The earth seemed to still.It was as if every living thing was caught, frozen, in the cold menace of his words.Even the birds had quieted.
She hesitated.She was delving into dangerous waters, but she had to ask it.
“Could it be that he … my father … just made a mistake … thought he saw you?”
“That particular day, he sent me to check on some settlers who, by some strange coincidence, had moved on.He knew where I had gone.At the court-martial he denied sending me anyplace and testified that he saw me at another location, with someone I’ve never met.He said—with great reluctance, I might add—that he had no doubt he saw me, that the man I was with was unquestionably one of the raiders he’d recognized during the last robbery.And I sure as hell didn’t plant part of the payroll in my quarters.”Rafe swallowed, remembering the fury and hopelessness he’d felt at hearing Randall’s perjured testimony.
“He knew exactly what he was doing, just as he did when he presided over my branding.”Rafe stopped and took a few deep breaths.“Five soldiers were killed during that raid.Jack Randall was one of the few survivors.He was in charge of the escort, but I had planned the route.Your father and I were two of the very few who knew it.”He paused.“How in the hell do you think he bought the Circle R?Certainly not on army pay.”
Shea knew so little about Jack Randall, she couldn’t defend him.Still, she couldn’t believe he would purposely condemn someone to a living hell.
He must have seen the doubt on her face because he moved away from her, distancing himself as he had so many other times.It was as if those few earlier moments never existed.
He stood and pulled on his shirt, then handed her clothes to her.He turned and disappeared into the woods, leaving her alone with a body that still tingled and quaked with wondrous satisfaction but a mind tortured by agonizing thoughts and questions.
Chapter 18
Prison must have made him as crazy as a rabid fox.Rafe slammed his fist against an aspen.He couldn’t believe what he’d just done.
A virgin, for God’s sake.
And Randall’s daughter!
He slammed the other fist into the tree, feeling the jolt up through his wounded arm.He wanted to hurt.Hell, he should be shot.
He couldn’t undo the last few minutes.The sickening fact was, he wasn’t even sure he wanted to.
But, Christ, the complications.
Rafe relived every unbelievable moment of pleasure, the tender strokes along his body.No one had ever touched him like that, and despite his angry words he knew that what had just happened had nothing to do with Jack Randall.
No one could fake that glow in her eyes, or her reaction to his lovemaking.Lovemaking.He’d never thought of coupling like that before.It had always been a purely physical act, a release, nothing more.He’d never made love, or even tried, with Allison, believing that an officer and gentleman just wouldn’t do that.And he had tried damned hard to be both.
It did no good to tell himself he could stay away from Shea.He hadn’t managed that feat before; he sure as hell couldn’t do it now.She was like rain to his parched earth.
Rafe swallowed.He almost believed he was being offered a choice: vengeance or love.But then reality set in.He would always be an outcast.Hecould live like a hermit, always wearing gloves, avoiding army posts or anyone who might know him.He couldn’t do that to a wife or child.
A child.He closed his eyes again.What if …?
Unexpected pleasure streaked through him, followed by unbearable loneliness.He shuddered when he thought Shea might one day have to do what her mother had done: lie to protect her child against a father she thought would bring shame to that child.
Shea had to understand that.
She had to leave.He suddenly had an inspiration.He would offer her a trip back to Boston.He certainly could afford to do it with Randall’s money.Ben could escort her to Denver, bypassing Casey Springs.In exchange, she would agree to say nothing about Ben and Clint.Surely, she would accept.
He remembered Clint’s warning.Rafe would be gambling with Clint and his brother’s lives.But Rafe knew deep in his heart that she would keep her word.
He turned around and started back, feeling as if a ton of weight clung to each boot.He couldn’t bear to have her around him; he couldn’t bear to have her gone.
Jack Randall was dirty, tired, and despairing.He had found no trace of his daughter, Rafe Tyler, or the outlaws.
He’d been out three days, used up what few supplies he had taken.But he might as well be looking for a needle in a haystack.He had no choice now but to go to Russ and give him at least part of the truth.
His stomach heaved whenever he thought of his daughter in the hands of a man who hated him.Hated him justifiably.
He deserved anything Tyler planned, but his daughter didn’t.And now McClary was starting anew a path of violence and deception that Randall could no longer tolerate.He had done nothing to prevent murder when McClary returned.Backbone, he’d discovered, was not easily built after years of avoiding consequences.But now his daughter’s life was at stake.Hehadto do something.
He reached the ranch and started for the barn.Where there had been thirty hands, only ten still remained when he’d left.God knew how many there were now.
