When they called him "Thaddeus" or "Thad" in a certain tone of voice, he knew he'd done something to rouse their anger.
When they called him "Tadpole" he knew they were pleased with him.
Coming from a tough, mysterious man like Cole, "Half-pint" sounded like a benediction.
They dismounted in front of the stable.
A tall thickset man with a thatch of white hair peered out from behind one of the stalls and eyed them warily.
"We'd like to leave the horses for an hour or two," Cole said, handing the man several coins.
"How much to feed and water them?"
"Half a dollar extra."
"Done."
Cole handed the man his money and stepped in side the darkened stable, studying each stall and horse carefully.
When he was satisfied with his inspection, Cole ambled from the stable and headed toward the saloon while Jessie and her brothers walked to the general store.
Over the door was a sign: Murphy's Mercantile.
"Morning, young lady."
A hard-eyed man in a soiled gray apron looked up from his ledger.
Seeing Danny and Thad he added, "Boys. What can I do for you today?"
"We'll be needing a few things."
Jessie eyed the sacks of flour and wished they had a pack mule.
"Sugar, flour, coffee, dried meat. Just enough to carry in our saddlebags."
Mr. Murphy seemed surprised.
"You don't have a wagon outside, miss?"
"No, sir."
She shot a glance at her brothers and said, "We're meeting the rest of our family in two or three days.
We just need enough to tide us over.
"You three riding alone?"
Something in the tone alerted her to danger.
Was it his eyes, where the smile never reached?
Or the way he had looked her over as she'd entered?
"No, sir."
Now that she had started, Jessie found the lie growing.
"My pa's younger brother is with us."
She swallowed.
"He just stepped into the saloon. He'll be here in a little while."
The shopkeeper nodded and began selecting the items Jessie'd ordered.
While he measured sugar and flour into smaller cloth sacks, Jessie mentally calculated her meager funds.
If only she hadn't been so frugal.
But she had taken only as much as she dared, leaving the rest of Pa's savings in the cookie fill in case she and Pa never returned.
That way, she'd reasoned, Thad and Danny would have enough, with the sale of the cattle, to return East and settle with relatives.
While Jessie and the shopkeeper dealt with her supplies, Danny and Thad wandered about the store.
Danny picked up a book about the use of herbs in healing and wished for the hundredth time that he was the son of a millionaire so that he could buy every book ever written about healing.
It wasn't fair, he thought, scanning the pages, that only the rich and the educated could share the knowledge.
He wanted so badly to know everything.
He walked to the open doorway and in a spill of sunlight began devouring the words.
There was so much he wanted to know.
Thad studied the jars of wild strawberry preserves and felt his mouth water.
Last year a stagecoach had delivered four jars of strawberry preserves from his aunt in Boston.
Pa had said that such things grew wild in the East, and that people could pick them right off the plants and eat them.
When they were cooked with sugar and water, they made the best tasting sweets a body had ever experienced.
For weeks after, they had strawberry preserves with biscuits, with fresh sweet cream, with just about everything Jessie could think of.
Moving on, Thad pressed his nose against the glass counter and studied the rock candy.
Pa had brought them rock candy once from town.
He could still recall the tart-sweet taste.
And now he was actually in town himself.
He had to have some of that candy.
He just had to.
When Cole entered the store, Jessie didn't look up.
She went on ordering her supplies, annoyed with the thoughts that kept interfering with her concentration.
Had Cole stood at the bar with other men, drinking his whiskey, staring at the half-dressed women who always seemed to work such places?
She had seen one of the women in the doorway, waiting to greet Cole as he entered.
She was plump, with heavy, sagging breasts barely covered by a filmy wrap.
Her hair was the color of red clay and had been held away from her face with two combs.
Beyond the door, Jessie had seen a second woman, younger, with long dark hair and a gown that displayed more than it covered.
Had there been time for Cole to go upstairs and pleasure himself with one of them?
Jessie knew what went on between a man and woman.
She'd grown up on a ranch with cattle and horses mating each season.
But from what she'd seen, it didn't look like much fun for the female.
She'd long ago decided that marriage wasn't for her.
Even now, recalling the feelings she'd experienced when Cole kissed her, she told herself that she'd been too confused to know what she felt.
But she knew one thing, one thing she couldn't deny.
She'd never felt anything quite like that before.
And she'd give a whole lot to feel like that again.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Cole cross the room and stand behind Danny.
"A book on medicine?"
At the sound of Cole's voice, Danny stiffened.
Without looking up, he nodded.
"Sort of. It's all about herbs that can heal."
"The Indians use herbs. A lot of white men think they're crazy. But I've seen the results. They really work. Maybe you can learn some of their tricks from that book."
Danny snapped the book shut.
Without looking at Cole he said, "We'll be back on the trail in a little while. And the book and the knowledge will still be here in Murphy's Mercantile."' He returned the book to the shelf and dug his hands into his back pockets. Through narrowed eyes, Cole watched the way the boy's.shoulders hunched. He seemed too young to be so intense.
At the tone of Jessie's voice, Cole turned to watch her deal with the owner.
"That's all," she said to the shopkeeper.
"Can I have some rock candy?"
Thad was already mentally picking out the pieces he wanted.
Mr. Murphy glanced at her, eager to please.
She shook her head and began counting out her money on the countertop.
"That'll be four dollars and fifty cents, miss."
Jessie bit her lip.
The sixteen dollars still left in her saddlebags wouldn't take them far.
"Take out the dried meat," she said softly.
They'd eat rabbit until they choked on it.
With a look of disdain, the shopkeeper returned the meat to a shelf.
"Three dollars even," Mr. Murphy said.
"And one rock candy. Please, Jessie."
Thad's voice held a pleading note to it.
"We can't, Tadpole."
She handed the bills to the shopkeeper and said politely, "Thank you."
"The candy's only a penny."
Seeing the pleading look in the boy's eyes, Mr. Murphy decided to press his advantage.
"Isn't it worth that much to see the lad happy?"
"No. Thank you."
Her tone held a note of finality.
"Give the boy what he wants," Cole said, striding forward.
Mr. Murphy's eyes crinkled into a smile.
"This the uncle traveling with you?"
Uncle?
Cole shot a questioning glance at Jessie, which the Shopkeeper instantly noted.
Jessie sw
allowed convulsively.
"Yes."
Turning to Cole, she refused to meet his eyes, staring instead at a spot somewhere beyond his shoulder.
"Pa gave the money to me before we left, Uncle Cole."
The shopkeeper coughed discreetly.
Jessie shifted her gaze until she was staring directly into Cole's eyes, daring him to argue.
"Pa said I wasn't to let you pay for a thing."
He bit back the grin that tugged at the corner of his lips.
She was so damnably independent he wanted to throttle her.
"It's only a penny, Jessie."
His tone was low, coaxing.
Her chin lifted fractionally.
He saw the little points of flame that came into her eyes.
It had become a matter of pride.
No."
She turned, completely shutting him out.
"Thank you, Mr. Murphy. That will be all."
With her head held high, she walked from the store with her precious supplies.
Behind her, Danny caught Thad's hand and forcibly led him away from the counter.
From inside the store, Cole watched as they trudged along the dusty trail toward the stable.
He felt an instant kinship with them.
They had chosen a long hard trail.
And a lonely one.
Cole made his purchases quickly and just as quickly strode toward the back side of the stable.
By the time Jessie and her brothers arrived, Cole had their horses saddled and was leading them out.
If Jessie was surprised at his sudden appearance, she said nothing.
Tying her supplies behind her saddle, she watched as Cole approached her brothers.
Cole had planned his leave-taking.
It would be swift.
And as painless as he could make it.
"So long, Half-pint," he said, lifting Thad onto his pony's back.
"Do as your' sister tells you."
"Yes, sir."
In the saddle, Thad was eye level with Cole.
"If she's tough with you, it's because she loves you. Don't you forget that."
"No, sir."
Cole turned to Danny, who was watching Cole as warily as he had since that first night they met.
Cole stuck out his hand.
"Thanks, Danny, for all you did."
The youth shrugged, not wanting to accept the handshake, but not knowing how to refuse.
"I just did a little doctoring."
"Your sister said you saved my life."
Reluctantly Danny accepted the handshake and for the first time met Cole's direct gaze.
He was startled by what he saw there.
He'd expected dark, simmering anger or at least mocking humor.
Instead he sensed respect.
The respect of one man for another.
Confused, he blurted, "I'd have done as much for anyone."
"That's all a man could ask."
As he dropped his hand, Danny stood a moment longer, measuring himself against this leanly muscled gunman.
How many years before he could match him?
Too many, he thought miserably, wishing he could be anything but young and gangly and awkward.
Though he still resented everything Cole stood for, Danny had to admit that this stranger had treated them fairly.
He hadn't tried to take their meager supplies or their horses.
He'd accepted their help when it was needed.
And he was man enough to thank them.
Yet Danny felt a sense of relief that they were parting company.
Cole's presence made him uneasy.
Jessie's reaction to the gunman worried him though he couldn't say why.
As Danny pulled himself into the saddle, Cole turned to Jessie.
She was dressed as always in a pair of her brother's castoff britches and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled to her elbows.
Her hair had been tucked up under an old wide-brimmed felt hat.
The top of her head barely reached his chin.
Yet there was nothing small or frail about her.
Her chin was lifted in that familiar air of defiance.
She stood with one hand on her hip, the other hand clutching the reins.
"Goodbye, Jessie," Cole said evenly.
The warmth of his smile was hidden behind a polite mask.
"It's been... interesting knowing you."
She felt the beginnings of a blush sweep across the base of her throat and spread upward to her cheeks.
She stuck out her hand.
"Goodbye, Cole. Thanks for saving my life."
He took her hand in his and felt the sexual pull as compelling, as insistent, as anything he'd ever felt in his life.
The warmth was instantly gone from his voice, from his face.
He said gruffly, "You did the same for me. Now we're even."
He released her hand quickly, jamming his hands into his back pockets to keep from touching her again.
She reached up to her bedroll and turned back to him.
"I'm returning the shirt you loaned me."
He accepted the freshly laundered shirt.
It smelled of creek water and evergreen, and he knew that he would always be reminded of her whenever he wore it.
As she turned to pull herself into the saddle, Cole touched her arm and said, "Jessie."
She reacted to his touch as if she'd been burned, wheeling toward him expectantly.
He cursed himself for his clumsiness.
Prolonging the agony was only making it worse.
"You really ought to take your brothers home. It's where you belong."
He hadn't meant to be so abrupt.
All he'd wanted to do was point out the obvious.
But now that the words were out, there was no way to recall them.
He saw the way her eyes darkened.
Twisting away, she pulled herself into the saddle.
She refused to meet his glance, looking instead toward the two boys on horseback.
"Let's go. We have a lot of miles to cover before making camp tonight."
Very deliberately Cole refused to watch as they made their way along the dusty trail past the stable toward the mercantile and the saloon.
Feeling a fresh wave of annoyance, he stuffed the shirt into his bedroll and strode back into the stable.
For several minutes he spoke with the big beefy man in charge, until he was satisfied that the one he was seeking had not been in Little Creek.
With a brusque word of thanks, he walked outside and pulled himself into the saddle.
He caught a glimpse of Jessie pausing beside the saloon.
The tall owner of the saloon had hold of her reins and was pointing.
Now why would she stop there?
If she'd needed directions, why hadn't she asked the stable owner before leaving?
Puzzled, Cole mopped at the sweat beneath his hat and pulled the hat low on his forehead in a gesture of finality.
Jessie Conway was not his responsibility.
What did it matter if she was talking to the oily man who owned the saloon?
Cole had seen his kind hundreds of times.
Soft hands.
Smooth voice.
A way with women.
They dealt in liquor and cards and men's lust.
They dealt women a line of pretty words and easy money.
And a life of pain.
He turned his mount in the opposite direction, refusing to look again at the little female who could make him angry with a single word or look.
Jessie Conway was a burr under his' saddle.
A burr he had just dislodged.
He dug in his heels and felt his horse break into a run as if the animal sensed his need to get away from this place.
Above the thunder of hoofbeats he heard a sound.
A cry?
A shout?
Or the shriek of a bird?
/> Pulling in the reins, he slowed his mount and turned in the saddle.
At that same moment, he heard the thunderous report of a rifle.
The unmistakable sound of a buffalo gun.
He jerked the reins, causing his mount to wheel in mid-stride.
A cold razor of fear sliced his heart before the adrenaline began pumping through his veins.
There was only one reason why Danny would fire that rifle.
He'd vowed that he would blow apart any man who threatened harm to his sister.
That had to mean Jessie was in trouble.
Again.
Jessie prided herself on her inner strength.
For one so young she had faced plenty of crises: her mother's death, her father's long absences on ranch chores and cattle drives, her isolation far from the company of others.
She had felt from her earliest years that her gender need not set her apart.
Though her pa expected her to care for her little brothers and keep house the way his wife had, he also expected her, as the oldest, to share all the ranch chores.
She branded cows, searched for strays and mended fence.
She worked alongside her father and brothers or her neighbors to the south without ever thinking of them as men.
And though she usually fell into bed too exhausted to even dream, she never complained.
Why then, she wondered as she followed along the dusty trail leading out of Little Creek, did she feel so strange, so disoriented, in the company of Cole Matthews?
He was just a man.
And not a very nice once.
But one word, one touch from that man, and she felt all weak and whimpery inside.
She wasn't sure what those feelings meant.
Was it just part of growing up?
If that was the case, she wanted no part of it.
It was too confusing.
Cole.
He had gone his own way.
And she had gone hers.
Cole liked to talk about choices.
They seemed to have few.
She had to find her pa.
And Cole had his own demons to chase.
She was thinking about Cole and about Pa, when the man from the saloon stepped into her path, startling her.
"That man who was with you," he said, reaching up to catch her mount's bridle.
"Kin?"
Her eyes narrowed.
Was Cole wanted for some crime here in Little Creek?
If so, she and her brothers wouldn't want to be connected with him.
She glanced at Murphy's Mercantile, just across the dusty road from the saloon.
She had made a foolish mistake.