"I'm going to see Josie and the babe. Is there any message I need to pass on?" The mare pulled at the bit, and Pace gritted his teeth against the pain of hanging on. He refused to show Dora any display of weakness. She'd seen the worst of him already.
"Josie won't be there," she answered, folding her hands in her apron. "She's visiting cousins in Cincinnati. I wish she hadn't left Amy and Delia with her mother, but I suppose taking Delia across the river would have been a mistake."
She may as well have hit him alongside the head with a split log. He'd gone to all this damned trouble just to see a woman who wasn't even there. Pace glared down at her. "Why didn't you tell me that earlier?"
"You didn't ask. Kiss Amy hello for me. I miss her." She turned around and walked back toward the house.
He would have to kill her. Sweat ran in his eyes. His arm felt as if it had been drawn out of its socket. And this damned horse was about to run away with him. And she just walked away as if it didn't matter one whit that he was killing himself.
Which was why she had done it, of course. Cursing, Pace let the mare go. As long as he'd gone to this much trouble, he might as well see his niece. He saw no sense in trying to figure out a woman like Dora. He'd told her to stay out of his business, so she had. He couldn't assign her the devious intention of making him suffer. He'd brought that on himself.
By the time he returned the horse to the stable that evening, Pace had gone beyond exhaustion. He didn't know how long it would take to recover his full strength, but he knew he couldn't wait any longer. He had to get back to the army where he belonged, and soon.
Sliding from the horse, he rested his head momentarily against the saddle, letting the pain of the day seep into the leather. When a soft voice spoke nearby, he didn't even jump. Somehow, he'd known Dora would be there.
"Thou must show me how to brush the mare down. Thy father has gone on to bed, and the boy who sleeps here is nowhere to be found."
Pace cursed to himself. Without raising his head, he replied, "Get out of here, Dora."
"Thou hast become quite a conversationalist," she answered, coming to stand beside him as she studied the bit in the horse's mouth. "How does this unfasten? Or do I remove the saddle first?"
If it was the last thing he did, he wouldn't let this little brat take care of his horse for him. Kneeling gingerly on legs out of the practice of riding, Pace unfastened the girth buckle. "I've arranged for someone to take me to the train station Saturday morning. I'd tell my mother good-bye, but I don't think she would comprehend it too well. Explain it to her after I've gone, will you?"
He didn't even glance at her stunned expression as she asked, "Thou meanest to return to thy practice in Frankfort?"
They both knew the train didn't go to Frankfort. Pace didn't look at her. "What practice? Our brilliant military commander is practically holding the state government hostage. Do you think any of them will even speak to a Union officer like me right now? I'm going back where I'll be useful. The army is closing in on Atlanta. We'll have the war all but won once we take that."
"Thou hast not the strength for that yet! What could a few bullets more or less matter now? It is suicide going to war like this."
He heard the fear in her voice but ignored it, even knowing Dora seldom showed her emotions. "Don't be ridiculous, Dora. Do you think the whole damned army is made of suicidal men? I'm an officer. I've left men back there who depend on me. It's not just a matter of the few bullets I can shoot. I can make a difference." Pace finally wrestled the saddle to the ground. Now he found the brush and comb and began to curry the horse.
"No, not yet," she whispered. Pace tried not to notice the haunted quality of her reply. It sent chills down his spine. She sounded as if she knew something he didn't. He refused to let her otherworldiness affect him.
"Thou canst not go yet," she protested vehemently a moment later. "Just a few days more. Surely if they have gone without thee all these weeks, they can wait a few days more."
He was too tired for this foolish argument. Dora hovered just out of his sight, but Pace could feel her as if she were attached to his side. She confused him. She ought to be laughing and singing as she had that first day he'd seen her. She shouldn't be standing here wringing her hands and worrying about a bastard like him.
But the little bluebird was long gone, replaced by this anxious woman. Anxious female. He knew she wore no scent, but he could smell the freshness of her skin. She must have just washed. The idea of it made him go up in flames. She was female and he was a randy stallion.
"I'm leaving, Dora, and that's an end to it. Now get out of here before I get riled."
"Is there anything that can make thee stay just a few days more?" she whispered. "Anything at all?"
Pace snorted. She'd walked right into that one. "Yeah, a woman. I'm in real bad need of a woman right now, and unless you're offering, you'd better get out of my sight."
He felt her backing away, and he smiled grimly. He hadn't found anyone in town, but there would be plenty back in camp. Once he had a little relief, he'd get rid of these ridiculous notions. He just had to pry this little witch out from underfoot until then.
"A w-woman shouldn't be so hard to find," she stuttered from somewhere behind him.
Damn, she was still here. Pace applied the brush more thoroughly to the mare. "I don't want any of those scrawny wenches in the quarters, if that's what you're meaning. There'll be women back in camp. Now get out, Dora. I'm not in the mood for this argument."
"Thou must stay," she whispered, terrified and determined at the same time. "There must be some way I can make thee stay. Just a few days. That's all."
This whole thing had gone on too long. It didn't even make any sense. What difference did a few days more or less make? He was too exhausted for reason.
Without a thought to what he did, Pace swung around, dropped the brush, and cornered Dora against the stall wall. His arm protested like hell, but he had gone beyond caring. He had her trapped just where he wanted her. She stared up at him as if he'd gone mad. Perhaps he had. He didn't care.
"Yeah, you can make me stay. Just take me where this leads."
And he bent his head to apply his mouth to hers. He used a force that he should never have applied to any but a camp whore but which reflected his hunger and desperation.
She was too soft and small. Pace felt like a bear mauling a lamb. The slight exhalation of Dora's breath against his lips drove him on. The punishing force of his kiss forced her to respond. He expected screams. He received a tentative, questioning pressure of her lips in return. Ruthlessly, he asked for more.
When her fingers curled in his shirt in reply, Pace went wild. He shoved his hand into her hair and tilted her head to meet him more fully. He bit her lip and when she opened her mouth in surprise, he drove his tongue inside. She shuddered and emitted a soft cry, but her fingers curled more securely into his shirt, and he nearly lost it all.
She was responding. With inexperience and curiosity and a touch of fear, admittedly, but she was answering his plea, molding her lips to his, allowing his invasion, moving her body closer. He couldn't believe it. Wouldn't believe it. He wanted to scare her away, drive her off.
God, she was so sweet! He hadn't thought such sweet innocence still existed in this world. He ran his hand down the slender curve of her spine and pressed his kiss deeper. Her tongue shyly touched his in response, and Pace felt the electricity of it shoot straight to his loins. He knew it was wrong. He knew she had no notion of his reactions. But he couldn't stop. His mouth felt permanently sealed to hers, and he feared he would stop breathing if he moved away. He needed all of her.
Pace wrapped his good arm around Dora's back and closed the distance between them. The exhaustion he had suffered just moments before disappeared in the rush of desire created by the slender burden in his arms. He groaned as she adjusted herself more comfortably against him. He could feel the brush of her breasts now, and he knew, if he didn't summon the streng
th from somewhere, he wouldn't stop with something so simple as a kiss.
With more restraint than he had ever managed in his self-indulgent life, Pace dropped his arms and shoved away from Dora. He glared down at her for a moment. His eyes burned like hot coals, and he clenched his fingers into fists to keep from reaching for her again. The swelling in his groin surged for the warm harbor it had almost found.
Dora cowered against the stall, her hands clasped at her breasts. He had pulled her cap askew, and even in the dim light of one lantern, he could discern the silver halo of her curls. She should consider herself fortunate that he'd only removed her cap.
"Get out, Dora. Get out now."
His voice was tight and grim, and he didn't try disguising the effort behind it.
She nodded once, slid cautiously around him, and hurried out of the barn.
Pace dug his fingers into the splintery stall, pounded his head against the wood, and groaned.
Chapter 14
Tempt not a desperate man.
~ Shakespeare., Romeo and Juliet
Late July 1864
Dora heard thunder in the relentlessly blue sky. The orchard of apple trees didn't relieve the heat and humidity suffocating her. Somewhere, a battle raged. She felt it in her bones, had felt it for days. She suffered the heat of flames, smelled the scorching stench of cannon shot, heard the rattle of muskets, all while she stood beneath the quiet rustling shade of the trees.
She didn't find the image odd. The Light came to her in mysterious ways. Others called it an inner reflection, an inner voice. She'd felt those, too, but when connected to Pace, the inner voice became colorful, insistent images. She supposed that was because Pace lived so much more fully than she. He experienced these things in reality. She absorbed them only vicariously, through him.
Of course, at the moment, he lay beneath the shade beside the creek and wasn't experiencing any of those things she felt. She wasn't God. She couldn't explain it. She just had the ominous notion that if Pace left on the morrow, he would join that terrible battle raging out of her sight, and he would never survive. She'd known it of a certainty last night when he'd pressed his mouth to hers.
She wondered briefly if Pace's brother fought in that faraway battle. She suspected he must. From all she'd heard, the Confederate troops had amassed on two fronts, and both of them were fighting fiercely. Charlie would be in the western front, just as Pace would be if he should return. The idea of the two brothers finally coming face to face on a battlefield with rifles in their hands was abhorrent.
So she slipped through the cool shadows of the orchard into the breeze off the creek. She didn't think about what she did or where she went. She just knew she would find Pace here.
* * *
Drowsing in the shade, Pace shifted to catch more of the breeze cooling his brow. With a start, he realized he breathed the scent of more than new-mown hay and honeysuckle. It was a warm scent, an erotic one of female flesh and soap. He'd know that scent anywhere. It had haunted his dreams for weeks. He wasn't dreaming now.
His eyes flew open.
Dora lay there beside him, sound asleep. A tiny ray of sunshine crept through the leaves striking the silver tumble of her curls. He could reach out and touch the tempting satin of her cheek. Pace didn't think he'd ever been so close to her before, not even last night in the barn, when he'd so thoroughly kissed her.
He could clearly see the light cinnamon of her lashes where they brushed against her rounded cheek. Just the barest hint of rose coloring tinted her translucent complexion. In sleep, she looked relaxed and accessible, as if she would wake up smiling and welcoming at any moment. He wanted that welcoming smile with every ounce of his misbegotten soul.
He didn't dare touch her. He felt rough and crude in comparison to her delicate grace. His hands were cracked and calloused from ramming bullets into muskets, hauling on the reins of charging horses, carting dead bodies and digging graves. It would be obscene to lay even a finger on such pristine innocence.
That didn't keep him from looking. He'd never allowed himself the pleasure of looking at her so thoroughly before. He'd spent years denying her presence.
The time had finally come for meshing the reality of a human Dora with the ephemeral angel from his deprived childhood.
She was small. He had known that. Her shapeless gown had little to conceal. He could see the graceful curve of a firm breast beneath the thin cotton. She lay on her side, facing him, and his gaze drifted over the rounded slope of her hip to her slender waist. He could probably wrap his hands completely around her if he wanted. Her breasts would only just fill his palms. Her legs would be just long enough to entwine with his.
Pace groaned and turned on his back to stare up at the leaves. He felt her stirring and knew he'd awakened her. Maybe he could convince himself that Dora and David had been lovers before David marched off to war. They'd courted for years. It was entirely possible. It gave him cause to wonder if that hadn't been the reason he'd persuaded David to do his duty and join the army. David hadn't taken much persuasion.
She'd come and laid herself down beside him for a reason. Maybe she needed the physical release of sex as much as he did. She certainly hadn't run away from him in the barn. He just didn't dare consider the inexperience of her kisses too closely if he meant to convince himself that his little Quaker was here for the reason he wanted her here.
"Go away, Dora," Pace muttered, covering his eyes with his good arm. The right one wouldn't lift that far.
"No, I don't think so," she replied thoughtfully. "Not this time."
The words ought to astound him, but nothing his fey angel did ever caused him surprise. She was as ever-changing and natural as the Kentucky weather. He could expect snow and rainbows if he waited. When one lived that way long enough, one came to expect the unexpected.
"You don't know what you're saying, bluebird. I'm not fit company right now."
"Thou saidst thou would stay if thou hadst a woman. I am a woman."
He'd known that was the reason for her presence. She had a way of flinging his careless words back in his face with a vengeance. The wondrous part was, that despite his cruelty and carelessness, she meant every word she said. He didn't have to look for ambiguities or hidden traps. He'd said he wanted a woman, and she offered herself. That was all there would be to it. Somewhere in that inscrutable little mind of hers, she thought she saved him from himself. God only knew, she might be right.
He didn't have much experience at resisting temptation. He was accustomed to having what he wanted, when he wanted it. And he definitely wanted this woman lying beside him, offering herself.
His body made no differentiation between painted women in red satin and this prim female in Quaker gray. There should be no impediment preventing him from reaching over and taking what he wanted. But something hitherto unknown and unused held him back. He thought it might be his conscience.
"I can't treat you like that," he protested feebly. Unexercised, his conscience was as weak as his arm. He didn't know how to wield it well.
"Thou didst last night," she pointed out.
"I was trying to teach you a lesson. You're a slow learner."
"No, I'm not. I'm very quick, actually. Thou doth not know me very well."
Pace wanted to laugh at her matter-of-factness. No, he didn't know her very well. He didn't want to know her very well. He just wanted the decadent pleasure of her body.
"If you stay here any longer, I'll know you extremely well," he warned with as much menace as he could summon. It hadn't worked on Dora as a child. He didn't hold out much hope of it happening now.
"I thought that was the point. Of course..."
Without looking at her, Pace could see Dora's little nose wrinkle and her bow lips purse up in thought. He waited breathlessly to see where her fascinating mind would wander.
"Perhaps this is not the appropriate time or place. Perhaps I should come to thee tonight, in the dark. Is that what thou prefers?"
>
Oh, damn. He couldn't win this one. One gimpy conscience couldn't stand up to heavy-round artillery fire from all sides. Pace turned on his side and stared down into Dora's face. The combination of innocent fear and fascinated admiration reflected there struck the final blow. He didn't want her afraid, and his soul begged for the admiration. She had discovered just the right combination to disable him.
"No, that isn't what I prefer," he muttered. Then before he could think better of it, Pace lowered his head and sampled the tempting fruit of her lips.
Dora closed her eyes to inhale the glorious wonder of Pace's warm breath on her lips. She'd thought maybe she had dreamed this wondrous touch. She could remember nothing in her life being so right, so real. No one had ever touched her like this.
She had vague memories of a mother's hugs, her adopted parents stilted kisses, but those faint caresses were nothing akin to the passion surging between them now. Life flowed from Pace into her. Blood pumped through her veins. She could reach out and wrap her fingers in Pace's hair, and he was real, not a porcelain doll, not a figment of her imagination. She could make him feel the pull of her fingers in his hair, the pressure of her lips. Pace was alive, as she had never been.
She couldn't get enough of such a heady nectar. She responded eagerly to his lips, parted her mouth as he had taught her last night, and discovered the thrill of Pace's breath and his life entwined with hers. They breathed each other's souls, and she whimpered with the joy of it.
Dora's hands took on minds of their own, caressing the thickness of Pace's hair, learning the powerful play of his muscles as he leaned over her. She sensed the greater weight he kept off of her, but she didn't fear it. She craved it. She needed the feel of him, all of him, to prove she was really and truly alive.
When Pace fumbled at the buttons of her bodice with his weak side, Dora rushed to help him. She needed the freedom of the breeze against her skin as much as she needed the caress of his fingers. She hadn't known she needed it until he touched her, but the moment was so perfect that it could not have been any other way. Dora arched upward with feline satisfaction as Pace's rough hand curled around her breast.
Patricia Rice Page 14