Prairie Song

by Jodi Thomas

  Hattie’s sudden shouts made them both jump. Margaret looked at him with stormy, dark eyes and said, “I have to take care of her now. She’s been here all alone for a while and is probably frightened. When I come back, I want you gone—off my property, and out of my life forever.”

  “But …”

  “I’ll not take in another liar.” For a moment she dropped her guard. He saw the pain her statement cost her, but she wouldn’t back down.

  Before he had time to argue, she turned and disappeared into Hattie’s room. Grayson slammed his fist onto the tabletop and said every swearword he knew loud enough to be heard in every room of her house. The damn woman was determined to get herself killed. Oh, she could come to him to ask for help for Cherish but not for herself. She knew as well as he did that she wasn’t free to see him out in the open, proper-like, and she wouldn’t allow herself to be the kind of woman who would accept a favor from a friend for herself.

  Grayson headed for the barn. He’d take care of the animals, then board up the downstairs windows so she wouldn’t have any unexpected company. If he had to, he’d sleep on the porch, but he wasn’t leaving Maggie alone with a crazy old dying woman and a boy. She may have always gotten her way in the past by bullying everyone around her, but he wasn’t giving in to her no matter how far she stuck out that proud chin of hers. She was the first thing in life he’d found worth living for and he planned to be with her, even if it killed him.

  He walked across the yard, not noticing the gray clouds gathering above him. His mood was darker than any Texas storm and twice as deadly. Why did the first damn woman he’d fallen for since his wife died have to be so stubborn? All he wanted to do was take care of her and she acted like that was some crime he should be horsewhipped for. Someone should have explained to her that this was the way it was supposed to be and it looked like that someone was going to have to be him.

  Three hours later she appeared at the barn door. She stared at him as he paused from sawing a board, and her voice rose above the wind and thunder. “Why haven’t you gone?” The day had turned ugly, with black clouds boiling along the horizon. The wind whipped at her gray dress in angry blasts of hot air.

  Grayson laid down his saw but he didn’t bother to put on his shirt. “I’m not leaving you, Maggie. You know what’s between us is something too deep to cut out and I don’t give a damn what anyone says. You belong to me. You’re mine as completely as God ever made a woman to be and no promise you made years ago to a no-good stranger will change that.”

  “I don’t want you or need you. I can manage for myself.”

  He moved closer to her. She wasn’t seeing it the way she should at all. “I know you can take care of yourself,” he admitted to both her and himself, “but I’m not leaving.” He tried to sound direct and sure, but when facing a woman who always thought she was right, it was hard not to question his own logic now and then. “I will not leave you, Maggie. You mean too much to me.”

  For the first time, Margaret looked like she was losing control. “There can’t be anything between us, Grayson. Don’t you see? It can’t be.”

  “It was and it is.” He moved nearer. “I can’t stop feeling the way I do about you just because your dead husband shows up. Or because someone was wise enough to stab him.”

  Her eyes widened slightly. “Were you the one?”

  Grayson laughed. “No, but I wish I had been. I’d have pushed the blade a little deeper. Was it you?”

  “You know I couldn’t have done it. I was here with Cherish.”

  Grayson looked her up and down as if assessing her. “Even if you had, you’d be no less beautiful.” He watched a strand of hair pull free of her bun and float in the wind about her face. He moved closer and ground his hands into fists at his sides to keep from touching her. “And my need for you would be no less.”

  She was grasping for straws. “That’s another thing. You have this blind spot when you look at me. I’m not young, or beautiful, or desirable. I’ve never been and I never will …”

  He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her against his bare chest. He stepped backward into the shadowy darkness of the barn where the wind could no longer tease her hair. “That subject is not open to discussion,” Grayson whispered. He would take almost anything from this woman, but not her questioning of how he felt toward her. Before she could pull away he drew her to him. His mouth covered hers with a fire that burned him to his core.

  Ten years of loving no one had left him starved. He’d been little more than a boy when he’d buried his wife. He’d loved her, but not the way he loved Maggie. Her death had shattered his ideal of young love, but Maggie’s withdrawal was pulling his heart out by the roots.

  His kiss was savage with need and hungry with desire. He locked her in his arms and demanded her response. Vaguely, he felt her try to pull away, but he twisted one hand into her hair and held tight. If he had a blind spot toward her, it was a breach large enough to engulf them both and swallow them for eternity. No one had ever been as important to him. She was not a luxury but a staple he couldn’t live without.

  Trying to remind her of another time, when he’d thrust inside her with passion’s longing, he pressed her full length against his hard body. As she molded to his demand, his grip lightened. This was how he wanted her, all soft and waiting for his touch. He moved his open palm along her back, loving the way her body fit so perfectly against him. His hands spread over her hips and pulled her against his need.

  Finally, the woman is coming to her senses, he thought as his kiss deepened and his hands moved around her waist to cup her breasts.

  With one violent shove, she was free of his arms. She stepped into the barnyard not even noticing the wind that whirled around her. Her indigo eyes were black with anger and liquid with pain. She clenched her fists against her sides and shouted at him as though he were half a mile away and not a few feet. “No! I’ll not let it happen again. I made one mistake in loving the wrong man and it cost me dearly, plus it almost cost Cherish her life. I’ll not allow myself to feel anything, ever again.”

  A part of Grayson wanted to strangle her. She blamed herself for something no one could have stopped. Now she’d sentenced herself to a life alone because she was afraid. He wanted to pull her near and hold her, for he suddenly realized his brave Margaret was afraid to love—more afraid of loving than she was of facing the years ahead alone. Loneliness was a prison she’d lived in most of her life. Its walls were bare and its boundaries narrow, but it was the one place where she knew she could survive.

  He stood at the barn door and watched her cross the yard. He’d fight the world for her, but he wasn’t sure he could fight her and win. He couldn’t hurt her anymore, even if he knew leaving would rip his heart out.

  “Maggie!” he yelled as she reached the porch.

  She turned and pushed the strands of ebony hair from her face, but didn’t speak.

  “I’ll go,” he shouted, “as soon as Cherish gets back, if that’s what you want.”

  Maggie nodded once as if a second time might break her in half.

  Every powerful muscle in Grayson’s body tightened. He wanted to run to her and hold her so tightly she’d never break his grip. But force or shouting wasn’t the way to win her. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he’d find it if he had to try for the rest of his life. He’d lived in that same prison of loneliness and, unlike her, he never wanted to go back.

  He worked in the barn until it was dark. As he crossed to the house he was still no closer to figuring out what to do. When he stepped into the kitchen, Bar, not Maggie, greeted him.

  “Miss Maggie said for us to go ahead and eat. She wanted to sit with Hattie for a while longer. The old girl ain’t doin’ so well. Her arms and feet are starting to curl up like she’s going back to bein’ a newborn baby.”

  Grayson washed his hands and sat down across from the boy. “Is Hattie in pain? I heard her yelling earlier.”

  “She was, but she got
a letter from her little girl. It settled her down some. The doctor we had out here once said the old lady would never live to see spring. That was two years ago.”

  “You were here then?”

  “Sure. My ma was alive then. She used to take care of Hattie before Azile. When Ma died, Azile came, but she was different. Always asking questions that no one had the answer to and sometimes sneaking off to town and staying for days.”

  Grayson put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You know she’s dead, son.”

  Dark gypsy eyes looked up at Grayson. “Yeah, I know. Can’t say I’m sorry. A fella can’t go around gettin’ too attached to people. They all just die or run out on you when you least expect it.”

  “Barfield?” Maggie’s voice caught them both by surprise.

  Bar stood. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Maggie handed him an envelope. “Is this the letter that came for Hattie today?”

  Bar suddenly looked nervous. “Yes.”

  “You know she treasures the letters. She keeps them hidden under her bed in a box.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And you know the daughter who lives up north is never coming.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Grayson looked confused. “Why not, if she keeps writing? She might just show up any day. Who is to say that she’s not on her way right now? Maybe she just couldn’t come because of the war.”

  Both the others looked at him with the sadness of no hope in their eyes.

  Maggie placed an arm around the boy’s shoulders and hugged him to her. “The daughter’s not coming because the envelopes have no postage.”

  Grayson flipped the paper over and saw that there was nothing except Hattie’s name written there. He looked up at Maggie and raised one eyebrow.

  She touched Bar’s hair with her fingers. “How long have you been writing them?”

  Bar owned up to his crime. “Ever since she got sick. Three, maybe four years. She started losin’ her mind from the present back. She could remember some guy that was here six years ago, but she couldn’t think what she’d eaten for breakfast. One day she forgot that her daughter had died years ago. She started worryin’ about why she hadn’t gotten a letter. So I just wrote one and that made her real happy for a long time. It was somethin’ she could hold onto when her mind flooded with fear.”

  He turned wide, dark eyes up at Maggie. “I didn’t mean no harm. Everybody said she only had a few months to live, so why shouldn’t she have some hope? It’s better to have a daughter that might come than no one at all.”

  Grayson studied Maggie’s face, but she held herself too tightly in control to allow the tears brimming in her eyes to fall.

  She patted the boy’s head. “What you did was wrong, but maybe for the right reason.” Hugging him close she whispered, “Bar, no matter what happens I want you to know you have a home here with me. I promise I’m not going to die or run out on you. I know what it feels like when you wonder where you’ll be sleeping from week to week. I don’t want you to worry. My home will always be your home.”

  For the first time since they’d known him, the little boy showed beneath the little man. He wrapped his arms around Maggie and cried. He held to her as if she’d just announced his greatest fear and in so doing wiped it from his mind forever.

  Grayson watched the scene between them. He wanted to scream, What about me? How long do I have to wander before someone welcomes me home? Deep down inside him, he made a promise that he’d win Maggie back. Then the three of them would be together. At their age, they might never have children, but they’d have Bar to raise. He stood suddenly and stormed out to the barn. He needed time to think. If he didn’t figure out how to get Maggie back soon, Bar would be grown.

  And it had better be something better than gambling for her, or she’d probably deal him a dead-man’s hand herself this time.

  Chapter 23

  Before he was fully awake Brant pulled Cherish to him. The predawn blackness mixed with the world of his dreams. She felt so wonderful in his arms: fresh as the first touch of spring rain and warm as the last ray of sunshine on a long summer day. He buried his face against her neck and lightly kissed her skin. Damn, his groggy mind thought, this is too good to be a dream.

  Cherish turned her face to him and kissed his full bottom lip. When he didn’t respond, she tugged at it lightly with her teeth. “Kiss me back,” she demanded.

  Brant would have awakened from death to answer her request. He kissed her slowly and tenderly. He could never remember being gentle in his life, but he was gentle with her now. To him, bringing her pleasure was a sweet torture he’d gladly die from.

  He raised himself on one elbow. As his tongue tasted the inside of her mouth, he lowered his chest over her and heard her moan with pleasure as his hard muscles pressed against her softness. Loving Cherish would have to be slow and easy, he reminded himself. For loving her was the only pure heaven he’d ever known. He moved above her and suddenly living became more beautiful than any dream.

  Hours later, when he awoke again, Cherish was gone from his side. Brant had looked into death’s cold eyes many times, but never had he felt the fear that slammed against his chest now. Somehow, she’d vanished like a dream at dawn.

  He rose and looked around the shadows of the dugout. Only emptiness stared back. Dressing quickly, he went outside where she always sat to comb her hair. The day was as still as a tomb and the air was heavy, like it always gets just before a storm. All night, when he’d been loving her, he hadn’t thought about what it would be like when she was not with him. Now he realized that for every moment of pleasure, he’d suffer a day of pain when this week ended.

  The sound of her humming drifted to him from between the cottonwoods. He ran toward the stream, willingly sacrificing all the days he had left to live for a few more moments with her.

  Cherish was standing waist-deep in the water, washing. Her body was bare to the morning sun and glistening with droplets. When he approached, she whirled and lowered herself into the water.

  Brant could only watch her. She was like a painting too wonderful to describe. The thought that such a woman so freely gave herself to him was beyond the realm of possibility. He’d lived so long with nothing that the sudden feast of her was too much.

  “I’ve decided,” she said as she rubbed soap over her arms, “that I shall never do again what I did to you last night.”

  Brant felt his throat tighten in pain. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear more. How many times in his life had he heard people change their minds about caring for him? How many folks had taken him in, promising him a home and love, only to turn him out when times got hard and he was just another mouth to feed?

  “I’m ashamed of being so bold.” Cherish looked up and saw him lower his hat to hide his eyes. His stance was defensive, like he was waiting for a blow from nowhere to strike him. If she hadn’t been able to still feel the gentleness of his touch, she would have sworn that this man was incapable of such tenderness. He looked stone-hard and unyielding.

  Slowly, she moved toward him, letting the water splash just below her breasts as she moved. “I promise I’ll never force you to love me at knife-point again. You’ll have to come freely or not at all. I’ll take no more. I could have accidentally harmed you.”

  With a sudden splash, Brant was in the water. It didn’t matter that he was fully clothed; he swam toward her in long, powerful strokes. He pulled her into his arms and lifted her high in the cool morning air.

  Cherish’s laughter mixed with the gurgling of the stream as he carried her to shore.

  “I thought you were sorry about last night,” he whispered as he hugged her so tightly he feared he might break one of her ribs.

  “No.” For the first time she saw a touch of the frightened little boy in this outlaw. “I’ll never be sorry about last night.”

  His lips found hers and their kiss warmed her body. When he reached the shore, he lowered her legs so that both his hands
could caress her cool flesh.

  When he finally raised his head, she whispered, “I love you.”

  “No.” Brant pulled away and the sadness in his chestnut eyes was now for her. “Don’t love me. I have no life to offer you, no future.”

  Cherish held his arm fast in her fingers. “You love me too, whether you say the words or not. How could I not love you after what you’ve given me? I thought something was wrong with me. I was dead inside. You taught me to feel. I’ll always thank you for what you did.”

  “What I’ve given you?” He cupped her chin in his palm and lifted her face until their eyes met. “Don’t you know what you’ve given me? I’ve never had anyone care about me. I’ve never had anyone crawl under my skin the way you do. I’d kill myself before I’d hurt you, so stop thanking me. And stop loving me. I’m not worth it.”

  Anger flashed across Cherish’s face like a brushfire through dry kindling. “How dare you, sir, say such a thing about the man I love.” Her fist was flying through the air before either of them realized it. With all the force in her, she clipped him on the chin and sent his head jerking backward.

  Brant lost his balance on the wet bank and stumbled several feet into the shallow water. He rubbed his jaw and looked at the woman before him. She was nude and dripping wet with her fists doubled for battle. He’d never backed down from a fight in his life, but he lost this one in one blow. He’d stand there and let her hit him all day without ever thinking of fighting back.

  “You might as well admit you love me.” She turned and headed toward the house. “For I’m not going to speak to you until you do.”

  He caught up to her as she reached the branch where she’d left her nightgown. “I don’t mind you not talking to me as long as you’ll sleep with me,” he teased.