Deborah Camp

by To Seduce andDefend

  Moonlight pooled on the window ledge where Jennie sat, her knees drawn up to her chest, her fist pressed against her lips to keep her sobs from escaping and waking her sleeping son. Tears wet her cheeks, her throat burned, and her heart thudded rapidly in her chest and ears. As miserable as she was, it felt good to cry. To let it out, to finally succumb to the grief and misery she had been feeling since she had arrived in the offices of Polk and Warner.

  She had held it all in for too long, she thought, glancing at the sleeping form of Oliver beneath the sheets. She didn’t want him to see her crying, sobbing like a child. She was his rock, his stability, and she meant to preserve that image for him. In this crazy world, he needed her to be solid and constant and loving.

  Even after Charles had died, she had cried in front of Oliver only during the funeral service. She had kept the depth of her grief away from him, but had encouraged him to cry for the loss of his father and she had answered all his questions about death and angels and Heaven. She had helped him work through it and that had helped her to find strength, as well.

  In a way, she had lost Charles the day he had left for Guthrie because he was not the same man when he had returned. At the time, she chalked it up to his feelings of failing to secure land for them. Now she had a clearer picture of why Charles had changed and why he had been unable to make love to her after he had come home. He would hold her and kiss her, but he made excuses when she tried to arouse him further.

  After leaving her lawyer’s office this afternoon, her burden had felt lighter, but here alone in the dark Zach Warner’s words circled in her head like buzzards above the paltry, shredded remains of her love for and marriage to Charles Hastings.

  Did she still love him? she asked herself, searching her aching heart. In truth, no, she didn’t. She had lovely memories of their early years together, but any true love she had felt for him had been burned away by the firebrand of his deceit.

  She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands and looked over at Oliver again. He was her one shining light, her reason to fight and try to win back his rightful inheritance. If not for him, she would have left this place behind, gone back to St. Louis, and taken up her life there again. She would have gathered her friends around her, found work, and built a new life, piece by piece. But she didn’t want to turn her back on the dream she and Charles had created for Oliver. They had told him he would live in the country and have a dog and a horse all his own. When Charles had returned to them empty-handed, crushing the dream, Oliver had often asked her about the animals he’d been promised.

  Her bright, sweet boy had been the only one who had cheered her on when she had decided to travel to Guthrie and claim the land Charles had purchased for them – or so she had thought. Oliver had been a little scared at the prospect, but excited nonetheless to travel by train to a far-off place where he would get his dog and horse.

  Instead, they were in a boarding house, scraping out a living, adrift in a town full of strangers who knew more about their personal business than their own family and friends did! It was appalling. No, galling!

  She balled her hands into fists and gritted her teeth against the anger that welled up from her depths. Closing her eyes, she pictured Charles and then pictured herself slapping him hard against the side of his face. Once, then twice. She could almost feel the sting of contact on her palm. Damn you, Charles Hastings. Damn you for dragging me and your son through your sordid, tawdry affair with Luna Lee!

  Slowly, the fury seeped out of her and she relaxed against the window, pressing her damp cheek to the cool glass pane. She stared up at a crescent moon, languishing on its side, sporting with the stars that winked back at it. Her thoughts angled to earlier in the day when her cheek had been pressed against Zach Warner’s lapel and she had breathed in his manly scent. His embrace had been almost restorative as if she had drawn from the strength and his belief that he would be able to help her.

  He’s right, she mused. To get through this, she had to face what Charles had done. He had not been bamboozled. He had not been taken advantage of. No one had held a gun to his head and forced him to divorce her or to marry Luna Lee. He had done so of his own free will, conveniently forgetting that he had obligations in St. Louis, that he had a wife and son waiting for word from him, trusting that he was doing right by them.

  She realized that she was fidgeting with her wedding band. Looking at it, she swallowed hard and slowly removed the ring from her finger. Not too long ago, she had thought that when she became an old lady, she would be buried with this ring still on her finger.

  “I loved you, Charles,” she whispered, gazing up at the solitary slip of a moon, well aware that she had used the past tense and that it would be the last time she said that phrase aloud. “But did you love me?”

  Zach lifted the shot glass of whiskey, gave a wink to the golden-haired woman beside him, and tossed the liquor to the back of his throat. It burned nicely all the way down his gullet to set off fireworks in his belly. He screwed up an eye and gave a little dip of his head. “Nothing like rotgut to clear a man’s brain pan.”

  “What’s wrong, Zach? You in love or are you just all wound up in one of your lawyering cases?” the big-busted Blonde asked.

  “I’m not in love, Claire, and I’m always wound up in a case. That’s what I get paid for and how I can afford this stale whiskey.” He tapped the glass against the bar to get the pot-bellied saloon keeper’s attention. “Fill ‘er up, Connie.”

  Connie, the familiar for Conrad, grabbed a bottle and measured out another shot. “I’ll just leave the bottle here and trust Claire to count how many drinks you have from it.”

  “Good thinking.” He downed another throat-burning slug before turning to face Claire, Connie’s missus and the saloon’s singer and piano player. “Do you recall much about Luna’s first husband? City-slicker name of Charles Hastings.”

  “Good Time Charlie?” Claire said. “Sure, I do.”

  “Good Time Charlie? That’s what you called him?”

  She nodded vigorously, making the tight curls dance on top of her head. “He was in here almost every night, drinking and asking me to play love songs for him. ‘The Merry Widow’ and ‘May I Call You Darling?’”

  “Is that so?” He digested this and felt a writhing of disgust in his stomach. “Did he ever bring Luna in here?”

  “Sure, while they were courting.” She glanced up at the ceiling. “But not much after they were married. We didn’t see much of him after that. I guess they were too busy being newlyweds, if you know what I’m getting’ at?” She elbowed him and let loose with a lusty laugh, then sobered quickly. “I’m not stepping on your toes, am I? You and Luna had moony eyes for each other for a bit, didn’t you?”

  He poured himself another stiff one. “Nope.” The cheap whiskey slammed through him, making him see double for a few seconds. “You have me confused with someone else.”

  “Well, Luna had moony eyes for you,” Claire amended. “Maybe you didn’t see it, but everybody else did.”

  “So, he seemed happy with Luna, did he?” Zach asked, guiding her back onto the right track.

  “Sure did. They had a fine, old time. Laughed it up and could hardly keep their hands off each other.” Claire leaned into him and lowered her voice. “I heard that he had left a wife back in Missouri and came here to divorce her. That true?”

  “Not exactly.” He caught the saloon owner’s attention. “You met that fella living out on Luna’s land? Has he come in here?”

  Connie nodded. “Melvin Parks. He comes in ‘bout every week or so. Has a few drinks, plays a little poker, pays for one of the girls, and then heads back to the ranch come sunrise. He trades across the street at The Lantern Saloon, too.”

  “Did he ever come here with Luna?”

  Connie looked at his wife and they both shook their heads. “Not that I recall. Luna never comes here anymore. She’s too good for this place now that she is the judge’s wife.”

&nb
sp; “Has he ever told you that Luna is his cousin or why he’s staying at her place out there?”

  “Cousin?” Claire released a short bark of laughter. “That’s news to me.”

  “He says he’s staying out there because Luna needs someone to watch over the place until she can hire a real ranch foreman.”

  Zach chuckled. “What’s that foreman going to do out there? Round up mice and jackrabbits? The cattle out there belong to a fella who is leasing the land for grazing.”

  “I ‘spect she’s aiming to buy herself some cattle one of these days,” Connie said, wiping the bar with a dingy rag.

  “So, this Parks fella seems to be a stand-up, regular ranch hand?”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” Connie flung down the rag and folded his arms across his barrel chest. “Acts like a man more familiar with a deck of cards than a herd of cows.”

  “Tell you something about Good Time Charlie,” Claire said. “He came around a couple of times after he was married – alone – and he didn’t look none too happy. I teased him about being a newlywed and he blushed and stammered like he didn’t know how to take it. He wanted me to sing him some sad songs about love that went bad and foolish hearts. That kind of thing. Wasn’t long after that, he vanished, leaving Luna to wonder what the hell happened to him.”

  “Did she ever give any inkling to you about why she thought he left?”

  Claire batted a hand at him. “Nah. Luna’s not the type to waste her breath or her time mooning after a man. I could tell she was miffed, not liking one bit that he dumped her like a load of manure, but she just hiked up her skirts and went on about her business.”

  “Looking for her next victim,” Connie drawled, getting a giggle from his wife and a chuckle from Zach.

  “And along came the judge!” Claire whacked a hand on the bar and she and Connie shared a belly laugh.

  Zach reached into his vest pocket, drew out some coins, and tossed them onto the bar. Poor Judge Bishop was the butt of many a joke in Guthrie, he thought. Nobody believed that Luna had married him but for any other reason than his money. But why had she married Charles Hastings? Did she know about the land and figured he must have more money and would be worth pursuing? Did she actually fall in love with him? Had she convinced him to divorce Jennie or had it been all his idea?

  Leaving the saloon, Zach wandered through the streets, pausing to admire items in shop windows and to speak to men he knew from work or from playing poker with them. There were only a few women on the street, all accompanied by men. It was too late for a respectable woman to show herself on a public street.

  He wondered what Jennie Hastings did with herself after she put her son to bed in the evenings. He could picture her sitting in a rocking chair, a book open in her hands, her lovely silvery eyes moving back and forth over the printed lines. Those eyes had been full of tears and anguish earlier today in his office, moving him to embrace her, offer her a little shelter from the storm of bitter emotions that had obviously been flooding through her. Holding her, he had felt her relax against him, had suddenly realized he could feel the soft hammering of her heart and smell crushed violets on her skin and in her hair.

  She had not moved away from him as he had expected, but had actually leaned into him, rubbing her cheek against his lapel. He felt a surge of protectiveness that was so powerful it sent him stumbling backward out of the embrace.

  Passion or lust, he could have dealt with, even expected, but the tenderness, the deep desire to protect her was too much, too soon.

  She’s just that kind of woman, he told himself, straightening from the lamp post and setting off for his home. She unearths emotions that could weaken a man’s knees and could lead him to make a fool of himself.

  Be careful, son, he told himself, or you will not only compromise her, but also yourself.

  Chapter 5

  The rocker felt good after standing on her feet all day in the dry goods store. Jennie removed her shoes, wiggled her toes inside her stockings and flexed her arches. Ahhh. She tipped back her head, set the rocker in motion, and closed her eyes. On the other side of the room Oliver played with Molly Dandridge. From the sound of it, they were playing house.

  Friday, Jennie thought with a sigh. She had completed her first full week at work. Each day had been different. One day she worked in the back rooms unpacking boxes and placing items on storage shelves. The next day she was assigned to sweep floors and remove dust from shelved merchandise. Wednesday she had been given a lesson by Rachel on how the money-changing system worked and how to list items on each customer’s running tally to be paid at the end of the month. “Put it in the ledger,” was the most often repeated phrase heard in the dry goods store.

  Come Thursday she waited on her first customers all by herself, although she had felt Bob McDonald’s keen regard throughout the process. His nod of approval when she had completed the transaction had made her as happy as a child on Christmas morning. Today she had rearranged the merchandise in the ready-made apparel section and had created a fetching display of the new bonnets paired with gloves, handkerchiefs, and high-topped shoes.

  There was no telling what she would do next week. She glanced over at her purse, lying on the dresser. Inside it was her first week’s pay. Ten whole dollars. Pride coupled with accomplishment bubbled up within her and burst in a smile across her lips.

  “It’s my blanket,” Molly said, shrilly, breaking into Jennie’s thoughts.

  “You’re supposed to share,” Oliver said, grabbing one corner of the doll’s blanket and tugging.

  “No! You stop! I’m gonna tell!” Molly jerked away, jumped to her feet, and backed away from Oliver.

  “Children, hush that squabbling,” Jennie scolded. She eyed the threadbare, patchwork doll’s blanket that Molly clutched as it if were made of spun gold and silver. It was just like children to fight over something that wasn’t worth a hill of beans. Yesterday she had stopped Oliver from fighting another boy over which one of them would lay claim to a dead bug!

  “She always takes that blanket when we’re playing house. She knows I don’t like this one.” Oliver flung aside a pink doll’s blanket with a ruffle around it. “That’s a girl’s and I’m supposed to be the husband.”

  Jennie crooked her finger and Oliver ambled closer, his lower lip jutted out. “You remember how you talked Tom Fletcher into letting you play with his toy train back in St. Louis?”

  For a few moments his gaze searched hers and then his eyebrows leapt up and grinned.

  “You remember?” Jennie asked again, and he nodded. “Try that, why don’t you.” She sat back to watch the show.

  Oliver grabbed the pink blanket and held it out to admire it. “You know what, this blanket is nearly new. It doesn’t have strings hanging off it like that other one.” He hugged the blanket to his chest and grinned at Jennie. “Mama, don’t you like this one best?”

  “I believe I do, Oliver.”

  “Me, too. You keep that one, Molly. I don’t want it. It’s old and kind of dirty looking.”

  Molly’s lower lip trembled and she loosened her grip on the treasured blanket. Slowly, she held it out from her to examine it. “I think it’s pretty …”

  “You keep it,” Oliver said. “It’s all yours.” He flung the pink blanket around his shoulders. “How does this look?”

  “Silly,” Molly said. “It looks silly. That’s a girl’s blanket.”

  Jennie pressed her lips together to keep from laughing aloud. Oliver’s plan was working perfectly, just as it had with Tom Fletcher and the toy train engine. “She has a point, Oliver. Girls usually like pretty, pink, newer things. Molly is just different, I guess.”

  “I’m not! I’m the same as everyone else!” Molly thrust the patchwork blanket at Oliver. “Take it.”

  Oliver backed up, shaking his head. “I don’t want that thing. I like this one.” He spun in a circle to show off his new, pink cape. Molly grabbed at it, but he dodged her and her face puckered up in
a prelude to a bawling jag.

  “Oliver, maybe you should be a gentleman and let Molly have that pink blanket. It is meant for a girl anyway.”

  He stopped twirling. “You really want this one, Molly?”

  “I do,” Molly wailed.

  Oliver shrugged, pulling it from around his shoulders and handed it her. “Okay. There.” He retrieved the patchwork blanket and grinned at his mother. The children resumed their playing as if no quarrel had ever happened between them.

  Jennie shook her head. If only grownups could find ways around their problems as quickly and let bygones be bygones … She sat up, her eyes widened as an ingenious plan bloomed in her mind. Could she take a lesson from this child’s play? Would it work with a particular so-called grownup who was making her life difficult?

  “I’m going to try it,” she whispered.

  “What did you say, Mama?”

  Jennie blinked away the vision forming in her mind. “Wh-what? Oh, nothing, Oliver. I was only thinking aloud.”

  It could work, she thought, seizing on the idea again. It would work.

  Riding along the tree-shaded dirt road, Zach admired the countryside. Since he had ridden this way the last time – only about a month ago – more improvements had been made. A two-story house sat on a gentle undulation of land in the distance and he didn’t remember the house being there before. He heard hammering and could see men up on the roof, nailing shingles. A sign on a gate leading to the house declared “Private Property of Ben Tallchief. No Trespassing.”

  “Right friendly, huh Mercy?” Zach murmured. The chestnut’s ears flicked back to let him know she was listening. “Ah, well. Land makes people feel all sorts of things – greed, fear, pride, you name it.”

  He directed his attention ahead. Luna’s land should be the next spread, according to the deed he had studied earlier that day. Clucking his tongue, he urged Mercy into a trot until the expanse of barbwire fence changed from a four strings to a three strings and the posts went from six footers to four footers. Slowing Mercy back to a walk, Zach examined the cattle dotting the area. Several were close to the fence and he could see the Tallchief brand on them. He wondered how much money Luna was getting to let her neighbor use the land for his cattle. Enough to make her cling to the land as if it was a priceless treasure? Doubtful.