by Jillian Hart
"Never." He eased down beside her, sitting straight, his shoulders braced, his jaw set. "There has not been anyone but you. I've tried to stay away from you. I couldn't."
"I tried, too." She squeezed her eyes briefly shut. She did not want him to see how much his admission mattered to her, although she feared he already knew.
"I love you, Lila." No man in the world could be more gentle as Burke when his calloused hands cradled her jaw. He gazed at her with reverence she could not measure but her heart responded to.
Don't fall deeper, she told herself desperately trying to keep from being forever lost in his eyes and in his soul. But it was no use. He leaned in slow and deliberate. His mouth claimed hers with a kiss that became a wish. A wish for a future. A wish for forever. A wish their time together would not end. Her heart was no longer hers.
When she broke away, she was not the same woman she'd been. She was stronger, better. What she felt for Burke was an infinite devotion that words could not define.
"I love you, too," she whispered, the admission too small for the greatness she felt within.
He nodded, as if he understood, as if the greatness was within him, as well. He took her hands in his, linking their fingers, their hearts forever one. He bowed his head to begin the blessing. Perhaps Heaven leaned in a little closer to listen.
Chapter Fourteen
"Lila!" Lark sailed into Cora's shop with a chime of the over-the-door bell and exuberance. "It's strange to see you behind a different counter."
"It's strange to be here, but nice." Definitely nice. Her first morning at her new job had gone smoothly. Cora was a joy to work for and she'd been so pleased with Lila's performance that she'd left to run errands. Lila glanced at the only customer in the store who was industriously matching ribbons and buttons to a sample of delicate pink lawn and didn't yet look as if she required help.
Glad to have a few moments to chat with her sister, Lila skirted the counter, swished around a table displaying the newest velvets and wrapped Lark in a hug. "I've missed you."
"Are you terribly sure you like it here? Eunice is making me clean beneath the fish barrels." Lark wrinkled her nose.
"You said you wanted more responsibilities." Lila had a hard time letting go of her dear sister. "I've shared your pain, so I won't belittle it. Eunice can be a tough taskmaster."
"I think she misses you, too." Lark clasped her hands behind her back and studied a beautiful polonaise and poplin dress tailored with overskirts, tucks and imported lace.
"I'm sure she does miss how well I did all the cleaning," Lila quipped.
"Ma had to do it, so I will, too." Lark squared her little shoulders, petite and sweet and sparkling. "I came to see if you want to go to the bakery with me. It is your lunchtime yet?"
"Cora will be back in a few minutes. Wait here a moment, okay?" She caught her customer looking up. "Is there something I can get for you, Mrs. Fisher?"
"Yes, dear." Scarlet's mother, a stately woman dressed in the finest bonnet, tailored gown and imported slippers gestured to her in a kindly way. "I am ready with my choices. Cora has promised to have this frock finished for my daughter by week's end. You will remind her, won't you?"
"I'll be happy to, although I knew she was working on it this morning."
"Excellent."
She felt in her element among the pretty fabrics as she slid behind the display counter to write down the rest of Mrs. Fisher's order. "The mother-of-pearl buttons are a lovely choice. They match the silk ribbon perfectly. This will complement Stella's complexion."
"You are all growing up so quickly." Mrs. Fisher sighed, helpless to keep time from turning. "It was only yesterday you were all five years old, I'm sure of it."
"My pa says the same thing." She took the samples and double-checked them against what she'd written down. "Say hello to Scarlet for me."
"I will, dear."
"Have a nice day." She tucked the information into the top of the order book, where Cora would be sure to see it. The doorbell chimed, humid air breezed in and voices erupted on the boardwalk. Cora, back from her errands, chatted amicably with Mrs. Fisher.
"You look happy," Lark observed. "I'm glad you're here, even if I miss you."
"I'm glad, too, even if I miss you." She tweaked her little sister's nose. This felt right being reliant on herself, forging her own path through life. It seemed so much time had passed since she'd prayed for a little excitement, and God had answered her generously. There would be so much to learn here and so much to do. It would be a whole new adventure managing this pretty store.
"Whew, it's almost pleasant out there. Not too hot at all." Cora breezed in with an arm full of packages. "It's your turn, Lila. Be sure and take the entire hour."
She grabbed her reticule and led the way through the store. The clean windows sparkled, she'd washed them for Cora earlier in the morning, and something caught her eye. A tall, scarecrow-lean man rode a black horse through town. His wide-brimmed hat shaded his face. His clothes were nondescript, a brown shirt, black trousers and boots, but she'd seen him somewhere before. The back of her neck tingled at the memory.
"C'mon, Lark." Fear beat like a hummingbird's wings behind her ribs as she hauled her little sister onto the boardwalk. Shoppers littered the way ahead. Horses and wagons provided obstacles that hid the lone rider from sight. The sun glared in her eyes and reflected blindingly off store windows as she tugged Lark after her.
"Hey! Lila. The bakery is that way." Lark pointed across the street.
"Hurry." She'd lost sight of the rider and horse. She perched on the street corner on tiptoe straining to see beyond Emmett Sims's teamster's wagon. Nothing. No sign of him. She'd lost him.
"What's wrong?" Lark's forehead furrowed. "You're completely pale."
"Come with me. Don't ask why. Just come." She squeezed her sister's hand in reassurance, checked for traffic, waved to Mr. Grummel driving by grumbling to his donkey and led the way across the street.
Last night's storm kept dust from the air and mud in the wagon ruts, which squished beneath her shoes. She smelled fried chicken from Dolly's Diner as she towed Lark down the intersecting street to the sheriff's office. What if Burke wasn't in? What if Dobbs was there alone?
She was strong enough to handle that man. She steeled her spine and forced her feet to carry her forward. The door was open to the breeze and angry voices rumbled inside.
"I don't care. I say it is your jurisdiction." Lorenzo Davis stabbed his forefinger with angry jabs in the sheriff's direction. "You are the only law around these parts. You had better do something."
"Don't tell me what to do, boy, unless you want to end up with more trouble." Dobbs laid his hand on the grip of his holstered Colt. "Is that what you want?"
"I want you to find whoever stole my cattle. One hundred head missing. My father shot in the leg. Fencing bashed and broken." Lorenzo swept off his hat and slapped it against the edge of Dobbs's desk. "My family pays taxes to this town and this county. I expect you to find my cattle."
"Ain't gonna happen." Dobbs stood. "What do you think, Hannigan?"
"I think you're looking for some sympathy, Davis. There's no proof your cattle are missing." Burke strolled into sight. His attention faltered when he spotted her. His eyes shielded and he laid his hand on his holstered gun, just as Dobbs did.
"Proof?" Lorenzo fumed, disdain for the men dripping in his voice. "Do you know what I think? You ar
e behind the crimes happening around here, Sheriff. Deputy, you ought to be ashamed of yourself."
A muscle jumped in Burke's jaw, his only reaction as Lorenzo stalked off, hat in hand. Fury darkened his eyes and he looked mature, no longer the schoolboy she'd once had a crush on but like the powerful rancher he was always destined to be. He nodded at her. "Lila."
"Lorenzo." She stepped aside to let him pass. The sweetness of her crush on him had faded to nothing, because she knew now that's all she had ever felt for him. Admiration, an innocent adoration, but it had no depth or no potential for any. It was like a leaf blowing on a wind compared to the anchoring, iron effect Burke had on her as he approached.
"What a surprise to see you here. Hi, Lark," he added. "What are you two fine ladies doing in this end of town?"
"I don't know," Lark spoke up. "Lila wouldn't tell me as she dragged me here."
His chuckle was the music of her dreams. "I was just about to come look you up, Lila. Wondered if you wanted to spend another evening with me."
"Yes." She felt the sheriff's gaze, not exactly a curious or a comfortable one. Uneasy, she grabbed Burke by the wrist. "We were just about to go to the bakery. Come walk with us."
"I'll lock up, boy," Dobbs called out, not ashamed at listening in. "Go on with your gal. I've got things to do."
"Thanks, Dobbs." Burke joined her on the boardwalk. A gust of cool air ruffled her bangs bringing back memories of the evening spent in her sitting room. They had watched the storm roll in. A dazzling display of lightning snaked across a velvety black sky, accompanied by a symphony of thunder and hail. Afterward, they had sat in companionable silence curled up on the sofa, he at one end and she at the other reading.
Peace filled her at the memory. She laid her hand on his wide shoulder, went up on tiptoe and whispered what she had seen in his ear. His eyes went black. Tension hopped along his rocklike jaw. An emotion strangely like sorrow pulled at the corners of his hard mouth.
"I'll take care of it," he promised. He caressed curls away from her cheek, his touch light and unnecessary, but it was the connection he needed. She needed it, too. The power of his emotions coursed through her, a current with no end. His sadness touched her. She didn't know why.
"Keep a watch for him whenever you can. Take notes if you see him again. Maybe even if you see anything out of the ordinary. Would you report it to me?" His thumb grazed her chin. Tenderness mixed with the sadness. "I'm gonna have to turn down lunch with you."
"I understand." She laid a hand on his chest, one final connection to him, the man she loved, before she tugged Lark with her. They left him standing on the busy boardwalk, a motionless shadow, a man alone.
"
Hold until the unit arrives on train tomorrow. Stop. The warrant had come through on the sheriff. Burke read the telegram in the shadow of Lucky's stall. His black gelding snorted, clamped his velvety lips around the bottom of the page and jerked.
"Sorry, this isn't for you, buddy." He leaned against the wall where cracks of sunlight filtered between the gaps of the boards and lit up the page. Want to get Slim's gang also. Stop. Wait for instructions.
"Looks like our time here is nearly done." Misery cut through him. He'd never minded moving on. The drifting nature of his work suited him. No ties, no loss, no permanence. He could go like the wind, never stopping too long to really think about what he couldn't have in life or how much he wanted it.
How much he wanted her. Lila. In all his wanderings he'd never met a woman who made him wish he could put down roots, tie up his heart and live a real life. To have a home, a wife to love, a family of his own.
All things he could lose. All things he could not keep.
It's a moot point, Hannigan. He scrubbed a patch of straw away with his boot, lit a match and set it to the folded telegram. The flame caught and licked greedy, devouring the paper. Lucky nickered in his throat, not fond of fire of any type, but he'd seen this before.
"Easy, boy," Burke assured him as he knelt, letting the embers of the page tumble onto the exposed earth. When the flame approached his finger, he let it fall. A few more moments and his orders were nothing but smoking ash. He ground it out well with his boot heel, made sure all embers were out and buried in the dirt.
Lucky snorted loudly in relief. He spotted Burke grab the currycomb and nodded his approval.
"Got to get you looking your best for our dinner with Lila." His time with her would be coming to an end. He grimaced, hating how much it hurt to think of leaving her. It was for the best. She didn't know his real story. She didn't know the man he'd been.
He fit his hand into the leather strap of the comb and began to brush Lucky's flank. The horse stilled, he stroked the metal teeth of the comb along the grain of the mustang's soft black coat. The past floated to the surface, memories he could no longer hold back.
"Shoot, dummy!" Olly hollered over the crack, crack of gunfire booming through the night. "Pa could get shot while you're being a big chicken."
"I'm no chicken." Horror unfolded below. A Range Rider rocked back in his saddle, blood blossoming on his shirt. The moonshine captured him perfectly as he collapsed backward onto his horse's rump, still firing. One of Cheever's men shouted in agony, a victim of that last bullet, before the powerful-looking man with a square jaw and integrity radiating from him tumbled off his horse and fell lifeless to the ground.
"Shoot, or else!" Old Man Cheever shouted his threat and raised the hairs on the back of Burke's neck, where the muzzle of a rifle pressed. "Shoot or I shoot you."
"I can't." He watched in horror as another Rider fell, badge glinting dully in the moonlight. He lay with eyes open in surprise, mouth twisted as if with determination, but the life had gone from him, slipped away in an act of cold-blooded violence.
Nausea twisted his stomach at the carnage below. The driver and his gunman, dead. Two of Cheever's men, dead. Three Range Riders, dead. Air chocked in his throat. Terror clawed wildly in his chest. Gunfire flashed in the draw below. There was one Rider left and Burke knew without asking what Olly's pa would make him do.
"Hold yer fire, boys!" The old man hollered to his men. "Let the kid make his first kill."
"No," Burke choked. Sickness bubbled in his stomach. The acrid taste of it soured his mouth. "I won't."
"You will." The barrel dug into the flesh behind his right ear and below his skull. "Pick up your gun. Pick it up."
The hair on his scalp prickled and tried to stand straight up. He'd never heard a threat like that, so menacing and terrifying. His hands shook. He picked up the polished, brand-new Winchester. It felt cold in his hands.
"Take aim." The gun boring into the flesh between his neck and skull gouged deeper. "It's you or him, boy. You decide. Now, aim."
Burke swallowed hard. He didn't want to die. Numbness crept through him until his finger couldn't feel the trigger. His sight blurred as he lined up the shot with the lawman's chest. The Rider took advantage of the ceasefire and, caught without cover, turned to face him with gun raised. He didn't fire.
"Don't do it, son." A warm, steady voice. A plea in calm eyes. "I can help you."
"There's no hope for this pup." The old man laughed. "No one is gonna help you but me, boy. Don't listen to a lawman's lies." He spat.
He knew Cheever was right. No one cared, no one would help him. He also knew that the outlaw wouldn't, either. He was alone, like always. He would always be alone. The hope for anything more was gone.
He couldn't shoot. His finger didn't move and he didn't want it to. Maybe he was goi
ng to die anyway, and he wasn't going to have to explain to God, if there was one, that his last act had been to gun down an innocent man.
"Shoot." The old man's hand closed over his in an instant. Fast as lightning, Cheever's forefinger pressed his against the trigger. There was no stopping the inevitable.
No! Burke's soul cried out in horror. In the fragment of the second it took the rifle to fire, he shifted the barrel hoping to miss the heart. The shot deafened him, the gun's butt kicked hard against his shoulder and the Rider fell.
"He's down!" one of the gang called out victoriously below. "Good job, kid."
Revulsion twisted through him. The Winchester tumbled from his hands. He never wanted to touch that rifle again. Vaguely he was aware of men stepping out from behind rocks and tree trunks, applauding before heaving open the coach's doors. Olly's pa stood up and stuffed a plug of chew into his cheek. "That wasn't so bad, was it, boy? You're a wanted man now. There ain't no goin' back. Decent folks won't want you near them. You are no good. You are a marked man."
The Rider he'd shot lay like a lump at the side of the road. He'd tried to miss his heart but it looked as if he'd failed. Shock rattled him. Disgusted at what he'd done, he rolled over on his side and retched. He'd taken a life. His soul bled, torn apart, and he swiped sweat from his face. Realized too late it was tears.
"You did good, Burke." Olly slapped him on the back. "I hesitated with the first one, too."
Old Man Cheever spat out a stream of tobacco juice. "The second one is easier."
It had been. Burke hung his head, the near decade-old rip in his soul smarting. Lucky reached around to dig his teeth in Burke's shirt.