Thirteen

Several evenings later as the sun gave off its last golden rays, Roan took Shadow for a hard run across the pastures. He’d started to make a point of doing it each day since deciding to enter the race. Nerves tightened in his stomach for several reasons. One was the trip to San Saba and the uncertainty of what that might bring. But the biggest cause of nerves was Marley. He’d made a point of avoiding her since the kiss, but he didn’t know how much longer he could.

The pretty lady didn’t seem inclined to take his advice, and he didn’t want to be cruel. That wasn’t him.

Maybe someday he’d have more to offer, but for now, all he had was his strong back and willing hands. Not enough for a fine woman like Marley Rose McClain.

The mare ate up the ground, jumping stumps and creeks with ease. The wind blew back Roan’s hair and filled him with exhilaration and a sense of being one with the animal.

Shadow would be ready in no time, and she stood a good chance of snatching the purse. And that was only the first victory he’d take. Roan’s thoughts were on finally finding Mose’s killers as he topped the hill—and right into a painter’s easel. Pieces of the wood went flying as Marley McClain yelled and leaped out of the way.

A hard left jerk on the reins helped him narrowly miss plowing into her horse. He gulped in a harsh breath that stung his lungs.

“Did the mare brush you?” Roan asked, jumping off Shadow before she stopped. “Did I hurt you? Talk to me.” He was afraid to touch Marley for fear he’d make things worse.

Why wasn’t she replying? He could understand the dark glare, though. No mystery there. The last thing he’d wanted to do today was plow into the boss’s daughter. Thank God, she didn’t appear to be bleeding.

He called himself an idiot and cursed the telling silence as he quickly gathered the splintered legs of the easel. But the question was what to do with them now. He glanced at Marley as she picked up a canvas from the ground. She had yet to utter a word, and her silence deafened him. If she’d just tear into him, he’d feel better.

“If you want to kick my rear end, I’ll bend over.” Roan finally laid the broken easel on the ground. “I didn’t see you in time to stop. I’m sorry.”

He gave up on trying to figure out the right thing to do and pulled her and her painting close. She trembled from head to toe, and the fact that she hadn’t hauled off and hit him must have meant she hadn’t recovered from the shock. He rubbed her back and stiff spine.

“What were you doing? You could’ve killed me!” she finally yelled in his face.

“I know and I’m still shaking over how narrowly I missed you. I was practicing for the race, and the hill blocked you from view.” He pushed back tendrils of hair from her beautiful eyes. “If I’d hurt you, I couldn’t live with myself.”

“I found myself with some free time and came out here away from everyone to paint.” She glared at him. “It was peaceful until”—her gaze went to the splintered wood—“this.”

“I’ll buy you another easel as soon as I get paid.” Thank goodness the mare hadn’t planted her hooves on the canvas, or his butt would be in a bigger sling. “I promise. Is the paint on that dry? I don’t want you to get it on that pretty dress. I love that shade of blue. It looks real good on you.”

“Compliments aren’t going to get you out of this.” Marley stepped back, clutching her masterpiece and tapping one foot. “I never expected to get trampled to death on my own property.”

“Technically, it was just the easel, and you’re unharmed.” He peered closer. “Aren’t you?”

“Relax, I’m fine.” She hadn’t eased her grip of the painting. She acted like he was about to snatch it from her.

“I don’t see your paints.” He nudged aside the clumps of silver beard grass with the toe of his boot. A frightened rabbit leaped out and scurried for other cover.

“Stop looking. There’re safe in my saddlebags. I’d already started packing up before my brush with death.”

Leave it to a writer to exaggerate. Still, he should’ve been more careful.

“How can I make it up to you?” He moved to her side and touched her arm. “Tell me and I’ll make it happen.”

She relaxed a little, and a smile teased the corners of her mouth. She tilted her head. “I would say stop avoiding me, but right now, a kiss comes to mind.”

Of course, nail him to the wall. He couldn’t very well refuse. He’d make it brief. It wouldn’t mean anything and would smooth ruffled feathers.

He pressed his lips to her cheek and backed away.

“No, sir. That was not a kiss. You’ll have to do much better.”

“You are a stickler for doing things right, Marley.” He couldn’t even pretend to be reluctant, no matter how he kept calling himself a fool. Roan all too happily captured her lips and drank of the sweetness he held in his dreams each night.

Liquid fire raced through his body. He didn’t need to stand in a storm and dare lightning to hit him to know this kiss held equal power. His heart beat loudly in his ears, and his knees wobbled.

Marley clung to him with one hand and her painting with the other, throwing herself into the kiss.

Damn, the lady knew how to get under his skin.

It was all he could do to release her and step back. “I should probably get you home. Supper will soon be ready.” He thumbed back his hat. “Why is it that you escaped kitchen duty?”

Work on the Aces ’n’ Eights never ended—especially not for Marley and her mother.

Marley tilted her head and smiled. “Mama shoved me out the door and ordered me to have some fun. She said she had enough help. I wonder what’s going on with her? She’s never done that.”

“Anyone’s guess.” Maybe Jessie had finally realized her daughter was buckling under the load. Whatever the reason, he was glad to see it. He motioned to her painting. “Can I see that?”

She shielded it against her, biting her lip. “I’ve never shown my paintings to anyone.”

“I just want to see what you captured, satisfy my curiosity.”

“I’ll show it to you on one condition. Tell me why you’ve been avoiding me.”

Roan glanced away and shifted his weight. “Marley, it’s best this way. I don’t know how to make you understand that I can’t give you what you want, so don’t wait for me to change. I can’t.”

“We can still be friends.” Marley raised her chin. “Or did you decide against that also?”

The hurt in her eyes almost undid him. Pain stabbed his heart. She’d saved his life and this is the way he repaid her?

“We will always be friends.” Until she found she couldn’t, then he’d find the strength to ride out of her life. He took her hand. “Look, I’m about to stick my head into the lion’s mouth. I don’t know if I’ll survive. I don’t know what the future holds for me.” He flashed her a wry grin. “My future is a bit murky. I can’t, I won’t, ask you to share it.”

She studied him for a long minute before letting out a sigh, then nodding to herself. “I’m glad we’re friends at least. All right, fine. What do you think of my painting?”

Glad to change the subject, Roan studied the work of art. In the dying orange and purple light, he took in all of her painstaking work. For someone untrained, she had real promise.

She clasped her hands together in expectation. “What do you think?”

“It’s good, Marley.” He tilted it this way and that. “You have a great eye for color and blending shades together to add depth. You do have a wonderful gift.”

Her face fell. “But? Let me have the rest,” she managed tightly.

“I don’t know much about painting. I think it’s good.”

“I don’t want good. I want great, beautiful, fantastic, stunning.” She chewed her lip.

“Maybe it’s a little too perfect and there’s not enough detail.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t paint from your heart.” He pointed to the vegetation. “You paint with your eyes. Shadows should dance where the fading light hits them. Over here where you have the herd, you missed the covey of quail next to these bushes.”

“Oh dear, I didn’t even see them.”

Roan handed her the canvas. “Who am I to criticize?”

“You’re not. You’re helping me. Did you learn to paint?”

“Not really. Sister Frieda liked to though, and she taught me a few things.”

“Such as?”

“Maybe put red berries on the possomhaw. You drew that rock perfectly but left out the armadillo resting next to it.” He moved his finger to the sky above them, then to her painting. “Add the line of darker clouds here that warn of colder weather bearing down from the north. Like your stories, it’s the little details that make a person feel as though they’re standing in the middle of the scene.”

“In other words, I stink.”

With a finger under her chin, he lifted her eyes to his. “Not at all.” She was so close he could kiss her again. Before he let himself get lost, he glanced toward the sun sinking below the horizon. “We should go.”

Marley put the painting in her saddlebag and thrust her foot into the step he made with his hands to help her mount her horse. Roan swung into his saddle, and they headed toward headquarters. He glanced at her, glad that her anger at him seemed to have faded. But from the tight line around her mouth, it seemed as though she struggled to contain something she wanted to say.

The silence stretched, broken only by the sounds the horses made.

Finally, Marley spoke. “How do you know about so many things?”

“I owe that to both Mrs. Harper and Sister Frieda.” He grinned. “Both helped immensely. Mrs. Harper especially wanted me to be well rounded. In truth, I think she viewed me as a special project and certainly attacked the job with zeal. Not too many twelve-year-olds know about astronomy, science, and the arts.”

Marley laughed. “I can vouch for that. If they can read and cipher, they’re doing well. Shoot, I don’t know about any of those subjects, and I’m twenty.”

“You don’t live with a schoolteacher either,” he pointed out.

“Very true. I wish I had your learning though. You’re truly a pupil of the world and sometimes I think that’s the best kind.” Marley leaned to stroke his mare’s neck. “Shadow has such a sweet way about her and I can definitely testify that she can run. She flew over that hill like a streak of greased lightning. I think you stand a chance of winning.” She laughed. “But I’ve heard all my life to never bet on a gray horse. Something about them being bad luck.”

“Then I have an advantage already. But winning the race isn’t the real reason I entered. It just provides an excuse for being in town. It gives me a shot at finding the men who killed Mose.” Pray to God he did. He itched to settle the score and to learn who had left the long, satin thread he and Duel had found in the barn. If it did belong to a woman…that changed things.

Still, no way would he believe a woman was involved in murder. There had to be another explanation. Maybe she’d been there against her will. Now that he could definitely believe. This group was as ruthless as he’d ever seen.

Marley’s chestnut wandered closer to Shadow, and Marley’s leg brushed Roan’s, the contact jolting him. He closed his eyes for a second and soaked up the warmth before he inched away and gazed out across the rolling landscape.

These two weeks since he’d arrived in the back of Marley’s buckboard had brought much-needed peace. The land offered a silent balm to his ragged soul. Duel McClain was easy to work for. In the quiet times when Roan’s thoughts seemed to be loudest, he wished Blackie had been like Duel, instead of mean clear to the bone. He’d missed having a real father. A family.

Roan dragged his thoughts back to Marley. “How long have you been interested in painting?”

“Most of my life. Even as a little girl, I drew pictures. I didn’t learn to paint until a few years ago, though. A man came to Tranquility selling Arthur D. Winston paintings. Have you ever heard of him?”

“I can’t say I have.” Roan couldn’t hold back a grin. He loved hearing Marley talk about her childhood, and hearing the excitement in her voice, pictured her with pigtails and freckles.

“Anyway, I bought one. I have it hanging in my parlor. I dearly cherish that painting. You might’ve seen it.”

“Since I’m unfamiliar with his work, I couldn’t say. But the stories you wrote and illustrated for Matt—did you know that you could make a lot of money doing that? Even illustrating for other writers.”

Her eyes widened. “How would I find someone who’s looking for them?”

“I seem to recall an advertisement in the general store in San Saba. I’ll make a point to go by and see if it’s still there.”

“Roan, my whole life began to change when I found you. I think it was fate.”

He met the dark pools of her eyes, wanting to tell her that fate had never been too kind to him. Born under the waning moon on Friday the 13th had sealed his fate. But maybe not entirely blocked good luck. Marley had found him and saved his life. That had to count for a lot.

“Granny Jack believes everything happens for a reason and there are no coincidences,” Marley Rose went on. “I think so too.”

They reached the barn, and Roan dismounted and helped her down. He wished he could freeze these moments of bright hope and save them for when he needed them most.

Matt suddenly popped up, grinning, from behind a bench bathed in shadows. “Hi, Mr. Penny.”

“You don’t have to keep calling me mister. Can you call me Roan?”

“Nope. Mama Jessie said I hafta use mister and missus when I speak to grownups. If I’m not polite, I’ll get my britches tanned good.” His grin showed a missing tooth on top. “Bet you don’t know what I have in my pocket.”

Roan put a finger to his jaw and cocked his head sideways. “Let’s see. Is it a horned toad?”

“Nope.” Matt came closer and gazed up in that funny little way he had that made a lump block Roan’s throat. The kid seemed happy, yet deep sadness lurked behind his eyes. He was like an old man who’d seen too much darkness in his life.

“How about a smooth rock you found on the way to school?” Roan asked.

The boy giggled. “Nope. You’re a really bad guesser, even if you can see better now.”

“You’re probably right about that,” Roan said with a chuckle and ruffled the boy’s hair. Marley stood watching their exchange, and Roan winked at her. “I’ve got it this time. You found a lucky penny.”

“Ah, darn it, how did you know?” Matt dug around in his pocket and pulled out an old, crusted coin. He handed it over.

Roan made a big production of studying the cent piece, turning it this way and that and holding it up to the light. “You know what this is, don’t you?”

Matt dragged a sleeve across his nose. “It’s a penny.”

“Not just any penny. This dropped from a pirate’s pocket. Why, I’ll bet he was probably on his way to bury some loot when it fell out on your road.”

The boy’s eyes opened wide. “Really?”

“I’ll bet anything.” Roan loved playing this game. The sadness had vanished, and Matt was now full of a child’s wonder. Roan dropped to one knee and whispered, “It might’ve come from Jean Lafitte himself. See this little divot? That’s the mark he used to put on everything.”

“Oh boy! I have pirate treasure.” Matt squeezed his hands together with excitement. “Did you hear that, Mama Rose?”

“I did. You’re a lucky little boy,” Marley said. “You have something no one else in the whole wide world has.”

“It’s our secret.” Matt grinned up at her. “Will you write a story about it and read it to me at bedtime?”

“Honey, it’s a little late in the day for writing it down. I have supper to fix.” She knelt to give him a hug. “I’ll tell you what though. Mr. Penny will give me all the details, and I’ll tell it to you at bedtime.”

“I love you, Mama Rose.” Matt threw his arms around her. “You’re the bestest mama I ever had.”

“You’re a sweet boy, and I love you too.” She stood. “Now go wash up. With soap too,” she added sternly.

Roan watched the pair, and his heart swelled. What Marley was giving Matt couldn’t be measured in money. He handed Matt the penny and watched him scamper off.

He quirked an eyebrow. “I know all the details?”

“Sure.” She grinned. “Anyone who hung the moon for a lonely little boy knows about Jean Lafitte and his loot. Tell me, what was he doing so far from Galveston?”

“Anyone knows that. He was visiting the woman who occupied his dreams.” Roan tweaked the tip of her nose. “And when he got there, he spirited her away with him to his pirate ship.”

“Then what?” she asked in a breathless voice.

“They sailed to a hidden private island where no one could find them, and she wrote stories all the time.” And they lived happily ever after, he added silently. Just Marley and him, where bad people could never find them, and nothing—not even the search for justice—could ever keep them apart.