High Mountain Drifter

by Jillian Hart

  She'd never feel safe around him again. That was no mystery. It didn't take a genius to figure that out. He'd known it before he'd stepped foot in this town. Just because she'd made him care, because she'd somehow gotten past his shields to his heart, it didn't mean anything would change. He was a drifter, a never-settle-down kind of man.

  Not by choice, but still, that was the fact.

  "I'll gag him." Wade stomped through the office, boots thumping on the floor. Anger radiated as he hauled out his cell key. "I've had all of this man I can take."

  "You're not alone," Milo agreed, lifting his coffee cup in a salute.

  As Ernest was silenced, Zane reined in his thoughts and forced them back to the task ahead of him. This morning, after an hour of shut-eye, he'd picked up the second set of tracks on the back end of that trail leading to Ernest's hide-out. Then followed the worn, fraying boot prints, size eight, with the heel coming loose, the gait slightly favoring the right side, as if there was an old injury. Wound up at a falling down shack on the outskirts of town. Belonged to George Klemp, a neighbor had told him.

  Now he had a name. He had information and a profile. He'd done his leg-work. Zane polished off his coffee and climbed to his feet. "I'll keep you informed."

  "I appreciate it." Milo stood too, nodded once with gratitude. "Is there anything I can do to help with Klemp?"

  "Nope. He went south, and fast. Not bothering to hide his trail." Zane knuckled back his hat, heading for the door. "Likely he'll wait to do so in a busier town, where it would be harder to pick up his tracks again."

  "I've tangled with Klemp before. Nasty business over at the Rocking M. He used to work for the sister's grandmother."

  "Let me guess. It didn't turn out well?" Zane glanced out the window. Spotting another woman clipping down the sidewalk going about her daily errands, he waited until she'd passed to open the door.

  "Klemp was arrested for stealing." Milo turned grim, looked troubled. He'd been sheriff then too, so he'd been the man to handle it. "Not a good situation, I'm sorry to say. Klemp is a good tracker. He grew up hunting in the mountains, so he knows how to hide."

  "Not from me." Zane opened the door, cast a glance at the cuffed, chained and now gagged man in the corner, locked in a cell like the animal he was. Those glassy, almost inhuman eyes mocked. Craddock was laughing at him, laughing at the pure, glow of caring Zane felt for the pretty little lady climbing down from her buckboard, merry with her sisters.

  A man like Craddock didn't know what love was. He never would. Men like Craddock only cared about themselves. Nothing could ever change an uncaring heart. Zane knew. His own father had been no different.

  He bid goodbye to the deputies and Milo, heading out into the cold. The sun had decided to show its face, peering around a bank of snow-laden clouds, which took to dropping a few airy flakes now and then, white, delicate puffs that lilted and danced their way lazily to the ground. It would be cold riding, he told himself, gaze tracking not down to the end of town to the livery, where he'd stabled Scout for a few hours. No, it was Verbena he watched.

  One of her other sisters was talking away, and Verbena listened intently, the top of her bonnet bobbing with her gait as she glided along the boardwalk. With her sisters knotted around her, she was difficult to see completely. He caught a glimpse of her rich russet-laced brown hair, the porcelain curve of her chin. A sweep of her blue dress ruffle and brown coat, the dazzle of her smile.

  His heart turned over, the shields fell, common sense shattered. He hopped from the boardwalk to the street, loosened Winchester's reins, but could not force his gaze from her. Longing welled up stronger than any single emotion he'd ever felt, sweeter than spun sugar and shamefully unexpected. If a man couldn’t control his heart, then what could he control?

  Down the road, across the street, Verbena separated from her sisters to pull open the mercantile door. He couldn't help admiring the graceful line of her arm, so slim and womanly, and the bell of her swirling skirt. The beauty of her kindness captivated him. Animated, her head tilted to one side listening intently to one of her sisters, then laughing as each sister passed by her in a queue, into the store.

  Craddock's words came back to him. As rare as Aphrodite. Like Helen of Troy. You'll never have her. Well, Zane thought, that was as factual as the ground at his feet. That didn't stop the longing or the hurting.

  For a moment, it looked as if Verbena would follow her sisters into the store, but as she took a step, she looked up, her gaze zeroed straight to him and she froze. Time stood still. Neither moved or blinked. The longing gripping his heart squeezed tighter. Remembering the gentle caress of her lips to his, the warm silk of her skin when he'd framed her face and the caring he felt for her, he wanted to charge down the street, come joy or ruin, and haul her into his arms, profess his love for her. Let himself believe again--for just a moment--that he was like any other man. That he was worthy of her.

  But that would be the biggest lie of all.

  So he stayed where he was, feet deliberately planted, boots in the mud, letting the winter-like wind buffet him. He tried to keep himself from wishing, he really did. He couldn't help it. He wished anyway.

  She gave him a little smile, and he knew she was thinking about that kiss. Burton ambled up behind her, guns strapped to his hips and reached to hold the door. She bobbed a little curtsey of thanks, glanced once again down the stretch of muddy road, and he felt the surge in his heart as if she'd put the emotion there. A hint of regret, a whole bunch of gladness. Maybe a little hope.

  A few graceful steps, the swish of her skirt and she was gone from his sight, into the store to join her sisters. He stood staring after her like an idiot, like a love-sapped fool. He'd be smart to hunt Klemp fast and hard, get the job done, pack up his stuff and move on. Never come this way again.

  But he had the suspicion he could ride as far as Mexico, he could try to lose himself in the Canadian mountains or sail the span of the world and he'd never be able to escape what he felt for her.

  What he feared he would always, always feel.

  * * *

  "Verbena." A voice called--Iris--distant and vague, as if from the other side of the earth instead of in the mercantile. "What is wrong with you today?"

  She blinked, realizing someone was standing beside her but unable to fully focus on what was going on. Maybe because the memory of Zane's kiss still tingled on her lips and she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Maybe because she couldn't drive out the image of him standing on the street, next to his stunning bay gelding, feet planted, Stetson tipped low, duster snapping in the wind.

  "Oh, I know what's going on," another voice--Magnolia--spoke up. "She looks how I feel."

  "Just as I suspected." Rose sounded greatly amused. "Gee, I wonder if it has anything to do with the man riding out there on the street?"

  "I wonder, too," Magnolia said, mischievously. "Rose, you said Verbena was alone with Mr. Reed in the kitchen early this morning. All alone."

  "Yes, I did--" Rose's playful answer faded into nothingness again. The pleasant surroundings of the mercantile disappeared.

  All she could see was Zane riding into view astride his horse, mighty, determined, more manly than any other dude she'd ever laid eyes on. Her feet began moving, obviously they were not attached to her brain. She shoved away from the counter and her sisters, apparently not able to care if her feelings showed.

  "Verbena?" Daisy called out, amused. "Where are you going?"

  "And what about the ornaments?" Iris wanted to know.

  "I think we'd better choose without her," Rose commented, and that was all Verbena heard of the conversation. She gave the door a shove and hurried into the icy sting of fresh air.

  "Zane!" She called, but even before that he was already turning, already aware of her bounding out onto the boardwalk. As if in tune, in harmony, perfect accord.

  "I'm heading out." He reined his horse around in the street, knuckled back his hat, revealing his face. Hewn gra
nite, square jaw, lean cheeks, straight nose, gladness unmistakable in his gray gaze. A man all in black, but he seemed apart from the shadows today, stronger somehow, perched tall and Herculean in his saddle, reins held loosely in one large hand. "Good to see you're out living your life. Not as many guards."

  "Just Burton." She glanced over her shoulder and there he was, the very fine, loyal cowboy, who'd strolled a ways down the boardwalk to give her some privacy. Apparently whoever George Klemp was, he wasn't someone Burton feared. She gave a shrug, crossing the boardwalk. No sense in half-shouting to speak to him in the road, since that would mean everyone could hear. Maybe even her sisters who'd mysteriously moved from the counter to the window, within ear shot. Hmm, she couldn’t imagine why.

  "Don't come out into the mud." Zane's heels touched his horse's sides and the noble animal ambled over, splashing through the puddles. "I may as well come to you."

  "Okay." She leaned against the railing, almost hating the barrier between them. She didn't know why her heart was fluttering like a winged bird taking flight, or why she felt unable to catch her breath. She'd been kissed by men before--she'd had several beaus even before Ernest. But as proper and polite as those kisses had been, they were like pecks to her forehead compared to Zane's kiss. The power of it, the sheer emotion would not release its hold on her. "You will be coming back, right? I mean, you'll need to pick up your buckboard."

  "That's an affirmative." His mouth turned grim, into that unrelenting slash of a line that made it hard to figure out what he was thinking. "I don't know how long I'll be gone. As long as it takes."

  "Sure." She bit her lip, not knowing how to say what she felt--or if she even should. She'd miss him. She cared about him much more than it was wise, even more than she wanted to. Her fingers itched to reach out, to bridge the few feet of space between them. Crazy to feel this way, it went against everything she'd vowed not to feel. "Do you know where this Klemp guy went?"

  "His tracks lead south. I'll have to follow them to see where he goes from there." Zane's gaze shuttered and he gazed down the street, in the direction of the livery, as if already a part of him was gone, thinking of his journey ahead. "He didn't bother to hide his tracks, so he either expects to get caught or he's leading me away, setting down track for me to follow in one direction, while he intends to head in another. Guess we'll see."

  "I hope it goes easy for you." Her hand lifted of its own accord, fingers as if reaching for him and she stopped it in time, forced her arm down to her side. All the things she wanted to say churned inside her. Like how she hoped he wouldn't spend too many nights sleeping in the cold or wet. How she'd be thinking of him.

  "I appreciate that. I'm always glad for an easy apprehension." One corner of his mouth eased up, hinting at humor, but his gray eyes avoided hers. They were dark, hard to read.

  But then she really didn't need to read them. She could feel his heart as sure as the gray-sky wind breezing against the side of her face. He didn't want to leave either. It hurt him to go. That realization made her throat burn. Her heart, in synchrony with his, ached too.

  "You'll be careful right?" She hoped he could hear what she was asking, the concern she couldn’t give words to.

  "I always am," he assured her. When he shifted his attention to her, his gray eyes were unguarded. "I'll be safe. Don't worry."

  But what he was saying was far more. That he'd be careful. That this was how he lived, he wasn't used to comfort. That he'd miss her too. He cared far more than he should.

  Well, it seemed like they had that in common.

  "Now that you have more freedom, what's up for the rest of your day?" He held out his gloved hand, palm up, steady. "Do you have some wild sewing planned?"

  "You're making fun me." She laid her hand on his, palm to palm. The tanned leather of his gloves between his skin and hers was no barrier to the snap of connection that charged between them, soul-deep. "You're the one with the wild excitement in your life, Mr. Bounty Hunter. And for the record, I find sewing wonderfully thrilling."

  "Is that right?" Humor changed his face, softened the line of his mouth, the granite plains.

  "You never know what is going to happen when you sew, much like your job I imagine." Now she was teasing, wanting to see the gray glimmers in his eyes, the light within him she knew was there. "You could miss a stitch, or your thread could knot. You might baste in a sleeve only to find out it doesn't sit right and you have to rip it out. It's dangerous too."

  "Dangerous?" He arched a dark brow. "Sure, I can see that. Those hoop things you ladies use look like they could make a good weapon. Maybe to beat off anyone trying to steal a bobbin of thread?"

  "Exactly. The needles are sharp. You never know when one might stab you. It happens, that's all I'm saying. I've drawn blood more times than I can count."

  "Me, too." Laughter looked good on him, softening out the rough edges, chasing away his stoic, steely nature. Like this, relaxed and engaged, he was the most handsome man she'd ever seen. He had no idea, either as he leaned closer, intent. "I've had to learn to sew. Saddles, bridles and rigging need mending. I have to darn my own socks and sew on a button, unless I wanted to hire some lady to do it."

  "Who would have guessed we'd have sewing in common too?"

  "Don't even joke about inviting me over for your next sewing circle gathering." Dimples framed his mouth, deep and dashing. His fingers tightened around hers, holding on. "You'll stay with your sisters while I'm gone, right? Make sure Burton or one of his men is with you? I need to know you're all right, Verbena."

  Because he'd worry. She knew what he hesitated to say. Worrying implied caring, and caring would take them down a road neither of them could go, for different reasons. Him with his wandering life and she with her no man, not ever vow. The one she didn't think she should give up. Even if he made her want to believe that there might be just the right man, the one, rare, stalwart right man.

  "I'll be good." She squeezed his hand for emphasis, sealing the promise. "Well, after today."

  "Why? What do you have planned for today?"

  "After we're done here, I'm going over to the sheriff's office." Her confession came a little wobbly, because immediately his face darkened. He turned to iron and reined-in fury right before her eyes, not that she was intimidated. "I want to see Ernest behind bars, right where he belongs. I need that closure."

  "Then you'll do it right now." He took his boot out of the stirrup. "You'll do it with me."

  "Right now?" She felt breathless again, whether over the prospect of seeing Ernest or being up on that saddle with Zane, she didn't know. "But my sisters--"

  "They'll know where you've gone," he said dryly, nodding to the window behind her. "You're in plain sight. Come on, hop up. I'll give you a ride over. Don't want to get your shoes and that pretty dress muddy."

  "I saw that smile." She moved forward, toward him, letting him pull her around the rail to the steps with his strength--it really was immense, she couldn’t have fought him if she wanted too. "Or was it a smirk?"

  "A smirk," he confirmed as she fit the toe of her shoe into the stirrup. She gave a little hop, but he lifted her into the air with no effort and the next thing she knew she was sitting sidesaddle, up on that dizzying height on his shockingly tall horse. The ground had never looked so far down. His arms closed around her, snug and safe. "Don't worry, I won't let you fall."

  "It didn't cross my mind that you would." He felt like warmed iron, smelled pleasantly of winter air and clean man. Nothing had ever felt so wonderful, so close. His chin brushed her cheek as he leaned in to gather the reins and turn his horse around in the street.

  At the first rocking gait, she didn't slip or slide. No fears there. Zane kept her tucked to him, at ease, rock-solid. She'd never felt so close to any man--at heart, where it counted. Her vow unraveled like a basting thread, slipping away until it was gone, completely gone, as if it had never been.

  Over Zane's wide shoulder she caught a glimpse of the mer
cantile's front window. Her four sisters standing in a row, mouths open, chattering with delight, watching the hunky bounty hunter ride away with her.

  How she felt was no secret to them. Or, she realized, to Zane as he tucked her cozily against him. She let him, leaning against his muscular strength. Nothing--not one thing--had ever felt as right.

  Chapter Fourteen

  "Sure you want to do this?" Zane's voice rumbled in her ear as he halted his horse in front of the sheriff's office. "You can always change your mind."

  "Not this time." Her chin went up, she grabbed hold of the saddle horn, but before she could lower herself, he caught hold of her and eased her to the boardwalk. Emotion hitched in her chest. It was a good feeling having him care for her. She stood safely out of the mud while he dismounted, the saddle creaking. The wind gusted, the temperature falling, as he stomped up the steps, knuckled back his hat and laid a hand on the small of her back. His touch was commanding but reassuring, letting her know she was not alone. That he would stand by her.

  Her heart gave another little flutter.

  He opened the door for her, surprising the deputy at his desk. Wade Whetherby, Rose's new beau, looked up from his pile of paperwork and stood up quickly, a little befuddled.

  "Howdy there, Miss." He reached up to tip his hat politely--except it wasn't there.

  "Hello, Deputy." She smiled politely in return. It was clear what Rose saw in the lawman. He was kind and a tad endearing, and Rose certainly deserved someone like that. Even if it was too bad Rose couldn’t see there was another man in town who also cared for her, but she seemed to only notice the deputy.

  "Miss McPhee." Milo strode in from a back room, a pile of papers in hand. He looked surprised too, his gaze going from her to Zane and back to her. "Has there been another problem?"