"Mama, I'm goin' to feed my horse, like Pa says!"
Lissa's answer was lost across the distance.
"Lissa! Keep the boy in the house!"
The wildcat leaped just as he squeezed off a shot Pete charged. Jack fired again, but the nimble cougar was already a blur in the fields. Probably hedging its bets, it would return when the pickings were easier.
Jack checked to make sure Chad was nowhere in sight Knowing the boy was safe, he gave chase. Pete was already charging after the fleeing cat Jack ran, then stopped when he was certain the cat was no immediate threat to his family or his herd.
Lissa opened the back door when she saw him coming. The wind battered her dress, plastering it tight against her body. The grace of her struck him, as always.
"What is it?" There was fear in her voice.
"Not the rustlers." Jack set the rifle on the pegs high on the wall of the porch, out of a small child's reach, and swept into the warm kitchen. "A mountain lion is bothering the stock. Must be sick or hurt to be hunting this low this time of year. There's still a lot of good hunting for the cats up in those mountains."
"Did he get any of my cows?" Lissa closed the door behind him.
"He wanted to, but that bull of yours was putting up a good fight. Good thing I went out to do the barn work when I did." A fire crackled in the fireplace, warming both rooms, and the cook-stove puffed smoke every time the wind gusted. The heat felt good. He grabbed the coffeepot from the stove so Lissa wouldn't have to. She looked tired, and was moving slowly. He worried about her. "I'm going to need to pack a meal. Some of that beef jerky would do us just fine. I don't want you to do any extra cooking."
"I baked just yesterday. I have fresh biscuits and bread." She pushed the sugar jar in his direction.
How beautiful she was. Since he'd been back, everything had changed. Everything was better, felt right, felt whole.
Chad tugged on Jack's trouser leg. "The big cat didn't get my Comet, did she?"
"No, son. Your mare is tucked safe and sound in the barn. The mountain lions can't get in there." He sipped the steaming coffee. "I'm going to take either Will or Arcada with me. We're going to hunt down the cat, so we don't have to worry about someone when he plays outside."
Lines tightened around her eyes. "Good. I can get a bedroll together for you right now."
"No, I can do it. I just need one more cup if I'm going to head out. I'll ask one of the hands to do the barn work this morning. I don't want you out there cleaning pens and milking the cow."
"I'm perfectly capable, but it's nice to be pampered." She brushed a kiss across his cheek. He turned and caught her mouth, tasting her heat, her passion. As always, his body responded. Need and desire mixed in his blood. "Let me go gather up a meal for you and Will."
"I'll be home for supper." He knelt down to explain to Chad that their work with his new mare would be postponed for a day. As he spoke, he glanced over the boy's head to watch her move around the kitchen.
He loved her. How he loved her.
* * *
"Pa said a man has to treat his horse right." Chad tossed one of Jack's rolled up socks the length of the cabin. Puddles took off, obediently hunting it down. "And that goes for his dog, too. Pa said one day Puddles can bring back the geese we hunted. But first I gotta teach her to bring things back."
Tiny snowflakes fluttered outside in the twilight, weightless, swirling but not quite falling. The air smelled like winter, and the house felt cozy with the fire in the hearth.
Lissa gave the dough one last sweep with her rolling pin, then began carefully cutting it into pieces.
"When's Pa gonna be back?"
"I expect him any time now." Lissa pinched the dough in place over the two pie plates.
"I wanna show him how good Puddles retrieves." Chad dropped to his knees to praise the half-grown puppy that came loping across the wood floor, floppy paws sliding. The boy's shoulders were braced just like Jack's often were, the half-smile on his face an exact replica.
Love and a rare happiness joined in Lissa's heart. The baby moved, then gave her a good kick in the ribs. She laid her hand there, listening to the fire crackle at the hearth, smelling the chicken potpies ready to bake in the oven, a treat for Jack when he came in from the cold.
Puddles stopped retrieving and lifted her nose. A noise echoed somewhere outside the house. The dog barked and raced to the door.
"Pa!" Chad dashed to the window.
Lissa took one look at the dog barking protectively, and she knew whoever was outside their door couldn't be Jack. She lifted the curtain over her kitchen counter and saw a rider dismount at her front steps. The sun was near to setting, and shadows cloaked the man's face. She knew it wasn't Hans Johanson by the look of the horse.
"Chad. Please take Puddles into your bedroom."
"Yes, Mama." Chad, shoulders sagging because his beloved pa wasn't home yet, obediently called Puddles to him. The young puppy wasn't sure, but at a second command ran to her little boy's side.
A knock on the door rattled it, and fear leaped into Lissa's heart. Had something happened to Jack? She threw open the door, tried to stay calm. Tried to remember how Jack had already faced another mountain lion and won, so long ago now. He was a strong, intelligent man, and a good hunter.
"Bill Lambert." She saw the rancher's rifle and the hard look on his face. "What's—"
"Where's that husband of yours?" he interrupted, his voice brittle and tense. "Where is he?"
"He isn't home yet. I can tell him that you called."
"That ain't good enough." The rancher's hand shot out, throwing wide the door. Lissa jumped back, startled, then she saw the men with him—maybe six, maybe ten. Snow caught in the lamplight, shivered on the hat brims and shoulders of the angry mob. "I ain't gonna ask again. Where is he?"
"T-tracking a mountain lion."
"Sure he is!" A voice jeered in the back. "He's out stealing another herd right now."
"Quiet!" Lambert lumbered in the door. He towered over her, his face set and his hand tensed around the stock of his rifle. "We're gonna wait until that bastard shows."
"If he knows what's good for him, he'll take off for Canada at a dead run," another called.
"He didn't stand and fight at the harvest dance. He's a damned coward."
"Out of my house." Anger popped through her. She grabbed her broom from the corner and held it tight. "Get out. Don't you dare insult my husband, you big oaf."
"Lissa." Lambert took her by the arm and tried to push her away.
She smacked his knuckles with her broom handle. "Don't you manhandle me." Her pregnancy made her awkward, but she gave Lambert another smack on the back of his hand. "I want you off my property, Bill. How dare you push me around? You know how I lost my last two babies."
Some of the rage slipped from Lambert's face. His shoulders sank a little. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Lissa. I just lost my whole herd, breeding stock and all—everything my wife and sons have worked for."
"And that's my fault?"
"Well, no." His grip on the rifle slackened. "It's just that we got reason to think your man is responsible. Palmer arrested him for being that outlaw."
"Palmer also released him when Jack proved he wasn't."
"You don't know who he is." Reggie Gannon stepped forward. "I tell you one thing. No one can vouch for that man of yours. He's not around every time a herd goes missing."
"But he brought in the other rustlers."
"Don't mean he wasn't one of them." Lambert shook his head. "We're waitin' for him whether you like it or not, Lissa."
"Not in my house. And not on my porch. All of you. Out." Lissa swung her broom, so angry that tears blurred her eyes. "You wait in the dark, in the snow. Get off the porch."
"Lissa." Lambert grabbed the broom, stopping it before she could do harm. "We'll wait where we want."
"No you won't." Jack's voice, as deep and as powerful as the encroaching darkness, sliced through the drone of the
arguing men. "Lambert, let go of my wife."
Lissa heard the click of a revolver's hammer, saw the crowd of men part. Jack's boots knelled on the wooden porch as he stepped into the pool of lamplight. He strode toward her with the strength of a hero, with the unyielding courage of legend, as dangerous as any outlaw.
"You heard what I said," Jack ground out. "Let go of my wife."
Lambert released his hold on her broom. "We've been waiting for you, Jack. We've got business to discuss."
"Looked to me like you were manhandling a pregnant woman." Jack released the hammer of his gleaming Peacemaker, then holstered the gun. He stood proud and unafraid, his voice hard and clear. "Never threaten my wife again. Do you understand?"
"Where have you been, that's what—"
"Do you understand?" Those words were as lethal as a bullet
Lissa's heart soared. Even though he was outnumbered, there he was, protecting her, standing up for her in a way no one ever had.
Lambert ducked his head. "I hear you. But I want my cattle back. Where did you take them?"
"I never touched your herd, Lambert." Jack caught her hand. "Are you all right?"
"Shaky, but I'm fine." She wanted to thank him, to tell him all he was to her, but the tension in the air, the hard, angry faces of the ranchers and ranch hands, kept her silent.
"Go inside. I'll be right with you."
"I won't leave." She knew the men crowding onto her porch, had known them all since grade school. "I said you were hunting a mountain lion, but they wouldn't believe me."
"It's a likely story, Jack. And a mighty big coincidence." Lambert's hold never loosened on his rifle. "I want my animals back."
"Where's the cattle?" Gannon demanded.
"If he don't talk, maybe we ought to take everything from him and his family, and see how he likes it!" Vic Bell shouted.
"Hell, might as well hang him now."
"I've got a rope."
Jack tensed in the shadows, his strength and power unmistakable. "This is America, boys, where a man is innocent until proven guilty."
"Where were you today? I bet it proves you guilty," Lambert challenged.
"I said I was tracking a wildcat that had been threatening my herd. I can prove it." Jack gave Lambert a shove. "Out of my way."
Lambert, a smaller man, stepped aside. The crowd parted as Jack strode toward his horse standing in the shadows. "Lissa. Bring me some light."
She grabbed the tin lamp by the door and carried it past the men who had threatened her, who threatened her still. Her knees shook, her blood felt shivery in her veins, but she held her chin steady. She would not falter as she neared the steps.
Jack reached out. His fingers brushed hers as he took the light. His face was set in stone, and his gaze was steady and certain. "Thank you."
Her belief in this man would never end. He turned the wick, and a flame of light danced over the skiff of snow crusting the earth and illuminated the back of his gelding, where a mountain lion's body lay tied behind the saddle, limp and lifeless.
"I was out hunting a wildcat." Jack faced the men. "I have a carcass to prove it. And if that isn't enough, Will was with me. You all know Will. He's no liar."
The foreman stepped into the shadowed light, his revolver raised and ready. "I say Jack's telling the truth. I was with him the entire day. And any man who accuses Jack of stealing cattle is accusing me of the same."
"I want to believe you, Will." Lambert strode forward, his step as harsh as his voice. "I lost everything today. I'm going to find the man responsible, I swear it. I can only hope you ain't involved."
"Go home, boys." Jack held the lamp, but his free hand curled over the handle of his revolver.
The men, understanding what Jack didn't say, filed off the porch and into the night. He waited until the last man had mounted up and galloped away before he nodded to Will.
Will lowered his rifle. "I don't like what I saw tonight."
"Neither do I." Jack's anger tasted bitter in his mouth, but he swallowed it, anyway. Acting out of anger never did anyone a bit of good. "Lissa, how are you?"
"Scared." She stepped into his arms, fragile and trembling. The mob tonight had threatened her. She had every right to her fear. "Chad is in his room. I need to go to him."
"I'll be right in." He released her, even though he wanted to hold her tight and to protect her for all he was worth.
She took the light, leaving only darkness in her wake.
"I have something for you."
Lissa looked up at Jack's voice. The length of her unbound hair shimmered down her back, and she held the brush in mid-stroke. Her heart thumped. The air in her chest escaped. He stood framed in the threshold, iron-hewn and darkly handsome, but it was the object held in his hands that made her stomach drop, that made her throat ache.
"I bought this when I was in Billings. This is for the baby." His footsteps tapped on the floor. He set the cradle down at the foot of the bed.
The baby. She could not lift her gaze from the sight of the carved spool sides, snug and safe. She thought of the trunk in the attic, pushed back into the corner where a part of her heart had been buried. Her tears and grief and emptiness were packed between the folds of the tiny baby gowns and hats and socks stored there. Amid the quilt and blankets were a hundred lost hopes.
She set down the brush, laid her hand over the breadth of her stomach. Life kicked there, just beneath her palm.
Jack raked a hand through his hair, looking lost at her lack of response. "When I was up in the attic before I took the cattle to market, I saw the crib tucked beneath the eaves. I thought maybe this would work real nice, until the baby was bigger. I can bring it down for you. Maybe dust it off and give it a new coat of oil."
"The cradle is beautiful, Jack." She somehow found her voice, somehow faced the hole in her heart. "I don't want you to bring down the crib. Not just yet."
"But I thought—"
Where he had hoped to please her, she could see he now thought he'd failed. She trailed her fingertips over the finely carved sides, over the spindles of wood perfectly made. "I would like nothing more than to lay our child here. But I want to see him safely born first."
"I see." His arms folded her tight to his chest. She heard the dependable beat of his heart beneath her ear, felt his steady comfort. His kiss brushed her brow, so tender and loving that tears burned her eyes.
Loving hurt. It hurt to open up her heart again, but protecting her heart and keeping her distance could never be worth missing a single opportunity to love this man—to feel his magnificent presence, to hold him tight in her arms.
"This baby is going to be fine, Lissa." His voice vibrated through her, becoming part of her. "You have to believe."
"I guess I have no other choice." She closed her eyes when their lips met.
Love opened up a woman's heart, claimed a space, made her vulnerable. The chance to truly love Jack, to truly love him, though, made her brave.
"Jack."
A man's voice, hard and angry, distorted by dream. A shaft of light penetrated the darkness, flickering across the nighttime room. He saw the knob of a four-poster bed, felt the quick bite of fear at his chest, heard the fast, shaky breathing of someone else—a little boy, littler than he was.
"Jack. Joey. Show your faces, boys. Come out, or hell if I won't make it harder on you." That voice brought more fear, loud enough to echo, to draw a gasp from the little boy.
Joey. A brother. Jack wrapped his arm around the child protectively. He knew Father was lying. He always lied about hitting. That's how they 'd lost Mama, even though Jack had tried to protect her.
He'd stood right between Mama and Father, but when the blow hit, it had broken Jack's arm. And Mama, well, she'd never woken up. They buried her two days later.
Jack had cried at the funeral, even though he was eight years old, for the grief at losing his mother beat at him. The guilt of not being strong enough to protect her hurt him more than any of Fa
ther's blows ever could.
Now he had to protect Joey. From this day on, Father would never break Joey's arm. Jack would make sure of it.
"Hide, Joey." Jack pushed the boy beneath the bed and tugged the hem of the quilt all the way to the floor. Then he stood to face his father's wrath. "I was the one who spilled the last of the milk, Father."
Footsteps crashed through the silence. The lantern tossed swinging light through the room, then straight into his eyes. Jack didn't wince when he heard the clink of a buckle or the hiss as Father jerked off his belt.
"Come here, boy. You need to pay for what you done. Maybe if I beat you enough, then you'll learn. You'll learn—"
Jack bolted awake, heart slamming against his ribs. The dream didn't evaporate, but stayed in his mind, lingered like fog on a cold morning. He wanted to believe it was a nightmare, spurned by the ugliness of the angry mob on his doorstep, but he knew better. Deep in his guts he knew he'd remembered a piece of his childhood, one best left forgotten.
No—best remembered. At least he knew he had a brother. Jack thought about that, and tried to push the images of violence from his mind. Then he realized he was alone. The pillow beside him was empty, the sheets tucked neatly into place to hold in the warmth.
Jack tossed back the covers. The air was nippy, but not cold. He padded on stocking feet around the bed and into the hallway. Chad's door was shut tight, so all was well. The boy hadn't become sick in the night and needed Lissa.
She was all right, wasn't she? He worried about her, about the pregnancy, but the contented silence of the house wrapped around him like fog. A faint glow beckoned him toward the front room. The cabin looked different in shadows, but the sweetness, the coziness, felt the same.
She sat at the table, a lamp lit before her, the wick turned low. Light sparkled in her long hair like Stardust. With elbows propped on the table, she sat still as the night, her face buried in her hands.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.
She jumped. Her hands flew from her face. "You startled me."
"Next time I'll make more noise." He waited for the tension to ease from the tight line of her jaw and shoulders.
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