Taming of Jessi Rose (3 page)

She returned to the kitchen pulling on a pair of gloves. “I've fences to mend, Mr. Blake. I trust you won't rob me after I'm gone, and can see yourself out when you're done here?”

What a woman
, he thought to himself. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Again, good luck wherever you're headed.”

“Thanks.”

After she rode off, Griff washed up his dishes and the boy's too, and placed them on the sideboard to dry. He'd been on his own a long time and he always left the trail behind him clean. When he was done, he poured himself another cup of coffee and sat down to wait.

Jessi came back two hours later, smelling of horses and cattle, and hauling a mess of freshly caught fish. As soon as she saw him sitting in the kitchen, she asked, “Why're you still here?”

He shrugged. “Coffee's good.”

“Did you drink it all?”

“Yep, but made more.”

She dropped the fish in a barrel of water by the sink, then poured herself a cup. She took a wary sip, knowing very few men who could make a brew decent enough to drink. “Not as good as mine, but it'll do.”

In response he gave her a smile that seemed to bring sunshine into the dreary light of the kitchen. That he was a handsome man of the race there was no denying. He had dark auburn hair, which he wore long and tied back with a piece of rawhide, reddish gold skin, and light topaz eyes. The red gold beard and mustache added a dangerous edge to his already arresting looks. He
looked younger than Jessi's own thirty-two years but was a man who could probably pick and choose his women whenever he had a mind to. She also guessed that that magnificent smile probably fluttered female hearts whenever and wherever it appeared, but Jessi considered herself far past the age of fluttering. “You haven't answered my question.”

He shrugged his lean shoulders. Griff instinctively knew he was going to have to tell her the truth. She was not your standard female; there'd be no pulling the wool over her eyes. “I was sent here.”

Jessi stilled. “By whom?”

“Hanging Judge Parker and Deputy Marshal Dixon Wildhorse.”

“Judge Parker up at Fort Smith?”

Griff nodded.

“Why on earth would Judge Parker send you here?”

“To help you with Darcy.”

Jessi didn't understand. “Why?”

“Because you need it, and because Parker wants to put Darcy in jail.”

“Then why doesn't he just send someone down here to arrest him?”

“The judge needs more evidence.”

“And that's why you're here, to gather more evidence?”

“And to help protect you and the boy.”

“Tell the judge thanks, but Joth and I don't have time to play Pinkertons.”

“You don't have a choice.”

“Of course I have a choice,” she said over her cup.

“Not you don't, because neither do I.”

She eyed him skeptically. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, if I don't help you, I have to go back to the Kansas Penitentiary.”

Jessi stared. “What?”

So he explained it to her. Griff reasoned that if he confessed everything now, it would save them both a lot of arguing. He was wrong.

Jessi put down her cup. “They sent me a convicted criminal to help catch an unconvicted criminal?”

“That about sums it up.”

“What were you in jail for?”

“Train robbing. Mayhem.”

“Ever kill anyone?”

“Nope. Not real partial to guns.”

Jessi felt frustration rising. “Then if they were going to send me someone for protection, don't you think it should've been a gunslinger?”

“I suppose, but you get me instead,” he replied, flashing that smile again in the hopes that it would melt her heart as easily as it did most women's.

When she didn't smile in return, he offered tersely, “Could be worse. They could've sent you a riverboat gambler.”

“This is not funny, Mr. Blake.”

“Never said it was, but looks like we're stuck with one another.”

Not if she could help it. Because of her ties to Calico Bob she'd met more outlaws than she ever wanted to remember, and not one of them cared a horse's shoe about life or property unless it was his own, and now she was being told by this stranger that she would have to bring another outlaw in home. “How do I know you're really who you say you are?”

Griff reached inside his double-breasted shirt and handed over the letter from Judge Parker.

A skeptical Jessi took the missive and read it. It introduced Deputy Marshal Griffin Blake and asked for her cooperation. “Why didn't you say this last night?”

“The judge and the marshal thought it might be better
if you didn't know who I was at first. Give you a chance to get used to me being around. They assumed you'd be grateful to me for bringing Bob's things and give me a job.”

“Just like that.”

“Just like that,” he echoed.

“Well, the only thing I'm grateful to you for is the news that he's dead.” She handed the letter back to him. “I don't need anything else from you.”

“Like I said before, you don't have a choice. I am not going back to Kansas. So where do I bunk?”

Jessi wondered if he were deaf. “Listen to me,” she told him, speaking slowly, as if he were a child. “I do not want you here, I will not have you here. I do not need your help.”

“Sure you do. Look at this place. I've seen hideouts with more frills.”

“If you want frills, Mr. Blake, I'd advise you to look elsewhere. I run a ranch, not a fancy boardinghouse.”

“Then how about the boy? He shouldn't be growing up like this.”

His words hit a nerve, making her reply coldly, “I don't need you to tell me about my nephew's life. I know how hard this is on him, and if I could change it, I would. Right now, we're too busy surviving.”

“Then take the judge's help, stubborn woman,” he said, his own frustration rising. “Even Joth can see you're up to your neck in white water.”

“Meaning?”

“I'm here because Joth wrote Marshal Wildhorse and asked for help.”

Jessi stared.

That got her attention. “So, where do I bunk?”

“Joth wrote for help?”

“Smart boy, I would say.”

Jessi didn't know what to do or say now. Parts of her
desperately wanted to take the branch of hope being offered by Judge Parker, but the end of the stick was being held by a man who'd known Calico Bob, and Bob couldn't've been trusted to bring water to a dying child. Blake's assessment of Joth's life had touched a nerve though; she too, worried what effect this fight with Darcy might be having on him. Her nephew was at an age now where he should be out riding his pony, fishing, hunting lizards, and just enjoying life as she and her sister, Mildred, his mother, had done in their youth. But things were just too dangerous now, and with Darcy and his men always lurking, Jessi refused to let Joth out of her sight.

She would still be escorting him back and forth to school had he not begged her to stop treating him like a baby. But in a way, he was her baby. When her sister had died in childbirth, the recently widowed Jessi had given up her teaching position in New York to come home and raise him. When she was young, a severe case of the measles had left her sterile, so she would have no children of her own; Joth represented the only family she had left in this world, and she loved him as much as life.

“Look, Miss Clayton,” Griff said, interrupting her thoughts. “If we can get the goods on Darcy, I'll be out of your hair and you'll be out of mine. Personally, I don't like these arrangements any more than you do. I rob trains. That's what I do best. Even though I don't like men who declare war on women with children, I'd much rather be in Mexico. But I can't get there until this mess is settled. So why don't we declare a truce for now and you tell me about Darcy?”

Jessi thought that a reasonable idea. Once he heard the story, maybe he'd hightail it on out of here.

She began with the town meeting Darcy had called to announce the railroad's desire to buy land in the area.

Blake asked, “Was there much opposition?”

“Not at first, because we thought we had a choice to sell or not. Some folks signed on, most didn't. A week or so later, Darcy announced that we
all
had to sell, or no one would get anything. That's when the trouble started. He pitted neighbor against neighbor—those who wished to sell against those who didn't. Many people still refused and were paid visits like the one I had last night. If that didn't intimidate you, Darcy's bank denied folks credit for seed and equipment and he called in mortgages. Most gave in. My pa didn't.”

“So Darcy killed him?”

“His men did, but under his orders. He's too yellow to do his own killing.”

“I'm disliking this Darcy more and more. In the letter Joth wrote to Wildhorse, he said the sheriff wouldn't help.”

“Nope. He and my pa had been friends for years, but once Darcy placed him on his payroll, their relationship changed. After the killing, Sheriff Hatcher said my pa's death was an accident, probably caused by a stray bullet from our own guns.”

“What did he mean?”

“There was a terrible storm that night and it caused a stampede. We were all shooting and riding trying to make the herd turn. To this day, I believe Darcy's men started that stampede. My father saw one of Darcy's men that night aiming a rifle his way right before he was shot in the back. He was picked off like a crow on a fence.”

Jessi set aside the still painful memory, then took a good long look at her immediate future. She wasn't naive enough to believe she could carry on this war indefinitely; Darcy had money, men, and time on his side. He'd often boasted that all he had to do was wait her out, and unfortunately it was the truth. She had very little money, and even less food, and she faced desperate
times ahead. Were she alone in this, she'd defy him until hell froze over, but she had Joth's future to consider. Blake's remark about the effects of this fight on Joth still resonated. Joth didn't deserve to live his life under siege any more than he deserved to have to fend for himself were something to happen to her. She was his only family, and she needed to start acting that way. “You ever worked cattle, Mr. Blake?”

“Nope.”

Jessi wanted to throw up her hands. “Do you think you can learn?”

“That an invitation to stay?”

His topaz-colored eyes were glowing.

Jessi's eyes narrowed. “You've already said I don't have a choice. I'm just trying to determine whether you'll be totally useless around here, or just partially.”

Griff winced. “Not too many men come courting around here, do they?”

“Meaning?” she answered coolly.

“When was the last time you smiled? You're as ornery as a she-cat with a thorn in her paw.”

“I
am
a she-cat with a thorn in her paw, Mr. Blake. It's called Darcy. And now I have another thorn—you.”

Griff grinned. “Oh, we're going to have fun, you and I.”

“No, we're not,” she contradicted him. “If you're planning on staying around here, there won't be time for fun. There's too much work to do.”

Griff decided he liked bantering with her. He enjoyed the way her dark eyes flashed. “Does Darcy have to deliver your land by a certain date?”

“Yes, first of September is what I'm hearing.”

“So you're expecting him to step up his campaign against you.”

She nodded.

Griff sensed she was on the verge of accepting the
judge's plan, but it was hard to tell. Women were as much a part of Griff's life as robbing trains, and he prided himself on his knowledge of both; however, this one didn't seem to fit any of the patterns. She was beautiful enough to be mistress of a Mexican emperor, yet she didn't seem to be the least bit aware of her beauty. He could see how rough and chapped her hands were as she cradled her cup. Granted, she was fighting for her life here and had precious little time for tea parties and the like, but what was she like behind closed doors?

Jessi had come to a decision. “Okay, Blake, although I don't see how much help you can be if you're not real partial to guns and have never worked cows, I'm going to reserve judgment and let you stay. When it's over, I want you gone.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he replied, flashing that smile.

Jessi thought he looked mighty comfortable sitting at her kitchen table with his arms folded across his chest so confidently. His topaz eyes seemed to be glittering with amusement, or was it challenge?

“You're one stubborn woman, Miss Clayton.”

“Thank you.”

A smile played across his lips. “Ever met a man that could handle that stubbornness?”

She studied him closely for a moment, and felt the aura of him touch her in spite of herself, then said, “No.”

“Well, I'm one of the stubbornest men I know.”

“I'm sure that's something you're very proud of, Mr. Blake.”

He chuckled.

“What's so funny?”

“Nothing, Miss Clayton.”

“How old are you?” she asked. He looked to be fairly young. Too young.

“Be twenty-six in October, and you?”

“Thirty-two this past February.”

She'd given him a straight answer, something he rarely received in reply to what some women considered to be a highly personal question. He didn't know why he was surprised, though; he already knew she didn't fit the mold.

 

Jessi had no decent place for him to bunk except in the house with her and Joth, so she showed him to her pa's room. She usually avoided the room. Even though Dexter Clayton had been dead over a year now, the space still held his spirit. Every time she entered, the grief would rise again, as would the memories of their bittersweet relationship.