by Laura Drewry
Or so she hoped.
o0o
“Jee-zuz, Travers – Joey finally put the boots to you, huh?” Lefty’s roughened laughter turned to coughing, then choking, making him grip the bar for support.
Levi offered no help, just stood and watched until Lefty was able to breathe normally again. Well, watched might not be the best word, since his right eye had swelled almost shut. Him and Lefty made a good pair.
“Whoo,” Lefty exhaled loudly, wiping his eye. “She musta been some mad – what the hell d’you do?”
Levi slumped onto a stool and reached for the bottle of whiskey in the bartender’s hand. Lefty held tight for a second, then laughed again and let Levi take it.
“Hell, anyone who can come in here lookin’ like that deserves a good stiff one.”
Levi took a long pull straight from the bottle, then swiped his sleeve roughly across his mouth. New pain shot through his head; damn it – he shouldn’t have done that. He took another swig to ease the new blast of pain, then a third for good measure.
“I knew Joey was tough,” Left went on. “But I ain’t never seen her hurt someone this bad.”
“Wasn’t Joanna,” Levi mumbled, lifting the bottle again.
“Then who. . .” Lefty’s eye widened. “Mac?”
Before Levi could even nod his head, Lefty was doubled over, choking through another fit of laughter.
“Glad you find this so amusing.” Levi dared to look past the wheezing bartender to get a look at himself in the cracked mirror behind the bar. Wasn’t much wonder Lefty was laughing so hard.
His right eye was not only swollen shut, but had turned a dark garish purple and green. His nose, though not broken, had done some pretty good bleeding before he managed to stop it with a torn piece of blanket he’d found in the barn as he left the ranch. Dried blood caked around his mouth and over his nose, and even as he watched, more trickled down to his lip.
Just looking at the way his jaw puffed out twice its normal size made Levi’s head hurt even more. He’d been damned lucky to keep all his teeth.
Lefty’s laughter died to a chuckle. “Well, hell, Travers, I bet even Carrie could whup Mac if she wanted to. Did you even try to defend yourself?”
Levi dropped his gaze to the bar. When he didn’t answer, Lefty’s voice got louder.
“You let an old man beat the crap outta you?” He choked. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
It was a question he’d been asking himself for days. Weeks.
“I couldn’t hit Mac,” he grumbled.
“Why not? You got no problem takin’ a piece outta everyone else around here.”
Levi shrugged. There was a time, no so long ago, when he had an answer for just about everything. Now, he was just a stupid fool.
“Musta been somethin’ bad for him to lay a beatin’ like that on you. What’d you do?”
Another shrug, this time with a slow shake of his head. “Doesn’t matter now.”
“Guess not.” Lefty chuckled again. “Don’t suppose you’d like to lie down for a while?”
“Oh, man, Lefty. I’d about kill for a soft bed right now.” He half-grinned. “Hell, doesn’t even have to be soft.”
Lefty nodded and indicated his room behind the bar. “Go lie down. I’ll bring you some coffee.”
With mumbled thanks, Levi tripped into the tiny back room and tumbled onto the narrow cot. Wasn’t soft or comfortable, but it was a bed and there wasn’t anyone else in the room. Not that there was enough space for anyone else; the room was barely big enough for the cot and the small wood table that held nothing but an empty oil lamp.
He laid flat on his back, his hat still on, though the back was crushed behind his head, and his booted feet dangling off the end. His left eye drifted shut, the bottle of whiskey still clenched in his hands.
Was a while later when a waft of fresh coffee brought his around and forced his good eye open. He couldn’t wait to-–
Stella.
She sat on the edge of the cot, near his hip, holding a steaming cup of the mud Lefty called coffee. The feathers in her hair sat a little crooked and some of the paint had smudged under her eyes, but she still looked a little worried. Not a lot, mind you, but a little.
“Hello, sugar,” she cooed. “Thought you was gonna sleep the night away, too.”
She set his coffee cup on the small table, then lifted a bowl from the floor and rested it in her lap. When she rinsed a dirty rag in the water, Levi fought the urge to shudder.
With the cloth still dripping, she set to work on washing away the dried blood from his face.
“Lefty says you let Mac do this to you.”
When he didn’t answer, she smiled, her pale blue eyes blank and unfeeling.
“And though he didn’t say why, I’m gonna guess it has something to do with that niece of his.”
Again, he didn’t answer.
“Shouldn’t surprise me,” she murmured as she smoothed the cloth down his cheek and over his blood-caked lips. “Carrie’s a beautiful girl. I’m sure she was too much for you to resist.”
“Carrie?” he croaked, then a second later wished he could take it back.
“Well, yes, she’s certainly. . .” Stella stopped, the cloth hovering mid-way between the bowl and Levi’s face. “You don’t mean--”
Levi ground his teeth together then fought the urge to scream. Damn that Mac and his right hook.
“Joanna?” Stella whispered, her eyes huge. “You let Mac do this to you ‘cuz of Joanna?”
Fighting back the searing pain, Levi managed to clench his jaw shut; he wasn’t going to say another word about this. Not to Stella.
She dropped the cloth back in the bowl and laughed softly. “Never thought I’d lose a man to someone like Joanna McCaine.” She set the bowl on the floor, then adjusted the neckline of her dress to show a bit more of her ample cleavage. “She’s not near enough woman for you, Levi. But I am.”
He shifted away from her, but she was quick. Damn quick. Her dry lips pressed against his cheek lightly, her fingers going to work on his belt buckle.
“Stop it, Stella.” He gripped her hands with his own, and moved back another inch until he hit the wall.
“Come on, sugar,” she purred. “Just once more for old time’s sake.” She leaned in and kissed his chest through the opening at his collar.
Levi released her hands to push her away, but in that split instant his gaze flicked over Stella’s head and stopped at the person standing in the doorway.
Joanna.
“Shit.” Forgetting his attempts to be gentle, he shoved Stella off the cot, sending her stumbling to the floor. But Joanna was already gone.
“Ow.” Stella’s whine didn’t even slow him down. He half-ran half-stumbled after Joanna and only caught up with her as she untied her horse from the rail outside.
“Joanna, wait,” he panted, tripping down the two steps to the ground.
Fire flashed in her green eyes; her back was stiff as a rod and her throat bobbed against a hard swallow.
“Don’t let me interrupt,” she said stiffly.
“You weren’t interrupting anything.” He took a step closer, and walked straight into her horse as it turned its muzzle toward him. Pain blasted through his face, sending him staggering backward into the steps.
“Argh!” Blood began pouring from his nose again. He should have just stayed where he was, just kept his ass planted on that step, and let Joanna go. But since he didn’t seem to be on speaking terms with common sense lately, he pushed himself up and moved toward her again.
Jo had straddled her horse and was glaring down at him, her voice icy. “I just came to tell you if you still want the job, it’s yours. Otherwise, come and collect the wages we owe you and be on your way.”
She kneed her horse, but Levi lunged forward and grabbed the loose reins in his hand.
“Wait.” If he lived through the day, through the pain that shot through him with every move he made, he’d di
e of shock.
Though she didn’t say anything, and she didn’t bother to even look at him, he could see her pulse pounding in her neck – that beautiful soft neck.
“I don’t know what Mac told you,” he said. “And I don’t know what you’re thinking right now, but if you’d let me explain--”
With a hard yank, she pulled the reins from his grip and shook her head. “No need to explain anything to me, Travers. Do you want your job or not?”
He nodded slowly.
“Then I’ll expect you back at the ranch first thing in the morning. That should leave you plenty of time to finish up with Stella.”
Levi dropped his hands to his sides, silently cursing every breath he took. Damn, but Joanna was ornery. And why was he even bothering to explain himself? He hadn’t done anything wrong!
He should find his horse and ride out of this sorry town once and for all. Forget his owed wages, cut his losses and head to San Francisco like he’d planned – with or without Will.
But he knew he wouldn’t. If there was one thing he needed to do before he left, it was to prove to Joanna – and Mac – that he wasn’t the sonuvabitch they both thought he was. And the only way to do that was to prove he wasn’t the one who got that Pearson girl in trouble.
And the only way to do that was to wait it out until the baby was born. If his suspicions were right, and luck was on his side, one look at the baby would answer everyone’s questions.
CHAPTER 9
“Is he back?” Mac hadn’t touched his breakfast and his coffee mug was in jeopardy of being smashed between his hands.
“Haven’t seen him,” Jo answered, then forced one last forkful of ham into her mouth. “He said he’d be here, though.”
“I don’t give a damn what he said.”
“Mac.” Ginny scolded. “Enough with that kind of language. You’re not out with the herd, you know.”
“Joanna says worse,” Carrie chimed in.
“That doesn’t make it right.” Ginny looked pointedly at both Mac and Jo before starting to clear the table. “What would you like me to do with his breakfast?”
Mac’s face turned even redder.
“I’ll take it to him,” Jo answered. The thought of having to face Travers made her want to bring her breakfast right back up, but a deal was a deal; if he was going to hold up his end of it, so was she. And that included three squares a day.
Ginny handed her a full plate and a steaming mug of coffee, then held the door open for her. Mac didn’t so much as look up when she walked by.
The usual noises greeted her in the yard, but this morning they seemed louder and sharper and seemed to all clamor as one great deafening blare inside Jo’s head. The chickens clucked and squawked continually, puppies ran around the grass yapping and nipping at Clay’s ankles and each other’s tails, and the barn cows bawled for their udders to be relieved.
Will met her as she walked past the corral.
“That for Travers?” he nodded toward the plate. “I can take it to him for you.”
“Thank you, but I’ll do it.” She kept walking. “I want to make sure he’s here and able to work.”
“He’s here,” Will sighed. “But. . .”
Jo climbed the cabin steps and rapped on the door. “Travers – you in there?”
Will’s voice followed her. “It might be better if I take that in, Jo.”
She kept her back to him. “I said I’d do it.”
“But--”
“Don’t you have work to do?”
Will didn’t answer, and a moment later, the sound of boots pounding the dirt receded across the yard.
“Travers!” She banged again, louder.
Through the door, she could hear him moving around, almost like he was crashing into things. She waited another few seconds, then opened the door herself.
“Travers?” she stepped closer. “Oh my God.”
The plate shook in her hand and half the coffee splashed onto the floor before she could set them on the table. She moved toward the seated man whose only resemblance to Levi Travers was the length and color of his hair.
He’d looked bad when she saw him at Lefty’s yesterday, but today was a hundred times worse. His right eye, covered by a dark purple and green bruise, had swelled to about the size of a small apple. His other eye bore the same color bruises, but at least it was open. Sort of.
A long thin cut ran the length of his nose and there was still blood caked around both his nose and mouth.
“Did Mac. . .?” Guilt washed over her in currents.
“That man’s got a helluva right hook,” he mumbled.
“Didn’t know it was that good.” She reached her fingers out to touch the purple bruise on his cheek, but he gripped her hand and pulled away.
“Don’t,” he begged. “For God’s sake, don’t touch it.”
“Sorry.” Jo yanked her fingers back and stuffed her hands in her front pockets. Damn, he looked bad. For half a second, she was glad; glad he’d felt some of the pain she’d felt and glad he’d have something to remind him of it.
But those feelings were quickly washed away by stronger waves of guilt. Sure, Mac had done the damage, but she’d done her part, too, by carrying on like such a ninny. His face – his gorgeous, smiling face – looked like something the stage had run over – twice.
“I brought you some breakfast,” she said. Anything to keep him from feeling her guilt.
“I can’t chew.” Then, to her complete shock, he grinned. Wasn’t the usual sexy grin he flashed at her, but still – it was something to see beneath all the blood and swelling.
“How about the coffee, then?” she asked. “No chewing involved. Just sipping.”
“Is there any left?” his lips barely moved. “Or do I need to sip it off the floor?”
Jo looked back at the small puddle she’d left behind her. “I’ll get that. Any rags?”
She handed him the coffee cup and set to cleaning up the mess while guilt gnawed at her gut. Mama would be horrified to see what she’d done to Travers – whether he deserved it or not.
She knew he had a fondness for Stella; knew he’d eventually go in to see her; and she’d damn well known right from the get-go that Travers would leave once the fence was done. But she’d gone and let herself soften to him until just the thought of Stella - or of him leaving - made her do things she couldn’t even begin to explain.
Like the way she carried on the other night. It was because of her Travers got beaten to a pulp. She couldn’t have felt worse if she’d done the beating herself.
When she’d spent as long as she possible could wiping up the coffee, she inhaled a long breath and turned to face him. But before her words could come out, a thought struck her and changed the direction of her tongue.
“You didn’t fight back.”
Travers didn’t answer, just sat sipping his coffee. Very slowly.
“Why not?”
No response.
“Travers. . .”
“I got no cause to hit Mac,” he mumbled. “He’s never done anything to me.”
“Except beat your face in.”
Another shrug. “Guess he thought he had cause to.”
“Yeah,” she whispered, her face flaming under his gaze. “About that--”
He stopped her with a raised hand, and turned her words back on herself. “No need to explain anything to me.”
The knot in her stomach twisted even tighter. She deserved that.
“I think I do need to explain,” she said, lowering herself to the edge of his bed. “And to apologize.”
He shook his head slowly, then winced. “As much as I’d love to hear you admit you were wrong,” he winced again. “Can we do it later? My head’s killing me.”
Relief flooded through her. The last thing she wanted to do was admit to Travers that she’d been jealous of Stella. “Of course. Sorry.” She pushed back to her feet. “Why don’t you lie down?”
A soft chuckle escap
ed his swollen lip. “’Cuz my boss expects me at work this morning. And believe me, you don’t want to make her mad. She’s got a temper like--”
“Okay, Travers,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’ve made your point.”
Jo pulled the blankets back and patted the pillow. “I’ll talk to your boss and make her see reason. Might even convince her not to dock your pay for today.”
His lip curled upward slightly. “I wouldn’t count on it. But I’m happy to lose a day’s pay if it means I can go back to bed.”
Jo’s heart tripped over its next beat as Travers slid onto the bed, boots and all. He’d always seemed. . .well, almost indestructible. And now even the slightest movement obviously pained him. She had to fight back the urge to curl up beside him and do whatever he asked to ease his pain.
She ached just looking at him. But this ache was more than just guilt; this wasn’t like anything she’d ever felt before. None of the stories about Travers mattered anymore. Stella didn’t matter anymore. And not even the thought of LeeAnna Pearson and her baby mattered anymore.
Travers had let Mac beat on him because of Jo. Did he think he deserved it? That was nonsense, of course. He’d never promised her anything, he’d never even hinted at a promise.
Something akin to nausea flooded Jo. Why did she suddenly feel like laughing and crying all at the same time? And what were all these strange feelings battling for attention? Watching him settle against his pillow nearly ripped her heart in two; she couldn’t do this anymore.
If Travers wanted her, then he could have her. If he didn’t, then she’d have to learn to live with that. And the more she thought about it, the more she knew she’d have to learn quick.
She tugged his boots off and set them beside the bed. Both socks were worse than thread-bare, and the big toe on his right foot stuck through a huge hole. Several other holes had been darned – not well, but darned nonetheless.
The man needed a woman in his life. One who would tend these things for him. Jo frowned. She’d never threaded a needle in her life. But Carrie had.