Jake Walker's Wife (9 page)

He'd lived on the edge because he believed that someday, he'd die on the edge.
Jake saw no reason to steal a woman's heart, saw even less reason to give his own. Because sooner or later, he'd have to say goodbye.

Or die.

So he resigned himself to life alone. As the years slid by, it became easier to stick to his self-imposed rule of solitude as he watched frail little women turn big strong men into well-trained lap dogs. If a gal set her sights on a trinket or a bauble, he wondered, why didn't she just come right out and ask for it, instead of pouting and whining until she got what she wanted? If her man did something to rile her, why didn't she just point-blank tell him what he'd done, instead of punishing him with the silent treatment until the poor fool puzzled it out?

There were scores of questions about life that he'd likely never figure out, but the only thing he
did
understand about women was that all the way back to the days of Adam and Eve, they'd been troublemakers, liars, users.

At least, t
hat's what he'd believed...until Bess.

Pretty and petite, she could have used her gender and diminutive size as a shelter from hard work. Instead, she challenged her curvy little body to perform chores that would have given
full-bodied men pause. She didn't flutter her long, thick lashes and giggle to gain attention. Rather, Bess let the importance of what she had to say command the notice it deserved. He'd seen plenty of girls leap onto chair seats or hide behind their boyfriends at the sight of a field mouse. Not Bess! She'd grab a broom or a mop and chase the furry critter outside with a stern warning that if she caught sight of its wooly little behind in her kitchen again, it'd end up flatter than a griddlecake.

She laughed easily and ate heartily. And the only time he'd ever seen her cry had been the night of Matt's accident. Even then, she'd been embarrassed that he'd
witnessed her tears, and apologized profusely for them, as though they'd been a symbol of some great character flaw.

When he pulled her near that night, he'd wanted to say something to soothe her ragged nerves. Wanted to assure her that her brother would be all right. Wanted to promise nothing bad would ever touch her life again, not if
he
had anything to say about it. But, frustrated by his inability to express what he felt, Jake could only hold her tighter, hoping to let her know with his actions that he'd be there for her any time she needed him. At least until he had to hit the trail again.

Then
she’d melted against him, her tears dampening his shirt and moving him as nothing ever had. Before, she’d seemed so strong and secure, so sure of herself. Her moment of vulnerability touched him deeply.
That's
why he'd kissed her, he told himself later.

But deep in his he
art, the truth lived...and grew: He'd kissed her because it’s what he’d wanted to do since the first time he set eyes on her.

She was a remarkable woman, all right. She'd been mother and father to Matt and Mark. She'd kept Foggy Bottom running, almost single-handedly. She'd done all the womanly chores anyone could have expected of her, plus a few most tried to foist on their menfolk. Beautiful and talented and honest, she'd somehow remained untouched by life's viciousness.

Bess was sweeter than any woman he'd ever known. She made him feel smart and important, decent and
good
. He liked the way he felt around her.

Liked the way she felt in his arms, too, because while other women had made him feel virile, he'd never before felt
wanted;
others had made him feel lust, and Bess made him feel
loved
. If he didn't have a death sentence hanging over his head, he'd ask her to marry him, right now!

Hard as it was to admit,
it had been a bad idea to take her in his arms, an even bigger mistake to kiss her. Because now that he'd had a taste of what real love could feel like, it would be hard, real hard, to leave it behind.

Micah ordered
Jake to accompany Bess on the ride into Baltimore, despite her insistence that she'd safely made the trip on her own plenty of times. "The bigger that city gets," Micah said, his voice uncharacteristically stern, "the more dangerous it gets. You'll take Jake with you or you won't go at all."

This glimpse of the old Micah, strong and in-charge, gave Bess such a feeling of hope that she stifled any further protestations.

At first, she seemed content to ride quietly alongside Jake. But less than ten minutes into their five-hour journey, she said, "I really don't understand Pa's attitude. I've gone to Baltimore dozens of times, all by myself. It's insulting, that's what it is, the way he made me take a chaperon along."

"He's just looking out for you, Bess,"
Jake said without taking his eyes from the road. "Can't say as I blame him. If you were my—“

"Well, I'm not your daughter," she interrupted.

He looked at her, a wry smile sparkling in his blue eyes. "I was about to say," he continued calmly, "if you were my woman, you wouldn't go
anywhere
alone."

If you were my woman
, he'd said. She liked the sound of that, and grinned. "Why wouldn't you let me go anywhere alone? Do you see me as a needy, helpless female?"

Jake
focused on the team. "Needy and helpless?
You?
" He chuckled. "Hardly."

His sideways flattery made her sit up a little straighter, but she decided it was time to change the subject. "Matt's doing well, don't you think?"

Jake nodded. "That boy's bound and determined to be fully mended before the harvest." His eyes met hers again. "I reckon stubbornness runs in your family."

She smiled. "I'll just take that as a compliment,
Jake Walker."

He'd been wearing the name for ten long years, yet he still bristled every time he heard it. If his Uncle Josh had been there at the moment, he'd have beaten him senseless. The man's lie had cost
Jake his home. His freedom. Even his name. He'd been feeling pretty chipper since learning Micah expected him to accompany Bess into Baltimore. Suddenly, a foul mood enveloped him.

Jake
wondered what the proper and pretty Miss Bess Beckley would think if he told her he'd been convicted of murder. If he told her a jury had decided he should swing for the crime. If he told her he'd been on the run for ten long years, changing towns like most folks changed socks, always looking over his shoulder for the next U.S. Marshall or the next bounty hunter....

He believed he could predict her reaction. Her big dark eyes would widen with disbelief and fear. She'd gasp with surprise. Those strong yet delicate hands would fly protectively to her throat. Then she'd lick those full pink lips
and throw back her slender shoulders, saying, in effect, that she wasn't the least bit afraid of him, a convicted killer. Not Bess Beckley!

He wanted to hug her for that.

Several minutes ticked by, and neither of them said a word.

"Why so quiet all of a sudden?" she asked.

He tugged at the brim of his hat, bringing it to rest lower on his forehead. "Guess I just don't feel much like talkin'." She couldn’t know, not now, not ever, what dark thoughts were lurking in his brain. From the corner of his eye, he saw her stiffen in response to his gruffer-than-intended response, as if to say, 'well fine, then, if it's silence you want, it's silence you'll get!' Jake breathed a sigh of relief.

She folded her hands primly in her lap, held her head high, and stared straight ahead. Try as she might, Bess did not understand this man. He angered and aroused and frightened her, all at the same time. She wondered for the hundredth time what horrible secret he hid, and if, when exposed, it would explain his quick-silver moodswings. So lost in thought was she that Bess never noticed he'd increased the horses' pace.

Jake was deep in thoughts of his own. He hadn't meant to hurt her feelings. But then, he hadn't meant to let himself grow this fond of her, either. He remembered how helpless he'd felt when the jurors made their decision. He didn't have much left at that point, but at least he'd managed to stay in full control of his emotions through it all. He never begged for mercy, even when the judge's gavel slammed hard on the bench and sealed his fate. Never whimpered, even as they shackled and chained him like a rabid dog in the smelly jail wagon. Never shed a tear, though he knew his young life was about to end. Way he saw it, he had all of eternity to cry about the unfairness of it. He'd show those so-called good Christians what pride and dignity was all about!

So why
, then, couldn't he control his feelings for Bess?

For the next two hours, the silence was broken only by the
clip-clop
of the horses' hooves and the crunch of road grit beneath the wagon's huge iron-rimmed wheels. Now and then, as they passed a clump of trees or a thicket, they heard bugs buzzing and birds chirping.

Several times, he opened his mouth and took a breath, thinking maybe he'd say the first thing that came into his head, to get things back on track. But, just as quickly, he'd clamp his teeth together. If he didn't know what had gotten them
off
track, how did he expect to get them back
on
again?

Besides, in this frame of mind, he didn't dare start bumping his gums. Dozens of times, he'd seen her zero-in on the only sad face in a room full of people. She not only knew how to find out what caused the sour expression, but managed to say exactly the right thing to sweeten it, too.
Nope
, he told himself,
in this mood, you're better off stayin' mum.

Begrudgingly, he admitted it had taken every bit of strength to keep his past a secret from her this long. He yearned for some of the peace and comfort others seemed to take from her caring concern. Why, if he had a penny for every time he'd nearly spilled his guts during one of their long, friendly conversations, he'd have a couple of extra dollars in his pocket for sure.

He wasn't accustomed to admitting fear, but this strange power Bess seemed to have over him scared him, and Jake didn't like it one bit.

Suddenly, he was distracted by her rummaging in her black velvet drawstring purse, angrily mumbling under her breath...something about a place for everything and everything in its place? He dared not ask her to repeat what she'd said.

  After a moment, she pulled a tiny pocket watch from the bag. She clucked her tongue, then clicked the watch open. "It's nearly eleven," she said, snapping the gold case shut again. "Hungry?"

Slowly,
Jake faced her. "I could eat, I reckon," he said, shrugging as he returned his attention to the horses.

"That's not what I asked, Mister Man-of-Few-Words."

With that, he looked her square in the eye. It surprised him to see a wide, friendly smile on her face. Surprised him even more that he was smiling back, despite his foul mood. "Yeah, I'm hungry."

A note of disappointment rang in his heart as she bent to retrieve the wicker basket at her feet, because in doing so, she'd deprived him of looking into her eyes.
A man could drown in those big brown eyes
, he'd told himself on more than one occasion.
And you'd best be careful, Jake ol’ boy, 'cause you've never been a particularly strong swimmer....

She peeled back the red-checkered tablecloth that lined the wicker basket. "Fried chicken. Corn muffins. Apples." She met his eyes to add, "And lemonade, but it's warm, I'm afraid."

And why not warm lemonade? he wondered. It would go perfectly with his warm cheeks. His warm palms. The warm sensation that swirled deep in his chest every time she cut a glance in his direction.

"Shall we stop, or do you think we should eat as we go?"

He couldn't think of anything he'd like better than to curl up on a blanket with her under some big ol' shade tree. But they had a good two hours' ride ahead of them yet, and at least an hours' worth of business to tend to once they got to Baltimore. If they stopped now, even for half an hour or so, it'd be dark before they got back to Foggy Bottom. And he didn't want to risk driving the team along these rutted roads on a moonless night. Not with Bess's birthday surprise from Micah lashed to the back of the wagon....

After handing him a golden-fried chicken leg, Bess grabbed the reins. "I'll drive while you eat," she said, matter-of-factly. "We'll make better time if we take turns."

She looked straight ahead as she spoke, and he marveled at her ability to read his mind. Marveled at her ability to control the team, too. Jake took a bite of a crisp drumstick. He hadn't quite finished it when she handed him a corn muffin. Just before he polished that off, she gave him a shiny red apple. Bess seemed to enjoy waiting on him, doing for him, taking care of him.
Man could get used to this kind of pampering,
he said to himself, grinning.

His bad mood disappeared as quickly as the warm lemonade.

***

He dropped her off at the bank and promised to return for her in an hour. Her birthday surprise, Micah had confided to
Jake, was a player piano. According to the bill of sale, it would be waiting for him on Dock C at the Baltimore harbor. "Just look for the biggest crate there," Micah had said, slapping Jake's back. Sure enough, a huge wooden box labeled BECKLEY stood just inside the warehouse door.