The Outlaw's Return. Victoria Bylin

Carver gang before he’d become a hired gun. J.T. would never steal from her, but he knew how to do it. “You work hard, Mary. Put that box somewhere else.”

      “I will.”

      He turned back to her brother. “Do you know who these bullies are?”

      In fits and starts, he described how they’d cornered him one day when he’d been running an errand. They’d threatened to beat him up unless he brought them five dollars. He refused, and for the past week he’d been afraid to leave the café. Today they’d followed him to Swan’s Nest.

      Mary’s heart bled for him. “Sweetie, why didn’t you tell me?”

      He jerked his head to the side, but not before she saw hurt in his eyes. She smoothed his hair. “I’ll fix it, Augustus. I promise. I’ll talk to their parents. I’ll—”

      “Stay out of it,” J.T. said quietly. “This is your brother’s fight.”

      “But he’s so young,” she argued. “And he’s small for his age. He can’t protect himself.”

      “I say he can,” J.T. replied. “He just needs to learn a few things.”

      She agreed, but he didn’t need to learn them from an outlaw-turned-gunslinger. What could J.T. possibly teach the boy? How to beat someone into pudding? How to gamble and lie? How to charm a woman and break her heart? She didn’t want him anywhere near her brother. Augustus was a gentle, tenderhearted boy who liked to whittle and play checkers. He didn’t need J. T. Quinn in his life. He needed an older man who’d teach him to be respectful.

      J.T. looked at her for five long seconds, then he sat back in the chair and studied the boy. “Those lessons are starting right now.”

      She gasped. “Now wait just a minute—”

      J.T. stayed focused on Augustus. “We’ll start with your name. From now on you go by Gus.”

      “Gus?” The boy copied him.

      “That’s right.” J.T. shifted his boot to his knee. “No more of this ‘Augustus’ stuff. It’s a terrible name. Half the time even I can’t say it.”

      The boy giggled. Mary refused to crack a smile, though her lips quivered. J.T. had a point. For a boy who stuttered, Augustus was a torture.

      J.T. shook his head with mock drama. “How’d you get such an awful handle anyhow?”

      The boy shrugged, but Mary knew. “He was born in August. Our mother loved the summer.”

      The man grimaced. “It’s a good thing he wasn’t born in a girly month like June.”

      “Or-or J-Januar-r-r-y!”

      The three of them laughed until Gus hugged his ribs. “It h-h-hurts!”

      But Mary knew it felt good, too. She hadn’t heard her brother laugh in a long time.

      Breathing light, the boy turned to the man. “Th-thank you, Mr. Quinn.”

      “Call me J.T.” He sounded gruff.

      Mary wanted to forbid the friendship, but she couldn’t deny the excitement in her brother’s eyes. For the first time since he’d arrived in Denver, confused and hurting after their mother’s passing, he’d connected with someone.

      J.T. pushed to his feet. “Get some rest, Gus. I need a word with your sister.”

      “S-sure.”

      Mary needed a word with him, too. If he thought he could weasel his way into her life by helping her brother, he’d be wise to think again. She had to keep this man as far from her family and friends as she could. Since he’d found Gus close to Swan’s Nest, it was evident he’d been coming to see her. She wanted to know why.

      “I’ll be back,” she said to Augustus—Gus now.

      As she stood, J.T. offered his hand as if the boy were a grown man. “I’m proud to know you, Gus.”

      Her brother gripped J.T.’s fingers and shook hard. “I—I—uh—M-me, t-too.”

      J.T. let go and put his hands on his hips, pulling back the duster enough to show his guns. “Every man takes a beating now and then. Sometimes he wins, sometimes he doesn’t. Those jerks today were bigger than you—older, too. You didn’t steal the money like they wanted, so stand tall.”

      Instead of the man who’d hurt her, Mary saw Gus’s hero. Her heart softened, but she steeled herself against any fondness. She had to remember J.T. had hurt her. The other feelings he inspired—the good ones—made her weak in the knees.

      Bessie came through the door with a tray holding strips of cloth. “I’ll bind his ribs now. Why don’t you two get some supper?”

      J.T. met her gaze. “Thank you, ma’am. But I need a word with Mary, then I’ll be on my way.”

      “Whatever you’d like,” Bessie replied.

      Mary didn’t know what to make of J.T.’s consideration. She’d have to answer questions when he left, but he’d saved her from being a spectacle in the garden. He picked up his hat and together they headed to the doorway. As he passed Fancy Girl, the dog pushed to her feet and followed. When they reached the hall, he clasped Mary’s arm and steered her to the door. “We need some privacy.”

      “Yes, we do.”

      With her heart pounding, she followed J.T. to the porch. As she expected, he paced to the railing and looked up and down the street. She saw the gunfighter who never let his guard down, but below the surface lived the boy who’d been brutalized by his own brothers. J.T. had hurt her, but life had hurt him first. It had hurt her, too. Not until she’d come to Swan’s Nest had she found a measure of peace.

      When she’d been brash, her friends had been kind.

      When she’d been arrogant, they’d been patient.

      She knew the value of that kind of love, and she tried to share it with others. She’d thought she’d been tested by Gertie and her haughty airs, but it seemed the Lord had sent someone else to try her patience…the man who’d hurt her more than anyone on earth. Even for Gus’s sake, she couldn’t risk J.T. staying in Denver. No matter the cost, she had to convince him to leave town tonight.