Payton's Woman

by Marilyn Yarbrough

  Other passengers gathered around them in the commotion, but he waved them away. He led her to a bench and made her sit.

  She slumped over in the seat, buried her face in her hands, and cried in wretched sobs. He laid his handkerchief in her lap and stood in front of her without speaking until her weeping subsided.

  When her tears slowed, he sat beside her. He braced his elbows on the top of his thighs and clasped his hands together in front of his knees. His head bowed low.

  She placed the crumbled handkerchief on the bench between them. Her voice was barely audible when she spoke. “Now that you know I’m not going to jump into the bay and drown myself, you can leave.”

  He glanced at her face. The pain he saw tore him apart. Blotches of red marred her cheeks. Her eyelids were puffy, her lips twisted shut. “Is that what you really want? You want me to leave you alone?”

  She didn’t answer. That gave him a spark of hope. “I know you must hate me.”

  “Hate?” She shook her head. “I don’t know if that’s the word I’d use.”

  “It doesn’t matter what word—”

  “That’s why you were sending me away,” she said across his words. “It wasn’t about lack of money, or the added responsibility of a wife and baby. You didn’t want me to learn the truth.”

  “You’re right. I didn’t want you to know.”

  “Did you ever intend to tell me?”

  “Probably not.” He looked away from her scrutinizing gaze. “It was my feeble way of trying to protect you.”

  “Me?” she questioned. “It seems you were trying to protect yourself.”

  He shook his head. “However you feel about me, I didn’t want you feeling that way about your brother.”

  “I never knew him.” She covered her face with her hands. “Everything about him, his whole life, was a lie.”

  The urge to wrap his arms around her grew strong, but he resisted. He feared she hated him and wouldn’t tolerate his touch. “Your brother loved you. That wasn’t a lie.”

  She pulled her hands from her face. “I know he did, but everything else…I thought he was kind and gentle. Now I find he was nothing like that.”

  “He was all those things. You just saw the side of him he wanted you to see.”

  Her fingers skimmed over her arms as if searching for inked images of wild animals lurking beneath the sleeves of her gown. “He kept himself hidden from me just like he hid the tattoos that covered his body.”

  “He couldn’t very well tell his little sister about all the things he’d done while at sea.”

  For the first time, she looked at his face, and it appeared she searched for an answer there. “So he just lied about who he was?”

  “He didn’t lie. He was everything you believed him to be, but more. He was generous and kind. And he was brave. He saved my life and the lives of many others. When the seas were rough, he was the first to volunteer for watch. He gave the other men courage. In times of peril, he led them in prayer.”

  “Then why did he throw in with the likes of Dunbar?”

  He shrugged. “I can’t answer that.”

  “You mean, you won’t. You’re just trying to protect me again.” She wiped at her tears. “After my father died, Mother and I were strapped for money. We got jobs as housekeeper and maid. Reggie came home and found us working. He was livid.

  “I’d just turned seventeen and should’ve noticed then the depth of his personality. He demanded we quit working. Mother refused. They argued for hours. I’d never heard him raise his voice to her before, but she stood up to him. Perhaps she knew him far better than I.

  “Finally, she relented. We quit our jobs. A short time later he left for the sea, but he swore he’d send us money quickly. And he did.

  “The funny thing is, Mother put his money away for him, and the two of us went back to work cleaning other people’s houses.”

  They sat quietly for a long while. The crewmen pulled up the gangplank, black smoke billowed out of the stack, and the steamer drifted away from the dock.

  She leaned back against the bench. “I guess we should have gotten off when we had the chance.”

  He glanced at her face. She appeared calm, her tears had dried, and the red streaks marring her face had faded. He looked down at her hands that lay casually in her lap. Her fingers were unfurled, her hands no longer clenched into fists.

  The ship began its voyage up the river. Payton wondered how long before her seasickness would begin. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better.” She let out a long sigh. “I think I can accept Reggie for the way he was with all his faults and forgive him for the things he did.”

  His jaw went slack. He stared at her in stunned silence. She’d found it in her heart to forgive her brother, but he dared not ask her to do the same for him. He lowered his head and fixed his gaze on his boots.

  “I’ve been trying to figure out why Reggie wrote in his letter that Dunbar was responsible for his death.” She paused to take a deep breath. “The only answer I came up with was he didn’t want Mother or me blaming you. Perhaps if I’d read the rest of his letter, I would’ve understood more. The only conclusion I can make of all this is he didn’t hold you responsible for what happened.”

  The touch of her hand on his forearm quickened his heart. He glanced at her, but she peered straight ahead, her gaze directed at some object in the distance. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her when he admitted his culpability. Instead, he stared at the horizon. “It doesn’t matter. I’m the one who pulled the trigger.”

  “Did he say anything to you after you—” The words caught in her throat. She couldn’t speak of the atrocity he’d committed. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Did he speak with you about what happened?”

  His mind went over those last few moments as Eddy slipped away. His final words were for his mother and sister. But just before that, he’d told Payton the shooting wasn’t his fault.

  “He was a better man than me. He didn’t blame me for what happened, but I can’t forget what I did.” His eyes clouded over. He blinked to clear his vision. He brushed his hand over his face as his agony grew. “I still blame myself.”

  “Forgiving is easy,” she said. “The hard part is forgetting.”

  “I don’t know how long it will take for you to forgive me, or to forget what I’ve done, but I’ll wait—the rest of my life if necessary. As hard as it may be to live without you, I couldn’t go on if I thought you’d hate me until the day I die.”

  “I don’t hate you.” Her fingers skimmed across the back of his hand.

  His breath halted. Could she actually find it in her heart to forgive him? He turned his hand over and threaded his fingers with hers.

  She leaned against his shoulder. “I don’t want to live without you.”

  “Neither do I.” He released her hand and put his arm around her shoulders.

  “Will you promise me something?” She tilted her face to him.

  He gazed into her incredibly colored eyes. Her dark lashes glistened with moisture from her tears. He saw her pain, but he also saw her love. “Anything,” he swore.

  “Promise me you’ll never send me away again.”

  “I swear.” He hugged her to him. “I love you, Julia.”

  “I love you too.”

  He put both arms around her and squeezed her harder. His strong embrace made her groan.

  “Will you promise me something else?” she asked.

  “Of course.”

  She pushed against his chest with one hand. Her other hand went to her mouth. “When the time comes, you have to hold my hair back from my face so I can throw up over the side.”

  “You’re getting sick?” His forehead crinkled with concern. “Do you want me to help you to the guardrail?”

  “Not yet.” She removed her hand from her mouth. Her lips curved in to a tender smile. “But kiss me quick. We need to seal our bargain with a kiss.”

  The End />
  ****

  Next Novel by

  Marilyn Yarbrough

  Take me to Paradise

  Chapter One

  Sacramento, California

  June 1869

  “Oh, blast,” Cassandra Tyler said when she couldn’t unlock the door to her hotel room. Something seemed stuck in the lock, and the key wouldn’t fit into the slot. With a frustrated sigh, she gathered her skirt to one side and knelt down for a better view.

  Just as she peered into the keyhole to determine the problem, a metal key rattled in the lock from the other side. The knob twisted, and the door opened with a jerk. Startled that someone lurked inside her room, Cassie tried to scramble to her feet, but she stepped on the hem of her petticoat. Her heel caught, material ripped, and her knee buckled. She landed on her backside in the middle of the hallway floor.

  “Ow,” she mumbled while rubbing at her bottom in an attempt to relieve the pain. She glanced up to see who had flung open the door, but all she glimpsed was the barrel of a six-gun pointed at her forehead.

  Her breath caught in her throat as fear replaced the pain. She grabbed at the little straw hat that had slipped over her forehead and tugged it back onto her head. Her eyes widened at the sight of the gunman towering over her. He stood completely naked from the waist up.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked in a deep voice.

  “What are you doing in my room?” she blurted out, although her mind had already determined why a half-naked man with a revolver hid inside her room.

  The gunman shook his head. “You came to the wrong door, miss. This is my room,” he said, a soft drawl obvious in his voice.

  His eyes focused on the key dangling from her fingers that still clutched her hat. With the revolver, he pointed over his shoulder to the door behind him. “See that number. Yours is the next one over.”

  Her gaze darted to the door. A sigh of relief gushed from her lips when she read the numbers. She slumped onto her elbows as her body relaxed.

  The click of the revolver brought her attention back to the gunman. With the weapon titled upward, he released the cocked hammer into a resting position before shoving it into the waistband of his trousers. When the cool metal of the revolver touched his bare skin, the muscles in his belly tightened. That motion, along with the weight of the weapon, caused his trousers to ride lower on his hips. Dangerously lower.

  Her muscles tensed, and her skin flushed, but she couldn’t pull her gaze from the sight. He wore no belt for support, only suspenders that dangled around his legs. They were long legs with muscular thighs that couldn’t be hidden even with the heavy material of his tan colored trousers.

  Aware her mouth gaped open, Cassie pressed her lips together and tried to swallow, but her mouth went dry. Her eyes stung from staring at him, but she couldn’t force her eyelids to blink.

  Her gaze followed the path of hair swirling up his body. Beneath the dark, curly hair, his skin stretched taunt over the rippled muscles of his belly, the curved swell of his chest, up to the hollow at the base of his throat. Her gaze wandered upward.

  He had a bold face, strong and masculine, with a square jaw and a nose that looked as if it might’ve once been broken. Dark brown hair fell in no particular pattern across his forehead while the sides were swept back from his face. A moustache the same shade of brown covered his upper lip, although the rest of his face appeared closely shaved. No, freshly shaved. Lather streaked his face and neck.

  While she studied him, he seemed to do the same to her. His gaze brushed the length of her body and lingered near her feet. She glanced down to see what he found so interesting. A choked gasp caught in her throat. Her stocking-clad legs were exposed to his view. Quickly, she tucked her feet under her body and pushed the hem of her bright yellow skirt over her legs.

  His lips curled into a lopsided grin as a sparkle glinted in his soft brown eyes. He stroked his fingers across his wet jaw. “If you wanted to watch me shave, you could’ve come in my room. You didn’t have to peek at me through the keyhole.”

  Shocked at his accusation, she snapped back with a sharp denial. “I was not looking through your keyhole.”

  “Then why are you sitting in front of my door?” he asked in a serious tone, although the amused look remained.

  “I forgot my gloves. I mistakenly thought this was my room, and—” Her lips twisted together to prevent the rest of the words from tumbling out. This rude man didn’t deserve an explanation.

  “You can still come in and watch me shave.”

  “I have no intention of watching you do anything. Now will you please close your door so I can get up?”

  “What kind of man would do a thing like that?” His dark eyebrows furled. “I’m not about to slam the door in your face and leave you sitting there. Let me help you up.”

  He bent down and gripped her arms above the elbows, but as his fingers encircled her upper arms, visions of being dragged into his room flashed in her mind.

  “Get your hands off me.” She tried to squirm free of his hold. “I don’t want to go in your room.”

  “I’m only trying to help you up.”

  “I don’t need your help. Just unhand me.” Every muscle in her body tightened as she fought his effort to lift her. She pulled one arm free of his grip and slapped at his other hand. When he didn’t stop, she tried to get her feet set under her so she could stand on her own, but the petticoats wrapped around her legs.

  She grabbed his wrist in an attempt to wrench his hand from her arm, but it felt like gripping knotted steel. The strength he had in one arm seemed more than she had in her entire body. He lifted her even though she struggled against him.

  “Let go of me, you brute!”

  His grip on her arm eased, but with the resistance she exerted, along with the awkward position of her feet tangled in layers of petticoats, she slipped from his grasp and fell back to the floor with a thud.

  A groan tumbled from her lips when her bottom smacked the wood floor, but the pain didn’t prevent her from planning an escape. Quickly, she gathered up her skirt and petticoats, no longer concerned with exposing her legs to his view.

  Before getting her feet set, he reached for her again. He put both hands around her waist and lifted her from the floor.

  She put her arms in front to shield her breasts in case he pulled her against his body, but he didn’t attempt such a crude liberty.

  “Calm down, lady. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Get your hands off me,” she demanded.

  “I will, but you’re shaking so badly, I’m afraid you’ll fall down again.”

  He spoke the truth. Fear and exertion had contorted her body into tight knots. Now that she’d quit struggling, her muscles unraveled at a rapid pace. She shook so violently she doubted her legs could hold her if she tried to stand on her own.

  She inhaled deeply and let out a ragged breath. When she took a few more gulps of air, the trembling subsided to a tiny shiver.

  Her body relaxed, but her brain whirled with heightened sensitivity. The man stood so close that every detail of him magnified in her mind. The woodsy aroma of his shaving lather tingled her nostrils. The whispering sound of his steady breathing reverberated in her ears.

  Her bare hand pressed against his naked chest. The soft mat of hair crinkled beneath her palm. As she spread out her fingers, the crisp hairs tickled the sensitive area between her fingers. She withdrew her hand, but not before strong, hard muscles rippled against her palm. Her fingers curled, allowing her nails to lightly score his skin as her hand slipped away.

  She forced herself to look at his face so she didn’t stare at his naked chest. He stood at least six feet tall, and she had to tilt her head back to see him. As her gaze brushed across his face, a dramatic change occurred in his expression. No trace of a smile remained. His eyes no longer glimmered with amusement. Instead, a fire seemed to smolder in his brown eyes. The heat transferred to her body. Her heart fluttered, and her breathing reduced t
o nothing more than shallow gulps of air.

  His grip tightened at her waist. He pulled her to him as his lips parted.

  Suddenly, she became aware of his intent. He was about to kiss her.

  Her breasts pressed against his naked chest as he drew her close. Warmth flashed through her body. The urge to resist faded. Her own lips parted as she mentally calculated the feel of his mouth. His lips looked rough and chapped, but she guessed his mouth would be gentle against hers.

  A lifetime of proper behavior forced its way into her brain. Sanity returned just before their lips touched. She pushed against his bare chest with both hands. “How dare you put your hands on me. And how dare you take liberties.”

  “Liberties?” His grip eased. He stepped back, causing his hands to slip from her waist. His forehead crinkled. “You’re the one taking liberties.”

  “Me?” she blurted out. “I was on the floor—helpless. Then you picked me up and tried to drag me into your room.”

  “I wasn’t planning on doing any such thing.” Indignation tinged his voice. The lopsided grin reappeared. “Of course, I might be persuaded to carry you off into my room, but only if you ask me real nice.”

  Her mouth dropped open, but she closed it enough to utter her opinion. “You are a very rude man.”

  “If it’ll make you feel better, you can slap my face.” His fingers rubbed across his freshly shaven cheek. “But be careful, darlin’, you might hurt your hand.”

  He was probably right. His face looked like it had been chiseled out of granite. “You are certainly no gentleman.”

  “I’m not a Yankee gentleman, that’s for sure,” he drawled out.

  His admission startled her so much that the shock left her incapable of speech.

  Abruptly, she turned and hurried away from him. When she reached the next room, she paused to look at the number on the door and the number dangling from her key. They matched. The last thing she wanted was to end up at the wrong door again, not with him watching. She didn’t need to look in his direction; she could feel him staring at her.