* * *
For a split second Hannah had the urge to say “thank you.” The urge passed quickly. She had surely misunderstood his convoluted line of thinking.
When she lifted her head she saw a strand of red hair that fell over one eye, and that traitor Bertie following at a safe distance, carrying Hannah’s cane and the tapestry bag she’d dropped, the gray hat that had fallen from Hannah’s head, and her own bag. It was quite a load for someone as petite as Bertie.
“Put me down,” she demanded once again, her voice lower than before.
“Nope,” Rourke answered. “Where you go, Bertie goes, and I’d hate to see that sweet thing devoured by a coyote.”
So he was enamored of Bertie. Why was she surprised?
“Now if it was just you...”
He really didn’t need to continue.
“I’d be more worried about the coyote.” There was a touch of humor in his grating voice.
“What if I promise to stay with the rest of you?” she said, surrendering. What choice did she have? She sighed. “Besides, I can’t see the road any longer, so I’d likely get lost, and I’m getting a terrible headache.”
The big man stopped. “Promise?” he asked.
She didn’t like the teasing lilt in his voice, and one day... somehow... she was going to make him pay for this.
“Promise,” she said softly.
He placed her on her feet so quickly her head spun. The entire world spun, for a moment. Once neatly contained strands of soft, dark red hair settled in disarray around her face as she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Oh, yes, the man was going to pay.
“I’ll take those,” she heard him say, his humor bright.
When she opened her eyes he was gone, striding purposefully in the direction of the distant gathering of rocks that he seemed to think would be safe for the night. The tail of that buckskin coat danced around his long legs in a strangely entrancing sort of rhythm. His saddlebags were thrown casually and comfortably over his shoulder, there where she’d hung without dignity only a moment earlier. Bertie was there to offer low words of comfort, as the gambler and Irene silently followed Mr. Rourke.
Hannah took her cane and bag and ruined hat from Bertie, as Mrs. Reynolds laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s for the best, dear,” she said softly. “We really should stay together, and Mr. Rourke seems to know the area well.”
“Yes, yes,” Hannah muttered impatiently as she fell into step a short distance behind Irene, her eyes shooting daggers into Rourke’s broad back. He’d humiliated her, treated her with disrespect, and taken advantage of the fact that he was physically superior. Cretin.
They hadn’t gone far before she began to sweat. Her tapestry bag wasn’t terribly heavy, but she was unaccustomed to walking long distances, and the skirt she wore was really too narrow for such an exercise. The jacket was much too warm and snug, and for a brief time she actually envied Rourke’s open-necked shirt and Irene’s inappropriate traveling dress.
An exasperated sigh from the rear made her turn her head. Mrs. Reynolds was having a terrible time with her baggage. Poor woman, she struggled with her two bags, and her face had turned quite red with the exertion.
“Let me help you,” Hannah insisted, placing her bag on the ground and turning to face Mrs. Reynolds. “Goodness, why did you bring so much?” she asked as she took the largest bag.
Obviously relieved to hand over the burden, Mrs. Reynolds said breathlessly, “I couldn’t leave behind the quilt I made for my granddaughter, and there are muffins and sweet breads and apples in this bag. I brought them for my son, but I thought we might need them this evening.”
Hannah forced a smile, “How very thoughtful of you, Mrs. Reynolds.” She slapped her useless hat on her head, giving her one less thing to carry, and handed over the cane. “If you’ll carry this for me, I think I can manage your bags and mine.”
“Oh, it’s too much,” Mrs. Reynolds protested.
“Nonsense,” Hannah said sharply. “We can’t have you falling behind.” A glance over her shoulder showed her that they had already fallen behind. Jed Rourke strode forward purposefully, while Wyndham, the driver, and Irene struggled to stay close behind him. “Bertie, you go ahead,” Hannah said, and the order was quickly obeyed. Bertie didn’t want to get too far away from their self-appointed leader either, it seemed. “Mrs. Reynolds and I will bring up the rear.”
With the hat on her head and the cane in Mrs. Reynolds’s hand, Hannah was able to balance the three bags. She managed to hold the grips of the two smaller bags in her right hand and carried the larger bag in her left.
“There now,” she said as she stepped forward, “isn’t that better?”
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Reynolds said as she kept pace. “Those bags are quite heavy for an old woman like me. I was afraid I’d lag too far behind and get lost.”
The bags were quite heavy for a younger woman like herself, Hannah thought silently, her eyes on Jed Rourke’s back. With every long stride he moved further and further away. If he insisted on keeping them all together, why didn’t he at least look back to make sure everyone was keeping up? If she could get to the road on her own... A quick glance over her shoulder to the barren, desolate landscape, showed no sign of the road. Damnation.
“You’re very kind,” Mrs. Reynolds said softly. “When I catch my breath I’ll take back those bags.”
Kind? “You most certainly will not. We can’t have you hurting yourself, Mrs. Reynolds,” Hannah said sharply. “I can carry the bags, but I’d hardly be able to carry you.” Her arms ached, already, and there was still quite a long way to go.
If she thought about her predicament too much, she’d stop right here and drop everything. She did not carry her own baggage, she did not trek through the wilderness like a lost porter, and she most certainly did not follow cruel mountain men into the wastelands.
But stopping was not an option; she knew that. So she kept her eyes on Jed Rourke’s back and planned her revenge.
Hours with her father, and hours alone after his death, had been spent reading. Hannah read everything, novels, pamphlets, history. But her favorite reading material was tales of travel around the world. She loved reading about distant cultures she would never experience, enchanting places she would never see. There was such diversity on this planet!
Her eyes remained steadily fixed on Jed Rourke’s back. The Orientals, in particular, practiced inventive means of torture. Most common was the cangue, which was akin to a portable pillory. As long as the cangue is worn, the offending party cannot feed himself, and if not for kind passersby the criminal will starve. Then there’s finger squeezing, and ankle squeezing, and the ever-popular whipping with bamboo. Of course, she doubted there was any bamboo growing in this part of Texas....
“Miss Winters?” Mrs. Reynolds said softly, and Hannah was jerked from her reverie.
“Yes?”
“Is everything all right? Perhaps you should stop and rest for a few minutes.”
If she stopped she’d never get started again. “I’m fine.”
“But... why are you smiling?”
* * *
They were making good time. If he remembered correctly, and if the rains had been sufficient, there was a small lake in the hills ahead. That, together with the jerky he had in his saddlebags, would tide them over until they arrived in Rock Creek tomorrow.
Behind him he heard the strained huffing and puffing of his fellow travelers. He kept expecting to hear Miss Winters’s strident voice rising above the grunting, perhaps as she called him cretin or barbarian or bully again. Jed smiled.
“Hey, mister,” the driver said, his voice gruff and winded. “Maybe we ought to stop and wait for the others.”
Jed’s smile died. Someone had fallen behind, and damnation he didn’t have time to mollycoddle stragglers!
He turned around with a muttered curse and took a quick headcount. Wyndham and the driver were close behind him, and the two you
ng girls stuck close together just a few paces behind them. It was a red head and a gray one that bobbed in the distance.
Hell, he should’ve known. “Miss Winters!” he shouted, placing his hands on his hips. “If you don’t mind!”
Instead of hurrying forward, she stopped in her tracks. Cantankerous woman. He was so intent on that untidy red hair, it took him a moment to realize that she carried three bags and Mrs. Reynolds carried only the cane.
Jed sighed tiredly and cursed beneath his breath as he tossed his saddlebags to the gambler. The portly man almost buckled under the weight, but Jed paid him no mind as he backtracked to the spot where Miss Winters and Mrs. Reynolds stood.
The little hat looked ridiculous, sitting cockeyed on her mussed hair. The feather danced in the wind, and so did the silky strands of hair that fell around Miss Winters’s face. He half expected the women to start walking forward, to meet him halfway, but they stood their ground.
Hannah Winters had a pleasant, if ordinary, face, but at the moment there was something quite extraordinary about it; the color in her cheeks perhaps, or the angry flash of her eyes.
“Drop those bags,” he said when he was close enough for conversation.
“I will not,” she said breathlessly. “Mrs. Reynolds wants these...”
“Drop the bags!” he shouted, and she did.
“There’s no need to bellow like a wounded animal, Mr. Rourke,” Miss Winters said frostily. Her hair had fallen in disarray, her silly hat sat crooked, and she wore almost as much dust as he did. So how did she manage to maintain that annoying air of dignity?
He nodded to the cane Mrs. Reynolds leaned heavily on. “You don’t need that?” he asked, his eyes steady on Miss Winters’s flushed face. If he wasn’t mistaken, she was a bit flustered by the question.
“Well, no, I don’t actually require the cane anymore. When I sprained my ankle I found it quite useful, and I suppose I...”
She didn’t have even a hint of a limp, no hitch in her step. “When was it, exactly, that you sprained your ankle?” he interrupted.
“I don’t see what difference that makes,” she answered, nose in the air.
“Just wondering if I might have to carry you awhile longer,” he said in a low voice.
This time he was certain she blushed.
“You will keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Rourke.”
“When was it, exactly?” he repeated.
“Two years ago,” she admitted in a low voice.
Jed smiled widely. “Liked the feel of something solid in your hands, didn’t you Miss Winters? Yep, I’d guess you liked having something handy to whack young bandits, impudent whippersnappers, and cretins with.”
She pursed her lips. “Are we going to stand here until dark, Mr. Rourke? I’ve enjoyed our little conversation, and I must admit I needed the break, but I suggest we keep moving.” She bent to retrieve the bags.
“Drop them,” Jed muttered before she could stand.
She straightened with fire in her eyes and more strength than he’d expected in her stance. She was ready for battle. “I will not abandon my things or Mrs. Reynolds’s belongings in the middle of nowhere. If we move too slowly for you, if you don’t care to wait for us stragglers, by all means leave us behind.”
The fire in her eyes challenged him to do just that. He fought back a smile.
“Believe it or not, Miss Winters, I came to help.” He stepped forward and she stepped back. With ease, he scooped the three bags off the ground. One small bag was tucked under his arm, and he grasped a leather grip in each hand.
Mrs. Reynolds, who had been quiet to this point, stepped forward. “Oh, how kind of you, Mr. Rourke.” She turned to Miss Winters. “Isn’t he just so gallant?”
Jed started walking toward the others.
“Well,” Miss Winters said to his back, her voice clipped and cool, “There might have been a gentlemen among his ancestors.”
Since Jed was sure Miss Winters couldn’t see his face, he smiled.
“But it’s too early to be certain,” she finished softly.
Chapter 3
Considering the circumstances, the place Rourke had chosen to set up camp for the night was adequate.
A large grouping of boulders sheltered their party from the wind that had grown cold the minute the sun set. A small pond of clear water was located not far from camp. And while the ground was rocky and hard, it was blessedly flat. Mr. Wyndham had, at Rourke’s insistence, gathered wood for a fire. Mrs. Reynolds had passed around the sweets and fruit she’d packed for her son, and the six of them had shared a surprisingly pleasant meal of dried meat, muffins, apples, and water from a shared tin cup.
Hannah had been the only one to wipe the rim of that cup before putting it to her mouth, but then she’d had the misfortune to find herself seated next to Jed Rourke, and the cup she cleaned had come straight from his lips.
His response had been to laugh. Briefly and only once.
The rest of the party slept, curled up on and beneath clothing and blankets, all on a bed of hard, cold rock. Bertie and Irene lay side by side, warming each other with their closeness. The two girls had whispered for a few minutes after retiring, and then they’d fallen into a deep sleep. Mrs. Reynolds slept near the girls, where a layer of cushioning clothing had been laid out for Hannah to sleep on. Hannah wasn’t sleepy yet, not at all.
Virgil Wyndham, curled up like a small child, slept a good distance from the ladies, his back to the fire. The stagecoach driver snored alongside him.
Jed Rourke sat with his back to a boulder, his long legs stretched before him, his eyes on the dying fire. He had discarded his filthy hat shortly after sunset, revealing a longish, tangled mass of waving pale hair.
He was an irritating man, an unmannered bully, but Hannah had to admit, just to herself, that he was also a fine specimen of manhood unlike any she’d ever known. There was incredible strength in every inch of his tall body, unexpected grace in every move he made. Yes, he was uncivilized and brutish, but he was also an admirable example of the Western male.
“In case I forgot to mention it,” he said in a soft voice. He didn’t even turn his head to look at her. “You did good today.”
“What?” she said, taking a single step toward him. “I believe you said I was a harridan and a troublemaker, and that if not for me we’d be in Rock Creek by now.”
He turned his head and grinned at her. “Well, that’s true, too. But in all the excitement you didn’t panic and you didn’t cry. You’ve got gumption, Hannah Winters. I like that in a woman.”
She lifted her chin haughtily. “It was not my intention to impress you.”
He shook his head. “Can’t you just say thank you like a normal woman?”
There were a thousand suitable responses to that suggestion. How did a creature such as Jed Rourke know what was normal and what was not? Why on earth would she care what he, or anyone, thought of her? Instead she found herself uttering a quick, low, “Thank you.”
He leaned his head back against the rock, closed his eyes, and grinned. “See? That didn’t hurt at all, did it?”
Hannah turned her back on the infuriating man and continued to pace.
“If you’re not going to go to sleep, then at least sit down,” Rourke ordered in a low voice. “You’re making me dizzy.”
“I can’t sit down,” she whispered, not wanting to bother the others. “And I don’t think I’ll get any sleep tonight. I’m too... too...”
“Wound up,” Rourke finished for her. “Everything that happened is flashing through your brain again and again until you’re sure your mind will never be still.”
“Yes,” she said softly.
He patted the ground beside him. “Then come over here and tell me why a lady like you is headed to Rock Creek. I need to stay awake anyway. You can keep me company until your mind slows down.” He turned his head to look at her. “It will, you know. Just takes some time.”
Rourke sounded as
if he knew what this turmoil was like, as if he’d felt just this way before. But he was so calm, so... complacent.
Moving from a standing position to a sitting one and maintaining any modesty was a task in her slim-skirted traveling outfit, but with Rourke’s offered hand she managed the feat quite well. She sat beside him, and after only a moment’s hesitation she rested her back against the cold stone of the boulder at her back.
“They call this place Wishing Rock,” Rourke said, lifting a hand to point to the tall column that rose majestically to her right. “There are caves back in there,” he added. “If it was raining or too cold, we could’ve taken shelter there, but...”
“But what, Mr. Rourke?”
“Ever been lost in a cave, Miss Winters?” he asked gruffly. “There’s no telling how far back or how deep underground those caves go. I prefer to be out here, where I can see the stars overhead and feel the fresh air on my face.”
“I don’t think I’d like sleeping in a cave much, myself,” she admitted. “I imagine it’s quite dark.”
“Quite,” he agreed.
She studied the lifeless, cold rock formations that surrounded them. “Why Wishing Rock?”
He pointed past her, his arm coming close to her face. “See that tallest rock over there? The one shaped like a woman?”
She did.
“Touch the rock and make a wish, they say, and it will come true.”
“How quaint.”
“Not so quaint,” he rumbled. “Legend has it the wish comes true, but with a twist. Wish for love and get obsession. Wish for revenge and the bullet that finds the heart of your enemy will also find the heart of your beloved. Wish for gold and you’ll find it but never live to spend it.”
“I don’t believe in such nonsense,” she said rationally.
“Neither do I,” Rourke said lowly, “but I steer clear of that rock. Just in case.”
Hannah looked at the rock shaped like a woman, Wishing Rock, and wondered what she would ask for if she were given the opportunity. And what would she be willing to give up to make that wish come true?
Jed (The Rock Creek Six Book 4) Page 3