But last night Myra wouldn’t give up. She had cornered Jessica in her room and argued, “I don’t know, nor do I want to know, what happened between you two, but I do know Rory has been equally hurt, Jessica. He loves you and you’ve shut him out entirely.”
Jessica remembered picking up her hairbrush and brushing her hair while Myra paced the room. “All right. If you must know, I’m upset because he knew exactly where a huge saurian skeleton was located and didn’t trust me enough to tell me. And you say he’s hurt?” She laid down the brush and faced her friend squarely. “That is nothing compared to what I’m feeling right now.”
“And what is that?”
“Betrayed.”
“He must have had good reason for keeping it from you. Up until now he’s seemed more than willing to help. What about the tracks he led you to?”
“An offering to keep me occupied.”
“Surely—”
“I just can’t discuss this, Myra. Please.”
“I suppose you have a right to decide how you want to deal with this. Exactly where do we go from here?”
Jessica knew Myra had every right to ask. Days were slipping by rapidly while she took the coward’s way out. She tried to tell herself it was because she needed time to recover from the shocking events she had witnessed. The real truth was not as easy to face; she had made love with Rory Burnett, not once, but twice, because she thought he loved her. He still professed to love her.
And yet he’d kept from her the very thing she needed most.
This morning, before she walked to the top of the knoll, she had told Myra, “I’ve come to the conclusion that there is nothing left to do but go back. I can’t work with my injuries, and when Ramsey and Beckworth learn about this latest fiasco, they’re certain to withdraw their support and appoint someone who can stay out of trouble.”
Someone who won’t be taken in and fall in love with the first person they meet.
“They’ll send a man to do the job.”
Myra crossed the room and sat on the bed. “You can tell me anything you please, but I know you still love Rory—”
“Things have happened that I can’t put aside, Myra.”
The older woman stood up and sighed. “I’m trying to remember that the universe is in command of this situation, not me.” She took Jessica’s hands in her own. “Let me know if you change your mind. You know I’ll abide by your decision.”
A thought had struck Jessica just then, one that she never thought to ask her friend before. “Is there any reason you don’t want to leave here, Myra? Have you . . . are you . . . I know Woody Barrows has been courting you—”
“Oh, good heavens!” Myra colored deeply and shook her head. “I’m no more smitten with Mr. Barrows than I am with that Livermore creature in red underwear masquerading as a cook. Oh, my goodness, no. There’s nothing holding me here. When you say the word, I’ll be ready to leave.”
Now, as Jessica watched the sky deepen to a dark blue, she wondered if she could actually leave without seeing Rory at all. Even now, after he had betrayed her by not showing her the skeleton and giving her the chance to decide what to do about it, she didn’t know if she could bear to face him and tell him good-bye.
What her mind wanted and what her heart felt were two distinctly different matters.
He had stopped trying to see her days ago. Since then, she never caught as much as a glimpse of him through the window, nor had she heard his voice in the hallway or parlor. Rory Burnett was avoiding her completely, just the way he had before the Fourth of July celebration.
With a last look across the plateau, she stepped away from the boulder and began to cross the knoll. When she reached the crooked fence around the graves, she leaned out to grasp the rusted iron and stared down at the freshest mound of earth that marked Whitey’s grave.
“Good-bye, Whitey,” she whispered, and then, lifting the fabric of the bulky gown, she started back down the hill.
JUBILANT FOR THE first time in days, Rory slammed the screen door and stepped into Scratchy’s kitchen. The house reeked of boiled cabbage. Crossing to the stove, he lifted the lid of a deep pot, and sure enough, bubbling away was one of the old man’s favorite concoctions—red cabbage and boiled beef. “Smells ripe, Scratchy,” he said with a smile.
Rubbing his patchy beard with four fingers, Scratchy asked, “What’s lit your lamp? You were lower than a diamondback ’fore you left.”
“Life’s good, Scratchy. That’s all. Life’s real good.”
He tore a hunk of bread off of a loaf cooling on the tabletop. Rory left the room, walked through the hallway, and stopped outside Jessica’s door. He didn’t knock, not when he knew damn well she’d deny him access. Instead he opened the door, found her standing beside the bed in the long black gown she’d worn to Whitey’s funeral, and was two steps inside before he realized what she was doing.
“You’re packing?”
Jessica painstakingly finished folding the yellow dress he’d given her and placed it in the open valise on the bed. Although she hadn’t yet looked in his direction, she could sense his slowly mounting anger.
Finally she turned to him, but didn’t dare move closer. “I’ll ship your valise back when I get home.”
“You might as well unpack, because you’re not going anywhere,” he said, taken by the contrast of her light hair and eyes and the heavy blackness of the gown.
His dark eyes bored into hers as if he dared her to try to get by him. She shifted, reached out, and took hold of the oak bedpost. “You can’t force me to stay.”
He crossed the room until he was standing just inches away. Reaching up, he took off his hat and tossed it on the bed. He wiped his forehead with his red plaid sleeve and shoved his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. “Do you love me?”
“Rory, please, I—”
He smelled of the fine layer of dust on his clothes, of horses, of the outdoors. He loomed over her, pinned her with his eyes. One of his hands gripped the bedpost just above her own, but he didn’t touch her.
“Do you, Jess?”
“I can’t . . . ”
“Can’t say it? Or can’t love me? Are you saying you’ll never forgive me for holding to a promise I made years ago? Are you saying that it’s all right for you to stand by your word, but it’s not all right for me to do the same? Is that what you’re saying, Jess?”
All the hurt and anger she thought she’d locked deep inside suddenly erupted. Her fingertips pressed against the bedpost until her knuckles went as white as her face. “You lied to me!” she cried, unable to hold back any longer, furious at him for unleashing her emotion.
He kept his voice low, calm. Thankful to have finally penetrated her shell, he said, “I never lied, Jess. I just didn’t tell you something I was bound not to tell you.”
She pushed off the post and stepped back. “You said you loved me and I believed you. What am I supposed to think now? That you loved me just a little? That you loved me enough to use me, but not to trust me with your secret?”
He went after her, grabbed her good arm, and held on tight to keep her from moving farther away. “I used you! I seem to recall you being quite willing to use me just to satisfy your own curiosity.”
She flinched. “How can you say that?”
“It’s true.”
“It is not true.” She jerked her wrist out of his hold, turned, and paced to the window.
He followed close on her heels, started to reach out to her, and dropped his hand. He wasn’t going to give up until she admitted what he knew to be true. He lowered his voice again and said, “Then tell me you love me.”
She dropped her head and covered her eyes with her hand. “Stop badgering me!”
“I just want the truth, Jess.”
She whirled around.
“You know I love you. And because I let myself love you, you’ve taken everything—my work, my trust, my heart.” Broken, she stared up at him through tears, daring him to deny it. “What am I supposed to do now?”
“I didn’t take any more than you were willing to give, and no more than I wanted to give you in return.” Unable to let her stand away from him, he reached out and tried to pull her into his arms.
She fought him as hard as she could while protecting her injured shoulder. All the while, he continued to hold her—held her without hurting her, held her to keep her from retreating into herself and shutting him out forever. When she realized her efforts were fruitless, she quieted. He stroked her back, soothed and calmed her, measured the beat of her racing heart as it pressed against his own.
“Say it again,” he whispered against her hair.
Defeated, unable to stand against his tender onslaught, she looked up at him through tears and whispered back, “I love you.”
His relief was so great that he sighed and pulled her closer. With his cheek against the top of her head, he smiled. He felt her hand brush against his back and settle on his waist. The movement was grudgingly given, he could tell, but given just the same.
“What now, Jess?” he asked her. “Where do we go from here?”
He barely heard her whisper, “I don’t know.”
Rory took her hand and pulled her over to the bed. The mattress sagged when he sat on the edge and drew her down beside him. He threw an arm over her shoulder and held her against his side hip to hip, thigh to thigh. They sat staring at the window across the room, aware and at the same time not aware of the men and horses, the dust and dry wind moving beyond the rippled glass.
Finally he said, “I can’t let you go, Jess. I can’t make it without you, you know that.”
“And if I stay?”
“We’ll be married.”
She sighed.
He tightened his hold on her shoulder. “I’ll work like the devil to make you happy.”
“What about my own work? What will become of me without it? Even though I love you, I still can’t imagine myself as a rancher’s wife.”
He held her close with one arm and laid his hand on her thigh. “You won’t be just any rancher’s wife, you’ll be mine. I think we can find enough to keep you busy.”
She threw him a doubtful look. “We can’t do that every minute,” she mumbled.
With a laugh he responded, “Why couldn’t you continue to work from here?”
“What do you mean?”
“What’s to stop you from searching for saurian fossils, prehistoric leftovers? You’ll always be a paleontologist, your knowledge is one thing no one can take away from you. What does it matter where you live?”
“I couldn’t work for the museum—”
He could tell by her tone that she was mulling over his idea. “There are plenty of men like Beckworth out there, rich men willing to fund you even if you worked independent of the museum. Do you think a man like that really cares where a paleontologist hails from as long as she’s successful?”
“I guess not, but—”
He pressed the point. “I met the man, remember? He didn’t strike me as loyal, just eager to get his hands on what he wanted. After all, he was ready to fire you when it seemed you were on the wrong track.”
“I suppose I could still obtain the necessary permits to search government land once I’ve exhausted the search here on the ranch. And your neighbors might not object to me going over their land, either.” She looked at him for the first time. “But how would you feel about me digging up the place? You told me once that you didn’t want a circus here, that you were afraid the Silver Sage would be overrun with scientists and curiosity seekers like the cliff dwellings. If I found another skeleton, I’d have to call in a team—it could take weeks of excavation. The news would leak out.”
“If you’re willing to marry me, I’m willing to put up with a few more bone hunters around here. Besides”—he leaned down, unable to ignore her pouting lips any longer—“if you’ll marry me, I’ll buy you a whole damn circus tent and charge admission if you want it.”
“Really?” She couldn’t take her eyes off his mouth as he bent closer.
“Really.” Unable to resist any longer, he pressed his lips to hers and found them warm and willing. Enfolding her in his embrace, Rory pressed her back against the pillow and headboard, relief and thanksgiving in his kiss. Tenderly he held her and traced her lips with his tongue until she opened to him. When the kiss ended, she sighed softly, then kissed him again.
The sound of a soft footstep in the hallway drew them back to reality. Rory sat up and looked around in time to see Myra standing on the threshold, a stern expression on her face.
“Sometimes,” she said, drawing herself up as far as her short stature would allow and thrusting out her substantial bosom, “the universe needs a champion! I have let things run their own course for far too long.” She stepped into the room, advancing on the two of them with a suspicious frown on her face. “Exactly what is going on here? Maybe the two of you have taken leave of your senses, but I have not. It is broad daylight and you have not even deigned to close the door. Jessica Stanbridge, I am nearly at the end of my tether with you. One moment you profess to love Rory, the next you feel betrayed.
“And you”—she rounded on Rory, who was helping Jessica to an upright position—”I have listened to your excuses once too often. Young man, are you trying to compromise her beyond all reason?” By the time she finished her tirade, Myra was trembling in her high-button shoes.
Rory started to defend himself when a slow, curious thumping began in the hallway. The three occupants of the room watched as Methuselah slowly but surely worked his way into the bedroom, bumping against the door as he turned the corner. Rory bit back a smile. He glanced at Jess and found her trying to gain some composure. Her lips looked too well kissed to deny what Myra had seen anyway.
“I plan on compromising her for the rest of her life, Myra.” Rory took Jessica’s hand. “She’s finally agreed to marry me.”
Myra looked from one to the other, smoothed her skirt, tidied her hair, and then cleared her throat as Methuselah ever so slowly disappeared beneath the bed. Undaunted by the sudden news, Myra raised her forefinger and pronounced, “Once again the universe has successfully accomplished its plan unaided. I should have had more faith.” With that, she turned to leave, but not before pausing in the doorway. “I will inquire as to the details of how this outstanding decision was made and exactly when you will carry this plan to its conclusion, but for now I intend to wait until you have extricated yourselves from this most disturbing tableau.” Head high, she left them to ponder her words.
“What did she just say?” Rory asked.
“She said you need to get off me.”
He frowned. “You have no excuses left, Jess. Have you changed your mind?”
Jessica shook her head. “I am not a fickle female, Mr. Burnett. Surely you know that by now?”
“I didn’t think so.” He stood and pulled her up after him. “Now, before Myra comes storming back in here, let’s ‘extricate ourselves from this disturbing tableau.’” With her hand in his, he headed for the door.
Chapter Twenty-three
MILES FROM NOWHERE, Jessica Stanbridge Burnett sat atop the high-sprung seat of a buckboard and held tight while the wagon creaked its way across a sage-and-rock-strewn plateau. Time and again she glanced over at her husband and grew more frustrated with every passing second.
A wreath of rosebuds and wildflowers rode askew atop her head. Her hair, neatly twisted into a thick topknot a few hours ago, had begun to unravel. Her long stray locks were lifted by a breeze so hot it felt like an oven.
She could feel a drop of sweat slide between her breasts, but the high starched col
lar of the exquisite lace gown she wore prevented her from reaching down to wipe it away. Instead she pressed the neckline of the gown against her skin and let the sweat soak into the white lace. Her fingertips swept across the newly strung necklace Rory had presented to her before the ceremony. She was touched to think he had known how much they meant to her, known her so well that he had sent one of the men back to the campsite on the mesa to gather up as many beads as he could find.
She watched Rory expertly guide the team of draft horses. What was he up to?
“Where are we going?” Although she had already asked at least ten times, Jessica remained ever hopeful that he would finally let her in on his secret.
“You’ll see.” He nodded at the road ahead.
Jessica sighed. She stared at the broad rumps of the huge horses carrying them to some mysterious destination.
“You might have at least given me time to change,” she said.
He shot her a dark glance, his ebony eyes reflecting the black hat he’d pulled low on his forehead. “I plan on being the one to take your wedding gown off you on our wedding night, Mrs. Burnett.”
Jessica folded her arms in defiance. The wagon jolted and she was forced to grab the seat again. “By the time we get wherever it is we’re going, I’ll be covered with dust.”
“It won’t matter.” He smiled. “Clean or dirty, you’re beautiful.”
She blushed furiously and smacked him on the shoulder. “We left everyone standing there in the parlor waiting to celebrate.”
“We’ll have our own celebration.”
“But—” She would never forget the looks on Myra and the cowhands’ faces when the brief ceremony performed by a traveling minister ended and Rory took her by the arm and led her away.
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