Lynna Banning Read online

  She pinned up the remaining towels, then spilled the rinse water out on her prize damask rosebush. And such roses! She’d give her eyeteeth for that gold-tinted climber with the blush of peach on the petal edges.

  Ben stared into the murky dark until his eyes burned. “Come on and show yourself,” he said in Yurok. He repeated the words in English. “Get it over with—my supper’s getting cold.”

  A figure emerged from the inky blackness, and Ben leaped to his feet. “What in the bloody hell are you doing here?”

  Jessamyn moved unsteadily into the circle of firelight. “I—I was frightened.”

  “Frightened!” He spit the word out, jammed his Colt back into its holster. “You ride up here alone—I assume you’re alone—on an unfamiliar trail, at night Why the devil shouldn’t you be frightened?” His voice rang like steel. “For Lord’s sake, you don’t have the sense God gave an ant!”

  Jessamyn nodded in silence.

  “Well?” Shaking with barely controlled fury, Ben paced around her like a prowling mountain lion. “You could have fallen or been thrown. Gotten lost. God, I don’t know— died of thirst! Why, Jessamyn? Why?”

  “S-someone threw a rock through the window of the newspaper office. I was standing right in front of it, and the glass just exploded. There were little p-pieces of it everywhere, and I—”

  “A rock, huh? Even so, I ought to tan your backside,” Ben muttered. He stopped pacing long enough to rotate the pan of beans in the fire. “What makes you think you’re safer up here than tucked up cozy in Cora’s house in town?”

  “My house,” she said wearily.

  “All right, your house. Dammit, that’s not the point.”

  “No,” she agreed. “It’s not.” Her voice came out thin and shaky. “I thought I’d be safer up here because… because you were here. I wasn’t thinking clearly, I guess.”

  “You bet your boots you weren’t thinking!” he snapped.

  “Ben, please. I had glass all over me, in my apron pockets, in my hair. I know I shouldn’t have come. It’s just that I was so unnerved…” Her head drooped. “I’m terribly sorry.”

  “Where’s your horse?” he growled.

  “Down the trail about a quarter of a mile. I came up the last part on foot to make less noise.”

  “Stay here. I’ll go down for him.”

  “Her. It’s Cora’s mare. Lady.”

  He swung toward her. “Cora let you do this harebrained thing?”

  “No,” Jessamyn blurted. “Cora won’t know I’m gone until tomorrow morning. She thinks I’m still at the news office, cleaning up the press. And—” her voice trembled “—all that glass.”

  Without a word, Ben turned and strode back down the trail after her horse. He found it tethered to a scrub pine, a bedroll inexpertly tied in back of the saddle. No saddlebags, though Which meant she hadn’t brought food or extra clothing. Damn scared little fool. He’d like to throttle her for the fear she’d got pumping through his veins. His body shook like a schoolboy’s. Every inch of his skin felt prickly, as if thousands of red-hot needles were branding him.

  When he returned to camp, Jessamyn was sitting right where he’d left her. “Didn’t Gus try to stop you?” he snapped.

  “I didn’t give him a chance. He said you’d gone south. That’s what he said the last time, so 1 figured you’d gone north, instead. Into the hills, as you did last time. I sneaked home to change clothes, and when I got back to the stable, Gus was gone. I saddled the mare myself and—” Her voice faltered. “Ben, could we please stop arguing? I’m so tired.”

  His gut twisted. “I’ll just bet you are.” Despite his twinge of sympathy, he growled the words out like an enraged bear. Stalking behind her, he picketed the mare next to his gelding.

  “I followed your tracks, Ben. I guessed they were yours, anyway.”

  “My God, you could have trailed some damn cowhand all the way to Lane County! How did you manage to cross the river?”

  “At the ford, where we crossed before, on our way to Black Eagle’s camp. I walked the horse across the shallow part.”

  She knelt by the fire and began kneading her thigh muscles. “I did a lot of thinking on the trail today, Ben. I know I shouldn’t have come, and I’m sorry, really I am. I know you’re the sheriff and you’ve got a job to do, and I’m just in your way.”

  Ben nodded his assent, tried to calm the pounding of his heart.

  “I don’t want to…to be a trial. Just let me stay the night, will you? I promise I’ll go back in the morning.”

  Ben studied the young woman who crouched at his fire. Firelight licked her dark hair, highlighted the delicate, sunburned cheekbones. She wore a different hat—a plain black felt with a braided cord around the crown. New, from the look of it. Probably didn’t dare ask Cora if she could borrow Frank’s old Stetson, so she’d bought this one at Frieder’s on her way out of town. At least she’d thought that far ahead. No one traveled in this country without head protection.

  Except for the way she filled out the red plaid shirt and skintight jeans, she looked like a tousle-haired kid playing cowboy.

  “Are you hungry?”

  Her green eyes widened. “Oh, yes. I found some cookies in Cora’s cookie jar, and I ate them along with some blackberries I picked along the trail, but it wasn’t very much. I’m starving!”

  Ben rose to get another spoon from his saddlebag. “Any idea who threw that rock through your front window?”

  “No. I was cleaning the press. My back was to the street.”

  “Did you hear horses? A voice?”

  “N-no.”

  Dragging the pan of bubbling beans out of the fire, Ben maneuvered it onto a flat rock to cool. “Listen, Jessamyn. I’m not sure whoever did it really meant to harm you. Maybe they just wanted to scare you.”

  Jessamyn pulled her knees up to her chest. Wrapping her arms around both legs, she rocked her body back and forth in jerky motions. After a moment she laid her forehead on her knees.

  “You know, it’s an odd thing,” she began in a low, tight voice. “I was actually beginning to feel at home out here in the West. I like it. It’s different. Free.”

  She raised her head and looked into Ben’s eyes. “But it’s also dangerous, isn’t it? And violent.”

  Ben grunted.

  “Do you really think that rock was meant to warn me about something? Something I printed in the newspaper?”

  Ben nodded. “On the outside, the country looks peaceful enough, since the war’s over. But deep down there’s a good many issues people out here are touchy about—Indians, for one. Railroads, for another. Getting the vote for women. You hit them all.”

  “Oh,” she said in a small voice.

  “I’d guess you got too close to some piece of information somebody doesn’t want known. Or you might have touched too hard on a sensitive issue.”

  Jessamyn let out a long sigh. “Now I have to decide what to do next Should I print only what my readers approve of? The news Douglas County ranchers and townspeople want to hear? Or should I report the news that actually happens?”

  “I can’t answer that, Jessamyn. I can give you a lot of good advice, but in the end, you’ve got the same problem Thad was stuck with—you’re the editor.” Ben stuck the extra spoon into the beans and laid one finger against the metal pan for a split second. Satisfied it wasn’t too hot to pick up, he lifted it and held it out to her.

  “Supper.”

  She grasped the spoon, tested a bite on her tongue and gobbled a double mouthful while Ben held the pan steady. When he got a chance, he shoveled a tasty bite into his own mouth.

  “I feel like such a fool,” Jessamyn murmured when the pan was empty. Her voice was so low it was barely audible. “Without even thinking, I ate almost all of your dinner.”

  “Yeah,” Ben said gently. “You’re a real thorn in my side.” He rose abruptly, rinsed the pan with water from his canteen, then refilled it. Adding a scant handful of coffee, he
set the container among the coals.

  “I’ve caused you no end of trouble, haven’t I?”

  “No more than some. Listen, Jessamyn—”

  Her chin drooped almost to her shirt buttons. “Well, I want you to know I’m sorry.”

  Ben hesitated. He couldn’t believe the words that sprang to his lips. He had to choke them back. I’m not sorry! Despite the difficulty of backcountry travel with a greenhorn, he wasn’t sorry for her company. He wasn’t sorry about any of it!

  And that, he reasoned, would take some heavy thinking to sort out. All he knew was that Jessamyn was here with him now, and she was safe. Inexplicable as it seemed, he was glad on both accounts.

  God almighty, what ailed him? Had he fried his brain in the sun today? He didn’t want to be saddled with her tomorrow, or any other day, for that matter. He didn’t want to have to watch over her, worry about her falling off that damned underexercised mare of Widow Boult’s. He didn’t want to see her wake up in the morning, see her hair tumbled loose about her face, her eyes soft and dewy with sleep.

  But it wasn’t safe to send Jessamyn back to town now. It would be irresponsible to turn her loose, alone, on the trail he’d ridden to this point. On any trail. By now, whoever had harassed her earlier would know she’d ridden out of town, would probably know which direction she’d gone. He couldn’t risk an unknown assailant finding her, alone and unprotected.

  With a forked stick Ben raked the pan of boiled coffee away from the coals.

  “You can’t go back,” he said. He sipped the black brew from one side of the pan, then offered it to Jessamyn.

  Jessamyn placed her small, cool hands over his and angled the container toward her. “I can’t keep up with you, Ben.”

  “If you can’t go back, and you can’t keep up…”

  She pushed the pan of hot coffee back toward him. “You’ll have to slow down,” she said, her tone matter-offact.

  Ben blinked. “Slow down? Hell, lady, I’m tracking what may be your father’s killer and you want me to slow down?”

  Jessamyn gave him a level look. “You can track him slowly, can’t you? Besides, I handle the mare much better now. Maybe I can ride faster.”

  Ben bit back a chuckle. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “Maybe I could even help.”

  “Like hell.”

  “After all, Sheriff Kearney,” Jessamyn continued, “it was I who discovered that Indian’s new rifle, remember?”

  Ben choked on a mouthful of coffee. He remembered, all right. She’d come within an ace of getting caught redhanded snooping through a Klamath brave’s private effects. To Black Eagle, that would have been a serious breach of honor.

  “I’ll try not to slow you down or get in your way. I won’t talk on the trail, either, because by now I know you hate that.”

  “You do,” he echoed, his tone disbelieving.

  She looked him straight in the eye. “You’re going to send me back, aren’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t think of it,” he said truthfully. “It’s against my better judgment, but I don’t see any other way. You’ll have to come with me.”

  Her tired eyes widened, then shone with renewed life. “Really?” She sent him an unsteady smile. “Ben, I promise you, you won’t regret it.”

  Ben groaned inside. Oh, yes, he would. He regretted it the instant he uttered the words. At the thought of spending another night alone with her up here in the high country, the unsatisfied gnawing in his gut returned.

  He shot a glance at her. The pleased, little-girl look on her face reminded him of his cat, Shiloh, lapping up a saucer of cream.

  He untied his bedroll, rolled himself in a cocoon of tan wool and closed his eyes. “Get some sleep, Jess. Tomorrow’s not going to be any picnic.”

  She made no reply. He heard the swish of liquid, then the bean-and-coffee container thunked onto a rock. A breath of air whooshed over his face as she unrolled her own blanket. With a soft sigh, she stretched her body out beside him.

  Ben clenched his jaw. He could reach out and touch her if he wanted. They were high up in these ancient, silent mountains, far from civilization, away from cares and the small daily events of life.

  And, he acknowledged as his groin tightened into an ache, they were completely alone.

  Ben worked to keep his mind off Jessamyn, focusing instead on the night sounds around their mountain campsite. The fire snapped sporadically. Far off in the hills, two coyotes called to each other.

  He laced his hands behind his head and gazed up at the stars overhead, brilliant as gems. How simple life seemed in the wild. He’d learned much from his years dealing with Black Eagle, things that had steadied him after the war, given him something to hold on to when his bitterness threatened to overwhelm him.

  He closed his eyes, remembering. Those years had been instructive. Not only were the Indians—Klamath and Modoc alike—treated badly by the government, the tribes themselves fought each other with vicious efficiency. Then, despite all Ben’s efforts, the captured members of rival tribes had been sent to the same reservation—a bungled move, if ever there was one.

  Still, those years had been lifesaving for Ben. Black Eagle had been both friend and surrogate father. But one thing the wise old chief had not taught him about was being with a woman. Not just any woman, but a woman of depth and substance. A woman of value. A woman like Jessamyn.

  Ben closed his eyes, listening to the gentle sound of her breathing beside him. He knew she wasn’t asleep. He wondered what she was thinking.

  As if in answer to his thought, her drowsy voice came to him over the rustle of night birds in the pine branches above. “Ben?”

  He kept his lids closed. “Yeah.”

  “Are you awake?”

  He chuckled. “Have I ever talked in my sleep?”

  A soft laugh escaped her. “As a matter of fact, you have. That night in the tipi. You said ‘Stop, damn you,’ and mumbled a woman’s name.”

  Ben said nothing. He didn’t want to know any more. But he knew it was true. Jeremiah always claimed that he muttered things in his sleep. Ben didn’t mind if Jeremiah overheard him—there were few things his deputy and lifelong friend didn’t know about him. Jessamyn, however, was another matter. His mind recoiled against feeling exposed, vulnerable, to another human being.

  “Ben?” she whispered again.

  “Yeah.” The tight feeling in his groin spread to his chest.

  She waited a long minute before speaking again.

  “Ben, why did you kiss me that day at the river?”

  His lids snapped open. God almighty, he wished he knew. “I guess because I thought I’d like it,” he said without thinking.

  Another long silence.

  “Did you? Like it, I mean? Is that why you kissed me again at the newspaper office?”

  He thought a minute. “Jessamyn, why are you asking this?”

  “Just tell me—did you like it?”

  Ben swallowed. “I did. Quite a lot, as a matter of fact.”

  Silence. Then in a very soft voice she said some words that turned his heart over.

  “I’d never been kissed before. Not like that, anyway. Before, back in Boston, it was…different. A man—even a beau—didn’t…” She hesitated, groping for words. “Didn’t…well, it didn’t mean anything.”

  Ben attempted to translate. “Are you saying it wasn’t a serious thing back in Boston?”

  “I guess so.” She waited three full cycles of coyote calls before continuing. “It felt…serious with you.”

  Ben jerked. Serious! It was all of that and more. He’d been downright awed. Not only had he been surprised at his action in the first place, he was appalled at his gut-level reaction. And hers, as well.

  A burst of purely masculine pride warmed his chest. He’d bet Jeremiah, for all his uncanny insight, didn’t know this about him!

  “Well, were you?” Jessamyn prompted. “Serious, I mean?”

  “Hell, yes. And scared to deat
h halfway into it,” he blurted. My God! What is it about her that goads me into opening my mouth and letting the truth escape like so many pebbles?

  “Oh,” she breathed.

  Ben’s brain tumbled over itself trying to make sense of their conversation. Over the past week, he and this unlikely, unpredictable Northern lady had somehow become friends. Maybe more than friends. Never before had he longed to possess a woman—even Lorena—as desperately as he wanted Jessamyn. Lord God in heaven, what was happening to him?

  If you don’t know, said a voice inside his head, you’re a damn fool!

  Oh, hell, he knew, all right. She’d given him a flick of her petticoat and a glimpse inside the genuine person behind the facade of starched lace and good manners, and he’d fallen like a sack of potatoes.

  Goddammit, he was in love with her!

  After a long, long silence, he heard her voice again. “Ben?”

  “Go to sleep, Jessamyn,” he growled.

  “But—but I wanted to ask—”

  “Jessamyn?” His voice came out gravelly.

  “Y-yes?”

  Ben rolled toward her, reached one arm around her middle and pulled her, blanket and all, back against his chest.

  “Shut up,” he whispered against her temple. “Just shut up and go to sleep.”

  Jessamyn awoke to a cold rain pelting her face. Instinctively she ducked her head, pulling the scratchy wool covering up to her eyebrows, and snuggled her backside toward Ben’s warm body.

  He wasn’t there. She popped her head up and gazed about the campsite.

  Ben turned away from the horses and came toward her in long, graceful strides. He’d saddled both mounts, she noted. Already his saddlebags were loaded and tied in place. She groaned. No breakfast, then. Just more riding.

  She watched him pack up his bedroll and return to the horse. He tied the blankets behind the cantle with quick, careful fingers, taking extra time to murmur some words to the gelding and smooth his hands over the animal’s dark hide.

  She respected Ben, she acknowledged. He was remote, even brusque at times, but she sensed something else beneath his impassive exterior—a courageous heart and a depth of spirit few men she’d ever known had had. She trusted him. And she liked him. A lot. So much, in fact, that when his mouth had touched hers, a part of her had come alive, a part of her she’d never been aware of before. She’d given herself up to him, accepting him as a man, acknowledging herself as a woman.