Spirit's Song

by Madeline Baker

  With a little cry, she pulled away, her eyes suddenly wild.

  “Don’t!”

  “Kaylynn…” He reached for her again, hungry for her touch.

  “No!” She stared at him, her hands clenched into tight fists. “I…I can’t.”

  He nodded, one hand stroking his scarred cheek. “Sure,” he said. “I understand.”

  He didn’t, but she couldn’t explain, couldn’t tell him that it wasn’t him. It was the sudden sense of being imprisoned in arms, of being helpless, that sent panic spiraling through her. Alan had held her like that, crushing her, hurting her, delighting in causing her pain if she didn’t please him, if she didn’t do everything he asked of her.

  Jesse swore under his breath. He hadn’t meant to frighten her, but it was easy to see that he had, and badly.

  “Why don’t you ride my horse?” he said. “I think you’ll be more comfortable in a saddle.”

  Kaylynn nodded. Jesse brought his horse up, lifted her into the saddle. Swinging onto the back of Sandler’s big chestnut gelding, he took up the reins of the dun mare.

  “Ready?”

  She nodded, a shiver sliding down her spine.

  “Here.” Jesse shrugged out of his sheepskin jacket and handed it to her.

  Kaylynn slipped it on, grateful for its warmth. “Where are we going?”

  “Back to town.”

  “Do you think Sandler will try again?”

  “Not if he’s smart. I’ll leave word with Murph that you’re with me.” He’d worry about Sandler if and when the time came, but he didn’t think the bounty hunter would give him any trouble. Once Sandler knew Jesse had staked his claim, he’d most likely ride on.

  Kaylynn nodded. “And when we get back to town, what then?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Jesse held her gaze a moment, then reined his horse east, toward Red Creek.

  It was early afternoon by the time Jesse got Kaylynn settled into bed at the hotel. He warned her not to open her door for anyone but him, then took the horses down to the livery.

  Murph frowned as Jesse handed him the chestnut’s reins.

  “Where’s Sandler?”

  “He’ll be along.”

  “Don’t guess ye want to tell me what the hell’s goin’ on?”

  “Nope.”

  “Didn’t think so.”

  “Give my horse an extra ration of oats. She’s earned it.”

  Murph grunted. “Ye look like ye’ve been rode hard and put away wet your own self.”

  “Yeah. One more thing. Tell Sandler the bounty on the girl is mine.”

  Murphy grinned, well aware of the friendly rivalry between the two bounty hunters.

  Jesse patted the roan on the shoulder, then left the barn.

  Ten thousand dollars. Kaylynn was worth ten thousand dollars to a man in San Francisco. And not just any man. Her husband.

  Damn and double damn.

  Ten thousand dollars. Why had she run away from home?

  Why the hell did he care? He was a bounty hunter, and she was wearing a right pretty price tag.

  He was in a foul mood when he reached the hotel. He’d get a few hours’ sleep, then go check the schedule for the next stage headed west. He would take Kaylynn back to her husband, and then hightail it out to spend the winter with the Cheyenne.

  Entering his room, he locked the door, tossed his hat on the chair, then sat on the edge of the bed, wishing he had a drink.

  Why had she run away from home?

  He ran a hand through his hair. It was none of his business. Too restless to sit still, he began to pace the floor.

  He thought fleetingly of going to the saloon, but he doubted Lula would have anything to do with him right now, and none of the other girls appealed to him.

  If he was going to be totally honest, he had to admit that even Lula didn’t appeal to him now. He wanted Kaylynn.

  “Jesse?”

  Startled, he whirled around, his hand automatically reaching for his gun. He swore when he saw Kaylynn standing in the doorway between their two rooms.

  “Damn, girl, don’t creep up on me like that.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want to go home.”

  “They why did you run away?”

  “I don’t mean back to my husband. I mean home, to my parents.”

  “He’s put up a ten thousand dollar reward for your return. Did you know that?”

  Kaylynn nodded. “Yes. Sandler told me.” She had known Alan would be upset when she left. She had expected him to look for her, maybe even offer a reward. But ten thousand dollars.

  “It’s a lot of money,” Jesse remarked. “Is your husband good for it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Guess he wants you back pretty bad.”

  “Please don’t take me back there.”

  “What did he do to you?”

  Kaylynn folded her arms over her breasts. “Nothing. I just don’t want to go back.”

  “Nothing?”

  She shook her head. She couldn’t tell Yellow Thunder of the beatings she had endured, of the times Alan had locked her in her room, deprived her of food and water. It was too humiliating, too degrading. She was ashamed to admit her husband had treated her like that, ashamed she hadn’t had the courage to leave sooner.

  “Get some sleep. We’ll talk later.”

  She nodded but didn’t move, just continued to stand there, staring up at him through eyes filled with sadness.

  “Kaylynn, I… Dammit, girl, talk to me.”

  “I can’t go back. Please don’t make me.”

  Hardly aware of what he was doing, he crossed the floor and folded her into his arms. She huddled against him and his arms tightened around her.

  “Kaylynn, you can tell me. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

  “I can’t. I’m too ashamed.”

  He stroked her hair, her back, while silent sobs racked her body. Swinging her into his arms, he carried her to the chair in the corner and sat down, cradling her against him as if she were a child in need of comfort.

  Kaylynn snuggled closer, needing his warmth, his strength. Somehow, she had to convince him to take her to her parents. Somehow. But how? What could she offer a man like him?

  His lips brushed her cheek, and she knew then what he wanted, what she could offer him, if she only had the courage.

  As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she knew she couldn’t do it. Knew he would laugh at her if she even offered. Alan had told her on more than one occasion that she was a failure in bed, a failure as a woman. I could get more heat from a block of ice, he’d often said. More affection from a stone.

  What made her think Jesse would consider a night in her bed a fair exchange for ten thousand dollars?

  She should have gone with Ravenhawk. He would have taken her back to her parents. The thought brought a wave of fresh tears.

  “Kaylynn…dammit, girl, talk to me. Tell me what’s troubling you.”

  “I can’t. Please, don’t ask me.”

  He drew back a little so he could see her face, felt his heart constrict at the utter misery in her expression. Her gaze met his, frightened, discouraged, resigned.

  Jesse drew a deep breath, blew it out in a ragged sigh. “Don’t cry, Kay,” he said quietly. “I won’t take you back.”

  “You mean it?” Hope flared in her eyes, chasing away her tears, making her look young and vulnerable and beautiful, so beautiful.

  “I said it, didn’t I?”

  “Oh, Jesse, thank you,” she exclaimed softly, and kissed him.

  It was a light kiss, a token of gratitude, nothing more, but it hit Jesse like a bolt of lightning. He could scarcely recall the last time a woman had kissed him of her own free will, and it seared a path to his heart and soul. Ten thousand dollars was a small price to pay for such a kiss, he thought.

  Instinctively, he drew her closer, seeking to deepen the kiss. He expected her
to pull away, maybe slap him for his boldness. Instead, she pressed herself against him, her hands clutching at his back, a little purr of enjoyment rising in her throat.

  Sweet, he thought, indescribably sweet.

  For a long moment, Kaylynn clung to Jesse, enraptured by the sensations flooding through her as his mouth moved over hers. Hungry for love, she surrendered to his touch, her body seeming to come alive as his hands moved over her back, cupped her breast. Gentle, she thought. His hands were so big, yet so gentle. Alan had never kissed her like this, never made her feel like this, her pulse racing and butterflies of excitement dancing in her stomach. Alan made her feel ugly and unworthy of his attention; Jesse made her feel beautiful, desirable.

  Alan. With a little cry, she twisted out of Jesse’s arms and stood up. No matter how wonderful it felt to be in Jesse’s arms, she was still a married woman. No matter that Alan had abused her, no matter that he had been unfaithful to her, she was still his wife, bound to him by the words she had spoken when they wed. No matter that he had not seen fit to live by them.

  Jesse stared up at her, his hands clenched. “I’m sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Go to bed.”

  With a nod, she turned and went back into her own room and quietly closed the door behind her.

  His body humming with desire, Jesse stared after her, wondering what he’d done to make her change her mind, wondering what it was that she was hiding.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ravenhawk stood near the end of the long mahogany bar, one foot braced on the rail, his gaze fixed on the shot of whiskey in his hand. He had to make a decision, he mused, had to decide what to do next, where to go next. He’d been holed up in this dirty little no-name town long enough. He should have stayed in Twin Bluffs, but the chances of Yellow Thunder showing up there had been too great.

  He glanced over at the six men gathered around a table across the room. Four of them were involved in a high-stakes poker game. They were planning to hit the stage out of Twin Bluffs and they had asked him to ride with them. He knew one of them. Paul Nash. Nash was a good man to have behind you in a tight spot. He was fast on the draw, a quick thinker. Ravenhawk had never met the other five men, though he knew one of them, Victor Mazza, by reputation. Mazza was a cold-blooded killer. It was his idea to hit the stage. He’d come into town with a few of his men to buy supplies and had heard a rumor the coach might be carrying a large sum of cash. Rather than take the time to go back to his hideout for more men, he had asked Nash to ride along, and Nash had asked Ravenhawk.

  Ravenhawk swallowed half the whiskey in his glass, savoring the taste. After his last encounter with Yellow Thunder, he had decided to go straight, but his interest in becoming an upstanding citizen had waned when faced with the hard reality of finding a job. Truth was, he didn’t know what he wanted to do. Clerking in a store held no appeal. Working cattle was hard, dirty work with little to recommend it. Dealing cards in a saloon was a possibility. The pay wasn’t bad and the hours suited him, but it meant working for someone else, and he’d never been good at that.

  Draining the glass, he set it on the bar behind him.

  He was out of money and already wanted for bank robbery. One more job wouldn’t hurt. He’d get a good stake and light out for parts unknown. He wouldn’t drink his share away this time, or spend it on his favorite whore, or wager it on the turn of a card. He’d find a woman, a job, settle down before it was too late.

  His mind made up, he crossed the room. “So,” he said, sliding into the vacant chair across from Nash. “That offer still open?”

  Nash laughed softly. “I knew you’d come around.”

  “Did you?”

  Nash made a vague gesture with his hand. “Men like us. We weren’t meant to live by the clock. We’re like the wind.”

  Ravenhawk nodded, but the words left him feeling unsettled. He didn’t want to be like the wind. Nor did he want to be like the trees, rooted to one spot.

  “You in?” Mazza asked.

  Ravenhawk shook his head. “I’m busted.”

  “He’s in.” Nash pushed a stack of silver dollars in front of Ravenhawk, and then winked. “You can pay me back after we take the stage.”

  With a nod, Ravenhawk watched Mazza deal the cards. What did he want, he mused as he picked up the cards he was dealt. Three aces, a deuce, and a ten. He tossed the deuce and the ten into the center of the table. What did he want, he asked again. And thought that, at the moment, a fourth ace to go with the three in his hand would suit him right down to the ground.

  Face impassive, he tossed a dollar into the pot. The future would take care of itself.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kaylynn was still subdued the next morning. She’d taken a long nap the day before, eaten dinner in her room. Jesse had spent the evening in the saloon, buying drinks for Sandler, who’d had a long walk back to town. He was mad as hell, but not mad enough, or foolhardy enough, to try to take Kaylynn a second time.

  Eyes narrowed, Jesse sat back in his chair, regarding her across the dining room table while she picked at her breakfast.

  “Kaylynn, why don’t you tell me about it?”

  “I can’t.”

  He finished his coffee and put the cup aside. “I’m giving up ten grand to take you back to your parents. I think that buys me the reason.”

  She looked up at him then. “He…my husband…he…” She took a deep breath and finished in a rush. “He beat me.”

  Jesse frowned. “Beat you?”

  Kaylynn stared at the fork clutched in her hand. “All the time.”

  Jesse swore under his breath as he recalled the day he had slapped her. Damn.

  “I’ll see you get back to your parents,” he said quietly.

  Relief washed through her, pure and sweet and clean. “Thank you.”

  “You about done there?”

  “Yes.” She put her fork on her plate, folded her napkin and placed it on the table.

  Rising, Jesse dropped a dollar on the table, then reached for his hat. Taking Kaylynn by the arm, they left the dining room.

  Jesse paused in the lobby. “I need to go over to the stage depot. You want to go with me, or stay here?”

  “I’d like to go with you.”

  There wasn’t much activity in the street at this time of the day. The stage depot was located at the west end of town. A long counter divided the small one-room building. According to the schedule, the next stage headed East was due to leave at half past one that afternoon.

  Several posters had been tacked to the side of the building. Kaylynn read them while waiting for Jesse to purchase their tickets.

  One was an advertisement for forty acres of “prime grazing land” in Texas.

  Several were wanted posters. One Victor Mazza was wanted for robbing a number of trains and stages. The reward for his capture “dead or alive” was five hundred dollars. Another poster was for the James Younger Gang. She had heard of them. They were notorious in Kansas and Missouri. The poster said they were wanted for robbing the Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific Railroad in Adair, Iowa, of six thousand dollars, as well as for several other bank robberies in Kansas and Missouri. She recalled reading somewhere that the James Gang had been responsible for the first train robbery ever committed.

  Another flyer was titled “Hints For Plains Travelers”. She read this one with interest.

  1. The best seat inside a stagecoach is the one next to the driver.

  2. Never ride in cold weather with tight boots or shoes or close-fitting gloves.

  3. When the driver asks you to get off and walk, do it without grumbling. He will not request it unless absolutely necessary. If a team runs away, sit still and take your chances; if you jump, nine times out of ten you will be hurt.

  4. In very cold weather, abstain entirely from liquor while on the road; a man will freeze twice as quick while under its influence.

  5. Don’t growl at food stations; stage companies generally provide the best they
can get.

  6. Don’t smoke a strong pipe inside especially early in the morning. Spit on the leeward side of the coach.

  7. Don’t snore, nor lop over on your neighbor when sleeping.

  8. Never attempt to fire a gun or pistol while on the road, it may frighten the team. Don’t discuss politics or religion, nor point out places on the road where horrible murders have been committed.

  9. Don’t linger too long at the pewter washbasin. Don’t grease your hair before starting or dust will stick there in sufficient quantities to make a respectable “tater” patch. Tie a silk handkerchief around your neck to keep out dust and prevent sunburns. A little glycerin is good in case of chapped hands.

  10. Don’t imagine for a moment you are going on a picnic; expect annoyance, discomfort and some hardships. If you are disappointed, thank heaven.

  Apparently wanting to make sure that no point was missed, someone had posted a second list entitled “Stagecoach Riders Nine Commandments”.

  1. Abstinence from liquor is requested. If you must drink, share your bottle; otherwise you will appear to be selfish and un-neighborly.

  2. If ladies are present, gentlemen are urged to forego smoking cigars and pipes, as the odor of same is repugnant to the gentle sex. Chewing tobacco is permitted, but spit with the wind, not against it.

  3. Gentlemen must refrain from using rough language in the presence of ladies and children.

  4. Buffalo robes are provided for your comfort during cold weather. Hogging robes will not be tolerated and the offender will be made to ride with the driver.

  5. Don’t snore loudly while sleeping or use your fellow passenger’s shoulder for a pillow. He (or she) may not understand and friction may result.

  6. Firearms may be kept on your person for use in emergencies. Do not fire them for pleasure or shoot wild animals as the sound riles the horses.

  7. In the event of runaway horses, remain calm. Leaping from the coach in panic will leave you injured, at the mercy of the elements, hostile Indians and hungry coyotes.