Rain Shadow (Dutch Country Brides)

by Cheryl St. John

  “Slade, your leg!” Rain Shadow exclaimed.

  “It’s okay, Ma. I’ve been practicing. I can get up and down without no trouble.” They scampered up and over the edge.

  She stared after them. They’d planned for her to stay out here in this cabin with Anton?

  “Without any trouble,” she corrected distractedly, and slid her confused gaze toward her—husband.

  As if as surprised as she, Anton gave a nearly imperceptible shrug.

  Do something, she pleaded with her eyes.

  I can't hurt their feelings, his baffled gaze seemed to reply.

  “I know how uncomfortable you are in the house,” Johann supplied. “We thought this would be the best thing. You’re not out in the weather, but it’s not the big house, either.”

  He considered exposure to Miguel more dangerous than the weather, and she had been obstinate about leaving her lodge. “And you, Father?” she asked. “Will you stay here with us?”

  Two Feathers glanced toward the hearth. “My bones have taken a liking to the feather bed, daughter. Winter nights are longer and colder than I remember.”

  She had talked him out of their lodge for safety, and she could hardly ask him to sleep in the loft with the boys or lie on the stone hearth because she didn’t trust herself alone with Anton. She nodded, and gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

  Overhead came thumps and muffled laughter—the sounds of brothers tussling before bed. Exactly what she’d feared all along. How long would this arrangement last? Until Miguel lost interest. Any length of time was unhealthy for her mental state.

  Rain Shadow watched their fathers pull the solid door shut behind them. She felt as if she were about to participate in her most difficult competition ever. Everything she held dear rode on the outcome, and yet somehow, some way, losing would be winning. Her heart fluttered beneath her shirt. She steeled her wayward thoughts and her traitorous body.

  She couldn’t afford to leave any part of herself behind. Not her goal, not her independence, and least of all, not her heart. But this man—whose muscles in his broad back flexed and bunched as he knelt and fed logs to the fire—this husband—wouldn’t have to take a thing. She feared she’d give him anything he wanted.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Would you like some coffee?” Anton extended a cup toward her.

  Rain Shadow accepted the steaming mug and perched on a bench at the trestle table. She’d finished putting some of her clothing away, and overhead the boys had finally quieted. Her gaze collided with his, and she forced herself to look at her fingers on the cup.

  “I found blankets in the trunk,” he said finally. “I’ll make a place by the fire.”

  Heat rose in her cheeks. “Why don’t you let me? I’ve slept on the ground all my life.”

  “All the more reason for you to be comfortable now.” He took a sip, and she dared a glance. “Besides,” he added. “I probably won’t get much sleep, so I’ll check on the animals every so often.”

  What would rob him of sleep? Listening for Miguel? Thinking of her? Imagining him lying in here, she wouldn’t sleep well, either.

  The air between them seemed combustible, their unexpressed emotions crackling. Anton felt like a walnut tossed into the air. In an instant she would zero in on him and he’d shatter into a million fragments. Wooing disaster, he let his eyes meet hers. He read her desire, as pure and hot and unexpected as ever, and he wished for the thousandth time that he’d met her before his heart had turned to stone.

  He’d done the right thing—the honorable thing—by marrying her and providing protection for her and Slade. But he couldn’t allow anything more. Could he?

  Exercising more self-discipline than he knew he possessed, Anton stood and gathered the pile of blankets. Behind him he heard her set the cups aside. A moment later she spoke from the bedroom doorway, though he hadn’t heard her steps.

  “Good night, then, Anton.”

  “G’night.” He blew out the last lantern. She closed the wooden door, and blackness enveloped the room. Stripping off his boots, shirt and dungarees, he slipped beneath the covers and stacked his hands beneath his head, staring into the darkness.

  Muted sounds came from the other room, and he imagined her undressing, brushing her marvelous ebony hair out until it crackled, and climbing onto the enormous rope bed. He closed his eyes and wondered what would happen if he went to her, slid into the bed beside her and pressed himself against her silken length. His body responded, and he cursed softly at the rafters. How in blazes would he ever survive this?

  He’d really done it. Bound her to him with a two-dollar ceremony and a paper certificate. Somewhere in the far recesses of his mind, he should be wondering why he’d been determined to protect her in this manner. He’d assured himself it was the only way, and that answer would have to do. For now, anyway. He had too many other concerns to lose sleep over. Finally, in the rosy-hued hours before dawn, he slept.

  The first long day Anton watched Rain Shadow carry boxes from the attic in the main house and worry over just which yellowed doily or old dish should be placed where. The cabin reeked of lemon oil, wood smoke and occasionally the burnt remains of some unrecognizable thing she’d incinerated on the stove.

  The second long night he watched her help the boys with their numbers and send them up to the loft. She worked by the fire for a while, then closed herself in the bedroom while he lay on his pallet near the fire thinking of Two Feathers’ comfortable bones in a feather bed and denied thoughts of the woman who haunted his dreams.

  This second day she’d accused him of being cranky. Out of obstinacy he’d cleaned and repaired a mantel clock and placed it beside a chipped vase she’d salvaged from the main house’s attic.

  The third interminable night wore his endurance to the bone, and the following morning he chopped wood until physically exhausted.

  Tonight, he once again wondered at her peculiar behavior, this hellcat, who when they’d first met had scorned any and every hint of domesticity and now behaved as if the very fate of the universe depended on the arrangement of the dishes on the table. And yet something about her concern over the discarded dishes and her intense attempts at meals touched him in a place he’d planned never to leave vulnerable again. For many years, he hadn’t known the comfort a woman provided. He shouldn’t get used to it now.

  He studied her dark head bent over her sewing and realized how much he liked having her with him, how good her cleaning and fussing made him feel. And liking this warped arrangement frightened him more than he chose to admit. Having a woman near would be easy to get used to if he didn’t know how much hurt was involved.

  She stabbed the needle she’d been using into the dress material and rose. She strapped the holster bearing her Smith & Wesson revolver to her leg and caught her coat. “I’m going to check on the horses.”

  Anton stared sightlessly at the door. The change in her frightened him, too. Their former bickering and occasional outbursts had at least been a release, an outlet for the tension that built up between them. Oh, but she was a fighter! She wouldn’t holler uncle no matter how hard her arm was twisted. That’s why her acceptance of his proposal and protection bothered him.

  Ruiz had backed her into a corner. Her fragile, transparent beauty was a deceptive camouflage for the self-willed spirit beneath. Heaven help Ruiz if he ever left his backside unprotected. And heaven help him, Anton snorted to himself, if he ever succumbed to her magnetic appeal. That’s what really scared him.

  The wind caught the enormous wooden door, and Rain Shadow fought it closed behind her. She carried the lantern, shadows bobbing, past the wagons toward the stalls. Ahead, dark spots on the straw-littered floor caught her attention. She knelt and studied the drops.

  Blood.

  Several feet ahead lay a familiar small shape. Rain Shadow knew before she reached it what it was. The gray kitten lay cold and lifeless, its fur matted black with blood.

  Her pulse roa
red in her temples, and the barn seemed silent in those seconds. Jack! she thought immediately, and bolted along the stalls. “Jack!”

  The paint bobbed his head and whinnied attentively.

  “Jack,” she whispered with relief. She ran her hands across his solid neck and withers and affectionately laid her forehead against his warm shoulder. Miguel could have harmed him. He’d been right here. He knew how much she loved her son, her father, her pony...had he even known she cared for the gray kitten? What if Miguel thought she loved Anton, too?

  She jerked her head up. She hadn’t stopped to consider the added danger she had placed Anton in. “I should have gone,” she whispered.

  Wood creaked and slammed as though the wind had caught the barn door again. Rain Shadow tensed.

  “Well, for—” Anton’s muffled curse echoed down the corridor. She heard his boots strike the floor and pause at the spot where the kitten lay. “Rain Shadow?”

  “Back here.”

  He appeared before the stall, a rifle tucked under one arm. Their gazes locked, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “Other animals all right?”

  At the reminder that she’d checked only her own horse, shame flooded her. She drew her revolver, and together they searched the stalls, grain bins and hayloft.

  “That son of a miserable—” Anton knelt and wrapped the dead animal in a burlap feed bag. Shovel in one hand, bag and rifle in the other, he strode from the barn. When he returned she stood waiting.

  He blew out the lantern. “We don’t carry this across the yard anymore. He could pick us off like your blasted bean cans. Tomorrow we’re getting a couple of dogs.”

  “Why, so he can slit their throats, too?” She stopped behind him.

  In the pitch black, she sensed him turn to face her and knew a furious tension coiled within his body. “No, so they can warn us he’s out there. And if it takes a dog or two, that’s better than the stock or one of us.”

  He was right, but was it too late for any of this? What was happening? “This was a mistake. I never should have stayed here. All I did was put you and your family in greater danger. I’m sorry, Anton. I’m so sorry. It was selfish of me to stay. I have to go.”

  She groped for the wooden door handle, but found his arm. Pushing him aside, she wrenched open the door. He stopped her with a strong hand on her wrist. “Rain Shadow―”

  She broke free and ran. Halfway to the cabin, he caught her around the waist, the momentum knocking them both to the ground. Rain Shadow laid beneath him, her cheek pressed against the frozen grass, his breath harsh against her temple. His rifle bit into the small of her back, but she lay immobile.

  Slowly, he lifted his weight and rolled her over to face him, holding one wrist in a loose grip. “Think,” he rasped. “Where would you go?”

  “Anywhere, it doesn’t matter. I’ll hide Slade somewhere.”

  “Slade tells me you want him to go to school. How can you hide him in school?”

  “We can use different names.”

  “And your contest?”

  She rolled her eyes upward, avoiding his face, feeling hysteria well, knowing her behavior and words had grown irrational. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “It doesn’t matter?”

  “No.” A chill racked her body, and she shook beneath him.

  “Are you better than Annie Oakley?”

  “Yes,” she hissed.

  “Then prove it.”

  She couldn’t read his expression. “What do you care?”

  She sensed the change in his body, sensed she’d gone too far, and she hated hurting him, hated angering him. I’m sorry. Without considering, she yanked her hand from his grasp, the other from beneath his chest, and framed his cold face. Raising her head, she kissed him, their icy noses bumping before he angled his head and returned her desperate kiss. With the frigid ground along her spine and the chill wind whipping their hair in a reckless tangle, she lost herself in the glorious heat of his seeking tongue.

  Anton’s breath became labored. His hand moved inside her coat and caressed her through her clothing. Rain Shadow almost groaned with frustration. How good he made her feel. How much she needed these feelings. But the bitter wind, their layers of clothing were intolerable.

  She pulled her mouth from his, breathed against his chin. “Let’s go inside. Please.”

  Anton helped her off the ground, picked up his rifle and stepped back. “I left the barn door open.”

  She nodded and ran to the cabin.

  He watched her go, his heart sick. He’d never had these feelings for his wife. He had never looked at Sissy with thoughts of intimacy, hadn’t been able to imagine touching her once they were married. It was wrong that the only woman who made him feel this way was the one who’d married him for protection and planned to leave once she felt safe. Rain Shadow made him think and feel too much when he wanted to feel nothing and think less.

  He secured the wooden door and ran to the cabin. She waited in the rocker near the fire, her shiny hair an ebony mass of tangles. Anton hung his coat and warmed his hands over the flames she’d stoked, feeling her gaze on his back. He could smell her from here. Her. No perfume or talc masking a scent more exotic than anything bottled in France. As always his response screamed through his veins, accentuated his senses and hammered into his belly. Finally, he turned to her.

  She swallowed.

  He wanted to kneel before her and undress her...what did she wear underneath? The fantasy seared decadent images in his mind until his body grew taut.

  She shivered.

  “Cold?” At her nod, he knelt on the braided rug at her feet and reached for her boot. She extended her leg, and he pulled off her boot, then her woolen sock. She curled her toes into the rug while he bared the other foot. Holding her ankle, he massaged her cold toes and polished the sole of her foot with his thumb until warmth returned. He treated the other foot the same, finally spreading his palm from heel to toe, comparing the length of her foot to his hand. His fingers extended well over the end of her toes.

  She smiled.

  He took her hands, rubbed them vigorously between his and slanted his head toward her face. Firelight flickered over her features, lashes drooping over smoldering violet eyes. He read the desire in her eyes, her open lips, the traitorous breath that escaped her flared nostrils. He wanted her. Satisfaction impaired his judgment. He wasn’t angry. His body throbbed with ungratified longing.

  Her gaze shifted to the loft above.

  He should have used that tiny hesitation to collect his wits and remember the danger in displaying the least vulnerability, but he discovered his heart wasn’t as hard as he’d worked to make it. How could he resist her when she looked at him as if he was the only pool of water in the middle of a desert? “They’re asleep,” he assured her.

  It was so like her to reach for him, to take what she wanted. No shrinking violet, Rain Shadow was ardent rather than romantic, one of the many unusual things that drew him to her, much as he resisted. She placed her fingers over his lips, and he kissed them. She ran her index finger across his lower lip, and he dropped his gaze to the pulse at her throat, beheld the rise and fall of her breasts beneath her shirt.

  Her hands fell to his shoulders. Anton rose to his knees to kiss her. She met his lips and plucked a series of moist kisses across his mouth. He returned the caress, sliding his nose into the soft skin behind her ear, running his teeth along the column of her throat. He opened his mouth wide and sucked at her flesh.

  The rocker creaked as she slid forward and found his shirt buttons. Her fingers worked them loose and slid inside.

  She traced his collarbone, his shoulders, her cool fingertips sliding over his heated skin. Her touch made him feel like a man again, a prideful, ego-boosting sensation he hadn’t experienced for a long, long time—if ever. She ran her palms across his chest, his muscles reflexively tensing. No one had ever touched him like this. In awe of the pleasure she took in him, in his flesh, his kiss, he forgot
to breathe.

  His hungry expression kindled Rain Shadow’s appetite. She could barely think when she touched him, less when he touched her—she could only feel. And right now she felt as if a fire had ignited deep inside her and spread beneath her skin. He was a beautiful, golden man, and she needed him to soothe the flame his eyes, lips and hands fueled. She should have felt clumsy and inexperienced, but stroking her palms down his chest to his hard, flat belly, his reaction gave her a power that excited her beyond measure.

  He inhaled so sharply, air whistled through his teeth. He clamped his fingers over her wrists and wrapped her arms around his waist, covering her mouth in an unrestrained melding of lips and tongues.

  Rain Shadow dug her fingers into his back, eagerly returning his kiss, silently cursing the barrier of their clothing between them.

  “Anton,” she whispered against his lips.

  He pulled back, holding her so he could look at her.

  She threaded her fingers into his hair.

  He loosened her grip and held her hands between them, regret in his eyes. “I can’t do this just to prove something to myself.”

  She tried to focus on his words.

  “It’s not fair to you.”

  “Anton, I’m not sure what you’re saying.”

  He released her, and immediately coldness and emptiness enveloped her. Sitting on the floor, he scrubbed a hand across his face, hung his head and bracketed his temples with thumb and fingers. She stared at him in confusion.

  As if sorting his words carefully, he dropped his hand, wrist draped across his knee, and met her gaze. “I’m not a gentleman.”

  She would have laughed had her body not been weeping for his. She made a pretense of straightening her clothing. “You’ll have to understand if that doesn’t come as a revelation to me.”

  “Listen.” He stood and paced the small room, coming to stand behind her chair. The clock on the mantel ticked away interminable minutes. Wind whistled at the crack beneath the door. “You scare me,” he whispered.

  Her heart tumbled drunkenly. She curled her toes into the rug. “Why?”