Innocent Hearts Page 7

  "What?" Jessie asked, as if from far away. She couldn't find the words to describe how she felt, even to herself. Empty, in a funny sort of way. "Oh, no. Just tired, I guess."

  "Maybe you've had too much of this easy town living, Jessie. Maybe you're just homesick for a rocky bed and cold food," Mae teased lightly.

  Jessie looked fondly over at Mae. "Maybe that's it, Mae. Too much comfort can be bad for you." She stretched her legs out under the table and shrugged her tense shoulders. "Maybe I just need to get back to the ranch where I belong."

  Mae got up and stood behind her, her hands resting lightly on Jessie's shoulders. She gently kneaded the tight muscles, leaning close to murmur, "Tell you what I think you need, Montana. A good old-fashioned bath. Finish your drink now. One of the girls was just drawing me a hot tub upstairs. The way these muscles are strung, you feel like you could use it more than me."

  Jessie sighed softly and leaned back, eyes closed. Mae's hands felt good, and she was weary. "You'll have me asleep here in a minute, Mae."

  Mae stared down at Jessie's finely chiseled features and stroked her fingers lightly over the silky smooth skin of her neck. Minutes passed and Jessie remained motionless, her slender hands resting quietly on her thighs, her head resting gently against Mae's body.

  Mae finally moved her hand and whispered with effort, "Come on, Montana. I'll give you a hand with that bath."

  Jessie shuddered and roused herself. She followed Mae slowly up the stairs, but her mind was still on the dance, and the way that Kate had looked in Ken Turner's arms. She had no idea why it bothered her so much that she wouldn't get to say goodbye.

  "Shed those duds," Mae instructed as she tested the temperature of the water, and added a little more from a still steaming kettle sitting on the fireplace hearth in the far corner of the room. "And climb in here."

  Jessie stripped, laying her clothes over the chair next to the bed. She lowered herself into the tin tub, sighing. "That does feel good."

  Mae stood behind her, working up a lather with a bar of soap. "Dunk your head, Montana."

  Jessie did, then shook the water from her eyes and rested her neck on the rim, stretching her arms out along the sides. The water came to just above her breasts. She closed her eyes as Mae began to wash her hair, groaning softly in appreciation. She drifted with the heat and the soothing rhythm of Mae's fingers on her scalp.

  Mae watched as Jessie's limbs loosened and her breathing became slow and deep. Gently she rinsed the soap from Jessie's thick sun-streaked hair, smoothing the stray strands off her face. Mae rested her palms very lightly on Jessie's shoulders, her fingers trailing over the edge of her collar bone, just brushing the pale skin of her upper chest. Jessie shifted, sighing faintly. Mae held her breath for a long moment, her hands trembling.

  "Jessie," Mae murmured.

  Jessie heard the soft voice call to her from a long ways away. She smiled up into the face so close to hers, responding to the welcoming gaze with a swift rush of pleasure. She lifted her hand and caught the fingers that stroked her skin, turning the palm and pressing it to her lips. She was warm, warm and liquid deep within, and her limbs trembled with a sweet urgency that grew more insistent as she drew the hand she held onto her breast. She tilted her head, eager for a kiss from the lips so near her own. With the first gentle pressure on her mouth, she sighed again, the breath stealing from her body on the wings of desire.

  "Wake up, Montana," Mae repeated, louder this time.

  Jessie came awake with a start, sitting up so suddenly that water splashed over the rim onto the floor. "Lord," she muttered, looking wildly about. Mae stood beside her, a towel in her hand. "What happened?"

  "You fell asleep," Mae said matter of factly.

  "That's all?" Jessie asked, trying to piece together the fragments of the dream. All she could clearly recall were wisps of color -blue skies, and white bits of clouds, and dark eyes that held her. Eyes that were very different from Mae's deep green ones. Her body was quivering strangely and she thought her skin might catch fire from the inside. She drew a ragged breath, reaching for the towel, stepping from the tub on trembling legs. "You sure?"

  "What else?" Mae said, heading for the door. She wasn't about to tell Jessie whose name she had murmured in her sleep. There wasn't any point to giving her ideas if she didn't already have them. The one way Jessie differed from the cowboys she rode with was that she was sweetly unschooled in matters of the flesh. Mae loved Jessie's innocence as much as it sometimes tried her. "You were just dreaming, Jess."

  Jessie stared at the door as it closed behind her friend, the memory of the kiss still tingling on her lips.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  "KATE, KATE DARLING! You must go upstairs and get ready. Mr. Turner will be here for dinner any moment and you don't want him finding you like that!" Martha called.

  She frowned as Kate turned away from the window where she had been sitting most of the afternoon, silent and withdrawn. As her daughter disappeared obediently upstairs, Martha turned to Martin who sat before the fireplace, engrossed in the paper. "Martin, I'm worried about Kate. She has been so quiet these last few weeks. She spends most of her time in that dark room with her pictures, and she rarely visits any of her new friends. I do believe she's losing weight. She needs to get out more!"

  Martin glanced up and chuckled. "Haven't you noticed all this mooning about started shortly after the dance last month? Just about the time young Ken Turner started calling? I should think you'd recognize the way a young girl acts when she's being courted!" He smiled and shook his head. "And I must say, I like that Turner. He's got a fine head on his shoulders and a promising future in this town! He'd make a very good husband for Kate."

  Martha looked exasperated. She wasn't as convinced as her husband about the cause of Kate's moodiness. She knew how young girls in love acted. They might moon about, but only when it suited them. She saw none of the excitement in Kate's eyes that should have been there when Ken Turner came to call, and none of the eagerness for his visits that was the normal reaction. Ken Turner gave every indication that his intent was serious where Kate was concerned. Kate was polite and attentive, as was proper and expected under the circumstances, but when alone, she was melancholic.

  "I'm not so sure, Martin. Kate isn't acting at all like herself.'' Martha hoped that Kate hadn't gotten some romantic notion about love confused with practicality. Marriage was the first priority. Fondness would follow, as it had for her and Martin.

  Martin sighed and went to his wife, putting his arms around her. "Don't worry, my dear. No reason in the world why she shouldn't take to Ken Turner, and given time, she'll see that, too."

  * * *

  "I'm sorry," Kate said, blushing. "What did you say?"

  Sitting with her parents and Ken Turner in the parlor after dinner, Kate found her mind wandering. She was restless and had a hard time paying attention to the usual topics of conversation that inevitably included discussions of the weather, the newspaper business, and the increasing lawlessness along the Overland Trail. As the conversation went on around her, she wondered why she wasn't feeling what she should for Ken Turner. He was pleasant and amusing and her parents approved of him. He had all the attributes of a proper suitor.

  When he looked at her with fond regard, she felt like a bird in a trap. She wanted to flee, and realized with ever deepening dread that she had nowhere to go. She tried to imagine being married to him, for surely that was why he continued to call, and she couldn't. She could not imagine waking up next to him in the morning or talking with him over breakfast, and she could not, no matter how hard she tried, imagine lying with him in the night. When he kissed her cheek before leaving in the evening, she had to force herself not to recoil from his touch.

  "I'm sorry?" she repeated.

  "Mr. Turner was asking about the help you've been giving Millie down at the school," Martha chided gently.

  "Oh! yes," Kate replied, trying to sound enthusiastic, for in truth helping M
illie Roberts was the only thing preserving her sanity, or so it seemed to her. "There are so many more children now, and since she's expecting her own soon, Millie needed help."

  "Admirable," Ken remarked. "A very fine thing for you to do until a regular teacher can be found, and you are married yourself!"

  Kate stared at him, at a loss as to how to respond. It was true that teaching was usually considered an occupation for unmarried women, since women rarely held any kind of employment after marriage. Kate had never understood that, and as she considered her own future, it made even less sense. What was wrong with her?

  Kate looked at the handsome young man in her parents' parlor and thought about the evening they had met. The only thing she could recall about the entire evening was a tall blond woman in black and silver. Jessie. Kate hadn't even had the chance to say goodbye. The next morning after the dance she had hurried through town to the auction yards, only to find that the pens were all empty. With a sinking feeling she had surveyed the gates standing open and the deserted corrals and a sadness had settled upon her that would not lift. She ached, and longed for something she could not name.

  She had not seen Jessie since, but her memory of her was as clear as one of her photos. She kept looking for her every time a cowboy rode into town or she heard the jingle of spurs on the sidewalk behind her. When she lay down to sleep, she remembered the glow in Jessie's eyes as they stood close together, their hands lightly touching. She would find herself shivering, first hot, then cold, her heart racing. Her dreams were filled with strange half-visions of long, slender fingers, golden hair and blue, blue eyes. She would awaken in the morning even more unsettled, with a curious trembling in her stomach. What was happening to her?

  "Kate, Kate!" Martha looked at her daughter with concern. "Mr. Turner has asked to see some of your photos, dear."

  Kate forced a bright smile. "Of course! How kind. I'll bring some out for you." She escaped gratefully for a few moments to her room, counting the minutes until she could be alone again.

  * * *

  Jessie paced uneasily up and down on the broad porch that fronted her home. It was late, and the night was still under a black sky broken only by the faraway flicker of summer stars. For some reason she couldn't read. Her mind kept losing the thread. Her insides were churning, and even a bit of whiskey couldn't settle her. She had taken to riding hours on the open range every day, checking fences that didn't need mending and riding herd on horses that didn't need tending. She slept poorly and was short-tempered, flaring up at Jed over nothing at all. Even the sight of the sun setting over the land she loved failed to calm her. This land, her home, which had always been her comfort, seemed empty and barren.

  The sound of her boots on the wood floors echoed aimlessly off the walls, and she was lonely. She sighed deeply and looked about her. She was tired, but she knew she wouldn't sleep. Instead, she walked to the barn and saddled her horse. She'd ride, and maybe she'd no longer feel the ache.

  Hours later, she dismounted in front of the saloon in New Hope. It was near to closing and the bar was almost empty when she entered. She smiled wanly at Frank's surprised face as she leaned against the bar. "Evening, Frank. Got any of that brandy left?"

  "Sure thing, Jessie. Kind of surprised to see you in here tonight."

  "Me, too, Frank. I just started out and this is where I ended up."

  He didn't comment. He'd been a bartender long enough to know that sometimes a cowboy just got tired of the silence out there in the night. He poured her a drink and filled her in on some of the local news.

  Jessie listened and nodded, letting the warm glow of the brandy take the worry from her mind.

  "Buy a lady a drink, Montana?"

  Jessie smiled, her spirits lifting. She turned to Mae, nodding. "I sure will, if you'll sit and drink it with me, Mae."

  Mae's sharp glance took in the circles under Jessie's eyes and the uneasy expression even the liquor couldn't smooth away. "You know there's nothing I'd like better, Jess. What brings you in here this time of week? Ranching getting too quiet for you?"

  "Couldn't sleep," she admitted. "Didn't know what I wanted til I ended up here."

  "Oh?" Mae's eyebrows arched, and she said in a slightly mocking tone, "and what might that be?"

  Jessie flushed, suddenly shy. "A friendly voice and a warm smile, I think."

  Mae took Jessie's arm in hers and led her to a corner table. She lifted her glass to her lips and stared intently into Jessie's troubled eyes. "I'd say you've got something on your mind, Montana. Want to talk about it?"

  "I don't know, Mae. I haven't been right lately. You know I love the ranch, and the work has always made me happy. These last few weeks I've felt sort of uneasy, like something was missing. Can't seem to get my head clear." Jessie looked down at the table, confused.

  "Maybe you're just expecting too much from it, Jess. Work can't be everything to a person. I'd say you need a little relaxing now and then. Never could figure how a body could work as hard as you do!"

  Jessie laughed and tipped her brandy glass. Suddenly she didn't feel quite so alone. She bought them both another drink, and they sat and talked and waited for the sun to come up.

  Finally, Jessie arched her back and looked out toward the street. "Lord, Mae! I've kept you up the whole night!"

  Mae swallowed the last of her drink and answered slowly, "Can't think of anyone else I'd rather spend the night with, Jess."

  A small smile played across Mae's face. Jessie looked into her green eyes and felt herself grinning like a fool.

  "I'll remember that, Mae."

  As she walked Jessie to the door and watched her walk out into the morning, Mae answered softly, "You be sure and do that, Montana."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MARTIN GROANED SOFTLY and turned over, struggling to ignore the pounding in his head. At last he gave in and opened one eye. It was then that he realized that the barrage was coming from his front porch. He reached for his watch on the nightstand and was astounded to see that it was not yet six in the morning.

  "Who could that be?" Martha queried anxiously from beside him as she sat up, the coverlet clutched protectively to her chest.

  "I'll go see," he muttered, searching on the floor for his slippers.

  Kate's bedroom door opened and she peeked out, bleary-eyed and confused. "What is it?"

  Martin shook his head, trudging sleepily to the stairs. "Don't know, my dear."

  Kate pulled her robe tightly closed over her nightgown and followed Martin down the stairs. Through the curtains covering the window in the front door she recognized Thaddeus Schroeder's large form. He was raising his fist to bang again on the frame, simultaneously rattling the doorknob. The entire door shook on its hinges.

  "Wait a minute!" Martin bellowed as he fit the key to the lock.

  "Martin!" Thaddeus shouted before the door was half open. "Get dressed. We've got to put out a special edition of the paper! There's news, man!"

  "What's happened?" Martin asked, instantly awake and turning back toward the stairs. "Let me get into some clothes."

  Thaddeus followed into the foyer, calling after him, "A stagecoach was held up not far outside of town. It was on its way from the territorial seat in Bannack with some fellows from the land title office. They were carrying a fair amount of cash."

  "The stage!" Martin exclaimed, turning back at the top of the stairs. "But who?"

  Thaddeus shook his head angrily. "Outlaws from further west in the territory. Men who couldn't find gold on their own and decided to steal it. They held up the coach and scared the passengers half to death. Robbed them and then were fixing to shoot them all. Imagine that!" He glanced impatiently at his friend. "Come on, Martin, we've got to get down to the Doc's."

  Martin frowned. "Doctor Melbourne's? What for?"

  Thaddeus gave him an impatient look. "Because a couple of folks got shot up. I told you those boys were looking for trouble!"

  Martin's face went pale. This was a
little more excitement than he had been prepared for. "Shot! My Lord, Thaddeus, who?"

  Thaddeus looked even more distressed. "The driver - Bill Marley - and Jessie Forbes."

  Kate felt the blood drain from her face and she sat down quickly on the stairs, her head buzzing. She was dimly aware of her father rushing down the hall toward his bedroom, of her mother's frightened voice calling questions, of Thaddeus shouting something in the background about Jessie. She pulled herself up on the banister and waited for her head to stop swirling.

  "Mr. Schroeder," she gasped, her voice shaking, "Mr. Schroeder...."

  "Yes, Kate," Thaddeus said distractedly, pacing at the foot of the stairs.

  "Jessie. How is Jessie?" Kate held tightly to the railing, fearing that she might scream.

  Thaddeus looked uncomfortable. "I don't know, Kate. She rode into it, apparently, and tried to stop the holdup. The Marshal and some other men rode out with a wagon not long ago to get her and Marley. They should be coming into town soon." He stopped as Martin brushed past Kate and clamored down the stairs. Both men rushed out, slamming the door behind them.

  Kate slumped against the wall, willing herself to think. In her mind's eye she saw Jessie - her blue eyes, her golden hair, her shy grin. Kate was not a stranger to death. In the arduous months of their journey west she had seen accidents and illness claim the lives of men, women, and children. But like this? Could the life of someone as gentle and kind as Jessie simply be snuffed out by men with no regard for law or morality? For the first time, Kate understood that the bright new world she had discovered held evil, too, a darkness where death came quickly, without concern for goodness or justice.

  "Oh Lord," Kate whispered, afraid for the first time since leaving Boston. "Not Jessie. Please."

  Her fear was what finally galvanized her. She rushed to her room and hastily pulled off her nightclothes. As she searched in her dresser for undergarments, she uncovered the photograph of Jessie she had taken the day of the picnic and then tucked away for safekeeping.