by Pam Crooks
Jeb rose, went to the fire and stirred the beans with a knife.
“Do you have a husband?” he asked. “Someone we should notify of the boy’s kidnapping?”
A husband. Elena stiffened. What man would want her? A woman with an illegitimate child, violently begotten by a man as lawless and despicable as Ramon de la Vega. A woman whose innocence had been destroyed by his lust.
“No,” she said. “Besides my father, Nicky and I have no other family.”
Except for the medicine-show troupe, and they’d find out soon enough what happened. She didn’t want to think of the worry they’d all endure when they did.
Jeb slathered a tortilla with the beans. “So it’s just you and me, then.” He rolled the thin bread and held it toward her. “Name’s Jeb Carson, in case you’re interested.”
Her stomach revolted at the thought of food. “I’m not hungry.”
“Eat anyway.”
His low voice held the command she’d begun to associate with him—a man who was accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed.
She quelled the urge to refuse and took the tortilla from him. The thin bread was warm against her hand, but she didn’t take a bite.
“So what’s yours?” he asked, spreading beans on several more. “Besides Elena?”
“Malone. Elena Malone. My father’s name is Charles.”
He nodded, as if he’d already guessed that much. “The label on the elixir claims he’s a doctor. Is he?”
Jeb sounded skeptical again. Her chin hiked up a defensive inch. “If you’re inquiring if he has a certificate stating his degree as such, then no. But he’s a doctor in the truest sense of the word, if one considers his dedication to healing people of their ills with his medicine.”
Jeb grunted, his mouth full of tortilla. Watching her coolly, he swallowed. “The elixir making him rich?”
She made a sound of exasperation. “My father’s financial affairs are none of your—”
“Just answer the question, Elena.”
She thought of the bills incurred with every performance, of how imperative it was to sell enough bottles of Doc Charlie’s Miraculous Herbal Compound to pay them. She thought of how they lived from show to show. Hand-to-mouth. And how she’d grown to tire of it.
“No,” she said. “Not hardly. Why?”
“Might be de la Vega is thinking of ransom for the boy.” Jeb took another bite of tortilla and beans.
Oh, God. The notion had never occurred to her.
“Costs money to buy arms and food for his men,” he added. “Revolutions don’t come cheap.”
“I’ll pay any price he demands. I’ll rob a dozen banks if I have to.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“I’m prepared to do anything to get Nicky back,” she said, just in case he needed reminding. “Are you?”
The last of the tortillas he’d made gone, Jeb reached inside his jacket, withdrew a small bottle of whiskey and took a quick swig. He held out the bottle to her. She shook her head in refusal, and he recapped it.
“I expect finding your son will be one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do.” He strode toward his saddle and bags and tossed a Winchester rifle onto the ground. A gunbelt with two revolvers. An extra Colt pistol. Several knives.
The man was a virtual weapons arsenal. She had no idea he was so heavily armed.
“That’s all we have to defend ourselves with against the whole damn bunch,” Jeb said. “We have a lot of ground to cover to find them. And they’ve got half a day on us.”
Elena’s spirits sank. His perception of their ability to fight their way to Nicky was, obviously, more realistic than hers.
“But am I prepared to do anything to get him back for you?” Jeb squatted next to her. The firelight splashed over his unshaven features. Dark danger emanated from him. A ruthlessness that could stagger the fiercest of his enemies. “Yeah. Ramon de la Vega will pay the price.”
A sudden apprehension skidded down her spine. She didn’t yet know what Jeb Carson was capable of, if his words were false bravado or deadly conviction.
But, oh, how she wanted to believe him.
He had no more power to see into the future than she did. How would he know with any certainty that he could steal her son back from the Mexican rebel?
Jeb tossed a bedroll toward her, then laid a second one out on the other side of the fire. He stretched his lean length over it, then dipped into his pocket for a cigarette.
He seemed to have dismissed their conversation in favor of a leisurely smoke, but her stomach churned with worry. Did he expect her to relax as easily as he did?
He turned and caught her staring. He indicated the beans and tortilla she still held. “Eat up, Elena.”
She eyed the food with distaste. “I don’t want it.”
“Eat so you can get some sleep. I want to pull out at dawn.”
She rebelled against the command. Saying nothing more, she arranged the blankets. Before crawling beneath them, she tucked the tortilla into a fold where he wouldn’t notice. She’d eat later when she had more of a mind for it.
She settled onto her side, facing away from Jeb, and pulled the edge of the blanket to her chin. Heat from the fire warmed her back, and she stared out into the black night beyond their camp.
Had Pop arrived in San Antonio yet? Had Creed kept his word and gotten him to a hospital safely? Was he in pain, or was he taking doses of his elixir regularly to prevent it?
And, oh, God, what of her baby? She missed Nicky so much. The ache soaked clear into her bones.
Where was he? Tears stung her eyes. Was he safe? Was he sleeping peacefully? Was he warm enough? Had he cried himself to sleep, wanting her?
But even more important, would she ever hold him again?
Chapter Five
Jeb came awake instantly. Somewhere deep in his subconscious, his instincts told him she was gone.
He breathed a fervent oath and rolled to his feet. Only low-burning embers remained of the fire he’d lit, and he strained to see past them in the dark. Elena’s blankets were still there, but no womanly form lay beneath.
He turned toward the horses, his brain racing to determine how long she’d been gone and formulating a plan to go after her. But both their mounts grazed near the river. The saddles and valise still lay on the ground, and he began to suspect she hadn’t left after all.
Then where was she?
A faint nicker jerked his attention to the river again. The sound came from Elena’s mare, a palomino and part of the team they’d unhitched from the medicine-show wagon. The low, throaty sound conveyed concern, the kind when an animal senses trouble for his owner.
Jeb drew closer, his hand on the butt of his Colt. Moonlight peeked through a gossamer veil of cloud cover and provided enough illumination for him to search one side of the bank, then the other. He found her huddled near the water’s edge, her head bowed over her drawn-up knees, her body still.
Jeb frowned. She had probably sought out the river for the solace it could give her. He’d done the same thing himself a time or two over the years.
His hand fell away from his gun. She was thinking of her baby, he knew. Anyone could see how much she hurt from being separated from him, that the worry and anguish cut deep. She needed time to sort through the pain. To get a hold on it.
But Jeb couldn’t leave her just yet. Some unseen force kept him right where he stood, watching her, his concern building the longer she sat there looking so damned alone.
Maybe he should go to her. Lend a shoulder. Listen, if she needed to talk.
But he hesitated. Emotional women left him feeling inept, even one as hurting—or as deserving of a good cry—as Elena. Hell, he’d rather face a firing squad.
She hadn’t noticed him, so he lingered. Just a few minutes to assure himself she’d be all right sitting there at the river’s edge in the middle of the night.
When her hand lifted to cover her mou
th, when she curled in a tight ball, his reluctance to go to her slipped. She began to rock, back and forth. She didn’t make a sound, not with her hand pressed to her face to stifle any she might make, and only then did he realize she didn’t want him to hear.
He started walking toward her. He didn’t want to scare her—she wouldn’t expect him to come up behind her—but he didn’t stop until he stood right behind her, an arm’s length away.
He hunkered down to her level. Now that he was this close, little sounds came from behind her hand, the sobs she tried so hard to hide. His fists clenched to keep from touching her; to do so would startle her even more.
“Elena,” he said gently.
The rocking stopped. She twisted around to face him, bolting to her feet in one fluid motion. Her speed and agility surprised him, left him still squatting and looking up at her.
He rose slowly. Her bosom heaved as she fought for the control that seemed so important to her.
“Elena.” This time when he spoke her name, he laced his tone with a thread of command. She needed to know she didn’t have to go through this alone. That she shouldn’t be afraid of him. That he was with her to help her.
“I woke you. I—I’m sorry,” she said shakily, her fingers swiping at the moisture streaming down her cheeks.
“You didn’t. And even if you did, it’s nothing to be sorry for.” His voice sounded rough. Rougher than he intended, and she flinched. His mouth tightened, and he reached an arm toward her. “Let’s go back to camp.”
“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “I will. Soon. But not yet.”
“You have to get some sleep.”
“I can’t. I tried—”
He had expected her argument. Determined to overrule it, he took her elbow, but she jerked away with a step backward into the river. The water seeping into her shoes would be cold and uncomfortable.
“I keep thinking of Nicky,” she said, her arms folded tight against her. “How can I sleep when I don’t know where he is?”
“We’ll find him,” Jeb said. “I swear it.”
Her chin trembled. “You don’t know we will. Not really. You’re just being nice and telling me that so I don’t worry, but I am worrying and—”
A choking sound smothered whatever else she intended to say, and she angled her head away, her eyes closed tight. She stood in the water, her body stiff and proud but her grief tearing her apart.
It rankled that she fought to keep her pain from him. Why it bothered him he couldn’t fathom, but it did, and he reached for her again.
“Don’t, please,” she said, stepping around him. “I’ll be fine in a minute or two.”
Jeb’s stride was longer than hers. He took her arm and turned her toward him.
“Cry it out,” he growled. “Damn it, you’ll feel better.”
Her mouth opened, as if she intended to argue, but instead, her features crumpled and her shoulders hunched. She sank into his chest with a strangled sob.
His arms took her in. Her body felt heavy and vulnerable against him, as if it was all she could do to hold herself upright, and something surged through him, a protectiveness, a possessiveness, that left him shaken and teetering on new ground.
He couldn’t recall holding a crying woman before, and a fierce need arose in him to fix all that made her hurt. He vowed to find her baby and exact a fitting revenge on Ramon de la Vega if it was the last thing he did.
His embrace tightened. She shifted against him, her forehead pressed to his shirt, her fists clutching the fabric. She kept her arms folded between them, a shield, he guessed, to keep herself from touching too much of him.
Hot, violent sobs racked her body as the volcano of emotion she’d kept suppressed inside her until now spilled over in churning waves. Jeb held her until the storm had passed, until her sobs quieted into shuddering hiccups.
When even those grew silent, she still didn’t move away, as if she was too spent and needed a few minutes to pick up the shredded pieces of her composure and put them back together. But, hell, he didn’t care.
She felt too good to let go just yet.
Probably had to do with him being needed again, but he didn’t dwell on it. Main thing was she’d purged herself of the hurt, for now, at least, and if she clung to him a little longer than he expected, that was fine with him.
“Forgive me,” she said finally, her voice muffled against his shirt. “I didn’t mean to fall apart like that.”
“Nothing to forgive,” he said, and scavenged inside his back pocket. He pulled out a bandanna, crumpled but clean. “Here. Use this. And don’t tell me I’m being nice again.”
She drew back, dried her cheeks and nose.
“You are, you know. Being nice,” she said. “Thank you.”
He grunted. “You ready to get some sleep now?”
“I think so.”
“Go on, then.” He gestured toward the campfire that was dying a slow death. He’d have to get it going again for her. The night carried a chill. “Take your shoes off. The leather needs to dry before you wear them in the morning.”
“I know.”
“I’m going to have a quick smoke, then I’ll turn in, too.”
She nodded and began walking toward their camp. While his attention lingered on the sway of her hips, he thought once more of her baby. Nicky. Jeb made a fervent wish the boy was still safe, that de la Vega intended him no harm.
It could be the one thing in Elena’s favor, that she shared her son with him. The one thing that could keep her baby safe.
Or it could be the one thing to destroy her.
Amazingly enough, Elena slept. She didn’t think it could’ve been possible, but when she awakened, a rosy-hued dawn flirted with the horizon.
She felt stronger. More alert. And as determined as ever to find Nicky.
Her head swiveled. She found Jeb on the other side of the ebbing fire, his back to her, his breathing deep and even. She hadn’t heard him return to camp after her emotional breakdown, and memories of his compassion toward her rushed forward.
She hadn’t thought him capable of it, that compassion. But his arms had been solid and warm, the strength in him a tangible thing. She had stolen from his strength shamelessly, replenished her draining supply. He’d offered, and she had taken. She’d needed him, and he had been there.
It wouldn’t happen again.
She had to remain clearheaded and focused, for Nicky’s sake. A hard man like Jeb Carson had no time for a weeping, sniveling woman. The sooner they could resume riding, the better it would be for everyone concerned.
Jeb would insist upon breakfast first, though. That, too, would be for their benefit. Elena had learned he had his own way of doing things—and a reason for doing them.
Well, breakfast she could do. The gnawing emptiness in her belly concurred the plan was sound, and she quietly slipped from beneath her blanket. She rigged a fishing pole, found the skillet and coffeepot Jeb had brought. By the time she had rolled up her bed, cleaned her teeth and brushed her hair, a pair of trout sizzled in the pan.
Suddenly Jeb’s eyes flew open. Sitting cross-legged on the ground, Elena nibbled on the tortilla and beans she’d rescued from the folds of her blanket and watched him. He shifted to his back, his glance jumping to where she’d lain.
“I was beginning to think you’d never wake up,” she said.
He twisted and found her. He took in the snapping fire and brewing coffee, and scowled. “How long have you been up?”
“Long enough to get some things done.”
“Damn.” He sat up and plowed a hand through his shoulder-length hair. “I didn’t hear you.”
He appeared irritated, as if he’d failed in some way. Elena hid a smile. “Mothers learn to be quiet from sleeping babies.”
His expression hardened. “I’m no baby.”
“No.” Her stomach did a funny slip. Far from it.
“I’m responsible for you.”
“Are you?” O
dd that he would think so. He barely knew her. She rose and strode toward the fire. “Since when?”
“Since I decided to help you. And I take my responsibilities seriously.”
“Hmm.” She poured coffee into a cup. “So if I decided to leave you and go after Nicky on my own, you’d feel compelled to come after me.”
He took the cup without thanks, his dark eyes on her. “Don’t even think it.”
Elena found a fork and poked the fish in the skillet. The meat flaked easily. “Well, I did. Last night.”
“Why?”
“Because Nicky isn’t your son. He’s mine.” She slid one of the fish onto a plate and handed it to him. He accepted with his free hand, his coffee still untouched.
“What difference does that make?” he demanded. “Him not being my son.”
“Our perspectives.”
“We both want him back from de la Vega.”
“Me more so than you.”
“Meaning?”
She sat back, the fish steaming on her plate. “Meaning I’ll stop at nothing to find him. And if our opinions differ on how we shall go about it, then—” She shrugged.
“Then what?”
“I’ll do it my way. Without you.”
He made a sound of derision and sipped his coffee.
“I want you to know that,” she added, her chin tilting.
“You still don’t trust me.”
“I have no reason to.”
He scowled. “You got a plan in mind?”
Elena turned and studied the road they would soon travel, the same one she fervently hoped de la Vega planned to use, too. How far ahead was he? Would she and Jeb be able to catch up with him? Or had the band’s flight taken a completely different course by now?
“No,” she admitted. “Except to keep riding until I find my baby.” She turned back and met Jeb’s shadowed eyes. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
By the confidence she heard in that single word, Elena realized he wouldn’t ride without one. She set her plate down, found a long stick and handed it to him. “Show me.”