by Prairie Wife
Jesse refused her help and ate the runny soup with his hand shaking. Afterward Amy waited anxiously, but the meal stayed down and he slept.
The following day he ate more, and his balance was steadier. His hands didn't tremble and he didn't spill his tea. Cay watched him finish his meal that night and smiled broadly.
"You're gettin' better, Uncle Jesse."
"I think I am. Maybe you won't have to dig a hole for my sorry bones after all."
Cay's smile dimmed.
Jesse reached out and hooked the boy around the neck, drew him closer and ruffled his hair. Cay grinned. When he sat back, he and Jesse studied each other.
"Thanks," Jesse said.
Cay shrugged as if the long, exhausting days hadn't been of significance.
"I think we can both use a bath," Jesse added. "Go grab clean clothes. You can help me heat water in the bathhouse."
Cay hurried to obey.
Amy sat in the rocker and watched Jesse gather clothing. His body was more sinewy than it should have been, and whiskers darkened his jaw. She would have to see that he ate well in the following weeks.
"Shall I come with you?" she asked.
"And embarrass the boy? I'll do fine."
She said nothing.
"There's no whiskey in the barn, if you're worried I'll slip out there."
"I wasn't."
He stood with his clothing in his bare arms, his hair tousled and his expression weary. "I wish I wasn't."
"Remember what I told you. You are strong enough to lick this, and whatever it takes, we'll get through it. Nothing worth doing ever comes easy, Jesse. Shelby Station is proof of that. But you did it."
He studied her. "We did it." He nodded then and left the room.
Amy made her way to the kitchen, where Rachel was helping Mrs. Barnes with the last of the supper dishes.
"You've been a blessing ever since you came," she told Rachel.
The young woman hung towels on a line near the fireplace, then turned and smiled. "We saw Mr. Shelby passin' through. Is he feeling better?"
"I believe he is."
Mrs. Barnes smiled, and Rachel came to give Amy a hug. She was one of the few people who didn't know Amy's history and hadn't been conditioned to keep her distance.
Amy allowed the brief embrace, then busied herself with preparations for the next morning. "You head on home, Mrs. Barnes. You've stayed past your usual time nearly every night this week. I'll handle the rest."
"You get yourself some sleep," the woman replied. "You're lookin' mighty peaked yourself."
"I will."
By the time Jesse and Cay returned, the women were gone and Amy had finished her chores. Jesse and his nephew smelled like soap and fresh air. Jesse had shaved and his skin was pink.
"We filled a tub for you. We'll get a start on lessons while you have a turn. Take your time. There's a hot kettle on the stove if your water needs heating again."
The idea of a peaceful bath sounded marvelous, and Amy hurried to gather clothes and make her way to the bathhouse.
The interior of the building was warm and humid, and the isinglass window on the stove washed the room with a golden glow. She emptied the kettle into the already full tub, undressed and slid into the hot water. It felt so good, her skin broke out in gooseflesh. She inched down and rested her head against the iron tub, relishing the treat of taking time to soak and relax. More than just the hot water, the fact that Jesse and Cay had thought to prepare her a bath eased tension from her mind and body.
It wasn't that she didn't have opportunities to take more time for herself, she thought dimly. Her father and Jesse had always worked to make things easier for her. The fact was, she never allowed herself the risk of having too much time without her mind occupied. Reflection would be more than she could handle.
Tonight, though, exhaustion had settled into her bones; she felt as though she'd run a race and won. It had been Jesse's victory, however. He was the one who had suffered and endured. She had no illusion that this would be the end of the problem. The possibility of his going back to his old ways would always hang over them. She roused herself to wash and rinse her hair, then lathered with the sweet-smelling soap Mrs. Barnes supplied.
Too weary to concern herself with emptying the tub, she left the water for the girls to dump the following day and returned to the house.
Minutes later, sitting on the ottoman before the fire, she untangled her hair with her comb and fluffed it out to dry.
"Cay and I chose a book," Jesse told her. "Tonight I'll read."
While turned away, she hadn't noticed Cay leaving the room, but now he returned with mugs of tea. Amy accepted hers with a surprised smile.
"Jesse tole me a good man takes care of the women in his life." His voice was unusually deep, as though he was trying to sound more mature.
She'd assumed that Cay resented her, but perhaps he just needed a little advice and a good example.
She glanced at Jesse where he sat in the rocker. "Listen to him and you'll learn to be a fine man."
Their eyes met. He was a fine man. Nothing harmful in saying so. Or in telling Cay his admiration was well placed.
She sipped her tea. Cay sat on the rug and crossed his legs.
"Did you like school back in Indiana, Cay?" she asked.
"Not much."
"Why not?"
He shrugged. "The schoolmaster made us stand in the corner if we couldn't answer right. I thought that was dumb."
"Well, it wasn't very nice," she agreed. "Did you enjoy reading?"
"I like stories all right."
She smiled and Jesse opened the book and began to read.
Cay listened attentively, smiling from time to time. Once, he and Amy shared a smile.
Half an hour later, Jesse closed the book. "Time for you to get a good night's sleep in your own bed."
The boy got to his feet. "Night, then."
"Good night, Cay," Amy said. "Thank you for all your help."
Jesse stood. "I'm going to check the stables and the barn, make sure the luggage room is locked and that the lamps are all out."
That had always been his end-of-the-day routine. Events over the past months had disrupted their habits, but Jesse was returning to the house again. He would learn to get by without the whiskey.
She carried their mugs to the kitchen and went upstairs. Just removing her shoes and clothing seemed a chore that night. She was barely in her nightgown and under the covers before she'd drifted into slumber.
She was vaguely aware when Jesse climbed into bed behind her, smelling like shaving soap and the night air. It didn't seem out of the ordinary to her tired brain when he molded his long, warm body along the back of hers. His breath heated her neck.
"I love you, Amy." Barely a whisper.
I love you, Jesse. A fact of life.
***
Amy dreamed she had a baby. It wasn't a new dream; in fact, it was one she had often. Sometimes the baby was a girl, but usually it was an infant son she was responsible for. In this dream, she'd carried him with her while she hung clothes on the line, and placed him in a basket where she could see him. The piles of laundry seemed never ending. When she turned from hanging hundreds of changing cloths, the baby wasn't where she'd left him.
Panicked, Amy ran inside and frantically checked each room. No one was in the house, no one to ask for help in finding her baby. Outside she ran from building to building, searching, until finally she heard a thin cry. The sound came from the old soddy.
The door wouldn't open when she tried it. She beat on the wood, then ran to each dirty window, where caked-on soot prevented her from seeing in. Finally she found a cracked pane and broke it inward. Cobwebs brushed across her face as she climbed on a stack of aged lumber and entered the house through the tiny square window. She barely fit through, but the baby's insistent cry drew her.
It was so dark she couldn't see. She followed the sound to the old rope bed where a pile of covers hid the s
ource.
Amy pulled away the quilt.
The cry echoed into nothingness, as though it had never been.
Wrapped in the quilt was a doll, a jagged crack across its porcelain face.
Amy jerked awake and sat up.
Chapter Nine
Beside her, Jesse rose on one elbow.
Her heart was beating so hard her chest hurt.
Jesse placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him. "Amy?"
She lay down and he smoothed her hair back. She hadn't braided it, and his fingers caught in the tangled length. "I was dreaming."
He drew her against him and gently cradled her. "Want to tell me?"
She shook her head against his shoulder. His skin smelled so good. "Are you feeling okay, Jesse?"
"I was havin' a spec of trouble sleeping, but I'm fine."
With her eyes closed and his warmth surrounding her, the disturbing dream faded away, and she dozed.
She didn't think much time had passed when she grew conscious of Jesse's lips on her cheek. He held her close, and her hand rested on his bare hip.
Adjusting their bodies, Jesse shifted so he could open the front of her gown and trail kisses across her skin. When he couldn't reach past the opening, he nuzzled her breast through the fabric, dampened it with his tongue and teased her that way until she found the hem and pulled it up so she could feel his mouth on her skin.
Shivers skittered across her flesh, and she squirmed against him. She'd missed the feel of his skin against hers and the tingling in her breasts when he teased and caressed them. She almost felt as though this was another dream, a better one—a much, much better one— and she floated on a sea of sensation.
She reached to stroke his sides and his belly. His body was a familiar comfort, but her growing impatience for closeness was fresh and new. Together they eased her nightgown over her head and he tossed it away.
His kiss, when he covered her lips with his, was full of need, and she shared the same craving. It had been so long since there'd been no heartache between them, since all that mattered was the moment and the feelings they had for each other.
Jesse, all warmth and eagerness in her bed, was in fact better than a dream. She surprised herself by having no other thoughts in her head than these pleasurable sensations.
He nipped her ear and breathed the question, "Do you want me?"
She bracketed his face with her hands and kissed him eagerly. "Yes."
"Say you want me, that you're not feelin' sorry for me or taking care of me out of obligation."
"I want you, Jesse. I do."
He moved over her, and she trembled, feeling him pressing hot and hard. Grasping his shoulders, Amy moved her body to take him inside her, and he thrust deep. She forgot to breathe. The world closed in and around them until all she knew was the two of them at this moment... sighs of pleasure... sounds of urgency, the beating of their hearts and the intensifying slide and pull at the center of her being.
Jesse knew how to make a good thing last.
She appreciated the coiled strength of his muscles, his gentle domination and the way he simultaneously teased and fulfilled. He urged her with whispered encouragement and purposeful strokes. She stifled a cry against his neck and shuddered. Jesse's release followed immediately.
She wrapped her arms around him and didn't let him move. She needed to experience his splendid weight, revel in their closeness and hold the world at bay forever.
But she couldn't, of course, and eventually, he moved to her side. The urge to cry swept over her so suddenly she had to turn her face away and bite her knuckle.
Jesse urged her gently onto her side, facing away from him, and cradled her from behind. He stroked her hip until eventually his hand fell still. His rhythmic breath caressed her shoulder. Amy's world hadn't felt this right for a long time. With only this solitary night in her thoughts, she fell into blissful slumber.
***
Jesse ate at the table with the hands the next morning. No one questioned his absence during the previous days, and everyone seemed glad to have him in their midst.
He overheard Mrs. Barnes asking Amy, "Did you sleep well last night?"
Pink crept into Amy's cheeks and she kept her face averted while she turned flapjacks. "Oh, yes."
He studied her over his coffee, but she deliberately avoided looking at him. He wasn't under any delusion that everything had been fixed by one night's lovemakin'. He still had a long way to go fightin' the demon that called to him at night. And most of the wall that had been constructed after Tim's death was still between them.
But he was hopeful now. And hope was more than he'd had for a long time.
The following weeks passed uneventfully until one afternoon a stage stopped and a tall man wearing a black suit and hat dusted himself off and sought out Jesse. "You the Mr. Shelby who runs this station?"
"I am."
"I'm looking for a woman who was on a train that derailed over a month ago. I tracked her to this place. Dark hair, not very tall. Is she still here?"
"Eden?" Jesse asked.
Sam sauntered up to stand beside him. "She's not here."
"She was going by the name of Eden?" the man asked.
Sam squinted. "Who're you?"
He extended a hand. "Name's Milton Price. I work for a detective agency in Philadelphia."
"A detective?" Jesse's brows rose. "What do you want with Eden?"
"Her real name's Lark Doyle. She was working with a con man by the name of George Gray. Sometimes he uses the name Frank Benjamin." He glanced from Jesse to Sam as if gauging their reactions to those names.
Both men shook their heads.
"The two of them had a con operating. Lark lured in unsuspecting men—gamblers, businessmen and the like—and then they made off with the unfortunate fellow's money and possessions. Seems a while back she stole more than her share from George and now she's on the run from him and the law."
Jesse turned to exchange a look with Sam. "Well, that sure explains her hangin' around here pretendin' she was hurt."
Sam looked stunned, but he nodded. "Who'd think to look here for her?"
"She wasn't in any hurry to go," Jesse thought out loud. "And she had money to pay her room and board."
"Stolen money," Milton Price added.
Jesse wasn't naive enough to believe everyone passing through on their way west was an upstanding citizen. That's why he wore his Colt at the ready and locked up the baggage at night. But learning someone who'd been under your roof, at your table—in your room—was a criminal was hard to swallow.
"Come on up to the house. You can have a meal and we'll compare what we know to help you catch her."
Mrs. Barnes had already served the other passengers, and they were just leaving to stretch their legs. Amy was carrying a ham from the pantry.
"Amy, this is Milton Price, a detective from Philadelphia."
After the introductions, Price described the con that Eden—Lark Doyle—and George Gray had been operating. He described George as fair-haired and having a distinctive scar above his eyebrow. None of them had seen a man like that.
Lark was without a doubt Eden, right down to Price's description of the pout and the wrinkling of her nose when she spoke.
Jesse told Price which stage she had been on when she departed and who the driver had been. Sam described her trunk and other baggage.
"Do you remember any other passengers who were here at the same time?" Price asked.
"William Hunter," Amy replied. "He was on the same train. Also a man by the name of Barnett."
"And that Castlewhite fellow," Jesse recalled.
"The Castlewhite who owns the Denver hotel?" Milton asked.
"That's the one."
"I'd better make sure she didn't go endear herself to him."
Price paid for his meal and Jesse saw him to the stage, then returned to the kitchen.
Wearing a weary expression, Sam remained where he'd been seated.
He rubbed his jaw. "I don't know the first thing about people. About human nature."
Amy covered her father's hand with her own. "You just expect people to be what they say they are. Nothing wrong with that."
"I felt like an old fool before knowin' this," Sam said, shaking his head. He stood and went for his hat. "But I'm a bigger dunderhead than I thought."
"Daddy, she's a beautiful woman. She showed an interest in you. You're not the fool. She is. For not recognizing that it's wrong to deceive decent folks."
Sam waved away her comment and lumbered out.
Amy turned her gaze on Jesse. "Now I'm really mad. I was mad before, but this—oh!" She hit the table with a fist and a stack of clean plates rattled.
"Because she hurt your father?"
"Yes, because she hurt my father. And I'm angry that she tried to cause trouble for us." She flattened both hands on the tabletop and studied him. "At least we weren't stupid enough to let her trickery come between us."
"You were the wise one there."
She got up from her seat. "I hope Mr. Price finds that woman before she hurts anyone else."
As criminals went, a conniving female wasn't the worst. But obviously in Amy's book, anyone who hurt someone she loved deserved justice.
Jesse stood and moved to take her in his arms. Without resisting, she lay her head against his chest and leaned into him. "I love you, Amy."
She didn't respond, but neither did she pull away. It was enough for now. He didn't have his wife back the way she'd once been, but they'd come a long way.
A sound alerted them to someone in the room, and they drew apart.
Rachel offered a knowing smile and set a basket of apples on the table. "Don't mind me."
Jesse squeezed Amy's hand, gathered his hat and coat and returned to his work.
***
That Sunday Sam didn't attend church with them. Afterward Cay and Amy sat on either side of Jesse on the ride home. Jesse let Cay take the reins.
"The near-side rein lies on your index finger—" He showed him. "The off-side rein goes between your middle and ring fingers, like this. Keep equal tension on both. To turn the horse, ease him careful-like by movin' your wrist one way or the other. With some horses you need to use both hands."