The Redemption of Jefferson Cade

by BJ James

  Marta who had spoken little throughout the day, spoke again. "What mischance caused Menendez to seek us out and take Alejandro?" Once he was returned to her, she'd been content to hold the boy, to whisper to him as he clung to her. Now, she held him closer. "How could this place that seemed so safe be discovered so easily?"

  "I don't know, Marta. We may never know," Valentina answered. "But be assured finding out will be our first priority."

  Jefferson couldn't listen to any more. He couldn't stay closed in any longer. Snatching his hat from a hook by the door, he faced them. ‘‘Juan, Marta, I'm sorry this happened to Alejandro. I'm glad he's all right. But if you will excuse me, I need to see to the horses."

  Turning, he opened the door. When Satan stood, obvi­ously torn between his master and Marissa, Jefferson mut­tered, "Stay."

  Stalking grimly away to the barn, he left a startled silence behind him.

  He was working in the barn, finishing the last of a num­ber of unnecessary, time-consuming, grueling chores when he felt her hand on his shoulder. Straightening from his task, his body taut, he tilted his head to stare at the ceiling and the loft. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths as he heard Marissa call his name.

  "Jefferson? Are you all right?" Worry trembled in her voice. "You left so abruptly I was concerned."

  "That Menendez's men had injured me?" He wondered how she could worry about him when she had been the decoy. The target of one of Menendez's men in Jefferson Cade's wavering moment.

  "Of course I worried," she admitted.

  He faced her, his expression bleak as she stepped back. "I'm not hiding any hurt. I wasn't injured." He opened his left hand, revealing a nearly healed cut. "Not even this."

  "Then what's wrong?" To assure herself he wasn't mak­ing light of some difficulty, she let her gaze rove over him and found only the haunted sadness she'd seen so many times before.

  Though he had been working when she entered the barn with Satan at her heels, she recognized it as busy work for a troubled mind. The horses had long since been tended. Because his hair was still damp and he'd changed into the extra set of clothing he kept in the tack room, she knew he'd recently bathed in the stream.

  Yet his mood hadn't changed. Jefferson was spoiling for a fight with someone. And that someone seemed to be him­self.

  "Juan and Marta have taken Alejandro home." She spoke casually, as if the Elias had only come for a visit. "Valentina took them in the truck. Then she'll touch base with Billy. Once this last is settled, she, Rick, and Ethan will be leaving."

  He listened, as he watched her. She wore the pleated dress and her hair lay in damp disarray around her shoul­ders. The shampoo and soap Raven Canfield made of wild-flowers rose from it in an intoxicating scent that made him want to kiss her. To learn for himself if the taste was as maddening as the fragrance.

  Marissa was all he'd ever wanted. The only woman he'd ever needed. Now the bruise across her temple reminded him with sickening clarity that he'd almost lost her to the ricochet of a bullet.

  Beneath his vivid stare and in his silence, Marissa con­tinued as normally as possible. "All that's left are legali­ties. Valentina thinks we could be called to testify when the bodyguards come to trial. But who knows where or how long that will be. So, we're virtually free, Jefferson."

  "Free?" He said the word as if it were a gift and a curse.

  ‘‘Free to do what we want. To go where we want. Never looking over our shoulder."

  ' 'Will you go back to Argentina?''

  The question astonished her. Where she might go wouldn't matter as much as with whom. "I'd like to go back. In fact I should, to make arrangements about the es-tancia and other family holdings. But only if you go with me."

  "I can't go." There was no inflection in his tone. No life in his eyes. With the back of his hand he traced the purple line of the bruise that marred her face. "I have a way of failing the people I love. First my brother Adams, who spent years in prison for my mistake. Then, in the disgrace, my father. Now you."

  Catching his fingers, fitting her palm to his, she kept their joined hands against her cheek. "You've never failed me."

  "I made a mistake today. There was a moment..."

  ‘‘We all had a moment. You, me. Rick, Ethan. Do you think Valentina made her shot without her own moment? Not doubt or anything that kept us from doing our part. Just that small second of thinking, what if?'' Marissa took a step closer. Not close enough to touch him, but enough to make him stifle a groan. "What you did was save a child, Jefferson."

  She kissed the backs of his fingers. "A child—and me."

  His eyes closed. The scene playing eternally in his mind, Jefferson turned away. Back straight, shoulders taut, he stared through the barn door that led to the corral and the pasture. On a day that had wreaked havoc with all he be­lieved of himself, bringing disorder to a finally ordered life, the canyon survived.

  Through thousands of years, and countless changes, through cataclysm and in quiet times the land continued. The sun was setting. It would rise tomorrow.

  As this day ended another would begin. Bringing with it the future. His future, to make of it what he would. If this new fear of the pain of loving and losing didn't cripple him. "Then," he muttered softly, "I lose either way."

  A rustle of pleats stirred sweet memories, and the scent of wildflowers surrounded him only a faltering heartbeat before Marissa's gliding caress moved over his back.

  A loving touch, worth all the pain and heartache time and fate would require of him.

  "Jefferson." Slipping her arms around his waist, she rested her cheek against his broad back. "What is it? What troubles you? Let me help."

  Then he was embracing her, holding her as if he would never let her go. His eyes were brilliant, the haunting shad­ows fading. His smile was tender and pensive at once as he hugged her to him so urgently all her breath was swept from her. His lips were pressed against her hair as he mut­tered, "I was afraid today. I wanted it to be me facing Menendez, but I knew it couldn't be. Not for Alejandro's sake. My mind knew you had to be the one, but my heart wouldn't listen. And I was so afraid it hurt. Dear God, how it hurt. Sacrificing my own life would have been easier than watching you walk toward that monster.

  "Until today I didn't know loving could hurt so much. I keep hearing the bullet and seeing you fall, and God help me, I've never felt so helpless in my life. If it weren't for Satan..."

  "Shh." With her fingertips she stopped the deluge. "My love, I know what it's like to watch the person who is your life go into danger. I know how frightening it is. And I know the greater the love, the greater the hurt." Stroking the line of his jaw, she cupped his cheek in her palm. Her dark gaze met his, holding him captive, daring him not to listen and believe. "But hurting doesn't stop us from lov­ing. Not if it's real."

  He wondered how he could ever deserve her. "Loving might tear out my heart. It might drive me mad. But it doesn't stop being love, does it?"

  "Not unless we let it." Marissa's arms crept around his neck. "Your bedroom has a beautiful view of the canyon. The sun will be setting soon. Have you ever made love there at sunset?"

  "Not yet." He laughed softly, a beautiful sound that was far too rare. "An oversight that can be corrected. If my lady's willing."

  "Oh, she's willing. On the condition that we forget to­day, and file it away as a part of loving and growing stronger."

  "Stronger," Jefferson repeated, knowing this day had been a lesson in strength, taught by Marissa.

  With a kiss he took her in his arms. With another, he murmured, "But there's one more condition. A condition of my own."

  "Anything," Marissa declared. "Because I trust you— with my life and with the lives of all I love."

  "In that case, sweetheart, you've just agreed to marry me, to be my strength and my love for all time."

  "No." She shook her head slowly. "Not agreed. Prom­ised."

  "And you always keep a promise."

  "Always."
With eyes closed she savored the rhythm of his stride. The stride that would take her to the bedroom where they would explore the marvelous, mysterious thing called love.

  Early the next morning Jefferson was finishing the sur­prise he'd planned for Marissa, when the telephone in the bedroom rang. He'd stepped back to view his handiwork, when his bedroom door opened and Marissa appeared with Satan at her side.

  "That was Billy." Sweeping her tousled hair from her face, with her back to the fireplace, she faced Jefferson. ''The mystery of how Menendez found us has been unrav­eled."

  "By Simon or Billy?" he asked.

  "Actually, it was Cristal."

  "Billy doesn't talk to Cristal if he can help it. Yell, yes," Jefferson amended. "Talk? Never."

  "In whatever volume, the mystery's unraveled."

  "Unravel it some more." Jefferson led her to the table, poured cups of coffee, then sat down. "Tell me."

  "It was word of mouth, but considering all that followed, it can only be true."

  "So?" Jefferson prompted, worrying the handle of his cup.

  "Just before Paulo and my parents were to board the plane, the pilot asked for a mechanic to check a tire. Later that mechanic would remember there were only three pas­sengers. He recalled overhearing that I was to join them later."

  "Where did he recall this? To whom?" Jefferson wondered how something seen and heard in Argentina could lead to Arizona.

  "He chose to talk in a bar, after there were rumors the plane had been found in a ravine' Perhaps he was drunk, or feeling boastful, but he added his gossip to the rest. Who knows who heard, or who repeated it. Our bad luck was that someone along the way was connected to Menendez."

  "Makes sense," Jefferson agreed. The situation didn't seem so ludicrous in this light. ' 'Any information brought to Menendez would be pursued by the bodyguards."

  "Since I had disappeared, yet was not on the plane, the next logical step would be to look for me at my family's estancia." Marissa's expression grew somber. "From there the path led to Juan and his family. Our friendship was never a secret.

  "Five minutes on the estancia and anyone might speak of our relationship. Because of the connection to Alejandro, Maria's mother would be targeted for questioning. Now, because of me, little Maria is missing part of a finger."

  "That still leaves a gap between Argentina and Arizona, sweetheart. Perhaps you could explain it as Billy told it."

  "I'm sure you know Billy had been trying to ferret out a drug ring with suspected contacts between the border and Silverton. It isn't inconceivable that the contact here was one of Menendez's men. A man familiar with the territory and the old mine."

  "This is where Cristal comes in." Jefferson was a step ahead, but he wanted to hear it spelled out.

  ‘‘Shortly after her visit to the Broken Spur, Cristal heard one of Billy's off-duty deputies talking out of turn. A new man on the force, trying to impress a lady. Cristal shut him up. Not because she understood the danger in what he was saying, but because she knew Billy Blackhawk's deputies were never to discuss business of any kind outside the of­fice.

  "Sadly, she didn't stop it before the deputy bragged about seeing the new folks from Argentina shopping in the feed store and hinting at a mystery involving them."

  Jefferson pushed his cup away in disgust. "No doubt that bit of news went straight to one of Menendez's lackeys, too. Then, to Menendez himself. If only Cristal had known to speak up sooner. But there was no reason for her to think it was more than a harmless indiscretion."

  "Regrettably, it wasn't until Billy brought Menendez's body and his men to town, and she heard what had hap­pened to Alejandro that she realized the deputy's remark could have some bearing on case."

  "Then Valentina was more right than we could know," Jefferson suggested. "A chance remark, or a chance en­counter can undermine the most carefully laid plans."

  "It could happen to anyone. This time it was us." Regret scored Marissa's face. "I couldn't stop what happened to Alejandro. But now that I'm wiser, I'll do everything I can to make sure it doesn't happen again. Neither to Alejandro, or Maria. I can't restore what she's lost. But I can make it up to her by ensuring her safety and giving her a better place to live.

  "The estancia is mine. I can claim it now. With your help, I can make a difference in the lives of children like Maria."

  "What about Juan and Marta, and Alejandro?'' he asked.

  "For selfish reasons, I hope they stay in this country. But if they return to Argentina, a share of the estancia will be theirs and, one day, Alejandro's."

  "What about us, Marissa? Where will we be years from now?"

  "I don't care, Jefferson, so long as we're together. If I have that, what else could I want?"

  "Let me show you what I want." Offering his hand he stood, waiting. When she rose, a puzzled look on her face, he led her to the fireplace. "I want that."

  Marissa's gaze lifted to the mantel and the painting of a young girl on the edge of womanhood. A portrait of her, that even she could see had been painted through the eyes of love.

  "When?" she murmured when she could find her voice.

  "I put it up this morning. You were too distracted by Billy's call to notice."

  "No, no." Her fingers tightened over his. "I meant when did you paint this? I remember that you worked on wildlife drawings, then Eden's portrait for Adams. When I left Belle Terre, you were involved in a painting of Yancey. A sur­prise gift for his beach cottage. But I never had any idea you were doing this."

  "I didn't paint this in the lowcountry, Marissa. Or even when I first came to the Rafter B. It was here at the Broken Spur in my evenings alone that I began to paint again."

  ''You did this from memory?''

  "There were sketches." She would be surprised if she knew how often he'd drawn her through the years. He'd sketched her in the quiet times they were together. And later from memory. This work, which was to be an exor­cism, he had painted from memory.

  Proving he could never forget her.

  "I didn't think anything could ever be as wonderful as the painting of Eden. But this..." Bowing her head, she fought for control. When she looked at him again, there was delight in her eyes. "I haven't the words to tell you."

  "I don't want the words, sweetheart. But someday, I want the little girl we never had. One who will grow up to be as courageous as the lady in the portrait."

  Marissa's face took on a warm glow. Her dark eyes were like black diamonds. And when Jefferson's someday came she would tell him a child had been her third wish that day long ago in the swamp. Someday. But for now, they had this day. "It's over. Really over. We can have it all, love and a life together, without guilt, without fear."

  The last of guilt and fear resolved, Jefferson caught her to him. "Starting now."

  As he held her before the portrait, he knew Valentina was right, a chance remark or encounter could undermine the most carefully laid plans. But a chance remark and en­counter could also put them aright again. "Thanks to Cristal."

  Because she had reasons of her own to be thankful for both the wisdom and the example of so many wise women, Marissa agreed. "To Cristal, and all the women like her."

  Marissa was working with the young mare that had of­ficially become Bonita when the telephone in the tack room rang. Less than a week had passed since Menendez ceased to be a threat and she hadn't learned yet that all news needn't be bad news. Distracted from her routine, she glanced at Jefferson, who was putting away a mended bri­dle to answer the insistent summons.

  She was dismounting when he reappeared. "Trouble?"

  "I think maybe it's good news." Taking Bonita's reins and looping them over a rail, Jefferson wrapped his hand around Marissa's. "Let's give the horses a break and take a walk."

  The grass was high and the stream full and glittering in the sun. It should have been a walk through a desert par­adise, but Marissa was at the point of screaming when Jef­ferson stopped within the shade of a cottonwood and took
her in his arms.

  "That was Steve. They're coming home. Jakie's finished her courses early and wants to return to the ranch before school begins in Silverton."

  "Will you go back to the Rafter B?" Marissa asked the first question that came to mind.

  "Sandy's assured me there's a place there for me. Steve said the same thing." Jefferson's gaze strayed over the can­yon and the ranch Steve Cody built. "But they've delib­erately kept this as a small operation. I doubt they really want to change it."

  "What will you do? Where will you go?"

  "I'd like to go to Belle Terre. I've been thinking about it for days." Smiling down at her, he asked, "How would you like to be married in Eden's garden? And after that, look into pursuing your medical studies at the university? There's money I haven't touched, a gift from Adams. We could buy a horse farm. I could paint. The possibilities are endless."

  There was nothing Marissa wanted more than to see Jef­ferson at peace with himself, and with his brothers. Nothing except Jefferson, himself. But was this right for him? ' 'You can truly go home?"

  "Yeah. I can go home now." Jefferson knew it was true. He could return to the land of his heart. For he'd learned a lot about loving, and sacrifice. About guilt and redemp­tion.

  Watching Marissa with Alejandro had taught him some sacrifices weren't truly sacrifices, but a deeper expression of love. Love that crippling guilt dishonored. "There are some things I need to say to Adams. Most of all, I need to tell him what loving you has taught me."

  Looking up at him, Marissa saw that for the first time there were no haunted shadows darkening eyes as blue as a summer sky. In that moment, her happiness knew no lim­its, for she, too, had learned the difference between duty and honor and love.

  The first had been her responsibility as a daughter. The second, a promise kept. The last a gift surpassing all else. A gift shared and returned by Jefferson.

  ‘‘Regrets, my love?'' He questioned her thoughtfulness.

  "I'll miss the canyon." Her gaze strayed over the fa­miliar land. "And Juan and Marta, and Alejandro. But we can visit. So can they. Often. Or even come with us. But what about Satan?"