Forever in My Heart Page 24

  Keeping busy provided Maggie with a balm better than any herbal remedy, sustaining her during days when her thoughts would have otherwise been on Connor, exhausting her by bedtime so she didn't have to think about how things might be different if he were with her. Still, she remembered his parting kiss, the way his mouth had moved over hers, the texture of his hair beneath her fingers, the single breath they shared as they drew back.

  "You missin' your man again?" Dancer asked as he stomped into the cabin. A clod of dirt dropped from the heel of his boot onto the floor. He put his Winchester on the rack by the door, picked up the broom, and swept the floor before Maggie could give him one of her prim, fussy looks. "Sure looks like you're missin' your man." He propped the broom against the wall and removed his saber.

  "I don't have a man," she said.

  "Had one, though." He laughed at his crude joke until Maggie stared him down. He ducked his head in a gesture of apology. "Sorry." He listened to himself and added, "Damn me if I ain't acquirin' manners."

  It was Maggie's turn to laugh because Dancer Tubbs seemed quite unhappy about the notion. She stopped abruptly. "Oh!"

  "The baby?"

  Maggie nodded. "A powerful kick that time."

  "Must be the heat that makes him so active." He wiped his brow with his forearm. "There ain't been an Indian Summer like this in years."

  The kicking subsided and Maggie relaxed, tipping back and starting the rocker again. She picked up her sewing and began hemming the baby's nightshirt. In her haste to leave New York before her family knew she was pregnant, Maggie had not given much consideration to what her baby would wear at birth. Now she was set with the task of cutting down her slips and gowns to make a layette and needlework had always tried her patience.

  Dancer watched her prick her linger and sighed. He washed his hands at the basin and took the sewing from Maggie's lap. "Can't understand how you can be so accomplished in most things and can't do a stitch to save your life." He plopped himself down in one of the chairs at the table and began the hemming himself.

  For once Maggie let herself enjoy being idle. The last throes of summer were sapping her energy. She closed her eyes and rocked gently. "Did you see anyone coming this way from the Double H?" she asked.

  She'd been asking Dancer the same question most every day since the middle of August.

  "Nary a soul," he said. "Maybe Connor Holiday decided he ain't gonna divorce you."

  She raised her lashes a fraction and gave him a frank, skeptical look. "I don't think he'd decide that. He hates me."

  "That what you call it when a man kisses you like he wants to gobble you up?"

  "Connor agreed to the divorce."

  Dancer shrugged, the scarred skin of his neck pulling with the movement. "A man can change his mind just like a woman."

  "He won't," Maggie said with serene confidence. "He may be the most honorable man I know." Connor hadn't had to share the painful, intimate details of their first night together; he hadn't had to accept responsibility for what happened when it was easier to call her a whore. "He agreed and someone will arrive here with the divorce documents. You'll see."

  "Hope it's soon," Dancer said casually. His eyes drifted to the loft. He pulled back his glance when he realized what he was doing. "I'm kinda tired keepin' watch for 'im just so you don't get sighted first." He bit off a short thread, examined his handiwork, and pronounced himself satisfied. Dancer placed the baby's gown on the table. "You figured on a name for the baby yet?"

  "I'm still thinking."

  "Dancer's a nice name," he suggested.

  "I'm having a girl."

  "Still a nice name."

  Maggie smiled wistfully. Her expressive eyes were kind as they lighted on the prospector's disfigured face. "Yes," she said. "It's a very nice name."

  Dancer ducked his head again, this time in genuine embarrassment. Usually he didn't mind when Maggie looked at him. There was never any pity in her glance. Feeling her gentle gratefulness, though, was almost as discomforting. He wanted to make her stop looking at him. His hoarse voice was challenging. "Know how I got it?"

  "No," she said, still smiling. "How?"

  "When the explosion in the mine set my face on fire they say I danced like the devil himself."

  Maggie couldn't help herself. She blanched. When she recovered she saw his satisfied grin. "Sometimes you're a horrid man, Dancer Tubbs," she said, her eyes snapping at him.

  "That's a fact."

  Maggie rose from the rocker, put on her straw bonnet, and left the cabin. Dancer's laughter followed her onto the porch until she shut the door. The wide stream that bordered the cabin's yard beckoned her. She wandered down to its bank and began walking along the edge. On impulse she took off her shoes and stockings, dropped them in the grass, and continued her walk, dipping one foot or the other in the water every few steps.

  She laid her hand on her rounded belly. "What do you think of Dancer for a name?" she asked. The kick seemed timely but she didn't know how to interpret it. She laughed. "Was that yes or no?" There was another kick, this one right under her ribs. "No, I think."

  Maggie lifted the hem of her gingham skirt and waded to the middle of the stream. She wiggled her toes over some smooth pebbles until they were buried. "Connor's mother was Edie," she told her baby. "I never asked, but I think it was short for Edith. Do you like that?" There was no response. "Well, I don't," she said. "At least not all by itself." She kicked at the pebbles, letting them fly, and finished crossing the stream. Keeping close to the bank, she continued her walk north. "What about Mary Edith? Your aunts could argue for the rest of their lives over which of them you were named after." It seemed like a good joke on her sisters. "Mary Edith," she said more firmly. She tested the name a few more times. "I'll want to think—"

  The sound of approaching horses and riders interrupted Maggie's musings. She scanned the area quickly, looking for cover, and darted toward some sheltering pines. The riders were upon her before she had covered half the distance from the stream to the trees. One of the riders blocked her escape with his horse while the other guarded her rear.

  Maggie's forearm dropped protectively across her swollen abdomen as she was cornered. She turned so that the riders were on either side of her. They circled again, blocking another escape attempt.

  The most frightening thing, Maggie thought rather giddily, was that the rider in front of her bore a passing resemblance to Connor. The similarities did not hold up under scrutiny, but his build, his battered leather vest, the dark hair and eyes, had fooled her momentarily. As insane as it was, she felt a fleeting sense of relief that the menacing stranger wasn't Connor Holiday.

  She caught her breath and lowered her arm slowly. Darting a glance over her shoulder, she saw the rider to the rear was older but bore enough similarity to the other that it wasn't difficult to recognize they were kin. "What do you want?" she demanded, standing her ground. Her hope that by being firm, even arrogant, she could shame them for frightening her vanished as the rear rider laughed at her.

  "Say, Tuck," he said pleasantly, "didya ever hear tell that Dancer had a woman?"

  "Never did." Tuck's flat black eyes rested on Maggie's belly. He pushed back the brim of his hat a notch. "Look's like he's fixin' to be a father, too."

  "What do you want?" Maggie persisted.

  "Name's Freado, ma'am," the older rider said. "And we're looking for Dancer."

  "Well, you can see that he isn't here."

  "Sure, I can see that. What I'm thinkin' is that it would be a good idea for you to come with us to his cabin. Sit with us while we're waitin' for him."

  "You can just as easily go on without me," she said. "You seem to know the way."

  "Oh, Tuck and I been in these parts before," Freado said. "Only Jack was with us then. You don't see Jack with us now, do you?" Maggie shook her head. "That's 'cause Dance shot him."

  "He can't ride with you now?" Maggie asked. "Is that what you mean?"

  It was Tu
ck who answered. "What Freado means is that his brother's dead. That plain speakin' enough for you?"

  Maggie understood enough to feel the knot of fear tighten in her stomach. Having no clear idea where she wanted to go, Maggie tried to move from between the horses. Her exit was immediately blocked. "Let me pass," she said stiffly.

  Freado laughed. "She sure enough likes to give orders."

  Without another word passing between the two men, Maggie found herself being herded toward the cabin. They didn't let her pick up her shoes and stockings as she passed the place where she dropped them, but kept her moving. The hem of her dress got wet as they hurried her across the stream and up the knoll to the cabin. Maggie hardly knew whether to be grateful or worried when she saw Dancer was waiting for them on the porch. She watched him lower his shotgun as they approached, and for the first time, she realized that Freado had his Colt leveled at her back.

  "Toss that on the ground," Tuck yelled to Dancer. "Or Freado's gonna put a hole in your woman. Maybe put a hole in your baby."

  Dancer didn't hesitate. He pitched the shotgun. "What d'you fellas want?"

  Freado kept his gun aimed on Maggie. "That's real polite that you're askin' now. You didn't bother last time. Shot first, as I recalled."

  Dancer rubbed the scarred side of his face. His bright blue eyes narrowed. "Guess that's 'cause you made no secret about bein' up to no good. The three of you was skulkin' around my claim like you was after somethin' particular."

  "Know what?" Tuck asked. "We're still after somethin' particular. Only this time I think you're gonna show us just where to look."

  Maggie didn't need to have it explained to her. Tuck and Freado were after Dancer's gold, and they were going to get it this time because she was in the way. She tried to make eye contact with Dancer, to let him know that she didn't expect him to give up his gold because of her, but he refused to look at her. His brightly burning eyes were steady on Freado's revolver. She had to say the words aloud. "Don't do what they want on my account, Dancer. I knew the risks of coming out here. I accepted them. I still do."

  "Good woman you got," Freado said. "All heart, no sense. Must be how you got her in the sack."

  Dancer's grim, disfigured mouth thinned. The web of scars on his face whitened. "You gonna wait here while I get what you want?"

  Tuck laughed. "Not likely. You're not gonna skip out on us. Your woman's nice, but she's not worth the kinda gold Freado and me figure you got. I'll go with you to make sure you give us every bit of what you got buried on your land."

  Dancer Tubbs leaned against one of the porch supports. "You prepared to dig it out?" he asked. "'Cause what I got buried is pretty deep."

  "I think you'll dig it out," Tuck said, patting the rifle in the scabbard by his saddle. "Leastways this Remington says you will."

  Maggie raised one arm, imploring Dancer. "You don't have to do this," she said.

  He ignored her. "Who's comin' with me?"

  Tuck urged his horse forward immediately. "I am. Freado'll stay with your woman, just so you know there's no point in tryin' to come back without me."

  "I'll be bringin' you back," Dancer muttered. His eyes finally moved from Freado's gun to settle on Maggie's pale face. "Or someone just like you." His eyes moved past Maggie, not waiting to see if she understood his meaning, and onto Tuck. "You gonna make me walk?" he asked. "Or you gonna let me saddle up? We gotta piece to go to get what you want."

  "You can saddle up," Tuck said. "You figure nightfall before we get back?"

  "Sounds about right."

  Tuck nodded, let Dancer walk off to the stable, and turned to Freado. His voice was loud enough to carry. "If you don't see me comin' 'cross that stream by nightfall, kill her."

  Maggie saw the break in Dancer's stride and she knew he'd heard the threat.

  Tuck rubbed his jaw with the back of a gloved hand. "I'll be comin' back alone," he said, mouthing words above Maggie's head. Only his partner understood the message this time.

  * * *

  Connor Holiday pulled off his gloves, leaned forward in his saddle, and patted Tempest on the neck. "Good climb," he said, praising his mount. He looked back over the rocky outcroppings and narrow ridges that Tempest had managed to negotiate and thought again his horse was half mountain goat. "Now we just have to find that cow. How the hell she got up here is a mystery." A wide section of the Double H was spread out before him. It was impossible not to be drawn to the sight.

  The log ranch house was situated on the gentle curve of the valley's western slope, the verdant setting of pine trees and thick grass giving the impression of emerald velvet. The corral, stable, and other outbuildings were closer to the water source; cattle and horses roamed the lower hillside freely. A curving ribbon of water ran across the property from north to south. Sunlight glanced off the water, giving it the reflective quality of a mirror, while a breeze made the aspens shiver and the hillside glow with color.

  Even at his distance from the ranch Connor could make out the activity of his four hired hands. Ben was working just outside the forge, fitting shoes to the horses for the next drive. Buck and Patrick were taking turns getting thrown from Connor's newest addition to the stable and the smoke rising from the ranch house meant that Luke was starting their dinner.

  "Or burning it," Connor said aloud. Tempest snorted. Connor patted him again. "You miss Woody as much as the rest of us do, don't you, boy?" Struck by a surge of wanderlust, the Double H cook had left for California three weeks earlier. No one was expecting him to return anytime soon, if ever. The four remaining hands and Connor took turns cooking. No one did a good job at it because no one wanted it as a full-time position. For three weeks they had just been getting by, tightening their belts as they began losing weight. More amused than frustrated by the situation, Connor decided he'd let it go on another week or so before sending Ben to Cannon Mills to hire a cook.

  "Ben's looking just hungry enough that I don't think he'll spend three days whorin' when I need him back here." Tempest shifted restlessly. "Okay, let's go find that cow." He urged his mount away from the precipice.

  It was a movement far below him that caught his eye. He halted Tempest, turned back, and surveyed the valley again. He didn't see the rider at first, protected as he was by the shelter of pines, but then horse and rider darted into the clearing, splashed wildly across the stream, and rode straight for the corral. Grazing cattle scattered and their lowing reverberated throughout the valley, rising to reach Connor and prick Tempest's ears.

  Connor squinted, staring hard at the rider as he jumped down from his horse and met Buck and Patrick at the corral fence. It wasn't possible. He was just imagining that the rider was familiar. The sunlight was deceiving him. But the longer he stared the more he was convinced. He lowered his hat, shading his eyes against the sun's reflection on the water. He saw Buck and Patrick raise their right arms simultaneously and indicate his general location on the mountainside.

  When the stranger turned, Connor knew he hadn't imagined anything.

  Dancer Tubbs had left his claim. It meant only one thing to Connor: something had happened to Maggie.

  Under Connor's guidance, Tempest made the descent recklessly. The horse was lathered, pushed to the edge of his endurance, by the time they reached the corral. Buck and Patrick were no longer alone with Dancer. Luke had come out of the ranch house and Ben had joined them from the forge. The four hired hands were sitting on the top rail of the corral watching Connor's brutally paced arrival with equal parts of interest and concern. They hadn't been able to learn a thing from Dancer Tubbs, but they knew the prospector's arrival had something to do with the reason that Connor was mostly a son of a bitch these days.

  Connor leaped down and confronted the prospector, tension radiating through him. "What's happened to Maggie?"

  Dancer had been drinking water from a ladle. He tipped out what was left, handed the ladle back to Luke, and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his sweat-stained blue-gray jacket.


  Connor's fingers curled into his palms, making white-knuckled fists when Dancer was slow to answer. "Dammit," he said, "tell me something before I lay you out, old man."

  The prospector wasn't cowed. "This afternoon two men came lookin' to steal my gold. I've seen 'em before, killed one of their kin last time. They got to Maggie before they got to me. One of them, name of Freado, is holdin' her in my cabin until I get back with the gold. I don't figure she's safe iffen I get back with gold or not and I don't like my chances of helpin' her alone."

  "You said there were two men," Connor said.

  Dancer's blue eyes grew slightly colder. "Other's dead." He spit. "He got too greedy for his own good. Forgot to watch his back." The prospector's mouth twisted to one side. "Thing of it is, you look a little like the one I killed. Tuck, he was called."

  Ben spoke up. He was a thick-necked man, with hands like hammers, black from his work in the forge. He wiped them on his leather apron. "He's talking about Steve Tucker. I've seen him hangin' around Cannon Mills before. Dancer's right. He does look a little like you."

  "Did," Connor said. "He did look a little like me." He turned back to Dancer. "How does that figure in your plans?" He had no doubt that Dancer Tubbs had a plan.

  "Tuck meant to kill me," Dancer said. "Never thought for a moment he'd try anything else. He's the only one expected back at the cabin. If he isn't there by nightfall, then Freado's goin' to kill Maggie." There was no need to add that it may have already happened. He could see that Connor was aware of that—and a lot more besides.

  "We need to leave now, then," Connor said tightly. "Buck, get a fresh horse for me and one for Dancer."

  Dancer stopped Buck when he started to lead his horse away. "Just a minute. That's Tuck's horse. Connor'll need to ride it back. Tuck's clothes are in the saddlebag." He looked at Connor. "You'll need to put 'em on. No sense takin' any chances."