To Kiss a Texan

by Jodi Thomas

  She put the key back in the lock and twisted it as she’d seen the preacher do. Next, she tried the door. Locked. Then she twisted the key again and opened the door.

  The hall was quiet.

  Allie slowly closed the door and turned the key once more. She wasn’t being locked in. This time she locked the world out.

  Without taking her eyes away from the door for more than a moment, she sat on the floor and lowered the tray of food to her lap. For the first few bites, she scooped the food with her fingers. When the hunger grew more under control, she picked up the fork. Deliberately she stabbed for each bite. The fork felt strange in her hand, but not totally foreign. Halfway through the meal, she slowed enough to taste. Good, she thought. Very good. The tiny loud woman might wear war paint, but Adam had been right: Rose was a cook.

  When the food was gone, she drank the milk. Wiping her mouth on the back of her arm, she pushed the tray aside and returned to the door, testing the lock once more.

  Satisfied she was safe, Allie removed the cape Nichole had given her. She laid it next to the garments. Her hand reached for the white clothing then paused.

  Allie pulled her fingers back, not allowing herself to touch the gift of clothing. It was spotless. She couldn’t bare to dirty it with her touch.

  Moving away from the bed, she noticed the tub once more. Timidly, she lowered her fingers into the warm water, washing away the crumbs of her meal and weeks of grime.

  An inch at a time, she lowered her arms. It felt so good. Suddenly the filth covering her was suffocating. She’d had to use all her energy to stay alive. There had been so much more to think about besides getting enough water to bathe. But now she could wait no longer.

  She pulled off her dress and slipped into the tub, lowering until water covered her. She stayed beneath the surface for as long as she could. When she finally came up for air, mud dripped off her hair.

  With a war cry, Allie grabbed the soap beside the tub and began to scrub. An hour later, she stood and stepped from the now cold water. She’d used all the soap and only hoped the people of this place had more. Full and clean, she wasn’t nearly as frightened as she had been.

  Proudly, she crossed to the clothing on the bed and touched it. Her fingers left no stain. She pulled the cotton over her shoulders and fought with the buttons at her throat. Then, she lifted a brush from the table and began pulling it through her hair. By the time she’d finished the brush was full of hair and her scalp hurt, but her long hair hung in a ripple of waves down her back.

  She examined her clothing. Night clothing, she guessed. Allie wished she had something more to leave in, but this had been a gift. If she took anything else it would be wrong. Besides, she had clothes hidden in the cave deep in the hill country and this night clothing would be far better than the thin dress she’d been living in for weeks. The cape would keep her warm enough. With Wes’s horse, she could be back at her cave in three, maybe four days. The cotton would last until then.

  Carefully, she lifted the dirty dress and moved to the stove in the corner of the room. The iron fireplace was small, probably putting out only enough warmth for the room on cold nights. She stuffed her ragged clothing into the opening. The dress would be fuel. She would not save it, or any memory of wearing it. The days of being trapped in the cage must be pushed away.

  It was time to go.

  Looking over the knives, she selected two and placed them in a bag she made from Rose’s apron. They were all a gift from Adam, but she’d take only what she needed. She had done what she’d planned to do; there was no need to stay. She’d brought Wes to his people. And they’d paid her back most kindly. But if she didn’t leave soon, the preacher would find her, or the Rangers. They’d put her back in a cage.

  Allie turned the key and unlocked the door. Then she pulled the key from the lock and placed it in her bag. The key had been the greatest gift.

  She silently moved through the house. It would be dawn in a few hours. Everyone slept. She thought through a plan as she crept along the hallway.

  Maybe it was being around these people, hearing their way of talking, or maybe it was the food or even the bath, but the memories of a time long ago flickered in her mind as she picked her way carefully.

  She remembered a boy, only slightly taller than her, pulling her through the fields as he’d screamed the words that ran through her mind now. ‘‘You’ve got to have a plan, Allie, if you’re going to stay alive.’’

  Well, she had a plan now.

  As she slipped into the room where she’d sat by the fireplace, memories flooded back from a time long buried. She and the boy had run until she’d tasted blood as she breathed. Shots shattered the morning air and black billowing smoke rose from the barn and screams seemed to come from all directions. The boy had been trying to make it to the trees, which grew too thick together for horses to follow them.

  Allie forced herself into the present as she moved silently past the doctor, who slept soundly in a chair by the fire. She tiptoed to Wes’s side and looked down at him. He slept on his side, facing away from the fire so that only the part of his face without the scar showed.

  In sleep, he didn’t look nearly as frightening. With his face relaxed, he looked younger. His jawline was strong and true. She’d done right, she thought. He had been helping her when he’d opened the cage. Now, by bringing him here, she’d helped him.

  Carefully, she swept the dark brown hair from his forehead. It was really too bad he was dying, for he must be a good man. She wondered why the woman back in Denton had turned her face away and had her men beat him. If Allie ever had such a man, she would not turn away. He had the strong features of a warrior.

  She moved her fingers through his hair, knowing she’d never have a man look at her the way this one had looked at the lady in Denton. His eyes told everyone that all his hopes and dreams were riding on her. He looked at the woman as though he valued nothing higher.

  Allie blinked away a tear. No one would ever look at her like that. She knew what she was. She’d heard it said in more than one language. She was a ‘‘throwaway woman.’’ Of no value. Of no worth.

  She fought down the tears. Not worth feeding when the winters are hard, she thought. Not worth saving when her mother ran with a baby in her arms and left Allie. Not worth loving and protecting by anyone. She’d fought with the dogs enough times for scraps to know what she was.

  The days and nights of no sleep suddenly caught up with her. She leaned close against the stranger and rested her head on his pillow.

  His warm breath brushed her wet cheek.

  The memories of the boy who’d run with her returned. He’d fallen before they reached the trees. Allie remembered being afraid to go on without him. He’d told her to have a plan, but she’d been too small and frightened to think of one. She’d curled beside him and smelled the blood dripping from his body. He hadn’t moved, not even when a Comanche yanked her up by one arm and draped her over his horse. The boy hadn’t helped her or even cried out when the brave rode away with her as a prize.

  Allie rubbed her eyes on her sleeve and lifted the blanket covering Wes. She was too tired to plan now. All she wanted to do was sleep. No one would ever know if she lay beside this man called Wes. For a few hours, she could pretend she had someone looking out for her. Someone valuing her. Someone caring for her as she slept.

  She slipped in beside him. The heat of his body took away the chill of the night. She lay an inch away, not touching, but close enough to feel his breath on her cheek once more.

  Allie closed her eyes. No one would see her here between this man and the windows. She’d sleep next to his warmth until first light, then disappear.

  Tomorrow she’d follow her plan.

  FIVE

  WES BECAME AWARE OF HER SOMEWHERE DEEP IN sleep, more on a primal level than on a conscious one. A feeling born basic into the soul of a man, even though layers of civilization concealed it. A need to protect, to shelter, to hold, reacted in
his dreams as strongly as reality.Ignoring the pain from his wound, he moved his arm over her, curling her into the protective length of his lean body as he pulled her close. When her back rested against his chest, he felt a heartbeat that matched his own, and the pain passed, allowing him a deeper sleep. Her nearness began to heal him.

  With the first light of dawn, she stretched. Half asleep, Wes opened his eyes to find a stranger curled beside him.

  ‘‘Good morning,’’ he mumbled for lack of anything better to say. Dreams and consciousness battled in his mind, for he had no idea who she was. Yet she seemed a part of him. ‘‘Did you sleep well?’’ He didn’t want to admit that this wasn’t the first time he’d awakened without remembering a lady’s name who slept next to him.

  Her hair covered the pillow in waves of golden brown. He couldn’t resist rolling his head slightly so that it brushed his cheek. The smell was fresh and clean. The feel, soft and warm.

  She twisted slightly to face him. In so doing, her breasts brushed against his outstretched arm. Full, rounded breasts. Not so large to be bothersome, but big enough to enjoy caressing, he thought.

  Wes closed his eyes in the pure joy of feeling her against his skin with only a light cotton gown to cover her. If she felt so good just touching his arm, he wasn’t sure he could endure the pleasure he might have closing his hand over her flesh. And nothing would have made him forget such an enjoyment. Whoever this woman was, she wasn’t someone he’d made love to.

  ‘‘I must be dead,’’ he whispered as he moved his face against her hair once more. ‘‘I remember thinking I’d die last night. Now it’s happened. I can’t reason why I dreaded passing so, if you are my heaven.’’

  She didn’t answer but placed her fingers lightly against his throat, as if testing his theory.

  Wes laughed and opened his eyes once more. The makeshift bed they shared was hard as a table and had been placed in front of tall windows. Her hair caught the first gold of the sun. It took Wes several seconds to force his gaze to her face.

  Bright blue eyes met his stare. Blue eyes!

  Slowly, as if rising through water to the surface, he saw her. Her small shoulders, hardly big enough to be a full-grown woman’s. A bruise beneath her eye and another running along her throat. The white lace of her gown stood in sharp contrast to the deep purple mark at her collar.

  He gently moved his fingers from her elbow to her hand at his throat and raised her arm slightly. Then he knew who she was, for the bruises of her chains were deep along her wrists.

  As he put the pieces together in his mind, he knew she realized his memory of her had returned, for she pulled away. The beautiful woman whom he’d awakened with now lowered her head and raised her arms in defense as she slipped from his side.

  Though he wanted her to stay, Wes didn’t try to stop her. The dirt might have been removed, but the poor creature he’d tried to save had returned. She moved into the cornered space between his bed and the bay window. Her wild blue eyes darted for an escape. He hadn’t the heart to reach for her against her will. Her stare was once more layered in fear and panic. She reached for a cape and pulled it about her shoulders as though the material would somehow make her vanish.

  ‘‘Wait!’’ He wondered if she could understand anything he said. ‘‘I’m not going to hurt you.’’ How could this woman who looked like pure paradise at dawn be watching him as though she thought him from the depths of hell?

  With trembling hands, she fished into the knot of cloth she carried and drew a knife. The blade blinked bright in the morning light. She pointed it toward him with the butt of the weapon against her middle, as though she’d use the force of her entire body to run him through if she must.

  He swung his legs to the floor on the far side of the bed. He knew he still penned her in, but hoped that by increasing the distance between them, she’d feel less threatened.

  Slowly, he reached for a shirt at the end of his bed as he glanced around. Somehow this creature had managed to get him to Adam, which told Wes that there was a good chance she understood at least part of what he’d said last night. Judging from his bandaging, Adam had done the usual grand job of patching him up.

  ‘‘Thank you,’’ he whispered, ‘‘for bringing me here. You saved my life.’’

  She nodded slightly. A quick, tiny nod he would have missed if he were not studying her so closely.

  ‘‘I’m in your debt.’’ He meant his words to be kind, but he’d had little practice being gentle. He could see her shaking beneath the cape as if fearing he’d murder her at any moment.

  ‘‘Do you have a name I can call you?’’ Wes tried to ease the tension.

  She stared at him, her knuckles still white around the knife.

  A noise sounded from somewhere beyond the hallway and he watched her panic grow.

  Wes reached for his holster and strapped on his Colt. ‘‘Don’t worry. You’re safe here.’’ He only hoped he spoke the truth. If the preacher had asked before trailing him, a few of the folks in Denton could have told him where Wes’s brothers lived. If Wes had had any other choice, he’d have stayed clear of Adam and Daniel. But last night he’d been out of options.

  He could tell by the way she watched him arm himself that she didn’t believe him. He couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever had the luxury of feeling safe in her life.

  ‘‘Adam!’’ a man’s voice shouted from the hallway. ‘‘Adam. Nick. Anybody here?’’

  Wes relaxed. ‘‘In here, Daniel,’’ he answered as Adam jerked awake with the sudden noise and unfolded from the chair by the fireplace.

  A huge man suddenly framed the doorway, and Wes thought he could feel the woman’s fear as thick as smoke between them. Her gaze darted from the doorway to Adam’s sudden rise from sleep, to Wes, as though now her problems had tripled.

  ‘‘Wes, I was hoping you’d be here.’’ Daniel took a step into the room, then froze when he saw the woman. ‘‘Then it’s true? You did kidnap a girl from Denton?’’

  Wes shrugged, unwilling to deny the truth. ‘‘News travels fast.’’ He motioned from the woman to Daniel. ‘‘Kidnapped woman, I’d like you to meet my younger brother, Daniel McLain. He’s a blacksmith on weekdays and a preacher on Sundays.’’

  She took the news with a shudder as though Wes had said Daniel was a killer on Sundays.

  Wes quickly nodded toward Adam, who was still rooted by the chair. He had never lived fearing enemy attack as Wes had, so he woke up more slowly.

  ‘‘I assume you met Dr. McLain last night, since you got me safely here, so you know the whole family now.Seems like whenever trouble’s around, we McLains always manage to find one another.’’

  Daniel took a few steps toward her, then stopped when the glint from the knife she held blinked in his eyes. He raised a questioning eyebrow to Wes.

  ‘‘She doesn’t talk,’’ Wes answered the unasked question. ‘‘I don’t know if she can. The man in Denton seemed to think she couldn’t. Despite the knife, she hasn’t hurt anyone that I know of.’’

  He looked toward Adam for more news, but Adam only shrugged. Then the doctor straightened his clothing and added, ‘‘You really shouldn’t be up, Wes. As your doctor, I must insist—’’

  ‘‘I’m fine,’’ Wes snapped, always resenting his brother’s advice. Adam was the only doctor Wes would let touch him. But as soon as he could stand on his own, stand he would. No younger brother would treat him like a frail old maid.

  Daniel slung his blond hair from his eyes and looked at the woman behind Wes with his head tilted slightly. ‘‘She doesn’t seem all that friendly toward you, Wes. Did she come willingly?’’

  Wes rubbed his forehead as if trying to remember. ‘‘She came willingly enough from the cage they had her in. They were using her as the savage for a revival. You know the kind of service. I couldn’t stand the thought of her being paraded around to fill the preacher’s pockets. So I took her out of the cage. I was shot as we rode out. She managed t
o get me to Adam.’’

  Daniel raised both eyebrows as he glanced once more at the knife in her hand.

  Wes shrugged. ‘‘She just doesn’t face mornings well, I guess.’’ He moved a step away, allowing her more space, but still close enough to stop her if she tried to bolt. ‘‘How’d you know about us?’’

  Daniel ran his fingers through his sandy-colored hair in need of cutting. ‘‘Riders came by last night at the settlement. A preacher with the last name of Louis seemed to be the leader of the group. A Ranger rode with him and several hands from the Montago spread, by the markings on their mounts. As soon as they left, I headed here, knowing this is where you’d come if you were wounded.’’

  Daniel looked worried. ‘‘The preacher said he has the law for a hundred miles around searching for you. Most have orders to shoot first and not be overly worried if the woman gets in the way. He was ranting and raving as if volume alone could make everything he said true. He even claimed you’ll do her harm if she doesn’t kill you first.’’

  ‘‘All the harm was his doing,’’ Wes said. ‘‘I’m not sure I’d lay a hand on her even to stop her from running. She’s had enough, judging from the pain in her eyes and the bruises on her arms.’’

  Adam approached the woman. ‘‘The bruises along her neck are too deep to be new, but the law won’t take the time to notice that. Do you think she’d let me examine her?’’

  ‘‘I don’t think so,’’ Wes answered. ‘‘But I felt whelps on her back that probably need tending.’’

  Adam crossed to one of the white cabinets and began pulling supplies. ‘‘If she won’t let me touch her, maybe she’ll at least use the medicine herself. If any of the wounds are open, she could be in real danger.’’

  Wes leaned back against the bed, feeling the full load of what he’d done. No one would believe him against the preacher and, in truth, he did kidnap her. Four years as an officer in the Union army would probably do him more harm than good here in the South. Every cowhand who knew him to be a man of honor had died at the Red River. Vincent Edward had been his only friend who grew up in Texas, and he’d disappeared during the stampede. No one would probably ever find his body or be able to identify it.