Rosamunda's Revenge Read online

  She dug Rosamunda out of the saddlebag and hugged her tightly as she limped, stiff-legged, over to the campfire Jed had started.

  “You all right, ma’am? Tacita?”

  Her heart went slushy at the way he said her name. He sounded tentative, as if he wasn’t really sure he should be using it. How genteel he was, in his rough-hewn way. She smiled at him, tenderness filling her from her toes to her ears.

  “I shall be, thank you, Jed. I’m a little stiff tonight.”

  “Reckon you are, ma’am. We had a long, hard day.”

  “It seemed particularly hard after the luxuries of the train, I suppose.”

  “I reckon.”

  Since she was too sore to sit, Tacita stood braced against a tall tree and stroked Rosamunda while she watched Jed preparing their campsite. Oh, but he was magnificent. The perfect man. Kind, compassionate, talented, competent. She didn’t know a single other man who could do all the things Jed could do. The only men she knew back home were accountants and bankers and other kinds of stuffy businessmen, who were at home in the city, but who would be dismal failures out here in the wilderness.

  Not Jed. Why, Jed could draw comfort from the wilderness and earn money at the same time. Plus, he cared for his family and spoke of them with great affection.

  She didn’t know another man who talked with such respect and fondness about his mother, father and siblings. Recalling various dealings with her family’s retained assistants back home, she decided most of them, in fact, seemed to forget they had families unless reminded.

  She was sure Jed would treat a wife with the same esteem and affection as he did his parents and siblings. Why, if he were to carry Tacita off to his home in Busted Flush, Texas, she would be the happiest woman in the world.

  How foolish she was being! As if a man with such a large, interesting life could ever look upon her with anything but ennui.

  Although he did say he admired the way she was holding up on their trip. Tacita contemplated Jed’s words which earlier in the day had irritated her. Now she held them close to her heart, a tiny beam of light in an otherwise shadowy landscape.

  Then she contemplated Jed. A fantastic notion entered her head and she blinked, wondering if the strangeness of her circumstances had sent her over the edge of reason and into insanity.

  “Good heavens!”

  Jed looked up from the pot he was stirring over the fire. “Beg pardon, ma’am? Er—Tacita?”

  But Tacita was too stunned by her idea to form words just yet. She shook her head, hoping Jed wouldn’t press her to explain or repeat herself. Of course, he didn’t. The taciturnity that alternately pleased and annoyed her led him to turn back to his task after he realized she didn’t need him.

  Of course, he’d never love her. That was a given. But the notion which had just burst full-blown into Tacita’s mind took root and began to grow. It grew like a weed, too, and uprooted all her prior proper notions and tossed them aside like chaff in a strong wind.

  Would Jed be willing to make love to her? To allow her to pretend, for however long it took them to finish their journey, that she could be loved? To pretend that a man might find her interesting enough to bed, if she didn’t expect him to tolerate her insipidity on a more permanent basis?

  And how did one go about asking a person such a shocking question? All through dinner, Tacita’s mind roiled with the problem. To Jed’s few questions, she returned monosyllabic answers, until Jed finally shrugged and subsided into his more familiar silence.

  When they’d consumed their one-pot meal and cleaned up the utensils, Tacita was still lost in contemplation. Tonight, for the first time, she didn’t join Jed at the campfire. Rather, she spread out her bedroll, made her customary bed for Rosamunda beside her head, changed into her flannel nightgown behind a boulder, and slipped between the blankets in silence. She still hadn’t solved her problem when her brain, tired of pondering the dilemma, shut down and she went to sleep.

  They got off to an early start the next day, and Tacita seemed awful quiet. In fact, she didn’t say more than three or four words to Jed as they continued their journey. When she was silent during the long morning hours, Jed thought she was merely tired from the journey. As the day progressed and she remained mute, he began to worry. Tacita Grantham and quiet didn’t go together. Unlike Jed himself, Tacita seemed to find silence uncomfortable. Until today. Today, quiet seemed to engulf them until it made him as nervous as a frog on a frying pan.

  She didn’t say more than three words when they stopped for their mid-day meal. She didn’t speak at all after they resumed their travels. Every now and then Jed would ask a question. More often than not, she didn’t seem to hear him.

  Along about five in the afternoon, her silence was beginning to plague him and his nerves had started to crackle like dry twigs in a flame. Every minute or so, he shot a look over his shoulder, trying to decide if Tacita looked ill. Each time he did so, he saw her gazing idly at the landscape. Her expression didn’t look idle. It looked intense. He’d never seen such an expression on her face before, and a nasty feeling began to gnaw at his innards.

  His mother had told him more than once that when people got sick, they didn’t act like themselves. Their behavior was apt to undergo a change, and this change was apt to manifest itself in the form of lassitude or unusual quiet. Jed’s heart lurched painfully. He’d seldom encountered Tacita and silence in the same place at the same time before. No. A silent Tacita Grantham was a Tacita Grantham definitely different from the normal one.

  Licking lips that had suddenly gone dry, he finally decided to take the bull by the horns. “You feeling all right, ma—Tacita?”

  “Hmmm?”

  Tacita’s head jerked up so quickly, Jed feared she’d get a crick. He winced in sympathy. “You all right? You’re pretty quiet. You sure you’re feeling well?”

  The dreadful thought attacked him that Tacita had been stricken with some kind of camp fever. He’d heard awful stories about camp fever wiping out entire wagon trains during the great migration across the very plains over which he and Tacita now traveled. Granted, they’d only been on the trail for a couple of days this time and it was only the two of them, but she was no bigger than a minute. He knew she was fragile, no matter what she wanted him to believe and no matter how well she’d held up so far.

  “I’m fine, thank you, Jed.”

  She gave him a smile sweet enough to frost a cake. Jed blinked, enchanted, and stared at her for several moments until he recollected his purpose. Then he shook his head and muttered, “Good. That’s good.”

  He’d never received a smile exactly like the one she’d just given him. It worried more even than he’d been worried before. Tacita Grantham didn’t like him. She hadn’t liked him from the very beginning of their trip together, back in Powder Gulch. Plus, she was going to marry that sissy Englishman. She shouldn’t be giving him such warm, sugary smiles.

  She must have a fever. Jed could think of nothing else that would account for her smile and her silence. Damn, he’d known she was too delicate to withstand the rigors of this trip. He never should have brought her. He should have turned her down in Powder Gulch. Of course, she’d just have hired somebody else—somebody less competent than Jed—if he had. But no. Jed could have figured out some way to prevent her from attempting this foolish trip. Hell, he should have gone to San Francisco and carted that damned Englishman back to Powder Gulch. He hadn’t, and now Tacita was sick.

  He looked around, spied a nice stand of trees beside a bubbling brook running through a serene meadow, and abruptly reined in his horse. “Better make camp now,” he said, his voice brusque.

  Tacita looked surprised. “But it’s full summer, Jed. There’s still hours of daylight left. Don’t you want to keep traveling as long as we have light?”

  He didn’t want to upset her, so he didn’t voice his worries. Trying to keep his tone light, he said, “Reckon it’d be good to rest the animals early today, ma’am. We’r
e still holding to our schedule pretty well.”

  Shrugging, Tacita said, “All right. You’re the boss.”

  He was the boss? Criminy, this was worse than Jed had thought. She was obviously sick. Whatever it was looked like it was pretty bad, too. She never simply obeyed him without an argument. Oh, Lord. His stomach began to cramp up with worry.

  Quickly, he led them into the meadow and over to the brook. Then he slid from his horse and hurried to her side. “Here, Tacita, let me help you.”

  He’d never helped her before. Tacita looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. And maybe he had. All Jed knew for sure was that he felt compelled to take care of her in her hour of distress and, with luck, nurse her back to health. He hoped to heaven she wasn’t too far gone already. He wasn’t sure he could stand it if she died on him. Hell, he’d just admitted he loved her. It wouldn’t be fair of God to take her away now, before he got over it.

  She didn’t weigh much more than a feather, even holding onto that blasted dog of hers. Rosamunda uttered a low growl. For once Jed was too worried to growl back.

  “Thank you,” Tacita said, sounding shy.

  He set her under a tree as gently as he could, being careful not to jostle her poor aching joints, and tucked a blanket around her. “You just sit right down here, ma’am, whilst I brew up some tea I keep for the purpose in my saddlebags.”

  He rushed over to his equipment and didn’t see Tacita’s astonished expression.

  “You brought tea with you?” She scrambled up, thrusting the blanket aside, and followed him.

  Looking down and finding her beside him, Jed felt a rush of frustration. Drat it, it was just like her not to act like an invalid’s supposed to act when he needed to doctor her! Maybe the fever was making her irrational. How could he tell? She was always irrational. Oh, Lord, this was awful.

  “Get back to your seat and wrap that blanket around you. I’ll bring it to you.”

  “I didn’t know you had any tea. Please let me help you. I’ve been dying for a cup of tea.”

  When she said “dying,” a spear of panic thrust itself through Jed’s heart. Oh, sweet Lord have mercy, what if she was? “I’ll get it. Just you go sit down now.” His voice was sharp.

  “Well, really! I don’t want to sit. I’ve been sitting all day long. I don’t know why you’re being so mean this evening, Jed. I’m only trying to help.”

  “I don’t want your help!” Anxiety made his voice rise. He was almost hollering when he added, “I want you to sit yourself down under that tree and wait for me to get this tea brewed up.”

  She gave a sniff he’d heard before, one that told him she was getting testy. Well, Jed was sorry if he’d riled her, but he’d rather have her riled than sick. Or dead. By this time, he was sure she was not merely ill, but on her way to the great hereafter. Fear made his hands tremble.

  “Well, we guess we can tell when we’re not wanted!” Tacita huffed back to the tree and snatched the blanket up from the ground. Glaring at Jed, she wrapped it around her shoulders. Rosamunda snarled at him.

  He regretted having made her feel bad, but panic was ruling him now. He didn’t dare voice his worries aloud, for fear of scaring her. As quickly as possible, he got water from the stream, boiled it up and dumped in the special willow-bark-and-herb mixture his mother always made him bring with him on these trips, just in case. This was the first time he’d ever had occasion to use it. The knowledge made his terror surge higher.

  Oh, God; oh, God. This was awful. He’d just realized he’d fallen in love with the woman, and now she was sickening up and about to expire on him. His hands still shook when he stirred the mixture and boiled it for three and a half minutes, counting precisely two hundred ten seconds, as his ma had told him to do. He had to force his mind not to wander at about the hundred and twentieth second because he was so scared.

  When the brew had finally steeped enough and he’d poured out a steaming cupful, Jed was almost quaking with fear for Tacita. The mixture stunk something awful, but he didn’t care. He had to get it down her before the fever got a death grip on her. She was so delicate, so tiny. Jed knew she couldn’t last. Not for long. Not with a fever that high. Not with her having been sick for a day and a half already.

  What was wrong with him that he hadn’t noticed sooner? And why hadn’t she said something? He’d have wrung his hands if he hadn’t needed them to carry the cup to Tacita.

  “Here, ma’am. Drink this.” His voice wobbled.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s good for you. Just drink it.”

  “But what is it?”

  She wrinkled up her nose. Her beautiful little nose, freckled now after having been exposed to the sun. Jed’s eyes stung.

  “It’s tea, ma’am. It’s good for you.”

  Tacita took the proffered cup and sniffed its contents. “Phew. It doesn’t smell like any tea I’ve ever drunk before.”

  Since he didn’t have to worry about holding anything anymore, Jed gripped his hands together to stop them from shaking. “It’s special,” he said.

  He might have appreciated the look she gave him if he wasn’t so terrified for her health. She made a face that could have won a prize back home in the “Silly Face Contest” they ran during the Busted Flush annual harvest fair. This evening, he barely noticed.

  “Where is it from? I’ve had tea from India and China, but never any that smelled like this.”

  “My ma makes it.” Oh, God, why didn’t she drink it? Jed was in a perfect state now.

  “Really?” She sniffed it again, as if she hoped it would smell better this time. It didn’t, and she sat up and sighed.

  “You like tea, don’t you?” Jed asked encouragingly. “It’s good for you.”

  “Thank you very much, Jed, but I think I’d prefer to wait until we get to San Francisco before I drink any tea. I do think it was very kind of you to brew this up for me, though.”

  Why was she always so damned balky? Jed wanted to take and shake her. Instead he fell onto his knees beside her and grabbed the cup before she could dump it out.

  “Here. Let me help you.”

  “Thank you, but I’d rather—” Her face registered a moment of absolute shock when he grabbed her.

  Jed didn’t wait to hear what she’d rather. Seizing her by the shoulders, he tilted her head back and lifted the cup to her lips. Rosamunda yipped viciously once and attacked his trouser cuff. Jed hardly noticed since he was occupied in getting tea down Tacita’s throat.

  It wasn’t easy. She struggled like a wildcat and came up spluttering, but he succeeded at last and felt good about it. He’d managed to tip almost all of the smelly brew down her gullet without spilling more than a quarter or so of it over the two of them. He hoped she’d swallowed enough to do her some good.

  Relieved and proud of himself, he sat back on his heels and realized Rosamunda was trying to gnaw his leg off. Grabbing her by the ruff, he said, “Quit it.” He didn’t bother to look at her, nor did he shake her, but kept his eyes on her mistress. His concern for Tacita was so great, he didn’t even holler at the nasty little rat.

  Tears poured down Tacita’s cheeks, and she couldn’t talk for choking, but she snatched Rosamunda back and hugged her. Jed hoped that was a sign she was still well enough to want to cuddle her dog and not a sign that she was on her last gasp and wanted the animal to comfort her as she slipped the bonds of life.

  He wanted to hold her so bad, he ached. He didn’t dare because she was so fragile and he feared for her ribs. Instead, he wrapped his arms across his chest, hugging himself to keep from shaking. Oh, poor Tacita! The poor thing. The poor beautiful, darling thing. Jed had never known anyone to be so sick and not ask for help. He almost felt like crying himself when he considered the probable reasons for Tacita’s reticence.

  She didn’t think he’d care. She was so sure nobody gave a damn about her—except for that stupid dog of hers—that she’d kept her illness and misery to herself. Hadn’t sai
d a single word about her fever. She could have died on the trail and he wouldn’t have noticed until she slipped from the saddle and fell off her horse. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so guilty about anything.

  Shakily, he asked, “You all right now?” He stood before her, hugging himself harder, praying she wouldn’t die. She couldn’t die. He loved her.

  For the longest time Tacita could only cough and choke and wonder why Jed Hardcastle, who had actually seemed to be tolerating her fairly well up till now, had tried to poison her. He’d been crude about it, too. In most of the novels she’d read, the villains generally tried to murder their victims unobtrusively. Jed had actually grabbed her and dumped the poison down her throat, without the least pretense to subtlety.

  All in all, she decided that if he wanted to kill her she’d as soon he just break her neck or something. He was certainly big enough to do it, and she was pretty sure it would be a less painful way to go. If she wasn’t so furious with him, her feelings would be hurt.

  When she could finally gather breath enough to speak, she hacked out, “What in the name of heaven did you do that for?”

  Tears still streamed from her eyes; Tacita didn’t know whether they were left over from having almost strangled on that vile-tasting “tea” of his or from grief that he obviously hated her after all.

  “Are you all right?”

  Over her own wildly careening emotions, Tacita heard the strain in his voice. He must really be bored with her if he was as concerned about the outcome of his attempt on her life as his tone indicated.

  Tacita grabbed a handkerchief out of her pocket and began mopping her face. Rosamunda, the darling, was trying to comfort her. She gasped, “No thanks to you, I expect I’ll last until the poison begins to work.”