Cherished

by Jill Gregory

  As if reading her thoughts, Aunt Katharine suddenly glanced over at her niece. “Juliana,” she said in a low tone. “I want you to renew your promise.”

  Juliana forced herself to meet the piercing gaze that stabbed at her across the aisle.

  “Ma’am?”

  “Promise me that you won’t attempt to locate those scoundrel brothers of yours while we’re in Denver.”

  Uncle Edward started, and turned his protuberant blue eyes upon her as well. Shorter than Aunt Kate by a good four inches, he was a fat, paunchy man with a face as round as a melon’s and a thatch of wiry graying hair he kept carefully combed back from his brow. He was not a particularly intelligent man, but he was a shrewd one, possessing a keen instinct for business, a fondness for good sherry, and a habit of studying his thumbs. Punishment from him had always been swift and firm when Juliana had misbehaved as a child: hours spent alone in her room without any supper—or a favorite toy or possession taken from her and never returned. But Aunt Kate’s retribution had been worse than anything Uncle Edward had ever done, for Aunt Kate did not forgive. She had a way of staring at you until you felt as big as a pin, and she would do it for weeks and weeks after the slightest infraction, treating you with withering contempt and ice-cold disdain until life in the Tobias house became totally unbearable. Those were the times when Juliana daydreamed about running off with Wade and Tommy, far, far from the great formal house in St. Louis, with its rules and orderliness, its somber-faced servants, its elaborate, silent meals, and most of all its austere mistress’s frosty displeasure.

  “Promise me, Juliana,” Aunt Kate insisted, exactly as if her niece were still a recalcitrant ten-year-old. “We must have your word.”

  “But ...” Juliana began, squirming uncomfortably in her seat.

  “No buts.” Uncle Edward pointed a finger at her. “Give us your word.”

  Outside, the Colorado prairie raced by. Inside the coach, her aunt and uncle both stared at her, Uncle Edward frowning, Aunt Kate glaring with that haughty, expectant look she wore whenever Maura was late bringing in tea.

  Juliana took a deep breath. “I promise.”

  They exchanged satisfied nods. Then they smiled at her.

  “That’s a good girl,” Aunt Kate approved. Uncle Edward went back to his sheaf of papers.

  What they didn’t know was that beneath the folds of her taffeta skirt, two fingers had been crossed when she issued her promise. It didn’t count, she told herself, untying the ribbons of her hat, and smoothing her hair. She was free to do as she pleased. And she would be pleased to make inquiries about the notorious Montgomery gang as soon as she arrived in Denver.

  She didn’t dare think what she would do if no one in Denver had heard of the Montgomery brothers and had no idea where they might be. Someone had to know something, and she would simply continue asking until she found the answers she sought.

  At just past six o’clock that evening the Kansas Pacific chugged into the Denver station and discharged its carloads of weary passengers. Juliana, stepping out into fresh, mountain-cooled air, took a deep breath, reveling in the pungent scent of pine. She hurried across the platform for a better view of the town. She saw wide, dusty streets lined with wood-fronted and adobe buildings, many of them saloons. Garishly painted signs proclaimed names like the LUCKY DOG, GOLD DUST, and STAR DIAMOND SALOON, the latter boasting of dancing girls and faro. Denver was larger than she’d expected; rougher, too. Not at all like staid, pretty, proper St. Louis. The streets were teeming with wagons, horses, pigs, and people going about their business, and the faint odor of manure in the air mingled strangely with the clear pine scent drifting down from the mountains rising beyond the town. Brown-faced, sunbonneted women in gingham dresses and men wearing guns and Stetsons filled the streets. Tumbleweed blew down the alleys, children skirmished in front of Dade’s General Store. She heard the neigh of horses, the clomp of a hundred pairs of boots on boardwalk, and the blare of tinny piano music and drunken shouts emanating from the Gold Dust Saloon, directly across from the depot.

  “What an ugly, squalid, dreadful place.” Katharine Tobias shuddered. “Edward, I thought you said Denver was a civilized town.”

  “It is, my dear, compared to most on the frontier.” Uncle Edward mopped his brow with a handkerchief, and peered up and down the street. “It seems Breen’s man is late coming to meet us. Well, let’s gather up the baggage and hope he arrives by the time we’ve assembled it all.”

  Juliana held back as her aunt and cousin followed him into the baggage room. It would take some time to sort through the piles of trunks, crates, and boxes being unloaded from the train, and all she needed was a moment or two.

  Quick as a wink, she slipped past a knot of travelers about to descend the platform steps, hurried down to the street, and then dashed toward the Gold Dust Saloon. It was the nearest one and the largest, from what she had seen. Her heart was pounding, for she couldn’t help feeling the very real possibility that she might encounter her brothers within those swinging doors. Of course, that was highly unlikely, but now that she was out West, it could happen.

  She was just about to enter the saloon when suddenly gunshots roared from inside. The sound burst through Juliana’s ears, stunning her. Someone screamed, windowpanes rattled, and on the street all about her, people ducked for cover. Juliana, one hand upon the door, froze with terror.

  For a moment, time seemed to stand still. She was trembling all over, yet she was dimly aware of the rough town behind her. She was aware of the April wind caressing her cheek, aware of the unnatural silence that had followed those first thundering shots. She was torn between an urge to flee, and an almost overwhelming desire to burst inside and see what had happened. But her legs wouldn’t move.

  Then, before she could do anything, the saloon doors swung wide and a man charged out, colliding full force with Juliana. She was knocked sideways into the wall by the most stunningly handsome man she’d ever seen.

  He was young, seemed to be in his late twenties, and very tall. Ink-black hair touched his shirt collar; steel-blue eyes stared out from a rough, sun-bronzed face. He looked as strong as Goliath, Juliana thought in a daze. She caught a fascinating glimpse of curly black chest hair beneath the collar of his shirt and something in the pit of her stomach squeezed tight. The snug black trousers he wore tucked into his boots emphasized rather than disguised a body that was lean and superbly fit, splendid with muscles. His physique bespoke power, but his expression bespoke danger. Dragging her gaze from that dark mat of chest hair to his face, Juliana nearly gasped. She had never seen anyone as handsome, and at the same time deadly-looking, in her life.

  Danger emanated from him like heat from a stove. Beneath the black Stetson he wore the look of a man who had never once been tethered by the softening influence of love. This man had never been tethered by anything, Juliana realized. And those keen, intense blue eyes were like none other she had ever seen.

  He was like none she had ever seen. As she steadied herself against the wall, recovering from being knocked aside, his gaze bored straight into her without a flicker of emotion.

  “Beg your pardon, ma’am.”

  He didn’t sound the least bit sorry.

  His cold glance swept past, scanning either side of the road. He spoke again, his voice soft and even as he appraised the empty street.

  “If I were you, ma’am, I’d step back a pace or this hombre will bleed all over that pretty dress of yours,” the stranger drawled without sparing her a second glance.

  It was then that Juliana had the wit to tear her gaze from that magnetic face. Looking down, she saw with a quiver of horror that he was casually dragging behind him a man’s blue-and-yellow-shirted, blood-spattered body.

  Juliana had never fainted before in her life, but she’d never seen a dead body before either. She took one look at the blood and guts spilling from the dead man and felt a great dry coldness sweep over her. The man was wearing a blue and yellow shirt—oddly fa
miliar. He had golden blond hair, thick and silky, falling over his face.

  The shirt, the hair ... it came to her with a jolt, it looked just like ...

  “Tommy!” she whispered with a breath of horror, and then she pitched forward like a rag doll straight into the stranger’s arms.

  2

  The stranger caught her just before she hit the ground. Cursing, he was forced to release his hold on the dead man’s shirt and to sweep an arm about the swooning girl before she crashed onto the boardwalk. Just what I need, Cole Rawdon thought in disgust. A fool woman to slow me down.

  “Damn it all to hell,” he muttered under his breath as her hat fell off and a tumble of gold curls cascaded down, nearly touching the ground.

  A crowd was gathering. Rawdon hated crowds.

  “What are you staring at?” He glared at the sea of faces, and the onlookers scattered. With a grimace he turned back to the woman, really seeing her for the first time. She was a slip of a thing, no more. And pretty as pie. Pretty? No, Cole decided. Pretty didn’t quite describe her. She was beautiful. For a moment he forgot about the dead man and the crowd, and found himself studying the girl.

  Cole didn’t remember ever seeing skin so creamy and smooth, or hair quite so pure and dazzling a gold. Or features so elegant—as though they’d been cut from fine crystal. Breakable, that’s how she looked. Like she belonged on a china shop shelf, not the streets of Denver. For a moment he just stared at her, mesmerized. Then he came to his senses with a start. Hell, it was damned inconvenient to be stuck holding on to this female in the middle of Denver when he had to get Gus Borden’s corpse to Sugar Creek pronto. A two-hundred-dollar reward was waiting at the end of that four-hour ride—and Cole meant to claim it, and get rid of Gus, before the outlaw’s body started to rot. For a moment longer he let his eyes slide over the girl’s willowy form, admiring the soft curves beneath her fancy dress, the way her breasts strained against the tight fabric. Damn, she is something. Too bad I’m in a hurry, he thought, his eyes narrowing with regret. If I had more time, I’d wait around to see if she knows how to show a man proper gratitude. He doubted it. Any girl who fainted at the sight of a little blood was sure to be too weak-spined and silly to be any fun at all. Besides, Ina Day was dancing in the Red Feather Saloon in Sugar Creek tonight and she always knew how to show him a good time.

  Cole tore his gaze from the delicate planes of the girl’s face with an effort. A thin man with dark whiskers was watching him warily from ten paces down the boardwalk. “Hey, you, come here,” he ordered. “Grab ahold of this woman and ... do something with her.”

  As the man nervously approached, Cole saw the girl’s eyelashes flutter. About time. Suddenly she opened her eyes and gazed up at him in a dazed fashion. He felt his insides tighten. She had the most exquisite eyes he’d ever seen—huge, expressive, green as a Montana valley, and filled just now with a touching uncertainty that, if he’d been any other man, would have tugged at his heart. But Cole had been delayed long enough, and life’s hard blows had toughened whatever he’d once had of a heart.

  “Been a pleasure getting acquainted with you, ma’am, but I’m afraid I’ve got to be going now,” he drawled, and dumped her without ceremony into the bewhiskered man’s arms. Without another glance at the girl who had interfered with the orderly execution of his business, he seized Gus Borden’s shirt collar and dragged him over to the sorrel horse tethered in front of the saloon. Flinging the body over the saddle and tying it securely in place, Cole forced himself to avoid looking at the little knot of bonneted women, curious children, and silent men who had gathered around the girl. He mounted Arrow and spurred the horse forward, directing the sorrel through the town. Denver, pretty much inured to violence in the streets and saloons, was already getting back to normal.

  So much for Denver, and fainting women. As he left the town behind for the solitude of sagebrush and plains, Cole tried not to think about the girl with the golden cloud of hair. Tommy, she had said, just before she fainted. She’d been looking at Borden when she said it. Strange. Equally strange was the fact that the girl had been about to enter the saloon. She didn’t look like any fallen dove he’d ever seen; she looked damned respectable—aristocratic, even—but then, Cole thought, spurring Arrow on across the foothills, what did he know about women? Only what he’d learned from Liza, and that was all bad. Ina Day and the other dance-hall girls and whores he frequented now and then were fine and dandy conveniences for fulfilling the needs of a man’s body, but he didn’t know a damned thing about any one of them, and he didn’t care to, either. Women were tricky, cunning, and treacherous creatures, that’s all he knew or needed to know. The prettier they were, the more dangerous they could be. According to this way of figuring things, that gold-haired beauty back there could be downright fatal.

  Cole knew one thing. The sooner he forgot about her, the better off he’d be. He turned his mind to Borden, and the reward, and how he’d celebrate finishing the job by looking up Ina and letting her entertain him for the night. That kind of company he could handle. Short, sweet, and uncomplicated, a night with Ina would make him forget all about the girl who’d fainted, a girl Cole was certain he’d never see again.

  The foothills rose about him as he rode away from Denver, soothing him with their wildness, their solitude, their lonely embrace. Cole settled down for the ride and fixed his sights on Ina Day, a feather bed, and a bottle of the Red Feather’s finest.

  Juliana, meanwhile, came dazedly awake to find herself in the arms of a thin, frightened-looking man with black whiskers and a bulbous nose. Ugh. No. That wasn’t the face at all. Dizzy, she shut her eyes again, and a soft moan escaped her lips. She tried to summon up the image of a handsome young face, rugged and strong and hard. Hadn’t she just seen that face? Where had it gone?

  Her uncle’s voice rang with cold fury through the air, shattering her dreamy haze. “Juliana, what is the meaning of this? What are you doing down here in the street?”

  Her eyes blinked open. She found herself in the center of a little crowd of people, all eyeing her curiously. Aunt Katharine, Uncle Edward, and Victoria were glaring at her as if she had just marched naked through a garden party. Why? Frantically, she tried to clear her foggy brain.

  “Is she yours, mister?” The bewhiskered man peered hopefully at Uncle Edward. His cheeks were red with embarrassment. “Not that I mind helping a lady in trouble,” he went on hurriedly, and then glanced up and down the street with a distracted air. “But, you see, my missus’ll be along any time now and she might not ‘xactly understand why I’ve got a pretty gal in my arms. You know how women can be.”

  Several people chuckled, another man slapped him on the back in sympathy, and Juliana’s memory came flooding back with shocking force. Gasping, she jolted upright onto her own two feet, ignoring the light-headed sensation that washed over her. “Tommy!” she cried, and turned to Uncle Edward with terrified eyes. “That man—the dead man—it was Tommy—Uncle Edward, I saw his shirt, he—”

  “Pshaw, girl, I don’t know who you thought that feller was, but I kin tell you for right certain it was Gus Borden, the lowest kind of rustler and killer you ever met.” An old-timer with bushy white hair and a bent back peered at her from under swooping eyebrows almost bigger than his leathered face.

  “Are you sure?” Juliana put a hand to her heart as its pounding gradually slowed. “Oh, mister, are you sure?”

  “Sure as shootin’, missy. There was a price on Borden’s head. Feller that shot him was a bounty hunter, name of Cole Rawdon. I saw the whole thing, and a damned fine bit of shooting it was.”

  “That bounty hunter shore was in a big hurry,” the bewhiskered man put in. He had taken out a handkerchief and begun mopping his perspiring brow, obviously relieved that the lovely young woman was no longer reclining in his arms. “When he told me to grab ahold of you, you could have knocked me down with a feather. But damned if I knew what else to do. He looked mighty fierce, and I didn’t want to d
o nothing to aggravate him—I’ve heard of Cole Rawdon ...”

  Cole Rawdon. Juliana, filled with relief that the dead man had not been Tommy after all, leaned against the wall for support. Her mind was spinning. As she tried to steady the jumbled whirl of emotions and events, her thoughts turned back to the lean, handsome gunman, the one who had done the killing and then had so calmly, coldly suggested that she step back apace.

  “There he goes, riding out of town.” Victoria pointed at a rising cloud of dust to the west. “I declare, what a monstrous, uncivilized place this is. A person shot and killed the very moment we arrive in town! When I saw that man—that bounty hunter—and the way he was holding you, and the way he was looking at you, Juliana, why, my blood ran cold ...”

  “What I want to know,” Aunt Katharine interrupted, turning toward her niece with a penetrating glance, “is what you were doing in front of the saloon. Why on earth didn’t you come into the baggage room with us?”

  Juliana forced herself to meet that suspicious stare. “I was about to, Aunt Katharine,” she said in a small voice, “but ... my handkerchief blew away and I was merely trying to retrieve it.”

  Katharine Tobias’s gaze remained fixed upon her face. “And did you?”

  “N-no ... in all the excitement, I forgot.”

  Victoria clutched her father’s sleeve. “After all that’s happened, I think we should get on the next eastbound train and go home. I don’t like this place, Papa.”

  “Now, now, my dear, don’t be so quick to retreat.” Uncle Edward patted his daughter on the shoulder, then straightened his lapels with a businesslike air. “I’m certain our stay will proceed more normally from this point on. As soon as Mr. Breen’s man arrives for us, that is.”