Never Love a Cowboy

by Lorraine Heath

  With tears streaming along her cheeks, she returned to Harry. Leaning over, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Stubborn, obstinate man. Don’t you know when to fold a losing hand?” She looked at Kit, who was carefully examining Harry. “How bad?”

  Shaking his head, Kit sighed deeply. “Bad.”

  “I never expected him to be so stubborn.”

  “You can ask him for the world, and he’ll give it to you. Demand it of him, and he will fight until death rather than yield. I never should have allowed him to scout ahead. I should have taken that burden on myself.”

  “Would you have yielded?” she asked.

  He solemnly met her gaze. “No, but then the pain would have been mine, not his.”

  She heard the thunder of hooves. Kit grabbed his rifle and surged to his feet. She closed her arms around Harry, as though that insignificant action could protect him from further harm.

  Dan, Magpie, and Tom burst into the clearing and drew their horses up short. Kit lowered his rifle.

  “We heard gunfire,” Dan said as he dismounted.

  “Jesus Christ,” Magpie muttered. “These the jayhawkers?”

  “Damn right they are,” Tom said. “That’s the bastard that killed our cattle.” He pointed at Gerald. “I say we leave him to the buzzards.”

  “We’ll probably leave them all to the buzzards. Harry is badly injured. Tom, I want you to go get the cook,” Kit ordered.

  “Right away,” Tom said. He swung into the saddle and urged his horse into a gallop.

  Dan hunkered down beside Harry and cast a quick glance at Jessye before looking up at Kit. “The cook ain’t gonna be able to take care of this mess.”

  “I know. But I didn’t want that lad to see any more horror. I need you to help me determine where the nearest town is.” Kit pulled the maps from inside his jacket.

  Jessye glanced at Harry’s bloodied britches, bent over, and pressed her cheek against his forehead. Kit was wrong. Even if Gerald had asked, Harry wouldn’t have surrendered. The damn Englishman was more courageous than she’d ever given him credit for.

  Chapter 14

  “Well now, he ain’t that bad off,” Cookie said.

  With Harry’s head nestled within her lap, Jessye tried to take comfort in the man’s words. A cook generally served as the doctor on a trail drive, but he wasn’t really a man of medicine, so she knew she needed to take his diagnosis with a pound of salt.

  Although the men had moved the dead jayhawkers out of the way, no one wanted to move Harry, fearing if they did so, they’d worsen his injuries.

  “We do need to get him to a doctor,” Cookie added.

  Kit glared at the man. “Yes, that much I’d figured out on my own.”

  “With branches and rope, we can make a travois, put him on it, and have a horse pull—” Dan said.

  “No,” Kit said succinctly, leaving no question that his word was final. “What we are going to do is unload the supplies from the wagon—”

  “Then how are we gonna carry the supplies?” Dan asked.

  “We’re not,” Kit told him. “We are leaving the supplies and the cattle here. This cattle drive has ended. We are going no farther. We are gathering the men and Harry and going back to Texas—”

  “No,” a choked voice commanded.

  Jessye snapped her gaze to Harry’s face, wondering how long he’d been conscious. His jaws were clenched, and only now did she feel the tenseness in his body as he fought back the pain.

  Leaning near, Kit placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Listen to me, my friend. Lady Luck was smiling on you today, but it was a grim smile. Your right hip is smashed to hell. You have broken bones in both legs. You need to get to a physician—”

  “You need…to get Jessye…and the cattle to market. Go around Kansas…like we discussed.” His breathing labored, every word he spoke was strained.

  “I’m not going,” Jessye said quietly, stroking his cheek, feeling the tautness in his jaws.

  “Yes, you will.” Harry grabbed Kit’s shirtfront and pulled him down, his knuckles turning white as he clenched the fabric. “Jessye invested all she had. She wants to…get the cattle to market…wants to hold the money in her hand. Take her.”

  “It’s not worth it, damn it. Nothing is worth your life!”

  He pulled Kit closer until Kit’s ear was near his mouth. She heard the whisper, but not the words. Kit blanched. “Damn you, Harry. Don’t ask this of me.”

  Harry nodded. “Follow Dan’s advice. Have Magpie take me to a doctor. You take Jess…” His voice trailed off, and he relaxed within her lap.

  “Damn you to hell, Bainbridge,” Kit muttered. He surged to his feet and pointed a finger at Dan. “Load the men up with whatever supplies they can carry until we have enough room in the wagon for Harry. We’ll purchase another wagon in the next town.” He stormed away as though hell’s demons nipped at his heels.

  Carefully, Jessye moved Harry’s head off her lap. She rose and raced after Kit. “Kit!”

  He staggered to a stop and spun around, the despair reflected in his eyes astounding her.

  “What did he whisper to you?”

  “He said that you are his Clarisse.”

  She furrowed her brow. “What does that mean?”

  “It means we take the cattle to market—at any cost.”

  Biting back a groan, Harrison opened his eyes. Moonlight streamed in through an opening at the back of the jostling wagon. He heard pots and pans clang. Damn Kit for not doing as ordered. He struggled to sit up, and small hands pressed him back down.

  “You need to lie still,” Jessye said softly.

  “This is a wagon.”

  “We’re not that far from a town. We’ll purchase another wagon there.”

  “The cattle?”

  “Dan and the other men are moving them west.”

  “You should be with them…so you can hold that money—”

  “I’d rather hold you. The next few days are not going to be pleasant.”

  “But the money—”

  “Has lost its importance.” She lifted his head slightly. “Cookie had some whiskey. Drink it. It’ll dull the pain.”

  He doubted it, but for her peace of mind, he dutifully sipped from the cup she pressed to his lips. When he moved the cup away, she gently laid his head down on a mound of blankets. She combed her fingers through his hair.

  “Oh, Harry, we should have given him the cattle.”

  “No.”

  “But your legs—”

  “They’ll mend.”

  “Kit said you’d rather die than give in.”

  He nodded slightly. His hip was a blazing inferno of pain. “Stubbornness was my mother’s only gift to me,” he said quietly. “After our initial trip to the cellar, I vowed I would never again say that I loved her. When I was eight, she sought to force the words from me. My family has this hideous castle. My mother loved it. It was as cold as her heart. When my father left for London, she took me to the dankest corner of the dungeon and locked me away. Every day she visited with a stale piece of bread and a cup of water. All I had to do was tell her that I loved her to gain my freedom. I would not speak to her at all.”

  “Dear God, but you must have a low opinion of mothers. To have had your mother treat you so cruelly, to know I gave my daughter away…”

  He cradled her chin with his trembling palm and held her gaze. “What you did, you did out of love. Never compare your actions with my mother’s. When my father returned and found me, I was near death. It was only then that he realized my mother was insane. He feared she might turn her wrath on the heir apparent, so he had her locked away in the tower.”

  “How awful for you—”

  He stroked his thumb across her cheek. “Until I met you, I didn’t know that a mother’s love was capable of making such unselfish sacrifices as you made for your daughter.”

  Within the moonlight, he saw tears well within her eyes.

  “I killed my d
aughter’s father.” She released a heart-wrenching sob. “Oh, Harry, God help me.”

  He cupped the back of her head and drew her close, until her face was nestled in the crook of his shoulder. “You don’t need God’s help, my love. You did the only thing you could do.”

  “The war changed him. He wasn’t…he wasn’t the young man I fell in love with.”

  His gut clenched at the thought of her loving someone else.

  “I don’t know what happened to him, why he changed—”

  “Shh, Jessye, it doesn’t matter.”

  “But he was my daughter’s father.”

  “An honor he did not deserve.”

  “You might think differently if you’d known him before the war. I wish I’d told him the truth—that the baby had lived.” She cradled the locket within her palm. “Mary Ellen is the best of us both. It’s difficult to believe now, but in my heart, I know she was conceived in love.”

  She tilted her face slightly, and he saw the trail of tears glistening over her face. “Did you cheat when you played poker with him?”

  “He owed you. By taking his money, I ensured that you would not have to split your profits with another investor.”

  Within the green depths of her eyes, he easily read the doubts plaguing her. Why did she have to be so damned honorable? “You have no need to feel guilty over actions I took.”

  “But if you hadn’t cheated him—”

  “Today would have ended no differently. I can tell when a man is bluffing. He would have killed me. He left you no recourse but to shoot him.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Gently, he combed the wisps of hair back from her face. “How can you not be?”

  She shook her head. “I just want enough money that I never have to depend on a man for anything again.”

  “And you shall have it, I promise.”

  “But at what cost, Harry? Now I’m a killer.”

  “Or a savior. Depends on your point of view. From where I lay, with a muzzle pointed at my head, I consider you a saint.”

  She gave him a quivering smile. “A tarnished saint.”

  “Untarnished saints are a bore.”

  She released a choked sob. “Oh, Harry, I’m supposed to comfort you, not have you comfort me.”

  “Then give me some more whiskey.”

  She did as he bid, and he drank greedily, hoping to drown the fear more than the pain—fear that he might never again walk.

  It took them two days to find a doctor in a small town that didn’t even have a name.

  Jessye lifted Harry’s head and poured more whiskey down his throat. God Almighty, she wanted to drink the whole blasted bottle herself.

  Kit had gone to purchase another wagon and supplies. She didn’t blame him. There was nothing for him to do here but watch his friend suffer. She knew he carried a burden of guilt already. Magpie had offered to travel back to Fortune with her and Harry, leaving Kit free to return to the herd once he was assured Harry would survive.

  She felt the tremors running through Harry, the fever burning his body. If he survived what was to come, it would be a miracle, and she’d never known a miracle to pass her way.

  She kept her gaze fastened on Harry’s face rather than see the mangled condition of his legs as the doctor cut away his britches. She feared Harry might choke on the groans he fought to hold back. Why in the hell couldn’t this doctor have morphine?

  “The kindest thing would be to amputate these legs—”

  “No!” Harry growled, struggling to sit up.

  Jessye shoved him back down, her hand sliding over his sweat-slickened flesh, his breathing labored.

  “You’ve got one broken bone in your left leg, two in your right, and this right hip is smashed to hell. I don’t know how I’m gonna set it. You’ve got lacerations, bruises.”

  “Just do the best…you can,” Harry ordered.

  “Amputation is the best I can do.”

  “So I can become exactly what my father always thought I was—less than a whole man? I’d rather die.”

  “You will die if gangrene sets in,” the doctor said.

  “I’ll stop the gangrene from settling in,” Jessye said, her gaze holding Harry’s. “You just set the bones.”

  “All you’re doing is prolonging the inevitable,” the doctor told her.

  Jessye slammed her eyes closed. She never should have loaned him the money, never should have doubted his honor. She pressed her cheek against his, placing her mouth near his ear. “Maybe the doctor’s right, Harry. This is like drawing to an inside straight.”

  “Have you ever drawn to an inside straight?” he asked, his voice raspy.

  She lifted her face to meet his gaze. “No.”

  He gave her a tender smile. “I have. It’s the sweetest victory, because the odds are so against you—and no one thinks you’ll make it—no one believes in you…” His eyes glazed over with a pain that she thought went far deeper than the physical anguish he was experiencing. “You’re holding the cards, but at least give me the chance to draw a winning hand.”

  “Damn you, Harry, the odds aren’t in your favor.”

  “They never have been. That’s why I cheat.”

  Damn him for making her smile at a moment like this. “At least finish off the whiskey to deaden some of the pain,” she insisted as she held the bottle to his lips.

  “His recovery will take months—”

  “I’ll see to his recovery,” Jessye snapped, losing patience with the man, the entire situation. “Just set the bones and do what you can for his hip.”

  She brought the bottle away from Harry’s lips.

  “Shoot him if he cuts off my legs.”

  “I will.”

  “Good.” Reaching out, he took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Now, I want you to leave.”

  Horror swept through her. “I’m not leaving you.”

  “Love, I am about to show myself for the true coward I am. I’d rather you not witness that.”

  She threaded her fingers more tightly through his. “I’m not leaving.”

  She slipped her free hand beneath his head and leaned near, pillowing her bosom against his face. Staring at a knothole on the wall, she knew the moment the doctor began his work. Her body muffled Harry’s strangled groan as he jerked and his hand squeezed hers unmercifully. Tears filled her eyes, her throat tightened. She pressed her lips to the top of his head.

  His final anguished cry echoed through the room before he relaxed against her, lost in the oblivion of unconsciousness.

  Only then did she allow her own sobs to drown out the obscene noises created by the doctor’s efforts to save Harry’s legs.

  PART TWO

  The Walk to Redemption

  Chapter 15

  August 1866

  Jessye heard the glass shatter, a common sound in a saloon, but she knew that none of tonight’s drunkards had instigated the breakage. Dreading the necessary encounter, she hurried along the hallway, her heels clicking over the wooden floor.

  She gave one brisk, hard knock to serve as a warning before flinging open the door. The mirror above her dresser was a cracked mosaic of distorted shapes. Without glancing at the man lying in what had at one time been her bed, she crossed the room, knelt, and picked up the broken figurine. The mother no longer held the child, and that image ripped through her heart—an intense reminder of her own sacrifice. She placed the child into the mother’s arms, but they would never fit perfectly, as they had before.

  Just as Harry’s bones would never be perfect.

  Wearily, she glanced over her shoulder, trying to look beyond the angry glare Harry cast her way. “Oh, Harry—”

  “Send word to Gray that I want to see him.”

  Slowly, she rose to her feet. “It’s after midnight. Only the debauched are still awake.”

  “Then he should be awake.”

  “I’m not fetching him. If you’re lonely, then come into the saloon for a whi
le—”

  “How do you propose that I get there?”

  “Magpie and I would help you.”

  “So everyone can bloody well see that I’m a cripple?”

  “You are not a cripple!”

  “I can’t walk, damn it!” He averted his gaze and muttered. “I can’t walk.”

  Her heart ached at the anguish in his voice, the limitations his encounter with Gerald had burdened him with. The bones in his legs had healed, but his hip remained as twisted as her mirror. He complained often, but never about the pain, although the agony he strove so hard to conceal revealed itself in the deepening of the lines that fanned out from his eyes.

  Cradling the broken figurine in one hand, she walked to the bed and gripped the post. “That’s my fault.”

  “I don’t recall you being the madman who abused his horse in order to deliver painful blows to me because I had not dealt him honest cards,” he ground out without looking at her.

  “When we traveled back to Fortune, I kept you drunk so you wouldn’t feel the pain. Maybe I should have had you on crutches so your legs wouldn’t forget—”

  “Oh, God, Jessye, they didn’t forget. They are ruined! Mangled twigs.” He sighed deeply. “Will you leave?”

  “Will you please stop throwing things around my room?”

  “It’s the only thing I can do with any success—other than play cards. Send Magpie in.”

  “He can’t afford to lose any more money to you.” She walked to the bedside table and carefully placed the two broken pieces near the lamp. She touched the plate that still contained his supper. “You’ll never gain your strength back if you don’t eat.” With a spoon, she scooped up some potatoes and turned to him. “Here, eat this.”

  With one swipe of his hand, he sent the spoon flying across the room. “I am not a child!”

  Without warning, he grabbed her and jerked her onto the bed. She wanted to buck, but his strangled groan as he rolled on top of her kept her quiet. She wouldn’t hurt him any more than she already had.

  “I am especially not your child,” he spat. “It’s bad enough that I cannot stand up to piss like a man, that you have to bring me every damn thing that I need, but I will not now have you feeding me as though I were an infant. If you want a baby to coddle, I’ll give you one, because that I can, by God, still do!”