Smolder on a Slow Burn

by Lynda J. Cox

  Her words triggered an unexpected response from him. He turned with deliberation to her and in the flickering lightning the lines of his face were drawn and ravaged with pain. The cobalt of his eyes smoldered with that agony. Instinctively, she knew his memories were pulling him deeper into this walking nightmare. Allison flew across the floor of the soddy and grabbed his shoulders. She shook him as hard as she could. “The war is over, A.J. It’s over. Wherever you’ve been, you’re not there now.”

  He was shuddering, she wasn’t sure whether it was from the chill of his soaked clothing or the recollections assaulting him or even both. No recognition flickered in his eyes. Desperate to bring him out of those horrors, Allison did the only thing she could think of to break him free of those memories. She let go of his shoulders and slipped her hands onto his face and tugged his head down to her. She pressed the length of her body to his and caught his mouth under hers. For just a moment, he didn’t respond, and then his arms wrapped around her and he crushed her to him, lifting Allison onto her tiptoes.

  He pulled his head back, only to drop it to her shoulder. A renewed shuddering cascaded down through his body. Allison wrapped one arm around his waist and ran a hand over his head. “It’s all right now. You’re not there anymore.”

  A slight nod assured her he had come back to the tiny sod house. He slowly eased his hold, only to capture her head between his hands. He tilted her face to him. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  Certain the shiver skipping over her was from the chill of standing in wet clothes and being pressed to his dripping frame, Allison was still reluctant to let him go. “I’m sorry for being so forward, but I couldn’t think of anything else…”

  “Don’t apologize.” He eased closer to her, so close his lips were almost touching hers. “I’m not sorry.” His fingers wove through her hair, wrapping about her head. Then A.J. tilted her face up to him, murmuring, “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this.” As light as a feather, his lips brushed hers.

  Allison couldn’t have prepared herself for the sensations jolting through her with the slightest brushing of his lips over hers. It was as if she had been struck by one of the lightning bolts raining down outside.

  A.J. jerked back from her, his fingers tightening about her head, the same startled shock she felt mirrored in the depths of his eyes.

  That shock in his eyes faded, replaced in an instant with something more earthy, more instinctive. Allison stared up into his face, watching the emotions filling his face. In an unconscious gesture, Allison touched her tongue to her suddenly dry lips, feeling more than a little light headed. Her belly fluttered and her limbs quivered.

  A low groan broke from A.J. Without warning, he pulled her more fully against himself, wrapping an arm about her waist, molding her body to his. His mouth slanted over hers, no light kiss this time. His lips pressured hers open, devouring her, his tongue invading her, thrusting into her. His weight pushed her back until he had backed her against the wall of the sod house. One hand twisted into her hair, pressing her mouth more tightly to his, and his other hand slipped down her spine, holding her in the small of her back.

  Allison’s hands crept over his chest, one curling about the back of his neck, fingers creeping through his hair. The other clung to the slope of his shoulder. Under her palm, through the wet heavy fabric, the muscles in his shoulder rippled as he moved to press her even more tightly to him. She trembled in his arms, and her heart pounded so heavily he had to hear the throbbing of it. A delicious, completely unique heat invaded her, leaving her trembling.

  He pulled his mouth from hers, trailing hot kisses to her jaw, and tracing along it to her ear. Allison arched as far as she could against his arm and into the wall, rolled her head back, and gave him unfettered access to her throat. His lips moved down the column of her neck, the flick of his tongue against her skin as hot as a brand. His whole body pressed against hers, pinning her to the wall.

  A loud, dull “thump” sounded in the small soddy, followed by another and then another. A.J. levered back from her as the thumps on the roof of the sod house became a steady, loud, ceaseless pounding.

  “What the hell?” he asked, turning from her.

  Allison slumped against the wall, trying to gather her scattered senses. Her heart hammered while her ragged breath caught several times in the back of her throat.

  A.J. stood near the open doorway. In the flickering white brilliance of lightning, what appeared to be snowballs were dropping to the ground, and then bouncing in all directions. Allison joined him at the door.

  “Is that hail?” She had to shout to be heard over the incredible din created by the thunder and the relentless pounding.

  One of the hailstones rolled through the opened doorway. A.J. picked it up, shifted it from hand to hand, and then tossed it out into the storm. “Seems to be.” He pushed her back as more hail invaded the relative safety of the soddy.

  Sugar, tethered to a wall support, snorted and bolted forward as far as she could. A hailstone had broken through the roof. A.J. rushed over to the horses. “We’ve got to get them moved to the far corner. Help me.”

  Allison grabbed Dan’s halter and pulled him the few feet deeper into the soddy. A.J. led the still snorting and huffing bay next to Dan. More hailstones broke through the roof where the horses had stood just moments before. Several were the size of small melons.

  Mercifully, the storm ended in just a few minutes. So did the rain, turning into just a slow and steady drizzle but the damage to their shelter had been done. More than half the floor was several inches deep in water and hail. The sudden silence was thick and suspenseful until a distant peal of thunder rippled in the night.

  Allison realized she was shivering with a bone deep chill and her breath was visible in the intermittent lightning flashes. A.J. tied Sugar to a wooden wall support and grabbed the blanket and ground cover from the floor before the water reached them. He draped the blanket and ground cover across Dan’s back and tied the gray to an opposing wall support.

  Allison’s teeth chattered and she wrapped her arms around herself. Her clothing was soaked, clammy, and clinging to her. Rain dripped from her hair down her neck.

  The hail covering the ground cast a strange luminescence, leaving the interior bathed in a faint, silver-white light. Even though he was also shivering, A.J. tossed the ground cover into the dry corner of the sod house, pulled off his gray coat, and turned to Allison. “You’ve got to get out of those wet clothes.”

  “I don’t think so. What would people say?”

  “Allison, they’re going to talk as it is. Get out of those wet clothes. I promise, I won’t look and I won’t tell anyone. I’ll give you my shirt and you can put that on.”

  Allison hesitated.

  “Now,” he barked, in a tone that brooked no opposition.

  She still hesitated.

  “Oh, for God’s sake…” he muttered and walked to the other side of the two horses, allowing their large bulk to shelter her from his gaze. He unbuttoned his shirt, jerked it off, and draped it across Sugar’s shoulders. “I was married and from what I understand, take away the wrapping of satin, velvets, and lace and women are all put together fairly the same.”

  A final furtive glance at him assured her he had his back to her. He leaned against Dan’s side, apparently taking warmth from the gelding. Allison’s fingers fumbled with the buttons on the jacket of her traveling suit. “Be that as it may,” she managed to get out through her chattering teeth, “I have never undressed with a man present.”

  “There is a first time for everything. Put your clothes across Sugar’s back. Her body heat should dry them out before morning.”

  She finally pulled the jacket off and then managed to get out of her blouse. Shimmying out of her skirt, she tossed her jacket, blouse, and skirt over Sugar’s back, drawing the line at her camisole and the simple linen underslip. They were made of a finer fabric and would dry quickly on her. They were not coming off. She n
eeded to keep some semblance of modesty. Even though his shirt covered much of what she had exposed by peeling off her wet clothing, and the retained warmth from his body heat felt delicious, it was completely inappropriate and increased her conflicting senses. But none of that stopped her from savoring the warmth.

  “Can I come back over there, now?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  He brought the blanket with him and jerked his head at the ground cover. “It’s going to get a whole lot colder before morning, now that this storm has passed. I’m going to further damage your reputation, Allison. We’re going to have to share this blanket.”

  She’d never seen a man without a shirt. She immediately dropped her gaze to the floor. But that quick glimpse was more than enough to start her heart racing again. His broad shoulders had been hidden within the folds of that gray overcoat. It had also well hidden his narrow waist and slim hips. Dark curls wisped over his chest and plunged in a V, the point hidden below the waist band of his denim trousers. When he had slept across the floor from her, next to the horses, it had been one thing. But now to share a blanket with him…with her body still reeling from the incredibly new sensations of his lips on hers, scalding her skin, and creating that delicious trembling…

  “We’re going to share the blanket, nothing else, I promise. I won’t do anything other than share body heat so we don’t freeze.”

  She was sure her cheeks were on fire with the heat she felt blazing in them. She startled when he caught her arm at the elbow and draped the blanket over her shoulders. He deftly guided her to the corner and sank onto the ground cover, pulling her down with him.

  He slid an arm around her shoulders, tucking her into his side, wrapping both of them in the woolen blanket. Allison shivered but she knew it wasn’t from the cold. A.J. leaned against the wall, the saddle at his back, and gently pressed her head onto his shoulder. “Go to sleep, Allison. Despite the impropriety of the situation, I will endeavor to be the perfect gentleman you are under the impression I am.”

  His skin was warm under her cheek. She closed her eyes and realized how awkward the situation had become. Allison didn’t know where to put her arms and she squirmed trying to find a position that wouldn’t infringe on either of their senses of propriety. A.J. settled the issue for her. He caught a hand and pulled her arm across his chest, then settled his arm around her, holding her around the shoulders and waist.

  Allison sucked her breath in, hardly daring to breathe. The slightest inhalation brought her breasts into closer contact with the very masculine chest next to her.

  His chuckle sounded, rumbling in his chest. “Just go to sleep.”

  She drifted off, dreaming of a great dragon holding her safe and warm within the folds of his massive wings.

  Chapter Six

  If all men were just

  there would be no need of valor.

  ~Agesilaus

  A.J. stared across the small sod house, trying to keep at bay the horrific recollections that had sent him out into the storm. He rolled his head back, struggling to maintain a normal breathing level. They were creeping closer. He could feel them, as surely as if they were chains tightening around his chest and his throat. He could feel the bite of the shackles again, and the brutal cold wind that had whipped through his greatcoat when Harrison Taylor had given him an ultimatum at the prisoner camp on Johnson’s Island.

  A.J. slid his eyes shut. Maybe, if he just let those memories come, maybe this time, maybe they’d lose their power and the painful chains would finally be broken. A distant rumble of thunder became a long drum roll and the lightning flickering against his eyelids turned into the muzzle flash of batteries of cannon. Once more he was leading his men in a charge against the Union forces. More than ten years and he could still feel the momentary hesitation in Rajah when the stallion took a minié ball in the chest, killing him instantly; still remembered despite several days of continuous pouring rain the unyielding resistance of the ground when he slammed into it after being pitched over Rajah’s head as the horse crumbled; his skin still crawled with the sensation of that rain soaking him through his uniform; could still feel the mud sucking at his boots as he led his men up a slight rise in ankle deep sludge, attempting to keep his orders to take that God-forsaken hilltop, continuous rain be damned...

  “Get down,” he shouted while he dove for the only cover he could see—a tuft of tall grass. Bragg had sent them into a death-trap. A sea of blue rose before A.J. and his men. The Union had the high ground and his men were dead in their sights. He was certain he was going to die for a damnable piece of Tennessee red clay...

  He swallowed convulsively as he again heard the volley that echoed over his head, choked with the scent of gunpowder washing into the downpour and once more saw men falling to the muddied, soaking ground—men he had fought alongside of, with whom he’d shared meals and lousy coffee, reminisced about home and loved ones—mown down by the murderous point blank destruction.

  Master Sergeant John Canwell took five hits in less time than it took to blink and the man fell onto A.J. The weight of the corpse had borne down on him, pushing his face into the mire. Frantic, near to drowning in the thick muck, A.J. had shoved the bloodied body off, assessing the situation, even as he struggled to wipe off the mud.

  Before the Union troops had time to reload, he rallied the few men still alive and they had charged up the rise. One blue coat blocked his way and A.J. pulled the hammer back on his revolver and squeezed the trigger. His mouth was dry again, recalling the click of the hammer on empty chambers. He had made the instant decision if he was going to die, by God, it was not going to be standing there holding a useless revolver…

  As he was pulling his saber free, that blue coat shouted, “A.J., behind you!”

  He reacted to the warning, spun around, barely blocking the deadly thrust of a Union private’s bayonet. The force of the parry vibrated up his arms, snapped his saber, and sent him sprawling backwards. The boy, who couldn’t have been more than seventeen or eighteen—Dear God, that’s what that damn war came to, with both sides sending children into battle before it was all over—had no remorse or hesitation in his expression as he had pulled the bayonet tipped musket back for a killing blow. He might have been a boy, but that young man had apparently seen the elephant more than once.

  A.J. tried to scrambled backwards and found precious little purchase in the quagmire. A saber flashed over his head, blocking the Union private from embedding the bayonet into his chest. He was still alive, gasping from exertion, but blessedly still alive. That relief died a heartbeat later. The Union officer sent the boy on his way and A.J. found himself looking up the barrel of a revolver pointing directly at his head and that revolver was held by Harrison Taylor.

  Harrison Taylor, his closest friend, his junior by only five days, so close before that damnable war they had considered one another brothers, classmates at the Virginia Military Institute, best man at his wedding…and there was nothing in Taylor’s expression that even hinted at a lifelong, shared friendship.

  “Get on your feet, Reb.”

  Harrison Taylor, the man who had condemned him to hell. The sense of betrayal still shouldn’t have this much power to wound and batter him.

  Allison shifted against him in her sleep, snuggling closer. Her slender hand fluttered over his chest and a small whimper sounded from her. He pushed back against those memories. She needed him. She needed him coherent, not huddled in a corner fighting to breathe and struggling to hold onto his sanity.

  “Shush,” he whispered, forcing a level tone to his voice. “It’s okay. You’re safe here.”

  She softened against him and relaxed, slipping back into a deep sleep. The warmth of her gently curved body crept through A.J. He tucked her more tightly into his side and dropped his chin to the top of her head. His hand trailed lightly of its own accord down her head, then followed the curve of her shoulder. The weight of her hair, no heavier than fine silk, drifted over the arm he cu
rled around her shoulder.

  In the past, when he felt himself falling into the clutches of those memories, he made it a point not to be around people. The only time he had been near anyone while in the midst of those walking nightmares, he’d broken the jaw of a man who tried to convince him what he was experiencing wasn’t happening any more. Allison, on the other hand, found a unique way to bring him back to the present.

  What a pair they made. A woman on the run from men who had murdered her school children and most likely her own family. A woman now accused of murdering her own sister and nephew. And him, so broken inside with the crippling memories he often couldn’t tolerate the presence of other people, dreaded thunderstorms, and feared sleep.

  There was a reason he didn’t stay in any one place for long, that he had spent a summer hired on as a buffalo hunter. He didn’t have to see people for five months that year. After being held in that damn camp for almost two years, large groups of people left him unable to breathe, had him seeking the nearest way out, and often had him fleeing for the closest open space he could find. That prisoner of war camp had been a hell beyond any attempt at definition. Just the recollection of the name resurrected those buried memories, started his heart pounding, twisted his stomach into knots, made breathing nearly impossible, and left him dripping in a cold sweat.

  Johnson’s Island, on the shores of Lake Erie, hadn’t been a paradise by any stretch of the imagination, until he found himself maneuvered like a pawn into a confinement at Infernum. And, once more, it was Harrison Taylor who’d condemned him to that particular hell. It had been early December and Taylor had forced him to take a walk on the small island housing the prison camp for Confederate officers. He still remembered the way the vicious cold had filled the shackles around his wrists and had seeped from the metal into his bones, aching and gnawing.

  Taylor had said he had a proposition.

  “I’m not interested, Major Taylor.” A.J. stared across the open waterway at the mainland a few thousand feet away. Freedom was just that close, and so very far away. He turned his back on the open water and the taunting promise of liberation.