Nevada Heat (30 page)

"Hey, Jes!" Jim shoved him hard and Jesse scrambled to keep his footing.

“What are you doin'?"

"Tryin' to wake you up!" Jim laughed. "Hell, the way you're just a standin' there all quiet like, I'd swear you was already married and afraid to talk!"

Jesse shook his head and laughed.

"Now, ain't them some fine pieces of horse flesh!" Jim sighed enviously and stared into the corral.

Jesse followed his gaze and saw three new horses in the paddock. One bay and two big grays. His breath caught and his stomach tightened for a moment before relaxing again. Damn. Miranda was right. He'd been on the hunt too long. Just cause there was a couple of gray horses in the corral didn't mean his man was in town. Shit. Half the people in the territory rode gray horses.

"Who do they belong to?"

Jim glanced at him. "Two of 'em are Pike's." He frowned slightly when he added, "One belongs to Tom Forbes."

"Forbes."

“Yeah,” Jim said disgustedly. “He blew into town last night. Hear tell he woke up Wilma and about wore her out. Started gettin' rough with her and Big Pete had to throw him out of the place."

"She hurt?"

“Nah.” Jim spat into the dirt. “Not bad. But I got no likin' for a man that hits a woman."

A cold chill crawled down Jesse's spine. Its icy fingers spread through his body until he had to force himself not to shake. “Me neither," he said softly. "This Forbes fella. What do ya know about him?"

“He's a bad one. Nobody messes with him, Jesse."

Jim looked at his friend steadily, his blue eyes filled with a silent warning. “I mean nobody. Only ones I ever saw stand up to the bastard was Judd Perry and Birdwell."

“Judd?"

"Yeah. Last time Tom was in town, he was hangin' around Miranda, gettin' her real skittish. Judd warned him off." Jim rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I remember at the time it some surprised me that Forbes backed down. I thought sure he'd kill Judd." He shrugged. "But he didn't."

“This was two years ago?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "Yeah, two years."

Jesse stared at the horses moving lazily around the paddock. Forbes's size and coloring was right. He rode a gray horse. And he sure as hell had the character of a killer. But the time was wrong. If he was here in the canyon two years ago, how could he have been in Texas?

"Does Forbes usually come here about the same time of year?"

"What the hell do you care?"

Jesse ignored the question in his friend's eyes and demanded, “Just tell me, Jim. Same time? Every time?"

"Well, lemme think a minute." Jim's eyes screwed shut and his brow wrinkled. It seemed to take forever, but it was really only a few seconds before his eyes opened again and he said, “Y'know, now that you say that… he always did show up around the same time. Until two years ago…"

Jesse's chest tightened. He could hardly breathe. His mouth dry, his palms sweaty, he waited.

"Usually most of us don't come in till close on to winter. Forbes, too. But two years ago he beat us all here." Jim nodded thoughtfully and spoke as if to himself. "I remember thinkin' at the time that he'd prob'ly got himself into a tighter spot than he was used to."

Jesse drew a shuddering breath. He forced himself to calm down. To think. None of this was proof. He didn't know anything for sure.

"'Course, it all evened out anyway," Jim went on. "Forbes left early that year, too. Right after ol’ Judd died in that huntin' accident."

Hunting accident. Why did that suddenly sound wrong? Jesse mumbled under his breath, listing everything he knew. It wasn't much, but he was beginning to think it was more than enough. At least it was enough for him to face the man and find out. Even if he had to hog-tie the man, Jesse would check to see if Forbes had the knife scar and the tattoo that would prove him guilty.

“Where's Forbes now?"

Jim drew back a bit. "Shit, I don't know. His horse is here. So he must be, too. Somewhere."

Jesse turned on his heel and marched off toward the center of town.

"What the hell's goin' on, Jes?"

Jesse ignored him and kept walking. His brain raced with the unexpected information. After all this time, was it possible that he would just stumble across the man he'd searched under every rock in the country for? And if it was him?

Jesse stopped dead. He looked down the street toward the main bunkhouse where Forbes was bedding down. A memory of the man's face as he watched Miranda flashed into his brain. Forbes wanted her.

But Miranda was safe. She, Shelly, and Buck had left for town a couple of hours ago. So whatever happened now, she would be safely out of it.

And if Forbes was the man he sought, Jesse promised himself as he started walking again, he wouldn't be safe anywhere.

Chapter 18

By the time Jesse reached the bunkhouse, his temper was on the rise. He burst through the door, ignored the startled expressions on the few men inside, and quickly glanced over the room. Forbes wasn't there.

Muttering under his breath, he went back outside and stood in the middle of the street. Looking first one way then the other, he tried to decide where to search next. The sun shone down from a clear sky and the ever-present wind shot a blast of cold that seemed to go right through him.

He took a long, deep breath and rubbed one hand over his whisker-stubbled jaw. His brain refused to calm down. Instead it raced with possibilities. Though he had no proof of his suspicions, his thoughts leaped from one clue to the next, building on what little information he had.

Two years. Forbes had been early getting to the canyon two years ago. Carter and Della were killed in the middle of summer. Miranda's father had warned the blond man to stay away from his daughter two years ago and Forbes had backed down unexpectedly. Then Judd Perry was killed in a hunting accident. And right after Judd's death, Forbes left the canyon. Much earlier than usual.

Jesse shook his head. There was still no proof. But if his hunch was right, Forbes had killed Judd Perry to get to Miranda. And if he was willing to do that, what might he do now that he knew Miranda would soon be marrying somebody else? Jesse had to find Forbes.

Now it wasn't only the past calling out for him to find and settle with Tom Forbes. It was his future. His future with Miranda.

But how was he to know for sure? He reached up and tugged the brim of his hat down lower over his eyes, blocking the sun's glare. He squinted, his gaze moving once more over the lonely street as if searching for an answer. Suddenly he stopped. Of course. Big Pete's place stood silently at the end of the narrow road. He started toward the saloon, picking up speed with every step. He had to talk to Wilma. She might be the only one who could help him.

#

“What do you want?" Wilma frowned at Jesse then turned and walked back to her rumpled bed.

He stood uncertainly in the open doorway and looked around her room. It looked as though a Texas twister had set down smack in the middle of it. The mattress was cockeyed on the bed, a lamp lay broken on the floor, and there were clothes tossed everywhere. Even the paintings on the stained walls were hanging at odd angles. The smell of cheap whiskey and stale sweat hung over the whole mess like a heavy cloud. What the place needed was an open window and the canyon wind sweeping the air clean.

He wrinkled his nose slightly and turned to look at the woman. Wilma was probably never what a body would call a pretty woman. Her dark eyes were too close together and her nose a touch too long for that. Still, Jesse'd seen her all done up and she usually turned herself out nicely.

But no amount of makeup or perfume was going to help her today. Jesse's gaze swept over the woman perched on the edge of the bed. Her bare feet swung back and forth, inches above the floor. A plain, blue cotton wrapper was knotted around a once lush figure now thickened and destroyed by years of rough living, bad whiskey, and late hours. Wilma's dyed black hair frizzed out around her head like a spill of ink and made the purpling bruise on the side of her face stand out even sharper. Her bottom lip was split and there was a small, bloody cut on her wide forehead.

"Damn, Wilma." Jesse winced just looking at her injuries. “Are you all right?"

She cocked her head and smirked at him. "That what you woke me up to ask?"

"Sorry." He stepped inside and took off his hat. "Didn't stop to think is all."

She waved one hand at him. “Don't matter. I got all day to sleep, I guess." Wilma chuckled then gasped at the accompanying pain. “I sure as hell won't be entertainin' till this here mess clears up some." She wagged one finger at him. “I've about had my fill of outlaws, though, I'll tell you that. You give me a preacher lookin' for some sinnin' or a good man runnin' from his wife every time!"

Her speech was slurred slightly and Jesse hated to have to make her talk more, but he didn't have any choice. “Tom Forbes do that to you?"

Her small black eyes narrowed dangerously. “You damn right he did, that no-good son of a bitch!" She looked up at Jesse and shook her fist at him. "He caught me when I wasn't lookin', or I swear to you I'd've dropped him where he stood." Her hand slid under a flat pillow and pulled out an old army pistol.

Jesse's eyes widened as the woman stroked the gun barrel lovingly. Watching her, he didn't have any doubt that she would have killed the man if given a chance.

“I ever see him again though" — Wilma gave a half smile — “and I will put a hole in him so big you could drive a damn wagon through it."

Jesse stayed quiet and didn't breathe easy again until she slid the gun back into its hiding place.

"So what d’ya want, Jesse?"

“I want you to tell me somethin' about Forbes."

"Huh!" She pushed her flyaway hair back out of her face with one thin hand and grimaced. “Yeah, what?"

"Before he hit you, did he, I mean, was he undressed?"

Her narrow, plucked eyebrows shot straight up into her hairline. "What?"

“I want to know, did he have his shirt off at all?"

"Shit, yes." Wilma scooted back farther onto the bed, reached around for another pillow, and leaned against it. She crossed her dirty feet at the ankles and gave him a parody of a leer. “I like my men naked, mister." She winked her good eye. "Before he commenced to slappin' me around, he was doin' fine."

"Good."

She gave him another odd look.

Jesse ignored it and took another step toward the bed. He was almost afraid to ask. What if she didn't say what he wanted to hear? What if he was no closer to the end of his search after all? But he had to know. "Wilma, did Forbes have a tattoo on his back? A Indian-lance tattoo?"

"How the hell'd you know? You sleep with him, too?" She cackled delightedly at her own joke, then groaned and clapped one hand to her cheek.

"He did?"

“Yeah.” She worked her jaw tenderly and touched her tongue to her lip. “Said he got it put on to remind him how he got that knife scar on his arm."

The room spun wildly. Jesse heard her voice, but as if from a great distance. Images blurred until Wilma's messy room at Big Pete's disappeared and he was back at the ranch in Texas.

Covering Della's body with the quilt she'd made for her marriage bed. Burying Carter on the hillside where he'd planned one day to build a fine house for him and his wife.

Jesse's heart pounded and a sharp, fierce pain behind his eyes nearly blinded him. His throat closed and he gasped for air that was suddenly too thick to breathe.

"Jesse?" Wilma crawled out of bed and walked to his side. She laid her hand on his arm but got no response.

“What's going on?" Fat Alice stepped inside, carrying a breakfast tray for Wilma.

"I don't know," the injured woman answered quietly. "He just went kinda strange. Maybe you best get Miranda up here."

Miranda!

Her name hit Jesse like a bucket of frigid water. He shook his head, looked at the two worried women like they were strangers, then turned and bolted for the door.

#

"What is it you two are lookin' to buy anyhow?"

“We don't know yet, Buck," Miranda called back. “We haven't had a chance to look around the store."

“Women!” Buck reined his horse in slightly and waited for the buckboard to catch up. Riding even with the two women, he went on. “Womenfolks is the onliest ones I know who go shoppin' not havin' any idea what they're gonna buy!"

"Don't you like women much, Buck?" Shelly laughed and tightened her hold on the edge of the seat as the wagon hit a rock in the road.

"Now, I didn't say that." He grinned. "I like women fine. Just don't care to go to stores with 'em is all."

“It won't take long." Miranda slapped the reins over the pair of horses' backs. “We want to get home before suppertime if we can."