“Perdition,” he muttered.
He had been home two days and already trouble was on the boil. Because there was one thing he believed as gospel.
He had not heard the last of that damn committee.
Matt built up his fire, set the kettle he bought to heat, and filled it with water. He heard his name called.
Looking up, he could hardly believe what he was seeing. Laine tying her dugout to a piling, and alongside, in a second dugout, came Rachel, Tater and the dog.
“Good morning, Matt,” Laine called out. He walked down toward them, tucking his shirt into his pants, trying to button it before he slicked back his hair.
“What are you doing here?”
She heard something less than welcoming in his voice, but Laine ignored it.
“We came to help you clean the place as any good neighbor would. Besides, we’re friends, remember.”
The dog leapt from the dugout to a splashed landing, barking until Tater quieted him.
Matt hardly noticed. His gaze and attention was all for Laine. Dressed again in cut-down pants, today her shirt was a threadbare patched affair with the top buttons open to expose a vee of pale skin. She had added a triangle of cloth to cover her hair. Her fresh scrubbed face held a sheen of sweat and a tint of color in her cheeks. She looked beautiful to him.
And she wore her gun. Part of him was glad she could protect herself. But part of him resented her need to do so.
He didn’t realize that while he was busy staring at her, she was busy piling his arms with pails and brooms, a kettle filled with bundles of rags, soap and scrub brushes.
Laine stood there, hands on hips, her head tilted to one side, eyes sparkling with mirth.
“Matt? Matt, you need to take these things up to the house.”
He wanted to stay right where he was planted, inhaling the sweet minty-floral mix scent of her, and then kiss those lips ready to break into laughter.
“Matt?”
“Right. The house.”
“We’ll bring everything else.”
“Everything else?” He turned away. Good Lord, was she planning on moving in with him? This woman could fluster his senses six ways to seven like no one else. Damn fool thought! Laine would never think of such a thing. Not without a preacher’s blessing and a ring on her finger. And the right man. One she could be proud of carrying his name.
He dropped everything near the kitchen steps and headed right back to her.
She had called Tater to help. The three of them came on with arms filled with sacks, the dog racing ahead, stopping to sniff, running back with tail waving like a flag, as if to tell of his discovery.
It was a smiling group confronting him. Their bright cheerful demeanor infected him. A wide grin curved his lips. He relieved Laine, then Rachel of their burdens, saw Tater could manage what he carried, and led the way.
Laine said, “Now, Tater, you remember what I told you. Work with a will and then you can go fishing. If that’s all right with Matt?”
“Sure. There’s plenty of fish.”
“How bad is it, Matt?”
“Enough.”
Laine spied the brooms he had left leaning against the stump.
“Oh, Matt, I wish I’d told you we’d come to help. You shouldn’t have spent money to buy these.”
“I didn’t. I made them. And I had the money, Laine. But I’m glad you’re here. And not just for working.”
He set down the sacks, wondering what they contained. Wondering, too, why it suddenly felt awkward to have her here. Could it be because they were adults now?
“Matt, what’s wrong?”
“Sorry.” He looked at her. “Just got lost in my thoughts.”
Dangerous thoughts of how nice it would be if this was their place, working side by side during the day, and the nights, closing out the world … Well, he figured heaven couldn’t offer him better if Laine welcomed him into her arms.
Laine started firing orders, sending Tater to fill the pails and kettle, Rachel to take the cleaning supplies inside. Satisfied she was alone with Matt, she searched through the sacks, lifting one and going to stand in front of him.
“I’m truly sorry I forgot to give you this yesterday. With the Perrys gone missing and you just showing up, I wasn’t thinking clearly. My father said we had to keep these for you, and I was more than happy to do so.”
Matt wasn’t sure what he expected to find. When he lifted out the chipped blue enamel pitcher, his hand tightened until his knuckles showed white. It had sat on the mantel always filled with greenery, flowering branches, or wild orchids, creating a bright spot of beauty.
“Laine.” He choked up.
“It’s all right. I understand. But there is more.”
She reached inside when she saw him hesitate.
“We have your family Bible.”
She exchanged it for the pitcher. Keeping that and the sack in one hand, she brought out his father’s pipe and tobacco tin.
Matt brushed his hand over them. When he made no further move, Laine pushed him to take hold of them.
“I never thought to make you sad. I wanted to give you joy to have something of your past.”
Matt cleared his throat but couldn’t speak. He went from surprised to deeply touched that these things of his family had been kept for him. He never saw Laine drop the sack, or the way her smile faded from her eyes and lips when he stared at the faded candy tins she held within her hands.
“Matt, don’t you want to hold them?”
“I never thought to see these again.” His hand trembled when he used one fingertip to flip the top lid open, then poke through his mother’s things. Her hair combs, a packet of needles, a coil of old ribbon, a bit of lace, odd buttons, loose pins. Below a muslin wrapped bundle of dried rose petals, whose scent was long gone, he found the tintype of his parents on their wedding day.
He lifted it out. There was his father with a high stiff collar, hair slicked back. His mother, her hair curled and coiled, a spill of lace at her throat. They were both so young. The soft sepia tone contrasted with the unsmiling faces.
“This is the only picture of them.”
“That makes it most precious,” Laine whispered with a catch in her voice. She wished she had one to share. Not for herself, but for Rachel and Tater. They had both been young when their parents died, and it was hard to remember and remind them of what they had looked like.
Matt stared at Laine, really looked into her clear grey eyes, and he knew what she was thinking and feeling. He couldn’t explain how or why to himself, he simply understood they had saved things for him that they could not save for themselves.
He tucked the tintype into the candy tin and closed the lid. The other he did not open. It was his, filled with foolish, boyish things.
“I don’t know what to say, Laine. Thank you seems so little, but I mean it. Now, I need to ask you to keep them for me. I can’t leave them in the house after all the care you’ve taken to protect them.”
Matt picked up the sack, replaced everything, then set it down.
He met Laine’s questioning gaze, shook his head to discourage questions, and gently drew her into his arms. She resisted for a moment, knowing her anger with him had not left her.
“Laine, don’t be afraid of me. Never be afraid with me. I’d never do anything to hurt you.”
But you already have, she wanted to tell him. The memory of what she had felt when viewing the ruins of her home kept her silent. He needed the comfort of someone who understood what he was feeling. She had had her father and, young as they were, her brother and sister. Matt had no one.
Then with a sigh that he felt as much as heard, she curled against him, her head resting on his chest and her arms slowly coming to wrap around his waist. And he rocked her.
Matt savored the feel of holding Laine. She fit against him perfectly. Her scent and softness lured him to forget his own warnings. T
he ragged sound she made of his name against his chest sent heated breath through his shirt to his skin.
For Laine, the moment of comfort offered and received, changed. She closed her eyes, listening to his quickened heartbeat, wanting to capture the shimmering sensations shivering through her. Her inhaled breath brought to her the scent of woodsmoke, and that indefinable something belonging to Matt alone.
She had waited so long for him to see her as a desirable woman.
Fully aroused, unable to hide from her, Matt pulled back a little. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her. The hot sun beating down on his bare head and through the back of his shirt reminded him they stood in the open where her sister or brother could come upon them. He did not want that to happen for Laine’s sake.
But resisting the chance to touch her was beyond him right now. With callused fingertips he traced the line of cloth that covered her hair, brushed her dense amber lashes that fluttered like tiny wings against her cheek, caressed the sheened flush mantling her skin, then traced the trembling curve of her lips. Through narrowed eyes he watched the pulse beating frantically in her throat.
With one hand spread to cradle her back, he lowered his head, needing to steal one kiss from her lips.
“Oh, Laine girl, never did anything so wrong feel so right.” He held her and every warning he had given himself disappeared.
“Matt!” Rachel yelled. “Matt, you better come. Riders are coming fast down the lane.”
He set Laine away from him. “Get yourself and the children down to the dugout and go home.”
She didn’t move.
“Now, Laine. I don’t want you to get hurt. I can’t do what I have to and worry about you.”
“You know who they are?”
“I know.” He snatched up his carbine.
“Rachel, get Tater and your sister home. I’ll come when I can.”
He ran to the corner of the house, hoping against hope they would ride on by.
Laine grabbed the sack of Matt’s belongings, shoved it at Rachel. “Wait down by the river. Stay out of sight.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I can’t leave him to face them alone. Now get.”
“I can help.”
“I know you can. But someone needs to watch Tater.” She ran for the kitchen door as Matt disappeared around the side.
“Who the hell are you?” Matt demanded of the six men milling their horses in the lane. One straightened in his saddle after snatching up the piece of paper from the post.
“What’s the meaning of this? You this here Coltrane?”
“I am. And I’m waiting to find out who you are.”
“We are the committee for confiscation.”
Matt stared in disbelief at the bewhiskered man with a too-tight black frock coat that answered him. A food-stained red shirt stretched across a barrel chest, but the two pistols stuck in his belt caught Matt’s gaze for a moment. He quickly noted the weapons of the other men. Cap-and-ball pistols, and single shot long guns. Matt breathed a little easier to know he had more firepower. But they were a disreputable-looking lot.
“What the devil is a committee for confiscation?”
“No traitor who fought against his country can own land. We’re here, duly sworn to uphold the law and lay claim to this place.”
“Take you a month of Sundays to memorize all that?”
“I know what I got to say, mister. And I damn well know what I got to do.”
“You tell him what’s for, Amos.”
The second man to speak brought Matt’s narrow-eyed glare to focus on him. He was the man from the store. The one who had frightened Rachel and Laine. He’d shoot him first.
“You boys move along. This here land is mine. I’ve taxes paid through the year. And any man who claims I fought against my country is a damn liar.”
“You a Yankee?”
“I’m a Texan, mister. Where’re you from, boy?”
“This land’s been posted. You’ve been no-ti-fied all properlike.”
“I’ll give you a posting. Any thieves, riffraff or scalawags setting foot on my land buys a bullet.” Matt motioned with the carbine, ignoring the envious looks for his gun. “That’s all the warning you get. Get the hell off my land.”
Matt put a bullet between the hooves of the leader’s horse. And then he froze. He felt eyes on his back. His neck hair rose, then as quickly subsided. Who else but Laine would be watching his back? He swore he was going to lesson that woman but good when he got rid of these men.
There were angry mutters. Matt sighted the carbine again.
“Your fun’s over. Get going. And thank the Lord you’re getting a warning.”
“You ain’t getting away with this. You ain’t heard the last of us.”
“Mister, I heard a bellyful. You go back to whoever ordered you out and tell them Matt Coltrane is keeping his land.”
Two more carefully placed shots into the dirt sent horses rearing, but to a man theythanks hung on and took off running.
Until one foolhardy soul turned around to take aim at Matt.
Matt shot the gun from his hand.
He heard his cry of pain as he dropped the gun and spurred his horse to catch up with the others.
Chapter Seven
Matt heard Laine running out of the house toward him. He spun around. “Not one word,” he ordered.
He grabbed her arms and bore her backward up the steps and inside. He slammed the door, propping the carbine against it. Then, taking hold of her upper arms again, he shook her the way he was shaking. The cloth came free from her head, the pins fell, and her long braids flew loose.
“Don’t you ever dare disobey me again. Do you hear? Do you understand? If they started shooting you could have been killed.”
He gripped her hard enough to leave bruises. So much for his swearing he’d never hurt her. She could not know her foolish courage put her in danger. But he knew. Knowledge that enraged him, sickened him, and frightened him.
Laine should have been frightened out of her wits at how dangerous Matt looked, his eyes glittering, his mouth a taut line, his jaw clenched. What was worse, he was right. Only she did not believe he would listen to a word she could say. But she had to calm him.
Holding a gaze steady on his, she leaned into him, lifted her face, and placed her lips against his mouth.
She offered a trembling sweet touch that she had dreamed of being her very first kiss from him.
Laine found a man’s raw hunger unleashed with the wildness of a storm that swept her into a whirlwind.
She tasted a man’s passionate anger.
And his desire sparking her own.
This need to give and to take. To shake beneath the force of emotions and feelings battering her. To cling to him, suddenly unable to stand on her own. To feel an incredible rush of heat that could not grow hotter.
But it did. The wanting to be a part of him, and to have him be a part of her. The assault stunned her.
As quickly as it started, his mouth suddenly grew gentle. Soothing now, not inciting.
Laine opened her eyes. Matt’s were closed. A dark flush mantled his cheeks. His forehead pressed against hers. His hands caressed her back, still holding her close.
Laine raised one unsteady hand, barely touching her swollen mouth with her fingertips. The need to touch him made her trembling finger brush his lips.
“Don’t,” he groaned. “Don’t touch me, Laine.”
“Why? Didn’t you like … like kissing me?”
He opened his eyes. They burned like tarnished gold fire. “Like? Like has nothing to do with this. I never meant for it to happen. I never lost control like I did with you. I swore I’d never hurt you. I didn’t keep my word. Don’t trust me, Laine. I don’t trust myself around you.”
She should be afraid. She heard the hard warning in his voice, felt it in the hard-muscled body taut with tensi
on. But not trust Matt? Impossible. She had never allowed anyone to kiss her like this. Never wanted to kiss another man with her heart and body on fire. A fire that still smoldered inside her.
He was visibly shaken when he released her to pick up her headcloth and hand it to her. He took a few steps back.
“I’m so sorry, Laine.”
“I’m not.”
“What?”
Laine wrapped herself in righteous anger. “You heard me. I am not sorry you kissed me until the whole world burned and you were the only one I could hold on to.” She stood tall and straight with her hands fisted at her sides.
“I am twenty-one years old, Matthew Coltrane. An old maid. I never wanted a man to kiss me like that. What’s more, I never allowed any man close enough to try. So I am real sorry that you’re so sorry about kissing me.”
She tied her headcloth, ignoring her braids hanging to her waist. She ignored Matt’s stunned look. Hunkering down to the floor, she searched for her hairpins.
Matt shook free of his bewildered reaction to her speech. He joined her in searching, but kept a wary eye on her. He didn’t know this Laine. She should have slapped him, screamed, run out.
“I shook them loose. I’ll find them.”
“They’re my pins. I’ll find them myself.”
“You’re angry.”
“You are right.”
“Well, it’s good to be right about something.”
“Enjoy it. I doubt you’ll hear me say those words again.”
“Laine, you’re sassing me.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “If you are laughing at me …”
“I wouldn’t. Not now.”
“Keep it that way. You’ve been alone with no one else to worry about. I’ve had nothing but others to care for.” She came to her feet in a rush as the dog bounded inside, Tater hot on his heels.
“I watched from the brambles and saw them go, but Rachel wouldn’t let me come. That was some shooting, Matt. Can you teach me to shoot like that?” He glanced from his sister to Matt. “What’s wrong? You two look all mad and sad.”
Matt spoke up first, glaring at Laine. “That’s smart of you, Tater. I am mad.”
The Homecoming Page 5