Desperate Hearts (17 page)

“
Fred, do you see, do you
see?” Mildred sputtered like a landed wide-mouth bass, and her
chins quivered in indignation. “I told you something was going on
but, but I never thought he and that boy—that boy and him—kissing!
Merciful heavens!”

Mildred DeGroot was too thick-skulled to
sense danger. If she had been a man her bad judgment would have
gotten her killed years before, Jace swore silently.

Kyla looked up at Jace’s granite profile,
and she was glad to be standing behind him and not in front of his
gun.

Fred Winslow, pale as whitewash, shouldered
his way past Mildred. Jace lifted the revolver again and held it
out the full length of his arm. It was astounding how fast he
moved.

“
N-now, Mr. Rankin, ain’t
no call for weapons here.”

“
I’m waiting to hear the
reason why you two broke in here uninvited, Winslow.” He didn’t
raise his voice. His low, deadly tone chilled the blood in Kyla’s
veins.

Winslow swallowed and swallowed but no words
came out of his mouth.

Coolly deliberate, Jace cocked the gun.

“
Jace, no!” Kyla shrieked.
God, he wouldn’t really shoot the man, she thought in a
panic.

Winslow cowered and ducked as if he had
fired. “Why, it’s a girl,” Mildred marveled. She stared at Kyla
with obvious fascination, but without a hint of embarrassment or
self-consciousness.

Kyla cursed the position she was in. Once
again her disguise had been exposed, and she could do nothing about
it, due to the compromising position they had been caught in. Much
as she wanted to, she could not very well insist that she was Kyle
Springer, fifteen year-old farm boy. She must have lost her
mind to let Rankin kiss her. Well, it wasn’t really a kiss. But it
could have turned into one. She could barely stand to be
touched—how had she succumbed to the brush of his lips against
hers? Was she so easily swayed with a dumb peace offering like a
chick? Her moment of insanity might have endangered her life. At
the very least, it was an embarrassing situation.

“
I’m still waiting,
Winslow,” Jace said, maintaining his aim.

A gleam of perspiration shone on the
sheriff’s jowly face. He stared at the point of Jace’s revolver,
transfixed like a deer caught in kerosene lamplight. When he
finally spoke, he sounded breathless. “Uh, we—that is me and
Millie—well, mostly Millie, we were worried that something funny
was going on here . . .”

“
Funny?” Jace repeated and
took a step forward.

“
Well, she was worried
because she had never seen the boy and thought maybe he had, uh,
passed away—” Winslow gave Mildred a withering glance, then hurried
on. “B-but I see we made a mistake. Sorry to have troubled you.
Come on, Millie.” He turned and prodded Mildred with his forearm.
She stood fast.

Jace holstered his revolver, but his
expression remained as dark and fearsome as a storm sky.

“
Well, Mr. Rankin,” Mildred
said with a prim, knowing tone, eyeing Kyla up and down. “I didn’t
know you were keeping a
woman
here. If I had, I wouldn’t have bothered
Fred.”

Kyla gritted her back teeth and made a fist
inside her sling. “Now just you wait a minute—” she began,
automatically dropping back into Kyle’s voice, outraged at the
insinuation. God, what a horrible woman!

Jace took another step toward the sheriff
and Mildred DeGroot. And another. Kyla felt his fury rolling him
like waves of heat, but he maintained the same control that both
frightened and awed people. He leaned over Mildred so that his face
was just inches hers.

“
You don’t know
anything
, lady. And
you’d better plan to keep it that way if anyone comes to Misfortune
asking questions about me or her.” He tilted his head back slightly
in Kyla’s direction but did not use her same. “Because if you talk,
if you say one word about either of us, I’ll know. Believe me, I’ll
know. Now you both get the hell out of here and don’t let me see
your face again. Ever.” The color drained out of Mildred’s pudgy
cheeks; apparently she finally realized the raw danger that stood
before her. Jace shifted his gaze to Fred Winslow—the sheriff
looked like a man who’d seen his life pass before his eyes.
“Sheriff, the same goes for you.”

Jace took yet another step forward,
practically pushing them both out to the back porch. “And the next
time you get the itch to meddle in someone else’s business,
remember that this was the day your curiosity almost got you
killed.”

He closed the door behind them then stood
there, gripping the knob for a moment, as if fighting the urge to
yank it out of the wood. There was a stumbling confusion of hurried
footsteps on the stairs that faded away, then was followed by
profound silence. Finally he turned to Kyla. His face was set and
blank.

“
I hope you’re up to
traveling because we’ve got to get out of here. Now, tonight. I
don’t trust either of them. I tried to put the fear of God in them,
but as soon as the scare wears off, they’ll tell everyone within a
hundred miles about us. Even if Many Braids was right about
Hardesty’s men giving up the chase to get drunk, I don’t think
we’re finished with them, and word has a way of getting around.” He
picked up his rifle. “Those busybodies will be watching every move
we make, but they won’t be expecting us to leave tonight. Do you
need help to get your gear together?”

Shaken to the point of trembling, she said,
“No, I-I’ll be ready in a minute.”

“
Good. We still have the
advantage, and I want to keep it that way. We’re going to Baker
City.” He brushed past her, still tense with anger.

“
Baker City?” Vexation
overrode her fear, and she couldn’t hide it. They had already lost
so much time to her illness, she chafed at the idea of losing
more.

“
That was part of our deal.
I have to talk to McGuire first—I owe it to him. Since he’s not in
Misfortune, we’re going to Baker City.” He turned and walked
through the parlor to go upstairs.

She looked down at the chick gripped loosely
in her hand. God, this wasn’t the life she wanted—not this. She
didn’t want to be a regular participant in armed showdowns, she
didn’t want to live on the run. She just wanted to go home. It
seemed like a lifetime since she’d last seen the ranch. And now
Jace was telling her that she would have to wait even longer.

A sense of weariness came over her at the
though of leaving this half-furnished house to sleep on the trail
again. But it was just as well that they were leaving the vague
intimacy of this place. She must not lose sight of her goal, or let
anything interfere.

Like that kiss—it was a stupid, reckless
moment that made her drop her guard. It seemed more dreamlike than
real. At least it might if dreams drew such vivid details as the
rasp of beard stubble against her chin, or the smell of leather and
soap, or the soft heat of breath ruffling her eyelashes. But it
hadn’t been humiliating or disgusting, like Tom Hardesty’s
slobbering invasion of her mouth and ears. This had been almost . .
. sweet. And for a frightening instant, she’d wanted to rest her
head against Jace’s shoulder and feel his arms around her.

One thing was certain: it wouldn’t happen
again. Ever.

She turned for the door to return the bird
to its mother.

* * *

Full night blanketed the land by the time
Jace and Kyla left the house in Misfortune to set out on the north
road toward Baker City. Their saddlebags were loaded with the
provisions he had bought at DeGroot’s the night they arrived.

“
It’s a damn good thing I
went there first,” he muttered, taking a quick look around before
leading his horse out of the shop. “If I had to talk to that fool
now, I’d probably punch his face in.”

The stiff breeze that had blown all day now
had a decidedly sharp edge, and Kyla shifted Jace’s duster on her
shoulders. She hadn’t wanted to take it from him. Although his
attitude toward her had not wavered from the uneasy truce they’d
reached when he had agreed to help her, his offer seemed, well, too
chivalrous, too personal now. After all, she was sure he wouldn’t
have given his duster to Kyle. But her own coat had been ruined
when she was shot, and the night was cold. So she accepted. Jace
wore a heavy wool shirt and seemed indifferent to the chill.

Kyla wanted their relationship to return to
what it had been before they came here—focused solely on their
original business. And that was to get Tom Hardesty. No matter what
Jace said, revenge had brought her this far. It would carry her
through.

“
All right, come on. Let’s
ride,” he said, as if reading her thoughts.

She heard his saddle creak under his weight
as he climbed into it. Pulling her arm out of her sling, she pushed
her hat down on her head and mounted Juniper. Her arm was still
tender, but well on its way to being healed.

The dark road was full of mystery, and
silver-edged, patchy clouds drifted over the face of the moon. It
appeared just often enough to give her a glimpse of Jace, but she
could see little except the dark silhouette of him and his
broad-brimmed hat.

When they had traveled a couple of miles,
Jace pulled up and brought his horse around. “This is far enough
for tonight. We’ll find a place to camp and get something to
eat.”

He tried hard to read
Kyla’s expression, but it was too dark. She hadn’t spoken more than
a few words to him since that stupid kiss. And when she did talk,
her words were cold and clipped. He felt awkward and guilty, as if
he ought to apologize to her—
twice in one
day
—and he didn’t like that at
all.

Making camp in the dark was not easy. There
were no sheltering canyon walls nearby—the terrain was mostly flat
for miles around. But they found a couple of shoulder-high boulders
that provided a windbreak. Kyla managed to get a small fire going
and heat a can of beans and some coffee while he unsaddled their
horses.

When he sat down by the fire, she handed him
a plate and a piece of bread. She would not meet his eyes but
instead glanced at the clearing sky overhead. The silence was
broken only by the wind in the grass and their forks scraping on
the tin plates.

Jace had spent years with just the sound of
his own heartbeat for company and it had never bothered him. He
wasn’t much for talking, and even less for listening. But he wanted
to hear Kyla’s voice, throaty and full. He wanted to know what she
was thinking.

“
How’s your arm?” he asked,
gesturing at it with his fork. It was a reasonable question, he
told himself. She had almost died from that wound.

She continued to push the food around on her
dish without looking up. “All right. I’m takin’ off the sling
tomorrow.”

“
Sure you’re ready for
that?”

“
I don’t like having only
one hand—it throws off my pistol aim. And who knows when I might
need to defend myself?” Her words were flat and to the
point.

Jace felt heat fill his face, and he was
glad that it didn’t show in the firelight. “Are you saying that I
can’t protect you?”

Looking up, she scowled at him. “I ain’t
sayin’ anything of the kind,” Kyla retorted. “Anyway, I don’t need
protectin’. I can take care of myself. I’ve been doin’ it a long
time.”

“
Then what burr got under
your saddle?” he asked. She might dress like a boy and talk like
one, but he knew the sound of a woman’s coldness.

“
I ain’t got a burr under
my saddle.”

He tossed his plate down. “The hell you
don’t. Whenever you get mad, you hide behind Kyle. And ever since
the DeGroot woman caught us in the kitchen you’ve been all pinched
up, like you sucked on a lemon.” If she was mad, she could just
tell him so.

Miffed by the comparison, Kyla lifted her
nose a bit. “Kyle” had become such a habit, such comfortable armor,
she didn’t realize she was using him often enough to be noticeable.
“Maybe I’ve been pinched up ever since you told me we still have to
go to Baker City. I don’t see why you can’t talk to McGuire after
we take care of Hardesty. What could be so important that he can’t
wait?”

Jace reached toward her suddenly, and Kyla
pulled back, startled, still wary of him and fearful that she’d
overstepped her bounds. Was he going kiss her again? Throttle
her?

Instead he gripped one lapel of the duster
that she still wore and withdrew a cheroot and a match from the
inside pocket. His knuckles brushed the front of her shoulder with
a surprising heat that raised goose bumps on her arms. Scraping his
thumbnail across the sulfur match head, he lit it, keeping his gaze
locked on her. She resisted the panicky urge to fidget under this
scrutiny, but it wasn’t easy. The end of the cheroot gleamed a hot,
ember red and he exhaled a long stream of fragrant smoke.

Finally he said, “I have some news to give
him—something he’s been waiting a long time to hear. And I owe it
to him to deliver it.” He spoke quietly as he often did, but his
expression was pensive, and she felt the dead seriousness that
weighted his words.

“
Does it have anything to
do with that drifter you shot in Silver City?” She’d heard
fragments of gossip outside the Magnolia Saloon that afternoon,
something about Jace’s sister—

“
Yeah,” he replied and
pulled on the slender cigar again. Then he took a sip of coffee and
told her about the five years Travis had spent in prison for his
wife’s murder.

Firelight flickered over his handsome
angular face. “My old man had me convinced that Travis killed my
sister. He had everyone convinced, including the sheriff. God, I
should have known better.” He shook his head. “He was a
black-hearted bastard. But he panicked on his deathbed, and
admitted that he’d lied about Travis.” He leaned against one of the
boulders and crossed his ankles. “It had been hard enough to
believe him in the first place—my best friend had killed my sister?
And now he was telling me that he’d made all of it up. I couldn’t
accept it. When I finally knew it was true, I hit the trail to
chase down Celia’s real killer—not just for her, but for Travis,
too. It took me a year to find Sawyer Clark, but I finally did.
Maybe you understand now why I have to go to Baker City before I
can help you?”