by MJ Fredrick
The clank of keys to the outer door of the wooden building was accompanied by an imperious swish of skirts. He knew that sound, and looked up through swollen eyes to see Kit stride through the door, a basket over her arm.
He tried to get to his feet but pain shot through him, stealing his breath. The key grated in the lock and she was against him, shoring him up, ordering the young soldier who’d accompanied her to fetch a chair.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he managed. “People will talk.”
“I’m repaying a kindness to a man who risked his life to save mine and that of my family,” she said briskly, as if she’d already considered it.
He was torn between wanting her to keep her distance and knowing he couldn’t resist her touch. He ached to feel her fingers on his skin. She coursed one hand down his side. He flinched so abruptly, his vision blurred as pain shot through him.
In the next moment her arms were around him and he couldn’t even react because he was focusing on not vomiting.
“Your ribs?”
His knees hit the dirt floor and he managed a nod as he drew in a breath. Her fingers worked the buttons of his shirt as he dropped back against the wall. She gasped and sat on her heels, moving her hand from the center of his chest to rest on his stomach. He looked down to see what upset her. His stomach was black and blue with bruises. No wonder every breath hurt.
“How many times did they kick you?” she murmured, her fingers fluttering over his skin.
“Don’t know.” The pain subsided under the gentleness of her hands. “Kit, I—you can’t do this. There’s probably a doctor around.”
“Not one I’d trust,” she muttered.
Her breath feathered over his stomach and his body reacted, unbelievably, despite the pain. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to concentrate on the rancid scent of the room and not the scent of her hair. This was not the time or place to become aroused.
“Can you make it home?”
“I can’t leave.”
“Yes you can. Lieutenant Greer dropped the charges, considering the circumstances.”
He forced his aching swollen eyes open. “You went to him?”
She didn’t meet his gaze, instead focusing on his bruised chest. “It’s not right that you’re here.”
He grunted his assent.
“That doesn’t mean I think you were right.”
He tightened his jaw at her imperious tone. “You could have died out there.”
“You already knew it was my choice.”
“I know it wasn’t. You know how I know that? You would never risk Agnes and Mary like that. When they insisted they stay with you, you would have put aside what you wanted and gone, just to keep them safe. I know that about you.”
“That’s not the person I was then, Trace. I was wild with grief.”
“You don’t pull that far inside yourself.” He watched her reaction, but she didn’t look at him. “I still say, no kind of man would have walked away from three women out there.”
“You’re not mad at Lieutenant Greer.” She touched a wet cloth to the corner of his mouth.
“No.” He held her gaze. “I’m not mad at him.”
“Let it go. You can’t blame John either. ’Whither thou goest,’ remember? He’s gone. There’s nothing to be done now. Please, Trace, let me take you home.”
***
Agnes was upset when Kit and Trace arrived at Mr. Tarleton’s cabin, Trace leaning heavily on Almanzo’s shoulders. Kit ignored Agnes’s disapproving posture and made a bed for Trace in the living area by the fire. Agnes followed her as Kit helped him onto it. The older woman cast glances at Almanzo. Kit was sure the moment the man left, she was in for a tirade.
Trace hadn’t been able to ride in the carriage Almanzo had brought, because hadn’t been able to bend enough to get into it. So they’d walked, slowly, Trace between Kit and Almanzo.
“Do you need anything else?” Almanzo asked softly. “I need to see to the animals.”
Kit didn’t take her eyes from Trace. “I can manage.”
Their host inclined his head at Agnes and slipped out.
Kit’s legs quivered with exhaustion but she didn’t allow herself to sit beside Trace, not yet. She drew her poultice and soft cloths from her basket and hovered over him.
“Can you get your shirt off on your own?”
He tried to ease one sleeve down, winced and stopped.
“I’ll get it.” She sat beside him, causing a sharp intake of breath from Agnes.
“Katherine, this is hardly proper behavior. You went to the jail for him on your own, and now you’re caring for his injuries. What will people think? We live with good, God-fearing people here and you act as brazen as a—”
Kit glanced up, daring the woman to complete that sentence. She turned her attention back to Trace, blocking out her mother-in-law’s disapproval and easing the fabric down both arms at the same time. She wanted so badly to press a kiss to his broad shoulder, and barely resisted the impulse. The sight of him in so much pain hurt her. She eased her touch over his bruised stomach. “Your ribs. I need to wrap them.”
He nodded. She dipped her fingers in the poultice—foul smelling stuff—and smoothed it over his skin.
“Katherine, you need to let Mr. Tarleton do that, or a doctor. You shouldn’t be touching him. He’s an unmarried man.”
Kit tossed her head in her mother-in-law’s direction. “Do you want to do it?”
Agnes drew up straight. “That wouldn’t be proper either.”
“Mother. I’m doing this. Please, just take Mary into the other room if it bothers you so much.” She turned her attention back to Trace, feeling his muscles tighten as her touch skimmed over his broken ribs.
“And leave the two of you alone? That wouldn’t be right.” She huffed. “He shouldn’t have started that fight.”
“He was standing up for us.”
“What is that stuff made of?” Trace muttered, wrinkling his nose at the poultice.
“You don’t want to know.” She fought her own repulsion at the smell, which made her stomach roil. “This is bad, Trace.”
“Not too bad.”
“You’re too familiar with him, calling him Trace, touching him, letting him touch you. You’re a widow, but that doesn’t mean you can be free with any man who comes along. I think it’s time we go back to New Orleans.”
That was the decision Kit had expected Agnes to reach, but she didn’t have the patience to deal with it now. She didn’t have the resources to cope with the weight the thought of leaving Trace behind put on her heart. She let her temper loose. “Mother! Enough! We can talk about this later if you insist, but now I need to take care of him.”
Agnes set her shoulders and motioned to her daughter. The two stormed out.
“Sorry,” he said through his swollen lips.
“Hush.” She unwound the linen, pressed one end lightly to the poultice and began winding it around his chest, under the arms he raised with a protesting groan. “It’s going to need to be tight so you don’t move and hurt yourself more.”
“I’d rather hurt than smell this stuff.”
“You’ll do both. Maybe now you wish they’d broken your nose too.”
“Don’t wish that,” he muttered, touching his nose lightly. “Careful.”
“Graciela is bringing some willow bark. That should help.”
Kit could use a sip herself. She finished wrapping his ribs and eased him back so she could press a cold compress over his swollen eyes. He sighed in relief. When Graciela came in with the willow bark tea, Kit thrust the poultice at her. “Take this as far away as you can, please. I don’t think I can bear it any longer.”
The room was suddenly very hot. Kit shot to her feet and bolted for the door, where she lost her dinner just outside.
Agnes was beside her in a moment. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you got sick as well,” she murmured, touching Kit’s back.
But Kit
didn’t believe the influenza had followed her to San Felipe. She was very afraid she’d contracted something else altogether.
Chapter Eleven
“You’re cheerful,” Trace said, finally making it to his feet two days later. He stood in the doorway, watching Kit laughing in the yard as she worked with Graciela. He loved hearing her laugh, and she was doing more of it these days.
She stopped and leaned on her broom. “I’m finally warm.” She lifted an arm to the blue sky and the trees swaying in the breeze, their gentle green buds having sprouted in just the past two days. “Spring is coming.” She approached him, more shyly than she had in the past. “The swelling’s gone down?” She stroked a gentle finger over his eyebrow.
“Yeah, I can mostly see now.” He smiled down at her, and his mouth didn’t hurt as much, where his lip had split.
“And your breathing?” Her hand hovered above his ribs.
His skin twitched as if she’d touched him. He missed the feel of her hands, since she’d gotten very comfortable touching him the past few days as she applied more medication and examined his wounds. Every time, he’d wanted her. “Could be better.”
She gave him an unreadable look.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked.
Surprise dimmed her expression and tightened her lips. “What do you mean?”
“Your stomach. The smell of the poultice.”
“Oh, that.” She waved his concern away. “The smell just hit me wrong.”
He watched her for a moment, wondering why her words raised questions in his mind. “I need to stretch my legs.” He nodded toward the outhouse.
“All right.” She stepped back, watching him as though she expected him to tumble over at any minute. She hadn’t been so wary since he’d first come to the fort. What was going on?
When he re-emerged, she still had that strange assessing look in her eyes. And she was smiling. She looked so carefree and young, he found himself grinning back.
“Now there’s a man in love if I ever saw him,” Almanzo said, coming up behind him. “Not that I blame you.”
Trace considered denying it, but changed his mind. Why should he? He wasn’t good at hiding his feelings. Yes, it was too soon after the loss of her husband, and his wife. Yes, she needed a plan and he neither had one nor wanted one. But he could admit the truth to his friend. “I didn’t think it could happen.”
“She’s incredible,” Almanzo said. “As strong and fair-minded as she is beautiful.”
Trace slanted a look at his friend. “Should I be laying claim?”
“She won’t even look in my direction. I wouldn’t think of stepping in. Besides, have you not already laid claim?”
Trace flushed and turned back to watch Kit. “Not sure what you mean.”
“I came back to the barn the other night and heard something. I’m certain it wasn’t Agnes or Mary, especially after seeing the way Kit looked at you the next day.”
Trace looked down at his hands, searching for an explanation and coming up empty. “It’s not—I can’t feel like it’s a sin.”
“I’m not passing judgment, God knows. Others will, though.”
“I know.” And Trace couldn’t offer a life for her.
“What about the sister?” Almanzo asked. “Do you think she’d settle into this life?”
“Sister-in-law.” Trace turned to face Almanzo. “She’s a child.”
“Sixteen. Plenty old enough to marry. She’s a pretty girl, and seems easily entertained.”
Trace wondered how long that would last. “She grew up in New Orleans. This will be an adjustment.”
“She’s young enough to get used to it, I imagine. She seems malleable enough.”
Trace lifted his eyebrows. “If you like that.”
“I do. Kit’s a touch too in-charge for me.”
“I like a woman who knows her own mind.”
Almanzo nodded. “Angelina was that too.”
“She was.” What did that mean? That he shouldn’t want someone so similar? But beyond that inner strength, he didn’t see similarities. Beautiful, yes. Strong, yes. Certain, yes. But Angelina was willing to float through life, wasn’t driven to know where she was going. Angelina had lost her will to live after losing their child. Kit had pushed on, heartbroken as she was, and looked out for her family. “So are you going to court Mary?”
“I want to place my claim before the other single men around here get the same idea. I saw them looking at her at the church, so it won’t be long. Are you going to court Kit?”
“Agnes is more likely to accept your suit than mine. Her son hasn’t been in the ground a year, she’s not going to be happy about another man taking his place. And she’s accustomed to Kit taking care of things now.”
“So you’re going to sit back and wait until a year has passed?”
Kit looked up from her chore and sent Trace a sunny smile that went straight to his gut. He didn’t want to go any longer without her than he had to, even if it meant he had to start thinking about the future. “No. I’m not going to do that.”
***
After supper, Trace rose and invited Kit to walk with him to the river. Agnes grumbled her disapproval. Kit cast her an anxious glance, but rose for her wrap anyway.
“You’ve been keeping your distance,” he murmured as they stepped off the porch. “Are you still angry with me?”
She snapped her head toward him. “I’m not angry.”
“So? What’s kept you away? Tired of mending me?”
She allowed a small smile. “Maybe a little.”
“That’s too bad.” He moved closer and took her arm, needing to touch her, to feel her warmth. “I miss your hands on me.”
She dipped her head, her lips curved. “Even when I’m slathering nasty smelling poultice?”
He turned, caught her hand and smiled. “Especially then.”
“We’re in town now, Trace.” Her tone was somber as she withdrew her hand. “We can’t be as free as we have been. We shouldn’t even be walking about unchaperoned.”
Trace pinched his nose in frustration. After all they’d endured, he couldn’t walk alone with her? “Shall I go get Mary?”
She glanced back at the cabin and pulled her wrap more snugly around her. “No.”
“Agnes, then?”
Her gaze snapped to his and she realized he was teasing her. She gave him a soft smile. “No.”
“So we can continue walking?”
She tightened her lips. “Perhaps not too far.”
Frustration boiled inside him. Was this what town life would do to her? Button her up like Agnes? Where was the adventurous woman he had fallen in love with? Perhaps this was his way out. If she changed so much, he could walk away. He didn’t need to plan, didn’t need to settle.
Didn’t need to go back to New Orleans.
But he looked at the woman walking beside him, the woman who’d lost a husband and a child, the woman who’d kept her family alive and safe, who brought him back to life. The woman who’d been his lover and partner as they crossed the coastal plains. No. He wouldn’t walk away. He just needed to bring that woman out again.
Then he’d learn if she loved him too.
He released her and began walking the road toward the river. She fell into step beside him, though he could sense she wanted to look back at the cabin again. He needed to distract her from her worries about propriety. “Almanzo is thinking of courting Mary.”
She whirled toward him, eyes wide. “How do you know this?”
“He asked me if I thought she would consider it. I pointed out she’s only a child.”
“I was only a bit older when I married John. But Mary, living here.” She motioned to the land and trees surrounding them. “She’s hardly a pioneer woman.”
“She could be an important woman. Almanzo is becoming an important man, and his wife would have power in the community.”
“Do you think that will sway her in his favor?”
“I don’t know. Do you?”
“Mary wants what we all want. To be safe, to be loved. Do you think Almanzo can love her?”
“I think he can grow to. Is that good enough?”
“Was it good enough for you?”
He stopped walking, turned her to him and stroked his thumb down her cheek. “No. Kit.”
Kit’s heart skipped as Trace looked into her eyes, his own intense, as if he wanted her to understand something, wanted to tell her something but couldn’t make himself say it. Oh, no. Oh, dear. He was leaving, moving on to another adventure, and he couldn’t make himself say the words. He couldn’t say goodbye.
And she couldn’t hear it, not tonight. Her stomach bunched in real fear that he’d leave and she’d be broken all over again. Coward that she was, she backed away. “You shouldn’t be on your feet so long. You’re still recovering.”
“You don’t need to pamper me. I’m a grown man. I can take care of myself.”
He’d need to, when he left.
She tucked her hands inside her wrap and stepped back. “It’s colder out here than I thought. We should go back.”
A frown creased his forehead, tugged the corners of his mouth down. “All right.”
The silence was tense on their walk back. Kit hated the knots in her stomach, and she especially hated feeling them with Trace, the person she trusted above all.
She swept into the cabin ahead of him, but stopped short to see her family and Almanzo vibrating with excitement as they gathered wraps and coats. Kit frowned. It was late in the evening to go into town.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
Almanzo grinned at her. “Mr. Austin is back from the States. Everyone is gathering in the town square to welcome him home.”
***
Kit slipped her hand into the crook of Trace’s arm as they approached the town square. She hadn’t expected so many people to turn out, considering dusk had fallen and so many lived so far from town. How had they known the empresario was here?