Jane Bonander

by Warrior Heart

  He swallowed hard She was such perfection. “You’re familiar with it?”

  Her eyelashes fluttered prettily. “I’ve never seen one up close. Only in books.”

  He almost smiled. He’d been studying her since the day he first saw her, and knew that her nearsightedness prevented her from seeing much of anything unless it was near her dainty nose.

  He’d stood in the back of the schoolroom and watched her squint at the students, observed how she got right up to the blackboard and wrote, so close he was surprised her nose didn’t get in the way. He doubted that she’d ever seen the beauty of the distant mountains or of an eagle in flight.

  Saying a quick prayer, he reached into his pocket and drew out the slender box.

  “Here, these are for you.”

  She gasped. “Oh, you shouldn’t have—”

  “Please,” he interrupted. “I want you to have them. I only hope you won’t be offended.”

  Aware of her puzzled expression, he sat on the log beside her and watched her open the box. A flush stained her cheeks when she saw the eyeglasses inside.

  “Oh. Oh, dear!” she wailed softly.

  Corey grasped her hands. “Come, now, I didn’t mean to distress or embarrass you.”

  She drew a deep breath. “I hadn’t known I was so transparent.”

  “Maybe only to me,” he answered.

  Another sigh. “I’ve been meaning to get a pair, really I have, but—”

  “Now you have them.” He took them from the case and put them on her, wrapping the curled ends of the stems behind her ears. She looked delectable. The eyeglasses didn’t detract from her beautiful eyes.

  “I must look atrocious!” she wailed again, trying to pull away.

  Corey merely smiled. “Now you finally look old enough to teach that bunch of rascals. I swear there were times when I glanced into the schoolroom and wondered if you weren’t one of the students.”

  She bit her lower lip and gave him a shy smile. “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

  “No, I’m trying to help you see better.” Their gazes remained locked. At last he took her face in his hands and brought his mouth close to hers.

  “This,” he suggested, “will make you feel better.” With that, he kissed her, drawing her sweet nectar into his mouth, feeling exhilarated when she rested her arms on his shoulders. He deepened the kiss, but held back for fear his desire might frighten her.

  Drawing away, she gave him a languid smile. “Oh, my.” She gazed into the trees, her expression changing to one of surprise. “Oh, my! Look at that!”

  Corey followed her gaze. He saw nothing but the toothed leaves of the white alder.

  “Why, I had no idea a person could see the leaves that far away.” She rose quickly and spun in a circle, clasping her hands to her mouth. “Look!” She pointed to the distance. “I can see the mountains. Oh, Corey, I can see the mountains!”

  Her joy was intoxicating. Heady. “Then you’re not angry with me?”

  She turned to him, the round wire frames perched on her nose. “I guess my vanity got in the way of my good sense.” She touched the spectacles gently with her fingers. “You’re sure I don’t look … odd? Like … like a spinsterish schoolmarm?”

  He kissed her again, letting the kiss display his feelings. When he finally lifted his head, he asked, “Does that answer your question?”

  She drew in a sharp sigh. “Corey, behind you, ” she whispered.

  He turned and found a painted bunting perched on one of the alder branches.

  “It’s so beautiful.” Her voice was hushed, partly because she didn’t want to frighten the bird away and, Corey guessed, partly from wonder.

  He had to agree. The male painted bunting truly appeared to have been painted, with its purple head, yellow and green back, and red rump and underparts. With its silver beak, and the red that rimmed its eyes, it was like something created from a painter’s palette.

  He whistled, mimicking the clear warbling notes for which the bird was noted. It cocked its pretty head, then answered the sound.

  Corey lifted his binoculars from around his neck. “Here,” he said, handing them to her.

  She raised them to her eyes, peering through the magnifying lenses at the bird, and expelled a rapturous sigh. “Why, it’s as if it were right here, perched on the end of my nose.”

  She flung her arms around Corey’s neck and kissed him. “Oh, thank you. Thank you for the eyeglasses.”

  They stared into each other’s eyes. Suddenly Chloe Ann blushed and laughed.

  “Tell me,” he ordered, his voice gentle.

  Her blush deepened. “I just remembered something Mahalia said to me the other day when I told her you’d asked me to go birding.”

  “Mahalia, huh? I can just about imagine.” Her smile was so damned exquisite. “Did she warn you not to be alone in the woods with me?”

  Her shy smile spread. “Not quite so eloquently, but she said something like that.”

  “And you came anyway?”

  She met his gaze squarely. “Yes.”

  His heart soared. “Miss Parker, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to my brother’s wedding?”

  Her smile turned sad. “I’m afraid I can’t.”

  “Why not?” Disappointment washed through him in waves.

  “I’m to play the organ at the ceremony.” She tucked her arm through his. “But I’ll be happy to be at your side afterward.”

  He tugged her closer, feeling light, buoyant, free. He was falling in love, and he didn’t care who knew it.

  Libby hauled the box out of the attic and carried it to her room. She cringed as she lifted out the gown, which had been buried among countless other treasures since before Sean’s fatal accident with his mount.

  He’d bought it for her, and it had been a thoughtful gesture. Also incredibly expensive, if she were to judge by the fabric and the workmanship. The trouble was—

  “Gawd Almighty!” Mahalia exclaimed from the doorway. “That’s the ugliest gown I’ve seen in a powerful long time. Looks like it belonged to a whore.”

  “I know,” Libby said on a sigh. “It is ugly, but surely we can do something with it.” She held it up, fingering the magnolia satin with the rosy tints. “The fabric is priceless.” She flicked at the frippery that had been stitched onto the gown. “The problem is the geegaws.”

  Mahalia clucked her tongue. “How old is this, anyway? It has a bustle.”

  “Sean bought it for me after we were married. I never wore it. It just didn’t seem like me.” She uttered a mirthless laugh. “It still doesn’t.”

  Grabbing the gown, Mahalia examined it. “You’re right. The fabric is mighty expensive.”

  “Can we do something with it?”

  “When’s the weddin’, again?”

  Libby swallowed her apprehension. “In two weeks.”

  Mahalia tossed the gown onto the bed, then bent over it. “Well, I’d best get started. Now, these have to go,” she announced, tugging at the clusters of various colored roses that were sewn on the bodice, at the waist, and around the hem. “They look like they’ve been killed by a good frost.

  “And this shouldn’t be here, ” she said, ripping out the stitching around the lace panel at the bottom.

  Libby bit back a cry when the lace was torn from the hem. “Mahalia, I can make the dress over. You have enough to do.”

  “Like hell,” the housekeeper mumbled. “You’ll prob’ly end up lookin’ like you’re goin’ to a funeral rather than your own weddin’.”

  “Well,” Libby answered hesitantly, “don’t get carried away.”

  Mahalia snuffled. “Somebody ought to. I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but suddenly you look like you’re gonna be hanged by a rope and left to twist in the wind. And he’s no better, grouchin’ and growlin’ around like a bear with a thorn up his butt.”

  She grabbed the gown and marched to the door, her weight causing the b
ottles on Libby’s dressing table to shake and tinkle. “You might pretend to be happy, even if it’s an act. Dawn ain’t no dummy, you know. She can sense when things ain’t right, and believe me, honey, things ain’t right.”

  Libby sank to the bed and stared at the door long after Mahalia had gone. No, things weren’t right, and to Jackson’s mind, it was her fault. It was her stubborn pride, she knew that. She would be more than willing to share his bed if she knew for certain that he would never leave them, and that he might come to care for her.

  Vern Roberts’s wife, Jennie, led Jackson into the parlor where Vern sat, his bad leg once again resting on a pillow.

  Jackson shook his head and smiled. “You keep sitting around, and you’ll get fat and lazy.”

  Vern spat a curse. “If I don’t get some relief pretty soon, I’m gonna tell the doc to cut the damned thing off.” He peered around Jackson toward the door.

  “Do you see the wife?”

  Jackson glanced into the hallway, noting that Jennie Roberts was in the kitchen. “She’s busy.”

  Expelling a noisy sigh, Vern reached behind a pillow and pulled out his flask. “Gotta have a drink now and then when she ain’t around.” He took a swig, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “If she finds this, she’ll pour it out.

  “Have a seat,” he offered, swinging his arm toward the chair opposite him before hiding the flask again. “What’s on your mind?”

  Jackson settled into the chair. “I’m taking a trip to Eureka. Can you cover for a few days?”

  “Eureka, huh? What do you expect to find way up there?”

  Jackson tried for a casual grin. “I’ll let you know when I find it. Meanwhile, what do you remember about the vigilantes?”

  “Hmm.” Vern scratched his stubble. “There ain’t been any activity for years.”

  “Did you ever discover who any of them were?”

  “Yeah, one. But he died, oh, ‘bout six years back. Name was Clyde Worth.”

  Jackson cocked his head. “Any relation to Axel?”

  Vern nodded. “Axel’s pa.”

  Interesting. “And you weren’t able to find out who worked with him?”

  Vern toyed with the end of his mustache. “Well, I knew who he run with, if that’s what you mean, but I couldn’t prove any of ‘em were involved in the troubles.”

  “Who were some of his pals?”

  Vern appeared to study the question. “Ethan Frost, for one. I always thought that a little strange, ‘cause Ethan’s a good bit younger than Clyde was. It was even suggested that Ethan was the ringleader of the trio, but I never found any proof, and the burnings and killings stopped after they destroyed that village where your squaw’s family lived.”

  Jackson bristled. “She was my wife, Vern.”

  “Sorry, meant no disrespect, son.”

  Mollified, Jackson asked, “Why do you suppose they stopped?”

  “Aw, the times were changing. Oh, there was killing here and there, but you know as well as I that most of the vigilante groups were formed years back, when California was first being settled. I think they was afraid of getting caught, is all.”

  Jackson rubbed his hands over his face. Could Ethan Frost have been a vigilante? He didn’t know why not. Of course, uncovering that bit of information had to be secondary to stopping the slaughter of the sheep. Once that was done, he would concentrate on Frost’s possible involvement in the destruction of Flicker Feather’s village … and her death.

  “I think Ethan Frost embezzled Dawn’s trust fund.”

  Vern scratched his chin. “You don’t say.”

  “I don’t have proof yet, but as soon as I do…”He shook his head and sighed. “Things are coming to a head, Vern. It won’t be long before all hell breaks loose.”

  Vern slapped his good knee. “I have a feeling you’ll do fine, Jackson. I have faith in you.”

  Jackson wished he had as much faith as Vern. “Frost holds all the loans and mortgages on the ranches around here.”

  “Nothing unusual about that. He’s the only banker for miles.”

  “Have you never given a thought to his possible implication in the sheep killings?”

  Vern heaved a sigh. “It’s been on my mind. I just ain’t had the energy to do anything about it.”

  “Then you won’t be offended if I do?”

  “Hell, no. Be my guest. By the way,” he added, his mood lifting, “congratulations on your upcoming marriage.”

  Jackson’s gut twisted. “Thanks.”

  Vern gave him a quizzical look. “You don’t sound too enthusiastic. I hear it was your idea in the first place.”

  “Of course it was my idea. How else would my daughter come with me willingly?”

  “Aw, treat Libby right and she’ll come around. You know, your folks are mighty happy about all this.”

  Jackson knew it. This entire arrangement was perfect for everyone involved—except the bride and groom. And he’d done everything possible to assure Libby that her fears were unfounded. He would never leave again. But once she understood that, would it be enough for her?

  Jackson bade Vern good-bye and stepped outside. The deputy stood on the stoop, appearing a little embarrassed.

  “Axel,” Jackson said with a nod. “You looking for me?”

  Axel Worth stepped nervously from one foot to the other.

  “Um … yeah. You weren’t at the jail, so I thought you might be here.”

  Jackson stepped off the porch and unhitched his mount. “Is something wrong?”

  “Well, um … we just got a load of mail. Thought you should know.”

  Jackson frowned as he swung himself into the saddle. Why would his deputy seek him out just to tell him about the mail? He glanced around, looking for Axel’s horse. “Did you walk over?”

  Axel reddened. “My… um … horse is around back.”

  “I see.” He really didn’t. His deputy had always been a nervous kid, but today he was more skittish than usual.

  Perhaps he should have told Vern about the possibility of Thief River getting a railroad. Unfortunately, he’d learned that Vern was as gossipy as an old woman. It wasn’t wise to tell him something that might have no truth to it at all.

  18

  Sitting at a back table in a Eureka bar, Jackson sipped gut-ripping black coffee while his father nursed a beer. Their trip had been enlightening.

  “So,” Nathan began, “right here in this very bar, your banker, Mr. Frost, has lost nearly a quarter of a million dollars.”

  And Jackson had learned the names of the other regulars in the game. He’d memorized them: Barny Wilson, a local merchant; Howard Spellman, a rancher; Cleb Hartman, a farmer down near Thief River; and Joseph Kincaid, the local newspaperman.

  Nathan swore and shook his head. “I can’t imagine anyone dropping that kind of money. Hell, might just as well toss it down a shithouse hole.”

  Jackson’s smile was dry. He’d known a couple of mercenaries over the years who’d had a similar problem. Unable to get their gambling hunger under control, they had found themselves constantly broke, always sniffing around for another way to make money, merely to lose it again. One of them had told him it was the possibility of winning big that egged him on. There was always that chance, he’d said. Jackson never understood the lure.

  “Well, even though I still don’t have proof, I can guess that’s where all my money went,” Jackson answered, resigned. “It isn’t hard to figure that if Frost somehow discovered there was to be a railroad built through some pastureland, it would give him the opportunity to cash in.”

  “Yeah,” Nathan answered with a harsh laugh. “And turn around, only to lose it all again.”

  Jackson feared that he would never see his daughter’s money again. “I’ve somehow got to prove that Frost took it. That won’t be easy.”

  “You can do it,” his father said. “Now, however, I think you’d better hightail it home. In a few days you’ll be a married man.”

 
; Nervousness ate at Jackson’s insides. “You sure you can leave the ranch again so soon? You know I want you there, but—”

  “We wouldn’t miss your wedding for the world. Anyway,” his father added, a sly smile spreading across his face, “your mother would never forgive me if she couldn’t be there.”

  Jackson wished he felt the same enthusiasm. He knew Libby didn’t. Maybe things would change once they were married. He could only hope.

  The first rain of the season spattered the windows as Libby studied her reflection in the mirror. How fitting that it should rain on her wedding day. She lifted an eyebrow, seeing the irony in it. Catching Mahalia’s gaze of approval as it wandered over her gown, she said, “You did a wonderful job on my dress, Mahalia.”

  Mahalia stood behind her, her arms crossed over her ample chest. “I did, didn’t I? It just needs a few more little tucks, and it’ll be done.”

  Libby smoothed her palms over the magnolia silk. Gone were the geegaws, the roses, the frippery, and the bustle. The gown fit with sheathlike closeness. The lace Mahalia had so callously ripped from the hem was now stitched to the puffed sleeves, creating snug bands that came to a V just below her wrists. Another piece made a high collar. The bustle had been transformed into a graceful train.

  Though modest with its high neckline and long sleeves, the gown was provocative and breathtaking.

  “It’s lovely, Mahalia. Thank you.” Too lovely to waste on a day she’d come to dread, she decided.

  But it was too late for regrets. Jackson’s family had returned the night before. Libby’s dress was done, the flowers were arranged, the guests had begun to arrive, and there was enough food for an army.

  On a wistful sigh, Libby carefully removed the gown and threw on a wrapper, then sat at the dressing table to fix her hair.

  “I’m gonna take the dress downstairs and finish it up. I also gotta see to it that the eats is ready for the reception. Chloe Ann and Corey’s mama are helpin’ me with that.” Mahalia chuckled. “Them two is gettin’ along real good.”

  On a smile, Libby responded, “Chloe Ann and Corey have become quite a couple, haven’t they?”