Heart of the Rockies Collection

by Kathleen Morgan

  He smiled, and his teeth were startlingly white against his tanned skin. “No sooner said than done, ma’am.”

  “Shiloh. Please, call me Shiloh,” she said as she followed him from the room.

  Once outside, Shiloh was relieved to see the crowd had dispersed. She moved immediately to untie Jesse’s pony and hand the reins to the parson. “I’m assuming you know your way around horses, Reverend Bauermann?”

  He nodded. “I grew up on a ranch, before deciding to attend seminary. There aren’t very many horses I can’t manage.”

  “Good. Jesse’s pony is a bit skittish around strangers but settles down nicely once he realizes he can’t get away with anything.” She unfastened her horse from the hitching post, then indicated that the reverend should lead the way.

  It didn’t take long to reach the livery—basically a small barn with six stalls. After removing the travois and laying it just inside the barn door along a wall, she discussed the cost and care she desired with the liveryman. Then she led her horse into a stall beside the one the parson delivered Jesse’s pony to.

  “I don’t know just yet how many days I’ll need to board our horses,” she said to Tom, the liveryman, “but I’ll check back each day to pay you and keep you updated. You’ll take good care of our horses, won’t you, Tom?”

  “Tom is a good man,” Reverend Bauermann said, clapping the other man on the shoulder. “You can trust him. Can’t she, Tom?”

  The liveryman’s head bobbed in nervous agreement. “Sure thing, Reverend.”

  “And, if there’s any trouble, you’ll come first thing and let me know, right?”

  “Trouble?” Tom’s eyes widened. “What kind of trouble?”

  “Oh, just maybe Jim and Otto skulking around.” The parson shrugged. “You know how they can’t seem to keep their noses out of other folks’ business. But if they do come around, you just fetch me and I’ll take care of it.”

  Tom nodded again. “Okay, Reverend.”

  Reverend Bauermann turned to Shiloh. “Would you like me to escort you back to Doc Michaels’s office, or do you think you’ll be all right on your own?”

  Shiloh grinned. “I think I’ll be just fine. You’re not the only one who was raised on a ranch.”

  He smiled. “Somehow, I figured you weren’t the helpless sort. Not after seeing all you’ve done to keep your friend alive and get him here.”

  Her smile faded. “He would’ve done the same for me. One couldn’t ask for a better friend than that.”

  The parson’s mouth quirked. “I’d wager he’s more than just a friend. Leastwise, as far as you’re concerned.”

  She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks. Instead of commenting upon his wry observation, Shiloh held out her hand.

  “Thank you for all your help, Reverend. It’s so very much appreciated.”

  “It’s nothing more than what Christ admonishes us to do for our fellow man,” he replied, taking her hand and shaking it. “Be ye therefore merciful, as your Father also is merciful . . .”

  “Indeed, Reverend. Indeed.” She released his hand, stepped back, then turned and headed down the street to the doctor’s office.

  All the while, though, a poignant thought assailed her. Mercy . . . It seemed a virtue in short supply these days, leastwise when it came to the Indians. But then, there were plenty of whites who feared the Indians, and for good reason. If only both sides could sort the good ones from the bad and not inadvertently punish the innocent.

  Problem was, the most expedient solution to a lot of whites was also the cruelest. For to them, the only good Indian was a dead one.

  Jesse woke slowly, and the first thing he noticed was he was lying on something very comfortable. Silence surrounded him. For an instant, he wondered if he had died and gone to heaven.

  Then common sense reminded him he was no longer a Christian, nor did he believe in the Christian god. So it couldn’t be heaven.

  And if it were the afterlife of which the People spoke, it wouldn’t be quite like this. He would, instead, be outside where the weather was perfect and the game teeming. And he’d likely be clasping a bow, with a quiver of arrows slung across his back.

  Inching open one eye, Jesse realized his assessment had been accurate. He lay on a bed in a room. The door to the room was shut, but beyond it he could now make out the sounds of someone moving about. He turned away from the door to the room’s single window. Ruffled white curtains hung there but just outside he saw other houses nearby. He must be in some white man’s town.

  So, Shiloh had managed to find help. He smiled. When she set her mind to something, there seemed nothing she couldn’t accomplish.

  He levered himself to one elbow, and the sudden pain in his right side made him wince. Flipping back the colorful quilt covering him, he noted the neat, clean bandages covering his wound. Jesse wondered if Shiloh had done that, or someone else.

  Now that he considered it further, where was Shiloh? He pushed to a sitting position, his legs dangling from the side of the bed, and noted he no longer wore his buckskin leggings and breechcloth. Instead, a pair of long woolen drawers covered the lower half of his body.

  Briefly, as he sat up, his head spun. The feeling, however, soon passed. Just as he was leaning forward to touch the floor with one foot, the door opened and Shiloh walked in with a tray in her hands. Jesse quickly sat back on the bed and flipped the quilt over to cover his lap.

  She almost dropped the tray as she turned from closing the bedroom door and saw him sitting up.

  “J-Jesse! You’re awake.”

  “Yes,” he said, stifling a smile, “it appears I am. How long have I been asleep?”

  Walking over, she laid the tray on the bedside table. “Nearly a day and a half. Since we got to Carbonville, I mean, and Doc Michaels took you in and treated you. Your fever took a while to beat, but it broke late last night. Then I finally knew you were going to make it.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear I’m going to make it,” Jesse replied after a moment of contemplating the possible contents of the covered bowl on the tray, “because I sure am hungry.”

  Shiloh grinned and uncovered the bowl with a flourish. “Then our timing’s perfect. Harriet, Doc Michaels’s wife, and I were debating when you’d wake, and we decided to go ahead and make a nice pot of chicken soup for you.” She waved her hand over the soup, coaxing the scent of the steaming liquid toward him. “Doesn’t it smell wonderful?”

  He inhaled deeply and nodded. “Yes, it does. Are you going to let me have some or just torture me with the smell?”

  She paused, giving him a considering look. “Next time, maybe we can get you up in a chair to eat, but for the first time, let’s have you do it in bed, okay? You’re bound to be pretty weak, after the fever and not eating anything for over two days.”

  The idea of eating in bed didn’t sit well with Jesse, but he decided Shiloh was probably right. Better to suffer one meal as an invalid than risk staggering over to the chair in those ridiculous drawers, and maybe even falling. That possibility was more humiliating than remaining bedridden awhile longer.

  “Fine with me,” he said as he swung his legs up and beneath the covers. “But just this one time. I plan to be out of bed and walking just as soon as I can.”

  “Then the sooner you start getting some food into you on a regular basis”—as she spoke, Shiloh picked up the tray and placed it on his lap, then leaned over to prop his pillows farther up behind him—“the sooner you’ll regain the strength you need for walking.”

  The few seconds she had bent close to him sent Jesse’s heart to thudding. He’d felt her warmth, smelled her delicate scent, and if not for the tray of food on his lap, he thought he might have pulled her close. Which, on second thought, was an absurd idea. Besides upsetting the tray, he’d likely have hurt his side in the doing. And that was in addition to the fact that Shiloh would probably have taken offense.

  His cheeks flushed warm, but Jesse doubted it was from the return
of his fever. He hid his embarrassment by fumbling with the spoon and finally dipping it into the soup.

  “Here, wait a minute.” She grabbed the big cloth napkin from the tray and laid it across his bare chest. “Just in case the soup gets messy.”

  She didn’t lean quite as close this time, but it was all Jesse could do to suppress a groan. What was the matter with him? Had his injury and subsequent infection weakened more than just his body? Had all the defenses he’d put up against her been burned away in the heat of his fever?

  All he knew, as he watched her pull over the chair and sit beside him, was he wanted, needed her, and the intensity of his desire all but unmanned him. If only he could take her into his arms and hold her close, brush his lips against the smooth, rose-tinted skin of her cheek, rest his face on her silky, red curls . . .

  With a savage jerk of his thoughts back to the reality of the moment, Jesse picked up his spoon and forced his trembling hand to steady as he scooped up some of the soup. The flavor was delicious and the liquid the perfect temperature as it slid down his parched throat. He took another spoonful and momentarily savored the tender morsels of chicken and noodles before swallowing.

  “This is the best chicken soup I’ve ever had,” he said, finally daring to meet Shiloh’s expectant gaze. “Would you please thank Mrs. Michaels for me?”

  She smiled in joyous relief. “Oh, I will. I’m just so glad to see you awake and eating. If you only knew how worried sick I was . . .”

  Shiloh turned away, but not before Jesse noted the suspicious brightness and moisture in her eyes. Did she care so much for him that the thought he might die had affected her so strongly? Though he knew he shouldn’t let it, the thought gladdened him more than he cared to admit.

  “Well, you needn’t worry or make yourself sick over me anymore,” he growled, the anger at his weakness making his voice take on a harshness he hadn’t intended. “I’m going to be all right.”

  Her head jerked back around, and Jesse could tell from her pained expression that he had hurt her. Silently, he cursed himself for his insensitive words.

  “Look,” he said as he scooped up another spoonful of soup, “I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful for all you’ve done. I guess I just . . . just have a hard time depending on someone else or being in their debt. So, I get angry and take it out on the other person, when it’s really myself I’m angry at. For being so weak and all . . .”

  The look she sent him was reproachful. “I don’t like feeling weak and helpless either, but I don’t take it out on others.”

  He swallowed the soup he’d just ladled into his mouth before replying. “Well, maybe that’s because you’re a fine, upstanding human being, and I’m not.”

  It took her a moment to catch the teasing look he sent her, and then she relaxed and laughed. “You’re probably right about that.” Shiloh waved toward his bowl of soup. “Now, no more talk. Finish your soup while you still have the energy. Because if I don’t miss my guess, you won’t have it for long.”

  Though he was tempted to dispute her claim that he wouldn’t hold up, by the time Jesse got to the last few spoonfuls of chicken soup, he had to admit she’d been right. The spoon seemed to weigh several pounds, and the effort it took for him to wield it was almost more than he could manage. Finally, in exasperation, he laid down the spoon, grabbed the bowl, and emptied it.

  “There,” he said, falling back against the pillows, “I finished the soup. What do you have planned for me next? A walk outside? Splitting some firewood?”

  “Oh, most certainly,” she said, chuckling as she stood up, took a step toward the bed, and retrieved the tray. “Just as soon as you take a nice long nap. Then we’ll discuss the chores I’ve got lined up for you.”

  Jesse managed a wan smile. “You’re a hard woman, Shiloh Wainwright. But I always knew that about you.”

  “Did you now?” She laid the tray on the bedside table, then moved back beside him to take away one of the extra pillows that had helped prop him up. After putting it down in the chair, she turned to him. “Then I guess you know all my secrets.”

  He gave a disbelieving snort. “As if any man ever knows all of a woman’s secrets.”

  “Well, then it’ll give you something to think on until you fall asleep.” She leaned down as if to give him a comforting kiss on the cheek.

  In that instant, all the frustrating emotions he’d barely been holding in check seemed to burst past his iron control. Jesse reached up, gently caught her chin, and turned her face to his. Before she could react or he could reconsider, he kissed her.

  Shiloh froze. She thought she must be dreaming. Jesse Blackwater was kissing her? Had she lost her balance when she’d bent down to give him a quick, friendly peck on the cheek, and inadvertently hit his lips instead?

  But no, she thought as the initial shock wore off, he had taken her by the chin and kissed her. And, as his warm lips slanted softly, tenderly over hers without ever pulling back, she realized Jesse had intended—wanted—to kiss her. The realization filled her with a swift, soaring joy, and she sank to sit on the edge of his bed and ardently returned his kiss.

  Long seconds passed and Shiloh thought she’d never felt or tasted anything as wonderful as Jesse. She moaned, the sound rising from deep within her. A sound full of yearning, pleasure, and warm, womanly satisfaction.

  Jesse released her chin and jerked away. She sat back, confused.

  “What . . . ? D-did I hurt you, Jesse?” Even as she spoke, the traitorous warmth rushed to her face.

  He wouldn’t look at her. “No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  She reached toward him, touched his shoulder. He shrugged her hand away.

  “Don’t.”

  His command stabbed through her, and into the gaping wound rushed an agonized shame. Shiloh pulled back her hand.

  “I’m sorry too,” she forced herself to choke out the words. “I thought you wanted to kiss me, liked kissing me.”

  “Of course I liked kissing you!” Jesse whirled around to face her and, at the sudden movement, he caught at his side and grimaced in pain.

  Instinctively, Shiloh reached toward him.

  “I said don’t!” He halted her with his free hand outstretched before him. “Please, don’t make this any worse than it already is. You and I know there’s no hope of any good coming from . . . from . . .”

  Anger began to smolder within her. “From what?” she demanded. “From letting ourselves care for each other? For opening our hearts to love?”

  His eyes widened. He dragged in a deep breath, which made him wince. Then his jaw went taut, his lips tight, and he managed a harsh laugh.

  “Who was talking about love?”

  She stared at him, her thoughts colliding with her chaotic emotions. “But you kissed me! What else would I be thinking but that—”

  At the sordid implications that flashed through her mind, Shiloh leaped from the bed. “You didn’t mean . . . you wouldn’t do such a thing!”

  “In case you haven’t figured it out yet,” Jesse said as he gingerly lay back on the bed, “you’re a beautiful, desirable woman. And I’m a normal man. But I also intend to be a man of honor and deliver you home in the same condition you left the Agency. So, let’s forget what just happened. Because it never would have if I’d been right in my mind and body.”

  She wanted to cry and at the same time was so furious she could hardly think straight. She wanted to slap him senseless as much as she wanted to fling herself on him and beg him to hold her, kiss her, and tell her he truly and deeply loved her. Because she, Shiloh realized with a sudden piercing insight, truly and deeply loved him.

  But had she ever known who Jesse Blackwater really was? She wondered. One thing was certain. Right about now she certainly didn’t like him.

  “Well, please let me know when you’re back in your right mind and body then,” she said with no small amount of sarcasm. “Because until then, I won’t force myself on you in any way.
Mrs. Michaels can see to your care. And when you deem yourself fit enough to resume our journey, I’ll be sure to avoid any further sort of behavior that might besmirch your blasted honor!”

  10

  Though she had taken great offense at the mixed messages Jesse had sent with his kiss, Shiloh couldn’t long hold a grudge. Well, she quickly amended, at least not with anyone other than her sister. Besides the fact they still had a three- or four-day’s journey ahead of them, there was the reality he had saved her life at great risk to his own.

  For those reasons, and no others, she kept trying to convince herself she owed him civil if not compassionate behavior. Well, perhaps just one other reason, she thought two days later as she knocked on his bedroom door, a breakfast tray in her hand. Her Christian conduct toward him had been sorely lacking of late. She must amend that for the love of her Lord, if not so much for any charitable feelings for Jesse.

  “Come in,” a deep voice responded from the other side of the door.

  Shiloh inhaled a fortifying breath, lifted a quick prayer for strength, and pressed down on the door handle. As she entered, Jesse, seated in a chair near the window, looked up from a book he was reading.

  He was dressed once more in his leggings and breechcloth, moccasins on his feet. Instead of his buckskin shirt, however, he wore a softly faded, red flannel shirt that she ventured to guess was one of Doc Michaels’s. The color only served to enhance his darkly handsome good looks, and for an instant, Shiloh forgot her resolve not to allow her emotions regarding Jesse Blackwater to get the best of her again.

  “Mrs. Michaels was busy,” she said, forcing a smile, “so I offered to help her by bringing you your breakfast.”

  His glance lowered back to the page he was reading. “That’s very kind of you. Especially since you must loathe being in my presence these days.”