by Carol Arens
Hell’s curses, even if he did indulge, the itch wouldn’t go away. He knew that as well as he knew that the wind blowing at him was cold and wet.
He could not have a taste of Melinda then expect to just ride off.
The old Boone would have done it. Kiss a woman goodbye then scarcely remember her name, if he ever knew it to begin with.
That’s the Boone he stood face-to-face with now, as if the two parts of him were duelists in the street at high noon.
The old Boone lying with Melinda in a tangle of straw and hot limbs. The new Boone sitting on this cursed porch in the rain, respecting the hell out of her.
Right now he didn’t know which man he was. If Melinda came to him, hot and reckless, he didn’t know what he would—
Hell’s damn curses! She was coming to him, trudging through the rain from the barn, a steaming mug of something in each of her small hands.
Might as well have stayed in the barn for all the good his self-imposed isolation was doing.
He’d better outdraw the old Boone if the new one was to have a chance.
* * *
From halfway across the yard all Melinda could see of Boone were his eyes peeking out from between the oilcloth and his dipped hat.
Rain obscured her vision, but even through it she could tell that he was troubled. And who would not be, sitting for hours on the front porch bench with only the biting rain for company?
Hot coffee ought to help, especially if he intended to sit out here all night.
“Boone.” She came up the steps under the shelter of an umbrella gripped awkwardly between her arm and ribs. Steam curled comfortingly out of the mugs she held. Hopefully the sight would help warm him. “I think you’re turning blue.”
“What are you doing out here? It’s the middle of the blamed night.” He didn’t seem as pleased to see her as she had hoped he would. “You shivering, gal?”
Gal? Was that an endearment? She thought not, unless it was an endearment laced with annoyance. Although, how someone could be annoyed with another person who was delivering hot coffee in the wee hours of a watch was hard to imagine.
“I couldn’t sleep. It didn’t seem right, you alone out here watching over us all while we snuggle under our blankets. I thought something hot would help.”
He lifted one side of the oilcloth in invitation, but he seemed reluctant about doing it.
Maybe he was simply chilled and grumpy, because who would not be? Surely once the coffee heated him, he’d be glad she’d come out.
Letting the umbrella fall, she ducked under the oilcloth. She scooted close to Boone while he tucked the covering under her hip and behind her shoulders.
Under the waterproof covering, she passed him one of the mugs then cradled the other close to her chest.
Boone was right, she had been shivering. Not so much now, not with the warmth of the coffee building, not with the heat of their bodies filling the space.
Truthfully, here under the oilcloth, she felt warmer than she had felt alone in the straw bed.
“Thank you,” Boone said.
Good, then, it had been the cold making him ill tempered. She would happily sit here with him until dawn to see the smile that just transformed his face.
“I’ve been thinking about you.” He sipped his coffee then tucked the mug back under the oilcloth.
In what way? She hardly knew what to feel about that. Was he thinking about the fact that they had nearly kissed? Was he happy about it? Was he unhappy about it? Did he want to try it again or did he regret it? If he did regret it was it because he saw her as fluff and no substance? Did he feel—?
“What is it that makes you strain at rules?”
“What makes you strain at them?”
“I asked you first—but I reckon in my case I was born with a bit of a hellion in me. I doubt if that’s the case with you.”
He wanted to know things about her that only Rebecca knew. Not even Mama understood why she chafed at unreasonable limitations. And Mama was at the core of them.
“No, Boone, I wasn’t born this way. I was born Papa’s ‘pretty little doll baby’. All I wanted was to toddle about after him and make him happy like Mama did.”
She leaned against Boone’s arm, rested her head against his shoulder and stared out at the rain.
Most of the time she didn’t think about the night that everything had changed. She certainly didn’t dwell on it. But her husband wanted to know and she supposed he had a right to.
“Mama used to laugh. When I was tiny, she liked to kick up her heels, sing and dance even when folks thought it was inappropriate. One time she even visited an unwed pregnant mother who was shunned by everyone. Mama felt sorry for the young woman and invited her home. She shared tea with her on the front porch where everyone could see. They laughed out loud and spent the afternoon stitching baby clothes. As young as I was, I do remember the neighbors walking by scowling at Mama and, for the world, I did not know why.”
In those days Mama had been like a songbird. So bright and happy, making other mamas look dull by comparison.
“You take after your ma?”
“I did, once upon a time. There was nothing I wanted more than to be bright and shining like Mama.”
She couldn’t speak for a moment. The sound of rain pattered all around and she thought of how much this night was like that other one.
“Then one night Mama quit being bright and shining.
“Papa went out after midnight, it was raining—freezing cold like it is now. I didn’t know until later that he was leaving us for another woman, another family. The woman he went off with was the one Mama had befriended. Her child was Papa’s.”
“Well, hell. I’m sorry, honey.”
“The thing is, they died that night. The bridge was icy and the buggy went over.”
The memory of that long-ago night still had the power to constrict her throat with emotion. She washed down the lump in her throat with a gulp of coffee.
“My handsome, wonderful Papa was gone just like that. He said he would love me forever, but I was only four and he was gone because he loved his unborn child more than he loved me.
“I was so sick. I couldn’t eat or sleep. My grieving made Mama angry. She wasn’t the mother I remembered anymore. She was sullen, angry and judgmental. One day I shouted that I wanted my old mama back. Well, she—” Melinda needed more coffee because that blamed lump would not go away. How could it be so hard to talk about something that had happened so very long ago? “She sat the three of us girls down and made it clear that it was Papa’s own fault that he had died and she did not want one more tear shed over him. As young as we were, Mama made sure we understood. My little sister didn’t—how could she really?—but my older sister and I, we took it hard. Papa was our hero.”
“That’s a hard thing for anyone, especially a small girl.”
“Yes, but harder for Mama. She became the subject of gossip—of jokes, even, for a long time. She became a woman none of us knew. She was stern and overly strict in an attempt to regain respectability. The smallest broken rule was a threat to that in her eyes.”
She took a silent moment, gathering the past, putting it back where it belonged.
“You asked why I strain at rules. It was never about rebellion. It’s because I wanted my mother back. I was looking for the one who laughed out loud and sang even louder. I hoped that she would miss the way we used to be and join me again. I was looking for my mother.”
“You never found her again?”
“No, but in time Rebecca came and took her place. We became closer than sisters. Eventually we became allies in resistance to Mama’s husband hunt.”
“Seems it shouldn’t have been a challenge for a woman like you to get one of your own choosing. Big town like that,
men must have been after you like fish after a floundering fly.”
“I wonder if you can understand how tiresome it was.” She closed her eyes. A crush of men’s faces flashed through her mind. Not one of them stood out from another. “For my two sisters, the husband hunt was more than enough. But for me and Rebecca? Well, we wanted something else.”
“Adventure?”
“That’s part of it. We always did have a knack for finding that, but Mama called it mischief. Then, when Melinda went to Montana to find her grandfather, I missed her dreadfully. So, naturally, I left home to find her. And then I left Montana because—”
She nearly blurted out that she had been looking for the kind of man that Rebecca had found.
That is not the sort of thing one said to one’s husband unless she was prepared to say that she had found it in him. And even though she had found it in him, she was not prepared to tell him so. Not until she felt he knew her, the woman, not the ideal.
“Because adventure is an alluring thing,” she finished with a half-made-up response.
“I thought you left Montana to tell me about my family.”
“That’s absolutely true, and one cannot deny that it has been an adventure.”
“Not sure that’s what I’d call it. Adventure tends to be fun. Sitting in the rain, staring out at movements that you hope are nothing? That’s just misery.”
Said like that, so true. However, sitting close to Boone, feeling his warmth and sharing the dark, with the only sounds his voice and the drumming rain, she was content.
“It is beyond the everyday,” she agreed with a smile.
“I will give you that.” He smiled back and it gave her heart a tickle. She could honestly say that no man had ever tickled her heart.
“I’ve learned to shoot a gun. That would never have happened in Kansas City. In fact, Mama might faint when she discovers I know how.”
“If being the next Annie Oakley would make her faint, I wonder what would happen if she knew you’d married an outlaw.”
She laughed because what else was there to do? “I am a good shot. Cans all over Jasper Springs are shivering in fear of me.”
As suddenly as it had appeared, his smile fell away.
“It’s easy to shoot a can.” He groped for her hand, found it then squeezed and didn’t let go. “Hope—no, pray—that you never have to shoot a man.”
“I’ve thought about that possibility. Given our situation, how could I not?” She wondered if... “If it came down to one of us or one of them? Boone, I think I could do it.”
“That’s not a thing a person can know for sure.” He squeezed her hand again, tighter, but not painfully. “The doc would freeze up. He doesn’t have it in him to take a life. Smythe might do it, if he could aim worth a penny. And you? For all that you think you could take a life, reality is a whole lot different than what goes on in your mind.”
“That may be true, but the Kings won’t hesitate to kill one of us. I can’t stand by and let them.”
“No. I reckon you can’t. Just pray it doesn’t come to that. The man I shot, he was no good, but that one act marked me. Believe me, Melinda, you don’t want to have the blank stare of someone you’ve killed looking up at you. It cuts your soul, brands you a killer. No matter the necessity, you’ve still done it.”
Maybe so, but how could she watch someone she loved be cut down?
Boone didn’t speak, neither did she. They watched the rain drip from the roof overhang. She supposed he was lost in private thoughts as much as she was.
“I’d kill for you, Boone.”
She would not stand helplessly by while some evil soul did him harm. That’s what would cut her soul.
Boone dropped the oilcloth from his shoulders, lifted his hand to cup her face. He stroked his thumb along her cheek while he looked into her eyes, seeming to judge; to weigh.
“I’d kill for you, too.”
With two fingers under her chin, he lifted her face. Still searching her eyes, he must be seeing her soul.
He lowered his mouth, claiming a kiss. A penetrating kiss. His hand crept from her chin to the back of her neck. The earthy allure of him, the scent of his maleness, ricocheted from her lips to her belly to her toes.
She dropped her coffee mug, heard his hit the porch.
Wrapping her up in those big Viking-like arms, he pulled her to him. Chest to chest, heart to heart, he kissed her until she couldn’t breathe, didn’t care if she ever did again as long as he went on holding her.
But he didn’t go on holding her. He broke the kiss and, setting her away from him, stared into the curtain of rain.
“Forgive me.” Even from profile, his expression looked grim. “I shouldn’t have done that. In the morning you will move back into the house, share a room with Mrs.—”
Without warning he stood and snatched up his rifle. He whipped her behind him.
“Riders coming. Stay behind me.”
Chapter Ten
Two horses halted at the edge of the yard. Judging by their heaving sides and the white mist huffing from their noses, they had been ridden hard.
“Hello the house!” one of the riders called.
“That’s a woman,” Rebecca said. Boone felt her step forward and shot out his arm to stop her.
“Stay put.”
“But—”
“Don’t argue.” He felt impatience begin to simmer but stuffed the emotion down. There was only so much a man could deal with at one time.
“But it’s—”
“Later.”
“Please lower your gun, Mr. Walker. It’s Trudy and Edward Spears.”
“Have you been followed?” He kept his rifle at the ready in case things were not what they seemed.
“I doubt it.” Edward Spears spoke up. “It’s why we’ve come at this time of night, to reduce the odds.”
Boone lowered the weapon but slashed a backward glance, reminding Melinda to remain behind him. Surprisingly, she did. She didn’t like it. He could feel her resentment clean through his coat.
With his short temper and Melinda’s pique ignited, it ought to be an interesting night in the loft. Clearly his prudent plan of having her sleep in the house had just been ruined by the arrival of newcomers.
Boone came out from under the shelter of the porch, crossing the yard in long, mud-sucking strides. He opened the big barn door to let the horses and riders enter.
“May I come out from behind you now?”
His wife sounded overly compliant. Yep, this was going to be a very long night.
“Thank you for opening to us,” said Trudy. Poor woman looked like a rat that had got dumped in a river. “We had no place else to go.”
They wouldn’t, of course. He had wondered what they would do now that they had lost everything in the fire that had taken not only their store but their home, too.
“Welcome!” Melinda wrapped Trudy in a hug, not seeming to be bothered that her own clean clothes were getting wet and muddy. “Come along, Miss Spears. I’ll find something dry for you to put on.”
Miss Trudy climbed the ladder, shoulders bent and looking weary, defeated to the bone.
Melinda rummaged through her trunk, which she kept stored at the foot of the ladder.
“This should do nicely,” she murmured, tucking the dress under her arm. She climbed up after Miss Spears.
Moments later the women came down.
The gown Melinda had selected was a pretty cream-hued thing that was five inches too short on Trudy. The sleeves didn’t reach her wrists and the bodice was not filled out.
But dry was dry and the young woman was smiling. In fact, she twirled around, laughing as the lace and ruffles fluttered at her shins.
“I’ve never worn anything so s
weet!”
Melinda grinned and clapped her hands. “It looks lovely on you, Trudy. You must keep it.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.” She wanted to. A blind man would be able to see how much she did.
“It would be a crime if you didn’t. Really, it was made for you.”
Would Trudy believe that? How could she when the dress was too small?
He didn’t understand women. The pair of them were hugging and laughing as though the fit of the gown didn’t mean a thing.
When he turned to Edward Spears with a shrug, he saw that the man was looking at his daughter with moisture standing in his eyes.
Oh. The fit of the gown didn’t mean a thing. He saw that now.
Melinda had not given Trudy a cast-off dress, but a fine one, maybe her best. But what she had really given her was the first step toward a new start.
Who was his lovely wife, really? She was kind; he’d never met a better person. She had an intuition that allowed her to see another’s need and to meet it with a generous heart. And yet she had just vowed she would kill to protect him. Would she be able to cross that line? He couldn’t imagine it.
Hell, his plan for the newcomers had been to meet their basic needs. To question them and then see them dry and secure.
But Melinda had given so much more.
If he meant to be a better man, it wouldn’t hurt him to learn a lesson from his generous wife.
Boone had an extra shirt and pants that Mathers had sent along. They’d be miles too big for Spears, but he offered, anyway.
When the refugees were dry, sitting on hay bales in ill-fitting clothing and holding hot coffee, with the deputy resting his head on Melinda’s feet and his tail on Boone’s boots, Spears was ready to tell his story.
“After you saved my life, and I have no way of ever thanking you for that, I knew the Kings wouldn’t be well pleased. So Trudy and I hid in the brush beside the gully near the bank.
“Efrin King was yelling orders about how no one better give us shelter. Made an edict that anyone trying to leave town would be shot on the spot and left for the birds to feed off of. Buck was so mad at being out in the rain that he was ready to shoot anyone. Didn’t matter if they were trying to leave or shaking in their parlors.