Finding Promise (2 page)

Chapter Two

With the woman lying limp against his chest, Jake slowly made his way back to the cattle drive. With the many days of storms they'd had, the plains had turned into a muddy quagmire. Preacher was forced to slog through the muck, which was more difficult with extra weight on his back. As soon as Jake saw Harm, his most experienced trail hand, he rode in his direction. After explaining the situation, Jake told him they were stopping for the night.

“Indians?” Harm asked.

Jake shook his head. “They didn't kill those folks, but there were ten braves watching me the whole time. Tell the men to keep their eyes open.”

Jake had two of his men quickly transfer supplies from one of the wagons so he could make a place for the woman. When the wagon was empty, Shorty stacked quilts several inches deep to make a comfortable pallet for her. Once Jake had the woman settled on the quilts, he sent Shorty to find one of his dry shirts. He dropped the canvas opening to have some privacy from the prying eyes of the men riding into camp. He knew as soon as the men heard about the situation, they'd have questions, but right now he had to get her into dry clothes. That meant undressing her, and he didn't need an audience for that. Pulling his slicker from her, all he could think about was how helpless she looked lying there. He wished they had a woman with them who could do what needed doing. But wishing wasn't having, as his father used to say, so he needed to get to it.

Removing his Stetson, he placed it on the floorboard beside the quilts. He pulled the pistol that he'd found under the woman from his belt, and with a quick check of the cylinder, saw it was empty. The gun was in good condition; someone had taken the time to clean and oil it frequently. He placed the gun on the floor by his hat and kneeled beside the woman. He stared at her pale face, noticing that her long, dark lashes resting on her cheeks were a stark contrast to her deathly white skin. Some of her hair was beginning to dry, and he could see the color was a light golden blond. Even wet and covered in mud she was uncommonly beautiful. Her complexion was creamy smooth, her lips full and the palest pink. In his estimation she was nearly as beautiful as his brother's new wife, and that was saying something.

He sat back on his heels, trying to muster the courage to do what needed doing. He wished she'd wake up so she could undress herself. Surprised at how uneasy he was, he told himself that he'd undressed his fair share of women over the years, so it wasn't that he didn't know where to start, but he still hesitated. None of those women had been unconscious, and they'd wanted to be undressed. If she woke up while he was taking her clothes off, she'd probably die of fright. He was as nervous as he was the first time he'd seen a naked woman.
Hell's bells! I was a U.S. Marshal for ten years and chased gunslingers all over this territory. I sure as hell can undress an unconscious woman. Just
g
et on with it!
As he leaned over and started to attack the tiny row of buttons at the neck of her dress, someone tapped on the wagon, causing him to jump up so fast he smacked his head on the wood frame.

“Dang it all!” he muttered, rubbing his head.

“Yo, boss, here's the clothes,” Shorty said.

Jake leaned over to open the flap, and there stood Shorty, holding one of his shirts along with a pair of trousers. “Thanks, Shorty.”

Shorty pointed to the trousers. “I got these from the smallest man on the crew, but they ain't going to fit without a rope to hold them up.” Then he added, “I'm boiling some water, so just whistle when you're ready to get her wound cleaned.”

“Will do.” Crouching down beside her again, Jake reached for the first button. “I promise, honey, I'm not going to hurt you.” He was working as quickly as he could for fear she would wake up, and he kept talking just in case she did. He shivered at that thought. She was such a small woman that he lifted her with ease. He tried to keep his eyes from wandering as he got down to her chemise and bloomers, but the flimsy material was so wet it was transparent, and he dropped back on his heels again and took a deep breath.
Lord, help me
, he pleaded silently, and as much as he tried not to look, he couldn't drag his eyes away. His next thought was he should just leave those things on her, but he decided that wouldn't do. He didn't want her catching a cold, yet if she came to and he had stripped her as naked as the day she was born . . . well, he didn't even want to think about that. He grabbed his slicker to throw over her before he removed her underthings. He had no problem removing her bloomers with his hands under the slicker, but he didn't have the same success with the laces on her chemise. He fumbled around, but he couldn't find the secret of those ties without seeing what he was doing. His frustration mounting, and a few curse words later, he jerked the slicker aside, pulled his knife from its sheath, and slit the laces. Before he even allowed himself a peek—well, almost—his fingers latched on to the slicker and he threw it over her like she was a rattler ready to strike. He glanced at her face and was relieved to see she was still out cold. Only then did he let out a loud breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding. He was drenched to the bone, but he was still sweating like a pig being chased by hungry men preparing for a pig roast. And he still had to get her into dry clothing. He made short work of getting her into his dry shirt, and he quickly buttoned it up to her throat. Grabbing the trousers, he held them up and determined Shorty was right; they were way too large, so he decided to leave them off. His shirt covered her to her knees anyway. Hopefully, he'd find some clothing for her when he returned to the wagon train.

Exhausted, he wiped the sweat from his brow with his wet shirtsleeve. When he went to hang her dress to dry, he was surprised at how heavy it was. He wondered how such a slight woman could stand up in a dress so heavy since the darn thing weighed as much as she did. Dismissing the thought, when he started to hang it from a nail he saw a label inside the neckline with a name stitched on it, which he couldn't read, and beneath the name it said
Paris, France
. They sure made dresses heavy in Paris, France.

He leaned out of the wagon and gave a shrill whistle. Shorty came running with the water and some of his special salve. After cleaning and bandaging her wound, they tried to clean the blood from her thick mass of hair.

“I ain't never seen so much hair in my life,” Shorty said.

“I don't know how she holds her head up when it's wet. It's heavier than my holster,” Jake said.

“Is she hurt somewhere we can't see?”

“I didn't see anything else, but I have never seen anyone stay unconscious for so long. Have you?”

“Not this long.” Shorty absently stroked her silky hair. “She sure is a pretty little thing. Dang those polecats for hurting a sweet little thing like her.”

“I found a man near her who could have been her husband. The two of them were younger than the rest of the folks.” He didn't know which would be worse, having her wake up to find everyone she knew was dead, or not waking up at all. “Maybe we'll find something that will tell me where they were headed.”

They looked at each other, both at a loss as to what to do next. Jake got to his feet. “I guess I'd best get back to bury those people.”

Shorty scrambled up behind him. He was so lacking in stature that he didn't need to crouch down like Jake inside the wagon. “You ain't plannin' on leavin' me alone with her, are you?”

Jake glanced down at the motionless woman. “I don't think she'll give you any trouble.”

Shorty let out a loud snort. “You know that ain't what I'm sayin'! What if she . . . well . . . what if she . . . ,” he said, his voice quavering. “You know . . . goes to meet her Maker?”

Jake placed a hand on his shoulder. “You're the best hope she has, and I need to get back there before animals get to those folks. They deserve a decent burial, and I'm hoping the trail of those killers won't be totally washed away. You know that in her condition I can't take her all the way back to Dodge right now.”

“I've tended plenty of sick cowhands, but hellfire, I ain't never tended a woman,” Shorty complained, raking a hand through his thinning white hair.

Jake didn't have the time to reassure his cook, but he tried. “You've stopped the bleeding, and that's about all we can do for her right now. I think it's a good sign she doesn't have a fever.”

Shorty nodded, wanting to hold on to that thread of hope. “Yeah, that's good.”

Grabbing his slicker, Jake opened the canvas flap and jumped from the wagon, with Shorty right behind him. “Just check on her every few minutes in case she wakes up. After what she went through, she'll likely be scared to death. And stay alert, there are killers afoot, and I doubt they are too far away.”

“Will do, boss.”

“If you need anything in a hurry, have someone ride to get me. It's doubtful I could hear gunshots.”

“You need to eat before you go back there. You ain't had nothin' since breakfast,” Shorty reminded him like a worried parent.

“No time. I'll eat when I get back. Keep that coffee hot.” With that said, Jake donned his slicker before making his way to the makeshift corral where the two wranglers kept horses saddled at all times. He figured Preacher had earned some rest, and it was going to be a long night getting those people buried, so he had Billy, one of the wranglers, pick out a fresh horse for him.

“I already brushed, fed, and watered Preacher,” the young man told him. He knew how his boss valued that horse, and it was the first time Jake hadn't cared for Preacher himself. He always did that first thing when he rode in, even before he saw to his own needs. And every cowboy on the drive knew they'd best follow suit.

“Thanks, Billy. He deserves a good rest. Wipe his face off a few times tonight,” Jake said.

“Sure will, boss.”

Jake patted Preacher before he took the reins of another animal. The rain was coming down in sheets by the time he gathered Cole and three other men to ride with him. Their progress was slow since they took an extra wagon for any belongings they could salvage for the woman. The other men could have ridden ahead of the wagon, but Jake didn't want to leave one man to his own defenses with killers and Indians in the area.

When they reached the wagon train, despite the pelting rain every man took off his hat in a sign of respect for the deceased.

“What kind of men did something like this?” Ty asked when they dismounted and saw the carnage.

“Just plain mean,” Cole answered.

“They must be plumb crazy,” Ty added.

“
Diosito
,” Rodriguez said softly, reverently.

They turned to the vaquero and watched him make the sign of the cross before he dismounted.

“Keep your eyes peeled for those Indians,” Jake told them. The four men he'd chosen to accompany him were capable gun hands. He almost wished the killers would come back. They'd find it'd be a lot more difficult to kill them than it had been to kill those folks on the wagon train. When Jake found an area he determined suitable for burying the dead, the men pulled out their shovels and started digging. After the graves were dug, and the people buried, the men removed their hats again and stood in silence.

Rodriguez was the first to speak. “
Vaya con Dios
.”

Jake nodded his agreement, and repeated the sentiment in English. “Godspeed.” He felt there was little else to say, so he put his hat on and gave instructions to the men to start collecting all items worth taking back for the woman.

The men set about gathering anything that hadn't been destroyed. Jake walked to the wagon where he'd found the woman, and righted the large trunk he'd seen earlier. He noted the ornate silver initials on the closures. Opening the lid, he looked inside and found an expensive silver-handled mirror and matching brush with the same initials, a box filled with ladies' hats, and a Bible. Moving those items aside, he found a large bundle wrapped in a heavy cloth. He lifted the bundle out and pulled the cloth away. He couldn't believe his eyes. He was looking at a beautiful oil painting of the last man he'd buried. It was the same man who had been lying near the woman he'd found alive. There were more paintings, along with brushes, canvases, and oils. Underneath the paintings he found a leather pouch, and when he glanced inside he saw several charcoal drawings. Though he was curious, he didn't want them to get wet, so he wrapped them back inside the pouch. After returning the items to the trunk, he started picking up the clothing that was strewn about. He gathered so many dresses he lost count, along with a fur cape and a furry thing that women wore to keep their hands warm. He'd never seen so many pieces of delicate silky undergarments, other than the times he'd been at brothels. It sure was a lot of clothing for one woman. While he didn't consider himself an expert on ladies' fashion, he could tell the clothing was of high quality, like the dress he'd removed from her. He'd have Shorty wash some of her dresses so she would have something to wear.

Looking around to see if he'd missed anything, he noticed a pair of ladies' boots a few feet away. When he reached for the boots, something glittering in the mud caught his eye, so he pulled the object out of the wet earth and wiped the dirt off on his chaps. It was a beautiful comb that a woman would wear in her hair. The initials on the comb were encrusted with what he thought were diamonds, and they matched the initials on the trunk. He started to place the comb inside one of the boots, but he felt a piece of cloth tucked inside. Pulling the small bundle out, he found a delicate crystal bottle that was fully intact and filled with perfume. Along with the perfume, he found bars of soap that smelled so good he almost wanted to eat them. After he placed everything in the trunk, he spotted a large bathing tub several yards from the wagon.