by Cindy Nord
By God…no more.
His eyes misted at the irony and insights of a privileged Boston debutante, full of innocence and sparkle and sass. She’d driven home the bitter pill. And now he’d do all in his power to save Alma. His strength. His purpose. His every breath was now devoted to this woman.
He withdrew the cloth as more words tumbled into recall.
Look at you, Dillon Reed. Unkempt. Unapproachable. Will living in this manner bring your brother back?
Little had Alma known how that statement would transform his world, a fact he hadn’t understood until this night. She’d been correct. Life couldn’t be viewed as an all-wrong or all-right affair.
Through her…he saw that now.
The cloth came into focus. He leaned forward and touched his brow to hers. Fear swamped him, and he spilled out in a tattered prayer. “Please God,” he whispered, “don’t let her die…d-don’t take her away from me, too.”
Alma gave a shallow moan.
Heart pounding, Dillon dropped the cloth into the water, then grabbed the glass filled with medicine. Wrapping an arm behind her shoulders, he pulled her up. She gave another soft groan.
“I know…you’ve got a damnable hell burnin’ inside you now.”
She didn’t reply.
He hadn’t expected her to. Dillon pressed the glass to her lips. “Swallow for me, baby. Let’s wash that bastard away.”
As if she’d heard his plea, her lips trembled, and then she took several gulps. “That’s good, Alma. So good. Again, baby. Drink for me.”
She shuddered, and swallowed once more.
Satisfied with the amount of herbal mixture she’d taken in, Dillon eased her back against the pillow. He scraped his gaze down her flawless form. A spike of heat drove into his loins and tangled around his fears. Sonofabitch. With a sharp exhale he pulled the blanket across her naked body, and stood.
Jamming his hands through his hair, he glanced out the window. Purple streams cut through a blackened sky in a glorious arc, much the same as this woman had filled his burning emptiness.
Dawn.
Thank God.
She’s lived through the night. However pitiful a benchmark, at this moment he’d take every one he could get. He spat another oath. Never had he felt so helpless. Frustrated that she now suffered, furious the medicine hadn’t arrived at the fort, he began to pace.
With each step, his anger built. He couldn’t do one damned thing to change this outcome.
He still had nothing to offer her.
And she was still going to marry the earl. Unsure of what to do, but knowing he had to do something to keep from going crazy, Dillon fed a log to the fire.
Flames flared and the wood crackled. He tossed two more pieces on top. Sparks flew up, disintegrating into the chimney.
Much as did the time he had left with Alma.
He glanced at her. She seemed better, more relaxed, and from her even breathing, thankfully, had fallen asleep.
He, on the other hand, needed coffee. Black. Strong. A brew that would keep him awake as long as needed. After filling the pot with water and measuring the grounds, Dillon settled the hammered metal onto the flames. Within minutes, an invigorating smell filled the room to override the pungent tang of the shaman’s healing herbs.
He swiped a hand over his face, inhaling, just as a loud knock sounded at the door.
Has the medicine arrived? Praying so, he strode over and jerked open the weathered wood.
Doctor Logan, his face deeply-lined stood a pace away. “I-I just wanted,” the captain sputtered. “Or rather…h-how did Miss Talmadge fare the night?”
The hope for the medicine’s arrival faded.
Frustration shifted to anger.
Fare the night? She’s suffered like hell – and him, too, with her every broken breath.
Dillon shoved aside his tormented thoughts and focused on the fact the doctor had come to check. Guilt driven, yet he’d come. With a hard glare, he stepped back and gestured toward the bed. “She’s still alive, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“She’s no worse?” Surprise graveled his voice. “That’s amaz—I mean, that’s wonderful.”
A cool breeze slid past and Dillon’s jaw tightened. Damn, the last thing he needed was for Alma to catch a chill.
“Come on in.” He closed the door after the captain stepped inside and placed his medical bag upon the table.
“Want some coffee?” Dillon asked. He walked back to the fireplace. “I just made some.”
Logan tugged his stethoscope from the black leather case. “I’d like to examine her again.” He draped the instrument around his neck. “With your permission, of course.”
“Go ahead,” Dillon said with a dry voice. “You’ll find she’s better.”
He pulled a mug from his saddlebags near the hearth, squatted before the fire, and poured himself a cup of hot brew.
Several minutes later, Logan straightened and then faced him, a grin plastered across his face. “Well, Reed, if that offer is still open, I believe I’ll have that cup of coffee after all.”
Hope ignited as Dillon pulled out a second mug and filled the battered tin. He walked to the captain and handed him the full cup. “What’s your diagnosis this time, Doc?” he asked, his words curt.
Logan slipped his fingers through the handle, relief illuminating his eyes. “I’m purely mystified. Her lungs are much clearer and…I’m pleased to report her fever has broken.” His eyes lowered. “Looks like I owe you an apology.”
“You don’t owe me a damned thing,” he snapped, “but you might want to thank ol’ Toggy for sharing a backup remedy with us.”
“That I will.” He peered at Alma and shook his head in disbelief. “Guess there’s something to that redskin’s spiritual nonsense, after all.”
“Guess there is,” Dillon dryly stated.
***
Clothed in her undergarments, Alma brought the thin blanket around her shoulders and slid to the edge of the bed. Her bare feet dangled. The thought of just how close she’d come to death made her heart pound. Without Dillon, she wouldn’t have survived. This tall, broad-shouldered beast had blown into her life in all his angry arrogance, and had become her bridge between life and death. Light and Dark. Happiness and heartbreak.
Alma shuddered. She couldn’t imagine spending a single moment without this man in her life. Over their journey, however impossible, with each passing mile he’d ruthlessly charmed her, a man who’d yell at her as quick as send her a smile. However much she’d wanted him out of her life on that train platform back in Washington, he’d too, changed all of that.
However much she hadn’t prepared herself to become an independent woman who lived by her own rules, he’d also given her a new outlook. In fact, this long-haired desperado now held her every heartbeat in his hand.
Oh the irony of my life.
Alma smoothed her fingers over the tangled mess of hair falling past her shoulders. I must look a fright. If only she could reach her hairbrush. The fact Dillon had kissed her on the forehead this morning before he’d left lent hope she didn’t look as bad as she suspected.
More confident, her mind turned to the intimacy of the cabin. Alone. Her strength returning. What would the raw kisses they’d shared in the teepee feel like here in this bed, his naked body pressed against hers?
Will I ever know?
She sighed. Whether he felt the same, she wasn’t sure. And yet, the way he’d looked at her since the night she’d almost died, the kiss he’d delivered this morning, inspired belief his actions were more than a scout performing a duty. Warmth purled through her body. Would he ever let her close?
Probably not.
Regardless, before she met Lord Green again, her father must know of her change of heart.
Alma spotted her satchel near Dillon’s saddlebags, and she pushed against the mattress. A wobbly teeter brought her to her feet. Getting properly coiffured and dressed seemed the first step in achieving
her goal.
Shuffling steps took her to the table. So far. So good. She must hurry before Dillon returned with their breakfast.
Alma hobbled to her valise and withdrew her boar-hair bristle brush. With steady strokes, she worked through the tangles until her hair lay in a long, silky wave across one shoulder.
The door pushed open and Dillon stepped inside. He glanced toward the bed, then turned and spotted her. Face darkening, he stormed over, shoving the breakfast tray clutched in his hands to the table.
“What in the hell are you doing up?”
“Thank you for asking. I’m feeling so much better, Dillon. Really.”
“Three days ago you were almost dead.” He wrapped his hands around her waist and guided her to the chair, the anger on his face shifting to relief. “Sit down. Now.”
As she sat, she inhaled his scent, coffee and man, fresh and clean.
Powerful.
He scowled. “You still need your rest.”
Alma laughed. “I needed to get the knots out of my hair.” She pushed the brush up between them. “See?”
He tugged the piece from her hand and tossed it into her valise. “Damnit, Alma. You could’ve fallen.”
“But I didn’t,” she replied, pleased beneath his worry. He cared for her, of that she had no doubt. “And I’m much better. You saw to that.”
He sighed, and pointed to the rumpled berth where she’d been lying for nearly a week. “Look, you’ve still got two nights with that bed, and by God, you’re going to use it.”
“No, Dillon. Right now I’m going to sit in this chair and enjoy the breakfast you’ve thoughtfully brought me.” She pulled the tray closer and removed a dish. “I’ll take this one.”
The plateful of eggs, bacon, beans, and biscuits looked delicious.
He hesitated, then sighed. “There’s obviously nothing wrong with your appetite. All right, you can stay up, but only ‘til we’ve finished eating.” He pushed her chair closer to the table, stepped around to the other seat, and dropped into place.
The crackle of flames filled the cabin as they ate.
Unbidden, the memory of Dillon’s voice, husky with passion and prayer flooded her mind. Were the words she’d heard in her delirium real or imagined? Had he really whispered such endearments? Or was her mind playing cruel tricks with her heart?
Full, Alma pushed aside her empty plate, then slipped her palm atop his hand. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me,” she whispered, squeezing her fingers in-between his. “I can never repay your kindness.”
For a long moment he stared at her, then his eyes softened beneath a near-smile as he turned his palm upward. He interlaced her fingers with his own. “It’s what I do, Princess. Another reason why your uncle assigned me this job.” He cleared his throat, and the laugh that followed was rough. “He thinks I’m irreplaceable. Now it’s time you got back to bed.”
“No…no…just a moment longer. How about I walk around the cabin before I lie down?” Again their gazes met and held, and Alma wondered why the beat of her heart didn’t echo around the room.
“Fine.” He broke their handhold and shoved to his feet. “But, I’m helping you walk.”
She could barely contain her smile. “I’d hoped you would.”
“We’re back on the trail in two days, so you need this time to build up your strength,” he stated as they walked around the room. “And our final section goes through the desert.”
“When we first met, you said the desert is the most dangerous part.”
“It can be, if one’s not prepared.”
“Well, we’re prepared, aren’t we? After all, I’m a seasoned frontierswoman now.”
He laughed, and they turned away from the fireplace, heading toward the door. “That you are, Princess. But, the weather’s also been cooler this spring, so I don’t anticipate the heat to be as intense as normal. A stroke of luck I’m thankful for. Considering everything, we should just amble into Tucson with no more problems.” Paces from the door, he turned and guided her toward the bed. “All right, you’ve had enough walking. We’ll go again after supper.”
She lowered to the edge of the berth and maintained her hold on his arm. “If I promise to rest all afternoon, can we walk to the telegraph office later?”
Surprise darkened his eyes. “What?” he asked, his voice thin.
“I need to send father a message.” He started to protest, but she squeezed his arm. “This is so important to me. Please.”
He knelt, and studied her for a long moment. Finally, a half-smile crept across his handsome features.
“Look…” He peered deep into her eyes. “I’d probably walk you anywhere you wanted to go, Princess…except to a telegraph office here in camp.”
“W-Why?” she breathed, her heart racing.
“’Cause this post doesn’t yet have one of those I’m sorry to say. I know you want to let your father know of your sickness, but you’ll have to wait until we arrive at Fort Lowell.”
My sickness? Telling father that hadn’t even crossed her mind. “I see.”
“But,” he said, standing. “We can walk around camp later if we take things slow.”
“Yes, I’d like that, thank you.” She settled upon the pillow. With a sigh, her eyes slipped closed.
Steps grew quieter as Dillon moved across the room. Dishes clattered. “I’ll be right back,” he said.
“I’ll be here,” she answered with a wave.
A moment later the door clicked shut. Silence settled over her, and yet his scent, his remembered kisses, and the intensity he’d brought into her world, now flooded her mind.
Unable to stop the tears gathering in her eyes, she rolled to face the wall.
The absence of a telegraph office changed nothing. Even without her father’s blessing, she knew she would never marry the earl.
Not now.
Not ever.
Not when she loved Dillon Reed.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Five days of travel and near-silence rode with them all the way from Camp Apache. As Dillon sipped his coffee, he celebrated the coolness of the morning. By noon they’d be roasting beneath a hot June sun, baked as dry as pottery in a kiln. Regardless, he’d enjoyed the ever-changing landscapes from cool pine forests to high grasslands to the vast tracks of chaparral. Last evening they’d finally reached the outskirts of the desert’s great basin.
My life force.
He didn’t much fit-in anywhere, certainly not in this woman’s world. But at least here, in the desert, he knew his way.
Dillon tossed the remainder of his coffee, and sighed. By dinnertime, they’d ride into Tucson, and all of this…whatever the hell this is…would be over.
After dousing the fire, he helped Alma onto her horse. With her bustle and traveling bag secured behind the cantle, he swung onto his own saddle and headed southward. Hour after hour, as the sun arced across the sky, they trekked through creosote brush and manzanita. Then finally, in the far distance, a broken barrier of rock lurked on the horizon.
The Rincon Mountains.
And home – where the fort and the colonel had given a tormented young heathen his purpose. Yes, home drew ever closer. Relief warred with sorrow and weighed heavy on his heart.
When they arrived, he’d be home…and she’d be gone.
Forever.
The fierce ache swelled. Damn her for sashaying past his defenses, making him waltz again, making him care, making him want her. This whole tortuous mess was her fault. He’d kept her in line on more than one occasion. He’d been a bastard most times, but there’d been no rules of propriety required to do his damned job. Bring her to her fiancé safe and sound. And he was…just so that bastard could marry her and take away the only woman who’d ever gotten past his defenses and made him fall in love with her.
He should just…what? He muttered a curse. As if he had any influence to do a damned thing.
Tell her you love her, jackass.
And
what the hell good would that do? Other than make him look like a fool when she laughed and walked away. He couldn’t compete with an English earl or the security and prestige a royal title presented. Like she’d choose him, a man whose entire life’s worth was a pittance compared to a nobleman.
There was no changing this outcome, and he knew it.
Dillon reined his horse to a walk. Just tell her… Stop thinking. At least he had her company ‘til they arrived at the fort.
A blur of brown on the ground hopped past.
He grinned. Short of taking her to bed and showing her how she’d changed his world, he’d make sure every moment left with her would count.
“Kangaroo rat,” he said, pointing to the small creature scurrying from the path of his horse. “They can live their whole lives without a drop of water.” He pulled the gelding to a stop. “Unlike us, they get what they need from seeds and insects. Here,” he said, handing her his canteen. “Take a swig.”
“Thank you.” Three gulps later, she handed back the water.
Their fingers touched and her eyes brightened with awareness, forcing his breath to trip end over end out of his mouth.
Just tell her...
She lowered her gaze.
And he tightened his lips on a sigh. Furious with himself, he brought the vessel to his mouth, and tasted her. A gulp pulled the treasure in deeper.
She deserves someone better than me…
Frustrated with the entire situation, he secured the canteen, then scanned the desert. Sunshine streamed in heated waves before him, distorting the vast spread of thornscrub. Undergrowth crept across the ground between palo verde, scrappy Ironwood trees, and the yellow-blooming wands of the Ocotillo.
All types of cactus amassed in the sandy slopes and washes. A grin touched his mouth as he recognized the landscape. Anticipation grew. Like the land he loved, he loved Alma, too, and had waited so long to share this part of the journey with her.