The Valentine Legacy (6 page)

“Ah, she's coming around. Jessie? Come on, my girl, wake up and stop scaring your host out of his socks.”

She groaned and opened her eyes. James saw the pain deepen her green eyes to nearly black and said, “Can't you give her some laudanum, Dancy?”

“Not just yet. Head wounds are tricky—you know that. She can bear the pain, but I doubt she could bear being dead. Hold on, Jessie. Can you understand me?”

“Yes, naturally. I'm not deaf.”

Dr. Hoolahan laughed, a deep, very sweet laugh, which should have come from a man James's size. “Good girl. Now, I've got to cut your hair away from the wound. It'll leave a bald spot but you've got so much hair, it won't show.” He removed a razor from his black leather bag. “Have Bess get me some very hot water, James. I'll need
a bandage as well, lots of clean white linen.”

It was the longest hour James had ever spent in his life. Jessie was crying, but she didn't make a sound; she just lay there, her eyes tightly closed, her hands in fists at her sides. When Dr. Hoolahan shaved the hair away from the wound, it was James who flinched. Jessie didn't move. Dancy tossed the long strands of wet hair to the floor. She'd been more than lucky. If the man shooting at her had managed just a whisker more to the left, she'd be dead.

All because she'd saved Sweet Susie. He planned to kill her himself for taking such a risk.

When Dancy had finished wrapping the bandage around Jessie's head, she looked so pathetic, James had to smile. He listened to Dancy speak to her, asking her how many fingers he was holding up, asking her when her birthday was, asking her to name all the horses she'd raced in the past week. After each of her answers, he looked up at James for confirmation. James wondered how the devil he was supposed to know if her answers were right. He just nodded.

“Very well,” Dr. Hoolahan said at last. “Let's give her some laudanum so she can sleep.”

When she was on the verge of sleep, Jessie said, “James, there were two men. One was named Billy. Their horses were both chestnuts, at least ten years old. One had a white star on his forehead, and the other one had a blaze that ran all the way from his forehead to his muzzle.”

He didn't ask her to describe the men. He doubted she could. She spoke more about the two horses until her speech began to slur.

“Good enough, Jessie. Go to sleep now. We'll speak in the morning.”

But he didn't leave until she was breathing deeply. He pulled the blankets up to her chin, snuffed out the candles, and quietly closed the bedchamber door.

Allen Belmonde, Dr. Hoolahan, Thomas, Oslow, and Old
Bess were all waiting for him in the parlor. Old Bess looked as though she wanted to hit Allen Belmonde with her iron skillet.

“Did she tell you what happened?” Allen Belmonde said. “Did she admit that she stole Sweet Susie?”

“She stupidly rescued your mare from two thieves. She couldn't describe the men, but she did describe the horses they were riding. They were common, both chestnuts, one swaybacked, the other short backed and muscular. In other words, he had quarter-horse blood.”

“She'll remember more,” Oslow said, “once her poor head heals.”

“Damned girl,” Belmonde said. “I can't believe she'd take on two men. It doesn't make any sense.”

“You can thank her properly tomorrow,” James said, “after I've beaten her.”

Thomas cleared his throat. “I've sent word over to the Warfield farm. Oh dear, I believe I hear Mr. Oliver. In a rare snit, he is.”

Oliver Warfield stomped into the Wyndham parlor, which looked less shabby in the soft candlelight. He knew enough of what had happened to be terrified. “Where's my little girl? Damn you, James, where is she? Take me to her this instant so I can take a strip off her for being so witless. I can't believe she'd save your damned mare, Allen. Who the hell cares?”

“Your daughter will be all right, Oliver,” James said. “If you don't believe me, ask Dr. Hoolahan.”

Dancy Hoolahan cleared his throat and took one mincing step toward Oliver Warfield and said in his deep, soothing voice, “She's sleeping now, Oliver. Stop your fretting. A bullet grazed her head, but it just ripped her scalp. No permanent damage done.”

“Well, if it isn't Belmonde's fault, then it's yours, James. Damn you, why didn't you guard Sweet Susie more
carefully? My little girl could have been killed, and it's because you're incompetent.”

Allen Belmonde added his two cents. “Oliver's right. It's all your fault, Wyndham. I entrust my Sweet Susie to you, and just look at what happens. Damned if you shouldn't go to jail. Maybe you hired those men to steal her yourself.”

“You idiot! Don't you dare make threats and ridiculous accusations, Allen Belmonde! James would never steal anything. Well, except a race, of course, and any good jockey would try to do that.”

Everyone whipped around to see Jessie Warfield weaving in the parlor doorway. She had a black wool blanket wrapped around her. Her red hair was tangled down her back and around her face, puffing out over the thick white bandage Dr. Hoolahan had wrapped around her head. James's nightshirt, fine white linen, sewn for him by his mama, covered her knees, but just barely.

“W
HAT THE HELL
are you doing out of bed?” James was yelling at her even as he nearly ran to catch her, knowing she was bound to collapse at any moment. But she didn't. She leaned against the door.

“I had to, well, see to private things,” she said. “Then I opened the bedchamber door and heard all of you yelling.” She looked toward Allen Belmonde, who appeared to be nailed to the carpet just beside the sagging pale pink settee. James nearly laughed aloud at her expression. She looked meaner than he did after a night of too much drinking. She started to take a step toward him but quickly changed her mind. She did, however, raise her fist and shake it. “Don't you dare threaten James, Allen. Marathon is the best stud farm in Maryland—except for Papa's and mine. Even if I hadn't chanced to come along, James would have found her. He wouldn't have rested until he had. If you believe otherwise, then you're stupid. I told Alice not to marry you, and yet she did and just look at how unhappy you've made her. And now you're accusing James of stealing your bloody mare.”

“Thank you, Jessie,” James said, feeling both bewildered and amused. “Now that you've had your say, it's back to bed with you.”

“James,” Oliver Warfield said, stepping between him and his daughter, “Jessie is an unmarried girl. She can't be here
in your house without a chaperon. Damnation, I'll have to stay here as well. Do you have another bedchamber?”

“I'll bet it needs fixing, Papa,” Jessie said, sagging now against the door frame. “Mine does, and it's the best one. The wallpaper is green and faded except for the parts that have gotten wet. Those strips are puffing out, ready to peel off the wall.”

“Thank you, Jessie,” James said again, this time feeling only the urge to smack her.

“This talk of wallpaper is preposterous. I'll have no more of it. I'm taking Sweet Susie away from here right now,” Allen Belmonde said. “I won't take any more chances with her safety.”

James said easily, “Certainly, Allen. Oslow, get Sweet Susie all rubbed down and ready to go.”

“I don't think so,” Oslow said. He turned to Allen Belmonde. “Listen to me, sir. Sweet Susie's still in heat. The worst thing would be to try to move her while she's still lunging after every stallion she sees. She could get hurt. Here, we'll protect her.”

“The way you did tonight?”

“I'll find out what happened,” Oslow said. “I'll guard her myself.”

“Do as you please, Allen,” James said, “I really don't give a good damn.” He took Jessie's arm and pulled her into the front hallway.

“Everyone will hear about this, Wyndham!”

“Let me hit him, James,” Jessie said, as she tried to pull free of him. James grinned at her and held her firm. “You could just look at him and scare him to death.”

“I look that bad?”

Oh damn
, he thought, looking at her pale face, at the pain in her green eyes, pain he knew hadn't been there but an instant before. He'd hurt her feelings? No, not Jessie Warfield's feelings. Why, she had no vanity; she wasn't any
more female than . . . “No, you look raffish, sort of like a female pirate. Very dashing. What I meant was that mean look you gave him should have frozen his mouth shut. Pity it didn't last.”

“I've never liked Allen Belmonde. He doesn't treat Alice well. He doesn't treat his horses well, either. Don't let him take Sweet Susie. You buy her.”

“Jessie, she's his mare. Now, you're about to fall over. I'm going to pick you up. All right?”

“I thought you said I was too heavy.”

“You are, but I'm very strong and stoic. Be quiet now.”

“I'll be up in a moment,” Dr. Hoolahan called after them. “I'll give you some more laudanum, Jessie. Now, Oliver, your daughter will be just fine. This is a bachelor's household, but James knows what he's doing. Surely you don't have to worry about such things.”

Jessie's head was against James's shoulder. Thick, tangled red hair billowed against his face, tickling his nose. He hadn't realized she had so much hair. “Are you still awake?”

She nodded against his neck.

When he tucked her into bed, he spread her hair over the pillow as Old Bess had done so it would dry. “How do you feel?”

“Like a stall that hasn't been mucked out in a month.”

“Pretty bad, then. Thanks, Jessie, for defending me.”

“I really do detest Allen. Alice made such a mistake marrying him, and now it's too late. I'll get Allen if he says anything bad about you, James. I promise.”

“Thank you,” he said again as her eyes closed. Her face was very pale except for the freckles over the bridge of her nose. Dr. Hoolahan appeared in the doorway.

“She's asleep, Dancy. Let's just leave her be.” He rose and snuffed out the candle beside the bed. “Tell me what to do for her.”

*   *   *

The following morning, James stood beside Jessie's bed, legs spread, hands on his hips. His voice was low and controlled. “Now you will tell me exactly what happened. You will then tell me why you took such a risk for a stupid horse. You were wrong, Jessie, and you nearly got yourself killed to prove it.”

He is furious
, she thought, watching the pulse leap in his throat. She wondered where he'd dredged up that iron control he was exhibiting. Usually he yelled his head off if he was mad, as he certainly was now. Why hadn't he yelled at her last night? She shook her head. He'd been afraid she'd die; that's why he'd been so calm. But now he knew she'd live, and he was ready to fire his cannons.

“Answer me, damn you. And don't try to tell me that you're in too much pain. Any pain you have, you well deserve and you damned well know it.”

“Very well.”

“Very well what?”

“I'll answer you. I didn't think at all, really. I saw Sweet Susie, saw my chance when she went after Billy's horse and was nipping at his rump. He'd already thrown Billy, so I just rode Benjie right in between them. Billy's horse jumped a ditch and ran off into the field beside the road. I grabbed Sweet Susie's lead. I'd hoped they'd get Billy's horse, but they didn't. The other man came after me alone. He fired twice before he realized that he might hit Sweet Susie, then stopped. That's all, James. It's not so much of a story.”

“You're foolish and brave, and I won't have it, Jessie. Why did you do it?”

“I told you. I just wanted to save Sweet Susie. It never occurred to me the man would have a gun.”

“You should have come here and told me. I would have taken some men and gone after them.”

She stared at him. The headache, slight until just moments
ago, was pounding through her again. “But what would I have told you, James?”

“I don't know, but you could have taken me back to where you'd seen them.”

“Would you have allowed me to lead you back there? It was raining hard. Wouldn't you have been scared I would have gotten ill? After all, I'm so delicate. No, I think you would have made me take myself home and you and your damned men would have ridden around blindly, finding nothing but colds. I saved Sweet Susie. Get used to it, James.”

“Jessie, girl, how are you feeling? Bess and I have brought you some breakfast. Dr. Hoolahan told me you'd be starved this morning. Just look at what Bess made for you. Grits and eggs, their yellows all bright, just the way you prefer them, strips of bacon, all crispy and—” Oliver Warfield broke off, staring at his daughter, whose eyes were tightly closed. He glanced at James, who was standing beside her bed, ramrod straight, his arms crossed over his chest, looking as intimidating as hell and madder than the copperhead snake Oliver had ousted off a sun-baked rock the past week.