Lonesome Rider and Wilde Imaginings (11 page)

“My name's McKenna. I'm working for Dylan's widow. I've left her back in Jackson Prairie, at the boardinghouse there. I came as quickly as I could. I'm sure Harding will come after her if he even suspects she might have found the letters.”

“Mrs. Dylan knew about these letters?”

“She came West to find them.”

Sherman nodded. “Lieutenant, arrange a party to travel back to Jackson Prairie. See that Mrs. Dylan is safe, then move on to the fort and relieve Colonel Harding of duty. He'll be placed under arrest to face a court-martial.” He studied Blade. “I'll assume you'll be accompanying my men.”

Blade nodded. Lieutenant Gray hurried out.

“I heard tell of a half-breed Sioux with Mosby. Was that you?”

Blade hesitated. This was it. Mosby had been a legitimate member of Lee's army—not like Quantrill, who had been an embarrassment to the entire Southern command. Still … “Yes, sir, that was me,” Blade said.

Sherman drummed his fingers on his desk. “Custer used to hate Mosby with a passion. Used to hang any of his men he could get his hands on.”

“Yes, sir. Colonel Mosby was careful to hang only Custer's men in return.”

“Sad state of affairs, eh, among civilized men? He was one hell of a raider, your commander.”

“Yes, yes he was.” Blade hesitated. “If you're going to put me under arrest—”

“Hell, sir! The war is over. I admire the man, and I bemoan our losses to him. That's all.”

Blade started to turn. Sherman's words stopped him once again. “Though I must say, there was some rumor that Mosby's half-breed rode with Quantrill first. With boys like Bloody Bill Anderson. Men who dragged Union officers out of trains, stripped them, and shot the right in me back.”

Blade felt his spine begin to freeze. “If you're going to hold me, General—”

“Oh, there was lots to the story. It was my understanding some Red Legs bushwhacking out of Kansas had mown down the half-breed's whole family. Father, pregnant wife.”

Blade turned to him. “I didn't stay with Quantrill,” he said softly. “Even after what I'd seen, I couldn't.”

“There may be worse ahead out here,” Sherman warned him. “The West is going to be a rough place with the war over. Custer didn't like Mosby. A lot of men don't like Indians.”

Blade shrugged. “A lot of Indians don't like white men, but being a mix, General, I find that I really have to try to like myself. And if I'm not under arrest, I'm staying out here. No matter what.”

Sherman leaned forward, studying him. “There's a lot of bushwhackers straight out from Kansas in the army here. There were a number of them at that fort I just left.”

“So I'd heard, General.”

“You might have been looking for a few men out here right from the start, mightn't you?”

“I might.”

Sherman wagged a finger at him. “You'd best be damned careful, McKenna. Harding needs to face a court-martial. You can't just ride in and shoot up all my men.”

“I have to—”

“Yes, Mr. McKenna. You go. Ride with my troops. They move quickly. They must be about ready to ride. Take care, McKenna. I like you, and I'll be damned if I know why. I hated Quantrill and I'm not all that damned fond of Indians, sir, but I admit, I do wish you the best.”

So Blade turned and walked out of the tent. The warmth of the sun struck him, and he smiled suddenly. A massive weight seemed to fall from his shoulders.

“Mr. McKenna!” Lieutenant Gray called out from atop a handsome roan. “Are you ready, sir?”

“Indeed, Lieutenant!” Blade mounted his bay. And in the morning's light, they started to ride hard, back to Jackson Prairie.

The night seemed to last forever.

Jessica tried to sit still with Mrs. Peabody, sipping her sassafras tea. She tried to answer the woman's questions intelligently, tried to forget that Blade was running after the army.

At nine she jumped up and said that she was exhausted and needed to sleep. She never slept.

She paced the blue room for hours. She worried endlessly. Each time she closed her eyes, she saw him. He was so tall, dark and completely fascinating. She remembered his eyes, the way they could pin her to the wall, the way they could touch her with warmth and fire. I love you.… The words had just tumbled from her. Maybe she hadn't even realized it until then. Maybe she had known that he had given her something she had never imagined. But until she had seen him riding away, she hadn't known that she had really fallen in love with him, that their lives together now meant more than anything else. I love you, too, he had told her.

But though he now knew all about her life, she still knew very little about his. And she was so afraid. He had been taking chances to ride into a Union army camp. And if anything happened to him …

It wasn't even dawn when she rose and dressed. She slipped out of Mrs. Peabody's and hurried around back to see Mr. Delaney. He was already up and busy, brushing down someone's carriage horse. He arched a brow when he saw her. “Morning, Mrs. Dylan. Aren't you supposed to be waiting in the boardinghouse for McKenna to come back?”

“Yes,” Jessica said, looking at him intensely. “I've got to know what I'm watching out for, Mr. Delaney. I've got to know something about him.”

Mr. Delaney lowered his head. “Seems like you've got to ask him, now, Mrs. Dylan—”

“Mr. Delaney, please! I need help. Blade is gone, and now I'm terrified that he might not come back. You've got to help me, please, Mr. Delaney. I—I swear to you, I'd never hurt him. I'm in love with him.”

Delaney's eyes shot swiftly to hers. Then he shrugged. “Well, I guess there's lots of people who know the truth. I wouldn't really be telling tales out of school.”

“So help me, please!”

Delaney shrugged again. “He was ranching with his father back in Missouri, back before the beginning of the war. His father took an active stance against the bushwhacking goin' on, and anyway, some Red Legs come down and killed the elder McKenna and Blade's wife.

“Wife, yes, ma'am,” Mr. Delaney said in response to Jessica's gaping mouth. “She was expecting a little one at the time. Anyway, Blade done joined up with Quantrill and his men—until he seen what they did in a raid. That kind of brutal violence wasn't what he was after. He just wanted to kill the men involved. He couldn't find them what with the war beginning and all. He traveled east and joined up with Mosby. Fought out the war. And then came back.”

“To find the men?” Jessica whispered.

Mr. Delaney hesitated a minute. “We'd heard tell that a lot of the men had joined on with the Union, and that they'd be in one of the forts in this vicinity. I imagine that's why he was coming this way when he ran into you.” He hesitated again, then said very softly, “Yes'm, Mrs. Dylan. That's why he'd ridden out here—to find the men.”

“Thank you,” she said softly. “Thank you.” Jessica started to walk back to the boardinghouse, her mind reeling. He was an outlaw.… No, he wasn't an outlaw. He'd ridden with outlaws. And he'd had a wife killed. A pregnant wife. Jessica fought a sudden rise of tears. He'd never told her. He'd said that he loved her, too.…

But not enough. And that was why he had ridden on. Sure, he wanted to make sure that she was safe—his end of the bargain. But then he was going to ride away again. After those men. She was so immersed in her own thoughts that she didn't hear the riders at first. And then …

Then it was too late. When she looked up, she saw a cloud of dust coming down the street. Then the men. Ten of them, armed, wearing blue, atop cavalry mounts. The first of them, a grim-looking man with dark eyes and mustache, leapt down and came toward her. “Jessica Dylan?”

“What do you want?” she demanded. She knew. Her heart was beating a thousand miles an hour. He'd told her to stay in the boardinghouse! Mrs. Peabody would have lied for her, found her a place to hide. The men could have ripped the place apart, but now …

“You're under arrest,” the man told her, reaching for her.

She snatched her hand away, taking a swift step backward. “Arrest! We are not in a state of military control here!” she cried angrily. “You can't arrest me. I haven't done anything—”

“We have reason to believe that you were engaged in traitorous activity with your late husband, a conspiracy that cost many lives during the recent War of Rebellion,” the man said.

“You've no authority with which to arrest me. Don't touch me. I'll scream so damned loudly it will be heard all the way to Washington!” she cried.

His hands were on her. He wrenched her toward him. “I'm Colonel Harding, Mrs. Dylan.
Harding.
I want what you've got from your late husband, and I'll do what I have to in order to get it from you. Do you understand?”

“I don't have anything—” Jessica began.

“Lady, you're a liar!” Colonel Harding fired back.

She wasn't lying, she didn't have the damned letters, they were in Blade's hands as he crossed the plains. Right into the hands of the Union army. A man who had been with Mosby. With Quantrill.

Her mind raced. She didn't dare give Harding the least hint that someone else was holding the damning evidence against him. She had to let Harding believe it was still buried on her property somewhere.

She lifted her chin. “You're the lying, murderous traitor, Harding. You killed Charles, I'm sure. You probably shot him in the back once you found it was the only way to frame him. They say a Reb did it, but you and I both know. You killed him.”

Harding lowered his head, his eyes burning into hers. “All I can assure you, ma'am, is that I will kill his widow, slowly, if I don't get what I want.”

“And how will you explain that?”

“I'll find a way. Come willingly now, or it will be the worse for you.”

She stared at him, gritting her teeth. Then she began to scream. “This man is taking me unlawfully! He's a murderer, he was a traitor to his cause—”

Harding's hand slammed across her cheek. Stunned, she nearly fell. He lifted her. She gathered what strength she could muster and began beating him, fighting him. She found herself thrown, stomach down, over a horse, then gagged and tied there, like a beast ready for the slaughter.

Harding caught her hair, lifting her eyes to his. “We'll have time to talk, Mrs. Dylan. Lots of time.”

He dropped her hair and hurried to his mount.

“See here!” someone cried. It was Mr. Delaney. “What do you think you're doing? You can't do that to a lady. What kind of officer are you—”

“She's part of a conspiracy, dangerous as a rattler!” Harding told Delaney.

“Bull crap!” Mr. Delaney announced indignantly. There was a crowd gathering around him. Jessica couldn't see the people because her hair was blinding her, but she could hear them. She heard Mrs. Peabody's voice.

“Don't you dare think to take that young woman, you barbarian! We'll have the law on you! We'll—” Mrs. Peabody shouted.

“Good day!” Harding roared. “Men, ride!”

And beneath her, Jessica's horse began to move. To walk, trot and gallop. Racing her out of town.

And far, far away from Blade McKenna. …

Chapter Nine

T
he sun was high, and it seemed as though they had been riding forever. Jessica had been barely conscious, but now she was suddenly aware of one of Harding's men speaking to him.

“We ain't taking her to the fort, right?” she heard him ask. “Colonel Harding, we're your men to the last breath, but if you take her back to the fort, some of the guys there just might not think it's right, they might feel some sympathy for her, they might just … well, sir, they might just protest!”

“Dooley,” Harding said with a trace of exasperation. “I am not taking her to the fort.”

“Then—?”

“We're heading back for her place.”

“Her place?”

“The land Charles Dylan bought when he was out here and left her, Dooley. Where the hell else would he have left anything of value to him!”

Dooley fell silent.

Harding chuckled softly and continued. “No one will see or hear her there. She can scream until the sun sets and rises again, and no one will hear her.”

They kept riding.

When they reached her property, Jessica was so stiff from being in such an awkward position during the ride that she couldn't stand when Dooley came to lift her from the horse. She fell against the creature, her feet and ankles numb.

Harding didn't care. He quickly had a hand on her elbow and started to drag her to the house, calling orders to his men. “Tear apart the barn, the stables. See what you can find.”

Jessica longed to tell him that he could dig from here to Kingdom Come and he wouldn't find anything. But she didn't want him to know or even suspect that someone might be riding away with his evidence. If he did start suspecting, he'd probably begin asking questions in town. God forbid if he found out Blade had the evidence … and that he had also killed the man who had never come back. But … but if Blade had found Sherman and managed to walk into the army camp, then maybe …

Then what? He'd come back to town. She wouldn't be there. Mr. Delaney and Mrs. Peabody would tell him what happened, and he would come for her.

Except that he wouldn't know where to come. …

Yes, yes, he might! This was the logical place for Harding to have brought her. To the ranch Charles Dylan had loved so much, the place that was his, the place he had come whenever he'd had a few spare minutes away from the fort.

Could he come in time? Jessica wondered.

She stumbled up the steps to the front door. Harding wrenched her to her feet. He kicked the door, still dragging her.

The house seemed so strange. No fire burned in the hearth. There was no aromatic scent of coffee in the air, no feel of life today. Yet it was still different from when they had first come, Jessica realized. It was neat, it was clean, it had little touches of home in the drapes, in the afghan over the sofa, in the cloth on the table, the vase there. It was a house that waited. Empty, and a little cold because of that, but waiting for them. For her and Blade.