Winter's Touch

by Hudson, Janis Reams

  “Ah, honey.” Forgetting his wet clothes, he sat next to her on the sofa and pulled her onto his lap. “Ah, honey,” he said again. She didn’t like storms. Who was she trying to fool? She was plain-ass terrified. She shook against him like a fall leaf barely hanging on in a high wind. “You’re safe here, I promise. The storm won’t hurt you.”

  Her swallow was audible. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m all r-right.”

  Carson held her for a long time, running one hand up and down her arm, the other stroking her back. Slowly it dawned on him that all she wore was a thin nightgown. He wished he hadn’t realized that.

  Her tremors eased as the storm slackened.

  “There,” he whispered in her ear. “Hear that? The thunder’s moving off. No more storm. Only rain.” His lips brushed her temple. “It’s only rain now. You’re safe.”

  The small taste of her skin was not enough. He kissed her temple again, then her cheek, her jaw. When she turned her head, their lips brushed. Settling there, his mouth on hers, came as natural to him as breathing. With the music of the rain falling from the roof mixed with the soft sounds of their breathing, he kissed her.

  Everything inside Winter Fawn stilled. Everything except her heart, which suddenly raced faster and pounded harder than a racing herd of buffalo. Starved for the taste of him, she opened her mouth and welcomed the invasion of his tongue, stroking it with hers, reveling in the soft groan that came from his throat.

  With fingers trembling from eagerness now, rather than fear, she touched his face, his hair, and held his head in her palms.

  Carson wanted to swallow her whole. He lost himself in the kiss, in her warm welcome. Had a woman ever responded to him this way? No, never. This was not something he would be able to forget. He wanted more of her. All of her. Without thought to where they were or what could happen, he twisted on the sofa and took her down until her back was pressed against the seat and he felt her breasts against his chest.

  Suddenly a sound penetrated the heated fog in his brain. The creak of a floorboard.

  He sprang upright just as the door to Gussie’s room clicked open.

  “Carson?” his aunt called.

  The hand he slid over Winter Fawn’s mouth served not only to keep her silent, but to keep her hidden from Gussie below the back of the sofa. “Sorry, Gussie, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “I didn’t know you were back. What are you doing sitting here in the dark? Let me light a lamp for you.”

  It was too dark to see her, but from her voice he determined that she remained in the doorway to her room. “Don’t bother,” he said quickly. Beneath his hand, Winter Fawn lay as rigid as a board. “Go on back to bed. I just want to sit her a minute before turning in.”

  “I could put on some coffee if you—”

  “That’s all right. I don’t want anything. Good night, Gussie,” he added, hoping, praying she would take the hint and go back to bed.

  “Well, if you’re certain you’re all right, dear. You sound a tad odd. You might be coming down with something.”

  “I’m just tired,” he told her, letting the weariness of his bones creep into his voice. “That’s all.”

  After a long moment, she finally said good night and closed her door.

  Feeling as though someone had pulled his spine right out through the top of his head, Carson fell limp against the back of the sofa. His hand slipped from Winter Fawn’s mouth.

  God, that was close.

  Then the irony of the situation settled over him. He was a grown man, the father of a six-year-old, and he was sitting in his own house. And he’d felt like an eight-year-old caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

  Winter Fawn was grateful for the shock that had held her immobile beneath Carson’s hand. From all she had observed, and from the things Carson had said, it was no more proper in the white world than it was among Our People for an unmarried woman to be seen kissing a man. For any woman to be seen kissing any man not her husband.

  Not that young couples did not usually find a way to steal a kiss now and then. That’s what she felt like now, a young girl having barely escaped being caught stealing a kiss with a young warrior.

  Ye feel that way, lass, because you did just barely escape. She did not know whether to giggle like that young girl she might have been, or cry for the woman she was, who could not have the man she wanted.

  Carson’s fingers touched her arm and pulled her up until she sat leaning against him with his arms around her. When he whispered in her ear, his warm breath sent shivers down her spine.

  “Lord, I don’t want to let you go.”

  “Then don’t.” She turned and slipped her arms around his waist. “Don’t let me go, Carson. Never let me go.”

  “I have to,” he said softly. “I won’t have you exposed to talk because I couldn’t control myself and took you right here on the sofa in a house full of people.”

  Winter Fawn shivered again. No, she did not want that either. In her eagerness for his kiss, his touch, she had not thought of the consequences. If he had not reacted so quickly, his aunt would have known she was here with him.

  “Damn, I got you all wet,” he said, fingering the side of her gown. “Go on back to bed, honey, and get warm.”

  She did not want to go. She did not want to leave him. But she knew she must. “Kiss me again, and I will go.”

  With a soft groan, he complied. He kissed hard and fast, as if he could not get enough of her. Then he pulled away.

  Long after she went back to bed, Winter Fawn lay awake, running a finger back and forth across her lips. She could still taste him there, a dark and dangerous flavor that made her yearn for more.

  Carson, too, lay awake long into the night. For the first time in his life he felt an envy for men like Innes who spent most of their time in a fog, courtesy of the flask that seldom left his hand.

  The next morning at breakfast Carson could not keep his eyes off Winter Fawn. He wanted to reach over and touch her, stroke her cheek, press his lips to hers. Last night she had been alive and on fire in his arms. This morning she would not look at him.

  Winter Fawn could not bring herself to look at him. She was afraid, very much afraid, that she might beg him to kiss her again, right there in front of everyone.

  This wouldna do. From the beginning it had been Carson saying they should not, could not make love, and her trying to make him forget the restrictions he had imposed upon them. But last night, as she had lain in bed and listened to the rain drum against the roof, she had remembered again that final morning on the trail, when he had taught her the pleasures of her own body.

  She had wanted that pleasure again, with him, wanted to bring those same sharp, hot feelings to him. She had wanted it when he came to her on the sofa. Had Gussie not interrupted them, it might have happened. They might have made love right there.

  And then what? Would they sneak around and hide, as though what they shared was something dirty? Or would he openly claim her as his lover.

  His whore, you mean.

  There. The word had finally formed in her mind. He had never offered her marriage. Had in fact been emphatic that she save herself for the man who would be her husband.

  And he had been right. As much as she wanted Carson, she could not bring herself to become his whore. Such a thing was simply not done among Our People, nor, from what she knew, was it acceptable among whites.

  What was she to do? Man-Above, what was she to do?

  Carson was staring at her, watching her every move. She did not dare look at him for fear of weeping.

  Look away, she silently begged him. Please do not look at me so.

  But Carson couldn’t help it. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, but he didn’t know what. Was she sorry about last night?

  Don’t let me go, Carson. Never let me go.

  She couldn’t be sorry. The woman who had so desperately whispered those words against his lips could not now be sorry.

  Suddenly the
other men were pushing back their chairs and standing, heading for the door. Carson looked down to find his plate empty, but for the life of him he could not remember what he’d eaten.

  “Carson?”

  He blinked and looked up at Gussie.

  “Might I have a word with you before you get busy for the day?”

  Carson felt his gut clench. Had she realized Winter Fawn was with him last night? Had she guessed what they were doing? Had she heard them?

  He squared his jaw and nodded. “Certainly.” He would not be scolded like a schoolboy. He was the head of this family now, and if he wanted to kiss a woman, he would kiss a woman, by damn.

  He saw Gussie’s eyes flick toward Winter Fawn, then back to him and ground his teeth. He wouldn’t have her passing judgment on Winter Fawn over this, by damn.

  “Let’s go out onto the porch, shall we?” Gussie asked.

  “Yes,” he said, scooting his chair back and rising. “Let’s.” He followed her onto the porch and closed the door behind them. The sun was just creeping up over the horizon, but the sky was light.

  Gussie clasped her hands together at her waist. “I don’t know quite how to broach this subject. I realize it’s none of my business, but…”

  “What’s none of your business?” he asked tightly, sure he was going to regret it.

  “Well, it’s Winter Fawn.”

  “What about her?”

  “Oh, now, see? I’ve upset you already and haven’t even had my say. No—” She held a hand up, palm out, to forestall his interruption. “I must say it. The poor girl simply must have new clothes, Carson.”

  Carson blinked. “Pardon?”

  “The doeskin is beautiful, but it’s becoming dreadfully soiled, and as near as I can tell, she has nothing else to wear.”

  If ever a man felt like a fool, it was Carson Dulaney in that moment. Twice the fool. Once for jumping to conclusions about what Gussie had to say, but mainly for not realizing himself that Winter Fawn had no other clothes.

  “I don’t know your financial situation, Carson, dear. I’m not sure that it’s any of my business. Please don’t take offense, but if money is tight, I have a few dollars I brought with me. Enough to purchase some fabric for a dress for her, if the settlement I passed on my way here has any. Or perhaps her own father should—no.” She sighed. “I’m sure that man doesn’t have two cents to rub together. His son could use some clothes as well. I’m sorry if I’m butting in—”

  “Gussie, Gussie.” Carson grabbed her hands and squeezed them gently. “Stop apologizing. I’m the one who should be apologizing, to Winter Fawn and Hunter for not realizing…” He shook his head at himself. “I should have done something about this the minute we arrived. Today’s, what, Wednesday? How about we all go to town Saturday and do some shopping. And you save your money to spend on yourself. I’m not rich, but I can afford what we need.”

  “Bless you.” She returned the squeeze on her hands. When Carson stepped off the porch and headed for the barn, Gussie stood for a moment looking out at the sunrise. She was proud of herself. That she was noticing and thinking of others meant she was putting her grief over Lucille behind her. Lord above, but Lucille herself would have scolded her good for neglecting the needs of others while wallowing in her own self-pity.

  That was behind her now. Gussie squared her shoulders and turned toward the door.

  “Mrs. Winthrop?”

  At the sound of Mr. MacDougall’s voice, Gussie paused. Now here was a man she didn’t know quite what to think of. Try as she might to find something good about him, she could come up with nothing other than the fact that he seemed to have sired two beautiful children. He reeked of whiskey, even early in the morning. He wore those disreputable buckskin pants that looked stiff enough with grime to stand on their own, and that hair! Bushy red and grimy, all over his head and face, and way, way too long. She was still itching to get her scissors into that mess.

  He stopped at the foot of the porch steps and looked up at her with narrowed eyes. “I’ve got a bone to pick with ye,” he said with a snarl.

  Gussie’s back went ramrod straight. “Indeed?” The nerve of this—this foreigner—to speak to her so!

  “Aye, indeed.”

  “And that would be?”

  “My lassie, Winter Fawn, was happy until you came. She felt useful and needed. Now all she does is wander around looking like she’s lost her best friend. What have you done to the girl is what I’m wantin’ to know.”

  “Done to her?” Gussie’s eyes widened. “I assure you, Mr. MacDougall, I have done nothing but try to make her days here as pleasant as possible.”

  “And what, might I be askin’, is yer idea of pleasant?”

  Gussie wasn’t sure why she was even conversing with this ill-mannered man.

  No, that wasn’t true. She spoke with him as politely as possible because he was Carson’s friend, had been Edmond’s friend. And because what he was saying genuinely distressed her. Now that she thought of it, Winter Fawn did seem rather listless, but not having seen her any other way, Gussie had assumed she was merely a quiet young lady. If Gussie had done anything to make her sad…

  “Well, I’ve taken over all the chores so that she is free to do whatever she wants.”

  “Ye what? Ach, it’s no wonder then that the lass be at a loss. She’s never been idle a day in her life. She’s used to being needed, to keeping busy. Ye’ve made her feel useless, that’s what ye’ve done.”

  The denial she wanted to utter died on her lips. She could see now that he was right. By taking away the work Winter Fawn had been doing, she had left the girl—young woman, she amended—with no sense of worth. Why, if anyone had ever done such a thing to her she would have cried herself to sleep.

  But Gussie saw something else, too, something other than this particular mistake of hers. She saw the love that this man had for his children. Perhaps here, too, she had misjudged.

  “Mr. MacDougall—”

  “Innes. My name be Innes.”

  There were some lines Gussie was not prepared to cross, not with this man. Perhaps he had more good points that she had realized, but he was still too depressingly unkempt for her liking. “Mr. MacDougall,” she said firmly. “I can see now that what you say about Winter Fawn is true, and I am deeply sorry for being the cause of her unhappiness. I assure you I will endeavor to correct the situation at once.”

  The sun was full up now, and it threw half his face in shadow, but not so much that she couldn’t tell that he was peering at her from one eye.

  “Endeavor to correct?” he repeated warily.

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, then, see that ye do.” With a sharp nod, he stomped off toward the barn while Gussie stepped into the house.

  “Is there a problem?” Carson asked Innes when the man reached the barn.

  Innes pulled his flask from the pouch on his belt and took a swallow. Jamming the cork back in, he let out a gust of breath that would have knocked over a horse, if one had been close enough.

  “What’s it mean, this word endeavor?”

  Carson shrugged. “Try.”

  “Hmph. Try what?”

  “Try. Endeavor means to try.”

  “Oh. Aye. Hmph. Any objections if I go huntin’ today?”

  “Innes.” Carson shook his head. “I’ve told you before that you don’t owe me anything. You’re free to come and go as you please.”

  Innes squinted one eye. “Is that a no?”

  Innes rode west to do his hunting, and Hunter rode with him. Carson, Beau, and Frank spent the day cutting trees in the hills to the north for firewood and snaking them back to the ranch. They came back to the house for the noon meal, then went back to the hills for another load of logs. When they brought the last logs down for the day, they were hot, dirty, and tired. While Beau and Frank cleaned up at the bunkhouse before coming in to supper, Carson headed for the house.

  He rounded the corner, heading for the front do
or, and came up short at the sight of Winter Fawn. There she stood, as she had the other day, staring off toward the northeast.

  He made himself walk the rest of the way to the edge of the porch. “You scare me when you do that.”

  She must have heard him coming, for she didn’t jump as if surprised by his voice. She merely turned her head and looked at him with solemn, curious eyes. “When I do what?”

  “When you stand there all alone and stare off in the direction of your village.”

  “They would have gone by now, somewhere out along the Arkansas to gather together with the rest of the tribe and hunt the buffalo.”

  “You miss that,” he said flatly.

  “No, actually. I dinna miss packing up and moving the village out onto the plains. Da used to tell us stories of white men who lived in the same place season after season. I’ve always wondered what that would be like.”

  “Then why do you look as if you want to go? You said not to let you go,” he reminded her. “Yet I get the feeling you’re the one thinking of leaving.”

  Her smile, slight as it was, was sad. “I do not know what I will do. I canna stay here forever.”

  “Why not?”

  “Would you?” she asked.

  “Last night you—”

  She looked away, off into the distance again. “Last night was a mistake.”

  “No.” He leaped onto the porch and grasped her arm. “It wasn’t a mistake. You didn’t think so at the time.”

  Again came that sad smile that tore at his insides. “I didna think at all.”

  “Are you saying I took advantage of your fear of the storm?”

  “Nae.” She shook her head and gently pulled her arm from his grasp. “I’m saying that when you touch me, all I can think about is touching you, and my mind is no longer my own.”

  Carson’s heart knocked against his ribs. “Believe me,” he said with feeling. “I know just what you mean. We can have more of that, if you stay. Remember how good it was that last morning in the mountains?” He touched her cheek, the corner of her mouth. “I want to give you that again. It can be even better the next time.”