by MJ Fredrick
Everyone wanted to know his plans. Trace tensed again. “I don’t know yet.” He would wait to see what Kit learned from Mr. Austin, and then decide his next step.
Even that was more connection than he wanted, but he couldn’t pull himself away from her.
Almanzo replaced the cork in the whiskey bottle and rose, swaying slightly. “You’re a fool if you walk away. No man should ever be so lucky twice.”
***
Trace woke to the sound of rustling hay and turned on his bedroll to see a vision in white standing over him, lit in the moonlight that spilled through the open window at the apex of the barn’s roof. He scrambled up to sitting.
“Kit, what’s wrong?”
She lifted his bedroll and nudged him with her knee. He scooted over obligingly.
“Almanzo is just over there,” he protested, raising on his elbows and trying to see his friend in the darkness.
“He’s gone to Graciela.”
He reached past the sleep cobwebs in his head to comprehend her words. “How do you know?”
“I watched him leave. I couldn’t sleep.” She tucked her arm across his waist and rested her head against his chest.
There was nothing sexual in her touch, but his body responded to her closeness, her scent. He stared at the window, willing himself to stay in control. “You can’t do this every time you can’t sleep.”
“Do you want me to go?” she asked, her voice low with the confidence of a woman who already knew the answer.
“Agnes is bound to find out.” A thought occurred to him. “You aren’t doing this so she will get mad, are you? To break away from her?”
“All I want to break away from is being sad all the time. You make me happy.” Her fingers stroked the fabric of his shirt. “I don’t want you to go out with the rangers tomorrow.”
He chuckled. “Don’t you have confidence in your teaching?”
She lifted her head to rest her chin on his chest, her face partly illuminated by the moonlight through the high window. “We’re only just now safe. And you’re ready to put yourself in danger again.”
“I want to do my part. We might not have fared so well if Almanzo and his rangers hadn’t arrived when they did.”
“I know but—I’m afraid.” To counter the vulnerability of her words, she cocked her head and smiled. “I’ve grown rather fond of you.”
Her confession warmed him more than he wanted to admit, and made his heart swell. He turned onto his side to stroke his thumb over her cheek. “Not just the lovemaking?” The question revealed his own insecurities, and he regretted it the moment it left his mouth.
She reached up to trail her fingers over his jaw, his lips. “Seeing you, hearing you, touching you. And making love to you.”
She reached down and lifted her gown, then unfastened his long johns as she eased him onto his back, lying over him, her breasts against his chest, guiding him into her with a little gasp. He moaned at the suddenness of her move, and in surprise at how ready she was, how slick. She began to move, just little bumps and slides that were sweet and a little awkward and arousing as hell. He got harder and harder as her body moved shallowly up and down his sex in a strange rhythm, as her mouth sought his. He fisted his hands in the skirt of her gown so he wouldn’t tumble her onto her back and plow into her like a mad man. Without warning, she found her release, her sex growing slicker, clenching him, and she sat over him, straddling, bringing him deeper.
He couldn’t help himself. His hips surged upward, into her tight body, again and again until he came, pulsing into her body.
Perhaps creating a child.
It was the first time he’d had the thought follow so hard on the heels of making love to her, the first time he’d considered becoming a father again that the idea didn’t scare the life from him. Instead he drew her over him, wrapping both arms around her and pressing kisses into her hair as he caught his breath.
The first words he wanted to say were, “I love you.”
Now that scared the life out of him, because he did. Loving someone, then losing her, was the hardest thing he’d ever done.
“You’re very quiet,” she murmured, resting her chin on the back of her hand to look up at him.
“A touch overwhelmed.”
“By my need to be in control?”
“No, I like your need to be in control very much.” He gave into his urge to curve his hands over her hips, and then he slid them down her buttocks to her thighs.
She sucked in her breath, and her eyes darkened as he grew hard inside her again.
“Do you feel like taking control again?”
“I might be willing to—oh! To give it up. Just this once.”
With a chuckle, he tumbled her onto her back.
Chapter Ten
Kit couldn’t sit still the following day. She’d walked into town with Mary twice—the girl was going to rot her teeth out with all the sugar she’d had the past two days—and had helped Graciela shuck the corn for dinner. But she couldn’t settle down to the mending.
Trace had ridden out with the rangers this morning. Kit forced herself to stay away from the window but couldn’t help tensing every time she heard hooves pounding the ground outside.
Almanzo had said it would be a short reconnaissance, that they should be home for dinner, but Kit couldn’t set aside the terror that she’d never see Trace again.
After all, hadn’t John been on patrol when he was killed by bandits?
“Worrying won’t bring them back sooner,” Agnes said without looking up from her own mending. Her mouth was tight, disapproving, but Kit didn’t have the strength to hide her emotions just now. “You need something to occupy your thoughts, not just your hands.”
Kit had considered reading, but knew she wouldn’t be able to concentrate. “Perhaps I’ll write a letter to my mother. I did see some stationery at the general store.”
The words were barely out of her mouth before Mary was on her feet, ready to accompany Kit. Agnes sighed and set aside her sewing. “Those people who own the mercantile are going to be tired of seeing us.”
***
But when Kit sat down to start the letter to her mother on the fine stationery with her new pen, she didn’t know what to say. How could she tell her mother in a letter that John and Daniel were dead?
Her mother was a practical woman and knew the dangers of life on the frontier, but could she bear learning of the death of her only grandchild in a letter? Kit didn’t even know if the letter would make it to the States.
She took a deep breath, hand quivering, before she dipped the quill in ink and began.
Dear Mother,
I hope this letter finds you well. I know I have not written in a long while. We were quite isolated at Fort Dryden and were unable to mail letters out.
John was killed in a battle with brigands near a town they call Nacogdoches. By the time we received word, winter had set in. You may expect winters here to be mild, but not so. Accompanying the miserable freezing weather was a sickness that killed the soldiers with us and sickened Mary and Daniel.
Kit sat back. She’d never written the words and didn’t know if she could express her sorrow and pain. Her mother would understand, having lost three children of her own, though she had remained stoic. Kit had thought of that often as she mourned her husband and child but couldn’t make herself remain impassive. She hadn’t even wanted to.
Mary recovered after a long illness, but my little Daniel wasn’t strong enough. Despite my best efforts, I left my baby boy buried in the cold Texas ground and came west with the help of a Louisiana man, Trace Watson. We are now safely ensconced in San Felipe, waiting for word on John’s grant from Stephen Austin, the empresario of the colony. Only then will we decide our next step.
Kit studied the letter, surprised she was able to compile all that had transpired in a letter not quite a page in length, that she was able to relay all the facts and none of the emotions tied with the death of her husban
d and child, and her feelings for this new man. Was it her audience that prevented her from indulging in the emotions, or her own barriers?
She had just tucked the letter away when she heard hoofbeats outside.
She was on her feet and across the room just as the door opened and Trace stepped in. Her heart pounded when he grinned at her, as if he’d been away a week instead of a matter of hours. She folded her hands into fists to stop herself from throwing herself into his arms, too aware of Agnes and Mary behind her, and Almanzo behind Trace.
“We ate already,” she said, not sure what else to say. “Graciela kept dinner warm for you.”
“We’ll be in after we see to the horses.” Trace dipped his head to look into Kit’s eyes. “I found a strange kind of plant and I brought a bit of it along. Do you want to see if you know what it is?”
“How on earth would Kit know what it is?” Agnes asked, but Kit understood his meaning. She reached for her wrap as Agnes said, “Why don’t you just bring it in here? It’s only a plant, after all.”
Kit and Trace didn’t acknowledge her. Kit walked beside him as he gathered the reins and led Atrius down the path to the barn. Kit glanced around to see that Almanzo had stayed at the house. Did he also understand the plant had been a pretext to get her alone?
Trace allowed her to precede him into the barn, then closed the door and let Atrius loose. The moment his hands were free, he swept Kit up in his arms, just as she’d wanted him to do when he walked into the cabin. She had a moment to register the scent of outdoors and horse before his mouth covered hers. She locked her arms around his shoulders and pressed against his big strong body as her tongue tangled with his, their breaths mingling as his hands closed over her back and drew her nearer.
The taste of her own tears surprised her as much as him. He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, stroking her hair back from her face.
“Kit?”
“I was worried, was all.” She loosened her grip from his shoulders, smoothing her palms down the front of his coat before she trusted herself to look into his eyes.
“Don’t you trust your shooting lessons?” One dimple winked.
She cocked her head and pressed her lips together primly. “Oh, I trust them.” She blinked, not wanting to bring her husband into this, not when Trace’s taste was still on her lips, when she wanted another kiss. But he watched her steadily, so she gave in.
“John was a talented soldier and it didn’t save him.”
Trace stepped back, but she didn’t get the sense that he was withdrawing from her, only giving her space.
“That’s been on your mind all day?”
“Since you said you wanted to ride with the rangers.”
“I’m sorry. I should have thought.”
“Trace, you don’t have to make your decisions for me.” She didn’t want to be burden his mind further.
He trailed his fingertips down her cheek. She closed her eyes and turned into his touch.
“I don’t want to scare you. I’ll find something else to do.”
She opened her eyes and glared at him. “No. Don’t you dare. I saw your smile when you came in. You enjoyed yourself. I will not be the person who stops you from doing something that makes you happy.”
He curved his hand around her cheek. “You make me happy,” he said, echoing her words from last night.
She edged toward the door. She wouldn’t be his responsibility, nor would she take the responsibility for him. “We should get back. They’ll be wondering. But you should—not worry about me.” And she wouldn’t show him her weakness again.
***
“I’ve decided what to do,” Kit told Trace the next day as they walked behind Mary to the dry goods store. She’d made her decision last night and had intended to talk to him, but being close to him, smelling him, feeling him aroused other needs. She blushed just thinking about it.
“Already?”
“I like having a plan.”
“So what is your plan?” His tone was so amiable. She wondered what it would be after she told him.
“I want to go home to New Orleans, if I can find a way to pay our passage.”
“New Orleans.”
As she expected, his mood darkened. She had almost hoped he’d say he was returning, too, but maybe he couldn’t make that choice. Maybe he could never return to the place where he’d loved and lost his family. Maybe she would not see him again if she chose to do this.
“Why?”
“Mary and Agnes miss it so much—the city, the people, and all the amenities. The only reason they came out here was because John asked them to.”
“And you? Do you miss it that much?”
She forced a laugh. “I got used to not being around so many people. But I want a home.” More than anything.
“Are you going to make all your choices from now on based on what Agnes and Mary want?”
“No, of course not, but I need to consider their desires. They have not been this happy in a long time.”
“So they’re content here.”
“Not as content as they will be in New Orleans.”
“Are you happy?”
She turned and looked up into his handsome face, wanting so much to touch him, to make him feel what she was feeling. “Happier than I thought I could be again.”
“So why are you making a choice now? Why not wait until Mr. Austin returns and see what your options are then?”
“Do you want me to stay, Trace?” Her face heated and she dropped her gaze, wishing she hadn’t asked it. She wasn’t sure what his answer would be.
“I don’t want you to go,” he said.
What does that mean? But Mary was calling to them from the porch of the dry goods store, and she couldn’t ask him.
Going into the store was still a treat to her deprived senses. Kit wandered up and down the aisles, touching cans and jars and sacks of flour and dry corn. If they stayed, she could make a dress from these sacks. The supply of items was nothing to that of New Orleans, but so much after being in the fort.
She was very aware of Trace watching her, but maybe he was just thinking about what she’d said outside, wondering if she would leave the colony. He’d miss her, she knew, but he’d move on. Then she would mourn him as she had John.
Mary stood leaning on the dark wood of the counter and peering at the jars on the shelves behind it. Kit joined her.
“I do wish they had fabric, Kit,” the girl said with a heavy sigh. “I’m so tired of my dresses.”
“You wouldn’t be able to buy as much fabric as you can candy,” Kit teased, pulling her coins out of her pockets. “But I imagine if you eat enough of the candy, you’ll be needing a new dress before long.” She patted her own belly and quickly pushed aside the idea of expanding to need a new dress herself.
The mercantile owner’s attention was drawn by noise outside, and he excused himself from the ladies to step to the doorway.
“What is it?” Trace asked, joining the older man.
“The regiment, looks like, from Brazoria.”
Kit hurried to the door behind Mary. “That’s Lieutenant Greer!” she cried as the man rode past, shoulders straight, head back, no less full of pride than he’d been when he rode out of Fort Dryden.
Trace pivoted, his own posture tense. “You know the man?”
“Yes, he was at Fort Dryden with us.”
Trace’s face darkened and his mouth thinned.
Oh, dear. Kit had never seen that expression on his face before, but she understood it instantly. “Trace, no.” She placed her hand on his arm, which had tensed with the urge to fight.
“He left you there.”
“Trace!”
But he was out the door and in the street, stopping before the lieutenant’s horse. The other man reined in and looked down his nose at Trace. “May I help you, sir?”
“Do you know those women?” Trace’s voice carried up and down the road. Soon the mercantile owner wasn’t
the only man standing in his doorway.
Kit wrapped her arms around herself, her mind racing for a plan to divert Trace, who appeared in no mood to be diverted. He no longer looked at her.
The lieutenant frowned at Trace, but turned in the direction he had indicated. His face relaxed when he saw Mary and Kit, and he dismounted quickly. “Mrs. Barclay! Miss Barclay! What a delight! I didn’t expect to see you here!”
“I would imagine not, since you abandoned them at the fort.” Trace mounted the porch behind the smaller man, blocking the steps.
The lieutenant pivoted to face Trace and looked up at the bigger man. “I never did.”
“When I came upon them, they were three women, starving, fending for themselves, afraid to leave the fort. What is it that you consider abandonment?”
“I left two soldiers and a horse with them.”
“They died,” Kit murmured.
The lieutenant stepped back so he could see both Kit and Trace at once. His lips turned down in sympathy. “And your son?”
“He died, as well.” For the first time, Kit’s voice didn’t shake as she spoke the words.
“Oh, Mrs. Barclay. I am so sorry.” The lieutenant placed a placating hand on her arm.
She believed he was, truly. “There’s nothing to be done now,” she said, her attention on Trace, pleading silently with him to let the matter drop.
“I apologize, Kit, but I beg to differ.” Trace drove his fist into the lieutenant’s jaw.
***
San Felipe was civilized enough to have a proper jail, with bars, if not a bed. At least he had a chamber pot. Trace sat on the bare ground of the cell, his hands draped over his bent knees, running his tongue over his teeth. None were loose, thank heaven, but he’d taken a pounding from the other soldiers in the regiment. He could still hear Kit’s screams above their shouts.
He should never have let her see that.
Almanzo had already stopped by to let him know that he’d be standing trial for assaulting a soldier, and that he would have to wait until Mr. Austin returned to hear the case. Because he wasn’t a citizen of the colony, he’d be kept in jail until Mr. Austin consented to release him to Almanzo’s custody. Almanzo had been highly amused that the tables were turned and that he was getting Trace out of trouble this time. Trace failed to see the humor.