Sunrise Over Texas

by MJ Fredrick

  The sensation shouldn’t have surprised him, but the tightness of her body wrung a moan of pleasure out of him. Before he knew it, he was close to climax as she moved against him, wriggled, her own breath coming fast, desperate. He matched his movement to her sighs and gripping her hips. His thrusts were shallow and he never thought he’d be able to reach climax like that, but…

  “Kit. Kit, I have to—”

  “Yes. Yes.”

  He cupped her bottom, tilting her toward him and drove into her, holding back as long as he could before he felt the quivers of her body. He couldn’t hold back anymore. Everything in him stiffened as he pulsed into her, vaguely aware of her own breath of completion as he lowered his forehead to hers.

  “Crazy,” he murmured when he found his voice. He pulled out of her.

  She just smiled and straightened her skirts. “I might be able to sleep now.”

  He chuckled, fastened his trousers and rolled onto his back, staring at the sky through the leaves. “I think I might have warmed up a bit.”

  “Don’t go.” She reached for him as he sat up.

  He hadn’t even taken his boots off. Damn it, she deserved better. “Have to keep a lookout. Couldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to you.” He bent to kiss her before he pushed to his feet to take his post as lookout.

  ***

  Kit woke to the aroma of cooking meat. She sat up to see Trace crouched before the fire, her cast iron skillet filled with strips of venison. He gave her a warm grin before inclining his head toward Agnes and Mary, who had already wolfed down their portions. She blinked, realizing it must be late in the day.

  “You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long,” she chided, pushing back the bedroll, wincing a little at the twinge of the muscles she’d exercised last night.

  “Our hunter deserved her sleep.” He handed her a plate.

  “And you?” She took it and sat up, folding her legs under her skirt.

  “I thought we’d probably get a late start today. Atrius could use some rest, anyway.”

  She tucked a bit of meat into her mouth. The flavor exploded on her tongue—it seemed almost foreign, she had been without it so long. She closed her eyes to savor it a moment before opening them again and meeting his amused gaze. She swallowed, embarrassed. “Did you eat?”

  He shook his head, then rubbed the knuckle of his thumb between his eyebrows. “Later. I think I might get some more sleep.”

  Kit wasn’t accustomed to idleness, but she and Agnes and Mary moved away from camp to allow Trace to rest peacefully. They stayed near the river until the wind nipped at them, and then they returned to camp to sit quietly by the fire. Kit got out her knitting for the first time in what felt like weeks. She had convinced Trace the wool was too precious to leave behind, and it didn’t weigh much. Now she worked diligently on a pair of socks for him, making sure the stitches were tight so the socks would be warm. She let her mind wander ahead.

  She still didn’t know what would happen to Trace once they got to the Austin colony. He’d mentioned his best friend but had been adamant about not making plans beyond that. Would he find his friend and settle in? Or would he want to move on without her?

  Last night, she’d risked so much to feel his body against hers, inside hers. She had never initiated lovemaking with John, yet she’d done it more than once with Trace. What did that say about her? Or was it more telling about him?

  “Kit!”

  Mary’s tone made it clear she’d been trying to get her attention. Kit stirred herself from her memory of last night to show Mary how to perform a stitch.

  Trace rose around noon, slow-moving. Kit cooked up some more venison. Chewing felt odd, but she wasn’t complaining. She joined Agnes in giving thanks that this young, scrawny buck was sent their way.

  Trace packed the carcass in the wagon—there was no other choice—so Mary decided to try walking, uncomfortable with the thought of riding with the animal. She lifted the edge of her skirt to prove she wore her woolen socks inside her boots.

  Everyone was in a better mood when they made camp only hours later, some of the urgency to get to the colony gone now that they had food. Still, being in the open made Kit uneasy. She couldn’t wait to sleep indoors again, surrounded by other people. While she looked forward to that, she’d forgotten how to make casual conversation. She would have to relearn the art of small talk, a small price to pay for security.

  ***

  Two nights later, Trace woke her with an urgent whisper, his hand squeezing her shoulder.

  “Get in the wagon and stay there until I come for you. Don’t make a sound.”

  She wanted to ask what was going on, but the timbre of his voice reached through her sleep-fogged mind. She recognized the immediacy and nodded, crawling to her feet and gathering her bedroll to carry with her. She climbed into the wagon, keeping low, shushing Agnes and Mary when they woke and questioned her. Her family obeyed, thank God, so Kit could focus what was happening outside the wagon, despite Mary’s nervous shivering beside her. She patted the girl reassuringly, but her mind was on Trace. She hated leaving him alone. Reaching into the corner of the wagon, she felt around until she found the barrel of her rifle. She closed her hand around it.

  Trace rose from his seat by the fire as the four men rode into camp, hoping his size would intimidate them, knowing that was his only chance against the odds. He hoped holding onto his rifle didn’t seem confrontational, but it was not yet dawn. What did these men have in mind, coming up on a camp at this time of day?

  “Morning,” he greeted as calmly as he could. “How can I help you gentlemen?”

  “We would be obliged if we could warm up by your fire. We’ve been riding all night,” said one, a short stocky man with a full beard and dark eyes.

  Trace dipped the barrel of the rifle to reduce its threat as he considered the request, measuring the other men in the group—a tall rangy man, a Mexican, and a boy. The horses weren’t good stock and looked whipped, as though they’d ridden longer than overnight with no break. “You’re welcome to.” How neighborly should he be? Should he offer them meat?

  The men dismounted and arranged themselves around the fire. Trace’s pulse picked up. He wasn’t usually untrusting, but he had three women to look after. And he couldn’t suss out what these men really wanted. He was glad Kit had had the presence of mind to carry her bedroll with her. He didn’t want the men suspecting he wasn’t alone.

  “Where you men heading?”

  The stocky man, apparently the leader, spoke. “San Felipe.”

  “Is that right? How much farther is it?”

  “Another day’s ride on horseback.” The stocky man looked past him to the wagon. “Longer with supplies.”

  Trace’s heart rate sped up at the contemplative look in the other man’s eyes. “No supplies, really, just a few belongings. I’m heading there to meet my friend. Maybe you know him. Almanzo Tarleton?”

  The leader shook his head. “This’ll be our first time in the colony.”

  If this rough crew was what they’d find when they got there, Trace had to figure a way to get Kit and her family back to New Orleans.

  The leader nodded to the cast iron skillet sitting by the fire. “Do you have something to eat? We haven’t seen any game in a while.”

  Instinct told him to move them along. The longer they remained, the likelier that he would let down his guard. At the same time, he knew Kit would want him to help. He nodded toward the river. “Got a deer a couple of days back. It’s hanging there in a tree for the night. You can help yourself.”

  The stocky man motioned to one of his men to retrieve the venison. Trace’s tension returned full force when the man returned with a petticoat.

  Which of the women had left that?

  The stocky man turned toward him. “You have a woman here?”

  Trace shifted, unsure of how much to reveal.

  The leader smiled. “Been a long time since we’ve seen a woman.”
r />   Trace inclined his head toward the meat. “The deer, I’m willing to share.”

  “Ah, come on, now. Be a sport. I just want to see a woman.”

  Alarm and anger tightened the muscles at the back of his neck. He had to force the friendliness in his tone now. “Are there women in San Felipe?”

  “Hope so,” the tall man chuckled, speaking for the first time.

  “So who’ve you got hidden?” The man angled toward the wagon.

  Trace stepped in front of him, gun weighing down his right hand. At this range, he wouldn’t miss, but he had one bullet and four men. And three women to keep safe. God help him.

  The stocky man rocked back on his heels to look up at Trace, his eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Who is it? Your wife? Your sister?”

  The other men moved closer, flanking him. Trace backed toward the wagon, unwilling to let the men get between him and the women. He wished he could see Kit, make eye contact and communicate with her as they had during the Indian attack. Instead, he had to hope she was listening, and that she trusted him.

  “My wife is asleep with the little ones.” He forced some joviality into his tone, some sheepishness, hoping to appeal to the man, if he’d ever dealt with a woman who treasured the sleep of young children. “You can take the venison and move along.”

  The man considered, measuring the threat Trace posed. For a moment, Trace thought he’d take the offer and leave. Instead he nodded to his men. Two of them went around Trace to either side of the wagon and yanked the cover back. A muffled squeal came from the wagon. The stocky man sent Trace a crooked grin.

  “Your ’little ones’ appear to be awake.”

  Trace lunged, swinging the butt of the rifle against the side of the smaller man’s head. Kit surged to her feet in the bed of the wagon, her own rifle drawn, primed to fire. Trace aimed at the tall thin man while gauging the threat of the man at his feet.

  “Take the venison and go.” He spoke through his teeth, not wanting the strangers to hear the shaking in his voice. He had no desire to kill, but he would before he let one of them lay a hand on Kit or her family.

  “I don’t think we will.” The stocky man rose to his knees, spitting blood from his mouth.

  Trace leveled the rifle against his shoulder. “Your choice.”

  Before he could fire, Kit did. Trace’s pulse spiked as Agnes and Mary screamed. Had she hit her target, or missed? As he turned to see, the stocky man surged off the ground and gripped the barrel of Trace’s rifle. Trace took his finger off the trigger and grasped the gun barrel to wrest it from his attacker. Behind him, Kit shrieked in alarm. Trace twisted the rifle free from the other man, struck him in the temple with it, and whirled toward Kit.

  The tall man grabbed Kit’s wrist and she threw her weight back as he tried to pull her from the wagon. Agnes wrapped her arms around Kit’s waist as if to anchor her, while Mary cowered in the corner. Trace shouldered his rifle.

  “Let her go.”

  Another gunshot sounded. Trace pivoted to see where it had come from.

  Six armed men rode into camp, rifles pointed at the sky as they surveyed the scene.

  “Trace Watson,” one of the men drawled as the scoundrels scattered for their horses and four of the six men bolted in pursuit. “Might’ve known you’d be in some kind of trouble.”

  Chapter Nine

  Trace strode toward the man in the center of the group. He wouldn’t have recognized his schoolmate Almanzo Tarleton, with his full beard and rough clothes. A regular pioneer. Almanzo dropped to the ground beside his horse and clasped Trace’s hand and then his shoulder in enthusiastic greeting.

  “What the hell are you doing out here?” Trace asked, barely able to find his voice in his shock at the timely intervention.

  Almanzo grinned. “What, aren’t you glad to see me?”

  Trace blew out a laugh of relief. “More than you know.”

  Almanzo’s gaze flicked past him to the women, who stood at the rear of the wagon, their postures defensive as they assessed the new threat. “Is this your family?”

  Trace was surprised by how much he wanted to say yes. “It’s a long story,” he said instead. “We were heading for San Felipe.”

  “You’re about there. We were chasing after these ruffians, who caused some trouble in the colony.” He kicked at the man who lay prone at Trace’s feet.

  “What sort of trouble?” Kit approached to stand beside Trace, her gaze riveted on Almanzo.

  Trace wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and run his hands over her body to make sure her assailant hadn’t harmed her. In the early morning light, he could see a bracelet of red about her wrist where the man had gripped her. He looked from her arm to her face, but her attention was on Almanzo.

  Holding back the questions he wanted to pepper her with, he turned back to his friend. “Almanzo Tarleton, this is Mrs. Katherine Barclay. Those ladies are her mother-in-law Agnes Barclay and her sister-in-law Mary Barclay. They were at Fort Dryden.”

  Almanzo’s eyes widened as he straightened from his bow in Kit’s direction. He tucked his hat back on his head. “I thought that fort was abandoned.”

  Trace scowled. “These women were left behind.”

  Almanzo’s eyebrows twitched upward. “And you came upon them?”

  “They took me in. Like I said, long story. You say we’re close to the colony?”

  Almanzo’s grin returned. “We can be there by suppertime.”

  “What had those men done?” Kit asked again, her voice a little shaky.

  “Ma’am, they were troublemakers from the States, thinking they could hide out in the colony. When Mr. Austin evicted them, they caused trouble. We just wanted to make sure they didn’t hurt anybody.”

  Trace heard the word, “else,” though Almanzo didn’t say it. By the tightness in Kit’s posture, she heard it too.

  Almanzo inclined his head toward the wagon. “Is that Atrius pulling the wagon? Good Lord, Trace.”

  “We were left without a lot of options.”

  “Right. Long story. Well, unhitch him and we’ll get these ladies into the settlement.”

  “Our things,” protested Agnes, who overheard as she climbed down from the wagon with the help of Almanzo’s man.

  “We’ll send someone back to get them, with a proper team. Were you ladies joining anyone in the colony?”

  Kit tensed further and glanced at Trace.

  “Her husband was killed,” Trace told Almanzo quietly. “But they had a grant.”

  Almanzo frowned and shook his head. “We’ll work it out when we get there. Don’t worry. You’ll have someplace to stay.”

  “And something besides porridge to eat.” Trace sent Kit an encouraging smile.

  By the time the women had gathered the belongings they needed, the rest of Almanzo’s men had returned from chasing the assailants, without them. A frisson of wariness went through Trace. They’d have to keep watch. At least he wasn’t alone in protecting the women anymore. He placed Agnes with one of the Almanzo’s rangers and Mary with another, though she wanted to ride with Trace. Almanzo declared Atrius too worn out to carry two, so he took Kit and left Trace alone on his horse. Trace didn’t like the sight of Kit’s arms around Almanzo’s waist. Hell, he should have let Almanzo ride his horse so he could feel Kit’s arms. He wanted to take care of her, not hand her over to another man.

  She was his.

  The idea hit him square in the chest. His heart wasn’t ready to take on love again, to risk loss. And God knew Kit deserved better than he could offer. Male pride, that was all that was at stake here. He’d do well to remember that before both of them were hurt again.

  ***

  As Almanzo promised, within a matter of hours they arrived at the colony, a place nothing like Trace had expected. Buildings lined a main road—a mercantile like Mary wanted, a church, the saloon and the land grant office—all made of cedar logs. Only a few houses were sprinkled among them.

  “Mos
t people build their house on their land and farm it,” Almanzo explained. “Some people are living in the settlement itself, but it’s not quite civilized.”

  “What about a place where newcomers can stay? A boarding house?” Trace asked.

  Almanzo shook his head. “No one’s been that enterprising yet. But I’ll be happy to put you up until we can find other arrangements.”

  Trace glanced at Kit to see her reaction, knowing how she hated to accept help. She sat slumped in the saddle, and raised weary eyes to his.

  “We would be most grateful,” she murmured.

  “Are you not married?” Agnes asked when they drew the horses to a halt in front of one of the larger cabins.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “This is a big house for one man.”

  “I don’t intend to be one man for long.” He dismounted and held his arms out for Kit. “Trace and I can bed down in the barn, and you ladies can have the run of the house. It’s got two nice bedrooms, a kitchen and a parlor.”

  Kit straightened as she touched the ground. “We will not put you out of your home, Mr. Tarleton.”

  “Ma’am, I’m insisting.” He touched the brim of his hat. “You ladies have fallen on hard times, and I would be no kind of gentleman if I didn’t do all in my power to help you back on your feet.”

  Kit blushed and looked down at her hands. “I am sorry if I sounded ungrateful, sir.”

  “Not at all, Mrs. Barclay. Now, let me see about getting you a hot bath to wash the road dirt from you.” He touched his hat again and disappeared into the house.

  Kit turned to Trace, her brow furrowed. “Are you sure—he’s your good friend, isn’t he?”

  “He is.”

  “I don’t want to take advantage.”

  Trace rested his hand reassuringly on her upper arm, satisfying himself with the small touch when he wanted to pull her close. “Kit, it’s just for a few days until we can see what our choices are here, all right? Don’t worry.”

  Agnes didn’t appear the least worried at the inconvenience they might cause. Instead, she peered after Almanzo into the house, and turned back, her eyes alight with glee and approval. “He has a servant!”