by Sara Orwig
There was a wooden table in the center of the cabin, half a dozen stump chairs, two straight-backed wooden chairs, a plank floor, three windows, and two doors. Dan studied the high windows that had shutters. “Mary,” he asked softly, “do you know how to shoot?”
“No. I’ve never held a pistol.”
Dan was surprised because they were a scrappy family, and he gave her a crooked smile before she turned back to Michael. A gunbelt with a pistol hung on one bedpost near Michael’s head, and a rifle was propped against the wall beside the bed. Dan checked them both, saw that they were loaded. He moved the rifle.
“That’s Michael’s six-shooter.”
“Come here a few minutes and let me show you how to use it.”
Mary crossed the room to him and listened carefully, trying to concentrate, wondering why he would want her to learn to use a weapon. “Are you leaving?”
“No.”
“You should go back to your work, Dan. I’ll be all right.”
“Forget it. Look here. You load the pistol now.”
She did as he had shown her, and he nodded, looking satisfied. “Now, aim at the coffeepot,” he instructed. He moved behind her, steadying her hands. He wrapped his arms around her, holding his body close against hers, and she became intensely aware of him and his touch, his nearness. When he talked, his voice was soft and deep, his breath blowing lightly on her neck as he explained how to sight down the barrel. His voice changed and his words slowed.
“Hold as steady as you can and squeeze the trigger when you fire.” He was intensely conscious of her as he looked at the back of her slender neck. He wanted to lean the few inches between them and brush her nape with a kiss. The notion shocked him, and he stepped away abruptly. “We can’t practice, because I don’t want them to hear it. If there’s trouble, go for the pistol or rifle,” he said, taking the six-shooter from Mary. “Let me show you how to fire and load the Henry.”
He held the weapon in his hand, sighting down the barrel, studying the rifle. “Michael must like these. He’s taken good care of them.”
“I’ve seen him shoot blossoms off their stems. I don’t like fighting.”
“There are grown men who would dispute that statement,” he said dryly, glancing at her. She wore a worried frown and her gaze had returned to Michael. Instantly Dan’s sympathy was stirred.
“Mary, it’s going to take time for him to heal.”
“He’s like my child.”
“I know,” he said gently, thinking the man in bed looked older than she. “How old is Michael?”
“He’s nineteen, just a year younger than I am, but I raised him. And he wasn’t bigger until just a few years ago. It always surprises me how much he grew.”
He showed her how to use the rifle, once again becoming acutely conscious of her. She was slender, and the top of her head came to just below his shoulder. She smelled sweet, and he felt protective toward her, praying Michael survived. The rifle was heavy, but she handled it easily enough. He squeezed her arm, feeling the small knot of muscle.
“How such a little someone like you can manage rifles and clubs and skillets, I don’t know.”
“Look at Michael and Brian. I grew up scrapping with them,” she said, turning to look at him over her shoulder. He stood directly behind her, his arms around her to steady the rifle. Her face was only inches away, and looking down into her eyes made him yearn to wrap her in his arms and hold her, a notion that entered his mind quite often. She drew a deep breath, and both of them moved quickly, colliding.
He steadied her, and they gazed at each other solemnly. Mary was drawn to him, and the attraction was constantly growing stronger. His kindness and consideration made him irresistible.
“I sent a wire to Ta-ne-haddle,” Dan said in a husky voice, stepping away from her and setting down the rifle. “Maybe he’ll come.”
“Who’s Ta-ne-haddle?”
“A Kiowa friend who nursed my brother through something like this. He lives on a ranch outside San Antonio.”
“San Antonio? It would take a long time to get here. And he couldn’t find us anyway, unless you return to Denver to show him the way.”
“He can get here in a shorter time than you might think. And once in Denver, he’ll find the doctor and ask where we are. He’ll track us here.”
“Track? He can’t. It would be impossible.”
“You’re not accustomed to riding across country.”
“Then I hope he does get here, and quickly,” she said, moving back to her chair beside the bed.
“So do I,” Dan said under his breath, watching her. He brewed coffee and took Mary a cup.
For the next hour she sat quietly while he looked at their cabin and supplies, stacking kindling inside. If trouble came, he wanted as much as possible in their favor.
He cooked potatoes Dulcie had packed, and dried meat. “Come eat, Mary.”
“He hasn’t stirred,” she said. “I’m going outside to wash.”
“Carry the pistol.”
“You’re right here. I don’t need a pistol with you here.”
“There may be snakes,” he said, not wanting to worry her with his suspicions about the miners.
She picked up a gnarled stick from the kindling. “This will do.”
He would have preferred her to carry a pistol, but he nodded. As soon as she was back, he dropped the bolt in place on the back door. “Has he stirred?”
“No. Stop worrying so much. Doc Felton tended his cuts and told you what to do. He said don’t worry about feeding him today. Now, come eat so you have strength to care for Michael.”
She nodded and sat down at the table across from Dan. After a few bites, she shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”
“Honey,” he said gently, leaning forward to touch her arm lightly, “you need to stay strong, and you won’t if you don’t eat.”
The term “honey” made her instantly aware of him. It was the first time he had ever said it to her. She knew his feelings had been stirred out of pity for her because of Michael, but it made her tingle. Dan’s eyes were wide and full of concern as she gazed at him. And then she saw a flicker in their depths and a faint change in his expression. She felt caught in a spell, unable to look away, aware of a tension growing between them. She had felt the same thing sometimes with Silas, but not as strongly as now. She made an effort to shift her gaze, trying to think of Silas, but found it difficult to conjure up his image.
Michael groaned, and instantly she rushed to his side. “Michael! I’m here now, Michael.” She leaned over him while Dan approached the bed. “I’m here, Michael.”
His lashes fluttered and he gazed at her. “Mary?” he whispered.
“You have to get well, Michael.” Thick lashes came down over blue eyes.
“Maybe you can get a little broth down him,” Dan said, going back to the steaming pot on the hot embers in the hearth. He ladled out a small bowl and returned to hand it to Mary. “I’ll hold his head.”
Dan moved him carefully while Mary talked to him. “Michael, you must eat a little. Michael, it’s Mary. I’m here to take care of you.” His eyelashes fluttered and finally opened, and she began to spoon broth down him.
In a few minutes he turned his head. “No more,” he whispered.
“Michael…”
“Mary, he’s gone to sleep,” Dan said, lowering Michael to the pillows. “He ate a little broth, and it probably exhausted him. Let him sleep.”
She nodded and sat in the straight chair, taking up her vigil once more. Dan moved around the cabin, putting away dinner things, closing the shutters, and lighting lamps. He dropped the bars that secured each door in place.
“I’ll sleep over there,” Dan said, pointing to a rough-hewn bed of logs and hides. “Mary, if anyone comes to the door, wake me. I’ll sleep awhile, and then I’ll sit with Michael.”
“I’m fine, Dan. Sleep all night if you want.”
“Sure, Mary.” He stretched out fully cl
othed, his gunbelt hanging at his head where he could reach it in an instant. His rifle was propped along the wall beside Michael’s. He was asleep in minutes after stretching out on the bed.
During the night he stirred and sat up. Mary sat with her back to him in the chair.
“Mary,” he whispered, and she turned around.
“Go get some sleep now. I’ll sit with him.”
“I don’t need to.”
He placed logs on the fire and then crossed the cabin to her to take her hand and pull her up. “I know you’re exhausted,” he said gently, wanting to hold her, to try to comfort her so the worry would be gone. Instead he stepped back as if he needed to put more space between them. “Go on and sleep.”
“You’ll call me—”
“If there’s the slightest change or if he wakes. I promise.”
She nodded and moved away while Dan sat in the chair. He gazed at Michael and prayed he would survive. His breathing was regular and he lay still. In seconds Dan became aware of the sounds of Mary moving around. He glanced around and could see her bare feet and dainty ankles below the blankets he had hung on the rope, and he was mesmerized, as if he had never seen a woman’s feet before. He watched her moving around, saw the calico dress she had worn billow and settle around her feet. She stepped out of the dress, and his imagination ran rampant. A white cotton chemise fell, and he could picture Mary standing there bare-skinned, slender, desirable.
A white nightgown dropped down, almost hiding her ankles from view. She scooped up the clothing, and he watched her moving around and heard the rustle of covers.
He pushed back his chair and stood up, walking to the center of the cabin, making no effort to hide the noise of his boots on the plank floor. “Mary, do you have enough covers? Do you want my coat?”
“I’m fine. His Michael stirred?”
“No. Go to sleep. I’ll call you if he does.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.” He could picture her in bed, and in his mind, her head was still wound with braids. There was something so innocent and prim about her, yet—
His thoughts veered off the subject, and he felt guilty as he thought about Silas, remembering him sitting before a campfire and talking about Mary. Dan clamped his jaw shut and sat back down, but he turned to look again at the blanket, imagining Mary stretched on the bed. He sighed and shifted, propping his hands on his knees, staring at Michael O’Malley. The man was slashed badly, but the injuries didn’t hide the solid muscles, and Dan expected Michael to survive. The O’Malleys were tough, and this one looked like the toughest, strongest O’Malley of all. He ran with bad company, though, and Dan suspected Brian did as well. For the first time, he wondered if Brian’s disappearances from Denver might have something to do with Michael. He could be riding out to the mining camp.
Mary deserved better than she was getting from her father and brothers and Silas. Dan mentally swore. It was none of his concern what the men in Mary O’Malley’s life did. Yet he cared, and he acknowledged that he cared too much. He twisted again to stare at the blanket. Restless, he stood up and moved to put more logs on the fire, building up a blaze.
He poured a drink of brandy and sat back down in the chair. Time crept past, and Michael stirred and groaned.
“Water,” he whispered.
“I’ll get it, Michael,” Dan said, standing up and moving toward the blanket. He hated to wake her, and it seemed unnecessary, but he had promised. He heard the rustle of clothing or blankets before he called her name.
“Mary,” he said softly.
She pushed aside the blanket. Her eyes were round, her gaze going to Michael. “What’s wrong?”
“He wants water,” Dan said, his mouth becoming dry, barely able to get out the words. She stood in the flickering firelight in the white cotton gown that was buttoned to her throat. Her hair was down. It fell in a shimmering red cascade, wavy from the plaiting. The ends curled just above her waist, and it changed her appearance completely. He felt riveted to the floor, unable to move or breathe or stop staring. She was beautiful.
“Dart?”
“Yes?”
“Is something wrong?” Suddenly her face suffused with pink. “I didn’t bring my wrapper, I packed in such haste, but I figure you’ve seen lots of ladies’ nighties.”
He couldn’t stop the compelling urge to touch her hair, reaching out to stroke a silky lock.
She drew a deep breath. “Is Michael all right?”
“He asked for water. I’ll get it.”
She hurried past him to Michael. “He’s asleep again, Dan.”
“I’ll get a cup of water and set it beside the bed.”
“Mary,” Michael murmured hoarsely.
“I’m here, Michael.”
Dan handed her the cup of water and helped raised Michael so she could hold the cup to his lips. He drank slowly. Each swallow was an effort, and drops spilled over his jaw, which was covered in dark stubble where it wasn’t bandaged. And all the while her brother drank, Dan was aware of Mary, her slender hands holding the cup, the locks of flaming hair falling over her shoulders, and the top button at the throat of her white gown that was unfastened.
“I’ll get more,” Dan said when Michael drained the cup.
“No. I’m sleepy.” Michael closed his eyes and in seconds his breathing was even again. Dan felt his forehead.
“How is he?”
“Hot. Not too bad, though.”
“I can stay with him.”
“Go back to bed.” Dan stood at the foot of Michael’s bed. He picked up the cup and refilled it, and turned around. Mary stood beside the bed, watching her brother. She glanced at Dan and moved away, crossing the room to the fire.
“Now I’m cold. I want to get warm and then I’ll go to bed.” Her cheeks were flushed and she stared at the fire. “If you’re tired—”
“I’m fine,” he said without thinking about his answer. He ached to reach out and touch her hair. She held her hands toward the fire and glanced around at him.
Mary drew a sharp breath as she met his gaze. Men never looked at her the way Dan looked at her now, and it warmed her more than the fire.
“You’re beautiful, Mary,” he whispered, and her thoughts spun away. She stared at him, unable to move or breathe.
He reached out to touch her hair, the faintest touch, yet she seemed to feel it in the depths of her person. His gaze was riveted on hers, and a longing she had never known came over her. She wanted to reach for him. She wanted him to reach for her.
“Mary,” he whispered, tilting her chin up. She watched him, drawn by a pull that was as strong as chains. He stepped to her and she felt as if all the air in the room had suddenly been withdrawn. His arm slipped around her waist, and he leaned down. His lips were warm and soft as he brushed hers. His mouth settled on hers, parting her lips, and her heart pounded with his kiss.
Dan tasted her mouth, finding in her kiss a sweetness and fire he wouldn’t have dreamed possible. His arm tightened around her, and he felt her high soft breasts press against him. Her body was slender, her waist smaller than he had thought.
As his arm tightened, Mary’s hands rested against his chest. For just seconds she was lost in a storm created by Dan, pressing against him, clinging to his broad shoulders. Then she remembered.
“No!” She twisted away and moved back, horrified at how she had yielded to him so easily and forgotten Silas so quickly. “Silas!”
“Dammit, I know that,” Dan said, grinding out the words, his hands clenched into fists.
She turned and hurried out of sight behind the blanket. Dan wanted to stride across the cabin and throw back the blankets that hung on the rope. He wanted to haul her into his arms and kiss her for hours. He stared at the fire, his body burning. He swore, mentally berating himself, arguing in his mind that it was the isolation in the cabin, the frustration stirred by Louisa’s teasing, the shock of finding that Mary could be beautiful.
“It isn’t love,�
� he whispered aloud. “It can’t be.” He turned around to stare at the blankets. “Dammit, it isn’t!” His gaze shifted to Michael’s still form, and he swore softly again. The O’Malleys had turned his life upside down. They all caused him trouble, each and every one of them! His nerves were raw, his body aroused, and he wanted to pull on a coat and go striding out into the night, to move and work off the frustrations building in him, but he had promised to sit at Michael’s bedside so Mary could sleep. Mary asleep.
He picked up the brandy bottle and took a long drink, wiping his mouth and staring at Michael. “Damn you, Silas,” he said again, wishing he hadn’t crossed paths with the O’Malleys. He knew he wasn’t being fair, but he ached, and it was torment. And he was in love with Louisa Shumacher, about to have their engagement announced. I cannot love Mary O’Malley. I don’t and I won’t. I love Louisa, who is beautiful and exciting and doesn’t belong to my friend. Yet while he argued with himself, he thought of all the fun he had with Mary, of the fact that he could trust her with anything, ask her advice and expect a reasonable, intelligent answer.
Taking the brandy with him, he sat beside the bed and stared at Michael, willing him to get well fast so they could get the hell away from the mining camp. “Get well, dammit,” he whispered.
Mary lay shivering in the bed. Covers were piled on her, yet she couldn’t get warm. She tried to avoid thinking about what had just happened, yet her ears seemed to expand, listening to Dan move around the cabin. She heard scrapes and rustles and silence. “I’m going to marry Silas,” she told herself in her mind over and over, wishing she could sleep, or get warm, or forget. Silas. She tried to think of times with him, but now years separated her from those hours, and the memories had blurred. She tried to remember Silas’ kisses, tried to blot out what she felt, but she couldn’t erase the memories of Dan’s kisses.
She turned, huddled beneath a mound of covers, shivering. She felt a longing that she didn’t want to experience, remembering kisses that shouldn’t have happened.
“Get well, dammit,” Dan whispered, and Mary raised her head. She heard him and frowned, biting her lip. He was as unhappy over what had happened as she. She thought of Michael and closed her eyes in prayer.