Remembered

by Tamera Alexander

  Leevy’s expression darkened. He nodded toward the supplies. “Last chance, Brennan. Everything you’ve got left—cash on the table. You willin’ to deal?”

  Jack remembered the warning Rousseau had given him a while back at the Peerless. He could flatly refuse Leevy’s offer, and chances were slim the man would do anything in front of all these witnesses. But on the road, maybe not this time, or even the next, but somewhere down the line, he might retaliate. And what if Véronique was with him when that happened? It was one thing for him to take the risk, but for her . . . If anything happened to her because of this, he wouldn’t be able to move past it. He wasn’t strong enough to go through that again.

  Yet Jack knew that if he gave in, there would be no limit to Leevy’s future demands. He quickly weighed his options. If Leevy’s issue was only about supplies, he’d dump the load of them in the center of town himself. But it wasn’t. It was about integrity. And honor. And truth. And doing what was right, no matter the cost.

  There was only one option Jack could live with.

  “No deal. These supplies are spoken for, and they’re headed up the mountain.” He reached for the reins in order to maneuver the wagon around.

  Leevy’s face went stony. “Well, it’s good to know where we stand, Brennan. I’ll look forward to our future dealings.” He touched the rim of his hat. “You two have a safe journey.” Challenge tainted his smirk. “Especially you . . . Mrs. Brennan.”

  CHAPTER | THIRTY - TWO

  THE TENSION AND FURY emanating from Jack was enough to keep Véronique silent for a good ten minutes after they’d passed the outskirts of Sluice Box. Then she couldn’t stand it any longer.

  She moved closer to him on the seat. “Jack, may I ask why you told them I was—”

  “Véronique, not yet.”

  She promptly closed her mouth, and let her eyes roam the line of pine trees nestling her side of the road.

  Jack’s rifle rested between his thighs, and the revolver he’d originally given to her was tucked back in his trousers. She noticed his grip on the reins. He was holding them so tightly his hands were shaking. Or were his hands shaking for some other reason?

  She had an inkling as to why he had introduced her as his wife but wanted to hear it from him. Not that it had offended her. Surprised her, yes, but not offended. Perhaps if she approached it from a different angle. “Would you have truly shot that man?”

  “Véronique, please . . .” His voice was intense but soft, not the least harsh, and that’s when she knew.

  She slowly faced forward. The pounding of Charlemagne’s and Napoleon’s massive hooves scattered what silence there might have been. She’d never seen Jack Brennan truly frightened before. Nervous in closed spaces, yes, but this was different. Truth be told, she hadn’t imagined it was possible for him to be so scared.

  As soon as she had processed the thought, she realized how silly it was. Everyone was afraid of something.

  What Christophe had once told her, was true. Sometimes there wasn’t the space for words. Or the need. There were other ways to communicate. She looked at Jack and clearly read fear in his stern expression and tense jaw. Words weren’t needed. Not yet.

  She scooted closer and slid her hand between his as he gripped the reins.

  Jack held onto her hand as tightly as he held the leather straps. But she didn’t mind. She liked the feel of his hands on hers. She was content to ride like this all the way to the next town, then back down the mountain to Willow—

  Jack exhaled an audible breath, brought the wagon to a stop, and set the brake. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it once, and then again. Then he circled her waist and pulled her against him. He kissed her forehead. His hands moved over her arms, her back, then to her shoulders and her arms again. They seemed to have taken on a mind of their own.

  Then he went absolutely still. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

  Véronique knew the feeling.

  With her head tucked beneath his chin, she reached up and touched his cheek, wanting to comfort him, wanting to relieve him of whatever burden he carried. And she wished she could find the words to tell him how proud she was of how he’d conducted himself back in that town.

  The upper part of his cheek was smooth against her fingertips, and at the same time the lower half was rough against her palm. “Everything is all right now.” She kept her voice soft. “I am not afraid anymore.”

  A noise rose from within his throat. Not a sigh really. Something more. With one hand, he cradled the nape of her neck. With the other, he caressed her lower back.

  “Jack?”

  “Yes?” he finally whispered.

  “May I say something else?”

  He gave a soft laugh. “Will I be able to stop you?”

  She pulled back slightly in order to see him. And at the look in his eyes, she forgot everything except the unspoken promise he’d made to her at Casaroja, after the birth of the foal. But was she ready for him to keep that promise? No, she wasn’t ready! She’d never done this. Well, that wasn’t quite true. . . .

  Jack brushed a strand of hair from her face. With his finger, starting at her brow, he traced an achingly slow path down her temple and across the curve of her cheek. “What was it you wanted to say?”

  She swallowed. With him this close, doing what he was doing, it was hard enough for her to breathe, much less hold a thought in her head. “I was wanting to say . . . how proud I . . .”

  He placed soft kisses on her forehead, lingering between each one.

  Christophe had kissed her once, but it hadn’t been anything like this. And then Véronique realized—both with pleasure and panic— that Jack hadn’t really kissed her yet. Not on the lips like Christophe had done.

  “If you’re going to say something, Véronique, I sure wish you’d do it soon.”

  She nodded, struggling to remember both what she had wanted to say, and how a kiss was supposed to work. “I think . . . I was saying . . . how proud . . .”

  He kissed her cheek, then the edge of her mouth, and his warm breath against her skin chased away the last fleeting hope of capturing any thought.

  “Jack?”

  “Yes?”

  “I cannot remember.”

  “In that case” —he pulled back slightly—“may I say something?”

  Knowing what he was asking, she reached up and touched his mouth. “Oh, I wish you would. . . .”

  She tasted like fine wine, sweet and rich. Jack kissed her mouth, her cheek, her mouth again, and in his mind, he covered the soft hollow at the base of her throat.

  He didn’t realize how much he’d been anticipating this until she’d taken his hand a mile or so back. His relief at having gotten out of Sluice Box unscathed poured through him again. He would not bring her with him anymore. His heart nearly failed him every time he thought about what could have happened back there. What could happen in any one of the towns they had visited.

  Her hands stayed on his shoulders, and with no small effort, he kept his from wandering. Their kiss grew more heated, and Jack knew they needed to stop.

  He was just about to pull away, when she deepened the kiss.

  He didn’t know what to do at first, and then quickly knew exactly what he needed to do. And fast! He gently broke the kiss and untwined his fingers from her hair.

  Her eyes remained closed, her lips parted and slightly swollen.

  Any question he’d had about her feelings for him had been answered. And then some. And no doubt she knew how he felt.

  “Vernie?”

  She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. “Oui?”

  Heaven help him, he wanted to kiss her again. He put distance between them on the seat, wishing he could get out and walk . . . for about three days.

  Either sensing or feeling his retreat, she opened her eyes. And blinked.

  He released the wagon brake and gathered the reins. “We need to be on our way.”

  She lightly touched the c
orners of her mouth and nodded. Her expression clouded, and she reached for his arm. “Jack, did I . . .”

  He waited, having no idea what she was going to ask him.

  The blush on her cheeks deepened. “Did I do something wrong?”

  He stared, not understanding. But when he saw the doubt reflected in her eyes, her question became clear. He gave a soft laugh, filled more with irony than humor. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong, believe me.”

  “But you stopped when I” —uncertainty lined her brow—“kissed you back.”

  Is that what she called it? Jack rubbed the muscles in his neck. For one so stuck on etiquette and staying within the lines, she was approaching a boundary best left unexplored between them.

  And then it hit him—she had no idea what effect she had on him. No idea how easily moved he was by her.

  “Véronique . . .” Jack glanced at the reins in his hands and cleared his throat. He didn’t want to embarrass either of them, but he also didn’t want her thinking she was inadequate, in any way. “The reason I . . . stopped just now is because if we’d kept on, I—” He found he couldn’t do it. Not even as husband and wife had he and Mary spoken so plainly about such things. “The reason I stopped is that we need to be getting back on the road. We’ve got a schedule to keep, and I’m afraid we might run out of daylight before we get back to Willow Springs.” Flimsy excuse, but she seemed to be buying it.

  Relief slowly replaced the concern in her expression. “I only inquire because . . . What I am intending to say is . . .” She lifted a shoulder and looked down at her lap. “I have only done this once before. And the kiss with Christophe—” she slowly raised her chin— “did not have the effect on me the way yours did now.”

  Jack suddenly had trouble breathing. He didn’t know how to respond to such honesty. Then he found he had to curb a grin when thinking about Christophe. Poor fella.

  He’d forgotten how powerful the touch and taste of a woman could be. After Mary’s death, he’d asked God to take away that physical yearning, and for the most part, God had answered those prayers—up until now. Now it felt like God had stopped listening and had opened the floodgates.

  Jack took the opportunity to look at Véronique, her head bowed again, her hands folded in her lap, and a tender passion threaded through him. Mary was gone, and he was a different man now—but the fact that he was experiencing this depth of feeling for another woman, after having been so blessed with Mary, just didn’t feel right somehow. He didn’t feel deserving, and he struggled with a sense of unfaithfulness. Guilt tugged him at that silent confession, no matter how illogical.

  Véronique lifted her face.

  Seeing the fragile look in her eyes, the trusting innocence, Jack knew he was going to have to tread carefully where this woman was concerned. He reached over and covered her hand on the seat between them. “About what I did back in that town, Véronique. I figured they might be a bit more respectful if they thought you were my wife. It wasn’t planned on my part, it just kind of came out. I’m sorry if that offended you.”

  Her eyes narrowed playfully. “Offended—to cause difficulty, discomfort, or injury.” She gently fingered her chin. “Non, monsieur. I do not believe ‘offended’ describes the emotion I was feeling when you referred to me as your wife.” Her gaze went to his mouth, and she smiled.

  Knowing he’d better get this wagon moving, Jack gave the reins a flick. Charlemagne and Napoleon surged forward, apparently eager to get back on task. Jack was mentally counting the hours back to Willow Springs when he remembered they still had another drop to make. It was later in the day and they were behind schedule. It would be well past dark, again, before they made it back down the mountain. He noticed an unhealthy pattern developing in that regard.

  Sol Leevy’s parting comment returned to him, and he weighed the option of heading back to Willow Springs immediately. But with his schedule it would be two weeks or more before he could make another run to this area, and the town was overdue on getting supplies. He stopped the wagon again and retrieved his map.

  “Do we not know where we are, Jack?”

  He laughed at the unexpected question, and at how she’d phrased it. “Losing faith in me so soon?” He shook his head at the bland look she gave him. “I’m just checking the distance to the next town. The turnoff doesn’t look too far ahead. A couple of miles up the trail, maybe three.” This close, it made sense to go ahead and make the run.

  She rubbed her arms.

  “You cold?”

  “A little.”

  This was the opportunity he’d been waiting for. He set the brake and reached behind him for the package he’d tucked there earlier that morning. “Here you go.” He set the brown wrapped box on the seat between them.

  “What is this?”

  “Open it and find out.”

  Her eyes gained a sparkle, and she ripped into the paper like a child on Christmas morning. She lifted the box lid. “Oh, Jack . . .” She glanced up at him, tears in her eyes. “It is beautiful.” She pulled the coat from the box and stood, holding it up against her. “And the color . . .”

  “I tried to get a color that would match your eyes. Mrs. Dunston was wrapping it that day I ran into you at the dress shop.” He pointed to the sleeves. “She did some altering on it too, since she’s familiar with your size.” He stood and helped her put it on. The coat fell just below midcalf, right where Mrs. Dunston said it would.

  Véronique ran her hands down along the sides. “How can I thank you, Jack? Your gift is so thoughtful of me. You are so thoughtful.” She put a hand to his chest and reached up to kiss his cheek. She lingered after, and Jack knew what she was lingering for.

  He was going to need to speak with the Almighty about those floodgates. “I’m glad you like it. Listen, we need to be—”

  “Getting back on the road?” she whispered.

  He smiled at her humor. “Yes, ma’am, we do.”

  She nodded, then paused. “What is this?” Her hand rummaged inside the right pocket of the coat. She pulled out the jar and read the label. “‘C.O. Bigelow Apothecaries of New York. Lemon Lotion.” ’ A brow rose.

  “I bought it at the mercantile a while back, on a whim.” Jack shrugged. “I liked the way it smelled. . . . It reminded me of the prairie and the years I spent guiding wagons. But I’ve never used it, and I figured you might.”

  She unscrewed the lid and sniffed. A most peculiar expression came over her face. Her eyes glistened. “This scent resembles a lotion I brought with me from Paris. My favorite, and that of my maman. I used the last of it shortly after arriving in this country.” She stared at him for a long moment. “Merci beaucoup, Jack.”

  Longing to take her up on the offer in her eyes and the softness in her voice, Jack wrestled his attention back to the trail.

  The wind had picked up a notch, and the sun ducked behind the clouds, before reappearing momentarily. He was debating whether to put the tarpaulin over the cargo bed when the first raindrop hit his arm.

  By the time he had climbed back in the wagon minutes later, not another drop of rain had fallen. The gray skies were probably harmless enough, but at least the supplies were protected if the weather changed.

  “Would you desire for me to drive for a while, monsieur?”

  He tried not to laugh too hard. But with the reins in her hands and her tiny feet braced on the footrest, she almost looked like she knew what she was doing. “Sure, mademoiselle, I could use a rest.”

  She gave the reins a hard flick and he was jolted hard against the seatback.

  “I didn’t know you were serious!” He sat close, ready to grab the reins, but she was actually doing pretty well. And she seemed to be enjoying it, so he let her be.

  Véronique giggled, keeping her focus on the road. “I tell you this now. . . . As soon as the trees leave us, I do not think it would be wise for me to continue.”

  He knew exactly what she was saying. This part of the trail was shielded on bot
h sides by thick stands of towering pine and aspen, with the occasional willow challenging their ranks. Their bowers met far above the trail to form a natural canopy that would be welcome if it rained. The view of the canyon, Jack’s favorite part of these trips, wasn’t visible yet.

  The afternoon sun drifted behind some clouds, leaving the trail draped in shadows. They’d gone well over a mile when a tingling sensation crept up the back of Jack’s neck. The air seemed to thin, and he took a few extra breaths to clear his head.

  He sat up a bit straighter and scanned both sides of the road, searching the shadows hiding behind the trees and crouching between the rocks and boulders. He watched for movement of any kind.

  Nothing.

  Perhaps it was only his imagination causing his heart to race, or maybe it was the weight of responsibility he felt for the woman beside him. Véronique didn’t appear to sense anything out of the ordinary, but he couldn’t shake the foreboding feeling.

  Leaning forward, he rolled his shoulders and stretched, and as he sat back, he casually picked up his rifle from the floor of the wagon, not wanting to alarm her.

  “You are tired, non?”

  “No, not really.” He drew the gun up beside his left leg, pretty sure she hadn’t noticed. He blinked, not certain if his vision had hazed or if the shadows on the trail were playing tricks on him. He wondered if the closeness of the trail was bothering him, but he didn’t feel like he had back in the cave.

  He spotted the turnoff ahead, leading up to the right. “Why don’t you let me take over here?”

  She brought the wagon to a stop. “I have done well, non?”

  “You’ve done very well.” He kept his voice lowered, and in the brief seconds following, he examined the silence and heard only the wind in the trees and the cry of a hawk he couldn’t see.

  “Lilly taught me how to drive. I am only capable of going forward for now, but she and I have another lesson planned for later this week.”