by Linda Broday
She started to tell Sawyer to come watch the bath but noticed he’d curled up in a corner, asleep.
“Jack, what’s your best guess about Willow’s father? He almost had to have met with some catastrophe to leave his wife. From the way we found them, she must have been alone during the birth.” Nora felt Jack’s hand on her shoulder and glanced up. “Maybe there was no father—at least not here. Maybe she lived all alone.”
“Anything is possible. Try not to let your mind go to dark places.” Jack rolled up a sleeve and slipped his hand into the water and laid it on baby Willow. His fingers, his hand, appeared so large resting on the baby’s small chest. “She’s tiny, but she’s a fighter. My son was too, up until the end. I think of all the things I did wrong, all the regrets. If I’d only been there instead of riding off, following the bastards’ trail. I didn’t realize they’d doubled back until I was too far out. I should’ve saved my wife and son.”
“What was that you said about not letting your mind go to dark places? What is done cannot be changed.” She squeezed his big hand under the water and noticed the corded muscles in his arms. She’d only seen him a few times without his duster and sleeves rolled up.
How could he be so big and yet so gentle?
“You’re right. I never was too good about taking my own advice.”
His nearness aroused a slew of tingles and flutters inside her. She wondered if that would change after they settled into married life. For all she knew, the magic would evaporate like mist on water. She doubted it though.
They had enough magic to last a lifetime, in her estimation. Magic and trust.
“Jack, I want to tell you something.”
Fourteen
The troubled pitch in Nora’s low voice caught Jack’s attention. What else could she have to tell?
“What is it?” With his hand in the water resting on baby Willow, Jack let his shoulder brush Nora’s—a slight pressure that let her know he was there for her.
The newborn yawned and closed her eyes, seeming warm enough now.
“Finding Willow and her mother brought back a horrible memory.” Her voice dipped even lower, and her lip trembled. “I must’ve been at Flynn O’Brien’s two years when this happened. Best as I can recall, I was sixteen. Muffled screams woke me, so I crept to the door and looked out. Not seeing anything, I stepped into the dim hallway. I dared not go any farther, because I’d been warned not to come near the basement where the screams came from. A door at the far end that led below jerked opened and Flynn stomped out, holding a wailing baby. Not a newborn. I’m guessing it was probably about a month or two old. I’ll never forget the look of rage on his face. He brought the child to me and shoved it into my arms, ordering me to get rid of it.”
“The bastard! What did he expect you to do? Smother it?”
“I asked him that question, and he said he didn’t care—just that the baby boy had better not be there when he woke up.”
Jack took her hand under the warm water and gave it a little squeeze.
“I was shaking from head to toe, so scared. I took the child into my room and rocked him to sleep, then I dressed and wrapped him up. I snuck out of the house and carried him to a church not far from where I lived, left him inside on the altar.” Her anguished words were broken. “I never knew…what happened to him…or his mother. Flynn told me if I breathed a word to anyone, he’d silence me.”
“At least you tried to give the child some kind of start. I’m sure the boy is grateful that someone saved him. You never heard anything about where the kid had come from?”
“No, and I was too afraid to ask questions. I knew Flynn to be a man of his word. And now the memory I had buried so long ago came storming back.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m tired, Jack, real tired of having his voice in my head, tired of remembering the screams, the blood, the terror. If only I could go to sleep and wake up with everything erased.”
“You’re safe here. I won’t let any monsters have you.” He took his hands from the water and kissed her temple. “The water’s getting cold. I’ll heat what’s left, and we’ll put Willow in again, then try to feed her more.”
She raised her troubled gaze to his. “Jack, do you think I’m a bad person for not trying harder to get away, for not telling anyone what went on in that house, for not doing more?”
The tears bubbling in her eyes made his chest tighten. “No, you’re not a bad person.”
“You’re not either, Jack.” She wrapped the baby back in the old quilt.
He thought of Gus Franklin and the family the man had murdered. But for Jack, they’d be alive.
“A lot of folks would disagree.” He put the cold water onto the stove and added more wood. “We do our best, hope it’s good enough, and try not to worry about the rest.” He wished he could follow his own advice. Hell! “I have memories that haunt me also.”
“It helps to talk.”
“Maybe one day.” He moved to a trunk hidden in the shadows and opened it. “Nora, I found a small stack of baby things and two large, frayed blankets for us.”
“Oh thank goodness. I was wondering what we’d use.”
He stuck the tiny clothes under an arm and tucked one of the blankets around Sawyer, who mumbled in his sleep, saying he’d be good.
Damn this life! It was hard on adults but devastating for kids, especially those left alone with no one to protect them.
Laying the few diapers and clothes on the bed, he went over plans for the next day. “I’ll bury the mother, then head to a trading post two or three miles from here to see if they might have a bottle. I hate to leave you behind.”
“I’ll be fine. We have to have a better way of feeding Willow. I’ll keep one of the guns just in case. If you move the sheep and goats away from the house, any passersby will think it’s abandoned.”
“Of course. I’ll find a place to hide them.”
He loved her quick mind and the sound of her voice. She was the kind of wife any man would be proud to have. When the water grew warm enough, he took it from the stove and made another bath for Willow. When that one cooled, he held the baby while Nora dried her off.
“I feel a lot better about her chances, Jack. Her skin is pink now and she has milk in her belly. Can you hand me one of the diapers?”
He brought it to her along with a soft gown. “At least the young mother had collected a few things.”
“I thought she must have. She had plenty of warning.”
While Nora dressed and fussed over the baby, Jack went outside to check on things and scrounge up something to eat. The odds of finding food, short of slaughtering one of the sheep, which would be too complicated and messy, were slim and none.
Darkness had fallen, and creatures of the night were rustling through the brush near the house. His thoughts were in a turmoil. He had to warn Nora not to get attached in case the baby’s father returned, but he wasn’t sure how to find the words.
There was no mistaking the love on her face. It was in her voice, her touch, each tender glance. That tiny girl had found a firm place in Nora’s heart. To have Willow ripped from her arms would destroy her.
Maybe, in some small way, in saving Willow, she believed she could atone for not doing enough to stop Flynn O’Brien.
The sounds of the night settled around his shoulders. He listened to the wind but heard only sighs, not screams of warning, and relaxed.
A faint cluck reached him, drawing him to the back of the house. It had to be a chicken. Few sounds were similar. He inched forward, the noise getting louder. There, bedded down in the tall grass, sat three chickens. That meant there had to be eggs. Jack lifted up the hens one by one and ended up with seven eggs. He was grinning when he went inside.
Providing for his family made a man feel real good, and seeing the smile on Nora’s face put a glow in his heart.
Now that Willow was fed, warm, and dry, she slept while they fixed supper. The smell of food must’ve woken Sawyer, and the kid almost beat the sparse meal to the table. Jack didn’t miss how his and Sawyer’s portions were larger than Nora’s.
“Don’t do with less for me. Got that?” Jack raked some of his onto her plate to make them even.
“A man needs more food than a woman,” she protested.
“We’re equals. Got that? Same amount of food.”
Nora nodded and lifted her fork. “What are our plans after tomorrow?”
“I figure we should stay here for a couple of days to see if Willow’s father shows up and let the infant gain more of a toehold on life.”
Sawyer glanced up from his tin plate. “He’s probably dead.”
That death would be Sawyer’s first thought hit Jack like a sledgehammer. That should be the last thing on a nine-year-old’s mind.
“Try to look at the bright side. He might’ve gone hunting. There’s nothing here to eat but his flock and the laying hens. We’ll see what the coming days bring.” Jack shoved in the last bite and laid down his fork. “I’ll kill one of the chickens tomorrow, and we’ll have a good supper. I have a couple of dollars tucked away, and it’ll be enough to buy us a few things. I might do a little hunting with the bow and arrow along the way. It’ll be quiet.”
“Can I come?” Sawyer asked.
Jack met Nora’s gaze and got her nod. It was best if they started deciding these things together. “You can come.” Jack carried his plate to the tub to be washed and Sawyer followed close on his heels. “Did your parents teach you to clear your plate from the table, son?”
“Nope. That was what you did, so I did too. I don’t want to mess up.”
Jack put his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “You’re not going to mess up. And if you do, we’re not going to get rid of you, so get that out of your head. It’s good to help Nora however you can though. She has her hands full.”
“I will.” The boy lay down on the rough plank floor and pulled the blanket around him.
“I’m going to go out for a bit, Nora.” Jack slipped his long duster on.
Worry sprang into her brown eyes. “Is something wrong?”
“I just need to make sure no one has caught wind of us. I won’t be long.” He kissed her cheek and slipped out into the night.
The air held a chill. He shivered and tugged his collar up, his gaze moving left and right, searching for anything out of the ordinary. He’d been lucky for too long and could sense the posse’s noose tightening.
They’d made it to within one day’s walk of Hope’s Crossing, but would they live to see the town?
Not that he thought the posse would shoot Nora and the children, but a stray bullet could find them in a gunfight. Danger lurked around them. Darius Guthrie, Bittercreek, and Seamus Belew wanted him so damn bad he could taste it.
They waited for him to make a mistake. Searching. Ready to pounce.
These last miles to the town were going to be the hardest of all because everyone would be gathered right here, determined to keep him from reaching home. They knew he was getting close so were likely homing in on their location even now.
If he could just reach Hope’s Crossing and block the single entrance, they’d stand a chance.
Yet he could almost feel the burning path of the bullet that would end him, end everything; smell the gunpowder, taste death.
It was coming.
Jack shook his head to clear it, released a heavy sigh, and began to haunt the night. Moving silently through the brush, he made two wide circles around the house but saw no sign of encroachers. Good. Maybe he was being overly cautious.
The door opened behind him and Nora stepped from the house, pulling her coat around her. “See anything?”
“No. The children asleep?”
“For now. Willow will wake soon for more milk though. I think babies eat every few hours during the first months.”
He drew her into his arms and she rested her head on his chest. “I’ll take a shift. I doubt I’ll sleep much anyway. Too jumpy.”
“I appreciate that.” She motioned to the darkness. “What’s got you spooked?”
“Nothing more than a feeling that won’t turn loose.” He tightened his hold around her, and she slid her arms around his waist. The feel of her body next to him settled his nerves a little. “We’ve barely had time to talk since Sawyer came with us. Are you all right?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I know how deeply finding this dead woman and Willow affected you.”
“It’s just so sad to think of her dying all alone and never knowing if someone would save her baby. That had to lie heavy on her mind as she passed. As a woman, I can’t imagine anything more devastating.” Nora tilted her face to look at him. “To leave my baby would tear my heart out. Or to have my child taken from me, as your son was. The pain, the rage, the jagged hole where once your family was.” She inhaled sharply. “I don’t know how you manage.”
“One day at a time.” He wouldn’t mention the nights he’d lain awake, tormented and stuck in grief. Even if he were able, telling her that would serve no purpose.
“I have this horrible premonition that we’re not going to make it, Jack. I think they’re coming.”
So did he, but he couldn’t let her lose hope. He took her face between his hands and tenderly pressed his lips to her forehead. “We have to hold on and believe. Do that for me.”
“I’ll try, but that’s all I can promise.”
The quiet, as clear and sharp as spun glass, drifted between them. Jack held Nora and searched for the right words.
When he spoke, his voice was raspy. “You need to prepare yourself for the possibility that Willow’s father could show up and take her. Don’t get too attached.”
“It’s too late, Jack. I already love that little girl as though she’s my own child.” Her soft words confirmed what he already knew. “For whatever reason, her father might not come, but if he does, I doubt he’ll want the responsibility of a baby. He might want someone to take her.”
“Don’t confuse wishful thinking with fact.”
Nora raised her head and met his gaze, her fingers lightly caressing his stubbled jaw. “I’ll deal with that when the time comes. Meanwhile, I’ll give baby Willow the mother she doesn’t have. I can’t close my heart to her. I’m sorry. I just won’t.”
“I know.” He rested his chin on top of her head and tightened the warm cocoon he made with his arms. She felt everything so deeply—hurt, pain, love—and maybe that was one of the many things he adored about her. There were no half measures with this woman he’d soon marry. She was either all or nothing.
Nora wiggled away from him, unbuttoned her coat, then his, and pressed her warm body against him. He drew his duster around her and held her as though there were no tomorrows.
And no killers lying in wait somewhere in the dark.
“Much better.” She snuggled again in his arms. “I need to feel you next to me without the bulky layers of fabric between us.” She pressed her lips to the hollow of his throat. “I wish we were somewhere safe. I’d just be getting out of a long, hot bath. You would’ve already taken yours, and the heat in your eyes would devour me. You’d scoop me up in your arms and carry me to a soft bed.” She opened the top buttons of his shirt and kissed his chest. “I’d strip off your clean clothes and run my hands over every inch of you.”
Jack chuckled and picked up the fantasy. “Then, I’d light a fire inside you and make you my wife.”
“Someone we trust would look after the children, so we could touch and whisper and kiss to our hearts’ content.”
“And I’d leave no doubt in your pretty little head about who you belong to,” Jack finished.
He tenderly caressed the sweep of her high che
ekbone, the line of her jaw, the long column of her throat. Visions of them naked burst inside his head—warm and clean, the sheets tangled around their legs. Her silken body made for loving lying next to him.
Nora reminded him of a summer storm. Thunder and lightning crashed all around, but her center was dead calm, a place where a man could find respite from the turmoil and daily struggle to survive. If only he’d lived a better life and hadn’t dragged her into trouble with him.
“Jack,” she whispered, running her hands across his back, kissing his jaw.
His need for her flared. He lowered his mouth and drank of her passion, tasted the velvet warmth of her mouth, listened to the mewling cry coming from her that spoke of the same heat.
Liquid fire raced through his blood and scorched a path along his limbs, creating a pool of molten need in his belly. His heartbeat pounded in his temples, drowning out everything except the hunger that demanded fulfillment.
In this harsh land, where the next moment could put you in a grave, a man had to take whatever solace he could.
Nora wound her arms around his neck and clung as if he would save her from drowning.
Damn the clothes still between them!
If only he could slide his hands along her skin, down those luscious curves that drove him mad. Shifting his feet, he trailed his fingers down her throat where her pulse beat. There in the tiny hollow, he pressed a kiss.
“I want you, lady,” Jack growled. “You drive me out of my head, the way your hips sway like a river current and that funny little tilt of your head you have. You’re all I think about.”
Nora’s smile and teasing nibble of her lips set his heart thrumming. “This may sound crazy, and if so, I don’t care. I want us to say our vows to each other. Right now. Right here, tonight. We don’t know what else lies ahead and we may not ever reach Hope’s Crossing. Will you say yours to me?”
The request jarred him. But why not? She had a point, and if he could offer her his name, such as it was, he’d do it. Maybe the little extra security would at least help her weather the storm that was bearing down on them.