Jessica’s stark question made Wolfe glance over at her.
«A woman.»
«I gathered as much.»
«A Western woman.»
«Just what does that mean?» Jessica asked tightly.
«A woman strong enough to fight beside her man if it comes to that, and soft enough to set him on fire when the fighting is over. That’s one hell of a woman.»
Jessica forced herself to keep talking, to find out more about the woman who could make Wolfe’s eyes and voice gentle when he spoke about her.
«Is that why you were so angry with me over our marriage?» Jessica asked in a strained voice. «Were you expecting to marry Willow instead?»
«Not likely. I’d have to take on Caleb Black to do that, and only a fool would take on Caleb Black,» Wolfe said dryly. «He’s an Old Testament kind of man. Not much forgiveness in him.»
«Who is Caleb Black?»
«Willow’s husband, and one of the best friends a man could have.»
Wolfe watched with interest the relief that Jessica couldn’t completely hide.
«I see,» Jessica said. She drew a deep breath before she asked the only question that really mattered to her. «Do you love Willow?»
«Be hard not to. She’s everything I ever wanted in a woman.»
Jessica felt herself going pale. Until that moment she hadn’t known how deeply she had been certain that Wolfe was hers, that he had been hers since he had plucked her from the haystack, that he would always be hers.
She had never expected Wolfe to love another woman. The pain of it was shocking. It took the world away, leaving only a blankness where each heartbeat shook her, making her dizzy.
The stagecoach lurched and bucked over a rough spot. The driver’s shouts and cracking whip vied with the rattling of the wheels to deafen the passengers. For once, Jessica was glad of the violent motion. It made further conversation unnecessary. She braced herself as best she could, closed her eyes, and wondered how she could hurt so much and show no visible wound.
Wolfe gave Jessica a hooded glance. He knew she was only pretending to sleep, for her body was too stiff and she shivered from time to time as though standing in a cold wind. She clearly didn’t have any more questions about Willow Black. It was equally clear that Jessica had no desire to hear any more on the subject of Western women.
With a rather grim smile, Wolfe tipped his hat forward over his eyes, braced his feet on the facing seat, and congratulated himself on finding a chink in the aristocratic armor surrounding Lady JessicaCharterisLonetree. He had been beginning to wonder if she had one. Her stubbornness had surprised him. He had expected her to give up and return to England long before now. She was accustomed to being waited on, to having endless rounds of teas and balls, to being protected and comforted by everyone within reach of her bewitching smile.
None of that had happened in America. Wolfe had deliberately left her alone. When that hadn’t affected her determination, he had made her go without servants, but that had been harder on him than on her. He would never forget the silky electricity of her hair clinging to him as he brushed it, or the elegant femininity of her back beneath fine lingerie as he buttoned each tiny button for her. Nor would he forget the stab of fear he had felt when he heard her scream, or the relieved laughter that had followed when he found her safe, though held prisoner by her braid.
A girl that helpless won’t last long outhere, Wolfeassured himselfsilently.TheWest requires a woman with staying power. A woman like Willow.
But it wasn’t Willow’s blond hair and hazel eyes that haunted Wolfe’s thoughts and his fitful sleep. It was a sensuous red-haired elf weeping crystal tears.
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.
