“I’m sorry.” Samantha could sense he didn’t want to talk about this, but something kept her going. “And the boy?” Samantha knew she couldn’t stop now until she heard it all.
“My son.” Jake’s words were whispered on a breath of air. “He’s dead too.”
“I’m so sorry.” His words were full of pain, and Samantha felt tears well up in her eyes. “How tragic for you. But sometimes—”
“I don’t want to talk about this.” Jake shifted to look at her, then turned away. “I’ve heard all the platitudes, and—”
“What?” Samantha asked when he didn’t go on. Jake’s eyes narrowed and he looked at her in a way that she’d seen before. When he found out who’d shot him.
“How did you know about the people in the daguerreotype?”
Samantha forced herself not to flinch. Why hadn’t she thought of this when she asked about his wife? Because she was too worried that he might still be married, Samantha reminded herself. She took a calming breath that didn’t really help. “I... I saw the daguerreotype.”
“You saw it? But it was in the pocket of my jacket.” He paused, then his voice quieted. “Did you go through all my things?”
“Yes, but...” Sitting up, Samantha glanced back over her shoulder. “I thought you were with Landis Moore, so—”
“So you assumed that gave you the right to pilfer my things.”
“I didn’t pilfer! I wanted to know who you were.”
Jake shook his head. “I guess I can’t blame you for that. At least no more than for shooting me in the first place.”
Samantha sucked in air. How could she forget all the differences between them? In his arms she had. But apparently he hadn’t. Or maybe it was just that she wasn’t in his arms now. “I better go in.”
“I’ll walk with you.” Jake reached for his pants.
“No.” Samantha scooted out of the stall. “I know the way.” Before he’d more than stood, she closed the barn door behind her. She went behind the cabin, yanked on her shift, and emptied the tub... and tried to keep from thinking of all that had happened.
Jake sat with his saddlebag across his knees. It had been a long time since he’d looked at the picture. It always felt like he was uncovering a fresh wound. But he knew he had to see it tonight.
Reaching in among his clothes, he found the scrolled frame. The moment his hand closed over the familiar metal, Jake realized he had seen it recently. When he was feverish from his wound. He’d looked at it then. Samantha must have given it to him.
Viewing it now brought pain, as it always did. Except Jake found he didn’t have the urge to bury his head and cry. Though he didn’t usually give in to it, the desire to clutch the likeness of his family to him and express his grief was always there.
But not tonight.
Tonight he studied the three people posed beneath the protective glass and almost smiled. He trailed his finger down the center of the gown Lydia wore. It was green... no, blue, he remembered, a deep shade of sapphire blue. She worried it wasn’t becoming enough. Jake said she looked beautiful, but she questioned him, seeking reassurance it was the perfect dress for their sitting.
Jake’s gaze drifted to his son standing proudly beside his mother. You’d never know by seeing him there, that he’d fidgeted and squirmed just moments earlier. He wanted to play with his lead soldiers.
The daguerreotype was made before Jake left for the war. His son was five. He’d be nine if he’d lived. Almost as old as Will.
Jake’s breath caught on a sob. Samantha was right. It was tragic that they were dead. Tragic that so many were dead.
Jake extinguished the lantern and lay down on his blanket. He couldn’t see the picture any more but he held on to it. His mind flew back through the years touching first one memory, then another. They’d been pleasant, happy times before the war. Each remembrance made his heart lighter.
Until he recalled the day he buried Lydia. Their son had died a week earlier. As he walked down the hill from the cemetery, his father had touched his sleeve. He offered some words of sympathy then he began talking about Lydia and Andrew’s death.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jake had said then, the words echoing the ones he said to Samantha. He meant them three years ago and he thought he meant them tonight. But lying here alone, his memories and guilt to keep him company, Jake wasn’t sure.
~ ~ ~
Breakfast was strained.
Samantha stayed at the stove making griddle cakes as long as possible. She didn’t want to sit at the same table with Jake. Not with last night so fresh in her thoughts.
She’d lost her mind.
That was the conclusion Samantha had come to the night before when she could no longer keep memories of her behavior at bay. She’d lost her mind. But she had it back now. And she wasn’t going to allow a repeat of what had happened. But she couldn’t say that because she already had—after the first time they’d made love. And she let it happen again.
She couldn’t tell him. But she sure didn’t want to face him. Jake and Will were discussing their plans for the day. They’d be finished eating soon and then they’d leave and—
“What do you think, Sam?”
“About what?” Her hand stilled, the ladle of batter inches from the hot skillet.
“Do you think we should start harvesting the east field?” Will asked, his face showing surprise she wasn’t following the conversation.
“Oh.” Samantha turned to face the table—she couldn’t help herself—and her eyes locked with Jake’s. She swallowed. “I don’t know.” His expression was strange... unreadable, and Samantha quickly jerked back toward the stove.
She wasn’t going to worry about what he was thinking. He let her know last night he didn’t want her getting close to him. Oh, physically close was fine. Fine with him. But let her ask a question about his past—about his wife—and he wanted no part of her.
He could pretend his anger the night before had come from her looking through his saddlebags. But Samantha knew differently. He retreated within himself the moment she asked about the woman in the daguerreotype.
As chair legs scratched over the wood floor, Samantha nodded her acknowledgment of Jake and Will’s thanks for breakfast. The door opened and closed, and Samantha let out her breath. How was she ever going to manage until Jake left the farm? She seemed constantly to whirl around—wanting him to stay; wanting him to leave. Well, today she definitely wanted him to—”
“Samantha.”
The spatula clattered to the floor as Samantha twisted around. “I... I thought you left with Will.”
“He has a few more chores to do before we go out to the field.” Jake stepped closer.
“Oh.” Samantha scooped up the spatula and took it to the dry sink. He was still in the cabin. She could hear him breathing, could smell his scent. She grasped the edge of the dry sink.
“Samantha, I—”
“Do you want more to eat?”
“No.”
“Well, then.” Samantha poured water into the dishpan, hoping he’d read the dismissal in her actions.
“They died of typhoid fever. I was away, down on the Peninsula, when I got word they were sick.” Jake kept talking as Samantha turned toward him. “I rode for Richmond as fast as I could, but by the time I arrived they were both... gravely ill.” Samantha realized her hands were dripping and wiped them down the front of her apron.
“My son, Andrew, died first. He was six. I always thought he was so strong, but...” Jake took another step. “Lydia, my wife, died later the same week.” His hands came up in surrender. “I always felt there was something I should have done. Something to save them.”
“Jake.” Samantha touched his sleeve. “People die. There was nothing you could do.”
Jake looked down upon her sweet upturned face. Her blue eyes shone with compassion... compassion he wasn’t sure he deserved. “I knew the war would be difficult for her,” he said by way of explanation
.
“Jake, war is hard on everybody.”
“But not everyone dies from it.” Jake lifted his hands to Samantha’s shoulders. “Look at you. Trouble and hardship have plagued you since you were a little girl. Then the war, being on your own. You survived.” His fingers trailed down her arms and he looked away.
“The thing is, I knew how she was. Hell, we’d been married for eight years. And before that.” Jake glanced over his shoulder. “I’d known Lydia near all my life. If anyone understood that she wasn’t the type of woman to survive on her own, it was I.” His shoulders rounded. “But I left them both.”
“You had no way of knowing they’d get typhoid fever. You’re taking too much on yourself.” Samantha searched for the words that would make him understand he wasn’t responsible. But by the defeated expression in his pale green eyes, she knew she wouldn’t find them.
“The truth is, I wanted to go.” Jake shook his head. “I thought I could make a difference.”
“I’m sure you did.”
Jake’s laugh was cynical. “Hardly. All I accomplished was deserting my wife and son when they needed me.”
“Stop that.” Samantha batted at his arm. “I’m tired of hearing how their deaths were your fault. Did your wife... did Lydia beg you to stay with her?” If she did, she was weaker even than Samantha assumed.
“No.” Jake shook his head. “She wanted me to help defend Virginia.”
“Well, see?” Samantha’s hands folded at her waist.
“She didn’t know what war was. She thought of it more as one big parade, with fancy uniforms and plumed hats.”
“Did you?”
“Did I what?” Jake backed toward the door. He’d wanted to tell Samantha about his wife, but this conversation was getting them nowhere. Why was she arguing with him? He knew what happened. He knew he deserved to feel guilty.
“Did you know what war was like before you went?” Samantha moved between Jake and the door, daring him to push past her.
“Of course not. No one does.”
“Yet you blame yourself because Lydia didn’t.” Samantha took an aggressive step forward. “You’re forgetting I saw her likeness. And yes, I went through your saddlebags to find it. While you were feverish, I studied it a lot.” Samantha paused for breath and to see if he’d berate her again for invading his privacy. When he said nothing, she went on.
“Your Lydia was a grown woman.” Samantha planted her fists at her waist. “If she said she wanted you to join the army, she probably meant it. And apparently she took care of herself and your son for a while after the war started, so you shouldn’t be thinking she didn’t know how. As for the typhoid fever...” Emotions had made her voice louder than she intended. Shaking her head, she lowered her voice. “As for the typhoid fever... you had no way of knowing or controlling anything about that.”
“Are you finished?” Jake stood glowering down at her.
Samantha sucked in her lower lip and nodded. What had gotten into her lecturing him like that? Jake crossed his arms. “You’re right.”
“What?” Samantha’s eyes opened wide and her hands fluttered down to her side.
“I said you’re right.” Jake watched the play of emotions across Samantha’s face. Her expression finally settled on bewilderment.
“But...”
“I’d never considered that she handled things for over a year. But she had. She kept the house going and food on the table. And in her letters she never really complained.”
Samantha straightened her shoulders. “Well, there.” She nodded. “You see.”
“Of course, I still wonder if I might have saved them if I were home.”
“But you don’t know that for sure.” Samantha cocked her head to the side. “And you never will. So you really should stop punishing yourself for it.”
“You think that’s what I’ve been doing?”
Samantha’s smile was sweet and understanding. “Yes, Jacob Morgan. I think you have.”
“But you think I should stop.” Jake’s hands cupped her shoulders. His warm breath fanned her face.
Samantha felt her grip on reality loosening, but she forced herself to say, “It’s about time.”
She heard him agree with her just before his lips, warm and pliant, closed over hers. Samantha’s arms went around his waist and she melted toward him.
The kiss deepened. Tongues stroked and Samantha moaned deep in her throat. Had she less than an hour ago decided she would never let him touch her again? Now that was all she wanted.
Time and place seemed to disappear as he pushed her against the door, wedging his body against hers. Samantha’s legs opened, her skirts spreading and she could feel the hard evidence of his arousal. He groaned when she moved against him, a deep hungry sound that Samantha loved.
But there was something else. Another sound. And it just barely skimmed the corners of her consciousness.
Jake heard it too because he pulled back, giving her a dazed look which Samantha knew matched her own. Not that both of them didn’t recognize Will calling from the yard. It was more than either could understand how they forgot he’d be back for Jake any minute.
“I better go.” Jake’s voice was husky and low.
Samantha could only nod. She felt totally disoriented and light-headed. She watched Jake reach for his hat and finger-comb his sun-streaked hair before settling the hat over his head. And still she stood leaning into the door.
“I’ll be back late this afternoon.” Jake bent, planting a quick kiss on her lips. “In the meantime, don’t forget to fire the gun if you need me.”
She still had one of his guns. But since the sheriff’s visit, she’d had no reason to fire it. Samantha was beginning to think that maybe Landis Moore had moved back to Missouri and forgotten about his old vendetta with her family.
At least that’s what Samantha hoped as she watched Jake amble across the yard to meet Will. He ruffled the boy’s hair and led the way into the barn.
Fire the gun if you need me, he’d said. Samantha shook her head and laid the back of her hand against her cheek. She had a powerful need for him at this very moment. But as she began clearing the breakfast dishes, Samantha laughingly decided that was not what he’d meant.
~ ~ ~
The morning and afternoon dragged. Samantha threw herself into her work—weeding and watering the garden and baking bread. She finished another dress for Peggy Keane and baked a cobbler. Anything to keep her mind off why she couldn’t wait for Jake to return.
“You’re being silly,” she told herself time and time again. Worse than silly. Wanton. That was an excellent word for her behavior. But she just couldn’t bring herself to care.
Samantha’s hands stilled on the sheet she was dragging off the clothesline, and she squinted toward the west. The late afternoon sun turned the sky into a splash of peach and crimson, and she wondered when Jake and Will would return.
She was so busy daydreaming that she didn’t hear the man walk up behind her. Didn’t even realize he was there until rock-hard arms swooped around her. A scream started low and lodged in her throat as warm lips pressed a kiss to the side of her neck.
Jake.
He twisted her around in his arms, transferring his mouth to hers and pulling her up against him.
“You scared me,” Samantha breathed when he lifted his head.
“Sorry.” Jake’s mouth skimmed down her cheek, and his hand covered her breast. “I thought you heard me.”
“Hmmm.” She was gradually hearing nothing but the excited beating of her own heart. His lips nibbled hers, and she lost almost all sense of time. Just like this morning. “Wait a minute.” Samantha pushed lightly on his shoulder. “Where’s Will?” They were, after all, standing in the yard.
“Down at the creek.” Jake punctuated his words with another kiss. “We stopped there to get cleaned up.”
Samantha now realized his hair and shirt were damp. She ran her fingers down his chest. “I hurried
,” he mumbled before his open mouth took hers.
But they both knew it was only a matter of time before Will came strolling into the yard, so with a mutual deep breath they pulled apart.
Jake took another breath. “You have something burning in the stove?” he asked after draping his arm around her shoulders. It would be a shame if supper were burned, but he’d have no one to blame but himself. And if forced to choose between food or kissing, he guessed he’d take the kissing.”
“No. I took the bread and pies out.”
“Pies.” Jake’s grin was lecherous. “What kind?”
“Apple...” Samantha wrinkled her nose. “I smell it too.”
So did he. Jake jerked around, his eyes narrowing at what he saw. A huge cloud of black smoke.
“My God!” Samantha cried as Jake took off running across the yard. “The cornfield.”
Chapter Fourteen
By the time Samantha reached the barn, Jake was barreling out the door, his arms full of bundled blankets. His eyes met hers only an instant before he took off toward the far cornfield.
“Find Will,” he yelled back over his shoulder. “He’s down by the creek. So’s the wagon.”
Samantha didn’t wait to hear everything. Gathering up her skirts, she raced down the path, screaming for her brother. A chubby quail scurried out of her way as she rushed past the wagon, but the slow mules hardly gave her notice.
“Will!” Samantha skidded to a halt by the pebble bottomed creek. Her heart pounded painfully, and an ache in her side made her double over. But she scanned the area, yelling her brother’s name again and again. Her only answer was the hypnotic drone of insects and the peaceful babble of water.
Samantha jerked around. The column of smoke spiraled higher into the cloud-spattered sky. Grabbing the bucket off the wagon, she scooped it quickly through the water and looked around for something else to fill. Realization that there was nothing came quickly. With a sigh of frustration, Samantha climbed into the wagon seat and turned the mules toward the field.
Smoke stung Samantha’s eyes as she pulled on the reins and bounded from the wagon. She wiped tears from her eyes and called for Jake, but the fire had a voice of its own and she could barely hear herself.
Christine Dorsey Page 21