The Outlaw's Return

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.