Wyoming Wildfire (Harlequin Historical) (18 page)

He slipped an opened envelope out of his vest and held it toward Matt. “Read this,” he said. “Take your time. It’s from someone you know.”

The tightness in Matt’s chest increased as he took the envelope in his hand. His heart turned over as he stared at the return address. It was from Hamilton Crawford, the retired Pinkerton man he’d hired to investigate the Tollivers—and it was addressed to Morgan.

With shaking fingers, Matt withdrew the two-page letter from the envelope and began to read.

Matt felt Morgan’s eyes on him, but he could not bring himself to look up. The tightness crept into
his throat, almost choking him, as he read the rest of the letter.

Lowering the letter, Matt stared at his brother. “You knew,” he whispered hoarsely. “Even when you introduced yourself at the Gates funeral—you knew all along.”

Morgan nodded slowly. “Forgive me. I needed time to make up my mind. I needed to discover what kind of man you were.”

“There’s nothing I expect from you,” Matt said. “I want no part of the property your father left. And I certainly don’t plan to change my name or do anything else to betray the secret. I only ask that you let me tell Jessie, and perhaps our children someday, when they’re grown.”

“That’s fine. Cassandra knows. And Ham Crawford, of course. But no one else.” Morgan shifted in his chair. “That brings me to another dilemma.”

“Your brother Ryan,” Matt guessed, and Morgan nodded.

“I was a boy when my own mother died. But when Jacob met your mother in Texas, he was married to
Ryan’s mother, Ann Marie. She was a fine woman, and we always believed our father was faithful to her. I honestly don’t know how Ryan is going to take this.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t tell him. I’d like to meet Ryan someday, but I’d never approach him on my own. If the truth would hurt your brother, there’s no reason for him to know about me.”

Morgan scowled. “I’ll think on it awhile. There’s time. Ryan only visits us once or twice a year.” Rising to his feet, he reached into his vest pocket. “For now, the most important thing is for you to rest and get well. But before I get back to the roundup, there’s something I want to show you. I found it after Jacob died, when I was cleaning out his desk. You may or may not recognize it. If you do, it’s yours.”

He held out his hand. In his palm was a tarnished, heart-shaped brass locket. “Open it,” he said.

Matt’s fingers fumbled with the delicate catch. At last the little heart sprang open. The photograph inside, carefully trimmed to fit, was murky with age. But as Matt stared down at it, the tightness in his throat burst in a release so powerful that he almost wept.

Struggling, he found his voice. “I’ve never had a picture of my mother, except in my mind. You’ve given me…a missing piece of myself. Thank you.”

Morgan muttered an acknowledgment. Clearly he was a man who kept his feelings under tight rein and
felt uneasy in the presence of so much emotion. But when he glanced past Matt, toward the door, his face broke into a smile. “I see you have another visitor,” he said. “I’ll leave you two alone and get back to the branding. Oh—and I’ve sent Johnny up the mountain to fetch Jessie’s old pinto. She’ll be relieved to hear that, won’t you, Jessie?”

Morgan stepped out of the room. Murmuring her thanks, Jessie passed him in the doorway. Matt’s heart stopped at the sight of her. She had bathed and changed into an airy yellow gown with a heart-shaped neckline and a green sash drawn tight around her hand-span waist. Her hair lay in damp curls around her glowing face. She smiled as she floated toward the bed.

Matt grinned back at her, his heart overflowing. For the past twenty years he’d wandered alone. Now at last he felt as if he’d come home. Home to Jessie.

“Why, you clean up right nicely, Miss Hammond,” he drawled. Then in a more serious tone he added, “Come and sit down, love. I’ve got something to show you…and something to ask you.”

April, 1888

M
att and Jessie knelt in the straw gazing at Gypsy’s newborn foal. Black like its sire, the velvety little creature was struggling to stand for the first time.

“Come on, baby,” Jessie coaxed. “That’s it. Feet underneath—oops! Come on…” She laughed as all four legs went sprawling.

The next attempt went better. With Gypsy’s nuzzling encouragement, the foal staggered to its feet and stood quivering on impossibly long legs. Then it tottered to its mother and began to nurse.

Jessie’s hand stole into Matt’s. “He’s magnificent,” she whispered. “How I wish Frank could have seen him! This was his dream!”

Matt’s fingers tightened around hers. “Now it’s
our dream, too. And who’s to say Frank isn’t somewhere close by, sharing it with us?”

Frank could rest in peace now, Matt hoped. Virgil Gates had backed up Jessie’s story that Lillian had shot Allister, clearing Frank of all blame. Since it couldn’t be proved that Virgil had murdered Lillian or that he’d ordered his thugs to track Jessie down and kill her, Virgil had gone free. But the trial had cost him money, friends and influence. Soon after, he’d sold his land, paid off his creditors and left the territory a broken man.

Matt and Jessie had bought their ranch, in the hills west of Sheridan, right after their wedding. For a time Matt had kept his marshal’s job, but he’d soon discovered that his heart was in the land. This was where he belonged.

The ranch was not large. But they had room for a few hundred head of cattle, and for the horses that Jessie bred and broke. The black stallion would remain free in the mountains, but his fiery lineage would continue in the foals that were born on the ranch. This one, Gypsy’s colt, promised to be the most splendid horse of all.

“Your turn next.” Matt patted Jessie’s tautly bulging belly. Laughing, she rubbed her head against his shoulder. Both of them wanted a big family. Heaven willing, their children would have a wonderful place to grow up, with two parents who loved them and
each other. Matt felt contentment to the marrow of his bones.

Their relationship with Morgan’s family was warm and friendly, even though their busy lives, and the decision to keep their shared blood a secret, limited the amount of time they spent together. It was enough, Matt told himself. He knew where he’d come from. He knew that Jacob Tolliver had loved his mother and he understood why Jacob had left her. It was all he’d ever wanted. Wasn’t it?

“Matt!” Jessie’s anxious voice broke into his musings. “I hear a horse outside, by the gate. We must have company.”

Rising to his feet, Matt strode outside, with Jessie behind him. His sun-dazzled eyes made out the figure of a solitary rider coming into the yard.

As his vision cleared, Matt could see that the man was a total stranger. Clad in buckskins, he was tall and fair, with sun-streaked locks and a well-trimmed beard. He was mounted on the most beautiful Appaloosa horse Matt had ever seen.

Matt had never set eyes on the man—surely he would remember if he had. But as he stranger dismounted, swinging off his horse with the grace of a cougar, Matt felt an oddly familiar tightening around his chest.

“Matthew Langtry?” The stranger’s voice was deep and rich.

“Yes,” Matt replied cordially. “What can I do for you.”

The stranger took a step toward him. Matt extended his hand, but the man did not take it. Instead he simply opened his arms. The grin on his face would have lit up an ocean of darkness.

“Ryan Tolliver,” he said. “I’m your brother!”