by Sara Orwig
Suddenly release came, bursting over her in waves, and she cried out, holding him, moving against him.
Dan felt as if he were standing on a burning pyre. He wanted to yank her up and thrust inside her, to have her hips moving against him, to possess her. And he had brought her to a brink where, physically, she wanted the same thing. He could take her now and she wouldn’t protest. He slipped his finger inside her, felt the tight virginal maidenhead and it sobered him even while it made him burn with a need to feel that tightness close around his shaft.
A virgin. She wasn’t married, wasn’t Lissa’s mother. The last shred of doubt was gone. She was Mary Benton.
He was going to arrest her father. Soon she would hate and despise him. He watched her moving and clinging to him, her eyes suddenly flying open. His breath caught in his chest at the fiery expression on her face. Sliding her hand behind his neck, she leaned forward, kissing his throat, her tongue trailing down to his nipple, her hands moving over him, fluttering over his throbbing arousal.
With a hoarse growl, he shook. Feeling dammed, furious that she had slipped past barriers he had kept around his emotions, he wanted her desperately. Groaning he caught her up, holding her to look into her wide, startled eyes, and then he kissed her with a fiery need that ripped through him.
He wanted to take her hard and long, to feel her softness envelope and consume him, to feel her long legs holding him. In his aching, lonely life, he wanted her joy, her zest and warmth, her passion. Yet if he took her now, he would bind her heart to his and destroy her when he arrested Eb. He picked her up and waded out of the creek.
“Dry off and dress.” He ground out the words as he set her on her feet. They stood, both breathing heavily only a few feet apart, both nude. As his gaze swept over her, he drew a deep breath. She was even more beautiful than his imagination had pictured, her breasts lush and conical, tipped with rosy pink nipples, a mound of auburn curls at the juncture of her thighs, long legs that he wanted to touch.
She whirled around yanking up the buckskin, giving him a tantalizing view of her round bottom. He groaned as he looked for the breechcloth. When he turned back, she was dressed, standing with her back to him, bending over and shaking her hair, trying to comb it with her fingers.
He pulled on the cool, wet breechcloth and sat on a rock. He waited, aching, still bombarded with images. His body burned with sensation where she had kissed and touched him. He felt torn, one minute feeling a fool for stopping when he could have taken her, the next minute knowing that he didn’t dare seduce her. A primitive survival instinct warned him that this woman could easily take his heart and cause him to lose all judgment.
Rachel shook, wanting him. She wanted to feel his hardness, to have him possess her. Yet how foolish and dangerous it would be if she had misjudged and he actually was after Pa! She couldn’t run the risk. And when he had carried out of the stream and set her on her feet, he had stood before her nude, aroused, ready. She would never forget the glance she took, never forget his powerful body, his dark, thick member. She wanted to reach for him, to yield and to let him love her because she needed his strength, needed him, knowing this man was special for her.
She glanced over her shoulder. Dressed in the breechcloth again, he sat on a rock and his head swung around. When his dark-eyed gaze met hers, she drew a deep breath. He looked angry and ruthless as if he regretted carrying her out of the water. The air between them was just as volatile as before.
“It’s cool and we’re both still wet. Come sit down.” His voice was deeper than usual. Otherwise he seemed more calm and collected than she did.
She moved closer and perched on fallen log. He looked amused as he watched her. “You’re safe.”
“I’m a married woman,” she said stiffly and received a sardonic gaze that chilled her. “It’s been a long time,” she looked away from his damnable eyes that seemed to mock her lie.
“A long time since what?” he asked, his voice sounding harsh again, and uncertainties rose to plague her.
“I’m going back,” she said, standing. Instantly he was in front of her, stretching out his long arm to block her path as he placed his hand against a tree trunk. She drew a deep breath and looked up at him.
He tilted up her chin. “I want you, Rachel.”
The words were like a soft, sensual caress across her raw nerves. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t answer him. She gazed into his eyes, and trembled, torn between fear of him and wanting him to love her endlessly.
“I’m married. And even if I weren’t, I don’t really know you,” she said in a low voice, the words tumbling out as she studied his impassive face. She couldn’t detect anything. “You’ve kept us safe—”
“Next time I’m not going to stop,” he said flatly, sounding harsh. Her heart pounded as she watched him because the tough side of him was back. He was angry, and yet he still desired her. What had happened to him to make him so angry and hurt?
“I shouldn’t have allowed you liberties.”
He gave her a cynical glance that denied what she was saying. She ducked beneath his arm and ran back to the camp, her heart pounding, knowing she was running from what she felt for him as much as she was running from him.
All day she stayed with the women, working on hides and cooking. That night everyone was asleep in the tipi while she lay awake. Dan was the only one who hadn’t returned, and she knew he was with the men. She stared through the smoke hole at the top of the tipi, seeing a star wink in the night sky while she thought about the day and the moments in the stream. Her body burned with longing for him. Now the merest glance from him changed her pulse and breathing and made her ache with wanting him. Yet a nagging uncertainty about him still disturbed her. She couldn’t imagine he would have aided Pa if he intended to arrest him, so she was in more of a quandary than ever.
She turned to look at the empty hides near her, seeing only Dan’s brown eyes, remembering his hands on her. He had helped them, saved them repeatedly, risked his own life for them. Yet she couldn’t shake the doubts.
To’nsadal. His Kiowa name that now seemed to fit him better than Dan Overton. To’nsadal or Dan, bounty hunter or gambler? Whatever he was, she shouldn’t succumb to his lovemaking. It was a threat to all of them, not only to her. And if she lost her independence, if she let him love her, if she needed him, it could wreck all the peace she hoped to find out West.
She stared into the dark, her body tingling as she remembered Dan’s caresses. An ache low in her body begged to be assuaged. Could she cling to reason and not wreck everything to satisfy the clamorings of her body and an emptiness in her heart?
The next morning when she stirred and came awake, the tipi was empty. She couldn’t recall a time in her life sleeping later than the rest of the family, and wondered if it was because some of her responsibilities were temporarily lifted. She felt more carefree than she had any time since years before the war when she was a girl.
She dressed in the buckskin, brushing her hair and braiding it. As she wove thick strands together, Dan stepped through the flap of the tipi. He seemed to dominate the space, his broad shoulders looking powerful. Trying to keep her gaze above his chin, she was acutely aware of his bare body.
He touched her braid, taking it from her hands to finish the task, and she was held by his gaze, standing quietly as each light tug on her hair was a sensuous touch. “You slept long,” he said in his deep voice, a faint smile on his face.
“I don’t have as many responsibilities here; I don’t have to worry about ambush.”
He sobered, his dark brows drawing together in a slight frown. “It’s not as safe as you might think. Soldiers have attacked camps like this and massacred women and children. But the past few days, I know it has seemed safer than traveling.” He secured the braid and touched her shoulder lightly with his fingers. “I must go now, but I’ll see you tonight when we have a dance for a buffalo hunt.”
She nodded and watched him stride out of the ten
t. Stepping into the sunshine, she watched Dan stride away before she turned to find Morning Cloud. She joined Morning Cloud and other women who stretched another hide to stake it to the ground, the hairy side down. As they staked the hide, Rachel stirred the tanning mixture of liver, fat, and brains while it boiled.
Then as it cooked, she worked with the others, scraping the hide. The mixture was then rubbed on the hide and worked into the skin. The sun was hot on her shoulders, and Rachel wiped perspiration off her forehead. In spite of the heat, there was a simplicity about working with her hands that she enjoyed. When Morning Cloud finally signaled they were finished, she stood up and stretched, feeling hot and covered with dust and grime.
When she left the other women, she headed for the woods. She glanced around to see she was alone as she hurried upstream, wanting to bathe away the grime from the day.
She yanked off her dress, placing it on a rock and rushed into the water, sinking down, relishing the cool wetness as it flowed over her. She dipped under the water and splashed up, turning and catching her breath.
Dan stood on the bank, hands on his hips as he watched her.
“I didn’t hear you come up! You startled me.”
“I had the same thought to cool off. I’m coming in.” He reached to the leather strap of the breechcloth. “Turn your back or close your eyes. I’m undressing.”
“You can’t—” she started to argue, saw he meant what he said. She turned her back. She was afraid of what he would do when he was in the water. She was afraid of what she wanted him to do. Water splashed, and she turned. He bobbed up in front of her, flinging water out of his eyes and brushing his hair back from his face with both hands. “Want me to teach you to swim?”
“Tell me how,” she said, her voice sounding breathless. He was so close, his gaze lowering over her and she knew the water hid little. She felt like flinging her hands over her breasts. At the same time, she felt a sensuous response to his gaze.
“I talked to Eb and he’s doing fine. Tomorrow we can head out again, get back on the trail south if you’re ready,” Dan said in a tight voice.
“Yes, but I’ll always remember being here.”
“So will I,” he said quietly, and she knew he was thinking about the last time they were together in a creek. He reached out, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her to him.
“No! I said to tell me how to swim, not show me.”
“It’s easier to show you.” He stood behind her, his body close as he held her wrists. “Move your arms like this through the water.”
She began to do as he instructed, for minutes at a time forgetting her nudity.
Dan wanted her, and the inner war that raged in him made his hands shake. He held her, his hands on her middle, showing her how to swim. She floundered away from him, her pale, sleek bottom flashing tantalizingly. His shaft throbbed and all the coolness of the creek wasn’t enough to calm him. He wanted to be between her legs. And she would open them for him. She had been ready the last time. He should turn around now, get away from her. In the midst of battle, he hadn’t felt as threatened as he did now. Her big green eyes and luscious curves, her grit and determination and her generosity could take all his peace, take his heart and soul.
Finally she splashed away from him, bobbing up and laughing as she turned to look at him. He felt a clutch at his heart. Her eyes sparkled, and her teeth were white, small, and even. Lord, she was gorgeous when she laughed! There was a warmth to her laughter that filled the cold corners of his heart.
He swam to her, tilting up her face. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you really laugh. It’s a good sound.”
Rachel looked up at him. “There’s not much time on the trail for laughter. Here I feel free from my responsibilities.” As his gaze lowered over her, she twisted to swim away. At the shallow edge she looked over her shoulder. “Turn around.”
“Rachel, wait—” He plunged into the water to swim toward her with long, powerful strokes.
Rachel scrambled out, yanking on the buckskin dress, knowing each time he kissed her it was more difficult to tell him to stop. It was just as well they would leave tomorrow, because a few more times alone with Dan and she couldn’t refuse him. And he would know that she wasn’t a married woman.
He climbed out, watching her yank down the buckskin over her pale bottom, down over her long legs. He wanted her, but he stood and watched her go. He ached with need, thinking about her constantly now, wanting satisfaction and release.
That night they built a raging fire and danced around it. Flames were bright, banishing the darkness while the smell of burning juniper was inviting. She learned a dance from the women, Morning Cloud handing her a shawl. The fringe of the buckskin dress brushed her legs continually as she moved and in minutes as she stepped to the beat, she felt a sense of unity with those around her, aware of Dan’s dark eyes watching her.
When she finished the dance, he loomed in front of her. “You’ve taken to this life better than I would have guessed.”
“You underestimated me,” she teased. He stared down at her solemnly.
“No, I didn’t. From watching you that day in Fort Worth, I’ve thought you’re the most capable woman I’ve known.”
“Thank you,” she replied, feeling uncertain, because he said the compliment in a tight, angry voice.
“You’re capable of passion. Next time you aren’t going to run away.”
“I’m married.”
He shook his head slowly, a savage gleam in his eye. “You haven’t known real passion yet,” he said softly.
Suddenly she was frightened by his expression and his words. She gazed back at him steadily, not wanting him to know the effect he was having on her, determined she wouldn’t succumb to him. “I belong with the women,” she said, turning away.
Dan watched her go, feeling a slow-burning anger and need. She wasn’t like other women. She didn’t flutter over compliments or act coy with him. Sometimes he wondered if she even noticed him as a man and other times he knew she was fully aware of him and responsive. She was a woman capable of endless giving and he didn’t want to compound her hurt when he took her father. From childhood he had known Solange, and there had never been a time she had consumed his thoughts the way Rachel did. He watched the women dance; in all the heads of black hair, the one red-gold stood out like a flame.
Rachel had fit into this life as easily as if she were born to it, yet he should have expected that. She had to be adaptable, quick to change to have fled her home. He knew the decision to flee Vicksburg for whatever reason had been hers. He watched her move, feeling his body respond, angry that she had captured his thoughts during most of his waking hours, intruding on his dreams as well.
Once again that night Dan was the last one to return to the tipi. Pa slept in their tipi for the first time, the men on one side and the women on the other. As everyone slept, she lay staring into the darkness, unable to sleep, knowing Dan would return soon, thinking about what he had told her at the dance.
She didn’t hear a sound when he entered. She watched him move across to her, standing over her. She kept her eyes closed, and felt his hand brush her cheek. Her heart seemed to turn over. The touch was light, so fleeting, done when he thought she wouldn’t know. And it had been gentle. What did he feel when he kissed her? Did it mean more to him than passion and brief pleasure?
He seemed solitary, not given to being tied down to a woman. She couldn’t imagine him working in a bank or settling with a wife. Never could she imagine him settling with a wife who had a child and a brother and sister and father to care for. Dan seemed like the wind, devastating at moments, and then gone. I Have Legs was a good name for him, because he would use them to keep moving on.
She opened her eyes a fraction. He had gone and she turned her head, shifting, keeping her eyes closed for a long time. When she opened them again, he was stretched out, one arm flung over his head, his chest rising and falling regularly. Her gaze ran
down the long length of him and she felt desire burn as hotly as a flame. His kisses had awakened needs in her she hadn’t felt before, and he knew it. If she let him, he would take what he wanted and leave and she would lose her independence, her freedom because her heart would be his. And if he was after Pa—he would discover she was a virgin.
The next time she opened her eyes it was morning and she was alone again. She dressed swiftly, gathering her things. By mid-morning they had the wagon packed to go. Everyone gathered around them while Pa bid a faltering farewell to the medicine man. Pa led the black gelding to the medicine man, placing the reins in his hand. The medicine man smiled, murmuring with appreciation as he ran his hands over the black.
Pa turned to give his Colt revolver to Chief Spotted Wolf, and she prayed they wouldn’t need it between here and San Antonio. She gave a lace shawl to Morning Cloud. Abigail gave her friend a blue bonnet with feathers and silk roses on it.
Dressed in her boy’s clothing again, Rachel climbed onto the wagon seat beside Pa while Abigail, Lissa, and Josh climbed inside. They waved and moved out, Dan mounting up, riding with them. He still wore a breechcloth and carried a shield and she wondered about his life divided into two worlds.
He cantered ahead of them to lead the way, and she leaned around to look back once more at the camp. One of Josh’s friends stood watching them, and he waved. She waved at him, her gaze going over the tipis, going beyond them to the trees that bordered the creek. Had that been an idyll in her life that would never happen again? She had glimpsed a way of life she never would know again. Her gaze shifted to Dan as she turned around. More and more she thought of him as To’nsadal.
Mid-morning they stopped to water the horses, and Dan left them. When he came striding back through the trees, he was dressed in shirt, denim trousers, and leather boots again. He packed away the breechcloth and moccasins. The pistol was in a holster on his hip and it was far easier to remember he might be a marshal or a bounty hunter.
As they rode along with Dan ahead, Rachel turned to Pa. “When we get to San Antonio, the first thing I’m going to do is ask people where Elias Johnson’s place is.”