by Alison Kent
He brought his head up, his eyes glassy as he banded his arms tightly around her. “You’re so sweet,” he whispered, “so good,” as if he couldn’t quite believe it was so.
“The water is getting cold.” She moved back enough to grasp his hands, and then she pulled him to his feet.
Without another word, she tugged down his Levi’s. He quickly got rid of the trousers while she removed her running shoes. The more she eyed the tub the less she believed they’d both fit inside. It was definitely going to be interesting.
Before she could give it another thought, he scooped her up in his arms. She covered her mouth to stifle the surprised shriek she’d almost let out, and he smiled as he gently lowered her into the water. She hadn’t seen him drop any of the scented salts into the tub, but knew he’d done it because the pleasant fragrance drifted up to greet her. The water was still delightfully warm and she tilted her head back to soak her hair.
“Aren’t you going to join me?” she asked when he turned away.
He poured something into his hand and then rubbed his palms together as he positioned himself behind her.
“What are you doing?” She gripped the sides of the tub and twisted around.
He bent over and kissed her shoulder. “Face straight ahead.”
“Why?”
“Reese.”
She guessed what he was up to, couldn’t quite believe it, but happily did as he ordered. He cupped her head with his strong hands and gently massaged in the shampoo. She closed her eyes and sighed.
His hands stilled. “Am I doing it wrong?”
She bit her lower lip, enjoying his touch, knowing Sam had never done anything like this before. “Oh, no. You’re doing great. That was definitely a happy sigh.”
He continued the massage, sudsing and then rinsing, his hands tentative at times, making her smile. But when he slid his palms over her shoulders down to her chest, there was nothing uncertain about the way he cupped each breast. He took the soap and slid it down her belly and rubbed between her thighs. She squirmed, which only fueled his determination, and his fingers quickly found that sweet spot that drove her to the edge.
She squeezed her thighs together, wanting him to stop, wanting him to touch her forever. “Sam, join me.”
He broke contact, and then came around to the side and slipped his hands under her arms and lifted her out of the water. She started to giggle and he caught the sound with his mouth, kissing her deeply as she slid down his aroused body. As soon as she could stand on her own, she dried herself off while he rolled out the bedroll.
With a tenderness that brought a lump to her throat, he laid her down, making sure she was cushioned before lowering himself to his knees. He spread her thighs and kissed a path from the inside of her knee, only to stop tauntingly at the mound of curls. When she shifted impatiently she felt his smile against her skin. He used two fingers this time to enter her.
Instinctively, she tensed. He soothed her with whispered endearments and featherlike kisses along her inner thigh. Then he spread her nether lips and teased her with the tip of his tongue. She arched her spine and shifted her hips to the side, but he stayed with her, flicking his tongue over her clit until she didn’t think she could take any more. She grabbed at his hair, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away.
“I want you inside me,” she whispered fiercely.
He slowed his pace, lulling her into a false sense of control before finding that magic spot that ignited a wildfire throughout her body. She came so hard she thought she’d shatter into a thousand pieces. Before she could recover from the explosion, he was poised over her, his arousal thick and ready, his hands cupping her bottom before he buried himself in her.
A STRANGLED CRY of pure anguish shattered the night’s silence. Reese sat up with a start. Momentarily disoriented, she peered into the darkness. Beside her, she felt Sam stir restlessly. He murmured a few words before releasing a horrible moan. Disturbed by the noise, the stabled horses whinnied.
“Sam. Wake up, Sam.” She shook his shoulder. “It’s okay. It’s just a bad dream.”
“No,” he bellowed, and bolted upright.
She shrunk from him, afraid that in his dazed state he might strike her. “Sam…” Tentatively, she touched his arm. “It’s Reese. You’re fine.”
He grabbed her hand and squeezed it so tightly she cried out. Immediately he let go of her, drawing his arm back as if he’d been seared by a hot skillet.
“It’s okay. You startled me, that’s all.” She laid her hand on his, and he turned it over until their palms met.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse and broken. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
She squeezed lightly to show him she was okay. “You must have had a nightmare.” It was too dark. She wished she could see his face.
He didn’t respond.
“Do you remember it?” she asked, and when he still didn’t answer, she prompted, “The nightmare. Do you remember what it was about?”
He pulled his hand away and drew the back of his arm across his forehead. Heat radiated from him. Just like last night, when she’d heard him moaning and had pressed a cool cloth to the back of his neck. If it wasn’t so dark, if she could see, she’d get another cool compress.
“I’m going to light the lantern,” she stated.
“No.” His hand shot out, restraining her.
“Okay.” She settled back down, his tension almost a tangible thing between them. “Will you tell me about it?”
Sam sighed with disgust and angled his body away from her.
She snuggled close, looped her arms around his broad shoulders and pressed her breasts against his back. He tensed even more, but she’d expected that. His skin was feverish and clammy, and she made up her mind that she wouldn’t allow him to push her away.
“Sam?”
“Go to sleep.”
“No.”
“Reese.”
“Sam,” she answered in a mocking voice.
He sighed again, slumping a little. “I don’t want to talk.”
“I know.”
Silence stretched, and then he turned to her, his hands finding and kneading her breasts. He kissed her, forcefully, and she let him, but only for a few moments. And then she moved her head back and said, “Nice try. But I won’t let you distract me.”
He lowered his hands with an air of defeat. “Can’t a man have some privacy?”
That stopped her. Although she wasn’t going to get anywhere by playing fair. “Are you saying you want me to leave?”
“No.” Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she saw him shake his head. “No.”
She cupped his face in her hands. “Please, Sam. Talk to me.”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “You don’t want to hear it.”
“I do.”
“Trust me on this.”
Frustrated, she shoved at him. “No, trust me.” Emotion swelled in her chest. Her voice shook slightly. “I’ve been at your mercy for nearly a week. Granted, at first I had little choice but to depend on you, but it’s different now. I made a decision to trust you. Can’t I have some in return?”
He grabbed one of her wrists and brought her hand to his lips. “You’ll hate me.” He spoke in a voice so low she had to strain to hear him.
“I won’t. I couldn’t.”
His laugh was harsh. “You will.”
“Think you know me that well, huh?”
He shook his head from side to side, and then as casually as if he’d stated his intention to go make coffee, he said, “I’m a killer.”
“You’ve mentioned that.” Her voice caught. She cleared her throat and lifted her chin. “Tell me something new.”
He snorted and looked away.
She knew he’d killed more than once. Had he been a hired killer? What had they called them…gunslingers? No, not Sam. “You must have had a good reason.” Even though she wasn’t about to let this go, she felt chi
lled suddenly and pulled the quilt up to her chest. “You know, to kill someone.”
“Is there ever a good reason to commit murder?”
Reese gasped before she could stop herself. Murder and killing were two very different things. She didn’t see Sam as a murderer. Or maybe she just didn’t want to. She swallowed hard. “Tell me what happened.”
“Why? Dead is dead,” he responded flatly.
“I don’t believe you murdered anyone.”
He started to get up.
She clutched his arm. “Don’t do this, Sam. I don’t care about your past. I know the kind of man you are now.”
“You don’t know anything,” he spat, the unfamiliar viciousness in his voice convincing her more than his words.
“Then tell me.”
“Jesus.” He shook away her hand.
“Help me to understand.”
“Leave it be,” he growled.
“I’ll ask Doc.”
Sam shifted toward her, so suddenly, she shrank back in fear. He jabbed a finger in the air. “You don’t speak of this to Doc.”
Good. Doc obviously hadn’t told him she’d already asked about Sam’s past. She tentatively laid a hand on his arm again. “Okay, that wasn’t fair to threaten you. But you aren’t being fair, either. You’ve shared nothing of yourself with me.”
“Why would I? Because I bedded you?” The deliberate contempt in his tone found its mark.
She refused to wince, and lifted her chin a little higher. “Yes.”
Sam sighed loudly. “Whores are simpler,” he muttered.
“That’s probably true. But I’m not a whore.”
He looked down for a moment, and then brought his head up and stared at her. “You don’t know what you’re asking.” He sounded less threatening, maybe even resigned.
“Oh, Sam.” She risked touching him again, scooting closer and rubbing his cold arm. “Nothing you can say will make me think less of you,” she promised, and prayed that was true. “Whatever wakes you in the middle of the night will just grow until it destroys you. Tell your story. Tell it again and again until it loses the power to hurt you.”
She waited for him to process her little speech, and when he stayed silent she took a deep breath and said, “I’ll go first. I’m about to tell you something that I should’ve told you before now, but I’ve been too much of a coward.” She paused, gathering her courage. “I saw a picture of you in a book a few minutes before I…” The whole idea of traveling through time still appalled her. She could barely utter the words. “Before I ended up here.”
“A picture?” He sounded confused, and she could see enough of his features to know he was frowning. At least she had his attention.
“A photograph.”
“I’ve never had my picture taken.”
She swallowed. This was the hard part. “It was some kind of history book about Deadwood. Sam, I don’t know how to say this.” Fear and an overwhelming sadness washed over her. “It was a picture of you propped up in a coffin. You’d been hanged for stealing a horse.”
He reared his head back. “Stealing a horse?”
She nodded.
“That’s a damn lie. I’d never take another man’s horse.”
She smiled in spite of herself. He’d admit he was a killer, but stealing a horse, well, that was over the top. “According to the caption, it was Hastings Barnett’s horse.”
Sam stayed quiet for a long time, probably trying to make sense of what she’d told him. Finally, he asked, “Goliath?”
“Mr. Barnett’s name was the only one mentioned. I assume it was Goliath.”
Sam laughed, a bitter sound that stoked the growing sorrow in her heart. “After all I’ve done…hanged for stealing a horse,” he murmured. “Well, like I said, dead is dead. That’s more than I deserve.”
The resignation in his voice infuriated her. Worse, it frightened her. “Why? You tell me why you think you deserve to die.”
He hung his head again. “It’s hard to explain to a woman. You don’t understand the brutality of war.”
She straightened. War? The Civil War? Had to be. Relief blossomed in her chest. Oh, why hadn’t she paid attention in history class? “Sam, you’re telling me you fought during the Civil War.”
He pushed a hand through his hair but said nothing.
“You can’t blame yourself for what you did as a soldier. War is horrible, but if you hadn’t killed, you would’ve been killed. Yes, it’s awful, but that’s the way it is.”
“It wasn’t just about the war. We did things—” He shuddered and jerked away from her. “Evil things.”
“Who’s we? You and Doc?”
He nodded haltingly. “And Jake. All of Captain Quantrill’s men. We never questioned him.”
“You were soldiers. You did as you were ordered.”
“We shot unarmed men.”
She didn’t pretend to understand the vagaries of war. “What side did you fight on?” she asked, curious suddenly.
“The Confederacy.”
She hadn’t expected that, but it was a different time, different morals, she reminded herself. “You fought for your beliefs.”
His laugh was terse. “What I did had nothing to do with my beliefs. Captain Quantrill was willing to hire us on. That’s all we cared about.”
“Yes, but—” And then a sudden thought struck her. “When was the war?” she asked, and he looked at her sharply. “How long ago?”
“It ended in ’65.” He paused. “I deserted two years earlier.”
“How old were you when you joined the army?”
“Thirteen.”
“Thirteen?” she repeated. “You were a child. What did your parents—”
“I didn’t know my ma. She died birthing me.” He shrugged. “Reckon my pa may still be alive, but I haven’t seen him for years.”
She ached for the little boy who had no place to go but to join a man’s army. “You can’t possibly blame yourself for something you did as a child.”
“I wasn’t a child.” His rebuke brimmed with self-loathing. “I was fifteen when we attacked Lawrence, Kansas. In the dead of night. Those men we killed weren’t soldiers. They had something Quantrill wanted and we went in and took it. We wore the uniform, but we were no better than murdering thieves.”
She tried to keep her voice steady. “Did you kill anyone?”
“One man,” he replied quietly, pain thick in his voice. “He was so torn up, half his leg gone, blood everywhere. He begged me to shoot him.”
She blinked back tears. That act of mercy hardly made Sam a murderer, but he wasn’t in the frame of mind to listen to reason. “Is that when you deserted?”
“Jake, Doc and I hightailed it out of there before sunup.”
“Did Captain Quantrill know? He could’ve assumed you were dead. In fact, he sounds more like an outlaw than an officer.”
“It wasn’t just Quantrill we had to hide from. The James brothers and Archie Clement, the whole lot of them loyal to the captain, they would’ve gunned us down if they’d seen us running. They’d kill us today if they saw us.”
“As in Frank and Jesse James?”
He tensed. “You know them?”
“Um, not personally. I’ve read about them in books.” She reached for his hands, persisting when he retreated. She squeezed them tightly and said, “You were a boy. A lonely, scared child who needed to belong. Don’t confuse that boy with the good man you’ve become. Sam, look at me.”
He stared into the darkness, his body rigid. The shame and agony he felt was almost a physical thing between them.
“You’re a good man, Sam,” she whispered. “I wish you’d believe that.”
It broke her heart because she knew her words had no effect.
16
THE NEXT DAY Sam checked Diablo’s leg. The horse still had a slight limp, but if Sam stayed off him, in a week he’d be fine. Reese had gone over to Doc’s first thing in the morning. She’d kissed Sam,
offered to make their supper and then hummed all the way out of the livery.
Sam still couldn’t believe it. He’d confessed his most shameful secret, and she hadn’t run screaming from the room. She’d cried a little, but not out of fear or disgust. She’d cried for the lonely, confused child he’d once been. His chest tightened just thinking about the way she’d wrapped her arms around him and told him to let go of the past. How she’d told him that she was proud of the man he’d become.
An unexpected surge of emotion clouded his vision. He blinked, and then grabbed the pitchfork and started up the steps to the hayloft. Could be Reese really was touched in the head. That would account for her reaction. He couldn’t think of another explanation. Except if she had the same feelings as he had for her.
He shied away from that loony thought. She was pretty and smart and kind to Doc. She had perfect curves and soft skin, and stoked a fire in him that no other woman had ever come close to feeding. Naturally, Sam liked her. But that was all. He didn’t have any more feeling for her than that. He forked hay down from the loft with a force that riled the horses. Goliath whinnied loudly, tossing his head and prancing around his stall. He sure was a fine looking animal. Though Sam tried to put it aside, the idea that he would steal another man’s horse still unsettled him.
Nah, when the time came to meet his maker, it would be because one of the James boys recognized him. Or any of Quantrill’s old gang. As for Captain Quantrill himself, he was dead. Sam had read that the man had come to his end at the hands of the Union forces in Kentucky back in ’65. He’d heard Archie Clement had been killed a year later in Missouri, but that was just rumor. And even if it was a fact, the Captain’s men would gladly put a bullet between Sam’s eyes. Doc’s and Jake’s, too.
Hell, Jake might have passed on already. He hadn’t seen him for nearly five years now, and Jake didn’t believe in lying low. He liked his cards almost as much as he liked his women. Moreover, it didn’t matter to him that the old gang wasn’t all he had to worry about. The government had declared Quantrill’s men outlaws. If any of them were ever identified as such, they’d hang for sure.