Chapter Thirteen

Home Alone

Jordan sighed and shifted in her saddle, riding back out to her father's claim. After somewhat tearfully explaining Max's abrupt and mysterious departure to Garret, her boss had given her the day off, admonishing her to go back to the claim…try to decide what she was going to do….stay there? Move into town over the office? How was she going to deal with the bar? She had to admit, she had a lot to think about…and no matter which way she turned, it seemed that Woody, babies, her job, and now all that Max had handed her seemed to be muddled up inside her head. For the first time in a long time, Jordan felt as if she had lost her footing….that she was losing her way. She wasn't quite sure what it all meant and what she was going to do.

For the first time since JD Pollack had briefly and disastrously entered her life, Jordan once again revisited her decision about becoming a doctor. She had realized, when Garret had asked to come to Tyler with her from Washington DC, what his plans were for her. Garret had mentioned several times on the Civil War battlefields that Jordan was a better "doctor" than many of the men out there. Jordan knew that Garret was following her home to train her to become a physician.

And she had been aware from the moment she had said "yes" to a medical career, she had seemingly said "no" to anything else in her life. Husband. Babies. It was hard enough for a frontier woman to live a normal life as a wife and mother….but to have something else pulling at her time…well, Jordan was wise enough about life to realize that it would take a rare man to accept her as a doctor, a woman, a wife, and a mother.

Frankly, she knew most men would ask her to give up something…probably medicine. That's why, once she returned from the war, she had blown off any male who had expressed an interest in her romantically…she was married to her job.

It had taken a blue-eyed Marshal from back East to make her re-examine her decision. Was it really worth it…was her job worth giving up what she could possibly have with a man…feel with one…be with one? The glint in Woody's eyes made her wonder…and the feel of his lips against hers totally took any coherent thought out of her head. But somehow, Jordan knew if there was one man who would accept her just the way she was…all the baggage in tact and not try to change anything, it was Woodrow Wilson Hoyt. Jordan glanced down at her jean-clad legs. Woody hadn't even blinked an eye when he saw her in men's clothing. Not the same reaction she got from most men when she sashayed past them in Levi's for the very first time.

But she remembered the look on his face when she showed up for the lunchbox auction in her lavender dress. She smiled softly at the memory. He liked her dressed up, too. He had kissed her three times that day. She remembered each one. The first two caught her by surprise. The last one really didn't. She anticipated he would want a good night kiss at the door.

She just hoped she had responded correctly. Jordan blinked back her tears of uncertainty. Despite all of her knowledge in the medical field, the only true facts she had about what a man and woman were supposed to be like together were from Garret's physician books. She knew the basic, biological facts…what would function when and what the outcome would hopefully be nine months down the road.

As far as the emotions behind the act, other than her secretive readings of Nigel's racier dim-witted penny dreadfuls, she really knew nothing. At least personally. She knew how those books said the woman felt when the man kissed her…and touched her. But Jordan hadn't been so sure anything could be that …well….wonderful.

At least until she met Woody. The man who made her begin to rethink everything about her decision. Perhaps with him, she could have everything…Until he leaves you, too, the little voice in the back of her head told her. As soon as Marshal Hoyt has this whole gun smuggling thing figured out, he's going to be sent out on another assignment. After all, he's an employee of the United States government, not sheriff of a little, Podunk town like Tyler.

Jordan shook her head as she turned Camino onto her father's claim. Everything was too muddled up inside her brain to make any decision today. She'd grab a bite of lunch and get busy…she had already milked this morning, but the stable needed cleaning and the chickens still had to be fed and watered. Glancing around, she realized it was a nice, large claim…one her father had built with her mother when they were planning a life together…with children.

Only now her mother was dead, her father was gone; she was the only child….and the claim may just be too much for her to handle.

Leave her alone…she needs time to think…Woody kept repeating to himself. More than once, he had checked Chevelle's reigns as he rode through town when he would absent-mindedly point the horse towards the northwest to ride out to Max's claim and check on Jordan. She needs at least 24-hours to make some decisions…and she can't with me underfoot. I'll be gone in a few weeks. The decisions she makes now, she'll have to live with for a while. I don't need to influence her…as if I ever could…but still…I don't like her all the way out there by herself. The debate waged for hours. The lawman in Woody wanted to go and assure himself of Jordan's safety. The man in him was prompting the Marshal to let her be for a while.

Squinting his eyes against the bright Texas sun, Woody hoped that his choice of leaving her alone wouldn't have serious repercussions as it did with Max. He couldn't imagine Jordan running away, but he could see her shutting down…and shutting those who cared for her completely out…becoming nearly recluse. But she wouldn't do it in a day. No…she needs the time…

Deciding to occupy himself with the gun smuggling case while she was gone, Woody quickly thought through his list of suspects…a list that kept growing shorter each day. Nigel had long been eliminated, as had most of the citizens of Tyler.

The only person he still was not getting a straight answer from was Sheriff Malden…who was due to retire at the end of this week. Determinedly setting his lips and pulling his Stetson over his eyes a little further, Woody gently kicked Chevelle's side and headed the gelding towards the sheriff's office. He'd get some answers from Malden. Today. He had to. No one knew what the sheriff's retirement plans were. He had made no move to open a business or expand his claim. And according to Matt Seeley, the man had also not purchased any train or stage tickets to get him out of town at the end of the week.

He tied Chevelle at the post and headed into Malden's office….and looked in only to find it deserted. The sheriff hadn't even built a fire in the stove to make coffee that morning.

Jordan closed the door to the chicken coop, a basket of eggs in one hand and the other on her skirt, keeping it out of the way of the rooster and the rough boards of the barn. She had cleaned out the stable and fed Camino, straightened up the tack, and made sure the chickens were taken care of.

Absent-mindedly, she looked towards the west, the sun still a ball of furious heat in the sky…it was then she saw it…or thought she saw it…shadows set against the sun…silhouettes of men on horseback. She swallowed hard and remembered her father's repeating Henry was still hanging on the inside of the house, above the front door. She hurried from the coop to the house…not so fast as to raise any suspicions that she had seen anyone, but fast enough that she could get inside before the shadows made it to the paddock. She entered the house, slammed the door, and pulled the latch down, very much aware that the fine hairs on the back of her neck were standing up.

Jordan had stayed on the claim many times by herself. And she had never been frightened. Not until now. Not with all these strangers showing up in the desert, murdered. Not until Max had left Tyler. At least when Max was at the Pogue, she knew at some point he'd be heading home.

She no longer had that reassurance. Swallowing her fear, and hoping she'd laugh at herself later, she lifted the Henry from its hooks above the door, making sure it was loaded and ready to fire. Then quietly she sat and waited to see if the silhouettes made it to her front door.

She didn't have to wait long. Soon there was a loud knock at her door. "Who is it?" she asked, praying that her voice sounded nonchalantly normal.

"Sheriff Malden, Jordan. Open up."

"Sheriff…" Jordan stalled. While she didn't exactly like the man – he had played the bully sheriff too many times with her for her to have any fond feelings for him – he was the sheriff. A lawman. Someone she could trust.

Her father's words tripped through her mind…if anything happens, go to Marshal Hoyt. You can trust him, Jordan. But maybe that was because there was no love lost between Max and Malden. But Malden was sheriff…surely she could trust him…

Hesitantly she lifted the latch, keeping the repeating Henry hid in the folds of her skirt. She opened the door a crack. Malden's form filled her vision, along with the face of a man she hadn't seen in years…Carl Jeffers…what in the hell is he doing here?

"Is Max at home?" Malden asked, surveying the room with a sweep of his eyes.

"No…He's not."

"He's not at the Pogue either. I've heard Nigel's running it now."

Jordan swallowed hard. The look on Malden's face, coupled with the sadistic face of Jeffers and the man behind him was making her very uneasy. "Just for a few days," she said, praying to buy time with some kind of excuse.

"Where's he at, Jordan?" Malden asked.

"Dad's just taken a few days off to get away…"

Malden nodded and opened his mouth to speak but Jeffers butted in. "Know what I think?" he asked. "I think Max knows something about those smuggled guns…and he's gone to make sure he can hide them from that new marshal. That's what I think, Sheriff."

Jordan took a deep breath. If these men were accusing her father of what she thought they were…but Max didn't…he couldn't. "Dad would never…."

"I know… I know, Jordan," Malden said, sympathetically shaking his head. "You'll have to excuse Carl here. Sometimes he speaks out of turn. But do you know where Max is, Jordan?"

She shook her head. "No…I don't."

"So he left you on this claim…by yourself…."

Jordan felt the fear rise to her throat and freeze her in place.

"Well…that wasn't wise, my dear. Not wise at all," Malden continued. "And I think you do know where he is…and what he's up to. And I want you to tell me…"

"But I don't know…"

"That's okay, Jordan. Just think back over everything he said to you. I'm sure you'll remember."

Jordan tried to shut the door on the men, but Malden was a lot bigger and stronger than she was. The sheriff simply put his shoulder to the door and pushed. The oak slab gave away without any hesitation. Jordan raised the Henry. "I told you I don't remember." She cocked it. "Now get out."

"Oh, I don't think so. I don't think we'll leave just yet…but here's what I do think. I do think that you're going to put down that gun and we're going to have a little talk."

"I said get out…" She lowered her voice to make it sound more ominous. Malden simply chuckled and made a grab for her gun – and then her.