In jail. Behind bars.” He looked toward her cell. “How did you get out?"

  "The door was open,” she answered casually, as though every prisoner had the opportunity to walk about freely.

  "But the marshal ... he ... you..."

  "Don't start that again,” she warned.

  He put his hands on his hips. “You're supposed to be locked in that cell. I was coming to break you out. How the hell can you just prance out here like an average, everyday citizen?"

  "Simple,” she said. “The marshal didn't believe a word of Brandt's accusation."

  He stared at her as though he'd suddenly gone simple-minded.

  She went on. “He's keeping me in custody because the railroad pressed charges, and it's the law. But he pretty much gives me the run of the place."

  "So this is just like a holiday to you. Sure, it's not as fancy as you're used to, but you get good service and can come and go as you please."

  She refused to remark upon such sarcasm. She didn't owe him any explanation. What she owed him was a good, swift kick in the pants.

  "If you care to continue this discussion, we'll have to go in.” She rubbed her arms to fend off the evening chill. “Marshal Thompson trusts me to stay inside. It wouldn't do to let him find me out here talking to a man who was about to help me escape."

  "Little did I know you didn't need my assistance."

  "How could you?” she asked sardonically. “You didn't stay around long enough to find out what happened. For all you cared, I could be hanging from a tree at the other end of town.” With that, she returned to her cell.

  Lucas followed a minute later, after untying the rope from the window bars. He moved silently past the marshal to the other end of the jail. Noticing the rope and blanket hanging across the front of the cell, he yanked the partition closed, casting them into semiprivacy.

  For a moment be just looked at her, taking in every inch of her beautiful body. Ebony hair lighted by the moon, eyes glowing bright even in the darkness of the cell.

  A pang of loneliness hit him, even though she was standing three feet in front of him. Lord, he'd missed her. And he loved her. There was no reason to deny it anymore. No need to protect her from the hurt he would cause when he left—because he was never leaving her again.

  "Megan,” he said, holding out his arms as he took a step toward her.

  "Don't even think about it."

  Her words stopped him cold.

  "I'm not going to let you just waltz back into my life after the way you treated me. You left. Just left. No note, no explanation, not even a good-bye. You disappeared from my life as rudely and abruptly as you entered it."

  "Megan, let me—"

  "Go to hell,” she snapped. “Do you have any idea how much it hurt when Brandt told me you were gone? Brandt Donovan, of all people. Kind of like pouring salt on the wound, wouldn't you say, Lucas?"

  "Megan, if you would—"

  "All because you're obsessed with finding Silas Scott so you can avenge Annie's death. Well, fine,” she ranted. “If you'd rather spend your life alone, in the saddle, searching for something you're never going to find—and I don't mean Scott—then you go right ahead. But I hope you know what you're missing. I hope you know that you're giving up the best thing that's ever happened to you. When you're ninety years old, you'll finally realize you weren't searching for Silas Scott all those years, you were looking for satisfaction. Contentment. Peace. Maybe a little piece of happiness. But that comes from love, companionship, and understanding. You won't find it out there,” she said, pointing into the distance.

  "I know,” Lucas answered simply.

  "And don't even try to tell me it's your duty to track down Scott. That excuse is wearing thin. You're just running away, and someday you're going to have to admit it."

  "I know,” he said, a little louder this time, though neither of them had spoken above a whisper since entering the jail.

  "That's such a—” She stopped and looked at him—really looked at him for the first time since his return. “Did you say you know?"

  He nodded.

  "You know what?” she asked warily.

  "I know you're right. Every word you said is the truth. Why do you think I came back?"

  "Oh, no!” she gasped. “You killed him, didn't you? You finally found Silas Scott, and you killed him."

  "I wanted to,” he said between clenched teeth. “But I didn't."

  The air left her lungs in a rush of relief. “Then why did you come back?” she asked, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. “Because you felt guilty leaving me here to face a hangman's noose alone?"

  "No,” he said matter-of-factly. “I came back because I love you."

  Her eyes widened in disbelief, and her whole body went rigid with shock. He thought that if he sneezed, she would probably fall over.

  "Do you remember what you said to me that night we made camp by the Cottonwood River? About roses?"

  She narrowed her eyes. “No,” she said, though he could tell by her expression that she did.

  "You said that every winter snow and ice cover the roses. And every spring the sun melts the ice, and the roses bloom again, as big and as beautiful as before.” He stepped close, putting his hands on her arms. “And then you told me that my heart was like those roses. It was covered with so much pain and hatred that I thought it was dead. But then I met you, and just like the sun melts the snow, you melted the ice around my heart.

  "I love you, Megan. It finally penetrated my thick skull. I finally figured out that I'm not searching for vengeance so much as I'm trying to find peace. I won't get that by killing Silas Scott."

  Tears brimmed in Megan's eyes, but she made no move to embrace him. “I'm glad you finally came to your senses."

  Lucas's eyes widened. “That's it? You're not going to throw your arms around me and tell me how much you missed me?"

  She made a noise that seemed to be part sniff, part scorn. “Not bloody likely,” she retorted.

  All the images in his head of a soft, feminine, loving, ecstatic Megan disappeared like mist off a lake on a warm summer day. His eyebrows drew together, and his mouth turned down in a frown. “You mean I rode without stopping, night and day, just to be with you again, and all you can say is ‘not bloody likely'?"

  "That's right."

  He shook his head as if to clear it. “Didn't you hear me?” he asked. “I said I love you."

  "I heard,” she said solemnly. “It just doesn't matter anymore."

  Lucas started mumbling under his breath. Somehow he'd gone from being the man of her dreams to the dirt she scraped off her boots after walking through a cow pasture. “What in God's name is going on?” he asked aloud.

  He saw her spine straighten and knew he was in trouble.

  "I'm in jail, and you're leaving."

  He stood his ground. “I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell is going on."

  "Nothing is going on, Lucas. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to go back to sleep."

  "A week ago you were telling me that you loved me, begging me not to leave."

  "I never begged,” she clarified.

  Ignoring her statement, he continued. “Now you're acting as though I'm the last person on earth you ever wanted to see again."

  "You are."

  "Why? I love you—I told you that. What more do you want from me?"

  She laughed, a short, wild laugh. “Do you really want to know?” she asked.

  "Yes!” He wanted to know what the hell was going on.

  "All right, I'll tell you. I want to be the most important thing in your life."

  "You are,” he said, as though everyone in the world knew it. As though it had been prophesied thousands of years ago, written upon ancient stone tablets as proof for all time.

  "No,” she said. “No, I'm not. Otherwise you wouldn't have left again to go after Silas Scott."

  "You know why I went, Megan."

  "Yes, I know. And I understand. But what I don't understand,” she said, her tone sharpening, “is how you can love me and still think I'm responsible for the payroll robberies."

  His eyes widened. “That's what this is about? Those stupid payrolls?"

  She huffed, frustration seething from every pore. “No, Lucas, this is not about the payrolls.” She paced the length of the cell. “It's about trust. It's about believing what another person says, even if your logical mind says it can't be true. You claim to love me, but you obviously don't trust me, or you would have believed me when I told you I had nothing to do with the robberies. You never would have turned me over to Brandt, knowing he was going to put me in jail."

  "He hired me to track down the bandits, and he said you were their ringleader. When I found you with them, it was my duty to bring you in."

  Megan's whole body shook from the effort it took not to hit him. She took a deep breath and tried yet again to get through to him. “Yes. Yes, Lucas, it was your duty to Brandt and the Union Pacific Railroad to turn me in. But what I'm saying is that if you loved me, you would have believed me when I told you I was innocent. You would have tried to convince Brandt of my innocence. You would have tried to help me prove my innocence. Instead, you threw me to the wolves and went off on your misbegotten search for Silas Scott."

  "But now I'm back,” Lucas said. “And I do love you."

  "Do you believe that I didn't have anything to do with the railroad payrolls being stolen?"

  His slight pause told her all she needed to know. Even if he wanted to believe her, he still wasn't completely sure.

  "I think you'd better leave now,” she said quietly.

  "Megan—"

  She put a hand to her temple. “I'm tired, Lucas. Just go."

  After several long minutes, she heard the rustle of the blanket as he slipped out of the cell, his footsteps as he left the jailhouse. She laid down on the cot and pulled the scratchy wool cover up around her neck, feeling even more desolate than when she'd realized she would actually be going to jail.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lucas still didn't know what had crawled under Megan's skin to make her so ornery. He thought the only thing women wanted was to hear “I love you.” He'd said it, and she'd kicked him out like she would a dog with muddy paws.

  He crossed the dusty street, stepped up onto the next sidewalk, and headed into the lobby of the Wilkes Hotel. The young man at the front desk straightened his slouched posture, coming forward from his seat in the corner.

  "Can I help you, sir?"

  "You got a Brandt Donovan staying here?” he asked, sliding the sign-in register closer to take a look for himself.

  "That man the railroad sent? Sure do. I don't think he'll be wanting visitors this time of night, though."

  Lucas searched out the room number next to Brandt's name. “He'll see me” he said, tapping the page before starting up to the second floor.

  When he got to Brandt's room, he lifted his fist and pounded on the door. Black curses colored the air. Lucas grinned and pounded some more.

  "This place had better be on fire,” he heard just before the door flew open.

  Clutching a tangled sheet to his waist, Brandt squinted at Lucas. “Christ,” he swore, slamming the door in his friend's face.

  Lucas turned the knob and walked in behind Brandt, who was crawling back into bed.

  "What the hell are you doing here?” Donovan muttered into a pillow.

  "I need a little favor."

  "Me, too.” Brandt punched the pillow before burying his face deeper into the center of it. “I need you to leave me alone so I can get some sleep."

  Lucas reached over to steal his friend's sheet. Brandt remained still, not caring that he was now completely naked.

  'That's what you get for spending all night at the saloon."

  "Like you haven't done the same thing,” Brandt said, rolling over. “And give me back the damn covers."

  Lucas handed back the sheet. “I just hope you didn't spend all your cash on some sweet-talking blonde,” he said, knowing his friend's penchant for fair-haired women. Light hair meant light skirts, or so Brandt had always claimed.

  Finally realizing Lucas wasn't going to leave, Brandt struggled into a sitting position. He tucked the sheet around his hips and rested his head against the headboard. “Why do you care how much I spent?” he asked, dragging a hand across his face.

  "I need a little loan."

  Brandt groaned. “I'm not giving you any more money to waste on your wild goose chase for Silas Scott. If you're broke, get a job. Hell, I'll even get you a position with Union Pacific security, if that's what you want."

  "I don't want a job. And I don't want the money so I can keep after Scott."

  His friend sighed. “Then what do you need it for?"

  "A ring."

  Brandt's eyes slowly opened. “A ring. What kind of ring?"

  "An engagement ring. With a big diamond—as big as I can find around here, anyway."

  "An engagement ring. A diamond engagement ring.” Brandt repeated it as though he'd never heard of such a thing. Then he jumped up from the bed, the sheet covering him forgotten. “Holy Christ, you did it, didn't you? You really did it."

  "Did what?"

  "You came back for Megan. You asked her to marry you."

  "I came back for Megan,” Lucas said. “But I didn't ask her to marry me."

  "Why not?"

  "I didn't get the chance. She kicked me out."

  "What?"

  "You heard me. I told her I loved her, and she told me to go to hell."

  "I've been telling you that for years,” Brandt said under his breath.

  "Don't you think you ought to get some pants on?” Lucas asked, irritated.

  Brandt looked down. “Oh, yeah.” He reached for a pair of tan trousers wrinkled into a ball on the floor. “Why did she boot you out?"

  "She said that if I really loved her, I would have believed in her innocence."

  "And?"

  "And I wouldn't have left again to go after Scott."

  "Oh, God, I almost forgot.” Brandt's usually dark complexion paled. “If you're back, that means you did it. You killed Scott."

  Lucas moved to the window. He took in the whole length of the town. At one end stood the church that doubled as a schoolhouse. In the middle was the mercantile, the hotel, and the Adams Express. Then came the saloon, the livery, and the jail. Not a bad little town. He supposed he ought to get used to it if he was going to put down roots here.

  Brandt's voice interrupted his thoughts, repeating the question he'd been trying to avoid.

  He'd given up on personally tracking down and killing Scott. That he could deal with. But it didn't mean the bastard didn't deserve to die. That fact still ate at his gut, no matter how hard he tried to tamp it down.

  "Oh, God. You did kill him, didn't you? You tortured him and killed him, and now you're running from the law."

  "Will you lose your job if UP finds out you're harboring a fugitive?"

  "You're damn right.” He started pulling on an equally wrinkled white cotton shirt. “Look, Lucas, you're my best friend. You know I would do almost anything for you. If you needed food or money, I'd give it to you. Hell, I'll even help you find a place to hide out. But I'd rather the town marshal didn't find you here. Christ, I'd be out of a job before you could say jackrabbit."

  "Take it easy,” Lucas said. “I'm not wanted by the law, and I didn't kill Silas Scott."

  Brandt looked up from tugging on his boots. “You didn't?"

  "No, I didn't. Jesus, why does everybody think I murdered the bastard?"

  "Forgive me,” Brandt said in a sarcastic tone, his body relaxing visibly. “You've only been saying you were going to kill the guy for the past five years. I don't know where I would have gotten the idea that you actually intended to do it."

  Lucas flinched, feeling properly reprimanded. “You're right. I apologize."

  "So if you didn't kill him, what are you doing back here?"

  "I guess you could say I came to my senses."

  Brandt snorted. “That'd be a first."

  Lucas shot him a quelling glance. “I had him, Brandt. I had my gun pointed right at his chest."

  The room fell silent. Brandt's fingers dropped away from the boot he'd been tugging on. “So what happened?” he asked.

  "I don't know. God help me, I wanted to kill him. My finger was on the trigger, ready to blow the bastard to kingdom come. Then I thought of Megan and how vengeance wouldn't keep me warm on a cold night. By the time I shook off that damn niggling sense of doubt, Scott was gone. Oh, I followed him, but I didn't get very far. My heart just wasn't in it anymore. When I stopped and took a good look around me—at the deserted trail, the trees, the dark sky—I realized that wasn't where I wanted to be. I wanted to be back here, with Megan in my arms."

  He shook off his bout of nostalgia. He'd made the decision to come back for Megan, and he wasn't the least bit sorry. He just wished he could know that somewhere down the road, Silas Scott would get what was coming to him.

  "So what do you say? Are you going to lend me the money to buy a ring or not?"

  "Do I have a choice?” Brandt asked.

  "Not really."

  Brandt opened a drawer and reached inside for his billfold. With it came a silky black stocking and a red satin garter. Lucas began to roar with laughter. Brandt cleared his throat and stuffed the feminine items back in the drawer.

  "Didn't know I'd taken those with me,” he explained. And then a devilish light entered his eyes. “Guess I'll have to track the lady down and return them."

  He handed Lucas several folded bills. “So what are you going to do after you buy the ring, if she's still mad at you?"

  Lucas shrugged. “I'll just have to show her how much I love her."

  "How are you going to manage that?” he asked. “By proving her innocence."

  "Haven't you got anything nicer than these?” Lucas asked the mercantile proprietor. The rings in the black velvet case were fine, just not what he had in mind for Megan.

  "Got another box,” the older gentleman said. “They're mighty expensive, though. Don't sell many of those ‘round here."