Remembered Page 32

  “That’s real good. I appreciate you giving me a break.” He smiled and figured it came across as genuine by the looks of the one she returned. He took the reins and guided the wagon up the turnoff, glancing behind them as they went. It felt good to be driving again, and as the wagon ascended the path, his nerves eased considerably.

  It was a steeper incline than he’d expected from the map’s notations, and Jack made a mental note to jot that on the drawing later. Looking ahead, he breathed easier when his side of the road opened to the canyon below. The slope angled down about ten feet to the first shelf, then dropped sheer off to the bottom of the ravine. “You can move closer, if you’d like.”

  She came without hesitation, and looped her hand through the crook of his arm.

  After going a ways farther, he finally attributed his earlier sense of foreboding to a case of nerves. Nothing more.

  “You did very well in the tunnel of trees, Jack.”

  He glanced down. “You knew?”

  She smiled and squeezed his arm. “Mmm . . . at first, not so much. But then in your posture and the way you breathed, I knew something was not right.”

  The woman was more observant that he’d given her credit for being.

  Rounding the first curve in the switchback road, Jack saw the felled tree just before Charlemagne and Napoleon did. The horses reared, and the wagon jolted forward, then slid back until the horses regained their footing.

  “Whoa!” Jack held the reins taut and searched the upper ridge. Sol Leevy was the first to come to mind, but there was no way Leevy and his men could’ve gotten ahead of them to do this without being seen. Unless he’d planned it beforehand, which didn’t seem likely under the circums—

  A single raindrop hit Jack’s hand. Then another. He peered up into the steely skies.

  CHAPTER | THIRTY - THREE

  THE SKIES OPENED UP and, within minutes, reduced the road to mud. Véronique wrapped her new coat around her upper body, thankful for the warmth and for how the water cascaded off the resilient material.

  Holding her hand at her brow, she strained to see Jack’s face as he strode back toward the wagon. She needed to read his expression in order to know whether she should be alarmed, but the angle of his hat blocked her view. He approached her side of the wagon.

  When he lifted his head, her stomach went cold.

  “You need to get out.”

  She could barely hear him above the rain. She began to climb down and had her boot situated on the edge of the buckboard when he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the side of the road. He set her down and she tipped her head back to see him. But when she did, the rain in her eyes made the effort useless, so she kept her head down. “Can the tree be moved?”

  “Not without a saw and a good half day’s work.” He strode back to the wagon and pulled something from beneath the seat, then returned and draped the blanket over their heads. Surprisingly the cloth repelled the moisture, and the water ran in rivulets off the blanket’s edge.

  “Do we not have a saw?”

  “I’ve got one in the back, but I’ll need to unload some of the supplies in order to get to it.”

  She looked up, able to see him now. Droplets of water clung to his stubbled jaw. “I will help you do this.”

  A smile briefly touched his mouth, and disappeared. “I appreciate that, but I can handle that part. It’s cutting the tree and moving it out that’s going to take some doing. I can barely see two feet in front of me, and that’s a steep drop.”

  “Charlemagne and Napoleon are able to help with this work, non?”

  He took a moment to answer. “Charlemagne looks fine but Napoleon’s foreleg caught part of the tree when he reared up. It’s not bleeding too badly, but I won’t know for sure until I can see it better.” With one arm he held the blanket over their heads, and with the other he gently urged her to follow him. “I’ll get you situated, then come back and brace the wagon and see to the horses.”

  She stopped. “I do not need to be situated, Jack. I told you I will help you do this.”

  “Véronique, I’m not of the mind to argue with you right now. If the rain doesn’t stop, we’re going to be stuck out here most of the night just clearing that tree.”

  While she could think of worse things than spending a few hours alone with Jack Brennan, being stuck on the side of a mountain in a rainstorm wasn’t at all appealing—not with the wind blowing as it was. “Neither am I of the mind” —she mimicked him as best she could—“to argue with you at this moment. I am simply offering you my services.”

  He stared down, conflicting emotions warring on his face. “The temperature’s going to drop. It’s going to get cold. We’re going to be wet, Véronique. Please, just let me do my job.”

  “Oui, that is what I am trying to do. Now how do we brace the wagon?”

  His jaw muscles clenched. He shook his head and sighed. “With rocks. Same as what’s in that pretty little hea—” He made for the wagon, taking the blanket with him.

  “Pardonnes-moi? I did not hear all of what you said.”

  Véronique could see where to walk well enough, but the rainslicked trail combined with the steep incline made the ground slippery beneath her boots. She picked her way, taking one step for every three of Jack’s. Apparently his boots were better suited for this terrain than were hers.

  Spotting him ahead, she went and knelt beside him and picked up a rock, then traced his path to the wagon. She could only manage a stone a third the size of his but planned to make up for it in quantity.

  “Place yours there.” He pointed to the wheel. “Behind and around that bigger one. The rain’s going to wash out the dirt so we’ll need to pack them in there good and tight.”

  She did exactly as he said, and by the time they’d gathered enough rocks for the front two wheels, she was exhausted.

  Jack, however, didn’t even appear to be winded.

  Véronique flexed her fingers. The palms of her hands had begun to sting.

  Kneeling by the wagon, they had just started packing the fourth wheel when a deep rumble rolled toward them from overhead. It picked up momentum as it roared over the mountains. Véronique covered her ears as Jack’s arm came around her shoulders. From the corner of her eye, she saw a jagged burst of light shoot down from the clouds. An explosion sounded nearby, followed by a plume of flame that the rain swiftly extinguished.

  “What was that?” she shouted.

  He leaned close. “Don’t you have lightning in France?”

  “Oui, of course we have it. But it is not like that.”

  He pointed to the sky. “It’s because we’re up so high.” He studied the wagon wheel, then the storm. “That’ll have to do for now. I’ll grab some food from the back and we’ll take shelter.”

  Famished, she nodded, thankful the rock work was done.

  By the time Jack had retrieved the food and saw, and secured the cover over the wagon again, the last hint of daylight had disappeared behind the tallest peaks, and the darkness of night had begun to descend. Despite her coat, Véronique shivered, the rain having somehow sleuthed its way past the protection of the outer garment. Her shirtwaist was wet, as was her chemise beneath.

  Jack handed her a sack of food and resituated the blanket over her head and shoulders. Rain trickled off the wide brim of his hat.

  She reached up and flicked the edge of it with her finger. “It keeps you dry in the rain?”

  “It does. My head anyway.” He cinched the blanket closer beneath her chin. “Stay here . . . please. I’ll see to the horses and come right back. If you hear thunder again, get next to the cliff wall and huddle close to the ground.”

  He hadn’t taken six steps before the darkness and sheets of rain enveloped him.

  Véronique stared at the spot where he’d disappeared and found herself thanking God again for this man and for what he was helping her do. If someone had asked her one year ago what she would be doing today, never would she have imagin
ed being in such place, under such circumstances. Yet looking back, she could see the faintest shadow of a line connecting events in her life leading up to this moment. Though she had not seen it then, God had seen, and perhaps her mother too, and they’d been preparing her for this journey.

  Something cracked on the ridge above her head.

  She peered up. With the rain, she could make out only the edge of the overhang and roots protruding from rocky crevices.

  Seconds later it sounded again, farther down. Perhaps Jack had found a passage to the top and they would have shelter for the night. With relief, she spotted him walking toward her. She squinted as he drew closer.

  Only it wasn’t Jack.

  And the man had a gun.

  CHAPTER | THIRTY - FOUR

  JACK HEARD VÉRONIQUE SCREAM his name.

  He dropped the harness and grabbed his rifle. Panic gripped his chest. The wind whipped the rain sideways, and runnels of water channeled downhill. Twice he nearly lost his footing.

  He spotted her, backed up against the cliff, and then made out the blurred outline of a man only a few feet away.

  He raised his gun and took aim. “Come no closer!”

  The man went stock-still, his rifle lowered at his side. He raised his other hand in a sign of truce. “I mean you no harm. I saw your wagon from above and came to see if I could help.”

  Jack slowly approached him. “What are you doing out here, on a night like this?”

  “I live just over the ridge. Shot a buck earlier and was on my way home.”

  Both answers raised suspicion. Jack hadn’t seen any dwellings in this area since they’d left Sluice Box. “Where’s the deer?”

  The man gestured behind him, never turning his head. “I left it up on the ridge before I came down.”

  Likely answer. Jack wished he could see the man closer up, gain a glimpse of his face, get a better sense of whether he was telling the truth. But the storm had brought night on early and the man had his coat pulled up around his neck.

  “Listen, friend . . .” The stranger slowly lowered his hand. “My family and I would welcome you and your wife in our home for the night, if you need a place to stay. I can stable your horses too. There’s a path on down the road a piece where we can lead them over the ridge. But if you’d rather stay here, I’ll walk back out just like I walked in. It’s your call.”

  It didn’t add up to Jack that this fella just happened to be out wandering the forest. Not with the threats, both those spoken and otherwise, they’d had in their visits to the mining towns. But one thing was certain—Sol Leevy and his men wouldn’t walk in like this man had done, rifle lowered, offering a truce.

  A quick glance at Véronique confirmed she was soaked clean through. If this guy was telling the truth, he offered a much better alternative to spending the night outside.

  Relying on instinct, and hoping it was accurate, Jack slowly lowered his gun. “We’re much obliged. Let me unhitch the horses and get a few things from the wagon.”

  His attention never leaving the man, Jack walked to where Véronique stood. She laid a hand to his chest, and he quickly covered it.

  “Can we trust him?” Her voice was low, and he could feel her shivering. “And what of all your supplies?”

  “My gut tells me we can trust him. And if it comes to it, everything in that wagon can be replaced, Vernie. Get what you need for the night. We’ll leave the wagon and come back for it in the morning.” He squeezed her hand before letting it go.

  The stranger fell into step beside them as they walked to the wagon. “From up top it looked like you’ve got a pretty full load.”

  Something about the man’s voice rekindled Jack’s suspicion. “We do. I run supplies to the mining towns. We were on our way up to Quandry but ran into some trouble.”

  The man nodded, looking past the wagon. “I saw the tree. I’ll come back with you in the morning and we’ll get it cleared.”

  “That’s kind of you, sir. I’m Jack Brennan” —he shook the man’s hand—“and this is Véronique . . . my wife.”

  “Pleasure to meet you both.” Looking at Véronique, the man touched the rim of his hat. “I’m Larson Jennings. And my wife, Kathryn, will be more excited about me bringing you home, ma’am, than that buck up on the hill. She’ll enjoy the chance to visit with another lady.”

  “We are grateful for your generosity, Monsieur Jennings, and I am most eager to meet your wife.”

  A woman met them at the door of the rustic cabin and welcomed them inside. The first thing Véronique noticed about Kathryn Jennings was the way she greeted her husband. She kissed him full on the mouth and hugged him tight, despite his being soaked.

  The next thing she noticed, as he turned toward her, was Larson Jennings’s eyes—and his face.

  His eyes were a startling, piercing blue. But his face and neck were covered with scars. She made an effort not to wince when she first looked at him. Then she realized she’d been looking at him for the past half hour as they’d followed him home, only the darkness and his coat pulled high about his neck had masked the disfigurement.

  It shamed her to admit, even to herself, that had she first met Larson Jennings in the daylight, she would not have been receptive to him.

  Larson took off his coat and made the introductions, and Véronique accepted Kathryn’s outstretched hands. She glanced at Jack, expecting him to jump in and explain that they weren’t truly husband and wife, but he seemed oblivious.

  “It’s such a pleasure to have you in our home.” Kathryn seemed as gracious as she was beautiful. “And your timing is perfect. I’ve been holding dinner for Larson, so we can all eat together.”

  “Papa!”

  A little boy ran from a side room, his arms outstretched. Larson grabbed him up and nuzzled the boy’s neck.

  The boy squealed in delight, pushing against his father’s stubbled chin. “That tickles, Papa!”

  Véronique laughed along with them until she caught Jack’s wistful expression. Beneath his smile lingered . . . longing. She recognized it only because it so closely resembled her own. His attention drifted, and she followed it to see a little girl toddling toward them in stocking feet. Her steps were new and unsteady, and too late, Véronique tried to reach out and catch the child before she fell.

  The toddler’s sweet face crumpled when her knees hit the wooden floor.

  Kathryn scooped her up and dusted her off. “Oh, sweetie, it’s all right. Look who’s home!” She moved closer to her husband, glancing back over her shoulder. “May I present our children—William and Katie.”

  Larson set his son down and gave his dark hair a tousle, then reached for his daughter. Véronique noticed he wasn’t nearly so boisterous with her. He cradled the side of her little blond head and kissed her nose, whispering her name over and over.

  The tiny angel tucked her head beneath her father’s chin, looked at Véronique, and smiled.

  Véronique returned it, and felt her throat starting to ache. “How old is she?”

  Larson pressed a kiss to the crown of Katie’s head. “She’ll be a year old in a couple of months.”

  Véronique couldn’t stop the tears from welling. What would it be like to hear her father whisper her name with such tender affection? To be treated in such a cherished manner? “Très belle. She is beautiful,” she whispered, hoping her tears would pass for adoration.

  She thought they had, until Jack slipped an arm around her waist.

  “Are we ready to eat?” Larson pulled a chair back from the table.

  Running a hand through her wet hair, Véronique saw the look Kathryn gave her husband.

  “Men . . .” Kathryn rolled her eyes and took Véronique by the hand. “Larson, you and Jack help yourself to some corn bread. I’ll put a batch of biscuits in the stove in a minute. But first . . .” She gestured toward a room off to the side. “I’m going to help Véronique into some other clothes so hers can dry. Mr. Brennan, my husband can help you with whatever y
ou need.”

  After dinner, Kathryn excused herself to get the children ready for bed. “Would you like to help me, Véronique?”

  Surprised at the invitation, Jack waited to see how Véronique would respond.

  “Oui, I would like that very much.” Véronique reached out and made a pinching motion at William, who giggled and promptly ran into the next room.

  “We’ll be back shortly.” Kathryn scooped up Katie and glanced at her husband. “Then we’ll have some pie.”

  Larson pushed back from the table. “I need to see to that buck I shot back on the ridge first. That’ll take a while.”

  “I’d be happy to help.” Jack stood and reached for his coat. “The work’ll go faster with two of us.”

  “That’d be much appreciated, Jack.”

  Thunder rumbled overhead as they walked out to the barn. Rain fell in thick sheets, and if the temperature dropped much lower, they’d awaken to snow. Jack winced just thinking about it. Snow would only further hinder their trip to Quandry—and anywhere else.

  He helped Larson hoist the carcass of the deer so that it hung head up from a rafter. Jennings made a circular cut around the throat, connecting it with the cut made in the stomach during the field dressing. His movements were smooth and expert—surprising with the apparent injuries he’d suffered. The scars covering his face, neck, and hands bespoke an acquaintance with physical pain that Jack could not imagine.

  They worked in silence as if they’d done this together a thousand times before. They removed the hide and cut the meat into slabs, then stored it in readied barrels, covering it with brine. They walked a short distance to the creek to wash up, and Jack’s hands were nearly numb when they finished. He figured Larson’s were too.

  Arriving back at the cabin, they found the main room empty. A sliver of pale orange still glowed beneath the children’s bedroom door, and he caught soft murmurs of conversation.

  Larson reached for the coffee pot still warming on the stove. “Kathryn doesn’t get the chance to visit with women much, so we might not see them for a while.”