Eight

Joe Jameson arrived about noon the next day. Hank spotted him from the office window and struggled to swallow the bitter memories that rose so thick and deep. His hand automatically caressed the Colt at his side.

Jameson walked with the same swagger, the same aloof bearing that demanded everyone’s attention. He’d bet everything he owned that Jameson wore the same smug expression.

With luck, Hank would find an excuse to run into the man. He would have his say before the day was out, one way or another. He turned from the window and went to the potbellied stove for coffee. The telegraph machine began to clatter.

It was a message for Stoker from his son Sam. His boss would want this right away.

This was the chance he’d waited for. Hank stilled his breath and pulled on his coat and gloves. Facing down Jameson wouldn’t accomplish anything except give Hank satisfaction. After all, the sorry piece of humanity had ties and money. But Hank would have peace in his soul. The dog padded to the door, and the minute Hank opened it, the collie dashed out. He made a beeline for one of the ranch dogs and promptly sniffed his hind end. Hank set his sights on Jameson and strolled toward his fate. A few minutes later, he entered headquarters and knocked on Stoker’s closed office door.

Voices from the other side silenced, and Stoker barked, “Come in.”

“A telegram from Sam, boss. It seems urgent.” Aware of Jameson’s angry glare, Hank handed the message to Stoker. The big rancher read it, wrote a reply, and instructed Hank to send it.

“Yes, sir.” He turned and locked eyes with Jameson, glaring into the face of evil. He dared the man to utter one word. Jameson’s face flushed and he appeared about to explode, but he couldn’t in front of Stoker.

That gave Hank power, and he did the unthinkable—he smiled.

As he left, Hank heard Jameson ask to be excused for a moment. This was the moment Hank had prayed for. He stepped around a corner and waited.

Heavy footsteps neared and Hank stepped into Jameson’s path. “Looking for me?”

The surprised man’s eyes widened and he took half a step backward. “What are you doing here?”

“Working. I have that right,” Hank answered smoothly, his eyes narrowing.

“One word from me and the judge will throw you back in prison to rot.”

“I’m not afraid of your threats. You haven’t destroyed me. I’ve only grown stronger. Now I have work to do.” Hank turned. Jameson grabbed his arm but released it when Hank pointedly glanced at the man’s hand and growled, “Never touch me again.”

“I’ll do as I damn well please,” snarled the man. “A word of warning—keep your mouth shut. I can destroy you and will, if you mess with me.” The man’s heavy jowls hung down on each side like a big bulldog’s, and the large paunch around his belly strained his waistband. “But who’s anyone going to believe? A man of wealth or a penniless ex-con and drifter?”

“You seem to think that I’m afraid of you. You’re sorely mistaken. By the way, how’s Seth doing?” Hank’s voice was silky and quiet.

“My boy is doing what he was destined to do,” Jameson spat. “He’s an important man in Still Valley. Seth is the mayor and is a pillar of the community with his lovely wife. They have three children.”

“A pity that a murderer could rise to such heights. But then, he learned how to fool people from you.” Hank stared into the face he’d hated for eight years but suddenly found he only pitied the man.

Jameson’s voice grew loud and more bullish. “I warn you. Say one word and I’ll put you in the ground this time.”

Fury rose. Hank pinned him against a wall, a hand around Jameson’s throat. “Come after me and you’ll find yourself outmatched. I’m not a young kid anymore. You might think about that. And remember the witness to the crime that day. He might just spill his guts now.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

Movement behind alerted Hank. He turned to see his boss in the office doorway.

“Both of you step inside.” The anger in Stoker’s voice was clear.

Hank’s stomach knotted as he followed Jameson. They took a seat in front of the huge desk. This was it for him. Just as he’d started to think of the Lone Star as home, he’d have to leave. But he wouldn’t take back his words or apologize for standing up to the liar.

Joe Jameson got the first word. “Did you know you have a murderer working for you?”

“I know Hank was jailed for killing a man.” Stoker leveled a steely glare on the wealthy landowner. “I also know he didn’t do it.”

The man snorted. “Just because he denied it doesn’t make it so. Whose word carries more weight—someone you’ve known for years or a drifter?”

“I have no patience with lowlife, cheating scum like you, Jameson,” Stoker thundered. “You should know I overheard everything. Hank, tell me what happened back then.”

“I’d be happy to.” Hank shot Jameson a glare. “His son, Seth, and I were the same age, but not exactly friends. I was in the bank with my father when Seth walked in with Jameson. Seth argued with the teller, then took out his gun and shot the man between the eyes. The sheriff ran in and Jameson told him that I shot the teller. My father’s word meant nothing, because Jameson quickly lined the sheriff’s pockets. I got sent to prison and Seth got off scot-free.”

“Now, look here, Legend. You’re not going to buy that preposterous load of manure. We’ve had plenty of business dealings, but if you’re going to believe him over me, I’ll never buy another bull from you. Men like Destry prey on the wealthy. He came from a poor family and he’ll always be poor. He has dollars in his eyes.”

“Strange that he hasn’t asked for one cent,” Stoker said calmly.

“Just give him time.” Joe Jameson glared at Hank, his jowls quivering. Sweat beaded his brow. “He was trying to rob the bank when Seth walked in and stopped him.”

Hank watched the exchange silently and waited. He’d said his piece. Now all he could do was wait to see if justice would abandon him again, or if Stoker Legend was made of sterner stuff.

“The problem is that I do know you,” Stoker said. “Only too well.” He turned to Hank. “Who is this witness you were talking about?”

“Back then, the kid was a ten-year-old and the judge wouldn’t let him testify.” Hank glared at Jameson. “He saw everything and he’s grown up now. I spoke to him a month ago, and he’s ready to say Seth Jameson killed the teller.”

Jameson’s face turned ashen and he steadied himself against the wall.

“There you go. Hank couldn’t fight back before, but now he has me. I’m putting my considerable money and influence toward seeing justice done.” Stoker pinned Joe Jameson with a seething stare. “I have a telegraph here on the ranch now, and I’m instructing Hank to wire the U.S. Marshal and have him place this witness in protective custody. You’re about to have more trouble than you can wiggle out of, Jameson.”

“You haven’t heard the last of me,” Jameson blustered. “If you want a fight, I’ll damn sure give you one.”

“You’ve always gotten under my skin with your shady dealings. I want you out of my house.” Stoker’s yell was so loud it rattled the windowpanes. “If you don’t go to jail over this, I’ll miss my guess. Come back on my land again and I’ll have my men throw you off.”

“You don’t have to worry on that count.” The rich bag of wind stalked to the door. “Seth is my boy, Stoker. We have to protect our own.”

Stoker’s face darkened. “I’m also going to instruct Hank to have the U.S. Marshal arrest Seth for the crime he committed.”

Jameson struck the doorframe with a fist. “I was only doing what any good father does. I didn’t want one mistake to ruin Seth’s life.” The slamming door rattled the hinges.

“Thank you, boss.” Hank stood. “I’ve never had anyone stand up for me before.”

“How does it feel, son?”

“Pretty good. In fact, it feels great.” Hank shook his hand. “I don’t know how I happened to find my way here, but I’m glad I did.”

“It was meant to be. I’ve stopped trying to figure these things out.” Stoker laid a hand on Hank’s shoulder. “I started with nothing, so I know how you feel. I meant it when I asked you to wire the U.S. Marshal. I want the witness protected and Seth Jameson arrested.”

“I’ll be happy to.” Justice had been a long time coming. Hank wiped his eyes, thinking of all he’d endured. His name was finally going to be cleared.

* * *

Sidalee sensed a change in Hank as soon as he and Beau entered the empty mercantile she was decorating in green and red. He wore a real, honest-to-goodness smile for the first time—one that revealed a row of white teeth. He strode toward her with his hat in his hands.

With shaky fingers, she secured the last bit of Christmas holly and festive ribbon to the counter and stepped back. A length of red ribbon that she hadn’t used draped around her neck. Beau nuzzled her hand, begging for attention. She knelt to hug the collie and let him lick her cheek before he padded off.

Sidalee stood and studied Hank’s face. “You look happy. Really happy.”

“That’s because I am.” He glanced around the store, evidently making sure he wouldn’t be overheard, before going on. “Do you remember me saying that if I made it to Christmas, I’d answer all your questions?”

“I recall that. You also spoke of danger. Is that over now?”

“Yep.” He took her arm and led her to some chairs at the back close to the stove, where Beau had found a warm spot. “I want to tell you everything. Then you can decide if you still want to be friends.”

“I assure you nothing will change my mind about you.”

“Even learning that I’m an ex-convict?”

Shock ran through her. He’d been in prison? She would never have guessed that. Sidalee touched his arm. “Not even that, Hank. I can see the man you are, and I like him very much.”

“You’re a special kind of woman, Sidalee.” And he knew he’d never find another like her in all the world.

Over the next hour, they talked and she learned about the cruelty of Joe Jameson. Anger washed over her. Hank had paid for Seth Jameson’s crime. But worse than that, his parents had died of broken hearts, buried by people who hated their son.

“I can’t imagine the horrors you faced. You’re a strong man, Hank.”

“To be clear—I’m no saint. I just did what I had to. I sent the telegram to the marshal like the boss told me. Now Seth will finally have to face justice.” Hank shoved his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think he’ll fare well in prison. A part of me feels sorry for him.”

“They never gave a care about you. I’m sure his father’s money will buy him plenty of friends,” Sidalee said dryly.

“Joe Jameson may face charges of his own, as well as the sheriff,” Hank pointed out.

“The town can stand a good cleaning. But what about you? What are you going to do now?” He still might decide to leave, and that worried Sidalee.

Indecision reflected in his face. “I’m not sure yet. It’s a wonderful feeling to have choices and the freedom to make them.” His eyes met hers as he toyed with the festive ribbon around her neck. “I do know I’m taking you to the Christmas dance. I won’t miss that for anything. No doubt I’ll have to beat off the single men with a club, though.”

She grinned. “You’d fight for me?”

“Quicker than you can whistle ‘Dixie.’” He took a tendril of hair between his fingers. “I’ll fight, scratch, or shoot any man who tries to cut in.”

“I’ve never had a man fight for me before.” She captured her bottom lip between her teeth to stop the goofy smile.

“Then they must all be as blind as suck-egg mules.” Hank slowly pulled the long silk ribbon from her neck, trailing it down one arm as he leaned closer. “There’s some mistletoe right over your head. I hope I’m not pressing my luck, but do you mind if I kiss you again?”

A happy, warm glow swept over her. “I don’t see anyone trying to fight you,” she whispered.

He pulled her up into his arms and drew the ribbon around her, tethering her to him. Sidalee had never felt more alive, more breathless, more…hot.

She tilted her face to him, feeling the wild beat of his heart that matched hers. He gently anchored her against the hard wall of his chest. The moment his lips touched hers, an aching hunger swept through her, turning her knees to pudding.

The yearning for him was so strong, she clutched him to keep from falling in a puddle at his feet. One arm curled around his neck just under his hair. The strands brushed her skin like tiny feathers.

That’s when she knew she was falling in love with Hank Destry.

His hand slid down her back, leaving a heated path. He broke the kiss but kept his lips on hers. “I don’t know what it is about you, but when I’m near you, all I can think about is doing this. Reckon why that is?”

“Mistletoe?” She leaned back to meet his smoldering gaze. “I once heard that mistletoe can cast a spell on you.”

“Is that right?”

Sidalee nodded. “It works the same as moonlight.”

Beau scolded with a sharp bark, lay down, and covered both eyes with his paws as though to say he didn’t go for this mushy stuff. Sidalee laughed.

“Kiss a lot of men to test your theory?” His voice was soft, teasing, but it hit too close to home.

“No.” An ache filled her as she pushed away from him. She’d fallen in love with a drifter. Any moment he’d ride off and leave her alone again with only her work and the constant wind to keep her company. How could she go back to that after losing her heart to him?

“What’s wrong?”

“This is a silly game, and I’m much too busy to indulge you.” She whirled and fled to the front to her Christmas decorations.

“What did I do?” Hank followed her. “Tell me what I did. It’s not a game to me.”

“Isn’t it?”

He took her arm and gently turned her. “What I feel is real, and for the first time in my life, I think about more than just this moment.” He pushed back her hair and kissed her forehead. “You make me think that maybe I do have a future beyond tomorrow. For so long, all I’ve prayed for was to see the next sunrise. You have me dreaming and have given me hope.”

She melted into his embrace. “You’ve done the same for me, and I think that’s what scares me most. What if it all ends and you ride out? I don’t think I could face that.” Her voice shook, but she had to put her greatest fear into words. “You have the power to destroy me,” she whispered.

“I’ll never do that. Not intentionally.”

His gentle touch was like the whisper of a breeze where the earth meets the sky. She had to trust that this could last. If not, what did she have left but loneliness and sorrow? She had to believe he spoke from his heart.

“You drifted in. Will you also drift out, or do you intend to stick around?”

Silence spun between them, broken only by her loud heartbeat in her ears.

“Yes,” he answered. “Yes, for you I’ll stick around.”

With a soft cry, she buried her face against the corded muscles in his throat and held on to this stranger who’d come to mean so much. Hank Destry was everything she’d wanted.

“I want you, Sidalee,” he murmured against her hair. “I have this hunger inside to touch you—all of you. I know we haven’t known each other very long and I shouldn’t even ask, but—” He raised her face and stared into her eyes. “Would you be willing?”

Her pulse raced. She’d wanted him ever since he woke up in her bed and challenged her threat to sit on him if he didn’t stay put.

“Yes. But Miss Mamie is at my house.”

“If you’re willing, we’ll go to Wheeler’s place.”

Her hands trembled as she lifted the Closed sign and hung it on the door. She had no doubts as she strode beside Hank and a minute later waited while he put another log on the fire in the one-room house. Her eyes flew to the bed. Nervous anticipation filled her, but she knew this was the right decision.

Hank lifted her into his strong arms, his gaze locked with hers. “Are you sure?”

“Never more so.” Sidalee ran her hand across his strong jaw and watched passion darken his eyes. “I want to feel you next to me, your skin on mine, our hearts beating as one. I love you, Hank Destry. Some would say it’s impossible in this short time, but I know this is real.”

Silently, he carried her and sat her on the soft quilt that covered the bed, then slowly removed the pins from her hair. “Your hair is beautiful.” He ran his fingers through the strands. “The color reminds me of a wheat field under the morning sun, and it’s softer than corn silk. It’s a shame to keep it bound up.”

“It’s easier that way when I’m working. And I’ve never had anyone want to see it like this.”

“More’s the pity.” He worked at the buttons of her dress. Slowly, piece by piece, he undressed her and then himself.

The light revealed scars, mostly from prison, she guessed, and tears bubbled in her eyes. This innocent, proud man who had more strength than twenty men had suffered greatly. But they hadn’t broken him, and that was more important than the scars. She took his hand and brought him down beside her.

Hank lay facing her and kissed her eyes and cheek before covering her mouth with his lips. Sidalee closed her eyes and let the warmth flood over her. She didn’t know how he felt about her, but she loved him, and that was enough.

With a feather-light touch, he slid his hands down to the swell of her breasts, then the curve of her hip. She’d never known such soft caresses. Hank made her feel as though she were a queen.

She laid a palm on the hard planes of his chest as he deepened the kiss and knew she never wanted to be separated from this man. She’d show him how to open his heart and let love in.

He finally let her up for air. Staring into his eyes, she ran her fingers down his body, leaving a trail of kisses in their wake. “Hank, I want you—all of you. And don’t ask me if I’m sure, because I am.”

“I have this hunger for you that’s unlike anything I’ve known, Sidalee. You don’t know how often I dreamed of this moment.”

Hank rolled atop her and, kissing her long and deep, filled her with all the feelings he couldn’t express, making her a woman in every sense of the word.

Sidalee knew the memory of this day would remain forever. Hank Destry was hers.