“About what?”

  “About Charlie.”

  “Well, he ain’t here.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I know that.”

  “Then why are you bothering me?” she asked plaintively, and then, as if she suddenly divined the reason for his visit, she wheeled her chair away from the door. “Come in.”

  Hawk followed her into the parlor.

  “You might as well sit down,” she said, pointing to a faded print sofa.

  Hawk sat where she indicated, his hat balanced on his knee. “Is Joey here?”

  “No, I don’t know where that girl’s gone off to. I ain’t seen her in days. That brother of yours was here looking for her earlier. Land sakes, if Leona hadn’t looked in on me now and then, I’d like to have starved to death.”

  Damn. He’d been hoping Joey would be here to comfort the old woman.

  Hawk heard footsteps and a moment later Leona Bradshaw entered the room. She was a stern-faced woman with iron-gray hair and brown eyes that didn’t miss a thing. She was rumored to be the biggest gossip in town, and Hawk believed it.

  Leona glanced from Hawk to Maureen. “Is something wrong, dear?”

  “I don’t know,” Maureen said.

  Both women looked at Hawk, waiting.

  “Well?” Maureen said. “What’s that boy of mine done now?”

  “I…” Hawk took a deep breath. There was no kind way to say it. “I’m afraid Charlie’s dead, Mrs. McBride.”

  Maureen McBride stared at him for a full minute, and then her face sort of crumpled in on itself. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks and she seemed to age ten years.

  “I’m right sorry, ma’am,” Hawk said.

  She nodded again. Tears continued to rain down her cheeks. She made no move to wipe them away. “He was a good boy. A little wild, like his grandfather, but a good boy.”

  Hawk looked up at Leona Bradshaw. “Can you stay here with her?”

  “Find Josephine,” Maureen McBride said plaintively. “I want Josephine.”

  Hawk stood up. He looked down at Mrs. McBride for a moment, then put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll find her.”

  Gesturing for Leona Bradshaw to follow him, Hawk stepped outside. Leona followed him a moment later.

  Hawk settled his hat on his head. “Can you stay here with her for a few days?”

  “Of course. I always knew that boy would end up bad,” she said. “He always was a wild one. Poor Maureen. First Ira and now Charlie. Don’t you worry, Sheriff, I’ll get in touch with Amelia and Ester and the three of us will take turns staying with Maureen for as long as she needs us. Poor dear.”

  “Thank you, ma’am, I appreciate it.”

  Going down the stairs, Hawk swung onto the back of his horse and headed for the jail. He went through his mail, listened while Finch filled him in on the doings of the last few days. Things had been quiet, Finch said. There had been a fist fight over at O’Toole’s. Mrs. Crowley had reported that one of her hens had been stolen. And a couple of boys had dragged Mrs. Olson’s laundry through the mud. But mostly, things had been quiet.

  “I’m beat,” Hawk said. “I’m going home and get a good night’s sleep. I’ll be in early to relieve you.”

  All thought of spending a pleasant evening with Victoria and the kids and getting a good night’s sleep fled Hawk’s mind when he reached home and saw one of his father’s horses tied to the hitching post.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Joey stared up at the ceiling of the shack. A big black spider was spinning a new web in the corner. She was like that web, she thought bleakly. Caffrey, Hackett, and Trijo were like the spider. And Blackie was the unwary fly.

  She tugged on the ropes that bound her hands to the frame of the cot, rolled her head back and forth in an effort to loosen the gag that was tightly tied over her mouth. Three days had passed since Caffrey and his men had abducted her. Three days of living in constant fear of what they planned to do with her, of what they would do to Blackie should he show up.

  Caffrey and the other two were waiting outside, hiding in the shadows, certain that Blackie’s arrival was imminent. She had to warn him, but how? She couldn’t move, couldn’t cry out, could only lie there in the growing darkness, her heart pounding, her wrists aching from the chafing of the ropes that bound her.

  She tugged on the ropes again, heedless of the pain. Why were these men doing this? It wasn’t Blackie’s fault they had been arrested, any more than it was Blackie’s fault that Caffrey’s father had been killed at the Little Big Horn. Caffrey and his cronies had attacked Blackie in the saloon because he was part Indian and for no other reason. They might have killed him…and they would certainly kill him now if she didn’t warn him.

  Maybe she was worrying too much. Blackie wasn’t stupid. Surely he would know she wouldn’t have gone off and left Grams home alone, or left town without telling him. Surely, when he saw her horse out front, he would be suspicious. Wouldn’t he?

  She glanced at the window, trying to judge the time. It was going on dusk. Tonight, she thought. He would come tonight. She knew it in the deepest part of her heart and soul, knew it with a certainty she couldn’t explain.

  The thought drove her to try harder to escape her bonds. Blood, she thought, blood might make the ropes slippery enough so she could pull one hand free. She tugged on the rope that bound her right hand, tugged until the pain brought tears to her eyes. She had to get free! The rough hemp abraded her skin. She felt the warm, sticky wetness of blood trickle down her wrist and she worked her hand back and forth in a frantic effort to slip free.

  She glanced at the window. It was full dark now. Maybe he wouldn’t come tonight. If she could just get free, maybe she could sneak away, unseen.

  A muffled cry of pain was trapped inside the gag when, at last, she managed to free her hand.

  She had just managed to undo the knot on her other wrist when she heard the sound of footsteps. Not knowing who it was, she lay back on the cot, her hands gripping the ropes in the hope that her captors wouldn’t notice she was free.

  The door swung open and a man stood silhouetted in a pool of moonlight. He turned his head to the side, revealing a profile she recognized instantly.

  Tearing the gag from her mouth, she screamed, “Blackie! Look out! It’s a trap!” but the words were lost in a hail of gunfire.

  Blackie fell forward, the gun in his hand skittering across the hard-packed earth.

  With a wild cry, Joey threw scrambled off the bed and snatched up the gun. Hiding in the shadows, she held the weapon in hands that trembled.

  “I got him!” Caffrey’s exultant cry pierced the darkness.

  “Hold on!” Hackett shouted. “Best wait and be…”

  But Caffrey didn’t wait. He bounded out of his hiding place, gun in hand, and ran up to the shack.

  Time seemed to slow. Joey looked down at Blackie, who was sprawled on his stomach just inside the doorway. He didn’t move. Didn’t seem to be breathing.

  “I got him!” Caffrey said again.

  The satisfaction in his voice tore through Joey’s heart like a knife.

  It was dark in the shack. So dark that Caffrey didn’t see her raise the gun. It wasn’t until he’d stepped up to the doorway and heard the snick of the weapon being cocked that he realized he was in danger, but it was too late.

  Joey aimed the gun at his chest like a finger of accusation and squeezed the trigger. Blue flame spurted from the muzzle of the Colt.

  The gunshot was very loud in the close confines of the shack.

  Caffrey stood there for stretched seconds before he dropped his gun, then reeled backward.

  With a strength she didn’t know she possessed, Joey dragged Blackie out of the doorway. Slamming the door shut, she dropped the cross bar in place, then ran to the window and closed and barred the heavy, wooden shutters.

  Heart pounding, she dropped to her knees beside Blackie and shook his shoulder gently. “Blackie? Blackie, please wake up!”

  She shook his shoulder harder, panic rising up within her when he remained motionless. She ran her hands over his body, searching for a wound, frowned when she couldn’t find one. She slid her hands over his face, gasped when she felt a wetness on her palms.

  Blood! It was leaking from the side of his head, dripping down his cheek. With hands that trembled, she ripped a piece of material from the hem of her skirt and wrapped it around his head.

  He moaned softly as she tied it off.

  “Blackie! Oh, Blackie, thank the Lord, you’re alive.”

  “Am I?” He lifted a hand to his head. “Damn, that hurts.”

  “Do you think they’re gone?”

  “I don’t know. Where’s my gun?”

  “Here.” She thrust it into his hand, felt the bile rise in her throat as she murmured, “I think… Oh, Blackie, I think I killed Caffrey!”

  Sitting up slowly, he holstered his Colt, then slid his arm around her shoulders and drew her up against him. “It’s all right. He had it coming. Are you okay? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

  She was shivering now. “N-no. I-I think I’m gonna be sick.”

  Rolling away from him, she began to retch violently.

  Murmuring softly, Blackie stroked her back. Pulling a kerchief from his back pocket, he handed it to her. “You okay now?”

  “I k-killed him.”

  He cupped her cheek in his hand. “Would you rather I was the one who was dead?”

  “No! Can we…can’t we have some light?”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Hackett and Trijo might still be prowling round out there.”

  She nodded and huddled against him. He felt solid. Safe. A moment later, they heard the sound of retreating hoof beats, and then silence.

  “Do you think they’re gone?” Joey asked again, hopefully.

  “Wait here.” Rising, Blackie made his way to the window. Lifting the bar, he opened one of the shutters and peered into the darkness. He couldn’t see much, but three things were clear, his horse was gone, Joey’s horse was gone, and so was Caffrey’s body.

  Muttering an oath, he closed and barred the window. “Looks like they lit out.”

  Taking Joey by the hand, he pulled her to her feet and led her over to the cot. Sitting on the edge of the thin mattress, he drew her down beside him. She was still shivering, whether from the cold or nerves or both he couldn’t say. Dammit, she had killed a man because of him! He had come charging in to save her like a hero out of one of Blue Hawk’s books when he should have been more careful. He should have waited until daylight. He should have scouted the area before he made his presence known. But he couldn’t wait. He had known Joey was in the shack. She might have been hurt, bleeding, dying. And now, because he had been careless, she had killed a man.

  His arm tightened around her. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Joey, dammit, I’m sorry.”

  She shifted against him and he knew she was looking at him even though he couldn’t see her face in the darkness. “For what?”

  “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have killed that bastard.”

  “It’s all right, Blackie. To save you, I’d do it again.”

  He laughed bitterly. “I was supposed to be rescuing you.”

  Her hand caressed his cheek. “You did.”

  “Why don’t you get some sleep?” he suggested.

  “I don’t think I can.”

  “Try.” He eased her down on the mattress and covered her with the blanket, then sat beside her, his back against the wall, her hand in his.

  Ten minutes later, her quiet even breathing told him she was asleep.

  His head throbbed dully and he swore under his breath. Some hero he’d turned out to be!

  * * * * *

  He woke with a start, winced as pain lanced through the side of his head. Beside him, Joey was still asleep. He watched her for several minutes. She was the most wonderful woman he had ever known and he had almost lost her. Closing his eyes, he offered a quiet prayer of thanks that she was safe, that Caffrey and his men hadn’t put their filthy hands on her.

  Slipping quietly from the bed, he filled the coffee pot with water and dumped a handful of coffee in the strainer. After stirring the coals in the fireplace, he set the pot on a corner of the coals. There didn’t seem to be any food in the shack except some canned goods.

  Joey stirred as the scent of coffee filled the air. And then, all too clearly, the memory of the previous night came rushing back. She had killed a man. The thought sickened her and yet she couldn’t be sorry it was Caffrey who was dead and not Blackie.

  Blackie! She sat up, her gaze sweeping the shack. Relief washed through her when she saw him standing in front of the hearth, a tin cup in his hand.

  He turned slowly, the expression in his eyes softening when he saw her.

  “Morning.”

  “Morning.” She slid her legs over the side of the cot and padded toward him.

  “How’s your head feeling?”

  He shrugged. “A little sore. Don’t worry about me, I’m all right.”

  With a nod, she wrapped her arms around his waist. He was here. He was alive. Nothing else mattered.

  “Want some coffee?” he asked.

  “Thanks.” She took a sip from his cup. It was hot and bitter.

  “Finish it if you want. I’ve already had one cup.”

  She drank what was left, then put the cup on the mantle. “Blackie, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Yes, there is. Tell me.”

  He shook his head.

  “You’re upset about last night, aren’t you?”

  “Shouldn’t I be? I came here to rescue you and almost got myself killed instead.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It was a brave thing for you to do.”

  “It was a stupid thing to do. I should have scouted around. I should have known better. Dammit, my father would never have blundered in here like that.”

  “Your father has had a lot more experience than you do.”

  “Stay here. I’m going outside and have a look around.”

  She started to tell him to be careful, but thought better of it.

  He gave her a hug and a kiss, then drew his Colt and moved toward the door. Lifting the bar, he opened it slowly and peered outside. Nothing moved. There was no sound save for birdsong and the whisper of the morning wind sighing through the trees.

  “Bar the door behind me,” he said, and stepped out into the open. He circled the cabin, noting the hoofprints that led away from the shack. He recognized the tracks of his horse among the others.

  Returning to the front of the shack, he rapped lightly on the door. “Open up, it’s me.”

  Joey opened the door a crack and then stepped back so he could enter. “They’re gone?”

  “Yeah. We’d better go, too. It’s a long walk home.”

  They had nothing to pack and little to carry. Blackie wrapped the coffee pot and the can of coffee in the blanket he pulled off the bed, closed the door and they were on their way.

  His head throbbed with every step. Maybe he should have stayed back East, he mused. He seemed to be everybody’s target since he returned to Bear Valley.

  They walked for several miles before they paused at a narrow stream to rest and quench their thirst. A few handfuls of late summer berries provided something to eat.

  Blackie lay back on the grass, his hands folded behind his head, and closed his eyes. Joey was safe and that was all that mattered. They would be home in a few days. Together, they would go and break the news of their engagement to her grandmother and then, hopefully, they could settle down. If he could make a go of being a vet, Joey could quit working at Feehan’s, stay home, and raise some babies.

  “What are you smiling about?” Joey asked.

  He cracked one eye in her direction. “I was just imagining you surrounded by a dozen little ones.”

  “A dozen?”

  He rolled onto his side and smiled up at her. “Too many?”

  She stretched out beside him, her head propped on her hand. “I don’t know.” Her eyes widened suddenly. “Oh my gosh! I could already be pregnant!”

  “Would you mind?”

  “Oh, no! I hope I am. Oh, Blackie, won’t it be wonderful when we’re married with a place of our own?”

  He curled one hand around her nape and drew her toward him. “Wonderful,” he murmured, and kissed her.

  At the first touch of his lips on hers, tremors of excitement rippled through her. It was all still so new—the wonder of his kisses, the thrill of his caress, the soul-shattering ecstasy she experienced when he made love to her. He rolled her over until she lay on top of him, her breasts flattened against his chest.

  Like a flame to kindling, desire sprang to life between them. She felt the swell of his desire, heard it in the quickening of his breath, and her own.

  His hands moved up and down her back, then settled on her buttocks, pressing down so she could more fully feel his erection.

  “Joey…”

  “Are you sure?” she asked. “Your head…”

  “It doesn’t ache near as bad as some other places,” he replied with a wry grin.

  She laughed softly, happiness welling up inside her like bubbles in a bottle of soda pop.

  They undressed each other then fell back on the thick sod. She ran her hands over him, touching, teasing, until he turned the tables on her. His gaze was hot as his eyes moved over her, his hands playing over her body with a sure knowledge that quickly carried her to the brink of fulfillment. She was ready for him when he entered her. A soft sigh escaped her lips and then she clutched his shoulders, her fingernails digging into his flesh. Closing her eyes, she gave herself over to the sheer magic of her beloved’s touch.

  Later, when she lay breathless and sated in his arms, she could scarcely believe they had made love out in the open.

  “What if someone had come by?” she asked, mortified.

  “We would have asked them for a ride back to town,” he replied, grinning.

 

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