The Drifter's Bride (5 page)

In the orange glimmer of the dying embers, he could see the hurt in her eyes, could read the regret in her expression. Night after night Carl had conquered his need for Jade, and now it crashed like a spring torrent over him. Before he left he would have to possess her one more time, feel her shatter beneath him, hear her soft cries of pleasure, and store a few more memories of her in his mind.

Carl placed his hand on her back and traced the delicate line of her spine through the loose flannel shirt she wore over her canvas pants. She stared at him, surprise on her face as she caught on to his intention, understood that after weeks of resisting her, he was going to make love to her out in the orchard, beneath the stars.

‘Jade.’ The word rasped in his throat. He swept his hand down to her buttocks and then up again, slipping beneath the hem of her shirt. Against his callused palm, her skin was softer than the ripest peaches on the trees. He urged her down onto her back on the blanket he’d spread over the ground and settled half on top of her, his leg thrown across her thighs.

Taking his weight on his forearms, he cupped her face in his hands and lowered his mouth to hers. Lust rippled through him as he felt the slight bucking of her hips and the sharp sound of frustration she made when he didn’t press his hard arousal to the soft notch at the apex of her thighs.

He continued kissing her, greedy, open-mouthed kisses, his tongue delving deep, sliding past her teeth. He fumbled at her clothing and found the button at her waist. Running out of patience, he yanked, sending the rest of the buttons flying through the air and landing with muted pops against the sheets, like insects bombarding the cotton walls of the makeshift tent.

He had her pants and flimsy drawers off in seconds, and her shirt open to expose her breasts. Lifting his mouth from hers, he dealt with his own clothing, only as much as was necessary, undoing the waist of his pants and pushing the fabric down his thighs. A sigh of relief expelled from his chest as his erection sprang free from its confines.

‘Jade,’ he murmured as he settled on top of her, every instinct focused on possession. Even in the low light, he could see the flush that flared across her cheeks, the passion that burned in her eyes, the sensual invitation in her open mouth. He dipped his head for a quick, hard kiss. Then, all the while watching her face, he entered her with a single hard thrust that buried him to the hilt.

Jade closed her eyes and made a soft moan of pleasure. But he wanted more.

‘Look at me, Jade.’

Her lashes fluttered and lifted.

Braced high on his arms, he started moving, their bodies joined in intimacy but not touching anywhere else. After only a few forceful strokes, Jade arched up from the ground and pulsed around him, her head thrown back, her hoarse cry of ecstasy soaring through the trees.

‘Don’t close your eyes,’ he told her.

She obeyed, and he held her gaze as he jetted his seed into her. When the last tremors of satisfaction had faded, he collapsed beside her and hauled her into his arms. She tucked her face into the crook of his neck, her breath warm on his skin. When her body relaxed and her breathing grew even, he raked his fingers into her hair to tip her head back so he could look into her face.

‘Don’t go to sleep.’ He brushed a kiss on her brow. ‘I have things to say.’

She stiffened in his embrace. Guilt twisted inside Carl. At moments like this, a woman wanted to hear endearments, sweet words of affection.

But that was not what he had to give her.

‘I’ll be leaving tomorrow,’ he told her.

And felt his chest tighten when he saw her eyes fill with unshed tears.

Jade stared up at Carl as he sat on his blue roan, ready to ride out, gun belt circling his lean hips and the rifle in its scabbard. A bedroll nestled behind the saddle and a pair of full saddlebags hung on the horse’s flanks.

He touched the brim of his hat. ‘I’ll ride by and let you know where I’ll be.’

Jade felt as if her heart were breaking. ‘The stage line might not be hiring.’

‘They’re always looking for men,’ Carl said, and whirled the horse around.

‘Goodbye,’ Jade called out after him. Such an impersonal farewell. She wanted to tell him more. Tell him that he’d enriched their lives, that she wanted to offer him a home, care for him, even if the comfort of her body was all he might ever want from her.

Carl twisted in the saddle to glance back at her. The golden glow of the morning sun turned him into a dark silhouette. He looked big and dangerous, every inch the bounty hunter he was—a hired killer, a man who lived by his guns and would one day die by them.

He raised his voice to carry over the horse’s impatient stomping. ‘I’ll come by to see you. Or I’ll send money. I don’t want you to starve if things don’t get any better.’

He kicked his mount into an easy lope. Jade stood in the yard and watched him shrink into a speck in the distance and finally vanish into the shimmering morning heat.

If things don’t get any better
.

Bring half the usual amount of peaches in the first week,
Mr. Stevens at the general store had told her. Four crates instead of eight. Her father had delivered them a week ago. And they had received no word that the store was willing to take more.

No sales, no money.

If things didn’t get better, they might indeed starve.

* * *

Sweat beaded on Jade’s skin as she crouched in the orchard, packing peaches into a wooden crate. Three full ones already stood lined up behind her. If they failed to sell, they could at least live on the fruit for a while. They could trap rabbits and hunt for wild turkeys in the hills. In the spring, they could plant a vegetable patch.

In a nearby tree, an old one which had grown too big but still bore good fruit, a ladder propped against the trunk started shaking. She glanced over and saw her father climbing down to unload the peaches he’d collected in a canvas pouch tied around his waist.

‘Perhaps I should leave,’ Jade told him quietly. ‘Go to the Apache. People will forget about me. They’ll do business with you, like before…’

‘No.’ Her father handed the full pouch to her and tied an empty one around his waist. ‘I’ve thanked the Lord that you stopped running away. Don’t ruin it by starting again.’

‘It’s my fault. If I hadn’t…’ Jade glanced over at the granite gravestone on the edge of the orchard.
Thora Thunder Woman Armstrong. Beloved Wife and Mother
. ‘If I had just left the lies alone…’

‘No, Jade.’ Her father spoke in a soft, gentle tone she hadn’t heard in years. He reached into the crate of peaches, selected a perfect one and held it up in his hand. ‘This is how you’ve always been in my eyes. Beautiful. Without a blemish.’ With his other hand, he selected a smaller, darker peach. ‘Your mother was equally perfect. Different, but perfect in her own way.’

Expelling a sigh, he put both peaches back in the crate. ‘You did right, girl. We should have done it long ago. But your Ma was so stubborn. She wanted the best for you. That’s all I ever wanted, too.’ He tipped his straw hat back on his head and studied her with his faded green eyes. ‘Do you believe that, Jade? That all I ever wanted was the best for you? Fetching you back from your mother’s people, fixing you to marry a stranger…I thought I was doing the best for you.’

She jumped up and hugged him. ‘You
did
do the best for me.’

‘Jade. We’ll manage.’ He returned the hug and let her go.

Buoyed by the surge of love between them, Jade surveyed the crates at her feet. ‘One more batch. Then we can stop and you can take the buckboard into town. The store will take these. I’m sure they will. Our peaches are the best in Mariposa County.’

She emptied the pouch into the crate while her father climbed back into the tree. A swarm of bees buzzed around the orchard. Jade swatted at the insects and wiped sweat from her brow. Behind her a sharp cry shattered the silence, followed by the sound of snapping branches and the heavy thud of something landing on the ground.

Jade jumped to her feet and rushed over. ‘Pa!’

Her father lay sprawled on his side, eyes closed, face pale, the sparse strands of sandy hair in disarray around his head. His hat had fallen a few feet away. The sweet scent of crushed peaches floated in the air. An angry welt of a bee sting was swelling on his cheek.

Jade fell to her knees by his side. ‘Pa, are you hurt?’

Motionless, he made no reply. Jade pressed her fingers to the base of his throat, feeling for a pulse. His skin was warm, and moist with perspiration. Relief swamped her as she detected a faint but steady beat.

Taking care, she ran her hands along the worn fabric of his flannel shirt and denim pants. When she reached the right leg, her father stirred and emitted a hoarse moan.

She bent over his face. ‘Pa?’

His lids fluttered open. ‘Jade…’

‘Yes, father.’ Tears burned in her eyes. ‘Thank God.’

‘My leg…’

‘I think it’s broken. I’ll get the buckboard. Doc Mortensen will fix you up.’

‘It’ll cost money. Can’t you…’ He spoke in grunting bursts.

‘Pa.’ Jade rose to her feet, brusque efficiency replacing the sharp jolt of fear. ‘Apache chants and herbs might cure fevers but they won’t set broken bones. You’ll need a doctor.’ She hurried off toward the barn without wasting time on talk.

* * *

Doc Mortensen was a gangly man close to seventy, with a shock of white hair and an abrupt, somewhat abrasive manner. Jade did what she could to help him as he gave Sam Armstrong whiskey for the pain and splinted the leg, all the while lecturing his patient about the need to rest while the injury healed.

When he was finished, he motioned for Jade to follow him out of the treatment room. ‘Let Sam rest for a couple of hours,’ he said. ‘Give him a chance to gather his strength before you drive him home.’

Jade grimaced. ‘Can’t I just leave him here?’

‘Rough journey?’

‘I thought I’d never get him up on the buckboard. Then he insisted that I load the peaches, as we were coming into town.’ She spread her hands. ‘If I drove fast, he yelled at me for torturing him with jolts. If I drove slowly, he accused me of dragging out his suffering.’

The doctor settled in the big leather chair behind his office desk and crossed his hands over his concave belly. ‘What’s happened to the buckskins, and the eagle feather in your hair? You got tired of shocking the White-Eyes?’

Jade felt her cheeks burn. ‘I was in too much of a hurry to put them on.’

The old man opened a drawer and rifled through the papers inside. When he located a file with her father’s name on top, he pulled it out, uncapped a fountain pen and made notes.

‘That husband of yours came by,’ he said absently.

‘Carl?’

‘Said you were going to be an Apache medicine woman. He thought it might help to know a bit of White-Eye doctoring and asked me how you might go about learning. I’ve got an old copy of
A Manual of Medical Diagnosis
by Andrew Whyte Barclay that you can have, if you like.’

He capped his pen and put away the notes. Spinning around in his chair, he reached to the bookcase behind him, pulled out a worn book in brown cloth binding, and handed it to her.

Jade examined the book, opened a page at random. A diagram. The bones in the human hand. Her eyes widened. So many of them. She lifted her own hand, splaying the fingers and flexing them, studying the movement of the joints.

Doc Mortensen adjusted his gangly frame in the chair. ‘I need someone to help out in the surgery once in a while. You could do it. Learn a bit of doctoring.’ His gray eyes narrowed. ‘But first you’ll need to win over the people in town. I can’t have the Indian Wars played out in my medical practice.’

Jade hesitated. ‘People hate me because I’m a half-breed.’

‘It’s not just that. People resent you for creating a rift on purpose. You can’t blame them for reacting when you’ve put so much effort into baiting them, riding around looking like little chief Minnehaha, running off to live in a wickiup.’

It dawned on Jade the doctor was right. Instead of just letting the truth about her birth become known, she had flaunted her Indian ancestry and forced a confrontation.

Cradling the book to her chest, she rose to her feet. ‘I’ll try,’ she said, the words slow and cautious as her mind raced over the possibilities. ‘But it might be too late. People are already set against me, and it might be impossible to change their minds.’

* * *

In the mercantile, Mr. Stevens stood behind the counter, filling the display of candy jars. His narrow face drew into a scowl as he watched Jade stride across the floor.

‘I have four crates of peaches in the buckboard.’ She took a quick survey of the shelves and saw there were no peaches. ‘Perhaps, if you’ve sold out, you’d like to buy some more.’

‘We agreed your Pa would come.’

‘He fell off the ladder this morning and broke his leg.’

The storekeeper stilled in his task. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ He turned away from her and resumed the chore, moving from the lemon drops to the sarsaparilla sticks.

In her nervousness, Jade spoke bluntly. ‘He’s with the doctor now. The leg is in a splint. He won’t be able to make deliveries this season. You’ll have to deal with me.’

The bell over the entrance rang. Jade glanced over her shoulder. It was Mrs. Thurgood, the barber’s wife. When the small, slender woman spotted Jade, she hovered on the threshold for an instant, and then retreated back to the wooden walkway. The door swung closed. The sound of the bell faded into silence.

‘I’m sorry, Jade.’ Mr. Stevens concentrated on the candy jars. ‘It’s not me…it’s the customers. I can’t risk losing business…’

‘I understand.’ Her voice was low. ‘I’ll try selling the fruit elsewhere.’

She considered setting up a stall along Main Street, but she had no sign to advertise her produce, and no coins to make change if someone just wanted one or two. Pride would not allow her to stand there in the midday heat yelling,
Peaches, peaches, a dozen for four bits
. Instead she toured the businesses in town—the saloon, the hotel, even the bank and the barbershop and the sheriff’s office—but she achieved no sales.

By the school, she gave away two crates to the children on their break.

Then she went to fetch her father.

‘I’ll make the deliveries,’ he said as they drove home in the buckboard.

‘Pa, you heard the doctor. It’s important to rest while the bones heal. If you don’t take care, you might end up with a limp.’

‘I don’t care.’ Sam Armstrong spoke through gritted teeth as the buckboard jolted on the uneven trail. He tried to hide his pain, but his grim expression revealed his suffering.

Jade glowered at him. ‘You are not risking your leg, and that’s final.’

She steered the carthorse with care, picking her way through the worst of the potholes. It was her fault, she thought, squinting miserably into the bright sun. And she couldn’t even solve their problems by taking a husband, because she already had one, and he was gone.

* * *

Dark clouds covered the sky, blotting out the last of daylight. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the wind blew in cool gusts. Heavy drops started falling, spattering to the ground and splashing up again. Carl slowed Grace to a walk. He should have stopped for the night instead of trying to reach his destination before darkness fell.

In the distance, the small fertile valley softened the barren landscape. A bright dot hovered in the air, as if calling out to him. Closer, Carl saw it was a lantern hanging on the porch of Sam Armstrong’s cabin.

The horse whinnied and picked up speed, eager for rest and shelter.

‘Easy, boy,’ Carl said, and patted Grace on the neck.

He reached the log cabin and came to a halt. Limbs stiff from the endless hours of riding, he swung from the saddle, the long duster flaring around his legs. Water sluiced down the waxed fabric and trickled from the brim of his hat, running in rivulets down his face.

Up on the porch, a shadow surged into motion. It flew down the stairs, into the rain, and hurtled against him.

‘Carl!’

He caught Jade in his arms and hauled her to his chest. Warmth flooded him as he cradled her close. He’d been gone four days. Had she been sitting on the porch each evening, waiting for him, hoping? He dipped his head and scattered kisses on her brow, on her eyelids, on her cheeks. Her lips parted, warm and soft, welcoming him, and he deepened the kiss—two bodies molding into one as water from the sky pelted down upon them.

‘Oh, Carl, you came back,’ she breathed between kisses.

Reluctantly, he released her. ‘Let me take Grace to the barn.’

He set off, leading the horse out of the deluge. Inside the dim, cavernous barn, the carthorse and Jade’s mustang mare, Star, nickered in welcome. Grace stomped in delight. ‘Yes, boy,’ Carl murmured as he unsaddled his horse. ‘I know. It’s good to be home.’

Home.

The thought sent a jolt through him. He’d never called a place home. Not once in his twenty-seven years. He’d slept in a workhouse for orphans, on a strip of floor in a gambling house, in an army barracks, on any sheltered spot beside a rock or beneath a tree, and sometimes even in the comfort of a house or a hotel.

But never
home
.

He hurried back inside, an odd pressure burning in his chest. Jade stood by the stove, waiting for the big copper coffeepot to boil. She smiled at him over her shoulder. Her hair formed a riot of curls and her damp cotton dress clung to her skin, revealing the curves of her body. In her green eyes Carl could read the questions she lacked the courage to ask.

Why did you come back?

Will you stay?