“Is there anything else?” she asked pleasantly.
A bit stunned by the turn of events, he shook his head. “No.”
“Then I’ll see you in the morning.”
Grace swore she’d pluck out her eyes before letting him see her cry. But before he could depart, an ominous rumble of thunder shook the silence. They stilled. A loud crack of lightning sounded. Suddenly, strong winds buffeted the tent. More thunder followed, and then the rain began hitting the tent like rocks. The tent began to sway in the rushing wind. “We need to get to the animals!” Jackson yelled, and ran.
Grace rushed to follow.
Outside, the wind and rain were so fierce it momentarily stole her breath. Flashes of lightning turned night into day and she could see women running helter skelter to secure their wagons and flapping tents and to help Jackson. Barefoot and in her nightgown, Grace was soaked through to her skin before she’d run two yards, but she ran as fast as she could.
At the corral she imitated Jackson’s actions as he yelled and hit the animals on their rumps to move them inside the corral. The Mitchell sisters hadn’t done such a good job rebuilding it, but the small roof Dixon and Jackson had added a few weeks ago served to shelter the animals as much as it could. Other women ran over to lend a hand, as did the Black Seminole lawman, Dixon Wildhorse. Once the animals were reasonably secured, Jackson screamed at her over the clashing elements, “Go back to your tent!”
“I’m staying!”
“Stop being so damned stubborn and go! I can handle it from here!”
The other women and Dix didn’t have to be told twice. Dashing off through the storm, they went back to their tents to seek shelter. Grace peered through the pelting rain in an effort to make sure everyone reached safety.
“Dammit!”
The next thing Grace knew, she was being picked up and carried at a run back toward her tent. She couldn’t protest because the wind kept stealing her breath, so she placed her head against his storm-drenched chest and prayed they didn’t get struck by lightning on the way. Tents were being blown around like tops and Grace prayed hers would be still there. It was, and once inside, he set her on her feet while the wind whipped at the canvas. No longer able to share his body heat, she stood there drenched and shivering from the cold rain. Although the darkness made it hard to see, he evidently sensed her distress. “Get out of those wet things before you catch pneumonia.”
Taking his own advice, he stripped off his wet shirt and dried himself with it as best he could. The intermittent flashes of lightning lit the interior long enough for her to spot her sea chest and she searched inside for a dry gown. She found one by touch and without hesitation reached down and dragged the soggy gown up over her head and off.
Jackson turned her way just in time for a flash of lightning to reveal her nakedness, and his manhood hardened instantaneously. Their eyes met and she paused. Time stood still as heated memories arched between them, then the interior was plunged into darkness again. Another flash showed her quickly donning the dry gown.
Haunted by the touch of his eyes, Grace took the thin blanket from atop her bedroll and wrapped herself in its
warmth. “This is the only blanket that isn’t packed,” she told him. “We can share it if you’re cold.”
“No thanks,” Jackson replied, his back to her now. If he went anywhere near her, all bets would be off. He wondered how long it would take him to recover from the stirring sight of her lightning-lit body. “Are you still shivering?”
“Just a little.”
The storm continued to blow and the thunder and lightning continued to call and respond. Grace wondered how everyone else in camp was faring. She hoped no one had gotten hurt. The howling wind seemed to be doing its best to rip the tent from its moorings, but the guide ropes and stakes held. She now appreciated Jackson’s rigid training. Had he not taught her so well, the tent might have already blown away.
Ten minutes later the rain slackened and the rumbling of thunder grew fainter. Thankfully the storm had moved on.
In the darkness, she blindly searched for her matches atop the crate that served as a nightstand. Once the flame caught, she found his eyes waiting, watching. Grace looked away lest he see how he affected her. “We should go out and assess the damage,” she said, dragging on the brogans most of the women had taken to wearing.
When she looked up he was still watching her with hungry eyes.
“Is something wrong?”
For a moment there was silence as Jackson thought to himself,
Yes, there is. I want you so badly I can almost taste the rain on your skin, your lips, your breasts.
But aloud he said, “No. Let’s go see what’s still standing.”
She followed him out.
Grace was glad for the ugly boots on her feet as she
slogged through the mud. The valley was littered with downed tree limbs, damaged tents, and blown-over empty barrels and crates. Led by Loreli, many of the women had taken shelter in the shell of the old church at the top of the rise and they were now descending to see what the storm had done. Very few of the tents were still upright. The weight of the contents in the wagons had kept them from being blown around, but things like bedding and unpacked clothing were soaked.
“You ladies without tents should probably sleep up in the church,” Jackson told the bedraggled women. “We’ll right everything in the morning.”
The women gathered up as much dry bedding as could be found, then trudged up the rise to the church.
Grace and Jackson were left in the clearing alone.
“I’ll walk you back,” he told her.
“That’s not necessary. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She walked off into the night.
As he watched her leave, Jackson realized that declaring himself free of her was going to be a lot more difficult than he’d imagined. His previous efforts had failed, but he was determined to succeed this time. Grace deserved better than a broken-down cowboy, and because she did, he’d just have to be that much more disciplined in her presence. But as he headed over to his own tent, all he could think about was making love to her while thunder roared and lightning flashed around them.
Jackson woke up the next morning in a surly mood. He’d had yet another sleepless night and he blamed it squarely on Grace. Were she as ugly as the Mitchell sisters he wouldn’t be having this problem. Getting up, he washed up in the water from his bucket and got
dressed. He stepped out into a beautiful blue-sky day, but his mood was gray and dank.
Grace rose that same morning thinking of Jackson and pledged that after this she would avoid handsome men at all costs. Her heart had now suffered at the hands of two such individuals and it would not happen again. Although she’d promised herself she wouldn’t dwell on the matter, she again wondered if Jackson had set his sights on someone else. He’d promised not to prey on the brides, but as handsome as he was, he was probably accustomed to sampling women as if they were chocolates in a box. Her declaration that she wouldn’t be going to Kansas City with a broken heart now rang hollow.
Thoughts of Jackson dogged her morning and put a damper on her excitement over leaving. After breakfast she went back to her tent to ready the last of her possessions for transport to her wagon. She’d just closed her sea chest when she looked up to see him standing in the entrance of her tent. There was a scowl on his face and he appeared as if he’d had a restless night.
“Is there something you need?”
“Yes,” he said, striding over to her. “This…”
And he pulled her to him. With his arm locked across her back, he looked down at her with dark blazing eyes and said, “Thought you might like one last kiss.”
He then kissed her so possessively and thoroughly she melted into her brogans. The kiss was at first angry, then tender, overpowering and dazzling. Any thoughts she might have had about protesting his actions turned to ash in his fiery embrace. She found herself responding with such fervor he groaned and dragged her closer. For a few hot moments all their pent-up passion and need exploded like a blast of lightning, and when he turned her loose, she was breathing heavily. “Now,
that’s
how to say good-bye.”
And he stormed out.
For a moment Grace stood there stunned, then became so angry she wanted to throw something. How dared he keep jerking her heart back and forth this way!
She was pacing and muttering curses when she looked up and saw Katherine Wildhorse standing in the tent’s opening.
With concern in her voice, Katherine asked, “Whatever is the matter?”
Grace shot her a look and said, “He makes me so angry I could scream.”
“Who?”
“Jackson ’pigheaded’ Blake.” Grace said, then added tartly, “A more stubborn and arrogant man has yet to be born.”
“What has he done now?”
Grace stopped her pacing, held Katherine’s eyes a moment, and said, “He kissed me! Again! In his arrogance, he believes I enjoy it!”
Katherine chuckled, “Well, do you?”
Grace admitted slyly, “Just between you and me? Of course. His kisses make me see sunsets.”
Grace looked into Katherine’s smile. “Stupidest, damnedest experience of my life.”
They both grinned.
Katherine asked, “So what are you going to do?”
“Pray I make it to Kansas without killing him or falling in love with him. Do you have any idea where I had to meet him to ask about him mastering the wagon train?”
“No, where?”
“A whorehouse outside of Chicago known as Sunshine’s Place. He mistook me for a whore named Lilah.”
To Grace’s surprise, Katherine confessed, “Lilah’s quite nice, actually.”
“You
know
Lilah?”
Katherine nodded, “Sure do. Miss Sunshine, too. In fact, Dix and I were married there.”
Grace couldn’t believe her ears. “You were married in a
whorehouse!
”
“Yes. The preacher mistook
me
for one of the girls. I was horrified.”
Grace put her hands to her mouth and stared at Katherine with widened eyes. “Katherine, I know it’s impolite to pry, but this sounds like a dime novel, and I can’t wait for us to know each other better so I can hear the whole story.”
Katherine laughed.
“I’m serious. How long do we have to be friends before I know it all?”
“I think you are as outrageous as I, Grace Atwood.”
“And I think you and I are going to get along famously, Katherine Wildhorse.”
They shook hands to seal their pact.
Grace felt unbearably short standing next to the statuesque Katherine and said, “You know, I always wanted to be tall like you, able to look a man in the eye and sock him in it if need be. A good kick in the knee is about all I can give from down here.”
Katherine’s grin showed even white teeth. “Well truthfully, I’ve never wanted to be any shorter, at least not since becoming full grown. Though you tiny ones always make me feel clumsy, awkward. You take dainty little steps; we giraffes stride.”
Grace disagreed. “But the carriage and confidence. I envy that.”
“Really?”
“Yes, you and that husband of yours complement each other well, both being so tall.”
Katherine confessed. “He’s the tallest man I’ve ever
known. I’m accustomed to looking down at men. I’ve never had to crane my neck up. It can be disconcerting at times.”
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
Katherine chuckled. “What do you mean?”
“His eyes follow you a lot when he thinks you’re not looking. Passion eyes, if I can be frank. It’s the way Blake looks at me sometimes—makes me feel like my clothes are about to catch fire. Like I said, stupidest damnedest experience of my whole life.”
“Well, it’s obvious he moves you. Do you love him?”
Although she knew she was lying, she said, “Lord, I hope not. Do you love your husband?”
“I haven’t known him long enough.”
Confused, Grace asked, “What does that mean?”
“I wed Dix to satisfy a debt.”
Katherine then gave Grace a brief account of the how and whys of her marriage.
When she finished, Grace stared in amazement. “Your father stole the property of a United States Deputy Marshal? And you had to marry him!”
“Or watch my father be thrown into prison or hung.”
“My goodness, Katherine, and you agreed?”
“What choice did I have?”
“In reality none, when it comes right down to it—but my, what a choice. Although it didn’t hurt to have Dix turn out to be such a handsome specimen. If he’d had the face of a mule, my father might’ve been up the creek without a paddle.”
They both laughed, then Grace asked, “Is he as kind as he seems?”
“So far.”
Grace noted the wistful look on Katherine’s face. “Well, a man as magnificent as that shouldn’t be too hard to love.”
“Look who’s doling out advice,” Katherine cracked. “What about Blake?”
“Jackson Blake had undoubtedly broken a lot of hearts in his lifetime, but his streak stops here.”
“So you say.”
Grace added truthfully, “So I hope.”
O
n the morning of June 3, 1884, the women prepared to leave. In spite of the gray day, townspeople and relatives of the brides descended on the valley to witness the departure, and at precisely 8
A.M
., all bowed their heads as Belle recited a prayer to bless the journey. After the amens faded, the atmosphere lifted when to their surprise a five-man band from the town appeared on the rise and broke into a rousing tune. The elated women mounted their wagons, and while the onlookers cheered heartily, expertly guided their teams up the rise. Grace was so moved by the outpouring of support she had tears in her eyes as she drove past her waving godfather, Martin Abbott. He’d come to see her off and to deliver some letters from the aunts and her friends at the bank.
“The aunts send their love,” he shouted. “Keep yourself safe, baby girl!”
“I will,” she yelled back. “Tell the aunts I love them too and I’ll write as soon as I can.”
Her heart full, Grace Prescott Atwood set her eyes forward. She and her brides were finally on their way.