Copyright © 2007, C. Aloisi. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may
be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means,
electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

 This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

 

CHAPTER ONE

     "I'm not going to marry you."

Clay stared at the pretty young woman who stood before him. Pressure pulled tight across his chest like a rope around a calf's ribs.

"You're a coward, Clay Turner," she spat out, her sweet face twisted in angry emotion.

Had a man called him that, he'd have drawn already and fired his shot, likely killing the idiot. That all he wanted to do was gather Kate Flanders in his arms and kiss the blazes right out of her said he was loco not a coward. Clay looked around the copse of pine trees that hid them and their two horses, wondering how he had gotten into this predicament. Gathering the splinters of his temper together he decided the best way to address this was reasonably.

"Kate you know I'm not the marrying kind. I wouldn't make a good husband and you," he paused to take a needed breath, "wouldn't make me a good wife."

She bristled like a porcupine under siege, her blue eyes went wide and then narrowed. Her head shook side to side. Strands of auburn hair loosened, framing her delicate face.

She was a beauty. He certainly knew how to pick 'em where looks were concerned. Where he apparently fell short was in accounting for temperament.

"I'd make you the best wife and you know it." She stabbed a slender finger in his chest. "I'll save you from yourself."

Damn if that pouty red mouth of hers wasn't distracting. He'd kissed her senseless last night. Apparently she'd recovered.

"I don't need saving." Irritation crackled through him like a fire on brush. He'd packed too much sinning into his twenty-three years for there to be talk of saving.

Her face turned red and her body shot straight as a newly hammered fence post. "You need to settle down. You need to marry me. We need to make babies."

"I'll be happy to do the last part." He gave her a grin that had gotten him into bed with more than one woman. "The other two…ain't gonna happen."

He wasn't so much afraid of her temper as those clenched fists she bunched on her hips. Last night under the stars she'd let him touch the soft lush breasts she hid beneath her blue satin dress. Guess she thought that entitled her to some sort of declaration on his part. Not that he didn't find her darn attractive. Had he been a man with prospects, he'd be tempted to court Kate, maybe even marry her since that would be the only way into her bed. But he wasn't a man with prospects.

"Clay Turner, don't you be making wise with me. It's Kate Flanders you're talking to, not Polly at the Red Bull." A slender booted foot stomped the ground.

"Exactly why I'm not going to marry you. For Christ's sake, Kate. Your father would never allow it." That truth angered him more than it should have. He grabbed her delicately boned shoulders and gave her a good shake. "I'm a bounty hunter. I kill people for money. I'm no good."

Tears sprang to her blue eyes like metal to a magnet. Regret jolted through him. But it only proved what she should know, he wasn't fit to be her husband and what he wanted didn't matter in this at all.

"I love you," she said.

Clenched fists unfurled as she wrapped her arms around his neck and damn if he wasn't powerless to stop her. She burrowed her face in the crook of his shoulder while those three words buried into his soul. Involuntarily his hands pressed her to him. He kissed her auburn hair and breathed in her fresh, rose-perfumed scent.

"It would never work," he whispered, his body curling around her like a snake around a mouse.

"You could become a rancher. You said you've earned a lot from…from what you do." Her voice had gone small. Clay had earned a bit. More than he'd ever imagined. It was secure in a bank in Seattle. And the job that had brought him back home to Three Ridges, working for Matt Tyler to catch those rustlers, would earn him a whole lot more when he finished. But Kate was a Flanders, daughter of the largest rancher in three counties, courted by the likes of Jake Parrish, county representative to the Washington territorial government.

"I don't think so honey." He rubbed her back for her comfort as well as his. His hands itched to caress more. "I don't know a thing about cattle."

"You can work for my father," she said, her face squashed against his leather vest, her breath warming a spot near his heart.

That would be the day. William Flanders hated all things Turner. The man had tried to move Clay's family off the measly parcel of land that his wife-beating father, in sober times, had tried to homestead. And then when Clay had done what he had to do, William Flanders had sent the law after him. He'd been released. No witnesses to say otherwise, his mother refusing to disclaim his recollection of the events.

"Your father would as soon kill me as let me marry you, Kate."

She pulled her face up to look at him. "Make love to me, Clay." Her voice was breathy, hesitant, hopeful. "Please."

Blood drained from him as if he was a lynched man. Her face held a sweetness, an innocence that belied what she was saying, what she was asking. Not that he wouldn't have given just about anything in the world for the right to lay her down where they stood and undress her. To be able to touch anywhere he pleased on her welcoming body. To awaken the passion that he knew smoldered just below the surface of that cool outer layer of flesh. To claim her as his with one swift thrust inside of her, burying deep within the soft moist core, spilling his seed to make that baby she wanted. Clay was many things, most of them bad, but he would never betray her trust. Not Kate Flanders. Not the little girl he'd played with down at the creek that had separated her land from his. Not the girl he pined for in the tree house he built to escape the brutality of his father. Not the one thing that had given him hope during those bleak days.

"We're not married, Kate," he ground out in careful tones as if trying to talk sense to a six year-old.

"If you made love to me, my father would force you to marry me." Her dare hung in the air like a guillotine's blade.

Clay would never understand the workings of a woman's mind. "He'd come after me and try to kill me and I'd have to kill him first Kate. Did you think of that?" He had, many times. If it ever came to a showdown he'd no doubt who would win the battle.

"Not if I told him I loved you. That if I gave myself to you." Her eyes brightened to a sapphire glow. God she was tempting.

"Especially if you told him that. He thinks you're marrying Jake Parrish." Clay's stomach pitched like a raft in rapids.

"I don't love Jake Parrish. Besides, Lizzie is sweet on him and I'd never betray her."

"Have you told Elizabeth Morgan about us?" He gulped, swallowing over the rock that had replaced his Adam's apple.

"Of course, but she'll keep our secret. She's my best friend, Clay."

"She ain't mine. And you've got to get this fantasy out of your head." It was time for him to head back. He'd already gotten more aroused than was pleasant and he hadn't even kissed her yet.

"It's not a fantasy. I'm marrying you, Clay Turner, and nothing is going to stop me." Her chest swelled and then deflated with the exaggerated huff of breath she expelled.

A laugh rolled out of his mouth. "Not even me?"

His finger brushed a tendril of hair from her lips. Soft, sweet lips filled with innocent promise and honest desire.

"Only way to stop me is to say you hate me." Her chin jutted up at him.

There was only one thing to do, the thing he'd wanted to do since she rode in. He bent down and claimed her with his lips. Kissed her deep, hard, tested her sweetness with his tongue, pressed her to him so she would know he couldn't say those words. She opened for him, her velvet tongue mating with his, her hands clinging to his arms like he was saving her from disaster. Only he was the disaster she needed saving from. When he released her his voice was gruff with the hunger he always felt for her.

"Go back home Kate. Clear the fantasy out of your head. I'll be leaving in a few days." He paused to stare into her blue eyes and saw the longing that matched his own. "Without you."

She whirled out of his arms like a force of nature, causing him to step back as she headed for her gray gelding, a cold void created in her wake. Once settled atop the side saddle she reined the horse around.

"I'll be looking for you tomorrow, same time. Don't be late." The razor-edge of her voice sliced through the air and then him.

"Will you give up this fantasy?" He didn't know how often he could turn down the invitation to bed her.

Leather creaked as she shifted her weight. "I'll meet you by the creek. It will be cooler there."

A backward glance and she was gone, horse and rider shrinking in the afternoon sun. His mind said give her up. Too bad his body wouldn't listen.

CHAPTER TWO

 

After securing her horse, Kate paused on the porch steps of the large, white frame house. Strength ebbed from her like water down a drain. Feeling her legs weaken, she slumped down on the spur-scarred wooden stoop. She wiped her damp brow with her satin sleeve and ignored the voice in her head that said she’d ruin her favorite blue dress if she sat amongst the splatter of porch dirt. 

What was she going to do? Clay was going to die if she didn’t save him somehow. And the only way she could think to save him was giving him a different life—one with a wife and child, with a reason to settle down. The man had feelings for her. She’d felt those feelings nudging up against her thigh like a dog’s muzzle when he’d kissed her today. He wanted her, and she wanted him. Why didn’t he take her? He doesn’t want to marry me. The realization stung. Is it marriage or is it me? Could she be wrong about his feelings? Was it lust and nothing more? A fly landed on her lap. She watched the winged bug rub its hairy legs as if trying to summon the response. Then, it flew away without so much as a farewell buzz.

When she heard he’d returned, she waited for Clay to call on her. When he didn’t, she went to look for him. It didn’t take very long. She knew he would be camped in the woods at the very spot they explored together as children. It felt like someone had shot a hole right through her heart when she encountered the long, lean, fair-haired, blue-eyed, Adonis with the hard-lined face of a stone mountain. But those hard-edged planes softened as his eyes had found hers. And then a smile curved those firm set lips. And the boy she’d loved stared back at her with such longing, she knew her heart was melting, not bleeding. After exchanging formal greetings, they fell into companionable discussion about what they’d been doing the past five years. He hadn’t shied from telling her the dismal details of his life as a bounty hunter, almost as if he was daring her to think poorly of him. But she didn’t think poorly of him. She’d watched the lines of his face harden, saw the pain he tried to shield behind those devastating blue eyes, saw the cost his livelihood was extracting from him with every shrug and hard fought grimace that punctuated his tales. When several visits later talking wasn’t enough for either of them, his kisses and caresses had lit a fire inside she hadn’t been able to quell. Each time she’d been with him, it raged hotter and higher than the time before. He’d met her fire with his own. She felt it. She knew it. She wasn’t wrong. It had to be the marrying part. 

I’m a bounty hunter. I kill people for money. I’m no good. 

The knowledge of what he thought of himself had torn through her body, leaving her insides shredded in misery. She had to do something. She had to get Clay to marry her. She was certain her father wouldn’t leave his daughter’s husband—and the future father of his grandchildren—to such a life, no matter what he thought of Clay. Her father always needed help on the ranch. He’d offer Clay a respectable position worthy of his son-in-law. But getting those two stubborn men to do what she wanted would be no easy task. Her only solution Clay had thrown in her face. She couldn’t force him to bed her, though that would be the fastest path to everything she wanted. Determination squatted in her mind, taking up the fight for her happiness and his soul. Clay Turner was not leaving without her knowing the full passion of the man she loved, and that meant marriage. Clay wouldn’t take her without marrying her. Whether before or after, he’d make an honest woman out of her. Her mind churned over and over as if making butter, before the plan finally formed. Rising, Kate swatted the dust from her dress as strength returned to her body and her mind. There was little time to waste.

Kate followed her nose into the kitchen of the Flanders household. It was a big kitchen, dominated by a stout wood stove that, partnered with a long oak table, staked claim to the portly room. The window over the sink was open, and a slight breeze ruffled the red checked curtains, offering the only relief from the steaming vapors rising from the pot on the stovetop. Kate took a strong whiff, filling her senses with the comfort of home cooking.

Mary’s back was to her as the woman stirred something that smelled an awful lot like beef stew. The housekeeper’s gray dress was glued to her shoulders with a dark stain of perspiration. Mary had first come to their door in a bedraggled state not long after Kate’s mother passed away. She’d stepped right into the void, not replacing her mother, for no one could have done that, but filling the role of confidante and advisor that Kate desperately needed. Mary knew all about Kate’s feelings for Clay Turner. Knew more than Kate had told Lizzie. And certainly knew more than Will Flanders would ever guess. As if sensing her, Mary whirled her rotund body around, a big smile on her face. “You hungry?” she asked. Her brown eyes crinkled up, pulling at the tight bun of salt and pepper hair she had wrapped behind her neck. Beads of water dotted her broad forehead. More motherly than wifely, Mary wasn’t a pretty woman. Though years younger than Kate’s father, that’s the role she played to both Flanders. Kate shook her head. After her encounter with Clay, her hunger was taking a completely different path.

Mary carefully placed the worn wooden spoon on the table. Observant dark eyes stared at Kate. 

“You’ve been seeing Turner again?” 

It was more a statement of fact than a question. Kate nodded and plucked her chin up. “I’ve decided to marry him." 

Those dark eyes didn’t register surprise, but the hands that now rested on Mary’s ample hips clenched into fists. 

“When hell freezes over,” she scoffed, abruptly turning around to inspect the stew. 

Kate needed Mary, of all people, to understand. “But he’s a good man. Inside he’s a good man. Just he’s been placed in bad situations." 

Adding more salt to the bubbling mixture, Mary took her time before facing Kate again. "He must be if you’re so sure about it.” Mary’s low even tone belied the tight lipped smile sitting on her face. “But facts are facts. Your pa didn’t raise you to be some gunslinger’s wife. And it’s a little late for Clay Turner to turn into something else, regardless of your feelings for him. 

"He's just twenty-three. He’s got his whole future." 

Mary pulled a wooden chair from the table and set her ample body down as if expecting a comfortable chat. “Gunslingers don’t have futures honey. Face it. He’s got men gunning for him even now. Those rustlers he’s after for starters." 

Kate had difficulty breathing, her chest cinched tight. She sank into the chair beside Mary. Resting her elbows on the table, she cradled her aching head in her hands. Perspiration oozed out of her, mingled with the humidity in the room. 

“That’s what has me so scared. If I don’t marry him and get him out of the bounty business, he’s going to get killed. He’s going to die.” 

The thought had terrorized her every day since Clay’s return. Over the years, she’d imagined him in all sorts of scenarios—safe scenarios. Striking it rich in gold or silver and having a fine ranch somewhere. Or maybe he’d won so much at gambling, he’d been able to move to Nob Hill in San Francisco. Or maybe he’d done something with his ability to tame horses, gathering a fine herd of his own. Anything but the kill or be killed life he was leading. In her dreams, he’d come back for her and they would live happily ever after like in all good fairy tales. Then she’d awaken to the painful fact she’d probably never see him again. But God had finally answered her prayers and returned him to her—whole and so far unscathed—at least in the physical sense. Lord knew he was scarred elsewhere. How could he not be, enduring what he endured, watching what he had to watch, and doing what he had to do? She wasn’t about to let him go this time. She was going to hold onto him, heal him, and will him a new life, a better life. The kind of life he should have had all along. She looked up into Mary’s frowning face. 

“What am I going to do? You have to help me, Mary. My whole happiness depends upon it." 

Mary shook her head as if in defeat. “He’s a handsome devil of a man, I’ll give you that. He walks down the street so proud and determined, with a face as hard as granite and that golden hair of his. He looks just like those statues of Greek Gods I seen in New Orleans all those years ago." 

What Mary said was true. Kate had never seen a more physically attractive man than Clay Turner. Forget that he was tall and slim hipped. Forget that muscles bulged through his clothes from his arms, to his legs, to other appendages. He’d only to look at her with those sparkling blue eyes of his, slant his smile, and her body would be wringing with desire. Every time he kissed her, she’d get lost in the passion of his lips, lost in the feel of his body. She hadn’t realized it when he left the first time. She’d figured kissing any boy could turn her body to liquid fire, like lava from a volcano. But five years had taught her the truth. No other man would ever make her feel what Clay did. 

"But he’s not the kind of man you marry.” 

Mary interrupted Kate’s thoughts. 

“Trust me, I know. My Frank was just like him. Running from his own demons, chasing after something he’d never have. Clay’s broken, honey, and it would take more than you to fix him." 

Kate's heart constricted. Mary knew his history. Knew what he was now. But Kate knew the real Clay; the one no person—aside from her—had ever glimpsed. She’d seen the scared boy, the heartbroken son, the avenging angel. 

"You married Frank,” Kate pointed out, keeping her voice reasonable. 

Mary sighed. “I did, but I couldn’t change him. I was a mining widow before I even got with child.” Mary shook her head as she remembered. “It wasn’t a good life, honey.”

“But you’ve never wanted anyone else.”

“No,” Mary said quietly. “But I’m not Kate Flanders. Rich, beautiful, and able to have anyone.”

“Anyone but Clay Turner.” Kate rubbed her forehead like a genie’s bottle, hoping that her plan would work. 

She had to keep him here. Keep him safe. Mary’s husband had died a violent death, and he’d just been mining. What was in store for Clay being a bounty hunter, practically asking to be shot? 

Mary reached over, her warm fleshy hand patting Kate’s cold, moist one. “He’s not good for you.”

Kate’s stomach tumbled at hearing those words again. “That’s what he said.”

“Well, he’s got more sense then I gave him credit for.”

“He also said I wouldn’t make him a good wife.” His caustic appraisal still stung though she didn’t believe it.

“Well, him being on the move, I dare say he’s right. Plus you’re used to the finer things. He knows he can’t give you what your father does.”

Kate didn’t want what her father gave her. She wanted Clay. “I’m not giving up.” 

Tears welled in her eyes at the possibility of losing Clay again. Her plan had to work. Kate took a bracing breath, hoping it would calm her palpitating heart. “If Clay…if Clay compromised me, my father would have to let him marry me.”

“Child, you can’t be serious,” Mary said in a gasp.

Kate pushed back her chair and stood tall. “Never more.”

Mary’s large frame rose quickly, almost toppling her chair. She grabbed Kate’s hand, clutching it tightly. “You’ll disgrace yourself, you’ll disgrace your father. Your father doesn’t deserve that Kate. Not from you.”

Something pinched deep inside at the thought of her father’s disappointment, but Kate couldn’t lose her courage now. “I don’t know what else to do. I’m not even sure Clay will do it. He’s turned me down.”

Mary let out a slow breath. “Well, I declare. Maybe that man is better than I thought. Gratefully one of you has some sense. I’m just surprised his name is Turner.” Mary squeezed Kate’s hand tighter, until it hurt. “You can’t meet him anymore. I’ll have to tell your father if you go meet him again.”

With a sharp tug, Kate pulled her hand free. “You do what you have to do Mary. And I’ll do what I have to do.”

Before her resolve weakened, Kate hurried out of the kitchen, feeling the older woman’s eyes drilling into her back.

She could only pray Mary followed through on her threat.

 

CHAPTER THREE

Clay reached for the shot glass of whiskey and downed the fiery liquid in one impatient gulp. He turned to face the saloon’s swinging doors and leaned his elbows against the marred oak bar of the Red Bull, pressed his butt hard against the counter, and rested one booted foot on the rail. The piano player was clanking out a lively tune in keeping with the raucous laughter and intermittent shouts coming from the smattering of men who had found their way into the saloon on a Thursday night.

Too bad Charlie Pritchard wasn’t here yet. Clay didn’t know why he was pursuing buying a ranch. He was picking up dribs and drabs as he played at being a cowhand while ferreting out the rustlers, but still knew next-to-nothing about cattle. Breeding horses would suit him better, if it was to come to that. At least he knew something about horses and good horseflesh, his own Virginia-bred saddle horse attesting to the fact. 

He’d paid a pretty penny for the gelding. The horse had been with him four years now and had been worth every bit. It was the horse’s loyalty and even temper that had attracted him. The fact the horse was a better watchman than any dog, had been life saving more than once.

He looked cautiously around the Red Bull’s hard-scrabbled room. With its scarred wood floors, hard-used furniture and stale, cigar-flavored air, the place suited its gun-toting clientele. He recognized a few faces and, by the way they turned their heads in the other direction, he figured they recognized him too. They’d never forget or forgive what he’d done and what he’d become. He’d known it when he ran. He should have remembered it before he came back.

Polly was coming toward him, rounded hips sashaying, lips pouting, eyes wide. Nothing could change the hard look of a used woman emanating from her hollow eyes and painted face. But the brown-haired female still looked damn good in her skimpy red dress. Damn good. 

“You buying?” she said as she sidled up next to him, touching his arm with her slender fingers. When he’d first come back to town, her touching him would have been all the invitation he needed. But now...

“You want some whiskey?” Clay motioned to the barkeep without waiting for her answer. “And leave the bottle, Ted,” he advised when the burly man, who’d once funneled whiskey to his father, silently poured her drink. 

“Yes, but that wasn’t what I was hoping you were buying,” she purred, looking him up and down with an expert’s eye.

“Not tonight, Polly.” He caught the scent of some lavender perfume Polly must have dumped on, the fragrance was so overpowering.

She picked up the whiskey glass the barkeep just filled and touched it to her lips. Her pink tongue shot out and traced the rim of the glass. Nothing. He felt nothing. Hell, if it wasn’t for the kick Kate gave him just looking at him, he’d be wondering if he was still a man when the promise of Polly’s tongue wasn’t doing anything for him.

“You haven’t been in my bed since you first came here. I know you liked it Clay.” She eyed him skeptically as her chin lifted up a notch and she took a sip. “You afraid of getting something? I’m clean.”

Hell, when he was interested, those things never entered his mind. “Business tonight.”

Suddenly an older, gray-haired man with a day’s worth of silver stubble on his chin walked through the swinging wood doors. Clay nodded in his direction. “And here it comes.”

Polly gave a sigh as she eyed Pritchard coming towards them and finished her whiskey. “Guess I’ll leave you to it. If he’s a mind, tell him to see me after you’re done.” She arched a stenciled brow. “And if you change you’re mind, you come find me, hear?”

With a pat on his arm, Polly sashayed on to her next victim. Focusing on the sway of Polly’s hips, Clay called for another glass.

The barkeep promptly obliged just as Charlie Pritchard ambled up. 

“Clay,” Charlie said as his gaze followed Polly.

“Whiskey, Charlie?” Clay poured, knowing the answer before the man spoke.

“Ain’t you going to join me?” The old codger wiped his sweaty brow with the sleeve of his faded plaid shirt and reached for the full shot glass. He stared at Clay as if he was trying to guess the answer to a riddle.

Clay let a smile break his face. Charlie no doubt remembered Clay’s old man. “One’s my limit.”

Charlie downed the liquid refreshment, his Adam’s apple moving rhythmically as he swallowed. “Not mine,” he said as he thumped the empty glass on the counter.

Clay refilled as the piano player started up another energetic tune.

“So you thinking of taking up ranching?” Charlie asked, holding the filled glass in place with his fingers, but not picking it up just yet.

“Thinking.” Clay scratched the stubble on his own face, wondering how much to trust the old man.

“Matt Tyler’s made me a good offer for the ranch,” Charlie confirmed.

“So I heard. Also heard you haven’t accepted his good offer.”

Charlie shrugged bony shoulders at the implied question. “Maybe I don’t like selling to a man who tried to cheat me out of cattle that were rightly mine.”

Clay knew Tyler’s reputation for honest dealing wasn’t the best before he’d hired on with Tyler. But someone was rustling the man’s cattle. Someone smart. Clay didn’t need much more incentive to pick up some extra money. 

“You any closer to finding those rustlers? You know I’ve lost some of mine.” Charlie gave a disgusted growl, flapping his sagging jowls. “I just wish people would agree to take what’s coming to them and no more. Whole world would run smoother.”

There was a lot of wisdom in what Charlie said.

“I’m closing in.” 

Clay was more than closing in. He knew where the rustlers were. Tomorrow he expected to catch them with the cattle and then he’d be moving on. What he was doing talking to Charlie Pritchard about buying the man’s ranch was beyond him. 

“You got a price in mind?” Clay began the negotiation.

“Well, I’ve got Tyler’s offer. You come in higher, I’ll sell it to you.”

“And if Tyler matched or upped my bid?” Clay had no desire to get in a bidding war. That was a good way to overpay and sink in the process.”

“I want a fair price. You come in at the price I name and I swear on my mother’s grave—God rest her soul—I’ll sell it to you even if Tyler doubles the price.” Charlie finished his whiskey in one gulp. 

“Why?” Clay didn’t believe people did the unexpected without a reason.

Charlie’s weary brown eyes peered at him through narrowed slits. “I don’t like Tyler. Or Flanders for that matter. Too big for their britches. Look down their noses at the smaller ranchers like me. And I liked your mama. Wished I could have done something. Back then…well, wasn’t easy for another man to interfere between a husband and wife.” The man’s Adam’s apple moved jerkily, as if he was choking on something.

No one had done anything to help his mother or him. Clay was surprised at the slow burn of anger that still filled him at the recollection. He’d never forget, much as he tried. “How much?”

Charlie named his price. Clay absorbed the number. It would take everything he had by the time he paid for the land, a good stallion and a mare or two. He might be able to get stud fees to ease him until his own stock came through. “When do I have to let you know?”

“Beginning of next week. No later.” Charlie gave him a hard stare. “You serious or just dreaming?”

Clay shrugged. “I don’t know.” 

And that was the God’s honest truth.

* * *

Kate had gotten through supper without the subject of Clay Turner coming up. But she knew something was on her father’s mind and she was pretty sure its initials were C.T.

She was helping clear dishes from the long, linen-clad table when her father popped back into the dining room looking for her.

“Let Mary finish up. I want to talk to you,” he said in a gruff voice, looking like a rattler had just come up and bit him.

William Flanders had been a good father to her as long as she was still in pig-tails, but once she had grown into womanhood, she couldn’t fathom the change in him. When she’d been younger, he’d allowed her to run free, ride astride, and hang out with the ranch hands. He’d taught her to shoot and encouraged her to learn how to take care of herself. He’d been proud of her abilities—whether it was handling a gun, cutting a herd, or taking first in her math exams. But that had all changed about five years ago, right after Clay Turner had left, and she was sure the timing wasn’t a coincidence.

Suddenly he bought her a side-saddle, insisted she wear dresses instead of denims, and demanded she spend her time with Mary learning how to cook. With Clay having just left her, her father’s behavior was like another kind of abandonment. They’d grown apart and, it seemed, they couldn’t get along peaceably for more than a few minutes before they were arguing about something.

She wanted her old father back, but he didn’t seem to want his old daughter, and she just couldn’t become the lady he wanted her to be. She certainly didn’t appreciate the men he pushed at her—men who saw her as a road to wealth that would feed their own ambitions. Men like Jake Parrish.

Jake was smart, Kate would give him that, but to her mind, he used his intelligence like a weapon to manipulate people. He’d call them suckers or fools when he succeeded, and blame them for having too trusting a nature when they should have known better. He’d acquired land rights based on other people’s misfortune that had left a sour taste in her mouth. Everyone else, including her father, praised him for having shrewd business skills. That her father wanted her to marry such a reptile had caused more than its share of tension between them. Now that Clay was back, the tension was pulling even stronger.

“I don’t have much more to do,” Kate said not daring to look at her father as she picked up the plate of half finished potatoes from the table. 

“Leave it. I want to talk to you,” her father said in a voice that brooked no argument. 

He walked out of the room, apparently expecting her to follow. There was a large part of Kate that wanted to finish her task just to show him he couldn’t order her around. But the plain fact was, he could order her around. And if her plan was going to work, she needed this talk. Now was not the time to take her stand, nor was helping Mary the battle to fight.

When Kate walked into her father’s wood-paneled study she was somewhat surprised to see him standing by the stone fireplace instead of sitting behind the large mahogany desk that took up half the room. He was a big man and his presence filled the small study he’d carved out for himself. Though stocky in build, the result of enjoying too much of Mary’s cooking, it was all hard flesh. William Flanders worked his ranch right along with his cowhands. He wasn’t the kind of man to let others do work while he sat around. He also wasn’t the kind of man to trust others to do the job the way he wanted it done, unless he was there to ensure it. 

His auburn hair had grayed in the ten years since her mother died, but he was still considered a catch by the widows of Three Ridges. The new owner of the hotel, Adele Jones, was his latest lady friend. He’d had a few over the years but none that he’d ever brought home to meet his daughter. She learned about his “friendships” from the town gossip vine, just like everyone else. 

“Sit down Kat,” he said, his sharp eyes boring into her as he motioned toward one of the two high back chairs that flanked the fireplace. Kat had been his nickname for her when she’d been younger, but he hadn’t used it in a long while. 

Her meal roiling in her stomach, Kate sat and focused on her father, expecting the worst. If she guessed correctly, Mary had already sat in this same chair sometime today. Her father’s next words confirmed her suspicion.

“Mary tells me you’ve been sneaking out to meet Clay Turner.” Hard brown eyes looked down on her, making her feel like a mouse that had been caught eating the cheese.

Kate lifted up her chin and stared right back into those furious eyes. “I haven’t been ‘sneaking out.’ I have met him. I’ve seen him when I’ve been out riding and he’s been looking for Tyler’s rustlers.”

Her father ran splayed fingers through his thick gray hair as his eyes darkened to the color of black coffee. Kate’s stomach churned in anticipation of the explosion sure to come. 

“You’re not to have anything to do with him.” He yelled the order as his powerful hands fisted.

“I’ve known him since we were kids. I consider him a friend. More than a friend.”

“What the hell does that mean?” The sharpness of his tone went through her like a carver’s knife, but this was the showdown she’d been wanting, her time to take a stand.

“It means I plan to marry Clay Turner if he’ll have me.”

Redness suffused her father’s craggy face like fire burning through coal. “You’ll do no such thing while there is a breath left in my body young lady.”

“I love him,” she said those words with conviction, the feeling so strong she’d never take them back.

Her father’s face contorted into an angry scowl. “What the hell does a girl like you know about love?”

Kate willed her body to calmness and focused on the inferno of a man burning before her. If her father sensed weakness, he’d clip her wings faster than a coyote on a hen. “You married mama when she was nineteen.”

Will Flanders looked away just a brief moment before whipping his face back, anger etched in every furrowed line.

“I was a good man. I had a future. I loved your mama. Clay Turner is not a good man. He has no future. And I doubt he knows a thing about love.” With every point he made, her father released a finger from his clenched fists, the words exploding from his mouth. “Has he said he loves you? Has he been filling your ears with sweet talking lies?” 

Her father’s voice was booming so loud, Kate figured every cowhand on the ranch now knew what they were fighting about.

“No.” Painful as it was to admit, she wouldn’t lie. “But he is a good man,” she said, jumping up from the chair and shouting those words just as loudly as he’d been shouting. If her father was going to tell the whole world what they were arguing about, she’d be sure they got the full story. “And he’s got money now. He’s no longer some poor beggar’s son you can run out of town because you don’t like the way he looks at your daughter.” She bunched a hand on each hip to brace against the storm of her father’s rage. 

Her father didn’t speak for a moment. His eyes pinned her from beneath his bushy gray brows. A vein pulsed at his temple.

Perhaps the enormity of the situation was just hitting him. If she could get Clay to want her enough to marry her, there wouldn’t be much her father could do about it. Her father, powerful as he was, was no match for a hired gunslinger and she was sure he knew it. Clay could defend his right to her, if necessary. Bullying her wouldn’t solve the problem and her father certainly was in no position to bully someone of Clay’s skill.

As if the same thoughts had run through his mind, her father slumped down into the other high-back chair and stared at her for a long minute before he spoke in an even tone. “He’s a hired gun, Kate. He makes his living killing people.” He shook his head.

“He’s killed some. But he’s brought in a lot more alive, if they give up. He’s not the cold-blooded killer you think he is,” she said, hoping they could now talk about this instead of rant about it.

Hope faded as her father glared at her. “You think your loving him is enough to change him back into the young man you remember before…before everything happened.”

She did think just that. Maybe not turn him back, but help to bring out the goodness she knew was inside of him. The goodness she’d seen, felt, touched. The boy, who had futilely bound a bird’s broken leg, guarded a litter of fox pups from harm and lent his shoulder for a ten year-old girl to cry on when she lost her mother was worth redeeming.

“Let me tell you something that only world-weary experience can teach you. I’m going to give you the lesson without you having to go through the misery.” He sat back and steepled his weathered hands in front of his wide girth.

Wondering if the storm of his anger had truly passed, Kate took a deep breath and settled back down in her chair. 

“When I was a boy,” her father began, “my brother Charlie, the one who died in the war, he and I found this dog.” The planes of his tanned face softened at the mention of his older brother. “The dog was beat up looking, filthy dirty and wouldn’t let any of us get near him. We figured he’d been abused somewhere along the way. Charlie took it upon himself to save that dog. He spent every free minute he could making friends with it, earning its trust and giving it food and water.”

Her father rubbed his face with his rough hands as if he could wash away the bad memory that was sure to come. When he stared back at her, his eyes were moist.

“Finally it looked like he’d succeeded. The dog took to following him everywhere and, being he was mostly black, we called him Shadow. No one else could get near to Shadow but Charlie, and that was fine by me. I didn’t trust the dog. He was too quick to bare his teeth, to growl that sort of low mean growl that lets you know to stay away.” 

“One day, Shadow was lying asleep in the sun, a bowl of old food by his side. I guess, Charlie thought the food was too old and the flies had been buzzing around too long to let the dog eat anymore of it. Charlie reached for the food bowl. In that instant, Shadow woke up and grabbed Charlie’s arm with his teeth, snarling and carrying on. He wouldn’t let go. Charlie was screaming bloody murder. I grabbed the rifle my pa kept in the barn thinking someone had attacked Charlie and went running.”

“It wasn’t someone, but something. Blood was spurting out of Charlie’s arm and the dog was hanging on for dear life even as Charlie was calling out its name and telling it to stop.” 

Her father gave her a long look, his eyes cold and clear. Kate shivered, feeling the chill clear to her core. “I had to shoot that dog to free my brother. Charlie lost all feeling in his right hand. You know what that’s like? Trying to do farm work without feeling in your right hand? He learned well enough to use his left but he was never the same after that. He never trusted anyone or any creature again. It was a hard lesson, learned the hard way, and it scarred him for life. Short as his life was.”

Kate swallowed the lump that had stuck in her throat. “You think Clay’s like that dog?”

“I think Clay has been through more than any human being should have to endure, particularly a kid. But it’s scarred him deep inside, like it scarred that dog.” Her father leaned forward, blocking the light from the kerosene lamp on the table behind him so the glow encircled his body. Resting his elbows on his beefy knees, he clasped his hands between thick legs. 

“I’m smart enough to know the dog was reacting with instinct. If Charlie had never reached for that food bowl, maybe if the dog hadn’t been asleep before it happened, Charlie could have gone years more with Shadow being a faithful dog. But sometime it would have happened all the same. Sometime that dog would have felt threatened again and he would have gone after whoever was there in the same way he’d always defended himself in the wild.”

Kate clenched her teeth as tension coiled in her belly. “Clay’s not a dog. He’s a man now. A man who as a young boy wouldn’t hurt any creature before…”

“He killed his father.” Her father shook his head as he interrupted her. “I’m not saying the man didn’t deserve what he got. But Clay wasn’t in his rights to give it to him.”

“The law wouldn’t do anything.” Kate blinked back tears as the ache of what Clay had endured claimed her. “Sheriff said it was between a husband and wife and he had no say in it.”

“And if you marry him and he turns out like his father…..”

Like a dynamite stick with a lit fuse, Kate was near to exploding at her father’s injustice. “He’s nothing like his father. Nothing.” She spat out the words knowing the truth of what she said down to her marrow.

“I won’t be able to do anything to help you except kill him,” her father continued in a flat voice, without emotion, ignoring her interruption.

Kate wouldn’t say it, but she knew her father wouldn’t be able to kill Clay Turner unless he shot him in the back. Her father, she was sure, knew it too.

“Damn it, Kate. He’s a hired killer. Is that who you want for a husband?” Her father let go a long breath. 

Kate clasped her hands tight in front of her, her nails digging into her palms. Why couldn’t people see in Clay what she saw? “He could be a rancher. If you’d help him, he’d be a good one.” She wasn’t so sure Clay was inclined toward ranching, but he was working for Matt Tyler and doing a little ranch work.

“If I help him? Clay Turner would never let me help him, Kate, and you know why.” 

“Because you sent the law after him when he left town, after he killed his pa. You used what he told me to help them find him.” Her father’s betrayal of Clay, of her, had ridden her mind since the day her father had done it.

“Do you know why I sent the law after him? Because I knew that no one in Three Ridges would ever convict Clay Turner for killing his father. But if he ran, he’d be hunted down and likely killed by some bounty hunter.” Her father’s timber rose in volume, his hands waved in the air like some orchestra conductor tangling with a difficult piece of music. “And if he wasn’t killed but stood trial in another town, he’d likely have been convicted of murder. Even at his young age, they’d still have considered him a man and the fact that the bullet entered from the back wouldn’t have been taken as self-defense.”

“You know Jed Turner was standing over Clay’s mother and beating her to death.” Kate’s throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton. “Clay wasn’t strong enough to stop him with his hands. He warned his father, but it did no good.” Kate fought back the tears swamping her eyes as she remembered how shaken Clay was when he came to find her and tell her what he’d done before he lit out of town. 

“I believe that. Because I knew Jed Turner and I knew Anna. And she died not six months later, likely from the damage her husband had done to her organs. But people who didn’t know anything about the Turners wouldn’t be so understanding. I sent the law after him so he’d have to stand trial here and his name would be cleared. So he wouldn’t spend his life on the run. So he could have a fresh start. And he became a bounty hunter with that fresh start.” He gave a clipped nod to punctuate the fact.

Her father had never explained why he had sent the sheriff after Clay. She’d always assumed he’d put the law before the man. “Why didn’t you offer him a job then, so he didn’t have to turn to hunting men to make a living?”

Her father rubbed his chin as if deciding what to tell her. “I knew you were infatuated with him. You were just fifteen when his mother died. He was eighteen and full of anger by the time the trial ended. I couldn’t risk what would happen then. I’m not prepared to risk it now.”

It wasn’t infatuation. She’d loved Clay then and five years later, nothing had changed. If anything, her love was stronger now that she’d seen him again and knew he was still alive, still the Clay she had fallen in love with. He might be harder on the outside, but there was still that softer inside he’d protected all these years. There was still a man yearning for someone to love him. There was still the child hoping for a normal life.

“Does the fact that I love him mean nothing to you?”

“It’s just seeing him again, Kate. One thing about Clay, he’s always attracted women. Always will given that face of his. That’s not love, honey.” Her father’s tone softened as if to cushion the blow his words were delivering.

“I’m not a little girl any more. I know what love is and isn’t. I’ve loved him for five years, though you’ve refused to believe it.” Kate was determined to make him understand this point if nothing else. “And I’ll never marry anyone but him.”

“Then you’ll never marry.” Her father’s jaw tensed and there was fire in his eyes. In the space of a second, the softness in him was gone, the anger back.

“Are we done?” Kate had nothing more to say to him. She’d warned him. That was what she had come to do.

“You’re not to see him. No more meetings.” Her father commanded with a pointed finger as she got up to leave. He rose up from his chair, towering over her. She knew he was trying to intimidate her. It wouldn’t work. It never had.

“Are you planning to lock me in my room?” Kate said, squaring her shoulders.

“Kate, don’t let it come to that.”

Kate spun on her heel and headed for the door. “I won’t,” she said without a backwards glance. And she wouldn’t. 

She’d be Clay’s wife long before it came to that.

 

CHAPTER FOUR

 Squinting against the glare, Clay walked out of the sheriff’s office and into the welcomed sunlight of the warm summer morning. His job was finished in Three Ridges. Four of the five rustlers were sitting behind bars and the fifth one, if he was smart, was long gone by now. Clay’s early morning surprise had worked. He and the three cowhands he’d enlisted had captured the outlaws, with nothing getting hurt except maybe the rustlers’ pride.

The town, with its few shops, a saloon, hotel, and jailhouse, wasn’t busy this hour. Just a smattering of people moved along the creaky wooden sidewalks that flanked the rutted main road, dust hanging heavy in the air from hot days without rain.

Clay nodded back to a rangy man with a familiar face crossing near him and kept going, straight to his horse. People in Three Ridges might recognize him, but they didn’t know him and, he was sure, didn’t care to.

He didn’t like killing people. He still got sick afterwards, alone, when no one could see how it tore at his soul. But tracking was something he could do and do well. And the times, and there were more than a few of them, when he could bring them in alive to stand trial for the crimes they’d committed, brought a sliver of satisfaction at seeing justice done.

People couldn’t prosper if there was no law, no punishment for crimes. There would always be men who wanted more than their fair share, like Charlie had said. And they’d kill for it. Not to protect or defend, but to weaken and take.

The law had failed his mother, but it didn’t mean he didn’t have faith in the law. Women didn’t have many rights yet, but there was talk of giving them a vote in the territory and with their vote, he was sure they wouldn’t allow a woman to face what his mother faced without any recourse to protect herself and her child.

Mounting his horse, Clint rode slowly down the center of the street and headed the horse in the direction of the woods and the creek that lay out a ways from town. He was going out to face Kate and say good-bye. She deserved to hear it from him.

Feeling the heat of the day, he turned his horse onto the cooler trail that rimmed the woods. His stomach churned like it was making butter. He certainly wasn’t in any hurry to see her today. Leaving her now would be more difficult than the first time.

Then he’d been full of anger. Anger at the death of his mother, anger at having to stand trial—a trial that had drained his mother of any remaining life she might have had while eating at her pride at airing her husband’s treatment of her. If the trial wasn’t the cause of death, it had certainly hastened it. And given the town full view of the Turner family shame. Getting away then had been the only thing on his mind.

With the arrogance of youth, he’d planned on coming back and taking Kate away from her father—partly to punish Will Flanders for his hand in capturing him, partly as some sort of reward Clay felt he deserved for all he’d been through. But time had tempered the arrogance, had brought perspective, had made him realize he’d also be punishing Kate by his actions.

He spied her horse hidden in a bramble of leafy bushes before he saw her sitting pensively on the near bank of the stream that ran between her ranch and the neighboring spread. The trees here made a natural canopy, dappling the light that lit her face and keeping the day’s warmth from becoming overwhelming. The woods had always been their sanctuary--of a sort.

He pulled his horse up and watched her as she lazily drew something in the dirt with a broken twig, all his senses waking as if someone had blown revelry. The birds called intermittently, the sounds of brush disturbed rustled across his mind, but it was Kate who claimed his full attention.

She wore her hair down, letting her auburn tresses swirl around her shoulders and down the front of her, covering those soft, pliant breasts. She looked like a woodland fairy sitting there on the ground, a blanket spread out. She’d worn a riding skirt, he noted with surprise. When she’d been sneaking to see him, she’d always worn fine ladylike clothes and been riding sidesaddle. The idea she might be planning something blew across his mind but just as quickly left it as he took in the woman he’d be leaving behind.

He’d never want another woman like he wanted her. The goodness, the innocent trust, her unwavering belief in him as someone who was worthy of her love. He wasn’t. He knew that and it was the reason he would let her go.

But he’d never forget the luscious ripeness of her mouth, the softness of her skin, her response when he’d rubbed the nipple of her breast to an exquisite hardness. She was going to be a prize for some man who’d take her innocence and turn it into passion. That the man who would get to pleasure her and be pleasured by her wasn’t going to be him tore him up inside. Leaving her, she’d think he was ruining her dreams, but he’d be ruining his own in order to let her build better ones.

She looked up. His breath hitched. She rose, a broad smile of welcome on her beautiful face as she dropped the twig to the ground. “I thought you’d forgotten.” She let out a breathy sigh.

He closed his eyes, gathered his strength and then, in one easy motion, dismounted.

She ran to him and he couldn’t resist gathering her into his arms. Just for a few moments he would savor her. Pretend she was his for good and always. He buried his face in her silky hair, and breathed in the rose-scent that had become so familiar to him in such a short time. He’d never smell roses again without thinking of her—of her supple body pressed against his, of her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, of the breeze from her warm breath touching him through his shirt.

“Haven’t caught those rustler’s yet, have you?” she said tilting her face up, a teasing grin gracing those yielding lips.

“Matter of fact I have caught them.” Clay looked down into intense blue eyes, the color of jewels, now filled with false hope. “They’re in the sheriff’s jail now. All but one and I imagine he’s long gone if he’s got a brain.”

* * *

        Gazing into Clay’s somber face, Kate saw her worst fear. He was coming to tell her good bye. Her heart turned over.

"Kiss me," she barely breathed the words, but he heard. The hard planes of his tanned features softened, the silver blue eyes brightened, and the slanted smile of his she always found so sexy broadened. For a moment, the shroud of sadness that had veiled his face lifted.

A rough finger lifted her chin as firm lips brushed over hers. He tasted fresh and clean like the dew of morning must taste to a thirsty flower. She pressed into him, felt his heat, his hardness and shuddered, the ripple of emotion running through her like a pebble hitting water.

Without hesitation, he invaded her mouth with urgency. Their tongues met and mated. Warm hard hands stroked her back as her fingers threaded their way through his silky golden hair. Swirling his mouth over hers with a pulsing rhythm, everything was pushed from her mind but the moment.

Let this never end. Let me stay forever enclosed in his arms. She had a plan, but she was so frightened it wouldn’t work, frightened she would lose him again to a world that didn’t value him the way she did.

As if reading her mind, he broke the kiss. Pulling his heated body from her, he stared at her with pained, turbulent eyes and swallowed air as if he couldn’t breathe, his arms still wrapped around her. She couldn’t let him say the words. She needed time to make her plan work. He couldn’t leave her.

“I’ve brought some corn fritters and some cider,” she whispered as she stood on tiptoes and nibbled on his ear. He gave her a squeeze before he set her back from him.

“Kate, I…”

Quickly she placed a finger to his moist lips. “Shhh, now. We’re going to have some corn fritters. They’re still your favorite, aren’t they?”

The sadness had crept back over him, but he nodded and gave her a weak smile. “That hasn’t changed.”

In a moment she had him seated on the blanket, his long body claiming most of it. He had a corn fritter half eaten before she could even take a plate out for him. It wasn’t much of a picnic, but it was the best she could do having snuck out of the house.

Kneeling, she watched him finished off three before he stretched out and lay contentedly back on his elbows. “You make them or did Mary?”

“I did.” For once she was glad her father made her learn to cook. She’d need those skills if Clay married her. She said a silent prayer that she’d be successful. If not, she’d be counting on her back-up plan.

“They were good,” Clay said, a serious expression marring his handsome face.

Golden blonde hair curled over his collar, high cheekbones spoke of his French heritage, piercing gray blue eyes and a long, lean muscled body told of physical strength and masculine prowess. She drank him in, dreading what was coming and knowing she had only one chance to stop it. She wanted nothing more than for him to take her and make her his own. But she had to go slowly or she’d scare him off before she could put her plan into effect.

“Kate, I’m done in Three Bridges.” His tone was flat, but his words slammed the truth into her like a steam engine hitting a brick wall, tightening her chest.

“Charlie Pritchard said you’d been talking to him,” Kate said as evenly as she could.

She’d been clinging to that fact ever since this morning when she’d overheard Charlie talking to her father. It had given her hope until she saw him today. He hadn’t looked like a man intending to ask the woman he loved to marry him. He looked like a man intent on running.

“Damn this small town.” He squirmed as if an ant had crawled in his shirt. “I talked to Charlie,” he confirmed in a low voice, “but I’ve decided not to pursue it.”

“Why?” If he had talked that meant he’d been thinking in that direction. What had made him change his mind? How could he have changed his mind?

He scowled. “Because I’m not a cattle rancher, Kate.”

“You can be whatever you want to be.” She believed he could do anything. Despite his terrible home life, he’d been good in school. He was smarter than most, cleverer than many.

He rubbed his hand across his hardened face while those blue eyes pierced her heart.

“Maybe I don’t want to be a cattle rancher.”

She took a calming breath. “What do you want to be?”

Silence stretched between them.

“Whatever I want to be I don’t want to be it in Three Ridges,” Clay said, averting his eyes as if the answer to her question was somewhere out in the tangle of trees and brush.

“Why? Why not here? People know you here. This is where you came from, where you belong,” she said, desperation climbing her spine. She loved the town and its people. She loved knowing everyone and everyone knowing her. It was like having a big extended family and, as an only child without any relatives beside her father nearby, that mattered.

“It’s where you belong. But not me. And that’s some of the problem.”

“Why not you?” She bit her lip to keep back the tears stinging her eyes, afraid to hear his reason for abandoning her—again. He hesitated, looking at her like she’d grown two heads. “If you are going to break my heart Clay Turner, at least be honest with me. With yourself.”

“I’ll be honest. But you won’t like it,” he said, pausing a long minute, as if assuring himself it was okay to continue. “I don’t belong here because no one will ever look at me without thinking that I’m the boy that killed his father…”

“But everyone agreed it was in self-defense, that your father deserved it. They didn’t convict you of any crime.”

“Not in the way of the law, but in their hearts it doesn’t sit too well, Kate. I see it in the way they move to the other side of the street, in the way they nod, but don’t talk to me when they see me, in the way I’m watched in the saloon to see if I’ll get drunk like my old man.” The storm in his eyes was gathering force.

“They just don’t know you, not like I do. Stay and they’ll find out what you’re really like.” Her heart ached for what he wanted.

He shook his head. “They’ll never give me a chance. They’ll think of me, and no matter what I do, there will be a “but” attached to it. And if we were to have children…”

Kate’s heart broke out in a trot. She wanted his babies more than her own life. She’d dreamed about giving him a son and daughter who would love him as much as she did.

“If we were to have children, what kind of life would they have?” he asked.

“A good one. You’d be a good father, I know you would. I’ve seen how you are with those who are weaker than you, whether it’s an animal or …”

“My mother, is that what you were going to say?”

She nodded. He’d always been so caring of his mother, trying to protect her as best he could.

“And how do you think my children would feel when they went to school and heard stories about how their father had shot his own father in the back. What then, Kate? How do you think they’d feel about me then?”

His question wasn’t one she could answer, but the pain evident in his eyes when he asked it dug into her soul. He hung his head down, rubbing his face with both hands as if cleansing himself.

His face reared up and his eyes hit hers again. “And how would I feel, looking in the eyes of my own children and seeing…what? Disgust? Fear? Hate? How would I feel having to explain to them why I did it before they could rightly understand? No child should have to deal with that. I know. I lived it,” he said, thumping his chest with his own finger.

His angry voice, combined with his look of resignation, undid her. She bit harder on her trembling lip to stop the tears, but they threatened none-the-less.

“Kate don’t you see, it’s not meant to be.” He reached for her. She felt the touch of his large hand and willingly gathered into his firm lap, into his strong arms. He smelled like leather and pine and all things male and she wanted him so badly. If only he would take her and make her his, they could work out everything else. As his arms cradled her, she felt the tick of time as if a grandfather clock had parked at her back.

“Do you love me?” she asked, hearing the quiver in her own voice.

Clay stared at her a long minute, his face expressionless, before turning his eyes back on the trail. “No.”

The tears broke free. “Liar,” she forced the accusation out of her mouth and waited for him to look at her. He’d never make her believe it.

Slowly his gaze shifted back to her. She’d stare him down if she had to, but she wouldn’t accept what he’d said.

“Don’t, Kate.” It was more plea than command. “I can’t stay. Let me go.”

She took a deep breath to crush the sob that lay heavy on her chest and nuzzled his neck, letting the warmth of his body console her. “Okay Clay. I can’t make you stay,” she managed to get the words out without choking. “But before you go, come swimming with me. Like the old days.”

“Swimming?” his deep voice rumbled against her ear as his rough hand stroked her arm. “I go in that creek with you honey and I’ll be having you six ways to Sunday.”

Her heart raced. She willed it to calm. She had to put her plan into action. Her father should be realizing about now that she wasn’t at home.

“Well then stand guard for me. It’s hot and I’m sweating something fierce,” she said as nonchalantly as she could.

His astonished look was almost worth the whole scheme.

“What am I gonna be looking at while you undress? You’re not going in there naked or I’m high-tailing it out of here right now.”

“No. Not naked. I’ll keep my pantalets and chemise on.” She struggled to sit up, away from him. “You just keep your back turned is all.”

He gave her a sardonic grin. “And what about my thoughts. How do I turn them off?”

She rose, looked down at him, giving a coy smile. “You’ll manage. Or you’ll join me.” Her shrug was calculated to convey it didn’t matter to her one way or the other.

He swore but settled himself against a fallen limb and pulled his hat down as if it would protect him from the sight of her.

The water in the creek felt icy at first but soon turned to a pleasant coolness on her skin. She felt the slick rocks under her bare feet and stepped gingerly so as to avoid any unpleasant surprises. Finally accustomed to the water, she dipped and splashed and called to him, but Clay didn’t turn her way. He sat looking out at the trail, guarding like she’d asked him.

If Kate calculated right, she didn’t have much more time before her father arrived. She scoped out the perfect branch and swam to it. It took a few tries but then the branch caught her wet chemise and was holding her like a puppet on a string.

“Help,” she yelled. “I’m stuck. Help me Clay.”

He didn’t move from his spot or turn his head in her direction.

“Really. I’m stuck and I can’t pull loose. If I do, I’ll tear my chemise, Clay. Tear it. Do you hear me?” She hoped the pleading in her voice would do the trick.

Clay rose to the full splendor of his height and, for the first time, turned to look at the water. His eyes, covered by the brim of his hat, cast out over the shimmering pool and lighted on her. She heard his low masculine laugh.

Kate gave him a pouty expression and tried to look insulted. “I’m all tied up like a turkey ready for roasting and all you can do is laugh.”

“I’m coming.” He began shucking his gun and holster, his boots and socks—and then his shirt.

Kate knew Clay Turner was built like a god, but she still wasn’t prepared for the sight of his bare muscled chest, his flat abdomen and the bulges of sinewy muscle that formed his long arms. His skin was washed in a golden hue to match his face, stretched taut over rock-like muscles. Planes and curves were etched in his broad chest, which was bare except for a thin line of bronze hair that trailed down his abdomen, disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants to regions she yearned to explore.

Kate took him in, committing to memory the glorious sight of him, wondering if anything else was coming off. The water felt much warmer now.

He gave her a self-satisfied smile.

“Like what you see?” he drawled as he entered the water, not bothering to take off his pants.

He created a wake as he moved toward her with graceful strokes of his powerful arms. The idea there might be nothing but hard flesh under those wet pants coming toward her sizzled across her brain like hot fat frying, heating her insides clear to her toes. She was counting on Clay having the same warm feeling.

CHAPTER FIVE

 

Clay had nothing on under his denims so they were staying or she’d be getting a sight more than her innocence could handle. He was harder than the rocks under his feet. Maybe this dunking in the cool water was just what he needed to take his mind off of what was waiting for him. He must have been out of his mind to agree to stand guard and let her swim in the creek. It was bad enough knowing that her young, ripe body was wet, that the fabric was clinging in places he yearned to touch, but she’d have to come out and he couldn’t count on not taking a peek. And if he did…she’d be getting her wish for sure.

He reached her in a few strokes, dipping down under the water, his denim pants heavy against his legs, before popping up in front of her. She gave a hoot at his antics and he felt just like that boy who played with her in the creek so many years ago. He’d never been carefree as a youngster, not with what had been going on at his house but when he’d been with Kate, playing in the creek or running in the woods, it had been the closest he had come to that state of mind, then or since.

He tried not to notice the damp tresses that clung to her face, tried not to see the little beads of water that settled on her long eyelashes or the drops that kissed her lips like he wanted to. He tried to stop himself but he couldn’t, just like the cool water hadn’t stopped the pulsing between his legs. He gently grabbed her shoulders, the branch holding her for his taking.

Kate had her lips tilted up towards him, her rounded breasts pushing out under her chemise with nipples begging for his touch like some kind of offering. His shaft throbbed, pleading with his mind to take what she was giving.

This was the last time he’d see her, touch her, feel her. He silently cursed his helplessness.

His mouth engulfed hers in one swift motion tasting the sweetness of her honeyed lips, caressing the velvet of her wet tongue. Need gripped him in a vice. He pressed her to him hard as he ran his hands down her dampened back. Her arms wrapped around him like a cobra hugging its prey only he was too damn happy to care.

He kissed her, deep and hot, as his hands moved over her smooth moist skin, circling around her. Still kissing her, his hands found the pointed branch and he eased the fabric from it as he pushed his mouth over hers again and again, tasting the cool water and her sweet lips.

His hand found her lush breasts and he rubbed her hardened nipple until she moaned in his mouth. God she was passionate, with a figure built to make a man happy. Her wet body melded into his as she rubbed her softness against his hard flesh. Tremors of pleasure coursed through him while her cool hands hungrily rubbed his back in an answering rhythm.

His hands moved down her body, one of them seeking the forbidden entrance between her thighs. He touched where he was sure no man had ever ventured. She sighed into his mouth. She didn’t break away. He wanted more, needed more and she was going to let him have more.

“Make me yours Clay,” she whispered in his mouth.

Something snapped in his mind. The trap. Like a man touching fire he released her so swiftly she almost lost her footing.

“No.” Not trusting himself to keep the promise of that word, Clay turned and waded for shore, not sure what he’d do when she followed.

She was still wet as she stood on the bank. At least with the faded blanket wrapped around her, he’d been able to pull himself under control. It would be a while before the ache between his legs left, a while before either of them would be dry enough to go their separate ways.

She settled down across from him sitting cross-legged, the blanket wrapped around her, covering those breasts but still revealing the shape of her beautiful legs under those wet pantalets. Warm blue eyes stared back at him, watching him as if she expected some sign.

“Do you want to be a bounty hunter?” she said, breaking the awkward silence that had settled between them. There was a judgment in her voice.

"What I want doesn’t matter." He kept his tone flat, intending to be honest with her. Now was not the time to let her see the turmoil his emotions were in. “But someday soon I’d like to see about raising horses maybe out in Montana or Wyoming Territory where they’re running wild.”

She took a hard swallow.

“Too far for you Kate.” He reached for her hand. His anger at her trickery was fading some. This was, after all, the last time he’d be seeing her. Ever. He didn’t want his last memory to be angry words. “I’m trying to do an honorable thing for once in my sorry life.”

“You don’t think you’re honorable?” Her face was crinkled in a sorrowful frown.

“No, it’s you who doesn’t think I’m honorable.” If she looked like he’d just slapped her, well truth hurt sometimes. And he needed her to recognize the truth. “If you did, you’d have invited me to the house to court you proper instead of sneaking out to meet me in the woods like I’m some kind of criminal, like you’re ashamed of me.”

“To the house? Would you have come?”

“Of course I would have come.” He gave a hard snort. “I’m not afraid of Will Flanders. I’m not afraid of anyone, Kate.”

“I’m sorry if…well I’m not ashamed of you Clay.” Her eyes held sincerity as she pulled the blanket tighter as if needing comfort.

“But you’re not proud of me either.” He ran his hand through his hair trying to bide time to find some way to say what he had to say.

“I am,” she pleaded in a voice asking him to believe her. “I love you.”

“Love me? Or pity me?” A lump formed in his throat at the importance of her answer.

“Love you.”

“But not enough to walk down the street at my side. Not enough to leave with me even if I have to be a bounty hunter a while longer. Not enough to leave your father.”

The words hung in the air. Clay waited but he knew the answers to those questions. And so did she.

“Just as I thought.” Clay pushed down the anger rising through him, through his heart. He had no right to be angry with her for doing what he knew she had to do. The pain in his chest would ease in a couple of days—maybe weeks. But it would fade.

“No not just as you thought,” she said, her tone clipped. “Maybe you’ve got to love yourself, Clay, before you can believe that someone loves you. And maybe you’ve got to forgive yourself before you can expect the people of this town to forgive you.”

What the hell was she talking about? Forgive himself? Love himself? Before he could reply, his horse let out a whinny.

Clint jerked his gaze around to the trail. Someone was coming and coming in fast. With a lightening reaction that had allowed him to survive in the past, he reached for his gun and holster and had it strapped to his waist before the bay gelding with the familiar rider had pulled to a stop.

                                                           * * *

Her father sat on top of his horse with a rifle cocked and a stare as hard as stone.

“You liver-bellied, one-eyed mule of a sinner….”

“Daddy!” Kate yelled to stop her father. She knew she had played with fire setting this confrontation in motion. She had to be sure no one got hurt. She gripped the blanket tightly around her.

Her father’s cold-eyed gaze shifted a fraction to take her in, but his eyes were still on Clay who stood rigid and alert, ready for action.

“Tell me one good reason why I shouldn’t shoot the bastard here and now and be done with it,” her father spat out.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kate saw Clay’s hand hovering over his gun. Fear clutched at her. She’d known going in that violence was a possibility. Her ace card was that both these men cared about her and she aimed to play it. Without hesitation, Kate slid in front of Clay and faced down the angry beast that was her father.

“I love him.”

“And nothing happened.” Clay’s voice was low and ominous. It held a warning that she knew her father, given his state of mind, would not heed.

“Like hell nothing happened. You’re both undressed. Alone. And looking like the kids who just stole a cherry pie.”

“Tell him Kate,” Clay ordered.

“I’ll tell him that I’m going to marry you,” she said, still staring straight ahead at her father.

“Marry?” The word came out of Clay and her father’s mouths almost simultaneously, like two hawks screeching for the same mouse.

Will Flanders lowered his rifle and stared at his daughter like she was some kind of lunatic. Kate didn’t dare to turn around and face Clay.

“I’m a ruined woman no matter what the truth is.” She held her voice calm and impassive. She was playing for high stakes and though she’d never played poker, she’d watched her father bluff more than one poor cowhand out of his wages.

“Now wait a minute…” Both men were sounding like echoes of one another. If her future wasn’t depending on it, she’d be inclined to have a good laugh.

“And I want a real wedding. With the whole town invited. I’m not going to have it looking like I’m ashamed to marry Clay Turner,” she continued waving her hand for emphasis.

“Kate I ain’t proposing.” Clay’s voice, edged in anger, clawed at her back.

She whirled around. The anger in his voice wasn’t just edging his face, it was suffusing all through it, coming out in every frown line.

“Well I am,” she said.

“We’ve just been through all this. My mind ain’t changed.”

“You’re refusing my girl?” Her father slid down from the horse and puffed himself up like a bull frog, weapon in hand.

Exasperation played across Clay’s face like a storm gathering. “Yes. She can’t marry a man she’s not proud of, doesn’t respect. And one that’s leaving this territory for good.”

“My feelings exactly,” her father said, satisfaction riding his face. “Go then if you’re leaving.” He waved the rifle toward the trail.

This wasn’t going as she planned. Her father was supposed to make Clay marry her.

“He can’t go. I may be carrying his child. Your grandchild.”

“She’s lying” Clay yelled out as her father’s rifle was once again aimed at Clay’s gut.

“You said nothing happened?” her father challenged.

“Nothing did,” Clay flung the words out.

“Well unless there’s something you know that I don’t, babies don’t get made unless something damn well happens.”

“She’s lying to get you to force me to marry her.” Clay whipped his gaze to Kate, his body rigid. “Is that what you want? A man you tricked into marrying you. A man you’re so ashamed of you can’t let him court you outright and ask you of his own accord. A man who isn’t sticking around to make it legal.”

Kate closed her eyes trying to block out the feelings those words called forth.

Her father’s voice caused her to open them again. “So help me if you got her with child and you skip out Clay Turner you’ll prove you’re no better than your old man.”

Kate cringed and her scream closely followed as Clay drew in a lightening response to her father’s taunt.

“I ought to shoot you for what you’re thinking old man. She’s not with my child. Maybe she’s got me confused with Jake Parrish,” he bit out. Both men were now aiming their weapons at each other but it was Clay’s words that had creased her heart. She knew the only thing that had prevented them from firing at one another was that she was standing between them.

“Stop both of you.” She flung out her arms to signal them to stop, her blanket dropping to the ground. She hadn’t expected Clay to fight against making her his wife. She thought only her father stood in their way. But she’d learned today a lot more was blocking their path to a life together than she’d imagined.

Maybe he’d been right. Maybe she had been ashamed of him. It hadn’t even crossed her mind to invite him home. To make her father accept him. And she’d never thought of having to leave Three Ridges to have Clay. She’d thought Three Ridges would be like a safe haven for him, someplace he could settle.

Her father scowled. “He’s calling you…well I can’t even say the word, Kate. No man who loved a woman would say that about her.”

Unfortunately she had to agree with her father.

Tears pooled in her eyes. She’d made a mess of everything. She’d tried to trick Clay into marrying her and her father to agreeing to it and all she’d gotten for her trouble was a broken heart and the knowledge she’d failed Clay and herself.

“Put down your guns. I’m going home. Nothing happened but a swim.” She could barely see through her tears but she didn’t dare move until they both lowered their weapons.

“Not like that you aren’t. You ain’t decent. Put your clothes on,” her father snapped. “And you,” he motioned to Clay with the rifle, “turn around and get out of here before my temper snaps.”

“I ain’t running on your say so Will Flanders.” Clay stood there, legs splayed apart, gun at the ready, back straight.

Kate took one step towards her horse and the air rang with the release of a bullet.

Instantly, Clay’s strong arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her hard to his side. Together they dropped to the ground. He rolled her under him in one fluid motion, pinning her. Her father was down too and both men were aiming their guns up at the trail, waiting.

“Who the hell is that?” Her father let out a breath.

“Don’t know,” Clay said but the tone of his voice said he might.

“What are you doing on top of my girl?” her father ground out but his eyes never left the trail.

Protecting her—which should be obvious Flanders,” Clay retorted.

“What’s obvious is…..”

“Stop it. Someone is shooting at us,” Kate hissed out the words, hoping some sense would make its way into the men’s thick skulls.

Another shot came in, not finding a target.

“He’s holed up by that pine tree I’ll wager.” Clay’s warm hard body was protecting her. It felt good. Here she was being shot at and all she could think about was how good it felt to be under him.

“You all right, Kate?” Clay asked in her ear and she felt the brush of his warm lips on her temple. Her heart pinched at the simple gesture.

“Yes.”

“Not too heavy for you?” His eyes stayed fixed on the pine tree.

“No.” Kate said, her nose touching the ground, breathing in the dusty scent of the earth.

Another shot blistered through the air.

“You yellow, Turner? Now that you don’t have your posse with you?” a deep masculine voice called.

“Friend of yours?” her father spat out.

“More likely the rustler that got away--the stupid fool.” Clay shifted his sturdy weight and settled over her as he called his answer to the gunman. “You’ve been smarter than the rest—up till now.”

“I’m still smart. I need a horse and I’m thinking I’ve got three right here to choose from.”

“Give me your rifle, Flanders,” Clay muttered and held out his hand.

"What?"

“Your rifle. I can’t hit that far with my gun.”

“You think I’m crazy? You’ll try to take Kate with you.”

Clay scoffed. “Your rifle ain’t preventing me from doing that. If I wanted to I would. But I don’t. Which I’ve made perfectly clear.”

Kate felt the sting of his remark as if a hundred bees had left their calling card.

Her father handed over the rifle and pulled out the gun on his hip to replace it.

“You’re going to kill him,” her father said as if reciting a fact.

In that single sentence, Kate felt the agony of Clay’s life. This is what he lived with everyday of his existence. The sensitive, kind young man she’d known had been forced to kill over and over again to survive.

Clay called out to the rustler. “You can give yourself up now Whitey. It will go easier on you.”

“Fat chance. I’m just a few steps from taking your horse and high-tailing it out of here.”

“I’ll track you down.”

“Guess I didn’t mention I’d be killing you and everybody with you first.”

Clay sighted the rifle, holding it off the ground the butt resting on his shoulder.

“You got him in sight?” her father asked.

“I’ve got him. I’ll give him one last chance though.” Clay raised his head and called out. “Drop your gun.”

“Like hell I will.”

Clay’s rifle bullet cracked through the air.

“Son of a …..” The rustler exploded a string of curse words.

“There’s more where that came from. Give yourself up and they’ll go easier on you.”

“I’m bleeding. Shit. You nearly blew my hand off. I’m bleeding.” The man’s frantic cries filled the woodland.

“Throw your gun out and come with your hands up.” Clay’s voice was deadly calm but Kate could feel his heart beating a tattoo.

There was no response and no movement. Clay released the trigger again and the shot zinged through the air.

A string of curse words came from the pine. Suddenly a man was walking out, bloodied hands stretched, palms up. “Shit you nearly blew off my toes you one-eyed snake. Don’t shoot me. I’m coming out,” he yelled.

Clay reached for his Colt and handed the rifle to Kate. “Cover me.” Then he rose off of her, got to his feet and with his Colt cocked walked toward the rustler.

Clay and her father had the rustler secured in no time, tying his hands and feet and securing the rope to the saddle horn of Clay’s horse.

The man looked like he’d led a hard life, two scars on his chin, a weathered face and eyes with no light in them. He might be mean but he didn’t look all that smart either.

As if Clay heard her thoughts, he addressed the man called Whitey while her father aimed a pistol at the man’s gut. “Who’s running this operation?”

“I am,” Whitey said defiantly. “I’m the brains.”

Clay and her father exchanged glances.

“Not likely. I’ll ask you again and this time if I don’t have a name, there’ll be consequences.”

Whitey jutted up his chin, looking like a stubborn old mule—and probably just as intelligent. He stared Clay down. “I’m the boss.”

Clay cracked the back of his hand across the man’s face. Whitey yelped like a stepped on dog.

“I don’t have time for baseless bragging. Tell me who your boss is.”

Blood formed on the man’s cracked lip as he focused cold eyes on Clay. “I ain’t going to tell.”

Clay raised his hand again and Kate’s heart shuddered. She’d never seen this side of Clay and yet, she wasn’t appalled by it. Her father was standing by watching with narrow eyes as he aimed his gun at the man, but for the first time in Kate’s memory her father was letting someone else handle the situation.

“I can kill you and collect the reward just as well so tell me who put you up to this and I’ll say a word to the sheriff about your cooperation.”

The man stared wild-eyed at Clay as if trying to gauge whether Clay had reached his limit.

“Jake Parrish.” The name tumbled off the man’s lips like rocks in a landslide.

“What name did you say?” her father asked, his eyes wide in disbelief.

“You heard me. He’s had us stealing from all the ranchers but he wants Tyler’s land the most, or so we’ve gathered.” By the smirk on the man’s face, he seemed to be getting a measure of satisfaction from dealing out this news.

Kate felt the hairs on her neck stand at attention. The rustler had just confirmed what her intuition had always told her about Jake Parrish.

Though he may have been momentarily stunned at the revelation, her father recovered. “That yellow-bellied, horse’s ass is a dead man.”

“There are courts for the like of these kind. We’ve got Parrish dead to rights. That’s what matters,” Clay said. “Let’s get this one into town so he can tell the sheriff.” Clay mounted his horse, then turned and faced her father. “Is the sheriff an honest one?”

Will Flanders gave a nod. “I’ve known Evan McCaffrey all my life. I’d stake my name on it.” He paused a moment, considering. Her father looked Clay dead in the eye. “But then, I’m known to have been wrong about character in the past.” Without another word her father strode to his horse, mounted it and signaled for Kate to do the same.

Kate’s heart beat wildly as she walked towards Clay. They’d resolved nothing as far as she was concerned. She intended to invite him to come to the house, proper like. He’d been right about how she had treated him. Today she learned a lot about Clay she hadn’t known before, a lot about the man he was and she loved him even more. They both needed some time to gather their thoughts.

“Clay we need to talk,” she said as she reached him.

He looked down from his mount, a sad smile forming on his lips. “Go home Kate. It’s over.” He turned his horse and began the walk back, Whitey stumbling along behind.

 

CHAPTER SIX

 SI

“I’m not going,” Kate declared, the burning pain of rejection still as fresh as it was when Clay had told her to go home. “I’ve got my pride.”

Her father sat on the bench of the buggy parked outside the ranch house, one booted foot against the riser, waiting.  His expression serious, Kate mentally braced for a lecture.

“Pride’s got its place, Kate.  It keeps us from doing foolish things and it motivates us to keep trying when things get tough.  But it rides the reins with a heavy hand, sometimes stopping us from acting when our future calls."

Kate narrowed her eyes to scrutinize her father.  Was this the same man who’d forbidden her to see Clay ever again?  “You threatened to lock me in my room if I went to see him and now you’re prepared to escort me into his arms?”

A sheepish grin claimed her father’s face.  “And you told me you wanted to marry the boy and now you’re turning tail.”

She wasn’t turning tail.  But she’d all but groveled to the man and he still said no.  Clay’s reasons were all twisted up in her brain but somehow he’d made it seem like her fault.

All day she had waited by the window in the parlor dressed in her best green silk dress in the hope he would come down the ranch road and declare his love for her and ask for her hand. She’d all but decided she’d go away with him, if that’s what he wanted.  Hour after hour ticked by.  Pansy came and sat with her.  Her father poked his head in now and again.  She sat there like a dried desert flower waiting for a rain that never came.

“He made it clear he didn’t want me.”

Her father gave a lopsided smile.  “He wants you, honey.  There’s no mistake there.  When a man is willing to give up the woman he wants, sacrifice his needs for her sake, that’s love honey.”

“Not the other?” she shot back.

“No.  Not the other.”  His eyes took on a serious cast.  “All I want is my girl to be happy.  I now believe Clay can make you happy.”  He leaned over the passenger side of the cracked leather buggy seat and peered at her.  “And you do too.  Get in and we’ll sort things as we drive.  If we don’t, can’t guarantee what state we’ll find him in.  Man gives up everything important in his life, no telling what he’ll turn to.”

Kate’s heart pinched.  Would Clay turn to drink?  Without another word, she put her boot on the step and reached for her father’s outstretched hand.

The slapping of the horse’s hooves against hard ground measured the time, while dust billowed around them as they moved along the road.  Neither talked. Kate was glad for the respite and considered her father probably knew she needed time to gather her thoughts.

It was a while coming but when he did speak, it was with sober authority.

“He’ll want you to leave, is that it?”

Kate nodded since words caught in her throat.  She’d had her differences with her father.  But he loved her and she loved him.  There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her if he thought it right—including, it appeared, letting her go.

She was trying to come to terms with going away, with putting distance between her and everything and everyone she knew.  Could she leave her father, Mary, her friend Lizzie?

And would Clay offer for her after telling her it was over. She didn’t dare to speculate.

“He doesn’t feel right here, Pa,” she said by way of explanation.

Her father nodded seeming hardly surprised.  “He needs a fresh start.  Like the one he should have had back then.”  He clicked the reins of the horse before he spoke again.  “How far does he want to go?”

She thought she detected a hitch in her father’s voice.  “Wyoming or Montana.  Says there’s wild horses there.  He wants to start a horse ranch.”

Her father nodded again.  “Seems a right good idea.  I can visit if you’ll have me for a spell.”

Tears ambushed her eyes.  “A long spell?”

“After you’ve had time to settle.  Get to know one another. If he’d have me.”

She worried a smile onto her face.  “If he’s as big on sacrificing as you say, I guess he will.”

Her father’s low laugh felt like a reward.

Kate tried to imagine her life with Clay.  She could see him tending the horses with the same care he’d given that bird so long ago.  In her vision, she’d be helping right along with him.

If only he was still in Three Ridges.  If only he was of a sober and reasonable mind.  If only he didn’t mean what he said about Jake Parrish, about it being over.

“I was wrong about him,” her father said, breaking into her thoughts. “I was still thinking of him as that scared boy who’d run away.  He’s grown into a finer man than I thought possible.  Guess his ma had more influence over him than his old man.”

“Thank you for saying so, Pa.” She was sure it cost her father to admit he was wrong.

“You can be proud of the way he handled things.” He was staring at the road as the buggy clipped along, but she doubted he was studying the ruts.

Kate was proud.  She was also leery of the reception Clay would give her.  She couldn’t handle his rejection—again. What would she say to him to change his mind that she hadn’t said already?

As if he was a gypsy who could read her thoughts, her father opined, “You’ll know the right words when you see him.”

                                                                             * * *

He loved her.  That truth ricocheted inside of him like a bullet fired in a cave, leaving its mark on every organ in his body, especially his heart.

Clay palmed the shot glass full of whiskey but didn’t lift it to his lips.  The Red Bull Saloon was an unlikely place for contemplation, but here he was doing just that. It had been too late to leave town by the time Clay had gotten Whitey settled in jail and told the Sheriff about Parrish.

Just like Flanders had predicted, McCaffery had wasted no time in going after Jake Parrish.  He’d invited Clay along, but Clay had declined. The sheriff had two deputies more than capable of handling the job.  And Clay had no desire to meet the man who’d been courting Kate.

Matt Tyler had come by and paid Clay his wages and bonus for catching the fifth man.  Then wished him well.  There hadn’t even been a hint of an offer to stay on and punch cattle.  Not that he would have taken it, but Tyler could have at least asked.

Tying up lose ends, Clay had found Pritchard at the General Store and told the man he’d changed his mind about buying the ranch.  After he bought his supplies, he’d needed a drink.  Something to dull the ache. Something to stop him thinking about what might be if things were different.  Something to get him to stop wondering if he should go out to the Flanders’ ranch right now and ask her leave Three Ridges with him tomorrow, force her to choose.

She’d spent her time trying to convince him to stay here.  Not once had it seemed to enter her pretty little head that she could go with him.  She’d built up this dream of him being a rancher and not once had she considered the possibility of marrying him even if he was a bounty hunter. If she couldn’t be proud of him, how the hell could she say she loved him? And he sure didn’t want her pity.

Clay downed the whiskey in one gulp, the crisp edge of liquid cutting down his throat.  He slapped a coin on the bar as tender.

Ted slid over.  “It’s paid for.”

“By who?”  Clay asked t