Chapter 7
“Good riddance!”
Callie turned abruptly to face the well-dressed woman who sailed past her in the hotel lobby. Jax had just finished settling up with the hotel clerk for their room and the damages to the dining area. The arm he placed about her shoulders turned to steel as Callie stopped, unsure that she had heard correctly. When she ventured a glance back, she was certain that the woman had spoken the words by the smug look on her face.
“Ignore it,” Jax said tightly. “You’ll never see her again anyway.”
“I told you this would happen!” Callie seethed in a low, biting voice. “Jax, this is—this is terrible!”
Jax turned to her in the hotel doorway, giving her a languid smile. “Terrible, huh. Worse than being dead, Sarah?”
Her lips thinned mutinously at his words. “Don’t turn it into something it’s–it’s not! I never said that. It’s just that—now they all think…”
He took her arm and steered her across the street toward the stage office. “They all think you’re my…woman.” His fingers tightened on her arm. “And you think that’s worse than being dead?”
Callie stopped and rounded on him in the middle of the busy street. He jerked her from the path of a wagon loaded heavily with supplies as the driver yelled a frightened warning.
“Damn it!” Jax exploded as the wagon roared by, barely missing them. “Are you that eager for it, Miss Smith?”
“N-No, I—” Her hands trembled in his, and he squeezed them in silent apology. She looked up at him, aware of his arms still holding her tightly, the proximity of their bodies far too close. “Jax, I—please let me go,” she whispered. She felt his grip loosen, then he dropped his hands.
He nodded. “Yeah, all right.” He passed a hand over his face. “Look, I know this isn’t the ideal situation, but…can’t you trust me? Just a little? I’m doing what I can to protect you. You may not see the need for it, but believe me—it’s there.”
Why? The question hovered on her lips. But if she dared to ask it, she would have to trust him enough to confide in him. She looked at him for a long moment. “I do trust you, Jaxson. This is all just—hard for me.”
“Hard for me, too,” he muttered, then shook his head quickly. “Come on. We better get you on over to the stage. It’s nearly time.”
“Hard, how?” Callie asked. But Jax ignored her as they walked the few remaining steps to where the stagecoach stood. Callie noticed two other women standing together as she and Jax approached. As Jax took her ticket from her and showed it to the driver, Callie felt their eyes boring into the back of her neck. She turned slowly, catching a malicious glint in the older, heavy-set woman’s eyes. Callie moistened her lips, and Jax turned to see what was making her so nervous. The other woman glanced away, the gleam of righteous indignation still in the expression she’d speared Callie with.
Jax took Callie’s fingers in his, handing her up into the stage with a reassuring look. “I’ll be here with you.”
But not really, Callie thought. She tried to smile at him, but the worry ate at her. He hesitated, then turned away, as the livery owner approached him. He was leading a beautiful dark horse over to where Jax stood waiting. Callie seated herself beside the far window facing forward. She wanted to be able to see what was coming, not what they’d left behind. A feeling of loneliness washed over her as she watched Jax walk over to speak with the shotgun rider for a moment before mounting his big black.
The matronly woman climbed in, giving a disdainful sniff. She took the seat opposite Callie’s, moving over to make room for her younger companion.
“Hello,” Callie ventured.
Neither of them spoke. The older woman gave her a fish-eyed stare, while the younger one, just a few years older than Callie, looked across at her curiously.
Callie glanced away, her attention drawn by the next two passengers who climbed through the doorway. A clergyman wearing a high white collar and black frock coat handed his wife up, next to Callie. He took the seat on the end, beside the door.
Callie’s spirits sagged even further as she gave the couple a tentative smile. The preacher would spend the entire ride to Amarillo trying to save her soul—the soul of a fallen woman. If he didn’t know already that she was Jax’s supposed “woman”, she’d have to try to keep up a pretense. One look across the coach at the two travelers she’d tried to speak to earlier told her that wouldn’t last long. The older one would be more than happy to spill her guts to the preacher, and conversion would commence. For four-hundred-and-fifty long, long, miles.
The reverend and his wife introduced themselves to the heavy-set Tildy Rienholdt and her niece, MayBell. They seemed unaware of the frostiness those two women projected at Callie who sat quietly as they made their introductions. After a moment, the clergyman’s round-faced wife turned to Callie. “Hello, my dear,” she cooed. “I’m Cara Manley, and this is my husband, the Reverend Talmadge Manley.”
“Pleased to meet you, both,” Callie responded genuinely. “I’m Sarah Smith.”
A loud “hmph” sounded from across the coach. “Jezebel Smith,” Tildy Rienholdt proclaimed.
Callie’s eyes held the older woman’s. “Sarah,” she repeated firmly, then turned back to Cara Manley. “Rhymes with Cara, Mrs. Manley. Easy to remember.”
“Oh. Yes, well…‘Cara’ means ‘darling’ in Italian. Did you know that?”
“Why, no, I didn’t. That’s very interesting.” Callie felt her earlier anger and embarrassment melt away at the kindness in Mrs. Manley’s voice.
“Where are you headed, my dear?” Reverend Manley asked as the conversation lulled.
“To Hell!” Tildy answered, levering her bulk forward in the seat. “That’s where she’s headed!”
“Aunt Tildy!” MayBell exclaimed.
“Her sinful nature has proven itself!” Tildy turned baleful eyes to Callie, who sat in stunned silence. “Don’t think we don’t know who and what you are,” she spat venomously. “Not only a woman of ill repute, but one who fornicates with–savages.” She breathed the last word as if she’d said ‘demons’ instead. She looked triumphantly at Reverend Manley.
He gave her a thin smile. “You seem to think her sin of—fornication—is worse because she has committed it with a—savage. Who is this Indian, may I ask?”
“Right yonder, Reverend.” Tildy lifted the shade and craned her neck around, then pointed out the window. “That Marshal,” she spat. “Jaxson McCall.”
“His father is Scotch-Irish, Reverend,” Callie explained. “His mother was Cherokee,” she added, glancing defiantly across the space at the other woman who seemed so bent on destroying her.
“Really.” The preacher raised a graying brow. “That’s quite extraordinary.” He pulled his pipe out and began to pack it with aromatic tobacco. “It seems the marshal and I have a bit of something in common.”
“Whatever could that be?” Tildy smirked.
He turned his midnight blue gaze on her. “Our parentage,” he replied serenely after a moment. “You see, my mother was…a savage as well, ma’am. Lakota Sioux.” He lit the pipe and took a deep draw in the shocked silence. “A marshal and a preacher. Not too bad, I’d say, for a race of people that President Andrew Jackson declared mere animals. Some of us,” he added pointedly, “are more human—and civilized—than our European-born counterparts, hmm?”
After a moment, the heavy-set woman leaned against the back of the seat and closed her eyes without responding to Manley.
The preacher reached across his wife and clasped Callie’s hand firmly. “If you wish to confess your sins, child, I’m here. I will pray for you, no matter what.”
Callie managed to smile at him. “Thank you, Reverend.”
****
It was nearly dark when they pulled into the stage station where they would spend the night. The stone and wood hostelry was lit with welcoming light that beckoned as they drew to a halt at the front door. The passengers crawled out, their legs stiff from the long hours of cramped sitting.
Callie took her valise from under the seat, the last one out the door. The stage driver helped each of the passengers down carefully, then he and his shotgun rider unhitched the team and led the horses to the corral for the night.
As Callie’s eyes searched the early twilight, she saw Jaxson dismount slowly. His side must be hurting him. It would have been a long hard day in the saddle for any man, she thought, but for one with broken ribs, it must have seemed endless.
He removed the saddle, then led the horse inside the barn. Callie came in behind him.
“Jax—” She hurried to him, and he turned, reaching for her.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
Callie molded herself to him, her head tucked under his chin, eyes squeezed shut. Here was her safety. He always had a way of making her feel protected, standing between her and the rest of the world.
“Just hold me for a little while, Jax. Please?” The words were out before she could stop them. Once they tumbled from her lips, she didn’t care. All that mattered was the strong arms encircling her; the steady heartbeat under her ear, the even breathing that brushed the top of her head.
“As long as you want, querida.”
Callie smiled into the dim lantern-lit darkness. “Querida,” she murmured. “What does that mean?” She lifted her head to look at him. “It’s Spanish, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “It means ‘darling’.”
“Like ‘cara’ in Italian. That’s Mrs. Manley’s name.”
He chuckled at Callie’s mercurial mood swing. “So you got to know your traveling companions pretty well, huh?”
She pulled a wry face, and he laughed at her. “The Reverend and Mrs. Talmadge Manley, who seem very nice, and Aunt Tildy Rienholdt and her niece, MayBell, who—oh well, never mind.”
“What happened?”
Callie sighed. He was not going to be put off. Haltingly, she confided what had gone on during their ride. When she was finished, Jax gave her a slow smile. “You held your own with her, it sounds like. With a little help from the preacher.”
Callie’s lips quirked up.
“Come on. Let’s go eat.” He winked at her. “It’ll be all right.”
“How’s your side?” Callie asked as they started back toward the station house.
Jax grimaced. “Hurts.”
“It’ll feel better once you can lie down,” Callie soothed, as if she’d read his mind. “That last couple of hours must have really been hard. You need to rest. I’ll re-wrap your bandage before we turn in.” How easily she’d slipped into the role of his “woman” she thought, accepting the fact that they’d be sleeping together tonight once again. She flushed at her own words, and his easy acceptance of the situation.
“That’ll help.” Jax opened the door, and they entered a dining hall with two long trestle tables side by side, running almost the entire length of the room.
“Jaxson McCall, you son-of-a-gun!” A short, wiry man hobbled over to Jax and pumped his hand vigorously. “Marta’s been wondering where you’ve been. Haven’t seen you in a coon’s age, boy!”
“I’ve been around, Ethan. How’ve you been?”
“Oh, never better, never better. Marta! Marta, here’s Jax!”
A heavyset woman with sagging blonde curls came bustling out of the kitchen, and Jax hugged her with the familiarity of long years of friendship.
“Marta, you’re just as gorgeous as I remember,” Jax told her. “Why did you have to be married when I met you?”
“Oh, go on, Jaxson McCall!” the big woman answered, obviously flattered by his teasing. “I’ve got thirty years on you. I’m old enough to be your mother.”
Jax grinned at her. “But you’re not my mother, Marta.”
“And you’re not the marrying kind, Jaxson.” She swatted at him playfully with her cup towel. She nodded in Callie’s direction. “Speaking of gorgeous, Jax.” She raised her eyebrows meaningfully. “Go sit. I’ll bring you two some dinner.”
Jax promptly steered Callie to the end of the table, seating her to his left, then dropping fluidly into the vacant seat between her and Tildy Rienholdt.
“Miss Rienholdt,” Jax greeted her levelly as he unfolded his napkin.
She glared at him, without speaking. Callie laid her hand on his thigh and he automatically reached to enfold her cold fingers in his sure, safe grasp.
“Warm enough?” he asked, turning to face Callie.
“If she’s not, she will be soon enough, I’ll warrant. In your bed.”
Jax quirked an eyebrow and slowly turned back to face the vindictive shrew. He looked at her for a long, cool moment.
“Jealous, Miss Rienholdt?”
Tildy Rienholdt gasped and drew her hand back to slap him, but Jax caught her stout wrist and held it firmly. His voice was like satin steel when he spoke. “You’re in my territory now, Miss Rienholdt. Don’t ever forget it. Not for one minute.”
“You are the devil, Marshal! A red devil!” Tildy Rienholdt’s eyes swam with angry tears as she sputtered in outrage.
“You only believe that, ma’am, because you’ve never been at the mercy of the Apaches or the Comanches.” Or Wolf Blocker and his crew. Jax’s eyes narrowed. “If we run into a war party,” he nodded, “you’ll learn what a ‘red devil’ truly is.”
“That’s why you’re with us,” the big woman spat, “to provide us safe passage. To speak their language and arrange for our protection. You do speak their language, don’t you, Marshal?”
Amused, Jax slowly released her thick wrist. “Yes, I do, Miss Rienholdt. But you don’t. So…you’ll never know what I might be telling them. The Apaches prize white women. Especially those with a little meat on their bones.”
Her eyes widened in shock. “No man has ever spoken to me so rudely!”
Callie squeezed his fingers, but Jax ignored her. He wasn’t done yet. “If we have to give up a hostage for the safety of the others…” he let his voice trail off meaningfully.
“Are you saying—”
Jax shrugged. “Take it as you will, ma’am.” His tone was unyielding; a promise.
Just then, Marta set bowls of stew and a plate of cornbread in front of Jax and Callie, giving Callie a motherly pat on the shoulder.
“I refuse to sleep under the same roof as this—this savage and his doxy!” Tildy said as Marta started back by. “I demand you do something. This is an outrage to decent folk!”
“Well,” Marta said slowly, her brows coming together in an uncharacteristic scowl, “it seems we have only one choice. You can seek accommodations elsewhere. Ethan and I have a spacious stable, and it stays plenty warm. I’ve known Jax ever since he was a young lad.” She shook her head. “He’s always welcome here. Always.” She smiled at Tildy’s stormy expression. “You let me know, m’dear, if I can get you some blankets to carry out to the barn, or—” she looked toward the warm fireplace, “—if you might reconsider and just have a pallet by the fire.”
Tildy’s turned a venomous glare on Jax again as Marta hurried back toward the kitchen.
“My territory, Miss Rienholdt.” Jax reached for the cup of strong black coffee Ethan handed him, giving the man a silent nod of thanks. “I was raised here. I know every piece of it.” He took a sip of the coffee.
“Aunt Tildy,” MayBell said timidly, “perhaps we ought to—to eat and turn in for the night.” It was clear to Callie that Maybell was prepared to swallow her discomfiture at sleeping under the same roof, whether her aunt was or not.
Tildy tore her gaze away from Jax’s stare after a long moment. She heaved an exasperated sigh.
“Aunt Tildy?” MayBell questioned when she didn’t answer immediately.
The older woman nodded. “Yes. All right.”
****
Later, Marta showed Jax and Callie to their chamber at the far end of the hallway. A bowl with rose petals scented the air of the small, homey room.
Jax laid his saddlebag on the back of the chair, and Callie noticed the way his breath caught. He stood perfectly still for a moment. Callie came up behind him, putting her arms around him gently.
“Let’s go to bed,” she murmured.
Jax smiled wearily, turning to face her. “Is that a proposition, lady?”
Callie arched a brow at him. “You must have me confused with someone else, Marshal, for no ‘lady’ am I. ‘Doxy’, I believe, is the latest description of my person.”
“Even better,” Jax leered. “I could use one of those tonight.”
“What would you do with one, with your ribs like they are?” Callie shot back.
Jax gave her a slow grin. “Let’s find out.” He made a grab for her as she tried to slip out of his embrace. She laughed at his teasing, but as he pulled her to him, the laughter faded, and her eyes took on a soft glow as she looked up into his face.
He’s so alone. Like me. The thought slammed through her, and she was sure it showed in her expression.
“Jaxson…”
He bent slowly, putting his mouth to hers. Her fingers traveled up, entwining in his dark hair. He made a sound in his throat, a low groan, as he pulled her close to him. Afraid she had hurt him, she started to push away. But she didn’t want to be apart from him. She wanted to be even closer than she already was.
And they both knew the only way to accomplish that.
“Christ, Sarah,” he breathed, lifting his head, his gaze holding hers. “You taste so damn good.” His thumb traced a gentle track across her lips. “I think maybe…if I asked you tonight…you wouldn’t mind being mine would you? The half-breed’s woman…” He gave her a piercing look. “Would you, Sarah?” His lips brushed hers again, gently, and a slow, hot fire began in her belly, burning through her body as his mouth claimed her thoroughly.
Callie knew she couldn’t lie anymore, no matter what it cost her. Strange, that losing this night with him suddenly seemed far more important than losing her life. But she wanted to hear him say her name. Her real name. Know the truth about her. He would understand. He had to.
“Jax,” she whispered, her lips a hairsbreadth from his, “there’s something I-I need to tell you. I’m—not really who you think I am.” Her hands twisted nervously, and she bit her bottom lip. “I’ve done something so horrible you can’t imagine it,” she whispered shakily. “Something that I’ll have to live with forever.”