“Jessye!”
She staggered to a halt at the echo of Harry’s voice. She turned to see him marching toward her. He had cleaned up, and her heart almost stopped beating as she took in his appearance. Cleanly shaven and dressed in his gambler’s clothes, he made her feel like a rag doll that should be tossed out. “Why are you all gussied up?” she asked as he stopped in front of her.
“Because there is some evidence of civilization in the area.” He cupped her elbow and leaned low so only she could hear. “I need an advance on my earnings.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
She watched as his jaw clenched, and she knew he didn’t like that she controlled the purse strings, but damn if she’d hand her money over to him without good reason.
“Kit fears we might not have enough money to purchase all the supplies we need to reach Sedalia . A man has invited me to participate in a private poker game later tonight, and I intend to ensure that we do have enough—”
“By risking what little we’ve got left on the turn of a card?”
“By risking my allotment,” he said in a taut voice.
“The rules are that every man gets paid when we reach Sedalia and not before. If I pay you, I’ll have to pay some amount to the others, and then I guarantee we won’t have enough for supplies.”
“Then give me a loan. I promise I’ll pay it back tenfold.”
“Harry, I know all about promises.”
“You know nothing about my promises—”
“Jessye?”
Her breath hitched at the familiar voice from her youth. She twisted her head slightly. Gerald Milton stood beside her, a hesitant smile on a face that was more rugged than she’d remembered, but still as handsome. Where was quicksand when she needed it to swallow her whole? She cleared her throat as quietly as she could. “Gerald?”
His smile grew. “What in God’s name are you doin’ here dressed like that?”
She cast a quick glance at Harry and saw suspicion slowly dawn within the emerald depths of his eyes. She forced herself to speak past the knot tightening her throat. “Herding cattle.”
He laughed. “Jessye, everyone knows that a woman does not herd cattle—”
“I’d be mindful of what you say regarding my fiancée,” Harry commanded in a tightly controlled voice.
Gerald snapped his gaze to Harry. “Your fiancée? Why I had no idea when I invited you to join us in a little poker game that you knew Jessye … so well.”
His voice hinted at an intimacy shared between a man and woman. He reached out to touch her cheek, and Jessye jerked back. She saw the flash of anger in the blue eyes she’d once drowned in.
“Me and Jessye go way back, don’t we, darlin’? Maybe Bainbridge here would like to know exactly how well we know each other.”
“Jessye and I share our secrets,” Harry said as he slipped his arm around her and pulled her snugly against his side. She’d never been more grateful for the support in her life. If he felt her trembling, he gave no indication. “I know you chose the South over her.”
“So you’re willing to take tarnished goods and a bastard—”
“The baby died,” Jessye lied.
For the barest of moments, Jessye thought she detected regret in his eyes before his smile returned. “I imagine that was for the best.” He looked to Harry. “You still gonna join us tonight?”
“No, I’ve decided you’ve taken enough.”
“It was good to see you, Jessye.” He winked. “You keep tellin’ people you’re just herdin’ cattle. Hell, lookin’ like that, maybe you are.”
He started walking away. She took a step toward him, and Harry jerked her back against his side. “Let him go. What in God’s name possessed you to fall in love with that?”
She shook her head. “He wasn’t like that before the war. He was sweet—” Blinking back the tears burning her eyes, she bit her knuckle to keep herself from saying more. She swung around. “What possessed you to say I was your fiancée?”
“Haven’t a clue, but it seemed the thing to say at the time. Besides, I thought it might offer you a little protection from the lust emanating from him.”
She snorted. “Lust? The way I’m lookin’? He was right. No man would want me.”
“It’s your spirit that attracts men. You could be covered from head to toe in mud, and men would find you attractive.”
“Desperate men, maybe. And that’s the last thing I want. That and you gambling away my money.”
“When he invited me to play, I didn’t realize who he was. You never told me his last name… ” Harrison shrugged. “It’s just as well. We have a party to attend this evening.”
Her breath hitched and her eyes widened. “What?”
Harry looked at her casually. “You were there when Kit mentioned that he wanted to visit with the Robertsons. As it turns out, they’re hosting a small party this evening, and we’ve been invited.”
With her heart pounding, Jessye took a step back. “I don’t have a dress to wear.”
“I realize that. I assumed you were on your way to find a seamstress. You knew Kit planned for us to visit—”
“I knew you and Kit planned to visit them. I didn’t know you meant for me to go.” She released a nervous burst of laughter. “Besides, a seamstress can’t make a dress in a day.”
“For someone as small as you, she could no doubt make it in an afternoon, which she will need to do, since we have to be there at seven.”
“I’m sure the invitation didn’t include me.”
“I’m certain that it did.”
She shook her head vigorously. “I’ve got nothing to wear, and I’m not spending our supply money on a dress just to impress some rich folks.” She shoved her way past him, heading back to her room. Suddenly, she was grateful that they were only spending one night in Dallas . So far, she thought the town should be more aptly named Hell.
*
As though he handled a newborn babe, Harry pulled the wooden box out of his bag. He ran his fingers over the carving that reflected his family’s coat of arms. He lifted the lid and smiled at the pair of dueling pistols housed inside. The box and pistols had been a gift from his grandfather.
With his palm, he cupped one of the pistols. He’d like to use it to send Gerald Milton to hell. But these Texans knew little of the proper way of dueling.
Besides, the pistols were of more value if left inside the box. Gently, he closed the lid, relishing the distinct, audible click.
A man could be hurt in many ways. His mother had taught him that physical pain resulted in the least anguish, the memories of the agony diminishing over time—but emotional pain could last forever, the torment increasing as moments passed into years.
He’d seen the pain reflected in Jessye’s eyes when she’d first caught sight of Gerald Milton. He would find a way to ease her suffering even if it cost him his life.
*
Jessye lay on her side, her knees almost touching her chest, curled as she imagined her child had been as she grew inside her. She didn’t know what had possessed her to tell Gerald that the baby had died. Maybe she’d feared that he wouldn’t care that their daughter had lived and that Jessye had been forced to give her up. Or perhaps she hadn’t wanted her shortcomings to be viewed through his eyes.
Had she been stronger, more independent, maybe now she would enjoy her child’s smiles and wipe away her tears. She could only pray that she’d been right to give her to the couple at the mission, could only hope that her child was well and truly loved.
A hard tap on her door brought her out of her reverie and self-pity. She despised these weakened moments when she doubted the actions she’d taken four years before. She’d done what she thought was best at the time. She gained little in looking back.
She swung her legs off the bed, crossed the room, and flung open the door. A woman stood before her, her silvering hair pulled back so tightly that it caused the skin across her face to tauten, giving he
r face a skeletal appearance. The woman hugged a brown package against her chest.
“Are you Jessye Kane?” she asked.
Jessye furrowed her brow and hesitated before responding. “Yes.”
“Good,” the woman snapped and walked briskly into the room. “I’m Gwen Harper. We haven’t much time.” She dropped the package on the bed and untied the string.
“Much time to do what?”
Gwen Harper folded back the brown paper and spread the most beautiful green material Jessye had ever seen across the bed. “Sew your gown.”
Jessye stepped back. “My gown?”
Gwen looked over her shoulder. “The gown you’re going to wear to the Robertsons’ party tonight.”
Jessye shook her head. “I’m not going to the Robertsons’ party.”
The woman knitted her brows together. “Mr. Bainbridge said you were. He told me to make you a proper gown to wear for this evening. He suggested the emerald silk, and I can certainly understand why. With your green eyes and red hair—”
“I am not spending my money on an outfit I’m only gonna wear one night—”
“Mr. Bainbridge has already purchased it.”
Instinctively, Jessye pressed her hand to the hidden pouch that circled her waist beneath her clothes. Thank God, she still felt the pouch bulging. Harry hadn’t found a way to pilfer her money. “What did he use to buy it?”
” Lincoln skins.”
Jessye stared at the woman, wondering where Harry had managed to latch on to Yankee money. She scolded herself. There was no longer a division between the states or the currency. Confederate money was useless. All they had was Yankee money, simply money, but accepting that reality was hard for some folks.
“Now, come on, we ain’t got much time before my daughter gets here to fix your hair—”
“Mrs. Harper, I am not going to the Robertsons’—”
“But you’ve been invited. They’re nice people and generous to the town, but not everyone gets an invite.” She took a step and leaned over slightly as though imparting a secret. “They’re richer than Midas, and their brick house is the most beautiful in the area, surrounded by so many oak trees you can barely see it. Some folks say they got an oak lawn.”
“I can’t—”
“You can,” a deep voice boomed behind her. She spun around and glared at Harry. “And you will,” he finished.
“Where did you get money?” she whispered harshly, fearing he’d stolen it. Hadn’t she heard somewhere that the English picked money out of people’s pockets? With Harry’s deft fingers—
“Mrs. Harper, could you give us a moment alone?” Harry asked.
The woman glanced at the watch pinned just above her heart. “My girls will be here soon to help me sew, but we’re barely gonna have time to get this gown made as it is. If I don’t get it cut out—”
“One moment. That’s all I need.”
Mrs. Harper hurried past him, and Harry clicked the door shut. Jessye took a step back. She didn’t fear him, but the impropriety of being in a hostelry room alone with a man, a bed only a few feet away… “What have you done? Where did you get the money?”
“I bartered away my grandfather’s dueling pistols.”
Her heart battered against her chest. She’d seen the pistols when he’d offered to let Grayson Rhodes use them in a duel against Abbie Westland’s husband. She’d never seen a finer pair of guns. She shook her head, trying to clear the confusion. “But why purchase me a gown? Why not use the money for that poker game—”
“Because life is a game of chance. Every decision involves some risk. The magnitude of the return should always either equal or exceed the magnitude of the risk.” He crossed the room, and she watched as he fingered the satiny material. “My grandfather’s words. He would not have approved of me trading his pistols for a game of poker where I could stack the odds in my favor.” A smile touched his lips. “But he would have approved of this venture, which has so damned little chance of success.”
He spun around. “I told you that Kit has concerns regarding our financial situation. We are driving more cattle than he anticipated; we’ve had to hire more men than he originally planned, which means the purchase of more supplies. You know what our money situation is like. It may become necessary to add an investor in order to gain what we need. Robertson thinks our cattle venture is doomed to failure. We must convince him otherwise. You are Kit’s partner. It’s imperative that Robertson meet you.”
“I hate parties.”
“We won’t stay long. Once you’ve taken a measure of each other, you and I will be free to leave.”
“And if this David Robertson finds me lacking?”
His gaze slowly traveled from the top of her head to the tips of her soiled boots. She hated his scrutiny but refused to cower before it. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, his emerald gaze met hers. “If I thought for one second that his finding you lacking was a possibility, I would have never traded the one thing in my life that I ever treasured.”
He stalked across the room and jerked open the door. “I shall knock at precisely seven o’clock . Be ready.”
Her breath whooshed out as though he’d punched her in the gut. He was still gambling, betting on her to make a good enough impression that David Robertson would invest in their business if need be. The risk was higher than drawing to an inside straight. How dare the man put the burden on her… The irritation swelled, bringing her obstinacy to the surface. She’d show him that the risk wasn’t nearly as much as he thought.
Gwen swooped into the room. “Ready to begin?”
Jessye gave her an uncertain smile. “You know you’re working with a sow’s ear here.”
Gwen laughed. “I have a reputation for creatin’ silk purses the likes of which you won’t find anywhere else.”
*
Harrison paced within his room, the ticking of the clock keeping perfect rhythm with his steps and his doubts. What had he been thinking to suggest that Jessye attend this little party tonight?
That she intrigued him, he could not deny. That he wanted to bed her, he would not deny.
But to risk causing her embarrassment … dear God, what had he done? The women she would meet tonight did not drink, swear, or watch men bathe. He released a mirthless laugh. With Jessye’s stubborn streak—which he adored—she’d no doubt wear her trousers regardless of how hard the seamstress worked to finish the gown in time.
The tick of the clock finally struck seven, and he smiled. It was a good thing that he enjoyed creating scandal—because he had little doubt that tonight he and Jessye would create one that this town would never forget.
Straightening his black jacket, he opened the door to his room and crossed the hall to hers. He knocked lightly.
The door flung open, and his lungs forgot how to draw in air. Jessye stood in the emerald gown, her cheeks a bright red, her hair piled on top of her head with curling strands framing her oval face, her breathing heavy.
“You didn’t purchase enough material!” She stalked to the mirror and tugged on the bodice of the gown. She’d been wearing her breasts bound for so long that he’d nearly forgotten she had them. This gown was a remarkable reminder as the gentle swells rose and fell with each breath she took.
And dear God, her waist. He could have spanned it with his hands. The male clothing she wore, which he thought revealed everything, in truth revealed nothing. It hid the delicateness of her features, the alabaster softness of her bare shoulders.
She spun around. “Harry, I can’t wear this.”
“Jessye, it would be a sin for you not to. I had forgotten exactly how lovely you are,” he said quietly.
“Lovely?” she snapped. She stared in the mirror and tugged once again on the bodice. “This gown doesn’t cover enough of me to be lovely. It’s downright indecent.”
Swallowing hard, he walked slowly across the room, enjoying every angle, every nuance of femininity revealed to him. The temptation to
stay within this room and remove the gown was almost more than he could bear.
He came to stand behind her and caught the wisp of her fragrance: wild lilies flourishing in a field. “You’ve been wearing a man’s shirt for too long. The gown reveals hardly anything.”
She took a deep, shaky breath. “But you can see my …my…”
“Soft feminine curves.” He trailed his fingers along the column of her throat and felt the quickening of her pulse as she met and held his gaze in the mirror. His mouth grew dry and her eyes darkened as he slowly, seductively lowered his hand and outlined the swells where cloth met alluring flesh. Not a freckle in sight. Dear God, but he longed to kiss her where the sun had never seen the hint of her glory. He hadn’t purchased too little material—he’d purchased too damned much.
He slid his gaze past her to the bed reflected in the mirror. Desire such as he’d never known clawed through him.
“Did I mention earlier that I hate parties as well?” he rasped. “We could stay—”
She slid away from him. “So I can lift this pretty skirt for you?”
“Why do you equate desire with insult?”
“Because there’s no love attached to it. You could have what you want, and we could still get to the party on time.”
“To have what I want, Jessye, we would not leave this room until dawn.”
Jessye backed into the dresser. She’d seen lust in the eyes of a thousand men—but desire? For the first time in her life, she thought she was actually looking at desire, and the sight terrified her. “Thought we had a reason to go to this party.”
He bowed slightly. “We do. For a moment your charms made me forget.”
“I bet you say that to all the ladies.”
He smiled wickedly. “I never expected to hear you refer to yourself as a lady.”
“I didn’t mean I was a lady.”
“But you are. Look in the mirror.”
“I’ve looked.”
“Look again.”
Defiantly, she did as he bid. He stood slightly behind her in his strikingly white shirt, cravat, red vest, and black jacket. And durn his hide, within his eyes, she saw understanding—his understanding of her fears and insecurities.
Rogues in Texas 02 - Never Love a Cowboy Page 10