Turner's Woman

by Jenna Kernan

  “We go north to the Russian settlements.”

  “Will they aid us?”

  “Doubtful, but it is the only direction in which the Mexicans cannot follow.” Jake glanced up at the three-quarter moon filtered through pine needles. “Let’s ride.”

  They set off following the trail along the bay. The moon turned orange as it prepared to set and they skirted past the mission of San Francisco. This was the northernmost outpost of the Mexicans and Jake breathed a sigh of relief to have it behind him. The river stopped them and they rode ten miles east before he found a place narrow enough for the horses to swim across.

  Late in the night, as they climbed along the cliffs to the north, fog rolled in from the bay blanketing them in a white mist.

  “We have to stop,” Jake said.

  Emma stood three feet from him, but she seemed only a ghostly outline now.

  “We could fall over the cliff in this. We’ll rest and see if the morning burns off the mist.”

  “Won’t the Spanish catch us?” Emma asked.

  “Fog will hinder them, as well, if they even know to head this way. Lead your horse and follow me.”

  He picked his way inland, through brush and between trees. The mist collected on his clothing and the shaggy coats of the horses, beading and running off. Soon he was as damp as if he stood in the rain. He halted at last, unable to see to go farther.

  Soon he had the deer hides down for ground cover and the buffalo hide staked up on sticks to form a small shelter. Emma unsaddled the horses and joined him in the nest. She stripped out of her military costume and into her buckskin shirt and faded blue skirt, as Jake transformed back to a trapper.

  With the wolf-skin blanket thrown over them, a calm filled him.

  “I was so worried about you,” she whispered.

  “Why didn’t you do as I told you and get on the ship?”

  “That wasn’t best for you.”

  “It was best for you.”

  She didn’t deny it. Instead she snuggled closer, wiggling her bottom into the curve of his waist. Now it was too hot and he no longer felt like talking.

  “Night, Jake,” she said and breathed a long sigh of contentment.

  He gritted his teeth at the involuntary response his body had for this woman. Try as he might, he could no more control it than stop the beating of his heart.

  This partner business was driving him crazy. He wondered again if she would agree to be his woman. He did not know which prospect scared him more, that she might say no or that she might say yes. John Price’s comment about having feelings for Emma started him thinking. Accepting that he did not want to part from her was shock enough. He had no notion as to how he should proceed.

  Her words returned to him and now they suddenly seemed a stumbling block. She’d told him she did not want to marry. Having escaped her father’s house, she never wanted to put herself under a man’s control again. At the time he’d thought, so much the better. Now her wishes disturbed him greatly.

  After much restless shifting, the fatigue of his body won the battle over his mind and he fell asleep.

  The morning proved only to be a brightening of the fog. They broke camp and continued on foot, leading the animals along the path above the water. When he reached another river, he paused.

  He could not see the other side.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Jake knew Vallejo was back there. With luck he was searching to the east giving them the time they needed to reach Russian territory. The journey took longer than Jake guessed because of the backtracking up rivers to find a place to ford.

  They located the Russian camp on the morning of the fourth day. Jake lay on his belly on the bluff above the crude log cabins, roofed in split cedar shingles with a hole to allow the smoke out. The camp stood on the high ground beside a wide river, close enough to the sea to allow hunting, but not so close to suffer the brunt of the storms and high water. Low clouds hung just above the sea cliffs, waiting to drop upon them once more.

  Emma stood fifty yards behind with the horses. Jake glanced back to check on her then focused on the camp. After seeing a trapper drinking from a jug and then shoving a fellow to the ground, Jake decided this outpost was too rough for a woman. He inched back to Emma.

  “I’m getting a bad feeling. Might be safer to head inland, avoid them entirely.”

  Emma absorbed this. “If you think that’s best.”

  “I do.”

  The distinctive click of a trigger locking stopped Jake in his tracks. It came from behind him. Emma faced their attacker. Jake slid his revolver from his holster and then glanced over his shoulder.

  A group of eight rough-looking trappers stood with hands on their weapons. Jake slid the pistol home and glanced at Emma.

  “You’re my wife, Mrs. Jake Turner.”

  She nodded, her eyes round with fright.

  Jake faced the men with open hands. “Hello, friends. Anyone speak English?”

  The men exchanged startled looks and rapid-fire Russian darted between them.

  Jake noted the dead deer slung over one man’s shoulder and realized their discovery was due to bad luck. Generally, these men stayed close to the water and the precious otter they hunted. He tried again. “What about Spanish?”

  A giant of a man with a bushy red beard stepped forward. “I do.”

  Jake smiled, though his insides felt tight as the head of a banjo. “I’m Jake Turner and this is my wife, Emma.”

  The man’s gaze flicked to Emma and then over her body in a way that made Jake consider shoving him onto his ass.

  “British?” asked the leader.

  “American.”

  The man’s bushy eyebrows lifted causing the nasty scar that bisected his forehead and cheek to pucker. The old injury caused his right eyelid to droop and brought a stripe of white to his otherwise remarkably red beard. “What are you doing here?”

  Right to the point, Jake thought.

  “The Mexicans wanted to lock me up, so we decided to try the hospitality of our Russian brothers.”

  The man chuckled and then translated. The men behind him laughed. When he turned to Jake the smile upon his lips looked predatory.

  “Of course. A wise choice. As you see, we are much more civilized.” He translated and the men laughed again, doffing their hats and making a mockery of bowing.

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “But just one question. Why were you in Mexican territory?”

  “I’m a merchant. I thought to settle in California, but could not secure the land I had hoped for. What is your name, brother?”

  “I am Nikki, these are my men.” He waved his beefy hand and Jake prayed he would not have to fight this giant. “If you are looking for land, we have plenty.” His gaze fastened on Emma, who shifted beneath the scrutiny. “Women, on the other hand, are in short supply.”

  Jake stepped between them, bringing the big man’s attention back to him.

  “I’m sure seeing Emma is quite a shock. My wife is accustomed to civilized treatment from men of honor. Will we find that in your camp, or should we move on?”

  Nikki’s leer could not be mistaken for a smile. “We cannot allow you to leave.” He turned to his men and barked an order. The weapons were lowered, but kept ready. “Please, join us for dinner.”

  Jake would rather have wrestled a grizzly, but he saw no other way. He turned to Emma. “They want us to follow them.”

  “I don’t want to,” she whispered.

  He grasped her cold hand. “Neither do I, but I can’t figure a way out just now.”

  “Did you see the way he looked at me? Like he wants to gobble me up.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Eight to one.”

  Her breathing revealed her disquiet. “Eight to two.”

  “Can you kill four before they shoot you?”

  “No—but I’d rather die here than go with them. They’ll kill you and take me.”

  “The same thought occu
rred to me.”

  “We have to get away.”

  He nodded and they descended the trail, sandwiched between Nikki in front and his men, behind. Jake cast a glance over his shoulder. The Russians looked like a pack of wild dogs.

  At camp, Jake found their numbers increased to ten. The reek of unwashed bodies and otter hides made his nostrils burn. The men roasted the deer over an open fire and drank whiskey while Nikki collected Jake’s guns. It was not long until the first fight broke out.

  Jake sat close to Emma, watching the men grow more raucous and wondering if they might, by some stroke of luck, drink themselves insensible, allowing him to slip away with Emma.

  Two men began to dance to a tune only they could hear. Others soon joined. One of the younger men grasped Emma’s hand in an effort to draw her into their circle.

  She resisted, leaning away and tugging to no effect. “Let go, you beast.”

  Jake sighed, wishing for better odds, stood and prepared to fight. He stiff-armed the man, who toppled over backward and then sprang to his feet. Jake needed no Russian to understand the curses issuing from the trapper’s mouth.

  The man cocked his fist in a sloppy, off balance move, the whiskey making him clumsy. Before he could swing, Nikki gripped the man’s fist in his own, completely enveloping it.

  Jake gritted his teeth, realizing that Nikki did not drink nearly the amount of whiskey as his fellows.

  He shouted at the man, who opened his mouth to argue and then screamed as Nikki squeezed his fist. The distinctive crack of bone breaking came next and more howling. He released the man, who fell to the ground clutching his hand.

  The others stopped their dancing. Emma moved behind Jake as Nikki faced him.

  “My men are a rough band.”

  Jake did not take his eyes off the threat before him.

  Nikki turned to the others and waved them away. They did not go. Jake thought of a wolf he once had watched take down an elk to get to her calf. Emma was the calf.

  Angry words flew and at last Nikki said something and his men reluctantly withdrew.

  “He’s offered me to them when he is done,” whispered Emma.

  Jake scowled. “You understand Russian?”

  “No. I understand men.”

  The men went slowly, pausing often to gaze at Emma then halting at their cabin doors. Jake knew she was right.

  Nikki smiled. “I think your wife should sleep in my cabin for her safety.”

  Jake tried not to smile. “We’d be grateful.”

  Nikki’s wolf eyes glowed in the darkness. “This way.”

  Emma gripped Jake’s shirt. “Careful now. He means to kill you first.”

  “Sounds right.”

  Nikki disappeared into the cabin. Jake waited outside the door, knowing better than to meet a wolf in his den. Nikki had the advantage and might right now be pointing a gun at his belly.

  “Come in,” he called from the darkness.

  “As soon as you light a lamp.”

  Nikki exited to the fire and carried a burning branch inside. The fog crept along the ground, making the watching men seem menacing spirits. Water beaded on Jake’s shirt as he waited, Emma huddling beside him.

  “I think we should run,” she whispered.

  “Not yet. We have to overpower Nikki, quietly. Then recover our horses and guns.”

  Orange light issued from the cabin and Nikki appeared in the door grinning like a man with something to look forward to.

  “Come in, friends.”

  Jake wondered how to pass him without coming within range of his grasp. The man outweighed him and topped him by at least five inches. In a fair fight, Nikki would win.

  Jake knew neither man wanted a fair fight.

  Nikki slapped at the filthy pile of bedding. “Your wife can have my bed. I’ll sleep by the fire.”

  Jake glanced about the cabin and saw only a table littered with stretched otter pelts. On the walls traps dangled from their chains. Jake thought the bench beside the table was his easiest weapon. The sturdy planks might give him the edge. Nikki closed the door behind them.

  “We’ve decided not to spend the night.”

  Nikki’s eyebrows lifted, stretching the scar. “I insist.”

  Jake stopped playing games. “You mean to kill me and have my wife.”

  The man’s smile twisted, his voice calm. “I don’t have to kill you.”

  Jake squared his body, gathering for the fight. “Yes, you do.”

  The giant curled his hands into meaty fists. “Have it your way then.”

  Jake scooped up the bench, landing a blow to the man’s shoulder. He staggered as the bench leg snapped.

  Now Nikki came at him with his hands open as if to tear Jake in two. Another swing and the bench thudded into his ribs buckling him forward.

  Raising the remaining plank over his head, Jake prepared to strike at his opponent’s head, but Nikki lunged forward like a wrestler, carrying Jake to the earth floor.

  The impact of the giant driving him into the ground made Jake see stars. For an instant he was insensible and that was all Nikki needed to wrap his thick hands about Jake’s neck.

  He lifted Jake as he squeezed then thudded him against the ground, simultaneously choking and beating Jake’s head.

  The edges of Jake’s vision blackened as he sought release from the crushing grip. His lungs burned and he floundered, unable to remove the heavy man from his chest. Locking both fists as one, Jake swung, landing a blow to the Russian’s temple. Nikki slumped to the side and Jake was upon him in an instant. They rolled together. Jake saw the knife, a skinning blade, gleaming with a razor’s edge.

  The Russian slashed at his throat, but Jake deflected the blow, sending his attacker’s arm sweeping above his head. Nikki straddled him and locked his fists around the blade lifting his arms to plunge the weapon into Jake’s chest.

  Jake caught the descending wrists. He strained and the Russian grunted. With the point only an inch from his heart Jake lunged to the left and felt the blade cut into his shoulder joint. The crunch of cartilage echoed in his head as the pain sliced, poker hot into his flesh.

  The Russian withdrew the blade and raised his arm for another attack. Something moved above Nikki’s head. Jake could not make out what it was, but heard the sickening thud. The knife dropped beside Jake’s ear.

  Nikki fell, giving Jake a picture of Emma gripping the ring of the closed trap in her fist. The chain swung gently to and fro.

  Nikki rolled to his knees and sprang to attack. Jake lunged for the knife stabbing it into the man’s chest.

  Jake rolled to the side, clutching his bleeding shoulder as the giant toppled forward. Beside him, Nikki lay inert as blood poured from his chest wound.

  “Is he dead?” Emma asked.

  Jake grimaced from the pain. He was dizzy from it. “Not yet.”

  He struggled to sit as Emma gasped and fell to her knees beside him.

  “Oh my God!” She reached for him pressing her hands to the wound. “Lie down. Don’t move. Oh my God, has he killed you?”

  “My shoulder, I think.”

  She pressed harder and a wave of nausea rolled through him. Sweat broke out on his forehead.

  “Did he hit your lung?”

  “I’d be bubbling from the mouth if he had. Check it.”

  She removed her hands and peered beneath the slice in his buckskin shirt. “Oh, it’s deep. Jake, you’re bleeding so fast.”

  He knew it. The black spots flitted like dragonflies before him.

  “Emma, I’m sorry,” he whispered. Then she disappeared behind the fluttering moths as he fell into the darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Emma crouched on the floor, both hands pressed hard to Jake’s wound and still the blood welled like groundwater between her fingers.

  It had to stop. It must.

  She searched the dirty cabin for something to staunch the flow, but found only filthy skins and greasy rags. Mud caked the
blankets on the man’s bed.

  Finally, she decided on her petticoats, lifting her hands from him to clutch the drawstring with bloody fingers. Fumbling, she stepped from the garment. She gasped at the blood lost while she disrobed.

  Wadding the linen, she leaned on straight arms with all her strength. Her fingers went numb and the fabric turned crimson.

  The big Russian groaned, startling her. Her gaze flicked to him and his eyelids moved. Oh, no, don’t let him wake up now, not now. Not when the bleeding is finally stopping.

  She held the garment and kept her gaze on the Russian, but he did not move again. Jake’s blood darkened as the clotting began. In infinitely slow degrees, Emma released the pressure and waited, holding her breath.

  Jake’s pale sweating face made her tremble in terror. She found the knife upon the table, cut her second petticoat into a bandage and used it to hold the wadded petticoat in place. Sliding the bandage beneath his inert body took all her strength.

  What will I do next? How will we get away?

  She gritted her teeth, focusing on the task at hand. When she finally finished she sat beside him, her aching back pulsing with her heartbeat.

  The Russian’s breathing changed. Emma grasped the beaver trap, prepared to hit him again if he stirred. Rasping, his chest rose with unnatural slowness. She studied his blue lips and let the trap slide from her fingers, turning to Jake.

  What should she do? As she sat in the light of the fading fire, the sounds of laughter and singing died away. She held her breath. Footsteps.

  She reached the door in an instant, lifting the solid redwood plank into the slot to bar entrance.

  A moment later came the pounding. Not all the men were asleep. One of them wanted his turn with her. She stood frozen to the spot facing the door as the thumping went on and on. The man shouted something in Russian.

  Emma seemed to become aware again. She ran about the cabin until she found the Russian’s rifle. If she shot him through the door, the others might hear.

  She stood, pressed to the wall, the rifle aimed at the entrance. When would he stop? The pounding echoed in her ears.

  More cursing. Was he kicking the door now? She glanced about, suddenly grateful there were no windows. The hole in the shingled roof would not admit a man.