Kane set his empty coffee mug down, braced his elbows on the table and leaned close. He spoke with slow clarity. “Everything Mrs. Rose said is true, Molly. I was raised by the Cheyenne. I spent most of my life with them.”
Molly gazed into his telling eyes, his admission something Molly had already surmised. “You never mentioned that in your letters.”
Kane rubbed his forehead. “And how many letters might that be?”
Molly hesitated, wondering about the man’s memory. It wasn’t all that long ago that they’d corresponded several times. “Over a period of five months you wrote me three times, then wired me once.”
Kane stroked his jaw tentatively then shook his head. “Molly, I never sent you any letters. I’m afraid you entered into this bargain with my matchmaking grandfather. He saw fit to go behind my back to send away for a bride for me. I only found out this morning. I suppose he would have told me sooner, but my grandfather took ill a week ago. The pneumonia has kept him down for most of that time.”
Molly gasped, her heart racing with dread. “Oh, dear.”
“I have no intention of marrying you.”
Shocked, Molly took a moment to gather her thoughts before responding. “But, I was under the impression you sent for a wife. I—I came all this way. I need a husband, Mr. Jackson. I, uh, I…have a contract.”
“I didn’t sign it. My grandfather did.”
His grandfather had signed her contract? Molly’s head pounded. His grandfather had duped both of them. She thought of all that she’d just lost in one quick fathomless second. She’d come to Bountiful to marry, to start a new life, perhaps to have a family of her own soon. She’d come with thoughts of having a mate, someone she could learn to love, someone that might just find a way to her heart. She’d come with thoughts of returning the kindness. And heaven knew that without a husband, she’d have no hope of finding Charlie. And she’d promised Mama she would. She’d vowed to find her brother at all costs.
She was nearly penniless. She’d traveled to west Texas, a land so different than what she’d known and had no prospects now, no future.
Molly stared at the linen tablecloth, her mind muddled with confused thoughts. Simmering anger churned in her belly. Seems Kane Jackson did that so well—angered her. She hadn’t a clue as to what to do. She hadn’t a plan in mind. Nothing about this day had turned out as she’d hoped. “Why would he do that?”
“My grandfather usually gets what he wants. And he wants to see me married. He wants grandchildren. Plenty of them.”
Kane stopped and his gaze raked her over, another quick, almost shocking perusal of her body. Heat rose up her neck from his blatant scrutiny. The thought of having Kane Jackson’s babies, of lying with him in their marriage bed, of sharing tenderness and passion lodged a lump in her throat.
“He wants an heir for the Bar J and I’m his only hope.”
Molly might have blushed full out but for the severity of the situation. She’d have to deal with her own delicate sensibilities later on. Right now, she had to know the truth. “It seems to me you might want the same, Mr. Jackson.”
Kane shook his head. “I don’t. It’s hard for the old man to understand that.”
Molly had a hard time understanding that as well. One day Kane would inherit the ranch. Wouldn’t he want to pass down the legacy to his own children? “But why?”
Kane inhaled sharply, then leaned in so close that Molly could see the fan of long lashes shielding his dark eyes. “I’m not the marrying kind, Molly.”
“But Mrs. Rose said that you had a wife once.”
Kane’s mouth tightened. His face turned hard like an immovable stone. He nodded and leaned back some, looking away. A moment passed, then he directed his gaze back to her, captivating her eyes with a dark solemn stare. “I lived on the Bar J with my parents as a young child. I have certain vague memories of my mother and father, but when I was five years old, I was abducted and held for ransom.”
“How awful,” Molly said, her voice an indelicate squeak.
Kane nodded, glancing away, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation.
“Kane?”
“It’s not something I speak about, Molly.”
“I have a right to know. I haven’t heard much of the truth since your grandfather sent for me.”
Kane studied her for a moment then let go a long, labored sigh. He began quietly, his voice distant, his eyes dark. “I’d been playing out by the creek and two men swooped me up. I recall crying and trying to run away. They tied me up, bound my mouth. I don’t remember much after that. Just this year, when I returned to the Bar J, I learned that my father had agreed to meet the kidnappers with the cash, a large sum he carried in his saddlebags. But my father never made the destination. Some say he ran off with the money. Others say he’d planned the whole thing. And then there’s the notion that he’d been ambushed, shot and killed while trying to get to me. No one really knows what happened. The kidnappers left me in the hills far north from here, up on a ridge that nearly reached the sky. At least that’s what my childish mind recalled. I was left for dead.”
Molly gasped in horror. “Oh, that’s terrible.”
“By the time the Cheyenne found me I had nearly frozen to death. I was so sick and starving that my bones nearly poked through my skin. They took me in, brought me to their camp and nursed me back to health. Once I had regained my strength, most of my memories had faded. I remember haunting dreams where my white mother would tuck me in at night, but in the morning, I couldn’t see her face. Eventually, I forgot I ever lived in the white world. I became a true Cheyenne.”
Kane took a breath, settling back in his chair as if he’d revealed enough to discourage her from marrying him. But he hadn’t said anything shocking enough to do that. What he’d gone through hadn’t been his fault. He’d been a child, a victim, stripped of his true identity, taken from his family and the only home he’d known. Her heart bled for that little boy, for the fear and uncertainty he must have experienced. Molly wanted to know more. She had every right to know the whole story. “And your wife,” she ventured, “how did she die?”
Kane glared at her with fierceness in his eyes. “There was a small trading post near our encampment run by a local merchant named Samuel who had no problem dealing with Indians. Little Swan had rabbit pelts and beaded necklaces she couldn’t wait to trade. She was excited and happy that day, wanting to make her trades early and come home. Usually we’d travel together to the trading post, but this day, she went alone.” Kane tightened his lips, remembering the joy in her eyes, pleading with him to let her venture out alone. She promised to return early and with many surprises. Kane hadn’t the wisdom to refuse her. He’d been negligent, too wrapped up in her joy to realize the danger. “She never made it to the trading post. She met up with a drifter who decided her life wasn’t worth more than what he could steal from her. He robbed her, then…beat her.”
Kane slammed his eyes shut for a moment. When he peered at Molly once again, he spoke with quiet deadly calm. “I left the tribe then and hunted the man down. It took years to find him. I’d searched the entire territory, hiring on at ranches along the way to earn my keep, until the day came when I would finally seek my revenge. Killing him filled my head and it’s what drove me from day to day. It’s all that I cared about. I’d made it my mission in life. I finally caught up with the murderer in a saloon in a dirt hole of a town about thirty miles east of here. I called him out. Of course, he denied everything, but I knew I had the right man. He wore one of Little Swan’s beaded necklaces, the one she’d meant to trade that day. He pulled a gun, ready to shoot, but I was faster. I shot him right through the heart.”
Molly took in a deep breath, visualizing Kane Jackson as a killer, but all she saw was a man who had sought justice for a terrible crime. As awful as the events were, Molly couldn’t fault Kane for what he’d done.
“Barrel Flat’s sheriff saw fit to arrest me for shooting one of their own. The t
rial was a joke and I was set to hang. Pretty much had the noose around my neck, when Bennett Jackson came to town. He’d heard about me, a white man who’d been raised by the Southern Cheyenne. He’d been searching for me, never gave up and it’s a good thing he had solid hunches. He saved my life that day, paying off the crooked sheriff. We rode off together, back to the Bar J.” Kane leaned back, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “I’m more Indian than white man, Molly. I’m a killer. I have no regrets. I’d do it all again if I had to. There isn’t a decent female in the territory who would have me. I’m hardly the kind of man a woman like you would care to marry.”
Molly stared into Kane’s stony silver eyes, the rims outlined in black, as unusual a color as the man himself. She supposed any other woman would take off running in the opposite direction. She supposed she should be appalled at the man he’d become. She supposed no woman in her right mind would want to marry such a man.
Molly pursed her lips and smiled. “On the contrary, Mr. Jackson. You’re absolutely perfect.”
Chapter Three
“Absolutely perfect,” Kane muttered, repeating Molly McGuire’s declaration from earlier this evening. Kane slugged back a double shot of bourbon, the liquor sliding smoothly down his throat. He poured himself another from the polished walnut cabinet in the parlor at the Bar J, but then thought better of gulping down any more whiskey. He had to keep his head clear.
“A bargain was made, Mr. Jackson.” Molly’s words vibrated in his head like the persistent wild howl of a coyote. “I marry you and you help me find my brother,” she’d said.
Damn his grandfather for making any kind of bargain on his behalf. And now the stubborn woman was set to head off into the deepest parts of Texas to find her lost brother.
Kane swore silently. He’d offered her a train ride back to St. Louis. He’d offered her money as compensation. He’d offered her free room and board at Mrs. Rose’s boardinghouse until she found suitable employment.
But he wouldn’t offer her the one thing she wanted. Marriage.
Kane glared at the glass in his hand, tempted by all things unholy to imbibe, to get rip-roaring drunk and forget this day ever happened. He brought the glass to his lips then slammed it down hard on the table. Most of the bourbon sloshed out and a good measure of the amber liquid splashed him in the face.
He cursed again, swiping his cheeks with his shirt-sleeve. The woman was determined to find her brother. She’d come to Bountiful under the assumption that her new husband would help in the search. And if she didn’t have help, she’d have to find her brother on her own. All of Kane’s efforts to dissuade her went unheeded.
He supposed he admired her gumption. Kane understood something about a vow spoken. He understood how the need to honor a pledge could drive a person. Molly had promised her dying mother, as much as herself. But he also knew that as sure as the sun kissed Molly’s pretty coppery hair, she’d find a heap of trouble before she found her beloved brother Charlie.
Hell, on her first day in town, the woman had waltzed into the White Horn Saloon as if she were walking into Sunday services, without a thought to what she might encounter. Kane couldn’t fathom allowing another woman to head straight into danger. He’d allowed Little Swan to go to that trading post without him. He should have accompanied her. He should have protected her. He’d let his guard down, trusting the men at the trading post.
But he’d learned a bitter lesson. No man is to be trusted. He should have known. He’d been a fool. And Little Swan had paid the price.
Even his grandfather had duped him. He’d played his ace card, the old man smart enough to know that Kane wouldn’t abandon a female in need.
But hell, he didn’t have to marry her.
“Did you meet my new granddaughter?”
Kane turned abruptly to find his grandfather wrapped in a Cheyenne blanket, lowering himself down into the deep blue tufted sofa. The woven blanket had been a gift his grandfather had reluctantly accepted from the woman who had raised Kane as his own, the only mother Kane had really known, Singing Bird.
He watched as Bennett Jackson adjusted two round velvet pillows, making himself comfortable on the wide sofa. He looked frail; his smoky eyes red, his once-vital face pale and ashen. Kane was surprised he was still awake at this late hour.
“She thinks I’m perfect. A savage who knows the land. A ruthless killer who gets what he wants at all costs.”
Bennett grunted. “She didn’t say that.”
“She damn well could have.” Kane leaned against the fireplace mantel and faced his grandfather with anger. “You deliberately picked a woman I couldn’t send home. You picked a woman who had other motives for marrying. She’s determined to find her brother.”
Bennett smiled, showing a brief glimpse of the strong imperative man he’d once been. Showing the side of him that brooked no arguments, the side that outmaneuvered his competitors at every turn. “The woman made demands. I liked that about her immediately. She’s strong and—a woman who knows her heart. She’ll keep you—”
“Steady?” Kane offered. After all, that’s what his grandfather wanted, a guarantee that his only heir wouldn’t leave the ranch on a whim. He wanted insurance that his legacy would live on.
“Satisfied.” Bennett’s eyes gleamed for a moment and a faraway look stole over his face as if he were calling up his own heartfelt memories. He spoke softly, “A good woman can do that for a man. Molly McGuire will make a fine wife for you. She’s pretty, too.”
Yes, damn it. Molly was pretty—actually prettier than he’d expected with those fiery green eyes and that perfect-for-kissing mouth. Kane had felt a moment of lust earlier tonight, drawn in by soft lips and a curvy little body. “She’ll make a fine wife—for some other man.”
His grandfather’s face set into a frown.
“I didn’t send for her,” Kane reminded him.
Bennett leaned back, his shoulders slumping against the expertly carved walnut backing of the sofa. So often Kane would glance about the elegantly decorated rooms, and wonder if he really belonged here. So often, he felt like an outsider. He’d lived with the Cheyenne on the plains a long time, then became a drifter, a man bent on revenge. The old man knew that. He knew Kane had a restless spirit.
“What of the brother she’s searching for?” Bennett asked.
“She won’t back down. She’s hell-bent on finding him on her own. Nothing I could say would change her mind.”
“Where is she now?”
“Mrs. Rose’s boardinghouse.”
Bennett’s eyes softened. “How is Penelope Rose?”
Kane scoffed. “Same as always. She thinks I’m the devil.”
“She’s all talk, that woman. Feisty as hell, but a real sweet lady.”
“She didn’t have a kind word for you, either.”
Bennett’s smile vanished and he motioned for his walking stick. Kane strode across the room to hand it to him. The old man hoisted himself up and leaned on the cane. “What are you to do with Miss McGuire?”
Kane blinked. “Hell, I’m not doing anything with her. You brought her here. You reason with her.”
Bennett began coughing violently. The deluge continued, sounding as if his chest were exploding. Kane poured him a glass of water, but he shoved it away, unable to swallow. He continued to cough, hunching over in his fit. The pneumonia seemed to be hanging on. Kane hadn’t noted much improvement in these last few days. As crafty as the old man was, Kane had grown fond of him. He was family. He’d been the only one who hadn’t given up on him. The only one who’d continually searched for him, the grandson who had been abducted twenty-odd years ago. “Grandfather, what can I do?”
He stopped coughing abruptly and peered deeply into Kane’s eyes. Kane noted sharp lines drawing his grandfather’s face down, the lifeless expression so unlike the formidable cattle baron Kane had come to know. And his coughing bout seemed to steal all his breath. His voice weak, he responded, “I’m not long
for this earth, boy. Marry Molly McGuire, that’s what you can do. Honor an old man’s dying wish.”
“Grandfather, you’re not dying.” The denial came quick and sure. Kane had just been reunited with his only kin for six short months. He couldn’t abide losing him so soon.
Bennett leaned more heavily on his cane. “Doc Beckman seems to disagree. He meant to speak with you today.”
“I’ll check with him first thing in the morning.”
“And Miss McGuire?” he asked.
Kane heaved a sigh. “Her, too.”
Bennett exited the room. Kane watched him lumber up the stairs and enter his bedroom.
Kane owed that old man his life.
Maybe, just maybe, he owed him even more than that.
Early the next morning, Kane stood on the steps of the boardinghouse, facing Penelope Rose. With her brown eyebrows pulled together, her mouth pinched and her arms locked across her stomach, he wondered how on earth his grandfather deemed her a sweet lady. “I’m here to see Miss McGuire.”
Mrs. Rose tapped her foot several times, eyeing him suspiciously as one would a wolf approaching a chicken coop. “Miss McGuire isn’t here.”
Kane’s brows shot up. “What in hell…” He stopped abruptly, reigning in his temper. He’d never get any information from the woman if he weren’t careful. “I mean to say, do you know where she is?”
Penelope Rose launched into a full-out tirade. “She barely ate her breakfast, then took off to search for her brother. I told her she shouldn’t ought to go traipsing around town. Why, that pretty young thing doesn’t have a notion about the pitfalls a woman might find. There are places a gal shouldn’t go unescorted and places she shouldn’t go at all. I warned her about the saloons and that randy young livery boy, Burt Baker. But did she listen? Miss McGuire has a spur in her…uh, well, she’s set on finding her kin. Can’t say as I blame her, but she’s…”
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