Kit Gardner (10 page)

A savage tiger’s legs.

“Oh, my,” Louise said.

He descended one step, and another, and sunlight swept up over his lean hips, over the buttery shirt stretched taut over a remarkable expanse of chest and his arms, one wielding several large packages, up, up... His hat shadowed all but the startling flash of his grin.

Jessica’s teeth met. The beast was grinning at Sadie McGlue and Dolly Terwilliger, and they...they were fluttering about him like agitated, horridly dressed butterflies consumed with making just the right impression.

“Who in blazes is that?” Louise said.

But Jessica had already brushed past her and was stomping out the door, Christian firmly in tow.

“You forgot your ribbon,” Louise called after her, only to stop short as Jessica marched past the front window, directly toward Ledbetter’s. A furious flush stained her cheeks. Her blond curls bounced with indignant fury. My, but Louise had never seen so much fire and life in her friend.

Her eyes darted to Tall, Dark and Dangerous, then swept back to Jessica. A small smile crept across her lips, and it was with a decided satisfaction that Louise again lifted the fuchsia ribbon against her skin. A lovely shade. Did remarkable things to her eyes. Then again, with a heaping pile of colored ribbons, a girl could linger
for hours
at this window, deciding which to choose.

Again her gaze swept to the dark-haired stranger. He had turned, no doubt at the sound of Jessica’s feet clomping upon the wooden boardwalk. And he was watching her with a look that made Louise wish, just for one fleeting moment, that she wasn’t married.

Yes, best to linger right here over these ribbons. After all, she had John to think about. He’d never abided foolish spending on fripperies. He would be duly thankful that she had taken the care to choose just one.

* * *

How dare he insinuate himself so...so
easily
with the enemy camp. How dare he stand there and look so blasted pleased about his circumstances, wounded shoulder and all! How dare he look at her as though she hadn’t a solitary reason to find all this just the least bit annoying! And a very large, very logical part of her knew not why. She
did
need him, did she not? He
had
managed to milk her cow and fix her buckboard to her satisfaction, hadn’t he? He seemed capable and determined, didn’t he? Why, then, was she suddenly possessed with the idea of slapping Sadie McGlue silly, if only to wipe that ridiculous grin from her face? And why was she always stirred into these fits and frets whenever Stark was anywhere near her?

Jessica ground to a halt directly before him and jutted her chin at him, purposely ignoring the twin parasols lingering rather pointedly at his back. “Are you quite finished, Stark?”

Again, that infernal twitch of his mouth. “For now.”

“Good.”

Sunlight stirred blue fire in his hair as he jerked his head toward Ledbetter’s. “I’ve a few more things still inside.”

“Then get them.” She breezed past him and marched for the buckboard without even a sideways glance at Sadie McGlue and Dolly Terwilliger. Let them stare, by God, and flutter and fuss. Why, she was far above such posturing, all for the sake of a man.

“Had enough of shopping already?” he said with a lazy drawl that stopped her cold. She swung a glare at him, startled to find him right at her side. Again, he had the effrontery to smile, albeit a mere shifting of that downward slash of his lips yet one that narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. “And, as wonders would have it, nothing to show for it. An oddity for a woman.”

“Hardly. I’ve managed to acquire a nasty headache.”

“You should have eaten breakfast,” he graciously advised. “It would have done wonders for your mood. I’m sure Miss Beecher recommends it.”

That undercurrent of derision flowed like warm cream through his voice, as though he found great humor in all this, and particularly her.

“Yep. You should have eaten your breakfast, Mama,” Christian echoed as he insinuated himself between them and gazed up at Stark with unbridled admiration. “Right, Logan? We ate, didn’t we? You even ate Mama’s burnt bread. Can I drive the buggy home now?”

Jessica nearly choked on her frustration as Sadie and Dolly twittered, finding apparent humor in her inability to cook. And then, before she could grasp her young son’s chin and yank it up to her, the truly unexpected and preposterous happened. So unexpected and preposterous, Jessica was later certain her shock had emblazoned itself upon her face for the world to see.

“Oh, Jessica! Jessica Wynne! Don’t rush off, dear. So good to see you about!”

It was Sadie McGlue, frantically waving in a manner entirely unbefitting a woman who had made it her life’s pursuit to make certain everyone knew she’d married a New England McGlue. No, Jessica didn’t imagine the New England McGlues would look with favor on this sort of wild flapping, or the shrill tone invading Sadie’s typically controlled voice. To her credit, Sadie executed a crisp swish and glide of all those bustled skirts until she was poised at Stark’s side. And then she, too, lifted her dimpled chin and all but beamed up at Stark.

“Poor thing, we never see her anymore.” Sadie pouted, as if this somehow vexed her. “Brokenhearted, I suppose, ever since her husband Frank was murdered. A dastardly killing. In Wichita, by some bloodthirsty outlaw.”

“Thank you, Mrs. McGlue,” Jessica cut in. “That will be quite enough—”

“Shot once, right through the heart,” Sadie continued without pause, one gloved hand flapping at her enormous bosom. “And in the midst of
gambling
in some hedonists’ thirst parlor. Oh, look, I must be upsetting her...and the child. Always a strange boy, hiding in his mother’s skirts. Nevertheless, Jessica, you look pale, my dear. And awfully thin, now that I get a good look-see. Oh, but how silly of me to go on so about things a woman wouldn’t want known of her dead husband. You know, all those awful vices men have. They always have a way of reflecting poorly on the wife, don’t they? But, Logan...” She didn’t pause for breath, though her brows lifted with some surprise. “Logan. Why—how odd.
Logan.
I do believe that’s the name of the man who murdered your Frank, Jessica. Yes, look there, on that handbill. Rance Logan.” Sadie’s shrill giggle pierced the air. “Oh, but you look nothing like that awful savage. Some sort of half-breed, no doubt. Filthy redskinned heathens, running about killing innocent people. You’re nothing like that, are you, Mr. Stark?”

Jessica dug her balled fists into her thighs and pasted on a fake smile. “Mr. Stark is not an outlaw. He is my new hand.”

Sadie slanted her a bland smile. “I know who he is. Logan and I had quite a lengthy exchange in Ledbetter’s, isn’t that right, Logan?”

“Excuse me, ladies,” he muttered, moving between them to the back of the buggy to deposit the bundles clutched in his good arm. Sadie’s eyes fastened upon him as though she wished to commit to memory his every movement.

Jessica ground her teeth and glared at Stark as he turned and headed back to Ledbetter’s. Fine, so the man moved with a remarkable litheness and grace more common to predatory beasts of the night. That made him no less of an annoyance. And those denims were downright
revealing,
fitting him like a second skin, so that every flex of his high-muscled buttocks was clearly defined when he moved. Indeed, a girl could find herself unduly fascinated by it all...were she weak enough of character, that is.

Jessica pressed a hand to her throat and realized her fingers were ice-cold, and trembling.

“Yes, indeed,” Sadie McGlue murmured in a husky voice, her glittering eyes once more fastening upon Jessica. “If you ever tire of Logan Stark, Jessica, do let me know. Immediately. In the meantime, I daresay you’ve executed a rare coup in hiring such a fellow. Why, in one fell swoop, exquisitely plotted, I presume, you’ve launched yourself from the fathomless pit of the despairing. And, I assume, with Avram’s full approval. Well done. I don’t know if I could have done as well myself. Hubert would have taken one look at Logan Stark and sent me to his mother’s in Boston as punishment. Ah, indeed, my dear, welcome back to the living. And would you please do me the favor of joining Hubert and me for afternoon tea Thursday next?”

Jessica stared at Sadie McGlue, of the New England McGlues, a woman known statewide for her exclusive teas and soirees, events that had occupied many of Jessica’s daydreams. “Thursday next,” she heard herself say.

“Yes, indeed. And Logan Stark is also welcome. Do bring him, dear...” Sadie displayed a wicked grin. “If only for us girls to look at, hmm?”

And with a last pat of Jessica’s arm and a ruffling of Christian’s hair, replete with a “Darling child,” Sadie McGlue rejoined Dolly Terwilliger and sashayed up the street whence she had come.

Jessica stared after her until the heavy thump of packages tumbling into the buggy commanded her attention. Again she glared at Stark, so consumed with her thoughts that she even allowed him to hand her up into the buggy without a hint of resistance. Even when he climbed aboard and gave the reins to Christian.

“That’s some headache you’ve got,” he said, his gaze resolute before him, so that Jessica was presented with a rather startling view of his profile, a circumstance that trapped her voice midchest. By God, but the man was too handsome for his own good. Not handsome in a gentlemanly manner that bespoke fine breeding and grace. No, there was nothing even vaguely pretty about him. His was a weathered, majestic handsomeness, the seasoned surety of movement and expression of a man who’d lived for centuries. Yet she sensed a studied control lurking there, not the sort born of the practiced gentlemanly arts Avram tried so valiantly to emulate, but the control of a man who harbored deeply kept secrets. Yes, it was easy to believe a face like his would have much to conceal. Something had forever stamped that brooding look upon him.

Jessica shook off these unwanted stirrings of curiosity about the man. “What the devil did you say to her?” she snapped.

“To who, ma’am?”

“Look at me, Stark, blast you.”

“Mama, you said a bad word. You said
blast.
”

Jessica ground her teeth and sought to retrieve precious control, a quest made all the more arduous when Stark’s gaze met hers over Christian’s head. She directed herself to her son. “Indeed, I did say a bad word, Christian, and I’m most repentant.”

“You said
damn
in the clothiers, too.”

“And I duly regret that, as well, but, Christian, you need not repeat—”

“You’re not supposed to say
damn,
Mama. Or
dammit.
Or
God dam—
”

“Christian.”

“I know, Mama. It’s a bad word. So is
butt.
”

“Stop.”
Jessica released a quavering breath, not for the first time sensing the futility inherent in parenting. “Promise me you will never repeat any other bad word as long as you live and breathe.”

“But you did, Mama.”

“Mama forgets herself and gets just a tiny bit angry at times.”

“Are you angry at Logan for fixing our wagon?”

“What?” A flush crept from her throat, and she hastily patted her neck. “No, no, of course I’m not— Good heavens, why would I be?”

“You didn’t say you liked it. And you’re acting real mad.”

“I—” She squared her shoulders and thrust up her chin, drawing her spine up rigid. “Well, I do.” She sniffed. “Yes, I believe I like this much better than walking to town.”

“He said it was real easy to fix, Mama. He said even Reverend Halsey could of fixed it for us.”

“Could
have.
Not
of.
” She shot that stoic profile a miffed look. “Indeed. Well, perhaps Mr. Stark isn’t aware of how terribly busy Reverend Halsey is, hmm?”

“Maybe Reverend Halsey didn’t want to fix it, Mama.”

“Did Mr. Stark tell you that, as well, Christian?”

“Nope.” He flashed a gap-toothed grin. “I just thought it up myself.”

“Well, cease all such thoughts, young man. Reverend Halsey is a kind, decent, good and moral man. Yes, he is. Indeed he is. And he doesn’t poke his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Oh, I know, you’re mad at Logan for talking to Mrs. McGlue. That’s why you were hiding in the window at the clothiers.”

“Shush, Christian. This minute.”

“But you
were
hiding in the window, and Mrs. French caught you, didn’t she? Because you said a bad word then, too. You said—”

“Shush. Now.” Jessica again fought the flush spilling riotously through her cheeks. “Listen to me, young man. Mrs. French is Mama’s good friend. You shall answer like a big boy when she speaks to you, do you hear me?”

“How come you were spying on them, Mama?”

“I was not spying. Spying requires duplicity and immoral thoughts, of which, thank heavens, I have neither.”

“You were spying, Mama. You’re afraid of Mrs. McGlue.”

“I’m not afraid of anyone, least of all Sadie McGlue.”

“Then why were you hiding?”

“Stop the buckboard, Christian, this minute.”

Christian looked up at her. “Why, Mama? Do you want to drive now?”

“No, I’m going to walk. And so are you.”

“But I don’t want to walk.

“Ma’am.”

She almost cringed at the sound of his voice. “This is none of your concern, Stark. Now, simply tell your beast to stop so that I might get out.”

“You’re being remarkably unreasonable.”

“Unreasonable?”
she said, with such fury her straw hat slid half-off her head. “And what woman wouldn’t be? Have you deemed it your sole purpose here to upheave my life, sir? Because that’s precisely what you’ve done.”

“By fixing your buckboard.”

She snatched her hat from her head and crushed it to her belly. “For starters, yes. Now, stop this thing.”

“And burning your bread.”

“Who else have I to blame? I’ve never burned a loaf before in my life.”

“Yes, you have, Mama. You burn food all the time. Pa always said you couldn’t cook for—”

“Shush, Christian. Stark, I shall jump if you don’t stop this thing.”

Stark was contemplating the golden sweep of prairie, elbows braced on his knees, his muscled forearms gleaming like honey-brown wood in the sunlight. His eyes angled at her beneath the shadow of his hat. “Then jump, ma’am, if it would make you feel any better.”