Desperate Hearts Page 15

  But there had to be a catch—why else had he bought all these things? She thought of the graze of his mouth on hers, the kiss that wasn’t quite a kiss. But she wished that it had been . . .

  Irritably, she batted the clouds of tissue paper. She’d just have to pack up all this stuff and give it back. He could return it to wherever he’d bought it and go to dinner without her. She reached for a sheet of tissue to wrap up the stockings, and the sparkle of gold caught her eye. Nearly lost within the depths of the wrapping was some piece of jewelry. A necklace? A bracelet? She pulled it out and discovered a heart-shaped locket engraved with intricate flowers and scrolls and suspended on a delicate chain.

  “Oh,” she breathed, feeling a sob fight its way up her throat.

  I didn’t buy this to make you feel bad.

  For some reason, this one thing—a heart on a chain—made her believe him. Why it made a difference, she didn’t know. Perhaps a man who bought a woman jeans and a shirt one day, and then could think enough of her feelings to get her a locket the next—well, she supposed she ought to accept this. Touching the dress again, she knew it was too hard to refuse.

  But it wasn’t a gift. It was a loan, and she intended to tell him that. She’d pay him back. She swore she would, just as soon as she could get to her strongbox at the ranch.

  All that stood between her and that money was Tom Hardesty.

  * * *

  Dusk was purpling the sky over Baker City when Jace pulled the window shades in his room and kicked off his boots and clothes. Striking a match, he held it to the wick of the lamp on the dresser. Harsh kerosene light threw tall shadows on the walls.

  From the bottle he carried in his saddlebag, he poured a healthy measure of whiskey into the glass on the washstand and drank half of it down in one gulp. Then he looked at the man staring back at him in his shaving mirror and called him a fool.

  “What the hell are you playing at?” he muttered aloud to the reflection. “What are you telling Kyla with your fancy presents?” He got no response. Because he had no answer to give.

  Over the course of his years, he had faced bullies who wanted only to beat him to a pulp. He had been drawn on by men who would have shot him in the heart or the head or the balls without a moment’s hesitation. But buying that female rigging was, without a doubt, the most fearsome thing he had ever done in his life. He hadn’t known what to get. He’d simply told the shopkeeper’s wife that he needed a dress and everything that went with it, from the skin out. The locket, though, he had chosen himself. It seemed to suit Kyla.

  But his purpose?

  He told himself that he just wanted her to have something decent to wear to dinner. But that was too simple.

  He told himself that maybe he’d felt sorry for her when he saw the yearning in her face through the window at the dry-goods store. That buying those clothes was like giving a kid the candy she’d been hankering for. But it was more than that. And a hell of a lot different.

  In Misfortune he had been tense with worry and fear for her life while he bathed her fevered body in cool water. Now, when he remembered it, he thought her hot, silky skin.

  With the memory of her smoothness, his imagination worked overtime to show him a picture of Kyla as a woman, fully curved, warm to his touch. In his daydream her soft, white shoulders bore no burdens and carried no chip. This image came to him at night, while he tried vainly to get comfortable sleeping on rock-hard ground. It drifted through his mind during the monotonous miles of the journey they had undertaken.

  It aroused him, hot and hard, and made him yearn to hold Kyla in his arms. To honor and protect with his own the body that Hardesty had ravaged . . .

  Goddamn, there he went again, thinking more of that mushy hogwash, he groused to himself. Maybe the old man hadn’t beaten all of it out of him, after all. He plucked his shaving brush from the washstand and jammed it into the shaving mug, whipping up a fierce lather. Bolting the other half of his whiskey, he plied the brush with impatience and watched the scruff of his beard turn white with foam.

  He just needed to visit the upstairs rooms at some saloon—that’s what he’d always done when he wanted a woman. It was easy and uncomplicated, with no entanglements of feelings or questions about the future.

  Yup, that’s what he needed to do.

  He picked up his razor to scrape off the lather, then halted in midstroke. The kerosene light cut harsh shadows across his face, making him look as old as he often felt. He stared at the man in the glass, and at the scar on his shoulder.

  Maybe what he needed and what he wanted weren’t the same anymore.

  * * *

  An hour later, Jace paced in the hall in front of Kyla’s door. What would she look like? Hell, would she even answer when he knocked? The anticipation had tied his stomach in knots. He had never courted a woman in his life, and he wasn’t courting one now. But he felt as if he should have brought flowers or some damn thing, so he wouldn’t have to stand there, empty-handed.

  Groping around in his shirt pocket, he brought out a cheroot and lit it. Finally he lifted his hand and knocked. Then remembering what had happened earlier, he called, “Kyle, are you ready?” It would be just his luck that she’d shoot him through the door.

  There was an agonizing moment of silence.

  “Yes,” she finally answered with that smoky voice.

  He heard the key rattle in the lock and the doorknob turn. When the door opened, Kyla appeared in the opening and Jace froze, the cheroot in his hand paused on its path to his mouth.

  After weeks of seeing her in grubby boy’s clothes, of watching her spit, wipe her nose on her sleeve and her hands on her pants, he could only gape at the completely feminine woman who stood before him now.

  She’d managed to tie back her red hair with a ribbon, concealing its blunt ends, and revealing her long, slim neck. The locket hung on its chain and rested at a spot just above her heart.

  The rich swell of breast and hip that had been hidden by a shirt and baggy dungarees now showed themselves in a way that his daydreams had fallen far short of. And in between those curves was a long, slim waist that begged to be encircled by a man’s hands.

  His original impression of a woman dressed as a farm boy was utterly destroyed. Blood pumped into every part of him. He fought hard to resist the overwhelming urge to take her into his arms, to inhale the scent of her hair, to taste her mouth again with a kiss.

  Her turquoise eyes sparkled and color filled her cheeks. She offered him a shy smile that shot another hole in his attempted indifference. He swallowed.

  “Damn,” Jace mumbled appreciatively, “you clean up pretty good.”

  “Thank you,” Kyla replied. Her blush deepened. “You look nice, too.”

  He looked down the front of his own shirt. “Hell, this isn’t nice. Not like you.” He felt suddenly too rough and saddle-worn to escort her.

  “About these clothes—“ She plucked at the skirt and held it wide between her hands.

  “What about them?”

  “Well, they’re lovely, and I appreciate you buying them. But I’ll pay you for them as soon as we get to the ranch.”

  Jace felt a twinge of disappointment. “I don’t want you to pay me back.”

  She pulled back a bit. “Dressing me up isn’t part of our agreement. After all, we have a business deal. So you should tack on the cost to the money I already owe you.”

  Yes, a business deal. And for the first time, he was sorry that it was not more than that. He nodded and sighed. “Okay, you pay me. Later. Right now, though, the McGuires are waiting for us.”

  She stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind her. Jace waved her ahead of him.

  He saw her hips sway lightly under the soft fabric and heard the swish of her skirts. It was going to be a long evening.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Travis McGuire stood at the head of his table, cutting pieces of the apple pie in front of him. “We came to Baker City last spring. Misfortune
was like a ghost town, and then after Doc Sherwood died there was no one left to deliver the baby.” He grinned and winked at his very pregnant wife opposite him. “Chloe wasn’t very enthusiastic about the idea of me doing it.”

  “Better you than Mildred DeGroot,” Jace replied, stirring sugar into his coffee. “She’d be in your kitchen putting the water on to boil whether you wanted her help or not.”

  Chloe laughed and accepted a big wedge of pie from Travis. “I can’t say that I miss any of the people we left back there.” Her smile dimmed a little. “The ones I loved are gone now anyway.” Looking at the portion he’d given her, she handed it back. “Oh, Travis, for heaven’s sake—about half that much please, or I won’t be able to wear any of my old clothes after the baby is born.”

  “I keep telling her that she’s eating for two now, but she won’t go along with it,” he said, cutting a narrow sliver off the piece.

  Chloe pantomimed a cutting motion with her hand, and he took off a little more. “I miss being able to wear nice clothes, and that’s something I’m looking forward to in a couple of months. Your dress is so pretty, Kyla.”

  Kyla caught Jace’s ice blue gaze drifting over her, intimate and forthright, and she felt a flush creep up her neck. In fact, she’d sensed him watching her all evening. She dragged her eyes back to Chloe. “Oh, well, thank you. I—it’s new.”

  Even shaved and combed and sitting here in this quiet dining room, Jace retained an aura of danger and strength that Kyla knew could inspire fear. But she wasn’t afraid, exactly. In fact, with him she lost her worry about dressing up—Jace made her feel safe to be a woman. No, some other sensation rippled through her body—one that drew her and pushed her away at the same time.

  Obviously catching the look that had passed between them, Chloe smiled like a cat with bowl of cream and quirked a brow as she passed pie to each of them.

  Conversation flowed as dessert and coffee were consumed, and Kyla felt it was the nicest evening she had spent in recent years. No one asked awkward questions about the reason she had hired a bounty hunter, and spirits here seemed especially bright, even to Kyla, an outsider. She had expected to feel a bit awkward and out of place, but the McGuires’s happiness filled this pleasant house and overflowed to their guests. Even Jace smiled and laughed more than she would have guessed he was capable of.

  They were a very handsome couple—Travis with his dark hair and gray eyes, and Chloe with red-gold curls—and it was plain to her that they were very much in love. Beneath the laughter and casual banter a strong current ran between them, one of passion and respect.

  Kyla felt a twinge of envy for what they shared. She had wished for such a love at one time, to be accepted for herself, without having to constantly seek approval. Hank had offered her that, she supposed. Perhaps given enough time, she might have come to care for him, as well. But Tom Hardesty had taken that possibility from her, too.

  The shuffling of chairs and clinking silver brought her back to the present. Chloe stood and moved around the table with her ducklike gait, clearing dishes.

  “Let me help you,” Kyla said. She rose from the table to follow the woman back into her kitchen, carrying dirty plates as she went.

  “Chloe, honey,” Travis cautioned, starting to push his chair back, “you’d better sit down for a while longer.”

  “Now, stop fretting so much,” Chloe called back from the hallway. “We can handle this. You and Jace go sit on the porch and catch up. I’m sure there are things you have to talk about.”

  After the women left the room, Travis went to the sideboard and brought out two whiskey glasses and a bottle. “Come on,” he said.

  Jace followed him through the parlor to the front porch and they settled into two chairs. The pale yellow glow from a parlor lamp fell in a long rectangle across the plank flooring. The evening was mild and stars twinkled in the night sky. On the western horizon, the very faintest last glow of sunset hinted at a daylight view of an expansive valley below the house.

  “This is a nice place you’ve got here,” Jace said, holding his glass while Travis poured a drink for him.

  Travis poured his own shot and set the bottle down. “I had five years of trying to see the sky through a barred window. I wanted to live where I could see for miles. We found this bluff out here at the end of town and built the house.”

  “Marriage must be good for you—new house, new business. You’ve come a long way.” Jace slouched down to rest on his spine and cradled the glass on his stomach.

  “Yeah, we were pretty busy watching over the building of this place and the shop at the same time. Chloe took care of most of the details here. We finally moved in last month.”

  Jace could smell the still-fresh paint. “With the money you made from that gold strike, I thought you might retire,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Naw—a man has to have something to do, some purpose in the world besides making love to his wife. I admit I could try getting by on that, though.” Travis leaned back and crossed his ankle over his knee. Silence fell between them for a moment, and when he spoke again, Jace heard a pale ghost of regret in his quiet words. “It took me a long time to get over Celia. I was crazy in love with her. You know that.”

  Jace knew. He had always known, although Lyle been able to convince him otherwise when Celia was found murdered. And while it was hard to admit to himself, he also knew that his sister had been a spoiled, faithless tease. Supremely confident of her doll-like beauty and charm, she had done exactly as she pleased and stopped at nothing to get her own way. In the end, her willfulness had cost her her life, and took five years of her husband’s, too.

  He nodded. “I know you loved her.”

  “Did—” Travis took a sip of whiskey and kept his gaze trained on the sunset. “Why did Clark kill her?”

  Jace took a swallow of whiskey before he answered. “He said she laughed at him.”

  Travis said nothing, then shook his head and raised his glass slightly, as if in silent salute to the love of his youth. “It’s all in the past now.”

  “You’ve got a good life,” Jace added, feeling another twinge of envy. “Chloe is one hell of a woman.”

  His friend smiled. “Yeah, she is. Speaking of women, did I hear you right this afternoon when you that Kyla is a little rough around the edges? Which edges would those be, Jace?”

  Jace could hear the grin in Travis’s words. Kyla had been a chief distraction since he’d laid eyes on her in hotel hall. He couldn’t even recall with any certainty what they had eaten for dinner. He found it almost impossible to believe that the smart-mouthed boy he’d saved from the miners in Silver City was the shy, beautiful woman with him here tonight. He shifted in his chair and took a drink of whiskey.

  “Yeah, well, you should have seen what she looked like when I found her. She said her name was Kyle and based on what I saw, I had no reason to doubt her. She fooled almost everyone with that disguise. But she only hired me to do a job—there’s nothing more to it. I’ll be moving on after that.”

  “Where to?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe California or Arizona. Someplace where the winters aren’t so hard.”

  “Have you ever thought about settling down?”

  “Nope,” Jace lied, and downed another swallow of liquor. “That’s for other men. Not me.”

  Travis tipped his chair back against the wall and looked up at the blue-black sky. “I don’t know . . . there’s a lot to be said for waking up under the same roof every morning. Having a woman to share your life with.”

  The very same thought had crossed Jace’s mind more than once lately. He’d even pictured the woman. And each time he wrote off the notion almost as quickly as he did now. Almost.

  “It always sounds like a good idea when winter is closing in,” Jace said lightly. “Come springtime everything looks different again.”

  Travis let his chair come to rest on its four legs, and reached for the whiskey bottle next to him. “But there
are just a certain number of springs in a man’s years. You only need to lose a few of them to realize that. And you can never get them back.”

  * * *

  The dishes were washed, and Chloe and Kyla sat at the kitchen table. Chloe poured coffee for them from a flowered pot. Her hands, Kyla noticed, were smooth and white, much smoother than her own. She had probably always lived a genteel life—if she’d worked, it sure hadn’t been at rough jobs that created rough hands.

  “It’s good to sit down.” Chloe sighed with pleasure. “I do get tired more easily now, but I still like to do some things myself. If Travis had his way I’d be sitting on a goosedown cushion all day.”

  “Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?”

  Chloe waved her hand dismissively. “Women don’t usually worry about that sort of thing. Either will be welcome. I don’t think Travis even cares.” Then she asked, “Do you have children, Kyla?” Jace had introduced her as a widow.

  “No, my husband and I never—we didn’t—we weren’t married very long before he died.” Kyla thought of the nights she’d spent pacing through the ranch house, terrified that a lasting consequence had come of Hardesty’s assault.

  “Oh, dear . . . well, maybe someday you’ll meet a good man and have a family of your own. You can never tell what’s waiting around the next turn in the road. Life is like that. It isn’t just trouble and hard times that lie in our futures. There are good things, too. Believe me, I know.”

  Kyla couldn’t imagine enduring a man’s touch. Not after everything she had been through, including her brush with death. At that thought, she remembered Jace at her side during her illness, his hands on her face feeling for fever, tending to her, feeding her. No, that couldn’t have been the real man, the one whose worried, exhausted face she had seen whenever she had awakened. Deliberately, she forced herself to think of his blood-chilling expression when she’d seen him confront Sawyer Clark in Silver City.