Montana Surrender

by Simmons, Trana Mae

  Jessica cradled her hand against her stomach, her other thumb unconsciously stroking the spot his lips had caressed.

  "I...I just did what anyone would have done to help," she said softly. "Like you did when you thought I needed help the other night. And the snake. I owe you my life for that."

  "Consider any debt between us paid, Jessica," he said as he laid his head back on the pillow. "When your friend Ned gets back, I want you both to rejoin your men and leave, like I asked you to before. Forget you ever saw me."

  Jessica shook her head slightly and a sable curl bounced dejectedly across her shoulder.

  "You're not a very forgettable person, Storm," she said before she thought.

  "Jessica...."

  "Here you go, Jessica," Idalee said from beside them. "There's plenty of hot water, so fill the tub as high as you want. And feel free to be lavish with the bath salts and soap. I always am."

  Jessica quickly jumped to her feet and took the gown and robe Idalee held out to her. The gossamer feel of it scarcely registered on her as she murmured her thanks and hurried across the room. She closed the door on the washroom firmly behind her.

  She failed miserably, though, when she tried to empty her mind as she ran steaming water into the porcelain tub and sprinkled bath salts under the spigot. Forget him? She hadn't lied when she spoke unthinkingly, but she could have bitten her tongue off as soon as the words were out.

  His image burned in her mind as she slowly unbuttoned her blouse and draped it on a straight backed chair by the end of the tub. She sat down and pulled off her boots. Rose scented steam drifted up from the tub and Jessica tried to concentrate on her anticipation of a luxurious bath to refocus her mind. Instead, the steam reminded her of the mist climbing down into the valley when she first met the man lying just outside the door.

  No, that wasn't their first meeting, she realized as she stood up and removed her skirt. The picture of him astride the beautiful paint stallion as he waved his rifle overhead and laughed his disparagement at their ineffective attempts to kill him swam before her. She gulped and her hand tightened on the rim of the tub. What would she have done if they had killed him?

  What would I have done if I'd never known him?

  "Oh, hush!" Jessica ordered her errant mind aloud.

  She picked up the riding skirt from the floor to toss it over the chair. Something rustled in the pocket and her brow furrowed, but a glance at the tub had her hastily bending over it to twist the faucet handles closed before the rising cascade of bubbles could spill onto the floor.

  That steaming water would feel so good on her trail worn muscles. She took her underthings off and left them lying on the floor in her haste. Raising one trim leg, she tested the water, then climbed in and lay back, luxuriating in the soothing warmth. Her hair floated around her in the bubbles, reminding her she had forgotten to pin it up. No matter. With plenty of water, she could refill the tub and wash it next.

  She closed her eyes, but they immediately flew open. Lordy, she hated it when something tugged at her mind just out of reach. What else was in the pocket of her skirt? She didn't recall having anything there except her small coin purse.

  She glanced sideways at the chair, then reached out a bubble covered hand to draw the skirt to her. Her fingers felt in the pocket and she pulled out a folded piece of paper. Now she remembered — the map the sheriff had drawn to show them how to find Tobias's ranch.

  Jessica pulled her other hand from the water and unfolded the paper. Well, she wouldn't need this any more — she could find Tobias's place blindfolded, even after having only been there once. She started to crumble the paper and a word on the back side caught her eyes.

  WANTED!

  Guess the sheriff had used an old wanted poster for the map. Curiosity aroused, Jessica turned the paper over. She sat up in the tub with a shot, splashing water over the sides.

  "Jessica? Jessica, are you all right? You didn't fall in the tub, did you?"

  "I...." Jessica forced herself to clear the croak from her throat. She didn't want Idalee coming in here now!

  "I'm fine," she managed to call out.

  "Do you want me to come in and help you wash your hair?" Idalee called back.

  "No! No, I can do it."

  "You and your modesty," Idalee called back with a laugh.

  Her voice lowered and Jessica could hear her talking to Storm.

  Storm. Storm, who's picture stared back up at her from the wrinkled, slightly damp paper in her hand. There was no doubt in her mind — the likeness matched exactly. And the description.

  Words jumped out at her. "Rape." "Escape." "Twenty-year prison term." And finally, the large words at the bottom of the paper. "FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS REWARD!"

  Awareness crashed into her mind. My God! Idalee was sitting out there with an escaped convict! And she had been helping that convict — nursing him, knowing full well in the back of her mind who he was ever since she rode into the firelit camp site.

  Confusion crowded into her thoughts. The paper fluttered to the floor, and Jessica grabbed the sides of the tub to push herself up. Almost at once she realized the foolishness of her actions and leaned back. For one thing, she didn't even have a weapon with her. And for another — her heart turned over in her breast — for another, she couldn't bring herself to arrest the man lying out there if she did have a gun.

  Idalee's words rang in her mind. He's always been magnificent. Idalee had known him for a long time. She knew Storm had escaped prison. Elias, too. That's why he had been so anxious to get Storm to Idalee's before daybreak and slip him in through the tunnel.

  Ned? Did Ned realize they were helping an escaped convict? Of course he did. He'd heard every word Tobias said on the ridge above the cabin. Why was Ned being so cooperative? Did Elias convince Ned that Storm was innocent, as Prudence had insisted to Jessica?

  Jessica glanced down at the paper. Would Ned's basic honesty force him to turn Storm over to the authorities soon? Would he think the five thousand dollars — money that could help put Jessica's ranch back on its feet — sufficient justification to turn Storm in? She had to talk to Ned as soon as possible!

  Jessica grabbed the paper from the floor and ripped it into tiny bits. She dipped her hand under the water and crumbled the pieces into a soggy mass, then tossed them into a basket Idalee had set in the corner of the room.

  There! With a grim smile of satisfaction curving her lips, Jessica picked up her washcloth and reached for a cake of rose smelling soap. The soap slipped from suddenly numb fingers as her eyes flew back to the basket.

  What in the world was she doing? Her actions continued to align her with an escaped convict! Storm's face filled her mind — the eyes shadowed with thanks and also that little something else she had caught before he shuttered them. Trust in her?

  It had to be trust, she told herself as she searched in the water for the slippery soap. And she couldn't bring herself to betray that trust.

  Or betray her newly formed friendship with Prudence, her thoughts continued.

  Prudence. Yes, she had to let Prudence know Storm was safe. And she would never be able to bring herself to look into the mute young woman's face if she had to tell Prudence the man she loved languished again behind jail bars, when Prudence herself had insisted the charges against Storm were false.

  Blocking out the arrow of pain that shot through her mind, Jessica captured the soap and rubbed it vigorously across the washcloth into lather.

  Chapter 13

  A dying ember popped in the fireplace and Jessica's eyes flew open. For a moment, she snuggled back down under the blanket covering her, then realized how warm she was. When she tossed back the blanket, her hands encountered the silken gown.

  She let her fingers linger where the gown covered her stomach, luxuriating in the feel of it as she recalled Uncle Pete's gift one Christmas. She never knew how the old mountain man had read her thoughts, since she always told herself she never yearned for the silken underthi
ngs and dressing gowns displayed inside one fine shop in town. Somehow each trip would find her with an excuse to stroll by the shop and scan the window display of fashionable gowns, though.

  Once in a while she would go in and spend a spare coin on a ribbon or scarf, and each Christmas she would splurge on some nonessential from the shop for Mattie, which Mattie would wear proudly for a day, then tuck away. No sense ruining her finery by wearing it while she did housework, Mattie would say. She would urge the fine shawl or silk gloves on Jessica when they attended church or a dance.

  Somehow Uncle Pete had known. She had gasped in awe when she pulled the lilac peignoir and matching dressing gown from the box. The one she wore now was the same color as the one from Uncle Pete.

  Uncle Pete. And the gold. Where was she? It had to be daylight, but the room remained shadowed and the dying fire made it much too hot.

  Her gaze fell on the canopied bed and the covered figure on it. Oh, yes. Idalee's bedroom — and Storm. She should check him and make sure his wound hadn't fevered. She should be on her own way, too. Time marched resolutely on and the days left for her to find the gold and get back to Wyoming were dwindling fast.

  Jessica slipped her legs over the side of the cot and rose. Lord, the room was stifling. She crossed to the shade and pulled at it. It slipped from her fingers and clattered loudly as it wound around the wooden spool at the top.

  Jessica glanced back at the bed, but the figure on it only stirred and resettled under the covers. She turned back and tugged at the window, finally managing to open it a few inches. Sunlight streamed through the clear panes and a cool breeze flowed through the opening, drying the slight sweatiness of her body. She lifted the front of the gown a little to allow the breeze to feather across her legs.

  Storm tried to shake the lethargy still lingering in his mind from the laudanum Idalee had insisted he swallow. His eyes remained fixed on the window, where an ethereal figure stood. He blinked, but the traces of the drug blurred his vision, outlining the figure in a hazy purple glow.

  He squinted his eyes a little and the outline firmed somewhat. Still a purple haze lingered, but a darker shape filled in the center of the violet shadow — a shapely center. The sunlight outlined Jessica's trim figure to his eyes and he found himself unable to tear them away.

  Sable curls floated down her back to a tiny waist and perfectly rounded hips flared out beneath the fall of silky tresses. And legs — legs more defined, since she held the front of her gown up. Legs that tapered down to trim ankles. Legs definitely long and luscious.

  He tried to stifle the groan in his chest when he felt himself spring to alertness between his own legs. Damn, he hadn't had problems like this since his teen years!

  Jessica turned at the sound behind her, unaware that the sun now outlined her uptilted breasts beneath the bodice of the gown. She blushed slightly when she realized she still held the hem of the gown in her hands and dropped it quickly. Her embarrassment kept her in place as she tried to determine if Storm's eyes were open.

  "Storm," she called quietly across the room. "Storm, are you in pain?"

  Pain? God, he felt like he would burst from the pain, though not from his shoulder. His eyes struggled to travel up to Jessica's face, but remained glued on the dark shapes of her nipples. When they crinkled into points clearly outlined by the lilac silk — as though they felt his eyes on them — his voice left his throat in a snarl.

  "Get the hell away from that window and put some clothes on! Do you want the whole damned town to see you standing in a whorehouse window!?"

  Jessica gasped and flew across the room to grab the dressing gown from the bottom of her cot. Keeping her back to the figure on the bed, she threw it around her and snugged the belt tightly. She took a deep breath before she turned to face Storm.

  "What do you mean, a wh...brothel window?" she demanded.

  Damn! The snug belt of the dressing gown only accentuated her body. What the hell had Idalee had in mind by giving her something like that to wear? Why, any man who saw her would want to....

  Jessica stamped her bare foot, wincing at the absurd sound it made on the carpeted floor, then crossed the room to the bed. She placed her hands on her hips as she glared down at him.

  "I asked you a question, Storm. Does Idalee run a brothel here?"

  Storm managed to fix his gaze on her face and a small smile tipped his lips. The golden flecks in Jessica's brown eyes flashed at him, and for some reason he found himself wanting to antagonize her further.

  "Why, I thought anyone who came to Baker's Valley knew about Idalee's place five minutes after they got into town. In fact, lots of people ride miles and miles just to get here."

  "Harumph. Lots of men, I suppose."

  "Well, the women get here someway, too. You're here, aren't you?"

  Jessica choked on her rage, her face taking on a hue a shade darker than her gown.

  "You...you don't think I work...? Why you stupid son of a...son of a bang tailed cayuse! I should've left you out there to bleed to death!"

  Storm's snort of laughter sent Jessica's anger surging higher. She clenched a fist and barely kept herself from slamming it down on his chest when she remembered his wound. When he grasped her wrist, his weakened state from his wound allowed her to jerk her hand free. Or was his weak state caused by the guffaws now erupting unchecked from his chest?

  Her red anger left her slowly as she gazed down at him and she raised her hand to smother the giggle emerging from her own mouth. The laugh crinkles around his eyes told her he was teasing her — and something else told her that he needed this laughter. She hiccuped with the effort of not joining him, then gave the gales of laughter free rein.

  Storm reached up and pulled her down onto the bed with him. He quieted for a second, then made the mistake of looking into her face. When she tried to moue her mouth into a pout, her effort sent another snicker building in his chest. He snaked an arm around her waist and drew her down to lay on the uninjured side of his chest, while they both erupted into more peals of laughter.

  Several long moments later, Storm released his hold on Jessica's waist to wipe at his eye. He drew his finger back in surprise and stared at the moisture on it. When Jessica sat up to look down at him, he reached out and wiped his finger on the belt of her dressing gown.

  "God, I needed that," he said.

  Jessica ran her thumb through the crease around his other eye. She had to fight the urge to lick the moisture from her thumb with her tongue, but she succeeded in wiping it beside the other damp spot on her belt.

  "You haven't laughed in a long while, have you?" she asked softly.

  His head sagged back tiredly into the pillow. "No," he agreed. "There hasn't been anything to laugh about in years."

  "Well," Jessica said with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "I guess we'll just have to find someone else for you to mistake for a brothel lady."

  Storm's eyes centered on her face. "Why did you call them that, Jessica?"

  "What?"

  "Brothel ladies," Storm explained. "Most people just call them tarts."

  "Most men," Jessica returned.

  "No," Storm denied. "It's the women, too."

  "I guess so," Jessica said as she shifted to a more comfortable position — slightly closer to him, with her hip touching his. Her face puckered into a frown and she unconsciously laid a hand on his chest, one fingernail entwining around a black curl of hair.

  "I don't know if I can really explain it," she said. "It's just that...well, I've always felt that there must be a reason for a woman to lead such a life. There aren't a lot of options open for a woman, you know. We're expected to get married and raise children. If that fails, we can run a dress shop. Take in washing. Maybe be a waitress at a cafe or hotel or someone's maid."

  "It's not fair, huh?" Storm shifted slightly to raise his leg. Lord, don't let her eyes fall below his waist!

  "No, it's not really." Her fingernail curled the ball of hair to her satisfac
tion and she started on another piece. "A few of us are somewhat lucky. My father left the ranch to me when he died, but then I ran into other problems. After a spring blizzard almost wiped me out this year, the bank wouldn't loan me any money to keep the place going because I'm a woman."

  "So that's what you're doing around here? Looking for another piece of land to start over on?"

  Jessica found herself strangely loath to let him believe the story she and Ned had decided on.

  "Not exactly. Uncle Pete...I...." Her nail scraped a nubbin hidden in the hair under her finger and it immediately sprang free from the curl. Jessica gasped and pulled her hand back.

  "Oh! Oh, I...."

  Storm chuckled softly and grabbed her hand. He laid it back on his chest and kept it covered so she couldn't remove it.

  "You were saying?"

  Jessica smiled at him and felt him relax his grip. Jerking her hand away, she quickly rose to her feet and glared down at him.

  "I was saying," she said. "I was saying we better see how your wound is. Idalee will skin me alive if I let you catch fever from not changing your bandage often enough. For some silly reason, she seems to care for you, although I have a problem understanding her feelings. You're just a typical man — definitely with marred judgment about women."

  "And what's that supposed to mean?" Storm asked with a chuckle as he caught the teasing lilt in her voice.

  "Oh, you know," Jessica replied with an airy wave of her hand. "That arrogant male attitude that says a woman should swoon into your arms at just a touch from you."

  Storm's quirked eyebrow reminded Jessica she had done exactly that and she hastily decided to find a different focus for her teasing jibes.

  "And...well, like a typical man, you have trouble distinguishing what type women the females you meet are," she continued with a saucy tilt of her head. "You don't seem to be able to tell a lady from a tart. Or a woman from a lady. Or...."

  "But I can, pretty lady," Storm interrupted tenderly. "You're definitely a lady." He held out his hand to beckon her. "Come back here and I'll show you how a typical man treats a definite lady."