Dorothy Garlock - [Annie Lash 01]

by Wild Sweet Wilderness

  “Humph!” Linc snorted. “She ain’t gonna come ’round less’n you whap ’er butt. Whatta ya think them other’ns are hangin’ ’round fer? They c’n smell a bitch in heat same as us. I ain’t waitin’ ’n’ takin’ Witcher’s leavin’s. Ya get ’er in line or the deal’s off.”

  Asa walked in silence. His greedy mind was working fast. Linc had planted a seed that was growing by leaps and bounds. It might suit even more if Berry took to the trader. He had a whole building full of trade goods, and hadn’t he and that big feller helped get them across the river? Maybe he was the one who had dosed the whiskey, what with his wanting to get next to the gal. Linc and George said their whiskey had been dosed too. It must’ve been the trader, Asa decided. He almost chuckled out loud. There’s no means a man won’t go to ta get him a spot o’ tail! he thought.

  “Whatta ya know ’bout Witcher?” he asked with as much indifference in his voice as his inner excitement would allow. “Who buys his goods?”

  “Stores. Here ’n’ upriver in Saint Charles,” George answered.

  “He got land?”

  “Upriver a piece. Ya thinkin’ a tyin’ in with ’em?”

  “It’s a thought.” Won’t do no harm ta let ’em think I got other irons in the fire, Asa thought slyly.

  “He ain’t wantin’ no tavern,” Linc said.

  “He might. I’m a-thinkin’ I got somethin’ he wants.”

  Linc’s head swiveled slowly to look at Asa. The beady eyes hardened and his chest swelled with wounded pride. Ya bastard, he swore silently. Ya gawddamned bastard!

  * * *

  It was midnight. The tavern was noisy with the loud voices of drunken rivermen. Asa sat on a bench beside Linc and George and matched them drink for drink. His blurry eyes could scarcely focus on the tavern wench who carried the jug slung over her shoulder as she made the rounds to fill the tin cups and to collect the coins. He wasn’t too drunk, however, to slip his hand beneath her skirt and pinch her bottom. She squealed and danced away from him.

  He’d have the wench, he decided. He’d not had a woman, except for a drunken Indian gal, since he’d left Ohio. But first he would go outside and let water. He was about to burst. He lurched to the door, pushing his way through the crowd.

  George looked at Linc and nodded. Linc sauntered carelessly toward the door, then darted out into the darkness. Minutes later he was back and the tavern wench was filling his cup with whiskey. He pulled her down on his lap and plunged his hand into the neck of her dress. She giggled, and wiggled on the hardness that pressed against her thigh.

  “Thar’s a settler out thar with his throat split open.” A slurry voice made the announcement. “It was enough to make ’im wet his britches!” he said, snickering. He slouched against the plank that served as a bar.

  There was an instant of quiet, then the voices rose again, as if the news was of no concern. Linc played with the woman on his lap and a satisfied look settled on George’s face. The farmer ain’t oughtta’ve said nothin’ ’bout tyin’ in with the trader, he thought. He glanced with admiration at his partner and watched him as he ran his hand up under the woman’s skirt.

  Linc and George stayed in the tavern until someone came and took away the body.

  Chapter Four

  I’m hankerin’ fer a spot of tea.” Fain was the first to speak after the men had left the camp.

  “Help yourself.” Berry laid the musket on the box. “I’ll get a cup.”

  “I can use this’n if Miss Rachel’s done with it.” He poured from the teakettle into Rachel’s cup, then sank back down on his haunches.

  A long quiet settled on them. Simon leaned on his rifle, Fain sipped his tea, and Rachel tried to pull out her apron so that it didn’t fit so snugly across her swollen stomach.

  Berry stooped to dish up the food in the skillet beside the cookfire. She heaped the plate. “I’ll fix some supper if you can wait for it. This is for Israel.” She stood and waited for one of them to speak.

  “We already et, ma’am, but thanky,” Fain said.

  Berry nodded and carried the plate to the wagon and set it on the tailgate. She knew Israel wouldn’t come to the fire to get it. She returned and sat down on the box again.

  “There was a man here tonight,” Rachel said. She looked at Fain and he swiveled on his heels to face her. “He was here in the camp almost before we knew it. He looked Indian, but he talked French.”

  “Was his hair clubbed, slight build, ’n’ moved fast ’n’ sure?” Rachel nodded. Fain glanced at Simon and back at Rachel. “It was a scout called Light. He works for Simon some.”

  “We wasn’t scared of him.” Rachel glanced at Berry’s set face. She’s worried I’ll tell that Asa was going to whip us with the strap, she thought, and wished she hadn’t mentioned the man.

  “Some folk think Light’s kinda crazy.” Fain threw the dregs of his tea into the fire. “He’s part French and part Indian. His ma was killed by the French, his pa by the Indians. His young Indian wife and baby murdered by rivermen. Light kinda turned in on hisself. He’s a quiet one, but he’d fight his way outta a sack of wildcats. He’s the best woodsman, tracker, and knife man I ever knowed. He’s got no fear and no doubt ’bout killin’ if it’s what’s got to be done. But he’s gentlelike with womenfolk.”

  Berry shivered. “Poor man. Is he a friend of yours?”

  “I guess you’d call it that,” Fain said thoughtfully. “Me ’n’ Simon ’n’ a couple fellers up on the Missouri is ’bout the only ones he has any truck with. If he come in ’n’ showed hisself, he had a powerful reason. He’s not much on mixin’ with folks.” Fain waited, but Rachel offered no more information.

  Berry glanced at Simon and away. He hadn’t spoken a word, but she could feel his eyes on her from time to time. A muffled cry from Rachel startled her and she turned quickly. Rachel was leaning back, holding her leg out in front of her. She’d been having muscle spasms for the last few weeks, and the only thing that gave her relief from the terrible pain was to walk. Berry forgot the men. She jumped up, straddled the leg Rachel had thrust out in front of her, put her hands beneath her arms, and tried to lift her.

  “I can’t . . .” Rachel gasped. “Oh . . . oh . . .”

  “You’ve got to!” Berry tried to lift her again.

  Large hands crowded her away. “Let me.” Fain’s great strength lifted Rachel easily to her feet. “Rub the muscles,” he instructed. Berry fell to her knees, slipped her hands beneath Rachel’s skirt, and rubbed the knotted muscles in her calf until they softened enough for Rachel to place her foot on the ground. “I’ll walk her.” Fain’s forearm fit beneath Rachel’s arm and his hand grasped her arm. She leaned heavily on him and took a painful step. Berry watched helplessly, grateful for the big man’s help. They walked back and forth within the circle of light.

  “When’s she due?” Simon asked. He was still standing in the same spot, still leaning on his rifle.

  Berry’s face turned brick red. Men weren’t supposed to mention such things! “Anytime,” she snapped.

  “I thought as much. She should move around more.”

  Pride prevented Berry from telling him that Rachel didn’t ride in the wagon all the time because she wanted to. She would have preferred to walk some of the time, but her footgear wasn’t stout enough. “You seem to know so much. How many younguns do you have?”

  “None. No wife.” He almost smiled.

  “That don’t mean . . .” Her voice lapsed and her eyes traveled past him. “Where’s he goin’ with her?” She could just barely see the glimmer of Rachel’s dress as she and Fain walked into the darkness. She took a step after them, then turned and picked up the musket. Simon grasped her arm.

  “Nothing will happen as long as she’s with Fain.”

  “I trust no man!” Berry jerked her arm free.

  “You trusted me . . . last night.” This time he did smile. The spreading of his lips rearranged the features of his face pleasantly. He’s handsome, Berr
y thought with an unexplainable little flutter in her stomach. Not pretty handsome, but not hard to look at. The warmth where his hand had held her arm was still there. He continued to grin at her. “What do you think he’ll do? Throw her to the ground and have his way?”

  “Ain’t that what you men think a doin’ all the time?” She could have bitten her tongue for saying the bold words. Color came up her neck and flooded her face for the second time. His low, rumbling laugh did nothing to ease her discomfort.

  “When they’re looking at a pretty woman, they do. Have you looked in a looking glass lately?”

  “I’ve got no lookin’ glass,” she snapped, and moved back from him so that she could see his face without having to tilt her head so far back. The musket hung heavily against her thigh. She looked at it to keep from looking at him, then raised her chin and stuck out her jaw. She walked away from him.

  At the end of the wagon she took several deep breaths and wondered why her pulse was hammering so wildly. She put the musket in the corner of the wagon within easy reach and stood for a minute with her hands gripping the tailgate. When she turned he was there; she almost rubbed against him. She swallowed a startled cry.

  Simon leaned his rifle against the end of the wagon and placed a hand on each side of her. Her back was against the rough boards. She was caged by his arms and tall, hard body. She could scarcely breathe for the excitement that crowded her lungs. Later she was to wonder why she hadn’t struggled and why she’d said something so stupid.

  “I hate that hat!”

  “Why? It’s a good hat.”

  “Humph!”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Means I still don’t like it.”

  “It keeps the sun off.”

  “Sun’s not out now. You hidin’ a bald spot?”

  He laughed, and a puff of warm breath fanned her face. He smelled of leather, tobacco, and something tangy, like spice. “Take it off, if you’re bound to find out,” he invited softly.

  She hesitated, then looked up at him with an impish grin tilting her lips. It seemed to her that she reached a long way up to grasp the hat brim. The hat was jammed tightly on his head and she had to tug to remove it. Thick, straight black hair grew back from a high forehead and fell down over his ears. He looked younger without the hat, almost boyish. A bubble of laughter came up and out of her mouth. It was soft and musical.

  Simon’s eyes devoured her face. “Satisfied?” My God, she was pretty! More than pretty, he thought. She’s spunky, and smart, too. Soft and sparkling as the morning sun.

  “Well! You’re not onion-slick on top. That’s a fact!” She laughed again, a soft trilling sound.

  “I like to here you laugh.”

  She held his hat in both hands. She felt it was some kind of barrier between them. Her face sobered. “I’ve not had much to laugh about lately.”

  “Why was your pa going to let a man like Linc Smith court you?”

  She bristled with indignation. “I got somethin’ to say about that! I’d not let that bush-bottomed, stinkin’ buzzard bait court me!”

  He waited a long time to speak. An eternity went by while his eyes held hers captive. Finally he said quietly, “I’ll court you.”

  Berry felt herself go ice cold. The next instant she was burning hot, as a flash of anger raced through her body. Stunned, and then angered by his matter-of-fact proposal, she jammed his hat against his chest and pushed. “Don’t do me no favors!”

  “What’re you riled about?” There was a puzzled frown on his face and he gazed at the flawless beauty of hers. Her flashing green eyes were lit with the fire of hostility. Goddamn, she was lovely! His heart began to beat with a new rhythm. He felt desire tighten his buckskins. He’d not admitted to himself that he’d had a hunger to be near her, to touch her, since he’d first seen her across the campfire. Her rejection spurred him to say, “Would you rather be courted by Linc Smith?”

  Now she struggled. “I’d not take either of you if you was the only ones in the world walkin’ on two legs! I’ll not take just anything throwed out to me ’cause my pa’s got no more gumption than a drunk hoot owl!” Her breath came in heated spasms. “I aim to do my own choosin’ . . . if I choose at all!”

  “I’m not likin’ to be put in the same sack as Linc Smith.” His mouth tensed and his eyes stared coolly down at her. There was a tight alertness about him now, something primitive and menacing. He was angry and didn’t try to hide it.

  “I never said you was the same cut,” she hissed.

  “Then why’re you all riled up like a cornered cat ’cause I said I’d court you?”

  “It was the way you said it! Like I was some sort of a low-down. Like . . . you was doin’ a favor for a nobody! I’m just as much a somebody as you are, Mr. Simon Witcher, trader ’n’ guide, even if I do have holes in my dress ’n’ in my shoes. It ain’t all on the outside that counts. It’s here, on the inside.” She struck her chest with her fist. “Here, I’m just as much of a somebody as you are, or any fancy woman with gold hairpins in her hair! Ya hear?” Angry tears filled her eyes and she refused to blink them away. “Now . . . let me go or I’ll poke my knife in you!”

  “I never meant it that way. I’ve not been around women enough to know how to talk to ’em. Course you’re a somebody. You’re like findin’ a pretty pelt among a bunch of mangy hides.” His voice was low and caressing. He reached for a curl at the side of her neck and wound it about his finger. “I can’t see you wantin’ to work in your pa’s tavern, neither.”

  “Do you think I’m dosey?” she sputtered. “I’m not working in no tavern! We haven’t figured out yet what we’re gonna do if Pa won’t take up land. We’re hopin’ he’ll get over this crazy notion of a tavern.” Simon continued to hold the curl between his fingers. No man had ever touched her hair before and it was causing a confused, mixed-up feeling inside her.

  Simon’s eyes roamed her face. Strange feelings stirred in him. Had he been too long without a woman? This one was a beauty. She was a picture of flagrant outrage, her beauty highlighted by the high color in her cheeks and the sparkle of tears in her eyes. He wanted more than anything to kiss her. Just to kiss her and hold her, not to bed her. She was too rare a woman to use and discard. What would she do? Would she stab him with the knife she had in her pocket? He didn’t want to risk frightening her by taking the knife, so he asked her.

  “Will you stab me if I kiss you?”

  To his surprise, she laughed. “Why do you want to?”

  “Because you’re so . . . pretty.”

  “I might not like it. I’ve not been kissed by a man.

  “I’d like to be first.” The shimmer in her eyes and the smile on her soft mouth made him feel shaky inside.

  “What do I do?”

  “First, we get rid of this hat.” He took it from her and hung it over the barrel of his gun.

  Berry’s heart fluttered, and she drew the tip of her tongue across dry lips. The boldness of her actions, the sheer wonder of it, sent a thrill of excitement through her. Her hands lay palms down against the buckskin shirt that covered his chest. She could feel the steady thump of his heart beneath her hand. Slowly, haltingly, he drew her hands up to his shoulders so that he could pull her close to him. The moment crackled with tension. The hands on her back pulled her against him. At first she was rigid, unyielding. It seemed indecent for her breasts to be touching his chest.

  His nose nuzzled into the hair above her ear. “I’ll not force you,” he whispered.

  Berry felt her heart pounding like that of a scared rabbit. She was frightened, yet it was so pleasant to be close to him. He had a scent like spices and fresh pine needles. Her hands moved higher and her fingers came in contact with silky hair that hung to the back of his shirt. She breathed deeply and leaned against him. They stood for a moment, suspended in time, before he turned his head and lightly touched her lips with his. It was over in an instant and his cheek was pressed to hers. She was disappointed.r />
  “Did you like it?”

  The whisper tickled her ear. She laughed. “I don’t know. Is that all there is to it?”

  “Maybe we should try it again.” He liked the feel of this small girl in his arms. God! He’d never felt like this before. Not even with the women in that fancy brothel in New Orleans. He wanted to hold this lovely lass, cherish her, see that no harm came to her.

  “If you want to.” The whisper barely reached his ears.

  The arms that enclosed her tightened, and she was conscious of the heavy pounding of a man’s heart against hers for the first time. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers, held them there for an instant, then kissed her.

  Berry had no time to think about what she was doing. She tightened her arms about his neck and offered her lips again. This time their breaths mingled for an instant before he covered her mouth with his. There was no haste in this kiss. It was slow, sensuous, languid. He took his time deliberately and she offered herself willingly. Berry could feel the hard bones and muscles of his body thrusting against the softness of hers through her cotton dress. There was nothing threatening about the arms that held her. She felt protected, sheltered, intimately cocooned in his embrace. Forces stronger than she compelled her arms to tighten about him and her mouth to part beneath his.

  Mesmerized by his kiss, her thoughts fled, and feelings took over. Although his lips were soft and gentle, they entrapped hers with a fiery heat. There was a sweet taste to his mouth that was extremely pleasant, and his cheeks were rough against her face. Her fingers moved into the hair at the back of his neck as the bittersweet ache of passion was awakened in her.

  Berry was only vaguely aware that his hand had traveled down her back to her hips and that she was pulled tightly to him. She clung, unaware of his restraint, unaware of the tremor in his arms. She felt as well as heard the raspy sound that came from his throat when he lifted his head.

  Hoarse, ragged breathing accompanied the thunderous beat of his heart as he realized he had lifted her off the ground and that her arms were locked about his neck. He lowered her to her feet and looked down into eyes smiling into his.