by Cate Masters
* * * *
Though warm and fluffy, the biscuit went down Jeb’s throat hard. Why had he barked at Miss Young? She’d asked for simple information, the usual nonsense acquaintances asked one another. Yet it riled him, the way she peppered him with silly questions. Judging him? He couldn’t tell. Her wan smile at Doc agitated him, too, though he’d be hard pressed to say why.
The easiness never left Doc’s voice. “We’d gladly hire Jeb, if we could convince him to stay put long enough.”
“You know me, Doc. I can’t be anywhere too long.” His grin disappeared at Winona’s stern look.
Now what had he said wrong? A moment ago, she’d looked pleased as punch.
Doc eased back in his chair and surveyed the young woman. “What about you, Miss Young? Where do you hail from?”
That stole her fire. With downcast eyes, she said, “Philadelphia.”
Interesting, the way she turned quiet, hesitating after Doc asked why she traveled alone.
She glanced at Doc and Mrs. Wilson, but her gaze lingered on him. Damn, her dark eyes probed his very soul in a way he’d be hard pressed to explain, but he’d swear she opened up to him in a wordless exchange. Vulnerable as a little girl, she was, no matter what sort of tough exterior she pretended.
“It’s a long story,” Winona said. “Complicated. But I’m very grateful for your kindness in opening your door to me.”
Doc took the hint. “Is that apple pie I smell?”
Mrs. Wilson set the pie on the table, sliced it, and handed a piece to Jeb.
“Thank you kindly.” He waited until everyone had a slice before eating. His taste buds danced in delight as warm apple and cinnamon hit his senses. “Delicious. Your best yet.”
Cheeks reddening, Mrs. Wilson smiled like a shy girl. “You say that every time.”
“It’s true every time.” He finished first and pushed his plate aside.
“Now how about some brandy?” Doc asked.
“That would sure hit the spot.” And hopefully lighten his mood.
Doc poured two glasses as the women cleared the table. Doc’s wife washed the dishes in a tub and Winona dried each piece and returned it to its proper place. Jeb couldn’t hear what they said, but occasionally, one or both of the women looked over at him. Their attention hit him like the weight of an anvil, causing him to squirm. Yet he had trouble tearing away his gaze. Winona moved with easy grace, and her glances held warmth. All too easily, he imagined closing the distance between them, pinning her against the sink in a long, deep kiss…
Doc rose. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some reading to catch up on.” He shuffled toward the door, and his office.
Jeb inhaled, a sharp breath that helped clear his head. “I’ll go tend to my horse.”
“Give her some grain, Jeb. And if you’d see to Doc’s horse, he’d be much obliged.”
“Happy to, ma’am.” Happier still to escape the closed atmosphere of the house. Much as he loved the Wilsons, he preferred the outdoors. The farther from civilization, the better.
Yet when he stepped outside into the night air, the cozy scene he’d left behind tugged at him to return. Fear propelled him toward Clementine. He’d make his bed in hay. It made him itch less than the thought of romantic entanglements, and the more time he spent in Winona’s presence, the more endangered he became. Maybe he’d cursed himself by reciting a line from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. He’d never put stock in magic beyond the kind found in stories, but the way his head clouded around Winona, some sort of enchantment must be at work.
Chapter Three
Bonnet in hand, Winona stood beside her bag. “Thank you again for putting me up.”
“Anytime, dear.” Mrs. Wilson opened the door.
Doc Wilson tramped up the porch steps and inside. “Put your bag away. Coach broke an axle. It’ll be days, if not a week, before it’s fixed.”
“Days?” Winona’s heart sunk.
“A week?” Mrs. Wilson’s smile fluttered into nothingness and she sunk onto a chair.
No need to hit her over the head twice. Winona lifted her bag. “I’ll get a room at the…hotel.” She couldn’t bear to call it a saloon.
Mrs. Wilson waved her off. “No need.”
Doc Wilson’s hand closed around the bag handles. “You’ll stay here.”
“I’ve intruded enough.” A movement out the window caught her attention. Jeb hoisted a saddle over Clementine. “Are you certain repairs will delay the stage so long?”
Doc carried her bag to the stairs. “Yep.”
“Maybe there’s another way for me to reach my destination. Excuse me.” She hurried outside and caught Jeb as he swung into the saddle. “Wait.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Stagecoach repairs will delay the trip for days. I can’t wait that long.” She stepped closer and Clementine threw her head back. Fickle friend. “Be my guide to San Francisco.”
“What?” His incredulous tone must’ve acted as a spur. Clementine danced on her hooves. He jerked back the reins to steady the mare. “It’s impossible.”
“Why? Don’t you know the way?” Hadn’t he said he worked as a scout?
“Of course I know the way.”
“You said you have no other work. I’ll pay you handsomely.” Or did he object to spending time with her? Contrary to her efforts, she rubbed people the wrong way.
“Miss Young, money is not the issue. How in the…” Unspoken words seemed to make him swell up. “I couldn’t possibly haul that trunk of yours.”
“I’ll ship it to San Francisco on the stage.”
His cheeks grew ruddier. “I can’t haul you, then.” Clementine whinnied as if in agreement.
So he believed her incompetent, if not unbearable. “I am perfectly able to ride, Mr. Greene.”
“Trotting in a field is nothing like riding long distances in all kinds of weather, Miss Young. You would not last two days on such a trip.”
“Don’t worry about me, Mr. Greene. I can keep up with you.” If he’d seen her astride her thoroughbred at a full gallop, he wouldn’t josh her so.
Mouth pinched, his nostrils flared. “You have no horse.”
“I’ll purchase one. Someone here must have an extra.”
“Extra? This isn’t Philadelphia, Miss Young. People here have horses because they need them.”
“You’re suggesting no one will sell me a horse? I find that hard to believe.”
“I’m sure you believe what you choose to believe.”
Stubborn man. But she’d match his stubbornness and then some. “If I find a horse, will you be my guide?”
He glared into the distance. “If you find a horse, we can discuss the terms.” His emphasis on if left no doubt he believed she had no chance.
“Very well.” She smiled sweetly, but the vigorous argument thrilled her. Not because she’d won for now, but because Jeb hadn’t held back. He’d treated her as an equal, not like some fragile thing who had no means of defending herself.
Much as it might pain him to hear, he’d empowered her. Given her more confidence.
Now she had to find a horse to prove herself worthy of that confidence. And fast.
* * * *
Curses flew through Jeb’s head all day, but he cut them off before they reached his tongue. Stubborn woman. She’d cornered him like a fox in a hen house. Her chances were slim, but not impossible.
The mere thought of riding beside her, wind rifling through her hair…Oh, what a pickle. He sure could use the cash, but the strain of avoiding her might do him in. He’d have to ride upwind so as not to catch her lilac scent, or the constant hard-on hitting the saddle might kill him.
When she approached him that night as he relaxed on the porch swing, her sheepish expression said it all. “No luck?”
“Not yet. But I’ll find one soon. When I do, will you be my guide?”
Time to try a different tack. “What makes you think I’m trustworthy? I might be the kind of man who t
akes advantage of a lady in such a situation.”
“You are trustworthy. Mrs. Wilson said so. I have implicit faith in her good opinion of you.”
Why had he introduced the two women? Dealing with a single woman didn’t present a problem, not usually, but get two or more together, and damned if trouble didn’t brew in the kitchen right along with the coffee.
At his silence, she folded her arms and stole glances at him. Never a good sign. He could see the spokes of her brain working behind those dark eyes.
“Perhaps you don’t have the gumption necessary for such an assignment.” She tilted her head, exposing her gracefully arched neck.
His mouth watered, longing to taste it. A laugh burst from him. “Gumption?” He scratched his chin. “Or perhaps my foresight is keener than yours, Miss Young. Do you have any idea what such a trip entails?”
“If you’re worried I can’t keep up with you—”
“You can’t keep up, you can’t pitch in. You can’t even cook, can you?”
She glanced away. “Well, I—”
“If I shoot a rabbit for dinner, how would you prepare it?”
She winced. “A rabbit?”
“A saddle can get mighty uncomfortable after an hour. What would you do after three hours? Or five?” The image of her rubbing her sore rear stirred him. He was mighty tempted to offer to rub it for her. His voice cracked as he said, “If you want to be in San Francisco sooner than the coach, we’d have to make good time. Six, seven, maybe eight hours’ riding every day. And if we get caught in a storm, or held up somehow, we’d have to make up the time.”
Her jaw set hard, her lips pressed into a thin line.
“I’m sorry, Miss Young. You are not cut out for that kind of hardship.” Nor was he built to resist such temptation, the kind that carried a long-term sentence. Not that he wouldn’t enjoy carrying it out. Yes, just thinking of sharing a bedroll with her heated his insides and turned his brain to mush. It counted as another strike against such a trip. He might lead them in circles, staring at her rather than the path ahead.
She stepped closer, her eyes ablaze. “You think I don’t know hardship? You’re wrong, Mr. Greene. No, not the kind you face in your travels. I would think those hardships would be easier to bear than…” She looked away with glazed eyes. “Forgive me.”
Her sudden fury gave him pause and aroused his curiosity. She had mettle in her bones, a steel reserve of strength in her sinewy frame. He had no doubt she’d experienced something terrible, terrible enough to make her leave her home. Her stubbornness might fade in the face of the long trail.
“I mean no disrespect.”
“Your kind never do.”
“Ma’am, believe it or not, I am not ignorant of the rules of civilization. I am well able to prevent myself from committing social blunders.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be unkind. My nerves have been on edge since we left Philadelphia. A woman traveling alone can’t take too many precautions.”
“I don’t expect you’d encounter many willing to take up the challenge of threatening you, ma’am.” He regretted his words when he saw how she flinched under their sting. He wished her no harm, but everything she said provoked him in some way.
Under her open-mouthed stare, he withered. “I’ll say good night, Miss.” He ducked his head and descended the porch steps.
“Wait.” She stepped toward him. The light from the window outlined her figure in light. “You’re not leaving yet, are you? I’m certain I can find a horse tomorrow.”
He cast about for the right words to convince her of her folly.
“Please, Mr. Greene.”
“Good night, Miss Young.” He set his hat atop his head and walked.
Music from the saloon’s piano lured him in that direction. The sound of laughter enticed him, too. Solitude was his way of life, but occasionally, the company of others filled a need within him. Just to be in the same room, not necessarily speaking to anyone, but watching them. How they talked to one another, joked and flirted. Jeb could summon certain social graces at will, but at a great price of comfort.
He pushed open the doors and strode to where Lester stood at the bar, his arm slung around Maggie’s bare shoulder, her dress sleeves cut low on her arms.
“Jeb. How’d you sneak away from the ladies tonight?” Lester’s words were strung together in a lazy stream. His swollen, reddened eyes seemed unable to focus.
Maggie’s focus was just fine, and her gaze roamed across Jeb like a she-wolf.
Jeb held up a hand to Clive, who stood at the other end of the bar. “Whiskey.”
“You drowning your sorrows?” Lester swayed as he turned.
“I have no sorrows to drown.”
“Maggie here’s going to take away my sorrows. Aren’t you, darling?”
She patted his cheek. “If you’re still conscious, honey.”
“When do you head back, Lester?”
“T’morrow morning.”
Jeb chuckled. “In the morning? You think you’ll be fit for travel?”
“Nothing to it. Sit on top and smack the reins against the horses’ rear every now and then. Can do it with my eyes closed.”
“That might be your only option.”
As he lifted his glass, Lester slumped to the floor.
“Whoa, partner. We better get you to bed.”
“My thought exactly.” Maggie followed her sly look at Jeb by sliding her arm around his neck. “What do you say—partner?”
Fine lines ringed Maggie’s hazel eyes. He guessed her to be in her late thirties, but her hard life made her appear older.
“I better get Lester upstairs,” he said.
“I’ll help.”
“What room, Clive?”
“Four. End of the hall.”
Jeb hauled Lester to his feet and wrapped Lester’s arm around his neck. Maggie held Lester’s chest, and together they made the arduous trip upstairs. Maggie opened the door while Jeb dragged Lester to his bed and let him drop to the mattress. He took off Lester’s boots. “Good enough.”
Maggie clutched his shirt. “Jeb. Why don’t you like me?”
“I like you fine, Maggie.”
Her hand drifted to his waist. “Then show me.” She caressed his hair. “I have many things I can show you. Things you’ve never dreamed.”
The face of every other man she’d been with floated up from hers as she looked up at him. “Come downstairs. I’ll buy you a drink.” And hightail it out of there.
Her voice was half growl, half purr. “No, let’s stay up here. Lester has a bottle over there.” She nodded toward the night table.
“Stay here? In this room, with Lester?”
“He’s dead to the world. Besides, I’m leaving soon for San Francisco. I want to give you something to remember me by.”
Disgust wound through him. He grabbed her hands and brought them together. “I’m going downstairs, Maggie. You do what you want.”
He released her and stomped down the staircase. Though crowded, the room seemed emptier than ever. Not wanting to run even with Lester’s miserable condition tomorrow morning, he continued out the door.
* * * *
Sunshine filled the small bedroom, stirring Winona from her slumber. Another day in Tipton. Another day she intended to find a way out.
Once downstairs, Mrs. Wilson sent her a wary smile. “Morning, Winona.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Jeb’s gone.”
“Gone?” Winona rushed to the window, searching for some sign of him.
“All his gear, too.”
“So he’s not coming back?”
“I don’t think so.” Her kind tone made the news harder to bear.
Tears threatened, but Winona blinked them back. Of all the possible troubles she’d anticipated, being stranded never occurred to her. “I’ll get my things and move to the saloon.”
“No, dear. You’re staying here. I insist.”
Winona
straightened. Jeb be damned, then. “I’ll help with whatever I can. Just tell me what you need me to do.” Doc and Mrs. Wilson acted kind enough. The troubling part was they liked Jeb and allowed him to stay here. She had no desire to see him before the next coach arrived.
“Would you mind helping me with the laundry today? Doc insists on clean clothes, says he can’t pass germs along to folks who are already sick.” Mrs. Wilson walked to the back room.
Winona followed. “Of course.”
In the bundle sat the shirt and slacks Jeb wore. She’d take great pleasure in washing all trace of him away.
After Mrs. Wilson set her up with the washing and rinsing tubs, she handed her a pail. “The pump’s outside. When you’re ready, we can hang them out on the line.”
She rolled up her sleeves. “I’d better get started. We don’t want to waste any of that sunshine.” Winona lifted the white shirt Jeb had worn and held it to her nose. The faint aroma of lilac surprised her until she recalled the bath water they’d shared. Lilac mixed with his own masculine smell, mingled as if he’d held her in his arms. Had he thought of her when he sat surrounded by her scent in the bath? He never mentioned it afterward. Other men would have complained. With the men in Philadelphia, Winona couldn’t wait for them to stop talking. With Jeb, she yearned to hear everything, but he left all but the necessary things unsaid.
A breeze caught the laundry as she hung it on the line. Beyond the paddock, open land stretched to the horizon. Jeb rode out there somewhere, but toward what? His mind must have a capacity for immense maps of the lands he’d traveled, otherwise how could he not get lost? She inhaled sharply, imagining the freedom of going wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted, unfettered by nothing and no one.
Maybe she should ask instead who he rode away from.
He hadn’t shown the slightest interest in her, no hint of a flirtation. Men in Philadelphia were malleable and could be bent toward a woman’s will, especially if she was pretty. Winona had no trouble winning men there. In fact, quite the opposite.
