who had called to him, the man who had shot him, came forward.
"Oh, no! Oh, my God —"
"Kristin! What's the matter with you? I'm trying to save you from this jackal —"
"Matthew, this jackal is my husband!"
As he slowly regained consciousness, Cole realized he wasn't dead. He wasn't dead, but he'd probably lost a lot of blood, and it seemed as if he had been out for hours, for it was no longer daylight. Night had fallen. An oil lamp glowed softly at his side.
He was in the bedroom they had shared, the bedroom with the sleigh bed. Everything was blurred. He blinked, and the room began to come into focus. He could see the windows and a trickle of moonlight. He touched his head and discovered that it had been bandaged. He drew his fingers away. At least he couldn't feel any blood. Someone had stripped off his uniform and bathed the dust of the road from him and tucked him between cool, clean sheets.
Someone. His wife. No, not his wife. Kristin. Yes, his wife. He had married her. She was his wife now.
She had stopped him from killing the man.
But she had stopped the man from killing him, too.
A sudden pain streaked through him. He was going to have one terrible headache, he realized. But he was alive, and he was certain that the bullet wasn't embedded in his skull. It had just grazed him.
He heard footsteps on the stairs, and then on the floor outside his door. He closed his eyes quickly as someone came into the room. It was Delilah. She spoke in a whisper. "Dat boy is still out cold." She touched his throat, then his chest. "But he's living, all right. He's still living, and he don't seem to have no fever."
"Thank God!" came in a whisper. Kristin. Cole could smell the faint scent of her subtle perfume. He felt her fingers, cool and gentle, against his face. Then he heard the man's voice again. Matthew. She had called him Matthew. Of course. The brother. The one he had told her to write to just so that this wouldn't happen.
"A Reb, Kristin? After everything that happened —"
"Yes, damn you! After everything that happened!" Kristin whispered harshly. "Matthew, don't you dare preach to me! You left, you got to go off and join up with the army! Shannon and I didn't have that luxury. And Zeke came back —"
"Moreau came back?" Matthew roared.
"Shut up, will you, Matthew?" Kristin said wearily. She sounded so tired. So worn, so weary. Cole wanted to open his eyes, wanted to take her into his arms, wanted to soothe away all the terrible things that the war had done to her. He could not, and he knew it.
She probably didn't want him to, anyway. She would probably never forgive him for his time
with Quantrill. Well, he didn't owe anyone any apologies for it, and he'd be damned if he'd explain himself to her. And yet…
"Kristin," Matthew was saying huskily, "what happened?"
"Nothing happened, Matthew. Oh, it almost did. Zeke was going to rape me, and let every man with him rape me, and then he was probably going to shoot me. He was going to sell Samson and Delilah. But nothing happened because of this man. He's a better shot than Shannon or me. He's even a better shot than you. He happened by and it was all over for Zeke."
"Zeke is dead?"
"No. Zeke rode away." A curious note came into her voice. "You see, Matthew, he won't murder a man in cold blood. I wanted him to, but he wouldn't. And after that, well, it's a long story. But since he's married me, none of them will harm me, or this place. They're — they're afraid of him."
"Damn, Kristin —" He broke off. Cole heard a strangled sound, and then he knew that brother and sister were in one another's arms. Kristin was crying softly, and Matthew was comforting her. Cole gritted his teeth, for the sound of her weeping was more painful to him than his wound. I will never be able to touch her like that, he thought. He opened his eyes a fraction and took a good look at Matthew McCahy. He was a tall man with tawny hair and blue eyes like his sisters. He was lean, too, and probably very strong, Cole thought. He was probably a young man to be reckoned with.
He shifted and opened his eyes wider. Sister and brother broke apart. Kristin bent down by him and touched his forehead. Her hair was loose, and it teased the bare flesh of his chest. "Cole?"
He didn't speak. He nodded, and he saw that her brow was furrowed with worry, and he was glad of that. She hated him for his past, but at least she didn't want him dead.
"Cole, this is Matthew. My brother. I wrote him, but the letter never reached him. He didn't know that — he didn't know that we were married."
Cole nodded again and looked over at Matthew. He was still in full-dress uniform — navy-blue full-dress uniform. As his gaze swept over Matthew, Cole couldn't help noticing that Matthew McCahy's uniform was in far better shape than his own, and in much better condition than that of the majority of the uniforms worn by the men of the South. The blockade was tightening. The South was running short of everything — medicine, clothing, ammunition, food. Everything. He smiled bitterly. The South had brilliance. Lee was brilliant, Jackson was brilliant, Stuart was brilliant. But when a Southerner fell in battle, he could not be replaced. Men were the most precious commodity in war, and the Confederacy did not have nearly enough.
The Union, however, seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of soldiers, volunteers and mercenaries.
Cole knew a sudden, bleak flash of insight. The South could not win the war.
"Reb — Sorry, your name is Cole, right? Cole Slater." Matthew came around and sat at the foot of the bed. He swallowed uncomfortably. "You saved my sisters' lives, and I'm grateful to you. I wouldn't have shot you if I'd known. It was the uniform. I'm with the North." He said it defensively. It was not easy for a Missourian to fight for the North.
"You had just cause," Cole said. His voice was raspy, his throat dry. His mouth tasted of blood.
Matthew nodded. "Yes. I had just cause." He hesitated. "Well, I'm home on leave, and I guess that you are, too."
"Something like that," Cole said. Kristin made a little sound of distress, but she quickly swallowed it down. Cole didn't glance her way. He smiled at Matthew and reached for her hand. She was playing the loving wife for her brother, he knew, and he wondered how far she would go. She let him take her hand, let him pull her down beside him.
"We'll have to manage while we're both here," Matthew said. He stretched out a hand to Cole, and Cole released Kristin's long enough to take it. "Does that sound fair to you, Reb?"
"It sounds fine to me, Yankee."
Matthew flushed suddenly. "Well, maybe I'd best leave the two of you alone." He rose quickly.
Kristin was on her feet instantly. "No! I'm coming with you!"
Matthew's brow furrowed suspiciously. "Kristin —"
"Sweetheart…" Cole murmured plaintively.
"Darling!" Kristin replied sweetly, syrup dripping from her tone, "I wouldn't dream of disturbing you now. You must rest!"
She gave him a peck on the forehead, and then she was gone, practically running out of the room.
Matthew smiled at Cole. "Too bad there's a war on, ain't it?"
"Yeah. It's too damn bad," Cole agreed.
"She's stubborn," Matthew said.
"Yeah. I've noticed."
"Just like a mule."
"Well, I guess I agree with you there, Yankee."
Matthew laughed, then left and closed the door behind him.
Three days later. Cole was feeling damned good, and damned frustrated. Kristin had managed to elude him ever since his return, sweetly pleading his weakened condition. She had spent her nights in her own room, leaving him to lie there alone. But as night fell on his third day back, Cole jerked awake from a doze to realize that Kristin had come into the room.
He heard her breathing in the darkness, each breath coming in a little pant. Her back was against the door, and she seemed to be listening. She thought he was sleeping, he realized.
Cole rose silently and moved toward her in the dark. He clamped a hand over her mouth and pulled her against the length of his nak
ed body. She gave a muffled gasp and stiffened, then began to struggle to free herself.
"Shush!" he warned her.
She bit his hand, and he swore softly.
"Let me go!" she whispered.
"Not on your life, Mrs. Slater."
"Bushwhacker!"
His mouth tightened grimly. "You're still my wife, Kristin."
"Try to rape me and I'll scream. Matthew will kill you. You don't even have a gun up here!"
"If I touch you, Kristin, it wouldn't be rape," Cole assured her.
"Let go —"
He did not let go. He kissed her, plunging his tongue deep into her mouth, holding her so firmly that she could not deny him. He caught her wrists and held them fast behind her back, pressing his naked body still closer to hers. She wore a thin white cotton nightgown buttoned to the throat. It was so thin that he could feel all the sweet secrets her body had to offer.
He raised his lips from hers at last, and she gasped for breath. He pressed his lips to her breast and took the nipple into his mouth through the fabric, savoring it with his tongue.
"I'll scream!" she whispered.
"Scream, then," he told her. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed, searching feverishly for the hem of the gown. He found it and pulled it up, and then they were together, bare flesh touching bare flesh. He seared the length of her with his lips, and she raged against him with husky words and whispers. But then she rose against him. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled his head down to hers and kissed him again. And then she told him he was a bastard, but she gasped when he caressed her thighs, and she buried her face against him when his touch grew intimate and demanding.
"Scream," he whispered to her. "Scream, if you feel you must…"
He thrust deep into her. She cried out, but his mouth muffled the cry, and then his tongue filled her mouth.
It had been so very long, and she had dreamed of him so many times.
He stroked and caressed her insides until she was in a frenzy. Then he drove into her with all the force he possessed, and she felt the familiar sweetness invade her once, and then again and again. Then, suddenly, he was gone from her. She was cold, and she was lost, but then he was kissing her again, her forehead, her cheeks, her breasts, her thighs… He turned her over gently, and his lips trailed a path of fire down her spine. Then she was on her back again, and his silver-gray eyes were upon her and she swallowed back a shriek of pleasure as he came to her again…
The night was swept away.
Later, as she lay awake in the ravaged bed, Kristin berated herself furiously for her lack of principles. She reminded herself again that he had been with Quantrill, and she fought back tears of fury.
She slept with her back to him, and he did not try to touch her again. In the morning, she avoided him. At dinner she was polite, though she wanted to scream. She was disturbed to see that her brother and Cole talked about the cattle and the ranch easily, like two old friends. Shannon had talked to Matthew, and Shannon thought Cole was a hero, no matter what.
He's a bushwhacker! she wanted to shriek to her brother, but of course she could not. Matthew would want to kill Cole, if he knew. And Kristin had never seen anyone as talented with a gun as Cole. No one. If Matthew tried to kill him, Matthew would be the one who died.
Later that evening, when it was time for bed, Matthew walked upstairs with them, and Kristin had no choice but to follow Cole into her parents' bedroom. When the door closed behind them, Kristin stared at it. Cole was behind her, so close that she could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck.
"I hate you," she told him.
He was silent for a long time. She longed to turn around, but she did not.
"I don't think you do, Kristin," he said at last. "But have it however you want it."
He stripped off his clothes and let them lay where they fell, and he crawled into bed. She stayed where she was for a long time. She heard him move to blow out the lamp, and still she stood by the door. Then, finally, she stripped down to her chemise and climbed gingerly into the bed. She knew he was still awake, but he did not try to touch her. She lay awake for hours, and then she drifted off to sleep. While she slept, she rolled against him, and cast her leg over his. Their arms became entwined, and her hair fell over him like a soft blanket.
They awoke that way. Her chemise was up to her waist, her shoulders were bare, and her breast was peeking out. She gazed over at Cole and saw that he was awake and that he was watching her. Then she felt him, felt him like a pulsing rod against her flesh. He moved toward her, very, very slowly, giving her every chance to escape. She couldn't move. Her flesh was alive, her every nerve awake to shimmering sensation, and when he came inside her she shuddered at the pleasure of it, of having him with her, of touching him again, of savoring the subtle movement of his muscles, of feeling the hardness of him as he moved inside her.
And yet, when it was over, she could still find nothing to say to him. She rose quickly and dressed, aware all the while of his brooding eyes upon her.
"Where have you been?" she demanded at last.
"In Richmond."
"Not with —"
"You know I wasn't with Quantrill. You saw my uniform."
Kristin shrugged. "Some of them wear Confederate uniforms."
"I wasn't with Quantrill."
Kristin hesitated, struggling with her buttons. Cole rose and came up behind her, and she swallowed down a protest as he took over the task. "How long are you staying?"
"I've got another week."
"The same as Matthew," she murmured.
"The same as Matthew."
"And where are you going now?"
"Malachi's unit."
She hesitated. Liar! she longed to shout. Tears stung her eyes. She didn't know if he was lying or not.
He swung her around to face him. "I'm a special attache to General Lee, Kristin. Officially, I'm cavalry. A major, but the only man I have to answer to is the grand old man himself. I do my best to tell him what's going on back here."
Kristin lifted her chin. "And what do you tell him?"
"The truth."
"The truth?"
"The truth as I see it, Kristin."
They stared at one another for a moment, enemies again. Hostility glistened in her eyes and narrowed his sharply.
"I'm sorry, Cole," Kristin said at last. "I can't forgive you."
"Damn you, Kristin, when did I ever ask you to forgive me?" he replied. He turned around. He had dismissed her, she realized. Biting her lip, she fled the room.
She avoided him all that day. She was tense at dinner as she listened to the conversation that flowed around her. Matthew, puzzled by her silence, asked if she was unwell, and she told him she was just tired. She went up to bed early.
She went to bed naked, and she lay awake, and she waited.
When Cole came to bed, she rolled into his arms, and he thought she made love more sweetly than ever before, more sweetly and with a greater desperation.
It went on that way, day after day, night after night, until the time came for Matthew to ride away again.
And for Cole to ride away again.
And then they were standing in front of the house, ready to mount up, one man she loved dressed in blue, one man she loved dressed in gray. Both handsome, both young, both carrying her heart with them, though she could not admit that to the man in gray.
Kristin was silent. Shannon cried and hugged them both again and again.
Kristin kissed and hugged her brother, and then, because there was an audience, she had to kiss Cole.
Then, suddenly, the audience didn't matter. May was over. They had heard that Vicksburg had fallen, and Kristin thought of all the men who would die in the days to come, and she didn't want to let either of them go.
She didn't want to let Cole go. She couldn't explain anything to him, couldn't tell him that she didn't hate him, that she loved him, but she didn't want to let him go.
; She hugged him fiercely, and she kissed him passionately, until they were both breathless and they both had to step away. His eyes searched hers, and then he mounted up.
Shannon and Kristin stood together and watched as the two men clasped hands.
Then one rode west, the other east. Cole to Kansas, Matthew deeper into Missouri.
Shannon let out a long, gasping sob.
"They're gone again!" Kristin said, and pulled her sister closer to her. "Come on. We'll weed out the garden. It's hot, and it'll be a miserable task, and we won't think about the men at all."
"We'll think about them," Shannon said. She was close to tears again, Kristin thought. Shannon, who was always so fierce, so feisty. And Kristin knew that if Shannon cried again, she would sob all day, too.
"Let's get to work."
They had barely set to work when they heard the sounds of hooves again. Kristin spun around hopefully, thinking that either her brother or her husband had returned.
Shannon called out a warning.
It was Zeke, Kristin thought instantly.
But it was not. It was a company of Union soldiers. At its head was a captain. His uniform was just like Matthew's. They stopped in front of the house, but they did not dismount.
"Kristin Slater!" the captain called out.
He was about Matthew's age, too, Kristin thought.
"Yes?" she said, stepping forward.
He swallowed uncomfortably. "You're under arrest."
"What?" she said, astonished.
His Adam's apple bobbed. "Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry. You and your sister are under arrest, by order of General Halleck. I'm right sorry, but we're rounding up all the womenfolk giving aid and succor to Quantrill and his boys."
"Aid and succor!" Kristin shrieked.
She might have been all right if she hadn't begun to laugh. But she did begin to laugh, and before she knew it, she was hysterical.
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