A Reason To Live (The Forrester Brothers)

by McKade, Maureen

  “I’ve got you, Laurel,” he assured.

  “Th-thank you,” she whispered.

  She continued to cling to him until self-consciousness intervened and she drew away.

  “Where were you going?” Creede asked.

  “Down to let the clerk know I was done with the tub.”

  “I’ll tell him. You go back to the room.”

  Her backbone stiffened at his command. “No. I’ll do it.”

  “Why do you fight me all the time?” Impatience twined through his tone.

  Laurel glanced away and noticed the clerk standing with his back to the stairs, but she knew he was listening. “We’ll talk about this later,” she said in a low voice.

  Creede’s eyes glittered dangerously but after following her gaze, he nodded curtly. “Fine.” He strode down the hall to their room.

  Laurel pressed her lips together and descended the stairs, careful that she didn’t stumble.

  The clerk turned and his expression lit with feigned surprise. “Mrs. Forrester. You startled me.”

  Laurel didn’t bother to call him a liar. “I’m done with the bath. Could you have someone remove the tub?”

  “I’ll send Tommy up right away to take care of it.” He sidled closer. “I heard your husband killed Jasper Thomas.”

  She glared at him. “You heard wrong.”

  Anger drumming through her, she marched back up the steps and to the room. She froze in the doorway at the sight of Creede lounging on the bed. His arms were behind his head and his stocking feet were crossed at the ankles. His hat hung on a bedpost, as did his holster, and his boots sat upright on the floor.

  Her gaze traveled down his lean figure, detecting the slight prominence below his belt buckle. Heat invaded her cheeks, reminding her of her own needs—needs she’d had to bury along with all her other emotions simply to survive. She’d ignored those needs for three years; she could do so again.

  Turning away from the tempting sight, she found the only place to sit was the straight-backed chair. Sidling around the tub, she perched on the hard seat, her backbone straight and her hands clasped in her lap.

  “You can lie beside me,” Creede suggested.

  She nearly gasped at his challenging note with a hint of sensual dare. Had he read her mind?

  She held herself still and concentrated on controlling her breathing and relaxing her suddenly taut muscles—anything to help maintain her distance. “No, thank you. I’m fine right here.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “If you’re referring to joining you, sleeping on the same bed at night is a matter of necessity, but lying beside you now is another matter. In fact, you can get your own room now that Jasper Thomas is gone.”

  He shrugged. “I could.” He turned his head to look at her. “But there’s no reason to, unless you don’t trust yourself around me.”

  A tendril of alarm licked at her nerves. “Don’t be absurd.”

  “How long has it been since you let someone get close to you?”

  “How many times have I told you that I don’t need anyone?”

  “Like you didn’t need anyone the first time we met? Or when you didn’t need anyone last night with Jasper Thomas?”

  He struck too close, fueling her fears. “I can take care of myself,” she shot back.

  Creede sprang off the bed, nearly pouncing on her. Startled, Laurel pressed back against the chair, away from his thunderous expression.

  He leaned in, his face inches from hers. “You’re making it awfully damned hard for me to help you when you won’t tell me what’s going on in that stubborn head of yours.”

  The warm moistness of his breath against her cheek and the smell of the shaving soap the barber had used played havoc with her tenuous control. Her pulse skittered erratically and her vision tunneled, fixing on his hypnotic blue eyes. Pinned by his stare, she couldn’t think, couldn’t move. The air became viscous, too thick to breathe. She gasped, searching for air that should’ve been there.

  “Laurel,” Creede’s voice cut through her panic. “Laurel, breathe. Listen to me. Just breathe.”

  She became aware of his tight grip on her shoulders and the sound of knocking at the door. Her lungs suddenly expanded, sucking in air and irritating her bruised throat. She coughed. “I-I’m all right.” She waved him aside. “Someone’s … at the door.”

  Creede opened it but it was clear he was frustrated and annoyed by the interruption. “Yes?”

  “I’m here to take care of the bath,” a black-haired boy about ten years old said.

  For a moment, Laurel thought he’d slam the door on the boy. Then Creede nodded and opened the door wide. “Go on.”

  Laurel considered leaving the room but knew her weak legs wouldn’t support her. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes.

  What was wrong with her? Was it merely exhaustion after everything that had happened since riding into Lefsburg? Or did it have to do with her dreams, both waking and nighttime? Was her insanity growing, taking over her thoughts more and more?

  Creede returned to his position on the bed while the boy made numerous trips carrying buckets to empty the bathtub. Finally, the tub was empty and he lugged it out. Creede tossed the boy a coin, bringing a gap-toothed grin to the kid’s dark-skinned face.

  The door closed behind him, leaving brittle silence in his wake.

  Creede sat up and tugged on his boots. “Let’s get something to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Laurel said.

  He propped his elbows on his thighs. “You haven’t eaten anything all day.”

  “I had breakfast at Katy’s.” She didn’t say that had been only a slice of bread with some molasses.

  “You’re a nurse, Laurel. I thought it was important to eat to keep up your strength.”

  A spark of rebellion sliced through her apathy. “I’m well aware that I’m a nurse. I’m also aware that missing a meal or two won’t hurt anyone.”

  Creede stood and stared down at her, but there was no anger this time. In truth, there was little at all in his expression.

  He strapped on his gunbelt and plucked his hat from the bedpost. “Don’t wait up for me.”

  As the door shut behind him, Laurel couldn’t help but wonder if his tone had been mocking or regretful. Or which she preferred.

  Creede eased the door open, taking care that he made as little noise as possible. The murky light from the hallway lamps seeped in, illuminating Laurel, who slept curled up on the bed facing the doorway. For a moment, Creede didn’t recognize her soft, vulnerable features, so different than when he’d left earlier that evening.

  He closed the door behind him and the cat burrowed against his side squirmed. He petted its head and the animal settled back in the crook of his arm. While he’d been checking on the horses the cat had found him. At first he’d tried to shoo it away, but the stupid cat kept following him. Finally, Creede had given in and smuggled it in past the dozing hotel clerk. Hell, the cat was probably cleaner than most of the hotel’s clientele.

  Inside the room, he leaned over to set the cat on the rug and whispered, “No using the floor for your business.”

  The cat simply meowed, lifted its nose, and turned away. It took the animal only a few moments to find the most comfortable place in the room—curled up on the bed beside Laurel.

  Envious of the cat’s position, Creede merely sighed. He’d slept with Laurel last night, holding her in his arms, but had risen before she’d awakened. It was the first time since Anna had died that he’d slept with a woman through the night. Laurel had been exhausted, mentally and physically, but he didn’t dare risk lying beside her again. She would undoubtedly be angry and upset if she awakened in the middle of the night to find him beside her.

  He removed everything but his pants and unrolled his bedroll on the floor, then lay down, using his shirt as a pillow. The September night was warm so he didn’t need a blanket.

  Staring up at the ceiling, he cross
ed his arms and listened to the cat’s purring. For such a small critter, he sure was loud. Shocked to find he was growing fond of the scrawny furball, he smiled wryly in the dark.

  A low moan came from the bed and Laurel shifted restlessly. She echoed the sound and cried out something Creede didn’t understand. Should he wake her? Or simply shut his ears to her nightmare?

  “No, please, I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  Her thrashing startled the cat and, with a protesting meow, he jumped down and crawled under the bed.

  Unable to ignore Laurel’s distress, Creede sat up and knelt beside the bed. Laurel’s mouth gaped and her expression was one of horror. Even in the sparse light, he could see sweat glistening her brow.

  His stomach clenched in empathy at her obvious anguish. He touched her shoulder. “Laurel, wake up. It’s only a dream.”

  “Leave me alone. I’m sorry,” she yelled.

  For a moment, Creede thought she’d awakened but her tightly closed eyes dispelled him of that notion. “Laurel, it’s Creede. Come on, wake up.”

  He shook her harder and she gasped and bolted upright, her eyes wide. He remained silent, letting her figure out where she was. She held her hands out in front of her face and her frantic gaze inspected them.

  Creede had no trouble guessing her thoughts. He took hold of her slender wrists. “There’s no blood on them, Laurel. It was only a nightmare.” He kept whispering the words over and over again.

  Finally, the terror in her eyes abated and she curled her fingers into her palms. Creede released her wrists, and she pressed her forehead against her clenched hands. “I-I’m sorry I woke you.”

  Creede rubbed circles on her back. “I wasn’t asleep. Would you like to talk about it?”

  Laurel’s muscles went rigid, but with her face hidden, he couldn’t see her expression.

  “It’s all right. Talking can’t hurt you,” he said.

  She remained still for a long moment, then raised her head and met his gaze. “Why are you on the floor?”

  The unexpected question made him pause. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered.”

  Her dull voice alarmed him. “What do you mean?”

  Her shrug was his only answer.

  His knees protested kneeling on the hard floor. “Would you mind if I sat on the bed?”

  With one hand still on her back, he felt her tense slightly. “I promise to behave,” he said with forced levity.

  A slight nod.

  He climbed to his feet and eased down a foot from her. “Was your dream about the War?” Laurel’s sharp glance told him he’d guessed correctly. “Austin used to have nightmares after his mother was killed.” He swallowed, finding it harder to talk about than he’d expected. “She was standing right beside him when she was shot.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “At first he didn’t want to talk about his nightmares, but after more than a week of them, he finally told me he dreamed about his ma’s blood splashing on him.” Creede paused, his throat suddenly full and tight. “After that, there were fewer and fewer nightmares, until he eventually slept through the night.”

  Laurel stared down at her tightly clenched hands.

  A plaintive meow from the floor brought her puzzled gaze to him. “What’s that?”

  The cat leapt onto the bed, giving Laurel her answer. He rubbed his arched back against her, his tail held straight up.

  Her pinched face lightened. Picking up the cat, she cuddled it close to her chest. “Where did you come from?”

  Creede cleared his throat. “I brought him in. Hope you don’t mind, but he just didn’t want to be left outside.”

  Laurel buried her nose in the cat’s fur. “I don’t mind.”

  “Maybe he’ll help you sleep.”

  “Maybe.” She didn’t sound hopeful.

  Creede ached to pull her in his arms just as she held the cat in hers, but he wouldn’t risk their tenuous truce. “Lie down. I won’t be far away.”

  She lay down with the cat, which snuggled up against her and immediately started purring again.

  Creede crawled back to his bedroll and stretched out on his back. He focused on getting his body to relax, but his senses centered on Laurel, from the sound of her quiet breathing to the scent of her clean skin to the sight of her pale face in the relative darkness. Acutely aware of her, Creede’s body answered with sharp arousal. Although his trousers grew snug, he couldn’t ease the discomfort with Laurel so near.

  Two gunshots followed by men’s coarse laughter startled him. Just like any other town, men sometimes drank too much and let off steam.

  “Will you sleep with me tonight?”

  Laurel’s unexpected question sent a bolt of lust to his crotch. He cleared his throat, hoping his voice wouldn’t fail him. “Are you sure?”

  “I-I might sleep better with you beside me.”

  Christ, here he was thinking with the thing between his legs when all Laurel wanted was someone to hold her. Yet how could he do it? She wasn’t a naïve virgin. She’d feel the evidence of his arousal. He opened his mouth to give some excuse, but when he brought his gaze back to her strained face, he couldn’t deny her. Maybe if he kept the blanket between their bodies …

  “If you move over some, I’ll spread my bedroll beside yours,” he said.

  She did so, and as she and the cat settled in their new position, he smoothed his blanket over the yellowed coverlet, just as Laurel had done with hers. He gingerly lay down, close to the edge of the bed. “Is this all right?”

  “Are you afraid of me?”

  He was surprised to hear a smile in her voice.

  “Should I be?” Instead of the teasing note he’d intended, his voice came out husky.

  She remained silent for a minute. “Maybe we should both be afraid,” she whispered.

  “Maybe.”

  Creede forced himself to breathe evenly as he watched Laurel’s silhouette, backlit by the moonlight coming in the window. He was afraid to say anything, afraid to shatter the fragile connection between them.

  After what seemed like hours but was closer to five minutes, Laurel shifted closer. Her breath wafted across his bare chest and her gown brushed his arm, bringing him to full hardness again.

  “I’m afraid to sleep.”

  Creede’s breath caught in his throat at her childlike whisper. “Maybe it’ll be all right now that you’re not alone.”

  “My father used to check the closets and under my bed before I went to sleep at night. He’d always make sure there were no ghosts hiding there.”

  “If you’d like, I could do that,” Creede volunteered. It would also put some distance between them to get his body back under control.

  “It won’t do any good. The ghosts don’t hide in easy places like closets and under the bed anymore.”

  It seemed the cover of darkness made it easier for Laurel to talk and Creede wasn’t above using that to his advantage. “Where do they hide now?”

  Her arm moved and he realized she was petting the cat. “Places where my father—and you—can’t find them.”

  Creede suddenly understood. “Places where only you can find them and chase them away?”

  “Unless they don’t want to be chased away.”

  “There’s always some way to get rid of them.”

  She made a sound like a hiccough, then he realized it was a dry chuckle. “Not always. Sometimes they pretend they’re gone, but I know they’re not. I know they’re always there, waiting.”

  A chill swept down Creede’s spine. “Waiting for what? Nighttime?”

  “Not always. Sometimes they visit during the day, too. They wait and come out when you least expect them.”

  Like when you were cleaning the blood off the floor yesterday? He couldn’t voice the question.

  The night sounds—the wind sifting through the leaves, crickets chirping, and nightwings skirling as they soared high above them—filled the void.
/>   “I thought I’d never stop hearing cannon fire and men and horses screaming, but this quiet reminds me that wars aren’t forever,” Laurel said, her voice barely audible.

  “And life continues,” Creede added.

  “For most.”

  A foreboding slid through him like a sharp knife. “What do you mean?”

  “A few of those men who fought will never be able to forget what they saw or what they did. For them, the War will never end.”

  Creede relaxed minutely. She was talking about the soldiers. “Is there anything that can help them?”

  “Pray for them and hope death will bring them peace.”

  His arousal vanquished by their somber conversation, Creede closed his eyes. What if Austin had returned in body but not spirit? Was it more merciful for him to die than be lost in an endless war?

  And what of Laurel? Although she hadn’t fought the Yankees, she’d fought another kind of war, one against death. One where the odds were stacked against her.

  Perhaps by bringing the dying soldiers’ messages to living people, Laurel was still fighting the battle against death in her own way. Where would that leave her when all her messages were delivered?

  Creede reminded himself that Laurel was strong, the strongest woman he’d ever met. She would survive and use her skills in another hospital, helping more people.

  “Good night, Creede,” Laurel said softly.

  “Good night.”

  The cat meowed, chiming in with his good night.

  THIRTEEN

  Creede was glad to leave Lefsburg behind the following morning. Their next destination lay a little over a hundred miles to the southwest and he hoped Rounder had fared better than the town they’d just left. However, as they traveled through the war-torn area, he suspected it might be worse off than Lefsburg.

  They saw former slaves with everything they owned on their backs, walking northward. Most appeared lost and bewildered. After living in one place all their lives and having every decision made for them, now they were faced with freedom. Creede could imagine the prospect was both frightening and exhilarating. It also meant more hungry people without work or a home.