The Outlaw's Return. Victoria Bylin
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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