"How do you know the language of The People?"
He was merely curious, but Jo held on to her sigh of relief. What should she tell him? Some warriors despised missionaries, believing those Comanches who followed the Christian God were traitors and the ones who taught of Him enemies. But she wasn't going to deny what she did and what she loved.
Jo stood and tipped her chin so she could look Isatekwa straight in the eye. "I learned so I could teach The People about Jesus."
No change of expression marred Isatekwa's face. Not a flicker in his eyes betrayed a single thought or feeling. "Jesus. I have heard of Him. He let the enemy take Him and kill Him even though He could have destroyed them all, yes?"
That about summed it up. "Yes."
"This Jesus was more a pukutsi than any other warrior I have seen."
Without another word, Isatekwa turned and loped away. Jo hadn't realized how scared she was until her legs stopped holding her upright, and she collapsed on the ground next to Nate.
"I must be dreaming."
Nate's voice was hoarse but coherent. His eyes were open and lucid. His face was no longer pale; color had returned to his cheeks and his lips. Jo threw herself across his chest and held on.
"Hey." Awkwardly he stroked her shorn hair. "You aren't crying, are you?"
She shook her head. "I never cry." Strange how suspiciously teary her voice sounded.
"I still think I'm dreaming."
It felt so good to be in Nate's arms, to have him alert and alive. For a moment, Jo just let herself be held. As if he were unaware of what he was doing, he continued to caress her hair. No one had ever touched Jo like this before. Since that made her want to cry again, she cleared her throat and asked, "Why do you think you're dreaming?"
"Because I feel too damn good to be awake."
Jo smiled. Maybe Isatekwa wasn't such a liar after all.
"And because I could swear I saw you talkin' to an Injun and tellin' him about Jesus."
Darn. She'd hoped to avoid any mention of their visitors at all.
"Jo?"
She sighed. The holding hadn't lasted nearly long enough. She straightened to meet Nate's fierce scowl.
"Tell me there wasn't an Indian standing here a minute ago."
"There wasn't one." His breath of relief was short lived. "There were eight."
He groaned and put his hand to his head. "So you were talking about Jesus."
Jo shrugged. "Someone had to."
He dropped his hand and stared at her incredulously. "No, someone doesn't have to. Why were there eight Comanches, Jo? And why did they leave without killing us?"
"You're not going to like this."
"I rarely do." He sat up. It was obvious he expected pain, because he tensed. But his face smoothed out with surprise, and he tilted his head one way and then the other. "Huh," was his only comment before fixing her with his clear blue gaze. "Confession is good for the soul, Josephine."
"You're not a priest."
"I'm not much of anything. But I want to know what went on here while I was out of my head."
Jo stared at him for a long moment. She'd never seen Nate sober. He looked much better than he had when she'd thought he was dying, but that was the nicest thing she could say. He was dirty, bearded, and smelly. She still loved him far more than was healthy for them both.
"Well," she began. "It all started when I took the long way back to Rock Creek."
Chapter 6
For the past several days, Reese had been uneasy, and he couldn't figure out why.
School was going particularly well this year. Now that the Sutton twins had gone back to Alabama, he had few problems in the classroom.
Not that the boys had caused trouble—once Reese had taken over as the teacher, at any rate. They wouldn't dare. But once in a while he'd look at them and see his past staring out of their eyes. Then he'd have to walk outside a moment and gaze at the sky. He'd remind himself that the war was over and so were his days as the captain of a wandering band of hired guns.
He was a schoolteacher again, a husband now and a father. The incongruity in that would make him laugh, and he could return to the class with a smile.
Peering out the window of the empty school-house, Reese tried to pinpoint what was bothering him. All of his men were either present or, at the least, accounted for.
On the heels of that thought, Sinclair Sullivan stepped out of the jail and glanced up, then down the length of Rock Creek. The star on his shirt was incongruous with the length of his hair—which he'd cut short once and seemed to have forgotten about since—and the shape of his face. Half Comanche, half Irish, he was the best lawman this town could ever hope to have, and everyone knew it.
Sullivan closed the door behind him and crossed the street to his home, the Paradise Hotel, where his wife, Eden, and their ever expanding brood of children awaited.
At this time of day, Rico Salvatore would be preparing Three Queens—a saloon and entertainment oasis he ran with his wife, Lily—for the evening. Cash would be at his place, Rogue's Palace, gambling, drinking, or worse. Reese really didn't want to know.
Jed Rourke was in Europe, of all places. Reese wondered what the folks across the ocean thought of a scruffy, foul-mouthed mountain man like Jed. He couldn't wait to hear all about it. If Jed and Hannah ever got tired of wandering and came back home.
And home Rock Creek had become to all of them, except perhaps one.
What was he going to do about Nate?
Reese hadn't any better idea now than he had when he'd met the man. Twelve years past, Reese had been sent to Atlanta, where he'd met the others for the first time. Recruited by the infamous Colonel Mosby, the six of them had spent the rest of the war harassing Union lines and capturing Yankee intelligence.
From the beginning, Nate had never been without either a flask or a bottle. But after the first time Reese witnessed him ride into a Yankee patrol, Henry rifle blazing, hitting anything he aimed at, he'd done his best to ignore the drinking and the Bible quoting—at least for the duration of the war.
When the hostilities ended, the six of them had parted with the promise to come when any one of them called. Their time apart only proved that they worked better together, and they had worked together a lot. Saving Rock Creek had found them a home and many of them a wife and a family. But some of them still wandered—alone.
Try as he might, Reese hadn't been able to help Nate, and it preyed on his mind. Was Nate the reason he felt twitchy, as if something was wrong right in front of his nose but he wasn't seeing it?
Sometimes Reese wondered if he'd lost his edge. If Rock Creek were attacked tomorrow, would he be able to defend it as he had once before?
Shaking his head, Reese picked up his books and left the schoolhouse. He might no longer be the captain, but he couldn't seem to stop worrying about everyone and everything.
His home stood to the rear of the school. Through the open windows he heard his daughter, Georgia, singing, then the low murmur of Mary's voice. He stopped at the foot of the steps and let the love wash over him. He was so lucky to have found her.
Reese turned and let his gaze wander over Rock Creek. What was eating at him? The town looked just fine—prosperous and growing. Heck, they had two saloons, a hotel and restaurant, a store, telegraph office, school, and church. What more could Rock Creek ask for? Except maybe a pastor for that church.
Reese sighed. He was going to have to do something about finding one, or his wife would do it first. Mary had a habit of managing things when he wasn't paying attention.
He felt her approach a moment before she touched his shoulder then murmured, "James."
Reaching up, he put his hand over hers, and they stood for a moment with Mary on the top step of their home, Reese on the bottom.
"What's bothering you?" she asked.
She always knew. One of the many reasons he adored her.
"I'm not sure." His gaze continued to be drawn back to the church, then the rec
tory. His brain seemed to itch. "Something isn't right about the church."
If Mary hadn't been touching him, he'd never have noticed her start, so slight was the movement. He tightened his fingers about hers and held on as she tried to run away.
"I—I have to check on Georgie."
Slowly Reese turned. His wife wouldn't meet his eyes. Suddenly he knew what was bothering him about the church—what had been, in fact, bothering him for days.
"Georgie," he called, not taking his gaze off his wife, who seemed overly concerned with the state of her shoes. "Come on out here, sweet pea."
"Papa!"
The sound of pounding feet preceded his golden-haired, green-eyed child. He let go of the mother in order to catch the daughter as she launched herself off of the porch and into his arms.
Georgie might look like Reese, but she did everything full speed ahead, like her mother. And like her mother she knew Reese would always catch her before she fell.
He spun his daughter around, kissed her loudly and soundly on each cheek, then shifted her to his hip and glanced about for his wife. She was inches from slipping into the house.
"Stop," he murmured, and she did.
"Dinner—" she began.
"Sit."
"But—"
"Sit, sit, sit."
"Uh-oh, Mama," Georgie whispered.
Mary sat.
"Sweet pea, run along to Fiona's now and ask her daddy to come on over here."
"The sheriff? How come?"
" 'Cause I said so, hmm?"
"Yes, Papa."
"Then you stay with Fiona until either your mama or I come for you, y'hear?"
"Yes, Papa."
Reese put her down, and she skipped off to the Paradise Hotel where her best friend, Fiona Sullivan, lived.
He turned to his wife. "When did she leave?"
"Who?"
Reese didn't bother to answer. They both knew who. They both knew why and where, as well.
Mary threw up her hands. "I can't believe it took you this long to figure it out."
"You might have told me."
"I promised I wouldn't." He raised his eyebrows. "Only because I thought you'd notice. You always notice," she muttered.
Left unsaid were the words but not this time. Reese had wondered if he'd lost his edge. Well, now he knew.
"How did she find out where he was?"
"She eavesdropped on you and Cash."
"Huh." Perhaps Reese wasn't the only one losing his edge. "How long has she been gone?"
"Five days."
Reese frowned. "She should be back by now."
"I know. It's been driving me crazy not telling you. I promised I'd give her a week, but I don't think I'd have made it. I haven't been able to sleep. My stomach hurts all the time."
Her words explained the source of his unease. Living together, sleeping together, loving each other had made them of like mind. Mary had been upset, nervous, and he'd started to get skittish too. He wished he'd figured this out four days ago. It would have saved him a trip to Mexico. He only hoped he didn't have to bury Jo Clancy along the way.
Guilt threatened. Mary stood and descended the steps, putting her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek against his chest. "It's not your fault. You aren't responsible for everyone and everything in this town."
"No? Then why does it feel as though I am?"
"Because you're you." She hugged him. While he didn't feel great, he did feel better. No wonder life before Mary had been bleak at best.
"Reese."
At the sound of Sullivan's voice, Mary started. She'd never gotten used to the way both he and Rico could appear as if from nowhere. To be truthful, Reese hadn't either, but he was able to keep himself from jumping out of his skin whenever one of them spoke right behind his ear without warning.
He kissed his wife's soft hair and released her. "Why don't you visit Eden a while, then bring Georgie home?"
Her eyes narrowed and her hands went to her hips. "Why don't you go after Jo and Nate and bring them home?"
Sullivan snorted, but Reese ignored him. "Why, Mary Margaret, you read my mind."
Her smile of joy was worth a trip to Soledad. Her kiss promised rewards unimaginable. Well, maybe not unimaginable.
She drew away and cupped his cheek. "I love you, Reese."
She hurried off to the hotel. The last time she'd called him Reese was before they'd gotten married, before he'd hung up his gun and picked up a pencil instead. He wondered if she'd called him by the only name he'd used back then on purpose. Knowing Mary, she had.
"I'll find Cash and Rico," Sullivan said.
"I'll find my guns."
* * *
"The world might be a bit fuzzy for me at times, but I know a lie when I hear one," Nate murmured.
They sat in the shade of the rock overhang, Nate on the bedrolls, Jo with her back against the stones. Her face was drawn and pale, her eyes red rimmed and exhausted. Even if she hadn't said so, he'd know just by looking at her that she hadn't slept since they'd left Soledad.
"Pshaw," she scoffed. "What possible reason could I have to lie about what happened here?"
Perhaps lie wasn't the right word. Jo was leaving things out. Big things, Nate thought. Probably most of the story.
"I find it hard to believe eight renegade Comanches came upon a sick man and an unprotected woman, gave the man some mad dog weed, and rode off for the Llano Estacado."
"Well, that's what happened." Her head bobbed toward her chest, and her hands hung between her drawn-up knees. "More or less," she mumbled sleepily.
"More is what I'm thinking."
She didn't answer. She was asleep sitting up.
Nate got to his feet, crossed the small space, and lifted her into his arms. She weighed next to nothing. Still, after a bout with the shakes and delusions, he shouldn't be able to heave himself from the ground.
"Put me down." Jo pushed against his chest, but she was as weak as he should be.
"Certainly." He deposited her on the bedroll. For an instant he thought she clung to him. Then her hands fell away as sleep consumed her once more.
She seemed so young. Compared to him, she was. But Jo had been a woman in years and responsibilities long before he'd made her one in body.
He'd had sex with Jo Clancy. The sudden, appalling thought made him jerk as if he'd been slapped. He should be slapped. Hell, he should be shot. He wished he could go back in time and remain sober enough to have sent Jo on her way when she'd shown up at his door.
Why couldn't he remember? For him, it was as if their night together had never happened. He had no trouble behaving as if their relationship was the same as it had always been, because to him it was. But for Jo, things would never be the same again.
The best thing he could do would be to drop her at the outskirts of Rock Creek and never look back. But he wasn't sure he could anymore. He was fond of Jo. To think he'd never see her again made him ache.
Suddenly, he missed his friends. Hell, he probably missed Cash and his dirty saloon most of all, but he'd never tell him that.
Rock Creek wasn't home, but it was all he had. To imagine he might never go back there, never see Jo's face light with a smile at the sight of him, never have Fiona jump into his arms and kiss his cheek... it was enough to make Nate search for his pretty pearl pistols, but they were nowhere in sight.
He glanced at Jo. "I bet you left out the part where you gave away my guns, didn't you?"
The Indians could have stolen them, but somehow he doubted it. If they had, they wouldn't have left the rifles behind, or anything else. What had Jo said or done to convince the Comanches to not only let them live but retain nearly everything they owned?
He ought to be furious. Not only had she given away his pistols, but she'd led him into the wilderness—nearly getting them killed in the process—with the sole purpose of keeping him away from booze. No one else would have dared. But he couldn't work up any anger, because he felt rea
lly good for the first time in as long as he could remember.
Nate was certain when night fell and the dreams returned, he'd need a drink with the desperation a strangling man accorded air. But right now he was merely thirsty, and the water tasted like mud.
* * *
"I do not like this, mon amis."
Lily Fortier Salvatore joined Mary and Eden on the porch of the Paradise Hotel. Dressed for work in a revealing gown of scarlet trimmed with black, she had no worries that her attire would attract unwelcome attention. Everyone in Rock Creek knew her husband could stick the center of a target with his knife from thirty paces. He was a sight more accurate when his target was moving and human.
"That makes two of us," murmured Eden.
"Three," Mary said. "But they have to go."
The women watched their husbands, plus Cash, get ready to ride after Nate and Jo.
"Why didn't you stop her?" Eden asked. Six months pregnant with the second child of her body, her fifth counting those she and Sullivan had adopted, Eden would appear a serene Madonna if not for the scowl on her face.
"Stop Jo?" Mary said. "Has anyone ever done that?"
The three of them sighed as one.
"Children, come out here and say good-bye," Eden called.
Kids tumbled from the door of the hotel and split into three directions. Georgia jumped into Reese's arms. Carrie hugged Rico's waist, while Johnny—nearly a man at sixteen—shook his hand. Rafe, Teddy, Millie, and Fiona almost obscured Sullivan when he knelt to kiss each one.
Cash stood alone, scowling at the display. For the first time it occurred to Mary that his sarcasm and, at times, outright nastiness disguised loneliness and jealousy.
Cash tolerated her at best, treated Eden like a precious little sister, poked at Hannah until she poked back, and fought with Lily like a snarling hound dog with a wet cat. The man was a puzzle, one Mary didn't have the time or the inclination to solve.
"Shoo!" Cash flicked a long-fingered hand at the children, and the lace on his cuffs shimmered in the late afternoon sun. "We're wasting daylight."
The kids didn't need to be told twice; they scattered. All but Johnny, who made a gun with his forefinger and thumb and fired it at Cash with a grin. Cash put his hand over his heart and laughed. For some unknown reason, those two had bonded. Maybe because Johnny, a barely recovered stutterer and a gifted piano player, talked less than anyone in town, even Sullivan. Cash loathed chatter.
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