by Janet Dailey
"How is he?"
"Resting." Deu picked up the meal tray. "He ate nearly all his food. I think he would have eaten more, but he got tired. That's okay, though. He's started eating again, and when a man starts eating, that's when he starts getting better. It never fails." Taking the tray, Deu left the room.
Restless, Lije wandered over to the window. The wind had died to a stiff breeze. High up, clouds scudded across the ocean of blue sky, announcing the advance of the changing weather pattern. He watched them for a long time—until he heard the quick tap of footsteps on the stairs and the distinctive rustle of long skirts.
Tensing, he swung to face the door. Diane walked through the opening, saw him, and paused, her chin lifting fractionally in response to the challenging stab of his gaze.
"I came to get the shawl and hat I left on the dresser," she stated.
Lije nodded, aware it wasn't his permission she was asking. As she went to retrieve them, he moved away from the window and came around the bed.
"I take it you and Reverend Cole are leaving now."
"Yes. Deu went to bring the buggy around." Diane collected her things and turned.
Lije stood in her path. "What will you do when you get back to the fort?"
"What will I do?" She frowned, puzzled by the question.
"Don't pretend you don't understand me." Impatience riddled his voice. "You and I both know capturing one of Watie's top officers would be quite a coup for the Yankees. Are you going to tell your father the major is here?"
Stung by the cold accusation in his voice, Diane reacted with anger. "Truthfully, the thought hadn't crossed my mind until now. But there isn't anything you can do to stop me, is there?" she challenged. "You can't keep me here. If you did, you know my father would immediately send out a patrol to search for me. He knows where I am, which means this is the first place they would come to look. And you can't spirit your father away after I leave. He's too weak to stand, let alone sit on a horse. Your hands are tied, aren't they?"
"Will you tell?"
"I should. He's a Confederate. A traitor, the same as you are." She tried to hold on to her anger, but too many other emotions crowded in. She half-turned to escape his prying eyes. "But sometimes . . ." Her voice thickened; she stopped and tried again. "Sometimes it's hard to think of you as the enemy, Lije. Sometimes, I—" She paused again. Evasion would have been simple for her, but an innate honesty impelled her to finish the sentence. "Sometimes, I miss you so much." She looked back at him with an outpouring of pain and love and longing.
He reached out and drew her to him, pinning her arms between them and crushing her hat and shawl. He hadn't meant to touch her. That was his last coherent thought before he covered her lips with his in a rough and desperate kiss. Her throaty moan spilled into his mouth like a rich, drugging wine.
Needs and desires too long suppressed claimed him. He pulled the shawl, hat, and reticule from her fingers, and gave them a toss, not caring where they landed. Her hands instantly curled around his neck, her fingers clawing into his hair as she returned the raw pressure of his kiss and demanded more.
He couldn't resist her. He felt her tremble as he touched, tasted, and tempted. His breath caught on her name. Pain and power, they were both tangled together in his need for her. She made him hurt and made him soar just by being in his arms.
"You don't know how hard I've tried to forget you," he told her, his voice thick, husky. "But you've been there, at the edge of my every thought. I've never stopped wanting you. Needing you."
"I'm glad," she murmured and tugged his mouth back to hers.
She was pulling something from him, drawing something out of him. His mind was swimming in the mist of his needs as his searching fingers found the buttoned front of her burgundy traveling suit and tugged the buttons free from their holes. Beneath, she wore a lace-trimmed, ivory chemise that went all the way to her throat, as erotic to him as the lowest décolletage. Arching her back, he tore his mouth free to fasten it on her breast, suckling greedily through the cotton.
The pleasure of it, dark and damning, lanced like a saber through his system. He heard the gasping cry she made and went back to swallow it, filling his palms with her breasts, his thumb discovering the wet material where his mouth had been.
His busy mouth never paused, moving from cheek to jaw to ear and back again. His breathing was heavy and ragged. "Every minute, every hour, every day, I've wanted you."
She went soft against him for an instant. Then she pulled back. "I've wanted you, too, Lije." Her voice fell to a throaty whisper. "More than you'll ever know." Reaching up, she cupped a trembling hand to his face. "I want us to be together. Now. Forever. And we can be," she said with growing confidence. "Your father belongs in a hospital, under a doctor's care. Take him to Fort Gibson—"
"No." He caught her hand and pulled it down from his face.
"Give it up, Lije," she urged, her tone insistent. "The South can't win. Not anymore. Fort Smith is already in Union hands. The rebel armies are being driven farther and farther south all the time. You don't have to stay with them. You can come to the fort and do as so many other Cherokees have done— join the Union army."
"No. I can't do that. I won't do that."
"The war is lost. Why go on fighting?"
"I'll go on fighting as long as he does." He jerked his head toward The Blade.
Diane pulled free and took an angry step away. "Why must you be so stubborn?" With shaking hands, she proceeded to button the front of her suit.
Lije never moved. "Are you going to tell your father?"
She froze for an instant, then her shoulders sagged and a long breath rushed from her. "You don't know how tired I am of making decisions." She looked back, her glance running to him with longing and regret. "Sometimes I wish you had never let me leave this house, that you had never let me pack my things. You could have persuaded me, Lije. You could have convinced me. I loved you so much, I would have stayed. You knew it, but you never even tried. Why, Lije?"
"Because," he said, "you would have grown to hate me for it. More than that, you would have grown to hate yourself. You can't abide weakness, Diane. Not in someone else. And not in yourself."
She dragged a breath in and let it out in a long, long sigh. "I wish I could say you were wrong."
"I know."
"Do you?" She turned, her head lifted, her control back, a touch of sadness hovering on her lips. "I wish you would quit this fighting while there is still time. There's no more reason for you to protect your father. The feud is over now. Kipp is dead."
In answer, Lije took the bullet from his pocket. "Eliza dug this out of my father's back." She looked at it and glanced up in silent question. "It came from Alex's gun."
"Did The Blade tell you that?"
"Yes."
"You think Alex will come after him now that Kipp is dead." She looked at him with sudden understanding.
"I can't be sure. And I can't take the chance he won't." He put the bullet back in his pocket.
"It's clear that nothing has changed. This feud is still more important to you than I am," she stated, all stiff and armored with pride.
"If that's the way you choose to look at it."
"It's the only way I can look at it." She walked over and retrieved her crushed hat, shawl, and reticule from the floor, then took a step toward the door and paused. "As for the other—when I get back to the fort, I'll do this much. I won't volunteer any information about The Blade. But if I'm asked, I won't lie."
She walked out of the room. Lije held himself stiffly, listening to the voices below exchanging farewells. The front door opened and closed. She was gone. The set of his jaw became hard as he turned and walked over to the bed.
The Blade groaned in his sleep, stirred, and sucked in a sharp breath, grimacing in pain. His eyelids fluttered for a moment. Then he stretched a leg out beneath the covers and groaned again. The morphia was wearing off.
Lije took a pill from the tin his m
other kept in the medical basket beside the bed. Using the mortar and pestle on the nightstand, he ground the pill into a powder and dissolved it in a small amount of water. He cupped a hand behind The Blade's head and gently lifted it, pressing the glass to his lips.
"Drink this. It'll stop the pain."
"No," The Blade groaned and tried to turn his head away.
"Come on. You'll feel better after you drink this."
Again there was that small movement of refusal. Lije lowered the glass and frowned. "You don't want to take this?"
"See what I can . . . stand." The slurred words were pushed through teeth gritted against the pain. "Makes . . . my mind swim. . . . Too weak." He breathed in labored breaths. "Worse than . . . drunk. No good . . . like this."
"All right." Lije lowered his head back onto the pillow and set the glass on the night table. "We'll wait. Let me know if it gets too bad."
There was a small nod. The Blade opened his eyes and struggled to focus on Lije. "Later . . . got to stand . . . got to see . . . if I can."
"Later," Lije promised.
He closed his eyes, a heavy sigh rushing from him as he drifted back into a stupor induced by the drug and the pain. He mumbled once, "Dangerous here " It was the first indication that he was aware of how exposed and vulnerable they were.
23
The thwack of an axe blade biting into wood rang through the afternoon stillness. The black mare swiveled an ear at the sound, then carefully picked her way along the muddy lane, avoiding the puddles left by two days' worth of rain. Alex idly studied the house directly ahead. No black mourning draped the front door, but he wasn't sure what that meant and urged the mare into a lope. The mare immediately rocked into the gait and splashed through a puddle, snorting her displeasure at the spray of muddy water.
"Alex! Alex, wait!"
He pulled up and looked back, catching sight of Sorrel clumping through the woods on his left, wearing a pair of heavy boots two sizes too large. Smiling at his luck, he swung the mare around and rode back to meet her. He could always count on Sorrel to tell him anything he wanted to know.
She waited for him on the grassy verge at the lane's edge, all breathless and excited. "What are you doing here, Alex?"
"I stopped by to deliver your birthday present." It had seemed as good an excuse as any for coming. Alex had never visited his family without a reason.
"It isn't my birthday yet."
"But I may not be able to get away when your birthday does come around. So I thought I'd better give you your present while I had the chance." Alex dismounted and unfastened the flap of his saddlebag and took out a small package wrapped in brown paper.
"Are you being sent away again?"
"Not that I know about, but with the army, you can never be sure." He turned and offered the package to her. "Sorry, I didn't have any fancy ribbon to tie around it."
"That's okay." Sorrel took it from him with undisguised eagerness, then turned her bright eyes on him. "May I open it now?"
"Sure." Alex grinned and watched as she ripped the paper off. Her mouth opened in a big O, and her eyes grew nearly as big when she saw the gold locket and chain inside. "Do you like it?"
"It's beautiful," Sorrel whispered. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever had." She paused long enough to fling herself at him and give him a quick hug, then went back to admiring the locket.
"If you open it up, there's a place inside where you can put a picture or a lock of hair." Alex had already removed the strands of black hair the locket had previously contained. All in all, the cloth-wrapped bundle he'd taken from the Meynard family had proved to be a good haul. In addition to nearly thirty dollars in gold coin, he was now the owner of a lady's brooch, a pair of garnet earrings, and a fancy gold watch fob.
"Alex." Sorrel darted him a worried and perplexed look. "It has somebody's name on the back of it."
"I got it from the sutler," he lied. "I guess he took it in trade for some food. The minute I saw it, I knew the perfect young lady who should be wearing it. Turn around and I'll fasten it for you."
Satisfied with his explanation, Sorrel surrendered the ends of the gold chain to him and turned, lifting the mass of long red hair off her neck so he could hook the chain. As soon as the clasp was secured, she proudly swung back to face him. "How does it look?"
"Beautiful," he replied absently, and Sorrel immediately peered down at it. The axe rang again. Alex glanced in the direction of the sound. "So what are you doing out here in the woods?"
"I was helping Deu chop and stack firewood so we'll have plenty for winter." She fingered the locket, continuing to admire it.
"Deu." Alex stiffened, his glance slashing to her face. "What's he doing here? Did something happen to your father?" He waited for the look of sorrow to leap into her expression.
"He got shot. Deu and Lije brought him home—last week, I think it was."
"He's alive?" The first current of unease skittered through him.
Sorrel nodded and heaved an exaggerated sigh of relief, smiling. "At first I was afraid he was going to die, but he's getting better. Lije helped him to stand up yesterday. Mother was furious when she saw them. She made him get right back in bed."
Cold with shock, Alex stared at the house, his mind racing in sudden panic. The bastard was alive. His shot hadn't killed him. Why hadn't he made sure The Blade was dead? He would come gunning for him now—the same as he'd come after his father. And Lije would be with him.
He had to get out of here. Alex grabbed up the reins.
"Let's go to the house, Alex." Sorrel touched the locket and tried to give off an air of poise and maturity. Inside, she felt positively heady with delight. Jewelry. No one had ever given her jewelry as a present before. It wasn't a gift for a child; it was what you gave an adult. "I want to show everybody my birthday present"
"Sorry, I have to leave." He stuck a foot in the stirrup and swung onto the mare.
"But why? You just got here," Sorrel protested.
"I know." He gave her a quick, stiff smile. "But remember I told you I just came by to drop off your present. I have to report back to the fort before dark, and I still have to ride over to my father's farm and check on things, to see whether Watie's marauders have burned the place yet."
"They wouldn't do that" Sorrel said quickly, but she knew better. Marauders had looted and burned her grandfather's house.
His mouth twisted viciously. "They'd do it in a heartbeat, Sorrel. In a heartbeat."
He touched a spur to the mare and rode off. Sorrel watched him a moment, then turned and hurried to the house. She had barely taken three steps inside the house before her mother called out, "Sorrel, you'd better not be tracking in this house with those muddy boots."
"Honestly, Mother, I am not a child anymore. I took my boots off before I came in," she declared with airy dignity, then walked over to the gilt-framed mirror to admire her locket. "Come see what Alex brought me for my birthday."
"Alex?" Temple came from the rear hall. "Is he here?"
"Not now. He had to leave." Sorrel gazed at her reflection, turned this way and that to watch the play of light across the locket's gold face. When she caught sight of Temple in the mirror, Sorrel turned and held out the locket. "See what Alex got me. Isn't it beautiful?"
"It's very beautiful," Temple agreed. "But your birthday—"
"Alex knew it wasn't my birthday yet, but he wanted to give this to me now in case he was sent somewhere else. You know how the army is." Sorrel feigned an adultlike knowledge of such things.
Lije came down the stairs. "Did I hear you say Alex was here? What did he want?"
Sorrel bristled at his tone. "He didn't want anything. He came to see me and give me this present." Touching the locket, she turned back to the mirror again and smiled at the sight of it around her neck.
"Why didn't Alex come to the house?" Temple wondered.
"Because he had to go check on Uncle Kipp's farm and make sure everything was all right there,
then be back to the fort before nightfall." Sorrel paused as a thought occurred to her. "Although it's his farm now that Uncle Kipp is dead, isn't it?" She felt a twinge of guilt that she hadn't thought to tell Alex how sorry she was about his father.
"What did he say? Did he ask you any questions?" Lije came up behind her, his reflection joining hers in the mirror. The hostility and distrust in his voice were unmistakable.
Sorrel reacted to him with instant anger. "I hate it when you talk like that about Alex. You don't like him. You've never liked him, but I do. Why can't you leave him alone?"
"Sorrel," Temple murmured in reproval.
She turned on her. "But it isn't fair. Alex came to bring me this locket, and I was so happy—and now, he's ruined it!" She ran off in tears.
Lije watched her, a troubled frown furrowing his brow. Maybe Alex's visit was as innocent as she said. Maybe.
24
"Miss Temple. Miss Temple." Phoebe hurried into the bedroom, struggling to catch her breath after running up the back stairs. "Yankee soldiers— they're marching up the lane."
"Is Lije back?"
"No," she said, still breathing hard. "He must still be off hunting."
"Got to get . . . out of here." Still half-drugged by the morphia Temple had given him hours ago, The Blade tried to raise up on an elbow. But the combination of pain and weakness defeated the attempt. He collapsed onto the mattress, blanching nearly white, his face twisting in agony. "Can't . . . let them find . . . me."
"You're not going anywhere until we get this bandage tied. Finish it for me, Eliza." Temple went to the window to look for herself.
"The Blade's right, Temple. We have to get him out of the house."
"It's too late. They're almost here now." Temple stared at the column of Negro infantry, led by a trio of mounted white officers. "We could never get him out without being seen. We'll have to hide him." She swung away from the window and scanned the room. "Under the bed. It is so obvious, maybe they won't think of looking there."