by Jo Goodman
Over the top of his armload of clothes he saw Rennie standing on the balcony of the railcar, shaking her head in disbelief. "Get back inside," he told her.
She did, but only so that she could hold the door open for him. He entered the car, stomped snow off his boots, and dropped his load of wash on the table. Rennie closed the door and began hanging things on the rope she had strung across the width of the car.
"You should be in bed," he said. He looked down at her bare feet. "Put some socks on."
Rennie stopped long enough in her work to salute him smartly.
"Very amusing," he said dryly, but he didn't mind her cheeky grin in the least. It had been a long time between smiles. He counted himself fortunate to have raised one so quickly, even if it was sassy.
Rennie rummaged through the drawers built in beneath the bed while Jarret rubbed his hands by the stove. She put on a pair of socks and started working again. Water droplets rapped a pleasant tattoo on the floor as the laundry melted.
"How are you feeling?" Jarret asked.
"A little stiff," she said. "A little tired. But nothing more than that. My constitution's strong. I recover quickly."
The hint of a smile touched his mouth. "Define quickly," he said, turning away from the stove.
Rennie propped up the sagging clothesline with the high back rails of one of the dining chairs. "As quickly as you," she said, snapping out her crisp nightshirt.
"Rennie," he said gently. "I was out for less than twenty-four hours."
She nodded, laying her shirt over the line. "I know."
Jarret caught her gaze, held it. "That was nearly a week ago."
Rennie's hands stilled in the process of smoothing out her shirt. "You don't mean that." But she could see that he did. "A week," she repeated dumbly. "How can that be?"
"Six and a half days," he said. He took a step toward her. "Are you all right? You're not going to faint, are you?"
"I don't faint." She saw him trying to tamp down a smile. "Well, I never did until I met you. And if you recall, on both those occasions you were fairly squeezing the life out of me." In spite of her words about her fitness, Rennie slipped through the curtain of laundry and sat on the edge of the bed. Her heels hooked on the bed frame, and she modestly pulled the hem of Jarret's shirt over her knees. "I had no idea it had been so long." She glanced at him. "I'm sorry. I didn't intend to be so much trouble."
Both his brows came up. He ran his hand through a tuft of dark blond hair at his temple. "Trouble? I didn't have to make a winch to lift you inside the car or tear off the caboose door to improvise a sled. You had most everything cleared and cleaned by the time I came around." He sat beside her. "Of course, you did leave it to me to level out the car. I had to use brute force."
"Not an elegant solution, but an effective one. I was thinking along the lines of levers and fulcrums." She gave him a sideways look and a wry smile. "Elegant, but probably impractical."
"Probably." He would have liked to see her try. When she dealt with creative practicalities, no one could hold a candle to her. It was only when she crossed his path that she couldn't seem to find her way.
Rennie's shoulders sagged as she considered how much more time had been lost. "It snowed again, didn't it?"
"Only this morning. For most of the week it's been warm. I did some hunting, tracking. Poked around a little on the mountain slope." He reached into the pocket of his shirt. His fist closed around the object he pulled out. "Rennie, I don't want you to get your hopes up—I don't even know if it means anything—but I found these about halfway up the mountain. Sun on them caught my eye."
Rennie's gaze dropped to Jarret's closed fist as he turned it over in front of her. The fingers unfolded slowly. "What is—" But she stopped because she saw what it was. In the heart of Jarret's palm he held the twisted wire frames and chipped lenses of her father's spectacles. Hardly breathing, more than a little afraid she was imagining their existence, Rennie carefully lifted them. Her fingers trembled as she traced the bent and fragile stems and the curve of the lenses.
"They could be anyone's," Jarret said, watching her closely. Curling strands of hair fell over her shoulder as she bent her head and studied the glasses. Her skin was pale, and the bones of her wrists seemed impossibly fragile. "For all I know, they could have been Ben Juggler's."
Rennie shook her head. "I know," she said firmly. "They belong to Jay Mac." She unfolded the stems and raised the spectacles so that Jarret could see. "I have a pair nearly like them. So does Michael. They all have this small diamond-shaped etching on the stem. That's the jeweler's mark. How many people on the train do you suppose bought their spectacle frames from a New York jeweler? Or would have lost them over this particular mountainside?"
It was the sort of confirmation he had hoped for but never thought he'd get. Yet it wasn't enough. "Where did your father keep his spectacles when he wasn't wearing them?"
"In his vest pocket. He had to. He lost them otherwise."
"What about at night?"
"At his bedside, I suppose. Jay Mac really can't see very well without them."
"Did these cars jump the track in the day or at night?"
"It was early evening, at dinner. That's why more people weren't killed. There were a lot of passengers in the dining cars forward of the ones that left the track."
"So your father would have been wearing them or carrying them?"
"That's right."
It was enough for Jarret to make his decision. Jay Mac and his spectacles had been thrown from the tumbling private car. Perhaps he had been standing on the balcony, enjoying the view when disaster struck; perhaps he had crashed through a window. However it had happened, it seemed likely that Jay Mac could not have been easily separated from his spectacles during the accident. That could only mean they were separated later. Other than the spectacles there had been no evidence of Jay Mac on the mountainside: no blood, no bone. It was almost as if he had walked away from the tragedy.
The tantalizing possibility existed that John MacKenzie Worth was still alive.
Jarret took back the spectacles, wrapped them carefully in a handkerchief, and laid them aside. "Rennie?" She was so still, so pale. "Rennie, why don't you lie down?"
"No," she said, touching her fingertips to her temple. She massaged it gently, thinking. "No, I should be helping you."
"Helping me do what? There's nothing to be done."
She pointed to the damp clothes still on the table. "The laundry. Our dinner. Something. I should be doing something." Rennie started to rise, but Jarret placed his hands on either side of her waist and drew her back to the bed. She didn't protest, letting him tuck the blankets around her and plump a pillow under her head.
"The runt of the litter has more strength than you," he said, looking down at her. "Right now you should be taking advantage of the fact that I'm treating you like a princess." He started hanging up clothes. "You have exactly two days to enjoy it. By then I figure you'll be ready to travel and I won't make any allowances. You know that."
She nodded slowly, hardly believing her own ears. "We're going to look for Jay Mac?"
"We're going to look," he answered. Then he felt the full force of her beautiful smile.
* * *
"I doubt princesses anywhere in the world are treated half so well," Rennie said. She was kneeling over the edge of Jay Mac's copper hipbath. The tub was tarnished and battered, but the seams had held. Just now it was filled with a little hot water and a lot of Jarret Sullivan. He leaned forward while Rennie scrubbed his back.
"I didn't make you haul the water," he said. He closed his eyes as she moved the cloth in a circular motion up and down his back. Every stiff, corded muscle seemed to melt under her gentle manipulation. "In fact, if you recall, I offered to take my bath in the stream."
It had been a ridiculous suggestion. "It made as much sense as you offering to sleep on the window bench in your cabin," she said. Rennie stopped scrubbing long enough to adjust the
towel that was wrapped around her wet hair. She tucked in the ends, securing them, then pushed at a tendril of hair across her forehead. "What time will we leave in the morning?" she asked, running the washcloth along his shoulders.
"Trains run on a schedule, Rennie."
"So do people."
"In New York, maybe. Not here. We'll leave when I wake up."
"It's a good thing you're not running a railroad."
He took the cloth from her as she began to wash over his scarred shoulder. He did it casually so that she wouldn't question his intent. There was no physical pain in her touching him there; the pain was of a different nature, one he had no desire to share.
"It's a good thing you're not a handmaiden. You're too easily distracted." And too distracting. He had purposely found things to do outside the car while Rennie was bathing. He had suggested washing in the stream for reasons that had little to do with modesty or privacy. Standing would have cleared that up for Rennie right away. "Why don't you jump back in bed?" he said, glancing at her bare feet. "And put on a pair of socks. I'm not letting you get near me with those ice toes of yours."
Rennie sighed, turning her back as she crawled into the bed. She towel dried her hair and combed it out. By the time she was situated comfortably under the blankets and facing him again, he was wearing a pair of drawers and hunkered in front of the stove adding wood. The light from the fire gave a bronze cast to his hard, lithe profile. Droplets of water on his shoulders and chest captured the glow. The smooth and sleek slant of his spine drew her eye, and she watched the play of muscle and taut flesh as he lifted more wood.
Jarret closed the grate and took a few more minutes to empty the hipbath before slipping into bed. "Move over."
"I'm already against the wall."
"There's more room in my tent," he grumbled.
"It's warmer here." She bumped him with her icy feet as she stretched.
"So you say." He turned on his side toward her and drew up his knees slightly. They jostled hers. "At least you wore socks in the tent."
Rennie was quiet long enough that Jarret suspected she was on her way to sleeping. He closed his own eyes. Morning couldn't come soon enough as far as he was concerned.
"Jarret?"
He opened one eye. "Hmm?"
"Tell me what happened to your shoulder."
Both eyes were open now. She had struck so swiftly, so cleanly, that it took him a few moments to feel the pain that accompanied her question. "You know what happened," he said. "Dee Kelly, remember? The scissors?"
"I remember," she said softly. "But after the doctor saw it you said it was all right. I knew you were in pain, but I never thought it was something that wouldn't heal itself. What did Dr. Turner really say to you?"
"He said I should treat it kindly, favor it for a while."
"But you didn't. Is that what happened?"
"More or less." He slipped one arm under his pillow, propping his head up a notch. "Why are you asking about it now?"
"I've only begun to understand it."
That surprised him. He answered carefully. "Is that so?"
"Until tonight I hadn't thought about it." She pulled back her damp hair and edged fractionally closer. "I don't mean that I'd forgotten what happened to you, only that I hadn't realized there might be some permanent injury. Have you seen a doctor since you left New York?"
"Rennie," he said, affecting an air of tiredness, "I've seen half a dozen doctors. There's nothing that can be done."
Beneath the blanket her hand unerringly found his scarred shoulder. She felt him flinch, but she didn't remove her hand. His skin was warm, her touch light. "It's so small," she said quietly. "It looks like a tiny starburst."
Jarret turned and lay on his back. He dislodged her hand, but only for a moment. Rennie's index finger traced the thin, puckered rays of the scar. "Is it really so fascinating?" he asked.
Her finger stilled. "I'm sorry," she said. "I've made you uncomfortable."
"You don't have to be touching me to do that." He hadn't meant to be so honest. The words seemed to come out of him separate of his intention.
"Then, it doesn't matter." Her fingertip passed back and forth across the scar. "It hardly seems possible something so small could have made you so mean. I should have carried a loaded gun into the Jones Street Station. It would have served Detra right if I'd shot her."
Her fierce solution brought a grim smile. "Dee had already stabbed me," he reminded her. "But your desire for revenge is duly noted."
"You're making fun of me."
"A little." Now Jarret removed her hand and deliberately put it away from him. If she touched him again, he thought he would come out of his skin. He was rock hard. "It's over, Rennie. I told you there's nothing anyone can do."
In spite of his gritty tone, she persisted. "What is it exactly that's the problem?"
Turning his head toward her, Jarret sighed. The lines of her face were drawn in concern. She returned his regard steadily. Jarret realized that he would never wear her down, that it wasn't her way to be beaten. "You're tenacious," he said. "Do you know that?"
She nodded. "That's what everyone says. Jay Mac says Michael is determined, but I'm tenacious. She knows when to let a thing go and take the route around, but I have a tendency to bite down and hang on."
She certainly did, he thought wryly. He would have sworn he had the teeth marks to prove it. "What is it you want to know?" he asked.
"Does your shoulder hurt?"
"No."
"But sometimes you can't hold things," she said. "Like Zilly's reins. That's why you fell, isn't it?"
Jarret winced a little at the memory. There was no pleasure in recalling his clumsy attempts to regain his balance. He made an effort not to snap at her. "That's why I fell, but it wasn't because my shoulder hurt. Sometimes I have only a little feeling in my arm and hand. My fingers tingle; then they go numb. I can't always get a good grip."
Rennie found his hand under the covers. He resisted at first, then allowed her to close over his fist with both her hands. Her fingers stroked his. She drew her knees higher and raised his hand nearer her breast. Hardly aware of what she was doing, Rennie explored the ridges of his knuckles with an airy, delicate touch. "Those men I hired as guides," she said, "they made some comment about that, but I didn't understand then... something about you not being able to hold a gun."
"Most folks around here know something's wrong with my gun hand. In the case of Tom and Clarence, a little knowledge made them stupid."
She nodded. His hand relaxed under her touch and uncurled a fraction. "You gave up bounty hunting because of it."
"Why do you say that?"
"Jolene told me you haven't done any tracking for months."
Jarret had some choice words for Jolene, none of which he shared with Rennie. "Well, she's wrong about me giving it up. I don't go out as often as I used to is all. I'm tracking for you now, aren't I?"
Rennie recognized the truth in his words and the lie they covered. She had no interest in beating down his pride. The nature of his reluctance to bring her to the Jump was clearer now. "Yes, you are," she said. She waited a moment before pressing ahead. "When we were still at the cabin you dropped a load of wood you were carrying. Was that because your arm went numb?" She remembered clearly how angry he had been, how he had kicked the logs and stormed out of the cabin. He had gone to Bender's to drink on that occasion. "Is that why you were so angry?"
Jarret's fist closed tightly, and he almost wrested it from Rennie's hands. "Are you going to bring up every occasion where I've made a fool of myself in front of you?" he demanded.
"No," she said quickly, imploringly. "Please, Jarret, that's not—"
He barely heard her and paid no attention at all. "You've already mentioned my ignominious fall from Zilly and dropping the wood. You were lucky I didn't miss my aim at your attackers. Like I told Tom, it's a crap shoot." He went on, his voice bitter. "Then there was the time we were making love, b
ut I understand your unwillingness to mention that. I'm sure the memories aren't any more pleasant for you than for me. You shouldn't have had your first time spoiled with a man who nearly crushed you in the frenzy."
This time when Jarret started to pull away from her Rennie held on for dear life, dragging his hand to her breast and pressing it against her skin. He could have freed himself—they both knew it—but she wasn't going to let him go without a struggle, and they both knew that as well.
"Rennie," he said, invoking her name with strained patience. He turned toward her. He could feel her heart racing beneath his captured hand. "What is it you want?"
"I want to know what you meant." She pressed her hands over his and went on earnestly. "I don't know what you're talking about... about you crushing me when we were... when we were..."
He used a vulgar expression. "Is that the word you're stumbling over?"
"No. You know it's not. You know it wasn't like that." Her voice rose a fraction. "We were making love," she said. "Then, when it was over, you left so furiously. You've never told me what I did wrong. Is it any wonder that I was afraid to let you touch me again? Can you blame me for not wanting to bear that sort of humiliation a second time?"
Jarret's eyes narrowed. He stared hard at Rennie, suspicious. "Why were you humiliated?" he asked.
Rennie closed her eyes briefly, ducking his gaze. "Jarret, please..."
"No," he said. "You can't ignore me now, not when you've probed and pushed to just this end. Tell me why you felt humiliated."
She stared down at the hand she held. "You couldn't get away from me fast enough," she said. "You never wanted to touch me in the first place. I was the one who wouldn't let it go. Tenacious, remember?" Her low, nervous laughter was without humor. "I kept after you, and you finally gave in. It even seemed for a while that everything was as it should be. But I know I didn't pleasure you. I'm not so naive that I didn't know there was no satisfaction in it for you. How did you think that would make me feel?"
