"You've been gone from camp a lot longer than it would have taken you to climb this far, Jes," Ned said, the anger his worry over her had caused calming somewhat now that he had found her. "Good God, Jes. We've been looking for you for over fifteen minutes. Didn't you hear us yelling?"
Jessica only shrugged in answer to Ned's question. "The trail ends just up there at a cliff," she explained instead. "And it's a lot more peaceful and quiet out here than back in camp. I was sick and tired of listening to a bunch of superstitious cowboys, scared in their boots and bandying about their fears of ghosts."
"What if you'd gotten hurt out here, Jes?"
"Then I'd have expected my men to come looking for me. But I'll bet if they had, they'd have paired off like lovers because they were afraid of the dark. I expect more from the men who work under me, Ned — a hell of a lot more."
"Woman's got no business wandering around after dark by herself," Patches muttered, reminding Jessica of the stranger's words.
"I'll bet you even check under the bunks in the bunkhouse before you go to bed at night to make sure there aren't any monsters there, don't you, Patches?" Jessica said in a sweetly sarcastic voice.
"Jes," Ned warned.
"Oh, let's go. I hope you've at least managed to dig up something that's half-way palatable to eat for supper."
Jessica grabbed the lantern Ned held and glared at the two men. Patches refused to meet her gaze and hurriedly turned back down the trail, his own lantern lighting his way. As soon as he disappeared, Jessica swung the lantern around and held it high, peering through the light at the path beyond.
"What are you looking for, Jes?"
"Uh...oh, I'm just making sure I didn't miss finding where this trail winds around that cliff face. This seems like an awfully well traveled path to just come to a dead end."
Jessica swiped absently at the tic on her cheek. Her nerves still must be jumpy from her encounter with the mysterious apparition. She darned sure wasn't going to admit to Ned that her own foolish actions had indeed placed her in a dangerous situation, though.
She held the lantern a fraction higher, but nothing met her eyes except the misted shadows of rocks and the cliff face beyond her. She flushed slightly, glad her back was to Ned. And she damned sure wasn't going to admit to Ned that she had met a man on the trail whose kisses made her head spin. How in the world could she ever explain it to him, when her own mind shied away from admitting her feelings?
Turning around, she caught sight of Ned's puzzled look and walked past him to lead the way back to camp. She desperately wanted to talk to someone, but she'd had her share of scoldings from Ned over the years. Though she knew in her heart he only spoke out of concern, she couldn't think of any way to tell him that wouldn't end up with a well deserved chastisement. Shoot. He would probably put her on a leash until he could ship her back to Wyoming!
Later, after she forced down a plate of the concoction the men had devised, Jessica spread her bedroll a ways off from the men. She'd spent enough nights during roundups to know she would never get any sleep if she didn't distance herself from them a little. Most of them snored and one or two of them even suffered bouts of flatulence now and then.
Jessica shifted on her side and stared through the black night in the direction of the trail she had climbed earlier. Who was he? Definitely not a ghost. Those hands on her had been all too real. And those lips — and that steel hardened body. She blushed furiously as she recalled her reaction to the stranger's kisses. Oh, why hadn't she overcome her embarrassment and told Ned about him? Why hadn't she ordered her men after his dastardly hide to avenge her honor at the liberties he had taken with her?
Liberties he had taken with her? She shook her head silently in disgust as she recalled her lips following his — almost begging for him to kiss her again. Her hand came up unconsciously and she ran a tentative finger around her mouth. Her movement thrust her breasts against her blouse and the friction of the fabric pebbled her nipples to hard points.
Jessica gave a snort of contempt at herself and dropped her hand. Determinedly closing her eyes, she ordered her muscles to relax in sleep, but her mind remained crammed with jumbled questions. What had happened out there? Who was he? He'd been alone when she met him, but earlier it had sounded like the entire Seventh Cavalry shooting at them. And why hadn't any of their bullets hit him?
And how could remembering the feel of his fingers on her skin and lips on her own make her think about being curled up in front of a roaring winter fire on a bearskin rug? Not alone either. A shadow lay beside her — a ghostly shadow with dark, silky hair and dark eyes — broad, muscular shoulders, unhidden by a shirt. Broad, naked shoulders, as naked as her own body.
She woke the next morning tired and achy, after tossing and turning on the hard ground well into the night. She rubbed her eyes briefly and sat up with a shot when she lowered her hands. A large, cloth bag tied with a drawstring lay by her side. Grabbing it, she pulled it to her and loosened the string, breathing in with delight when the smell of smoked ham hit her nose.
Groping in the bag, Jessica drew out a smaller sack from which dust wafted. Flour. For biscuits. She upended the bag and shook out the rest of the contents. Two bumpy bags hit the ground beside an entire smoked ham. One revealed coffee beans and the other soup beans, enough food to at least feed them for a day or so.
Jessica gave a soft crow of satisfaction and started to scramble to her feet. Just then her eyes fell on the pommel of Ned's saddle, which she had used for a pillow the night before. She tentatively reached out and untied the bouquet of wildflowers, already beginning to wilt from lack of water. Hastily glancing over her shoulder to assure herself she was, as usual, the first one up, she stuffed the flowers inside her bedroll to hide them.
From a spot on the side of the hill near the hidden cave, he sat watching them as they broke camp. The frown left his face when he saw the group of riders, a slender woman at the front of them, head in the direction of the nearest town to replenish their supplies, instead of making a search for their nighttime attacker.
As the group passed over the ridge in the trail, he stood and reached for the reins of the paint stallion. For a moment, he remained lost in thought. Luckily, he had been prepared. The idea to scare anyone away from his hiding place had been fueled by the stories filtering around about the battlefield. He had seen even grown men's blood run cold at some of the stories told around nighttime campfires. He sure as hell hadn't scared that feisty little filly with those men for very long, though. Was she foolishly brave, or just damned foolish?
He didn't usually act on impulse, but his impulsive actions of the night before crept into his mind. It had been an instinctive impulse to go to her when she collapsed — one that could have proven a hell of a lot more dangerous than just revealing his presence to her. He still had a tender ache in his groin this morning. If her kick had landed a couple inches to the right...and he was damned lucky she didn't set her men to combing the hills for him this morning instead of just riding off.
But the most dangerous impulse...the one that kept him sleepless after he finally bedded down....He could still remember the powerful pull when he started to leave her perched on the rock outcropping. Just one more taste of those lips. One more second of the strange, sweet fire that raced through his blood when he held her close.
Remembering that one brought thoughts of a home and future filled with someone who cared about him — even loved him. He could almost imagine being curled up in front of a winter fire on a bearskin rug, his own woman in his arms. Maybe a couple of kids tucked away safely in the loft?
He snorted his derision at himself and swung up onto the paint. Hell, he gave up any thoughts of ever finding love in this star-crossed world after even his father betrayed him. He closed the doors around his heart and locked them securely, vowing never again to suffer another battering of a tentative thread of love spun out.
Only one vow kept him going now, and he had to maintain his fre
edom to carry it out. He didn't have a damned thing to call his own any more except the paint. Even his name was more or less borrowed — a name stained now with the outlaw brand. One way or another he'd find a way to erase that stain and make those two son of a bitches pay — not only for what they had done to him, but also for ruining the life of the innocent woman he cared for.
He nudged the paint forward. The stallion willingly climbed the rise above him and he pulled him to a halt while still shadowed in a copse of trees. From here, he could see the riders again.
Oh, hell! Not that way, you little fool! But he didn't dare show himself when Jessica led her men down the wrong fork of the trail — the fork not leading to Hardin City, down which he had tied the roan stallion and pack horse for them to find. Instead, they headed toward the town of Baker's Valley. Damn it! Now how in hell would he get the horses back to them?
And that headstrong little fool was just reckless enough to find herself in a peck of trouble in a place like Baker's Valley — if her actions of the night before were any indication of how she usually acted.
Chapter 3
"The town seems prosperous enough," Jessica mused to herself as she pulled her horse to a stop at the hitching rail in front of the general store. Most of the building fronts around her looked like they were actually part of the building, not a false front hiding a ramshackle structure.
She slid from the horse's back and gazed across the street at the bank. Not wood like the majority of the buildings, it had been constructed from bricks and even hewn stones hauled in from somewhere. The front windows gleamed and the gold gilt outlining the letters "Baker's Bank and Casualty" looked freshly painted.
Jessica turned back to loop the reins over the railing and nodded at a woman passing by on the wooden walkway. The woman wore a clean, but faded, gingham dress, with a freshly starched sunbonnet hiding her hair. The woman's mouth tightened briefly, but Jessica received a curt nod in return.
Something just didn't seem right, Jessica caught herself thinking. The town teemed with people, wagons and buggies — the usual week day bustle. Maybe it being a week day — a work day — was the problem. The gaiety that developed when people got together on Saturdays after a long week of work on outlying ranches was missing.
She and Ned had ridden through the section of town where the saloons had been built, but even those establishments held a subdued atmosphere. Only a house surrounded by beds of bright flowers set off by itself on the edge of town had caught her eye as having a cheerful air about it.
Jessica climbed the two steps from the street up to the walkway, with Ned right behind her. Something was bothering him this morning, too, but so far he hadn't said anything to her. Instead, he kept hovering around her like a cow that had just found its missing calf. She shrugged slightly. Knowing Ned, she would find out sooner or later what he had on his mind.
Two more women passed by, both of them eyeing her suspiciously before they returned the same brief nod as the lone woman had. These two wore more stylish dresses — perhaps they were two of the town's matrons instead of ranching wives — but the same strain filled their faces.
Jessica shook off the curiosity that Mattie had told her more than once led to her sticking her nose into places it had no business. Her only reasons for being in town were to pick up more supplies and give the sheriff notice about her two missing horses in case they showed up at one of the outlying ranches. She shouldn't be dwelling on the almost hostile atmosphere she found in Baker's Valley. Baker's Valley. Such a lovely name for a town with an unhappy feeling about it.
Ned held the door of the general store open and Jessica walked past him, unconsciously shaking her head.
The short, stout storekeeper stood behind the counter with his back to Jessica, one of his hands holding a dust rag as he brushed at the shelves. A white fringe ran around the bottom of his mostly bald head and Jessica smiled to herself when she caught sight of him. From the back, he looked like a small, jolly elf. But when he turned at the tinkle of bells over the door announcing new customers, a pair of flat, blue eyes in a lined face watched them make their way across the room.
Jessica threaded her way past barrels filled with apples, pickles and various other goods, sniffing appreciatively. The smell of leather saddles stacked nearby and harnesses hanging on the walls mingled with the food odors and a pang of longing for Mr. Georgeton's general store back home briefly shot through her. Then her eyes widened when she noticed a barrel filled with sawdust packed ice by the end of the counter.
"Oh good." She grabbed two bottles of sarsaparilla from the barrel and turned to hand one to Ned. "Look, Ned. Are you as thirsty as I am?"
"I'll thank you to pay for those first before you open them, Miss," the storekeeper's voice said from behind her.
Jessica gasped and whirled around. "Of course I mean to pay for them," she said in a controlled manner as she stared at the man's outstretched hand. "You don't think I'd just walk in off the street and help myself with no thought of paying for what I took, do you?"
The storekeeper shrugged and kept his hand extended. "Been known to happen."
Jessica set her drink down with a thump and reached into her riding skirt pocket to fish out her small coin purse. She snapped it open and met the storekeeper's gaze.
"How much?" she asked curtly.
"Nickel apiece."
Jessica carefully drew out the exact amount and dropped it into the man's hand. She watched him push the buttons on the huge register on the counter and place the money in the drawer before he looked back at her.
"Anything else I can do for you?" he asked in a more reasonable voice.
"I had thought to buy a few supplies," she fired back at him. "But maybe I should look for another establishment to purchase them from. One with perhaps a more friendly management, which would appreciate the money I spent more."
"Suit yourself. Only thing is, this is the only store in town's got the goods you need. Mr. Baker, he don't believe in too much competition."
"Baker?" Jessica questioned. "The same person who runs the bank across the street?"
"Yep. And the hotel and most of the rest of the town 'cept for Miss Idalee's place. And he don't just run them. He owns them."
"It looks like I'll have to deal with this Mr. Baker then," Jessica said with a sigh. "I'll need to have funds transferred from my bank back home to pay for my supplies. I don't suppose you'd like to have my order now, so you can begin getting it ready while I take care of the transfer?"
Something about Jessica's beautiful face above the stained and travel worn clothing melted a little of the man's arrogance. His face softened and Jessica caught a glimpse of the man she had thought she would see when she first entered the store.
"I really can't, Miss." He glanced to where Ned stood off to one side, allowing Jessica to handle the transaction, but keeping a comforting nearness to her.
"You understand, don't you, sir?" the storekeeper pleaded with Ned. "I only work here. I have to take orders from the owner, and I need my job. My wife, she ain't well and all our kids are gone. It's just me to take care of her and doctor bills ain't cheap these days."
"I understand," Ned replied with a nod. "Come on, Jes. We'll get things done at the bank and come back."
Jessica started to turn away, but stopped when she felt the storekeeper's hand on her arm.
"You forgot your sarsaparilla, Miss," he said when she looked back at him. Picking up a clean rag from under the counter, he wiped the sawdust from the bottle before he opened it and handed it to her.
"Enjoy it, Miss," he said. "It's truly a hot day out there."
Jessica nodded her thanks and turned to follow Ned. Once outside, Ned paused beside a wooden bench at the front of the store.
"Let's sit a moment and have our drinks before we go over to the bank, Jes."
Uh oh, Jessica thought silently. But she settled herself beside him, sipping at her cooling drink and unbuttoning the top button on her blouse.
The town nestled in a beautiful setting. She had looked out at the surrounding countryside from the top of each foothill they passed over on their way here. South of them, the Bighorn Mountains, still snow capped, stretched their blue peaks into the distance and the rolling foothills they had passed through were green and fertile.
Jessica heard a train whistle from the other end of town and a cloud of smoke accompanied a screech of brakes when the train pulled into the station. Earlier, after spending some time searching out a suitable camp site where the men could wait for them, she and Ned had ridden across the tracks leaving town.
Jessica glanced to where the gelding she had borrowed from Patches stood tied to the railing, but his roan color reminded her too much of Cinnabar. Her eyes strayed to the street beyond the horse.
The street didn't lack for traffic, nor the boardwalk where they sat. Wagons passed each other, and now and then a buggy with a couple in it went slowly by. On both sides of the board walkway, people hurried along, some with their arms filled with purchases.
Only one lone old man Jessica took for a prospector didn't seem in a hurry to go anywhere. He stood leaning against a post on the other side of the street, his ragged hat brim tipped down and the post beside him supporting his slouched stance.
Tired of the long silence between them, Jessica nudged Ned's arm. "Do you notice anything unusual about all the people here, Ned?"
"Not many young folks 'mong them," Ned answered.
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