With the help of several ranch wives, Elena and Consuelo readied the spare rooms for more guests while Buck put clean hay on the barn floor so the latecomers wouldn’t have to sleep on damp ground. By late afternoon, riders from other ranches began to arrive, as well as Dr. O’Grady and a group of men from Val Rosa led by Sheriff Rikker. Soon the rumble of men’s voices echoed through the house.
Jessica avoided them by staying in the kitchen, helping Iantha prepare mountains of potatoes, the usual pinto beans, tortillas, roasted peppers, cornbread with honey, and what greens they could salvage from the depleted garden. By the time long plank tables had been set up in the courtyard, Sandoval had unearthed the steer, and the clang of the dinner bell rang through the house.
Uncomfortable around so many strangers, especially in her condition, Jessica didn’t join the guests in the courtyard, but carried a plate to her room instead. She was just finishing her meal when footsteps sounded in the hall. A moment later her door swung open.
“What’re you doing?” Brady asked in his usual curt manner.
Did the man ever knock? She swiveled in the chair to give him a pointed look, then turned back to her plate. “Eating. What are you doing?” She could feel him watching as she took a final bite of potatoes and pushed her plate aside.
“You’re hiding. Why?”
The man knew her too well. “I am not hiding.”
“Then why are you in here all by yourself? Did something happen?”
“Nothing happened. I am simply a bit tired.” Hoping to forestall further interrogation, she gave him a reassuring smile. “I have been helping Iantha in the kitchen all afternoon and I—”
He spun on his heel and left.
Before Jessica could recover from her shock at his rudeness, he returned with the doctor in tow. Shoving O’Grady into the room, he said, “She’s tired.”
The doctor scratched his head, clearly confused.
“Well, see to her,” Brady ordered. “She’s working too hard. We tell her to stop, but she won’t listen. You tell her.”
O’Grady turned to Jessica. “Stop working so hard.”
“Of course, Doctor.”
He turned to Brady. “Now can I finish my supper?”
Brady’s scowl sent him back a step. “Sure, and she’s looking fine, boyo. But if it will ease your mind, I’ll check on her later . . . and without your lofty self there to frighten the wee thing. Will that settle your worries?”
Wee?
Jessica almost laughed aloud.
“I’m not worried. I’m concerned. There’s a difference.”
She hid her amusement behind a gracious smile. “Then thank you for your concern, Brady, but I am well. Truly.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely. Attend your guests. I’m for bed.”
Brady hesitated. He tugged at the corner of his mustache. “Well, that’s the thing, see.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What thing?”
“The boys want to do Darnell and Sanchez proper, and it may get, um, a bit rowdy.”
“Rowdy?”
O’Grady rubbed his palms together. “What he means is there may be a wee bit of drinking involved. Come on, lad.”
“D-Drinking?” Jessica knew what demons men became when they drank, and the thought of dozens of drunkards reeling through the halls made her tense with fear. An image burst into her mind—John Crawford reaching out, his fingers curled like talons, his mouth wet and reeking of whiskey. She felt herself sway.
“Jasus. Best get my satchel.”
“I’ll take care of it, Doc. Go.”
More words, but she lost them in the thundering in her ears. The door opened and closed, then Brady dropped onto his heels beside her chair. “Look at me.”
She tried, but everything was spinning so furiously she could scarcely focus.
He took her hand in his, prying open her clenched fingers to gently lace them through his. “Nothing’s going to happen. Just breathe. Slow and easy.”
Strengthened by his calm assurance, she struggled to bring her breathing under control. The tightness in her throat eased. Her racing heartbeat slowed. As the panic ebbed, she realized she still held his hand, gripping it so tightly her nails dug into his skin. He allowed her to loosen her hold, but wouldn’t allow her to pull away.
“You’re safe here. No one will hurt you. Do you believe me?”
The force of those eyes was more powerful than a touch, robbing her of thought, vanquishing the fear. She nodded, feeling foolish and exposed and so grateful he was there, she couldn’t say a word.
“I told you about the wake because it may get a little noisy and I didn’t want you to be scared. These are good men. They would never hurt a woman. Especially not my—not in my house. Understand?”
She took a deep breath, slowly released it. “Yes.”
He rose and went to the dresser. A moment later he returned. “Use this if it’ll help.”
He put a heavy brass key into her palm. It was still warm from his touch. “Thank you.” But she didn’t put much faith in it. A locked door hadn’t stopped John Crawford. She attempted a weak smile. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually such a fearful person.”
“I know.” Still, he didn’t move away. “I have another key, so don’t think you can hide out in here forever.”
“I am not hiding out.” It was a relief to be irritated with him again. Anything other than that paralyzing fear. It was also a bit unnerving to realize she couldn’t lock him out even if she felt the need to. Not that she felt the need to. She trusted him. As much as she was able.
He scratched thoughtfully at his whiskered jaw. “Or I guess I could drag you out and parade you around for a while. Once they saw you were pregnant, they’d never come near.”
“Mercy. As appealing as it would be to have my
un
appealing person
paraded around
to ensure that your drunken friends left me alone, I fear I must decline. Hopefully a locked door will suffice. As would my parasol. Or a loaded scattergun if you have one to spare. Check the dining room. I believe that’s where dead people and guns are kept.”
Was he laughing at her? Before she could ask, he braced his hands on the arms of her chair and lowered his face to within inches of her own. “I never said you were unappealing. You’re very appealing. Too appealing. But if they saw you were with me, they’d never think of coming near. Now do you understand?”
She pulled back, acutely aware of the masculine power that radiated from every cell in his big body. “No—yes—perhaps. Stop looming.” He thought her appealing?
Too
appealing?
He didn’t move.
She thought of the other day when he kissed her, and yesterday when his fingers trailed across her neck, and something moved within her, something low and liquid that wasn’t the babies.
He leaned closer.
She didn’t pull back.
“Maybe if I do this often enough”—his lips brushed the right corner of her mouth—“and this well enough”—another brush on the left—“someday you will.” A final lingering kiss square in the middle, then he pulled back just far enough for her to feel the full impact of those aqua eyes.
“Will w-what?”
“Understand.”
“Understand what?”
With a sigh, he straightened. “You know, this might work better if you closed your eyes. We’ll practice on it.”
Jessica gaped up at him, her mind in such disarray she couldn’t form a single coherent thought. If his first kiss had been shocking, this one was amazing. Tantalizing. Addictive. She licked her lips, still tasting him, still feeling the heat of him, wondering if he would do it again.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” She was gratified to see he wasn’t breathing so calmly either.
“Maybe I should give you both keys,” he muttered and left the room.
THEY BURIED DARNELL AND SANCHEZ THE NEXT MORNING.
Brady told Jessica to stay at the house, which naturally she argued about. But when he explained that it would mostly be men at the gravesite, she handed him two ribbon-tied bouquets of roses and sent him on his way.
In a way, Brady would have liked having her there to bring a touch of gentility to an ungentle circumstance. But he also wanted her as far away from this mess as possible. She was like a clear, calm pool in his mind, a place that was clean of the taint of this feud, a place where goodness existed and hope still flowed. He needed to keep it that way.
As they headed back down the hill after the burial, the escort rode through the gates.
Brady had a late breakfast set up in the courtyard. After everyone had eaten his fill, he herded the ranch owners, Rikker, and Lieutenant Jarvey into his office, where he laid out the maps he and his brothers had been working on.
“This is where we are now.” He thumped a cluster of squares marked on the map. “And these”—he pointed out a dozen other marks—“are all the places where Sancho’s been seen. If you draw a line between them, it would be a circle, more or less. And this”—he pointed at Blue Mesa—“would be the center.”
Lieutenant Jarvey looked doubtful. “That’s got to be two hundred square miles. You expect thirty men to cover all that in two days?”
“Thirty-eight men. Between us, we cover about that every year at roundup.”
Sheriff Rikker leaned closer to study the marks. “Isn’t that where you found him and Alvarez the night he killed his folks?”
“And on foot,” Jack added.
“You figure he was holed up close by?”
Brady nodded. “We’ve checked it time and again but it’s hard to track on rock. There’s a lot of places to hide and he knows them all.”
“So what’s the plan?”
It was a simple pie-shaped grid: twelve wedges of three men each, starting eight miles out and working inward to the center point at Blue Mesa.
After a brief discussion, Rikker deputized the whole group to keep things legal, explained some of the finer points of the law, which no one heeded, then gave up and went outside for a smoke. As the others filed out after him, Doc came in.
He looked worried. And thirsty. Knowing he’d been to see Jessica, Brady sent his brothers on with instructions to saddle his horse, then poured a “wee dram” for Doc and himself. Sitting back, he propped his boots on the desk and waited.
It was a natural curiosity. Since she was under his protection, he had a right to know how she was progressing. If there were problems ahead, he needed to prepare for them, to see that Consuelo was always on hand and Doc was nearby. That was his job, to organize, to see that everything ran smoothly, to take care of issues before they became problems. He didn’t like surprises. And he damned sure didn’t want those babies coming when there was no one around to deal with it but him. He was a rancher, not a midwife.
Which was probably why he got so upset when Doc mentioned the possibility that those babies might come early, and if so, there might be complications, and sadly, they might be adding more graves up on the hill before it was over.
Brady’s boots hit the floor with a thud. “You mean she could die?” He thought of his mother and baby sister, and something twisted in his chest. “You never said she could die.”
“Saints preserve us, lad, calm yourself!” With a look of alarm, Doc waved him back into his chair. “Faith, I never said she was dying. I said there might be complications—but for the babies, not for her. Jasus.”
Brady let out an explosive breath. He realized he was standing and sank into the chair. The force of his reaction shocked him as much as it seemed to have shocked Doc. It also revealed more than he was willing to admit, although he shouldn’t have been surprised after the way he felt last night when he kissed her, randy bastard that he was.
Disgusted, he pushed his whiskey aside. There must be something profoundly wrong with him to be lusting after a pregnant woman this way. “So you’re saying her babies might die.”
“What I’m saying, boyo, is more times than not, twins come early. And when they do, they don’t always survive. But for all that she’s English and has a tongue that could clip a hedge, Your Ladyship is healthy as a spring shoat. Give your fears a rest on that score.”
He tried.
Then in a tone that instantly undercut his progress, Doc said, “There’s something else I’m needing to talk to you about, lad.”
Christ, now what?
He didn’t have time for this. He had men waiting. With a sigh, Brady tipped back his head and stared at the fine cobwebs swinging between the exposed rafters overhead. It was times like this, when worries plagued him like a cloud of biting flies, that he wondered if he had the strength or the will to carry the weight of all he was expected to carry. Sancho and Elena, two brothers, dozens of other lives, thousands of cattle, tens of thousands of acres, and now a pregnant woman and her babies. It was enough to drive a man to his knees.
“Elena’s asking about her hip. Wants to know if I can fix it, or know a doctor who can.”
Frowning, he looked over at Doc. “I thought it was permanent.”
“Likely is. But they learned a lot during the war. Trial by fire, it was. And there was a poor sod named Mike Sheedy who learned more than most, it’s sad I am to say.” Doc refilled his mug. “Did I ever tell you about Fredericksburg, lad?”
Before Brady could tell him he had, many times, Doc drifted into the past.
“Twelve hundred strong we were that morning, all foine and true sons of Erin.” He took a deep swallow, then dragged his sleeve over his mouth. “When the smoke cleared and the cannon stilled, only two hundred and sixty-three brave lads still stood on that bloody field. Over nine hundred proud Irish souls lost.” Doc swiped at his watery eyes. “Faith, and it was a dark day for the Irish Brigade. God bless us all.”
Before Doc drifted too far, Brady reined him in. “You think this doctor could help Elena?”
With obvious effort, and another dose of whiskey, Doc pulled himself back to the present. “Might could. But she’d have to go to San Francisco, where Sheedy does his surgery. I thought I’d put it to you before I wrote to him.”