Rain Shadow (Dutch Country Brides)

by Cheryl St. John

  “Well...” He sounded almost uncomfortable with her emotions, yet he replied. “He’s worth it. Go ahead and feel whatever you’re feeling.”

  She stared at him for a moment and if she hadn’t been so terrified she would have smiled at the matter-of-fact way he’d given her permission to scream or cry. She balled her fists at her sides and pressed her mouth into a straight line, determined to do neither. Slade was hers and hers alone. She’d borne him in her lodge, a Pawnee medicine woman attending. She’d provided his food and shelter and taught him to read and write and ride. And she had plans for his future—their future. Plans that didn’t include a slick-talking vaquero.

  What would happen if Miguel poked around and learned the truth? He would make trouble. He might try to force her to marry him or might try to take Slade from her. Her body trembled. Anton reached for her, his strong, hard arms closing around her, one hand bringing her head to his chest, the other pressed into her lower back to hold her flush against him. Gratefully, she wrapped both arms around his waist and clung. His shirtfront muffled a sob.

  He kneaded the back of her neck, burrowing strong fingers into the hair at the base of her braid and rubbing tension from her neck. His tenderness provoked more tears. After maintaining her emotions for so long, she exhausted her tears quickly, hating herself for the vulnerability yet reveling for the first time in the admission of her humanity. It felt unbelievably good to have someone to lean on, someone warm and solid. Someone she could trust in this uncharacteristic moment of weakness.

  And somehow, instinctively, the conviction that Anton was different, that she could trust him, gave her the freedom to accept his reassuring embrace. She absorbed his strength and relished the steady, comforting beat of his heart against her temple.

  With emotions under control, her senses filled with Anton, the faint and familiar scent of leather and horses, the warmth of his hand on her spine and his body against hers, his hard chest and thighs, the damp fabric of his shirt beneath her cheek, his breath against her forehead. Without separating them an inch, she raised her head and gazed up.

  She remembered the kiss.

  The kiss she’d told him to forget.

  It was obvious in his penetrating blue gaze that he hadn’t forgotten, either. A forbidden and uncalculated hunger strained between them. The impact was sudden, jarring and deep. If he hadn’t been holding her, she would have buckled.

  His hand at her spine glided upward, dipped into the curve of her waist, spanned her rib cage and began another downward journey. The fingers at her nape caressed, his thumb rubbing, consoling, rhythmic circles soothing her distress.

  Slowly—very slowly, so that, had she wanted to, she had time to pull away—he lowered his face to hers. Her breath, caught in her chest, hurt. His breath fanned her lips, and a piquant shudder slid down her spine. His warm mouth covered hers in a gentle kiss, tentatively at first, gauging her response.

  Gentle wasn’t enough for either of them.

  Immediately, his kiss grew firm and demanding. He angled his head and held her face in his rough palm, his thumb beneath her chin securing her for his sensory assault. She returned the kiss, bringing one hand up to frame his jaw, as if she could cup the keen pleasure in her palm and prolong it.

  She tasted tears and coffee and satiny desire and knew instantly that years of practiced reserve and independence hadn’t prepared her for Anton.

  Beneath her hand, his heart changed from a slow, even tempo to an urgent throb. He tested her lips with the tip of his silken tongue, a warm, wet inquiry. Rain Shadow inhaled sharply, and his hand at her neck was poised as if to hold her should she withdraw. She didn’t. She couldn’t. She needed this moment, this kiss, this man.

  She caressed his jaw, enjoyed the rasp of his cheek against her palm, brought her thumb against the corner of their fused lips. He turned his face just enough to nip her thumb.

  Passion washed through her, her pulse drumming in places she instinctively pressed more intimately against him. Persuasively, Anton rubbed his tongue against her mouth. Heart thundering, she parted her lips, and his tongue swept inside, hot and delving, shocking her with the pleasure he created. She returned the bold kiss, pulling herself on tiptoe and snaking one arm around his neck for a secure hold.

  The logic of her mind warned that the blood and thunder pounding through her veins stemmed from her recent scare. She clung to Anton like a weak, frightened woman. She should stop this abandonment of good sense. Douse the glowing embers now before they blazed out of her control.

  But her body denied the warning, fanned the fire and refused her time to collect herself. His combination of textures—sandpaper jaw and satin hair, rock-hard body and pliant, sweet-fierce lips—assailed her senses, touched her to the quick, and she caught the flame.

  Anton pulled his mouth from hers and, breathing raggedly, burrowed his face into her neck. He nipped the tender flesh along her throat and under her ear, waves of sensation shuddering along her arms, tightening her breasts. Eyes closed in acute pleasure, she craved him, more of him, all of him. She wanted him too much. More than she wanted his protection or his kindness, she wanted this fever pitch of sensation that seized her with urgency. His mouth, hot and exciting, returned to nip her chin, caress the corner of her mouth.

  He pushed her leather vest aside and unbuttoned the top buttons of her shirt, pressing kisses upon her chest. Silvery shivers tingled across her shoulders and down her arms. Ignoring good sense, she framed his face in her hands and tipped her head back. His warm fingers brushed against her energized skin as he undid the remaining buttons and opened her shirt.

  The air’s silken kiss made her shiver. Anton pressed his cheek to her skin, inhaling deeply. Against her delicate breast, his cheek and chin were delightfully rough, his lips exquisitely hot and moist, his hair incredibly soft and cool. Awash with sensation, Rain Shadow buried her fingers into his hair and held fast. Forcing herself to breathe, she couldn’t help the tremulous moan that escaped her lips.

  The sound brought Anton to his senses. She was aroused. Every bit as aroused as he. He couldn’t indulge the weakness in his armor when he saw her fear and held her in his arms. He couldn’t indulge the craving desire that had spurred to life with his first look at her honey skin and stormy amethyst eyes, fueled to fever pitch with her hungry kiss and the heart-stopping feel of her beneath his hands. He couldn’t indulge, and didn’t need this ache in the pit of his stomach, the trembling want in his limbs or the hankering to touch more of her—all of her.

  Almost ashamed, he released her abruptly and stepped back. Rain Shadow wilted onto the nearest chair. He had to turn away from her gaping shirt, her glistening, swollen lips and the unguarded look in her eyes. Silence filled the room, yawning uncomfortably between them. What was he allowing to happen? “Will you be all right?”

  “Yes—” she tried to say and had to start over. “Yes.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can to help you keep him from finding out. Do you think he’ll be back?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered, deeply affected by his touch, his kiss. Did he think she behaved that way with all men? Was he disgusted? Judging her?

  He headed for the door.

  “Anton?”

  He looked over his shoulder. She’d buttoned her shirt.

  He hadn’t known he was capable of feeling those things. What had begun as consolation and comfort had snowballed into passion and desire neither of them was prepared for. “Keep your eyes open.”

  She nodded and he was gone.

  * * *

  Frustrated, Miguel left his mount in a copse, sidled up a bank and pulled a spyglass from his jacket. Nearly half an hour passed before the tall man loped down the porch stairs.

  Miguel seethed.

  The farmer was a complication he had not anticipated. The old Indian he could have handled. The old Rain Shadow he could have handled. This Rain Shadow, this self-assured spitfire, was not the same sixteen-year-old girl he had seduced
aboard the Nebraska. This woman was more than he had expected—or wanted.

  And the man? Was he the reason she had stayed in Pennsylvania? Neubauer exuded a possessive attitude as though he were. It could not hurt to know what he was up against. He collapsed the spyglass and made his way to his horse. He would go to Butler for his things, change clothes and pick up food to last a few days. He swung into his saddle, urged the animal forward and surveyed the landscape. He searched out a good place to camp unobserved, then headed for town.

  He should be back before sundown.

  * * *

  “All right, Slade. I’ve decided you can stay in the house as long as you’re welcomed.”

  “Aw-right!” Her son whooped and bounced a good eight inches above the bed.

  “Calm down before you hurt yourself.”

  He settled himself beneath the covers, his excitement barely contained. “How about you, Ma? Are you still going to stay here with me?”

  She smoothed the shirt she had folded and placed it on the bureau. She had planned to move out to her lodge tonight, but Miguel’s appearance had changed her mind. Slade wanted to stay in the house, and it was the safest place for him. Yesterday she would have thought nothing of sleeping in her lodge, leaving Slade in the house, but now she didn’t want to separate herself from him, especially all night. Even the thought of Two Feathers sleeping alone terrified her. She would tell him of the danger, and perhaps he could be persuaded to sleep inside. “Yes, I’ll stay with you.”

  “Good. What’s for supper?”

  “How about a hot, thick stew?”

  “Uh-huh! Will you ask Nikolaus to come up?”

  Minutes later, Nikolaus pounded up the stairs. “What’d she say?”

  “We’re staying in the house.”

  “Aw-right!”

  “What’s she doing now?”

  “She has some rabbits to skin. I want to watch her.”

  Slade threw back the coverlet. “What do you wanna do that for?”

  “I dunno. Just do.” Nikolaus rubbed his toe repeatedly into a crack in the wood floor.

  “Well, I got something better for you to watch.”

  “What?” He scrambled onto the foot of the bed.

  Slade tossed back the remaining covers, exposing his splinted leg. He tugged the oversize shirt he wore up his thigh and unwound raveled strips of bandaging.

  “What are you doin’?”

  “You’ll see.” He found the end of another strip at his knee and removed it the same way. A third at his ankle came off, and the splint fell away, still in two fairly solid pieces. His narrow leg was white and wrinkled, the skin dry-looking.

  “Oh, ugh!” Nikolaus screwed his freckled face into a grimace.

  “It’s okay. Watch this.” Supporting himself with slender arms, Slade scooted to the bed’s edge and balanced on his good leg. The other he touched tentatively on the floor. Reaching for the footboard, he took a few limping steps away from, then back to, the mattress.

  “Gosh!” Nikolaus stared in awe. “Does your mama—”

  “’Course she don’t know, and we ain’t gonna tell her.”

  Nikolaus plopped back on the bed and smiled at the ceiling. “’Course we ain’t.”

  * * *

  Rain Shadow adjusted the blanket beneath her head for the hundredth time. For the last half hour she’d been thinking of the pile of pillows on the bed above her. Slade didn’t need all of them.

  In the inky darkness, she crept around the foot of the bed. Pillow in hand, she paused, stilled by unmistakable sounds coming from outside, though the windows were closed and the curtains pulled. The horses in the barn were restless, the chickens setting up a squawk in the pen. A fox or a stray dog perhaps.

  Her heart beat double time. She hadn’t been able to convince Two Feathers to sleep in the house. Miguel could be out there.

  Silently, she slipped into her trousers and shirt and buckled on her holster. Grabbing a coat from the back of a chair, she tiptoed from the room.

  Dark cloud cover obscured the moon. She could barely see her breath in front of her face. She allowed her eyes time to adjust and surveyed the dooryard, peering toward the shadows near the outbuildings. She reached the barn door, and her pony whinnied a greeting. “Easy, Jack,” she whispered. “What’s the matter, boy?” She slid into the stall and calmed him with a soft nicker in his ear.

  Anton’s massive bay bobbed his head. Rain Shadow climbed over the rail and scrubbed his forehead with her knuckles. “Shush, now, General.” The other horses calmed at her touch, too. She peered carefully into each stall and checked the opposite side around the grain bins.

  A noise came from the direction of the tack room.

  Slowly, cautiously, she made her way toward the doorway. Even the barely audible sound of hay beneath her boots was deafening to her ears. Rain Shadow eased her revolver from its holster and held it ready, inching toward the doorway.

  Outside the tack room, she flattened herself against the rough-hewn wall and strained for any sound. Her heartbeat. Her breath. Nothing.

  Holding her breath, she slipped through the doorway and flattened herself against the wall on the other side, the barrel of the gun poised into the air next to her cheek. In the pitch black, hair rose on her arms and neck. She wasn’t alone. Her sixth sense was acute, her hearing keen. To her right another person breathed. Someone taller.

  Heart pounding, she waited. The other person, still as stone, obviously knew she was there. Perhaps he didn’t know who she was. If Miguel was night prowling, what would he be doing in the barn?

  All at once, the person lunged—not toward the door as if to escape, but directly toward her—and she took a sideways leap. A rock-hard body struck her and knocked her off her feet, the gun skittering across the floorboards. A hand spanned her throat easily, cutting off her breath, and superior weight crushed her hips and legs.

  The other hand groped at her shirtfront and closed over her breast. Immediately, the heavy body stilled. He had to feel her heart thudding. She needed to breathe. The hand molded her breast in quizzical palpation.

  “Rain Shadow?”

  Relief washed through her. Anton! She tried to nod.

  He released her throat, and she sucked in a grateful whoosh of air. The hand at her breast withdrew. He sat at her hip. “You scared ten years off my life.”

  “M-me?” she rasped, lying flat on her back staring into the darkness. She slapped at him with a limp wrist. “Seems to me you had the upper hand! How—” She coughed. “How do you think I feel?”

  A low rumble met her ears. He was laughing! “You felt pretty good to me.”

  She pulled herself to a sitting position and kicked him in the darkness.

  He laughed outright. “I got the surprise of my life when I learned the prowler was so...curvy.”

  She felt herself flush, imagined for a moment the shock he experienced when he’d discovered she wasn’t who he’d been expecting. She managed a chuckle. “Who did you think I was?”

  “Who did you think I was?”

  The question sobered her quickly. “Why did you come out here?”

  “I heard the animals.”

  “Do you think there’s someone out there?”

  “Not now. I checked all around before coming to the barn. Just as I got inside I heard you at the door and ducked in here.”

  “Let’s ride out,” she suggested. “Just to be certain.”

  “If you want to.”

  “I do.” They stood. “You know, this wasn’t funny at all. I could’ve shot you.”

  “What were you doing with that gun, anyway?” he asked.

  “I always have my revolver.” She groped across the floor until her fingers closed over the barrel. “What did you plan to use to defend yourself? Your caustic wit?”

  He snorted. “Get Jack.”

  She waited impatiently while he saddled his horse. Within minutes, they led the horses off the drive, mounted and walked in ever-widening
circles around the house and outbuildings. A slice of moon appeared and offered them a measure of guidance. They paused, and Rain Shadow sniffed the air. “I smell a fire.”

  Anton lifted his nose toward the night sky. His saddle creaked beneath his weight. “Do you think he’s out there?”

  A campfire. Miguel de Ruiz was as persistent as he was persuasive. And he wanted something. She studied the black shapes of the trees to the west, and a shiver ran up her spine. “He’s out there.”

  Chapter Eight

  Thumps and bumps sounded in the room overhead. What in the world was Nikolaus doing up there? Rain Shadow stared in frustration at the Anchor Brand wringer mounted to the band washer and fed the sheets through one last time. The front of her shirt was soaked. She’d rather be out in the barn oiling harnesses with the men, but since she and Slade made more work, the least she could do was launder the bedding. She couldn’t expect Annette to do Slade’s washing, since she already washed and ironed for the men. Lydia cleaned house once a week and kept baked goods in the pantry.

  Grateful for the opportunity to leave the house, Rain Shadow hung the sheets on the clothesline. She glanced over her shoulder at the Neubauers’ home. The family members were all comfortable in its confines and worked together like gears of a well-oiled machine. She wondered how many meals had been shared at its enormous kitchen table, how many laughs had echoed through its waxed and polished halls...how many fires had been built in the stone fireplace... how many babies had been conceived and born on the lofty feather beds...

  The absence of a woman in the house didn’t seem to harm the aura of warmth and security. At one time all three sons’ wives had lived in the big house. She remembered the picture of Anton’s wife, a lovely blonde with a lush, corseted body. How he must miss her. Anton was so alive, so strong and male. Her pulse throbbed at the thought, and her fingers stilled on a clothespin. Desire had been stamped all over his face the day before. He’d wanted her. She’d seen it in the fierce blue glow in his eyes, felt it in the heat of his hands and the coiled tension in his hard muscles. He’d been without his wife for a long time.