“That fact is evident, Madeline,” he said quietly.
“But I also know what it is to give birth to a child and to lose that child.” She rose regally, and he thought it a shame the woman wasn’t British. “I need to speak with Jessye before you leave.”
*
Standing in the mercantile, Jessye watched as Dan, Magpie, and Cookie carted supplies to the wagon waiting in front of the store. Kit had handed over a list to the owner and gone outside. His face had a greenish tint, and she doubted fresh air would make him feel much better.
He’d left her with instructions to purchase anything she thought they required, but his list was so complete that she couldn’t think of anything else they needed.
She walked past the counter, trailing her fingers along the corner of the glass case. She stopped at the sight of a pair of dueling pistols displayed prominently in the front. Harry’s pistols. So this was where he’d bartered them away.
The merchant was selling them for fifty dollars. She wondered how much Harry had actually gotten for them.
Kneeling, she pressed her hand to the glass and studied the one thing he’d ever treasured. What made them so precious to him?
She touched the money belt hidden beneath her clothes. Purchasing the pistols would leave them with no choice but to take on an investor. The profits would be split further, but she desperately wanted to give Harry back his pistols.
She rose and walked outside. Kit sat on a bench, his elbows resting on his thighs, his head buried in his hands. She strolled over and sat beside him.
“Kit—”
“Please don’t talk so loudly,” he rasped.
“I’m sorry. I know you don’t feel well—”
“That is an understatement.” Eyes closed, he leaned his head against the wall. “I have one foot in the grave.”
She fought not to smile at the misery he’d brought upon himself. “I need to know how much money you need from me for the supplies we’re purchasing here.”
He waved his hand. “None.”
She sat up straighter. “What do you mean, none? You’re filling every nook and cranny in the supply wagon—”
“Harry gave me money.”
“Where did he get that much money?”
“I’ve known Robin Hood too long to question his actions or to doubt his motives.”
She furrowed her brow. “Robin Hood?”
He sliced his gaze to her. “Robin Hood is a legendary English thief who lived in Sherwood Forest . He robbed from the rich and gave to the poor. Harry has a penchant to rob from the arrogant.”
“You’re telling me he gives to the poor?”
“I met Harry while I was a student at Eton . His father provided him with a disgustingly large allowance. He had no need of money, and yet when we’d receive our allowances, he’d challenge several of us to various games of chance. He’d leave us with just enough money so we could get by—if we were very frugal—until our next allowance arrived.”
“Is that why you became his friend? So he’d stop cheating you?”
“Not exactly. One night Gray and I realized he was manipulating the cards—no one was blessed with that much luck—so we decided to beat a confession out of him and force him to return our money to us. As we were on our way to his room, we saw him leave—and we followed. We followed him to an orphanage, where he placed a pouch on the doorstep. When he was out of sight, we retrieved the pouch.”
“And found your money.”
“Every shilling that had been lost to him.”
Jessye shook her head slightly. “Why?”
“Wounded hearts are difficult to heal. Who am I to question Harry’s motives when his deeds have a tendency to put my actions to shame? But I’ll make you a wager. I will give you my share of the profits when we reach our destination if every man who now owes Harry money doesn’t suddenly find Lady Luck smiling on him and his fortunes reversed so he ends up owing Harry little more than a pittance.”
“I find it damn aggravating that I can’t figure him out.”
“You want him to be a scoundrel. It makes it so much easier to justify keeping your distance.”
“I want to understand him. There are times when…” She looked at him imploringly. “Would my heart be safe with him?”
Kit sighed deeply and closed his eyes. “Probably not.”
She surged to her feet, and he groaned. “Please—”
“I’m sorry,” she said, truly meaning the words. Even though she worked in a saloon, she never understood why men drank to excess. She heard footsteps and glanced over her shoulder. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Harry walked toward her. Beside him, Madeline Robertson looked much as she had last night—beautiful, confident—although she wore cotton instead of silk. Jessye rubbed her sweating palms over her woolen trousers, then jerked up her chin. What did she care how she looked? “Mornin’,” she blurted before they’d stopped walking.
Madeline smiled warmly. “Miss Kane, I’d like to have a word with you.”
Jessye nodded. Gerald had probably spilled his guts to them after she’d left last night, and the lady was appalled to discover the type of woman she’d had in her house.
Harry grabbed Kit’s arm and dragged him to his feet. “Come along, Kit, I need to purchase a pair of dueling pistols, and I need your help to do it.”
“You’ve never needed my help before,” Kit grumbled as they disappeared into the store.
“You wanna sit?” Jessye asked bluntly, pointing to the bench.
“No, thank you. I won’t be here long,” Madeline said softly. “Last night, as I was drifting off to sleep, I realized where I’d seen you.”
“We’ve never met,” Jessye assured her.
“No, we haven’t. But I’ve seen you. I’ve seen you within my daughter. Within her eyes, her smiles, the stubborn jut of her chin—”
“You’re mistaken.”
“Harry assures me that I’m not.”
Jessye closed her eyes. Damn the man. She was going to make him regret ever being born.
“I couldn’t sleep for fear that you’d take her from me, and here you are denying that she is yours.”
Jessye opened her eyes, hating the tears she seemed unable to hold back. “She is not my daughter.”
“No, she is mine, but you gave birth to her and placed her in my keeping. She is a gift I can never repay—”
“Just keep loving her and taking care of her, and we’ll call it even.”
Tears surfaced within Madeline’s eyes. “Harry told me you were a remarkable woman, but then I knew that long ago.” She reached behind her neck, unclasped a chain, and handed the locket to Jessye.
Jessye stared at the inscription on the golden oval: “A mother’s love knows no boundaries.”
“Inside, you’ll find a portrait of our daughter and a lock of her hair. Know you are always welcome in our home.”
Jessye glanced up. “Thanks for the invite, but I doubt I’ll be taking you up on it. The two times I’ve given her up, it damn near killed me.”
Madeline smiled softly with understanding. “I admire your strength, Miss Kane. May God bless you as you’ve blessed me.”
Clutching the locket, Jessye watched Madeline Robertson walk away. Her daughter’s mother. A strong woman in her own right. A woman who understood the depth of a mother’s love.
*
CHAPTER 12
« ^ »
H arrison found the vast expanse of darkness calming. At night, the prairie revealed a beauty that it kept hidden through the day as they traveled mile after monotonous mile. The stars blanketed the sky with such brilliance that even a man as cynical as himself could not help but be awed.
In much the same manner that the woman who kept watch over the herd with him impressed him.
As he guided his horse around the outer circle of bedded-down cattle, he saw Jessye urging her horse toward him. Their standard nightly routine involved several guards watching t
he sleeping herd for a four-hour stretch.
A week had passed since they’d left Dallas . Tonight Jessye’s watch coincided with his—a blessing and a curse. Since kissing her on the Robertsons’ balcony, he had avoided her as much as possible, but his mind tortured him constantly. He remembered the feel of her body as though she were still pressed against him, the satiny texture of her flesh as though his fingers were still skimming over her shoulders, the shape of her lips and the sweet nectar of her mouth as though he were still kissing her. God, how he longed to kiss her again.
As soon as she came within sight, he couldn’t keep his gaze from straying to her. Not that the cattle noticed. He’d heard the cowboys tell and retell horror stories of the stampedes they’d lived through, but these cattle seemed content to trudge tirelessly toward their destination. Harrison knew Texans had a tendency to exaggerate the truth, and he was beginning to believe that the stories he’d heard of men being pounded into the ground until the only thing visible was the butt of their gun were nothing more than tall tales.
Jessye’s voice wafted over the herd as she sang one hymn after another, songs he recognized from his youth, when he’d sat on the hard wooden pew and listened to the threats of hell, which seemed so inconsequential when compared to his mother’s devilish cruelties.
But Jessye … Jessye was an angel. He chuckled low. A stubborn, obstinate angel to be sure. And so damned courageous that he found he had no choice but to admire her, a thought that caused a tightening within his chest. He could honestly admit that he’d never admired a woman to the degree that he appreciated Jessye. And there were frightening moments when he feared that what he felt went beyond admiration, might possibly border on love.
But what did he know of love?
Never in his life had he wanted to bury himself inside a woman as much as he wanted to burrow within Jessye. The want was so strong that it was almost a need. And he’d never needed a woman. He’d always managed to maintain a distance—never revealing anything beyond the outer shell of what he was.
But with Jessye everything was different. She’d stripped away his defenses as easily as one might pull the petals from a rose … and therein resided the danger.
Because with her, he wanted more than the physical joining. He wanted to know her secrets, her fears, and her burdens. He wanted to see the joy on her face when they reached their destination, the cattle were sold, and the money was placed in her hand.
He wanted her happiness above all else.
And her happiness meant he could never have what he wanted, because he hadn’t a clue as to how to give her love.
She neared, and the song she’d been singing fell into silence.
“We’re extremely fortunate the cattle are of a religious nature and seem to find your hymns soothing,” he said.
“Reckon you could sing them a lullaby,” Jessye chided.
“I don’t know any lullabies.”
“I could teach you some.”
“What would I do with them after the cattle are at market?” Except think of her whenever he heard one.
“Could sing them to your children.”
“I shan’t have children.”
Removing her hat, she cocked her head at an angle that always made him feel as though she was studying his soul. “Don’t you plan to ever get married?”
She sidled her horse next to his and halted it.
“I would not make a good husband. I do, however, make an excellent lover.” Against his better judgment, he gripped her saddle horn, leaned over, cradled the back of her head with his other hand, and captured her mouth with his own. With a soft moan, she bent toward him, threading her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. His tongue delved deeply, mating with hers, conjuring up carnal images that made sitting in the saddle grow increasingly uncomfortable. He wanted desperately to lay her on a blanket beneath the stars.
Drawing back, he cupped her chin and stroked his thumb across her swollen lips.
“Too bad I’m not interested in taking on a lover,” she whispered hoarsely.
“Then you should have shoved me away.”
“Next time I’ll shove you right off that horse,” she warned.
“No you won’t. You enjoy my kisses as much as I enjoy bestowing them upon you. If we urge our horses to walk a bit faster, we should be able to work in two more kisses before the North Star rises completely above the Big Dipper.” He had been amazed to learn that few cowboys owned watches and that they used the position of the stars to determine the time of night. He smiled as she shook her head.
“Harry, you scoundrel. We move our horses too fast and we’ll start a stampede.”
“Ah, yes, the hell on hooves that the men constantly spin tales about. Our cattle are too docile.”
“Don’t underestimate them. Sometimes it takes nothing more than striking a match to send them running.”
“And it takes nothing but a harmless kiss to send you running.”
“Your kisses aren’t harmless. They make me start thinking about turning down a trail that I know leads to heartache, and heartache is a town I’ve visited before. I don’t much like the place.”
“Then do us both a favor and see to it that our watches do not coincide in the future, because I find you increasingly difficult to resist.”
“Because I’m the only woman out here.” Jessye gave her horse a gentle kick in the side and urged it to follow the perimeter of the herd. She peered over her shoulder, caught sight of Harry, and somberness settled over her. The kisses he’d given her left no doubt that he was an excellent lover. She actually experienced moments when she thought she might be willing to settle for less than love just to know the full measure of his embrace, to lie with him on a blanket beneath the stars on a warm April night…
Maybe she would once they reached their destination, once she was holding the money in her hand that would proclaim her freedom and her independence. Wealth would make her strong, so she’d require nothing beyond herself—not even a man’s love.
But the thought of giving herself to a man knowing that he didn’t love her left her bereft. Could a physical union be truly magnificent when it lacked the emotions created by love?
She couldn’t deny that her body craved Harry’s touch. Unfortunately, her heart longed for him as well. He’d made it clear that he was a stranger to love, and she didn’t know if she had the strength to introduce him to its magnificence, because to do so would leave her vulnerable.
And she just didn’t know if she could truly survive another broken heart.
*
As he stared at the cattle swimming across the Red River , Harrison had a feeling that the past three weeks of tedious travel were thankfully about to end. The monotonous days that had characterized the trek north from Dallas left a man with too much time to think, and Harrison ‘s thoughts often strayed to Jessye, memories of her sweet body pressed against his.
During the day, he had taken to traveling at the rear of the herd, where the dust kicked up by the cattle often served as a distraction, especially when he was overcome with a coughing fit. The worst moments came at night when it was his turn to circle the slumbering herd.
The lowing of the cattle reminded him too much of the loneliness gnawing at his soul. Bloody damned hell. If only his desires were limited to the physical, he would seek relief at the next town, but for the first time in his adult life, he craved something beyond the physical. He wanted a purity that held no deceptions, a closeness that went beyond touching.
He’d never felt so alone. Even Kit’s friendship offered little solace.
“I hate crossin’ rivers,” Magpie said in a voice that reminded Harrison of a petulant child.
“We’ve crossed other rivers,” Harrison pointed out.
“But none like the Red. Reckon I oughta be grateful that the water is somewhat low.”
Harrison narrowed his gaze and focused his attention on the riders splashing into the water to keep the cattle fr
om wandering. He estimated that three-fourths of the herd had already crossed. The remaining cattle were stretching their necks to keep their heads above water, and the undulating waves lapped at the thighs of the men. He cast a sideways glance at Magpie. “This is low?”
Magpie leaned forward, resting his arm on his saddle horn. “Yep. That driftwood tangled in the boughs of the trees lining the banks shows how high the water rose in the past. A flooded river is a cowboy’s worst nightmare.”
“I thought a stampede was a cowboy’s worst nightmare.”
Magpie nodded. “That, too.”
Harrison looked across to the opposite bank, where Kit sat astride his horse, Jessye beside him. A shiver slithered up his back at the sight of the crude crosses visible just behind them. “What do those markers symbolize?”
” Graves ,” Magpie said somberly. “Most cowboys can’t swim. One or two are bound to lose their grip on the saddle horn and drown.”
“Do you swim?”
“Nope, that’s why I hate fording a river.” He released a bravado yell and kicked his horse’s flanks.
“Bloody hell,” Harrison grumbled as he followed, urging his horse down the steep bank into the choppy water, a brown that carried the hint of red, as though it reflected the blood of those who’d died within its depths. He tried to ignore the shadow of foreboding surrounding him as he contemplated the fact that they were not only crossing a river but they were also leaving the laws of Texas behind and trampling into Indian Territory .
The low bawling of the cattle increased in tempo. He heard the clack of horns hitting horns. The strength of the rushing water slamming against him surprised him. He feared it might be taking the cattle off guard as well. The orderly procession appeared to be reversing itself, the cattle turning as though they sought to return to the Texas border.
Magpie grabbed the back of his saddle and twisted his body around, concern etched in his features. “They’re getting mired in the quicksand at the bank!”
“Mired at the bank?” Stunned, Harrison watched as the cattle milled around the riders and themselves, swimming in a circle, closing ranks until they looked like a raft of horns. “There’s miles of bloody bank! Let’s move them down.”
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