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  She clung to Benjie’s mane and to Sweet Susie’s lead. There were no more shots. She supposed the man finally realized he might hit Sweet Susie, and surely that would ruin the plans for the mare.

  Rain was running down the side of her face and into her mouth. She licked it away and realized it wasn’t rain. It was sweet and sticky and had a strange metallic taste. It was blood, her blood. She felt nauseated and dizzy. In that same moment when she accepted that she’d been shot, really shot, she felt a searing pain through her head. Oh no. She had to be fine—fine enough to make Marathon.

  She saw the rich pastures of Marathon just ahead of her, the thick clusters of elm trees spread throughout the fields. She heard the man’s cries closing in. She knew then she would make it if only she could hang on. She rode Benjie right up to James’s front door, scattering at least a dozen people in front of her. She pulled Benjie to a stop at the sight of James dashing down the deep steps.

  “What the devil are you doing here, Jessie?”

  “Hello to you, James. I brought you Sweet Susie.”

  She weaved in the saddle.

  “What the devil is wrong with you?” He was next to Benjie then, looking up at her, prying Benjie’s reins from her fisted hand to give them to one of the stable lads. “ Oslow, you take Sweet Susie and make sure she’s all right. Well, brat, what’s wrong?”

  Thomas brought a lighted lantern. It sent up a ghostly yellow light through the rain.

  “Good Lord, what’s that on your face, missie?” Thomas said, poking the lantern into Benjie’s side. Benjie took exception, quickly sidestepped, threw back his head, and sent Jessie flying off his back.

  James caught her. She leaned heavily against him. “Bring the lamp, Thomas.”

  “Oh my, what’s wrong with her purty little face?”

  “Why does Jessie Warfield have my Sweet Susie?” Allen Belmonde yelled, running out of the house. “I don’t care if she’s a girl; I’ll see her in jail. She’s always giving Alice ideas that don’t suit any female, and now look what she’s done. She’s a common thief. If her damned father thinks he can send his daughter to do his dirty work, then he’s—”

  “Be quiet, Allen,” James said very softly, in a tone of voice he rarely used. It was hard and low and mean and quite calm. Belmonde shut up. James tucked Jessie close. She was still conscious, but just barely. He added to Allen Belmonde, “I believe she’s been shot.” He couldn’t believe he sounded so calm. God, she’d been shot! “Let’s go inside and see how bad it is. No doubt she’ll tell us how she came to have Sweet Susie.”

  He picked her up in his arms. Her old hat fell off her head, and he pulled her against his chest to protect her from the rain as well as he could. He didn’t realize until he walked into the parlor that twelve people were pressing at his back.

  Old Bess said, “Glory be, Mr. James, jest look at her poor face. All that blood. Poor little baby. What happened?”

  Old Bess was right. He stared down at the hair over her temple, matted with rain and blood, at the streaks of blood down her cheek and on her shoulder. “Thomas, please have Dr. Hoolahan fetched immediately. Tell him Jessie’s been shot. Now, Bess, get me a blanket. She’s soaked clear through.”

  James just stood there in the middle of his parlor holding Jessie Warfield in his arms. This was not the way he’d expected this particular evening to end. Of course finding Allen Belmonde here screaming about his stolen horse hadn’t been in his calculations either. Now everything had changed again. What was Jessie doing with Sweet Susie? He moved to stand in front of the fireplace.

  “I can stand, James.”

  “Shut up. Even though you weigh more than a female should, I can bear it for a few more minutes.”

  She tried to pull away from him. “Stop it, damn you. Don’t move again. I don’t want you bleeding on my carpet.”

  “Mr. James, here’s a nice blanket.”

  It wasn’t any good and James knew it. She was wetter than he was. As he wrapped her in the blanket he just knew she’d catch an inflammation of the lung. To his relief he saw that the bleeding was sluggish now, thank the good Lord. “Come along, Bess, we’ve got to get her out of these wet clothes or she’ll get really sick just to spite me. I don’t think we should wait for Dr. Hoolahan.”

  He automatically walked to his bedchamber. Then, realizing what he’d done, he turned and took her to his best guest chamber. “I’ll see to her, Mr. James. You go get changed yourself. The good Lord knows you’re nearly as sodden as poor Miz Jessie. I’ll take good care of her. Don’t you worry, Mr. James.”

  When James knocked on the bedchamber door some seven minutes later, Old Bess told him to come in.

  Jessie Warfield had three blankets pulled to her chest and was wearing one of his never-worn nightshirts, buttoned to her throat. He wondered where Old Bess had gotten it. Her hair was spread out over the pillow, and Old Bess was gently daubing a wet cloth to the wound just above her left temple. Thank God the bullet hadn’t struck her face. And it was a bullet. He’d known that right away. It had scared the devil out of him. That she’d remained conscious was a good sign. A head wound and unconsciousness could mean death. The thought made him shiver. He was relieved to see that the brat’s eyes were bright, not all clouded up with pain and confusion.

  Jessie watched him come to the bed. His hair was tousled, his shirt wasn’t fastened properly, and he looked worried. About her? No, more likely his concern was for Sweet Susie.

  “I’ll take over now, Bess. Go downstairs and wait for Dr. Hoolahan.”

  “Yessir, Mr. James.”

  Jessie watched her lean down, pick up her iron skillet, and walk from the bedchamber. Jessie said, “This room needs fixing. The wallpaper is so old it’s—Ouch!”

  “Sorry. You might consider keeping your mouth shut for a while. Hold still, I want to see how bad this is.”

  She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes.

  “It hurts.”

  “Yes, I imagine it does. The bullet split through your scalp. That’s why you’re bleeding like a pig. Damn you, brat, hold still. Don’t pull away from me. Don’t you dare go to sleep.”

  It was then he saw the tears seeping from beneath her closed eyes. He didn’t like it but didn’t know what to do about it. “I’m sorry, Jessie, I won’t touch you again. Dr. Hoolahan should be here soon.”

  He lightly touched the edge of the soft cloth to her cheeks to wipe away the tears. He felt like a clod.

  “Just lie still. That’s right. Don’t move; just lie there and try to relax. And stay awake.”

  She opened her eyes and stared up at him. “Sweet Susie’s still in heat. She wanted Billy’s horse to mount her.”

  “You can explain that later. Rest, Jessie, and—”

  “I know. Stay awake. I’m not stupid, James. I won’t go to sleep, not with a head wound.”

  She closed her eyes again, but the pain didn’t lessen. Her head seemed to pulse, a dull throbbing that was fast becoming a vicious headache. How could she relax when she wanted to cry and huddle into herself?

  “He was stupid to shoot at me when he could have hit Sweet Susie. That’s what finally stopped him, the fear of hurting her. She even wanted Benjie. You must keep her apart from the stallions, James.”

  “I will.”

  She sighed deeply, gave him a vague smile, and fainted. It scared him to death. She shouldn’t have fainted. Not now. God, maybe it wasn’t just a superficial scalp wound? What if—“Jessie? Jessie, wake up! I don’t like this. Come on, wake up.” He shook her shoulders, but her head just lolled on the pillow. He cursed some more. He was still cursing, ordering her to wake up and stop scaring the devil out of him when the bedchamber door opened and Dr. Hoolahan strode in. Actually, the doctor never strode; he minced. He took short, delicate little steps. He was thirty years old, barely five feet four inches tall, and had a full head of nearly white blond hair and slanted blue eyes. That mincing walk of his made James want to hit him, but now, he was s
o relieved to see him, he jumped up from the bed and said, “Quickly, Dancy, she’s been shot, her scalp grazed, but it’s still bleeding sluggishly. She just fainted and I know that’s not good. Oh, Jesus, quickly.”

  “It’s all right, James. Just move aside, that’s it. Give me a bit more room.”

  Dancy Hoolahan might mince, but his voice was as deep and soothing as Bishop Morgan’s in Washington. He had light hands and he was clean, necessities for both people and horses. James watched him lightly probe around the wound, then lean down and press his cheek to Jessie’s chest. He watched him take her pulse, watched him pry open her eyes and look at her pupils.

  “Ah, she’s coming around. Jessie? Come on, my girl, wake up and stop scaring your host out of his socks.”

  She groaned and opened her eyes. James saw the pain deepen her green eyes to nearly black and said, “Can’t you give her some laudanum, Dancy?”

  “Not just yet. Head wounds are tricky—you know that. She can bear the pain, but I doubt she could bear being dead. Hold on, Jessie. Can you understand me?”

  “Yes, naturally. I’m not deaf.”

  Dr. Hoolahan laughed, a deep, very sweet laugh, which should have come from a man James’s size. “Good girl. Now, I’ve got to cut your hair away from the wound. It’ll leave a bald spot but you’ve got so much hair, it won’t show.” He removed a razor from his black leather bag. “Have Bess get me some very hot water, James. I’ll need a bandage as well, lots of clean white linen.”

  It was the longest hour James had ever spent in his life. Jessie was crying, but she didn’t make a sound; she just lay there, her eyes tightly closed, her hands in fists at her sides. When Dr. Hoolahan shaved the hair away from the wound, it was James who flinched. Jessie didn’t move. Dancy tossed the long strands of wet hair to the floor. She’d been more than lucky. If the man shooting at her had managed just a whisker more to the left, she’d be dead.

  All because she’d saved Sweet Susie. He planned to kill her himself for taking such a risk.

  When Dancy had finished wrapping the bandage around Jessie’s head, she looked so pathetic, James had to smile. He listened to Dancy speak to her, asking her how many fingers he was holding up, asking her when her birthday was, asking her to name all the horses she’d raced in the past week. After each of her answers, he looked up at James for confirmation. James wondered how the devil he was supposed to know if her answers were right. He just nodded.

  “Very well,” Dr. Hoolahan said at last. “Let’s give her some laudanum so she can sleep.”

  When she was on the verge of sleep, Jessie said, “James, there were two men. One was named Billy. Their horses were both chestnuts, at least ten years old. One had a white star on his forehead, and the other one had a blaze that ran all the way from his forehead to his muzzle.”

  He didn’t ask her to describe the men. He doubted she could. She spoke more about the two horses until her speech began to slur.

  “Good enough, Jessie. Go to sleep now. We’ll speak in the morning.”

  But he didn’t leave until she was breathing deeply. He pulled the blankets up to her chin, snuffed out the candles, and quietly closed the bedchamber door.

  Allen Belmonde, Dr. Hoolahan, Thomas, Oslow, and Old Bess were all waiting for him in the parlor. Old Bess looked as though she wanted to hit Allen Belmonde with her iron skillet.

  “Did she tell you what happened?” Allen Belmonde said. “Did she admit that she stole Sweet Susie?”

  “She stupidly rescued your mare from two thieves. She couldn’t describe the men, but she did describe the horses they were riding. They were common, both chestnuts, one swaybacked, the other short backed and muscular. In other words, he had quarter-horse blood.”

  “She’ll remember more,” Oslow said, “once her poor head heals.”

  “Damned girl,” Belmonde said. “I can’t believe she’d take on two men. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “You can thank her properly tomorrow,” James said, “after I’ve beaten her.”

  Thomas cleared his throat. “I’ve sent word over to the Warfield farm. Oh dear, I believe I hear Mr. Oliver. In a rare snit, he is.”

  Oliver Warfield stomped into the Wyndham parlor, which looked less shabby in the soft candlelight. He knew enough of what had happened to be terrified. “Where’s my little girl? Damn you, James, where is she? Take me to her this instant so I can take a strip off her for being so witless. I can’t believe she’d save your damned mare, Allen. Who the hell cares?”

  “Your daughter will be all right, Oliver,” James said. “If you don’t believe me, ask Dr. Hoolahan.”

  Dancy Hoolahan cleared his throat and took one mincing step toward Oliver Warfield and said in his deep, soothing voice, “She’s sleeping now, Oliver. Stop your fretting. A bullet grazed her head, but it just ripped her scalp. No permanent damage done.”

  “Well, if it isn’t Belmonde’s fault, then it’s yours, James. Damn you, why didn’t you guard Sweet Susie more carefully? My little girl could have been killed, and it’s because you’re incompetent.”

  Allen Belmonde added his two cents. “Oliver’s right. It’s all your fault, Wyndham. I entrust my Sweet Susie to you, and just look at what happens. Damned if you shouldn’t go to jail. Maybe you hired those men to steal her yourself.”

  “You idiot! Don’t you dare make threats and ridiculous accusations, Allen Belmonde! James would never steal anything. Well, except a race, of course, and any good jockey would try to do that.”

  Everyone whipped around to see Jessie Warfield weaving in the parlor doorway. She had a black wool blanket wrapped around her. Her red hair was tangled down her back and around her face, puffing out over the thick white bandage Dr. Hoolahan had wrapped around her head. James’s nightshirt, fine white linen, sewn for him by his mama, covered her knees, but just barely.

  6

  “WHAT THE HELL are you doing out of bed?” James was yelling at her even as he nearly ran to catch her, knowing she was bound to collapse at any moment. But she didn’t. She leaned against the door.

  “I had to, well, see to private things,” she said. “Then I opened the bedchamber door and heard all of you yelling.” She looked toward Allen Belmonde, who appeared to be nailed to the carpet just beside the sagging pale pink settee. James nearly laughed aloud at her expression. She looked meaner than he did after a night of too much drinking. She started to take a step toward him but quickly changed her mind. She did, however, raise her fist and shake it. “Don’t you dare threaten James, Allen. Marathon is the best stud farm in Maryland—except for Papa’s and mine. Even if I hadn’t chanced to come along, James would have found her. He wouldn’t have rested until he had. If you believe otherwise, then you’re stupid. I told Alice not to marry you, and yet she did and just look at how unhappy you’ve made her. And now you’re accusing James of stealing your bloody mare.”

  “Thank you, Jessie,” James said, feeling both bewildered and amused. “Now that you’ve had your say, it’s back to bed with you.”

  “James,” Oliver Warfield said, stepping between him and his daughter, “Jessie is an unmarried girl. She can’t be here in your house without a chaperon. Damnation, I’ll have to stay here as well. Do you have another bedchamber?”

  “I’ll bet it needs fixing, Papa,” Jessie said, sagging now against the door frame. “Mine does, and it’s the best one. The wallpaper is green and faded except for the parts that have gotten wet. Those strips are puffing out, ready to peel off the wall.”

  “Thank you, Jessie,” James said again, this time feeling only the urge to smack her.

  “This talk of wallpaper is preposterous. I’ll have no more of it. I’m taking Sweet Susie away from here right now,” Allen Belmonde said. “I won’t take any more chances with her safety.”

  James said easily, “Certainly, Allen. Oslow, get Sweet Susie all rubbed down and ready to go.”

  “I don’t think so,” Oslow said. He turned to Allen Belmonde. “Listen to me
, sir. Sweet Susie’s still in heat. The worst thing would be to try to move her while she’s still lunging after every stallion she sees. She could get hurt. Here, we’ll protect her.”

  “The way you did tonight?”

  “I’ll find out what happened,” Oslow said. “I’ll guard her myself.”

  “Do as you please, Allen,” James said, “I really don’t give a good damn.” He took Jessie’s arm and pulled her into the front hallway.

  “Everyone will hear about this, Wyndham!”

  “Let me hit him, James,” Jessie said, as she tried to pull free of him. James grinned at her and held her firm. “You could just look at him and scare him to death.”

  “I look that bad?”

  Oh damn, he thought, looking at her pale face, at the pain in her green eyes, pain he knew hadn’t been there but an instant before. He’d hurt her feelings? No, not Jessie Warfield’s feelings. Why, she had no vanity; she wasn’t any more female than . . . “No, you look raffish, sort of like a female pirate. Very dashing. What I meant was that mean look you gave him should have frozen his mouth shut. Pity it didn’t last.”

  “I’ve never liked Allen Belmonde. He doesn’t treat Alice well. He doesn’t treat his horses well, either. Don’t let him take Sweet Susie. You buy her.”

  “Jessie, she’s his mare. Now, you’re about to fall over. I’m going to pick you up. All right?”

  “I thought you said I was too heavy.”

  “You are, but I’m very strong and stoic. Be quiet now.”

  “I’ll be up in a moment,” Dr. Hoolahan called after them. “I’ll give you some more laudanum, Jessie. Now, Oliver, your daughter will be just fine. This is a bachelor’s household, but James knows what he’s doing. Surely you don’t have to worry about such things.”