by Leah Braemel
Her breasts tickled his chest as she leaned over to touch her lips to his. The movement slid his cock through the moist folds, drawing a groan from him. “Don’t worry, you pleasured me this morning, remember?”
Had it only been that morning they’d made love? When he’d been interrupted from taking his own pleasure by Henry’s untimely knock. Damn it, he shouldn’t be thinking carnal thoughts when Nate lay in the next room, his life hanging by a thread as thin as spider’s silk.
“Hey, don’t think about it,” she whispered. “He’ll be all right.”
He opened his eyes and found her watching him, her dark eyes filled with concern. “You even know what I’m thinking now, huh?”
“Am I wrong?”
He shook his head.
She slid his cock through her folds until the head glistened with her juices. Then she positioned herself above him and took him within her body in a long, slow glide.
As he’d predicted, it took her less than a half-dozen pumps of her hips before he spilled into her.
“Damn, I’m sorry.” He flung his arm over his eyes, despair and embarrassment filling him.
“Don’t be,” she whispered. She pressed a kiss to his cheek before rolling off him and pulled the sheet over them both. “Get some sleep. I’ll be right here.”
He let himself drift, but he swore right before he fell asleep that she whispered she loved him.
When he awoke, he found find himself spooning Sarah, his cock stiff against her behind in its usual morning salute.
She must have sensed he was awake because she asked, “What promise did you make Nate?”
His erection couldn’t have deflated faster if she’d stuck a hat pin in his balls.
“Jackson?” She squirmed in his arms, turning until she faced him. “Last night, you and Nate—”
“I know what you mean.” He rolled to sit on the side of the bed, jamming his elbows into his knees. On the other side of the wall, less than ten feet away, Nate lay injured. Vulnerable to something he didn’t know how to fight.
“Jackson?” Sarah knelt behind him, resting her head on his back, her arms wrapped around his waist.
He stared hard at the thick plank separating him from Nate. “I gotta go check on him.”
Sarah gasped at the angry red streaks extending from beneath the bandage on Nate’s thigh. She looked at Martha, seeing the same despair on the other woman’s face that she felt. “It wasn’t this bad when I changed the bandage this morning.”
“We’ll clean the wound again. See if we can nip it before it gets worse.” Martha removed her sleeves and tucked them into her belt. “Go into the kitchen and make up a new poultice, will you?”
By the time she returned, Martha had stripped Nate down and was placing cool cloths on his neck and chest.
Two hours later, Sarah’s back ached from leaning over Nate, wringing the cloths out in cool water and replacing them. When she checked his forehead, he was hotter than he’d been before.
“Don’t leave me,” Nate called, his voice anxious.
“I won’t. I’m right here. So’s Martha.” She wiped her coolest strip of fabric over his forehead and down his neck.
His head followed the cloth and he sighed when she spread it over his chest. “You’ve always known…” His words trailed off.
She removed the warm cloth from his belly. When she replaced it with a fresh one, the side of her hand touched his groin.
“God, Jack…been so hard…” Oh dear, he was so fevered he didn’t know it was her with him. “So hard having you in the next room…listening to you and Sarah fuck…Wish it was me.”
Was he jealous of her taking his place in Jackson’s bed? Had he been nice to her to cover his envy?
Was this how Josiah had felt every time he looked at his wife? Did he wonder whether her mama fantasized about Sarah’s father? The way she occasionally wondered if Jackson still wanted Nate?
Something had passed between them in the kitchen the other night but she’d tried to explain it away, tried to pretend she’d misinterpreted it. What if she hadn’t?
“Oh, Nate. You’ll find someone who will make you happy the way Jackson’s made me.”
She bent down and pressed a light kiss to Nate’s forehead. Beneath her lips, his skin was as hot as a boiling kettle. If he recovered—once he recovered, she revised, she’d set out to find him someone worthy.
She straightened when the front door creaked open. Jackson must have come home. She smoothed her apron and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. He’d had enough to deal with. The demands of the ranch hadn’t stopped with Nate’s injury. With Nate unavailable, the management fell completely on Jackson’s shoulders. Some of the hands used Nate’s absence as an opportunity to show their displeasure about taking orders from a half-breed. From the state of Jackson’s knuckles at dinner, and the bruises she’d uncovered later the night before, at least one incident had been settled by fistfight.
As she’d expected, he headed straight for Nate’s bedroom. He stayed in the doorway, the aroma of cattle and field clinging to him. His eyes narrowed when they fell on the cloth she held, and the one on Nate’s forehead. “He’s got a fever?”
She nodded. “It came on this morning.”
He took a step into the room then hesitated, glancing down at his clothes and cursed. “Has Martha seen him?”
“Yes. She recleaned the wound and put a fresh poultice on it to draw any infection she can.” Now it was just a matter of waiting. And praying. “I’m so sorry, Jackson. But he’s young and strong. He’ll pull through.”
He had to.
His hands curled into fists and he closed his eyes briefly. “I want to sit with him, but I’ve gotta clean up first. Will you stay with him until I get back?”
“Of course.” But he’d already disappeared into their bedroom without waiting for her response.
Sarah dipped the cloth into the cool water in the bucket and wrung it out, replacing the already heated one on Nate’s forehead. “You have to get better, Nate,” she whispered. “You’ve got people who love and need you here.”
Because if he didn’t, he might be a specter in her marriage for the rest of her life.
Yet if anyone was an intruder in the relationship, it wasn’t Nate. It was her.
Sarah woke to an empty bed for the second morning in a row. She quickly washed and dressed and hurried to Nate’s room, where Jackson had kept vigil.
Martha stood in the doorway, a breakfast tray in her hands. She shook her head. “Jackson won’t eat, the stubborn man.”
“He barely touched his dinner last night too.” Sarah peeked in the room and found him sitting on the edge of the bed, wiping Nate’s forehead with a damp cloth. “I’ve never known two men to be such good friends. Mr. McLeod didn’t even sit with my mother when she was dying.”
Then again, maybe he’d been happy to see the end of the woman who had brought him such shame.
“Come on, Nate. You gotta fight this.” The tenderness in his voice brought tears to Sarah’s eyes. Especially when he leaned over the still figure on the bed, putting his mouth next to Nate’s ear. “You can’t leave me. Don’t die on me, you hear?”
She could barely hear Nate’s rasped response. “You’ve got Sarah now. You won’t be alone.”
“Damn it, you can’t die. I love you.” Jackson gathered Nate into his arms, cradling him like a child.
Sarah had to step back and rest her head against the hall wall, fighting the tears burning tracks down her cheeks. How she’d long to hear him say those words to her. If he could love Nate, maybe one day he’d come to love her too. Or was it even possible for a man who loved his friend that way to love a woman?
“Jackson can’t help the way he feels about Nate, Sarah,” Martha said quietly. “They’re mexoga, it’s part of who they are. Just like Jackson’s grandfather. But it doesn’t mean he can’t love you too.”
“Mexoga?” Sarah scrubbed at her cheeks.
�
��Twin-spirited. That’s what the Omahas called them.” Martha juggled the tray. “Come into the kitchen and have your breakfast before we start the laundry. No sense everyone standing around here.”
Sarah trailed Martha into the kitchen as she pondered the older woman’s words. Maybe she’d slept too deeply, or maybe her emotions were too jumbled up inside to understand the older woman.
“You said Jackson was like his grandfather. Tell me about him.” Tell me that my husband is capable of loving me.
Martha hesitated then nodded. “Jackson’s grandmother was already living with the tribe when I joined them. Two Buffalo and Standing Horse loved each other like Nate and Jackson. I know our people say it’s evil, but it was wonderful to watch how they cared for each other.” She got a faraway look in her eye. “Anyway, from what I’ve heard, Mary fell sick one winter. Two Buffalo was the tribe’s shaman, so they took her to him. While Two Buffalo was caring for Mary, he fell in love with her. When she was better, he asked her to stay with them both. They took her as their wife. They both loved her and she loved them equally.”
“How do you know they loved her?” All her insecurities bubbled to the surface. Maybe she was a convenient way to hide what they were. A façade to present to society, should any questions about them be raised.
“Oh, they loved her. I never doubted it.”
“Then why did she leave them? Or did they leave her?”
“They didn’t have a choice. The settlers were pushing into the territory, forcing the Indians onto reservations. The tribe was forced to hand over anyone with white blood to the soldiers who were clearing the land.” Martha’s voice cracked. “Mary wanted to stay, but the tribe felt threatened. She had no choice but to leave.”
“So they never got to see their daughter.”
“They never even knew she was expecting. And Mary had no way of getting them word when Ruth was born.”
Rather like her father probably never knew she existed.
“The soldiers handed us to a group of missionaries, who arranged for us to find husbands—things were different back then. There were more men than women, so unattached women were prized. But for Mary…well, when her husband discovered she was expecting a savage’s child, he dumped her at the local whorehouse.”
It didn’t surprise Sarah. Hadn’t Jed Hasley suggested exactly that fate for her?
“By that time, I was married to Mr. Simons. When I heard that Mary had died giving birth, God bless him, he let me bring her baby daughter to Barnett Springs. He wouldn’t let Ruth live with us though. I found her a good family with an older couple who wanted a child and didn’t seem to care that her father was an Indian.” Martha clasped her hands on the table and stared at them, frowning. “They treated her more like a servant than a daughter most times, but it was better than her livin’ in a whorehouse, where she would have been expected to earn her keep in a much different way.”
“Did she know about her father? Her real one, I mean.”
“She used to ask when she was a little girl. And again when she was expecting Jackson. I never told her about their arrangement. Just that her father would have loved her. And they would have.” Her eyes misted over. “They were honorable men. Strong. Capable. Just like Jackson and Nate.”
“That’s why you’ve not said anything.”
Martha nodded. “Yes. Now you must not breathe a word to anyone. Not if you value their lives.”
Chapter Seven
Between his busted leg and the aftereffects of the fever, Nate felt as helpless as a newborn kitten. In his whole life, he couldn’t remember being confined to a bed for longer than a day. Yet here he was, a grown man reduced to having to ask a woman to bring him his meals and fetch and carry anything else he required. Nate pulled himself up on the pillows. If he could get up and walk out of the room, he would. It wasn’t the doc’s orders keeping him in the bed, but the fear Jackson had put into him of overburdening Sarah if he fell.
But that left him trapped in this damned room, watching the hands going about their business in the yard. He should be out there, helping them. Instead he was sitting here on his ass in what had once been the parlor but was now a makeshift sick room, forced to endure the parade of well-wishing neighbors.
It was bad enough he was forced to use a goddamned chamber pot, but it was fucking embarrassing to have to call upon Sarah or Martha to help him sit up to use the damned thing. Though neither of them had questioned his request, Jackson hadn’t spared his laughter at his confession he couldn’t take a piss unless he had at least one foot flat on the ground.
His anger didn’t dissipate until he heard Sarah’s soft footsteps in the hallway. She stopped in his doorway, her tongue caught between her lips as she balanced his lunch tray. “Are you hungry?”
“I sure am. If you’ll join me.” He squirmed back up on the pillows. Damn it, how had he managed to slide down this far again?
“All right.” She set the tray across his lap and sat down in the chair beside his bed. “If you eat it all, I have a surprise for you afterward.”
While he ate, they talked of decisions that had to be made about the ranch. She didn’t always agree with his decisions, but he’d learned in the past weeks that when she didn’t, he did well to listen to her well-thought-out arguments. While he’d learned she hadn’t had much book-learning, she understood the needs of a ranch, and its hands.
More than anything he liked her innate dignity, accepting his decisions even when they didn’t agree. The times he changed his mind to her way of thinking were more telling. Where some people might have not let him forget it, she smiled, nodded and moved on to the next topic.
Damn, Jackson was a lucky man to have found her as a wife. Irritated at the thought, he put down his utensils. “There, I’m done.”
Sarah raised an eyebrow but picked up the tray and left without another word. Moments later he heard a strange sound rumbling in the hall.
“Ready for your surprise?” Sarah called from the hall, sounding way too cheerful for his present state of mind.
“Unless it’s a new leg that’ll let me get up off my as—behind, no.”
“Maybe I should have Mr. Evans take this back then.” Sarah appeared in the doorway with a wheelchair that reminded him once again of his new status as resident cripple.
“I ain’t usin’ that thing.”
Her lips pursed and she tilted her head. “Very well. If you like staying in that bed all day with nothing to do and no one to talk to, that’s up to you.” She strode across the floor and grabbed the chamber pot from the shelf beside his bed, placing it on the top of the dresser as far from him as it could be without taking it out of the room. “If you need to use this, you’ll have to crawl over and get it yourself or wait until I’m done with the laundry.”
Which meant he’d have to hold it until noon. Or later.
Considering his bladder was already whining at the idea of the damned pot being across the room, that might be tougher than it sounded.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You planned this, didn’t you?”
“Borrowing the chair? You know Jackson arranged it a couple days ago. He told you about it at dinner last night.” Which they’d eaten in his room as usual in their attempt to keep him company.
“No, I mean blackmailing me. You gave me a big glass of apple cider with my breakfast this morning, twice the size of what you normally bring. And let’s not forget those three cups of coffee you’ve poured for me already. You’ve planned this.”
“It’s not good for you to lie in bed all day feeling sorry for yourself. At the very least you’ll get bedsores. Besides, the fresh air will do you good. It’s a beautiful day today.”
“It’s not like I can go out walkin’ now, is it?”
“No, but you can sit on the porch while I’m doing the laundry.”
“What the hell am I gonna do while I’m sitting watching you work?” Blast the devil, he sounded like a petulant child, but she didn’t have a clue
what it was like for a man to be so helpless, so reliant on others. There were chores to be done, animals to care for. He hadn’t missed how Jackson fell asleep over his dinner most nights. Or how the bedroom next door resounded from Jackson’s snores, and not from the rhythmic thumping he’d grown used to hearing.
“How about keeping me company?” Sarah said quietly. “With Miss Martha off visiting her daughter, you’re the only person I have to talk to during the day.”
Her straightforward request accentuated how different she was from Eliza, who would have whined to get her way. It wasn’t as if it was a great chore to watch her. She was wearing one of the dresses she’d made from the fabric she’d purchased when he’d taken her to town. Forget all the bows and geegaws adorning Eliza’s dress, Sarah’s plain gown was understated elegance. Or maybe it was the woman wearing it that brought the elegance to the gown. He tried to picture Eliza waiting on him the way Sarah did, and failed.
“Nate?” she asked.
Besides, if he had to stare at the ceiling for one hour more, he’d be ready to be committed to an asylum. “Sorry. Let’s get me in this contraption then.”
She stood beside the bed, sliding an arm around him as he attempted to straighten. He couldn’t stop his groan when her breast pressed into his side.
“Are you in pain?” She’d turned her head to ask the question, leaving her mouth inches away from his. All he had to do was stretch over and close the gap. Touch his lips to hers. Taste her.
Damn it, damn it, damn it!
“No.” Liar. This case of blue balls he’d been fighting was gonna kill him as surely as any infection. “I hate havin’ to rely on a woman to get me into a goddamned chair.” I want to roll you onto my bed and get you beneath me. He closed his eyes, reminding himself she was Jackson’s wife, not some whore at the local saloon. But damn it, she smelled so sweet, and it had been so long since he’d had any sort of relief in that area.
He was panting and exhausted by the time she wrestled him into the chair, but he was upright and felt halfway human for the first time in a coon’s age. “Have the Rangers been around at all with news on those rustlers?”