by Jodi Thomas
Laughing to himself, he tried to relax. Folks back in town would never believe Brant Coulter could be a gentleman for a week. He’d prove them all wrong even if no one knew but himself. He’d lived through months in a prison camp once. Well, he could sure as hell live through a week of looking at a beautiful woman.
Morning came before he was sure he’d fallen sound asleep. His body felt as if a buffalo stampede had trampled over it during the night. He rose and checked to see that Cherish was still sound asleep, then walked the fifty yards to the cottonwoods where a creek rattled over rocks.
Recent rain had made the water deep enough to come to his shoulders and Brant enjoyed swimming in the icy stream. The water cooled his blood enough to allow him to think about Cherish without wanting her body pressed beneath his own.
In the days that followed, Brant began to think that he was about the cleanest human that ever lived. As she got better and began to move around, the tiny, one-room house seemed to shrink. Every time he turned around he was bumping into her, or feeling her hair touch his shoulder, or standing so close that he could smell the wonder of her. Sometimes, when he was out in the open, he could feel the warmth of her body standing behind him even before he turned to look.
Everything she did made her more desirable. Because he’d forgotten to bring her any clothes, she’d taken to wearing a pair of his slacks and his shirt. The rope belt he’d tied about her waist made the outline of her breasts and hips more pronounced. In the evenings she liked to sit outside and brush her hair dry in the last rays of the sun. Brant would always stand several feet away and wonder if he would eventually die from longing to run his fingers through the golden strands. For surely it was as necessary as breathing or eating.
But the worst thing she did was a small gesture that most folks wouldn’t even notice, yet it drove Brant wild. Each night, after he’d watched Cherish all day and thought he could stand no more of her without having her, she’d come close to him and kiss him softly on the cheek. He’d ram his hands in his pockets and refuse to even move, as he felt her silky lips against his face and her tiny hand on his chest when she stretched to kiss him. She’d whisper, “Good night,” and turn into the dugout. He’d head for the stream like a man full of demons to be cast out.
On the fifth day they spent together, the wind was hot from the south and the air was dry. He could hear the leaves rustling in the cottonwoods like whispers on a warm day. In those five days, Brant hadn’t seen another living soul except for Cherish, and that had been a hell of a heaven. Every time he turned around she was closer to him than he realized. With the whole state of Texas to walk around in, he swore to himself, you’d think that they could go an hour without bumping into one another, or reaching for the coffee pot at the same time, or starting through the door at the exact same moment. Even when they’d eaten supper at the tiny table in the dugout, her knee had accidentally touched his and remained against his leg. She probably thought his leg was the table leg but Brant was very much aware of her touch.
Finally, the sun set, and Brant excused himself for the night. Just as he reached the cabin door, Cherish stopped him. She leaned into him and kissed him as she had every night and, as he had every night, he tried to ignore her touch.
He hit the water a few minutes later like a man who had been in the desert for days. The icy bubbles rose over him as he crossed the stream again and again, trying to use up some of the energy inside him. Hell, he thought, if I keep this up—not eating, not sleeping, and swimming—I’ll look like one of those dried apple dolls little girls make in the fall.
Exhausted, Brant climbed to the bank and pulled his pants over his wet legs. With the languor of a resting mountain lion, he stretched in the grass and allowed the wind to dry his chest. It felt good to press into the earth and become a part of nature around him.
He was almost asleep when he heard something move in the brush beside him. Before he could react, a sudden weight hit his stomach and a knife pointed against his side.
“One move and it’ll be your last!” a soft voice whispered into his ear.
“Cherish?” Brant froze. He could have easily fought off an attacker, but all his senses halted any action. He could smell the sweet, fresh smell of her and feel her long hair brushing against his bare chest as she thought she was holding him down. Her breath was warm against the hollow in his neck and her touch was light as she slid her palm along the damp hairs of his chest.
He relaxed as he tried to understand her game.
“I said, don’t move!” She tickled his ribs with the knife as she spread her weight over him. “I don’t want to have to kill you, but I will.”
He felt her breasts flatten against his chest as her free hand moved into his wet hair. She pulled his face close against hers and whispered, “I need some answers and I need them now.”
Brant laughed, suddenly loving her game. He decided she’d either gone mad or found his bottle of whiskey, but either way the feel of her on top of him was wonderful.
“I’m not in the habit of answering questions at knifepoint.”
“Well, you’ll answer these, or you’ll scream in pain.”
Brant smiled in the darkness, for there was no hint of believability in her threat. “You’d make a terrible bandit,” he whispered.
She moved the cool blade along his ribs as if her slight action would in any way threaten him. “I’m tired of waiting. I was taking care of the wounded when most girls were learning to flirt. I don’t know what else to do to make you want me the way a man wants a woman.”
“So you attack me at knife-point?” Brant was trying to keep from laughing aloud.
“It was the last thing I could think of that might work. I’m tired of not feeling. I want to be treated like a woman. I want to be kissed like you kissed me on the train when you hadn’t even seen my face.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I’ll just have to kill you. I can’t leave any witness around who saw me make such a fool of myself.”
Brant laughed and rolled over suddenly. The knife fell from her grip as he pinned her in the grass. He spread his hands out to hold her arms and rested his leg across her legs. “So you want to be kissed, do you? That’s the ransom for my life?”
She turned her face to him and he felt her reply in the softness of her lips against his cheek.
“I’m not sure I can stop with a kiss,” he whispered. “Once before you ran from me when I went farther.” His lips lightly brushed her cheek. “How could you think you’d have to threaten me to get me to kiss you? I’ve been living through hell trying not to touch you all week. I’m not sure I can give you what you ask without giving you a great deal more.”
Cherish strained beneath him, fighting to free her arms. For a moment, he couldn’t let go. He wanted her so badly; still, he had to tell her the truth before he started. She might be just playing a game, but he’d already bet his heart on the outcome. Reluctantly, he released her hands and raised himself off her.
But instead of rolling away, Cherish pulled him back down. Before he could stop her, she dug her fingers into his hair and pressed her mouth to his.
The touch of her lips exploded in his brain like a cannon fired at point-blank range. He tasted her lips and reason no longer mattered. He felt her arms holding him against her as her mouth opened to his.
Brant rolled to his side and drew her close. His hands moved down her back and he pressed her to him, unable to hide his need for her any longer. He explored her mouth as he felt her hands combing through his hair. He was lost in the wonder of her as his kiss deepened to a passion unlike any he’d ever felt. A thousand swims in icy water wouldn’t cool the fire that burned inside of him.
His hands could no longer remain still. He yanked the shirt free from her belt and ran his palms over the flesh beneath the oversized shirt. A fire within him made him want to hurry, yet a part of him wanted this moment to last forever.
Suddenly, he broke the kiss and sat up
. It took every ounce of strength he had not to touch her, but he ran his knuckles across his mouth and asked, “Cherish, are you sure?”
Slowly, she moved beside him, her hair tumbled around her face, her cheeks red with emotion. Hypnotized, he watched as she unbuttoned the shirt and slid it off her shoulders. Her skin was pale in the moonlight. Her breasts were high and pointed with desire. She was like a statue of perfection and for a moment all he could do was stare. When she raised her eyes to his, her green depths were full of passion and mischief. “Do I have to find the knife,” she whispered, “to make you love me?”
Brant pulled her to him without any further hesitation. Half the lawmen in Texas could have been in the trees taking aim at him and he wouldn’t have noticed. Cherish was in his arms.
He made love to her with a need as wild as the state they lived in. Never in his life had he dreamed passion could be so all-consuming. He’d had women before, but being with them had been nothing like being with Cherish. The more he gave, the more she wanted. She needed to feel every level with him, completely, as if she’d been starved of feelings all her life and he was her only teacher.
He tried to go slowly, but the need for her was too great. When he moved atop her, and entered her, he felt her stiffen in pain, but her fingers dug into his shoulders and pulled him to her. For a moment he tried to withdraw, afraid he had hurt her, but she held him tightly and whispered his name.
When he exploded inside her, he thought his heart would stop beating. All the pain and longing in his life was swept away in one moment of paradise. He lay for a moment beside her on the ground and wondered how he’d been able to touch the stars without leaving the earth.
She curled her nude body against his and lazily kissed the side of his neck. “Thank you,” she whispered as if she didn’t realize she’d just given him the greatest gift in the world.
Brant couldn’t have talked if his life depended on it. He lifted her into his arms and carried her back to the dugout. In the warm darkness of the cabin he made love to her again, slowly and gently. He had only dreamed of loving someone this way, for never had he had the time or the desire to so completely possess a woman. Her body was a wonder to his touch, just as he’d known it would be. He took his time, moving over every part, loving the way she cried his name softly when he pleased her. Never in his life had a woman cared for him, and this one cried his name as if her need for him came from deep within.
Gently he brought her again and again to the edge of heavenly bliss and made her wait until she could stand it no longer and pulled him to her wantonly. When he moved inside her, he felt a lock twist around his heart and he knew he’d love her until the day he died.
When his passion was drained once more and Brant lay beside her too exhausted to speak, she rolled against his damp body. “Thank you,” she whispered again.
There were a thousand things he wanted to tell her, but his mind could no longer sort them out. He ran his fingers along her back until his hand rested on her hip. Kissing the wet hair away from her face, he leaned his chin against her forehead and fell asleep, sure that he’d died and gone to heaven.
Cherish rested her head on his chest and smiled as she listened to his slow, steady breathing. Her heart was full of love for this tender man and nothing could remove the memory of her night of passion. If he disappeared tomorrow, she’d had this night, this time, this love. She knew what it was to be totally alive and, for all of eternity, all time would be measured from this moment on.
Chapter 22
“I’m going to let you out now, Mrs. Alexander,” the sheriff said while he moved a match from one side of his mouth to the other. “Your husband looks like he’s going to recover, thanks to your care for the past three days. I hope you understand I was just doing my job.” He looked a little nervous as he unlocked the cell door.
Margaret didn’t bother to acknowledge that the sheriff was talking to her. She lifted her medicine bag and jacket and walked out of his office without a backward glance.
Wart and Grayson were standing outside talking when she stepped into the sunlight. Wart removed his hat. “Good day, Mrs. Alexander.”
Margaret smiled at him. “Good day, Mr. Tucker.”
Wart fell into step with her, leaving Grayson to follow. “If you have any more trouble around your place, don’t hesitate to call on me to help. The sheriff thinks it was just a group of boys that got liquored up and decided to go on a treasure hunt. But if they give you any more grief, just call me. Holliday usually knows were I am.”
Grayson watched her thank Wart and cross the street toward home. She walked past him with no more notice than one might pay a hitching post. The woman could hold a grudge longer than a tadpole could tread water. She marched up the hill toward Hattie’s Parlor without even a glance back to see if he was following. He led his horse and walked behind her. He couldn’t remember closing his eyes for three nights. The simple act of combing her hair each evening had fired his imagination and pushed sleep behind other needs. Now he didn’t even want to talk to her. He knew she’d see the lines in his face and, knowing Maggie, she was probably making his life a hell on purpose.
When they reached the front porch, she turned around to face him. “I wish to thank you for helping with Cherish. It was kind of you.” Her face was its usual barrier of stone. The sheriff’s words about keeping a lover in her house had hurt her proper sense of values and Grayson’s failure to deny the charge wounded her even more. Never in her life had she questioned what was right and proper to do until she met this huge man who never seemed to have more than a few words to say.
She faced him now with icy blue eyes. “The sheriff tells me that Bar has been taking care of Hattie and that he’ll be back today to help me. I think you can go back now to your duties in the army, whatever they are. Judging from the number of times they contacted you at the jail, you are needed more by them than by me.”
Grayson thought he deserved a little more than a thank-you on the porch for almost getting himself killed. His tired muscles were slowly twisting with anger.
“Now, if you’ll just tell me where Cherish is, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“She’s safe.” Grayson tied his horse to the hitching post. He wasn’t about to tell Margaret that her niece was with an outlaw.
“Where?”
“With a friend,” Grayson said for a lack of a better term. “She’ll be safe and back in a week.”
“A friend of yours?” She raised her voice on the last word.
Grayson fought the urge to yell what he knew she was thinking: Yes, another lying Yankee like me. Instead, he said, “No, a friend of Cherish and Father Daniel, I believe.”
Margaret nodded as if realizing she would get no more out of him. “Thank you. I’m sure she’s safe if the woman is a friend of Father Daniel’s. Good day, Captain Kirkland.” Without a backward look, she turned and walked into the house.
Grayson was right behind her. He fought the urge to tell her that Cherish wasn’t with a woman friend, but decided he didn’t want to fight that battle on top of the one that was blowing full gale right now. “Good day!” he shouted. “Are you dismissing me? First you ask for my help and now you dismiss me like I’m little more than a day hand around the place. You do try a man’s patient nature.”
Margaret moved to the kitchen. “I asked for your help because of Cherish and I had nowhere else to turn. If what you say is true and she’s safe, then I no longer have need of your services. I thanked you. What do you want … pay?”
Grayson fought the urge to belt her across the room. He’d never hit a woman, but he might have to break his own arm to keep from it if she kept up this cold manner. He’d shoot a horse for being half as stubborn as her.
“Hell no, I don’t want pay!” He took a step toward her, but she moved away. “Maggie, you’ve come right back to this house. Don’t you understand? Someone is trying to run you out. Damn it to hell, half the town seems to want you out of here. Cherish i
s safe, but you’re not.”
“Stop swearing in my home, Captain Kirkland, and stop talking to me as if I’m a slow-minded child.”
“Stop acting like one.”
“I can take care of myself.” Her chin rose slightly. “I always have.”
“That’s right. No one’s ever taken care of Margaret. She can take care of herself. She doesn’t need anyone, does she?”
Margaret’s eyes were black with anger. “That is correct. I have no use for a traitor husband or a lying Yankee.”
“Well, I’m staying here to see that nothing else happens.” Grayson couldn’t remember folks ever saying that being stubborn was one of his top traits, but he was sure planning to cultivate it now. Damn, the woman was bringing out bad habits he’d lived thirty years without noticing.
“You are not staying here!” Her voice lost an ounce of control. “You’ve embarrassed me in front of the whole town. You’ve lied about who you were and then you’ve dragged my name through a gambling hall. I’ve lived my entire life without anyone ever gossiping about me. If you stay here with me now, everyone will talk.”
Grayson saw her point. He didn’t give a damn about what anyone said, but she did. All she’d had to live on was a paper-thin pretense of respectability, and she clung to the shreds even now. “Then come with me,” he said. “I’ll get you a room at Camp Wilson. You’ll be safe there.”
“No. Someone has to stay with Hattie. She’s too weak to be moved,” she answered. “This is my house, my only-ever house, and I’m not leaving it.”
He’d never wanted to hold her as badly as he did right now with her standing in the kitchen looking like she’d like to sharpen the knives on his bones. But she had her only house ever. Just about everything had been stripped away from her, but she still had her pride and he loved her all the more for it.
“Then I’ll sleep in the barn until Cherish gets back, but I’m not leaving you alone.”
For a long moment he looked at her, not seeing the stubborn woman before him, but only the little girl who’d never possessed a home of her own. If he could, he’d give her his family’s homestead back in Ohio, for it mattered little to him. This house, even with its curse, was all she had to call hers.