Always and Forever

by Beverly Jenkins

  Jackson, rifle held at his side, walked up, and nodded easily. “Evenin’.”

  Dixon came out of the shadows and stood a pace or two behind him.

  “Name’s Luke,” he said, introducing himself as he eyed Dixon. “Luke Wordell.”

  Grace could see Luke’s companions looking around at the women. The brides were watching them just as closely.

  Jackson didn’t offer his own name. “What can we do for you, Wordell?”

  “Call me Luke, everybody does.”

  “All right, Luke. How can we help you?”

  “Just looking for a meal, hoped you got a bit extra.”

  One of the companions, a Black man wearing a battered brown hat low over his eyes, asked around the toothpick in his mouth, “Where’s all the men?”

  Before Jackson could say anything, he heard, “There aren’t any others.”

  Sarah Mitchell.

  Two dozen sets of angry female eyes shot Sarah’s way. Had she not heard Jackson say he and the marshal would do the talking? Grace wanted to know. Suppose the men thought they could outgun Jackson and Dixon and all hell broke loose?

  “Well, we should tell them,” Sarah said huffily, coming to her own defense. “If they know we’re out here alone, maybe they won’t bother us.”

  “There ain’t no other men here?” This was from one of Luke’s other riders. He was a young White boy with red, patchy skin. His clothing and hat looked as battered as the other’s. “Well, hell, what’re we waiting for? I’ll take that shy-looking little thing over there,” he said, indicating Belle. “I’ll bet she ain’t never had a real man.”

  Jackson and Dixon both raised their rifles, and Jackson voiced coolly, “Yes, what are you waiting for?”

  The Black man said with a grin, “Mister, there’s four of us and only two of you,” and the four raised their guns in unison and aimed back. “Drop ’em.”

  Tension filled the silence.

  Dixon, gun still aimed, said, “I’m a deputy marshal.”

  Luke, his smile gone, replied coldly from behind his own rifle, “Well, then, somebody’ll make sure you have a fancy funeral. Lower that gun, Mr. Marshal.”

  He then told Jackson, “You too.”

  Grace could see the anger on the face of Katherine Wildhorse as she stood across the glade, powerless to help her husband. The two women shared a look, then Katherine made a gun with two fingers, intimating that she was ready, but Grace shook her head. Something told her to wait.

  The tense silence was shattered by the distinct and deadly click of a trigger being cocked, and in response, a now wide-eyed Luke froze in the saddle, then straightened up like a board.

  “Evenin’, Luke,” said Loreli’s death-cold voice from behind him. “This here’s a buffalo gun in your back, and it’s loaded for bear. “If your friends even breathe in my direction, I will blast your foul guts all over the night.”

  Every armed woman in camp took that split second to draw her own weapon, and when Luke’s companions turned back, they too froze. They were now facing raised colts and rifles, derringers, and pistols. There were armed women beneath wagons and leaning out the backs; women gripping frying pans and lengths of wood; and they all had fire in their eyes.

  Luke and his men, overwhelmed by the odds, tossed down their weapons.

  Jackson crossed his arms over his chest and chuckled. “Well, now. Looks like you boys picked the wrong camp!” He was so proud of Loreli.

  Dix picked up their weapons. “And I’m not even going to arrest you, because Loreli’s the duly elected constable here. I’m sure she can come up with a suitable punishment.”

  The men’s eyes widened.

  Dix handed the weapons to Grace and Katherine, who immediately began removing the bullets.

  He then added, “But I am going to confiscate your horses.”

  “What?” they yelled.

  “Would you rather I take you down to Fort Smith and have you talk to Judge Parker about your attempt to attack a wagon train full of women?” he asked in a quiet but steely voice.

  They hastily intimated that they did not.

  “Loreli, they’re all yours.”

  As she stood in front of them, the contempt and anger in her golden eyes was plain to see. “When I was fourteen, I lost my virginity. It was not by choice.”

  Silence fell over the camp.

  “I swore then that I would never let myself or anyone I love be taken advantage of in that way again.”

  Her blazing eyes then settled on the man who’d wanted to harm Belle. “That little shy one you wanted to get your hands on is one of those people I love. Now, because the marshal probably won’t let me geld you—”

  All four men jumped.

  “This is what we’re going to do. Give me your clothes.”

  They stared at her with wide eyes.

  “Now,” she said. “And quickly. The ladies and I drove those teams sixteen miles today and we’re ready to go to sleep.”

  The men looked to Dix and Jackson as if for help, but found no support there.

  Dixon said, “Do as the lady says or it’s Judge Parker. Hanging Judge Parker.”

  An angry Luke and his gang began undoing buttons.

  Loreli turned to Grace and the other women looking on. “Anybody offended by the sight of real men had better head to their wagons.”

  Belle, a few others, and all of the Mitchell contingent chose to leave. Everyone else stayed to watch their constable dispense her unique brand of justice.

  By now the gang were down to their filthy union suits.

  “Those too.”

  “No!”

  “Yes. Isn’t that what you had in mind when you rode in and saw all these women, taking off your clothes? Why should it be any different now?”

  Grace shared a smile with a grinning Katherine, and both women turned their backs. Neither had any desire to see “real” men.

  Grace heard Jackson laughing, and the shocked, humor-filled squeals of the women who’d been bold enough to watch.

  Grace heard Loreli say, “Now, I’m going to let you put your boots back on, and then I want you boys to start walking.”

  “You can’t send us out in the night like this!”

  “Sure I can,” she countered coldly. “I’m the duly elected constable here. Now, get!”

  Grace couldn’t resist and so turned just in time to see the cringing, naked men, wearing nothing but boots, disappear into the night.

  Cheers went up as the women mobbed Loreli. She’d saved the day.

  By the thirty-fifth day, they reached the small city of Kirksville. They camped outside of town and a wearier and dirtier bunch of women Grace had yet to see. Their lack of cleanliness made them ripe pickings for the mosquitoes and biting flies, and everyone was covered with red, itchy spots. Their only consolation was that Kansas City was only a mere hundred and sixty miles away.

  The Mitchell sisters started the thirty-seventh day by demanding that a meeting be called. Accommodating their request was the last thing Grace wanted to do, but she grudgingly agreed.

  That evening, after the wagons were circled up, dinner shared, and the first opportunity to wash in days taken advantage of, everyone convened around the fire to hear what the Mitchells and their friends, aptly named the Seven Deadly Sins by Loreli, wanted to discuss. Weariness showed plainly on everyone’s face.

  Since Loreli headed up these gatherings, she didn’t waste any time. “What do you ladies want?”

  The thin-faced Molly said, “We want to end this fiasco and find a train that’ll take us the rest of the way to Kansas City.”

  Grace’s jaw tightened. “How do you plan to get there?”

  “By wagon, of course,” Sarah said in a patronizing tone.

  “No, you won’t. The wagon you’re in has been purchased by the men in Kansas. If you leave, you and your things leave without it.”

  Fanny’s voice was filled with sarcasm. “Have you ever traveled Jim Crow, Sarah?”
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  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  Fanny then looked to Loreli. “Permission to go back to my wagon, Loreli. I’ve no desire to even discuss the merits of riding in a cattle car filled with dung. I’ve ridden Jim Crow.”

  Loreli nodded her understanding. “Permission granted, Fanny.”

  Fanny rose, gave the Mitchells a disgusted look, then left the circle.

  Zora weighed in. “Suppose we did agree to do that, Sarah. What’re we going to do if the conductor decides to put us all off the train? What about our possessions? Where would we go? Who would aid us, out in the middle of nowhere?”

  Neither Sarah nor Molly nor any of their followers seemed to have a ready answer.

  Ruby O’Neal cracked, “You and your friends must have been living in a foreign country for the last few years. Do you have any idea how things are going here for folks like us?”

  Molly looked offended. “Of course, we read the papers.”

  “Then why are we having this discussion?” Grace asked coolly.

  Sarah snapped, “Because I’m tired and sore and sick of looking at the backside of a team twelve hours a day. I want a real bed to sleep in, and hot water, and a meal that doesn’t include rabbits!”

  Loreli didn’t buy it. “Grace told you how it was going to be before we left Chicago. We’re all tired and sore and sick of everything you’re sick of, but I agree with Fanny, Jim Crow is not an option—at least, not for me.”

  Then she added, “Yes, this is probably the toughest task any of us has ever had to do, but I refuse to have a bigoted conductor banish me to a cattle car or ask me to leave in the middle of the night simply because of my ancestry.”

  “Hear! Hear!” someone called out.

  Grace, glad for the support of Loreli and the others, said, “So, if you and your group wish to travel to Kansas by other means, we can unload your belongings, leave you some water and food—”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” Sarah challenged.

  “Believe me, I would,” Grace promised. She’d had it up to her eyebrows with them. They’d done nothing but complain and snipe and aggravate people the entire trip. They also were still refusing to speak to Belle, and for that alone Grace wouldn’t think twice about leaving them behind.

  Grace stood. “Let me know what you decide in the morning.”

  She then looked to Loreli. “Madam Constable, are we done here?”

  “Looks that way to me. Have a good evening, everyone.”

  The women, tired after yet another long day, trudged back to their tents.

  Muttering and cursing under her breath, Grace wanted to kick something when she returned to her tent. She planned to spend the rest of the evening alone, lest she run into the Mitchell sisters and slap them silly. Just as she came around the front of her wagon, her angry steps slowed. Jackson was up on the seat. When he gave her that bone-melting smile, her anger melted away.

  “Evenin’,” he greeted.

  She wondered if a more gorgeous man had ever been created. “Evening, yourself.”

  He’d been gone all day, scouting the road ahead. He and Dixon had been alternating the task so that Dixon and Katherine could have a bit more time together.

  “You looked like you wanted to run somebody through when you came around the corner just now. It isn’t me, is it?”

  She couldn’t hide her smile. “No, it isn’t you.”

  He made a show of wiping sweat from his brow, and Grace laughed, then replied, “It’s those blasted Mitchell sisters. Do you think we’ve enough oil on hand to boil them in?”

  He chuckled. “What’ve they done now?”

  She told him.

  When she finished, he drawled, “Is there any chance we’ll really get a chance to leave them behind?”

  Grace sniffed. “We’ve a better chance of teaching the teams to fly. Neither of them has the testicular fortitude to do anything but whine.”

  He laughed. “Grace, I’m surprised at you. Testicular fortitude?”

  “Sorry, something I picked up from my father.”

  “I like it.”

  “So do I.”

  Enjoying the sight and sound of her, Jackson told her, “Missed you today, hellion.”

  “Missed you, too,” she replied truthfully.

  Silence crept in as their need for each other rose and curled about them like smoke.

  He asked, “Think I can come by later and show you how much?”

  “Only if I can do the same.”

  “You’re an outrageous woman, do you know that?”

  Grace could already feel her body blooming with anticipation. “You wouldn’t want me any other way.”

  He winked, hopped down, and disappeared around the side of the wagon.

  True to his word, Jackson entered her wagon a few hour later. Taking her in his arms, he kissed her leisurely, gingerly, making himself go slowly so that he could savor her. He reacquainted himself with the sweetness he’d been craving since the last time they’d been together this way, and then nibbled her sultry bottom lip. As he used the tip of his tongue to taste the passion parted corners of her mouth, desire flared between them like a match against the tinder. He gathered her closer and deepened the kiss.

  The memories of his last visit had had to sustain Grace until now, but they soon faded as reality took hold. The first tempting notes of passion’s prelude had begun, and her senses unfurled to the song.

  His lips left her mouth to graze across her jaw. Grace’s head fell back to accommodate the thrilling kisses playing against the tender skin beneath, and up and down the column of her throat. His hand moved up her spine, warming her skin through her clothing. She wanted to be free of her clothes; free to be caressed without inhibition by the only male hands she’d ever known. The lips she responded to so hungrily were as deeply familiar as the gentle teeth now nibbling the shell of her ear. Even though they’d been together like this only a few times before, the heat of his big palms sliding the back of her skirt so provocatively over her full hips made her feel as if she’d known his touch for a lifetime.

  The buttons on her shirtwaist were now being undone and she didn’t care. The opened halves of the shirt revealed the fine, lace-edged chemise she wore beneath, and the golden tops of her breasts swelling above. He brushed his lips over the satiny curves and she moaned deep in her throat. Each touch of his lips left fire in their wake.

  “Let’s take this off…” he murmured.

  He removed her blouse and then her short chemise. Fueled by the heat he sensed in her eyes, he used a finger to trace slowly the softness of her throat, then her kiss-ripened mouth. As desire shimmered around them, he pressed his lips against her parted mouth and the scented hills of her breasts. He raised his head so he could run his palms over her already berried nipples, then hotly suckled each in turn. She arched in response to his magnificent loving and to the storm he set off inside her soul.

  When he took her hand to lead her over to the pallet, Grace sought his lips as they moved. He halted in mid-stride to accommodate her, and for a while they did nothing more than savor their shared desire before resuming the short journey. After taking a seat on the crate beside the pallet, he undid the tie on the waistband of her poplin skirt. It pooled at her feet and her polished cotton slip soon followed. She was clad in nothing but her frilly drawers. He pulled back a moment to feast his eyes on her half-clad loveliness.

  “You’re beautiful…”

  He slid a finger over her nipple and heard her purr. Enflamed by the sight and sound, he leaned forward and suckled the nubbin gently. When the purr became a sensual growl, he treated the other, then slowly drew away. He couldn’t stop touching her though; not her mouth, not her breasts, not the soft skin of her waist, usually kept hidden by the corset. As his hand explored her, he touched what felt to be a series of small scars on her side. Mapping them gingerly, he felt his curiosity rise, and he asked quietly, “How’d you hurt yourself?”

  “My
corsets…” she breathed.

  Jackson hated the things for many reasons; the scarring of a woman’s skin was one. He made a mental note to let her know again how he felt about the damned contraptions later, but now he wanted to hear her purr. She was beautifully endowed for a woman of such small stature. He felt her trembling. “Are you cold?”

  “No,” came her whispered reply. Grace was so filled with the haze of desire, the air in the shadowy wagon could’ve been as frigid as the winds of January and she wouldn’t’ve been able to tell. Passion kept her insulated from all else.

  “Then let’s make sure you stay warm…”

  Jackson slid an intimate finger between her thighs. The slit in her drawers allowed him to be as brazen and bold as he pleased, so he pleased her until she was lush and flowing. As he played, he watched her eyes close and her head drop back; she purred and then groaned. His manhood was so heavy and hard it felt like a length of steel. Were she a woman of more experience, he’d ease her down on him right now and make her ride him until they were both too sated to move, but she was Grace and it would be her first time. Mindful of that, he wanted to initiate her slowly, gently. He’d teach her to ride next time.

  This evening’s tutoring centered on just what he was doing now: circling her, caressing her, preparing her. He could tell by her strangled breathing and the soft, rhythmic arching of her lovely little body that she was on the brink of the night’s first climax, so rather than make her wait, he wantonly increased her pleasure and she shattered, hoarsely whispering his name.

  Still resonating with the shuddering aftereffects of his magic, Grace came back to herself slowly. Gazing into his eyes, she saw passion, heat. He grazed a possessive knuckle over her still pulsing shrine. The sensations filled her core once more. Wanting him to stop until she could locate her mind again, but hoping he wouldn’t, she moaned responsively.

  “Such a sultry little pirate queen.”

  His voice was thick, hot. The dallying continued. Grace shamelessly widened her stance.

  She wondered how in the world she was going to keep from wanting him after he left. “You’re in my blood, Jackson…” she whispered.