Nevada Heat (2 page)

The first was an older man with gray-streaked hair and tired eyes. Another had long, dark brown hair pulled-back with a piece of rawhide and tied at the base of his neck. The last, a blond man with a mustache, was much too thin to be the man Jesse was looking for.

He lowered his gaze again and cursed himself for a wishful fool. Had he really thought it would be that easy? After two years of searching, had he really expected to stroll into the bandits' stronghold and find his man right off?

Patience, he told himself. Patience. No matter how long it took, he would be patient.

He sighed and took a long gulp of coffee. Restlessly he let his gaze wander over the small restaurant. Though the paint was peeling and one of the window panes had a rag through a broken corner, the place was clean. Floor neatly swept, tables scrubbed until the soft pine was near white, lamp chimneys sparkling - hell, even the drinking glasses had been washed. And in the kind of company Jesse'd been keeping for the last couple of years, that was quite a treat.

Again his mind returned to Miranda. Somehow he knew it was her doing… the neatness of the place. The warmth, the hominess. It was something he hadn't expected to find in an outlaw hideaway. He glanced at the empty kitchen and found himself wishing she hadn't left right after setting the food out on the tables. At the same time, though, he knew it was better that way. For both of them.

"You seen Birdwell?" Jim threw the question at the knot of men huddled around the stove.

“Nah,” gray hair answered. "'Spect he's with Miranda."

Jesse gritted his teeth and his thumb tapped against the side of the china cup. So that was the way of things, he thought. She wasn't free with the whole place. Just this Birdwell fella.

“The way he looks out for her," Jim said, “I'm surprised he gets anything else done atall."

“Well,” the gray hair said again, "you know what it's like around here. Folks comin' and goin'. New ones comin' in all the time. . ." He nodded at Jesse. "Like him."

Jesse's eyebrows rose slightly.

“Birdwell likes to teach 'em right off that Miranda ain't to be bothered."

Jesse shook his head slowly and stared at the older man. "He don't have to worry about me. I ain't about to fight any man over a woman. Least of all a town whore."

Gray hair leaped to his feet; his face a mask of fury. “Listen here, you, you got no call to talk about Miranda that way. Why, I got half a mind to let Birdwell know just what you said and let him deal with ya!"

Jesse's eyes widened. For chrissakes! What kind of bandit town was this? Was he supposed to use Sunday school language?

“Now, Ezra…" Jim Sully jumped up and grabbed the older man's shoulders. “No need to carry on so, like you said. Jesse's new. He don't know about Miranda. He didn't mean nothin'."

Jesse hadn't moved. He rocked his chair slightly on its back legs and kept his steady gaze on the old man.

Ezra's face had lost some of its purple coloring, but his lips were still thin and rigid. "Then you best tell him, Jim. Quick before Birdwell comes along, hears somethin' like that, and snaps this fella like a twig." Ezra glared at Jesse and plopped back down.

Jesse calmly stared back, even though his mind was working furiously. Hell, he couldn't afford to get thrown out of the damn town! Not after spending two years of his life on the trail of a man who had to be known to some of the folks around here.

“I shoulda told you 'fore we rode in, but… well. Don't matter." Jim shook his head and plopped back down on the seat opposite Jesse. He glanced at the closed door uneasily, as if expecting someone to come in, then started speaking in a rush. “It don't pay to say things like that, Jesse. Specially not here. See, Miranda's got a lot of friends… me included."

Jesse's eyebrows shot up again.

“Not that kind of friend," Jim said, plainly disgusted. “Look, we ain't got much time. Birdwell's bound to show up soon. I'll just say this quick. Miranda ain't no whore. Hell, it'd be impossible, what with the way Birdwell rides herd on her! But that ain't the only reason. She's" — he paused and stared off into nothingness — “special. Her pa built this place when he got out of the outlaw business. Birdwell helped her old man, and when he died, Birdwell kinda took over bein' her pa."

Jesse waited, sure there was more.

“Anyhow," Jim continued, "the fellas that come through here, hell. We all know what we’re like. Got nobody. Nowhere. No home. No families." He shrugged and grinned sheepishly. "Miranda is kinda family to all of us. Sister, mother —“

“Wife?” Jesse interrupted.

“No.” Jim shook his head. "You ain't listenin', Jesse. She ain't like that, and if you ever say different, Birdwell's liable to thump you so hard you'd have to wear your hat on your boot tops!"

If all this was true — and he had no reason to doubt it — Jesse was even more curious than before about Miranda Perry. Why would a woman like her stay in Bandit's Canyon? From what Jim said, she sure as hell didn't belong there!

In spite of himself, he felt a surge of curiosity. That first attraction he’d felt for the woman flickered back into life and he squashed it back down. It had been two years since he’d allowed himself even to notice a good woman. And now, he told himself fiercely, was not the time to start. Not when he was finally so close. Besides, he wasn't going anywhere. If he should change his mind… He stifled a chuckle.

"What's so funny?" Jim asked, smiling.

“I was just thinkin'," Jesse countered. “Not that I'm interested or anything, but if I was, how much trouble could a fella with a name like Birdwell give me?"

Jim's lips pursed. He glanced at his brother, then at Ezra, before turning back to Jesse. "Let's just say you was wrong about Miranda… don't you make the same mistake about Birdwell."

#

Miranda pushed the image of Jesse Hogan from her mind. Instead she picked up her latest copy of Godey’s Lady’s Book and flipped idly through the pages. Heaven knew she'd already read it enough to have the blasted thing memorized, but somehow, reading about fancy dinners or how to take stains out of satin took her mind off the problems at hand.

She chuckled softly and told herself that she could probably tell the people at Godey's lots of things they didn't know. Like how to fit ten flapjacks on a griddle made for eight… how to keep desert sand out of your baked goods… how to allow for wind when taking a shot at a deer, or even, thanks to some of the men in town, how to rob a bank.

Miranda sighed, slapped the book closed, and let her head fall against the high back of her favorite rocking chair. She stared up at the ceiling and played the game that had entertained her since childhood.

Against the whitewashed wood, her mind created the image of Bandit's Canyon. Not as it was now, but as it could be. Clearly she saw women walking down freshly swept boardwalks, chatting happily to busy storekeepers. She saw children laughing and running in the street. Curtains hung at every window, flowers planted in boxes along the hitching rails, and even a church. Yes, she told herself. A church painted a fresh, clean white, with a tall steeple and a bell. The bell would ring out every Sunday for services, and during the week they could use it to call the kids in for school. She even knew where the church would be built. Right where Big Pete's saloon now stood.

She closed her eyes and still saw her dream town. A place where no one was hiding. Where there were no gunfights.

Then suddenly, down the main street of her dream, she saw herself, strolling arm in arm with a tall, dark-haired man who smiled down at her as if she were the only woman in the country. And though she couldn't see his face, she knew it was Jesse Hogan.

Miranda's' eyes flew open and she straightened abruptly. For heaven's sake, she told herself. You only just met the man. Unwillingly, though, her mind conjured, up her meeting with the strange man. She saw him again, travel weary, dusty, his green eyes moving over her familiarly as, though he'd done it many times before. She remembered the spiraling curl of excitement that started in her stomach and grew rapidly at the sound of his deep voice.

Stop it. She stood up and carried her teacup back into the tiny kitchen of her small cabin. A cold wind whispered under the partially opened window and the starched red calico curtains fluttered in response. Miranda shivered, reached across the plank counter, and slammed the window shut. She shook her head and rubbed her arms vigorously, trying to dispel the chill creeping over her flesh.

What was it about the man that kept his image so fresh in her mind? Lord knew, she'd been around men all her life.

And none of them had ever affected her like this!

Determinedly she drew the cord of her red flannel robe about her waist and pulled it tight. As she jammed her hands into the pockets she reluctantly admitted that he'd even had an influence on her clothing!

Somehow it had never occurred to her before that her satin robes and sheer nightgowns were quite so revealing. But then, no other man had ever looked at her the way Jesse Hogan had. Her breath quickened and her heart pounded. She remembered how his eyes had glittered and how his gaze had raked over her body as though he could see right through the flimsy coverings she wore.

And for the first time she began to wonder if maybe her mother had been wrong. Maybe giving your heart to an outlaw didn't necessarily mean trouble and heartache. And if it did, maybe it would be worth it.

The front door flew open and crashed into the inside wall. Miranda forgot everything else and ran toward the sound.

Buck Farley, one of the new men in town, stood in the open doorway.

“What is it?" Miranda said quickly. “What's wrong?"

He gulped in air and pointed back down the street “It’s Bobby. Bobby Sawyer. He's finally come back."

Miranda took another step toward the man. "And… ?"

“He's hurt bad, Miranda." The man swallowed and shook his head. “Real bad. Took a bullet a couple days ago and been ridin' ever since tryin' to get back here." Buck's lips twisted into a disgusted frown. "Damn fool kid."

Miranda was already turning for the stack of bandages she kept ready in a cupboard near the door. She filled her arms with as much as she could carry, then said, “Where is he?"

“Little bunkhouse."

She nodded and started moving. Then she turned and ordered, "Go to the restaurant. Boil some water. Bring me a bowl of it and ask Jim Sully if he’ll give me a hand, will you?"

"Sure thing, Miranda," He pulled the door to. "But why Jim? I'll help."

“I know, Buck. And thanks." She smiled and patted his arm. “But Jim's done this kind of thing lots of times." Miranda turned and hurried down the lopsided boardwalk toward the bunkhouse at the end of the street. "Now hurry up, Buck," she called over her shoulder.

She heard the man take off for the restaurant and, though she didn't slow her steps any, Miranda took the time to glance skyward and mumble a plea for help.

Chapter 2

Miranda stifled a gasp when she lifted the edge of Bobby's sodden shirt to look at his wound. She heard him hiss through his clenched teeth and knew she was hurting him.

“I'm sorry, Bobby," she whispered, and let go of the dirty fabric.

“It’s all right, Miranda." A half smile curved the corners of his full lips. "Got to be done. I know that. You go ahead on. Don't worry 'bout me."

Miranda bit her lip and reached for the shirt again. The unnaturally quiet bunkhouse seemed to close in around her. Two lamps, one on either side of the narrow cot, dappled the two people with an uncertain light that flickered and fought against the darkness. Miranda squelched a rising sense of dread. She'd never seen a wound as bad as Bobby's. She wasn't sure what to do. Where was Jim Sully and the damned water? If she could soak the edges of the material, it would come free from the dried blood a lot less painfully. But did she dare wait any longer?

“I've got to get this shirt off you, Bobby."

“I know." He shuddered and swallowed. "Go on."

The bunkhouse door opened and Miranda looked up, relieved. But it was Jesse Hogan, not Jim Sully, who stepped inside. He carried a bowl of hot water in one hand and a whiskey bottle in the other.

"Where's —“

Jesse cut her off. "Jim and the boys're already asleep. I'll help."

"Thanks, but you don't have to…" Miranda's words faded off when she looked up into his eyes. Instead of the raw desire she'd seen there earlier, sympathy and sorrow now shone in the green depths. The man was watching Bobby Sawyers struggles as if he shared them in some way.

“Randa?”

Jesse Hogan forgotten, she whipped back around toward the young man lying on the narrow bed.

"You still here?"

“I'm here, Bobby. I won't leave you."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Jesse kneel down across from her. She saw his features tighten as he studied Bobby's wound. And she saw the gentleness in his touch as he carefully pulled the fabric free of the wound and eased the boy's shirt off.