Gregory, Jill

by Warm Stranger Cold Night

  "She's been gone weeks already." Homer gritted his teeth. "The trail will be stone-cold."

  "Don't you worry none, little brother. Ain't no man nor woman been born that I can't track if I set my mind to it." Judd stroked his mustache, his round face lit with determination. " 'Specially if there's a damned fortune at stake. You mark my words—that good-for-nothing slut is as good as caught. We'll get her and those diamonds back. And when I get my hands on little Maura Jane, there won't be enough of her left worth dragging back. That's a promise."

  Chapter 20

  Three interminable days passed with no word of Quinn or the posse. Though Maura found much to occupy her time—what with sprucing up the cabin, clearing away the weeds and brush, sewing curtains, and organizing the pantry, it was never very long before she would stop her work, shade her eyes, and peer into the horizon to wonder where he was and if he was safe.

  The days seemed endless. The nights dragged by, longer still. Silence and loneliness gripped the valley, casting a pallor even over the bright spring colors of wild-flowers and new grass.

  The bow-legged new foreman, Bill Saunders, and the two hands from the Crooked T ranch went about their business efficiently and didn't speak to her much other than to say "yes, ma'am," or "no, ma'am," or "thank you, ma'am" when she served them their meals or brought them mugs of coffee. But she had other company—much more effusive company—and all of it at the same time.

  On the third evening, shortly after supper, the Weaver buggy pulled up before the cabin. Mrs. Weaver held the reins, and beside her sat Alice Tyler, while in the back were perched two other women whom Maura didn't know.

  She had just finished sweeping the kitchen floor and came out the door with the broom in her hand.

  "Howdy!" Mrs. Weaver called in her booming voice. "Feel like a spot of company, Maura?"

  Her heart gladdened at the sight of these tidy women in their bonnets and best smiles. She welcomed them into the cabin, and was glad that everything was at least neat and dusted. She had discovered a rolled-up crimson rag rug in the shed, and this now warmed the plain puncheon floor. And she'd stuck wildflowers in a metal mug on the kitchen table, and had put up the first of her white lace curtains at the front windows.

  With sweeping gestures, Edna introduced her to Carolyn Mason, a tall, austere stick of a woman whose husband owned Mason's Hardware Store, as well as to Miss Grace Ellis, a prim, pale woman from Boston who taught school for the children of Hope.

  "We've come to invite you to join our sewing circle." Edna Weaver came immediately to the point in her blunt way as the ladies all found seats on the old sofa, lined up in a row, while Maura slipped into a chair.

  "That's very kind of you." Maura gazed at Edna in surprise. After the last visit, she hadn't expected any further hospitality. "I'd be honored to join," she said quickly.

  Edna beamed and Alice Tyler threw her a delighted smile. "We meet once a week, weather permitting—we rotate houses each week," Alice explained. "Except for

  Grace, since she lives in Serena Walsh's boardinghouse. And though we could meet in Serena's front parlor, I suppose...well, we just don't."

  "It would be awkward," Carolyn explained, picking up the thread of conversation as Alice took a breath, "since Serena isn't a member of our little group."

  "She isn't? Why not?" Maura spoke without thinking, then gave her head a little shake. "Forgive me, that was a thoughtless question."

  "Oh, no dear, not at all." Carolyn Mason waved a gaunt hand dismissively, and leaned forward on the sofa. "Serena just doesn't fit in. She's not the sewing circle type, if you know what I mean. All of us are women of education and culture. In fact, our future goal is to expand this sewing circle, once the trouble with the Campbell gang is resolved, and more decent people settle in Hope. We eventually want to form a library committee, as well, and raise funds to build a public library right here in Hope!"

  "A most worthy endeavor," Maura murmured, her heart gladdening at the thought. A town that encouraged cultural activities and boasted a library would be a fine place to raise her child. "I'd be happy to be part of that committee as well," she offered eagerly.

  "I knew you would, dear." Edna smiled approvingly and glanced at each of the others in turn as if to say, I told you so.

  "Edna and I noticed immediately that you possessed an air of refinement—and that you were well-spoken," Alice put in softly. "That's why we hoped you would join us."

  "Serena Walsh, on the other hand..."Carolyn Mason's voice trailed off deliberately, and her mouth curled down at the corners.

  Alice sighed and gave her head a tiny shake.

  "From what we've heard," Edna went on, folding her large, knobby hands in her lap, "she's the kind of woman who'd rather spend her evenings playing cards with her gentleman boarders and drinking spirits and even smoking cigars, rather than engaging in polite society with...with..."

  "More respectable women," Miss Grace Ellis finished quietly, then blushed.

  Maura looked at each of them. "I see. You're saying that she's not respectable?"

  Miss Ellis blushed deeper, and nervously patted the chestnut bun tightly coiled behind her ears. "Oh, that sounds so unkind. And we don't mean to be unkind, but—"

  "She doesn't want to be part of our group any more than we want her to," Carolyn Mason stated flatly.

  "It's true." Edna nodded. "But mercy me, we didn't come here to talk about Serena, now did we? Let me explain about our sewing circle and then we can get started."

  The sewing circle met weekly, giving the women a chance to talk, work, and relax all at the same time, to exchange news and gossip and have a welcome respite from the loneliness and sameness of their task-filled days. Sometimes they worked together on a joint project, such as a quilt, meant as a gift for one of them or someone in town, and at other times they each worked on individual items, such as their current project: Each lady was sewing herself a new gown for the May Day dance to be held at the Tyler ranch.

  "And this is our gift to you, as a new member of the circle," Edna declared. Reaching into her basket, she pulled out a length of pale yellow silk, lustrous as the sun. "Grace brought some pattern books—you can pick out whichever style you like and we'll do all the measuring for you."

  Speechless, Maura gazed at each of them, touched beyond anything she could express. In Knotsville no one had ever approached her socially—everyone was too frightened of Judd and Homer, and she was shunned whenever she ventured out, except by the merchants, who handled her purchases with careful, businesslike decorum, always keeping her at a distance.

  "The fabric is lovely," she said at last. "And so is the offer of friendship—and companionship. I can't begin to thank you enough."

  "We're all delighted you'll be joining us," Edna assured her, her broad smile as warm and comforting as lantern light in a lonely cave.

  As Grace handed her one of the pattern books, and Alice came to stand beside her and study it in the glow of the setting amber sun, Maura could only think how fortunate it was that she had baked a peach pie that afternoon, just in case Quinn came home. Though he hadn't, Bill Saunders and the ranch hands, Tex and Grady, had enjoyed it, and she was certain the ladies of the Hope Sewing Circle would too.

  It was while they were seated at the kitchen table drinking sugared coffee and chatting over warm slices of peach pie that Alice Tyler brought up the subject of the hunt for the Campbells, speaking in her quiet way.

  "I think the men must return soon. Either they're close to finding the outlaws, or they've lost them by now." She met Maura's eyes and gave a small, almost inaudible sigh. "I'll just be happy when they're safely home."

  "All I have to say is that it's a blessing that none other than Quinn Lassiter has become part of our little community," Carolyn Mason exclaimed. She threw Maura a brilliant smile. "At first when I heard, I wondered if a gunfighter settling in Hope would mean more trouble, but then he saved Alice's life, and Edna and Alice both told me how sweet and ladylike and
respectable you are, and I said to myself, 'Well, if a gunfighter loves a woman enough to give up his wild ways to marry her, then he's more than welcome in Hope.' " She took a sip of coffee. "Lord knows we can use all the help we can get right now. Though I do wish he had consented to be our sheriff—"

  "Carolyn," Alice interrupted hastily, throwing Maura an apologetic glance. "It is not anyone's place to judge or to—"

  "It's all right, Alice. I don't mind." Maura smiled reassuringly at her, wondering how respectable Carolyn Mason would think her if she only knew the real reason Quinn Lassiter had married her. She turned to the tall woman, who was regarding her with raised black brows. "You'll never meet a man more dedicated to doing what's right than my husband," she said firmly. "He can always be counted on to help those in need. I don't believe it matters if he chooses to wear a badge or not."

  "But why would he object, Maura? I simply don't understand." Carolyn set down her cup and pursed her lips. "There would be a salary involved and though not a fortune, I fail to see how any practical man wouldn't be enticed by the possibility of earning money for performing a service, rather than doing it for nothing. And particularly a gunfighter, for goodness' sake—a man who hires out his gun to anyone who has the fee!"

  Maura rose, struggling to control her anger and to keep her voice level. "I'm afraid that my husband's decisions and his integrity are something I cannot allow to be called into question," she said softly, and ignoring Carolyn Mason, turned to address Edna Weaver, who had frozen with her fork in midair. "Much as I regret it, Edna, I have no choice but to decline your kind invitation to join the Hope Sewing Circle."

  "Now, now, dear, don't be so hasty," Edna cried, blinking rapidly up at Maura. She set her fork down with a clatter. "I'm sure Carolyn didn't mean anything. Did you, Carolyn?"

  "Well, I only... I just... I don't see what is wrong with..."

  "Carolyn!" Alice Tyler spoke between clenched teeth and for once there was steel beneath the softness in her eyes.

  "Yes, indeed, Carolyn," Grace added. If anything she had grown even more pale, and her hazel eyes glistened as she fixed them upon the other woman. "It is the true sign of a lady to behave graciously at all times and it is most ungracious to insult a woman's husband, wittingly or not. And to do it in her own home..."

  "Very well, you don't have to make such a fuss about it!" Carolyn snapped. She turned to Maura. "If I said something I oughtn't, I'm sorry. I'd be much obliged if you'd forgive me."

  Met only by silence, she glanced around the table, took a deep breath, and plunged on. "I never meant to say a word against your husband. I'm sure he's a fine man. Lord knows, I heard he's handsome as the devil, and that he shoots a gun every bit as good as he looks—"

  "Maura," Alice interrupted hastily as Edna Weaver threw up her hands. "Will you please reconsider? We so want you to be a part of the Hope Sewing Circle. There are several other ladies who join us, too, all fine, upstanding members of the community—but they couldn't leave their families tonight. You'll meet them next time when we gather at the Crooked T. Say you'll come."

  Maura looked around the circle of faces. Alice nodded encouragingly at her, and Edna reached over to pat her hand. Grace Ellis even managed a thin, hopeful smile. Carolyn Mason swallowed hard and hung her head.

  "Well, now that we've cleared up all our misunderstandings," Maura said quietly, "I should be delighted to join—and to come to the next meeting."

  Everyone began talking at once, exclaiming with relief and pleasure. But as Maura rose to fetch the coffeepot, she caught sight of a dark figure framed in the door that led from the cabin's parlor.

  Quinn!

  With a cry, her hands flew to her throat. His clothes and boots were caked with dust, his lean face shadowed with dark stubble. His silver eyes glinted at her beneath the brim of his hat.

  He was alive, so alive. She'd never seen such a wonderful sight.

  "Ladies." His glance flicked from his wife's startled face to the astonished expressions of each woman in turn, then returned to rest once more upon Maura.

  "Didn't mean to scare you," he said, and came slowly into the kitchen.

  For a moment Maura could have sworn she'd seen a blaze of warmth in his expression, and a flicker of something else—pleasure? But it quickly vanished and she knew it must have been her imagination. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck, but she was remembering the rough way he had kissed her and then walked out on her, and she stood rooted to the spot, not knowing what to say or do, how to hide her true feelings. But as she became aware of the audience watching her, she knew this frozen silence would never do and forced herself to walk quickly forward.

  "I'm so thankful you're back safely," she murmured stiffly, and reached up tentatively to put her arms around his neck.

  Quinn embraced her, mindful of the group of women closely watching them. His own emotions were in upheaval, but he managed to hide them as he savored the feel of her softly curving body against his, inhaled the sweet woman's scent of her. Alarmed at just how good it felt to hold her, he quickly released her and stepped back.

  "Don't sound so surprised." His voice was even. "I told you I'd be back, angel."

  "Yes. So you did."

  But he was thinking about the remarkable scene he'd come upon without warning. She'd been defending him. Defending him. That was his role—protector. She shouldn't have had to do that with this stuffy biddy who thought a man should jump through hoops just to prove he was civilized.

  It surprised him that she had.

  "Everything all right, Maura?" It was an effort to keep his tone offhand and level. "No trouble while I was gone? And the—"

  He wanted to ask her about the baby, if she'd felt sick or anything like that—but not in front of this damned audience of women, all gaping at him, watching his every move. He scowled.

  "I'm fine. Everything's fine," she replied quietly, but her eyes looked searchingly into his.

  "Sorry to interrupt your party." As all of the ladies continued to watch with rabid interest and curiosity, he headed toward the bedroom, his bedroll slung over his shoulder.

  Alice Tyler's quiet voice stopped him. "Did you find the Campbells? Was anyone.... hurt?"

  He turned toward her, shaking his head. "No casualties. The only thing we lost was their trail. They gave us the slip somewhere in Eagle's Pass."

  Alice nearly sagged with relief, but Edna Weaver's voice held apprehension. "So they could come back?"

  "They most likely will, Mrs. Weaver. But not for a while, I'd wager. Lee seems to have lost a lot of blood. He won't be spoiling for a fight anytime soon. And Ned doesn't have the guts to face anything alone."

  He didn't mention Luke, or what Hoss had told him before he died. If Luke was really on his way to join up with his cousins, they'd find out soon enough. No need to alarm the women at this point. He meant to search again for the Campbells when the furor had died down and they weren't expecting it—and he'd do his damnedest to rid the world of their whole greedy, lying, murdering clan once and for all before anyone else got hurt.

  After dumping his bedroll in a corner of the bedroom, he headed back out to the kitchen and poured himself coffee while the ladies took their leave—nearly scrambling out the door in their haste. They seemed to think that the Lassiters would like to be alone. This irritated Quinn. Those women couldn't see through him, could they? They couldn't tell how glad he was to see Maura, that he wanted to take her into the bedroom and make love to her all night long? He'd always been able to hide what he was thinking so well.

  No, it was impossible, he told himself, taking a long gulp of the hot brew. They were just being thoughtful.

  "Won't you sit down, Quinn, and have some pie with your coffee?" Maura spoke almost formally when the rig had driven off. Beyond the window, the twilight sky deepened over the valley as the final rose and amber rays of the sun glimmered at the brink of the horizon. Some of the glimmer streamed in, rippling like fire across her hair.


  "You don't have to fuss over me, Maura."

  "I wouldn't dream of it. But you just arrived home and you're probably hungry. Have you eaten dinner?"

  "Yeah. I don't need a thing."

  Except you in my arms, in my bed, he thought as he felt his gut clench.

  He was falling. Falling fast and hard. This had to stop.

  While he was gone, he'd found himself thinking about her every time he stared into a campfire, remembering the heart-tugging beauty of her face, the way she'd responded to his kiss right here in this cabin, as if they were the only two people on earth.

  Now that he was back, he was amazed to find that she looked even more irresistible than he remembered.

  Fresh and sweet as a ripening peach, there for the taking.

  A man could get used to coming home to a wife like this. A man could get downright... comfortable. He hated comfortable.

  He had to put the brakes on all this foolishness before it was too late.

  He turned on his heel and stalked to the door.

  "Where are you going, Quinn?" Dismay showed plainly in those wide velvet-brown eyes.

  "To the creek."

  "The creek?"

  "I need to wash up. I'm filthy with trail dust."

  "But...it's cold out there now. Why don't you..."

  "I like the cold, angel. Hell, I love the cold. Don't bother waiting up for me. You need your shut-eye."

  "But—"

  The door slammed before she could finish the sentence.

  She stared at it. Long seconds ticked past as fury swept through her. How many times was he going to walk out on her, slam a door on her, and simply walk away?

  As many times as you let him, a voice inside of her challenged.