“Didn’t know you were from Chicago.” Wyatt was watching him, as if he was waiting for more enlightenment. He was probably wondering why Jericho hadn’t mentioned he was from Illinois, especially since he’d known that was where Greta and Astrid had once lived.
Jericho couldn’t say much. Didn’t want word leaking out about his dad’s identity as a Pinkerton agent, not now that his own was connected so closely. But Wyatt and the family deserved at least the barest of explanations.
“Yes, I . . .” He sat up, trying to think, but before he could formulate his answer, Ivy breezed into the room.
Instead of wearing the disheveled, half-buttoned, and damp garments from before, she’d changed her clothes and had on a light blue dress. It wasn’t fancy, but it wasn’t like any of the simple girlish outfits she used to wear. This one was tailored to fit. And fit it did. Giving him no excuse to think of her as anything but a woman ever again.
She’d brushed her dark hair, and it hung in long, damp waves over her shoulders and down her back, as thick and luxurious as the finest Arabian horse’s mane. Without the night or anything else obscuring her face, he could see that her features had matured—her lips were fuller, her lashes thicker and longer, and her cheeks narrower and more defined.
She wasn’t just pretty. She was absolutely breathtaking. Any man who could mistake her for Buster Bliss was either blind or a fool.
He couldn’t tear his eyes from her as she crossed to the nearest of Wyatt’s children, a little girl who had Greta’s fair hair and silvery blue eyes. Ivy bent and hugged the child. “How’s my sweet Ellie?”
After a kiss, Ivy wrapped Wyatt’s oldest son, Ty, in a hug. If Jericho remembered correctly, the boy was about five, maybe six, years old and growing into a polite little man. He returned Ivy’s embrace with more reservation, while the youngest tyke held up his arms to Ivy and babbled, apparently not wanting to miss out on his aunt’s affection.
With a tender laugh, Ivy took Ryder from Wyatt and lifted him above her head. He squealed, and she laughed again. The sound of it nearly knocked the wind from Jericho.
“Looks like everyone missed you today, Ivy,” Wyatt said with one brow quirked at Jericho.
Jericho jerked his attention away from Ivy and down to his coffee.
“Well, I missed them.” With Ryder above her, Ivy blew a noisy kiss onto his belly, earning his giggles.
Jericho tried to focus on the sludge left in the bottom of his mug, but his gaze had a will of its own, and before he could stop himself, he was staring at Ivy once more. With her head bent back, every sweet inch of her womanly figure was right there for the viewing, including all that soft, creamy skin showing from the lace at her bosom to her neck.
He had a sudden vision of her in the river, the moonlight shining down on her. He hadn’t seen anything he wasn’t supposed to. But son-of-a-gun, his imagination was trying to head in a direction it shouldn’t.
Heat shot into his veins as it had earlier. No. That was lust, and the last thing he wanted to do was lust after Ivy McQuaid.
Even so, as she pressed another kiss to her nephew’s belly, he couldn’t keep from admiring her changes. Gone was the dusty, windswept girl. And in her place stood a tantalizing, almost-dangerous beauty of a woman.
Wyatt blew out a half laugh.
Jericho jerked his sights back to his coffee, trying to keep his expression emotionless even as his insides churned with feelings he couldn’t begin to name.
Ivy had always attracted attention wherever she went. During that last summer he’d been home, he’d had to threaten several of his ranch hands to stay away from her. He could only imagine how many fellows were falling over themselves to have the chance to come courting.
At eighteen, she was still a mite young to be thinking about marriage and men, wasn’t she?
As Ivy took a place on the bench surrounded by her adoring nephews and niece, she thanked Astrid for the plate of food and began to eat as politely as any grown woman he’d ever met. When had Ivy turned into such a lady?
Astrid used the opportunity to distribute pieces of pie around the table. And as Jericho savored his first bite of sweet berry mixture and perfect flaky crust, he was relieved for the distraction so he could gain his composure.
While he ate the pie, he somehow managed to extinguish the sparks Ivy had ignited inside him, mainly by keeping his gaze from straying toward her. Afterward, with a fresh mug of coffee in hand, he shared more about Dylan and his new life in Chicago, leaving out all the bad parts about their brother’s waywardness and telling everyone instead about all the criminals Dylan had been involved in capturing and how he was gaining a reputation as a fair and decent lawman, especially because his sharpshooting skills were unmatched.
Finally, when Astrid and Greta ushered the little ones up the stairs to bed, leaving him with Wyatt and Ivy, Jericho pulled out his pipe along with a match. “Since Bat still has the death warrant on Dylan’s head, I think it’s best if everyone keeps quiet about him being in Chicago. And it’d be best if no one mentions that’s where I’ve been holed up.”
As Jericho lit the tobacco, he waited for them to ask how he knew about Bat’s ongoing death warrant. He wished he could tell them the truth, that as a Pinkterton agent, he had access to more information than most people, but he scrambled to have another excuse ready.
Wyatt scratched his head. “Reckoned that lowlife wouldn’t care a lick about Dylan anymore.”
Jericho took a puff from his pipe. “Unfortunately, Bat has a good memory and doesn’t let go of his grudges.”
Ivy sat forward, leaning her elbows on the table. “So you’re telling us Dylan ain’t gonna be able to come home so long as Bat’s here?”
“That’s what I’m saying.” He allowed himself a glance at her, and this time he worked extra hard not to show any surprise at how beautiful she was. Her big brown eyes were the kind that could suck a fellow in like quicksand and make him forget his next thought. He gave her a curt nod and then cut short his view, switching back to Wyatt and safety.
Wyatt slipped his hand around the back of his neck and kneaded the muscles. “Is there a way to drive Bat out of the area?”
“Even though he brags about the men he’s killed, no one can pin any particular murder on him or anyone in his gang.” Jericho knew every last detail about Bat, had already ruled him out as a suspect for Rodney James. Bat was a mean, dirty cheater who wouldn’t think twice about pounding bullets into anyone who double-crossed him. But he wasn’t the war criminal Jericho was seeking.
For a few seconds, the pattering of little feet overhead and the creak of floorboards filled the silence.
Wyatt dropped his hands, his shoulders decidedly more stooped. “At least assure me Dylan’s got his life together and made his peace with the Almighty.”
Jericho wanted to squirm under the intensity both Wyatt and Ivy directed his way.
“Just spit it out,” Ivy said impatiently.
Jericho fingered the pipe’s stem. He’d deceived everyone enough for one day, and now the truth pushed for release. “I wish I could tell you he’s the old Dylan we all knew and loved, but he’s still making some pretty stupid choices.”
Wyatt and Ivy were quiet, but their disappointment seemed to pull up a chair and join them as a guest.