Authors: Jo Goodman
"Yes. He was appointed by the Board of Directors."
"Your family's been taken care of? Your mother? Your sisters?"
"Jay Mac saw to our welfare." Her voice and eyes were bleak. "None of us will want for anything."
Except for John MacKenzie Worth himself, thought Jarret. "And your father's wife?"
Rennie flinched, but said calmly, "Nina's been taken care of. Everyone has a piece of Northeast Rail."
"But Hollis Banks is running it."
"Yes, that's right."
Jarret got up and added some logs to the fire. He poked at the embers, making sure the flames could breathe. "Rennie, you understand that if we go to the Jump, we may not find anything."
She turned around in her chair, and her eyes were hopeful. "Ethan said—"
"Ethan's my friend. If you asked me who's the finest marshal anywhere in this country, I'd say Ethan Stone. But I don't know all the marshals, Rennie, any more than Ethan knows every tracker. He knows I do bounty work to make my way, but he doesn't know that I'm not much interested in it any longer." He set the poker aside and leaned against the stone mantel. "I may not be the best man you could find for this mission of yours. Have you considered that?"
"No," she said, standing. "I never considered it." He started to say something, but Rennie held up her hand.
"Wait, let me finish. If I thought there was anyone better, I wouldn't have swallowed my pride and come looking for you. You left New York without a single word to me, no note, no wire, nothing. You kissed me publicly in front of the Jones Street Station, and then I didn't hear from you again. Your bags disappeared from the house, and then you were gone, too. I wasn't expecting a declaration of devotion—nothing like that—but I thought that in spite of everything we had become friendly adversaries. If nothing else, I thought we enjoyed sparring. Then I discovered you didn't think enough of me to say goodbye.
"I put you out of my life that day. Only something of this magnitude could have made me rethink my decision. So, have I considered you may not be the best man for my mission? No. Quite the opposite. You're the man I want."
Jarret's stony gaze widened slightly as she said the last. It was almost as if... no, he warned himself, she was only saying she wanted him to find her father, not that she simply wanted him. One of his brows lifted, and he waited to hear the word she had never said easily in his presence.
"Please," she said. "Will you please help me find my father?"
He took his coat off the peg and put it on. "I'll give you my answer in the morning."
"But—"
"Another day one way or the other isn't going to matter, Rennie. That's one reality you're going to have to face. I think you know what the other is." He put on his hat and went out to tend the horses.
Rennie did indeed know what he meant. Getting to Juggler's Jump held no guarantees. Their search might not turn up Jay Mac, but Jay Mac's body. It wasn't the same thing at all.
When Jarret returned his arms were filled with wood. He shouldered his way in the door and managed to hold the load. A few steps from the fireplace his arm gave out, and the pile thudded to the floor. He swore, kicking one of the logs toward the fire. It knocked the burning stack, and sparks jumped wildly.
Rennie put down her paper and left the window seat. She bent at Jarret's feet and began gathering the logs. "Here, let me," she said. "Before you burn the cabin to the ground."
Jarret hauled in his temper and hunkered down beside her. The fingers of his right hand tingled. He was able to use the hand to push a few logs toward the stone apron. He did most of the work with his left. When he was finished he left the cabin again. This time he didn't return until dark.
Rennie heard him stumble a little as he pushed through the door. It was a good bet he had been drinking. She didn't bother looking up from her dinner, finding it easier to pretend she wasn't angry if she wasn't looking at him. Rennie took a bite of venison stew. It had a slightly burned flavor, but that wasn't going to stop her from eating it, or from giving every indication that she was enjoying it.
Jarret served himself a plate but went to the rocker instead of the table. He dropped heavily into the seat, stretching and slouching. He spooned some of the venison and raised it toward his mouth. "I thought you couldn't cook," he said. He tasted it. "You were right."
"Mine's fine."
"Mine's burnt."
"That's because you were gone so long."
He got up and went to the table, but before Rennie could protect her plate, he had scooped some of her stew onto his spoon. He tasted her fare. It was as difficult to swallow as his own. "Liar. You burned the entire pot."
She shrugged.
He nudged a chair away from the table with the toe of his boot and sat. "What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing." She looked at him now. He had a smile on his face that she could only have described as simple. "You've been drinking."
Since it wasn't a question, Jarret saw no reason to respond to it. He tucked into his stew. On subsequent bites the burnt offering wasn't so bad. He was a little regretful he hadn't been present to watch her prepare it. He'd have had another story to swap with Duffy.
Looking around the cabin, Jarret noticed that Rennie had spent the day cleaning. The rug at the foot of the rocker had been scrubbed, the floor swept, the mantel dusted. He realized the chair he was sitting in didn't tilt anymore. She had even leveled off the legs. The top of the stove had been scoured, and the breakfast dishes were put away. "Looks like you kept yourself busy," he said.
There hadn't been much choice. Remaining idle would have taken her wits. There was also the fact that once she started cooking the kitchen area had quickly become unrecognizable. She had strewn flour from larder to stove, trailed sugar along the table top, upended a pot of boiling water, and spilled her blood while cutting the venison. Cleaning had been a necessity.
Jarret reached across the corner of the table and brushed Rennie's hair at her shoulder. She flinched. His fingers stilled but didn't move. "You have some flour in your hair." When he felt her relax he finished brushing it out.
Rennie pulled back the strands when he was done and smoothed them into a loose coil at her nape. Wisps of red and copper strands fringed her forehead. Ignoring Jarret's chuckle, she buttered a warm roll after cutting off the blackened bottom.
"Your face is looking better," he said. When she glanced at him questioningly, he added, "Swelling's down. The color's still not good."
She had seen herself in Jarret's shaving mirror and discovered she was vain enough not to want to see her reflection for several more days. "It's not so bad," she said.
Jarret didn't think it was either, but he was surprised to hear her say so. He finished his meal in silence.
By the time Rennie finished the dishes, Jarret was steadier on his feet. His simple grin had faded, and he had the beginnings of a headache. He considered retiring early, but as he watched Rennie work he knew what he had to do. When she picked up a pile of mending, he gave up his seat at the window and headed for the kitchen pump. "Do you sew any better than you cook?" he asked, watching her try to thread a needle.
"No," she said. "Not a whit better."
He had to smile. She was so matter-of-fact about it. "Better than you sing?"
"Worse."
"Good thing you build bridges, then."
She ducked her head so that he wouldn't see she was fighting back laughter. "It's a very good thing."
Jarret filled a large pot with water and began to heat it. He hooked a kettle of water over the flames in the fireplace and added two smaller pots to the stove. The windows in the cabin soon misted. While the water grew hot Jarret cleaned out the wooden bathing tub. He could feel Rennie's eyes on him, but he couldn't catch her at it. Every time he looked in her direction her lids would have just lowered over her mending.
Jarret carried the pots of hot water in his left hand and filled the tub where it rested behind a yellow cotton curtain. By the time he added a bucket of cold water from the pump, Rennie was on her feet and moving toward the ladder.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asked.
She pointed to the loft. "I'll wait up there while you bathe."
"I didn't drink away all my money at Bender's. I paid two bits for a bath in town. And a penny more for soap." He rubbed his chin. "I had a shave, too. This is for you."
"For me?" Rennie could hardly take it in. "You did this for me?"
Her surprise rubbed Jarret the wrong way. One would think he had never shown her any favor. He turned away. "I'll get you some towels," he said gruffly.
His attitude confused Rennie, but she refused to let it overshadow her pleasure. She quickly climbed the ladder to the loft and flung her belongings in every direction searching for bath salts and soap.
"What are you doing?" he called up. "The water's getting cold."
She told him. "They must be with the things I left with Jolene." Rennie squirmed out of her gown, slipped on her nightshift, and clambered back down the ladder. Jarret was gone, and there was more water heating on the stove. Rennie slipped behind the curtain, undressed, and slid eagerly into the water. It was wonderfully warm, lapping her breasts and, when she inched lower, her shoulders. Jarret had laid a towel on the seat of a chair. Rennie picked it up, folded it, and placed it over the back of the tub so that it pillowed her head and neck. She closed her eyes and vowed to stay just where she was until the spring thaw.
The yellow curtain fluttered as the cabin door opened. "I'm here," she called so that he wouldn't invade her privacy.
He did anyway. His hand slipped between the curtain and the wall. In it was the bath salts. When she had relieved him of that he held out the lavender soap. "I brought back your trunk from town. I forgot I left it in the shed with the horses."
She added the salts to her bath. Her skin seemed to absorb the fragrance and soft healing powers of the water. Rennie rubbed a little soap onto a cloth and began to wash with leisurely strokes. Because her eyes were closed again she didn't see Jarret poke his head in long enough to add hot water and make certain he didn't burn her.
"You stay on that side of the curtain," she told him. She looked down at herself after he'd withdrawn and was satisfied he hadn't seen more than her bare shoulders. "If you recall, I offered to go to the loft while you bathed."
"If you recall, I didn't." They were lovely shoulders, he thought.
Rennie was too content to make an issue of it. "I'm going to sleep here tonight," she said.
"You won't be comfortable."
"Nothing will convince me of that now." She raised one leg and began soaping it.
On the other side of the curtain Jarret tortured himself imagining what she was doing. "Do you need any help?"
Rosy color came to her cheeks. Though it felt like her spine was melting, she managed to put some starch into her voice. "Jarret, I've been bathing myself since I was five years old."
"An oversight on my part."
"You're incorrigible."
He deliberately misunderstood. "Encouragable? You're right. One word from you and I—"
"I-N-C-O-R-R—" She stopped. "Oh, never mind. You know perfectly well what I said. And I'm not talking to you anymore. It takes too much energy."
A moment later the curtain was pushed aside. "I could move closer," said Jarret. "You wouldn't have to yell."
She tossed her wet washcloth at him. "Make yourself some coffee and drink it black. You need to sober up."
Jarret peeled the washcloth off his face and tossed it back.
Rennie nearly took the bait, coming close to rising above the water line in order to catch the cloth. At the last moment she realized his trick and remained where she was. She wagged a finger at him. "That's quite enough of your foolery."
Unabashed, Jarret retrieved the cloth, dropped it in her hand, and left her alone while he made coffee.
Rennie dropped below the water altogether, soaking her hair. She lathered it up and scrubbed her scalp. It was only when she needed a rinse that she went begging for Jarret's services.
"I'm drinking coffee," he told her.
"Don't be horrid. Just bring me a pot of warm water. It doesn't have to be hot." She added quickly, "Not icy cold either."
"You're very particular."
"Please."
"I like that word." He set down his cup and took a pot of water off the stove. He dipped his fingers in it to make certain it was neither too hot nor too cold. This time upon entering Rennie's oasis, Jarret pushed the curtain entirely aside. She sank lower in the water, her knees drawn toward her chest. Her dark red hair was a soapy crown on her head, the tiny bubbles a row of diamonds. Jarret knelt beside the tub and raised the pot.
She looked at him suspiciously. "That's not cold, is it?"
"It was a temptation," he said, "but, no, it's not cold."
Rennie closed her eyes, screwing her face in anticipation of the waterfall. Instead Jarret let the water trickle over her head. Lather slowly cascaded over her forehead, closed lids, and cheeks. She relaxed as the crown of hair was undone and lifted her face to the gentle splash of the water.