“Oh, my, yes. We’ve lived through Indian raids, cholera, pestilence. We fought outlaws and survived some of the worst weather Texas had to offer.”
“Did you ever witness any of Hanging Tree’s famous… picnics?” Wade lifted the cup to his lips.
“Quite a few. I remember being surprised to see the festive atmosphere of the town’s first hanging. At first the people held back, reluctant to witness a man’s death by hanging, though most of us felt that anyone who killed or who rustled cattle deserved it. But after a while we started to see the picnics as an opportunity to come together with our neighbors. You see…” She seemed determined to explain the town’s actions, to justify their behavior. “Life here in the wilderness was hard. The only thing we knew was survival. There wasn’t time for anything frivolous. But the way folks here saw it, the hangings were necessary to rid the community of killers. So we began using the hangings as an excuse to get together.”
Wade paused before drinking. “Do you remember any particular hangings?”
Mrs. Purdy absently smoothed the blanket with her small, veined hand. “There’s nothing wrong with my mind, Reverend. I remember all of them. There isn’t much else to do on long winter nights but remember.”
“Do you remember a rancher named Jessie Simpson?”
The old woman stared at the blanket, her hand smoothing, smoothing, before she shook her head. “Can’t say as I recall.” She peered at her guest. “Why do you ask, Reverend?”
“No reason. I asked Yancy Winslow about him. He said he couldn’t recall the name, either. But he became quite agitated when we talked, and afterward he seemed concerned that his participation in the… town’s picnics might keep him out of heaven when his time comes.”
“Yancy was a bit of a hell-raiser in his youth, begging your pardon, Reverend.” The old woman folded her hands, as if in prayer. “Maybe he enjoyed the town’s picnics a bit too much and is afraid the Lord will close the Pearly Gates to him. But he’s getting on in years, and I wouldn’t put too much stock in his memory.”
In the silence that followed, Wade got to his feet. Coffee sloshed over the rim of his cup. He quickly drained it and set the cup on the table.
“I’ll leave you to rest now, Mrs. Purdy. I’ll stop by next week to see how you’re doing.”
“Bless you, Reverend.” She closed her eyes, weary from the effort of making conversation.
Jade trailed behind as the preacher walked with Martha to the door and spoke the words he hoped would give her comfort.
Once outside he slipped into the duster, mounted and pulled Jade up behind him. As her body was pressed to his, she felt the sudden knife-edge of excitement. If Wade felt it as well, he gave no indication. He rode in complete silence. As though he had turned inward. And was seeing in his mind all the things his elderly hostess had just described.
And why not? Jade reminded herself. After all, a preacher would be horrified by the thought of so much violence and bloodshed.
She shivered as she contemplated the harshness of this land that had claimed the life of her father. This land that she had decided to call her home. This land that was as much a mystery to her as the guardian angel who had saved her from a band of outlaws.
Chapter Six
“I don’t like the looks of that sky. Especially since we’re still miles from your ranch.”
At Wade’s words, Jade shivered. To the north, black clouds roiled and twisted across the heavens, turning day into night. Even as she watched, the clouds rolled closer, blotting out the last of the light. Jagged flashes of lightning rent the darkness, followed by deafening rumbles of thunder.
Within minutes the sky opened in a torrent of rain. Jade pressed her face to Wade’s shoulder, blinking against the downpour. He touched the hands clasped firmly around his waist. They were cold as ice. He had to find shelter. And soon.
With a sigh of resignation he wheeled his mount and headed in a different direction.
“Where are we going?” Jade’s lips, pressed to his neck, caused a rush of heat that left him shaken.
“There’s a deserted shack not far from here,” he called above the rising wind. “We’ll have to make a run for it.”
Jade hung on tightly as he nudged his horse into a gallop. A short time later they came to a stop. Through the curtain of rain she could make out the shape of a cabin.
Wade swung from the saddle and reached up for her. She slid gratefully into his arms until her feet touched the ground. Then she ran ahead of him through the pouring rain, while he followed more slowly, leading the horse.
Finding the door ajar, she pushed it open and stepped inside. A moment later Wade entered. For long minutes he stood in the doorway, allowing his gaze to adjust to the darkness. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he stared around the room, taking in the sagging table and broken chairs, the empty hearth. Seeing Jade shivering, he strode outside and returned a short time later, his arms piled high with tree branches. He knelt before an old stone fireplace and coaxed a thin flame. As soon as the fire was started, he left her alone.
By the light of the flickering flame Jade studied her surroundings. It was an old cabin made of logs. A small hole had been cut in each wall, presumably to watch for approaching predators. The walls seemed sturdy and the roof offered protection from the elements. There was no floor, only hard-packed earth, giving it a musty odor. It was littered with shards of pottery and pieces of broken furniture. Wild animals had gnawed their way through faded mattresses stuffed with corn husks. But despite the debris, the little cabin was snug and dry. And for the moment it offered shelter from the storm raging beyond its walls.
Thoroughly drenched, Jade moved close to the fireplace and hugged her arms about herself.
“You’re shivering.” Wade’s deep voice from the doorway had her whirling nervously to face him.
“I’ll be fine now that there’s a fire.”
“You need to get out of those wet things.”
She saw his gaze move slowly over her and she became acutely aware of how she must look. The wet silk gown was plastered to her like a second skin, revealing every line and curve of her body. Her damp hair fell like a black veil along her back.
Heat suffused her cheeks. Crossing her arms nervously in front of her, she eyed him as he approached, his saddlebags slung over his shoulder.
“I have a change of clothes in here.” He dropped the leather pouches on the remnants of a scarred table and began rummaging around until he produced spare pants and shirt. These weren’t the formal clothes of a preacher. Instead, they were the rough garb of the trail. He held out a faded plaid shirt. “I’m afraid this will have to do until your clothes dry.”
“Dry?” She stared at his offering. “You expect us to stay here long enough for our clothes to dry?”
“From the looks of that storm, we’ll probably be spending the night here.”
“I shouldn’t have to remind you, Reverend, what the people of Hanging Tree will make of this if they should hear. Especially if Lavinia Thurlong and Gladys Witherspoon get hold of such a scandal.”
He actually smiled at her. “If you’re worried about your good name, Miss Jewel, I can assure you I won’t tell a soul.”
“It wasn’t my reputation I was worried about, Reverend. It was yours. If the women of the town hear that you spent your night with me, they’ll run you out of town so quickly you won’t have time to pick up your things at Millie Potter’s place.”
The devil was back, playing havoc with his common sense. He decided to see just how far he could push this smug little female. Instead of replying he merely stripped off his wet shirt and draped it over a broken chair. When his hands went to the fasteners at his waist, she spun away. But not before he caught the slight flush that crept up her cheeks.
He gave a satisfied smile. So, it would seem the lady wasn’t as experienced with men as she pretended to be.
Jade heard the rustle of clothes, and the sound of his footsteps. And then his v
oice, warm with humor. “It’s safe to turn around now, Miss Jewel. I’m decent.”
She turned. Did he call this decent? She caught her breath when she saw that he was naked to the waist, wearing only tight-fitting black pants. Once more she found herself staring at the mat of fine, red-gold hair on his chest, the muscles of his arms and shoulders. She experienced the familiar dryness in her throat as her cheeks flamed. Why did this man have to have such an effect on her? She was certain her behavior would put her old tutor to shame.
She prayed her voice wouldn’t tremble. “If you will turn around, I’ll get free of this wet gown.”
“You’d have me turn around, Miss Jewel? I thought you would prefer that I watch. Isn’t that part of what will be offered at the Golden Dragon?” Seeing the way her mouth opened to protest, his smile grew. “Ah, well, if you insist.”
Damn the laughter in his eyes. He had her so rattled she could hardly remove her soaked kid boots. Her fingers fumbled several times with the fasteners of her gown before she managed to peel the wet silk from her body. When she slipped her arms into the sleeves of Wade’s rough shirt, she was grateful for the warmth. But it covered little, falling just to the tops of her thighs.
Crossing the room, she draped her gown over the back of the chair beside his clothes, then huddled near the fire, keeping her gaze averted.
Seeing her there, he took pity on her. She looked so small, so cold. So vulnerable.
“You can sit here.” He spread the saddle blanket on the floor in front of the fireplace. “The fire will warm you.”
“Thank you.” She sank down in front of the blaze and felt the heat begin to still the trembling in her limbs.
Wade returned to the table, where he removed a linen-clad parcel from his saddlebags.
“Thanks to Millie Potter, we won’t go hungry,” he said as he unwrapped a hunk of salt pork, several biscuits drizzled with honey, and a precious bundle of coffee beans.
From his saddlebag he retrieved a blackened pot, which he set outside in the rain. In no time it was filled with rainwater. He added the beans and placed it over the fire. Cutting the meat into small pieces, he threaded them onto sticks and thrust them into the flame. Soon the little cabin was filled with the rich aroma of coffee and the tempting fragrance of sizzling meat.
Taking a place beside Jade, he set down the biscuits, withdrew the sticks from the fire and handed one to her. “Sorry it’s such simple fare.”
She tasted, then smiled. “It isn’t simple at all. I don’t believe I’ve ever tasted anything so wonderful.”
They ate their fill of meat and biscuits, then shared a single cup of hot black coffee.
“Do you cook, Miss Jewel?” He leaned back on one elbow, drinking his fill before passing the cup to her. It was pleasant sitting here, snug and dry, sharing food and conversation with this fascinating woman. He studied her profile.
She sat cross-legged on the blanket, her back straight, her face turned to the fire. “Not very often. Carmelita and Cookie do all the cooking at the ranch. But sometimes, when I have a desire to taste the foods of my childhood, I sneak into the kitchen and make spiced chicken.”
“Where do you get the spices?”
“I brought a small packet with me from San Francisco.” She smiled suddenly and the whole cabin seemed brighter. “Did you know that you can buy anything in San Francisco?”
“Um-hmm.” He didn’t trust his voice. She had the most stunning face he’d ever seen. Small, perfect features. Exquisite almond eyes. Turned-up nose. Hair as black as a raven’s wing, long enough, thick enough for a man to get lost in. And then there were her lips. Full, sculpted lips just made for kissing.
“Have you been to San Francisco?” she asked.
He made a great show of accepting the cup from her hands and drinking before he responded casually, “Once or twice. Tell me about your home.”
Her smile was warmer now. This was a subject she would never tire of. “My father called the Golden Dragon a beautiful, exotic island in a sea of misery. As you can see,” she said with a shy smile, “he didn’t like San Francisco nearly as much as his beloved Texas.”
“If he felt that way, why did he continue to return to it?”
She smiled knowingly at Wade’s question. “It wasn’t the city that brought Onyx Jewel back. It was my mother. He tried to convince her to leave, to return to Texas with him. But, though he held her heart, she refused. She called the Golden Dragon her finest creation, next to me.”
Wade leaned back, enjoying the melodious voice with the formal inflection. She had a habit of lowering her lashes, as though carefully studying the floor, then unexpectedly focusing her gaze on him with an intensity that was blinding.
She broke into his thoughts. “How did you like San Francisco?”
“A beautiful city.” Almost to himself he said, “A man could lose himself there and never be found.” He pulled himself back from his dark thoughts. “You miss it very much, don’t you?”
She nodded.
“Then why do you stay here? Why not return to the city you love?”
“It was my father’s fondest wish that my mother and I would make our home here with him.”
“But he’s gone.” Wade passed the cup back to her and struggled to ignore the tingling as their fingers touched. “Why not return to the place that owns your heart?”
“This is my home now. With my father’s other daughters, I have found family. And even though my father is gone, I feel close to him here. I believe it pleases him to know I plan to stay.”
“Sounds like Onyx Jewel is directing your life from his grave.”
She merely smiled, touching a hand to the rope of gold around her neck. “Perhaps he is. Perhaps we are all ruled by the events of our childhood.”
She saw his eyes narrow slightly.
She offered him the cup, and when he took it, she smiled up into his eyes. “What about your childhood? Where did you grow up?”
There was no answering smile in his eyes. She was puzzled by what she saw there. Pain. Anger. And then a gradual withdrawal until there was nothing.
“I guess I’ve seen just about all the West,” he muttered as he drained the cup and set it aside.
“Is there no place you call home?”
“No place.” His tone was hard, the words clipped. “I’m like the tumbleweed. Wherever I land, that’s where I sink down roots until the next breeze catches me.”
“So you have no plans to remain in Hanging Tree? What about the people who have come to depend upon you?”
“They’re good people. I care about them.” He shrugged. His tone hardened. “But who knows how long it will be before the wind charts a new course for me?”
She didn’t know why she felt a wave of sudden annoyance. Perhaps it was his casual dismissal of the people who seemed so fond of him. Or perhaps it was a reminder of the feeling of abandonment she had experienced each time her own father left.
Standing, she began to prowl the tiny cabin, running a hand over the rickety table, pausing in a corner to touch a toe to the decaying mattresses. As she turned away, a glint of light caught her eye. Embedded in the ground was something shiny. She bent and retrieved it, wiping it on her sleeve as she straightened.
“What is it?” Wade asked.
She held it up to the fire, where it caught and reflected the firelight. “A comb. A lady’s silver comb. Would you like to see it?”
He stood and took the comb, then stared at it for long, silent moments.
“I wonder who lived here?” she mused aloud. “And why they left?” She began to circle once more, stopping to pick up several large pieces of crockery, fitting them together to see the dainty flowers that had been painstakingly painted on a large bowl. “It would appear that there was a family. A father, mother, children. They must have left suddenly.” She set the bowl on the table.
Wade watched as, one by one, the pieces fell away until the bowl was once more just a series of shards. “Are
you telling me that you know all that by piecing together an old bowl?”
She shook her head. “Look at the beds, or what’s left of them. A larger one for the parents, smaller ones for the children.” She ran her hand over the rickety furniture. “The table and chairs were planed until there were no rough edges.” She looked up, meeting his gaze. “That means the husband put a great deal of love and care into his work. And the dishes. Hand painted by someone who treasured them. But when the family left here, they left without their most prized possessions.” She walked closer, until she was directly in front of him. Lifting a finger, she touched the object he still held in his hand. “A silver comb is far too expensive a treasure to be left behind. Unless the move was very sudden.”
“You have quite an impressive talent, Miss Jewel. Do you often see the past?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes. When the spirits are unsettled. You can feel them here, all around us.”
He surprised her by lifting the comb to her hair. Though her eyes widened, she didn’t back away. Instead, she stood very still while he ran the comb slowly through her silken strands. It was the most purely sensual touch she’d ever experienced. Tremors rocked her and she had to struggle to remain motionless.
When she looked into his eyes, she thought she saw a spark, as if he, too, had felt it.
His voice when he finally spoke was low, rough. “Can you read the future as easily?”
“At times.”
He put down the comb, and she saw his eyes narrow fractionally. “Can you tell if I’m going to kiss you?”
His words caught her by surprise.
“No.” She started to back away.
Before she had time to think, his hands closed over her shoulders, holding her still. “And what if you’re wrong?” he muttered.
Her eyes widened with surprise. Her mouth opened to protest. And then, as his mouth lowered to hers, the protest died on her lips.
The truth was, she wanted him to kiss her. Despite all her training, all the lectures she’d been given about holding herself aloof, she felt a quickening of her pulse at the thought of enjoying something forbidden.