Ty made a move toward her, and she scampered backward. “Don’t you touch me. I’ll never forgive you for this. Never, Kincaid. You just leave me alone. Give me back my gold and my gun.” Swiping at the tears that blurred her eyes, Dixie rose on unsteady legs.
She stared down at him. Ty was hunkered back on his boot heels, his dark hair tumbled over his forehead, and his steady, dark blue eyes regarded her with an unreadable expression.
“Don’t cut my trail again. Soon as I get my gear, I’m going after them.”
He remained where he was, watching her limp away from him. He didn’t even acknowledge Greg’s strong hand on his shoulder until the man shook him.
“Ty? What the hell was that all about?”
“The men from the saloon. One of them killed Dixie’s father.” Ty looked up at Greg, then at Livia beside him. “I can’t tell either one of you how sorry I am that I brought trouble here. Words just won’t cut it this time.” He came to his feet, seeing the last of Dixie’s back disappear into the house.
“You can’t let her go after them alone, Ty. She’s a mighty strong woman, but I’d think less of you—”
“You couldn’t think less of me than I do about myself, Livia,” Ty returned in a hard-edge voice. “Greg? Help her pick out a good horse. And give her whatever else she needs. She’ll likely argue you near to a grave, but make sure she’s fully outfitted.” Rubbing the back of his neck, Ty started to walk away, then turned.
“I owe you, Greg.”
The bleak look in his friend’s eyes had Greg shaking his head. “You promised to look in on Jessie for me. I figure that makes us even. Livia and me don’t want to hear no more talk about owing.”
A curt nod was all that Ty could manage. Like he said before, sometimes words just didn’t cut it.
Anger had carried Dixie as far as the Rutlands’ sleeping area, where she pulled the blanket across to give herself a little privacy.
Waves of anguish washed over her. Her shoulders slumped, her head bowed, and she gave in to the aftermath’s shivers that she had held at bay. Snapping and snarling at Ty had come from her own guilt, her own feeling of being overwhelmed by the vindictive task she had set for herself.
It was only now, with none but Julia’s cat Witchy and her tiny kittens as witnesses, that Dixie gave in to the terror of facing a killer again. No, she silently amended. She had a name—Thorne.
With a feeling of doom that she would never be able to keep her vow, Dixie began to pick up her scattered clothes. A deep weariness overcame her, as if more hours than in one day had passed since she had emerged from her bath. The water still stood in the tub. It was irrational that she should be upset that she forgot to empty the water. What was happening to her?
She didn’t want to answer her own question. There was fear attached to finding out the answer. She set aside her clothes and dipped the buckets into the tub. Gripping the rope handles, she started to leave. The moments of being seized returned and she swayed where she stood. Her skin crawled with the memory of hands on her. There wasn’t, she was sure, enough scalding water to rid her of the feeling.
Stepping around the blanket, Dixie stopped short. Greg stood near the fireplace with his arms around his wife. His eyes were closed and he rocked her to and fro.
Unwilling to intrude on their private moment, Dixie let the edge of the blanket fall. Quietly setting the buckets down, she backed away until the edge of the bed made her stop. Curling her fingers into a fist, she pressed it against her mouth. She had thought she felt alone before, but the depth of the loneliness that took hold of her now was unbearable.
She, who had been so certain of her mission, was forced to take another look at herself. Admitting the truth, she fought against it. If she gave in to the doubts rising and plaguing her, she would face the emptiness of her life.
And there was her vow. She couldn’t let her weakness make her forget that promise made on her father’s grave.
She rid herself of the black mood the same way she had rid herself of the distaste and fear when she began following a killer’s trail. The mind had a great capacity to store unwanted thoughts.
Ty Kincaid belonged in that graveyard, too.
As if summoned by her despondent state, the cat purred and rubbed against Dixie’s skirt. Witchy’s eyes were bright yellow, her fur soft and thick, mostly white but for the black curved half-moon mark that encompassed one ear and eye. It gave the cat a rather wise look, and Dixie couldn’t resist sitting on the floor to pet her.
“I envy you, cat,” she whispered.
“There’s no need to, you know,” Livia said, slipping behind the blanket. “Ty told us what you plan. It’s not a woman’s place—”
“Don’t, Livia.” Dixie came to her feet. “I was going to empty the buckets. I’ll change my clothes.” She looked down at the tears and dirt on her borrowed gown. “I’ve ruined this for you. I’m sorry, more sorry than I can say for the trouble we brought with us.”
“You’re hard on yourself, Dixie. No one’s pushing you away. You can stay here with us. Ty will—”
“No. It’s not his place, not his fight.”
They both heard the younger children call out for their mother, and with a last look at Dixie, Livia left to see to Julia and James.
Dixie blocked the sound of their excited voices asking what had happened, and Livia’s calm one answering. She made quick work of changing her clothes, warring with a body that wanted to leave and a mind that didn’t want yet another confrontation with Ty.
Julia settled the matter. “Miss Dixie,” the child called, “Pa says to com’on out.”
Carrying her empty gun holster, Dixie parted the blanket.
The little girl scooted past her to get to her cat. “I was so worried ’bout her an’ the babies.”
“They’re fine, Julia. Those men never got a chance to hurt them. Your mama’s whip kept them away.”
“Me an’ James had to hide in the rocks. Elwin says we was too little to…to do a lick o’ good,” she finished in a rush. Bending down to pet Witchy, she reminded Dixie that her father was waiting outside.
There was no one inside the house, but Dixie found Greg with Livia and their sons waiting together outside. The two older boys were mounted, and James clung to his mother’s gown.
Greg held the reins of a dark red bay. He offered the reins to Dixie. “She’s a fine mare and yours.”
“I can’t take your horse. The one I rode—”
“Now, Dixie,” Livia cut in, “we don’t want to hear that. Take the horse. She’s a gift from us so I don’t want a word about paying for her. The boys packed bacon and coffee, flour and jerky for you. I still wish you’d change your mind, but I won’t whistle to the wind hoping. You just remember that you’re welcome here.”
“I don’t understand why I can’t ride the horse I came here with.”
“Ty’s already taken those horses with him.” Greg stared at her, as if daring her to say another word.
“I see,” Dixie said, but she didn’t. Ty had ridden off without a word. She’d gotten what she wanted. She gave Livia a quick, tight hug. “I can’t thank you both enough for all you’ve done. But I do have the gold to pay you for—”
“Won’t take it.” Greg patted her saddlebags slung behind the cantle. “Your gold’s right there. Your gun, too. Our boys will ride a ways with you. They’ve got to round up our stock.”
“You’re good people. But before I leave, Livia, I need to ask where you learned to handle a bullwhip like that.”
“Her daddy was a bullwhacker,” Elwin supplied.
“Yeah, Grandpa was gonna teach us like he taught Ma, but he got lung fever.”
Dixie murmured her sorrow, but her thoughts returned to where Ty had gone. She wouldn’t ask Greg if he had said anything, not after the way she had lit into Ty in front of them. To cover the awkward moment, she held one hand beneath the mare’s nose to allow the horse to learn her scent. The mare’s points were all black, ea
rs, stockings, mane and tail. Her eyes were clear, and while gentle, showed intelligence. Dixie knew horse stock and she couldn’t have picked out a better one for herself.
“She’s a beauty, Greg.” Patting the mare’s outstretched neck, Dixie continued her inspection. She felt the fetlocks, shoulders and stroked the downy soft muzzle. The mare lifted her head and gently butted Dixie’s shoulder. The first smile of the day crossed her lips as she leaned close and once more rubbed the horse’s muzzle.
“Gilby’s been working with her for almost a year now,” Greg said with pride. “She’ll turn on a spot and has one of the softest mouths I’ve ever seen. She’ll go a distance for you, Dixie. Sure you won’t reconsider and spend the night?”
“Can’t,” she answered, holding the reins in one hand while she stepped up into the saddle. “I don’t want their trail getting cold on me again.” She murmured her goodbyes and with the boys following, rode out.
High on the hilltop overlooking the homestead, Ty watched Dixie’s leave-taking. He had discovered very little about the three men and the place where they had watched and waited, too. One of them smoked with a habit of ripping open the end of his butt and making a small pile of the remaining tobacco. One horse had a notch cut in the left back shoe. There were only two sets of footprints. One he was sure was made by the young gunslinger—the boot had a higher heel and showed a big man wasn’t wearing it by the depression left behind. The other boot heel revealed a man who favored his left leg, not a great deal, just enough to show a slight drag in the walk.
It wasn’t a hell of a lot to go on, but it was all he had. Bits and pieces and two horses. They had made this personal when they knifed him. Attacking his friends’ home made this his fight.
And as much as he wanted to avoid thinking about her, there was Dixie. Noose waiting for them or not, he couldn’t let her go after them alone.
The sun was already beginning its descent, leaving a pale blood hue across the sky. He knew he had to give her plenty of time before he went after her.
Her pride and vow aside, the woman with a smile of an angel had left her mark on him. Until he sorted out what it was she made him feel, he wasn’t letting her go.
Dixie was sorry to lose the boys’ company. She waved goodbye to them and rode on, refusing to allow her thoughts to stray from finding a high spot where she could search for sign of the three men’s trail. She knew it would not be easy to find them again, but a prayer to lady luck might grant her this one favor.
The sun was slipping beyond the horizon, leaving behind a hue that reminded her of crushed gooseberries floating in water. The sky had incredible hues of pink and orange and lilac, promising a scorcher of a day to come. It was a warning to her, too, to find a camp spot soon. Since this was the first time she had ridden this mare, she did not want to push the animal or risk the chance of injury.
Drawing rein, she scouted with an intense gaze for a hint of water. Up ahead was a rocky slope that at least promised the high spot she had wanted. Dixie headed for it, letting the mare pick her way. She was thankful that the horse appeared surefooted on the loose scree.
Shadows had already deepened by the time she reached the top. Closing her eyes as she inhaled, opening them as she released a deep breath, Dixie fixed her gaze on the land below. There was a water hole a short distance away, and she caught a glimpse of shining eyes, but dusk made it hard to see what animal was there. Nothing moved. With a mental shrug, she urged the mare around and headed back. She’d get an early start tomorrow, she promised herself.
Halfway down the slope she found what she was looking for. There was a rock shelf overhang that would offer some protection from the weather while allowing her to build a fire that couldn’t be easily seen from a distance. The mare tossed her head as she dismounted. Dixie stood holding the reins loosely in one hand, the other on the butt of her gun. The horse had her ears up in an alert manner. Dixie had a healthy respect for any animal’s senses.
A few minutes passed and still the mare stood, adding a pawing motion with her front hoof.
“I wish I knew you a little better, pretty lady,” Dixie whispered. “I can’t tell if something’s got you worried or if you’re just as hungry as me.”
She led the mare toward the overhang, stumbling when the horse nudged her shoulder with her muzzle. Dixie saw it then, the sparkle of a tiny trickle of water that was filling a scooped-out depression in a boulder. Her own canteen was full, so she allowed the mare to drink her fill. Ground-tying the horse, Dixie set off to search for dry grasses and some deadfall for her fire.
An hour later she was back with plenty of grass but not a twig for a fire. “Cold camp tonight, lady.”
As she sat chewing jerky and washing it down with water, Dixie couldn’t avoid thinking about Ty any longer.
She knew it was contrary to have expected him to show up when she had made it perfectly clear that she didn’t want him around. Didn’t want him, or need him interfering with his high-handed ways.
But contrary or not, the fact remained that she had expected him to show up by now.
Her appetite gone, she repacked the jerky and found herself worrying about his shoulder. Would he remember to keep it clean? Livia had given him a salve she made from lard and crushed herbs, which her family had used for years. She tried to dismiss her worry. After all, Ty Kincaid was a man, not a boy. He didn’t need a nag to keep after him to take care of himself. The man had survived without her help for all this time. She just needed to remember that.
Thoughts about him kept coming to mind, images of his smile, the steady regard of his dark blue eyes, the way his hair tumbled forward on his forehead so that she wanted to brush it back. She remembered the feel of his lips on hers.
With a rough little shake of her head, she tried to banish that memory. Taking a last sip from her canteen, she wondered if she was so exhausted that the mental barrier no longer held.
She didn’t want to think about Ty’s kisses or remember the feel of his arm around her, holding her against his hard body. She could not deal with the strength of the desire she felt for him and that memory made it so easy to recall.
Smoothing the ground of loose rocks, she spread her blanket beneath the overhang and wrapped herself in it. Sleep was all that she needed now, and her body wanted it. She had slept little these past few nights, but her mind churned with thoughts and refused to allow her escape into sleep.
Where was Ty now? Greg had said that he had taken the two stolen horses with him. What did Ty intend to do with them? If he was caught…she didn’t want to think about him being hung as a horse thief. But that was exactly what would happen to him. No one would ask questions, no one would care that the men those horses were stolen from were guilty of worse crimes.
She knew too well that there weren’t any laws to punish someone like Thorne. But she suspected he’d been hired by a wealthy man to murder her father for their land and water rights. Trouble was, she couldn’t discover who it was. Only Thorne could tell her.
Dixie pulled the blanket up to her chin, to ward off both the night chill and the inner one that beset her. The saddle made a hard pillow. Cupping one hand beneath her head, she stared out into the darkness.
Mercifully her mind ceased thinking about the man who had ordered her father’s death. Images of Ty came to mind, until he was all she could envision.
It was hard to believe that she missed him. Only a few hours ago, she couldn’t wait to be rid of his company.
If lady luck rode with her, perhaps someday she could find Ty again. There were all those questions about him she wanted answered…
All she had to do was survive.
Her eyes closed. She drifted into sleep holding the image of Ty’s reflection in the mirror as she brushed her hair, and the warmth that curled inside her.
In the middle of the night she cried out, “Ty, where are you?” No one heard. No one answered.
Chapter Ten
“You real sure, Cobie?”
<
br /> “Thorne, I tol’ you and tol’ you. Kincaid’s bedded down not more’n two miles back. An’ no, I ain’t seen a sign of the woman.” Hunkered near the fire, Cobie poured himself a cup of coffee. It was a good thing he had had the sense to see to their supplies while Thorne and Peel had made fools of themselves attacking two women. Now, at least they had coffee and smoked ham, as well as flour, to see them on the trail.
Cobie hid his disgust that while neither Thorne nor Peel had thought about getting the supplies, his traveling companions had no problem eating what he cooked. He flexed his hand, figuring to himself how long before he’d have full use of it again. Maybe he should start thinking about cutting loose from these two.
Cobie rolled a smoke, took a brand from the fire to light it, then moved to sit a little away from the fire with his back against his saddle. Thorne appeared deep in thought and Peel was busy honing his knife.
The way they ignored him was fine with Cobie. He hadn’t questioned Thorne as yet—he wanted to scout out a few more things before he said anything—but he was sure that Thorne knew one of those women. The one that Peel had tried to grab.
From his place in the doorway, it wasn’t hard to see that the woman had recognized Thorne. If he had ever seen a pair of eyes ready to kill, the woman had them.
He knew one law. Survive. Only the strongest did that. Cobie aimed to make himself survivor. He was going to build a reputation as a fast man with a gun so that folks would do anything to keep him calm and happy.
Sipping his coffee, he frowned. That wasn’t quite the way it was for Kincaid. The man might be fast with his iron, but he didn’t know how to make that work for him. A fool for sure. Cobie was no fool. He took another drag of his smoke, pinched off the lit end, then set his cup down. One of the few habits he had carried away from the mission where he’d been raised, was never leaving a sign that he’d been someplace.
Once a Maverick Page 10