by Twilight
And then, from out of the night—
“Jessica? Is that you?”
Jessica stiffened, her palms flattening against broad shoulders, then couldn’t resist a muffled giggle when Logan Stark reared up with the look of the devil himself.
“I’m beginning to think these interruptions are strategically planned,” he said through his teeth. “Some sort of damned female conspiracy. Trust me, a man has never been more tortured, and tonight...” His thumb brushed over her bottom lip. “Tonight, I only have myself to blame, dammit. I should never have taken you anywhere looking like that.”
“It’s Louise,” Jessica offered, smoothing her hands over her bodice.
“I know who the hell it is.” He scowled furiously. “Damned woman should be at home, in her condition. Not disrupting my evening, and she damned well knows what she’s doing. She’ll have that little grin on her face. Nothing worse than a woman with too little to do. Listen to me, woman, you’ll be home knitting bootees when you carry my child. Not out frustrating some poor fellow.”
Jessica looked sharply at him. “What did you say?”
“Jessica?” The rustling of taffeta skirts drew nearer, and then Louise French’s feathered hat poked from around the back of the buckboard. “Why, hullo, Logan Stark. And, of course, Jessica. My, but you’re both looking rather well...out here all alone in the dark.” Louise French’s grin spread from ear to ear.
Stark muttered something under his breath.
Louise swept to Jessica and kissed the air beside her cheeks. “I see you finally came to your senses with regard to a new dress, Jessica. You look ravishing.”
“Stark bought it for me.”
Louise raised too-innocent brows, her lips tilting in a smug smile. “On a farmhand’s pay, hmm? Well, then, he must be dying to show you off in it. He does have that supremely frustrated look about him. One can only assume why, hmm?” Linking her arm through Jessica’s, Louise drew her around the buckboard and toward the brightly lit pavilion. “Shall we, Jessica? I’m afraid if you linger here another moment, the good citizens of Twilight will be denied their first good eyeful of you. And God knows I want to be right there when Avram Halsey sets his eyes on you and your, er...more charming assets. Indeed, I believe I saw him embroiled in some heated discussion with a feral-looking fellow who rather resembles your Logan Stark, now that I think about it. Very tall, dark, forbidding-looking. No doubt another of those pesky Easterners. Let’s find them, shall we?”
“I’m not marrying Avram, Louise.”
“Of course you’re not. Logan Stark would never allow it.”
“It has nothing to do with Stark.”
With a seasoned expertise, Louise proceeded to pick her way through the throng crowded about the dance floor. “Posh, Jessica. A woman can’t marry one fellow when she’d much rather marry the man she loves. Oh, hullo, Nellie, Elly. Lovely evening, hmm?” Louise swung her past the overblown matrons, whose jaws sagged as one when Jessica swished past. “Smile, Jessica. Everyone is looking at you.”
“Good grief.” Jessica did as she was told, pasted on a smile, and glanced over her shoulder at Stark, who was following just at their heels. His blazing eyes seemed to probe the very depths of her soul. “I—I never said I wanted to marry Logan Stark,” she whispered to Louise.
“Whatever else would you want?” Louise hissed. “To be his lover? Really, Jessica, what do you think Logan Stark is about, buying you this dress, then seducing you out of it, there among the buggies?”
“I— Now wait a minute, Louise, he wasn’t seducing me.”
Louise gave her a sideways glance. “Oh, really?”
Jessica lifted a shoulder. “We were...admiring the stars.”
“Indeed, I’d wager you’d have a far lovelier view of the stars from flat on your back. Oh, but you must have considered that, hmm?”
“Quit hmming.”
“Annoying you, am I? Odd, but for so intelligent a creature, you seem positively obtuse lately. My hmms are intended to stir your thoughts a bit, nothing more. Though it’s all so blasted plain as day to me.”
“I don’t know what the devil you’re talking about.”
“No, you wouldn’t, Jessica. But a man can stalk about looking like some caged beast for only so long before he simply must do something about it. And with a girl like you, my dear, a man only has one course.” Louise tossed Stark a quick look, then gave a wistful sigh. “I can only pity the poor fellow who stares at you a moment too long tonight. Oh, but possessiveness is entirely too irresistible in a man. Your Logan Stark is positively mad to have you, Jessica. He’d marry you five times to get what he so desperately wants. Do remember to tell me what it’s like to be devoured, will you?”
Devoured...yes. By the man who carried her dead husband’s locket.
He must have known Frank.
What else had he kept from her?
How would she ever explain to Louise that his deceiving her didn’t seem to matter...when she could never have explained it to herself?
A large hand wrapped about her upper arm, stilling her feet and drawing her back against a rock-hard chest. “I’ve had enough of looking at your round little backside,” Stark muttered close to her ear. “Someday you’ll have to tell me where you learned to walk like that.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Jessica replied archly, her heart fluttering.
A sound not unlike a low purr rumbled deep in his chest. “Your hips, my dear, would tempt a saint.”
She looked up at him, curving her lips winsomely. “They’re just hips, Stark. Perhaps it’s the bustle.”
“It’s the woman. Now, say goodbye to Louise. I suddenly have a pressing urge to see those hips on the dance floor. And then—” his breath played like a fiery promise over her ear “—we’re going home.”
* * *
The irony of the situation was not lost upon Rance. In his arms bloomed a wild sapphire rose of a woman. Delight sparkled in her eyes, and mischief danced in her smile. She was the purest form of beauty to behold, a triumph, a reward. His. All he’d ever thought to want in a lifetime. When a woman looked at a man like this, he could never want for anything else...he would do anything to protect that...anything.
Over her blond head, his gaze once again probed Black Jack Bartlett’s, concealed somewhere beneath the heavy shadow of his typical wide-brimmed black hat. Beside Bartlett stood Avram Halsey, his spectacles reflecting nothing but the light of the oil lamps overhead. Halsey’s mouth jerked with his words. Bartlett’s shadowed face remained set in deep, unfathomable crevices carved from years on the frontier. Years of killing. Rance knew the look well. He’d seen it in his own mirror enough times.
Beside Halsey stood the sheriff, his brow caterpillared, his narrowed eyes following Rance as he moved about the dance floor. Perhaps he simply wanted Halsey to shut up. Then again...
Rance glanced again at Halsey. Never underestimate your enemy, he reminded himself.
“Thank you, Stark.” She was smiling up at him, eyes aglow with some inner flame. “You’ve made me happier than anyone deserves.”
And in doing so, he’d set himself a trap he’d have one hell of a time escaping. For a man condemned, he felt damned good about it all. Downright invincible, the more she kept smiling at him.
“Stark. A word, if we might.”
It was the sheriff’s hand pressing heavily on Rance’s shoulder. Halsey stood just behind the sheriff, wearing a look Rance itched to wipe clean with his fists. His gaze shifted over Halsey’s oiled head and met with Black Jack Bartlett’s.
Somewhere the reel ended in a screech of discordant fiddle strings. He felt the probing stares surrounding, heard the voices hushed in speculation.
Jessica drew up rigid as a brittle twig and spun about. “Avram, what the devil have you done?”
Halsey blinked furiously, as though just now gaining a full, unbridled view of Jessica in her sapphire silk. At once, his jaw sagged. “Good heavens, Jessica!”
&
nbsp; “Close your mouth, Avram. Then tell me what you’ve gone and done here.”
“Me?” Avram said, plainly seething. “Why, only what any responsible citizen would do. Isn’t that right, Sheriff?”
The sheriff ignored Avram Halsey. “Just a few questions, Stark.”
“By all means,” Rance replied casually. He knew enough of Bartlett and his kind. If the man wanted to haul him in to Spotz and claim his bounty, he wouldn’t let a half-cocked fool like Halsey and a local sheriff do his apprehending for him, in the middle of a town social. No, he’d first make certain Rance was his man. Reasonably certain. Then he’d stalk him, taunt him, and strike when Rance was least suspecting. The more violence, the more bloodshed, the better it suited Bartlett’s twisted purposes. No, this little scene had Halsey written all over it. It was a ruse, a gamble on Halsey’s part to get him away from Jessica, with Bartlett providing all the reason in the world the good reverend would ever need.
Rance watched Bartlett shove a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other and his slitted gaze move over Jessica with unabashed insolence. Again, their gazes locked, and the challenge was issued.
“Wait a minute—” Jessica began, but Rance squeezed her upper arm.
“This also involves you, Mrs. Wynne,” the sheriff said, jerking his head at Bartlett. “This fella here is lookin’ for the man who killed your husband, ma’am.”
“Then what is he doing here in Twilight?” Jessica asked.
Halsey stepped forward and poked a shaking finger at Rance. “This man here could very well be the cold-blooded killer Rance Logan.”
“Avram, don’t be ridiculous.”
“We now have more than enough reason to run him out of town!” Halsey bellowed. “Let this Bartlett fellow rid us of him, I say!”
A halfhearted rejoinder billowed up from the crowd.
“What is his crime, might I ask?” Jessica snapped. “Saving our town from that outlaw gang?”
The sheriff shoved his hat back upon his head. “We don’t go lookin’ for trouble here in Twilight, ma’am. Just want to see justice served.”
“As do I, sheriff,” Jessica replied with a thrust of her chin. “But not at the expense of an innocent man. Mr. Stark may well have been a stranger several weeks ago, and he may handle weaponry with skill, but that is hardly proof that he killed my husband.”
“Never seen a man quicker on the draw,” the sheriff muttered.
“Indeed,” Halsey offered, preening. “And this Rance Logan fellow was a hired gun for some cattleman near Wichita. Paid for his shot. Renowned for his abilities.”
The sheriff glanced at Rance beneath bushy brows. “You ever work for a cattleman?”
“Several.”
“Oh, for God’s sake...” Jessica said, huffing.
“You ever a paid gun?”
“Stark, you don’t have to answer that,” Jessica said, turning wide eyes up at him.
“Your man here...” Rance indicated Bartlett. “Does he know the fella he’s hunting?”
Bartlett chewed on his toothpick, his face revealing nothing. “I reckon I might.”
Rance folded his arms over his chest and cocked a brow. “Seems to me, Sheriff, that this Rance Logan fella and I might have a good bit in common. As do most men who find themselves quick on the draw. But if a man like this Rance Logan fella has something to hide, he’d be a fool not to head for a big city. A man can lose himself among the many. In open country, a man, a dangerous man, stands out too much. Sooner or later, everyone knows it.”
“Just as we found you out, Stark,” Halsey said with a sneer.
Rance’s smile never reached his eyes. “I never said I had anything to hide, Halsey. And if I did kill Frank Wynne, his widow’s farm would be one hell of a fool’s place to think of holing up.”
A murmur filtered through the crowd.
“Let him go!” someone shouted.
“Aw, come on, Sheriff!” said another. “I wanna dance!”
The sheriff chewed on his tongue and slowly nodded. “I’d have to agree with you, Stark. What good reason would a killer have to come here to Twilight?” All eyes flickered to Halsey.
“I’ll give you plenty good reason!” Halsey crowed. “That land of Jessica’s is worth a small fortune. He killed her husband and now intends to swindle her out of her property, by God, and I won’t stand by and allow it.”
“Shut up, Avram.” The venom in Jessica’s voice stopped Halsey cold. Scarlet crept up from his celluloid collar, clear to his receding hairline. He opened his mouth, balled his fists, only to find the sheriff’s palm smack in the center of his chest, restraining him.
“Go on home, Reverend.”
“What?” Halsey shrieked, spittle flying from his tongue. “You’re not going to allow this man to...to...I won’t have it! The townspeople won’t have it!”
The sheriff planted himself in front of Halsey, hands on his hips. “The townsfolk are more likely to string you up for interrupting their social. Don’t make me draw my gun on you, Reverend. I don’t want no trouble. Now go on home. Mr. Bartlett, I’m afraid we can’t help you.”
Bartlett merely grunted, then was swallowed by a surge of the crowd around them.
Rance felt Jessica’s back trembling against him. “Let’s go,” he said, grasping her elbow.
“Yes,” she murmured, still looking after Halsey.
“Jessica, good heavens!” Louise French burst upon them, John following at her heels. “You’re pale as death. How awful for you. That Avram—what could have possessed him to create such a stir? A bit of jealousy is one thing, but I sense something more here. Logan, take her home. I’ll tend to Christian. He can stay with us tonight, can’t he, John? Aunt Aggie has baked enough for an army. Christian can help me eat some of it.” Louise slipped an arm around Jessica’s shoulders. “And you can relax for one night.”
“I don’t shake hands with murderers,” John French said, grasping Rance’s hand firmly. “Halsey’s all alone in this, Stark.”
“I know.”
“He tried to stir up a vigilante group last night to run you out. Couldn’t get more than a handful of fellas to listen to him. And then Sadie McGlue came by, offering warm blackberry pie at her place to the first takers. Well, that was the end of the vigilante group.”
“I’ll have to thank Mrs. McGlue for her support.”
“No thanks necessary, my friend. We may be small-town folk who don’t take too kindly to strangers. Hell, we’re damned mistrustful. But a man’s character speaks for itself. If you ever found it necessary to kill a man, Stark, I’d lay my reputation on it that you did it in self-defense. You’re no killer.”
“Stark! Stay right there, young man, and let me shake yer hand.” Hubert McGlue huffed through the crowd, then vigorously pumped Rance’s hand. “A travesty, I tell you. Them church fellas ain’t quite right in the head, I always say. You gotta come on over for some of Sadie’s pie, Stark, an’ teach me how to play that faro game, when Sadie’s not lookin’, ‘course. I can always tell a good card man when I see one. An’ you’ve got that look about ya. Kinda like that Bartlett fella. Somethin’ similar ‘bout you two fellas. Both got that glint in yer eye. So how ‘bout it, Stark? You won’t find a finer-made blackberry pie—”
“Of course he won’t!” Sadie beamed, linking one plump arm through Jessica’s. “The whole town’s coming over for pie. You can’t possibly miss out. Come, Jessica. You can ride with me. I don’t trust Logan Stark alone with you in that dress. We might never see you again.”
A man could get used to feeling like he belonged, especially when he’d never felt it before. And as Rance joined the crowd heading for the McGlues’, he realized he’d do just about anything to protect that, now that he’d finally found it.
Chapter Sixteen
“Don’t.” Just as Rance drew back on the reins to slow the buckboard before the barn, Jessica laid her hand atop his. “Drive on a little farther, Stark. The night is too lovely.”
Rance eased up on the reins, and Jack trotted into the open prairie. Beneath a foamy moon, the grass billowed in great undulating waves of shimmery silver-blue. A vast starlit sky loomed overhead, stretching endlessly in all directions. A warm breeze played a constant rustle through the grass and tossed several lemon-scented blond curls against Rance’s neck and chest. And beside him Jessica nestled, her hands locked around his arm.
They hadn’t spoken since they’d left the McGlues’. Rance sensed a wistfulness in her, in her touch, in the clinging of her gaze to his whenever their eyes met. It was as if she somehow knew it all, without his having to say a word.
Jess, I’m the man who killed your husband. And part of me isn’t the least bit sorry.
Jack followed the well-worn path to the stream. Beneath a low-hanging clump of willow, Rance drew the buckboard to a halt. He jumped down, looped Jack’s reins loosely over a tangle of brush, then reached for Jessica. Before her feet touched ground his lips closed over hers in a hard, unforgiving kiss. He wanted to lose himself in her, drown in the taste of her mouth, and draw her very breath deep into his lungs. He wanted to know the feel of this woman’s love flowing like sweet salve over him, healing all the wounds, banishing the torment of memory, making him whole. She was his life force, and his body craved hers in the most savage, primal sense. He would take her as he’d dreamed of taking her, until this fire had left his blood, if only temporarily. Yet beyond that, far beyond that, he wanted possession of her soul, wanted to fully claim it as his. Only then would she forgive him for that which was most unpardonable. He would allow her nothing else.
Their mouths parted in a rush of air. He held her there, full against him, feeling their chests straining together with their labored breaths. Desire spiraled through him, hot and wicked, plunging into his loins, running riotous and savage in his blood.
As pliant as silk, she arched against him, offering the sweet fruit of her breasts so that they swelled to the very limits of her bodice. Her head fell back with her abandon, and moonlight spilled over the length of her throat like silver-blue flames. His lips burned to taste her skin. “Please, Logan...I need to feel your hands upon me. Touch me...Logan...”