Heart of the Rockies Collection

by Kathleen Morgan

  Nathan Meeker’s eyes widened. He drew in a shaky breath. “I-I regret the death of your wife. Truly I do. But it isn’t fair to blame me for something that happened before I arrived. I would’ve never allowed such a thing to happen.”

  Shiloh’s fingers dug into his arm. Jesse knew she was cautioning him to get control of his temper. He inhaled several long, slow breaths and willed his anger-taut body to relax.

  “Likely you wouldn’t have, if you’d known.” He managed a wan smile. “And it’s entirely possible the other agent didn’t know he’d been sent contaminated blankets either. It’s just when you claimed Mr. Collum was a better escort for Miss Wainwright because he was married, and I was found lacking because I wasn’t . . . well, you touched on a sore spot.”

  “It’s quite understandable.” The older man sitting across from him actually looked contrite. “Please forgive my insensitivity to your loss.”

  Though Jesse was surprised Meeker would humble himself to apologize to any Indian, he decided it best to take the apology at face value. He still didn’t trust the man or his intentions for the People, but nothing was served acting like an arrogant boor by refusing to forgive him.

  “It’s already forgotten,” he softly said.

  “So, it’s settled then.” Shiloh apparently decided to seize the opportunity that the embarrassing little aside with Meeker had given her. “Mr. Blackwater will accompany me back to our ranch.”

  Jesse watched the indecision slowly transform itself into resignation in Nathan Meeker’s eyes. Though not for one minute did he imagine the agent truly approved of him escorting Shiloh home, Jesse knew the man probably also suspected he’d not win the argument. Shiloh always was one to wear her heart on her sleeve, and Meeker likely guessed she’d leave with or without someone to accompany her.

  “I suppose I can accept your assurances, Miss Wainwright, that your family would find this man”—as he spoke, Meeker indicated Jesse—“a suitable companion. Once you arrive home, you will keep us apprised of the situation, won’t you, and your expected date of return to the Agency?”

  “Of course, sir. It’s the very least I can do. And I promise I’ll return just as soon as my sister’s safely on the way to a full recovery.”

  Beside him, Jesse could see Shiloh visibly relax and smile in apparent relief. She was an attractive woman in any circumstance, but when she smiled . . .

  He expelled a soft breath, already wondering what he had just gotten himself into. A week or more alone with Shiloh Wainwright promised to be fraught with complications, the least of which was keeping an emotional distance. He recognized that very clearly now.

  His first impulse to offer to escort her home hadn’t been very well thought out. He had reacted to her distress, wishing to protect her and diminish her pain. The consideration that this might finally be the way to get her to leave the Agency as well as to permanently assure she never returned had been much slower in coming. So slow, in fact, that Jesse recognized the danger he was in.

  He cared for Shiloh. Cared for her as a grown man for a grown woman. Yet even as he admitted his feelings, Jesse knew there was no hope for them. For all practical purposes, he was an Indian. And she was a white woman.

  No good could come of a relationship between them. No good at all.

  As the first rays of dawn crept over the mountains east of the wide river valley, Shiloh and Jesse set off for Castle Mountain Ranch. Their saddlebags were laden with food, ammunition, and additional warm clothing. Bedrolls were tied to the back of their saddles, and each had a rifle in a scabbard and two canteens full of water hanging from their saddle horns. They were as prepared as anyone could be for the long trek ahead of them.

  Jesse chose to wear his buckskins and fur-lined coat. Shiloh, however, to Mrs. Meeker’s consternation and her husband’s overt disapproval, donned a warm flannel shirt, denims, and boots, topped off with her wool coat and a wide-brimmed hat. She wasn’t about to brave the mountain wilderness in long skirts, no matter what anyone thought of the propriety of the action. They were in the West now. And there were times when one had to set aside what might be considered unladylike comportment for what was not only practical but sensible.

  Shiloh had left a hastily written note in Josie’s custody, to be telegraphed from Rawlins just as soon as Mr. Collum arrived back there. It might or might not reach the town of Ashton, and subsequently her brothers at the ranch, before she and Jesse made it back there. Everything depended on the amount of delays they might encounter in their journey south, the very least of which might include the unpredictable late-spring, Rocky Mountain weather.

  It seemed nearly all the inhabitants of the boardinghouse saw them off, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Meeker. Shiloh was surprised at the tears that sprung to her eyes as she and Jesse headed their horses away from the Agency toward the White River. Somewhere, in the past three and a half weeks, the Agency and most of its people had begun to feel like family.

  She shot a surreptitious glance at Jesse, who rode to her left. His expression was inscrutable. But then, he likely didn’t appreciate the presence of any whites on his precious reservation lands, and so wasn’t at all bothered to be leaving the Agency folk behind. That he cared enough to embark on what would be at least a six-day trip through some frequently harsh terrain, just to help her out, was what mattered most to Shiloh. It was the sort of thing the old Jesse would’ve done, and that gladdened her heart.

  Little by little, he was beginning to lower his defenses against her, just like he’d done all those years ago. Little by little, he seemed to be trusting her again. That day he’d turned and walked away from her at the Bear Dance, Shiloh had thought she’d lost him forever. Lost him just as she had nine years ago when he’d ridden, bloody and beaten, from their ranch.

  She knew now she couldn’t bear to lose him again. That one time, long ago, had been more than enough. But how to convince Jesse to resume a friendship forged once in their youth and now on the verge of restoration as adults?

  Well, Shiloh reassured herself, there’d be plenty of time alone together to work on that dilemma. And maybe the endeavor would help keep her mind—and worries—off her sister. If she still even lived . . .

  Please, Lord, she prayed. Don’t let me be too late. Jordan and I didn’t part very well that last time I left the ranch. I’ve always harbored so much resentment against her for what she’d done to Jesse, not to mention the tiresome, superior way she always treated me. Yet she’s still my sister. I love her and desperately need to have her hear that. Oh, please, let me at least be able to tell her that!

  “If it’s all right with you,” Jesse said just then, piercing her painful thoughts, “I’d like as much as possible to avoid any settlements or camps along the way. A lot of folk won’t take kindly to some Ute escorting a pretty white woman through the mountains. And the resultant ‘discussion’ with them over that could slow us down a lot. Not to mention, I’d prefer not to have to kill any of them, because then we’d have a posse of Indian-hating whites on our hands.”

  Shiloh expelled an exasperated breath, even as a frisson of pleasure at Jesse calling her “pretty” coursed through her. “If that’s what you want, that’s fine with me. But you really should stop assuming all whites hate Indians. Because it’s just not true.”

  “Problem is,” he grimly replied, “it’s kind of hard to separate the Indian lovers from the haters. Most times, you don’t find that out until it’s too late.”

  There was a thread of bitterness, likely well substantiated by many years of personal experience, in his words. Compassion filled her. She looked once again at him and saw the rigid set of his shoulders and tight line of his jaw. Though she yearned to know more about what his life had been like since he’d left the ranch, she also sensed he was in no mood to confide in her right now.

  “Except for my red hair causing an occasional stir,” she said instead, “I’ve never felt like I stood out in any crowd, or that I didn’t belong. Not until I came to
the Agency and first mingled with the People at the Bear Dance, and then when I visited the camps. But the sense of alienation, of being different and that I didn’t fit in and maybe wasn’t even wanted there, struck me so strongly then. And it wasn’t a very pleasant feeling.”

  “We’re from two different worlds, Shiloh.” Jesse’s expression turned pensive, sad. “Two worlds that unfortunately don’t seem to understand each other very well or want to accept each other.”

  “And that’s exactly why I wanted to come to the Agency and teach the children, Jesse!” In spite of her efforts to control it, excitement tightened her voice. “Because there’s no reason why we can’t come to understand and accept each other. We’re all God’s creatures. He loves us equally and we’re called to love our neighbors because of our love for Jesus.”

  His mouth twisted in disdain. “For one thing, not all whites are Christians. And, for another, a lot of those who claim to be Christians don’t think Christ’s mandate to love extends to even some of their own kind, much less to heathen savages. You know that as well as I.”

  “I do know that,” she said. “But you can’t give up on your vision of life and how others should be treated because of the evil done by a few. Instead, you have to find and join with the good people to make this world a better place.”

  “Which I have. The only difference is I chose to try and make the lives of the Ute people better. I’ve no interest in involving myself with the whites anymore, at least not any more than I have to.”

  Frustration filled her. “But, with your shared Ute and white blood, you’ve been given the opportunity to make an impact on both worlds, for the good of both.”

  Jesse graced her with a disbelieving look. “Surely you’re not that naïve to imagine I’ve any influence with the whites? As far as they’re concerned, even one drop of Indian blood makes one an Indian. When they look at me, they don’t see a half-white man. They see a full-blooded Ute Indian.”

  “And since when do you let another’s view of you determine what you will or will not do or believe?” As much as she tried to hold on to her rapidly fraying patience with Jesse’s negativity, she was beginning to lose her temper. “The Jesse Blackwater I knew nine years ago certainly didn’t.”

  With an aggravated sound, he reined in his horse and turned in his saddle to lock gazes with her. “Look, I think it’s past time we drop this particular conversation. Let’s just agree to disagree. Because, if we don’t, this is going to be a pretty long and miserable trip for the both of us.”

  Shiloh halted her own horse, then opened her mouth to explain herself further. After a moment’s consideration, however, she clamped it shut again.

  She had pushed too hard. She needed to back off. And Jesse was right. They did have a long trip ahead of them. Nothing was served making him angry right off.

  “Fine,” she muttered, urging her horse forward again. “Let’s drop it then. You’re obviously incapable of holding more than one narrow-minded, cynical opinion in that mule-headed head of yours.”

  “Oh, so now I’m the mule-headed one, am I?” He gave a sharp laugh, then nudged his horse to catch up with her. “If that isn’t the old Shiloh, I don’t know what is. You haven’t changed much at all, have you?”

  “Well, neither have you!” She punctuated that with an indignant toss of her head. All the while, though, she smiled a secret smile.

  It was beginning to seem like old times, with her and Jesse trading quips and teases back and forth. Bit by bit, she was getting him to relax and open up with her. And, as he did, she was learning more and more about the man he had become. A man she was increasingly eager to know.

  She had Jesse back again—or at least the opportunity to renew their friendship. And, the Lord willing, this time their friendship would forever hold firm and strong.

  As soon as they crossed the White River, they urged their horses into a ground-covering canter, heading southeast, and eventually picked up Sheep Creek, which they then began to follow as it flowed southward. After several hours of hard riding, the mountains on their left gradually began to rise in elevation. They took a short break to eat a simple lunch of cheese sandwiches washed down with some apple cider, water the horses after they cooled a bit, and then set out again. By midafternoon, the towering behemoths in the distance grew closer and closer and began to form a jagged set of ridges with many streams running down their steep sides.

  “The snow was heavy this winter,” Jesse said as they finally slowed their pace yet again to allow their winded horses to catch their breath. “I expect, now that the spring runoff has started, that some of the bigger creeks farther south of us might be treacherous to cross.”

  “Well, lucky for us we’re both good swimmers.” Shiloh grinned at one particular memory of a hot summer’s day nine years ago. “Not that you let on that you could swim until I was just about convinced you’d drowned.”

  Jesse’s lips twitched. “You certainly were a very gullible little girl back then. I mean, anyone with even an ounce of Indian blood in them wouldn’t know how to swim? It’s one of the first survival skills we learn.”

  “Well, maybe so, but I didn’t know how much Indian upbringing you’d had back in those early days when I first met you. You didn’t trick me like that again.”

  “Oh, I reckon, given time and the right opportunity,” Jesse drawled, leaning back in his saddle to gaze up at the tall mountains on their left, “I could do so again.”

  Shiloh gave a disgusted snort, then followed his gaze to the pinyon-juniper woodlands that crept up the mountainsides. “What are they called? These mountains, I mean?”

  He pointed to the jagged peaks undulating above them. “Do you see how the tops join together to almost form a spine? Well, I’ve heard this range called many things, but Hogback is one of them, because it resembles the back of a hog.”

  “You seem pretty familiar with this area. I suppose this is one of many Ute hunting grounds?”

  Jesse nodded. “Yes, it is. We capture the red-tailed hawks and golden eagles that nest in these rocks and cliffs for our feather war bonnets. And there’s also elk and deer in abundance roaming the steep hillsides. Occasionally, we even manage to outmaneuver a bighorn sheep up there.” He chuckled. “Not too often, though. They’re a lot more sure-footed on those rocks than we are.”

  Shiloh smiled, her gaze avidly taking in the scenery already kissed with the early green of spring. “It’s a beautiful land, these mountains. I hope your people never have to leave them.”

  “So do I.” Jesse sighed. “The People feel closest to the Creator in the mountains.” He looked over at her as they rode along. “Have you heard any of the Ute legends?”

  “Some of them. Kanosh, my Ute nursemaid, used to tell me some when I was a child.”

  “Ever heard the one of the Sleeping Ute Mountain?”

  “No, can’t say that I have,” she replied after a moment’s thought.

  “Well, in the very old days,” Jesse began, “the Sleeping Ute Mountain was the Great Warrior God. He came to battle the Evil Ones who were causing a lot of trouble. That’s how the peaks and valleys of these mountains were formed, during the battle between the Great Warrior God and the Evil Ones, from them stepping hard upon the earth as they fought.

  “In the midst of the battle, the Great Warrior God was injured, so he lay down to rest and fell into a deep sleep. And the blood that flowed from his wound turned into living waters for all of the creatures to drink. When clouds settle over the Sleeping Warrior God, it’s a sign he’s changing the blankets of the seasons. When the People see a light green blanket over their God, they know it’s spring. A dark green blanket tells them it’s summer. A red and yellow one means it’s fall, and of course a white one is winter.

  “The People also believe when the clouds gather on the highest peaks, their Great Warrior God is pleased with them and will send rain to water the land. They also believe he will someday rise again to do battle for them against their enem
ies.”

  Lulled by the rhythmic rocking of the horse beneath her as it walked along, warmed by the sun, and mesmerized by Jesse’s rich, deep voice as he spun his story, Shiloh couldn’t remember when she’d been more content or felt so complete with just the presence of another person at her side. She almost wished this day would never end.

  But it had to. And another and another day would follow until they finally reached their destination. With that, Shiloh’s happy mood evaporated. A wave of guilt washed over her.

  Her sister was seriously ill or injured and could well die, if she wasn’t already dead. As much as Shiloh wished it otherwise, this wasn’t the time to fulfill girlish dreams of a romantic journey with Jesse at her side.

  She straightened in her saddle, gathered up her reins, and glanced at Jesse. “Thank you for the wonderful story. It’s time, though, that we move out again. This isn’t a pleasure trip, after all. We need to cover as much ground as we can before nightfall.”

  With that, she urged her horse forward. The startled animal broke into a fast trot, then quickly settled into a lope. After a moment, Shiloh heard Jesse signal his own horse to follow.

  He soon came up alongside her and, in a swift move, leaned over and grabbed her horse’s reins. In but the span of a few more seconds, Jesse had her mount pulled to a stop.

  His brow furrowed with puzzlement, he pointedly caught and held her gaze. “What’s wrong, Shiloh?” he demanded. “And what was that all about?”

  7

  Shiloh sent Jesse a searing glare. Not only did she not want to talk about her muddled feelings right now, but she especially didn’t want to talk to him about them. Jordan would surely be a sore point between them, and though she couldn’t blame him for his feelings, Jordan nonetheless was her sister. The fact that Shiloh had enough of her own mixed emotions, and the resultant guilt over that especially now that Jordan might well be dying, didn’t help things at all. Especially now, when she and Jesse had been sharing such a wonderful time of their own.