Crossings (38 page)

Seeing her with Bayard set off something in Carrigan. Helena looked like she should be a judge's wife. They complemented each other. He the dapper gentleman. She the gentile lady. Why hadn't he seen it before? That despite Helena downplaying her place in Genoa's society, she was one of them. And always would be.

The waltz ended without Carrigan moving a muscle to approach them. Helena's cheeks were an invigorated pink as she walked with Kimball to the refreshment table. He handed her a tiny glass of punch. She never once saw Carrigan watching her. Drinking the beverage, she conversed with Bayard, her gaze skimming the doorway every few seconds, dutifully watching for her husband.

When her eyes finally did connect with Carrigan's, she smiled brightly. But Carrigan could only return a cool gaze. She seemed puzzled by his reaction and even distraught. But with Kimball standing there, Carrigan wasn't about to ask for any explanations.

Not allowing the situation to dictate to him, Carrigan went to Helena and gave the judge a stiff glare.

“I was worried about you,” Helena said, leaving Bayard's side and crossing over to his.

“If you'll excuse me,” the judge said. “I'll leave you two alone.”

Carrigan refused to touch Helena. He stood without
flinching, his joints tensely knotted. “I was outside having a smoke,” he replied in a tone burdened with tightness.

“That's what you said you were going to do. But when you didn't come back for so long, I wondered.”

Carrigan couldn't meet her eyes. “Felt like having a few,” he said.

The musicians, who had taken a short intermission, returned to the platform. “Last dance before the bidding on the candy starts!” shouted the harmonica player. “Form your squares!”

“I . . .” Helena chewed on her lower lip and looked over at him. “They played a waltz while you were gone. I waited, but Bayard insisted I dance with him until you came back. I was hoping you'd find me before the music ended.”

“I saw you.”

“Why didn't you cut in?”

“It's no big deal.”

The fiddler's bow plucked the inviting notes. A man who'd been the designated caller turned up his sleeves, bent his knees, and started slapping them in time to the beat with the palms of his hands. Women were light on their feet. Men were huffing for air. All were smiling and having a good time.

Carrigan wanted to leave, but was obligated to stay for the remainder of the evening. Which was probably several more hours.

“When they play another waltz, we'll dance to that,” Helena offered.

“We'll see,” he replied noncommittally. Then he took in a breath and asked, “You have a nice talk with Kimball?”

Helena's eyes met his. “We made polite conversation.”

“Just like you always do?”

“What are you getting at?”

He leaned his head closer toward hers. “I don't like
my private life being discussed with anyone. Especially with a man I don't like.”

“Your private life?”

“Do you deny talking to him about Jenny?”

She was silent for a minute. “No, I don't. But how would you know?”

“I trusted you, Helena,” was his tight reply.

“I didn't say anything.”

“The hell you didn't.”

She put her hand on his shoulder. “I never betrayed you. What you told me in confidence, I would never tell. Bayard didn't hear it from me.”

“Then how could he know?”

“I couldn't say.”

Carrigan was disappointed that he'd actually trusted her. Even if there was an excuse Helena could offer in her behalf, he couldn't accept it right now, or whatever else she wanted to say. He just couldn't see a good reason for her to talk about Jenny's suicide with Kimball. He should have known something like this would happen. He'd been feeling too right in the relationship. Things that felt too comfortable made him uncomfortable. And perhaps he'd been waiting for the opportunity to end the relationship before it got out of hand and he was in love with her. . . . But was he already too late to stop his feelings?

The song ended and people began milling toward the candy tables to bid on the confections.

“Don't shut me out, Jake. We need to discuss this. You're thinking I've done something and I haven't. We could leave if you're upset. But Emilie . . .” Helena was clearly at odds. “I feel like I should stay.”

“We'll stay. I'm not going to ruin her night. Forget about it.”

“But—”

“I said, forget about it.”

Then he took her arm and went through the motions of partaking in the festivities, giving her no
opportunity to break through to him. Her talk with Kimball had left the door wide open. It was a way out if he wanted to leave. Even though he knew in his heart she hadn't done anything wrong, he was scared to admit he'd gotten too close to her. Thoughts about working for the military had done it. He'd known at that instant that he was willing to cross the line for Helena and put convictions behind him. That he was willing to make her the most important thing in his life. Nothing and no one else mattered. It was a hell of an option to consider, seeing as he felt the way he did about soldiers.

Being with Helena felt so right, it had to be wrong. So he'd decided to take the door and throw himself out before Helena could beat him to the punch. He had land waiting for him. And that had been the prime objective for him marrying her. For a while, he'd forgotten that. But now it became his goal once again.

17

T
he weekend was passed in near silence between Helena and Jake. Gone were the unguarded moments of intimacy. She couldn't understand why he'd felt it necessary to block her out. She'd told him that she hadn't said anything to Bayard. Why hadn't he believed her? Each time she tried to speak to him, he talked over her and cut her off with an abrupt tone and went to work in another part of the stockade or stables. She wanted to scream her frustration. She had her pride, too, and gave him his space for a time. Father had been that way. When he was upset or angry, Mother had stayed away from him, giving him time to cool down and realize that what he was angry about was nothing to be angry about at all. After several days without Jake's willingness to talk to her, Helena was exasperated and said enough was enough. They were going to have it out even if she had to yell for everyone to hear.

She began her search in the yard, her thoughts trailing for a few minutes to the other topic constantly on her mind. The Indian war had blossomed into a
full-fledged battle. Like hot spots from a fire, skirmishes blazed across the territory. News came in with the Express riders, who were edgy and high-strung. James Whalen had been thrown off his horse when an arrow shot through the sky. Luckily, he'd been able to remount and make it to Busby's. But James's leg had been broken in the fall, so the eastern run was short a man. This put added pressure on those who were already taxed from the demands of breakneck speed and unfaltering endurance.

Telegraph lines were constantly being cut by the Paiutes in a show of contempt for the white man's singing wires. Communication was severed between several stations, and the only way words were traded was by the reliability of the mail. Descriptions of braves streaked with paint, their bodies greased, were offered by the thirsty riders as they halted in clouds of dust at their stations.

Well-armed dragoons patrolled Genoa's streets, keeping order in their imposing blue uniforms. Yet that didn't take the edge off the fear the citizens were feeling. Especially Emilie.

Thomas had made one run to Gray's station since the Candy Dance, and was due in to town within the hour. Emilie was a bundle of nerves waiting for his appearance. When he'd come by Monday, unharmed and coated with trail grit, Emilie had broken into tears on the heels of his departure, praying she would see him again. Helena had felt helpless to comfort her sister. There was no guarantee that she could give Emilie that Thomas would stay safe. But Helena held on to her mother's cross that encircled her neck, and said a prayer of Godspeed for the young man.

Since Emilie had already fallen in love with Thomas, there was nothing Helena could do to stop her sister. Emilie was growing up and would have her own choices to make. It was a horrible suffering for any woman to go through, unsure if her man would still be hers in the days to come. Helena knew how Emilie
was feeling. Though she and Jake were bound together as husband and wife, she was more of an outsider in his life than his partner.

As Helena crossed the yard, she saw no glimpses of Jake in the corral, or in the stables when she entered. Eliazer was alone.

“Where's Jake?” she asked.

“Left.”

The word sliced through Helena. “Left?” All she could think of was he'd left for good, and a panic flared in her so great, she almost couldn't breathe. But she calmed when she saw Traveler in his stall. Jake wouldn't leave one of his horses behind. Boomerang was missing. “Where?”

“Said he was going up to the ridge.” Eliazer pointed out the open doors toward the northeast.

The land.

“Could you help me saddle Maria Jane?” Helena picked out a striped wool blanket while Eliazer selected a saddle. “I'll try and be back before Thomas McAllister comes in. But if I'm not in time to help you with his mount, saddle Columbiana.”

“Yes, Miss Lena. I'll make sure she's ready.”

Helena's horse was equipped, and she mounted. Riding out the tall stockade doors, she headed east. As she climbed to higher ground and approached the one-hundred-sixty-acre parcel, she spotted Jake's roan and Obsi streaking through the high grass with his tail twitching. When she neared, the dog barked and Jake turned on her with his Colt drawn and aimed at her chest. Seeing her, he paused and reholstered his revolver. The expression on his face was anything but welcoming when she dismounted.

Tethering the horse's reins to a chaparral, Helena removed her rawhide gloves and stuffed them into her belt. She scanned the land, seeing in it the splendor that was so appealing. The ground was rich and verdant, the trees spired and thick, while a cross section of the Carson River fed the parcel with endless
water. Jake stood in an area devoid of trees, a natural meadow surrounded by pines and edged with cottonwoods toward the south. There was a slight slant to the terrain, but with it came an expansive view of the valley to the south.

“It's pretty here. I've always liked this spot.” Her observance caused Jake to frown.

Without answering, he strode toward her on the thick heels of his boots. He was attired in worn black pants and a checkered cotton shirt with the sleeve cuffs turned up once, and his rugged appearance made her pulse beat at the base of her throat. His face was tanned a burnished brown, while his gray hat kept his blunt hair away from his brows. The brim and crown had been molded and shaped to suit him. Weather permitted him to go without a vest, but a bandanna was tied in a knot at his throat.

“What are you doing here?” he challenged. “You change your mind?”

Confusion filled her. “About what?”

“This. The land.”

“No, I haven't.” Why would he think she did? “Since you keep running away from me, I came to talk to you.”

Jake reached into his pocket, took out a drawstring bag and papers, and rolled a cigarette. Lighting it, he inhaled and the smell of smoke drifted on the breeze. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed the scent of tobacco in his presence. Putting her hands behind her back, she bit her lip and walked to where he stood. The strain in him was evident, as the muscles in his neck were taut. He was so very angry with her—angrier now than the night of the dance. Had she made a mistake by leaving him alone for so long? Did he think she didn't care?

“You have to listen to my explanation about the dance,” she began in a rush so he couldn't stop her. “I didn't want to dance with Bayard. He suggested we do—only until you came back into the assembly.
Then I would finish the waltz with you. I'm sorry if you find that so offensive. I never meant to hurt you just by dancing with Bayard. It meant nothing to me. As for Jenny, Bayard brought her up, not me. I still don't know how he found out. I asked him yesterday to tell me how, but he wouldn't. He kept going around the issue and wouldn't say.”