“Holy thunderation,” she whispered as she peered at the treasure Jarrett had amassed, one by one picking up a sapphire brooch, a ruby-encrusted necklace, and the chicken egg-sized emerald pendant that was surrounded by a double ring of small pearls. “Jarrett,” she murmured as she lifted a breathtaking gold and amethyst necklace from the box, “what did you do?”
A sudden noise outside startled her. Her head twisted, eyes riveted on the open door, expecting the hulking form of Zeke to appear any minute or for the maniacal Virgil to come barging in. They didn’t. She exhaled her relief, not realizing until that moment that she’d been holding her breath.
Wisteria took this bit of good fortune as her cue to move fast. She closed the box, replaced the floorboard, and rolled back the rug. Back in the bedroom, she was unable to fit the box into her already full bag, so she dumped the contents inside, watching in fascination as the loose gold pieces settled into the bottom along with most of the jewelry, leaving wadded up and crumpled greenbacks on top and to her amazement, roll after roll of bills that had lined the bottom of the tin, unnoticed before now. She lifted one out and broke the seal, thumbing through no less than fifty 50-dollar notes. As she eyed the nine other rolls, in denominations of twenties, fifties, and several hundred-dollar notes, her astute mind completed the calculations. She gaped at over thirty-four thousand dollars, more money than she’d ever thought to see in her lifetime.
She pushed the nagging guilt to the back of her mind as she tucked a few rolls deep in her pockets and the others deeper in the bag. She clamped the bag shut and hefted it through the open window. As she straddled the sill once more, her head turned toward the door, her heart twisting for Jarrett, who’d had big plans to move on to California; little did he know when he’d made them that his hours on this earth were few. If it were only herself to be concerned about, she’d do what she could to make his killers pay, but she had a child to protect. With a last sad glance, she wished Jarrett peace, then hopped down, leaving him, the cabin, and by daybreak, Colorado long behind.
Chapter Eight
The plodding gait of the horse lulled her into a state halfway between wakefulness and stupor as she let Shasta follow the trail through the high plains. She’d kept off the main roads, not willing to risk being seen. A woman with a small child traveling alone would have surely raised eyebrows and been remembered. Nor did she dare risk drawing the attention of the many lowlifes who roamed the main roads looking for folks to rob or worse, to have some fun with a lone woman.
It made the trip to Rawlings longer than the week she’d expected. When she’d arrived and there was no sign of Slim at his last known address, she’d been at a loss where to turn next. Of course she tried his usual haunts, every saloon in town. One man told her he’d headed west to Oregon; another, who hadn’t seen the bottom of a whiskey bottle yet that night, said he’d taken up with a widow in Laramie.
Torn with indecision, she considered Micah and knew she had to get him off the trail. Ten days in the saddle with an active baby was exhausting. She was happy when Micah slept while they rode, but it meant when they stopped he was awake and eager to play, while his mama wanted nothing more than to curl up on her bedroll and pass out dead to the world.
With no one else to turn to for help, and wanting to see a familiar face, she turned her horse east toward Laramie. As she crested the road leading into town, she noticed how much it had grown in the time she’d been away. In less than two years’ time, the town seemed to have doubled in size. Many new homes had been built in the west end, where before there had been only farms or grazing land for cattle. In town, she noticed new businesses had opened, giving her hope for employment.
No, that wouldn’t do. She’d be noticed; if not by Luke, then by his brother, the marshal and his wife, who lived in town. She’d have to put off finding work until she reached wherever she would eventually call home in the future. Hoping she could talk Slim into moving on when she found him, she steered her horse south on Cedar Street toward the river as she’d been directed.
Foul odors assailed her as she moved along the water that wound through the crude tent camp known as South Town. She’d heard of it when in Laramie before, but had never been there. Seeing it, she was appalled that such a place existed. It was filthy with hundreds of families cramped into little plots almost on top of each other and it stunk of human waste. In fact, as she spurred Shasta faster, she had to steer her around a pile of refuse lying in the middle of the road. Sad, haggard faces peered up at her as she rode past. Surely, Slim couldn’t abide in such a place.
Thankfully, she exited the horrendous tent camp and stopped at the intersection of Park and Cedar, turning right as memory served. At long last, she arrived at the white clapboard house with red shutters. It wasn’t much, small and plain, though it had a solid roof and a well-kept yard around it. She dismounted and started for the porch. Before she could knock, a woman came out holding a rifle, the muzzle aimed point blank at Micah’s head. Wisteria twisted, putting her body between the gun and her baby.
“You’ve got the wrong place, missy. Best you be moving on.” About forty, the woman was thin with graying hair, and judging by her wary expression, hadn’t lived an easy life.
“Please, I mean no harm. I was looking for my brother, Slim. I was given directions to this house.”
“Slim?” The end of the barrel wavered a little and she peered at her more closely. “Fair skin and blue eyes, you don’t look Indian, except that black hair. Slim!” she bellowed. “You got company.”
“If it’s a collector, tell him to go to hell. You can’t get blood from a turnip.”
Despite the situation, that made Wisteria’s mouth twitch. Her brother hadn’t changed a bit.
“It’s a girl with a baby. Get yer ass out here and see fer yerself.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t know why I put up with him. Man’s as lazy as the day is long.”
“A girl with a baby, you say? Well, it ain’t mine.” He skidded to a halt beside the gun-brandishing woman. “Rose? Is that you?”
“In the flesh, big brother.”
“Put that dadburn gun down, Virginia. This here’s my baby sister.” He pushed by the woman blocking the door and hauled Wisteria into his arms for a great big bear hug, tight enough that Micah protested with a squeal. “Who’s this?” Slim asked as his arms went slack. “My baby sis has a baby of her own?”
“Yeah,” she said as she bounced Micah, trying to get him to hush. “We need a place to stay, Slim.”
“By all means, Rambling Rose. My home is your home.”
“Except your home is my home, you shiftless waste of space,” the woman behind him corrected. “I don’t want no baby screaming down the house day and night.”
“He’s a good baby,” Wisteria asserted in a pleading tone. “As long as someone isn’t squeezing the stuffing out of him.” She dug her hand in her coat pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. “I can pay my way, too.” She held them out to Virginia. “Please, we’ve got nowhere else to go.”
Virginia’s eyes practically crossed at the two hundred dollars that lay in Wisteria’s palm. “Get in here, gal. Money talks in these parts and yours is an entire conversation. Come to the kitchen table, we’ll have pie and coffee while you and Slim catch up.”
She turned and headed into the house.
Wisteria gazed up at her brother with wide-eyed wonder. “Who is she, Slim?”
“My wife, darlin’. And the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
* * *
“Harder, Slim. Slap my ass and do that thing with your fingers at the same time.” The request was obviously granted because it was followed by a sharp crack of skin upon skin, then a low feminine moan of pleasure. “That’s it, honey. Do it again.”
“I will, Ginny girl, though you gotta keep it down or my sister will hear.”
“She’ll have to get used to it, Slim honey, ‘cause I ain’t givin’ up my nightly loving for her, or anyone. Not if the friggin�
�� queen of England herself comes knocking at our door looking for a bed for the night. Now, hurry up and fuck me with that big stick of yours. I can’t wait.”
Appalled as much as she was amazed to hear such intimate things occurring in the next room, Wisteria turned her head to check on Micah, who was dozing on a makeshift bed she’d made by stuffing blankets and a pillow into a drawer. He was sound asleep, oblivious to the carnal activities going on nearby. Wisteria on the other hand could have lit up the whole downtown with the rosy glow of embarrassment in her cheeks. She dragged her pillow over her face, wrapping it around the sides of her head and jamming it to her ears, attempting to block out the sound of her big brother copulating with his eager bride.
Rising early the next morning, she had coffee brewed and breakfast cooking before the rest of the household stirred. Slim came in first with a robust greeting.
“Rose. You made your world famous French toast.”
“I don’t know about the world, though it’s famous from here to Denver, I’m certain.” She returned his wide grin as he took his seat at the table. “You had all the ingredients, and me and Micah were starved. We skipped dinner last night.”
“You should have said something, Rosebud. I’m working at the glass plant and Virginia has a job at the post office. We have plenty of food and could have served you more than pie.”
“I’m happy for you, Slim. You seem—”
“Sober?”
“That,” she smiled softly, “and more. Settled, I think is the word. Virginia is good for you, it seems.”
“She can be rough as a cob sometimes, or sweeter than honey when she wants to be. I love her, Rose, and I’m happy, for the first time in my life. She doesn’t care where I came from and who my parents were, just who I am now.”
Slim, born to her father’s first wife, Akapai, which meant sunflower in her native Shoshone tongue, struggled from the day he entered the world. His mother died of fever when he was only days old and left him to be raised by his grieving father as a half-breed in a white man’s world. Her father remarried five years later and his new bride, Wisteria’s mother, welcomed young Slim, or William as he was known back then, with open arms. Slim never felt accepted, however, and constantly searched for a way to belong. In school, he was pointed to as different and as a teen ran away in search of his mother’s family. Her father went after him and helped him find the tribe. After that, he spent a few weeks each summer with his grandfather learning his native heritage, but didn’t feel entirely welcome there either. It seemed with Virginia, he had finally found what he’d been looking for: acceptance and a home.
“I’m happy for you, brother.”
He cocked his head and looked at her. “What about you? You have shadows beneath those violet eyes that tell me the same is not true for you. What happened to the kid’s daddy?”
“It doesn’t matter. He’s out of the picture.” She paused and caught his eyes. “Jarrett’s dead.”
“Good God, what happened?”
“He got mixed up with some bad men, I’m afraid.”
He paused, waiting for her to go on. When she didn’t, he prompted her. “There’s more to the story, isn’t there?”
She nodded and got up from the table, crossing the room to where her coat hung on a hook by the door. Digging in the deep pockets, she pulled out a roll of bills and brought them to the table.
“I think the bad men might be after me, too.”
“Great day in the morning!” They turned to see a wide-eyed Virginia standing in the doorway. “Did you rob a bank?”
“This was my late husband’s money. I have no idea what he did to get it. With Jarrett, I guarantee it wasn’t lawful.” Glancing from her new sister-in-law back to Slim, she continued sadly. “It was a mistake to come here. I can’t lead my troubles to your door. Not when you’re settled at long last. We’ll be out of your hair after breakfast.”
She stood and moved to the sink, her appetite having fled. As she stared out the kitchen window to the mountains in the distance, tears stung her eyes. She was exhausted, scared out of her mind for Micah, and had no earthly idea about her next move.
“Gal, sit your tail back down and eat. You’re nothing but a bag of bones as it is. As for being in our hair, that’s a bunch of nonsense. Family is always first with me. All I’ve heard from day one from this man is Rose this and Rose that. You stay and we’ll figure it out. And that’s not the money talking.”
“No, it’s too dangerous.”
Micah sneezed.
“What’s dangerous,” Slim countered, “is for you to be running around the country all alone with your little boy. Ginny’s right, we’ll figure something out.”
“I’d feel awful if something happened.”
As Micah began to fuss, Virginia immediately moved to his side and picked him up, propping him onto her hip as if she’d had a passel of her own kids. “Then we’ll make sure it don’t.”
Wisteria watched as she bounced Micah, who giggled and cooed at the attention. Or it could be the way her gruff new sister-in-law blew against his neck, or how she looked in her bright blue robe, yawning loudly and scratching her head. Her eyes met Slim’s. He returned her gaze with a broad grin, which Wisteria gave back to him readily. It seemed as though she’d found an unlikely home too, no matter how temporary.
* * *
Standing in front of the large two-story brick house with the gray slate roof, she hesitated, questioning for the hundredth time if she was doing the right thing. For the past week, Wisteria had settled into a routine, cooking, cleaning, and helping out around the house as much as she could. Virginia, who was quite vocal about her dislike for housekeeping, was thrilled, especially being able to come home every day after work to a prepared supper.
“I could get used to this,” she’d said the evening before as they dined on Wisteria’s fried chicken and biscuits. After supper, she and Slim had gone out to the first monthly barn dance and not come home until late.
Wisteria, on the other hand, didn’t venture out, having become a virtual hermit in their Park Street house. It was her choice, afraid to go to town alone or with Micah and risk being seen. In the back of her mind was the constant worry that at any moment, Zeke and Virgil would walk in, or the law would find her with what she was sure was thousands of dollars of stolen property and ill-gotten cash. If she was caught with it, she’d lose Micah for certain, earning herself a one-way trip to the hoosegow as Slim called it. She let slip a humorless laugh thinking that with the territorial prison right there in Laramie, her son wouldn’t have far to go to visit his felonious mother.
She’d often considered going to the Jacksons and turning Micah over so that he’d be safe and have a chance at a decent life. She was selfish, however, and couldn’t bring herself to do it until now when she had no other choice.
Micah coughed, the harsh, raspy rattle in his chest seeming worse to her, as were the spasms that racked his body each time. His sneeze a few days ago had turned into a runny nose, which progressed rapidly to a cough and fever. This morning it had moved into his chest and she’d become frantic. None of her and Virginia’s home remedies had made any difference. So, she’d taken him to the doctor’s office in town. On the door was a sign stating he was out of town and to contact Mrs. Aaron Jackson for anything pressing.
That was what had brought her here, standing in front of Aaron Jackson’s east end townhome and trying to get the nerve to knock on the front door. Inside, fear warred with a need to care for her son. It was a risk, being here. Without question she’d be found out, news that Micah existed spreading to Luke faster than a flash fire on the prairie in a drought. She’d seen Janelle in town once or twice during her last stay in Laramie. They’d never been introduced or even spoke to one another. Maybe she wouldn’t recognize her. And, if she had good luck for once in her life, maybe the marshal wouldn’t be home in the middle of the day. Surely with an entire territory to watch over, he was very busy and the odds were in
her favor. Despite a lifetime of constant misfortune, she had to risk it because Micah couldn’t wait. After taking a deep, calming breath, she climbed the stairs with her feverish baby in her arms and knocked on the window glass.
When the door was opened by a man with brown eyes identical to her baby boy’s, Wisteria cursed fate and her rotten luck ten times over.
Chapter Nine
Same dark brown hair, brown eyes, and the flash of pa and Luke’s elusive dimple in one chubby cheek. Aaron said he’d known on sight this was a Jackson child. As soon as his brother had told him the mother’s name, Luke had leapt on Track and kicked up a trail of dust as he raced to town. Over a year ago, Heath had told him of seeing her in Colorado, pregnant and married to Skeens. After that he’d set her from his mind, thinking her lost to him. Now the memories of their one night together came flooding back. Almost a year old plus nine months of pregnancy, the math added up. Wisteria had given birth to his son and hidden it from him.
Fury warred with concern within him as he urged his stallion faster. His son was sick. From what Aaron had said he was croupy and feverish. Wisteria, having tried everything at home, was at her wits’ end when she’d finally knocked on Aaron’s front door seeking help. Now, his son was in Janelle’s skilled hands. He offered up a prayer that the Lord, having brought him into his life at this late date, wouldn’t take Micah from him after only just finding him.
He reined in at Aaron’s front door and leapt from the saddle, his brothers on his heels. He charged up the steps and through the front door.
“Janelle?” Aaron called as he shouldered by him.
“Upstairs in the bathroom,” came her faint reply.
As three sets of large boots pounded up the wooden stairs and down the hall, Luke thought vaguely that an army would make less noise. Skidding to a halt in the open bathroom doorway, he looked in to find an adorable dark-haired baby splashing happily in the tub. His cheeks were flushed and his brown eyes were bright, the chubby arms that batted at the two inches of water appeared energetic, as did the sound of his laughter as his mother sluiced water over him.
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