Loner's Lady

by Lynna Banning

  Or maybe too much Jess Flint.

  “What, Millie?” She tried to look attentive while the mayor’s wife repeated the question.

  “Who is that man over there? The one who brought you into town?”

  “His name is Jess Flint. He’s the man I hired to help me when I broke my leg.”

  “Mighty good-looking fellow,” someone remarked. “Don’t you think so?”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” Ellen lied.

  “You hear anything from Dan?” Caroline inquired.

  “Not yet, no.”

  “You still waiting for him to come back?” The acid in Caroline’s voice pushed Ellen’s good manners to the back burner.

  “Of course I am. He is my husband, remember?”

  “We remember,” Millie said softly. “But it looks like he doesn’t. It must be awful hard, Ellen.”

  Ellen thought about lying again, but the need to talk with real people about real things—her absent husband, her broken leg bone, even her rickety chicken house—drove her to honesty. Maybe too much honesty, because what she said next brought a stunned silence.

  “What was hard at first was the worry,” she blurted. “Was he alive? Why did he go away? After that it was hard keeping up the farm, planting and harvesting by myself.” She paused and raised her chin. “Now what is hard is being so lonely I ache at night.”

  In the ensuing quiet Ellen focused on a pair of chattering sparrows in the oak branches above her head. She heard the clang of horseshoes from the pit, the quick roar of men’s jubilant voices and the ragged thrumming of her heart. What had she said?

  The Presbyterian ladies sat in complete silence for the first time Ellen could ever remember. Ladies in polite society, even in a town the size of Willow Flat, did not mention their intimate feelings. She’d been lying for years, she realized. To the church ladies. To her friends and the kind neighbors who reached out to help her. To herself.

  It was such a relief to be honest!

  A fiddle began to tune up. Thank God, the dancing would start and her inappropriate outburst would be forgotten. “Grab yer partners,” a male voice bellowed. In a flutter of petticoats, the ladies rose, fussed their skirts into place and unpinned their hats.

  The fiddler broke into a fast reel and the Presbyterian ladies’ circle dissolved in the direction of the makeshift plank dance floor.

  Ellen found she could not get up with her new cast weighing her down. She gritted her teeth against the sting of tears. And that’s another thing that is hard—doing everything by myself. Damn you, Dan! We promised for better or worse. Well, this is the worse part and you’re not even here!

  When the fiddle music started, Jess ambled away from the horseshoe pit. Maybe he’d listen, pick up a new tune. What he should do was pray to God nobody recognized him.

  Across the park he watched the billowing of skirts and patting of hairdos as the little group around Ellen broke up. But Ellen did not rise and follow her friends. Instead she remained on the grass, straight-backed, her neck rigid and her chin raised.

  When he realized she couldn’t get up, something inside squeezed until it hurt. In a few long strides he stood before her, offering his hand.

  “Oh, go away!”

  Her voice sounded funny. Watery. Jess crouched down so he could see her face.

  Her eyes shone oddly, and her mouth pressed into a grim line.

  “Hurting?”

  “Yes,” she snapped. “But not the way you think.”

  “Good fiddler. Want to watch the dancing?”

  “No, I don’t want to watch. I want to be part of things. I want to dance, and I can’t.”

  Without a word Jess stood and lifted her onto her feet, slipping the crutch under her armpit. “Yes you can. C’mon.”

  She wobbled. “I couldn’t possibly dance. I can barely walk.”

  “The way I look at it, when you dance, you don’t do it alone. It takes two.”

  “And that means?”

  She was getting her fight back. Good for her. Again his insides squeezed.

  “What does that mean, it takes two?” she repeated.

  Jess couldn’t stop his grin at her impatience.

  “Well, hell, Ellen. I guess you’ll just have to wait and let me show you.”

  Chapter Eight

  Jess watched a muscular young man with a shock of chocolate-brown hair and eyes to match bend toward Ellen. “Care to dance, Miss Ellen?”

  “No, thank you, Tom. I’ve a broken leg.”

  “Well, if that don’t beat all. How’d you do a thing like that?”

  Her mouth opened to reply, but before she could get a word out, another, older man elbowed the younger one aside, asking the same question. “Care to dance?”

  “Thank you, Sheriff, but I—”

  “I asked her first!”

  “Dally your tongue, Tom. This here conversation’s between two adults.” Tom walked off and the sheriff, a paunchy man in a gray Stetson, plunked himself down on the bench beside her.

  Jess shook his head as the steady parade of men made their way to where Ellen sat at the edge of the dance floor. In that yellow dress she was the prettiest woman within a square mile of the park. No wonder she was flooded with offers.

  She seemed to know everybody—little boys in junior-size overalls, bent old grandfathers with whiskers and pipes, young girls with beribboned pigtails. Some of the men stayed to talk for a few minutes; others wandered off to find partners elsewhere. The townsfolk liked her. Respected her. The mercantile owner had said it: “Miss Ellen’s good people.”

  Jess swallowed a snort. Ellen O’Brian was much, much more than that. She was an extraordinary woman. A desirable woman. If she were available, half the men in Lane County would propose marriage within an hour. Here came another one, a cowhand by the look of him, maybe a foreman from the way he handled himself. This one didn’t ask Ellen to dance, just tipped his hat and settled his bony frame on the other side of the bench from the sheriff.

  Surreptitiously, Jess moved closer, straining to hear.

  She called him by his Christian name, William. The fellow rolled a cigarette and scratched a match with his thumbnail. While he worked his smoke down to a butt, he talked to her. Jess could catch only a word here and there—well digging…alfalfa…Riverton…dog named Smoky…Sheriff DeWitt…jailbreak….

  Every nerve in Jess’s body went numb. Riverton? Jailbreak? He leaned closer.

  “…three men…heading south.” Oh, God.

  The sheriff ambled off, and then the cowboy went to fetch Ellen some lemonade. Jess studied the back of her neck where her hair curled beneath the straw hat. He wanted to touch her there, wanted to… Before he knew what he was doing, he was standing in front of her.

  “Ellen, you want to try dancing?”

  She looked up, interest sparkling in her eyes. “Yes, I surely would. But how can I?”

  “Easy. You let the foot on your broken leg side rest on the top of my boot. When I move that foot, I’ll lift you just a little.”

  “I—I’d better not. William is bringing lemonade, and I should—”

  “You should dance, Ellen. With me. Forget about the lemonade. And about William,” he added under his breath.

  He drew her up, slipped his arm around her waist and frog-walked her slowly onto the dance floor. With both hands at her waist, he steadied her on the smooth plank surface, stepped in close behind her and turned her to face him.

  “Lift your arms.”

  “Jess, I—”

  “I’ll hold you. Lift your arms. Now, put your left hand on my shoulder.”

  With a little frown, she touched him lightly and he folded her right hand in his. The fiddle was playing a jig of some kind. Didn’t matter. He and Ellen were going to do a two-step, very, very slowly. He waited until he felt her small shoe press the top of his boot, and then he took a step. She gasped and faltered, but he tightened his arm at her waist and slowly swung her forward.

  “Jess, I ca
n’t!”

  “Yes, you can. You want to, don’t you?”

  She clutched his shoulder. “Yes! Oh, I do want to, more than…even more than eating potato salad!”

  “Well then, try.” He took another step, pulling her with him, and she began to move. “Am I hurting you?”

  “Not at all. I—it feels wonderful. Wonderful!” She smiled at him and his heart rolled in a slow somersault. Over her shoulder he watched William, a glass of lemonade in each hand, standing by the now-empty bench with a puzzled look on his narrow face.

  Jess kept Ellen facing away from him. After a moment, William offered the extra glass to a plump, dark-haired woman in a purple dress. Jess sneaked a glance at Ellen, but her eyes were now hidden under her hat brim.

  “Could you take that thing off? Brim’s getting in the way.”

  “No, I cannot. Not without using both hands, and if I do that, I’ll tip over.”

  “I’ll do it, then.”

  “It’s pinned at the back.” She tipped her head down so he could see where, and the straw brim scratched against his nose.

  He jerked his head back. “Watch out. You’ve got a lethal weapon there.”

  “You should see my hat pin!”

  He located it, pulled it out with his thumb and forefinger and stared at it. A six-inch stiletto if he’d ever seen one. “This is downright dangerous, you know that?”

  “Of course I know it. Why do you think ladies wear hat pins?”

  “I always thought it was to keep your hat from blowing off.” He lifted the straw object from her head, and when they passed near the wooden bench on their slow circuit about the floor, he sent it sailing. It settled on the lap of the woman in the purple dress.

  “That’s Millie Shonski, the mayor’s wife,” Ellen whispered.

  Her warm body moved under his fingers, which were splayed at her back. “Right now, I don’t care who she is.”

  “You would if you knew how she loves tittle-tattle.”

  “No,” Jess said. “I wouldn’t.” Not when I’m dancing with you.

  The fiddle ended the jig with a flourish, then lapsed into a rhythm slow enough to match his and Ellen’s steps.

  “Easier now?” he murmured. His chin was so close to her hair he could feel its warmth, smell the fresh scent of her soap.

  She nodded. “I’m keeping an eye on Millie.”

  “Don’t,” he admonished softly. “Keep your attention on me. My feet,” he corrected. “So you won’t lose your step.”

  She nodded, and her chin brushed his shoulder. He held her tight in his arms, felt a tiny gust of warm air near his ear. He turned his face into her hair and felt her stiffen.

  “Don’t, Ellen,” he said. “Don’t pull away.”

  “Millie is watching,” she whispered.

  He closed his eyes and spoke for the first time he could remember without weighing each word. “Stay. Stay right where you are. I haven’t held a woman in my arms for ten years, and I don’t give a damn about Millie Shonski.”

  “Jess, I think…”

  “Don’t think. Not now.” He drank in her scent, her strength, the sweetness she didn’t know she had. He held her, warm and alive, as close as he dared, felt her breasts brush his shirt front. Fire crawled into his chest, down his arms, into his groin. Fire like he’d never felt for any woman.

  Ellen lifted her head, looked into his eyes, and at that moment he was lost. Yesterday all he’d wanted was the money, and to hell with her. Now he wanted to protect her with his last breath. He knew he was looking at life or death, and all he wanted was Ellen.

  His breath choked off and for a full five seconds Jess thought he’d never draw another. He knew now that he had to tell her about himself, but not yet. Oh, God, not yet.

  She’d know about the jailbreak. All at once he wanted everything to stop. He wanted, he realized with a knife slash into his gut, to keep Ellen from being hurt.

  What was he thinking? You want to protect her? What the devil was happening to him?

  His warm fingers tightened about hers, more than decorum allowed. But still not as much as Ellen wanted.

  She didn’t want to think about Millie Shonski, or about what was taking place. She just wanted to enjoy being alive after so many endless months of feeling dead inside.

  She concentrated on moving her injured leg when he moved his. Their movements, their touching kindled the strangest sensation inside her, as if she had gulped down a pot of warm honey laced with stars. She felt hot and shaky in a way she never had until this moment. Not even with Dan.

  She sucked in a gulp of the pine-scented air. She wouldn’t think of Dan now, not with this new searing wind tearing at her insides. She would think only of this moment, being held in a man’s arms, feeling treasured. Wanted.

  “Ellen,” he murmured. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  Her heart clenched. “What is it?”

  “Not now. After this dance is over, let’s ride back to the farm. We need to talk some.”

  The minute they rode past the last building on Willow Flat’s main street and veered onto Creek Road, Ellen turned her face to his and voiced the question he’d been expecting for the last half hour. “Tell me what?”

  His throat closed. She’d tied her hat ribbons around her throat so the hat hung at her back; now he watched it swing across her yellow dress with each motion of the horse.

  When he told her, she’d have hornets in her bonnet for sure. He wanted their slow ride back to the farm to last awhile longer. A lot longer. He’d also like to see her smile at him tomorrow morning when he brought in the eggs.

  Oh, hell. He’d known it couldn’t last. His belly twisted. The minute he opened his mouth, it would all crumble.

  The expression in her eyes wavered back and forth between curiosity and fear. “Tell me,” she insisted.

  Dammit to hell. He sure hadn’t planned for the price to be so high.

  “I guess you heard about the Riverton jailbreak.”

  “Yes. William Turner mentioned it. The Roper gang.”

  “Ryder,” he corrected. “The Ryder gang.”

  She shot him a quick look. “William thought I should know about it, since I’m alone on the farm. He thinks I should have a watchdog.”

  “I think so, too.” But it’s too late, a voice yammered. Now it’s cards-on-the-table time.

  “Perhaps I will get a dog later. Right now, I have a hired man.” She looked straight into his eyes when she said it. When she didn’t look away, he touched her shoulder with his free hand.

  “Ellen, I’m not what you think. I’m not a hired man.”

  “You are at the moment. What else you may be I don’t care to know.”

  “Sure wish it was that simple.”

  “And it isn’t?” Her voice was soft, verging on shaky. This meant something to her, he realized. It was more than simple curiosity; she was afraid of what he had to tell her.

  “No, it isn’t simple. Listen, Ellen, William was right. You should know about the Riverton jailbreak. It will affect you.”

  “Why should it? Riverton is hundreds of miles from here. Besides, I don’t know anyone in jai—” She sucked in her breath and her eyes went wide.

  “Dan,” she murmured. “He’s been in jail all this time?” Her voice changed. “What has he done? Why didn’t he write and tell me?”

  “Probably didn’t want you to know.”

  Her face went white. “But I’m his wife! That should mean something to him!”

  “Yeah. It should.”

  She slanted a penetrating look at Jess, her blue eyes snapping with fury. “Just how do you know all this, about Dan being in jail? In the Riverton jail in particular? How?” She accompanied the last word with a sharp poke at his chest.

  “I once rode with the Ryder gang.”

  She stared at him. “You what? I don’t believe it. You’re an outlaw? That’s not possible.” A frown pulled her dark eyebrows into a scowl. “Are you an outlaw
?”

  “I used to be.”

  “Exactly what does the Ryder gang do to get thrown in jail?”

  “Rob trains.”

  The silence pressed around Ellen like a hot, sultry night. Jess Flint had robbed trains? Dan had robbed trains? Had been incarcerated! Had escaped?

  “He’ll be coming home,” she said in a suddenly quavery voice. “Back to our farm.”

  “Most likely.” Jess didn’t say anything else for a long while.

  Ellen struggled to absorb the words, but the buzzing inside her head kept the pieces of the puzzle floating just out of reach. How quickly her life had turned upside down. An hour ago…

  Her cheeks grew hot. An hour ago she hadn’t been thinking about Dan at all. She’d been thinking about Jess Flint.

  An hour ago, she might have…what? Broken her wedding vows?

  No, she could never do that. A promise was a promise.

  “I know it’s hard to stomach. I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you.”

  She wanted to scream. “But you didn’t tell me. You knew all along, and you didn’t tell me until now!” Her voice rose in near hysteria, but she was so furious she didn’t care. She hoped she would spook the horse and Jess would tumble off. She hoped she’d burst his eardrums.

  “How could you?” she shouted in his face. “You lying skunk. You damn mean lying skunk! Let me off the horse this instant.”

  “Not yet, Ellen. There’s…” he closed his eyes momentarily “…there’s more.”

  Incredulous, she stared at him. “More? What ‘more’?” She punched her balled up fist into his chest. “Tell me, you snake.”

  He caught her hand, imprisoned it in his. “Would it do any good if I said I was sorry?”

  “No! It would do no good at all.”

  She tried to jerk out of his grasp, but he lifted his arms and pinned her against him. “Ellen. Ellen.”

  She went perfectly still. “All right, tell me the rest, damn you. Get it over with.”

  Chapter Nine

  Jess reached out and laid his hand on Ellen’s hair, pressed her face into his shoulder. “All right, I’ll tell you. It’s kind of a long story, so bear with me.” He looked at her hands, still fisted in her lap. Damn.