“We wait until it stops snowing and then I get you back to your brother.”
Jordana hid her disappointment and squared her shoulders. She thought of the discussion she’d heard with the white man and the Indians and had nearly decided to tell Rich all about it when he moved away and got to his feet.
“I suppose you’ll go back to working for Charlie Crocker?” he said, and Jordana could not tell if it was a question or a statement.
“Why do you say that? What makes you think I’m working for Charlie anyway?”
“It was pretty obvious back in Wadsworth. I don’t know what you’re doing for him, but I have to warn you that the danger and risk to yourself are great.”
Jordana knew that fact only too well. “My priority has always been to write stories for the newspaper. The transcontinental railroad is an important issue. Do you know that there are already a dozen other reporters working along the line?”
“Good, then you can give it up,” Rich replied. “I would imagine all of those other reporters are men and much more capable of staying out of trouble.”
“Rich O’Brian, you are a pigheaded ninny!” Jordana crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall with a great thud. She winced at the pain she’d caused herself, but kept her face turned so that Rich wouldn’t know.
“If trying to keep you from getting yourself arrested or killed makes me a ninny, then I’ll gladly take the title. Jordana, look at me,” he said firmly.
She lifted her face and met his stern expression. “What?”
“I can’t let you travel around spying on the Union Pacific for whatever reason you think you might be doing it.”
“I’m just trying to keep my interests protected. I want to know what’s happening. I have family on the Central Pacific, family who have been endangered more times than I can even know. I don’t care about the politics of your precious Union Pacific,” she said. “I care about them.”
The conversation was clearly over as far as she was concerned. Closing her eyes, she wondered how she’d gone from hugging Rich in gratitude to wishing fervently she could slug him for doubting her motives. Their forced isolation in this small cave was surely going to prove interesting.
Hours later when darkness left Jordana with little choice but sleep, she found herself pondering whether she should just come clean with Rich. Why not tell him everything? Explain the motives. Explain the reasoning for her choices and duties. She could tell him about the Indians and the encounter she’d overheard. Then another thought came to mind. She could find out who the white man was at the Indian camp and expose him herself. He was harming the Union Pacific and probably the CP as well. She could expose him and bring him to Rich’s attention and then maybe she’d be vindicated in Rich’s eyes.
She glanced over to where Rich slept fitfully near the fire. He tossed and turned, moaning out unintelligible words and leaving Jordana to wonder at his state of mind. What was it that had him so worried? Was it her doing or his own? He settled a bit, then appeared to sleep more restfully. Jordana shook her head. What was she to do with him?
20
The storm abated, leaving behind a drifting covering of snow. Rich took the opportunity to pack their things and set back on the trail for home. He felt himself withdraw little by little, knowing that Jordana could never hope to understand what he was thinking. Neither would she understand his past and why he had never concerned himself with offering her more than friendship. At least not until now.
Now his head was filled with all kinds of tormenting thoughts. Tormenting, because he was certain he could never make them work into anything productive. He dreamed nightly of Jordana, but inevitably those dreams of hope and love faded into pain and desperation. He would find himself standing over the grave of his young wife—guilt coursing through him with every heartbeat. How could he explain to Jordana when he couldn’t explain it to himself?
They were three days on the trail and still no sign of civilization. Jordana appeared unconcerned with this and instead seemed quite preoccupied with her thoughts. Rich would catch her watching him, her looks causing him to wonder if she hadn’t released herself from that ban against taking a husband. But even if she had, he couldn’t release himself from the past and, therefore, knew he could never offer her anything more than friendship. It was enough to drive him half mad. He wanted her and yet he was afraid, of his past and also of the promise he had made to her long ago about just remaining friends. The promise he could deal with, but his past was a matter that went to the depth of his soul. He feared it could not be changed.
The long hours on the trail, the intensity of worrying over whether the Indians would find them, and the ever changing weather were enough to put Rich and Jordana at odds. No matter what Rich said to her, Jordana seemed to take it wrong. Once he’d had a strange creeping sensation at the nape of his neck, as if he were being watched. He had tried warning Jordana not to ride too far behind him for fear someone might sneak up on them and grab her. But instead of appreciating his concern, she had snapped at him that she was fully capable of taking care of herself. Women! He just didn’t understand them.
Gazing up at the clear skies later that night after they had made camp, Rich couldn’t bear to think of what might happen once they reached civilization. Jordana would go back to work doing whatever it was she had managed to get herself tangled up in, and Rich had his duties to the Union Pacific. There continued to be problems along the line, although after the bridge-burning at Lodge Pole, their Indian troubles had appeared to calm a bit. It had been at least three weeks since anyone had anything to report in the way of Indian conflicts, and Rich could only hope this signaled the Indians’ acceptance of the railroad.
Turning to his side, Rich studied Jordana’s sleeping figure. She lay on the other side of their campfire, her face turned toward the warmth of the blaze. She had fallen asleep almost immediately after supper, and Rich worried she might grow ill from her exhaustive ordeal before he found her. He had no way of knowing what the Indians had done to her. She assured him no real harm had come to her and she appeared all right, but he wondered how much of that was her bravado to keep him from worrying.
Her face now in complete rest was almost angelic, and her dark hair curled ever so gently around her cheek and over her brow. He wanted to reach across and touch her, but just as he knew he’d be burned by the flames of their campfire, he knew his heart would be seared by allowing himself any further entanglement with her.
“God, what do I do with myself?” he whispered aloud. Then his prayer went silent as his heart continued to cry out to his Father in heaven.
You know me. You know what I did. I don’t deserve to love again. I don’t deserve this woman. But I love her, and the thought of spending my life alone—without knowing where she is or what she’s doing—is more than I can handle.
He rolled over and tried to find that elusive sleep. But something besides his own private woes nagged at him. Just as had happened earlier on the trail, he had a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach. What was it? What was out there?
——
Jordana was certain she heard movement nearby. Startling awake, she forced herself to lie still. She tried to glance over at Rich’s sleeping form without appearing overly conspicuous. Then a twig snapped and she was certain her senses had not played tricks on her. Something or someone was out there.
She opened her mouth to scream a warning, but before any sound could pass from her lips, several gunshots blasted through the still night air. She lurched up, then froze, her gaze fixed on the place where Rich was lying. The gunshots had ripped through the blankets. Through Rich! An intruder had entered their camp and was now standing over Rich, a gun, still smoking, in his hand. Now Jordana did scream. She sat straight up and began screaming hysterically.
The intruder turned toward her, his face twisted and bitter. It was only after Jordana forced herself to look at him that she realized the identity of their attacker. Patrick
Worth!
“Are you going to try to kill her as well?” came Rich’s voice. And in a moment, his entire figure, like a ghost, stepped out from the covering rocks.
“I . . . uh . . .” Worth stammered, though nothing intelligible came from his lips.
“Rich! You’re alive!” Jordana scrambled to her feet. Never had she been so relieved to see anyone in her life. He might have been killed and would have been had Worth had his way. She wanted to jump across the fire and punch Worth in the face. How dare he!
“Patrick, you need to throw down your gun,” Rich said in a voice that sounded entirely too calm.
“You deserve to be dead, O’Brian. Dead like my sister. You’re scum and you don’t have a right to live.” Worth continued to grip his gun, though his hand dangled at his side. Both his hands were shaking. “I’ve been tracking you for weeks now, waiting for the right time. I failed this time, but I ain’t giving up.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Rich replied.
Worth turned to Jordana, as if hoping to enlist support. “He killed my sister as sure as if he put a gun to her head. Dragged her out into the prairie, wouldn’t let her come home to her people. Left her there for days and weeks while he went all over the territory trying to settle his land claim. Left her there to die when she caught pneumonia.”
Jordana looked at the man, his grief and anger marring his otherwise handsome face. “She died of pneumonia? How does that make Rich a killer?”
Worth turned to eye Rich with great contempt. “He left her alone to fend for herself. The nearest people were at the fort, but it was too far away.”
“You don’t know the truth of it,” Rich said, his own expression heavy with pain. “Now put down the gun. It’s time we had a long overdue talk.”
Jordana waited impatiently as the men faced off, and Worth finally decided to give up without a fight. Rich took up Worth’s weapon and handed it to Jordana, with instructions to shoot him if he moved.
“She’s a fair shot,” Rich told Worth as both men sat on the ground. “I’d suggest you hear me out.”
Worth scowled. “I don’t know why you’d expect me to believe anything you say.”
“Because it would be the truth,” Rich replied. “Unlike the lie I told your mother when Peggy died.”
Jordana fingered the revolver cautiously, trying hard to take in all the details of the conversation while ever worried that Worth might try something. Could she really shoot him if he attacked Rich? There was no time to consider the question as Rich continued to tell his story. At least now, she was finally getting some answers to the past and why Rich was so troubled after meeting up with Worth in North Platte.
“Peggy and I married and had a dream of homesteading in the Kansas Territory. We staked a claim and tried to make a go of it. My claim, however, was disputed. Trouble started up and our lives were threatened. One night, shots were fired into the house, and I knew it was important to get Peggy to safety before I could finally see justice done for us and our home.
“In the meantime, Peggy’s family was extremely unhappy with our choice,” Rich said, looking at Jordana. He seemed to be explaining himself more to her than to Worth. “They wanted Peggy close to home in Kansas City. They wanted to control her life and mine. Peggy didn’t want that any more than I did.”
“That’s a lie. Ma and Pa only wanted to keep her safe. The prairies weren’t safe, what with the Indians and storms. They’d heard of too many folks dying in their own backyards from snakebite if nothing else,” Patrick cried out. “They weren’t trying to control anyone.”
“Peggy grew weary of their badgering. She wrote to her mother saying that if she didn’t stop with the harassing letters and ugly things she was saying about me, Peggy would never see any of them again.”
“That’s a lie, I’m telling you.” Worth looked from O’Brian to Jordana as if she somehow had the power to judge the situation.
Mesmerized by the entire scene, Jordana said nothing and instead looked at Rich, hanging on to his words.
“Your mother wrote back telling Peggy that her harsh letter had caused your father to have a stroke. By this time the attacks on our claim had become so threatening that I feared for Peggy’s life. I suggested she go home to Kansas City and straighten things out with the family while I in turn would go to the law and try to straighten out our homestead. She reluctantly agreed. She didn’t believe your mother. She felt certain her statement about the stroke was merely a ploy to bring Peggy running, and of course later I found out that it was exactly that.”
“There’s no way my ma would have said such a thing. Our pa was as strong as an ox. Peggy would have known he was healthy, and Ma wouldn’t have risked her believing poorly of her.”
Rich went to his bedroll and pulled back the bullet-shot blanket. Under it were several large piles of sticks and underbrush arranged to look like Rich’s body. His saddlebags had been put in the place of his head and were unharmed because Worth had been aiming at the body. Taking up the bags, Rich opened one side and pulled out a packet of letters. Tossing them to Worth, he said, “The proof is all right there. Every word your mother ever sent to Peggy. Every word of hatred and anger. Read them for yourself.”
Jordana could see Patrick’s hand trembling as he reached for the packet. “That still doesn’t prove anything,” Worth muttered. “You still killed her. You left her there on the prairie to die while you went to fight for your precious land.”
“No!” Rich said, a little harsher than necessary.
Jordana could tell his anger was piqued by this statement.
“She died trying to get back home to her mother!”
Worth and Jordana both looked at Rich for further explanation.
“She didn’t die from pneumonia. I only told your mother that so she wouldn’t feel guilty for the truth of it.”
“Which was what?” Worth questioned, his face etched with grief.
Rich reached down and drew Worth up by his shirt collar. “Peggy didn’t want to leave me. She begged me not to send her home to her family. She didn’t believe her father to be ill, but she was worried, nevertheless, that it just might be true. I didn’t want her to always wonder, and I sure didn’t want her to stay on at the homestead while I tried to settle our claim. I put her on the first stage to Kansas City—against her will.” He let go of Patrick and shook his head. “I should have listened to her.”
“What happened, Rich?” Jordana asked softly.
He looked at her as if needing the reassurance that he had not somehow alienated her. “The stage overturned and Peggy was killed. So were two other passengers. It didn’t happen very far down the line, so they brought her home to me for burial. Cold weather was setting in, and all I could think of was how in the world I was going to make it through a cold winter without Peggy to keep me warm at night. How was I going to wake up in the morning without knowing she would be there, smiling at me in that way she had?” His words grew heavy with emotion. “She was carrying my baby, and we were going to be very happy as soon as we got the land straightened out.”
Jordana’s eyes stung with tears. Worth seemed to take the news in a stunned state of disbelief.
Rich dropped down by the fire. Clearly he was no longer worried about Worth being any real threat. Perhaps, Jordana thought, he wouldn’t care if Worth attacked him again. At least it made clear the reasons for Rich’s nightly bad dreams. A man could hardly be expected to bear such a loss and not be haunted by the responsibility and guilt of it all.
“She didn’t want to go,” Rich said softly. “And I forced her to go. So in that sense, I did kill her.” He turned to Worth and looked up. “As much as I was angry at your mother for what she’d done, the threats she’d made, the way she’d badmouthed me, I couldn’t bear to throw this in her face. I didn’t want her to know that Peggy died while trying to get home to her.”
“They never told me any of this,” Patrick said, shaking his head. He too slumped as if the
energy had been completely drained from his body.
“That’s because they never knew. They still don’t, even now after all these years,” Rich replied. “I wrote and told them she’d died of pneumonia because I couldn’t bear the idea of telling them the truth. Oh, don’t get me wrong, there was a part of me that wanted very much to hurt your folks. I wanted to rub it in their faces that Peggy was dead because of them.”
“Why didn’t you?” Worth asked softly.
“Because there was a preacher and his wife who took me under their wing and wouldn’t let me go home to an empty claim. Night after night, the man and his wife talked to me about the love of God and how Peggy was in heaven because she had taken Jesus as her Savior during one of their services. I didn’t know any of this about Peggy. I didn’t know what getting saved was even about. I knew she’d go to church whenever there were services anywhere nearby, but I figured it was more for the company of other women. The preacher helped me to see that it was for much, much more. They talked to me about the love of Christ, about how when He was on the cross dying to save us from our sins, He asked God not to hold it against the people who were killing Him. I figured if Jesus could forgive the people who put Him on the cross, I could find a way to forgive your folks for making my life so miserable and, as a result, causing me to put Peggy on that stage.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Patrick replied, looking from Rich to Jordana.
Jordana gave him a sad smile. “I don’t think you need to doubt that this is the truth,” she told Patrick. “Rich just risked his life to save me, and we’re nothing more than good friends. I don’t believe for one minute he would have risked the life of the woman he was so clearly in love with if he hadn’t believed it to be for her good.”
Rich looked up and met her eyes with an expression of utmost gratitude. She smiled and knew the bond between them was more than friendship, but for the sake of this night, this moment, she would hold her tongue and say nothing more.
Judith Pella, Tracie Peterson - [Ribbons West 03] Page 18