by Kaki Warner
“Is this her home?” Daisy asked, following him up the walk.
“No. It’s mine.” He told her that since he was in charge of the mining aspect of Wilkins Cattle and Mining, he had needed a place to stay whenever he was in Redemption, which had been fairly frequently when the mines were flourishing. Now the place was closed up most of the time unless someone from the ranch sent word they’d be needing it.
It was a cozy little house. Three rooms—a kitchen and eating area with a stone fireplace, with a small alcove that held storage items and an unmade cot—a single bedroom dominated by an oversized bed—and adjoining it, a water closet built along the same design as those at the ranch, complete with a big hot water tub and an indoor water stool, Daisy was pleased to note.
But she was a little concerned about the sleeping arrangements. She wondered if Hank intended to stay at the house with her and Kate, and if so, would he take the bedroom, or the alcove off the kitchen?
Anna, in addition to being a welcoming grandmotherly woman, was also an excellent cook, and the supper she set out was a treat—a rich, beefy stew loaded with vegetables, warm black bread straight from the oven, and a tart berry pie. Once she was sure they had everything they needed, Anna loaded supper plates for her and Hans into a basket, then left, promising to check back tomorrow.
Kate did most of the talking over supper, her comments directed to Kitty, who sat beside her. Hank attended his meal with single-minded dedication—the Wilkins brothers certainly took their food seriously—while Daisy ate and worried and fretted.
She figured Elena was on her way to San Francisco by now, and Jack had returned to the ranch and had probably read her letter. Was he disappointed? Furious that she’d left without saying good-bye? Relieved?
He’d said he loved her. At the time, he probably meant it. But did he love them enough to come after them? Did she want him to? And if he did show up, did she love him enough to put aside her dream and stay with him? Pushing her empty plate away, she sighed, still no surer of her decision to leave than when she had made it hours—no, days—ago.
“I’ll be stepping out for a while,” Hank said, watching her over his coffee mug. “You and Kate take the bedroom. When I come back, I’ll stretch out on the table here.”
She looked at him in surprise. “The table? Not the cot in the alcove?”
“Too short.”
Of course it was, she realized. Most beds or cots were only six feet long, and Hank—in fact, all the brothers—were taller than that. “Then Kate and I will take the alcove. You use your own bed.”
“I’ll be fine.” His tone discouraged argument, even though his eyes smiled.
A few minutes later, he left. Daisy shared a bath with Kate, then rocked her by the unlit fireplace until she drifted to sleep.
As she climbed wearily into bed beside her daughter, Daisy wondered where Jack was, and if he was thinking about her, and if she’d ever stop thinking about him.
Odd, but now that she had chosen music over a life with Jack, she had no desire at all to sing.
Twenty-seven
THE MOON WAS FAST SLIPPING BEHIND THE WESTERN RIDGES when Jack finally rode into Redemption.
He’d come by horseback, as Brady had advised, and had made it through the rough spots before dark. Now the moon was lighting the rest of his way down into the little canyon that had once been Sancho’s hideout, and later was his tomb, and finally after the landslide, became the site of the first Wilkins mine.
The town was all but deserted. A single window glowed in the hotel, and only two horses were tied outside the one saloon that wasn’t boarded over. Following the directions Brady had given him, Jack went straight through town and out the other side.
He’d spent most of the trip going over what he would say to Daisy when he finally caught up to her. He was no longer mad that she had left him without even a good-bye—hadn’t he done near the same thing when he’d sailed off to Australia? Of course, at the time, he’d been drunk and confused.
He wondered what her excuse was.
Not that it mattered. He’d find a way to convince her to stay with him. If he wanted to give his life any meaning, he had to have Daisy and Kate by his side.
Hank’s house was easy to spot because the ranch buckboard was sitting out front. There was an odd, long, canvas-wrapped pole hanging out the back, which was probably the sail for the handcar. Relieved to have his travels over, he reined in the tired horse beside the wagon. As he swung down, careful to put most of his weight on his left leg, a figure rose out of a chair on the darkened porch. He was too big to be anyone but his brother.
“’Bout time,” Hank said, coming down the steps.
“Where’s Daisy and Kate?” Jack asked as he untied the saddlebags from behind the saddle.
“Asleep.” Hank waved him aside. “I’ll tend your horse. If you’re hungry, there’s leftover stew on the stove.”
Jack perked up at that. “You’ll join me?” he asked, almost hoping he wouldn’t. Hank had a formidable appetite.
“I could use a bite. Besides, you’ll want to tell me what happened in town.”
“I will?”
Hank looked at him.
Jack sighed. He’d hoped to avoid long explanations tonight. Slinging the saddlebags over his shoulder, he glanced at the darkened house. “You have a water closet in there? One with a tub?”
Securing the loose strap in the D ring, Hank lifted the saddle from the horse’s back as if it weighed less than a feather. “Through my bedroom. But be quiet. Daisy and Kate are in there.”
Jack whipped his head back toward his brother. “In your bedroom?”
“There’s only the one.” Hank’s teeth showed white in the faint moonlight. “But don’t worry. I managed to keep her from—how did that go?—oh, yeah—from putting her hands all over me.”
Too weary to get into it with this brother, Jack let that pass. “How is she?”
Grabbing a rag from the back of the wagon, Hank began rubbing down the weary horse. “Tired. Confused.”
“Me too.” Jack nodded toward the pole sticking out the back of the wagon. “That the sail for the handcar?”
Hank nodded.
“Think it’ll work?” Jack didn’t relish the thought of pumping uphill for ten miles.
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“You’d prefer to walk?”
Grand. Jack limped on toward the house.
In the kitchen, he paused to light the lamp in the center of the table, then added a couple of sticks of kindling to the stove. When he lifted the lid on the pot simmering on top of it, he was delighted to see there was more stew than even Hank could eat. The smell of it made his stomach rumble, but he replaced the lid, wanting to wash off the dust before he ate.
And he needed to make sure Daisy and Kate were really here.
Saddlebags in hand, he moved toward the door on the far side of the kitchen. He eased it open. When his eyes adjusted, he saw two quilt-covered lumps in the middle of the big four-poster bed. He smiled, recognizing Daisy’s soft exhales and Kate’s snuffle. Knowing they were finally within reach aroused such an onslaught of emotion, for a moment he felt weak and wobbly.
He wanted to shake her. He wanted to hug her. He wanted to climb in beside her, wrap her in his arms, and sleep for a week.
Moving quietly, he went to the side of the bed and looked down at them.
His beautiful ladies.
How could Daisy even think he would let them go off on their own? Or that he would prefer the life of a nomad to a life with them? They were a family. They were meant to be together.
Closing his eyes, he took a deep, calming breath that filled his head with the smell of new wood, burnt kerosene from the doused lamp, Daisy’s soap. And as the scent of her moved through him, all the turmoil inside his mind quieted. He felt balanced again, stronger, less ... scattered. It was as if he’d been missing a vital part of himself for so long he hadn’t even been aware
that he had been without it until he found Daisy again. She was his lifeline, his buoy in the darkness. Being with her was better than flying.
Opening his eyes, he smiled down at her. Then resisting the urge to touch her, he moved on into the water closet, which he was gratified to see held not only a Hank-sized tub, but also a sink and a modern flush stool.
Luckily, the pipes weren’t as noisy here as they were in the water closet at the ranch. Probably because there wasn’t a boiler here, but an elevated metal tank atop a small woodstove. Pipes running through the wall filled the tank with cold water, which was heated by the stove, then more pipes out the bottom of the tank delivered the hot water into the tub or sink. Drainpipes through the floor emptied the wastewater. Hank and his innovations.
Although the fire in the stove was down to glowing coals, the water in the tank was still hot. Jack let it run until it emptied all the heated water, then climbed in, bad leg and all. He settled back with a long sigh.
Before he left, Molly had checked his leg and said the cut was healing well, but insisted he keep the stitches in for another few days. The massive bruising from hip to knee would take a lot longer to go away, which she said was a good thing, because the lingering soreness would keep him from overworking the leg before it was fully healed. The logic of that had escaped Jack, but after his twelve-hour jaunt today, he conceded she might be right. Thankfully, the hot water eased the stiffness a lot.
He soaked until hunger forced him out, then he toweled off, pulled clean clothes from his saddlebags, dressed, and went back to the kitchen.
Hank was already sitting on one of the benches at the table, gobbling stew. Jack was pleased to note that a bottle of Jessica’s fine Scotch whiskey and two mugs sat on the table by the lamp.
They ate in silence until Hank finally pushed back his empty plate. After pouring a healthy dose of whiskey into each mug, he took a deep swallow from his, then looked at Jack’s hand. “Where’d you get the tooth marks?”
Jack glanced at his swollen knuckles. “Brady.”
“Figures. Who won?”
Jack thought it over while he chewed. They’d both cleared some long-standing problems between them and he felt easier about his big brother than he had in a long time. So maybe he won. Or maybe not. “Neither.”
“What set you off this time?”
“The account he opened for me at the bank.” Spearing a bite of potato, Jack studied his second brother. “Why didn’t you tell me about it, Hank? Or use it to pay off the loan?”
“It wasn’t my call. It was yours.” Tossing back the last swallow of whiskey, Hank plunked his mug onto the table. “And if you brought the horses back, you made the right one.”
“Kind of a risk, wasn’t it?” He could have just taken the money and left, although, thinking back on it now, Jack realized that idea had never occurred to him.
His brother smiled.
Did Hank really have that much faith in him? If so, then Jack had been wrong about him too. As he mopped his plate with a slice of black bread, he thought about all the angry years and bottled resentments. No wonder his brothers lost patience with him.
“And this way,” Hank added after a moment, “you made the offer all on your own. You weren’t asked to do it, or pushed into doing it, or told to do it. You just did it.”
“Like you knew I would,” Jack said dryly, a little disturbed that his brothers seemed to know him better than he did.
“Like I knew you would,” Hank agreed, looking smug. “I am the smart brother, after all. Your pretty little wife said so herself.”
Not wanting to trade blows with this brother too, Jack ignored the jab. Pushing back the bench, he rose and carried both their plates to the sink. “Thanks for watching out for them,” he said, anxious for Hank to leave so he could go back to Daisy.
“They’re my family too.” Rising with a yawn, Hank cleared the rest of the table and returned the whiskey bottle to a cupboard. “You leaving tomorrow?”
“I am. But not because of Brady.”
“The singing thing.”
Christ. Did everybody in the territory know about the singing thing but him? Jack glanced over, saw his brother watching him, and shrugged. It didn’t matter who knew. He would end up with Daisy, and that was all that mattered.
Hank stretched, his hands brushing the ceiling. Taking his hat and jacket off the rack of pegs by the door, he said, “There’s a cot in the storage area behind the fireplace, if you’re interested.”
Jack wasn’t. Nor did he care to reveal to his brother that he had no intention of sleeping anywhere but next to Daisy. Now that he’d caught up with them, he wasn’t letting either her or Kate out of his sight until he’d settled this singing thing once and for all. “Where are you staying?”
“There’s still a couple of rooms open at the hotel.” Hank crossed to the door. When he opened it, a cool draft swept in, making the lamp light flutter and bringing with it the smell of wood smoke and the lonely call of a whippoorwill. Jack saw stars hanging above the mountain peaks before his brother stepped into the doorway and his broad form blocked the view. “Come to the depot in the morning. I’ll need your help attaching the sail to the handcar.”
After the door closed behind him, Jack stood in the kitchen for a moment, wondering if he should go into the bedroom. Stupid question, he chided himself. But he’d be careful not to wake Daisy. He was too weary to do anything anyway, and right now, all he wanted was to lie down beside his woman and go to sleep. Words could wait until tomorrow.
THE DIP OF THE MATTRESS BROUGHT DAISY FROM DEEP sleep to drowsy confusion. For a moment she lay still, disoriented and not sure where she was or what had awakened her. Then strong arms reached from behind to pull her back against a hard, warm body.
She came instantly awake. “Jack?”
Her answer was a weary yawn.
She tried to look back over her shoulder to see his face, but he was wrapped around her so tightly she couldn’t turn far enough. The scent she recognized, a lingering hint of Jack’s spicy soap, overlaid with the smell of beef stew and whiskey.
He’d come after her. He had actually come after her.
She smiled into the darkness.
Warm breath fanned her nape as he yawned again. Then in a voice roughened by exhaustion, he said, “You’re not leaving me, Daisy.”
A heartbeat later, he began to snore.
Warmth flowed through her, bringing with it such a swell of contentment tears stung her eyes.
He had come after her.
He had read her letter, and knew what she felt she had to do, and he had still come after her. Did that mean he intended to give up his wandering life and stay with her and Kate?
Cocooned in his warmth, she watched the stars move past the window, growing brighter as the moon slipped behind the mountains. By the time early dawn stained the windowpanes pink, she knew what she had to do.
“GO HORSY! GO HORSY!”
Jack groaned and covered his head as a small body began bouncing up and down on his back.
“Kate, no,” Daisy whispered, lifting the squirming imp away. “Let him sleep.”
Too late for that.
“Horsy!” Kate insisted at a pitch that would have deafened him if his head hadn’t been under the pillow.
“Later, Kate.” Daisy’s voice and Kate’s protests faded, then stopped altogether with the click of the door latch.
Jack sighed. Muscles relaxed and his mind grew sluggish. His body felt heavier and heavier ...
With a gasp, he lurched up onto his elbows. Bright afternoon sunlight seared his eyeballs.
How long had he slept? Where was he?
Hank’s. With Daisy and Kate.
Still bleary with sleep, he slumped back, listening for sounds beyond his closed door. But the house was so quiet the only thing he heard was the thud of his heart against his ribs.
Too quiet.
Panic sent his mind into another flurry.
Goddamn. T
hey’d left him again.
Rising too quickly on muscles that weren’t yet awake, he collided with the bedpost in his stumble across the room. When he reached the door, he flung it open so hard it banged against the wall. “Daisy!”
“What? What’s wrong?”
Blinking groggily, he saw her standing at the stove, staring at him with worried hazel eyes. “Jack?”
“I—” He let out a rush of breath. His heart resumed a less frantic rhythm. “I thought you were gone.”
Her face cleared. Smiling, she walked over and put her arms around his neck. “I’m right here,” she said against his cheek.
Shaky with relief, he grabbed on to her, pulling her so close he could feel those perfect breasts flatten against his chest and the steady beat of her heart within. She smelled so good to him—flowers, lemons, yeast, bacon? Bacon? Glancing over the top of her head, he saw a pot of coffee on the stove, bread rising, fatback sizzling in a pan.
His stomach growled.
Still only half-awake, he lifted his head and scanned the room. “Where’s Kate?”
She gave him a quick kiss then stepped out of his arms. “With Anna.”
“Anna?”
“Anna Strobel,” she said over her shoulder as she went back to the stove. “She made the stew you ate last night. She sometimes watches the children when your brothers bring their families into town. Sort of like a grandmother.”
She stirred something on the stove, then hesitated and glanced over at him, her smile less sure. “I thought it would be best if Kate wasn’t here when we talk.”
Talk? Jack sighed. Of course she would want to talk. Women always wanted to talk. Just as well. He had some things to say too. “Let me get dressed first,” he said, ducking back into the bedroom. It was hard for a man to be taken seriously in a confrontation when he was wearing nothing but his drawers. Besides, he wanted to wake up a bit more before he called her to accounts.
