In the brief silence that followed the major's words, McGarrity spooned up the last of his cobbler and milk and set his dish aside. "Well," he said, "as much as I hate to bring such a pleasant evening to a close, I need to head over to the telegraph office and see if the message I'm expecting has come through."
"If you don't mind, Ben," Sally McGarrity spoke up, setting her dish aside, "I think I'll go with you."
The major looked around at his wife as if she'd lost her mind. "For God's sake, Sally, it's twenty degrees!"
"Then I suppose I should wear my heavy cloak."
Sally McGarrity rose and took a soft brown garment from one of the hooks beside the door.
"But—but what about Cassandra and Captain Reynolds?" Ben McGarrity sputtered.
"Oh, they're old friends," she answered, handing him his overcoat. "I'm sure they can keep each other company."
Drew and Cassie laughed at how Sally bustled the major outside.
"I think Mrs. McGarrity meant to give us some time alone," Drew observed.
"Oh?" Cassie murmured. "Do we—need that?"
"I don't know," Drew answered. "Do we?"
Cassie wasn't sure what he expected her to say. They had already talked about the past, about the circumstances that had brought each of them here. They had spoken about Julia. Did he suspect—did Sally suspect—that there was more she could tell him about his sister's death? Was there more she wanted Drew to know?
"Sally has been—very kind," Cassie said instead. "Everyone here at the—fort has been—very kind." It wasn't exactly the truth, but she didn't want to mention either the incident with the sutler or the way everyone stared at her.
Drew seemed to know about the staring. "The longer you're here, the less of an oddity you'll seem."
She nodded, though she wasn't sure he was right. "What do you intend to do with yourself, now that you are back with your own kind?"
Back with her own kind? Just what kind was that?
Cassie stared at Drew. He had been "her own kind" once, but he wasn't the man he'd been nine years ago. His experiences and his fears and his hatreds had changed him, just as the things she had done and seen had changed her. But if Drew wasn't "her own kind" anymore, who was?
Only Alain Jalbert seemed as caught between two worlds as she was. Only Hunter seemed able to understand how it felt to be both the same and different from everyone else.
Still, Drew was right. She needed to think about what lay ahead. To do that, she had to put the past to rest.
Cassandra knew the answer before she spoke, and yet she needed to hear the words of confirmation. "No one but you—survived—the attack on the—wagons, did they?"
"No one survived but me."
Drew's response boxed her in the way she knew it would.
"I'm sorry if I didn't make that clear this morning," he went on, "but I thought you knew."
"I expect I did," she admitted.
Drew turned toward her and laid his arm along the back of the settee. "Major McGarrity has sent inquiries to Kentucky," he said. "If he can't find relatives to send you to, we'll make sure you have what you need to make a life for yourself."
She tried to think what kind of a life that might be. It would not be the life she had envisioned when she was fifteen, a life with Drew and his children. No white man would take an Indian's leavings. She had long ago accepted that she would never nurse a baby or mother a child. Nor were the skills that had distinguished her in the Cheyenne camp of use to her here.
Her future stretched before her, barren and bleak. What was she going to do now that her life was beginning again? She'd started over twice before, once as a slave and once as Gray Falcon's woman. Who was she going to be this time?
As if he had recognized the depth of her confusion, Drew tightened his arm around her shoulders. "We'll do everything we can to help you find your place."
Her place. That was all she'd ever wanted, somewhere to belong. The thing that had always eluded her.
She looked up into his face, seeking confirmation. "Can you promise me a place, Drew?"
"I promise I'll do everything I can to help you find where you belong," he told her solemnly.
Cassie smiled up into his eyes, and though she had only meant to acknowledge his kindness, the moment their gazes met, awareness flared in both of them. Her skin tingled where his fingers brushed her shoulder. His eyes seemed to brighten. Her body suffused with heat. His breathing came ragged in the silence. The air went thick and sultry between them.
It could have been the rugged cast to his features, the wild-flower scent of her hair, or the hollow ache of loneliness in each of them. It might have been his strength or hers, her need or his that made them suddenly so aware of the bond that linked them still. In the end it didn't matter what it was. The essence of what they'd shared years before drifted around them like lingering smoke.
"Oh Drew," Cassie whispered, "should it still be like this between us?"
"No," he answered her.
But it was.
The attraction was all scent and heat and promise. She recognized years-old desire in his eyes, saw a fresh tide of yearning erode the hard line of his mouth. Perilous expectation rose in her.
They came together as if the kiss were preordained, his mouth seeking hers, her lips opening in welcome. His arms tightened around her, drawing her against him.
Cassandra closed her eyes and savored him, responding and remembering all the intimacies they'd shared. The texture of his lips, the languorous perusal of her mouth, the taste of Drew were all wondrously familiar. The strength in that long, hard-muscled body and the tickle of his mustache were surprising and new.
She curled deeper into his embrace. He took full advantage of her willingness, circling her lips with his tongue, seeking the warm, sweet cavern that beckoned him.
Sharing so much of herself with Drew awakened a slow, deep need in Cassandra, a sharp, delicious quickening. She craved his touch and his taste and his tenderness in ways she never had when she was young. Cassie craved them as a woman did—a woman who had known pain, brutality, and loneliness. A woman who needed comfort, security, and peace. She ached for everything to be as it had been years ago when life was filled with joy and Drew Reynolds loved her, body and soul.
How clearly she remembered the spring they'd discovered each other. They had been sitting barefoot and ankle-deep in the icy stream that carved a meandering channel between his father's land and hers when Drew had leaned across and kissed her. He'd done it shyly, hesitantly that first time. Yet even then he'd kissed with a natural affinity for the act that was partly honest affection and partly burgeoning curiosity.
Cassie had loved him for as long as she could remember, and now that she had a chance to let him know, she kissed him back.
Her headlong willingness had turned the simple, experimental brush of lips to something else, something delicious and intoxicating, something forbidden. They had sprawled back on the new spring grass, touching and stroking and holding. In those first few moments they had learned how a spark could ignite between a man and a woman, learned the power of a single kiss to delight and tantalize and excite. They had withdrawn shaken by what they'd discovered. In some deep, essential way, they were children no more.
Tonight, as their lips parted and their tongues merged, there was an echo of that first discovery—the surprise and the elation, the awakening and the promise. What passed between them now was intense, adult. Their feelings had names—passion, yearning, and desire.
That those emotions should leap to life between them after all this time was poignant and bittersweet. But both of them knew this was the wrong time and place for them to feel such fierce attraction. They were the wrong people to touch and ache and need.
Slowly, shaken by what had passed between them, they withdrew from the embrace. Cassie sucked in a shuddery breath and shoved back her hair. Drew scrubbed his face with his hands and refused to look at her.
Still, the need
was thrumming in them both, a subtle symphony played out in the beat of their pulses, in the hum of their sighs, and the chatter of Sally McGarrity's lantern clock. It was as if those few simple kisses had awakened something that had lain dormant in each of them—a ghost of who they'd been, a dream of what their lives might have been like if they hadn't lost each other.
But they had.
Drew shoved to his feet and stood over her. "This can't be happening. We can't let it happen."
Though she was quaking inside, Cassie looked up at him. "I don't know—that we can—help it."
He stared as if he were seeing her for the very first time—her tattoo, her sun-browned face, the years she'd spent with the savages. She read the revulsion in his eyes.
"Damnit, Cassie! Can't you see how much we've changed? Don't you know we can't go back?"
"Oh, Drew," Cassie murmured. There was such wistfulness in her, a deep, fruitless longing for all that might have been. "Perhaps if we tried—"
Drew recoiled, breathing hard. "I don't want to try. There isn't room in my life anymore for trying."
He was possessed by that single-minded fury, a need for revenge that had swallowed him whole. She could not help feeling sorry that he had forfeited the softer parts of himself to something so cold and useless.
He crossed the room and snatched his hat and overcoat from the hooks beside the door. "Thank Mrs. McGarrity for inviting me to dinner. Tell her everything was delicious."
Cassie came to her feet. "Drew, please—"
He jammed one arm into the sleeve of his overcoat. "Tell the major I'm sorry I couldn't wait, that I'll see him in the morning."
"We can't—pretend that—nothing happened between us," she insisted. "We can't see each other—every day and—"
He stopped as he reached for the door latch and looked at her. His jaw was hard as granite, but there was turmoil in his eyes. "Nothing happened, Cassie. It might have, but we didn't let it. And we won't."
"But Drew—"
"It's too late for either of us to feel like this, Cassie. We aren't young and innocent any more. We've both lost too much." There was a hint of anguish in his voice that tore at Cassie's heart. "We're who the Kiowa made us, and we can't go back."
"No, Drew, wait," she cried out, but he had already flung open the cabin door and fled out into the cold.
* * *
What in the name of God had he been thinking? What fiend from the bloody depths of hell had induced him to take Cassie Morgan in his arms? How could he have made such a monumental blunder?
Drew stomped along the path toward his quarters at the opposite end of Officers' Row. Beyond learning his sister's fate, he hadn't meant to renew his connection to Cassie Morgan. Officers didn't associate with women like her, women who'd been captives, women who had chosen to submit to the Indians rather than muster the courage to kill themselves. The lines of military society were carefully drawn, especially here, and women like Cassie had no place in it. But because they'd known each other long ago, Drew wanted to see Cassie settled either with relations back in the States or someplace out here where she could earn her keep.
Though the web of old ties and old guilts made him feel accountable, he'd done his best to make Cassandra understand that he couldn't be a part of her new life. He'd nearly had her convinced when she'd looked up at him, all lost and forlorn, and he'd instinctively reached out to comfort her.
Once he felt her heat and vitality beneath his hands, something old and compelling had taken hold of him. He'd been utterly beguiled, caught in a force so elemental that he was helpless against it. One moment he'd been patting her shoulder, and the next he'd been kissing her.
The sweetness of her mouth had drawn him in, sent the blood singing in his veins. A bolt of longing had melted his bones. He'd tingled and burned as if he had connected with some wild blaze of energy.
He'd gone years without experiencing anything so intense, so reckless and headlong and out of control. Never once with Laura had it been like that—not even when they made love. And in a secret, dark place in his heart he'd been glad of it.
Life and the Indians and the war with the South had taught him a lifetime of hard lessons. In these last nine years he'd stopped believing in everything but hatred and revenge. The emotions Cassie had stirred up in him tonight were as terrifying as they were miraculous. But they demanded more faith in the world than Drew had left.
When he reached his own small cabin, the light in the kitchen was burning bright. Lila Wilcox was in there, probably sitting with Meggie asleep in her arms, humming some sad, sweet melody and keeping time by the creak of the rocking chair.
He shuddered at the thought of facing Lila after what had passed between Cassie and him. Lila had a way of reading people, of sensing what went on behind their eyes that was downright unnerving. If he went in there now, she'd take one look at him and surmise a good deal more than he wanted anyone knowing.
Extracting one of the fine cigars he'd tucked into his pocket before leaving the house, Drew settled himself on the bench in front of the cabin. He went through a gentleman's ritual of clipping and lighting his smoke, blew several agitated puffs, and scowled out toward where a few tattered snowflakes were drifting in the wind.
He didn't like Sally McGarrity's treating Cassie's return from the Cheyenne as if it were some grand reunion between him and her. In spite of what had fired up between them tonight, that wasn't what it was. He had come west to kill Indians, and he couldn't afford to get distracted.
The government might well be paying annuities so the tribes would keep their treaties, but as long as the whites kept moving west, the Indians would keep resisting. No peace would come to these western lands until the Indians were annihilated, and if Drew had reasons of his own for wanting to see that, so be it.
The skirmish after Cassie's exchange had whetted Drew's appetite. Once the snow was gone and the grass was green, the Indians would ride out. War was coming. All he had to do was wait until spring to exorcise his demons.
"Reynolds? Is that you?"
The sound of Major McGarrity's voice shook Drew from his musing. When he made as if to rise, the major waved the gesture away.
"I was surprised when Sally and I got back and found you gone," the major began.
Drew shrugged, taking care not to meet McGarrity's eyes. "Cassie seemed—tired."
McGarrity appeared to accept his explanation and extended a crumpled paper for Drew to read. "It's the telegram I was expecting from Kentucky. I wanted you to see it before I showed it to Cassandra."
"Have you found some Morgan relatives?" Drew asked hopefully and tilted the foolscap toward the light.
Ben McGarrity shook his head. "Not a soul. It's as if they all either lit out or died shortly after your families left."
"The men probably fought in the war," Drew offered, "and that part of Kentucky was pretty much overrun. I doubt there's much left standing. Cassie's family and mine saw the trouble coming. That's why our parents sold out and headed west."
Not that the trail to Santa Fe had proved any safer.
"You can't think of anyone else back in the States who would take her, can you?"
Drew thought Cassie's mother had had family somewhere along the Eastern Seaboard, in Philadelphia maybe. But he couldn't for the life of him remember. "Doesn't Cassie have any ideas?"
"I haven't asked her, but I don't think she wants to be shunted off to relations she barely knows. After what she's been through, I hardly blame her. I doubt she'll find a very warm reception back in the States, anyway."
McGarrity didn't mention the tattoo. He didn't need to. A mark like that would be even more damning back East than it was here.
Forcing that unsettling thought from his mind, Drew shoved over on the bench and took out a second cigar. The major accepted it gratefully and sat down beside him.
Once he had it lit, McGarrity went on. "This pretty much leaves Cassandra's future up to me. She's too old to send off to school somewh
ere. From what I hear, there are missionaries coming to minister to the Sioux in Minnesota. I suppose I could send her to them once they get settled. Certainly her knowledge of Indian languages and customs would make her useful."
They smoked for a time in silence.
"She'll end up a whore if I turn her out," McGarrity offered.
Drew nodded. "Perhaps that's what she's been, living all this time with the Indians."
Ben McGarrity's face twisted with disapproval. "Even with the Cheyenne, being some brave's wife is worth a little respect."
Drew scowled but acknowledged the point.
"And there's nothing between the two of you?"
Though the taste of Cassie's kisses lingered on his mouth, Drew shook his head.
"Sally thought there might have been something years ago."
Drew exhaled a plume of smoke. "Mrs. McGarrity's right, there was something between us once," he admitted. "But Cassie's not fifteen anymore, and a lot has happened to both of us."
"Since you once had feelings for the girl, we thought you might—"
Drew was suddenly afraid of what the major was going to suggest. "Of course I'd like to help Cassie," he broke in, "but there doesn't seem to be much I can do."
"We thought you might take her on to cook and clean and look after Meggie, since Lila Wilcox has duties elsewhere."
Drew let out his breath. "I don't know that Cassie would be a suitable choice."
McGarrity shrugged. "You wouldn't be the first officer to hire an Indian woman to look after his children. But perhaps you're right. Perhaps she isn't suitable," he said. "There may be an enlisted man who's looking for a wife and wouldn't be so discerning. Or maybe we can find a place for Cassandra as a laundress. At any rate, she's welcome to stay with us for a while longer. Sally seems to enjoy having a protégé."
Drew looked long and hard at his superior officer and wondered if he was being manipulated. Were he and Mrs. McGarrity keeping Cassie around in the hopes that something would develop between them?
Before Drew could say more, the major snubbed out his cigar and shoved to his feet. "Don't stay out here all night, Reynolds. I can't have one of my captains getting frostbite."
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