by Lyn Horner
David took her first to Andersen’s Café. She was glad to see Ivar and Billy, their faces wreathed in smiles as they greeted her with warm hugs. However, watching her replacement – an older woman – bustle to and fro serving customers, she felt sadly out of place.
Ivar insisted she and David have coffee and a slice of Billy’s famous peach pie. They visited for a while, then it was time to go. Vowing to write as soon as they reached their destination, Jessie bid her two good friends farewell, somehow managing not to cry again.
Their next stop was a mercantile where, despite her protests, David bought her a roomy Saratoga trunk that held all of her things, even the three fancy new gowns, with plenty of room to spare. Then he drove to the dressmaker’s, where he astounded her with a “wedding gift” – a half-dozen more gowns in assorted fabrics and colors, with matching accessories. Also included were a number of filmy undergarments and nightgowns that made Jessie blush with embarrassment and secret delight.
With the dressmaker’s help, she folded and packed everything into her new trunk. It was crammed full by the time they were done. David loaded it in the buggy along with his valise and turned the horse toward the train depot. Settled beside him in their coach a while later as the train got underway, Jessie said a silent farewell to her brother and to the unique city she had briefly called home. She was thankful to be leaving Blake Stanton behind; she hoped he would soon be captured.
Was Blake truly the fiery-eyed madman who’d glared at her out of the watery depths that foggy April night in Chicago? Perhaps she was meant to view those flaming eyes as symbols of the man’s evilness. If so, Blake surely fit the role. But it was also possible she had yet to meet the demon. Did he await her in Texas? She sincerely hoped not.
And what of that dark-haired woman she had envisioned with David? Would she materialize once they reached their destination? Dreading the possibility, she glanced at David. He sat gazing past her out the window, a brooding frown on his face. He’d donned the gray coat he had used for his prospector’s disguise, but still wore his black campaign hat, cavalry breeches and knee-high boots.
“I remember ye telling me a little about your home, but I’d like to hear more about it,” Jessie said. “And about your father.”
He darted her a sharp look, his frown deepening, then crossed his arms and stared straight ahead. After a moment, he began to speak.
“The River T lies northwest of Waco, in BosqueCounty. It’s tall grass country. Used to be buffalo range, but with the skinners killing off most of the herds, I expect they’re pretty well gone by now. Lot of farmers in the county these days, I’ve heard, and a fair number of cattle, although not like down in south Texas. Compared to those huge spreads, the River T is small potatoes, but it’s one of the biggest ranches in the Bosque area.
“The land itself is rolling and open, except on the knobs – that’s what we call hilltops – and near water. On the hills, you’ll see stands of cedar and oak. More oak along the creeks and river bottoms, together with willow, pecan, sycamore and what have you. Pa staked out land along one of the creeks.” His voice softened. “You can see for miles down the valley, and when the wind rustles through the grass it sounds like someone sighing.”
Jessie realized he missed his home, and thinking of her own occasional bouts of homesickness, she felt a sense of kinship with him.
Clearing his throat, he continued, “As for my father, he’s a transplanted Ohio Yankee, but he’d probably kill anyone who called him that. He’s bull-headed as an ox and he thinks his word is law.”
She laughed. “Oh, and you’re nothing like him, of course.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her and grinned wryly. “My aunt always said I was exactly like him.”
“Your aunt?”
“My Aunt Martha. She helped raise me after my mother died. I was on my way back from visiting her when you and I met.”
“So, she lives with your father at the ranch?”
David looked away again. “No. She went home to Cincinnati years ago. Right after the war started.”
“Ah, I see. But you’ve stayed close to her?”
“Sort of,” he said with a frown. Abruptly slouching down in his seat, he tipped his hat over his eyes. “Think I’ll take a nap.”
Jessie studied him as the train began to move, guessing she’d touched a nerve with her last question. She thought he was asleep a few minutes later, when he suddenly spoke.
“By the way, I like that dress you’re wearing. Nice color. Liked it the first time you wore it, too.”
Jolted from her contemplation of the scenery, she shot him an irritated glare that he couldn’t see. “So ye do remember it.”
He poked his hat up with one finger and looked her over with hooded eyes. “No way I could forget it, sweetheart,” he drawled softly. “Tonight, I plan to take it off you real slow, and we won’t be interrupted this time.”
Jessie caught her breath. Pulse leaping, she returned his heated gaze. He smiled and let his hat drop back over his eyes, leaving her to imagine the night ahead. Unfortunately, when it came, he didn’t keep to his plan.
They stopped over in Laramie, Wyoming, so that David could report the results of his final mission to his old commander at nearby FortSanders. After a hasty meal, he escorted Jessie to their hotel room, directing her to lock the door and not open it for anyone while he was gone on his errand.
He returned late. From his grim expression and one-word greeting, Jessie supposed the interview had not gone well. Perhaps because he hadn’t brought the deserter back alive to stand trial? But surely he couldn’t be blamed for defending himself when the man tried to kill him.
Crossing to the window, he stood staring out of it. She waited for him to turn to her, but after several minutes she concluded he was no longer interested in removing her gown. Sighing in disappointment, she quietly changed into her nightgown and brushed out her hair. Feeling the night chill creep up her legs, she climbed into bed. At last, David turned from the window and wordlessly undressed. Again, Jessie waited, eager to feel his arms around her. But when he joined her under the covers, he made no move to touch her, only lying there with his arms folded under his head, staring up into the darkness, she sensed.
Needing to know what was wrong, she rolled onto her side, facing him. “You’re very quiet. Are ye troubled about something?”
He remained silent for so long that she didn’t think he would answer. Finally, he said, “There was a letter waiting for me at the fort. They hadn’t gotten around to forwarding it. It was from my cousin, telling me her mother passed on a few weeks ago.”
Jessie rose onto her elbow. She couldn’t make out his features but heard the tightness in his voice. “Ye mean your aunt, the one who raised ye?”
“Yeah. Aunt Martha.”
“Oh, David!” Without hesitation, she scooted close and slipped her arms around him, holding him tight. “I’m so sorry.”
He stiffened for an instant, then wrapped her in a fierce embrace, burying his face in her hair. He dragged in a rough, shaky breath, and she heard him swallow hard.
“Tá mé anseo, mo grá,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I am here.” My love. Even now, she dared not utter those last two words in English.
An anguished growl broke from his throat, and he kissed her desperately. Stroking his hair and his back, Jessie willingly gave him the comfort he needed.
Yet, the following day he barely spoke to her as they resumed their eastbound journey, retracing the route that had brought them together months earlier. Guessing he needed time to come to terms with his grief, and that allowing her to glimpse his pain had perhaps bruised his male pride, Jessie held her peace, hoping he would soon get over it. But his brooding silence continued even after they boarded a luxurious riverboat for the trip down the Mississippi River.
* * *
The roof was on fire! She was trapped! She and the others must get out, but they couldn’t. Something terrible awaited them outside. She
wasn’t sure what, but she knew it was there.
A flaming brand fell from above, catching the hem of her skirt, setting it on fire. She screamed in terror for David. Where was he? Why didn’t he save her like he always did?
“Jessie, wake up!” he said from out of nowhere, the sound penetrating her terror-filled sleep. He gave her a shake, and she came awake gasping in fright.
She opened her eyes to see him bending over her, a gray form in the darkness. With a glad cry, she threw herself at him. His arms encircled her trembling body, holding her tight.
“You had a nightmare,” he said, sounding shaken.
“I-I-I know. It was the f-f-fire again.”
He rocked her gently, or maybe it was the paddle wheeler moving under them. She was too unnerved to tell the difference. Clinging to him, she was soothed by the familiar feel and scent of him.
“The Chicago Fire? Do you dream about it often?”
“Nay, not often now. I used to relive it almost every night.” She didn’t tell him how he always saved her in the nightmare, or how much she feared it was a vision of a terrible future fire.
“You told me about it once, but I think you left a lot out. Tell me now. All of it,” he ordered gruffly.
She obeyed haltingly at first, then in a rush as the story poured out of her. Uttering a quiet word of encouragement now and then, he held her, stroking her back soothingly through her damp, clinging nightdress. It was a relief to finally reveal the full horror of her memories to someone – to him.
“Christ!” he muttered when she was through, his arms tightening protectively. Weaving his fingers through her hair, he kissed her tenderly, leading her out of the past, back to the present. Then he was caressing her and whispering sweet love words in her ear. She forgot his withdrawn behavior of late, and her spirits lifted, hope for their future blooming anew at his gentleness. This was the man she had fallen in love with long before she had ever met him, the only man for her. Putting the nightmare behind her, she sighed softly and gave herself up to the magic of his touch.
David adored her with his body, returning the comfort she had so generously given him that night in Laramie. But all the while a condemning inner voice called him a gutless coward for not being honest with her. What Jessie had taken for grief and injured pride was in fact his conscience eating away at him. He had not told her how things stood between him and his father, because he feared she might yet change her mind and refuse to go with him. And he couldn’t stand to lose her now. He needed her too much.
He continued to keep his silence as they floated down the Mississippi, then up the Red River to Shreveport, Louisiana. From there, a smaller boat carried them across a chain of lakes and bayous to Jefferson, Texas, on the state’s eastern border. At that point they boarded a stagecoach for the final leg of their journey.
It was a roundabout route and far more time consuming than cutting south across the plains by stage would have been. But David had intended it as a honeymoon of sorts, time for him and Jessie to get to know each other better before they arrived at the River T.
Or maybe he’d just wanted to put off the showdown with his father for a few more days.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The buckboard bounced over a steep decline in the wagon ruts that passed for a road across the prairie, drawing a gasp from Jessie. David glanced over at her and scowled because he couldn’t see much of her face. She wore the brown calico dress and bonnet he remembered from the day they’d first met in Omaha, and the bonnet’s wide brim prevented him from reading her expression. However, he noted her wilted posture and her death-grip on the iron handrail at her side.
“Want to stop for a few minutes?” he asked.
She straightened and turned her head, giving him a forced smile. “Nay, I’m fine. Ye needn’t stop on my account.”
Frowning, he returned his attention to the road. She wasn’t fine; she was worn out. It had been a rough, dusty ride from Clifton – the closest town to the River T – where they’d spent last night and where David had rented the buckboard this morning. But their journey was almost over. At least, he hoped it was. They’d crossed the ranch line a short while ago. His belly knotted at the thought. Everything depended on what happened with his father. Would the old man hear him out or shoot him on sight? David didn’t expect him to forgive and forget but hoped he would listen to reason, for the sake of the ranch if nothing else.
If he managed to make peace enough with Pa to give Jessie a home, would she be happy here? This country had broken his mother’s spirit, causing her to hate her husband and eventually killing her. But Jessie wasn’t his mother, David reminded himself. She had already proven herself loyal and caring. Was it possible she might also come to love the Texas prairie the way Aunt Martha had?
Feeling a familiar ache over his aunt’s passing, he recalled the letter she’d let him read when he visited her. She had received it a few weeks earlier from Sul Smith, his father’s longtime hand. A friend of Aunt Martha’s in Clifton had done the actual writing, since Sul couldn’t read or write. In the letter, Sul had described Pa’s accident. He’d been out checking the herd one day last winter when his horse lost its footing on an icy cut bank, and he’d been caught under the animal when it fell. His leg had been so badly broken that he could no longer sit a horse, and he was in constant pain.
Why hadn’t Pa jumped clear when the horse went down? Had it all happened so fast that he’d had no chance to react? Or had he been unable to move quick enough because he was getting old? David wondered, as he had so many times before.
“Damn!” he muttered. If only he’d been here to help run the ranch, maybe Pa never would have gotten hurt.
“Are ye cussing at me, sir?”
He shot Jessie a startled glance. Meeting her glare, he smiled wryly. “Sorry. No, I was just . . . noticing how burned up the grass looks,” he said, thinking fast. “It needs rain real bad.”
Wondering if she ought to believe him, Jessie watched him resume the perpetual frown he wore these days. She returned her gaze to the landscape. It did indeed look dry, and no wonder in this heat. Feeling as if she were about to melt, she patted her face with the cuff of her sleeve. Her handkerchief was too soggy to be of any further use.
Who would think it could be this hot in late September? But the cool of autumn had yet to reach Texas.
Texas! Sweet Mary, the state seemed to go on forever. Yet, according to David, she’d seen only a small part of it. To the east, they’d passed through a forest of tall pines mixed with farmland. Now they were crossing open, rolling terrain covered by swaying golden grass and dotted by windblown, gnarled trees. David called it the Grand Prairie. Farther west, he’d told her, lay desert and mountains inhabited by snakes, panthers and other wild creatures, as well as bands of Indians he assured her she wouldn’t want to meet.
“How much farther?” she asked, trying to sound casual. In truth, she ached from head to foot after the jolting stagecoach trip and this even rougher wagon ride, and she was grimy with dust and sweat. She longed for a long, cool bath and a bed.
“Not far,” David replied, his tone distracted.
Turning her head slightly, she studied him furtively. Nothing remained of his uniform now, except for the pistol tied down on his hip. He’d discarded his cavalry trousers in favor of plain black ones, topped by a black shirt and brown leather vest. During a brief stop in Waco, he’d purchased a pair of cowman’s boots and a new hat, also black. The somber colors suited his dour mood, Jessie thought.
He still grieved for his aunt, she told herself. She must be patient and understanding, just as he had been with her that night on the riverboat, when she’d had her terrifying nightmare. Besides, his mood would surely improve once he was reunited with his father.
She’d no more than had that thought when two mounted men appeared at the top of the next rise. Seeing them, Jessie sucked in her breath sharply and sent David a questioning look.
“Must be a couple of my father
’s cowhands,” he said, gaze fixed on the approaching riders. “Let me do the talking.”
She gave him no argument as the two horsemen drew up in the road, forcing David to halt the wagon.
“Afternoon, boys,” he drawled.
“Howdy, stranger,” one of them replied. Bull-necked, with thick arms and shoulders and a broad face, he shifted his gaze to Jessie. “Ma’am,” he said, eyeing her far too boldly.
Affronted, she stiffened in anger, but recalling David’s order, she did not reply to him or his younger, slimmer companion who touched his hat to her and grinned. Then the first one addressed David.
“This here’s River T land, mister, and we don’t cotton to sightseers. So I reckon you’d best turn around and high-tail it back the way you come.”
“I’m no sightseer, and my wife is not one of the sights,” David replied coldly, drawing scowls from both men. “I have business with Reece Taylor, and you’re keeping me from it.”
“Is that a fact? And just who might you be?” the bull-necked man demanded to know.
“The name’s Taylor. I take it you boys work for my father.”
“Your father!” the younger cowhand blurted.
The older, nastier one looked startled for a moment. Then his dark eyes narrowed. “So you’re old man Taylor’s son, eh?”
“That’s right.”
“Well now, I’ve heard about you, Yankee lover,” the man sneered. “Heard about the warm welcome your pa gave you after the war, too.”
Wondering what he meant, Jessie felt the muscles in David’s arm grow rigid against her shoulder. “Get out of my way,” he said ominously.
Bull-neck laughed. “Sure thing, Yankee. Let him pass, Brodie.”
Both men turned their steeds out of the road, and David shook the reins, urging the pair of harness horses forward.
“Wish I could see your pa’s face when he sets eyes on you, Mister Taylor,” Bull-neck shouted after them.
