The Woman Who Loved Jesse James Read Online Free

you’ll introduce us.”
    “Perhaps.” I stood and excused myself, pretending I had to visit the outhouse, when all I really wanted was to escape from the cloying desperation of these women who were so determined to snare a man at any cost.
    Yes, I wanted a husband, and a home and children of my own. But our visit this afternoon with Mrs. Peabody had made me more certain than ever that I wanted to do more than settle for the first man who would ask me. I wanted the grand passion she’d spoken of—a man I could love with both my body and my heart, who would add color and adventure to my life, and not merely more drudgery.
     

Chapter Two
    I slipped around the side of the house, toward a grove of trees along the edge of the back pasture, anxious to return to the relative coolness of the shade. I leaned against the gnarled trunk of an elm and squinted up at the pattern of light and shadow filtering through its slipper-shaped leaves. The hum of voices from the party seemed very far away, the indistinguishable conversations of a dream.
    “Don’t you think it’s dangerous for a young lady to be wandering into the woods by herself?”
    I gasped at the low, deep voice so close to my ear, and whirled to face the speaker. He laughed at my obvious discomposure, but swept off his hat and sketched a bow. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.
    “What did you expect, sneaking up on me that way?” I studied him through lowered lashes. More than the sudden fright made my heart race now. He was a handsome man, near my own age, with fine, sharp features, thick sandy hair and broad shoulders.
    But his eyes were the feature that caught and held me. Eyes as blue as the summer sky, as full of light and heat. Eyes that looked directly into mine without flinching, seeing not just the picture I presented of myself as a nicely dressed young lady, but seeing me —the secret self few others bothered to notice.
    “Cousin Zee, don’t you recognize me?” he asked.
    My gaze fell to the hat in his hand—a flat-brimmed felt pinned up on one side, of the type favored by Quantrill’s guerrillas. “Jesse?” I gasped.
    “At your service, ma’am.” He sketched another bow, lithe and graceful in a black suit, gray-striped waistcoat and string tie.
    “What are you doing hiding out here in the woods?” I demanded, drawing on anger to cover my confusion. I couldn’t quite believe the dashing man before me was my whiny cousin Jesse.
    “I might ask you the same question.” He replaced the hat on his head and regarded me from beneath the rakish angle of the brim.
    “I came for a breath of fresh air and the coolness of the shade,” I said.
    “I wanted a good look at the crowd before I ventured forth.” He nodded toward the gathering. “Who’s the stocky man with the frock coat and the pistols—standing by the punch keg?”
    “That’s Sheriff T. Wayne Henry. Why?”
    “Is he Union or Secesh?”
    “Southern. He fought at Antietam.”
    Jesse nodded. “Anyone here who might have Northern sympathies?”
    “No. My family and the groom’s are both firmly with the Confederacy.”
    “Then I suppose it’s safe for me to join the party.” But he made no move to leave.
    “Is it true you’re riding with Quantrill’s men?” I asked.
    “I have the honor of serving with Quantrill’s lieutenants, Bill Anderson and Archie Clement, as we strive to further the Southern cause.”
    “Bloody Bill” and Archie Clement were well known to Missourians. Among Southern sympathizers they were revered for their success in wiping out whole groups of Union soldiers in daring raids on encampments and troop trains. Unlike the regular Army, the guerrillas were free to choose their own targets, and to attack and withdraw with lightning speed. That a not-yet seventeen-year old could distinguish himself in such a company of seasoned fighters spoke volumes about Jessie’s abilities and made me see him in a new light.
    I began to walk along the edge of