Separate Roads

by Judith Pella

Brenton wondered at her statement. What exactly was she saying?

  “You don’t need to worry about me, either,” Jordana said. She marched across the room and took up her straw bonnet. “I’ll not be dictated to, Brenton Baldwin. I’ll wire father myself, if need be, and explain my position, but I’ll not be ordered about.” She paused at the door, her expression clearly one of anger. “You used to be someone I admired.”

  “Don’t you mean, someone you could control?” Brenton breathed tensely. He hated fighting with Jordana. Hated that she looked at him with such contempt. Why couldn’t she understand that he was only looking out for her best interests? “You’re not yet twenty-one, Jordana. You’re still our father’s responsibility, and in his absence you are mine.”

  She jammed the hat on her head, not bothering to tie the ribbons, and opened the front door with such force that it slammed back against the wall with a dull thud. “I’ll join the army before I let you bully me into doing things your way,” she declared before she stormed from the house, leaving Brenton to stare after her. Behind him he heard Caitlan sniffing and knew that he’d reduced her to tears.

  Dreading his own emotions, Brenton turned. Caitlan dabbed at her eyes with her apron but refused to give in to her tears.

  “I never meant to make you cry,” he said.

  “I never meant to make you fight with yar sister,” she answered.

  “You didn’t.” He shook his head. “Jordana and I are just growing up. We’re finding our own way and reaching that point where we don’t always agree.” He smiled. “Not that I always agreed with her in the past, but she was very persuasive and I was very pliable.”

  Caitlan sniffed and blotted her eyes again. “I meant what I said. Ya don’t need to be worryin’ that I’ll keep ya from yar dreams.”

  He looked at her quizzically for a moment, puzzled by her words. “I never thought that, Caitlan. I only know that we set out to get you to Kiernan, and so far we’ve only come halfway. You know for yourself that Kiernan desires you to come straightway to California, and technically he is responsible for you.”

  She shook her head. “I’m responsible for meself, and I’m sorry for what I’ve caused here.”

  Brenton took two quick strides to where she stood. Taking hold of her arms, he fought for control of his feelings. “You aren’t to blame for this, Caitlan.”

  “Then why be so all-fired worried about gettin’ me to California? Jordana and I would be fine carin’ for each other, even if you went off with the railroad. If it weren’t a matter of me bein’ in the way, leavin’ ya with a burden, ya’d not be worried in the least. Why, Jordana herself would probably go with ya. Ya know her heart for explorin’ and such. But then ya’d be worried about me. It’s all my fault.”

  “It’s not your fault, Caitlan,” he insisted. “It’s mine. My feelings for you are making it almost impossible to go on like this.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Brenton wanted to shake her and force her to listen to his words. To hear of how much he cared for her—that living in the same house had become painful for him. He wanted to say how hard it was to see her but not be able to touch her. To love her but feel that the issues between them could only cause that love to be harmed in the long run.

  Seeing a tear run down her cheek was his undoing. Without thinking, Brenton pulled her close. He’d meant only to offer a comforting embrace, but before he realized what he was doing, his lips had found hers, and he kissed her long and passionately. For a brief moment he felt her yield to his touch, yet she refused to touch him back. She allowed his kiss but didn’t return it. His heart nearly tore in two. She doesn’t love me—she doesn’t want me like I want her.

  Pulling away, he shook his head. “That should speak for itself,” he said, then hurried to leave the house before she could reply and tell him what a fool he was for thinking that she returned his love.

  12

  Miss Baldwin,” Damon called from his carriage. “Might I drive you to your destination?”

  Jordana looked up, barely able to contain her anger. “No, I’m not going anywhere in particular.”

  “You seem upset. Perhaps I can at least take you for a drive. A little scenery would help to soothe your nerves.”

  Jordana thought of Brenton’s admonition not to go unchaperoned without his permission. She thought it the perfect opportunity to exercise control over her own life. “Yes, that sounds quite perfect, Mr. Chittenden.” She allowed him to help her into the carriage, then settled into the leather upholstery for a pleasant ride.

  “What has you so vexed?” he asked, taking up the reins in his gloved hands.

  Jordana shrugged, knowing it wasn’t the ladylike thing to do but having no desire to explain herself. “I’m just out of sorts.”

  “Your hair is wet,” he said, eyeing her with considerable interest.

  Jordana put a hand to her head. “Yes, well, I suppose it is.” She sighed. Her mother would have given her a harsh scolding for appearing in public in such an unkempt fashion.

  “It’s still quite beautiful,” Damon replied softly. “I like it looking all wild and free like that.”

  Jordana tried not to be upset by what he said or by the way he was looking at her. He was just wanting to comfort her, she told herself. “I’m really not good company,” she apologized, folding her hands primly in her lap.

  “Well, then, what I have to show you should encourage you considerably,” he said rather mysteriously.

  Jordana frowned. What did he mean by that? Trying not to dwell on what Damon Chittenden was thinking, she instead began plotting how she might change Brenton’s mind. If only there was a way to prove her capability to Brenton. If he could be persuaded that she was able to fend for herself, then maybe he would stop worrying about his all-important responsibility and allow her to stay in Omaha without a fight.

  The sun was just beginning to set in the west, and the sky was glorious in tones of gold and orange. Jordana liked this time of day. It gave her a nice settled feeling, and in spite of her anger at Brenton, the moment took hold of her and offered her comfort.

  I know I shouldn’t be so angry, she silently prayed, but, Lord, it’s so hard. I know I’m supposed to honor my authority, but why must my authority always desire to keep me from what I want the most?

  But what was it that she wanted? Brenton hadn’t demanded she return to New York. He was at least willing to send her on to California with Caitlan. That in and of itself surprised her.

  I feel so bad for the way I’ve acted, Father, but my whole world seems turned upside down. I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know what I want out of life. Why must growing up be so hard?

  She hadn’t realized that Damon had brought the carriage to a stop. Looking up, she noticed they were near the river. The beauty of the area was quite enchanting.

  “This is very lovely,” she murmured.

  “Thank you. I own it,” Damon replied. “I brought you here for an important reason.”

  She sighed warily. “What reason?”

  “I wanted to show you this land. I intend to build here. I want to create a masterpiece of architectural styling. And,” he said, pausing to take hold of her hands, “I want to build it for you.”

  She jerked her hands away. “What! Whatever gave you the idea that I would be interested in such a thing?” Her previous irritation with Brenton quickly reorganized to become displeasure with Damon.

  “Jordana,” he whispered her name and leaned closer. “I’ve wanted to call you by your given name since the first time I heard it. It’s a lovely name, befitting a beautiful woman. Oh, Jordana, I’m in love with you, in case you’ve somehow failed to notice. I adore you, and I want you to be my wife.”

  Jordana rolled her eyes heavenward and shook her head. “Don’t speak to me of love and marriage, Mr. Chittenden. I have no tolerance nor interest in such matters.”

  “Perhaps I could change your mind,” he said, maneuvering his arm aro
und her shoulders. He pressed her close, then encircled her with his arms and held her tight. “I’m very persuasive.”

  Jordana pushed against him, but Damon was much stronger than she’d given him credit for. He was also less of a gentleman. “Let me go,” she demanded.

  “Not until you stop fighting your feelings for me.” A harshness crept into his voice, like the time he had spoken about the ledger in the bank. She did not much like it, but it passed so quickly and his voice turned to such gentle entreaty, she quickly forgot the former tone. “I know you care about me,” he whispered, leaning down to press a kiss on her cheek.

  “Stop it!” She pushed against him and tried to raise her hand to his face, but he pinned her arms neatly to her side.

  “I want you, Jordana. I want you to be my wife. I love you.” He forced his lips on hers and kissed her hungrily.

  Jordana’s mind raced with the realization that maybe Brenton hadn’t been quite as stupid and overprotective as she’d thought. She was clearly no match for Damon’s strength, and being out here in the middle of nowhere, she could hardly expect to call on the assistance of a passerby. As his lips became more demanding and his hands more searching, Jordana brought her foot down hard on his shin. It was just enough of a shock to cause Damon to release her.

  Leaving him howling his displeasure, Jordana jumped from the carriage, landing at the very edge of a thorny bush. She grimaced as a long thorn tore at her bare forearm, but she refused to cry out against the pain.

  “Jordana, come back! You’re acting like a child. There’s no reason to be afraid of your feelings.”

  “The only thing I’m afraid of, Mr. Chittenden, is that I might well lose my patience with you and crown you with the first object I can lay my hands on.”

  He grinned at her. “You don’t mean that. You’re just scared. It’s normal.”

  Jordana balled her fists at her side. “Leave me alone, Mr. Chittenden. I find your company to be an abomination.”

  “You don’t mean that,” he said, moving as if to step down from the carriage.

  Jordana picked up a fist-sized rock and held it aloft. “If you climb down from that seat, I shall knock you in the head with this rock. And, I might add, I’m quite good with my aim.”

  He frowned and plunked back down. “You’re being unreasonable,” he said sternly. “Just climb back up here, and I shall take you home. We can talk about this more sensibly after you’ve calmed down.”

  “I’m not riding back to town with you,” Jordana declared, realizing even as she spoke that she had no other means of getting back home.

  “Your brother will have my hide if I leave you here. Now, come on,” Damon replied, his tone taking on clear sounds of irritation.

  “No,” she stated firmly. “I will make my own way back.”

  “Fine!” he exploded. “Have it your way now, but you won’t always get it your way.” He grabbed the reins and gave the backs of the horses a harsh flick of his whip. Turning them in a large circle, he gave her one last chance. “Come along now, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

  “Go home, Mr. Chittenden,” Jordana said, moving away from the carriage, her back pointedly to him.

  She heard him drive off, then turned to watch him go. The audacity of the man to try to force his affections on her! The very thought made her blood boil. She wanted to throw the rock after him anyway, and very nearly did, but the burning sensation where the thorn had cut her arm was beginning to intensify.

  “Oh bother,” she said, tossing the rock aside. She inspected the cut and found it little more than a scratch. A minor irritation, much like Hezekiah Chittenden’s foolish son.

  She decided to wait for a few minutes before trying to walk home. She would have to go in the same direction as Damon, and she had no desire to find him waiting for her around the next bend. Her thin-soled slippers were hardly suited for walking down stony dirt paths, but she had no choice. Her bruised feet would heal, but if she showed up at home after dark, Brenton would probably load her onto the next steamer out of Omaha and never give her another consideration.

  “And he’d probably be right to do so,” she muttered aloud. “What a fool I’ve been.” It frustrated her to no end that Brenton should be so right about her susceptibility to danger.

  A noise from behind caused the hair on her neck to prickle. There was a thick stand of cottonwoods and willows along the nearby riverbank, and these now left her unable to see what or who was making the approaching sounds.

  She glanced around for some sort of cover but found nowhere to take refuge. The trees were down a steep bank, and aside from them, only open prairie surrounded her. She could see the outskirts of Omaha in the distance, but it was about a mile away. She would simply have to face whatever danger might now beset her and deal with it as best she could. Picking up the rock again, she clutched it in her hand and waited.

  Thoughts of Indians, those fearsome marauders of newspaper legend and church social conversations, caused a tingle of fear to run up Jordana’s spine. Worse yet, what if the Wilson brothers had seen her leave town with Damon and had somehow followed them? Jordana hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until the sight of uniformed cavalrymen rounded the bend and came into sight. Letting her breath out in one loud exhale, she felt nearly faint from the fear she’d held inside.

  Six men, all mounted on a variety of horses, were apparently coming back from their patrol along the riverbanks. As they drew closer, she couldn’t help but frown when her gaze met the amused expression of Captain O’Brian. Now she would never hear the end of it.

  Ordering his men to continue on to Omaha, Rich stopped his horse and looked down at Jordana. “I must say, I was prepared for Indians or bushwhackers, but certainly not for unescorted young women.” There was a galling smirk on his face.

  Jordana crossed her arms and glared at him. “I wasn’t expecting you either.”

  “You gonna throw that at me?” he asked.

  Jordana couldn’t imagine what he was talking about until she looked down at her hand and saw the rock. She gave it a toss, not at the captain but down the bank instead. “I thought you were Indians.”

  “And you were going to take them on with that rock?”

  She shrugged. “I hadn’t really thought it through.”

  He chuckled, then caught sight of the scratch on her arm. “Are you hurt?” His voice held seemingly sincere concern. “What happened?” He climbed down from his horse and took hold of her arm.

  “Don’t touch me!” She pulled away sharply. “I’m sick and tired of being manhandled.”

  “Did someone accost you? Is that why you’re out here alone?” He refused to let go of her and instead waited for an answer.

  “Oh, if you must know, I took a carriage ride with Damon Chittenden. He tried to take liberties with me, and I sent him away.”

  O’Brian grinned. “You didn’t hit him over the back, did you?”

  “No, but I wish I had,” Jordana declared.

  “How’d you get this?” he nodded toward her wounded arm, raising it slightly.

  “I jumped out of the carriage and nearly landed in a thornbush.” She tried again to jerk her arm away, but he held her fast.

  “Tsk, tsk,” he said, waggling his gloved finger at her. “This needs to be cleaned.”

  “I’ll take care of it at home.”

  “I can take care of it right now.” He nudged her back with him to where his horse stood contentedly munching grass.

  “I was tended by you once before and my wound only festered,” Jordana replied curtly. She stood still as he reached into his saddlebag and produced the dreaded blue bottle. “And that’s just the stuff that probably did it!” She grimaced, remembering the last time he’d cared for her.

  He laughed. “No chance of that. This is a remedy that’s helped to keep the army in the field through thick and thin. There’s more alcohol in here than anything, so I know it couldn’t have caused your infection. Those th
ornbushes can cause blood poisoning if you don’t treat the cut immediately. Now, hold still so I can see if there are any pieces of thorn left in the cut.”

  “I only scratched the skin,” she protested but did as he told her. “Honestly, I’ve just about had it with men. You’re all so bossy and difficult to live with.”

  “Us?” O’Brian arched an eyebrow in disbelief as he finished inspecting her arm. “I’d say the shoe is clearly on the other foot. You women cause us no end of misery. Why, your brother is probably half-sick with worry.”

  “He doesn’t even know I’m out here. And he doesn’t need to know I’m out here either,” she added quickly.

  “I don’t see how I’d be doing you any favors to keep this from him. He should know that your Mr. Chittenden needs to be dealt with.”

  “He’s not my Mr. Chittenden. Nevertheless, I’ll take care of dealing with him.”

  Captain O’Brian poured liquid from the bottle over her scratch, and Jordana bit her lip to keep from crying out at the intense burning. “You need to soak this in hot vinegar water. Watch it for a couple of days, and if you see any red streaks coming up your arm, get to a doctor right away.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, giving him a mocking salute with her free hand. “You surely do enjoy ordering folks around.”

  “Yup, that’s why I’m a captain instead of a private.”

  She rolled her eyes as he let go of her arm and put the bottle back in his saddlebag. “I do appreciate your concern, Captain, but I’d better get back to town. My brother will have the rest of the army out here looking for me if I don’t get going.”

  “I can’t let you go alone, and I suppose it would hardly be appropriate to have you ride double with me. You’re hardly dressed for riding,” he said, letting his gaze travel the full length of her.

  “I can walk,” she declared, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny. She turned and continued down the path, mindless of the fact that he now followed, leading his mount along behind.

  “So why are you so all-fired mad at men?” he asked. “Seems like just one man deserves your anger.”