Texas Moon TH4 (40 page)

It was a reference to more than their current physical intimacy, but Janice had no way of knowing that. She curled into the strength of Peter's embrace, relaxed with his legs entwined with hers, and went back to sleep.

When he woke again, it was full day. The bed beside him was empty and cold, but Peter could smell heavenly scents coming from the miserable fireplace that was his kitchen. That's when he knew what he had to do.

He didn't flinch at the thought. There came a time in a man's life when he had to make a choice. He could wander the face of the earth seeking some elusive rainbow, or he could settle down and make himself a home. He was going to do the latter.

His clothes lay folded on a chair beside the bed, all neatly laundered and ready to wear. He used to have a closet full of clothes and a manservant to care for them. He hadn't appreciated what he had then, but he appreciated what he had now. Who he had now. He had a woman who would travel to the ends of the earth to make a home for him. The least he could do was give her the very best home he could provide.

Peter dressed slowly, uncertain how long his strength would last. He no longer burned with fever, but he wasn't exactly himself. Part of him was completely recovered, though. Just thinking of how Janice had made love to him last night made him hard. He had some difficulty buttoning the denims.

The spinning in his head steadied as he sat on the side of the bed. Fastening the last of his shirt buttons, he stood up slowly. When he didn't immediately fall back down, he took a step toward the door. And another.

Peter leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb to admire the sight of Janice bent over the cooking pot, her face flushed with the heat of the fire, golden tendrils of hair clinging to the graceful line of her neck. Even in rags she was a beautiful woman. He might be courting real trouble when he dressed her in evening gowns, but she deserved the best.

He didn't see Betsy in the room. The tightening in his loins returned full force, but he restrained himself. First he had to let Janice know that he wouldn't let her down.

He cleared his throat, and she swung around. The smile she gave him warmed Peter clear through the middle, but the flush flooding her cheeks as their eyes met roasted him to the bone. He had made his imperturbable schoolmarm blush.

"Something smells awful good, Jenny," he managed to say, lifting his shoulder from the doorjamb and walking toward her.

She looked flustered. "It isn't much. I've not learned to cook well over a fire yet." She sent him a look of concern. "Shouldn't you still be in bed? I can bring you breakfast in there."

He caught her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I'm a new man, madam. And it's all your fault."

She gave him a quick hug, then backed away shyly, as if she had been overly forward. "Well, sit down, and I'll pour you some coffee."

Peter didn't let her escape. He caught her waist and held her, forcing her to look up at him. "I imagine it's snowing farther up the mountain right now. We'll have to get out of here before we're snowed in. Did Townsend leave any of that gold here?"

Janice nodded toward some cloth bags in the corner by the fireplace. "He went to find a doctor for you. I don't know when he'll be back."

Peter counted the bags and sighed in relief. Townsend had left all of them. "We'll catch him on the trail or in town. There's enough there to pay our debts, but that's about all. I'll have to borrow some of it to get us back on our feet again."

She looked relieved. When he released her, she pushed him gently toward the plank bench that served as chair for the table. "Gage looked like a fine town. I wonder if they need a schoolteacher?"

Peter sank down gratefully. He wasn't as strong as he would like to be. He sipped at the coffee she handed him before answering. "They can find one without our help. I mean to take you back to Ohio."

Janice swung around and stared at him in disbelief. "Ohio? Why would we go back there?"

He had thought she would be relieved to know they would be returning to civilization. Maybe she didn't understand. He tried to explain. "So I can go back to work for my family. And you and Betsy can be with your family again. We might have to live with my parents for a while until I can save enough for a home of our own, but that house is big enough to hide a regiment of soldiers. We'll get along fine."

Janice looked as if she wanted to test his forehead for fever again. She rubbed her hands nervously in her apron, then returned to frying potatoes over the fire. "I thought you could borrow the money and start up a little store here. I could help with the bookkeeping and such, and even Betsy can help with the dusting and keeping the shelves stocked. If I can find a teaching job, we would get by just fine."

Irritated that she didn't seem to comprehend what he was offering her, Peter set his cup down. "I'm not going to become some dried-up little store clerk whose wife has to work to pay the bills. I told you I'd take care of you and Betsy, and that's what I mean to do. We'll go back to Ohio, and you'll not have to work at anything but keeping yourself pretty. You'll have gowns like Georgie's. Betsy can go to a good school and have art lessons."

Janice swung around and glared at him. "I like working! And I don't want to go back to Ohio. Neither do you, if you'll just admit it. Don't be foolish, Peter. We'll make our own way just fine right here."

This time, he slammed the cup down and glared back at her. "We'll make our way just fine, I'm sure, with you working your fingers to the bone and dressing like a ragpicker's wife while Betsy scrubs and dusts. That's not how I mean to take care of you. I made a promise, and I intend to keep it. We're returning to Ohio."

Janice stripped off her apron and threw it at his feet. Putting her hands on her hips, she glared up at him when he stood to tower over her. "You can go to Ohio if you like. I'm not going back there to have people point at me and make fun. My sister works in your damned store, Peter! So does her husband. Shall I have them come over and visit us wearing their best store clothes, their cheap cottons and celluloid collars, and introduce them to a company of your friends and relations in their silks and laces and fancy cravats? What will that make me look like? And how will it look to their friends when they hob-nob with the boss's wife? Any promotions they earn will look like favoritism, no matter how hard they work. It won't do, Peter. I never liked it back there. I'm staying out here where people recognize me for the work I do and not who my family is."

Furious now, Peter grabbed her arms and held them pinned to her sides before she could brush him off and escape. "I don't give a damn what people think! It will take years out here to make enough money to keep you properly. What happens when children come along and you can't work? How will we pay a doctor when they get sick? I'm not letting you lead that kind of life again."

Janice struggled against his hold. "Don't I have any say in this? What about what I want?" When she couldn't free herself, she glared up at his obstinate expression. "Is this the kind of husband you mean to be then? It only matters what you want? Am I to have no say in how we live at all? I'm just supposed to bake your bread and dress your children and open my legs when you want it?"

The crudity jarred him, and he released her. They were screaming at each other. He'd never screamed at anyone in his life. But he wanted to yell and shake her and make her see sense. "I'm not letting you starve in the wilderness, and that's final," he responded gruffly, not knowing how else to say it.

A distant cry of "Janice!" broke off into a wail of terror, shattering the thick silence between them.

They both ran for the door. Janice slipped through first, arriving just in time to see two men on horses riding headlong down the hill and around the bend, bearing a screaming Betsy with them.

"Stephen!" she cried in outrage. Then she picked up her skirts and ran after them.

Chapter 33

"Betsy!" Janice's anguished cries rang off the distant hills, echoing in the wind. The first few flakes of snow blew from the thick, scudding clouds overhead.

Peter threw his saddle on his horse and jerked the girth straps around. Realizing she couldn't chase the horses down the hillside, Janice ran back to the house and grabbed Peter's heavy fleece-lined jacket and the pistols and rifle Townsend had carried in with the saddlebags. Peter was already climbing into the saddle when she returned with them.

He shrugged the coat on, leaned over to give her a kiss, and accepted the weapons. "I'll catch up with them. There's only one trail out of here."

He was barely strong enough to sit in the saddle, and he meant to chase down a mountain after two desperate men. Janice wished she knew how to ride so she could be the one to go, but she could see the sense in not arguing the point.

She screamed inside as she watched him leave. She would scream out loud if she didn't fear giving Peter cause to doubt her sanity. She wanted to scream and scream and bring the mountains tumbling and send the clouds whirling. Why was God tormenting her like this? Why did He make her so helpless?

She had to stand here watching her ill husband ride out after a man who wasn't worth the polish for Peter's boot. How could she have been so blind when she was young? Why was she still so helpless? She had spent years teaching herself to handle anything and everything that came her way with unruffled efficiency. And now here she was again, left terrified by the same man who had put her in that position once before. She wanted to grab the shotgun and ride out after him. This time, she would kill him.

But she couldn't do any of those things. Trudging back to the cabin, Janice dug out her warmest clothes and began to dress. If only one trail left here, she could follow it. She wouldn't sit here and do nothing while Betsy was being kidnapped. She wondered who the second man was, but she didn't really want to know. All she wanted was Betsy and Peter back again.

The old shotgun Martin had given her rested next to the bags of gold. Gold. Stephen would listen to the sound of gold. She may not have understood him very well at fifteen, but she was ten years older now and wiser to the ways of mankind. Stephen would take gold in exchange for his daughter.

The bags were too heavy for her to carry. Glancing around, she remembered the loose stones she'd had to push back into the fireplace. Wiggling the rocks, she found several more. Gritting her teeth and praying the whole chimney didn't fall on her head, she pried a hole behind the dying fire. Stamping out the last embers she dragged the bags across the packed earth beneath the grate and shoved them into the hole. She filled her pockets with lumps of rock from the last bag, then shoved it too into the hole. She hadn't realized gold looked like lumps of rock. She certainly hoped Peter and his partner knew what they were doing. Feeling the weight loading her down, she hurriedly replaced the loose stones, scuffed up the dirt, and replaced the ashes and burned wood. The fireplace looked the same as it ever had.

She packed every spare bit of food she could find into a burlap sack. Then wrapping a shawl around her head and donning her heavy mantle, she picked up the shotgun and the sack of food and left the cabin. With only one road down the mountain, she would have to come across Peter and Betsy sometime. She hoped it would be to find them coming home, but she didn't mean to leave them out there alone.

The snow fell heavier as she trudged along the path the horses had taken. It had snowed often enough in Ohio. She had walked to work every day, even with gray sheets of ice beating against her. She had slogged through filthy mush in thin shoes with holes in the bottom. She hadn't had to suffer that since she moved to Texas and she couldn't say she missed it, but she knew how to do it. And this time, she had good strong leather ankle boots without holes in the soles.

The going was easy at first. She could even catch sight of the trail of hoofs racing down the mountain. She wasn't an expert at tracking so she couldn't tell one set of prints from the other and most of them just looked like smeared mud, but she was reassured that she was going the right way.

But as the snow came down harder, the tracks disappeared beneath a layer of white. Everything disappeared beneath a layer of white. She couldn't even be certain of the road, such as it was. She kept to the widest space between trees and scrub and prayed.

Whenever she left the protection of the trees, the wind howled around her, searching for openings in her layers of clothing. Her toes and fingers turned numb first. Her nose didn't grow numb. It hurt. She wrapped the shawl around the lower half of her face, but the icy particles flying from the sky stung like a swarm of bees. The snow she knew had never been like this.