West of Heaven

by Victoria Bylin

  “Then why—”

  “Mrs. Wingate means well, but she’s a gossip. The whole town will talk. If LeFarge shows up and hears about the baby, God knows what he’ll do. The man’s hell-bent on revenge.”

  Air whooshed from her lungs. “I see.”

  As her shoulders sagged, he eased her into his arms. She pressed her face against his chest and he felt her blood rising to her cheeks. A tremor passed through her body and her breathing warmed his neck. A breeze stirred through the window, drawing their gazes in unison to the fluttering curtain. A cloud covered the sun, and gray shadows fell across the mountains between Midas and their home. Tomorrow they would be alone on the trail to the ranch.

  Ethan pondered the hellish possibilities. An ambush. A sniping. LeFarge lying in wait at the cabin. Protecting Jayne and their child meant seeing evil everywhere. It was the coldest feeling he had ever known. Only the heat of his wife’s body kept his hope alive. “I have to keep you safe,” he said.

  As she curled her hand against his chest, she raised her chin. “I want you to teach me how to shoot.”

  “I will, but that’s not enough.” He ran his hands up her arms and cupped her face between his palms. “I won’t leave you alone for a minute. We can’t risk it.”

  “Nothing is going to happen,” she said fiercely. “I won’t let it.”

  But she didn’t have that power. People died. And he knew from experience that tears of regret tasted bitter, not sweet.

  The clouds shifted in the late-afternoon sky, filling the window with orange light. The sudden glow threw shadows across the bed and against the wall. The glare reflected on Jayne’s upturned face, making her both fiery and fragile. Heat surged through Ethan’s veins. With a moan, he drew his wife into his arms and closed his mind to everything but her shape, her scent. Trembling, she clasped her hands around his neck. He kissed her then, with a mix of torment and faith, fear and affirmation.

  They fell to the bed in a tangle of arms and legs. In seconds her dress was off, her underthings gone, his pants dangling from one ankle and his shirt open and loose. With a fire that matched the setting sun, he made love to her, losing himself in the melting heat of her body.

  She climaxed quickly, but he held back. He wanted the moment to last and last. He wanted to love her like this forever, but when she wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed the center of his chest, he lost control.

  As fast as their lovemaking had started, it was over, and he was afraid again.

  Timonius LeFarge cursed himself for a fool.

  His train ticket had been good through Santa Fe, and that’s where he was now, sitting in a saloon wishing he had never wagered his entire stake on a full house with nines high. He was also wondering how much of his money Jayne Dawson had kept for herself.

  He had left Los Angeles three weeks ago. With the generous proceeds of his bank robbery, he could have opened that saloon in Denver, but instead he’d blown almost every dollar on women, whiskey and bad poker hands. Plus he was feeling as sick as a rabid dog. His head was full of snot, his lungs hurt and flashes of fever made him sweat through his clothes.

  Dammit to hell. He needed another stake, and the Dawson woman had it. Plus he owed her a night of punishment for lying to him. Tipping back the dregs in his whiskey glass, Timonius decided to pay a visit to the Trents. He’d hold a gun to the woman’s head, rape her a few times, and either she or the rancher would hand over the cash.

  He left two bits on the bar and sauntered out the door in search of a cheap hotel. As he passed the sheriff’s office, he saw five Wanted posters in the window, including a new one bearing his own likeness. The printing said he was wanted for bank robbery, murder and arson. The last crime made him scowl. He’d tipped over the lantern and burned down the barn out of sheer carelessness and it had cost him dearly.

  Timonius hated the thought of bouncing in the saddle all the way to the Trent ranch, but the Wanted poster increased the risk that he’d be recognized. Instead of taking the train, he’d have to steal a horse, preferably one with a good saddle and a warm bedroll.

  A thick cough rumbled in his chest. A few more days and he’d have money again. All he had to do was find Jayne Dawson and make her suffer enough to tell him what he wanted to hear.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “N o, Ethan. I won’t do it. I can’t stand being inside all day. I know you’re worried, but I want to hoe the garden myself.”

  They had just finished breakfast and were sitting at the table. Jayne was determined to spend the day outdoors, but her husband had other ideas. He was sitting across from her, squeezing his coffee cup. “It’s too risky for you to just walk around,” he answered. “That bastard could be watching us right now.”

  “Or he could be in Mexico.”

  Ethan shook his head. “We don’t know where he is. I have to split wood for a second corral this morning. Promise me you’ll stay inside.”

  They’d had the same conversation every day for a week.

  I think I’ll walk down to the stream.

  No, Jayne. It’s not safe…

  It’s a beautiful day. I’ll do the wash.

  Stay inside and rest. I’ll help you tomorrow…

  At first she had complied with his wishes, but three full weeks had passed since they had received any news about LeFarge. The outlaw wasn’t coming back. She was sure of it. Looking at her husband scowling across the table, she put iron in her voice. “Ethan, it’s time to get back to normal. I know you’re worried, but I can’t stand being cooped up like this.”

  He shook his head. “Do it as a favor to me. Stay inside if I’m not in sight. We can’t take chances. Not yet.”

  “Then when?”

  “After LeFarge is in jail or swinging from a rope.”

  Jayne bit her tongue to keep from quarreling. Ethan had turned into her jailer, and yet how could she argue with him? He was a bundle of nerves. He didn’t sleep more than an hour at a time, and some nights he didn’t sleep at all. Even after making love, he stayed rigid and awake at her side. More than once, she had woken up alone and seen him standing guard at the window with his Winchester in hand.

  Jayne heaved a sigh. “All right. I’ll stay in the cabin. For today.”

  Ethan carried his half-eaten breakfast to the counter, retrieved a pistol from the nightstand and set it on the table. “Do you remember what to do?”

  “Of course.” He’d hammered the signal into her during their shooting lessons. “If I need you, I fire one shot.”

  “That’s right.”

  She grimaced at the sight of the gun. She needed both hands to hold it steady, and even then she couldn’t aim it properly.

  “Don’t hesitate,” Ethan said for the hundredth time. “If you see anything suspicious, shoot and I’ll come running.”

  She didn’t doubt it for a minute. With the Winchester tight in his hand, he bent down, kissed her cheek and then pulled the door shut behind him.

  Depressed by the sudden gloom, she rose from the chair and stepped to the window where dust mites swirled in a ray of sunshine. She hated feeling like a bug trapped in a jar. She had told Ethan she would stay inside, but the porch was as much a part of the cabin as the kitchen. What difference could a few feet make? Besides, she liked having the trail in sight. If trouble was headed her way, she wanted to see it coming.

  Feeling better, Jayne positioned the rocking chair on the sunny side of the porch and fetched her sewing. Sitting with the basket at her feet, she took pleasure in threading the needle and sliding it through the yellow flannel she had cut into baby gowns. The familiar motion caused her shoulders to relax and she yawned in the pleasant warmth of the sun.

  As the tension of the morning drained from her body, she fell sound asleep.

  An irritated huff jarred her awake. Startled, she shot to her feet and came face to face with her furious husband. “I guess I dozed off,” she said.

  Ethan’s eyes churned like a muddy flood. “You said you’
d stay inside. I could have been LeFarge. It could have been too late.”

  The panic in his voice nearly broke her heart, but she’d had enough of his worry. The time had come to face facts. “Ethan,” she said firmly, “I’m tired of being afraid. I’ve never hidden from trouble in my life, and I won’t start now.”

  “But we don’t have a choice, not until LeFarge is out of our lives.”

  “Of course there’s a choice.”

  “Jayne, listen—”

  “No! You listen!” Her voice rose to a shout. “If I want to go for a walk, I’m going to do it. If I want more water from the well, I’m going to pump it myself. I won’t let that man ruin our happiness.”

  Ethan’s brows pulled together in irritation. “You can’t wish away the truth. He’s a real threat.”

  “But I can’t live like a prisoner!” She loathed herself for being near tears, but she was close to hating her husband for his high-handed ways.

  His gaze clung to her face. “I can’t risk losing you. If I have to stay awake every minute of every day to protect you and the baby, I’ll do it.”

  A horse whinnied in the forest. Ethan jumped as if a gun had gone off.

  “It’s probably the Reverend,” she said.

  “You don’t know that,” he snapped. Shielding her with his body, he propelled her through the door. “Get inside and close the curtains.”

  She wanted to argue with him, but this wasn’t the time. Instead she unhooked the red curtains she had made last week. They fluttered into place, changing the gray gloom into crimson shadows. Ethan peered through the crack between the curtain and the glass with the Winchester tight in his hand.

  “Can you see anything?” she asked.

  “Not yet.”

  She relaxed when she heard the rattle of a wagon and the clop of hooves entering the yard. LeFarge would have snuck up on horseback. When the rattling stopped, Ethan poked the rifle barrel out the door. “Hold it right there!”

  Jayne took his place at the window and peeked outside. The driver was a lanky adolescent with a bowl-shaped haircut and a pair of skinny arms that he had raised over his head. “I’m just delivering the lumber for the barn, sir.”

  When her husband continued to aim the rifle at the youth, Jayne wondered if he had lost his mind.

  “It’s okay,” she shouted to the boy. Coming up behind Ethan, she pressed down on the gun barrel, aiming it safely at the ground. He hung his head and let out his breath.

  The boy’s face had turned as white as her cotton drawers. As he lowered his arms, he glanced nervously at Ethan and then spoke to her. “I’m not supposed to say anything, ma’am. It was going to be a surprise, but maybe you should know that more folks are coming.”

  “Who?” Ethan demanded.

  “The Reverend and some families from church. They’re coming to build your barn.”

  Ethan nearly dropped to his knees with gratitude.

  People were coming to help him. For a few hours he could drop his guard, maybe even laugh and listen to a few jokes, perhaps doze for a bit after the noon meal. Even if LeFarge was watching, a crowd of men with ringing hammers would keep the outlaw at bay, at least for today.

  God knew he needed some relief. He hadn’t felt this bad since Laura and the children died. And just like then, he couldn’t make the feelings go away. For Jayne’s sake, he had tried to stuff down the fear, but he couldn’t escape it. He would never forgive himself if LeFarge harmed her or their baby in any way.

  The boy’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Where do you want the lumber, sir?”

  “Over by the meadow,” Ethan answered. “You’ll see the burn mark.”

  As the youth steered across the yard, Ethan looked down the trail. A second wagon crested the hill, and then another came along. Altogether he counted five wagons, each one carrying a mix of men, women and children. Three of the wagons were loaded with lumber. Another one held a makeshift chicken coop and a passel of clucking hens. Behind a buckboard, he spied a fat milk cow.

  Lastly, he saw John Leaf on horseback, bringing up the rear. He was wearing work clothes, a worn hat and a smile that filled Ethan with pure relief. He owed the man more thanks than he could give. For the moment they were safe. Ethan slipped his arm around Jayne’s shoulders and smiled at her. “It looks like we’ve got company.”

  She gave his waist a happy squeeze. “I better get to work. These people are going to be hungry.”

  He watched as she went inside and opened the curtains wide. As their eyes met through the sunlit glass, his wife smiled at him for the first time in a week.

  The crowd unloaded the wagons in minutes. As the men set up the plank tables they had brought with them, the women marched into the kitchen with bowls and serving spoons in hand. Jayne scratched every family into her memory.

  Andrew and Margaret Ripley had two little boys.

  Elliot and Gertie Moorehead came with one set of twins and more kids than Jayne could count.

  Frank and Susanna Hyatt had two daughters and a baby on the way.

  Isaac Lindstrom, a widower, rode silently with his son, Howdy.

  Priscilla and Luther Chandler were the parents of two young boys and an eighteen-year-old daughter. Amy was engaged to be married, and the family was from Kentucky.

  Dishes clattered as the women set plates of food in the kitchen, and the pump handle squeaked endlessly as two young boys filled buckets for the thirsty men working on the barn. The older boys helped fetch tools and nails, while the older girls watched over the younger children.

  With laughter rippling through the air, Gertie Moorehead smiled at Jayne while she unwrapped a plate of apple dumplings. “Mrs. Wingate tells me you’re expecting,” she said.

  “Yes, I am,” Jayne replied shyly.

  “I’ll never forget what carrying Ben was like,” Gertie added. “I thought I was going to pop before he was born.”

  “That’s not how it was with my Cindy,” said Susanna Hyatt. “She came three weeks early and I’ve been trying to catch up with her ever since.”

  Gertie gave a friendly harrumph. “If you think Cindy’s a handful, you should try chasing twins.”

  As the women worked, stories rolled from their lips. Jayne’s questions about birth and babies received not one answer, but three or four. When her time came, she’d have plenty of help.

  Wanting to share her happiness with Ethan, she excused herself from the kitchen and strolled to the barn. With her hands in her apron pockets, she watched as the men hoisted the fourth side of the frame and hammered it into place. Ethan climbed up the scaffolding and began hammering. Someone told a joke and her heart nearly burst with joy when her husband laughed and told one himself.

  With hammers ringing in different rhythms, she watched as he reached into a bucket for a nail. When her white apron caught his eye, he smiled at her with a promise for the night to come. She wanted the moment to last forever, but one of the older girls broke the spell by banging on a frying pan with a spoon.

  “Supper’s ready,” she called.

  “Let’s eat,” shouted Reverend Leaf.

  The men came down in a wave, washed up at the well, then bowed their heads for the quickest grace Jayne had ever heard from a preacher. Amid jokes and laughter, they feasted on the meal. The children ate next, and then the women.

  When there wasn’t a speck of food left, the ladies washed the dishes, spread blankets in the sun and talked about their lives. From babies they moved on to older children and finally to Amy Chandler’s wedding.

  “She has her heart set on a wedding dress like mine,” said Priscilla. “But the only dressmaker in Midas doesn’t have time for us, and the wedding is in August.”

  “Maybe I can help,” Jayne said eagerly. “I was a dressmaker in Lexington.”

  “That’s where I grew up,” said Priscilla. “Where was your shop?”

  “On Beaumont Street. My mother—”

  “Oh, my goodness! You’re Louisa McKinney’s daugh
ter. I should have recognized you. You have your mother’s hair and her fine features.” The older woman’s eyes widened with admiration. “She made my wedding dress almost twenty years ago. I still have it, but it doesn’t fit Amy.”

  “I’m sure I could make one just like it.”

  “She’d be thrilled,” Priscilla said. “She loves that dress, but as you can see, I’m not much bigger than a bug and she takes after her father.”

  Jayne had already noticed that Amy was six inches taller than her mother and as big-boned as her father. “I’m sure I can make something that she’d like. I just need to see the dress and take her measurements.”

  Priscilla sighed. “I don’t know when we can come back. Luther’s due to ride out, and I don’t dare leave the boys alone all day. Is next week too late to start? Or maybe we should just bring the boys with us.”

  The Chandler boys were bona fide terrors. They had been bickering all day, and Jayne didn’t think they’d do well at a dress-fitting. It sounded far easier for her to ride to the Chandler place. Besides, this was the excuse she needed to take a day away from the ranch.

  “It will be easier if I come to you.” Ethan might not like the idea, but he would have to understand. “I can ride out tomorrow if you’d like.”

  Priscilla smiled with excitement. “That would be wonderful!”

  “No, Jayne. Absolutely not!”

  “But this is important to me. I’m making friends, and I can help someone.”

  Still warm from their lovemaking, she had been curled against her husband’s side when she told him about Priscilla Chandler’s wedding dress. Mistakenly, she had thought that spending the day among men would put him in a better frame of mind.

  “Do you know what you’re asking?” he said.

  “I know you’ll be worried, but I want to go.” She laid her cheek against his bare shoulder. “We both talked to John yesterday. Handley says no one has reported seeing LeFarge since he left Los Angeles, and even Chief Roberts thinks he went to Mexico.”