Each Time We Love

by Shirlee Busbee

  Not bothering to hide his contempt, Bodene said coolly, "Forget about Savanna—she's a married woman now."

  Micajah's eyes nearly started from his head and he stared back at Bodene's hard features in slack-jawed astonishment. "Married!" he ejaculated in a stunned voice. "But she couldn't be! No one but me would be foolhardy enough to marry such a hellcat."

  Bodene seated himself on a corner of his desk, watching Micajah with open contempt. "I'm sorry you view the news with disfavor—especially when I have even more unpleasant news for you."

  "What do you mean by that?" Micajah demanded warily.

  "I mean, my craven friend, that I'm afraid you have finally run your length. You made a fatal error when you kidnapped, or thought you kidnapped, Jason Savage."

  Micajah's eyes narrowed. "Thought?"

  Bodene smiled grimly. "It wasn't Jason Savage you kidnapped that night, it was his brother-in-law—and it is his brother-in-law, who is, I might mention, a wealthy planter from Natchez, who married Savanna. You could say you even introduced Savanna to her husband—Adam St. Clair."

  If Micajah had resembled a fish gasping for water at the news that Savanna was married, this new broadside had him purpling with rage, his narrowed eyes nearly disappearing inside his skull as he glared at Bodene, his fists clenched menacingly at his side. "St. Clair!" he said with such loathing, in such explosive accents, that Bodene was startled.

  "Do you know Adam St. Clair?"

  "No, I don't know the bastard!" Micajah bit out. He was on the point of spitting out his whole sorry tale when he closed his mouth with a snap. Besides the money, he now had another reason for wanting to end Mr. St. Clair's days and he sure as hell wasn't so stupid as to blurt out his plans to Bodene Sullivan.

  A frown on his face, Bodene questioned,"If you don't know St. Clair, why does his very name provoke you so?"

  Thinking rapidly of a way to divert any suspicions Bodene might have, Micajah forced a weak smile onto his lips. "Oh, it ain't him in particular," he explained carelessly. "It's just that it don't seem right that some rich dandy should come along and snatch Savanna right out from underneath my nose. I always figured that someday Savanna and me would settle down together." He sighed heavily. "Now that she's married to this here St. Clair, reckon I'll just have to put aside that idea and shake Mr. St. Clair's hand."

  "I doubt Mr. St. Clair will want to shake your hand. In fact, I'm damned sure that he has every intention of putting a bullet between your eyes. Something I should have done years ago."

  "Since it would appear I'm not very welcome around here, reckon I'll just be on my way," Micajah replied testily, not liking the look in Bodene's eyes.

  "Unfortunately, you won't be able to do that either," Bodene snapped."I told you—this time you've run your length. I intend to hold you prisoner, and you're not going anywhere until Savage and St. Clair decide what they want to do with you."

  There was suddenly a deadly, threatening silence in the room as the two men stared at each other, their bodies tense and ready to spring. For a fraction of a second they were frozen like an ancient tableau of good confronting evil, and then with a muffled oath Micajah sprang at Bodene. Even expecting it, Micajah's powerful charge milled Bodene over, Micajah's massive limbs closed around him, pinning his arms to his sides, effectively stopping him from reaching for his pistol.

  Swaying in a violent embrace, they fell to the floor, Bodene's pistol flying from his pocket in the struggle. Micajah grunted with satisfaction, but he didn't lessen his hold and over and over they rolled, chairs flying and crashing against the wall as Bodene fought to escape the paralyzing force of Micajah's rib-cracking imprisonment. By sheer blunt strength, Bodene managed to break Micajah's hold on him, but as they fought, each to overpower the other, one of Micajah's fists struck him viciously on the chin. Dazed by the powerful blow, Bodene went weak for a mere second and by then it was too late. Micajah leapt to his feet and pulled his own pistol.

  The weapon pointed at Bodene's heart, Micajah smiled toothily down at him. "Well, well, ain't this a pleasant change of events! I'll wager you never thought this would ever happen." There was no time to gloat. The sounds of their fight had not been heard above the noise of the gaming rooms, but that didn't mean that one of Bodene's men wouldn't be knocking on the door at any second. Micajah's smile faded and he growled, "On your feet! Get over there and sit behind your fancy desk."

  Seething with impotence, Bodene did as directed. In seconds he was tightly bound and expertly gagged.

  Certain that Bodene was not going anywhere soon, Micajah put his pistol away and said, "Reckon I'll be going now. Can't say I liked your hospitality."

  He sidled out the door and hurried from The Golden Lady, his thoughts bitter indeed as he realized that the man he had been hired to kill, the man he had wasted days—nay, weeks—trying to find, had been right under his very nose! A cold fury grew in his chest when he understood just how duped he had been, the depth of his rage growing when he realized that everything he had done since he had first heard that blue-eyed devil's name in Natchez had been for naught. In Micajah's mind the list of crimes committed by Adam St. Clair against him were endless and unforgivable. Every ill, every setback and misfortune he had suffered since the night he had been hired to kill him could be laid directly at Adam St. Clair's feet. Micajah's massive fists opened and closed impotently when he considered how differently things would have turned out if only he could have found the bastard and murdered him in the beginning. Not only would he have been many dollars richer, but his reputation as a fellow who could be counted on to accomplish the dirtiest deeds would still be intact. Adam St. Clair, simply by living, had tarnished Micajah's standing and damaged a lucrative trade for him. Not content with doing that to him, Adam St. Clair, by being mistaken for Jason Savage, had destroyed the initial plan to find the gold, and—far worse—had made a fool of Micajah Yates. Heaping further indignities on him, he had boldly stolen and married the one woman Micajah had always figured to make his own. It was downright insulting what that man had done to him and it wasn't to be tolerated. A cold smile crossed Micajah's face as he went in search of Jeremy. A plan was forming in his brain and in the very near future Adam St. Clair was going to learn why he was called Murdering Micajah!

  The door had hardly shut behind Micajah's retreating figure when Bodene began to struggle violently against the bonds that held him captive, and though he was an unusually powerful man, Micajah had known what he was about and Bodene's actions came to naught. Infuriated, Bodene fought and twisted his bonds and when they remained tight, he tried time and again to spit out or loosen the gag, but even that proved futile. In frustration he tipped over the chair to which he was bound, sending it crashing to the floor. Wiggling and squirming he worked his way over to the door. It was an awkward business, but he was finally in a position to pound against the door to his office with his feet. He hoped that someone would eventually hear the thudding sounds above the noise of the gamblers.

  While it seemed like an interminable time, it was only some minutes later when the door to his office was cautiously pushed open, and Jack Mooney, one of his most trusted men, peered inside the room. His craggy features congealed into shock when he viewed Bodene trussed and tied like a chicken on the floor.

  Leaping into action, Jack swiftly undid the gag. Heedless of anything else, Bodene said urgently, "Never mind me! Get some of the men and start searching for Micajah Yates—we've got to find him and hold him before he causes any more trouble. On your way out, send in one of the girls to set me free. Go!"

  Jack didn't hesitate, and whirling away, he rushed out of the room. When he returned an hour later, it was to find Bodene y pacing the confines of the restored order in the office. As Jack opened the door, Bodene's hopeful gaze swung to him.

  Jack shook his head. "Nowhere. We checked every place we could think of, chased down several of his cronies and questioned them, but he's disappeared. No one has seen him, either in the city or leavin
g it."

  Bodene cursed virulently, his uneasiness growing with every moment. "He's going after Adam, I just know it!" Seating himself behind the desk, he searched for a quill and paper and began to write, saying to Jack as he did so, "I want you to deliver this message to Adam St. Clair or Savanna, at Campo de Verde, immediately! Take Toby Willis with you—use a pair of my best horses—not the black—I'll need him myself later—and ride as if the devil were on your heels. Stay at Campo de Verde until I arrive—I shall be following shortly behind you, once I've made another sweep of the city. There may be someplace you've overlooked, and I want to satisfy myself that Micajah really has left the city and not just gone to earth." He looked up at Jack's rough-visaged features. "Adam is his main goal, but watch out yourself and remember he has Jeremy Childers with him. Leave the back way—and for God's sake, be alert for treachery."

  Jack nodded and turned on his heel and departed. Moodily Bodene stared at the closed door. He had done what he could to protect Adam and Savanna for the moment, but a deep sense of guilt filled him. If only he hadn't relaxed his guard and allowed Micajah to overpower him, then none of this had to happen. Furious with himself, he rose to his feet. He wasn't going to do anyone any good brooding here in silence. He needed to find Micajah. Thoughtfully he took out the small pistol he usually kept in his desk and carefully placed it inside his waistcoat. "Always knew I'd have to kill the bastard someday...."

  Late the next afternoon, Adam read Bodene's note, his features becoming increasingly grim. No more than Bodene did he trust Micajah, and he cursed himself for not having realized that Micajah could not allow him to live with impunity. Being the creature he was, Micajah had to kill him. Sitting in the back room that Elizabeth had turned over to him to use as a private study when he had offered to help her with some of the plantation's accounts, Adam frowned. Having Micajah lurking about with who knew what sort of murderous vengeance burning in his heart was not what Adam needed to worry about right now. At the moment, he thought bitterly, he needed to concentrate on his deteriorating relationship with his wife.

  Adam poured himself a tumbler of whiskey and stared out of the window that overlooked the home garden. When he and Savanna had returned to Campo de Verde, he'd had such hopes. Despite a bad beginning and the loss of their child, they had begun to grow closer and he was certain that the day he could openly declare his love for her and have her reciprocate his feelings could not be far away. But the nearer they had come to Campo de Verde, the farther Savanna had slipped awau from him; the closeness they had shared in New Orleans seemed to vanish.

  There was not open hostility between them, at least not yet, Adam admitted with a scowl, but there was a distance in her manner, an aloofness in her attitude, a cool politeness that he was powerless to shatter. He was furiously aware of the barriers she was building between them, of the way she was retreating from him, seeking a private place where he could not reach her.

  Increasingly Savanna treated him like a damned visitor, he decided angrily—like some bloody stranger. There were times, when she would give him one of those detached little smiles and offer a polite reply or comment, that Adam came near to violence. He wanted to hit someone or smash something, to bellow aloud his baffled frustration, and yet at the same time he desperately wanted to snatch her into his arms and kiss her passionately. In his bones, he knew that demanding she tell him what was wrong, tell him what was going on in that beautiful head of hers wasn't going to work. Mindful of the traumas that she had suffered, mindful of his own part in them, he did nothing.

  Adam had noticed that she was quiet during the ride to Campo de Verde, but he had assumed that she was suffering from her recent tragic ordeal. He'd even used that excuse when they had arrived at the plantation and she had fallen, weeping, into her mother's arms and Elizabeth had tenderly wafted her away to the master bedchamber, which had been prepared for their arrival. It was natural that a woman would want her mother at a time like this and he had discreetly made himself scarce. Even when it was suggested oh-so-delicately to him by a stammering Elizabeth that first night that he sleep in the adjoining chamber, he had not demurred or considered it unreasonable. He had been disappointed by not to being able to share the comfort of each other's nearness as he and Savanna had in New Orleans, but he understood. What he hadn't expected was that weeks later, when Savanna was in blooming health, the connecting door to their bedchambers would remain locked.

  His scowl deepened. What sort of animal does she think I am? he wondered furiously. I'm not going to fall upon her and demand my conjugal rights the first moment that presents itself. A twisted smile curved his mouth. I might want to, he admitted ruefully, picturing all the silken, voluptuous flesh he knew lay beneath the lovely gowns she was wearing these days. Just thinking about making love to his wife had its usual effect upon him, and ignoring the heat pooling in his belly, he turned impatiently away from the uninspiring view of the vegetable garden. The ache to feel his wife in his arms once more didn't go away and he wondered bleakly if perhaps she wasn't wise to keep the damned door locked.

  But it wasn't just the wretched locked door, although it seemed to symbolize the current situation; it was also Savanna herself and the way she deftly avoided him—or any talk of the future. At the slightest mention of leaving for Belle Vista and Natchez, she would smile and gently change the subject. It was clear that not only was she keeping a distance between them, but that she had no intention of leaving Campo de Verde any time soon. Short of kicking down the door between them and subjecting her to his obviously unwanted caresses, or tying her on the back of a horse and dragging her from her mother's home, Adam saw no way out of his present circumstances. Worse, in his estimation, however, was the fact that Savanna never seemed to wander more than two feet away from her mother. Elizabeth always seemed to be underfoot. He liked his mother-in-law, but he would have happily consigned her to Hades if that would have given him a few minutes alone with Savanna.

  During the time they'd been staying at Campo de Verde, he had been hard-pressed to have one private word with his wife, let alone anything else. He'd patiently borne with Savanna for weeks now, reminding himself of all that she had gone through, but of late, his temper, never very good at best, was fraying badly. What the hell sort of game was Savanna playing?

  Savanna wasn't playing any game at all—she was suffering more than she had ever thought possible, and she had painfully come to the conclusion that she had but one choice to make. That it was going to come at a high cost to herself, she didn't doubt, but during her sleepless nights, as she had miserably viewed the situation, it had become clear that if she was ever to find any peace again, it must be done—no matter how much her heart might ache.

  While Adam raged around in his study, Savanna was upstairs in her bedroom, lying on the plump mattress, staring blindly at the ceiling. She was steeling herself to confront Adam and tell him what she had decided.

  He will probably be relieved, she told herself bitterly. After all, he had never wanted to marry her—it was only because of the baby that he had married her in the first place, and with the baby gone... with the baby gone, their marriage was over. Done. Finished.

  Drearily her eyes closed, but she couldn't shut out the images that danced beneath her lids. Adam laughing at her, his blue eyes sparkling mischief; the sensual curve of his wicked mouth just before his lips would find hers; the frown he wore when he was troubled or puzzled; the crisp curl of that thick black hair across his forehead and that heart-thumping, dazzling smile of his—she had a million memories of him and they would have to last her a lifetime.

  In those first terrible moments when she had awakened after Betsey had pushed her down the stairs, she had been too taken up with mourning the loss of their child to understand what the loss meant. It wasn't until she and Adam were on their way to Campo de Verde that the devastating truth had struck her: with no baby in the future, there was absolutely no reason for them to remain married! There was now nothing to bind
them together—no matter how kind he had been, no matter how close they had been during their joint mourning of the infant. The situation was appallingly clear to Savanna: Adam might derive enjoyment from her company, he might have, at the moment, a great passion for her body, but he did not love her. The baby had been, as far as she knew, his main impetus for taking the drastic step of marriage to someone of her background. She was convinced that soon enough, he would take action to free himself from a marriage he had not truly wanted. When Savanna had fallen into her mother's arms weeping, the tears had flowed as much because of the lost child as the knowledge that a life with Adam was also lost to her.

  Savanna had tried to hide from it, but like a starving wolf slinking near a cabin door, those unpleasant thoughts kept creeping around the edges of her mind, sometimes darting fully into view, other times almost forgotten, but always there.... She knew what she had to do, if only to save her own sanity, but she shrank from taking the final step, and in her pain and confusion she remained aloof from Adam, not allowing herself to respond to any of the solicitous lures he sent her way, not allowing herself to believe that he felt anything but kindness and perhaps pity for her.... It was a horrible thought and she realized she could bear the situation no longer.

  Savanna sat up abruptly. Rising hurriedly from the bed, she spared a moment to glance into the cheval glass in the corner of the large room, her mouth twisting wryly at the elegant reflection that stared back at her. Even Savanna would have to admit that she was looking attractive today—not at all like a woman whose heart was breaking. Her red-gold hair curled in a becomingly tumbled mass around her shoulders, and the gown she wore, a lovely confection of delicate lace and finest muslin in a shade of glowing amethyst, deepened the aquamarine hue of her eyes and imparted a pearly sheen to her skin. The signs of her recent suffering had only highlighted the fine structure of her face, her eyes with their long black lashes appearing larger, more luminous, and the soft hollows in her cheeks increasing rather than diminishing her haunting beauty.