In Close Pursuit

by Colleen French

  Jessica ran as hard as she could, but the white satin skirting of her wedding gown got tangled in her feet.

  "Come back!" Jacob shouted, grabbing her wedding veil pinned to her hair.

  Jessica's head snapped back. She screamed as she went down with Jacob on her back.

  "You're mine!" he cried hysterically.

  "Never!" She rolled onto her back and pummeled his chest with her fists. He's going to kill me, she thought wildly. I'm never going to see Adam again!

  Jessica saw the knife flash through the air and she threw herself backward, filling the air with a piercing scream. Her head hit hard against the floor just as she felt the cold blade rip her flesh.

  Adam burst through the door in a rage. There lying on the floor was his Jessica, the bodice of her white wedding dress stained red with blood.

  Adam gave a warwhoop flying into Jacob. The older man fell back under Adam's impact and the knife went clattering to the floor.

  "I'll kill you, you son of a bitch," Adam yelled as his hands found the gray-haired man's throat. "I'll kill you myself!"

  The federal marshal and his guards grabbed Adam and wrestled him off the frightened, sobbing Jacob. Adam tore from the guards' arms and fell to his knees beside Jessica's limp body. Melba was already there, pressing her fingers to Jessica's throat.

  "Is she alive? Please tell me she's alive," Adam pleaded.

  Melba held her breath, waiting for the feel of Jessica's pulse against her fingers. "Yes!" she cried. "Oh, God, yes! She's alive!"

  Adam lifted Jessica into his arms, smoothing the hair away from her face. He held her against him, rocking her. "Jess? Jess? Can you hear me?"

  Her eyes fluttered open. "Adam?" she whispered.

  He hugged her tight. "Yes, sweetheart. It's me. I'm right here."

  "Adam, I'm sorry I'm so late." She looked down at her wedding gown, torn and bloodied. "I've ruined my gown."

  Adam carefully lifted the torn white satin, almost afraid to see the wound beneath. "Does it hurt?"

  "No. But my head sure does!" She rubbed it as Adam took a close look at her wound.

  "Just a little cut," he said with relief. "You're not hurt."

  "I told you I wasn't hurt. Where's Jacob?"

  Adam looked over to see Jacob Dorchester surrounded by the federal marshal and his guards. Jacob had wrapped himself into a ball on the floor and was rocking to and fro. "I didn't mean to kill them," he sobbed. "I only wanted to love them. I only wanted them to love me."

  Adam returned his attention to Jessica. "It's all right, sweetheart. The federal marshal will take over from here."

  "He killed those women, Adam. He thought they were me!"

  "I know. They thought I did it. The marshal was here to arrest me." Adam laughed, releasing the tension built up in his chest. "It looked for a while like I was going to be bunking with our friend the Black Bandit."

  "They arrested you?" She laid her hands on his shoulders and sat up, still feeling a little dizzy.

  "I was in every town at the time that one of the women was murdered."

  "Because I was in the town, because Jacob was in the town," she breathed.

  "Exactly. Except Blades, of course. I'd left you by the creek after you were bit by the snake."

  "But Jacob passed by there looking for me."

  "On his way to Pocatello," Adam finished.

  Jessica hung her head. "I never thought he was capable of hurting anyone. He kept babbling something about stock certificates to a diamond mine."

  Adam got to his feet and leaned over to pick up Jessica. "I don't know anything about stock certificates, but I do know someone needs to take a look at that flesh wound across your ribs."

  Jessica looped her arms around Adam's neck. "What about the wedding?" She stared into his dark eyes. "We were supposed to be married today."

  "It can wait," he soothed.

  "It can't wait! Adam Sern put me down."

  "Sweetheart—"

  Jessica swung her legs over, forcing him to set her down. She felt better already, though her head ached a little and the cut stung. "Are you saying you don't want to marry me?" she demanded.

  "Of course not. But we can get married tomorrow, the next. When you feel better."

  Jessica turned to Melba who was standing in the doorway grinning. "Does it sound to you like this man is trying to get out of marrying me?"

  Melba shook her head in feigned sadness. "Appears that way, doesn't it?" She shrugged. "Guess we'll just have to find you another husband. Plenty available in a town like Harrisburg. Men just dying to find a good woman."

  "All right! All right!" Adam said, lifting his hands in surrender. "You want to get married looking like this, we'll get married!"

  Jessica flew into his arms. "I love you, Adam Sern," she declared.

  Just then Theodore Lansing popped his head in the door. "My God! All safe and clear?" He whipped out his pencil and licked the tip. "If so, I'm ready to take any comments . . ."

  Jessica whirled around. "You!" With one swift movement she drew back her fist and slammed the reporter square in the jaw. Lansing went flying backward, out the door.

  Jessica shook her fist. "Ouch! That hurt."

  Adam looked at Lansing lying prone in the doorway, then back at Jessica and burst into laughter. "I had the exact same intentions, but I guess you beat me to it!"

  With a chuckle, Jessica reached for Adam's arm. "Shall we go, love?"

  "Most certainly, my love."

  Melba was still laughing as the two stepped over the unconscious Lansing and walked up the street.

  Late that night Jessica and Adam lay sprawled on the bed in their bedroom at Melba's finishing up a picnic supper . . . their first supper as man and wife. Flickering candlelight glimmered from the bedside tables and the windowsills, casting a soft glow over the room.

  Jessica sat, resting against the headboard. Adam lay with his head in her lap, toying with the pale green ribbons on her dressing gown. "Well, Jess," he sighed, "you think our grandchildren will ever believe us when we tell them about our wedding day?"

  She took a sip of wine and set the glass aside. "No one in their right mind would believe such an outrageous tale." She laughed, leaning to kiss him full on the mouth.

  Adam's tongue darted out to taste the sweet wine on her lips. "Mmmm, a feast fit for a king or at least an Ojibwa chief!"

  Jessica leaned back, resting her head and letting her eyes drift shut as she ran her fingers through Adam's midnight black hair. "I still can't believe it! Jacob a murderer! What do you think will happen to him?"

  "Do you care?" He ran his fingers lightly over the bandages beneath her gown. "After what he did to you? You could have been killed."

  "Funny, but I do care. He's sick, Adam. I can't hate him the way I hate Larry Caine."

  "Well, I suppose what happens to him will depend on whether they decide to try him or not. If he's found guilty, which he certainly will be, he'll hang."

  "You mean there's a chance he won't stand trial?"

  He took her hand, threading his fingers through hers. "If he was found to be incompetent . . . insane, he might not have to."

  She lifted her head, staring into his dark eyes. "What would they do with him? He certainly can't be let loose to kill again."

  "No, no, of course not," Adam soothed, stroking her cheek. "But he could be put into a home for the mentally ill. There he'd live out his life."

  She covered his hand with hers. His touch felt so good. "Is there something we could do? To keep him from going to trial, I mean."

  "I suppose. If that's what you really want."

  "I think we should try."

  "In that case I can speak to the federal marshal in the morning before he boards the steamer with Jacob and Caine. They're holding over until tomorrow, then they'll set out for Seattle. Once we're back in Seattle, I'll see what I can do."

  She smiled at him. "Thank you."

  He kissed her knuckles one at a time. "You're wel
come, wife."

  "You know, Jacob was still talking about those stock certificates when he had me tied up. He was sure I had them."

  "He thought you stole them from him?"

  "No, well, not exactly." She ran her fingers lightly over his bare chest. "He said they were my father's. They were stocks in a South African diamond mine that he himself had sold to my father years ago."

  "Do you remember any such thing?"

  "Actually, I do. Papa was furious. They were worthless."

  "So why did Jacob want them?" He rolled onto his side, his head still resting on her lap.

  "He said they were going to make him rich." She shrugged. "But he said so many other strange things. Who knows what he meant."

  Adam stroked his chin thoughtfully. "He said you had them?"

  "He said I took them the night Mark and I left. I didn't take any papers. Just the money from the sale of Papa's farm and a few mementos."

  "Where's your carpetbag?"

  "What?"

  "Where's your carpetbag? Maybe they're in the lining or something."

  She laughed. "That's absurd!"

  "Come on! Where's that sense of adventure of yours." He got up on his knees, taking her hands. "Just get me the bag and we'll settle it once and for all."

  "Adam, I've been through that bag a hundred times in the last six weeks. I know what's in there."

  "Afraid you might be wrong?" he dared.

  With a groan she climbed off the bed and went to a cedar chest where she kept her clothes. Lifting the lid, she pulled out the worn carpetbag and tossed it to him.

  Adam caught it and sat down on the bed, cross-legged. "Come on, sit with me." He patted the bed.

  "Adam, this is silly. There are no stock certificates. You said yourself Jacob was crazy."

  "Humor me. On our wedding night." He patted the coverlet.

  With a disgusted sigh she crossed the room and perched on the end of the bed beside him. "See, I told you," she said as he pulled out the tintype of her mother, the pressed flowers, the worn Bible. "There's nothing in there but silly childhood memories."

  "I told you before. No memories are silly." He pulled out the stack of her grandmother's recipes. "What's this?"

  She smiled. "Grandmama's recipes. Wait until we get our own kitchen. I'll make you the best tea biscuits you ever put in your mouth."

  Adam studied the floral handwriting. On impulse, he flipped one of the recipes over. "Jess . . ."

  "Hmmm?"

  "What are these written on?"

  She glanced at the recipes in his hand. "Written on? Paper, I guess."

  "Who wrote these?"

  "Grandmama. When she was sick she sent me into Papa's office for paper. She thought she was dying, which she wasn't, but just in case, she wanted me to have the recipes. They've been in the family for a hundred years."

  He turned to look at her, a wide grin on his face. "Look at this."

  She squinted. "What?"

  "The back of the tea biscuit recipe. See the writing?"

  At first she didn't, but then, she did make out faint print. "Oh, God," she breathed.

  "Stock certificates." He slapped the stack. "A whole pile of them, with Grandmama's recipes written on the back no less."

  "I don't believe it," she breathed, taking the delicate papers from his hands. "I just don't believe it."

  "My guess would be that on closer inspection we'll find that those are the stock certificates to that diamond mine Jacob was talking about."

  "I really did take them, years ago . . ." She looked at him in wide-eyed shock. "I just didn't know it!"

  "What do you want to bet those certificates are worth a great deal of money?"

  "You don't suppose!"

  "How many hundred acres did you want for that orchard and horse farm?"

  "Oh, Adam!" She threw her arms around him. "I'm in shock. Do you really think Papa's certificates paid off?"

  "Looks like I may have married a rich woman," Adam teased.

  Jessica lifted her dark lashes to take in his loving gaze. "Looks like maybe you did, Mr. Deputy Marshal. Looks like maybe you did."

  Epilogue

  September 1907

  Jessica pushed through the screen door and walked out onto the front porch, drying her hands on her apron. "Adam, supper's ready. Gould you call the boys? They're in one of the horse barns."

  Adam, seated on the top porch step, turned to look at her and grinned.

  She dropped her hands to her hips. "What are you gawking at?" she chastised, smiling back.

  "You."

  "Me? What are you looking at me for? I swear, Deputy Marshal, the sun's addled your brain. You've been looking at me for twenty-six years. Now call your children for supper before it gets cold."

  Adam reached for her hand and pressed it to his lips. "You're as beautiful as you were that first day I saw you on the train."

  Her laughter filled the cool early evening air as she brushed back a lock of graying hair. "Beautiful! I've given birth to seven children! I'm nearly fifty years old!"

  He rose off the step and draped a muscular arm over her shoulder. "What's a wrinkle or two?" He brushed her cheek with his fingertips. "You're beautiful to me."

  Her eyes met his and she lifted her chin to meet his lips in a tender kiss. "Know where your bread's buttered, don't you?"

  He kissed her again and then, still holding her in his arm, he turned to face the apple orchards that stretched on acre after acre beyond the farmhouse. "What a life!" he breathed. "I never thought I could be this proud of anything . . . this happy."

  She leaned her head against his chest staring out at the endless rows of healthy green trees speckled with ripe red and green apples. "We've been lucky, haven't we?"

  He took her hand, leading her down the steps. "That we have."

  "Healthy children." Jessica pushed aside an apple branch as they entered the grassy orchard.

  "Mark graduating with honors."

  "Kelsey's married to Paul Wiedenhoeft, with a babe on the way."

  Adam plucked a shiny red apple and offered it to Jessica. "And all because you stole a carpetbag of money and ran off."

  "You know damned well I didn't steal it! It was mine! Mine and Mark's."

  He kissed the top of her head and took a bite of the apple in her hand. "What a mouth you've got, woman! I should have taken old Clyde's advice years ago and beaten the fire out of you."

  "Beat me! If you think—"

  "Mama! Papa!" a young voice interrupted.

  Jessica rolled her eyes heavenward. "Is there ever any peace?" She turned toward the farmhouse, her view blocked by the apple trees. "Out here, Rosy!"

  "It's Mark, he's here!" Fourteen-year-old Rose came bursting through the trees, dragging her eldest brother behind her.

  "Mark!" Jessica threw out her arms.

  "Mama!" Mark, a handsome man of six foot two with his father's coal black hair and his mother's green eyes, swept her into his arms.

  Jessica laughed, hugging him. "You weren't supposed to be here until tomorrow!"

  Mark plunked her down. "So I made it early." He turned to his father and his hands fell to his sides.

  Adam stood for a moment, inanimated, lost in a time long ago. Mark looked so much like he had at twenty-four that it was eery. "So, son, you graduated," he said softly.

  "Harvard Law," Mark answered. He knew how important this was to Adam Sern. It felt good to fulfill his father's dreams.

  Adam thrust out his arms and hugged his son tight. It seemed as if only yesterday Mark had been a toddler on his knee and they had been planting apple tree saplings. Now suddenly Mark was a man and the trees were bearing fruit. Where had the time gone? Adam took Mark's shoulder's. "I'm proud of you."

  Mark looked up into his father's bronze face. "I've already got a job. Marker, Shuwitz, and Porter have hired me in Seattle."

  "Seattle!" Jessica cried. "That's wonderful. "We've missed you so much. All of us."

  Rose grasp
ed her brother's arm. "So what did you bring us?"

  He yanked her pigtail. "It's all in my case on the porch."

  Rose turned to run, but Jessica caught her arm. "Oh, no young lady. That can wait until after supper. Go set your brother a plate at the table."

  "Mama, it's Beatty's turn to set the table."

  "Then tell Beatty to do it. But the presents still wait."

  Mark reached into his broadcloth suit jacket. "Does that mean you have to wait, too, Mama?"

  "Of course not! I'm the mother. I deserve all of the presents my children can give me!" She grinned.

  "I found this in a relic bookstore in Boston. It's an old dime novel from the 1880s." He offered the bound book. "Have you ever seen it?"

  "When did I ever have time to read?" she asked as her eyes fell on the printed title. "Jessica Brandon," she read aloud. "The tale of a female sharpshooter, by Theodore Lansing . . ." Her mouth dropped open. Her eyes met Adam's.

  "I'll be damned," Adam breathed.

  "You did know this man. I knew it had to be you. I've heard Papa's stories. How many sharpshooting Jessicas could there be?" He flipped open the cover, leaning over her shoulder. "Read the dedication, Mama."

  Jessica took a deep breath and read the faded print. "For Jessica, sharpshooter, lawman, and brave pioneer."

  Adam burst into laughter as he wrapped his arms around Jessica's waist. "One hell of a woman!"

  The End

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  FORTUNE'S MISTRESS

  Chapter 1

  London, England

  Autumn 1672

  Lacy Bennett stepped from the dank shadows of Newgate Prison into the bright September morning. She blinked, then drew in a deep breath of fresh air and smiled saucily at the sullen warder. "I never thought t' see the day London sewers smelled like rosewater," she quipped.

  "Right leg!" The sour-faced prison official pointed to a bloodstained block of oak beside the waiting ox cart.

  Lacy placed her dirty, bare foot on the wood. Instantly, a trustee clamped a rusty leg iron and chain around her ankle. Pain shot up her leg as the heavy shackle bit deep into her flesh, but she forced her smile even wider. "Thank ye for the bauble," she said. "I was hoping ye'd have one just my size."