Thinking of her naked, spread out beneath him, made him ache and swell, and, oh, Lord, if she weren’t sick and he wasn’t afraid of Corey McRae, he’d throw himself on top of her right then and there and rip her clothes off and spread those sweet thighs…
He couldn’t stand it any longer. He hurried to the empty room in the back, the one that had been General Schofield’s office, and undid his belt and yanked down his trousers. And right there in front of the big portrait of General Sherman, Sergeant Brandon relieved himself.
It did not take long. Feeling a little foolish once it was all over, he yanked up his trousers, fastened his belt and returned to the front room. He always hated haying to get it that way. It was a hell of a poor substitute. Jesse sighed, sitting down behind his desk and reaching for his whiskey bottle. He downed the cup of whiskey and poured himself another. Nobody would be coming in the rest of the day, not with all that snow piling up outside. He could sit there and drink all he wanted to. He did not fight the heaviness that bore down upon him after a time, and he never felt himself slide from the chair to the floor.
“What in the hell is going on here, Brandon?”
Jesse shook his head. He didn’t know which hurt more, his throbbing temples or the sharp kick he had just received in his side. Struggling to focus, he stared up through a sea of pain. Was that Corey McRae glaring down at him? His face was coming closer. Yes, yes, it was McRae, and he was so close he could feel his angry breath on his face, see the way his nostrils flared. “Did you hear me, you son of a bitch? I asked what the hell is going on here? Kitty is unconscious, burning up with fever. Why haven’t you called a doctor?”
“Couldn’t…” Jesse struggled to sit up. “Too many questions. You said to keep things quiet.”
Corey grabbed his shirt and yanked him to his feet. “You goddamn stupid bastard! I could kill you. If that girl dies, so help me, I will blow your brains out.”
Jesse had a brief glimpse of the hamlike fist coming toward his face. There was an explosion of pain, and then he was out once again.
Corey turned away, cursing as he returned to Kitty’s side. Kneeling beside the cot, he held her limp hand. She was burning up with fever, her breathing ragged and strained. Damn it, where was Griggs? He’d been sent to find a doctor as soon as they rode into town. The old nigra didn’t know how long it had taken him to get back to the plantation. The stupid fool said he guessed a couple of hours, with the snow and all. He had gotten the horse and carriage bogged down in a snow bank and had to walk the last few miles, and there was no telling how long that had taken.
Just then, the door swung open and Griggs stepped inside, followed by a heavyset man whose white beard hung well below his chin. Underneath his heavy coat, Corey could see the stripes of his nightshirt. Griggs had roused him out of bed.
“Over here, Doctor,” Corey said crisply, motioning him to where Kitty lay. “I don’t know how long she’s been like this, but she obviously has the fever.”
“Well, if you know so damn much, what in the hell did you get me up for?” the doctor said. He elbowed Corey aside and stared down at Kitty. “Get me a chair,” he said as he reached to raise her left eyelid.
He continued to examine Kitty, murmuring to himself while Corey strained to hear what he was saying. Finally he leaned back in his chair and said, “Yep. She’s got the fever, all right. It’s going to be a while before it breaks, too. I have some medicine in my bag and more in my office. You plan to leave her here or move her to the hotel?” He glanced around the military office distastefully.
“Can she be moved to my plantation?” Corey wanted to know.
“Plantation?” The old doctor propped his fist on his knee as he turned to look up at Corey. “I don’t believe I know you, mister, but if you have a plantation around here, when everybody else I know is living hand to mouth, then you’re either Jerome Danton or Corey McRae. And hell, no, she can’t be moved that far till her fever breaks, not unless you want her to die.”
Corey bristled. “No, I don’t want her to die, you old fool. I will move her to the hotel immediately, and I want you to stay with her until the fever breaks.”
The doctor almost choked. “You what? I have office hours in the morning. I’ve got a woman at the edge of town who may deliver tonight. I can’t just go sit in a hotel room with a woman who’s got the fever.”
“You will be paid well, Doctor, and you will do it, so there is no point in arguing.” He turned to Griggs. “Go to the hotel and have them make their finest room ready. Then come back and help us move Miss Wright. Tell Kincaid to keep an eye on the doctor. He’s going to be a part of our little family until Miss Wright is over this.”
Dr. Sims continued to protest until Kincaid pulled his gun and pointed it right at him and told him to shut up and look after Miss Wright. His face turned red, but he said no more.
Jesse stirred, moaning. Dr. Sims’s head jerked about and he sputtered, “Good God, what’s that? Another one?”
“He ran into my fist,” Corey said matter-of-factly as he walked over and yanked Jesse up by his collar and propped him against the wall.
The sergeant looked about the room, trying to focus. He knew there were people about, but Corey McRae was the only one he could recognize. “Wh…what happened?”
“You son of a bitch, you know what happened. Miss Wright is ill, and you got drunk.”
“I sent that nigger for you. I didn’t know what else to do. She passed out. All I could do was put blankets on her and wait.” He rubbed his sore jaw, wincing. He felt inside his mouth. A tooth was loose. “What’d you hit me for, anyway? I was only doing what you told me to do, keeping things quiet. All I knew to do was send for you and let you handle things.”
Corey squatted beside him, his back to the doctor. He lowered his voice and said, “All right now, Brandon. What was she doing here in the first place? I’ve had someone watching her place at all times, and she hasn’t ventured outside in weeks. That old nigra has been doing for her. So what made her come to town? I want to know everything she said to you.”
“She wanted to see Schofield. I told her he was gone already, that I’d be leaving in a few weeks myself. Then she said something about how they were taking her land, and about how she and Coltrane had a son he didn’t know nothing about, and she was begging me to help her find Coltrane. Said her baby was sick, and she didn’t have any money.”
Corey chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. So she had found out about him purchasing her tax certificate. He had meant to break that bit of news to her himself. Well, when the fever broke, and she was stronger and rational, he would go ahead with his plan. The baby being sick complicated matters. “Where is the baby?” he asked Brandon.
“I don’t know. She didn’t say. She didn’t have it with her, that’s for sure.”
“And what did you say to her about Coltrane? You didn’t send a wire, did you?” His voice rose ominously.
Jesse shriveled instinctively. “No, sir, I didn’t send no wire. She fainted before I had time to say much of anything, and I decided the thing to do was get word to you. I looked for you at the office, but it was locked, and then that old nigger came creeping up, said he gave her a ride into town and that he worked for you. So I sent him after you, and I came back here.” He rubbed his jaw again. “And this is the thanks I get for keeping things quiet.”
Corey motioned to Kincaid, who hurried over. “As soon as we have her settled in the hotel, you go out to her place and see if the baby is there with that old nigra Jacob. Take them both to my house. Quarter the nigra with the other servants, and then have Dulcie see to the baby. If he is very sick, come back to town and get the doctor. I don’t want anything to happen to that baby. Understand?”
Kincaid nodded. He and the rest of the boys had figured out long ago what McRae was up to. He didn’t give a hang about that kid, but he was using him to get to Kitty Wright.
After Kitty was bundled up against the cold, they moved her to the hotel. T
he lobby was deserted, as everyone was either in bed or next door at the saloon. A fire was roaring in the fireplace, and the room was quite warm. Dr. Sims spooned medicine through Kitty’s fever-parched lips, then settled down to wait out the sickness.
Kincaid stationed himself outside the door, and Griggs left to take the baby to the mansion. McRae pulled up a chair to sit next to the bed, watching her pale face anxiously.
“It ain’t gonna do no good to sit and stare at her,” the doctor said irritably, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. “Might as well try to get a nap. No telling how long before that fever will break.”
Corey merely frowned. In a few moments, the doctor was asleep and snoring loudly.
Kitty stirred, and he leaned forward. Her eyelashes fluttered, and the violet eyes that peered at him glassily reflected pale shimmers of the heat raging within her body.
“My…my baby…” Her voice was feeble. “Please…my baby…”
She lifted her hand, and Corey took it and pressed it to his lips. “Kitty, darling, I’ve sent one of my men to get your baby. He’ll be looked after. I promise. Rest now. Get your strength back. The baby is going to be fine. I have a doctor here beside you, and we’re both going to be right here until you come out of this.”
She stared into his face with desperation. “You…you’ll take care of my baby?”
He kissed her fingertips, rubbed his cheek against her hand, wishing he could hold her. “Kitty, Kitty, precious Kitty, of course I’ll take care of your baby. I’ll love him as my own if you’ll let me. Just get well, darling, please.”
“Corey…” Her eyes widened slightly. She recognized him for the first time. “It is you.”
“Yes, yes, now rest, darling, please. I’ll take care of everything.”
She nodded slightly, her lips curving in gentle smile as her eyes closed. “Yes,” she whispered finally.
He smiled, gave her hand one last kiss and placed it upon her chest. At last, she was totally vulnerable. Helpless. If it were not for the baby, she would continue to fight him. But now she was going to be his.
Chapter Nineteen
Corey stood before Sergeant Brandon’s desk, booted feet spread wide, his right hand holding the leather riding crop that he rhythmically slapped into the gloved palm of his left hand. The sergeant squirmed uncomfortably beneath the powerful man’s penetrating gaze.
“Are you quite sure that no one, absolutely no one, is aware of the negotiations that have gone on between the two of us?”
Sergeant Brandon shook his head vigorously from side to side, forcing himself to look straight into the man’s eyes. Damn, they were black as soot and sparkled with the fires of hell. “I swear to God, Mr. McRae, I ain’t never said a word to anybody about what went on between me and you concerning Miss Wright. It would have meant my neck, for sure, not only with the army, but with you. I never opened my mouth. You paid me well. I did what I was told. And nobody knows anything.”
Corey’s expression did not change. He continued to slap the riding crop into his open palm. “No one knows that I personally gave you money to give to Miss Wright, making her think that money was her father’s wages as a Union soldier?”
“No, sir. I gave her that money and had her sign that false document I fixed up. Then I burned it in the stove, right over there. Nobody saw a thing. And the general, he had so much else on his mind right about then that he never even mentioned her again.”
“And the letters she had sent here, to Sherman and Coltrane, you are sure no one saw you burn them?”
“Nobody. I was here alone when one of the letters came in, and I burned it myself. Another soldier was in here when that old nigra of hers brought one in, and I had to wait awhile, but then, I burned it, too. I’m clean here, sir, I swear to you. I’m leaving here in a few days and going home, and I’m leaving all this behind me. Won’t nobody ever know what went on.”
“Very well,” Corey murmured, folding his riding crop beneath his arm. “You have done a good job, Brandon. I wish you well in your return home, in building a new life, but rest assured, if you ever whisper one word about our transactions, I’ll have you hunted down and killed. Do you understand me?”
The sergeant’s Adam’s apple bobbed nervously as he swallowed and nodded. “Yes, sir. Yes, sir, I understand. And you don’t have to worry about me. I swear it on my mother’s grave. Once you walk out that door, I’ll find it hard to even remember who you are. Don’t ever worry about me, Mr. McRae.”
Corey’s smile was tight, and he nodded ever so slightly as he said, “Good-bye, Sergeant.”
McRae opened the door and stepped outside, closing it tightly behind him.
Sergeant Jesse Brandon watched his departure, much relieved. All he wanted was to get out of Wayne County and out of North Carolina. Forget the whole thing.
Corey started down the street, bowing his head against the brisk wind. He did not see the tall, medium-built man step out of a doorway to block his path. He saw the booted feet planted squarely in front of him just in time to come to an abrupt halt and not slam into him. Looking up, he saw the eyes of Jerome Danton blazing at him.
“McRae.” His voice was tense. “I hear you’ve got Kitty Wright at your place again. What the hell are you trying to prove? Everybody in town knows she hates your guts.”
“Does she now? And what would give you that idea? I saved her life, and her baby’s, the night you and your hooded cowards burned her out of her home. Now she is ill and I have come to her aid once again. But what does all this have to do with you?”
Danton’s fists clenched and unclenched at his sides as he tried to control his rising temper. “You can’t prove I had a damn thing to do with those night riders burning her out, and if I was you, I’d watch making accusations.”
Corey raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Well, now, who are you to be warning me, Danton? Everyone in town knows you are the leader of the Ku Klux Klan, or whatever you call yourselves. And what business is it of yours if I choose to help a neighbor in distress?”
“Distress? Hell, man, you’ve caused her as much distress as anybody. I know you bought her tax certificate. Does she know it yet? I’ll just bet she does, and I’ll bet you’re holding her at your place against her will.”
“Miss Wright is quite ill.” Corey spoke as though conversing with a simpleton. “She is still delirious with fever.”
“And how about the taxes? How, is she going to feel when she finds out you now own her place? I know how she feels about that land, McRae. I did the gentlemanly thing. I rode out to see her awhile back and offered to buy her land. I knew she was having money problems. You went behind her back and bought that delinquent tax certificate.”
Corey spread his legs and began slapping the riding crop against his open palm once again. If this were to lead to an open confrontation, then he would face it as he did all opposition. “I still do not see that any of this concerns you, Danton. Now, I have other matters to tend to, if you have nothing more to say.”
“I’ve got a lot more to say, McRae. A hell of a lot. I happen to take a fancy to that filly, too, and I’m not about to sit back and watch you maneuver her into doing what you want.”
McRae tried to step around him, but Danton moved to block his path. When he moved, Corey saw the slight limp. He smiled. “She isn’t a very good shot in the dark, but if I were you, I would be careful in the daylight.”
Danton’s face colored. He would always have that limp from the ball Kitty Wright put in his leg, but she would make it all up to him one day—in his bed. He pointed a finger at Corey and snapped, “You hear me out, you pompous bastard, you’re not going to get away with what you’re doing.”
Rance Kincaid seemed to appear from nowhere. He had been standing in a doorway just behind Jerome Danton. The sound of a gun hammer cocking made Danton’s head whip around quickly, and his eyes widened at the sight of the man standing behind him, pointing the weapon straight at him.
“Yes, Rance, it does. I certainly don’t intend to stand out here in the cold and banter with a fool.” He tipped his hat with an insolent grin and walked on.
Walking beside him, Rance shivered against the chill of the day, and Corey moved in the direction of the saloon. “I think we can both use a drink. By the way, I want you to alert Martin and the rest of the men to keep an eye on Danton. Double our night guards for a while. He might be fool enough to bring his hooded night riders to shoot up the place and burn one of their crosses and try to scare us. If he does, I want as many of those bastards killed as possible. Is that clear?”
“Oh, yeah, boss. We’ll pick ’em off like hogs in a pen at slaughtering time.” He spoke casually. Killing came easily to Rance and the others who worked as hired guns for McRae.
After a drink, Corey left the saloon and walked alone down the street to his office. Unlocking the door, he stepped inside and moved quickly to get a fire burning in the stove. There was not a lot he planned to take care of during this brief visit, but while there, he could use some warmth.
The kindling quickly ignited, and he removed his heavy sheepskin coat and stood in front of the stove, rubbing his hands together briskly. Eyeing the papers stacked on his desk, he frowned, wondering where to begin. There were several tax certificates he meant to call in. He had no intention of giving the landowners time to come up with money. He wanted their hand. He would have to go over those so he could send Rance and some of the men out to deliver the news to the farmers. They either came up with the money at once, or they left their property. If they did not leave peacefully, Rance and the others knew how to take care of them.
The Raging Hearts: The Coltrane Saga, Book 2 Page 23
