by Leah Braemel
He touched his hat once more then held out a hand to Jackson. “Congratulations again, Kellar. You’ve got yourself a lovely bride. I expect there’ll be a few ladies around town who will be disappointed you got yourself hitched.”
After another glance in her direction, the four Rangers turned their horses and headed back to Barnett Springs.
“If anyone can get to the truth, it’s Barnett and his friends, Miss Sarah,” Nate said. “For all we know, your brother isn’t guilty of anything more than shootin’ the breeze.” He clucked to his horse and urged it into a trot ahead of them.
Sarah clung to the reins until her knuckles whitened. No, they’d planned things too precisely for it to be idle chatter. That she may have just sentenced both McLeods to jail, or worse, sent a shiver running along her spine with spiked claws. If proof couldn’t be found, would folks turn on her as an ungrateful hellion? After all, while Josiah had never had a kind word for her, he had fed her and clothed her while her mother was alive instead of casting her off, selling her to a whorehouse or leaving her on the steps of an orphanage the way others had muttered they’d have done.
“You did the right thing telling us about them.” Jackson walked his horse until he was next to Bandit. “If that fella Jed had decided to meet us where you said, who knows what might have happened to you.”
The gentle ferocity of Jackson’s voice dispelled the coldness that had formed in her belly, replacing it with a warmth she’d grown to expect whenever he spoke to her. He wasn’t angry at her but at her brother and father for her. The novelty of not being automatically blamed was almost overwhelming.
“What’s so funny?” His scowl made him look even fiercer, yet she couldn’t stop her smile from spreading.
“I’m not laughing at you.” The words grateful, vindicated, comforted all floated to the surface when she searched for a way to describe why she was smiling, but she discarded each of them. None were exactly right. He waited, watching her with a hawklike gaze. When it became obvious he wouldn’t be satisfied until she told him, she relented. “I cannot begin to tell you how happy it makes me feel that you believed me.”
“Why wouldn’t I? What reason would you have to lie?”
It was exactly the same argument she’d posed to her stepfather on numerous occasions she’d been blamed for something she hadn’t done. Her smile faded. “I’m not used to being believed. Especially when it comes to something Walt’s done.”
The leather on his saddle creaked as he leaned across to stroke her cheek. “More proof McLeod is a fool.”
He froze as if he’d just realized what he’d done, what he was doing. He pulled his hand back and set his horse in motion.
Sarah didn’t bother to hide her smile this time—he wouldn’t see it unless he glanced over his shoulder. This tall hard-looking man had a gentle side to him she’d not expected. Not only in their lovemaking in the hotel, but on the four days since. He’d constantly asked if she needed a rest when they’d been on the road for a while, especially that first day when he knew she’d been sore. He made sure she kept her water canteen filled and checked Bandit’s hooves for stones at every stop.
Then there were the ways he found to touch her, the way his thumb would stroke her side that extra second longer than necessary when he helped her down off her horse at each rest stop. Or how he would place his hand at the small of her back when they’d walked along the sidewalk in Abilene, or to a bush when she’d needed privacy.
The nights when they’d had to make camp at the side of the road, he’d fussed over her comfort. Though he hadn’t exerted his husbandly rights, the intimate touches continued beneath the cover of the blanket he pulled over them both. When they slept, she’d often awoken to find him curled around her, as though she were something precious to be protected.
They traveled another ten minutes before she broke the silence. “How much longer until we get to Nate’s place?”
“We’ve been on his land pretty much since the Rangers left.” They crested a hill. He pulled up his gelding, waiting until Bandit picked his way up the rocky path to his side. “You can see the roof of his house past those mesquites.”
She stood in the stirrups to see through the opening between the trees. The house he pointed to had porches that ringed both levels, and gables decorated the eaves beneath the tiled roof. Whoever had built it had spent hours, and money, adding touches that spoke of love and pride. “It’s bigger than ours—I mean the McLeods’.”
“Sure enough is. Nate’s parents built it, but he’s made a few changes since he inherited it.”
“It’s much nicer than I expected. Bigger.” What had she been expecting? They’d paid her father in cash, and the horses they rode were of good quality, as were their saddles.
She stared down at her worn and patched gloves. Jackson had bought her a new pair their first night in town, but she’d hated to get them dusty and worn before she’d even arrived at her new home. What would they think of her arriving in her homespun dress and repaired boots? Of her straight black hair that hung down her back in a single long plait, instead of being tucked into a more fashionable chignon?
Inside her gloves, her palms grew sweaty.
When she looked back at Jackson, his brows were drawn together. “I ain’t gonna be able to afford to build a place as fine,” he said. “You’ll probably find yourself living in a log cabin with no new-fangled indoor plumbing or any of the amenities.”
She was about to reply that she was used to outdoor plumbing and didn’t need fine things when he glanced away, his lips thin lines from how hard he’d pressed them together. “I’m bettin’ you’re wishing McLeod made you marry Nate instead of me about now. I know I am.”
If he’d slapped her in the face, it couldn’t have hurt more. Annoyed that she’d misjudged him so badly, that she’d actually thought they might suit, Sarah set her heels to Bandit’s flanks. Running away, not even sure where she was going, seemed more desirable than staying another place where she wasn’t wanted. A moment later, horse hooves pounded on the track behind her, but she urged Bandit to lengthen his stride. She’d be damned if she’d give Jackson the pleasure of seeing the tears threatening to spill.
***
Nate jumped from the saddle and handed Annabelle’s reins to one of the stable boys who’d come running at his approach. “Is your grandma around, Henry?”
“Yessir, she’s in the kitchen.” The boy’s grin shone bright against his grime and sun-darkened skin. “She figured you and Mister Jackson would be back today, so she’s been bakin’ up a storm.”
“She has, huh? She making biscuits?” His mouth watered at the thought.
Henry’s head bobbed. “Yes, sir, and ribs too.”
Grinning, Nate took the steps two at a time. His spurs jangled as he strode across the porch and stepped into the front hall. He inhaled a lungful of the heavenly scent filling the house. Nothing smelled as good as Miss Martha’s cooking. His belly already growling its approval, he’d taken two steps when the kitchen door swung open.
“You stop right there and take your boots off, Nate Campbell.” His housekeeper folded her arms and glared with that same look his mother had given him when he was six and he’d pried the chair rails off the walls—not only in his bedroom, but the entire upstairs hallway. “I just swept, and I’ll not have you fillin’ the house with your dust again.”
“I’m going right back out in a minute.” Nevertheless, he backtracked to the sisal rug outside the front door. “I thought you’d appreciate some warning that company’s coming.”
“Oh, lordy, boy, who have you brought home this time? It better not be Miss Eliza after the way she treated you last Christmas.”
He winced at the memory of Eliza’s reaction when he hadn’t given her an engagement ring as she—and her mother—had expected. “No, not Eliza. Jackson’s got himself hitched while we were away, so I’ve invited him and his…wife”—would that word ever not stick in his throat?—“to stay.�
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“Hitched. Jackson?” Martha stilled, her eyes searching his expression which he struggled to keep bland. “He didn’t get roped in by one of those painted ladies over in Austin, did he? Or some wilting flower from back east?”
“No, ma’am, neither of those. It’s a long story and they’ll be along shortly, but I think you’ll like Miss Sarah.” To back up his words, hoof beats pounded in the distance, coming closer.
To Nate’s relief, the impending arrival of company distracted Martha’s examination of him. She whipped off her apron as she disappeared into the kitchen.
Moments later she returned, one hand smoothing her skirts, the other fiddling with the crocheted net holding her hair in place. “Am I presentable?”
“Of course.” He held open the screen door, and they both waited on the porch as Sarah raced toward the house, Jackson’s gelding hot on Bandit’s heels.
When she saw Sarah galloping down the lane on Bandit, Martha cuffed the back of Nate’s head, knocking his hat to the ground. “You made her ride on horseback all the way? You couldn’t have at least hired a coach or taken the train?”
“It’s her own horse she’s riding.” Nate stooped to pick up his hat and banged it against his thigh, knocking off the dust it had picked up. “Plus, Jackson had to help with the other horses. Besides, she said she’d rather ride horseback than be cooped up in a coach.”
Martha harrumphed in displeasure. “Of course, she’d say that, bless her heart. A new bride worth her salt wouldn’t want to be a burden on her husband, would she? Shall I put her in the bedroom where Jackson keeps his things?”
Not Jackson’s bedroom. That they hadn’t managed to fool her as to where Jackson slept should not have been a surprise. Nate whispered a prayer of thanks that Martha hadn’t publicly decried their behavior. “I think that would be best.”
Nate jumped from the porch as Sarah pulled Bandit up in front of them. He caught Bandit’s bridle and held the stallion as Sarah swung from the saddle. “Welcome to the Circle Star, Miss Sarah.”
“Thank you kindly, Mr. Campbell.” Sarah dropped into a polite curtsey. When she rose, she placed her gloved hand in his in a move that made Nate’s breath catch.
If only McLeod had listened to his argument, then Sarah would be walking up the steps as his wife, calling him Nate. Following him to his bedroom—their bed. Instead he’d have to keep his distance from her while pretending he wasn’t aroused by her grace.
“Your home is lovely.” She swallowed several times. “Thank you for letting us stay here until we find a place of our own.”
Upon closer inspection, Nate realized her eyes were red. She’d been crying. Shit. Had she just realized she’d probably never see her old home again? Jackson’s glower was black as thunder—his eyes narrowed to slits, and his eyebrows drawn so there wasn’t but a sliver of skin between them.
Damn it, Nate cursed to himself. He’d left them alone for fifteen minutes, twenty tops, and they’d managed to have a spat?
Damning McLeod once more for turning him down, he tucked her hand beneath his elbow and walked her to where his housekeeper waited. “Mrs. Martha Simons, I’d like you to meet Jackson’s bride, Sarah.” He helped her up on the porch. “Miss Martha here drops by from time to time to keep me in line. If Jackson’s lucky, maybe you’ll be able to convince her to divulge the recipe to the sauce she uses on her ribs.”
Martha must have caught the tension between the newlyweds as well, because a furrow appeared in her forehead and her tone was cool when she nodded to Sarah. “Welcome to the Circle Star, Miss Sarah. Why don’t you come inside while the men take care of the horses?”
Nate stayed where he was, waiting until Sarah followed Martha into the house before he rounded on Jackson. “She was fine when I left you two alone. What did you do to upset her?”
Jackson swung out of the saddle. He tossed Thunder’s reins to Henry’s brother Clint, growling instructions to walk him a few minutes more. He waited until the boy was out of earshot before he spoke again. “She’s got her drawers in a twist because I told her I wouldn’t be able to afford to build a place like this.”
“Nah, I can’t see Miss Sarah being all uppity and expecting fine things.” Not like that money-grasping harridan Eliza had turned out to be. “You must have said something else.”
Jackson stared at the front door. “Damn it, Nate, all I said was that I wouldn’t be able to afford a place as fine as this, and that she probably regretted being married to me instead of you. Next thing I knew she was riding off hell bent for leather like I was the devil on her heels.”
There had to be another explanation. “Maybe she’s afraid she’ll never see her family again.”
“I told her right off I’d let her go back to visit if she wanted. She didn’t seem anxious to take me up on my offer. You saw the way they treated her. I don’t know what bee got in her bonnet, but then I never did understand women.” He took off his hat and thwacked it against his thigh. “Have Martha make sure she gets settled. I’m going to go help Clint with Thunder.”
Left alone on the porch, Nate stared at Jackson’s back as he retreated to the barn. “You damned fool.”
Sarah followed Martha, barely hearing the woman as she pointed out various rooms and features of Nate’s house. The heels of her boots clicked across the spotless loblolly pine floors. She’d offered to take them off but Nate’s—housekeeper? Distant aunt? Family friend?—had waved her off and immediately started her tour.
Miss Martha finally wound down. “You must be plum tuckered out, and here I am going on to beat the band.” She opened the solid plank door. “This is the guest room. I imagine you and Jackson’ll do fine here.”
The guest room proved to be a room bigger than her mother’s bedroom. A massive rope bed took up most of the space. A set of green gingham tiebacks held open the matching drapes, letting the afternoon sun light the room. As she examined the room she realized it gave her no sense of who Jackson was. There were no pictures on the wall, no beloved knickknacks he’d treasured since childhood or mementos of family. There wasn’t even a brush or a shaving set on the wash stand. Despite the lack of adornments, it was the type of room she could imagine waking up in each morning. But given Jackson thought her a burden, would it turn into a haven or a hell?
“I doubt Mr. Nate’ll mind if you want to fix it up to your own tastes. This place needs a woman’s touch.” Martha frowned. “I didn’t see a trunk or anything on any of the horses the boys brought back. Are your things being brought in by buckboard or somethin’?”
How did she explain that everything she owned had been packed in Bandit’s saddlebags without appearing a pauper?
Martha must have guessed the reason behind her embarrassment, maybe from the heat creeping up Sarah’s neck, because she patted her hand. “Ah, don’t you worry about a thing, honey. Jackson will see that you have everything you need.” She pulled her hand away and fiddled with the net holding her hair in place. “So how’d you two end up married? He didn’t say a thing about it before they left.” Martha’s face didn’t lose its smile, but Sarah heard the circumspection in her tone.
Before she could stop herself, the tale started tumbling out, though she carefully kept to herself Jackson and Nate’s relationship. She ended with, “He didn’t want to marry me, but now he’s stuck with me because Josiah refused to believe Jackson hadn’t touched me.”
“Funny, here I’ve been thinking about how you might be regrettin’ being stuck with me.”
Sarah whipped around to find Jackson standing in the doorway, her saddlebags in his hand. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
His mouth twitched up at one side and he gestured with his free hand to his sock feet. “Miss Martha always insists we take our boots off at the front door. Says she has enough dust blowin’ through this place without us trompin’ in more.” He glanced down at her boots. “Guess she likes you more than us.”
He hung his hat on a hook by the dresser before han
ding the saddlebags to Martha. “Those are Sarah’s clothes. I suspect they’re gonna need an ironing before she can put them on.”
Martha huffed. “They’ll need a good airing too, if they’ve been stuffed in here for the whole trip.”
“I can do that,” Sarah started to say, only to be cut off by Jackson.
“You’ll be busy with me.” He cupped Martha’s elbow and led her to the bedroom door. “If you’ll excuse us, Miss Martha, I think I’d like to clean up a bit myself. And I need to talk with my wife for a moment about a matter between us.”
“Of course.” Martha patted his arm with an ease that Sarah envied.
Jackson had shrugged his suspenders off his shoulders and let them drop to his side, when a young boy no more than ten peeked his head in the door. “Gramma said to bring you some fresh water, Mr. Jackson.”
“Here now, you should knock before walkin’ into a room. You’ve been raised better than that.” Despite his gruff tone, Jackson took the filled pitcher from the youngster’s hands and ruffled his hair. “You go out and help your brother cool off the horses. Make sure he don’t give them too much grain.”
“You can count on me. Those mares are right fine lookin’ fillies.” The boy’s face lit up, and he raced down the hall, calling instructions to his brother.
Once the door closed behind her, Jackson undid the buttons of his shirt. He tugged it over his head and let it flutter to the bed, leaving him in his undershirt. A moment later, it joined his shirt on the comforter.
Sarah found the play of muscles over his shoulders and back fascinating. She’d seen men out in the fields working on the fences and such, but they’d always pulled on their shirts before they’d come up to the house. Being so close to a man without his shirt on—to Jackson specifically—did strange things to her insides, as her body remembered all those wild and wanton things he’d done when he’d shown her what it meant to be a wife, a lover. Until she remembered that he didn’t want to be married to her.