Chapter Nine

Warning! This is the original/unedited version of Chapter Nine that a guest reviewer called "insensitive." Please read at your own risk.

And my sincerest apologies. I thought I had posted the original/unedited version of this, however, I accidentally reposted the edited. No dishonesty intended, just an honest mistake. This should hopefully be the right copy.

Jess

Jess choked down as much of the food set in front of him as he could and did his best to disguise how horrified and enraged he felt. He was deeply grateful when the meal was finally over. Although he dreaded every bit of his role yet to come and how he would have to play it.

It was dark by the time they parted ways with Huddleston and made way toward the bunkhouse. Utah's demeanor shifted as they walked the distance, and one would never guess by his friendliness and humor that he was capable of treating a woman in the manner Jess had just witnessed.

"You alright, Jess?" the lanky man asked sympathetically. "Bit of'a rough welcome, huh?"

"Been better. Ain't the first time I been worked over," Jess replied curtly as they reached

the bunkhouse. Utah introduced him to the men inside the shadowy, hot space. They all eyed him with suspicion and unwelcoming stares.

"You'll bunk here," Utah draped an arm over a top bunk against the wall and by a window. It was one of many identical beds in the noisy, cavernous room that smelled of sweat, leather, and socks in need of washing.

Jess tossed his gear on the bed that creaked as he leaned and started to draw himself up onto it.

"Hold up, slacker," Utah grinned widely. "Seems you forgot about your date with Raquel. You ain't sleeping here 'till later, or tomorrow night, if you feel like."

Jess paused his movements, feeling utterly exhausted and sickened by the evening's events. "Listen, Utah. I ain't interested the slightest in taking from a woman what she ain't wanting to give me in return. My way a'thinkin' on such things ain't changed an iota since we know'd each other before."

"Yeah, you've always been a real moaner when it comes to women you think ain't gettin' a fair shake. I don't understand you, amigo. Didn't ya see what a hot little number she is? And she'll do anything you ask her to, no fightin', nothing." A wicked smile toyed at the man's lips, and he winked, "'Cause she knows better."

A sick feeling roped through his gut at the insinuation of those words. "Like I said," Jess repeated, "I ain't interested."

"It ain't like you gotta choice. What the boss man says, you do. No questions. Raquel will pay for it, too. She'll take heat if you don't do as you're told. Now, come on, grandpa!" He shook Jess's shoulder and said enthusiastically. "Quit acting so squeamish and like you're in Sunday School or sumthin'. I'll show you her cabin. You can go to church later and bawl out your confession," he laughed.

They walked the short distance in darkness, and Utah laid out a few rules while Jess tried not to drag his feet. Raquel was not the only woman being used by the men. There were five others, each with their own little cabin in a row behind the bunkhouse. In the darkness, the small, square buildings looked like oversized tombs in a graveyard. They neared the woman's tiny home, and Utah stopped a few yards from the door.

"Geez, Jess, yer actin' like I'm leading you to your hangin'. This is supposed to be fun… a welcome back gift from the boss. If it's these girls you're so all-fired worried about, there's no need for fretting. They're taken care of fine, better off than they'd be living in the dirt, starving to death out on some dried up homestead like most of 'em came from. The boss had a man bullwhipped for hitting one of the girls, Jess. He don't tolerate that sorta thing, nor comin' to 'em unless they've got special permission from me, Jack Ingram, or the boss. You ain't met Jack yet, but you soon will. But what I'm tryin' to say is, these girls ain't treated too bad. It's worse for some a'them saloon girls in town, if ya ask me."

"Sure, Utah. Head hurts some, is all," was his quiet response.

"Shoot, Jess, I feel bad about that. Hated havin' to pistol-whip an old friend. I'm trying to say sorry, if you ain't figured it."

"Yeah, okay. No hard feelings." Jess ground out and followed it with a forced, "Thanks."

"Have fun, pal," the tall man said, teeth flashing in the darkness. He gave Jess a friendly smack on the shoulder before striding back toward the bunkhouse.

Jess knocked softly on the door and heard stirring inside before a muted voice told him to come in. A dozen or more candles lighted the space. A soft, warm breeze drifting in through an open window made the flames flicker and dance, giving the walls rippling shapes and shadows. The room was clean and sparsely furnished with a washstand in a corner beside a dresser and a stove for heat in the other. Two straight-backed, polished chairs were tucked up beneath a table. The bed was up against one wall, with a nightstand and a small stack of books beside it.

"Ma'am," he pulled off his hat and said. His voice sounded rough and intrusive in the inviting, safe-feeling space that he knew was anything but safe for the woman occupying it.

She sat on the edge of the bed with a thin shawl draped over her shoulders, long, silky-looking black hair cascading over its crisp whiteness. The breeze from the windows was warm, and the wrap was not worn because of the cold. She wrapped the fabric tightly about her for protection as a flimsy, purposeless piece of armor, a barrier against impending harm.

"Come in, please," the woman beckoned with that thick accent that intrigued and stirred something inside him. Gracefully, like the bowed stem of a flower lengthening to meet the morning sun, she came to a stand as she greeted.

Jess stepped over the threshold with heart in throat and hat in hand. Gently, he brought the door to a close behind him, and they faced each other. He was struck by her beauty that seemed something otherworldly in the shivering, golden glow of the candles. The red skirt she wore was full and long, reaching to the floor. She clutched at the shawl covering her shoulders with a delicately boned, dark hand. Her eyes were dark pools that registered fear and apprehension, as did her small, tense body. Still, he felt pulled into their depths across the roughly ten feet of space between them. The light flickered across the shine on her perfectly formed lips.

He sucked in air. She was absolutely beautiful and had taken his breath away.

"Jess, ma'am," he managed to say, as though she would have forgotten his name after their earlier introduction.

"Yes, I have not forgotten," she said with eyes that dropped, perhaps to hide the fear and dread in them.

Fear of him.

The slight movement of her eyes jolted him. He desired nothing more in that moment than to take away her fear of not just him but the trap of her existence: being owned by Huddleston.

"Please, I don't want you to be afraid of me. I give you my word, as God is my witness, I will not touch you if that ain't what you want. I've no choice but to be here, see? But I have no intention of doing anything that my own ma wouldn't approve of."

Her eyes flashed back up at him, alive with a new kind of fear, "You do not like me, senor?… oh, please forgive. I mean to say, Jess."

"Oh, no ma'am," he rushed out, raising an embarrassed hand and taking a step forward. "I like you plenty. That ain't it all. It's just that I ain't the same kinda man as these coyotes Huddleston's got workin' for him. You are very beautiful. So beautiful," he added, his voice husky. "But I don't want to take anything from you. I'd like to help you somehow if I can."

She raised her eyebrows questioningly. "Help me? What do you mean by this, help me?"

"I, uh, well, it don't seem to me like you're here by your own free will. Do they hurt you? Does Huddleston beat you if you don't do as he says?"

A flash of anger sparked in her face, "You trick me?" she hissed. "Try to make me say something for him to punish?"

Although he had already seen evidence of how she was treated, he still could not help the shock he felt at what she was implying.

"That's not it all. Look. What I'm tryin' to say is, I am on your side. I want to help you… be your friend. If you'll let me, that is." He toyed with the brim of his hat as he spoke.

Her expressive eyes lost a bit of their trepidation, and she cocked her head slightly. "Friend? I don't understand. Why a friend? I do not know you, and you do not know me."

He could not help the sigh escaping his lips, and he briefly dropped his head. "Yes. A friend. I want to help you, and I want to be your friend."

It was obvious that she still did not fully trust him, but he thought that maybe she might at least be coming around.

"Okay, Jess," she said with surprising confidence. "You say you help me… you want to help me," she corrected. "How do you plan to do this? How can you, one man, and one so young, help me and my family?"

"Is that it, Raquel? Is it your family? Is that the hold the boss has over you?"

He could see the fluttering of her pulse in the delicate bowl of her throat. It instantly reminded him of the wildly beating heart of a small captured animal. The knuckles of her tanned hand were white as they clutched tighter at the shawl she wore like a blanket of protection. "Si, senor," she almost whispered.

His heart thudded heavily. "Your ma?" He asked.

"Mi madre y mi padre," she reverted back to Spanish. My father works to build a road on the ranch with others. My mother works in the kitchen with me. Senor, they are beaten if I disobey. And Senor Huddleston, he say, he will kill them if I run away."

"I figured it was sumthin' like that. How long have you been here? Having to do…" he cleared his throat and gave a small, vague gesture to the room, "well, this, what yer havin' to do."

Instead of answering his loaded question, she glided across the clean-swept floor until she reached him, placing a hand on his arm. The unexpected touch made his knees feel weak.

"You will come and sit," she said, "we will drink tea, like, as you say, friends."

With a gentle tug, she guided him toward the table, and he sat, feeling spellbound. Her presence, so close, was intoxicating to him, and he imagined her hair slipping through his finger and the softness of her flawless skin beneath the roughness of his hands. He shook himself loose of the attraction, though it took a mighty effort. There was so much more at stake here than his own satisfaction. He watched her every move as she made quick work of preparing the tea that smelled of mint and honey.

Slipping off the shawl, she draped it over the back of her chair before sitting.

His heart went a couple of beats out of rhythm, taking in the golden-brown of her bare shoulders, the perfectly formed, dainty lines of her collar bone and throat.

"You are so handsome," she said quietly and sincerely, surprising him with her sudden directness. He had not even considered that she might be thinking of him in the same way he was thinking of her.

Their eyes locked across the quivering light of the candle dripping hot wax onto the table's smooth surface between them. The way she looked at him had changed, as though she desired him, and the dread from before was erased.

The wooden chair creaked beneath him as he leaned forward, forearms on the table. His whole being longed for her touch.

"Your eyes, they are so blue. Maybe like the ocean. Have you seen the ocean, Jess?"

He had to clear his throat to speak, "No, ma'am. I hope to someday."

"I dreamed to see it since I was a small girl. But I think," she murmured, "It satisfies me to see its color, and how do you say it?... Its deep, in your eyes.

It was a magnetic force that drew their hands together across the table, and hers, small and delicate, melded to his like their sizes and shapes were created to fit together. But there was fire in that touch, too. A passion lit in him, moving through his body like a vibration, and he could hardly restrain the urge to kiss her.

"Look... I can't… it's just that you are so pretty, perfect, really. I don't want anything… I don't want to do anything with you that I will regret.

"Regret?" She cocked her head, a gesture he was becoming familiar with.

"Yeah, it's like… I don't know, maybe like you're a whirlpool, pulling me down. I can hardly keep from drowning. I gave you my word not to touch you, and I aim to keep that promise. But dadgum, it's like telling a starvin' man he can't eat."

"I see," she said and dropped her eyes, but her hands stayed folded inside his. Looking up with a smile playing at her lips, she said, "We speak so much of water: You are the ocean. I am the whirlpool, but we will talk of other things. You ask me how long have I been here."

Grateful for the change of direction, he nodded his head to encourage her to continue.

"For a year. This is how long. Senor Huddleston took us from our home to work for him. Our small piece of land was money… value to him. He liked me. He say that I am beautiful and can do a job for him. Others like us, like my family, their homes were burned, and some killed. We pray to God for a way out, for maybe help to come to us." She paused for a moment, studying him like she was trying to decide if he was the answer to that prayer. "Jess, what is it you are doing here? You are so….the word? It is maybe, different? You seem, not a bad man to have been in prison, and to work for him… Senor Huddleston. He is an evil man."

He wanted nothing more than to tell her his reasons for being here, have a confidant, and give her further hope, but there was too much risk in bringing her in on his plans. "I… well, I needed a job. I've worked before for him some time ago. Though he wasn't the same kinda man he is now. But Raquel, I aim to help you. I don't know how yet, but I'll find a way. You're family, too."

With that, she jerked her hands back and tore her eyes away. "You cannot try this," she whispered. "They will kill you."

Settling back into his chair, he ran a contemplative thumb up and down the pottery mug's ribbed surface. "Dying ain't what I'm scared of," he said quietly.

Her lips moved as though to speak. Instead, she stood with a soft rustle of skirts. Her eyes never left his as she moved beside him. He sat frozen in the chair, unsure of her intentions, but the uncertainty did not last long when her cool fingers caressed his face, and she kneeled so that her body was close to him.

"You say you will not touch me, but maybe I want you to," were her soft and hesitantly spoken words. He was wholly captivated by her bewitching eyes that pooled up at him. "You and I. We have been afraid too long. Maybe we can be not afraid for only one night."

"Raquel," he broke away again. "I wasn't goin' to. I mean, I was planning on not tellin' you."

She reached a tentative hand, and with the softest touch, toyed with his lips. Those dark eyes stared into him with deep concern and passion.

"Tell me? Tell me what, Jess?"

"Huddleston was right," he finally croaked out. I'm here as a spy… well, fer lack of a better way a'sayin' it. A marshal by the name of Milo Malone has got me on the man's tail, and it's the only reason I ain't still penned up at the Territorial. I took a deal, see? To get out. Though, I'm here willingly. I aim to do my best to put a stop to this whole dadblamed operation if I can.

"I knew this, Jess," she interrupted, her voice a bit thicker than before. "I knew you were not like the rest… these evil men. But how will you do this? It is, how do you say this? It is peligroso?"

Jess searched his mind for the familiar Spanish word, having grown up so close to the border, his knowledge of the language was moderate. "You tryin' to say, dangerous?"

"Yes, this is dangerous. They will kill you if they catch you."

"Can't let 'em catch me then, can I?" He said with more bravado than he felt. The truth of the matter was that the likelihood of his success was slim. The operation was just too big. There were too many men, and the whole outfit was just too organized. It would be nearly impossible for him to break away and reach Milo in time to put a stop to any crime or raid. It would take a miracle to make it work. That knowledge was behind his change of mind in confiding in Raquel. Bringing her in on what he was doing was dangerous, but so was what she was already being forced to do. He had to coerce himself to look at the bigger picture, too, and doing so meant considering the welfare of any squatters that might be brutally murdered in the near future if he didn't act, despite the danger to him or her.

"You cannot do this alone," she broke into his musings.

"Maybe you're right?" he agreed after a moment's hesitation and contemplated what she said. "See, Milo is holed up at Fort Provost. I'm guessing you know where that is?" He asked.

She had been carefully studying him, pondering all that he was saying. "Yes, I do. Viente kilometers sur? maybe," she said. "I've been there… otro… hmm… otro time."

"That means south, right. Sur, I mean?" He cocked an eyebrow.

Her head nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, that's about right, fifteen miles south of here," he affirmed. He dropped his head then while she ran gentle fingers through his hair. "Raquel," he looked into her poignantly, feeling fear for her and doubt in his own reasons, in what he was about to ask. "There may come a time when you'll be the best chance to reach the marshall and the platoon of cavalry soldiers he's got waitin' there to move in on Huddleston."

Her eyes were big and luminous, but she did not appear alarmed at what he was asking.

"See, I ain't aimin' to let him burn down another homestead like he did yours. You told me he's burned others and killed some, too? Did you know he's havin' the men make it look like the Arapaho are doin' it? They're scalping the folks after they kill 'em. The women, and even kids," he said gravely, searching her face and reaction.

"I know this," she replied, dropping her head once more with an expression of something like guilt and horror. "This is also why we pray so much—me and mi madre. We pray to God to help for these people. We don't know how to help by ourselves."

This time he toyed with her hair, his mind too occupied with what they were discussing to enjoy the silky, thick length in his fingers. "What I was askin' before," he finally said. "About you bein' the best chance of reachin' the marshall. Think you could do that if the time comes and we're havin' to put a stop to another massacre?"

"But how, senor?" she exclaimed. "How will I do this? To get away from here?"

He didn't have the answer to that, not really, but there were few answers to any of the life or death problems they were both facing. "Any chance you could get to a horse, somehow? Make a break for it? I mean, we could come up with some type'a signal that'd say you need to light out. If I ain't able to get to you, that is, and I ain't able to get away to reach the fort."

Her body was tense and anxious as she considered what he was asking. Chewing at her lip, breath held, it took some time for her to finally answer. "I can't," she admitted defeatedly. "My madre… I mean to say, my mother. They would kill her if I leave to do this. My father, too." Tears sprang up in her eyes as she spoke.

"Sure," he quickly said, suddenly feeling terribly guilty for asking in the first place. What right did he have to place that burden on her? "Forget it. I shouldn't never have asked. It was wrong of me," he rasped, placing his wide, dark hands on each side of her face to gently cup it, trying to convey to her his guilt in asking her to do such a dangerous thing. They stayed that way for some time, so close to each other before their lips met, and they kissed each other deeply. Minutes passed as they were lost in each other, setting aside for that brief time the fear and worry that so largely factored into their lives.

"Jess," she whispered as their lips finally parted ways. "I must do this. I must help. It is cierto… sure, Senor Huddleston will kill mi padre when the road is done. He will have no use for him after that. And me. This… what it is I do for him. It is worse for me than dying. And to see mi madre to be beat if I make mistake or disobey, this is also worse than dying for me. So, I will help. I can get to a horse. I am a good rider. If you tell… how do say this? It is… umm… as you say, make a signal to me. I can maybe get away and find your Marshall to warn him.

"Raquel, I… look, it's too dangerous. I shouldn't've asked… you shouldn't…." His sentence was cut off as she placed a finger on his lips.

"What is the signal, then?" She asked confidently and stubbornly before she kissed him again.

They talked and planned far into the night. Jess remained true to his word and did nothing his ma wouldn't approve of if she still graced the earth, or even as she looked down on him from the heavens above.