Dark Stranger sb-4

by Heather Graham

  A knock sounded at her door. "Kristin?"

  It was Shannon. Kristin sat bolt upright and looked at the bed. The comforter seemed to hide the sins of the night.

  "Shannon, just a minute!" she cried out. Her gown was on the floor beside the bed. She made a dive for it, wincing at the soreness that plagued her thighs. Then she realized that the gown was torn and ragged, and she knew why it had seemed to melt away the night before. Bitterly she wound it into a ball, stuffed it into her dresser and dragged out an old flannel gown. Breathless, she told Shannon to come in.

  Shannon came in with a pot of coffee and a cup and breakfast on a silver tray. Kristin stared at it blankly and arched a brow at her younger sister.

  "Good morning, sleepyhead," Shannon told her.

  "Breakfast? In bed?" The ranch was a place where they barely eked out their existence. Breakfast in bed was a luxury they never afforded themselves. "After I've slept all morning?"

  "Delilah was going to wake you. Cole said that maybe things had been hard on you lately and that maybe you needed to sleep."

  "Oh, Cole said that, did he?"

  Shannon ignored the question. "I rode out to the north pasture with Cole and Pete, and everything's going fine for the day."

  Kristin kissed her sister's cheek and plopped on the bed, wincing again. It even hurt a little to sit.

  She felt her face flood with color again, and she lowered her head, trying to hide her blush behind her hair. She still didn't know if she hated him, or if her feeling had become something different, something softer.

  A little flush of fever seemed to touch her. She was breathing too fast, and her heart was hammering. She couldn't forget the night. She couldn't forget how she had felt, and she didn't know whether to be amazed or grateful or awed — or ashamed. The future loomed before them. They had a deal. He had said he would stay. And he hadn't left her room, and she —

  She couldn't help wondering what he intended for their personal future together. Did he mean to do it… again?

  "My Lord, Kristin, but you're flushed!" Shannon said with alarm.

  "I'm all right," Kristin said hastily. She sipped the coffee too quickly and burned her lip. She set the cup down. "This was really sweet. The breakfast."

  "Oh," Shannon said nonchalantly, "this was Cole's idea, too. He seemed to think you might have a little trouble getting up this morning."

  "Oh, he did, did he?" She bit so hard into a piece of bacon that her teeth snapped together. He was laughing at her again, it seemed, and he didn't even have the decency to do it to her face. She longed for the chance to give him a good hard slap just once.

  She caught herself. He had warned her. They were playing by his rules. And there was only one thing she was gaining from it all. Safety. She had agreed to the rules. She had meant to seduce him, she had meant for it all to happen, she had wanted the deal. It was just that she wasn't at all sure who had seduced whom.

  "Where is Cole now?" she asked Shannon. She was surprised to find that she had a ravenous appetite.

  Shannon shrugged. "I'm not sure. But do you know what?" she asked excitedly.

  "No. What?"

  "He says he's going to stay around for a while. Isn't that wonderful, Kristin?"

  Kristin swallowed and nodded. "Yes. It's wonderful."

  "Samson says it's a miracle. He says God has looked down on us with mercy at long last."

  The Lord certainly does work in mysterious ways," Kristin murmured dryly.

  Shannon, who had seated herself at the foot of the bed, leaped up and hugged Kristin. "We're going to make it," she whispered. "We're really going to make it."

  She had underestimated Shannon, Kristin realized. She had felt their father's death every bit as keenly as Kristin had.

  And because she felt it so strongly, she had learned to hate, just as Kristin had.

  "I've got to get back downstairs. Delilah is baking bread and making preserves and I promised to help."

  Kristin nodded. "I'll be right down, too."

  When her sister had left, Kristin washed hastily. She couldn't help remembering every place he had touched her, everything he had done to her. And then, naturally, she started trembling again, thinking about the feeling that had come over her. In the midst of carnage, a brief, stolen moment of ecstasy.

  Shameful ecstasy.

  Ecstasy.

  She wondered if it had ever really been, if it could ever come again.

  She dressed, trying desperately to quit thinking. If she didn't, she would walk around all day as red as a beet.

  She dressed for work. There was some fencing down on the north side, and she had told Pete she'd come out and look at it. The stash of gold hidden in the hayloft was dwindling, but they could afford to repair the fencing. And if she could just hang on to her stock a while longer, she could command fair prices from any number of buyers in the spring. She had to remember that she was fighting for the land. Nothing else mattered.

  In breeches and boots, Kristin started for the doorway. Then she remembered her bedding, and the telltale sheets.

  Delilah usually did the beds. She kept the house with Shannon's help. Samson kept it from falling apart. Pete and Kristin ran the ranch. That was just the way things had worked out.

  But she didn't want Delilah doing her bed. Not today.

  He liked his women hungry. Women. Plural.

  Kristin let loose with a furious oath and ripped the sheets from the bed. She jumped up and down on them a few times for good measure, then realized how ridiculous she was being and scooped them up. She carried them down with her to the stables, stuffing them into the huge trash bin. She would burn them later, with some of the empty feed bags.

  She headed for the stable, determined to saddle Debutante and ride out. She paused in the doorway, aware that Cole was there, brushing down his black thoroughbred stallion. It was a beautiful animal, Kristin thought.

  Very like the man who owned him.

  She wasn't ready to see Cole Slater yet. She almost turned around, ready to change her plans for the day to avoid facing him. But he had sensed her there, and he turned, and there seemed to be nothing for her to do but stand there and meet his stare.

  It was long, and it was pensive, and it gave no quarter. She would never accuse the man of being overly sensitive or overly polite. His gray eyes were sharp and curious, and she still thought he must be amused by her, because he was smiling slightly. There were times when she thought he hated her, but then he would stare at her in a way that warmed her and offered her a fleeting tenderness.

  Very much like the way he made love…

  She shouldn't have thought it. The color that had so alarmed her rose to fill her face, and she had to lower her eyes to still the blush. She prayed fervently that she could appear sophisticated for just this one encounter. But it was impossible to stand here now, fully clothed, and not remember what had gone on the night before. Things could never be the same again. She could never see life the same way again. She could never see him the same way again, for she knew the power of the form beneath the shirt and jeans, and he knew all that made up the woman she was.

  "Sleep well?" he asked her after a moment.

  There was something grating in the question, something mocking, and that helped. She squared her shoulders and tried to walk by him, heading for Debutante's stall. He caught her arm and swung her around. His eyes were serious now.

  "Where do you think you're going?"

  "Out to the north pasture. I have to see the fencing. I should have gone yesterday, but…" She paused, her voice fading away.

  He shook his head impatiently. "I'll meet Pete."

  "But it's my ranch!"

  "And it's my life, Miss McCahy." He dropped her arm and put his hands, the currycomb in one, on his hips. "You're taking up my time. We made some ridiculous deal —"

  "Ridiculous deal!" She was choked with rage. She was going to slap him this time. Right across the face.

  She didn't make it.
He caught her wrist. "I'm sorry, Kristin. I didn't mean it that way."

  "I'm so terribly sorry if I disappointed you."

  She'd thought his eyes would drop with shame. They didn't. Hers did. He was still smiling.

  "You didn't disappoint me. You surpassed my wildest expectations. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you. I meant that you really should be the hell out of here."

  "You're not reneging?" she asked crisply.

  He smiled slowly, tilted back his plumed hat and shook his head. "No, Kristin," he said softly. His low, grating voice sent tremors up her spine. "I never renege on a deal. But I'll be damned if I'm going to stick around so you can run off and be swept away beneath my very nose."

  "But I —"

  "Forget it, Kristin. I warned you. We play by my rules. And you're not riding out anywhere."

  "But —"

  "You ride out, I ride out."

  "But… but you've already been… paid!" Kristin exploded.

  His brows shot up, and his lips curled mockingly. "Paid?"

  "You know what I mean."

  He shook his head. "I sure as hell don't! That was it? One night in your arms and I'm supposed to gladly lay down my life and die?"

  "You are no Southern gentleman."

  "Did I say I was?"

  "You are no gentleman at all!"

  "I never claimed to be one, Kristin. In fact, I haven't made any claims to you at all. Remember that."

  "I find it difficult to forget."

  "Are you trying to renege?" he queried softly.

  She drew herself up stiffly, determined to counter-attack. "So you're not from the South?"

  "Does it matter where I'm from?" Maybe it does!"

  He caught her hand and held it. They stared at one another. Behind them, the massive black stallion snorted. Cole stared at her seriously for a long moment and then said, "No, it doesn't, Kristin. Nothing about me matters at all. No questions. No involvement. Remember that."

  She jerked her hand away. "I'll remember, Mr. Slater."

  She started toward Debutante's stall. Maybe she couldn't go riding, but she had to get away. She would take a moment to stroke the mare's velvet nose, and then she would escape. She didn't know how she would be able to bear it, though. She would be like a caged animal with all the emotions that were playing havoc in her heart.

  She patted Debutante's nose and promised the horse in a low whisper that she would come out and give her a good grooming as soon as he was out of the stable.

  Then she turned around, determined to walk out of the stables with her head held high, determined to hang on to her few remaining shreds of dignity.

  "By the way, Kristin…" he began.

  She paused, her back to him. She straightened, stiffening her shoulders, and turned in a swift circle. He wasn't watching her. He was combing the stallion's shining flanks.

  "Why don't you move your things into the larger bedroom? We'll have more space there."

  "What?"

  "You heard me."

  "But — but everyone will know! And just how many times do you intend to… to…"

  "Get paid?" he suggested politely. He didn't even seem to be paying attention to her. He stroked the stallion's ears, then stared directly at her. "You want blood, Kristin. That's an expensive commodity. And as far as everyone knowing is concerned, that's exactly what I want."

  "But —"

  "I make the rules, remember?"

  "I can't! I can't go by this one —"

  "Delilah will understand. So will Shannon and Sam and Pete and everyone else. And if Zeke Moreau hears anything about it, he'll get the message, too."

  "But —"

  "Do it, Kristin."

  She spun around in a dead fury again. She didn't look back. She stormed into the house, wishing desperately that she were a man. She would run away and join the army in two seconds.

  She wouldn't even give a damn whose army she joined. Just as long as it was someone who hated Quantrill and his animals.

  "Kristin, that you?" Delilah came into the hallway, smiling. "Want to give us a hand with the wax? I could surely use some help stirring. I've got Shannon jarring and sealing while J've been kneading the bread."

  "Er… of course," Kristin said. She'd much, much rather run away and join the army.

  Shannon gave her a bright smile when she came into the kitchen. "Did you find Cole?"

  "Yes. I found him."

  Shannon nodded. It was obvious that she approved of it all. They were all mad, Kristin decided.

  "He wants me to move into Pa's bedroom with him," she blurted out.

  Shannon had been holding a jar of jam, sealing it with wax. The jar slipped from her fingers and shattered loudly on the floor.

  Delilah sent the bread she was kneading into the air. It fell back on the block table.

  Both of them stared at her. Then they glanced at one another. Neither of them said a word.

  "Say something!" Kristin demanded. "Help me make some kind of a decision!"

  "You can't!" Shannon gasped.

  "Seems to me like you've already made your decision," Delilah said softly. "But it ain't right. It just ain't right. Still…"

  "He's much, much better than Zeke Moreau," Shannon said. She stooped to pick up the broken glass and the jam that was seeping into the floorboards. "Yes, maybe you have to. And he is much better than Zeke."

  "So that's why I'm sleeping with a stranger." Kristin sank into a chair before the fire. "I cannot believe I'm doing this," she murmured.

  "These are different times," Shannon murmured, staring at the floor. She looked up at her sister. "Kristin, we can't be blind to the facts! We need him. We need him, or else we just have to give up and pull out."

  "Shannon!" Kristin exploded. "You're shocked, and you know it. Pa must be turning in his grave. We don't even know where Cole Slater comes from!"

  Shannon's beautiful blue eyes widened. "But of course we do, Kristin."

  "What?"

  Shannon smiled broadly. "He's from Missouri. He was originally from Virginia, but his family bought a big spread out here. I think he comes from tobacco money, a lot of it. He went to West Point. He was in the same class as Jeb Stuart!"

  Kristin stared at her sister, who appeared about to swoon. Shannon thought that the Confederate general Jeb Stuart was the handsomest, most gallant gentleman in the whole world. Shannon's reaction to Stuart's name didn't surprise her, but the fact that she seemed to know so much about Cole stunned her.

  "What?" she repeated numbly.

  Shannon sighed with supreme patience, as if she were the elder, explaining things to a sullen child.

  "He's a Virginian, Kristin, moved to Missouri. He went to West Point. Once upon a time he was in the army in Kansas. He and Stuart served together."

  "Wonderful," Kristin murmured.

  So he was a Southerner. And he wasn't in uniform. He was one of them, one of the breed that ran with Quantrill…

  She was a Southerner herself, she thought dully. Not all Southerners were like Zeke Moreau.

  But Cole…

  Cole had talked freely to Shannon. But the questions hadn't all been answered yet.

  He had gone to West Point. He had served in the Union Army before the war with the gallant Southern cavalry officer, Jeb Stuart.

  But he wasn't wearing a uniform now. Not the Union's, and not the Confederacy's. Why not?

  Delilah stirred something over the fire. She wiped her hands on her apron. "Well, Kristin? What do we do? If you want, I'll go move your things."

  Kristin swallowed. She wanted to protest. She wanted to refuse Cole Slater.

  She looked at Delilah. Delilah wasn't making any judgments.

  Kristin nodded. She could give up the place or she could hold tight to Cole Slater. She really had no choice. But she vowed to herself that she'd find out everything there was to know about the man.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Kristin spent the day worrying about the night ahead. She pro
wled around upstairs, trying to keep busy. Though she hated it, she did what Cole had told her to, taking a few of her dresses and nightshirts and putting them in the armoire in her parents' bedroom.

  Shannon came upstairs while she was at it. There was something about her knowing glance that made Kristin feel terribly ashamed. "Cole — Mr. Slater — thinks that Zeke ought to think there's something… um, that he and I, that…"

  "I understand," Shannon said softly. Even her innocence was dead, Kristin thought. There was an awkward silence, but then Shannon came into the room and hugged her. "I like him," she told Kristin. "I like him a whole lot."

  "Only because he knows Jeb Stuart." Shannon made a face. "That helps." She sat down on the bed. "What happened here?" she queried softly.

  "What do you mean?" Kristin asked her. "So many men are so fine. General Lee is such a gentleman, by all accounts. And Jeb Stuart is so dashing! And then out here…"

  "We get the bushwhackers and the jayhawkers," Kristin finished for her. She sat down beside Shannon and hugged her. "And don't forget," she reminded her, "we have a brother fighting in Mr. Lincoln's army."

  "I never forget!" Shannon said.

  They sat there in silence for a long time. Then suddenly, there was a volley of shots from outside. Kristin leaped to her feet and raced to the window.

  Cole was out back with Samson. He'd set a few rows of old liquor and tonic bottles on the back fence to serve as makeshift targets. He'd already shot up the first set.

  Kristin watched as he reloaded, then twirled his six-shooter in his hand and shoved it back in its holster. He paused. Then, in the wink of an eye, he cleared away another row. Then he spoke to Samson, and Kristin realized that it was a lesson.

  Then it was Samson's turn with the guns. Kristin strained to hear Cole's words.

  "Quantrill's boys usually carry four or five Colts, a shotgun or a rifle or maybe both. That's why they keep licking the pants off the Union troops. They're well armed, and the boys in blue are still trying to fire off muzzle-loading carbines. Zeke will always be well armed. So we've always got to be prepared to out shoot him in return. You understand, Sam?"

  "Yes, Mr. Slater, that I do."

  "Let's try it again. Hold your hand steady, and squeeze the trigger, don't jerk it."