He kicked his mount into an easy lope. Jade stood in the yard and watched him shrink into a speck in the distance and finally vanish into the shimmering morning heat.
If things don’t get any better.
Bring half the usual amount of peaches in the first week, Mr. Stevens at the general store had told her. Four crates instead of eight. Her father had delivered them a week ago. And they had received no word that the store was willing to take more.
No sales, no money.
If things didn’t get better, they might indeed starve.
* * *
Sweat beaded on Jade’s skin as she crouched in the orchard, packing peaches into a wooden crate. Three full ones already stood lined up behind her. If they failed to sell, they could at least live on the fruit for a while. They could trap rabbits and hunt for wild turkeys in the hills. In the spring, they could plant a vegetable patch.
In a nearby tree, an old one which had grown too big but still bore good fruit, a ladder propped against the trunk started shaking. She glanced over and saw her father climbing down to unload the peaches he’d collected in a canvas pouch tied around his waist.
‘Perhaps I should leave,’ Jade told him quietly. ‘Go to the Apache. People will forget about me. They’ll do business with you, like before…’
‘No.’ Her father handed the full pouch to her and tied an empty one around his waist. ‘I’ve thanked the Lord that you stopped running away. Don’t ruin it by starting again.’
‘It’s my fault. If I hadn’t…’ Jade glanced over at the granite gravestone on the edge of the orchard. Thora Thunder Woman Armstrong. Beloved Wife and Mother. ‘If I had just left the lies alone…’
‘No, Jade.’ Her father spoke in a soft, gentle tone she hadn’t heard in years. He reached into the crate of peaches, selected a perfect one and held it up in his hand. ‘This is how you’ve always been in my eyes. Beautiful. Without a blemish.’ With his other hand, he selected a smaller, darker peach. ‘Your mother was equally perfect. Different, but perfect in her own way.’
Expelling a sigh, he put both peaches back in the crate. ‘You did right, girl. We should have done it long ago. But your Ma was so stubborn. She wanted the best for you. That’s all I ever wanted, too.’ He tipped his straw hat back on his head and studied her with his faded green eyes. ‘Do you believe that, Jade? That all I ever wanted was the best for you? Fetching you back from your mother’s people, fixing you to marry a stranger…I thought I was doing the best for you.’
She jumped up and hugged him. ‘You did do the best for me.’
‘Jade. We’ll manage.’ He returned the hug and let her go.
Buoyed by the surge of love between them, Jade surveyed the crates at her feet. ‘One more batch. Then we can stop and you can take the buckboard into town. The store will take these. I’m sure they will. Our peaches are the best in Mariposa County.’
She emptied the pouch into the crate while her father climbed back into the tree. A swarm of bees buzzed around the orchard. Jade swatted at the insects and wiped sweat from her brow. Behind her a sharp cry shattered the silence, followed by the sound of snapping branches and the heavy thud of something landing on the ground.
Jade jumped to her feet and rushed over. ‘Pa!’
Her father lay sprawled on his side, eyes closed, face pale, the sparse strands of sandy hair in disarray around his head. His hat had fallen a few feet away. The sweet scent of crushed peaches floated in the air. An angry welt of a bee sting was swelling on his cheek.
Jade fell to her knees by his side. ‘Pa, are you hurt?’
Motionless, he made no reply. Jade pressed her fingers to the base of his throat, feeling for a pulse. His skin was warm, and moist with perspiration. Relief swamped her as she detected a faint but steady beat.
Taking care, she ran her hands along the worn fabric of his flannel shirt and denim pants. When she reached the right leg, her father stirred and emitted a hoarse moan.
She bent over his face. ‘Pa?’
His lids fluttered open. ‘Jade…’
‘Yes, father.’ Tears burned in her eyes. ‘Thank God.’
‘My leg…’
‘I think it’s broken. I’ll get the buckboard. Doc Mortensen will fix you up.’
‘It’ll cost money. Can’t you…’ He spoke in grunting bursts.
‘Pa.’ Jade rose to her feet, brusque efficiency replacing the sharp jolt of fear. ‘Apache chants and herbs might cure fevers but they won’t set broken bones. You’ll need a doctor.’ She hurried off toward the barn without wasting time on talk.
* * *
Doc Mortensen was a gangly man close to seventy, with a shock of white hair and an abrupt, somewhat abrasive manner. Jade did what she could to help him as he gave Sam Armstrong whiskey for the pain and splinted the leg, all the while lecturing his patient about the need to rest while the injury healed.
When he was finished, he motioned for Jade to follow him out of the treatment room. ‘Let Sam rest for a couple of hours,’ he said. ‘Give him a chance to gather his strength before you drive him home.’
Jade grimaced. ‘Can’t I just leave him here?’
‘Rough journey?’
‘I thought I’d never get him up on the buckboard. Then he insisted that I load the peaches, as we were coming into town.’ She spread her hands. ‘If I drove fast, he yelled at me for torturing him with jolts. If I drove slowly, he accused me of dragging out his suffering.’
The doctor settled in the big leather chair behind his office desk and crossed his hands over his concave belly. ‘What’s happened to the buckskins, and the eagle feather in your hair? You got tired of shocking the White-Eyes?’
Jade felt her cheeks burn. ‘I was in too much of a hurry to put them on.’
The old man opened a drawer and rifled through the papers inside. When he located a file with her father’s name on top, he pulled it out, uncapped a fountain pen and made notes.
‘That husband of yours came by,’ he said absently.
‘Carl?’
‘Said you were going to be an Apache medicine woman. He thought it might help to know a bit of White-Eye doctoring and asked me how you might go about learning. I’ve got an old copy of A Manual of Medical Diagnosis by Andrew Whyte Barclay that you can have, if you like.’
He capped his pen and put away the notes. Spinning around in his chair, he reached to the bookcase behind him, pulled out a worn book in brown cloth binding, and handed it to her.
Jade examined the book, opened a page at random. A diagram. The bones in the human hand. Her eyes widened. So many of them. She lifted her own hand, splaying the fingers and flexing them, studying the movement of the joints.
Doc Mortensen adjusted his gangly frame in the chair. ‘I need someone to help out in the surgery once in a while. You could do it. Learn a bit of doctoring.’ His gray eyes narrowed. ‘But first you’ll need to win over the people in town. I can’t have the Indian Wars played out in my medical practice.’
Jade hesitated. ‘People hate me because I’m a half-breed.’
‘It’s not just that. People resent you for creating a rift on purpose. You can’t blame them for reacting when you’ve put so much effort into baiting them, riding around looking like little chief Minnehaha, running off to live in a wickiup.’
It dawned on Jade the doctor was right. Instead of just letting the truth about her birth become known, she had flaunted her Indian ancestry and forced a confrontation.
Cradling the book to her chest, she rose to her feet. ‘I’ll try,’ she said, the words slow and cautious as her mind raced over the possibilities. ‘But it might be too late. People are already set against me, and it might be impossible to change their minds.’
* * *
In the mercantile, Mr. Stevens stood behind the counter, filling the display of candy jars. His narrow face drew into a scowl as he watched Jade stride across the floor.
‘I have four crates of peaches in the buckboard.’ She took a quick
survey of the shelves and saw there were no peaches. ‘Perhaps, if you’ve sold out, you’d like to buy some more.’
‘We agreed your Pa would come.’
‘He fell off the ladder this morning and broke his leg.’
The storekeeper stilled in his task. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ He turned away from her and resumed the chore, moving from the lemon drops to the sarsaparilla sticks.
In her nervousness, Jade spoke bluntly. ‘He’s with the doctor now. The leg is in a splint. He won’t be able to make deliveries this season. You’ll have to deal with me.’
The bell over the entrance rang. Jade glanced over her shoulder. It was Mrs. Thurgood, the barber’s wife. When the small, slender woman spotted Jade, she hovered on the threshold for an instant, and then retreated back to the wooden walkway. The door swung closed. The sound of the bell faded into silence.
‘I’m sorry, Jade.’ Mr. Stevens concentrated on the candy jars. ‘It’s not me…it’s the customers. I can’t risk losing business…’
‘I understand.’ Her voice was low. ‘I’ll try selling the fruit elsewhere.’
She considered setting up a stall along Main Street, but she had no sign to advertise her produce, and no coins to make change if someone just wanted one or two. Pride would not allow her to stand there in the midday heat yelling, Peaches, peaches, a dozen for four bits. Instead she toured the businesses in town—the saloon, the hotel, even the bank and the barbershop and the sheriff’s office—but she achieved no sales.
By the school, she gave away two crates to the children on their break.
Then she went to fetch her father.
‘I’ll make the deliveries,’ he said as they drove home in the buckboard.
‘Pa, you heard the doctor. It’s important to rest while the bones heal. If you don’t take care, you might end up with a limp.’
‘I don’t care.’ Sam Armstrong spoke through gritted teeth as the buckboard jolted on the uneven trail. He tried to hide his pain, but his grim expression revealed his suffering.
Jade glowered at him. ‘You are not risking your leg, and that’s final.’
She steered the carthorse with care, picking her way through the worst of the potholes. It was her fault, she thought, squinting miserably into the bright sun. And she couldn’t even solve their problems by taking a husband, because she already had one, and he was gone.
* * *
Dark clouds covered the sky, blotting out the last of daylight. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the wind blew in cool gusts. Heavy drops started falling, spattering to the ground and splashing up again. Carl slowed Grace to a walk. He should have stopped for the night instead of trying to reach his destination before darkness fell.
In the distance, the small fertile valley softened the barren landscape. A bright dot hovered in the air, as if calling out to him. Closer, Carl saw it was a lantern hanging on the porch of Sam Armstrong’s cabin.
The horse whinnied and picked up speed, eager for rest and shelter.
‘Easy, boy,’ Carl said, and patted Grace on the neck.
He reached the log cabin and came to a halt. Limbs stiff from the endless hours of riding, he swung from the saddle, the long duster flaring around his legs. Water sluiced down the waxed fabric and trickled from the brim of his hat, running in rivulets down his face.
Up on the porch, a shadow surged into motion. It flew down the stairs, into the rain, and hurtled against him.
‘Carl!’
He caught Jade in his arms and hauled her to his chest. Warmth flooded him as he cradled her close. He’d been gone four days. Had she been sitting on the porch each evening, waiting for him, hoping? He dipped his head and scattered kisses on her brow, on her eyelids, on her cheeks. Her lips parted, warm and soft, welcoming him, and he deepened the kiss—two bodies molding into one as water from the sky pelted down upon them.
‘Oh, Carl, you came back,’ she breathed between kisses.
Reluctantly, he released her. ‘Let me take Grace to the barn.’
He set off, leading the horse out of the deluge. Inside the dim, cavernous barn, the carthorse and Jade’s mustang mare, Star, nickered in welcome. Grace stomped in delight. ‘Yes, boy,’ Carl murmured as he unsaddled his horse. ‘I know. It’s good to be home.’
Home.
The thought sent a jolt through him. He’d never called a place home. Not once in his twenty-seven years. He’d slept in a workhouse for orphans, on a strip of floor in a gambling house, in an army barracks, on any sheltered spot beside a rock or beneath a tree, and sometimes even in the comfort of a house or a hotel.
But never home.
He hurried back inside, an odd pressure burning in his chest. Jade stood by the stove, waiting for the big copper coffeepot to boil. She smiled at him over her shoulder. Her hair formed a riot of curls and her damp cotton dress clung to her skin, revealing the curves of her body. In her green eyes Carl could read the questions she lacked the courage to ask.
Why did you come back?
Will you stay?
‘The stage line had no…suitable jobs.’ He skirted around the lie.
‘I’m glad.’ She picked up a cloth to protect her hand and lifted the lid on the coffee pot to peer inside. ‘There’s been so much happening here. Pa—’
‘Later.’ He hung his dripping hat on a peg by the door, tossed his saddlebags on the floor and crossed the room, leaving a trail of muddy footsteps in his wake. He reached around Jade, tugged the cloth from her hand and shoved the copper pot away from the heat. Curling one arm around her waist, he ushered her toward the bedroom.
Desire arrowed through him, so powerful his body trembled. By the bedside, he paused to peel away his wet coat, letting it fall to the floor. Boots, trousers and shirt followed, scattering on the hooked rug and bare boards.
Jade stood watching him, hesitation reflected on her features.
‘I need you,’ he said simply. ‘Right now.’
Naked, cold ripples rising on his damp skin, heavy arousal jutting up in his groin, he turned toward her. With impatient hands he stripped away her dress, snagging a button here, ripping a seam there.
‘Slow down,’ Jade scolded, too stunned to help or resist.
‘No.’
And then he had her bare. Her skin glowed in the lamplight that spilled in through the open door. Carl hesitated, surprised that Jade didn’t protest the lack of privacy. He considered going to kick the door shut, but he wanted to see her, and couldn’t bear the thought of releasing her long enough to fetch the lamp that burned in the living room.
He brushed aside concern over the possibility that Sam might get out of bed and peek into the room to see what was causing the unexpected sounds. In a single fluid motion, Carl braced one arm against the mattress, lowered Jade on the bed, and settled on top of her.
Her eyes were huge pools of green as she stared up at him. ‘I’ve missed you,’ she whispered. ‘Every night, I waited on the porch.’ Her slender legs rose to coil around his waist, as if warning him that she would hold on to him and not let him leave again.
Carl didn’t want to think about the future or the past, about promises kept or broken. Shaken by the strength of his craving for her, he abandoned all restraint and surged into her. Dark, consuming pleasure spiraled in his body and in his heart. He reached down and clasped her hips, tilting them, sliding deeper with each powerful thrust.
Jade met his fierce invasion with ferocity of her own. Their bodies grew slick with sweat. Her fingernails dug into her shoulders. A fiery sense of ownership burned within Carl, chasing away the night chill that had seeped into his bones during the long ride in the rain.
He could feel Jade arch beneath him and convulse in rhythmic waves of release that made her fling her head back against the pillows. Her frantic whimpers of pleasure drove him on, and he ground into her—deep, hard—and finally jetted into her, in a climax so forceful it seemed to tear him apart.
He pulled away from her, his breath coming in s
hallow gasps, his heart hammering against his ribs. A blind panic filled him at the ties that seemed to be snaring him. Home. The word swelled in his mind. Family. How could he contemplate something he had no experience of, something he did not even know how to dream about?
A small hand pressed against his heaving chest. ‘Carl?’
‘Jade.’ He rolled over to his side. She lay facing him, and in the lamplight he saw damp tracks of tears on her face. Guilt pierced the lingering waves of satisfaction that still rippled over him.
‘Jade, sweetheart, what is it? Did I hurt you?’
‘No.’ She drew a shuddering breath. ‘It’s just that I’m so happy you’re back. Oh, Carl, it’s been so hard.’ She pressed her face to his chest and spoke in a muffled voice, her tears trickling against his skin. ‘Pa fell off the ladder and broke his leg. He can’t go into town, and the merchants won’t deal with me.’
He placed his hand on her back and rubbed her skin in a soothing gesture. His Jade, his wife, always so strong, was weeping in his arms. It filled him with wonder, and something else—a new sense of purpose. ‘It’s all right,’ he told her. ‘I’ll take the fruit into town. The stores will deal with me.’
She craned back to look up at him. A plea shimmered in her eyes, but even amidst her tears she would not ask, would not make any demands of him. Carl dropped a kiss on her forehead and answered her unvoiced plea. ‘I’ll stay until the winter. I’ll help you harvest and sell the crops. By spring, Sam will be up on his feet.’
As they settled down to sleep, a new sense of contentment hummed in his veins. He struggled to understand the emotions that had caused him to turn down a job with the stage line and ride back to the orchard. Perhaps it had been a premonition. That must have been it. A guess that something had gone wrong. Damn shame about Sam and his leg. Carl grinned into the darkness as he mulled over the quirk of fate that had given him an excuse to stay.
Chapter Six
Jade clutched the bench of the buckboard as they jolted toward town. ‘What if they don’t buy the fruit?’
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