He pointed it at the doorway — and right at Kristin, who stood there with a double-barreled shotgun aimed at his head. He swore irritably, returning his gun to his holster and sinking back into his chair.
"What the hell are you doing?" he growled.
"What am I doing? You son of a bitch —" She lowered the shotgun and moved into the room.
She stopped in front of the desk, caught in the soft glow of the lamplight. Her hair was loose, a soft storm of sunshine falling over her shoulders. She was dressed chastely enough, in a nightgown that buttoned to her throat, but the lamplight went through the fabric and caressed her body. He could see all too clearly the sway of her hips, which Jamie had so admired. He could see the curve of her breasts, the flow and shape of her limbs, and suddenly the sight of her hurt him. It was as if some mighty hand reached down and took hold of him, squeezing the life from him. He felt his heart pounding, felt his shuddering pulse enter his groin and take root there. His fingers itched to reach out to her, to touch her. She was staring at him, her blue eyes a raging sea of fury, and not even that deterred him. It only made the pulse within him beat all the harder.
He didn't love her. To love her would be disloyal. But he had married her. What the hell else could she want?
"What are you doing in here?" she snapped.
"Kristin, put the gun down. Go to bed."
"You scared me to death! And you taught me not to go wandering around unarmed!"
"Kristin, put the gun down." He hesitated. Then he smiled suddenly. "Come on. We'll go to bed. Together."
Her eyes widened. "You're out of your mind, Cole Slater."
"Am I?" He came around the desk, slowly, lazily, yet purposefully. Kristin raised the shotgun again.
"Yes! You are out of your mind."
"You're my wife."
"And you walked out of here this afternoon and didn't come back until three in the morning — after treating me with the manners of a rabid squirrel. I promise you, Mr. Slater, if you think you're going to touch me, you're out of your mind."
He was out of his mind, and he knew it. He swallowed raggedly. He had forgotten so much. He had tried to forget. He had forgotten that she could hold her head with such incredible pride. He had forgotten her eyes could snap this way, and he had forgotten that her mouth was wide and generous and beautifully shaped. He had forgotten that she was beautiful and sensuous, and that her touch was more potent than whiskey or wine or the finest brandy. He had forgotten so much…
But now he remembered. The revealing lamplight glowed on the lush curves of her body, and the thunder inside him became almost unbearable. He took a step forward, and she cocked the shotgun. His smile deepened.
"Fire it, Kristin."
"I will, damn you!"
He laughed triumphantly, stepped toward her again and took the shotgun from her hands. He pulled her hard against him, and he lowered his head and seized her lips in a kiss. It was not at all brutal, but it was filled with a shocking need and a shocking thirst. For an instant she thought to twist from him, but his kiss filled her with a searing, liquid heat, and she felt as if she were bursting with the desire to touch him, to be touched by him.
He broke away from her, and his eyes sought hers. "No!" she told him angrily, but he smiled and swept her up into his arms. Her eyes were still angry but she locked her arms around his neck. He carried her effortlessly through the darkened parlor, up the stairs and into the bedroom. He closed the door with his foot and set her down by the window. The moonlight found her there, dancing over her fine, delicate features and her rich, feminine curves.
"You're horrid," she told him.
He smiled tenderly. "You're beautiful."
"You're filthy."
He kissed her forehead, and he kissed her cheeks, and he rimmed her lips with the tip of his tongue, teasing them, dampening them. His fingers went to the tiny buttons of her gown, and he tried to undo them but they wouldn't give, and he finally ripped the gown open impatiently. The moonlight fell on her naked flesh. He groaned and kissed her shoulder and her throat, feeling the urgent quickening of her heart.
"Does it matter so terribly much?" he whispered.
She didn't answer. He stroked her breast. Then he lowered his head and touched his lips to the nipple. He teased it with his teeth, then sucked it hard into his mouth and finally gentled it with his tongue. Rivers of pleasure streaked through her, and she threaded her fingers roughly into his hair, and he savored the little tug of pain. He lowered himself slowly to his knees, holding her hips, then her buttocks.
"Does it matter so terribly much?" he repeated, looking up into her dazed eyes. He teased her navel with the tip of his tongue.
"Yes!" she whispered. He started to move away from her, but she wouldn't let him. He bathed her belly with kisses, cupping her buttocks hard and pressing close to her, sliding his tongue along the apex of her thighs and into the golden triangle there. She shuddered and cried out, but he held her firmly, and when it seemed she was about to fall he lowered her carefully to the floor. He touched her gently and tenderly, and then he brought his mouth over hers again. "Does it really matter so terribly much?" he demanded.
She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck. "No," she whispered, and she released him to tug at his buttons and then at his belt buckle. She groaned in frustration, and he helped her, stripping quickly. She was so very beautiful, there in the full flood of the moonlight. All of him quickened, and desire spread through him like a raging wind, and he cried out in a ragged voice. She was there, there to take him, there to close around him, a sweet and secret haven. Nothing on earth was like this.
He sank into her, swept into her, again and again. She rose to meet his every thrust, and the pulse raged between them. She was liquid fire when she moved. She was made to have him, made to love him, made to take him. The culmination burst upon them swiftly. She gasped and shuddered, and he thrust heatedly, again, and felt his climax spew from him. He held her tight. He felt the sweat, slick between them. He felt the rise and fall of her breath and the clamor of her heart, slowing at last.
He stroked her hair, and he marveled at the ecstasy of it.
Then he remembered that he had made her his wife, and suddenly he hated himself again.
He should have said something. He should have whispered something to her. Anything. Anything that was tender, anything that was kind.
He couldn't bring himself to do it.
Instead, he rose, his skin glistening in the moonlight. Then he bent down and took her naked form in his arms. She was silent, her eyes lowered, her hair a tangle around them.
He laid her down upon the bed. Her eyes met his at last, and he saw in them a torment that seemed to match that within his heart. She was so very beautiful. Naked, she was a goddess, her breasts firm and full and perfect, her limbs shapely and slim, her belly a fascinating plane between her hips. He pulled the covers over her.
Her sapphire eyes still studied him.
"I'm… I'm sorry," he muttered at last.
She let out a strangled oath and turned away from him.
He hesitated, then slipped in beside her. He crossed his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling, wishing he were drunker, wishing fervently he could go to sleep.
But he lay awake a long, long time. And he knew she didn't sleep, either.
At dawn he rose and left.
And at dawn Kristin finally slept. She had the right to stay in bed all day, she told herself bitterly. She was a bride, and this was the morning after her wedding day.
Cole wasn't in the house when she finally did get up. Shannon told her he had gone out with Malachi.
Jamie was there, though. He told her that they were low on salt and that they needed a couple of blocks for the cattle to lick through the winter. Cole had said that she and Pete were to go into town and buy them.
The Union had control of most of the border area — despite Quant rill's sporadic raids — and the town had managed
to remain quieter than the McCahy ranch. Kristin was glad to take the buckboard and ride into town with Pete. She was glad to be away from the house.
It was a three-hour ride. The town of Little Ford was small, but it did have two saloons, one
reputable hotel, two doctors old enough to be exempted from military service and three mercantile stores. In Jaffe's Mercantile she saw Tommy Norley, a newspaperman and an old friend of Adam's from over the Kansas border.
"Kristin!"
He was limping when he came over to her. He tipped his hat quickly, then took both her hands in his. "Kristin, how are you doing out there? Is everything all right? You and Shannon should have moved on, I think. Or maybe into town. Or maybe out to California!"
She smiled. He was a slim man, pale-faced, with a pencil-thin mustache and dark, soulful eyes.
"I'm doing well, Tommy, thank you." She searched his eyes. She had last seen him when they had buried her father. He had written a scathing article about guerrilla attacks.
"You should move, Kristin."
She chose to ignore his words. "Tommy, you're limping."
He smiled grimly. "I just got caught by Quantrill."
Her heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean? What happened?"
"The bastard attacked Shawneetown last week. I was with the Federal supply train he and his maniacs caught up with on their way in." He paused and looked at her, wondering how much he should say to a lady.
"Tommy, tell me! What happened?"
He took a deep breath. "Kristin, it was awful. Quantrill and his men came after us like a pack of Indians, howling, shouting. They gunned down fifteen men, drivers and escorts. I rolled off the side of the road, into the foliage. I took a bullet in the calf, but I lived to tell the tale. Kristin, they went on into town and murdered ten more men there. Then they burned the village to the ground."
"Oh, God! How horrible!" Kristin gasped.
"Kristin, come to Kansas. I'm opening an office in Lawrence, and I'm sure you'll be safe."
She smiled. "Tommy, my home is in Missouri."
"But you're in danger."
"I can't leave the ranch, Tommy." She wondered if she should tell him that she had married to save her ranch and that she would probably be in real danger from her new husband if she deserted him and ran off to Kansas.
"You should have seen them," Tommy murmured. "Kristin, they were savages. You should have seen them."
She held on to the counter in the mercantile, suddenly feeling ill. He kept talking, and she answered him as politely as she could. She cared about Tommy. He had been a good friend to Adam. It was just that Adam had begun to fade from her life. It was not that she hadn't loved him. She had. But Cole was a stronger force in her life.
Kristin hesitated, then asked him if he thought he could get a message to Matthew for her. He promised to try, and she bought some stationery from Mr. Jaffe and quickly wrote a letter to Matthew. It wasn't easy to explain her marriage. She did it as carefully and as cheerfully as she could, then turned the letter over to Tommy, hoping she had done well.
She kissed Tommy and left him. Pete had gotten the salt licks, and he had stacked the remaining space in the buckboard with alfalfa to help get them through the coming winter.
She told him about Shawneetown, then fell silent. The news bothered her all the way home.
When they arrived at the ranch, she still felt ill. She went out back and stood over her parents' graves. Cold and chilled, she tried to pray, but no thoughts came to her mind.
A while later she felt a presence behind her, and she knew that it was Cole. She was angry, and she didn't know why, unless it was because she knew he didn't love her, and because she knew she was falling in love with him. He was attracted to her, certainly. Maybe he even needed her. But he didn't love her.
She spun around, ready to do battle.
"Quantrill and his animals attacked Shawneetown last week. They killed the men escorting a supply train, and then they went into the village and killed some more, and then they burned the whole place down."
His eyes narrowed, and he stared at her warily, but he didn't say anything. She walked up to him and slammed her fists against his chest. "He's a captain! The Confederates made him a captain!"
He grabbed her wrists hard. "I don't condone Quantrill, and you know it. The Missouri governor considers him and his raiders like an elephant won at a raffle."
"Let go of me!" she hissed furiously.
"No. You listen to me for a minute, lady. Quantrill has no monopoly on brutality! Quantrill came after the likes of Lane and Jennison. Unionists, Kristin! Jayhawkers! You want to know some of the things they've done? They've ridden up to farmhouses and dragged men out and killed them — men and women! They've murdered and they've raped and they've tortured, exactly the same way Quantrill has! You remember that, Kristin! You bear that in mind real well!"
He pushed her away from him and turned, his long, angry strides taking him toward the house. The rear door opened and then slammed shut, and he disappeared inside.
She waited a moment, and then she followed him. She didn't know if she wanted to continue the fight or try to make up with him somehow.
It didn't matter. He wasn't in the house anymore.
And that night he didn't come back at all.
CHAPTER TEN
Cole might have slept somewhere else during the night, but he appeared at the breakfast table in the morning. Kristin was angry and wondered what everyone must think. He came and went like the breeze, with no regard for her feelings. Kristin was sharp when he spoke to her. When he asked her to pass him the milk, she seriously considered splashing it in his face or pouring it in his lap. He caught her hand and the pitcher before she could do either. He stared at her hard, and she looked away.
She didn't like Cole's ability to stay away from her. She wanted to fight with him. She wanted to do anything just to bring him close to her again. It was an effort to turn away from him, to find some trivial thing to discuss with Jamie and Shannon.
Cole remained in a foul temper all day. With winter coming on, there was a lot to do. Cole was anxious to have it all done before he left for the East and before Malachi and Jamie had to leave to rejoin their units. They spent the day gathering up as much of the herd as they could for Pete to drive to market. Kristin had been surprised that Cole was willing to let her sell the beef on the Union side of the line, but he had reminded her that the ranch belonged to her brother, Matthew, and that Matthew was fighting for the Union. Cole couldn't go north himself, but Pete could handle the cattle drive, and Malachi and Jamie would be around until he got back at the end of the week.
By dinnertime, Cole seemed to be in a somewhat better mood, and Kristin maintained a polite distance from him. Cole, Jamie and Malachi all sat down to dinner with Kristin and Shannon that night. Delilah refused to sit and made a big fuss over everyone. Jamie made the meal a pleasant affair. He told the two girls about a pair of hammers his mother had bought for Cole and Malachi when they were boys and about how the two of them had used their hammers on one another. Even Shannon laughed and refrained from engaging in verbal warfare with Malachi. Cole listened to the story with a smile on his face, and at one point his eyes met Kristin's and he gave her an entrancing grin and a sheepish shrug.
After dinner, Kristin played the spinet and Shannon sang. She sang a few light tunes, then gave a haunting rendition of "Lorena", a ballad about a soldier who returns from the wars to find that his love is gone. When it was over, they were all silent. Then Cole stood up and told Shannon in a strangled voice that her singing was very beautiful. He excused himself and left them.
Kristin bit her lip as she watched him leave the room. Jamie gave her an encouraging pat on the knee, and Malachi practically shoved Shannon out of the way and began a rousing chorus of "Dixie."
When he had finished, Shannon regained her place and sang "John Brown's Body."
"Shannon McCahy, you are a brat," Malachi told her.
"And you're a rodent," Shannon replied sweetly.
"Children, children!" Jamie protested with a sigh.
But Shannon said something, and though Kristin could see that Malachi was striving for patience, he replied sharply, and the battle was on once again.
Kristin rose and left them bickering. She went upstairs and was surprised to find that Cole was already in bed. She thought he was asleep, but when she crawled in beside him, trying not to disturb him, he turned over and took her in his arms. She tried to study his eyes in the darkness, but she could see only their silver glow. She tried to speak, but he silenced her with a kiss. Tenderly at first, and then with a growing passion, he made love to her. When it was over, he held her close, his bearded chin resting against the top of her head. He didn't speak, and neither did she. She knew he lay there awake for a long time, and she wished she could reach out to him, wished she knew what to say to him. She could not apologize, for she had done nothing wrong. She kept silent.
Eventually Kristin fell asleep.
Sometime later, something woke her. She didn't know what it was at first. She heard something, some hoarse, whispered words that she didn't understand. Struggling to free herself from the web of sleep, she opened her eyes, just as Cole's arm came flying out and slammed against her shoulder.
She sat up in bed, calling out his name. He didn't answer her, and she fumbled for a match to light the oil lamp on the bedside table. The glow filled the room and fell on Cole.
The bare flesh of his shoulders and chest was gleaming with sweat. The muscles there were tense and rigid and knotted. His fingers plucked at the sheet that lay over him.
His features contorted, his head tossing from side to side, he screamed, "No!" His entire body was stiff and hard.
"Cole!" Kristin pleaded, shaking him. "Cole —"
"No!" he screamed again.
She straddled him, took him by the shoulders and shook him hard, determined to wake him.
His eyes flew open, but he didn't see her. He called out again, and then he struck out at her, and the force sent her flying to the floor. He jerked upright as she fell. Stunned, Kristin sat on the hard floor, rubbing her bruised behind.
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