The Horseman's Bride (6 page)

Jace forced an easy grin. “Why, you little devil. You don’t give a damn about me, do you? You just want to keep me here long enough for Galahad to do his manly duty.”

“Believe me, if I pull this trigger you’ll have no more worry about doing
your
manly duty,” she snapped. “Now get back into that bed.”

Her image swam before Jace’s eyes. The past few minutes had drained what little strength he had. Now he was feeling light-headed again. It was all he could do to stay steady on his feet.

“You’re not going to shoot me, Clara,” he said. “That wouldn’t make sense. Why would you shoot somebody you’re trying so hard to save?”

He studied her from beneath one quirked eyebrow, struggling to appear as if he could stride out the door any minute. He sensed a slight hesitation, but she kept the pistol level, the hammer cocked.

“I’ll grant you extra points for determination,” Jace said. “Now put that gun down and find my boots and trousers, and I’ll be on my way.”

She shook her head. “Not on your life. You’re ill. You’re not thinking clearly.”

“Then it seems we have what’s known as a Mexican standoff.”

“Call it whatever you want. Looking at you now, I’d lay odds you wouldn’t even make it down the steps before you passed out.” She lowered the pistol and released the hammer. “Try it if you don’t believe me. Meanwhile, there’s chicken soup heating on the stove and more tea left in the kettle. Stay until morning. If you’re feeling better by sunup, I promise I won’t try to stop you from leaving.”

Bracing his hand on the door frame for support, Jace tried to ignore the hot chills creeping over his skin. His muscles ached; his eyes ached—and he was feeling worse by the minute. Like it or not, he knew he wasn’t going anywhere. He would spend the coming hours here in this bed. Clara would tend him and fuss over him, but the outcome would hinge on whether his own body could fight off the infection. By morning the tale would likely be told. Either he would be past the crisis, or he would be dead.

Waves of red fog were sweeping over him, pulling him under. Jace made it into the room before his legs gave way. He heard Clara’s voice as if from a great distance. Then he staggered, reeled and crashed onto the bed.

Outside, the rain had stopped. Trailed by a glimmer of stars, the moon rode the crest of the clearing sky. From the boggy ground along the creek, frogs piped a droning chorus. Crickets chirped in the drenched flower beds below the porch. Bats knifed through the darkness.

If Clara had taken time to check the clock, she would
have known it was past midnight. But for her, time had lost its meaning. Her attention was focused on the man who lay on the bed, muttering in half-conscious dreams.

Tanner was burning with fever. She felt the heat as she sponged his hot face, his closed eyelids, the hollow of his throat. Dipping and wringing the cloth again, she moved down to his chest and arms, his ribs and his flat belly. Hours ago she’d pulled off his flannel shirt and laid it aside. By now his torso was so familiar to her eyes and hands that she could have drawn it from memory—the broad shoulders and muscular chest, the wide-spaced nipples that shrank at her touch, the soft mat of light brown hair that spread over his chest, narrowing to a
V
that trailed off beneath the drawstring band of his cotton drawers.

Clara could not bring herself to wash him any lower. The memory of that jutting ridge pressing her cleft, driving her to a mindless frenzy, was too fresh, too painful. He’d been right to push her away. She’d made a fool of herself, and all she wanted now was to forget.

But what did her humiliation matter when the man could be dying? Early on, she’d spooned chicken soup into his mouth and dosed him with cup after cup of bark tea. But Tanner’s condition had only worsened. Now, in his fevered half-sleep, she no longer dared give him fluids for fear he might choke on them.

Clara had tried everything she knew. Every hour she’d checked the telephone in the vain hope the line would be working. She’d wept. She’d prayed. She’d
clasped Tanner’s burning hands and railed at him to get well. Now, with nothing accomplished and nothing left to give, she was on the verge of collapse. She huddled on the chair beside the bed, listening to the shallow cadence of his breath. Her leaden eyelids drooped lower and lower. The damp cloth fell from her fingers and dropped to the floor…

She woke to the sound of chattering teeth. Her eyes shot open. Tanner was shaking violently beneath the light blanket. Clara rose, gathered the quilts she’d tossed on the floor earlier and laid them one by one over his shivering body. Even then, he continued to shiver. There had to be something else she could do to get him warm.

Since you’re wearing your nightgown, why not just come to bed?
His fevered taunt surfaced in her memory. She hesitated. Her grandmother would never approve of what she was thinking. But a man’s life was in peril, and desperate times called for desperate measures.

Lifting the covers, she squeezed into the narrow bed, stretched out on her side and pulled him close. He moaned as she molded to his solid body. His flesh was hot and dry, but he was trembling with cold. Surely the fever would break soon. If not, she realized, Tanner could die in her arms.

He nestled into her warmth, his heat burning into her. His head lay against her shoulder, shallow breath warming the hollow of her throat. Her leg lay across his thighs, keeping the contact close. Holding him, Clara felt a strange sweetness. Was this how it would feel being married, holding her husband in the night? The contact was more intimate than a kiss, more intimate, even, than the heady embrace that had ended in his thrusting her away. This was almost like loving.

Almost.

She felt him relax against her as the shaking quieted, heard the gradual easing of his breath. Dizzy with tenderness, she cradled him in her arms and slowly began to drift.

The parlor clock struck two, but in the hush of darkness no one heard.

He woke, drenched in sweat. Spent but clearheaded, Jace stared up into the fading darkness. The fever had broken. It appeared he was going to live after all.

Sensing a presence close by, he raised himself on one elbow. Clara lay beside him, fast asleep. Chastely clad in the oversize flannel nightgown, she looked as innocent as a child. Her dark lashes lay lush against her cheeks. Damp tendrils of hair clung to her forehead. A wave of tenderness swept over him. She had worn herself out working to save his life. And when she could do no more, she’d remained here, at his side.

Resisting the urge to touch her body, he brushed a light kiss across her forehead. She whimpered and settled back into sleep. Jace willed away the memory of his lascivious dream. Clara was little more than a girl, sweet and trusting. She had yet to know the misery that the wrong kind of man could wreak on her young life.

And he would not be the one to teach her, Jace vowed. Moving cautiously, he eased himself out of bed, leaving Clara asleep. For a moment he stood looking down at her, so beautiful in the dawn light that filtered through the curtains. It would be better this way, Jace told himself. She would awaken to find him gone. And if Mary returned later with the marshal, Clara would have nothing to tell them.

Caution whispered that he wasn’t yet well enough to travel. Never mind that. If he could stand, he could walk. And if he could walk, he could ride. It was time he saddled up and hit the road.

Taking careful steps, he made it out of the room and
closed the door softly behind him. He was still light-headed. Some food in his belly should fix that. But first he would need to find his pistol, clothes and boots.

The .38 lay on the back of the couch where Clara had left it. But there was no sign of the other things he needed. Jace cursed silently, remembering that the little minx had hidden them. He had a clean shirt and pants folded into his bedroll. But he had only one pair of boots, and he couldn’t go anywhere without them.

Muttering, he began his search. Every minute of time he wasted raised the odds that his pretty nurse and jailer would wake up. And knowing Clara, she would do anything to keep him and Galahad from leaving.

He started his search in the parlor, peering under the furniture and opening drawers and cabinets. Nothing. And the kitchen yielded no better. Jace checked the pantry and the cool box, growing more and more frustrated. Where would the little devil hide something as large as a pair of boots?

Only two of the downstairs rooms remained—Mary’s bedroom and the smaller room where Clara now slept. Under Mary’s bed, Jace found what he was looking for. The hiding place was so obvious that he cursed himself for not having looked there in the first place. Searching the house had cost him precious time.

Laying the pistol on the bed, he dressed hurriedly, pulling up the faded jeans and fastening the belt. He had tugged on one boot and was reaching for the second when he heard a floorboard creak behind him.

Clara stood in the doorway, looking angry enough
to spit hot nails. “I see you’re feeling better, Tanner,” she said in a taut voice. “Now suppose you tell me what you think you’re doing.”

J
ace yanked on his other boot as Clara challenged him from the doorway. She looked adorably tousled, her curls tumbling in her eyes, her swollen mouth ripe for kissing. Under different circumstances, he might have been tempted to sweep her up and carry her back to bed. But this was no time for games.

He rose to face her. “I’m leaving. And if you know what’s good for you and your grandmother, you won’t try to stop me.”

She stood her ground, blocking the doorway. “What is it, Tanner? Have you done something? Are the police looking for you?”

Damn those wide, innocent eyes of hers. Jace had to look away. “You don’t want to know the answers to those questions,” he growled. “All I can say is it’s time to call in that favor you promised me.”

She bristled like a startled cat. “Promised? That’s a joke! There’s no promise unless you stay long enough
for Galahad to breed my mares. And unless he’s broken out of that stall where I put him and done the job in the night, I don’t owe you a thing!”

Jace sighed. She had him there. “All right. But I still need your help. Let’s just call it a favor, no promise attached.”

“What kind of favor?” She eyed him suspiciously.

“All I’m asking for is your trust—and your silence.”

“That’s a pretty tall order. Why should I trust you, of all people?” She folded her arms, compressing her breasts until the nipples strained the worn pink flannel. Jace struggled to fix his eyes on her pretty face.

“Because I’d never harm you or your grandmother or any other innocent person.”

“But you’ve done something. Why else would you be in such an all-fired hurry to leave?”

“Whatever I did, it needed doing, and that’s all I’ll say.”

“So you’re asking me not to tell anybody you’re wanted by the law? Not even my grandmother?”

“Especially not your grandmother. She’s been good to me. It would hurt her to know the truth.”

“
I
don’t know the truth. I don’t even know your real name.”

“And that’s for the best.” Damnation, he’d told her far too much. Those velvety doe eyes had a way of peering into his soul, probing out secrets he’d sworn never to tell anyone. He needed to get out of here before he put himself—and her—in even more danger.

“As far as you’re concerned, I was gone when you
woke up, and I didn’t tell you anything,” he said. “I’m sorry about the stallion, but some things can’t be helped. If you saved my life last night I want you to know I’m grateful.”

“Right now I’m wondering why I bothered.”

“That’s the spirit.” Jace forced a laugh. “I believe my shirt’s in the other room. I’ll get it and be on my way.”

“Wait—please. I’ll do as you asked, but I want to go out to the barn with you to check on the horses. While I’m getting dressed, you can help yourself in the kitchen. You shouldn’t go away hungry.”

“Fine.” Her request made sense, Jace conceded. She probably wanted to make sure he didn’t take anything from the barn. And he did need something to eat before he left.

Clara’s dry garments were draped over the backs of the kitchen chairs. Snatching them up, she vanished into Mary’s bedroom to change. Before donning his shirt, Jace checked the knife wound. The cut was clean and healing, already showing a healthy pink around the edges. Another day or two and he wouldn’t need the dressing on it. One less thing to worry about. Maybe the fever had been a fluke, something unrelated to the wound. As long as he was getting better, it didn’t matter.

In the kitchen he buttered some bread, sweetened it with a dollop of Mary’s loganberry jam and poured himself a glass of cold milk. He would miss this place, Jace mused. He would miss the mountain peaks, the clean, fresh air and the sound of meadowlarks in the morning. He would miss the peaceful work, Mary’s
good meals and the friendly conversation that went along with them. And he would miss the chance to know Mary’s fiery granddaughter.

Maybe that most of all.

It had been a long time since he’d thought much about Eileen. She belonged to that other world—the one he’d left behind and would never see again. She was a beautiful ornament whose presence on his arm would have opened the doors of power. But in the wake of his scandalous disappearance, Eileen would want nothing to do with him. Jace couldn’t say he blamed her. Even if she’d loved him, she would have the good sense to turn her back and walk away.

Clara Seavers, on the other hand, was a girl who led with her heart. Passionate and impulsive, she had everything to learn about love and loss. But Jace cared too much to let himself be her teacher.

He hoped to heaven she wouldn’t beg him to stay.

Clara’s sudden reappearance broke into his reverie. She was fully dressed except for her boots. Her wrinkled shirt clung to her lush young body in a way that made his mouth go dry.

“I’ll be on the porch knocking the mud off my boots,” she said. “Come out when you’re ready.”

She swung the door all the way open, letting in a rush of rain-freshened air. The screen door snapped back into place. A moment later Jace heard her whacking her boots against the side of the steps. By the time he’d finished eating and brushed away the crumbs, the sound had ceased.

In the silence, Jace walked across the parlor and out through the screen door. Clara stood on the porch, holding her boots and gazing toward the distant road.

“What is it?” He squinted, eyes still adjusting to the glare of morning sunlight.

“There—through the trees. Somebody’s coming.”

Dread clenched a knot in Jace’s stomach. Could he get to the barn and get away? Maybe he’d be better off hiding.

“I don’t see—” he began. Then he realized where she was looking. A lone rider was approaching the gate at a trot. Skirts fluttered behind the saddle.

“It’s Grandma!” Clara bent to yank on her boots. “The bridge must be out. Otherwise she’d have brought the buggy.”

“I didn’t know she could ride.” Jace shaded his eyes, watching Mary approach.

“It bothers her rheumatism. But she can ride well enough if she has to.” Clara bounded down the steps and raced across the yard, waving as Mary turned her gelding in the gate.

Jace remained on the porch, weighing his options. Mary’s arrival complicated everything. At least it didn’t appear that she’d brought the law with her. But there was no telling who she’d spoken to in town. He was caught in a dangerous trap. And now that she was here, he could hardly saddle up and gallop away. Not without rousing her suspicion.

The big question was could he trust Clara? She was a smart girl, and he’d revealed far too much. With
nothing to hold her to her promise, she could betray him on a whim. But would she? Right now only one thing was certain.

Miss Clara Seavers held his fate in the palm of her pretty little hand.

By the time Clara met her grandmother, halfway down the drive, she was out of breath. Mary steadied the shotgun across the saddle and slowed the horse to a walk. Her sharp Nordic eyes took in her granddaughter’s tousled hair and wrinkled clothes. “My stars, girl, what have you been up to? I didn’t expect you’d be here at this hour!”

Clara chose to tell the truth. “Tanner got sick. I had to tend him all night.”

Mary glanced toward the porch. “He looks well enough this morning.”

“Last night he was burning up. The fever finally broke toward dawn. I got soaked putting the horses away and had to wear your nightgown till my clothes dried. I know how it looks, but honestly, nothing happened. Please don’t tell Mama I was here alone with Tanner.”

The older woman sighed. “It seems we have far too many secrets between us these days, my dear. But all right, just this once. Your mother and Katy were still at the hotel when I left, waiting for the bridge to be fixed. When they get home later today, you’re to be there, cleaned up and looking like an angel. And no more secrets. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, thank you, Grandma.” Clara bit back the question that burned on the tip of her tongue. What about the biggest secret of all—the one contained in the letters she’d discovered upstairs? Mary might be the one to tell her the truth. But this wasn’t the time to ask.

They were nearing the porch. Tanner came down the steps to help Mary out of the saddle. She gripped his hand, wincing at the pain in her stiff joints.

“Do you have a way to get the buggy home?” He took the shotgun from her and laid it on the porch.

“If you’re offering, don’t trouble yourself. I promised a boy at the livery stable a dollar to bring it when the bridge is open. He’ll use his own horse to ride back.” She hobbled up the porch steps and sank into the rocker. Her eyes surveyed the storm-battered yard and outbuildings. “What a mess! I hope you plan on staying awhile, Tanner. I’ll need your help getting the place shipshape again.”

Clara kept her eyes on Tanner. He shifted uncomfortably, saying nothing.

“By the way,” Mary remarked as if by chance, “I saw our two friends in town.”

Tanner looked ready to bolt. “What friends?” he asked in a casual manner that didn’t fool Clara for an instant.

“The two no-accounts we chased out of here. They won’t be bothering us or anybody else again.” She paused to clear her throat. “Would one of you get me a glass of water?”

“I will.” Clara flitted into the house, not wanting to
miss any of the story. She returned seconds later with a glass of cold water from the kitchen faucet.

“I saw them myself,” Mary was saying. “Laid out like firewood on the back of the marshal’s wagon, both of them deader than doornails. When I asked around, somebody told me that Ole Swenson had come outside with a shotgun and caught them stealing eggs from his chicken coop.”

Clara handed her grandmother the glass. “He shot them? For stealing eggs?”

“They’d have done worse if they’d had the chance. Ole was protecting his property and his family. No law is going to fault him for that.”

“Did you tell the marshal they’d been to your place?” Tanner asked.

“The marshal was busy. I didn’t want to bother him. What difference would it have made? The men were dead. Nobody but the good Lord can judge them now.” Mary shooed a horsefly off her skirt. “Besides that, my daughter would worry if she knew what had happened here. She and Judd would pluck me out of this house faster than you could say Jack Robinson.”

Clara had kept her eyes on Tanner. She saw the tension ease in his face and body. Clearly he’d been expecting the marshal to show up. Maybe now he’d stay long enough to heal properly…and for Galahad to breed her mares.

“I’ll take care of your horse and see to the others, Grandma,” she said. “You sit here and rest awhile.”

“I’ll be getting to the chores.” Tanner loped down the
steps and strode off in the direction of the milking shed. Clara watched him go as she led Mary’s horse toward the barn. Maybe they’d get a chance to talk before her grandmother sent her packing for home. Then again, that might not be such a good idea. Talking with Tanner tended to strip away her defenses, leaving her raw and vulnerable. That was the last thing she needed today.

In the barn she found the horses safe but restless. The two mares were as demure as nuns, showing no signs of interest in the big stallion. Clara sighed as she turned them out to graze. “You ladies don’t know what you’re missing!” she scolded them as she closed the paddock gate. “A fine gentleman like Galahad doesn’t happen along every day of the week!”

And a man like Tanner didn’t happen along every day either, she mused. But what had put that thought into her head? By his own admission, Tanner was a fugitive, running from the law. If she had the sense of a plucked goose, she’d call the marshal and turn him in.

But something about him—call it pride, or even honor—made her hesitate. Tanner didn’t strike her as a man who’d stoop to dishonesty or to harming innocent people. But then, who was she to judge? How many women had been taken in by a handsome face, only to end up with broken hearts and ruined reputations?

She’d be a fool to let that happen to her.

The stallion snorted when she opened his stall, but he allowed her to lead him out of the barn. After turning
him loose in the paddock with her mares, she unsaddled Mary’s horse and put the two geldings in the corral. Then she led Tarboy out of his stall to saddle him for the ride home.

She was bending to tighten the cinch, her hair tumbling over her face, when the east door opened. Sunlight spilled across the straw as Tanner stepped into the barn. His tall frame loomed over her, casting a shadow where she stood. Clara glanced up. Her pulse lurched at the sight of his stormy expression. Had he come to thank her or to threaten her?

Rather than wait to find out, she decided to make the first move. Rising, she swept her hair out of her face and met his gaze straight on.

“So, will you be staying awhile longer?” she asked him. “My grandmother could certainly use your help.”

For a moment he stood silent, his narrowed eyes taking her measure. A chilly breeze from outside raised goose bumps on her skin. What if she’d been wrong about him? What if he was as cold as he appeared to her now? A man who could look like that might be capable of anything.

“That depends on you,” he said. “Can I trust you to keep your word, Clara?”

“You can, as long as you stay until my mares are bred—and as long as you give me no reason to worry about my grandmother’s safety.”

“I’d never harm your grandmother, or you. You should know that by now.”

She shook her head. “I don’t really know anything about you, Tanner.”

Except how I felt when you held me in your arms
.

“You know enough to put me in danger. If I can’t count on you to keep still, it’s best that I leave right now. Your grandmother can hire somebody else.”

“Tell me what you did.”

His mouth tightened. “That’s not part of the bargain. The less you know, the safer for both of us.”

Clara took a breath to ponder his words. Tanner was right. Knowing about his crime could leave her open to arrest for aiding a fugitive. Not knowing was the only protection he could offer her. As for his own safety, what she didn’t know, she couldn’t repeat, even under threat.