Love's Rescue (29 page)

“That’s good to hear.” Jess shuddered at the grotesque image.

“Come nightfall, there’ll be music and dancing. Don’t plan to sit many out,” he warned her with a smile. “A lot more men live here than women.”

Jess smiled back. It sounded like an event to remember.

They were nearly to the house. Jess stopped abruptly when she noticed several dark mounds scattered about the yard. “What are those?” she whispered.

“A few of the men. In the summer, the bunkhouse gets hot, so they sleep outdoors. I expect more will be out here tomorrow night.”

“Oh,” she said. Then, “You mean they’ll be out here every night until September?”

“Maybe October, if it doesn’t cool off.”

Jess frowned and pulled the towel more tightly around her. “I guess I won’t be swimming at night anymore.”

“Sure you can. Just wear a towel like you are now. Jess, they’re good men. They’ll likely look out for you, but nothing more.”

He stepped up on the porch and opened the door for her. Jess went in ahead of him, then stopped when he didn’t follow her in.

“You’re not tired?”

“Not enough to sleep. I’m going to straighten up the workshop. It’s something I’ve been meaning to do.”

In the darkness of her room, Jess brushed her hair while the night breezes wended pleasantly through it. When she climbed into bed, she was hardly aware of her head meeting the pillow.

***

Out in the workshop, Jake settled the glass chimney over the popping, crackling flame. For a few minutes, he braced his arms on the worktable, his head bowed between them. He felt as though he were falling through the sky with no ground beneath him. It was exhilarating.

He’d had this feeling only once before, and after Olivia, he never thought to have it again. This was more than knowing in his mind, more than acknowledging the pull of his heart. To the last drop of his blood, he had fallen in love with Jess.

With a sigh of contentment, he stood upright and searched the woodpile for flat, rectangular pieces of wood.

Pulling up a stool, he sat, propped his bare heel on one of its rungs, and began to build Jess a jewelry box.

***

To Jess, the next day was a blur. She was throwing seeds at the chickens before the rooster crowed. She fed and watered the pigs, built the fire in the cookhouse kitchen, and had biscuits browning in the oven before the first cattleman in the yard rose and put away his bedroll.

While the men ate breakfast, she listened to their excited talk, atypical for them—discussions about the upcoming party and shared reminiscences of the unforgettable “Fourths” they’d been to in years past.

Jess had no sooner put away the dishes than she hashed together a hearty stew for their dinner. It would have to serve for their supper, as well, because she wouldn’t have time to prepare a third meal with all the washing she had to do. Yet she knew the men would be agreeable to it, for they’d already made it be known that laundry was a priority.

Besides, they liked their buttons right where they were.

Jess had not two but three Paiute women come to help her, and together, they managed to complete the wash by nightfall.

Ho Chen returned with Reese and Doyle just after sunset, and the festive air they’d brought with them caught on throughout the ranch. Tired, hot, and dusty cattlemen freed the mustangs they’d been working in their corral, then hurried over to help unload the wagon. Torches were brought out, and Jess laughed and joked with the men as they carried barrels, sacks, and crates into the cookhouse.

Full of anticipation for the following day, when they would truly prepare for the holiday, the men cheerfully carried out the tables and benches—a task they’d grumbled about the day she’d scrubbed the filthy bunkhouse. They also arranged the additional torches in a huge ring in front of the smithy and dug fire pits. At the end of the day, Jess returned to the house exhausted, but she lay awake for nearly an hour, smiling as she listened to the sounds of laughter, howls, and splashes coming from the creek.

***

The morning of July third was far different from the mornings Jess had come to know. Spirits were high as dozens of cattlemen crowded into the stable, joking and jostling one another as they helped see to the horses.

Breakfast put Jess at a table crowded with clean yet disheveled men who begged her for haircuts. Moments after she had agreed, she found herself in the shade of the ranch house porch, scissors in hand. A hatless man was seated before her, and several others milled about, waiting their turns. Jess laughed at the absurdity of feeling like the sole shearer in a barn full of sheep. Fortunately, Red Deer soon joined her, and another chair and pair of scissors were brought.

Jake, Diaz, and several of the Paiute men continued to work the mustangs throughout the morning while Jess and Red Deer trimmed two dozen heads of hair. Finally, the last newly shorn man thanked Jess, jammed his hat on his head, and hurried down the steps to help set up markers for the next day’s race.

Red Deer waddled off to see where Two Hands had gone, leaving Jess by herself to look out over the yard. Smiling, she leaned against the railing and watched Jake lower a saddle onto the back of a stiff-legged paint while Diaz held the reins tightly. The mustang skittered sideways at the weight of the unfamiliar object, but when Jake threaded the cinch strap through the buckle and then pulled tight, the paint bucked so violently that he nearly pulled Diaz over.

Jake stood steadily and managed to fasten the buckle.

All at once, Diaz tossed the reins to Jake and scrambled up onto the corral fence. Jake grabbed the reins and a fistful of mane, then twisted the horse’s ear to distract it, giving himself a brief moment to gain the saddle.

The paint exploded in a maddened rage. Jess stared in amazement, and the many cowhands paused their various activities around the compound to watch the man hold fast to the horse.

Jake kept his seat as the horse lunged forward, rearing and bucking its way across the corral.

When it neared the other side, it made up its mind to rid itself of its burden for good, and it spun hard, throwing the rancher straight into the fence.

Jess gasped when Jake hit the ground, but Jake only snatched up his hat and put it on again, gaining his feet.

Swiftly, his manner turned to one of cool purpose. From one of the corral posts, he grabbed a coiled lariat, faced the mustang, and began moving slowly toward it.

Jess remembered all too well how Jake Bennett could use a rope.

His gaze steady on the thrashing paint, Jake uncoiled the lasso. The mustang faced him, eyes wild, nostrils flaring.

Diaz climbed down from the fence with a rope of his own. He stretched out the big loop, swinging it over his head. Once, twice, it whirred around…around. Then he threw it, encircling the animal’s neck. The horse reared with a whinny of protest. Diaz dug in his heels, but the incensed horse dragged him along, plowing up dust.

Jake waited for the right moment, then began to spin his lariat. He threw it.

The rope caught the front hoof farthest from him. Jake twirled the rope, moving in. He snared the other hoof. The horse fought it. Violently.

Watching from the porch, Jess shook her head. “It’s no use,” she murmured with a grim smile. “No use at all.”

With the horse hobbled, and with Diaz holding it by the other rope, Jake swung up into the saddle again. Diaz loosed the lariat around the horse’s neck. Jake swiftly slipped it over the animal’s head and tossed it to him.

Freed, the paint reacted instantaneously. It leapt straight up and tried to run, resisting the hobbles. Jake rode it out.

All at once, the mustang gave up trying to throw him. Now he tried to escape him.

The other ranch hands shifted unconsciously with the mustang’s movements.

The horse bounded forward with nearly enough force to spill a man’s hat, halted, then leapt again. Jake reined the pony toward the side of the corral. After rounding the fence line twice, the paint’s gait slowed to a rough lope. Jake let it go around a few times more. He tugged the reins, and the pony came to a stop. Jake stepped down.

Holding the reins, he loosed the hobble, then tossed the lariat over the fence to one of the men. Once again, he twisted the mustang’s ear and mounted.

The mustang tried a few wrenching leaps, kicked halfheartedly, then settled into another rough lope around the corral.

Jess smiled broadly as Jake continued to ride. Minutes later, Jake turned the horse and rode it around in the opposite direction. Gradually, its gait smoothed out.

Jake finally brought the panting horse to a stop. He stepped down, then turned to shake hands with a grinning Diaz before slipping out of the corral.

Panting himself, he responded to the hearty thwacks and admiration from onlookers, then broke away from them to make his way to a water barrel nearby.

“Care for cool drink, Miss Jessie?” Ho Chen’s voice called from inside. Jess turned and stepped into the house, gratefully accepting the mug he handed her. She headed back toward the porch but stopped at the window, lingering just inside the front door. Ho Chen came up beside her, and together they watched Diaz swing onto the back of the paint.

Jess was not oblivious to the weight of the mug in her hand, and she was aware of the presence of Ho Chen, but as Jake approached the water barrel by the porch, all her senses were hopelessly drawn to the remarkable man.

“He is not man who give up,” came Ho Chen’s voice.

“No, he’s not,” Jess agreed, almost absently. Through the window, she watched Jake toss down his hat and gloves. He scooped handfuls of water from the barrel and rinsed his face and neck. Jess tried not to stare.

“You are happy here?” Ho Chen asked.

Jess looked over and nodded, then returned her attention to the window. Still standing by the water barrel, Jake glanced around. Seeing no one but the cattlemen, he unbuttoned his shirt, shrugged out of it, and tossed it over a fence rail.

Jess’s breath caught in her throat. Jake splashed handfuls of water on his head and ran his fingers through his hair. He was wearing trousers, boots, and his gun belt, but Jess saw only his muscular arms and back reflecting the gleam of the sun.

And the crescent-shaped scar of a nasty burn that stretched from his shoulder blade to his ribs.

The floor seemed to shift beneath her. Trembling, Jess reached for the windowsill to steady herself. The mug was taken from her hand just before she collapsed against the wall, slowly sagging to the floor. Ho Chen was beside her.

“Jake’s scar…?” Jess managed, cringing and hugging her arm that had been burned that last horrific night in Carson City. When she’d first arrived at the ranch, Red Deer had treated her raw skin for days. She still had scars.

They were nothing like Jake’s.

Jess’s eyes searched Ho Chen’s. “Was Jake’s burn…from…?” She couldn’t breathe.

Ho Chen gentled his gaze. “It was from night of fire,” he confirmed softly.

Jess felt she was lost in a nightmare.

“After Lone Wolf take you away, Mr. Bennett go in house to try to save your father, but the upstairs fall in. Wood burn him. I was there. I saw.”

The upstairs fell in. “You pulled him out, didn’t you? You saved him.”

Ho Chen humbly lifted a shoulder.

Jess’s stomach twisted in remorse. “He could have died, Ho Chen. He might not—”

He squeezed her hand. “Mr. Bennett no longer hurt. Is okay.”

Jess kicked her foot, angrily, as if fighting off a wolf again. “I blamed him for so long! I blamed him, Ho Chen!” She stared across the room, unable to focus on anything. “And he had tried to save my father.” She laughed faintly in agonizing regret. Tears burned her eyes.

Jess felt as though she was floating—numb, except for a throbbing pain in her heart. She remembered things that had seemed of no real significance until now: Jake’s careful movements when he’d first arrived at the ranch, his discomfort as they’d played poker with Seth, his new sheepskin coat.

Jess knew now what had happened to the old one. In her mind, she saw Jake stumbling away from the burning house and shaking off the flaming coat. The sound of fire roared in her ears. She was reliving that night. Though she hadn’t been there, she was seeing what had happened.

A distant-sounding voice said, “Miss Jessie?”

Jess didn’t hear it clearly, nor did she register the sound of shuffling feet hurrying down the porch steps.

She remembered the blinding orange heat on her skin, remembered how faint she had been standing several yards away, and Jake had gone into the house…he had gone in.

There was a movement, and a large, familiar form hunkered down beside her. Jess’s nightmare faded, and she could see the dark trousers, the damp, white shirt, and the concern in the handsome face beneath his hat brim.

Then he was pulling her up, up on her knees, up against him, and he was holding her.

Jess was afraid to hug him back, afraid to hurt his scar. Her hands curled into fists that grasped his shirt instead.

She was shaking, saying she was sorry, so sorry, and he gently stroked her hair.

She cried.

He let her.

***

Jake rested an elbow on his knee. The mug Ho Chen had given Jess was in his other hand, and he passed it to her.

She set it on the floor. For once, it didn’t matter that Jake was so close. In fact, she was glad for it.

“I didn’t know…about the scar. Ho Chen never told me anything until now.” Her eyes lifted. “Does it still hurt you?”

He actually chuckled. “I had a mustang out there trying to trample me a while ago.” He pushed back a lock of her hair that had come loose. “The hurts always pass. No,” he said, “not anymore.” He pointed to the mug. “Have you tried it?”

Jess knew that he was trying to bring her around; she knew that he had forgiven her. And she also knew that there was work to be done for the party—fun work with good people. “No. What is it?”

The gold flecks in his whiskey-brown eyes sparkled. “I’m not telling.”

Sighing, she gamely picked up the mug. “All right, then.” She brought it to her lips and sipped a taste. The flavor of sweet lemons flowed over her tongue. She looked up at him in surprise. “Lemonade?”