“Hey, you don’t get to judge me. I’m not the one who’s done this before. If you don’t like the way I did it, maybe you should have done it yourself.” She pulled the robe closed and tied it securely around her waist.
“I didn’t think you’d be so stupid about it.”
“You told me to play stupid. I did that.”
“I told you to play stupid, not actually be stupid.”
“A version of the truth is always easier,” she spat from between clenched teeth. “I went with it.”
“The truth is dangerous. Stick with a lie next time.”
“You know, Bradshaw, I’m hoping there isn’t a next time.”
He picked up the clothing she’d put down when she answered the door and shoved it into her hands. “There’s always a next time,” he said. “Get dressed. Now.”
He turned and busied himself with the bags. When she made no move to follow his orders, he snarled. “You deaf? Get dressed. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, and less than you showed that man out there, so put some goddamn clothes on so we can leave.”
She turned her back, struggling into the traveling clothes Luke gave her—two petticoats and a faded navy traveling dress. Tears stung her eyes, and she took in a long pull of air in an attempt to steady her heart. Failed.
Luke came up behind her just as she was struggling with the last of her buttons, her hands shaking so badly she could barely manage even that task. She didn’t fight him when he turned her toward him.
He undid the top several buttons, tugged on the dress, and redid them.
“Might want to line up those buttons next time,” he murmured.
Jessie pressed her lips together and nodded stiffly.
Luke had buttoned up his black overcoat to his neck, covering the bloodstain, and he’d already put the body on the bed and covered it with the coverlet. If Jessie hadn’t known better, she would have simply thought the man asleep.
Though his face was pale and a dark bruise was already blossoming on his right cheek, Luke seemed perfectly calm, at ease despite the attack and the corpse that lay in the room.
He brushed her cheek with his knuckles. “Jess,” he said with a gentleness she didn’t want to hear. “I’m sorry. This isn’t your fault. It’s mine.”
She turned away, unable bear tenderness from him as a man’s body lay cooling in the bed. A man she’d killed. Remembering the way Luke’s hand had shifted to allow the robe to fall away from her shoulders, the way the hotel clerk had looked at her as if she were a commodity to be bought and sold among men, she shivered and pulled on her coat.
She’d killed a man and watched him die. She’d allowed herself to cross all lines of decency with another, acting like little more than a common harlot in order to get what she wanted. Yet she had more remorse over the guilt she didn’t feel than she did about the lives she’d taken.
She barely recognized herself.
Luke picked up the bags and threw them onto his shoulder. Inhaled sharply and closed his eyes for a moment. Swallowing, he said, “We’re going to move fast, but not enough to draw attention. I don’t want anyone following us.”
“Where are we going?”
“Train station. If we’re lucky, we’ll get a cab to take us and board the first train we can find. I don’t care where it’s going, we’re getting on it.”
She nodded and reached for a bag. “Give one to me.”
He shook her off. “A woman carrying a man’s bags draws attention. I can make it.”
Sweat dotted his brow, his features pinched and his breathing shallow. One look at him and she knew he was in pain.
“Luke, we should get you patched up first.”
He pulled a gold watch from his pocket. “No time. C’mon Jess.” He didn’t wait for her.
She followed him out into the dark streets of Fort Clark. After only a few short hours, she already hated this town. Hated the squat buildings, the guns of the watchtowers. Hated the sound of the train thundering in the distance and the scent of coal in the air.
The streets were empty. No horses, no people, and certainly, no cab for hire.
Luke stopped short. “Damn curfew. Guess we’re walking.”
“What about the horses?”
“Cheveyo said he’d come and get them. We can’t take them with us.”
He started off in the direction of the train station, his long strides swallowing up the ground. Jessie had to run to keep up with him, through streets dark and muddy with half-melted slush, which was already refreezing in the chill of the night air.
“But we can’t just leave them here.”
“They’re safer stabled here than hitched to a post at the train station. I paid the stable boy well to take care of them until your people come for them. They’ll be fine.”
By the time they reached the station twenty minutes later, she was panting and sweating like it was a hundred degrees outside rather than twenty. “Which train?”
In the dim glow of the gas lamps lighting the indoor station, Luke’s complexion was waxy, pale and shiny from perspiration. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and studied it for a moment. “That one.” He pointed, and swayed on his feet.
She took note of the number. “Give me the money, and I’ll get the tickets. You go to the platform and wait for me.”
He closed his eyes and swayed, pressing his hand to his chest.
“I can’t do this alone.” She put out a hand to steady him. “Give me the money.”
He shrugged her off. Fishing into his pocket, he pulled out a money clip and handed it to her. He’d just handed her what must have been several hundred dollars without blinking an eye. The highest paid people she knew made only five dollars a day for hours of grueling labor.
She didn’t want to think about what he’d done for this kind of money, but she remembered the men she’d searched in her house, the vast sum the man had had stuffed in his pockets.
Blood money.
“Go,” he whispered.
Jessie didn’t wait for Luke to change his mind. After buying two tickets for a private compartment, she returned to the platform only to find Luke slumped on a hard wooden bench, their bags on the floor by his feet. His eyes were closed, his head hanging limply to one side.
For a terrible second, she was afraid he’d died. A dead man, alone on a wooden bench in a deserted train station in the middle of the night.
“All aboard!” the conductor shouted.
Luke wearily raised his head.
Jessie swallowed relieved tears and pretended they’d never existed. Picking up one of the bags, she held out her hand.
He glanced at her hand as he pushed himself up, picked up the remaining bags, and tried to take the bag she carried from her.
She handed him his ticket and boarded the train.
Luke staggered in behind her.
For as long as she could remember, he had always been the most graceful person she’d ever met, a man who could dive from her front porch and landed on his feet without so much as a hitch in his step. Yet now he weaved like a drunk.
She took a bag from him and put it on the floor. “Sit. Take off your shirt.”
“Jess.” His voice was weary, his body swaying like a willow in the wind.
“You got a needle and thread?” She ignored the pain and desperation in the way he said her name. Her chest tightened, and she ignored that, too.
He sat down heavily on the cushioned bench and pointed to the bag she held in her hand. “Bandages and thread are in there.” His words slurred together, ending so faintly she almost didn’t hear them over the sound of the train chugging to life.
“Great. Sit.”
She fished around in the bag, and pulled out some bandages, some fine silk thread, and an antiseptic. She found an opium dart and a bottle of chloroform, and pulled that out, too. Pouring the antiseptic onto a bandage, she wiped her hands with it, ignoring the sting.
Luke took off his shirt, and she saw the
extent of his wound for the first time.
A long, still bleeding gash extended from underneath his arm almost to the center of his chest, where the knife had glinted off him as he had twisted away. His shirt was crimson, and blood had darkened his trousers. His forearms bore deep cuts she hadn’t noticed before.
She’d have to patch those up, too, yet she didn’t have a single new scratch.
Luke.
He’d lost a lot of blood, but that was survivable. She’d patch him up and he’d be fine. Luke was tough. He’d be fine.
She wasn’t prepared to lose him.
He’d be fine.
She repeated those words in her head, a silent prayer to her ancestors that would go unanswered like all the others had. Luke would never know what witnessing his pain did to her. He’d never know how her heart bled for him, how just the thought of his pain made her want to cry.
She could be tough, too.
She held up the opium dart. “You ready for this?”
Luke shook his head. “Nah. Save that for later. It’s not that bad. I gotta stay sober,” he mumbled, leaning back against the cushions, his head against the wall. His eyes were closed, and his skin carried a decidedly greenish tinge.
“Stay with me,” she whispered. As she slowly eased him down onto the bench and helped him roll to his side, he wearily opened a single eye. She threaded the needle, and soaked bandages in antiseptic. “You sure you don’t want anything for the pain? Chloroform? Whiskey? You could at least have that.”
“I’m useless if I take it,” he murmured. “I can handle this. This is nothing.”
“Bradshaw…” She’d certainly feel better about what she was going to do if he had something in his system to dull the pain.
“I’ve had worse. Just do it.”
So she did as he asked.
He didn’t flinch when she put the antiseptic to his skin and wiped away the blood, though his mouth tightened.
He was silent as she stitched together his wound, his breathing so regular she thought he’d passed out. But once she finished, she found tired eyes regarding her.
She touched his face with the palm of her hand, and his skin was clammy and cold. Her heart trembled in her chest, but she smiled at him, pretending she hadn’t noticed how cold he was, or how glassy his eyes were. For a change, he allowed her to be gentle and didn’t turn away. “Here, help me sit you up so I can get these bandages on.”
Luke pushed a hand underneath him and sat up.
As Jessie wrapped the gauze around his back, his head suddenly turned and he inhaled deeply. She lingered longer than she needed to, and probably longer than she should have.
He reached up and wrapped her still-loose hair around his hand, and pressed his lips against her ear. “Christ, you smell good.”
The muscles low in her belly clenched as she fought the urge to kiss him. He didn’t need her kisses. He needed other things from her.
“The benefits of soap,” she said. She tied off the gauze and studied her handiwork. “That should hold, don’t you think?”
Luke lifted his arm to examine the bandages. “Good enough for now.” Something shifted in his eyes.
“Sit with me?” he asked.
She nodded as she put everything away, though she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. As she took a seat next to him on the bench, he leaned into her. She put her arm around him, and within seconds, he lay down, his head pillowed in her lap. He shivered, and she pulled up his duster to cover his broad, muscular shoulders.
Poor Luke.
She thought he’d fallen asleep when he whispered, “I’m sorry, Jess. Never shoulda let him look at you like that.”
“We did what we had to do.” She forced herself to smile. “It all worked out. No harm done.”
“Never shoulda asked you to do it. What happened in that room was my fault, not yours.” He swallowed hard. “I shoulda beaten the tar outta him for looking at you like that.” He rolled into her and wrapped his arms around her midsection.
She stroked his back, twined her fingers into his hair, and caressed his neck, touching him for the sake of touching him.
Her Luke.
Oh, God. Her Luke.
“It’s all right. I’m all right,” she whispered reassuringly, but tears escaped from beneath her lashes. She didn’t bother to brush them away and let them fall.
“I know you are.” The train chugged as it began to ascend, and Luke’s next words got lost in the noise.
Jessie gasped. “What?”
“I said… I said… thank you,” he mumbled. He was more asleep than awake.
But those weren’t the words she’d heard.
Just as the train began its uphill climb, right before the engine noise had drowned out Luke’s words, she thought he’d said, “I love you, Jess.”
Chapter Sixteen
I love you, Jess.
Jessie turned the words over in her head as she watched the dark shadows of the passing landscape through the window, and Luke slept.
Had she heard those words, or had she really mistaken “Thank you, Jess,” for “I love you, Jess”?
She ran her fingers through his hair as she thought about it, listening to the rhythm of his breathing over the chugging of the engines and the thundering of the iron rails.
She thought of everything he’d done for her in the last few days. He had come for her and kept her safe, when nobody else would have. He’d covered Muha’s body so she wouldn’t have to see what they’d done to her. He’d known precisely what he needed to do to motivate her to go on, and had risked her hatred and her anger in order to do it. And despite the passion between them, he hadn’t taken advantage, even though she would have let him. Wanted him to, if she was being honest with herself.
The despair in his eyes continued to haunt her.
Not that she had much experience, but he didn’t kiss her like she was nothing more than some assignment. When he touched her, she felt wanted and beautiful, not like another obligation. Maybe it was simply wishful thinking on her part, her wanting something so badly she couldn’t recognize the manipulation for what it was. But she’d never been that girl. She didn’t trust people, and she never had.
Yet she’d always had a blind spot when it came to Luke Bradshaw.
Tracing the scar in his eyebrow, she thought about what he must have been doing these last few years—he had so many new scars.
She wondered about the scars she couldn’t see.
Luke moaned and rolled to his back. His features were pinched tight, his face pale.
She put her palm against his cheek. “Stay with me.”
“Not goin’ anywhere.”
“Good.” Jessie stroked his damp hair back from his forehead. “We really should get you to a doctor. When we stop in Fort Ruby, we can get off and get some help.”
His face relaxed, and he opened a weary eye. “Nah, Jess. No time. Fort Bastion.”
She placed a hand on his fevered forehead. “You need help I can’t give you.”
“You’re doing fine.” He stopped for a moment. “We’ll call in Fort Bastion. I have people.”
“Are you sure?” The exhaustion in his voice, the pallor and dampness of his skin, and the way he shook beneath the duster despite the warmth of their small compartment made her nervous. He wasn’t all right, and she wished he wouldn’t pretend to be. She wished he would just admit they needed help.
He closed his eyes for a moment. “Yeah. I’ll make arrangements in Fort Bastion.”
“We’ll get you help in Fort Bastion, you mean,” she corrected.
Luke closed his eyes. “No, we’ll call. I have people who can help us.”
“Bradshaw.” Jessie emphasized his name in the hopes he would listen to her. “You need help and you need it now. Actually, you needed it hours ago. Arranging for help won’t do you any good unless you get the help you need.”
He rolled over in her lap and stroked her hip, and Jessie’s body went soft as ten
derness rushed through her. There was no lust in his touch—it was simple and honest and affectionate—yet it affected her more than some of his kisses had.
That touch left marks on her heart.
“I’ll be fine, Jess,” he whispered. “Don’t worry about me.”
“How can I not?” She caressed his cheek.
He gave a contented groan.
Before she thought to stop herself, she leaned down and kissed his temple. “You’re all I’ve got, Luke. Stay with me.”
Surprised eyes locked on hers. “Say it again, Jess.”
She cupped his face in her hand. “Stay with me.”
“No, the other. Say my name, like you said it before.” He took her hand and toyed with her fingers.
The now familiar rush soared through her, just from the feel of her hand in his, from the way he played with her fingers as if they’d been lovers forever. In a way, they had been.
After all, Jessie couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t loved him.
She leaned down and kissed him on the lips. Their eyes met. “Luke.”
His lips turned up in the shadow of a smile, and he closed his eyes.
Her heart squeezed in on itself—he looked content and at peace. She tried to ignore the implications.
“You’re not falling for me, are you, Jess?”
She ran her fingers through his wavy, dark hair, scraping his scalp with her nails. “Of course not. You?”
“Of course not,” he echoed. His expression held no lust or desire, no passion even. But a feeling deep and palpable, and stronger than all the others. She was bound to him in a way she couldn’t begin to describe, as if tied by some invisible tether, and she rubbed her chest against the ache building there.
He blinked wearily, and the ties were broken. “I’m so tired.”
“Then sleep.”
“I should be taking care of you.” In his words, Jessie heard both defeat and exhaustion.
“Maybe it’s time you let someone else take care of you.”
“Mm. Never had that.”
No, he really hadn’t. His mother had been a drunken prostitute who basically let her son run wild. He’d never had a father, if his mother even knew who his father was. Her parents had cared for him, but Jessie wouldn’t say they’d taken care of him. Luke had always been his own man, even when he was just a boy, and he came and went as he pleased.
Jessie's War (Civil War Steam) Page 18
