by Tammy Barley
“That went well,” she muttered sarcastically.
“You seemed to be holding your own,” a deep voice behind her said.
Jess started. The big man stood an arm’s length away, his stallion nuzzling the broad shoulder of his sheepskin coat. He was so tall that she had to lift her head to meet his gaze, and she calculated his intimidating height as six feet—and that was not counting the cowboy boots and hat. Beneath the brim, his brown eyes were calm yet keenly alert, his nose slightly hooked—Indian blood, perhaps?—and his rectangular face was undeniably handsome, dusted with a trace of whiskers. He seemed familiar, and she struggled to place him.
“I think those fellows were fortunate we came along when we did,” he said. “You looked mad enough to shred their hides.”
Jess stared up at him, recognition dawning. “Mr. Bennett?” She recalled him as a rancher who had come into her father’s store a number of times. He had once joined them for dinner when her father was considering investing in cattle of his own.
“That’s right.” His dark eyes studied her face. “You’re Isaac Hale’s daughter.”
“Jessica,” she said. “I was mad. Frightened, too, but mostly mad.” With her fingers, she combed back the hair that had come free in the struggle and winced at the tenderness of her scalp. “I’m grateful you came along when you did.”
“We’d best move aside,” Jake said, seeing that the onlookers were going about their business and usual traffic had resumed. As they crossed the road toward the livery stable, Jess began to shiver. The wind was about as genial as a blanket of ice. Her eyes darted back to the place on the road where the men had dragged her, but her cloak wasn’t there. No doubt, she had lost it in the telegraph office. So be it. She wasn’t about to go back for it.
Bennett tied his horse to the corral fence. The four cattlemen stood lookout near their horses at the hitching rail, and Jess paused by them, intending to thank them for their help. “Do you have another wrap?” Jake asked her.
Jess looked at him in surprise.
His brown hat tipped toward the telegraph office. “You went in with one,” he said.
And the Yankee-loving telegrapher likely had it in hand, and was just waiting for her to slink back in and beg him for it. “I’ll be fine until I get home.”
Without preamble, the rancher shrugged out of his thick sheepskin coat. “There’s more to consider than your pride, Miss Hale,” he murmured as he swung it over her shoulders. “Influenza can be a hard lesson.”
The coat was heavy and tremendously warm. Jess extended her arms in the sleeves and buttoned it rapidly, nodding in thanks.
The thinnest of the ranch hands, a young, wiry man, pulled his ragged, woolen scarf from around his neck and passed it to her. Jess wrapped it over her freezing head and ears and knotted it under her chin. She flashed him a look of gratitude, but he had already lowered his blushing cheeks into his upturned collar and resumed his survey of the street.
Another of the four handed her a pair of man’s gloves. He was stout, with fiery orange hair and a bushy mustache and beard to match. An Irishman, no doubt—her grandfather had had the same flame-red hair and fair skin. This man had a look of joviality about him, though he evidently restrained it in favor of remaining vigilant about any who might return to do them harm.
At her questioning look, Jake introduced her to the Irishman. “Miss Hale, this is Taggart.” One bright-blue eye winked. “The boy is Reese.” Jake then turned to a big, black man who was nearly as tall as he. “This is Doyle, and the Spaniard there is Diaz.”
Doyle barely glanced at her, but Diaz gave her a jaunty salute with the knife he had drawn to carve a piece of wood. He was a contrast of brown skin, black mustache, and grinning white teeth. “Señorita,” he said with a slight bow.
“I’m grateful to you all for your help with those men,” Jess said. “I knew there might be trouble, but I didn’t anticipate violence.”
Though she was tall for a woman, she still found herself at eye level with either coat buttons or bandanas. She had to lift her gaze to see even the youngest, Reese. Jess glanced at Jake, knowing she could trust him with the truth. “I was trying to wire a high-ranking doctor in the States. My brother—” Her voice caught. She tried again. “My brother, Ambrose, is missing in the war. I wanted the doctor to help me find him. Those men became offended when they heard that Ambrose is fighting for the South.” She attempted a smile. “I don’t expect they cared much for my accent, either.”
Having said the words, Jess felt the weight of her failed efforts and of the tension that awaited her at home. Writing to Ambrose’s commander had availed nothing, and her attempt to obtain assistance via the telegraph had failed. She could try to wire from another town, but she strongly suspected the response there would be the same. Given her accent and the fact that half a continent separated her from her brother, she felt as trapped as a wild bird in a cage. And the urge to break free nearly choked her.
Jake briefly considered her, then strode toward his horse. He lifted the blanket and saddle from the fence rail and settled them on its muscular black. As he buckled the cinch, he glanced at the other horses tied nearby, then at her. “Is yours the Appaloosa, Miss Hale?”
“The Appaloosa, yes. And please call me Jess. I—how did you know?”
“The stirrups. They’d be a bit short for a man.” He pulled a leather coat over his blue flannel shirt and vest and buttoned it. “I want to take you riding for a while.”
“Riding?” Jess hadn’t expected that. “Why?”
“A couple of those Unionist boys are back. They’re keeping to the shadows near the end of the road, but they’re watching. If you leave for a while, I expect they’ll get bored and move on.” He added, “I also think a run on a horse might do you some good.”
As his words set in, Jess gazed at the long stretch of desert beyond the town. She started to shake her head but almost immediately changed her mind. If she didn’t get away from the city for a few hours, she would go crazy. In the next instant, she was moving to untie her horse. “I’d be grateful if I could borrow your coat until mid-morning,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll leave it for you at my father’s store.”
“You can borrow it,” he said, “but I’m going with you.”
“I don’t need a guide, Mr. Bennett.”
“Jake, please. Aside from those two looking on,” he said patiently, “seven other men who took issue with you a short time ago are still in town. The boys and I can make certain they don’t follow. Not to mention the prospectors all over this territory who are wary of trespassers—they pan gold with one hand and hold loaded rifles in the other.” Behind him, Doyle, Diaz, Taggart, and Reese readied their horses. “There are outlaws, too, Jess.”
At the concern in his voice, she searched his eyes. Their depths held a glint of something, a meaning he did not choose to share with her.
Five cattlemen stood waiting.
Jess grunted with impatience. “You must have more important matters to see to than playing nursemaid to me.”
“No,” Jake answered. “We came to contract with buyers for the autumn roundup, but it can wait till later. We have time.”
“Your horses—”
“Our horses are rested. We broke camp only an hour ago, and they’re going to spend the rest of the day at the
livery stable.”
Desperate to get away, with or without them, Jess gathered her reins and stepped up into her saddle.
Ten minutes later, Carson City had disappeared behind her. She raced south, heart soaring, the angles and edges of the red-earthed Sierras flying past as the sky slowly lightened. She didn’t bother to look back. Bennett was there, she knew, keeping pace easily on the black, and the other cattlemen trailed behind him, watching out for her. She felt safe—safer than she had since the day Ambrose returned home to Lexington, perhaps even since the day they left Kentucky.
Why did Jake come, and the others with him? she wondered.
A hawk glided on reddish-brown wings over the endless desert ahead, almost daring her to follow as far as it would go. She gave in to the urge to chase after it and wondered no more.
Sometime later, Jake appeared beside her and took the lead. They turned west, then followed a trail into the mountains that led up toward Lake Tahoe. The valley fell away below them.
Jess gave the mare her heels, her eyes almost tearing with the invigorating feel of the wind on her face.
***
Half an hour later, Jess and the cattlemen dismounted on a ridge. They tied their horses to clusters of juniper, then stretched their legs.
Jess wandered for several yards, peering warily through the pine trees to the road they had taken. Far below, miles of valley stretched out in all directions. Peaks loomed all around and wisps of pink clouds floated above. Jake came and stood beside her. “Did any of those men follow us?” she asked him.
“No one followed.”
“Good.”
Cozy as a kitten in Jake’s coat, Jess momentarily let go of her worries. She had forgotten how awed she had been by this mountain range when she’d first arrived from the East. For months, she’d seen little more than the buildings and crowds of Carson City. And now she stood near the top of the world. Below her feet lay green pine forest, the Sierra foothills, and the dark-red valley beyond.
She didn’t realize she was smiling until Jake spoke again. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It almost doesn’t seem real.”
“The Almighty sure knows how to say good morning.”
She glanced at him, studying the relaxed, open expression beneath his hat brim. “Is that what He’s doing?”
“I think He is. Look.” In the east, streaks of pink, orange, and gold lit the sky.
All at once, a sliver of blazing sun burst over the curve of the earth. Jess squinted at its brilliance, shifting her eyes to glory in the hues above.
“That’s the Almighty reminding us that He’s with us each day,” Jake said. “Kind of like a present every morning, without the paper wrapping.”
“A subtle reminder, perhaps,” Jess said, “but there are times I wish He would just tell us He’s with us.” She sighed. “I do love the isolation and the wildness of this place.”
Beside her, Jake looked over the miles of red desert and mountains. “I know what you mean.”
Jess felt the rising sun’s energy flow through her, renewing and refreshing her. Ambrose was out there somewhere—and alive. Though he was far away and fighting in a war, they were still connected—the same sun was shining down on them both.
***
When the horses had rested, Jess and the cattlemen remounted and started back down the mountain. They were riding roughly in pairs now—Taggart and Reese in front, Doyle and Diaz after, with Jake and Jess following behind. The five men had said very little; it was as though talking would be an offense to the stillness. She understood. Since they’d ridden away from Carson City, she’d been too contented to even think, though she hadn’t been able to do much else as of late. And she needed to. She still had to find Ambrose.
“You don’t believe he’s dead,” Jake said.
Jess glanced at him, surprised by his perceptiveness. “You’re right, I don’t, but I know something happened. Ambrose’s last letter came in autumn. I did all I could to find him, then I tried to send the telegram.”
“In autumn?” Jake reined the stallion thoughtfully. “With the frequent movements of armies in the States and Indian attacks on the mail stages out here, I expect some folks in this territory haven’t received letters from the East in a year or more.”
“We’ve had letters lost, as well, but I’ve still received one nearly every month.” Jess gazed at the trail ahead. “I’ll have to try wiring the doctor from another town.”
“And if that fails?”
Jess glanced over somberly. “If that fails, I’ll take the first stage east and track him down myself.”
Jake considered that. “Shouldn’t your pa be trying to find him?”
“Yes, he should, only my father has disowned Ambrose as a traitor—to his family, as well as to his country—even though Ambrose enlisted only to defend our home near Lexington. Ambrose finds slavery as cold-blooded as my father and I do.” She shifted in her saddle, battling feelings of resentment toward their father. “In truth, my father’s done it to protect my mother. You saw how frail she was when you came to dinner months ago. She lost a son, Broderick, when he was only a baby. She never really recovered, and now she’s terrified she’ll lose Ambrose. My father doesn’t believe Ambrose will survive the war. He behaves as though he is dead already so that, if the worst happens, it won’t destroy my mother. At least that’s what makes sense to him.” A glance at Jake told her he was listening. “He’s forbidden me to even write to him.”
“That hasn’t stopped you,” he observed.
“It hasn’t,” she agreed. “Nor will it. I keep his letters hidden and respond to them in secrecy.” She asked, “Do you know Edmund Van Dorn? He and my father co-own the import business.”
“Sure, I’ve met Edmund.”
“When Ambrose’s letters arrive, Edmund slips them to me with the mail, or he leaves them in an office safe that only he and I use.”
“And he and your father are friends,” Jake said. “A tough situation all around.”
“They’re the best of friends, and have been all their lives. Edmund is all heart. He’s loyal to my father, but he also sees what’s happening to my mother.” Though Bennett was little more than a stranger, he was a man who listened, and Jess was relieved to talk to him. “We have a new baby sister whom Ambrose has never seen. He writes how he longs to meet her when the war is over. I have to write to Ambrose. And Edmund…Edmund does what he thinks is best for each of us.”
Jake said, “I have a friend, Tom Rawlins. He’s a captain over at Fort Churchill. I plan to see him tomorrow to talk him into buying some of my horses. There’s a telegraph office at the fort. I’ll ask him to do what he can to find your brother.”
Jess stopped her horse, sudden dampness pricking her eyes. “He’ll do this?”
“Search for a Confederate soldier? No, but if he were to search for news of his missing cousin,” he grinned a little, “now that’s a different matter. As long as Tom wires only the North—hospitals and prisons and such—he shouldn’t raise too many eyebrows.”
Jess wasn’t sure whether to shout or cry with joy. The urge to do both swelled to what felt like a fist-sized lump in
her throat.
“Of course, Tom will have to wire his findings to Carson City,” Jake went on. “I have other sales to arrange, so I’ll be in the area until the end of the week. Tom can send the telegram to me.” He nodded in the direction of town. “We’ll let the Unionists throw me out on the street, if they can.”
Jess laughed. Jake Bennett was such a strong, solid man that it would take several lesser men to budge him. She glanced at him again and her laughter died down. The man was muscular and ruggedly handsome. She liked how the corners of his whiskey-brown eyes crinkled when he laughed, how his cheeks showed crooked creases when he grinned, and the fact that he smelled of horses, leather, and the outdoors…
Before her thoughts could go too far in that direction, she forced her mind to easier matters: the sun-dappled trail, the cold, refreshing wind, and what Jake had said in Carson City—that a run on a horse might do her some good. He’d suggested the ride to give her attackers time to move on, yes, but it seemed that he’d had other intentions—to talk to her about the captain and to offer to speak to him on her behalf, and without the risk of being overheard. She was sure of it.
He intended to help her find Ambrose.
Jess forced herself to shift thoughts again before she could tear up and embarrass herself in front of the ranchmen.
Captain Rawlins…what kind of a man was he? He was a Federal officer at a fort that had been established, in part, to put down any So
uthern uprisings in the territory, and yet Bennett trusted him. Either the captain sympathized with the Confederacy or he was simply a good-hearted man.
As they reached the valley floor and continued toward Carson City, Jess thought back over what she’d told Jake—that she didn’t believe Ambrose was dead. She didn’t believe it. She couldn’t. After all, she had asked the Lord to keep him safe. Besides, Jess thought to herself with a smile, Ambrose is too stubborn to die.
After a time, Jess found her musings drawn again to the man riding beside her.
Jake Bennett amazed her. For as long as she could remember, she’d not met a man interested neither in selfish gain nor in seeking some advantage from a meeting with a woman. Jake was simply doing a kindness for her, with no other motive than doing what was right.
Jess made several attempts to engage the rancher in conversation. He wouldn’t say much about his past but was inclined to discuss his work instead. So, in a lighter vein, they talked about his cattle—the breeds he kept, their particular habits, the trouble they were…and how there was no better life than working horses and cattle.
“Do you sell them this far south?” Jess asked. She recalled that his ranch was some distance away, in the northern Sierras.
“Cattle? Now and then, but mostly horses around here.”
“For the settlers, you mean.”
“And for the Overland, the Pony Express while it ran. They need strong mountain horses. I breed a good stock of Morgans and Indian ponies; mustangs, when they’re about. They’re good horses,” he said. “I’ve never seen better.”
Jess patted her mare, Meg, and gazed out over the valley. The sun was fully up, chasing away the shadows. “You should bring in Thoroughbreds.”
Bennett shook his head. “Thoroughbreds are racehorses—good for short distances but lacking in long-term stamina.”
“Not to sell,” Jess clarified, “to breed. They’re fast, so their endurance doesn’t matter.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “If you cross them with your Morgans, the Morgan will give you the endurance, while the Thoroughbred will give you pure speed. That’s what could be out there running the mail.”
