Chasing the Sun

by Kaki Warner

  But three days. That hardly seemed any time at all.

  And now, with supper over and the house quiet, the hollow echoes of her footfalls as she moved down the hall seemed to Daisy like a bleak foreshadowing of the lonely days to come. She would miss this family. She would miss the chaos, the banter and teasing, the laughter and energy. It had been nice feeling like part of a family again and having women around her she could talk to and trust.

  And then there was Jack. All those wonderful hours with Jack.

  She would miss those most of all.

  As she passed Jack’s door, she heard movement within, and paused to listen. Was he up? He should be sleeping. Seeing that the door was ajar, she gently pushed it open.

  Molly was bent beside the bed, smoothing sticking plaster over a thick bandage on Jack’s leg. He appeared to be asleep, although he flinched when Molly pressed against the bandage, and Daisy could see small restless movements in his hands and legs.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked from the doorway.

  Molly looked over with a reassuring smile. “I’m just checking his bandage. He’s doing well.”

  “Anything I can do?”

  Molly straightened, studied her patient for a moment, then nodded. “You can sit with him while I get the laudanum and some food. He’s starting to wake up, and I’m afraid he may try to get out of bed. I hate giving him so much opiate, but if we can keep him down for another day and night, he’ll heal much faster.”

  “Of course.” Stepping aside as Molly left the room, Daisy studied Jack’s long form. It was odd seeing him so still. Usually his energy and vitality seemed to fill the air around him. She remembered how restive he had always been even when he was drunk or asleep, as if his mind had begrudged even those few hours of inactivity.

  Sinking into the chair beside the bed, she took his big hand in hers. It was scratched, the knuckles scraped and bruised. Now that he was clean, she could see his poor face had fared no better. What must he have suffered? Tears burned in her eyes when she thought of how close she had come to losing him. The world wouldn’t have been the same without Jack Wilkins wandering through it, so full of life and laughter and boyish dreams.

  She wouldn’t have been the same.

  “You wretch,” she whispered, smiling as she wiped away a tear with her fingertips. “You’ve made me love you again, haven’t you?”

  The restless movements accelerated. He sighed. His dark lashes fluttered, and beneath his closed lids his eyes jerked and darted.

  Daisy watched, entranced. She could almost feel awareness flow through him, as if a beautiful statue were slowly coming to life.

  He took another deep breath, frowned, then opened his eyes.

  Daisy waited for that smoky gaze to find her. When it did, she smiled. “Hello.”

  He blinked groggily, then his brow cleared and he smiled back. “Daisy,” he said in a rusty voice. “You’re all right.”

  “Thanks to you, I am.”

  He tried to roll over, then winced and looked down at his leg. “Am I?”

  “You are. Bruised and battered is all. Nothing cracked or broken. Molly stitched your leg and wants you to stay off of it for another day or so, then you should be up to your old shenanigans.”

  “Shenanigans?” That crooked smile. “You mean courting?”

  Brady was right to call him One-Track-Jack. The man could be half-dead and still try to flirt.

  “What’s that smell?” He looked clean, so she knew it wasn’t him.

  “Stinky. Behind you.”

  Daisy turned to see a huge form in a shadowed corner. She reared back in disbelief. “Is that a buffalo?”

  “It is. And don’t ask.”

  Before she could, Molly returned, carrying a tray loaded with thin-sliced roast beef, cheese, bread, a cup of applesauce, a pitcher of water, and a brown medicine bottle of laudanum.

  After helping him sit up, Molly and Daisy watched in amazement as he drank three big cups of water, then gobbled down everything on the tray but the laudanum. When Molly tried to administer it, he shook his head.

  “It makes me feel strange,” he complained, pushing aside the brown bottle.

  Molly pushed it back. “One more day. That’s all.”

  He looked to Daisy for help.

  “Just one more,” she seconded.

  With a great deal of shuddering and gagging, he took his dose. “I suppose now you’ll want to carry me into the water closet and help me relieve myself too,” he said petulantly as he tossed the empty spoon onto the bedside table.

  “It’s been my fondest dream,” Molly said sweetly.

  He shot Daisy a crafty look. “I’d rather she do it.”

  Instead, both women helped him into the water closet, and once they had him balanced before the stool, they promptly deserted him with instructions to call when he was ready to come back into the bedroom.

  By the time he was back in bed, his face was pale and it was apparent the opiate was starting to take effect. Satisfied, Molly scooped up the tray and headed toward the door, saying she would be back in the morning.

  When Daisy started to follow her out, Jack grabbed her hand. “Stay,” he said sleepily. “Just for a while.”

  “A while” lasted no more than five minutes before he was snoring softly and his big body was completely relaxed. Daisy watched him a minute more, then exhaustion overcame her, too, and she left.

  Twenty-one

  EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, JESSICA STOOD AT HER BEDROOM window, watching her husband walk across to the barn. She was still furious with him about the loan he hadn’t seen fit to mention, but she hadn’t yet had the opportunity to confront him about it. He had been so exhausted the night before that by the time she had come into the bedroom after checking on the children, he was already sprawled in the bed, snoring.

  Just as well. She had been weary, too, and what she had to say could wait until they were both rested. But now he had escaped her again, and she was having none of it. Grimly determined, she headed into the hall and down the stairs, primed for battle.

  Bright sunlight assailed her as she stepped outside. It was a beautiful crisp, cool morning, and even though a sharp breeze whipped at her skirts as she crossed to the barn, the cloudless sky promised a warm afternoon.

  She caught up to him in the paddocks. He stood alone, arms crossed along the top rail of the fence, his chin resting on his forearm as he studied the gangly Thoroughbred-cross foals cavorting about their mothers. It looked to be a good crop, and he should have been encouraged by the progress of his breeding program, yet his expression seemed more melancholy than pleased.

  But she couldn’t allow herself to be distracted by whatever was bothering him. She had issues of her own.

  “Brady, I need to talk to you, if I may.”

  Lifting his head, he turned, one elbow still resting on the rail. His welcoming smile didn’t entirely mask a hint of sadness in his vivid eyes. “What’s got you out so early? When I left, you were snoring like a buffalo.”

  She raised her brows.

  “A really small buffalo,” he amended.

  “I do not snore,” she said, lifting her chin. “And don’t change the subject.”

  “What subject?”

  “Stanley Ashford came out to the ranch yesterday.”

  All humor left his face. He came away from the fence. “The railroader?”

  “And Mr. Blake.”

  Menace turned his eyes to ice. “Those sonsofbitches. What did they want?”

  “To discuss a loan that’s due in a few days. One you apparently didn’t see fit to mention to me.”

  “It’s not important,” he said, looking away. “Just ranch business.”

  “Indeed?” Anger made her voice vibrate. She took a step closer until the tips of her shoes almost touched the toes of his boots. Planting her fists on her hips, she glared up at him. “Am I not part of ranch business?”

  “I didn’t want to worry you.”

>   “If it’s not important, why would I worry?”

  With a labored sigh, he took off his hat, raked a hand through his hair, and replaced the hat, giving it a tug on the front brim. Hooking his thumbs in his belt, he looked past her, his gaze distant, his lips pressed in a thin line below his dark mustache.

  She knew the look. He was trying to find a way to answer without revealing more than he wanted or shading the truth too much. Brady was so predictable. And so incapable of lying to her. That he would even consider it now only increased her worry.

  “Is this about the loan on the smelter, Brady?” Experience had taught her that the way to get direct answers from her husband was to ask direct questions.

  He sighed again, then nodded.

  She remembered sitting in the big room, sewing pouches to distribute after Christmas on Boxing Day, while Brady and Hank lounged in the chairs by the hearth, discussing the smelter and how they could defray some of the huge cost by selling shares to other mine owners in the area. “I thought that was in partnership.”

  “It was. But Blake was pressuring the other owners to sell, and rather than lose controlling interest to that weasel, we borrowed enough to buy the other owners out.”

  “By putting the ranch up as surety?”

  He made an offhand gesture. “Just a formality.”

  “Why didn’t you come to me, Brady? You know I have money from the coal—”

  “That’s for renovations to the Hall.”

  “Oh, bother the Hall! This is more important and you know it!” For the last four years, ever since she had allowed the mining consortium to mine the coal beneath her land in England, Jessica had funneled her share of the proceeds into an account to maintain Bickersham Hall, which Abigail would inherit one day. But this home was the more important of the two.

  “So you borrowed the money from Stanley Ashford?” She couldn’t imagine Brady going to Ashford for anything, much less money.

  “No. From Lockley, at the bank. Apparently he sold the paper to Blake. I’m not sure how Ashford’s involved, though.”

  Jessica had forgotten about Lockley. She now also recalled how Ashford had taken charge of their meeting while Blake fidgeted in boredom. “I think Blake works for him. Ashford is behind all this.”

  “Why? What would any of this matter to him?”

  A frisson of fear moved through Jessica. She pictured the look on Ashford’s face when he said there was more at stake than just the smelter. And suddenly she realized this wasn’t just business to Stanley Ashford. This was personal. For some reason she didn’t understand, he wanted to hurt them. Hurt her.

  Fear escalated into full-blown panic.

  “He wants the ranch,” she said. “That’s what this is about. He doesn’t care about the smelter. It’s the ranch.” Fear ignited fury. “Brady, you did this! You put the ranch up to secure the loan and now he’s just waiting to take it over!” She wanted to strike him, slap him, shove him into the fence. How could he have put everything—their home—their lives—in such jeopardy?

  Strong hands gripped her upper arms and gave her a gentle shake. “Calm down, Jessica. Calm down. It’s all right. I’ve got it taken care of.”

  She didn’t realize she was crying until she felt the trickle of tears down her cheeks. Angrily, she swiped them away. “How? The loan is due in a few days!”

  “And I’ll pay it when I take the horses in.”

  Hope blossomed, then wavered as his words sank in. “What horses? Take them in where?”

  “To Val Rosa.” He released her arms. That guarded look returned, but not before she glimpsed sadness again in his eyes. “I’m selling the Thoroughbreds to the Army.”

  She blinked in disbelief. “All of them?”

  He nodded.

  Jessica was aghast. She looked past him at the foals in the paddocks. Such beautiful foals. “But what about your breeding program? All the work you’ve put into it? All the—”

  “I’ll start again. You’ve been talking about going back to England to check on the Hall and visit your sister. I’ll just get more breeding stock then.” He finished with a smile that was more sickly than reassuring.

  Another jolt of rage shot through her. “This is my home, Brady. This is where my children were born. Where my daughter is buried. These are my horses too. How could you put all that at risk?”

  He drew back, clearly perplexed by her outburst. “It’s not at risk. I told you I’m paying off the loan.”

  “With what? Your dream? Four years’ work? And what if something happens to the horses?”

  “Nothing’s going to happen.”

  “How do you know?” She was crying again but was too furious to care. “Why didn’t you come to me, Brady? Why couldn’t you, just this once, trust me enough to come to me?”

  He spread his hands in a gesture of frustration. “I didn’t want to worry you. I was trying to protect you.”

  “I don’t need your protection, you big dolt! I need your trust!”

  “I do trust you, Jessica.” He reached out to her again.

  “Don’t!” Taking a step back, she raised her palms in a hands-off gesture, afraid if he touched her when she was this upset, she might act on the anger churning inside. “Don’t you even talk to me. I’m so furious with you right now I could strike you and not feel a bit sorry for it.”

  “Jessica.”

  “Don’t!” Whirling, she fled toward the house, scarcely able to see the ground for the tears clouding her eyes. Even after all they’d been through, all they’d shared, she still hadn’t proven herself worthy enough to have his trust.

  CURSING UNDER HIS BREATH, BRADY WATCHED HIS WIFE slam into the house. He started to go after her, then stopped, not sure what he would say once he caught up with her. Why couldn’t she understand that everything he did, every action and decision he made, centered around her and the family? Why couldn’t she see he was just trying to protect her?

  Women. Hell.

  Scowling, he turned back to the paddock. He couldn’t think about that right now. He had horses to get ready, a brother to take care of, Elena to send off, and this mess with Daisy and Kate to figure out. He didn’t have time right then to worry over his wife’s misguided concerns.

  But now she had him fretting too. The whole goddamn day was ruined.

  Hell.

  It was nearly noon by the time he finished his tally on the horses and gave Langley instructions for moving them to Val Rosa. He’d decided to send them a day early. Because of the foals, they would have to take it slow, and instead of a five-hour trip, it would take a full day. Langley and several men would hold them north of Val Rosa overnight, then take them into town the next afternoon after the deal with the Army was finalized.

  Brady had planned to go with them but now decided against it. He was afraid if he went himself and came face-to-face with Ashford, he might get himself in worse trouble. Maybe even in jail. Besides, he needed to straighten out this thing with Jessica, and Christ knew how long that might take.

  As he headed toward the offices to ready the paperwork for the sale of the horses, Daisy waylaid him in the hall.

  “I need to talk to you,” she said, a look of worry in her eyes.

  Jesus. Just what he needed. Another fretting female. But he smiled gamely and motioned her into his office, wondering if in addition to having his day ruined for a second time, he was about to miss his lunch too.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked once she’d settled into one of the leather chairs and he’d taken his position behind the desk, arms folded on the blotter.

  “Is that a grizzly?” she asked, staring askance at Bob.

  “It is. What do—”

  “Why do you have a grizzly in your office?”

  He curbed his impatience. “Jessica won’t let me keep him anywhere else.” He’d accommodated his wife on that, hadn’t he? Why couldn’t she accommodate him on the horses—or whatever it was she was so upset about? A reasonable question, he thou
ght. And one he happily stored away for their argument later.

  “You wanted to talk to me?” he prompted.

  She finally gave him her attention. He noted she looked only marginally better than she had before they brought Jack home, her face drawn, her eyes puffy. Obviously she’d been crying. Hell.

  Moving his elbows from the desk to the armrests, he sat as far back in the chair as he could in an attempt to distance himself from this latest emotional female. He told himself if she got weepy, he’d leave. He had a low tolerance for crying women, especially today.

  “I can’t stay,” she said.

  Relief soared through him. He bolted to his feet. “Well, all right then. Maybe later, when you feel you can talk to me, you—”

  “No,” she cut in. “I mean I can’t stay at the ranch.”

  Caught and penned. Sighing, he sat back down. “Why not?”

  “I have to go to Rome.”

  He blinked. “Rome. The one in Italy.”

  She nodded and went on to spin a convoluted tale about training with some Italian singer and how it was a wonderful opportunity and maybe her one chance to be on a real stage and she’d been dreaming about it all her life and now that Jack had given her the money she needed, she’d be able to go and take Kate with her. Finally pausing for breath, she gave him a teary smile. “So you see my problem.”

  He didn’t, of course, but knowing his little brother, took a guess. “Jack.”

  “Exactly.” Her lips quivered in a smile. Tears started down her cheeks.

  How did women do that? he wondered, pressing deeper into his chair. Cry and smile and laugh all at the same time? It was confusing. A man never knew if he was in trouble or not. Jessica called them “happy tears,” which made no sense whatsoever.

  But Daisy looked anything but happy.

  He took another guess. “He doesn’t want you to go.”

  She wiped a hand over her blotchy, tear-streaked face. “Worse. He wants me to stay here and marry him.”