by Lyn Horner
David planted his hands on his hips. “Why should I? I was with her, though not the way you mean. And if you hadn’t gone on a stampede, I might’ve explained what happened.”
“Ha! Ye mean ye’d make up another lie!” Tossing her head, she copied his defiant stance.
“I never lied to you!”
“Oh, aye? Ye didn’t mention a word to me about your troubles with your father. D’ye call that speakin’ the truth? And what about sayin’ ye had some mysterious business to attend to when ye were really off lookin’ for that skinny tramp? After all that, d’ye think I’ll believe anything ye say?” She shook her head vehemently.
David ground his teeth, then wearily expelled his breath. “No, I don’t suppose you will. And at this point I don’t care.” Striding over to the wardrobe, he pulled out several changes of clothes and piled them on the bed, ignoring Jessie.
“What are ye doin’?” she asked as he crossed to the washstand. Her voice had lost some of its fury.
“What does it look like?” he snapped, grabbing his hairbrush, shaving mug and razor. He refused to look at her when he retrieved his pile of clothes, but from the corner of his eye, he caught the way she wrung her hands.
Squashing the temptation to relent, to drag her into his arms and kiss away her anger as well as his own, he strode to the door. Opening it, he stopped to glance back at her. She stood rigid and white-faced, hands locked together. Her huge blue eyes glistened as if with tears, but her mouth was set in an unyielding line.
“The fall cattle roundup’s about to start. I’ll be leaving in the morning to help with it. I’m sure you won’t miss me.”
Jessie’s mouth opened in shock. Before she could recover and start calling him names again, he closed the door on her.
He found his father sitting in his usual chair in the parlor, bad leg propped on the footrest. He looked up when David entered the room toting his clothes. “Bunking down with the men tonight?” he asked, frowning.
David shrugged and tucked the bundle under his arm. “Seems best. I’ll ride out at dawn to start organizing the roundup.”
“You didn’t eat. Want Anna to fix you a plate?”
“No need. I’ll grab something from the cookhouse.”
Pa shrugged, then nodded casually at the liquor cabinet. “Have a drink if you want.”
Leery of all this sudden concern for his welfare, David shook his head. “I’ll pass. But I need to let you know about something.”
“What’s that?”
David took a seat on the sofa. “You know I called on the Crawfords and some others, nosing around for clues about the rustlers and where they might be hiding out.”
“Yeah, and?”
“And there’s a lot of suspicion about Wes Foster and his cronies,” David said, not adding that a couple of people had hinted Reece Taylor himself might be involved, since the suspected thieves worked for him. “I also heard those four boys went on a gambling spree in town a while back. Seems they spent more than what you pay them.”
The furrows around Pa’s mouth deepened. “Damn. I knew what Del Crawford and some other folks have been saying, but I didn’t know those hombres were throwing money around.” He distractedly tapped his cane on the worn rug underfoot. “Even so, they’ve done the job I hired them to do, and I won’t accuse a man of rustling and murder without hard proof.”
“I can understand that,” David said, relieved to know his father would at least listen. “The roundup should give me a chance to scout the country better. Maybe I’ll find you that proof.”
“You do, and I’ll see every last one of them hung. Meanwhile, watch your step around Foster. He’s got a mean streak, more than I bargained for, and Jessie mentioned you already had one run-in with him. He’s not apt to forget it. And if he and his pals are the cow thieves, none of them would be above putting a bullet in a man’s back to shut him up.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” David replied, still finding it hard to believe his father cared whether he lived or died. He rose and started to leave, then paused. Clearing his throat, he said, “Jessie’s temper sometimes gets her into trouble. If Foster comes around while I’m gone, or if, uh, Lil shows up again –”
“Lil shouldn’t be a problem. Del will want her to help with the roundup. They won’t like working with you, but Del’s not about to trust you to sort out his cattle, so they’ll be there. As for Foster, he won’t get near Jessie. You have my word on that.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Giving his father a final nod, David left.
* * *
Uncertainty battered Jessie as she mechanically prepared for bed. She’d stood staring at the closed door for what seemed like hours, part of her wanting to run after David and beg him not to leave her like this, with anger between them. But the memory of Lil Crawford’s sneering image had held her rooted in furious silence. That and her injured pride, she admitted.
Had David truly betrayed her with the gun-toting woman? He’d denied being with her in that way, but Jessie hadn’t believed him. Was she wrong? Had she just destroyed all hope of ever finding happiness with him? In her rage, had she sent him straight into Lil Crawford’s arms?
No! She mustn’t think that way. She wasn’t the one at fault. He was the one who’d kept his former sweetheart a secret and then rushed off to see her as soon as he got the chance. Although why he’d want an Amazon like her was beyond Jessie’s comprehension.
“Witch, I may be, but at least I don’t strut around in men’s britches!” she huffed, extinguishing the lamp. “Run to her if ye wish, David Taylor, since your sacred vows mean so little to ye. You’re right. I won’t miss ye.”
Even as she muttered the words, she knew they were a lie. Then she realized he hadn’t said how long he would be gone, and her throat tightened with anguish as she climbed into the big, empty bed. Sweet Mary, how she wished he was there with her!
Out in the bunkhouse, David wished the same thing as he lay on his narrow bed, surrounded by the stink of sweaty, unwashed men. The long room had several windows and they were all wide open, but with so many bodies in a confined space, it wasn’t pleasant. He’d slept in plenty such places during his army days, some a lot worse, but he’d gotten used to better of late – and to a whole lot sweeter smelling companion.
Rolling onto his side, he turned his back to Sul and three other hands who were gathered around a table playing poker. He felt their curious stares drill into him and heard Wes Foster snicker from a corner of the room where he and his three pals were gathered. Laughing at him, David guessed. Gritting his teeth, he shut them all out and pictured Jessie alone in bed and imagined what they could be doing right now if only . . . .
Hell, he should have told her about Lil Crawford before, he supposed. But he’d been too caught up with Jessie herself and with the prospect of facing his father to think about the girl who’d once been like a little sister to him. That was all Lil had ever been to him, no matter what she and her folks had believed back then. And now . . . now there was Jessie.
Lil had certainly changed, though. She wasn’t the gangly thirteen-year-old he remembered. He’d barely recognized her this afternoon, when she’d caught up with him in the rocky arroyo he was investigating. The enclosed canyon at the head of the dry streambed had seemed like a perfect holding pen for stolen stock, but he hadn’t found a single steer.
Unfortunately, Lil had tracked him down as easily as any of her ma’s Cherokee ancestors might have done. Except she’d been too mad to be quiet about it. He’d heard her coming and had ducked behind some rocks, thinking it might be one of the outlaws on his back-trail. Too bad he’d shown himself when he saw her, but how was he to know she’d come flying off her horse at him like a snarling panther? He’d had no time to set himself and they’d both hit the ground hard.
David rubbed his tender jaw, where Lil had landed a solid right. No ladylike slaps from her! Before he’d gotten her under control, she’d left him with the accumulation of dirt a
nd scratches that had triggered Jessie’s outburst, calling him every name in the book, besides. However, that didn’t excuse him for cussing at her or for saying he never would have married a skinny tomboy who didn’t know what it meant to be a woman.
Christ! How could I say that to her?
Recalling how pale and still Lil had become, he damned himself. She might be slim and she might wear pants, but she was a woman, and he should’ve found a kinder way to make her face facts. Maybe then she wouldn’t have ridden away with that pinched, wounded look on her face.
If Jessie hadn’t riled him with her jealous accusations tonight, he would have explained the situation. Damn that temper of hers! Right now he almost wished he had stuck to his decision that day in Omaha and never gotten mixed up with her. Almost, but not quite, he admitted, again picturing her in their bed and wishing more than ever that he was there holding her, tasting her lips and making love to her.
Dammit! Stop torturing yourself and go to sleep. You’ve got a roundup to head up tomorrow and you can’t be dead on your feet. Regardless of that, it was a long time before he took his own advice.
* * *
Seated upon one of the rawhide-bottomed chairs Reece kept on the front porch, Jessie rested from her afternoon labors. She sipped her coffee and made a face at the bitter flavor. Anna brewed it strong to suit the men. It required getting used to.
Her gaze wandered over the landscape, taking in the russet tones of October and the gray sky above. Temperatures had dropped during the two weeks David had been away, but most days were still quite warm. Today was an exception. A chilly north wind whipped her skirts and made her grateful for her heavy wool shawl. On her head she wore a floppy brown hat, an old one of Anna’s, and she had plaited her hair into a single braid down her back to accommodate the hat. Although it was practical, she hated to copy Lil Crawford’s example. She hated to even think of the woman, but every time she thought of David, she imagined him with her.
Jessie had learned, thanks to an angry visit Lil’s father had paid Reece, that the roundup was a joint effort among several local ranches, including the Crawfords’ Double C Ranch. Unable to avoid listening, Jessie had heard Del Crawford shout that he would not work with a “damned traitor,” meaning David. Reece had shouted right back at him, saying he would appoint anyone he pleased as his roundup foreman, and Del would just have to live with it.
The news that Reece had chosen David for such an important job, which Jessie had not known until that moment, had gladdened her heart – until she’d heard Del Crawford threaten to skin David alive if he went near Lil. His furious words had awakened Jessie to the fact that her husband would be in close contact with his former sweetheart throughout the roundup because the infernal woman worked right alongside her father’s men. The knowledge had infuriated her all over again and had eaten away at her ever since.
In truth, her emotions had seesawed back and forth since the night David left. One moment she was furious at him for not being honest and for possibly betraying her; the next she was disgusted with herself for not abiding by her intention to ask him calmly about Lil Crawford. And always there was the pain of knowing she might have lost him forever. She’d given in to tears more times than she could count, alone in the night, praying David would come back to her.
Left with time on her hands once the major house cleaning was completed, she had begged Anna to let her help in the cookhouse – located in a far corner of the courtyard, where the cooking fires wouldn’t heat up the house. Not that there was that much cooking to do for only Reece, themselves, Sul and the one other ranch hand – a squat, bowlegged fellow named Shorty – who had been left to tend the homestead.
David and the others ate their meals wherever they camped while they ranged the brushy hills after late calves and mavericks – wild, unclaimed cattle, Reece had explained. These animals would be branded and turned loose to forage over winter on the unfenced prairie. In early spring, there would be another roundup, and those cattle ready for market would be driven north to Kansas over the Chisholm Trail. If she and David were still here, would he go on the drive? Would Lil Crawford?
Gazing blankly into space while her mind roamed in unhappy circles, Jessie jumped at the sound of a loud cough. She turned her head and saw her father-in-law standing just outside the door. “Reece! I didn’t know ye were there.”
“Of course not. You were off in another one of your brown dazes,” he said, limping toward her as he buttoned his plaid mackinaw.
“A what?”
“A brown daze. And don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean, young lady.” He lowered himself into the chair next to hers, stretching out his stiff leg and laying aside his cane.
“But I don’t know what ye mean,” she said, starting to rise.
“Stay here,” he ordered sharply. “I’ve got things to say to you.”
Dropping back into her chair, she stared at him in astonishment. He’d never before barked at her like that.
“You think David’s with Lil Crawford and you’re afraid he won’t come back to you,” he said, gray eyes pinning her.
“No! That’s not so!” she denied, lying to herself as well as him. “He’ll be back soon, I’m sure. Ye said the roundup’s nearly over.”
“It is. But he’s not coming straight back. He sent word with Sul that he’s going to do some extra scouting around.”
Jessie knitted her brows. “Scouting? For what?”
“We’ve had trouble with rustlers around here for some time. He’s been hunting for signs of them ever since the two of you got here.”
“Oh!” Why hadn’t David told her? “That sounds dangerous.”
“He can take care of himself,” Reece said, seeming completely unconcerned. “But getting back to Lil, I told you once not to worry about her. It’s you he loves.”
Pain darted through her. “No, he . . . he doesn’t love me.”
Frowning, Reece stared at her hands, wrapped around her coffee cup. “I remember another woman who didn’t believe her husband loved her because he was too big a fool to tell her. Her name was Gabrielle. That ring you wear belonged to her.”
Jessie looked at the gold circlet. She knew nothing of David’s mother beyond the fact that she’d died many years ago. He’d never even spoken her name.
Reece’s gaze drifted down the valley. “She was just a girl, barely seventeen, when I met her. I was fifteen years older than her. Should have stayed away from her, but I couldn’t.
“That was back in December of ’43. I’d been doing some freighting here in Texas with this other fella. We packed up when cold weather moved in, and I decided to winter in New Orleans. Had me a time for a while, drinking and blowing off steam. When I finally got tired of that, I started to explore the city.
“One day I wandered by this marketplace in the French Quarter. Bought me a praline and I’d just taken a bite when I saw her. She had dark, shiny curls, green eyes and a face like an angel. And she was looking back at me just as bold as you please.” He chuckled. “Made me turn red, what with my mouth being full of praline. She smiled at me and giggled to this servant of hers, and right then and there I was in love.”
He fell silent, smiling wistfully as he relived the moment.
“What happened then?” Jessie asked curiously.
He snorted. “I choked on that damned praline, that’s what. And by the time I finished coughing and making a fool of myself, she was gone. I looked all over that marketplace but couldn’t find her. I went back the next day, though, and the next and the next until she finally came back. And I didn’t let her get away again.
“After that, we saw each other almost every day. We’d meet at the market and she’d spend a couple hours showing me around the city. Her serving girl stayed behind to do the shopping and make excuses if anybody turned up looking for her. We had to be careful because Gabbie came from a wealthy Creole family, and her pa wanted no truck with any lowbred Americans. Unless there was profit in it,”
he added sourly. “He sure didn’t want his daughter keeping company with one.
“Well, pretty soon Gabbie’s mother got suspicious about her going to the market so often. She had her followed, and when she found out what was going on she went to her husband. They were waiting for Gabbie when she got home.” Here, Reece’s voice turned hard. “Her father accused her of whoring and beat her with his cane until she was half senseless while her mother watched.”
“Oh, no!” Jessie gasped, horrified.
“Then they locked her in her room. Meant to keep her there until I left town. But they didn’t know how determined she was. Didn’t know me, either. By then I’d made up my mind to marry her and I would’ve stormed the gates of hell to have her. Gabbie felt the same about me, I guess. Back then, anyway.
“Her room was on the second floor. How she climbed out her window and made it down in the shape she was in, I’ll never know. By the time she reached my hotel she could hardly stand.” Reece scowled at the memory. “When I saw what her Pa had done to her, I wanted to kill him. Probably would have if she hadn’t begged me not to. Said she couldn’t live with herself or me if I did. All she wanted was for me to take her away to Texas. So I did. If I’d known how it would end, maybe I wouldn’t have. I dunno.”
When he paused again, Jessie implored, “Tell me the rest, please. I . . . I need to know.”
He looked at her as if he’d forgotten she was there, then gazed into the distance once more. “We were married by the ship’s captain on our way to Galveston. Gabbie said it was more romantic than having some stuffy old priest say the words. She thought Texas would be romantic, too, like some grand adventure. By the time she knew different, it was too late to change her mind and go home. She was already carrying David that spring, when I set out to do some more freighting.
“That’s when we had our first real argument. Gabbie didn’t want me to go, but I had to. Had to earn the money to take care of her. So I left her, mad and not speaking to me, with some friends in Galveston, while I headed up the Brazos with my partner. George Barnard was fixing to open a trading house for the Torrey Brothers over on Tehuacana Creek, near the Waco Indian village, where Waco stands now. We helped haul in goods for him.
