He opened lips that had gone strangely numb. “G—”
She cut him off. “Daffodils,” she called. She gestured with her trowel toward a pile of brown lumps beside her. Then she sent him a smile that buckled his knees.
His feet began to move forward on their own accord. After a moment he resettled the hat on a head suddenly swelled with stars careening behind his eyes.
When he reached the end of her trim white fence, he risked a glance back at her. She was bending over, dropping something into the earth.
Daffodils. His beloved was planting bulbs for next spring. Doc thought he would melt with joy, watching her. She was a lot like his niece, Ellen; both women liked to grub around in garden dirt.
Next time, he vowed. Next time—tomorrow—he would manage to look at Iona and stammer out an entire word.
Working side by side without speaking, Ellen and Jess covered four sections on the hand-drawn map grid, methodically poking sharpened steel fence stakes into the earth at measured intervals. Each time the rod disappeared hilt-deep without hitting anything larger than a rock, Ellen’s frustration mounted.
The midday heat seared her shoulders right through the faded print blouse. Dan’s shirt would have provided better protection from the merciless sun, but this morning she couldn’t bear to touch a single one of his garments.
“Nuthin’,” Jess would mutter periodically. “Let’s move on.” They shifted to another marked-out area.
Her thoughts churned as she worked alongside him. What would happen if they did find the stash? What would Jess do?
He will leave, of course. Take the money and skedaddle.
On second thought, maybe he wouldn’t. At least not until Dan returned to help her with the farm. Then there would be nothing to prevent Jess from carrying out his original plan.
But he couldn’t carry the gold on foot; he’d need a horse. Not Tiny. Her plow horse would be too slow. Maybe he planned to steal a mount from the Ryder gang when they arrived.
Her heart gave a little start. Good riddance to him, then! She hoped the gang would give chase and when they caught up to Jess they would…they would…string him up from the nearest tree.
Would Dan join in the chase? Or would he stay on the farm with her? At this point, she didn’t trust either her so-called hired man or her husband.
Her perspiration-slicked hair straggled from under the sunbonnet; the damp strands felt hot and sticky on the back of her neck. Tonight she’d have to wash her hair. Ellen clamped her jaw tight. It was hard enough balancing herself to stab these probes into the earth; the ordeal of washing her hair while balancing on her crutch made her groan aloud.
Jess straightened. “Tired?”
“Hot,” she retorted. “Disgusted.”
Jess squinted at the sun. “In another hour we can work on the shady side of the barn.”
“No. I’m sick of this whole business. I keep asking myself why I am tramping around my garden poking holes between my squash plants. Another hour and my head will explode.”
He surveyed her with steady, dark eyes. “Can’t quit, Ellen. Not if we want to stay alive.”
“You mean if you want to stay alive.”
“No,” he said in a low, even voice. “I mean we. You and me.”
Ellen sniffed. “Dan isn’t going to shoot me. He’ll be aiming at you.”
“Wouldn’t be too sure if I was you. A man with a gun in his hand can be unpredictable.”
Jess took the steel rod out of her sweaty hands, joined it with his own and jabbed them both into the earth. “You ever handle a revolver?”
“No. I fired Dan’s shotgun once at a coyote sneaking around the chicken house. The gunpowder smell was awful and my shoulder hurt afterward.”
“Revolver has a kick, too. Trick is to anticipate it.”
“I have no interest in firing a revolver, thank you.”
He took a step toward her and laid one hand on her shoulder. “I know you don’t.”
Ellen jerked away. His touch unsettled her. “So, that’s the end of that.”
Jess shook his head. “Not quite. I’m going to teach you to handle a revolver.”
“I don’t want—”
“Heard you the first time.” He gripped her elbow hard enough to make her gasp. “Let’s go. Around the far side of the barn.”
“Wait just one min—”
“C’mon. You can rest while I get my gun and some ammunition.” He propelled her along beside him and settled her on a tree stump shaded by the east wall of the weatherbeaten barn. “I’ll just be a minute.”
Ellen watched him stride off in his curious, uneven gait. She’d be damned if she would just sit here waiting for him. She made a listless attempt to stand up, then decided she was too wrung out at the moment to move a single step.
When he returned he held a heavy-looking revolver in one hand, a box of cartridges in the other. “First thing, you load it.”
“I don’t want to load it.”
“Like this.” He cracked open the loading gate, slid a bullet into the first chamber, skipped one and then loaded four more bullets and snapped the chamber closed. Immediately he reopened the barrel and ejected the bullets into Ellen’s lap.
“You try it.”
“Certainly not! I have no interest whatever in—”
Jess grabbed her hand, wrapped her fingers around the butt and held them in place. “You might not have interest, Ellen. But you’ve got necessity. Now do what I say and load this damn gun!”
Ellen tried to slip her fingers out from under his hand, but he tightened his grip. “Do it,” he ordered. “Like I showed you.” He lifted his hand off hers and waited.
With short jerky motions she cracked the barrel, jammed the bullets in and snapped it shut without a hitch. Then she swung the weapon in a half circle and aimed it at his belt buckle.
Jess looked from her set, angry face to the revolver wobbling in her hand. “You have to cock it first to fire it.”
“How do I do that?” she said through clenched teeth.
“Reach your thumb up to the hammer.” He leaned toward her and pointed. “Just pull it back. When you hear the click, you’re ready to fire.”
She did as he said. The click of the hammer made him look back to her face. Hell, she was still mad as a bee-stung colt.
“Okay, now you can shoot me.” He reached to the wavering barrel and steadied it with a forefinger. “Might want to hold it straight, otherwise no telling what you’ll hit. Maybe my chest. Maybe my gut.” He slapped his free hand against his belt. “A bit lower, and you’ll blow off my—”
“Where,” she said with venom in her voice, “would I aim if I wanted to kill you?”
Jess reached out and lifted the barrel until it pointed at his chest. “Here. Aim dead center.”
She stared at him for a long time, then with a small moan of frustration, she let the revolver sink onto her lap. Jess breathed an inaudible sigh of relief.
“It’s harder than you think to kill a man. You can’t stop to think, you have to concentrate.”
“I was concentrating just fine. My wrist got tired.”
Jess grinned down at her. “Thank the Lord. Thought for sure I was a dead man.”
“You knew I wouldn’t shoot you,” she said in a weary voice. “I’m too tired and sad and confused and…”
“I sure as hell didn’t know.” He lifted the weapon off her lap and carefully released the hammer. “But before you do shoot someone, you need to learn to control your shot. Get up.”
He helped her stand, positioned her facing the side fence, and laid the revolver into her palm. “See that sunflower by the post? Aim for that.”
When she raised her arm, Jess stepped in close to correct her stance. “Ease your shoulders down. Don’t tense up.” He watched her tongue flick across her lower lip, and his body went still. God, he wanted to touch her.
Very carefully he lifted off her sunbonnet. “Now, look straight down the barrel at tha
t sunflower.”
She tipped her head and sighted. He noticed the wisps of dark hair escaping the loosening bun at her neck, the smooth, pale skin behind her ear. A flicker of awareness spread along the flesh of his inner arm, fleeting as a kiss.
Her extended arm began to tremble with the weight of the weapon.
“Your arm’s not strong enough, Ellen. Use both hands.” He lifted her left hand to curl around the gun butt over her right.
“I can’t balance this way, Jess. I need one hand on my crutch.”
“Find something to lean on, then. You need two hands.” He moved closer, put his hands at her waist and drew her back against him. Under his fingers her body felt warm and soft. He smiled to himself. No corset.
“Now, when the gun fires, it’ll kick back some. Your elbow will feel it most. Helps not to stand too stiff.”
“I am not stiff,” she snapped.
He stifled an urge to laugh. “You ready?”
“Ready.” Her voice sounded tight as new barbwire.
“Okay,” he murmured near her temple. “Take a breath.”
She inhaled, pressing her spine subtly against his chest.
“Now let it out partway and squeeze the trigger.”
The report of the gun tore through the lazy afternoon stillness. Ellen jerked and cried out. The sunflower still bobbed at the fence, but the chickens squawked and cackled as if a coyote had sneaked into one of their nests.
She moaned. “I didn’t hit one of my hens, did I?”
Jess eyed the screened-off yard where the birds flapped their wings and skittered back and forth. “Nope. But just to be safe, I’m going to lock the cow in the barn.”
Ten minutes later, with the chickens shut in the henhouse and Florence safe inside her stall, they resumed the lesson.
“How’s your arm?” he asked when she raised the revolver again.
“Elbow tingles. Are my shoulders okay?”
“Relax them. Let them drop.” He reached out to press them down, then rethought his intent. The less he touched her the better.
“I am shooting that sunflower, right?” She took careful aim and fired.
This time a voice yelped from the road. “Hold your fire!”
Ellen paid no attention. “I hit it! Look, Jess, the bullet went right through it. See the hole?”
“I see it. Reload, Ellen. I’d guess our lesson’s not quite over yet.”
Jess slipped his other Colt from his belt and aimed it in the direction of the voice, but Ellen placed a restraining hand on his arm. Her touch sent a jolt of heat straight into his chest.
“Don’t shoot, Jess. It’s William.” She laid the revolver she’d just fired onto the stump behind her and started for the front fence. The cowbell Jess had rigged up as a warning system clanked loudly as the gate swung open. At the unexpected noise, Ellen threw him a sour look.
The young brown-eyed man Jess had seen at the Sunday picnic walked a dun mare into the yard, dismounted and looped the reins over the gate post just as Ellen approached. A dog trotted after him.
“Why, William, I did not expect a visit from you today.”
“Miss Ellen.” He tipped a new-looking tan Stetson and then turned to Jess. “Mr. Flint.”
Jess gave him an almost imperceptible nod and shifted his gaze back to Ellen.
“’S not really a social call, Miss Ellen. They handed out the ribbons for the cakes after you left, so I brought yours. Seems you won first place.” He dug a lopsided blue ribbon bow out of his vest pocket and pressed it into her hand. “Congratulations. Sure was good.”
“Thank you, William.” She half turned toward Jess and held out the prize while a slight smile curved her lips. “Mr. Flint deserves this as much as I do,” she murmured.
William’s brown eyebrows quirked, but he said nothing. Instead, he eyed the Colt in Jess’s hand.
“Target practice,” Jess said. “Sorry if I spooked your horse.”
“N-no, you didn’t. My dog, though, Shep’s his name. He doesn’t like gunfire.”
Jess shoved the revolver back under his belt. “Smart dog.”
“Would you stay for coffee?” Ellen said quickly.
“Not today. I just rode out to bring the ribbon and…” He hesitated, closed his mouth and then opened it.
“And?” Ellen prompted.
“I want you to keep Shep out here with you.” The young man’s eyes rested briefly on Jess, then returned to Ellen. “For, you know, for…protection.”
“That is very thoughtful of you, William, but I am managing quite capably. So I couldn’t possibly—”
“Thanks, Turner,” Jess interrupted. “We’ll feed him good.”
William’s expression moved from a grin into a frown. “Miss Ellen, could I speak to you in private?”
“Why, of course. Come on into the parlor.”
Jess spun away toward the barn before she finished the sentence. “C’mon, Shep. I’ll find you an old boot you can chew on.” He strode away, the dog frisking at his heels.
William stared after the animal. “Well I’ll be. Shep likes the ladies, but he doesn’t usually take to men. Not right off at least.” His gaze followed Jess until he disappeared into the barn. “Who is this man Flint, anyway?”
“He is…” Ellen swallowed, in a quandary as to what to say. Jess was an outlaw. At least he had been once. Sometimes he was appealingly human, and warm, even funny. Other times he was bossy as a schoolmaster. And now he was the man who had lied to her. And more.
“Mr. Flint is my hired man.”
“Dan’s not gonna like that one bit.”
“Dan is not here,” Ellen countered. “Mr. Flint is.”
“Shucks, I can see that. If you needed help you could have come to me. I’ll always do what I can for you, Miss Ellen. You know that.”
Ellen nodded. She did know that. The devil of it was it didn’t matter. William was sweet, a nice, reliable young man, but he didn’t matter to her. Dan mattered.
Jess mattered.
“You reckon he’s peeking at us from the loft window?”
Ellen laughed and patted William’s arm. “Probably. He keeps an eye on me because that’s what I pay him for.” The small lie almost caught in her throat. She had no intention of paying Jess for his help. Not now. He seemed content with three meals a day and a bed in the hayloft, but that couldn’t last. The minute he dug up Dan’s cache of stolen money, Jess would leave her high and dry.
William scuffed his boot in the dirt. “Heck, I can feel his eyes diggin’ into my back this very minute.”
“Nonsense.” But she couldn’t help sneaking a look at the loft. It would be just like Jess to spy on them. But why should he? William was a friend, not a threat.
Jess stood to one side of the dusty window in the barn loft, absently scratching Shep’s ear as he watched Ellen and young Turner in the barnyard below. Turner leaned forward and said something to her, and when she reached out and patted his arm, Jess clenched his fingers into a knot. With his other hand he smoothed the shiny steel barrel of his Colt. He hadn’t shot a man since the war, but if Turner so much as laid a finger on her…
At his feet, Shep gave a tentative growl and gazed up at Jess with liquid brown eyes.
“Guess you’re right, boy. Ellen can take care of herself with that young pup. Better save my bullets.”
But he didn’t holster his weapon until the dun-colored mare stepped through the gate and out onto the town road.
“What do you mean, jealous?” he muttered to the dog. “Never been jealous a day in my life and I’m not going to start now.”
He pivoted away from the window. “C’mon, Shep. You need something to chew on.” He climbed down the loft ladder and began rummaging in the tack room for one of Dan’s old work boots.
Chapter Eleven
They ate supper at the kitchen table in strained silence, Jess forking down tomatoes with slow, purposeful motions, his eyes carefully expressionless, until Ellen couldn’t stan
d it another minute.
“Say something!” she exclaimed abruptly.
His hand paused midway to his mouth. “Thought you hated it when I said something. Can’t have it both ways.” He refilled his fork and closed his lips over a slice of ripe tomato.
Ellen watched him chew and then swallow without looking at her. “I’d rather have conversation. Otherwise it’s just like eating by myself.”
But it isn’t, a voice nagged. Just being in the same room with Jess, whether he talked or not, made her feel…different. As if something was weaving a connection between them. Something she couldn’t see or measure, but something. When she was near him, searching the yard for Dan’s treasure or sitting across from him at the kitchen table, her insides tumbled like laundry scrubbed on a tin washboard.
What complete and utter nonsense! The something between them was nothing more than pure anger and distrust. Still, when he looked across the table at her, as he was doing now, her blood raced through her veins and her body hummed as if invaded by a cloud of bees.
Jess laid his fork onto the plate before him. “Conversation, huh? Even if you don’t want to hear what I say?”
Ellen blinked at the sound of his voice but managed to look him in the eye. “You could not possibly shock me more than you already have.”
“Okay, here goes.” His lips quirked in a lopsided smile. “You ever thought about getting your cow bred?”
Her coffee cup clunked onto the table. “What?”
“If Florence had a calf come spring, you could slaughter it in the fall, then you’d have meat for next winter.”
Ellen stared at him. Calf? Whether her cow would calve in the spring was an odd concern for an outlaw intent on his own nefarious business.
He tipped his head down so she couldn’t see his eyes. “Did I say something wrong?” Then he added, “Again?”
“Why on earth are you thinking about my cow?”
Methodically he sectioned a tomato into four quarters. “I wasn’t. I was thinking about you.”
The buzzing in her head grew stronger. “What about me?”
Purposefully he downed all four pieces of tomato, one by one, while Ellen waited.
“About whether you’ll have meat this winter. About whether you should sink a well in case the creek goes dry. About…whether you’re ready for another surprise.” He went on eating in his slow, deliberate way, but he looked like he was trying not to smile.
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