I could not make out his irises in the darkness. I admitted in a whisper, “I don’t remember what I was dreaming.”
“It is unsafe to roam out here, where I…” He cut short these authoritative words and amended, “Where no one is able to see you.”
Instead of arguing with him, as was my first instinct, I conceded, “I know.”
“I will wait for you,” he decided, but did not turn around or offer any other privacy.
“You don’t have to wait. I’ll be right back.”
“Back from where?”
This was getting ridiculous. “I am not going to pee in front of you!”
He was rendered momentarily silent.
“Did you hear me?” I demanded.
“How could I fail to hear you? We are but a foot apart!”
I lowered my voice, stunned by how quickly Miles roused my temper. “I know you were just worried. It’s all right.” He didn’t move and so I hinted, “Can I have just a second?”
“Of course,” he muttered stiffly, and proceeded to turn his back and cross his arms. His posture was so rigid he appeared carved of wood.
I sighed; there was no winning this one, and so I hurried to the creek bank without further comment. When I returned he offered his arm, which I interpreted as an apology, and together we walked back to the fire. Axton and Cole lay snoring, the last of the embers glowing like rubies. Miles led me to the wagon where we stalled, facing one another in the darkness; Miles released my arm.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” I whispered at last.
“Do not apologize.” Stars rioted across the backdrop of sky behind him, creating the illusion of swirling motion. The air was cold and damp.
I realized I’d failed to do something important and so whispered, “Thank you for doing this, Miles.” A beat passed between us; I’d spoken his name for the second time tonight. “We’re all indebted to you.”
“I only pray we are successful. Of course you are aware Cole is very much besotted by Mrs. Yancy. He is set on his course. I know him well enough to recognize his stubbornness.”
“It’s no secret,” I whispered, touched nonetheless that he’d confided in me. “Axton is crazy about her too, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
I sensed him nod. “I have, and so has Cole. He was much aggrieved this morning after you took your leave. It was a long day all around.” He paused. “For you as well, and I am keeping you from sleep. We should arrive at Grant’s before noon if we set out at daybreak.”
“Right,” I whispered, sensitized and restless, thinking of how he’d gripped my waist last night, the way his thumbs had caressed my belly. Before he could help me up, I hurried to climb over the tailgate, thwacking my shin on the way, stifling a groan. I whispered over my shoulder, “See you in the morning.”
“In the morning,” he repeated softly, and returned to the fire.
But the damage was done; I didn’t sleep the remainder of the night, lying in silence beside Patricia, flat on my back and both hands resting on my chest – like I was dead in a coffin, I realized, with an unpleasant shiver – watching the canvas grow lighter by degrees as dawn advanced. It was palest silver when I finally left the quilts and crawled to the oval opening; the fire pit was in view, all three men stretched around a pile of spent coals. I could see my breath in the air and my gaze landed upon and clung to Miles, his back to me, a lone blanket drawn haphazardly to his waist.
He’d untied the twine holding back his long hair and his pistol remained strapped to his hip; he lay with an arm curled beneath his head. Studying him sent an insistent pulse beating in my belly, then lower, an escalating desire to hurry over there and let our hair tangle together as I wrapped my arms and legs around him. The fire was low – he must have been freezing. I definitely was and I’d been buried beneath two heavy quilts.
I’ll warm you, I thought. Oh Miles, let me warm you…
Jesus Christ, Ruthann.
I was shocked at my thoughts; I hardly knew Miles Rawley.
Go to him…
Aching, but resolute, I turned away and wrapped into my own arms.
Chapter Seventeen
A MAN ON HORSEBACK RODE OUT TO MEET OUR SMALL PARTY as we approached the homestead of Grant and Birdie Rawley, late the following morning. I was impressed with the appearance of their sprawling ranch, including a two-story, wood-framed house and numerous outbuildings, all of solid-looking construction, with a large corral ringing the south side of an enormous barn. At least a dozen horses milled about inside the enclosure. There were blue mountain peaks along the western horizon and I felt a spurt of pure appreciation for the rugged beauty of this place.
“There he is!” the man called, spurring his horse and riding straight to Miles. The moment his feet touched the ground, Miles was wrapped in a bear hug. I dismounted more slowly from Flickertail, touched to witness the affection between the two brothers. Grant Rawley’s resemblance to Miles was immediately obvious – the tall, wide-shouldered stance, the long nose and clean-lined face, though Grant’s hair and eyes were a lighter brown and he wore a full beard in addition to a mustache.
“It’s been too damn long,” Miles said as he embraced Grant.
“You can say that again,” said Grant, thumping Miles’s back with both fists. He drew away and assessed the group before him with an air of good cheer. Hands widespread, he inquired, “Who have we here?”
“Ruthann Rawley.” I stepped forward and offered my right hand, which Grant accepted and kissed. His eyebrows became steep arches at my words; he sent Miles a quick, sharp look which melted to a grin.
Jubilation in his tone, Grant cried, “You’ve taken a wife, brother! I wondered at the womenfolk. My Birdie will be beside herself with joy.”
I stumbled, “I’m not…”
Miles touched my elbow, as though to apologize for the misunderstanding. “Regrettably, Ruthann is not my wife.”
Cole, leading Charger, interrupted all of us. “It’s a long story, Grantley, one which we’ll account for soon enough.”
Indicating the wagon, Miles added, “This is Miss Patricia Biddeford and Axton Douglas. You’ll recall Branch Douglas from the old days,” and Grant nodded.
“And I am Grantley Rawley, at your service, ladies,” he said, recovering his self-possession. “My Birdie will be overjoyed at your presence. Please make yourselves in every way at home here.” So saying, Grant offered me his arm. Over his shoulder, he told Miles, “Little bro, if you’d lead Gunpowder, I’d be much obliged.”
“Always was a ladies’ man,” Cole grumbled, while Miles proceeded to walk both his own horse and Grant’s, a high-stepping mare.
Birdie Rawley hurried outside the second we were in her dooryard, one child on her hip and another clinging to her skirts. She wore her golden hair in a smooth bun and dimples flashed in both cheeks as she smiled, surveying this group of people who’d arrived mostly uninvited at her house.
Grant said, “This is my wife, Roberta Rawley.”
“I declare. Company! I haven’t been so glad since I don’t know when. Please, call me Birdie. Grantley, take your son so I can offer a proper welcome.” She passed the baby to her husband and hugged us each in turn. The toddler lost hold of Birdie’s skirt and began fussing but Cole picked him up and tossed him in the air. Miles took care to introduce Patricia, Axton, and me to Birdie before she could assume the same thing Grant had.
Even though I could tell she was dying of curiosity as her eyes danced between us, Birdie didn’t press for questions. She invited, “Do come inside. I have lemon tarts, imagine that! Though, it is the last of the lemons dear Fannie sent.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Cole Spicer, you handsome devil, you haven’t changed a bit. It’s that hair, is it not? No one with red hair could ever be completely good, could they, girls?” She turned her teasing gaze to Axton and inquired, “Might the same be said of you, young fellow?”
Axton flushed and pressed his hat, which he’d politely removed, tighter to
his chest.
“My wife is very free with her opinions, aren’t you, honey?” Grant said, winking at her. I thought suddenly of what Miles had told me the night he threw Aemon Turnbull in jail, the night he’d cleaned the wound on my forehead, about his father teaching him two things – one of which was to marry a woman for love. It was clear each of the Rawley boys had been given the same advice.
“I most certainly am,” Birdie agreed, fluttering her lashes at Grant. “I’m so very glad to have womenfolk for company that I am quite beside myself.”
Referring to the baby in his arms, Grant said to Miles, “Little brother, meet your newest nephew, Isaac Charles.”
“Might I hold the child?” Patricia asked.
“Of course,” said Birdie, and Grant passed his son, who was perhaps six months old, into Patricia’s arms. Her face bloomed as she gently bounced him, earning a gurgling laugh from the baby.
Birdie said, “You may hold him for the duration of your visit, Miss Biddeford. He is only satisfied when being held and another pair of arms is most welcome.”
Patricia had shed her married surname, as Miles had requested, and I wished it was as easy to likewise shed her marriage. I wanted to will away the lingering sense of doom, which dripped inside my heart like a leaking pump, a constant reminder that things were not right.
But try as I might, I could not.
Dinner was to be served outside since the weather was so lovely, the sun slowly disappearing behind the mountain range on the horizon. Clouds had banked behind the peaks, lending the sunset a burning violet glow. Patricia and I were given a room to share in the main house, while Miles, Ax, and Cole claimed beds in the bunkhouse, where Grant’s ranch hands lived; another man, a cook, had his own shanty cabin with a stovepipe poking through the roof.
Patricia and I stripped from our dirty traveling clothes and took turns washing our faces and armpits – in that order – in the basin Birdie made certain was waiting in our room. We were situated on the second floor, in a cramped room with a bare wooden floor and a low, slanted ceiling, but it had four solid walls and a bed complete with a feather tick and down-filled pillows, and so neither of us breathed a word of complaint. Sunlight trickled through the rippled glass of the single window in the room. Birdie, taking stock of our limited supplies, had also provided undergarments and dresses for us, the material fresh and crisp and wonderfully clean.
“How soon do you think Cole and Miles will tell them the truth?” Patricia asked, as I sat on the bed and let her brush through my curls. I wore nothing but an underskirt, Patricia clad in a loose-fitting chemise, as comfortable around one another as actual sisters; I’d spent a long time scratching at the red grooves my corset cut into my skin and was very reluctant to replace it; to avoid this, I sat with my knees bent against my bare breasts, both hands cupped over my toes. I rested my chin on my right knee and shivered at the gentle passage of the brush over my scalp.
“I think Miles and his brother keep very little from each other,” I said. “But Grant and Birdie don’t seem unreasonable. I think they’ll listen. They trust Miles’s judgement.” At least, so I hoped.
Patricia rested her palm on the back of my head, lost in thought for a spell. At last she whispered, “I recognize the indecorous nature of such topics, but I…that is, I…”
Recognizing her discomposure, I hurried to tell her, “There’s nothing you could say that would shock me, I promise.”
Her eyes closed and she sank to sit beside me on the mattress, the bed neatly made up with an embroidered quilt of pristine white. Holding the hairbrush to her breasts, she breathed, “I have only once in my life…made love.”
Of everything she could have said right then, I’d expected this probably the least. She opened her eyes and searched mine.
“But what about…”
“That is not entirely correct,” she interrupted, speaking quickly now, like someone confessing a wrongdoing. “The phrase, I mean, ‘making love.’ I have never made love with anyone. What occurred on my wedding night was most certainly not that. It was a perfunctory duty Dredd felt he must perform. It was over in minutes and he never touched me in any fashion, after that first night.” She shuddered while I absorbed this troubling – but perhaps not all that surprising – news. She whispered, “I am a fool, Ruthann. A fool of monstrous proportions. I have indulgently let myself believe in a future free from my former obligations.”
I kept quiet; we both knew there was no easy solution.
Patricia inhaled a soft breath, resting a closed fist upon her forehead. “Cole is…” Her cheeks took on heat as she reframed her words. “I am quite unused to such feelings, to say the least. I do not believe I would be disappointed if he and I…that is, if we…” Her voice dropped another confessional notch. “Oh, dear God, I am a fool.”
“Hey. Stop it. It’s not wrong to feel this way. Your only experience has been with someone like Dredd. And it sounds like that experience was awful, right?”
“You don’t think me wanton?” Her tone was inundated with apprehension.
“Wanton? Of course not!” No matter what my impression of Cole, I could not let her believe her emotions were wrong. Even so, I felt like I was betraying Axton as I said, “You’re too hard on yourself. Desire is a natural part of life. Cole is a good-looking man, of course you’ve noticed him. He’s certainly noticed you. And he’s tough. He would stand up for you, fight for you. Would Dredd do the same?”
Patricia released a small huff of a laugh, pressing her fingertips to her closed eyes. “Heavens, no.”
“We can’t know what the future holds. But whatever it does, I hope you know I am here for you, I promise. No matter what.”
Her tense posture relaxed and she rested her forehead upon my bare shoulder. “Thank you. In return I promise the same. I cannot fathom a time when I did not know you, as unreasonable as that may seem.” She studied me in silence for a long moment. “You are quite beautiful, within as well as without, which is most uncommon. I have the sense you do not realize your beauty, though another member of our party has noticed, quite absolutely.” This close to her, I could see the way the blue in her irises was variegated; darker indigo spokes radiated outward from her pupils. Her lashes were thick and black, in contrast to the pale honey of her eyebrows. She persisted, “Have you no idea to whom I refer?”
I looked at my feet, feigning preoccupation.
Patricia smoothed her palm over my hair, the mattress sighing as she stood and continued wielding the brush. She murmured, “The marshal’s eyes are for you, sweet Ruthann, whether you shall acknowledge it or not. Cole said he has never before seen Miles smitten.”
I wanted to ask, Haven’t you noticed the way Axton watches you? Talk about smitten.
But I didn’t want to hurt her – and besides, I knew she had noticed.
“There is a woman in Howardsville pregnant with Miles’s baby,” I blurted without thinking, tears blurring the sight of my bare toes. I hated myself for choking up at this statement.
“The plump woman from the saloon, is it not?” Patricia asked. “The woman who requested I look out for you?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Shall he claim the child?”
“Likely not.” I knuckled my eyes to prevent the tears from falling, but no such luck. “Celia plans to send the baby to be raised back east.”
“It is the best decision, for all involved,” Patricia said, with somber certainty.
“But it’s not. It’s his baby. It’s a cousin to Grant and Birdie’s little boys, a part of this family. Miles has a responsibility to Celia and their child.”
“Bastard children are difficult to acknowledge in the best of circumstances.” Patricia’s tone was gently matter-of-fact. “Though, I cannot imagine the ‘right’ circumstances for such a thing.”
I used the underskirt to swipe away my rolling tears, sniffling pathetically. Patricia tipped her forehead to my hair and whispered, “Take each day as it comes
. I remember my mama speaking the same to Rosemary and me, long ago. I have very few memories of Mama and Rosemary, either one, but I treasure each.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. “I am so grateful for you, you have no idea.”
She kissed my cheek and ordered softly, “Come, we shall soon be called to dine and we cannot under any circumstances appear below dressed as such.”
I glanced down at my bare breasts and snorted a small laugh, muttering, “Yeah, I think you might be right.”
Patricia walked past the four-paned window en route to replace the brush, but her feet stalled and she dropped to an instant crouch, grasping the windowsill and muffling a strange little sound. To say I was alarmed was a serious understatement; I flew from the bed, disregarding my topless state, and raced to her side.
“Is it the Yancys?” I demanded breathlessly, one of my many horrible fears. Realizing I was naked from the waist up, I crouched beside her, only to realize she was laughing, wagging her head side to side.
“No, no…”
“Then what?” I cried.
“Down in the yard, near the hand pump…” This mystifying explanation was followed by Patricia proceeding to peek as cautiously as possible over the bottom ledge of the window, as though a gunman waited outside, poised to take aim at anyone appearing in the glass rectangles. She breathed, “Oh, my goodness…”
I lifted my head just enough to peer down at the yard below. This particular bedroom faced south, toward the hand pump and the ranch hands’ bunkhouse…
…And Miles and Cole, washing up for dinner, just as Patricia and I had been only a little while ago.
Both of them were shirtless, splashing water over their strong torsos with as little concern as any men, laughing together about something. Miles’s black hair hung loose and damp, falling nearly to his shoulder blades. Cole’s hair was also wet; he scrubbed his hands through it, biceps bulging, and Patricia uttered a small, soft sound. I shivered hard, watching Miles, my nipples round and firm as pearls. His shoulders were so wide, his arms long and his muscles leanly sculpted, belly flat as the blade of a knife. Thick black hair covered his chest. He was so handsome and tempting, and had no idea I was watching him from afar, radiating with desire. As we continued shamelessly observing, they finished their ministrations and began toweling off.
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