Deborah Camp

by To Seduce andDefend

  Deputy Lane stepped into her path and was almost sent sailing by the impact, but he managed to hold his ground and grab her around the waist. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Silas! I need my husband!”

  “He’s in jail and that’s where you’re headed. You can see him there.”

  “No! I didn’t do anything. I came in and got that man off that woman and then they all attacked me.”

  “Nobody’s going to believe you, Luna, so you can save your acting for later in court,” Zach said, drolly. “Like I said, she was going to shoot Jennie and then probably me.”

  “She shot him,” Jennie said, nodding toward Parks, who was groaning now and writhing. “She shot off his ear, I think.”

  “Shut your trap! Nobody asked you anything, you uppity bitch!” Luna tried to wiggle out of Deputy Lane’s grasp as she craned forward to stick her face closer to Jennie.

  Jennie stared at her, unflinching, and wondered if Luna might be a touch insane. Or was she simply evil?

  “Come on.” Zach slipped a protective arm around Jennie’s shoulders. “I’m taking her back to town,” he said to the deputy. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Deputy Lane nodded. “Go on.” His gaze moved to Jennie. “I hope you’re all right, ma’am.”

  She didn’t answer because she didn’t feel all right. One whole side of her face was throbbing. She could still feel Parks’ fingers digging into her neck. Her throat hurt and her ears were aching from the blast of the gunshots. She looked down at her hands. They were splattered with blood and her fingernails were broken and split. Several long red strands of hair tangled around her fingers and she plucked them off and let the breeze take them.

  Zach tightened his arm around her and guided her off the porch and to the buggy. He helped her up into the seat.

  “I’ll tie my horse to the back. Be right back.”

  She sat and stared at nothing as the events of the past terrifying minutes returned to her over and over again. She felt Zach sit next her, but she couldn’t even find enough energy to turn her head and look at him. He released the brake and took the reins. The brown pony flung its head and the buggy creaked as it moved over the yard. Zach turned it around behind the house and then they were on the road to town.

  “Jennie? How are you doing?”

  “Is he going to die?”

  “Parks? I don’t know. He’s gut- shot, so that’s usually bad.” He drew in a shaky breath. “I’ve never shot a man before. I hope that was my first and last time.”

  She leaned her cheek against his shoulder and closed her eyes. If he hadn’t shown up when he did, she would be dead. Of that, she was certain.

  “How did you know I was at the house?”

  “I didn’t. I happened to see Luna charging out of town and I figured she was headed here to tell Parks that he was going to be arrested. I thought they might make a run for it.”

  “That’s probably what she was doing there. When she saw him on top of me, she went crazy.”

  “Went? That gal is crazy.”

  She closed her eyes and sagged against him. Her limbs were still trembling and her throat ached and burned. But she was safe. She was with Zach. “If you hadn’t … I thought I was dying and I’d never see my baby again.” All the emotions that she had been holding at bay erupted in a storm of tears. She buried her face in his suit jacket and he held her close and didn’t say another word all the way back to Guthrie. He just let her cry.

  It was a gloomy day with overcast skies that threatened rain, but stubbornly withheld any. The air was heavy and oppressive. Lying on the bed with Oliver curled next to her sleeping peacefully, Jennie closed her eyes although she knew she wouldn’t sleep. Her mind kept torturing her with flashes of memories from yesterday when she had almost had the life choked out of her and Zach could have easily been shot or killed.

  After Zachary had brought her back to the boarding house, he had left her in the hands of Mrs. Philpot, Mrs. Carter, and Dottie Dandridge. Oliver had cried when he had seen her bruised face and neck, but she had assured him she was fine, although she wasn’t. Her insides were all stirred up and her head was pounding like a drum. Allowing the other women to fuss over her, she was taken to her room, given a hot, soothing drink and a bowl of potato soup. Dottie drew her a hot bath and Jennie had spent an hour languishing in the big tub as the warm water massaged her bruises and sore muscles. She laid a wet washcloth against the burning skin of her neck and tried not to think of Melvin Parks or Luna Bishop.

  During the night, she was awakened by nightmares and she finally left the bed to Oliver a few hours before dawn and sat in the rocker. She stared out the window, waiting for a new day and for the old one to finally end.

  But the new day didn’t erase what had happened. She was sore and shaky. The right side of her face was bruised and her jawline was swollen. Her neck was splotched with bruises and also swollen. Her throat hurt. Her eyes hurt. Her head hurt. Her heart hurt.

  Placing a gentle kiss on top of Oliver’s head, she wrapped her arms a little tighter around him, feeling excessively protective of him. Knowing how close she had come to never seeing him again, she fought back another wave of tears and told herself to cinch up her corset and get on with living. The last time she had told herself that was after Charles had died. It hadn’t been easy advice to follow then either.

  A soft knock sounded on the door. Easing herself from the bed without disturbing her sleeping son, she went to the door and opened it. Mrs. Philpot stood there, her eyes mirroring her concern.

  “Hello, dearie. Were you sleeping?”

  “Oliver is,” Jennie said, slipping out of the room and closing the door softly behind her. “It’s his nap time and he didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “Zach Warner is here asking for you. Do you feel up to seeing him?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course.” She followed Mrs. Philpot downstairs and into the parlor where Zach stood, hat in hand. When he saw her, he drew in a quick breath and his blue eyes widened. “I’m sure I look worse than I feel,” she said and noticed she still sounded hoarse.

  “Good God, Jennie.” He threw his hat into the nearest chair and in one long stride he was standing in front of her. He took her hands in his and spoke to Mrs. Philpot, although he never took his gaze from Jennie’s face. “Thank you, ma’am. I have some private matters to discuss with Jennie, if you don’t mind.”

  “Don’t mind a bit.” Mrs. Philpot left them alone.

  Jennie tried not to put too much stock in what he’d said. While she harbored a foolish hope that he had decided to propose marriage to her, she knew it was more likely that he had come to discuss the Bishops and Melvin Parks.

  He rested his hands lightly on her shoulders. “I wish I had killed the bastard.”

  “So, Parks has pulled through?”

  “Yes, so far. Doc Nelson said the bullet missed all his major organs. Doc says he figures that’s because Parks is gutless and spineless.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at that. “I’m not going to argue that point.”

  “Me either. Come sit down with me a spell, Jennie.”

  They sat on the settee and he held one of her hands, his thumb gently brushing the back of it in a gesture that had become tenderly familiar to her.

  “Are you in pain? How’s your throat?”

  “I’m hoarse and I’m sore all over,” she admitted. “But I’m fortunate. It could have been much worse.”

  “That’s for damn sure.”

  “If you hadn’t shown up when you did, Zach, I would be dead. I’m quite sure of that.”

  “I thank God I saw Luna hightailing it or I wouldn’t have …” He closed his eyes for a few seconds. “I don’t want to dwell on that. I came by to see how you’re doing and to tell you that Parks is in jail and he’s charged with murder and attempted murder.”

  “Attempted …” Her heart stilled. “Oh, you’re talking about me.”

  “That’s r
ight.” A gentle smile pushed up one corner of his mouth.

  “I was focused on poor Stella. I want him to pay for that.”

  “He will. I swear to you, he will.”

  “What of the Bishops?”

  “They put up bail and have hired a fancy attorney from New York.”

  “Can the attorney pull strings so that they will not have to go to jail?”

  “That is doubtful. Judge Bishop might throw himself on the mercy of the court and receive a hefty fine and a short time in jail. Luna, is another case. She has more charges against her. I’m going to testify against her and that should be enough to send her to prison for fifteen to twenty-five.”

  “Years?”

  He smiled. “I’m certainly not talking about weeks, darlin’. After what she tried to do, she’s looking at hard time.”

  “All for some land. What makes people turn evil like that?”

  “Judge Botterbott told me that some people are seasoned by hard knocks. They roll with the punches and their rough edges are smoothed over and they get more supple and learn how to give and take. Other people are ruined by hard knocks. They get brittle and tough as an old boot. Luna let her hard knocks take the best right out of her. Every time she took a hit, she schemed for a way to hit back even harder.”

  “I could have used some of that toughness yesterday.” She smiled to take the edge off her words. “But you were tough enough for both of us.”

  “Honey, you held your own. You almost snatched Luna bald and Parks looks like he got too close to a hellcat with long claws.”

  She widened her eyes in mock surprise. She displayed her fingers for his inspection. “Look. I broke off almost every one of my nails.”

  “They perished for a noble cause.” He grasped her hands and kissed each fingertip – one … by … one. His gaze locked with hers, sending a delicious shiver down her spine.

  She gently pulled her hands from his, uncomfortable with the stirrings of desire. There was no future with him, she reminded herself. She had to stand on her principles or she would fall on her sword and take Oliver with her.

  He cleared his throat. “I just wanted to come by for a few minutes to see how you’re doing. I have to get back to work.”

  They stood up from the settee as awkwardness stepped in between them.

  “Thank you, Zach.” She angled toward the door. “I won’t keep you any longer.”

  “Jennie …” He touched her arm and she moved away from him.

  Giving him a last long look, Jennie shook her head slowly and blinked back hot tears. “I’m forever in your debt. Goodbye, Zachary.”

  Chapter 18

  “Mama, are you going to work in town today?” Oliver placed another tomato plant into the hole Jennie had dug.

  “No. I only go to the store on Mondays and Saturdays now.”

  “How come?”

  “Become I have too much work to do here. Mondays and Saturdays are the busiest days of the week in the dry goods store, so I just go in on those days. Inez Rainwater works the other days of the week there now.”

  “She’s the lady who helped us.”

  “That’s right. She needed a new job, so it worked out perfectly. Besides, this way I can spend more time here getting the crops planted, seeing to our animals, and doing the alterations on the ladies’ dresses. And I have more time to keep an eye on you, too.”

  “I like it here better than at the boarding house anyway.”

  She paused in her digging to look at him. “But you like the lady who watches you now at the boarding house when I’m at work, don’t you?”

  “Uh-huh. Mrs. Maxwell is nice.”

  “And you get along fine with her son?”

  “Yes’m. He’s older than me, but that’s okay with him.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “Chester’s only seven, Ollie.”

  “But he’s older,” he insisted.

  “That’s true.” She chuckled at him and went back to digging holes for the tomato plants. “We’re going to have some delicious meals when all these vegetables come in.”

  “All we do is plant.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “That’s not true, Oliver. In the two months we’ve been here, we have scrubbed the house from top to bottom, moved in furniture, stick by stick, hung curtains, bought a milk cow and laying hens, and —.”

  “Okay, Mama!” Oliver threw out his hands in exasperation.

  Laughing at him, Jennie grabbed him around the waist and swung him in a circle, his legs dangling. He threw back his head and laughed up at the blue sky.

  “P-put me d-down,” Oliver said, giggling.

  She set him on his feet and tugged at the brim of his straw cowboy hat. “How many more tomato plants do you have left in your wagon, cowboy?”

  He looked at the plants in his small wagon and counted carefully. “Four.”

  “That’s good. We will put those in the ground and then go inside for supper.”

  “When are we going to get me a horse?”

  “We have a horse and you can ride him.”

  “Tracks is your buggy horse. I want a ridin’ horse!”

  “You ride Tracks,” she said. “You just want a horse all your own.”

  “When can I get one?”

  “Maybe by Christmas.”

  “That’s a long time from now,” he wailed.

  “Be grateful for Tracks, young man, or you wouldn’t be riding at all. I was lucky to be able to scrape together enough money to buy him and Milkmaid. The farmer gave me a good deal or I would have only come home with the cow that day.”

  “Tracks didn’t cost much ‘cause he’s old and slow.”

  “He’s fast enough for me.” She motioned for him to put the next plant in the ground. “But you are as slow as molasses.”

  They worked side by side for fifteen more minutes, falling into a routine that had become familiar to them since moving onto the land. Although it was early July, she had hurried to get seeds and plants into the ground so that they would have a crop of edibles at least through to late fall and early winter. Oliver had pitched in whenever he could and rarely complained. Only lately he had been talking about wanting a horse of his own. She supposed he was thinking of having one to ride to school come September. To her mind, however, he was too young to ride to school on his own. She wouldn’t break that news to him until she had to because she knew he would fuss and fume about being treated like a baby.

  He is a baby, she thought, examining him through the concealment of her lashes. But he was growing. Even in the short time since they had moved here, he seemed to have grown an inch or more.

  “Last one,” he said, straightening and wiping his hands on his coveralls. “What’s for supper?”

  She poked a finger in his ribs, getting a giggle from him. “Turkey toes and hens’ teeth.”

  He made a retching sound, then pointed past her. “The hens are getting out of the pen again.”

  She turned to see three or four chickens up near the house instead of in their pen by the coop. “Round them up and put them back where they belong, Oliver. And fix the fence where it came loose. I think Beauregard is knocking the fencing down.”

  “No, he’s not. Are you, Beau?” He patted the red and white hound’s big head. “I think it’s possums doing it.” He ran off with the hound at his heels.

  “I’ll start supper,” she called after him.

  Before moving toward the house, she paused as she did several times a day to look over the land that was now in her keeping. She wondered if she would ever be able to survey it without a profound feeling of gratitude. She hoped not.

  Living on the land wasn’t easy, but the work was all worth it. She and Oliver had a home finally. Their own home with their own belongings. Sometimes she had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

  Removing her sunbonnet, she ran a hand over the top of her head and then tilted her face up to the slanting rays of the sun. The scent of hay and wildfl
owers drifted to her. Cows mooed in the distance. Her neighbor had asked to continue to lease some of her land for his cows to graze on and she had been happy to accept his money. With it, she bought Milkmaid, Tracks, two beds and mattresses, linens, a kitchen table and four chairs, six lamps, two rockers, one upholstered chair, and four pairs of curtains. Dear Mrs. Philpot had given her some of her older pots, pans, and dinnerware. Bob and Rachel had insisted that she take, at no charge, a broom, mop, a shovel, a rake, two buckets, and a big cake of lye soap.

  The friends she had made in Guthrie were so good and true. No one had ever questioned her ability to pay her way. Most of the vendors in town had opened accounts for her, no questions asked. She doubted this would have been the case in St. Louis.

  The drumming of hooves drew her attention to the road leading to Guthrie. A dust cloud formed on the horizon. She gave a sigh and moved toward the house, thinking the rider was probably one of her neighbors hurrying back home from a town errand.

  On the porch, she gave into temptation and sat in one of the rockers. She’d rest for a few minutes before going inside to cook. She loved the porch. It was her favorite place to dream.

  The horse and rider came into view and her heart gave a kick. She recognized that mare – and that rider. Her lips formed his name. Zachary. He reined the horse from a canter to a walk and turned onto the lane leading to the house. Mercy stopped a few feet from the porch railing and Zach leaned one arm on the saddle horn.

  “Good afternoon. You look mighty fine sitting there on your porch.”

  “Thank you. It feels mighty fine.”

  He turned slightly in the saddle. “I see that you’ve been busy planting.”

  “We have. In fact, we just finished putting in some tomato plants.”

  “Where’s the little man?”

  “Out back. He’s repairing the chicken coop fence.” It was all she could do to keep a steady tone because her heart was beating frantically. She hadn’t seen him since her last court date more than a month ago when the land was officially placed in trust for Oliver and she was named Trustee.

  He wore a red shirt, leather vest, and dark trousers, looking tall in the saddle. He swept his black Stetson off his head and combed the fingers of one hand through his golden hair. “I came by a couple of times. Once, I think you were in town working. The other time – a week or so ago – I didn’t see anyone about the place. I figured you and Oliver were inside.”