Jade Star (Star Quartet 4)

He rose and quickly dressed. “You, love, are in no shape to be my assistant this time. Just lie there and think about me.”

Before he left the bedroom, he leaned down and kissed her again, his hand gliding over her breasts. “You look utterly wanton,” he said on a strained laugh. He gently touched his fingers to the damp curls, then forced himself to straighten. “Don’t move,” he told her. “Perhaps I’ll be lucky and the patient downstairs only has a cold or a sprained thumb.”

But the patient, a Chinese worker, had been beaten and robbed. Saint was with him for hours.

“Will he be all right?” Jules asked him over dinner that evening.

“It depends, dammit! There might very well be internal damages, something we great doctors know next to nothing about and could do nothing about in any case. If he lives the night, he has a good chance. And no, the men who did this to him weren’t any of Limpin’ Willie’s friends. Strangers, his friends told me.”

He was perturbed, and Jules noticed he’d eaten next to nothing. To distract him, she began to talk about the time he’d saved her from a jellyfish when she was thirteen years old. Soon he was laughing, remembering how she’d yelped and how he’d had to straddle her to keep her foot steady.

It was over a cup of Lydia’s delicious coffee that Saint sat back in his chair and said, “Byrony is due to deliver in a week or so. I received a brief note from Brent today. Would you like to visit the new town of Wakeville?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yes, I should love it. I was hoping we’d be going soon. I can’t wait to see what they’ve done.”

Saint nodded, then shrugged with a show of elaborate indifference, saying, “We’ll leave first thing in the morning, then, before it’s light.”

Jules wasn’t fooled for a minute. “You believe Wilkes has someone watching the house?”

“I doubt it,” Saint said, lowering his lashes so she wouldn’t see the gnawing worry in his eyes, “but I won’t take any chances.” He saw that she would protest and said quickly, “Jules, I don’t like sneaking about like thieves in the night, but dammit, I won’t take any risks with your safety. Now, I need to make arrangements with Dr. Pickett to take over my patients, and you, my dear, need to write notes to Thomas and your friends. Lydia will continue as if we were here.” But Saint was thinking to himself: Please show yourself, you vermin bastard! I want to put my hands around your damned neck. I want to destroy you as I would a mad dog.

“Thackery will accompany us?” Jules asked, pulling him from his violent but very satisfying thoughts.

He nodded. “Now, why don’t you pack for us and I’ll be off for a couple of hours.”

It was drizzling before dawn the following morning, the fog thick and heavy. Ranger Tyson from Hobson’s Stables had provided a carriage and two horses. “He still owes me” was all Saint said.

Jules felt the chill seep through her thick cloak and moved closer to her husband in the dark carriage. The seats smelled of old leather and tobacco smoke. And, she thought, her nose twitching, the carriage smelled of sex. It was a rather large one, she mentally added to herself, and grinned.

She heard Saint speak in a low voice to Thackery, and soon the carriage jolted forward.

They were nearly ten miles south of San Francisco when the sun came up. The air was clear and there wasn’t a hint of rain.

“This is lovely,” Jules said, staring out at the rolling green hills. “I can smell the ocean. I wish we could see it.”

“The land was too rugged to build a road closer,” Saint said. “Perhaps someday.”

“We’ll stop for breakfast soon. Lydia packed us a hamper.”

They stopped on a rise that gave a view of the ocean to the west and rolling hills to the east. The sun was warm and there was a crisp early-morning breeze. Jules stood for a moment near the edge of the rise, breathing in the clear air. Saint watched her a moment after spreading out one of Lydia’s checkered cotton tablecloths. He loved the way the breeze caught tendrils of her hair, lifting them, and the shine of the sun through the flame strands.

“Beautiful,” he said quietly, lightly closing his hands over her shoulders.

“Yes,” she said, leaning her head back against his shoulder.

She felt his hands ease beneath her cloak and cup her breasts. She shivered slightly and pressed herself more tightly against him. “Shall I tell Thackery to go find the Northwest Passage or something?” Saint asked, kissing her ear.

Jules’s stomach growled and Saint laughed. “I suppose that’s my answer,” he said, turned her around, and kissed her mouth.

They breakfasted on fresh, still-warm bread, butter, and jam, and coffee in one of Lydia’s jars, wrapped in heavy cloths to keep it hot.

“This is decadent,” Saint said, leaning back a moment on his elbows. “How far to go now, Thackery?”

“Not more than another hour, Dr. Saint,” Thackery said, and both Jules and Saint could hear the excitement in his voice. “The rains haven’t been so bad so far, and the building never stops. Mrs. Byrony never stops either, and you should hear Mr. Brent yell at her.”

The horses seemed to feel the excitement and quickened their pace. The first view of Wakeville came less than an hour later, and Jules sucked in her breath. “I don’t know what I was expecting,” she said, tugging at Saint’s sleeve, “but this is incredible!”

It looked to Saint as if Brent Hammond had managed to buy the most fertile acres in the area. And the activity was astounding. There was even a Village Street, wide enough for two carriages side by side, with new buildings with sidewalks lining it. Nine out of ten faces in the new town were black.