He closed his eyes momentarily. “After the war, and…after some other things, I felt pretty footloose. Had a big chip on my shoulder after being captured and held in that Richmond prison so long. Knew I’d die if I didn’t get out. It was overcrowded, with even the officers jammed in like sardines. No sanitation. Damn little water and what moldy rations they served were inedible.
“Guess you could say I carried a grudge from the day I left Richmond, hidden in a broken-down carriage I stole from…never mind. Anyway, I headed out West and met up with an old…” He was about to say “friend,” but changed his mind. “That’s what I’ve got to tell you, Ellen. I rode with a gang of outlaws.”
“You’re not a stupid man, Jess. But that was a foolish thing to do, get mixed up with outlaws.”
Jess shrugged. “I’ve done worse. But that’s not the point.”
Ellen tried to pull away, but he tightened an arm around her shoulders, preventing her movement.
“Go on.” She put an edge in her voice.
“Dan…we called him Danny Boy…joined the gang about two years ago. Right about that time the boys pistol-whipped a train engineer. That didn’t set too well with me, and then during the very next job one of the boys shot a man. Killed him. That night I pulled out.”
Ellen listened in silence, her pale face impassive. “Did you ever kill anyone?”
“Not as an outlaw, no. I did kill a good number of men in the war.”
“Did you get rich robbing trains?” Her voice crackled with anger.
“Nope. When I walked away, I left my share of the money behind.”
She skewered him with a look so sharp it could cut glass. “Why did you come to my farm?”
His breath hitched in. After a long moment he blew it out in a long sigh. “I’ll be honest with you, Ellen. I never liked Dan much.”
“Oh? And why not?”
“He was young and cocky. Bragged a lot.”
“About the farm?”
Jess would give anything if he could lie to her now. What he knew about Dan was that he wasn’t one-tenth the man Ellen deserved.
“No, not about the farm. About a robbery he’d pulled off alone, just before he joined up with us. He told us how he’d sneaked back to his farm and buried the take someplace on the property.”
She went rigid. “He came back to the farm? And he didn’t let me know?”
“That’s what he said. He was always peacock-proud of getting away with it.”
“Let me down, Jess. I’m going to be sick.”
“No, you’re not. You’ll have a good cry and put a mad on for a few days, and then you’ll get over your frothy spell and do what needs to be done.”
“What in God’s name makes you think so?” She spat the words at him, but her lips were beginning to tremble.
Jess shook his head. “Dunno, exactly. Just a feeling.”
“Based on what?” she demanded.
He ignored the question. “There’ll be three of them. Dan and two others. They’ll be here in a few days, and we need to get ready.”
“We?” Her eyes narrowed in sudden comprehension. “You came here to dig up that money for yourself.”
“I did, yes.”
“That puts us on opposite sides of the fence, mister. When Dan gets home he’ll run you off. Or shoot you,” she added with satisfaction.
“No, he won’t, Ellen. He’ll dig up the gold, split it three, maybe four ways, if I get lucky, and then he’ll ride out. Away from you.”
“He will do no such thing! I know him better than you do. He’s not what you think.”
Jess gave her a little shake. “He is exactly what I think. A gambler. A cheat.”
“But he…he loves me.” She was close to tears. Jess hated to push the matter, but she had to know the truth.
“He does love you, Ellen. He bragged all the time about his pretty wife. But he loves robbing trains more.”
“I cannot believe that.”
“It’s true.” Jess closed his eyes at the anguish he saw in hers. “Dammit, I hate telling you this more than I can say.”
The horse reached the gate and tried to nose it open. Jess knew he should dismount and unlatch it, but with Ellen in his arms he didn’t want to move.
“I hate you,” she muttered.
“Thought you would,” he said. “But I had to tell you anyway.”
“You have destroyed what little I have left in life.” Her voice was low and wobbly. “I will hate you for the rest of my days.”
“Maybe so. But if you want your life to last till next Sunday, you’ll do as I say.”
Her eyes blazed fire. “Why should I? Give me one reason why I should listen to anything—anything!—you have to say.”
Jess stepped the horse parallel to the gate and leaned down to unlatch it. “The reason is simple. Because you stand a better chance with me.”
He walked the horse through the gate and relatched it.
“What does that mean, I stand a better chance with you? Why on earth should I trust you, of all people?”
He dismounted and led the horse toward the back porch, speaking to her over his shoulder. “First, I’m a better shot than Dan. Better than Gray, who’ll be riding with him. Don’t know about J.D.”
“And? What’s number two? Some crazy idea about—”
“Second,” Jess interrupted, “I decided something this afternoon at the picnic, when I was watching you sitting under the oak tree with your lady friends. I decided I’m more interested in keeping you safe than I am in the gold. I’ve decided that I’ll stand with you.”
From the look on her face, he thought she either didn’t hear him or didn’t believe him. When he reached up to lift her off Tiny’s back, she shrank away from him.
Ellen had no idea how she reached the kitchen, no memory of climbing the back steps and clunking across the wash porch, but she must have done so. Either that or Jess had carried her in, but her rage at him made her doubt that. She couldn’t stand the thought of being anywhere near him, at least not until she calmed down some. Otherwise she might kill him.
And speaking of wanting to kill someone… Dan had come to the farm and he didn’t even want to see me? Speak to me?
She lifted a plate from the stack on the shelf and hurled it onto the floor with a satisfying smash. Another, one with blue flowers around the rim, landed with a crash. None of her china matched anymore, so what did it matter?
And Jess! Goddam him to hell. She’d never hated someone with such venomous clarity, not even her drunken father. The hurt and fury she’d held inside her boiled up like a vat of hot, smelly tallow.
Her gaze fell on the curtained space underneath the sink where Dan’s shotgun rested. She kicked the curtain aside with her crutch and saw the gleam of blue steel. She was bending toward the weapon, reaching out one hand before she caught herself.
No, she decided. She couldn’t kill a man. It was wrong. Besides, if she did, she really would be alone. Helpless. And that would be foolish.
What if she just threatened him? Cocked the weapon so he could hear it, let him know she had him in her sights? The weasel had purposely deceived her. She wanted to see fear in his eyes. She wanted him to pay for what he’d done.
Why, why had Jess lied to her? And for Lord’s sake, why had he said that he would stand with her? Her hired man was a skunk of the lowest order and a mystery as well. She would never understand him.
And what about Dan?
Dan was another mystery. She turned awkwardly back to the shelf for another plate, and this time she added a teacup and saucer, too. The clinkery sounds they made crashing onto the floor eased the knot in her belly. Odd, how much better that made her feel.
When she ran out of china to smash she knew she would begin to cry. Already her throat ached. Letting the anguish out would help, but, well, she wasn’t finished being mad.
And hurt.
And…puzzled.
She flung the empty teakettle onto the back po
rch, smiling as she heard the metal utensil tumble across the floor and lodge against the screen door. She was being childish, she knew. At the moment she didn’t care. She heaved the iron frying pan after it and then went back to her plates. She would break all but one. And she would never, never take in a hungry cowboy again.
Three soup bowls crashed into the iron stove, one after the other. She had never allowed herself a fit of temper all the time she was growing up. Hadn’t allowed herself to disturb her father out of fear of what he would do to her. Or to Mama, before she died, anyway. Too many times Ellen had hidden in the attic to avoid a beating; when Pa was drunk he couldn’t manage to climb the steep steps up to her hiding place.
She hurled another bowl at the wall. She’d have to sweep it all up later, she thought dimly. But it was worth it. Being deliberately destructive seemed to ease the sick, tight feeling in her belly.
Purposely setting rational thought aside, she smashed two more plates and a gold-rimmed vegetable bowl against the kitchen table. Her arms were getting tired. By now, she had to heave so hard to break the china, it took three tries.
In a daze she stared down at the shards sprayed over the table, the floor, the stove. Enough.
Just one more thing. Clenching her teeth, she dragged herself over to the condiments shelf, raked the bottle of port off the top and heaved it into the sink as hard as she could. It split open with a satisfying clunk, and that was what finally brought her back to reason.
The pain she’d been avoiding sliced into her shaking body like the jagged teeth of a crosscut saw. She opened her mouth and screamed. Shouted words she hadn’t realized she knew until she heard her hoarse voice yelling them. Then tears, hot and bitter, gushed forth. A crushing heaviness pressed on her breastbone, radiated into her throat until she could no longer utter a sound.
She wept. Over the next hour of choking sobs the hurt slowly subsided into a small, hard knot in her belly. Her eyes felt hot and swollen. When she had no more tears in her, she blew her nose on her pocket handkerchief, stuffed it into her waistband and dragged her aching body up the stairs to bed.
Jess leaned against the open barn door, listening to the noises coming from the house. The sound of breaking china carried in the warm night air, loud enough to unsettle the chickens. Loud enough to drive iron spikes into his gut.
More crashing sounds, then the thunk of something heavy on the back porch—a frying pan, maybe. Or the cake pans. Both, probably. The way she was going, she’d destroy the whole kitchen before morning. Well, he guessed she had plenty to be riled up about.
Or she might turn her anger against herself. He knew about that; you gained nothing and got hurt in the process. He pictured her upstairs in her bedroom, gulping mouthfuls of wine from the wedding gift bottle of port.
A wail of agony broke the brief stillness, then screams of rage and pain. His throat grew hot and tight as he listened to the sounds. At this moment he wished he’d never laid eyes on Ellen O’Brian. Never conceived the idea of one-upping that bastard Dan for cheating him.
She sobbed for what seemed an hour, maybe two, and then the glow of a lantern flickered, disappeared, and reappeared in her bedroom window.
The tiny crack that had nibbled into Jess’s heart widened with a jolt. He’d planned to dig up the stash Danny Boy bragged about, take his cut from the train jobs and ride out. He hadn’t planned on Ellen.
And she sure as hell hadn’t planned on confronting husband Dan’s real priorities. Hadn’t a way in hell to survive what Jess knew was coming. Hell, he should have shot the cheating Irish scum when he had the chance.
He figured he and Ellen had three days at the most before the lid blew off. He shifted restlessly against the splintery barn door and began making his plan.
Jess stayed clear of Ellen for the first half of the following day. Before she came downstairs for breakfast he swept up the shards of china and replaced the teakettle and the frying pan on the stove. The sink reeked of port. He lifted out the crimson-stained pieces of glass, wondering if she’d drunk any before she smashed the bottle.
Deciding he’d kill two birds with one stone by burying the refuse in the next five-square-foot section to be searched, he tramped out to the apple orchard and began digging, deeper and wider than necessary.
He was bending over the shovel when he heard irregular steps at his back. Ellen stalked toward him in tight-lipped silence. Her face under the blue sunbonnet looked ravaged, her eyes puffy. A blade of agony bored into his breastbone.
She halted, fisted her free hand on her hip and scowled at the gash he’d made in the earth. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
Jess wiped his sleeve across his forehead. “Trying to locate the gold Dan buried.” He tried to meet her eyes, but she wouldn’t look at him.
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s the truth, Ellen. If we can find it before Dan gets here, he won’t have a reason to stay. He’ll move on, and you’ll be safe.”
She shot him a withering look. “You mean you will be safe. Dan does have a reason to stay—the farm. Me. If ‘we’ find the money, you will be long gone before Dan comes.”
“I’m not fool enough to ask you to trust me. Especially now that—”
“I certainly do not trust you. I never should have in the first place, and I never will again.”
“Yeah, you said as much last night. I won’t argue that I came here with a selfish intent. But unless you want to hightail it into town for a week, you’re stuck with me. I’m the only help you’ve got.”
“I will never abandon this farm, not even for a week.”
Jess exhaled a sigh. “I figured you’d feel that way. If I can’t convince you of some basic facts, guess I won’t be able to talk you into vacating the place for your own safety.”
“You’ve got that right, mister.”
For a woman crushed with grief, she sure had a sharp edge in her voice. Like a raspy grinder.
“Besides,” she snapped, “Dan is no threat to me. It’s you he’ll shoot on sight. Maybe I will even suggest it to him.”
“For the last time, Ellen, I’m asking you to leave. Please. Take Tiny and go on into town. Stay with your uncle, the doctor.”
Jess watched her lips press together so hard they looked bloodless. “I am staying right here. My vegetables need weeding.”
Something inside Jess snapped. “Then help me search, dammit. I’ve made a map of your property and marked off sections. I’ve done eight, got thirteen more to go over. You stay, you help me.”
“I don’t take orders from you!”
That did it. He dropped the shovel and tramped heavily to where she stood. “Lady, you want to live through this, you’ll damn well do as I say.” He laid both hands on her shoulders and gave her a rough shake. “You savvy?”
“Take your hands off me!”
Jess lifted his arms and dropped them to his sides, but he didn’t step back. “I said, do you savvy?” he shouted.
A tremor crossed her face, but she didn’t move. She stood gazing at him a long, long time, her eyes so cold and hard they looked like polished stones. “Yes,” she hissed at last. “I savvy. More than you think.”
“Time’s running out, Ellen. With both of us looking for the gold, we’ll have a better chance.”
Again she just stared at him, but her eyes changed. In their depths he saw pain and resignation. She might look womanly on the outside, but on the inside she was tough as whang leather.
She had intelligence and she had courage.
Together, maybe they’d have a fighting chance.
Chapter Ten
The instant Doc turned the corner onto Chestnut Lane, he felt his pulse rate jump. He worked to keep his feet moving at the same steady pace, forced himself to breathe in the tree-scented morning air. His shoes crunched over the leaf-littered path approaching the rambling structure Iona had turned into a boardinghouse after pneumonia had taken her husband eight years before.
&nbs
p; Every morning since, Doc walked the same route to his office. He took a different way home when his day ended, because at that hour Iona was busy serving supper to her six boarders and did not appear on her porch.
Self-consciously he straightened his cravat and strode forward, anxious for his daily glimpse of the widow Everett. When he reached the corner of the neat white fence that enclosed her front garden, his breath quickened. Today he would do it. He would speak to her…oh! And raise his hat, of course, as any gentleman should.
He lifted his gaze to the wide front veranda and felt his breakfast porridge suddenly float up, weightless in his stomach.
She wasn’t there!
Never once in all these years had she not been rocking gently on her porch when he passed. Even in winter, when the icy wind stiffened his fingers and snow drifted from the chestnut branches, turning his nose and ears red, even on the coldest morning, there she would be, bundled to her chin in a fur wrap with a knitted wool fascinator about her head that almost obscured her delicate, heart-shaped face.
But not today. His heart hiccupped. His footsteps slowed by her front gate. Was she ill? Suddenly he couldn’t draw a breath.
And then a movement beside her front steps caught his attention and he came to an abrupt stop. A slight figure in blue denim farmer’s overalls and a ragged-looking red plaid shirt crouched over the front garden bed. A dainty hand pushed a trowel into the soil.
Doc froze, speechless. What was his darling Iona Everett doing on her hands and knees in the dirt? Wearing overalls! Never in his life had he seen his beautiful Iona in anything but pastel-colored dresses so sheer and ruffly they looked like spun sugar.
His hand shaking, he lifted his hat just as she turned in his direction. Her soft gray eyes went wide and then for some reason her hands flew to her hair, tied up under a blue bandanna.
Doc stood mesmerized, his hat still in his raised hand. Speak to her! he ordered. Say something. Anything. Say good morning, just as if you didn’t feel pole-axed every time you laid eyes on her.
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