High Mountain Drifter (16 page)

She frowned, staring at it. Was she being foolish letting herself admire the masculine, blocky shapes of his writing? Of her name in that writing marching across the front of it? Wistfully, remembering what had been. Hurting, wondering what it might have become. She ran the pad of her forefinger across those letters, the ones he'd written. Could she bring herself to open it? Did she dare open that door to the past?

She blew out a sigh, troubled. There were several different postmarks on the envelope, the earliest read June 30, 1863 PA. Curious. She didn't know if her heart could take what he had written. After all this time, what could he have to say? Surely it would break her heart all over again, whatever it was. But this letter had waited more than thirteen years in that wardrobe, hidden away by her mother. Surely it deserved to be read.

So she braced her heart and carefully tore open the envelope, pulse skipping, dread crawling down her spine. She unfolded the parchment and held it up to the light.

Dear Aumaleigh,

I hope this finds you well. I find myself in Pennsylvania under the command of Brigadier General John Buford. It's been a hard war, and I find myself thinking over a lot of things in my life. The things I'm most glad for and those I regret. You are both. I have never forgotten you. I married, I have two fine sons and a daughter. I've found everything that matters. I hope you've found the same. A good man to love you, children to fill your life, the happiness you have always deserved, that I've always wanted for you.

So far in this war, we've lost many good men in battle along the way, and I have an inkling that it will not get any easier so I am through with regrets, the ones that weigh on me, and that's why I'm writing to you. I am thankful for the time we had together. Falling in love with you changed me, made me the man, husband, father and now soldier I am today. I regret ending things the way we did. Neither of us deserved that hurt. I wish you a happy life. I hope you can think of me fondly and not with regret.

Sincerely,

Gabriel Daniels

#

A tear rolled down her cheek. Aumaleigh squeezed her eyes shut against them, but the stark letters of Gabriel's writing were imprinted in her mind, written there on the back of her eyelids, etched into the open wounds of her heart.

He'd fought at Gettysburg. She folded the letter up with care, tucked it back in the envelope. Aching, just aching, she set the letter on the table, in the pool of light, still feeling a little dazed by Gabriel's words. He'd had a life without her. Of course, he would. Why wouldn't he? He'd married someone else, had a family, a happy life. Everything that he should have, for he was a good man. Such a good man.

Her heart remembered against her will, the bouquets of wild roses he often picked for her, the expensive length of lace he'd bought for her wedding dress, the joy she'd felt when he'd knelt in front of her, taking her hand in his, asking her to be his wife.

Tears overflowed, a sob racked through her, and she scanned the empty room around her. The dripping roof, the single sofa, the silence of her life lived without him.

Somehow he'd broken her heart all over again.

George Klemp knew he wasn't the smartest man. His own pa had told him he was too stupid for school, so there was no sense in even going. That had been a good call, sure, but he knew how to work, he had a natural ability as a hunter and a cowboy and even he could see Ernest Craddock was full of hot air. As George splashed through puddles on his way to town, promising to steal more ammunition, he didn't even bother about the tracks he left in the rutted road. He cursed his own foolishness for not seeing what was coming earlier.

Back when Ernest had urged him to trade his horse for that fancy rifle, he'd gone along with it. That old horse was on its last legs anyhow and he'd been flattered to help. At first. Especially that day last summer when he'd come across Ernest, wounded and bleeding, crawling on one of the back roads to Deer Springs, all he'd seen was a Stetson and a man who looked like a cowboy in need of help. Cowboys had to stick together. So George had taken Ernest home, gave him his bed, and patched up the fellow. Truth be told, saved his life.

It was a weakness now, George realized, being lonely for so long, always on the outside ever since he'd been let out of jail. Even farther back, he'd been part of the Rocking M pack, laughing and joking right along with the other hired hands, strolling from the barn to the kitchen house where Aumaleigh, Josslyn and Maebry cooked up the tastiest grub he'd ever had.

Back in the day, he'd sat at that table with the other men, fork in hand, noticing all the little luxuries of Maureen's original home on the ranch. It was roomy, well built, gussied up with crystal chandlers and big windows with built-in seats and fine craftsmanship. Hand carved ceiling moldings, imported furniture. Fancy by his standards, and he wanted something like it.

Deserved it, too. He'd busted his back to better his life and he wanted a life like that--comfortable and a little fancy, to make a statement. That he was someone and somebody. Thinking back, that's why he'd helped Ernest. The man had promised him the chance to get back at the McPhee family for cheating him--and he'd offered the guarantee of money. Lots and lots of money.

But Ernest--so suave and sophisticated, smart and cunning--could not see the plain truth if it happened to be standing in front of him. That bounty hunter was a scary fellow, and he was going to catch Ernest and catch him good. George shook his head, rainwater flying off the brim of his old, sagging hat. This wasn't gonna end well. Time to get out of town. He might not be smart, but even he could see that.

Bluebell came into sight around the curve of the road. A smudge of light, a faint scent of wood smoke. Let Ernest steal his own supplies. He wasn't gonna do it. George came to a stop where the road forked. Toward town--and his little cabin in the woods just beyond--or south to Deer Springs.

If he wanted to run from that bounty hunter, he might need that coffee can buried under his house, the last bit of money he had. Because one thing was for sure, he wasn't coming back here for a while. He shook his head, feeling the familiar sense of failure wash over him like the cold, unfeeling rain. Likely the bounty hunter would catch up with him too, but he had to try and escape. He'd get his cash, steal a horse, make it as far south as he could go. He'd have to get back at Aumaleigh McPhee another day, another time.

But he'd do it. That was a promise he aimed to keep.

Verbena woke from the most amazing dream. The webby remains of it filled her head as she stared up at the pitch-black ceiling. Swirls of color from the dozens of fine silk dresses waltzing round the ornate ballroom, the melody on violin strings rising and falling note by note, the kiss of silk against her skin as she whirled around in a three-step, gazing up into the gray eyes of her dance partner--

She blinked, sat straight up. Wait one minute. She hadn't been dreaming about Zane, had she? Mostly, that was panicking all by itself, but more importantly, she didn't think the bounty hunter would be much of a waltzer. Good thing it was a dream, she told herself. Just a dream. He was on her mind, that was all. Nothing to worry about.

I'm just concerned about him, she told herself, slipping out from between the warm covers. Rose slept in the center of the huge mattress with her pillow over her head. Magnolia slumbered on the far side, breathing deep and even.

Shivering in the cold, Verbena reached for the housecoat draped across the foot of the bed and slipped into it. Her feet felt chilly too, so she pulled on her knit slippers. The embers in the fireplace glowed faintly, giving just enough illumination to make out the shadow of the window seat against the nearest wall. She stumbled over to it, careful not to make a sound, and eased onto the cushion. She was all tensed up, her mind spinning, but her thoughts centered on Zane.

I work alone,
he'd said in that no-nonsense, don't-argue-with-me tone. Alone sounded risky to her. There was strength in numbers. The sheriff and a posse couldn't bring Ernest in. One man on his own, regardless of how good, was vulnerable. If he was spotted and shot, then no one was there to catch him when he fell, to put pressure on the wound when he was bleeding, to haul him back to safety for medical treatment. She'd experienced firsthand how ruthless Ernest could be.

For all his might, Zane Reed was not a ruthless man. She feared that in a battle, ruthlessness won every time.

Troubled, she pulled back the edge of the curtain. No raccoon, he must have given up and found shelter from the rain. Precipitation tapped against the glass in tinkling sounds. Ice, she realized, squinting through the frozen wetness clinging to the windows, obscuring her view.

She squinted, but it turned the world into one big blur of blackness. She hated being stuck here, unable to do anything to help. Outside a shadow passed through the side yard. One of the cowboys on patrol.

Across the room someone gave a soft little snort in her sleep. Magnolia rolled over, sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Verbena, what are you doing up?"

"Worrying." She may as well admit it. "I don't want Zane to get hurt. Ernest has hurt a lot of people."

"That bounty hunter guy is tough, the toughest I've ever seen." Magnolia bopped out of bed, her white nightgown flowing around her, a faint shadow in the dark.

"I know. He's perfectly capable." Verbena shrugged. "I just can't stop worrying."

Worrying, she said, when she really meant caring.

Magnolia swooped by the end of the bed to pick up her things, pulling on her slippers as she crossed the room. "If Ernest has a single working brain cell, he'd take one look at that guy coming for him and run for Canada."

"I'd go south," Verbena said, relaxing against the cushioned back of the window seat. "Too much snow in the mountains if you go north."

"Yes, but it'd be easier to get lost." Magnolia shrugged into her housecoat and plopped onto the cushion. "How are you holding up?"

"Fine." She blew out a sigh, pulled back the edge of the curtain again. Cold air radiated through the window, fanning her. That wasn't why she shivered. "Okay, I can admit it. I'm troubled. How can a polished, polite man who everyone thinks well of turn out to be a barbarian, and a rough, violent looking bounty hunter everyone thinks is scary is really kind at heart?"

"I haven't seen the bounty hunter guy's heart." Humor rang in Magnolia's words. "His chest is in the way."

"Funny." She rolled her eyes.

"Is he kind?" "Yes." She couldn't forget the things he told her. That life could have made him hard, and yet when his gray gaze had pinned on hers, she'd read goodness there. Wanting cupcakes for payment when in his line of work he made hundreds, even thousands of dollars with a capture. Her heart gave a little pang, remembering that moment in the library. She'd felt close to him, and that feeling lingered. She couldn't stop it.

"I think Rose is right. You are falling for him." Magnolia said it gently, as if she knew full well how hard it might be to hear.

"I wish I could argue, but I can't." The falling ice now coated the window panes completely, making it impossible to see out. The world was one smeary streak of black. "I care. I know he's probably done this a thousand times. Aumaleigh heard all kinds of stories from the cowboys, who picked up things from Milo and from town gossip. Zane has faced the most violent criminals and won every time. But this feels different."

"Because you know him now." Magnolia leaned back against the opposite wall, stretching out her legs until her slippered toes touched Verbena's. She gave a friendly toe jab. "It's different because you care about his welfare."

"It can't go anywhere." That was certain. "I wouldn't want it to and he will move on, we'll never see him again."

"He could be your what-if, your what-might-have been." Magnolia sighed wistfully. Magnolia read too many books.

Not that Verbena could fault her for that. She read just as many. "You think that would be romantic, always pining for the hero that got away?"

"It is in books, although I think that happened to Aumaleigh and it seems more tragic than romantic." Magnolia sighed. "I don't know. Is that what you want?"

"What I want is for my sisters to be so, so happy." She sighed, staring at the ice-coated window pane, knowing that's how she had to keep her heart. Wrapped in ice, off limits, safely cocooned. "Beckett is alive and is getting better, so there's no reason not to think he'll heal up just fine. There's Daisy's wedding to plan and then yours."

"Mine?" Magnolia gave a little laugh. "I don't even have an engagement ring yet."

"Why not? Tyler can afford a nice one." Verbena gave Magnolia a toe jab in return. "And he's the kind who'd give a really nice ring."

"He wants to give me his grandmother's ring." Magnolia sounded excited. "It's romantic, actually. His grandparents knew each other their whole lives. They grew up next door neighbors. He always had a crush on her and when she turned sixteen, he came courting. They spent their whole lives together, happy as could be. His grandmother left Tyler her wedding set, hoping one day he would be as happy in marriage as they were."