Untethered

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

  The realization that she looked like a tattered, mangy kitten without a home—and the fact she’d actually told him that her first thought when Heck and his men took them was that at least she’d had her shoes on—was too humiliating.

  Pushing herself from his arms to sit on the ground in front of him, she said, “You must think I’m the biggest imbecile to ever walk the earth.”

  But Heath simply smiled and asked, “Why would I think that?”

  “Well, I look just like one, for starters,” she answered, attempting to smooth her tousled hair. “And second…who in their right mind would be worried about havin’ their shoes on or not while bein’ abducted?”

  He laughed, and the sound settled her anxiety a bit. “I think it was a very good thought, Magnolia. Can you imagine what this trail woulda been like for you if you hadn’t had your shoes on?”

  His amused smile was contagious, and Cricket couldn’t keep from grinning herself. “I suppose you’re right.”

  Heath was silent for a moment then—stood and strode toward one of the windows. He seemed thoughtful for a long while but finally said, “This rain…it ain’t gonna let up until nightfall at least.”

  “And it’s a good thing, right?” Cricket ventured. She stood on still weak and wobbly legs and joined him at the window. “It gives the posse more time to catch up to us.”

  “Not if it’s got them holed up somewhere too,” he sighed, “which I’ve no doubt that it does.” He was pensive again for a moment and then turned to her and said, “And your little friend Jinny…she ain’t gonna make it if somethin’ don’t give in soon.”

  The thought of Heck shooting Jinny the way he’d shot Nina and Boone caused nausea and panic to well in Cricket’s stomach. “But what can we do? As soon as she looks too weak to ride or sell, Heck will just—”

  Her words were silenced as Heath reached out, covering her mouth with one hand. “No,” he growled. “I ain’t gonna let that bastard kill another girl.”

  He dropped his hand from her mouth, and Cricket stammered, “B-but how…how will you stop him from killin’ her if she—”

  “Tomorrow will be mucky, muddy, and miserable,” he said. “If that damn posse hasn’t shown up and Jinny doesn’t look any better by the time we stop to make camp tomorrow night, then…then I’ll just have to get you girls out of here by myself.”

  “But you almost died last time you didn’t have help!” Cricket exclaimed.

  Heath looked to the lovely, brutalized girl standing next to him. He felt his brow furrow in a deep frown. “Don’t you mean last time I tried to do somethin’ like this myself, every one of them died?” he asked.

  “That wasn’t your fault,” she answered. She was serious. He could see the sincerity in her violet eyes—beautiful eyes that were once again brimming with tears. “I-I read a newspaper article about it,” she began. “You told that other posse they were goin’ the wrong way. I’m guessin’ the same thing happened in Pike’s Creek…or at least somethin’ similar.” He looked away from her as his own emotions rose to the surface. “Furthermore, I don’t know why he isn’t with you. I’ve been afraid to ask…but my daddy would’ve come with you if he could’ve. Somethin’s wrong. That’s why my daddy’s not here. I’m right, aren’t I?”

  Heath turned to her then, taking her by the shoulders and staring at her. All this while—all the time since he’d showed up—Cricket had been worried about not only her own safety, the safety of the girls with her, and even Heath’s safety; she’d also been worried about her father too?

  “He ran up to Thistle to help Cooper Keel look for—” he began.

  “Of course! He went up to Thistle to help Mr. Keel look for his niece, Pearl!” she finished for him as tears tumbled down her cheeks. “So he’s fine! Daddy is just fine! He just wasn’t in town when we were taken!”

  Heath was surprised when Cricket threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly and giggling.

  “That’s why he didn’t come with you! That’s why!” she breathed with relief. “Hudson was already gone with his family…movin’ them to San Antonio. Marie knew that…but I couldn’t figure why Daddy didn’t come with you…not until now.”

  It was reflexive, Heath’s returning her embrace—that’s all it was. As his arms wrapped around Cricket’s soft, sensuous form, Heath couldn’t keep from pulling her tightly against him—from pressing his face to the top of her head and reveling in the gentle feel of her hair. But it was only a reflex—a natural response to an embrace—wasn’t it?

  But even as he tried to convince himself he was only responding as any man would to having the lovely Magnolia Cranford throw her arms around him, Heath knew he couldn’t truly fool himself. He’d wanted to have her smile at him, embrace him, and much, much more than that since the very moment he’d first seen her months before. It was just something he didn’t dare allow himself to admit—even to himself.

  After all, a man didn’t just see a woman across a room or a road or in the general store one day and instantly know she was the one he’d been looking for his whole life—the mate meant for his body and his soul. That sort of horse manure only happened in fairy tale books—the kinds his sisters Clara Jean and Fanny used to read to him when he’d been a little boy. Heath frowned, thinking he was lucky Clara Jean and Fanny hadn’t turned him into a sissy altogether with reading such stories to him and forever dressing him up in dresses, stockings, and bonnets just to amuse themselves.

  His attention was arrested as Cricket suddenly gasped, however—stepping out of his arms and away from him a bit.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she apologized, blushing red as a ripe apple in autumn. “I-I was just so relieved to know that Daddy is all right and…” She paused, swallowed hard, and looked up to him once more. “But I don’t want to see you get hurt tryin’ to get us away from these men. Even without Boone, there are still nine of them.”

  “Well,” Heath began, feeling cold and somehow alone since the moment she left his arms, “they will shoot Jinny if they think she’ll die along the trail anyway. And I couldn’t live with that. So I figure that if that posse don’t track us down by tomorrow evenin’…then I have to try to get you girls outta here. In the end, I don’t think these outlaws are stupid enough to kill the only things that will make them some money…that bein’ you girls. And if they kill me…” He shrugged. “Well, at least you’ll know I tried my best to—”

  This time it was Cricket’s hand over Heath’s mouth that silenced. “Don’t say it!” she cried in a whisper. “I won’t have you killed on account of me or anybody else. We girls are tough. W-we can make it until the posse finds us…even Jinny. I’ll see to her…take care of her. We won’t let Heck know she’s ailin’ and then—”

  “Heck already knows she’s ailin’, Magnolia,” he interrupted. “And if we wait any longer, hopin’ for a posse that might never come, more of you girls might die. I can’t have that. I can’t have any more deaths on my shoulders.”

  “It wasn’t your fault last year!” she told him. Stomping her foot hard on the ground, she fisted her hands and said, “I read the account of it all. You did everything you could. It wasn’t your fault. It was the fault of your ignorant counterparts…the men who didn’t believe you because—”

  “All right, all right,” he said, taking hold of her shoulders in an effort to calm her. “I see this won’t be an argument I’ll ever win.”

  “No. It won’t,” she affirmed.

  Heath grinned, obviously amused by Cricket’s determination.

  “Well, I suppose we’ll just move on then…and start plannin’ how we’re gonna get you girls away from these outlaws tomorrow night if that posse doesn’t show,” he said.

  “I suppose so,” Cricket agreed.

  Oh, how desperately she wanted to be in his arms again—held close against the protection of his warm body—feel his breath against her hair. It would seem ridiculous to anyone if she ever confessed she’d begun to fall in love w
ith the haunted Heathro Thibodaux from the moment she first saw in him the general store all those months ago—but it was true. It was a secret Cricket kept closely guarded in her own heart, a secret she’d never shared with anyone—not her father, her friends, or even old Maymee Maloney. Certainly Ann, Marie, Vilma, and Mrs. Maloney all knew Cricket was wildly infatuated with Heath, but none of them knew the depth of her feelings, the expanse of her desire to be loved by him. They would’ve thought she was mad if she’d told them the severity of it all. And so she never did—never told anyone but herself.

  “I figure we get them drunk, first off,” Heath began. “We get them drunk and wait until most of them are asleep. Then I can slit the throats of whoever’s left to guard you all, and we’ll take all the horses and ride out. Being drunk and havin’ no horses oughta do it. They’ll never catch us on foot. And then—”

  “Slit their throats?” Cricket gulped. “Why not…why can’t you just shoot whoever’s on guard?”

  “And wake the others?” Heath shook his head. “Nope. It’s gotta be quiet so the rest of them will sleep through our ridin’ off.”

  Heath’s eyes narrowed as he frowned. “You think I’m a monster for bein’ willin’ to kill them that way, don’t you?”

  But Cricket shook her head. “No. I think you’re our hero for bein’ willin’ to kill them that way for our sakes.”

  “I ain’t no hero, Magnolia,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m just doin’ what any man should.”

  Oh, she wanted to kiss him! Her mouth was so warm and thirsty to kiss him. After all, he was standing right in front of her—closer even than he’d been standing to her when she’d stolen that kiss while balancing on the old watering trough out behind the general store.

  In the low firelight, Cricket fancied there was a strange smolder in his blue eyes—an almost alluring, inviting smolder—and it caused the butterflies resting in her stomach to swarm. She silently scolded herself when her admiration of his wildly attractive essence fell to his muscular shoulders, arms, stomach, and chest. She wanted to be held by him—to be free to caress his skin and know the wonderful sensations that would race through her when she did.

  But she shook her head, bringing her mind back to reality. “Just tell me what to do,” she offered. “I agree with you. If the posse doesn’t show and Jinny is worse…then I agree.” She looked at him—gazed into his eyes. “I agree that we should try to escape ourselves.”

  He sighed, nodding with affirmation. “All right then. That’s what we’ll do.”

  Goose bumps riddled Cricket’s arms and legs as he took hold of her shoulders again.

  “Then I’ll think on it awhile and give you some details at sun’s up. All right?”

  Cricket nodded.

  “But for now, I best rough you up a bit and get you back in there before someone comes lookin’ for us or the others begin to worry,” Heath said. “If you’re lucky, maybe this’ll be the last time you have to put up with all this nonsense.” He smiled at her and winked. “How does that sound, darlin’?”

  The truth was it sounded horrible! Every moment she’d spent alone with Heath since he’d arrived had been pure wonder for her. Every touch, every glance, every word he’d given her had made her heart soar, even for the despairing truth of their circumstances. The thought of never touching him again, of never feeling the brush of his whiskers to her face or his powerful arms locked around her, was inconsolably sorrowful for Cricket.

  “You should probably do your worst this time,” she suggested—more out of desperation to have his attention last as long as possible than to convince Heck and the other men that he’d “had his way with her.”

  “Should I now?” he asked with a chuckle.

  “Yes,” Cricket assured him as panic began to detonate inside her. Heath could be killed trying to save them. Yet she knew he had to try, knew that it was the sort of man he was—heroic, determined, and strong. Oh, she well knew they could all lose their lives: Marie, Ann, Vilma, Pearl, Jinny—even Cricket herself. But it was Heath’s life she worried for most.

  His smile faded, and he took hold of her shoulders. She loved the sense of his touch—no matter what manner of touch it was. The warmth of his powerful hands on her shoulders elated her.

  “Looky here,” he said. Cricket blinked, sending tears spilling over her cheeks as she looked up at him. “You’ve been so strong, Magnolia. I have never known any other young woman who could’ve endured what you’ve had to. We all woulda been dead a long time ago if it hadn’t been for you.”

  “Us girls would be dead if it hadn’t been for you,” she corrected.

  But Heath shook his head. “Nope. I ain’t the one who got you all this far. You did. And you’ve had to suffer a lot in doin’ it. You’ve had to tolerate a lot of terrible behavior from me. I know that…and I’m sorry for it.”

  It was Cricket’s turn to shake her head. “You’re the only reason we’re alive. The only reason we’re unharmed and have any hope. If the posse doesn’t reach us—if we escape and somehow manage to return home—it’ll be because of you.” She lowered her gaze. “And besides…I don’t think I could’ve lasted this long without spendin’ that time with you. You’re the only reason I didn’t crumble with fear and despair.”

  “Now that ain’t true, and you know it,” he gently argued.

  “It is true,” she assured him firmly.

  “Oh, so you liked being yanked around, manhandled, and nearly violated, is that it?” he said, grinning and breathing a tired chuckle.

  “You never came close to nearly violatin’ me, and you know it,” she reminded, rolling her eyes with impatience at his exaggerations.

  “Maybe not…but I thought about it,” he mumbled, winking at her.

  Cricket blushed, charmed by his flirting with her when things were so dismal.

  “So…are you ready for one more round with me, honey?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she answered as more tears drizzled over her cheeks.

  “Well, let’s get to it then…before you catch your death of cold out here only half dressed in this drafty ol’ barn,” he teased, caressing her bare shoulder with the back of one hand.

  Cricket’s heart leapt inside her as Heath’s strong, callused hands encircled her neck—his thumbs gently pushing her chin upward as he leaned down, brushing her right cheek with the whiskery warmth of his right jawbone. Just as he’d done on their other pretended trysts together, he then turned his head, brushing his whiskers against her other cheek.

  Every organ and vein, every ounce of blood in Cricket’s body, was quivering with desire and exhilaration—as well as with fear and anxiety. She felt new tears filling her eyes—tears of regret, heartbreak, and excruciating love for the man she could never belong to. Even if they made it home, even if neither of them were injured or killed, things would never be like this between them—so unguarded, intimate, and dream-borne.

  Again Heath caressed the right side of her face with his strong, whiskery jaw and chin. Cricket noted then that his whiskers did not scratch her as harshly as they had on the other occasions. Either his facial hair had grown to a length to soften it, causing it to be less abrasive, or he was not rubbing his face against hers as roughly as he had before. In fact, Cricket realized in the next moment that Heath wasn’t being nearly as coarse with her as he had been on the other occasions when performing the task of chafing her face for appearance’s sake. With each stroke of his soft whiskers, jaw, chin, or cheek to hers, she realized the gesture had mellowed to a tender but entirely tantalizing caress.

  She tried to breathe normally as Heath caressed first one side of her face with his and then the other, each time allowing his chin to gently brush her lips as he alternated. Cricket discerned that if she were the courageous girl she’d once been—even just two weeks before—she might have mustered the courage to purse her lips even just the slightest, allowing herself to softly kiss his chin each time it passed over them. But she had no courage
left. She was spent with fighting for her life and the lives of her friends. In that moment, she was weak. There was no bravery in her—not even enough to steal another kiss from Heathro Thibodaux on what might well be the last night of their lives.

  Over and over, Heath’s face caressed her—repeating the motion of allowing his chin to brush her lips as he alternated one side of his face with the other in stroking her. And then—then when Cricket thought she might literally die from tethering such powerful desire—the rhythm of Heath’s caresses changed. All at once, he stopped alternating one side of his face with the other. Instead, the right side of his face stroked hers over and over and over again. And with each consecutive pass, the corner of his mouth would ever so slightly meet with hers. It was as if he were preparing her for something—coaxing her to turn her face a little—for if she did, their lips would surely meet in a kiss.

  But Cricket still found her courage was absent. There seemed to be only timidity and fear in her bosom. Yet as tears of heartbreaking regret escaped her eyes, trickling down over her temples, Heath slowly caressed her cheek with his once more, the corners of their mouths meeting as they had before—and then, oh so blessedly, their lips.

  More tears fled Cricket’s weary eyes as Heath’s kiss lingered on her lips. It was a soft, careful, and caring kiss, and it was followed by another—and another. With each consecutive kiss he offered—with each tender kiss she accepted and reciprocated—Cricket’s tears were suddenly borne of the wild exhilaration of returning strength beginning to swell inside her.

  And when she thought she could never possibly experience a more powerful delirium than the one Heath’s tender, lingering kisses were raining over her, he slowly moved his thumbs from where they’d rested beneath her chin to gently press the place just below her lower lip, coaxing her lips to part.

  Cricket’s knees buckled, and she melted against him as his mouth claimed hers with the driven, moist, and fiery kiss of the abruptly unleashed eruption of passion. Heath caught her in the embrace of his powerful arms, his mouth never separating from hers even for an instant. But she was weak and found herself clinging to him not only because she was desperate to prolong their impassioned exchange of kisses but also because she could not find her own feet for a moment.