"Leave Andi and Jake out of this," Jesse warned with a dangerous look.
"As you wish." Bridges shrugged and shuffled one pile of papers atop another, straightening the edges. "Of course, you needn't accept my offer. That's certainly your choice." He withdrew a thick Havana cigar from the humidor on his desk and clipped off the end with a pair of silver clippers chained to his pocket. He offered Jesse his choice with a gesture of his hand. Jesse shook his head.
"Perhaps," Bridges said, "I misunderstood your desire to leave Willow Banks."
No, he hadn't misunderstood, dammit, thought Jesse, controlling the urge to shove Bridges offer and his cigar down his throat. He wanted out in the worst way, but to sell off Andi's land to this slimy land grabber...
Hell would grow daffodils before he'd let that happen.
"That brings us," Bridges went on, lighting his cigar, "back to our original problem. The late loan payment. I'm afraid we can't extend it until September. I was planning on riding out to her place to—"
"Why not?"
A halo of blue smoke curled incongruously around Bridges head. "Frankly," he answered, "your sister-in-law is a bad risk. And we'd just as soon cut our losses and move ahead."
"By stealing her land? You can't do that!"
"Stealing is a rather strong term, Jess. In point of fact, this bank owns a lien on the farm and she is in arrears."
"There must be dozens of farmers late with their payments because of the war. Why are you in such a hurry to close down on her?"
Bridges shrugged helplessly. "My hands are tied. If she had a man... potential for success... if she could even manage to pay off the outstanding payments—"
"One hundred and seventy-five dollars," Jesse snapped.
"Pardon me?"
"According to my books, that's the amount of the back payment, isn't it?" Jesse said. "One seventy-five?"
"Well... yes." The man sent him a smug grin.
Jesse pulled a drawstring antelope sack from the waistband of his belt and dropped it with a thud on the desk. "Measure it out."
Bridges stared at the bag for a moment before he picked it up, hefting the weight of it in his hand. He poured some of the gold dust out into his hand and looked back at Jesse with one eyebrow raised.
"Montana currency," Jesse told him without a hint of a smile. "There should be more than enough to cover it. Give me the rest in gold coin."
Bridges sifted the dust back into the bag and snapped the drawstring tight. "I would advise you to think carefully about throwing away your money on a losing venture."
Jesse stood, braced two hands flat on the precious, uncluttered surface of Ethan Bridges' desk and leaned over it. "Willow Banks is mine, too, Bridges, in case you've forgotten. If it's going down, it won't be because I let it sink. And if I get wind of you plotting to strip my sister-in-law of her rightful land again, you'll have me to deal with. You understand? Now measure the damn gold."
Bridges rose slowly, finding himself a full head shorter than Jesse. But he gave a little knowing laugh, nonetheless, and blew out a cloud of cigar smoke in Jesse's face. "Welcome back to Elkgrove, Winslow."
Jesse watched the little bastard strut toward the scales at the back of the bank like he owned the whole damn place.
Welcome back to Elkgrove, Winslow.
Hell.
He stalked to the window, shoved his hands in his pockets and scowled out at the busy street. Crowded with women, children, and a smattering of men, some uniformed in blue, everything looked the same as it had when he'd ridden in, yet everything was different.
In his mind's eye, he pictured the wide open spaces of Montana, the freedom he'd had with only Mahkwi and his appaloosa for company. He pictured Andi, her violet eyes lonely, yet determined—expecting things from him she had no business expecting. Sharing things of which, he wanted no part.
Bridges' words came back to him. If she had a man, potential for success... Jesse straightened, suddenly understanding what he had to do. Only after he had accomplished it could he leave her with a clear conscience.
He had to find Andi Mae Winslow a husband.
* * *
Stepping out of the shadows beneath the portico the Elkgrove Chronicle shared with the Building and Loan, Mitch Lodray narrowed his eyes and watched Zach Winslow's long lost brother storm past him and climb into a buckboard parked nearby. With a silent curse, he leaned on his cane, dashed his smoke to the ground, and crushed the glowing tip to dust under the toe of his boot, ignoring the sharp pain that traveled up his foot with the pressure. Mitch had assumed, like half the town, that Jesse Winslow was dead.
Too bad the rumors proved false.
It didn't matter. He'd have what he wanted sooner or later, Jesse or no Jesse.
Brushing at the sleeves of his brown wool frock coat and snapping the white cuffs of his shirt tight, Mitch Lodray glanced at his reflection in the window of Elkgrove Savings and Loan. While he covertly watched Jesse unwrap the reins and give them an angry snap, Mitch smoothed his dark blond hair with one hand, admiring the cut Zip Timmons had given him this morning. He flashed an experimental grin to his reflection, testing and finding it lacking in conviction. Mitch turned around in time to see Ethan Bridges saunter out of the bank.
"If that don't beat all, huh?" Bridges muttered to him. "Jesse Winslow back in Elkgrove."
Mitch struck a sulphur-tipped match against the bank wall and lit another cigarette. "I thought he was dead."
The banker grinned.
"What did he want?"
"Out." Ethan said, turning a half-smile on Mitch. "Always was a damned coward."
Mitch shot a look at Ethan, then back at Jesse's disappearing form.
"Probably doesn't want his brother's leavings," Ethan commented. "Though, he could do a hell of a lot worse than Andrea Winslow, I'll tell you... as long as she isn't thinking." He tossed a know-what-I-mean? look at Mitch.
Mitch took a deep drag on his cigarette. "Did he sell the place to you?"
"Not yet. But he'll come around. He can't take the farming. He'll give up on it the same way he did before."
Mitch pushed away from the bank wall as Bridges returned to the bank. He tipped his hat courteously to two women passing by them. The ladies fluttered their silk fans in the midmorning heat like a pair of flustered peahens.
"Morning ladies," he said with his most charming smile, leaning heavily on his cane for the best effect.
"How fares your poor injured foot, Captain Lodray?" asked the one with blond ringlets framing her face, a blush creeping up her plump cheeks.
"Much better, thank you, Miss Micheals," Mitch answered, flexing the appendage testingly. "Almost like new."
"I'm relieved to hear it," she replied. "My prayers have been with you. A-and with all our local heroes to the Cause, of course."
"Of course. I'm honored to be included in your thoughts, Miss Micheals." He touched the brim of his hat.
The woman's eyes flashed briefly, adoringly, up at Mitch before the other one pulled her along down the sidewalk. Mitch's eyes followed, but his thoughts immediately dismissed Camy Sue Micheals. They settled instead beyond her on the man whose wagon was disappearing at the edge of town—and on the image of Andrea Carson Winslow's violet eyes staring up at him with something more than the adoration in Camy Sue's.
Something much more interesting.
"Mitch?" His mother's voice came from the nearby doorway. "Mitch, are you smoking those vile cigarettes again? I've been looking everywhere for you, dear."
Mitch clenched his jaw and flicked his cigarette into the street. "Coming, Mother."
* * *
"Are you hungry, girl?"
Andrea sat on the top step of the porch with a warm, cornmeal hush puppy in the flattened palm of her hand, three feet from Jesse's wolf-dog. "Come on. Take it."
Mahkwi eyed the tidbit with disinterest, her head tucked disconsolately between her huge paws.
"Just because I don't want you in the house doesn't m
ean we can't be friends."
One silver eyebrow went up as Andrea lowered her hand to ground level, but her golden eyes slid away disconsolately. Her nose was out of joint at Jesse's departure without her this morning. Andrea had firsthand knowledge of what it felt like to be left behind by Jesse Winslow.
"He'll be back," she told the animal. "For you... At least he'd better be. I don't know what I'd do with a wolf."
Andrea glanced at the dirt road that led to their farm, wondering how long Jesse would stay away. Their parting had been anything but amicable this morning. He'd been angry, but so had she. Perhaps he'd been right. Perhaps she should have told him about the harvester and the late payment to the bank. Willow Banks was his too, after all. But the last thing she needed was Jesse thinking she was trying to make him feel responsible for her.
If he had never come back, she would have had to solve this problem on her own. Being a woman didn't make her incapable of doing it. She'd figure some way out of her situation and save Willow Banks at the same time. She'd considered selling off the new acreage to the Raffertys. It butted up against their property. But that would mean losing the alfalfa crop planted there too, and she needed that to feed the stock for the winter.
With a sigh, she tossed the hush puppy down beside the wolf. The animal sniffed at it then proceeded to ignore it completely.
With the sun noon-high, the air rippled above the yard in waves of heat. Andrea brushed the crumbs from her hands and lifted her freshly washed hair off the back of her neck. Moisture trickled down between her breasts, and she dabbed at her throat with a lace hanky she pulled from the pocket of her pale pink wrapper.
"My, my, that's one down-in-the-mouth wolf." Etta's deep voice came from behind Andrea and she turned to see her coming through the half-open Dutch door, holding little Zach against her shoulder. The sleeves of her white muslin blouse were rolled up to her elbows. Her coffee-colored skin contrasted sharply with the whiteness of the baby's complexion.
Andrea looked back at the sulking wolf. "She won't touch it. I don't think she wants to be friendly."
"Won't even be tempted by one of my hush puppies, huh? Now that's serious."
"I think she's upset that Jesse left her here while he went into town. She's pretty though isn't she?"
Etta sniffed. "For a wolf. Lord knows why a man would take up with a wolf for company. Exceptin' if he didn't like the human kind... of company, that is."
"Etta, you've just defined Jesse Winslow to a tee." Andrea stood carefully, stretching the soreness in her limbs.
The other woman shook her head. "You should be in bed, resting, child. Not gallivanting around trying to feed that ornery man's equally peevish wolf."
She laughed despite herself. "No, it feels better to be up and moving. I just get stiff lying in bed. And I've slept enough in the last twenty-four hours to hold me for a week. Besides," she said, scanning the overgrown yard and the vegetable patch near the cornfield, "there is so much to do."
"Miss Andrea... that's what I'm here for. There's nothing to do that hasn't been done. For today anyway. The chickens are fed, eggs collected. Lulabelle is milked and those nasty hogs slopped." She made a comical face. "Little Zachary's napkins are clean and drying in the sun." Inhaling deeply, she added, "Dinner's simmering on the stove. All that's left for you is to feed this youngun. Now sit yourself down on that porch swing and—"
Andrea looked at her in shock. "Here?"
"Why not? Who's to see? We're two miles from anybody, and the fresh air and sunshine will do you both good." She handled the bundle over to Andrea.
The baby cooed up at her and she shrugged. "I guess you're right. Why not? If I have to sit in that room another minute... Thanks, Etta."
Etta settled on the swing beside her while Andrea put the baby to her breast. "Stings a little, hm-mm?" she asked, hearing Andrea's indrawn breath.
"M-hmm, a little."
"It'll pass. It always does."
"You talk as though you've been through it, Etta. Do you have children?"
Etta's expression grew guarded. "I... I did have a son. Linus." She wound her fingers together. "He died four years ago. He was twelve."
"I'm so sorry, Etta. I... I didn't mean to—"
"It's all right. It was a long time ago. I find I can talk about Linus now without bursting into tears."
"It's odd," Andrea said, "but I didn't even know you were married."
"Was. Marcus is gone, too." She sat up straighter in the swing, until her back didn't touch the wood, as if contact with it would betray her weakness. "He was killed last July with the Fifty-Forth Colored Infantry near Charleston. He was a corporal. A good one, too." She smiled and gave a small laugh. "Or so his letters said."
"Wasn't that a Massachusetts regiment?"
She nodded. "When we heard they were forming a colored infantry, nothing I could say would stop him from joining up. Took a train all the way to Boston..." She swallowed hard and stared out at the cornfield.
"Marcus was second generation free like me and school-educated, too. He could quote Shakespeare, Byron, or Homer to his students," she added with a proud smile.
"He was a teacher?"
She nodded. "We both were. But it wasn't enough for Marcus. He felt strongly about emancipation and for colored men getting the chance to fight in this war beside whites. Said it was his duty to go.
"Besides, after Linus died, we... we'd sort of grown apart. He with his grief... me with mine." She looked down at her hands and rubbed some flour off her palm. "So afterward, when I got word about Marcus, I came to work for Miss Isabelle. It's been a comfort in a way... all those children keep my mind off myself. You know?"
Andrea smiled at her. "Yes, I do. Isabelle's told me she doesn't know how she ever managed without you. In fact, she's probably regretting the fact that you're sitting here with me and not there reining in that herd of hers."
Etta grinned and sniffed. "It'll do 'em good to miss me some." The woman looked at her palms, so much paler than the rest of her skin. "What about you, honey?" she asked. "It must be hard being all on your own, here. I imagine you must be happy to have Mr. Winslow here for company."
Andrea almost laughed. Happy? She would hardly go that far. Yet, the very mention of his name conjured a warmth down deep inside her that she couldn't deny. Her traitorous body..."I don't think he's going to stay."
Etta raised an eyebrow. "He doesn't strike me as the sort of man who looks for rocks to slither under."
"I don't know what sort of man he is, Etta. It's been a long time. A lot of weeds have grown under our wheels since we saw each other last. If he did stay, I suppose we'd be the talk of the county, living under the same roof as we are."
"Honey, in these times, who'd fault a woman for wanting a man under her roof for protection? You know those raiders have been striking nearby. Three places in the last month, down close to the Ohio."
"Do they think it's John Morgan's Raiders again?"
"Or some of his men, sure as I'm standing here. You got a gun in the house?"
Andrea nodded, remembering of how she'd pointed that gun at Jesse when he'd surprised her.
Etta patted Andrea's thigh. "Well, you keep it loaded, you hear? And keep it beside your bed. You never know when you'll need it. I'm going to go in and straighten up before I go. You all right here?"
"I'm fine, Etta. Thanks."
Etta winked at her and went back into the house, leaving the swing moving gently. Andrea gazed down at little Zach, rubbed a thumb over the gentle curve of his forehead, and forced dark thoughts away. She wouldn't let Jesse interfere with the joy she felt holding her newborn son. As he suckled there, she looked up to find Jesse's wolf-dog lying at full attention, ears perked forward, straining to get a look at the squirming infant in her arms.
At first the look frightened Andrea and she tightened her hold on the child. But she realized it was curiosity, not malice, in the animal's eyes.
"Well," Andrea said, "not so aloof after
all, are we? You'll have to stop taking lessons from Jesse if you want to be friends with me, wolf. Frankly, I don't see much hope for your master."
Chapter 6
The startling sound of someone or something crashing through the chest-high rows of Winslow corn along the road back home forced Jesse to haul back on the reins of Polly and Pete as they balked in fright.
"Whoa!" Jesse shouted and gathered the traces tight in his hands. The mare gave a shrill whinny and tossed her head. "What the hell—?" he swore, fighting with the traces, imagining the whole wagonload of supplies crashing to the ground.
Before he could finish the thought, a huge man with skin the color of coal dust burst onto the road from the cornfield to Jesse's right. At the unexpected sight of Jesse and his wagon, the man stumbled to a stop.
For a full five seconds, he gaped at Jesse, his black eyes wide and desperate as a rabbit caught between two foxes. His glistening chest heaved with exertion and his sweat-drenched union suit hung damply beneath a worn pair of overalls attached at only one shoulder by a knot.
The unspoken plea in his eyes robbed Jesse of speech. He had no idea what the man wanted or who he was, or what he was doing running on bloody, bare feet through his old man's cornfield.
Before Jesse could recover enough to ask, the man tossed a terrified look back in the direction from which he'd come, and bolted again, plunging over the drunken man fence and into the opposite field.
"Hey!" Jesse called. Too late. The man disappeared into the thick hedge of green stalks. Only the rustling tips of corn betrayed his movement—directly toward Willow Banks and Andi.
Hell.
Shading his eyes against the mid-afternoon sun, Jesse frowned. What was that all about? Was he a runaway? But slavery had been abolished a year ago, hadn't he heard that? So why was the man running as if the devil was chasing him?
Jesse looked up at the sound of horses. Two men, mounted atop a pair of sorry-looking geldings, stirred up a cloud of dust behind them as they bore down on Jesse and his wagon. He straightened, suddenly sure he was about to get answers to all his questions.
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