by Eden Carson
She glanced down below her at the still struggling men. Jackson was underneath the tall man, struggling for control of a pistol. She didn’t know how to help, as a bullet could just as easily hit Jackson. The other robber was out cold and not moving, so she dismissed him.
She split her glance between the fight down below and methodical checks out the window to make sure the third man didn’t return. If she could find an opening to safely fire at the man grappling with Jackson, she intended to take it. She unconsciously tightened her finger on the trigger as Jackson took another punch to the gut.
He finally gained enough leverage to place a booted heel into his opponent’s left hip socket. With all his remaining strength, he shoved at the outlaw with his right leg, while yanking the man’s right hand and shoulder under. He rolled the robber over onto an upended floorboard where three rusty nails penetrated his shoulder.
A howl of pain exploded through the room and the man loosed his grip on the pistol. Jackson wrested it from his weakened grasp and got off two shots into the man’s gut, just as he lunged at him. Jackson heard Ruth’s scream as he struggled out from under the now dead weight of his opponent.
He glanced immediately over at the second man, thinking he’d regained consciousness. But the second intruder lay where he’d fallen earlier, completely motionless. Jackson glanced up toward the loft, searching for Ruth. He let out his breath as soon as he saw her. She was pale and shaking, but not bleeding.
Jackson rushed to the side of the window so he could look for more men, but saw no movement in the yard. Everything was quiet.
Ruth regained her breath – she thought Jackson had been the one shot and had screamed in terror. But his steady gaze and calm demeanor lessened the panic. She finally got enough air to whisper, “It’s all right. The last man rode off a few minutes ago.”
Jackson nodded his understanding as he efficiently tied up the unconscious man. “Stay put while I make sure.”
As if she had the strength to do anything but hold on to her precarious perch, Ruth thought to herself. She watched him exit the cabin, but after that, saw nothing, heard nothing. She waited for what seemed like hours, but was only a few minutes, before nearly jumping out of her skin at the sound of Jackson’s voice coming from below.
Lord, that man moves quietly, she thought.
He quickly shared what he’d found with Ruth. “I’ve circled the woods and can’t see anyone else. There were only three sets of horse tracks following, and only the one backtracking. We’ll take the dead men’s horses to use as pack animals. We can switch out our mounts down the trail, if theirs are amenable to strange riders. My horse is used to the high altitude we’re about to face, but I’m guessing that yours isn’t?” Jackson turned his gaze to her, looking for confirmation.
“I’ve never even seen mountains this high, much less ridden through them, I’m afraid,” she replied, knowing her inexperience might change his plans. Since she didn’t know the horse’s experience, it was the best she could do. She didn’t want to lie outright to a man who’d just saved her life. She knew it was a fine distinction, as omitting the fact that she was a horse thief from the conversation wouldn’t allow her to sit comfortably on any church pew.
But survival took precedence. Those were the last words of advice her normally strict father gave her before setting off to war. Ruth supposed he’d known what she and her mother might face on their own, and wanted to free her from the rules of society that were a lovely thing during peacetime, but none too practical with the enemy at the gate. Ruth silently promised her Maker she’d square things up with him later.
Jackson finished adjusting the pack horse’s load before handing the reins to Ruth. “It would be good to rest Caboose once in a while if we can get one of these mounts to take you. If we’re being followed, it might be the only edge we’ve got.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. I can ride most any horse out there,” she asserted.
At his skeptical look, Ruth elaborated. “My father was a doctor and sometimes veterinarian before the War. Our neighbor used his service often, and in exchange he’d let me help with horse training. Mostly I rode side saddle to get the mounts used to flailing skirts, but sometimes, when Mama wasn’t looking, he would let me ride astride and break in the younger ones.”
Jackson shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m surprised you’ve got experience breaking horses, seeing as you’re a beauty with that rifle.”
At Ruth’s blush, he laughed outright. They were alive, and although not out of danger, they were one step closer to home and safety. He covered the three steps separating them and pulled Ruth into his arms. He kissed her before she could protest or he could remember his upbringing. She felt soft and pliant in his arms and her mouth was warm and inviting. He pulled her fully into his embrace, until he felt the press of her breasts against his racing heart.
He knew he shouldn’t act when the adrenaline was still surging through his head and his body, but for once, he didn’t care beyond the moment. He stroked his hand along the curve of her spine until coming to rest possessively around her tiny waist.
Ruth couldn’t think at first, didn’t react. But the warmth of Jackson’s hard body against every inch of her was too comforting and necessary for her to move away. She grasped his shoulders and held on to the only steady thing in her life for more years than she could count. She went from numb and firing at men she didn’t know to warm and steady in an instant. She wanted that feeling so badly she ignored the brief and half-hearted memories of her mother’s advice to her young daughter.
Ruth didn’t much care what Jackson’s intentions were in that moment, as long as this feeling of life and warmth didn’t stop.
She didn’t notice Jackson’s invading tongue so much as the heat sliding down her swelling breasts and between her thighs to warm every part of her. She subconsciously moved her hands along his upper arms, reveling in the strength she so craved in this uncertain world.
The slide of Ruth’s fingers along his bare arms made Jackson’s senses go into high alert. He wanted nothing more than to take this courageous woman to bed and spend the next two weeks with her. But whether out of respect for her amazing strength as a woman, or respect for the ingenuity of his still-living enemies, Jackson came to his senses and pulled away.
“Christ, we have to go. We’re not safe here,” he said out loud, more to convince himself than Ruth.
At her dazed look, he gently brushed his lips across hers. “The third man you shot at is no doubt backtracking to the rest of his men. Since we don’t know if Emmett and Mike had any success tracking them down, we have to plan for the worst – That they escaped and this rider may catch up with them and circle back to us. I don’t think it likely, but it’s best to move on. Are you up to another ride tonight?”
Jackson’s comment worked like a timely interruption by a maiden aunt. Ruth stepped back and hastily averted her eyes. Whether from modesty or further temptation, she might never understand or admit to herself.
“I can ride,” she responded with more conviction than she felt. Riding seemed like the safest course to her jumbled thoughts, and the cold rain just starting to fall would surely put a damper on her heated body.
Chapter 25
The rain didn’t stop for the next five hours, and neither did they. Jackson took them straight up a steep mountain pass, then veered off the main trail to ride cross country through a heavily wooded forest. He breathed easier with the arrival of the rain, but still didn’t lessen his efforts to hide their trail. He’d gone head-to-head with Indian trackers that could find a man in rain, snow, or heat. And in this country, where mountain passes were scarce, he and Ruth were easy prey. The best he could do was to wipe their tracks and mislead anyone looking for them.
“You’ll need to walk again, Ruth. We’ve got one last river to cross before we rest for the night.”
Jackson had already dismounted himself and checked the integrity of the ropes tying the ho
rses together when he realized that Ruth was still sitting on Caboose. She looked exhausted, although she hadn’t complained once - even through two river crossings and unrelenting rain.
He held his gloved hand up to Ruth, “This is the last one tonight, I promise. I know a place we can rest, and even have a small fire. Don’t quit on me now.”
She managed a soggy half smile before replying, “I’m not quitting. I was just resting my eyes.” With that bit of bravado her only strength, Ruth half slid into his bracing arms. She almost remembered what being warm and dry felt like, wedged as she was between Jackson’s hard body and Caboose’s steaming coat.
Almost, until a cold drop of sleet found its way down her aching back. “Let’s get this over with, then. The thought of hot coffee is enough motivation to ford the Mississippi, much less this pathetic excuse for a creek.”
Jackson and Ruth both knew any water crossing was dangerous in these conditions. The swelling creek before them was just shy of river status under these pouring skies.
But they both kept these useless thoughts to themselves and set about tying Ruth and her horse to the back of Jackson’s mount. They let the other horses loose and hoped they would follow. Having extra mounts wasn’t worth being swept down river.
Jackson had already explained to Ruth that there were only three directions they could go, and anyone who knew these mountains would assume the third choice was too risky this close to winter.
And they’d be right.
It was too dangerous to follow this path, when this rain could turn to sleet and then to snow in less than an hour. A fierce blizzard when they were ill-prepared could prove more dangerous than armed men on their trail, but Jackson had weighed their options, and decided to risk it. He figured they had a couple of weeks yet before the snow set in.
And if not, he could get them to a makeshift shelter along the trail. He knew every hollowed-out tree and rocky overhang out here, and a few half-standing shelters left over from the days when his uncle worked this trail. They’d be all right as long as they kept moving and no one was injured.
Jackson took one last look at Ruth over his shoulder. “Are you ready?”
At her nod, they set off down the steep, muddy bank. He tried to keep their pace slow and steady, but the pack horses had other ideas, and they crowded in behind Caboose. “Whoa, boy. Keep those mares in line, now.” Jackson whispered into his favored mount’s ear, encouraging the stallion to lead the new mares and Ruth’s gelding. Jackson knew that on uncertain footing in bad weather the pack horses would listen to another animal sooner than to an unknown master. His bet paid off, as his stallion turned to holler and nip at the horses trying to surge forward into the river.
Jackson had a firm hold on his mount’s bridle as they neared the middle of the river. The water was higher than he had measured in faint moonlight, and he was afraid they‘d be swimming the last bit. “Ruth, hang on. We might need to swim alongside the horses to reach the far bank.”
He didn’t allow himself to worry if Ruth could swim or not. It didn’t much matter at this point, as they had to cross now or risk backtracking in the dark.
Ruth felt her footing give way, so she tightened her left-handed grip on the slippery reins and wound her right hand through Caboose’s mane. She started to panic when she felt her boot wedge between a submerged rock and sucking mud. She held on for dear life, as Caboose and the other horses were afloat now and swimming strongly for the far bank and dry land.
Their strength pulled her straining foot free, but she lost her short boot to the raging river. She kicked as much as possible, as the current was fierce, and she could feel her exhausted mount struggling for breath. She could barely make out Jackson’s form in the dim light, but sighed in relief when she saw he had reached solid ground.
Jackson strained every exhausted muscle as he pulled his stallion up the thick muddy bank, searching quickly for sure footing. His mount found his balance and pulled Ruth’s horse up the bank with him. Jackson reached for Ruth as she struggled up the side of the creek bed to safety.
When the last horse was under the shelter of the trees, Ruth sat down hard on the ground, not sure if it was her legs or spirit that demanded the moment’s rest.
“You did great. We can reach the shelter in twenty minutes, maybe less.”
Ruth raised tired but still-game eyes to Jackson’s intense stare. “I lost my boot.”
Jackson swore under his breath. He didn’t have spare shoes and they wouldn’t have served for anything but blisters on her tiny feet anyway. “You’ll have to make due for now. Give Caboose a rest and let’s have you try riding the grey mare. We can dry off and rest soon. We’ll have to detour a bit, but we can find you some new shoes up the trail a ways.”
He hadn’t planned on stopping at Montgomery’s place, as it was well-traveled, but Ruth couldn’t do without shoes. Even if they could manage to keep her mounted the rest of the way, frostbite was a real concern this time of year. It was simply too far to go all the way to his place without warm and sturdy shoes.
“Let’s mount up and get to shelter before we both catch our death.” Jackson stood and pulled Ruth up with him.
Her muscles were so tired Ruth thought she might not have been able to stand without Jackson’s help. She leaned on his strength as she paused to garner her own. After a moment, she took a deep breath and reached for the pommel, hoisting her sopping wet skirts up the length of the roan. Jackson’s warm hand on her stocking foot gave her just enough help to drag her weary body onto the placid horse.
Her shaking fingers were so cold, she wasn’t sure she could hold on much longer. Ruth quickly glanced at Jackson’s hand, which was still arranging her foot in the stirrup, and silently longed for that warmth on her body. Her thoughts then turned to images of being held tight in front of a warm fire, only it was Jackson’s heat she felt most strongly at her back in her daydream.
“Are you ready to ride?” Jackson’s voice over the still-dripping rain shook Ruth from her reverie and brought her back to reality quickly.
“It’s getting colder by the minute, and we need to dry you off soon. Hang on tight. Shout if you want to be tied down to the horse. It might be tricky keeping your foot in the stirrup with no boot.” Jackson shoved the brim of his hat down a bit more and quickly mounted his pack horse, leading Ruth directly behind him this time, in case she were in danger of falling.
As the rain quickly turned to icy sleet with the dropping temperature, Jackson prayed to every God he’d heard tales of that he could find the old shelter in this miserable weather. They’d be in a bad way if they had to spend another night in the saddle. He was sure Ruth had the will, but not the strength to keep going much further.
He glanced back to make sure she was all right. At her nod, he turned the horses north, following a side trail. They gained altitude quickly and Jackson silently wondered if snow was on the way. It was early yet, but not unheard of.
Just a bit more luck and we might yet make it, he thought.
Jackson dismounted to shout over the drenching sleet into Ruth’s ear. “We’re searching for three large, egg-shaped boulders that mark the turn off to our destination. Stop me if you think you see them.”
She nodded in understanding, but then thought miserably that it wasn’t fair to have come this far, and to have battled a monster like Jasper Smith, only to die from the weather. A most commonplace death – and not the ending she had dreamed about for this journey out west.
Ruth’s heart leapt when Jackson shouted over his shoulder that he’d found the trail marker. He turned his horse off the path and up at a forty-five degree angle from the three landmark boulders. Her horse followed automatically, and it took all her balance to stay upright as she dodged thick branches hanging over the trail.
After a few minutes of battling the rough terrain, she felt the mare stop short. All Ruth could see was the shadowy outline of Jackson’s wool coat as he forged ahead on foot. He quickly returned to her s
ide to help her dismount.
“We’re here. It might not seem like much, but once we get a fire going you’ll be more comfortable.” He set about unpacking the supplies they’d need as Ruth took in their surroundings.
Their accommodations - as Jackson had described them with a quirky smile of pride - were not much. The cave was just a small overhang of jagged rocks, rather than a true cave. But Ruth was so glad to step underneath shelter and no longer feel icy sleet freezing her cheeks and slipping into her eyes that she was willing to call it a cozy inn if she lived to tell the tale.
“Can you start a fire with flint and steel?” Jackson asked. “I need to hobble the horses for the night.”
“Yes, I know how. What about dry wood?”
“There should be some in the back corner.” He pointed to Ruth’s left. “It’s trail custom to replace the wood pile on your way out. Lucky for us, the previous occupants were decent folk.”
She smiled a bit in amazement at this kindness to strangers. Her aunt had only ever criticized all western customs as barbaric and warned Ruth to hold tight to her upbringing.
Ruth quickly unwrapped the flint and steel that Jackson handed her. The oil cloth they were wrapped in had kept everything bone dry, and Ruth had a small fire going by the time Jackson returned from caring for their horses.
“It’s not so large that we’ll be seen?” She asked the question more to cover her embarrassment than to get an answer, as Jackson quickly began removing his wet coat and shirt.
He rubbed his numbed hands together in gratitude before the flickering flame. “It’s fine. In this weather, and this far back off the trail, no one will be able to see us unless they are ten feet away. I’m fairly certain we lost any pursuit, but don’t wander off alone, just in case. And you can hang your wet clothes on the left side of the fire to dry. Do you have enough dry clothing for the night?” He sat on the ground to remove his boots. Even his socks were soaked through. “If you’re uncomfortable, feel free to turn your back while I’m undressing. Otherwise I can –”
