Remembered (39 page)

Leevy’s focus shifted to Véronique, and he arranged himself right in front of her.

She lowered her eyes, but showed no other reaction Jack could discern.

Jack’s finger rested on the trigger of his rifle. “I’ve got your supplies. Let’s get them unloaded. I’ve got another delivery up the mountain this afternoon and they’re expecting me.” He purposefully spoke only of himself, not wanting to draw any more attention to Véronique than her presence did already.

Leevy’s stare encompassed the men gathered. “Well, if they’re just expectin’ you, Brennan, then maybe you can leave the woman with us. You can pick her up on your way back through in a couple weeks.”

Laughter rang out, followed by several vulgar suggestions of what Véronique could do if she were to stay.

“Take off the blanket, missy. We want to see what you’re hidin’.”

Another man standing by the wagon just below Véronique cursed. “Blanket, ha! Go ahead and take off everything, honey.” Then he named exactly what he wanted to see.

Jack didn’t dare look at Véronique, but he could feel the heat of her humiliation. Anger built white-hot inside him. He cocked the rifle, and the raucous laughter died. He aimed the gun square at the man’s chest. Despite the cool air, beads of sweat trickled down his back. “I don’t appreciate you speaking that way about my wife. An apology is in order.”

The majority of smiles dissolved. Seconds ticked by in tense silence.

The fella stared back hard. “Come on, we were just havin’ some fun. Can’t blame us for wantin’ to—”

Jack lowered his aim to something he figured the man might consider more valuable.

The man backed up a step. His face reddened. “I’m sorry, missus.” His jaw went rigid. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

Jack held the man in his sights for a few seconds more, then lowered the gun.

The miner turned and elbowed his way through the crowd. The others shoved him back, snickering as he passed.

Jack sized up the rest of men pressing close around the wagon. Young and old, foul best described them, both in manner and in their unbathed state. The responsibility he felt for Véronique rested like an anvil on his chest.

Leevy gestured to the cargo in the wagon bed. “So that’s not all for me, then.”

Jack took a steadying breath. “Half belongs to you. Your order’s loaded in the back.”

“I might be persuaded to take more.”

Jack heard the unspoken question. “More’s not available this time, Leevy. If you want additional supplies, I’ll bring them back through when I come next.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd, and all attention shifted to Leevy.

Jack quickly gathered that their boss wasn’t accustomed to being told no.

Leevy barked an order, and two men stepped up and began untying the roped netting. “Why don’t you come inside, Brennan, and we’ll negotiate a sum.”

“The total is listed at the bottom of your order. It’s nonnegotiable. Pricing won’t change on a whim like it has in the past. I’ll treat you fairly . . . and I expect the same in return.” Jack held out the order slip, then finally let it drop. It drifted and settled near Leevy’s boots. “Pay me and we’ll be on our way.” Being the only supplier currently operating this route, Jack felt relatively confident in his bargaining position.

Where that confidence ended was in the possibility of any harm coming to Véronique.

Leevy’s glare went steely before he strode back into the building.

Jack kept an eye on the men unloading the supplies and signaled when they reached the large crate at the middle. “That’s as far as yours goes.” Law and order was fluid in such a place, and men with the most power were commonly the ones who controlled the tide. In Sluice Box, that appeared to be Leevy.

Jack reached down and lightly touched Véronique on the shoulder. She didn’t look up. With one hand she gripped the Schofield, with the other she clutched the blanket to her chest.

Both hands trembled.

Leevy returned, money in hand. He approached Jack’s side of the wagon and handed up the cash. His focus went to the remaining cargo in the back, then briefly settled on Véronique. “I’m still interested in what you’ve got in your bed, Brennan.”

Jack stared, unblinking.

Leevy finally let out a laugh. “You really need to work on your sense of humor, Brennan—you know that?”

Jack counted the cash and pocketed it. “You really need to work on your sense of decency, Leevy.” His gaze swept the town. “And from the looks of it, how you run things around here too.”

Leevy’s expression darkened. He nodded toward the supplies. “Last chance, Brennan. Everything you’ve got left—cash on the table. You willin’ to deal?”

Jack remembered the warning Rousseau had given him a while back at the Peerless. He could flatly refuse Leevy’s offer, and chances were slim the man would do anything in front of all these witnesses. But on the road, maybe not this time, or even the next, but somewhere down the line, he might retaliate. And what if Véronique was with him when that happened? It was one thing for him to take the risk, but for her . . . If anything happened to her because of this, he wouldn’t be able to move past it. He wasn’t strong enough to go through that again.

Yet Jack knew that if he gave in, there would be no limit to Leevy’s future demands. He quickly weighed his options. If Leevy’s issue was only about supplies, he’d dump the load of them in the center of town himself. But it wasn’t. It was about integrity. And honor. And truth. And doing what was right, no matter the cost.

There was only one option Jack could live with.

“No deal. These supplies are spoken for, and they’re headed up the mountain.” He reached for the reins in order to maneuver the wagon around.

Leevy’s face went stony. “Well, it’s good to know where we stand, Brennan. I’ll look forward to our future dealings.” He touched the rim of his hat. “You two have a safe journey.” Challenge tainted his smirk. “Especially you . . . Mrs. Brennan.”

CHAPTER | THIRTY - TWO

T
HE TENSION AND FURY
emanating from Jack was enough to keep Véronique silent for a good ten minutes after they’d passed the outskirts of Sluice Box. Then she couldn’t stand it any longer.

She moved closer to him on the seat. “Jack, may I ask why you told them I was—”

“Véronique, not yet.”

She promptly closed her mouth, and let her eyes roam the line of pine trees nestling her side of the road.

Jack’s rifle rested between his thighs, and the revolver he’d originally given to her was tucked back in his trousers. She noticed his grip on the reins. He was holding them so tightly his hands were shaking. Or were his hands shaking for some other reason?

She had an inkling as to why he had introduced her as his wife but wanted to hear it from him. Not that it had offended her. Surprised her, yes, but not offended. Perhaps if she approached it from a different angle. “Would you have truly shot that man?”

“Véronique, please . . .” His voice was intense but soft, not the least harsh, and that’s when she knew.

She slowly faced forward. The pounding of Charlemagne’s and Napoleon’s massive hooves scattered what silence there might have been. She’d never seen Jack Brennan truly frightened before. Nervous in closed spaces, yes, but this was different. Truth be told, she hadn’t imagined it was possible for him to be so scared.

As soon as she had processed the thought, she realized how silly it was. Everyone was afraid of something.

What Christophe had once told her, was true. Sometimes there wasn’t the space for words. Or the need. There were other ways to communicate. She looked at Jack and clearly read fear in his stern expression and tense jaw. Words weren’t needed. Not yet.

She scooted closer and slid her hand between his as he gripped the reins.

Jack held onto her hand as tightly as he held the leather straps. But she didn’t mind. She liked the feel of his hands on hers. She was content to ride like this all the way to the next town, then back down the mountain to Willow—

Jack exhaled an audible breath, brought the wagon to a stop, and set the brake. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it once, and then again. Then he circled her waist and pulled her against him. He kissed her forehead. His hands moved over her arms, her back, then to her shoulders and her arms again. They seemed to have taken on a mind of their own.

Then he went absolutely still. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

Véronique knew the feeling.

With her head tucked beneath his chin, she reached up and touched his cheek, wanting to comfort him, wanting to relieve him of whatever burden he carried. And she wished she could find the words to tell him how proud she was of how he’d conducted himself back in that town.

The upper part of his cheek was smooth against her fingertips, and at the same time the lower half was rough against her palm. “Everything is all right now.” She kept her voice soft. “I am not afraid anymore.”

A noise rose from within his throat. Not a sigh really. Something more. With one hand, he cradled the nape of her neck. With the other, he caressed her lower back.

“Jack?”

“Yes?” he finally whispered.

“May I say something else?”

He gave a soft laugh. “Will I be able to stop you?”

She pulled back slightly in order to see him. And at the look in his eyes, she forgot everything except the unspoken promise he’d made to her at Casaroja, after the birth of the foal. But was she ready for him to keep that promise? No, she wasn’t ready! She’d never done this. Well, that wasn’t quite true. . . .

Jack brushed a strand of hair from her face. With his finger, starting at her brow, he traced an achingly slow path down her temple and across the curve of her cheek. “What was it you wanted to say?”

She swallowed. With him this close, doing what he was doing, it was hard enough for her to breathe, much less hold a thought in her head. “I was wanting to say . . . how proud I . . .”

He placed soft kisses on her forehead, lingering between each one.

Christophe had kissed her once, but it hadn’t been anything like this. And then Véronique realized—both with pleasure and panic— that Jack hadn’t really kissed her yet. Not on the lips like Christophe had done.

“If you’re going to say something, Véronique, I sure wish you’d do it soon.”

She nodded, struggling to remember both what she had wanted to say, and how a kiss was supposed to work. “I think . . . I was saying . . . how proud . . .”

He kissed her cheek, then the edge of her mouth, and his warm breath against her skin chased away the last fleeting hope of capturing any thought.

“Jack?”

“Yes?”

“I cannot remember.”

“In that case” —he pulled back slightly—“may I say something?”

Knowing what he was asking, she reached up and touched his mouth. “Oh, I wish you would. . . .”

She tasted like fine wine, sweet and rich. Jack kissed her mouth, her cheek, her mouth again, and in his mind, he covered the soft hollow at the base of her throat.

He didn’t realize how much he’d been anticipating this until she’d taken his hand a mile or so back. His relief at having gotten out of Sluice Box unscathed poured through him again. He would not bring her with him anymore. His heart nearly failed him every time he thought about what could have happened back there. What could happen in any one of the towns they had visited.

Her hands stayed on his shoulders, and with no small effort, he kept his from wandering. Their kiss grew more heated, and Jack knew they needed to stop.

He was just about to pull away, when
she
deepened the kiss.

He didn’t know what to do at first, and then quickly knew exactly what he needed to do. And fast! He gently broke the kiss and untwined his fingers from her hair.

Her eyes remained closed, her lips parted and slightly swollen.

Any question he’d had about her feelings for him had been answered. And then some. And no doubt she knew how he felt.

“Vernie?”

She couldn’t seem to catch her breath.
“Oui?”

Heaven help him, he wanted to kiss her again. He put distance between them on the seat, wishing he could get out and walk . . . for about three days.

Either sensing or feeling his retreat, she opened her eyes. And blinked.

He released the wagon brake and gathered the reins. “We need to be on our way.”

She lightly touched the corners of her mouth and nodded. Her expression clouded, and she reached for his arm. “Jack, did I . . .”

He waited, having no idea what she was going to ask him.

The blush on her cheeks deepened. “Did I do something wrong?”

He stared, not understanding. But when he saw the doubt reflected in her eyes, her question became clear. He gave a soft laugh, filled more with irony than humor. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong, believe me.”

“But you stopped when I” —uncertainty lined her brow—“kissed you back.”

Is that what she called it? Jack rubbed the muscles in his neck. For one so stuck on etiquette and staying within the lines, she was approaching a boundary best left unexplored between them.

And then it hit him—she had no idea what effect she had on him. No idea how easily moved he was by her.

“Véronique . . .” Jack glanced at the reins in his hands and cleared his throat. He didn’t want to embarrass either of them, but he also didn’t want her thinking she was inadequate, in any way. “The reason I . . . stopped just now is because if we’d kept on, I—” He found he couldn’t do it. Not even as husband and wife had he and Mary spoken so plainly about such things. “The reason I stopped is that we need to be getting back on the road. We’ve got a schedule to keep, and I’m afraid we might run out of daylight before we get back to Willow Springs.” Flimsy excuse, but she seemed to be buying it.

Relief slowly replaced the concern in her expression. “I only inquire because . . . What I am intending to say is . . .” She lifted a shoulder and looked down at her lap. “I have only done this once before. And the kiss with Christophe—” she slowly raised her chin— “did not have the effect on me the way yours did now.”