Wildfire in His Arms (5 page)

*  *  *

Upstairs, Zachary knocked on Hunter's door. “I need you downstairs, boy.”

“Go away, Pa, I'm busy!” Hunter yelled from inside the room.

Zachary yelled back, “So get unbusy and bring your wife. We have—”

“Tiffany is busy, too, and I'm not about to interrupt her. Go
away
!”

Zachary put his ear to the door and heard a giggle, then a passionate moan. He rolled his eyes and pounded on the door again. “Degan's fiancée is downstairs and wants to know where she can find him. This really won't wait.”

A mere moment later, Hunter opened the door, holding up his unfastened pants, wearing nothing else. “Degan has a fiancée? I don't believe it.”

“Come see for yourself.”

Once they were dressed, Hunter and Tiffany pretty much ran down the stairs. They came to a halt as soon as the parlor was within view and they saw the women sitting on the sofa. Hunter thought his father had just made up a tall tale to get them out of the bedroom since they'd pretty much been living in it all week. Tiffany knew her father-in-law wouldn't joke about Degan's having a fiancée, so she wasn't surprised by the sight of the beautiful young woman in the room and went in to introduce herself.

Hunter stopped to give Mary a bashful grin and a kiss on the cheek before she set down the coffee tray she'd just brought into the parlor. “Morning, Ma—is it still morning?”

“You'd know what time of day it is if you hadn't decided to have your honeymoon here.”

“New York is going to be a hectic shopping spree. We'll get there eventually.”

“Well, behave. We have guests.”

“So I see.” Hunter moved over to sit on the arm of the sofa next to his wife. But he didn't appear the least bit cordial as he stared at Allison Montgomery and said, “If Degan had a fiancée, he wouldn't be selling his gun all over the West. Who are you really?”

“Hunter!” Tiffany exclaimed.

The woman was blushing profusely now, having just been called a liar. “I see I'm going to have to explain.”

“Yeah, that might be a good idea,” Hunter agreed.

Mary poured her guests cups of coffee, but Allison's was left untouched as she began, “You are right, Degan and I aren't engaged anymore, but we were, and if he hadn't left Chicago, we would be married now. He doesn't know I forgave him.”

“Forgave him for what?” Tiffany asked.

Tears welled up in Allison's eyes but she blinked them back. “We were childhood friends and so much in love. But Degan had a bit more than a flirtation with another young woman the night of our engagement dinner. I didn't blame him. We weren't married yet, and, well, I understand such things happen. But my parents weren't as understanding. They made me break off the engagement. I didn't want to do it, but I couldn't defy them. I hoped my parents would relent and Degan and I would reconcile, but he left Chicago before my parents could reconsider.”

In a friendlier tone now Hunter asked, “Why have you waited so long to come looking for Degan to patch things up?”

“Everyone said to give him a year or two to sow his wild oats, that he'd be back, but it's been five years! I tried to forget about him. I let other men court me, I tried to fall in love with them, but I just couldn't forget about Degan. He and I were meant to be together. I just need to remind him of that and to tell him that I still love him, that I forgive him.”

“I never would have took Degan for being a city slicker,” Zachary remarked.

“I guessed,” Tiffany said with a grin.

“Takes one to know one, Red,” Hunter teased his wife.

“Do either of you know where Degan was going?” Allison asked the newlyweds. “I'm not just looking for him for me, now. His father is ill. Degan
needs
to come home.”

“He's going to California via Helena, the northern route,” Tiffany volunteered.

“But he could stop anywhere along the way and probably will,” Hunter added. “He is a gun for hire, after all.”

“So I've been told.” Allison smiled warmly. “Thank you so much. If I hurry, perhaps I can catch up with him before he leaves the territory.”

“Never would have figured a broken heart for the reason Degan came West,” Hunter said as soon as Allison Montgomery had left.

“I can't quite imagine
him
with a broken heart at all,” Tiffany said.

Hunter raised a brow at her. “I thought you stopped being so wary of him.”

“I did, but honestly, can
you
imagine Degan Grant pining for a lost love?”

“No, but I liked Degan, a lot. If that city gal can make him happy, I hope she catches up with him. Speaking of catching up, I'll race you back upstairs.”

I
T TOOK DEGAN FOUR
days and five evenings to find a shack in the hills. He hadn't trusted Luella to steer him in the right direction. The forest on the way to the Big Belt range was too far from Helena, a full day's ride that would likely require crossing the Missouri River to get to it. While there might be a ferry somewhere along the river, he doubted an outlaw such as Max Dawson would want to spend close to an hour in the company of the ferry operator who might identify him and notify the sheriff anytime Dawson visited Luella. And Degan wasn't going to waste time looking for a ferry. He'd rather wait out the week in town for Dawson to come visiting again before he searched in that direction. But some wooded areas were closer to Helena, so he could look for Dawson there during the day and return to the hotel at night. The two to the southeast and southwest were quite extensive, which was why the search was taking so long.

Then two prospectors at different sites he passed mentioned some old claims farther up a particular hill, which is where he'd been searching today. But he was beginning to doubt that information, too, until he came across two log cabins and a cut-wood house tucked away in the trees before he finally found what was obviously a shack at the top of the hill. Late at night as it was, he might have missed it and headed back to town if he didn't briefly catch the moon glinting off the tin roof. As he drew close to the shack, he saw a dim light emanating from the cracks between the boards that served as walls. Was there a lantern inside? He couldn't tell until he got closer, which he did now.

Put together piecemeal from broken-down wooden crates, boards of different lengths, and other scraps of wood, it was barely wide enough to accommodate a small bed and maybe a table and a chair. It certainly wouldn't keep the cold out come winter with so many cracks in the walls. But in warmer months, it might at least keep the rain out. And it was certainly better than camping outdoors.

He almost missed the cave Luella had mentioned, at the end of a slightly sloped path, because it was in the shadow of the trees, about thirty feet away from the shack. He investigated that first. It appeared to be no more than a hole dug in the steeper side of the hill. Black as pitch inside it. He'd be annoyed if that's where Dawson was sleeping. He couldn't imagine what the miner who had supposedly excavated it had been thinking. Clear dirt, then dig down until he hit rock, when there might not even be rock under this hill?

Degan took a box of matches from his jacket pocket and struck one as he ducked his head and stepped inside the cave. It wasn't that deep, just enough to fit a horse for the night. The animal swung his head around and glanced at him, but didn't make a sound, so Degan backed out of the hole and made his way back up the path to the shack.

He walked around the structure and found the entrance. This area had been cleared of trees and brush. He saw the remnants of a campfire, a pan left on a griddle, the fire extinguished for the night. A saddle was on the ground next to it. He wasn't surprised. The shack would block that fire from the view of anyone downhill. The miner had definitely wanted to keep his place hidden.

Degan inched his way to the entrance. If there had ever been a door, it was gone now. The shack was barely as tall as he was. The opening wasn't. He had to duck again to see inside.

Light came from a lantern on the floor, but it was set so low it might as well not have been lit. Still, it provided enough illumination for him to see Dawson lying on the floor asleep. So Luella had tried to steer Degan wrong. Young love, in this case, he thought, was damned annoying.

Nearly an hour had passed since Degan had found the place. He'd left his horse at the bottom of the hill so any sound it made wouldn't be heard. And he'd moved slowly, careful to avoid stepping on twigs, which is what had taken so long. There were a lot of twigs. But the moment he stepped inside the shack, wood creaked. Unavoidable when the floor was made of crate scraps.

Dawson heard it, but he'd been sleeping on his belly, so even though he reached for his gun, he still had to turn to fire it. Before that happened, Degan said, “Your back makes an easy target, not that I ever miss what I shoot at. And don't try what you're thinking of trying. It only takes a second to die, kid.”

“Can I at least turn over?”

“Not with that gun in your hand. Drop it, carefully, and lock your fingers behind your head.”

The boy might have done as told, but not quickly enough. He was obviously still considering options that didn't include jail. So Degan moved forward and stepped on Dawson's right wrist until the gun slipped from the boy's fingers and a string of expletives from his mouth.

“Lucky for you I never lose my temper,” Degan said casually as he picked up the long-barreled Colt and tucked it in his belt before stepping back. “But I can get annoyed when I'm tired and I'm damn tired tonight, so you might not want to test my patience again—I still don't see those fingers behind your head.”

Max had been shaking his right hand to make sure his wrist wasn't broken, but he quickly complied now and locked both hands behind his neck. The kid was probably still swearing, but it was just a mumble to Degan's ears and he didn't really care. He dropped the coil of thin rope that was looped over his shoulder and gave the rest of the room a cursory glance. There was nothing in it other than the lantern, two saddlebags with a rifle propped up against the wall between them, and the tan hat hanging from a peg on the wall. The kid was fully dressed, minus his coat, which he'd rolled up and had been using as a pillow.

“You sleep on a pile of leaves? Really?” Degan said with some amusement.

“Was I supposed to make this rickety crate feel like home? Wasn't planning on staying more'n a few days.”

“Yet you did stay longer. Why didn't you just get a room in town so you could enjoy a few comforts? Helena is a big enough town to hide in.”

“Not with my face showing up on so many porch posts along the boardwalks.”

“So it is you, Max Dawson? Thanks for clearing that up so quickly.”

“Well, damn. You weren't sure?”

“Sure enough, but there isn't much light in here, is there?”

Degan corrected that, hunkering down to see if he could get any more light out of the old lantern. He managed to make the light a little brighter.

“There's not much fuel left in that,” Dawson warned.

“We'll survive if it goes out. You can sit up now.”

Max did so and dusted leaves off his shirtfront before he bent his head and buttoned his leather vest. Other than the vest, he was wearing exactly what Degan had seen him wearing four days ago, including the white bandanna. He looked as if he'd just wallowed in the mud since then. Well, it had rained yesterday as Degan recalled, so the boy might have slipped in the mud up here. It was caked on one of his cheeks, down one sleeve, and on both knees. Some was even in the boy's ash-blond hair, which made it spike up in places.

Noticing the uneven length of the boy's hair, Degan asked, “Where's the knife you butchered your hair with?”

“Don't have it no more.”

“If I have to ask again, I'll have to strip you to find it.”

Max dug the knife out of his boot and tossed it angrily toward Degan's feet before he glanced up with a scowl. The scowl disappeared and the dark eyes rounded, but not with fear. Fear was easy to recognize, but so was surprise, and that's all that was on the kid's face now.

“Never seen a bounty hunter dressed like you.” Max dropped his eyes again.

Degan tucked the knife in his own boot. “I'm not a bounty hunter.”

“Never seen a lawman dressed so fancy neither.”

“I'm not a lawman, just doing a favor for one.”

“You couldn't pick some other time to be so damn generous?” Max spat out.

Degan actually laughed. God, he really was tired to let that slip out. He couldn't afford to show emotions in his line of work. A smile could be misleading. A laugh could remove fear when he might not want it removed. A scowl could prompt someone already afraid to draw his gun. And Dawson hadn't looked fearful yet, just mad. But then Dawson was a kid, appeared to be no more than fifteen or sixteen. Boys this young could be bold beyond good sense. And this one was staring at him again in owl-eyed surprise because of that laugh.