the wonderful companion of Jessica’s memories.
When Wolfe turned and held out his hand for Jessica, she leaned on his strength in a distinctly unladylike manner as she descended stiffly.
“A lovely morning, is it not?” Jessica asked, smiling into the teeth of a cold wind.
Wolfe grunted.
“I don’t know when I’ve ever seen so many delicate shades of gray,” she continued cheerfully. “Quite enough to put a dove to shame.”
Wolfe shot Jessica a look of disbelief. “I’ve heard a cold March morning called a lot of things out here. Lovely wasn’t one of them.”
She sighed. Perhaps Wolfe would feel better after he had the wretched coffee Americans so admired. As far as she was concerned, there wasn’t enough sugarcane in the world to sweeten that evil brew.
There was no more conversation while Wolfe strode alongside Jessica to the privy’s miserable comforts. When she emerged, clutching her scent-drenched handkerchief, the cold prairie wind cutthrough her wool cape and dress as though they were sheerest silk. She looked longingly at the smoke streaming from the canted chimney pipe of the stage station.
The thought of being close to a fire’s warmth made Jessica shiver with pleasure. Ever since Wolfe had set her so abruptly on the far side of the coach, she had been getting steadily colder. Even worse, the sound of the wind had been gnawing at her nerves, eroding her self-control.
“Wolfe, let’s eat inside this time.”
“No.”
“But why? We’re the only passengers. Surely—”
“See those horses?” he interrupted curtly.
Jessica looked. There were indeed horses tied on the lee side of the rudimentary barn, which was more a lean-to attached to the station than a true barn.
“Those are saddle horses,” Wolfe said.
She schooled her expression into one of cheerful interest. “Why so they are. You can tell by the number of legs.”
Wolfe started to speak, gave a crack of laughter, and shook his head. How anyone who looked so worn and fragile could be so full of mischief was beyond him. He reached out and gently tugged a wisp of mahogany hair that had unraveled from Jessica’s crown of coiled braids.
“That means the station is full of men who are waiting for the stage,” Wolfe explained.
“Why? They have horses, after all.”
“They could be borrowed. In any case, they’ve been hard used. A smart man wouldn’t set out for a hundred-mile ride on a played-out horse.” Wolfe shrugged. “But even if the station were empty, Iwouldn’t let you go inside. This is Cross-Eyed Joe’s place.”
“Do you know him?”
“Everyone between St. Joseph and Denver does. His station is the worst of a sorry lot, and he’s the sorriest of all. He’s a crude, blaspheming, drunken son of a bitch whose breath could back down a wolverine.”
Jessica blinked. “Then how does he hold his job?”
“He cares for horses the way a mother hen cares for her chicks. Out here, being afoot can be a death sentence. You can forgive Joe’s smell when he puts strong, eager horses in the traces.”
“Why would being afoot be so dangerous? Lord Robert never mentioned danger when we were here before.”
“Lord Robert’s ‘native guides’ fought even better than they tracked game,” Wolfe said dryly. “No Indians or outlaws were going to take on the kind of trouble twenty well-armed men could offer, no matter how tempting the prize.”
Broodingly, Wolfe looked at the unusually well-bred, obviously trail-weary horses tied in the lee of the station. Perhaps those horses belonged to honest men rather than to men whose lives depended on the ability of their horses to outrun the law.
Perhaps…but Wolfe doubted it.
Jessica’s glance followed Wolfe’s to the station house, but for a different reason. A week ago she wouldn’t have kenneled a dog inside something as disreputable as that sod house, but now it looked like a haven from the bleak landscape. When visiting the prairie with Lord Robert’s
When Wolfe turned and held out his hand for Jessica, she leaned on his strength in a distinctly unladylike manner as she descended stiffly.
“A lovely morning, is it not?” Jessica asked, smiling into the teeth of a cold wind.
Wolfe grunted.
“I don’t know when I’ve ever seen so many delicate shades of gray,” she continued cheerfully. “Quite enough to put a dove to shame.”
Wolfe shot Jessica a look of disbelief. “I’ve heard a cold March morning called a lot of things out here. Lovely wasn’t one of them.”
She sighed. Perhaps Wolfe would feel better after he had the wretched coffee Americans so admired. As far as she was concerned, there wasn’t enough sugarcane in the world to sweeten that evil brew.
There was no more conversation while Wolfe strode alongside Jessica to the privy’s miserable comforts. When she emerged, clutching her scent-drenched handkerchief, the cold prairie wind cutthrough her wool cape and dress as though they were sheerest silk. She looked longingly at the smoke streaming from the canted chimney pipe of the stage station.
The thought of being close to a fire’s warmth made Jessica shiver with pleasure. Ever since Wolfe had set her so abruptly on the far side of the coach, she had been getting steadily colder. Even worse, the sound of the wind had been gnawing at her nerves, eroding her self-control.
“Wolfe, let’s eat inside this time.”
“No.”
“But why? We’re the only passengers. Surely—”
“See those horses?” he interrupted curtly.
Jessica looked. There were indeed horses tied on the lee side of the rudimentary barn, which was more a lean-to attached to the station than a true barn.
“Those are saddle horses,” Wolfe said.
She schooled her expression into one of cheerful interest. “Why so they are. You can tell by the number of legs.”
Wolfe started to speak, gave a crack of laughter, and shook his head. How anyone who looked so worn and fragile could be so full of mischief was beyond him. He reached out and gently tugged a wisp of mahogany hair that had unraveled from Jessica’s crown of coiled braids.
“That means the station is full of men who are waiting for the stage,” Wolfe explained.
“Why? They have horses, after all.”
“They could be borrowed. In any case, they’ve been hard used. A smart man wouldn’t set out for a hundred-mile ride on a played-out horse.” Wolfe shrugged. “But even if the station were empty, Iwouldn’t let you go inside. This is Cross-Eyed Joe’s place.”
“Do you know him?”
“Everyone between St. Joseph and Denver does. His station is the worst of a sorry lot, and he’s the sorriest of all. He’s a crude, blaspheming, drunken son of a bitch whose breath could back down a wolverine.”
Jessica blinked. “Then how does he hold his job?”
“He cares for horses the way a mother hen cares for her chicks. Out here, being afoot can be a death sentence. You can forgive Joe’s smell when he puts strong, eager horses in the traces.”
“Why would being afoot be so dangerous? Lord Robert never mentioned danger when we were here before.”
“Lord Robert’s ‘native guides’ fought even better than they tracked game,” Wolfe said dryly. “No Indians or outlaws were going to take on the kind of trouble twenty well-armed men could offer, no matter how tempting the prize.”
Broodingly, Wolfe looked at the unusually well-bred, obviously trail-weary horses tied in the lee of the station. Perhaps those horses belonged to honest men rather than to men whose lives depended on the ability of their horses to outrun the law.
Perhaps…but Wolfe doubted it.
Jessica’s glance followed Wolfe’s to the station house, but for a different reason. A week ago she wouldn’t have kenneled a dog inside something as disreputable as that sod house, but now it looked like a haven from the bleak landscape. When visiting the prairie with Lord Robert’s
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