Follow The Wind

by Janelle Taylor

  It was hard for the half-breed to believe he could touch anyone—and especially a woman like Jessie—so deeply. People had always taken from him, never given to him or shared with him. Yet, all she wanted from him was him. She didn’t care who or what he was. It stunned him that she wanted him so badly, that she liked him and trusted him, that she was honest and open and brave enough to claim what she desired.

  The mild discomfort passed quickly for Jessie. Each time Navarro moved within her, it was sheer bliss. What a wonderful part of love this was, she decided dreamily. How beautiful and special to have their bodies joined as one, to have such powerful feelings racing through both of them, to discover such joy together. There was no way to fully share oneself with another except through lovemaking.

  Their breaths mingled as their mouths worked as one. Their hearts pounded in unison. Their caresses teased and pleased at the same time. Their responses simultaneously thrilled and inspired. A bond was forged; she belonged to him and he belonged to her. Whatever happened in the future, nothing could take away the beauty and unity of this night.

  Upward they climbed, seeking something Jessie could only wonder at. Skyward they urged themselves, growing breathless at the dizzying heights of. their passion. And then together they reached a moment of ecstasy that made Jessie cry out with sheer pleasure. Navarro held her tightly, never wanting to let her go as they cuddled in sated tranquility.

  “Jessie?” he finally murmured when his breathing was under control again.

  “Yes?” she replied in the darkness.

  “Are you…all right?”

  Jessie smiled in joy. “More than all right, Navarro, the best.” She heard him sigh in relief and felt him relax. She nestled into his beckoning embrace and rested her head on his shoulder. They were both damp from their exertions, but she didn’t care. She liked the way his arms banded about her possessively and the way his fingers trailed over her moist flesh. She liked it even more when his hand grasped her chin and turned it to seal their lips. He seemed so happy and giving at this moment.

  Jessie was right: Navarro had never felt better or freer than he did lying next to her and loving her. For tonight, he told himself, reality didn’t exist, only this beautiful dream with Jessica Lane did. He closed his eyes.

  As they drifted off to sleep, locked in each other’s arms on the bunk, Jessie recalled the scars she had felt on his back during the heat of their passion. She had seen and felt Jimmy Joe’s scars from beatings by his abusive father. She knew they were lash marks. She wondered who had dared to put them there. Someone had overpowered this strong and proud man, then whipped him brutally. Her mind was flooded with questions: Why? Where? When? Had Navarro killed him, or them? Did that cruel incident have anything to do with the obstacle between them? Did it have anything to do with his bitterness, wariness, and restlessness? Or were those feelings much older than the raised scars? They must have been the reason why he had undressed in the dark—not from modesty or a fear of alarming her with his nakedness. He hadn’t wanted her to see them and question him. Jessie warned herself not to probe him about the scars or his past. That might drive him away. In time, hopefully he would trust her with the truth. If not…

  Chapter Six

  Navarro awakened first and eased from Jessie’s arms and the cozy bunk they had shared last night. The creak of the door only caused the redhead to sigh and roll to her side facing him. He slipped away to bathe and dress in privacy. When he finished, he sat in the open doorway to await her stirring. The troubled man leaned his dark head against the rough wood and worried about what Jessie would expect of him after their closeness.

  She had said one night was enough for her, but would it be? Did he want her to feel that way? No. Would one night be enough to last him forever? How could it, when he craved her fiercely again this minute?

  Navarro wanted so much more with her and from her, but that was impossible. What, he scoffed, did Navarro Breed have to offer Miss Jessica Lane? Nothing but a lot of heartache. On the run, he couldn’t even offer himself, as if a half-breed bastard was anything for a woman like her to desire! He told himself that he should have kept his distance, done her job, taken his payment, and left. He shouldn’t have allowed this complication to happen. He shouldn’t have birthed false hopes in her or opened himself up for more torment. That’s what deserting and losing her would be: utter torment.

  Navarro glanced at the slumbering woman who had touched his heart and life as no other person ever had. Shu, she had his guts tied up in knots and his head dazed! He had never been one to think of the future. He had lived for the present, just surviving day to day, until Jessica Lane was thrown into his path.

  The desperado told himself he was a fool, a silly dreamer on loco weed! Hadn’t the Apaches who had partly reared him said never to go against overwhelming odds? Yes, his heart admitted, unless the prize was worth the dangers. Yet, he couldn’t abduct her and flee to safety farther east. Even if Jessie was willing to give up her family and world to escape with him—which she surely wouldn’t if she learned the grim truth about him—he couldn’t allow her to do so. He wasn’t the simple drifter she assumed him to be, and she would be endangered.

  Jessie had him thinking and feeling and behaving crazy! Wife, home, family, love, and future—they hadn’t entered his mind and tempted…no, tormented him before their paths crossed a week ago. Why, he demanded, did he crave those things now when it was too late? He would have to leave her soon, and in silence, but not until she was safe.

  Through a fringe of thick lashes that were barely parted, Jessie observed the man in the doorway, as she had been doing since he sneaked from her side. She guessed he had crept from the bunk for the same reason he had made love in the dark: his scars. She had feigned sleep to give him time to dress and think, to accept this sudden change in his life. He looked so wracked by confusion and anguish, so vulnerable. Such feelings had to be new and hard for a man like him to accept.

  Let him adjust on his own, Jess. No questions or pressures. Don’t make him skittish or defensive. You don’t want him to panic and run. Let him come to you when it’s right for him.

  Jessie stretched and made throaty noises to alert Navarro to her wakefulness. She sat up, holding a light blanket over her bare breasts. She smiled at him and said, “Good morning. I’m as sluggish as a desert tortoise today. You starving?”

  Navarro stood and went to the potbelly stove. “Coffee will get you going, Boss Lady. I’ll start our grub while you dress.” He found her much too tantalizing there in the bunk and naked. Her soft flesh summoned him to caress it. Her lips beckoned him to kiss her. Her blue eyes called to him to rejoin her on the bunk. Her tumbling tresses of fire blazed their image inside his head. Her entire aura enticed him to claim what he had already won—her willingness for him to possess her. To take her again would give Jessie the wrong idea. No, his heart argued, the right one: that he had a weakness for her. He was relieved when she left to bathe and dress and ceased her pull on him.

  When they sat down to eat the biscuits and gravy from the cabin’s stores and to sip coffee, Jessie said, “In a few hours, no more dull trail food. Biscuit Hank is a good cook. The hands love his dishes. You’ll have hot, delicious meals from now on. Sound good to you, Navarro?”

  “Yep. What if your father’s changed his mind about hiring help?”

  Jessie assumed the man was trying to talk about anything except what had taken place between them last night. “He won’t. We need you. I hope you’ll like the ranch and everyone there.”

  “Feelings don’t matter when you’ve got a nasty job to do.”

  “Friends matter, don’t they?” she asked, the words slipping out of her mouth.

  “Never had many. None I can think of these days.”

  “What about me? Aren’t we friends?”

  The look in her eyes compelled him to respond, “Yep. But it’s strange, you being a woman and all.”

  A bright smile softened her limpid gaze an
d warmed her face. “You’ll make friends with the hands, too. They’re a good bunch. You’ll see.”

  “I doubt they’ll take to my kind, but don’t worry about it.”

  “Don’t sell yourself so cheap, Navarro.”

  “You count me too high, Jessie. I ain’t worth much. Just a drifter.”

  “You’re far more than that, Navarro. Maybe you’ll change your mind about yourself while you’re living and working with…us.”

  “Don’t fool yourself, Jessie. Men like me don’t change or settle down,” he cautioned, and stole the smile from her face. He needed to prepare her for the inevitable and to prevent her from having hopes of anything permanent happening between them.

  Jessie eyed him a moment, then shrugged as she reminded herself of her earlier decision. “Maybe, and maybe not. That has to be up to you.”

  “You’re one stubborn, dreamy-eyed female. That can hurt you later.”

  Jessie laughed to ease her anxiety. “Papa and Matt would agree on the stubborn part. I prefer to think I’m steadfast. As for the other trait, I’m guilty. When a person wants something, they dream about it first. Then it takes hard work and persistence to make it come true. You can’t give up until your fantasy is real. I dream of my family being safe, well, successful, and happy. I do all I can to make it happen. Wilbur Fletcher turned our beautiful life into a nightmare. I’m going to stop him. With your help and friendship.”

  “You have them, Jessie. But I don’t want you getting hurt. You have to learn when to fight, when to compromise, and when to retreat.”

  Jessie knew his last statement had nothing to do with Fletcher, as Navarro would never back away from that villain. She let it pass unchallenged. “Getting hurt is a risk I have to take. If it gets bad, Navarro, you don’t.”

  “Yes, I do. I’ve promised to help, and I will, no matter what.”

  “I thought you didn’t make promises,” she teased.

  “Usually I don’t, ’cause I don’t hang around long enough to keep them.”

  Jessie forced herself to hold back asking why not. “That’s fair and honest. Thanks. But I will understand if something entices you to leave our battleground.” She stood and said, “We better get moving. I’m sure Papa is eager to see me home safe.”

  The house and other structures of the ranch came into view. Jessie saw Navarro tense and frown, then take a deep breath. “There she is, home,” she announced.

  Navarro saw a white house, a large barn, corrals, miles of fencing, an oblong bunkhouse, several smaller sheds, a chicken coop, and a large plowed area for a garden. He noticed cattle and men working a short distance from the neat settlement. Spring branding was clearly in progress. He counted nine hands.

  As they approached the area, the sights, sounds, and smells of the task underway reached Jessie and Navarro. They rode to a corral near the barn and dismounted, then unsaddled their mounts and tossed the leather seats over the top rail. The sorrel and paint were placed in the corral for feeding and watering, as no currying down was needed after their leisurely ride this morning.

  Jessie saw her wary companion check out his new surroundings, as if looking for signs of peril and a path of quick escape. When he asked what was in each direction, she told him, “Box L land for miles and hours, Fort Davis thirty miles northwest of us, Mexico several days southward, mountains and rugged hills to east and west—and Fletcher fifteen miles northeast. We don’t get much company.”

  “What about the sheriffs and soldiers from Davis and Stockton?”

  “We rarely see them unless we go into town for supplies. Let’s find Papa and tell him I’m home. Follow me,” she invited.

  Jessie guided him through a gate and toward the men. The hands saw their boss’s daughter coming and shouted greetings to her, all the while eyeing the man at her side. The stranger’s walk, alert gaze, and strapped-down holsters told them who the new arrival was: Jessie’s hired gunslinger. Tom almost hopped on his twisted foot, in such a rush to get to his sister.

  The redhead hugged him and teased, “Did you miss your teacher much?”

  His green eyes sparkled with joy as he revealed, “Pa’s letting me help with the branding. I’m keeping the tallies,” he added, referring to how the numbers and sexes of branded calves were recorded in a book.

  “That’s an important job for a thirteen-year-old boy. It’s good that you’re so smart in arithmetic and can handle it for Papa,” she replied, fluffing his damp auburn hair. “You best get back to your post, Mister Thomas Lane, or you’ll lose count and Papa will blame me. We’ll talk during supper.”

  “Who’s this?” the freckle-faced boy asked, squinting through dirty glasses to get a look at the man with Jessie.

  “Navarro. He’s the man I’ve hired to help us defeat Wilbur Fletcher. You can get to know him at supper. Back to work, young man; you’re getting behind.”

  Tom obediently returned to his place, but kept glancing at the couple.

  Jessie quickly introduced the ranch hands, each man nodding a welcome as his name was called: Rusty Jones with the irons, Big John Williams tending the fire, Miguel Ortega and Carlos Reeves as ropers, Jimmy Joe Slims and three others as two pairs of flankers, and Jefferson Clark as the marker. “Where’s Matt and Papa?” she asked.

  “Fletcher’s been real nervy since you been gone, Jessie,” Jimmy Joe replied before another could. “I hope Navarro is faster than a shootin’ star with his guns.”

  As he labored, Rusty added, “We’ve done branded the new fillies and colts; weren’t many of them. Best we can count, we got about fifteen thousand calves this year. The boss bred ’em real good last season. We got us four to six weeks’ work to get it done. No wranglers came by to hire on, and Matt couldn’t get any in town. It’s Fletcher’s doing. We think he’s been buying off the seasonal help or scaring ’em off. Matt put nine of us on branding while the others ride fence and guard the herds. He and Jed are on the range now, but I don’t know where. Lots of trouble while you been gone. Jed’ll tell you at supper.”

  Anger flooded Jessie and danced within her blue eyes. “He’ll pay,” she vowed. “I’ll tell Gran I’m home, then be back to help. Navarro, come with me,” she said, thinking it best if he stuck with her for a while to avoid problems.

  “Send Big Ed over after he’s tended the horses. He’s had his fun long enough. We saved some special work for him,” Rusty teased.

  The fire left Jessie’s eyes. “Big Ed took a fall and broke his neck. I buried him outside San Angelo before I met up with Navarro. Rattler spooked his horse.”

  The men halted their tasks for a few moments of silence as that grim news settled in on them. “He was a good man. He’ll be sorely missed,” one said for all.

  As they walked toward the house, Jessie told Navarro, “Our herd stays about the same size because spring calves replace the mature steers we sell off each fall. The heifers—those cows under three without calves—who come to age this summer, will be bred next season. Papa’s working hard to improve our bloodlines. This time of year, the hands separate the cows with calves from the herds and bring them to the holding pens for branding. Once they get the Box L mark, they’re turned loose to graze again. The best males are culled for breeding; the others are castrated to be raised as beeves. We have four graded bulls and about twenty good crossbreds.”

  “Sounds to me like ranching takes a lot of work and wits.”

  “It does. If we have about fifteen thousand calves, as Rusty said, it’ll take them a month or more to finish the branding without help from seasonal wranglers. They can toss, brand, clip ear, and castrate a calf in about a minute. Working ten hours a day for six days, they can do about thirty-six hundred a week. But that’s hard on the men. Papa usually gives them Sunday off, but without extra help, we have to work round the week because castration can’t wait too long. You know the differences in cattle?” she asked, chatting to distract herself from her fury and from her worries about her father’s safety out as he was with on
ly four men.

  “Nope. What are they?” Navarro aided her ruse.

  “A calf is less than one year old, a yearling less than two, and a cow is a mature female. A heifer is under three years old and unbred, a steer is a castrated male being raised for beef, and a bull is used only for breeding. We raise and breed all except the steers; those we sell at four years, unless we need money badly at three. Fletcher’s brand is the Bar F. You read brands top to bottom and left to right. A short, horizontal line is called a bar. It’s placed over the F for his mark.”

  They passed Biscuit Hank on his way from the food-storage shed to the chuckhouse. She halted. “Got you another mouth to feed. I want him treated real good, Hank, ’cause I need him to hang around until Fletcher is whipped.”

  With Jessie, the crusty cook didn’t pretend his hearing was impaired, as he did with the men. “I’ll be jiggered! You did git yourself a hired gun.” His merry eyes looked Navarro up and down. “Looks sharp as a knife to me, Jessie.”

  She was delighted by the compliment and reaction to her companion. “He is. He saved my skin three times before I could get him home.”

  “Sounds like you been havin’ as much trouble as we’uns have. Yore pa’s madder than a hornet with his nest under fire. That snake over yonder is strikin’ ever few days. He knows we got our minds elsewhere, and he’s cookin’ up trouble.”

  “Like what, Hank?” she questioned in distress.

  The thin-haired cook shifted the slab of salted meat to his other shoulder. He didn’t want to reveal such dreadful things to Jessie so soon after her return. It was best to let his boss, her pa, tell her, especially about old Buck. “I’ll let Jed tell you when he rides in. It’s a long and sorry tale, girl. I got to git vittles goin’ for the boys. After a hard day, they quit work, starvin’ and jawin’.”