by Gina Danna
But Jack could keep her warm. She closed her eyes, letting the thought swirl in her head for a moment. Of his tall, muscular frame holding her close…then pain shot up her hand and she yelled, dropping her spoon into the pot. She brought her hand to her mouth, sucking on the inside ridge that had hit the side of the heated cast iron pot as she stirred. Pain radiated from the burn as she tried to soothe it with saliva. She deserved it for allowing that lustful image to come to mind, betraying her husband’s memory.
“Are you all right?” His deep masculine voice asked.
She looked up. Of all the people to come to her, she must be damned. “I’m fine,” she answered brusquely. She hoped he’d leave.
Instead, he took her hand and looked at the red mark on the tender flesh. She could tell he was fighting a smile. “That’s what you get for dreaming when you cook.”
She withdrew her hand, despite the pain in doing so. “I wasn’t dreaming.”
He looked at her, a wicked smile on his lips. “Of course, that’s why I saw you stirring with your eyes closed.”
Emma felt the heat of her blush on her cheeks. “I got something in my eye.”
“Uh huh,” he murmured but backed away to go see his son.
Blasted man. As she brought the bowls closer to fill them, she ignored the pain but remembered his warm eyes and his tender, warm sensual lips. A flutter came to her, and a memory of that summer’s kiss reverberated in her mind.
“Good evening.” Another male voice came from the path Jack had just left. Along with the voice was the sound of horses and leather.
Soldiers.
#
Jack heard them too late. He cursed softly as he stepped away from his son and moved closer to the riders, counting three in the firelight. Confederate soldiers from the make of their uniforms. Unfortunately, the Confederate soldier’s rank insignia wasn’t discernible and he knew he had to tread carefully. They might just be bushwhackers willing to fight whoever they encountered.
His hand went to his side, reaching for his revolver, only to find it wasn’t there. A shiver of fear snaked down his spine. He stood there weaponless, having tossed the gun aside when he had unsaddled Goliath.
“How can I help you?” He squared his shoulders and looked at the leader.
The man shifted in his saddle. “We’re scouting the area for Yankees and supplies. Saw your fire. Mind if we join you?”
Jack didn’t like the sound of their voices. If he refused, they’d take their supplies. If he agreed, they could still take them. Damn.
“May we have the honor of knowing whom we’re addressing?” John Henry’s strong voice asked as he walked into the group. His patriarchal tone, power and authority resonating, caused the officer to turn directly to him.
“Sir, we are of Virginia State Line Division, General Marshall’s brigade. Lt. Sebastian Winston,” the man said, bowing in his saddle.
“Good southern boys,” John Henry said, his tone approving but still in charge.
“Yes, sir,” Winston said. “We’re looking for supplies and deserters.”
Jack felt the man’s gaze settle on him with that last word. He didn’t move, wouldn’t allow them to see him flinch.
“I see, well, you won’t find much here, lads,” John Henry said. “We’re simply moving to my cousin’s in Louisiana since those damn Yankees burned our home.”
Winston’s eyes narrowed as his two soldiers muttered in the background. “I can see you don’t have much, that’s true. But we did see a magnificent horse a ways back.”
Jack couldn’t stop himself. He took a step forward, angry. They would not take his horse. They needed the beast for this trek, not to give to a damn secesh. A hand gripped his arm, stopping him from going forward. He turned, surprised. Emma.
Winston gazed on Jack, his mouth twisted. “Tell me, sir, how you have such a strong beast still? And why aren’t you fighting?”
John Henry stepped up, quickly answering, “My son-in-law is on leave from the Charles City militia to escort his wife and child to safety. Surely, you understand.”
Jack fought every nerve not to react to John Henry’s cover. Or was it? Would his mind switch again and turn him over to them? He also heard Emma’s quiet gasp and her hand became rigid, her grip tense. This was a test for them, he decided. She could easily turn him in as a traitor to the cause, an accusation that could get him pressed into service or shot, probably the latter. A quick glance showed him her lips had thinned but she said nothing.
Winston frowned.
Jack pulled Emma closer, wrapping his arm around her waist, claiming her. Through the corset stays, he squeezed her, willing her to relax or their scheme might be revealed. Her body molded against his, as though she understood the situation. She fit so right next to him and he caught a whiff of her scent, sweet like roses, mixed with firewood and the smell of dinner. He wanted to devour her. It took every ounce of strength not to kiss her, take her in his arms, but he had no control over his lower body. His member hardened instantly and Jack used Emma’s full skirts to hide his reaction from the Rebs.
Off to the side, held by Tilly, the baby woke with a cry, shattering the tension.
“Well, you be careful out here,” Winston stated, backing his horse away. “We got Yankees in the area and raiders.” He tipped his hat and rode off.
No one moved other than Tilly with the baby.
“Very good,” John Henry said, giving Jack and Emma a wink. “What’s for supper?”
Emma turned toward Jack. She bit her lower lip, one of the things about her he loved. Yet, her eyes were cold.
“Touch me again and I’ll turn you in,” she hissed and left his side.
#
Emma went back to the pot, stirring again but watchful. Her nerves were frayed. Away from Jack, she was cold. She had felt his arousal against her hip, his warm arm around her, marking her as his. That embrace had been comfortable and seductive. His scent of the outdoors, horse and leather had invaded her nose. All of it made one thing perfectly clear to her. She desired him and wanted him. The man who was a traitor to his country, had stolen her sister and killed her husband.
Yes, God still hated her.
Any man who is in favor of a further prosecution of this war is a fit
subject for a lunatic asylum, and ought to be sent there immediately.
—Nathan Bedford Forrest, May 1865
Chapter Twenty
The temperature dipped during the mid-November nights. Frost hadn’t formed yet but it was coming. Goliath and Petey turned fuzzy as their coats grew thicker for winter. The nights sleeping without a fire, in an attempt to remain undetected, came to an end at Emma’s insistence. She claimed Nathan was too young for colder weather. Jack cursed silently but agreed. He stayed up, feeding the flames until the late evening when exhaustion took over.
Emma wrapped Nathan in a wool blanket placed on top of another blanket and curled around the babe as they slept with the warmth of the fire. John Henry pulled Tilly next to him, spooning behind the slave, their combined body heat keeping them warmer, similar to her with Nathan. They slept on the other side of the fire. Jack stood watch. At first, he stayed awake easily, his senses on alert for any intrusion. He also relied on the beasts because he knew they’d detect an intrusion faster than he could.
Eventually, his attention returned to Emma. She looked so peaceful, serene, cuddling his son. That thought still took some adjusting to. If the lad didn’t look like him, he’d swear Caroline gave birth to another man’s brat. He never knew of her condition and his anger over her secrecy hadn’t abated. Granted, a small voice inside reminded him that his wife might’ve failed to tell him because of his actions toward her, sending her home without him. They’d only slept together once and he got her with child? The irony was appalling.
He knew Emma was supposed to be in mourning, but he couldn’t allow her the privilege of appearing so, not dressed in widow’s weeds and staying inside. No, this trip could not be
delayed. The war was escalating. He’d seen that back in Virginia and Maryland. Her period of grieving would have to wait. He had no way to make it up to her. In her eyes, nothing Jack did could make up for it. Another dagger in his heart.
He stoked the fire, reviving the flames and went to sit behind her. He looked over her side and saw his son, swaddled so only his face showed. An angelic face, so unlike his parents. His little nest of hair rested against Emma. She only had a cotton blanket over herself, using her wool one for the child. Her front would be warm but her back would chill. He got up and dug through his saddlebag to pull out his wool greatcoat. As gently as he could, he draped it over her. She whimpered, her hand reaching behind her, open, trying to find someone. No doubt Billy, he snarled to himself. Her face contorted, as if in panic. He feared she’d startle and wake Nathan.
When he saw her body shiver, he realized the coat didn’t work as well as he’d hoped. He stepped closer and lowered himself behind her. She was taller than Caroline but still small to him. It would be so easy to snuggle up behind her, make her warm. He longed to do so, but she’d be furious at him, that he was “taking advantage of her.” She trembled again. With a snort, he threw caution to the wind and laid down behind her, rearranging the coat to cover both of them.
She’d left her hair down to cover her neck and for that, he was grateful. He nuzzled into it, so soft and silky despite them having been traveling and living outside for a month. She smelled of firewood and herself. He inhaled and inched closer. The heat of her body thawed his and he snaked his arm around her middle, settling in close behind her. He sighed. She fit perfectly in his arms.
This was how it was meant to be. How could he convince her of it? He’d figure it out later. The comfort was too much for him and he fell asleep in the arms of bliss.
#
Emma grabbed the cotton blanket by the corners and pulled them together, fashioning a bag to haul the dirty diapers for washing. She needed the walk and gladly left Tilly with the baby and her father to go to the creek. Her mind jumbled with thoughts and emotions, all conflicting.
The last couple of nights, Jack gave in to her demands and left the fire going because it was better to keep his son from freezing during the night. Thankfully, the child slept and that alone put her at ease. It was the other thing that disturbed her. The fact that she slept. And how she had rested in the cold made her worry.
During the night, Jack had lain next to her, holding her in his embrace. She fluttered once in her sleep and felt his hard body behind her, warm, right against her back and legs, his arm around her middle. And she allowed herself to enjoy his heat, his comfort, knowing it was wrong but she didn’t fight it. As dawn came and Nathan squirmed in her arms, she discovered she was alone. She wasn’t sure he had been there except for the faint whiff of him on the Yankee coat that covered her. Fury swept through her, as though he’d taken advantage of her, violated her even though he’d done nothing other than keep her warm. She should yell at him to leave her be. Inside, that little voice said no, and she admitted only to herself that she hoped he’d do it again. That desire made her a slattern to her way of thinking. Her husband dead, maybe a month now. It was too early to be with another man. Except, her logical mind argued, if it was only for heat, then it was okay.
He can give you a child.
She blanched, her foot hitting a rock. Furious at herself, she kicked the errant stone away, continuing to the creek.
As she reached the bank, the water was like her stream back home. A wave of melancholy washed over her and she closed her eyes, willing the feeling to pass. The bundle in her hands became miserably heavy and it reeked. Diapers. Dropping the laundry, she grimaced. It was slave work, but her slave was watching Nathan. She reproached herself. She’d taken the soiled diapers to get away for some quiet time alone. Away from her father, from Tilly’s quirky laughter at Nathan’s play and the baby’s crying. And away from Jack, though she had no idea where he was. After getting wood for the fire at breakfast, he jumped on his horse and muttered something about shelter and a train before the horse took off.
She wiped her brow with the back of her hand, surprised at the perspiration there. It had turned very warm, especially odd after the previous night’s cold. She felt grimy and probably smelled. Oh, how she longed for a bath, to sink into warm water and wash her body and hair. Her weary gaze stretched across the water before her and she toyed with the idea of bathing. The water’d be cold, though. Still, she did have to get close to it to wash the cloths.
She smiled tightly. She could always walk into the water, and if it splashed her, well she’d use it. With her mind set, she glanced down at her gown and grimaced. She wore the crinoline and undergarments. A curse formed but she repressed it. Instead, she undid her bodice, tugging her arms out of the sleeves. The upper portion of the dress fell back and she reached under her waistband to untie the crinoline and petticoats. Granted, it was an extravagant item to have worn on such a trip, but she’d no idea how long they’d be on the road or what the conditions would be like. Now, it was too big and intimate an item not to wear and leave in the wagon instead.
Pushing the dress, crinoline and petticoats to the stone-cold ground she stood on, she stepped out and threw everything up onto the boulder behind her. She untied the strings to her corset and then nimbly unhooked the busk, adding it to the pile. Next off were her low-heeled boots and stockings. Standing there in her chemise and pantalets, she moaned softly, curling her bare toes as she rocked back on her heels. So decadent, she thought.
She grabbed the blanket, unraveled its knot, pulled out the bucket of lye soap, flipped the fabric closer to the water’s edge, and spilled the diapers. With a deep sigh, she knelt and took the first diaper, plunging it beneath the water. The stream lapped at her and had a chill to it. Goosebumps spread up her arms, and she fought the desire to flee. By subjecting herself to the coldness, it could act as a penance and absolve her sins. Well, that or at least expel thoughts of Jack and his wicked green eyes.
He can give you a child.
Billy’s voice sounded again. No, she wanted to yell back at the ghost voice. Instead, she yanked another diaper and sank it into the water, scrubbing it against the rock below.
The heat of the sun warmed her bare skin above the chemise and her arms and feet. She took a step into the water. The shallow end had warmed in the afternoon and covered her up to her calves without a chill.
As she shoved another diaper below the water’s surface, her mind wandered. She saw Billy’s face, his sad look as he told her he loved her. A drop of water hit her neckline, just at the slope to her breasts. Then another. It wasn’t rain nor the washing splashing up and hitting her. No, it was her tears.
She sobbed now, freeing the tears she had held back because she had a house to run, a baby to care for, slaves to attend and a father going senile. Plus her brother Charles—she didn’t know whether he was alive or dead. Tears for the child she’d never have. And the men she’d loved who forsook her for her pretty sister. Her throat turned raw. Her heart twisted. Alone. She was alone. The pain was unbearable, and she doubled over, gripping her stomach, the diaper slipping away on the water. Her knees buckled and she sank onto them in the water, crying. This war, this awful war, was slowly killing her.
#
Jack stopped Goliath on the grassy knoll and sighed. What he wouldn’t give for a battle. To feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the smell of sulfur, the sound of cannons and guns roaring. A chance to actually fire a weapon and see the bullet tear into another man’s flesh. He closed his eyes. Damn, he was going to hell for such thoughts. But they were safer than the ones he had all night. Of Emma, her warmth, her touch, of burying himself inside her. Those wicked thoughts ran through his mind all night, his blood racing as she nestled in her sleep into the crook of his body.
The fact that he got any sleep at all amazed him. He woke just as the night sky started to leave. She was flush next to him, breathing softly. H
e wanted to kiss her neck, her cheek, to bend over and catch her lips. Stifling a groan was difficult but moving away was worse as his hardened member nudged her buttocks, craving to pierce the folds of her sex. That last thought got him up fast and into the tree line for firewood.
After breakfast, he’d needed to get away from her. He could still smell her sweet scent. Could still remember the feel of her silken hair against his cheek. Quickly, he saddled his horse and muttered he needed to find out whether they’d have company and to look for shelter. With a swift squeeze, he got his horse to gallop away.
It wasn’t a wasted morning. He found the Virginia Tennessee Railroad, one of the few east-west lines still operating. But he also found evidence of troop movement in the area. No clues were left as to which side. The numbers were low, perhaps fifty. Fifty, though, could do incredible damage.
Running his hand through his hair, he felt it was damp with sweat and grimy with dirt. He’d run the animal all morning, trying to burn off his desire and find shelter. He couldn’t continue sleeping next to her. Plus, despite the day’s heat, it was winter. They needed to move.
Clucking to his horse, he switched his weight in the saddle with pressure from one leg to steer Goliath in the right direction. His stomach growled. It must be noontime. The sun beat down as he rode back to camp. He recognized the copse of trees ahead and knew Emma was on the other side. His lips curved in a lopsided grin as he imagined her cooking. Her long glorious brown hair highlighted in gold from the sun, tied back in a braid that had a tendency to unravel.
He felt his body tightening and hardening. Frustration filled him. He could not ride back into camp aroused. With a glance at the water, he smiled. No doubt he stank of horse, leather and dirty wool. He slid off the animal, dropping the reins. He rapidly undressed as his horse munched on the grass, looking for green blades.