The Bounty Hunter's Heart Read online

  The bonds of heart and family, those ties went deep and Saydee felt the pull as Nola grabbed the next spoon and ladled pulled pork pieces, thick and juicy, onto their plates. Her cousin continued on conversationally, describing the hilarious adventure last night of attempting to get the cat out of the top cupboard when he'd gotten stuck behind the prized heirloom pitcher.

  And without harm to either cat or the priceless glassware Uncle Stan braved the blizzard to fetch the ladder out of the barn, climb up to the top of it and, after getting scratched on the top of his bald pate when the cat jumped onto his head, fearing for his safely, knocking over the pitcher, he saved the day and caught it. Glory be to Uncle Stan.

  Nola had her howling up a storm as they grabbed dinner rolls from the basket and headed over to the employee tables in the back corner. Her cousin's humor cocooned her like a wool blanket on a cold night, peaceful and warm and so welcome she felt safe no matter how hard she tried to keep herself because, after her childhood and her year and a half in the orphanage, affection came quietly and softly, a long, slow cautious fall. Maybe that's why her marriage hadn't been as happy as it should have been. She'd always been too reserved.

  She sighed, pulling out her chair and sat down. She'd been thrilled when she'd accepted their offer to come and find work here in Montana Territory for Uncle Stan's friend, they were looking for a good governess for their treasured daughter, why, they couldn't recommend her highly enough. She appreciated these family members more than words could say.

  She settled on the chair, listening intently, watching the sunshine filter through the paned glass window and tumble onto the gingham tablecloth. The image of Winn laying the blanket over her in the sleigh this morning popped into her mind. Up close, that stalwart devotion shining in his eyes had been arresting, a sight she could not forget.

  Just like the feeling in the air of his bold masculine presence, so powerful it was like a tangible touch on her skin, and she could feel it still. She wanted him to stay now that the storm was over and feared the inalterable truth that he would not.

  * * *

  The shepherd lifted his nose from his paws, quirked his ears and gave a single rumble of a bark. Not alarmed at all, he tilted his head to one side and his big loving eyes zeroed in on the back door, where the daylight had gone gray when the sun went behind banked clouds. Huh, must be someone Pete knows, Winn thought, like maybe Saydee coming home from work.

  He didn't want to admit that made him happy. Winn leaned back on his knees, where he knelt on the floor, scrub brush in hand. He pushed to his feet, gritted his teeth against the pain radiating through his side and down into his left leg as he ambled over to the kitchen window by the table. Anticipation beat through him as he tugged back the edge of the ruffled curtain.

  Fading gray daylight cast a gloom across the frozen world, white as a Christmas dream, and he squinted trying to get a view of the hard-to-see county road. He recognized the horse walking down the evergreen tree lined lane and the thought of Saydee had him smiling. He relaxed and released his hold on the grip of the revolver holstered at his side.

  He'd left the house three times during the day, and while he'd found no sign of Brant's distinctive damaged horseshoe tracks from the horse he rode, he could not relax. Especially since his early morning trip to town to deliver Henson's body left in front of the locked up sheriff's office with a note had left him worrying the trail could lead to him. But if the sheriff took credit for it and kept the bounty, then that loose end might be covered up nice and neat.

  Few people had been up and around town at that hour to notice, but still, he'd scouted and made sure but he couldn't say he hadn't been spotted. Well, he was a top notch bounty hunter for a reason, and so far so good, he thought. But he stayed sharp. He couldn't afford to let down his guard, not with his son's and now Saydee's safety at stake.

  "Pa? Is it trouble?"

  "No, it's the lady of the house coming home. You stay in bed by the fire where it's warm, and I know it's a tough thing to do. Call the dog. Pete, go protect Jack, please."

  The dog's eyes flashed with joy as he pushed off the floor and gave a wide, doggy grin. Good-natured, he lumbered across the kitchen and through the parlor, tail wagging side to side in happiness. The boy's arms went out and the dog walked up onto the feather mattress, stopping to give the boy a kiss and receive a deserving hug.

  "Good job, Pete." Winn cast his gaze back to the window in time to see the dark gelding pulling a beauty in a small cutter sleigh away from the line of pines and into the yard.

  Saydee. Just the sight of her made the tension relax in his mid-section. It was a relief to see her home and to know the day had gone by without incident, a day he'd been able to spend hidden here safe with his boy. He set the scrub brush in the wash basin by the sink and grabbed the mop and bucket away from the middle of the sparkling clean floor.

  He glanced up to see the dog circle for the third time before laying down beside Jack. Winn's chest felt tight, making it rough to breathe, grateful just grateful that the fever had broken and Jack was not only on the mend but recovering well. But that doesn't mean I'm ready to head out forever. Yet.

  No, he thought as he put away the mop and bucket and grabbed his coat off the hook, heading out the back lean-to door. I'm not ready to leave this place. Pain hammered through him with every step he took, and it felt as if a herd of fleeing horses had galloped over the center of his sternum, but that didn't stop him, he couldn't rest now.

  "Hey, you're still here." She drew Romeo to a stop with a smile. "I'm glad. I borrowed a bag load of clothes my employer's housekeeper was going through to take to the church basement for donation. So you and Jack will have some warm things to wear. The few things I have won't go far."

  "That was real thoughtful of you, Saydee. I hope you had a good day." He took the reins from her and held out his hand. Her much smaller fingers curled around his. So small and trusting, fragile this woman who needed someone to care, a good man to give her the good life and good love she deserved.

  "It was a very good and productive day, but cold." She let him assist her off the seat and out of the vehicle. He steadied her as she stepped to the snowy ground. "What did you do today?"

  "Not much. Did you know that a stranger, someone no one saw at all, left a criminal's body with a big bounty on his head at the sheriff's front door."

  "Is that so? You were the stranger."

  He nodded. That was the only answer he intended to give her. He released her hand, ignored the kick of desire for her in his bloodstream and took hold of Romeo's cheek strap.

  "Don't think I can't figure out why you are so silent. Thank you for taking care of my horse."

  "It's my pleasure."

  Her light step on the snow made a crunching, almost squeaking sound in the stillness that had settled between them, in the gray cast of light of the ending day. The snowy wood and wilderness surrounding them remained still as a hush, and as she walked away his pulse drummed, echoing in his ears. He watched over his shoulder as he led the gelding to the stable, waited while she made her way up the steps he'd shoveled off and across the small swept-clean porch and into the back door of the lean-to.

  His heart felt as if it were about to break, although he could not explain why. Just those wishes in life he could never grasp at again, he reasoned, for that was his expectation. He would not get out of this situation alive, for that was how powerful was his enemy. Although he intended to give it his best effort.

  The barn echoed as he led Romeo inside. The horse appreciated his towel off, his brush down and his hoof check. He loved his tray of grain and oats and sharing head tosses and friendly snorts with the horse in the adjacent stall. With just a bit of fresh water in his trough, until he cooled off, Winn latched the stall gate, petted both horses' noses in reassurance before he closed Romeo in until final feed time. The scent of clean horse, fresh straw and winter air met him.

  He followed his own tracks through the snow, breat
hing in the wood-smoke scented evening, watching the light bleed from the sky as sunset stole what was left of the day. He left his boots in the lean-to along with his coat and hat and ambled into the kitchen unannounced but not unnoticed. He set down the pillowcase of clothing on the floor by his neatly made bed.

  "You." Saydee shook her head, scattering golden curls tumbling across her porcelain forehead. "You broke your promise to me today and worse than I could ever have imagined."

  "Is that so?" He leaned one shoulder against the door frame, waiting, watching as she set the tea kettle on the stove. "Now how do you know that?"

  "How could I have missed it!" Saydee's soft alto lured him out the shadows and into the reach of the lamplight. She made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as she studied him over the line of her slender shoulder, and his groin kicked hard as he imagined those lips saying his name, full of desire, right before he kissed her.

  Think of anything, anything but that, he ordered himself. Better yet, make whatever this need he felt was into something appropriate. Instead of want, make it gratitude. Instead of desire, make it appreciation. Instead of lust, make it polite distance. What if that would help? Because there was no future in anything else. She was the woman he could not have.

  "Look what you did," she said with accusation and a scattering of amusement drawing her soft mouth into a hint of a smile. "I can't believe it, and with your injury and you fighting off the croup."

  "I'm better, but what did I do?"

  "Don't play innocent with me." Saydee turned around to grab the frypan down from the shelf. "I saw it. There's no missing it, and you never should have done it."

  "I just did a little cleaning. Least I could do, the only thing I could think to do, since I tracked dirt, mud, snow and ice into your house, and made a whole lot of work for you otherwise."

  She set the frypan down and skirted the end of the counter, her wool dress swirling around her, hugging her slender curving figure, emphasizing her perfect woman's shape. His gaze glanced and lingered on the round of her breasts until she moved closer and the bounce of her golden hair tumbling down to curve over the peaks of them drew his attention upward. Her blue eyes shone, smiling at him. "I didn't know that a man knew how to clean."

  "Surprise. I've done my share of floor scrubbing and dusting." He swallowed, willing down every bit of desire he felt. It was impossible because Saydee, with the way she shone, brightened him up like a newly lit fire, and she twinkled like a little lost star in a dark sky. "You worked hard for Jack and me, so it seemed like the least I could attempt to do for you."

  "You're a good man, Winn." She waltzed closer, as whimsical as flurried snow waltzing in mid-air, her ruffled hem sweeping the floor, her leather shoes padding on the braid rug. "You're pale, so I worry you might be feverish."

  "I'm fine."

  "I can't thank you enough. Are you sure?"

  "I'm standing here, aren't I? I told you, I'm tougher than I look." His heartbeat kicked up a notch at her nearness. He breathed in her soft lilac scent, lost in her deep blue eyes and felt intoxicated, dizzy from being closer to her. He could hardly breathe. "I can't do enough for you, I'll never forget how you saved us, and I'm not done asking for favors yet."

  "What do you mean?" She softened to him the way dawn came to a cold winter's night, unexpected, warm, life-changing. "Are you in need of more help? Is there anything I can do?"

  He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He felt the hem of her skirt graze against his trouser leg as she stopped, and his spirit stilled, touched by her. His desire for her fired and his blood burned.

  "Wait, I think I can guess the answer to that," she said. "It's rather obvious."

  She turned to follow his gaze to the other room. Only one lamp burned but enough to illuminate the sleeping little boy tucked beneath the patchwork quilt, his tousled hair dark against the white pillowcase, sleeping peacefully, lost in dreams.

  "He's really out like a light, isn't he? He looks so much better, I'm relieved for him. You have such a nice little boy." Saydee eased away from him. "He must be the center of your life."

  "True, I can't say that he isn't. He's my whole world." He tried to keep the sorrow out of his voice, the sadness over what should have been for him and his son. "If you wouldn't mind keeping an eye on him, I'd like to head out to the barn and finish feeding and getting your horse bedded up for the night."

  "That would save me from doing it." Her smile shone softly with rare brilliance, changing her from beautiful to beyond, and he'd never seen the like before. His soul responded and he had to force his heart to stop feeling, to remain unaffected and to keep his mind on the business ahead of him. Brant was still hunting him, and danger still lurked out there in the wild Montana landscape. The vendetta against him was too dangerous, and he knew beyond all doubt there would be no chance that Brant would give up, never in a thousand years.

  A wise man wouldn't waste time wishing for what could never be. He was here for a reason, and that had not changed. He didn't need to complicate matters by wishing Saydee would want him. He hadn't expected to be this attracted her. That was the problem. He wasn't prepared for it at all. He'd do best to keep his mind on what mattered, keep his fly buttoned and be on the road tonight.

  He slipped into shadows in the parlor, plunging both hands into his trouser pockets, taking a moment to savor the moment, this very one, where he still had his son with him, where they were both warm and safe and happy. Jack slept quietly, comfortable between soft sheets, kept warm by the blankets and patchwork quilt, kept company by the adoring dog.

  Winn's heart squeezed painfully, and he couldn't help staying a few moments too long adoring his boy. He was such a little tyke, although he was a little tall for his age, he was still so young, so frail. It would be impossible to bring him along, there was no way he would take his child a step farther. Not a chance. He wouldn't risk his life, not when he'd found what he'd been searching for: Saydee.

  The watchful dog opened one eye to look up at him, content next to the boy he guarded. Winn's broken heart filled with a little hope, and he did his best to keep that hope from leaking out of the big fractured crack. Jack would be safe in this pretty little house with this faithful dog and a gentle woman to watch over him. It was the best he could do for his son, and it was good. Just about the best.

  It took all his mighty willpower to turn away and head outside, where the icy wind and starless night gave him no comfort. His decision was made, and there was no going back.

  15

  Saydee opened the basket she'd brought in with her and lifted out the crock of potato chowder from the mansion's kitchen. As a widow, it was a nice perk of her job to have meals provided, as it was so hard to cook for just one person. But what a different feeling it had been to ask for a larger portion from the cooks, who had winked, attempted to conceal the too large crocks from Nola, and made sure she had plenty of sliced ham and dinner rolls to go with it.

  I owe Uncle Stan the world for my job, she thought with great appreciation as she emptied the crock into a pan and set it on the stove to warm up. She loved her position as the governess to little Emilyleigh and the sweet and tirelessly kind folks she worked with made it a respite from the loneliness her widowhood had become.

  And that was only one aspect to appreciate, she thought, deeply thankful for the fine, talented cooks who kept the Thurman's kitchen smelling so mouthwateringly delicious most visitors to the home stated they'd simply died and gone on to paradise even before setting eyes on the bounty of the prepared food itself. So she smiled as she set the wrapped bundle of dinner rolls on the platter to warm.

  With platter in hand, she glanced up at the dark window, realizing she'd forgotten to pull the panels closed as twilight set into darkness. Her thoughts turned to the man who'd left for the barn, out there in the dark, tending Romeo, who seemed happier for the man's care and likely the extra warm oats he'd been providing.

  Good for the gelding. He
always had a fondness for men and always garnered as much attention from anyone he could whenever she drove him to town and left him tethered at the hitching post. Often she would return from her shopping to find him being petted by a couple of farmers, once the sheriff, and twice the neighbors, whom he had fooled into thinking that he was the sweetest gelding in the world.

  So, she was glad Romeo had a man's company for a change as she slipped the platter into the cookstove's warmer and grabbed the wooden spoon to give the chowder a stir. Yes, it was heating through just fine, for it had been well packed by the cook for the drive home. She released hold of the smooth wooden handle and the back of her neck prickled. She spun around, her gaze arrowing to the window where she saw the flash of light as Winn McMurphy stood in the lantern-lit barn's doorway, his back to her.

  She sighed, unaware of it and just as unaware of the appreciation as he paused to reach up to blow out the lantern on the wall hook, the line of his shoulders wide and strong, and she could just imagine those rock-hard muscles flexing and bunching beneath the layers of flannel and wool. He blew out the light and as the flame died, the last vestiges of light fell around him, giving her one last glimpse of the man, unaware of her watching, work hardened, sun-bronzed and breath-stealing before the darkness claimed him and he was lost in the night's clutches, stolen from her sight.

  She tugged the panels closed, trying not to watch for him or react when she heard the stomp of his boots on the porch outside the lean-to or feel the whoosh of frigid air as the door opened. It wasn't easy tucking away her growing fondness for the man, and she wished she remembered the boy he'd been more vividly and clearly, but memories faded over the course of a woman's life, at least, some of them did, and she wished she'd paid more attention to her older brother's friends at the orphanage, especially the one who'd been too quiet, too easy to overlook like a wraith in the night instead of a brash boy demanding attention and pushing his way into the light.