Never Love a Cowboy (17 page)

August 1866

J
essye heard the glass shatter, a common
sound in a saloon, but she knew that none of tonight’s drunkards had instigated the breakage. Dreading the necessary encounter, she hurried along the hallway, her heels clicking over the wooden floor.

She gave one brisk, hard knock to serve as a warning before flinging open the door. The mirror above her dresser was a cracked mosaic of distorted shapes. Without glancing at the man lying in what had at one time been her bed, she crossed the room, knelt, and picked up the broken figurine. The mother no longer held the child, and that image ripped through her heart—an intense reminder of her own sacrifice. She placed the child into the mother’s arms, but they would never fit perfectly, as they had before.

Just as Harry’s bones would never be perfect.

Wearily, she glanced over her shoulder, trying to look beyond the angry glare Harry cast her way. “Oh, Harry—”

“Send word to Gray that I want to see him.”

Slowly, she rose to her feet. “It’s after midnight. Only the debauched are still awake.”

“Then he should be awake.”

“I’m not fetching him. If you’re lonely, then come into the saloon for a while—”

“How do you propose that I get there?”

“Magpie and I would help you.”

“So everyone can bloody well see that I’m a cripple?”

“You are not a cripple!”

“I can’t walk, damn it!” He averted his gaze and muttered. “I can’t walk.”

Her heart ached at the anguish in his voice, the limitations his encounter with Gerald had burdened him with. The bones in his legs had healed, but his hip remained as twisted as her mirror. He complained often, but never about the pain, although the agony he strove so hard to conceal revealed itself in the deepening of the lines that fanned out from his eyes.

Cradling the broken figurine in one hand, she walked to the bed and gripped the post. “That’s my fault.”

“I don’t recall you being the madman who abused his horse in order to deliver painful blows to me because I had not dealt him honest cards,” he ground out without looking at her.

“When we traveled back to Fortune, I kept you drunk so you wouldn’t feel the pain. Maybe I should have had you on crutches so your legs wouldn’t forget—”

“Oh, God, Jessye, they didn’t forget. They are ruined! Mangled twigs.” He sighed deeply. “Will you leave?”

“Will you please stop throwing things around my room?”

“It’s the only thing I can do with any success—other than play cards. Send Magpie in.”

“He can’t afford to lose any more money to you.” She walked to the bedside table and carefully placed the two broken pieces near the lamp. She touched the plate that still contained his supper. “You’ll never gain your strength back if you don’t eat.” With a spoon, she scooped up some potatoes and turned to him. “Here, eat this.”

With one swipe of his hand, he sent the spoon flying across the room. “I am not a child!”

Without warning, he grabbed her and jerked her onto the bed. She wanted to buck, but his strangled groan as he rolled on top of her kept her quiet. She wouldn’t hurt him any more than she already had.

“I am especially not
your
child,” he spat. “It’s bad enough that I cannot stand up to piss like a man, that you have to bring me every damn thing that I need, but I will not now have you feeding me as though I were an infant. If you want a baby to coddle, I’ll give you one, because that I can, by God, still do!”

Tangling his fingers into her hair, he brutally took possession of her mouth, his tongue delving deeply, as though to prove he had the ability to conquer.

Had it been any other man, she would have gouged out his eyes, brought the knee resting between his thighs up, and made him regret ever bringing her down to the mattress.

But she knew Harry too well. He never bluffed…but neither would he ever take a woman by force. She lay submissively below him, her hands balled on ei
ther side of her head, her mouth complacent, her tongue refusing to waltz with his.

She felt the tenseness of his body slowly unwind like a coiled rattler that had decided not to strike. He lifted his mouth from hers only briefly before placing the most tender of kisses on her cheek.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he said quietly.

She unfurled her fingers and placed her palm against his bearded jaw. He hadn’t shaved since Kansas. “I never took you to be a man who would wallow in self-pity.”

He lifted his head and met her gaze. “You wouldn’t have to bear witness to my foul moods if you’d gone with Kit like I told you to.”

That journey had not been an option. She’d been terrified of losing him, of hearing on the trail that he’d died. But he’d managed to survive—and she’d lost him anyway.

“I wish I knew how to help you.”

“You can help me by leaving.”

Tears burned her eyes, and she squeezed them shut to hold them back. In her heart, she knew he was lashing out at his condition, not at her personally. But knowledge seldom lessened the hurt.

She slid out from beneath him. “I’ll send Magpie to clear away the broken glass.”

“Why? It’s not as though I’ll cut my feet.”

She chortled. “You know, Harry, sometimes I want to shake you every way but loose.”

She marched toward the door.

“Send for Gray!”

“No!” She flung open the door, stepped into the hallway, and slammed the door shut. He was making
her life a living hell…and she damned her heart for giving him the freedom to do it.

He’d always thought he possessed an intimate knowledge of hell. He’d been wrong. Hell was waking up and seeing pity reflected in the green eyes of spring.

The pity had been there in Kansas and had deepened with each passing day. He’d jerked Jessye onto the bed for one reason—to force the pity to retreat.

He’d rather see anger burning in her eyes. He’d wanted her to fight him—to lash out at him as though he was a whole man. Instead, she’d surrendered because the battle was so bloody uneven. He wasn’t the man he’d been before Kansas, the man who’d begun to wonder if perhaps he possessed her heart. No, now he was the man she no longer challenged with her anger, her fire, or her passion for life. She never yelled at him. Everything was an “Oh, Harry” in a pitifully small voice, as though he were a child who’d done wrong and must be forgiven because he could do no better.

Whenever she walked into this room, misery accompanied her. Along with frustration and despair.

Sitting up, Harrison made his way to the edge of the bed. Using his hands, he eased his legs over the side. Thank God, his feet reached the floor. How he longed for the days when he’d gotten out of bed without conscious thought.

Bending over, he wrapped his hands around his left calf and slowly pushed his foot over the floor, pulled it back, pushed, pulled. He’d made the mistake of attempting to stand shortly after they’d returned to For
tune. Weakened from the trauma they’d sustained, his legs had buckled beneath him.

Or so the town physician had told him. Not that he completely trusted the man’s knowledge. Time seemed a poor prescription.

Instinctively, Harry knew he needed to rebuild his muscles, an irritatingly slow process. But he would walk again. Even if he took only a few steps, he would, by God, walk.

The door swung open and he froze. He only worked his legs at night, after the saloon fell into silence, and no opportunity existed for anyone to witness his pitiful attempt to become a man once again.

Jonah Kane shuffled into the room, dragging a chair with him.

“What do you want, old man?” Harrison barked.

Jonah snapped up his head. “Jessye said you was looking for someone to play poker with.”

“That was two hours ago.”

“I was serving drinks till two minutes ago. Seen the light under your door, so I figured you was up.” He shoved the chair across the room until it slammed against the bed. “Take a seat while I get a table.”

“You expect me to move to the chair?”

“Iffen you want to play poker. I’d feel guilty takin’ money from a man who couldn’t even get out of bed.”

“You won’t take a penny from me, old man.”

Jonah smiled. “Probably take me a good fifteen minutes to figure out which table I can fit through that door.” He walked out, closing the door in his wake.

Harrison studied the chair. With a bit of patience and caution, he could grab the arms and lever himself into it. His only fear was that his legs would slide out
from beneath him, and he’d land on the floor. Scrawny Jonah Kane would be unable to lift him off the floor. When he’d fallen before, to his humiliation, it had taken the efforts of Jessye and Magpie to get him into the bed.

Christ, the thought of a journey to a bloody chair had him shaking with trepidation. The distance between the chair and the bed was barely discernable. Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward to wrap his hands around the arms of the chair, swung over, and down. He hit the seat with a jarring thud that sent slivers of pain slicing through his hip.

But he was sitting, sitting in a chair in which he had placed himself. He reveled in the accomplishment. He glanced at the bed. Getting back into it wasn’t going to be an easy task, but he’d worry about that when the time came.

He heard a tap on the door.

“Ready for me?” Jonah asked.

So now the man knocked?

“Yes.”

Jonah opened the door and smiled. “Knew you could do it.”

Cocky bugger
. Harrison flexed his fingers while Jonah shoved a table into place. Harrison planned to take the old man for every penny he had. Jonah set two glasses, a bottle of whiskey, and a deck of cards between them. Then he grabbed a chair that Jessye kept near the window and pulled it to the table.

“I shall deal,” Harrison informed him.

“Be my guest.”

Harrison shuffled, finding comfort in the whisper of the cards. He slapped the deck on the table. “Cut.”

Jonah tapped the top card. Harrison picked up the cards and began to deal.

“You’re breakin’ my daughter’s heart.”

Harrison stilled, his hand tightening on the deck until he could feel each remaining card cutting into his palm. “That is not my intent.”

“Still, you’re doin’ it just the same. The only reason I ain’t castrated you yet is ’cuz I figure you’re in enough pain.”

Harrison narrowed his eyes. “Did you come to lecture or play cards?”

“Play cards.”

“Good, because I have no interest in lectures.” He dealt the last card and studied each one he held. Two pair.

“It’s eatin’ her up thinkin’ she’s responsible for your legs bein’ like they are.”

Harrison set down his cards. “I have told her she is not to blame.”

“Maybe you ain’t told her in a voice that says you believe the words you’re spittin’ out.”

“I do not hold her responsible for what happened. I cannot control what she thinks. I cannot control what she
does
! I told her to go with Kit. Her dream was to take the blasted cattle to market and hold that money in her hand. She was supposed to follow it.”

“Maybe her dream changed betwixt the time you left here and the time you got to Kansas. You asked her of late what her dream is?”

He hadn’t asked anything of her since Kansas. They no longer shared conversations or secrets. He couldn’t stand the way she looked at him, as though he’d never walk again.

“Are you playing or talking?” Harrison asked.

“Playin’.” Jonah tossed a quarter into the pot.

Harrison tossed one in as well. “How many cards do you want?”

“None.”

Harrison snapped his gaze to Jonah. “None?”

“I see your hearin’ ain’t impaired none.”

“You’re holding nothing, and you’re not going to try to get something better?”

“How do you know I got nuthin’?”

“I dealt the cards.”

Jonah rubbed one of his gnarled fingers across his chin. “And you know what you give me, do you?”

“I know that your cards cannot beat mine.”

“What’s the point in playin’ if you always win?”

“What is the point in playing if you always lose?”

Jonah shoved his chair back and stood. “Time for me to get these weary bones to bed.”

“But we haven’t finished the game.”

“I have. You done told me that you beat me.”

“But I haven’t shown you my cards.”

“I’m takin’ your word for it.”

Leaning back in the chair, Harrison sighed. “You didn’t come in here to play poker.”

“Nope, came in here to get you out of the goddamn bed.” He cackled. “Bet Jessye five dollars I could do it.”

“You sorry son of a—”

Jonah held up a finger. “Watch what you say, boy. This bein’ my saloon, I’d hate to have to kick you out on your ass.”

“Jessye wouldn’t allow it.”

“Probably not, so I’m gonna leave you with a bit
of advice since you know cards so well. Life is just like ’em. Winning ain’t in holding a good hand, but in playin’ a poor one well.”

“Hear tell you moved from the bed to a chair last night.”

Harrison glared as Dr. Hickerson poked and prodded his useless legs. The man’s gray hair stuck out at odd angles, reminding him of the quills on an enraged porcupine.

Stilling his hands, the physician looked at Harrison with a challenge clearly reflected in his brown eyes. “That true?”

Harrison gritted his teeth. “Are my minute accomplishments to now serve as fodder for the town gossips?”

“I doubt Jessye mentioned it to anyone else. And I wouldn’t call it a minute accomplishment.”

“I didn’t use my legs. I simply swung into the chair like an ape traveling from branch to branch.”

“Shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.” He squinted. “Are you moving your legs around like I told you?”

“Yes, but I can’t see that it’s making a damn bit of difference.”

He smiled triumphantly. “I can. You’ll be using those crutches before long.”

Harrison didn’t bother to look at the wooden monstrosities leaning against the wall beside the bed. He despised the things and the thought of using them. “How much longer before I can walk like a man?”