After Eden

by Joyce Brandon

  “You don’t know everything yet.”

  “Then tell me.”

  Shivering, Andrea snuggled close to him. His warmth gave her the courage she needed. Partly to keep him quiet and partly because she needed to confess, she told him about El Gato Negro: how he had tried to kill Mama, how she had stabbed him, and all her fears now that he had taken Tía away.

  She did not tell Steve she had watched Tía bargain with Papa to save their lives. She had let her sister ride away with Papa to save Steve, and she would carry that guilt and shame alone.

  Andrea stopped speaking. Steve was too quiet. A terrible dread filled her. His eyelids fluttered closed. He looked gaunt in the moonlight—so still and limp. Could he survive another day of being dragged in the hot sun?

  She covered her face with her hands. Steve would die, and Papa would ruin Tía. “I hate you, Papa,” she declared. “I hate you! I hope Johnny kills you!”

  She was young and healthy. A few bruises, but they were nothing. Potter examined Judy Burkhart quickly, letting her see his disapproval. He didn’t give a damn that she was young and pretty.

  “I want you out of here tomorrow.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. I’m releasing you.”

  Anger flared in Judy, but she was too off balance to show it. “Sounds like you’re evicting me.”

  “Same thing, I reckon.”

  Surprised, Judy looked quickly away. It wasn’t the same thing at all. She should call him on his rotten attitude, but her heart was pounding hard and she was raging inside with what felt like rejection.

  Potter cursed himself. He had overstepped himself, but, dammit, he resented her. He had patched up enough young men who didn’t have any better sense than to fight over women. Her dark brown eyes glanced quickly at him and then away again. She knew. He was glad she didn’t know why. She deserved to wonder about it. It sickened him that men worshipped her. She wasn’t worth their time.

  “I’m a doctor, Miss Burkhart. My job is to save lives. I got no truck for a woman who doesn’t appreciate the value of life. Who encourages the wrong kind of men and gets ’em to fighting over her.”

  As quickly as he could, he finished his rounds and walked outside, pausing on the porch. The moon was already up, but dim against the slowly darkening sky. At the western horizon the sky was dark red, fading into pale blue. A warm breeze made his skin feel fresh, alive. He was getting too damned cranky to be a doctor. The Burkhart girl had looked like he’d gutted her. Damn!

  A hundred yards away Rutledge left his office and headed toward the officers’ quarters. They met halfway.

  “Evening,” Potter said gruffly.

  “Doctor.” They fell in step.

  Rutledge glanced sideways at the doctor. “How’s Miss Burkhart?”

  “I have ten men in that hospital with more serious problems than that girl.”

  Potter and Rutledge had known each other for ten years. They were close enough and trusted one another enough to be honest—at least in minor matters. “She misbehaving?”

  “No, dammit. She’s a perfect lady. As long as I’m looking at her. The minute she leaves here she’ll probably get two men fighting over her again and get ’em both killed. Someday one of ’em is going to get smart and kill her instead. That’s probably what she wants, anyway.”

  Alarmed, Rutledge stopped walking. Potter didn’t slow down. His long, angry strides were putting distance between them. “Potter, wait a minute.”

  After thirty years in the army, Potter was accustomed to taking orders. He stopped.

  “Care for a drink?”

  Potter shook his head. “That’s all I need, a hangover.”

  “One drink. Loosen you up.”

  Potter squinted in irritation.

  “Good. Come on. I’ve got some twelve-year-old brandy.”

  Rutledge waited until Potter had drunk most of his brandy. “You…uh…really think Judy Burkhart wants to get herself killed?”

  “I don’t think it. I know it. I had a twin brother, until a woman got him into a fight he couldn’t get out of alive. It meant nothing to her. She sashayed off and found herself another man to fight over her.” Potter scowled. “Besides, women who want to die find some way to live, even in the middle of a war. Women who want to die find some way to do that. Judy Burkhart’s still the talk of the territory. She’s still sassy-mouthed as all get-out. What I can’t figure is how a woman with everything most women ever wanted in the way of looks, money, and young men flitting around her can get so lost that she lets a man like Morgan Todd within a mile of her.”

  He put his brandy snifter on the table and stood up. “I don’t know why it galls me so. Guess she’s determined to prove Bill Burkhart was right…must be her bastard blood showing through.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Uncertainly, Rutledge walked in and stopped at the foot of Judy’s bed. After talking to Potter, he had spent a miserable night.

  Irritated, Judy rolled her eyes at Grant, sitting on the opposite side of the bed. He stood up. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  “Will you excuse us a moment, please?” the captain asked, his voice hoarse.

  Judy looked as though she was going to protest, but Grant flashed her a signal to behave herself. He excused himself politely and walked outside.

  Judy considered falling unconscious but gave up the idea. Oblivion never came when she needed it.

  “How are you feeling today, young lady?”

  “Fine, thank you.” He always called her that—“young lady”—as if he didn’t know her name.

  “I…uh…wanted to bring you something, some flowers or something, but I was afraid that might not please you.”

  Judy frowned. “And you want to please me?”

  Her level brown eyes completely disconcerted him. “I should imagine you would be quite accustomed to people wanting to please you…” He stopped. He was botching this badly. His face felt beet red.

  “Why do you want to please me?”

  The blood seemed to drain from his heart. Twenty years he had fumbled around with this scene in his mind, always dreaming of how he would tell her—her reaction and his joy. Now he was speechless. It barely seemed real to him, but he plunged ahead. He was accustomed to following orders to do difficult or near impossible things.

  “I have a confession to make. I am going to need all of your understanding.” His voice was functioning, but his thoughts were strangely disconnected. What if she rejected him?

  “A confession…to me?” Judy felt like telling him she was no priest, but something in the unnatural redness of his face stopped her.

  “A long time ago I did something that may have caused you pain. I was young and thoughtless…”

  A pulse began to throb in her temples. She was seeing Captain Rutledge now, really seeing him: brown eyes, brown hair, the same exact coloring as her own. Ever since she’d found out Bill Burkhart was not her father, she had imagined one man after another walking up to her and telling her that he was the one. Now, when she had forgotten it…“You…you’re my father?”

  Grateful he didn’t have to continue, Rutledge nodded.

  Judy moaned softly. Anyone but him!

  Rutledge’s eyes skittered away. He looked so miserable, so contrite. It was almost comical. All these years of watching her. Asking stupid questions; making a nuisance of himself. Probably longing to tell her…

  “Why now?”

  “I didn’t want you to be alone if you ever needed anything or anybody.” He cleared his throat. “That young man…Grant Foreman…he said you don’t like to be alone. I…” He stopped.

  Judy blinked in sudden emotion. Her mouth trembled. He really meant it! He felt something for her. All those years, hanging around the fringes of her life, wanting to do something for her, wanting to tell her, worrying about her, maybe. She could sense all that now.

  He cleared his throat again. “Please…Miss Burk—uh, Judy…I’m sorry…I never meant
to hurt you…to let you carry the brunt of it…but I didn’t, know what to do. I thought Burkhart didn’t know that you…that Ellen…drat.”

  Strangely liberated by this sudden intimacy, this confession, Judy reached out and touched his hand.

  “If you ever need anything, anyone…We don’t have to tell the world…I mean, if you don’t want to…I’ll leave that up to you…”

  Judy stared blankly.

  “Do you want to marry Johnny Brago? I mean, are you in love with him?”

  Her eyes widened, and he thought she wasn’t going to reply. Finally she answered. “I was for a long time, but, well…I still love him as a friend.” She was groping now, recognizing her feelings as she found the right words. “But no, I don’t want to marry him.”

  “Are you in love with Morgan Todd?” he asked, embarrassed and gruff, but inside secretly pleased that she was answering him, that she wasn’t laughing at him.

  Judy looked down at her hands. “No.”

  “What about this young man, Foreman?” he mumbled. “Are you in love with him?”

  Her head dipped even lower. He could barely hear her reply. “I…I don’t know…maybe…”

  “He loves you.”

  “No…not anymore. He might have. Once.”

  Rutledge frowned. “If he ever loved you, he still does.”

  “No, I did something…something terrible…”

  He had no answer for that. He had heard the rumors about her, and it was his fault. He had abandoned her. Even after Ellen left and he had suspected things were not rosy between Judy and Bill, he hadn’t stepped in and offered her his protection.

  “He tried to kill a man to defend you,” he said empathically.

  “No. He’s just a friend. I wouldn’t be a good enough wife to him.”

  “Nonsense!”

  “When men get married, they want a woman who is good. From day one. I’m not like that,” Judy lamented.

  “Dr. Potter said it’s time for me to go home,” Judy said, glancing quickly at Grant. “He was nicer this time.” She mimicked his voice, making up words: “‘We’re going to miss you, Miss Burkhart. Not too often we have such a pretty patient…’ The old goat. I don’t think men should keep living after they get a certain age.” In truth Potter had been a little nicer this morning. He had apologized and told her to wait one more day before leaving.

  Grant laughed. He was accustomed to Judy’s view of the world—as if people had no value except to please her, to play their small part in her melodrama.

  He could not look at her. Judy Burkhart will marry Morgan Todd and live happily ever after. This morning, only days after he had made up a story about having to go home, he’d received a real letter from his mother asking him to come home, telling him that his father had suffered a heart attack.

  Impending doom spread like a blanket over him, and he hunched in his chair. Tomorrow Judy would go home, and he would probably go free also. Todd was recovering. Rutledge did not seem interested in turning him over to Johnny Behan. The taciturn captain had hedged when Grant brought it up. Last time he’d said, There’s no rush. Johnny Behan’s got his hands full right now, what with the ’paches on the prowl. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to go to jail the way you do.

  Judy stirred, and the slight movement relieved some of her tension. Seeing how quiet Grant was, and too nervous to be still, she said the first thing that came into her head. “So, you’ll be leaving, too. You’ll go back to Atlanta to some knock-kneed southern virgin who’ll give you perfect babies.” She had meant to laugh, to sound merry and unconcerned, but the laughter got stuck in her tight throat. She would never see him again. He would marry some nice girl, someone brand new, like he deserved, and he would never even write to her. “It’s hot and stuffy in here,” she said suddenly. “Can we take a walk?”

  The sun was setting, filling the sky with yellow, red, and purple clouds that looked like watercolors smeared together by a skilled hand. Walking slowly, she listened to the rattle of a trace chain as a buckboard clattered past, people at a distance laughing. The air smelled of dust and meals cooking. She didn’t know why she had suggested a walk. Her mind filled with a thousand worries: about Steve, Tía, Johnny, Andrea, the riders.

  Chatto and Geronimo had not attacked the fort. Did that mean they were out harrying travelers? Grant had kept her informed of the news. Patrols scouted in all directions. The Indians had apparently pulled back. But to where?

  “Where do you sleep now?” she asked suddenly.

  “I rented a room over the commissary. Generally you couldn’t get a room in an army garrison like this, but the store operator is a civilian, and his wife died and his son left home. So he rented me his son’s room.”

  “Could we go there?”

  “No. Rutledge might shoot me.”

  “He seems to approve of you.”

  Grant looked at her curiously. Usually she would have said, “That old maggot!”

  “He seems to approve of you, too,” he said, glancing at her perfect profile. Against the colorful sunset sky, it was pale and lovely.

  “Everyone approves of me…until they don’t.”

  Grant had gotten so attuned to her moods he knew something was amiss. He started to ask her about it, but she didn’t give him time.

  “Take me there? Please?”

  “You trying to get me hanged?”

  “Who’ll care?”

  “The congregation of the First Baptist Church. Every man in the compound. Rutledge. The entire Apache nation. The attorney general. My landlord.”

  “The worst that can happen is either he won’t let me in, or he’ll kick me out, right? What else could he do to me?”

  “I don’t even want to find out.”

  “Can we get in without being seen?”

  “If we went up the back stairs, and if he didn’t happen to be up there, I guess we could, but it certainly isn’t worth it if you get branded as a young woman of questionable morals.”

  “I am already branded a young woman of questionable morals. That’s no longer an issue.”

  The alley behind the store was deserted, the door propped open to encourage the breeze. Six steps inside the door a stairway went up to the left. Voices of men added an element of excitement. Judy almost laughed aloud. Grant shushed her and led the way. She followed on his heels.

  He opened the door to his room, motioned her inside, and then closed it and leaned against it. “They’re probably forming a posse this very minute,” he said. For years he had dreamed about taking Judy to his home, presenting her to kings, buying her jewels, but never bringing her to some dingy, faded rooming house with only a sagging bed, warped dresser, and rickety chair.

  Glancing sideways at her lovely profile, Grant was aware his heart beat much too fast. Hands shaking, he lit the lamp.

  “I like rented rooms. They seem so anonymous. No memories to upset you.” Judy walked to the bed and bounced on the edge of it. The springs made a rusty, screeching noise. “Did you make this bed yourself?” she asked, her dark eyes filled with some strange light he’d never seen before. Her soft brown hair was pulled back with a ribbon, making her look younger, more innocent. A bruise on the soft curve of her cheek marred the perfect purity of her skin. Grant flushed with rage that any man could treat her so despicably.

  “Yes.” His voice sounded strange, hoarse. He wasn’t sure if he could maintain his air of casual unconcern. Judy did terrible, weakening things to his resolve.

  “You’re very talented, Grant.” Her expression was solemn.

  He couldn’t answer. The look in her dark eyes disturbed him—created a turbulence in his chest, a hungry ache in his loins.

  “We’d better go now,” he said, his voice thick, almost unmanageable.

  “No.” Her whisper was like a caress—warm and velvety. He could feel it the length of his body, from his hair to his toenails. Judy was doing it again: forgetting he was a man—a man with limits, like any other.

&nb
sp; “No?”

  “I’m leaving tomorrow,” she said softly. “And you’ll be going home. I’ll never see you again…”

  The pulse at his temples was suddenly throbbing uncontrollably. At first he was confused, but then, as if a light had been turned on, he knew what Judy was doing. It was payoff time. Judy Burkhart always paid her debts. Now, apparently, she thought she owed him this…this…

  The enormity of the situation froze him. Like a vision in one of his wildest dreams, Judy stood and slowly walked toward him. Her eloquent eyes intent, her slender, downturning lips beckoning; she stopped much too close to him. Sighing, she lowered her lids and raised her dainty hands to burn his chest. Slowly they slid up and locked behind his head.

  “No!” His breathing was sharp, his voice harsh.

  Judy’s eyes opened, gazed at him for seconds, minutes, hours, it seemed, saw that he had no will to oppose her, and ignored his entreaty. Only inches shorter than he, swanlike, she rose up and set her mouth over his.

  Her kiss was different from anything he had ever imagined. She kissed him, and the urgency now was to become more deeply immersed, as if there were degrees of annihilation…

  Grant started to protest, to tell her he didn’t need this sacrifice from her, but he wanted her more than anything he’d ever wanted before. It would be a memory to cherish as long as he lived.

  He seemed to change. The kiss stopped being her gift and became something he took. His hands came up and cupped her face, then slipped down to crush her to him. He kissed her until her head was spinning, then remorselessly and yet gently, his hands moved down to unbutton her gown, strip away her chemise and petticoat.

  Guided by his warm hands, Judy stepped away from her fallen garments, and Grant stepped back to look at her. She moved away, to cover herself, but his eyes held her motionless. She tried to hide herself, but he forced her to stand quietly while he looked at her as if he would imprint every inch of her into his mind forever.

  At last his hands guided her down onto the bed.

  Judy had never been shy in her life, but now she felt strangely vulnerable. At first she didn’t know what was wrong with her. It felt as if the first layer of her flesh had been stripped away, leaving her raw nerves exposed to his touch. She’d never felt so aware of her body—the way it felt when he touched her. Always before, when she’d given herself to a man, she had watched from behind a screen, which insulated her from real feeling, saved her from any real connection. Now, she was painfully aware, painfully shy. Somehow, she transmitted this unfamiliar demureness to him.