The Horseman's Bride (12 page)

“What the hell kind of lawman would do that?”

“A sneaking coward like McCabe. And he’s got some rough friends. He could have one of them bring your body in for the reward, then later they could split the money.”

Tanner gazed up at the full moon, shaking his head. “Clara, you must’ve read too many dime novels growing up,” he said. “That’s the wildest scheme I’ve ever heard.”

Clara clenched a fist in frustration. What was the matter with the man? Did he really believe he wasn’t in danger, or was this his way of telling her not to worry about him?

She seized his upper arms, gripping hard. “You don’t know McCabe—he’s as treacherous as a two-legged rattlesnake! He wants the oil, and he sees me as the way to get it. He’d destroy anyone he thought was standing in his way.”

Clara heard the sharp intake of breath and felt the sudden tension in his body.

“Has he been after you? Threatened you?”

“Hardly.” She managed a bitter laugh. “He brought me some silly flowers after the accident. My father almost threw him out of the house.”

“But he could get you alone—Lord, Clara, if the man is what you say he is, you need to be careful!” He was holding her now, protectively, almost possessively.

“Maybe you’re the one who’s read too many dime novels,” she said.

“This isn’t funny,” he growled. “If the bastard tries anything I won’t be here to stop him. I’m worried about you!”

“And I’m worried about you,” she said. “By now, there’s no telling who’s seen that poster. If anybody recognizes you…” She let the words trail off, unable to voice what would happen. Her arms tightened around him as if, by holding him close enough, she could keep the whole world at bay. Shutting her eyes, she filled her senses with his clean, leathery scent. His skin was warm in the darkness, his heartbeat strong against her ear.

He cursed under his breath, his lips skimming her hair. “I’d give anything to have things different,” he murmured. “You know I would, girl. But there’s just no way for us. I’ve got to keep moving.”

Clara forced herself to nod. Tanner was right; she had to let him go. It would be best to forget him and move on with her life. But how could she get through the days ahead, frantic for his safety, aching to see him and hear his voice?

“I just thought of something.” She pushed back to look at him. “I know you can’t stay here—this is one
of the first places the law would look for you. And if that poster’s gotten around, the roads could be watched as well. Even if you cut across open country, someone could spot you.”

“Believe me, I’ve thought of that,” Tanner said.

“Then listen to me. There’s an old cabin in the mountains west of the bog. My grandfather built it for fishing—it still belongs to our family. We keep it locked, but I know where the key’s hidden. You could stay there until it’s safe to leave.”

He hesitated, reflected moonlight flickering in his eyes. “How far is it? Can you draw me a map?”

She shook her head. “You’d never find it on your own. But I can take you there tonight—it’s light enough to see the way. We could be there in about an hour—that is, if you can get Galahad to cooperate.”

Tanner sighed. “I don’t like involving you, Clara. Aiding a fugitive is against the law. Maybe I should just get away from here now, while it’s dark.”

“Word travels fast,” she argued. “Unless McCabe wants to save you for himself, lawmen all over this part of the state could be on the lookout for you. Can you afford to take that chance?”

He shifted away from her, gazing toward the distant hills. Clara could sense the conflict in him as he weighed his choices. Had she done a reckless thing, offering him refuge in the cabin? Could she honestly say whether that offer had been prompted by concern for Tanner’s safety or by the selfish desire to keep him near?

“The trail to the cabin is overgrown and hard to follow,” she told him. “There’s not much to eat there except for a few tins of sardines and some crackers, but you’ll find good water in the stream and fishing tackle in the cabin. You’ll be all right till I can bring up more supplies.”

“No.” He turned back to confront her, his expression a stubborn mask. “I won’t bring you into this. Not in any way. Now that Galahad’s done his duty, I’m going to saddle up and ride out of here.”

“But it isn’t safe!” she cried. “What if you’re caught?”

“I’d rather take that chance than risk your coming to harm. Damn it, Clara, if I loved you any less—”

As if realizing what he’d just said, he broke off and strode back toward the shed where his gear and bedroll were stowed. Clara stood staring after him. He
loved
her. He’d just told her so. But what was love worth from a man who was leaving forever?

She fought back the urge to run after him, to fling her arms around him and beg him to stay. She loved him with all her heart and soul. But there was no arguing with reality. If she wanted Tanner to live and be free, she had no choice except to let him go.

Galahad stood resting under the big cottonwood, his energy spent for the moment. When Tanner opened the paddock gate and whistled, the stallion came willingly. Once he was bridled, Clara moved forward to hold the reins while Tanner positioned the saddle, tightened the cinch and tied on his gear. She noticed he was wearing his gun belt.

“Where do you plan to go?” She was fighting tears, determined that he not see her cry.

“You know better than to ask me that,” he said. “Thank your grandmother and tell her—”

He broke off abruptly, listening.

“What is it?” Clara started to ask, but then she heard it, too—the clatter of shod hooves approaching up the drive. Riders. Three or four of them, at least. At this hour, that could only mean one thing.

“That’s got to be McCabe and his friends. Go!” she urged him. “Hurry, before they get here!”

He shook his head. “I’m not leaving you and your grandmother alone with them. Come on.”

Grabbing her arm, he led the stallion into the deepest part of the orchard. As they melted into the shadows, four riders, with Deputy McCabe in the lead, trotted their mounts into the farmyard and dismounted next to the corral. The men were laughing, talking, probably drunk on bootleg whiskey—and very dangerous.

“Spread out. Search the barn and the sheds. I’ll talk to the old lady.” McCabe, at least, sounded sober. Clara forgot to breathe as he stomped up the front steps, opened the screen and pounded on the front door.

“Deputy McCabe, ma’am,” he shouted. “Open up in the name of the law!”

Seconds passed. Then a light flickered on. The bolt slid back with a click and the door opened. Mary stood on the threshold in her flannel wrapper, her long gray hair in braids, her shotgun cocked and aimed.

“I hope your business is important enough to justify
waking an old woman up in the middle of the night, Deputy,” she snapped.

“We’re looking for that hired man of yours,” McCabe growled. “Where is he?”

“How should I know? I’m not his keeper.” Mary held the shotgun steady. “He got paid today. Maybe he went into town to have some fun. Or maybe the footloose bum’s packed up and gone. He did strike me as a flighty sort.”

“We’re going to have to search your house,” McCabe said.

“A gentleman would take a lady’s word. But seeing it’s you…”

“I can’t afford to take anybody’s word,” McCabe said. “The man’s wanted for murder.”

There was a beat of silence. “All right, but just you,” Mary said. “The rest of those galoots stay outside. You’ve got one minute to look around and get off my property before I telephone the marshal. Sam Farley won’t be happy to hear that you and your drunken friends are harassing me!”

Clara gripped Tanner’s arm as lights flickered on and off in the bedroom windows of Mary’s house. She could hear the other men throwing things around in the toolshed, whooping as they scared the chickens in the coop. Her heart hammered with terror. She envied her grandmother’s spunk and courage.

After what seemed like hours, but couldn’t have been more than a minute or two, McCabe emerged onto the front porch. Mary walked behind him, herding him
with the shotgun. “See, I told you he wasn’t here,” she said. “Now take your friends and get off my property before I get nervous and start shooting. I can’t see too well without my spectacles, but with so many bodies out there, I’m bound to hit something.”

McCabe strode off the porch, stumbling slightly on the bottom step. “Mount up, boys!” he bawled, swinging onto his horse. “We’ll spread out from the gate. If you see the murderin’ bastard, shoot first and ask questions later!”

Clambering onto their horses, the impromptu posse thundered down the drive. Mary watched them from the porch until they disappeared, then turned and went back inside. Seconds later the lights went out.

Tanner’s mouth flashed a grin. “What a spitfire! If I were forty years older I’d be tempted to propose to the woman!”

“Did you tell her you were wanted for murder?”

“No, but she didn’t seem surprised. I’m guessing she figured it out. You can tell her the whole story after I’m gone.”

“Should I let her know we’re here?”

Tanner shook his head. “The less she knows, the better. But with that bunch of yahoos on the loose, I may need to take you up on that cabin offer after all.”

“Fine. I’ll saddle one of the geldings and come with you.” Clara spun away. He caught her and jerked her back against him.

“No!” he growled. “McCabe’s men might be out there watching. You’ll need to come with me now on the
stallion. Once I know how to find the cabin, I’ll bring you down the back way and see that you’re safely in the house. There’s no way I’m letting you be out here alone.”

The eyes that blazed down at her were as fierce as a cougar’s. The night was electric with danger. Yet Clara had never felt more protected. “Let’s go,” she whispered.

They mounted stealthily, Tanner keeping low while he eased her up behind him. She clung to his back, spooning her knees behind his as they moved beneath the blossoming trees. Moonlit shadows danced in the wind.

In the stillness, Clara could hear the pounding of her own heart. Ever since that episode of terror in San Francisco, she’d played it safe, backing away from the unfamiliar, avoiding risk. But tonight she was risking everything for the sake of the man she loved. Anything could happen out there in the darkness. But she’d made her choice. She had crossed the line, and she had to be ready to take the consequences.

As they cleared the trees and moved into the open, a shout rang out from the direction of the gate. A single gunshot—a signal perhaps—echoed through the darkness. Had they been seen? There was no time to look back and find out.

Tanner dug his heels into Galahad’s flanks. The big stallion exploded into a gallop, legs pounding, powerful body stretching, iron-shod hooves slicing the soft ground. From far behind came the sound of pistol fire as McCabe’s gang took up the chase. But they were
already outdistanced. Galahad was racing like the wind, a juggernaut of speed, power and beauty.

Clara felt a rush of exhilaration. She’d expected to be afraid. But she was strangely excited, almost euphoric. She’d heard both her parents say that Quint was addicted to adventure—that he was happiest when risking life and limb. Now, at last, Clara understood what that meant. Was this the heritage Quint had passed on to his daughter—this delicious stirring of the blood in the face of danger?

But there was no time to wonder. Tanner was leaning forward in the saddle, as the stallion shot across the level fields, clearing fences, jumping ditches. Wind shrilled in Clara’s ears. She tightened her arms around Tanner’s waist, pressing so close against his back that she felt as if the two of them and the horse were all one, like a statue forged in bronze.

She could no longer hear the shouts or the gunshots. She could feel nothing but Tanner’s closeness and the pumping of the stallion’s powerful body beneath her. They flew through the night as if they could run forever, to the ends of the earth.

If only they could.

W
ithin sight of the bog, Jace reined in the tiring stallion. Was anyone following them? He risked a backward glance at the moonlit fields—empty for now. Even if McCabe was still after them, no horse would have a chance of catching the stallion. But that wouldn’t keep the posse from watching from a distance. And it wouldn’t keep a decent tracker from picking up their trail. He could only hope McCabe’s cohorts were as drunk and inept as they’d appeared to be.

“Go around the bog. The trail starts on the other side.” Clara leaned forward to speak into his ear. Lord, what had he gotten her into? He should have left her safe with her family and taken his chances on his own. But with McCabe and his buddies combing the countryside, taking her with him to the cabin had seemed his only option.

Ahead of them lay the bog, its pale reeds gleaming white as bone in the moonlight. Swinging the stallion
to the right, he gave the place a wide berth. It held bad memories and reeked of evil.

“There—just beyond those ragged junipers.” Clara pointed past his shoulder. Sighting along her arm, Jace could make out a half-overgrown trail zigzagging through the scrubby foothills. Higher up, thickets of aspen and clumps of pine carpeted the slopes. They’d be safer once they reached the shelter of the trees. But the lower part of the trail would be exposed to anyone watching from below.

Clara’s arms clasped his waist as they wound their way upward. Her body was warm against his back. The subtle wildflower fragrance of her hair crept over him, stealing through his senses. She was all innocence, all passion, his Clara—though he had no right to call her
his
Clara, especially when he could prove to be her ruin.

Tonight she was risking everything—her parents’ anger, her reputation, her freedom, even her life—to help him. He had no right to do this to her. He should turn around, take her home and ride away, trusting Galahad’s speed to carry him out of danger. But behind them was where the present danger lay. There was no telling what McCabe’s men might do to Clara if they caught her with him. Turning back now was out of the question.

The stallion was climbing at a walk now, his gait slowed by the steepness of the trail. Glimpsed through the trees, the fields in the valley below spread like a patchwork quilt in night-muted shades of pale and dark.

Tanner couldn’t have made it this far without her guidance, Clara knew. The mountainside was crisscrossed with a network of trails, some going to other cabins or fishing spots higher up, some going to farms or back toward town. It would be all too easy to take a wrong turn. She’d been coming up here all her life, but sometimes, in the dark, still she was uncertain.

Clouds were drifting in, veiling the moon in fleeting shadows. On the rising wind, she caught the scent of rain. Even here, Tanner continued to pause every few minutes to listen for signs of their pursuers. So far there were none. Only the rustle of aspen leaves and the steady plod of Galahad’s hooves disturbed the stillness.

Tanner had been as silent as the night, lost in his own thoughts. Who was this man? Clara wondered. Sometimes she felt as if they’d known each other all their lives. Other times, like now, it was as if he’d thrown up a wall between them. She understood that it was for her own protection. But that didn’t mean she had to like it. She burned to know everything about Jason Tanner Denby—where he’d come from, his family and friends, what he’d done for a living, even little things like his favorite song and his favorite food. But aside from the story of the shooting, he’d told her nothing about himself. She had fallen in love with a stranger, a man as elusive and mysterious as a shadow.

Black clouds had moved in over the western peaks, spreading across the sky like spilled ink. Thunder quivered faintly on the air. A storm would hide their trail and hope
fully send McCabe’s men scurrying for home. But the open slope could be treacherous in a heavy downpour.

As the trail turned up the mouth of wooded canyon, Clara recognized the sound of a distant waterfall. They were headed the right way and would reach the cabin in fifteen or twenty minutes—none too soon with clouds blocking the moonlight and sheet lightning flickering in the west. The trail, at least, was more sheltered here, the slope of the land leveling off around them. Still cautious, Tanner nudged the stallion to a faster walk. His muscles were tense beneath her hands.

Unnerved at last by his silence, Clara cleared her throat and took a chance on getting answers.

“What was your old life like, before you left Missouri?” she asked.

The soft-spoken question caught Jace off guard. Clara had been quiet most of the way up the mountain. She must have been wondering about the man she was risking so much for.

“My old life’s gone for good,” he said. “What you see here, that’s my life now.”

She deserved a better answer, Jace thought. But the less she knew about him, the less she would have to forget.

“What did you do for a living?” she persisted. “You must’ve made good money. Those boots you’re wearing look custom made.”

His laugh was razor edged. “So you wouldn’t believe me if I told you I stole them off a dead moonshiner?”

“No, I wouldn’t. And stop insulting my intelligence. You’re well educated, even well mannered—at least, when you choose to be. That doesn’t come from nowhere.” She shifted in the saddle, her shapely little body crowding his in a way that made his crotch ache. “You owe me some answers, Tanner.”

Jace sighed. Clara was right. He did owe her some answers, or at least as many as he could safely give her. He paused, listening to the night. The trail here was overhung with aspen branches. White columbines and purple gentians bloomed in the shadows. From somewhere ahead came the whisper of rushing water.

“I’m a geologist, trained as an engineer,” he said. “I used to hire out as a consultant for oil drilling companies. My job was figuring out where to sink the wells. If you’ll excuse my bragging, I was damned good at it.”

“So that’s how you knew about the oil.”

“It doesn’t take a genius to recognize oil when it’s oozing out of the ground. The tricky part is knowing where the oil is when you can’t see it. Guess wrong, and the drilling company’s out thousands of dollars.”

Lightning cracked across the sky. Clara’s arms tightened around him. Jace could feel her light breath on the back of his neck, her breasts pressing against his shoulder blades. The wind blew her hair against his cheek. He urged the horse forward on the narrow trail.

“From geologist to hired farm laborer,” she said, making conversation. “That change can’t have been easy for you.”

“Honest work’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s better than jail or hanging, for as long as it lasts.”

For as long as it lasts
. The words sent a quiver along Jace’s nerves. Over the past three months, he’d tried not to wonder how it would feel, being captured, jailed, tried and hanged. But he’d never come this close to being caught. Knowing that his face was on a wanted poster, and that he’d been recognized, had brought reality crashing in on him.

He and his sister had never discussed what they’d do if he was captured. He’d fled Missouri with the idea that as long as he kept moving, he could run indefinitely and never be taken. It wouldn’t be much of a life, but at least he could survive. Only now did the real possibility of capture sink home.

The trial would be swift, the evidence sure. Ruby might be called to testify, but Jace would plead guilty before he’d allow her to be put on the stand. However things went down, he had no doubt the prosecution would make the crime look like cold-blooded murder, and the judge would impose the maximum sentence.

What would it be like, being hanged—to climb the thirteen steps and wait for the drop of the trapdoor, to feel the tightening of the noose around his throat, the sudden snap?

But he mustn’t think that way tonight—not while he was free. Not with Clara close beside him, so sweet and strong and unafraid. Right now one thing was certain. He couldn’t let her suffer for what he’d done. Whatever happened, he had to make sure she’d be all right.

“Did you have a nice home in Missouri?” Clara asked him. “Did you leave a sweetheart behind?”

Thunder rolled across the horizon. Jace waited for the echoes to die away. “I had a nice bachelor flat in Springfield. And as for a sweetheart…”

He paused, trying to picture Eileen’s sharply elegant face. The memory was colorless, like a black-and-white fashion photograph. “There was a woman I’d planned to marry,” he said. “Somehow, the word
sweetheart
doesn’t suit her.”

“Did you love her?”

Had he loved Eileen? He’d admired her, coveted her, even liked her. But love? “I’m not sure I even knew what love was back then,” he said. “I enjoyed showing her off and thought we might have a good life together. But when I had to leave, there was no time to tell her anything. Knowing how many beaux she had, I suspect she didn’t waste much time pining over me.”

Clara had fallen silent again, and Jace wondered if he should say more. Was it fair to tell her how much he loved her when he had no future to offer? Or would it be kinder to leave the words unsaid?

There was no time to ponder the question. Chain lightning cracked across the sky. With a shattering boom of thunder, the rain burst out of the clouds. Water poured down in gray streams, the drops so heavy that they stung like birdshot. There was no escaping the downpour. Within seconds they were both drenched to the skin.

On the mud-slicked trail, they had little choice
except to endure and keep moving. Clara clung to Jace’s back. Through his rain-soaked shirt he could feel her shivering. The rain was misery. But for now, Jace reminded himself, it was also safety.

A few minutes later she nudged him, leaning forward to be heard. “The cabin should be right through those trees. Do you see it?”

Jace peered through the rain. The first thing he saw was a glimmer of reflected lightning on a glass windowpane. As they rode closer, the cabin took shape through the downpour. It was small and sturdy, with an exterior of oiled logs, a shingled roof and a covered porch. Screened by aspens, it blended with its surroundings.

Clara slid down the horse’s flank and dropped to the ground. “You take care of Galahad,” she said. “I’ll get the key.” Splashing down the trail ahead of him, she vanished into the rain. Acting out of caution, Jace drew his pistol as he rode in. But there was no need. The cabin was dark and quiet, with no sign that anyone had recently been there.

Dismounting, he unloaded his saddle and gear on the porch, then tethered the stallion behind the cabin, under the sloping eave that sheltered the woodpile. When he returned to the porch, Clara had found the key and was fumbling with the rusty padlock that hung from its hasp on the door. “I’ll have this open in a j-jiffy!” She spoke through chattering teeth. Her shaking hands struggled to fit the key into the tiny opening on the lock.

“Here, I can do that.” Clothes streaming water, Jace
stepped onto the porch. Curtains of rain cascaded off the eaves to fall around them. Clara handed him the key. Her wet fingers were quivering.

“You’re cold,” he muttered, reaching out to her. “So cold…” Without knowing quite how it happened, he was holding her close. She trembled against his wet flannel shirt, whimpering as his arms tightened around her. His mouth found her chilled lips in the darkness, their kiss softening, warming, becoming hungrier with each passing second. She strained upward, deepening the kiss, her head falling back, her body arching, her lips parting in unspoken invitation. Heat surged downward to his groin, igniting bonfires of need. Her hips rested against his straining erection. As she pressed tighter, he groaned.

Damnation!
What were they thinking?

“We need to get you inside,” he muttered, pushing away from her.

“Yes…” Clara’s wet shirt clung to her body. Her aroused nipples strained the fabric with each breath as she moved aside for him.

Getting the lock open was harder than Jace had expected, but at last the hasp swung away and the door creaked open. As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he could make out a table with two chairs, a potbellied stove and a counter with open shelves. Toward the back of the cabin was a double bed with a patchwork coverlet.

“There’s dry wood in the stove. Dare we light a fire?” Clara was shivering again. Jace knew of one way
to warm her, but that would be like touching a match to gunpowder. Once they started, it would be damned near impossible to stop. That kiss on the porch had already driven him to the brink of self-control. Her nearness in the dark, secluded cabin, with a bed close at hand, would be enough to send him over.

“Let’s try the stove for now,” he said. “Not much chance anybody will see the smoke in this storm. But we’d best keep the place dark. Lighted windows can be seen a long way off. As soon as the rain stops, we’ll start back down.” And it had damned well be soon, Jace thought. He couldn’t keep his hands off Clara much longer.

“Matches.” She handed him a miniature cardboard box she’d retrieved from a kitchen shelf. “Mind the damper. Make sure it’s open. My father put a cap over the chimney to keep the birds from nesting there, so that should be all right.”

Jace checked the damper, opened the front grate and lit a match. The distinct updraft told him the tall metal chimney was clear. Within minutes a blaze was crackling in the little iron stove. Blessing the person who’d laid the fire, he reminded himself to do the same when he left this place.

He couldn’t remain here long, that much he knew. He was already imposing on Clara and risking her safety. The longer he stayed, the greater the danger of her being implicated.

Clara huddled close to the warmth, her backside turned toward the glowing stove. She was still shiver
ing. If she didn’t get warm and dry, she could get sick before he got her home.

Steeling his resolve, Jace spoke. “I shouldn’t be the one to suggest this, but you need to get out of those wet clothes and wrap up in a blanket while they dry.”