* * *
A full day of healing had done little to remedy the evidence of Sullivan’s beating. The blood was gone, washed away at the stream before they’d set out, and the second eye had opened a while back. Still, he was cut and bruised and swollen in a way that made her heart lurch when she looked closely at him. It just wasn’t right.
He might be a handsome man but it was hard to tell at the moment. With a haircut and a change of clothes, and when his face had a chance to heal... perhaps. Still, she didn’t expect he looked any gentler or safer even when he hadn’t been recently beaten up. He was definitely not what one might call an upstanding citizen.
She’d known full well the dangers of a woman traveling in this wild country, with only young children for companionship. Being well armed eased her mind a little, as did her caution and the fact that since she’d left the railway in San Antonio and started out in her own wagon, she hadn’t run across a single other traveler.
The three men who approached from behind didn’t appear to be threatening, but the hairs on the back of Eden’s neck stood up all the same. Jedidiah had always told her to listen to her instincts.
“Good afternoon,” the one in the lead said affably. “Where you folks headed?”
The man pulled up alongside, but Sullivan didn’t slow the progress of the wagon. “West,” he said simply, without so much as turning his head to glance at the stranger.
“Us, too,” the man said cheerily. “Mind if we ride along with you?”
Sullivan mumbled a reluctant consent.
The man on the horse turned his eyes to Eden, then spared a glance for the sleeping children. “Afternoon, ma’am,” he said cordially. “My name’s Curtis Merriweather, and these are my brothers Will and George.”
Will and George drew closer, one on either side of the wagon. They tipped their hats absently, as if playing at being polite.
Curtis looked down at Sullivan, and if Eden wasn’t mistaken, his eyes hardened. “What’s your name, mister?”
“Sullivan,” he muttered.
Curtis grinned. He had thin lips and a slash of a mouth, and his smile was somehow odd, forced and much too wide. “Fine Irish name. Funny, Sullivan, but you don’t look Irish.”
Sullivan glanced up, and Curtis’s smile faded. “Damn, mister. What happened to you?”
Sullivan didn’t answer, just continued to stare at the man on the horse.
“Please watch your language,” Eden scolded softly, leaning forward. “There are children present, and just because they happen to be sleeping doesn’t mean you should pay less mind to your manners.”
“Sorry, ma’am,” Curtis said with a touch of a condescending smile. “So,” he continued, setting his eyes on Sullivan again, “where are you and the missus and the kiddies headed again?”
In an instinctive response, Eden opened her mouth to tell the man that she was not Sullivan’s missus. A sharp, warning glance from the battered man at her side stopped her, his eyes ordering her to remain silent. Well, perhaps it would be less complicated if the men believed her to be Sullivan’s wife, since they were traveling together. For the moment, anyway.
“We’re going to see my brother,” she said brightly.
“Do tell,” Curtis said, apparently happy to turn his attention to her and away from Sullivan. “Well, this is rough country. Me and my brothers, we’ll ride along and make sure your journey through this county is a safe one.”
“Great,” Sullivan mumbled.
The men spread out, effectively surrounding the wagon. One of the brothers. Will or George, rode ahead, and Curtis and the other Merriweather brother flanked the wagon. After a while their attention seemed to drift away from the occupants of the wagon, and they stared straight ahead, seemingly deadly serious and lost in thought.
Eden scooted across the wagon seat to sit close to Sullivan, thigh to thigh. She lifted her chin and arched up to whisper in his ear, “What’s your name?”
He looked down at her. “Sullivan,” he said, keeping his voice low.
She smiled slightly. “Your given name. If we’re supposed to be married...”
“Just call me honey,” he interrupted, and she could swear she detected a touch of humor in his voice.
“Really, Mr. Sullivan”—she leaned on his hard arm and looked up into his hazel eyes—“that would hardly be appropriate.”
He squinted at her, his gaze hard. He wrinkled his nose and a muscle in his cheek twitched. “Sinclair,” he finally whispered.
Her smile bloomed. “What a lovely name. Sinclair.” She rather liked the way the name rolled off her tongue. It was an unusual name for an unusual man. Yes, she liked it. “I don’t trust them,” she added in a lowered voice.
“Neither do I,” he muttered through battered lips.
Curtis looked back at them, and one eye narrowed. To ease his evident suspicions, she quickly kissed Sinclair Sullivan on the cheek just above one particularly nasty bruise. Her lips barely brushed his skin, but he tensed and turned his head to glare down at her. The ruse worked; Curtis returned his attentions to the road.
Millie rolled onto her knees and, yawning, leaned over the seat. “Where are we? Who are those men?”
Eden gave the little girl a wide smile. “Millie, sweetheart, we’re going to play a game.”
* * *
He’d be better off if he were still sprawled in the middle of the Webberville main street, face down and unconscious.
Curtis Merriweather and his brothers had decided to camp close by. The seven of them had eaten supper, beans and bacon and dried fruit, together. Millie had quickly and easily fallen into the “game,” calling Eden Mama and looking up into Sullivan’s face with wide, blue eyes and calling him Papa even when the Merriweathers were not within hearing distance.
The little boy Eden called Teddy remained, thankfully, silent.
Eden got the kids bedded down for the night in the back of the wagon on a bed of blankets, nestled together under a thick, well-worn quilt. She kissed them both good night, wished them sweet dreams, and then came to the campfire, where Sullivan sat on the ground wishing he was far away and face down in the dirt.
Not because of the Merriweather brothers, he decided as Eden lowered herself to sit close to him. But because of her.
“Who are they?” he asked softly, nodding to the wagon where the children slept.
Eden pulled up her knees and locked her arms around them, and then she looked at him, wide-eyed and serious, soft and pretty. A lady through and through, but every bit as much a woman.
“Millie has been with me for two months,” she said in a lowered voice. “Her mother died and... and no one else wanted her. It seemed best that she come to Texas with me. Maybe a fresh start is just what she needs.”
“And the boy?”
Taking a deep breath, Eden hesitated. She looked at him as if she wondered why he was so curious about the children who traveled with her. He wondered if he’d get a straight answer.
“When Millie and I left the rail, I purchased my own wagon and set out for Rock Creek.” She pushed back a strand of pale hair that had fallen from the bun long ago. Soft and silky, it brushed against her face. “I suppose we could’ve taken the stage and shipped my baggage separately, but the route by stage was so unnecessarily roundabout, and the accommodations seemed less than comfortable, so I decided this would be a more sensible way to travel.” She looked him square in the eye. “Do you believe in fate, Mr. Sullivan?”
“No.”
She almost smiled. He could see it, in a new sparkle in her eyes and a slight crook of her mouth. “I do. Two days after I left San Antonio, I stopped in a small town to purchase supplies. And there was Teddy, filthy and hungry and being chased by a fat deputy who obviously was not accustomed to dealing with children.” Her nose wrinkled in distaste at the memory. “I suppose it’s rude of me to call the sheriff fat, but he was very well-fed. Anyway, Teddy ran right into me, and, of course, when the sheriff arrived on
his heels I insisted on knowing why a small child was being chased about the streets like a criminal.”
“Of course you did,” Sullivan muttered.
“Teddy had been pretty much living on his own for months, since his uncle passed away, and they were going to ship him to an orphanage.” She turned her eyes to the dying fire. “It was clear to me that no one there had his best interests at heart, that no one cared what happened to that frightened, lovely child.”
“So you took him?”
She looked into his eyes again, as if testing him. “I couldn’t just leave him there. No one minded. Not the sheriff, nor the blacksmith who was supposed to be caring for him, nor the gaggle of women who gathered to watch us take our leave. I feel quite sure they were glad to be rid of him.
“He hasn’t spoken, but he does understand.” She stretched her legs out and leaned back slightly to look up at the sky as if she’d never seen it before. Her expression turned dreamy and hopeful. “I think I was meant to find these children, to take them in and care for them. That’s why I wasn’t on the stage. That’s why I was in that town at just the right moment.”
“Fate,” he said softly.
Eden shot him a quick glance. “I take it from the tone of your voice that you really don’t believe.”
He shook his head.
“What do you believe in?”
“Nothing.”
She didn’t like that answer, not at all. “You must believe in something.”
“I believe that before sunup we’re going to have trouble with the Merriweather brothers.” He turned his eyes to the second campfire not too far away. A rumble of coarse voices drifted their way, but he couldn’t tell what the brothers said. If Eden wasn’t sitting beside him he’d head over that way to listen, but then if Eden weren’t there he wouldn’t be, either.
“Perhaps it’s fate that I found you, too, Sinclair Sullivan,” Eden said softly. “Why think of the trouble I might’ve had handling the Merriweathers on my own.”
He looked at her, hard and unflinching. She was naive, sweet, so damned gentle... She didn’t belong here, and she definitely didn’t belong in Rock Creek. “If Jed is half as smart as I think he is, he’ll escort you back to Georgia before you get the chance to spend a single night in Rock Creek.”
She smiled at him as if the thought had already occurred to her. “Oh, don’t you worry about Jedidiah. I can handle him.”
* * *
Most nights she slept in the back of the wagon with Millie and Teddy. It wasn’t the most comfortable bed she’d ever slept in, but it was tolerable. There were blankets and a few pillows and even a tarp in case of rain. She had not yet had to use the tarp, thank goodness.
Last night they’d given Sullivan exclusive use of the wagon bed, and tonight... Well, climbing into that wagon bed with the Merriweathers close by didn’t seem wise. They’d be like fish in a barrel, wouldn’t they? The children were safe there, since there was an eagle eye between them and the other travelers, but if she or Sullivan joined them and the Merriweathers made their move, well, it wouldn’t be safe at all.
Eden lay on her side, facing the few remaining embers from their campfire. Sullivan lay close behind her, his head propped up in his hand as he kept watch. They hadn’t heard a sound from the Merriweathers’ camp in a good while. Maybe they were wrong. Maybe the brothers were innocent travelers after all. She wanted to believe that. With all her heart she wanted to believe. Unfortunately, she didn’t. Those men were definitely trouble. She saw violence in their eyes.
She rolled over to face Sullivan. “I don’t think I can stay awake all night,” she whispered.
“I can,” he whispered back. There was reassurance in that emotionless voice, and she was reminded that without Sullivan at her side she might be in a real fix. Jedidiah would skin her hide when he found out she’d traveled all this way on her own. Well, no. He wouldn’t ever lift a hand to actually hurt her, but he would have his say in the matter and it wasn’t likely to be pleasant.
“Sinclair,” she whispered.” That really is a lovely name.”
“Everybody calls me Sullivan.”
“Sullivan is a fine name, also,” she said, scooting slightly closer so there was no need to raise her voice. “But I like Sinclair. May I call you Sinclair, even when we’re not pretending to be married?”
He tensed, his entire body going rigid. She noticed the instant change, even though she couldn’t see him at all well by the light of the half-moon. “Call me whatever you want, lady. I don’t care.”
Sullivan’s voice was gruff, his eyes set unerringly on the other camp, and yet she didn’t buy the tough act he was putting on. She reached out and laid her fingers on his jaw. She got the feeling that he wanted to flinch, to draw away from her hand, but he didn’t.
“I believe the swelling is already going down. Does it still hurt?”
“No,” he said through clenched teeth.
She smiled. He was such a terrible liar! A breeze, cool enough to remind Eden that autumn had arrived, washed over them. The wind ruffled Sinclair Sullivan’s long hair and brought goose bumps to Eden’s arms. “Are you cold?” she whispered.
“No.”
“Well, I am.” She brought the thin blanket to her chin and edged closer to Sullivan. His body heat warmed her. His length buffered the wind. Edging a little bit closer still, she felt oddly comforted by his closeness.
Sullivan was a stranger, more or less, and yet she knew without a doubt that she could trust him with her life. It was more than the fact that he was Jedidiah’s friend. She looked into his eyes and felt nothing but goodness and warmth, and she always trusted her instincts.
“I’m going to sleep a little while, Sinclair,” she said. “Wake me if you hear anything suspicious.”
As she drifted off to sleep she could’ve sworn she heard him mutter, “Jed’s sister.”
* * *
Even if he hadn’t been waiting for the Merriweathers to make their move, he wouldn’t have gotten any sleep. He’d never given the matter much thought, but in all his twenty-nine years he hadn’t actually slept with a woman before. He’d screwed plenty, prostitutes and loose women who thought it might be fun to hook up with a half-breed for a night or two, but he’d never slept with one.
Eden Rourke continued to edge closer and closer through the night, as she slept, until she finally ended up with her nose buried in his chest. One small foot slipped between his calves and settled there for the duration, and one dainty hand rested on his side.
Once again he had the sneaking suspicion that Eden was not who she claimed to be. She was much too trusting to be any relation to Jedidiah Rourke.
Sullivan shifted slightly, but his movements didn’t disturb the woman who slept against him. He cursed beneath his breath, but she didn’t move.
Damn it, this woman made him as nervous as the Merriweathers. Eden Rourke was clearly a lady through and through, and ladies usually didn’t waste much time on a half-breed who carried a gun and dared anyone to get in his way. They turned away; they crossed the street; they pretended they didn’t see him. How many times in his foolish youth had he looked at a woman and noticed the frightened shift of her eyes, the way she lowered her gaze and turned away? Often enough that he didn’t bother even looking anymore.
But this one didn’t cast down her eyes, did she? She looked her fill and flashed heartfelt smiles as if... as if he was just a man and she was just a woman.
It was near dawn when the Merriweathers made their move. He heard them first, then saw them in the gray light as they crept upon the camp. Revolvers in hand, they headed slowly and cautiously for the place where Sullivan waited and Eden slept.
The rifle was behind him, the six-shooter close at hand.
“Wake up,” he whispered in Eden’s ear. “They’re coming.”
She stirred, but she didn’t open her eyes.
“Miss Rourke,” he whispered again. “Eden.”
She smiled and opened h
er eyes slowly, setting them on him in a way that was warm and trusting and sweet. When she was fully awake and realized exactly where she had slept, that her foot was wedged between his legs and her arm was around his waist, her smile faded and she slowly, carefully, scooted a few inches away from him. Even though it was dark, he was sure he could see her blush. He hated to ruin the moment with the news.
“They’re coming.”
She nodded once. Her soft body went rigid, but there were no tears, no sign of panic that he could see.
Without words, he told her to stay put. He rolled over, into the dark shadow of a copse of trees, and eased up with the six-shooter in his hand. He headed around the perimeter of the campground, staying in shadow, hoping to take the brothers by surprise. Eden didn’t move.
Moving soundlessly, quickly, and with ghostlike grace was his gift. That was the reason he’d been the scout with Reese’s elite Confederate unit in the war. He could sneak up on a man eating his supper, take his knife and spoon, and be gone before the man knew what had happened. The others assumed it was his Comanche blood that gifted him with the ability, but he knew better. A lifetime of trying to be invisible had the same result.
The brothers had spread out and approached from three directions in the faint light of dawn. They kept their eyes on the dark lump that had been Sullivan’s bed as they sneaked forward. Eden didn’t move or make a sound. If he didn’t know better, even he would think she was still asleep.
Sullivan approached one brother, staying in the darkness of the trees, making not a single noise, not a whisper or a scrape or an audible breath, until he could almost smell his adversary, until he could reach out and touch the man who crept toward Eden. He made his move quickly and silently, surprising the tall, thin Will, disarming him, and knocking him to the ground with such force that the man lay very still in the dirt as he tried to catch his breath. There was no more need to be silent as the other brothers turned, startled, in his direction. Surprised, they twitched and raised their weapons.
“I don’t think so.” Eden’s soft but firm voice startled them all, and the three armed men turned in her direction.
Sullivan (The Rock Creek Six Book 2) Page 3