Lady Lavender (13 page)

He made it slow and languorous, and he made it last and last until Jeanne thought she could not stifle the cries that rose within her. When she started to come to her release Wash caught her mouth under his and rode with her until her spasms subsided and his own release began.

W
ash glanced sideways at Rooney when he entered the dining room, gestured at the coffeepot on the cherrywood sideboard, and then sat in the empty seat beside his friend. Rooney filled a coffee cup for him, then refilled his own. Wash inhaled the fragrant steam. Hot and black, just the way he liked it.

He sniffed the air appreciatively. Bacon…and scrambled eggs! He felt like he hadn't eaten in a week. He spooned a double helping of eggs from the china platter onto his plate and lifted his fork.

Rooney eyed the mound of food on his plate. “Get a good night's sleep, didja?”

Wash chuckled. “You sly old fox, you want me to lie to you?”

“Okay by me, as long as it's imaginative.”

Wash chuckled. “Shut up and let me eat my breakfast.”

“Sure thing, Wash.” Rooney ducked his head over his coffee cup. “Musta' been some night,” he muttered.

Wash munched up a crisp slice of bacon and swallowed it. “Why do you say that?” he asked as blandly as he could manage.

“Cuz you just poured maple syrup all over yer eggs.”

Wash stared at the gooey mess he'd made. “Tastes great, Rooney. Ought to try it sometime.”

Rooney choked on a mouthful of coffee and spent the next ten minutes in silence, watching Wash eat. “Sure are hungry,” he said when his partner loaded up his plate again. He waited expectantly for a reply.

“Thought you'd never notice,” Wash quipped. He liked sparring with Rooney; it kept him on his toes.

“Huh! Thought you'd never get yer appetite back. Jeanne told me about yer picnic yesterday. Said you ate two itty-bitty cheese pancakes and went right back to work.”

Wash downed the last forkful of scrambled eggs. “Rooney?”

“Yeah, Wash?”

“Mind your own business.” He tossed his napkin onto the table and strode out onto the front porch.

“Well, hell,” Rooney said under his breath. “You
are
my business. You and Jeanne. And Manette.” He heard the screen door slam and knew Wash was off to the stable.

“I'll be out at the site all day,” Wash called over his shoulder. “Take care of Jeanne.”

On the ride out to Green Valley Wash let his gaze
roam. The cloudless, robin's-egg-blue sky overhead hinted at another scorching day. Finches twittered among the maple trees, which were just beginning to turn gold. Lord, he loved this country!

He'd left Jeanne at the first flush of peach light through the bedroom window, but he was still going to be late. By the time he got to the site, Sam would have most of the valley covered in railroad ties. He half wished the quick, industrious little men would slow down a little; the minute they got the track up the incline at the far end of the valley…

He couldn't finish the thought. He couldn't let himself think about that now; there was too much to be accomplished, and then…

Then it would be time to move on.

Couldn't think about that, either. He dismounted, turned General over to the eager Chinese boy who scampered out of the bunkhouse and clenched his jaw. Rooney said he was burying himself in his work for the Oregon Central, and might be that was true. Sometimes he wondered if he was letting this railroad job eat up his life.

What life? He had no life outside of the railroad; he'd wanted it that way for years.

 

Jeanne woke to sunshine streaming in the window. Wash was gone—the side of the bed where he had lain was cold. He must have left her hours ago.

Tentatively she stretched her legs, then raised her knees and winced at the tenderness between her thighs.
Did men get sore from…? Probably not. Most men had more of such athletic practice than women.

On the other hand, Wash was not like “most men.” Wash was Wash. He had loved her thoroughly last night and then absented himself before she woke. She would not complain about it. She would not even question him about their on-again, off-again relationship.

Except for the occasional delicious night of sensuous indulgence, chances were she would never know how things really stood between them. Wash was afraid of commitment.

Would you want him to change?
She thought that over while she dragged her body off the bed and drew on her clothes. No, she did not want him to change. She wanted him as he was. He was like a wounded animal who needed to run free until he realized he didn't need to run any longer.

Jeanne bent over Manette, still asleep on the other bed, and noticed the blue shirt she wore as a nightgown was soaking wet. Her fever had broken during the night! She laid her palm on her daughter's forehead. Cool, but a bit sticky. She would sponge her off with fresh water when she woke up.

A tap on the door and then Dr. Graham's voice announced, “Let me examine your daughter, Mrs. Nicolet. You go on down to breakfast.”

“But I—”

“Mrs. Nicolet, you need to eat.” Gently but firmly the tall, silver-haired physician ushered her out into the hallway.

The dining table was empty except for Rooney, who sat hunched over a cup of coffee.

“May I join you?”

“Oh, sure, Jeanne. Sure. Not much left after Wash finished, though.”

“
Bon.
I have not much appetite.”

Rooney sent her a quick, sly look. “Any partic'lar reason?”

“No.”

His grin faded. “Oh.”

Jeanne concentrated on the coffee Rooney poured into her china cup. “Yes,” she amended. “There is a reason.”

“Are you all right, Jeanne? You don't seem too sure this mornin'.”

She bent her head. “Oh, Rooney, I don't know.” She drew in a slow, shaky breath. “I don't know if I am happy or sad.”

Rooney nodded. “How's Little Miss?”

“Better, I think. Her fever broke last night. Dr. Graham is with her now.”

“She wake up yet?”

Jeanne shook her head. “Not yet. And her arm—”

“Bruised black 'n blue, I'd guess.”

“And yellow and purple! It looks terrible.”

“That'll pass. Point this mornin' is to keep Big Miss goin'. So eat up, now.”

Sarah bustled in from the kitchen with a plate piled high with toast. “Shall I scramble a couple of eggs for you, dearie?”

Jeanne looked up at the older woman and tried to
smile. Tears stung into her eyes. “You are very kind, but—”

Sarah shot a look at Rooney, who was just reaching for a slice of toast. “Maybe that's because a certain older gentleman is mighty fond of your daughter.”

Rooney paused with his hand over the jam jar. “Now, Sarah…”

“Might also be a younger gentleman who's fond of—”

“Sarah!” Rooney interrupted. “Could you bring us some more, um, toast?”

The landlady looked pointedly at the existing stack of toast and pursed her lips. Rooney met her gaze. “Please?” he added. Mrs. Rose retreated to her kitchen and Rooney cocked his head at Jeanne.

“Wanna talk some?”

Jeanne sighed. “About Wash?” She felt her cheeks grow warm. “I do not know what to think, or do, about that man.”

“Well, cheer up, Jeanne, honey. Wash don't know what to do about you, either.”

She couldn't help laughing. She slathered strawberry jam on a thick slice of buttered toast and bit an almost perfect circle off one corner.

Rooney's black eyes twinkled. “It's good to hear you laugh. Been pretty grim around here since that rattler lunched on Little Miss's arm. You think I could visit her for a bit this mornin'?”

“Most certainly,” a deep male voice answered. Dr. Graham stepped through the double glass doors, plopped his black leather bag on an empty chair and touched
Jeanne's shoulder. “Your daughter is going to be good as new in a few days, Mrs. Nicolet.”

Jeanne clasped the older man's hand in both of hers but she could not speak.

He patted her arm. “I'll check on your daughter again this evening.”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much.”

She felt so relieved she devoured the entire stack of toast, then absentmindedly gobbled down the scrambled eggs Mrs. Rose set in front of her. The landlady exchanged a secret smile with Rooney and again disappeared into the kitchen.

 

The minute Jeanne and Rooney entered the upstairs bedroom, Manette's eyes popped open. “
Maman?
I'm hungry!”

“Are you,
chou-chou?
” She worked to keep her voice from cracking. “
Bon!
I will bring some breakfast for you, and after you have eaten, we will have a bath.”

Manette grimaced. “Do I have to?”

“Yes, you do.”

“But I don't want a bath.”

“Well,” Rooney interjected, “you know what? You hafta hurry up and get well so I can show you some secrets about rattlesnakes.” Jeanne flinched.

“What kind of secrets?” Manette queried.

Rooney caught Jeanne's eye and winked. “Oh, things like how to see 'em before they see you. How to listen for their rattles.” He sent another wink to Jeanne. “And how they taste when you fry 'em up in bacon grease.”

“Ewwww,”
Jeanne and Manette said in unison. Rooney just chuckled.

“I'll make you a bet, Little Miss. I'll bet that you can't tell the difference between a bite of chicken and a bite of rattlesnake.”

Manette's blue eyes snapped with interest. “What'll you bet, Rooney?”

Jeanne rolled her eyes to the ceiling and headed to the kitchen to boil an egg for her daughter. And heat some water for a sponge bath. The last thing she heard before the door closed behind her was the low murmur of Rooney's voice and her daughter's high, clear laughter.

The sound brought tears to her eyes.

 

Wash reined in at the valley's edge and sat his horse watching the Chinese crew heave and drop the heavy rails and drive the iron spikes in place. The metal track glinted in the sun like two silver ribbons.

Gradually the crew pushed their way along the length of the valley floor, and as the day grew hotter, the Chinese crew seemed to work even faster. By tomorrow they'd be ready to blast through the steep canyon wall at the far end with dynamite and a measure of caution.

Wash had always disliked setting charges, disliked the anxious, pregnant wait until the explosion rumbled and the lookout man shouted “All clear.”

He still had a hard time with sudden loud noises; blasting the Green Valley Cut would make his nerves so jumpy he wouldn't sleep nights. But there would be no blasting for a while since the route through Green
Valley and on to Gillette Springs would run across flat ground.

He studied the thousands of acres of fertile land that stretched to the distant mountains and wondered suddenly if Jeanne could file a homesteader's claim on some of that land. Oregon didn't allow Indians to gain land this way, but what about a woman? He laughed out loud. If there was a way to do it, Jeanne would find it. He'd never known a woman quite like her.

He'd petitioned Sykes two weeks ago about the $400 Jeanne had been swindled out of. He wanted her to have the money to help her make a new start. With $400 she could buy any building in town! But without a doubt she'd want a house. A home for herself and her daughter.

His head jerked up at a chuffing noise at the valley rim. A steam engine was puffing its way along the newly laid track, black smoke billowing from the smokestack. The locomotive slowed to a crawl and the engineer leaned out of his window, waving a mail pouch.

The train stopped just behind the flatbed car full of iron track sections and sat steaming in place until Wash spurred General and rode over to the hissing engine.

“You George Washington Halliday?” the engineer yelled.

Wash nodded.

“Letter for you.” The man leaned out and tossed down the mail pouch. “Must be important, cuz now I've gotta get this baby all the way back to Portland goin' backward!”

Wash snagged the hurtling pouch and waved his
thanks. What could be so important that Sykes would send a train instead of a rider?

Inside he found two envelopes, both from Grant Sykes. The first contained a check for $400, made out to Jeanne Nicolet. Wash looked up at the clear blue sky overhead and felt his heart lift. His efforts on her behalf had not been in vain.

Hallelujah! He could hardly wait to see the look on her face. He would add his own salary for the month…then she could buy anything she wanted.

The second envelope contained a letter from Sykes. Wash unfolded it, read it over, then read it again. It wasn't unexpected, but he hadn't thought it would come this soon.

“Move on to Gillette Springs. Survey the area between the river and P. Henderson's cattle ranch. Calculate the angle of the curves and…”

He refolded the letter and stuffed it and Jeanne's check into his shirt pocket. The sky, the trees, even the shimmers of hot summer air along the railroad tracks, dimmed to gray, as if a cloud had swallowed up the sun.

What was wrong? He'd surveyed dozens of river-to-ranch routes, calculated hundreds of arcs and grades. He'd always found the best boardinghouse for himself and Rooney, gotten to know the sheriff and the bartender at the saloon. This job wouldn't be any different.

But right now, just thinking about it, it sure felt different, like something was stuck in his craw. There was one thing he'd never faced before, and now it was staring him in the face like a big black locomotive. When they
finished laying track through the Green Valley Cut, he'd thought the hard part would be over.

Wash swore aloud. No, dammit, the hard part wouldn't be over.

The hard part would be saying goodbye to Jeanne.