Montan a Wildfire

"Very." And a mad Jacob Blackhawk Chandler wasn't a man Amanda ever wanted to see again. Once had been more than enough, thank you. She shivered, remembering his icy hatred that night in his sister's cabin, the piercing glares that had looked right through her, his rough-to-the-point-of-violent touch.

Roger squirmed. While he was riding better these days, and seemed to have gotten over his sudden, unnatural fear of horses, Amanda couldn't help noticing how uncomfortable he was to be astride one. Surprisingly, he hadn't voiced a single complaint about it. Perhaps he'd sensed it would do no good? After all, horses were the only way to get to Pony.

"Do you want to wait for him, Miss Lennox?" Roger's tone said he would if she insisted, but that he'd rather not. Amanda knew that being this close and not being able to go on must be eating at him. He seemed every bit as impatient to put this god-awful journey behind him as she was.

"I don't see what harm scouting around for your father would do," she said finally. "And if we find him..." she shrugged, "well, I don't see what harm that would do, either." Except maybe to make Jake think she planned to collect her money without him seeing, and run off without paying him. His mistrust of her was strong enough to fuel such a conclusion, but she wouldn't let that stop her. Amanda knew she had no intention of leaving Pony until she'd paid Jake in full, and that was what really counted.

In the end, it took surprisingly little time to find out which house Edward Bannister lived in. Amanda simply stopped the first miner she passed and asked. He'd eyed her warily, but he told her what she wanted to know. And once he had, she realized she should have guessed on her own. What other house would Edward Bannister live in, except the biggest and best?

As she and Roger made their way toward the sprawling ornate structure, Amanda found herself wondering why Jake hadn't found out the information himself and returned by now. She was still wondering about that as she slipped from her saddle and tethered her mare to the porch railing.

The front door was flung wide open. It crashed against the outer wall of the house with a resounding slam.

The sunny day cast the porch—and the man standing in the open doorway—in shadows. Amanda didn't need to see all of the tall, thin man to know he was Edward Bannister. The resemblance between him and Roger was stunning; Roger had inherited the Bannister curls, the haughty tilt of chin, and the light blue eyes. Then, of course, there was the way Roger bounded up the stairs and catapulted himself into the man's arms. And the way the man in turn crouched down to wrap the boy in a tight hug.

"Over," Amanda whispered beneath her breath as she watched father and son embrace. "It's finally over."

Her thoughts turned to Jake. And, just as automatically, she felt the claw of desperation in her belly. Her smile faded as, once again, the emptiness and desolation closed over her like a cloying, oppressive blanket.

She took a little comfort in knowing that all wasn't completely over with Jake. She still had to pay him the money she owed him—after she'd collected it, of course. The thought brought her only a moderate surge of relief. It wasn't over with Jake yet, but it might as well be. He'd be out of her life soon enough, and once he was, she would be free to...

What? What would she be free to do? God, she didn't know anymore! Her original plan had been to get to the property her father had left her, but she'd lost sight of that goal long ago. It reasserted itself now, but weakly. Of course, she would still go to Washington—she had nowhere else to go—yet the thrill of achieving what she'd set out to do wasn't as fulfilling as she'd expected it to be.

Or was it the achievement that was lacking? Maybe not. Maybe what was lacking was her life. It was a life that now stretched out endlessly in front of her like the stark, lonely prairies she'd crossed. A life without Jake Chandler in it. Yes, Amanda thought, stark was an apt description, because—

"Miss Lennox, I presume?"

"I what? Oh, yes." Startled, Amanda glanced up into pale blue eyes set in a thin, sharp face. It took her a second to realize Edward Bannister had extended his hand, and another second for her to take it. His fingers felt cool and thin as they clasped hers.

Amanda tried not to compare his hand to a big, strong copper one of recent memory, but she couldn't help it. Comparisons were inevitable. It seemed like Edward Bannister, that any man,

was going to fall short in her mind when compared to Jacob Blackhawk Chandler. Because in her mind, there simply was no comparison.

"Please, Miss Lennox, come inside," Edward nodded over his shoulder to the open doorway through which Roger had already disappeared. "It's almost lunchtime. The least I can do is feed you before you set out again."

"And pay me, Mr. Bannister," Amanda added, with an impudence that would have appalled Miss Henry. Odd, but the thought of appalling Miss Henry had Amanda fighting a smile. Jake's corrupting influence had no doubt done that to her. "Don't forget that."

Apparently Amanda wasn't the only one surprised by her boldness. Edward Bannister looked shocked, too. His pale blue eyes widened slightly, and she saw an uncompromising hardness in his expression that she'd missed before. But then he smiled, and the tension that had sparked the air was abruptly smoothed away. "Yes, of course, your money. I haven't forgotten, Miss Lennox. I'll get it as soon as we're inside. Then you can decide whether or not to stay for dinner. How does that sound?"

"It sounds wonderful," Amanda said, because it really did. The thought of any food besides jerky, beans, and canned peaches was superb—any food, she reassessed with a shiver, except snake. And the thought of sitting in a real chair, and dining at real table with a linen tablecloth and silverware was very appealing. Now, if she could also wheedle a long, hot bath out of the man, she really would think she'd died and gone to heaven!

Years of training made her automatically curl her fingers around the crook of Edward Bannister's elbow. Sending the man a radiant smile, Amanda allowed herself to be guided into the cool shadows of the house.

Jake glared down at the glass of bourbon in disgust. There had been a time when he'd been a drinker, but that time was years ago. He hadn't touched the hard stuff in a long, long while.

Until he'd met Amanda Lennox.

Now, for the second time in less than a week, he was sitting in a saloon, trying to get drunk. Because of Amanda. Everything he did and thought these days was because of her.

Yup, just one prissy white lady, Jake thought derisively. That's all it took to shove Jacob Blackhawk Chandler back in front of a bottle. Christ! He'd been so sure he would only take up drinking again if something catastrophic happened. Apparently he'd been wrong.

Then again...

His wounded arm stung as, with a scowl, he swirled the potent-smelling liquor around, watching as it coated the smudged sides of the glass. A shard of sunlight streamed in through the saloon's dirt-streaked window. The light hit the glass in his hand and split into a rainbow of color—one of which reminded him of Amanda's eyes, another of her hair.

The image that sprang to mind prompted Jake to down his drink in one fiery swallow. It was his third. The bourbon didn't cut as it passed his throat, but slid down nice and easy. He waved for the barkeep to refill his glass. The fat man did so reluctantly, but promptly. Jake wondered if the good service was in no small way prompted by the knife he'd set atop the chipped walnut bar before he'd even taken a seat.

In a flash, Jake remembered the barkeep's beady eyes, the way they had rounded when they'd fixed on the knife. The man's cheeks had reddened, and Jake could almost hear every word about "not serving his kind" scamper right out of the big man's mind. While the knife had kept Jake's glass full, his savage scowl had kept the other men in the saloon at a safe distance. They may not want him here—hell, he could feel their resentful glares crawling all over his back—but Jake had made damn sure they had no say about it. He needed a drink too badly.