Jessie's War (Civil War Steam)

by Connors, Meggan

  She stared at her hands.

  “What do you need, Jess?”

  Pushing a stray lock of hair out of her eyes, she hesitated. “Do you think you could hold me for a little while? Just until I go to sleep?”

  He heard trepidation in her words. And hope.

  Maybe it didn’t matter that he’d been gone so long.

  Maybe she could find it in her to forgive him.

  Maybe then he could forgive himself.

  Turning back his duster and the blankets he’d used to cover himself, he invited her into the space of his arms, and she accepted.

  Her head on his chest, she settled next to him, and she wrapped her arm around him and held him tight.

  He pulled the blankets up around her shoulders and kissed her hair. Inhaled the scent of her—juniper and sage, winter storms and woman.

  “It will be all right,” he murmured.

  Because, with the last beat of his heart, he would make damn sure no one ever hurt her again.

  He lay awake for a long time, considering what, precisely, his unspoken promise actually meant.

  * * * *

  The next morning, Jessie watched Luke as he packed up the horses for the ride into Fort Bastion. The women had given her a change of clothing, a supply of blankets, and had packed a meal of dried meat for the journey.

  She was touched by their generosity. Her people lived sparsely. By her father’s standards, they lived in poverty, scraping by on whatever the barren land would yield. They lived in temporary shelters made of wood they had gathered, and the more elaborate ones were covered with antelope or deer hide. They ate what they hunted or fished for or gathered, and if nothing could be found, they ate nothing. They fought in skirmishes with white men who sought to take their land or their women, despite the treaty granting them both territory and autonomy.

  But for all of that, they seemed happy. They were far happier than Jessie had been anyway, living in her father’s house.

  Taba shoved her nose into Jessie’s neck, and she stroked the Appaloosa.

  She wasn’t quite prepared to say goodbye to the horse, but knew she couldn’t take her. Taba was tired from two hard days of riding. And she’d be safe here. The Ewepu Tunekwuhudu would take care of her.

  Didn’t mean that Jessie hated leaving her any less.

  “Jessie,” said a voice from behind her.

  She turned. “Cheveyo.”

  His expression gave her the impression he was sad. It was in his eyes, inky and inscrutable, and the hardened slant of his mouth. It was in his stance, the way he braced his legs apart, his hands on his hips, and the way he shifted his weight as if nervous.

  But that wasn’t possible—Jessie had never known him to be nervous. Cheveyo’s wild heart didn’t know fear. Never had.

  He put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s been good to see you again, cousin.”

  She studied the planes of his face, reached up and covered his hand with hers, and gave it a companionable pat. “You too, brother.”

  He was quiet for a few moments. Then he reached into the pouch at his waist and pulled out a golden feather that shimmered in the sun.

  She extended her hand and was startled by how delicate and light it was. It looked solid, but felt ephemeral and holy.

  He took the feather from her and tied it around her neck by a thick leather strap that seemed more substantial than the item itself. “Grandfather wanted me to give this to you before you left. He says you’ll need it.”

  She traced the edges with the tip of her finger. It looked like a hawk’s feather that had been dipped in gold, every detail perfectly etched. “It’s beautiful.”

  Cheveyo stared out at the barren, snow-covered mountains behind her head for a long time. “This will grant you safe passage through hostile territory. Those you encounter will recognize Grandfather’s mark. Perhaps it will protect you when your white man can’t.”

  “I wish you’d stop calling him that. He has a name.”

  Cheveyo smiled. “I know he does. I even know what it is.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “He’s not a bad man, actually. I could like him.”

  “I know he’s not. I think I like him too.” She glanced over to where Luke was bent over readying the horses, and her stomach knotted—and that was just from watching him with a horse. If she thought about what he could do with his hands…

  Cheveyo laughed, but sadness shifted in the murky depths of his eyes. “That’s a swift change of heart. Just yesterday you said you hated him.”

  “Yeah, well. You know how these things go.”

  “Actually, I don’t,” he responded without bitterness. “I’m glad you’re letting go of your anger.” He smiled.

  For the first time, she believed she had her childhood playmate back.

  She paused, thinking of her dream the night before. The terror and the pain. The jeers and the laughter and the taunts, which at the time had somehow seemed worse than the beating. These people she’d grown up with, turning on her. Luke had always been there before. Things had gotten steadily worse for her after Luke and Gideon had left, and she suspected she’d never appreciated how much Luke had done to protect her until after he was gone.

  After Bear Creek, things had never been worse, and he hadn’t come to save her. She’d relived the nightmare of those days night after night.

  For years, she’d been angry because she’d been so alone. Angry with her father, who was impotent with grief. Angry with Luke, for dying on her. Angry with her tribe, for not protecting her when they could have, and should have.

  She didn’t want to be angry anymore.

  Cheveyo gestured in Luke’s direction. “Looks like it’s time for you to go.”

  “I guess so.”

  “He’s a good man, and he cares about you. Try to remember that.”

  She followed Luke with her eyes. “I will.”

  Her cousin wrapped her in his arms and pulled her into an embrace. He leaned close to her ear and said in a stage whisper, “Don’t tell him I like him. I have appearances to maintain.”

  She laughed. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”

  Cheveyo handed her over to her husband.

  The moment Luke took her hand, electricity arced from him to her, her blood rushing hot in her veins. He helped her onto her horse and kissed her palm.

  She closed her eyes as his lips scorched her skin and seared her soul, and she felt a rush of tenderness for this man so overwhelming she nearly doubled over. Reaching out, she touched his cheek, and the roughened texture of the stubble on his face made her shiver all over again.

  The look Luke gave her was hot and hungry and openly carnal. He turned abruptly and mounted his horse.

  Cheveyo’s eyes followed Luke. “Take care of her.”

  “I will.”

  Something passed between the two men, like they were seeing one another for the first time, and each recognized something in the other. “Thank you, Cheveyo.”

  Her cousin gave him a strained nod.

  Luke clicked to his horse and began riding toward the dark cloud clinging to the southeastern mountains, in the direction of Fort Clark. “Come on, Jess. It’s time to go.”

  As he led her away, she turned in her saddle and looked back at her mother’s people, at the women as they went about their work. She missed them already.

  You’re looking in the wrong direction. Her grandfather’s voice rang in her ears.

  She closed her eyes ever so briefly before she put heels to horse and took off in the direction of Fort Clark.

  Chapter Fourteen

  For the rest of the long day’s journey into Fort Clark, they didn’t speak of anything more than superficial things. They shared a light meal of dried meat and barely spoke. Luke remarked on the weather, and Jessie responded with something equally innocuous. Safe topics.

  So when she brushed against him accidentally, and heat arced between them, a jolt so powerful it made her shake, she ignored it.

/>   Luke didn’t meet her eyes and didn’t mention it.

  By the time they reached Fort Clark, the last rays of light had disappeared beyond the western mountains. The city was squat, the buildings shorter and more compact than they were in Virginia City. Virginia City had been built of the timber from the Sierra Nevada, a town that had gone up in a matter of days, a boomtown in the truest sense of the word. It had burned and been rebuilt more than once. In a few months, it wouldn’t bear the scars of the shelling it had received the other night.

  Fort Clark’s buildings made of red brick and granite spoke of permanence. Low roofs covered the elevated wooden walkways, and unlit gas lanterns dotted the road. The only structures in the entire town standing over two stories tall were the lookout towers and their massive, anti-airship cannons, rising into the sky like minarets, enormous creations of red brick and steel.

  Trains rumbled in the distance, a noise that never ceased in Fort Clark. Trains—passenger, military, and commercial—ran through here twenty-four hours a day. The tracks only fell silent on Christmas and Easter Sunday.

  The city was dark, the only light that which bled from beneath the shuttered windows and elegant French doors. No booming ore crushers or groaning crawlers. No raucous laughter as men drank and fought and propositioned women. No cheering as miners brought in their bounty to have it weighed. No jaunty music or people dancing in the streets as they so often did in her hometown. Where Virginia City was bright and shiny, the young belle of Nevada, Fort Clark was the dark, spinster sister. The contrast was unnerving.

  “It’s so quiet.” The watchtowers rose high in the desert sky. Even they were dark, but she felt eyes watching her, and her heart drummed a little faster.

  Luke pushed his hat back on his forehead. “With the shelling of Virginia City, there would be a mandatory blackout at sunset. A precaution. Happens all the time back East.”

  She didn’t want to think about that, about all the places he’d been and all the shells he’d dodged. Didn’t want to think about the war that raged back East and what they’d both lost because of it.

  All she wanted was some food and a long, hot soak.

  The thought of rose-scented soap and a good scrub in scalding water was heavenly.

  Luke watched her for a moment, and his lips twisted into a lopsided scowl. “I’ll check us into a hotel,” he offered. “We can relax for a bit before we catch a transport.”

  “Do you think we could get something to eat? I’m starving.”

  He pointed to the shuttered buildings. “Nothing will be open except the mess hall in the fort proper and the saloons.”

  “Can we eat there?”

  “Mess hall’s too bright, and soldiers are too poorly paid. Half of them would sell you out for a penny and a drink. The other half would try to proposition you, and then we’d have words.”

  “Well, we can’t have that,” she laughed, hearing the irritation in his voice. She pretended for a moment his irritation meant he cared. “What about a saloon?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he retorted. “I want to take you to a room and lock you up until it’s time to go.”

  Tired and hungry, Jessie felt entirely too brazen for her own good. “I’m sure you do. But you’ll have to feed me first.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you just propositioned me.”

  “Feed me and let me have a bath, and maybe I did.”

  Luke turned surprised eyes in her direction, but his lips were tight. “Careful, Jess. Girls who play with fire tend to get burned.”

  “Already been burned, Bradshaw. You gonna do it again?”

  He stopped his horse, right in the middle of the dark and empty street, and turned to face her. “Don’t tease me.”

  She offered him a faint smile even as she shivered from the hungry look he gave her. “I would never.”

  “Yes you would,” he said. “I was there eight years ago, too.”

  She wanted to touch him, but she kept her hands folded in her lap. “And I’m not a child anymore. I’m starving, and I’ve got to change my bandages. I need a bath. A bed. Take me to a saloon. Get me some food, at least. C’mon, Bradshaw.”

  “Not on your life.” He looked own the dark and dusty road for a long time. “I’ll check us into a hotel and maybe I can convince the kitchen to send something up. We’ll catch one of the first military trains out of here. We should be safe enough.”

  “I’m fine with that.”

  He stopped his horse and clicked to Jessie’s. “I’ll see to the horses once you’re settled.” He tied his horse to a nearby post, and reached his hands up to help her from her saddle. “C’mon, White.”

  She grinned at the echo of her earlier retort. Leaning into him, she allowed him to take her off the horse, and she slid down the length of his body as he held her entirely too close. As she grasped his strong arms, and he pulled her flush against him, her body ached from nothing more than his proximity.

  Too close. Too tight. Just right.

  She wanted him to kiss her and knew that would be a mistake.

  Lifting her chin, their eyes met. She gave him a small smile and the desire in his expression shifted as tenderness crept into his eyes.

  His jaw tightened, and he set her away from him. “Shit.”

  “What?” She tried to ignore how the space between them vibrated with lust, and struggled against the urge to reach out, pull him to her, and kiss him.

  He awarded her with a rueful smile, and placed her hand in the crook of his arm. “This is gonna be harder than I thought.” Without further explanation, he led her into the hotel parlor. He scanned the room. “Stay with me. Don’t make eye contact, but I want you to be aware of everyone around you. Hiram’s friends must be here in town, if they’re anywhere. We have to be careful until we’re safely away.”

  “All right.”

  His smile did something funny to her heart. “What, no arguments?”

  “No sense in arguing at this point,” she answered. “I might not like your methods, but you’ve kept me alive so far, so…” She trailed off, letting her words hang in the air.

  “So you thought you’d go ahead and throw in your lot with me?” he asked. “Guess you don’t hate me so much anymore, huh?”

  Jessie turned her face away, and for a long time, she studied the hotel lobby, with its low, gentle lighting. A large Oriental rug covered the red oak floor. In the far corner, a pianist played one of Mozart’s piano sonatas, and men in evening attire drank while quietly lounging on cushioned chairs, their women beside them. Not loud and raucous like she was used to, but more muted and staid. Businessmen taking meetings rather than miners looking for a diversion.

  The women reflected that—they were dressed in bustled silk dresses and feathered hats, not in traveling clothes like Jessie, and she realized how badly she stood out in a place like this, an Indian woman in the clothes of a peasant.

  Luke’s arm tightened, and the tension in his posture gave her a sense of just how on edge he was.

  She touched Luke on the arm. “Luke, I don’t hate you. It’s just…”

  “Don’t get all tender and serious on me, Jess.” He glanced over his shoulder.

  Her face flamed at his admonishment, but she held her tongue.

  “Right now, I need you to hate me so I can get us through the next few hours. It’s easier that way. Safer, too.”

  “I don’t hate you,” she repeated. Then she did as he asked and turned from the emotionally charged topic. “But you do smell like a horse, which makes it easy to dislike you.”

  He laughed. “That’s my girl. Way to save that one.” His arm tightened on hers, an embrace that really wasn’t one.

  It took all of her strength to not look up and memorize the planes of his face, the dark stubble of a beard that graced his chin, the dark eyelashes and pale, gray eyes. The full mouth that made her think of his kisses and the smile that turned her inside out.

  She had missed him more
than she had missed anyone in her life, more than she missed either of her parents, more than her grandfather and her tribe. More than she’d even missed Gideon.

  Judge me on what I do now, he’d said.

  If she did that, she’d admit she was falling for him all over again. Not the girl she had been remembering the boy she’d once loved, but the woman she had become falling in love with the man he was now, wounds and all.

  “You all right?” he asked, his hand on the small of her back as he guided her up the stairs toward the room.

  He didn’t look at her, but she got the sense there was nothing he didn’t see.

  “Of course,” she lied.

  “Good.” He opened the door, pushed ahead of her, and scanned their room before he allowed her inside.

  The room was large, with a big, brown bed in the middle. A small sofa stood against one wall, and a wardrobe and a mirrored dresser with a white ceramic washbasin stood on the other. Catching his eyes, she said, “Bath?”

  He frowned. “Down the hall. But you can’t think you’re going in alone.”

  “And you can’t think you’re coming in with me.”

  He put the pack he carried on the floor. “Water is scarce in these parts. We could bathe together and save some. Not to mention, it’s safer if I’m with you.”

  “Safer for whom?” she asked. After all, she’d seen him naked too, and remembered all too vividly what it felt like to have his big body pressed against hers, the lust that spiraled through her at his touch. “Not on your life, Bradshaw.”

  “I’m teasing.”

  “No, you’re not.” She meant to be serious, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, nonetheless.

  “I guess we’ll never know,” he returned. “How about this? I’ll check the washroom and make sure it’s clear. I’ll wait for you outside.”

  “What about the horses? And you? You can’t be with me all the time.”

  He arched an eyebrow in response.

  “How about I lock the door and you take care of what you need to?” she suggested. “I’ll stay inside until you come back for me.”

  Luke scowled. “I don’t like it.”