Taming Jesse James (17 page)

It had started to rain the night before, a wild, noisy, flashing storm that battered the new windows of her little cottage. She and Jesse hadn't minded. They'd been snug inside, tangled together under her thick comforter.

By morning, the violent weather had changed to a soft, steady rain that hadn't eased all day. Her class had been forced to endure all three recesses inside, and she had done her best to keep her restless, ready-for-summer students entertained with seven-up and desk baseball and computer games.

Only a few more weeks and the school term would end. Every year she promised herself she wouldn't get emotional at the end of the year and every year she did. She would miss her students when they moved on to fifth grade. The only consolation she could find was that in a few months she would have thirty more children to love.

Her shoes were soaked by the time she reached her car. She unlocked her door, shook the water off her umbrella and started to close it when she heard the low rumble of an approaching vehicle.

Somebody else working late, she thought. Or maybe
Jesse coming to check on her. The thought warmed her deep inside and she turned with a ready smile. It slid away at the sight of a dilapidated, mud-splattered pickup truck.

The driver was a stranger, a man around Jesse's age. Through the rain sluicing down his windshield she could see a long, drooping mustache and dirty blond hair receding off a high forehead.

He definitely wasn't a teacher. Maybe he was a new custodian or a parent looking for a late student.

She gave a quick, impersonal smile, and was about to slide into her car when he opened his door and called her name on a question.

With a sudden vague foreboding she stood with the door of her own car open and one foot inside. Her upholstery would be drenched in this rain, but she didn't care. Even though she knew it was silly, she suddenly needed the security of her vehicle.

“Yes,” she said, with a calmness she didn't feel. “I'm Sarah McKenzie.”

“I'd like to talk to you about my kid. He's in your class.”

She frowned, even more uneasy. After an entire school term, she thought she knew the parents of every single student in her class, but she definitely didn't remember this man. “I'm sorry. I think you're mistaken. Are you sure I'm your child's teacher?”

“Yeah.” He climbed out of the truck and walked over to her, his hand outstretched. He had thick, beefy fingers and a build to match. Definitely someone she didn't want to mess with. “Name's Hob Sylvester. My boy, Corey, has been in your class for a few months.”

Corey Sylvester? She knew Seth was the boy's stepfather, but she had no idea Corey's real father even
lived in Wyoming, let alone in Star Valley. This was the first she'd ever heard of him.

Knowing his identity should have allayed her misgivings, but she still felt an icy prickle under her skin that had nothing to do with the rain. “It's terrible weather out here and the school is closed, Mr. Sylvester. Why don't we make an appointment tomorrow right after school to talk?”

He studied her for a moment, then twisted his lips into a cold smile. “No. I'd rather talk now.”

Her uneasiness blossomed into full-fledged panic. Her gaze skittered around the virtually empty parking lot, to the darkened school. A few people might still be inside, but they would never hear her call for help from clear out here.

They were completely alone and the knowledge suddenly terrified her.

“We can talk tomorrow.” She slid into her car, heedless at how rude she might appear to a parent of one of her students, or how foolish she would probably feel later, when she was safe and warm and dry in her own house, in Jesse's arms.

All she could focus on now was the sudden panic spurting through her. Adrenaline surged in her veins and she yanked the door closed behind her and fumbled with the locks.

She wasn't fast enough. Before she could engage them, the man yanked the door open.

“Don't you want to talk to me?” His voice was more like a snarl now. “I thought teachers were always complaining about parents not being interested in their kids' education. Well, I'm interested, so let's talk.”

He loomed over her, large and menacing. All he wanted to do was talk, she assured herself. Just talk.
What was the harm in that? It helped her regain control a little.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Sylvester. I'm late for an appointment,” she lied. “Please come to school tomorrow.” She heard the pleading note in her voice and hated it, but couldn't manage to keep it out.

“My daddy always said, why do tomorrow what you can do today?”

His eyes looked wild, something she hadn't noticed before, and she picked up the strong, fiery smell of hard liquor on his breath. Five in the afternoon and the man was stinking drunk.

Without warning, he suddenly grabbed her arm and tugged her from the car with one hand. In his other, a stubby black handgun appeared out of nowhere.

At the sight of it, her mind went completely blank, like a vast field of blinding new snow.

No. Please, God. No.

This couldn't be happening to her again.

“Come on, teacher. You and me are gonna take a little ride.”

His grip on her arm tightened and her vision grayed around the edges. The flashback punched her hard in the stomach.

Suddenly she wasn't in the parking lot of Salt River Elementary anymore, with the comforting mountains around her and the rain drizzling steadily down. She was once more in her classroom in Chicago, with Tommy DeSilva hitting her, ripping at her clothes, on top of her.

The scream built in her throat, died there. No. She blinked hard, using every ounce of strength she possessed to choke down the memories. She had to stay in control, stay focused.

Jesse would find her. When she wasn't at home as he expected, he would come to the school and see her car. He would immediately know something was wrong, and he would find her.

She had to help him. To send some kind of message, a clue where to start looking for her.

She took a deep breath, again fighting down the panic that crouched like a snarling beast inside her. Think, she ordered herself, clutching her bag more tightly in her hand.

Her bag! She had been taking home a stack of reports on the California gold rush to grade, and Corey's paper was right at the front of the stack. She remembered, because she'd been so pleased and surprised that he had actually bothered to turn in an assignment.

While the man yanked her toward the truck, she managed to hitch the bag to her shoulder so she could use her free hand to reach inside. Her fist closed over the report she had to pray was Corey's. As Hob Sylvester struggled to shove her into the truck, he didn't notice at all when she dropped the report and her bag where she hoped Jesse would find them.

As a clue, it wasn't much—obscure, at best—but she would have to trust that Jesse would understand.

Inside the old pickup she nearly gagged at the stench, of stale sweat and spoiled milk and the sick, yeasty scent of old beer. It was filthy, covered in fast-food wrappers and crushed beer cans and used tissues. On the passenger seat was a pile of empty paper coin rolls and what looked suspiciously like a pair of women's underwear.

Hob Sylvester swept them all to the floor, then shoved her in.

The only way she would get through this was to keep
her wits about her. “What did you want to talk to me about?” she asked woodenly, as if this were just another parent-teacher conference.

He chortled as he elbowed the floor gearshift. The truck lurched obediently forward. “We can talk about anything you want, darlin'. We could talk about Corey's grades or the damn price of tea in China or how you're gonna help me get back what's mine.”

He smiled and she had the strange thought that with those striking green eyes he had probably been handsome once. Now the eyes were bloodshot, his mouth hard.

In the side mirror she could see the school building recede into the distance as they drove through the rain. Panic began to chew at her again, but she pushed it away.

“You know this is kidnapping, don't you? You're taking me against my will.”

He snorted. “I might not be a smart schoolteacher like you, but I'm not completely stupid. I know exactly what I'm doing.”

“This is a serious offense, Mr. Sylvester. Why don't you let me go and we can pretend this never happened? I won't tell anyone.”

“Because I've got plans for you, teacher. Big plans.”

She drew a deep, shuddering breath. She couldn't think about it. Jesse would find her. She knew he would. He had to.

Corey's father picked up a bottle still in the paper bag and took a long swig, then wiped at his mouth. If he were drunk, he might be careless. She would have to pray she could find a way to escape.

“Where are we going?” she asked, striving with everything she had to keep her voice casual.

“A place where nobody can hear what I'm gonna do to you.”

His smile didn't come close to reaching his eyes. This time she could no longer keep the panic at bay. It snarled once, then lunged for her and swallowed her whole.

 

Man, he had it bad.

He hated to admit it, but Matt had been right. After dinner the night before, his know-it-all big brother had taken him outside on the pretext of showing off one of his new mares.

Eventually—as he realized now Matt intended all along—the conversation had drifted to what the hell he thought he was doing messing around with a nice woman like Sarah McKenzie.

Before he could get huffy about his big brother's insulting tone, Matt had taken one look at him and ended up poleaxing Jesse with the truth.

Jesse James Harte, the bad boy of Salt River, Wyoming, was head over heels in love with a sweet, quiet schoolteacher.

He'd damn near punched his brother in the face at the time. It couldn't be true. He cared about her—wanted to keep her safe and make her smile—and he was definitely attracted to her gentle, willowy beauty, but he couldn't be in love with her.

Throughout a day spent chewing it over, though, he'd been chagrined to realize Matt had been right. It burned his gut worse than Cassie's hot chili to admit that his nosy older brother had recognized Jesse's feelings for Sarah before he did.

But how could he have realized it when he didn't have any kind of frame of reference to measure his feelings against? He'd never been in love before. Never even come close.

He'd always figured there was something lacking in him, some cold empty place inside where something good must have died the day his parents did. Or maybe it had just shriveled away in those wild, rowdy years after.

But now that he'd been knocked over the head with the truth, he couldn't deny it. He was in love with Sarah McKenzie. He had a feeling he'd been on his way there since the day she came to Salt River.

Now, as he drove toward the school to meet her, he was amazed at the anticipation thrumming through him. It hadn't even been twelve hours since he'd left her warm, flower-scented bed and he couldn't wait to see her again. To touch that soft skin. To watch her eyes go hazy with need, to see that smile sneak out of nowhere—that sweet smile that always seemed to reach right into his chest and yank out his heart.

He was in love with her. Now, what the hell was he supposed to do about it?

For the first time in his life, he was thinking about more than just having a good time. He was thinking about forever kinds of things—happily-ever-after kinds of things. Marriage, kids, the whole works.

And trying to ignore the snide little voice inside him that he couldn't seem to make shut up, the voice reminding him that he didn't even come close to deserving a woman as good and decent as Sarah.

He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, eyes straight ahead. He didn't want to think about that now.
About his past and the things he'd done. He didn't want any of that touching her, ever.

A few blocks from the school, an older rattletrap of a pickup passed him, its huge gas-guzzling engine growling through the late afternoon. He didn't recognize the truck and couldn't see much of the driver through the rain, but he waved anyway. This was Salt River. It would have been rude not to.

A few moments later, he pulled into the school parking area and saw with relief that Sarah's sage Toyota was one of only a handful of cars in the parking lot. Good. Looked as if his hunch was right, to come here instead of her house. Even with the school year winding down, Sarah still put in long, hard hours at her job.

He admired her dedication and wondered again where he would have been if one of his teachers had taken the interest in him that she did with all her pupils.

Though it was still an hour or so from sunset, the gunmetal-gray storm clouds made it seem much darker and later. He looked for Sarah's classroom windows, but didn't see any lights on inside. That didn't mean anything. Maybe she had a faculty meeting or was busy in the library.

He didn't mind waiting. It would give him a chance to figure out how to deal with this tangle of emotions twisting through him.

He started to pull in next to her car when his headlights caught on something lying in a puddle a few feet away. Some kid had probably dropped his backpack in a hurry to catch the bus and get home to his Nintendo. He should pick it up before the rain ruined it, if he wasn't too late.

With his engine still running, he climbed out to retrieve the thing. It wasn't a backpack, he discovered as
he neared the puddle. He crouched and reached for it, then stopped when he recognized the tapestry floral print.

He'd seen Sarah walking out the door with this very bag earlier that morning.

What would her tote be doing out here in the rain? He frowned, unease suddenly crawling down his spine like a furry spider. She wouldn't have left it out in the rain. Not a chance. She was much too careful for that.