by Jenna Kernan
“What are you doing?”
He did not glance up. “Hiding my journal. Start packing the mule.”
She rolled their bedding as he separated the leather folds of the worn saddle. She finished her work and sat close by to watch his. Inside the saddle, where there should be padding was a compartment just the size of his journal. Her forehead furrowed.
“You had this all planned.”
He glanced up and gave her a quick smile. “Of course.”
He lowered his precious journal into the safety of the chamber and drew the pieces together, stitching through the existing holes with a fine bit of catgut. When he finished, she could barely tell the difference between his work and the saddle maker’s.
“The new gut looks different,” she said.
He smiled and lifted a dollop of mud and mixed it with grease. This he rubbed into his stitches until they blended flawlessly.
They set off shortly afterward and headed in the direction he had scouted, Jake riding upon his journal. She felt vulnerable crossing open grassland. There was no hiding place except the cottonwood that grew along stream banks.
Jake told her to wait with the mule while he made contact. She did as he asked, but after a time she hobbled her horse and the mule and crept up to the top of the hill where she could peer through the yellow grass at the grouping of huts beside the river. Their homes seemed little more than tumbledown shacks made of sticks and bundles of grass. Two men stood beside Jake. They were engaged in a wild form of sign language. She could not understand a bit of it. From inside the huts women and children peeked out from behind hides at the stranger in their midst. Her eye caught movement by the river. Creeping up the bank came two men with grass tied to their heads. A knife blade gleamed between a man’s clenched teeth. Her heart leaped in her chest, sending blood surging through her.
She swung the rifle forward and took aim. She did not know if they were members of the tribe or enemies, but it amounted to the same.
Should she call to Jake, fire a warning shot or take aim to kill?
She drew a breath and shouted. “Jake! Attackers.”
Standing now, she pointed at the approaching force.
She squeezed the trigger, sending a puff of smoke before the closest man. The gunshot rang in the air and more warriors emerged from the grass at a run. The men beside Jake drew their knives and charged the intruders. Jake drew his pistol and fired at the lead man. More and more men sprang from the riverbank. Emma reloaded and fired through a man’s thigh. He screamed and spun, disappearing in the tall grass.
Why had she left her shotgun with the horse? Too far for the revolver, she thought as she poured gunpowder into the muzzle of her rifle for a second time. The men beside Jake grappled with an enemy warrior who leaped onto his chest, slicing his throat.
Emma straightened, horrified as blood sprayed from the wound like a fountain. Men ran from the huts to fight and the women sprang toward the river. Jake raced toward Duchess and swept up into the saddle in one graceful bound. He fired his rifle over his shoulder at the pursuing warriors, killing the closest man. An Indian lifted a knife, aiming at Jake’s unprotected back. Emma took aim and fired. The man’s wrist exploded into blood and bone. The others paused, and Duchess galloped up the hill.
“Grab my hand,” he said as he leaned toward her.
She glanced down the hill and saw the men charging after him, then the hand reaching for her. Oh, my God, he means me to swing up behind him. In that instant of understanding, she realized it was her only chance.
She gripped her rifle and thrust out her hand. His fingers clasped her wrist, biting into flesh. She jumped as he tugged. For an instant the world fell away beneath her. She glimpsed the grass speeding by and then her seat landed hard on the lip of his saddle. Her breath left her at the jarring impact. She gripped his waist as Jake tore down the hill. At the bottom he sprang from the saddle.
“Stay here,” he called.
He neatly sliced the hobbles on the mule and horse. Grasping the reins of the mule in one hand and his rifle in the other, he vaulted onto the packhorse from behind landing on the horse’s bare back. He dug his heels into the animal’s flanks and it sprang into a gallop.
“Ride,” he called.
She dug her heels into Duchess’s sides, galloping behind him. When she dared a glance, she saw warriors drawing their bows, arrows notched and ready.
Chapter Fourteen
Arrows streaked across the blue sky. Emma kicked Duchess’ sides, slapping the leather reins against her neck as the shafts fell all about them like sleet. She braced for the impact that never came. Across the prairie they raced, not pausing until reaching the cover of the cottonwoods far down the valley.
The horses’ sides heaved like bellows as Jake glanced to her. Emma pulled up beside him.
“We lost them,” she said.
His gaze flicked to her. She felt her stomach drop. His expression was not angry exactly, but tense.
“You disobeyed me.”
She swallowed, preparing to defend herself from this next attack. Then remembered that he was not her father. Jake did not live to find fault. He did not see every act of free will as a direct attack on his authority.
“Yes,” she agreed.
“Thank God.”
She was prepared to explain, excuse and pacify. Instead her mouth gaped. Her recovery came slowly. She cocked her head.
“What did you say?”
He laughed. “I said, thank God. If you hadn’t, I’d be dead right now and you shortly after.”
She’d done the right thing. For once in her life, she’d acted and she’d done the right thing. A smile broke upon her lips.
“I should have had you cover my back, especially after seeing you shoot. But, I just thought about keeping you clear of any trouble. Of course, that’s crazy. If trouble finds me, it sure as hell will find you.” He patted her on the shoulder. “From now on, we stay together.”
Emma nodded, not trusting her voice. He did not know, couldn’t know how important this was.
He stared at her, still grinning then said, “Damn, Emma, that was some shooting!”
He called her Emma often now. She liked the easy familiarity he brought to it. She hated to hear her father call her name. From him, it sounded like condemnation, a call to chastisement.
“Best get the horses watered and then be off.”
She followed him to the stream and held the reins loose allowing the horses to drink. She decided to use his name in the same intimate way.
“I’ve never seen anyone leap onto a horse like you did today, Jake.” She waited to see if he noticed her use of his name but he gave no indication.
“The Sioux do it better than I do.”
“You do it very well,” she assured, recalling the astonishing sight.
“If I live to be a hundred, I don’t think I’ll ever forget you flying up behind me. Your foot went clean up to here.” He held his hand chin high. “You looked like a circus acrobat.”
His grin showed approval. She basked in the warm glow of his smile. Nothing ever felt better, unless it was his kiss.
“I didn’t think myself capable of such a feat.”
“Amazing what a body can do when pressed by circumstances.”
She nodded her agreement. “When I realized what you meant me to do, I knew I couldn’t but then I saw those Indians and I just—just—”
“Trusted me.”
Emma blinked at him. That was true. She did trust him. When had that come about? She had been determined not to place faith in any man and here she’d gone and done just that.
Her body trembled now, the strain of the encounter making her legs turn to jelly. Wobbling dangerously, she tipped into Duchess’s shoulder.
Jake righted her. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
“I think the terror of it just hit me. Perhaps I rode too fast for it to catch me until now.”
She folded to the bank and he squatted on
his haunches beside her, allowing their mounts to graze.
“I’ve seen men go like this. They make it through the battle, doing everything they must. Then the thing is over and they start to shake. I guess some kind of dam gives way.”
She nodded. That was just right. She couldn’t feel or even think when the Indians attacked.
“Who where they?” she asked.
“Damned if I know.”
Her mind flashed images of the encounter. Oh, Lord, she shot a man—no, two.
“Jake,” she whispered, and he inched closer. “I hit two.”
“I know.”
“I’ve never shot a man before.”
He held her hand and squeezed until she looked into the calm reassurance of his eyes. “You did what you had to and saved my life. I’m grateful. In the army, we say, you did your duty. There is no shame in it.”
“I feel sick inside.”
He cocked his head. “Now listen here, those Indians meant to skin me and you both.”
She took solace in his words, let them seep into the darkness that filled her. Gradually, she noticed the warmth of his hand, the constancy of his gaze and the unwavering understanding in his eyes.
He had been there. He understood.
“You got over it?” she asked.
“It comes with time.”
She nodded, returning to the here and now. “We best be off.”
They followed the stream back to the river until it joined another and then another. Here at the convergence of three waterways, Jake paused.
“We’ll camp here.”
“It’s early yet,” Emma noted.
“I have some work to do.”
He spent the next hour searching the woods by the rivers.
“What are we looking for?” she asked.
“A hiding place for my chronometer. I need a place I’ll easily find again and one that will stay dry.”
He discovered what he sought at the base of a large cedar tree. There, some animal had dug out a hole below the roots. He enlarged the opening until only his legs remained above ground.
When he emerged he was covered with sandy soil, but his grin quite dazzled her.
“Abandoned. Might have been a badger, judging from the smell.”
He wrapped the outer box of his chronometer with oiled buckskin and then lowered it into a crate. This he dragged into the den. He did not rest until he replaced the dirt he excavated from the opening. Then he stood and brushed off his clothing.
“That should hold her.”
Emma stood stroking the packhorse’s neck and Jake cocked his head.
“Have you given him a name yet?”
To do so felt like a betrayal to Scout. She knew that was silly and Jake seemed anxious for her to have him named, though never cared to find one for himself. Had he? She never heard him call the packhorse by name.
“What do you call him?” she asked.
“Most of the names I call him can’t be repeated.”
Twice now she’d pulled his fanny out of the fire. Both times she acted on her own without consulting him. Jake should be angry that she consistently disobeyed orders. But she was not in the military. What would he have done in a similar circumstance?
No reason to fault the woman for using the brain God gave her and, if he was honest, he would admit that if she’d been a man, he’d have insisted she cover his back instead of leaving her to mind the horses.
From now on, he’d give her the respect she’d earned. She deserved that much.
She rode behind the mule now, because, without a saddle, he could find no way to secure the mule to her horse. He called her forward and she moved in beside Duchess.
“I got some information from those fellows before the shooting started,” he began.
Her eyebrow lifted and he noticed how tan her face had grown, despite the wide-brimmed hat he’d made from elk and antelope.
“Based on what I can figure, I believe we will find either missionaries or Christian Indians within a day or two.”
“Good.”
He smiled. “No more arrows or ice, but a different kind of danger. You remember the story?”
“I could repeat it in my sleep.”
“You don’t talk in your sleep,” he said, and waited for her reaction, which came immediately when her cheeks turned a wonderful bright pink.
“What will you tell them when questioned about our relationship on the trail?”
“Who would ask about that?”
Her look was incredulous. “The priests.”
Certainly they would. Men of the cloth thought a white collar gave them leave to poke into all manner of private doings.
“We best decide now,” he said.
She nodded. “If you reveal that we shared the same bed, you will compromise me. No man would have me after that.”
“I would never do that.”
“But I want you to.”
“What?”
“If the Spanish think I’m your woman they will leave me be and that might be best. I see no point in appearing receptive to marriage, when it would complicate matters.”
“What if they just think you’re a…” He considered what word to use that would not offend and decided there was none. “A woman of low moral character?”
Her gaze snapped to his. “Do you think so?”
“No, but they might.”
“That would be a nuisance. Perhaps the truth?”
He shook his head. “I never touched you. We never shared the same bed. Not in that way. In any case, I never did touch you.” Though he wanted to every night. How he managed to control himself was beyond him. The woman grew harder to resist each day. Right now, for example. Her cheeks pink from the sun and a light spattering of freckles across her nose, she was beautiful.
Her expression turned serious. “I’ll do what you think is best.”
He had no right to make this decision. He’d underestimated her and marginalized her. Despite that, she let him choose.
“That mean you trust me?”
“Yes. I do. Plus you have more experience than I in these matters. If you want to present us as a couple, I’ll do so. I’ll even pretend I’m your wife, up to a point. If you want me to be a married woman who is grieving her husband, I’m certain I can be convincing.”
“Grieving widow, as we discussed. I’d have to be a cad to molest a widow and it might deter other men.” Though some men liked widows. They had experience and knew how to take precautions. Much safer than dallying with a virgin which was the fire he was playing with.
“All right then. We have lived together, singly these two months. You have been the perfect gentleman and I have conducted myself as a lady.”
“From this moment.”
“Done.”
They rode side by side for the remainder of the day. Near nightfall he picked up a path that looked well worn, like a cattle trail. At sunset they came across the first cows. Jake cut a yearling away from the herd and shot it easily through the heart. He skinned the beast and staked the hide on a pole.
“Why are you doing that?” Emma asked.
“Cattle here are only valued for their hides and tallow. Any traveler is welcome to take a cow or two as long as he leaves the hide for the owner.”
“But that’s stealing.”
“Not here it isn’t. Here it’s custom, according to Jed Smith. Cows breed and feed on open range. There are more of them than the ranchero could possibly use. We take what we can eat and leave the rest for the wolves.”
Emma looked at the carcass. “That’s wasteful.”
“You wouldn’t think so if you were a wolf.”
The simple turning of her lips warmed his insides and he realized he enjoyed bringing that smile.
“Been a while since I’ve had beef,” he said.
Soon the fire crackled merrily. Emma added more cottonwood to the flames. By the time the stars appeared, they chewed on steaks that overflowed their plates.
<
br /> Emma finished her portion and tried the ribs.
“I can’t believe how good this tastes,” she said, slicing into the thick, pink meat. “I hope to never eat jerky again.”
“With luck you’ll be eating jerky come spring.”
Her eyes widened. “Yes, of course.”
“You still plan on coming with me, don’t you?”
“I do. Why would you ask?”
“Because you told me you won’t go back to your father. So I just wondered if you might be thinking of staying out here.”
“I hadn’t considered it.” Her gaze turned to the fire.
He cursed himself, because now she was considering it, weighing what opportunities she might find in California. She was a beautiful woman and supposedly a widow. Even without dowry or land, she was a catch. A wealthy man could easily overlook those shortcomings for a fetching bride.
Why did he care? He wanted to be rid of her, didn’t he?
He ground his teeth together and watched the fat drip from the ribs into the fire. Two months ago he would have jumped at any chance to unload her. But now? He’d grown accustomed to her company. She didn’t badger him with endless talk or make annoying demands. For the first time in his life he’d found a woman he respected and liked.
And she was as pretty as any woman he’d ever met. Too damn pretty for her own good. She’d draw men like a horse draws flies. He’d have to act as her keeper.
He frowned.
She didn’t need a guardian, unless it was to protect her from him. He was the threat, because he wanted her, but not for a wife. He never planned to take a wife.
Would Emma agree to be his mistress? He glanced her way and found her deep in thought. He’d never know unless he asked. He could seduce her. He knew for a fact that she responded to him. But that thought made him feel dirty. He didn’t want to trick her into this.
But maybe she wanted to. After all, she said she didn’t want to marry. Perhaps she’d agree to ride with him and be his. If she really didn’t want to lose her freedom, she might be receptive to an arrangement. Then they could both avoid wedding vows and part when it suited them.
