Prairie Song

by Jodi Thomas

  The muscle across Brant’s strong jawline twitched before he realized Holliday was kidding. She’d long ago replaced her heart with a change purse, but she wasn’t an evil woman. Before she’d decided she could make more money on her back, she’d been one of Hattie’s dealers at the poker games that used to run every weekend when he was a boy.

  “Send her up,” Brant ordered without giving her the pleasure of knowing that her joke had gotten under his skin. As she waddled out of the room, he looked around, suddenly seeing the filth of the place. Here, Cherish would be like a white rose dropped in the gutter. “Damn,” he swore, wishing she hadn’t found him.

  Before he could move, she stormed into the room, a whirlwind of pure delight. Her voice was clear and a little high with anxiety. “Thank goodness I found you.”

  “What do you want?” He hadn’t meant his words to sound harsh, but they did.

  “I’ve come to rebandage that wound.” She was using her most formal voice now, the kind she must have used on troublesome soldiers when she was at the army hospitals. “I don’t want all my time to have been wasted because you haven’t changed the dressing.”

  “I’m fine,” Brant lied. The wound had kept him awake most of the nights. “I haven’t even thought about it in days. So you can just turn around and go back home.”

  “No!”

  “Get out.” The sooner she learned to stay away from him the better. “Go on. The last thing I need is someone mothering me.”

  “I’m not mothering you.” Cherish backed him into the wall with one pointed finger sighted on him like a gun. “Now take off that shirt and let me have a look at you.”

  Brant tried another way to get her to leave him alone. “I could ask the same of you. I’ve already felt what lies beneath that blouse of yours. Since you’re trying to undress me, I wouldn’t mind swapping the pleasure.”

  Cherish turned and opened her medicine bag. “It won’t work. I’m not leaving until I’ve changed your bandage, even if I have to get your friend Holliday in here to sit on you while I do.”

  “She’d love that job.”

  “What job?” Holliday answered from the open doorway. “Here’s the water you asked for, Miss Wyatt.”

  He didn’t miss the smile of thanks Cherish flashed Holliday. It wasn’t the patronizing smile of one who had given an order, but the thank-you of one who had asked a favor and had it granted. The huge woman swelled another size with pride and newfound self-respect. “You just ask for anything else you need.” She glared at Brant. “And if this ruffian gives you any trouble you just yell and I’ll come in and personally pull off one of his ears.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Cherish laughed. “But thanks for the offer.”

  As Holliday left, Brant studied Cherish, wondering if there was anyone who didn’t love her on sight. “You win,” he whispered, rubbing his endangered ear between his thumb and forefinger, “but do anything that needs doing now because I don’t plan to be so easy to find again.” Half the law in Texas was looking for him and this little lady didn’t seem to have any trouble tracking him down.

  As Brant pulled off his shirt, Cherish laid out what she needed. “Sit here,” she ordered as she pulled a ladder-back chair in front of him and moved the lamp close to her side.

  She worked, cutting away the bandage. She was careful to soak places where dried blood held the material to his skin. As she worked, Brant felt he would drown in her nearness. The light danced across her face, brightening her eyes with emerald fire and highlighting her hair to sunrise gold. Her hands moved over his chest, cleaning around the wound. He couldn’t ever remember being touched with a light hand in his life. Even the few women he’d known had always been heavy-handed. No one had ever cared enough to try not to hurt him when they touched him. For a moment he wondered what it would be like to lie next to such a woman and make love to her. But it would never happen. The only way he’d ever keep such a woman near him was with fear, and somehow he couldn’t bear to think of her afraid.

  “Why did you come?” he whispered as she began wrapping the wound with a clean dressing.

  “This has to be done.” She didn’t look up at him, but her hands gently spread the bandage in a caress along his ribs.

  “But why?” He studied her. “I told you before I’m a walking dead man.”

  Cherish straightened and his eyes followed her as she put her medicines away. She was quiet for so long that he wasn’t sure she was going to answer. “I’ve come to warn you that someone may be looking for you.”

  Brant laughed. “Half the lawmen in the state are looking for me.”

  “Then you must go!” Her gentle voice was pleading.

  “I will.” He tried to think of why he hadn’t left already and realized suddenly that the answer was standing in front of him.

  He pulled on his shirt, not bothering to button it. Suddenly, the walls of the room seemed to be moving inward. She was so tiny, so fragile. He was afraid to touch her. “Thanks for coming,” he said between clenched teeth.

  She played with the latch on the medicine bag. “I have to get back. We have children to take care of from the mission. All three are ill.”

  “I thought I told you to stay away from Father Daniel.”

  Curiosity twisted her beautifully shaped eyebrows. “Why? He’s been nothing but kind to you. Perhaps you’d better tell me why I should stay away from the priest.”

  Brant was silent.

  “I make up my own mind about people. I doubt that I need a man who’s told me he’s killed people to warn me against a man of the cloth. If he’s done something, then tell me.”

  Only the tight muscle along Brant’s jawline moved.

  Cherish waited and grew impatient with his silence. What did she have to do to prove to this man that she could be trusted? “I must go,” she finally whispered.

  Brant didn’t want her to leave, but he knew he had no right to stop her. She’d saved his life twice and the best thing he could do for her was stay out of her life. “Cherish.” Her name was like a prayer on his lips. “Don’t ask too many questions. There are a great many people in this town who have something to hide. And don’t come looking for me again. It would only mean trouble.”

  She looked up and for a moment he thought he saw the sadness of a great loss in her eyes; then she blinked and the formal nurse returned. “Good-bye, Mr. Coulter. Take care of the wound until it’s completely healed.”

  Before he could answer she hurried from the room. He moved to the window so he could watch her make the journey back to Hattie’s Parlor at the end of the street. But Cherish didn’t appear in the street leading to Hattie’s. Only Bar’s thin silhouette made the trip back toward the old house. It took Brant several seconds to realize something had to be wrong.

  Even the air was thick with danger as Cherish walked deeper and deeper into the side streets. She knew she’d been smart to send Bar on home, but suddenly she wished she wasn’t alone. The very shacks seemed to breathe as the cold air rattled them. She walked carefully in the center, between the buildings. No one bothered to clean the droppings from the road in this part of town, so the smell of horse manure blended in with the frosty air.

  A shadow rolled from the steps of one of the shacks. “What ya want?”

  Another shadow stretched and moved forward on all fours like an animal.

  “I’ve come to see the owner of the house marked in green,” she answered, trying to keep the fear from her face. She knew she was close, for the sickening sweet smell of opium spiced the air.

  “Come to buy, did you?” The shadow stood and moved toward her.

  Cherish didn’t answer, but reached inside her purse for her gun.

  The other shadow skirted the foggy moonlight and circled her.

  “If she’s come to buy, she’s got money,” a voice whispered from nowhere.

  The shadows moved, circling her. They seemed more like rats than humans as they pulled their drug-sluggish bodies through the filth
of the street. The ragged dark blotches along the walls of the other shacks began to come alive and move toward her. She realized, even if she could pull her gun and get one shot off, the rest would be on her before she could fire again. Years on the poppy had decayed their minds and morals until killing for a few coins seemed logical.

  Cherish pulled her arms close around her and watched them moving closer and closer. She could smell their urine-soaked clothes and her skin shivered at the thought of one of them touching her.

  The sudden report of gunfire shattered the inky air. For an instant the silver flash of twin Colts shone in the darkness. A low voice, thick with the promise of death, filled the street with a whisper. “Take another step toward the lady and it’ll be your last.”

  Cherish ran toward the tall silhouette of Brant’s lean form. She was in his arms before the smoke from his gun passed above his hat. With practiced skill, he slid one Colt into his belt. He pulled her close with his free hand while his other gripped the weapon that still pointed at the shadows that seemed to have evaporated back into the night.

  “Walk slowly, but deliberately,” he whispered. “If they’re doped enough it may not take them long to try, no matter what the risk.”

  Cherish kept her arms tight around his waist and he led her back into the main street. “Relax,” he groaned as his steps slowed into a stroll.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered as she realized her grip might have been painful against his chest.

  “I’m not complaining, but we want to look like we’re just out for a walk in case someone should decide to investigate the shot. Which I doubt will happen in this part of town.”

  As they passed two men leaving a bar, Brant pulled her closer against him and leaned his head low. His hat covered her face from the men’s view, but it brought their lips dangerously close together. For that moment, Cherish wished that he would kiss her as he had on the train so that she could know if the feelings she’d had the first time he touched her were real or just the result of fear and confusion. For now she felt no fear or confusion, only excitement.

  They continued in silence until finally Cherish saw the light beaming from the second-story window of her house. As they neared, Brant turned so that they would come up to the back door. Soundlessly, they moved into the blackness beside the barn.

  Cherish stumbled over the rough ground and Brant stepped in her path to steady her. She slammed into the wall of his chest before she realized what he was doing. Embarrassed, she jumped back, but his arms still held her securely.

  His lean, hard hands circled her shoulders as he imprisoned her. For a moment they stood together with only the low wind whispering around them; then he asked, “Why were you in that alley? Don’t you realize what could have happened to you?”

  Cherish resented him questioning her as though she were a child late for school. She pushed at the wall of his chest and answered, “If you must know, Hattie is in more pain each day. Father Daniel told me of the place where I’d find opium for her.”

  “That stuff is poison.”

  “I know, but she doesn’t have long to live and if it will help the pain … sometimes she cries for hours.”

  “But why you? Why not Azile or Bar?”

  Cherish looked up, realizing he was only a few inches from her. “I couldn’t ask them to do what I would not.”

  Brant pulled her close. “But you have no tie to Hattie. She’s just an old lady living in your house.”

  “She needs me,” Cherish whispered as she paused in the shadows. “I had to help her if for no other reason.”

  “The way I needed you?” His breath was warm against her cheek, but his words were sharp. “What was I, last week’s charity case? And Hattie is this week’s?”

  “No,” she answered as his body suddenly pressed her against the barn wall. She could feel the anger in him as she tried to think of what to say. How could she ever explain to him how her need to help people filled a great void in her? With him, it was different. He gave as much as he took. When she helped him live, a part of her also sprang to life, a part she’d never allowed to surface.

  “What am I to you?” His lips moved feather-light against her temple. “Maybe you’re one of those women who loves to flirt with danger. First an outlaw, then an opium den.”

  “No. I care about you.” All she could think about was his nearness and the dreams she’d had of him since the night they’d met. Even now the memory of his kiss ignited a fire deep inside her. Could the reality of his arms be as wonderful as her fantasy? Would his lips stir her blood as they had once before?

  Brant’s warm hands pressed her shoulders against the damp wood. “Then show me how you feel.” His fingers moved down her arms. “For I’ve thought I’d go mad from longing to hold you again. Show me that you feel the same about me.”

  Reason no longer mattered. She wanted to hold him once more beside her before she was forced never to see him again. He’d made it plain that their paths would not cross again. So this once she had to allow herself to feel. Raising her lips, she met his mouth with all the longing her dreams had kindled. She heard him groan as if he were in pain, but his kiss was demanding. Her fingers slid into his hair and she kissed him completely and wantonly, as she’d longed to do.

  His hand lightly pressed against her back as if he were afraid to pull her near. Slowly, as her mouth opened to his kiss, his fingers slid beneath her cape and brushed across the material covering her breast. She molded within his hand as he swallowed her cry of surprise. His kiss pushed deeper into her mouth as his fingers pulled at the material covering her flesh. He didn’t hear the material rip, or the buttons pop, for she was in his arms. A need to touch her consumed him, driving reason far into the corners of his mind.

  For the first time, he wanted a woman totally, not just in his bed, but in his life. The realization that it was impossible only made this moment more treasured.

  He turned a deaf ear to the voices inside his mind that told him it was wrong. He’d have given his life for this moment in time and he’d live a hundred lifetimes before he ever felt someone so wonderful again. With passion’s starvation he shoved the material from her breast and freed her flesh to his rough, grasping touch.

  She strained away, but he wouldn’t release her mouth from his kiss. His ironlike arm tightened, forcing her closer. Though he knew his actions were unskilled and harsh for the lady in his arms, she’d settle into his way, for he knew no other.

  Within a few heartbeats, she stopped struggling and he relaxed his grip.

  Cherish jerked back violently, a cry caught in her throat. Shoving him away, she pulled her coat tight around her with trembling hands and stepped into the moonlight. Confusion and longing reflected in her forest green depths. She stood watching him as though the moon’s light would somehow keep her safe from his touch—as though anything or anyone on earth could.

  Brant made no move toward her, though he felt she’d ripped his heart out with her withdrawal. “Don’t play games with me, Cherish.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  Anger played in his voice as he turned to leave. There was only one person who could keep her from him … herself. Her withdrawal had been as deadly as cannon fire at close range. She hadn’t needed to scream at him; her eyes had stabbed him deeply. “I understand,” he whispered between his teeth.

  Cherish looked at his back, suddenly angry at him for his forwardness and at herself for allowing it to happen. As always, her temper overruled caution. “You understand what?”

  “I understand that I soil you with my touch.” His words came hard and cold.

  Tears stung her eyes as she heard the pain in his voice. She moved toward him and almost touched his arm before she thought better and withdrew. “You’re wrong. I’m afraid of you, but not because of who you are. I’m afraid of the way you make me feel. No one has ever touched me the way you did just now.”

  Brant laughed, but there was no joy in his tone. “You mean you’ve ma
de it to being a grown woman and no one has ever felt of you? Next you’ll tell me you’ve never been kissed.”

  “I’ve been kissed,” she answered directly, “and by men with far more gentleness than you.”

  Brant pulled his arm away from her reach. “I’m sorry I didn’t learn the art of loving. I’ve been too busy fighting since I’ve been old enough to remember.”

  “Learn the art?” Cherish snapped. “With you it’s a martial art. How dare you handle me as though I were some saloon girl handing out favors with drinks.”

  “How dare you invite me with your entire body and then pull away.” His whisper was almost lost in the fog.

  He stormed toward the back porch and waited for her to follow. When she was safely on the second step he removed his hat and leaned his head back. “I guess I should say I’m sorry for what happened back there, but a man once told me you’re only truly sorry in life for what you didn’t do, never for what you do. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  Cherish placed her hands on his shoulders, trying to gain control of her emotions. Thanks to the steps, she was at eye level with him. “When I said you touch me, I meant deep down inside. I’m half-afraid of you and half-drawn to you. But no one, not even the gentle beaux I’ve had, has ever made me feel like you do.”

  His handsome face wrinkled and she leaned closer to whisper. “Seeing you, touching you, caring about you, is not a luxury or a pastime; it’s a necessity. So stop telling me you’re never going to see me again or that I think your hands dirty me. I’d like very much to see you again.”

  Brant was so shocked by her speech that he just looked at her and said nothing. Her dark green eyes were afire with mischief and delight.

  “I have to go.” Brant wanted to run. He couldn’t bear to look at her and not pull her into his arms. And if she were in his arms at this moment he wasn’t sure he could stop until he’d made love to her. “It will be dawn soon,” he managed to mutter.