The Redemption of Jefferson Cade

by BJ James

  While the men had released the tethered horses, Marta and Marissa had cleared the area. Leaving no trace of the weeks she'd spent in the tumbled ruins that were once a home.

  The helicopter hovered and waited. Close enough that Jefferson could see Rick Cahill was at the controls, as he'd expected. Yancey Hamilton and Ethan Garrett were stand­ing guard, armed and ready. A testimony of Simon's grave concern.

  The touchdown was to be brief. Only long enough to take on passengers and gear. With a hand from Yancey, Marissa, Alejandro and Marta were boarded, while Ethan took the saddles and other paraphernalia. Next was Juan, and finally Jefferson.

  "Ready?" Rick called above revving engines.

  Giving a thumbs-up, Jefferson agreed. "Take her up."

  Flashing a smile, Rick complied. As the nearly fully loaded chopper lifted off, the windstorm of the blades swept the plain clean of any footprint or proof that either man or woman or child had ever been there.

  Jefferson looked across the craft at Juan and Marta, and Alejandro. A silent child, as brave as his parents.

  As he brushed a hand over dry, burning eyes, the last person he saw was Marissa. With a tired sigh, he smiled.

  If ever you need me...

  A promise kept.

  Three

  Debriefing.

  A strange word for a peaceful valley. But no more strange than the way this began. No more strange than now.

  After another journey, a long, convoluted flight from the Argentine plain, and a restless night spent in Simon McKinzie's retreat, Jefferson stood at the edge of a jagged precipice beneath a gnarled evergreen. The valley below was calm, with no hint of troubles and danger that had been dealt with, or the threat of more to come. For hours he had studied this bastion. Because of what he'd seen, he felt no concern as Marissa walked the lakeshore. Or that Alejandro played with the youngest of the Canfield boys and their half-grown Doberman pups under the watchful eye of Raven Canfield. Simon's beloved goddaughter, mother of the Canfield children.

  Jefferson's first time in the valley had been too short, too intense to allow time for more than business. He'd been too intent on the letter, and the message encoded within the newspaper article, to be observant of more than obvious facets of the land. He could think of little beyond the simplistic marking of partial words. Marks readily apparent, but only to one keenly interested in every aspect of the message. Only to one who understood the handwritten recollection of a promise, and realized the mistake in the news report. One who knew there must be more.

  In retrospect and better informed, Jefferson recognized the frightening risk the letter represented. He understood the gamble that in the right hands the message would be discovered. In the wrong, tossed away in disinterest. A des­perate gamble. Thank God, one that had worked in all its simplicity.

  Chance. Much had been based on that happenstance and the thread of good fortune woven into tragedy. Chance, good fortune, good friends. But it wasn't over yet. Jefferson knew it would never be as long as Menendez and his min­ions walked the earth. Ruthless, corrupt, worshiping power and wealth.

  Had Marissa known how prophetic her words were when she spoke of looking over her shoulder? he wondered in one moment. The next, he realized that she knew better than anyone. In a rush of anger for all she'd lost and en­dured, there was passion. The thrill of awareness that began like a whisper, touching his heart, his mind, his body. Until every sense was held in thrall, remembering a look, a smile, the heat of her hand in his. Until his arms ached to hold her, and his mouth hungered for her kiss. Until he wanted to lay the world at her feet, a better, safer place.

  For want of a better world, he would make their part of it the best he could. If she must look over her shoulder... "I'll be looking, too," he promised. "For as long as it takes."

  As he spoke, his attention moved over the valley. The safest of places with a gathering of men who risked their lives for Marissa and her friends. Who would again, if they must.

  This, he'd discovered, was the other side of the men he knew. Men with qualities and strengths Simon recognized and drew to him. As the first McKinzies recognized the strengths of the valley and made it their home. A land nearly as impregnable as it was beautiful. A haven for Simon. With David Canfield, the first recruit of The Black Watch, to guard it in his absence.

  "Canfield." Jefferson considered the quiet, rugged man. Retired with honor and always the standard for all who followed in his footsteps. Big footsteps but, he'd discov­ered, with big men filling them. Thoughts of Canfield led naturally to Raven. His lovely, dark-haired wife, whose heart was as big as any footstep. A heart that embraced Marissa, the Elias, and especially Alejandro, welcoming them into her home.

  Jefferson smiled as he thought of life spent in the McKinzies's valley. For with Simon, he was learning the unexpected was the norm. But if the gallant lady who had lived most of her life with the McKinzies was perturbed by helicopters or strange men and women arriving at her door­step, it hadn't shown by so much as a flutter of her long, dark lashes.

  Shortly, the helicopter should return with the last mem­ber of The Watch Simon had summoned. Then they would get on with the rest of their plans, and their lives. Until then, Jefferson worked off the restlessness that kept him from sleeping, eating and being congenial company, by ex­ploring the valley. And, he admitted paying homage to truth, guarding Marissa.

  What are you thinking?" he wondered from his distant watchtower as she walked along the shore lost in another world. Once she would have reveled in the scent of Raven's wildflower garden. Now she passed it by without a glance.

  An eagle's cry echoed above the valley. In another time she would have searched the sky for a glimpse of it. Now she didn't seem to hear.

  He'd expected a tumult of emotions now that her circumstances had changed. Grief and, in part, the guilt Juan had addressed. But this emotion was more powerful and much deeper. Given this silent withdrawal, it was some-thing she plainly intended to deal with alone. Just as plainly, whatever it was that weighed so heavily on her mind and her heart, it was consuming her.

  "What is it, Marissa? What hurts you so, and how can I help?" Even as his own words fell into the silence hov­ering far above the valley floor, he knew there was little he could do. Little but deny his desire, forget the ache in his heart and body, and watch from afar. As now, he would watch, he would keep her safe, he would wait. Then, one day—if that one day could ever come—he would speak to her with his heart, not his voice.

  A trill of laughter caught by a breeze drew his attention to the boys. The Canfield boy, whose name was Dare, was several years older than Alejandro, but in their game and on this clear, sunny day, age didn't seem to matter. On the fading note of laughter, Jefferson heard the sound he was expecting. A sound that had become more than familiar in a matter of days.

  Time to go. Time to weigh issues and make decisions. Another skilled and unique agent had arrived. It was Yan-cey who had flown the chopper out of the valley before dawn. With instincts and skill rivaling Rick Cahill.

  Jefferson wasn't surprised by this newly revealed accom­plishment of a lifelong friend from Belle Terre. He'd de­cided, short of treason and conduct unbecoming a gentle­man, nothing of Simon McKinzie or his Black Watch would surprise him.

  Now, as he left the precipice and moved down the moun­tain, he wondered who would come and go in Simon's scheme of operations. His part as initial contact done, Jer­icho had returned to his duties as sheriff of Belle Terre. The new man, or woman, would take Simon's plan to the next step. Rather than speculate who that person might be, Jefferson wondered if Yancey's flight was as convoluted as his had been with Rick.

  "Bet on it, Cade. With safety and stealth the order of the day, how else would the leader of The Watch have it?" Though he made the trip down at a rapid pace, by the time he reached the valley floor, Yancey Hamilton had set the chopper down and cut the engine. It was Billy Black-hawk, who unfolded his massive body from the "duck and run" beyond spinnin
g blades.

  There was no time for surprise as Blackhawk's hand en­veloped his. "Jeff." Half Apache and a match for Jericho in size, the sheriff of Silverton said sincerely, "Glad you made it."

  "You, too," Jefferson drawled in return. "And just when I thought I couldn't be surprised." Blackhawk grinned. "Just wait, there will be more." "Yep." Yancey flung an arm around Jefferson's shoul-der. "Never doubt it. Simon's full of tricks."

  Poker-faced, Jefferson muttered, "Not just Simon."

  By unspoken consensus, along with Juan and Marta, the men who regathered in Simon's office left the two seats closest to Simon's desk for Marissa and Jefferson. As he held her chair, she looked only at his hands, never at his face. Certainly never his eyes. As she caught her lower lip briefly between her teeth in a familiar gesture he hadn't seen in so long, he feared she would flee. Not from the office, not from the gathering, but from him. Instead, after a tense interval, she took the seat he offered with a husky "Thank you, Jefferson."

  While Jefferson took his seat beside and a bit in back of Marissa, Simon spoke. "Ladies." As he turned to Marissa then Marta, eyes that could freeze an antagonist with a single glance, were warm, even smiling. ‘‘I commend you.

  "And you, gentlemen." Not so warm, not so smiling, he spoke to his chosen. And to Jefferson and Juan. "From the beginning you've made wise, intuitive choices." A massive hand lifted, blunt-tipped fingers splayed. "Beginning with Senor Elia's recognition that Seiiora Rei should be shielded from public notice until the truth of the crash was deter-mined."

  One finger folded into Simon's palm.

  "Then Senora Rei, or if I may, Marissa?" Simon paused, all eyes turned to her. Including Jefferson's, and he was struck by her regal posture, the utter control with which she faced Simon. A veneer that had slipped on the plain, firmly in place again.

  As she neither blushed, nor faltered, but nodded with a subtle smile, Jefferson realized Marissa Rei was two women in one. The courageous woman who refused to leave her friends to face the unknown in her stead. And, as now, the woman who had learned to hide her emotions— whether pain, grief, or concern—with cool control and un­compromising grace.

  "Marissa, then," Simon agreed and returned to his habitual enumeration with his hand still raised. "Second was Marissa's plan to have her messages to Jefferson pass through the hands of several trusted college friends."

  A second finger folded into a broad palm, but Jefferson didn't notice. His attention was riveted on Marissa. A Ma­rissa he was seeing for the first time. Understanding for the first time. Yet one who had been there all the while.

  She was the woman of strength who was part of the young daredevil—a girl sent away from her own country, who made the new country home. The woman of courage who was part of the horsewoman who challenged any horse however frenzied and tamed it. She was the compassionate woman who was part of the huntress who was never ashamed of a heart too tender to harm any creature. She was the devoted woman in the daughter who had sacrificed, and would sacrifice, her own life and love for family and friends.

  She was the daredevil, the horsewoman, the huntress, the daughter. And the woman they had made of her had been his friend.

  Just once, she'd been his lover. With his brilliant gaze never leaving her, not caring who might see and read what was in his face, he vowed she would be again.

  "That's the lot." Simon finished his enumerated praise with the last point made, the last finger fisted. A known gesture to longtime associates. It would become familiar to the rest. "Which brings us to the present and where we go from here.

  "Marissa, Juan, Marta, it's most important you stay hid­den for a while. How long, I can't say. But we need time to prove our suspicions and to corner Menendez. Until we do..."

  Marissa clasped her hands tightly in her lap. "I under­stand. I'm sure we all do."

  "Belle Terre, or the horse farms and plantations nearby are out of the question. You could be recognized. Unless there's another suggestion, I'm offering my home here." With a look at David Canfield, who stood by the door, Simon continued, "David will be here to serve as your bodyguard, along with Juan. More guards will be posted at points along the route into the—

  "Jefferson," Simon interrupted himself. "You have a problem with this? I assume that's what the scowl means."

  "No problem. Just that this isn't what I expected. I thought...I assumed Marissa would go to the Broken Spur with me. It's isolated, but surrounded by land that's pa­trolled. No one in the country would know her. Recognition would be a long shot."

  "Good!" Simon exclaimed. "I hoped you would vol­unteer. In fact, it was for that reason I asked Billy to join us. Now the choice is up to Marissa and to Juan and Marta. But before you make your decision, I'll let Billy tell you what protections he can offer and will have in place."

  Billy Blackhawk walked to a bare wall. Pulling down a map from a cornice, he began to explain. "Isolation and anonymity. This valley and the canyon offer both. The dif­ference is space and manpower. Because Sandy Gannon keeps a close eye on Jake Benedict's empire, riders for the brand patrol this area constantly. An added man or two here, here, here—'' a tanned finger tapped strategic corners of the map "—shouldn't cause suspicion.

  "Added to that, Jake just acquired a small operation here." Another tap on the map, then with a slow sweep of his arm, Billy indicated a straight line intersecting the bor­ders of both a thin strip of existing Benedict land, and the Broken Spur. "As the crow flies, the ride would be no more than an hour at an easy pace. Sandy has sent out word that he's looking for a tenant who knows cattle and horses and can tend the ranch and the land."

  Billy looked then at Juan and Marta. "I've spoken to Sandy, the job's yours, Elia, if you want it." Big hands, strong and graceful at once, made a gesture of finality. "That's it. All that's left is the decision."

  In the hours and days since Jefferson had come for her as he promised, Marissa had retreated within herself, deal­ing with a storm of grief and guilt, and unexpected emo­tions. She hadn't thought beyond each minute. She hadn't considered that life couldn't go on exactly as it was. "It didn't occur to me, I didn't think—" Breaking off, she shook her head, shedding her lethargy. "In different cir­cumstances I would prefer the valley. But that could bring danger to Raven's children. To be honest, I don't consider the Broken Spur a suitable choice either. But if there's no­where else then..."

  Lifting a weary shoulder, she said hoarsely, "I'm sorry, I'm not making sense. I think I must defer to those of you with better knowledge of the situation."

  "Jefferson?" Simon laid the decision on the table. Marissa had made it clear she didn't want the Broken Spur. But Jefferson had no intention of letting a third option crop up. "I'm scheduled to manage the ranch for at least another year. It's a two-man operation, with one man in residence, I would appreciate having an expert horse trainer like Marissa on the premises."

  "In other words, you're offering the pretty lady a job," Yancey drawled in his best Southern accent.

  "Why not?" Jefferson grinned. "She's a good hand." Marissa looked from Jefferson to the Elias. "Juan?" Juan, in turn, looked at his wife, who nodded. Then his solemn gaze returned to Marissa. "We would choose the ranch Senor Gannon offered. Alejandro would like it if you

  were close."

  Marissa drew a long, considering breath, though there was nothing to consider. This was an opportunity such as Juan never could have expected in his own country. But if she didn't go to the Broken Spur, he wouldn't take it. She couldn't let a sudden deluge of grief and guilt deny these good people who had denied her nothing. Not even their lives.

  "Then it's settled," she said in a voice that hid her fears for herself and for Jefferson in the days to come. "We go to the Broken Spur, and to Jake Benedict's new land."

  * * *

  The meeting dispersed shortly after Marissa's decision. Simon had made it clear he applauded her choice. And for the record, Yancey, a very silent Ethan, and Rick agreed. Billy Blackhawk had been c
lear on his choice from the first.

  The three who had been most actively and dangerously involved stood in a group on the porch. They each turned from the view of the lake at moonrise as Marissa ap­proached them. "Gentlemen." Her greeting was quiet. As 'each turned to her, with a gesture, a smile, or a nod, she addressed them separately. "Rick, Ethan, and Yancey, I can't begin to thank you for what you've done and what you've risked for my friends and for me."

  When they would have protested, claiming it as all in a day's work, a day when nothing really unfortunate hap­pened, she would have none of it. "The risk was there, a risk that could have meant your life, yet you took it will­ingly for people who were little more than strangers."

  "Not quite, sweet Merrie," Yancey reminded her. "If I hadn't helped, half of Belle Terre and all the Cade brothers would have lifted my scalp. If they found it out."

  An in-law of the Cades, of sorts, by way of his sister's marriage into the family, Ethan chuckled. "Yancey has that right. Rick isn't that familiar with Belle Terre or he would understand, as I came to understand in a short time, that the male half of the population of that most illustrious Southern city was head over boot heels in love with Merrie Alexandre. If we'd let anything happen to you, we would have that posse to face."

  "I second that," Jefferson said from the shadows beyond the small circle of uniquely trained and accomplished men. Head over boot heels was an apt description of himself as well. And the years of separation hadn't changed what he felt.

  Marissa turned to him, her expression calm, but with something unfathomable in her eyes. "Jefferson, I didn't see you there." She was flustered, unsettled. But, as quickly, she regained the monumental poise he'd just wit­nessed in the meeting. "I should be thanking you as much as these gentlemen. Perhaps more, for setting in motion the chain of events that brought Juan, Marta, and Alejandro to safety with me."

  "Would you have me do otherwise, Marissa?" Jefferson asked, speaking as calmly and as quietly as she had spoken. But any who knew him would have heard the thread of tension, the taunting, questioning satire. "When you sent the letter, did you for one minute think I could not do what