In Close Pursuit

by Colleen French

  She nodded. "Reckon there is. Bit of potatoes, a turnip or two, maybe some biscuits. I could heat it up, but I'd have to charge you the same as if you had a sit-down meal."

  "It doesn't matter." He waved his hand. "Just get me something to eat. What have you got to drink?"

  "Cow went dry. Got water, water, and water."

  He grinned. "Water it'll be then. Just scrape up what you can find. I'm in a hurry."

  "Late to be leavin' town. You sure you don't want to spend the night? We got good clean rooms, Jasper and I do. Fresh straw mattresses."

  His dark eyes settled on her speckled blue ones. "You'd let me sleep beneath your roof?"

  "Why?" She arched an eyebrow. "You got some kind of disease?"

  "Well, it seems there are a lot of people that don't take to men like me."

  Her eyes narrowed. "Your money's just as good as the next man's, Mister. Your manners are better than most. You're certainly welcome here."

  The thought was tempting, but he wanted to get back to Jessica. "No. Thank you. Just the meal."

  "Be right back, then."

  Adam leaned back in his chair, watching the woman disappear behind a chintz curtain. He could hear her banging around in the kitchen. Footsteps sounded on the staircase and he looked up. A gray-haired gentleman came down the steps and sharply turned the corner.

  Adam tipped his black hat and nodded politely.

  The man lifted his nose into the air with a haughty "hrumph" and headed out the screen door, letting it slam behind him.

  Adam's brow creased. What an odd little man, he thought. He obviously was an Easterner and well out of his element. He was dressed more for a Sunday tea than for the sort of entertainment he'd be finding in the saloon up the street.

  When the pigtailed woman returned with a chipped plate full of food and a mug of water, Adam asked her about the boarder.

  "Oh, he's a funny duck, ain't he?" She leaned against the table, folding and unfolding her dishrag. "The name's Mr. Dorchester. Been here a few days. Says he's lookin' for his wife."

  "His wife?" Adam sampled the boiled potatoes and turnips.

  "He says she run off. He's tracked her all the way from Tennessee."

  An eery feeling crept over Adam. "Tennessee?"

  "Yup. He's taking a stagecoach out of here in the mornin'."

  "Where's he going this late at night?"

  The woman's suntanned cheeks colored. "Where you think he's going? That man, he's got an appetite. We've only got two whores in town and they say he's keepin' both busy. Outbid a cowboy the night before last. Paid ten dollars, I hear."

  Adam sipped the cool water. "Sounds like he really misses his wife," he commented sarcastically. He thought of the young whore, Sue Ellen, who he'd just spoken to in a back alley near the saloon. She knew of Larry Caine and had provided him with some excellent leads as to where he might be headed. Adam wondered if it was Sue who'd be servicing the old coot tonight.

  "That's just what I thought." She took a swipe at the table with her dishrag. "Well, I guess I'd best be getting upstairs to pull off Jasper's boots. I'll be back down to check on you in a few minutes."

  "Here, let me pay you now." He reached into his pocket for a few coins. "I really am in a hurry, but thanks for the meal. It was good."

  She swept the coins off the table and jingled them in her hand. "I used to dream about ridin' out of this town with a man like you," she mused. "Then I married Jasper, we built this boardin' house, had six babes, buried three. Guess I'm content enough, but sometimes . . ." She glanced out the window at the moon hanging bright in the sky. "Oh, I'm just bein' foolish. You have a good night." Her blue eyes met Adam's wishfully one last time. "I hope you get where you're goin' in such a hurry."

  Adam thanked her again, then pushed his hat down on his head and strode out of the dining room and through the front door. All he could think of was Jessica and holding her in his arms again.

  "Dear God, but I hate a red man," Jacob Dorchester commented, watching through an upstairs window of Johnson's Saloon as Adam rode by. "I don't know why the army doesn't just round them up and shoot them. Drown the babies and save ammunition."

  Sue Ellen McCleen looked up from the bed with disinterest. "What do you care long as he ain't marryin' your daughter?"

  "Because, don't you see, that's what they're doing?" Jacob crossed to the rickety bed. "They're muddying American blood!"

  Sue Ellen drew up her knees to her chin. She was sitting in the middle of the mattress stark naked as the gray-haired man had instructed. "Oh, horseshit! The way I see it, they're more American than we are."

  Jacob reached out and struck her hard across the face. "Watch your mouth, young lady. I'll not have you use language like that in my presence. I'm old enough to be your father!"

  "Ouch!" She stroked her cheek. "That hurt. You hit me again and I'm liable to clobber you back."

  Jacob grabbed her arms and pulled her toward him. "You do as I say, Jessica."

  "It's Jessica, I am, huh?" She rolled her eyes. "Well, what is it you want Jessica to do for you besides sit here? I went through that song and dance of lettin' you in the back so nobody'd see you, now let's get on with it. Time is money, buster."

  Before Sue Ellen knew what was happening, Jacob pulled out a bandanna and tied it over her mouth. She struggled, trying to pull off the gag and he slapped her hands away.

  "I said, I don't like your mouth, Jessica. Maybe that'll keep you quiet."

  The whore tried to speak again, but her voice was nothing but a muffled jumble of sounds.

  "That's better." Jacob sat down on the bed beside her and stroked her shiny brown hair. "You've always had such pretty hair, Jessica." He twisted a lock around his finger. "I just wish you hadn't run away."

  Sue Ellen stared wide-eyed with fright at the gray-haired man. Slowly she slipped her right hand beneath the mattress and pulled out a knife.

  Jacob caught the glint of the steel and threw himself onto her, pinning her against the stinking mattress. Sue Ellen fought, kicking and twisting her body. He pried the knife from her hand. The gag he'd tied around her mouth muffled her cries for help. She swiped at him with the knife and nicked his arm. He gave a yelp and snapped her wrist with one violent twist of his hand.

  Suddenly he had the knife.

  Sue Ellen squeezed her eyes shut against the searing pain in her chest. She felt her body convulse and then there was nothing but soothing, inky blackness.

  Jacob lay prostrate on the whore, panting, gasping for breath. The knife protruding from her chest pressed into his shoulder. He got up and slid off the mattress. There was a spot of blood on his black coat so he went to the washstand to dab water on it. He looked back at the dead girl.

  "Oh, Jessica, I didn't mean to hurt you, love," he told her shakily. "But you have to learn to do as you're told if you're going to make a good wife." With his coat blotted clean, he walked over to the bed and slipped his penknife from his inside coat pocket. He opened it and carefully cut a lock of hair from Sue Ellen's head.

  "You're mine," he murmured as he began to braid the hair in a tiny circle. "You'll always be mine, Jessica."

  Adam rode all night without tiring. He could go days without sleep and not have it affect him. It was one of his funny quirks he had brought back to the white man's world when he'd left the wilds of Canada. He was anxious to get back to Jessica. If she was well enough to ride, they would set out immediately.

  The word from Sue Ellen was that Larry Caine had a brother in Seattle. She was sure enough of it—she'd once been married to Toby Caine. Adam also found out in Blades that folks were talking for hundreds of miles about the half-breed Deputy Marshal Sern, and the mysterious woman he rode with. Adam was said to be a red man on the warpath with the Pentagon's blessing. Jessica was supposedly a sharpshooter from Dodge City, avenging her parents' and eight brothers' and sisters' death.

  Adam laughed aloud as he urged Zeus into an easy lope. He knew Jessica would enjoy the tall
tale. He stared out at the open, desolate land of northern Utah thinking of the sable-haired woman who had touched his heart. There was something about her innocence that excited him, that made him feel good about the world again. He had had that feeling as a child back in Canada when he had lived happily among his mother's people. But then, after his parents' death and his move to Philadelphia to live with his grandparents, he had begun to sour. The more he saw of the "civilized" world, the less he wanted to be a part of it. The filth, the starvation, the poor working conditions in the cities, had been what turned him west in search of something new, something fresh and untamed.

  Was Jessica that untamed beauty he sought? He didn't know. He supposed he'd just have to wait and see . . .

  At dawn the following day, Adam approached the bend in Blue Creek where he'd left Jessica. "Jess," he called, not wanting to frighten her, or be shot at. "Jessica, it's me!"

  Oddly, he didn't see Hera. "Jessica!" The horse was gone and so was Jessica. He rode right into the camp and slid out of the saddle.

  Her coffeepot sat on a flat rock near a cold fire . . . a campfire days old. Her saddlebag lay in the grass along the bank, its contents scattered. Her tin coffee cup rested on the edge of the creek partially filled with sand and water.

  Adam kicked the tufts of grass on the bank, searching for more evidence. "Jessica!" He called her again and again, but heard nothing but the sound of his own voice.

  Then he saw the arrow sticking out of the far bank. He walked downstream a short distance and crossed the shallows. A sickening feeling rose from his belly, constricting his throat. It was a Ute arrow. And there were empty cartridges everywhere. He waded back across.

  A battle. The closer he looked, the more he realized that a battle had been waged on the banks of this creek. As he began to scour the area, he prepared himself for finding Jessica's body. But there was no body. There was dried blood and tracks where bodies had been dragged away, but no Jessica. He picked up the empty cartridges. None of them could have come from Jessica's Henry.

  A scrap of color caught his eye and he walked down the bank again. Tangled in the grass was a small strip of green lace—from her ridiculous bloomers. Upon closer inspection he realized that this was where she had lain and fought the Utes. There were empty cartridges from Shiner's old Henry everywhere. She'd used most of her ammunition from the amount of cartridges he found.

  Adam stared out at the empty land that stretched in every direction. Tears welled in his eyes. He had failed again. He hadn't protected Jessica. She had been here, she'd fought a hell of a battle, and now she was gone. He took the handful of empty cartridges, and flung them into the air. "Noooo!" he cried. "Nooo!" The metal cartridges rained down.

  The Utes were peaceful, what was left of them. Why would they attack a woman?

  Crooked Nose. The thought came to him in an instant. Crooked Nose was said to be traveling with a band of Ute renegades, men no longer accepted by their own tribes. They were horse thieves and murderers.

  Adam remounted. He rode in circles studying the tracks in the dry, hard dirt. Though several days old, it was easy to find the renegades' trail. They had approached from the east with a herd of twenty-five or so riderless horses. There had been nearly as many men on horseback. They had to have been headed for the creek for water.

  Seething, Adam knew he should have moved Jessica to safer ground. Of course when he left her, she wasn't able to travel.

  Adam rode back to Jessica's deserted camp and watched the running creek. So where are the bodies, he wondered. There was no sign of buzzards here. Then he remembered the buzzards he'd spotted not more than half an hour back. They'd been circling something to the east.

  Adam retraced the creek bank. He rode out to where the buzzards gathered, scaring them off as he galloped into the center of them. There was a mound of rocks piled in a haphazard manner . . . a quick burial. The stench of rotting human flesh made him gag. He had to force himself to dismount. He had to be certain that Jessica's body was not among those left beneath the rock pile.

  Gathering his courage, Adam began to shift rocks. Christ! How many had she killed!

  Six. He counted six dead Utes, but Jessica wasn't among them. He quickly replaced the rocks.

  Pride swelled in Adam's chest as he rode back to the campsite. A flicker of hope burned bright in his heart. Jessica had managed to kill six of the bastards. If her body wasn't here—and it wasn't or the buzzards would have found it—the only conclusion he could draw was that they had carried her off. He studied the tracks again to be certain she hadn't escaped, but there were no lone riders.

  Adam thanked God silently that his mother had taught him to track so well. By reading the signs in the dust he figured that eight Utes, one riding double, had left this creek bank. They took one riderless horse—Hera. He was certain those were her hoofprints.

  Adam packed up Jessica's belongings and strapped her saddlebag onto Zeus. Then he mounted the Appaloosa and followed the Utes' tracks. The riders rode north, joined with the horse herd and more men, then headed northeast.

  Wyoming. He knew Crooked Nose and his men were headed for Wyoming where they could sell their stolen horses. But they wouldn't get far. Adam sank his heels into Zeus' haunches and rode into the wind. "Hang on, Jess," he murmured. "I'm coming."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jessica slumped forward in the saddle, trying to avoid physical contact with Crooked Nose, but it was impossible. His thighs and calves touched hers; she could feel his hard maleness pressing against her buttocks as she rode in his lap. She twisted her fingers in his horse's mane to keep from tumbling to the rough ground. With her wrists tied, and the horse beneath her galloping at an unrelenting pace, it was all she could do to remain astride.

  The Indians who'd captured her had been riding like this since dawn. Jessica had begged that she be allowed to ride Hera, but the Kiowa leader had flatly refused her, cuffing her on the head. He'd insisted she ride on his horse, in front of him, where he could keep his eyes and hands on her. Once he'd mounted behind her, he'd warned her of attempting to escape. He'd vowed she wouldn't get far. He had whispered of terrible things a man could do to a woman before she died.

  Escape. Jessica would have laughed if her throat hadn't been so parched, her lips so cracked and bloody. Escape to where? She didn't know where she was or where Crooked Nose and his men were headed. They were riding north, in the unbearably hot, pounding sun—that was all she knew. Even if she did know where she was, she was smart enough to realize there was no way to escape with fourteen half-crazed savages breathing down her neck.

  All morning one Ute brave after another had come forward to speak with Crooked Nose. After the second brave had approached, Jessica had realized that they were trying to buy her from their leader. They spoke partly in English, and partly in their own tongue. Their crude gestures made it quite obvious what they wanted. An Indian with a shaved head had offered a shiny Colt pistol and a cavalry cap in return for her services. Another had offered a belt of male and female red-haired scalps. Her captor refused each with a shake of his head and an angry shout. It appeared he meant to keep her. She shuddered with revulsion as she contemplated his intentions.

  When Crooked Nose had captured her last night, she'd expected to be raped, by him, by all of them. She'd expected to be tortured and killed. If she could have broken free and run, she would have. She'd have let them shoot her in the back before she'd have let them take her. But her injured leg had been so bad that she'd been unable to walk. The Kiowa had carried her over his shoulder and dumped her near the campfire. He'd bound her wrists and ankles until her circulation was nearly cut off, and then all of the men, except for the watch, had gone to sleep.

  In the morning they rose before the sun came over the horizon, broke camp, and joined the renegades guarding the horses upstream. They'd been riding at a cruel pace since then, not stopping for water or to relieve themselves. It was well past noon.

  Jessica tried to rest he
r aching head on the horse's wiry neck, but the jolting of its gait wouldn't allow her to relax. All she could do was hold on and pray Adam was on his way.

  She thought of Adam often as the day passed as she drifted in and out of consciousness, suffering from heat exhaustion. She filled her mind with sweet, haunting memories, blocking out the heat of the day and the throbbing pain in her leg. She thought of Adam's glossy black hair, and the masculine scent of his bronze skin. She thought of the way he had touched her that night on the creek bank. She imagined the taste of his lips on hers. She felt the weight of his hard sinewy form pressing against her. He'd awakened her to sensations she'd never experienced, to emotions she'd not realized existed within her.

  What did she feel deep inside her heart for Adam? It frightened her to even think about it. She remembered what he had said that night. He'd said . . . She squeezed her eyes shut. He had said he thought he was falling in love with her.

  Love? She didn't want love from any man. Love from a man was nothing but pain, suffering . . . heartache. Her father had said he loved her mother, Rose, and what had that gotten Rose but unhappiness and an early grave? She'd died in childbirth a short year after Mark had been born. Jacob had said he loved Jessica. What had that gotten her, but fear and resentment? He had valued her only as a prized possession. He had dressed her in silks and lace for appearance' sake, but treated her like a pet. He never consulted her in his dealing with her money. He never asked her opinion when he sold her father's farm after his death. Not even for the funeral did Jacob ask about her wishes. He had made arrangements for Mark to go to boarding school in South Carolina. Jacob insisted on total control of her life from the time she woke until the time she slept. Had Jessica remained in Tennessee, she would have led a lonely life as the wife of a man she detested.

  The horse beneath her came to a sudden stop and Jessica roused herself. She squinted in the blinding sunlight of midafternoon. Crooked Nose sprang down from his mount and dragged her after him. Jessica crumpled to the ground.

  The Kiowa jerked her to her feet. "Stand, woman. Where is the strength I saw in you yesterday when you fought as a warrior? Where is your fight? I should have let my men have you!" he spat.