A Hard Ride Home (18 page)

There was Jesse.

It took from midday to midnight for Charley to return from Fairhaven with Jesse's mother. She rode right up to the Willow's porch, and the sheriff greeted her in the road, helping her down from her horse.

Sara knew she had to hurt all over her body, setting a pace like that across the plain.

"Thank you, Sheriff," Mrs. Taggart said, gaze darting to the windows above the saloon. Even with her face dust-streaked and hard with worry, she was a beautiful woman—small and clear-eyed, with Jesse's rich brown hair pulled tight in a braid and covered in a plain bonnet. She hung onto Emmett's forearms while she steadied her legs.

Charley led the horses away, tipping his hat to Sara as he passed by the porch where she stood wrapped in a shawl, listening.

"I'm afraid we don't have much in the way of fine boarding in Silver Creek," Emmett said. "My deputy will—"

Mrs. Taggart cut him off. "Take me to my boy."

"I'm Sarabeth Green, Charley's sister." Sara stepped out into the moonlight and offered her hand. "But everyone calls me Sara. I'll take you now, Mrs. Taggart, and Sheriff can find you something to eat back in the kitchen."

Emmett stood there, removing his hat and looking relieved, like he'd expected Mrs. Taggart to bite him, which Sara supposed they all did. She'd have reason enough to.

"Call me Lillian, please," Mrs. Taggart said, taking Sara's hand firmly. Her fingers were damp and chilled.

Sara didn't say anything as they climbed the stairs in the dark, empty saloon. What could she say?

*~*~*

Lillian didn't leave Jesse's side until late in the evening, when her head pounded with hunger, and from crying, and her boy had fallen asleep, his breath still shuddering with echoes of violent sobs.

As he rested, the crease at his brow slowly soothing away, she stroked his arm and looked around the room. It was too perfumed and lacy and well-kept to be his. By the bookkeeping desk and ornate wardrobe, she thought it must belong to the Madame of the establishment, Miss Devaux. She'd only seen her for a moment, when the pretty redhead, Evelyn, had come in and introduced herself like she was giving her last words before the gallows.

Miss Devaux's fondness for Jesse had been clear enough, and comforting.

Her son was a man now. He was long-limbed and hard and grown, and she couldn't pull him into her lap or rest him against her shoulder. But she could love him. She'd love him until her heart stilled, and beyond, she thought, wiping her face dry.

There'd been enough crying for today.

When he'd first seen her, she'd had to remind herself that the way he'd recoiled wasn't from not wanting to see her, but from shame. "You done nothing wrong," she'd said, over and over, shushing him and hugging onto him, wishing she could scour the hurt and the years away and give him back what was stolen from him, from both of them.

He hadn't said much at first, so she'd talked about the farm and the land, and even a bit about the fine sheriff who'd come riding out to put an end to Willie and his boys. At mention of Emmett Grady, Jesse tensed in her arms, and she'd smiled into his hair, knowing.

Loving wasn't easy.

Downstairs, Miss Devaux gathered the girls for a meal at a long table in the saloon, lining them up and introducing them like she was running a school for girls and not a dusty whorehouse. They sat down to eat, and Lillian said grace, and then figured she best put them at ease before the stifling silence gave someone a fit.

"I might go by missus, but I wasn't married to Jesse's father," she said, tucking a dingy napkin onto her lap. She looked up at the girls, most of them hardly women at all, and met their eyes. "This mightn't be what I wanted for my son, but I'm not one to judge a one of you. From what I can tell, you all did right by him, and I couldn't ask for more than that."

*~*~*

Three days after Mrs. Taggart arrived at the Weeping Willow, Emmett came by to visit and found her in the kitchen with Elsie, talking about pie crusts.

"Oh, Sheriff," she said, wiping her flour-dusted hands on her skirt. "We drew Jesse a bath out in the barn, would you check up on him? He just chased all the girls off and I don't want him alone for too long."

Emmett felt a flush form somewhere in the vicinity of his chest, and as it started to creep along his skin like a wildfire, he nodded as quick as he could and hurried to the barn. He couldn't help but think of things he'd done with Jesse in that barn, and talking to Jesse's mother while thinking about those things made his head spin. It weren't right.

As he crossed the yard, thinking about Jesse only made it worse. He hadn't seen him since his mother had come to town, and the last time he had, Jesse hadn't spoken to him at all. The joy that had come at first, when Jesse woke and stayed strong and alive, had dwindled away to embers now that Emmett didn't know where they stood, if Jesse was his to rejoice over at all.

"It's me," he called out as he slipped into the barn, careful not to toss the doors wide open. It had been strange, these past few days, seeing the girls dress with as much modesty as they could muster. He didn't know what to make of Jesse chasing them off when they used to bathe together without a care.

Jesse sat on a low wooden stool beside the bathing trough, his soft trousers rolled up to his knees and his shirt folded neatly atop his boots on a bale of hay nearby. He stared at Emmett a moment, like he couldn't decide if he was scared or not, before he said, "Will you do my feet? Pulls on my back to reach them."

Grateful for something to do, and for the sound of Jesse's voice, Emmett crouched in front of him, taking the wet rag to scrub at Jesse's bony ankles and long feet.

"You healing up?" he asked, glancing at the ugly red gash across Jesse's forearm. It was puffy and red between the stitches, but it didn't look to be rotten and it didn't smell the way wounds did when they went bad. The cut at his ribs had already scabbed up, and didn't look like much.

Jesse's fingers curled and uncurled, before he gripped the edge of the stool hard and turned his arm so Emmett couldn't see the gash anymore. "Doc says so, yeah."

"And your back?"

"It'll mend."

"Are you cross with me?" Emmett asked, tapping the side of Jesse's foot like he was shoeing a horse. Jesse lifted it and Emmett scrubbed the bottom, working the rag between his toes and along the deep arch.

"Because you sent for my ma?"

Emmett looked up. He started to say something, but Jesse looked away from him, his mouth an unhappy line.

"I was," Jesse said, after a while. "Then I wasn't."

"You aren't, then? Cross, that is."

At that, Jesse looked at him, his expression so tired and sad. Emmett couldn't remember what his smile looked like, only that it made him happy, and that he missed it.

"Why would I be?" Jesse asked. "You ain't done nothing wrong."

Emmett didn't have a good answer, not when what he really meant to ask wasn't if Jesse was cross with him, but if Jesse cared for him. "Your feet are clean now. Climb in that bath before the water gets cold," he said, patting the rim of the tin trough.

"I'm sorry," Jesse said, like he didn't hear him. "For…"

"Jesse, no."

"I wasn't… my head ain't right." Jesse's voice tripped and went thick like he was trying not to cry.

Emmett wanted to stop him, but he got the sense that Jesse just needed to talk, so he rubbed Jesse's ankles and his calves, where his skin was warm and his body was hard. He listened.

"Everyone's so damn nice, and I hate being trouble. And I… I'm ashamed of… hollering at you and making a scene. And I feel… I feel so bad." Jesse's fingers raked across his belly like he was trying to pull something out of his guts. "Sick. And—I had to do it, Emmett. I didn't want to die like that."

Watching Jesse scrub at tears before they could fall, Emmett realized what he was apologizing for, and rage boiled up in him so hard he had to let go of Jesse before he hurt him. "Don't you—don't you think that! I would have put a bullet in him myself. He was a bad man, Jesse, and that's between him and his maker now. Don't you be sorry. Not to me. Not to anyone."

"All right," Jesse said, like it was that simple. His breath sniffed and he wiped his nose with the back of his hand, fingers trembling, and nodded at the trough. "Help me in?"

Emmett knew there wasn't any sense in being so angry, but it still made him shake. The anger was slow to settle when he had nothing to direct it toward, nothing to strike and no one left to cut down.

They stood close together, Emmett helping Jesse out of his trousers as careful as he could before giving him his arm to guide him into the water. He was careful not to look at Jesse's back. It felt like trespassing. He'd look when Jesse wanted to show him.

Jesse's knees stuck out of the water. He kept his torn-up arm dry, resting it on the rim of the trough. There was something clearer about his gaze when he looked at Emmett and offered him a shadow of a smile. "Doc says if I feel steadier in a week or so, I can go ride. I'm itching to get up to the stables. Tiger needs me."

"I need you," Emmett said.

Surprise stilled Jesse's features before he coughed out a hoarse little laugh. "I'd warrant you do need to be ridden with regularity, Sheriff. But I doubt you need me."

"Don't say that," Emmett said so fiercely it chased the amusement off Jesse's face and left them staring at each other like they were pointing guns. "Don't tell me what I need."

Jesse shook his head, just barely, like he was putting together an argument, and Emmett wanted to make him believe so badly it made his blood hurt as it raged through his body.

Crouching at the side of the trough and holding onto the edge to keep his hands still and off of Jesse, Emmett took a sharp breath to steady himself. "It don't matter why. I need you. If you'd died there, up in the big house or when the fever tried to take you, I would have needed you still. Don't you understand that? You're in me like… like that fever." He swallowed back a waver in his voice and looked away. "I might not need you like that infernal pony does, but I need you all the same."

"What if I'm not what you think?" Jesse asked.

"You're awful stubborn."

"You're one to talk!"

Emmett looked at him. "Just tell me if you want me or not, and I'll figure the rest out myself."

"Of course I want you." Jesse scowled. "You stupid, perfect man."

"Then it's settled," Emmett said, feeling warm all over, like he was in the water too. Like it would be all right, just as long as they had that much figured out.

Jesse still scowled, but it simmered down to something closer to suspicion. "What's settled?"

"We are," Emmett said.

"We," Jesse echoed, with a huff and a little eye roll that didn't have much conviction. He startled when Emmett took his hand, but didn't pull it away.

Emmett kissed his knuckles, one by one, watching Jesse flush and try to hide a smile.

That was good enough for now.

Jesse's little room at the Weeping Willow felt like a crowded cupboard when they were both in it. But Emmett didn't argue when Jesse wanted to stay there instead of making do with one of the other rooms above the saloon—or in Emmett's room at the jailhouse.

"It's more home to me than anywhere else," Jesse said, running his fingers along the dusty windowsill beside his bed.

"You need a bigger bed then, I'd reckon."

At that, Jesse glanced up at him through his lashes, a faint flush rising as he smiled. He was pale from the long weeks inside, and every bit of feeling seemed to write its way across his face plain as a placard.

"Why is that, Sheriff? Seems I done just fine with this one," he said, honeyed voice grabbing a hold of something low in Emmett's gut.

Emmett stood slowly, his chair creaking against the floorboards. Jesse watched him all the while, perched in his bed in a flimsy nightshirt and thin trousers that made him look like a fancy painting. When Emmett sank into the bed, caging Jesse with his arms, the bed frame shuddered beneath them, and Jesse laughed unsteadily.

"You can't stay with me all the time," Jesse said, all reluctant like he couldn't bear for it to be true.

"I can." Emmett let the side of his nose touch Jesse's, got their lips close together, breath mingling and warm. "Wouldn't you let me?"

"Course I would. But you've got that big house and—"

Emmett kissed him, and the bed groaned as Jesse sank back, grabbing at him. They didn't talk about the big house much, and they sure as hell weren't going to now, not when Jesse had been flirting for the first time in days, his whole body set in lines that seemed meant to make Emmett crazy with want.

Kissing was all they'd gotten up to lately, and Emmett was proud of his developing proficiency. He'd learned the places that made Jesse go breathless and still, velvety quiet bits of skin he ran his tongue along and suckled on carefully. This time, he mouthed at the shell of Jesse's ear, feeling the smooth texture and listening to Jesse swallow back low, happy moans.

In the narrow bed, Emmett couldn't help but stay close enough to rub his need against Jesse. He trembled with the effort to remain gentle, hesitant. It had only been a few weeks since Jesse had left his sickbed downstairs, but Jesse urged him on silently, working at Emmett's hips with his palms and grasping him like he was holding onto reins.

Jesse didn't say what he wanted outright. Emmett knew to stay quiet—like trying to draw a stubborn critter from its den. Eventually Jesse would reach for what he needed. Emmett could wait. They had all the time in the world.

Emmett kissed Jesse's throat, lips stinging from the rough stubble at the underside of his chin.

"I want you to—I want…" Jesse swallowed noisily.

It wasn't like him to be tongue-tied, so Emmett lifted his head and looked at him questioningly.

"No pretty way to say it, I s'pose. I want you to fuck me."

Emmett's breath hitched. "Now?"

"Some time. Soon. Now." Jesse's gaze flickered away. "If you want to."