Nevada Heat (3 page)

“I reckon I really done it this time, ain't I?" Bobby swallowed and another long, shuddering breath shook his body. He groaned and reached for Miranda's hand.

"You'll be all right, Bobby. Just like I told you."

She ignored Jesse when his gaze snapped up at her obvious lie.

"Surely is cold tonight," the boy said haltingly.

“I know, I know." Miranda smoothed his sweat dampened sandy blond hair off his brow. “As soon as Jesse's finished, I'll cover you up with a warm blanket."

Bobby's head rolled to one side and he stared at Jesse for a moment. "Do I know you, mister?"

“Nope.” Jesse smiled at the boy briefly, then went back to work on his wound. "Just got here tonight."

“Fine welcome!" Bobby snorted a laugh and groaned softly at the action. His wide blue eyes suddenly focused on Miranda. “Don't go nowhere, Randa. Please."

“I won't, Bobby. I'll stay." She laid one hand on his clammy forehead. "You calm down now."

“Reckon the boys'll figure I'm some kinda green baby, actin' all scared like."

Miranda met Jesse's regret-filled glance, then turned back to the young man. “No, Bobby," she whispered. “No, they won't."

"Hell." Bobby closed his eyes and sighed. "Wasn't s'posed to turn out like this."

She forced a smile into her voice. "You remember all this next time you try to hold up a bank all on your lonesome."

"Oh” — he licked his lips — “yes, ma'am." His soft chuckle became a moan. After a few long, agonizing seconds he added, “But who woulda thought that old man banker would pull a gun?"

“I know," Miranda whispered, and smoothed her fingertips along his jaw. "Don't try to talk, Bobby. Hush now."

Not for the first time Miranda wished she knew more. Wished that she knew enough to make his chest wound stop bleeding. To get that damned bullet out of him without tearing up his flesh any more than it already was. To make him live. Sudden tears welled up in her eyes and she blinked furiously. He didn't need to see her cry. She glanced again at Jesse, only to find him staring at her, waiting, it seemed, for her attention.

An unspoken question filled the silence between them, and though she'd been expecting it, when Jesse slowly shook his head, Miranda wanted to scream.

But she didn't. There was nothing either of them could do. And there was no doctor. Not in Bandit's Canyon. Probably not a real doctor for a hundred miles. Bobby Sawyer was going to die. And there wasn't a blessed thing she could do about it. It was a miracle that he'd made it back to the canyon at all with a wound as bad as his.

She bit her lip and tore her gaze away from Jesse's. Pain, regret, and frustration were etched into the tall man's features. His eyes seemed to hold all the sorrow in the world. And it didn't help her to know that he shared her pain. Miranda looked down at Bobby and shook her head. Such a waste.

"Randa?" His fingers tightened slightly on hers.

"Yes, Bobby?"

“I ain't ready to die yet… " He opened his eyes and tried to focus on her. He couldn't see her clearly, but it didn't matter. Bobby held an image of her firm in his mind. Soft brown hair that sparkled in the sun, freckles across her small, always sunburned nose, and blue-green eyes that flashed when her temper was lit, but were usually calm and shining with the kindness she showed to everybody. He didn't need to see her with his eyes. Just hearing her voice again was enough. No matter what happened to him now, it would be all right.

Bobby twisted wildly for a moment before slumping into stillness. His insides were on fire. And he didn't have the strength anymore to fight it off. Instead his tired body drooped with each flaring burst of agony and he held his breath until it subsided.

Bobby'd ridden through waves of pain for almost two days just to reach Bandit's Canyon and Miranda. As soon as the damned banker'd shot him as he was riding out of that town, Bobby'd known that he'd caught a death bullet. Nothing to be done about it. But at the same time, he'd forced himself to stay in the saddle. To stay conscious. To get to Miranda. To get home. Bobby didn't so much mind the dyin', it was missin' out on the livin' that bothered him. But hell, he'd known all along that it would prob'ly end like this. At least he wasn't alone. Miranda was there.

The pain eased up some and he took another shaky breath. Had to ask her something. He smiled inside. Funny how it took dyin' to give him the guts to say what he'd always wanted to say.

Summoning up what strength he had left, Bobby muttered, “Don't feel bad, Miranda.” His lips twitched slightly. “I know I'm goin'. It ain't bad, y'know. Long as you're here."

She bit the inside of her cheek. “I'm glad, Bobby."

"You're 'bout the only decent woman who's spoke to me in the last couple of years." Shouldn't never have left home, he told himself fruitlessly.

Miranda's smile was strained, but he didn't notice as she wiped his cheeks with a cool cloth.

Something twisted inside him and Bobby groaned at the red-hot pain slicing through his body. Miranda's fingers tightened around his hand and he tried to concentrate on her presence. He had to hurry. He had to know before he died.

"Randa?"

"Yes?"

"You recall that dance” — he coughed and Miranda winced in sympathy — “at Big Pete's place? Couple months back?"

She'd leaned down closer to him. He couldn't see her in the growing darkness, but he smelled her perfume. That soft, flowery stuff she always wore.

“I got to know somethin', Randa. 'Fore I go… " Bobby paused. Why didn't somebody light a damned lamp?

"What?" Miranda's breath fanned his cheek.

"If I'da asked you to partner up with me…" He licked his dry lips and struggled for another gasp of air. “Would you have gone along?"

"Yes, I would, Bobby." He heard her take a trembling breath. “I was waitin' on you to ask me."

Bobby smiled. "Well I'll be goddamned." He sighed.

He felt her perfume surround him. Thousands of flowers blossomed and spread everywhere. Why, he could see 'em. Clear as anything. Acres and acres of 'em. And him right dab in the middle. The flowers went on forever — far as he could see and more. And the sunshine was so bright. A soft breeze caressed him and he took a deep gulp of the sweet air, surprised to find that his chest didn't hurt anymore. Bobby started walking through the colorful fields of flowers swaying in the gentle wind, toward the sunlight that seemed to call him.

"Bobby?" Miranda laid her head on his chest and listened. Nothing. Slowly she rose and looked down at him. As she pulled the blanket up over his face, Miranda hoped the Lord would forgive her the lie that had brought the smile still curving Bobby's lips.

#

Jesse sat unmoving in the silence. Without the boy's labored breathing, the quiet was almost too much to bear. He watched Miranda pull the brown blanket up over Bobby Sawyer's face. His chest tightened painfully as he saw tears fill her eyes and roll down her cheeks.

Breathing raggedly, Jesse sat back on his heels, his hands lying uselessly in his lap. He'd known from the moment he'd first examined the wound that the boy would die. And Lord knew, it had taken every ounce of his will to remain there to watch it. He continued to stare at the woman opposite him, vaguely surprised that his first instinct was to comfort her. She still knelt by the bed, her shoulders bowed, head down, and he knew that she was hiding her tears.

From him.

Jesse let his bead fall back on his neck. His wide, staring eyes fixed unblinkingly at the ceiling, where the feeble light from the two lamps dipped and swayed. The boy had been as good as dead when he was shot. And somehow he'd managed to make it back here to this nest of outlaws.

Why? Why was it so important for the kid to die here? With her?

He looked at her again and tried to understand. But all he saw was that she needed someone. That she needed the comfort she'd given to the dying boy just minutes ago.

Jesse straightened up and pushed himself to his feet. Slowly he walked around the bed and stopped when he reached her side. She hadn't moved. It was as if she were alone. Jesse knew what she was feeling. The helpless rage. The overwhelming grief at an unnecessary death. Suddenly it wasn't just her need that touched him. Jesse wanted to help. It had been so long since he'd felt anything at all, he was overwhelmed by his sudden urge to comfort her. To somehow ease her pain, if only for a moment. He knew from his own past that her sadness would fade away. Her life would go on.

It wasn't grief that lasted forever, he reminded himself grimly. It was guilt.

He stooped, cupped her elbows with his hands, and drew her to her feet. When she turned to look at him, Jesse's heart stumbled. Her watery eyes and trembling lip shook him to his core. How could she feel so deeply and manage not to shatter?

Slowly he pulled her against him and his arms closed around her. She laid her head on his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist. As she cried softly Jesse rested his chin on the top of her head and found himself patting her back reassuringly as he would a child.

He forced his breathing to slow even as he mentally ordered his body to ignore the warmth of her. The delicate scent of flowers clung to her and he couldn't help noticing how soft and clean her shining brown hair was. Or how well she fitted up against him. Or how good she felt in his arms.

It had been far too long since he'd held a woman for the right reasons. For comfort. For love. He'd been too much in the company of women who were only interested in his money. Jesse took a deep breath, filling his lungs with her scent, and smoothed her hair back from her face. Her tears had increased and she held him with a fierce grip that surprised him with its strength.

For one precious moment he allowed himself to pretend that he was the Jesse Hogan he used to be. That Miranda Perry was his woman. That she held him not for comfort but for passion.

Where had it all gone? he wondered. Where was the life he'd planned so carefully? He closed his eyes and clamped his lips together. He'd wanted a wife. Children. And now all he had was a moment of make-believe while holding a woman who cried for another man.

Miranda's tears slowed. He felt the tension leave her and regretfully noticed that she'd released her hold on him. Accordingly his own arms loosened and he looked down at her as she pulled slightly back.

"I'm sorry…" she started to say.

Jesse's arms dropped to his sides. "Don't be."

She nodded and glanced over her shoulder at the still form on the bed. “It’s only that… he was so young."

His gaze followed hers. The blanket-covered body stirred too many memories for him, though, and he looked quickly away. "Yeah. Young and stupid."

Miranda's eyes snapped back to him. "He was my friend."

Jesse's lips quirked. He felt the customary coldness pour back into him and welcomed it. Her face was much too vulnerable. Her warmth too tempting. Her heart too big. Deliberately he said the one thing he knew would spark an angry response from her. "'Must've been a mighty close friend for him to ride two days with a wound like that” — he leaned closer — “just to die in your arms."

His ploy worked. Jesse watched, disgusted with himself, as her features froze into a mask of distaste. She took a step back from him as though he were covered with muck. Solemnly she pulled the cloth belt of her ugly red robe tighter around her narrow waist and tossed her loose, flowing hair over her shoulder. He found himself wondering what had happened to the pretty nightclothes she'd been wearing earlier.

Making a supreme effort, Miranda stiffened her spine and lifted her chin. "Thank you for trying to help, Mr. Hogan."

If he could have figured out a way to do it, Jesse would have kicked himself in the gut. Hard. What the hell was the matter with him anyway? Did he have to make everybody as miserable as he was? Did he have to destroy everything soft so that he could remain strong?

The look in her eyes chilled him. It shouldn't have mattered to him what she thought of him. But it did. For some strange, goddamned reason, it did. And now he'd fixed it so that all she'd want to see of him was his backside, leavin' town. So? his mind answered. That's how it should be, isn't it? You weren't exactly planning on staying at Bandit's Canyon, now, were you?

No. He wasn't. But had it really been necessary to make her hate his guts? His eyes quickly raked over her tall, shapely form. Yes. It had been necessary. If she hated him, then he would be safe. Safe from his own cravings for a normal life. If he didn't keep a careful guard on them, they would escape the dark pit in his soul that he'd shoved them into and demand release. And then he would never find the one man whose capture could bring him peace.

He straightened his shoulders and pulled his hat down low over his eyes. "Sorry it didn't do any good."

Her eyes filled again and he felt himself weakening. He wanted to reach out and pull her into his arms again. To hold her until her tears dried. But he couldn't.

"So am I," she whispered.