Jesselynn had just finished washing Thaddeus’s face when she heard a shout from the western rim of the camp where Jones had been tied the night before. “Go to Jane Ellen.” She gave her little brother a push in the general direction, grabbed the gun she kept nearby, and headed for the fracas.
“Come any closer an’ I drill ‘im.” Tommy Joe Jones stood with his gun barrel tight to Wolf’s back.
Jesselynn could only guess at what happened. Wolf was going to take Rufus into the fort, and the good-for-nothing brother showed up.
“Now cut ‘im loose like you thought to and let ‘im go.”
Wolf stood like a stone carving.
“You heard me!”
Jesselynn dropped back behind one of the wagons and, leaping the wagon tongue, circled from the outside. If she could get off a shot . . .
“Don’t nobody move or he’s dead.”
“Come on, Jones, you won’t make it outa here alive if you do that.” Mr. Bronson spoke in an ordinary voice as if they were discussing the price of flour. “Ain’t you had enough bad luck on this trip?”
Eyes wild, Tommy Joe pushed the gun more firmly into Wolf’s back. “I’m warnin’ ya.”
Why didn’t I kill him when I had the chance? Wolf refused to flinch. The barrel bit into his back. He could feel sweat trickling down from his armpits. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye but didn’t dare shift to see who was the stalker.
“Now cut my brother loose, nice and easy.” The rifle dug deeper with every word.
One of the men came forward, knife at hand. Keeping one eye on the rifle, he leaned down to release the bonds.
“See, told you I waren’t gonna hang for somethin’ I didn’t do,” Rufus hissed.
Holding steady took every ounce of determination Wolf owned. He stared burn holes in the man near his feet. One jab, one kick. Could he do it?
“Now help ‘im up.”
Bronson took Rufus’s arm as if reaching for a rattler and pulled him to his feet.
Rufus swayed, then spat in Wolf’s face. “Shoot ‘im, brother. Dirty Injun like him ain’t fit to live.”
The gun barrel wavered. Wolf dropped. A gun went off. Men hollered. Someone screamed. A body hit the ground.
God above . . . Wolf never finished the thought as he rolled and surged to his feet.
Tommy Joe lay writhing on the ground. Rufus stood with his hands in the air. Jesselynn Highwood held a gun on the two brothers.
“Shoulda shot to kill.” Jesselynn glanced at Wolf to make sure he was all right.
“My leg!” Tommy Joe stared at the blood welling from his thigh.
“Be glad that’s all.” One of the wagon men retied Rufus’s hands. “You gonna stop the bleedin’?” He looked to Jesselynn, who shook her head.
“Take ’em both into the fort.” She tucked her gun in the waistband of her pants. Thank you, God, for a clean shot. She knew that as soon as her heart quit racing, she might be able to move. This is if her knees held steady.
The men went about their business as if she weren’t even there. Wolf nodded. Was that in gratitude? Or what? She sucked in a deep breath and swallowed hard. The burning at the back of her eyes warned her to get the blazes out of there. She spun on her heel and took the long way back to her own wagons. No way was she going to let anyone see her cry.
I shot a man! I shot a man! The words kept time with the beat of her feet. Why didn’t I aim for his head? It had happened so fast. She tried to remember each move. By the time she got back to the wagon, her hands shook so hard that she about dropped the gun. Tears blurred her vision. Her teeth clicked together no matter how hard she clamped her jaw.
“Jesselynn.”
She ignored Wolf, threw her gun in the wagon bed, and kept on going, breaking into a run when she cleared the wagons. Feet pounding the dirt, she tore across the prairie, heading for the willows that lined the river. Her breath tore at her sides, but she forced herself to keep on running. Was that someone behind her? She couldn’t slow to look. Tears streamed. Breathe! Run!
Blood! She could see dark blood. Could hear again the rifle shot. I shot a man! She fell against the trunk of a tree and wrapped her arms around the rough bark to hold her up. Darkness covered the backs of her eyelids. Light-headed, she slumped forward as her whole body started shaking.
Suddenly solid arms held her from behind. Wolf gathered her to his chest when the shaking let up.
“Go away.” She let her head drop to his chest. Holding it up was beyond her.
“No.”
She could hear his heartbeat, thundering much like her own. “I . . . I . . . shot a man.”
“I know. Thank you.” The words rumbled in his chest. His breath teased her ear.
“You . . . could have . . . been . . . killed.” Each word tore the lining on her throat.
“I know. Glad you had good aim.”
She rested against him. He smelled of woodsmoke and man. She dug in her pocket. No handkerchief. Sniffing, she leaned back enough to look up into his face. Blood ran down the side of his head.
“You’re hurt!”
“His bullet just grazed me. Might never hear right from this ear again.”
With tender fingers she reached to touch his ear. The tip of it was gone and powder burns laced the side of his head. “Head wounds bleed bad.”
He stripped some willow leaves from the branches and handed them to her. She compressed them in her hand and applied them to the wound along with pressure to stop the bleeding. All the while her eyes held steady on his.
“What are you lookin’ at?” His breath fluttered her eyelashes.
“You.” She took in a deep breath and let it out. His dark eyes shimmered, grew warm and warmer. Her heart took up a new rhythm. Heat pooled in her belly. Even with blood trailing down his neck, he took her breath away. Is this what poetry means when it says “the heart sings”? “I need to bandage you up.”
“Not yet.” You are proud and strong, like a Sioux maiden. He tightened his arms around her rib cage. “Thou art beautiful, oh, my love . . . thy hair is as a flock of goats that appear from Gilead . . . my dove, my undefiled . . .”
“Jesse! Jesse!”
Jesselynn swallowed again. “They’re calling me.”
“I know.” Slowly, as though she was more precious than anything he’d ever held, he loosened his arms and, inch by inch, let his hands fall away from her until they stood separate once more.
A sound came from her throat. A whimper. She must stand alone again. Alone. The pain ripped through her. If she reached for him, would he hold her?
She blinked. Swallowed. And stepped back. Her legs trembled. Her belly quivered as if a cold wind nipped it. She took another deep breath. “Come.” She reached for his hand, and together they turned and stepped out of the willow screen.
“I’m not going on with the wagon train.” Three days later Wolf stood beside her again.
“What do you mean?” Jesselynn forced the words past the constriction in her throat.
“I have to go home.”
“Home is going to be in Oregon.”
“Not for me. I’ve already spoken with the men. They’ve agreed to go on with the train that arrived yesterday.”
“Why wasn’t I included in the meeting?”
“He’s a good man—Jason Cobalt. He’s led other trains west and plans on stayin’ there himself this time. He’ll get you all through.” He kept his hands from clenching. And his teeth. Don’t look at me like that! You said you wanted to go to Oregon. I’m gettin’ you there.
“Why?”
“I must go home. To my people.” Come with me.
She stared into his eyes, looking for the man who’d held her. Dark. Flat. Not even a flicker. Swallowing her tears, she took a step back. “Go with God.”
Two days later, with the sun near to breaking the horizon, the order came. The wagons unwound from their circles and pulled into the long snake of white canvas and straining animals. Getti
ng over the divide and into the South Pass lay before them.
Jesselynn drove one of her wagons, Meshach the other. She’d heard of the Rocky Mountains ahead. She didn’t look back. She let the tears flow. Lord, someday, some way, I will see him again. Surely you mean for that to happen. Surely.
Off to the north, always on the opposite ridge, Wolf rode his bay Appaloosa, the white patches catching the sunlight. He didn’t turn off until he saw they’d safely crossed South Pass. Someday, my love—someday.
LAURAINE SNELLING is an award-winning author of over 60 books, fiction and nonfiction, for adults and young adults. Her books have sold over 2 million copies. Besides writing books and articles, she teaches at writers’ conferences across the country. She and her husband make their home in Tehachapi, California.
Books by Lauraine Snelling
* * *
Golden Filly Collection One *
Golden Filly Collection Two *
High Hurdles Collection One *
High Hurdles Collection Two *
SECRET REFUGE
Daughter of Twin Oaks
Sisters of the Confederacy
The Long Way Home
DAKOTAH TREASURES
Ruby • Pearl
Opal • Amethyst
DAUGHTERS OF BLESSING
A Promise for Ellie • Sophie’s Dilemma
A Touch of Grace • Rebecca’s Reward
HOME TO BLESSING
A Measure of Mercy • No Distance Too Far
A Heart for Home
RED RIVER OF THE NORTH
An Untamed Land • A New Day Rising
A Land to Call Home • The Reapers’ Song
Tender Mercies • Blessing in Disguise
RETURN TO RED RIVER
A Dream to Follow • Believing the Dream
More Than a Dream
WILD WEST WIND
Valley of Dreams
*5 books in each volume
A Secret Refuge [02] Sisters of the Confederacy Page 30