Love's Rescue Read Online Free Page A

giving her a glance. “What’s your message?”
    She steadied herself with a long, deep breath. “To Dr. J. S. Newberry, Secretary for the Western Department of the Sanitary Commission, Louisville, Kentucky.”
    At the sound of her voice, the man’s pencil stopped. Conversations in the room tapered off. The telegrapher’s eyes flicked over her in disgust. “Kentucky?”
    Jess bristled at his subtle insult. “Yes,” she said evenly. “Kentucky.”
    Gradually, the other men in the room resumed their discussions. The telegrapher rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Sanitary Commission, huh? All right, go ahead.”
    Jess waited until he had completed the address. “Dear Sir: I must ask your assistance in locating my brother, as I have no one else to turn to. His last known location was Versailles on October eighth of last year.”
    The pencil scratched across the page. “Go on.”
    “He is Lieutenant Ambrose Hale, Second Kentucky Cavalry, Company A”—Jess hesitated only briefly—“Army of the Mississippi.”
    The discussion behind her ceased abruptly.
    Jess felt several pairs of eyes turn toward her.
    ***
    Jake looked up as the door of the telegraph office burst open. A mob of angry men was dragging someone, thrashing and bucking, down the steps and into the street.
    That someone was wearing a skirt.
    Jake jerked the lead free of the fence rail. Grasping a handful of mane, he swung himself onto his horse and whistled sharply to the already moving animal.
    ***
    Jess stared into a sea of snarling faces and rage-reddened eyes. She shrieked as a burly, pockmarked man grabbed a fistful of her hair.
    “Confederate trash gets hung in Federal territory,” he roared into her face. He was nearly ripping the hair from her head. Jess swatted desperately at his hands. “I lost two cousins at Shiloh,” he spat. “Two cousins!”
    “You can hardly accuse me—” Jess gasped as she was shoved into the arms of one of his companions, arms that held tight against her ribs, though she fought to wriggle loose. All around, faces leered at her, moving closer: a skeletal, balding man with sunken cheeks. Another with long, white-blond hair. Tobacco-stained teeth. A twisted, broken nose. Others, pressing against her skirt. Rough fingers clamped onto her throat.
    Jess was finally flung free as a huge black stallion reared up beside her, massive hooves thrashing. Her attackers stumbled back to a more respectful distance. The horse came down, and the big man astride it speared her attackers with a glare.
    “Start walking,” he said.
    Swiftly recovering their wits, her aggressors glanced around at one another, silently assessing this intruder’s ability to hold his own against a large group. Then their eyes shifted to four other men who had stepped into the street and were lining up behind Jess and the horseman.
    Jess’s heart hammered in her chest. The threat from both sides hung in the air. The four who had joined them— friends of her rescuer, judging by their dress—looked more than ready to take on two times their number, along with anything else that might get in their way. In the lightening gray of the sky, their faces were little more than shadows and gleaming eyes beneath their hat brims. Yet, menacing as they were, none of their scowls could match that of their leader.
    A cold blast of wintry air pelted her. The men drew back their heavy coats, hands hovering near the guns at their hips. Jess’s breath came in intermittent puffs of vapor. A small crowd had gathered on the boardwalk, and their suspense was mounting tangibly.
    Finally, Jess saw the burly man’s eyes narrow and his stance relax; it seemed he had decided to let the matter be. With a jerk of his hand, he signaled his companions, who started to back away.
    Jess watched them retreat until they disappeared from sight, the last man piercing her with a hate-filled glare. She counted. There had been nine of them. Her stomach felt as if a mule had kicked it. Twice. In