The Horseman's Bride (8 page)

With a silent nod, Tanner passed her the .38. For the space of a breath Clara stood looking down at her colt, so swift and full of promise, like living flame when he ran. Then, placing the muzzle against his beautiful head, she closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger.

The shot rang out in the afternoon stillness. Nearby, a flock of mourning doves exploded into flight. In the far field, the black horse paused, then moved on. Katy would be crying, but that couldn’t be helped.

Clara turned away. The pistol felt leaden in her hand, its weight dragging her down. Tanner eased it out of her clenched fingers and replaced it in the holster. Circling her shoulders lightly with his arm, he guided her out of the bog and back onto solid ground. By the time they reached the spot where the stallion waited, her whole body was shaking.

Without a word he gathered her into his arms and held her against him. Clara nestled into his warm strength, feeling the hardness of his chest, filling her senses with the rush of his breathing and the pungent aromas of sage and horse that clung to his clothes.

A little sob escaped her throat as his arms tightened around her. Part of her wanted to hear him say that everything was all right. But it wasn’t all right. The colt she’d raised and nurtured had suffered an ugly, mean
ingless death at her own hand. And she was in love with a man who was all wrong for her. A man who could never be hers.

Jace inhaled the fragrance of her hair, breathing deeply as if he could take every molecule of her scent into his body. She was petal soft in his arms, as delicate as a rose. Yet she’d taken the gun from his hand and used it to shoot her beloved colt. Her strength was astounding. But right now, as she nestled against him like a little lost animal, what he sensed most of all was her need. He found himself wanting to cherish her, to protect her, to keep her in comfort and safety for the rest of their days.

Lord Almighty, what a mess he’d made of things!

She raised her face in open invitation for his kiss. He claimed her in one swift motion, his lips crushing hers, his arms lifting her off her feet. Her warm lips were salty with tears. Strong little hands seized the back of his head, wandering in his hair, pulling him down to her as the kiss deepened. Jace felt his body’s response, the strain against the crotch of his jeans. Damn it, he was so ready he could take her right now, just fling her down in the soft grass, yank down her drawers and bury himself in the tight, wet silk between her legs.

But that wasn’t going to happen. Not now, not ever. He would take Clara back to her grandmother’s. Then he would get a pick and shovel, ride back here and dig a very large grave. It would break Clara’s heart to think of her precious colt being left in the open for the
buzzards and coyotes. He could do that much for her, at least.

Lowering her to the ground, Jace gentled his kisses, letting his lips graze her cheeks, her forehead, her damp eyelids. She whimpered as his arms released her, and it was all he could do to keep from pulling her close again.

“It’s time to go,” he said. “Don’t worry about the colt. I’ll come back and bury him for you.”

She waited while he mounted the stallion, then gripped his hand and let him swing her up behind him. Jace willed himself not to respond to the press of her firm breasts against his back or clasp of her arms around his waist.

“I can shovel,” she said. “Let me come back with you and help.”

He nudged the stallion to a trot. “No,” he said. “I’ll do the job alone.”

“But you’ve been sick,” she argued. “Digging the grave could wear you out and cause a relapse. Give me one good reason why you won’t let me help you.”

Jace cursed silently. “Because I can’t keep my hands off you, Clara,” he growled. “We can’t be alone anymore. It isn’t a good idea.”

She was silent for so long that Jace began to get uneasy. She took a breath—so deep that he felt it against his back. “I think I’m in love with you, Tanner,” she said.

Jace stifled a groan. “Well, you can put that idea out of your silly little head right now!” he snapped. “If you want to be in love, find somebody else. Somebody who
can stick around. Somebody who can make you happy. I can’t do either.”

He felt the sharp intake of her breath. He had hurt her, Jace knew. Well, fine. He’d damn well meant to. Hurting her with words was a kindness compared to other ways she could be hurt.

“What are you running away from, Tanner?” she asked. “What did you do?”

“Stop it. You know better than to ask.”

“I’ve kept your secret so far,” she persisted. “Don’t I deserve to know the truth?”

“Let it go. I already told you, the less you know the better. Bring it up one more time, and I’ll take Galahad and leave.”

She’d gone rigid behind him. “Is that a threat?”

“Call it a warning. This isn’t a game, Clara. I said I’d stay till your mares were bred. I know how much that means to you, especially since you just lost your colt. But I won’t help you at the risk of my freedom. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Her answer was so subdued that Jace barely heard it.

“Good. Hang on!” He dug his boot heels into Galahad’s flanks. The stallion burst into full gallop, legs pumping, hooves pounding, body straining forward in a thundering gait that seemed to devour the earth. Clara clung to Jace’s back, her arms locked around his rib cage. They couldn’t carry on a conversation while the horse was running so fast. That was what Jace wanted—that, and to get her back to the
farmhouse before she pried out enough secrets to hold his soul for ransom. With her blend of curiosity, innocence and passion, Miss Clara Seavers could prove to be the most dangerous female he’d ever known.

Clara had been riding since she was old enough to perch on the back of a pony. She’d been breaking and training horses since her mid-teens. But she’d never experienced the thrill of galloping on a horse like Galahad. Even carrying double weight, he was flying over the ground with the grace and power of an animal born to run. What a shame she couldn’t keep him around to enter the races at the August fair.

How had a man as poor as Tanner come by such a prize? The story of his having borrowed the stallion from his sister sounded too far-fetched to be true. The big Thoroughbred had to be worth a fortune. Yet it appeared that Tanner had made no effort to sell him. He’d even refused her offer of a stud fee, as if money didn’t matter to him.

So many mysteries, and not one satisfactory answer.

Clara’s arms clasped his body, holding on for dear life. Her head pressed his back so closely that she could feel each breath and hear his heart beating in counterpoint with Galahad’s pounding hooves. The contact was almost intimate. But she might as well have been trying to reach him through a brick wall. Tanner was doing everything in his power to keep her at a distance.

What had she been thinking, telling him she loved him? How could she have been such a fool? Tanner had
made it clear that he didn’t love her. Oh, he’d given her kisses that burned all the way to her toes. But men kissed girls all the time, mostly because they could. She’d known all along it didn’t mean anything. Hadn’t she?

So why did his rejection of her continue to hurt every time? And deepening the sting was Foxfire’s death—the senseless tragedy of it. It broke her heart. All of it did. And it was still sinking in.

Galahad’s hooves pounded the earth. Each step quivered like a blow through Clara’s body. The blazing sun turned her tears to stinging trails of salt. Every time she thought of Foxfire—his pain-filled eyes, the bullet smashing into his brain—the tears began all over again. She wanted to scream herself sick. She wanted to find Katy and shake her until her teeth rattled in her little head. All that beauty and promise, cut short by one reckless act.

But crying wouldn’t get her colt back. Neither would taking her anger out on Katy. At least, thanks to Tanner, her sister was alive and unhurt. Whatever else the man might have done, she had to be grateful for that.

As Tanner slowed the stallion, Clara could see her grandmother’s house across the pasture. Katy had just arrived. Clara watched as she halted Tarboy at the front of the porch, raced up the steps and flung herself into Mary’s waiting arms.

Tanner slowed the stallion to a trot. “She’ll be all right,” he said. “Will you?”

“I’ll have to be, won’t I?” Clara loosened her grip on his waist as they rode into the yard. Tanner reined
in the stallion outside the corral and waited for her to slide to the ground.

“There’s a pick and shovel in the toolshed,” he said. “Get them for me and I’ll go on back. I could use a rope, too.”

Trying not to think about the job he’d offered to do, Clara hurried to the shed and found what Tanner needed. Burying Foxfire would take him hours of miserable work. But it was the kindest thing he could do for her, and she was grateful. The least she could do was thank him.

Gathering up the tools and the rope, she walked back out to where Tanner waited, still mounted on the stallion. The blue eyes that looked down at her were veiled with caution, but she forced herself to meet their gaze and speak.

“I want to thank you for saving my sister. Who knows what might have happened if you hadn’t been there.”

“You can thank Galahad for that.” His voice was cold, his manner distant.

“And thank you for burying Foxfire.” She passed him the coiled rope and the pick and shovel. “That’s going the extra mile. I want you to know I appreciate it.”

“Since you saved me earlier, I’d say that makes us even.” He looped the rope over the saddle horn and turned the horse to go.

Her searching eyes fixed on the canteen that hung from the saddle. “I can get you some fresh water. It’s a hot day. You’re going to need it.”

“I’ve got plenty of water. And if you really want to thank me, Clara, stay away.”

Holding the reins in one hand and the tools under his arm, he swung the stallion sharply and kicked him to a canter. Dried mud spattered under Galahad’s hooves as they rounded the barn and headed back the way they’d come.

Fighting tears of humiliation, Clara watched them go. She’d done it again, made a silly fool of herself. But this was the last time, she vowed. If Tanner wanted nothing to do with her, she’d be only too happy to accommodate his wishes. She wouldn’t give him the time of day. Not even if he begged her.

Glancing toward the porch, she saw that Katy was still sobbing with her head in Mary’s lap. Tarboy stood by the steps, saddled and bridled, his coat rimed with sweat. His sweet brown eyes seemed to beg for her attention.

With a sigh Clara led the black gelding to the barn and found a bucket and towel to wipe him down. She knew she ought to make Katy do it, but rubbing the towel over the sleek, dark hide was pleasantly soothing. And when Tarboy turned and butted her with his nose, it was as if the little horse understood. Clara wrapped her arms around his damp neck, buried her face against his silky shoulder and gave full vent to her grief.

J
ace paused to wipe his perspiring face with his bare arm. The afternoon was hot, and even in the soggy ground at the bog’s edge, digging a grave for a horse was gut-busting work. Sweat beaded his face and dripped down his torso in stinging rivulets. His injured shoulder muscles throbbed with every move.

The vultures, with their razor-keen senses, had already caught the smell of death. Squinting into the sky, Jace counted three of them. They soared in lazy circles, their broad wings riding the updrafts like giant kites. At a distance they were majestic. Close up, they were hellish creatures with scaly pink heads, scrawny necks and hunched bodies cloaked in black.

As Jace watched, the trio of vultures was joined by a fourth, then a fifth bird. He swore, purpling the air with curses no one else could hear. If he didn’t finish the grave soon, he’d be chasing them off the colt’s body.

With renewed frenzy, he tore into the stubborn earth,
stabbing the pick into the packed soil and using the shovel to fling the dirt and rocks to one side of the grave. He was doing his best not to think about Clara, but the image of her warm velvet eyes, glimmering with tears, haunted him like a phantom. Her kiss whispered on his lips, the memory so vivid that if he closed his eyes he could almost imagine her there in his arms and hear that husky little voice of hers.

I think I’m in love with you, Tanner
…

Lord, she didn’t even know his real name. She didn’t know him at all. And there was nothing he dared tell her except more lies. The truth was too dangerous to share.

It had taken all his strength of will to shove her away. Treating her with contempt had been even harder. She was so damnably honest, so open and genuine that the thought of her being hurt tore at his heart.

Falling in love with Clara would be as natural as breathing. But he couldn’t let it happen. Not when one weak moment could ruin her promising young life.

The vultures were circling lower. The boldest one swooped in low, feet extended for a landing. Seizing a fist-sized rock, Jace flung it at the big bird and missed. Unhurt but warned, the creature flapped away. It would soon be back with all its feathered cohorts, hungering for a banquet. What a waste of a beautiful animal!

By now the grave was chest deep and as wide as he could reach with both arms. Another hour of digging should do the trick if he didn’t have to spend too much time driving the birds off. When the hole was big
enough, he would rig the rope to the colt’s body, use the stallion to drag it over the edge and shovel in the dirt. After that he’d be ready for a cold dousing at the pump, a bowl of Mary’s chicken soup and a long night’s rest.

The sun crawled across the cloudless sky. By the time Jace had finished burying the colt, the vultures had gone and the light was beginning to fade. Exhausted, he stood beside the mound of raw earth, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. He ached in every bone and muscle, and he probably smelled worse than a Missouri hog farm. But at least the job was done. When Clara came back to visit the grave—and he imagined she would—she would find everything in order.

Wearily he coiled the rope and retrieved the shovel. The pick lay a few yards into the bog, where he’d flung it at one of the vultures. He walked toward the spot where he could see the handle sticking out of the yellow reeds. The flattened grass where he’d dragged the colt’s body was streaked with an odd blackness that gleamed in the slanting light. Jace felt the hair prickle on the back of his neck as he bent to a crouch, dabbed a finger in the greasy substance and raised it to his nose.

Even before his senses caught the telltale chemical odor, he knew what it was. As a trained geologist and engineer, he’d made good money consulting for drilling companies, evaluating oil deposits and pinpointing the best places to sink a well. If there was one thing he knew about, it was oil. And this was oil, all right. The question was, what to do about it.

Walking deeper into the bog, he gripped the pick by its handle and twisted it out of the muck. Where the iron point had pierced the swampy ground, more black fluid was oozing into the hole.

Jace turned his gaze back toward Mary’s place, studying the lay of the land. The bog lay beyond the boundaries of the farm. But it was just a low spot, where the earth was weak and prone to seepage. If there was oil here, there could be more under Mary’s farm and under the Seavers Ranch as well.

His trained eyes measured the slight, rounding slope that rose from where he stood. There did seem to be an anticline here—an area where the rock layers formed a dome, leaving space for an oil deposit underneath. The anticline didn’t appear to be large. Even so, there could be enough oil here to make Mary Gustavson a wealthy woman, and to make the Seavers family even wealthier.

Was that what they’d want? Even if it was, the situation wasn’t his business, was it? He could hardly approach Judd Seavers with his real name and credentials—the name of a wanted man—and request a business meeting. No, maybe it would be best to do nothing at all.

The afternoon light was ebbing fast. Sunset edged the sky with watercolor tones of pink, mauve and gold. From the far side of the bog two egrets took wing, flashes of white against the deepening blue.

Weary beyond imagining, Jace shouldered his tools, trudged back to where he’d left Galahad and dragged
his aching body into the saddle. If he had any sense, he’d pack up and hit the road at first light tomorrow. Every day he remained here gave rise to more complications. Sooner or later those complications could trap him.

True, he’d made a promise to Clara. Maybe if he broke his word, she’d be angry enough to forget him. That would be best for them both. But then again, she might be furious enough to go to the marshal with everything she knew. That was a risk he couldn’t afford to take. In any case, how could he crush her hopes again, after the heartbreaking loss of her colt? Whether he liked it or not, he was stuck here until those blasted mares of hers were ready to breed.

They weren’t ready today. Galahad’s calm demeanor told him that much. If the mares had come into estrus, the stallion would have just one thing on his mind, and heaven help the poor fool who got in his way.

Jace rode back across the fields at an easy pace, sparing his tortured muscles and joints. The long grass whispered against the stallion’s legs. Insects droned in the deepening twilight. Shadows lengthened and blurred into darkness.

In the distance, the lights had come on in Mary’s house. Clara and her sister would be gone by now, he guessed. He imagined them plodding homeward, riding double on the black gelding, their shoulders sagging with grief and guilt.

He remembered Clara in his arms, trembling as he cradled her close. His tongue held the taste of her salty
tears and the honey sweetness of her mouth. And even when he tried to block the memory, her words came back to him like a sigh on the wind.

I think I’m in love with you, Tanner
…

Those words would remain, burned like a brand into Jace’s memory, for as long as he lived.

Clara rarely drove the family’s new Model T Touring Car. She preferred the intelligent company of a horse to a noisy, greasy machine that could break down or blow out a tire without warning. But never mind that. Today her mother had given her a list of items to pick up in town. To get everything home she would need the car.

She drove with the canvas top cranked back, her hair loose and flying in the breeze. The day was warm, the sunlit air hazy with cottonwood fluff. Two days had passed since she’d pulled the trigger and left Foxfire lying dead in the bog. Two days since she’d felt Tanner’s arms around her, his kisses blotting out the nightmare of what had happened.

Two days of thinking about him, dreaming about him, wanting him.

The Model T swayed on its axles, wheels spitting gravel as she pulled around a flock of chickens in the road. After two days of moping around the ranch, it felt good to be out on her own. This trip to town had been the right idea. Her mother had told her to take her time, probably hoping she’d visit old friends. But most of Clara’s school chums were either married or away at
college. Only she was left in limbo, sure of her future plans one minute, racked with uncertainty the next. And her life seemed to grow more unsettled with each passing day.

She had vowed to keep her distance from Tanner. But it was high time she checked on her two mares. Surely her grandmother would have telephoned if they were bred and ready to bring home—unless Tanner had asked her to wait until after he’d left.

What if he was already gone? What if she’d set eyes on him for the last time?

It was all Clara could do to keep from turning around and driving back down the road to the farm. But she steeled herself against the impulse. Showing up at Mary’s would only make her look foolish. If Tanner had wanted to see her, he’d have found a way. It was time she faced the painful truth. When he’d told her to leave him alone, he’d meant every word.

But she couldn’t stay away from her grandmother’s forever. She needed to see how the mares were doing. And she wanted to visit Foxfire’s grave, to see the place at peace and leave a small remembrance of flowers. Maybe later today she would saddle Tarboy and ride across the pastureland. She wouldn’t look for Tanner, but if she found him there…

Clara shoved his image from her mind as she passed the sign that marked the town limits. Where Tanner was concerned, there were no easy answers, and no way of knowing which would hurt more—seeing him at the farm or arriving to find him gone.

Dutchman’s Creek was a prosperous town with a population of 2,500, not counting the families on outlying farms and ranches. Its thriving businesses included a bank, a saloon, a livery stable, several stores, a hotel and restaurant, a railroad station and a newly built garage that sold gasoline and repaired automobiles.

Today, the place was bustling. Buggies, wagons and occasional autos crowded the main street. Townsfolk and visitors strolled the sidewalks—farm wives stocking up on basics, mothers with children in tow, ranchers, businessmen and cowboys. At the curb, a well-dressed matron stepped daintily around a pile of horse manure. A scruffy white dog trotted behind his young master’s bicycle.

Clara parked the auto and fumbled in her pocketbook for the list her mother had given her. There were nine items, each one numbered and written out in Hannah’s precise schoolgirl handwriting—the same handwriting Clara had seen in those impassioned letters to Quint.

The discovery of the letters still haunted Clara. But she had yet to confront her mother, or even her grandmother, about what she’d learned. Doing so would open a Pandora’s box, hurting the people she loved most. For now she would keep her secret. But she knew she couldn’t wait forever. The truth would be there, worrying her mind, demanding to be heard until she gave it voice.

Shoving the thought aside, she turned her attention to her errands. Most of the items on the list were easy—fresh limes from the grocers, a two-pound slab of bacon from the butcher shop, medicine for an ailing milk cow and a salt block from the feed store, which a worshipful teenage boy carried to the auto for her. Katy’s new frocks were ready at the dressmaker’s. They were far prettier than Katy’s complaints had led Clara to expect.

Katy was becoming a worry of late. When she wasn’t brooding over Foxfire’s death, she was babbling about Tanner and how he’d saved her. She seemed to have a schoolgirl crush on the man. It was probably harmless, but her mother had taken notice. Before long, Hannah would be making a visit to the farm to meet this knight in shining armor who’d rescued her daughter. Right now that was just one more complication in Clara’s life.

Dressed in her khaki walking skirt, a simple middy blouse and low-heeled slippers, she trekked up one side of Main Street and down the other, carrying her paper-wrapped purchases. She greeted people she knew with a smile and a nod, but didn’t stop to visit. She had too much on her mind to make small talk.

She had finished the last errand and was on her way back to the car when she passed the marshal’s office. She gave the red brick building a glance, moved on, then paused and retreated a few steps to study the wanted posters in the front window.

None of the desperados looked familiar. But these posters were yellowed and faded from sun exposure.
They’d probably been in the window for months. The marshal would have newer posters in his office. To see them, she would need to go inside.

Fear brushed her senses like the touch of an icy hand. Clara willed herself to ignore the warning. If Tanner’s face was on one of those posters, she needed to know. She needed to find the truth about what he’d done.

Dodging traffic, she dashed across the street to the car, laid her purchases on the backseat and cranked up the canvas bonnet to keep off the sun. For a moment she hesitated, torn by doubts. Tanner had insisted she was better off not knowing about him, and he could well be right. Curiosity would only stir up more misery—look what had happened when she’d opened the letters in her grandmother’s trunk. Maybe she should just crank up the engine, get into the car and leave.

But she forced herself to keep moving, to stride back across the street and head for the marshal’s office. If there was something to be learned here, she owed it to herself and her family to find out.

The door was standing ajar. When no one answered her tentative knock, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. The office was empty, the two cluttered desks both vacant, as if the marshal and his deputy had stepped out on the spur of the moment.

Maybe it would be best to leave, Clara thought. She could always come by the next time she was in town. But that would be taking the coward’s way out. Besides, she’d known silver-haired Marshal Sam Farley all her life. Surely he wouldn’t be upset to find her here alone.

Leaving the door the way she’d found it, she crossed the worn linoleum to stand in front of the bulletin board on the far wall. Announcements, newspaper articles and wanted posters were thumbtacked helter-skelter to its surface. Clara’s eyes scanned the board from left to right. If it were here, Tanner’s face would jump out at her like a flash of lightning, she thought. But to her relief, she didn’t find him. Maybe his crime wasn’t serious enough to warrant sending posters around the country.