by Anna Schmidt
“Now you pull yourself together, Jess,” his mother ordered as the dance ended. “The culprit—Marshal Tucker—is in custody at Fort Lowell. This is a matter for Colonel Ashwood and his men to handle and you need to stay out of it. Is that clear?”
He slapped at a biting bug that attacked his neck. Some things, he realized—like the bugs and the dust and the underhanded Tipton boys doing whatever they found necessary to control the territory—did not change. “Tucker? But what kind of beef could he have had with Pa?”
His mother looked away and then back at him. She linked her arm through his, but it was less a gesture of consolation than one that felt as if she were trying to make sure he stayed put. “You’ll hear it soon enough, so it may as well be from me. At least then you know you’re getting the truth of it. Tucker was working with the Tipton brothers. It appears that he decided to take matters into his own hands when your father refused to sell. I suspect he hoped he would endear himself to the Tiptons with his actions.”
“You’re saying they had nothing to do with this?”
“I’m saying that there is no evidence that points to that. I am saying that Tucker is in custody and Colonel Ashwood assures me that he will be tried and punished to the full extent of the law.”
“But what about…”
“Now you listen to me, Jessup Porterfield, I have lost my husband and I will not lose my oldest son in the bargain. So you just contain that temper of yours and let the colonel handle this. If the Tiptons are involved, then they will be arrested.”
“If? Ma, we both know—”
“No, Son, we don’t know anything. We suspect, but we do not know, so stay out of it and let the federal authorities do their job. If you’re so all-fired interested in taking up the law, talk to Doc. With the arrest of Tucker, Whitman Falls is in need of a new marshal. Now then, speaking of the Wilcox family, they just struck up a ranchera and it looks to me like Addie Wilcox is just itching to get out on that dance floor.”
She gave him a nudge and went off to dance the reel with his younger brother, Trey, who waved at Jess and grinned as if Jess had just come back from a day on the range, not six months gone with no word.
Disoriented, Jess turned and saw Addie Wilcox tapping her toe in time to the music. He pushed aside the chilling news, his anger, everything, and focused on the one thing he knew he could depend on.
But was that still true?
He studied her. She wanted to dance, all right. Question was would she dance with him? After all, he hadn’t just left Whitman Falls and his family’s ranch; he had left Addie as well.
Jess crossed the yard, nodding to friends and neighbors as he threaded his way through those watching the dancing. “Welcome home, Jess,” he heard more than one of the women say. “Learned your lesson, did you?” He expected he was going to hear that sentiment more than once.
Addie had to be hearing this and she had to be aware that he was making his way toward her, but she refused to acknowledge him. Clearly she hadn’t changed a bit in the months since he’d left. She was every bit as stubborn and mule-headed as she’d always been. He ought to just turn right around and ignore her. He ought to ask Sybil Sinclair to dance and see how Addie liked that. He ought to do half a dozen things…but he didn’t.
“Evenin’,” he muttered, sidling up next to her. He kept his eyes on the dancers. “Good to see Mama looking better,” he added.
“No thanks to you,” she replied as she took up clapping her hands in time with the beat.
He bristled. Addie had this way of saying exactly what was needed to get under his skin. “Meaning what?” Of course, he knew what she was saying—knew what probably everybody there was thinking. The prodigal son. He’d seen more than one person’s lips murmuring those words as they had watched his mother come running to welcome him back—as she had enfolded him in her embrace.
“I asked you a question, Addie.”
“Rhetorical, I’m sure.” She kept right on clapping and tapping her toes, smiling at the dancers as they passed by.
“Don’t you go throwing around those fancy words with me, Doctor Wilcox.”
“And don’t you go playing like you’re some uneducated country bumpkin, Jess Porterfield. You owe that much respect to your parents.” Her smile tightened. “Besides, I’m not a doctor for real—not yet.”
He had to clench his fist to keep from touching her bare forearm below the lace trim of her dress, comforting her as he had in the past whenever she got discouraged. “You wanna dance or not?” he grumbled, holding out his hand to her.
Just then the music finished on a crescendo and everybody applauded. “Looks like, as usual, your timing is perfect,” she said. She turned to go but was prevented from moving by the throng of dancers leaving the floor in search of some cider to quench their thirst. Jess decided to try a different tactic and moved a step closer. “Mama thinks I ought to apply for the marshal’s job,” he said. “Your pa being head of the town council and all, do you think he might…”
She wheeled around and looked directly at him for the first time, her dark brown eyes large with surprise. “Are you serious? Why would Papa trust you? Why would any of us trust you not to up and leave again?”
“Addie, I had to…”
Her mouth worked as if finding and then rejecting words before she could spit them out at him. She held up her hands to stop him from saying anything more before she brushed past him, losing herself in the crowd. He glanced around to see others looking at him. Obviously they had witnessed the scene and were now passing judgment. The prodigal son. The disappointment. The failure. Well, he would show them. He would show all of them—even Addie—especially Addie.
The question was how. He could hardly take over here at the ranch. From the talk he’d had with George Johnson, it sure seemed like Maria had done a better job than he would have thought—or than he could have done—managing things on the Clear Springs Ranch. Maria had done an impossible job. In spite of the attempts of the Tipton Brothers Cattle and Land Company to buy out all the smaller ranchers in the area including—no, especially—theirs, Maria had found a way to hang on.
So, maybe he should think more seriously about applying for the lawman’s job. After all, even though the local marshal had no jurisdiction over crimes that took place outside the town’s borders, it would be a way he could look into the matter without raising suspicions. As head of the town council, Addie’s father would be the one to hire a new marshal.
That gave Jess pause. No doubt Doc Wilcox would be as down on him as Addie was, so why bother? On the other hand, if he was going to bring the Tipton brothers to justice, he needed this job to give him the time and the cover he needed to track down the real killers. With Tucker behind bars at the fort, the town was in need of a new marshal. So if he played his cards right and kept his temper under control—a lesson he’d learned the hard way back in Kansas City—the job could be his. And besides, why wouldn’t Doc Wilcox hire him? He’d make a fine marshal.
“Hello, Jess.”
Jess’s scowl changed instantly to a smile when he saw Sybil Sinclair gazing up at him. “I was on my way to get some punch but…”
“Maybe we could enjoy this waltz first?” Jess offered her his arm the way his mother had taught both her boys a gentleman would escort a lady and led her onto the dance floor.
* * *
Addie could not for the life of her figure out why she continued to allow that man to get to her. Why couldn’t she be more like Jess’s younger sister and her good friend, Amanda—calm and sophisticated? She searched the gathering for Amanda, but hesitated when she saw her friend surrounded by the usual trio of admirers. Amanda had been planning this party for weeks now. She certainly deserved to enjoy herself and not have to sympathize with Addie. Besides, Jess was Amanda’s brother, newly returned to the fold from his travels following his father’s death—a death
everyone now knew had not been the accident they’d first thought.
Addie stopped dead in her tracks. Her hand flew to her mouth. What was she thinking?
Poor Jess. Did he know? Had anyone told him? Of course not. Jess had a temper, and if he knew what everyone now knew, he’d likely be off trying to track down the killer.
Maybe Jess had overheard some of the talk. Maybe that was why he was talking about applying for the marshal’s position. After all, Jasper Tipton had built that big house in town to please his bride, Pearl, and his brother, Buck, lived there as well. While the local marshal had no jurisdiction outside the town limits, Jess might just think the fact the Tiptons resided in town opened the door for him to go after them. More than likely he would get himself killed in the bargain. Her head was spinning as she tried to think the issue through from every side.
“This is not one of your medical cases,” she muttered to herself. “This is Jess.” And when it came to figuring out what Jess Porterfield might be thinking, she fully appreciated that logic was not part of the process. She was still mad at him for leaving all those months ago, but that didn’t mean she didn’t care about him and, knowing his temper, he was bound to get into trouble. With a sigh, she headed off to find her father. Maybe he could talk some sense into the man—the man she had fallen in love with, planned a future with, and then rejected. But as she moved through the throng of party guests pausing now and then to exchange a greeting, it wasn’t her father she saw—it was Jess.
He wasn’t spoiling for a fight at all. No, he was laughing and flirting with Sybil Sinclair. Sybil with her blond curls and her bright blue eyes and a cupid’s bow of a mouth that made her look like a porcelain doll. Sybil with her tiny waist and her flawless skin and giddy laugh that actually came out as Tee-hee-hee.
“My brother is trying to make you jealous,” Amanda murmured, coming to stand next to her. “Do not let him know that it’s working.”
“It’s not,” Addie insisted, pushing her glasses more firmly onto the bridge of her nose. She straightened to her full height, which was still a good three inches shorter than Sybil’s willowy five foot four. She brushed back a lock of hair that had come loose from the practical bun she preferred, and tried not to think about how her stick-straight locks would look worn down like Sybil’s long curls. “I really couldn’t care less if your brother wants to make an utter fool of himself with that—”
“Good to know you aren’t affected,” Amanda said wryly. “But two can play this game. Come on. Dance with Harlan Stokes.”
Just like Jess, Harlan Stokes had a reputation with the ladies. He had never paid the slightest attention to Addie, but he had definitely set his sights on Amanda. She could get him to do anything—even dance with plain Addie Wilcox. Of course, even as he led Addie to the dance floor, his eyes remained on Amanda, who had accepted another cowboy’s invitation to dance. Addie couldn’t fault Harlan because her own gaze kept drifting to where Jess was dancing with Sybil. The song was “Sweet Betsy from Pike”—a favorite of Addie’s, but she barely heard the tune as Harlan guided her around the floor.
“You think I’ve got any chance at all with Amanda?” Harlan asked.
Addie glanced up at him. He was only a few inches taller than she was and she knew the other cowhands teased him a lot about his short stature. They even called him Peewee. He looked miserable as he turned her for the sole purpose of keeping his eye on Amanda. Addie knew that her answer called for diplomacy of the highest order.
“Well, you know Amanda is still unsettled in her ways. She’s not yet decided on the path she wants to take.”
“Not like you, huh? I mean, everybody knows you’ve been planning on taking over your pa’s practice just as soon as you finish your schooling and all.”
“Well, not taking over. More like working with him.”
Harlan looked surprised. “You’ve been doing that since you were a kid.”
The fact that Harlan’s full attention was now focused on her made Addie uncomfortable—so much so that she stumbled and he tightened his hold on her, pulling her closer. “Easy there,” he said. “You got your bearings?”
“I’m fine,” she said and knew it came out as a rebuff when he loosened his grip. “Thank you,” she added. “I’m not very good at dancing.”
He frowned. “You’re fine, Addie Wilcox. Just fine.”
She was surprised to feel a lump in her throat at his kindness. Blessedly the waltz ended just then. “Thank you, Harlan. I know that Amanda asked you to take pity on me and—”
“You shouldn’t do that, Addie. Put yourself down that way. You’re worth two of most of the females at this party.”
This had to stop. Addie could feel the heat rise along her neck up into her cheeks. “There’s not a whole lot of competition,” she said, looking around at the gathering where men outnumbered the girls and women by a factor of at least three to one.
“You know what I’m saying.”
“Why, thank you, Harlan. Does that include Amanda Porterfield?” She was teasing him now.
It was his turn to blush. “Well now, Miss Addie, it would take a lot to measure up to Amanda Porterfield—at least for me.”
“You’re a good man, Harlan. Thank you for the dance.” She punctuated her appreciation with a slight curtsy and laughed when Harlan bowed in return.
“Pleasure was mine, ma’am.”
They were both laughing when Addie spotted Jess scowling at her as he carried two cups of punch back to where he had left Sybil waiting.
“Hey, Jess,” Harlan called out, “’bout time you got home. The other boys and me have been missing you and your money at the poker games.”
Jess kept walking, acknowledging Harlan’s greeting only by raising one of the punch cups in a toast. Addie watched him go, drawn in by the familiar, graceful gait.
Stop it, she ordered herself.
Seymour Bunker, the oldest hand on the Porterfield spread and as good with a fiddle as he was with a lariat, struck up a reel. Harlan took Addie’s hand and they joined the other dancers. At the same time, she saw Jess set down the cups of punch and lead Sybil into the circle. Addie’s pulse raced as she realized there was no way she could avoid taking her turn with him in the change of partners required by the dance.
They came together and then circled away and then came together again, sashaying their way down the line of other dancers. She refused to look at him, her mouth drawn into a tight line and her brow furrowed in concentration as if the steps of the dance were every bit as complex as her study of the thick anatomy text she’d left on the kitchen table back home. Jess tightened his hold on her waist as they made their way down the center of the other dancers. When they reached the end of the line, he let her go without a word and turned back to Sybil, who gave Addie a victorious smile before promenading through the line with Jess.
Addie was aware that everyone was looking at her, feeling sorry for her, and once the dance finally ended, Harlan’s cheeks were flushed. “I’m sorry, Addie. I wasn’t thinking. I mean, Jess is a durn fool, if you’ll pardon me saying so. Leaving a woman like you the way he did…”
“Please don’t concern yourself, Harlan. Thank you for the dances. Oh, look, Amanda is looking this way. Maybe she’s free for the next waltz.”
Harlan gave Addie a little bow and hurried off. Of course, he wasn’t the only one who thought that Jess had all but jilted her. Jess’s stupid pride had never allowed him to admit the truth—that he had begged her to go with him and she had refused.
Well, he’d come back. She had no idea why, but she’d be willing to bet that it was because the life he’d been so sure was waiting for him in the city had never materialized. It surprised her to realize that she got no satisfaction from that thought. She watched him drink down his punch in one long gulp while Sybil sipped hers.
The one thing that no amount of irritatio
n at the man could change was that he was undeniably good-looking. He was tall, and his muscular frame gave evidence of his ability to work hard. Tonight he was wearing black trousers, a blue shirt, and a leather vest, as if he’d known he was dressing for a party. And boots, of course—new from the look of them. When he’d first arrived he’d been wearing a black Stetson, but his mother had removed that as soon as she ran to embrace him.
A hank of his straw-colored hair had now fallen over his forehead and Addie saw Sybil reach up to push it back, but Jess stepped away from her touch. He said something to her, smiled, and then walked away. Addie’s breath quickened and she closed her eyes, preparing herself for what she might say when Jess came her way.
But when she opened her eyes she saw that he had not only walked away from Sybil…he had also walked away from her.
And she was the fool who had let him.
Please enjoy this excerpt from USA Today bestselling author Rosanne Bittner’s
Thunder on the Plains
May 1857
Annie Webster frowned when she opened the door. “I don’t take nobody but gentlemen in my boardinghouse,” she warned defensively, “and only them that bathes.”
The young man standing on her porch removed a wide-brimmed leather hat, revealing a cascade of thick, nearly black hair that fell in tumbled layers. “I don’t know much about gentlemen, ma’am, except that I’m no troublemaker; and I do take baths, often as I can.”
The woman studied him closely, noticing he was clean-shaven. Although he wore buckskins, they were not worn and dirty like those she had seen on so many other men in Omaha who dressed like this one. The young man smiled warmly, his teeth straight and white, too white, she thought. Maybe they looked that way because his skin was so dark. Whatever the reason, it was a very handsome, unnerving smile, and it destroyed her remaining defenses.
She stepped aside, allowing him inside. His lanky six-foot-plus frame towered over her as she closed the door and folded her arms, a look of authority moving into her eyes. “Well, what will it be? Money’s got to be paid up front. I’ve had my share of men comin’ in here and messin’ up a room for a couple of nights, then takin’ off without payin’.”