Page 23 of Chloe's Christmas Escape
“Is that where you’re going?” Chloe asked.
“No. We are traveling to Omaha. With any luck, we won’t be picking up any other travelers along the way.” The woman watched Jackson as he worked his thigh, kneading it with both hands. His clenched jaw revealed his agony as he resumed the rhythmic rubbing. “Were you in the war, Marshal?”
“I was.”
“Where were you shot?”
“In the leg,” he snorted.
“No. I mean, where. What city?”
Jackson paused for a minute and stopped rubbing his leg. “Appomattox.”
“I lost a brother at Bull Run.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So, your injury is fairly recent? Meaning in the past year.”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Cross put her shepherd’s hook aside and returned to her yarn. Her daughter pulled out a small square of stitch work as well. “If you need some willow bark tea, let me know. I have a packet in my satchel.”
“Willow bark?” Chloe asked.
“It will help with the pain,” Mrs. Cross explained.
“I appreciate it.” Jackson shook his head and muttered a thank you as the woman offered him something to help ease his pain. His stomach roiled from exhaustion and tension, and his back was so tight that it ached with every movement he made. He didn’t want anything to dull his senses. The pain kept him on edge. He wanted desperately to return to the top of the coach, but Chloe needed him close by. After everything they’d gone through that morning, he wanted to be with her more than anything. These would be the longest seven days of his life.
“What happened with your leg?” she asked.
“I was wounded in battle. Took a round to my thigh.”
“Has it healed?”
“It is a closed wound.”
“Were you in the hospital?”
He shook his head. “No. A native woman found me and nursed me back to health. I’ll be forever in her debt.”
“An Indian?”
Jackson looked at her. “Yes. If I went into the battlefield hospital, I would have lost my leg or possibly died.”
“I’m glad she was there to help you, Jackson.” Chloe leaned over and kissed his cheek.
“Me too,” he murmured. He watched as she leaned over and retrieved her travel bag from under the seat. Pulling out a small wooden circle and two skeins of yarn that Mac had purchased, she started to work on…something.
Chloe and Mrs. Cross chattered about supple threads, raw edges, and weaving patterns that Jackson had never heard of before. He shifted in his seat, trying to block out the unfamiliar gibberish. Laying his head back against the seat, he rolled his hat down over his eyes, pretending to doze off.
When the stage slowed, he roused himself, glancing around to find the women now sound asleep. When the movement stopped, he silently let himself out of the carriage and went in search of the driver, who was taking a break at the front of the carriage.
Jackson waited until the man had collected himself, then let out a cough to announce himself. “Everything all right?”
“Yep, the horses need their water.” The man moved through his team, looking for any signs of fatigue. “We’ll be switching teams in Sterling. We still have a few hours to go.”
“Colorado?” Jackson shook his head, sleep making him slow. They shouldn’t be anywhere near Sterling, Colorado.
