Then he went back into the house and proceeded to get roaring drunk. As the rotgut took effect, his rage turned to heartache, then to rage again. Every so often he would get up and look out the windows to see if he could see his wife. As he got more and more drunk, he thought he could finally understand the Indians’ drive for vengeance. The Cheyenne and Sioux he had traded with and become friends with had sometimes lived for revenge, died for it, going without rest until it was exacted. He understood that now. Drunk, he understood slowly—but he understood.
When Jeb came in from the range late that afternoon and demanded to know who had killed the horses and where the women were, Thomas wouldn’t explain. At gunpoint he insisted Jeb ride for Ft. Laramie to intercept Thomas’s men and turn them back for a week or so. Jeb, too, was to stay away. He tossed Jeb the gold he had gotten for the herd, caring about nothing but his privacy.
Jeb wasn’t going to argue with a drunken man, especially one with a gun in his hand. He had known Thomas Blair for nearly thirty years, and he never thought the women might be in danger alone with Thomas. So he left.
And Thomas waited, and drank more. At one point he remembered Kate and wondered where she had gone, but he didn’t give her much thought. He had never given the Indian girl much thought. She was the daughter of Old Frenchy and a Shoshone squaw, and Frenchy had asked Thomas to look out for her if anything happened to him. It did, and Thomas found the girl at the fort supply depot, whoring for the soldiers there. So he took her in, and it worked out fine, Kate being grateful for a home and Rachel needing the help Kate could give her.
Thomas didn’t think about Kate much, and never even saw all the longing, hopeful looks she turned his way. He had never paid attention to what was clearly in her eyes. His eyes had always been only for Rachel, even after all these years.
He waited and waited. Not in vain. She entered the house just as the sun was setting, and Thomas was on her before she could say a word. He hit her and hit her and wouldn’t stop, screaming at her, giving her no chance to answer the accusations he heaped on her along with each blow. And after a time she couldn’t answer anyway, for her tongue was lacerated and her jaw broken. Two fingers and her left wrist were broken from trying to block his fists. Her eyes were blurred and swelled quickly, and when she crumbled to the floor he began to use his feet on her. A rib broke before he stopped. She didn’t know why he stopped, but suddenly he did.
“Get out,” she heard after an agonizing silence. “If you live, I want never to lay eyes on you again. If you don’t, I’ll bury you decently. But get out now before I finish what I started.”
Jeb’s curiosity had gotten the best of him, and he returned to the ranch that night, something nagging at the back of his mind. He found Rachel just over the top of the north hill that formed the little valley. That was as far as she’d gotten before losing consciousness. Jeb didn’t learn until later what had happened to her and why. At the moment he knew only that if she didn’t get help she would die, and the nearest doctor was a good two days’ ride.
Chapter 1
1873, Wyoming Territory.
BLUE Parker saw her coming a mile away, trotting along on that big-boned Appaloosa she’d come home with last year. A mean-tempered horse if there ever was one. But then, Jessica Blair was pretty feisty, too. Oh, not always. Sometimes she was the sweetest lady, a kindhearted angel. She had a way of bringing out a man’s protective instincts, turning a man’s heart clear inside out.
Blue’s heart had been lost the very first time she’d smiled at him, flashing her lovely white teeth in a warm grin. Two years ago it’d been, the day he’d come to work for her father, signing on as an extra hand for the fall roundup. He’d stayed on after the roundup, and he’d come to know Jessie well, working alongside her. He’d come to love her—come to hate her at times, too, the times when she’d close up to him and everyone else. Or when she’d fight with her father and take it out on anyone close at hand. She could be cruel then, though Blue doubted it was ever intentional. Her bitterness sometimes made her lash out, that was all. Jessica Blair had not had an easy life. He sure wanted to make it easier for her, but when he’d gotten up the nerve to ask her hand in marriage, she’d thought he was joking.
She was drawing closer, and she spotted Blue and waved. He held his breath, hoping she would stop. He’d seen her so seldom lately. Ever since her father had died she’d stopped working on the range... until last week, when they had arrived. Blue had never seen her so mad. She’d stormed out of the house and nearly killed her horse riding him so hard.
Jessie stopped, leaning forward in the saddle, resting her arms on the horn. She gave Blue a half-grin. “Jeb spotted some mavericks by the creek south of here yesterday. How about giving me a hand with them, Blue?”
She knew what his answer would be, and as he nodded, his face lighting up with pleasure, her grin widened. She was feeling reckless today. She had passed several other hands but hadn’t asked them for help, wanting to find Blue instead.
Full of daring, she challenged, “I’ll race you there, and you’ll owe me a kiss if I win.”
“You’re on, gal!”
The creek was only a few miles away. Of course Jessie won. Even if Blue’s sorrel had been as good as Blackstar, Blue wouldn’t have let him win.
Jessie had given the race her all, letting out some of the tension coiled inside her in an ever-tightening knot. Winded, she dismounted and fell into the high grass along the creek bed, laughing. Blue was there a moment later to forfeit his kiss, a forfeit that couldn’t have made him gladder.
This is what Jessie had wanted all along, this and more she told herself rebelliously. Blue’s kissing was nice. But then, she’d known it would be because he’d kissed her once before, in the spring, and she’d liked it. It had been her first kiss. Other men wanted to kiss her, she knew that, but she was the boss’s daughter, and they were afraid of both her quick temper and his anger. So none of them dared. But Blue had dared. She hadn’t minded at all.
He was a fine-looking man, Blue Parker, with his golden hair and brown eyes, deeply expressive eyes that told her how much he liked her. Most men looked at her the way Blue did, even though her femininity was hidden beneath the male attire her father had insisted she wear.
Her father. Her mood plummeted with thoughts of him.
Just months ago she had been despondent over how alone she was in the world. Yet now she wasn’t alone anymore, and she hated that even worse. Whatever had possessed her father to write the letter that had brought them to the ranch? She had seen the letter, and she knew her father’s handwriting well enough. But why had he done it?
The inconceivability of Thomas Blair asking for help from the person he hated above all others! Hadn’t Jessie known that hatred for the last ten years? Hadn’t she learned to hate, too, because of his hating?
But her father had written that letter. And then he had died, and the letter had been delivered as his will directed. They had come then, and put an end to Jessie’s newfound freedom. And she couldn’t do anything about it, for her father had arranged it.
It was wholly unjust! Jessie didn’t need a guardian. After all, her father had made certain she could take care of herself. She had learned to hunt, to ride—to shoot better than most men! She knew all the aspects of ranching and could, in fact, run the ranch just as well as her father had run it.
Blue was sitting a little way off, knowing she needed to think. She was remembering the first eight years of her life, before her father took her out of boarding school and brought her to his ranch. He’d forced her to understand the truth about her mother, but she had still loved him even so. Perhaps she had never stopped loving him, even when she hated him. Hadn’t she grieved horribly when he died? Hadn’t she wanted to kill the man who shot him? But, still, there had been the realization that his death meant her freedom. It was not the way she had hoped to win it, but she had, nonetheless, the chance to be what she really was—not what Thomas Blair had made her into. Now freedom was being denied her again.