The Horseman's Bride (11 page)

C
lara lay on her bed, covers flung aside, eyes gazing up into the darkness. The clock in the downstairs hallway had just struck eleven, a time when she would usually be asleep. But tonight sleep was the last thing on her mind. Every nerve in her body was alive and quivering.

Her parents had retired an hour ago, and there was no sound from their room across the hall. Katy and Daniel, who’d arrived home soon after his father, had gone to bed even earlier. Only the small settling sounds of an old house broke the nighttime stillness.

Shifting onto her side, Clara thought back on every detail of the family’s after-supper conversation. Her grandmother had come in the buggy that evening bringing the news. Tanner had discovered oil seeping through the bog. He’d taken her to see it for herself, and he’d said there could be more oil under the farm and ranch. If they wanted to exploit their potential wealth, he’d given her the name of a reputable St. Louis firm they could contact.

“Who in blazes does this Tanner think he is?” Judd had demanded. “If he knows so much, why isn’t he here in person? What’s he getting out of this?”

“Nothing,” Mary had replied calmly. “He seems to know a lot about oil, but he doesn’t want any part of this. In fact, he’s leaving first thing tomorrow morning.”

Clara had suppressed a gasp.

“But that’s not all,” Mary had continued. “Whatever we decide to do about the oil, we’ll need to do it right away. Tanner and I saw tracks out by the bog. Somebody else had been there, and it’s likely they know about the oil.”

“What kind of tracks?” A cold knot tightened in Clara’s stomach. “What did they look like?”

“Boots,” Mary had answered. “Long, skinny, cowboy boots. The toes were so pointed they looked like you could thread them through a darning needle.”

“Lyle McCabe.” Judd had looked as if he wanted to spit. “He wears boots like that, and the weasel showed up here yesterday with flowers for Clara. Maybe he figures the easiest way to get the oil is to marry into the family.”

“Oh, please…” The memory of McCabe walking into her room had triggered a sick panic. Clara had barely listened to the rest of the discussion. All she remembered of it now was that the family had agreed to leave the oil in the ground. Tomorrow Judd would go to the nearest Bureau of Land Management office and arrange to lease the land around the bog to keep McCabe or anyone else from drilling there.

But Lyle McCabe was a dangerous man. Clara had known all along that he wanted her, and the oil discovery had just raised the stakes. Now McCabe would be doubly determined. And he was capable of destroying anyone who got in his way.

Clara sat up in bed. Moonlight shone through the lace-curtained window, casting a flower garden of patterns on the far wall. Maybe the full moon would work its magic on her mares. Tonight would be their last chance with Galahad—and her last chance to see Tanner.

Swinging her legs to the floor, she stripped off her nightgown, pulled on her jeans and shirt and picked up her boots. Her mother and father would be furious if they knew what she was up to. But she needed to warn Tanner about McCabe. And she needed to know the truth about the murder of Hollis Rumford.

Getting a horse could easily wake her parents. She would have to walk across the fields to her grandmother’s farm. That would take twenty or thirty minutes. She could only hope that Tanner would still be there when she arrived.

Jace stood at the paddock fence, his eyes tracing the constellations in the night sky. Tonight the moon was a swollen sphere, hanging like a ripe peach against the velvety darkness. The wind was a musical murmur in the cottonwoods, carrying the scent of blooming honeysuckle from Mary’s garden.

In the paddock, the stallion and the two mares
pranced and pirouetted in a dance as old as life itself. Their manes and tails flew as they frisked, nipped and swung their massive bodies.

A smile teased Jace’s lips as he watched them. He’d witnessed the breeding process a number of times at the Rumford stables. A prize stud could be disabled by the kick of a mare’s sharp hooves, so every precaution was taken to make sure this didn’t happen. First a lesser stallion was brought into the corral to excite the mare. That done, the smaller horse was led away and the mare was confined in a narrow box, open at the back end. Only then was the stud horse allowed to approach her and finish the job, with handlers on all sides to make sure nothing went wrong. Jace had thought it a pitiful way to make love, even for horses.

Tonight, Galahad was entirely on his own, the way nature had intended. The big stallion seemed to know exactly what he was doing. Jace was grateful that he could leave Clara with this one parting gift. If all went as hoped, next spring’s foals would carry the bay’s bloodline into the future. Maybe as she watched those foals growing up, Clara would remember their time together.

But no—Jace brought himself up with a mental slap. That notion was pure romantic balderdash. The truth was, it would be better, and safer, for them both if she forgot they’d ever met.

Leaving the horses to their business, he walked up to the house and lowered himself to the front steps. The lights were out. Mary would be fast asleep. He’d be
smart to get some sleep himself. He had a long road ahead of him tomorrow. But his bedroll and gear were already packed to go, and he was too restless to lie down and close his eyes.

Was Clara awake, too? Was she lying sleepless in her bed, her curls tumbling over the pillow, her nightgown tangled around her bare legs? Was she dreaming about how it would feel to let him make love to her, his flesh naked against hers, his body thrusting into her hot, wet sweetness?

Hellfire, thoughts like that could drive a man crazy!

Rising, he walked back across the moonlight-flooded yard toward the barn. The night was alive with sounds—the chirping of crickets, the swish of a nighthawk’s wings, the ripple of wind across the hayfields and the sounds of mating horses. Suddenly he became aware of another sound—footsteps rustling through the grass, coming closer.

Jace slipped into the shadows and stood motionless, waiting. Why hadn’t he strapped on the pistol? He should have known he might need it. He was cursing his carelessness when Clara stepped into the moonlight. She was moving at a graceful stride, her hair fluttering in the night breeze. An aching knot constricted in Jace’s throat as he stepped into view. Seeing him, she stopped, turned and ran to him without a word.

He caught her close. Clara melted into his warm strength, clasping him tight against her, holding him as
if her arms could bind him to her forever. “I was afraid I’d never see you again,” she whispered.

His throat moved against her hair. “You won’t see me after tonight. But come and look, Clara. You may be getting those foals you wanted after all.”

Taking her hand, he led her to the paddock. Clara heard them first, the stamping hooves, the low snorts and nickers. Then, beyond the fence, she could see the horses moving like shadows. Moonlight flashed on their manes and flanks, on their exquisite faces and big, dark eyes.

“Oh!” she gasped, awestruck. “Oh, I can’t believe it’s finally happening!” She hugged him in her excitement. “Thank you, Tanner! Thank you for staying!”

“What do you say we give them some privacy?” He placed his hand at the small of her back and turned her away, guiding her along the path toward the blooming orchard. The night was so filled with wild magic that Clara was tempted to hold her tongue. But that wasn’t why she’d come here. There were things that needed to be said, and no time to say them but now.

She groped for her courage, her mouth dry, her pulse racing.

“Are you all right?” Tanner asked, sensing her discomfort. “What is it?”

Clara cleared the tightness from her throat. “I was in town yesterday, before the accident,” she said. “Something made me stop by the marshal’s office. There were some new posters on his desk. One of them had your photograph on it.” She took a sharp breath. “I
know that your real name is Jason Denby and that you’re wanted for killing a man.”

His guiding hand dropped away. Clara could feel the tension in his silence. An eternity seemed to pass before he spoke.

“Are you afraid of me, Clara?”

“Would I have come here if I was afraid?” Her response came without hesitation. She knew he would never harm her. “I only want to know the truth,” she said. “Who was Hollis Rumford? How did you come to kill him?”

They were standing under the oldest tree in the orchard, an ancient plum, heavy with blossoms. Pink petals shimmered in the moonlight. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath while Tanner hesitated. Seconds ticked by.

“Hollis Rumford was my brother-in-law,” he said at last, “the husband of my only sister, Ruby. He was one of the richest men in Springfield, Missouri. Big house, powerful friends, a stable of the finest Thoroughbred racehorses in the state. The bastard cared more for those damned horses than he did for his wife and daughters.”

He fell silent again. Clara touched his arm. “You once told me that what you did was necessary. But surely, killing a man—”

“You didn’t know him.” He stared past her into the darkness, as if seeing something far away. “Hollis and my sister were married ten years. He cheated on her from the beginning, and before long he was punching her, shoving her, choking her, damn near killing her.”

Tanner’s hands clenched into fists. “Ruby was—
is—a beautiful woman. You can’t imagine how she looked after those beatings. I’d have thrashed the son of a bitch to a bloody pulp, but I knew he’d take it out on Ruby and the girls. When I threatened to have him arrested, Hollis just laughed. His family was hand in glove with every judge in the county. Besides, as he put it, didn’t a man have the right to discipline his own wife?”

“Couldn’t she have left him?” Clara asked softly.

Tanner shook his head. “He’d have taken their two little girls. That was the one thing Ruby wouldn’t stand for.”

Again he fell silent. Clara waited, sensing that whatever had happened, he was reliving it in his mind.

“Three months ago everything came to a head. I got a telephone call from her late one night. She was hysterical. She’d learned that once, when he was drunk, Hollis had tried to molest their nine-year-old daughter. When Ruby confronted him, he started beating her. She ran into the bedroom and called me—said he was pounding on the door, yelling that he was going to kill her. When I got to their place I could hear her screaming. I ran up the stairs—he’d broken down the door, and they were in the bedroom…”

“And so you shot him.” Clara ended the story Tanner was too drained to finish. He was quivering like a horse at the end of a long race. Her arms went around him, holding him so tightly that she could feel his throbbing heartbeat. “I understand now. The man was a monster. You stopped him the only way you could. But why did
you have to get away? You were defending your sister. No jury would have convicted you of murder.”

Tanner exhaled, sagging against her. “I couldn’t take that chance. Hollis’s family is ruthless. Even the courts are afraid to cross them.” His arms circled her, cradling her close. “All I could do was run, and I’ve been running ever since.”

Blinking back tears, she gazed up at him—the tawny, wind-tousled hair, the weary lines that etched the corners of his shadowed eyes, the firm jaw and noble mouth. This man was anything but a cold-blooded killer. Jason Tanner Denby was an honorable man who had put his life and freedom on the line to protect others. More than that, he was the only man she’d ever loved—and she was about to lose him.

Stretching on tiptoe, she caught the back of his neck with one hand and pulled him down to her. For the barest instant he resisted. Then his mouth crushed hers in a kiss that burned through her body like flame through gunpowder. Clara melted against him, putting her heart, soul and body into that kiss. Her lips opened. She felt him gasp as her tongue invaded his mouth, seeking and finding. Her hips flattened against his hardness, pressing inward to recapture the heavenly sensations he’d awakened in her on that earlier night.

She could feel him fighting her still, but he was losing the battle. “Clara, please don’t—” he muttered.

She clasped him close, never wanting to let him go. “Take me with you, Tanner,” she whispered. “I’ll go
anywhere with you, sleep on the ground, run from the law—”

“Don’t be crazy!” he growled, pushing her away from him. “That’s no kind of life for any woman, especially for you. All you’d do is make it more likely for me to get caught. Let me go, and get on with your life, Clara. That’s the only choice we have.”

“Do you love me?” she asked, needing to know.

“Would it make any difference if I did?” His voice had chilled. “I need to go, and you need to forget me.”

“You make it sound so simple.” She knew he was trying to do the right thing; still his coldness stung her. She ought to leave now, and salvage the little pride she had left, Clara thought. But in the rush of seeing him again, she’d nearly forgotten her most urgent reason for coming here.

“Simple or not, it’s the only way,” he said. “I have to leave, and you have to let me.”

“But you can’t go now—not by the roads, at least. I told you I’d seen your photograph on a poster. At least one other person has seen it, too. That’s why I came here tonight, to warn you.”

His eyes flashed, then narrowed sharply. “Tell me everything,” he said.

The story tumbled out of her in bursts—how Deputy Lyle McCabe had watched her go through the wanted posters, how he’d noticed her reaction and how she’d told him an unconvincing lie. “My grandmother’s description of the prints at the bog matched the boots McCabe was wearing,” she said. “If he’s been nosing
around here, chances are he’s seen you, at least from a distance.”

Tanner scowled, deepening the moon-shadows that masked his eyes. “So why doesn’t he just ride in and arrest me?”

“Maybe he’s not sure who you really are. You’ve changed since the picture was taken.” Clara’s knees went rubbery as a new possibility struck her. “You’re wanted dead or alive. Maybe he’s waiting to catch you alone, with no witnesses. That way he could just shoot you, and the town would call him a hero.”