdoch. We both know Scott’s got a weakness for a pretty face.”
“Well in this case you’re wrong,” Scott returned tightly. Was he truly that shallow when it came to women, that even his brother saw through his motives? Deliberately shifting the conversation, he focused on Murdoch. “Aaron was satisfied with the stallion and said to tell you he’ll offer us the first foal. He sent a bonus payment for early delivery.”
“Good work, Son.” With an easy grin, Murdoch rested a companionable hand on the younger man’s shoulder. Beneath his grip, he felt unexpected tension in Scott.
As though sensing his scrutiny, Scott withdrew. “I’d like to change and wash up.” A staged smile eased the strain on his face. “See you both at dinner?”
Murdoch nodded thoughtfully. Johnny merely grunted and dropped into a chair, plopping his booted feet on the coffee table. Later, when Scott had washed and changed clothes, he joined the others for dinner. Jane looked exceptionally striking in a rose-colored dress provided by Teresa, her auburn hair pinned in loose waves to the back of her head. She conducted herself with ease at the table, unusual maturity showing, despite her lack of years. From the way Johnny watched her, easily entranced, Scott knew his brother found her charming. Even Murdoch favored her with indulgent smiles and extravagant attention.
Perturbed without understanding why, Scott grew sulky and moody. He eventually retired on the pretext of needing rest after so many days on the trail. The warm laughter and animated conversation of the others followed him upstairs, haunting him even after he’d closed the door to block the sound.
The following morning he woke before the others, ate a solitary breakfast and headed into Morro Coyo. The air was pleasant, mildly warm, riddled with a frolicking breeze. It slithered beneath his hat, rifling the edges of his sun-bronzed hair, tugging more insistently at the collar of his beige shirt. Birds trilled from the upper branches of leafy trees, calling to one another in sing-song cadence. Rolling earth combined with sapphire sky, creating continuity and harmony from horizon peak to horizon peak.
Within Morro Coyo itself, the streets were dusty and dry. Early risers mingled with late-night saloon goers, who’d yet to retire for a few hours of bleary-eyed, drunken sleep. Scott stopped at the mercantile, checking on Murdoch’s latest order of supplies, then visited the Kauffmann’s eatery where he had another cup of coffee and a thick slice of bread slathered with apple butter. Though they were sympathetic, neither Mr. nor Mrs. Kauffmann had any use for another hand. Disappointed, but appreciative of their time, Scott thanked both, then walked across the street to visit Mrs. Claiborne’s dress shop.
Finding it closed he ventured next door to the stage depot, where he was told by the attendant Mrs. Claiborne had left earlier in the week. A sister had taken ill in the neighboring town of Archglow, and she’d gone to lend a hand with the family. Once again Scott expressed his gratitude for the news. Exiting the building, he collided with a man on the street. “Sorry,” Scott said, reaching out a hand to steady the other. “Didn’t see you there.”
“Not a problem.” The stranger was lean, with shoulder-length black hair and a thin mustache. Though Scott had never seen him before, there was something oddly familiar about him. Belatedly he realized it was the man’s stance, casually exuding confidence and subtle arrogance. It was the natural stance of a gunslinger¾poise Scott had often seen reflected in Johnny’s posture.
Resting a hand on his low-hipped gunbelt, the black-haired man smiled benignly. “Be careful, friend. You wouldn’t want to have an accident.” With a tip of his hat, he strolled down the boardwalk, softly whistling an unrecognizable melody.
Frowning, Scott shrugged off the encounter. Collecting his horse, he returned to Lancer where he spent the remainder of the day working cattle with Johnny. He was mostly silent through dinner, mulling over his news about the Kaufmanns and Mrs. Claiborne. When the meal was finished, he drew Jane aside to tell her both opportunities had come up lacking.
“Should I leave?” she asked. Haloed by a faint glow of lantern light, her expression was unreadable. They stood in the foyer, quietly conversing, while the rest of the family lingered in the Great Room. Snatches of conversation drifted through the open doorway as Teresa, Johnny and Murdoch reviewed preparations for the planned ranch party to take place the following evening.
“Mrs. Claiborne will probably be back in a week or so,” Scott returned stiffly, still stung by their earlier encounter. Though he tried to mask his emotions, bitterness bled into in his voice. “There’s no need for you to go anywhere.”
Jane looked unconvinced. “I don’t wish to be an unwelcome guest.”
“Teresa, Johnny and Murdoch are glad to have you.”
“And what about you?” Her expression soured. “You’ve been avoiding me ever since we arrived. Do you really think I can’t sense your hostility, Scott?”
Biting back a tart reply, Scott looked at her piercingly. With little prompting he could almost imagine disappointment in her eyes¾veiled sadness for something that might have been. Attired in a blue dress borrowed from Teresa, she looked particularly fetching. The material was snug, seductively hugging the curves and swells of her body, accentuating her comely form. Loose auburn curls cascaded against her slender neck, pinned and held in place by pearl-encrusted combs. Scott’s mouth went dry, as he realized how desperately he wanted her.
“Forget about me,” he bit off shortly. Then with a clipped inclination of his head, “Good-night Mrs. Hall.” Turning, he pushed out the front door, feeling idiotic for his upper crust attitude and formal address. As he stepped outside heat flamed on his cheeks. He couldn’t decide if he was enraged by her aloofness or annoyed at his stubborn defensiveness.
Either way, he hoped to banish all thought of her for the night.
**********
“Something wrong, Jane?”
Jane Hall jumped at the soft inquiry, her thoughts scattering like frightened rabbits. Clasping a hand to her throat, she turned at the intrusion, smiling almost guiltily when she saw Johnny standing in the threshold. “No, nothing. Well . . . not entirely.” A jittery smile stretched her lips. She knew he found her attractive, but thus far he’d made no advances, probably uncertain if his brother had designs on her. In one respect it bothered her to be auctioned off between them, in another, it was extraordinary to think one man would retreat in favor of the other.
Johnny was the kind of man who normally attracted her¾darkly handsome with an unmistakable aura of danger clinging to his heels. There was power in every move he made; unmistakable magnetism in everything he did. From the seductive curve of his lips, to his low-hipped stance and quiet, husky voice, he positively oozed sensuality. Yet for all Johnny’s appeal, Jane couldn’t see past Scott with his blighted sense of chivalry, ramrod composure, and antiquated sense of right and wrong. He didn’t have Johnny’s dark, dangerous edge, but possessed a deeper sensuality that left her weak in the knees every time he so much as glanced in her direction. Why had she fallen in love with such a complex, difficult man?
Stepping into the foyer, Johnny cocked his head. “Problems?”
“Not really.” Frustrated, Jane wrung her hands together. “It’s just your brother. Is he always so . . . so¾”
“Irritating?” Johnny’s lips curled in a crooked smile. “I’ve come close to wringing his neck a time or two. What’d he do now?”
Thinking better of her scattered emotions, Jane shook her head. Involving Johnny in her problems with Scott would likely only make the situation worse. “It doesn’t matter.” Quickly, she dismissed the matter, hoping to deter further inquiries. “I promised to help Teresa with the party preparations. Excuse me.”
Before Johnny could object she brushed past him, leaving him slightly bewildered for the odd conversation. Though she’d been pleasant and forthcoming since arriving at Lancer, Johnny knew she’d also been exceptionally closed-mouthed concerning Scott. It didn’t take a genius to realize she had feelings for his brother, even if she went out of her way to keep Scott at a distance. Shaking his head, deciding women were best consigned to a realm he couldn’t fathom, Johnny stepped onto the porch. As he moved outside, he caught a glimpse of a shadowy form propped against the wall.
“Scott?” Stepping nearer, Johnny narrowed his eyes on his brother. “What are you doing out here?”
Scott grunted something in reply¾a rankled sound, clearly conveying his sour mood. Remembering that his brother had been particularly quiet, even morose during dinner, Johnny approached casually. Agitating a man intent on denying his feelings for a woman, was like sparring with a rattler. Johnny, however, liked to play dangerously. “Thought maybe you’d want to chime in your two cents about the party tomorrow night,” he announced neutrally. “Teresa’s already got Murdoch rethinking the whole event."
When no reply or acknowledgement was forthcoming, Johnny stuffed his hands in his pockets, and offered a breezy smile. “Course Teresa’s got Mrs. Hall to keep her busy now. I think she’s already plottin’ to introduce Jane to Virgil Nichols. And I heard her mention something about Ethan Green and Martin Fishburn. Sounds like she’s got a real social calendar planned for your girlfriend.”
Scott glanced at him acidly, his expression one step shy of murderous. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Brother. She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Oh.” Johnny pursed his lips theatrically. He kicked a loose pebble across the courtyard.
Ignoring him, Scott continued, barely pausing for breath. “I don’t know what Teresa’s thinking anyway.” The words rolled from his tongue with sudden belligerence. “Nichols can barely string two words together when he meets a woman, Green spends most of his time in the saloon, and Fishburn’s more likely to primp in front of a mirror then pay compliments.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Hearing the bristling tang of buried jealousy in his brother’s voice, Johnny made a valiant effort not to smile. “You gotta admit Fishburn’s a real ladies’ man¾tall and dark, with that European accent. Jane will probably fall all over him.”
“He sounds like someone shoved a cricket up his nose.”
Biting down on his bottom lip, Johnny shook his head in clear amusement. Ever since Scott had returned with Jane Hall riding behind him, Johnny had been aware of the crackling attraction between his brother and the red-haired woman. Even Murdoch had commented on it the previous night. Though neither Scott nor Jane appeared anything but courteous with the other¾indeed, they went out of their way to be rigidly aloof¾it was clear to the remainder of the family heated emotions simmered beneath the surface. It was so unlike his brother¾known for his easy charm and skilled manner with women¾to be strung along by a girl, barely more than a child, that Johnny couldn’t resist a needling poke at Scott’s bluff demeanor.
“Look, Brother, if you’re that taken with the woman¾”
“Taken?” Slate blue eyes narrowed dangerously on Johnny. “I wouldn’t care if Teresa lined up every eligible bachelor in Morro Coyo to court Jane Hall. She’s barely older than Teresa is. You’re crazy if you think I’m interested.”
“Is that so?” Sly challenge crept into Johnny’s eyes. “Then you won’t mind if I court her myself?”
Scott’s mouth tightened in a rigid line. “Do what you want,” he answered flatly. Turning, he stalked back into the house, every taut muscle in his body effecting black denial.
Chuckling softly, Johnny strolled to the stable, his spirits soaring high as a bird. There was something blatantly satisfying in seeing his overly correct brother, normally so composed and precise, reduced to an irritable fool over a woman’s hand.
Tomorrow night’s celebration was starting to look like the most promising party of the year.
**********
A lively spray of fiddle and harmonica music filled the night air, reverberating throughout the open courtyard. Johnny stepped easily among the dancers and partygoers, barely pausing on his way to the punch table. Brightly colored lanterns strung from the rafters and walls, cast a warm, idyllic glow on the outdoor setting. A square platform assembled from plank boards created a flat surface, just a foot off the ground for dancers. Cowpokes, wranglers, and ranch hands, all attired in their finest clothes, twirled ladies in sweeping skirts to the melodic rise and fall of sprightly reels and slower waltzes. A full moon and clear sky, brightened by an ice-white prism of stars, instilled a near-tangible aura of romance.
Johnny grinned, shaking his head as he neared the punchbowl. Behind him on the dance platform, he’d left Ethan Green and Virgil Nichols arguing over who had the privilege of the next dance with Jane. Though the evening was only a few hours old, almost every available young man in Morro Coyo had attended the comely widow on the dance floor. Johnny had taken his turn, twirling her through a waltz, before moving on to fawn over some of the other women. Though many seemed to resent Jane’s presence, Teresa clearly relished her role of matchmaker, introducing one possible suitor after another. Amused by the fuss Jane was causing, Johnny poured a glass of punch, content to simply watch for the moment.
He enjoyed outdoor parties more than those confined to limited space within four walls. Teresa, Jane, and a few others had taken great care in setting up tables and chairs in the courtyard, crafting an ambiance effortlessly in tune with the nighttime backdrop. Platters of pastries, fruits, cheeses and breads enticed guests to linger in cordial conversation, while the string of beckoning lanterns invited leisurely strolls amid flower-lined pathways.
Setting his glass aside, Johnny casually noted Teresa, Jane, Murdoch, and Jelly among the gathered crowd. Jelly appeared in animated conversation with a pretty brunette, while Murdoch talked more quietly with a neighboring rancher. Realizing that Scott was nowhere in sight, Johnny scanned the crowd. He’d been cornered earlier by a few women looking for Scott. Though he’d never quite figured out the polished, sophisticated edge of Scott’s charm, he knew it reduced most women to simpering fools.
A sharp smile stretched his lips. Apparently that devastating Boston charm had gotten Scott nowhere with Jane Hall, even if she did secretly harbor feelings for him. It was almost comical realizing the position his brother was in. He might not be as widely traveled as Scott, but he knew a lovesick fool when he saw one. His brother’s recent, uncharacteristic behavior was clear indication the eastern philanderer had met his match.
The smooth motion of the veranda door sweeping open, drew Johnny’s attention. Scott stepped to the edge of the roof overhang, his expression sour. Briefly, his eyes flitted to the dance floor. Several young men¾none older than twenty or twenty-two¾flocked around Jane Hall, fussing over her every move. Johnny followed his brother’s eyes, noting how comely the woman looked in a form fitting, off the shoulder emerald dress. Tight across the bust and fashioned with a low neckline, the garment was cinched at the waist with a black sash. Shoulders and throat bare, Jane wore a simple cameo suspended on a black ribbon, her fiery red-gold hair loose about her shoulders.
Scowling, Scott turned and strode to the right¾away from the music and festivities, into the shadow-draped seclusion of a smaller courtyard. Deciding it was time to intervene, Johnny hurried after him.
“Hey, Scott¾wait up!”
The fair-haired man jerked as though caught unaware. Halting, he cast a perturbed glance over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t you be begging some naïve girl for a dance or something?”
Johnny chuckled. “Or something.” Stepping lightly to his brother’s side, he looked the older man over with an amused glance. “Damn, Boston. You look hiss-and-spit, disagreeable enough to swallow a horn-toad backwards. That sour expression sure ain’t gonna go over with Beth Waller or Abigail Harrington. Both already cornered me wantin’ to know when you’re gonna show up and dance with them.”
“I’m not much for dancing tonight,” Scott grumbled, looking away.
“Yeah, I can see that.” Studying his brother’s morose expression, Johnny chewed on his bottom lip. He couldn’t decide if he felt sorry for Scott or was simply amused by the other’s gruff persona. “That little red-haired filly you dragged back from Whiskey Gulch wouldn’t have anything to do with your sudden aversion to socializing would it? She’s got about a half-dozen callers on a string, all trippin’ over one another to get a smile from her.”
“All children nearly as young as she is,” Scott returned tartly. “What would you expect?”
Johnny cocked his head to the side. Behind him, muted by distance, the rollicking notes of Arkansas Traveler skimmed lightly on the air. “What’s the matter, big brother¾you wouldn’t be feelin’ old at twenty-six, would you?”
Exhaling, Scott glanced sharply at this brother. Something in his eyes told Johnny he viewed the interference with the same patience he’d have for a bothersome fly. He looked ready to snap a terse reply, eyes dark and satirical, when his expression suddenly altered. Straightening, he looked past Johnny, surprise replacing the irritation in his gaze. “Janie.”
Johnny pressed his lips together to keep from smiling at Scott’s involuntary use of the nickname. Turning, he politely inclined his head to the woman in question. “Evening, Mrs. Hall.”
Her glance was pleasant but neutral. “Hello, Johnny.” Casually dismissing him, her eyes flicked to Scott. In that transient, quicksilver moment Johnny felt the crackling surge of tension between them, heated and ripe with underlying passion. Deciding it was best to leave before events grew complicated, he mumbled an excuse about promising someone a dance and bowed out gracefully.
Alone, Scott and Jane faced one another.
“I didn’t see you earlier,” Jane ventured quietly into the suddenly sticky silence. Uncomfortable, she tried to gauge the intensity of critical light in Scott’s storm-colored eyes. Though his expression bordered on withering, she sensed he was as uneasy as she was. Attired in light gray pants, a white shirt with black string tie, and a navy-blue jacket, he looked elegant and distinctly formal¾a proper eastern gentleman somehow removed from cruder attempts at socializing. Deciding one of them needed to blunder forward, she steeled herself for rejection. “I was hoping you’d dance with me.”
Scott’s glance was cool. “I’m surprised you missed me with that entourage of lap-dogs fawning all over you.”
Jane pressed her lips together. The caustic edge of the remark resurrected the painful sting of their earlier altercation. “You really have no need to be so cruel,” she said icily, “But I suppose you have no other way of talking to someone like me. I’m beginning to think those wranglers in Whiskey Gulch would have treated me better than you do.”
“Janie, wait.” As she turned to leave, Scott strode hastily forward and caught her arm. Up close she could see doubt in his eyes. Lantern light blended with the deeper smoke of shadow to highlight and sculpt the finely boned planes of his face with traces of jet and amber. They stood so close she could easily reach out and dust her fingertips across his lips; wrap her hands behind his neck and slide her fingers into the thick strands of his wheat-colored hair. But it was anger that held her in place, not desire. Confused by her conflicting emotions, she met his gaze squarely.
“Those things, I said . . . at the line shack.” Scott tightened his fingers on her arm. His touch, felt through the silky fabric of her sleeve, was charged with seductive heat. “I didn’t mean any of them. I lost my temper, and said things that were inexcusable.”
“Lost your temper?” Equal parts fire and ice danced up Jane’s spine, coaxed by the stimulating warmth of his touch. The night air carried the sweeping strings of The Girl I Left Behind Me across the courtyard. “What did you have to be angry about?”
Rather than reply, Scott dropped his hand to the back of her waist. “Dance with me,” he said simply.
Before she could reply she found herself swept into gliding movement, his command of the dance as breathtaking as their moon-drenched surroundings. He moved effortlessly and agilely, the strong, guiding pressure of his hand on her waist making her head spin. The scant distance that separated them crackled with the powerful tug of mutual attraction. Painfully aware of the sheer force of his magnetism, Jane sought to catch her breath. “You treated me horribly, Scott.”
His grip tightened on her waist with firm command. “I don’t like being considered a debt.”
“Debt?” Her brows drew together. His touch was shamelessly distracting, and she saw in his eyes, he enjoyed the control. “I don’t understand.” Part of her wanted to rebuke him for playing so seductive a game, the other shivered with delight at the sensual heat he awakened. Even as he led her through the dance, he drew her closer within the warm circle of his arms, until she felt the brush of his thigh against her skirts.
Stopping, he tipped her chin up to his, his lips scant inches from her own. She felt the heat of his breath against her cheek; stared rapturously into the moon-gilded blue of his eyes. Every nerve in her body tensed in heightened anticipation of his kiss.
“Mrs. Hall!”
Startled by the loud interruption, Jane jerked abruptly backward. Releasing her, Scott turned a near-furious stare on the newcomer who dared to interrupt. Seemingly immune to his cutting glance, Martin Fishburn stepped around the corner, moving into a semi-circle of lantern light. “Teresa’s been looking all over for you, Mrs. Hall,” the slightly foppish foreigner intoned with an impeccably upper crust accent. Ignoring the fact he’d obviously intruded on a private moment, Fishburn brushed past Scott and offered his arm to Jane. “And as I recall, you did promise me a dance. I believe the band is preparing to play Annie Laurie, and I can’t imagine a fairer woman to share such an enchanting ballad with, then you.” With a dramatic flourish, he bowed. “I would be honored, Mrs. Hall, if you’d return to the party and dance with me.”
“I¾” Beseechingly, Jane looked to Scott. Before she could utter another word, he mumbled something she didn’t catch and stalked quickly away. Shattered by Fishburn’s interruption, the intoxicating sensations she’d felt just moments before, seemed fragments of a dream. Saddened by the loss, Jane closed her eyes. Every instinct, every fiber, hungered for Scott’s touch. Steeling herself to the loss, Jane nodded to the flamboyantly dressed foreigner. “A pleasure, Sir,” she said with a brutally false smile.
**********
The party lasted until shortly after eleven o’clock, when the last of the stragglers finally made their way home. A brief cleanup followed, with most of the telltale signs of celebration being left to address the following day, when all concerned were thinking more clearly. Having spent most of the evening away from the core festivities, Scott remained outside long after the others had retired.
After his encounter with Jane, he’d made an obligatory appearance, making polite but brief conversation with guests he knew his father would want him to acknowledge. He even danced once or twice, escorting both Abigail Harrington and Beth Waller through upbeat melodies. Yet the entire time he’d been distracted by Jane a short distance away, the very flash of her smile¾bestowed on some coltish young suitor¾enough to make his heart race. Even now the memory of their shared dance made him restless with desire.
If Teresa hadn’t set up so many potential suitors for Jane the night might have ended differently. Scott knew he couldn’t fault his “sister” her interference. She held an idealized view of Jane, crafted from the half-truths he’d created on her arrival. For that matter, Johnny and Murdoch viewed her as an innocent, unjustly hurt by circumstance. Not one of them had thought it odd that an eighteen-year-old girl could skillfully manipulate nearly every man present into acting like a fool for her hand.
Frowning, Scott stepped into the shadow-draped house and made his way to the steps. He knew it wasn’t truly her fault. She was stunningly attractive, and a newcomer to Morro Coyo. In a small town where everyone knew everyone else, announcing the arrival of a comely female was akin to inciting a feeding frenzy among eligible men.
Tired, Scott trudged down the hallway toward his bedroom. The corridor was dark, draped with clinging shadows, the umbrage broken only occasionally by a sliver of yellow light beneath a closed door. As he neared Jane’s room, the door cracked ajar, then opened. Surprised, Scott halted.
Jane stood framed in the doorway, her long hair loose about her shoulders. She’d changed into a white sleeping gown, ribboned with foamy lace at the neckline and cuffs. Lantern light spilled from the room behind her, silhouetting the curves of her body beneath the semi-sheer material. Scott felt his mouth go dry. “I thought you’d be asleep by now.”
“I wanted to see you.” Reaching forward, she took his hand and tugged gently.
Scott hesitated only a moment before stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. His knee bumped the bed, and he noted with a sideways glance that the covers were turned down and rumpled. She’d obviously already been in bed, waiting for the sound of his step outside the door. Lamely, he sought something to say. “Did you enjoy the party?”
Her hand, still entwined with his, ignited sparks between them. “Not as much as I would have with you.” The hint of a smile flitted over her lips. “I’d like to wring Martin Fishburn’s scrawny neck for interrupting us earlier.”
Scott cast her an arch glance. “I didn’t realize it mattered,”
With a gentle tug, Jane unraveled his string tie. “I’ve thought about this, Scott¾most of the night, in fact.” Stepping very near, she slipped one hand behind his neck. The other gently eased open the top button of his shirt, then slid lower to free the second. “I didn’t understand what you meant when you mentioned a debt.” Leaning against him, she let her touch linger on his flesh as yet another button popped free. “But I do now, and you’re wrong. I left you under the wrong impression at the line shack.”
“Jane¾” Scott caught her hand as she reached for the fourth button on his shirt. His breath grew ragged as mounting desire coursed through his body. In the back of his mind, he tried to dismiss the troubling notion that she was only eighteen. “You don’t have to do this.”
Tilting her head to look into his eyes, Jane raised one hand and traced her fingertips across his lips. “I know I don’t have to, but I want to.” More than anything else, she wanted to feel the intoxicating bliss he incited in her; wanted to experience the sheer ecstasy of his hands on her flesh, intimately touching her as he had at the line shack. Held in his arms, the past disappeared¾the ugliness that proclaimed all men one in the same, reducing her to a trinket for sale to the highest bidder.
Scott made her believe pure love was possible. The feelings he inspired were frightening and exhilarating at the same time. No man had ever left her quaking in need of his touch; hungering for the alluring warmth of his kiss. Closing her eyes, leaving herself vulnerable to possible rejection, Jane leaned against him. Slipping her hand inside his shirt, she revealed in the blistering contact of heated flesh on flesh. Raising her head, she silently begged his kiss.
With a low groan, Scott crushed her mouth beneath his own. Jane felt the world upend beneath her, as the smoldering intensity of his kiss drew her breath away. Gently cupping her face, he drew his thumbs down her neck, awakening the heated pulse-points in her throat. He kissed her deeply, the stroke of his fingers over her sensitized flesh, leaving her quaking in anticipation of more.
“You’re beautiful, Janie,” he whispered. The warm, moist mist of his breath against her ear, sent waves of heat spiraling from her belly. Pressing against him, she felt the distinctly male reaction that plainly informed her he was aroused. His kiss grew subtlety demanding as he bared her shoulders, pushing the nightdress down her arms. The material pulled taut across her breasts. Trembling, she sucked in a quavering breath, stimulated by the rasp of fabric across her sensitized flesh. Scott tugged on the lace ribbon securing the front of her gown, and the garment fell gaping to her waist.
Contouring the hourglass curve of her body from breast to hip, Scott drew his hand down her bare side. Roughened by the rigors of ranch work, the ragged scrape of his palm against her smooth flesh was flagrantly arousing. Jane disentangled herself from the garment and it dropped in a pool of filmy material at her feet. For a terrifying moment the world teetered off kilter, and she experienced the strange, yet breathtaking sensation of standing naked while Scott was fully dressed. With another man she would have felt vulnerable. With Scott Lancer, it was suddenly the most sensual feeling she could imagine.
Needing to feel the heat of his lips once again, Jane pushed on tiptoes, pressing against him. Clearly aroused by the touch of her naked flesh, Scott grinned seductively. “You are a wicked girl, Jane.” Wrapping his arms around her waist, he bent his head and covered her mouth with his. When she moaned softly, inciting him further, he slipped an arm behind her knees and lifted her from the floor. Holding her in his arms, he gazed down on her, his expression bare of pretense. “I really am sorry, Janie¾about what I said before. If I could take it back¾”
Jane pressed her fingers to his lips. “I shouldn’t have lead you to believe you were . . . a customer.”
Scott’s face contorted. “God, I don’t want to talk about your past. I don’t even want you to remember it.” He kissed her gently¾lips, cheek and temple. Carrying her to the bed he settled her among the rumpled covers. With one knee positioned between her legs, he bent over her. “From now on, I want you to concentrate on the future¾on us. I think I’ve fallen in love with you, Jane Hall.”
Bending, he pressed his lips to hers. She wanted to tell him she loved him back, but his kiss left her breathless, her head spinning like some novice schoolgirl. Unclothed, he was lean and muscled, the touch of his flesh against hers, pure ecstasy. Skilled in lovemaking, he coaxed her to heights of passion she’d never reached before. Afterwards she lay exhausted in his arms, nestled snugly against his chest, one bare leg draped over his.
“I love you Scott,” she whispered. Nothing¾not even the past, could change that.
**********
Suppressing a yawn, Johnny strode down the hall. The house was quiet, wrapped in the dusky gray light of early morning. Unable to sleep, he hoped to rouse Scott from bed and get an early start to the workday, before rising heat made toil next to unbearable. The fence line needed repaired by Rim Creek, there were supplies to get from town, a half dozen new horses needed gentling, and shingles on the barn needed replaced. Just thinking about it made Johnny puff out his cheeks in resigned acceptance.
“Hey, Scott.” Stopping outside his brother’s bedroom, Johnny rapped two knuckles against the door. “Reveille call, horse solider. Come on, we’ve got work to do.” Pushing open the door, Johnny stuck his head in the room. Frowning, he glanced from the neatly made bed, to the empty wash basin by the window. Judging by the clean, precise order of the room, Scott had spent the night elsewhere.
Withdrawing, Johnny continued down the hall. He was almost abreast of Jane’s door, when it opened and Scott backed into the hallway, quietly drawing the door closed. Barefoot, holding his boots, his hair rumpled and unkempt, it was obvious he’d just awakened. Smiling wickedly, Johnny crept up behind him, leaning forward to speak directly into his ear.
“Boo.”
Startled, Scott whirled to face him. Both boots slipped from his grasp, hitting the floor with a loud thud, one clipping him on the edge of the foot. Wincing, Scott hobbled momentarily, then hastily snatched the footgear from the floor. “Damn it, Johnny!”
The younger man chuckled, giving his brother an appraising once-over. Scott’s shirt was open, tails hanging loose from his pants. His belt was unbuckled and the top button of his trousers was undone. Last night’s navy jacket and string tie were carelessly slung over one arm. Judging from the disorderly state of his clothing, it was apparent he’d hastily dressed.
Grinning rather indulgently, Johnny nodded to the closed door. “Forget which bedroom was yours?”
Agitated, Scott glanced down the hall, fearing the noise they made might rouse the rest of the household. His blue-eyed gaze, sheened with silver, settled on Johnny. “Keep this to yourself, Johnny. Jane doesn’t need complications in her life just now.”
Raising both hands, Johnny took one step backward. “Don’t worry about me, Boston. I’ve been having a grand time watching you act like a besotted fool the last couple days. Don’t know what I’ll do for entertainment when you come to your senses.”
“Johnny.” Hooking his arm, Scott dragged him down the hall. Halting outside his bedroom, he sent a furtive glance to the side before lowering his voice. “This isn’t a game¾it’s not like those flings I had in Boston, or even the mistake I nearly made with Julie.” Purposefully, Scott looked his brother in the eyes. When he spoke, his voice was calm and sincere, his expression steady. “I love her, John.”
Taken aback by his candor, Johnny shifted uneasily. “Scott, you only just met her.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Puffing out his cheeks, Johnny exhaled. Though he knew Scott’s behavior was not as self-destructive as it had been in Boston, he also knew the older man maintained a fondness for dallying with the fairer sex. As noble and chivalrous-minded as he was, Scott couldn’t resist the role of seducer. To hear him suddenly talking about love in a permanent committed light, left Johnny feeling unbalanced. Certain things in life were natural¾Johnny was fast with a gun; Scott was reckless with women. One didn’t alter the balance by abruptly rewriting the rules.
“Kinda funny,” Johnny said quietly. “I always pictured you with some sophisticated debutante, not a down-on-her-luck widow, barely able to rub two coins together. You sure you’re just not feelin’¾”
“Johnny,” Scott interrupted with a marked glance. “I’ve been with enough women to know what’s real and what’s not. Now, little brother¾” Resting his hand on the door knob, Scott raised a brow in mild speculation. “Is there a reason you’re up this early?”
Johnny grinned ear to ear. “Looking for company.” Brushing Scott’s hand aside, he opened the door, and shoved his brother in the room. “Get dressed, Boston. You don’t want Murdoch to see you looking like an unrespectable libertine. He’s already got one son with a reputation, let’s not make it two.” Closing the door behind him, Johnny stepped into the room. “Besides¾I’ve got plenty of work to keep you busy.” His grin grew toothy and savoring. “Considering you did nothing all night.”
**********
The noon heat was sweltering. Despite the light cotton fabric and loose weave of his yellow shirt, Scott thought the air stifling. Dragging the back of one arm across his sweaty brow, he mopped aside perspiration. His bangs were plastered to his forehead, thicker strands of hair to the back of his neck. Sweat collected in the brim of his hat, staining the stone-colored crown at the band. Though his shirt was open, tails hanging below the waist, the dry air did nothing to cool his heated skin. Overhead the sky stretched in a glaring expanse of blue, cloudless and barren save for a molten gold sun oozing pure liquid heat.
A short distance away, stacked in the rear of a buckboard, lay the half-depleted pile of fencing material he and Johnny had brought from town. Johnny had left an hour ago, promising to return after he checked the herd in the lower pasture. Though they’d made good progress through most of the day, Scott found it hard to concentrate on the repair work.
Slipping a hammer through the front of his belt, he thought of the exquisite hours he’d spent in Jane’s bed. Thoroughly enamored, he’d gotten little sleep. Initially intense, their lovemaking had progressed to slow and leisurely through the cradling hours of the night. In between, they’d lain twined in each other’s arms, content to nuzzle and talk, while the sky lightened beyond the windows. A few hours before dawn Scott eventually fell asleep, Jane’s head pillowed on his chest. Though he paid for the dalliance now, the memories offset the protesting aches in his tired body.
With a huff of resignation, he slid the rounded ends of two nails into his mouth, then bent and gripped a trailing edge of barbed wire. Pulling it taut against a wooden post, he yanked the hammer from his belt, straining to hold it in place while he set the nail. Sweat dripped from the edges of his hair, spattering the post, as he hammered the nail flush. Before he could place the second, the rumble of wagon wheels drew his attention.
Raising his head, Scott saw a buggy crest the rise. The fiery glimmer of Jane’s copper hair announced the driver’s identity long before she drew abreast. Smiling, Scott set nail and hammer aside as he approached to help her from the seat. “Janie, what are you doing here?”
“Isn’t that obvious?” When her foot touched the ground, she kept her hands on his shoulders, smiling up into his eyes. “It’s been seven hours since I saw you. You didn’t even wake me when you left.”
“You were sleeping. I didn’t want to disturb you.” Bending, Scott kissed her gently. Smartly attired in a brown riding skirt and foam-colored blouse, she looked as though she’d just stepped from the dressing room. By comparison he was grimy and unkempt¾a situation that did not stop him from deepening the kiss, or wrapping his arms around her. He grinned against her lips. “It’s just as well. Johnny caught me coming out of your room.”
Surprisingly, Jane giggled. Resting her head against his shoulder, she tracked her fingers over his sweaty chest, ghosting lower to outline his navel, then scrape beneath his belt. “He wouldn’t tell tales, would he?”
Distracted by her roaming touch, Scott tried to concentrate. “Not Johnny. Gunfighters are closed-mouthed by necessity.”
“Gunfighters?” Startled, Jane drew back abruptly. “Your brother¾?”
“Well, not anymore,” Scott clarified hastily. Closing his eyes he pressed his lips against her temple, inhaling the light perfume of her hair. When she remained silent, he glanced at her assuredly. “He’s Johnny Lancer now¾cattleman and rancher, but he used to be Johnny Madrid.”
“Oh dear.”
Confused by her reaction, Scott held her at arm’s length. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing.” Flustered, Jane drew back, nervously brushing the hair from her shoulders. “I brought lunch, Scott. Are you hungry?”
Narrowing his eyes, he gazed at her thoughtfully. She’d already turned away and was rummaging in the buggy. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“What¾about Johnny?” Jane glanced over her shoulder. A breezy smile lifted the corners of her lips as she pulled a picnic basket from beneath the seat. “I’ve heard the name, is all. Gunfighters come with reputations. It just surprises me to think that your brother is actually Johnny Madrid.”
“Was,” Scott corrected, still uncertain.
“Was,” Jane agreed. She offered the basket. “Would you take this please?” When Scott complied, she turned back to the wagon, retrieving a folded blanket. Slipping her hand beneath Scott’s arm, she began walking away from the fence, down a short grassy embankment. Over the next rise, the dark blue ribbon of Rim Creek cut a meandering path through the green hillside. “It’s beautiful here, don’t you think?”
Looking from the picturesque scenery to the attractive woman at his side, Scott’s uncertainty vanished. “It is now.”
Taking the blanket from her, he unfolded it, smoothing it over lush blades of grass and fragrant beds of clover. Half-reclining on his side, he lay propped by one elbow, watching as she unpacked the basket. She’d prepared a sumptuous feast¾cold chicken and ham, corn bread, hard-boiled eggs, cheese, sugared apples and raisins, chocolate-walnut cake.
Scott chuckled shortly. “Did you think I haven’t eaten in the last decade?”
Jane’s eyes slid to the side, a teasing smile on her lips. “I know from first-hand experience, there’s not an ounce of fat on you. And¾” she added hastily, when she saw him ready a reply, likely more suggestive than her own. “¾you didn’t eat last night. I was watching.” Degenerating into giggles, she eyed him openly. “I’m not sure what you need more¾food or sleep.”
“That’s it.” Snagging her wrist, Scott dragged her down on the blanket beside him. Pressing her back to the ground, he lay with one leg resting comfortably between her knees. “Murdoch will rant for days if I don’t finish this fence, and you’re dead-set on distracting me.”
“With lunch?”
Scott grinned. “That wasn’t what I had in mind.” He kissed her lingeringly¾once and again, until her lips grew moist and puffy from the attention.
Suddenly serious, Jane stared into his eyes. “You’re so unlike anyone I’ve ever known,” she whispered. “All my life there’s been someone to tell me what to do. I’ve never had a choice. First the nuns at the mission, then my husband, then¾” Stopping suddenly, she swallowed hard. Raising one hand, Jane traced the sculpted bone of his cheek with her fingers. “Scott. There’s something I should tell you.”
“Not now.” He kissed her again, hungrily this time, making her tremble with the sheer intensity of his passion. Her flesh was soft and yielding, supple with the delicate bloom of youth. He discounted the ugly reminders insistently nipping the back of his mind¾a forty-two year old lecher had taken her for wife; vile, uncouth men had shared her bed, and she had willingly initiated that fate.
Disturbed, Scott bowed his face into her hair. His desire to protect her was as overpowering as the burning knot of his love. Pressing his lips to her ear, he whispered a promise: “Things will be different, Janie. I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”
**********
Though he was nearly exhausted by the time he completed the work, Scott finished the fence. After their brief romantic interlude, Scott ate enough of the picnic lunch to please Jane, then returned to his task. She stayed for awhile¾talking about family she’d never met in Philadelphia¾an aunt and uncle on her mother’s side. Scott told her about Boston and the cities of the east¾how P. T. Barnum opened a circus unlike any other in Brooklyn, calling it “The Greatest Show on Earth.” Designed with caravan, menagerie, hippodrome and museum, rumor said it required five hundred men and horses to transport it. He told her about classical musical performances he’d attended; about sleighing on snow-covered hills beneath a nighttime sky, and seeing The Black Crook¾a lavish theatrical production¾in ‘66 after the war.
Jane listened intently, eager for places she’d never been. When Johnny arrived, Scott packed up the wagon and sent her back to the house. With his brother’s help, he completed the fence, then finished the day, working the new horses in the east corral. When he returned to the house, he was grimy enough to need a bath. Though it was a chore filling the large tub, Scott forced himself through the ordeal, content to finally relax in the refreshing water. Downstairs, the household prepared for dinner, while wonderful aromas of seasoned meat and spice wafted up the steps.
Dinner was pleasant, with Teresa and Johnny animatedly rehashing the previous night’s party. Discussing the more “colorful” guests included a discourse on who’d teetered drunkenly through dances or¾in Raymond Brighton’s case¾which wrangler tromped on his date’s dainty shoes with every other step. Relaxed, Scott joined in the fun, no longer feeling the need to remain aloof.
Jane was equally casual, her ease with Scott and his subsequent informality, clearly conveying a change in their relationship. Though Murdoch eyed both with apparent interest, no one commented on their sudden change in attitude. When dinner was over the gathering broke up, Teresa retreating upstairs to pen a letter to a friend, while Murdoch wandered to the barn to check the stock. Feeling the odd man out in the suddenly awkward triangle of two brothers and a female guest, Johnny mumbled an excuse and ventured outside.
“Looks like we’re alone,” Scott said. Tugging Jane into his arms, he bent his head, brushing his lips against hers. The feel of her mouth opening beneath his, sent blood spiking in his groin. Before he had time to contemplate the stimulating sensation, the veranda door cracked open, admitting Johnny.
Caught off guard by the sight of his brother and Jane twined in each other’s arms, Johnny pressed a fist against his mouth, loudly clearing his throat. “Hey, Boston¾I found this on the porch.”
Turning, Scott glanced to the sealed envelope Johnny extended in his hand. The parchment was plain, with his name scrawled on the surface in an unfamiliar hand. “Outside?” Scott asked, examining the missive.
“By the door,” Johnny clarified. “Did you drop it?”
“I never saw it before.” Slipping his finger beneath the seal, Scott folded back the edge of crinkled, stiff paper. Frowning, he withdrew the item tucked inside. “This makes no sense.”
“What is it?” Johnny asked, moving closer for a better look.
Turning the item over in his hand, Scott displayed the surface. “A playing card.”
“Jack of spades.” Johnny’s mouth tightened in a flat, white line.
As though disturbed by the commonplace sight, Jane took a faltering step backward. Her face drained of color until only a stricken shell remained. Concerned by her sudden dismay, Scott slid a hand onto her shoulder. “Janie?”
Abruptly unsteady, Jane folded into the nearest seat. “I’ve made a mess of things,” she mumbled, steepling both hands over her mouth. Wide green eyes sought Scott, her face creased with remorse. “I should have told you.”
“Told me what?”
“I’m guessing it has to do with that.” Johnny nodded to the one-eyed jack in Scott’s hand. “Seems your lady friend is familiar with Jack Lopax’s signature card.”
Irked by a conversation he couldn’t follow, Scott shot Johnny an annoyed glance. “Who?”
“Jack Lopax,” Johnny explained carefully. “I rode with him a few years back¾a fast draw with a faster temper and a weakness for . . .” His voice trailed away as his gaze swiveled to Jane.
“ . . . young prostitutes.”
Black anger seethed in Scott’s steely eyes. “Watch your tongue,” he spat, taking a menacing step forward.
Johnny held up both hands. “I’m not insinuating anything¾I’m just telling you what I know. Lopax has a mean streak a mile wide, and he’s cold possessive with his women. I once saw him gut-shoot a man for lookin’ sideways at a barmaid he fancied. That playing card is his way of saying he’s coming after you.” With a tilt of his head in Jane’s direction, Johnny sent his brother a piercing glance. “My guess is she knows why.”
White-faced, Jane looked from one to the other. “He’s right.”
“Janie, you don’t have to say anything,” Scott cautioned quickly.
“Why?” Defeat laced her voice as she shook her head. “Johnny’s already guessed what I am¾what I was. He’s right about Lopax too, though I knew him before . . .” Knotting her hands together, she stared at her lap. “ . . . Whiskey Gulch. He’s the whole reason I ended up selling myself in that saloon¾because I tried to get away from him.”
“Don’t.” Angered by the humiliation he sensed radiating from her, Scott squatted at her side. Slipping a finger beneath her chin, he tilted her head up, until their eyes met. “You have nothing to feel ashamed about. I told you before¾all of that’s in the past.”
“But it’s not,” Jane protested. “I knew Jack would hunt me down, even before I ran to Whiskey Gulch. Scott, don’t you see?” Desperate, she clutched his hands. “He’s tracked me, and he’s going to come after you for taking me away. Everything Johnny’s told you about him is true. He won’t rest until you’re dead. The only way you’ll be safe, is if I go back to him.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Clearly perturbed, Scott stood. “You’re both over-reacting.”
“I don’t think so,” Johnny inserted quietly. Scowling, he looked at Jane. “I don’t recall Lopax ever mentioning your name.”
Embarrassed by the association, Jane dipped her head. “I only met him last year. I’d already been widowed for two years and couldn’t keep the farm going any longer. Jack came along at the right time¾when I was at a low point.” Aware of his scrutiny, she nervously raised her eyes. “He talked about you frequently¾about Johnny Madrid, I mean. He said you were the only man faster with a gun then he was, and of all the people he rode with, he respected you the most.”
“Wonderful,” Scott muttered. Crumbling the card in his hand, he shot it into the fireplace. “A killer with a conscience.”
“That’s the last thing Jack Lopax possesses,” Johnny retorted. “He plays for sport¾all of it deadly. That card is his way of declaring the game’s begun. If you’ve got any sense in that thick eastern head of yours, you’ll disappear for awhile. Lopax already has a price on his head for murder. One more isn’t going to make a difference. Gunfighters don’t settle scores by stepping into a boxing ring.”
Annoyed by the veiled slur to his correct upbringing, Scott glared openly at his brother. He knew Johnny’s concern was for his welfare, but at the moment he felt only animosity. “Your opinion is noted. I’ll thank you to keep it to yourself, and not worry Murdoch or Teresa. If it makes you feel any better, I won’t go anywhere unarmed.”
Johnny snorted. “You’re an idiot, Boston¾a stubborn, mule-headed, stick-up-his-ass, idiot. Crack rifleman or not, you ain’t no match for Lopax.”
“Listen to him,” Jane pleaded, coming to his side. Clutching his arm, she looked into his eyes. “Scott, I don’t want anything to happen to you. Jack isn’t the kind of man you’re used to dealing with¾he’s cruel and unethical. All your proper logic and lofty principals, aren’t going to mean a thing when he comes gunning for you. It’s best if I leave in the morning.”
“That is ridiculous,” Johnny inserted, agreeing with his brother’s earlier comment. He cast her an almost belligerent glance. “Leaving isn’t going to stop Lopax coming after Scott, and it’ll only endanger you.”
“But, I¾”
“We’ll worry about it in the morning,” Scott said, wanting only to dismiss the situation, and place Jane at ease. He could sense his brother’s intense stare¾irked and disapproving¾but didn’t bother to acknowledge the withering concern. Placing his hands on Jane’s shoulders, Scott looked into her eyes. “Go upstairs and rest. Forget about this. Tomorrow, if it makes you feel any better, we’ll talk to the sheriff.”
Behind him, Johnny exhaled noisily and stalked from the room, his boots striking ringing echoes from the floorboards. Unconvinced, Jane nodded despondently. Kissing her lightly, Scott wrapped his arm around her and lead her to the steps. When she’d vanished upstairs, he dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling to ease his rattled nerves.
Learning about Jack Lopax was one matter¾having Jane belittled in front of Johnny, by a past she’d been forced to endure was another. Yet if anyone should understand circumstance that crafted unsavory lives, it was his gunslinger brother, who carried a notorious reputation of his own.
Stepping onto the veranda, Scott tried to shake off the troubling events of the evening. The air had cooled slightly with the onset of night, but heated warmth licked the edges. Moving away from the house, Scott strode through the courtyard, following a path partygoers had used the previous evening. The touch of velvety darkness, coupled with a clover-scented breeze, helped clear his head.
He’d almost reached the edge of the courtyard when he heard a swishing whisper, like footsteps through supple grass. “Lancer,” a voice intoned behind him. Before he could turn, something cold and hard cracked against his skull, and the world exploded in fragments.
Groaning, Scott slumped to the ground unconscious, the last feeble flicker of light gutted from his eyes.
**********
Forcing his eyelids open, Scott struggled to orient. Uneven ground, dotted with sparse clumps of grass, surged upward then fell in receding waves. The world hung suspended, earth and sky plunging head-over-heels in a sickly caricature of correct order. Scott tried to raise his head, but the ground remained above him, coarsely mocking his feeble attempts at coherency. Blood rushed to his throbbing temples, and his arms¾swinging below him, yet somehow floating above¾swayed limply, like the lifeless limbs of a rag-doll.
Moaning at the sickle-sharp pain in his skull, he tried to move. Sense returned in staggering bursts of crude awareness. Something warm and sticky oozed over the back of his neck and trickled beneath his eye. The pungent scent of leather and earth filled his head, momentarily overpowering for its unexpectedness. Movement rippled beneath him. Blistering spikes of pain battered his skull, wrenching an involuntary gasp from his lips.
“Awake, huh?”
Scott had no idea where the unrecognizable voice came from, or to whom it belonged. Alarmed by the total sense of disorientation, he turned his head, trying to catch a glimpse of the speaker. The world sharpened in bitingly clear focus. With a belated sense of horror, he realized he was bound hand and foot, draped on his stomach over a saddle. Earth lingered beneath him, defined by nighttime blackness and cold, white slivers of moonlight. All motion ceased abruptly as the horse came to a halt.
From his distorted vantage point, Scott focused on the hind legs of a second horse. The steed, larger and fidgety, backed to his side, affording a glimpse of his captor’s leg. Leather creaked as someone leaned forward and grappled his hair. Pain splintered through his skull as his head was wrenched brutally upward. Gritting his teeth against the merciless pressure, he teetered on the brink of unconsciousness.
“You don’t have much gumption, do you?” A vaguely familiar voice inquired. The hand holding him suspended by the hair gave a hard shake. Scott’s eyes rolled into his head, chased by the trailing edge of a sneering remark: “Peacock pretty, with all the guts of a field mouse. You and I are gonna have some fun, Fancy Dan. I’m gonna make sure you learn first-hand not to bottom deal the Jack of Spades.”
Scott’s head was released to drop listlessly against the saddle. The horse started walking again, temporarily plodding behind its master, before quickening its gait. The last thing Scott remembered was an eerie singsong melody, whistled by his captor. Disembodied notes rose and fell buoyed by crypt-like darkness, dispassionately banishing him to a nether realm.
**********
Johnny paced, as he often did when irritated. Around Murdoch’s desk in a straight line to the fireplace, then back again. With each step, his foot clacked more firmly against the floor. Expelling nervous energy, he tapped the knuckles of his right hand against his open left palm. No matter where he directed his thoughts, his mind kept returning to Scott and the one-eyed jack. Stupid, cantankerous, stubborn, pig-headed . . .
Johnny ran out of descriptive names to call his brother, and settled for a soft curse instead. Though Scott had fluffed off the arrival of the card as inconsequential, Johnny knew enough about the sender to consider it a legitimate threat. He knew his brother was blinded by feelings for Jane, and wasn’t thinking rationally where his own welfare was concerned.
The revelation of the girl’s background, though subtly cloaked, had momentarily taken Johnny by surprise. Once he’d made the association to Jack Lopax, it wasn’t hard to peg Jane, as a woman shunned by polite society. Her halting admission had verified his suspicions, leaving him feeling unbalanced where Scott was concerned. He knew his brother had a weakness for disreputable and downtrodden women, as inclined to protect as he was to seduce. Even if Scott couldn’t see that pattern, Johnny could. While he didn’t doubt his brother loved Jane, he challenged the source of that emotion, fearing Scott reverted to habits he’d once entertained in Boston.
Either way Jack Lopax spelled trouble.
Resolving to confront his obstinate sibling, Johnny walked outside. A shell-white moon had risen, drenching the ground with chalky light. As he strode forward, Johnny’s shadow leapt across the courtyard. A pencil thin caricature of a lean man with a rolling walk, it danced ahead of him like a night-spawned child intent on mischief. Though hours had passed since his encounter with Scott and Jane, the conversation was still bitingly fresh in Johnny’s mind.
“Scott,” he called. When he received no reply, he mentally reviewed a new string of descriptive phrases tailored to Scott’s inflexibility. Grass swished against his boots as he ventured further from the house. At first he wasn’t certain what drew his eye to the edge of the courtyard¾whether the flattened blades of grass indicating something heavy had rested there, or the small rectangular scrap that instinctively induced a knot of dread.
Rushing forward, Johnny bent over the crushed grass, hastily retrieving the item. His thumb scraped across a dried dollop of blood, making him grimace. Scott’s blood.
He swallowed hard.
In the ghostly veil of bone-white moonlight, the surface of a worn playing card was plainly visible¾a card similar to the one Scott had tossed in the fireplace. The jack of spades.
**********
Forcing aside the heavy mantle of unconsciousness, Scott struggled awake. The first sensation to greet him was the raging pain in the back of his skull. Dull gray light knifed beneath his eyelids, sluggishly dragging him back to awareness. He turned his head briefly, sending cold agony down his neck. With a short, choked cry, he scrambled to escape the unexpected punishment. Movement drew him up short, bringing the world into concise focus. Breathing raggedly, Scott realized his wrists were bound together in front of him. A much longer piece of rope was secured to his restricted hands, then looped around the stiff branch of a tree, stretched overhead.
With marked effort he tried to concentrate. Pain splintered from his skull, wrapping from the back of his head to his right temple. Dried blood coated the right side of his face, pulling his skin with every slight nuance of movement. Standing unsteadily, he backed against the trunk of the tree, using the gnarled bark to support his faltering legs. Breath whistled through his teeth, intensifying the sheer agony in his skull, sending a violent wave of nausea sweeping over him.
Groaning, he bent double, fighting to silence his churning stomach. A trickle of fresh blood dribbled against his collar. When the nausea passed, he raised his head, wincing as he stared at the rope securing him to the tree branch. Attempting to gauge the distance he tugged on the hemp cord.
“I wouldn’t worry about that. It’s tied tight.”
Still sluggish, Scott tried to track the voice. A short distance away, a dark-haired man sat mounted on a roan stallion, hands resting on the pommel of his saddle. With a biting grin, he used the barrel of his .44 Colt to push the brim of his hat back on his head. “Didn’t think you was ever gonna wake up. It’s damn near dawn. I must have hit you harder then I thought.”
Mouth dry, Scott what his lips. “What do you want?” There was something vaguely familiar about the man¾from the excessive length of his straight black hair, hanging tangled and limp below his shoulders, to the finely boned planes of his face.
“Thought you’d have figured that out by now. I hear tell you’re real smart¾educated at some fancy eastern college.” Slowly shaking his head, the stranger uttered a short, contemptuous laugh. “Just goes to show all that book learnin’ don’t do a wit of good against a man with a barrel full of lead.”
Uneasily, Scott stared at the gun, now resting laxly in the other’s hand. The sense of familiarity continued to gnaw at his muddled senses. He couldn’t think, couldn’t reason¾couldn’t place his finger on the obvious. Rattled by his inability to concentrate, he sucked down a faltering breath, grimacing when a sudden barrage of pain made the ground waffle beneath him. Slowly, despite an abrupt sense of light-headedness, and the renewed churning of his stomach, the memory clicked into place. “I saw you in Morro Coyo.”
Chuckling appreciatively, the black-haired man shifted. Younger than Scott by two or three years, his pale blue eyes carried the ruthless edge of a much older man. “I knew it ‘d come to you sooner or later. Everyone in town said you was a fine, intelligent young man.” With a glance for his pistol, he casually spun it in his hand. “I’ve killed a lot of fine, intelligent young men, Mr. Lancer, but I don’t recall havin’ the pleasure of shootin’ no one as high-brow uppity as you¾comin’ from Boston and all.”
Still unsteady, Scott stalled for time. “You seem to know a lot about me.”
“That I do.” The younger man shrugged. “Buy a few drinks for the locals and their tongues loosen right quick. See, I got a real problem with any would-be hero who rides off with my girl.”
Scott stared. Pain prickled his head, down his neck, into his spine. The wind shifted, bringing the rank, astringent scent of his blood. “You’re Jack Lopax.” Twisting his hands against the restrictive binding, he concentrated on the abrasive scrape of hemp on his skin, in need of a focal point to keep him on his feet. With every lengthening minute, his legs threatened to buckle, prompted by the raw agony battering his skull. Wincing, Scott closed his eyes.
Lopax cantered forward. Gun leveled on Scott, he reached for the rope looped over the branch, tugging it free. “Now that we know one another, we can settle the score.” Releasing approximately twelve feet of slack, he secured the end to his saddle horn. “I got to Whiskey Gulch a few hours after you left, tracking Jane from some waterin’ hole south of Slate Canyon. Once I got to Morro Coyo, I asked around about you¾found out all the background I needed. Puts me in a hell of a spot, Lancer¾you being Johnny Madrid’s brother and all.” Pausing, Lopax feigned deliberate thought. “For Madrid’s sake, I’ll give you a chance. ‘Course there ain’t no question about Jane, and who she belongs to.”
“She’s not going anywhere with you,” Scott snapped.
Lopax pulled the rope taut. “We’ll see.”
Driving his heels into his horse, the gunfighter spurred the animal to reckless flight. Scott’s arms jerked forward as the rope snapped taut. He had one blinding flash of realization before the violent motion yanked him off his feet. Stumbling, his knees struck the earth, his arms nearly wrenched from their sockets as the harsh rope dug into his wrists. Gravel scraped against his legs, and he sprawled forward, chest to the ground as the horse dragged him across jagged, uneven terrain. Bits of rock and bristly patches of sawgrass scraped his chest and face, indiscriminately tearing clothing and flesh. Dirt and debris choked the air from his lungs, clogging his nostrils, throat and eyes. Bowing his head, he grappled for a hold on the rope, trying to inch forward. Lopax increased the pace, and the sickening thunder of hooves filled his head.
Scott groaned as a jutting piece of rock tore a long chunk of flesh from his leg. A tree root clipped the side of his face and fresh blood streamed into his eyes. Thin ribbons of blood sluiced down his arms from his lacerated wrists, as skin tore beneath the savage bite of rope. Blinded by pain, his senses spun away in a maddening reel of agony and terror. Above it all, he heard Lopax whooping and hollering, demanding to know if he’d had enough.
His throat raw with dust, Scott couldn’t croak a reply even if he’d wanted to. The movement of the horse sent him rolling to the side, battering his body against an uprooted tree. Snagged, his shirt split from shoulder to hip. Jagged wood scored his chest, shredding the flesh in a thin, bloody strip. His shoulder collided with the base of the tree, forcing a grunt from his tightly gritted teeth. A protruding piece of wood sank into his flesh, gouging a hole in his upper arm before blundering free. Jerking spasmodically, Scott cried aloud. For one torturous moment he thought his bones had liquefied, and his arms had been ripped from the sockets. The horse stopped suddenly and he sagged limply in place, grateful the punishment had ended.
Jack Lopax cantered to his side and dismounted. Squatting, he pulled the tether line from Scott’s wrists, leaving his hands bound. Straightening, he drew his pistol, effortlessly twirling it between his fingers. “How you holdin’ up, Fancy Dan?” Toeing Scott in the ribs, he effected a curious glance. “Don’t go falterin’ on me, boy. We ain’t done with the game yet.”
Dragging one arm beneath him, Scott pushed up on his elbow. Pain lanced through his damaged arm, forcing him onto his side. Scrambling backward, he tried to get his feet under him, but succeeded only in propping his shoulder against the uprooted tree. Lips parted, breathing heavily, he focused bleary, pain-filled eyes on Jack Lopax. Every part of his body screamed in agony, until consciousness threatened to leave. His head lolled to the side.
“Stay awake.” A stinging slap drew him back to the present.
Scott choked, dragging air into his lungs. The head wound had started bleeding again. He felt blood trickle into his ear, then course down the contouring edge of his jaw. Most of the dried blood on his cheek had flecked away during Lopax’s brutal treatment. The hole in his arm throbbed mercilessly, but it was the severe pounding in his head that worried him the most. "What do you want?” he demanded.
Lopax took three steps backward and leveled his gun. “Get on your feet.”
Scott didn’t move.
Cocking the hammer, Lopax stared coldly. “I ain’t gonna tell you again, Lancer.”
Deciding not to try the other’s patience, Scott struggled to his feet. He used the tree to brace himself, inwardly alarmed by a swell of dizziness.
Satisfied, Lopax nodded. “This is what we’re gonna do: since you’re Madrid’s brother, I’ll give you a fighting chance.” Pleased by the sight of Scott’s tattered clothing and bloodied flesh, the gunfighter grinned malignantly. “You still got some kick in you. I’ll give you a two-hour head start, then I’m gonna track you. If I catch you, this little jaunt we just took, is gonna seem like a joy ride compared to what I’ll do next. I spent a few years with the Crow. I know how to make a man suffer for hours.” The smile thinned with goatish pleasure. “You know why Indians mutilate their enemies, Lancer? It’s so they’ll be shamed and disfigured when they go into the next life. You ain’t a bad lookin’ man, but if I catch you, ain’t no one gonna recognize you. You hear what I’m sayin,’ boy?”
“I hear a lot of puffed-up boasting,” Scott snapped acidly.
Lopax chuckled. “You ain’t gonna be so defiant when I catch you. I’m gonna make you whimper and beg¾” His eyes narrowed into dangerous, savoring slits. “¾then I’m gonna do the same to Jane.”
“You sonofabitch.” Incensed, Scott lunged forward. The abrupt movement swept a black curtain before his eyes. The world reeled dizzily, buckling his legs beneath him. A step shy of passing out, he felt his knees and palms strike the ground. Unable to support himself with his hands still bound, his elbow collapsed and his shoulder struck earth. Gasping involuntarily, he seized the fragile string of his consciousness, fighting to stay aware.
Slowly the world settled into stable focus. Lopax was already retreating, riding slowly away, his laughter like the taint of disease, lingering in the air. With effort Scott forced himself to his knees. Sitting back on his haunches, he tried to orient. The thorny pain in his head reduced his eyes to mere slits. It took all his depleted effort to concentrate on his surroundings.
Though the terrain looked unfamiliar, he knew his reasoning ability was impaired. A watery sun was just rising in the eastern sky, riddling the dull gray canvas with vibrant melon-colored threads. A tincture of gold outlined the slowly spreading stain, quietly heralding the birth of a new day. A gentle breeze skimmed across Scott’s battered face, easing the stinging after effect of abrasions and scrapes.
Prodded by mounting concern for Jane, Scott clambered to his feet. Unsteady, he took stock of his injuries, aware of a piercing laceration in his thigh and a formidable ache in his left arm. The front of his pants was ripped from the top of his right thigh to just above the knee. The exposed skin was abraded and raw, glistening with blood. His shirt was tattered in numerous places, ripped from shoulder to hip on the left side. A minor trail of blood trickled across his chest from a surface abrasion, but it was the hole in his upper arm that made movement on that side all but unbearable.
Squinting against the emerging light, Scott took one unsteady step forward. A belated sense of rationality told him to retreat back toward Lancer, but with his senses jumbled, he had no idea which way was forward and which was back. Using the sun as his guide, Scott made an educated guess and lurched in the direction he perceived as home¾never realizing each faltering step led him further away from Lancer and safety.
**********
Lopax was not an easy man to track. Johnny lost the trail twice, having to backtrack and reorient both times before starting fresh again. Each delay made him fidget in the saddle, as he watched the sun climb higher in the sky. He’d told no one of his fears about Scott. In retrospect he realized he should have informed Murdoch, before hastily departing beneath the cloak of night. Recognizing Lopax as a man who enjoyed sadistic games, Johnny’s only concern had been in finding his brother as quickly as possible. If he’d told Murdoch, he wouldn’t be scouting the endless terrain alone, and Scott would have a better chance of rescue.
Cursing aloud, Johnny wrenched his horse to the side. Picking up the trail again, he quickened his pace. Yet even with clear signs of passage, he experienced a sense of foreboding, whispering he’d arrive too late.
**********
Scott lost track of the hours. Lopax had dropped him in merciless terrain, forcing him to blunder across beds of rock, and hillsides scabbed with bristling patches of brush. Limping badly, Scott sagged against a protruding slab of wind-pocketed stone. Judging by the desolate surroundings, he guessed he was somewhere south of Lancer, moving further away from the ranch. Throat blistered and raw, he craved water almost as much as he did an end to the steel-spiked pain in his head.
Leaning into the rock, he raised his arms. With concentrated effort he rubbed his wrists across the blistered stone, hoping to fray and snap the binding. The movement sent cold waves of agony waffling from the hole in his upper arm. Bowing his head against the stone, he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to endure the punishment. Forced to stop occasionally for breath, he breathed raggedly as fire-tongued prickles of pain brought him close to blacking out. His knees started to sag, and he had to shake off the dizziness. Eventually the rope snapped, exposing his lacerated wrists to the air. Prickling needles raced up his arms and into his fingertips as circulation returned.
Rolling his back to the stone, Scott raised his head and stared at the sky. Pitching drunkenly overhead, the brightening expanse of blue stung his sensitive eyes. Judging by the height of the sun, he’d been stumbling aimlessly for hours¾falling as often as he ran, until his torn leg protested in violence. Though the bleeding had stopped, the flesh was swollen and raw. Numerous falls had resulted in dirt contaminating the laceration. Even now he could feel the gritty sting of dust, trapped inside layers of exposed flesh. Pus collected at the edges of the wound, fouling the torn material of his pants.
It took all his effort to remain on his feet. All he wanted to do was curl up at the base of the rock and grant his abused body a reprieve. Exhaustion and pain pushed him to the brink of surrender, but concern for Jane kept him coherent. Behind him, not for the first time, came the steady clop-clop of hooves.
Lopax was getting closer. As always, the gunfighter approached just close enough for Scott to see or hear him. Then like an angler letting out fishing line, he allowed Scott to run, before reeling him in again. They’d been playing the same sick, sadistic game for hours, and Scott was close to crumbling.
Lopax appeared on a rise, forcing him into motion. Pushing away from the rock, Scott stumbled forward, limping brokenly across the desolate terrain. His head swum with pain and sweat dripped into his eyes. His world consisted of blood, agony and fatigue¾torturous elements that left him doubting his sanity. Behind him, the sound of hoofbeats grew louder. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he realized Lopax was no longer idly picking his way across the rocks, but approached at a clipped pace. Apparently the gunfighter had tired of the game.
Alarmed, Scott hobbled forward, stumbling, then falling. Scrabbling back to his feet, he vainly tried to propel his abused leg into motion. Despite valiant, pain-wracked efforts, there was no escaping the plundering approach of the roan stallion. Lopax rode up behind him, a coiled lariat brandished in his hand.
“Got’cha!” A snide voice declared. The rope soared over Scott’s head, dropping to his shoulders, then wrenching taut. Jerked off his feet by the brutal capture, Scott plummeted backward. Air whistled through his teeth as his back struck the earth. For a moment there was only darkness, followed by a pinging in his head. He floated someplace distant, where pain was nonexistent and sound was muddled and dark, as though trapped underwater. Something struck his face and he came awake with a groan.
“You ain’t very good at this game, are you?” Jack Lopax kneeled over him, holding him pinned with a knee to his groin. Pressing a gun to Scott’s temple, he grinned maliciously. “Told you what I was gonna do if I caught you. How ‘bout I truss you up and take you for another ride first?”
Knowing he couldn’t endure the treatment he’d sustained earlier, Scott felt his heart falter. With grim determination, he met the other’s eyes. “Only a coward makes threats when his adversary can’t fight back. Is that how you’ve built your reputation, Lopax¾acting like a coward?”
Lopax sneered. “Don’t think you’re gonna goad me, Lancer. You had your chance. Should have kept your hands off Jane and none of this would’ve happened. I’m gonna enjoy cuttin’ you up.”
With a vicious grunt, he cracked the butt of his pistol across Scott’s face and the world went utterly black.
**********
Something sharp and fiery prodded Scott’s leg, wrenching him violently awake. Flinching from the pain, he found himself restrained, arms and legs spread-eagle against the ground, secured by rope to short stakes. A half-moan slipped from his lips as blistering needles raced through his thigh. “That’s better,” a voice inserted tartly. “I want you awake for this.”
Turning his head, Scott focused on Lopax. The man had turned his back, and was squatting by a small fire. Flames leapt erratically, coughing a thin stream of black smoke into the air. Heating a knife in the coals, Lopax whistled softly, apparently disinterested in Scott now that he’d forced him awake.
“When I met Jane, she had some stupid notion about working a farm,” Lopax said casually, as though speaking to the air. “I would have whored her out in some saloon, but she beat me to it, running to Whiskey Gulch. I can always tell a woman who’ll make a good whore. Kinda surprises me though¾an uppity college boy like you fancying a two-bit prostitute. Guess you ain’t as lily-white as you seem, huh?” Flashing a lecherous grin over his shoulder, Lopax turned the knife in the coals. “Like your women a little on the dirty side, do you, Mr. Righteous?”
“You’re a sick bastard, Lopax.”
“This sick bastard’s gonna flay the skin off your hide. I seen the Indians make men grovel and whimper like babies. I ain’t gonna kill you until I hear you scream, Lancer.” Pulling the knife from the flames, he turned back to Scott. With a sadistic grin, he caught the front of the blonde-haired man’s shirt and ripped it down the center. Buttons popped. What was left of the tattered fabric tore in half. Holding the blade of the glowing knife aloft, Lopax stared at his prisoner. “You think about what I’m gonna do to Jane when I’m done with you.”
“Lopax, don’t,” Scott said sharply, pleading not for himself but for Jane. His body was almost beyond the point where it could tolerate more pain. He knew the bite of the heated knife would likely render him unconscious. “What happened wasn’t Jane’s fault. I¾I forced her to leave with me. I¾” The flat part of the knife skimmed over his flesh, tauntingly close, never touching. Tensing, Scott wrapped his hands around the rope restraints. “She never wanted to be with me.”
“You’re lying.”
“No.” The blade sizzled across his chest, barely grazing the surface before flecking away. “I’m telling you the truth. Do what you want with me, but leave Jane alone.”
Glancing at Scott’s leg, Lopax slipped the edge of the knife beneath the torn fabric of his pants. Though the blade never touched him, Scott sucked in an involuntary breath as the knife ripped through the tattered material, fully exposing his leg. Lopax made a soft mocking sound, feigning concern. “This wound looks real bad. Probably hurt like hell if I was to start cuttin’ away skin.”
Tightening his hands on the rope, Scott waited for the inevitable. Passing the knife to his left hand, Lopax roughly fingered the wound. With a savoring glance, he gouged his fingers between layers of torn, bloody flesh. Grimacing, Scott tilted his head back, staring wide-eyed at the sky. “Hurts, don’t it?” the gunfighter asked.
Fresh blood streamed from the wound, contouring the curve of Scott’s thigh. “Get it over with, you sick bastard,” he muttered.
Returning the knife to his bloodstained right hand, Lopax chuckled. “Ain’t no fun if I rush.”
“Touch my brother again, and I’ll blow a hole in your back,” a quietly menacing voice inserted.
Jerking his head to the side, Scott saw Johnny step from a split fissure of rock. Gun drawn, moving into the daylight, his face was implacable as he stared at Lopax. Sensing a pivotal turn of events, Lopax smiled innocuously. “Johnny Madrid. It’s been a long time.”
“It’s Johnny Lancer,” the other spat, “And that’s my brother you got stretched on his back. You got five seconds to get away from him Lopax, or I’m gonna do us all a favor and blow you back to Hell.”
Shaking his head as though Johnny made a fuss for nothing, the longhaired man slowly rose to his feet. Halfway into a crouch, he whirled abruptly, flinging the knife at Johnny. Rolling quickly to the side, Johnny fired his gun. With a surprised grunt, Lopax dropped to his knees, three gaping holes blown through his chest. Tumbling forward, he collapsed in a lifeless heap.
Retrieving the knife that had almost clipped him, Johnny sprinted to Scott’s side. His expression was severe as he sliced through the rope restraints. There was so much blood on Scott, he didn’t know where to look first. “Easy¾let me look at you.” Gently catching his brother’s chin, he rolled his head to the side. The deep gash above Scott’s left ear had stopped bleeding long ago, but his hair was matted with dried blood. More clung to his temple, earlobe, and cheek. Realizing the danger of a head wound, Johnny skimmed his hands lightly over his brother’s body, grimly noting the hole in his arm, the surface gash on his chest and the deeper, infected wound on his leg.
Raising himself on his good arm, Scott tried to sit forward. A black veil of dizziness made him moan softly. Swaying, he started to crumble backward.
“I got you.” Moving quickly, Johnny caught him in his arms. His eyes dropped to Scott’s torn wrists and he ground his teeth together in silent anger. “Lucky I found you. Lopax would have spent hours slicing you up.”
“God, Johnny not now.” Sensing a lecture on his foolishness for not listening in the first place, Scott turned his face against his brother’s chest. He didn’t need another reminder about how the civility he’d come to know in Boston was commonly replaced by barbarism in the west. He simply wanted to rest in the protective safety of his brother’s arms.
Recognizing what he’d been through, Johnny gave a guilty start. “Sorry, Scott. I’m a little rattled thinking how that pig-blooded S.O.B might have killed you.”
Scott chuckled wearily. “You’re rattled?”
Johnny’s mouth turned in a tight smile, but he didn’t comment. The acid in his stomach had yet to recede. Though he held his brother safely in his arms, some of Scott’s injuries looked severe. They were far enough from Lancer, that the return trek would not be easy or quick. Though he had Barranca, and Lopax’s two horses were tethered nearby, Johnny wasn’t sure Scott could sit a saddle. As the minutes lengthened, Scott tremulous breath evened into stable rhythm.
Concerned, Johnny massaged the back of the older man’s neck. “Boston, you ain’t asleep, are you? You’re gonna have to stay awake with that head wound.”
Scott muttered something that sounded like he understood, but failed to move. “Okay,” Johnny said, assuring himself more than Scott. “I’m gonna clean those wounds as best I can, then we’re gonna head back to Lancer. Think you can ride, horse solider?”
Scott’s reply was a muffled grunt. Frowning, Johnny eased him to the ground, disturbed to find he was only half-conscious. Kneeling at his side, he shook Scott’s shoulder lightly. “Come on, Boston. As sharp-witted as you are, you gotta know the importance of stayin’ awake with that gash on your head.”
“I’m awake.” Blinking, Scott opened his eyes. For a moment the two men stared silently, each measuring the fortitude of the other. Trapped in that divining glance was the unspoken bond between them. Shaken by the strength of Johnny’s emotion, Scott looked away. “Thanks, Brother,” he whispered.
Wordlessly Johnny went about the grim task of preparing to leave. He saw to Scott first, allowing him small sips of water, then did what he could to tend the older man’s wounds. Fortunately Lopax had recently filled his canteen, and Johnny used the water as a cleansing agent. Scott withstood the attention to his swollen leg and bloodied arm with white-faced restraint, but when Johnny doused a rag with water and pressed it to the back of his skull, he cried aloud, wrenching backward.
“Easy.” Shaken, Johnny reached a steadying hand for his brother. Head bowed, Scott panted for air, sucking down unsteady breaths as he struggled for control. The touch of the cold rag against his head had been like a knife piercing his skull. Prompted by a renewed surge of agony, he leaned to the side and vomited the water he’d consumed just moments before.
Johnny touched his cheek. “Guess that wasn’t such a good idea,” he said worriedly. Filtering a hand through Scott’s sweaty hair, he waited for the older man’s rapid breathing to subside. “You take it easy for a few minutes while I get things ready.”
Distractedly gnawing on his bottom lip, Johnny gathered the horses, then went through the grim task of lashing Lopax’s body to a saddle. His gaze strayed occasionally to Scott as he silently fretted over the other’s waning health. Despite his elegant manners and polished demeanor, Johnny knew his brother had a constitution of iron. If anyone could make it back to Lancer, Scott could, regardless of his condition. Still Johnny hated to see him suffer, and he knew the ride would only make matters worse.
When he’d finalized preparations, he drew the stray horse to Scott’s side. “How ‘bout it, Boston? Think you can sit a saddle?” The barest trace of challenge lingered in his words, prompting resolution in Scott. With a tight nod, the fair-haired man motioned for Johnny to help him stand.
It was difficult mounting with his injured leg, but somehow with Johnny’s help, Scott clawed his way into the saddle. The world tilted crazily, lurching sideways before righting itself on a wobbly axis. Dragging a hand over his face, Scott fought to compose himself.
“You okay, Brother?” Johnny’s hand settled lightly on his knee.
Swallowing shakily, Scott nodded. “Let’s go,” he said hoarsely.
Gathering the reins of Lopax’s roan, Johnny led the way, certain Scott kept pace at his side. Quiet, his face strained and white, Scott leaned slightly forward, clutching the reins with trembling hands. Twice, Johnny saw him grip the saddle horn to steady himself, and more than once he swayed dangerously to the side. Each time, Johnny supplied a steadying hand, asking if he wanted to stop. Tight-lipped, Scott shook his head, his face near bloodless with the effort of remaining upright.
When the shadows grew long and narrow with the declining light of late day, Scott muttered something unintelligible. Concerned, Johnny shot him a glance. Folding forward, Scott slipped from the saddle.
“Scott!”
With a low moan, the older man tumbled to the ground. Hastily dismounting, Johnny ran to his side, crouching next to him. Scott’s eyes were mere slits, his face white as marble. Johnny touched his shoulder, distressed to find him trembling, his skin ice-cold beneath his tattered clothing. Tamping down a flicker of panic, Johnny jerked the bedroll from Lopax’s roan, wrapping Scott in the blanket. Realizing there was no way the older man could ride unassisted, he maneuvered Scott onto Barranca, then mounted behind him. “Hang in there, Brother.”
Though they were only an hour from Lancer, Johnny knew that hour was critical to Scott. He began talking nonsensically, rattling off the first thing that popped into his head. Focusing on the comforting sound of his voice, Scott rested against him, barely coherent. By the time they reached the ranch, he’d slipped into unconsciousness.
Murdoch and Jane met him at the front door, and Johnny passed Scott into his father’s arms. Sparing barely a glance for Jane, he hustled up the steps, throwing back the blankets on Scott’s bed. “Send someone for the doctor,” he instructed Jane crisply. Though he knew Scott’s condition wasn’t truly her fault, part of him blamed her for the circumstance. Sensing his hostility, she withdrew, rushing to do as instructed.
Only later when Scott’s wounds had been tended, and he slept peacefully beneath a heavy dose of laudanum did Johnny relax. The doctor had assured him the wounds were not fatal, and Scott could expect a full recovery. Ever vigilant, Johnny remained in a chair by the bed, even as night plaited the room with velvety shadows. Yawning, he rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, trying to ease a stiff crick.
“May I come in?” Jane hovered uncertainly on the threshold.
Caught unaware, Johnny shrugged. Shifting, he stretched his legs before him, crossing his feet at the ankles. “Lopax is dead,” he said shortly.
Moving to the foot of the bed, Jane sat on the mattress. “I saw the body.” Resting a hand on Scott’s leg, she longingly searched his face, needing assurance he would recover. His skin was too white, the texture almost paper-thin. A dark gash on his cheek appeared black by contrast. “You don’t think I really love him, do you? You think I used him to get out of Whiskey Gulch.”
Johnny formed his answer carefully before replying. “I think an attractive man with elegant manners and eastern breeding, must be awfully appealing to a bordertown . . . barmaid.” Though Johnny opted for the kinder title, the taint of her occupation lingered between them. “You wouldn’t know this, but Scott’s got a weakness for the wrong kind of woman. I’m not sayin’ he doesn’t love you, and I’m not sayin’ you can’t change.”
“What are you saying?” Jane asked pointedly.
Johnny pressed his lips together. “I’m sayin’ he’s my brother. Whatever happens between you, I ain’t gonna stop lookin’ out for him. Better get used to it now, Jane, cause I’m here for the duration.”
With a deliberate glance, Johnny left the room.
**********
Jane stayed until darkness cloaked the walls, broken by petal-pale slivers of moonlight. Beyond the window, the upraised branches of a spruce scrolled elongated shadows on the walls and ceiling. Curling on the bed, she lay beside Scott, momentarily contented by the sensation of warmth soaking through her blouse and skirt. Lulled by his presence, she drifted to sleep. Sometime later she awoke to the feel of his arm around her waist, his body spooned against hers. The warm trickle of his breath murmured against her ear, and she lay still for fear of waking him.
Gently, he tracked his fingertips across her arm.
“Scott!”
Careful not to jar him, Jane turned to face him. In the gloaming his pupils were fully dilated, sheened with a glimmer of moonlight and a brighter band of blue. Her own eyes misted with tears as she beheld the cuts and abrasions on his face. His bangs lay flopped over the bandage on his head, moon-silvered strands scattered against crisp, white linen. There were ugly cuts on his arms and chest, and she knew beneath the thin bedcovers, his right leg was swollen and raw. Biting her lip, she tentatively touched his face. Tears spilled from her eyes, tracking silver thread across her cheeks. “Scott, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t cry, Janie. It’s not your fault.”
“I should have told you about him. I should have warned you.”
“It wouldn’t change how I feel.” Cupping his hand behind her head, Scott drew her forward until their lips touched. His mouth parted, inviting intimacy, and she responded in mute desperation. Wrapping his good arm around her shoulders, Scott drew her against his chest. “Stay with me tonight,” he whispered.
He kissed her lingeringly, then settled her head on his shoulder. Within moments, comforted by her presence, Scott fell asleep.
************
The following day was difficult. Coupled with Scott’s more serious injuries, his battered body protested with punishing aches each time he moved. Bandaged with soft cloth, still painfully raw from rope burns, his wrists protested the mere flexing of his fingers. While the hole in his arm was a gnawing distraction, sporadic stitches of pain in his inflamed leg made him grit his teeth until the spasm passed. Each member of his family spent time with him, none more confused about what had happened, then Murdoch and Teresa. Johnny was grim-faced, hovering in the corner, arms crossed belligerently over his chest. Only when the others had left the room and the brothers were alone, did Johnny approach the bed.
“I took Lopax’s body to the sheriff. He had a price on his head¾eight thousand dollars.”
Propped up by pillows, Scott studied his brother. Johnny’s tone was uncharacteristically gruff, almost annoyed. “That’s a lot of money.”
“Well he wasn’t no popinjay.”
Scott grew still. In the haze of midday light streaming through the bedroom window, his blue-gray eyes were gilded with a metallic sheen; his fair hair riddled with vibrant threads of bronze and gold. By contrast, his face was ashen, discolored by scrapes and abrasions, and a red-purple nick above the eye. “Are you saying I am?”
Johnny exhaled. Pausing by the foot of the bed, he idly tapped a boot against the footrest. “You know better than that.” Clearly uncomfortable, he uncrossed his arms. “Look, Scott, sometimes I get a little¾irritable¾when I think you’re doing something stupid, but it’s hard to be an observer when I know how things work out here, and¾”
“¾I don’t?”
“¾and you’re still learning,” Johnny corrected quickly. Frowning, he sat on the foot of the bed. “I know you’re older than me, but that don’t mean you’re wiser. Not when it comes to hired guns.”
Tilting his head back against the pillows, Scott stared at the ceiling. “Lopax jumped me. It wouldn’t have made any difference if I’d been more attentive to what you said.”
“It would have, if you hadn’t gone wandering off alone.” Pressing his lips together, Johnny shot his brother a dark glance. “Do you have any idea how damn-fool worried I was when I saw him squattin’ over you with that knife?”
Scott’s eyes drifted back to his brother and his lips curled in a crooked grin. “Probably not as worried as I was.”
Striving to maintain a critical façade, Johnny bit his lip to keep from chuckling. Suppressing a smile, he glanced aside, blocking the sight of his brother’s contagious grin. “You’re an uppity cuss, Boston,” he muttered.
“Johnny.” Scott’s voice drew him with its sincerity and suddenly even tone. Though the smile still hovered about the older man’s mouth, the look in his eyes had more to do with gratitude and respect. “Thanks for coming after me. I wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for you.”
A warm stain spread over Johnny’s cheeks. The bristling agitation he felt just moments before faded abruptly, curling into something emotionally unnamed. It induced a tight, heated knot in his stomach and forced his eyes to the floor. “Well . . .” Clearing his throat awkwardly, he shrugged. “I didn’t want to get stuck with all the work.”
Scott chuckled. “That’s what I like about you, little brother¾” His eyes danced with animated warmth. “You’re so considerate.”
Johnny’s mouth quirked in a lop-sided grin. Dropping his hand to Scott’s calf, he squeezed lightly through the intervening blankets. The contact, coupled with a sly, knowing glance, conveyed unspoken sentiment for both men. For a time they were silent. Eventually Johnny cocked his head to stare questionably at his brother. “What did you tell Murdoch about Jane?”
“Nothing yet.” Unconsciously, Scott picked at the weave on the bed linens. Sitting straighter, he smoothed his hand over the fabric, quickly dismissing the nervous action. “I told him Lopax followed me from Whiskey Gulch.”
Surprised, Johnny blinked. “You lied?”
“Not exactly. He did follow me. I just didn’t tell Murdoch why.”
With a skeptical tilt of his head, Johnny sent his brother a sideways glance. “I don’t know, Scott. Jane’s a nice girl, and I know how you feel about her, but sooner or later her past is going to become public. Are you ready to deal with that kind of fallout? And have you thought about how Murdoch will feel? His son involved with . . . um . . .” Self-conscious, Johnny couldn’t finish.
Scott’s glance bordered on unforgiving. “Just get that nonsense out of your head now,” he snapped. “I’m not going to hear Jane slandered. If Murdoch has any sense he’ll forget about what’s in the past. And you will too.”
Reconsidering, Johnny nodded. “You really do love her, huh?”
“I told you that before.”
“Yeah. I guess you did.” The softness returned to Johnny’s voice and he smiled. “Okay, Brother. If she’s that important to you, she’s that important to me. Just, um . . .” the curve of his lips became suddenly wicked. “ . . . what happened to all that concern about being an old man at twenty-six? She can’t be a minute older than Teresa.”
Scott’s lips twitched dangerously. “She’s eighteen and you’re running out of welcome.”
Laughing, Johnny stood. “All right, Scott, I’m leaving. The doctor says you need to rest anyway.” Moving to the forefront of the bed, he draped an arm over the headboard and stood staring down at his brother. Their eyes met and locked, and the connection they’d experienced before reasserted itself. “Glad to have you back,” Johnny said warmly.
Wordlessly, Scott raised his arm and the two men clasped, hand-to-forearm, hand-to-forearm.
**********
Three days later Scott sat with Jane on the rear veranda, rocking slowly in a suspended swing. Composed of painted white boards and secured from the overhang by metal chains, the swing was large enough to accommodate three comfortably. Despite the excess room, Jane cuddled against Scott’s side, his arm wrapped around her shoulder. Though he still walked stiffly and needed the aid of a cane, he’d managed short excursions from the bedroom for two days in a row.
Now with the long day stretching into dusk, they enjoyed a moment of seclusion, watching the sun sink among the clouds on the western horizon. The last few days had been uncomfortable for both¾Jane feeling oddly under scrutiny as the Lancer family grew to realize the extent of Scott’s feelings for her, and Scott plagued by long hours of recovery. Though still far from whole, the ability to get dressed without assistance and descend the stairs on his own (even if it was with the use of a cane), improved his disposition remarkably.
Snuggling against him, Jane fingered the edge of his collar. “I seem to remember this shirt,” she said with a teasing glint to her eyes.
Scott glanced down, noting the track of her fingers over the royal blue linen. It wasn’t that long ago she’d thrust the garment at him as though it were poisoned. “I liked it better when you were wearing it,” he returned smoothly. Slipping his finger beneath her chin, he tilted her head up for a kiss.
Smiling beneath the touch of his lips, Jane dropped her hand to toy with a button. “You are awfully charming, Mr. Lancer. Why do I have the feeling I’m not the first woman you’ve seduced?”
“Seduced?” Drawing back, Scott grinned indulgently. “I’m not the one who paraded around, half naked at the line shack. I’m not made of stone, woman. Every man has, uh . . . needs.”
Jane chuckled. “I’m well aware of your needs, Scott.” Discreetly, she rested her hand on his thigh. “When you’re better, we can do more than discuss them.” With a coy tip of her lips, she trailed her fingers across the crease of his leg, into the sensitive area beyond.
“Siren,” Scott said with a groan, pressing against her lingering touch.
Withdrawing before someone might stumble unexpectedly onto the porch, Jane wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hungrily. “I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you,” she whispered. “When I realized what Jack had done. That he might have killed you . . .” Her voice trailed away, plagued with remorse. “Scott, I should have told you about him.”
“It’s in the past, Janie.”
“No.” Drawing back, she sat straighter, placing one palm against his chest to keep him distant. “I should have been honest with you. Once¾long ago¾I thought I was in love with Jack Lopax. He was charming in the beginning. He said all the right things¾made me believe that he cared about me, but all he wanted was . . .” Again her voice trailed away, this time with shame. Dropping her eyes, she toyed with lace sleeve of her cranberry dress. “It-it just took me awhile to realize he wasn’t what I thought in the beginning. He was like every other person in my life¾wanting to control me. I should have known he’d come after me. ”
At her side Scott grew very still. A disquieting thought stirred briefly in his mind. She’d never truly known any significant measure of freedom, dominated by one man after another. Though he wasn’t sadistic like Lopax or manipulative like her husband, was he any better for clouding the issue with affection? He already knew he loved her, but how could he be certain she felt the same? Was it simply gratitude and infatuation, that made her curl so passionately into his arms? Disturbed, he glanced away.
“Scott?” Sensing his withdrawal, Jane touched him lightly on the arm.
His eyes returned, blue-gray, like the settling cloak of dusk. With a quick, reassuring smile, he countered her suddenly troubled expression. “Just thinking,” he said off-handedly. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he drew her close once again, settling her head on his chest. An intoxicating bouquet of rosewater and lavender filled his head. “Lopax is gone,” he said evenly. Gently stroking her hair, he thought back to the discussion they’d had by the creek, when she’d arrived with a picnic lunch. “Tell me about the family you have in Philadelphia.”
Hesitating, she fingered the third button on his shirt, sliding it free of the hole. Scott drew a short breath as her fingers slipped beneath the blue linen, lightly brushing his flesh. It was difficult to concentrate when she touched him. Between the honeyed scent of her hair and the luscious press of her body next to his, his thoughts strayed to less than noble pastimes.
“My mother’s sister and her husband live somewhere in Philadelphia,” Jane explained, drawing him back to the present. “When my parents died, there were a few attempts to reach them, but my mother had always been vague with the details, and no one was ever located. I’ve always wanted to try to find them, but I imagine it’s fairly impractical.”
“Not completely.” Shuffling aside an abrupt pang of doubt, Scott focused on the obvious. “Johnny, Murdoch and I are perfect examples of locating family late in life.”
With a brilliant smile, Jane tilted her head to gaze up at him. “I hadn’t thought about that. I suppose you’re right.”
“Of course I am,” Scott said.
But hours later, when he lay alone in bed, his room draped in nighttime blackness, unwelcome thoughts returned. If he asked her to stay and become his wife, he had little doubt she’d refuse. But what of years from now, when she looked back on a life that escaped her¾would she still be content? In view of her youth, and the ghastly years spent under the thumb of controlling men, was a marriage proposal selfish?
Dissatisfied with the answer, Scott rolled onto his side. Downstairs in the Great Room, the grandfather clock struck the hour, sending a string of melodic chimes throughout the house. The sound was haunting and sad, reminding him of childhood nights when he’d lain awake in Harlan Garrett’s massive home, listening to the pitch and swell of water in the harbor; the deeper, mournful bass of lowing fog horns. He’d known emptiness then¾as though something lingered just beyond his reach, mockingly close but unattainable.
Sadly, Scott realized the same was true of Jane.
**********
Jane rode the chestnut mare to the top of the incline, pausing to gaze down on the creek below. Sunlight glinted on the water, creating near-white flashes like darting fish among the rolling string of green-blue. A large oak tree forded the bank, its wind-rippled leaves tipped with splotches of corn-gold in the late afternoon haze. Sweetly scented grass unfurled over the landscape, clustering in denser patches at the water’s edge, where moss clung to smooth-bellied stones and the soil smelled of earthworms.
Seated beneath the oak, Scott Lancer stared impassively at the water, his legs raised and bent at the knee, arms looped loosely around his legs. Though he’d been extremely attentive over the last two days, it seemed to Jane as if his mood had grown melancholy. On more than one occasion she’d caught him gazing at her with resigned sadness in his eyes, and only yesterday, she’d interrupted him and Johnny in a whispered discussion that had left Scott looking more dispirited than before.
She knew the sudden change wasn’t due to his health. He continued to heal at a steady pace, both the arm and head wound consigned to minor distractions. Though he still walked with a limp, he was able to function without a cane. Clearly, it was only a matter of time before the lingering infirmity vanished altogether.
Disturbed and puzzled by his increasingly somber demeanor, Jane nudged the mare down the hillside. Fervently clutching the reins, she tried to still the sickening voice that said he didn’t love her anymore. When she had almost reached the oak, he became aware of her presence, rising stiffly, then limping two paces to catch the mare’s reins as she drew abreast.
“Janie, what are you doing here?”
Though she listened for betraying emotion in his voice¾a hint of displeasure or annoyance, there was none. Just the smooth, dulcet tone she’d come to recognize with ease. “Johnny and Murdoch had to go to town, and Teresa is spending the day with Brent Samson on a picnic.” Relaxing a little, she rolled her eyes. “I suppose it could be worse¾at least Martin Fishburn didn’t ask her.”
Chuckling, Scott gripped her about the waist to help her from the saddle. “You certainly know how to have a demoralizing effect on a man’s ego, you know that?”
Her feet touched the ground, but she made no move to draw away. “But not yours,” she returned, looking up into his eyes. Though the brim of his hat cast the upper half of his face in shadow, she saw the spark of humor vanish from his gaze, replaced by troubling melancholy. Before Jane could ponder its resurgence, Scott bent his head, kissing her with passion. The touch of his lips banished the doubt in her mind, igniting something she’d thought momentarily lost. When he drew back, tracing his thumb over her moist bottom lip, she shivered at the unexpected desire in his heavily lidded eyes. “Janie, we have to talk.”
The words seemed contradictory when taken in context with the hunger in his gaze. He kissed her again, lightly this time, and she trembled with an inborn sense of foreboding. Clasping her hand, he led her beneath the tree, pulling her down onto the grass beside him. “This isn’t easy¾”
“Scott, please don’t.” Wild, irrational fear pushed against her throat, threatening to choke her. She was terrified he was going to tell her he didn’t love her¾that he’d never loved her. That she’d been a pleasant diversion¾maybe not quite worth the price of clothes and meals¾but now he wanted to move on. The blood drained from her face, leaving her complexion startlingly white, like sun-blanched stone.
“Janie.” Sensing her distress, Scott stroked her cheek, trying to comfort. “It isn’t what you think. Even so, you might not like what I have to say.”
Her heart plummeted to her stomach. “You don’t love me.”
“Nothing could be farther from the truth.” Slipping his hand beneath her hair, he cradled the back of her head in his open palm. Looking into her eyes, he tracked his thumb across her jaw, intimately touching the corner of her lips. “I don’t want to be the next man to control you.”
“Scott¾”
“I love you. That isn’t going to change.”
“Then why¾?”
“Because you can’t be sure living with me at Lancer is what you really want.”
Feeling the onslaught of tears, Jane shook her head. Her world crumbled as the impact of what he said registered. “Scott, you are the only thing I’ve ever wanted in my life.”
“If that’s true, I’ll still be here when you get back from Philadelphia.”
Confused, tortured by the thought of the man she loved leaving her, Jane blinked, tears streaming from her eyes. It was as though someone had punched her in the stomach and she couldn’t breathe. How could her chivalrous, romantic knight toss her aside so thoughtlessly?
“I don’t understand.”
Pressing his brow to hers, Scott kissed her cheek¾once and again. With gentle, loving strokes, he swept away her tears. “Jack Lopax carried a reward of eight thousand dollars. Neither Johnny nor I have any use for that money. My brother agrees there’s no one more deserving of that profit, than you.” Slipping his finger beneath her chin, Scott tilted her head up until their eyes met. “Think of all the places you’ve always wanted to visit, Janie¾of the relatives you wanted to find in Philadelphia. I’m old enough to know what matters, but you’ve barely begun to live. I can’t in good conscience ask you to marry me, when you haven’t had the opportunity to experience situations that might alter your feelings.”
“Oh God, Scott.” Sobbing, she clung to him. The proposal she most desired had been cruelly wrenched away. “I wish I’d never told you about Philadelphia.”
“It wouldn’t matter. I couldn’t marry you unless you had a true opportunity to decline.”
“I hate you. And I hate that you’re being so damn rational about this.”
Smiling tightly, he swept the hair back from her face. Stray strands clung to her wet cheek, until he carefully brushed them free. “It’s not forever, Janie.”
“You’ll find someone else.” Grazing a knuckle beneath her eyelashes, she tried to compose herself. “Some other eighteen-year-old who needs rescuing. You’ll forget about me.”
“I can’t forget the woman I love.”
The sentiment reduced her to tears yet again. Raising both hands, she bowed her face into her palms, openly weeping. Prompted by the tremors in her body, Scott wrapped his arm around her, hugging her close. Though she resisted at first, she eventually succumbed to his silent offer of comfort. Hooking her arm around his neck, Jane sobbed against his chest. “I love you,” she whispered.
He kissed her temple, her hair. Through the contact of their flesh, she felt him tremble and realized he wasn’t quite as rational as she’d thought. For the first time she considered how difficult the decision must be for him¾how utterly unselfish his actions were. Her husband had never given her a passing thought beyond how it affected him, and Jack Lopax had only been attentive when he wanted her in bed¾an experience that usually degenerated into something rough and unfavorable. Though Scott could easily claim her, he offered her a chance to be certain instead.
Tipping her head against his arm, she brought her lips within inches of his own. The warmth of his body seeped through her clothing, and she found herself focusing not so much on their eventual separation, but the moment. “You’ll remember me when I leave?”
“I promise.”
Tracking her fingertips across his mouth, she pressed lightly on his lower lip. “Show me,” she whispered. It was all the invitation he needed.
Gripping her chin, Scott kissed her deeply, forcing her mouth open beneath his. The intrusion of his tongue was shocking for its aggressiveness, brazenly heady for it’s pure seductive power. His hand settled on her waist, skimming the tight flesh beneath her ribs before rising to cup her breast. Moaning softly, Jane arched into his embrace.
His slate blue eyes hooded with desire, Scott freed the buttons on her blouse. His touch was a tantalizing lesson in seduction¾stroking the flesh beneath her white chemise to quivering expectation, before proceeding to the next button. When he reached the final closure, he caught her wrist, pulling her solidly into his embrace. With a shocking start, Jane felt the blatant swell of male arousal against her hip. Senses reeling, she clung to him as Scott reached behind her and unhooked her riding skirt. His fingertips slipped beneath her blouse and chemise, encountering bare flesh, sending heightened ripples of sensation into her belly and groin.
Careful of his injured leg, he eased her onto her back. Cradled by the lush grass, Jane stared up at him, noting the high flush of color on his cheeks, the unmistakable glint of passion in his eyes. The open skirt felt loose on her hips, while her sheer chemise was one step shy of transparent. Raising her hand, she impatiently tugged the buttons on his shirt, losing all finesse in quaking movement.
Scott grinned. “Are you trying to undress me?”
Jane bit her lip. “I wouldn’t want you to think you’re effecting me,” she returned in a distressingly tremulous voice, then smiled. She couldn’t think of anything she wanted more than his bare flesh against her own. Fumbling through the buttons, she left his shirt gaping wide, ends still tucked into his pants. Pressing her palm against his chest, she stroked downward, delighting in the enticing sensation of hard sinew; the exceptionally taut muscles of his flat stomach. Her fingertips encountered the metal square of his belt buckle and she stilled. The teasing light had vanished from his eyes, replaced by a dangerously aroused edge. She had only to glance at the tight, provocative fit of his pants to recognize how desperately he wanted her. Belatedly, she realized he was breathing raggedly, lips parted and moist, as he struggled to hold mounting desire in check.
Suddenly the realization that she might never experience intimacy with him again struck exceptionally hard. Tears welled in her eyes, and she had to blink to keep from sobbing. Even so, salted water trickled from the corner of her eye, shamelessly tracking over her temple, seeping into her unbound hair.
Undone by the sight, Scott gripped her head in both hands, bowing over her, brow to brow. “God, Jane, I want you for my wife.”
Unable to stop her tears, she gave one choked sob and kissed him. Slipping her fingers into his hair, she clung to him in desperation, craving the assurance of his touch. Her head filled with the loamy scent of verdant soil, the sun-heated weave of his shirt. When their clothing lay discarded in the grass, and there was nothing between them but the blissful contact of flesh, Jane knew the moment would stay with her forever, regardless what the future held. His forced proposal clearly indicated the depth of his feelings for her.
The realization tore her heart apart, for sadly, Scott was too ethical to ask her to stay.
**********
Unnerved, Scott removed his hat, lacing a quick hand through his hair. Skimming the brim between his fingers, he watched the stage turn the corner at the edge of town. Dust clung to its rear wheels like a multitude of wraiths resurrected from dry earth. Stepping onto the boardwalk, Scott replaced his hat, then bent to retrieve Jane’s bag. “Stage is here.”
She nodded, clearly as uncomfortable as he was. Dressed for travel, she wore a navy dress trimmed in lavender and white, her hair pinned beneath a pristine bonnet. With a quick glance for the other passengers waiting to board, Scott scowled. A gray-haired matron, a fortyish-looking woman with a teenage boy, and two businessmen were to be Jane’s companions on the first part of her journey east. Already he felt jealous and protective, aware of lingering glances both men cast in Jane’s direction. Only last night he’d held her in his arms a final time¾making love into the wee hours of the morning, in the starlit meadow behind the barn. Had he really insisted she go?
Wetting his lips, he drew her aside. “You’ll write and let me know you arrived safely?”
“I’ll write more than that.” The hint of a smile traced her lips. “Maybe I’ll even make you blush.” As quickly as the levity came, her expression sobered. Raising her hand, she touched his lips. “Scott, I don’t want to go.”
He glanced away, swallowed, then met her gaze. “Jane, we’ve been through this.”
“I know.” The sound of jangling harnesses and rumbling wheels announced the presence of the stage. Desperate, Jane tried another track. “All you have to do is ask.”
Stunned, Scott stared. The phrase hit home as she’d intended, recalling their misunderstanding in the line shack. He’d made a mess of things then, when he could have easily corrected it with a few simple words. Standing on the boardwalk, his heart thundering against his ribs, he realized it all came down to a single choice. All you have to do is ask.
“All aboard for Denver,” a loud voice cried from the street. Stage passengers milled from the boardwalk into the dusty lane. Behind him, Scott heard the soft thud of baggage tossed onto the rooftop. The matron and the businessmen boarded, with the younger woman and the teenage boy going last.
Jane gripped his hand. “Scott?”
“Miss, are you boarding?” a stage handler inquired.
“Give her a minute,” Scott snapped. Suddenly all his college education and years of experience living in cities she’d never seen meant nothing. Her eyes remained steady, her gaze questioning and trusting as she watched him. Catching her by the elbow, Scott steered her away from the stage and public scrutiny.
“Janie.” He licked his lips. “I can’t ask you. Not until I know the path is clear.” Her eyes dipped and he hated himself for the crushing remorse he saw on her face. Drawing a breath, he made a decision. “Come back to me and I’ll make you my wife.”
Her eyes rose and held his, emotion bare in her gaze.
“Miss, are you boarding?” the handler persisted loudly.
Cupping her cheek, Scott pressed his lips to hers. Deepening the kiss, he slipped an arm around her waist, drawing her against him, not caring who saw. Time hung suspended as he held her in his embrace, wishing to trap it for eternity. He felt her tremble; heard the soft sigh of her breath as she drew back, dipping her head to his shoulder.
“I’m going to hold you to that promise,” she whispered.
Before he could change his mind, Scott escorted her to the stage and passed her bag to the handler. The man took it with a glower, climbing above to secure it to the rooftop. Opening the door, Scott assisted Jane into the carriage. As she settled in the seat by the window, he felt his resolve waver. All you have to do is ask.
Jane extended her hand through the window, and he caught her fingertips lightly. From the corner of his eye, Scott was vaguely aware of the handler settling beside the driver. Within moments the lumbering vehicle lurched forward, dislodging his grip. Unable to speak, Scott caught his breath.
“I’m coming back,” Jane vowed. And then the stage was past, rolling down the dusty street into obscurity and a future as uncertain as his heart.
**********
Turning from the empty stage depot, Scott walked slowly toward the buggy he’d used to escort Jane to town. Halfway there he paused, surprised to find Johnny standing to one side of the vehicle, forearm propped against the seat. Behind him, tethered to the hitching post, Barranca waited placidly, idly swishing a foam-colored tail.
Uncertain if he wanted company, Scott approached warily.
“That couldn’t have been easy,” Johnny said softly as he drew abreast.
Still not trusting his voice, Scott shook his head. Absently, he ran his hand across the flank of the gelding harnessed to the buggy. It felt as though someone had punched a hole through his stomach. Moving past Johnny, he propped his back against the side of the vehicle, squarely facing the street. “Did I do the wrong thing, Johnny? Did I make a mistake?”
Turning, so they stood shoulder to shoulder, Johnny considered the mercantile across the dusty, traveled lane. A quick glance to the side revealed Scott still staring straight ahead. “I wish I had the answer for you, Scott. Wish you’d met someone you didn’t feel so conflicted about.”
“It wouldn’t be the same,” the blonde-haired man said morosely. “I love Jane for who she is. If she’d grown up privileged and secure, I’d feel differently about her.”
“Then you have to believe she’ll come back.” When his brother remained despondent, staring straight ahead, Johnny took a firm stance. Straightening, he pushed away from the buggy, facing his brother directly. “Look, Scott, if you’re that unsure, take Barranca and catch the stage. It’s still not too late to propose.”
For a moment it seemed as though Scott would take his advice¾that he’d swing onto the large palomino and race after the departing vehicle. But as quickly as the temptation entered his eyes, the enticement vanished, replaced by a sensible shake of his head. “She said all I had to do was ask, and I told her if she came back I would.” The flicker of a melancholy smile traced his lips. Pushing away from the buggy, he glanced down the street to the cantina. “You ever been in love, Johnny?”
“Lots of times.”
“Ever have your heart broken?”
“Even more.”
Pausing, Scott eyed his brother. He was silent for a moment, debating how much he wanted to reveal. Finally, with a weary exhalation, he admitted the truth: “She didn’t want to leave.”
Johnny nodded thoughtfully. “Those damn principals of yours really get in the way sometimes, huh, Boston?”
“Yeah,” Scott said softly.
With a gentle tug on his sleeve, Johnny nodded to the cantina. “Wanna tell me about it?”
Uncertain, Scott hesitated. His brother had been worried enough to follow him to town; sensitive enough to remain in the background, concerned enough to offer his confidence. With an inward pang of guilt, Scott realized how fortunate he was to have a sibling as trusting as Johnny. There was no other person he’d rather talk to just now. Tugging his hat down on his brow, he gave a clipped nod. “Come on, little brother. I’ll buy you a drink.”
As the two men started down the street, Johnny slipped a companionable hand onto Scott’s shoulder. Whatever choice Jane Hall made regarding her future with Scott, Johnny’s supportive touch, quietly assured his own loyalty would never waver.
*****End*****
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