Jane Bonander

by Warrior Heart

  “An unconscious one, but a prisoner just the same. This is the first break in the case.”

  Vern studied him. “Aren’t you supposed to leave for your folks’ today with Libby and Dawn?”

  “I can’t leave now.”

  “ ’Course you can,” Vern argued. “Hell, Jackson, I’m feeling better. I can at least get around, and there’s nothing wrong with my head. Just my leg. The deputy and I can handle an unconscious prisoner, for God’s sake.”

  Jackson was uncertain. What if the prisoner regained consciousness? Would Vern know what to do? He should, Jackson reasoned. After all, he’d been the law here for twenty years. Still…

  “Let’s see what the doc says. Then I’ll decide.”

  Vern shrugged. “Have it your way, boy, but I’d sure hate to see you disappoint that daughter of yours.”

  Jackson smiled. “Are you telling me not to take my job too seriously?”

  “Naw, I didn’t mean that. I just think I can handle this. If you hadn’t been here, I’d have handled it just the same. The man’ll be a prisoner, Jackson. I’ve had a good many of them over the years. Conscious or not, he won’t cause us any problems.”

  Jackson didn’t want Vern to think he didn’t trust his judgment. Overall, Vern was still a good lawman. Still, he’d wait for the doctor’s prognosis.

  “Hurry, Mama! We’re waiting for you.”

  It was barely dawn. Because of the shooting, they had postponed their trip a day. Jackson had announced at dinner the night before that the prisoner had a concussion and wasn’t expected to regain consciousness for a few days. She knew her husband was reluctant to leave, but she also knew he wasn’t the kind of man who felt he couldn’t be replaced.

  The lamplight cast eerie flickering shadows into the kitchen corners. Even in the wavering light, Libby’s worried look was not lost on Chloe Ann.

  “Come, now, Libby. You’ve taken care of everything possible. There isn’t that much left to do. We’ll be just fine. Mahalia is wonderful at giving orders, and Corey and I will follow them to the letter.”

  Libby dragged her feet. “Oh, but I just—”

  “Mama! Let’s go.” From the foyer, Dawn’s voice was impatient.

  Chloe Ann gave her a knowing smile. “It won’t be such a bad trip, Libby. Let yourself relax. Have a good time. It might be a while before you get away again.”

  Libby drew her cape around her, dreading the ride and the destination. “It would have been better if the two of them had gone on without me.”

  That would have been easier to bear, for she knew the trip would suck all of the energy out of her, merely because she’d try so hard to pretend she was having a good time. But she knew that she would die a little every time one of Jackson’s relatives won over another portion of her daughter’s heart.

  “Go,” Chloe Ann urged, drawing her away from the kitchen. “They’re waiting for you.”

  Reluctantly Libby picked up her valise and went to join Dawn and Jackson in the rig.

  A rush of unwanted pleasure flowered in her chest when she saw Jackson, his big tanned hands gripping the reins of the team he’d rented for the trip. Automatic reflex, she thought. No matter how angry or hurt she was, her emotions were the same.

  She took the stairs and was startled when Jackson left the rig and helped her in.

  “That’s right,” Dawn acknowledged. “You get in the front, Mama. I’ll sit in the back so I can sleep.”

  Libby raised an eyebrow. Her daughter the matchmaker. She lifted her eyes, meeting Jackson’s penetrating gaze.

  “You would have had a better time without me.”

  He snapped the reins, and the team lurched forward.

  “Now, how would that look? Why, people would say we’re only a week into our marriage and there’s already trouble.”

  She cast him a glance, noting his sarcasm. “Well, there is, isn’t there?”

  He concentrated on the road. “Only because you’ve created it. And since you created it, you’re the only one who can change it.”

  Knowing he was right, she didn’t answer. Instead, she concentrated on their destination. She would have to act normal, pretending everything was fine between her and Jackson when it was anything but. In the week since their wedding, they had spoken little.

  The night he had informed her he would find his satisfaction elsewhere, she’d found herself listening for his footsteps, waiting for him to return. She’d been angry with herself and with him. When she finally heard him, she knew that no matter what he’d been doing, she’d driven him to it. That knowledge made her ill.

  He’d stopped at her door that night, and she’d held her breath, half in fear and half in hope … but of course he wouldn’t have asked to enter. He had his pride, and she had let him know in very strong terms that she didn’t give a damn what he did. She pressed one hand to her temple, hoping to ward off a headache. What a superb liar she’d become.

  Jackson’s gaze was on her, as palpable as a touch. “With Dawn Twilight asleep, and you lost in your own little world, this is going to be a mighty long ride.”

  She nearly groaned. He had no idea. As far as she was concerned, the ride would be the short part. The stay itself would be as long and agonizing as waiting for laundry to dry in the rain.

  “I want to make a toast.” Standing at the head of the table, Nathan Wolfe looked at his older son, then across at his granddaughter, and raised his wineglass. “To families lost and families found. May we all be one from this moment on.”

  “Amen to that,” Susannah concurred, raising her own glass.

  Jackson stood. “Now it’s my turn.”

  Libby did note that he’d had a bit of wine with his dinner and seemed to be in a garrulous mood.

  He raised his glass. “To…honesty, truth, and trust. May there be no more secrets.”

  After making eye contact with his father, he allowed his gaze to settle on Libby, who flushed hot. When they arrived, Susannah had shown them to the room they would share. When she left, they had stared at the bed, discomfort so thick between them that they could have sliced it with a knife.

  Although it had been Jackson and Corey’s room, the bed wasn’t even as big as her own, and certainly nowhere near as large as the one Jackson slept in on the third floor of the rooming house.

  Now he was spewing words about honesty, truth, and trust. What did he want her to do? She’d been as honest as she dared. She supposed she could inform his family that they didn’t share a bed and that she’d all but encouraged him to take his pleasure elsewhere. Would that be honest enough for him?

  She suffered through the remainder of the meal, knowing it was probably delicious but having no appetite at all.

  Later, when Jackson was in the den with his father, and Dawn had retired to Katie’s room, Libby excused herself and went to their bedroom. She didn’t care where he slept, but she was taking the bed. And she was so tired. She’d fought to keep from yawning all evening. She’d had little sleep the night before because of her worry about the trip, and she had refused to doze off while Jackson drove the team.

  After brushing her hair, she slipped into the new cotton lawn nightgown with the leg-of-mutton sleeves and the lace-trimmed collar that Chloe Ann had given her the day she learned Libby was to be married. Libby frowned at her reflection. As if a new nightgown was going to change anything.

  She turned and studied the bed, then grabbed one of the pillows and the quilt that was folded at the foot, and put them on the chair. Surely he would get the message.

  Leaving the lamp lit, she yawned and crawled into bed, snuggling deep into the warm bedding, but she was too tense to sleep. She knew she wouldn’t be able to close her eyes all night.

  Jackson cringed when the bedroom door squeaked open. He poked his head inside and saw Libby in bed. She appeared to be asleep. As quietly as he was able, he closed the door and stepped to the bedside.

  His mouth lifted into a wry grin. How could such a passionate, cont
rary, stubborn woman appear so damned innocent and passive in her sleep? She lay on her side, her lustrous hair fanned out over her shoulder, hiding her arm. Her fist peeped out from among the shiny strands. It was clenched. So, he thought, she couldn’t relax even in her sleep.

  Her eyelids had a slightly violet hue, and her long, dark lashes brushed her cheeks. Her mouth, that succulent wine-rich berry, was open slightly.

  He’d stripped to his underwear before he noticed the pillow and quilt on the chair. He muttered an oath. Did she expect him to wrap himself up and lie on the floor? He grabbed the pillow, turned out the lamp, and carefully climbed in beside her. Fortunately, even though the bed was narrow, she was one of those people who didn’t sprawl.

  Once he was curled up behind her and she didn’t wake, he expelled a long, tired sigh. Hell, he was too tired to seduce her anyway. But she smelled damned good. What was it about women? They wove some sort of spell over him simply by being alive, breathing, secreting some sort of magic elixir that drove him wild. Especially this woman.

  Fool that he was, he thought about her dark, secret places, hidden from him during the day by her staunch reserve and her practicality.

  His nose nuzzled her hair. For at least the hundredth time since their wedding, he envisioned her naked. It hadn’t been enough to make love to her, for they’d been fully clothed. He wanted to be there when she undressed, when she stood before the washstand and bathed herself. When she bent to wash her legs, exposing her breasts and her bottom.

  He wanted to make love to her from behind, thrusting deep while he fondled her nipples. He wanted to hear her cries of pleasure again. And again. And again.

  Muttering a quiet curse, he rubbed his hand over his face to dispel his dangerous thoughts. He could do it. He’d learned to sleep standing up, for God’s sake. He’d learned to sleep waist deep in mud. He’d become adept at catching quick naps in some of the most squalid situations. Surely he could sleep here now. He was in a bed. A warm, clean bed. The problem, of course, was that he was lying with the first woman who had made him itch in a very long time.

  And as he lay there, his arm around her and his fingers grazing her stomach, an old instinct surfaced, one that he hadn’t felt since his marriage to Flicker Feather. He cursed again, wondering if he should tell Libby what he knew. He was pleased, but he was certain she wouldn’t be.

  Libby came awake slowly, feeling as though she were in a cocoon. The weight of the blankets was heavy, but somehow it felt cozy. She knew that if she stretched, her feet would touch the cold bedding at the bottom of the bed, so she bent her knees, stretching her toes backward.

  They collided with a firm, warm, hairy calf. Startled, she tried to sit up, but the weight that she’d thought was the bedding turned out to be a thickly muscled arm. Her attempts to remove it were futile, for he appeared to be deep in sleep, and truly the last thing she wanted to do was wake him.

  She stayed as still as possible, barely breathing, while she pondered her situation, unaware that her fingers had touched him until she encountered the hard muscle in his upper arm.

  Cursing mildly, she quickly withdrew her hand, but remembered how often she’d gazed at his strong forearms and wondered if the hair was stiff and prickly or soft. Curious, she ran her palm over it, surprised at the texture. It was neither soft nor stiff, but somewhere in between. And, oh, my, his flesh was so firm. She recalled how some of his veins had bulged as he worked, looking like rivers of granite.

  Suddenly her hand flew to her mouth. Good heavens, her feet had touched his bare legs! Did that mean he wore nothing to bed? She swallowed hard. Lord, he wouldn’t be that brazen, would he?

  No, he wouldn’t.

  Yes, he would.

  As slowly as she could, she reached behind her, investigating carefully, encountering … She released a sigh. He wore something, at least.

  “What are you looking for?”

  His voice startled her so that she gasped and would have leaped from the bed had he not held her there.

  “You’re not supposed to be in this bed,” she accused, flustered at her foolish groping.

  “You didn’t expect me to sleep on the floor, did you?”

  Why did his voice make every part of her body quicken? “You could sleep in the barn for all I care. This bed is barely big enough for one, let alone two. Get out.”

  “Now, how would that look? We’re supposed to be happily married. You wouldn’t want to disappoint my parents, would you?”

  Another sigh, although shakier. “This is insane.” If only he weren’t so close …

  “You’re pregnant.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me,” he whispered.

  She turned and, with all of her strength, shoved him until he left the bed and hit the floor with a resounding thud.

  “Dammit,” he cursed. “I hit my head on the edge of the table.”

  “I hope you bleed to death, you … you pervert.” How dare he say such a thing? It was ludicrous. It had barely been a month since they’d… Lord, she couldn’t even think the words, much less say them.

  There was a sharp knock on the door. “Are you all right in there?”

  Libby pressed her fingers over her mouth and stared at the door.

  “We’re fine, Mother.”

  Libby heard Jackson scramble to his feet.

  “The bed’s a little small. I fell out, that’s all.”

  “All right, then,” Susannah answered, her voice slightly muffled from the other side of the door. “It’s almost time for your father to check the stock. Do you want to join him?”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  He lit the lamp, and Libby looked up at him. “Oh,” she said with a gasp. “You are bleeding.”

  He dabbed at his forehead. “It’ll be all right.”

  Concerned, she slid from the bed, crossed to the dry sink, and poured water into the porcelain bowl. She wet a cloth. “Come here,” she ordered.

  “I said it would be fine.”

  “Come here, you fool. Let me clean you up before you go out and face your parents.”

  Suddenly he grinned. “Wouldn’t look very good if they thought you were beating up on their little boy, would it?”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” she huffed, trying to ignore his complacent smile.

  He stood before her, bare to the waist. Trying valiantly to ignore his nudity, she dabbed at his forehead with the damp cloth.

  “You call me such terrible names. I’m beginning to think you don’t like me.”

  He continued to smile at her as she rinsed the cloth and touched it to his wound again. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t keep from returning his smile. “I don’t call you names you don’t deserve.”

  “Oh? You really think I’m a fool? An idiot? A pervert?”

  “Whatever makes you think you can tell if I’m … you know.”

  His hand fondled her chin, his elbows dangerously close to her breasts. “Pregnant?”

  She attempted to look away. “How in the world would you know such a thing? It’s my body, and I don’t even know.”

  “Call it a gift, or a curse, I guess.” His tone changed.

  “You’re serious,” she said, surprised.

  He continued to stand before her. “Even when I was a boy, I could detect pregnancy in a mare before it was evident. Don’t ask me how. And I was never wrong. My family came to rely on me, and soon neighbors did, too. After they’d bred their mares, they would invite me over to use my ‘powers.’ The last time I detected a pregnancy was when Flicker Feather was pregnant with Dawn Twilight.”

  Libby’s hands automatically went to her abdomen. Pregnant? Joy, dread, and fear tripped over each other inside her. Still, she didn’t want him to see her feelings.

  Quickly rinsing out the cloth, she said, “You’d better not keep your father waiting.”

  He didn’t move. “That’s your response?”

  “What did you expect? Now when you get itchy feet a
nd go off to fight another man’s war, I’ll have not one but two children to care for.”

  He spun away, muttering a curse as he dressed. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that I’m not going anywhere.”

  She held her emotions in check until he left, then sagged onto the bed and put her face in her hands. If he was right, what would she do? Even though she wanted his child with all her heart, she couldn’t endure a loveless life with him. And she was beginning to think she couldn’t endure a life without him, either.

  21

  Libby greased bread tins at the counter while Susannah sat at the table dropping gingersnap dough onto cookie sheets.

  “I’ll never forget the first time I saw Jackson,” Susannah mused, her voice filled with soft remembrance. “Corey and I and our friends, Kito and Louisa, had ridden to this ranch because, months before, Nathan had told me to come here if I was ever in trouble.” She uttered a soft laugh. “But that’s another story.

  “Anyway, there was an old caretaker here at the time who informed me that Nathan’s son Jackson, who everyone thought was dead, had been found living among a coastal tribe of Indians. Nathan wasn’t here and didn’t yet know the boy was alive.”

  Libby had heard some of this story, but was still intensely interested. “Had he been harmed?”

  “Oh, no. They had treated him as one of their own. Had even given him an Indian name.”

  “Warrior Heart,” Libby offered, remembering Dawn’s enthusiastic retelling of the story.

  “Yes. But he was very skittish. I had a big black dog with me at the time. Max was his name.” There was a smile in her voice.

  Libby remembered hearing about Max from Jackson.

  “That dog seemed to sense Jackson’s discomfort. Max settled down at the boy’s feet and became his closest companion. Slowly Jackson came out of his shell, but it took a while. He and that dog went through a lot together.”

  “And … and as a young man? What was he like?” Libby sliced off a hunk of dough, formed it into a loaf and dropped it into a loaf pan.