by Crooks, Pam
It had been easy. Too easy. How could she have been so weak?
It was the Gajo in her, she thought on a wave of misery. Mama's sin. The curse she had been born with.
Liza pulled her feet from Reese's grasp and stood. He glanced up at her, one brow raised.
“The hour is late,” she said stiffly.
He watched her, clearly wary of her change in mood. “You can have my bed upstairs in the loft.”
“No.” She drew a breath. “It would not be right for another woman to sleep in this house before your betrothed--”
“Rebecca Ann isn't my betrothed,” he said slowly, as if speaking to a child, as if it were imperative he make that fact clear. “I haven't yet asked for her hand.”
“I will sleep outside,” she said firmly.
He stared at her in disbelief.
“Do not look so shocked, Gajo. I have done it many times.”
“That's the most harebrained thing I've ever heard of.”
She shrugged. She would not let him sway her this time.
“Come on, Liza,” he said, his tone heavy with exasperation. “Take my bed. I don't care what anyone else thinks. It's cold outside.”
She headed for the door.
“I'm not kin to a woman sleeping alone in my yard!”
“I have slept in places far worse,” she sniffed.
“But it's the yard, Liza, for damned sake!”
“I am not afraid of your yard.”
He threw his hands up and muttered something about stubborn Gypsies. “Fine. Have it your way.” He rose from the couch and jabbed a finger toward her. “But you wait right here until I get back. Hear me?”
Not quite brave enough to ignore the command, she curled her bare toes into the thick rug and waited.
He strode upstairs and returned moments later, his arms laden with folded blankets and a coverlet that dragged behind him, as if hastily pulled from its mattress. He tossed a thick pair of gray wool socks at her.
“Put those on. Refuse, and I'll put them on for you,” he said with a growl, glaring at her.
She dared not utter a word of protest and complied, pulling them up to her knees. Her toes wiggled in the cushiony warmth.
He preceded her outside. Chilly air blasted against her fire-warmed cheeks, and she shivered. Some of her resolve left her. She eyed the front lawn with trepidation.
Reese laid a rubber blanket on the grass, then spread the others on top. He stood back, glowering, and waited.
“Thank you,” she said and swept past him, lowering herself onto the bedroll and snuggling into the blankets.
He seemed about to say something, but thought better of it.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said roughly. At the front door, he hesitated, throwing a glance over his shoulder. Shaking his head, he went inside. The door latched behind him.
With Reese's departure, the darkness surrounded her, pushing away the Gaje world and comforting her with the familiarity of her own. Lying on the ground, the crisp night air filling her lungs, the tiny stars twinkling down at her, she could pretend Paprika and Putzi were burrowed next to her, that Mama and Nanosh and Tekla and Hanzi were near.
But she could not sleep. Her gaze roamed the yard, admiring its tidiness even in the dark, and succumbing to fanciful musings, she envisioned flowers along the porch and a garden out back.
A garden. Her people never stayed in one place long enough to grow one, but she had gazed longingly at them during their travels, some with tomato plants so heavy with fruit the branches hung to the ground. So many tomatoes that the Gaje never noticed when the Gypsy ate their fill.
Would Rebecca Ann plant flowers and grow vegetables? Would she take pride in Reese's yard? In his house?
Liza could not imagine her with dirt under her fingernails or a scrub brush in her hand. Not the delicate, perfect Rebecca Ann.
She closed her eyes tightly and tried not to think of her. Or of Reese alone in his bed, without her to keep him warm, as she had the past nights.
She rolled over to her side and tried to quell the longings her thoughts inspired. She had made the right decision to come outside, Liza reassured herself firmly. With Reese, she had abandoned the Gypsy ways. For a little while, he made her forget. Sleeping away from his house would remind her of her people, her world, and where she belonged.
At last, sleep beckoned. Dreams took her, dreams of yellow-checkered curtains, wonderfully modern stoves and iceboxes, and raisin cake dripping with sweet white icing.
Chapter 11
A rooster's cheerful crow ended Liza's slumber, forcing her eyelids open and inviting a languid stretch beneath the toasty-warm blankets. Sighing, she shifted to her back and blinked against the shining sun.
The dew-fresh morning held an invigorating bite that awakened her fully. She put off rising, taking a moment or two to orient herself and recall the events of the previous night, where she slept and why.
A movement near the porch caught her attention. Reese approached, his features hidden beneath the black felt hat pulled low over his forehead. Liza pushed herself to a sitting position and speared a hand through her hair, tousled from lack of a braid.
Unsure if he was still annoyed with her, she watched him. His gait had lost some of its limp, and she knew a flare of relief that his twisted knee had finally begun to heal. A faded pair of Levi's hugged his hard thighs, a tan shirt clung to his wide shoulders, scuffed boots rode his feet. He looked rugged and utterly masculine, and Liza's heart responded with an unsteady beat.
He hunkered beside her, bringing himself down to her level. Beneath the hat's brim, his tiger eyes, unfathomable and intense, rested on her. She boldly met his gaze and waited for his reproval.
But he said nothing. Instead, he handed her a cup, its contents steaming in the cool air. Matching his silence, Liza took it from him and curled both hands around the hot sides.
She waited.
He tore his glance from her and stared out across the horizon. She studied his profile, so strong in the morning light, his chin square and defiant, his jaw faintly stubbled. The cotton shirt, open at the throat, revealed a sprinkling of dark hairs beneath the red bandanna tied loosely at his neck.
“I missed you last night,” he said roughly.
Liza's pulse tripped and hammered. The words sounded torn from him, as if he had not wanted to admit them, even to himself. A maiden heat formed between her legs and spread deep within her belly. She drew her knees up tight and resisted the sensation.
Triumph coaxed a tiny smile to her lips. He had missed her, not Rebecca Ann. He had been as affected as she by the nights they spent sleeping in front of the fire at the Hadleys' cabin.
“I missed you, too,” she said softly.
He grunted, as if unconvinced she suffered any worse than he had.
Deeply pleased at his scowl, she lifted the cup to her mouth and sipped, expecting coffee and tasting hot, sweet chocolate instead. She had not had the treat in a very long time. Liza's pleasure grew. Reese Carrison was a man full of surprises.
“I have to go into town this morning. I have business to attend to with the N & D,” he said, his gaze returning to hers. “I'd like you to go with me.”
As quickly as it blossomed, her pleasure died. Niobrara City? With its hostile citizens who had accused her of kidnapping Margaret Michelle? Lowering her lashes, she tightened her fingers around the cup.
“I think not,” she murmured.
He squinted into the sun. “People will know you're staying with me by now. It's best to meet gossip head on.”
“I do not want to shame you by having your friends see you with me.”
“Under the circumstances, my friends will understand. The others, I don't give a damn about.”
A moan of indecision slipped through her lips. She had no desire to see the Gaje's contempt for a Gypsy, and yet to spend the day with him . . ..
Lean fingers snared her chin, forcing her to face him. Tiger-like eyes appeal
ed to her. “Come with me, Liza. You need some clothes and provisions for the kitchen. And I'll send out a few telegrams and try to locate your family.”
“Oh, Reese,” she breathed, unsure what to do.
A corner of his mouth lifted. He released her chin. “I promised to show you a telegraph, remember?”
A telegraph. How could she refuse a glimpse of this amazing machine that would help him find her people? Excitement welled up within her.
“I will be ready whenever you say,” she promised and scrambled from beneath the blankets.
He rose. “I'll see to the chores, then meet you out here when I'm done.”
She nodded and headed toward the house.
“Liza?”
She halted and glanced at him expectantly.
His hot gaze ran over her, clear down to the wool socks sagging on her shins.
“That shirt will never be the same again,” he said wryly.
A blush touched her cheeks. She laughed softly and ran into the house, hurrying to brush her hair and wash.
After fastening the last of her skirts, Liza smoothed the fabric over her hips. She had chosen the best for a top skirt--the magenta, for it was the newest, the color the brightest. Thank the good saints she had had time to launder them. It would not do to embarrass Reese in front of his people with clothing torn and dirtied from mud.
She reached for the gold-and-crimson striped kerchief, but thought better of it. She would wear her hair uncovered today, bound only by a loose braid. With Reese at her side, she did not care what the Gaje thought of a Gypsy with coppery-red hair.
At last, she was ready. She lingered at the stove, however, stirring cream into a pan of water and chocolate, careful to raise a rich froth on top. A second cup of the sweet drink to take on the ride into Niobrara City would be delightful.
Suddenly, the back door crashed open behind her. She cried out in alarm and whirled about in a frenzy of skirt hems.
The Wild One.
Her heart leaped to her throat. He stood in the doorway, dwarfing the opening with his bulk. A knife in his enormous hand, buffalo skins on his mammoth shoulders, he clomped into the kitchen.
“You Carrison's woman?” he boomed, rage shimmering in his beady eyes.
He was like an enraged grizzly bear. From somewhere deep inside her, a ball of fear exploded.
“Get out,” she rasped.
“Not ‘till I find him. Where is he?”
He sheathed the knife and lumbered closer, ever closer. He could crush her with one swipe of his powerful fist. She inched backward and thought of the pan of chocolate, hot on the stove.
“Where's Carrison?” he thundered.
With more speed than she would have thought possible, he spread his mammoth arms wide and lunged toward her. Instinctively, she reacted, twisting, her hands finding the pan handle and blindly hurling the simmering contents at him.
He roared in surprised pain and staggered back. Chocolate dripped from his straggly beard onto the buffalo hide. Appearing dazed, he blinked and ran his tongue around his thick lips.
His gaze slammed into hers. His features contorted in renewed rage. With a bellow that shook the rafters, he leaped toward her again.
This time, she had nowhere else to go. His huge hands gripped her shoulders, ramming her into the wall, jarring her insides and crushing any hope of escape. A scream tore from her throat.
The meaty paws gave her a mighty shake. Her teeth rattled inside her head. She squirmed and kicked with a panic-driven strength she did not know she possessed.
“Damn you to hell, McCrae! Let her go!”
The Wild One froze, his ears pricked to Reese's yell. He grunted and whipped around, dropping Liza without a backward glance. She gulped for air and sagged against the wall.
“Carrison.” McCrae snarled the word and moved toward him. “Heard tell you was missin', then I heard you was found again. Too bad. I was hopin' you'd turn up dead.”
“Wouldn't give you the satisfaction, you son of a bitch.” A Winchester rifle was braced in both hands. Reese's gaze, sharp, assessing, never left him.
“Yer time's done run out. Jest like Lester when you killed him.”
“Lester's death was an accident. I didn't kill him. You know that.”
The words circled around Liza's head. McCrae kept moving as if Reese had never spoken.
“And you know I ain't standin' fer yer railroad smokin' up the sky with stink. Yer dirtyin' God's land with miles of track. Yer ruinin' my home and Lester's, and I ain't gonna stand fer it. Not anymore than he did.” He halted and swiped a big hand across his beard. He glanced over his shoulder, as if remembering Liza was behind him.
“So what're you waiting for? I'm here. You found me.”
Incredibly, Reese uncocked the rifle and sent it sliding across the floor. He straightened. The Wild One watched him closely, clearly unsure what Reese intended. His beefy hand unsheathed the knife at his waist.
“C'mon, McCrae. Let's settle this right now.” Reese lifted his arm, beckoning him, taunting him. “Come and get me.”
For a moment, the other man did nothing. In the next, a sinister laugh filled the kitchen, stroking Liza's spine with horror.
“I bin waitin' fer this fer a long time, Carrison. Ever since Lester died.” The blade sliced the air in a wide arc. He crouched, but didn’t move closer.
“What's the matter? An innocent woman more to your liking?”
The jab worked. McCrae roared and lunged toward him. Reese easily jumped back into the doorway, evading his grasp, and in that instant, Liza realized he was baiting the Wild One, goading him outside, away from her. A sob rose in her throat.
McCrae lunged again, hurling his weight against Reese. They fell against the door and tumbled down the back steps in a tangle of legs and fists and buffalo skins, each man grunting and cursing and rolling over the other.
Heart pounding, Liza bolted toward the rifle and snatched it from the floor. Running outside, she pulled back the hammer and aimed the weapon as best she could at Silas McCrae.
But it was no use. Neither man stayed still long enough to give her a clear shot. Fearful of the knife's blade glinting dangerously in the sunlight, she swung the barrel toward the sky and pulled the trigger. The blast reverberated in her ears.
She had their attention. Both men burst apart. McCrae darted an uneasy glance at Liza, and Reese took advantage of the mistake. His foot lashed out, and he kicked the knife from McCrae's grasp, sending it skidding out of sight.
McCrae made no effort to find it. Breathing heavily, his stance ready to take any blow Reese might send his way, he spat a mocking laugh.
“You put up a mean fight, Carrison. Didn't think a dandified railroad man like you had it in him.”
Reese swiped at the blood trickling down his chin. “Get off my land. Leave me and what's mine alone.”
“Not 'til I die. That damned railroad of yers is no good.”
“Leave the N & D alone.”
“Bringin' in poachers and killin' off the animals. A man can't hunt, can't trap, not with some goddamned whistle blarin' all the time and scarin' away what animals are left. Hell no, Carrison, I ain't leavin' it alone.” He bent and scooped up his coonskin hat from the ground.
“Railroads are this country's future, McCrae. We're not out to take your livelihood. You'll rest easier when you understand that.”
“Rest easy? When there's people crawlin' all over the place? Crowdin' me out?”
“It's called 'progress,' McCrae. There's plenty of room in this country for you and the rest of us.”
“Me and Lester never wanted your lousy progress. He aimed to stop it. Same as me. And the only way to end it is to destroy your damned railroad. That'll halt it for sure.”
Alarm crawled up Liza's spine at the deadly promise in his tone. He yanked the hat onto his tousled head, turned abruptly and lumbered toward his horse. He hefted his bulk into the saddle and jabbed a dirty finger toward Reese.
&nb
sp; “Consider yerself warned, railroad man. Y'hear me?” He cackled in satisfaction, as if already plotting a new revenge. “Consider yerself warned.”
Long after Silas McCrae left, Reese kept Liza within sight at all times, even going into the barn with her while she tended to Zor and his tender leg. She was glad for it. The fierce fur trapper's attack had scattered her wits and left her shaken to her toes.
He was a man with unclean spirits, possessed by Satan himself. Liza crossed herself in prayer to God every time she thought of him.
Yet, his revelations troubled her. Reese Carrison had killed a man? A Gajo named Lester? Liza could not believe it.
She did her best to put the Wild One from her mind. Assured the stallion would rest comfortably while they were gone, she returned to the kitchen and packed a light lunch in a tin pail. Reese waited for her outside, and she left the house to join him.
He had parked a buggy on the lawn. One boot propped on a wheel spoke, his forearm resting on a bent knee, he stared into the distance. A cigarette dangled from between two fingers.
The grass rustled beneath her feet as she approached. He straightened. His gaze, like sunbaked whiskey, burned over her, from the earrings swaying in her ears, to the strands of beads about her neck, to the bottoms of her skirt hems and back up again.
He carried the cigarette to his lips for one last drag before flicking the stub away. With no words between them, he reached for her. She went to him, and he took her tight against him. She molded to his embrace, her arms curling around to his broad back.
“Doing okay?” he asked quietly.
She nodded against his hard shoulder. “Better than you, I think.”
He made no reply. Instead, the sinewy muscles beneath her palms flexed, as if he relived the scuffle with Silas McCrae yet again in his mind.
“He is wicked,” she murmured.
“He's hell-bent on revenge.”
She drew back and peered up into his shaded expression.
“Why?” she asked.
His troubled gaze rested on her for a long moment. He pulled her back against him.