Nevada Heat (4 page)

His right hand moved as if to touch her but stopped halfway. Heavy, rhythmic pounding sounded outside. It was coming closer. Jesse glanced at the oil lamp closest to him and saw it flicker. At every stomp, the shaky wood floors and walls seemed to vibrate. Each hurried crash was louder than the one before as the intruder came ever nearer.

Jesse looked quickly around the bunkhouse. Even in the half-light he could see that there was no other way out. Unless he shoved Miranda through one of the far windows then followed her. He shot a look at her and saw that she'd hardly noticed the sounds. Or if she had, she was too grief-stricken to care. And in that case, he would have to look out for both of them.

Jesse whirled around to face the door and pulled Miranda behind him. His long legs spread wide apart, he lifted the gun from the worn holster on his hip. When the bunkhouse door flew open, Jesse held his pistol steady, waiting for his target to step inside.

“Holy shit!"

“Jesse, don't!"

Miranda's voice drowned out his curse and her arm snaked out from behind him to knock his pistol down. Jesse hardly noticed. His attention was centered on the man in the doorway.

Standing at least five inches over six feet, the barrel-chested man filled the doorway with his massive shoulders and powerful arms. The red and black checks on the shirt he wore seemed to shrink and grow with the man's forceful breathing. A wild looking salt-and-pepper beard covered the lower half of his face and the dim lamplight gleamed off the surface of his shiny bald head. The man's hands were curled around a Colt revolving shotgun and Jesse didn't have the slightest doubt that he would use it.

Above the full beard, the giant's eyes, as hard and black as two chunks of wet coal, glared at Jesse. "What the hell's goin' on here?" the big man's voice thundered.

Jesse stared openmouthed at the intruder and finally noticed that he himself was no longer holding a gun. The thought of going up against a shotgun unarmed in such close quarters wasn't a comforting one. Miranda scurried out from behind him, giving him a look that said plainly she thought he was crazy.

Jesse made a grab for her and the giant lifted the shotgun.

"Stop it. Both of you." Miranda looked from one to the other of them, shaking her head in wonder. "For heaven's sake. Hasn't there been enough dying for one night?" She looked pointedly at Bobby's body.

Jesse saw the big man glance at the bed and wondered briefly if he could reach his pistol before his opponent could aim his shotgun. As if he could read minds, the man in the doorway turned back and pointed his weapon directly at Jesse.

"Put that thing down." Miranda shook her finger at the man. Then she spun around, picked up Jesse's pistol, and handed it to him. "And you, put this away."

Reluctantly both men did as they were told. But still, they kept a watchful gaze on each other.

Miranda spoke first to the big man. "This is Jesse Hogan. He rode in tonight with the Sullys."

The man cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “Jesse says the others are asleep… so you'll have to wait till morning to talk to them." She ignored his distrustful stare and turned around once more. “Jesse…"

Somehow he knew what she was going to say even before it came out of her mouth.

“This is my uncle. Birdwell Cates."

#

Dawn was just streaking the eastern sky with slashes of pink, orange, and scarlet when Miranda and Shelly Port sat down with their usual morning coffee. Neither of them spoke until they'd had a few sips of the strong black liquid.

“Well, it sounds like you had a helluva night." Shelly smiled when her friend got up slowly. She followed Miranda's progress around the cabin with her eyes. She didn't miss the little signs of agitation. How Miranda's hands shook slightly. How she couldn't seem to sit still for longer than a minute. In the two years they'd been getting together for a chat in the early-morning hush, Shelly'd never seen the other woman like this.

Intrigued, Shelly determined to find out what… or who was behind the strange behavior.

Miranda carried the coffeepot to the table and poured her friend another cupful. “It was certainly a long night. Between poor Bobby dying and then Birdwell and Jesse Hogan squaring off at each other."

“It is a shame about Bobby, all right,” Shelly said quietly. “He was always so… polite. A nice kid."

“Kid?” Miranda chuckled. “He was a year older than you."

“No foolin'?” Shelly shook her head. "Sure didn't seem no twenty-five to me." She sighed and took a sip of coffee. "But I guess I put a lot more livin' into my years than he did, huh?"

Miranda smiled, reached across the table, and patted the woman's hand. Most of Shelly's past was still a secret from everyone in town. The only thing Miranda was sure of was that the young woman had come to Bandit's Canyon three years ago with a cardsharp named Slick Stephens. When Slick left a couple of months later, Shelly stayed. Slick had never been back, and there'd even been a rumor about a year ago that he'd pushed his luck on a riverboat and gotten shot for his trouble.

Miranda looked at her friend and smiled. Shelly's long dark hair was brushed into an upsweep and held in place by a silver comb adorned with pretty blue stones. Her green gingham dress was much plainer than those she wore when serving drinks at Big Pete's saloon, but it seemed to suit her far more. Whatever it was that had brought the woman to the canyon, Miranda was grateful. Shelly was the only friend she'd ever had and she couldn't imagine a better one.

"So," Shelly said softly, "you gonna tell me about this Jesse fella?"

Miranda's cheeks flushed. “I don't know much. Just that he rode in late last night with the Sullys." She took a deep breath. "And he helped me with Bobby."

"That all?”

"What do you mean?"

One corner of Shelly's mouth tilted in a wry grin.

"Only that I don't recall ever seein’ you blush over anyone else around here."

“I'm not blushing… well, if I am it's not because —“

“Yes…" Shelly leaned her elbows on the table and propped her chin in her hands.

"Stop it, Shelly." Miranda slumped back in her chair. "He's no different than any of the others who drift through here."

"Oh." Shelly nodded abruptly. "So he's fat and old and smells like he hasn't had a bath in a year?"

"No.” Miranda smiled and shook her head. "No, he's handsome. And tall. And thin. And has the saddest green eyes I've ever seen."

“Uh-oh.”

"What do you mean, uh-oh?"

“I mean it was bound happen someday, honey." Shelly chewed at her lip.

"What?"

"Oh, some smooth-talkin', sad-eyed cowboy comin’ here and makin’ you go all soft inside." Shelly leaned toward Miranda. "Then he'll start tellin' you how he's not really an outlaw… never meant no harm… it was just 'evil companions got him in trouble. All he needs is the love of a good woman and he'll be fine."

"Shelly, I —“

“No, I've heard the stories. I've seen the sad eyes. And let me tell you. Nothing changes. They are who they are. Nobody holds a gun to their heads and makes them turn outlaw. They do it 'cause they want to do it. And no 'good' woman is gonna stop 'em. All that happens is the good woman goes bad right along with 'em."

"Shelly." Miranda swallowed uneasily. She'd never seen her friend like this. Her usually smiling brown eyes were solemn and bitter. “I don't know what it is that happened to you."

The other woman looked away, her lips twisted mutinously.

"But I do know," Miranda continued, "what will not happen to me. And I’m not about to fall in love with a man on the run from the law.'" She stood up and carried her coffee cup to the kitchen of the town restaurant. “First off, that's the one thing I promised my mother. And secondly…" She spun around. “I've lived here my whole life, Shelly. I've known probably every bad man who ever traveled through the west. I've listened to their stories, patched them up when they come in shot, and buried 'em when I couldn't save 'em. I may be two years younger than you. And maybe I haven't seen or done everything you have."

Shelly snorted.

"But I've seen enough to know that this is not what I want. I want a home. A man of my own who's home at night I want to be able to light a lamp after dark without worrying about making myself a target. I want children." Shelly didn't look convinced, but after the night before, Miranda was more sure than ever how she wanted her life to go.

Oh, she was willing to admit that Jesse Hogan was an attractive man. All right, she conceded silently, more than attractive. But he was also an outlaw. Miranda took a long, deep breath. And that one fact made thinking about him impossible. She would treat him no differently than the others. She couldn't. If she ever started to weaken, she would simply force herself to remember Bobby's face as he lay dying. It had been hard enough watching a friend die like that. She vowed that she'd never have to watch a man she loved go through the same thing.

Miranda shook her head firmly and smiled at her friend. "No, Shelly. I want nothing to do with an outlaw." She spread her arms wide. "Someday I want Bandit's Canyon to be a real town. With nice people. And box picnics. And church socials." She stood up, walked to Shelly's side, and met the other woman's gaze steadily. "So don't you worry about me, Shelly. What I want, no sad-eyed cowboy can give me."

Shelly rose slowly and hugged Miranda. She blinked back the tears in her eyes and made a silent vow. She would personally see to it that no handsome drifter did anything to make Miranda's dreams die.

Chapter 3

Jesse glanced at the dozen or so men sprinkled around the dining room. As his gaze quickly moved over each of them, he mentally checked them off his private list. Too fat, too tall, too thin, too dark… it went on and on. This quest of his had forever changed the way he looked at people. No longer did he bother to find out if they were liars or good folks. Drunks or teetotalers. Lazy or hardworking. It didn't matter. All that mattered now was the one man he sought.

He leaned back in his chair and took a long drink of coffee. So far he hadn't seen anyone in town that came close to the brief description he had of his quarry. One more time he silently repeated that information. The man he was looking for was of average height, with dirty blond hair and wide shoulders. He had a knife scar on his left forearm, a tattoo of an Indian war lance on his back, and he rode a big gray horse.

And the most important piece of information. Only a few months ago he'd learned that the man he was hunting had been known to hide out in Bandit's Canyon. Though Jesse was fairly sure the man wasn't there now, with winter coming on, there was a good chance that he would be soon.

Disgusted, Jesse sat forward and slammed his coffee cup down on the table. Not much to show for two years of searching. He ran one hand over his face in a futile attempt to wipe away the frustration that had become his constant companion.

Jim Sully laughed at something his brother said and Jesse grimaced. He remembered clearly the outrageous stories his own brother, Carter, had loved to tell. And with each telling, the stories grew until not even Carter recalled the actual facts. Jesse stared down into the dregs of his coffee. In his mind's eye, though, he was seeing his sister-in-law, Della, swatting her husband with a dish towel, then allowing herself to be captured and tickled into submission.

One corner of his mouth lifted in a halfhearted smile as Jesse heard again the soft whispers coming from Carter and Della's room late at night. He remembered teasing Della about her girth as the baby within her grew, and he remembered Carter's quiet pride in his wife and coming child.

“It's good to see you smile, Jesse!"

His thoughts scattered, Jesse looked up at Jim Sully.

“Huh?”

“I said" — Jim grinned and propped one foot on the nearest chair — “it's good to see you smile. Usually you got such an almighty fierce look about you."

Jesse shook his head and stood up. He would have to be more careful. Be more friendly to the outlaws if he wanted these people to trust him enough to talk. Lord knew, if he didn't find what he needed here in Bandit's Canyon, he didn't know where else to look. Deliberately he forced a light tone into his voice.

“That’s my 'bad man' look, Jim. Figure if I can scare folks, they'll hand over their cash quicker."

“Hell.” Jim laughed. “If I had any money, I’d give it to ya!"

“See? Workin' already.” Jesse shoved one hand in his pocket, fumbling for a coin. "Who do we pay for breakfast around here? That’s the best meal I've had in quite a spell."

Jim shook his head. "Don't pay nobody.”

"What?"

"This" — Jim waved his arms about — “ain't a reg'lar restaurant, Jesse. It’s like… a town kitchen." At Jesse's blank look, Jim continued. "Miranda, Shelly, and sometimes a couple of Big Pete's girls do most of the cookin', although a few of the boys lend a hand now and again." He leaned forward and grinned. ”I try not to be here then. Anyhow, you don’t pay for your meals. When you come into town, you put however much you can spare into the jar yonder.”