Only Mine

3

The silence between Wolfe and Jessica wasn’t broken until afternoon, when a young, rather pregnant woman got on board. Her single trunk had been lashed awkwardly to the boot, for Jessica’s trunks took up much of the top, even though Wolfe had decreed that only three would come on the stage with them. The rest had been put aboard a freight wagon destined for Denver.

«Thank you, sir,» said the young woman, as Wolfe handed her into the stagecoach. «I’m afraid I’m more clumsy each day.»

«It’s a difficult time,» Wolfe said, subtly eyeing the girl’s waistline. In the stagecoach’s dim interior light, she looked at least six months pregnant. «Are you traveling alone?»

The kindness in Wolfe’s voice made the girl smile shyly at her hands. «Yes, sir. I couldn’t bear being away from my husband any longer. My aunt and uncle wanted me to stay in Ohio until the baby was born, but I just couldn’t wait. My husband is stationed at Bent’s Fort, you see.»

«Then you have an even longer trip than we do. We’re going only as far as Denver.»

The girl sat down thankfully and smoothed her hands over her dress. The costume was as expensive as Jessica’s, and considerably less mussed. The girl looked barely seventeen. She was plainly uneasy at the prospect of the stage ride.

«I’ll sit up with the driver,» Wolfe said. «It will be more comfortable for you.»

«Oh, no, sir,» she said quickly, looking no higher than his chest. «It’s too raw out there for man or beast. Besides, it’s the wilderness that makes me nervous, not you. There are rumors of Indians.» She shuddered. «The thought of those murderous heathens being anywhere near me just gives me the shivers.»

Wolfe concealed his amusement.

«Not all Indians are murderous,» Jessica said. «Some are quite hospitable. I’ve spent time in their camps.»

«You were a hostage?» the girl asked, horrified and fascinated at the same time.

«Hardly. Lord Robert Stewart was a friend of the Cheyenne. We were guests.»

«I’d sooner befriend the Devil as a redskin, and that’s a fact. You can’t trust them.» She smoothed her dress again and changed the subject with transparent determination. «That’s a lovely dress, ma’am. Is it French?»

«Yes. My guardian preferred English styles, but I like the simplicity of the new French fashions.»

The girl looked quickly at Wolfe, wondering if he was the guardian in question.

«My husband,» Jessica added, stressing the word lightly, «prefers no style at all. Isn’t that correct, Mr.Lonetree?»

«There’s little use for silks and foolishness in the West, Lady Jessica.»

«Lady?» said the girl quickly. «Then you’re English?»

Jessica bit back the temptation to correct the girl. «Close enough.»

«A true titled lady?» the girl persisted.

«Not here,» Jessica said. «Here I am Mrs.Lonetree.»

«I’m Mrs. O’Conner.» The girl hesitated. «Lonetreeis an unusual name.»

«The true name is Tree That Stands Alone, butLonetree is easier for most people,» Wolfe said.

«It sounds Indian.»

«It is.»

The girl’s face paled. She stared at Wolfe, noticing for the first time the man beneath the expensive city clothes.

«Dear Lord, you’re a redskin!»

«Sometimes,» he agreed. «Sometimes I’m an over-civilized citizen of the British Empire. Most of the time I’m just a Western man.»

The young Mrs. O’Conner made a low, unhappy sound and began twisting her handkerchief between trembling fingers. She looked everywhere in the coach but at Wolfe.

Wolfe sighed, settled his hat more firmly on his head, and reached for the door of the bouncing coach. When the door was opened wide, he braced himself in the doorway and reached for the luggage railing that ran around the top of the coach.

«Wolfe, what on earth…?» Jessica asked.

«Mrs. O’Conner will feel easier if I’m not inside with the civilized folks.»

With that, Wolfe swung himself up onto the top of the stagecoach with feline grace and moved forward to sit next to the startled driver. The coach door banged shut.

«You’re acting like a complete ninny hammer,» Jessica said, eyeing the young woman coolly. «My Wolfe is more a gentleman than anyone I’ve met in America.»

«My family was murdered by redskins when I was twelve. I was hiding, but I saw what they did to Mother and Sissy, and Mother was seven months along.» The girl’s hands smoothed over the swell of her own pregnancy. «That poor little babe died before he ever lived. Savages. Murdering savages. I hope the Army sends them all back to the devil that spawned them.»

Jessica closed her eyes as nightmares turned and coiled just beyond the reach of memory. She, too, had seen babies born dead. There was a horror in those tiny, still bodies that words couldn’t describe.

Shivering, Jessica pulled her heavy travel cloak more tightly around her body. Wishing she could curl up against Wolfe’s warmth, she did the next best thing. She curled up against the small leather travel bag Wolfe kept inside the coach with the rifle case.

Numbing miles went by. Jessica made no effort to speak to Mrs. O’Conner again. The loathing and fear in the girl’s voice when she spoke of Indians were not subject to reason any more than the aristocrats who spoke of «the viscount’s savage» were amenable to seeing past Wolfe’s Cheyenne mother andbastardy to the man beneath.

Finally, Jessica slept, only to be brought awake by the sound of shots and a high scream of terror from Mrs. O’Conner.

«Indians!» the girl screamed, crossing herself frantically. «Jesus and Mary, save me!»

Jessica bolted upright and yanked open the side curtain while the young Mrs. O’Conner’s screams pierced the interior of the coach. At first Jessica could see nothing but the flat landscape. Then she realized the terrain wasn’t as flat as it seemed. The land was folded gently, providing shelter for men and animals. It also provided ambush sites for unwary travelers. Apparently, a band of Indians had waited in one of those folds for the stage to approach.

«Dear God,» Jessica breathed as she heard rifle fire booming from the low hills.

Wolfe was on top of the stagecoach, exposed to every shot. He could use the driver’s shotgun, but there was no accuracy with such a weapon. It was intended to deter hold-ups, not an Indian attack.

The driver’s whip cracked repeatedly as he yelled at the team, demanding every bit of speed from the big horses. The coach bucked and swayed wildly each time it hit a rough spot on the road, and there were many spots. Jessica braced herself as best she could and stared out the window.

The Indians were a bit ahead and considerably to the left of the coach. They were too far away for accurate shooting. Granted, they were racing closer with every moment, and firing as they came. Even so, Jessica had hunted enough game to realize that the trap — if indeed it was a trap — had been sprung too soon.

Mrs. O’Conner’s screams rose to the point of pain as she began to claw frantically at the door, as though she believed safety lay outside the coach rather than within. When Jessica grabbed the girl’s hands and dragged them away from the door, Mrs. O’Conner turned on her like a wildcat. Jessica’s palm smacked against the girl’s cheek with a force that cut through her hysteria. Abruptly her screams gave way to sobbing. She sank to the floor and hid her face in her hands.

In the silence, Jessica suddenly heard Wolfe’s rough voice and his fist pounding on the outside of the stage. Apparently, he had been trying to make himself heard over the screaming for long enough to lose his temper.

«Jessica, stop that damned screaming and hand me the rifle case!»

The frightened Mrs. O’Conner heard only a harsh male voice demanding something unknown.

«What?» she screamed, her voice so shrill it was almost unrecognizable.

«The case on the floor!» Wolfe yelled fiercely. «Pass it up to me!»

Jessica had already grabbed the presentation case and was shoving it through the window opening. Before she finished, the case was yanked from her hands. It leaped upward as though it had wings and vanished from sight. Bracing herself against the wild swaying of the coach, Jessica looked out the window. The Indians had disappeared behind a fold in the land.

Suddenly a horse burst up over a nearby rise, running flat out. A rider was bent low over the horse’s neck, urging the lathered animal on. The rider was white, not Indian.

A ragged line of pursuing Indians thundered up over the rise several hundred yards behind the man. They fired sporadically, trying to bring down the fleeing rider.

On top of the stage, Wolfe braced himself and sighted down the gleaming barrel. The Indians were more than a thousand feet away and the stage swayed unpredictably. Real accuracy shouldn’t have been possible under those conditions, even for someone with Wolfe’s uncanny rifle skills.

Wolfe began shooting methodically, picking targets, squeezing the trigger, levering in another cartridge, shifting the barrel to a new target, squeezing the trigger again, ignoring the return fire despite his vulnerable position atop the stage. The man fleeing the Indians was in much more immediate trouble than Wolfe was.

The horse’s pace fell off a few hundred yards from the stage. All that prevented the Indians from closing in for the kill was the withering fire Wolfe poured down on them from his swaying perch.

Praying through clenched teeth, her hands curled into fists, Jessica watched the man rein his horse into a long, shallow curve that brought him up to the stage. When the man was alongside, she kicked the door open and dragged Mrs. O’Conner out of the way.

The rider stood in the stirrups, grabbed the luggage railing with his right hand, and swung himself into the stage through the open door. She realized suddenly that he was a big man, bigger even than Wolfe.

Jessica yanked the door shut behind the man. A bullet ricocheted off the iron rim of a wheel with an eerie whine.

«Obliged, ma’am,» the stranger said. «Might you know if the rifleman up top is getting low on cartridges?»

«Oh, Lord!» Jessica grabbed Wolfe’s travel bag and rummaged quickly inside. «He has some in here. They were one of our wedding presents, like the repeating rifles.»

«Sounds like my kind of wedding.»

Jessica looked up into a pair of tired, yet amused gray eyes. Wordlessly, she held out her hands. There was a full box of cartridges in each. Then her breath came in with a harsh sound as she saw the blood sliding out from beneath the cuff of the stranger’s jacket.

«You’re wounded!»

«I’ll live, thanks to you and your husband. I can’t shoot worth a damn right-handed and I’d run my horse into the ground trying to get free of those Indians.»

Reflexively, Jessica and the man ducked as bullets thudded against the stage. An arrow pierced one of the side curtains and buried its lethal point in the opposite side of the stage where Mrs. O’Conner huddled. The sight of the arrow set her to screaming again.

The stranger ignored the pregnant girl. He scooped both boxes of cartridges into one big hand and turned to a front window. His shrill whistle pierced the sound of screaming. He shoved his arm out the ruined curtain and held the boxes up as close to the roof of the stage as he could. The cartridges were taken from his hands instantly.

The stage lurched and staggered, slamming the man against his wounded arm. With a stifled curse he lowered himself to the seat, reached across his body awkwardly, and drew his six-shooter with his right hand.

Mrs. O’Conner kept screaming.

Jessica leaned past the broad-shouldered stranger and shook Mrs. O’Conner. When that had no effect, Jessica slapped her just hard enough to get her attention. The screams stopped as abruptly as they had begun.

«There, there,» Jessica said, hugging the terrified girl and stroking her disheveled hair. «Screaming doesn’t do a bit of good. It only makes your throat raw. We’ll be all right. There’s no finer rifleman alive than my husband.»

«I’ll second that,» the stranger said without looking away from the window. «He sat up there cool as a gentleman at a turkey shoot. And what he aimed at, he hit.»

Mrs. O’Conner cringed when Wolfe opened fire once more, but she didn’t scream again. She simply wrapped her arms protectively over her womb and trembled while the coach shook and bounced her around. Jessica smiled encouragingly before she turned back to the stranger.

«Let me help you, sir.»

«It’s been a long time since anyone called me sir,» he said, smiling oddly. «My name isRafe.»

«Mr.Rafe,» she began.

«JustRafe.»

He squeezed off a shot, then hissed through his teeth as the stagecoach lurched and banged against his wounded arm.

«Save your bullets,» Jessica said as she began undoing buttons onRafe’s jacket. «Wolfe has enough for a time. Let me see to your wound.»

«Wolfe? Is that your husband?»

She nodded.

«Lucky man.»

Startled, Jessica looked up.Rafe was watching her with clear gray eyes. There was appreciation in his glance, but nothing impolite. She smiled uncertainly and went back to work removingRafe’s jacket.

«Luck is a matter of opinion,» Jessica said. «Can you get your jacket off your right shoulder?»

Shots came from overhead. A few shots came in reply from the Indians, but they sounded distant.Rafe looked out the window, holstered his gun, and shrugged out of his heavy jacket. Jessica realized anew how big the man was. Were it not for the humor in his gray eyes, he would have been a rather fearsome presence.

«They’re still coming, but not for long,» Rafe said. «Your husband’s pure hell with that rifle. Besides, their horses can’t take much more. They ran me a good long ways before I cut the stage road.»

With his good arm, Rafe braced both Jessica and himself in the wildly jolting stage while she examined his wound. Her lips tightened as she saw the amount of blood covering his gray wool shirt. Saying nothing, she ripped more of the cloth away from the wound. After a better look atRafe’s muscular arm, she let out a sigh of relief.

«It’s not as bad as I feared,» Jessica said as she pulled up the hem of her dress. «The bullet missed the bone. You lost a chunk of skin and some muscle, but you have plenty of both to spare. Do you have a knife?»

Rafetook a long knife from a sheath at his belt and held it out to her, haft first. «Watch out. I shave with it.»

She grasped the knife carefully, glanced quickly at the golden-bronze stubble covering his face, and smiled an almost hidden smile. «Do you? When?»

He chuckled, then shook his head and said wistfully, «You remind me of my sister. She was a sassy little thing, too. At least, she used to be. I haven’t seen her in years. Too many of them. Wanderlust is as bad as gold fever for keeping a man away from his family.»

Jessica sliced off strips of petticoat with remarkable speed. The knife was indeed razor sharp. It made quick work of the fine, ice-blue silk petticoat whose color matched the wool of her dress. As she began bindingRafe’s arm, rifle fire broke out again.

Rafecocked his head, listening. No return fire came. «Sounds like they’re giving up.»

«Praise God,» Jessica said fervently. «Wolfe was so exposed up there.»

«You were hardly out of the line of fire, ma’am. The stagecoach isn’t thick enough to stop bullets at close range.»

«I hadn’t thought about that,» she admitted. «I was too worried about Wolfe.»

«Like I said, he’s a lucky man.»

«Maybe one day he’ll think so, too,» Jessica said under her breath. She ripped the trailing end of the silk down the middle and tied off the bandage. «There. That should help the bleeding. At the next stage stop, I’ll wash the wound with soap and clean water.»

«That isn’t necessary.»

«Yes, it is,» she said as she helpedRafe back into his jacket. «A man calledSemmelweis discovered that the horrible infections of childbed fever could be prevented if the doctor simply washed his hands before he treated each patient. If one infection can be prevented by washing, it stands to reason that others can, too.»

«Are you a nurse?» Rafe asked, easing his arm into the coat with her help. «You have very good hands, gentle and quick.»

Jessica smiled. «Thank you, but I have no formal training. My guardian raised me to be able to handle the common emergencies of a country estate — broken bones, fevers, gashes, and such. I’ve also had experience with pregnancy and childbirth.»

Enough to know that I want no part of either, Jessica added silently as she turned away to check on the girl, who was still huggingherself.IfI learned nothing else from my mother, I learned that.

«Are you all right, Mrs. O’Conner?» Jessica asked.

Numbly, the girl nodded.

«And the babe?» Jessica said bluntly, putting her hands inside the girl’s coat and pressing lightly against the womb. «Is it well, too?»

The girl stared, shaken out of her apathy by the gentle, unexpected explorations of the other woman’s hands.

«Is there any pain?» Jessica asked.

Mrs. O’Conner shook her head.

A soundless sigh of relief came from Jessica. The girl’s torso was supple and resilient rather than rigid with untimely contractions. Smiling reassuringly, Jessica arranged the girl’s coat snugly again and sat next to her on the bench seat, givingRafe the opposite seat all to himself.

«Tell me if that changes,» Jessica said.

The girl nodded, then smiled hesitantly. «Thank you, ma’am. I’m sorry if I insulted your husband. It’s just…» Her voice died and she crossed herself with a trembling hand. «I’m so frightened of Indians. Itsh — shames me.»

«Don’t worry yourself about it,» Jessica said. A feeling of sudden, overwhelming tiredness claimed her as the urgency of the moment passed, leaving her drained. «I understand nightmares and daytime fears better than most.»

The girl looked at Jessica’s hands, saw their trembling, and made a startled sound. «You’re afraid, too!»

«Of course I am. I’m not too stupid to know when I might be mauled or murdered. I’ve simply learned how to hide my fear.»

Jessica shoved her hands beneath her cloak, pulled the heavy folds tightly around her, and closed her eyes, fighting for control. It had been much easier when there had been something to do besides sit around like a chicken trussed for the spit.

Finally the sounds of gunfire faded, became sporadic, and stopped completely. The pace of the stagecoach didn’t slow. One of the jolts was so great that a rear wheel lifted completely off the ground, sending Jessica and Mrs. O’Conner tumbling across the narrow aisle intoRafe. Jessica’s head cracked against the side of the stage, stunning her for a moment.

Rafecaught Jessica with his right arm and braced her across his chest as the coach slammed back down onto all four wheels.

«I’m terribly sorry, sir,» Mrs. O’Conner said, flushing as she righted herself and sat across the aisle once more.

«No problem,» Rafe said. «Ma’am? Are you all right?»

Dazed, Jessica shook her head, trying to clear it. Sounds seemed to come at her from all sides, battering her, making it impossible to think or speak. Darkness spun around her, closer and closer.

Struggling despite the certainty that she couldn’t win, Jessica fought the dark tide that was closing over her. Her last thought before she went under was a sick certainty that this was how her mother had felt each time the earl had dragged her into the marriage bed despite her screams and flailing fists, forcing her to accept the seed that one day would tear her apart.

Mrs. O’Conner made a horrified sound and went to her knees in the narrow aisle in front of Jessica. «Mrs.Lonetree?»

Rafedidn’t bother calling to Jessica. He had felt her body go utterly slack. He cradled her cheek against his chest, covered her exposed ear with his hand, and whistled shrilly enough to shatter glass, demanding the attention of the men riding on top of the stage.

«Slow down!» Rafe yelled. «One of the women is hurt!»

The words sent a chill through Wolfe. He grabbed the railing and bent down until he could look through a torn curtain into the stagecoach’s interior. At first he could see nothing. Then Mrs. O’Conner moved aside and he saw Jessica cradled in the big rider’s arms.

The stage was still rolling when Wolfe swung down, ran alongside, and opened the door. With catlike quickness, he leaped into the stage’s interior.

«Is she shot?» Wolfe demanded, setting aside the rifle he had kept in hand.

«No,» Rafe said. «The stage hit a bump and sent her flying. She hit her head so hard that it stunned her.»

Wolfe grunted. «Well, that explains why the screaming stopped.»

Rafeshot him a surprised look, but Wolfe didn’t notice. He was too busy lifting Jessica from the stranger’s big lap and onto his own. Mrs. O’Conner drew back to the far corner of the seat to make room for him. Wolfe barely noticed the girl’s retreat. He was too busy controlling the irrational anger that had seized him when he saw Jessica in another man’s arms.

«That was some fancy maneuver you pulled, mister,» Wolfe said as he examined the slight bruise forming on Jessica’s temple. «Don’t know as I’ve ever seen a man get on a stage like that.»

«The name isRafe, and I wouldn’t have had a chance without your shooting and your wife’s quick thinking. If she hadn’t opened that door, I’d have had a hell of a time pulling myself up on top of the stage one-handed.»

«Thank Mrs. O’Conner. I’m afraid my wife was too gently raised to be of much use in a crisis,» Wolfe said curtly. He looked up at Mrs. O’Conner. «Allow me to thank you as well. If you hadn’t exposed yourself to fire long enough to pass up the rifle case, we all would have had a much worse time of it.»

«I…» The girl’s voice dried up as she looked at the fierce lines of Wolfe’s face, seeing the clear presence of the savage beneath. She looked away quickly. «I did nothing.»

Wolfe assumed the girl was simply being modest. He smiled at her and looked back down at Jessica. His smile faded. She appeared very small and fragile. Her face was bloodless. Even lips that were normally the color of ripe cherries had gone pale.

Now will you admit what I alwaysknew?Wolfedemanded silently of his unconsciouswife.You’renot the kind of woman who can survive the West, much less raise children in it. You’re a creature of lace and moonlight, an aristocrat who was never meant for hard use. You need a wealthy, titled husband who can wrap you in silk and satin and keep you from all harm.

I’m not that man. I never will be. I can no more change what I am than you can become a woman like Willow. 1 can only try to keep you alive until even your stubbornness has to give way before the truth.

We are all wrong for each other.

Silently, Wolfe held Jessica’s frail weight and cursed himself and her for the unholy tangle she had made of their lives; and beneath it all, he cursed the desire for her that gripped him even now, his body responding to the feel and scent of the girl he must not take, for then their marriage would be as real and final as death.

When Jessica’s eyes opened, the world swung dizzily around her, and the center of that world was a nightmare with dark eyes glowering fiercely down at her. With a stifled sound, she wrenched away. Wolfe’s hand came down hard across her mouth as he held her close. The ease with which he overcame her struggles would have panicked Jessica, had not her eyes finally focused enough for her to recognize Wolfe. Her struggles stilled instantly, for she knew Wolfe would never hurt her.

«Finished?» Wolfe asked.

Jessica nodded, for his hand gave her no way to speak.

«Good. We’ve heard quite enough of your screams of late.»

«She never screamed when I was around,» Rafe said evenly.

Wolfe gave the other man a look that would have frozen lightning.

Rafegave the look right back.

«She’s a good hand at bandages, too,» Rafe added, opening his jacket enough to reveal his arm.

For the first time, Wolfe realized thatRafe had been wounded. Then Wolfe noticed that the bandage was made from an ice-blue silk that was the exact shade of Jessica’s eyes, which at the moment were quite icy indeed. He lifted his hand from her mouth.

«Thank you, my lord,» Jessica said in a voice as cold as her eyes.

«I’m not a lord.»

«And I’m not a screamingninnyhammer.»

«Could have fooled me.»

«It is no great trick to fool a man who is deaf, dumb, and blind.»

Rafehid his laughter behind a cough. «How is your head, ma’am?»

«Still attached.» Jessica closed her eyes for a moment. «As is my tongue.»

She looked up at Wolfe and remembered all her vows to be sweet, gentle, witty, and companionable. A wave of fatigue swept over her like another dark sea. It was very lonely being married to a man who looked at her with such unforgiving eyes.

«I’m sorry,» Jessica said unhappily, her voice too low for anyone but Wolfe to hear. «I’ve done nothing but displease you. I wish we could go back to the days when you would run through a violent storm to find me. But we can’t, can we? I’m sorry for that, too.»

«We can end it, my Lady Jessica. Just say the word.»

«Never, my lord bastard,» she said softly, remembering the horror of having Lord Gore’s teeth and hands raking her naked flesh. «Never.»

Unable to bear Wolfe’s eyes any longer, Jessica looked away. She had no more energy to fight him or the pain slicing through her temples with each jerk of the stage. Darkness tugged at her, a darkness it took all her strength to hold at bay. Yet it wasn’t the blow to her head that drained her, it was the need to stave off the terrifying blackness of her unremembered dreams.

Somewhere deep inside her, a child screamed terror into the wind…and was answered by a greater terror, memories condensing where none had been before.

«Jessica?»

There was no answer.

At first Wolfe thought she had fainted again. Then he saw that her eyes were open, fixed on something only she could see.

Something terrible.

A chill touched Wolfe’s spine as he realized how deep Jessica’s fear must have been during the attack. Despite his vow to wear her down until she agreed to an annulment, he couldn’t help but ease her closer to his body, cradling her, protecting her because at that moment she was too defenseless to protect herself.

«Jessi,» Wolfe said very softly against her ear, «let me go. Don’t make me hurt you any more.»

Although he was certain she heard, she didn’t answer him in any way.

«Is that what you want?» he asked roughly. «No quarter asked and none given?»

Jessica neither moved nor spoke. It was as though nothing had been said between them.

«So be it,» Wolfe said, his voice bleak. «No quarter asked and none given.