Authors: Siara Brandt
Damn
.
He clenched his teeth together and forced himself to think beyond her, to ignore the downright want that had taken him by surprise. He couldn’t help his body reacting on a purely primitive level, but he would not yield to the urge to kiss her. Not this time.
“Hetty!” he hissed down at her. “Stop fighting me. I’m not going to hurt you.”
In an instant she stopped fighting. And even though they had spoken to each other only once, maybe twice in all the years that they had been neighbors, he knew that she must have recognized his voice and realized who he was.
Hetty felt the fingers over her mouth slowly relax. The grip on her wrists loosened. And then she felt Jesse McLaren ease his weight off of her. He stood up and took several steps backward though his gaze remained fixed on her face.
Jesse watched her get off the bed and stand before him in the square of moonlight. She was still breathing hard. And waiting, he thought. Waiting most likely for an explanation. She didn’t say anything. He didn’t say anything either. At the moment, he didn’t know if he was capable of putting two intelligent words together and have them come out right. He didn’t know what kind of thoughts were running around inside her head. But they probably weren’t very favorable to him. In any case, they couldn’t be anything like the thoughts he was having.
She was wide-eyed and alert, reminding him of a startled doe. Maybe deciding whether or not she was going to have to use that gun he’d felt in her skirt pocket. She must have decided against it. And yet she sure didn’t look like she was at all certain that he wasn’t going to throw her again like a half-broke horse.
Not that he wouldn’t have liked to do just that. But right now wasn’t the time for him to be thinking about the absence of corsets or her beautiful face framed by that riotous mass of unbound curls or how tempting her full mouth looked as she stood before him in the moonlight.
Hetty drew in a shaky breath, trying hard to quiet the tumult inside her. She did not have long to contemplate Jesse McLaren’s next move, for just then, without a word, he turned and crossed the room.
At the window, he peered out through a parting in the curtains while his voice came to her in the darkness. “We’ll be having company soon.”
“Who?”
“Not the invited kind,” he replied.
Glancing back at her, Jesse saw her rubbing her wrist where his fingers had gripped it. Amazingly, he was still struggling to get his focus back. But get it back he would. He needed that focus to get them all out of here safe and alive.
“How many?” he heard her ask as he turned back to the window.
“Three that I saw.”
“Where are the Forbes?”
“The family is safe. They’re hiding in the woods behind the house. John Forbes was shot on his way back home tonight.”
“Is he badly wounded?”
“Yes.”
Hetty continued to watch the man’s profile in the moonlight that was sifting through the curtains. He had not yet replaced his hat which he must have lost during their struggle. He was holding it at his side. His face was hard, his attention focused not on her, but on some distant point beyond the window.
His hair, that she remembered as being black as a raven’s wing, had a shimmer of blue in it from the moonlight. Her gaze traveled from the wide shoulders down to the heavy gun worn low on his right hip.
She moistened dry lips. “The men you are expecting. Did they do the shooting?”
“That would be my guess.”
After a silence, she said, “I can handle a gun. If you think I can be of help.”
He glanced back and his gaze ran over her for a moment. In the moonlight she saw a muscle tense in the side of his jaw before he answered her. “I want you to stay out of sight. It will make things less- complicated that way.” He turned back to the window and straightened. “Here they come now.”
Without another word he settled his hat on his head, pulling it low over his eyes. He then stepped outside and closed the door behind him. Hetty listened to his slow bootsteps on the porch. And soon she heard the sound of approaching horses.
The horses came to a halt at the edge of the porch. She heard the soft clanking of bridle chains and the heavy breathing of horses that have been run far and fast. There was another long silence, during which Hetty imagined that the riders were, perhaps, trying to understand how the wrong man was standing before them on the porch.
She heard a stranger’s voice say, “We’re looking for John Forbes. You seen ‘im?”
“I don’t see him around,” was Jesse’s reply.
Another silence dragged on. Leather creaked. A horse blew softly.
“He in the house?” the same voice wanted to know.
“No.” This time, Jesse’s reply was a little quieter, a little colder.
“An’ who the hell are you?” the voice demanded in a hostile tone.
After a long pause, another voice, deeper than the other, said, “You’re goin’ up agin’ the wrong man, Wes. That’s Jes McLaren.”
“Jes Mc- ” The man never finished, half breathing the words.
“You have business with John Forbes?” Jesse asked abruptly, ignoring the introduction.
“Right,” the other man replied tersely. “That’s why I’m here. To talk to Forbes. If it’s any business of yours.” The man still spoke belligerently. But it seemed to Hetty that a thread of uncertainty had crept into his voice.
“He isn’t here,” Jesse informed the man. “I’m staying here now. If it’s any business of yours.”
There was another silence. Hetty heard the thud of an impatient hoof.
The stranger’s voice came again. “You told Forbes to move along, eh?”
“You might say that.”
A low, unpleasant laugh drifted through the window. “Kicked Forbes out, I reckon?”
“He was reasonable. He decided to move on,” Jesse replied in a level tone. “You seem like a reasonable man, too.”
Hetty had carefully shifted to a position where she could see Jesse through the slight parting in the curtains. The moonlight was shining upon him. There was something hard and unyielding in his voice and in his manner, a cold unconcern that must have made an impression on the other men. It certainly made an impression upon Hetty.
She held her breath in the tense silence, expecting something, some violence perhaps. Maybe gunshots. But nothing happened. Apparently the man that had done most of the talking saw the same thing in Jesse McLaren that she saw and it had taken the edge off his belligerence.
Jesse’s drawl was slow and deliberate. “I’ll consider this a social call to welcome me home. But after this, you should know that I get a little- nervous when I get company in the middle of the night.”
“Why- ” the voice began again, faltered, and then said facetiously, “We wouldn’t want to make you
nervous
.”
Another man snorted quietly, but said nothing.
“Now that you’ve finished giving me your regards,” Jesse said in a voice that was now like tempered steel. “You can be on your way.”
It was not until Hetty heard the sound of horses riding away that she realized she had been holding her breath for most of the exchange. She released it as bootsteps crossed the porch. The door opened and Jesse stepped back into the room.
He regarded her for a moment in the moonlight before he said, “I’ll need your help.”
Chapter 6
Concealed by heavy brush, John Forbes lay against the base of a tree in the woods behind the cabin. His entire shirt front was darkened by a blood stain. A woman leaned over him, holding a makeshift bandage over the wound in his chest.
Jesse got down on his knees beside the man. He spoke some words to the woman and she nodded. As gently as possible, with Jesse on one side and the woman on the other they helped the man to his feet. With difficulty, they got him into the cabin and onto the bed.
Three children had also appeared from the shadows. There was as young girl holding a baby and another small child, a boy. They huddled together on the opposite side of the room, frightened and silent.
John Forbes was badly wounded, possibly dying. The woman was white-faced and trembling as she did what she could to stop the blooding. Jesse had gone outside to get the family’s wagon ready so that they could get him to the doctor in Eminence.
It was dangerous to move him anywhere but his wound needed immediate attention. He probably would not get the best of care in Eminence.
If
he survived the long, rough trip. Hetty was convinced that the best place to take him was to her uncle’s ranch which was much closer than the long drive to town.
After talking it over with Rachel Forbes, Hetty left the cabin. She found Jesse in one of the outbuildings. He listened to her reasoning as, with sure, swift fingers, he worked with the harness of the Forbes’ small wagon.
He glanced once at the cabin and then nodded, agreeing with her. Frowning, he said, “I expect you’re right. Even if he survived the trip to Eminence, I was wondering what we would do if that fool doctor was passed out cold from his usual Saturday night drinking spree.”
The decision was made and soon the old, dilapidated wagon was pulling the family up the trail towards the Parrish ranch.
Hetty held her breath at each jolt of the wagon. While Rachel Forbes cradled her husband’s head and shoulders in her lap, Hetty held a bandage tightly against the wound. She bit her lip, outraged at the bruises that marred John Forbes’ face. Apparently, he had also been beaten by the men who had shot him.
The sooner they got him to the ranch the better. Hetty had some experience with injuries. A ranch hand’s life was hard. Working with cattle and breaking wild horses was always risky. Her Aunt Isabel had had some nursing experience and so did her Aunt Delia.
But Hetty didn’t have much experience with gunshot wounds and she admitted to herself that she was afraid, afraid that John Forbes wasn’t even going to make it to the ranch alive. He was so pale and so weak. And there was so much blood. A terrible amount of blood.
It was still dark when they pulled up to the front porch of the ranch house. The front door opened immediately. “Hetty!” she heard her Uncle e
xclaim. “What in hell- Why- ” he sputtered as Jesse jumped down from the seat of the wagon.
Zebadiah was already at Jesse’s side, helping let down the back of the wagon. Both men immediately jumped up inside. Hetty heard another of her Uncle’s descriptive oaths as he looked down into the bed of the wagon to see John Forbes lying wounded in his wife’s arms.
Several ranch hands had come into the yard, wondering what was going on. Other men were looking out of the bunkhouse door.
One of the ranch hands, Pierce Champlin, helped Hetty and Rachel down from the wagon. He then lifted the children out and set them on the porch before helping Zebadiah and Jesse carry the wounded man up the porch steps.
Hetty hurried ahead, opening doors. She motioned them into the little spare bedroom off the kitchen and turned to see her Aunt Delia standing in her wrapper in the kitchen doorway.
“Mercy . . . ”
Delia whispered, one hand held against her throat as she stared at the blood on Hetty’s hands and on her dress. “What has happened?”
There wasn’t time for lengthy explanations. Hetty quickly explained while she and Delia gathered what they would need from the kitchen and the back porch. As Delia heated water on the stove, Hetty brought clean bandages. She then got a bottle of whiskey and a glass down from a shelf on the back porch.
“Isn’t there a doctor in Eminence?” Delia asked as Hetty rinsed the blood from her hands.
“Unfortunately he has a reputation of doing more harm than good,” Hetty replied. “If you can get him while he’s sober. Which isn’t often,” she said as she quickly tied her loose hair back from her face. “Delia, do you think you could get the children settled? They have been through a great deal tonight.”
“Yes, of course.” Delia was fiercely protective of children. She had four of her own. The Forbes children would be in good hands.
In the little back bedroom, Hetty poured whiskey into the glass she had brought with her and held it to the man’s trembling lips. It was an effort for John Forbes to lift his head but he was able to drink.
“John,” Jesse said as he leaned over the man. “We’re going to be a little rough on you for a bit. But you already know that bullet has to come out.”