by Lyn Horner
She finished her make-do bath, patted dry and donned a clean chemise, then crossed to the huge bed. When she drew back the faded rose coverlet, dust flew everywhere. She coughed and sneezed and swatted at the cloud of tiny specks. Reece Taylor hadn’t exaggerated when he said the room had been collecting dust for years. Thinking she had a lot of housecleaning ahead of her, Jessie collapsed upon the bed. Within seconds she was asleep.
She awoke near sundown. Lighting the kerosene lamp that stood on a dusty but beautifully carved mahogany highboy, she opened the matching wardrobe and looked through the gowns she’d hastily hung up earlier. They were all wrinkled from being packed in her trunk, but it was too late to press any of them tonight. Perhaps tomorrow.
For now, she chose a forest-green gown made of lightweight poplin, suitable for the Texas heat. David must have had that in mind, since most of the gowns he’d ordered for her were of similar fabrics. Except for one coral evening gown, they were also plainer and more practical for everyday wear than the gowns Blake Stanton had talked her into ordering – and far more to her taste.
She was stepping into the green gown when the bedroom door opened abruptly. Gasping, she jerked up the garment and clutched it to her breasts as David walked in.
“Blast it, woman, why shy like a frightened filly now?” he snapped, scowling as he shut the door. “I’m your husband. I’ve seen and touched every inch of you.”
Heat suffused Jessie’s face. “I’m sorry. Ye startled me is all, bursting in like that.” She was still shy about letting him see her unclothed but refused to admit it when he was so grumpy.
“Well, I don’t plan to stand out there and ask your permission to come in.” Peeling off his sweaty shirt, he tossed it on a chair and strode over to the wash stand.
His ill-humor roused her slumbering temper. “Huh! As if I’d ever expect such courtesy from ye after the way ye left me sitting in the sun,” she retorted, tugging the green gown into place. “Not to mention that ye didn’t even tell me about the bad blood between you and your da.”
“What are you complaining about? You’ve already got him eating out of your hand.” His testy words were accompanied by a chorus of splashing water as he washed up.
“He offered me a place to lay my head. I’d hardly call that eating out of my hand,” she said as she buttoned her bodice. “And if you’d say a kind word to the poor man, perhaps –”
“I don’t need you telling me how to speak to my father.”
“Oh, aye, it might hurt your precious pride to take a wee bit of advice,” she scoffed, retrieving her hairbrush from the dusty dressing table near the washstand.
He turned to face her, toweling his wet hair. “Jessie, I have no patience right now. So I’d advise you to curb your vinegar tongue and not mix into what doesn’t concern you.”
Her mouth dropped open in disbelief. “Doesn’t concern me? Ye made it my concern when ye brought me here. And I’ll say whatever I please, ye big bully!”
David glowered at her fiercely. “Jessie, I swear . . . .” Leaving his words unfinished, he tossed his towel aside and started toward her.
“No! Stay away!” She backed up, shaking her hairbrush at him.
He jerked it from her hand, tossed it back onto the dressing table, and grasped her arms, making her cry out in alarm. “If you wave that thing in my face again, woman, I’ll apply it to your backside.”
“Just ye try it!” she shrilled, shoving at his chest. Unwillingly, she registered the warmth of his skin, the texture of damp, curly hair beneath her palms, and the aroma of soap and water mingled with his own familiar scent. “Let me go or I’ll –”
“You’ll finish getting ready,” he said between his teeth. “You’ll keep out of my quarrel with Pa, and you won’t show your bad temper in front of him again. Do you understand?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, lips locked in rebellious silence.
“Do you understand?” he repeated, giving her a shake.
“Yes! I’ll be a perfect lady. But only because I choose to be, not because you say so.”
He released her, eyes hot with anger. “Of course. How could I think you’d do it for me?” He went to find a clean shirt, leaving Jessie furious – and regretful.
* * *
Reece Taylor sat waiting for them in the parlor. “About time. Supper’s getting cold,” he snapped. However, his impatient frown transformed into a broad smile as he looked Jessie over. “Guess I don’t mind, though. Not with you looking pretty as a picture, missy,” he amended.
Jessie smiled. “Thank ye, sir. ’Tis kind of ye to say so, and I’m sorry for keeping ye waiting.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he replied.
As Reece struggled to his feet, David removed Jessie’s hand from his arm, where he’d forcibly placed it. She watched him cross to the liquor cabinet and unstop a decanter of spirits. He looked roguish in his red shirt, with a black silk scarf knotted at his throat and his dark hair glistening. He had the manners of a rogue, too, she thought waspishly.
His father, on the other hand, looked distinguished in a gray frock coat and trousers, white shirt and black string tie. Leaning heavily on his cane, he limped over to Jessie. “I’d be honored if you would allow me to escort you in to supper, my dear,” he said, offering his arm.
“Nothing would please me more, Mister Taylor,” she replied, smiling into his eyes. Unlike David’s, they were clear gray, without a trace of green.
“Call me Reece,” he said gruffly as she accepted his arm.
“As ye wish . . . Reece.” She let him lead her from the room, refusing to glance at her taciturn husband.
Whiskey glass in hand, David sauntered after them, disgruntled over the instant liking his father had taken to Jessie. He ought to be glad, he knew, but hiding behind his wife’s skirts stuck in his craw. He didn’t have much choice, though, if he wanted to remain on the ranch, and after what Sul had told him a while ago, he was determined to stay. Whether Pa wanted his help or not, he was going to get it.
The stubborn old mossy horn should have hired himself a foreman years ago, but he’d been too proud to do so, David supposed, uncomfortably recalling Jessie’s remark about his own pride. She wasn’t entirely wrong, he grudgingly conceded, watching the enticing sway of her hips. He had to force his thoughts back to the troubling situation on the River T.
Since Pa’s accident, Sul had acted as foreman, keeping the ranch running, if not always smoothly, for which David was grateful. But while the aging cowhand knew everything there was to know about cattle and horses, he freely admitted he was no manager. That was one reason he’d asked Aunt Martha to contact David and urge him to come home.
Sul’s other reason concerned a rash of cattle rustling that had been going on in the area and the four tough hombres his boss had hired to protect the River T herd. He resented the way they ran roughshod over the regular hands – two longtime River T men had quit as a result – and he particularly despised one of them. His name was Wes Foster, and from Sul’s description of him, David recognized him as the louder of the two men he’d locked horns with today, the one who’d leered at Jessie so openly.
Since the arrival of Foster and his pals, the River T had suffered few losses, supposedly because the rustlers were afraid to tangle with the four hard cases. However, raids on neighboring ranches had increased, and there’d been a couple of killings. Angry neighbors had begun to question whether Foster and his bunch might actually be the rustlers. So had Sul, but if they were the thieves, he couldn’t figure out how they spirited the cattle away without being gone for days at a time.
Brooding over the matter, David seated himself at the foot of his mother’s French Victorian dining table. His father sat at the head, with Jessie between them. While the two conversed amiably, David ate in silence, ignoring his father and being ignored in return.
However, his eyes had a mind of their own when it came to Jessie, swinging her way repeatedly, like a compass needle to true north
. She’d pinned her hair loosely back with a pair of combs, and her ivory skin glowed against the backdrop of auburn curls and her dark green gown. Glad he’d picked that color from the dressmaker’s samples, David found it difficult to stay mad at his comely wife.
He allowed that Jessie had a right to be damn mad at him. He should have told her how things stood between him and his father before they got here. No, he should have told her when he asked her to marry him, but then she might never have accepted his proposal. He’d had a hard enough time convincing her to become his wife as it was, he sourly remembered.
He also remembered calling love a fool’s dream that day in Alta. He hadn’t altered his opinion. Jessie might stir him to tenderness – when she wasn’t infuriating him, driving him to make threats he knew he’d never carry out – but he was not in love with her. He’d vowed long ago never to fall into that trap.
His thoughts were interrupted when Anna Howard, Pa’s aging cook, came in to clear away the dinner plates and set out dessert. When the little white-haired woman saw Jessie, a delighted smile deepened the creases in her plump cheeks. She’d shrieked loud enough to wake the dead when David walked into the cookhouse earlier. Then she’d nearly bowled him over throwing herself at him, he fondly recalled.
Anna had been a fixture on the River T for over twenty years, ever since losing her own family to Comanches. She had a heart of gold and a temper as hot as a chili pepper, a fact David hadn’t forgotten. Thus, when she shot him a glare that said he’d better introduce her, or else, he quickly took the hint.
“Jessie,” he said, drawing her frosty gaze, “this is Anna Howard. Anna, my wife, Jessie.”
“Land o’ Goshen, child, I can’t tell you how glad I am to meet you,” Anna gushed, setting down her tray of dessert bowls and hurrying over to give Jessie a hug. “My old heart near stopped when I laid eyes on that young rascal a while ago.” She aimed a finger at David. “And I thought I was hearing things when he said he had himself a wife. You’re the answer to an old lady’s prayer, honey.”
“I’m very glad to meet you, too,” Jessie replied with a flabbergasted expression that made David grin despite his sullen mood.
Anna stood back to look at her, broad bosom heaving with her excited giggles. “My, my, that boy sure does have an eye for a pretty face, just like his daddy. If anyone can make peace between ’em, it’ll be you, dearie.”
David stiffened and frowned at her.
“Quit wagging your chin, old woman!” Pa barked, slapping the table hard enough to rattle the dishes.
Anna drew herself up to her full four-foot-something inches and jammed her hands onto her broad hips. “Just for that, Reece Taylor, you’re gonna get a piece of my mind. It’s high time you quit holding it against Davey for seeing things Miz Martha’s way. The war’s over. You need to forgive and forget.”
Watching the old man grind his teeth, David gave a sour laugh. “You’re asking for a miracle, Anna.”
“Damn right she is!” Pa bellowed, hunching his head between his shoulders and glaring at David. “When you turned your back on the South, you turned it on me and this ranch. Then you had the almighty gall to come strutting back in your blue uniform, rubbing my nose in defeat. And I’m supposed to forgive you? Never!”
“Christ! You thought that?” David shook his head in stunned denial. “I’d spent four years watching men die, men I’d come to call friends. And killing others who might have been my friends if not for the damned war. When it ended all I owned was my uniform and a worn out horse. I wasn’t looking to rub your nose in anything. All I wanted was to come home.”
Pa stared at him uncertainly, giving David a few seconds of hope, but then his mouth curled in disdain. “Nobody forced you to run off and join the Union Army in the first place.”
Bitterness rose like bile in David’s throat. Jaw clenched, he threw his napkin on the table, shoved back his chair and stood. He ignored Jessie and Anna, both silently watching. “You forced me to do it, old man, by telling Aunt Martha to get out if she didn’t like your secessionist bluster. You made me choose between her and you.”
“And you chose her, didn’t you!” Pa roared, red with rage.
“Yeah, and she blamed herself for that until the day she died. But she was wrong. She wasn’t to blame. You were.”
David shot Jessie a brief glance, seeing distress in her wide blue eyes. He was sorry for that, sorry she’d had to hear his father’s hateful diatribe and his own bitter words, but in his present frame of mind he couldn’t offer her a lick of comfort. Turning on his heel, he strode out. He needed a horse under him and stars over his head. Maybe then he would remember why he’d come back here and why he had to stay.
Jessie flinched when the front door banged shut after him.
“Landsakes!” Anna exclaimed, wringing her hands. “And here I made his favorite berry cobbler.”
“No good turncoat!” Reece rumbled, averting his gaze. “Good riddance to him.”
Staring at him in disbelief, Jessie recalled David’s command to stay out of his quarrel with his father – and her promise not to lose her temper. But how could she say nothing after what she’d just witnessed? It was all she could do to hold her tongue until Anna left, carrying out a tray of dirty dishes and muttering mournfully.
As soon as she was gone, Jessie said, “Ye forced your son to choose between you and the woman he loved like a mother?” David might deny any such emotion, but she knew he had loved his aunt.
Reece looked at her, a scowl dragging at his mouth. “My sister turned him against his own people, against me.”
“And it hurt ye to think he loved her more than you. Well, I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I do know ’twas she who advised him to come home after learning about your accident.” She’d gathered that much from what little David had told her and from hearing his exchange with Sul Smith this afternoon.
Reece’s brows shot up in surprise. “How did she find out? I never wrote . . . .” His scowl returned. “Sul! By damn, I’ll –”
“Ye ought to thank him,” she snapped, “and David. He resigned his commission in the army and came back here to help ye. And if ye weren’t so full of hate, ye might see why he did it. ’Tis because he loves ye!”
The angry color drained from her father-in-law’s lined face. Not saying a word, he stared into space, hands lying lax on the linen tablecloth. Jessie rose and left him sitting there, hoping her words would do some good. Sweet Mary, if David found out what she’d said, he’d be furious with her.
Their bedroom seemed cavernous and the bed lonely when she lay down a while later. She’d grown used to David beside her in the night. Where was he? she wondered worriedly.
How hard it must have been for him to come back here, knowing how his father felt about him. Would he have done it if he hadn’t promised to give her a home? She quickly dismissed the thought. Of course he would have come back, for his father’s sake. She believed what she’d told Reece. David did love the old curmudgeon, and deep down, Reece loved him. The problem was they were both too proud to admit it.
Jessie gave a huge yawn. She wanted to stay awake until David returned, but exhaustion threatened to drag her to sleep. Finally, she gave up the fight. Curled on her side, she floated through dreams of David. She smiled in her sleep when she felt him slip his arms around her and mold himself to her back.
“I need you,” he whispered, trailing kisses down her neck while his hands explored her through her thin nightgown. At first it all seemed like a sensuous dream, but the delicious sensations he aroused soon convinced her she was no longer dreaming.
“David?” she mumbled as he edged the gown upward.
He laughed softly. “Who else would be in your bed, darlin’?”
“No one.” She rolled onto her back and lifted her arms to help him as he drew the gown over her head. “Only you.”
Giving a low growl, he leaned close and sealed her mouth with his kiss. His hand slipped between her leg
s to stoke the flames of her desire. She moaned and lifted her hips in invitation. Shifting to lie over her, he sheathed himself in her welcoming passage with a long, slow glide, then pulled back just as slowly. Several repetitions of this, and they were both trembling and eager for release. Crying out her need, Jessie wrapped her legs around him, and pleasure rapidly swept them away.
Moments later, she smiled drowsily at the golden moon peeking through the open window and fell asleep once more, content in the arms of the dream lover who had become her reality.
* * *
A hinge squeaked as David opened the bedroom door, causing him to curse under his breath. He looked over at the bed and saw Jessie stir in the early dawn light. Turning her head, she met his gaze with half-open eyes.
“Sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
She gave him a sleepy smile and stretched languidly, causing the bed sheet to slip downward. The edge of it stopped just above the tips of her beautiful breasts. David caught his breath and watched in fascination, hoping the sheet would slip a little lower. He was disappointed when Jessie suddenly noticed where it hovered and yanked it higher. Clutching the cloth to her bosom, she sat up.
“Where are ye off to so early?” she inquired in a groggy voice.
David fought down a burst of irritation at her renewed show of modesty. Contenting himself with what little he could see of her warmly flushed skin, he replied, “Into Clifton. I need to return the buckboard to the livery, and I’ve got some business to tend to.”
“Oh,” she said, pushing sleep-rumpled hair from her eyes. “You’ll be back before supper, won’t ye?”