Elizabeth Lowell

by Elizabeth Lowell

  Ty looked sideways at her. She was watching Mad Jack as though he had just sprouted horns or wings or both.

  “I don’t understand,” she said flatly.

  “Hell, gal, it’s as plain as the color of the sky. I got gold to give to my kids, an’ I ain’t gonna leave this here country and you can’t get out the gold alone, an’ if you ain’t pregnant, you ain’t got no stud hoss to protect you, an’ my gold won’t get delivered, an’ my kids won’t know their pappy ever thought about ‘em.”

  Janna opened her mouth. Nothing came out. She swallowed and tried again, but it was too late. Ty was already speaking.

  “Let me be sure I understand,” he said smoothly, seizing the opportunity with both hands. “You have gold you want taken to your children. You thought if Janna were pregnant, we’d be leaving the valley and we could deliver the gold to the fort for you.”

  Mad Jack frowned. “I had in mind something more...friendly like than the fort. See, I ain’t sure where my kin are no more. Now, if’n I go hire some man at the fort I don’t know from Adam’s off ox, how can I be sure my gold gets to my kin once I turn my back?”

  Ty tried to say something. It was impossible. Mad Jack had been thinking, and the result of that unusual exercise had made the future clear to him.

  “I can’t be sure,” the old man said forcefully, answering his own question. “But if’n I give the gold to a friend, I can rest easy. You get my drift, son? Now, you ain’t my friend. No offense, just the God’s truth. Janna here, she’s my friend. If’n she told me she’d get the gold to my kids, I know she would or die trying. And that’s the crux of the matter. She’s game but she ain’t real big. Ain’t mean, neither. Carryin’ gold needs someone who’s mountain big and snake mean.”

  “Like me?” Ty suggested.

  “Yep.”

  “But I’m not your friend. No offense.”

  “None taken, son. It’s the God’s truth. But if’n you was Janna’s man, an’ she took the gold, you’d go along to protect her. Then she’d be safe and the gold, too. But she ain’t pregnant so you ain’t her man an’ that means my gold ain’t got no man protectin’ it once it leaves here.”

  “The fact that I’m not pregnant should reassure you that Ty is an honorable man,” she pointed out quickly. “If he agreed to take your gold, you could be sure that he wouldn’t keep it for himself.”

  Mad Jack made a sound that was a cross between a mutter and a snort. “Hell’s bells, gal, if you ain’t pregnant, it ain’t because you was sayin’ no, it’s because he weren’t askin’. That may say somethin’ about his honor right enough, but it sure as hellfire don’t reassure me none about his manly, er, notions.”

  A wave of scarlet humiliation went up her face as she realized that the older man knew how much she had wanted Ty to notice her as a woman. When the blush ebbed she was very pale. All that kept her from turning and walking away was the need she sensed in Mad Jack, a need that was driving the old man far beyond the boundaries of even his customary bluntness. She looked at the prospector’s face and saw the yellowish pallor underlying the weathered skin. Although he had always been wiry, now he seemed almost frail.

  He looked...desperate.

  Thinking could be hard on a man, especially when he was old and ill and had only one chance to right past wrongs.

  She gathered her courage, ignored her own raw feelings and touched Mad Jack’s arm reassuringly. “There’s nothing wrong with Ty’s sense of honor or his ‘notions’ or anything else,” she said with a fierce kind of calm. “He took what I was offering and decided it wasn’t for him, that’s all.”

  “Janna—” Ty began.

  “What?” she demanded, interrupting without looking away from the old man. “I didn’t say it as fancy or as long-winded as Ty did, but that doesn’t change what happened, does it? I wanted him. He took me. He doesn’t want me anymore. It’s an old story. From the books I’ve read, I’d say it’s the oldest story on earth. But that doesn’t mean one single thing against Ty’s honor, Jack. He didn’t lie to me, not even the way you said a woman-hungry man would. No pretty words, no fancy promises, nothing but Ty and me and the night.”

  Mad Jack was quiet for a long moment before he sighed and patted Janna’s hand. “I’m sorry, gal.”

  “Don’t be. I’m not. When I go back and read that trunk full of books again this winter, I’ll understand them better. That’s nothing to be sorry over. It will make spring come faster for me. Then Zebra will have a foal for me to fuss over and by the end of summer I’ll be riding Zebra again and we’ll fly over the plateau like a hawk’s shadow and then autumn lighting will come again and thunder and the mustangs’ breath will be like earthbound clouds and snow will turn the night silver and I’ll make up stories about the shadows my campfire throws against the stone cliff, people and places and memories coming to life...” Her voice faded into a whisper. “Don’t be sorry.”

  Ty tried to speak and found he had no voice. Janna’s words were in his own throat, crowding out speech, filling him until he ached. He clenched his teeth against a sadness as piercing as it was unexpected.

  “You can’t stay,” he said hoarsely.

  It was as though he hadn’t spoken.

  She didn’t look away from the old prospector, who was watching her and shaking his head slowly.

  “He’s speakin’ God’s truth,” Mad Jack said. “You can’t stay here, gal. Not no more. I been thinkin’ about that, too. Spent a lot of time on it. A lot of my gold belongs to you.”

  “Don’t be ridic—” she began.

  “No, young’un,” Mad Jack said, cutting across her objections. “You jest button up and listen to an old man what’s seen more of this here world’s good an’ bad than you have. Your pappy gave me money more times than either of us counted.”

  “And you’ve given us gold as long as I can remember,” Janna said quickly.

  Mad Jack grunted. “What about the time you found me all broke up at the bottom of a gulch and you set my bones and patched me up and you were no more than a kid in men’s britches? You saved my life, you kept my stomach from eatin’ a hole in itself, and you listen to my stories no matter how often I tell ‘em. Half my gold is yours and that’s flat. Should of give it to you years ago so you could get out and get a life for yourself, but I liked knowin’ there was one soul in this godforsaken land that wouldn’t kill me for my gold.”

  “Thank you, but I enjoyed your company as much as you enjoyed mine,” she said. “Any gold you have is yours.”

  “You ain’t been listening, gal. It ain’t safe for you here no more.” Mad Jack turned to Ty. “Beggars can’t be choosers, son. I got a proposition. You be willin’ to listen?”

  “I’m willing.”

  “This here gal is game, but game ain’t gonna get the job done. Injuns been comin’ into the country like rain. Soldiers’ scouts been comin’, too. Everybody’s sayin’ that the Army is gonna clean out that rattlesnake’s nest once an’ for all. Cascabel’s been fastin’ an’ prayin’ up a storm. A few days back a vision come to him. He’s gonna lead his renegades to a big victory—but not until Janna’s hair hangs from his war lance.”

  Ty’s whole body changed subtly, as though Cascabel himself had just appeared at the slot entrance to the valley. Mad Jack measured the change and smiled beneath his ragged beard. Ty might not be Janna’s man, but he wasn’t about to go off and leave her to fend for herself against the likes of Cascabel.

  “Well, she was right about the honor,” Mad Jack said. “An’ I’ll take her word about the rest of you bein’ man enough. Here’s the deal, son. You get her out of here and to a safe place, and my gold with her, and a quarter of my gold is yours.”

  “Keep your money, old man,” Ty said savagely. “I’ll get Janna out of here and to a safe place. You’ve got my word on it.”

  Mad Jack chewed for a few moments, turned aside, and spat a brown stream into the grass. Turning back, he wiped his beard on his frayed shirtsleeves.
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  “Suit yerself. Just so’s you get her shuck of this place, and my gold with her. She’ll need her quarter so’s she won’t have to marry no mean lard-butt town widower nor sell her company to strangers just to put beans on the table.”

  “I’m not going to leave just because you—” Janna began hotly.

  “Shut yer mouth, gal,” Mad Jack said, giving her a fierce glare. “You ain’t dumb so don’t get to actin’ like it. Only reason Cascabel ain’t caught you is he ain’t took a hard notion before now. Well, he done been took somethin’ fierce. Long as that evil son of a rattlesnake is alive, this country ain’t safe for chick nor child.”

  She closed her eyes and fought against the ice condensing in her stomach. “Are you sure that Cascabel is after my hair?”

  “Dead sure. Sound carries right good in some of these canyons. He bragged on his intentions to Ned.”

  “The saloon keeper?” Ty asked. “What was he doing with Cascabel?”

  “Sellin’ rifles, same as always. But don’t worry, son. He won’t be doin’ it no more. He upped the ante once too often. Cascabel took Ned’s rifles, then he took his liver, lights, and hair.”

  Janna shuddered.

  Mad Jack turned aside, spat and straightened, pinning Ty with a shrewd glance. “You break that stud hoss yet?”

  “No.”

  “Better get to it, son. Man on foot carryin’ gold ain’t gonna do nothin’ out there but die.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “My God.” Ty knelt in the dirt and gritty dust of the ruins and looked up at Janna for a long moment. With hands that were none too steady, he refastened the old saddlebags. “It’s gold. All of it. Sweet Jesus. When Mad Jack talked about gold, I thought he meant a few pokes, not two big saddlebags jammed full to overflowing.” He looked at his hands as though hardly able to believe the wealth that they had held. “Pure. Gold.”

  He lifted the bags and stood with a grunt of effort.

  Janna watched him with wide gray eyes. His words had meant little to her. Even the sight of the gold hadn’t made it seem real to her, but watching the saddlebags make Ty’s muscular arms bunch and quiver made the gold’s weight all too real. She had tested that male strength, seen his power and stamina and determination.

  And she knew that it wouldn’t be enough.

  Man on foot carryin’ gold ain’t gonna do nothin’ out there but die.

  “You can’t take it all,” she said.

  “Doesn’t weigh much more than you,” he said, “but dead weight is the hardest kind to carry.” He shook his head in continuing disbelief. “When I get back to camp and get my hands on that crazy old man, I’m going to ask him how the hell he got these saddlebags into the valley.”

  “Maybe he’s been bringing the gold in a poke at a time.”

  Ty grunted. “If so, he didn’t leave any more tracks between here and the slot than the wind. Anyhow, it doesn’t matter. I’m not taking a quarter of his gold and he’s not staying behind to get spitted and roasted by Cascabel. Like it or not, that old man’s coming out with us.”

  Janna didn’t argue or point out the difficulties in taking a third person when there was only one horse to ride. She felt the same way Ty did about leaving Mad Jack behind.

  And she had realized that staying in the valley was the equivalent of a death sentence.

  Mad Jack was correct. The only reason she had been safe during the past years was that she had been more trouble to track down than she was worth to Cascabel. That was no longer true. Cascabel now believed that she was all that was standing between himself and the conquest of the Utah Territory.

  Unhappily Janna followed Ty as he picked his way out of the crumbling ruins that filled the small side canyon. Once out in the meadow again, the walking was easier. Lucifer and Zebra waited out in the middle of the grass. The stallion was restive. He kept watching the willows that fringed the valley as though he expected a predator to leap out. Zebra was calmly grazing, not nearly as upset by Mad Jack’s presence as Lucifer was.

  “We could rig a surcingle for Zebra,” Janna said. “That way she could carry the saddlebags and your pack while we walked.”

  Ty gave her a sideways look that was little more than a flash of green.

  “Zebra can’t carry both of us and the gold, too,” Janna pointed out.

  “She can carry you and the gold if it comes to that. All you have to do is get her used to a hackamore and a surcingle.”

  “But what about you?”

  “That’s my problem.”

  White teeth sank into Janna’s lower lip as she bit off her retort. She closed her eyes and silently asked for Lucifer’s forgiveness. But there was really no choice. If he could be broken to ride, it had to be done.

  “Be as gentle with Lucifer as you can,” she said in a low voice, “but don’t hurt yourself in the process, Ty. Promise me that you’ll be careful. He’s so strong and so quick.” She looked at the stallion standing poised in the meadow, his big body rippling with strength, his ears erect, his head up, sniffing the wind. “And he’s so wild. Much wilder than Zebra.”

  “Not with you. He comes up and puts his head in your hands like a big hound.”

  “Then why won’t you let me be the one to break him?” Her voice was tight with fear and exasperation. She and Ty had argued about just this thing since the moment Mad Jack had pointed out that a man on foot didn’t have much chance of surviving.

  “God save me from stubborn women,” muttered Ty. “I’ve spent the last half hour telling you why. That stud’s big enough to buck you into next week and you know it. I sure as hell know it. You’re quick and determined as they come, but that’s no substitute for sheer strength if Lucifer goes crazy the first time he feels a rider’s weight.”

  Impatiently Ty shifted the slippery leather connecting the saddlebags. When his burden was in a more secure position over his shoulder he continued his argument. “Besides, you’ll have your hands full talking Zebra into a hackamore and surcingle. She’s not going to like that belly strap worth a damn. I’m going to rig stirrups for you, too. She won’t like those, either, but it’s the only way you and that old man stand a chance of staying on if we have to run for it. One of you has to be stuck on tight enough so the other has something to hang on to.”

  She opened her mouth to object but didn’t. She had lost this argument, too, and she knew it. She hadn’t wanted to put restraints on Zebra, yet there was little rational choice. If their lives were going to depend on their mounts, the riders had to have more than intangible communication with their horses. Particularly if she and Mad Jack were going to be riding double.

  “Once we get to Wyoming, you can go back to riding Zebra any way you want,” Ty said. “Hell, you can let her run wild again for all of me. But not until then, Janna. Not until you’re safe.”

  Closing her eyes, she nodded in defeat. “I know.”

  He gave her a surprised look. He had expected a fierce battle over the necessity of introducing any real control over Zebra. Her unhappy expression told him just how much the concession cost her. Without thinking about his vow not to touch her again, he took her hand and squeezed it gently.

  “It’s all right, sugar. Even with a hackamore and surcingle, you aren’t forcing Zebra to obey you. You aren’t strong enough to force an animal her size. Anytime Zebra lets you up on her back, it’s because she wants you there. All the hackamore will do is make sure Zebra knows where you want her to go. After that, it’s up to her. It’s always that way, no matter what kind of tack the horse wears. Cooperation, not coercion.”

  The feel of Ty’s palm sliding over her own as they walked was like being brushed by gentle lightning. Janna’s whole body tingled with the simple pleasure of his touch.

  “Thank you,” she said, blinking back sudden tears.

  “For what?”

  “For making me feel better about putting a hackamore on Zebra.” She squeezed his hand in return. “And for understanding. It’s frightening h
aving to give up the only home I’ve ever known.”

  Knowing he shouldn’t, unable to prevent himself, he lifted her hand to his face. The long weeks of not shaving had softened his beard to the texture of coarse silk. He rubbed his cheek against her palm, inhaled her scent, and called himself twelve kinds of fool for not touching her in the past four weeks—and fifty kinds of fool for touching her now.

  She wasn’t a whore or a convenience. She was a woman who appealed to him more with every moment he spent in her company. Her sensuality was like quicksand, luring him deeper and deeper until he was trapped beyond hope of escape.

  But she didn’t mean to be a trap any more than he meant to be trapped. That was what made her feminine allure all the more irresistible.

  With aching tenderness he kissed her palm before he forced himself to let go of her hand. The loss of her touch was a physical pain. The realization appalled him.

  God in heaven. I’m as stupid as that damned unicorn being drawn to his captivity and not able to pull away to save his life, much less his freedom.

  Abruptly Ty shifted the heavy gold to his other shoulder, using the saddlebags as a barrier between himself and Janna.

  She barely noticed. She was still caught in the instant when his hand had been sharply withdrawn. It had been like having her sense of balance betray her on a steep trail, leaving her floundering. She looked at him questioningly, only to see a forbidding expression that promised unhappiness for anyone asking questions of a personal nature, especially questions such as Why haven’t you touched me? Why did you touch me just now? Why did you stop as though you could no longer bear my touch?