by Mary Burton
“Dusty’s with me now.”
“What do you mean, with you?”
“He’s going to be bunking with me,” Cole said.
“But what about when you leave town?”
His gaze locked on hers. “Who says I’m leaving?”
She ignored the hidden meaning. “You will eventually.”
“We’ll see.” His expression grew serious. “In the meantime, my friend Dusty here needs a bath.”
The boy groaned. “I ain’t that dirty.”
Rebecca had to bite back a smile. She took the child’s grimy hand in her own and studied the fingernails encrusted with dirt. The boy desperately needed looking after. “What is it about boys? Mac hates baths, too.”
Dusty sniffed. “Who’s he?”
“My son,” she said tugging him by the hand and leading him toward the kitchen. “He kicks and squirms, especially when I wash his hair.”
Dusty shook his head. “You ain’t washing my hair.”
Cole followed behind. “You’re getting scrubbed head to toe.”
Rebecca directed Dusty to a seat at the kitchen table. “I’ll cut you a piece of cherry pie while the water heats.”
A wide grin split Dusty’s face. “Cherry’s my favorite.”
“I thought it might be.”
Rebecca made fast work of cutting the pie and pouring a tall glass of milk. She set both in front of Dusty and then pulled a long copper tub from under the sink.
Cole was at her side in an instant. He reached for the tub’s sleek edge, his fingers brushing hers. “I’ll help.”
She glanced sharply up at him. “I’ll see to the boy’s bath.”
His eyes narrowed, as if he weighed the truth of her words. Then he seemed to accept what she’d said and he nodded. “I’ll help you.”
“Hey! Can I have more pie?” Dusty called out.
Rebecca glanced up to see his mouth smeared with red cherry juice. “Help yourself, Dusty.”
The boy grinned, quickly cut another slice and plopped it on his plate. Cherry juice dribbled from the edge of the knife onto the table and the boy dabbed it up with his fingertips, which he licked clean.
Rebecca turned to the sink and pumped cool springwater into a cast-iron pot, but when she turned to carry it to the stove, Cole whisked it from her hands.
“You’re taking on a big responsibility with Dusty,” she warned.
“I know.”
Rebecca lit the stove. An old bitterness crept into her words. “A lot of men walk away from their families without a backward glance.”
“Not me,” Cole said clearly.
She could feel his gaze boring into her, but she didn’t dare look up. “You don’t know the first thing about being a father.”
“I’ll learn.”
Until you get bored or the itch to move on. A retort was on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it. It would be foolish to engage Cole McGuire in an argument.
An uneasy silence fell on the room as the water warmed on the stove. Rebecca excused herself to retrieve soap and a towel. When she returned, Cole had filled the tub and coaxed Dusty into the water.
The boy scowled, his arms folded over his chest in silent mutiny. Without his clothes, he looked smaller, like a rain-soaked dog.
Rebecca rolled up her sleeves and knelt by the tub. “Dusty, you look upset.”
“I am, ma’am. Ain’t natural to bathe.”
Cole knelt on the other side of the tub. He had rolled up his sleeves, exposing strong forearms matted with a thick blanket of hair.
Rebecca stared at his long fingers as he dipped them in the water and scooped up a handful of water that he splashed into Dusty’s sunken chest. For an instant, the image of those fingers touching her naked flesh flashed in her mind. She caught her breath at the thought, feeling both foolish and strangely alive at the same time.
She focused on the bar of handmade soap in her hand and dunked it into the water. Building a thick lather, she layered Dusty’s dirty skin with it.
Cole’s fingers again touched hers when he reached for the soap and she snatched her hand away so quickly she dropped the bar. It plopped into the water and splashed Cole’s face.
He wiped the water from his eyes and she mumbled an apology and rose to her feet. “I’ll get a pitcher and pour water on his head.”
“Ain’t I clean enough yet?” Dusty complained.
“No,” Rebecca answered as she returned with the pitcher. She dunked the pitcher under the water, filled it, then dumped its contents on Dusty’s head. The boy sputtered and cursed a string of words that would shock a seasoned cowhand.
“Boy, don’t talk like that when there’s a lady present,” Cole growled.
Dusty glared at Cole then Rebecca. “She dunked water on my head!”
Cole lathered the boy’s wet hair. “Stop your bellyaching. You’re nearly fit for company and I don’t intend to stop until every speck of dirt is off that body of yours.”
A lock of Cole’s hair had fallen over his forehead and his eyes gleamed. The gentler expression changed his entire appearance. Her heart softened a fraction, making her wonder again if she’d made the right decision in lying to Cole.
Rebecca ruthlessly shoved aside the doubts and focused on Dusty. Ten minutes later, she dumped the last of the water on him. The bath water was a cloudy gray, but Dusty’s skin was a pale pink, and his dark hair had miraculously grown a shade lighter.
Cole held out the towel for Dusty. “Come on, boy, let’s get you out of the tub.”
Dusty moved to rise but froze when he looked up at Rebecca. His face turned a deep shade of pink. “Ma’am.”
Rebecca, accustomed to bathing her child, hesitated and stared at him in confusion.
Cole cleared his throat. “My friend here needs a bit of privacy.”
“Oh,” she said. She bit back a grin and turned. “Dusty, I laid out clothes for you upstairs in the nursery. They belonged to a boarder who left them behind. They may be a bit big, but they are clean.”
Cole cleared his throat. “What do you say, boy?”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“You can turn around now,” Cole said.
Rebecca turned to discover Dusty wrapped in a large white towel and his damp hair stuck up. Though he still wore a pained expression, she sensed he enjoyed feeling clean.
A lump formed in her throat. “Go on upstairs.”
“Yes’m.”
When he was out of earshot, Cole cleared his throat. “I’ll pay for the clothes and whatever your costs are for the boy.”
“I wouldn’t dream of taking your money.”
He unrolled his sleeve and fastened the buttons at his wrist. “That’s a switch.”
“I’m doing this for Dusty’s sake, not yours.”
“You never struck me as the charitable type.”
His words stung. “I would never turn a child away.”
“Did you take Lily in, too, when no on else would?”
Rebecca ignored his question. She concentrated on the tub and fished the soap out, not sure enough of herself to look at him. “Dusty’s got a good heart,” she said changing the subject. “I can see it in his eyes.”
Cole frowned as if he understood her ploy. “You’re right. But the kid can argue.”
Rebecca put the soap in a small bowl on the table. “He’s just afraid.”
“Like you.”
Chapter Seven
Rebecca was afraid.
But she faced Cole McGuire to prove to them both that she could handle her fear and him. “I know a frightened child when I see one.”
His water-splattered shirt clung to his chest. Eyes the color of jade bored into her. “He’s got me now.”
The corner of her lips twisted into a bitter smile. “Dusty’s been hurt too much. He believes you’ll leave at the first sign of trouble.”
“I gave him my word I wouldn’t.”
“Words are easy to spout, even easier to forget.”
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“You believe I’ll leave.” The words sounded like an accusation.
She raised her trembling chin. “Yes.”
“Like your first husband.”
“Yes.”
Cole advanced a step. “Don’t confuse him with me.”
“You two are more alike than you think.”
“How?” he demanded.
“You take what you want regardless of who you hurt.”
Anger sparked in his eyes. “What have I ever done to you?”
You’re trying to take my son! “I don’t trust you.”
“Why?”
The conversation had taken a dangerous path. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.” Cole’s arm shot out with lightning speed. He manacled his fingers around her wrist. “What have I done to you? You owe me that much.”
“Let go of me.”
His grip was unbreakable. “Is it because I’m a saloon rat who worked in your father’s mines? Is my past so disgusting to you?”
She almost laughed. If only it were that simple. “No.”
“Liar. You’ve been itching for me to leave since the second I rode into White Stone.”
“You’re here to stir up trouble!”
“I came to find my son. Now, all I want is to know something—anything—about him. Is it too much to ask the color of his hair? To know if he ever cried.”
“Stop asking me questions. I don’t have the answers.”
“Lady, you’re holding all the cards. And for reasons I may not ever understand, you won’t trust me.”
Guilt gnawed at her. I must protect Mac. “You’re not looking for your son. You’re looking for a dream, a fresh start.”
He released her and stepped back as if her honesty hit a nerve. “Don’t pretend to know me.”
“You’ve got this idea of what being a father is about. Yes, being a parent can be wonderful but it is not always fun or easy and sometimes it’s just plain hard work.”
“I know that,” he returned.
“Do you? What are you gonna do when you hit your first hard patch? Leave?” She waved him away, refusing to see any good in him. “Go before you cause any harm to Dusty or hurt him more than he’s already been.”
He loomed over her. “I traveled over a thousand miles to find my son. He may be lost to me, but how dare you tell me I won’t stick with Dusty when things get tough.”
His hot breath warmed her cheeks. His face was so close the heat of his body beckoned her.
For Mac’s sake she wished she could believe him, but she knew if she allowed Cole to work his way into their lives, then left, it could be devastating. “A thousand miles is nothing compared to a lifetime of responsibility.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“You will.”
He cupped her face in his rough hands and stared into her eyes. The contact was jolting. Time slowed to a maddening crawl and the world melted away. There was only the two of them.
She should hate him, but she didn’t. All she felt was worry, guilt and longing. The icy loneliness that had encased her heart for so long began to melt. And then suddenly, she knew. She wasn’t just protecting Mac and Dusty’s heart, but her own as well.
A beat or two more passed, and then he kissed her. The kiss wasn’t gentle, but insistent, as if born of a torrent of conflicting emotions. She felt branded.
It had been so long since she’d felt a man’s touch and her body, with a will of its own, craved more.
Rebecca splayed her fingers against his chest. His racing heartbeat exploded under her palms. The dangers momentarily forgotten, she gave reign to all the pent-up emotions locked inside her since her disastrous wedding night with Curtis.
Perilous, yet intoxicating, his touch stirred her womanhood. Lord, but it felt good to be desired and wanted. There’d been so many times in the last few years, that she’d imagined herself growing old before her time, unfulfilled and alone. A soft mew escaped her lips.
Cole tightened his arms around her and pulled her closer. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and she willingly received him, savoring his taste.
Now she knew why women whispered and giggled about making love, and why books and sonnets were written about it.
Madness! Insanity! Both thoughts flashed in her mind even as she gathered bunches of Cole’s shirt in her hands. His coarse chest hair brushed her knuckles. For the first time in years, she felt desirable and alluring. Wonderfully alive!
Cole’s hand slid up her side and cupped her breast. He coaxed her nipple to a soft peak with his thumb as his other hand pressed into the small of her back and pushed her against his hardness. God help her, but she longed to have him inside her!
The sound of approaching footsteps set the first alarm bell off in her head. At first, she denied anything in the outside world encroached. She didn’t want this moment to end.
But Cole pulled away. He shoved his hand through his black hair and cursed.
Separate now, the mists in Rebecca’s mind cleared. She pressed the back of her hand to her swollen lips. She felt cold, emotionally naked and very foolish.
“Mama! Mama!” Mac’s voice echoed in the hallway as he stormed down the hallway.
Rebecca whirled away from the door, needing a moment to collect her jumbled thoughts. What had come over her? She was ready to give herself to Cole like a soiled dove with no thoughts to the consequences.
She sensed Cole standing behind her—could feel the tension in his body. She wished he would just leave White Stone. Only then could life return to the way it was.
She pulled in two cleansing breaths, forced a smile, and then turned in time to greet her son as he hurried into the kitchen. Bess followed behind him.
Bess paused at the door and stopped. Her knowing eyes settled on Rebecca, taking in her flushed cheeks and mussed hair. Her gaze flickered to Cole who stood stock straight, his hands thrust in his pockets. “Don’t mean to interrupt.”
Rebecca kept her tone light. “Don’t be silly. We were just cleaning up after Dusty’s bath.”
“Is Dusty that half-naked boy asking for clothes?”
“Yes. He’s going to be staying here for a while.”
Bess shrugged. “He’s that boy that’s been running around town?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’d best make a bed for him.”
Mac grinned. His blond hair was freshly combed off his face and he wore overalls and a red shirt. “Boy!”
“I expect you to be nice to Dusty,” Rebecca said kneeling in front of Mac. She knew Cole watched her every move. “He doesn’t have a family and he’s going to be staying with us for a while.”
The boy laid his hand on his mother’s shoulder. Small fingers warmed her skin. Mac’s innocent touch calmed her nerves. She laid her hand over her son’s and smiled at him.
Her priorities came crashing back into place. Curtis’s betrayal had taught her that a man’s touch might be intoxicating but ultimately it was unsatisfying, destructive and certainly not worth risking her well-ordered life for.
Mac was her life, not Cole.
Mac touched her cheek with his palm. “Mama, where’s the boy sleeping?”
Rebecca smiled. “We’ll give him a room of his own for now.”
Cole cleared his throat. He pulled three silver dollars out of his pocket and laid them on the side table. “Consider this a down payment on the boy’s room and board.”
Rebecca rose. “I told you, you don’t have to pay.”
Fire blazed in his eyes. “I take care of what’s mine and from this day forward, Dusty’s mine.”
“Dusty’s not yours. He’s got a father who can come and claim him any time he chooses.”
“Judd’s a poor excuse for a father and I’ll be damned if he ever lays a hand on Dusty again.”
“He’s got the law on his side.”
Cole smacked the table. “I don’t give a damn about the law.”
He scooped up his hat and s
trode out of the room, his spurs jangling in time with the thud of his boots. The front door opened and closed with a bang.
Bess planted her hands on her hips. “Now what’s got his feathers in a dander?”
“I don’t know,” she lied.
“I’ll just bet you don’t.” Bess took Rebecca’s chin in her hands and turned her face from side to side. “His beard scuffed you up pretty well.”
Rebecca pressed her palms to her face, her skin still prickling from his touch. “Bess, don’t get the wrong idea.”
“Oh, I got plenty of ideas and I don’t think any of them are wrong.” She shook her head. “Missy, you’re playing with fire and you are going to get burned.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“You don’t even have a clue.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later Cole strode toward the mercantile, his temper still simmering from Rebecca’s words.
What are you gonna do when you hit your first hard patch? Leave?
He had half a mind to stake a claim right here in White Stone just to prove he had changed—that he could stick it out through tough times.
The smell of her scent—roses and cinnamon—clung to his skin even as he tried to shake off the remnants of their kiss. He couldn’t manage the task nor could he rid himself of the lingering notion that one taste of her would never be enough.
Cole muttered an oath. He’d never deny that he wanted her. Hell, his fervent response had been proof enough. But wanting and trusting were two different matters and as much as his body ached for her, he didn’t trust her.
The bells on the front door of the mercantile jingled softly when Cole opened and closed it. The smell of tobacco and cider greeted him along with a half-dozen sets of prying eyes. He glanced around the room. The hum of conversation stopped and an unnatural silence descended.
A mother and her towheaded daughter, clad in matching calico, stood by an array of fabric bolts that all looked remarkably similar. Hot color warmed the woman’s long narrow face before she grabbed her daughter and hurried out the store.
Gladys Applegate stood by the front counter lined with an assortment of glass jars filled with spices and candies. She was as sour-faced as he remembered and still pulled her hair back so tightly, her eyes slanted. She had gained a fair amount of weight in the last three years but she held her nose as high as a princess who’d just gotten a whiff of a bad smell.