Wildflower

by Raine Cantrell

  Major Allison included, Jenny recalled, coming out into the lantern-lit warmth of the kitchen. She helped herself to a bowl of soup and sat down. Minutes later Gran joined her.

  Gesturing to the large kettle, Jenny asked, “Did you intend that for the officers’ mess?”

  “And the major. Rather use it for hog’s swill.”

  “Gran, I’ve never seen you so angry.” A wry smile teased her lips. “Well, not unless you count that time you took that hammerhead roan in trade.”

  “Remind me of that, will you?” Gran’s twinkling eyes belied her peevish tone. “Guess that time I had a right to be angry. Damn fool horse looked all tuckered out. Felt sorry for him I did. How’s I to know he weren’t broke yet. Sleepy eyed, he was, just standing there, watching me.” She grinned. “Fooled me, good. But that buckskin Allison has corralled—”

  “A what? What did you say?”

  “A buckskin, Jen. The man arrested rode him. Honey, what’s wrong? Your face is pale.”

  She couldn’t answer. It was foolish and wild and totally impossible, Jenny admitted. There was more than one buckskin horse in the territory of Colorado. There had to be. Gran had said Major Allison arrested the man for murder. Murder! Sam’s voice came from buried thoughts. “I killed one of them.” He could be … no! She refused to believe it!

  “Jen, you ain’t eatin’.”

  Startled, Jenny looked up. “I’m full.”

  “Sure, but it ain’t from my soup, girl. I know you, so don’t be foolin’ with me. Tell me what you know ‘bout the buckskin. Better yet,” she added, fixing her with a hard stare, “you tell me what you know ‘bout the man ridin’ him.”

  “I don’t—I mean, well, it couldn’t be the same man.”

  “A tall, lanky, red-haired hombre that fixes a smile to warm your innards? Ha! Don’t answer that. The look of you says you know him. Can’t believe you’d keep secrets from me, Jen. I thought we were good friends for sharin’.” Shaking her head, Gran clasped work-rough hands together. “I won’t pry.”

  “You’re not, Gran. I … I don’t know how to tell you. And I don’t think it could be the same man.”

  “Kinda starchy ‘bout that, ain’t you?”

  Was she? Jenny didn’t know. She hoped her features revealed nothing of her inner turmoil. “Get the coffee, Gran. It’s a long story.”

  So Gran did and Jenny talked. She held very little back. At least she told herself what had happened between her and Sam that last night was something she had to forget.

  “That’s all of it, Gran,” Jenny concluded nearly two hours later. “But I refuse to believe he murdered anyone.”

  “Remains to be seen,” Gran stated briskly. “The major’s sure he’s the one. Never did get around to tellin’ you who he’s being accused of killin’. It’s best you hear it from me.”

  Jenny clutched the edge of the table, afraid of what Gran would say. Inside her head denial sounded repeatedly. Sam, with warm smiles and laughter for her and Robby. Sam. A hundred pictures crossed her mind, pictures of firelight and bronzed skin, and his passion, inciting her own. He couldn’t have murdered anyone. Even Ben agreed he would have to have good reason to use his gun to kill. But Gran was talking and forcing her to listen…

  “You heard me, Jen,” Gran said. “He killed Mave Allison, Major Allison’s sister. And Jenny, there’s talk that she was … the man’s wife. He shot his own wife.”

  Beneath her hands Jenny felt the solidness of the table. Inside, however, she felt shattered.

  Gran sat there, afraid an offer of comfort would probably cause Jenny to fall apart completely. But there was something she could do to help her. And finally she said, “It’s still rainin’ hard, Jen. Night like this most of the soldiers are inside where it’s warm. Be a mite lonely for the one that pulled guard duty. Be thinkin’ back to the times my Jacob hated being posted at the guardhouse. ‘Tween a night like this and a man alone, I figure he’d be mighty grateful for hot soup and coffee. He might,” she added with a smile, “look the other way if a pretty woman brought it.”

  Jenny sniffed back her tears, looking up. “Gran…”

  “Go on, Jen. I’ll ready the basket.”

  The rain slashed down viciously as Jenny, wearing her rain poncho and carrying a basket, made her way across the muddy ground.

  Mud sucked at her boots, making the way difficult. She skirted around the dark shape of the stable without the faintest idea of what she would say if she were challenged. Jenny had no right to attempt to see the man imprisoned, and Major Allison was known to be a harsh commander.

  Prayer seemed a good thing to be offering. So she prayed there was only one soldier guarding him. Over the rise of the wind’s howl, she timidly knocked at the door. Then she pounded harder. As she tilted her head, hoping to hear some sound acknowledging that she had been heard, water dripped down her face. She didn’t bother to wipe it away. What if it was Sam and he didn’t want to see her? What if he hated her now? Maybe he never lost his memory and he’d just been using her.

  She hadn’t realized how hard she banged on the door until pain forced her attention to her fist. She heard someone moving around inside. A deep, gruff voice asked who it was. She couldn’t summon the words to answer. She banged on the door again.

  It finally opened and Jenny found herself pulled inside.

  Stammering, Jenny explained her presence. Her eyes strayed to the door across the room with its small, barred window. The soldier had first been startled, then he smiled as he took the basket and set it on the table where he’d been reading. Jenny slipped off her poncho, hanging it on the hook near his own and watching the puddle form on the floor. Hearing him move behind her, she faced him with a smile firmly in place.

  “You can see the basket has nothing but soup, coffee, and cookies for you and your … your prisoner,” she said, noting his thoughtful eyes study her. “Gran Salinas asked if I could talk to the man for a few minutes.” His frown made her add, “She wanted to know if he needed anything. You do know Gran, don’t you? She mothers everyone.”

  He lifted the cover off the crock, inhaling the rich aroma of the soup. “Just like her to think of this,” he said with a grin. “Guess it’ll be all right for you to talk to him.”

  Heart pounding, Jenny waited for him to unlock the door. It was cold and damp in the long corridor. The three cells she quickly scanned were empty. The soldier indicated the last one down.

  “I’ll come with you if you want,” the private offered. “He can’t hurt you or anything, ma’am.”

  “No, I’ll be fine.” Unconsciously Jenny straightened her shoulders.

  “Then I’ll have my soup. Say thanks to Gran for me.”

  “I will,” she answered, wondering why Sam or whoever was there had not come to the front of his cell. Their voices weren’t low. Or had her first doubts been right? Maybe it wasn’t him, she thought, finally forcing herself to move toward the last cell.

  Chapter Twele

  The bunk looked hard and uncomfortable. Sam was lying there with one arm folded beneath his head for a pillow. His eyes were open, staring at her, letting her know he had heard her and didn’t want to see her.

  Jenny drank in the sight of him, startled at how much she had missed him, then realized there was some indiscernible difference in his shadowed features. There was a grim cast to them, his lips firm … “Your mustache! Did you shave it?”

  “Yeah. It seemed more a part of what I was, not what I am.” And was she something that could be removed from his life as easily? Jenny couldn’t ask him. His look was coldly challenging. Had he forgotten her? “Is it true what the/re saying about you?”

  “According to Major Michael Allison, it is.”

  She was taken aback by the cold edge of irony in his voice. A brief look showed his eyes to be narrowed, intent on her.

  “Why did you come here, Jenny?”

  He gazed at her from that prone positio
n with a sardonic smile. Her own insecurity made her stammer. “Co-come … here?” He nodded curtly, eyes intent, and to her dismay her voice broke again. “I had … to know if it was you.” Something wise cautioned her not to ask the question that burned her lips, but she ignored it. “Why did you come to the fort?”

  “You can ask, Jen, but that doesn’t mean I have to answer.” He grinned, seeing a flash of scowling anger on her fine features that was gone before he could blink. What the hell was she doing here? Lord! How could he keep a tight rein on his feelings? His gut was churning with the force he exerted on himself not to get up, not to show he cared that she was here, not to see her pleading look, or her lips softening unconsciously, drawing his eye to the tempting small indentation in the lower one.

  “Was it a mistake for me to come here? I thought—that is, Gran Salinas thought—you would be happy to know there was someone here who cared.” Turning away from the sight of his lazy, almost insolent body, she recalled the feel of him, rock hard, moving against her. Gnawing her lower lip to cool the heat coiling in her loins, she turned back to face him.

  “You keep biting that lip, Jen, you ain’t gonna leave much to kiss. Why don’t you go?”

  The momentary confusion she felt was gone. Who else could he vent his anger on? He had a right to be more than angry. So she waited.

  “Decided to stay? Figures.” She wasn’t going to rise to his light barbs. “You only get stubborn, Jenny, when you want something. Shame I couldn’t do enough to make you want me.”

  Her hand stifled her involuntary cry. He was a man she didn’t know. It was more than words, more than his shaving his mustache. Sam would have never hurt her. But this man did. This man who was accused of murder could easily hurt her; he just had.

  “Go, Jenny,” he ordered softly, looking away.

  “It won’t work. I’m not leaving till you tell me what happened, Sam.”

  “Can’t be calling me that Sam, I mean. It ain’t my name and I can’t tell you what happened.” He closed his eyes, his clenched fist hidden beneath the fold of the blanket. He was not going to stand up and face being near her with bars between them. He would simply wait her out.

  “Surely you told him you didn’t remember,” she pleaded. “If you didn’t, then I will. I’ll tell the truth of your memory or lack of it,” she stated with deep conviction. He didn’t open his eyes. Softly she asked, “Do you want me to bring you—”

  “No. And don’t butt in on this, Jenny. Don’t,” he warned harshly.

  She went on as if he had not spoken. “Gran said it was his sister the major is accusing you of killing.” “I don’t believe that of you. I … please, don’t shut me out this way. I can’t stand you acting cold and hard. When I shot you, you had a damn good reason to react like this, but not now. Not after we … just stop.”

  Her voice dropped to a bare whisper. It rolled over and around and through him. He wasn’t very strong after all, he decided, opening his eyes to see her again. She clutched the bars with both hands, knuckles white, leaning her face between them. Damp clusters of long hair stuck to the sides of her pale cheeks. His breath caught seeing her nibble her lip again. Tearing his eyes away, his gaze slid down to her small breasts pressed flat, her stance implying she wanted to wrench apart the bars separating them.

  With a gesture of annoyance, he pushed back his hair. Jenny teased him about that one unruly lock. He recalled his own frustration as he lay there helpless from the fever his body fought with her untiring help, and she would brush it back. It was only one of the loving, gentle touches that made him want more. Too much more.

  Now, with a fierce grip, he held his hair back as if doing so could push the overriding thoughts of getting up and at least touching her, far, far back in his mind. The damp semidarkness of the cell pressed in on him. The howl of the wind beyond the adobe walls somehow made itself felt with a chill that touched his soul once more. With Jenny he never felt that cold, and he didn’t want to be without her warmth now. Staring at her, his eyes locked to her face, he slowly got up from the cot, reluctance in every move. But Jenny, watching him, willing him silently to come to her, made him take the few steps to close the space separating them.

  “Jen,” he murmured, “I’m a damn fool, but I guess you know that.”

  “Hush,” she whispered back, reaching up with both hands to cradle his cheeks.

  “I missed you so much. I didn’t want you to leave that night. I felt … I … was…”

  “Oh, Jenny, don’t,” he whispered, his words a harsh half groan “Don’t say that. Not now and not to me. I’m not what you think I am, Jen. I have no right at all to—”

  Her fingertips silenced him.

  “You’d stand there and lie through your teeth to get me to leave you alone now, wouldn’t you?”

  Very slowly her hands slid from his face, skimming his chest before she withdrew them from between the bars. Staring down at her sodden boots, she said, “It doesn’t make sense that you knowingly would have come here. Didn’t you attempt to tell the major that?”

  “He didn’t give me time to tell him anything,” he answered truthfully, knowing how much of the truth he was hiding from her. “Fact is,” he added, touching his jaw, “the son of a—well, he made his point with his fist.”

  “He hit you? Don’t tell me you didn’t defend yourself? I can’t believe you let him hit you. Didn’t you try to explain about your memory loss? You did tell him you were sick and wounded when we shot you, didn’t you? And I know you couldn’t have killed a woman. I know you…”

  “Jenny!” The soft but commanding tone silenced her. “You’re beating a dead horse. Leave it be. Legally the major can’t do anything but hold me till he gets word to the federal marshal over in Pueblo.”

  “But that will take weeks!” She grabbed the bars again. “I could tell him the truth if you won’t. There’s nothing to stop me,” she added defiantly.

  He shook his head. “I don’t want you getting involved. And Jenny,” he warned, “this time listen to me.”

  “Well! You certainly can’t make me stay away. You’re there, behind bars, and I have a right to help someone if I want. I can do more than that, if need be.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he raged, grabbing the bars as if he would pull them apart, forgetting his resolve to remain detached. “Damn you, Jenny, if you—”

  “Don’t swear at me! I won’t take orders from you. I’m free to do what I think is right.” Anger and defiance dissolved in a rush of warmth for him. “I want to help you,” she pleaded softly, hating the way his eyes narrowed. “Please, let me help you.”

  “Mule headed, just like Ben said. You’re too damn soft. I don’t want you hurt. Do you understand that?” He couldn’t control his harsh tone. She stood there, her arms wrapped around her waist, shaking her head, denying him.

  “Lady, I passed some time with you,” he spat through clenched teeth. “I never meant to come back. True, I wanted you and still do. But I don’t want any damn ties.” Her face paled beneath his brutal coldness, and he forced a grin. “Get the hell out of here, Jenny Latham, with your soft blue eyes and a mouth made for a man’s taking. Go on and get out, ‘cause there’s nothing here for you.”

  His soft, mocking laughter rode over her. There was no longer any warmth in his eyes, or his smile.

  “You win, I’ll go.”

  And she did, walking away from him with slow, measured steps that showed her proud carriage. Jenny managed to get back to Gran Salinas, who had another interpretation of what happened.

  “Well, you expected something else? I gave you credit for having more sense than this, Jenny. Of course he was cold. He’s gonna hang on the major’s testimony. Didn’t you realize that?”

  “No! I didn’t … he didn’t … I don’t know what he was thinking. Truth is, Gran, I feel like someone who’s got no sense to her thinking at all.”

  That admission made Gran so
ften her tone. “It’s understandable, honey. I’d be thinking you need to sleep and then tomorrow, why, you’ll go see the major. He’ll tell you what you want to know.”

  “No, I won’t,” she stubbornly maintained. “He doesn’t want me to get involved and I don’t think I want to now. Don’t be glaring at me, Gran. I haven’t a damn sensible reason for feeling like this, but I tell you, he’ll find a way out. Everything I know about him tells me he’s gotten out of scrapes before. Maybe he’s used to being in tight comers and killing to get out of them.”

  Holding one of Jenny’s hands firmly, Gran she had it. A man can sense it. Did he have much choice after you offered to help him? Going to Major Allison with your story would leave you open to all kinds of talk. None of it pretty,” she added softly, patting her hand. “If a man had feelings for a woman, he wouldn’t want her to do that, not even to help him. Now get some rest. Tomorrow ain’t far off.”

  The morning sky held the bleak grayness of the storm’s aftermath, and Major Michael Allison, his powerful legs spread wide, stood staring out at the muddy parade ground. His raw-boned hands were clasped behind his back, his wide shoulders tapering to his narrow, belted waist, and he controlled each breath he drew. He had listened to Jenny Latham for an hour. Of course, he had been surprised when she asked to see him. His quartermaster usually dealt with the purchase of her horses. Annoyed, then angry, he confessed to a certain jaded curiosity.

  Allison remained silent until he had his rage under control. Damn that man! And how dare she question his judgment? Jenny Latham was a complication he didn’t want or need.

  Jenny sat silent, trying to reconcile the fact that Sam was a man called Charmas Kilkenny. She cleared her throat several times before she found the nerve to speak. “I realize you doubt that what I said was true, Major, but I swear it is. The man you call C-Charmas Kilkenny was tracking those men. They must be the ones who shot him first. He told me he overheard a conversation that revealed he had killed their friend. Surely you can’t deny room for doubt? And I refuse to believe he killed a woman.”