Lily's Secrets [Elk Creek 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Gigi Moore

  He opened his eyes to see her sitting on their bed, the one he had barely made use of or shared with Lily since her return. Her shoulders were slouched and she had her hands in her lap, looking so forlorn and defeated Wyatt couldn’t stay away from her.

  No sooner had he gone to sit beside her on the bed, however, than the not-too-distant sound of gunfire caught both their attention.

  Wyatt had already jumped to his feet by the time Lily turned to him, gaping. “We’re not finished talking about this.” Even though he already had a sidearm, he rushed across the room to retrieve his rifle, just in case. He checked it to make sure it was loaded before turning to Lily. He bent and kissed her hard on the mouth as if to imprint the memory of himself on her, trying to project his love and strength in the simple act. “I’ll be right back. Stay here!” Before she could respond, he headed out the door, unsure whether or not he was relieved for the interruption.

  Chapter 3

  Dakota closed his eyes, concentrating on his surroundings—the dense woods, the fragrant moist grass beneath his moccasins, the cool, gently flowing stream nearby—anything to ward off the burning pain in his side. His efforts, however, did not work, and when he took a deep breath the exertion left him winded.

  He braced his back against the rough bark of a towering oak and hazarded a peek behind him and around the tree to see if his assailant still followed him.

  Dakota didn’t see anyone, but then he had already let his guard down once and allowed the unthinkable to happen. He no longer trusted his instincts to steer him to safety, and this was a vulnerability he did not want to own. He had been one of the best scouts the army had had at its disposal not long ago, his tracking abilities superior, even to most full-blooded Indians. The resentment that had been shown him by some in his tribe because of his impure origins proved commensurate to his uncanny skills.

  He felt himself drift, just for a moment, and jerked his eyes open with a start, paranoid at the length of time he had been unaware. The loss of blood sapped his energy and he didn’t know how much longer he would be able to hold on to consciousness. If his attacker caught up to him in the condition Dakota was in, he could not guarantee a favorable outcome for himself.

  It proved so very tempting to just stay here and fall asleep. He knew he’d see her as soon as he allowed himself to float toward dreamland where thoughts of her were never far away. Even in his waking moments she had begun to hold sway, and this was the very reason he found himself in the situation he did now. He had been lost in his thoughts of Lily Baldwin and wondering what to do about the situation with her and her husband. He had been considering it long before she’d returned home to her people almost a year ago and still he could not come up with the perfect solution. His grandfather told him that he was much too hard on himself, striving for perfection that did not exist—in the Indian world or the white man’s world.

  His grandfather was a holy man and one of the tribe’s respected elders, but not even his sage advice could cure Dakota of his need to please all even when this was clearly impossible.

  Dakota did not know where he got this particular character trait. He did not remember seeing it in action in either his mother or father. His mother had been serene and philosophical, much like her father, Dyami, and Dakota’s father had been the exact opposite, always in motion and at work even when he was at rest.

  Dakota thought that he had gotten a little bit of both his parents in him, especially the philosophical part, a demeanor that had been hard earned.

  Being very perceptive about people and his surroundings was also one of his idiosyncrasies, though he hadn’t been so perceptive today.

  He had allowed his prey, a man he had been stalking and watching as closely as he had been stalking and watching Lily and Wyatt these last several months, to sneak up on him in the forest, a place that over the years had proven a second home to Dakota.

  He had allowed Lily’s attacker to get the best of him.

  What did that say about his good sense and ability to judge anyone, much less Lily and her circumstances?

  Dakota closed his eyes again, promised himself it would only be for a moment, and replayed that day in his head, how and when he had found Lily.

  He had watched the stranger from his vantage point in the forest, wondering what errand had brought the man to the woods. Then he had noticed the man’s burden and understood perfectly. Dakota had remained where he was, hidden and quiet. Whoever the man carried over his shoulder was no longer for the world and there was nothing Dakota could do to help.

  Once the man had finished his deed, all too hurriedly, Dakota watched as first one wolf then two emerged from the forest and circled the freshly dug and packed earth, whining. It was Dakota’s first clue that whoever the stranger had buried had managed to survive.

  Dakota held on to that thought now—his vision of Lily when he had unearthed her and she took her first breath—and prayed to the Great Spirit that he could similarly beat death.

  He comforted himself in the knowledge that had he been anyone else, he would probably be dead by now. He had caught the man’s sound and scent at the last minute. Only his exceptional reflexes had saved him and only temporarily. Should his attacker catch up to him now, Dakota was sure the man would not hesitate to kill him.

  He was determined not to be a victim a second time, certainly not to perish at the predator’s hands. He could not allow himself to die now when he had so much left to do, the least of which was to rectify things with Lily Baldwin.

  “What in tarnation?”

  “Wyatt, put that away! He’s not armed.”

  “We don’t know that yet. And I told you to stay at the house.”

  Dakota dragged his eyes open to see the couple who had been haunting his dreams and waking moments for almost a year. He watched them emerge from the thicket, Wyatt Baldwin holding his rifle at the ready.

  Lily put her hand on the barrel and pushed it down toward the ground so that it wasn’t pointed at Dakota’s chest. “He’s wounded.”

  “And we don’t know how he got that way. Maybe he was up to no good rustling and a rancher plugged him full of lead.”

  “I mean neither of you any harm,” Dakota rasped, and even through his agonizing fog, he noticed Lily’s eyes rounded as if she recognized his voice.

  He closed his eyes to keep from falling beneath the spell of her entrancing gray gaze, such beautiful eyes he had only glimpsed from afar before now.

  Only after the tribe’s medicine man had worked on her and she had begun to recover her health had Dakota gotten to see what she looked like without all the bruises and swelling. Even seeing her from a self-imposed distance, he caught his breath each and every time he got a look at the brilliance that finally emerged from such a mantle of severe injuries. Not to mention his cock hardened at the mere sight of her living and breathing in his tribe’s encampment, among his people.

  Dakota gritted his teeth against his lustful thoughts, but it didn’t prevent his body from reacting to Lily’s closeness. Despite his injury, his cock grew as hard as a rock, and he hoped that Lily and her husband were too occupied with his bullet wound to notice his arousal.

  “Please…I need your…help.” He reached out a hand, desperate now for relief—from his physical and emotional pain. He didn’t think he could go another minute this close to the woman without being able to touch her.

  Dakota felt himself fading, though, and didn’t know how long he would last before the other man came out of the thicket to paint him with the broad brush of a wrongdoer deserving the punishment he saw fit to deliver.

  Without hesitation, Lily came to his side, crouched down, and took his hand. She glanced back at her husband, and Dakota felt the other man’s heated look like fire across his skin.

  “Lilybelle, get away from him!”

  “He’s wounded,” she repeated.

  “I don’t care. He could be dangerous.”

  “He’s not dangerous.”

 
The concern in her gaze when she looked upon his face worked like a cooling balm against the angry fire of her husband’s glare. He could not blame the man for warning her away and wanting to protect his wife, however. Were Lily his, he would do the same, go through any hell to keep her safe.

  But she is not mine.

  The coldness that rushed through him at that realization was so profound that Dakota actually shuddered beneath Lily’s touch.

  “We have to help him.”

  Wyatt came to her side and hunkered down, too. “And how do you propose we do that?”

  “Go back to the house and bring back the wagon so we can move him.”

  “Are you plumb loco? I’m not leaving you here alone with him.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Dakota felt a rush of admiration at her poise and the certainty in her voice. Either she was utterly crazy, as her husband alluded, or she was too courageous to care about the risks. Whichever it was, he thought he would explode from the affection and desire that only she had ever engendered.

  When Wyatt did not move to do her bidding, Lily glanced at him over her shoulder and put out her hand. “Leave me your sidearm while you’re gone and we’ll be just fine.”

  “It’s not him I’m worried about being fine, Lily. It’s you.”

  “Wyatt, you’re wasting time and I don’t intend to leave him out here alone to die. I…I know what that’s like and it’s not a good feeling.”

  Her firm, quiet words must have hit a nerve. In the next instant Wyatt took the gun out of his holster, cursing and grumbling under his breath as he handed it over to Lily butt-first.

  Wyatt leaned toward Dakota and growled. “You lay one hand on my wife while I’m gone and there ain’t a doctor around who’ll be able to put back together the pieces left after I rip you apart. Do you understand me?”

  “I understand,” Dakota murmured.

  Wyatt nodded grimly then leaned in to kiss his wife hard on the lips, blatantly staking his claim in front of Dakota before standing to leave.

  As soon as he was gone, Lily went to work opening Dakota’s shirt.

  He felt bad that she was getting his blood all over her hands, but felt even worse when she gasped at the sight of his injury. He did not like her being exposed to the harsh realities of life like this yet again. It was bad enough when he had found and had to nurse her back to health all those years ago. He did not want her to return the favor despite his appreciating her nearness.

  Dakota watched as she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath as if hardening herself to face the task at hand.

  “Let’s see what we’re dealing with here.” Lily ripped off a strip of cloth from the bottom of her dress with her teeth and hands then she balled up the material and pressed it against his wound to staunch the flow of blood.

  Dakota panted at the pressure of her hands and watched as his blood quickly saturated the blue gingham material. He was sorry that she had ruined her dress for him, especially since her efforts were probably all a waste of time.

  He felt himself slipping and knew that he would soon be with his ancestors in the great beyond. There was nothing more Lily or Wyatt could do for him. There was nothing anyone could do for him.

  “What’s your name?” She put a hand on his face and the warmth of her skin shocked him back into awareness.

  “I am called Dakota.”

  “Dakota, I’m Lily.”

  “Lilybelle,” he murmured and listened as her musical chuckle filled the air.

  “It’s my name, yes, but Wyatt’s about the only one who calls me that.”

  “Okay.” He closed his eyes again.

  “Dakota? Dakota! Stay with me.” She lightly smacked his cheek and pushed moist hair away from his face. “What’s your last name, Dakota?”

  He opened his eyes to peer at her and heard her slight intake of breath. “Cooper.”

  “You have the most beautiful eyes, Dakota Cooper.” She covered her mouth with her hand as if she had not meant to say something so ill-advised and too late tried to keep the words from leaving her mouth. “I apologize for being so forward.”

  He smiled at the irony. He wanted to tell her how beautiful her eyes were to him.

  “I know you’re an Indian, but it’s obvious you’re not full-blooded.”

  “My father was white.”

  “Was?”

  “He is no longer among the living.”

  She took and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry.”

  “Do not be. It was a long time ago.” Not that he had ever gotten over the pain of his loss, especially the uselessness of the way his father had died. It had been so unnecessary.

  “That half of you should be able to keep you safe and save you.”

  “Save me from what?”

  “Not really what, but whom. As you’ve probably noticed, my husband is not too fond of…your kind. He’d just as soon leave you here to die as not.”

  “I noticed.”

  “But I’m not going to let that happen.”

  He caught her hand and squeezed. “Thank you, Lily.”

  “You don’t have to…”

  The sound of an approaching horse and wagon interrupted what she was about to say.

  Lily grabbed her husband’s pistol with her free hand and aimed it toward the trees before Wyatt, steering a horse and wagon, burst through the woods.

  He brought the wagon to a stop just several feet away from them.

  Wyatt jumped down from the wagon and rushed to their sides. “C’mon. Let’s load him up and get him to the house. I’d like to get us all inside before dark.”

  Lily stood as Wyatt squatted by his side, and the next thing Dakota knew the man was lifting him up to carry him over his shoulder.

  Dakota bit back a gasp at the sudden movement.

  “Not so rough, Wyatt.”

  Wyatt grumbled something unintelligible, but took care in placing Dakota on several blankets heaped in the buckboard.

  “What are you doing?” Wyatt demanded when Lily climbed up in the buckboard with Dakota instead of up front.

  “I’m going to ride in back with him and make sure he’s comfortable.”

  Wyatt shook his head and grumbled again but didn’t argue any further as he leaped down from the back of the wagon and walked around to climb up onto the front seat.

  Dakota would have laughed at Wyatt’s reactions to his wife’s determination if he wasn’t in so much pain.

  Maybe there is hope for them after all.

  Where did that leave him?

  * * * *

  He sneered from his hiding place, crouching behind the copse. He couldn’t figure out with whom he was more upset—the half-breed for getting away from him, injured and all, or Lily for treating him as if he was a treasure she’d just found.

  She should be treating him with such reverence and care, not the half-breed. He had earned it. He had softened her up enough to understand and accept what a real man had to offer her—white or Indian.

  Had it just been Wyatt, he decided, he might have come out of hiding to finish what he’d started. He was sure Wyatt would support him after what Lily had endured among the savages.

  He smiled thinking about Wyatt’s sweet wife, remembering the softness of her skin, the sweet lavender smell of her.

  He didn’t know why Lily hadn’t said anything to anyone yet, and every day he lived on the edge waiting for her to tell her husband what happened to her at the homestead before she’d found refuge with the Kiowa tribe. However, she had been back closer to a year than not and so far to his knowledge she had said nothing. He was almost certain now that she wouldn’t after all this time. What would be the point?

  That got him to thinking that maybe his Lily had ideas about him and her as well as he did. Maybe she kept everyone in the dark until she was ready to proclaim her feelings for him to the world, but more importantly, to her husband.

  He wondered, however, why the half-breed had been lurking on Wyatt and
Lily’s land. He wondered why he was on their near-isolated homestead in the first place. How long had the half-breed been spying on the husband and wife and why?

  Was he here to finish the job that he had started several years ago, or did he have something else on his agenda altogether? Was he part of that Kiowa tribe Lily had found refuge with? Was the Indian the reason he had to thank for Lily’s survival?

  He grinned from his hiding place behind the thicket, and anticipated finally eliminating his competition in Wyatt and now the meddlesome half-breed. He supposed he should be thankful to the half-breed for his part in Lily’s rescue, if he indeed was the one who had found her. If he hadn’t saved Lily, literally bringing her back from the dead, then he would not have had another opportunity to fully express his feelings for Lily. He would not be able to soak up her wild fighting spirit.

  He got hard now just thinking about her, thinking about how it would feel when he finally got to have her.

  He’d taught her a good lesson for defying him, one she’d never forget, but he regretted that he’d had to get so rough with her. He hadn’t meant to hurt her as badly as he had and had panicked when she didn’t respond after he’d hit her that last time.

  When he thought about it now, he realized that he hadn’t thought out his plan thoroughly enough. Once he had seen Lily and known she was home alone—a rarity with a husband as protective and possessive as Wyatt—his mind had gone blank and he’d started running on pure instinct to take advantage of the opportunity that had been dropped in his lap.

  Even after all this time and seeing her around town and back at the homestead, he yet found it difficult to believe that she was alive and well. He took it as a sign that someone above favored their union. Why else would he be given another chance to have her?

  It was in the stars that he and Lily should be together.

  Wyatt was an ignorant and jealous farmer-turned-cowboy-turned-farmer who didn’t know how to give a woman like Lily what she needed.

  He knew how to, though, and soon he would remove both her husband and her half-breed admirer from the equation.