The Judge and the Gypsy

by Sandra Chastain

  “But you pronounce your sentences anyway, heedless of the consequences, don’t you?”

  “It’s my job. And I do it because I’m a man who’s very tired of bad people doing bad things to good people.”

  “Sometimes good people do bad things to good people too. Don’t they?”

  “Yes, but not often, thank God.”

  This time Savannah couldn’t hold back a shiver.

  Rasch looked at his watch. It wasn’t even eight o’clock, but he knew that Savannah had to be tired from their long hike, and he knew, too, that she was cold, in spite of her protests to the contrary.

  “I’m about ready to turn in, Gypsy, how about you?”

  Savannah looked at the bedroll and the fire. She was certainly exhausted, and half frozen, and she couldn’t sit up all night. “Yes, I suppose. Shall I pile some more wood on the fire first?”

  “I’ll get another load before we turn in,” Rasch agreed cheerfully, too cheerfully. He felt the way he had once as a teenager when three of his buddies had convinced their girls to accompany them on a camping trip. The boys’ plans hadn’t been innocent, but after trying half the night to get up the nerve to talk the girls into sharing their sleeping bags, they’d chickened out at dawn and gone home, hungry, tired, and disappointed.

  “Good.” Savannah could have told him that she could forage for wood, build and maintain a campfire as good as he, but she was glad to have a few minutes away from him. He hadn’t sounded as if he’d enjoyed sentencing people. He probably never even knew that he’d been responsible for poor Tifton’s death. Well, sooner or later he’d know. Savannah would see to that.

  For now she badly needed to get some sleep. The day’s activities had left her nervous system in shambles. And it wasn’t just the cold that was making her shiver.

  “You ought to find yourself a bush while I’m gone,” the judge called out. “Then take off those clothes before you climb into that bag.”

  “What?” She couldn’t keep the incredulousness from her voice.

  “Well, it’s a long time until morning, and you never know about the bears.”

  Bears and bushes weren’t what was suddenly occupying Savannah’s mind. Take off her clothes? What did the man think she was, some kind of exhibitionist? Still, he had a point about the bushes, and she scurried to take care of the situation, dashing back to the fire by the time he returned. As Rasch dropped part of the wood on the fire and piled the rest nearby, she zipped open her bag and brushed off her feet as she stepped inside and sat down.

  “Suit yourself,” Rasch said casually, “but after you’ve hiked all day, even Gypsy clothes are sweaty, dirty. It isn’t healthy to sleep in them. Most campers sleep in sweatsuits, or—nothing at all.”

  He wasn’t emphasizing the “nothing at all” as a personal challenge. Intellectually she knew he was right. Emotionally she fought every thought that slid unbidden into her mind, every thought of Rasch Webber sleeping in the buff and herself lying naked beside him.

  “I’m not a person who sleeps nude,” she said, her voice taut as she fought the breathlessness that had attacked her vocal cords. She slid down in the bag and zipped herself inside. Certainly not now, not tonight, not with you.

  “The nymph on my balcony was nude.”

  “I was not—” The words just slipped out. Savannah could have bitten her tongue off. She waited for Rasch to say something, anything. But he didn’t. He just stared at her from where he was standing beside the fire. The flickering light threw shadows across his stern face, darkening gray eyes that seemed to bore holes through her. She hadn’t been nude. She’d been wearing a flesh-colored body suit.

  Savannah shivered and snuggled lower in the bag. He’s caught you in his trap like one of those criminals he deals with, she thought, and you can’t even begin to run.

  “Good night, Gypsy,” he finally said, forcing himself to look away, cutting off the tension that flashed between them like summer lightning.

  There was a rumble from somewhere deep in the mountains, and the sound came morose and eerie across the water. Rasch shook off the enticing thoughts plaguing him, thoughts of the beguiling dark-haired woman with Gypsy bells. It was time they both got some sleep, time they severed the connection that became more forceful with every touch.

  Rasch turned away from the fire and began to remove his clothes until he got down to his underwear and socks. He shoved them inside, then crawled into the small tent and into his sleeping bag. He didn’t have to look to know that Savannah had watched his every move. The burning sensation at the base of his skull said that she had. Long after he’d closed his eyes, the heat of her gaze still burned his skin.

  Four

  The fire died down. The water in Shadow Lake spilled over its dam and rippled away down the mountain. The sounds of the night creatures gradually filtered through the silence, timidly at first, then more boldly as they went about their routine.

  Rasch felt relaxed. He felt good. Though he wondered about his companion, why she had sought him out and what her true intentions were, he fell asleep with surprising ease. It was much later when the peppering of raindrops on his tent awakened him. He opened his eyes, startled for a moment before he became oriented. It was raining.

  Savannah! Rasch unzipped his bag and crawled to the front of his tent. By the sizzling embers of the fire he could see a hunched-up mass. She was sitting up, covered with her bedroll. So much for the good-weather forecast.

  “Come inside, Gypsy. I don’t want you to drown.”

  “I’ll be all right,” Savannah managed to say between chattering teeth.

  “You won’t be all right. Believe me, I’ve camped up here before. From the sound of this, it isn’t going to stop anytime soon. I promise you, there’s enough room in here for two.”

  Savannah wanted to argue, but she was too miserable to do it. Just because they shared a tent didn’t mean they had to share the same bag, she reasoned as she stood up and began to drag her cover with her.

  “Leave your bag outside, it’s wet.”

  “But—”

  A crack of lightning split the sky, and Savannah felt as if a garden hose were pouring water all over her. If the bag hadn’t been wet before, it was now. Thunder rolled down the mountain across the lake and ended in another flash of lightning over her head. She dropped the bag and scrambled into the tent, her knees on the warm inner lining of Rasch’s sleeping bag.

  Shivering, she crawled forward and slid as far into the bag, away from Rasch, as she could get. Still, when he lay back down, he was swamped with her damp skirt and petticoat.

  “Sorry, Savannah, but those wet clothes have to go. I can’t even close the bag. It’s me or your skirts, and this is my bag. Take them off.”

  “But surely you don’t expect me to sleep in here with you—without clothes?”

  “Why not? People have been doing it for centuries.”

  “But—but, I didn’t plan on—at least not yet. Oh!”

  Rasch almost chuckled when he heard what she’d said. Twice, under pressure, she’d given away details she hadn’t intended to. First that it had been she on his balcony and now that she had planned on sleeping with him—not now, but at some future date. He almost smiled, until he realized that she was trying to slide the skirt and petticoat off without getting out of the bag, and without touching him. But it was a futile attempt.

  “Here, let me help.” He reached under the bag and caught the waistband of her skirt. His fingers touched the soft inner flesh of her abdomen, and he felt her silent gasp. She was half frozen. With a quick motion he jerked the wet garments down and away from her feet, pitching them out of the tent.

  “Now the blouse.”

  “No. I mean, it isn’t too wet.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s damp, and I don’t want the inside of this bag to get wet. Our bodies will keep us warm.”

  “I just bet they will,” she said, anger beginning to override her chill.

  Rasch disregarded
her fury, and pulled the blouse over her head. It followed the skirt out of the tent. Then he drew Savannah back to the mat, sliding his long frame back inside, and began to fasten the bag.

  He’d been wrong about the skirt. Even with it gone, the bag still fought his efforts to zip it. It was a large bag, big enough for two, he’d thought, but it was obvious that the two people had to be very well acquainted.

  “Sorry about this, Gypsy, but we’re going to have to get closer, or this thing isn’t going to reach.”

  Savannah felt him inch nearer. She was lying on her side, ramrod-straight, her arms crossed over her breasts, trying desperately to keep her very breathing from forcing them to touch. By the time he’d zipped the bag completely, it didn’t matter; they were together, shoulder to thigh.

  “You’re frozen,” Rasch said as he turned on his side, drawing her back against his chest. He slipped both his arms around her so that her head was resting on one arm while he curved the other around her shoulder.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to get you warm.”

  “I’m warm enough.”

  “For an Eskimo, maybe. I don’t look forward to having a sniffling, bleary-eyed companion on this hike, which is just what’s going to happen if you catch a cold on our first night out.”

  “I don’t catch colds.”

  “And I don’t take my responsibilities lightly. I don’t know what you had in mind for this little venture, but if seducing me was part of the plan, this is your chance. If not, then let me warm you up so we can both get some sleep.”

  Savannah opened her mouth to protest, but the delicious sensation that flooded her body when he pulled her closer silenced her. He threw his leg across hers and began to massage her feet with his feet, her arm with his arm, and her face with his fingertips. The electric shock of his flesh against hers took away all thought of speech.

  Instead, she felt her traitorous body begin to respond, becoming aware of nerve endings returning to life with a shivery sensation that danced along her body like heat from a midday summer sun. Her face and neck tingled. She became aware of the hair on his legs brushing against her, of his left hand working its way across her rib cage. Delicious sensations surged through her, and she felt a primal yearning deep within her womanly recesses.

  This time it was Rasch who took a quick, shallow breath. “You aren’t wearing anything beneath that blouse.”

  “And you consider yourself a keen observer of people.” She was finding it hard to breathe. “I thought you knew.”

  Rasch was having breathing problems of his own, and that was minor compared with the other reactions of his body. “I didn’t. Ah, Savannah, it seems that I’m not as much in control as I thought. In lieu of taking a cold shower, maybe I’ll go out and check the fire.”

  “Don’t worry about the fire on my account,” Savannah said softly. “I’m getting warm, very warm.”

  “So am I, Gypsy. Now close your eyes and go to sleep.”

  “All right,” she agreed, feigning a yawn as she snuggled into the warm cocoon of his body. And then she felt his manhood, throbbing insistently against her bottom.

  So, the crusader’s body wanted hers. Good, that was a beginning. Thwarted passion was definitely a plus. He wanted to keep her warm. He was strung out with tension and eroding control. Good. She’d follow orders. She’d go to sleep and let him struggle with his honor; he certainly never had in court.

  Blatantly Savannah wiggled her derriere, pressing it against the evidence of his desire. “I think you’re right, Crusader,” she said drowsily. “We ought to get some sleep.”

  For the next half hour they lay, each held in check, waiting for some evidence that the other was sleeping. But it wasn’t happening. Every second was fuel for the smoldering embers of desire, until finally Rasch gave a loud groan and turned her over.

  “You aren’t asleep, and I can’t sleep either. We’ve got to do something about this, or neither one of us will be worth killing in the morning.”

  His lips captured hers with unexpected abandon. For a moment she responded then his last words echoed in her consciousness. Neither one of us will be worth killing in the morning. Worth killing! For a moment she’d forgotten what she’d set out to do.

  Letting Judge Horatio Webber make love to her might well be part of the outcome, but not when she was as emotionally overwrought as he—not yet. She had to make certain that the attachment was more than purely sexual if she was going to punish him for her brother’s death. She wasn’t about to let him make love to her before the time was right.

  Savannah shuddered and pulled away. “Sorry, Crusader, I’m not interested in some fling in the hay, or bag, as the case may be. I seem to be warm enough, and come morning you’ll be over this problem you have.”

  This time she finally managed to sleep. Whether it was the reminder of Tifton’s death that made her renew her pledge to avenge her brother, or sheer willpower, didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she slept.

  And eventually Rasch slept too. When he woke the next morning, his hand was cupping her breast possessively. In the pale morning light he could see her face, relaxed now in sleep. She was smiling slightly and moving ever so gently beneath his hand. He could tell that her breasts were full, her nipples generous buds, her body taut and well-muscled. No wasted flesh on this lady. No fear or pushing away this time.

  For a long moment Rasch let himself explore the softness of her skin, smell the elusive scent she’d identified as that of the tea olive blossom. He recognized the faintly permissive movements of her body pressing against his. She’d been wrong about the morning. He had no more self-control now than he’d had last night. If he didn’t get up and out, he was going to do something foolish like roll over on top of her and bury himself deep inside that responsive womanly body.

  He reached up and unzipped the bag, slipping away from the warmth of her flesh and being hit by the crisp, cool mountain air that followed a night of rain. He left the tent, carrying his clothes in his hands.

  Savannah groaned in protest, until she came awake and realized what she was doing. From the open flap of the tent she watched Rasch stretch in the morning sun. His body was spectacular—lean, strong, and masculine. There were scars on his back, old scars, and she wondered what had happened to him.

  He stared out into the early morning mist, a frown marring his handsome face, as if he were trying to make some decision that was distasteful. Then he pulled on his pants and a faded Harvard sweatshirt and moved out of her vision. For a few minutes she could hear him as he stirred the fire, then there was silence.

  Savannah stretched. Her body still felt warm—and more. After a night of sleeping in the crusader’s arms, she felt a banked heat simmering inside her. She contracted her muscles and felt a ripple of desire between her legs. Even in sleep their bodies had continued the connection. She was jolted by the knowledge that she wanted the crusader to make love to her. More than that, she needed it badly. And she wondered how she would get through the day without giving herself away.

  Beyond the campsite, in the shadow of the trees, Rasch forced himself to take a long, deep breath as he tried to relax. He felt her on his skin, smelled her even now, and he was so strung out that he couldn’t seem to slow his pulse. For most—hell for all—of the night as far as he could tell, he’d stayed hard, and that wasn’t changing.

  “Damn!”

  A chipmunk sat on a log watching him will his body to cooperate. The small animal tilted his little masked face and waited for a minute before cocking his ears and beginning to chatter in intense animation.

  Rasch didn’t talk chipmunk, but eventually he recognized the message of alarm and turned back to their camp. Gypsy had been right; there were more things in heaven and earth than he’d ever dreamed of. And one of them was back in the tent, waiting for him.

  The sound of bells filtered through his thoughts.

  He began to peel off his shirt.

  He kn
ew what he was doing was insane. He’d never before done anything that wasn’t carefully thought out and studied. But this morning Judge Horatio Webber didn’t care to deliberate. He only knew that he wanted this woman, whoever she was, whatever her own agenda.

  Rasch was halfway back to the campsite when he saw it—a very large black bear at the water’s edge. Rasch came to an abrupt stop. “Oh, God!”

  He’d joked about the danger of bears, but he’d never expected his warning to become a reality. Quickly he tried to formulate a plan. Nothing came to mind until he saw the bear swing around toward the fire, turning its head slowly back and forth as if puzzled or listening. The flap of the tent pushed open as Savannah crawled out.

  “No!” Rasch flung off his unlaced boots and broke into a run. “Savannah, don’t move!”

  The bear let out a threatening growl and jerked his attention away from Savannah and toward Rasch, who was waving his arms and yelling loudly.

  Savannah felt her blood plummet to her bare feet as she realized what was happening. Not five feet away was an enormous bear, standing upright like a human and swaying back and forth in confusion.

  On the other side of the fire the big, crazy man was trying to taunt the bear into coming after him. He was trying to save her life by drawing the animal’s attack. Around the edge of the lake she saw a cub loping merrily toward the judge. The bear cub’s mother was going to tear Savannah’s crusader apart. There’d been a time she’d almost wanted him dead—but not like this.

  “No!” Savannah tried focusing her concentration on the bear. She’d done it a hundred times at the circus, calming the excited animals when no one else could.

  But this bear was too excited to respond to Savannah’s telepathic message. The cub! Savannah turned her attention to the baby bear. With every ounce of her being Savannah channeled her mental impulses on the cub. Stop! Go away! Go away!

  Just as the mother bear came down on all fours to give chase to Rasch, the cub squealed and turned, heading around the lake in the opposite direction. While Savannah’s message to the mother met with a wall of resistance, the cub’s cry cut directly through the confusion. The large bear came to a swaying stop, unable to decide whether to take vengeance on the man or see to her baby. Another cry from the cub settled the question, and the mother bear changed course and lumbered after her frightened offspring.