Jesse shook off the memories. The engineer was still blowing the whistle in a desperate attempt to turn the herd, but to no avail. They were coming hard and fast.
They were too far away for his rifle to be effective and Jesse knew he would have to make his way to the front of the train. Bending low, he ran across the roof of the passenger car. His lungs filled with the acrid scent of smoke and he cussed the man who had invented the iron horse. What kind of fool felt the need to travel so fast? White men were always in a hurry. They never took the time to appreciate the beauty of the land. Riding a horse was a much more satisfying way to travel, and much safer. He jumped onto the next car and ran along the roof, cursing as his foot slipped. One more jump put him on the first passenger car, just behind the wood box. He could see the engineer leaning out the window, waving one hand in a useless attempt to shoo the herd away.
“Won’t do any good!” Jesse yelled as he dropped to one knee near the front edge of the car.
Startled, the portly engineer looked over his shoulder. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Gonna shoot me a buffalo,” Jesse replied. “Stop blowing that damn whistle. I can’t hear myself think.”
“You’re crazy!”
The word stuck in Jesse’s craw like an unripe persimmon, and he slowly brought the rifle to bear on the engineer. “Stop blowing that damn whistle,” he repeated.
The engineer ducked back inside the car, and the whistle went silent.
With a smile, Jesse lifted the rifle to his shoulder. He had to pick the right animal. The herd, most likely stampeded by an Indian hunting party, would follow the leader in whatever direction it went. The Lakota had often purposefully stampeded a herd toward a cliff, knowing the main body of the herd would follow the lead animal. He recalled the lone Indian he had seen earlier. No doubt it had been a “wolf” sent out to scout the herd’s whereabouts.
Jesse whirled around at a sound behind him. Looking down the barrel of the rifle, he was surprised to see John Porter crawling toward him. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to help,” Porter replied.
“I don’t need your help,” Jesse said as he turned his attention back to the oncoming herd.
“Well, your lady was worried about you. I told her I’d see what I could do to help. I brought my rifle.”
Jesse glanced at Porter. He didn’t like the man. Porter was intrusive and nosy and that didn’t sit well with Jesse, but another gun would be welcome just now. “Can you use that rifle?”
“Been known to,” Porter replied.
“Good. When I start shooting, drop as many of the lead animals as you can, as quickly as you can.”
Porter inched up beside Jesse and leveled his rifle at the herd. “Do you think it will really do any good?”
“I don’t know. All we can do is drop the animals in front and hope the others will turn aside. It’s the only chance we have of turning ’em away from the tracks.”
“When you’re ready then,” Porter said.
Jesse grunted. There was no time to stop the train now. The engineer had never even applied the brakes, apparently hoping to beat the buffalo to the point of contact. But there was no chance of that now. If the train collided with the herd, it would surely be derailed; if the herd slammed into the side of the train, there was a pretty good chance the train would remain on the tracks.
They were within range now, and Jesse was sure he had spotted the lead buffalo. It was a large bull. Its furry shanks showed the weathering of many winters. Jesse couldn’t help but admire the beauty of the animal as it ran, nostrils flaring as it lead its unwary followers toward certain destruction.
Jesse leaned forward, steadying his forward arm on his knee as he sighted down the barrel. If he were still living with the Cheyenne, it would be an honorable kill, one to brag about around the campfires after the hunt. He would tell of the strength of the great beast, and his own skill as he steadied himself for the shot. The women would flock to the side of the downed animal, cut out the liver from the still-warm flesh and offer it to him as a reward of the hunt. He smiled at the thought of the sweet taste.
Porter was growing more and more nervous as the seconds passed. How close were they going to allow the herd to get before they began shooting? Sweat trickled down his forehead and soaked his shirt.
Jesse measured the distance between the train and the herd. He had to be sure they were within rifle range before he began firing. They couldn’t afford to waste ammunition firing at ghosts in the dust. His finger slowly squeezed the trigger.
The sound of Jesse’s Winchester startled Porter for a second, and then, sighting down the barrel of his rifle, he fired his first shot.
Jesse’s rifle bucked in his hands, and with every shot, a buffalo went down. The scene was chaotic as the animals began to tumble over the carcasses at the head of the stampede. The herd seemed determined to cross the tracks, and Jesse kept firing.
Abruptly, the herd turned. Jesse ceased firing, and so did Porter. Jesse watched the buffalo run, experiencing the same sense of awe he had felt when he had been a young boy seeing his first stampede, amazed anew that the buffalo, which looked so large and cumbersome, were capable of such speed, that they could turn so quickly. It was a sight to behold as the tail of the herd began to twist like a giant hairy snake, writhing across the prairie.
“We did it!” Porter exclaimed. He was about to congratulate Jesse on a job well done when a handful of buffalo, unable to change direction as quickly as the others, crashed into the far side of the car they were on.
The impact knocked Jesse off balance. His rifle went skittering off the far side of the train as he scrambled for a handhold.
He heard Porter scream, “Help me!” and turned to see the man dangling over the side of the car.
Jesse grabbed an air vent, wincing as the sudden movement put a strain on his bruised ribs. Swinging his feet in Porter’s direction, he yelled, “Grab hold of my foot!”
Hanging precariously off the edge of the train, Porter could just see the tip of Jesse’s right boot. He risked a glance at the ground moving quickly beneath him and knew he was facing certain death if he lost his grip on the train. Without another thought, he lunged upward for Jesse’s foot.
Jesse grunted as he felt Porter’s weight tugging on his right leg as the man pulled himself up onto the car, then wrapped a hand around the air vent. He lay there, panting, glad to be alive. They had done it. The herd had turned and the last stragglers were moving away from the train.
Jesse looked at Porter and grinned. “Obliged for your help.”
“Yeah,” Porter said with a wry grin. “Any time.”
A cheer went up from the passengers when they returned to the car, and then everyone was talking at once as fear turned to relief.
As Jesse made his way down the aisle toward Kaylynn, women reached out to pat his arm, calling him a hero, thanking him for saving their lives. Men slapped him on the back and offered to buy him drinks at the next stop. One man thrust a cigar into his hand.
Kaylynn smiled up at him. “You saved us.”
“I had help.” He glanced over his shoulder at John Porter, who was surrounded by grateful passengers. Enjoying the limelight, Porter was boasting about how they had turned the herd.
Kaylynn shook her head. “You might have fallen to your death.”
Jesse shrugged, though he was pleased by her concern. “Had to be done.”
Sitting down beside her, he put his arm around her, liking the way she leaned into him, the way her body felt against his. He looked deep into her eyes, warmed by the love he read there. Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her, long and hard.
This time, no one noticed.
Chapter Thirty-One
To Kaylynn’s relief, the remainder of the trip passed uneventfully. Riding on the train was much faster and more comfortable than bouncing around inside a stagecoach, though it was a little noisier. The Pullman berths were warm and snug,
the food served in the depots along the way was a vast improvement over the rough fare served at stagecoach way stations.
John Porter repeated the tale of his harrowing ride atop the train to any and all who would listen. He nodded and smiled at Kaylynn when he saw her, but, apparently mindful of Jesse’s unspoken warning to keep his distance, he didn’t try to engage her in conversation again.
Jesse went once each day to check on his horse. She found it endearing, somehow, that he was so concerned for the mare. Such a gentle man, she thought, to be so brave. She would never forget how he had reacted during the crisis. He had saved the life of John Porter, as well as the train and all its passengers. He was a true hero, and she was proud to be his lady.
* * * * *
They arrived in New York City shortly after ten o’clock on a warm midsummer morning.
Kaylynn collected their meager baggage while Jesse went to get his horse.
“How far is it to your parents’ house?” Jesse asked.
“Not far.” Kaylynn looked across from the depot, where a number of carriages for hire were parked. “Shall we rent a hack?”
Jesse’s gaze slid over Kaylynn. It would have been quicker and easier to ride, but he doubted she would be comfortable on the back of his horse in her traveling suit. “Sure.”
Jesse flagged down a hack. Kaylynn gave directions to the driver while Jesse tied the mare to the back of the coach. She smiled at Jesse as he handed her into the carriage, then climbed in beside her.
Kaylynn couldn’t seem to stop smiling as the hack moved down the street. She’d made it! She looked out the window, thinking how good it was to be back where she belonged, to see women wearing fashionable clothes, to see familiar places and landmarks again.
She glanced over at Jesse. He was looking out the other window, and she wondered what he thought of the city, what he would think of her parents. What they would think of him.
Some of the joy at being back home faded when she thought of introducing Jesse to her mother and father. Her parents were nice people. She knew they would make Jesse welcome, would be grateful to him for bringing her home. But would they recognize his good qualities? Would they look past his rough exterior, his scarred face, and see him for the good man that he was?
Excitement bubbled up inside her as the hack started up the long tree-lined road to the house. The first thing she noticed was that the shutters on the upstairs windows that had been white when she left were now forest green. She wondered what other changes had been made in her absence.
She fidgeted while Jesse paid the driver and untied his horse.
“Leave the mare here for now,” she said, indicating he should tether the roan to a nearby tree. “Johnny will look after her.”
Jesse would have argued, but he could see she was eager to go into the house. With a nod, he tied the lead rope to a sturdy branch. After picking up her satchel, he settled his saddlebags over his shoulder.
Kaylynn tugged on his hand, then turned and ran up the stairs. Opening the front door, she hurried inside, then reappeared a moment later. “Jesse, hurry!” she called impatiently.
Jesse shook his head in wry amusement as he followed her up the steps. He caught a quick glimpse of a tiled foyer papered in a dark-blue print before Kaylynn grabbed him by the hand and lead him into a large parlor.
“Mother? Mother, are you home?”
An elderly woman wearing a long gray dress and a crisp white apron entered the room.
“Miss Kaylynn!” she exclaimed, pressing one hand over her heart. “Lord have mercy.” She glanced at Jesse, her eyes widening. “Where have you been, child? Your parents have been worried sick.”
“It’s a long story,” Kaylynn replied. “Is Mother home?”
“No, dear. She’s at the orphanage. It’s Wednesday, you know.” Martha Moseley spoke to Kaylynn, but she was still staring at Jesse.
Kaylynn started to reprimand the woman, then bit back the words. Might as well let her look her fill and get it over with, she thought, and wondered how Jesse had stood it all these years, having people stare at him like that. She had grown accustomed to his appearance; indeed, she hardly noticed the scar anymore. When she looked at him now, all she saw was the man she loved.
“Mrs. Moseley, could you fix us something to eat, please?”
“Yes, of course, dear.”
“And would you ask Johnny to look after the horse out front?” She looked at Jesse. “And make sure the horse gets a good rubdown and a quart of oats.”
“Thanks,” Jesse murmured.
“I’ll see to it,” Mrs. Moseley said. She looked at Jesse again. “Will the…uh, gentleman be staying here?”
“What? Oh, yes. Ask Cora to prepare a room, will you? The blue one, I think.”
“Very well. May I take your coat, sir?” Mrs. Moseley asked.
“Sure.” Jesse shrugged out of his duster and handed it to the woman.
Her eyes widened when she saw the gun holstered on his hip. Jesse looked at Kaylynn.
“You probably won’t need that here,” Kaylynn said, smiling. “Why don’t you give it to Mrs. Moseley? She’ll see that it’s put in your room.”
Jesse grunted softly. Placing Kaylynn’s satchel on the floor, he unbuckled his gunbelt. Wrapping the thick leather belt around the holster, he held it out to the woman.
“I’ll have your coat cleaned and pressed for you,” Mrs. Moseley said. She draped his coat over one arm, then took the gunbelt from his hand, a look of distaste playing over her features.
“Obliged,” Jesse drawled.
“I’m going to show Jesse around the house,” Kaylynn said. “Ask Cora to put my bag in my room, will you?”
Mrs. Moseley nodded. She sent one last glance in Jesse’s direction, then turned and left the room, holding his gunbelt away from her body as if it might bite her if it got too close.
“I don’t think she likes me,” he remarked.
“That’s all right,” Kaylynn said, stroking his arm. “I like you.”
“Nice place,” Jesse said, glancing around. The furniture was made of gleaming mahogany covered in a dark-green print that picked up the green in the flocked wallpaper. A large Oriental carpet covered most of the floor. A marble fireplace took up a good part of one wall. Knickknacks made of crystal and pewter were artfully arranged on the mantle.
“Come on,” Kaylynn said, “I’ll show you around.”
It was a big house. Front parlor, back parlor, a dining room decorated in a deep maroon. The ballroom took up the rear half of the house. A huge crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. One wall was mirrored, making the room seem even larger than it was. There was a large music room, a library stocked with hundreds of books, a den that was obviously her father’s domain.
There were six bedrooms upstairs, each one with a small sitting room and bathroom.
It was the biggest, finest house Jesse had ever seen. It was, he thought, the perfect setting for Kaylynn. She moved from room to room, her hands touching a pillow here, a chair there, as if to prove to herself that she was really home.
Her room was decorated in shades of mauve. A canopy bed, a highboy made of dark cherry, several shelves crowded with books and porcelain dolls and pewter figurines. A painting of a waterfall. A Tiffany lamp.
“This will be your room.” Kaylynn smiled at him as she opened the door at the far end of the hall.
Jesse stepped inside. Like all the others, it was a large room. There was a comfortable-looking double bed, a four-drawer chest made of dark oak, a rocking chair, a small table. Dark-blue curtains covered the windows; a matching spread covered the bed. A small oval mirror hung over a shaving stand. There were several paintings on the walls depicting ships at sea.
“There’s a sitting room through there,” Kaylynn said, pointing at a door. “And a bathtub.”
“It’s nice,” Jesse said. He looked around, then dropped his saddlebags on the floor.
“Come on, Mrs. Moseley should have fixed u
s something to eat by now. Wait until you taste her cooking! I hope she baked today. She makes the best pies. And cakes.”
Jesse followed Kaylynn down the stairs and into a large, sunlit kitchen.
Mrs. Moseley made a tsking sound when she turned around and saw Kaylynn. “Still wanting to eat in my kitchen, I see.”
Kaylynn nodded. “I’m starving.”
Mrs. Moseley ran a knowing gaze over Kaylynn. “You look like you’ve lost some weight but don’t worry, I’ll put it all back.” She beamed at Kaylynn. “I must have known you were coming because…”
Kaylynn took a deep breath. “You baked an apple pie!”
Mrs. Moseley laughed. “Yes, I did. Now, go along with you. I can’t be serving a guest in the kitchen. What would your mother say?”
Kaylynn made an aggrieved face. “She doesn’t have to know.”
Mrs. Moseley made a shooing motion with her hands. “Go on now.”
“Come on,” Kaylynn said, and taking Jesse by the hand, she led him into the dining room. “It seems silly for the two of us to sit at this big table,” she muttered.
She sat down, and Jesse sat across from her. The table was big enough to seat a dozen people comfortably.
Jesse glanced around the room. Rarely had he felt so out of his element as he did here, in this house.
A few moments later, Mrs. Moseley served them the best meal Jesse had ever eaten—sliced ham and cold chicken, potato salad, bread fresh from the oven, and warm apple pie for dessert.
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