by Nora Roberts
An owl hooted behind her and made her jolt. “I’ll need some water.” She was forced to clear her throat. “Those wounds should be cleaned.”
With his eyes still on hers, he lifted the canteen. Saying nothing, she knelt beside him again to tend the cut that ran from his shoulder to his elbow.
“This is deep. You’ll want a doctor to look at it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her eyes flicked up to his, then quickly away. “It’s likely to scar.”
“I’ve got others.”
Yes, she could see that. His was the body of a hero, scarred, disciplined and magnificent. “I’ve caused you a great deal of trouble.”
“More than I figured on,” he murmured as her fingers glided gently over his skin.
She tied the first bandage, then gave her attention to the slice in his side. “This one doesn’t look as serious, but it must be painful.”
Her voice had thickened. He could feel the flutter of her breath on his skin. He winced as she cleaned the wound, but it was the firelight on her hair that was making him ache. He held his breath when she reached around him to secure the bandage.
“There are some nicks,” she murmured. Fascinated, she touched her palm to his chest. “You’ll need some salve.”
He knew what he needed. His hand closed over her wrist. Her pulse jumped, but she only stared, as if she were mesmerized by the contrast of his skin against hers. Dazed, she watched her own fingers spread and smooth over the hard line of his chest.
The fire had warmed it, warmed her. Slowly she lifted her head and looked at him. His eyes were dark, darker than she’d ever seen them. Storm clouds, she thought. Or gunsmoke. She thought she could hear her heart pounding in her head. Then there was no sound. No sound at all.
He reached for her face, just to rub his palm over her cheek. Nothing in his life had ever seemed so soft or looked so beautiful. The fire was in her eyes, glowing, heating. There was passion there. He knew enough of women to recognize it. Her cheeks, drained of color by fatigue, were as delicate as glass. He leaned toward her, his eyes open, ready for her to shy away.
She leaned toward him, her pulse pounding, waiting for him to take.
An inch apart, they hesitated, his breath merging with hers. Softly, more softly than either of them would have thought he could, he brushed his lips over hers. And heard her sigh. Gently, with hands more used to molding the grips of guns, he drew her to him. And felt her give. Her lips parted, as they would only for him.
Boldly, as she had never known she could, she ran her hands up his chest. Was he trembling? She murmured to him, lost in the wonder of it. His body was rigid with tension, even as he took the kiss deeper, gloriously deeper. She tasted the hot flavor of desire on his lips as they moved, restless and hungry, over hers.
Eager for more, she pressed against him, letting her arms link tight behind him, and her mouth tell him everything.
He felt the need burst through him like wildfire, searing his mind and loins and heart. Her name tore out of him as he twisted her in his arms and plundered her mouth. The flames beside them leaped, caught by the wind, and sent sparks shooting into the air. He felt her body strain against his, seeking more. Desperate, he tugged at the torn neck of her blouse.
She could only gasp when he covered her breast with his hand. His palm was rough with calluses, and the sensation made her arch and ache. Then his mouth was on her, hot and wet and greedy as it trailed down. Helpless, she dragged her hands through his hair.
She had faced death. This was life. This was love. His lips raced over her until she was a mass of nerves and need. Recklessly she dragged his mouth back to hers and drove them both toward delirium. His hands were everywhere, pressing, bruising, exciting. With her breath hammering in and out of her lungs, she began to tremble.
His mouth was buried at her throat. The taste of her had seeped into him, and now it was all he knew, all e wanted to know. She was shuddering. Over and over, beneath his own, her body shook. Jake dug his fingers into the dirt as he fought to drag himself back. He’d forgotten what he was. What she was. Hadn’t he proven that by nearly taking her on the ground? He heard her soft, breathless moan as he rolled away from her.
She was dizzy, dazed, desperate. With her eyes half closed, she reached out. The moment she touched him, he was moving away, standing.
“Jake.”
He felt as though he’d been shot, low in the gut, and would bleed for the rest of his life. In silence, he smothered the fire and began to break camp.
Sarah suddenly felt the cold, and she wrapped her arms around herself. “What’s wrong?”
“We’ve got to ride.”
“But…” Her skin still tingled where his hands had scraped over it. “I thought…that is, it seemed as though…”
“Damn it, woman, I said we’ve got to ride.” He yanked a duster out of his saddlebag and tossed it to her. “Put that on.”
She held it against her as she watched him secure his saddlebags again. She wouldn’t cry. Biting her lip hard to make sure, she vowed she would never cry over him. He didn’t want her. It had just been a whim. He preferred another kind of woman. After dragging the duster around her shoulders, she walked to the horse.
“I can mount,” she said coldly when he took her arm.
With a nod, he stepped back, then vaulted into the saddle behind her.
Chapter Eight
The crack of the rifle echoed over the rock and sent a lone hawk wheeling. Sarah gritted her teeth, cocked the lever and squeezed again. The empty whiskey bottle exploded. She was improving, she decided as she mopped her brow and reloaded. And she was determined to get better still.
Lucius wandered over, Lafitte dancing at his heels.
“You got a good eye there, Miss Sarah.”
“Thank you.” She lowered the rifle to give the pup a scratch. Jake was right. He was going to be a big one. “I believe I do.”
No one was going to have to rescue her again, not from a rattlesnake, not from Apache marauders, not from the wrath of God himself. In the two weeks since Jake had dropped her, without a word and apparently without a thought, on her doorstep, she’d increased her daily rifle practice. Her aim had sharpened a great deal since she’d taken to imagining that the empty bottles and cans were Jake’s grinning face.
“I told you, Lucius, there’s no need for you to watch my every move. What happened before wasn’t your fault.”
“I can’t help feeling it was. You hired me on to keep a look out around here. Then the first time my pants’re down-so to speak, Miss Sarah-you’re in trouble.”
“I’m back now, and unharmed.”
“And I’m mighty grateful for it. If Jake hadn’t just ridden up…I’d have tried to get you back, Miss Sarah, but he was the man for it.”
She bit back the unkind remark that sprang to mind. He had saved her, had risked his life to do so. Whatever had happened afterward couldn’t diminish that.
“I’m very grateful to Mr. Redman, Lucius.”
“Jake just done what he had to.”
She remembered the knife fight with a shudder. “I sincerely hope he won’t be required to do anything like it again.”
“That’s why I’m going to keep a better eye on you. I tell you the God’s truth now, Miss Sarah, worrying after a woman’s a troublesome thing. I ain’t had to bother since my wife died.”
“Why, Lucius, I never knew you’d been married.” “Some years back. Quiet Water was her name. She was mighty dear to me.”
“You had an Indian wife?” Wanting to hear more, Sarah sat down on a rock, spreading her skirts.
He didn’t talk about it often, at least not when he was sober. But he found he was making himself comfortable and telling his tale. “Yes, ma’am. She was Apache, one of Little Bear’s tribe. Fact is, she’d’ve been some kind of aunt to him. I met her when I’d come out here to do some soldiering. Fought Cheyenne, mostly. That would have been back in ‘62.
Didn’
t mind the fighting, but I sure got tired of the marching. I headed south some to do a little prospecting.
Anyways, I met up with John Redman. That was Jake’s pa.”
“You knew Jake’s father?”
“Knew him right well. Partnered up for a while. He and his missus had hit some hard times. Lot of people didn’t care much for the idea of him being half-Apache.” With a little laugh, he shrugged. “He told me once that some of his tribe didn’t care much for the idea of him being half-white. So there you go.” “What kind of man was he?”
“Hardheaded, but real quiet. Didn’t say much less’n you said something first. Could be funny. Sometimes it wouldn’t occur to you for a minute or two that he’d made a joke. He was good for a laugh. Guess he was the best friend I ever had.” He took out his bottle and was relieved when Sarah said nothing. “John had in mind to do some ranching, so I lent a hand here and there. That’s how I came to meet Quiet Water.”
Casually Sarah pleated her skirt. “I suppose you knew Jake as a boy.”
“I’ll say I did.” Lucius let go a whistling laugh.
“Tough little cuss. Could look a hole right through you. Ain’t changed much. He was spending some time with his grandma’s people. Would’ve thought he was one of them then, ‘cept for the eyes. Course, he wasn’t. They knew it and he knew it. Like John said, it’s hard not being one or the other. I used to wonder what would’ve happened if Quiet Water and me had had kids.”
“What happened to her, Lucius?”
“I had gone off looking for gold.” His eyes narrowed as he stared off into the sun. “Seems a regiment rode through early one morning. Some settler claimed his stock was stolen, and that the Apaches had done it. So the soldiers came in, looking for trouble, hating Indians. Killed most everybody but those who made it up into the rocks.”
“Oh, Lucius. Lucius, I’m so sorry.” Unable to find words, she took both his hands in hers.
“When I come back, it was done. I was half-crazy, I guess. Rode around for days, not going anywhere. I guess I was hoping somebody’d come along and shoot me. Then I headed to the Redman place. They’d been burned out.”
“Oh, dear God.”
“Nothing left but charred wood and ashes.”
“How horrible.” She tightened her grip on his hands. “Oh, Lucius, it wasn’t the soldiers?”
“No. Leastwise they weren’t wearing uniforms.
Seemed like some men from town got liquored up and decided they didn’t want no breed that close by. John and his missus had had trouble before, like I said, but this went past hard words and threats. They started out to burn the barn, raise hell. One of them started shooting. Maybe they’d meant to all along, there’s no saying. When it was over, they’d burned them out and left the family for dead.”
Horror made her eyes dark and huge. “Jake. He would have been just a boy.”
“Thirteen, fourteen, I reckon. But he was past being a boy. I found him where he’d buried his folks. He was just sitting there, between the two fresh graves. Has his pa’s hunting knife in his hands. Still carries it.”
She knew the knife. She’d seen it stained with blood, for her. But now all she could think of was the boy. “Oh, the poor child. He must have been so frightened.”
“No, ma’am. I don’t believe frightened’s the word. He was chanting, like in a trance the Indians sometimes use. War chant, it was. He figured on going into town and finding the men who killed his folks.” “But you said he was only thirteen.”
“I said he was past being a boy. Best I could do was talk him out of it for a time, till he learned to handle a gun better. He learned mighty fast. I ain’t never seen a man do with a gun what Jake can do.” Though it was hot out, she rubbed the chill from her arms. “Did he…go back for them?”
“I don’t rightly know. I never asked. I thought it best we move on until he had some years on him, so we headed south. Didn’t know what to do for Mm. Bought him a horse, and we rode together awhile. I always figured he’d hook up with the wrong kind, but Jake was never much for hooking up with anybody. He’d’ve been about sixteen when we parted ways. Heard about him off and on. Then he rode into Lone Bluff a few months back.”
“To lose everything that way.” A tear ran down her cheek. “It’s a wonder he’s not filled with hate.”
“He’s got it in him, but it’s cold. Me, I use the bottle, wash it away now and then. Jake uses something in here.” He tapped his temple. “That boy holds more inside than anybody should have to. He ever lets it out, people better stand back.”
She understood what he meant. Hadn’t she seen it, that flat, dangerous look that came into his eyes? That expressionless stare that was more passionate than fury, more deadly than rage.
“You care for him.”
“He’s all I got that you might call family. Yeah, I got an affection for the boy.” Lucius squinted over at her. “I figure you do, too.”
“I don’t know what I feel for him.” That was a lie. She knew very well what she felt, how she felt. She was even coming to understand why she felt. He wasn’t the man she had once imagined she would love, but he was the only man she ever would. “It doesn’t matter what I feel,” she said, “if he doesn’t feel it back.”
“Maybe he does. It might be hard for him to say it right out, but I always figure a woman’s got a sense about those things.”
“Not always.” With a little sigh, she rose. “There’s work to be done, Lucius.”
“Yes’m.”
“There is one question. What have you been doing in the mine?”
“The mine, Miss Sarah?”
“You said yourself I have a good eye. I know you’ve been going in there. I’d like to know why.”
“Well, now.” Fabricating wasn’t Lucius’s strong suit. He coughed and shifted his feet and peered off at nothing. “Just having a look around.”
“For gold?”
“Could be.”
“Do you think you’ll find any?”
“Matt always figured there was a rich vein in that rock, and when Jake-” He broke off.
“When Jake what? Asked you to look?”
“Maybe he might have suggested it sometime.”
“I see.” Sarah looked up to the top of the ridge. She had always wondered what Jake wanted, she thought, her heart shattering. Perhaps she knew now* Gold seemed to pull at the men she loved. “I have no objection to you working the mine, Lucius. In fact, I think it’s an excellent idea. You must let me know if you require any tools.” When she looked back at him, her eyes were as cool and hard as any man’s. “The next time you ride into town, you might mention to Jake that Sarah’s Pride is mine.”
“Yes, ma’am, if you’d like.”
“I insist.” She looked toward the road. “There’s a buggy coming.”
Lucius spit and hoped it wasn’t Carlson. As far as he was concerned, the man had been too free with his visits to Sarah in the past few weeks.
It wasn’t Carlson. As the buggy drew closer, Sarah saw it was a woman holding the reins. Not Liza, she realized with a pang of disappointment. The woman was dark and delicate and a stranger to her.
“Good morning.” Sarah set the rifle against the wall of the house.
“Good morning, ma’am.” The young woman sat in the buggy and sent Sarah a nervous smile. “You sure live a ways out.”
“Yes.” Since her visitor didn’t seem in a hurry to alight, Sarah walked to the buggy. “I’m Sarah Conway.” “Yes, ma’am, I know. I’m Alice. Alice Johnson.” She gave the puppy a bright, cheerful smile, then looked at Sarah again. “Pleased to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too, Miss Johnson. Would you like to come in for some tea?”
“Oh, no, ma’am, I couldn’t.”
Baffled by Alice’s horrified expression, Sarah tried again. “Perhaps you’re lost?”
“No, I’ve come to talk with you, but I couldn’t come in. It wouldn’t be fitting.”
“Oh
? Why?”
“Well, you see, Miss Conway, I’m one of Carlotta’s girls.”
Carlotta? Wide-eyed, Sarah looked her visitor over again. She was hardly more than a girl, a year or more younger than Sarah herself. Her face was scrubbed clean, and her dress was certainly modest. As Sarah stared, thick lashes lowered over her dark eyes and a blush rushed into her cheeks.
“Do you mean you work at the Silver Star?”
“Yes, ma’am, for nearly three months now.”
“But-” Sarah swallowed the words when she saw Alice bite her lip. “Miss Johnson, if you’ve come to see me, I suggest we talk inside. It’s much too hot to stand in the sun.”
“I couldn’t. Really, it wouldn’t be fitting, Miss Conway.”
“Fitting or not, I don’t wish sunstroke on either of us. Please, come in.” Leaving the decision in the hands of her visitor, Sarah walked inside.
Alice hesitated. It didn’t feel right, not when Miss Conway was a real lady. But if she went back and couldn’t tell Carlotta that she’d done what she’d been sent for, she’d get slapped around for sure. Carlotta always knew when you lied. And you always paid for it.
Sarah heard the timid footsteps as she put water on to boil. Before she could turn and offer Alice a seat, the girl was bubbling.
“Oh, my, isn’t this pretty? You’ve got a real nice place here, Miss Conway. Curtains and all.”
“Thank you.” Her smile was full and genuine. It was the first time she’d had company who had thought so. “I’m more and more at home here. Please, sit down, Miss Johnson. I’m making tea.”
“It’s real kind of you, but I don’t feel right, you giving me tea. It ain’t proper.”
“This is my house, and you’re my guest. Of course it’s proper. I hope you’ll enjoy these cookies. I made them only yesterday.”
With her fingers plucking nervously at her skirt, Alice sat. “Thank you, ma’am. And don’t worry. I won’t tell a soul I came in and sat at your table.”
Intrigued, Sarah poured the tea. “Why don’t you tell me what brought you out to see me?”