by Lyn Horner
She gave him an arch look. “Aye, and you’re a good one for that, Blake Stanton.”
* * *
Jessie stood at her bedroom window, gazing restlessly at the sun-baked street below. The café was closed, this being Sunday. She had risen in the cool of dawn to attend mass at St. Mary’s, the small Catholic church she’d been pleased to find soon after arriving in Salt Lake City. After church, she had washed her clothes, hung them out to dry in the backyard, and tidied her room, but that still left the afternoon to fill.
Blake was out of town, looking over prospective claims for his clients, and she was glad to be free of him for a few days. She had gone to supper – dinner as he preferred to call it – with him twice now, and he’d treated her respectfully on both occasions, contenting himself with a quick buss on her cheek when he brought her home. Yet, she still questioned his interest in her, and Ivar Andersen’s repeated warnings not to trust the “fancy man” did not help matters.
Sighing heavily, she wondered if Blake might, by some chance, meet Tye during his trip to the mining camps. She supposed it was unlikely, especially since he hadn’t said anything about stopping in Alta. If he had, she might have asked him to look for her brother.
Tye was never far from her worried thoughts. How was he faring? Was he whole and unhurt? And did he ever grow lonely the way she did? She doubted it, for he had his dreams of riches to keep him company.
Her dreams were inhabited by a man she wished she’d never met, and those dreams grew ever more alarming. No longer did David visit her only in fiery nightmares. Now he came to her in the deep of night with phantom kisses and caresses that caused her to awake calling his name, bathed in sweat, with a fierce, almost painful need gripping her vitals. She cursed her fertile imagination for conjuring up such cruel fantasies.
Memories of David tumbled forth now: her stunned first sight of him in Omaha, their angry exchanges then and on the train, and her terrible fear for him as he lay bleeding after saving her from Wolf Gerard. Then came bittersweet images of their time in Grand Island, culminating with their picnic by the Platte River, herself wearing an ivory silk shawl – now buried in the bottom drawer of her bureau – and David reclining on the blanket beside her. Her throat clogged as she recalled the brief moments of joy in his arms. Almost tasting his fiery kisses and feeling the touch of his hand on her breasts, she longed to be kissed and touched by him like that again.
Saints above! Why must she go on torturing herself? Had she forgotten how David had turned on her that day, the cruel things he’d said, and the mocking farewell he’d delivered at FortSanders, making it clear she meant nothing to him? And what of her newest vision of him with that dark-haired woman in his arms? She had accepted then that he was not meant for her. So why couldn’t she stop yearning for him? Why, why, why?
Furious with herself, Jessie snatched her bonnet and reticule off the nearby bureau, whirled and marched to the door. Perhaps a brisk walk would drive the irksome devil from her head.
A short while later, she paused beneath a leafy elm tree and fished a handkerchief from her reticule. As she had many times before, she blessed the city’s Mormon founders for planting so many trees along the broad streets. Their shade was a godsend in this heat.
Patting the dew from her forehead and upper lip, she smiled at a group of youngsters frolicking in a small peach orchard across the street. The city abounded with fruit trees – apple, plum, but most of all peach – and a variety of grapevines. Most every gray adobe or white clapboard house also displayed a vegetable plot and flower garden. All thanks to the Mormons’ ingenious irrigation system, a necessity in this hot, dry valley.
There were even lilac bushes. Although long since done blooming for the year, they still reminded Jessie of home. Her mother had loved lilacs, and she’d planted several bushes around their cottage. Every spring their radiant purple blooms had filled the air with a heavenly scent – before the fire had swept them away along with the house and everything else, leaving only destruction behind. And nightmares.
David sprang to mind again. “Cursed man! Leave me alone!” Jessie gritted. Spinning on her heel, she rushed back the way she had come, praying Mrs. Wilson and the others would be back from the band concert they’d gone to attend. Normally she did not socialize much with her cranky landlady and the other tenants – all women – but right now she would welcome anything that might keep her mind off David. He never spared her a moment’s thought, she was absolutely certain.
* * *
Shaking off a daydream of Jessie with her hair unbound and the shawl he’d given her draped around her shoulders, David cursed under his breath. He dragged his attention back to the rolling, sagebrush-strewn landscape. He was supposed to be keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of Indians, but even here, where a distraction might prove deadly, he couldn’t stop thinking about the exasperating Irish redhead. She had haunted him from the moment he’d stepped off the train, nearly a month ago now.
He kept seeing her wounded expression that day by the Platte when he’d deliberately hurt her, to prevent her from being hurt a lot worse, he’d told himself then. Now, he admitted he’d simply taken his frustration out on her, because he’d ached for her so damn much that he couldn’t keep his hands off her. Recalling her supple, womanly form molded against him and the sweet surprise of her ardent kisses, that familiar ache returned, causing him to shift uncomfortably in his saddle.
Damnation! Forget the blasted woman and concentrate on getting your men back to the fort alive! They were still deep in Sioux territory.
Standing in his stirrups, David twisted to study the horizon behind them. Thankfully, he saw no horsemen and no cloud of dust to indicate they were being followed.
“Appears we got away clean,” his burly sergeant, Red Mosely, commented as David relaxed in his saddle.
“Maybe. I’ll feel better when we’ve put a few more miles behind us.”
“Same here, Cap’n.” After a moment, Red remarked, “The Sioux sure are hoppin’ mad over that new railroad. Guess they’ve got cause. It’s just too bad a lot more folks are gonna pay for what the government done.”
“Mmm.” David didn’t comment further, but Red was right. The Indians were furious about surveyors for the Northern Pacific Railroad plotting a route through their hunting grounds. It was a clear violation of the Treaty of 1868, which stated no whites would set foot on Sioux land without their consent. As a result, settlers all over the northern plains were feeling the Indians’ wrath.
Just a few days ago, a Sioux raiding party had struck three ranches on the Laramie Plains above FortSanders. They’d burned the buildings, stolen horses and killed one rancher, his wife and two children. A distant neighbor had spotted smoke and, going to investigate, had found the family lying near their burned out cabin. All four had been shot full of arrows and scalped.
News of the attacks had reached the fort and, with his shoulder now well mended, David had volunteered to lead a patrol after the raiders. He and his men had played catch-up with the Indians ever since. Unfortunately, the post could only spare twenty troopers, and they had turned out not to be enough.
The raiders, numbering about a dozen, had left a clear trail, brazenly daring their pursuers to follow them north toward Sioux strongholds in the Big Horn and Powder River country. At first, they’d held a full day’s lead, but David and his men had cut that to a few hours by late last night, when they’d pitched camp to grab some badly needed sleep. They’d risen before dawn and climbed back into the saddle.
Then, a couple of hours ago, David’s Crow scout, Little Elk, had come across the dead fires of a sprawling Sioux encampment. The raiders had met up with another, much larger band, whose trail led up from the southeast. The two groups had camped together and at dawn they’d headed north. Little Elk estimated their combined strength at three to four times the size of David’s patrol.
After walking the campsite with Red Mosely and confirming the scout’s report, David had made the only decision
he could under the circumstances. They were already dangerously far north. With little hope of defeating such a large force, he had abandoned the chase.
He sighed, hating that he’d had to let the raiders escape.
“Weren’t nothin’ else to do, Cap’n,” Red said, reading his mind. “Not if we want to keep our scalps. Just a cryin’ shame them others had to come along. Agency bucks lookin’ for some fun, I reckon. Before snow flies again, they’ll hightail it back to where we can’t touch ’em.” He punctuated his disgusted remarks with a stream of tobacco juice, aimed at the ground.
“It sticks in my craw the same as yours,” David replied, wiping his sweaty face with his bandanna. Red was right again. Washington’s policy of coaxing the Sioux onto the reservation with food and gifts backfired regularly. Chiefs like Red Cloud and Spotted Tail had brought in parts of the tribe, but each spring scores of warriors took off to go raiding with their free northern kin. Once they sated their thirst for excitement and proved their manhood, they happily returned to collect their government annuities when winter set in.
Thinking about the situation didn’t improve David’s mood. Frustrated, he wondered for a moment why he’d ever re-enlisted in the army. But he knew why, of course. The army was home, the only home he had known since that day seven years ago when he returned to the River T after the war, only to be ordered off the ranch by his father.
“Traitor!” rang in his ears once again, and his cheek stung with the memory of the old man’s humiliating slap. As he had so often since then, he wondered if it would have done any good to swallow his pride and beg forgiveness, instead of climbing back on his horse and riding away in a cold fury. Probably not, knowing Pa.
After that, he’d punched cattle in New Mexico, wielded a pick and hammer in the Nevada silver mines, and had even gambled for a living in the boomtowns of Colorado. Drifting, not caring what he did until, finally, he’d taken the enraged advice his father had flung at him that day on the ranch. He’d returned to the army, and he didn’t regret it, except at times like this.
Damn! If only that rancher who’d reported the Sioux raid had gotten to the fort sooner, David brooded, he and his men might have overtaken the raiders before last night’s rendezvous. But he couldn’t blame the man for refusing to leave his family undefended. With a wife and children to think of, he would have done the same.
Jessie’s image flashed into his mind again. Christ! He must be loco to think of her in connection with marriage, no matter how much he might want her. Why, she probably wouldn’t last one month on a lonesome frontier post, or a cattle ranch in Texas. Not that he’d made up his mind to go home as Aunt Martha wanted him to do. The point was Jessie wasn’t wife material, not for him.
Forget her, he told himself for maybe the thousandth time.
* * *
Jessie spent her third evening with Blake at the Salt Lake Theater. She marveled at the ornately decorated auditorium and couldn’t help staring at one member of the audience – Brigham Young. She had glimpsed him once before, she realized, on her first day in the city.
She’d been out looking for work, she recalled, and her search had taken her past Temple Square, in the heart of town. While gaping at the huge domed Tabernacle and the unfinished graniteTemple, a group of soberly dressed men had caught her eye. They’d stood outside the Temple, talking and gesturing at the work in progress. One of them was Brigham Young, although Jessie hadn’t known that at the time.
But she recognized him when Blake pointed him out tonight. Installed in a rocking chair in his family box amid several wives and offspring, the stout older man was not what she had expected. He looked more like a genial grandfather than the stern-faced church patriarch she had envisioned.
The play soon began, and she grew absorbed in the hilarious comedy of errors, laughing so hard that tears rolled down her cheeks at times. Welcoming the chance to laugh after weeks of loneliness and heartache, she thoroughly enjoyed herself. Later, she was still exclaiming over the event as Blake walked her up the steps to her boardinghouse.
Halting on the porch, she said, “When that tongue-tied fellow put his foot in his mouth so many times while proposing to the heroine, why, I’ve never laughed so hard in my life. And then . . . .” She stopped abruptly, noticing Blake’s indulgent smile in the light spilling through the front door’s oval window.
“Just listen to me, chattering like a magpie.” Laughing at herself, she impulsively reached up to kiss his cheek, lightly resting her hands on his chest. “My thanks to ye, sir, for another grand time.”
His arms immediately encircled her and drew her close. Unprepared for his swift reaction, she caught her breath and stared into his shadowed eyes. He laughed softly and bent his head to kiss her. His mustache tickled, his lips were cool and gentle, his embrace firm but not crushing.
For a moment, Jessie stood as stiff as a statue. Then, regaining her wits, she forced herself to relax. Hesitantly, she slipped her arms around him and kissed him back, not resisting when he deepened the kiss. But rather than the soul-stealing desire David had aroused with his fierce kisses, she felt only bland indifference to Blake’s.
When she drew back, he let her go. She lowered her gaze, afraid of what he might see in her eyes. “I’d best go in,” she whispered.
He gently squeezed her hand. “Did I frighten you, Jessie?”
“No, it’s just that I don’t . . . that is, I’m not sure –”
His soft laugh interrupted her stumbling reply. “You needn’t explain. I understand.”
No, he didn’t, but she sighed in relief anyway and smiled at him. “Thank you.”
Blake nodded. “Well then, we’ll say good night, shall we? And I’ll see you when I get back from checking out those claims I mentioned. All right?”
“Aye, I’ll look forward to it, Blake.”
That was true, she told herself later as she lay in bed. She did look forward to his company. Her wariness toward him was gradually fading, and while she hadn’t meant to lure a stronger show of affection than usual from him tonight, she could hardly fault him for stealing one kiss. After all, he’d released her quick enough when she wanted him to, unlike the first time David had kissed her.
She frowned as she watched the moonlit dimity curtains at her open window flutter and dance on the brisk night breeze. Why hadn’t she felt something when Blake kissed her? God help her, why did she have to compare him to David?
“Oh no, you’ll not start thinking about him again!” she berated herself. However, when she finally dropped off to sleep, he was there waiting for her. This time they were lying together on a bed – naked!
He bent close, half covering her with his long, muscular form, warming her trembling body with the heat of his flesh. His erection pressed against her thigh, making her tremble all the more.
“Hold me, love,” he said, and she did. His eyes, normally a smoky green, were as bright as emeralds above her. Then he kissed her, delving deep, awakening the demon fire within her. Her fingers twined through his silky hair, and she moaned with pleasure as his hands explored her body. He cupped her breast and teased its sensitive crest, then made her cry out softly when he took it into his hot, avid mouth. His hand strayed lower, brushing the inside of her thigh and sent shock waves through her when he touched the secret place between her legs.
She cried out in reaction and suddenly awoke. She sat bolt upright, shaking, sweating, aching with desire. When she found herself alone, she wondered for a brief instant where David had gone. Then, realizing it had all been a dream, she broke down crying because she wanted so badly for it to be real, for him to be here beside her.
Ashamed of her carnal longings, Jessie begged God to make David stop haunting her. It did no good. She had the same dream the following night and every night thereafter.
But did she feel even one spark of desire for Blake when next he kissed her? No. Although he treated her with gentleness and respect, qualities David had so seldom shown her, it seemed
only that green-eyed villain could kindle her wayward passions.
Her dreams became steadily more erotic, until she would almost have welcomed her old frightening nightmare. Often, when she awoke aching for David, she paced her darkened room like a caged animal, cursing him and yearning for him at the same time. More than once she was tempted to seek a water vision in hopes of seeing his face, but the possibility that she might see him with that exotic dark-haired woman in his arms again always stopped her. Worse still, she feared she might conjure the madman with flame-orange eyes. She could no more forget him than she could David.
Hiding her unrest from Blake, Jessie tried to pretend some warmth when he took her in his arms. She must have succeeded better than she thought, because he continued to see her whenever he was in town. She felt guilty for not being honest but feared hurting him if she told him how she felt. Anyway, he would return to New York before long, and she would never see him again, she was quite certain. He surely couldn’t be serious about her. They were worlds apart; she was only a diversion for him, someone with whom to share an occasional evening during his stay in Utah.
Confirming this conclusion, he never spoke of love or tried to carry his romantic attentions too far. Clearly, he wanted no permanent ties, and her earlier suspicions aside, he wasn’t the kind to seduce her and walk away – as David had once threatened to do. She hated to think of Blake leaving for good. He brightened her lonely life, and she regarded him as a friend, never mind Ivar Andersen’s constant exhortations against him.
Jessie blamed her employer’s attitude largely on the current wave of ill-will between Mormons and gentiles. While Ivar believed in cooperation between the two groups, he still resented the insults his people suffered on the streets of there own city. By late July, matters had grown so tense and Ivar’s dislike of Blake was so obvious, that Jessie asked Blake to stay away from the café. He reluctantly agreed to honor her wishes, voicing his angry opinion that Ivar was simply jealous. Which was ridiculous, of course.
