Jesse nodded. With a final look at the woman who still wore the blush of their lovemaking, Jesse walked down the road a piece with Sheriff Cobb, mentally computing the irrevocable damage he'd likely done this day to Andi Carson Winslow's already fragile reputation.
* * *
Andrea changed into a simple green muslin skirt and blue paisley blouse, then cinched her waist with a belt. She hung her wet things on a drying rack in her room. A smile crept to her lips as she thought of making love with Jesse. Even now, thinking of him, an ache of wanting curled low inside her. She crossed her arms across her stomach and hugged herself as a tingle of remembrance flowed through her. The thousands of times she'd dreamed of making love with Jesse had never come close to the reality. It was beyond anything she'd ever experienced. She'd been shocked by her own response to him, by her lack of inhibition at his touch.
What they'd done today was surely sinful in the eyes of Reverend McConneghy and to most everyone else she knew. But how could something that felt so right be wrong? She reached for the portrait of Zach standing on her bedside table. She gazed at his face trying to remember how his smile dimpled his cheek and made his brown eyes twinkle.
Would he forgive her if he were somehow watching her from above? Would he understand?
Somehow, she thought he would be happy for her. That feeling brought her immeasurable comfort.
With a sigh she reached for her stockings. They were dirty. She pulled open her drawer and searched for the other pair of black ones she kept there. She found a single black stocking but not the other. Andrea frowned and dug down deeper, pushing with her hand beneath the cotton drawers and lacy camisoles. Nothing.
That's funny, she thought, she'd just washed them yesterday. She was sure...
She must be getting careless. The stocking was another in a long line of missing things that had cropped up in the last few months. Reaching in her drawer, she pulled out her last pair. Made of white silk, she'd worn them under her wedding gown for Zach.
On second thought, she put them gently back in the drawer. She'd put the soiled ones back on and look for the lost one later.
Glancing out the window, she saw the two deputies leaning against the shade of the barn smoking cigarettes, laughing over some private joke. Her face flashed with heat, wondering if she was the subject of it.
Jesse and Sheriff Cobb were still gone. Ruthie waited patiently for her beside the chicken yard, poking her fingers through the fence for an illicit touch of the heat-dazed hens. Addie held Zachary close so he could have a good look, all the while repeating the word "chic-ken."
With a jolt of alarm, Andrea saw Gertie lying stretched out languidly in the shade beside an equally content Mahkwi. With one small hand, Gertie stroked the fur on the back of Mahkwi's head. The other absently traced the shape of some cloud she watched in the sky.
Andrea smiled and allowed herself to relax. She'd be sorry to see the Rafferty girls go home. So would Zachary. And so—perhaps most of all—would Mahkwi.
* * *
With the supper dishes done and the exhausted children tucked safely into bed, Andrea returned to the parlor to find Jesse gone. Disappointment forked through her. They'd spent the rest of the day going in separate directions. She'd taken the children to the pond and they'd spent themselves splashing in the water all afternoon.
Silas had come home, reporting that the Raffertys were slowly picking up the pieces. Etta had worked wonders on the minor burns on Silas's back with the juice of a small plant she kept growing on the windowsill. She'd sent a small one along for Andrea.
This afternoon Silas and Jesse finished what was left of the barn roof and had used the last of the light to begin threshing and busheling the cured, shucked wheat in the field. After dinner around a crowded table, Andrea began to despair of ever getting a moment alone with him.
She broke off a stalk of the plant Etta had sent and walked through the parlor to the front door. Jesse sat on the end of the porch, back braced against the house. His forearm balanced along his bent knee, he sat staring off into the darkness. A cloud of cigarette smoke escaped his lips and wreathed his head like dissipating fog.
Her heart clenched at the sight of him.
Andi opened the door. He didn't turn his head, or seem to even hear her approach.
"I didn't know you smoked," she said softly, sitting down beside him on the step.
When he looked up at her, heat lightning flashed between them, and he quickly stared down at the nearly spent stub in his fingers. "I don't usually." He sucked in a last puff then snubbed the butt out under the heel of his boot. "I guess I just felt a little restless tonight."
"Oh." She stared blindly at her hands. "I see."
"Somehow, I doubt that." After a moment's hesitation, he threaded his fingers through hers. His bandaged hand felt so large around hers. Her heart thudded like a rabbit's. Two seconds beside him and she wanted to leap into his arms and press her lips against his. God, was it still hot out this late in the evening? Think of something else.
She stared at the hand he'd woven together with hers. The bandage from his burn was shredded from a day's work.
"Your hand—"
"It's fine." With his other hand he tipped her chin up so she'd have to meet his eyes. His fingers held the faintest tremor. His eyes, a deep twilight blue, searched hers with the same intensity she'd seen there today.
On some unseen signal both seemed to hear, they met halfway, their mouths joining fiercely, hungrily as if it had been months, not hours since their last kiss. Jesse drew her to him until she was halfway across his lap. His right hand cupped her hip while his left tangled in the hair at the back of her head. Sounds of urgency came from deep in her throat; a groan came from his. She clung to him the way a drowning woman would a rescuer. She was drowning, drowning in need.
Then Jesse broke the kiss. "God almighty, Andi." With ragged breaths he raked his hand through his hair, trying to regain some modicum of control.
Stunned by what had just happened, Andi sat up too, breathing hard. Her hands shook and she pressed her palms into the hard planking of the step. Dear Lord, they'd almost—
"Sorry." The word came from him in a breathless whisper.
"Don't be," she answered.
He dropped his head in both hands. "I should have never started that. I don't seem to have much control around you these days."
"Are you... sorry about today, Jesse?"
He closed his eyes for a moment as if gathering courage. "There are a lot of things I'm sorry about in my life. Making love to you today will never be one of them."
Andi released the breath she'd been unaware of holding. She leaned her head against his shoulder. All the mistakes they'd made, the lost years; could they ever make them up? Could they ever truly go back?
"Oh, Jess," she sighed, "we really made a mess of things, didn't we?"
A moment of awkward silence stretched between them. "I guess so."
"What shall we do?"
He untangled his fingers from hers, stiffening beside her.
"Do? I don't know, Sunshine. It's your call."
She regarded him with a frown. "Why is it my call?"
"It's your reputation on the line. You saw the look Cobb and his deputies gave us today. Do you think they believed a word of that story you fed them about falling in the creek?" He reached up and ran his thumb along her lips. "Your mouth was still bruised with my kisses, Andi. Our loving was written all over your face. Just like now."
Heat crept up her neck at the memory. "I... I don't care what they thought."
"Well, I do and you should." Jesse stood and stared out over the yard with his back to her. Dusk ripened the drying fields of corn a purplish blue and the ball of yellow-gold settled between the rows to the west like melting butter. The evening insects stirred the still warm air, stitching the silence gathering between them. Finally, he spoke. "If you won't say it, I will. We should get married."
On shaky legs, she stood, a
rms hugged to her sides. It wasn't the proposal she'd longed to hear from him.
No words of love, no bent-kneed promises. Only a single word reverberated in her mind. In a voice that sounded brittle, she asked, "Should?"
He raked his fingers through his hair. "I've given it a lot of thought, Andi."
"Have you?"
He nodded. "It's the only way."
"The only way to what?"
"To make it right."
"It?"
"You and me," he said, slowly as if he couldn't believe she didn't get it. "I said I wasn't sorry about today, Andi, and I'm not. But I'm a selfish man. I guess I always have been. It didn't occur to me until afterward that I'd forced you in a corner."
The crack in her heart widened. "A corner you didn't want to find yourself in either?"
He turned back to her with a frown. "I didn't say that. I didn't say that at all."
"No," she sighed and stared sightlessly past the yard. "You didn't. What about the fact that you hate farming, Jesse? What about Montana? What about your dreams?"
"Dreams are just... dreams. This is real life we're talking about."
"And you're willing to give them all up." It wasn't a question, but a disbelieving statement.
An angry muscle jumped in his jaw, but as his eyes flashed to hers, she saw something else; something vulnerable and wounded and scared.
"You don't want to marry me?"
She blinked, unsure what to say. I want that more than anything in the world... Don't make me go on without you... Please say you love me....
Instead, she said, "I haven't heard a good enough reason to marry you, Jesse."
"You haven't—?" He nearly choked. "What do you mean? I just told you—"
With a shake of her head, she pressed a finger to his lips, then she kissed him. Not the heated kiss they'd shared moments before, but a light brush of her lips against his. "No, Jesse. That's not enough for me. Might as well know that much up front. It never will be again."
She dug something out of the pocket of her apron and pressed it into his palm. "This is for your hand." Without another word, she turned and hurried back up the steps toward the house and snapped the door shut behind her.
Jesse watched her go, a lifetime of doubt cresting over him like a suffocating wave. He stared at the fat green cactus leaf in his hand and cursed. Aloe vera. He'd asked her to marry him and she'd given him aloe vera! Throwing it as far as he could fling it, he turned on his heel and stalked toward the barn.
Anger warred with hurt inside him. What the hell was she thinking? What better reason for them to marry than to save her from the worst kind of humiliation once the town's gossip mill starts up? It wouldn't be long before women were sniggering behind her back and making up far worse than the truth.
Apparently, marrying him was worse.
That's not enough for me. Might as well know that up front. Her words rang in his ears, clawed at the pain in his chest. He was willing to give up everything for her... everything he'd thought he wanted. All the dreams that weren't worth a milk bucket under a bull to him anymore.
Maybe he should have said that. Maybe he should have told her—
Shut up, Winslow. Just shut up.
Why was he hurt? Hell, why was he even surprised? After what had happened between them today, he'd thought maybe...
But he supposed he should have known better.. Despite the pretty words she'd said today about him owning her heart, despite the way she'd melted in his arms as if she were a part of him, she could never give herself completely to a man like him. A bastard. When it came right down to it, he wasn't good enough for her. He still wasn't. Hadn't the old man beaten that into him well enough, for God's sake?
He stalked into the dark barn, raided the tack room for a blanket and the bottle of the old man's rotgut he'd found hidden between the feed bins. Fortunately, the old bastard had left him a little for the road. He clambered noisily up the mow ladder. There was no way he was sleeping in the house, under the same roof with her tonight. Or any other night for that matter.
"Hey, boss. What'cha'll be doin' up here?"
Jesse jumped at the sound of Silas' voice. If he'd been thinking clearly, he would have remembered that Silas occupied the mow. As his vision adjusted, he could just make the colored man's eyes staring at him in the dark. But his mood was too black for questions. His whiskey bottle clanked against the wood as he hauled himself up into the sweet smelling loft.
"You sleepin' up here t'night?" Silas asked.
"You mind?"
"Help yourself. Be a comfortable spot right over yonder," he said pointing beside him. "I done tried 'em all. You gots enough blankets, boss?"
"I'm fine. I'm just tired. Okay?" Spreading his blanket in the hay, he flopped down on it, drew the edges over him and slammed his eyes closed. "I just want to get some shut-eye."
"Right. It be eight o'clock, all right. Late."
"And I don't want to talk about it, all right?" Jesse added perfunctorily.
"Sure, boss."
Jesse uncorked the bottle with a hollow squeak and took a long pull. Instantly, he wished he had some of that fermented cactus juice called bacanora he used to import from the Utah Territory instead. Hell, this stuff was enough to kill you, he thought, exhaling sharply.
Silence presided for a full five seconds.
"Miss Andi done kicked you outta the big house, huh?"
Jesse didn't answer.
"I be noticin' things was a little sticky 'tween you two at supper. She peeved with ya'll for workin' all day with that hand o' yours? I done tol' you not to—"
"No." Jesse took another pull, this time longer. The whiskey seeped languidly through him like steam. "It wasn't my hand." Though his hand burned like the very devil.
"Ya know," Silas went on, "I 'members the time I be workin' with a blister the size a gold eagle on my—"
Jesse rolled over. "Geez, were you always this talky, or is it only since you met me?"
"Always, I reckon," Silas admitted with a smile Jesse could hear.
"Geez."
Blessed silence again. Jesse settled back and pulled the blanket over his ears.
"You drinkin' whiskey?"
A pause. "Yeah. Want some?"
"I ain't no drinkin' man."
"Good," Jesse mumbled. "There's just enough here to get me piss-drunk."
Silas grunted. "You ain't obliged to tell me nothin'."
"Thank you very much."
"'S jus' that—"
Jesse groaned.
"—my mammy always say the soul need a good airin' now an' then just to keep it honest. You reckon that true?"
Jesse threw his cover off and sat up, slightly off balance. "All right! Aaa-all ri-ight! We had a... a disagreement. A doozy. I asked her to marry me, okay? And she turned me down flat. There. Satisfied? Is my soul aired enough to suit you?"
Silence. Well, he'd finally left Silas speechless.
A minute passed. Jesse's stomach burned hotter than his hand and for the briefest of moments, imagined that this was what the old man must have felt when he was well into his cups and looking for Jesse with his strap.
Finally the colored man rolled toward him, rustling in the fragrant hay.
"You axed her to marry you an' she say no? Women. Who can figger 'em?"
"Here, here." Jesse took another swallow. The liquid sloshed musically against the bottle. He could feel the liquid fire searing his muscles, settling into his limbs with languid, paralyzing heat.
"She say how come?" Silas asked.
Jesse swallowed audibly. "Guess she didn't wanna be married to a bastard."
"Aw now, boss, you is the mos' even tempered man I ever—"
"I'm talkin 'bout my bloodline, dammit, not my disposition. Although"—he slugged back another—"that's in serious decline as well."
Another long pause as Silas lay back against the straw. "Miss Andi... she ain't like that."
"You're wrong there, my friend. But... hell,
it's just as well. I'm off the hook, huh? I offered didn't I? I can't do any more'n that."
"No, suh."
"No siree. That's the last plurprosal-" he frowned, "pro-po-sal she's gettin' outta me. Let her rot here with her stinkin' corn-an'-wheat-an'-chickens-an'-hogs. Let th' bank take 'er place and the good citizens of Elkgrove snigger behind their hands cause they know we—" Jesse stopped himself before saying something he would forever regret and instead took a long, last fiery pull on his bottle. He emptied it.
He sucked on the bottle for a final drop. It slid past his lips mockingly.
Damn and double damn. He wasn't unconscious yet.
Flinging the bottle into the hay beside him, he rolled over, resting his forehead on his crossed wrists. To his dismay he discovered his cheeks were wet. He wasn't crying over her, was he?
Hell, he hated a sloppy drunk!
He sighed deeply. Tired. God Almighty, he was tired. Maybe he'd pass out after all. Yeah, maybe he'd pass out and never wake up. No... no, that's the liquor talkin', Winslow. You've got plenty to live for.
Plenty.
Now, if he could only remember what that was...
* * *
Silas lay in the dark, staring at the cracks of moonlight filtering through the barn walls. His heart ached for the man who'd become his friend. He didn't know much about what had passed between Jesse and Andi years ago, except that Etta said they'd been close to marrying, but after Jesse left, she'd married his brother. Besides that, he'd never seen two people more bull-headed in love than Jesse and Andi, except maybe him an' Etta.
There was something missing outta what Jesse told him, something that bothered Silas into silence. And it appeared to be eatin' Jesse Winslow up from the inside out. He prayed Jesse would dig out that festering piece of his heart and get rid of it, before it was too late.
But as he heard Jesse's soft, drunken snore, he wondered if whatever had happened between them tonight hadn't already buried it too deep to find.
* * *
Andrea blew out the flame of the candle flickering beside her bed, stared disconsolately at the ceiling, and cursed Jesse Winslow for not seeing what was in his own heart. Blast his stubborn hide! He loved her. She knew it. She felt it in the way he kissed her, held her, made love to her.
Renegade's Kiss Page 23
