Page 11 of Falling for the Cowgirl
Ivy had always attracted attention wherever she went. During that last summer he’d been home, he’d had to threaten several of his ranch hands to stay away from her. He could only imagine how many fellows were falling over themselves to have the chance to come courting.
At eighteen, she was still a mite young to be thinking about marriage and men, wasn’t she?
As Ivy took a place on the bench surrounded by her adoring nephews and niece, she thanked Astrid for the plate of food and began to eat as politely as any grown woman he’d ever met. When had Ivy turned into such a lady?
Astrid used the opportunity to distribute pieces of pie around the table. And as Jericho savored his first bite of sweet berry mixture and perfect flaky crust, he was relieved for the distraction so he could gain his composure.
While he ate the pie, he somehow managed to extinguishthe sparks Ivy had ignited inside him, mainly by keeping his gaze from straying toward her. Afterward, with a fresh mug of coffee in hand, he shared more about Dylan and his new life in Chicago, leaving out all the bad parts about their brother’s waywardness and telling everyone instead about all the criminals Dylan had been involved in capturing and how he was gaining a reputation as a fair and decent lawman, especially because his sharpshooting skills were unmatched.
Finally, when Astrid and Greta ushered the little ones up the stairs to bed, leaving him with Wyatt and Ivy, Jericho pulled out his pipe along with a match. “Since Bat still has the death warrant on Dylan’s head, I think it’s best if everyone keeps quiet about him being in Chicago. And it’d be best if no one mentions that’s where I’ve been holed up.”
As Jericho lit the tobacco, he waited for them to ask how he knew about Bat’s ongoing death warrant. He wished he could tell them the truth, that as a Pinkterton agent, he had access to more information than most people, but he scrambled to have another excuse ready.
Wyatt scratched his head. “Reckoned that lowlife wouldn’t care a lick about Dylan anymore.”
Jericho took a puff from his pipe. “Unfortunately, Bat has a good memory and doesn’t let go of his grudges.”
Ivy sat forward, leaning her elbows on the table. “So you’re telling us Dylan ain’t gonna be able to come home so long as Bat’s here?”
“That’s what I’m saying.” He allowed himself a glance at her, and this time he worked extra hard not to show any surprise at how beautiful she was. Her big brown eyes were the kind that could suck a fellow in like quicksand and makehim forget his next thought. He gave her a curt nod and then cut short his view, switching back to Wyatt and safety.
Wyatt slipped his hand around the back of his neck and kneaded the muscles. “Is there a way to drive Bat out of the area?”
“Even though he brags about the men he’s killed, no one can pin any particular murder on him or anyone in his gang.” Jericho knew every last detail about Bat, had already ruled him out as a suspect for Rodney James. Bat was a mean, dirty cheater who wouldn’t think twice about pounding bullets into anyone who double-crossed him. But he wasn’t the war criminal Jericho was seeking.
For a few seconds, the pattering of little feet overhead and the creak of floorboards filled the silence.
Wyatt dropped his hands, his shoulders decidedly more stooped. “At least assure me Dylan’s got his life together and made his peace with the Almighty.”
Jericho wanted to squirm under the intensity both Wyatt and Ivy directed his way.
“Just spit it out,” Ivy said impatiently.
Jericho fingered the pipe’s stem. He’d deceived everyone enough for one day, and now the truth pushed for release. “I wish I could tell you he’s the old Dylan we all knew and loved, but he’s still making some pretty stupid choices.”
Wyatt and Ivy were quiet, but their disappointment seemed to pull up a chair and join them as a guest.
“The good thing is that he loves his work and does a decent job at it.” When he was sober.
Wyatt opened his mouth to say something, but Ivy stood abruptly, clanking the dishes and silverware remaining on the table. “You should have brought him with you.”
The accusation whipped against Jericho. If only she knew how many sacrifices he’d made over the past months for Dylan. The biggest one had been in setting aside his pride and asking his dad for help.
He placed a half-dollar coin over the bowl of his pipe, extinguished it, then stood. “Best be heading out.” He reached for his hat where he’d discarded it on the bench and fit it over his head.
“Hold on.” Wyatt jumped to his feet.
Jericho paused.
“None of us ever got the chance to thank you.” Wyatt slanted a look toward Ivy, who’d begun to gather the pie plates. “Reckon we owe you a real big debt for all you’ve done for Dylan, including saving his life.”
Jericho accepted the thanks with a nod. Sometimes in the giving of gratitude, a man could find a sense of peace. And he hoped that was true for Wyatt. Neither Wyatt nor Flynn were to blame for Dylan’s wild living. They’d done the best they could to raise him up right, but Dylan had gone his own way.
Jericho started across the room.
“Where you staying?” Wyatt followed him.
“In town. I’ll get a room at one of the hotels—”
