Separate Roads (2 page)

Brenton had thought it all rather funny, but Jordana saw it as an annoyance and irritation. She wasn’t interested in courtship and marriage. She wanted to explore her freedom by seeing a good portion of the country. She’d even taken to reading books on explorers, poring for hours over the accounts of Lewis and Clark, not to mention others.

“Oh, look at the time!” Damon declared and shook his head. “I’m going to be late.”

She watched, relieved, as he hurried past her desk to the black iron safe where all the records were kept. He quickly searched the safe, found what he was looking for, then started to close it again.

“I can take care of that,” she told him, going to her desk. “I have to put these away. Please be sure to lock the back door, however.”

He nodded. “I will, and I’ll speak to you again about dinner.”

She said nothing in reply and waited until he’d hurried back down the hall and out the alleyway door before letting out a heavy sigh. She likened him to a case of bedbugs in a store-bought mattress. Either you used the mattress and endured the bedbugs, or you lost out on what comfort could be had. Damon Chittenden was a necessary irritation if she was to maintain her comfortable job at the bank.

She looked at the clock and shook her head. “Five-thirty and it’s getting dark. I’d say waiting an extra hour to get home is plenty of time.” Having reached the end of her patience, she jotted a quick note to Mr. Chittenden, put the day’s records in the safe and locked it, then took up her coat from the broom closet. “I can surely walk a few blocks by myself and not compromise my reputation.”

She stepped outside the bank and relocked the front door. The sun had long since set in the west, and now the skies were a darkening lavender blue. Enough light remained to see her home, but with Omaha quickly outgrowing its small-town charm, Jordana knew her impatience could quickly become a liability.

Brenton had warned her, and their sister-in-law Caitlan, that walking about the streets of Omaha unescorted was asking for trouble. With the announcement that the Union Pacific intended to build a railroad west from this town to cross the entire continent came the riffraff and confidence men that every boomtown endured. Not only that, but the population had practically doubled overnight.

“He worries too much,” she muttered under her breath, heading down the alley behind the bank, which was a convenient shortcut home. Then as if to prove her wrong, she heard the unmistakable sound of someone else walking directly behind her. Wheeling about, she found Zed Wilson, the man she’d turned out from the bank earlier.

“A lady oughten to walk alone in this town,” the man said, coming to take hold of Jordana’s arm. “I’ll see you home.”

“I assure you,” she said, jerking away, “that I’m perfectly capable of taking myself home.” She hurried on down the alley but found the man to be most intent on his decision.

“You don’t need to go gettin’ so uppity with me,” he said. He grabbed for her arm and this time clamped his fingers tight to maintain his hold. “I’m good enough for the likes of you.”

“I never said you weren’t,” Jordana replied, feeling her breath come in rapid, panting gasps. “Please . . . let me go.” She tried to pull away. “My house isn’t that far.”

“I know where you live,” Wilson replied, stepping closer. “I’ve watched you walkin’ home with your brother.”

“Then you know he’ll be expecting me now,” Jordana replied, putting her hands on the man’s barrel-like chest to push him away. “I must be going.”

“How about a kiss first?” he questioned, licking his lips. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a little kiss between friends, now, is there?”

Jordana began to grow truly afraid. She glanced quickly to the end of the alleyway, wondering how fast she could run—if she could loosen Zed Wilson’s hold. “I have no interest in kissing you,” she said rather coolly. “Now, if you don’t mind—”

“But I do mind. I have this here bet with my brothers. I told them I could get you to kiss me afore you kissed any of them. Now, don’t be makin’ me out to be a liar.” He pressed her back until her foot made contact with a small stack of firewood that edged up against the rear wall of the building.

“Help!” Jordana screamed, seeing some movement in the street at the end of the alleyway. She could only pray that it wasn’t another Wilson brother. At the same time she screamed, she kicked Zed hard in the shin, angry that her long skirts kept her from delivering a very heavy blow.

“Ow! Why, you little wildcat. I ought to—”

“Release the lady,” a voice sounded.

Jordana breathed a sigh of relief to see the shadowy form of a man running down the alley toward them. She took the opportunity to push hard against Zed’s chest. He found her action surprising, but no more so than the sudden appearance of the man who’d interrupted his pleasure.

Jordana turned away quickly as Zed drew up his fist to attack her rescuer. She knew she should run, but her anger got the best of her. How dare Zed Wilson force himself on her—and on her birthday! She bent down to grab a long, thin piece of firewood. She’d give him something to remember her by. Maybe next time he wouldn’t be so intent on attacking young women.

It was extremely difficult to see in the growing darkness. She tried to gauge the situation by noting the size of the men, but as they fought and dove at each other, it was increasingly difficult to keep track of who was who. Finally her opportunity came, and Jordana brought the wood down hard against the back of her assailant. Only it wasn’t her assailant.

Zed Wilson looked up at her as the other man moaned out in pain and grabbed his lower back. Sinking to his knees, the man continued to moan. Either Zed feared that he was next, or he realized this was his only chance to escape. Whatever the reason, he took off running like someone had lit a fire under his feet.

Jordana tossed the wood aside and began to apologize. “I’m so sorry,” she said, taking hold of the man’s arm. “Let’s get you some help.”

“I’m fine,” he said, allowing her to pull him to his feet. He kept one hand at his back while she assisted him down the alley to the street.

“I only meant to help,” Jordana continued nervously. “I hope I didn’t hurt you. Well, I mean, I know I hurt you, but I hope—” She stopped in midsentence as the man lifted his head. “You!” she gasped.

“Miss Baldwin.”

She stared up into the face of Captain Richard O’Brian, the same man who had rescued her from bushwhackers in Missouri. She noted the uniform for the first time and realized there was no doubt that this was the same man.

“Captain O’Brian,” she murmured. “I had no idea.”

“Neither did I, or I might have given it a second thought before rushing to your rescue.” He rubbed his back and tried to straighten to his full height. “At least you aren’t wielding a knife this time.”

She felt her cheeks grow hot at the memory of his rescue in Missouri. He had thrown her to the ground just after the bushwhacker’s bullet grazed her arm. She had held tight to the knife she’d taken from her captor and, thinking O’Brian to be yet another of the renegades, had tried to stab at him. Of course her eyes had been closed, luckily for O’Brian, but because of this she had missed seeing that he was a Union soldier—her rescuer.

“I really am sorry,” she said, clearing her throat uncomfortably.

“What in the world were you doing in that alley by yourself, and at this hour?” he asked gruffly.

She watched him continue to rub his back and felt a mixture of guilt and anger. Who was he to question her actions? Still, he had helped her in her hour of need. Perhaps she should just overlook his attitude.

“I was walking home,” she said, striving hard to keep the emotion from her voice. “I’m sorry, but I thought you were . . .” She saw his smug expression and slightly raised brow and knew then she couldn’t talk civilly to the man. “Oh, never mind.” She took off down the street, not at all surprised that he quickly matched her pace.

“I believe battling border ruffians is a much simpler task than keeping the company of highbred young ladies,” he told her as he gently touched her elbow with his hand.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” she said.

“Oh, but you did,” he reminded her. “You specifically yelled, ‘Help!’ ”

“But I wasn’t yelling for
your
help,” she countered and stepped out into the middle of the street just as a freight wagon rounded the corner and bore down on her.

O’Brian easily pulled her back to safety. “The East may have its Civil War,” he told her quite seriously, “but here in the West we have Jordana Baldwin. And that, to my way of thinking, is twice the work.”

2

Jordana stared at O’Brian for a moment. She remembered the handsome face and blue eyes. He seemed genuinely amused with the situation and not at all as angry as his gruff voice might suggest. She jerked away from his hold and squared her shoulders.

“I wouldn’t want you to overwork yourself, Captain O’Brian,” she said snidely. “Therefore, I am prepared to complete my journey home without your help. My situation came about because of my desire to shorten the distance home. I shouldn’t have gone by way of the alley, but what’s done is done. Now that the danger is past, there should be no further need for your services.”

He smiled. “Pretty speech, but I’m coming with you just the same.”

“You are a stubborn man, Captain.”

“Yes, ma’am. Most stubborn,” he said, not in the leastwise worried that she’d just insulted him.

Jordana considered the situation for a moment. She could either wait for him to give up and go away, an unlikely scenario, or she could just allow him to walk her home. The latter seemed the simpler solution.

“If I allow you to walk me home,” she said, eyeing him carefully, “would you promise me something?”

“Depends on what that something is.”

“I don’t want my brother to know about this little mishap. He would only worry and then blame himself. He has enough on his mind, and it wouldn’t be fair.”

“Shouldn’t you have considered that before taking the alley?”

She clenched her jaw to keep from saying the first thing that came to mind, which was that Captain O’Brian had no right to interfere in her life and that he should leave her alone and mind his own business. However, her mother had always said you could catch more flies with molasses than vinegar.

“I should have,” she finally managed to say after calming down. “But I wasn’t thinking clearly. It’s my birthday, and I think I’m entitled to be a bit in the clouds, if you will.” She didn’t really feel that way but figured he might be the sentimental kind who would make allowances for her feminine charms.

“Your birthday, eh? What are you now, fifteen—sixteen?”

Jordana gasped. “I’m eighteen, not that it’s any of your business! I mean, how ungallant to ask a lady her age.”

“How unladylike to require a gentleman to come to your rescue in a darkened alleyway. You know the type of women who usually frequent those locations.”

Jordana stamped her foot. “Oh, you infuriate me! All I ask is for you to spare my brother’s feelings, but you’d think I’d just asked you to single-handedly put an end to the war.”

“That would probably be easier.”

She shook her head and sighed. “Will you please not say anything to my brother?”

“Will you promise to never again be so foolish?”

“Deal.”

“Done,” he said, taking hold of her elbow. “Now, if you would be so kind as to offer up the directions to your home.”

Jordana instructed him, then fell silent. She had never known a more irritating man in her life. And this was only their second meeting. What would it be like if she had to see him on a daily basis?

O’Brian whistled a tune as though he hadn’t a care in the world—although Jordana guiltily watched him reach behind to rub his back from time to time. She wished most fervently that she hadn’t clobbered him with the firewood, but what was done was done.

O’Brian stopped whistling for a moment as they crossed the street and headed up the opposite side. “I see your hair is growing back,” he commented out of the silence.

“Yes, I suppose so.” Jordana reached up and touched the curls that now fell just below her shoulders. She had been forced to cut her hair in order to escape from the bushwhacker who had been holding it to keep her captive.