Wild West Wife. Susan Mallery

was a woman’s brooch. Gold with a carved cameo in the center. The gold caught the rising sunlight and seemed to wink at her. “It’s lovely,” she breathed. “Is it yours?”

      He looked at her. It was the first time she’d seen his face in daylight. Yesterday, when he’d kidnapped her, he’d been wearing a hat pulled low over his forehead. Last night he’d taken the hat off, but it had already grown dark and she’d only seen him by firelight. Now she stared at him in the full brightness of day.

      He had regular features, with a straight nose and dark eyes. His hair was a little shaggy, thick and straight, with a few strands falling over his forehead. Stubble shadowed his cheeks and jaw, outlining his firm mouth. A mouth that looked as if it never smiled, yet he had last night...hadn’t he?

      He didn’t want to answer her question. She could tell by his silence and the way he carefully wrapped the pin in its piece of cotton and placed it in his saddlebag. Had it belonged to someone in his family? An old sweetheart? It wasn’t her business, she reminded herself.

      She turned to the fire and grabbed their coffee cups. The brew was nearly ready.

      “It belonged to my mother,” he said, startling her.

      She spun toward him. “Really? It’s very lovely.”

      He shrugged. “My father gave it to her when they were married.”

      “Your mother died?” she asked.

      “About three years ago.”

      She heard the pain in his voice. “At least you can remember her,” she said. “And you have the brooch.”

      “I know.” But she could tell by his shuttered expression that he didn’t think it was much.

      If only he knew how precious the remembering could be. There had been so many times when she’d lain awake at night and desperately wanted to remember something... anything. But she’d been an infant when she’d been left at the orphanage and there weren’t any memories to be had. She’d contented herself with making up stories about a family that didn’t really exist.

      The coffee sputtered. She bent low to the fire and grabbed her skirt, then used it to protect her hand from the heat of the pot as she poured them both a cup.

      “You’ve been around open fires before,” Jesse commented, coming up behind her and taking the cup she offered.

      “I’ve been around every kind of fire and cookstove you can imagine,” she said. “Big black monsters in restaurant kitchens and tiny flames in shacks on the edge of the neighborhood.”

      He frowned and sat on the log by the fire. She settled next to him. He produced a couple of hard biscuits and some dried beef. “Why so many places?”

      “I worked for a doctor,” she said, taking the food. It wasn’t what she would have requested, but she was hungry and there didn’t seem to be much choice. She’d long ago learned to eat when food was around because it might not always be available. “I assisted him as he cared for patients, so I went with him to their homes or where they worked.”

      Jesse looked surprised. “You had a job?”

      “Of course. How do you think I took care of myself?”

      “Didn’t you live with your family?”

      “I’m an orphan.”

      “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know.”

      “There was no reason for you to.”

      He glanced at the saddlebag containing the brooch. “Do you remember your family at all?”

      She shook her head. “I was left at the orphanage when I was first born. I like to think I have many brothers and sisters and they just lost track of me, but I know that’s not true.”

      “How did you get from the orphanage to working for a doctor?”

      She took a sip of coffee, not sure if she should answer the question. She didn’t much like talking about her past. Dr. Redding had often said life had not treated her well, but she didn’t think it had been any more unkind to her than to most people.

      “The orphanage kept us until we were twelve, then we were sent out to work.”

      His gaze narrowed. “At twelve?”

      She nodded. “We could stay after that, but we had to pay room and board. That’s what I did. I found a job cleaning. Scrubbing floors, that kind of thing.” She made light of that time, not wanting to dwell on what it had been like. She didn’t want to remember her cracked and bleeding hands, so raw from the hot water and lye soap. She didn’t want to relive the pain in her back from the endless scrubbing. It was, she’d found out, only slightly better than working in a laundry, where she’d only lasted three days before deciding it would be easier to simply starve to death.

      “One of my friends worked for Dr. Redding,” she went on. “When a position became available in his office, she recommended me. I cleaned there, but it was easier than what I’d done before. Then one day, one of the nurses was ill and I accompanied him as he visited patients. I found I liked it a lot more than cleaning and he said I had a talent for helping the sick.”

      “How old were you?” Jesse asked.

      “Nearly fifteen. After a few months I was earning enough to leave the orphanage. I rented a room in a nice house. It was in the attic, but still it was mine.”

      She could remember how proud she’d been the first night she’d slept in that narrow bed. In the morning the room had been freezing and she’d bumped her head on the sloping ceiling, but none of that had mattered. She’d found a place that was hers. And she’d done it all by herself.

      Jesse continued to study her. She wondered if she’d missed a smudge of dirt on her face and tried to casually wipe her cheeks.

      “That’s not what I imagined,” he said at last. “You’ve been through some difficult times.”

      She shrugged. “I suppose. It’s all I know.”

      “Do you miss Chicago?”

      She thought about the tiny room that was so hot in the summer and so very cold in the winter. She thought about the sick and the dying, the stench of the open sewers, the fear of being attacked when she walked home late after tending an ill patient. In the past four years only three men had invited her out for an evening and she hadn’t liked any of them. There were, she knew, lots of young men in the city, but she didn’t know how to meet them. While a few friends had offered to introduce her to brothers and cousins, she always felt shy and silly and she’d refused. So she remained alone.

      “No,” she said softly. “I don’t miss it. I wanted something different than I had there. I know how to work hard and I’m not afraid. Mr. Stoner and I can build a good life together here.”

      She thought about her fiancé and wondered if he was already out looking for her. It would have been difficult to get men together in the darkness, but she was sure that first thing this morning, they would begin the search. Perhaps they’d already started. Her heart quickened. At this moment, he could be on horseback, retracing the journey she’d taken with Jesse. Perhaps in a few short hours, she would be with him.

      A quick movement caught her attention. Jesse stood up, his body stiff with tension. She knew it was because she’d mentioned Lucas. Well, none of this was her fault. Jesse was the one who had kidnapped her and if he didn’t want her talking about Lucas, he could take her to town and let her go.

      “How long do you intend to keep me prisoner?” she asked.

      “For as long as it takes.”

      “You want money? Is that it?”

      He turned his cool gaze on her. “No. Not money. Information. A confession.”

      Frustration filled her. “Why do you insist on blaming him