by Pam Crooks
Elena moved to the other side, away from him.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve trained her to perform in my father’s shows. She’s gentle enough that I can ride her with Nicky in my lap.”
Jeb tossed aside his shirt, took a metal pick from his saddlebag. Angling his body and lifting one foreleg, he began cleaning the mare’s hoof of dirt and stones.
“Tell me about your father’s medicine show,” he said.
Elena dared a quick look in his direction. His interest surprised her. “Have you ever been to one?”
“Never.”
“That’s a shame, then. They’re fun.”
His mouth quirked. “If you say so.”
“They are.” She refused to stoop to his level of sarcasm.
“You have a part in it?”
“Yes.” She could feel his expectant gaze on her while she worked the bristles back and forth, side to side.
“You going to tell me about it, or am I going to have to drag every word out of you?”
She finished her brushing and glared at him over the horse’s back. “Are you going to listen proper, or are you going to be snide?”
“Snide? Me?”
He looked so charmingly taken aback, she had to struggle to hide her smile. “Yes, you.”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”
She’d forgotten her decision not to look at him. Taking a soft grooming cloth, she wiped down the mare’s coat and gave all her attention to it.
“Well, some medicine shows are more elaborate than others,” she said. “Pop has always strived to bring his audiences the best entertainment he can.”
“Such as?”
She shrugged. “Song-and-dance acts. Juggling. Comedy. Animal tricks. Sort of like a miniature circus.”
He finished cleaning the last hoof and moved over to his horse to do the same. She finished wiping down her horse, took her grooming brush and repeated the process on his.
“As for my part in the shows, I’ve done just about everything there is to do, one time or another. My specialty is trick riding, though.”
“Yeah?” He seemed intrigued at that.
“I’ve performed in the show since I was five, so I’ve been doing fancy tricks a long time.”
“Five years old?” He gaped at her in amazement.
“Yes. It’s all I’ve ever known,” she said.
The memory of her intention to tell Pop she wanted to quit and settle down flashed in her brain—and how Ramon de la Vega and his men had violently denied her the opportunity.
Well, she would tell Pop. Soon. When she found Nicky and got herself to San Antonio.
Finished with the pair of hooves on the left, Jeb moved to the right. Elena changed sides when he did.
“You ever want to do anything else?” he asked. “Quit traveling? Lead a regular life?”
She gave him a rueful smile. “Yes. More lately than ever before.” He didn’t say anything, but she sensed him waiting for her to explain. “You see, my routines are the show’s final act before my father does his pitch for the elixir.” She sighed, her grooming of the horse complete. “He depends on me to—”
“Get the crowd fired up. Loosen their purse strings.”
“Yes.” She refused to defend Pop’s strategy. She folded the grooming cloth into a neat square. “I don’t know what he’d do without me,” she said simply. Worriedly. “He’s not ready to give the show up, and I am.”
“You have your son to think about.”
Her head lifted. She hadn’t expected Jeb to understand. “Yes. I want Nicky to have a normal life.”
“Convince your father to open an apothecary or something. Sell his elixir that way.”
Elena blinked. How could Jeb have known that was her dream? That she and Pop settle down in a nice, quiet town and open their own shop.
Jeb strolled toward her. It took a moment to realize what he was doing; she moved back a step but found her way blocked by the horses on one side and the big cottonwood tree on the other.
She was starting to feel flustered and unsteady again.
A panicky need to escape before he got too close gripped her. Slipping between the horses seemed her only chance, but Jeb’s long arm shot out before she could.
He leaned a hand against the tree trunk, trapping her. His wrist touched her hair, he was so close. She stared at his collarbone, at the droplets of water that lingered there. He smelled cool. Clean. He smelled of strong soap and man, and her heart beat so fast she could barely breathe.
“Why are you always running from me?” he asked, his voice a low rumble of frustration.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
She pressed her lips together and refused to look at him. She could feel him studying her, his dark eyes intense, probing, as if he strained to reach the innermost recesses of her mind. As if she were an intricate puzzle he was determined to solve.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Elena,” he murmured. “Men are sure to want you. Touch you. Do you never let them?”
She didn’t want to hear him say any of this. She’d long ago buried a desire to be touched, to be wanted by a man. She refused to let Jeb resurrect the pain she’d worked so hard to forget.
“Go ahead, deny me the truth,” Jeb growled when she didn’t answer. Barely suppressed anger darkened the command. “Hell, deny yourself, too, while you’re at it. But tell me a woman like you doesn’t want a man inside her at night, and—”
Elena’s head snapped up. “Damn you!” She planted both hands against his chest and pushed. Hard. He stumbled back, and she was free. “That’s exactly what I would tell you,” she snapped. “I don’t need a man, do you hear me? Not ever. I have Pop. And I have Nicky. They’re all I need!”
“You’re wrong.” The words were low. Fierce.
“Don’t you tell me what I do and don’t need!”
“Someone has to, damn it.”
Her jaw dropped at his audacity. “What would you know of any of this? How could you possibly—”
“I know that you’re entitled to a husband to warm your bed and help raise your son,” he shot back. “Any woman is. You’re a fool to keep telling yourself you’re not.”
Her lip curled. “But I’m not just any woman, am I, Jeb? Certainly not a foolish one. Not anymore. I’m different, and any man who sees Nicky knows it.”
“Different.”
“Yes.”
“Because you were raped.”
She’d never known a man so callous and blunt. “Yes!”
“And now you’re wallowing in self-pity because you think de la Vega ruined your life.”
Sharp-edged rage exploded inside her. She’d only hated one man in her life before this moment, but right now she hated Jeb Carson with her every breath. Her arm swung out to strike him, to inflict the pain he inflicted on her, but he caught her wrist and hauled her roughly against him.
“Let go of me,” she said, her voice hoarse.
“Not until I’m ready, sweetheart.”
She yanked at his grip, her fist clenched tight. “You have no right to do this to me.”
“I’ve got something to say, and you’re going to listen.”
“Let go of me!” Again she tugged, but he held her fast.
“You have any idea how lucky you are, Elena? De la Vega could’ve killed you. He could’ve sliced you into ribbons or shot you full of lead after he’d taken his sick pleasure. But he didn’t, did he? He walked away. He let you live so you could go back to your father and your trick riding in his medicine show.” Jeb halted, his features hard. “And that wasn’t all he did, was it?”
Elena’s bosom heaved. His words circled around her, fast and furious.
“No,” she whispered.
“He gave you your son.”
She swallowed hard. Her precious baby.
“That’s more than a lot of women who’ve suffered what you have can boast about. Believe me.”
&nbs
p; She stared up at him, his perception humbling her. “You speak as if from personal experience.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen it. And more.”
“Have you?”
“War is hell.”
She could only speculate about his past, where he’d been, what he’d done, but whatever atrocities he had lived through shaped his thinking. Allowed him to look at her pain from the outside, even when she kept it buried on the inside.
For too long.
She’d thought of all those things he spoke of. Oh, God, many times. Had the reality, the self-pity, clouded hope? Gratitude? Did she dwell more often on what she’d lost, instead of what she’d gained? Or what had always been hers? Important things, like her life with the medicine show. The troupe she’d grown up with, the people she called family. Pop. His love and devotion.
And Nicky. Of course, Nicky most of all.
“Let the shell you’ve built around yourself crack open, will you?” Jeb said. “Enjoy the life you’ve been given, because once it’s gone, you’ll never get it back again.”
At some point, he’d loosened his grip upon her wrist, but his fingers still circled her forearm. She felt the strength in those fingers. The surprising gentleness.
“Are you finished yet?” she asked, though her tone had lost its sting.
“No.” His gaze drifted over her face. His anger appeared to have spent itself, but his opinions clearly ran deep. “One more thing.”
She stood very still—and waited. His fingers moved over her wrist, as if he tried to soothe whatever pain he might have caused.
“I don’t mean to make light of the humiliation de la Vega put you through,” he murmured. “No woman deserves what he did. And, I swear, just say the word when we catch up with him, I’ll string him up by his—” He halted, jaw clenched. “Damn it, Elena. I’ll make him pay.”
No man had ever offered to avenge her before. No one except Pop, and hearing Jeb’s avowal touched her clear to her soul.
He made her want to weep.
She blinked furiously to keep from it, and angled her head away so he wouldn’t see the struggle. He gripped her chin and carefully brought her back again.
“You’re not going to cry, are you?” he asked. He sounded worried.
“No.” She shook her head for emphasis. “No, I’m not.”
It wasn’t like him to be worried over a silly thing like a woman crying. She squared her shoulders. Jeb Carson had more important things to fret over. Like finding Nicky.
“Ramon is not worthy of my tears.” She pulled her arm from Jeb’s grasp and stood determined before him. “However, if I learn he has harmed my son in any way, you have my full and absolute permission to make him pay in any manner you wish.”
Jeb’s mouth curved in a cold smile. “Is that a promise?”
“On one stipulation.”
His brow arched.
“That I get to string him up by his balls first.”
Jeb finished off his third bowl of stew and sprawled onto his back with a moan. “I ate too much.”
Elena’s mouth softened. “You were hungry.”
“You’re a good cook.”
His compliment pleased her. “All I did was put it in the pot. You bought the vegetables, shot and skinned the rabbit.”
“That’s the easy part.”
Rather liking this relaxed side to him, she smiled. “I’ll open a tin of peaches if you want dessert.”
He moaned again. “Don’t have room. But thanks.”
Elena decided against the fruit, too. She’d barely managed a bowl of the stew. Once she had Nicky back in her arms, she’d eat all the stew and peaches she could handle. She rose, began gathering dishes.
“Leave ’em,” Jeb ordered, his head swiveling toward her from his prone position. “You cooked. I’ll clean up.”
“I don’t mind.” She needed something to do anyway.
“Elena.” He used that firm tone of voice again, the one that meant he intended for his command to be obeyed. “I don’t expect you to wait on me hand and foot,” he said, frowning.
She hesitated, then gave in. “All right.”
Elena tried not to think how quickly she’d have them done rather than see them sit in the grass unwashed. She sat back down again and hugged her knees to her chest.
She tilted her head, squinted into the sky. The sun moseyed closer to the horizon; the night loomed long ahead of her. Would Jeb consider a few hours of riding toward Mexico in these cool hours of evening? They’d be that much closer by morning.
Seeing how relaxed he looked, she declined to even suggest it. She doubted he’d agree anyway. He appeared to doze, and her stare lingered.
He certainly was a fine specimen of a man, she had to admit. Lean belly. Chest darkened with just the right amount of hair. Thick, corded muscle that rippled over his shoulders and biceps every time he moved.
A man, through and through.
Heat curled in some deep, hidden part of her, the womanly part Ramon had all but destroyed. The feeling was unfamiliar but not offensive. Perhaps merely a fascination.
An ache.
Her heart pumped a little faster. It frightened her some, if that’s what it was. An ache for what she’d never had before. For what she’d never allowed herself. She wasn’t sure how she should respond—tolerate or ignore it—but one thing she knew for sure.
Jeb Carson was responsible.
Let the shell you’ve built around yourself crack open, will you?
His words plopped into her memory like cream into chocolate. Perhaps her protective shell had begun to crack, after all, and she had no idea if she should shore it up again.
“You okay, Elena?”
Jeb’s words startled her, and she looked away. Had he noticed she was staring at him?
“Of course.” She swung her head, feigned concentration on a pair of green-feathered kingfishers playing on a branch of the cottonwood. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’re looking mighty serious.”
“I didn’t mean to be.”
“You bored?”
She shrugged. “No. Restless, maybe.”
He rolled to his side, propped himself up on an elbow. His chest seemed even broader this way. More powerful.
The heat inside her curled hotter.
“Know how to play poker?” he asked. “We could go a few rounds, then you won’t be restless anymore.”
“If you want.” Pop had taught her all sorts of games over the years. She could hold her own in most.
“I have a better idea.”
She rested her chin on her drawn-up knees. “What is it?”
“I want to see you perform.”
Her head came up again in surprise. “Trick riding?”
His mouth curved. “I can think of a number of ways you could…perform for me, but trick riding was what I meant.”
She blinked. His comment threw her off-kilter. Was he teasing her?
“Sorry. You’re not used to a man flirting with you, are you?”
He didn’t look sorry. She huffed a breath. “That was flirting?”
“Best get used to it, Elena. I intend to teach you the ways a man can talk to a woman. Flirting and otherwise.”
She eyed him with grave suspicion. “Why?”
“You might like it.”
Her brow arched. Would she? Ever?
“So do some tricks for me,” he said, grinning at her.
“Jeb.” Elena could barely hide her exasperation. “It’s almost dark.”
“I can see you fine. But you’d better hurry while I still can.”
“My horse is bedded down for the night. It’s silly to undo the work we just did.”
“Not silly at all.”
“And I don’t have a costume. My skirt will get in the way.”
He made a vague gesture. “Tie it between your knees or something.” He rolled to his feet and stepped over the dirty dishes. “While you’re doing that, I’ll saddle your horse.�
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Elena had run out of excuses. She sighed and got to her feet.
Elena sat straight in the saddle, her body loose and relaxed, and waited for the mare to hit her stride. The ground was flat, with no obstructions. Plenty of room to move around. She didn’t have much daylight left, but she had enough to give Jeb a pretty good idea of what she could do.
Knowing he watched from the fringes of camp added a layer of nervousness to the adrenaline building inside her. She’d performed in front of hundreds of people at a time, too many times to count. Why did having an audience of one man make her as jittery as a june bug?
She decided to perform her newest routine for him. One of Pop’s favorites. Fast and exhilarating, the stunt included a half-dozen tricks strung together into a tight package of vaults, spins and scissors that always left her—and the spectators—breathless.
When the mare was ready, Elena began the combination with a single vault. She lifted her right leg over the saddle horn and kicked free of the stirrup. Hanging on to the horn, she tucked her feet for the drop and hit the ground with a jump. The springing motion propelled her upward through the air; she twisted her body and landed back in the saddle seconds later, then threw her right leg over the horn again and spun in the saddle to a backward position. She grasped the handholds specially built for her saddle, dove headfirst over the horse’s tail, kicked her legs high and straight into the air, then held the stand for a count of five before she swung her legs down and straddled the rump again.
In the next breath, she swung her legs high, crossed them and spun around to land forward. A quick move back into the saddle and she slid into the next trick of the routine, a horn spin where she swung around the saddle horn in one continuous pivot that brought her facing the front again.
She saved the most difficult routine for last—a neck scissors. Riding backward, she hung on to the horn with both hands, swung her feet up and twisted to bring her left leg up high enough over the neck, while at the same time lifting her right one up and over, then raising herself again to a sitting forward position. She ended with a second vault, just like the first.
The mare galloped toward Jeb, then slowed to a stop. Elena jumped to the ground, raised her arm with a flourish and sank into a low bow.