Knight in a Black Hat

by Judith B. Glad

  "And proud of it." She straddled his legs, back to him. With a couple of tugs, she had his right boot off. "Phew!"

  "I need a bath," he agreed. Then, as she pulled on his other boot, he remembered a time when he'd come on her, standing shoulder-deep in glass-clear, icy water.

  The lake's cold, but not that bad. "We need baths," he corrected.

  She turned and looked at him. "Together?" The word was little more than a breath of air.

  "Why not?" He'd never bathed with a woman, but ever since he'd seen her that time, he'd dreamed of it. "Why not?" he repeated. "We've got all night."

  He took his rifle to the lake and left it lying on a big rock close to the water's edge. He strapped his knife sheath to his calf, knowing that if anything big came at them, the eight-inch blade would be next to useless. I'm the world's biggest fool for doing this. If anything happened to her....

  Nellie laid the two linen towels beside his rifle, careful, he noticed, to keep it uncovered. Quickly she undressed, not turning her back, but clearly not yet comfortable with him watching. When her last garments had been folded and laid on another rock, she took his hand. "If I'm going to turn into an iceberg, I refuse to be alone."

  "Let's go, then" He pulled her with him as he stepped off the low bank into shallow water. For several feet they waded through plants, as the bottom gradually fell away. At last they were in open water which came up to his waist. It was colder than he'd anticipated, cold enough that his body forgot how hungry it was for her.

  He knew it would remember as soon as he warmed up.

  "Malachi!"

  He turned and caught a faceful of water. "What'd you do that for?"

  Instead of answering, she splashed him again. He dove and grabbed her legs, pulling her under with him. She broke free and swam away from him, toward a patch of water lilies. "Careful," he warned. "Don't get tangled."

  She veered to one side, treaded water as she laughed at him. "Nyah, nyah, nyah! Can't catch me!"

  Not being much of a swimmer, Malachi agreed. He probably couldn't catch her. Trickery, now, was a different matter. He splashed back to shore and got the soap. Pretending to ignore her, he lathered his hair, rubbed the bar over his arms and chest.

  She came closer.

  He soaped his legs, between his toes.

  "When you're through..." She was right behind him.

  He handed her the soap, waited until she got her hair all sudsy, had her eyes closed. "Let me have that back a minute, will you?"

  Innocently she held out the soap.

  He took it, tossed it on the bank. Before she knew what was happening, he had a shoulder in her middle, had tossed her over his shoulder and was headed for deep water.

  She yelled and pounded on his back, kicked her legs until he all but lost his balance. She was about as easy to hold onto as a greased pig. But he managed, until they were in water up to his chest. Then he dropped her.

  She came up, sputtering. "You...you...you uncivilized...toad!"

  "Me? You started it."

  "I did not!"

  "You splashed me first."

  "I was playing."

  "So was I." He took her in his arms, the soap remaining on his body making the feel of her against him curiously erotic. He rubbed, and forgot they were standing in cold water, with a cool breeze wafting across their wet bodies. "Ah, Nellie Sanders, I want you."

  "And I want you, Malachi Breedlove. Make love to me."

  They both ducked under the water, rinsing themselves quickly. He ran his fingers through her wet hair, making sure that no soapsuds remained in the clinging strands. Once again he picked her up, but this time cradled her in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tucked her head under the corner of his jaw.

  On the bank, he set her down. "My rifle," he said, "and your clothes."

  She wrung the water from her long hair, wrapped it in one of the towels, and handed him the other. "The clothes will wait," she said, bending to pick up his rifle. "I can't."

  He tossed the towel aside. "Neither can I." On the way back to his lean-to, he carried her, she carried the rifle.

  When he laid her on his bed, Nellie looked up at him, wishing it were day. She wanted to see his face, to read his emotions. The moon would rise soon, and the sun's glow had not entirely left the western sky, but the little light was only enough to show the gleam of his teeth, the quick flash of his eyes.

  He knelt between her spread legs, a dark, slim, strong man silhouetted against the twilight sky. What he would do to her in the next few minutes would change her life irrevocably.

  She could still say no.

  Am I using him because I fear turning into a bitter old maid? Is it fair to let him make love to me because I'm curious and lustful and lacking in self-discipline?

  No! I want him with more than my body. I'd stay with him the rest of my life, if there were some way...

  She held her arms out to him, unwilling to complete that last thought.

  He came over her, his penis going naturally to the heat and moisture between her legs. It pressed against her, a hard pressure, seeming as if it were far too large ever to enter her body. Then his fingers were on her, slipping inside, opening her, stretching her. He held himself above her with one straight arm, looked down into her face. "This is your last chance, Nellie Sanders. You can still say no."

  "Do you want me to?"

  "May heaven preserve me, I do not."

  "Then I will not say it. Come into me."

  He thrust into her, not quickly, but inexorably. The pressure grew, the stretching became almost painful. And still he pressed inward.

  And stopped. His eyes were closed, his teeth bared. "This will hurt," he whispered, just before he drove into her.

  It did, yet the pain quickly turned into another kind of sensation, what he must have meant by 'a good hurt.' Nellie found herself arching against his thrust, pulling him ever more deeply into her body, as she sought...sought the ecstasy that hovered just beyond her reach.

  His hand came between their bodies, touched her just above the place they were joined.

  Nellie shattered.

  Dimly she was aware that he had jerked himself out of her. That he rolled beside her and lay there, his body convulsing, his breath coming in harsh gasps.

  Turning on her side, she lay one arm across him, feeling a tension that had not been in him last night when she had brought him to completion with her hand. She held him close to her until his breathing became regular and she was capable of coherence. "Malachi?"

  "I almost didn't..." He swallowed. "I wanted to..."

  She understood. If what he'd felt was anywhere close to her own emotions, keeping his wits about him must have taken tremendous command.

  How could he have done it? How could he have cut short his own orgasmic imperative to protect her?

  What a good, generous man!

  * * * * *

  Nellie had all three presses full and collected material packed too tightly in the vasculum when they started back to the base camp on the fourth day.

  Her heart was just as full. She rode along behind Malachi, watching the sway of his broad shoulders, finding beauty in the straight line of his spine, the flex of his muscles under his black shirt. Although his black hat shaded his collar, she could imagine the rich brown of his hair against the red neckerchief. He needs a haircut. I wonder if he'd let me...?

  He shaved every morning, and when they'd met, his hair had been cut short in back. She had always imagined shootists to be unsavory, unkempt individuals, but he wasn't.

  Of course, he wasn't really a shootist. Not of the common sort.

  How she had wanted to stay, even one more day. Once they were back in camp, they would have no privacy, no opportunity to be together. But he had told Mr. Ernst they'd be back in four days, and so here they were. She smiled, thinking about this morning and how they'd made love one last time, silently, sweetly, with a poignancy that neither would speak of.

  T
he last time, ever?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Malachi drove the mules into the corral. The grass inside had fared well for a four-day rest. They'd still have to move the corral before the Professor's party got back, but the new growth inside would feed the stock for now.

  When he returned to the common tent after unsaddling Rogue and Sheba, he saw Ernst's horse standing ground-hitched out in front.

  The sound of voices came from around on the south side, where Nellie had set her presses out in the sunlight.

  "...bet you're ready for a real man," Ernst was saying.

  Malachi paused, one hand on the tent flap. Listened.

  Nellie murmured something. To Malachi's ear it sounded discouraging.

  "Come on, now, woman. I seen you watching me, 'fore you went off with Bradley. Like you'd ruther be alone with me. Ha! I'll bet he wouldn't know what to do with a woman like you, was he to come on you buck nekkid and hot to trot."

  Nellie's voice held ice when she said, "You are mistaken, Mr. Ernst. Now, if you don't mind, I have quite a lot of work to do."

  "Work! You call puttin' away them flowers work? Com'ere, woman!"

  Malachi stepped around the corner of the tent and saw the kid trying to embrace Nellie. She was fighting him, but Ernst was a big, husky fellow and a little thing like her had no chance.

  He drew his boot knife. "Turn her loose, Ernst," he called, walking toward them. If he tried to pull her away, the kid could hurt her.

  Instead of releasing her, the kid caught her chin in one hand and planted his filthy mouth on hers.

  Nellie squealed against his mouth, and Malachi saw red. He jammed the hilt against the kid's kidney. Hard.

  "Turn her loose, I said."

  Ernst lifted his head, glanced over his shoulder. "Get lost, Bradley. Me'n the lady here are just saying hello. She missed me."

  Malachi flipped the knife, caught it by the hilt. As soon as Ernst felt the sharp point penetrate his hide, he let Nellie go.

  She stepped backward, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "I'm all right," she said, looking at him over the kid's shoulder. "He didn't hurt me."

  Malachi knocked the kid down anyhow.

  Ernst rolled, his hand grabbing at a six-gun as he came to one knee.

  Right behind him, Malachi caught the kid by the hair. He laid the blade across his neck, just under his ear. "Don't move," he said, his voice as cold as his heart, "else I'll kill you."

  The kid froze in place.

  "Mal-- Mr. Bradley, he wouldn't have harmed me. I know how to protect myself."

  She believed it, the more fool she. He noticed that her hands were clenched tightly at her sides, though, as if to hide their shaking.

  "Get up, Ernst." Malachi loosened his grip, but kept the knife ready. "Get out of my sight."

  "Aw, Malcolm, I was just horsin' around. I didn't mean her no harm."

  "Get!"

  "Mr. Bradley!"

  He waited while the kid got to his feet and swaggered toward the corral. Then he said, "Stay out of this Nellie."

  "But--"

  "Press your plants and let me take care of this. It's my job."

  She bit her lip, and nodded. He could just see the arguments trying to spill out.

  His knife was back in his boot when he reached the corral where Ernst was saddling his roan. "Put the saddle away. You're not going anywhere."

  "Go to hell!"

  "Put it away, I said."

  Malachi waited until the saddle was back on the corral fence, then opened the gate to let Ernst out of the corral. The kid wouldn't look at him. His face bore a sullen, closed expression.

  "Tom, I've told you that Miss Sanders is to be treated with respect at all times. I've kept quiet when you've talked about her to Murphy and Willard, because she didn't hear what you were saying. But if you ever lay a finger on her again, you'll regret it. And from now on, I don't want to hear you say anything disrespectful about her, either. Don't even think it."

  The kid's hand hovered close to his six-gun. They glared at each other for what seemed like minutes, then Ernst spat, "Go to hell!"

  "Go milk the cow," Malachi said, keeping the anger out of his tone. "And remember what I said. Pull a stunt like that again and you're fired."

  The kid said nothing as he stalked past the corral to where the cow was tethered in a patch of tall bunchgrass.

  He may not back down next time. Am I going to have to kill him, too?

  When he went back, Nellie was calmly changing the papers in a filled press, as if nothing had happened.

  "I supposed you chastised him," she accused.

  "I gave him a talking to," Malachi said. "I didn't yell at him, and I never laid a hand on him."

  "Not after the first time."

  He stared at her. "You're upset because I knocked him down? He was treating you like a whore, and you're upset?"

  Sitting back on her heels, she looked up at him. "Violence rarely solves anything, Malachi. A simple reprimand would have been sufficient. After all, he said nothing to me that hasn't been said before. Male college students are often cheeky and quite frank about their sexual needs. I have learned to deal with their improper suggestions and propositions."

  For some reason her words felt like insults. "As long as I'm in charge of this expedition, you won't have to 'deal' with anything of the kind. Ernst will watch his manners around you, or he'll be heading back to Boise City alone."

  "Then I suppose I should be appreciative." Once again he saw her bite her lips. "Thank you, Mr. Bradley, for coming to my defense."

  "I was Malachi to you a minute ago."

  "Yes, and it was a mistake. I meant to mention this before. While our...our sojourn at the lake was memorable, I believe we should remain on a more formal footing while we are with the rest of the party. Don't you agree?"

  The ironic thing was, he'd been thinking the same thing. While he'd like nothing better than to be her lover for the rest of the summer, he knew it was a bad idea. Bad for morale, bad for maintaining his authority.

  That didn't mean he liked her being the one to suggest it.

  "As you wish, Miss Sanders. I'll go start supper, then. Can you be through with your work in an hour?"

  "Yes, I believe I can, Mr. Bradley."

  Without another word, Malachi went outside. If he'd stayed there a minute longer, his resolve would have weakened and he'd have had her in his arms.

  A kiss or two would have melted the scientist and let me see the woman inside again.

  Supper that night was not a pleasant meal. Nellie ate quickly, uncomfortable with the silence between the two men. Mr. Bradley was scrupulously polite, and never looked at her. Mr. Ernst sent a wink or a smirk her way whenever he could do so unobserved.

  That young man is getting to be a problem. He is so certain he is God's gift to womankind.

  She had met men like him at the college, good-looking, self-confident, often wealthy students who had never suffered rejection. They had been the most difficult to discourage, because they had believed that an unattractive woman would be especially grateful for their attention.

  Well, she would just have to be stern with him.

  What worried her far more was Malachi's apparent hurt when she'd told him they must set aside their feelings and desires as long as they were with the rest of the party. She had been so sure he'd understand.

  Sighing, she turned back to her work. Although she would not trade the last few days for anything, she rather thought that the rest of the summer was going to be difficult.

  * * * * *

  "Did you see that, Buttercup? What he done to My Girl?"

  The cat made his food? sound. He'd been watching the folks by the tent ever since the girl had come out and started fussing with them bales of paper and dry plants.

  "Maybe he'll kill him," she told the cat, as the feller in the black hat poked the other with a knife. But he didn't. Instead he stepped back, soon as the girl got loose.

  T
he two men had words, then the kid stomped off toward the corral. So did the dangerous feller. They jawed a while, and Gertie could see that the kid wasn't too happy with what he was bein' told.

  "He should'a killed that kid," she said. "Now he'll be twice as mean."

  And twice as determined to get Her Girl alone, Gertie reckoned, where he could have his way with her.

  * * * * *

  "Have you seen Tom this morning?"

  Nellie looked up from her journal. "No, but I've barely been outside."

  His usual serious expression had been replaced by a worried frown. "I don't think he came in after his watch last night," he said. "At first I figured he'd slept out somewhere and got up early. But I can't see any sign that he ever went to his bed."

  "He is probably avoiding us both," she said, smiling. "I hurt his feelings by not falling into his arms, and you destroyed his manly image by knocking him down in my presence."

  She was immersed in her notes when he came back about an hour later. "I'm going to see if I can find Tom's trail," he said. "If he headed out, I want to know."

  "Do you think he might have?" She silently admitted that she would be relieved to see the last of Mr. Ernst. If Malachi hadn't come along yesterday, she might have been in real danger. Despite her claim to self-sufficiency, she had realized, in retrospect, that she had been entirely helpless in the young man's hands yesterday. He could have... No, I will not even think it!

  "I'll find out," he said. Shortly he led Buck, his second mount, back to where she sat. "Miss Sanders?"

  She wished he would lose that stern expression he wore whenever he looked at her.

  "Stay close to camp."

  He was serious. And worried. "I will," she said. "Don't worry about me."

  Malachi mounted, endured the few minutes of protest Buck always made, then turned the buckskin's head in the direction of the small lake. He'd ride out a half mile, circle the camp. If he didn't see any sign of Tom, he'd have to come back. He couldn't leave Nellie alone. The trouble was, their tracks were all over this space between the lakes, so he doubted he'd be able to see a new trail. He'd never been much of a tracker, for all that.