Jackson cringed as he surveyed the chaos and covertly studied the
girl. When he’d ridden up, his emotions had been exposed like raw
nerves, but he’d quickly shoved them into the corners of his mind,
where they belonged. His first glimpse of the girl had nearly done
him in.
What he’d expected hadn’t been what he’d found. He’d been searching
for her for a month, since his return from the Orient. His first discovery
was the burned-out village where he’d left her and Grandmother. With
mounting fear, he’d tracked her to a ranch, but learned she hadn’t
been there for six years. His gut had clenched when he discovered
that rancher had been using her as hired help. A mere child, for Christ’s
sake! He’d expected to find the same thing here, but found instead
a happy, beautiful child, well dressed and cared for by a woman she
called Mama. What in the hell was going on?
It was hard for him to keep from staring at her. She was a beauty.
More than that, she appeared to be sweet-tempered and compassionate.
He felt a rush of pride, followed by a surge of guilt that washed
every other feeling away.
Mumser raced past, breaking into his reverie, the cat not far behind.
Mumser was trained to know the "come" and "heel" commands, but at
this point, under these circumstances, Jackson wasn’t sure it made
any difference. Still, he had to try. He whistled a command, then
called his dog. Mumser ignored him, as Jackson knew he would.
With his hat in his hand, he crossed to where the woman continued
to fuss with the dirt around her posies.
When she first stepped onto the porch, he’d noticed her fire. White
women were always full of fire. Always had their backs up about one
thing or another. They never left a man in peace. But if Jackson thought
she showed her temper when the old coot spat tobacco on her flowers,
wait until she discovered why he was there. Then he’d see a damned
inferno, he had no doubt about that.
He hadn’t been drawn to a white woman in over ten years, for all
the reasons that had just run through his head. Give him a geisha
any day. Or, he thought, remembering painful years passed yet not
forgotten, an Indian maiden. There was something soothing about women
who knew how to please a man, and to his mind, white women hadn’t
quite gotten the hang of it.
And he was tired. Damned tired of getting paid to fight someone
else’s battles in dirty corners of the world. His years as a globe-trotting
freelance mercenary had finally caught up with him. He was ready to
retire and settle down. More than ready.
"You should really have a fence of some kind around those flowers,
ma’am."
The woman stood, her hands on her hips, and gave him an icy stare,
although her eyes were dark and hot. "Until today I didn’t have need
for one."
He cleared his throat. "The name’s Wolfe, ma’am. Jackson Wolfe."
He bit back another groan as the animals raced past.
"Cyclops!" The young girl continued to chase them, her braid, thick
as his fist, swinging from side to side.
"After all this," Jackson began somewhat hesitantly, "I…er…don’t
suppose you have a spare room, do you?"
Her mouth opened, then snapped shut. "After all this," she countered,
throwing her arms wide with a flourish, "you actually think I’ll rent
you…and your dog a room?"
"Well, I…er…just came from the jail, and Vern said you might have
a room available."
Her gaze was wary. "Vern Roberts?"
"Yes, ma’am. I’m acting sheriff until Vern gets back on his feet,
and I’ll need a room." This was where he wanted to stay. No other
place would do. He’d camp outside if he had to.
She turned away, but not before he saw her jaw clench. "As Burl said,
I don’t rent to people with pets."
"I noticed you had a shed out back. That’ll do."
She swung around to face him, her expression incredulous. "You want
to sleep in my shed?"
Nodding, he added, "I’ll pay you five dollars a week."
Her jaw dropped. "You’ll pay me five dollars a week to sleep in my
shed? My regular rooms don’t even cost that much."
The young girl nearly skidded to a stop beside them. "Mama, we have
two vacant rooms, and you said we needed—"
"Never mind what I said, Dawn. Has Mahalia looked after your skinned
knee yet? And what about your sums?" Her voice was stern but not scolding.
"But, Mama, you said we needed the money for—"
"Ma’am," Jackson interrupted. "I’ll be gone most days, all day. I’ll
take Mumser with me. Why, you won’t even know we’re here."
"Yes, Mama, we won’t even know they’re here."
The girl’s eyes held a familiar twinkle in their depths, and the
excitement he saw there weakened him. His gut clenched like a fist.
With her arms crossed over her chest, the woman continued to study
him. During the fracas, wispy threads of dark hair had come loose
from her heat bun and now blew gently over her forehead and cheeks.
The rest of her hair shimmered with deep burgundy highlights.
Her mouth was rich and full, her skin creamy. There was the suggestion
of a cleft in her chin, and a lushness about her that reminded him
of sultry Spanish nights. Warm wine. Willing women. His thoughts surprised
him, for this one, with her snapping dark eyes, was anything but willing.
Though her face was expressionless, those eyes told him she thought
that anyone who would spend five dollars a week to sleep in a shed
had ulterior motives.
If that was what she thought, she’d be right. He’d come for his
daughter, Dawn Twilight, and he wouldn’t leave without her.
