“Is it alright?” he asked finally as he finished his helping. Jessica looked up, startled, and Willy realized she’d forgotten he was there.
“Yes, thank you,” she said quickly, and she looked embarrassed. “It’s fantastic. Did your father teach you to cook, too?”
“Yes, Willy said. “He taught me almost everything useful I know, including how to help people.” He set down his fork. “How can I help you, Jessica? It seems like you don’t have much with you.”
She sighed, and her shoulders slumped forward. Willy thought she was going to spill her thoughts; then she picked her fork up again and pulled more potatoes from the dish. “How about some ale?” she said conversationally. “I’m very thirsty.”
Willy watched her begin to eat again, the tension back between them again. “I think I have some,” he said as he stood. “Let me head back downstairs to find out.”
Downstairs, he cursed his inability to be rude—as far as he could tell, the rudest he could be was refusing to say thank you during a transaction. Why can’t you just make her tell you? he demanded internally. Things would go much faster if you could just be forceful.
But he remembered living in fear at the orphanage—of the bigger boys, of the teacher, of the groundskeeper with the wooden leg. He hated fear, loathed the way it clouded thought and colored judgement and led you down paths you would never normally take, because sometimes those paths were dark and dangerous. As a child, he wasn’t scrawny, but Willy hated inflicting fear on other people, especially because they never looked at him the same afterward—and he learned early that it was rarely respect reflected in their gazes. He couldn’t deal with seeing that look from Jessica, whose path had brought her to him for a reason; he could tell by the way they reacted to one another that she wasn’t just meant to tear a hole through him on her way by.
She was sitting back in her chair when he came up with two glasses and a large flagon filled with ale. He poured the dark liquid into the glasses and slid one to her; Jessica drained hers in one swallow, and he wasn’t surprised to see her hands shaking a little less as she poured herself a second glass.
“Thank you,” she said after a moment. She looked at him straight on for the first time, and Willy felt the odd intensity of her gaze as it slid over his square jaw, messy shock of brown hair, and dark chest hair peeking through the top of his shirt. She smiled, and it was the first easy expression she’d made in the hour since they’d met. It made his skin tingle as though a feather was stroking his spine, and he tried to return the smile, hoping he didn’t look as goofy as he felt.
“How long have you lived here again?” Jessica asked, taking another sip of her ale.
What’s wrong? Willy wanted to shout; how can you be so calm when you’re clearly in trouble? Instead, he took a breath and met her gaze. “Twenty years this spring. Feels a lot shorter and a lot longer at the same time.”
Jessica cocked her head. “How’s that?”
Willy chuckled. “Well, a lot of people come to me for advice, so I’m kind of like an unofficial head doctor. I know a lot of things, anyhow, so it feels like I’ve been here much longer; most people aren’t open like this with people for a few years, and I seem to make people want to open right up.” He stopped in case it seemed like he was pressing, but Jessica smiled and nodded.
“I can see why,” she said. “I feel like you’re…naturally caring. I can see that in you.” Her eyes pierced his, and he could almost feel the weight of the unspoken words behind him. Horses galloped by pulling what sounded like a large carriage, and he wondered if she was hiding from the law. Am I hiding a fugitive? Is that why she didn’t want to write?
But nothing about her felt seedy or off—just uncomfortably contained. “Thank you,” Willy said. “That means a lot.”
Jessica laughed, and her whole body moved this time; Willy wondered if it was because of the ale. “Why would you care what I thought? You don’t know me from Adam.”
Willy took a long drink of his ale, and the pause seemed to unnerve her, because her expression fluctuated between anxiety and annoyance until he spoke again. “I help people,” he said simply. “It’s what I do. I’m naturally caring, just as you said. So, of course I’m going to care what you think.”
He spoke lightly enough, but the words seem to hit her like a blow. Jessica straightened in her chair, and her huge gray eyes grew dewy.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Here I am, wearing your clothes and eating your food…being rude to you under your own roof. Your father’s roof.” She shook her head in dismay, and Willy fought the urge to sweep her into his arms. Who are you? Why do I feel so drawn to you?
“I am in trouble,” she said at last. “I guess you knew that from the letter. I’m used to being trouble, but now I need help, and I can’t get that where I am.”
Willy nodded, his heart racing again as he listened to her words, not daring to even move in case he distracted her from her story.
“It happened last year.” Jessica shifted in her seat and averted her eyes. “My mother arranged a marriage for me after I got thrown out of nursing academy for slapping a teacher.”
“Slapping a teacher?” Willy echoed in disbelief. Jessica smiled ruefully.
“Slapping a teacher,” she repeated, “For not being able to keep his hands to himself. The school made it clear that because I was there on scholarship, I wasn’t to make a fuss. But when he kept doing it, I kept fighting back, I wasn’t going to let him scare all of us girls into submission.”
Willy raised his eyes at the sudden hard edge in her voice and caught a glimmer of ferocity in her gray eyes. “You stood up for other girls who were…handled?”
“Wouldn’t you?” Jessica shot back.
“Of course,” Willy said, “but—don’t take offense—I’m a little bigger than you, so taking a guy on isn’t such a raw deal for me.”
Jessica laughed. “I’m scrappier than I look,” she promised, and Willy believed her. “Anyway, they tossed me out after I slapped him the second time, and my mother wouldn’t let me use the money she promised me for my wedding on a new school instead. She arranged a marriage for me, and I backed out at the last second.”
Her story was starting to feel familiar, and Willy wondered if this one was going to end in a surprise lover, as well; if it did, he was out of the picture, and he could forget about seeing her after he helped her out of this mess.
“She was furious,” Jessica continued, “But she set up another marriage. She told me she would forgive me if I at least met this one, swearing that I’d fall in love if I laid eyes on him the first time. She was wrong, but I married him anyway…and he died.”
Willy choked on his ale mid-swallow. “What? You’re a widow?”
“Technically,” Jessica said, and her tone was miserable; she slumped back in her chair again, silvery eyes trembling with emotion. “We never consummated the marriage. I didn’t love him, so I didn’t plan on marrying him at all. But he was so warm, and he promised me I wouldn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to do…I never found out if he was telling the truth. He had a heart attack right after the ceremony.”
She stared at her empty glass for a moment, then picked up the flagon and emptied the dark liquid into her cup. Willy was too stunned to make a noise, so he just sat and watched her drink while his shock drained away, leaving confusion and panic in its wake. How long ago was the wedding? Did she see the man die? Why was she here now? Why was she looking for yet another husband after being so sure she wasn’t ready before? He wanted to ask her all these questions and a host of others, but he knew from experience that pushing her wouldn’t help at all. Everyone he ever met learned to expect something from him, and if he didn’t play his part, the lines wouldn’t unfold the way he wanted them do. All the world’s a stage, he thought wearily.
“My husband’s family immediately accused me of foul play,” Jessica continued. “I knew he was well-off, but he wasn’t excessively so; I made the mistake of
telling them as much, and they took my knowledge of his fortune as a confession. They told their sheriff, and he told me they could hold me at the jail until I died if I didn’t turn myself in. The whole town was bent on pinning me for some reason, and I knew it wasn’t because they loved my dead husband. Something was up, but I couldn’t stick around to find out what. I had to run.”
“Run?” Willy burst out, and he cringed—but luckily, she took no notice.
“I left and went as far as I could, and I ended up in Canada. I stayed there for six months, then came back to check on things. They had presumed me dead, but my face was still everywhere, so I moved around a lot. Then I found out they were looking for me in Canada, and I started to run again. I’m afraid they’re gonna find me.” Her eyes were brimming with tears, and she held back a gasp.
Willy felt dread swell up in his veins, sending his heart rate skyrocketing momentarily. He pressed his work roughened hands to his eyes, trying to make sense of what Jessica was telling him. She was a fugitive being accused of killing her ex-husband, with whom she hadn’t consummated their marriage, and now she was on the run from authorities who likely didn’t know she was back in the states.
“So, you’re a felon,” Willy said blankly. This was worse than he imagined; he knew something was likely to go wrong, but hadn’t dreamed it could be this bad. Fear lanced his heart, and he met her eyes suddenly—he was alone with her in a house full of knives!
“No,” Jessica said heatedly. “I’m not. I didn’t do anything either, so don’t give me that look, I’m not going to murder you. This is a setup.”
“Why would anyone want to set you up?” Willy asked, leaning away from her in his chair.
“Because then they don’t have to pay me the money I’m owed,” Jessica explained as though it should have been obvious. “If they think they can get away with driving me out, they have another thing coming.”
Willy shook his head. “Okay, so what do you expect to do, Jessica? Just go after them with no proof and no weapons?”
“No,” she said haughtily. “I mean, I was going to do that, but now that I know you have so many connections—”
“What, you think I’m going to give you guns or an army?” Willy cut in, anger seeping into his voice. “I’m sorry, but that’s not going to happen. Even if I had the ability, I wouldn’t send you marching to your death.”
“What do you mean? You got a better idea?”
“The sheriff of that town is already after you, Jessica,” Willy shot back, and Jessica flinched. “Any idea would be a better idea. Just give me a minute.”
“I need help now,” she reminded him.
“I’m giving you help now,” Willy said angrily. “Just not to do what you want. Why don’t you sit quiet for a minute?”
“While you talk to yourself?”
Willy stood up abruptly, nearly sending his beer glass to the floor. “I think I’m going to make up your room for you,” he said casually, forcing his anger back down into himself. “Why don’t you stay here, and then I’ll show you the room.”
“I’m not—”
But he was already moving past her and into the smaller second room to pull sheets and pillows from the closet to make the room habitable. He could hear her sputtering, but now that she was out of ear shot, it didn’t raise his blood pressure at all. A voice inside was starting to raise its voice and speak to him, and he didn’t like what it was saying.
She’s lying, the voice said. That’s why she’s so bent on getting the specific kind of help she wants. What do you think she’ll do if you don’t give it to her?
“Stop,” he muttered aloud. “You’re being ridiculous.”
But was he? He recalled her face, and a tidal wave of emotion passed over him; she was beautiful, ethereal, impressive—but was she being honest? Her lovely eyes were expressive, but was their expression deceptive? He couldn’t tell from his memory, and it occurred to him that he couldn’t tell when he was right in front of her, either. What’s wrong with you? the voice in his head asked. Losing your knack?
He remembered Lila, and how each of her nerves seemed to shine through in her every word and movement—as did her similarities to her troubled son. Everyone else he had helped that day left happy, joyous in some cases, even, and the same could be said for the weeks before. No, he wasn’t losing his knack; so why couldn’t he tell if this woman was telling him the truth?
Because you don’t know her, the voice in his head answered. His heart wrenched in his chest, and he knew immediately it was the truth, but the same could be said about any new customer that moved into town, and he had no problem reading them. They’re all versions of the same person, the voice continued. You’ve met them before, seen them before in this life. Jessica is different; you can see it in every part of her, down to the letters in her words.
Willy stood in the middle of the room after he finished making it up, trying to decide what to do. Could he really turn her away? He couldn’t read her, so how could he know whether he could trust her around so many weapons? And how did he know she would go along with his plan in the first place?
You don’t, he reminded himself. But fortune favors the bold. Hasn’t it always?
He heard the words in his adoptive father’s voice, gruff and solid, like he was standing right behind him. Willy made his choice and left the room, hoping it was the right one.
****
He sat her on the short couch in the middle of the room with a steaming mug of cocoa for each of them. She was considerably calmer and, thankfully, seemed to have abandoned the idea of storming into her former city with an army of vengeful foot soldiers. She was no less antsy, though, and kept crossing and uncrossing her legs under her, waiting for Willy to speak. When he did, she jumped, as though she hadn’t been expecting him to start at all.
“I have another idea,” he said slowly. “And I want you to promise to answer some questions before I tell you what it is.”
Anger flared in her gray eyes. “Why? Haven’t you heard enough?”
“Not really,” he said patiently. “I’d like to know a little more about you before I agree to what I’m about to propose. You’re in danger, and my priority is keeping you out of it.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because you chose me,” Willy said simply, and the color faded from Jessica’s cheeks. “On some level, you knew I would be the best of help when you responded to my letter with yours. You knew what you were asking; I think you even knew what I would propose. You’re smart, and I doubt you haven’t thought this through.”
She was gazing at him and silently fuming, and he could see now that he was right. He took a sip of his cocoa. “I’m going to propose we change your name, even though I suspect you haven’t given me your real one, anyway.”
Jessica let out a startled laugh. “How did you know?”
Willy shrugged. “If you wouldn’t tell me what was going on in a letter, why would you tell me your real name? If someone was watching you, you were going to be careful.”
She looked pleased, and her gaze pierced him again—it sent a shiver down his spine, but it wasn’t unpleasant. “Jessica is my middle name, but I’d like to keep it as my first. In case someone comes looking for me.”
Willy nodded. “It makes sense. We can get it officially changed to Jessica immediately; we don’t want you on the record under your real name for later.”
Jessica cocked her head. “Later?”
“When we get married, your old name will go on the certificate.”
“Now hold on,” Jessica said angrily. “Who said anything about marriage? What gave you the right to assume I wanted to marry you after all this? Didn’t you listen to a word of my story? I’m wanted! I can’t stay in the same place, and I can’t get married.”
“Actually, it’s likely going to be your only choice,” he said viciously. “If they’re following your trail, they’re going to follow it back to the states. I’ve run away before, I kn
ow how important it is to cover your tracks.”
“You’ve run away before?” Jessica asked. Willy paused, his heart racing; in all his years living in Davinia, he’d never mentioned that part of his past to anyone.
“Um…” Willy looked around, trying to find a way to back pedal, but Jessica wasn’t letting it go.
“You tried to run from somewhere?” Jessica repeated. “Where?”
“That’s not important,” Willy said. “We need to talk about—”
“We’ll talk about this,” she cut in, and her beauty was suddenly sharp and terrifying as she drew herself up to her full height to look him in the eye. “Where did you run away from?” When he didn’t answer, she poked him in the chest. “So, you get to know all of my secrets, but I don’t get to know any of yours? If that’s how it is, I’m leaving. Thanks for the tip.”
She spun around, and Willy flung his arms out to stop her before she could get further than a step away. He pulled her to him, trying to keep her still within his arms, and she stomped on his foot with one of hers. He grunted but didn’t let go, trying to keep her from twisting away from his grasp, and suddenly her eyes were inches away from his. He stopped, aware of the static charge between their bodies and the pounding of her heart against his. He could count the freckles on her nose, and he’d started on the ones on her cheek when her lips started to move toward his.
It was like a summer rain, warming and refreshing at the same time; her lips were softer than they looked, which seemed impossible given their impeccable appearance. She tasted like mint and something else—something strong and dark, like coffee or gunpowder. When she pulled back from him, her eyes were sparkling in awe, and he could tell she felt the electric current passing between them, too.
“I was going to try to run again, and distract you with a kiss,” she whispered. “But…wow.”
Annie: A Bride For The Farmhand - A Clean Historical Western Romance (Stewart House Brides Book 3) Page 52
