Savage Thunder

by Johanna Lindsey

  “Would you want me any other way?”

  “Hell, no.”

  Later that afternoon, Jessie rode up into the hills to Colt’s cabin. It still made her smile each time she passed the spot where she and Chase had first made love, there in the lower hills overlooking the valley. That first time had been wonderful, even though it had ended badly. He’d thought he wasn’t ready for marriage yet and settling down. He’d found out differently. He had even brought her back up here after they returned to Wyoming, to do it right this time, he said. Did they ever do it right.

  The years had been good to them, exceedingly so. She might still be gruff with him at times—old habits died hard, and she’d always been quick to show her temper—but she knew the man loved her as much as she loved him, which was one hell of a lot.

  Colt’s cabin was higher up in the mountains near the creek where she used to swim as a girl, with a view of not only the valley but the plains beyond. Even with a few inches of snow covering the slopes this high up, she still found him outside wearing only a pair of old buckskin breeches as he chopped wood. He had a small mountain of wood piling up behind him. He swung that ax with a vengeance too. As chilly as the air was, sweat sheened on his chest and back.

  She decided not to comment on his method for working off steam, which she had little doubt was the reason for such exertion. “Any coffee left on the stove?”

  He didn’t look up as he nodded, having known who his visitor was long before she came into sight of his little clearing. “Help yourself.”

  She did, taking note that his cabin was a mess and about a dozen bottles of whiskey filled a box in the corner, all empty. She came back out to stand in the doorway, cup in hand. He still didn’t stop his chopping.

  “You catch any horses lately?”

  Since his corral was empty, it was really a question just to annoy him. It didn’t work.

  “No,” was all he said.

  “Billy will be taking the train to Chicago next week. I think my mother’s actually going to listen to him now about that extra schooling he doesn’t want. It wouldn’t hurt him none to have it, though. Maybe you and I could talk him into changing his mind.”

  “The boy’s old enough to make his own decisions, Jessie,” he said with another swing of the ax.

  She let that tack go. “You haven’t seen him since he led those foreigners into town. Are you going to at least come down to say good-bye? I notice you’ve been remiss in that department lately.”

  She got his attention with that one. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Jessie shrugged. “Just that your duchess remarked on your absence the morning she left. She hadn’t realized she wasn’t going to see you again.”

  He swung the ax once more, making no comment other than “She’s not my duchess.”

  “Well, of course not,” Jessie allowed. “I didn’t mean it that way.” She moved out of the doorway to sit on a tree stump closer to the woodpile and remarked casually, “She sure is a lady who knows how to get things done. I heard she just walked into the bank and came out less than a half hour later with a deed in hand.”

  “To the Callan place.”

  So he did know. She hadn’t been sure. “Well, there wasn’t much else available already built. She’s fixed it up so you wouldn’t recognize it, but I guess she’s still not that happy with it. She also bought land running clear up into the mountains and plans to build a mansion in the foothills come spring. There’s already some famous New York architect working on a design for her, and she’s got whole crews willing to travel all this way—”

  “How do you know so much, Jessie?”

  “I’ve paid her a visit or two. She is my neighbor now, after all, and only a short ride away.”

  “I know.”

  She frowned at the disgust in his tone. “Is that a problem?”

  “Why should it be?”

  “Well, you sure don’t sound too happy about it.”

  “Was I supposed to?”

  “Well…yes, I kind of thought you might be. Weren’t you and she friends?”

  “She hired me to do a job. I did it.”

  “And that’s all there was between you two?”

  “Jessie,” he began warningly, but she cut him off.

  “White Thunder, this is me you’re talking to. And I saw the way you looked at her, so you can’t tell me you don’t want her. Why aren’t you over there doing some courting? My foreman is, every chance he gets.”

  “Emmett Harwell?” he snapped. “He’s old enough to be her father!”

  “Well, now, what’s that got to do with anything? I heard her duke was even older than that.”

  He glowered at her for a moment, but went right back to swinging the ax. Jessie made a sound of exasperation. Directness just wasn’t going to work.

  She took a sip of coffee, then said, “You know, after hearing all about this English dude who keeps hounding the lady, I figured the first thing she’d do when she moved in was build a wall around the place, but she didn’t. I even asked her about it, and you know what she said?”

  She waited. It took about twenty seconds, but he finally looked at her and demanded, “Well?”

  “She doesn’t want to keep him out. She says she’s entrenched and waiting for him to come to her. Sounds like something you might have suggested she do.”

  “Maybe I did.”

  “That’s what I thought, but I couldn’t figure out why you weren’t there waiting with her.”

  “She’s got enough men—”

  “But she doesn’t plan to use them. She plans on shooting the Englishman herself, so she’s making it easy for him to get to her.”

  Colt dropped the ax. “Where’d she get that crazy idea from?”

  Jessie shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. Maybe she was just trying to impress me with her courage, since it’s something I might do. Like you said, she’s got men aplenty. Stands to reason there’d be one or two around to get him before he reaches her.”

  Colt made no comment to that. He was already heading for his cabin. Jessie followed, trying not to grin.

  “You planning to go over there?” she called after him.

  “The woman doesn’t make idle remarks like that, Jessie,” he tossed over his shoulder. “If she said she’d shoot him, she means to do it. Someone’s got to tell her it’s a damn-fool idea.”

  “Well, while you’re there, why don’t you put an end to this silliness of drinking yourself sick each night and ask the woman to marry you?”

  He swung around to scowl at her. “Mind your own business, Jessie.”

  “You want to, don’t you?”

  “What difference does that make? She’s a white woman, or didn’t you notice?”

  She deliberately widened her eyes, as if she understood perfectly now. “Well, why didn’t you tell me she was prejudiced?”

  “Are you crazy? She doesn’t even know the meaning of the word.”

  “Then she’s too arrogant for you? I should have known, her being a duchess and all.”

  “She’s no more arrogant than you are,” he retorted.

  “Well, I’m not arrogant, so it must be she’s mean-spirited. I never would have guessed.”

  “Cut it out, Jessie,” he hissed. “There isn’t a mean bone in her body.”

  “Then it must be her looks. And here I thought you didn’t mind all that ugly red hair.”

  “Chase should have wrung your neck the last time he threatened to.”

  “What’d I say?” she asked innocently.

  He chuckled then, and caught her about the waist to give her a hard hug. “You’ve made your point, sister. I guess I can’t lose anything by asking.”

  Jessie stepped back, wrinkling her nose and wiping her hands on her pants. “Best take a bath first. You don’t want her to swoon before she has a chance to answer you.”

  She barely got the last word out before she squealed and started running.

  Chapter Forty-six
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  “You’re the first to know, dear. I’ve decided to get married.”

  Jocelyn swung around in surprise, nearly knocking the lamp off the table next to her. “Vana! You hardly know Mr. Harwell. He’s only been calling on you this past week!”

  The countess chuckled. “I’m surprised you even noticed, you’ve been moping around here so much.”

  “I have not!”

  “Well, I don’t know what else you might call it. But never mind. And I’m not marrying that nice Emmett Harwell, though I do have him to thank for making my dear Robbie jealous enough to ask me.”

  “Robbie?”

  “And why not?” the countess said defensively at Jocelyn’s bemused look. “If you can fall in love with a man entirely unsuitable to your station—”

  “The devil take my station! And I don’t love him either!”

  “Of course you don’t, dear.”

  Jocelyn glared. Vanessa was blissfully unmoved by it. Jocelyn finally turned away with a sigh.

  “It would be rather stupid of me to love a man who doesn’t love me, wouldn’t it?” she said in a small voice.

  “Oh, definitely.”

  Jocelyn glanced over her shoulder with another glare. “Why aren’t you telling me he’s too surly, mean-tempered, dangerous—”

  “Because he can’t be all that bad or you wouldn’t love him.”

  “He’s not, but if you haven’t noticed, he hasn’t come calling.”

  “You may have to do the calling yourself, dear. I understand he has an aversion to this ranch. His sister confided to me that he nearly died here some years ago—good Lord, sit down! What did I say?”

  Jocelyn waved the countess off from trying to drag her to a chair. “I’m all right. It would have been nice if someone had told me, though. What horrid irony.”

  “What is?”

  “That I should have purchased this place.”

  “Yes, well, you’re not exactly going to remain here long, only until the spring. And besides, he may want you to live up in the mountains with him, in his rustic little cabin.”

  “I wouldn’t mind.”

  The countess made a face, for she had merely been trying to bring some levity to the conversation. “Let’s not overdo it with the old ‘sacrifice for the sake of love’ rubbish. Let him do the sacrificing and get used to the finer things in life.”

  “I would love to, but you keep overlooking the small matter of his absence. He hasn’t tried to see me because he doesn’t want to.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure of that, dear. According to his sister—”

  “Oh, please, Vana, not confidences from another sister. I thought you’d learned your lesson—”

  “Don’t be obtuse,” the countess interrupted right back. “Jessica Summers is not a little liar like that Maura woman was.”

  “Perhaps not, but she’s still biased and—”

  Jocelyn broke off at the sound of shouts coming from outside. She moved swiftly to the window. The sight of smoke pouring out of the new stable started her heart pumping in fear.

  “What is it?” Vanessa asked.

  Jocelyn was already turning and heading for the door. “There is a fire in the stable.”

  “Dear God—wait a minute!” The countess started hurrying to keep up with her. “You can’t go out there. Longnose could have started it to draw you out.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Vana. It’s still daylight. If he comes, it’ll be after dark so he can slither in with the other night crawlers.”

  “You don’t know—”

  “Those are my horses, Vana!”

  The countess didn’t say another word after that, just followed Jocelyn outside. It might still be daylight, but only just, and the smoke belching from the long building added to the growing appearance of dusk. Men were already leading horses out; others came charging out on their own. Their cries of fear were pitiful.

  “Sir George?” Jocelyn asked the next man to come out of the wide-open doors.

  “Red Rob’s getting him, Your Grace.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “The loft’s caught already.”

  She panicked, hearing that. Sir George was going to be terrified, so much so that no one would be able to control him enough to get him out.

  She was running inside before anyone thought to stop her. Smoke was rolling above her head in great waves, the smell of it so overwhelming the kerchief she held to her nose couldn’t keep it out. She was coughing before she reached Sir George’s large stall.

  Robbie was indeed there, trying in vain to get hold of the stallion’s mane to lead him out. Even as she watched, Sir George reared up with a scream and the Scot was knocked backward. Nor did Robbie get up immediately. He’d been struck hard on the shoulder.

  “Are you all right, Robbie?”

  “Good God, woman, what are you—”

  “Not now!” she shouted as she tore off her blouse, the only thing handy, to wrap around the stallion’s eyes. “If you’ll get up and get on him, I’ll have the three of us out of here in a trice.”

  She was already pulling herself up onto the animal’s back, the horse having calmed somewhat at the sound of her voice and the total darkness. Robbie didn’t hesitate to follow suit. Moments later, Sir George burst through the doors almost at a full gallop. Jocelyn managed to bring him about by using her blouse as substitute reins, no mean feat with her directions coming from the top of his head rather than from a bit at his mouth.

  She hailed Sir Dudley. “The rest of the animals?”

  “All accounted for, Your Grace.”

  She sagged back against Red Rob’s wide chest, but caught herself almost instantly and straightened. Simultaneously, they both remembered the unorthodox way he had addressed her back in the stable. The countess found them laughing when she approached.

  “I’ll have you know you scared the life out of me, and here you are having a good time.”

  Jocelyn sobered at that scolding, but not completely. She was still grinning as she offered, “I’m sorry, Vana, but I had a feeling this great skittish beast wouldn’t let anyone near him, and I was right. I believe your fiance’s shoulder will need some immediate attention. You know Sir George is never gentle with his kicks.”

  The countess’s temper turned to quick concern. “Is anything broken, darling?”

  “Just dislocated, sweetheart. Nothing to worry about.”

  Jocelyn almost groaned, hearing them coo at each other. “I’ll just give him a ride to the house, Vana, while you find someone to set his shoulder. I’m feeling a bit of a chill myself.”

  “And no wonder—”

  Jocelyn didn’t wait around for more scolding, embarrassment mounting at being caught out in no more than a skimpy white camisole to cover her chest. She nudged Sir George toward the house and left him there with Robbie as she ran up the stairs to repair her state of undress before she went out to inspect the rest of the animals for any injuries. But she didn’t get back outside. Waiting in her room, casually reclining on her bed as if it belonged to him, was her nemesis, John Longnose.

  She was surprised enough not to scream, then wise enough not to when she noticed the gun he had pointed at her head. The horrid man was grinning. Well, why not? He’d won, after all. Vanessa had been right. He’d set the fire in the stable to draw everyone out of the house so he could then sneak into it. And the bastard had no care for the animals, that some of them could have died. Jocelyn’s temper rose before fear had a chance to.

  “Shut the door, Your Grace,” he fairly purred. “We don’t want to be disturbed.”

  “Shut it yourself!”

  He sat up, his gray eyes darkening with annoyance that she wasn’t immediately cowed. “I don’t think you realize—”

  “No, you don’t seem to realize that I’m fed up to here with you!” She hit her chin with the back of her fingers to show him just where. “So go ahead and shoot me, you miserable little worm. But I promise you, you won’t get out
of this house alive!”

  “I don’t intend to shoot you,” he growled angrily.

  “No? Then give me your gun. I have no such qualms.”

  “You bloody bitch!” His face was turning quite red in his frustration that she was ruining the way he’d fantasized this meeting. “Remember you said that when I get my hands around your neck!”

  “Well, come along then and I’ll scratch your eyes out while you’re trying!”

  But when he did rise with a snarl of rage, she realized she’d forgotten how tall he was. Slim, but not worth risking a physical struggle with. She wasn’t stupid, after all.

  She darted out the door, racing toward the stairs. She thought she could almost feel his breath down her neck, but hoped it was just her imagination running wild. It was, almost. He was three feet behind her when she abruptly halted at the top of the stairs. Colt was there, halfway up them. He stopped too. So did Longnose, who thought to turn the gun still in his hand on Colt. It was the last thing he ever did.

  Even as he was pulling the trigger, Colt was firing his own gun. Longnose’s bullet whisked past his ear to embed in the wall behind him. Colt’s bullet took the Englishman in the chest. He fell slowly, knees hitting the floor first, mumbling something about bloody hell, then toppling the rest of the way over.

  Jocelyn sat down on the top step with a shuddering sigh. “This is one time I don’t mind at all your habit of dropping men at my feet.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Certainly. I’m becoming an old hand at this sort of thing.” Yet her voice sounded anything but calm.

  His eyes narrowed on her. “You look like you could use a shot of whiskey.”

  “Make that brandy and I quite agree. I have some in the parlor.”

  “Then go ahead. I’ll join you after I dispose of the trash.”

  He joined her sooner than that. Her people came running into the house from all directions to investigate the shot. He left the cleanup to them. The countess almost beat him to the parlor, however, but not quite.

  “She’s all right, Vanessa,” Colt told her in a quiet but firm voice. “Leave her to me.”