Forever and Always (6 page)

He didn't know where he was. He'd run from the bank and headed for the first group of trees he saw. There wasn't a lot of privacy—the desert being unlikely to produce a lot of growth even in the rainy season—but everyone was busy with their morning chores while it remained relatively cool. Before it got hot, he'd be back at his camp on the ridge, safely hidden among the trees and about two thousand feet above the town.

“Are you all right, mister?”

Logan opened his eyes to find a little girl staring up at him with concern in her eyes. She was a beautiful child—blue eyes, corn-silk blond hair, and skin that would shame a peach. Her dress was slightly dirty, but her face and hands were clean. He hadn't heard her come up. He didn't want to lie to the child, but he wanted to cause her to lose interest in him and go back to playing. “I'm just a little tired. I'll be fine in a minute.”

“You don't look fine to me. I think you look sick. Want me to take you to the doctor? I know the way.”

So she wasn't going to lose interest in him, and she wasn't going away without a better explanation. “I don't need a doctor. I just had a weak spell. It won't last long.”

“What is a weak spell?”

He wasn't in the mood for explanations. Why couldn't she have been a grubby little boy he could have run off without a qualm? “It's when you feel tired all of a sudden and have to sit down.”

“Aunt Naomi said she felt like that a lot before Annabelle was born.”

Logan smothered a smile. “Well, I'm not going to have a baby.”

“Men can't have babies. Only ladies.”

A serious girl who didn't see the humor in Logan's answer. “And it's a very good thing. I don't believe men would make very good mothers.”

“Men can't be mothers. They have to be fathers.”

He was clearly out of his depth here. He had no idea what to say to a child this young. It was clear she didn't like anything he'd said. “You're a very smart little girl. I'm sure your mother is very proud of you.”

“Mama says she gives me all her love because she doesn't have anybody else now.”

Now he placed the child. She'd been sitting on the front bench at Norman Spencer's funeral. He'd been too far back to get a good look at her. “I don't have a mother. I had a father, but he died several years ago.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Very much.”

“I—”

“Kitty! What are you doing here?”

“I'm talking to this man.”

A boy a few years older, maybe about ten, and several inches taller had pushed his way through the undergrowth with the energy typical of a child who spent most of his life outside. He was a handsome young man, but unlike the little girl he appeared to be unconcerned with his looks or the condition of his clothes. His hair looked like he'd come through a bush backward, and his clothes were snagged and dirty at the knees. He approached Logan.

“What's wrong with your face? It's puffed up like bread dough.”

Kitty turned on the boy like an avenging angel. “That's a mean thing to say, Peter Blaine. If I was to tell your papa, he'd tan the hide right off you.”

Before Peter could reply, a blond girl a few years older than Kitty and looking remarkably like Peter burst into the clearing. “Here you are,” she exclaimed, out of breath. “It's not fair for both of you to leave without telling me where you were going.”

“I wasn't going anywhere,” Peter said. “I was looking for Kitty. She's talking to this man.” He indicated Logan.

“Oh.” She reacted like she hadn't been aware of Logan until Peter pointed him out. “Who are you? What's wrong with your face?”

“My name is Logan Holstock, and I'm resting in the shade.”

“He's sick,” Kitty informed her.

“I'm feeling much better,” Logan insisted.

The girl didn't look convinced. “You don't look like it. We can take you to the doctor.”

“I already told him,” Kitty said. “He says he doesn't need a doctor. I'm Kitty Spencer,” she told him. “Peter and Esther are my cousins. We'll take care of you until you feel better.”

The sincerity in the girl's voice touched Logan. “I'm feeling much better now, but thanks for the offer.”

“You don't look a lot better,” Peter challenged.

“Don't pay any attention to Peter,” Kitty said. “Aunt Naomi says Uncle Colby is letting him grow up as wild as a longhorn steer.”

Since Logan had never seen a longhorn steer, he wasn't exactly sure how wild that might be. It was clear, however, that all three children felt free to speak their minds.

“I have to be going,” Logan said. “And I imagine your mothers are wondering where you three might be.”

“Mama says somebody always knows where we are,” Kitty said. “She says that's what comes of being related to half the people in town.”

Logan couldn't imagine what it would be like to have such a large family. It had always been just him and his father. His uncle only caused trouble, and Bridgette preferred to spend her time with her friends. It made him wonder if he and his brothers would have been like these three children if their parents hadn't died. But finding them now wouldn't be the same. They would have jobs, families, and responsibilities. Life had been good to him, but he was realizing he'd missed far more than he'd ever guessed. And now it was too late to do anything about it.

“You're very fortunate to have so many people who love you,” Logan said.

“Mrs. Oliver called Peter a hellion.” Esther giggled then turned to her brother. “If you tell Mama I said that, I'll tell her what you said about Preacher Simpson.”

“I'm no snitch,” Peter said, incensed his sister would accuse him of such treachery. “Are you sure you're all right?” he asked Logan.

“Yes, I'm sure.”

“Then we gotta be going. Kitty is only six. She can't stay out playing as long as we can.”

Logan watched the children head off, all three talking at once. Why had he never known children could be like that? He would have given anything to have had two or three of his own. Why was he learning everything when it was too late?

* * *

The next morning, Logan stared at his saddled horse and cursed himself for a fool. Why had he offered to help Sibyl? She was related to half the people in Cactus Corner. Any one of a dozen people could probably do everything he could. The dog rose from where he'd been resting at the edge of Logan's camp. He'd come a little closer each day.

“You've had a rotten turn of luck, too,” Logan said to the dog. “What do you think I should do?”

The dog whined softly.

“Tell me to unsaddle the horse, take my rifle, and go hunting.”

The dog inched closer, then paused.

“You're no help. Some bastard practically beat you to death, and you're willing to trust me because I feed you. You're as foolish as I am.”

Logan had argued with himself ever since he got back to his camp. He had as many reasons to stay away from Sibyl as he had to help her. He didn't really know anything about her, but he found himself attracted to her. She was a lovely woman. Beautiful in fact. Any man would be attracted to her. She was a young widow with a small daughter to provide for and a business she knew nothing about. Everything about her situation was bound to arouse the protective instincts of any man. He wouldn't be surprised if, before the end of the week, half the men in Cactus Corner had offered to help her. The fact that she was a rich and beautiful widow was guaranteed to bring her to the attention of men—some handsome and charming—who would try to take advantage of her. Was that why he offered to help, to protect her? She had family to do that. She didn't need some stranger who would live for only a few more months.

He felt a genuine desire to help, but was that all? Last night he'd dreamed of her. And there was nothing altruistic about those dreams. If he hadn't already felt so rotten, he'd feel embarrassed. How could he say he had a selfless desire to help, that nothing more than that had prompted his offer, when he had erotic dreams? He'd never dreamed about Bridgette like that. He wasn't sure he'd ever dreamed about Bridgette at all.

“It's a rotten piece of luck,” he said to the dog. “I finally meet a woman who makes me have dreams I'd be embarrassed to share with anyone, and I'm a dead man walking. You ever met a female who made you dream like that?” Logan struck his forehead with the base of his palm. “What the hell's wrong with me? Not only am I asking a dog for advice, I'm asking him about his dreams. If I were back in Chicago, they'd lock me away in an asylum for the permanently insane.”

The dog whined and crept closer.

“If you had any idea what I've been saying, you'd turn tail and head for the woods. I must be crazy. Whatever has made my face look like it's about to bust must have invaded my brain. Maybe I'll soon be running through the woods barking like you.” He laughed, then sobered. “Only you don't bark. Are you afraid that man will find you? I ought to be hiding, too, yet I'm going into town to teach Sibyl Spencer how to run her bank. After that…well, we know what comes after that. You'd better look around for someone else to feed you. Maybe that boy who came by a few days ago. He seems like the kind of young man who'd take real good care of a dog like you. You think about it. You can't depend on me forever.”

The dog's eyes never left Logan.

“If you insist on staying, you can crawl inside the tent. It gets right hot in the afternoon.”

With a sigh signifying the acceptance of the inevitable, Logan mounted his horse. Gathering the reins, he headed toward the trail leading down the rim and into town. He'd known from the beginning he was going. Maybe that's why the dog hadn't said anything. No point in giving advice that would be ignored.

* * *

“Elliot Lowe?”

The sound of his forgotten name caused Logan to stiffen. He had been wary when Cassie informed him that a man in the bank lobby had asked to speak to the man with the puffy face.

“Who are you?” he asked. “And why would you expect me to respond to that name?” The man didn't appear disconcerted by Logan's unfriendly manner or the nature of his question.

“Is there somewhere we can speak in private?”

“Here is fine.” The bank was empty except for Cassie and Horace. “My name is Logan Holstock. You have followed the wrong man.”

“I don't think so.” The man looked pleased rather than disconcerted. “I'm a Pinkerton agent hired by Miss Bridgette Lowe to find you and take you home. I followed you from Chicago.”

Realizing this was a conversation he couldn't avoid, Logan said, “Let's go out back.”

He wasn't surprised Bridgette had tried to find him. Her father had done nothing to help his brother build his businesses. Nevertheless, she believed she should have been the one to inherit her uncle's money. Now her only way to get it was to marry Logan. “How did you find me?”

“Your looks made it easy to follow your trail.”

That shouldn't have surprised him. Everyone he'd encountered between here and Chicago probably remembered the sick man with the bloated features. “You've wasted your time and Bridgette her money,” he told the agent. “Tell Bridgette I'm not going back because I have no reason to go back.”

The agent cocked his head. “I understood you were engaged to marry Miss Lowe.”

He didn't know what Bridgette had told the agent, but he wasn't going to discuss his personal life with a stranger. “I have to go back to work, and you have a long way to travel. You should get started.”

“I would like to talk to you again,” the agent said.

“I don't want to talk to you. Now I have to leave. I have work to do.”

The man seemed reluctant. “I'll be in town for a few days.”

“Enjoy the scenery.”

“If you change your mind—”

“I won't.”

After a pause, the agent left. When Logan reentered the bank, Horace pretended to be busy. Making no attempt to hide her curiosity, Cassie looked directly at him.

“I knew you couldn't be a bum,” she said. “You talk too nice.”

“There are lots of bums in Chicago.”

Cassie's curiosity couldn't be diverted so easily. “I bet there aren't any with Pinkerton agents looking for them. You aren't a criminal, are you? No, you wouldn't be,” she said, answering her own question. “Not with some rich woman wanting to marry you. Why don't you want to marry her? Has she seen your face?”

He'd only known Cassie for a few hours, but he knew the only way to stop her was to satisfy her curiosity. “Yes, she's seen my face.”

“She must really love you.”

He wasn't going to get into that. “It wouldn't be right for either of us.”

Cassie regarded him with open skepticism. “There's something else, isn't there?”

Horace poked his head through his teller window. “Leave the man alone. If he's got secrets, it's none of your business.”

“I'm not interested in
knowing
his secrets,” Cassie said. “I just want to know they won't hurt Mrs. Spencer.” Her gaze zeroed in on Logan. “What about it?”

“My secrets won't hurt Mrs. Spencer or anyone in Cactus Corner,” Logan said.

“I'll hold you to that,” Cassie said.

“I'd prefer it if you didn't tell Mrs. Spencer about this. No need to worry her.”

“Only as long as I think it's best for her not to know,” Cassie said.

“Fair enough. Now I'd better get back to work. I don't expect Mrs. Spencer would like her employees standing around gabbing.”

“Why should she care? Horace and me don't have any customers, and you're not being paid.”

“I care,” Logan said. “I made an offer, and I mean to stand by it.”