A woman who’d been abandoned as many times as Tina could only conclude that her whole life was a failure. Shaking off the demoralizing thought, she went back to thinking about what Vince had just done for one poor woman. Why, he’d done more for Lana Bullard than Tina had.
“New Orleans is a long trip.” Tina knew Vince had gone on the trip due to pressure from her to keep Lana out of prison.
“It is for a fact.” Vince swung himself off his horse. His boots hit the packed dirt of the street, and dust puffed off him in a cloud. He tied his black gelding to a hitching post.
“It was nice of you to go.” In fact, it was so nice that Tina suddenly couldn’t quite believe he’d done it, not for Lana, who’d tried to kill Vince’s friend, and Tina seriously doubted he’d done it for her.
“How’s my prisoner?” he asked.
Tina forgot wondering about his generosity and the long, hard ride he’d gone on, and remembered Vince the Coyote who’d stuck her with this job. She remembered with a shudder of relief to have something to be annoyed with Vince about. She was far more comfortable with that than with being charmed by the effort he’d just gone to or how nice it was to have him back.
“She’s getting fat. I’ve taken to feeding her six times a day just to shut her up.”
“Six times?” His disgusted expression hurt more than it should have.
It shouldn’t bother her, because the man was as tired as she was. With a tiny shrug of one shoulder, she said, “She was hungry.”
“Look, I shouldn’t have expected you to know what you were doing.”
“Because I fed her too much?” Tina arched a brow.
“I didn’t mean you—”
“You left me with a madwoman and now you’re criticizing how I did the job I never wanted in the first place?”
Vince raised both hands as if in surrender. “I should have known a woman—”
“You’re the one who gave the job to a woman. You’ve got a lot of nerve riding off without a by-your-leave”—or had she pushed him into going?—“and then coming back here to find fault.”
“Stop putting words in my mouth.” Vince ran both hands deep into his hair.
“Take over, Mr. Lawman.” She was happier now that she was sparring with Vince. Those soft feelings just plumb scared her to death. She jerked the badge off her shirtwaist and threw it at him, just like he’d thrown it at her.
Vince let the badge bounce off his chest and fall to the hard ground, too busy scowling at her to even try to catch it.
“The truth is, you’re no more skilled at being a sheriff than I am. How many weeks ago did your friend baptize you into the job?”
“Deputize, not ‘baptize’ for heaven’s sake.” He pulled his hands free from his hair and kicked up a little dust doing it, then took a step toward her.
“You know what I mean.” She took a step toward him just to make sure he could hear every word she said.
“Stop fussing at me, woman.”
It would be her pleasure to never speak to him again. That ought to end any fussing. “If you’re done with your unkind assessment of my efforts, I’ll just go.” Thinking to sweep around him and walk away in grand style, she took one step and got too close.
He grabbed her arm and pulled her to face him. “I was only saying I shouldn’t have lassoed you into a job you’re not suited for.”
“Because I’m a woman and not up to it?”
“Yes!”
“Why, you—”
“No!” Vince grabbed her other arm. “I mean no. You’re up to it. You did fine.”
Because she was very close, Tina saw the lines of exhaustion on his face. A spark of compassion made her want to hold him and soothe him and tuck him into bed with a nice kiss.
She immediately went back to picking a fight—much safer. “Let me go, Vincent Yates. Get your hands off me or so help me you’re gonna draw back a stub.”
He laughed.
Which was about the worst thing he could’ve done.
She jerked her arms to no avail. With motions too smooth and fast for her to overcome, he dragged her inside the jailhouse.
A quick glance told her Lana was still fast asleep, the lazy lout. “Take your hands—”
“Hush!” Vince gave Lana a quick, hard look. He whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“No you’re not.”
“I’m exhausted.” His eyes flickered to her lips, then right back to meet her gaze. “Tina, I never meant to . . .”
He looked down again.
“Meant to what?”
Only silence met her question.
Tina, barely able to form a coherent thought, asked, “What should we do?”
His warm brown eyes sparked. Absently he said, “Oh, woman, I have got me some ideas what we should do.”
“I meant . . .” Her voice faded as she looked into those dark eyes and lost her train of thought. She might have looked at him all day. She might’ve done more than look. She’d never felt this kind of longing before. She’d never had a man hold her. Well, Jonas, but that was entirely different.
Vince’s grip on her upper arms loosened, and his hands shifted into a much gentler touch. He lowered his head, and she thought she was going to get the first kiss of her life. Instead he rested his forehead against hers. “What am I doing?”
Tina knew what he wasn’t doing. And she was mighty ashamed of herself for being disappointed. She just stood there, her breath unsteady, her pulse pounding.
Vince ran his hands up and down her arms, the caress as warm as firelight. Their eyes met. Tina knew the heart wasn’t meant to beat this hard, and it wasn’t supposed to ache like this. Heaven only knew what damage being in Vince Yates’s arms was doing to her insides. Her brain was certainly working strangely too, because it felt so good to be held she couldn’t put a stop to it.
Then, with halting movements, Vince pushed her away and turned his back.
Her knees wobbled, and she had to fight to keep standing.
“I shouldn’t have put my hands on you.” He refused to look at her. “I’m sorry.”
He was sorry. It was the sweetest moment of Tina’s life and he was sorry. She wanted to demand he take that apology back, but suddenly all Tina could think of was the little girl whose parents had died. She couldn’t even remember them, and she’d never been told what happened.
The little girl with the stern, critical aunt who had never given hugs.
The little girl desperately in love with her heroic big brother, who hadn’t even bothered to come and see her when he’d been released from his prisoner-of-war camp. Instead he’d gone west on a quest to serve God. Tina had meant nothing to him.
Just as she meant nothing to Vince.
He could hold her close, then brush her away with an apology.
“Would you mind getting those books out of my saddlebag and taking them to Dare?”
It wasn’t enough for Vince to apologize; now he wanted her to get away from him. Clenching her jaw to keep from crying, she decided getting away was an idea with merit. She went out as silent and unwanted as a ghost who haunted the lives of others.
As she removed the books and papers from Vince’s saddlebag, she shook off her thoughts of loneliness.
Jonas wanted her. She’d had to foist herself on him, but once she was here, he’d welcomed her nicely. Of course, Jonas made almost no money and she did quite well at the diner.
On her way to Dare’s house with her armload of books and papers, she realized how precarious her position was. If Vince put his mind to it, he could probably persuade Jonas to send her away. Squaring her shoulders, she resolved to work hard and give Jonas every penny she made in hopes he’d let her live with him forever.
She thought of Duffy’s selling of demon rum and Lana Bullard’s madness, and decided, since Jonas seemed inclined to tolerate her mission in those areas, she’d focus on them. She’d work hard enough to never be cast out and guard her lonely heart.
It was
n’t that hard a decision to make. It was how she’d been living since her earliest memory.
Chapter 6
The hurt in Tina’s eyes made Vince wish his legs were long enough he could kick his own backside.
He was tempted to try it, until Lana snorted and grumbled in her sleep. Vince decided to just kick himself mentally to keep his prisoner’s sleep from being disturbed.
He knew why it’d happened. He’d come riding in and seen the prettiest woman he’d ever known, and all he’d wanted to do was go to her. Be near her. He’d been unable to think of anything else. When she’d picked a fight with him—for no reason he could figure out—he was glad because he’d been thinking all the wrong thoughts from the minute he’d laid eyes on her.
They seemed to be forever fighting. Normally the little spat would have kept them apart well enough, but Vince was all in from his long ride. He was badly in need of a meal, a bath, and a good night’s sleep. All those things played havoc with his self-control, and confound it, when she’d smiled at him, all he could think about was how much he’d missed her.
He’d even missed watching her picket every afternoon. He was inclined to help her make another placard.
He didn’t think anyone knew it, but he’d made a habit of setting a chair by the small front window in his lawyer’s office and watching Tina march back and forth. He hadn’t missed an afternoon since she’d begun with her cause. That was one of the reasons he’d jumped into the middle of that fight so fast, because he saw the whole thing start.
The fight didn’t bother him overly. A fistfight was fun once in a while, so he couldn’t get too upset that she’d started one. He knew now that he’d hurried back to Broken Wheel partly because he wanted to see what trouble Tina had gotten herself into.
It seemed that a man could be entertained by a woman’s strange ways.
She’d snipped at him, and he’d answered back, glad for a reason to put distance between them. He never should have touched her. That was when things had gone wrong. Her sassy mouth and his firm grip on her supple, slender arms had struck a spark.
Moving restlessly, he admitted that spark was there before; she’d just fanned it into a flame. And that fire was still alive in him, deep in his gut. He’d tamped it down the best he could, but it was still there, smoldering, glowing hot.
He thought of how she’d looked when he’d apologized. Vince knew a thing or two about women. He’d hurt her. Shaking his head in self-disgust, he gave some thought to how he’d held her and then insulted her. He should’ve pulled over on the trail and slept, scrounged a meal somewhere, and come into town less on edge.
Except who could predict a thing like this would happen—just because a man was hungry and tired? He’d been hungry and tired plenty of times and nothing like this had ever happened before. And it wasn’t going to happen again, and for one very good reason.
Mother.
Something was very wrong with her. Worse yet, it ran in her family, which meant it ran in him.
And if he didn’t get Mother’s madness, Father was even worse.
Vince had known since he went home after the war that he never dared pass on any blood from his veins. He’d either be a tyrant or a burden. He imagined Tina being saddled with a man like either of his parents and felt only pity for her.
It was a mighty good reason for a man to never marry.
When he’d stopped in to see his parents in Chicago right after the war, he’d been sick in both body and soul. He needed care and time to heal. Vince had hoped he’d be welcomed home. Surely his parents had been informed he was a prisoner of war. Surely they’d worried. He’d hoped he and his father could mend fences and get to know each other as adult men.
Father was only interested in Vince if he came into the family banking firm. Vince wasn’t even that much opposed to banking. He just knew he couldn’t live his life under his father’s thumb, and his father would never treat him as anything resembling a partner. Father didn’t know how to share power with anyone.
The visit had been unpleasant between father and son, and worse because something had happened to Mother.
She hadn’t known who Vince was. She’d acted afraid and then cried out when he tried to hug her. At first he tried to excuse it because he knew how awful he looked. Though being looked at with fear by his mother was devastating, he knew she was a sweet but shallow woman and he forgave her, hoping she’d get used to the idea of his being home. He hadn’t really understood until he’d been there a month that she wasn’t upset by Vince going off to war and coming home sick and half starved, a burden to his family. She honestly didn’t know who he was. In fact, she didn’t seem to remember having a son at all.
On the day he’d realized that, he’d had to admit finally that something was really wrong in Mother’s head. She’d lost her wits in strange little ways. The one that was most glaring to Vince was that she couldn’t remember his name.
As soon as Vince was strong enough to get around, he’d asked Father what was wrong. Father wouldn’t talk about it except to say she was an embarrassment, just as her father had been. He had hired a companion for her, and Mother still dressed beautifully and went out to tea with her society friends. She seemed to manage fine.
But she’d forgotten her only son. Worse yet, she couldn’t even treat him as a friendly stranger. She feared him when he would enter the same room with her.
Vince had understood she wasn’t thinking right. But it had hurt so badly to have his mother as good as run away from him sobbing that Vince couldn’t stay. Between Mother’s fear and Father’s tyranny, Vince had moved along as soon as his health allowed.
Eventually he let his family know where he came to live, but he’d never gone home again.
Because of the recent letter from Father, demanding that Vince return to Chicago and take up the reins of the bank, they’d exchanged a wire or two when Vince was in New Orleans, just to make sure the man knew he wasn’t coming, ever. And he’d hunted through that medical library as if he were searching for the keys to escape from eternal fire.
It had nothing to do with Lana, and it wasn’t just to cure Mother. It was to save himself when his turn came.
He needed to apologize to Tina again. Only this time he needed to do it in a way that didn’t hurt her feelings but also kept her away from him.
And he needed to do it in a way that wouldn’t make Jonas load his rarely used pistol.
Vince wracked his brain. He’d always had a charming streak that worked well with women, not that he’d practiced it in a while, having kept to manly places since the war. But there had to be a right way to handle this. The right words . . . words that wouldn’t get him shot.
Rubbing both hands through his hair, he mulled it over, stumped, distracted by how nice it was to hold her in his arms.
Before even an inkling of an idea began forming, he heard the rattle of wheels and looked out the window to see a beautiful coach rolling into town. Black-lacquered paint with scrolled golden decorations. The elegant coach was pulled by a team of four shining black geldings and driven by a man in a black uniform.
Vince had never seen such a conveyance in Broken Wheel before, and he couldn’t imagine why anyone wealthy enough to own such a thing would bother to come to Broken Wheel. It flickered through Vince’s mind that it was as richly appointed as the carriage his father owned back in Chicago.
The coach was going too fast and it skidded as the driver pulled it to a halt. Dust enveloped the rig.
Then the dust settled. The coach door swung open. There was a long moment that for some reason riveted Vince’s attention on that open door. Of course any newcomer to this quiet town was interesting.
And then Father stepped out.
Dread kicked Vince in the belly. He had the wild notion that his father had appeared just because Vince was thinking about him.
He blinked to clear his vision in the hopes Father would go away.
But sure enough, there stood Julius Yates
, wearing a tall silk hat and a black travel-stained woolen frock coat. He carried a black cane with a silver wolf’s head on its top. The same cane Father had carried for years with no real need for it, except that Father liked carrying something so costly.
Today Father was leaning hard on that cane.
Watching through the jailhouse window, Vince was frozen.
Pure stunned surprise accounted for part of it. What had Father been thinking to come out here? He must’ve headed out with all possible speed the moment he got Vince’s wire saying there would be no homecoming. Father had never in his life come to Vince; it had always been the other way around. Father would demand Vince’s presence, and Vince would appear at the appointed time. That defined his childhood, those audiences with Father. And Father had always had the knack of keeping Vince off-balance, appearing at unexpected times, turning his moods from cool tyranny to white-hot anger. Dealing with Father was where Vince had learned to get himself out of dangerous scrapes, which had served him well in the war and earned him the nickname Invincible Vince.
The other thing that struck Vince hard was realizing his father had gotten old. It’d been three years since Vince had seen Father, but the man had aged a decade. Or maybe Vince had been too sick to really see that the years were catching up to Father. Maybe this was why he’d increased the pressure on Vince to come into the business. Father’s hair was now heavily streaked with gray. He was bent over, moving slow, his hand trembling on the head of that wolf. He depended on his cane for balance as if the trip had almost done him in.
He’d been older than most fathers when Vince was born, near fifty, which made Father in his seventies now. Mother had been much younger than her husband, in her mid-twenties when Vince came along. Of course they were both getting older now.
But they’d always seemed ageless to him. His mother’s fragile blond beauty never changed. His father’s rigid spine never bent.
Father owned the biggest bank in Chicago and had his fingers in many other pies.
Stuck Together Page 5