Wyoming Wildfire (Harlequin Historical) (14 page)

Matt went around to the rear of the cabin to quiet the three horses, take care of his needs and splash his face and hands with water from the creek. When he returned a few minutes later, Jessie was sitting where he’d left her, balancing the tin mug between her hands.

“Have some coffee,” she said. “I only have one cup, but I just refilled it for you. Careful, it’s hot.”

Matt settled himself beside her and accepted the coffee. The first sip steamed down his throat, black and rich and bracing. If he hadn’t been fully awake before, he was now.

How tempting it would be, he thought, to wrap her in his arms and hold her in stillness as the sun rose over the mountains, then sweep her back to the bed for more glorious loving. But there were things that needed to be said, things that had already waited too long. He took another sip of the scalding coffee, his mind groping for the best way to begin.

It was Jessie who broke the silence. “Yesterday
you said you had good news for me. Does that mean you know who killed Allister?”

She watched him guardedly. He should have known she’d be ready for him, and that she would be as direct as a gunshot to the heart.

He shook his head. “Not yet. But I spoke with Morgan Tolliver at the funeral. He believes that Frank was innocent, and he’s offered you a place on his ranch, for as long as you want to stay. He said he could use someone who’s good with horses. I’ve come to take you there. We can leave as soon as you’re ready.”

The hurt that stole across her face warned Matt that he’d already said the wrong thing. Last night he had made passionate love to her. Now, as she likely saw it, he was planning to dump her with the Tollivers and be done with her.

“It wouldn’t be for long,” he said, capturing her hand in his. “Just until we get things sorted out and I can find us a place to live. I want to marry you, Jessie, as soon as the time’s right.”

“You needn’t be so noble.” She snatched her hand away. “Whatever your precious honor demands, I’m not asking you to make an honest woman of me. As for the Tollivers, please give them my thanks, but I won’t burden them with my troubles. I’ll be fine right here, on my own!”

Matt swallowed a string of curses as his frustra
tion began to boil. Blast the woman, she was doing it again—turning him into a fuming, seething wild man. The fact that he loved her so much, and that he was so concerned for her safety, only made things worse.

The cup clattered to the ground, spilling a stream of coffee as he seized her shoulders. “Listen to me, Jessie,” he said, gripping her firmly. “You can’t stay here, damn it. It isn’t safe. And you’ve got to stop those crazy nighttime forays onto the Gates Ranch. Sooner or later you’re going to get caught!”

“Oh?” Her eyes blazed defiance. “And who’s going to clear my brother’s name if I give up trying? I could get old and gray waiting for you to do the job, Matt Langtry!”

“That’s not fair. I’ve searched for evidence, talked to witnesses, done everything I could, within the limits of the law—”

“Hang the law!” She twisted free of his grip. “Did you know Lillian and Virgil were lovers?”

“I guessed as much from watching them. And I didn’t have to peek in any bedroom windows to do that.”

“Well?” She stared at him expectantly.

“Adultery and murder are two different things, Jessie. I can hardly arrest them for sleeping together.”

“For heaven’s sake, don’t you see?” She seized his wrist, her voice rough with urgency. “If Virgil had fallen in love with his brother’s wife, that would have
given him the perfect motive to kill Allister. He’d not only be getting Lillian, he’d be getting Allister’s half of the ranch as well! The shooter had to be Virgil!”

Matt sighed wearily. “There’s one flaw in your argument. Virgil was playing cards in town when Allister was shot. The old man who tends bar at Smitty’s backed up his story. Virgil was there until eleven. By the time he got home, Allister was already dead.”

Jessie looked crestfallen. “But he could have paid the old bartender to say that. Or he could have hired one of his men to kill Allister while he was away.”

“Think about it. Nobody knew Frank was going to be at the ranch, or that Allister would come outside and catch him taking the stallion. And nobody knew that Frank was going to drop his rifle and leave it behind. Unless your brother shot Allister, the murder was a crime of opportunity. Anyone who happened along could have pulled that trigger.”

“Or anyone who was watching, waiting to see what would happen.” Her face paled. “You still think it could have been me, don’t you?”

Matt leaned back against the door frame, stretching his legs in the warming sunlight. “No,” he said, watching her through slitted eyes. “You don’t have it in you to kill a man, Jessie, or to lie about it if you had. Everything you’ve told me about that night rings true.”

“Including the part about not hearing a shot? Does that mean you believe Frank was innocent?” Her
eyes pleaded for understanding. He could not help remembering those eyes gazing up at him in the candlelight as he made love to her.

“I believe it,” Matt said, weighing his words. “But that doesn’t mean I can prove it to anyone else. There’s no evidence—”

“There has to be evidence! If we keep looking, surely we’ll find it!”

“Not
we,
Jessie.” Matt scowled at her, knowing he had to make her listen. “You’re to stay out of this and leave the detective work to me. No more snooping around the Gates Ranch, or anywhere else. It’s too dangerous. Do you understand?”

She glowered at him, saying nothing.

“Trust me, Jessie, that’s all I’m asking. I want the truth as much as you do. But I need to find it in a way that won’t break the law.”

She broke eye contact and looked down at her hands, still refusing to answer.

“Come on, let’s have a bite to eat, and then I’ll help you pack,” he said, rising to his feet. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk about this on the way down the mountain.”

“No.”

“No?” He stared at her, caught off guard.

“I told you, I’m staying here. I’ll be fine.”

“Blast it, Jessie, listen to me!” he exploded, rising to his feet.

“No, you listen to me, Matt Langtry.” She was on her feet also, her voice so tightly controlled that he could see the strained cords in her neck. “Last night was wonderful. I can’t fault you for taking what I was willing to give. But I’m not exactly the sort of woman you’d want on your arm in public, am I?”

“What the devil are you talking about?”

“Your rules, your honor, your precious reputation—it’s as if you need to prove that you’re better than ordinary people. Maybe it’s because of the way you were raised, without knowing who your father was. Maybe it’s something I’m not even aware of. But you’d never take a public stand against the likes of Virgil Gates for the sake of a poor, innocent mountain boy who died in your custody. And you wouldn’t be caught dead walking down Main Street in Sheridan with that boy’s sister!”

Matt felt the color drain from his face as her words sank home. “You’re wrong, Jessie. And this conversation isn’t about me. It’s about getting you to the Tollivers, where you’ll be safe.”

“I’m safe enough here. If I need to, I can get to the Tolliver Ranch by myself.”

“I could arrest you and take you in. You’d be safe in jail.”

“Arrest me? For what?” She showed no sign of fear.

“Trespassing, arson, assaulting a federal officer. Take your pick.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Her blazing eyes challenged him.

“Wouldn’t I?” He took a step toward her. His words had been no more than an empty threat, but Jessie’s eyes widened in sudden fear.

Losing her nerve, she spun away with a little gasp and bolted into the cabin, slamming the door behind her.

Matt swore as he heard the bolt slide into place. Last night, with Jessie in his arms, the future had seemed clear and fine. Now his whole world had turned upside down, and he didn’t know how to set it right.

Trying to coax her outside, he knew, would only add fuel to the fire. Jessie needed time to sort things out. Maybe once she did, she would realize that he loved her and was only trying to protect her. But meanwhile, all he could do was leave her alone.

Feeling as if he’d been gut-kicked, Matt strode around to the corral and saddled his horse. As soon as he got back to Sheridan, he would send a message to Morgan Tolliver, telling him where Jessie was and urging him to bring her down to the ranch. Hopefully Morgan would be able to talk some sense into the stubborn little fool. Matt could only wish he’d been able to do it himself.

Had Jessie been right about him? Was he so hungry for acceptance that he couldn’t step out of line,
even for the right reason? Was it his lack of a father that had driven him to make something of himself at the expense of love and compassion? Was that why he’d never let anyone close to him?

Her words had shaken him to the core. In the hours ahead, he would turn those words over in his mind and try his best to understand them. If he failed, he knew that Jessie would be lost to him forever.

Easing his sore body into the saddle, he rode around to the front of the house. The door was tightly closed, as he’d known it would be.

Almost as an afterthought, he took the leather pouch, containing the fifty-dollar prize, out of his vest pocket and tossed it onto the stoop. Then he wheeled his horse and rode down the mountain.

W
hat had she done?

Jessie slumped on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped between her knees, as the sound of Matt’s galloping horse faded into silence.

Part of her wanted to rush outside, bridle her mare and race after him, shouting that she’d rather go to jail than live without him. But she’d already made a complete fool of herself. Why worsen the melodrama by begging?

Would Matt really have arrested her? Probably not. But she’d frustrated him to the point where he’d washed his hands of her. He wouldn’t be coming back. Not if he had a lick of sense.

Morning sunlight streamed through the chinks between the logs, falling in bright patterns on the quilt where she and Matt had made love. As Jessie rose to her feet, the raw twinge between her legs reminded
her that her innocence was gone forever. She had flung it away in love and joy and had no regrets—not even now.

Last night, for a time, she’d let herself believe he loved her, too. But his callous, offhand proposal—if it could even be called that—had shown her the truth. If she still wanted him, after spending time with the Tollivers, he would be willing to do his duty.

Duty. What a miserable, heartbreaking word, she thought. And it was the very word that ruled Matt Langtry’s life. Where were his emotions—did he even have any? Where was his heart—would he ever listen to its call? Or would his days be one long march to the grinding cadence of duty…duty…duty…?

Why couldn’t he have told her he loved her? Maybe that would have made the difference.

Opening the door, she walked outside. The sunlight was blinding after the dim interior of the cabin. In its glare, she thought she saw a rider emerging over the crest of the trail. Her heart gave a glorious bound then plummeted as her vision cleared. She was staring at a twisted stump on the far side of the meadow.

Her foot touched the leather pouch on the stoop. Fighting the temptation to throw it into the trees, she picked it up and shoved it into her pocket. The prize money was rightfully Matt’s, not hers. If she ever saw him again, she’d pay it back—with interest.

But she’d brooded about Matt long enough, Jes
sie told herself, sinking onto the stoop. It was time to return to her own duty and clear her brother’s name once and for all.

She’d come up with scattered bits of information, and Matt had given her still more. If she put everything together, like the pieces of a puzzle, maybe the emerging picture would show her something new.

Smoothing the dirt at her feet, she found a sharp twig and began to sketch out a map of the Gates Ranch and the surrounding land. She drew in Goose Creek, the fences, the roads, the house, the corral, the barn and the other outbuildings, even the trees and brush. Then she extended the roads and trails in the direction of town.

Now she needed people.

Walking around to the corral, she reached into the streambed, scraped up a handful of water-tumbled pebbles and carried them back to her map. The largest one, brown and slightly rough, she designated as Virgil. A smooth, gray stone was Allister, a dark, narrow one Frank. Her own pebble was small and golden, Lillian’s brightly polished and dark green in color. The rest of the pebbles were used to represent the hired help—house servants and ranch hands.

She placed her own pebble first, on the far side of the creek where she’d waited for Frank with the mare. Virgil’s was placed off the map, in the area she’d designated as the town. After a moment’s
thought, she laid Frank’s stone next to her own, by the creek. Since Allister and Lillian had been man and wife, she placed theirs in the house, close together, likely in the same bedroom.

The ranch hands would have been asleep in the bunkhouse, although she could not be certain of that. Likewise, the servants would have retired to their quarters behind the main house. She scattered the remaining pebbles in both locations.

As she studied her map, Jessie soon realized that she couldn’t account for the movements of everyone on the ranch. She could only start with what she knew firsthand, and go on from there.

Picking up the narrow stone that represented Frank, she moved it along the road, through the gate and into the corral, which sided on the barn where Midnight had been stabled. Frank had gone into the barn, freed the stallion and was leading him out of barn when Allister, who’d emerged from the house with his pistol, had met him at the gate of the corral.

Weighing the possibilities, Jessie moved Frank’s stone out of the barn. At the same time, she moved Allister’s stone out of the house, putting them together at the corral gate. Then she sat back to study the picture she’d made.

It had been a little after ten o’clock when she and Frank had arrived at the creek, and he’d gone in on foot to get the stallion. According to Frank, the house
had been dark when he arrived, so Allister and his wife would have been in bed—but not asleep, perhaps. Otherwise, Allister wouldn’t have heard the horses and known something was amiss.

Virgil had been in town at that hour and, although she was loath to set the odious man aside as a suspect, Matt had been right about one thing. There was no way Virgil could have known what was going to happen. Reluctantly, she left the brown pebble in place.

The bunkhouse and the servants’ quarters lay beyond the house, a good fifty yards from the corral. Unless Allister and Frank had been shouting at the tops of their lungs, it would have been difficult to rouse anyone sleeping inside.

True, Jessie reasoned, one of the hands, or even one of the servants, could have been prowling outside in the darkness. But why? And what was the chance they’d have wanted to kill their employer? It was a possible explanation, but not a likely one.

As Jessie stared down at her puzzle, the last piece slipped into place. The hair rose on the back of her neck as she realized there was only one person who could have killed Allister Gates, and she knew, with gut-clenching certainty, who it was.

Now all she needed was a way to prove it.

By the time Matt arrived back in Sheridan, the sun was approaching the peak of the sky. His empty belly
was growling with hunger, but before he took the time to eat, there were three tasks he’d resolved to carry out.

The first was to visit the telegraph office to see if word had come back from St. Louis regarding Lillian’s history. Finding that nothing had arrived, he scribbled a terse second request, sent it off and told the operator he would check back later that afternoon.

He used the pen and paper at the telegraph office to write a note to Morgan. On the back of the note he drew a map showing the location of Jessie’s cabin. He told Morgan that she appeared safe for now, but if he didn’t hear from her in the next few days, he might want to ride up there, or send someone she’d recognize, and bring her down to the ranch.

At the livery stable he found a willing youth and paid him to carry the note to the Tolliver Ranch. Finally, returning to his own office, he sat down to begin the third task.

He had pondered Jessie’s angry accusations all the way back to town. Much as it stung to admit it, there was truth in what she’d said. For all of his adult life, he’d been driven by the need to belong, to fit in and be looked up to by others. That need had compelled him to follow a strict code of rules—not necessarily what was right, but what would make him accepted. It had guided his decision to become a lawman. And finally, it had driven him to seek out one of the most respected families in the
territory and to claim them—privately, at least—as his kin.

Only today, seared by Jessie’s impassioned words, had he stopped to count the cost.

Who was Matthew Tolliver Langtry? He was a man who defined himself by other people’s expectations, who weighed every consequence, thought before he acted and prided himself on keeping his true feelings under lock and key.

He was a man who had everything to learn from a beautiful little spitfire whose passion for truth, justice, loyalty and unconditional love burned like a rainbow flame. Warm, impulsive, tender Jessie was his salvation, his best and brightest hope. He could not bear to live another day without her.

Tonight, by heaven, he was going to ride back up to that cabin, fall at her feet and beg her to be his. But right now he had a letter to write, one that needed to be written before he could move on with his life.

For a moment Matt stared down at the blank paper. Then he dipped his pen into the inkwell and began to write.

Matt folded and addressed the letter and carried it to the post office in time for the afternoon stage. He felt a curious lightness as he walked away. He had never known his own father. But his children would know theirs. He would be there to provide for them, to guide, teach and protect them. And he would love their mother to the end of his days. That was all that mattered.

Being a lawman was dangerous, demanding work. It required a man to be away from home for days, even weeks at a time. He wouldn’t want that for his family. He would want to be there whenever they needed him.

Matt had saved much of his income over the years,
and the money had earned a good rate of interest. By now, he calculated, there ought to be enough in the account to buy the small ranch he’d dreamed of owning one day. Maybe it was time to make that dream come true—with Jessie.

By the time Matt had eaten and taken care of some urgent paperwork, it was late afternoon. It would be well after dark when he arrived at Jessie’s cabin, but that shouldn’t matter. He knew the trail, and there would be a full moon to light his way. He could only pray that she would hear him out and return with him. If she refused… A cold needle of doubt jabbed Matt’s heart. Jessie had turned him down once. What if he couldn’t change her mind?

That was why he’d contacted Morgan, Matt reminded himself. At least, if something went wrong, there’d be someone else who knew where Jessie was and could get her to safety.

Either way, one thing was certain—Jessie would not be ready to move on with her life until the issue of her brother’s murder charge was laid to rest. She had taken on a personal vendetta. Until she made her peace with the past, he could not add to her burden by asking her to be his wife.

And Matt had his own reasons for wanting to find Allister’s killer. Because of that crime, a young man had suffered a tragic, needless death. Frank Hammond deserved justice. Matt couldn’t think of his
own future until that justice was done. He owed the boy that much.

He had picked up Copper at the livery stable and was headed out of town when he remembered that he hadn’t checked back at the telegraph office. For a moment Matt was tempted to keep riding. He’d grown frustrated waiting for word from St. Louis, and he was anxious to get to Jessie.

He hesitated, then sighed and turned the big gelding back toward town. Experience had taught him to follow through on every detail. If he left without checking for a message, he would always wonder if it might have made a difference.

The telegraph operator was just locking up for the day. As Matt swung off his horse, the wiry, bespectacled man waved the envelope in his hand. “This just came for you, Marshal,” he said. “I was going to leave it at your office on my way home.”

Thanking him, Matt ripped open the envelope and yanked out the message inside. As his fingers unfolded the paper, he braced himself for disappointing news. Not all his hunches paid off. For all he knew, Lillian Gates could be as saintly as she was beautiful.

But as he stared down at the printed letters, he knew that wasn’t the case. His hunch had been dead-on.

Stuffing the telegram into his pocket, Matt sprang into the saddle and jabbed his boots into Copper’s
flanks. He had no evidence to prove that Lillian had murdered her husband, but sooner or later he would find it. Meanwhile, he needed to get to Jessie before she took another crazy chance. She was dealing with a black widow. One more misadventure could trap her in a deadly web, with no way out.

Several hours later, Matt paused on the ridge above the cabin to rest his lathered horse. He had pushed the big chestnut as hard as he dared, all the way up the meandering trail. Even so, the setting sun had won the race. The mountains lay cloaked in deep twilight, brightened above the peaks by the platinum rim of the moon.

With every mile he rode, Matt’s fear for Jessie had grown. When he reached the cabin, he saw there was no light flickering between the logs, no smoke drifting out of the chimney. Matt cursed in desperation. Damn it, he should have known she’d take off on her own. Why hadn’t he stayed with her—or better yet, broken down the door, flung her over his shoulder and hauled her down the mountain?

As he rode up to the cabin, hope still burned that she might have taken refuge with the Tollivers. But the nicker of the spotted packhorse from the corral laid that idea to rest. If she’d gone to the Tolliver Ranch, she would have taken both horses. The pinto’s
presence was a sure sign that Jessie had meant to return, which could only mean one thing.

Jessie was in danger, and he had to go after her.

Slipping off the mare’s back, Jessie looped the bridle around a willow that grew beside the water. On her previous two visits to the Gates Ranch, she’d ridden Spade and left him in the hills outside town. This time, fearing the need to make a fast getaway, she’d decided to take Gypsy and leave her at the creek, where she’d waited for Frank on the night of Allister’s death.