Her Cold Revenge

by Erin Johnson

  Cheeks burning, Grace fumbled for the shawl, dragging it around her and trying to hold the wet fabric out and away from her body.

  Unable to look at Joe, she turned and rushed up the porch steps.

  CHAPTER 10

  “You’d better come in and dry off,” Grace muttered over her shoulder, embarrassment making her words stiff and unwelcoming.

  “I’m better off out here,” Joe said, his own voice a little hoarse.

  She turned and looked down at him with a sigh. “Joe, don’t be ridiculous. You’re soaked, and the storm is still fierce.”

  Joe looked at her a moment longer, and then clumped up onto the porch. “I won’t stay long, maybe just help you get a fire going.”

  “I can . . .” Grace wanted to say she could do it herself, but she wouldn’t be able to keep her shawl wrapped around her like this and carry logs. Besides, she realized she shouldn’t be so hard on him — he was only trying to help.

  They went inside and Joe headed for the log pile beside the fireplace. He muttered something under his breath, and then said, “I . . . I should take off my shirt; I’m dripping everywhere. I better wring it out so it can start to dry.”

  Grace stared as he pulled the buckskin shirt over his head. She’d seen Joe without a shirt before, but he’d been covered in war paint or bear grease. And it hadn’t been so noticeable in the Indian camp where children ran around naked. But here, alone in the cabin, watching his muscles ripple as he wrung the shirt into the sink and lay it flat near the fire, then as he picked up logs and stacked them in the fireplace — it did dangerous things to her insides. She knew she should turn away, but she couldn’t.

  Joe turned and surprised her, catching her staring. Grace’s face burned once more, her body growing hot, although he hadn’t yet lit the logs. He stood silent for a moment and studied her, from her tumbled hair to her flaming cheeks, to her shawl held out like a shield, to the water that encircled her feet. “You’re dripping,” he murmured. “Shouldn’t you get changed?”

  “I-I’ll be fine once the fire gets started. I’ll dry off quickly.”

  He sighed. “Go ahead and put on dry clothes. I’ll keep my back to you.”

  Just thinking about changing while Joe was in the cabin made Grace nervous, but she realized she could climb up and get changed in the loft. True to his word, Joe turned his back and, keeping an eye out to make sure he wasn’t peeking, Grace tossed her sopping shawl into the tin basin so she could climb the ladder. Once in the loft, she changed quickly, relieved at the feel of dry clothes on her skin, and then re-braided her hair. By the time she climbed back down, the kindling was crackling welcomingly. Joe squatted beside the fireplace, shivering and rubbing his hands together.

  “You need to get dry too,” Grace said. “You should change the . . . the rest of your clothes.”

  “Change into what?”

  Joe stood up and faced her, and her mouth went dry at the sight of his bronze chest in the flickering firelight. “Oh, um . . .” She was having trouble putting together coherent thoughts. Perhaps the widow still had some of her husband’s old clothes. “I’ll see if Miz Burns has anything for you to wear . . .”

  He smiled a little. “Think I’d look good in her Sunday best? That is, if she didn’t take it with her into town.”

  “No, I was thinking she might have some . . .” Why was it so hard to talk? “Some shirts or pants. She’s a recent widow like Caroline, so maybe . . . I’ll go see.” Grace had to get away from him. Tearing her gaze away, she scurried up the ladder again to have a look, but she couldn’t find any clothes, not even the widow’s. All she had was her own buckskin shirt — the shirt Sequoyah had given her in the Ndeh camp. Joe would never get her shirt over his broad . . . strong . . . shoulders . . . She shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts crowding her mind. She was sorry she’d hurt him, but Grace was sure she’d done the right thing in trying to keep him at arm’s length for now. She couldn’t get into a relationship.

  She swallowed, realizing she still hadn’t found anything for Joe to wear. Maybe he could wrap himself in a blanket? She pulled the quilt off the feather bed and tossed it down to Joe. “Uh, maybe you can use that until your clothes are dry.”

  Joe chuckled. “Good idea. Just a moment . . .”

  She sat on the bed and waited, trying not to imagine him taking off the rest of his wet clothes only a couple of feet away from her.

  “Grace?” Joe’s voice floated up to her, making her jump. “You can come down now. I’m decent.”

  When she peeked down from the loft, Joe stood by the fire, wrapped in the quilt. His shirt and trousers now both dangled from the ends of the hearth, far enough from the flame not to catch fire, but close enough to dry quickly.

  Breathing a sigh of relief that he was covered from head to toe, Grace descended.

  Joe smiled. “Thanks for the quilt. And the shelter.” His gaze went to her hair. “Oh, you braided it.” He sounded disappointed. “Wouldn’t it dry faster loose?”

  “I suppose.” Imagining Joe running his hands through her hair unnerved her. She took a breath.

  “You have beautiful hair,” he said shyly.

  “Thank you,” Grace whispered.

  Her heart began to thump like the rapid rhythms of the Ndeh drums, which only reminded her of dancing with Joe in the moonlight. She swallowed hard. They were alone in a cabin with only a quilt between her and Joe’s nakedness . . .

  She had to divert the conversation before the sparks flying between them lit a fire more powerful than the one in the hearth, one that burned out of control, but she couldn’t rein in her scattered thoughts. Sensible ideas floated just out of reach, to be replaced with memories of Joe touching her, kissing her. Of Sequoyah’s gentle teasing, asking if Grace loved him.

  Sequoyah. Grace seized that random thought and forced out a question. “H-how is Sequoyah? She and Dahana are now married?” She felt a surge of guilt that she hadn’t been in touch with her friend for a while, and a little embarrassed at the abrupt change of subject.

  Joe exhaled, seeming relieved too. “No,” he said with a frown. “Her father still wants her to marry Tarak, even though she rejected his proposal.”

  Grace sank onto the sofa, grateful to be off her shaky legs, and Joe settled into the rough-hewn rocker across from her.

  “Poor Sequoyah,” she said with a sigh. “If she’d admit her love for Dahana instead of keeping it a secret . . .” Grace stumbled to a halt. Couldn’t she find a topic that didn’t make her think about her relationship with Joe?

  He pretended not to notice her hesitation. “Well, she refuses to tell Cheis, and he only wants the best for her. Tarak is, after all, the best warrior.” His face twisted into an expression of distaste.

  Grace mirrored his dislike of Tarak, but for different reasons. He’d objected to Joe teaching her to be a warrior and continually let them know it.

  “But Sequoyah wants to follow her heart,” she said quietly, biting her lip.

  “I know. She’s desperately unhappy. I only hope she doesn’t do anything foolish.”

  “Would Cheis be so upset if she married Dahana?”

  Joe shrugged. “I don’t know. I doubt she’ll be able to ignore her father’s wishes.”

  Her heart ached for her friend. Tarak had staked his horse outside Sequoyah’s home, the typical Ndeh proposal. She’d had four days to indicate her acceptance by feeding the horse, but Grace left the Indian camp before Sequoyah had made her choice. She had encouraged Sequoyah to tell her father that she loved Dahana, not Tarak, but evidently her friend hadn’t followed her advice. Although, to be fair, Grace hadn’t followed her friend’s advice either. Sequoyah had told Grace to follow her heart and marry Joe . . .

  “Grace?” Joe had his head tilted to one side as if waiting for an answer.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you say someth
ing?”

  He looked crestfallen but waved a hand in the air. “Never mind. Must not have been important enough to get your attention.”

  “I’m sorry. I was thinking about Sequoyah.”

  “What about her?” Hurt edged his words.

  Grace wasn’t about to mention her friend’s advice. “I wish I could see her again. I really miss her.”

  “Did . . . did you miss me?”

  More than he would ever know. But Grace didn’t know how to answer his question. All she wanted was to be swept into his arms, but that was dangerous, much too dangerous. Especially now they were alone, with the fire roaring . . . She couldn’t meet his eyes.

  “Of course I did,” she whispered, then in a louder voice added, “I miss everyone — Cheveyo, Cheis . . .”

  “I see.” Joe pressed his lips into a line.

  Grace had no idea how to let him know she cared without igniting the passion between them, but Joe’s stiff shoulders and strained face revealed that she had hurt him deeply again.

  “I-I meant what I said in the saloon, Joe. All of it.”

  “Don’t toy with me, Grace. This isn’t a game for me, like it is for you.” He stood and moved toward the door. “I think I’d be better off sleeping out in the rain tonight.”

  “Wait! Joe, please try to understand.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I-if I push you away, it’s not because I don’t want . . .” She tailed off, unsure whether she should finish her thought.

  “Grace, much as it pains me, I promise I won’t interfere with your quest to find the Guiltless Gang.” He looked at her hard. “I intend to keep my word. So if that’s the problem —”

  “That’s not —”

  Joe whirled toward her, glowering. “Then what is the problem, Grace? You can’t stand the idea of . . . of loving me? Of letting me love you back?”

  Her breath caught sharply at his words — they cut her to the quick, and she focused on her lap, where she was wringing her hands. He loved her? She could barely breathe. Joe had been honest with her, and she knew he deserved her honesty in return, but still she hesitated.

  “Never mind. Your silence is answer enough.” Joe reached for the door latch.

  “You can’t go out there. It’s pouring.”

  “Save your care for someone else,” he muttered. “Someone you’re willing to be honest with.”

  “Wait, Joe, please.” She cleared her throat. “It-it’s not because I can’t stand the idea of . . . loving you. In fact, it’s because of that I’m afraid of being alone here with you.”

  He wheeled around. “You don’t trust me. Haven’t I always been honorable? Have I ever done anything to show myself to be untrustworthy?” He was practically shouting, and for a moment, with him gripping the blanket around his body, it was almost comical. If his words weren’t so heartbreaking. “You’re willing to hide out here and risk your safety to lure an outlaw, but you’re afraid of me?”

  “Not you, Joe. Me!”

  He stood staring at her as if she’d hit him with a poker. “What do you mean by that?”

  Grace took a breath. “I’m afraid of what might happen if we’re alone here together all night. I don’t know if I can . . .”

  “Wait, are you saying what I think you’re saying?” His own breathing seemed to be speeding up. “You’re afraid of what you might do?”

  Her face burning, eyes fixed on the rag rug by her feet, she whispered, “Outside in the rain when you looked at me . . .” She buried her face in her hands.

  “You want to be with me as much as I want to be with you?” Joe’s voice was gentle but laced with passion.

  She nodded.

  “Oh, Grace . . .” Joe crossed the room and knelt beside her. He tucked the quilt around himself tightly but slid one hand out and took hers. “Look at me.”

  She hesitantly lifted her gaze to meet his eyes. She’d expected he’d think badly of her, but instead the love shining in his eyes warmed her even more than the fire.

  “I’ve been so tangled up in my own feelings, I gave no thought to . . .” Joe swallowed hard. “I’d never take advantage of your love. I only want to be with you. To . . . to spend time with you.”

  “I want that too.”

  “Is it all right if I sit beside you?”

  Shyly, Grace nodded and moved over to make room for him on the sofa.

  Joe settled beside her and fixed the quilt so he could wrap an arm around her. Grace laid her head on his chest, reveling in the beat of his heart.

  “Grace?”

  Joe whispering her name sent shivers down her spine, and she tilted her head to meet the heat of his gaze. Her mouth went dry, drier than the sandstorm that had raged earlier, and in the pause between her breaths, he bent and touched his lips to hers. Before she could stop herself, her arms snaked around Joe’s neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. She melted against him, and he tightened his embrace.

  Suddenly, he broke away with an unsteady laugh. “We’d better confine ourselves to talking, or . . .” His tanned cheeks glowed crimson as his words trailed off. He looked off in the distance and, his words barely a whisper, caressed her shoulder. “If we keep kissing like that, I’ll have trouble remembering my promise.”

  A little ashamed of her eager response, Grace unwound her hands from behind his head and twisted out of Joe’s encircling arms. When she moved to stand, he grabbed her hand.

  “Don’t go. I love holding you, just . . . being close to you.” He drew her back toward him. “Please?”

  Grace couldn’t resist the pleading in his eyes and let him pull her closer in to him again. “But no kissing.” She wasn’t sure who her stern warning was for — him or herself. She only knew that around Joe she behaved like tinder to a spark. If she wasn’t careful, someone would get burned.

  CHAPTER 11

  Blinding sunlight woke Grace the next morning. In the haze between sleep and waking, rough-hewn walls emerged in her cloudy vision, and she noticed the faint scent of smoke from a dying fire hanging in the air. She needed to get up and help Ma, but she was reluctant to leave this cocoon of comfort. She snuggled closer to the warm body beside her, the arm encircling her. Arm? She wasn’t sharing the bed with Abby . . .

  Of course not. Grace began to remember. Her sister was —

  Her throat tightened, and she struggled to push away the conflicting memories. She had to get back to the light, to the bright sunlight of being with Joe. Through the blur of moisture clouding her eyes, the unfamiliar cabin walls and furniture took shape and she shook her head a little, trying to free herself from the shadows of the past.

  Beside her, Joe mumbled something in his sleep and his arm tightened around her. She concentrated on him holding her close. They’d talked late into the night, cuddling by the fire on the sofa, and she had no recollection of drifting off to sleep. What stood out vividly in her mind was the heat of Joe’s lips touching hers and her eager response . . .

  Her cheeks grew warm, and the desire to touch Joe and kiss him again grew overwhelming. Before her last bit of resolve crumbled, she wriggled out of his embrace, but she sat beside him a moment to watch the rise and fall of his chest under the quilt. She reached over and smoothed back wayward strands of his shoulder-length hair that had fallen over his face. Joe’s lips moved, but he didn’t wake. Grace smiled. Back in the Ndeh camp, he had been an early riser, but this morning it seemed as if he could sleep through a buffalo stampede. Emboldened, she reached out and stroked the stubble on his cheeks and chin.

  Without opening his eyes, Joe captured her hand, brought it to his lips, and pressed a kiss into her palm. Then he entwined his fingers with hers and sat up, the quilt sliding from his upper body. Grace swallowed hard and fought to tear her gaze from his tanned, rock-hard chest.

  He scrunched his brows. “You all right?”

  His tend
erness along with the swirling tangle of grief and desire inside triggered her to sudden tears. She turned her head so he couldn’t see them, but with a gentle finger Joe turned her face toward him. “Did I upset you?” He brushed away the tears with a feather-light touch.

  Grace shook her head. The ache in her chest expanded, constricting her breathing.

  “Why are you crying?”

  Grace’s eyes filled with fresh tears. “I-I dreamed I was home again with Ma and Pa and . . .” Her voice came out hoarse and strained. “I just . . . I felt safe for a moment, here with you, but then I remembered . . .”

  His eyes filled with compassion, Joe reached for her and drew her into his arms, cradling her head against his chest. Grace allowed the tears to fall as he stroked her hair and murmured soothing words. After her tears were spent, the rhythmic thump of Joe’s heart and the evenness of his breathing calmed her. She wanted to stay here forever . . .

  But she had a job to do.

  She pushed away from his chest and sat up straight. Although her throat was still thick with tears, she tried to make her voice steady. “You . . . you should go soon,” she said with a sigh. “I need to be alone here in case the thief shows up.”

  “Right,” he said, and she could tell he was trying to hide disappointment. “I’d better be getting out of here then.” He pushed himself off the sofa, turned, and strode toward the fireplace, clutching the quilt around him.