Authors: Siara Brandt
John nodded weakly. “Get to it,” he whispered. “I’ve carried it around with me about as long as I want to.”
Together with Rachel, Jesse and Hetty removed his vest, boots and chaps. Rachel then unbuttoned her husband’s shirt. They had to work carefully to free his shirt from his chest. The worn cotton was stiff with dried blood and removing it had started fresh blood welling from the wound.
Hetty’s stomach clenched at the sight of the bullet hole. It was a deep wound in the flesh below the shoulder. It was purple and swollen around the edges and clotted with dark blood. And it had not stopped bleeding.
Yet, in spite of Hetty’s first reaction and her uncertainty, Jesse had a surprisingly calming effect on her. It was as if she somehow drew strength from the quiet, sure confidence that seemed to be a part of who he was. And Hetty could see that, in spite of her earlier, near-panicked state, Jesse was having the same effect on Rachel as well.
Delia entered the room with a basin filled with hot water. “Your children are settled and doing fine,” she whispered to Rachel and then stood back, waiting to be of assistance where it might be needed.
Rachel took her husband’s hand as they prepared to remove the bullet. Hetty moistened the wounded man’s dry lips. And for a moment, over the bed, Jesse’s eyes held Hetty’s, reassuring her, before they began.
John Forbes groaned and strained beneath the agonizing probing of his raw, torn flesh. The muscles of his throat and jaw stood out like cords while they worked. In the lantern light, a sheen of sweat glistened on his face and on his chest.
It sickened Hetty. It seemed they would never find the bullet. And she was worried about the bleeding. But finally, there was a palpable sense of relief among everyone in the room at the sound of lead dropping into the basin.
Jesse stood back, wiping his hands on a clean cloth while the three women bathed the wound and dressed it with herbs. A clean bandage was tied tightly into place while prayers were said that the bleeding would soon stop.
Rachel pulled a quilt over her husband while Jesse cleaned up the old bandages and picked up the basin filled with bloody water and took it outside. Hetty left the room, too. For a moment she leaned against the hallway wall and closed her eyes. Only then did she realize that she was trembling. What a terrible night it had been. A very long night. When she opened her eyes again, she saw that Lieta was watching her from the kitchen.
Lieta drew her dress aside as Hetty walked into the room. She was staring at the blood and at Hetty’s hair barely contained by the ribbon she had hastily tied around it. Apparently Lieta knew about the shooting.
“Will he be all right?” Lieta asked.
“I don’t know,” Hetty replied. “We’re doing everything we can.”
Delia entered the kitchen. “Hetty,” she said. “I’ve had some hot water taken up to your room so that you can wash.”
“Thank you,” Hetty replied gratefully. Right now all she wanted to do was to change into some very necessary clean clothing. Looking up, she also saw something in Lieta’s eyes that reminded her that she was not wearing a corset.
Chapter 7
By the time Hetty had come back downstairs in a fresh blue calico dress with all the proper underpinnings, Delia already had breakfast well under way. Delicious smells had reached her room upstairs while she had dressed and she had found that, in spite of all that had happened, she was as hungry as a ranch hand.
She was tired, it was true. But although she had been up all night, she didn’t feel as tired as she ought to. Nervous energy, she supposed, kept her going. No doubt it would all catch up with her later.
Beyond the parlor window the blackness of night was giving way to the pale lavender of dawn. The first birds were voicing their presence in the trees outside the ranch house. A rooster crowed. And then another.
“You ca
n’t leave without breakfast,” she heard Delia’s voice in the kitchen. “There’s no sense in going away hungry.”
“I reckon I could do with something to eat,” Jesse’s voice replied. “To be honest, it smells too good to turn down.”
Uncle Zeb walked into the parlor. “And now, Hetty,” he said. “Do you want to tell me what you were doing last night? You about gave me a fit when I found that mare prancing around outside the corral and your bed unslept in.”
“The mare?” Hetty asked. “Is she alright?”
He nodded. “She’s fine.”
Hetty told him about the ride she had taken, and about being thrown by the horse and how she had made her way to the cabin after hearing the child’s cry. She did not, however, tell him everything about her encounter with Jesse McLaren in the cabin. Those details she kept to herself.
Across the hallway in the kitchen, Lieta was busy setting the table She did not look up, but Hetty saw the woman’s dark eyes flash with something beyond mere speculation and one dark brow arched when her uncle said, “I’m glad you’re back safe and sound. You did the right thing bringing them here. Come and have some breakfast.”
“Fidelia,” Zebadiah said when he entered the kitchen. “I hope you made enough food. We’ll have a hungry crowd for breakfast this morning.”
“I’ve made enough for an army, Zeb,” his sister informed him as she deftly flipped hotcakes on the large iron griddle. “You can call them in.”
Pierce Champlin held a chair out for Hetty. Pierce had worked at the Circle I since he was nine years old. He was different from the other cowboys. He had come to the ranch, an orphan like her and Uncle Zeb had given him first a home and then a job. At first
Pierce did chores around the ranch house. And then, being around the other men all the time, he quickly learned to rope and ride and was now the best hand they had.
But Pierce was more than just a ranch hand. Aunt Isabel had taken Pierce under her wing from the beginning. She had never had children of her own but she was a generous woman with a warm and loving disposition. She had come from Boston before she had met Zebadiah. She had been a well-educated woman and believed so strongly in the importance of an education that when Pierce had shown an interest in books, she had schooled him along with Hetty.
Many cold winter days and nights, when the ranch work slowed down, Pierce and Hetty would sit here at the kitchen table, with the pleasant warmth of the stove and the irresistible smells of Aunt Isabel’s baking filling the room as she listened to them read.
The men stood, waiting while Hetty and Lieta seated themselves and then everyone took their places at the table. Zebadiah, sitting at the head of the table, scowled as he shook his head. “Things have gone from bad to worse. Women and children disappearing from their homes. G
ood men shot down and beaten- ” He gave them all a meaningful look and said grimly, “You saw John Forbes’ face.”
Delia turned from the stove and brought a towering stack of steaming hotcakes to the table. She wiped her
hands on her apron, then sat down beside her brother and joined the conversation.
“The cowards,” Delia remarked in a low voice as she unfolded her napkin. “I suppose they feel they have done a very brave thing frightening women and children in the middle of the night. Zeb, isn’t there any local law out here that you can turn to?”
“Law!” Zeb exclaimed derisively as he passed a plate heaped high with biscuits to his right. “Hell, no!”
“Zeb,” his sister gently remonstrated, reminding him not to use profanity at the table.
“Pardon me, ladies,” Zeb apologized. “Our local sheriff,” he went on as he generously buttered his stack of hotcakes. “Doesn’t amount to a hill of beans. How he got into office in the first place remains a mystery to me. A lot of the ranchers around here have had run-ins with him. Including me. No,” he declared as he reached for the tin of maple syrup. “The law failed John Forbes. Just like it failed Sara Cade and her daughter.”
“Well, I think it’s just dreadful,” Delia said with a shake of her head.
“I hope this isn’t spoiling your visit,” Zeb said with a glance at his sister. He shifted his gaze to Lieta. “We sure couldn’t anticipate any of this happening.”
“Goodness, no, Zeb,” Delia replied. “We’re glad to be of help. Besides, we can honestly say that there hasn’t been a dull moment since we arrived.”
Across the table, Lieta touched her napkin to her lips and agreed. “That’s true. It is a decided change from Boston.
“What a frightening experience for you, Hetty,” Lieta said, turning her head with a little toss of her curls. “Imagine riding out alone in the dark of night and out there, too, are men who intended- why, heaven knows what might have happened. I know I should have been terrified.”
At Hetty’s side, Pierce said with a laugh. “Not your usual night in Boston, I’ll wager.”
“Not our usual night, no,” Lieta agreed. “Women have a great deal more freedom out here.”
“Well, it used to be safe enough riding alone,” Pierce spoke up beside Hetty. “There never was any trouble before. And Hetty rides like an Indian. Been riding since before she could even reach the stirrups. She could probably outride most of the men working here at the ranch.”
“Indeed.” Lieta fixed Hetty with another innocent stare. “How fortunate that you and Mr. McLaren happened to meet at the cabin at the very same time.”
“Yes.” Hetty said. “We were all very fortunate.”
“Of course you were.” Lieta turned to Jesse seated beside her. “There were three of the villains, Mr. McLaren?” she wanted to know.
A nod was her answer.
“And you single-handedly fended them off?”
“I wouldn’t exactly say I fended them off, ma’am. They rode off by themselves.”
In a voice that was just a little bit husky, Lieta said, “I think you are being very modest, Mr. McLaren.”
Lieta was no doubt recalling the conversation the other day in the parlor about Jesse McLaren. She obviously found the man more than a little interesting. Hetty had caught Lieta stealing glances at him all morning.
Of course women would find him interesting, Hetty thought. Not only his reputation, but his good looks ensured it. Hetty could well imagine Amiline Marsten’s face if she could see Jesse McLaren sitting here at her kitchen table eating breakfast. And Adalia Sweet would have been horrified. But Lieta, certainly, found it a novel experience to be having breakfast with an outlaw.
And Jesse did seem the perfect outlaw. With his black hair, worn longer than would be considered proper back East, and the dark beard shadow emphasizing his very masculine jaw, he did appear more than a little wild, decidedly dangerous and, she admitted secretly to herself, compellingly handsome.
While it was true that Jesse was different than the usual men Lieta encountered in the East, there was something else about him that made him stand out from other men even here. It was something she could not define and yet, if she were to be honest with
herself, that undefinable male essence was so strong that Hetty found herself drawn to it just as Lieta was.
In fact, for Hetty there was a completely unsettling awareness of everything about Jesse McLaren. There was good reason for that, of course. She hadn’t forgotten what had happened between them in the cabin last night. If it affected him at all, so far he had been very successful at concealing it. As for Hetty, she had to make an effort to
not
think about how he had thrown her down on that bed. But the man himself was a constant reminder.
Strength was manifest in the wide shoulders under the blue shirt he wore. It was evident in the strong hand resting on the table. She tried not to relive the feel of his hands on her wrists and on her mouth as he had held her down. But an image of their struggle on the narrow bed came to her all the same. As did the memory of the hard, unyielding pressure of his body on top of hers.
Which brought to mind the completely unbidden thought of that other time, when he had kissed her, and how the hand resting on the table had touched her face with a gentleness completely at odds with the unrestrained passion that had been at the core of that kiss.
She tried not to let herself remember because just thinking about it caused a strange commotion deep inside her. She carefully steadied her breath and
watched as Delia got up from the table and came back with the pot of coffee.
“No, thank you, ma’am.”
At the sound of the deep masculine voice, Hetty’s gaze was helplessly drawn back to the man. For a fleeting moment his glance rested on her, but she could not fathom the thoughts hidden behind those clear gray eyes. She moistened her lips, willing her heart to slow its erratic pace while Delia re-filled Uncle Zeb’s cup. She forced herself to focus on the conversation around the table.
Across the table, Jesse’s gaze settled on Hetty’s mouth, on the almost sinfully passionate full lips moistened by her tongue. He was surprised at his body’s very definite reaction to the innocent gesture. This was hardly the place for him to be distracted by the kinds of thought he was having at the moment.
The truth was, however, that in Hetty Parrish’s presence, Jesse always found himself feeling very much distracted. He hadn’t kissed her last night. But he’d wanted to. He had sure thought about it enough. He was thinking about it now. If ever a man had an opportunity to steal a kiss, rolling around on that bed with her last night had afforded all the opportunity in the world.
He forced himself to listen to the Eastern woman at his side. She was saying something about “unbridled lawlessness” and men who were
hors la loi
, whatever the hell that meant.
“You’re right,” Zebadiah was agreeing with her. “They see something they want, they ride right in and take it.”
Jesse looked over at the young cowboy they called Pierce.
“That’s right,” Pierce said as he settled back in his chair. “What I don’t understand is how they know so much about us. They seem to know all our comings and goings. They know when to hit us. By the time we’re aware of what they’re up to, they’re gone, disappearing into the hills like they never existed. As much as we take precautions, they still manage to stay one step ahead of us.”
Zeb nodded. “I lost about forty head of cattle two nights ago. And Layne Chesmore has lost most of his stock. That wasn’t’ enough though. Chesmore’s herd of horses has also become a target of the thieves. He’s been nearly cleaned out.”
“Sounds like they’re well organized,” Jesse commented.
“I’ll agree with you there,” Pierce said, leaning forward. “It’s been my opinion all along.”
“And mine,” Zeb spoke up across the table. “That’s why we need to be together on this. I have tried to organize the other ranchers. Brent Marsten is of the same mind. He’s had more groups of men out combing the hills for the ruffians than that worthless cur of a sheriff. Not that it does a bit of good. They always come back empty handed. It’s frustrating as hell. And
now the damned thieves seem to be acquiring a taste for blood,” he said soberly.
“It was a terrible thing for those children to have seen their father in that condition,” Delia said beside him.
“Yes, it was, Delia,” Zebadiah agreed as he threw his napkin on the table. “If people weren’t nervous before, this will certainly get their attention. I won’t let any of my men ride out alone anymore.” He looked pointedly at Hetty. “No small groups either. And any group that does leave the ranch has strict orders to be heavily armed. Of course the ranch house will be guarded at all times.”
Chapter 8
When breakfast was over, the men went outside while Hetty helped Delia and Lieta clear the table. The children had already eaten their breakfast and when the dishes had been washed and put away, Hetty took a tray of food to the back bedroom.