Prologue Page 27

  'Too bad you didn't feel that way about my sister," Jace said, weary bitterness in every word. "I've hated you since Celia died and I swore I'd get even when I found you."

  Travis stared hard into Jace's hazy blue eyes to make sure he heard him. "You can take me back to jail or put a bullet in my head, but it won't change the fact that I didn't kill Celia and it won't bring her back."

  Jace breathed a sigh and closed his eyes for a moment, then with obvious difficulty focused them on Travis. "You could have left me to bleed to death. But you didn't."

  Travis glanced at the floor. "We go back too far for me to let that happen. It's one of the reasons I've never faced you till now. I knew I couldn't kill you.”

  "Celia—she was always so restless and unhappy—she said it was because of you."

  His wife's flaxen-haired memory rose in his mind again, a female demon of temptation, faithlessness and pretended innocence. "You know I was crazy about her, Jace. I gave her everything I had. Everything. But it was never enough."

  Jace shifted uncomfortably on the table. "I think I always knew that. She was . . . spoiled and selfish." After a long pause, he added, "Maybe no one could have made her happy."

  This was a stunning admission from a man who'd thought of Celia more as his child than his sister. Travis detected a glimmer of reason and gripped Jace's wrist. His voice dropped to a tense whisper. "You know I wasn't responsible for her death."

  At length, Jace nodded slightly, his face suffused with resignation and fatigue. "I guess I needed someone to blame . . ."

  Travis pressed his advantage. "I loved her but I had to try and let go of the memories. So do you. Pick up your life, Jace. If you don't, it'll eat you alive."

  "Maybe. I don't know." A slight smile crossed Jace's face. "But one thing is certain. That Maitland woman has enough grit to ride a mountain lion bareback."

  Travis chuckled and nodded.

  "And she'd do it to save you," Jace added, serious again.

  Travis felt his grin fade as he thought about the truth of his words. "I think you're right."

  A frown creased Jace's forehead. "Oh, shit, this hurts," he groaned. His eyes closed then and his features smoothed out as pain and exhaustion conquered him.

  Travis heard Doc's voice from the doorway behind him. "Come on, son. Let him get his rest."

  Travis nodded and walked to the door. Even lying there swathed in bandages, Jace still made a formidable enemy, and Travis was thankful he was no longer one of his targets. There would be no more running or hiding, no more looking over his shoulder. He remembered nights sleeping in the open, holding his breath at the snap of every twig, his hand aching from gripping the Colt. Now Chloe would never have to live through that. Finally, it was over and he had his life back. He was free.

  Knowing him as he did, he wondered if Jace would be able to put Celia's death behind him. He was wasting his life, trying to avenge his sister's murder. But Travis couldn't be responsible for the road he chose.

  "Will you keep him here till he's able to get around?" Travis asked.

  Doc rolled down his sleeves. "He's welcome to stay, but I suspect when he wants to leave, he will, whether or not I think he's ready. He seems every bit as independent and ornery as you can be," he observed.

  Travis massaged the back of his neck, glancing back at Jace. "Yeah, people used to say we were a lot alike. Like brothers, they said. But that was years ago. Times change, men change."

  "Not as much as you might think. Basic decency usually survives." Doc watched him and then said, "You've had a hell of a day, haven't you. Come out to the kitchen and I'll buy you a drink."

  "Thanks, Doc," he smiled, "but there's a lady I need to see and I've kept her waiting long enough."

  "Give her my regards," Doc called as Travis went down the front steps.

  * * *

  The shadows grew long and cool. Chloe considered going into the house but couldn't think of a reason. A rude magpie squawked at her from the porch railing but she stared it down until it darted away into the sky.

  The smell of wood smoke floated to her on the late breeze, as kitchen stoves were lit for the evening meal. This morning she'd expected to be cooking tonight's dinner over a campfire, beginning a new life.

  Earlier she'd cleaned up the broken lamp and put away in the chest of drawers the things she'd packed. After washing off the dirt and blood, she put on clean clothes and her shawl, and came out here again to sew the arm back on her doll.

  Something about the poor thing, with its solemn button eyes and enduring smile, and the sawdust leaking out of its faded body, punctured the last of Chloe's defenses. It seemed to represent everything she'd lost—her parents, Travis, even Evan's life—and she'd succumbed to wrenching, gasping sobs that tore at her heart.

  Now she sat here, drained and dull-eyed, with a handkerchief wadded in her fist and the doll on her lap, its arm mended. She tightened her shawl, then rested her head against the back of the porch swing and closed her eyes while she struggled to absorb the unbelievable twists her life had taken. At the same time, she did her best to shut out the prospect of the empty years ahead of her.

  Once before she'd made up her mind to carry on the existence she'd known before Travis came along. She was strong and sensible, she could do it again. Time would take care of it, she told herself.

  She felt the doll again in her hands and knew with profound despair that she was lying to herself.

  This time it wouldn't work. Her tough shell was gone, stripped away by her love for Travis. In loving him, she was prey to every painful emotion she'd avoided all these years. She took a deep, shaky breath, trying to ease the bitter ache.

  ching-ching-ching

  Her eyes snapped open.

  CHING-CHING-CHING

  From down the street it came, with the sound of running boot heels. She rose from the swing, her hand pressed to the base of her throat. She could feel a pulse throbbing there, keeping time with her pounding heart.

  Travis trotted to her gate, his dark hair flying behind him. He stood there, tall and wild, breathing hard, just watching her. The sunset washed him in rich mellow light. Astonishment rooted her feet to the porch flooring.

  Travis looked at Chloe a moment, at the doll clutched in her chapped hands, at her wide-eyed expression, and felt as though he were seeing her again for the first time. Except now she'd been crying and he knew he was the reason.

  "What are you doing here?" Her words were purposely harsh. Maybe their curt edge would prevent any hope within her from waking.

  Travis vaulted the gate and walked up the short path to the bottom step. He started to reach for her, but the anguish in her face stopped him and his hand dropped back to his side.

  "I have something for you," he said finally. "I left it in my saddlebag when I put the horses in the shop."

  Ah, so he was only back to say goodbye. Since Rankin was in no condition to go anywhere today, Travis was here to collect his belongings and see her one last time. Why did he have to look so endearing, so painfully beautiful? Staring down at him, heartache kept her silent, but she sensed no torment roiling in him. Leaving never seemed difficult for Travis.

  She nodded, her throat too tight to speak, and watched as he strode to the shop. Her legs felt like they would no longer support her and she carefully sat on the swing again.

  A moment later he returned with the saddlebag and dropped to one knee in front of her. He opened one of the flaps and pulled out a heavy pouch.

  "I know you think your father just left you bad memories and a mortgage," he said. He loosened the strings on the pouch and opened it, holding it out for her inspection. "But there was something more."

  She peered into the bag and saw gold dust winking up at her. She felt her eyes widen. There was a fortune here, more money than she'd ever dreamed of having.

  "You got all this from that worthless plot?" she asked, her voice restored. She thought he was only making peanuts, like the other old prospectors
.

  He nodded. "Not so worthless. I panned twice this much, thanks to Tarpaper Bolen, and I want you to have it. But there's a catch." He pulled the strings tight, closing the pouch again. Then he lifted his head to look into her eyes. When he spoke, his voice was gentle yet seductive. "You have to marry me to get it." He leaned closer. "Will you, Chloe? Will you be my wife?"

  She could hardly believe what he was saying. "But what about Rankin?"

  "He's tired and bitter. But saving his life convinced him that I didn't kill Celia. I thought I could finally make him see reason." He put his hand on her knee. "I know you didn't understand. But before I met you, I had no future, nothing to fight for. I hated having him behind me, but it didn't matter enough to make me stop and face him. I only wanted to stay ahead of him. Nothing mattered very much except my freedom. Then you gave me back my life and I had to try to make Jace see the truth."

  "You're sure he won't change his mind?" she persisted suspiciously. Twice before Jace Rankin had come between them. She would leave no possibility unchallenged. "Will he show up here again, looking for you, threatening you?

  "I know he won't."

  "So you really aren't leaving?" Her sleeping hope stirred.

  "No, honey. Not unless you chase me off. Even then, I’d sleep right here on the porch and sit in that chair outside the shop until you agreed to marry me.” He glanced down at the floor. “Falling in love with you saved my life, but it wouldn’t be much of a life without you. I’m through with drifting.”

  A lot had changed since that hot noon last summer. And now here was Travis, kneeling at her feet—the angry man who had claimed to need no one, who’d taught them both what love and forgiveness could do, the man who’d given her passion and fire—and he wanted to join her life to his. He was more important than mortgages or houses or any of the things she had once thought so vital.

  Naked emotion and the fear that she would reject him were etched in his face, and he couldn’t hid them from her.

  “I would marry you if you didn’t have a dime,” she answered quietly. “There’s nothing I want more on this earth than to be your wife.”

  She reached out to touch his cheek and he suddenly pulled from the swing into his embrace. She fell on him squealing and giggling, in a flurry of skirts and petticoats, and he rolled her under him. With the desperate troubles they’d had, to laugh again was a wonderful release. But it faded away when his lips covered hers in soft urgent kisses that deepened as his hand slid from her waist to her breast. She smelled his familiar scent, felt the rasp of his beard against her face, the warmth of his skin under his shirt. When his fingers pushed her skirt up her leg to her thigh, she stopped him.

  “We can’t make love here on the porch,” she chided, pushing at his chest. Her voice lacked conviction.

  After one more slow, moist kiss, he sat up. Leaning back on one of the porch uprights, he settled her against his long torso. “We could, if we wanted to give the crowd down at DeGroot’s something to mull over.” He opened her palm and pressed a kiss into it, then turned it over, running his fingers over the work-roughness he found there.

  “I guess these people will have to learn how to do their own wash because you just went out of business.” He reached for the gold pouch and put it in her hand. “Take a little of this and pay off that damned mortgage. Or we can go somewhere else, if you want. It doesn’t matter to me.”

  She straightened away from him and raised a brow. “But you said you were through with drifting.”

  In the blue twilight, his mind traveled down the years and roads that had brought him to Misfortune. After a moment of introspection, he replied, “Maybe I wasn’t really drifting all my life.” He pulled her back into his arms and rested his chin against her temple. “Maybe I was always on my way home to you.”

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