Darlin' Druid

by Lyn Horner

  Begorra! The man had a positively wicked effect upon her.

  Once they reached a relatively private corner, he turned and crossed his arms, pinning first the corporal, then her with a sharp stare. “Now, would one of you care to tell me what started all this?”

  “Ask him,” Jessie snapped, glancing accusingly at the corporal.

  “It was my doing, sir,” the youth admitted, shifting his feet and staring at the floor. “I shoulda kept my hands to myself.”

  Their interrogator frowned and studied Jessie. “Did he hurt you?”

  She shook her head grudgingly. “No, but he came up behind me and . . . and . . . .” Her face caught fire. Lowering her lashes, she choked out, “H-he handled me. Most indecently!”

  “I see,” the green-eyed devil said with ill-concealed humor. Ignoring her irate glance, he eyed the corporal. “What’s your name, soldier?”

  The young man came to attention. “Corporal James Thompson, sir.”

  “All right, Corporal Thompson, I want to hear you apologize to the lady. Now.”

  “Yes sir!” Facing Jessie, the soldier tugged off his cap. “I’m real sorry, ma’am. I oughtn’t to have, er, done like I did.” He grinned sheepishly. “It’s just you’re so pretty, and I . . . I sorta lost my head, I reckon.” He stared at the floor again.

  His earnest tone appeased her somewhat. “Very well, I accept your apology. But I hope you’ll not do such a thing again.”

  “Oh, no ma’am! Never again, I swear.”

  Satisfied with their exchange, the officer ordered Thompson to go about his business and stay out of trouble. The corporal saluted smartly and hurried off to join two other young soldiers standing near the door. Once the trio exited the depot, Jessie once more found herself staring into a pair of alarmingly familiar eyes.

  When she nervously moistened her lips, his gaze fastened on her mouth for a moment, causing her pulse to leap. Then, doffing his hat, he raked a hand through his sweat-dampened dark hair.

  “Ma’am, I don’t usually lay hands on a woman the way I did you,” he said, his voice taking on a slight drawl. “But I didn’t have much choice, what with you throwing such a fit. Anyhow, I’m –”

  “A fit!” she blurted. “I did no such thing. And if this is your idea of an apology, sir, I’ll have none of it.”

  His lips thinned and his brows met in an angry vee above his nose, but then he surprised her with a lazy grin. “Why, that’s fine by me, ma’am,” he said, his drawl more evident. “I was only gonna introduce myself. Captain David Taylor at your service, Miss . . . ?”

  She gritted her teeth and ignored his implied question. Deciding to give him as good as he gave, she smiled brightly. “Sure now, I suppose I really should be thankin’ ye, Captain,” she said, thickening her brogue.

  His eyebrows shot up in obvious astonishment. He stared at her as if unable to believe his ears.

  “Aye, I’m indebted to ye, sir,” she added sweetly, “for squeezin’ me poor arms ’til I’m sure they’ll be black and blue for days.”

  His surprise vanished in an instant. Now he glowered at her.

  She gave another false smile. “And I mustn’t forget your other familiarities. Aye, I owe ye a great deal, Captain Taylor.”

  The air between them fairly sizzled with pent-up rage.

  “Should I have let you go on clubbing the boy?” he growled. “Until he got mad enough to knock you senseless?”

  Jessie drew in her breath sharply. That the corporal might retaliate had never entered her mind. She’d been too furious. However, she wasn’t about to admit that to the arrogant captain. “I’ll have ye know I grew up in Chicago, and I’ve seen the likes of that rascal before. I can take care of myself,” she asserted with more confidence than she felt.

  He laughed scornfully. “Is that right? Well, this isn’t Chicago. You’re in the West now, lady. I’d advise you to go find your husband or your folks and stick close to them.” He paused to frown. “You are with someone, aren’t you? You’re not traveling alone?”

  “That’s none of your affair. And ye can keep your advice. All I wish, sir, is for ye to go away and leave me alone.”

  A muscle jumped along his jaw. He jammed his hat back on and said in a clipped tone, “Ma’am, I wouldn’t think of imposing on you a moment longer.” Nodding curtly, he swung on his heel and strode away.

  Fuming, Jessie watched him walk out the door. He was as different from the man in her dreams as night was from day. She could never love such an insulting, high-handed ogre.

  A glance around won her snickering looks from several men and condemning glares from a couple of women. Lifting her chin, she marched back to the window she had been gazing out of when Corporal Thompson accosted her. Looking through the smudged glass pane, she failed to see her brother. Tye should have returned long ago. He had only gone to purchase some last minute foodstuffs for their journey. They couldn’t afford to buy their meals along the route, for they would need every cent they possessed when they reached UtahTerritory.

  Jessie glanced down at their meager belongings piled beneath the window. Thank goodness everything was still there. She had remained at the depot to guard their battered valise and bundles of clothing. Otherwise, she could have gone with Tye and avoided the humiliating scene with Corporal Thompson and that obnoxious Captain Taylor.

  She groaned. Maybe the bligeard was right, maybe she had thrown a fit, but he was rude to say so. Besides, she’d had good cause to be upset. The corporal had given her an awful shock, pawing her backside and whispering in her ear how much he’d like to kiss her. The lusty scamp!

  She fished a handkerchief from her reticule and patted her damp forehead. The depot seemed to grow hotter by the minute and the smell more revolting. Craning her neck, she looked through the window again, still seeing no sign of Tye. He’d best return soon or they would miss their train. The great iron beast had pulled up outside and now sat building up steam.

  With a sigh, she eyed the crowd on the platform. It was a mixed group. There were settlers with children in tow and all their worldly goods heaped around them. Others, well-dressed easterners, might be journeying west for business purposes, Jessie supposed, or simply to see the land in all its glory. She also saw buckskinned westerners, going home perhaps.

  Four such men, more dirty and rough looking than most, caught her eye. She watched them pass a whiskey jug back and forth between them and heard the muffled sound of their raucous laughter. They appeared to be well into their cups. Wrinkling her nose, she sincerely hoped they would not be traveling in her coach.

  At the edge of the crowd, Jessie spotted Corporal Thompson and his two companions, but she saw nothing of Captain Taylor. Either he stood beyond her line of sight or he had left the depot entirely. Perhaps he wasn’t taking this train, as she had assumed. Not that she cared. She did not want to see him again, or even think about him. Struggling to block out the memory of being locked in his arms with her back pressed against his body, she ordered herself to keep her mind on her goal.

  “Look west,” the voice in her head had commanded on that foggy April night, and she intended to do just that, with Tye’s help. And she would find her dream hero of the gentle gray-green eyes. Somewhere. But not here, not in this wind-blown hellhole on the Missouri River.

  She made a face, recalling what her tourists’ guide had to say about Omaha. Since the completion of the Union Pacific Railroad three years ago, the river port had grown into a frontier city, which the guide touted as the “Gateway to the West.” Well, as far as Jessie could see, the gateway city consisted mainly of saloons, gambling dens and brothels. After three days here, spent in a cheap, vermin infested hotel, waiting for seats on the westbound train, she could hardly wait to see the last of the place.

  The train whistle blew, making her jump. Where on earth was Tye? Arms crossed, she tapped her toe, seething over his tardiness.

  Moments later, he finally showed himself. Sighing in relief, she watched him s
aunter toward the depot. He took his sweet time about it, tipping his dusty bowler and grinning at every woman he passed. With his raven hair and good looks, he won plenty of feminine smiles.

  “Where have ye been?” Jessie demanded the moment he reached her side. “It couldn’t have taken this long to buy the little bit we needed. I feared you’d not make it back in time.”

  He laughed merrily. “Sure and you’re turning into a cross old worrywart, Sis,” he teased, patting at his tan jacket, which had picked up a layer of prairie dust during his ramble.

  Affronted by his remark, Jessie inhaled sharply and caught a whiff of liquor. “Tye Devlin, you’re drunk!” she accused.

  “Och, don’t be getting your wind up. I only had a wee drop to clear the grit from my pipes.” Using his thumb and forefinger to measure off the supposedly small amount he’d imbibed, he favored her with a lopsided grin.

  Jessie wasn’t quite nineteen. Tye was twenty-three and much bigger than her, but right now he brought to mind a naughty little boy in need of a sound thrashing.

  “Ye were off wasting our money on whiskey, when we’re almost due to leave! I ought to . . . .” She stopped, determined not to lose her temper and create another scene. “Did ye at least buy the food we need?” she snapped.

  Removing the lid from the tin pail he carried, he displayed a loaf of bread, a small slab of yellow cheese, several apples and a package wrapped in butcher paper that smelled strongly of salted meat. This he waved under her nose. “Ye see, Jess, I’m not quite so daft as ye think.”

  She slapped his hand away. “In that case, brother dear, I’m sure I can trust ye to gather up our things and bring them outside. All by yourself.” She smiled and left him standing there with a scowl on his face as she made for the door.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “This wee river is called the Papillion,” Jessie said, reading her guidebook. They’d left Omaha behind at last.

  “That’s nice,” Tye muttered, chin on his chest. Slouched down by the window to Jessie’s right, he sat with his arms crossed and his bowler tipped low on his forehead. Across from him, on the facing seat, sat a stocky, sunburned farmer named Slater who was on his way home.

  “Won’t be long ’fore we reach the Platte,” he remarked.

  Tye gave a disgusted laugh. “If something else doesn’t go wrong,” he said, referring to a delay back at the depot. The engine had needed some last minute repairs according to their conductor.

  Mister Slater frowned and scratched his stubbled chin. “I sure hope it don’t. We’re an hour late already. My missus will worry.”

  Jessie smiled and prompted him to talk about his family. A short time later, the train rolled into the level PlatteRiverValley, a course the rails would follow across Nebraska.

  Gazing out the open window past her dozing brother, Jessie saw deep ruts that followed the same path as the rails. She wondered what had caused them then quickly realized they must have been gouged out by prairie schooners in years past. Beyond these traces of earlier immigrants lay tilled fields dotted with farmhouses. Eastern Nebraska appeared fairly well settled, at least along this fertile river valley. However, there were still stretches where green and gold waves of prairie grass swayed, spangled by patches of wild flowers and broken up by small clumps of trees. Marveling at the scenic beauty, Jessie resigned herself to the dust being kicked up by the rocking, clattering train and the gusts of wind that occasionally made her sneeze. Without that wind the afternoon heat would be unbearable.

  Before long, the engineer tooted his whistle and slowed the train. Several weather-beaten buildings came into view, with an equally weathered sign reading “Elkhorn,” Mister Slater’s destination.

  Jessie nudged Tye, and he roused himself long enough to bid the farmer farewell. Once the train chugged onward, he quickly dozed off again.

  “A lot of company he is,” Jessie grumbled under her breath. Tired of staring out the window, she studied the occupants of their coach. Captain Taylor was not among them. He could be in the other day coach ahead of this one, or even in one of the PullmanPalace cars, she supposed. In the rush to board and claim seats, she might have missed seeing him. Not that she had looked for him.

  Forget him! He isn’t the one you seek,” she scolded herself.

  To her dismay, the four liquored-up ruffians she’d spotted back in Omaha were riding in this coach. Congregated at the very back, playing what she took to be poker, they quarreled noisily over every hand. Jessie pitied the poor unfortunates seated near them.

  In the middle of the car, not far behind her, she heard two men discussing the latest silver strikes. If her darlin’ brother wasn’t sleeping off his “wee drop,” she knew he’d be back there talking to them. Silver was Tye’s dream, his passion.

  Up front sat a young family. The mother and father had their hands full managing their two little boys. The oldest boy looked to be four or five years old, the younger one around two. Both had blond hair like their father and plump pink cheeks. They were adorable but they’d begun to grow cranky in their confined quarters.

  Engrossed in watching them, Jessie jumped when a loud curse rang out from the back of the car. Next to her, Tye awoke with a start. Along with everyone else, they turned to stare at the four card players who sat grouped around a squat flour barrel.

  “You bastard!” one man snarled. A large brute, he was dressed in greasy buckskins. “I knew yuh was dealin’ off the bottom, Conway, and this time I saw yuh!”

  Across the aisle from his accuser, the red-faced Conway swallowed hard, mouth working nervously. The other two men sat perched on heaped up belongings in the aisle, facing each other across the barrel, atop which lay a small pile of coins.

  Conway gave a nervous laugh. “Why, I . . . I never did no such thing, Wolf. I been dealin’ ’em straight, I swear.” His voice shook, and he wore a decidedly guilty expression.

  “Don’t lie to me, you little toad!” the big man roared. “I know what I seen. You cheated. And nobody cheats Wolf Gerard.”

  “Ah, you’re just a sore loser!” Conway blustered, starting to scoop up the money. “I won fair ’n square and I’m takin’ my winnings.”

  Swift as a snake, Gerard drew a long, vicious looking knife and lunged across the barrel, scattering cards and money. Before Conway could scramble out of reach, Gerard grabbed his shirt front and attempted to slash his face. Conway raised his arm to protect himself, and the blade sliced open his forearm instead.

  He screamed, and Jessie gasped in horror. Another woman passenger shrieked. Tye and several other men cursed.

  Whimpering, Conway latched onto Gerard’s knife arm with both hands and held him at bay, teeth bared with the effort, while blood flowed from his arm, spattering onto his clothes. Jessie’s stomach lurched at the sight, causing her to clap a hand over her mouth.

  Then Gerard’s other two companions were on him, dragging him off his victim. He struggled to his feet, bellowing at them to turn loose, but they hung on, one to each thick arm.

  “Cool down, Wolf!” one exclaimed. He was almost as tall as Gerard, but whipcord thin. “What yuh aimin’ to do, kill him? He’s already bleedin’ like a stuck pig. Ain’t that enough?”

  Gerard growled and fought to free himself.

  “Sacrebleu! Stop this! Remember what the trainman tell us,” the fourth man pleaded in a heavy French accent. Black-bearded and a foot shorter than Gerard, he looked like a bulldog trying to restrain an ox, or in this case a maddened wolf.

  “That’s good advice, Mister. I suggest you take it,” a stern voice declared from up front.

  Swiveling in her seat, Jessie saw their conductor, Mr. Higgins, standing in the open doorway. With his brass-buttoned dark coat, visored cap and harsh frown, he carried an authoritative air despite his short, heavyset stature. Adding to the effect, he wore a gun belted around his thick middle.

  Jessie breathed easier at his timely arrival. She realized it was no accident when the father of the two little boys walked
in behind him. The blond man sat down next to his wife and lifted their older son onto his lap, hushing the lad’s high-pitched complaint. The younger child already sat locked in his mother’s arms.

  A tall, blue-clad figure appeared in the doorway, and Jessie caught her breath. So he was on the train! She watched David Taylor step into the coach, followed closely by Corporal Thompson and his two friends. At a word from the captain, the three soldiers stationed themselves near the door while he followed the conductor down the aisle.

  Jessie’s heart hammered as he drew near. She waited for him to see her, but he looked straight ahead, not even glancing her way as he walked past. Irritation – or maybe disappointment – washed through her, but she immediately told herself not to be ridiculous. She didn’t care whether he noticed her or not.

  Watching him approach Mr. Higgins, who had stopped a few paces from Wolf Gerard and his bloody knife, Jessie fearfully gnawed her bottom lip. She might not care for the arrogant captain but she didn’t want to see him get killed. Or Mr. Higgins, either, of course.

  David halted a short distance behind Higgins. The conductor had asked him to back him up, and not knowing what to expect, he had ordered the three troopers to come along. Hoping they wouldn’t be needed, he noted the wounded man sprawled in his seat with a bandana pressed to his bloodied arm. Then he fixed his gaze on the ugly brawler with a knife in his hand and casually loosened the flap of his army issue holster. He didn’t relish using his .44 in this crowded coach, but he might not have a choice.

  “I told you buffalo skinners I wouldn’t stand for any trouble,” Higgins said sharply. “Evidently you didn’t believe me.”

  Sneering at him, the knife wielding hombre shook off his companions’ restraining hands. He wiped his blade on a filthy pant leg, at the same time throwing David a challenging glare. Unfazed, David merely stared at him.