by Debra Cowan
The pain was so sharp, it numbed her. “It’s because I have no proof. That’s how you judge things, isn’t it? On what you can see, what you can touch?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I can’t do that for you. All I have is my word, which seems to mean nothing to you.”
“You could tell me where Saul is hiding.”
“Would it matter if I did?” she asked bitterly. “I might be lying.”
“You still have to let me know if he contacts you. He’s a suspect in my investigation.”
She could promise till Judgment Day and Bowie wouldn’t believe her. “I’d like you to leave now.”
“Happy to oblige.” He stalked to the door. “I’ll find Saul on my own like I should’ve done before. If you know where he’s headed or has been hiding out, you’d best start talking.”
A red mist hazed her vision as anger erupted. “Why don’t you put me back under surveillance and find out for yourself?”
His nostrils flared; fury burned in his eyes. He opened the door, then turned, holding up the necklace. “Would you have given this to me if I hadn’t caught you with it?”
The words punched her in the chest.
“Caught me?” As if she were the one who had taken it. She hadn’t tried to hide it. She had told him the truth about everything, given him everything. She wasn’t giving him anything else. “I guess you’ll never know, will you?”
His mouth tightened and he walked out.
Merritt closed her eyes. It hurt that he didn’t trust her, but that pain was nothing compared to finding out just how much he didn’t.
Bowie wasted no time saddling Midnight and riding out to track Bream. Fetching his brother to help him would take time Bowie couldn’t afford to lose, so he started from Merritt’s bedroom window and followed the trail of broken grass to the hillside behind her house. Bream had come this way, just as she’d said.
A zigzag series of bent branches led Bowie down the back side of the hill and to the South Kiowa River, where he lost the outlaw’s trail. No hoofprints along the bank, nothing. He rode down to the water to talk to the ferryman. Muddy Newton hadn’t transported Saul across the river; he hadn’t even seen the man.
From there, Bowie headed north around Cahill Crossing and angled up to Phantom Springs. As he rode, he tried to keep his mind off Merritt. The rage that had driven him to accuse her of keeping information from him surged back on a powerful wave. And just beneath that, a sliver of doubt wiggled in.
He couldn’t believe she was still protecting her lower-than-snake-spit foster brother. Bream was just as likely to be Earl and Ruby’s killer as Vernon Pettit. Had Merritt kept Ruby’s necklace from Bowie in an effort to keep him from learning the extent of Bream’s involvement in the murders of Bowie’s parents?
If so, she wasn’t the only one at fault. It was because of Bowie that his parents had been killed to start with, because he had made the choice not to meet them at Wolf Grove. And now, just as it had a few minutes ago when he had spied the jewelry in Merritt’s hand, guilt swamped him.
Bowie reached the springs and found no sign of Merritt’s foster brother at or around her favorite spot. The sun had risen steadily as he had tracked the outlaw, and sweat trickled down his spine. Lifting his hat, he dragged a forearm across his damp forehead before fishing his mother’s necklace from the pocket of his denims.
With the water whispering over the rocks behind him, Bowie stared down at the deep red stone in his palm, sunlight glittering off the silver chain and delicate filigree surrounding the oval-cut ruby. Ma should’ve been buried wearing this, but thanks to Merritt’s foster brother and two other outlaw bastards, Ruby Cahill had left this earth without her favorite earthly possession.
Kneeing Midnight into motion, Bowie continued on to Triple Creek. He knew Bream had been here on at least two occasions, but he wasn’t here today. He didn’t spy any fresh horseshoe or boot prints. The deep print impressions in the mud along the bank where the three creeks joined testified that the only thing that had been here lately was cattle.
After riding an area that spanned an arc from northwest to northeast of the creeks’ junction and finding no sign of Bream’s horse, Bowie turned back for Ca-Cross. He would form a posse with a few trusted friends and try again.
As hard as losing track of the outlaw grated on Bowie, it didn’t bother him half as much as the growing and gut-twisting certainty that he’d made a mistake about Merritt.
Just remembering the raw pain in her eyes earlier made Bowie inwardly wince. He hadn’t been able to take her word that she had hidden nothing from him, that the necklace came into her possession exactly when she had said it had. That she had had every intention of handing it over to him.
Last night, he hadn’t had any trouble believing her when she’d come to him. The way she had hurt over realizing the truth about her foster brother couldn’t have been faked. Neither could the way she had looked at Bowie when he’d been deep inside her.
She cared about him. Her feelings had been plain in her deep green eyes. He had believed her when she had said she trusted him, but he hadn’t given her the same trust in return.
He loved her. He’d known it for a while, but she sure had no reason to believe that. He had doubted her the first time they’d hit a bump in the road.
Bowie cursed. He’d made a lot of mistakes in his life, the most major one resulting in the loss of his parents. He didn’t want to lose Merritt, as well.
Though he wanted to hold on to his anger, he knew she shouldn’t have been the object of it. He couldn’t shake the memory of how she had paled, the devastation on her face earlier. Devastation he’d put there.
Seeing his mother’s necklace, touching it, Bowie had been blinded by anger and loss. The thought that Saul had been in possession of it all this time had driven Bowie over the edge, straight into an emotional ambush.
He hadn’t been able to put away the emotion and listen to Merritt. To really hear her. The pain, the loss, had welled up, nearly choking him. It was like his mother had been killed all over again.
Last night, he had thought Merritt had chosen him. In her room earlier, it had felt like she’d chosen her foster brother, and Bowie had wanted proof that she hadn’t.
The fact was she hadn’t needed to tell him anything about Bream, ever. Hadn’t needed to return his mother’s necklace. Hadn’t had to give herself to him. But she had done all those things.
She had been showing him that proof all along. He just had to trust in it.
He didn’t deserve Merritt’s forgiveness, but he was going to ask for it, anyway.
The sun was setting when Bowie, Ace and Clancy returned to Ca-Cross from another search for Bream. Bowie had given only the bare minimum of information. His friends knew they were looking for a wanted outlaw and that was plenty for them.
They split up when they reached the jail. Bowie dismounted, looking down the street at the boardinghouse. It was past suppertime. Not that he would be welcome. As soon as he washed up, he was going, anyway.
He looped his gelding’s reins over the hitching post and grabbed a small square of toweling from his saddlebag before making for the pump between his office and the undertaker’s salon.
After two quick pulls of the handle, he stuck his hands under the gush of cool water and washed the grime from his face. He dried his face and neck as he walked back to the jailhouse steps.
When he moved the rag to his hot, dusty nape, he looked up. And froze.
Merritt stood on the landing, watching him quietly, her green eyes shuttered against him.
His heart kicked hard as he walked up to meet her. “Hi.”
“Hello.” Her voice was cool and distant, her mouth tight.
Damn. “I was fixin’ to come talk to you.”
“Yes, I needed to tell you something, too.”
Maybe that she didn’t like the way they had left things, either? Hopeful, he stepped around her and opened the door. Anticipation grew. “
Why don’t you come inside?”
“There’s no need for that.” Her voice was stripped of emotion and she looked at him as if he were a stranger.
Dread hammered at him. Judging by her tone and the rigid set of her shoulders, she wasn’t here for reconciliation. If he was going to apologize, he’d best get on with it. “Merritt, I—”
“I need to tell you this.” She stepped closer, looking extremely uncomfortable about it.
Which irritated him. They’d been naked and a damn sight closer than this last night.
“Saul wants you to meet him after dark at Triple Creek.”
“Saul.” Bowie blinked. “I looked there for him. I looked everywhere today. Where has he been?”
“Not with me,” she said defensively.
“I didn’t think he was,” he said quietly, seeing all over again just how badly he had hurt her.
She didn’t respond. Instead, she fished a piece of paper out of her skirt pocket and pushed it at him. “I didn’t figure you’d believe me, so I had him write it out.”
“Don’t,” he bit out, hating that she believed he doubted her. He edged her closer to the door. “Don’t think that. Let’s go inside.”
“And here are the notes he left me, so you can compare the handwriting.” She handed him two more pieces of paper.
Anger and hurt tightened his chest. Hurt that he had made her feel this way.
When he didn’t look at the notes, she frowned. Her gaze went from them to him. “You can see he wrote them. That should be plenty to prove I’m telling the truth.”
“I don’t need you to prove it!” he gritted out. Taking a deep breath, he lowered his voice. “Please come inside so we can talk about this.”
“We don’t need to talk.”
Bowie felt as if his skin was being slowly peeled off. “I know you’re telling the truth. Those things I said this morning… I know better. I wish I’d never said them. I know you haven’t lied to me. I know you wouldn’t.”
“That’s good, because I haven’t.”
“Can you forgive me?” He stuck the notes in the pocket of his denims and reached for her.
She shied away.
His hands fell back to his sides, curling into fists. How to make her understand? “When I saw Ma’s necklace, it was like I lost her all over again. I never meant to hurt you and I know I did.”
Her green gaze was steady, flat. Remote.
An ache spread through his chest. “Merritt, I’m apologizing here.”
“All right. Thank you.” Her voice wobbled slightly. “I accept.”
His relief was short-lived because she turned to walk away. Panic flaring, he snagged her elbow, refusing to release her even when she tensed.
“You forgive me, but you’re leaving?”
“There’s nothing else to say.”
There damn sure was. “I…have feelings for you.”
A flash of pain darkened her eyes.
“You feel something for me. I know you do.”
She shook her head.
He lowered his head, rasping, “You wouldn’t have given yourself to me last night if you didn’t.”
She tugged hard, pulling from his grasp. “Well, it’s not enough, is it?” Her voice cracked and, when she looked at him, tears welled in her eyes. “I can’t give you what you need.”
“What do you mean?” He took her by the shoulders. “You’re what I need.”
She shook her head. “What you need is someone who can offer you tangible proof of their…loyalty, their feelings. Someone you can trust even when they aren’t able to do that. I can’t give you that. All I have is my word.”
“Which is enough for me. This morning, I was angry. And feeling the responsibility for my parents’ deaths. I took it out on you and that was wrong. I never should’ve said I doubted you, because I don’t.”
“I appreciate that, but it doesn’t change anything.” She pulled from his hold and picked up her skirts, hurrying down the jailhouse steps.
The sun gilded her fall of dark hair, painted her in soft gold. The image of that glorious hair spread over his pillow, the remembered feel of her soft skin beneath his hands, had his gut knotting.
Bowie wanted to toss her over his shoulder and take her somewhere so he could love her until she believed him. That should prove his feelings. Yet she hadn’t asked him to prove his feelings. She had simply wanted him to believe in hers.
He did, but it was too late.
He wanted her, but he knew she needed time to cool down. To keep from going after her, he curled a hand over the top of the wooden stair rail, his grip tightening until the skin across his knuckles burned.
Chapter Fourteen
“What you need is someone who can give you tangible proof of their…loyalty, their feelings. Someone you can trust even when they aren’t able to do that.”
Was Merritt right? Her words kept circling in Bowie’s head.
He had lost Clea because he wouldn’t give up his job as a lawman. After she had left, he had thrown himself into his work to the exclusion of all else. That had cost him his parents.
Had he become his job? Turned into someone who demanded evidence in every aspect of his life? Demanded something that was impossible for anyone to provide?
Wasn’t that what he had done with Quin?
When Bowie had first returned to Cahill Crossing, he had doubted his brother’s belief that their parents had been murdered because he himself hadn’t seen any evidence. It was one thing to obtain proof that could be used to bring their parents’ killer to justice, to prove guilt in a court of law, but Bowie’s doubt had been about his brother.
There was a time when he wouldn’t have doubted Quin. Before the fight that had torn them apart.
If he wanted evidence that Merritt’s word was good, there was plenty. He just hadn’t recognized it at first. When she didn’t want or need to, she had come to him with information that implicated her foster brother. She had told Bowie everything when she could’ve omitted things that made Saul look bad. And last night when she had finally recognized the man for the outlaw he was, she had come to Bowie.
Why? Because she trusted him to do the right thing.
She had proved plenty to him. The only thing he had proved to her was distrust.
The thought of never being with her again, of some other man putting his hands on her, having the right to touch her, had Bowie’s jaw clamping tight. The sharp edge of jealousy rode him hard.
He wasn’t going to lose Merritt over the fact that he had focused more on what people could prove to him rather than the word of people he trusted.
He loved her. He needed her. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do about that right now, but after he had talked with Saul and taken him into custody, Bowie would talk to Merritt. He wasn’t taking no for an answer.
Turning his attention to his upcoming meeting with her foster brother, Bowie slid his Colt out of its holster. He rode into the clearing beside the junction where the three water sources of Triple Creek met. A soft breeze moved through the trees that lined the bank.
He reined up on the piece of ground that sat between two of the three creek forks. His rifle, loaded and ready, hung in the scabbard against his saddle. Having already checked for anyone who might be hiding or following him, he kept an outcrop of rock at his back.
There was no movement in the trees ahead or on either side of him. Maybe Saul wasn’t coming. It wouldn’t be the first lie the outlaw had told Merritt.
But when Bowie’s gelding shifted uneasily, he knew that meant they were no longer alone. “Bream!”
“I’m here.” A tall man wearing all black stepped out of the shadow of the trees across the creek.
Bowie fixed him in his pistol’s sights. The man’s sharp eyes and features put Bowie in mind of a hawk. “Let me see your hands,” he said.
The outlaw lifted them, revealing a gun in his right one. “No need for the gun, Marshal. I’m only carrying the one weapon.”
“Why don’t you hand it over, then?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Bowie wasn’t going to waste time arguing. If Saul made a move, Bowie would shoot. “Are we going to talk?”
The other man’s gaze darted around, causing Bowie to frown.
“Are you expecting someone?”
“No.” His attention went to the area behind Bowie. “You?”
“No.”
“Okay.” Lowering his arms slowly, Saul stepped closer to the bank of the creek that separated the two men.
So, this was Merritt’s foster brother, the man who had been present when Bowie’s parents were killed. Who might have killed them.
“Where’s your horse?” he asked.
Bream hooked a thumb toward the dense growth of trees behind him. “Back in there.”
Bowie’s gaze panned the area. He knew the outlaw was doing the same thing.
Never taking his eyes off the other man, he easily slid out of the saddle to stand beside his gelding. Saul came forward another step.
A limp straw cowboy hat covered dark, ragged hair, and the sleeves of his dusty black shirt were rolled back. He eyed Bowie warily. “Did Merritt give you the necklace?”
“She did.” And it was safe in Bowie’s pocket right now. His hand tightened on his gun as he remembered what he had put her through because of it.
“Good. That’s good.”
Bowie spied a knife scar on the outlaw’s left forearm. He knew where that had come from.
Seeing no reason to start at the beginning and work his way up, he asked the most burning question. “Did you kill my parents? I know you told Merritt you were present, but didn’t physically participate. You having my ma’s necklace makes me question that.”
After a long minute, Bream admitted, “I did more than stand around.”
Bowie’s spine went rigid.
“I didn’t kill either of your parents, but I did take your ma’s necklace from her after she was dead.”
His muscles quivered with the effort not to pull the trigger. He wanted to empty his gun into the bastard. But he needed answers. And he wanted Hobbs. Right now, Saul was Bowie’s best chance to get both of those things.