by Pam Crooks
“It's not often I wake up next to a beautiful woman. I was just enjoying the view.”
“Oh.” Her lashes lowered, and a shyness took her. “Did you sleep well?”
“You kept me warm and cozy. I slept quite well.”
A faint blush crept up her cheeks. “I have never laid next to a man before you.”
The quiet admission sent a wave of possessiveness coursing through him. How he'd managed to keep from touching her more intimately, from bedding her completely, he'd never know. His manhood throbbed anew.
“The rain has stopped. The sun is shining,” he said abruptly.
Her gaze darted to a small window, the glass panes a spider web of cracks. “We will be leaving today, then.”
Did he detect a hint of regret in those black eyes? If not, they must have reflected his own. “Yes.”
She stared up at the ceiling and swallowed. “I will miss you, Gajo.”
Her honesty both surprised and moved him. Gone were the fortresses of stubborn pride and honor she'd built around herself. Somehow, those walls had tumbled down, leaving open a raw and gaping glimpse into her soul.
“It hasn't been so terrible being here with me, has it, Liza?”
“No, not like I thought it would.” Turning to him, she cupped her hand against the side of his face. “You could have forced yourself on me, the way a man lusts after a woman and cannot control himself. But you have treated me with respect. For that, I will always be grateful.”
She looked delectable with her coppery-red mane tousled from the night, her features a beguiling mix of trust and innocence. Deep in his loins, sparks of arousal burst into flame.
“Grateful? I've got to be the craziest man on earth,” he muttered. “Having you here with me like this and not doing a damn thing about it.”
She appeared perplexed and drew her hand away. “Why do you say that? Have you forgotten your Rebecca Ann?”
He thrust aside the quilt and sat up. Frustration lanced him. He had to admit it. Thoughts of Rebecca Ann were virtually nonexistent when he was with Liza.
A curse on his tongue, he rolled to his feet with as much grace as he could manage, given the bum knee. He needed a cigarette and a thorough dousing of crisp morning air to cool the heat brewing in his body. He grabbed his shirt and boots and tossed her a terse glance.
“You'd best get up and fix us some grub, Liza. I'll see to the horses.”
With that, he left her.
He took his time rolling the cigarette and smoking it. By the time he finished, he'd managed to bank his desire for Liza with a fair degree of success.
He was glad to have the stallion and Bram's sorrel to care for. They took his mind off her, gave his hands something to do when they'd rather be doing something else.
Like holding her. Or kissing her. Or discovering the secrets hidden in every dip and curve of her body.
He wondered if she truly understood the effect she had on him and decided she probably didn't. It'd been a gradual thing, this wanting, and until now, he'd been adept at keeping it under control.
She took good care of him and his horse the past couple of days. Maybe that was it. Gratitude. And with the minutes ticking away one by one, his time with her would be gone. He'd never see her again. Knowing it raised an odd panic within him.
“You're going to miss her, too, aren't you, fella?” he asked, rubbing the stallion's long neck. “She spoils you. Gives you too many treats.” The horse seemed not to listen, but kept his big, brown eyes riveted toward the cabin, as if expecting her to come out any moment. “Well, it's going to be just you and me again. Like it's always been.”
Smoke curled from the chimney. The aroma of baking biscuits and strong coffee wafted to his nostrils. Their breakfast would be ready soon, but he had enough time to give the stallion's hind leg a soak in the water trough before he went in to eat.
Reese grasped the chinstrap and tugged. The stallion nickered and jerked back, breaking Reese's grip. Swearing in exasperation, Reese reached for it again.
He guessed the stallion's intent a split second before the huge teeth connected with his shoulder. He swiveled out of the way and speared the animal with a venomous glare.
“Why, you damned fool horse. I--”
A scream from the cabin stopped him short.
Liza. His heart leaped in his chest, and he broke into a limping run, his mind filled with torturous visions of a half-crazed bear ready to attack. Or hostile Indian braves. Or a band of lusting outlaws. . . .
Another scream rent the air. Swearing at his lack of weaponry, he reached the cabin and yanked aside the hanging quilts.
He saw nothing. No one except Liza standing near the stove, frozen in fear, a wooden spoon clutched in her fist.
“Liza? What is it?”
“Oh, Reese!” She flew to him and shuddered in his arms. “Over there!”
The wooden spoon gestured wildly. He bundled her tight against him, then stabbed a glance around their tiny quarters.
“Where?” he demanded. “I don't see anything!”
“There. In the corner.”
“Liza. There's nothing here.” His eye searched for a rat or a mouse or even a skunk, anything that would frighten her. He saw only a bullfrog squatting near the fireplace. “You mean the frog?”
She shrieked and buried her face against his chest.
“The frog? You're afraid of the frog?”
Her head bobbed. She refused to look at the thing.
For a moment, he stood stock-still.
The frog.
He couldn't help himself. Full-blown laughter burst from his throat, and he locked his arms about her trembling form, rocking her from side to side while his shoulders shook in unabashed merriment.
Her head came up again.
“What is so funny?” she demanded, thumping his chest with the spoon. “They are the devil's image! Filthy, repulsive and disgusting! How can you not be sickened by the very sight of one?”
“Is this a--a Gypsy thing?” he managed to ask.
“Do the Gaje not feel the same way?” She stared up at him, wide-eyed.
“No, we don't. Not at all.” His mirth filled the cabin to the rafters. “Probably came in from the river with all the rain. He's harmless. I'll show you.”
“Do not touch it!” she gasped in horror.
The bullfrog croaked and leaped toward them. Liza jumped and squealed and clutched at Reese, covering her eyes with one hand. “Do not let it get near us. It is the devil! Do you not understand?”
“Oh, Liza. Sweetheart.” His laughter erupted all over again.
She ventured a peek around him, her dark eyes riveted to the poor creature, who amid all the commotion hop, hop, hopped around them and finally disappeared outside.
“Thank the saints,” she breathed and hastily crossed herself.
“I'd warrant he was more afraid of you than you were of him.”
“You mock me with your laughter, but I tell you, Gajo, I can think of nothing more revolting,” she said, her tone offended. “It is the truth.”
“Okay, okay. I believe you.”
He drew back.
Their gazes meshed.
His chuckles died away in his throat.
In that moment, something changed between them. Something powerful and indefinable that stole the breath from his lungs and threatened to knock him to his knees.
A slow heat flickered deep within him. Their surroundings faded into oblivion. He was aware of only Liza and the softness of her breasts crushed against his chest. He could drown in her eyes, deep obsidian pools that bewitched him like a sorceress's curse. His hand slid beneath the weight of her hair and curled around her nape.
She stared up at him. With a certainty that rocked him to the core, he knew his prediction from the night before would come true, that their kiss was imminent and unquestioned, and that he wanted it more than he'd ever wanted a kiss from a woman before.
Slowly, his head lowered. The wooden sp
oon slipped unnoticed from her fingers, and she moved closer, lips parted, her head tilting back to meet him.
At last, his mouth covered hers, gently at first, giving her time to refuse. But she did not. She responded with a boldness that surprised him, her mouth moving and hungry under his. Her slender arms wound around his neck and clung, as if she couldn't get close enough, as if she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
The fires of desire raged unchecked inside him. To hell with respect and gratitude. He'd been a fool to stay away from her until now. The need to crawl between her thighs, fill her with his seed, to brand her as forever his, was almost more than he could bear.
He groaned, deep, fierce, and hardened the kiss. So little time left. Their worlds, too different, too far apart, would never be conquered, but for now, he had her, he had this kiss, and it would have to be enough.
But it wasn't. Not even close. He wanted too much from this Gypsy woman, wanted more than he should, but her passion toppled his, and he could deny himself no longer,
“Liza, Liza.”
The aching rasp begged to be answered. She trembled in his arms and whispered his name in kind, giving him what he asked with no more than that. Moist and inviting, her mouth sought his again, and Reese thought he'd die from the pleasure of it.
His hand moved across her ribcage and found the fullness of her breast. She made a primitive sound, as if eager for all he had to give. Impatient with the barrier, he pushed the loose-fitting blouse off her shoulder; to the chemise he did the same, baring a rounded globe of feminine flesh and filling his palm with its delectable weight.
From somewhere, a horse nickered. Absorbed with Liza, with her heat and softness and all she made him feel, he fought the intrusion . . ..
“Reese?” The man's voice cut into his comprehension like an icy gust of wind. “What the hell's going on in here?”
Chapter 8
Liza tore away from Reese and clutched her blouse and chemise to her bosom, a moan of mortification spilling from her swollen lips. It was all Reese could do to keep from pulling her into his arms again. He didn't want it to end like this.
Bram's timing couldn't have been worse. Muttering an oath, Reese straightened and laced him, keeping his back to Liza that his body might offer her a measure of privacy.
“You should've knocked, Bram,” he said, the words husky, heavy with irritation.
“Given the circumstances, maybe I should have.”
But Bram's tone offered no apology. His thick, silvery brows were furrowed in disapproval. He stood in the cabin's opening, the hanging quilts thrust to one side. Sunshine and crisp morning air billowed inward, and Reese glimpsed a carriage parked in the yard.
“You found the Gypsy girl, I see.” Bram's sharp glance darted to Liza.
“I did.”
“The stallion, too?”
“He's with your sorrel out back.”
“Both doing well enough, I hope.”
“Fine, fine,” Reese snapped, impatient with the small talk.
“Rebecca Ann's waiting outside. She's been worried about you. We all have been.”
Reese made no reply and dragged his gaze to Liza. She stood angled away from him, her back stiff, her fingers still clutching the blouse in a white-knuckled grip. He willed her to look at him that he might offer silent reassurance, but she didn’t.
He limped toward Bram, and placing a hand to the older man's back, firmly nudged him outside. Liza needed the time alone.
From the driver's seat, Rebecca Ann peered around the edge of the buggy and lifted a gloved hand, her delicate features bearing a tentative smile. She looked as beautiful as ever in a deep-blue velvet gown that must've cost a fortune. The feathers in her hat fluttered in the breeze. Margaret Michelle slept peacefully on her lap.
Reese waved back, but he didn't go to her; instead, he dipped into his jacket pocket for a rolled cigarette. He needed a shave, a hot bath, and a change of clothes. He doubted Rebecca Ann in all her perfection would find the sight of him appealing.
Bram hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his tweed wool suit pants and sighed heavily. “What's going on between you and the Gypsy?”
Reese cupped the match's flame, surprised to find his hand wasn't quite steady, that the blood Liza had stirred to fire hadn’t yet cooled.
“The kiss should never have happened. It just did,” he growled.
“Damn right it shouldn't have happened. Thank God Rebecca Ann wasn't there to see you two.”
“What happened with Liza is my business. I invite you to stay out it.”
Bram looked so offended Reese immediately regretted his outburst. They'd been friends for as long as he could remember. They rarely argued, and certainly never over a woman.
“I can recall a time or two when you were glad I was involved in your business,” Bram grated.
Reese took the blow. If not for Bram and his shrewd financial mind, the Nebraska-Dakota Railroad would not have been a dream come true.
He exhaled in frustration, knowing he should apologize but unable to find the words. An uneasy silence reigned between them while the cigarette smoldered, forgotten, between his fingers. Down the road, a wagon and a pair of workhorses plodded through the mud.
Bram took in a heavy breath, then blew it out again, letting the argument dissipate between them. He studied the cabin. Disbelief formed in his expression. “You been holed up here all this time?”
Reese nodded. The structure looked far worse in broad daylight. With the lightest breeze, the heavy logs seemed ready to tumble to the ground like a pile of matchsticks. No wonder Bram looked appalled.
“We had provisions and part of a roof over our heads,” Reese said. “We were warm and dry. It could've been worse.”
Shaking his head, Bram swept a glance across the debris strewn about the yard. “That was some twister that hit.”
“I know. We were lucky to make it through.” He paused. “How did Niobrara City fare?”
“Pretty good, considering the strength of the storm.”
“And the train?”
“Untouched. The bridge is fine, too. We didn't lose a splinter.”
Thank God, Reese thought silently. It was a favorable sign, his train and its trestle bridge making it through. He couldn't help feeling the N & D would make it through most anything.
“A search party was out yesterday looking for you and the girl. When we couldn't find a trace of either of you, we expected the worse. Never dreamed you were here all along. Thought for sure we lost you to the Niobrara.”
“I appreciate the concern.” Funny how he'd worried far less about them. Taking refuge with Liza had thrust him into a world vastly removed from civilization. She'd been one hell of a diversion.
“This is Jack Hadley's place, isn't it?” Bram asked, his tone thoughtful.
“Yes. They went visiting relatives. Omaha, I think.”
“Damned awful thing to come back to. Feel sorry for Maudeen. Going to be real hard on her to see this.”
Reese fell silent. Jack and Maudeen Hadley's cabin had been a godsend, despite its ravaged condition. Without the shelter it gave, he and Liza might never have survived the storm.
A snippet of color drew his attention. Liza emerged from behind the quilts, her chin taut, her spine straight, the gold beads around her neck jangling lightly with her every step.
From the carriage, Rebecca Ann gasped softly; her fingers flew to her mouth in surprise. The women's gazes locked, as if each sized the other up, judging for themselves the threat either presented.
Reese's eyes narrowed. Liza wore the kerchief again. The striped fabric hugged her head like a second skin, hiding the copper-gold tresses. She wore the damn thing like a shield, holding herself apart from them.
From him.
He sensed the change in her instantly. No impish light danced in her eyes, no soft, gentle smile warmed her mouth. The haughtiness he'd always associated with her people had returned in full force, stealing away th
e Liza he knew and bringing in its place a woman filled with scorn and contempt.
A stranger.
He'd have no part in her game. He stepped forward to make proper introductions and destroy once and for all the misconceptions she had about his people, the Gaje. And it was time Bram and Rebecca Ann learned, too, that Liza was as human as they, no different, but in fact a beautiful, caring person who'd touched a part of his heart like few had before her.
But another woman's anguished cry stopped him cold.
They all turned in unison. Jack Hadley guided his team into the yard and commanded them to a halt. Beside him sat Maudeen, her arms clutching their two young sons. They stared at their damaged home, shock draining their faces of all color. The reins fell from Jack's fingers and dropped to the ground.
His glance traveled over his land with a misery-laden thoroughness, as if searching for the outbuildings that once stood, touching upon the barn that leaned precariously to one side, the stalks of corn lying broken and mangled in their fields. Without a word, he slipped his arm around Maudeen. She sagged against him with a sob, and Reese's gut twisted.
He felt their loss keenly. If there was a way he could make this easier for them, he'd do it.
“Mr. Carrison?” Jack's raspy voice cut through him, pleading for a plausible explanation.
“I'm sorry, Jack.” Reese's reply sounded meaningless and trite. What good would sorrow do for a man who'd nearly lost everything he'd worked for? “A twister came through,” he went on solemnly. “We'll help you and Maudeen get back on your feet. You know that.”
“Why us?” The tiny words cracked with despair. “We've done nothin' but scratch out a livin' on this place day and night. And now it's gone.”
“You'll build it back up again. You've got no choice, not with Maudeen and the boys to think of.”
“We'll put you up in town, too,” Bram offered. “Won't take long until the cabin's livable, just like before. You'll see.”
“No.” Maudeen pulled away from Jack and sat up. She swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “I'm not leaving.”
Reese attempted to reason with her. “Only for a little while, Maudeen. We'll get the neighbors to help. Bram's right. It won't take long to make repairs, not with everyone pitching in. Don't you agree, Jack?”