Steele slid his hat back on his head tiredly and dismounted. "Can we talk inside, sir? It's best if we stay out of sight as much as possible."
"Why?"
Steele smiled halfway. "Inside. Men, you get the horses in the barn while I speak with the Winslows." Deeds and Johnson obligingly headed for the barn, the captain's horse in tow.
Jesse and Andi led Steele into the kitchen, where he stood stiffly by the door until Jesse invited him to sit. Andrea noted that fatigue had etched itself in dark smudges beneath the man's brown eyes. His uniform fit him more loosely than it must have once. Despite the shiny brass buttons on his jacket, it had grown ragged about the cuffs and collar. His posture, however, betrayed none of that war-weariness, for he sat stiffly in the chair offered him as though unaccustomed to such creature comforts. His eyes met hers for a brief moment when she handed him a glass of water, then he looked at Jesse.
"I apologize," Steele began, "that you were not informed of this turn of events sooner. However, in the interests of secrecy, you will understand why soon enough."
"Secrecy?"
Steele tipped his head. "No doubt you've heard of the robbery of a Union gold shipment only last week?"
"One would have to live in a cave not to have heard that news," Jesse admitted.
"It's hardly a secret that the Union Army has sent a detachment to investigate the murderous thugs who've been pillaging your fine county and those nearby. Those men are playing a visible role in town. Quite apart from that, my men and I, along with three other likewise small detachments of men, have been instructed to take up positions at strategic locations to lie in wait for the culprits as it were."
Jesse frowned. "You have orders stating that?"
Steele pulled a paper from his pocket and handed it to Jesse. He read it and, satisfied, handed it back.
"What makes you think my place is strategic?"
"Quite simply, it hasn't been hit yet," Steele replied. "And the corn crop you have drying in the field here makes it a prime target."
"So the Army still believes these thugs are Confederate raiders?" Andi asked. "Part of John Morgan's band?"
Steele turned to her. "John Morgan was killed at Greenville, Tennessee by Federal Cavalry on the fourth of this month. If these raiders are a splinter faction, they're being led by another man. As to their cause, if they're not Confederate Raiders, but opportunists, they've become an equal threat to the Union Army. And we mean to root them out. The Army has made them a priority."
"It's too bad the Army didn't see them as a priority before half of Elkgrove township had been torched and looted."
Steele sighed. "We're in the middle of a war, Mr. Winslow. It's unfortunate that equity has little to do with current affairs, but that's the way of it. I don't suppose you'll mind so much if we catch the scoundrels. We'll do the best we can with what we have." He pulled himself slowly to his feet.
"I assure you and your wife, you will be in no way responsible for our board while we're here, except for fodder for our mounts. We are supplied with cold rations enough to see us through several weeks if need be."
Jesse and Andrea exchanged a look. Jesse said, "I won't argue with extra protection, Captain Steele. However, I imagine there must be a more efficient way of searching out these rogues."
"With luck, the troops in town will find them before we do," the captain replied. "As far as Elkgrove knows, they are the only troops in the area. I must warn you to keep our presence here a secret. It's for your own sake as much as ours I ask it. Have I your word on that?"
Jesse nodded.
"And Captain," Andrea put in. "So there's no mistake, I am Mrs. Winslow, but Jesse is not my husband. He's my late husband's brother."
Jesse's eyes narrowed on hers for a brief moment before he looked away. Steele's expression, on the other hand, brightened for a moment before he checked it. "Oh, I see... I thought... well, I'm sorry for your loss, ma'am. Was your husband a soldier?"
"Yes, he was killed at Chicamonga Creek."
Steele gave Andi a look Jesse wagered held more than strict sympathy.
"I am sorry," the captain said, walking to the door and fitting his hat back on his head. "You have a handsome boy, ma'am."
She smiled. "Thank you, Captain."
"Thank you both for your cooperation. My men and I will try to be as unobtrusive into your daily routine as possible."
"I hope so," Jesse said dryly.
Steele shook Jesse's hand firmly and started off across the yard for the barn.
Jesse turned to Andi with a scowl. "Why did you tell him that?"
"What?" she asked innocently.
"That you were not my wife."
"Why shouldn't I have?"
"It would have been much safer for you if those men believed we were together."
"Well, we're certainly not together, are we?" she replied with an incredulous look. "And I can't believe I'd be in any danger from a man like Captain Steele, who's been sent to protect us."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that."
"Why Jesse, with three eligible men living right here in my barn, I find it hard to believe you could find fault with that."
Jesse ground his teeth together and looked at her imploringly. "Look, Andi, I don't want to fight."
"Good, nor do I," she agreed quickly. "So let's not. Let's try to make the best of an... uncomfortable situation. All right?"
"All right." He started toward the door, but she called him back.
"Jesse?" She lifted her chin when he looked back at her. "When will you go?"
"Go?"
"Leave. Back to Montana."
"When I know you're safe," he replied, then turned and walked out the door.
* * *
With a bucket full of fresh spring water in one hand and several woolen blankets in the other, Andrea stepped into the dimly lit barn. Warmed by the long hot day, the air inside seemed thick and fragrant with the scent of hay. At the far end she could hear the squeaky-hinge purr of the hens as they scratched for bugs in their coop. She could see nothing, no sign of the men who were inhabiting her barn. Blinking to adjust her eyes, she rapped on the wooden door as an afterthought.
"Hello?" she called. "Captain Steele?"
"Yes?" His deep voice came from the darkness to her right, startling her. One shadow separated itself from the others near the door and caught the blankets that dropped out of her hand. His fingers brushed hers briefly with heat.
"Oh! I—I didn't see you there," she said, pressing palm to her pounding heart.
"That's the idea," he replied with an easy smile. "Are these for us?"
"Yes... I thought perhaps they would make you more comfortable on the hay."
"That's very kind of you. You didn't have to do that."
"I thought it's the least I could do, considering how uncomfortable you'll be on our account." She noticed he'd removed his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt past his elbows. A sheen of sweat stood out on his skin.
"Believe me," he said, "this place beats the hard ground I've been sleeping on for the past two years in field camps." Now her eyes had adjusted, she could see him better, as well as the other two soldiers stationed at the far end of the barn. They all looked worn out but Steele looked particularly in need of a night's rest. She wondered briefly if he was ill.
"I brought some fresh spring water for you as well."
"Thank you again. It is rather warm in here." He drank a dipper of water greedily, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve, watching her. "I saw you once before, you know."
"At the church in Elkgrove," she said.
He smiled, surprised. "Yes. You remember me?"
"I remember wondering if my hat was on backward, the way you were staring at me."
"Sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It was just that at first I thought I knew you; that we'd met before. Have we, Mrs. Winslow?"
"I don't think so, Captain. I've lived in Elkgrove all my life. Are you from a
round here?"
He shook his head. "Illinois. I was raised on a farm much like this one. It kind of reminds me of home."
"Perhaps I remind you of someone, too."
"Perhaps." He took another dipper of water and guzzled it down. "But I don't think that's it. A woman as beautiful as you is hard to forget."
She arched one flattered eyebrow. "Are you always this forward with women you don't know, Captain?"
"Hardly ever," he admitted with a grin.
"I'd better go," she said with a wry smile. Turning, she stepped through the barn door.
"Mrs. Winslow?" Steele said, stopping her. "When I saw you that first time in town, I thought you and your brother-in-law were..."
"A couple?" she supplied, looking at him.
He nodded. Watching her. Waiting.
"No," she replied. "We're not. Not at all. Good evening, Captain."
"Good evening, Mrs. Winslow." Steele watched her go, the corner of his mouth lifting with the first ounce of hope he'd felt in two years.
* * *
Jesse had been on his way in from the fields when he saw Andi leave the barn where the soldiers were holed up. He froze at the sight of her as she turned at something that Captain said to her. Giving her hair a little toss, she shook her head and smiled at him, saying something he couldn't make out. Then she turned and strolled back to the house. Steele hovered in the doorway, and Jesse knew he wasn't just enjoying the air.
With a curse Jesse made his way to the house. Mahkwi ran along at his heels, nipping playfully at him. He batted at her with his hand and, wagging her tail, she nipped at his fingers. He stopped at the pump outside and stripped off his shirt and then washed a days' worth of sweat off under the cool water. The wolf stole a drink under the cool stream and then looked up at him with her wolfy smile, oblivious to the turmoil inside her master. Jesse picked up a stick and threw it hard into the cornfield. Mahkwi took off at a lope for the fallen missile, disappearing in the field of brown.
Jesse sighed. His muscles ached from cutting and shocking corn all day, but it was a good ache. Until now. Now the ache had moved low in his belly the way it always did when he looked at Andi, at the sway of her hips when she walked, the tilt of her head when she talked. He wanted to drag her into his arms and force her to see what was in his heart. He wanted to prove to her that she was wrong about him, that the old man had been wrong about him, too. But that want didn't overrule the doubt that had shadowed his life, reminding him that his best would never be good enough.
* * *
Andrea stirred the fragrant chicken soup and ladled the steaming liquid into a lidded pot for the men in the barn. Though they hadn't asked her to feed them, they hadn't turned away a single dish she'd brought them over the past three days when faced with the prospect of the tinned rations they'd been given. There'd been no sign of raiders, and they grew daily more restless within the confines of the barn.
She stood and pressed her hands against the small of her back. Since the soldiers had come, she'd worked herself hard simply to keep her mind off her troubles. Jesse had made himself particularly scarce, appearing only at meals. Though they kept up a steady, even pleasant conversation, they spoke of inconsequential things. Often, she would feel his eyes on her when he thought she wasn't looking. And she would do the same.
She hadn't found it in her to forgive him yet, but seeing him through the loving eyes of Creed and Mariah had stolen some of the bitterness from her heart. She found she missed Jesse very much, but could see no road back to him.
Instead, she found herself looking forward to her brief visits with Captain Micah Steele, and enjoyed the things they shared in common. He appreciated her cooking, laughed at her jokes, and if she didn't miss her guess, he found her somewhat attractive. And though the same spark Jesse had always stirred in her wasn't exactly there, she found his dark good looks appealing, too.
She frowned. This morning, however, when she'd brought the men some homemade porridge, the captain had been quiet and, though he'd denied feeling poorly, had looked decidedly unwell.
Packing three bowls and spoons into a canvas bag, she carried it and the soup to the barn and entered without knocking.
"Hello? Captain?"
"Over here, Mrs. Winslow," came Private Deeds's voice. "I was just about to come and get you."
"Deeds—" Captain Steele's voice croaked out.
"What is it?" Andrea asked hurrying to where Johnson and Deeds were kneeling by a stall. Her heart thumped when she saw the captain lying propped against the stall wall in the straw, his face flushed and dry. "Captain!"
"He's took real sick," Deeds said, "but he wouldn't let me come to fetch you."
"I'm all right," Steele argued feebly. "It's nothing."
Andrea set down the soup and bowls and dropped down on her knees beside him. She touched his fevered forehead with her hand. That brief contact seared her skin.
"Good Lord! You're burning up with fever, Captain!"
He rolled his head against the wall and tried to sit up. He failed. "I'm just a little under the weather, is all. I'll be fine. I could use some water though."
"Fine, my eye! Why didn't you tell me you were ill?" she replied. "You need a doctor."
He grabbed her hand. "No. You can do what has to be done. No one must know where we are."
"I'm no doctor, Captain."
"You'll do."
She sat staring at him for a moment, her hands clenched in her lap. "Gentlemen, we must get the Captain into the house at once. The barn is no place for a sick man."
He cried out as Deeds and Johnson each slid a hand under his legs. "Stop—" Andrea ordered, and the men released him. "Is it your leg, Captain? Are you in pain?"
He swallowed hard and nodded. "Silly."
"What's silly?"
"Didn't think... a bug bite could make you sick."
"Bug bite?" she repeated. "What kind of bug?"
"Spider. Small brown one. Bit me the day before I came here. It... seems to be... festering."
She turned to Private Deeds. "Do you have a knife?"
He produced one and she slipped it under the leg of Steele's trouser and long johns, and slit the seam upward. At first she could see nothing, but just below his knee on the back of his calf she found the source of his pain: a festering, red swelling the size of a child's fist. She sucked in a breath. Streaks of red radiated from the wound in both directions; a sign of blood infection.
"Gentlemen, please help him up with care and bring him into my house. That swelling must be looked after immediately."
Steele tightened his jaw. "It's still light. I can't afford to be seen outside," he protested.
"You can't afford not to, Captain."
* * *
Jesse straightened over the freshly cut corn, slipped his curved-blade corn knife into the loop at his belt and glanced toward the house. The last few days had passed with unbearable slowness. Long hours in the corn were relieved only by brief glimpses of Andi working around the yard: feeding the chickens, hoeing under the last of the summer garden, hanging laundry on the line. Sometimes she would stand staring out toward the small cemetery plot fenced in at the top of the hill, and though he never saw her go there, there were often fresh flowers on Zachary's grave.
The worst, however, was not seeing her alone, but with Captain Micah Steele, the handsome soldier ensconced in her barn. Frequently, she found excuses to bring food or drink to the men. Jesse found himself checking his watch, knowing she was taking longer than strictly necessary with the young officer. Often, when she left, she wore a smile, something Jesse himself couldn't seem to wring from her these days.
He grabbed hold of another stalk of corn and arched the corn knife, hacking through the tough stalk. It fell beside the others, and he drew them together in a shock, twisting the damp hay rope he and Silas had made around the corn. Jesse fitted the metal spiked corn-shock binder through the rope, tightened it, then sliced it with his knife.
Alongside
him, Silas did the same. They'd worked hard these past few days to see that the corn was shocked before any unexpected frost hit that would ruin the crop. Silas kept a running stream of conversation going about the book Etta was teaching him to read; something by Charles Dickens, called A Tale of Two Cities. Jesse had listened with half an ear until now, adding his own grunting responses. Suddenly, he realized Silas had spoken to him directly.
"What?" he asked.
"I said I's thinkin 'bout axing her to marry up with me."
"Who?" Jesse asked blankly.
"Who? Who? Who I been talkin' about for the past ten minutes? Etta o' course."
Jesse colored. "Oh, hell, Silas, I'm sorry. Of course it's Etta. I mean, of course it is. That's great, Silas. I wish you luck." Better luck than I've had.
His apology mollified Silas somewhat. "Well, I said I's thinkin' about it. She be a fool to go jumpin' over the broom wid a man like me."
"Why would you say that?"
"She's used to better." He hacked at a stalk, felling it in one blow. "What I gots to offer her? I gots no house, no land, a job that cain't support both of us."
Jesse pulled the long T-shaped corn-horse from the shock he'd just made and leaned on it. "You shouldn't let that stop you, Silas. If you love her."
Silas tipped his hat back on his head with one finger and sent a doubtful look at Jesse as if to say, strange words coming from you. But what he said was, "Oh, I loves her all right. That woman's done sent the weak trembles through me ever since I laid eyes on her. She's contrary, an' stubborn and prissy as a old red-flannel petticoat, but I reckon she the smartest woman I knows and"—he ran a sleeve over his brow—"she fancies me, too. But I don't cotton to takin' her outta that fine Rafferty house to live in some little hovel with ol' Silas Mayfield where she gots to scratch out a livin' outen the dirt."
"A man who knows how to read won't be scratching for long," Jesse pointed out, knowing how hard Silas had been working at that. "Besides, as soon as this corn is in, I'll pay you everything I owe you. I couldn't have done it without you."
"Thanks, boss." Silas straightened a bit at his words. "But... I don' know."
"Don't give up. It'd be nice to see one happy ending in all this."
Renegade's Kiss Page 28
