Mary

by Raine Cantrell

  Upstairs, Beth could hardly contain her excitement over picking out a kitten. Rafe, patiently working through the intricacies of dressing his daughter, wished he hadn’t been so curt in his refusal to let Mary help. He’d make it up to her, he silently promised. Right now, he had to talk to Beth.

  “Yes, love, we’ll go as soon as I get your boots on.” Rafe tugged them on her small feet, for she didn’t have much strength back yet. But her appetite improved each day. He wished the shadows beneath her eyes would soon fade.

  Rafe surveyed his daughter. The calf-length blue dress and white pinafore were large for Beth. The wide shoulder straps of the apron slipped off one shoulder, but he was glad he’d listened to Mary when she suggested the larger size to accommodate Beth’s bandage.

  “Up you go.” He lifted her with a short swing that made her squeal and perched her on top of the bureau. “Now for this little bird’s nest.” Rafe took a deep breath and picked up the new hairbrush he’d bought.

  “Ouch, Papa.”

  “Sorry, love. But this is the worst tangle. I’ve a good mind to cut a heap of this off, Beth. Then we both wouldn’t suffer.”

  “Oh, silly Papa. You can’t cut my hair. I wouldn’t be a pretty little girl.”

  Rafe bent over and touched his nose to hers. Beth’s giggle was worth his attempt to cross his eyes. “Far as I can see, you’ll always be a pretty little girl to your papa.”

  But when he resumed his brushing, Beth cried out again.

  “It hurts. The brush is so hard.”

  “That’s because it’s new.”

  “Use Mary’s. She said I could. She likes sharing things with me.”

  “Then how will we get rid of the stiffness in your brush, miss?”

  “I can use it for Muffy when my arm’s all better.”

  “Sweets, I hate to tell you this, but Muffy doesn’t have any hair.”

  “Silly papa. She will. Mary promised me some.”

  “Ah, Mary’s going to cut off some of yours.”

  “No. Oh, no, Papa. She’ll sew yarn on Muffy’s head.”

  While Rafe brushed out her hair as gently as he could, he told Beth they would be leaving at the end of the week to go home.

  “I know how much you’ll miss Mary—”

  “Oh, yes. And Catherine and Sarah, too.”

  “Will it make you sad to leave them, Beth?”

  “They are very nice to me, Papa. But if we go away, who will take care of me?”

  “I will.” And do a better job of it this time. Rafe tied a bow in the ribbon he had wrapped around the end of the single braid, then stood back to look at his handiwork. “Not too bad, Beth. I’m getting better. All the ends are tucked in this time.”

  Beth attempted to twist around to look in the mirror, and cried out when the movement pulled at her wound.

  “Not so fast.” Rafe scooped her up in his arms. “We need to be careful for a while longer.”

  Beth laid her head against his chest, and he rested his chin on top, resisting the urge to squeeze her tight. She was so precious to him, he sometimes thought he’d never have time enough to show her how much she was loved.

  “Papa? If you take care of me, who takes care of you?”

  “We’ll take care of each other.”

  “I wish we could stay here. Mary will be all alone and very sad without me. But I want to go home, too.”

  “Did she tell you that, Beth?” Swift anger rose inside at the thought that anyone would try to manipulate Beth’s feelings.

  “Oh, no.” She pressed her hand over his heart. “I feel it. I wouldn’t tell her. She might be so sad that she would cry.”

  Rafe cleared his throat. He should have known better than to suspect that Mary would try to use his child. But it never ceased to surprise him how Beth reasoned things out for herself.

  “Then this will be our secret. We don’t want Mary to cry.”

  Beth rubbed her cheek against him. “I have a secret with Mary. And I have a big wish. I wish Mary could come with us. She doesn’t have a little girl of her own. If she did, she told me she would wish her to be just like me. But I’m your little girl, Papa.”

  “Yes, love, forever and ever.”

  “If Mary came home with us, we’d be like a family. Wouldn’t we?” she asked in a very soft voice, almost as if she were afraid to ask, and more afraid of the answer.

  Rafe had wanted to know how Beth felt about Mary, and now he knew. To say anything to his daughter before he spoke to Mary would leave the path open to hurt.

  “I think we need to talk more about this, but for now, let’s go look at those kittens.”

  Mary, working at the far end of the garden, looked up when Beth called her. She straightened slowly, smiled and waved, but stopped herself from going over to them. Beth was wrapped in a shawl against the cool morning breeze. Rafe’s new red wool shirt drew her eyes. The cloth fit his body as closely as a glove made for it. Like her, he was bareheaded, and he wore his gun. She remembered thinking he would look naked without it.

  Catherine stood waiting with Sarah near the open barn doors. Mary turned back to gathering sprigs of herbs and their flowers to replenish the dried ones she intended to give to Rafe for fevers, wounds and a hundred other uses.

  The thought of Beth or him getting hurt and being alone preyed on her mind. The smallest of cuts and scrapes could cause serious complications if not treated properly. To say nothing of falls and broken bones. Even the simplest sprain could swell longer than necessary unless wrapped with linen soaked in beaten egg whites.

  “Mary?”

  She glanced up. Rafe was crossing the yard toward her. She stood there and waited.

  Rafe had never known a woman could remain so still. She was wearing the same faded gown she’d had on the first time he saw her, covered with a large apron, slightly soiled from her morning’s work. She was bareheaded, and without a shawl, despite the chill breeze. The red-gold fire cloud of her hair had been subdued to a dull glow, and he blamed it on the neat cornet of braids.

  She stood and waited—straight back, lifted chin and face devoid of expression. Unless he drew close enough to see her eyes. Expression was alive there. Pride and a bit of fear darkened their green color.

  “Could you come inside? I need to discuss a problem with you.”

  “If it’s about last night, and why I didn’t come for you—”

  “No. Come inside to the parlor.” Rafe didn’t pause to make sure she followed him. He went through the kitchen, down the hall and into the front parlor. There, he stood by the doors. He wasn’t going to give Mary a chance to refuse him before he said his piece, he wasn’t about to allow her to put him off until later.

  He had no intention of taking no for an answer, and he couldn’t wait.

  Mary barely glanced at him as she stepped inside the room. She heard the doors close, and his invitation to sit. She looked at her favorite wing chair, but some inner voice warned that this was not a time for comfort. She chose instead one of the straight-backed, armless side chairs next to the settee.

  She started to fold her hands together in her lap, but didn’t. Rafe wasn’t sitting. He paced the threadbare carpet. The stalking grace of his tall, lean body put her in mind of a caged animal—predator, not prey. She was to have the role of tethered lamb. Despite her mind’s refusal to play it, she gripped the chair’s seat with hands hidden by the folds of her skirt.

  He stopped and faced her, making her the target of a steel-gray gaze. The blackish, purpled bruise surrounding one eye should have softened his look. She found it added to the force of it, and remained still.

  Waiting. Praying nothing painful was to come. Hope dying when he spoke.

  “Mary, I have an offer to make to you. Before I begin, I want your promise that you will consider what I say carefully before giving me an answer.”

  She looked away from him. He was asking her to trust him. No matter how he phrased his request, the underlying question remained one of t
rust.

  Could she do that?

  They are only words.

  But words had the terrible power to wound.

  “Mary, is what I asked so difficult to grant?”

  “For me? Yes, it is.”

  “Then, will you listen for Beth’s sake, and leave us—”

  “All right.” She cut him off quite deliberately. She did not want to hear him pair the two of them in any way. He was leaving. They couldn’t be a pair.

  She listened, her gaze focused on the lamp sitting in the center of the table before the window. Her gaze narrowed on the lamp’s hanging crystal prisms. The sunlight caught within the cut glass flashed rainbows of color.

  Her mind was drifting. Thus she had sat through Harry’s trials. But Harry was dead. Rafe was here, very much alive as he demanded her attention.

  Mary started to find him so close. He knelt on one knee, his booted foot taking the weight of the other bent leg. The spread of his thighs pressed against her legs. The warmth of his body penetrated her drifting state. He lifted her hands from the chair and held them within his own.

  “Mary, did you hear one word?”

  “Yes. I heard you.” She didn’t look at his face. His hands were much larger than hers. Months away from hard work had softened the calluses on his palms. Strong hands, with long fingers whose touch made her tremble with desire.

  But he hadn’t spoken of desire. He was offering a business arrangement.

  “Tell what I said that made you withdraw.”

  “You wish to employ me. For six months. At a salary I could not earn in a year of sewing. There are hardships, mainly the isolation. You painted a clear, stark picture of the terms you are offering me.”

  “I thought they would meet with your approval.”

  “You are quite right.” And wrong.

  “I can’t find a bit of assurance in your voice, Mary.”

  The softening in his husky voice as he said her name pierced her guard.

  “Can’t you look at me?” Rafe’s voice was coaxing, but he had to work to keep a lid on the temper beginning to simmer.

  “Can you tell me what it is I’ve said that makes you withdrawn?”

  “Nothing. I’ll do as you asked and consider this.” Even though he was freshly shaved, a dark shadow made his features appear even more chiseled and somewhat harsh. Mary attempted to pull her hands free from the grip of his, but he tightened his hold. The implacable set of his face warned her that Rafe was not going to be easily dismissed.

  She sensed his frowning concentration totally focused on herself. It was unnerving. She glanced down at her lap. She wondered if the air between them really did pulse with tension, or if only she felt it.

  Rafe thought furiously through what he had said to her, and how he had said it. What had he done to make Mary pale? Difficult as it was, given her natural fairness, it was happening before his eyes. He couldn’t ignore it.

  He’d deliberately left one issue unspoken between them. He had hoped to let it remain ever in his mind, but unsaid on his lips.

  Now it was no longer a question of his risking outright refusal. He had to know.

  “You haven’t taken a notion that the money I offered you included having you share my bed? Do you think I’d insult you with such an offer?”

  “I never thought—”

  “If I wanted you for a mistress—No! That’s much too polite for what you’re thinking. A paid whore, isn’t it?”

  His control was slipping. Rafe moved before she could stop him. He rose in a rush and hauled her to stand in front of him. He forced himself to hold on to her hands, when all he wanted to do was shake some answers from her.

  “You’re a woman, Mary, not a green girl. You’ve been married. I assume you shared your husband’s bed. Surely you know when a man wants you?”

  “Stop!” She struggled, but he wouldn’t let her go.

  Each word fell upon her flesh like a knife prick. Not like you. And I’ve never wanted the way you make me want. She bit her lip to stop her confession from spilling forth.

  “You’re so damned skilled using silence as a weapon. Don’t answer me,” he said in a taunting voice. “But what’s between us has nothing to do with my offer. I’m not a callow boy. I’m a man, Mary. And passion will not rule me. I’m not an animal who’ll force your submission the moment I have you away from the protection of your home.

  “Do you hear me?” He almost growled the words. “No force. No rape.”

  “Don’t say such things. Stop it,” she moaned, tugging against his fierce grip. “I never thought that. You don’t know what’s in my mind. You can’t possibly know.”

  “Why? Is it so different from my thoughts? I’d have you in a heartbeat, if you’d come to me willingly. You must know I want you.”

  He whispered the last over her lips, losing the battle with the temptation to forget everything and remember only the taste of her.

  “If desire isn’t what you’re afraid of, then tell what it is.”

  She shook her head, the movement brushing her hair against his lips and leaving him filled with the scent of her.

  “Marriage, then? Did you expect me to offer you a marriage of convenience?”

  She couldn’t get away from him, and she refused to hide any longer. She lifted her head, and met the heated, fierce gray-eyed gaze he pinned on her with all the courage she had.

  “No. Never that. I wasn’t expecting a proposal of marriage. I wouldn’t accept. I won’t marry you or any man. Marriage involves total trust. I couldn’t give that to any man again.”

  It all came down to trust. And he found himself saying those very words to her, even when he knew they held true for him.

  “You…you were right to think only of Beth.”

  Beth? She had been driven from the center of his thoughts the moment he took Mary into his arms. If he had not caught the betraying tremor of her voice, he might have believed her.

  “Oh, no. You won’t use Beth to hide behind. We were talking about us. About trust and lies. Beth has no place here. It’s between you and me, Mary. This is about need and denial.” And temptation.

  “You need, Mary. Deny it all you want with words, but you can’t hide the need I see in your eyes. You can’t taste it in your kiss. I do. This time you’ll know, without a doubt lingering in your mind, that I do want you.”

  She could have stopped him. There was a pause so infinite as his words died away before he lowered his head. Time enough for her to turn aside. Time enough to say no. Rafe was right. She could and did deny her own need. She wanted his kisses. Wanted him. But giving voice to her need meant giving power to it. She simply couldn’t.

  But the lips that met his were not cool and unresponsive, as he feared. They were parted. Hot and seeking. Hungry as his own.

  Heat soared like an exploding keg of black powder, the blast engulfing them in its inferno. The bite of her fingers in his back urged him to take, and take, and take.

  Rafe broke the kiss as suddenly as it had begun, but did not release her.

  “Say you want me, Mary. Give me that much.”

  She held his gaze with her own, searching past the blaze of passion darkening his eyes to the truth of his need for her. And she knew the lie would no longer serve.

  Twice she parted her lips to speak, and twice he kissed her into silence, using teeth and tongue to claim her mouth, his hands stroking her body, claiming that, too, as his.

  Mary, cradling his face within her hands, forced their lips to part. She gave in to the longing she had had from the first, and lifted one hand to brush back the wayward lock of hair from his forehead.

  “I want you,” she whispered, looking into his eyes. She felt the thunderous race of his heart, matching measure for measure the pounding of her own.

  There was no air to breathe without his scent. Her body had softened to mold the hardness of his. No question, no doubt, lingered about where this passion would take them. Her breasts were swollen, the tips ac
hing for relief. Moments ago, the rocking thrust of his hips against her belly had sent heat pooling between her trembling thighs.

  And she said it once more, wanting to be sure, needing to know that he heard her. “I want you.” Her arms lifted to his shoulders, his moved in a slow journey from her hips to the span of her waist, then slower still, to shape her rib cage. Each nearing touch intensified the ache that filled her. Her fingertips dug into his shoulders, a throaty sound escaped her. Her eyes closed when he used his thumbs to torment the tips of her breasts.

  She discovered she had never known the true depth of passion. She, who had shared her husband’s bed for the years of her marriage, had not truly been touched by the force of desire singing in her blood.

  Moments later, she cried out his name. When he kissed her, she was prepared for anything but lips tempered with a tenderness that made her heart ache.

  It ended all too soon.

  He pressed her head against his chest, rubbing his lips over her hair. “Mary, I want your trust. As much as I want you, lovely lady. But to gain one, I’ll forgo the other—Leave me.”

  She trembled like a startled doe. “No. I—”

  “Leave me, Mary,” he ordered, in a voice husky and dark with passion. “Go. Go, before I lose what little control you’ve left me and take you here.”

  Rafe didn’t give her a choice. He swept her into his arms and brought her to the door. “Open it. For both our sakes, open the door.”

  A faint hint of color mantled his high cheekbones. Beneath her hand, she felt the tautness of his body, and his eyes, staring down at her, were dark with need.

  Signs that didn’t lie, couldn’t lie to her. I want your trust. As much as I want you…to gain one, I’ll forgo the other…

  She didn’t know what to feel. Emotions ranged like predatory beasts seeking out the carefully built walls and scaling them to show their power.

  Suddenly afraid, Mary opened the door.

  Rafe set her on her feet in the hall. He wanted her trust so badly. He closed the door and pressed his shoulder against it. He closed his eyes and saw Mary standing there, watching him, those eyes hiding secrets from him. Was she angry that he had aroused them both to a fever pitch and then ruthlessly denied her? And himself. Surely she couldn’t forget that. He saw her lips, moist and reddened, slightly swollen from his kisses, and desire prowled deep. Staggeringly deep, into his body, to run through his blood until he didn’t trust himself not to go after her.