by Pam Crooks
“The point of all this is, I'll never have a friend better than Bram. I can't begin to think what I owe him for all he's done for me, but he's not my keeper, Liza. No one is. If I choose to let you stay with me in my house, that's my business. No one else's. Including Bram's. Okay?”
She was not sure. While she better understood his relationship with the older man, nothing changed the fact that Bram Kaldwell viewed her with disdain. To him, she was nothing more than a troublesome Gypsy who would be better off banished from the town than dealt with. She slid her empty plate aside.
And she had not forgotten the beautiful woman named Rebecca Ann.
“I hope my explanation soothes your worries, Liza. Where you're concerned, Bram's opinion doesn't matter to me.” He stood and gathered their dishes. “We'll have dessert in front of the fire, okay?”
“If you wish.”
He set the dishes in a pan, added soap, then poured the last of the heated water on top. Ripples of muscle rolled across his shoulders and back while he performed the domestic chore, and awareness crept into her tumultuous thoughts. She longed to go to him, wrap her arms around him, lose herself in his warmth.
But the privilege would never be hers.
“What of Rebecca Ann?” she blurted.
A dripping plate hovered in midair. “What about her?”
Liza bit her lip. She cursed herself for asking. “Never mind. It does not matter.”
The lie hung between them. Liza cut a giant piece of still-warm cake and left the kitchen.
She did not bother to light a lamp in the main room. The flames drew her, offering comfort. She did her best thinking in front of a snapping fire, and she hunkered on her heels, Gypsy fashion, close to the heat.
The orange-red blaze worked at soothing her lagging spirits, and she tried hard to pretend she was back with the kumpania , a circle of wagons behind her, surrounded by her family in front of the campfire.
But she could not. She was here, in Reese Carrison's world, in his house, and troubled by the woman in his life.
“Rebecca Ann is Bram's daughter. What else do you want to know?”
His voice came from behind her. Startled, Liza's glance darted up at him. He towered over her, both fists on his narrow hips, feet spread.
He reached for the cake she held; wordlessly, she gave it to him. He set it on a small, doily-covered table, then extended a long arm toward her.
Heart pounding, she straightened and took his hand. He led her toward the blue-tapestried couch and sat, pulling her down next to him.
“I don't want Rebecca Ann between us, Liza,” he said. “I'll answer any question you have about her.”
Her chin lifted; her pride surged full force. Did he think her a jealous shrew?
“She is your friend. I already know that. What else is there to tell me?” she demanded, her tone more defensive than she intended.
His tawny eyes bored into her. He seemed to strip away the layers of her pride and expose the naked truth beneath. Her chin scooted a fraction higher.
He twisted to face her; his shadowed gaze raked her from shirt collar to hem.
“Warm enough?” he asked, his mouth softening as if he liked what he saw.
“Very.” She tugged at the white cotton.
He leaned toward her and took her bare foot in his palm, tucking her other beneath his denim-clad thigh. “You should wear socks, you know. Your feet are cold.”
She had not noticed until now. His hands, still warm from the dishwater, massaged her arch and toes and ankle, gliding along her skin with a gentle firmness. Her pride fell away; her protests died unspoken. She could not pull away if she wanted to.
Never had she been so pampered. Imagine. Having her feet rubbed. She almost purred aloud.
“I watched Rebecca Ann grow up,” Reese said. “She was always Bram's little girl, his pride and joy. Even though she never paid me much mind, I admired her. Hell, half the railroad did.”
Liza hugged her knees and forced herself to listen.
“Eventually, she went away to school, then married and moved to St. Louis. When Michael died, I attended the funeral with Bram. Before then, it'd been years since I'd seen her. She had blossomed into a beautiful woman. One of St. Louis's social butterflies.”
His mouth pursed. “That was last summer. In the meantime, the N & D became a reality. I'd planted roots in Niobrara City. And I realized I needed a wife.”
Liza tucked her chin and thought of little Margaret Michelle, growing up without a father. “And Rebecca Ann needed a husband.”
Reese nodded and reached for her other foot. “Bram was all for it. Still is. It's the perfect arrangement for everyone.”
Arrangement? Did he feel no love for this woman and her child?
Liza frowned. Perhaps it was the way of the Gaje, but she would not have expected it of him. Reese Carrison was a man destined to have a great love. Of that, there was no doubt. She had read it herself, in his Heart Line.
Surely that love would come later. After he and Rebecca Ann were married and living together in this house.
This wonderful, magnificent house.
He had built it for her. Rebecca Ann. Bram Kaldwell's daughter. Liza's gaze stroked the room, wall to wall, ceiling to floor, the faint scent of fresh paint still in the air. Reese needed a woman to put the loving touches on his home, and Rebecca Ann would be the one.
A dull ache weighted Liza's heart. Why should that knowledge bother her? Why should it hurt?
She cursed herself for being a fool.
She was getting too used to him. To his ways. To eating with him, instead o[ after him, of serving him from the front, not behind; of having him lick frosting from her finger and spoil her by rubbing her bare feet when they were only a little cold.
It had been easy. Too easy. How could she have been so weak?
It was the Gajo in her, she thought on a wave of misery. Mama's sin. The curse she had been born with.
Liza pulled her feet from Reese's grasp and stood. He glanced up at her, one brow raised.
“The hour is late,” she said stiffly.
He watched her, clearly wary of her change in mood. “You can have my bed upstairs in the loft.”
“No.” She drew a breath. “It would not be right for another woman to sleep in this house before your betrothed--”
“Rebecca Ann isn't my betrothed,” he said slowly, as if speaking to a child, as if it were imperative he make that fact clear. “I haven't yet asked for her hand.”
“I will sleep outside,” she said firmly.
He stared at her in disbelief.
“Do not look so shocked, Gajo. I have done it many times.”
“That's the most harebrained thing I've ever heard of.”
She shrugged. She would not let him sway her this time.
“Come on, Liza,” he said, his tone heavy with exasperation. “Take my bed. I don't care what anyone else thinks. It's cold outside.”
She headed for the door.
“I'm not kin to a woman sleeping alone in my yard!”
“I have slept in places far worse,” she sniffed.
“But it's the yard, Liza, for damned sake!”
“I am not afraid of your yard.”
He threw his hands up and muttered something about stubborn Gypsies. “Fine. Have it your way.” He rose from the couch and jabbed a finger toward her. “But you wait right here until I get back. Hear me?”
Not quite brave enough to ignore the command, she curled her bare toes into the thick rug and waited.
He strode upstairs and returned moments later, his arms laden with folded blankets and a coverlet that dragged behind him, as if hastily pulled from its mattress. He tossed a thick pair of gray wool socks at her.
“Put those on. Refuse, and I'll put them on for you,” he said with a growl, glaring at her.
She dared not utter a word of protest and complied, pulling them up to her knees. Her toes wiggled in the cushiony warmth.
&
nbsp; He preceded her outside. Chilly air blasted against her fire-warmed cheeks, and she shivered. Some of her resolve left her. She eyed the front lawn with trepidation.
Reese laid a rubber blanket on the grass, then spread the others on top. He stood back, glowering, and waited.
“Thank you,” she said and swept past him, lowering herself onto the bedroll and snuggling into the blankets.
He seemed about to say something, but thought better of it.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said roughly. At the front door, he hesitated, throwing a glance over his shoulder. Shaking his head, he went inside. The door latched behind him.
With Reese's departure, the darkness surrounded her, pushing away the Gaje world and comforting her with the familiarity of her own. Lying on the ground, the crisp night air filling her lungs, the tiny stars twinkling down at her, she could pretend Paprika and Putzi were burrowed next to her, that Mama and Nanosh and Tekla and Hanzi were near.
But she could not sleep. Her gaze roamed the yard, admiring its tidiness even in the dark, and succumbing to fanciful musings, she envisioned flowers along the porch and a garden out back.
A garden. Her people never stayed in one place long enough to grow one, but she had gazed longingly at them during their travels, some with tomato plants so heavy with fruit the branches hung to the ground. So many tomatoes that the Gaje never noticed when the Gypsy ate their fill.
Would Rebecca Ann plant flowers and grow vegetables? Would she take pride in Reese's yard? In his house?
Liza could not imagine her with dirt under her fingernails or a scrub brush in her hand. Not the delicate, perfect Rebecca Ann.
She closed her eyes tightly and tried not to think of her. Or of Reese alone in his bed, without her to keep him warm, as she had the past nights.
She rolled over to her side and tried to quell the longings her thoughts inspired. She had made the right decision to come outside, Liza reassured herself firmly. With Reese, she had abandoned the Gypsy ways. For a little while, he made her forget. Sleeping away from his house would remind her of her people, her world, and where she belonged.
At last, sleep beckoned. Dreams took her, dreams of yellow-checkered curtains, wonderfully modern stoves and iceboxes, and raisin cake dripping with sweet white icing.
Chapter 11
A rooster's cheerful crow ended Liza's slumber, forcing her eyelids open and inviting a languid stretch beneath the toasty-warm blankets. Sighing, she shifted to her back and blinked against the shining sun.
The dew-fresh morning held an invigorating bite that awakened her fully. She put off rising, taking a moment or two to orient herself and recall the events of the previous night, where she slept and why.
A movement near the porch caught her attention. Reese approached, his features hidden beneath the black felt hat pulled low over his forehead. Liza pushed herself to a sitting position and speared a hand through her hair, tousled from lack of a braid.
Unsure if he was still annoyed with her, she watched him. His gait had lost some of its limp, and she knew a flare of relief that his twisted knee had finally begun to heal. A faded pair of Levi's hugged his hard thighs, a tan shirt clung to his wide shoulders, scuffed boots rode his feet. He looked rugged and utterly masculine, and Liza's heart responded with an unsteady beat.
He hunkered beside her, bringing himself down to her level. Beneath the hat's brim, his tiger eyes, unfathomable and intense, rested on her. She boldly met his gaze and waited for his reproval.
But he said nothing. Instead, he handed her a cup, its contents steaming in the cool air. Matching his silence, Liza took it from him and curled both hands around the hot sides.
She waited.
He tore his glance from her and stared out across the horizon. She studied his profile, so strong in the morning light, his chin square and defiant, his jaw faintly stubbled. The cotton shirt, open at the throat, revealed a sprinkling of dark hairs beneath the red bandanna tied loosely at his neck.
“I missed you last night,” he said roughly.
Liza's pulse tripped and hammered. The words sounded torn from him, as if he had not wanted to admit them, even to himself. A maiden heat formed between her legs and spread deep within her belly. She drew her knees up tight and resisted the sensation.
Triumph coaxed a tiny smile to her lips. He had missed her, not Rebecca Ann. He had been as affected as she by the nights they spent sleeping in front of the fire at the Hadleys' cabin.
“I missed you, too,” she said softly.
He grunted, as if unconvinced she suffered any worse than he had.
Deeply pleased at his scowl, she lifted the cup to her mouth and sipped, expecting coffee and tasting hot, sweet chocolate instead. She had not had the treat in a very long time. Liza's pleasure grew. Reese Carrison was a man full of surprises.
“I have to go into town this morning. I have business to attend to with the N & D,” he said, his gaze returning to hers. “I'd like you to go with me.”
As quickly as it blossomed, her pleasure died. Niobrara City? With its hostile citizens who had accused her of kidnapping Margaret Michelle? Lowering her lashes, she tightened her fingers around the cup.
“I think not,” she murmured.
He squinted into the sun. “People will know you're staying with me by now. It's best to meet gossip head on.”
“I do not want to shame you by having your friends see you with me.”
“Under the circumstances, my friends will understand. The others, I don't give a damn about.”
A moan of indecision slipped through her lips. She had no desire to see the Gaje's contempt for a Gypsy, and yet to spend the day with him . . ..
Lean fingers snared her chin, forcing her to face him. Tiger-like eyes appealed to her. “Come with me, Liza. You need some clothes and provisions for the kitchen. And I'll send out a few telegrams and try to locate your family.”
“Oh, Reese,” she breathed, unsure what to do.
A corner of his mouth lifted. He released her chin. “I promised to show you a telegraph, remember?”
A telegraph. How could she refuse a glimpse of this amazing machine that would help him find her people? Excitement welled up within her.
“I will be ready whenever you say,” she promised and scrambled from beneath the blankets.
He rose. “I'll see to the chores, then meet you out here when I'm done.”
She nodded and headed toward the house.
“Liza?”
She halted and glanced at him expectantly.
His hot gaze ran over her, clear down to the wool socks sagging on her shins.
“That shirt will never be the same again,” he said wryly.
A blush touched her cheeks. She laughed softly and ran into the house, hurrying to brush her hair and wash.
After fastening the last of her skirts, Liza smoothed the fabric over her hips. She had chosen the best for a top skirt--the magenta, for it was the newest, the color the brightest. Thank the good saints she had had time to launder them. It would not do to embarrass Reese in front of his people with clothing torn and dirtied from mud.
She reached for the gold-and-crimson striped kerchief, but thought better of it. She would wear her hair uncovered today, bound only by a loose braid. With Reese at her side, she did not care what the Gaje thought of a Gypsy with coppery-red hair.
At last, she was ready. She lingered at the stove, however, stirring cream into a pan of water and chocolate, careful to raise a rich froth on top. A second cup of the sweet drink to take on the ride into Niobrara City would be delightful.
Suddenly, the back door crashed open behind her. She cried out in alarm and whirled about in a frenzy of skirt hems.
The Wild One.
Her heart leaped to her throat. He stood in the doorway, dwarfing the opening with his bulk. A knife in his enormous hand, buffalo skins on his mammoth shoulders, he clomped into the kitchen.
“You Carrison's woman?” he boomed, rage sh
immering in his beady eyes.
He was like an enraged grizzly bear. From somewhere deep inside her, a ball of fear exploded.
“Get out,” she rasped.
“Not ‘till I find him. Where is he?”
He sheathed the knife and lumbered closer, ever closer. He could crush her with one swipe of his powerful fist. She inched backward and thought of the pan of chocolate, hot on the stove.
“Where's Carrison?” he thundered.
With more speed than she would have thought possible, he spread his mammoth arms wide and lunged toward her. Instinctively, she reacted, twisting, her hands finding the pan handle and blindly hurling the simmering contents at him.
He roared in surprised pain and staggered back. Chocolate dripped from his straggly beard onto the buffalo hide. Appearing dazed, he blinked and ran his tongue around his thick lips.
His gaze slammed into hers. His features contorted in renewed rage. With a bellow that shook the rafters, he leaped toward her again.
This time, she had nowhere else to go. His huge hands gripped her shoulders, ramming her into the wall, jarring her insides and crushing any hope of escape. A scream tore from her throat.
The meaty paws gave her a mighty shake. Her teeth rattled inside her head. She squirmed and kicked with a panic-driven strength she did not know she possessed.
“Damn you to hell, McCrae! Let her go!”
The Wild One froze, his ears pricked to Reese's yell. He grunted and whipped around, dropping Liza without a backward glance. She gulped for air and sagged against the wall.
“Carrison.” McCrae snarled the word and moved toward him. “Heard tell you was missin', then I heard you was found again. Too bad. I was hopin' you'd turn up dead.”
“Wouldn't give you the satisfaction, you son of a bitch.” A Winchester rifle was braced in both hands. Reese's gaze, sharp, assessing, never left him.
“Yer time's done run out. Jest like Lester when you killed him.”
“Lester's death was an accident. I didn't kill him. You know that.”
The words circled around Liza's head. McCrae kept moving as if Reese had never spoken.
“And you know I ain't standin' fer yer railroad smokin' up the sky with stink. Yer dirtyin' God's land with miles of track. Yer ruinin' my home and Lester's, and I ain't gonna stand fer it. Not anymore than he did.” He halted and swiped a big hand across his beard. He glanced over his shoulder, as if remembering Liza was behind him.