Chasing the Sun (19 page)

He needed her.

He was broken and she could fix him.

And God help her, she had tried, only to get her own heart broken in the process.

But that was years ago. She had stitched herself back together and was whole now. Stronger and wiser. And as she watched Jack weave his magic around Kate, she used more hurtful memories to beat down any softening toward him, to remind herself of the heartache after he had left her, and the terrible loneliness that had nearly driven her off a bridge one foggy night. Never again would she let Jack Wilkins into her heart. She couldn’t survive it a second time.

“It’s getting late,” she called to them. “I think we should head back.”

Jack started to argue with her, but Kate yawned. “Titty come too?”

“Yes, bring Kitty and I’ll pack him in the pouch. Come along, or we’ll miss supper.”

This time, instead of riding on Jack’s shoulders, Kate nestled against his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin. Before they’d gone fifty yards, she was asleep. When the path widened, Jack slowed to let Daisy catch up. They walked in silence for a bit, then he said, “I would have done the right thing, you know.”

She squinted up at him through the lowering sun. “About what?”

His gaze dipped down at Kate. “If I’d known, I would have stayed.”

“And done what?”

“Married you.”

She stumbled, then caught herself. Lifting a hand, she brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “How noble you are.”

If he heard her sarcasm, he ignored it. “I still will. Marry you.”

She stopped and stared up at him. “Is that a proposal?”

“Well ... sure.” And why not? Jack thought. If he couldn’t have Elena, why not Daisy? They’d been compatible once, maybe they could be again. Besides, Kate needed a father. “Marry me, Daisy.” He watched her brows rise until they arced over her eyes in obvious surprise. Her lips parted. But no sound came out. “Rendered you speechless, have I?” He tried to hide his sudden nervousness behind a grin.

She burst into laughter. Not the nervous titter of someone unsure if she was the butt of a joke she didn’t quite understand. Or the shy breathless giggle of a woman receiving her first marriage proposal. Or even a half-smothered chuckle of delighted surprise. It was a full-out, head-tossed-back belly laugh that went on and on until she was gasping for breath.

Not the reaction he’d expected.

“You’re jesting, right?” she managed once she had herself back in hand.

“No.”

“You want me to marry you.”

He nodded, mentally cursing himself for not thinking this through. He should have used a softer approach. Something romantic. Women loved that.

“Why?”

Why?
He studied her, sensing a trap. But she seemed sincerely curious, so he responded with equal sincerity. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

“For Kate?”

“Exactly.”

“No.” Turning, she walked quickly up the path.

He caught up in two strides. “Not for Kate?”

“No, I won’t marry you.”

He blinked, shocked by her answer. It had never occurred to him that she might say no. He’d been dodging women for half his life, but now when he’d finally coughed up a proposal, he was refused? It was inconceivable.

He should have been relieved.

He should have taken it as a reprieve and let it go at that.

“Why not?” he asked, instead.

“Don’t be silly.” She softened the words with a pat on his arm. “Why would I want a gambling, womanizing drunk in my life?”

He reared back in offense. “That’s not fair. I’m not a drunk. Not anymore.” He shot her one of his best smiles, a boyish grin guaranteed to disarm. “And we do have a daughter, so you must have wanted me in your life at one time.”

“In my bed, perhaps.” It took all of Daisy’s strength to keep up this nonchalant charade when her heart was screaming,
Do it! Say yes!
But if she couldn’t be first in Jack’s heart, she didn’t want to be there at all. “Oh, don’t look so offended,” she said with a brittle laugh. “You were, as I recall, in love with another woman. And still are, it would seem.”

She watched his face. Saw surprise and maybe a flash of guilt. Surely he hadn’t forgotten about his true love?

“Elena will leave in a few days. I’ll never see her again.”

“But that won’t change the way you feel about her, will it?”

Daisy waited for his answer, dreading it but needing to hear it, as if it might cut through the hope and anger and hurt to finally sever the emotional tie that still bound her to this man.

“I don’t know,” he finally said.

Ever honest, Jack was. He would kill her yet. She continued walking down the trail, mildly surprised that she still could. The sun was sliding behind the peaks, staining the high snowfields a soft pastel pink. The cloudless dome overhead was a wash of color ranging from a dusky blue in the east, growing brighter and more vibrant as it bled into oranges and fiery reds in the west. On distant ridges, trees rose in stark silhouette and the breeze sweeping down the slopes was fragrant and cool.

Too beautiful a day for hope to die.

Jack caught up and matched his pace to hers. From time to time, she felt him watching her over Kate’s head, but she didn’t look his way.

“So it’s just the money, then,” he said after a long silence. “That’s all you want from me.”

Daisy nodded, not trusting her voice.

“Then you’ll go back to San Francisco?”

“Perhaps.”

“And do what? Sing in another saloon?”

She turned her head and looked at him. Frustration tightened his mouth, and his beautiful eyes showed bewilderment and maybe a touch of anger. Saddened, she looked away again.

Poor Jack
. Usually he could so easily bend a woman to his whims. This must be a shock, and as difficult for him as it was for her, although for wholly different reasons.

“And what about Kate?” he persisted. “Who’ll watch over her while you’re flaunting yourself in some filthy saloon?”

His accusation ignited her own anger. “Was I flaunting myself? I thought I was singing. Or trying to, over the catcalls and whistles and vulgar remarks from your friends.”

“Christ.” Savagely, he kicked a pinecone from the path. “They weren’t my friends.”

“No? But you fit in with them so well.”

Stopping abruptly, he grabbed her arm to pull her around to face him. “I don’t want you going back to that kind of life, Daisy. You deserve better. Kate too. Marry me and you won’t have to spend your nights in such places.”

“And where will I spend them, Jack?”

He seemed taken aback by the question. “With me.”

She felt like laughing. Or weeping. She didn’t know which. “With you. You’ll stay and be the father Kate needs and the husband I need. Is that what you’re saying, Jack? You’ll give up your wandering and stay with us?”

“Well, I ...”

His hesitation said it all. And one more time, her hopes lay in shambles at her feet.
Silly woman
. “You needn’t worry, Jack. Go see the world. I can take care of myself.” Bill Johnson was proof of that.

She resumed walking. He fell into step beside her. For a moment, neither spoke, then Jack asked in a challenging voice, “What is it you want, Daisy? A white-fenced cottage? Church socials and singing in the choir? Neither of us could tolerate that. I know you. I’ve seen the look in your eyes when you sing. You’ve got too much spirit to bury yourself in a life like that. So what is it you really want?”

You
, she almost said.
All of you. For you to say just once that you love me.

But that could never be, and since she wouldn’t allow herself to settle for anything less, she threw out the bald truth, harsh as it was. “Money, Jack. That’s all I want and all you can give me. Can’t we just leave it at that?”

“You want money? Fine.” Grabbing her arm with his free hand, he swung her around. Gone was the laughing Jack she remembered. In its place was a big, bristling male with fury in his eyes. “I’ll give you however much you want. Just name your price. Then I get Kate.”

Eleven

WITH SAVAGE EFFICIENCY, JACK SADDLED THE LIVELY chestnut gelding he’d ridden in from Redemption back in what seemed like a lifetime ago.

“Hell and damnation,” he muttered, pulling the cinch strap snug against the horse’s belly. “Sonofabitch.” How could things go so wrong so fast? It seemed every time he opened his damned mouth, he found himself choking on his own foot—or her fist. The woman had a helluva swing.

“Running off?”

He glanced up to see Hank peering over the stall door.

Lifting the bridle from a hook, Jack slipped the bit between the chestnut’s teeth. “I’m thinking about it.”

“Thinking? Then maybe I should come along so you don’t hurt yourself.”

“Go to hell.”

Chuckling, Hank pushed away from the door. “Let me saddle up first.”

They rode without speaking, Jack setting a hard pace in a westerly direction toward Blue Mesa and the steep trails that wound up the southeast face. He needed to get out of this valley, to find a high place so he could see past the peaks that felt like they were closing in on him a little more every day. He needed to reassure himself that the world was still out there, beyond these sloped canyons and looming mountains. He needed to breathe.

He might have ridden straight on to the ocean if his horse could have held up to the pace. Reluctantly, he reined back to a walk so the winded animal could catch its breath.

Hank pulled in beside him. They rode for another couple of miles before his brother finally broke the long silence. “What happened to your eye?”

Lifting a hand, Jack touched the ridge of his cheekbone, wincing as his fingertips found the puffy tenderness of a rising bruise.
Damn hardheaded woman
. “Ran into something.”

“Daisy, I’m guessing.”

Jack looked over.

Hank shrugged. “I recognize the knuckle marks. What’d you do this time?”

Jack ignored the question. He didn’t want to talk about Daisy. Or Kate. Or the fact that all his carefully constructed strategies and rationalizations had been driven back down his throat by one small, well-aimed fist.

Hank dropped back to stay clear of the dust as Jack’s horse started up the long switchback trail to the ledge that overlooked the valley. Every step felt like a move backward in time until Jack found himself reliving that fateful morning almost a quarter century ago, just before his seventh birthday, when he saw RosaRoja for the first time. Was that when everything had started to go wrong?

He remembered it had been cold. He and his older brothers slept in bedrolls on the ground under the wagon their parents and baby brother, Sam, shared and he had been trying to stay close to Hank to stay warm. Hank was like an oven, and he didn’t mind Jack sharing his heat the way Brady did.

At thirteen, Brady had been as gangly and rawboned as a new colt. He’d always needed a lot of space around him and didn’t like being crowded. Maybe he’d sensed, even then, the burdens that would be placed upon him someday, and was just trying to find room to stretch while he still could.

It had been just before dawn when Pa had nudged each of them awake. “Dress,” he’d said, tossing a bundle of clothing onto the ground beside their bedrolls. “And don’t wake your ma and Sam.”

Shivering as the night air sliced through his worn unions, Jack opened the bundle.

Hell and damnation. New clothes!

He glanced at his brothers and saw they had new clothes too. Grinning in the darkness, he quickly put them on—a blue shirt, dungarees so stiff they scratched going on, a new red kerchief, and a black, flat-crowned, wide-brimmed hat exactly like the one he had admired in the window of Hargrove’s Emporium when they’d driven through El Paso three days before. There was even a pair of shiny new boots too.

Jack almost hopped a circle, he was so happy. He hadn’t had new store-bought clothes in almost forever. He liked the way the new cloth felt, and the way it smelled, and the rustling sound the stiff dungarees made when he walked.

He was strutting for his brothers when Pa walked up leading Pat and Moe and Little Joe, the saddle horses he and his brothers rode. Jack noticed his father had on new clothes too. None of them had ever looked so grand.

Pa handed over their horses, then leaving Buck and Iantha to watch over Ma and baby Sam, Pa led Jack and his brothers on foot away from the campsite.

Except for the crunch of their footfalls on loose pebbles and a coyote’s yodel bouncing along the ridges, it was so quiet Jack could hear Little Joe breathing at his shoulder. The stars had begun to fade, and as the faint purple tint behind the eastern ridges grew brighter, shadows emerged from the darkness—spindly-armed cactus, lacy mesquite, his father’s broad form. Just above their heads, wispy bands of smoke from last night’s fire hung in the still air, while underfoot, tendrils of morning mist clung to their new boots like lost clouds. To Jack, it was like moving through a dream.

They walked until the sky lightened enough that they could see the ground from horseback, then they mounted and rode at a brisk walk toward the flat-topped shadow of a mesa looming in the dawning sky.