Christine Dorsey

by The Rebel's Kiss

  “A signal?” Samantha asked, and he nodded.

  “I’ll be here right away.” It was then that Samantha noticed Jake’s horse tied to the back of the wagon.

  And she felt safe. Safer than she had in years. Ridiculously safe when you considered that just two days before someone had threatened her—and more, that she was placing her trust in a Rebel.

  Samantha glanced out the window. She’d rolled up the cotton to let in the whispery breeze that sifted through the tall grass south of the cabin. The sun was working its way toward its zenith. Samantha had spent the morning cleaning the cabin—something she’d put off too long. She’d fed the chickens and watered the garden, and now decided to launder Will’s and her clothes—another neglected chore.

  Carrying water was not a task Samantha relished, but the creek did seem particularly pretty today, the water splashing over the brightly colored pebbles.

  She didn’t intend to tarry, but by the time she made her way back up the path, Samantha realized she had.

  She also realized someone was in her cabin.

  Sloshing water over her skirts, when she dropped the pail, Samantha ran the rest of the way. There were half a dozen horses in the yard, and she recognized some of the riders. That and the knowledge they weren’t Moore’s men kept her from firing the gun.

  One horse was riderless, and as Samantha rounded the cabin’s corner she saw Sheriff Hughes amble out her front door.

  “What were you doing in my home?” Samantha demanded as the burly sheriff caught sight of her.

  “There you are, missy. Been lookin’ for you.”

  “Which gives you absolutely no right to trespass in my cabin.”

  “Now, maybe it don’t but then again, maybe it do.” Sheriff Hughes pushed back his sweat-stained hat and scratched at his scraggly beard. “Got word from a Colonel Adams over Fort Scott way. Sent a telegram sayin’ he’s sending some troops to help protect the populace.” Hughes spit on the porch. “Now this strikes me odd seeings how I’m the one’s suppose to be doing it.”

  “Maybe he thinks you need help.” Samantha’s chin rose.

  “And maybe he’s been hearin’ tales from some snip of a girl who don’t know when to mind her own business.”

  “Listen, Sheriff”—Samantha’s response was cut off by the pounding of a horse’s hooves. Whirling around toward the cornfield, she saw the Rebel galloping toward her. He brought his mount up close enough for her to smell the scent of lathered horse, and slid off. Without giving Samantha a glance, he greeted the sheriff.

  “Any trouble here?”

  “Not that I can see. Thought we’d seen the last of you, Morgan.”

  “I thought I’d stay on awhile. The lady needs some help with her corn.” Jake handed his reins to Samantha. She was so surprised by the action, she took them. He just rode in and took over, and Samantha wasn’t sure she liked that. But she had to admit that, with his hat low over his brow and his sidearm strapped around his lean hips, he looked able to handle most anything.

  “So, what brings you out here, Sheriff?” Jake crossed his arms lightly.

  Hughes stared at Jake a moment while the bees buzzed around the morning glories and the horses shifted fretfully. Finally he shrugged. “Been a stage holdup. The posse—” he motioned toward the men still mounted—“and me, we’re doing some trailing.”

  “It was Landis Moore, I’ll bet you.” Samantha stepped forward.

  “Now that will be enough of that talk out of you, missy. No one saw anyone’s face. And I don’t like the idea of you going around bad-talkin’ a citizen of this here town without good cause.”

  Jake ignored Hughes’s reprimand as well as the furious expression on Samantha’s face. “Tracks lead this way, do they?”

  “Not far from here.”

  Jake nodded, then rubbed his chin. “We haven’t seen anything, have we, Samantha?”

  “No.” She still didn’t like the way Jake took over. “Of course I doubt you’re doing much serious tr—”

  “Samantha and I will keep our eyes open and let you know if we see anything,” Jake interrupted, giving Samantha a hard look that she returned.

  “You just do that.” Sheriff Hughes hitched up his pants, then sauntered down the steps. Grabbing hold of the saddle pommel, he pulled himself astride. He twisted the horse’s head with a jerk of the reins and led the men off without another word.

  Samantha watched them scatter the chickens then turned on Jake. “What was that all about?”

  “What?” Jake pulled off his hat, combed fingers back through his hair, and resettled it on his head.

  “Cutting me off like that. Hughes isn’t trying to catch Landis Moore. He never has. He’s just out here trying to harass me.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe? You sound like the sheriff.” That got a rise from him. Jake shot her a steely look before stomping into the cabin.

  Samantha followed, startled when he turned on her. Her hand fluttered to her throat.

  “Why in the hell didn’t you fire the pistol like I told you to?”

  “What?” Samantha hadn’t been expecting this shift in the conversation.

  “You heard me.” He was right there. He was so close to her there was no way to help but hear. “I gave you the revolver and told you to shoot it if someone came. But did you do it? No. I have to look up and see a cloud of dust moving along the road to know something’s going on. What in the hell would have happened if I hadn’t looked up?”

  “I would have taken care of it. And would you please stop cussing?”

  “Like you almost took care of it there at the end? You push anyone—even Sheriff Hughes—too hard and they’re going to push back. And don’t correct my speech. I’m not Will.”

  “I know that well enough. And it’s not your speech I’m correcting. It’s your penchant for profanity. And as long as you’re in my house, I most certainly will voice my opinion of it.”

  “Well, don’t expect me to obey.” Jake folded his arms and leaned against the ladder to the loft.

  “I don’t.” Samantha mimicked his pose. “And do you have any idea why Sheriff Hughes came out here?”

  “He said he was—”

  “He got a telegram from the army in Fort Scott. They’re sending troops and he’s running scared.”

  Jake straightened and shook his head. “I’m not so sure about the running scared part. But I can tell you one thing, Samantha. If he is, you don’t want to get caught in his retreat.” He stalked toward the door, his movements full of animal grace. “Just try to keep your opinions to yourself and stay out of his way. And fire the damn gun if someone else comes.” With that warning, he slammed out the door and Samantha wondered if his help was really that helpful.

  Chapter Eleven

  The dream made Samantha’s blood run cold. Even in sleep she had a vague awareness she hadn’t relived this particular horror in a long time. It used to be so common to imagine the shots, to wake up trembling. But that was years ago. That was when...

  Samantha’s eyes flew open and her breath caught tightly in her chest. This was no dream. The gunshots shattering the night quiet were real.

  Samantha tore through her bedroom door. She screamed and her heart pounded loudly in her ears when she slammed against something hard and human.

  “Sam! It’s me, Will.”

  “Oh, Will.” Samantha gave him a quick hug before a fresh volley of shots made her shove him toward the floor.

  “What’s going on? Who’s out there?”

  “I don’t know.” For one terrifying moment memories of another night washed over her. She’d awakened then to gunshots and screams. The smell of something burning. The recollection seared through her body. It was strong. It was paralyzing. And it took Will clutching at her foot to break the spell.

  Sucking in her breath, Samantha hunched over and rushed toward the far wall. The room was black as pitch but she found the rough, gravelly surface of the hearth and followed it u
p with her palms. She was standing when her fingers closed around the musket stock.

  “What are you doing, Sam?”

  “Hush. Just stay down.” Crouching down, Samantha made her way to the front window. The night was cloudy with only a pale filtering of moonlight to see by. Horses. She could make out horses and riders prancing about in her yard.

  The gunshots stopped.

  The yelling began.

  Whoever was outside was calling her names, names so vile Samantha had to fight the urge to drop the musket and cover her ears.

  They didn’t like her telegraphing for federal troops. That much was obvious. Samantha tried to separate herself from what they were saying and concentrate on the voices. Did she recognize any of them? Was it Landis Moore? Bundy Atwood? She couldn’t tell for sure.

  Part of her problem was that the voices kept blurring and fading, merging with the taunts and bellows from long ago.

  “Come out, you yellow-bellied coward,” they’d called to her father. “Come out and see what we do to the likes of you. Nigger lover! Nigger lover,” they’d yelled while she cowered beneath her quilt.

  Shots rang-out again and Samantha pulled herself back to the present. This was no time for reliving the past. She could hear Will’s heavy breathing as he scooted over to her. She could just make out his form in the shadows.

  “I think that’s Jake,” he said, leaning closer to whisper his words. “Listen. They’re the ones being shot at now.”

  Samantha tried but she couldn’t tell the difference, except that now the men in the yard did seem upset. She even heard one yelp in pain before someone yelled for them to head out.

  Samantha slumped against the wall, listening to the fading hoofbeats as the men rode away. Will struck a match, the sulphur exploding with a hiss. He touched the burning Lucifer to the lamp wick and settled the globe, illuminating the room just as there came a pounding on the door.

  “Samantha! Will. You two all right?”

  It was Jake and relief swept Samantha from head to bare toes. Will rushed to let him in, yanking the door open with more force than necessary.

  Reholstering his revolver, Jake stepped into the cabin. “Everything all right here?” He scanned the room till his eyes locked with Samantha’s. She was kneeling on the floor, leaning heavily into the wall. The musket lay on the floor beside her and her face was white as the night rail buttoned high at her delicate neck.

  He knelt beside her. “Are you hurt?”

  “No.” Samantha swallowed, trying to pull herself together. She knew nothing had happened this time—that the other had been long ago—but it didn’t help. She wished Jake would look away so she could compose herself, but he seemed intent on watching her as if she might shatter at any moment.

  Will finally gained his attention long enough for Samantha to stand. “I think you got one of them. What do you think, Jake?”

  “Could be.” Jake caught Samantha under the elbow and helped her to a chair. He had the urge to gather her into his arms but decided it most likely wouldn’t be welcome. But seeing her pale, her blue eyes dark with fear, did strange things to the pit of his stomach. She scraped her chair in toward the table, and Jake leaned back against the wall.

  The pale peach shade was returning to her face, and she made a feeble attempt to smile that tore into Jake’s heart.

  Will was babbling on in the background, speculating on who may have participated in the nighttime raid, and what part of the anatomy Jake’s bullet had struck. Jake listened, shaking his head and shrugging at the appropriate times, but his eyes never strayed from Samantha.

  “Listen,” Jake said, interrupting Will’s assertion that he’d never really been scared. “I think I should sleep in here for the rest of the night.”

  “No.” Samantha’s voice might be softer than her brother’s, but her answer was the one Jake heard over Will’s enthusiastic agreement. “That won’t be necessary.” What little color she’d regained quickly drained from her cheeks.

  “I think it is,” Jake said. “I’ll just bed down here by the door with Charity.” The dog who’d been barking frantically a short time ago didn’t even look up when Jake said her name.

  “Here? In the parlor?”

  Jake would hardly call this room a parlor, but he couldn’t help grinning at the expression on Samantha’s face. “Will.” He turned toward the boy. “Run to the barn and fetch my blanket, will you?”

  “Sure. But you can sleep in the loft with me. There’s plenty of room.”

  “Thanks, but this is fine.” Jake watched Will run out the door before turning back to Samantha. “Where did you think I planned to sleep?”

  “I’m sure I didn’t give it any thought.”

  Jake’s chuckle sent rosy color to Samantha’s cheeks. It also made Jake uncomfortable. What was he doing teasing her like this? So they both thought of the same thing regarding sleeping arrangements. After what happened the other night, that was only natural. But that didn’t mean they were going to do anything about it. Samantha glanced up, her blue eyes, shining dark in the lamplight, and Jake almost groaned.

  Grabbing a chair, he straddled it to face her. “What happened here tonight?”

  “I... I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Those men, coming in here shooting and hollering up. They scared you.”

  “They’d scare anyone.”

  “True enough,” Jake admitted. “But not like they did you. You’re still shaking.” He reached out and covered her hand with his. “And remember, I’ve seen you face scary situations before.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Samantha pulled her hand from beneath his, and immediately missed the warmth.

  Jake didn’t believe her, but he lost his chance to pursue it when Will came bounding in, rolled-up blanket in one hand, saddlebags in the other. “Thought you might want these,” he said, tossing them toward Jake.

  Samantha rose and made her way toward her bedroom. It suddenly hit her that she was dressed in nothing but her well-worn night rail. Though it covered her from chin to toes, there was nothing restricting or starched about it. And looking at Jake, who’d only managed to pull on a pair of pants before tearing into the house did strange things to her insides.

  She shut the door and leaned against it, the wood feeling sturdy against her back. She knew it wouldn’t keep Jake out if he wanted to come in. But he didn’t want in. He had laughed at her reaction to his staying in the house. It was laughable. Why would he want her when he had someone as beautiful as the woman in the daguerreotype?

  Samantha shook her head and pushed away from the door. What was she thinking? She didn’t care if Jake wanted her. She... she was the one who didn’t want him. A Southerner. Was she crazy? She’d just put him out of her mind for good.

  There were only two problems with that, Samantha realized as she lay huddled in her bed. One, he refused to leave. And two, the only thing that filled any void she felt was thoughts about the night they hanged her father.

  ~ ~ ~

  She must have finally dozed. When her eyes opened again, it was morning—well past dawn by the looks of the lemony sun filtering through the dust-streaked windowpane. How could she have missed the cock’s crow again? Samantha dressed hurriedly, splashing water into the bowl and dousing her face, then rebraided her hair with practiced quickness. Her dress was of brown sprigged calico, and she buttoned it high beneath her chin. Her dash into the main room stopped abruptly.

  Jake sat at the table grimacing into a pewter mug. He was alone. “Where’s Will?” Samantha asked, and her question made him look up and smile. Samantha steeled herself against the flutter of excitement that caused.

  “He’s doing his chores. I offered to help, but...” Jake shrugged.

  “But what?”

  “He said I should fix us something to eat.”

  Samantha glanced around the kitchen area. The cracker barrel was open, and there were coffee grounds around the mill. “Why didn’t y
ou just wake me?”

  “After last night I thought you could use the rest.” Jake went to the door and tossed the remains of his coffee into the yard, scattering some chickens who hung around waiting to be fed.

  “Those gunshots woke everybody up.” Samantha grabbed an apron off the hook and wrapped it around her small waist. She told herself she would not look at Jake, but it only took a few seconds of no response from him before her eyes sought his. He looked at her as if he knew there was more to it than she was saying.

  “Captain Morgan.” She gave the ends of her apron ribbons a tug, tying them on. “I’ve lived out here for nearly ten years. I’m not some hothouse flower that needs protecting and cosseting.”

  “Fine.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “Good.” Jake watched as she grabbed the Dutch oven and clanged it on the stove. Even when she banged the heavy iron about, she looked fragile. Golden hair escaped the severity of her braided bun and curled about a face whose finely wrought features looked as if they should be painted on porcelain. Her body was small, delicately boned, and soft. If ever there was a woman who looked like she should need protecting, it was Samantha Lowery.

  But looks could be deceiving. And with Samantha he knew they were. She might need some help now and then. But she could take care of herself and her brother.

  Unexpectedly a vision of another woman came to his mind. A woman who had needed taking care of. A woman he’d failed.

  Pushing to his feet, Jake turned toward the door. “I think I’ll see if Will needs any help.”

  “Fine,” she said, mimicking his earlier word. Samantha brushed coarse coffee grounds into her palm with the curve of her hand. “Feed those chickens while you’re at it.” Samantha tossed the order out without looking around, and she waited for the protest she figured would follow. It was a menial task that even Will gave her trouble about doing, but Jake said nothing as he left the cabin, feed in hand.

  ~ ~ ~

  Samantha let go of the dasher and stood, rubbing the small of her back with her knuckles. She wasn’t in the mood to churn butter. And that was surprising. Normally she enjoyed the peace and solitude the chore offered. She could sit in the shade of the porch and enjoy the beauty of her home—the quiet, oft-times hidden charm she rarely had time to appreciate. But today, neither the delicate yellow sensitive plant nor the tall sentinel sunflowers held any appeal. She ignored the lingering scent of morning glories and the chubby quail waddling out beyond the barn.