She reached for the shift and pulled it over her head. She finger-combed her hair and groaned. It would take a lot of work to get her tresses untangled. She rose and slipped on her petticoat and dress. Both were almost dry to the touch. Only her stockings remained a bit damp.
As she stepped out from their shelter, she shielded her eyes against the sun. She wondered for a moment where her bonnet was. She would hate to have a flood of freckles spill across her nose and cheeks, in time for her wedding day.
“Good morning,” she called to Noah. His back was to her as he poured coffee into a tin cup.
“Morning.” He handed her the cup. She cradled it between her hands and dipped her head to smell the brew.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked sweetly. She figured it was the kind of question a wife would ask her husband. Or in this case, her future husband.
He shrugged. “Suppose so. Best under the circumstances.”
She frowned. He was being awfully abrupt with her. She had expected a little more . . . well, she didn’t know what she’d expected, but it wasn’t this.
“Did you wake up on the wrong side of the cave, Noah?” she joked.
He looked up at her blankly from where he sat by the meager fire. “No.”
“Noah!” she exclaimed, exasperated by his lack of conversation. “I expected—”
“Nothing to expect, Jenny. Let’s get some grub in us and head on out. We’ve lost a little bit of time. I’d like to hit it hard for a few days.”
“Pick up the pace? Is that all you can talk about this morning? Noah Webster, we had relations last night.” She stamped her foot for emphasis. “The most beautiful thing that’s ever happened to me passed between us last night, and all you want to do is hop on a horse and ride out?”
He shrugged. Again.
It infuriated her.
“When are we going to get married? Or where? Do you have any preferences?”
His face was unreadable, almost empty of emotion.
“Where is the man who protected me last night? The man who loved me tenderly and completely. Where is he, Noah?” She heard the rising hysteria in her voice and tried to calm herself. She wrung her hands in front of her.
“We’re not getting married.”
Her jaw dropped. It seemed as if she were drowning. No words came out. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.
“I do regret how far things went last night. I know you’ll understand why we can never do that again. I—”
“We’ve been intimate, Noah. I’m not some fallen woman who dallies about. You’re supposed to marry me!” Her outrage showed despite her shaking voice.
“We didn’t even make love all the way, Jenny,” he interjected. “No one need ever know what went on between us last night. Don’t worry. No baby will come from what we did together.”
His words confused her. There was more to it? And then a thought occurred to her. “You don’t want me. Because of my father.”
She caught the guilty flush that crossed his face. She saw it in his eyes. He thought her no good—because of Sam.
“You’re wrong. I just can’t marry you. I won’t ruin your life.”
“You’ve already ruined me,” she said dully. She sank to the ground, her throat dry, her eyes hot and itchy. She wanted to cry, but she was so stunned, no tears came. She had given everything a woman had to give to a man to Noah. At least she thought she had. Had he taken her virginity? She didn’t really know. She did know she loved him. She thought he felt the same about her.
Suddenly, his rejection poured through her. Why didn’t he want her? Why did men constantly find her inadequate? Her papa abandoned her for a decade and found more satisfaction in a life of crime than in providing a home for his only child. Now the man she had come to trust—to love—also found her lacking. He’d discarded her faster than a used handkerchief. She wished she could crawl in a hole and die. How could she look at him after what they’d done, much less continue on as if nothing had occurred?
She jerked when he put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t touch me,” she said icily. She met his steady gaze. “If we weren’t in the middle of the desert, I’d be through with you, Mr. Webster. As it is, I’m stuck with you. For now.”
She rose and angrily dusted off her skirts. “Don’t expect me to be a sparkling conversationalist for the remainder of this trip, sir. And when we reach Prairie Dell, I want you gone from my sight.” She raised her chin a notch and tossed out her coffee.
His eyes narrowed. “Have it your way, Miss McShanahan.”
The next few days were by far the most miserable Noah ever spent. Jenny scarcely spoke to him, only the bare minimum necessary to communicate.
He couldn’t blame her. He knew she was hurt and bewildered and feeling betrayed. He, too, was in a state of shock. He could have kicked himself to hell and beyond. He should have fought his attraction and been done with it.
Instead, he acted on it—not once, but twice—and they would be the sweetest memories he’d carry with him till his dying day. Jenny was more than a man could ever dream of having. She was passionate and intelligent, with a spirit within her that seemed to bring out the best in him.
But he couldn’t see her saddled with him the rest of her life. He wasn’t good enough for her. Oh, he might pretend to be as good as the next man, but he knew he was tainted by Pete’s bad blood. He owed it to himself and his sweet mama to fight against it. That’s why he had to keep at Rangering. It was all he had to try and help him make a difference.
Besides, even if he wanted to settle down with her, she wouldn’t have him. In less than a week his deception would play out. She would know he’d used her to get to Sam so he could bring him to the authorities. She wouldn’t have a blessed thing to do with him after that—and he wouldn’t blame her.
No, he had to give up any fantasies of being with her. It was for her own good. He cared more for her in this short time than he could have dreamed possible. It was best for her that he squash any feelings she had for him now. Better that she hate him.
And yet each time he looked at her, the memories of what passed between them threatened to bring him to his knees. The ache inside was physical, stronger than a bullet wound. His heart had broken in two. He knew when they reached Prairie Dell that it would shatter into a thousand pieces when she learned the real truth about him.
They reached their destination around ten in the morning. He told her the night before how close they were. He thought he might finally see some kind of emotion—excitement or happiness—but her face was void as a blank slate. She didn’t even acknowledge that she’d heard him, though he knew she had.
She continued to spoon beans into her mouth, chewing slowly, no words passing between them. He wanted to shake her from her damn complacency, but he didn’t trust himself to touch her. He longed to, but he had to be strong now. For her. He couldn’t have anything more to do with her.
Prairie Dell was much as he remembered it, which meant there wasn’t much to it at all. It consisted of a few broken-down buildings, most empty now. No saloon, no church, no school—just what passed for a general store, though from the looks in the window, it didn’t seemed well-stocked.
A lone geezer sat outside in a rickety chair. As they approached, he rose on unsteady feet and grinned at them. Most of his teeth were missing.
“Hey, there, folks. Welcome to Prairie Dell, a thriving town in the State of Nevada.” He swept off his sweat-soaked hat in a courtly gesture. “Whereabouts are you from?” He eyed them up and down.
“Do you have any crib girls around?” Noah asked.
The man cackled. “Hoo-ey, boy, you don’t go wastin’ time, do you?” He glanced at Jenny, who sat silent and straight in the saddle. “You’d be lookin’ for Mo, I’d imagine. Go down this main thoroughfare
, now, till you git to the end. Mo’s the last on the left, son.”
The old man loped back to his chair and sat down, ready to watch the show unfold. He even waved congenially as they passed by him.
Noah sensed Jenny’s eyes on him. He decided to answer her unspoken question. “I figure your daddy being who he is, if he is here, he would be with the local whore.”
She stopped Sassy. “Then if that’s the case, Mr. Webster, your services are no longer required.” She reached into the reticule that hung on her saddle horn and pulled out an envelope.
“You may count it if you like, but it’s all there,” she said crisply, the teacher voice back in full force. “Thank you for your assistance.”
She gave Sassy a slight nudge. Noah reached over and caught her reins. “Just wait a cotton-picking minute. I said I’d take you to your daddy. I am not going to ride off now. What if he’s not here?”
They held a staring contest for a good two minutes before she finally backed down and placed the envelope back in her reticule.
“All right. You may come with me.”
He gave her back the reins, and they proceeded down the pitifully short street. They reached the end of the road. He threw a leg over Star and went to help her from her horse. As he lifted her down, he let her body slide against his. He had to feel her one last time, inhale her lavender scent, hold her the only way he knew how. They looked at each other a long moment before he released her. She stepped back, her eyes still on him. He saw the sparkle of tears in her moss green eyes.
He knew she ached as much as he did. He mentally kicked himself for the umpteenth time for allowing things to have progressed as far as they had. More than anything, he wished he could sweep her into his arms and ride fast and far away to where nobody knew who they were.
Jenny broke the spell. She turned and lifted her reticule down and slipped the cord around her wrist. When she faced him again, she had full control of her emotions.
“Shall we?”
He nodded and walked her to the shack’s ramshackle door. He raised his hand to knock, but the door opened with his hand in mid-air.
Mo stood there. She was certainly older than when he’d last seen her almost half his life ago, but he’d know the warm smile anywhere.
“Hello, Noah,” she said in her rich, husky voice. “It’s been a long time.”
He tried to warn her off of being too friendly as she spoke her greeting. He saw the confusion on her face.
Jenny said, “You seem to know all the whores between here and Texas.”
He looked at her sharply. He didn’t even recognize her voice. It was so cold, so remote. He knew in that moment how deeply he’d hurt her.
“We’re looking for an outlaw by the name of Sam McShan, Mo,” he said formally. “We have reason to believe he is in Prairie Dell.”
Mo shook her head. “He was here, honey, but Sam’s dead. He died nigh on a week ago.”
CHAPTER 19
Jenny gasped. “No,” she moaned and fell to her knees. A wail came from the pit of her soul, echoing throughout Prairie Dell. She collapsed into a heap. All the years gone by. All the miles she’d come—only to have the ultimate disappointment. Through her flood of tears she experienced heartache, regret, sorrow, longing. She sobbed as if her very heart would break. She wished it would. She didn’t want to live anymore.
First, Noah’s betrayal. Now this. It was more than she could bear. She cried until no more tears came. Then all that was left was a vast emptiness, a hollow void in which she was certain was hell.
The whore had dropped to the ground next to her and put an arm about her, she realized, rocking her to and fro. Jenny looked up at Noah.
“I’m sorry,” he told her and walked over to the horses.
Mo pulled her to her feet and steadied her. “I’m Moira McShanahan, dear. You must be Jenny. I’ve been expecting you. My, you’ve certainly got the McShanahan height.” She glanced down at the ground. “The big feet, too.” A hearty laugh passed her full lips.
When she remained speechless, Mo said, “I’m your aunt, Jenny.”
She looked at the woman in disbelief. She also was tall, which was a McShanahan trait, but there the resemblance ended. Moira was stout, with long, faded red hair that fell to her waist. A black patch covered one eye, giving her the look of a pirate. Her face was rough and leathery, as if she’d spent many years out in the sun.
The large woman propelled her through the doorway and closed it behind them. Her cabin was dilapidated but neat. Jenny saw a cot, two chairs and a table, and newspapers stacked in piles that reached the ceiling.
“I have a fondness for reading,” her aunt shared, if in fact this was her aunt. “I collect them from anyone passing through. Even turned a few tricks for some of ‘em.”
Jenny walked toward the stacks and glanced up. She turned to look at the woman behind her.
“Oh, you have the look of yer dear ma, that’s fer sure.”
She heard the lilt in the older woman’s voice. “You’re Irish.”
“Aye, and proud of it, gel. County Cork, me and yer pa. Yer ma was from County Kerry. We were practically neighbors and didn’t know it.” She took a seat and motioned Jenny to do the same. “Call me Mo, dear. Everyone does. Moira is too fancy a name fer the likes o’ me.”
Jenny seated herself and gazed on Mo in wonder. “You really are my aunt.”
“And proud o’ that, too, dear. Sammy sent me letters all the time ‘bout you. He was proud o’ you to the bone, all yer fancy schooling and ladylike ways.”
Her chin went up. “Then why didn’t he ever send for me?”
Mo sighed. “It’s a long story. O’ course, we got all the time in the world for me to tell it.” She settled back in her chair. “I think I’ll start from the beginning. I don’t know how much you actually know. What do you recall about your pa?”
Jenny shook her head. “Not much, really. I remember his big, booming voice and the sandy hair that always fell across his eyes. He was forever pushing it back off his face.”
“Well, he lost a lot of it. Mostly after yer ma died.”
She tried to recollect the sketch of Sam on the wanted poster, but already it was fuzzy in her mind. She would have to look at it when she was alone. The poster had remained stuffed inside her reticule since they’d left Fort Griffin.
She turned to Mo. She wondered why Sam never told her she had an aunt. Probably because she would have clamored to come and live with Mo instead of being stuck at The Thompson School all those years. Mo didn’t look much like Sam, but the Irish in her voice seemed familiar and comforting.
“I remember that he laughed a lot. He would come home and sweep Mama off her feet and twirl her around like she was a rag doll. Then he’d pick me up and do the same.” Her lips trembled at the sweet memory.
“We didn’t stay in one place for very long. We constantly moved around. As time passed, Mama got sicker. Papa would be gone more and more.” She looked Mo in the eye. “There was never enough money for food or medicine. He made a game of everything, but I realize now how bad things must have been.”
Mo patted her hand. “Go on, love.”
“The night Mama died she coughed and coughed. She couldn’t stop coughing. Her fever went sky high. I tried to soak a cloth in water and keep it on her forehead, but she kept thrashing and throwing it off. She mumbled a lot. I couldn’t understand much of what she said.”
She hurt at the memory she had suppressed for so long. “When she died, I didn’t want to let go of her hand. I thought if I kept holding on, she would be all right.” A sob escaped her lips. Mo handed her a handkerchief, and she wiped at her eyes.
“When Papa came home, it was very late. After midnight. He had a merriness in his step that had been missing for a long time, but when he sa
w Mama . . .” Her voice faded away. She cleared it and continued. “When he saw Mama, he broke down and cried like a baby.”
“And then he put you in that school?”
She nodded. “He had a fine dress made for Mama, much nicer than anything she’d ever worn. I remember how smooth the casket was as I ran my hand along the wood. Then he took me to The Thompson School. It was located outside Boston. He left me there. I never saw him again.”
She blew her nose. It seemed she’d cried more tears in the last few weeks than she had in ten years. Her body felt depleted and tired. She decided then to shed no more tears for Sam. Or Noah.
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