Victoria Bylin - The Outlaw's Return

J.T. was thinner than she recalled and harder because of the leanness, a sign he’d been living on jerky and bad coffee. His brown hair had gold streaks from the summer sun, and his blue eyes still pierced whatever they saw. She felt the sharpness of his gaze and remembered…. She’d once loved this man, and she’d hated him when he’d left.

With the changes in her life, she couldn’t give in to bitterness. She knew how it felt to be forgiven, and she had a duty to forgive others. She’d treat J.T. the way she’d treat a stranger, except he wasn’t a stranger. She knew how he liked his coffee, and she’d seen the scars on his body from bullets and knives. None of those memories mattered. This man posed a risk to her reputation. If her friends saw him, they’d ask nosy questions.

She had to make him leave before someone else left the church. She gave him a curt nod. “Hello, J.T.”

He tipped his hat. “Hello, Mary.”

Unnerved by his husky drawl, she fought to steady her voice. “This is quite a surprise.”

“Yeah.” He eyed the batwing doors. “For me, too.”

Was he surprised to see her or surprised to see her leaving a church service? Mary didn’t know what to think. Why would he seek her out after all this time? On the other hand, what were the odds he’d visit Brick’s Saloon on a Sunday morning by chance? One in a million, she decided. Josh’s little church was unusual and well-known. Any saloon keeper in Denver could have told him she sang here on Sunday morning.

That meant he’d come to see her, but why? No one stirred up memories—both good and bad—like this handsome, hard-edged man. Ten minutes ago Mary had been singing “Fairest Lord Jesus” from the depths of her heart. Looking at J.T., she couldn’t remember a single word.

Help me, Lord.

With the dog at her feet, she spoke as if nothing were amiss. “The saloon’s not open. I was here for—”

“Church,” he said. “I know.”

“How—”

“I heard you singing.” He glanced at the mutt at her side. “So did my dog.”

“Your dog?”

“Yeah.” He looked sheepish, as if he’d admitted something embarrassing. She supposed he had. A man like J.T. traveled with the clothes on his back and his guns. He’d carry bullets before he’d pack an extra can of beans, yet here he stood looking at a dog as if it were his only friend.

When he held out his hand, the dog licked his fingers. “You crazy thing,” he murmured.

At the sight of such tenderness, Mary’s forgot to breathe. In Kansas she’d seen J.T. beat the daylights out of a man who’d disrespected her. He’d worked as a hired gun to ranchers wanting to chase off rustlers, and he didn’t think twice about it. He was hard, tough and mean, except with her. Then he’d been as soft as butter, tender in the way of a man who knew a woman’s need for love while denying his own.

But then he’d left her. She’d forgiven him for leaving, but that didn’t mean she’d forgotten the coldness of the parting. J. T. Quinn couldn’t be trusted, not with her heart and not with knowledge of the baby. He’d disrespected her. She refused to allow him to disrespect a child that had never been born. In Abilene he’d left her in the middle of a conversation. Today she wanted answers. Why are you here? What do you want? Any minute people would start leaving church. Since Gertie and Augustus were with Adie, the café would be empty. She thought of yesterday’s stew in the icebox. J.T. looked hungry, and so did his dog. She’d never been good at turning away strays.

“I own a restaurant,” she said. “You look like you could use a meal.”

“No, thanks.”

He sounded confident, but he had the air of a boy trying to be tough. Her heart softened more than she wanted to admit. “Are you sure?”

“No, thanks, Mary. I just…” He shook his head, but the gesture didn’t answer her questions.

A terrible foreboding took root in her belly. Had he heard the talk in Abilene? Did he know about the baby but not the miscarriage? She couldn’t stand the thought of the scandal finding her again, nor did she want to open old wounds. Trying to appear casual, she tipped her head. “What brings you to Denver?”

“It’s not important.”

She didn’t believe him. Whatever his reason for being at Brick’s, he’d made an effort to find her. She felt cheated by the lie, just as she’d felt cheated in Abilene. “If it wasn’t important, you’d answer the question.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

When he smirked, she saw the man who’d left her pregnant and disgraced. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you, J.T.?”

His eyes were even bluer than she recalled, and his cheekbones more chiseled. The sun, high and bright, lit up his unshaven jaw and turned his whiskers into gold spikes. The man was untouchable, unreachable.

“That’s right,” he finally said. “I haven’t changed a bit.”

“I have.” She lowered her voice. “What happened between us in Abilene is in the past. I’d appreciate it if you’d respect my privacy.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “You won’t see me again.”

His surrender shocked her to the core. She wanted to know why he’d given in so easily, but she couldn’t risk lingering outside the church and being seen. To protect her reputation, she’d have to live with yet another unanswered question. With her head high, she stepped off the boardwalk. To her consternation, the dog followed her. In the middle of the empty street, she stopped and turned back to J.T. “Call your dog.”

His jaw tightened. “Come on, dog.”

Mary scowled at him. “You named her Dog? No wonder she’s not obeying you!”

“That’s not her name,” he muttered.

“Then what is it?”

He looked straight at her. “Her name is Fancy Girl.”

Air rushed into Mary’s lungs. Fancy Girl had been his name for her. He’d called her his Fancy Girl, because she’d liked to dress up for the stage. She’d enjoyed the makeup and the flamboyant dresses, particularly the costumes that had freed her from the dullness of Frog’s Landing. “You named her after me?”

“Yeah.”

She should have been insulted. The fool man had named a dog after her! Yet she knew it hadn’t been an insult. He loved his dog. A long time ago, even though he hadn’t said the words, Mary had thought he’d loved her. She’d been mistaken. J.T. didn’t love anyone. “It’s been nice seeing you,” she said in a courteous tone. “But I have to get home.”

“I understand.”

She doubted it. He didn’t know her at all anymore. Reaching down, she rubbed the scar between the dog’s ears. “Goodbye, Fancy Girl.”

After a final scratch, she continued across the street. When the dog tagged along, J.T.’s voice boomed behind her. “Fancy Girl! Get over here!”

Hearing her old name in J.T.’s baritone stopped Mary in her tracks, but Fancy Girl ignored him. Mary rather enjoyed the dog’s rebellion. People usually did what J.T. ordered. Occasionally they did it with a gun aimed at them, but mostly they obeyed because he spoke with authority. He wasn’t in charge now.

As he called the dog a second time, a man came out of the church, looked long and hard at J.T., and went on his way. Any minute the congregation would be in the street and he’d be a spectacle in his black clothing. Needing to persuade him, Mary flashed a smile. “I promised Fancy Girl a plate of scraps. It looks like she’s holding me to it.”

His eyes twinkled. “She’s a smart dog.”

“Would you like to come with us?”

He snorted. “For scraps?”

“Scraps for her. Pot roast for you.” She tried to sound businesslike. “I really do own a restaurant.”