Whitefeather's Woman (16 page)

How could he fault his brother-in-law's perception? John asked himself as he grabbed his hat. If he hadn't been so quick to swallow all the lies in Emery Endicott's letter, Caleb would never have spirited Jane away. And if John hadn't been so yellow-bellied scared to risk a daylight encounter with Jane, he'd have missed her long before this.

He wasn't sure what frightened him worse, the notion of Jane alone and defenseless in Whitehorn, or the thought of her boarding a train bound far away from him.

“Caleb…” He swung the door open. “The next time you want to do me a favor, would you ask me first?”

Dashing to the stable, he threw a saddle and harness on Hawkwing with the kind of sloppy haste that would have made him chew out the ranch hands.

He had just mounted when Caleb appeared at the stable door looking well chastened. “Jane's not headed out of town, if that's what you're worried about. I asked her if she
wanted me to drive her into Big Timber to catch the train, but she said to let her off at the hardware store.”

John curbed a wave of relief that surged through him. “I'd like to check that out for myself, if you don't mind.”

Caleb shrugged. “Do what you want, John. You're a big boy. But on your ride into town, maybe you ought to think about leaving well enough alone. Jane Harris landed on us from out of nowhere, and she's managed to keep life around here in a bit of commotion ever since. We didn't ask for her to come, but we tried to treat her decent while she was here. Maybe we'd all be better off if she moved on.”

“Speak for yourself, Caleb.” John nudged Hawkwing.

The horse's hooves tapped across the rough wooden floor of the stable. Once they were outside and pointed down the long lane to the main road, Hawkwing rapidly sped up to a strong, mile-eating gallop.

Hard as John tried to leave Caleb's words of warning behind him, they dogged Hawkwing's hoofprints.

John had been worried about Jane running off, and sure enough, she was all set to abandon him when life was going along smoothly. That didn't exactly bode well for their first hard winter, or a bout of illness, or a hundred other hard certainties of Montana life. Maybe he
would
be better off saying goodbye now than later, when Jane had worked herself so deeply into his heart that he couldn't dislodge her without cutting himself to pieces.

But what if the seed he'd sown in Jane bore fruit? Like a low-hanging bough, the thought almost knocked John off his horse.

Last night, as he'd been rocked by wave after wave of conflicting emotions, he'd deliberately blinded himself to the consequences of what he and Jane were doing. This morning he'd worried only about satisfying Cheyenne
honor. A woman's chastity had high value among his people, whether or not a child resulted from her first mating.

Though he couldn't bring himself to regret the most blissful night of his life, John wondered if he was destined to pay a very dear price for that intense but fleeting pleasure.

When he reached Watson Hardware and asked after Jane, Sam Roland nodded.

“Pretty little thing.” He cast a nervous glance back to see if his own pretty little wife happened to be within earshot. “Mrs. Kincaid was in here looking over the books this afternoon. She and Miss Harris talked for a while, then they went off in Mrs. Kincaid's buggy. If Miss Harris comes back, should I tell her you're looking for her?”

“No.” John tried to smile to cover his abruptness. “That's all right. I'll find her, I'm sure. Thanks for your help, Sam.”

Dusk was beginning to gather by the time John backtracked out of town to Brock and Abby's place. The fading light and the odor of sawdust put him in mind of the night he'd danced here with Jane, under the stars. In his imagination, he could hear a faint echo of Harry Talbert's fiddle crooning “Beautiful Dreamer.”

His empty arms ached for Jane.

A dog barked, summoning Brock to the door. “Oh, John, it's just you. What can I do for you?”

Caleb's brother relaxed from his wary stance. John wondered if he was armed. Perhaps Brock Kincaid hadn't entirely shaken off his exciting, shadowy past, but he seemed well satisfied with his new life. He was clearly a more contented, happier man than the one who'd shown up at the ranch a few months back.

“Is Jane Harris staying with you folks, by any chance? I'd like to talk to her.”

Brock sauntered down his front steps, shaking his head as he approached. “She's not here, John. You're welcome to check, if you like.”

“No. If you say she isn't here, that's good enough for me.”

If Jane
was
taking refuge in this house, Brock might hold him off at gunpoint if necessary, but he wouldn't lie about it. Dealing with men was so much more straightforward than trying to cipher the contrary riddles of women. Jane wasn't at the hardware store. She wasn't at Brock and Abby's. Where had she gone?

“Could I talk to your wife for a minute, then? Sam Roland told me she spoke to Jane earlier today.”

Brock swiped his knuckles back and forth across his chin. “I reckon that'd be all right. I'll tell you what, John. Abby did ask me if maybe we could hire Miss Harris to help her around the house so she'd be free to supervise the store a little closer. Can't say I cared for the idea. That gal kinda gives me the creeps, she's so on edge all the time. Did that widow woman finally show up to work for Ruth and Caleb? Is that why Miss Harris is looking for a new job?”

“No.” John wondered how much he could safely tell Caleb's brother. Best to keep his own counsel for the moment, he decided. Considering he didn't know all the ins and outs of what was going on. If Jane ended up staying in Whitehorn, he didn't want folks gossiping about her.

“Mrs. Muldoon should be here before long, though. Maybe Jane thought she ought to get something else lined up.”

Brock chuckled. “If she wasn't so dadblained jumpy,
she might've landed a husband by now and not needed to look for work.”

“Just between you and me…” John lowered his voice “…Jane's got good reason to be jumpy, just like you've got good reason to be cautious when a stranger rides up to your door at sunset. Once she finds out folks aren't going to hurt her or make fun of her, she'll settle down.”

“I see.” Brock ran a hand through his tawny hair. “Maybe if she can't find anything else, we could reconsider giving her a place.”

He called back over his shoulder, “Abby! John Whitefeather's here trying to track down Miss Harris. You want to come and talk to him for a minute?”

Abby Kincaid emerged from the house carrying a lantern. The light from it flickered over her coppery hair.

“I know where Jane is and I know she's safe.” Abby spoke with the confidence of a woman who'd looked after herself and her son before Brock Kincaid came back into her life. “What I don't know is whether she'd welcome a visit from you tonight, John.”

Abby would probably have said the same thing to Emery Endicott if he'd shown up in Whitehorn looking for Jane. That thought struck John like a physical blow. Why was Jane hiding from him? He'd never done anything to hurt her and he never would.

“I
have
to talk to her. Please, Abby. It's important.”

Her reply was regretful, but firm. “I give you my word she's safe. Anything else you need to discuss with her can wait the night. I'll go see her and get her permission to let you know her whereabouts. If you come back here after noon tomorrow, I'll have her answer for you.”

What if Jane took it into her head to leave town in the meantime? Caleb had paid her enough to buy a train ticket
just about anywhere. John couldn't let her slip out of his life without understanding why.

“Whitehorn isn't
that
big a town.” His voice came out sharper than he meant it to. “And some folks don't have much else to do with their time but find out everybody else's business. I reckon Mrs. Dillard must have some idea where Jane is by this time. Or old man Waverly. It'd be quicker if you'd just tell me. For Pete's sake, Abby, you and Ruth are sisters-in-law. That makes us almost family.”

Urgency seethed inside him like the sulphurous water that periodically gushed up out of the ground hereabouts. He slid out of his saddle, the better to confront Abby.

“Or do you think just because I have Cheyenne blood that I'd harm Jane? Let me tell you something, ma'am. My father's people prize courage above every other virtue, and we know it doesn't take courage to harm a weaker opponent. The greatest bravery a Cheyenne warrior can show is to face an armed enemy with nothing but his bare hands. To hurt a woman, a child or an elder is the mark of a coward.”

Reacting to John's fierce outburst, Brock took up a defensive stance.

His wife didn't flinch a muscle. “I didn't know that and I thank you for telling me. It doesn't change anything, though. It never occurred to me that you might mean Jane harm. Not because of who your folks are, but because I've known
you
a while and I count myself a pretty fair judge of character. Prove I'm right about you, John. Please. Go back to the ranch, let your temper cool and get a good night's sleep. I don't think Jane'll thank you for hunting her down at this time of night.”

“Damnation, Abby!” John's shoulders slumped. “Do you
have
to spout such good sense?”

Brock gave a sympathetic chuckle. “Morning'll come soon enough.”

“You can spend the night here, if you like,” Abby offered, gracious in victory. “Save you that long ride out to Caleb's place and back.”

“Thanks, but I'd better not. Ruth'll be worried if I don't come home. Besides, I do my best thinking in the saddle and I reckon I need to think some more. If you'll just let me water Hawkwing, here, I'll be on my way.”

“Oh, sure.” Brock took the lantern from Abby and walked toward the barn. “Trough's right this way.”

As if the horse understood, Hawkwing followed Brock's bobbing light. John lingered behind.

“Will you promise me one thing, Abby?”

“That depends what.”

Suddenly he was glad Jane had made a woman friend who had this kind of quiet strength.

“Please don't help Jane leave town until I've had a chance to talk to her.”

“I don't believe she plans to leave Whitehorn anytime soon.”

In spite of the warm summer night, John shivered. “I wish
I
could be sure of that.”

“A
re you sure there's nothing else I can get you, Jane?” asked Lizzie Kincaid. “A mug of warm milk to help you sleep, maybe?”

Jane looked around the dainty little room with its rosebud paper and white enameled bed frame. In her heart she yearned for her rustic gabled room back at Ruth and Caleb's ranch.

“You and your husband have been too good to me already, Mrs. Kincaid. Trusting me with a job, even after I told you about taking that brooch from Mrs. Endicott. Giving me this lovely room and even one of your own nightdresses.”

A girlish giggle reminded Jane that her new employer was actually several years her junior. “Do call me Lizzie, instead of Mrs. Kincaid. Between Kate, Abby, Haley and me, it's so hard to keep us straight unless we go by first names. I hate it when folks call me Mrs. William, as if I didn't have a name of my own. As for the other,” declared Lizzie, “don't you dare feel one bit beholden. You'll be
doing me a great favor by staying to help when the baby comes.”

She ran a hand over her bulging midsection with a sweet, brooding smile Jane envied with all her heart.

“Ruth told me what a wonder you were with little Barton. You might not think it to look at me now, but I was down on my luck once and ready to do a desperate deed just to survive.”

Lizzie was right, Jane did find it hard to believe that a girl of such obvious refinement had ever contemplated theft…or worse.

“Somebody gave me a helping hand.” The fond, faraway look in Lizzie's pretty blue eyes left Jane in no doubt that “somebody” was William Kincaid. “Now I'm happy I can pass along that kindness.”

“I appreciate it and I'll do everything in my power to justify your trust in me.” Jane knew better than to think she could be indispensable…to anyone. But she was still determined to work hard for the banker and his young wife.

Lizzie beamed. “I'm sure you will. Now, how about that warm milk?”

“Not tonight, thank you.” It would take a mug of warm milk the size of Boston harbor to insure her a restful sleep tonight. And then only if she drowned herself in it.

“In that case, I'll let you settle in and get to bed. Oh! I think I just felt the baby kick. I must go tell Will. Good night.” Lizzie pulled the door closed behind her and pattered off.

Jane sank down onto the crocheted bedspread and hugged herself around the waist. The moment Abby Kincaid had ushered her into Lizzie's presence, the fear that she might be carrying John Whitefeather's baby settled in Jane's heart like an early frost. Before last night she'd been
pretty much ignorant of what went on between a man and a woman. She did know it had something to do with the creation of babies.

Did folks only engage in such activity when they wanted to start a baby? Was a baby the inevitable result of every mating?

In that case, she might have twins!

Why hadn't she given this some thought last night, before she'd thrown herself at John?

Because she wouldn't have cared then, Jane sternly informed herself as she undressed and put on Lizzie's nightgown. Last night she'd believed John cared about her. This morning she'd been convinced of it. Now she understood that he'd only pretended to court her so she wouldn't be nervous around genuine suitors.

He'd coupled with her because she'd begged him to. And perhaps because his body hankered for hers in a way his heart never would. It had been a mistake; he'd admitted as much to his sister. No matter how dire the consequences, Jane could never look back on the one night of her life when she'd felt beautiful and powerful and cherished, and think it a mistake.

Turning out the lamp, she lay down on yet another strange bed and pined for the delicious resting place where she'd slept so peacefully the night before. Now she discovered the meaning of the old saying, “No rest for the wicked.”

Ever since she'd overheard John and Ruth, Jane had forced herself to keep moving, keep talking. First to Caleb, then to Abby, then to Lizzie. Troubling thoughts had prowled around the edges of her consciousness, ready to pounce whenever she stopped or fell silent. Now, in the quiet of William and Lizzie Kincaid's spare room, they moved in for the kill.

In the first agonies of hurt and betrayal, Jane had wanted to get as far away from the Kincaid ranch as Caleb's money would take her. That wasn't very practical, though. She certainly couldn't return to Boston, and she didn't have friends anywhere else. Though she'd been fortunate to fall among kind strangers when she'd arrived penniless in Whitehorn, Jane knew better than to suppose she might be so lucky in another town.

Besides, she
liked
Whitehorn. The place was small enough for a person to get to know everyone. From what she'd heard or guessed, most folks here were refugees of some kind from farther east. Whether fleeing poverty, social disgrace or just plain boredom, they'd washed up in the lee of the Crazy Mountains, just like she had. They'd forged new lives for themselves, just like she wanted to. Damned if she would let John Whitefeather take that away from her, the way he'd taken her fragile trust and dreams!

Staying in Whitehorn, with the brother of his brother-in-law, meant she'd have to face him sooner or later. Jane's reasonable self hoped it would be later. She needed time for the caustic offense of his actions to corrode her lingering fascination with him.

Some pathetic part of her longed to accept John on any terms, whether he loved her or not. However, her budding sense of confidence and self-worth refused to settle for less than his heavily defended heart.

 

John's head ached worse than his heart. So perhaps the sleepless night he'd spent
had
been worth something.

“Here.” Ruth slammed a bowl of oatmeal onto the kitchen table between her brother and his lifesaving cup of coffee. “Make yourself useful by feeding Barton while I see to breakfast.”

She'd made no secret of her opinion that he was to blame for Jane's leaving. He couldn't convince her that Jane had been a more-than-willing partner in their lovemaking. John found it hard to believe himself, come to that. So much so that he'd begun to question the trustworthiness of his memory.

Had Jane invited him to do
everything
he'd done? Had his attentions pleased her? He'd been so certain at the time. Now he wondered if he'd only seen and heard what he'd wanted to be true. Absolving him from ultimate disgrace in his own eyes and the eyes of his people.

“Here you go, little dogie.” John tried to distract himself from that impossibly disturbing thought by loading the spoon with oatmeal and aiming it at Barton's mouth. “Chuck wagon's coming.”

Barton banged on the tray of his high chair. “Na-na-na-
Na!
”

Did his nephew also blame him for Jane's unexplained disappearance?

“Sorry, you have to settle for Unka today, Thundercloud.”

Barton pursed his lips and blew out a hail of soggy oats. “Na-
Na!
”

“Stubborn little cuss,” John muttered, wiping his face. “You must take after the Kincaids.”

Like a good herd dog responding to a cowboy's whistle, Caleb pushed open the kitchen door and strode in to breakfast.

Pouring himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the back of the stove, he announced, “I don't give a hang what the other stockmen are doing. I want to round up my cattle early, before they lose any more meat on account of this drought. We'll get organized today and ride at first light tomorrow morning.”

John had thought nothing could make his headache worse. Then along came Caleb to prove him wrong.

“The drought could break soon,” he protested. “Got a few likely looking clouds up there today.”

“The other stockmen are pinning their hopes on the drought breaking, but I say after this long a dry spell one storm'll barely wet the ground.”

Caleb tucked into a plate of steak and eggs, almost before Ruth got it properly set down in front of him. “More likely a lightning strike will start a range fire and then what'll we have? One great big barbecue.”

“You know we don't have enough hands for a roundup,” John warned his brother-in-law. And boss.

Ordinarily, in the fall, the ranches in an area would send their cowboys out to round up all the cattle and drive them to a central point. Once there, they'd sort them out by brand and cull the stock to be shipped East for slaughter. If the other ranchers hereabouts were content to leave their cattle out on the range, it'd mean the Kincaid cowboys would have to check the brand on every blessed cow they came across and only collect their own.

Caleb shrugged. “Then it'll just take us a little longer, is all.”

“What's the harm in waiting a week to see what happens?” John offered Barton another bite of porridge. This time the little fellow grabbed the spoon away from him and sent oatmeal flying in all directions.

“I'm tired of playing wait and see.” Caleb's tone brooked no opposition. With his fork, he pushed aside a gob of Barton's porridge that had landed beside his eggs. “Every day the cattle are losing flesh, or at least not gaining. More get sick and die. I want to bring them in where we can water them and feed them up and have good stock to send East when everybody else's are barely fit food for the buzzards.
It's thinking ahead like this and being willing to risk what the rest are too timid to try that's made my ranch what it is today.”

John glanced at Ruth. They both knew it was useless trying to dissuade Caleb Kincaid from a course of action he'd decided on.

“If you're set on doing this, I'll go into town and see if I can hire us some extra hands for the roundup.”

“Tarnation!” Caleb slammed down his coffee mug. “That's what this is all about. You want to hang around Whitehorn on account of Jane Harris.”

“Abby wouldn't tell me where she was staying. I have to talk to her.” Did he sound as anxious as he felt? John wondered.

“If you've got a lick of sense, you'll leave her be and put her clean out of your mind. That gal's been nothing but trouble since the day she landed here.”

Stroking a rogue lock of hair off her husband's brow, Ruth asked softly, “Like you put me out of
your
mind all those years ago?”

Caleb tried to scowl, but couldn't quite manage it. “Oh, all right! Go see if you can hire any extra hands in Whitehorn. I've got a half-dollar says you can't scare up a single one. Check with Cookie and see if there's anything he needs from the mercantile for his chuck wagon. And if you've got any
other
business in town, get it seen to and make sure you're here and ready to ride come sunup.”

John was on his feet and out the kitchen door almost before Caleb finished speaking. He drove into Whitehorn, hired one warm body that could sit a horse, and went to fill Cookie's order at Dillard's Mercantile. He was just loading his purchases onto the wagon when he caught sight of Abby riding up Main Street.

When he hailed her, she pulled up beside him.

“I haven't got time for a lot of foolishness, Abby. Caleb's going to have us hit the range tomorrow to round up his stock. Don't know how long I might be gone. I
have
to talk to Jane before I leave. Now will you please tell me where I can find her?”

“I just spoke to her and she told me the same as you did, last night.” Abby still didn't seem anxious to betray Jane's whereabouts. “Said she couldn't hide from you in Whitehorn for more than five minutes if you had a mind to track her down. She's over at Will and Lizzie's place. She's going to look after Lizzie and help her with the baby when it comes.”

When John vaulted onto the seat of the wagon and grabbed the reins, Abby warned him, “You go easy on her, you hear? I know there's more to this than just Jane needing a new job. Somebody's hurt her, and the way you've been carrying on, well…”

He wanted to assure Abby that he hadn't done anything to hurt Jane and he never would, but his own doubts wouldn't let him. “I just want to
talk
to her, and I don't have much time.”

Abby didn't hold him up with any more chatter, but her green eyes glittered a warning, hard as emeralds.

Fortunately, Abby's sister-in-law proved a good deal more sympathetic when John showed up on her doorstep.

“Jane's out back watering my garden.” Lizzie ushered him inside. “This dry summer has been so hard on the flowers. I could fetch her in so the two of you could talk in the parlor, but the garden's so much more romant—I mean, more private.”

In spite of all the conflicting emotions raging inside him, John could hardly resist smiling. This little porcelain princess was the last woman he'd have expected a cool-headed banker like Will Kincaid to take for a wife. Come to that, a
plain, no-nonsense schoolmarm like Kate Elliott had been a surprising choice for a black sheep gambler like Will's cousin, James. It had been the making of him, though, just as Will's marriage had turned him more friendly and approachable.

Was it possible, John wondered, that the sharp contrasts between him and Jane
didn't
spell disaster for a future together?

“Thank you, ma'am. The garden'll do fine.”

Toying with the brim of his hat as he walked, John followed Lizzie Kincaid through the house. He couldn't help noticing what a fine job she'd done fixing up the old Tanner place. Wood, brass and glass gleamed. Each piece of furniture looked at home with the others. Rugs, mirrors, pictures and cushions provided just enough decoration to brighten the place and make it welcoming.

Like a heavy hoof in the belly, John realized
this
was the kind of home that suited Jane. The kind of home she deserved. The kind of home he could never hope to give her.

“Right that way.” Lizzie pointed to a screen door, through which John could see the garden. “I'd love to keep Jane here with me, but I don't believe her heart's in it. I have no idea what's between the two of you, but take my advice and tell her exactly how you feel.”