Chase nodded, bid Arnie and Boyd Johnson goodbye and left. Lane stood up and shoved his hat on, eager to face the McKennas with the truth and hoping it was enough to convince them that they should give Ty to Rachel without a fight.
"Before we go out there, you and I have to have a little talk, Lane," Johnson told him. "Sit down." He turned to Wernermeyer. "Sheriff, why don't you see about getting a horse ready for Lane when we get through here."
"My horse is over at the livery," Lane told Arnie.
Wernermeyer was up and moving faster than Lane had ever seen him do. When they were alone together, Lane didn't have to wait long for the explosion he knew was coming. By the time Boyd started, his face was already red, going on purple. His thick white mustache and muttonchop sideburns stood out in pale relief.
"What in the hell were you thinking when you killed McKenna, boy?"
"Not much of anything, except savin' my ass and someone else's."
"You know what you put me through, what you put all of us through the past seventy-two hours? I had field operatives in New Orleans up to their asses in near-illegal searches trying to come up with something they could pin on McKenna."
"And you did."
"You're damn right we did. For some insane reason he kept some of the stolen money in their original bags, which were printed with the bank names. They were hidden in his suite, probably as trophies. He was so conceited he had a whole book of Bandit newspaper clippings, too. His bank deposits were as creative as his bookkeeping, but our auditors found out he was filtering stolen money into his business."
"I owe you my thanks, Boyd. I'd like to ride out to the McKennas' with you and Arnie. I've got some business of my own with them." Impatient to confront the McKennas and then escort Ty home, Lane couldn't wait to be up and moving. He had been confined inside these walls too long to waste another minute.
"Don't thank me yet. I haven't finished saying my piece." Boyd leaned back in the chair and studied Lane closely. "When I took you on, I knew it would be a gamble, but I saw something in you that was worth saving. When you finally settled down and passed all the instruction with flying colors, I felt like you might make a hell of an operative. You're smart, you have a lot of savvy. And you're still the fastest man with a gun I've seen in years."
Uncomfortable with praise, Lane tried to make light of Boyd's compliments. "You almost finished?"
"Yeah. I am." Boyd reached into his coat pocket, withdrew a plump envelope and handed it to Lane. "That's your back pay and the reward for bringing down the Gentleman Bandit."
Boyd took a deep breath. For the first time, Lane noticed the disappointment in the man's eyes. "The Agency has instructed me to tell you that you are no longer employed. As I said, you were one of the most promising young men I've trained in years, but you're still too unpredictable, Lane. Too impulsive, still too much the rogue agent. When push comes to shove, we can't rely on you to follow orders. That makes you too much of a liability."
Lane realized he should have seen the dismissal coming. Maybe if he had, he thought, he wouldn't be feeling the betrayal he did now. He pocketed the envelope without looking in it, determined not to let his expression show any of the disappointment he felt.
"You do understand?" Boyd asked.
"Too well." Lane said.
"I wish things could be different. Believe me, I argued your case, and argued hard, but the facts outweighed my assurances that you could change your ways." Boyd stood up and pulled on the hem of his coat, brushed his hand across the natty houndstooth fabric. "I want you to know that anything that's in my power to help you with, I'll be happy to. I only pray we're not tracking you down a few months from now. Take my advice and settle down, maybe on that ranch your uncle owns. Find yourself a good woman. Despite what happened, if you ever need references, you've got them."
Lane shifted his gaze to the window. Outside, the good folk of Last Chance were moving through their daily routine. Shopkeepers and farmers, ranchers and miners, tinkers, butchers and tailors, all content to labor in the small town as neighbors and friends who knew one another, raised their children side by side, gossiped and celebrated, lived and died in the tiny hamlet. They led respectable, ordered, predictable, settled lives.
As Lane stared out the window, he knew he didn't fit the pattern. He would never fit in.
A woman in a black gown passed by the window. Although she wasn't Rachel, the image brought her to mind. He had not lied when he said he loved her, but he would be a fool not to admit that he didn't know if he loved her enough to stay, to try to find a place among a populace that—even when told of his Pinkerton affiliation—would never see him as anything other than a Cassidy, a gunfighter, the man who ruined the life of Sheriff McKenna's widow. No matter what he did, they would never see him as good enough for Rachel.
"You're pretty quiet, Cassidy. If that dark look on your face is any indication of what's going on inside you right now, I have a feeling I shouldn't let you ride out to the McKenna spread with me."
"You don't have a choice," Lane said.
"I could have Wernermeyer lock you up for your own safety until we get back."
"Don't even think about it."
"Do I have your word nothing will happen?"
"I'll be on my best behavior." Lane allowed himself a half-smile as he picked up Arnie's key ring and opened the gun rack on the wall. His holster beckoned him. He pulled his gun belt out of the case, relocked it and tossed Arnie's keys on the desk.
Until he strapped it back on, he didn't realize how naked he had felt without the weapon. He bent to tie the rawhide thong that held the holster tight against his thigh. When he straightened, he finally let his gaze meet Boyd's. The elder man's expression was one of fatherly concern.
"Don't worry, Boyd. I've put the past behind me. I can't promise you where I'm going or what I'm going to do next, but you have my word I'm not going to end up in your criminal files."
Before he even realized that he was about to give in to his feelings, Lane reached out and embraced Boyd in a bear hug. The two men pounded each other between the shoulders and when they broke apart, there was an unusually bright sheen in Boyd Johnson's eyes. He cleared his throat and righted his bowler hat.
"'Cilia said to wish you well," he told Lane.
Lane smiled. Not all the tutoring he had received in Denver had been of an intellectual nature. Even now that Rachel occupied his heart, he often thought fondly of Priscilla Simmons and all she had done for him. If it hadn't been for the female undercover operative who was a good eleven years his senior, Lane knew, he would never have been able to put aside the nightmare of what Auggie Owens had done to him. Priscilla had taught him how to let himself surrender to a loving touch and how to return one. She taught him that relations between a man and a woman were as natural as breathing and should be undertaken with awe and reverence, not fear or loathing. She taught him everything about loving that he had tried to communicate to Rachel.
Lane grabbed the crown of his hat and adjusted it so that it shaded his eyes. "Thanks. Tell her if I ever get to Denver I'll look her up."
"I will."
Lane sighed. "We better get riding. Wernermeyer's had enough time to work up a good case of the runs by now just thinking about breaking the news about Robert to the McKennas."
Boyd chuckled as he held the door for Lane. "Let's go put an end to his misery."
Giving up all pretense of being busy, Rachel stood on the piazza and stared down Main Street, eagerly watching for some sign of Lane. Other than the ordinary traffic, all she saw were shimmering heat waves eddying up from the ground. Nervously smoothing her skirt, she wondered what else she could do to keep her mind off his return. She had plumped the pillows on the wicker chairs, adjusted the fringe on the hammock, watered the potted plants. Twice she had restyled her hair, finally choosing to leave it down, the way he liked it best. Three times she had asked Delphie if there was enough lemonade, if there were enough slices of cold beef for an ampl
e platter.
Behind her, the screen door banged shut. Delphie walked up beside Rachel, drying her hands on a dish towel. "Watched pots don't boil, remember?"
"Oh, Delphie. I'm so nervous. Chase came by over four hours ago. Lane should be back from the McKennas' by now." She turned to the woman who had been beside her through most of the trials and tribulations of the last few years and asked earnestly, "Do you think they'll let Ty come home now that they know the truth about Lane… and about Robert?"
"We can only hope," Delphie said, wiping her brow with the back of her wrist. "If there's a God in Heaven he won't let those folks take your boy." She looked around the airy, shaded piazza and then said, "Everything looks perfect. Why don't you come in and rest…"
"Impossible," Rachel said with a shake of her head.
"Then at least sit down and take advantage of the breeze out here. I'll bring you some lemonade and that new book you were reading before all this started."
"I couldn't keep my mind on it, Delphie."
"Then you can just sit here and hold it and pretend you're reading. It's better than wearing out your shoes and the porch at the same time." Muttering to herself, Delphie went back inside.
Rachel followed. It wouldn't hurt to check on the preparations one more time.
Lane tightened his hold on the boy riding in front of him, determined to deliver him safely into the arms of his mother. Ty was wearing Lane's hat to protect his fair skin from the relentless summer sun. The hat was four sizes too big, but Ty thought it the perfect fit.
"This hat's some pumpkins, Lane," Ty assured Lane. "Fits good, too."
"Don't think you're going to get to keep it," Lane warned. "It's just broke in good, so I'm not about to give it up."
"Maybe I can talk Ma into getting me one like it. You think she would?"
Ty swiveled around, attempting to look up at Lane, but the hat brim hit Lane's chest and flopped down over Ty's eyes. He shoved it up again and turned around to stare at the road that stretched before them.
"I think she might," Lane said, knowing that for a while Ty would most likely be able to have anything he wanted.
"I'm gonna tell her I want a black one, just like yours," Ty said.
Lane steeled his heart against the tight pressure he felt squeezing it as the boy chatted on.
"You're my best pal, Lane."
Lane didn't know how to respond. He had never been anyone's best pal.
Ty settled back against Lane's chest and fell silent, lulled by the horse's steady gait. Guiding the big Appaloosa carefully over the last few miles had given Lane ample time to think about the McKennas' reaction to the news that their son had been the Gentleman Bandit.
Stuart McKenna had sputtered with rage and denial until Boyd made it undeniably clear to him that Robert was guilty of the three-year streak of robberies that had plagued the railroads.
Loretta McKenna had been so appalled she had lapsed into silence. She went deathly pale and looked so ill that Lane was convinced silence was an entirely new experience for her. Presented with the warrant to search Robert's rooms, the McKennas couldn't help but agree. The room was torn apart before the search turned up the missing money, which Robert had hidden, with very little inspiration, inside his mattress. After removing the bottom drawer of his bureau, they found a black wig, and a mustache beneath it. Boyd carefully wrapped and labeled the items to present to the railroad company that had hired the Pinkertons.
Once the search was over, Lane told the McKennas he was taking Ty back to Rachel. It would be a while before he forgot the look of pure hatred he witnessed on Stuart McKenna's face.
"Nothing has changed, Cassidy," McKenna had announced, standing toe to toe with Lane. "We're still fighting Rachel for the boy."
"Everything has changed, McKenna. You don't have a leg to stand on. You accused Rachel of besmirching her name by befriending me, but it turns out I was a Pinkerton agent, and for once I'm the one on the right side of the law. On top of that, your son was guilty of some notorious crimes. What do you think that will do to your own good name? No judge in the world would take Ty away from Rachel and award him to you now."
The argument had raged on and on. Stuart cursed and demanded, demeaned, argued and insulted both Lane and Rachel, determined not to relinquish Ty. Finally, backed by Boyd, Lane won. But the cost had been high.
Now all that was left was for Lane to give the boy over to Rachel and leave town. Anxiety gnawed at his innards. He hoped to God he would know what to say when he saw her again.
When he reached the outskirts of Last Chance, he realized people on the street had begun to notice them. Ty sat up straighter and adjusted the big hat.
"Papa used to ride me through town like this," Ty reminded Lane.
"You told me that once." Rivulets of sweat ran down Lane's temple. A small group had gathered on the corner outside the saloon, word having reached them that Lane Cassidy was riding down Main with the McKenna boy in tow.
Lane kept his eyes straight ahead. Ty waved at the gawking crowd. The child's innocent salute forced many busybodies to drop their guard and wave or turn away in embarrassment. Lane spotted Erlene in satin and feathers at the back of the crowd and saw her return Ty's wave. The sympathetic look she gave Lane told him she was already well aware of his termination from the Agency.
Lane felt no relief when he rounded a bend in the road and Rachel's neat two-story house came into view. The house represented everything he would never be able to give her, the comfortable life and all she had worked to hold on to. He made himself keep his eyes on the big yellow house as he rode toward it.
"Here they come, Delphie!" Rachel ran to the screen door to shout the news, then ran back to the edge of the piazza, where she waited at the top of the steps and watched Lane ride up the street with Ty.
The sun beat down on Lane's hair, setting the blue-black highlights shimmering. As he drew near, she ran down the steps, past the neat row of roses on either side of the walk, to the picket gate and beyond. Standing in the street, she waited. When they rode up to the house, she raised her arms to Lane. He lifted the boy and passed him to Rachel, watched as she held Ty close and swayed from side to side. She stared up at Lane with so much love, thanksgiving and hero worship in her eyes, he knew that if he lived to be one hundred he would never forget the way she looked at him just then.
He dismounted, but didn't loop his reins around the hitching post. He witnessed her love for Ty in the way Rachel touched her son. It was almost as if she was reassuring herself that he had been returned safe and whole.
Had his own mother ever held him that way? If she had, the memory was lost to time.
Ty squirmed and finally wriggled his way out of Rachel's arms. She let go, knowing it was inevitable.
"You were squishin' me to death, Ma." Hastily, he scrubbed at his cheeks with the cuff of his sleeve and looked around to see if anyone was watching. "Golly, I've only been gone four days."
Rachel quickly glanced up at Lane, who nodded, acknowledging that Ty had been protected from reality and was blissfully unaware of the tug-of-war in which she and the McKennas had been involved.
Standing between the adults, Ty looked up at Lane. "Women are crazy, huh, Lane?"
"Sometimes." Lane reached down, reclaimed his hat and ruffled the boy's sweat-dampened hair. He shoved on his hat and clamped his jaw tight, working against the pain that was knocking around against his insides. He looked away from the pair of them and noticed Delphie on the porch, drying her eyes on her apron.
"Hey, Ty, I bet Delphie has some of those cookies you like all ready for you. Why don't you go in and wait for your mama?"
Ty started through the gate, and then balked. "You comin' in, Lane?"
"We'll see."
"When Ma says that it means no—"
"I know," Lane said. "You told me."
"So, you comin' in?"
"Get." Lane had a hard time forcing the word out past the lump in his throat.
Something in Lane's voice startled Rachel, and for the first time since he'd ridden up, she studied him closely. His face was streaked with dust and sweat. He had picked up more color riding without his hat—his cheeks were stained, his neck was bright red. But it wasn't his sunburn that frightened her. It was the shuttered, emotionless expression in his cold, black eyes that seared her to her very soul. She had seen that look years ago, the first day Chase had dropped him off at the schoolhouse.
Anxiety was torturing her. "You aren't staying."
She saw him swallow and look away.
"Are Chase and Eva here?" he asked.
"No. They said to tell you that you're welcome to stay out at the ranch."
"Tell them I said good-bye next time you see them."
"You're leaving." Despite the heat, she went cold.
"I told you when this all started that I couldn't make you any promises."
She felt her heart rip itself in half. The world began to tilt. She reached out for the picket gate for support.
"I can't stay here, Rachel. You know that. You know I never intended to stay."
She knew if she stood there forever, she would never be able to make his words go away. Besides, he was right. Long before he'd told her that he loved her, he had told her he would leave someday. But it was far too soon.
And it was far too late to salvage her heart.
He stared down at the reins in his hands. "I've got other cases to solve. Boyd's sending me to the Southwest on a big case."
"No promises." She didn't realize she had spoken aloud until she saw him flinch.
"That's right. No promises."
She felt all the color drain from her face. A chill rippled through her. He was leaving, riding out of her life again and taking back the brief, shining glimpse of love he had dared to show her.
Taking her heart.
She felt bruised, battered. Determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much she hurt, she said, "I'm happy everything turned out so well for you, Lane, and I'll always be grateful to you for bringing Ty back home."
Last Chance Page 26