by Maren Smith
“Son of a bitch,” he said wonderingly. Against all odds, he’d found them. Maybe now she’d calm down about it.
Yeah, right up until he told her about the search party. He was going to have to tie her to the bed again.
His cock twitched.
“Is she down there?” Sheriff Justice asked, snatching Cullen’s attention back to the present.
He made a show out of looking all around the root ball. “No,” he called back. He scratched his head, adjusted his hat, and pretended to consider the situation. “That don’t mean anything, though. If she crossed, it might have happened anywhere between here and ten miles up the mountains.” He didn’t have to add that finding her was hopeless. He could already tell by the looks on their faces, and Gabe’s in particular, that everybody there knew if she went into this wash, she wasn’t likely to be found.
Gabe looked upstream first, then down, the severity of his expression disintegrating as he began to realize Chin was lost to him. It was the best of all possible outcomes, and one in which Cullen felt little pity for the man.
“We’ll split up,” the sheriff told the group. “Tom, Bill, Charlie—you’re with me. We’ll go two miles upstream. Gabe, you take the Chinamen and go two miles down. Fire in the air if you find…anything.”
Cullen knew by his tone, he didn’t expect any of them to. The sheer regret on Gabe’s face echoed that.
No, Cullen didn’t pity him in the slightest. Whatever mental anguish he was feeling for what he’d done to Chin, Cullen hoped he enjoyed the reprieve of it. Because this would be a fucking holiday compared to what Cullen was going to do physically, just as soon as he ran into Gabe again.
“Drake!”
Tearing his hard gaze from Gabe, Cullen locked on the sheriff instead.
“Would you mind hanging onto that for me?” Jeb called over.
Cullen held up the knotted bundle. “I’ll bring it by your office just as soon as I get to town. Give me a day.” He looked down at the water all around him. “Maybe two.”
“That’d be fine.” Casting Gabe a sympathetic nod, the sheriff split the group and they began their searches in opposite directions.
Gabe was slower to leave. He stared at Cullen, and more specifically, at the bundle he held onto the entire cautious trip back down the log until he’d once more scaled the steep bank and had solid earth under his boots. It was a funny trick of the water that Cullen heard it so clearly when he said, “How the hell am I going to tell Jewel?”
Nico was grazing not far from where Cullen had left him, making it easy to reclaim the reins and mount up again. With Chin’s wet bundle soaking into the denim of his pants and saddle, and all over the front of his horse, Cullen watched until both Gabe and the Orientals (all three of whom stared stoically back at him) moved on. They made their way downstream, picking a careful path and searching the brush and debris thoroughly. Only Cullen knew they were searching for a body that wasn’t there to be found.
If he had any say in the matter, not one of them would ever know differently.
Chapter Twelve
She couldn’t get comfortable. Everything ached. Her hand, her knee. The small of her back, for some weird reason and she couldn’t remember hurting that. Sitting on the edge of Cullen’s bed, she was alternating between rubbing her knee and gently extending her leg to stretch it, when she heard Cullen come home. She felt every one of his heavy footsteps reverberating in the pit of her stomach and it accompanied her near overwhelming urge to jump up and close the hatch so he wouldn’t be tempted to climb up and talk to her. If she moved, though, then he was bound to hear it and he would come up. Absolutely he would. Her inane cowardice got the best of her. Rolling onto her hip, she scrambled to the head of the bed, pulled the blankets over her and pretended to be asleep.
“Uh…” Garrett said, his low voice slightly muted through the floorboards. “What the hell is that?”
What Cullen replied was too soft for her to make out. That he probably did that on purpose was not lost on her, either.
Tucking her good hand under her cheek, Chin refused to let herself feel one way or the other about that. She didn’t care what he was hiding from her. People had secrets; that was simply the nature of things and she knew that better than most. Let him keep all the secrets he wanted, so long as he did it downstairs. She didn’t think she could bear to be near him just yet. She felt too brittle, too broken.
“Upstairs,” Garrett said. The clatter of a chair sliding back from the table let her know they were in the kitchen. “Has been since supper. Why? Is that—” He broke off with a somewhat less than manly scream. “Jesus!”
The crash of kitchen chairs falling over jerked Chin up in bed. She seized the blanket in both hands when the crack of an impossibly loud gunshot followed the commotion.
“It’s all right!” Cullen shouted, beating her to the ladder by only a few limping steps. Hurrying had hurt worse than anything and so much for pretending to be asleep, but Chin only stopped shy of descending the ladder because Cullen kept patting at the air for her to stay put. “It’s all right, I swear.”
“The hell it is!” his brother snapped, from somewhere unseen.
“It was just a snake,” Cullen assured her.
“A big motherfucking snake!”
Cullen shot him a dark look, then patted the air at her one last time. “It’s dead now.”
“It’s still wriggling… and bleeding… all over thunderation… fuck this ringy shit!”
Another gunshot made Chin jump and Cullen jerk around. “You put one more hole in my floor—” he thundered, stalking back to the kitchen and out of her sight.
“You bring another of them legless lizards in here and I’ll shoot you!” Garrett thundered back.
There was a clatter of kindling and then Cullen headed for the front door, the dead snake cautiously gripped between two pieces of wood. Gripping the hatch for balance, Chin bent down far enough to see his legs and the still wriggling serpent’s tail just before he flung it out into the yard.
“It’s gone,” he grumbled, shutting the door and stomping back to the kitchen to throw the kindling back in the wood box. “Big baby.”
Down below, everything became suddenly very still and quiet. So quiet that Chin had no trouble hearing Garrett’s softly hissed, “Sowbugs.”
For a long time, nothing moved. Then Garrett began to angrily pick up the scattered chairs and Cullen, somewhat chagrined, returned to the bottom of the ladder. Glaring at his brother, he cleared his throat before facing her again. “I… I brought you something.” Extending a hand to help her down, he beckoned. “Come on. Let me show you.”
She ought to go back to bed and she knew it. Accepting gifts would only invite further closeness with the man and she couldn’t afford that, not when she already knew what she had to do. And yet, when he beckoned again, offering a tentative smile, Chin tucked the long hem of her nightshirt around her bare legs and quite painfully stepped onto the first rung. After three, she was able to take his hand. Halfway down, Cullen stepped in to wrap his big hands around her waist.
“I’ve got you,” he said as he lifted her off the ladder.
She caught his shoulders, his closeness overwhelming now. His muscles tensed beneath her hands. The heat of his body invaded every part of her as he pulled her to him, holding her flush against him before allowing her feet once more to touch the floor. He released her gradually, as if he had to fight himself to let her go at all. And it was awful, because as much as she did not want to be so close to him, she could not make herself push him away.
She looked past him, desperate for any measure of separation. That was when she saw her bundle, lying partially untied with Garrett warily prodding through the contents with the end of his gun. She shrieked. She also ran to it, stiff and limping, her uncooperative knee holding up for only a few steps before it buckled. Barely close enough, she grabbed the table. Otherwise, she’d have collapsed to the floor and been forced to crawl.
<
br /> Hands up, Garrett got out of her way, but all she wanted was her bundle. Leaving dirt, wet and leaves smeared across the table, she yanked it into her arms even as she fell backwards onto the chair Cullen just managed to tuck in behind her.
“Thank you.” She hugged it fiercely close, every hard edge of the precious things still within digging into her arms and chest. “Thank you so much.”
“I was going to try and clean it up a little before you came down,” Cullen offered, the heat of his hand coming to rest on her shoulder.
The rope was partially untied, leaving half of the bundle flaps open and the contents vulnerable. Unsure if he had done that or the flood, Chin jerked at the remaining knots until the rope came free. Muddy glops of fermenting leaves and bugs oozed out into her lap and dripped onto the floor. None of that was as important compared to her grandmother’s dancing dress. Having marinated in flood waters for days, the silk was ruined. She touched the crumpled folds, the bright blue and pink color muted under a stain of greenish-brown. Loving fingers traced the intricate embroidery—the once familiar lotus flowers and cherry blossoms, and the long, swoop-tailed birds now barely recognizable. The damage was darker along the outer folds, but no part of the once beautiful gown had escaped unblemished.
Chin didn’t care. Clumps of leaves and grass dropped off her knees to the floor and water dripped through her fingers as she touched the hem of one sleeve to her cheek. Her eyes closed against a rush of stinging tears. She breathed, just breathed. Forcing herself to keep it slow and steady. She was her mother’s daughter; she was elegant. She was her father’s daughter; she was determined. No matter how devastated, she refused to cry.
Gently folding the filthy sleeve back into place, Chin dug into the wet bundle. She pulled out twigs, small rocks, some kind of beetle that clung gratefully to the pad of her finger until she shook it off. She found her mother’s hair needles, the inlaid mother-of-pearl and fiery gemstones half obscured by moldering vegetation. She wiped them clean as best she could with only her hand, then set them aside to search out the other hair combs, the ruined headdress, and her father’s ivory handled knife—gifted to her family line by a distant emperor and passed down to him through many generations of noble warriors. Her father had always kept it in a place of honor within their home. She caressed the carvings in the handle and sheath, hating the sight of all the dirt packed into the claws and scales of the dragons depicted there. She would clean it later. Hopefully the greenish stain was not permanent.
She set the dagger aside now too and rummaged in deeper. She felt the dragon before she saw it and her hand closed tight upon the curling tail, dragging the noble figurine out of the dirt in which it lay. She quickly wiped the face, flicking wet leaves and bits of bark to the floor before hugging it tight. The Mighty Dragon. She closed her eyes and didn’t open them again until she felt something brush her leg.
Too big for a bug, she jerked back, fully expecting to see another snake, only to find Cullen on his knees beside her, picking through the muck that had dropped out of her bag. Picking coins out of the debris, as well as moldering bills so coated in slime that she had mistaken them for rotting leaves.
Cold gripped her gut. She didn’t move. The urge to snatch her money back from him prickled up and down her spine, but her hands locked in so tight around the jade dragon that she could feel the pain of every hard line biting into the inner creases of her knuckles. In her haste to reclaim the important things, she’d forgotten how loosely she’d stuffed her money into her dress before bolting out the Red Petticoat’s window.
“Here.” Cullen’s fingers on her wrist were as warm as they were gentle as he pried her hand from the dragon. Turning it palm up, he lay the money he’d collected into it and folded her fingers securely around them. He looked at her, seeing far more than she wanted to show. “Wouldn’t want you to lose this, now would we?”
When he let go of her hand, she hugged the dragon tighter. What could she possibly say in return? She’d already thanked him, but how pale those words were in comparison to the gift he’d just returned to her. And he didn’t even know it. How could he? He had just given her everything she needed in order to leave. The dress she’d worn the night he’d found her was still hanging over the back of a chair in the loft, dirty but dry. She didn’t have shoes; her slippers were long gone and there would be no getting those back, but she would make do. She was an expert at making do. But sitting there, in that chair with Cullen kneeling at her feet, all she could see now was how dangerous she was to him. All she could see was the certainty of that coming day when Quan Ji would finish her. She could feel it coming just as clearly as she could feel the cool weight of the jade dragon in her hand. She felt it all the way into her smallest bones. Right now, sitting here, she almost looked forward to it. But when that day happened, neither Cullen nor his brother would end with her. Not if she could stop it, and leaving would do that.
Leaving was going to hurt, but nowhere near as badly as it would if she stayed long enough for him to truly, honestly fall in love with her. Or her with him.
For both their sakes—whether Cullen could see it now or not—she had to leave.
She lay her hand upon his cheek. Her fingers were dirty; he didn’t pull away and didn’t even seem to mind. “I will never forget what you have done for me today,” she whispered. It was the most honest thing she’d said to anyone in years.
And it didn’t make any difference, because tonight she was going to hurt them both.
* * * * *
Lying in bed next to his snoring brother, Cullen stared sightlessly up at the ceiling. It was a cool night. The window was open, allowing the entry of a subtle breeze. It teased the part in the curtains and each time they waved gently open, it let in enough moon and starlight that he could see the rafters along the ceiling. Not that he was looking at them, or anything else in the room for that matter. He was thinking and all of his thoughts were centered on what was happening down the short hallway that stretched from Garrett’s bedroom door to his.
Was Chin awake or asleep, he wondered. Probably asleep. It was late, after all. He could almost see her lying there, one small hand tucked up under her cheek. He touched his own, feeling again the way she had cupped and caressed him all those hours ago. His skin still tingled, hungry for more of that gentle contact. He could still see the sadness and the gratitude in the black, black pools of her almond-shaped eyes. He’d wanted so badly to kiss that sadness out of her. His cock still throbbed with that need to get closer, to steal taste after taste from lips that softened and parted beneath him, begging him without words to enter, conquer and consume. He touched the tip of his tongue to the backs of his teeth, imagining the feel of her own trembling as it made love to his.
His cock throbbed harder. Harder? Ha. Harder wasn’t possible anymore; he had a damned oak branch sprouting out between his legs. Thank God Garrett was sleeping or he’d probably be hearing about this non-stop for days… weeks… the rest of his life…
Maybe he should check on her. Make sure she was (still in the room) all right, considering all she’d been through today. He hadn’t yet told her about the search party or Gabe leaving under the assumption she was dead. That should make her happy. Or, if not happy, at least she might feel a little more relaxed.
She was probably sound asleep. He hadn’t heard a sound from his room, not in hours. At least, it felt like hours. Of course, any amount of time with an oak-hard itch he couldn’t begin to scratch (while lying in bed next to his brother? Yeah…no) could feel like hours.
He’d do it. He’d check on her. If she was sound asleep, she’d never know he was there. If she wasn’t, then she was going to catch him, and then what in hell was he supposed to do? Explain himself? How? Oh sure, he could try saying something witty and charming, and not at all debauched, like: “So sorry. I didn’t know you were awake.”
And then she’d probably say something like, “I can’t sleep.”
And he’d say, “Me, eit
her.”
And she’d say, “Will you come inside and talk with me?”
And he’d say, “Sure.” And then step into her room with a full-on erection leading the way, because that was what gentlemen did whenever they walked into a lady’s room in the middle of the night. God, what was wrong with him? Yanking his pillow out from under his head, Cullen did his best to smother himself with it, then sighed.
This was insane. He wasn’t going to get a lick of sleep tonight, not if he didn’t do something. Like go outside, exhaust his innate gwailo-ness and then (check on her) get some damn sleep.
He peeked at the shadowy lump of his brother from under a corner of the pillow. Garrett snored on, blissfully unaware of the throbbing, tight-balled hell Cullen was in.
Rolling onto his side, Cullen returned his head to the top of his pillow, punched it twice and lay down. He tried to close his eyes, but they were open again within minutes. He could feel her, that was the problem. He could physically feel her—those light brown limbs of hers lying in his bed, caressing his sheets as she moved in her sleep. Or maybe she was wide awake too and restless, thinking about him.
Were her nipples pebbled up, like they had been earlier when he’d kissed her, before he’d said that damn-fool stupid thing? Pebbled up like new spring buds on the pussy willows that grew up around the ponds that watered his cattle all year round. Yeah, that was romantic. He should try to remember to tell her that the next time she started to let him get cuddlesome. Then maybe instead of getting yelled at, he could get slapped too.
Pushing the blankets back, Cullen swung his legs onto the floor and sat up. He rubbed his face, palms rasping on whiskers he should have shaved a week ago. Except his razor and soap were in his room where he couldn’t exactly get at it—not that he’d asked—and when he could get at it, he’d been too worried about whether she was going to die or not to even think about something as mundane as whisker stubble. Lord. He felt along his jaw. He’d bumped into cacti less prickly than he was.