by Cate Masters
“Made it myself. I have a surprise for you, too.” She bent over the pot then scooped some into a wooden bowl. “Try this.” She held out a spoonful.
“Did you make it?” He hoped his skepticism hadn’t crept into his voice.
Her arched brow said it had. “Eat.”
He dutifully opened his mouth. The hot liquid had a tang of herbs, the broth thickened with meat he couldn’t quite place. “Delicious. What’s in it?”
The smile in her eyes said it before she did. “Wasape.”
He gulped hard. “The bear?” Stupid question. What other wasape would it be? And when did she learn Osage?
Winona just grinned and scooped more into his mouth.
“So now you cook?”
“I had to fill my time while I waited for you to come back and wake up.”
Ah. Right. She had to get to the coast, the whole reason she traveled with him. “Sorry for the holdup.”
“What?” Her good nature fled.
“For making you wait.” What had he said wrong?
Her features hardened, but her quivering lip gave her away. “I could have left on my own.”
“What?”
“I didn’t have to wait for you. I don’t need you.” She swiped at her eye.
Good lord, was she crying? “I know.”
Now he’d only made her mad. “Jebediah Greene…” Her mouth shrunk into a grim line, lips moving with silent curses.
Holy crow, she sounded like his mother used to. “Winnie—”
“It’s Winona,” she snapped.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re a man, that’s what.”
His gender was a strike against him? “I only meant…” Her glare halted him. Better to keep his trap shut until he knew what ticked her off. “May I have more soup?”
Her mouth opened but shut again. She settled beside him and lifted the bowl. Holding out the spoon, she looked like she’d reached a slow simmer herself. And like she hoped he’d choke.
Not the first time a woman looked at him like that. Not the last, either, he’d wager.
He closed his mouth around the spoon, determined not to oblige her by gagging.
* * * *
Give up everything for a man, only to have him apologize for holding up her journey? Winona finished feeding Jeb, dabbed a rag to his mouth, and excused herself. All men must be insensitive to women’s feelings.
Her deerskin shoes thumped the ground as she aimed for the creek. Fresh water might help cool her anger. Maybe if she told him why she headed to California, it would erase his smugness. Or not. Most likely, he wouldn’t care if another man waited for her with a wedding ring.
No matter. Whether Jeb wanted her or not, Winona wasn’t about to make the same mistake as her mother and throw her life away for some stranger in California. Not after Jeb had held her so close, clinging to her like she was life itself. The way his body conformed to hers as if made for each other, she couldn’t imagine letting any other man near her. Where once the stranger’s tintype had held promise, now its metal edges seemed poised to clamp unyielding jaws around her. No, she wouldn’t make her life a prison as her mother had.
She knelt to splash her face. I’ll make my own way in California. Maybe some family needs a nanny. Or a tutor. Yes, I’d make an excellent tutor.
What had she thought, striking such a bargain? Trading herself for what? A lifetime of servitude? Or solitude, if the man truly was a miner. At the time, any future appeared brighter than the one she faced.
This past week, sleeping beside Jeb, worrying over his every breath, they’d forged a bond. So she thought. Of course he didn’t remember. Passed out, delirious with fever. But he’d murmured her name every night. Held her. She’d opened her arms to welcome him into her embrace. Their bodies had grown familiar, learned the rhythm of one another’s breaths. Her body acknowledged his preference to fall asleep on his side but then splay on his back, forcing her to curl into his side or sleep on the ground. Her body yearned for greater intimacy. His had, too, whether he knew it or not. As the nights grew colder, he drew her against him. Her favorite time, when the stars hung so bright and low, and the haze of sleep lent a dreamlike quality to the embrace. His erection pressed against her thigh insistently. If he’d been conscious, she’d have gladly explored what Jeb unconsciously offered.
So thank goodness for keeping Jeb unconscious. She rose and smiled in greeting as a woman approached, eyes wide. Reaching Winona, the woman babbled excitedly, too fast for her to follow. She’d learned a few words, but not nearly enough to carry on a conversation, especially at this pace.
“Is something wrong?”
The woman pointed to camp. People gathered near another stranger. Something about him made her wary. Winona walked behind the woman, hoping to slip inside to Jeb without notice. Her hopes sank when an Osage man led the stranger to the lodge.
A friend of Jeb’s? The man’s rough appearance made her hope not. She veered away toward the field. An Osage woman wouldn’t interrupt, so neither would she. Whatever business they had, she wanted no part of.
Dawdling took great effort. Winona liked hard work and kept pace with the Osage women, whether farming or caring for children. She took her time checking the crops then gathered some berries. The man finally went back to his horse and rode off, several tribesmen trailing close as if making sure he left.
She hurried to the lodge but hesitated after entering.
Propped up, Jeb scowled at a tintype he held. His scowl transferred to her.
“What’s wrong?” She strolled behind the bed to peek at the tintype. Ice shot up her spine when her own face stared back. “Where did you get that?”
“A friend of your fiancé’s was here. Too bad you missed him.”
“My what?”
“Is that why you need to go to California? To be a miner’s wife?” Disgust edged his voice. “Come on, Winnie.”
The way he drawled her name, he meant to provoke her. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “It’s none of your business.” The hurt in his eyes surprised her. She eased closer. “Jeb.”
“No, you’re right. It’s none of my business.” He tossed the tintype. It whirled to her side of the bed and landed face up.
She’d hated that picture when she first saw it, now hated it double. In one swift motion, she bent and twirled it into the fire, then stomped out. Why on earth did she ever think she could get along with such a mule-headed man?
Red Hawk appeared in her path. “You leaving?”
Through tear-blurred eyes, she glanced around. “I don’t know. Maybe to get my horse.”
“To follow that man?”
“No.” How could he suggest such a thing? But then, Jeb’s friend would want information. “I’m going back to Tipton.”
“No, not wise.”
“Oh yes it is.” The wisest thing she’d ever do for herself.
“You should not go alone.”
“I’ll borrow Jeb’s rifle. Tell him he can find it at the Wilson’s.” She could take care of herself.
He pried the basket from her hands. “Stay. One more night.”
She hadn’t realized she still carried it. Obviously not thinking clearly. Not the best time to make such a decision. “All right. One more night.” She took back the basket and returned to camp. Outside the lodge, she paused when she heard voices.
One of the trackers. Something about her. And the visitor.
Jeb answered in Osage. From what she gathered, he denied what the other had said.
She stilled when she heard the word “love.” Jeb again said no. The word cut into Winona. So she’d guessed right. He had no feelings for her. If she interpreted correctly, Jeb said he wasn’t ready to settle down.
The other man laughed, and her hurt deepened. They’d made her the butt of their joke. If dusk hadn’t settled over the plains, she’d reconsider saddling up. Squaring her shoulders, she sauntered inside. “Feeling better, I see.”
> Guilt erased the tracker’s smile. He said good night.
When Winona answered in Osage, the tracker blanched.
So did Jeb. “Where’d you go?”
“For a walk. I considered leaving but thought I should settle with you first. I did hire you to do a job, after all.”
Jeb watched her pace.
“Have you nothing to say?”
He steadied his gaze on her. “I’m just an employee.”
Hurt pricked her again. “Exactly.” She set the basket on the bed. “I picked some berries.”
He glanced at the basket then studied her again.
Her face burned. “You can’t even say thank you?”
“Oh, they’re for me? An extra bonus for the hired hand?”
“Stop it, Jebediah.”
“Stop what?”
“You mule-headed fool.” She plopped onto the bed and stared into the fire. Strange. The tintype had burned to nothing? She poked at the embers then glanced over at Jeb.
He slid something under the blanket.
“What do you have?” She angled toward him.
“None of your business.”
The tintype. “It’s mine.” She snatched away the blanket and ripped it from his hand.
He tore it from hers. “No, you threw it away.”
“Are you insane?” She grabbed for it, but he held it away. “Give me my picture.”
“Why? Going to send it to another strange man?”
His taunt hit her square in the chest, nearly knocking the wind from her. She wanted to destroy it. Why the devil did he want it?
* * * *
Winona’s stare cut into Jeb sharper than an arrow. So she’d figured him out. So what? He already knew she cared nothing for him. “Well? Who is it this time? Hopefully someone with more social status than a miner. They might make money fast, but they drink it away even faster. You’re better off with a banker.”
A twitch in her face filled him with guilt. She wasn’t going to cry, was she? Why didn’t she say something? He debated provoking her with another taunt.
Finally, the heat in her eyes cooled. “You think so? I’ll keep that in mind. Though I shouldn’t rule out the mayor. Maybe the governor.”
His hand closed around the tintype, tempted to crush it.
Her pleased look stopped him. She meant for him to ruin it. He wouldn’t. “Yes, a politician’s wife needs certain wiles.” The kind he never cared for. “So you still need a guide west?”
Her reply barely audible, she said, “Yes.”
He settled back on the bed and stared at nothing. When she sat beside him and insisted he eat more soup, he obeyed, but had no appetite. The bowl half-empty, he waved away another spoonful. “No more.”
She stared at the bowl in her lap. “What did you tell that man?”
“That the woman in the picture arrived on the Tipton stage. And left on it the next day. That I heard the stage had been attacked, no survivors.”
She looked at him with a kind of wonder.
“I’m tired.” He lay back. “I need to rest. Get well.”
She sighed, but she didn’t move until he closed his eyes. He heard the door open and close.
He let out a long breath. Shakespeare pegged lovers as fools. A wise man, the bard.
Chapter Six
They rode long days, and made good time. Whatever they’d shared at the Osage camp remained there. Winona bore Jeb’s stony silence without question, though it tore her apart.
“We should arrive in San Francisco tomorrow.” He poked the fire without looking at her. “Maybe the day after.”
Dread filled her. With her luggage lost, so was her hope of paying him, with the exception of the two gold coins. “We should discuss payment, then.” And she should have bargained at the beginning of their journey.
“My usual fee is fifty cents a day.”
Her throat constricted. “I had no idea.”
“You don’t think my time’s that valuable, Miss Young?”
“No, I simply…don’t have it.” She’d depended on selling some of her valuables in San Francisco.
“What?” he snapped.
“I’ll get it. Somehow.”
“I’m sure your future husband will provide it.”
“I have no intention of marrying. Anyone. Ever.”
“Then why are you going to San Francisco?”
“To make a living. I can provide for myself.”
“What about your fiancé?”
“I told you, I was never engaged. I agreed to meet him.”
“You traveled clear across the country out of curiosity?”
No, desperation. But Jeb need not know it. “Mr. Greene, you let curiosity guide your life. Don’t criticize me for doing the same.”
Silence stretched for minutes. Finally, he said, “You’re right. There’s no reason a woman shouldn’t follow her heart too.”
“Quite right. Though in all truth, I find it difficult to believe you have a heart.” Oh, he should never have brought up the subject. Nor should she have.
“Excuse me?” He laid a hand across his chest.
The chest slashed by a bear when he saved the hunting party. The chest he’d pressed to hers so tenderly. And she’d felt every beat of the heart within. “How can you treat me so cruelly?” When she most wanted him to hold her, murmur to her as he had before.
“Me? You’re the one running off to marry some nitwit miner you’ve never met.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“No, I don’t. Let’s keep it that way.”
Frustration roiled like a cyclone inside her until it erupted with a shriek. Fists balled, she stomped toward him. “You, you.” She couldn’t begin to put a vile enough name to him.
“Careful, coyotes might answer that mating call.”
She expelled a hard breath. If he could act so callous, with no regard to her feelings in the least, she should forget him. First she needed to figure out how.
* * * *
The city came into view as Jeb mounted the hill. “This is a pickle.”
Of all the tight situations Jeb had had to squeeze out of, this one would present the greatest challenge. Mostly because he wanted the opposite. To squeeze her in his embrace, squeeze all the foolish notions out of her until she saw him plain as day. Jeb, the loner. Jeb, the scout, translator, tracker, guide, whatever he wanted to be. Jeb, the man who loved her despite his best intentions.
“What?” Winona pulled up her pony’s reins.
“I said we’re here. Let’s go.” Tempting as it was to cut and run, just leave her at the edge of the city and forget payment—forget her—he clicked to Clementine and held her at a slow walk down the hill. “Go easy and you’ll be fine.”
Good advice. Maybe he should take it, too.
She followed rather than riding alongside. Maybe common sense finally kicked in, though Jeb wouldn’t believe it had stuck. Not until they rode through several streets and Jeb found a decent-looking hotel did she bring her pony beside his.
“What’s this?”
“A place for you to stay.”
“Jeb, I can’t.”
“What’s wrong now? Not highfaluting enough for you? It’s not fancy, but that means it won’t cost a month’s pay.”
“I don’t have a month’s pay. Nor a week’s. Hardly a day’s. Didn’t you listen to me?”
Oh, he had. He’d considered asking for a different kind of payment. The kind that would cost him his soul—sharing his bedroll. He’d have had to burn it afterward to purge her scent from it, or he’d never sleep again. “I’ll put up the first week. You’re on your own after that.” He swung out of the saddle.
“No.”
“What do you mean, no? What other option do you have?”
She pressed her lips tight, but he saw the quiver. “None.”
Finally. Reasoning took hold. He rolled the reins around the hitching post and waited for her to dismount. He thought about
wrestling her to the ground and inside so he could make his getaway. But Clem hung her head, eyes droopy. It wouldn’t be fair to run her ragged by heading out straightaway. She needed a rest. So did he. And a bath.
When he sauntered up to the clerk, he said, “A room for the lady. And one for me.”
“What?” She moved beside him, staring up at him with those big eyes.
“Where’s your stable? My horse needs a stall, too. And another for hers.” Which reminded him. Her pony might fetch a decent price. He wouldn’t feel so bad leaving knowing she’d have at least some cash. He’d discuss it with her later. After he’d bathed, and washed her off his skin. He’d be a new man. One with some sense of his own.
“We’ll need your bath facilities also. Separately, of course.” He froze. Why had he said that?
“Of course,” the clerk said. “Your rooms are upstairs, opposite one another. You’ll find the bath facilities at the end of the hall. I’ll have the maid prepare it. Stables are out back. Which are your horses, so the stable hand will know?”
“I’ll take care of them. My horse doesn’t like strangers touching her.” Unlike his companion, he wanted to say, but that would’ve been too low. Or it might provoke her into explaining why on earth she’d agreed to marry a man she’d never met. “You go on up. I’ll tend the horses. Let me know when you’re finished in the bath.”
He strode outside before she could say something to rile him. Leading the horses, he wished people were as easy to handle as animals. After seeing that Clem and the pony had enough hay and fresh water, he returned to the hotel, took the stairs two at a time, then halted. Damn. He hadn’t asked which room she’d chosen.
He paused outside the first room. No sound from inside. He knocked. “Miz Young?”
No answer. He tried the opposite room. Same thing.
Another pickle. Water splashing echoed from the other end. Must be in the bath. He cracked open the door and peered inside. Winona’s bag sat beside the bed, open. Not much inside it.
His chest tightened. She’d lost everything in the raid on the stagecoach. Yet she’d never complained. After gently closing the door, he crept to the other room and snuck inside. Stupid. What did he care if she caught him ogling her things?