by Tess LeSue
“Well those stories are wrong, then. Fuck them too.”
“Stop swearing in front of the child,” Anna chided.
Emma was astonished. “No!” She met Winnie’s big-eyed gaze. “This child has been orphaned, kidnapped and dragged across California without anyone asking her opinion on the matter at all. And now she has to sit here and watch Calla come back from courting with her heart all stomped on. She can cope with a little cursing. She’s one of us, and I’ll treat her like one of us.”
“You should set a good example,” Anna snapped.
Emma nodded vigorously. Yes. Yes, she should. She should set a good example. It was time to put aside dragging around like a goddamn victim. That kid was watching every move she made. And so was Calla. So yes. She would. She’d set the best fucking example anyone had ever seen.
“Get packed,” she snapped at the three of them. “We’ve got plans to make.”
29
LUKE. IT HAD to be Luke, didn’t it? Of all the goddamn people in the world, she had to have been in love with Luke. Tom couldn’t stop thinking about it as he drove the herds up to the goldfields. And he kept thinking about it as they went from town to town, selling the beeves. He might have been able to get past the whoring, he might be able to get past her sleeping with Deathrider, but he sure as hell couldn’t get past the fact that she’d once whored for Luke. Not just whored for him but loved him.
What the hell was it about his brother that women loved so much? Luke was stubborn and bossy and high-handed . . . He left his dishes unwashed until there weren’t any dishes left to use. He left goddamn horse tack everywhere. He thought everyone should do what he wanted just because he wanted it. And he already had Alex. Why did he have to take Emma too?
Because he was Luke, that was why.
Tom knew in his heart of hearts that he was a poor shadow of his brother. Luke was taller, stronger, better looking. Women melted at his feet. No one melted at Tom’s feet.
Had she been thinking of Luke every time she slept with Tom? Had she found Tom wanting in comparison?
Of course she had. He was sure she had. And the thought made him so furious he wanted to split things. Fortunately, he had a fair idea of what he could split to vent his anger.
Or rather who.
But there was no sign of Hec Boehm in Moke Hill.
“I reckon he’s still off chasing that whore,” the saloonkeeper told him. The people of Moke Hill were more than happy to gossip about Hec Boehm and the snappy redheaded whore who’d led him a merry chase across the goldfields.
“I hear tell he went after her all the way to Frisco.”
“The way I heard it, she went back east and he followed her trail.”
“If anyone can outhunt that old dog, it’s Seline.”
Seline. It was the first time he’d heard the name, but he knew who they meant. He’d seen her, back in La Noche: tall, sassy as sin, with blazing red hair slapping at her naked behind. He heard the reverence in their voices when they talked about her, and he knew it was Emma. She had the same effect on him.
The last place he went was her old whorehouse. The spot was infamous throughout the goldfields. He was expecting it to look like a fancy wedding cake, like La Noche, but the Heart of Gold was something else entirely. It was a sprawling homely-looking place, the kind of place that made you want to settle right in and put your feet up. It smelled like baking and whiskey, rather than cheap perfume and stale beer. The place was all warm wood and lamplight, with plush chairs and couches and a great big Indian rug on the floor. When Tom walked in, it was too early for business to be humming—the miners were all off at their claims—but there was a black woman leaning at the bar, with a ledger in front of her, and a barkeep sorting through rows of bottles on the shelf.
“We’re down two bottles of bourbon, Virge,” the woman was complaining, “and the same thing happened last month.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Justine. I tally up every empty bottle.”
“One of those girls is drinking. I’d bet my ass on it.”
Tom cleared his throat, and they both looked around.
“We’re closed till this afternoon, sugar.” The woman gave him a bright but absent smile. “The saloon across the way is open; they’ll look after you. You’re welcome back at four; that’s when our girls are ready for visiting.”
“I’m not here for a girl,” Tom said gruffly. “I’m here for Hec Boehm.”
They got wary at that.
“This ain’t Hec’s place,” the woman told him coldly.
“I know. I’m just asking around. No one seems to know where he is.”
“We don’t neither,” she said. She certainly wasn’t smiling now. “And we don’t much care.”
“If he ever makes it back this way,” Tom said, sliding a scrap of paper across the bar toward her, “you tell him I want to see him. You tell him the whore he’s looking for is with me.”
Her eyebrows went up at that. “She is?”
“Yes, ma’am, she is. And whoever wants to get to her has to go through me first.”
“What’s this?” She took the scrap of paper.
“Directions.” Tom gave a tight smile and put his hat on. “Wouldn’t want him to get lost on the way.” He nodded politely. “Have a nice day.”
As he walked away, he heard her read the directions aloud. “If that don’t beat all,” she said. “Lucky Seline.”
Something twanged in him like a pain at that. Some inner cord or tendon running from his heart. “Lucky” wasn’t the word he’d use to describe her. Or him neither.
* * *
• • •
FROM MOKE HILL, he rode the Siskiyou Trail up to Oregon. He rode hard to beat the winter storms but didn’t quite make it. He had a few horrible days fighting his way through heavy snow, but eventually, he got there. Matt’s place was farther along the foothills than Luke’s, but Tom headed there instead just the same. He couldn’t bear the thought of living with Luke all winter. At least if he didn’t see Luke, he had a better chance of blocking out thoughts of Emma.
He got to Matt’s as the day was drawing in. The lamplight fell in pools on the snow outside the windows. His brother had made a beautiful home. It nestled in the forest like something out of a fairy tale, beckoning lost travelers in from the cold. He could hear the echoing thwack of woodchopping and turned the corner of the house to see his brother. He felt a surprising bolt of happiness. He’d been so miserable. It was nice to see family. Immediately, he felt less alone.
Matt looked horrified when he saw Tom riding in out of the snow. He stopped chopping, his breath forming billowy blue-white plumes in the winter air. It was only afternoon but already getting dark. “Are you insane, riding around in this weather?” He slung the ax over his shoulder and fixed Tom with his usual surly look. “Why in hell didn’t you hole up in Utopia until the snow blew itself out?”
“Because it might not blow itself out until spring, and I didn’t want to sit in town all winter.”
“How’d you even know we’d have finished the house by now? We might have still been out at Luke’s. What would you have done then?”
Tom had missed Matt’s bearish grumpiness.
“Even you can finish a house in a year,” Tom needled him, leading his horses into the barn. Matt followed along. “Stop fussing,” Tom growled. “I can take care of myself.”
“You wouldn’t know it. Look at you. You look like an icicle.”
He felt like an icicle. “I might not look so bad if you’d offer me some coffee.”
“I ain’t fetching for you like a maid. Get your own damn coffee.”
Tom struggled with the saddle. Everything was iced up.
“You’re late this year,” Matt said. He set to work unloading Tom’s packhorses.
Tom grunted.
“We’re all fine, since you asked,” Matt griped. “In fact, we’ve got some news for you. You’re going to be an uncle again. Twice over.”
“More twins?”
Matt swore at him. “God, I hope not. Don’t wish that on me. It’s just Alex is expecting too. Her and Georgiana are due round the same time.”
Tom nodded grimly. “Congratulations.” It looked like Luke was just piling up his blessings.
Matt sighed. “You still carrying that old torch? Don’t you reckon it’s time you put it down?”
“Drop it, Matt.” Tom slung his saddlebags over his shoulders. “You got a room for me?”
“You know I do. You know Luke does too.”
Tom ignored that and started slogging through the snow to the house. He heard Matt sigh.
“I’ll water and feed your horses for you, shall I?” his little brother called after him. “You’re welcome!”
Tom turned around. Snow gusted in his face. “You want to explain why you never told me Deathrider was going by my name?”
“Fine,” Matt grumbled, “you don’t have to say thank you.”
“You going to ask how that went?”
Matt looked him up and down. “Well, you’re in one piece, so I assume it went fine.”
“You’re an ass.” He turned his back on his brother and fought through the snow to the house.
“Tell my wife that and she’s liable to belt you one,” Matt called after him.
Tom snorted. “She’s liable to agree with me.”
“Only after she’s belted you.” Matt’s voice got whipped away by the wind.
Tom headed for the warm light falling through the windowpanes of the kitchen door. He could hear children’s voices and the sound of breaking glass, followed by the indistinct sound of Georgiana yelling. He sighed. He didn’t think it was going to be the most peaceful winter he’d ever spent.
* * *
• • •
HE WAS GOING out of his mind before it was even December. The winter was long, the snows were constant, the temperature was frigid and his mood was darker than the short, bleak days. He had too much time to think. And he didn’t like the tenor of his thoughts.
He thought he might have made a terrible mistake. He warred with himself. And he thought about Emma constantly. Her childhood in Duck Creek, Tennessee; the way she carried her mother’s sourdough starter with her, feeding it tenderly every day; the way she laughed loudly and often. The way she made sure everyone was comfortable and happy. The taste of her bread. The smell of her skin. The incredible shifting colors of her eyes: the tawny, bleached summer grass shades and the sparkles of oak-leaf green. Her sharp-cornered smile. The feel of her hands on his body.
She’d slept with his brother.
It turned his stomach.
“What’s got you so sour?” Matt asked him on Christmas Eve, once everyone had gone to bed. The snows were too deep for them to get to Luke’s, so they’d stayed in for Christmas. Tom was relieved. He knew he’d have to see his brother before he left again, but he wasn’t ready. He was still too raw.
“Is this about Alex?”
Trust Matt to be blunt.
“Because I thought you’d dealt with that years ago.”
“It’s not Alex,” Tom said shortly. He got up to stoke the fire so Matt couldn’t see his face. Hell. He couldn’t keep it all bottled up. But he also couldn’t bear to tell Matt the full truth. “I met a woman,” he admitted.
“A woman!” Matt sounded shocked. Pleased, but shocked. “Well, that’s great.”
“It ain’t great,” Tom sighed. “It’s a mess.”
“Yeah. That seems to be the natural way of it. But trust me, messes get worked out. Look at me and Georgiana. That was some mighty mess.”
“This is different,” Tom sighed.
Matt managed to be patient for all of about two minutes. “Why? Why is it different?”
Tom shook his head. “I can’t tell you.” How could he? It was bad enough to be in love with a whore, let alone a whore who’d slept with your brother.
In love with . . . Hell. It was the first time he’d thought the words. But they were true. He loved her. So much it hurt.
Goddamn it. The feelings he felt for Emma made everything else he’d felt in his life seem puny by comparison.
“Look, I ain’t the smartest man in the world,” Matt said, “but I’m smart enough to know that love don’t come along too often. If you really love this woman—whatever the damn mess is—you ought to go out there and get her.”
Tom gave a brittle laugh. And then what? Bring her home to his family? That would be something to see, wouldn’t it? It didn’t bear thinking about.
But he did think about it. Every minute of every day until the spring thaw came.
30
IT SHOULD HAVE only taken three months to travel the sixteen hundred miles up to Tom’s home in Oregon, but Emma had some errands to run first. The first stop had been to Frisco. Emma wanted to buy a second wagon and to stock up for their new life. She’d taken in the sprawl of buildings curving around the bay and the crowd of ships with their jutting masts and tried to imagine looking at that view for the rest of her life. She liked the bustle of San Francisco; she liked the salt air; she liked the sound of the sea and the blue glitter of the ocean. She liked the way the fog settled on the bay, and the way the winter sun made it glow. But, she thought, Tom Slater had been right. It was no more beautiful than other places. She didn’t feel much of a pang when they left. Certainly not enough of one to stop her from pushing on and leaving her dream of a house by the bay behind. She wondered what she’d find beautiful about Oregon.
It would be a bit longer until she found out, because they had one more stop to make.
“I never thought we’d end up back here,” Calla said mildly as they rolled into Moke Hill.
“Me neither.” But it seemed appropriate.
“Seline!” Justine lit up at the sight of her. “You’re the last person I expected to see.”
The place was looking fine. Justine had given it a lick of paint and changed the curtains over; she didn’t fancy pink as much as Emma did. The girls were looking plump and well; there were a lot of new faces that she didn’t know. That was good. That meant the old girls had moved along, which made Emma’s heart glad. Whoring wore a body and soul threadbare.
“Emma, not Seline,” Emma reminded her with a smile. “The place looks great.”
“Not Sister Emma anymore?”
Emma pulled a face.
“What in hell are you doing back here?” Jussy was looking at her like she was crazy.
“I’m looking to see Hec.” More than looking to see him. She was looking to set that old hog straight once and for all. She was here to settle her accounts. No more running away.
“Hec?” Justine frowned. “Honey, he never came back from chasing you. Didn’t you hear?”
No. She hadn’t heard.
“There are a lot of rumors.” Justine looked mighty puzzled. She peered over Emma’s shoulder and seemed more puzzled by the minute. “That he got scalped. That he got caught up in a gunfight between Kennedy Voss and the Plague of the West. Even that he choked on a chicken bone and keeled over dead at the dinner table. But no one’s seen hide or hair of him since he went chasing after you.” Justine paused. “I must say, I’m surprised to see you. I thought you’d be in Oregon.”
Emma was stunned. “How did you know we were headed for Oregon?”
“Your man came through a couple of months back.”
“My man?”
“Tall, dark. Best-looking man I’ve ever seen. I thought you were one lucky woman, let me tell you.”
Tom.
“Did you catch his name?” Emma was horrified to hear the quiver in her voice. Goddamn it. She wasn’t supposed to be weak about
that man anymore. She’d made her mind up about it. She was taking charge.
“No, but he left directions for Hec to come find him.” Justine turned and reached for the ledger, which was wedged between a couple of whiskey bottles. “Here.” She plucked a scrap of paper from between the pages. “I’m supposed to give it to Hec if he ever comes back.”
Emma took the scrap of paper and sat down on one of the stools. She felt a bit wobbly. “Jussy, can you pour me a drink?”
Justine did. Emma tossed it back in one gulp and knocked the shot glass against the bar in a staccato beat. “Goddamn,” she said, full of wonder. Tom Slater was trying to protect her. “Get me another. And for Calla and Anna too. And milk for the kid. What did he say exactly?”
Emma made Justine tell her about Tom’s visit at least six times, prodding her to remember every word and expression. It was definitely Tom. How many Oregon-bound tall, dark, green-eyed cowboys could there be? Especially ones who came asking after Hec Boehm and saying they were traveling with Seline . . .
He still cared.
Well, of course he did! The man was in love with her. He was just too stupid to know it. And he needed time to digest her past. She’d make sure he’d have time for that. It was part of her plan. She wouldn’t get to Oregon until springtime; by then he should be headed off on another cattle run. He wouldn’t be back to Oregon until the following winter, which should give her plenty of time to get herself organized. She was under no illusions; she knew she’d need every spare scrap of time she had. She felt a bit queasy at the thought of not seeing him for another full year. What if he fell in love with someone else? What if he married someone? What if he got hurt? What if he never came back?
“I don’t understand what you’re doing here.” Justine interrupted her thoughts. “He said you were with him.”
“I was. For a bit.”
Justine waited, but Emma wasn’t forthcoming.
Once they all had a drink in hand, Emma proposed a toast. “To Hec goddamn Boehm,” she said, holding her glass aloft. “Wherever he is, I hope the devil is pricking his ass with a pitchfork.”