She smiled wistfully as her father kissed his bride. She recalled asking her father if he thought it wise to marry when they were having so much trouble with Annabelle.
“If I don’t marry Claire now,” her father had replied, giving her chin a squeeze, “I may never get the chance. Claire knows what I’m up against, and she wants to share it with me.”
Fresh tears came then. If only Tyree were here to share their troubles. She had never been afraid when Tyree was near. He had always been so self-assured, so certain of what to do in a crisis.
Clint Wesley smiled indulgently as he handed his handkerchief to Rachel. Women. They were so emotional, always crying at weddings.
The reception, which was held in the schoolhouse, was lively and well-attended, for John Halloran and his bride were well thought of by their friends and neighbors in Yellow Creek.
Rachel sighed as her father and Claire danced the first dance. Her father’s wedding had been everything she had hoped hers would be.
When the music ended, John Halloran claimed Rachel for the next dance. “Well, daughter, what do you think?” he asked as he twirled her around the room.
“I think you’ve married a wonderful woman,” Rachel said sincerely. “I think you’ll be good for each other.”
“Thank you, child. Now, what about you? Why don’t you give in and marry Clint? Don’t you think he’s courted you long enough?”
“What’s the matter, Pa?” Rachel asked, only partly kidding, “Can’t you wait to be rid of me now that you’ve got another woman to look after you?”
“Rachel!”
“I’m sorry,” Rachel said, ashamed. “I didn’t mean it. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should marry Clint, but—”
“It’s Tyree, isn’t it? You’re still hoping he’ll come back.”
“Yes.”
“Once I thought he would make a good husband for you, honey, but maybe I was wrong. I don’t know if he’s dead or alive, but I do know that some men are like wild horses. No matter how you try and gentle them, that wild streak persists. You can’t beat it out of them, and you can’t love it out. It’s ingrained too deep. Perhaps that’s the way it is with Tyree.”
“Perhaps.” Rachel gave her father a hug. “Stop worrying about me, Pa. I’ll be fine.”
John Halloran kissed his daughter’s cheek as the dance ended and Clint Wesley came to claim her. Wesley had matured in the last year, Halloran thought. There was a new air of self-confidence about the man, an air of assurance that had been heretofore lacking in his character. He had turned into a damned handsome man, too, Halloran mused, and tonight he looked mighty fine in a brown suit and tie. He glanced at Rachel and saw that she, too, was aware of the change in the marshal. Maybe there would be another wedding in the family before too long, after all.
“Take good care of my girl,” Halloran said to Clint. “She’s the best there is.”
“Yes, sir,” Wesley agreed heartily. “The very best.” And the most beautiful, Clint thought to himself. She looked incredibly lovely tonight in a full-skirted cream-colored gown with long, billowy sleeves and a square neck edged in ecru lace. Her hair, as gold as a new-minted coin, was held away from her face with a wide satin ribbon tied in a big bow. She looked young and vivacious and so desirable, it made him ache with longing just to look at her.
“Let’s get some air,” Clint suggested, and taking Rachel’s arm, he steered her out the side door into the schoolyard.
It was a lovely night. The sky was a dark, dark blue. Countless stars played hide and seek with a few drifting powder-puff clouds, while the air was sweet with the scent of honeysuckle.
“They look happy together,” Clint remarked as they strolled around the yard, “your father and Claire.”
“Yes. She’ll be good for Pa. He’s lived alone too long.”
“So have I,” Clint said huskily. Taking her in his arms, he bent down and kissed her, a deeply passionate kiss that clearly revealed his longing for the woman in his arms.
Clint’s mouth was warm, firm, demanding, touching a deep chord within Rachel that left her feeling shaky and confused. Clint’s kisses had never aroused her before. Was she so hungry for a man that any man’s kiss would do?
“Rachel, Rachel,” Clint groaned. “Honey, please don’t put me off any longer. I love you so damn much I’m going crazy.”
“Clint, don’t—”
“Marry me,” he urged, kissing her again. “Tonight, tomorrow, just name the day.”
“I can’t.”
“For God’s sake, why not?”
“I don’t know,” Rachel said evasively. “I just can’t. Not now.”
“It’s still Tyree, isn’t it?” Clint rasped angrily. “It’s always Tyree. What is there about that bastard that has you so starry-eyed you can’t see straight?”
“I don’t know,” Rachel answered in a small voice. “I only know I can’t marry you.” Tears sparkled in her eyes. “I know this isn’t fair to you, Clint. I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see me again. But I can’t marry you until I’m sure it’s right, and I can’t promise you that it will ever be right.”
Clint nodded, his eyes warm and loving as he took Rachel in his arms and held her close. He murmured soft words to her while she cried, and all the while he silently cursed Logan Tyree for causing her pain.
When Rachel’s tears subsided, Clint took her back inside and kissed her goodnight.
“I’ll wait,” Clint murmured as he watched Rachel leave the schoolhouse with her father and Claire. “I’ll wait until hell freezes over if I have to.”
It was after midnight when the Hallorans started for home. The back of the buggy was piled high with wedding gifts. A huge sign, tied to the back of the buggy, proclaimed, “Just Married” in large red letters.
Rachel drove the team while her father and Claire sat together, holding hands and making plans for the future. Claire owned a small house in town and they decided to keep it for the time being, perhaps rent it out.
Rachel drove automatically, her thoughts turned inward. If Tyree had not come into her life, she would have married Clint and considered herself a lucky woman. But Tyree had come, and everything had turned upside down. She thought of Clint, and of Tyree, and she frowned. Maybe what she felt for Tyree wasn’t love at all. Maybe she had been confusing lust with love. Maybe she should just marry Clint and settle down and raise a family. Perhaps she was being foolish to keep hoping that Tyree would come back to her. What if Clint got tired of waiting for her to say yes and he found someone else; she would wind up as a lonely old maid with no one to love, and no one to love her.
Lifting her head, she stared into the distance. What was she going to do? She shook her head, wishing she knew her own mind. It was then she saw the smoke.
“Oh, my God,” she gasped. “The ranch is on fire!”
“Walsh!” Halloran hissed. Grabbing the reins from Rachel, he slapped the ends across the lead horse’s rump. “Move, Rusty!” he hollered, and the team broke into a gallop.
When they reached the house, it was beyond saving. The roof had already collapsed and the whole structure was in flames.
The next hour was sheer hell. Racing to the barn, they grabbed feed buckets and began dousing the roof and walls with water. Fortunately, there was no wind to carry sparks to the outbuildings, but it seemed like the wisest thing, to wet down the barn and bunkhouse, just in case.
When that was done, there was nothing to do but watch as the fire gradually burned itself out. Rachel wept as she thought of the photo album that had been consumed in the flames, for it had held a faded photograph of her mother and father on their wedding day, as well as a cherished picture of her brother, Tommy. So many irreplaceable treasures, all gone, she lamented. Her mother’s wedding dress. The family Bible that traced the Halloran births and deaths and marriages back to the year 1795. The delicately embroidered lace tablecloth her grandmother had made. The tiny white dress Tommy had been baptized in.
/> They spent the night in the bunkhouse, and the next morning, after feeding the stock, they drove back to Yellow Creek.
“At least we’re not homeless,” Claire said, trying to inject a note of cheer. “We’ve still got a house to live in.”
John Halloran mustered a smile for his bride, but Rachel could not. Everything she loved was gone.
When news of the fire got around, their friends and neighbors came, bringing food and kind words of sympathy and offers to help rebuild when they were ready.
Wesley rode out to the Lazy H to see if he could find some clue as to who might have set the fire, but he found nothing.
John Halloran put on a brave front for Claire, but later, alone with Rachel, he admitted he was beat.
“She’s won,” he said dispiritedly. “Annabelle Walsh has won at last. I don’t have the money, or the heart, to rebuild the ranch. We’ll round up what cattle we have left and sell them. I’ll see if I can get some work here in town.”
“Pa—”
“I’m through fighting,” Halloran said. “But I’ll be damned if I’ll sell the land! She can run her cattle on it, she can build on it, but it will never be hers. Not so long as I live!”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Itwas fall, Rachel’s favorite season of the year, but she found no joy in the clear, crisp air or in the glorious riot of red and gold leaves that clothed the trees. Though she hated to admit it, she knew her lassitude was because of Tyree. Try as she might, she could not put him out of her mind. She still loved him as much as ever, still clung to the hope that he would come back to her even though she knew, deep inside, that she was kidding herself. He had never really cared for her. He would never come back.
Clint continued to court her as sweetly and patiently as ever a man courted a woman. He never mentioned marriage, and yet Rachel knew she had only to say the word and he would marry her in a minute. But she would never be happy with Clint. Her heart belonged to Tyree and though he would never come to claim it, she could not give it to another. It was time to be totally honest with Clint, time to tell him she could never marry him. It would be the hardest thing she had ever done, but it was time to let Clint go and stand on her own two feet. Time for Clint to accept the fact that she would never be his. Maybe then Clint would find a woman worthy of him. Carol Ann came quickly to mind. They would be perfect for each other, Rachel knew. Just perfect.
Rachel was thinking about the Halloween party Carol Ann was giving and how she could manage a little matchmaking between Clint and Carol Ann in town later that day. Surely there was some way to bring the two of them together. She was puzzling over the best method when she turned the corner onto Main Street and came face to face with Annabelle Walsh. For a moment, the two women stared at each other. Annabelle was as beautiful as ever, Rachel thought grudgingly. Her flaming hair was swept high on her head, giving her a regal appearance, her full figure was fashionably clad in the latest Paris original.
Annabelle regarded Rachel with open hostility. What was there about this snit of a girl that had so charmed a man like Tyree? Her hair was long and tawny, her figure passable, her face quite pretty, but Annabelle knew without doubt that she, herself, was the more striking of the two. She had wealth and power, she had offered herself to Tyree, and yet he had left her for some country girl.
Rachel lifted her chin proudly under Annabelle’s glacial green gaze. Even at this late date, she felt a surge of jealousy when she remembered that Tyree had once lived under Annabelle’s roof. Tyree…
“Where is he?” Rachel blurted the words, not intending, until that instant, to speak to Annabelle at all.
Annabelle looked momentarily taken aback and Rachel knew intuitively that Annabelle was the key to the mystery of Tyree’s whereabouts.
“You mean Tyree, of course,” Annabelle answered with a knowing grin. “He was an interesting man, wasn’t he? Wild, unpredictable. Rather like a stallion waiting to be tamed.” Annabelle laughed softly, a decidedly nasty laugh. “Neither of us were able to accomplish that, were we?”
Rachel swallowed hard, trying to quell the fear rising in her heart. Annabelle spoke of Tyree in the past tense, as if he were dead.
She shook the thought from her mind. “You know where he is,” Rachel said with conviction. “I know you do. Tell me. Please.” She almost choked on the last word. How hard it was to humble herself before this woman who had ruined her life and destroyed the only home she had ever known. Yet she knew she would go down on her knees, if necessary, if only Annabelle would tell her where to find Tyree.
“You love him, don’t you?” Annabelle said, amused.
“Yes.”
“And were you foolish enough to believe he loved you in return?”
“No.” The admission was barely audible.
“Tyree and his kind are incapable of love,” Annabelle said, a faint note of sadness in her voice.
“So are women like you,” Rachel said, and could have bitten off her tongue. She had not meant to say the words aloud. Angering Annabelle was the last thing she wanted to do.
“You’re a perceptive little bitch,” Annabelle said haughtily. “Good day.”
“Annabelle, please!”
“He’s gone,” Annabelle said curtly. “I sold him.”
“Sold him?” Rachel repeated, certain she had misunderstood.
“Yes, to an old friend who sells men into slavery south of the border. Save your tears. He’s probably dead by now. Or wishes he were. Whatever his condition, I’m sure our friend, Tyree, has no use for a woman. Any woman.”
Tyree, sold into slavery. It was too awful to be true. And yet, Rachel could see the truth of it shining in the depths of Annabelle’s cold green eyes.
“How could you?” Rachel breathed. “How could you be so cruel, so vindictive?”
“No man walks out on me,” Annabelle replied with a proud toss of her head. “No man.”
“You sold Tyree into slavery because he hurt your pride?” Rachel asked in disbelief. “What kind of a woman are you?”
“A rich one,” Annabelle murmured with a spiteful grin. “Good day, Miss Halloran.”
Rachel stared after Annabelle Walsh, her mind in turmoil. Tyree was a prisoner, a slave in a mine. All these months she had believed he didn’t care. She had pictured him drinking and whoring, and all the while he had been a slave. She blinked back the tears welling in her eyes. Crying would not help Tyree.
Turning on her heel, she walked briskly to the livery stable at the end of town. Candido had been working there since her father let him go. Perhaps Candido could help her.
But Candido only shook his head. “You will never get him out, Miss Rachel. I have heard stories about the mines and the men who run them. You cannot get within a mile of the place without being seen. One time I heard one of the owners had all the prisoners killed and dumped the bodies in a mine shaft rather than get caught by the law.”
“I’ve got to do something, Candido. Please help me.”
“What does your father say?”
“He’s not here. He took Claire to St. Louis. They won’t be back until spring.”
“I am sorry. I cannot help you.”
“Then I’ll go alone,” Rachel said resolutely.
Candido heaved a huge sigh. “I have a cousin who works at the mine near Verde. Perhaps he can help us.”
Days later, Rachel and Candido reached the small town of Verde. Candido’s cousin, Lado, was an old man, perhaps sixty years old. He had been a doctor in his prime, then, due to a scandal involving a rich landowner’s daughter and a Juarista, he was forced to give up his practice. Now he traveled from mine to mine, treating the prisoners for a few pesos and all the tequila he could drink.
Yes, he had seen the gringo called Tyree.
“The gunfighter,” Lado said, nodding sagely. He took a drink from the bottle that was never far from his hand. “I was there the day of the contest between the gringo and Paulo. El Patron was very angry when the gringo wo
n.”
“Is he still alive?” Rachel asked anxiously.
Lado shrugged. “Quien sabe?”
Ten minutes later, Rachel had a map giving directions to the mine.
“Señorita, you cannot ride into the mine and demand Tyree’s release, nor can you buy his freedom. If the mine owners suspect you know he is there, they will kill him, and perhaps the others, too.”
“Well, I’ve got to do something. I can’t just leave him there. I can’t go on not knowing if he’s dead or alive.”
They rode in silence. Rachel’s mind concocted and rejected a half dozen ways to free Tyree, but she refused to give up. There had to be a way.
They were on their way back to Yellow Creek when they skirted the outer edge of Sunset Canyon. Rachel shuddered as she remembered that day, the heat, the Indians…
“That’s it!” she exclaimed.
“Señorita?”
“The Apache,” Rachel said excitedly. “I’ll go to the Mescalero. Tyree is their friend. Surely they’ll help him.”
“No. It is madness.”
“I’ll need your help,” Rachel went on, ignoring his objection. “You can speak a little Apache, can’t you?”
“Sí, señorita, but…”
“Good. If we keep riding, we should find their camp before nightfall.”
“Or they will find us,” Candido said. “Santa Maria, pray for us.”
They did not find the Apache camp, but that night, just before dark, the Indians found them. Rachel gave a little cry of alarm as thirty warriors seemed to appear out of nowhere, their obsidian eyes alight with interest as they came upon two lone white people.
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