Free The Pursuit of Tamsen Littlejohn by Lori Benton

from the clothespress.
    The box . She couldn’t leave that. Rushing to it, she scooped the papers inside and jammed it shut. The key rattled loose and fell to the floor. She shoved it back into the lock.
    “Tamsen, hurry!”
    She gathered up her clothing and the box and started for the door, only to lurch back to the bed to kiss her mother’s brow. With the faintest scent of cinnamon lingering behind her, she stumbled toward the outstretched arm of the last man on earth she’d have expected to take her away from Morganton.

Having spent the better part of an hour shifting horses and supplies to the settlers’ camp, Jesse had been returning for his own horse when he’d encountered Tamsen Littlejohn in the stable. He brought the horse, saddled, to the back door of the house where she waited. She’d stripped off the bloodied petticoat and donned the plainer clothing he’d seen her in once before.
    It was near full dark. The town folk’s comings and goings centered on the tavern—too close for Jesse’s comfort. He led the horse till they were into the woods, Tamsen holding tight to his coat sleeve all the while, clutching the cloak she’d bundled around her box.
    He stopped beneath a spreading oak. “All right, you mount up. I need to fetch my kit, tell Cade I’m bound away.”
    The girl didn’t raise a foot to the stirrup. “I can’t.”
    In the dark under the tree, he made out the oval of her face, those big eyes staring at him, unblinking as an owl’s. “You were keen to ride last night. You have ridden a horse?”
    “Yes, but I can’t ride astraddle. My ankles will show.”
    Had his heart not been banging into his ribs, Jesse might’ve laughed. “Where we’re headed no one’s gonna see ’em but me—and I’ve seen a woman’s legs before.”
    She hadn’t liked his answer. She backed away.
    Before she eluded his reach, he bent, grabbed the front of her petticoat at the knee, and drew the hunting knife from his belt. “Don’t move.”
    She made a sound like a mouse-squeak as he thrust the knife tip through the linen and slit her petticoat, knee to hem. He sheathed the knife, swoopedher into his arms—cloak, box, and all—and hoisted her into the saddle. She clung astride, too shocked to lash out. All the same he backed out of reach of the blue silk shoe dangling below the torn petticoat.
    “I’ll be back by the time you get yourself sorted. Don’t ride off without me.” He didn’t wait for protest but ran into the night, moccasins striking loamy earth. There wasn’t time to lead the horse through the maze of brush and forest and back again before her stepfather found her gone. Still he hated to leave her adrift, mind filled with turmoil and the image of her dead mother. That last haunted him, pumping rage through his blood, tempting him to hunt down Parrish. He sheathed that urge and ran on, skirting yards, passing privies and wash kettles, praying no dog scented him and raised a ruckus. At last he sighted firelight through the trees, shining off faces, canvas. The settlers’ camp. Cade sat at the head man’s fire, sharing supper. He’d been welcomed at their board, such as it was. It eased Jesse’s guilt over what he was fixing to do. But only a bit.
    Sweating under his coat, he circled around to where he’d left their kit. A wagon stood between their small camp and the others. Jesse slipped in. Half by feel he collected rifle, bullet-bag, bow and quiver, knapsack and bedroll, slinging everything crosswise over his shoulders. He circled the camp till he was behind Cade and made a wood thrush’s fluty call. Cade’s head lifted.
    Jesse waited, fretting. Would Tamsen spook? steal his horse and take off for parts unknown? She’d no reason to trust him. That she’d given herself into his care spoke only of desperation. Her life in his hands felt fragile as a bird’s. Lead me on from here. Guard and keep her … even if it’s from my best intentions .
    He quit praying when Cade rose