by Linda Howard
He more than doubled the length of the original shelter. He dragged the water trough into the middle so each horse had equal access to it, then used two saplings as rails to equally divide the space. Annie saw him stop and rub his side occasionally after he had exerted himself, but he looked like he was massaging a sore muscle rather than suffering sharp pain.
When they had first begun she had assumed it would take them all day, if not part of the next day, to finish the project, but within four hours he was using the original wood to build a door and frame. She filled in the cracks with mud, with him helping finish this final touch, then she stepped back to look at the fruit of their efforts. It was rough and not very appealing, but functional. She hoped the horses appreciated their new quarters.
She checked the sun after they had washed their hands in the icy stream. “I need to put the beans and rice on to cook now. Those beans didn’t get quite done enough last night.”
He was sweating despite the cold, and she guessed he would welcome a rest. He had to be feeling the effects of doing hard physical work so soon after being as ill as he had been. He went inside with her and dropped down onto the blankets with a sigh. Within minutes, though, he was frowning as he poked a callused finger into the wide cracks in the floor.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, looking up from the meal preparations and seeing the scowl.
“You can feel the cold coming through these cracks.”
She leaned over and held her hand over the floor. Sure enough, there was a distinct chill. “Why worry about it now? We’ve managed so far, and you can’t put down another floor.”
“Because it’s gotten colder already, and my guess is it’s going to get worse. We won’t be able to stay warm enough to sleep.” He got to his feet and started toward the door.
Annie looked at him in surprise. “Where are you going?”
“To cut some more saplings.”
He had to go only about ten feet, and she listened to the sound of wood being chopped. He returned shortly with four saplings, two over six feet long and two only about half that length. He made a rectangular frame with them, lashing the ends together. Then he carried in big armloads of pine needles and spread them inside the frame to create a soft, thick barrier between them and the floor. The frame kept the pine needles together. He spread one of the blankets over the frame, then stretched out on his roughly made bed to test its comfort. “Better than the floor,” he announced.
She wondered what else he intended to do that day. She found out when he insisted on gathering more firewood. “But why do we have to do it now?” she protested.
“I told you, it’s getting colder. We’ll need the extra firewood.”
“Why can’t we get it as we need it?”
“Why make extra trips out into the cold when we can already have the wood at hand?” he retorted.
She was tired, and getting snappish. “We won’t be here long enough to use all of this.”
“I’ve been in the mountains before, and I know what I’m talking about. Do as you’re told.”
She did, but with ill grace. She had worked harder during the past three days than she ever had before, so she wouldn’t have minded resting a bit. Even before she had met him, she had been exhausted from delivering Eda’s baby. And she hadn’t slept well the night before, which was all his fault. She had an even temper and was seldom fretful, but fatigue was eroding her normal good humor.
Finally they had collected enough firewood to satisfy him, but even then there was no rest. They had to walk up to the clearing to collect the horses. When they reached the clearing it was empty, and Annie’s heart plunged. “They’re gone!”
“They won’t be far. That’s why I hobbled them.”
It took him perhaps ten minutes to locate them; they had smelled water and picked their way down to a stream, probably the same one that ran so close by the cabin. The horses’ morning restlessness had been worked off by the day’s leisurely grazing, and they didn’t resist his hand on their halters. Annie took charge of her gelding and silently they led the animals back.
Even then he wouldn’t let her rest. He wanted to check all of his snares before nightfall, and he made her walk with him. He defied everything she knew about human strength and stamina; he should have been exhausted by noon, but instead he had worked a full day that would have worn out even a healthy man.
The snares were empty, but he didn’t seem surprised or disappointed. It was twilight as they returned to the cabin, and the failing light combined with Annie’s tiredness to make her stumble a little on a protruding root. She caught herself and wasn’t in any danger of falling, but Rafe’s hand shot out and gripped her upper arm with a strength that startled her into crying out.
“Are you all right?” He caught her other arm and steadied her in front of him.
She took a deep breath. “I’m fine. You startled me when you grabbed my arm.”
“I didn’t want you to fall. If you broke an ankle, you’d find out right quick I’m not as good a doctor as you are.”
“I’m fine,” she repeated. “Just tired.”
He didn’t release her, but kept a steadying hand on her arm the rest of the way. She wished he wouldn’t touch her. The touch of that hard, powerful hand was too hot, its warmth too penetrating. It undermined her rational resolve to keep a distance between them. But of course he hadn’t made any such decision, so he wasn’t acknowledging the shield of indifference she kept trying to erect.
He closed up the cabin for the night while she finished their supper. It was a relief to finally be able to sit down, even if it was on a rough wooden floor with cold air seeping through the cracks. She cooked a slice of bacon and crumbled it in with the beans and rice for flavoring, then added a bit of onion. The tantalizing aroma filled the small room, and Rafe sat forward with an avid glint in his eyes as she spooned it out for him. Annie was so tired that she didn’t eat much, which was just as well, because Rafe finished every bite.
She still had one thing she wanted to do before she collapsed for the night. After their dishes were cleaned, she picked up the second blanket and looked around, trying to decide how best to arrange it.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to figure out how to hang this blanket.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to wash off.”
“Then do it.”
“Not in front of you.”
He gave her a hard look, then without another protest he took the blanket from her hand. He was tall enough to reach the ceiling beams, and easily snagged two corners of the blanket on the rough wood, curtaining off a small section of the room. Annie took the water bucket behind it and removed her blouse. After a moment’s hesitation, she slid the straps of her shift down her arms and let it fall to her waist. Carefully she washed as best she could, keeping a weather eye on the curtain, but he made no move to interrupt her privacy. When she was dressed again she emerged from behind the blanket with a quiet thank-you.
He took the bucket from her hand. “You might want to go back behind that blanket. I’ve sweated like a horse today, and could use a wash myself.”
She whisked herself behind the blanket almost without pausing. Rafe’s eyes gleamed as he removed his shirt. The fact that he had worked hard wasn’t the only reason he wanted to wash. Had he been alone he wouldn’t have bothered, but they would be turning in soon, and a woman as dainty about her personal habits as Annie would more likely welcome a man who didn’t stink of sweat. He tossed his dirty shirt aside, then as an afterthought stripped completely naked. Thanks to Annie, he had clean clothes to put on. He squatted by the bucket and washed, then put on clean socks, underwear, and pants, but decided to leave off his shirt.
He reached up and unhooked the blanket, and in the dim firelight Annie blinked at him like a sleepy owl. He surveyed her sharply and realized that she was almost asleep on her feet. He had been making seduction plans, but in all of them he had counted on her being
awake. Frustration rose in him as he realized he was going to have to wait.
Doctor that she was, she checked the snugness of the bandage around his waist. “Did it bother you much today?”
“Just a bit sore. That stuff you put on it helped the itching.”
“Apple cider,” she said, and yawned.
He hesitated, then reached out and began unpinning her hair. “You’re almost asleep where you stand, honey. Let’s get your clothes off so you can get some sleep.”
She was so tired that she actually stood there like a docile child until he began unbuttoning her blouse. Then her eyes widened as she realized what he was doing and she jerked back, her hands flying protectively to pull the edges of cloth together.
“Take them off,” he said, his tone and words implacable. “Down to your shift.”
Even though she knew it was useless, she still couldn’t stop the single, desperate word. “Please.”
“No. Come on, now. The sooner you get undressed, the sooner you can go to sleep,”
It was even more difficult to give up the protection of her clothing than it had been the first time, because now she realized how truly vulnerable she was. She knew she could resist him; it would be difficult, but she could do it. But how did she resist herself? She thought of fighting, then discarded that idea as useless, for he was a great deal stronger than she and the struggle would only result in torn clothing—hers. She thought of asking him for his word that he wouldn’t touch her, but knew that that too would be a useless effort. He would only look at her with that unyielding gaze and refuse.
He took a step toward her, and Annie quickly turned her back. He caught her shoulders and she gasped, “I’ll do it.”
“Then get it done.”
She bent her head and obeyed. He stood right behind her and took each item of clothing from her shaking hands, except for her shoes and stockings. She thought she would burn up, with the heat of the fire in front of her and the heat of his body behind. She stood with her back to him, staring blindly into the fire, while he spread her clothes under the blanket. Then he took her hand and gently guided her to the bed he had made for them.
CHAPTER
7
Rafe stirred and drowsily snuggled her closer. Her soft bottom nestled against his loins, bringing him fully erect. The discomfort awakened him enough for his eyes to slowly open. An automatic glance at the fire told him that he couldn’t have been asleep long, half an hour at the most. He sighed and inhaled the sweet warm scent of her skin. As soon as she had realized he didn’t intend to force himself on her, she had relaxed and gone almost immediately to sleep. She lay curled in his arms as limply as a child, with his bigger, stronger body curved to shield and warm her.
Still half asleep, he put his hand under her shift, on her hip, and slowly stroked upward. God, how smooth and soft she was. He slipped his hand around to her belly and pressed backward, and she muttered a little in her sleep as she shifted her buttocks to a more comfortable position against the ridge of his shaft.
His pants were in the way. He unbuttoned them and shoved them down, along with his underwear, and took a deep breath of relief at the exquisite freedom. He rolled his hips against her again, shuddering at the pleasure of her naked flesh touching his. He’d never before wanted any woman this intensely, until it was all he thought about, until the smallest touch from her made his male flesh rise hard and urgent. Sweet Annie. She should have let him die, but she hadn’t. There wasn’t any meanness in her, just that special, magical heat that she refused to share with him. She was still a little afraid of him; she didn’t know how good he could make it for her, and he would, he knew the sensual capability of her body much better than she did. He imagined her inner tightness and warmth, and how her little sheath would clench and shiver around him in climax, and he almost moaned aloud.
He was sweating, and his heart was pounding. His erection throbbed.
“Annie.” His voice was low and strained. He moved his hand across her bare belly to grip the curve of her hip. “Turn over, sweetheart.”
Her eyes half opened and she murmured sleepily but turned in his arms, urged on by his hand. He reached down and lifted her right thigh over his hip, opening the notch of her legs and bringing her full against him. He pressed his sex boldly against the soft folds thus exposed to him, and sought her mouth with his.
The pleasure was overwhelming. Annie almost drowned beneath it, sleep-dulled reason slipping away from her. He was touching her between her legs, touching her with something thick and hot and smooth, and he was kissing her so deeply she could hardly breathe. The shift slipped downward from her shoulder and his hand closed over her breast, cupping and kneading, his rough thumb rasping across her tender nipple and setting it on fire. Blindly she caught at his shoulders, her fingers digging into the sleek, heavy muscles. He angled his hips inward, and the thick shaft between her legs pressed urgently against her. It was his penis, she thought dimly, her mind drugged with both sleep and pleasure, but surely it was too big. She hadn’t expected it to be that big. He pulled her leg higher and suddenly the pressure was more intense and instinctively she tried to draw back. He halted the movement, his hard hand clenching on her bare buttock, and he groaned aloud. “Annie!”
Her soft flesh was yielding to that dominant pressure and her eyes flew open as real pain threatened. She convulsed, fighting and twisting, sobbing with the abrupt and terrifying realization of what was really happening. Rafe tried to catch her thrashing legs and Annie threw herself from the crude bed, landing on her hands and knees beside it. Her shift was hanging off her shoulder, baring one breast, and the hem of it was twisted around her waist. Frantically she tugged at it, trying to cover her hips and breast. Dry sobs shook her as she stared at him. She didn’t dare take her eyes off him.
“God damn it!” Rafe rolled onto his back with a gutteral curse, his hands clenched as he tried to control both his loins and the almost unbearable need to have her back in his arms. His naked shaft thrust into the air, so painfully swollen he thought he might explode at any second. And there was Annie, on her hands and knees on the rough planks, her hair falling in her face and her entire body shaking with sobs, but her eyes were dry, and she was staring at his loins with unconcealed terror and confusion.
Gingerly he pulled up his pants and with some difficulty got to his feet. Annie whimpered and shifted away from him. Swearing again, the curses almost soundless as he forced them between his clenched teeth, he leaned down and grabbed up both his gun belt and rifle. He could barely stand to glance at her cowering, shaking form. “Put on your clothes,” he barked, and slammed violently out of the cabin.
The cold bit into his overheated flesh. He was half naked, without shirt or boots, and steam rose off of his chest. He welcomed the cold, needing ease from the fever that burned him alive, far worse than the fever from his wounds had been.
He leaned against a tree in the darkness, the cold, rough bark scraping his back. Dear God, had he nearly raped her? He had awakened already aroused, and she had been soft and nearly naked in his arms, and he hadn’t had any other thought in his mind except taking her. She had responded at first, he knew she had; he’d felt her hands clutching him, felt the answering pressure of her hips, but something had frightened her and she had panicked. For one savage moment he hadn’t cared that she was frightened, that she had begun fighting him; he had been on the verge of penetration and blind instinct had been driving him. He’d never forced a woman in his life, but he’d come damn close to it with Annie.
He didn’t dare go back in there. Not like this, not with lust raging through him like a ruthless fever, demanding release. He couldn’t lie beside her and not take her.
He swore long and inventively, the vicious stream of words slicing through the blackness. The cold was like a knife on his bare flesh; he’d freeze to death out here.
He knew what he had to do but he didn’t like it. He jerked his pants open and closed his fist around his straining s
haft. His eyes closed, and his shoulders ground against the bark of the tree. Curses jerked from between his tightly ground teeth, but finally he found, if not pleasure, at least a definite relief, and a necessary one before he could go back inside.
The cold was rapidly becoming unbearable. He straightened away from the tree and went back to the cabin. His face was unreadable as he closed the door with icy control.
Annie stood rigidly by the fireplace. She was still barefoot, though she had gratefully obeyed his last order and scrambled into her clothing so hastily she had torn one of the tapes on her petticoat. She tried to control her breathing, but it shuddered in and out of her lungs.
She clutched his big knife in her right hand.
Rafe saw it immediately, and something flared in his pale eyes. He moved across the cabin like an attacking panther; Annie cried out and lifted the knife, but she had barely begun to move when he caught her wrist and twisted it, and the heavy weapon clattered across the floor.
He didn’t release her wrist and didn’t retrieve the knife. He just stared down at her, seeing the panic in her wide dark eyes.
“You’re safe,” he said harshly. “I’m not a rapist. Do you understand me? I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe.”
She didn’t answer. He let her go and grabbed up his shirt, pulling it on over his head. He was shivering, and even the relative warmth of the cabin wasn’t enough. He added more wood to the fire, making it blaze brightly, then caught her wrist and pulled her down to sit beside him on the floor.