Renegade's Kiss

by Barbara Ankrum

  "Lordy," she mumbled to herself, "I never did meet a man so full of hot air in all my born days."

  "Yass'm," he said with a smile still pulling at his mouth as he patted his foot dry. "But y'see, I jus' thinks to myself... time's short, an' there you is... full o' sass an' vinegar, an' purty as a striped snake on a green lawn. An' here I is, wishin' you wasn't usin' them big words like a ol' feather duster to shoo me off." He winced, lowering his foot to the floor. "I's just a man, Miss Etta. An' you's just a woman. That's all there is about it."

  Etta cheeks went hot, hearing the truth in his words. She reached for the jar of chickweed ointment she'd seen under the sink and slapped it down on the table beside him.

  "Here. Make your hands useful for a change, Mr. Mayfield, instead of that mouth of yours. I has"—her eyes beseeched the heavens—"have more important things to do than to stand here swabbing the cuts on some fool's feet."

  "Yass'm." She heard him chuckle as he unscrewed the jar lid in his big hands and slathered on some of the ointment, but felt his eyes on her as she finished the preparations for the noon meal. He'd move on after dinner and that would be that, she thought, sneaking a covert look at him.

  And good riddance.

  * * *

  Andrea touched the edges of her mouth with the linen napkin and crumpled it in her fist, watching Silas polish off his fourth bowl of stew with singsong moan of satisfaction.

  "Fifths, Mr. Mayfield?" Etta asked with an edge of sarcasm.

  "No, ma'am, I's fit to bust. That's the best squirrel stew I et in the longest time."

  "It was rabbit." Etta swooped the bowl out from in front of him, and carried it to the sink.

  "Oh," he said, suppressing a grin. "Well, that's the best rabbit I et in a long time, too. It was cooked partic'lar fine."

  Jesse tossed an amused look at Andrea, who had made a point of avoiding his eyes throughout the meal. She could have sworn, for a moment, as his eyes met hers, that he was keeping something from her. About the farm? she wondered.

  They'd barely spoken since he'd come back from unloading the wood shingles he'd bought in town. He'd come back a different man than he'd left. Gone was the fear she'd seen in his eyes at the thought of staying on at Willow Banks. It had been replaced with an easy good humor she couldn't account for. As if he'd resigned himself to staying on. But why?

  Resting his forearms on the table, Jesse turned to Silas. "Etta thinks you should stay off those feet for a few days, until they have a chance to heal. I have to agree."

  Silas shook his head and rubbed his bewhiskered chin. "I done put you folks out already, eatin' your vittles, takin' your kindness. I be movin' on directly. I ain't a man t' accept charity."

  "Wouldn't be charity if you stayed on to work," Jesse observed, avoiding Andrea's look of alarm. "I can use another hand around here. Are you interested?"

  Silas fingered the rim of his stoneware cup. "What kinda work?"

  "You have any farming experience?"

  "Farmin'?" Silas laughed. "I been tillin' the land for nigh on fifteen years, head nigger in the field, before the ol' massah give me my freedom papers in his will." Silas rubbed his calloused palms, a faraway look in his eyes. "I gots me the hands of a field worker, but the heart of a farmer. After the war, I plan on gettin' me a little piece o' land here in the north all my own, that nobody kin take away from me."

  Jesse nodded. "You got money?"

  "No, suh. But I got a good back and a strong will," he replied with a confident grin. "I git it someday. Somehow."

  "We can't pay you much," Jesse told him, standing up and shoving his hands in his pockets. He walked to the window and looked out. "At least not until the crop is in. Room and board, a few dollars a week."

  Silas watched him thoughtfully. "It's a good long time since I et a good meal or had me a roof over my head. I ain't opposed to doin' it regular."

  Jesse smiled. "As you can see, we have mostly corn, some wheat, and alfalfa."

  Glancing out the window, Silas nodded. "I mostly works with cotton. But cotton eats up the soil... leaves nothin' behind but used-up clods o' dirt. You gots to feed the soil like it was a child. Yassuh, I tilled all them other crops. An' more. You gots you a good crop o' corn, it'll see you through a year of hard times."

  When Silas bent his elbows and rested them on the table, his sleeves went up, revealing open sores in a line around both his wrists.

  "Mr. Mayfield—" Andrea began, casting a silencing look at Jesse, "I don't mean to be an alarmist, but I'm concerned about the... situation... you seem to have left behind."

  Silas took no offence, but followed her gaze to his wrists and lowered his arms self-consciously. "About them two fella's chasin' me?"

  She nodded. "Are you in trouble with the law?"

  "Not with the law. They was ex-slave catchers, ma'am. Now we all free, they callin' themselves bounty hunters."

  Her eyes widened. Even Etta turned around at his words.

  "Bounty hunters?" Andrea said with some alarm.

  Silas's coffee colored eyes searched hers for a moment, then explained what he had to Jesse. His eyes went to his wrists. "Tied me up with a rope on my hands, and trailed me behind their hosses like a sack o' sorghum. Said I was gonna hang for killin' a white man. But it didn't make no never mind to them that I ain't even laid eyes on no white men since I left, cause I been keepin' to the back roads, keepin' to my own self 'til I gets North. It was some other fella they's after, but they don't care. After a couple days of that, somehow, I got away an' I been runnin' ever since." He shifted his gaze to Jesse. "'Til I run into you."

  Andrea exchanged a look with Jesse. Ohio wasn't so far west that they hadn't heard the terrible stories of what went on south of the Mason-Dixon line to freed blacks during this hellish war. She turned back to Silas. "Where were you headed, Mr. Mayfield? Before—?"

  "Dee-troit. But I hear they's no work there for nobody."

  "There's work here for you if you want it, Silas," Jesse said, meeting Andi's eyes.

  "We'd both be happy to have you stay on," she agreed, "if that's what you decide to do."

  Silas glanced at Etta, standing by the sink so still she didn't even blink. "I..." he began, truly shocked, "I'd be right pleased to if you'd have me. I be much obliged to stay on." Swallowing thickly, he studied his bare feet. "These old feet'll heal up fine in a day or so, good as new. Don' you be worryin' 'bout that."

  "Then it's settled," Andrea said.

  From the parlor came the sound of the little Zach's wail. Jesse and Andrea rose at the same moment, their chairs scraping loudly across the floor.

  "I'll get him."

  "No, that's... that's not necessary," she replied. "He'll be hungry. I'll have to feed him." She felt a flush creep up her neck at the strange look in Jesse's eyes as his gaze locked with hers. "Mr. Mayfield—"

  "Silas," the black man corrected over the noise of the baby's wail.

  She smiled and waved him back to his seat as he started to rise. "Silas, then. I'm glad you'll be staying on. We can use the help."

  "Yes'm."

  Jesse watched her disappear into the parlor, and gathered his hat from the table, tamping down the desire to take a peek at that baby once more. It was probably no good to go getting too attached anyway, he thought fitting his hat on.

  "That a creek I seen runnin' through your land up a piece, suh?" Silas asked him.

  "That's Willow Banks Creek. Why?"

  Silas rose with a grimace. "I needs t' wash some o' this trail off'n me."

  Jesse nodded, flipping him a bar of soap from the sink. "You can settle in the hay mow in the barn. I'll bring a water pitcher and some blankets out later."

  Silas grinned. "Yassuh. Thank you, Suh. That be just fine."

  "Just call me Jesse, okay?"

  "Jesse," the man repeated, trying out the sound on his tongue. He laughed, a good, deep sound like rain after a long dry spell. "Jesse, it is. Thank yuh, Suh." He shrugged. "An I ain't no Mayfield, neither,
suh. That be the name o' my massah—Mayfield. I took it so's I'd have one. But it ain't mine. No, suh. I's just Silas. Always been... always will be."

  Jesse shook Silas' hand with a smile. "Pleased to meet you, Silas. Welcome to Willow Banks."

  "I's right pleased to be here."

  As he followed Jesse out the door, Silas winked at Etta, who was left standing in the kitchen alone, wondering how she'd possibly ignore a man who could charm the wings off a mayfly.

  * * *

  An hour later, Andrea heard a knock on her bedroom door. "Yes?"

  Jesse poked his head in. "It's me."

  Her heart stopped then started again. She'd been expecting Etta. "Come in, Jesse. I was just resting."

  He eased his rangy frame into the room. He was holding two small packages wrapped in brown paper. It crinkled as he leaned over the drawer to take a peek at the sleeping baby. Jesse wore a grin as his eyes met hers. "How's he doing?"

  "He has a healthy appetite," she said without thinking.

  Jesse's eyes strayed to her full breasts before he caught himself. "How are you, Andi?"

  She swallowed hard. "Fine. Was there something you wanted?"

  He set his packages down on the bed beside her quilt-covered leg. "Do I need an excuse to come and say hello?"

  "No."

  He returned her smile. "Actually, there is something." He handed her the packages. "I picked this up for you in town. Something for little Zach, too."

  Andrea's mouth fell open and she blinked at the carefully wrapped parcels. A present? He'd bought her a present? How long had it been since someone had brought her something just for her? "Why?"

  "You might call it a peace offering. Or... an apology. Whatever it is, I just felt like doing it. So, open 'em up."

  "Which one should I open first?"

  He pointed to the smallest one. It made a noise as she untied the string and unfolded the stiff brown paper.

  "Oh, Jesse!" She held up a tiny silver rattle. It glinted in the afternoon sun. "It's beautiful. But it must have been—"

  "My pleasure," he said, cutting off her argument. "Every baby should have one. Especially my only nephew."

  Andrea blinked back unexpected tears. "Thank you."

  "Open the other one now." A pleased look shone in his eyes and he leaned forward with hands pressed between his knees.

  She unwrapped it slowly, savoring the anticipation of the moment. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw what he'd gotten her. The hand mirror was the most beautiful she'd ever seen, made of intricately carved pewter with flowers and birds gracefully floating about its edges. The smooth rounded handle fit the palm of her hand to perfection. She held it up and looked at herself in the clear, beveled glass.

  "Mavis Broderick, down at the mercantile, said it was a lady's mirror," Jesse told her with an awkward shrug. "I thought—"

  "It's beautiful, Jesse. I—" Her gaze collided with his. "I don't know what to say. You shouldn't be giving me gifts."

  Jesse looked at his hands. "Zach would have... if he were here."

  "Zach was a practical man, not given to frivolity."

  "I guess that's where we were different."

  No, she thought. You're different in so many ways.

  "Anyway," he said, getting up and shoving his hands into the back pockets of his Levi's, "a hand mirror isn't frivolous for a lady, I'm told. I believe the term Mavis used was, uh, essential. And I didn't see one here on your table. This one doesn't have any speckles in it like all the other mirrors in this house." He smiled at her. "A beautiful woman like you deserves a fine mirror to look in now and again."

  She blushed all the way to her roots and laughed. "Beautiful? Me?"

  His smile had faded. "Yeah. You've turned into a real beauty, Andi. I knew you would."

  She cocked her head not sure what to make of him and uncomfortable with the serious bent to the conversation. He was looking at her the way he used to, before Willow Banks had come between them. In a way that made a flush of heat trace through her from eyebrows to toes. She forced a nervous smile. "Why, Jesse, if I didn't know better I might think you were trying to butter me up for something."

  With one eyebrow arched, he grinned. "Not that you wouldn't be delicious buttered up," he replied lightly, drawing an indignant huff from her. He grew serious then, pulling his hands from his pockets. "No, I'm only telling the truth. Men will be lining up outside your door soon, Andi," he predicted, knowing it was true. "You might want to give some serious consideration to them when they do."

  She looked stunned that he would even bring such a thing up. "I'm in mourning, Jesse. You know that. It's Zach we're talking about."

  "I'm all too aware of that. But you can't afford to stand on ceremony when you've got your future to think of."

  She bristled. "I hardly think it's sentimental to grieve over one's husband. It's your brother we're talking about, Jesse. I can't believe—"

  "Take my advice. Get your grieving done and put it behind you, Andi. If you want to hang onto this place, you'll move on with your life."

  Cornflower blue eyes met violet for a brief tension-filled moment. "Look, I don't want to fight," he said standing.

  She lowered her eyes. "No... neither do I."

  "I... hope you like the mirror."

  Meeting his gaze once more she sighed and nodded. "I do. Thank you, Jesse."

  He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before doing what, years ago, would have come naturally at a moment like this.

  It was the briefest of kisses, and it had been meant for her cheek if she hadn't been flustered by his closeness and turned, instead, directly into it. It was a brushing of lips, a sharing of warmth. Yet, however platonic its intent, the accidental kiss sent a bolt of desire crashing through Jesse, and he regretted taking even that small taste of her.

  Eyes wide, she looked up at him with a shocked expression that reflected the same shock coursing through him, the tacit understanding that what once had been a flame between them was still a live ember.

  His fingers brushed the incredible softness of her arm, and he smiled, or at least tipped one corner of his mouth up in an attempt. "Sorry. Night, Andi," he said, then turned and left the room.

  Shock poured through Andrea as she watched him go, and she pressed her fingertips against her lips where the taste of him still lingered. His brief kiss had left her breathless, her heart hammering in her throat.

  Damn him! How dare he kiss her like that? How dare he assume she would allow it?

  But she had.

  Andrea shoved herself up from bed and walked to the window. Evening was settling down low over the corn, casting the land in deep shadow. She braced herself against the frame of the window, feeling the tremble in her grip. How dare he tell her to forget about Zach as if he were no more than a fading memory? The father of her child. The man who'd been there for her in her hour of need, when Jesse himself had run away from her like the coward he was. And now he'd kissed her as if whatever had passed between them all those years ago gave him the right. Well, it didn't and if he ever tried something like that again, she'd—

  She brushed her fingertips against her mouth once more. If he ever tried that again, she thought miserably, she just might allow it. Because as much as she wanted to deny it, there was still something between them. Something every bit as powerful as the anger she felt toward him a moment ago.

  Find another man. Damn him! As if she could.

  As if she would.

  She gazed out into the deepening night. From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw movement in the corn. She squinted harder, but it was too dusky to make out what had caused it. An animal probably, she thought. But she watched, holding her breath, until she caught the shadow of some dark form slipping into the woods at the far end of the field. Something or someone, she couldn't make out, sent spider legs of fear tickling up her spine.

  Chapter 8

  Andrea loosened the wooden clothespin from the edge of the
sheet and let the sun-bleached fabric fall against her arm. The bedding smelled of sunshine and the gentle breeze that tugged at the combs in her hair. A few feet away, Mahkwi lazed in the sun, stretched out full length. It was the first time she hadn't gone with Jesse to the fields, and instead, had stayed near her. A grudging affection for that animal was growing in her.

  "Now, you give me that, honey," Etta said, taking the sheet from Andrea's hands. "You are supposed to be taking it easy. That's why I'm here, remember?"

  "Oh, Etta, you've been doing nearly everything for three weeks now, and I can't stand to be idle. I'm fine. There's no sense in your working two jobs the way you do—coming here every day, when I'm perfectly capable of—"

  "—of hiding those circles under your eyes?" Etta asked with a frown. She clucked her tongue. "You don't fool me child. You've been working when I'm gone and even when I'm not watching. You're dragging like the ears of an old hound dog."

  Andrea couldn't help but smile. "How flattering."

  "You think," Etta argued, pushing her glasses up on her nose with one finger, "I didn't notice that all the snap beans have been finding their way to the kitchen whilst I'm doing laundry? Or that a floor is scrubbed that I haven't gotten to yet?"

  "I have to do something. And you shouldn't be here watching out over me when you have Isabelle's house to look after."

  "That's exactly the point of my being here, Miss Andrea. Miss Isabelle wouldn't have said so if she didn't think you needed the rest. Mercy sakes, you had a baby! And without a man to spell you! You've got to take it slow at first. All new mamas think they're indestructible. But if you don't slow down, you're going to wear yourself down to a nubbin in no time."

  "I feel fine," Andrea lied, tugging at the cuffs on her loose-fitting calico blouse. "Except that I'm feeling rather useless. Etta, you know how I appreciate everything you've done for me, but you simply must let me help around here. If I don't, I'll lose my mind. And if I lose my mind, I'll only prove Jesse right."