Scooting closer to the edge of the jouncing wagon seat, Bridget tossed a quick look back at the three wagons following along behind them. So many people, she thought with a slow shake of her bead. They'd joined up with others making the trip to Treasure Gap, knowing they would all be safer in a large group. She turned back to staring at the narrow track that stretched before them, twisting and turning like a piece of string dropped suddenly to the floor. So many miles she'd come, with so many more left to go, and no promise of safety waiting for her.
Jessica stirred against her, and Bridget tightened her hold on the child. Ah, well, it was doin' no good at all, this runnin' back and forth over the same problem, and it was surely too late to be changin' her mind now. Besides, it wasn't as though she had much choice. She took a deep breath and lifted her chin. She could almost hear her mother's voice sayin' calmly, "It does no good to boil the cabbage twice. Bridget. Just do what you can and hope for the best."
He was watching her again. From the corner of her eye she saw him studying her. She'd felt his gaze as surely as if he'd touched her. Oh, Lord, she prayed silently, don't let the questions start so soon.
"Would you mind very much telling me why you're so damned quiet?” Jacob kept his gaze locked on her until she turned to answer.
"No reason." She looked away again.
Jacob's grip on the reins tightened. He'd stood it as long as he could. In fact, he'd never have believed it himself, but her long brooding silence was driving him insane. He was much too accustomed to her constant, if occasionally incomprehensible, chatter. 'For a man who'd spent most of his life prizing the beauty and quiet of solitude, his annoyance at her sudden stillness was unexpected. And thoroughly unsettling.
"Bridget," he said, trying to maintain a calm he didn't feel, “will you at least tell me what's bothering you so that you've nearly bit through your bottom lip in the last couple of hours?"
She flushed guiltily but didn't answer.
"Is it the money that's worrying you?”
"What?" She swiveled her head to look at him.
"The money. Your wages." Jacob shook his head and snapped the reins over the horses' backs. “We never discussed your wages. Is that what's disturbing you?"
"I've already told you, there's nothin' disturbin' me." Bridget pushed a long strand of hair out of her eyes. “I'm sure whatever you pay me will be fair."
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Of course it will be fair. Money isn't a problem."
She glanced over her shoulder at the mound of foodstuffs, trunks, and other supplies that filled the wagon bed, then turned a wry glance on him. "It seldom is with those that have it."
"And what's that supposed to mean?”
"Ah, nothin'." She shook her head and waved a hand at him. "I mean nothin' by it at all. Pay no mind to me today, Jacob."
He watched her turn away from him again, and he just managed to keep from speaking. Maybe she was right. Maybe now wasn't the time to do any talking. Maybe too many things had happened too quickly for her.
After all, he told himself, he'd done nothing to warrant her anger. He'd only offered her a job and a place to stay. She certainly couldn't be angry about that. All in all, he'd have to say that everything had worked out quite nicely. Jessica was happy to have Bridget with her again. Bridget had a respectable job. And he wouldn't have to worry about his daughter's safety while he was getting used to his new job as marshal.
His brows drew together and his eyes narrowed as he remembered her reaction when the waiter called him marshal. He flicked a quick, speculative glance at her. No. He shook his head and just smothered a chuckle. The thought was ludicrous. Why would a woman as open and forthright as Bridget O'Dell fear the law?
#
The fire snapped and danced in the cold night wind, sending hundreds of tiny sparks twirling into the darkness. The eerie silence of the open country deepened as the members of the small traveling party left the comforts of their campfires to curl up under blankets for a much needed sleep.
Bridget shivered and inched closer to the cooking fire's dying warmth. It had burned down to a few stubborn flames and glowing embers when she delicately laid small sticks across its heart. She watched absently as the flickering heat consumed the dry wood and danced for more. She continued to feed the flames and wished for the thousandth time she'd been able to purchase a coat in Fort Benton. Her shawl and blanket were no protection at all from the gusts of cold air sweeping along the open prairie. But summer was almost upon them. Surely it would be warmer soon.
And, she reminded herself sharply, every bit of money she had and all she earned from now on had to be hoarded carefully. She would need every cent if she were to escape this situation with Jacob before the onset of winter, and by heaven, she had to get out by then. She'd heard the men talking about the snowfall in Montana. Why, she wouldn't be surprised at all if they were snowed in completely for months on end. That would never do.
She looked across the firelight at little Jessica, asleep on her bedroll, and fought to keep from looking for Jacob. The Fallon family was becoming much too important to her. They had no right to do this to her. No right. They shouldn't make a person care when nothing can come of it. They should have left her in Fort Benton.
One tear slid from the corner of her eye and rolled down the length of her cheek before she reached out a cold hand and brushed it away.
"Tears, Bridget?"
Jacob knelt down beside her and draped his heavy coat over her shoulders. The sheepskin collar stood up around her neck and cheeks, surrounding her with the scent of him. As he sat down next to her, Bridget shivered again helplessly. Immediately Jacob pulled her against him and rubbed his hands up and down her arms.
"All of the folks from the other wagons are bedded down for the night, except for the night guards. His voice came hushed and low, his breath fanning her cheek. "You should be sleeping. We'll be getting an early start in the morning."
She nodded, yet didn't speak. The steady beat of his heart pounded against her ear as she lay cradled against him, and though she knew she should pull away, Bridget realized she had no desire to. Just for the moment, she told herself, it would be all right to simply accept the comfort and warmth he offered, even if it meant nothing more to him than soothing a troubled child.
His fingers lightly brushed back a lock of her hair from her forehead and she sighed at the feather touch. “Why were you crying, Bridget?” His words were whispered and almost lost in the crackle of the fire.
She shook her head and huddled deeper into his coat. But he wouldn't be refused.
His fingertips lifted her chin until their gazes met, and he asked quietly, “Is it me, Bridget? Are you sorry you came with me?”
His pale blue eyes watched her, and the hidden pain she'd always sensed there was closer to the surface than ever before. She felt the tension in his body, the stiffness of his arms as they held her, and knew that solace was not the only thing on his mind. She heard the unspoken questions that filled him… Do you care for me?… Do you want me to touch you?… Hold you?
The soft glow of firelight played over his face, and Bridget reached up to touch his beard-stubbled jaw. She ached to feel his lips against hers again. To once more know the wonder of her own blood rushing through her veins.
And yet, deliberately she pushed away and sat up straight. She kept her gaze averted, unwilling to watch the effect of what she must say.
"No, Jacob. It's not you. And I'm not sorry I came." Liar, she thought viciously. "It's me. I just can't give you what you're wantin'. I just… can't."
She didn't have to see him. She felt his reaction in the chill of his voice.
“What is it you think I want, Bridget?”
“Well…" A fine thing to ask a woman, she told herself. "What all men in your place would want, I suppose." She took a deep breath and faced him. "A mother for your child. A wife."
"Huh!" He snorted and rubbed one hand roughly over his suddenly shut
tered features. "I'm not like 'all men,' Bridget. I'm surprised you haven't noticed that yet." Another short bark of derisive laughter shot from his lips. "A wife?"
His eyes narrowed and his soft mouth thinned into a rigid line. All tenderness slipped from his face, and Bridget instinctively longed to help. Until he spoke again.
"No, Bridget. I'm not interested in either a mother for Jessica or a wife."
Bridget pulled his jacket from her shoulders, tossed it at him and stood up. That was certainly plain enough, she told herself as she turned away from him. She'd taken only a few steps though before he reached her and jerked her around to face him.
His voice was a whispered shout when he continued. "What I want from you is someone to care for Jessica when I can't be there." His hand moved deliberately up the length of her arm, brushing the side of her breast. "As for anything else, surely you're not so innocent as to believe that marriage is necessary for two people to… 'enjoy' each other."
In spite of her best efforts, her body responded immediately to his touch. She only hoped that in the darkness he wouldn't be able to see the flush of shame that crept up her cheeks. Bridget batted his hands away. What was the matter with him? He didn't even sound like himself. She had no idea why he was saying these things, but her anger mounted with each breath she took. Who the hell did he think he was, talking to her as if she were no better than a dock whore? He'd no call to use that sly tone to her.
But why did she respond to him anyway?
It wasn't as though she'd proposed to the man! Of course, down deep inside herself, she knew that a marriage between them was impossible. They were far too different. He could never have belonged in Kerry Patch, and she would be lost in the kind of life he'd led.
Besides, she had no desire to be married anyway. She'd decided long ago that she wouldn't be depending on any man for a living. But knowing it would never happen and having it tossed in your face as laughable were two different things.
Tears welled up and she blinked them away. In the half light she saw in his eyes the pain and anger that she knew must be written in her own, but it didn't help.
"You've no right to talk to me like this, Jacob Fallon," she whispered brokenly. "I'm no indentured servant, nor a whore to be used and then pushed aside when someone more fitting comes along."
He stood stiffly before her, his eyes glittering, his hands balled into helpless fists. His expression blank, he remained silent as if accepting her anger as justified.
"For Jessica's sake, I’ll stay," Bridget went on, "and I'll work and care for her as best I know how." She drew herself up straight. "But as for your 'anything else' between us… there'll be nothin'. I may be only a poor Irish girl, not fit for the likes of a grand, fine gentleman like yourself –“ her voice dripped with sarcasm – “but I'm not dirt beneath your feet, either. And I won't be treated as such."
"Bridget." He took a small step toward her, his features once again softening into the ones she knew.
'"No." She shook her head, an unpleasant smile on her lips. Ignoring the pain in his eyes, she went on, "You've said plenty this night, Mr. Fallon. Let's leave it lay, shall we?” If he tried to apologize now, or, worse yet, moved to hold her, she didn't know what she would do.
Deliberately Bridget turned and walked over to Jessica. She kept her eyes averted from Jacob and whispered soothing noises to the stirring child. As she laid back against the hard earth, Bridget choked back a cry and prayed that the band around her chest would loosen enough to breathe. Then she closed her eyes and waited for the long, sure to be sleepless night to pass.
Sometime later Bridget looked from beneath slitted eyelashes to Jacob, hunched and alone, sitting by the fire, staring into the night.
#
Compared to Treasure Gap, Fort Benton was the finest city in the land.
Backed up against the mountainside, there was a swiftly moving stream that almost encircled the shabby little mining town. Pine trees, some so tall Bridget couldn't see the tops of them, grew in thick stands, their branches arching and stretching over the assorted buildings of Treasure Gap.
Bridget stepped down from the wagon and looked around her. The main "street.” meandered wildly, with no two buildings aligned. The one general store boasted a cock-eyed roof and a crooked sign with crudely painted letters. The "steps" leading to the clumsily built porch were an overturned washtub and bucket. Her disheartened gaze moved on from one shack to the next, and not for the first time, she wished she could read. The wildly different signs intrigued her. But even without that talent, Bridget was able to identify the blacksmith, the livery, and what looked to be a restaurant. The three saloons were very easy to spot. Loud, tuneless music hovered over the false-fronted buildings like a winter mist over the river. Raucous laughter drifted out onto the street, beckoning the miners and their money inside.
Dozens of dirty, bearded men wandered aimlessly down the muddy avenue, some of them tipping their hats to Bridget as they passed. All of them stared at her with avid interest.
She stood on an uneven boardwalk and glared at the store across the way from her, completely disregarding the strange men's attentions. Jacob had been inside that building for what seemed like hours. He'd left her and Jessica in the wagon without so much as a word. Of course, she acknowledged silently, that wasn't so surprising. They'd hardly exchanged ten words in the two days of travel since their argument.
Not that she hadn't tried.
Once Bridget's temper had cooled down, she'd realized that she couldn't afford to make Jacob Fallon angry. After all, the man was a marshal. It was already hard enough to be living under his very nose without him discovering her past, but there was no telling what the man might do if he was angry enough. He was quite capable of ferreting out information… and he didn't need her to get it.
Bridget chewed at her lip. Actually, though he'd not spoken more than a few words to her, he'd not seemed so much angry as – hurt. She snorted lightly and quirked her mouth. Oh, aye, hurt. And what had he to be hurt about? Shaking her head, she told herself she was imagining things and focused her gaze again on the general store.
Her foot tapped impatiently as she told herself that he was undoubtedly used to barking orders at people, telling them what they should do and how they should do it, but if he thought that was going to work with her, he had a big letdown heading his way. She'd try not to make him too angry, but neither would she be shouted at. Bridget Dugan – O’Dell, she corrected mentally – would take that from no man.
"Bridget?"
"Yes, darlin'?” Bridget smiled at the little girl. How nice for the child that she'd inherited none of her father's nasty temperament.
“Where's papa?"
Bridget reached up and pulled the bonnet ribbon from the girl's mouth. "He's still inside that store, love. No doubt havin' a fine time."
"Cold, Bridget."
"Aye, it is at that." Bridget pulled another blanket from the mountain of supplies on the back of the wagon and handed it to Jessica. "Just wrap that around you, darlin'. Won't be long now. You'll see." Does it never get warm in this country? she asked herself. A glance at the leaden sky gave her no hopes for seeing the sun anytime soon. She'd give him just five more minutes, then she'd go into the bloody store and drag him out if she had to.
A door opened just then and Jacob stepped out, accompanied by a short, unbelievably fat man. Bridget watched as the two men shook hands, then Jacob stepped down from the porch and waded across the sea of mud to the wagon. He was carrying a large, brown paper-wrapped package.
Her impatience shattered the vow of agreeability she'd made earlier. "Jessie's turnin' blue from the cold, man. What took you so long?"
Jacob's features hardened visibly. He tossed the package into the back of the wagon and climbed up to the seat. Glancing at her, he said harshly, “Get on, Bridget. Mr. MacElroy told me where the house is."
She dutifully took her seat and wished she could bite her own tongue off. For heaven's sake,
she thought, he already thinks you're a tramp. Do you have to sound like a shrew as well? Where's your pride, girl?
The horses moved slowly down the road, their hooves plodding noisily in the thick mud. They followed the erratic bend in the street until Jacob pulled the wagon to a stop in front of a well-built, snug looking cabin.
Bridget's gaze moved over it hungrily. She hardly dared let herself hope that this was the house meant for them. After seeing what the rest of the town looked like, she'd fully expected a leaky tent. She forced herself to look away from the cabin to Jacob. Deliberately keeping her voice even, she asked, "Is this your house, then?”
Jacob was studying the structure himself and from the frown on his face, she saw that he wasn't pleased. “Yes,” he finally said, "this is it.”
Bridget climbed eagerly down from the wagon, then turned to lift Jessica to the porch. Jacob's disappointment wasn't going to affect her enjoyment of this place, she told herself. Unlike the rest of the hastily built town, this cabin had been constructed slowly, carefully. The logs were fitted together snugly, and there was real glass in the two windows facing the street. The front porch was smooth and even, built from logs split in half and laid side by side. Taking Jessica's hand, Bridget crossed to the door and lifted the latch.
She stopped just over the threshold and somehow managed to keep herself from sighing in pleasure. As neat and clean as the rest of the town was dirty, the cabin was much larger than she'd hoped, and it was twice as big as her old home in the Patch. From where she stood, she could see a loft, a huge stone fireplace with cooking hooks, a small area to the left with shelves and a stone sink, and another, bigger room off to the right side. Slowly she walked into the center of the cabin and turned in a circle.
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