Christine Dorsey (23 page)

Grabbing a chair, he straddled it to face her. “What happened here tonight?”

“I... I don’t know what you mean.”

“Those men, coming in here shooting and hollering up. They scared you.”

“They’d scare anyone.”

“True enough,” Jake admitted. “But not like they did you. You’re still shaking.” He reached out and covered her hand with his. “And remember, I’ve seen you face scary situations before.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Samantha pulled her hand from beneath his, and immediately missed the warmth.

Jake didn’t believe her, but he lost his chance to pursue it when Will came bounding in, rolled-up blanket in one hand, saddlebags in the other. “Thought you might want these,” he said, tossing them toward Jake.

Samantha rose and made her way toward her bedroom. It suddenly hit her that she was dressed in nothing but her well-worn night rail. Though it covered her from chin to toes, there was nothing restricting or starched about it. And looking at Jake, who’d only managed to pull on a pair of pants before tearing into the house did strange things to her insides.

She shut the door and leaned against it, the wood feeling sturdy against her back. She knew it wouldn’t keep Jake out if he wanted to come in. But he didn’t want in. He had laughed at her reaction to his staying in the house. It was laughable. Why would he want her when he had someone as beautiful as the woman in the daguerreotype?

Samantha shook her head and pushed away from the door. What was she thinking? She didn’t care if Jake wanted her. She... she was the one who didn’t want him. A Southerner. Was she crazy? She’d just put him out of her mind for good.

There were only two problems with that, Samantha realized as she lay huddled in her bed. One, he refused to leave. And two, the only thing that filled any void she felt was thoughts about the night they hanged her father.

~ ~ ~

She must have finally dozed. When her eyes opened again, it was morning—well past dawn by the looks of the lemony sun filtering through the dust-streaked windowpane. How could she have missed the cock’s crow again? Samantha dressed hurriedly, splashing water into the bowl and dousing her face, then rebraided her hair with practiced quickness. Her dress was of brown sprigged calico, and she buttoned it high beneath her chin. Her dash into the main room stopped abruptly.

Jake sat at the table grimacing into a pewter mug. He was alone. “Where’s Will?” Samantha asked, and her question made him look up and smile. Samantha steeled herself against the flutter of excitement that caused.

“He’s doing his chores. I offered to help, but...” Jake shrugged.

“But what?”

“He said I should fix us something to eat.”

Samantha glanced around the kitchen area. The cracker barrel was open, and there were coffee grounds around the mill. “Why didn’t you just wake me?”

“After last night I thought you could use the rest.” Jake went to the door and tossed the remains of his coffee into the yard, scattering some chickens who hung around waiting to be fed.

“Those gunshots woke everybody up.” Samantha grabbed an apron off the hook and wrapped it around her small waist. She told herself she would not look at Jake, but it only took a few seconds of no response from him before her eyes sought his. He looked at her as if he knew there was more to it than she was saying.

“Captain Morgan.” She gave the ends of her apron ribbons a tug, tying them on. “I’ve lived out here for nearly ten years. I’m not some hothouse flower that needs protecting and cosseting.”

“Fine.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Good.” Jake watched as she grabbed the Dutch oven and clanged it on the stove. Even when she banged the heavy iron about, she looked fragile. Golden hair escaped the severity of her braided bun and curled about a face whose finely wrought features looked as if they should be painted on porcelain. Her body was small, delicately boned, and soft. If ever there was a woman who looked like she should need protecting, it was Samantha Lowery.

But looks could be deceiving. And with Samantha he knew they were. She might need some help now and then. But she could take care of herself and her brother.

Unexpectedly a vision of another woman came to his mind. A woman who
had
needed taking care of. A woman he’d failed.

Pushing to his feet, Jake turned toward the door. “I think I’ll see if Will needs any help.”

“Fine,” she said, mimicking his earlier word. Samantha brushed coarse coffee grounds into her palm with the curve of her hand. “Feed those chickens while you’re at it.” Samantha tossed the order out without looking around, and she waited for the protest she figured would follow. It was a menial task that even Will gave her trouble about doing, but Jake said nothing as he left the cabin, feed in hand.

~ ~ ~

Samantha let go of the dasher and stood, rubbing the small of her back with her knuckles. She wasn’t in the mood to churn butter. And that was surprising. Normally she enjoyed the peace and solitude the chore offered. She could sit in the shade of the porch and enjoy the beauty of her home—the quiet, oft-times hidden charm she rarely had time to appreciate. But today, neither the delicate yellow sensitive plant nor the tall sentinel sunflowers held any appeal. She ignored the lingering scent of morning glories and the chubby quail waddling out beyond the barn.

Nothing appealed to her today. Not since Jake had told her after breakfast that he wanted to do some visiting this evening.

“It’s a waste of time,” Samantha murmured, resuming her seat on the bench tucked under the sloping porch eaves. Taking up the wooden dasher, she pulled the churn between her spread legs and continued her up-and-down motion. Her eyes scanned the prairie.

Fall flowers peeped through the undulating grasses as the relentless wind whipped across the land. A white crow circled lazily overhead then came to roost in the stand of sycamores to the east of the cabin. What did he hope to accomplish by asking her neighbors for help?

He’d get nothing more than her father had. They’d talk a good show, agreeing with his assessment that something needed doing. But when push came to shove, they’d back down and hide in their homes, their tails tucked neatly between their legs.

And the most amazing part was that Samantha couldn’t blame them. Not a one of her neighbors. They’d done the wise thing. They were still alive. Only her father lay in a grave because he resisted. And for what? The war had taken care of the slavery problem. So he accomplished exactly nothing.

The jingling of a harness stirred the late afternoon silence and Samantha squinted, searching the distance for the wagon. She saw it coming from the direction of the cornfield, shimmering in the waves of October heat. It didn’t take long for her to make out Will sitting on the seat, driving, and Jake walking along beside. Behind her brother, the wagon bed was heaped with ears of corn.

Pushing to her feet, Samantha went into the cabin and, after storing the butter, set to work making biscuits. The stew she’d started earlier that afternoon filled the cabin with rich warm scents. Samantha was certain Will and Jake would appreciate the hearty meal.

And maybe after the long day he put in, plus eating a good dinner, Jake would be too tired to worry about visiting neighbors.

He was, but Samantha could tell Jake wasn’t going to let a little fatigue stop him. She watched as Jake pushed away from the table and stood. “I’ll go hitch up the wagon.”

“Jake, I—”

“I know you don’t want to do this, Samantha, but there’s no other way.”

“We could wait for the army.” It was no good. She was offering the same arguments he’d already rejected. Showing patience she never expected, he sat down across from her. She thought he’d take her hand, but instead he folded his on the table.

“You have a hell of a lot more faith in the Union Army than I do. Maybe they’ll come. Maybe they won’t. But in the meantime something has to be done.” Jake shifted.

Her mind knew that—even agreed with him—but it was hard to fight the demons from her past. In the end she didn’t try. Pushing away from the table, Samantha scooped up her plate and piled it atop Jake’s and Will’s. “No one goes visiting in the evening around here... especially during harvest.”

Samantha poured steaming water into the dishpan. “This isn’t Richmond.” She turned to catch his eye. “That is where you’re from, isn’t it?” Seeing his nod, she went on. “Folks around here are exhausted by sundown. Best to let this wait till Sunday.”

He seemed to accept her logic with a shrug, but he still stood and reached for his hat.

“Where are you going?” Samantha voiced her question before she could stop herself.

“Where I should have gone first thing this morning. Into town.”

“But—”

“I know you don’t put much store in the sheriff.” Jake blew air through his teeth and gave his head a shake. “And frankly, from what I’ve seen, I don’t either. But damnit, Samantha, someone was out here last night shooting up this place, and I’m pretty sure I wounded one of them. And I’m going to see that the sheriff knows about it.”

~ ~ ~

He could have saved the time and effort, Jake thought again as he waited for Samantha to come out of the house early Sunday afternoon. The sheriff had listened to him, rubbing his bristly beard and watching Jake with pale, washed-out eyes imbedded in fleshy folds. He even promised to look into it—soon. But he didn’t seem overly concerned.

“Just some of the boys lettin’ off steam,” he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing scarred boots on an equally scarred desk. “You should know how that is, boy.”

Should he? Jake didn’t think there was any steam left in him to escape. Of course, he’d decided there wasn’t much of anything left in him until Fate had dumped him on this farm in the middle of nowhere. Now he was lusting after a woman, getting attached to a kid, and fighting for a cause he didn’t completely understand, and that sure as hell wasn’t his.

Will banged shut the barn door and skipped across the chicken-pecked yard, Charity trotting along at his heels. The boy was dressed in what Jake guessed were his best clothes. For once you couldn’t see a couple inches of leg sticking out of his pants. Dressed to go visiting, Jake thought, then looked down at his own pants. He’d made some changes too.

“You bringing your mouth organ with ya?” Will stopped to lean against the wagon just as Jake was doing.

“Hadn’t thought to.” Jake looked at Will from beneath the brim of his hat. “This isn’t exactly a social call we’re making.”

Will shrugged. “Still couldn’t hurt.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Jake wondered, not for the first time, about the boy’s existence. Far as Jake knew, neither Will nor his sister did much of anything but work the farm. Samantha had gone to town once since he came, but he figured she didn’t do much but work on that trip.

It didn’t seem right, them stuck out here their whole life doing nothing but hard work. But then he guessed with just the two of them—a young woman and a boy—to run the place, it took most all their time.

Still, it was easy to tell from the expression on Will’s freckled face that he was excited about their upcoming visits, no matter what the reason for them.

Removing his hat and backhanding the sweat off his brow, Jake turned toward the boy. “You want to run and get the harmonica for me. It’s on the ledge over the—”

“I know where it is.” Will was halfway to the barn when he called back over his shoulder. “I seen where you put it.”

“All right.” Jake settled the hat back on his head. “And then, how about seeing what you can do to hurry your sister up.”

“Sam! Sam!” Will halted in front of the barn door and hollered toward the house. “We needs get moving, Sam!” With that he disappeared into the barn and Jake just shook his head.

Samantha quickly tied the ribbons of her best but hardly new—bonnet under her chin and sighed at her reflection in the mirror. She was running behind, and she didn’t need Will’s shouting to let her know. She heard the harness jingle when Jake first brought the swept-out wagon from the barn. But the pies she’d baked this morning took longer than she thought and then her hair didn’t seem to want to stay in the upswept do that fit best under her bonnet. Hurrying out of her bedroom, she grabbed a large basket off a hook and carefully fitted the still warm pies into the bottom, covering them with a checkered napkin.

Jake straightened, slipping the harmonica into his pocket as the cabin door opened. He shifted, turning his head to comment on how long he’d been waiting, but the words never came out.

He was certainly used to seeing her—for over three weeks now he’d run into her most every day. Hell, he’d even lain with her, though the darkness had veiled all but a tantalizing peek of smooth shoulder or long moon-kissed thigh. But he’d never seen her dressed in anything but wash-worn calico dresses. Drab things that did nothing but hide the sweet curves of her body.

Not today. Today she wore a gown of blue—not light or dark, but bright like her eyes. The dress wasn’t fancy, not by Richmond standards, but it fit her well. And Jake would wager his harmonica she wore a corset under the soft material.

The bonnet, trimmed with the same blue fabric, wasn’t going to afford much protection from the glaring Kansas sun, but it sure did make her look pretty. Beautiful.

Jake wasn’t sure how long they stood there staring at one another but Will’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“What kind of pies did ya bake, Sam?”

“Ah, apple.” Samantha hurried to the wagon and placed the basket under the seat. Her face felt hot and her blood seemed to strum through her veins. She knew she looked different today—in truth she’d tried to fix herself up. But she hadn’t expected the reaction she received from Jake.

Whatever he was thinking, he didn’t say anything, and to look at his expression now, you wouldn’t think he’d noticed a thing. He helped her into the wagon, then climbed up himself. After checking to see Will hurdle himself into the wagon bed, Jake let loose the brake and “clicked” the horses into motion.

The farm lane was no more than wheel ruts with tufts of prairie grass sprouting in tracks down the center. Samantha held tight to the seat to keep from jostling too much, and to keep from bouncing against Jake.