All I Need Is You

by Johanna Lindsey

  “Can I help you?” the woman asked curiously.

  Damian doffed his hat and cleared his throat. “I’m looking for a young woman who rides a horse that came from this ranch—or at least, it was branded here.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know her real name,” he admitted. “Her father purchased the horse for her, probably about five years ago. And no, I don’t know his name either. But I was hoping someone here might remember him and know who he is, maybe even where he lives.”

  She seemed to be waiting to hear more, but when no more was forthcoming, she said, “A lot of horses get sold here. Is there anything special about the horse that might distinguish it? Or anything unusual about the man who purchased it? Without a name, it’s going to be pretty hard to—”

  “I can describe him,” Damian interrupted, though he didn’t mean to, had just realized he should have said so right off. “He’s probably about as tall as I am.”

  “Well, that helps,” the woman said with a grin. “Since you’re quite a bit taller than average.”

  Damian smiled back, feeling slightly more at ease. “He’s got black hair that he may or may not wear extremely long. The one time I saw him, it was very long, but that was recently. He’s probably in his mid-forties now, so figure around thirty-eight or nine back then.”

  The woman chuckled. “Sounds like any number of men around here, including my husband. Anything else to set him apart and make him memorable? Scars, maybe?”

  Damian shook his head. “I didn’t get a very close look at him. But there was a quality about him, a dangerous quality that would probably make some people nervous. To be frank, he had the look of an outlaw.”

  “Goodness, are you sure you want to find him again?” she asked.

  “It’s his daughter I need to find.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “What about the horse? Was it unusual at all?”

  “It’s an exceptionally fine-looking animal. It could probably be termed a Thoroughbred, even though Casey calls him Old Sam.”

  The lady stiffened. “Casey? I thought you said you didn’t have their names.”

  Her reaction was encouraging, but he explained first, “I don’t. Casey is just a name I gave her, since she was going by the initials K and C—probably taken from the brand on her horse, though I never got around to asking her about it. Actually, all she called herself was Kid. Do you by chance know who I’m talking about, ma’am?”

  “Oh, I might. Why are you looking for her?”

  “That’s a bit private—”

  “Then I guess I can’t help you,” the woman cut in and actually started closing the door on him.

  “Wait!” Damian said. “She was a bounty hunter when I met her. I hired her to find my father’s killer, which she did. But before I could get him back to New York for trial, he managed to escape.”

  “So you’re looking for her to hire her again?” she asked sharply.

  That was certainly none of her business, which was why he replied, “Something like that.”

  “And that’s the only reason you’re here?”

  It was Damian’s turn to stiffen somewhat at her persistence. “Why else?”

  She was frowning as she said, “I think maybe my husband would like to talk to you. Come inside.”

  He did. She immediately walked away from him with a curt “Wait here,” leaving him no choice but to obey.

  Her behavior had him utterly baffled. She was definitely angry about something. Her eyes had turned hotly amber. And it had started when he’d said Casey’s name. Could that really be her name? The woman did seem to know who she was. That “I might” she’d said about knowing her had clear connotations of “Yes, I do.”

  Damian went very still. Amber eyes?

  Sounds like any number of men around here, including my husband.

  Hope surged through Damian. Had he actually found Casey’s home? Was that her mother he’d just spoken to who had eyes like Casey’s when she was angry? And the woman’s husband he’d described…?

  The tap on his shoulder turned him around, and sure enough, it was Casey’s father standing there with his fist drawn back. Damian had no memory beyond that except for stars exploding in his eyes.

  Chapter 48

  I’m beginning to think I never should have told you that Casey was in love with him,” Courtney said to her husband as they stood over Damian’s long body, sprawled there in the entryway, a trickle of blood under his nose.

  “Of course you should have,” Chandos replied, rubbing his knuckles in a satisfying way, his look reflecting the same feeling.

  Courtney huffed, saying doubtfully, “Really? When I had to talk you out of going after him, all the way to New York, no less? And here the fool man shows up on our doorstep. He might as well have just handed you his head.”

  Chandos raised a brow. “Then why’d you tell me he was here? You could have just sent him on his way, and I’d never have known the difference.”

  Courtney made a tsking sound. “So for a very brief moment, I wanted you to beat some sense into him. But it was only for that brief moment,” she insisted.

  Chandos almost grinned. “I take it he said something to annoy you?”

  Courtney’s lips tightened. “He’s come looking for Casey to hire her again. Can you believe that? Not that she would even consider working for him again, but just seeing him is going to prolong her heartache. But does he consider that? No, the man is a selfish, insensitive son of—”

  Chandos placed a gentle finger to her lips to silence her. “I love it when you get riled, Cateyes, but in this case, there’s probably no reason for it. Weren’t you the one who had to convince me that he didn’t know that Casey’s in love with him? Didn’t she admit that when you asked her? Kind of makes him innocent of any wrongdoing, doesn’t it?”

  “Well, yes,” she said, but then narrowed her eyes on him. “Then why did you come in here and immediately punch him, if you now hold him blameless?”

  “For the plain and simple reason that he’s made my daughter miserable. Call it a father’s prerogative.”

  She raised a brow now. “Oh, and a mother doesn’t have one of those?”

  He chuckled at her. “Your prerogative was to come get me because you knew I’d tear into him.”

  She blushed guiltily. “Maybe we shouldn’t be discussing the whys of our respective dislike of this young man, but rather, what we’re going to do about his unexpected and unwanted appearance on our doorstep. I would prefer it if Casey didn’t know he’s been here, but she’s been dividing her nights between here and the Bar M, and tonight she’ll be sleeping here. Considering how late in the afternoon it is, she could show up any time now.”

  Chandos nodded. “I’ll get a couple of the hands to dump him in a wagon and haul him back to town. Hopefully, the reception he received here showed him that he’s not welcome to return.”

  Courtney frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t think that will do it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he struck me as being a bit stubborn,” Courtney said. “And he’s come all this way to hire her. I don’t think he’ll leave until she tells him herself that she won’t work for him again.”

  “You’re sure she won’t?”

  “Not positive, but why would she? The only reason she did before was for the money, which she wanted so she could prove things to you. She’s got nothing to prove now. She’s running the Bar M and doing fine so far.”

  “Excellent reasoning for a man, but what about a woman in love?”

  Courtney almost growled, “You’re right, of course. That might affect her decision if she has to make one. She could agree because she might like to spend a bit more time with him. Or she could agree because he apparently needs help and she loves him. She might want to help him for that reason alone. So perhaps we should try and assure that she doesn’t have to make the decision in the first place.”

  “You aren’t sug
gesting that I dispose of him permanently, are you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Courtney snapped, then saw that he was teasing. She glared at him. “Perhaps just a talk with him will convince him not to return here, and you can have that by escorting him to town yourself. And if that doesn’t convince him, then tell him she’s not here, that she’s gone—oh, I don’t know…to Europe. Yes, Europe—quite far enough away for him to realize that if he’s going to get the help he needs, he should start looking for it elsewhere.”

  “I’d just as soon not have words with him. Don’t know if I’d be able to resist swinging at him again.”

  “Then I will—”

  “No, you won’t,” Chandos said adamantly, then sighed. “Very well, I’ll take him to town.” He leaned down to haul Damian over his shoulder, adding with a groan, “Damn, he’s as heavy as he looks.”

  “Chandos…?”

  “What?” he grunted on his way out the door.

  “Don’t let him know how Casey feels about him.”

  He turned back toward her. “And why not?”

  “She didn’t choose to tell him, and he was too dense to figure it out for himself—”

  “Or he knew and didn’t care, which is what I figured was the case, though I let you convince me it was otherwise.”

  “Ah, so that’s why you hit him instead of saying hello first?”

  He snorted. She smiled and got on with her point. “Either way, I don’t think she’d appreciate him knowing. I know I wouldn’t if it were me.”

  He nodded and continued down the porch steps, where he pushed Damian over the saddle of the horse he’d left there, belly-down. After gathering the reins, Chandos looked up at his wife.

  “I should be back before dinner,” he told her. “Oh, and make sure he hasn’t left any blood on the floor from his broken nose.”

  “You really think you broke it?”

  “I damn well tried to. But why else would a man his size go down so easy?”

  “Maybe because you always did swing a nasty punch,” she offered with a wave.

  Chandos chuckled at her. “And you always give me more credit than I’m due.”

  “Nonsense. I married an exceptional man. At least I know it.”

  Chandos was smiling as he led Damian’s horse around to the stable to collect his own. But the pleasure he found in his wife’s words didn’t last long, not with the task she’d set before him.

  That task didn’t take very long, though. About a mile down the road, Damian started making noises indicating he was waking up, so Chandos halted both horses to give him a chance to slide off his without further injury. That he did, though he was disoriented for a moment as he stood there in the middle of the road.

  His first question when he finally spotted Chandos was “May I ask where you were taking me?”

  “Back to town,” Chandos replied. “You’re not welcome on the K.C.”

  “You couldn’t have just said so?” Damian grouched, carefully feeling his nose.

  “Broken?”

  “Doesn’t seem to be.”

  “Just a low tolerance for pain, then, huh?” Chandos said this with a smile that could pass for a smirk.

  Damian scowled and pointed out testily, “Just coldcocked with no warning.”

  Chandos shrugged. “And just what kind of reception did you think you’d get from the parents of the young woman you nearly got killed?”

  Damian flinched, surprised that Casey would have mentioned details about what she’d been doing while away from home, but he said in his defense, since her father obviously already knew, “She’s a bounty hunter and damned good at it. It’s her profession—”

  “It’s something she dabbled in temporarily, hardly a profession.”

  “Regardless,” Damian said. “She was ideal for the job, so she took the job.”

  Chandos made a sound of disgust. “And now you think she’d take the job again?”

  “The man she helped me find has escaped,” Damian pointed out. “I have detectives looking for him, but they’re having no better luck this time than they did before. Casey has better luck.”

  “Casey’s just got good sense, is all.”

  “That really is her name?”

  Chandos frowned at the change in subject. “You didn’t even know her name?”

  “Why does that surprise you? She volunteered very little information about herself. It was quite a while before I knew she was a woman!”

  “And just how did you finally find that out?”

  The question was asked with so much condemning insinuation that Damian knew exactly what Chandos was thinking, and since he was as guilty as the man was thinking he was, he stuck with the literal truth.

  “She told me,” he explained. “When I suggested she grow a beard.”

  A peculiar look appeared on Chandos’s face, and if Damian had known him at all, he’d know the man was just short of laughing. But he didn’t know him, and all he saw was that brief lapse from the otherwise thunderous looks he was getting. Casey’s father no longer looked like the man Damian had seen that day in Fort Worth. He was clean-shaven now, his hair cut to a moderate length, though still long by city standards. Yet one thing was absolutely the same: that quality of danger that was so easy to sense about him.

  “You might as well catch the next train back to where you came from, Mr. Rutledge. Casey no longer works as a bounty hunter.”

  “This is a special case, since she was already involved in it,” Damian said. “Besides, I’d like to hear what she has to say—”

  “Forget it,” Chandos broke in very quietly. “And take some advice. Don’t make me repeat this. Stay the hell away from my daughter.”

  Damian thought to protest again, but considering there wasn’t another soul anywhere in sight, and the man’s hand was resting too close to his Colt revolver, he thought better of it. Her father wasn’t going to be reasonable, didn’t care about Damian’s motives. And frankly, Damian didn’t trust him not to shoot to make his point.

  So he nodded curtly and mounted up. “It’s been—somewhat—of a pleasure,” he said dryly.

  Chandos rubbed his knuckles and agreed. “Yes, from my standpoint it was.”

  Chapter 49

  Casey found her father sitting on his horse outside the small, fenced-in graveyard. This was the first time she had come to visit Fletcher’s grave herself since she’d been back home. She was surprised to find Chandos there. Nothing else was near that lonely plot of land, shaded by a single large oak tree, that could have given him a reason to be there. The Bar M graveyard was reserved for Bar M folk, and he had known no others in it—just his father.

  She stopped her horse next to his but didn’t say anything, waiting for him to acknowledge her presence, which he couldn’t have missed. He didn’t, just continued to frown toward the grave that marked Fletcher’s resting place. She finally dismounted with the fistful of scraggly wildflowers she’d gathered on the range, and opened the low gate, rather than stepping over it, which she could easily have done.

  She glanced up at her father and said, “You know, it’s okay to come in here. I really don’t think he’s going to sit up and point any accusing fingers.”

  She had said it lightly, to get a smile out of him. His reply lacked all humor. “He should.”

  It was such a telling remark, coming from him. It held a wealth of festering guilt. She didn’t know how to respond to it. She knew Fletcher had held him blameless, had accepted full responsibility for their rift. But try to get her father to listen to that, when he’d always closed his mind to any mention of Fletcher…

  So she said nothing and continued toward the grave and knelt there on one knee to spread out her flowers. But after a few moments, she saw her father’s shadow pass over the grave as he came to stand behind her.

  “I’ve begun to realize something recently that I’m not proud of.”

  Casey went very still at those words. A confession? And here, in front
of Fletcher—so to speak? Maybe she ought to leave. Her father had come here for a particular reason, obviously, and had decided not to postpone it simply because he was no longer alone.

  She got up, but his gentle hand touched her arm to stop her from leaving him there alone, and his voice was filled with regret when he said, “I think I was trying to control you just as much as that old man tried to control me when I was your age. I’ve done exactly what I hated him for doing. But it has opened my eyes to why he tried to mold me. It’s made me understand him better.”

  Tears came to Casey’s eyes. My God, Fletcher couldn’t have asked for more than that. If only he were here to hear it himself. But then, he was here…at least, Casey had always felt his presence at the Bar M, liked to think he was still watching over her. And his presence was strongest at his grave.

  Having spent so much time with Fletcher when she was growing up, perhaps she was the only one who could reassure her father now—and point out a few things that Chandos might not know.

  But as to his confession, she asked carefully, “And forgive him, maybe?”

  “Yes, that, too. It’s just killing me now, that I hadn’t figured this out before he died, and let him know that I at least understand.”

  “He never asked for that. He would have been glad that you understood, but it wasn’t something he needed to hear. He knew he’d made mistakes aplenty. He mentioned them often,” she said, adding with a smile, “Almost with pride. But then, that’s the way he was. He believed that a man learned and benefited from his mistakes, that they toughened him, added directly to his strengths.”

  Chandos nodded. “Yes, I can imagine he would think that way.”

  She was glad to note there was no bitterness in his remark, as there might have been just months ago. “But in your case, Daddy, he was too proud of you to feel the full sting of his regrets.”