"No, I don't think he means to do me any harm. He wants to hurt me by hurting you. He thinks…"
"He thinks what?" Josh insisted when she did not continue.
"He thinks that I loved you more than I loved him," she said, her voice an agonized whisper. "Because I stayed here to raise you instead of going back to Virginia when…"
"When my mother left," he finished for her. "My God, the man must be crazy. If he wanted revenge, why did he wait all this time?"
But Candace had no answer. "Just be careful. And Joshua…"
"Yes?" he asked, more disturbed than he wanted to admit at seeing her so upset.
"If you can… unless you have to… don't have his blood on your hands. Turn him over to the law. Please, for my sake," she begged, clutching at his vest.
He nodded, patting her shoulder reassuringly. He had no desire to kill Candace's son, no matter what the man may have threatened. "For your sake," he promised.
"How many of them do you see?" Grady whispered.
Josh squinted into the field glasses and scanned the scene below one last time. "I count six," he said. "Here, you take a look." He passed the glasses to Grady and glanced back over his shoulder. The rest of his men were still out of sight. Good. They had been lucky, he thought, spotting the smoke from the rustlers' branding fire. Now it seemed their luck was holding.
"Six of them and six of us," Grady confirmed. "I only see that one guard."
"Well then, let's back off this ridge before they spot us," Josh said. As he crept back under cover of the brush, he could not seem to erase the memory of that one guard from his mind. Even if he had not known the black man was Candace's son, he would have suspected they were related. They shared the same regal bearing, the same proud carriage. The man called Jeremiah sat his huge bay gelding with an arrogance that even generations of slavery had not been able to breed out of him. He cradled his Winchester rifle with an assurance that said he knew exactly how to use it, too. He would, Josh understood instinctively, be the most dangerous member of the gang.
When Josh and Grady rejoined the rest of their men, Josh quickly gave them a description of the area and the position of the rustlers. "They've got about a hundred head down there, and only one guard that we could see."
"Pretty gutsy, if you ask me," Grady muttered. "That Ortega's slipped his leash for the last time."
"This is our chance to make sure of that," Josh said. "Now, here's the plan."
As the other men rode into position, Josh found himself wondering how Felicity was making out back at the ranch alone. Not that she was really alone, of course. He had left Gus and Cody with her. Between the two of them, and Cookie and Candace, his wife was well protected, or as well protected as common sense, raw courage, and blind devotion could make her. Cookie and Candace would provide the sense while Gus and Cody would supply the rest. Still, in spite of the fact that he himself would soon be riding into a running gun battle, he could not help worrying more for her safety than his own. In one blinding moment of insight, he recalled his father's admonitions about trusting- and loving-other people. For the first time in his life he understood the reason behind it: Human life was simply too fragile. When Josh thought of how easily one careless shot could snuff out Felicity's life, he shuddered.
But no careless shot was going to come near her, he reminded himself, drawing his pistol to check the loads.
Against his will, he remembered the frightened look in her blue eyes when he had strapped the gun on earlier that morning. The memory warmed a place in his heart that had been cold for a long time. Suddenly he was in an almighty hurry to get this little matter settled so he could go home again. Home to his wife.
Josh and his men rode in with guns blazing. Although it was virtually impossible to hit anything when shooting from a galloping horse, they fired to frighten the cattle into a stampede. And stampede they did, right toward the man called Jeremiah. Josh caught a glimpse of the bay gelding rearing in surprise before the action close at hand demanded his attention.
The two Mexicans who had been working the branding fire were running toward their horses, shooting as they went. Josh reined up, taking a bead on the stocky one he identified as Ortega. He felt the gun buck in his hand and saw a crimson stain burst on the bandit's shirt. Above the thunder of the cattle and the roar of gunfire, Josh heard a shrill cry, but the man did not go down. Instead he turned and dashed for the tethered horses.
Grady had run down the other man, knocking him to the ground where he lay either unconscious or dead. Josh was just spurring his horse to go after Ortega when someone shouted, "Mr. Logan, look out!"
Ducking automatically, he felt the whine of the bullet speeding past his ear. Turning, he saw one of the other Mexican bandits careening from his saddle, his rifle clattering to the ground, his chest spouting red from a mortal wound. Beyond him Josh saw one of his men signal that he had scored the hit, and Josh swiftly waved his thanks. When he turned back, Ortega had disappeared.
Cursing, Josh jerked on the reins once more, guiding his mount to follow the path of the stampede. The roar of gunfire had now died away to an occasional shot. He quickly realized that the fight was all but over, the rustlers routed.
All that was left to do now was gather up the survivors.
But there was only one survivor Josh was interested in at the moment, a black man on a bay gelding who had vanished before the rampaging herd. Riding headlong into the cloud of dust churned by the frantic hooves of one hundred frightened animals, Josh squinted against the grit that stung his eyes. As the thunder from the herd faded, another sound swelled before him, the piercing scream of an injured animal.
The dust swirled around him like a reddish fog, and Josh slowed the Appaloosa, approaching carefully, his pistol aimed and cocked. Slowly, the bay materialized, thrashing and trying desperately to rise on his two ruined forelegs. Without thinking, Josh raised his Colt and put a bullet through the animal's brain, ending its misery. Only then did he recall the animal's rider and the danger he might have put himself in with this simple act of mercy.
But no answering shot rang out. No scramble of movement betrayed the rider's presence, and another, very unsettling thought crossed Josh's mind. In all his years of ranching, he had only once seen a man trampled to death. It was a sight he would never forget. Apprehension lifted the hairs on his neck as he nudged the Appaloosa into motion again and began to scan the area for the dusty red splotch that would mark the end of Candace's son.
His horse whinnied, warning him even before the dust cleared and he saw the body. Miraculously, the man was whole, his lean length sprawled on the dusty ground like a giant rag doll that had been discarded by an even more gargantuan child. But he was still. Too still.
Josh leaped from his saddle and raced to the body, searching for any sign of life. With practiced hand, he raised one dark eyelid and saw not the white of a rolled-back eyeball but the deep brown of a living iris.
Feeling foolish, he also felt relief. For reasons he could not define, he did not want to go back and tell Candace her son was dead, no matter what the man might have done both to him and to her.
Jeremiah groaned, reminding Josh that he might still pose a danger if he were to come around while still armed. Josh pulled the pearl-handled Colts from the hand-tooled leather holsters and then patted him down for other weapons. He retrieved a deringer from a vest pocket and a Bowie knife from a boot. He was stuffing the weapons into his saddlebag when Jeremiah groaned again and opened his eyes.
"Don't move," Josh warned, his own gun trained on his captive. "Your right arm's probably broken and you might have other injuries."
Jeremiah blinked several times, trying to focus on Josh's face, shook his head once, and then tried again. Automatically, he lifted his right arm to wipe the dust from his eyes, but the effort made him moan in agony. "You're right about that arm," he muttered, using his left hand to clear his vision. He glanced down at the injured arm and quickly averted his eyes at the sigh
t of it lying at such a crazy angle.
"I took your guns," Josh said as he watched the dark gaze settle on him at last.
Jeremiah's eyes narrowed as he suddenly realized his predicament. His left hand swooped to his vest pocket.
"I found that one, too," Josh said. "And the knife in your boot."
Josh saw the tension of his captive settle into a cautious wariness. Brown eyes watched as Josh lifted his Stetson and wiped the moisture from his forehead with his sleeve.
"You're Logan, aren't you?" Jeremiah said.
Josh settled the hat back on his head, realizing that his silvered hair must have revealed his identity. "That's right."
"Do you know who I am?"
Josh nodded. "Candace told me. You're her son. That's why you're still alive."
The brown eyes narrowed speculatively. "Is that all she told you?" he asked skeptically.
Josh frowned, wondering what Jeremiah could be up to.
"She told me how you threatened to get back at her through me, if that's what you're wondering. Don't worry, I know enough about you that I'm not going to let you go."
But Jeremiah shook his head slowly. "There's one more thing that you might find interesting," he said, his lips curling back into a feral grin. "You see, she forgot to tell you who my father was." Ever so slowly, he raised his left hand and loosened the chin strap that had held his hat on through the violence of his fall. With equal slowness, he grasped the brim of that hat and lifted it from his head.
Josh gasped at the sight of hair as silver as his own glinting in the sunlight.
"Your mother used to tell me that I favored him," Jeremiah taunted. "She used to tell me lots of things, about how that black bitch stole him from her. About how she'd sneak into his bed at night and-"
"No!" Josh shouted in horror, hardly aware that he had even moved and startled to feel Jeremiah's throat beneath his hand. For one crazed moment he longed to choke the life out of him, to silence the ugly lies forever.
And they were lies. Oh, he had known about his father and Candace, known that he sometimes went to her cabin at night. The boy Josh had hated the thought, but the man Josh understood how something like that could happen. Now everything was confused in his mind. There were so many things he did not understand. Like why his father had allowed Candace to become his wife's maid when Candace had already borne him a child, and why that child had been left behind, and why…
Jeremiah's strangled cries and the pain of the fingernails of Jeremiah's good hand clawing at him brought Josh to his senses. Josh instantly released him, thrusting him away in disgust. "Get up," he said, no longer caring whether the man he now knew was his half-brother had any internal injuries or not. "I'm going to take you into town and lock you up for the circuit judge. I'll let him decide whether you hang or whether you just rot in prison."
"Do you see anything, Candace?" Felicity asked. The black woman stood at the front window, staring out into the darkness.
"No," Candace replied with a weary sigh. "It's foolish to watch for them. They might be gone a week or more. They might not even be able to find Ortega at all." But Felicity noticed that in spite of her words, Candace did not forsake her vigil.
Resisting the almost overwhelming urge to join her at the window, Felicity resolutely resumed her sewing. She would have preferred an activity that occupied her mind, but reading was out of the question. She had already tried it and found she could not concentrate on the words for worrying about Joshua. In desperation, she had picked up her latest sewing project, a violet-sprigged calico dress. Felicity was making it up in the wrapper style known as the "Mother Hubbard." Not only was that type of dress comfortable and practical, but it would easily expand to accommodate a growing pregnancy, as Candace had pointed out to her when making the original suggestion.
Felicity's hands stilled as she glanced down and tried to imagine her stomach rounded with Joshua's child. Joshua's child. Longing stabbed through her, piercing her heart. How very much she wanted his child. She might, in fact, already carry his seed. Instinctively, she laid a hand protectively over her imaginary babe. Whatever would she do if Joshua did not come back? The violet material in her lap blurred before her eyes.
"It's all right, honey," Candace assured her urgently, brushing the fabric onto the floor and taking Felicity into a comforting embrace. "Don't cry. Everything's fine."
Only then did Felicity realize that she was crying, shaking with silent sobs and blinded by a flood of tears. She smothered those sobs against Candace's shoulder, clinging tightly to the solace she offered.
"He'll be fine; you'll see," Candace crooned, rocking her as if she were a small child.
But Felicity heard the uncertainty in her voice and pulled away. "You're scared, too, aren't you?" she accused, terrified anew by the knowledge.
Candace smiled wanly. "Only because both my boys are out there and because they're fighting each other."
Both her boys? What on earth could she mean? Before Felicity could ask, the front door burst open.
"They're coming," a jubilant Cody reported.
"Is Mr. Logan all right?" Felicity demanded as both she and Candace surged to their feet.
"I can't tell for sure, but I counted six horses and six riders, so they must all be fine," Cody said. "They'll be here in another minute." With that he ran back outside. Candace and Felicity swiftly followed.
"Here, put this on," Candace ordered, placing a shawl around Felicity's shoulders. Felicity barely noticed, just as she had barely noticed the evening chill. Her shivering was from anticipation, not the cold.
Cody and Gus had lighted lanterns out in the yard, and Felicity strained to see the riders as they rode into the wavering brightness.
Josh climbed wearily from his saddle. "I'll take care of your horse, Mr. Logan," Cody said, but Josh only half heard him. His attention was focused on the front porch of the house. He could see Felicity silhouetted against the open door. Without conscious awareness, he handed his reins to Cody and headed toward her.
He knew the moment she recognized him. Her joyful cry carried across the ranch yard to him, and then she was running down the stairs in a flurry of skirts. His own pace quickened as he tried to close the enormous space between them. Never had it taken so long to cross the yard. By the time he reached her, he was almost running in his urgency to hold her close.
Felicity threw herself into his arms, clinging with all her strength. Only by physically touching him could she be certain he was truly here, truly all right. Drawing a ragged breath, she inhaled his musky, masculine scent. Convinced at last that he was safe, she lifted her face to ask one of the many questions she wanted answered, but his mouth came down on hers, silencing her quite effectively.
Josh drank in the taste and feel and smell of her, tempering the fierceness of his embrace with difficulty. He had a wild urge to crush her, to pull her into himself so they could never be separated again. Even when he had routed the rustlers and delivered them safely to jail, he could not forget the two who had evaded capture, two men who might yet wreak their vengeance on Felicity. But she was safe now. The relief he felt over that staggered him.
He trailed his lips across her cheek and buried his face in the softness of her hair, content to just absorb the sweetness of her for another moment.
"Mr. Josh?" Candace's voice cut into his happiness, reminding him of other, less pleasant matters. He lifted his gaze to where she stood just behind Felicity. She was cradling her injured hand protectively as if afraid he might somehow injure it again.
"He's alive," Josh said, reluctantly relinquishing his hold on his wife. "We'd better go inside."
Felicity tried to move away, but he did not release her completely. Keeping one arm possessively around her, he led her toward the house. She tried to read his expression in the shadows. "Who's alive? Who are you talking about?" she asked, but neither Josh nor Candace seemed to hear her question. For a minute she thought he might be annoyed with her for rushing out
to meet him like that. She recalled that her father had always warned her against public displays of emotion, but then she also remembered that Joshua had been the one to kiss her, not the other way around. And he certainly didn't seem too eager to let her go, not from the tender way his hand was caressing her waist. She slipped her own arm around him and decided to wait until they were in the house to ask any more questions. From the tension vibrating between him and Candace, she might not need to ask any questions at all. Instead she would just listen.
When they were all inside, Josh carefully closed the door behind them.
"Did you talk to him? Did he say anything?" Candace asked, still cradling her bandaged hand.
"Why didn't you tell me who he was?" Josh asked, turning on her, his gray eyes stormy with anger.
"I did!" Candace insisted. "I told you he's my son!"
"Your son!" Felicity said, but they still did not hear her.
"You didn't tell me who his father was," Josh accused, planting his hands on his hips and approaching her menacingly.
"Oh no!" Candace cried, her voice a howl of agony. Felicity watched in horror as Candace's beautiful face crumpled and her magnificent body cringed before his wrath.
"Stop it!" Felicity screamed, throwing herself between the two antagonists. Glaring a warning at her husband, she led Candace's quivering body to the large wingbacked chair and forced her down into it. Only then did she realize that Candace was weeping, silently and shatteringly, the same way Felicity had wept for Joshua only moments before. Just as Candace had comforted her, she now comforted her friend, crooning the meaningless phrases of solace.
Then she turned back to Joshua, who still retained a measure of his fury. "What is this all about?" she demanded.
Her question seemed to wake him from some sort of trance. He stared at her for a second as if he had never seen her before, and then she watched the anger almost visibly drain from him. He sighed wearily, pulled off his battered Stetson, and ran one large hand over his face as if to wipe away the vestiges of some bad dream.
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