Chapter 12 #2
Rafe silently cursed every perverse star under which he was born. Since the Comanche had killed his parents so many years ago, fate—and man—had systematically destroyed everything he held dear. He’d once thought man made his own luck, but obviously not, if a higher being decided otherwise.
Ten years. Ten damned years lost. And the rest of his life haunted by his scar.
He couldn’t let go of those years, or the man responsible for that loss.
And some demon had put that man’s daughter in Rafe’s way, had made him want her with all the passion still left in his soul. More than that, those searching, sometimes bewildered but always honest blue-gray eyes touched a chord of a tenderness he hadn’t known still existed in him.
Choose, the demon said. But there was no choice.
The man in him cried out for justice, for vengeance.
Hate was stronger than newly discovered need, passion.
Ugly, violent emotions like hate and greed and jealousy always overwhelmed the gentler ones.
He’d learned that in war, and it was a lesson reinforced in prison.
Passion was all he felt for the woman, he assured himself.
When he’d entered the cabin minutes ago, that brief look of relief—even welcome—on a face glowing in candlelight had been unexpected.
Christ, he’d felt like a monster, particularly when he’d seen her hand.
But she’d placed no blame on him, instead she’d given him that small smile, the one that said he had been missed.
And so he had done what he had told himself he would not do.
He had touched her, and touching her had led to something more.
And he discovered he wanted so much more.
He locked the thought away, as he had learned to lock away so many emotions, and slowly turned to her. The glow was gone from her face, and she stood against the wall, as if needing support.
Something in him made him strike out at her. Possibly because if he didn’t, he might take her in his arms again, and it wouldn’t be possible to let go. He had to make her hate him.
He made his gaze deliberately cruel as it swept over her, his words intentionally crude. “Are you offering to trade your virtue for your freedom? If so, I’m not interested.”
Rafe knew he’d succeeded when outrage flared in her eyes. Her burned right hand swung toward his cheek, but he caught it before she could make contact. His eyes went to the blisters already forming there.
“Slapping me would hurt you far worse than it would me,” he said mildly.
“You’re a … a …”
“‘Bastard’ is the word you’re searching for, I think,” he said mockingly.
“‘Bastard’ isn’t strong enough,” she replied.
He grinned, though he felt no amusement. “I like that temper.”
Sparks darted from her eyes like fiery rock thrown off by a volcanic eruption.
He had taken a moment of sweetness and made it ugly.
The ache inside him opened like a chasm, swallowing up those very brief seconds of pleasure, of normalcy, of forgetfulness.
He was back in prison, the bars not of iron but every bit as confining, as stifling.
He turned away from her. “If you need to go to the stream, come with me,” he said carelessly.
He was ripping away her privacy, her pride, just as the prison guards had cruelly shredded his. That first day in the penitentiary he was stripped, searched in the most intimate places, then scrubbed and deloused. He had crawled inside himself then; it had been the only way to survive.
He’d had no choice. Just as he had no choice now. Too many other lives were at stake. His revenge was at stake.
It was the last thought he had before he heard a noise close behind him. Before he could react to it, pain ripped through his head, and he felt himself falling as darkness closed in on him.
Shea stared down at him. He seemed so big crumpled up on the floor, a spot of blood on the side of his head where the frying pan had struck.
The pan was on the floor too. Shea had used both hands to wield it, her right hand exploding with pain, then dropped it as soon as she’d hit Rafe Tyler.
For a moment she was rooted to the floor, unable to take her gaze away from Rafe Tyler. She leaned down and touched the cut, the skin that was swelling. His breathing, at least, seemed normal.
Go, she told herself. But she hesitated, not wanting to leave him lying there.
Finally, she opened the door, having to move him slightly out of the way.
His horse, thank God, was still saddled.
She didn’t know whether she could saddle a horse, particularly with her blistered hand.
Then it occurred to her that Rafe Tyler must have been so concerned about her, he’d checked in on her without looking after the horse first.
She looked back at the still form now partially hidden behind the door. How long before Clint returned? How long before Rafe Tyler regained consciousness?
She thought of the kiss, the way she had responded, his mocking comments, and she hesitated no longer.
She wished she had a pair of gloves, but she would have to step over him to find his, and she wasn’t prepared to do that.
Instead, she leaned down, tore a strip of material from her white petticoat and wrapped it around her injured hand.
Shea walked quickly to the horse, running her left hand down the side of his neck as she had seen Rafe do.
The horse was still sweaty, and she’d learned enough to realize he needed a rubdown and rest, but she needed to escape Rafe Tyler more.
She needed to erase the memory of that kiss, that moment of sweetness that had turned out to be nothing more than one of his taunts.
A punishment for what he thought her father had done to him.
She bit down on her lip to keep from moaning as she put her burned hand on the saddle horn and swung up. She wished she had time to change back into the trousers, but she didn’t dare go back into the cabin, not when he might wake at any moment.
The skirt and petticoat rode high on her legs, showing white underdrawers, but Shea didn’t care. She had to get out of here. She had to get to her father.
She had to go to the one place that she had been thinking of as home.
Most of all, she had to get away from Rafe Tyler, from all those feelings she didn’t understand.
She had to try to outrun the poignant ache that already was gnawing a hole in her.
She pressed her heels against the horse’s side, feeling its reluctance to move for her.
She kicked again, and slowly, the bay moved away from the cabin with its half-open door and the sprawling body beyond it.
Clint Edwards stopped by the Circle R ranch to report he’d killed two wolves in the woods around the mountain pasture and would be going on into Rushton to meet the sheriff and the incoming stage.
Jack Randall had already left for Rushton, hoping to collect the payroll. Sam McClary had also disappeared earlier, according to one of the hands, who was feeding the stock.
Clint quickly changed into a clean shirt and saddled a fresh horse.
There should be news of the robbery by now, and he needed to stop by the general store for some salve.
He’d then have to find a way to get it to Rafe’s valley; he’d been gone too often already.
Perhaps Ben could take it; the mining claim where Ben often stayed with Simon was fairly close, and the woman had already seen Ben.
If Ben had made it through last night’s attempt to steal the payroll. Clint’s stomach knotted. He had faith in Rafe Tyler. He hadn’t exaggerated when he’d told the woman that Tyler was the best officer he’d ever seen.
Yet Ben was Clint’s best friend as well as brother.
It was always Ben and Clint. At times others had been allowed into that small circle—those they’d served with during the war and those who now served the same restless master.
Perhaps if there had been a woman, a certain kind of woman who understood …
Kate might have understood. But Clint was in direct opposition to Kate’s father, a path—now that Shea Randall had seen him—that would lead to deadly collision if he stayed after their task was reached. He wouldn’t subject Kate to having to choose between family and himself.
Furthermore, Clint was only too aware that what he and Ben were doing might well result in prison terms. He’d seen what imprisonment had done to Rafe Tyler, the change from confident, well-liked officer to the embittered, driven, withdrawn man he was now.
And he wouldn’t saddle Kate with that kind of burden.
But damnation, it hurt. He knew from her eyes that she was more than halfway in love with him. And when he was with her, he knew a peace he never thought he could have, a sense of belonging gone since the war.
He had to stay away from her, to keep her removed from his house of cards before it fell in on her.
If the robbery last night was successful, this whole mess might quickly come to an end.
If they were right, if desperation spurred Randall into doing something openly dishonest, they could leave by the end of summer.
Move on to someplace far away, like Oregon or Montana.
The prospect was painful. Clint had enjoyed his position at the Circle R.
He had learned he was good at ranching, and then, of course, there was Kate.
He dismissed the thought. Other obligations were more important. Loyalty, for one. Justice, for another. He would never let Rafe Tyler down, no matter what the cost. His own losses would be minor compared to Tyler’s.
As Clint approached the general store in Rushton, he was aware that excitement permeated the usually quiet town. Jack Randall’s buggy was hitched to the rail in front, along with a dozen other horses. Several men talked excitedly outside the doors of the store.
He dismounted, tying the reins of his animal to the hitching post, and walked inside. Randall, his face strained and his mouth grim, was talking to Russ Dewayne. McClary was standing a few feet away, a smirk on his face. Clint felt his dislike for the man increase.
“Mr. Randall. Russ,” he acknowledged. “Did the payroll arrive?”
Dewayne looked disgusted. “There was a robbery at the stage office in Casey Springs. They took the payroll.”
Clint didn’t have to feign the concern on his face. “Were any of them caught?”
“Hell, no,” Russ said. “It was the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen. There were explosions on two sides of Casey Springs. There was so much damn confusion, no one paid attention to the express office.”
Clint was able to breathe again. “Any idea who’s behind this?”
“They took only the Circle R payroll,” Russ Dewayne said. “That’s the peculiar part of it. There was other money there, and mail. It seems someone has it in for Jack here. We’ve been trying to figure it out.”
Clint glanced toward Jack. “Any ideas?”
Before his employer could speak, the sheriff continued. “There’s something else odd. A young lady apparently appeared at the stage office several days ago, claiming to be Jack’s daughter and inquiring about an escort to Jack’s ranch. She seems to have disappeared.”
Clint raised an eyebrow. “Claiming?”
It was Russ who answered. “Jack doesn’t have a daughter.”
Clint turned back to Russ. “She’s an impostor?”
Randall hesitated. “I was married once.… I wasn’t aware there was a daughter.…” Randall turned to Russ. “I’m going to Casey Springs and make some inquiries, send some telegrams.”
“What should I tell the men?” Clint asked.
Jack Randall put a hand to his face as if to protect it from other revelations. He suddenly looked old and tired. “I don’t know.”
Clint brushed away the faintest sympathy. “You’d better take my horse then. I’ll take the buggy back to the ranch.”
Randall’s blue eyes met his. They were filled with a gratitude that hit Clint like a hammer stroke to the stomach. “Thank you.”
“What about Mr. McClary?” Clint asked. “Will he be going with you?”
Randall shook his head quickly, and again Clint had the impression that Randall disliked McClary. Then why was he a guest?
“You and Nate are in charge,” Randall said. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I’ll have to wait for some telegrams.”
“I’ll ask the men to be patient about their pay,” Clint said.
Randall’s gratitude was hard to accept. Clint had never been a devious man. He didn’t like the role now, dammit, but he nodded.
Randall started to walk out. “It’s the roan,” Clint said.
Randall nodded as if sleepwalking. “Thanks, Clint,” he said quietly, and disappeared out the door, leaving Clint and Russ standing together.
“What are you going to do, Russ?”
The sheriff shook his head. “They could be any damn place, including north of Casey Springs, though I don’t think so.
The robbery is in Sheriff Quarles’s jurisdiction, not mine, but still, I think I’ll do some looking around in the mountains.
If they really are after Randall alone, they’ll be up there someplace. ”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Clint said.
“No,” Russ agreed. “But somehow they knew the stage would be heavily guarded this time.”
Clint’s stomach clenched. The implication was clear, and Russ was not a stupid man. There were a limited number of men who knew Russ Dewayne and his sons planned to accompany the stagecoach today. Clint was among them.
But there was no suspicion in the man’s eyes. Instead, he smiled suddenly. “Why don’t you come to supper tonight? Kate’s a damn good cook. And I’d like to get your ideas on this.”
Very much surprised by the invitation, Clint couldn’t concoct a reason to refuse. He nodded.
“Seven,” Russ said.
“Seven,” Clint agreed, hoping his voice didn’t convey the sickness he felt in his belly.