# The Outlaw's Return

Victoria Bylin

Indulge your fantasies of delicious Regency Rakes, fierce Viking warriors and rugged Highlanders. Be swept away into a world of intense passion, lavish settings and romance that burns brightly through the centuriesVictoria has a confession to make. She was driven to write romance by giant bugs and killer rabbits."I just couldn't take it anymore," she says. "My husband and sons would be camped in front of the television watching a movie about spiders the size of bowling balls, and I'd be wondering when the handsome scientist would get around to kissing the spunky woman with the bug spray. When it didn't happen, I decided to write my own happy endings–without the giant bugs. "Victoria made that decision in January 1999 after a cross-country move from California, where she's ridden out earthquakes, to Virginia, where she and her family enjoy the history of Washington D. C. "That move was difficult because it brought me face-to-face with regret," says Victoria. "My husband and I both wish we had taken the kids to Yosemite or made another trip to Baja, but his career changed quickly and there wasn't time. As we made the long drive, I decided I didn't want any more empty dreams in my life. "For Victoria, that meant writing a book. As soon as she finished unpacking over a hundred cardboard boxes, she sat at her computer and wrote a sentence she considers to be the "worst beginning ever. " That manuscript is in a dusty box under the bed, but her second effort turned into Of Men and Angels, and she hasn't looked back. Writing takes up most of Victoria's free time, but she still enjoys an occasional giant-bug movie with her husband and two teenage sons. She's also "mom" to an elderly Chihuahua-corgi who barks too much.She enjoys hearing from readers. Email her at VictoriaBylin@aol. com.

## “What brings you to Denver?”

“It’s not important.”

She didn’t believe him. Whatever his reason for being at Brick’s, he’d made an effort to find her. She felt cheated by the lie, just as she’d felt cheated in Abilene. “If it wasn’t important, you’d answer the question.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

When he smirked, she saw the man who’d left her pregnant, alone and ruined. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you, J.T.?”

His eyes were even bluer than she recalled, and his cheekbones more chiseled. The sun, high and bright, lit up his unshaven jaw and turned his whiskers into gold spikes. The man was untouchable, unreachable.

“That’s right,” he finally said. “I haven’t changed a bit.”

“I have,” she said quietly. “What happened in Abilene is in the past. I’d appreciate it if you’d respect my privacy.”

His eyes clouded with something akin to regret. “I understand,” he said quietly. “You won’t see me again.”

His surrender shocked her to the core.

## VICTORIA BYLIN

fell in love with God and her husband at the same time. It started with a ride on a big red motorcycle and a date to see a Star Trek movie. A recent graduate of UC Berkeley, Victoria had been seeking that elusive “something more” when Michael rode into her life. Neither knew it, but they were both reading the Bible.

Five months later they got married and the blessings began. They have two sons and have lived in California and Virginia. Michael’s career allowed Victoria to be both a stay-at-home mom and a writer. She’s living a dream that started when she read her first book and thought, “I want to tell stories.” For that gift, she will be forever grateful.

Feel free to drop Victoria an email at VictoriaBylin@aol.com or visit her website at www.victoriabylin.com.

## Victoria Bylin. The Outlaw’s Return


www.millsandboon.co.uk

The cowering prisoners will soon be set free;

they will not die in their dungeon,

nor will they lack bread.

For I am the Lord your God,

who churns up the sea so that its waves roar—

the Lord Almighty is his name.

—Isaiah 51: 14, 15

This book was the most challenging writing experience I’ve ever had. For that reason, it requires three dedications.

The first is to my editor, Emily Rodmell.

I’m beyond grateful for her insights into this story.

The second is to Sara Mitchell.

She’s my dearest friend and a gifted writer.

I owe her more than I can say.

The third is to the people of CenterPointe Christian Church in Lexington, Kentucky.

From the day Mike and I first stepped through the doors, you made us feel welcome.

A special shout-out goes to the ladies of the Flippin’ Pages Book Club.

Let’s hear it for Christian fiction!

## Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

## Chapter One

Denver, Colorado

July 1876

When J. T. Quinn vowed to find Mary Larue, he never once imagined they’d meet on a perfect Sunday morning in Denver. On those long nights when he’d lain alone in his bedroll, he’d imagined seeing her on a stage in some high-class opera house. He’d pictured himself in a black suit and a white shirt leaning against the back wall with his arms crossed as he listened to her hit the high note only she could hit. Their eyes would meet and she’d recognize him. She’d miss a beat, but she’d pick up the song with even more power than before and he’d know…she still loved him.

That wasn’t going to happen today.

It wasn’t Saturday night, and J.T. wasn’t wearing a suit.

It was Sunday morning, and he had trail dust in every pore. He also smelled like the inside of a saloon. He hadn’t visited such an establishment for six months, but last night he’d walked past a gaming hall with a head full of memories. A drunken cowhand had stumbled out to the boardwalk with an open bottle of whiskey, and the contents had sloshed on J.T.’s trousers. The smell had sickened him in one breath and tempted him in the next. He’d have changed clothes, but the garments in his saddlebag were filthy. They stank, but not with whiskey. He’d resisted that temptation, and he’d done it because of his love for Mary Larue.

Heaving a sigh, he looked down at his dog. “What should we do, Fancy Girl?”

She whapped her tail against the boardwalk and looked up at him with her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. J.T. didn’t know what kind of dog she was, but they’d been best friends since he’d walked out on Griff Lassen at the Dudley place. They’d been running off Ambrose Dudley and his brother, squatters up in Wyoming, when the dog had charged at them and started barking. Griff had ordered J.T. to shoot her dead.

J.T. had done a lot of mean things in his life, but not even he could shoot a dog. On the other hand, he’d come close to shooting Griff. When the man aimed his Sharps at the mutt, J.T. had shoved the barrel downward. The bullet had ricocheted off a rock and creased Fancy Girl’s head. J.T. had mopped her blood with his bandanna and fed her jerky from his pocket. When she’d followed him to his horse, he’d poured water from his canteen into a pot. She’d lapped every drop, and he’d filled it again.

He’d left the Dudley place with the job undone and Griff promising to get even, but the dog had followed him. That night he’d named her Fancy Girl because her fur reminded him of Mary’s blond hair, and he’d made a decision. He didn’t want to be the kind of man who hunted squatters and shot at dogs.

Over the past ten years, J.T. had sold his gun for money. He’d been nineteen when he’d first been paid to hunt down cattle rustlers, and next month he’d turn thirty. For a gunslinger, he had a lot of years on him. Today, standing outside a saloon and listening to Mary sing, he thought back on those years. He’d drunk oceans of whiskey and been with too many women. The whiskey had never failed to work its magic. The women, though, had lost that power, and it was because of Mary.

She’d been in his head for two years now, ever since Kansas, where they’d been a pair and she’d made him smile. Really smile. Not the sneer he usually wore. And not because she was generous with her affections. Mary made him smile because she believed he was a good man. He wasn’t, but after the mess at the Dudley place, he wanted to try. Leaving that day with Fancy Girl, he’d decided to find Mary and make a new life. He had some money saved, enough to open a saloon, a place where she could sing and live the life she’d always wanted. He didn’t plan to marry her. He’d changed, but not that much. Picking up where they’d left off seemed noble enough.

He and Fancy Girl had been searching for six months, and he’d finally caught a break. He hadn’t touched a woman or a drop of whiskey since the mess in Wyoming, but he still had to eat. Last night he’d taken supper at the boardinghouse where he was staying with his dog. One of the boarders, an old man with bad eyes, had told him about a woman named Mary who sang like a nightingale.

You’ll find her tomorrow morning at Brick’s Saloon.

Not once had it occurred to J.T. that Mary would be singing a hymn in a makeshift church. His mind had gone in the opposite direction. He’d imagined her finishing up a night’s work that involved more than singing. He’d been sick to think she’d fallen so low, but in the next breath he’d been relieved. No matter what Mary had done to survive, he still loved her. He wouldn’t wish her the suffering of selling herself, but he rather enjoyed the thought of riding to her rescue. He didn’t have much to offer a woman as beautiful and talented as Mary Larue, but he had plenty to give to a woman forced into prostitution. As a gunslinger, J.T. knew all about selling himself.

Mary’s voice soared to a high note of a hymn. With that glorious sound, J.T.’s hopes crashed like a bird dying in flight. What did he have to give a woman who sang in church? Not a blessed thing. He didn’t believe in God. The one time he’d cried out for mercy, the heavens had remained silent, and he had the scar to prove it.

Fancy Girl whined at his side.

“I know,” he said. “We found her, but it’s not going to work.”

Inside the saloon, Mary’s voice dipped and soared. As the hymn closed with a trembling “amen,” Fancy Girl tilted her head. He could see where the bullet had left a lightning bolt between her ears. The dog had a keen intelligence and a way of reflecting J.T.’s thoughts. When she cocked her head, he saw the question he’d just asked himself.

“She doesn’t need us, girl.”

Fancy wagged her tail. But you need her.

“I know.” He rubbed the dog’s chin. “But she’s happy now. She’s got more than I can give her.” He had a lot to offer a fallen woman, but a respectable one was beyond his reach. For all he knew, Mary could have found a husband. Did she have a baby of her own? Maybe a house with pretty curtains? J.T. didn’t know, but he knew Mary had changed. The old Mary wouldn’t have been caught dead singing a hymn. The new Mary sang the song with conviction.

If she’d been the woman he recalled, J.T. would have fought for her affection, but how could a man like him compete with God? J.T. certainly couldn’t, though he could have given the devil a run for his money. The thought offered an old and lonely consolation. If he couldn’t have Mary, why not buy a bottle of whiskey, a big one with a fancy label? Why not get drunk and sink into oblivion? J.T. fought the urge to go down that road, but he felt his grip slipping. Without Mary, he’d cleaned up his life for nothing. Finding a place to buy liquor on a Sunday morning wouldn’t be easy, but he’d seen a mercantile that probably had a stash behind the counter.

He stopped scratching Fancy Girl’s ears. “Let’s go,” he said to the dog.

She barked.

“Shhh,” J.T. cautioned. The last thing he wanted was a nosy minister poking his head over the batwing doors. He took a couple of steps down the boardwalk, but the dog didn’t budge. Instead of following him like she always did, she whined.

“I know how you feel,” he said. “But we’re not good enough for her.” A man couldn’t turn a sow’s ear into a silk purse, and J.T. was definitely closer to a pig than fine fabric.

When the hymn ended, the minister called out, “Amen!”

Chairs shuffled and a woman called to the crowd. “We’ve got pie and coffee. Help yourselves, folks.”

J.T. had skipped breakfast, and he had a sweet tooth these days. Pie sounded good, but he had to go before the church folks started to leave. He aimed his chin across the street. “Come on, Fancy.”

The dog perked her ears and tilted her head. J.T. considered the expression a smile, mostly because she got that look when he told her stories by a campfire. He did it to amuse himself, but mostly he liked the way Fancy seemed to listen. She had that look now. She seemed pleased, even eager to go inside the saloon, as if she expected a big bowl of water, maybe even a meal of scraps.

That’s one thing J.T. could say for his dog. Fancy Girl had hope. J.T. had no such optimism. Mary had found a life better than anything he had to give. He had to leave before someone noticed him. “Come on,” he repeated firmly to his dog.

The mutt looked at him as if he were an idiot, then she walked under the batwing doors with her tail wagging.

“Traitor,” J.T. muttered.

Thoroughly annoyed, he leaned against the wall of the saloon, placing himself between the window where he’d peeked inside and seen Mary and the door that would put him directly in her line of sight. No way could he go inside, but neither could he leave his dog.

Surely a high-and-mighty minister would throw the mutt into the street. J.T. just had to wait for someone to notice her. Squinting against the sun, he leaned on the wall and crossed his arms. As soon as Fancy Girl learned her lesson, he’d throw away six months of hope. He’d find a place to buy whiskey, then he’d get his horses out of the livery and he’d leave Denver fast and forever. He’d find a tree by a stream, drink the whole bottle and push Mary Larue out of his heart forever. First, though, he had to get his dog back.

“A dog!” Mary declared. “It looks like she’s coming to church.”

“Maybe she is.” Reverend Joshua Blue crouched down and scratched the dog’s ears. The service had just ended, and the congregation was headed to the refreshment table. Mary glanced to see if her sister and brother were behaving themselves. A month ago, their arrival had turned her life upside down, and she was still reeling from the shock. Her father had been gone for years, but her mother had died just a few months ago. Gertie and Augustus had come to live with her. She spotted them both in the back of the makeshift church.

Gertie met her gaze, then heaved a sigh worthy of the actress she wanted to be. At seventeen, the girl thought she knew everything. Mary had once had the same illusion, but she’d learned some hard lessons in her own acting days. She didn’t want her sister to repeat her mistakes, but neither did she want to deny her dream.

As soon as Gertie turned eighteen, Mary planned to send her to New York to study with Maude Atkins, a theater friend who had moved back East. Mary wished she’d gone to New York, a city with classy theaters and modern stages. Instead she’d traveled west with a third-rate theater troupe. She’d made a name for herself, but she’d also been disgraced. Two years had passed since gunslinger J. T. Quinn had left her unmarried and pregnant, but she hadn’t forgotten the miscarriage or the scandal that had erupted. People in Abilene had known she and J.T. had a special friendship, and some assumed the truth—that they were lovers. When she became pregnant, she was desperate to keep the news to herself, but she miscarried just before taking the stage. The gossip about her turned into a full-blown scandal and she lost her reputation completely. When a drunken bounty hunter assumed she’d welcome his attentions, she’d shot him in self-defense. After an ugly murder trial, she’d cut all ties to Abilene and the theater.

Her friends at Swan’s Nest knew she’d killed a man, but no one in Denver knew she’d been with child. Neither did the baby’s father. She’d made her peace with God, but she had no illusions about people and gossip. She knew how it felt to endure stares and ugly talk. She cared deeply about her reputation, and she wanted to set a good example for Gertie. Her sister knew nothing about the scandal, and Mary intended to keep it that way. That’s why she was sending Gertie to New York. If the girl pursued a stage career in Denver, she’d surely meet someone who knew about Mary’s past. Someone would recognize Gertie’s last name, the gossip would start and Mary would lose her reputation for the second time.

Her brother, Augustus, wouldn’t understand the mistake she’d made, but he inspired other worries. He was twelve years old, thin as a bean and hadn’t said more than “Yes, ma’am” and “No, ma’am” since he and Gertie had arrived from West Virginia. The boy was quiet because he stammered his words. As a singer, Mary had trained her voice. She’d tried to help Augustus control his breathing, but he’d only gotten more nervous with her attention. She didn’t know what else to do, but she wouldn’t stop trying to help him.

She loved her brother and sister, but her life had changed drastically the day they’d arrived. In some ways, it had changed for the better. In others, it had gotten so hard she wondered if God had stopped hearing her prayers.

Reaching down, she patted the dog. Its tongue fell to the side as it panted in the summer heat. “I think she’s thirsty,” Mary said to Josh.

“Hey, Brick!” the minister called to the saloon owner. “How about some water for our guest?”

Brick grinned. “Sure thing, preacher.”

As the saloon keeper went to fetch a bowl, Mary traced the ridge of the white scar between the dog’s ears. “I wonder where she came from.”

“There’s no telling,” Josh answered. “But she looks well fed.” He fingered the red bandanna tied around her neck. “She’s also wearing her Sunday best.”

As Mary laughed, Adie Blue, Josh’s wife and Mary’s best friend, approached with Stephen, her one-year-old son, balanced on her hip. Mary ached a little at the sight of them. If she hadn’t miscarried, her baby would have been about the same age.

Adie patted the dog’s neck. “The poor thing! It looks like a bullet grazed the top of her head.”

“It looks that way,” Josh agreed.

Glad to be distracted, Mary touched the scar. “Who would shoot a dog?”

Even if the mutt had been raiding a chicken coop, she didn’t deserve to be shot. Strays did what they had to do to survive. Bending slightly, Mary scratched the dog’s long chin. She had a thick golden coat, big brown eyes and an expression Mary could only describe as a smile. Tinges of black feathered above her eyes to make brows, and she was brushed and clean.

She rubbed the dog’s jaw. “Where’s your home, sweetheart?”

The dog cocked her head as if to say, Right here.

Mary knew the feeling. When she’d come to Denver, she hadn’t known a soul until she’d found Swan’s Nest, a boardinghouse for women in need. There she’d met Adelaide Clarke, now Adie Blue, and made new friends. If someone had told her two years ago she’d be singing hymns in church, she’d have laughed at them. But that’s where she was today and where she wanted to be. A bit of a stray herself, Mary appreciated having a home.

She rubbed the dog’s ears until Brick arrived with the water and set the bowl on the floor. As the dog lapped happily, Gertie sidled up to Mary. “Can we go now?”

“Not yet,” she answered. “It’s our turn to clean up.”

“But—”

“Don’t argue, Gertie.” Mary sounded more commanding than she felt. She was ten years older than her sister, but they’d been close growing up. Disciplining Gertie didn’t come easily, especially since Mary understood the girl’s desire for excitement and fancy dresses. They’d grown up poor in a West Virginia town called Frog’s Landing. Mary had been Gertie’s age when she’d left in search of fame and fortune.

The fortune had been fleeting, and the fame had led to a broken heart. She’d never forget seeing Jonah Taylor Quinn for the first time. She’d finished her second encore at the Abilene Theater and had stepped backstage. He’d been leaning against a wall with his boots crossed at the ankle and a look in his eyes that could only be called scandalous. She’d blushed just looking at him, but then he’d greeted her with the utmost respect. He’d invited her to a midnight supper and she’d accepted. One meal had led to another, and they’d become friends. As spring arrived in Kansas, they’d traded stories and kisses, and she’d fallen in love with him.

Then he’d left…. She still felt the sting of that midnight parting. It’s been good, Mary. But it’s time for me to go.

But I have to tell you something. She’d paused to gather her courage. Instead of telling him she was expecting a baby, she’d revealed her feelings. I love you, J.T.

He’d smiled that wicked smile of his, then he’d shrugged. Love doesn’t mean a thing, sweetheart.

She’d slapped him. Before she could say a word, he’d walked away. She couldn’t bear to think about what happened next, so she glanced at the dog. It had finished the water and looked content. “I wonder if someone’s looking for her,” she remarked to Adie.

“I’ve never seen her before.”

“Me neither,” Josh added.

Adie gave Mary a knowing look. “You’re going to take her home, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

Home for Mary was an apartment over the café she owned thanks to a mortgage from the Denver National Bank. She didn’t have room for a dog, but neither could she leave the animal to fend for itself. Mary had always had a heart for strays. It didn’t matter if they had two legs or four. That inclination had caused trouble in the past, but she’d learned her lesson. She loved children and dogs and wouldn’t turn them away, but men couldn’t be trusted.

She looked again at Gertie and Augustus. Her brother stood half-hidden in the corner, eating a piece of pie. Gertie was giving her the evil eye. In another minute, the girl would storm across the room and make a scene. Mary hated arguing with Gertie, so she turned to Adie. “I’m going to start cleaning up.”

“I’ll do it,” Adie volunteered. “You work hard all week.”

“So do you.”

Adie shrugged. “I have to wait for Josh. Besides, I have a favor to ask.”

“Sure,” Mary answered.

“When you come to supper this afternoon, would you bring a couple of loaves of that good sourdough? If I know Josh, we’re going to have a crowd.”

Sunday supper at Swan’s Nest had become a tradition, one that had grown from a simple meal shared by the women who lived there to a feast for anyone who showed up. Josh made a point of inviting everyone from church, and today Mary had noticed some new faces. “I’ll be glad to bring all you need,” she said to Adie.

Her friend smiled. “While you fetch the bread, I’ll take Gertie and Augustus to Swan’s Nest.”

“If you’re sure—”

“I am.” Both women knew Gertie could be difficult.

“Thanks.” If Mary left now, she could squeeze in a few chores. She had to plan next week’s menus and inventory the pantry. Absently she patted the dog’s head. When it sniffed her hand, she smiled. Stephen wiggled in his mother’s arms and made a D sound.

“Dog,” Adie prodded.

“Da!”

Mary felt a stab of longing for the child she’d lost. She loved children, but she had no desire to marry. After what J.T. had done, she’d never trust a man again.

Absently rocking the one-year-old, Adie turned to her. “Are you going to take the dog?”

Mary looked down at her. “What do you say, girl? Would you like to come home with me?” She didn’t have a lot of space, but she had plenty of scraps.

The dog tipped its head.

“Let’s go,” Mary said to her.

As she crossed the room to speak to Gertie and Augustus, the dog followed her. Gertie fussed about going to Swan’s Nest, but she didn’t pitch a fit. Neither did Augustus, though Mary would have welcomed a tantrum in place of a nod. After waving goodbye to several members of the congregation, she left the saloon with the dog at her side.

She didn’t immediately notice the man leaning against the saloon wall. It was the smell of whiskey that got her attention, then the rasp of a stifled curse. Expecting a cowboy with Saturday-night regrets, she turned to offer the man Christian charity and a slice of pie. Instead of a stranger, she saw J. T. Quinn. And instead of charity, she felt something else altogether.

## Chapter Two

J.T. was thinner than she recalled and harder because of the leanness, a sign he’d been living on jerky and bad coffee. His brown hair had gold streaks from the summer sun, and his blue eyes still pierced whatever they saw. She felt the sharpness of his gaze and remembered…. She’d once loved this man, and she’d hated him when he’d left.

With the changes in her life, she couldn’t give in to bitterness. She knew how it felt to be forgiven, and she had a duty to forgive others. She’d treat J.T. the way she’d treat a stranger, except he wasn’t a stranger. She knew how he liked his coffee, and she’d seen the scars on his body from bullets and knives. None of those memories mattered. This man posed a risk to her reputation. If her friends saw him, they’d ask nosy questions.

She had to make him leave before someone else left the church. She gave him a curt nod. “Hello, J.T.”

He tipped his hat. “Hello, Mary.”

Unnerved by his husky drawl, she fought to steady her voice. “This is quite a surprise.”

“Yeah.” He eyed the batwing doors. “For me, too.”

Was he surprised to see her or surprised to see her leaving a church service? Mary didn’t know what to think. Why would he seek her out after all this time? On the other hand, what were the odds he’d visit Brick’s Saloon on a Sunday morning by chance? One in a million, she decided. Josh’s little church was unusual and well-known. Any saloon keeper in Denver could have told him she sang here on Sunday morning.

That meant he’d come to see her, but why? No one stirred up memories—both good and bad—like this handsome, hard-edged man. Ten minutes ago Mary had been singing “Fairest Lord Jesus” from the depths of her heart. Looking at J.T., she couldn’t remember a single word.

Help me, Lord.

With the dog at her feet, she spoke as if nothing were amiss. “The saloon’s not open. I was here for—”

“Church,” he said. “I know.”

“How—”

“I heard you singing.” He glanced at the mutt at her side. “So did my dog.”

“Your dog?”

“Yeah.” He looked sheepish, as if he’d admitted something embarrassing. She supposed he had. A man like J.T. traveled with the clothes on his back and his guns. He’d carry bullets before he’d pack an extra can of beans, yet here he stood looking at a dog as if it were his only friend.

When he held out his hand, the dog licked his fingers. “You crazy thing,” he murmured.

At the sight of such tenderness, Mary’s forgot to breathe. In Kansas she’d seen J.T. beat the daylights out of a man who’d disrespected her. He’d worked as a hired gun to ranchers wanting to chase off rustlers, and he didn’t think twice about it. He was hard, tough and mean, except with her. Then he’d been as soft as butter, tender in the way of a man who knew a woman’s need for love while denying his own.

But then he’d left her. She’d forgiven him for leaving, but that didn’t mean she’d forgotten the coldness of the parting. J. T. Quinn couldn’t be trusted, not with her heart and not with knowledge of the baby. He’d disrespected her. She refused to allow him to disrespect a child that had never been born. In Abilene he’d left her in the middle of a conversation. Today she wanted answers. Why are you here? What do you want? Any minute people would start leaving church. Since Gertie and Augustus were with Adie, the café would be empty. She thought of yesterday’s stew in the icebox. J.T. looked hungry, and so did his dog. She’d never been good at turning away strays.

“I own a restaurant,” she said. “You look like you could use a meal.”

“No, thanks.”

He sounded confident, but he had the air of a boy trying to be tough. Her heart softened more than she wanted to admit. “Are you sure?”

“No, thanks, Mary. I just…” He shook his head, but the gesture didn’t answer her questions.

A terrible foreboding took root in her belly. Had he heard the talk in Abilene? Did he know about the baby but not the miscarriage? She couldn’t stand the thought of the scandal finding her again, nor did she want to open old wounds. Trying to appear casual, she tipped her head. “What brings you to Denver?”

“It’s not important.”

She didn’t believe him. Whatever his reason for being at Brick’s, he’d made an effort to find her. She felt cheated by the lie, just as she’d felt cheated in Abilene. “If it wasn’t important, you’d answer the question.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

When he smirked, she saw the man who’d left her pregnant and disgraced. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you, J.T.?”

His eyes were even bluer than she recalled, and his cheekbones more chiseled. The sun, high and bright, lit up his unshaven jaw and turned his whiskers into gold spikes. The man was untouchable, unreachable.

“That’s right,” he finally said. “I haven’t changed a bit.”

“I have.” She lowered her voice. “What happened between us in Abilene is in the past. I’d appreciate it if you’d respect my privacy.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “You won’t see me again.”

His surrender shocked her to the core. She wanted to know why he’d given in so easily, but she couldn’t risk lingering outside the church and being seen. To protect her reputation, she’d have to live with yet another unanswered question. With her head high, she stepped off the boardwalk. To her consternation, the dog followed her. In the middle of the empty street, she stopped and turned back to J.T. “Call your dog.”

His jaw tightened. “Come on, dog.”

Mary scowled at him. “You named her Dog? No wonder she’s not obeying you!”

“That’s not her name,” he muttered.

“Then what is it?”

He looked straight at her. “Her name is Fancy Girl.”

Air rushed into Mary’s lungs. Fancy Girl had been his name for her. He’d called her his Fancy Girl, because she’d liked to dress up for the stage. She’d enjoyed the makeup and the flamboyant dresses, particularly the costumes that had freed her from the dullness of Frog’s Landing. “You named her after me?”

“Yeah.”

She should have been insulted. The fool man had named a dog after her! Yet she knew it hadn’t been an insult. He loved his dog. A long time ago, even though he hadn’t said the words, Mary had thought he’d loved her. She’d been mistaken. J.T. didn’t love anyone. “It’s been nice seeing you,” she said in a courteous tone. “But I have to get home.”

“I understand.”

She doubted it. He didn’t know her at all anymore. Reaching down, she rubbed the scar between the dog’s ears. “Goodbye, Fancy Girl.”

After a final scratch, she continued across the street. When the dog tagged along, J.T.’s voice boomed behind her. “Fancy Girl! Get over here!”

Hearing her old name in J.T.’s baritone stopped Mary in her tracks, but Fancy Girl ignored him. Mary rather enjoyed the dog’s rebellion. People usually did what J.T. ordered. Occasionally they did it with a gun aimed at them, but mostly they obeyed because he spoke with authority. He wasn’t in charge now.

As he called the dog a second time, a man came out of the church, looked long and hard at J.T., and went on his way. Any minute the congregation would be in the street and he’d be a spectacle in his black clothing. Needing to persuade him, Mary flashed a smile. “I promised Fancy Girl a plate of scraps. It looks like she’s holding me to it.”

His eyes twinkled. “She’s a smart dog.”

“Would you like to come with us?”

He snorted. “For scraps?”

“Scraps for her. Pot roast for you.” She tried to sound businesslike. “I really do own a restaurant.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“The best in town. It’s called Mary’s Café.” She raised her chin. “It’s mine, and I’m proud of it.”

“You should be.” Still he didn’t move.

“Come on.” She aimed her chin down the street. “Your dog won’t take no for an answer.”

A smile tipped on the corners of his mouth. “Sounds like you won’t, either.” Looking pleased, he stepped off the boardwalk and strode to her side. With Fancy Girl between them, they headed to the café with Mary hoping they hadn’t been seen.

J.T. smelled like dirt and mistakes, and he knew it. Apparently so did Mary. Her nose wrinkled as he stepped to her side, so he widened the gap between them. Fancy Girl smelled better than he did. He didn’t understand why his dog had taken such a strong liking to Mary, but he felt the same urge to follow her home.

As they walked down the boardwalk, she made small talk about the weather. J.T. responded in kind, but his mind wasn’t on the July heat. He couldn’t think about anything except the changes in Mary. She still had a saucy attitude, but the lines around her mouth had softened into an easy smile and her brown eyes had a sheen of happiness. She wore her hair differently, too. The curls were still honey-blond, but she’d tamed them into a simple twist. Her dress, a demure lilac, could have belonged to a schoolmarm.

Six months ago, he’d have mocked her plain dress and the prim hairstyle. He’d have teased her into being his Fancy Girl again, maybe into his bed.

Not now.

Not today. He thought back to how he’d left her and he had to wonder… What would have happened if he’d stayed with her? Would they be running a saloon with Mary singing and J.T. pouring drinks? He could resist the temptation to drink if it meant proving himself to Mary. His other worry—being called out by an old enemy, someone like Griff Lassen—would never leave, but time would ease the threat. Today, though, everything had changed. Mary didn’t need him at all. With no reason to stay, he decided to buy supplies and ride west. Whether or not those supplies would include whiskey, he couldn’t say.

With Fancy Girl in front of them, he kept pace with Mary as she turned down a side street. In the distance he heard the blast of a train whistle. They were near the depot, a good spot for business from hungry travelers. She indicated a storefront between a tailor and a telegraphy office. It was painted butter-yellow and had green trim. A sign read Mary’s Café.

“This is it.” She unlocked the door and pushed it open.

Stepping inside, he saw cream-colored walls, tables set with red-checked linens and an assortment of chairs that didn’t match but somehow went together. Every surface sparkled, even the floor. A man could relax in a place like this. Apparently so could a dog. Fancy Girl ambled to a corner near an unlit potbelly stove, circled three times and curled into a ball.

J.T. took off his hat and hung it on a hook by the door. “You’ve got a nice place.”

“Thank you.” She raised her chin. “I’ve worked hard to get it started.”

In her eyes he saw the old Mary, the one who’d fight for what she wanted. He also saw bluish circles fanning down her cheeks. She was still beautiful, but he’d never seen her look so weary.

How hard did she have to work? Did anyone help her with the cooking and the washing up? The woman he’d known in Kansas hadn’t been the least bit inclined to kitchen chores. Thanks to J.T.’s faro winnings, they’d ordered lavishly at the Abilene Hotel and he’d bought her pretty things for the fun of it. She’d grown up poor, and he’d liked surprising her. He wondered how she’d gotten the money to open a restaurant. Was she beholden to the bank? Or maybe she had a business partner, a man with money. The thought made him scowl.

She’d clam up if he quizzed her, so he beat around the bush. “How’s business?”

“Good.” She indicated a table by a wall decorated with paintings of mountains. “Have a seat. I need to light the stove.”

Instead of sitting, he followed her into the kitchen. In the crowded space he saw two massive iron stoves, a row of high tables against the back wall, three baker’s racks full of pies and bread, and cooking utensils hanging from rods suspended from the ceiling. Basins were leaning against the back wall, clean and ready for the next load of dirty dishes.

J.T. saw the pride Mary took in her business, but he also saw hours of drudgery. In Abilene she’d slept until noon, even later sometimes. Judging by the aroma, she’d baked the bread before church.

Maybe he did have something to offer her. He couldn’t promise her a life of leisure, but running a saloon would be easier than serving full meals. He wanted to blurt the invitation to come with him to California, but first he had to rekindle the old sparks between them. Leaning against the doorframe, he crossed one boot over the other and watched her set a match to the banked coals. When they caught fire, he shook his head. “You must work day and night.”

She shrugged. “There’s nothing wrong with hard work.”

“No,” he replied. “It’s just…tiresome.”

She gave him a quelling look, then removed a jar from the ice box, poured the contents into a pot and carried it to the stove. Facing him, she said, “This will take a few minutes. Let’s sit out front.”

As she stepped through the doorway, her skirts brushed his boots. He followed her to the table, then moved ahead of her and held her chair. He didn’t know what it would take to sweep Mary off her feet, but fancy manners had always impressed her. He slid in her chair, then moved to sit across from her.

The instant he hit the chair, Mary popped to her feet. “You must be thirsty. I’ve got sweet tea or cider. Coffee is—”

“Mary, sit,” he said quietly. “I don’t want you serving me.”

She sat, but she looked uncomfortable.

At last, J.T. had the upper hand. Hoping to put her at ease, he used the crooked grin that had never failed to charm her. “What brought you to Denver?”

She shrugged as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “Denver is famous for its opera houses. I wanted to see it for myself.”

Her gaze stayed steady, but he saw a flash of pain. He survived as a gunslinger because he could feel danger coming. What he saw in Mary’s eyes troubled him deeply. “I’m surprised you’re not singing somewhere.”

“It didn’t work out.”

J.T. knew this woman. Short answers weren’t her style. Unless he’d lost his instincts, she was hiding something. He kept his voice mild. “But you love to sing. You’re good at it.”

She moved the fork a quarter inch. “I sing in church now. That’s all there is to it.”

“I don’t think so.”

Suddenly wary, she turned to the window and stared out the shining glass. When she didn’t speak, J.T. thought back to the early days of his search and his visit to the Abilene Theater. The new manager had heard of Mary but didn’t know where she’d gone, and her acting friends had moved on. When she’d left the rowdy cow town, she’d done it fast and quietly. He’d assumed she’d run from a broken heart. Now he wondered if she’d had another reason. “Talk to me, Mary.”

She took a breath, a deep one. “You’re right. There’s more to the story. After you left, I had a run-in with Sam O’Day.”

J.T. knew all about Sam and his brother, Harvey. They were bounty hunters, and they behaved like animals. “What happened?”

“I shot him.”

“You what?”

“I shot Sam O’Day,” she repeated calmly. “Do you remember the pistol you gave me?”

“Of course.” The two-shot Deringer had over-under barrels, pearl handles and a gleaming nickel finish. They’d taken a buggy ride to nowhere, and he’d discovered she didn’t know how to shoot. He’d taken the pistol out of his boot, taught her to use it and told her to keep it handy. They’d kissed for an hour and he’d pushed for more. She’d said no, but a month later he’d convinced her to change her mind.

With her chin high, she described the encounter with O’Day. He’d been drunk enough to get thrown out of a brothel. When he’d seen Mary leave the theater alone, he’d called her names and cornered her in the alley. “He grabbed me,” she said calmly. “I told him to let go, but he wouldn’t.”

J.T. saw the fear on her face, the determination that had enabled her to fight for her life. He knew how she felt, because as a boy he’d been pinned down in an alley with a knife against his scrawny chest. His older brothers had been vicious. “It’s a bad feeling.”

“It is.” She took a breath. “I had your gun in my pocket. When he tore at my dress, I shot him. He died.”

“Mary, I—”

“Don’t say anything. What’s done is done.”

If J.T. had been around, O’Day wouldn’t have dared to touch her. He should have been with her…. He should never have left. What a fool he’d been to go off with Griff Lassen. He’d been looking for a fight to keep his own rep from slipping. Instead he’d made an enemy of Griff. He’d gotten Fancy Girl out of the deal, but he lost everything else and so had Mary.

Feeling bitter, he forced himself to meet her gaze. “What happened after you shot Sam?”

“I went to the sheriff. He believed me, but I had to stand trial for murder.”

He held in a cringe. “Did they lock you up?”

“For a time.”

Twice J.T. had spent time in a jail cell. No one knew it except Mary, but dark, closed-in places gave him nightmares. As a boy he’d been abused in an alley by his older brothers, often with a knife. More than once, Mary had comforted him when he’d been jarred awake by a nightmare. “I know what jail’s like,” he said. “It’s like being buried alive.”

“It was awful,” she admitted. “The jury ruled it was self-defense, but Sam’s brother didn’t agree. When he threatened to kill me if I stuck around, I decided to leave.”

J.T. let loose with a curse. “I’ll hunt him down. I’ll—”

“Don’t.”

“But, Mary—”

“It’s over and done.” She looked into his eyes. “I worried for a while that Sam’s brother would find me in Denver, so I traveled a bit before settling here. Harvey O’Day never found me, so I figured he went back to bounty hunting.”

“That’s most likely,” J.T. confirmed.

“As for Sam, I forgave him a long time ago. Frankly, coming to Denver was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I made friends at a boardinghouse called Swan’s Nest. I have supper there every Sunday. That’s where I’m going next.”

J.T. realized she hadn’t answered his first question. “Why not perform here in Denver?”

“Those last days in Abilene were awful,” she said mildly. “The theater world is small. If I act here in Denver, the talk will start again. I can’t stand the thought.”

He’d have chosen a whipping over the guilt he felt for leaving her. Not once had he considered Mary’s reputation when he’d set out to claim her. When she straightened her fork for the second time, he reached across the table and gripped her hand. His gaze dropped to their knuckles—hers red and rough, his scarred from brawling—and he felt the rightness of what he wanted to say. “I’m sorry I left. I should have—”

“Don’t waste your breath.”

When she tried to take back her hand, he held it tighter. “Leaving you was the biggest mistake of my life.”

“I doubt that,” she said, tugging again.

He had some convincing to do, and he had to do it with tenderness, not fighting. He let her go. “I don’t expect you to believe me. Not yet. But I’ve missed you. That’s why I’m here. Remember the dream we had about opening a saloon? Our own place in California?”

She bit her lip, but her eyes said she remembered.

“Come with me, Fancy Girl,” he said in a hush. “We can pick up where we left off.”

She didn’t say yes to him, but neither did she slap his face. With his chest tight and his heart pounding, J.T. waited for her answer.

## Chapter Three

Mary had pulled out of J.T.’s grasp, but the warmth of his touch lingered. Two years ago she’d yearned for what he’d just offered. That dream had shattered the night he’d left, and so had her hopes for marriage and a family of her own. Memories kicked in the place where the baby had nestled for three short months.

She couldn’t let J.T. see the memory in her eyes, so she blinked hurriedly. “The answer is no.”

“Why not?”

Because you hurt me, and I’ll never trust a man again. Because you broke my heart and left me with child. “I’m different now,” she said simply.

“So am I.”

She doubted it. He hadn’t mentioned marriage and he wouldn’t. A man like J.T. wasn’t the marrying kind. She’d known that all along, but she’d foolishly believed she could change his mind. She spoke with deliberate calm. “What we had in Abilene is gone. All of it.”

Even the baby.

Memories assailed her…the blood, the pain. The guilt had been worst of all. She hadn’t wanted the baby until she’d lost it. That morning she’d woken up with cramps. Instead of staying in bed, she’d gone to the theater intending to perform as usual. She’d miscarried just minutes before she was supposed to take the stage, and the gossip had started instantly. Tears pressed into her eyes. If J.T. saw them, he’d know there was more to the incident with Sam O’Day.

Mumbling about the food, she hurried to the kitchen. Before she reached the door, he clasped her arms from behind. In Kansas he would have kissed her neck. She would have turned and gone into his arms. Today she felt trapped.

His voice came over her shoulder. “Come with me, Mary. It’ll be good this time.”

It had been good last time, but not good enough. Giving herself to this man had caused her nothing but grief. She’d lost her heart, her reputation and her career. She’d wept alone over their lost child, and that had hurt most of all.

As he tightened his grip, the smell of his unwashed skin reached her nose. She broke loose and faced him. “Leave me alone!”

He released her, but his eyes held her more tightly than his hands. “I need you, Mary.”

“What you need is a bath!”

“I need more that,” he murmured. “I need you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Mary, I—”

“Don’t talk to me!” Turning, she clamped her hands over her mouth. The secret burned like fire in her belly. She wanted to punish him for what he’d done, but she couldn’t. Not only did she have to keep the facts to herself, but she knew what it meant to need forgiveness. As much as she wanted to blame J.T. for wooing her into his bed, she’d gone willingly, even eagerly. God had forgiven her—she knew that. She thought she’d forgiven J.T., but the memories left no room for mercy. She couldn’t stand the thought of the scandal coming back to life. She desperately wanted J.T. to leave, but her anger left a sour taste in her mouth. They’d both sinned. If she sent him way in anger, she’d be a hypocrite. She took a breath to calm herself, then faced him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted at you.”

Relief softened his mouth. “I had it coming.”

He stood still, waiting for her to make the next move. She glanced at Fancy Girl. She’d promised them both a meal, so she indicated his chair. “I’ll get the pot roast. Fancy can have a bone when you leave.”

“Thanks.”

She escaped into the kitchen, dished his food and brought a plate to the table. He smiled his thanks, lifted his spoon and ate. In Abilene they’d lingered over supper with quiet anticipation. Today she used silence like a stage curtain. It hid her memories the way velvet drapes hid the audience, but thoughts of a curtain reminded her of the career she’d lost. Yesterday Roy Desmond, the new manager of the Newcastle Theater, had asked her to star in The Bohemian Girl. Because of the scandal, she had decided to turn him down. If her name showed up on Roy’s fancy theater posters, people might become curious about her past. At the time she’d thought briefly of J.T. and blamed him. She couldn’t possibly sing on stage again, even though she’d been impressed with Roy. An actor himself, he had managed a theater troupe on a Mississippi riverboat. She hadn’t heard of him, but he’d been in Abilene and had heard her sing. He’d mentioned the trial and the gossip, then assured her he’d keep the information to himself. She trusted him.

J.T. finished the pot roast, then broke the silence with a contented sigh. “You sure can cook. I didn’t know that.”

“It’s a family recipe.” She reached idly to straighten the salt shaker.

His gaze dropped to her fingers, no doubt noticing the roughness. Her hands embarrassed her, but she refused to hide them. He arched one brow. “Are you sure I can’t talk you into singing in that saloon in California? It’s a long way from Abilene.”

“I’m positive.”

“Would you think about it?”

“There’s no need.” He’d push until he got what he wanted, and he wanted her. She had to give him another reason to move on. “My mother died a few months ago. I’m raising my sister and brother.”

He didn’t like children, so she figured he’d leave her alone. Instead he seemed interested. “How old are they?”

“Gertie just turned seventeen. Augustus is twelve.”

He wrinkled his brow. “They’re not that young. Gertie’s practically grown. And Augustus—” He shook his head. “That’s a dreadful name for a boy.”

Mary didn’t know what to make of his interest. “We’ve always called him Augustus.”

“So give him a nickname.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.” His eyes twinkled. “I bet we can think of something.”

We? Mary had to set him straight. “Even if I wanted to go with you—which I do not—I have obligations. I own this restaurant. I have a mortgage to pay and women who work for me. They need the money. Frankly, so do I. I’m saving to send Gertie to New York.”

He scowled, a reminder that he’d been left on those crowded streets to fend for himself. “What’s in New York?”

“Theaters. Gertie loves singing as much as I did.”

“You still love it.”

“Yes, but not the same way.” She stood and lifted their plates. In Kansas she’d used his given name for only the most serious conversations. She used it now to make a point. “You’re two years too late, Jonah. I wish you the best, but I don’t want to see you again.”

Dust motes hung in the light, swirling like ash from a burning bridge in a ray of sun coming through the window. The glare lit one side of his face and put the other in shadow until he pushed back the chair and stood. “I see.”

When he looked at his dog, Mary remembered her promise to Fancy Girl. “I’ll be right back.”

She carried the plates to the kitchen, selected the meatiest soup bone she had, wrapped it in paper and carried it to the dining room. “Here.” She handed it to J.T. “This is for Fancy.”

He took it but hesitated before calling the dog. If the mutt refused to go with him, Mary didn’t know what she’d do. With his brow tight, he spoke in a gentle tone Mary knew well. “Let’s go, Fancy Girl.”

When the dog ambled to his side, Mary breathed a sigh of relief. He took his hat off the peg and opened the door. With sunlight fanning into the room, he pulled the brim low and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. Mary blinked, and he was gone.

J.T. turned the corner, stopped and looked at his dog. “What now, girl?”

Fancy nudged the bone with her nose. J.T. wished his desires were as simple. He wanted a drink. The escape wouldn’t last, but it would stop the ache in his chest. He’d wake up feeling even worse than he did now, but who cared? Without Mary, he had no reason to stay sober. As soon as he bought supplies, he’d leave town. Tonight Fancy could chew the bone in front of a lonely campfire.

“Come on,” he said to her. “We’re getting out of here.”

He went to the livery for his horses, paid the owner and put the bone in a saddlebag. He secured the line to the pack horse, climbed on his buckskin and headed to the boardinghouse to fetch his gear. As the horses plodded down the street, he looked for a place to buy whiskey. He saw one closed door after another, then the gray wall of a large stone building. The granite gleamed white in the sun, and gargoyles jutted from the eaves. As he rounded the corner, he saw a sign that read Newcastle Theater.

“Hey, Quinn!”

He slipped his hand into his duster until it rested on the ivory grip of his Colt Navy, then he scanned the street for the person who’d called him. When he saw Roy Desmond, he wanted to spit. He knew Roy from the faro tables in Dodge City. The man cheated. Even worse, there was talk he’d killed a saloon girl. J.T. had no desire to speak with Roy, but he couldn’t ignore him with Mary in Denver. The man had bragged about his life as an actor, and J.T. worried he’d seek out Mary. She’d sent J.T. away, but he wouldn’t leave until he knew what Desmond wanted.

“Hello, Roy.”

“This is a surprise.” The man flashed a grin. “It’s been what? Three years since Dodge?”

“More or less.” J.T. had known Roy before Abilene, before he’d been with Mary. “What are you up to?”

Roy indicated the stone building behind him. “You’re talking to the manager of the Newcastle Theater. I’m a legitimate businessman now.”

Only a snake like Roy would need to announce he’d become legitimate. J.T. took in the man’s sack suit and pleated shirt. A gold watch dangled from his pocket, and his shoes were newly blacked. His hair was still dark but thinner than J.T. recalled, and deep lines framed his mouth. Nothing about Roy could be trusted, not his appearance and not the words dancing off his tongue. If Roy had any dealings with Mary, J.T. would have to think again about leaving Denver. He needed information, so he feigned interest in the man’s venture.

“Legitimate, huh?” He grinned. “Does that mean no faro?”

Roy chuckled. “I’ve got other cards to play. In fact, you’re just the man to help me play them.”

It was just like Roy to speak in riddles. “What do you have in mind?”

“It involves a mutual friend of ours.”

“Who?”

“Mary Larue.”

Live or die, J.T. would do anything to keep Roy away from Mary. “What about her?”

The man indicated the door. “Come inside and we’ll talk.”

J.T. swung off his horse and tied off the reins. With Fancy Girl at his side, he followed Roy into the opera house. Trying to look bored, he entered the cavernous foyer as if he walked around such places every day. He didn’t, and the opulence stunned him. Thick carpet covered the floor, and the walls were crimson with gold stripes. Brass wall sconces caught the light from the open door and shimmered like flames. Even the air felt like velvet.

J.T. let out a low whistle. “Pretty nice.”

“Nothing but the best.” Roy led the way to a double door and opened it wide. “This is the stage.”

With Fancy next to him, J.T. walked into the heart of the theater. At least fifty rows of upholstered seats fanned out from the stage, and a curtain the size of a barn hung from the ceiling. Five chandeliers formed the points of a star, and two balconies jutted from the wall. The last time J.T. had seen Roy, he’d been a two-bit gambler. How had he ended up among the Denver upper crust? And what did he want from Mary? He signaled Fancy Girl to sit, then surveyed the theater again. “This place is huge.”

“It’s the biggest opera house in town.” Roy put his hands in his pockets. “Things are going well, but I’ve got a bit of a problem.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I manage this place for a group of investors.” Roy’s jaw twitched. J.T. had played cards with him and knew his mannerisms. The tic signaled a bluff. “Those men are expecting a solid return on what we’ve put into this place.”

“Like sold-out shows?”

“Yes.” His jaw twitched again. “There are two ways to make money in this business. Bawdy shows draw big crowds, but like I said, I’ve gone legitimate. Denver has money now. Big money, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know.” Denver was full of millionaires who’d made their fortunes from mining and the railroad. These folks wanted classy entertainment, not cheap burlesque.

Roy wiped his brow with a silk handkerchief. “My investors have high expectations, so I’m putting on an opera. That’s where you come in.”

“Me?” J.T. pretended to misunderstand. “I can’t sing a lick.”

Roy chuckled. “No, but Mary Larue can. Rumor has it you two were quite a pair in Abilene.”

How did Roy know about Kansas? Was Mary already involved with him? J.T. fought to sound casual. “Who told you that?”

“I was in Abilene during the O’Day trail.” Roy shook his head. “What a shame. It ruined her career. That woman sings like a nightingale.”

J.T. hadn’t pressed Mary for details about the scandal, but he didn’t mind quizzing Roy. “What happened?”

“You don’t know?”

“I left on business.”

The theater manager propped his hips on the back of a seat. “The whole town was buzzing about the two of you. After you left, O’Day figured she was up for grabs. He followed her out of the theater and tried to—” Roy let his implication stand. “She shot him.”

J.T. knew all that. “What happened after the trial?”

“She left town.” Roy shook his head. “That’s when the gossip got really bad, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Roy laughed. “You dodged a bullet, Quinn. Be thankful.”

The remark struck J.T. as odd, but Roy was known for talking in circles. Even so, J.T. wondered…what bullet? Thinking about it, he decided Roy meant marriage. For once J.T. had to agree with him. He felt bad about leaving Mary, but he wasn’t the marrying kind.

Roy’s eyes glinted. “Mary and I have gotten to be friends. I asked her to star in my opera, but she turned me down. I’m hoping you’ll help me change her mind.”

J.T. looked around the theater with its chandeliers and velvet seats. The hall held the stuff of Mary’s dreams, but she’d turned Roy down to keep the Abilene scandal a secret. He felt bad about the reason, but he liked her refusal. He looked Roy in the eye. “Mary said no. It’s her choice. Not mine.”

“I thought you might have some influence. From what I hear, you had her wrapped around your little finger.”

No man wrapped Mary around his finger. She’d been good to him because she’d cared about him, and he’d taken advantage. The memory shamed him. “Mary’s her own woman.”

Roy’s eyes gleamed like black stones. “So you don’t have a claim on her?”

“What are you getting at?”

“If you’re done with her, I’ll take her for myself.”

J.T. gripped Roy by the collar, squeezing until the man’s jugular pressed against his knuckles. “You touch Mary and you’re dead.” Fancy stood silent at his feet, ready to attack if he gave the word.

Roy held up his hands. “Hold on, Quinn! I was thinking about Mary, what I could give her.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“I swear it.” Sweat beaded on Roy’s brow. “I could make her famous. Rich, too. That’s all. Okay?”

J.T. set Roy down, but he didn’t believe a word the man said. Lust showed in his eyes. So did greed. J.T. forgot all about buying whiskey. He forgot about leaving Denver. He had to warn Mary about Roy. The man said he had investors, but J.T. sensed a lie. Had Roy’s so-called investors given him money, or had he cheated them out of it? If he’d cheated them, what kind of payback did they want? J.T. saw a lot of self-proclaimed justice in his line of work. People paid him to administer it. Looking at Roy, he saw the familiar look of a man without shame. He matched the theater manager’s stare. “Stay away from Mary Larue.”

“Sure,” he said too easily. “She’s all yours.”

She wasn’t, but J.T. didn’t mind Roy thinking along those lines. He paced out of the opera house with Fancy Girl at his heels and rode straight to Mary’s café. There he slid out of the saddle and pounded on the door. When she didn’t answer, he peered through the window and saw the table where he’d eaten pot roast. It was already re-laid with silverware and a clean plate. It looked as if he’d never been there, as if she’d erased him from her life. Maybe she had, but no way would he leave her a second time to deal alone with someone like Sam O’Day or Roy Desmond.

J.T. figured she’d left for the Sunday supper she’d mentioned at a place called Swan’s Nest. Mary didn’t want him around her friends, but he had to warn her about Roy. Annoyed, he looked at his reflection in a dark window. Mary was right about that bath. He’d clean up, then he’d track her down. He’d do his best not to embarrass her, but he couldn’t leave until she promised to keep away from Roy Desmond.

## Chapter Four

By the time Mary reached the iron gate marking Swan’s Nest, she’d pushed J.T. out of her mind. At least that’s what she told herself until the hinges creaked and she jumped. Walking up the manicured path, she looked at the stained-glass window above the covered porch. Pure and white, a swan glistened on a pond of turquoise glass. It didn’t have a care in the world, but Mary did. She’d gone from nearly a soiled dove to a swan when she’d become a Christian, but she couldn’t erase the past. If the scandal found her in Denver, gossip would start and men would hound her. Worst of all, she could lose Gertie’s respect. Things could get ugly fast, and then where would she be? Silently she prayed that no one had seen J.T. leave.

As she climbed the porch steps, the door opened and she saw Adie. Her friend beckoned her inside. “We have to talk.”

Mary worried about her sister. “Is it Gertie?”

“She’s fine.”

“Then what—”

“It’s about you and that man I saw.”

Mary’s cheeks turned cherry-red. “You saw us?”

“I sure saw him.” As Adie lifted the basket of bread, Mary wondered if she’d been impressed by J.T.’s good looks or his black duster and guns. She scolded herself for not being prepared for questions. She should have realized someone would look out the window. She wouldn’t lie to Adie, but neither would she confide in her friend completely. Secrets were a burden, not a gift. “I knew him in Abilene.” She tried to sound matter-of-fact. “It was a long time ago.”

“You looked worried,” Adie spoke in a hush. “That wasn’t Sam O’Day’s brother, was it?”

Mary had told Adie about the murder trial, but she’d never mentioned her relationship with J.T. “There’s no connection.”

“Then who was he?”

“No one special. He liked my singing.”

Adie’s brows rose. “The man I just saw—the one in black with guns on both hips—he tracked you down because he likes music?”

Mary felt chagrined. “Well, he liked me, too.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t more than like?”

“It wasn’t.” If he’d loved her, he would have stayed. He might even have married her.

Adie touched her arm. “Just so you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.” She had no desire to have this conversation, not with a crowd in the garden, so she lifted the basket. “We better get supper ready.”

“Sure.”

Relieved that Adie didn’t press, Mary carried the bread to the kitchen. Caroline, a brunette with a heart-shaped face, greeted her from the stove. Bessie, her sister and older by several years, was frying potatoes and teasing her sister about baking too many pies.

The routine of cooking helped Mary relax. As she tied an apron, Adie told her Augustus and Gertie were in the garden with the other guests. Mary felt a familiar lump of worry. Her brother avoided people because of his stammering, and Gertie had taken to putting on airs. “I wish they’d make friends,” she said as she sliced the bread.

Caroline stirred the gravy. “Gertie’s with Bonnie Reynolds. Last I saw, they were looking at a Godey’s Lady’s Book.”

Bonnie was a year older than Gertie and had a good head on her shoulders. Mary liked her. She didn’t feel the same way about the other girl Gertie had met. Katrina Lowe was older by five years and had traveled alone from Chicago. She worked in a dress shop and dreamed of designing theater costumes. She’d been raised in a well-to-do family and had excellent manners, but she also had a defiant way about her.

Mary worried about Gertie because of her ambition. She worried about her brother because his shyness. “What about Augustus?”

Caroline kept stirring the gravy. “I haven’t seen him.”

Bessie chimed in. “I sent him outside with a bowl of apples.”

“Maybe he’s with the other boys,” Adie said hopefully.

Doubting it, Mary untied her apron. “I’d better check on him.”

As she headed for the door, Caroline spoke over her shoulder. “You might wander by the rose garden.”

“Why?”

She grinned. “I saw a new man at church this morning. He’s single and handsome.”

Ever since she’d caught Pearl Oliver’s wedding bouquet, Mary’s friends had been conspiring to find her a husband. She wished Caroline had caught the bouquet. She wanted a husband. Mary didn’t. All men weren’t as untrustworthy as J.T., but she’d never take that chance. She tried to sound lighthearted. “I don’t care about a husband. I’ve got Gertie and Augustus.”

“You did catch the flowers,” Bessie reminded her.

“And I wish I hadn’t!” she laughed. “You’re all impossible!”

Closing the door behind her, Mary stepped into the yard. Her friends didn’t realize it, but the teasing stirred up memories of J.T. and the miscarriage. She needed to shake off the upset, so she put on a smile as she approached the visitors in the garden. She saw a group of boys playing tag, but Augustus hadn’t joined them. Disappointed, she approached Gertie and Bonnie, who were seated on a bench under a crab apple tree. “Have you seen Augustus?”

“He left,” Gertie replied.

Worry shivered up Mary’s spine. “Where did he go?”

“I don’t know.” Gertie indicated the street. “The last I saw him, he had some apples and was walking that way.”

Mary saw horses hitched to the fence. Maybe Augustus had gone to give them treats. “Thanks, Gertie.”

As Mary headed for the street, Bonnie called to her. “Miss Larue?”

“Yes?”

“I saw some boys with him about twenty minutes ago. One of them was Todd Roman. He’s older, and he’s not very nice.”

“You saw him talking to Augustus?”

“Sort of.” Bonnie knew the boy stammered. “I don’t know why, but Augustus went with them.”

“Where did they go?”

“I didn’t see.”

“Thank you, Bonnie.” Mary hurried to the gate and worked the latch. Her brother would never leave without telling her, nor would he have willingly gone with a group of boys he didn’t know. Determined to find him, she stepped out to the street and called his name.

With his hat pulled low, J.T. guided his horse down the road that led to Swan’s Nest. After leaving Roy, he’d returned his pack horse to the livery and gotten directions to the mansion, bought fresh clothes and gone to a bath house for a good scrubbing. Bay rum wafted off him, and he’d never had a closer shave. If he looked respectable, maybe Mary would believe him about Roy.

“What do you think, girl?” he said to the dog trotting at his side. “Is Mary in as much trouble as I think?”

Fancy Girl looked at him with a doggy grin, a reaction that gave J.T. comfort. For a while he’d been worried the mutt was going to trade him for Mary.

“S-s-stop it!”

The cry came from behind a wall. High-pitched and quavering, it sent J.T. back to a filthy alley in New York and his brother beating him for losing four pennies. Judging by the tone of the voice and the way it cracked, it belonged to a boy nearing adolescence…a terrified boy who needed help.

“Come on, Fancy.”

J.T. turned the buckskin and dug in his heels. The horse wheeled and broke into a run. At the end of the wall, he reined the animal to a halt and leaped out of the saddle. Fancy Girl arrived at his side, growling and ready to attack if he gave the word. At the sight of a boy up against a brick wall, his nose bloody and tears staining his cheeks, J.T. wanted to rip into the attackers himself. The boy being beaten had blond hair and no muscle on his bones. The ones doing the hitting were older, heavier and mean enough to laugh at the boy’s whimpering. Two of them were holding him spread-eagle against the wall, while a third threw a punch hard enough to crack a rib.

“Hey!” J.T. shouted.

The boys doing the attacking glared at him, but they didn’t release the blond kid. The kid tried to pull away, but he didn’t have the strength.

“L-l-l-let me go,” he whimpered. “P-p-p-lease. I—I—I—”

The stuttering made J.T.’s throat hurt. The boy doing the hitting laughed. “Wh-wh-what d-d-did you say, Au-au—”

“I heard him just fine,” J.T. dragged the words into a growl. “He said to leave him alone.”

The boys holding the kid’s arms watched him nervously but didn’t budge. The third one—the leader, J.T. surmised—held his ground. With his small, dark eyes and lank hair the color of coffee, he had the look of a buzzard determined to pick the boy’s bones—or his pockets—clean. He stared at J.T., then lowered his chin. “This ain’t your fight, mister.”

“It is now.”

The boy’s eyes gleamed with a compulsion to fight. J.T. would be glad to oblige, but not in the way the boy expected. He paced toward the two holding the blond kid spread-eagle, letting them see his knotted fists and cold stare. In unison they stepped back and raised their hands in surrender. The boy who’d been beaten groaned and slid into a heap.

“Get outta here!” J.T. shouted at them.

The two sprinted for their lives. J.T. turned to the third one. He looked closer to manhood than the others, maybe sixteen or so, and he’d stood his ground. He spat, then glared at J.T. “Get lost, mister.”

With his duster loose and his gun belt tight on his hips, J.T. walked straight at him.

The boy didn’t budge.

J.T. kept coming. When he got within a foot, he saw sweat on the boy’s brow. “You want to fight?” he said in a singsong tone.

The kid said nothing.

He had no intention of using his fists, but this boy-man didn’t know that. J.T. smirked, tempting the kid to take the first punch. It would be unwise and they both knew it. J.T. was faster, stronger and meaner. He didn’t twitch, didn’t blink. He simply waited.

The boy swallowed once, then again. When he blinked, fear showed in his gaze. The boy knew J.T. outmatched him, just as he’d outmatched the blond kid.

“How does it feel?” J.T. said in an oily voice.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“N-now who’s afraid?”

“Look, mister—”

“Shut your mouth.” He grabbed the kid by the collar. “I could have you on the ground in two seconds and you’d be dead in three.” He shoved him back and out of reach. “You leave my friend alone.”

The boy answered by glaring.

J.T. strode toward him as if he were going to kick him. Instead he kicked up a cloud of empty dust. “Come on,” he shouted. “Take a swing at me.”

Just as he expected, the boy scrambled to his feet and ran. He got twenty feet away and turned. “I don’t know who you are, mister! But you’ll be sorry.” He jerked a finger at the boy slumped against the wall. “So will you, Au-au-gustus!

The stutter mocked the boy who’d been beaten, but it was J.T. who felt punched in the gut. Mary’s brother was called Augustus. How many boys in Denver would go by that awful name? Looking at the kid again, he saw Mary’s wheat-colored hair and distinct cheek bones. He watched to be sure the boy who’d done the bullying kept running, then he turned back to Augustus. The resemblance couldn’t be denied. “Do you know Mary Larue?”

“Sh-she’s my s-s—” The kid sealed his lips.

J.T. took the stammering for yes. “I knew her in Kansas.”

Augustus wiped the blood from his nose with the sleeve of his white shirt, probably his Sunday best. He sniffed, then looked at J.T. again. “Th-th—” Thank you.

“No problem, kid.” The stammering hurt in ways J.T. had never experienced. He held out his hand to shake. “I’m J. T. Quinn.”

The boy leveraged to his feet, then fell to the ground unconscious. Crouching at his side, J.T. rolled him to his back. The boy had probably fainted from shock, but he couldn’t be sure. A blow to the head could cause bleeding in his brain. A busted rib could puncture a lung. He shook the boy’s shoulder. “Hey, kid.”

Augustus didn’t move. He didn’t twitch. Nothing but a shallow breath came from his parted lips. Fancy Girl put her cold nose on his cheek. No response. With fear pooling in his gut, J.T. lifted the boy’s eyelid. The pupil shrank against the light, a good sign. “Come on, Augustus. Talk to me.”

Nothing.

J.T. didn’t know where to find a doctor, but he knew where to find Mary. He lifted her brother onto his horse, climbed up behind him and galloped to Swan’s Nest.

## Chapter Five

Mary walked to the end of the street and called her brother’s name for the fifth time. When he didn’t answer, she went back to Swan’s Nest and looked for him again in the garden. Without a sign of him, she paced back to the street. A rider and a cloud of dust caught her eye and she stopped. The man’s black duster billowed behind him, and he’d pulled his hat low against the wind. A dog ran at his side.

“Fancy Girl,” she murmured. J.T. had tracked her down, and he was approaching at a gallop. What could he possibly want? She couldn’t stand the thought of speaking with him in front of her friends. As he rode closer, the blankness of his silhouette took on color and shape. He was clutching something against his body. Not something, she realized. Someone…a boy with blond hair and a bloody white shirt.

“Augustus!” Hoisting her skirts, she ran to them.

J.T. reined the horse to a halt at the iron gate. With the boy limp in his arms, he slid from the saddle. “He needs a doctor.”

“I’ll fetch Bessie.” A trained nurse, the older woman had served in the War Between the States. If she couldn’t help Augustus, Mary would send Gertie for Doc Nichols. She flung the gate wide. “Take him to the parlor.”

She waited until J.T. passed with the dog at his heels, then she raced by him and opened the front door. “Bessie!” she called down the hall to the kitchen. “Come quick!”

Wearing a white apron and drying her hands, the nurse hurried down the hall. “What is it?”

“It’s Augustus. He’s hurt.”

J.T.’s boots thudded on the polished wood floor. “Where do you want him?”

“On the divan,” Bessie ordered. “Who are you?”

“A friend of Mary’s.”

The nurse nodded, an indication Adie had shared her curiosity with Bessie before Mary arrived. It hadn’t been gossip, just friends caring about each other, but Mary still felt uncomfortable.

With the boy cradled in his arms, J.T. strode across the room where only moments ago Mary had stood with Adie. He lowered Augustus with a gentleness she remembered from Abilene, then he stepped back to make room for Bessie. As he tossed his hat on a chair, Fancy Girl walked to his side and sat.

Bessie pulled up a chair and started her examination. Terrified, Mary hovered over her shoulder. Bruises on Augustus’s cheek promised a black eye, and he had a bloody nose and split lip. Her gaze dropped to his shirt. Red smears in the shape of knuckles testified to what had happened. Her brother had been beaten.

She whirled to J.T. “Who did this?”

“We’ll talk later,” he said in a low tone.

She wanted answers now, but mostly she wanted her brother to wake up. She turned back to his limp body and saw Bessie taking his pulse. The nurse lowered his wrist, but her expression remained detached. “Get the smelling salts,” she ordered. “And water and clean towels.”

“Will he be all right?” Mary asked.

“I don’t know yet.”

Her eyes darted to J.T. Adie and Caroline were outside, and she needed help. “Come with me.”

He followed her down the hall, his steps heavy on the wood while hers clicked. She wanted to know why he’d been near Swan’s Nest, but she didn’t dare ask. Augustus had urgent needs, and she didn’t want to breathe a word of the past in front of anyone. In the kitchen she opened a cabinet with medical supplies and found the smelling salts. Next she filled a bowl with hot water and fetched clean towels from a shelf. J.T. lifted the bowl and carried it down the hall. Mary followed with the towels and smelling salts.

Bessie uncorked the bottle of ammonia carbonate and held it under Augustus’s nose. She waved it once, twice. His nostrils flared, then his eyes popped open. Groaning, he rolled to the side and vomited. Bessie held a bowl under his chin and caught the mess. Mary saw streaks of blood and gasped. Was he bleeding inside? Were his ribs cracked? Bessie needed to know, so Mary turned again to J.T. “You’ve got to tell us what happened.”

He shook his head.

How dare he withhold information! She raised her voice. “I want to know who did this.”

He put one finger to his lips. It had been an old signal between them, a warning to guard her mouth around people he didn’t trust. Considering the circumstances, it infuriated her. “Talk to me.”

“I’ll explain later.” He looked disgusted with her. “The boy fought hard. Give him his pride.”

Mary saw his point. Embarrassed by her outburst, she dipped a towel in the hot water. While Bessie checked for broken bones, Mary wiped the blood from her brother’s face and neck. When the nurse poked his ribs, he groaned.

“Do you think they’re broken?” Mary asked.

“I’d say they’re bruised.”

Furious, Mary set the towel on the rim of the bowl and lifted a dry one. For her brother’s sake, she had to stay calm. Augustus was twelve years old, but his stammering made him seem younger. In her heart, he’d always be the baby brother she’d rocked to sleep in Frog’s Landing. Looking down, she smoothed his hair from his damp brow. “How are you feeling?”

“I—I hurt.”

His lips quivered with the need to say more, but he sealed them in frustration. If she pressured him, the stammer would get worse. She had no choice but to wait for Augustus to calm down or for J.T. to enlighten her. With her lips sealed, she watched as her brother craned his head to look at the man in the corner. What she saw on his bruised face could only be described as awe. She didn’t blame him a bit. It seemed that J.T. had come out of nowhere to help him. She didn’t know who had attacked her brother, but Augustus’s expression told her J.T. had stopped the beating. She owed the man her gratitude. She didn’t want to owe him anything, but he’d been good to Augustus.

Bessie finished checking for broken bones then looked into Augustus’s eyes. She held up three fingers. “How many do you see?”

The boy held up his hand to indicate three.

“Good,” Bessie replied Mary thought of the red-streaked vomit. “I’m worried.” She indicated the bowl. “What about the blood?”

“It’s from the nosebleed.”

Fear drained from her muscles, leaving her limp. “So he’s going to be all right?”

“I’d say so.” Bessie looked at Augustus. “You took quite a beating, young man. I think you fainted from shock. Your ribs are badly bruised, and you’re going to have a black eye. We’ll get ice for that in a minute. I’m also going to bind up your ribs.”

“Th-th-thank—” He bit his lip.

“You’re welcome,” Bessie replied. “You should stay in bed for a few days, then you can move around as much as you’re able.” The nurse patted his skinny shoulder, then left to fetch the wrapping for his ribs.

Mary took Bessie’s place on the chair. “I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

Her brother looked down at his feet. She’d never seen him look so defeated. Had he been bullied because of his speech? It seemed likely. He’d been teased about his stammering all his life, but people in Frog’s Landing had known him. In Denver, a city populated by strangers, he’d become an outcast.

J.T. crossed the room. When he reached boy’s side, he offered his hand. “Hello, Augustus. We met, but you might not remember. I’m J. T. Quinn.”

“I—I remember.”

Augustus took the man’s hand and shook. Mary had never seen her brother do anything so grown up, or J.T. do anything so kind.

Augustus tried to sit up, but J.T. nudged him flat. “Don’t torture those ribs. I’ve busted mine a couple of times. It hurts a lot.”

The boy nodded vigorously.

J.T. pulled a side chair from the wall and positioned it next to hers at an angle where Augustus could see him. He dropped down on the seat and hunkered forward. “We gotta talk, kid.”

Figuring J.T. didn’t know about the stutter, Mary cringed for her brother. “He has trouble speaking.”

“I know that.”

“You don’t understand,” she continued. “He—”

“He’s fine.” J.T. kept his eyes on Augustus. “All things considered, you handled yourself well.”

In Mary’s experience, her brother turned into jelly when kids bullied him. She looked at J.T., then wished she hadn’t. They were side by side, so close she could smell the bay rum on his newly scraped jaw. When she’d seen him earlier, he’d been unshaven and reeking of whiskey and sweat. Now he looked presentable. More than presentable. Blinking, she recalled the man she’d met backstage in Abilene, the handsome stranger who’d pursued her with a look.

J.T. met her gaze and held it, signaling her with a mild glint to be quiet. She bristled, then realized he knew far more about the episode than she did. She didn’t understand boys at all, and Augustus with his silence presented an even bigger challenge. She knew he needed a man in his life. She’d been asking God to send a grandfatherly sort of man from church, but the prayer had gone unanswered.

When she stayed silent, J.T. turned back to Augustus. His lips tipped into a smile. “There’s nothing I like better than chasing off a bully. Thanks to you, I got to run off three of them.”

When Augustus rolled his eyes, Mary realized J.T. was telling the story for her benefit.

“Yeah, they were big,” he continued. “Mean, too. You’re going to have a glory of a shiner.”

Augustus made a face.

Instead of offering pity, J.T. laughed. “Welcome to the club, kid. You’ll be fine in a few days, but I’ve been wondering… Has this happened before?”

Augustus looked down at his feet. “S-s-sort of.”

Shivers ran down Mary’s spine. “It has to stop. We’ll go to the sheriff.”

J.T. looked exasperated. “Don’t waste your breath.”

“We have to try,” she insisted.

“Fine,” he answered. “But there’s not going to be a deputy in the alley next time Augustus gets waylaid. We need to solve this ourselves.” He’d said we. He didn’t have that right. Her eyes snapped to his profile, but he was looking at her brother. She knew he could feel her gaze. He was dismissing her the way he’d walked out on her in Abilene. She wanted to tell him to leave Swan’s Nest now, but the situation with Augustus complicated everything.

The boy kept his eyes on J.T. “They w-w-ant me to steal from…” he looked at Mary, pleading with her to understand.

She repeated for him. “They want you to steal from…?”

“Y-you!”

“Me?” Her brow wrinkled.

J.T. kept his focus on her brother. “Let me take a stab at this. Those guttersnipes know you’re Mary’s brother, right?”

“Yes,” Augustus managed.

“They know she runs the café.”

The boy nodded.

“They want you to take money out of that cash box she keeps just inside the kitchen.”

Mary frowned at him. “How do you know about that box?”

“I saw it.” His smirk reminded her that he’d ridden with the Carver gang before he’d become a hired gun. J.T. would never steal from her, but he knew how to do it. “You work hard, Mary. Put that box somewhere else.”

“I will.”

He turned back to her brother. “Do you know who these bullies are?”

In fits and starts, he described how they’d cornered him one day when he’d been running an errand. They’d threatened to beat him up unless he brought them five dollars. He refused, and for the past week he’d been afraid to leave the café. Today they’d followed him to Swan’s Nest.

Mary’s heart bled for him. “Sweetie, why didn’t you tell me?”

He jerked his head to the side, but not before she saw hurt in his eyes. She smoothed his hair. “I’ll fix it, Augustus. I promise. I’ll talk to their parents. I’ll—”

“Stay out of it,” J.T. said quietly. “This is your brother’s fight.”

“But he’s so young,” she argued. “And he’s small for his age. He can’t protect himself.”

“I say he can,” J.T. replied. “He just needs to learn a few things.”

She agreed, but he didn’t need to learn them from an outlaw-turned-gunslinger. What could J.T. possibly teach the boy? How to beat someone into pudding? How to gamble and lie? How to charm a woman and break her heart? She didn’t want him anywhere near her brother. Augustus was a gentle, tenderhearted boy who liked to whittle and play checkers. He didn’t need J. T. Quinn in his life. He needed an older man who’d teach him to be respectful.

J.T. looked at her for five long seconds, then he sat back in the chair and studied the boy. “Those lessons are starting right now.”

She gasped. “Now wait just a minute—”

J.T. stayed focused on Augustus. “We’ll start with your name. From now on you go by Gus.”

“Gus?” The boy copied him.

“That’s right.” J.T. shifted his boot to his knee. “No more of this ‘Augustus’ stuff. It’s a terrible name. Half the time even I can’t say it.”

The boy giggled. Mary refused to crack a smile, though her lips quivered. J.T. had a point. For a boy who stuttered, Augustus was a torture.

J.T. shook his head with mock drama. “How’d you get such an awful handle anyhow?”

The boy shrugged, but Mary knew. “He was born in August. Our mother loved the summer.”

The man grimaced. “It’s a good thing he wasn’t born in a girly month like June.”

“Or-or J-Januar-r-r-y!”

The three of them laughed until Gus hugged his ribs. “It h-h-hurts!”

But Mary knew it felt good, too. She hadn’t heard her brother laugh in a long time.

Breathing light, the boy turned to the man. “Th-thank you, Mr. Quinn.”

“Call me J.T.” He sounded gruff.

Mary wanted to forbid the friendship, but she couldn’t deny the excitement in her brother’s eyes. For the first time since he’d arrived in Denver, confused and hurting after their mother’s passing, he’d connected with someone.

J.T. pushed to his feet. “Get some rest, Gus. I need a word with your sister.”

“S-sure.”

Mary needed a word with him, too. If he thought he could weasel his way into her life by helping her brother, he’d be wise to think again. She had to keep this man as far from her family and friends as she could. Since he’d found Gus close to Swan’s Nest, it was evident he’d been coming to see her. She wanted to know why.

“I’ll be back,” she said to Augustus—Gus now.

As she stood, J.T. offered his hand as if the boy were a grown man. “I’m proud to know you, Gus.”

Her brother gripped J.T.’s fingers and shook hard. “I—I—uh—M-me, t-too.”

J.T. let go and put his hands on his hips, pulling back the duster enough to show his guns. “Every man takes a beating now and then. Sometimes he wins, sometimes he doesn’t. Those jerks today were bigger than you—older, too. You didn’t steal the money like they wanted, so stand tall.”

Instead of the man who’d hurt her, Mary saw Gus’s hero. Her heart softened, but she steeled herself against any fondness. She had to remember J.T. had hurt her. The other feelings he inspired—the good ones—made her weak in the knees.

Bessie came through the door with a tray holding strips of cloth. “I’ll bind his ribs now. Why don’t you two get some supper?”

J.T. met her gaze. “Thank you, ma’am. But I need a word with Mary, then I’ll be on my way.”

“Whatever you’d like,” Bessie replied.

Mary didn’t know what to make of J.T.’s consideration. She’d have to answer questions when he left, but he’d saved her from being a spectacle in the garden. He picked up his hat and together they headed to the doorway. As he passed Fancy Girl, the dog pushed to her feet and followed. When they reached the hall, he clasped Mary’s arm and steered her to the door. “We need some privacy.”

“Yes, we do.”

With her heart pounding, she followed J.T. to the porch. As she expected, he paced to the railing and looked up and down the street. She saw the gunfighter who never let his guard down, but below the surface lived the boy who’d been brutalized by his own brothers. J.T. had hurt her, but life had hurt him first. It had hurt her, too. Not until she’d come to Swan’s Nest had she found a measure of peace.

When she’d been brash, her friends had been kind.

When she’d been arrogant, they’d been patient.

She knew the value of that kind of love, and she tried to share it with others. She’d thought she’d been tested by Gertie and her haughty airs, but it seemed the Lord had sent someone else to try her patience…the man who’d hurt her more than anyone on earth. Even for Gus’s sake, she couldn’t risk J.T. staying in Denver. No matter the cost, she had to convince him to leave town tonight.

## Chapter Six

J.T. didn’t often get a chance to be kind. People paid for his meanness, and they got their money’s worth. He counted saving Fancy Girl as his one act of goodness. Befriending Gus would be the second. He genuinely liked the boy, but he saw another benefit to helping the kid. He’d hurt Mary when he’d left her in Abilene. Teaching Gus to defend himself would help pay that debt.

If someone didn’t teach the boy how to fight, he’d end up dead or mean. J.T. couldn’t let that happen. He had to convince Mary to let him help her brother, so he dropped his hat on a low table and propped his hips on the railing, watching as she considered the porch swing but remained on her feet. If things had gone as he’d hoped when he’d arrived, he would have enjoyed sitting with her. He’d have put his arm around her and nudged her head down to his shoulder. They’d been a perfect fit in that way. Enjoying the memory, he indicated the swing. “Have a seat.”

“No, thank you.”

She gave him the coldest look he’d ever gotten, and that said a lot considering his occupation. If she wanted to fight, so be it. He’d always enjoyed sparring with her. Leaning back on the railing, he supported his weight with his hands. The duster fell open, but he didn’t think much about it. Mary knew he wore his guns all the time.

He got down to business. “I’m gonna stay in town as long as your brother needs help.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I say it is.” He spoke so softly he barely heard himself. “Gus needs me.”

“He’ll be fine.”

“Like I was fine in New York?”

She knew about the scar on his shoulder and how his brothers had beaten him. He’d told her the stories when they’d been alone in the dark, when his heart had been softened by her touch and she couldn’t see his embarrassment. She’d held him after more bad dreams than he cared to recall.

Her eyes said she remembered, too. But her voice came out hard. “I understand the situation. Augustus is—”

“You mean Gus.”

“All right,” she said too amiably. “Gus. You’re right about his name. You’re also right about him being able to defend himself. I’ll ask a man from church to talk to him.”

“Talking isn’t enough.”

“It has to be.”

“It’s not.” J.T. decided to take a chance. “Fighting is like kissing. You can talk all you want, but eventually you’ve got to do it.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Judging by the sudden blush, she remembered their kisses as well as he did. He wanted to go farther down that road, but first he had to prove that Gus needed him. “Your brother’s a good kid, but he’s puny and he stutters.”

“I know that.”

“If he doesn’t learn to fight, he’s going be bullied his whole life. Is that what you want for him?”

“Of course not.”

Tense, she dropped down on the bench and pushed off. The chains began a steady, irksome squeak. “I know Gus needs help. I just don’t think you’re the one to teach him.”

“Sure I am.” He knew as much about fighting as anyone. “What are you worried about?”

Instead of the boldness he expected, he saw a guardedness that didn’t fit Mary at all. In Abilene she’d spoken her mind freely. Today she looked nervous, even scared. He wondered why, but she wouldn’t tell him even if he asked. He’d have to puzzle it out for himself. He lowered his arms, hiding the guns beneath the duster. “Do you think I’ll teach Gus my bad habits?”

“Yes,” she said. “Exactly.”

“You don’t have to worry, Mary.” She truly didn’t. J.T. wanted Gus to be a good man, not a hired gun like him self.

She lifted her chin. “Considering how you left me, why should I trust you with my brother?”

“Because I’ve changed. I haven’t had a drink in six months, and it’s been so long since I gambled, I don’t remember how.” Not exactly. He remembered, but he needed to make a point. “There’s more. Do you want to hear it?”

“No.” She pushed to her feet. “It doesn’t matter, because I don’t want you in Gus’s life. He’s fragile. You’ll hurt him.”

He touched her arm. “Are we talking about Gus or you?”

“Gus!”

“I don’t think so.” She was close enough to kiss, and her lips were trembling. She wasn’t just angry with him. He’d opened old wounds and they were bleeding. “I’m sorry, Mary. I’m sorry I left you, sorry I…” He shook his head. He’d used her like he used liquor, and he owed her amends. “You deserve to know something else. I haven’t been with a woman since I quit drinking.”

“J.T., don’t—”

“Listen to me. Please.” His voice dropped to a hush. “Just one more time, Fancy Girl. I need to say this to you.”

A tremor passed from her arm to his hand. If she told him to leave, he’d do it. But he needed to make this confession. She closed her eyes and lowered her head. When she finally looked up, he saw a bleakness that troubled him, but she nodded yes. “All right. I’ll listen.”

He indicated the swing. She sat, but her face had lost its color. Leaning against the railing, he dragged his hand through his hair. “I don’t know where to start, exactly. Back in Abilene—”

“I don’t want to talk about Abilene.” She sounded panicky and he wondered why. “Tell me about Fancy Girl. How did you find her?”

“It’s more like she found me.” He told Mary about the mess at the Dudley place and how he’d made an enemy of Griff Lassen. Feeling both silly and proud, he glanced at his dog, then looked at Mary with an apologetic smile. “Imagine that…J. T. Quinn going soft over a dog.”

She said nothing, but her eyes said she could imagine it just fine.

The thought gave him hope. “That night I knew I had to find you. I went to Abilene, but no one knew where you’d gone.”

Her cheeks flushed. “I left in a hurry.”

“So I figured.”

“It’s been a long time.”

The way she said it, he wondered if it would ever be long enough to forget the shame she’d endured. J.T. knew just how long—or short—a span of time could be. “It’s been six months since I’ve tasted liquor.” He paused, because his next words were personal for them both. “Getting drunk hurts the man doing it. Using a woman hurts her. I know how that feels, because I sold my gun as surely as a prostitute sells her body. You weren’t that kind of woman to me, Mary. I cared about you, but I hurt you just the same. I’m sorry.”

He wanted her forgiveness.

He needed it.

A bird twittered in a nearby tree. Laughter drifted from the crowd in the garden. Someone rang a dinner bell, startling them both. Silent as a lamb, he waited for her to speak. When she didn’t say a word, he knew she’d send him away. She wouldn’t let him near Gus, and neither would she believe him about Roy Desmond. If he told her about Roy now, he’d push her in the man’s direction. Maybe he’d send her an unsigned letter from another town, or he could shove a note under her door. With everything lost and nothing else to give, he put on his hat, pulled it low and walked down the steps.

His boots thudded on the risers, then kicked up dust on the path. Fancy Girl followed him without being called, a consolation that eased the hurt but didn’t erase it. As he lifted the latch on the gate, he heard the creak of the swing and Mary’s footsteps hurrying down the path.

“Wait!” she called.

He turned and saw her running to him. She stopped a foot away, looking harried and confused and as beautiful as ever. Her eyes were shiny with tears, and her cheeks had turned from ashen to pink. Sunshine turned her hair into gold, while the brightness cast their shadows side by side.

“I forgive you,” she said.

“You do?”

“Yes.” She swallowed hard. “I forgave you a long time ago. It’s just…” She bit her lip. “No one here knows every thing that happened in Abilene. After you left, people called me a loose woman. The gossip was awful. If it started here, I’d—” she shook her head “—I’ll deal with it if I have to, but I worry about Gus and Gertie.”

He’d come to Denver to rescue her, not to make her life hard. “No one needs to know about our past. What’s done is done.”

“Yes.”

Judging by her expression, she saw the flaw in his logic as plainly as he did. Their memories couldn’t be erased. He knew how she felt in his arms. He’d laughed at her silly jokes and seen her wipe her nose when she had a cold. On the flipside of the coin, she knew him even better than he knew himself. He wanted that closeness again, though he knew he had to earn it. “I won’t hurt you, Mary. I promise. I just want to help you.”

“It doesn’t matter what you promise.” She clipped the words. “I don’t trust you, J.T.”

“I understand.” And he did, perfectly. “I wouldn’t trust me either just yet. But someday you will. It’s up to me to change your mind.”

She looked peeved.

“We’ll start with Gus.” He let his eyes twinkle as if they were in Abilene again. Though he had been ready to leave earlier, he couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing Mary again. “Does he like to fish? I could take him—”

She frowned. “We need some rules.”

“Sure.” He usually looked at rules as things to break. For Mary, he’d obey them. “What do you have in mind?”

She stood as straight as a measuring stick. “No cussing.”

“Agreed.” He wouldn’t be accountable if he stubbed his toe, but he’d try. He didn’t cuss much anyway.

“And spitting.” She wrinkled her nose. “I abhor spitting.”

He put his hand over his heart. “My dear Miss Larue, have you ever seen me spit in front of a lady?”

She blushed. “No, but I want to be clear.”

Feeling bold again, he clasped her arms to hold her in place. The gesture had come from the past and she stiffened, but he didn’t regret it. He wanted her to feel his sincerity. “You can trust me, Mary.”