Daisies In The Wind

by Jill Gregory

  “I can’t ... do this,” he muttered in a tortured rasp, and pulled back even as Rebeccah tugged him close.

  “What’s wrong?” Her eyes filled with tears. Beautiful crystal tears that glistened in the night. “Oh, Wolf, you do hate me, don’t you? I thought you did, and then I thought you didn’t, and then I thought that, well, maybe you did, but I hoped you didn’t, and I knew that I didn’t hate you, even though I might have said I did, or maybe I just pretended that I did, but that’s because I thought you did ... and ...”

  “Oh, hell,” Wolf crushed his mouth to hers. She tasted like wine and honey and sweet, summer flowers. He wanted to drown himself in her taste, her scent, her softness. At last he dragged himself away with an effort, every muscle in his body straining, “Rebeccah, will you shut up? If you remember any of this, you’re going to hate yourself tomorrow morning. And I think too highly of you to go ahead and take advantage of your ... condition, but it sure isn’t easy to resist you, not ever, and especially when you’re ... like this. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to just sit here and listen to you babble on about a pack of nonsense.”

  Rebeccah traced a finger along his rugged jaw. Smiling up at him, she wished he would lean down and kiss her again, and touch her all over and take off all of her clothes and let her take off all of his ...

  “Wolf,” she began, rubbing the tip of her finger down his jaw, along his neck, letting it lightly caress the mat of chest hair above his open shirt collar, “I would be so happy if you would take off all my—

  “What in tarnation is going on out here?”

  Lying on the grass, they both jumped. Above them towered Waylon Pritchard. And coming up behind him was Coral Mae Taggett, with Myrtle Lee Anderson, Nel Westerly, and Chance Navarro following right behind.

  Like a buzzing horde of mosquitoes, Wolf reflected in no small irritation.

  “Goodness,” Rebeccah remarked, letting her head flop back into the grass so that she was staring straight up at the sky. “Who invited all of these people?”

  “What’s goin’ on here, Wolf?” Waylon demanded. “Is Miss Rawlings sick or something?”

  “I’m drunk, you fool,” Rebeccah muttered before Wolf could say a word.

  Coral Mae Taggett’s pretty green eyes widened, and then she covered her smiling mouth with her hand. “Can I get you anything, Miss Rawlings?” she asked solicitously, though her voice quivered.

  “This is a fine kettle of fish,” Myrtle Lee proclaimed. “Our schoolmarm is inebriated!”

  “It’s all my fault, ma’am,” Chance Navarro spoke up quickly. He flashed his disarming smile at Myrtle Lee, who, to everyone’s surprise, smiled uncertainly back. “I kept the lady so busy dancing, she was exceedingly thirsty, and I reckon I supplied her with wine when it should have been lemonade. Anyone can see she’s not the type who’s used to liquor. All she had was two glasses, but I reckon since she’s not used to drinking, it was too much for her.”

  “Maybe you should arrest her, Wolf, for drunken misconduct,” Nel Westerly said lightly, but there was a taut undercurrent to her voice, and in the look she threw at him.

  “No!” Rebeccah bolted to a sitting position at this, panic flooding her face. “Don’t arrest me, Wolf. Promise me you won’t lock me in that jail cell! I’ve always been terrified of jails! Bear used to talk about what it was like all the time, after he spent some time in a New Mexico jail. Wolf, please, you can’t arrest me!”

  “Nobody’s going to arrest you, Rebeccah!” Wolf told her harshly. But one look at the sheer desperation on her lovely face and his tone softened. “I’m taking you home, that’s all.”

  “What about me?” Nel asked, her eyes narrowing as the lawman scooped the limp Miss Rawlings into his arms.

  “I’ll be back directly. Soon as I get Miss Rawlings safely into bed.”

  “Maybe I ought to come with you. With Miss Rawlings in this condition, you might need a woman’s help.”

  “Waylon and I can see her home,” Coral Mae Taggett interrupted, stepping forward with a shy smile. “Waylon was her escort tonight, so it’s only right. And besides, I’d like to help you, Miss Rawlings,” she added quietly.

  But Chance Navarro gently eased her aside and came up to plant himself before Wolf and Rebeccah. “I feel responsible for this situation,” he said ruefully. He tilted his head and smiled beguilingly into Rebeccah’s overflushed face. “Ma’am, it would be my pleasure, and my duty as a gentleman, to see you safely to your home.”

  Rebeccah smiled mistily back at him.

  A little silence fell over the crowd gathered near the tree stump. Then Nel smoothed her skirt.

  “You see, Wolf,” she said, with a sweet, careful smile, “Miss Rawlings has so very many friends. Why don’t you let Waylon take her home, or this nice gentleman here—”

  “Wolf!” Rebeccah announced in a clear, firm tone. “I want Wolf Bodine to take me home. No one else!”

  Myrtle Lee Anderson drew in her breath. “Hussy!” she gasped.

  “Ma’am?” Wolf turned on her coldly, and she withered a little beneath his steely glance.

  “I said Gussy—Gussy Hamilton. She’s waiting for me inside. If you’ll excuse me ...”

  Wolf started toward the buckboard on the other side of the school building with Rebeccah in his arms. Waylon and Coral made way for him to pass while Chance Navarro and Nel watched in silence.

  Suddenly Nel gathered her ruffly skirts and ran after Wolf.

  “Don’t bother your head over me,” she cried as he lifted Rebeccah into the rig. “I know Caitlin and Billy are going home with the Bradys, so you needn’t bother about them. And I’m certain Clyde Tyler or Mr. Navarro or some other gentleman will see me home, so there’s no need at all for you to hurry back. I certainly wouldn’t want you to drive all the way back here out of a mere sense of obligation.”

  “Nel, I’m sorry,” Wolf began quietly, but she gave her head a quick shake and then flashed him the famous Westerly smile that could light up a desert.

  “Sure you are. And you’ll be even sorrier next time you come to call when my pa runs you clear off our land!”

  And she was gone, dashing back inside the schoolhouse, with Chance Navarro holding open the door.

  “Well, I reckon she told you,” Rebeccah commented sagely as she slumped against him in the buckboard. Her fingers curled around the soft fabric of his shirt. Warmth and strength emanated from his body. She gave a deep, contented sigh.

  Wolf found he had to keep one arm around her while he was driving the team to keep her from falling.

  “Did anyone ever tell you you’re more trouble than a skunk in a barnyard?” he asked as the horses ambled down the uneven road.

  “Nope. But Bear used to tell me that I had more mischief in me than a litter of kittens. I think I’d rather be compared to a kitten than a skunk, Wolf. Couldn’t you think of me more as a kitten?”

  “I reckon.”

  “Well, then?” she persisted, her head nestled against his shoulder.

  He could feel her hair softly tickling his neck.

  “Please, don’t ever call me a skunk again. Skunks smell. It’s a terrible thing to say to a lady. In all my daydreams about you, you never ever once said I smelled like a skunk ...”

  “I didn’t say it now, either, Rebeccah. I said ... oh, never mind.”

  “Wolf?”

  “What is it?”

  “Do you really think I smell like a skunk?”

  The buckboard jolted over a rut. His arm tightened around her as she bounced against him in the seat. He breathed in the light, tantalizing flower scent of her and felt his loins growing heavy and hard. “I think you smell like lilacs and rosewater and the wild violets that grow in the river valleys in summer.”

  “You do?”

  “I do. Rebeccah?”

  “Hmmm?” Her voice was dreamy.

  “What was Fess Jones doing at your cabin?”

  Rebeccah yawned. She felt so comfortable here in t
he buckboard with Wolf holding her tight. It was almost as nice, in a different way, as when he kissed her, but not quite the same...

  “What was he doing there, Rebeccah?”

  “Trying to kill me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I wouldn’t tell him anything about the deed to the silver mine ... or give him the map ... or ... anything.”

  “Why not?”

  “There isn’t any mine. Or any deed. Or any map.” She snuggled closer. “But he doesn’t believe me. None of them believe me. You believe me, don’t you, Wolf? I would know if there was a silver mine. Bear would have told me. It doesn’t exist. Wolf ...

  “What?”

  “I’m sleepy.”

  “Then go to sleep.”

  “Will you wake me when we get home? I have to check ... everything. Make sure no one’s there....

  “I’ll check for you, Rebeccah,” he said, a strange tenderness echoing quietly beneath the simple words. “You don’t have to worry.”

  I don’t have to worry. Wolf will check everything for me. I can sleep ... just this once ... and not worry....

  Wolf glanced down at the lovely woman curled trustingly against him. She was sound asleep, looking as peaceful and innocent as a child. Or a kitten. Damn. He did not like feeling the way he was feeling right now about Rebeccah Rawlings.

  It was the last thing in the world he wanted.

  He scowled to himself as the narrow road leading to the cabin came into view. A short time later the team drew up before the darkened house. The scudding clouds overhead parted for a moment, revealing a fuzzy shimmer of moon. In the feeble light Wolf studied her fine-boned face, noting the sweep of her eyelashes above delicate cheeks, the spill of midnight hair as soft as satin, the way her slender fingers curled against his arm.

  Something twisted painfully inside him.

  He gathered her in his arms and carried her to the house.

  14

  Rebeccah roused herself when he set her down across the bed. As Wolf lit the candle on the bureau, she struggled up on her elbows, trying to get her bearings. A little glow of light, and then shadows flickered softly in the room, and she could make out his commanding form only a few feet away. She blinked. Her brain was still fuzzy. A light, giddy feeling still floated through her. The blue lace curtains fluttered at the window, anchoring her somehow despite the shifting haze.

  “You’re home.” His strong, calm voice came to her with a ring of quiet comfort, and she relaxed.

  “Home, home on the range,” she began to sing softly, off-key.

  “What am I going to do with you?” he growled.

  That stopped her. She threw him a dazzling smile. “Wolf,” she said. Her voice was low, soft, eager.

  He stood over her, every bit as tense as she was dreamy.

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t leave me.”

  “You’re perfectly safe, Rebeccah. I’ve checked the cabin. You’ve got a derringer under your pillow, loaded, but I suppose you know that.”

  “Mmm-hmm. But ... I’m still dizzy. I couldn’t hit a barn with a peashooter,” she whispered, reaching for his hand.

  He hesitated. Her slim fingers clutching his triggered a sharp reaction deep in his gut. “I’ll bring you some coffee.”

  “No!” She gripped his hand tighter and sat up so quickly, the room leaped wildly before her giddy eyes. “Don’t leave me,” she said breathily, her voice catching in her throat. “Not yet. Just sit here for a little while so I can sleep and feel ... safe. It’s been so long since I felt safe.”

  “Why, Rebeccah?” He sat down on the bed, enclosing her hand in his. With his other hand he stroked her hair. Each little movement of his fingers seemed to calm her, and that realization played havoc with his insides. “Because of the men who are after the silver mine?”

  “Yes. But they can’t get to me when you’re here. Not even Neely Stoner....”

  “Who’s he?”

  Her eyes were wide. “A very bad man. One of Bear’s gang—until Bear kicked him out.”

  “Why did he do that?”

  This question penetrated her haze. He saw those enchanting violet eyes struggle to focus. She peered into his face as if wondering how much she could tell him, how much she could trust him, and her fingers clung to his with a frantic need.

  “Because of what he did to me,” she whispered. Suddenly she sat up and gripped his shoulders in her slender hands. “Don’t ask me any more, Wolf,” she begged. “I can’t talk about it. Just promise that you’ll stay tonight, just stay with me.”

  “Hush, Rebeccah, I’m staying.”

  A glorious smile was his reward. She moved shyly against him and nestled her head upon his broad chest. “Thank ... you,” she said with a sigh.

  Wolf sat there a long time, holding her, feeling her womanly softness against him, listening to the hushed rhythm of her breathing. She felt so fragile and vulnerable in his arms.

  What had Neely Stoner done to her?

  He knew the answer, knew it instinctively, without her putting it into words. He remembered her panic when he’d fallen on top of her that day the water had spilled, remembered the stark terror in her eyes.

  Rape.

  He stroked her hair, trying to take in the brutality she’d known, trying to obliterate it from her with the gentleness of his touch. And all the while a deadly rage took hold within him. The thought that she had been hurt, not only hurt but viciously brutalized, made him feel as if he’d been pummeled in the stomach until all the breath was knocked out of him. And it made him want to kill. Wolf hadn’t felt that way in a long time. He killed in his line of work now and then, when it was necessary, when there was no other way, but he took no pleasure from it and never had. There was no meanness in Wolf Bodine, not an ounce of cruelty. He valued life and respected death. He took neither lightly. But if he ever got his hands on Neely Stoner ...

  As Rebeccah gave a little whimper, Wolf realized that he’d unconsciously dug his fingers into her flesh. He forced himself to relax, ran his hands soothingly over her back, and turned his thoughts away from what had been done to her.

  When he realized she had fallen asleep, he lowered her down upon her pillow. She curled innocently on her side, one knee drawn up beneath the peach gown. He thought about removing the dress for her, but figured he’d better not. It was twisted around her long legs and her hips, fully revealing the sumptuous curves of her body. His gaze lingered on the provocative swell of her breasts beneath the thin fabric, then shifted to the rounded curve of her buttocks.

  Wolf smiled appreciatively. Beneath that cold, thorny go-to-hell exterior Rebeccah Rawlings was a hungrily passionate, adorably romantic woman. Whatever Neely Stoner had done to her miraculously had not destroyed her feminine instincts or desires. Having kissed her thoroughly, he knew that for a fact. She was passionate all right—not to mention delectably lovely. She’d come a long way from that scrawny kid in Arizona who’d spit in his face and tried to claw his eyes out.

  Hell, he wondered suddenly, had she really thought about him—what did she say—a thousand times since that first day?

  She’d been just a bratty kid then. No, he realized with a jolt, she’d been a young, impressionable girl. He’d never thought about it that way. But, looking back, he could see how it had been. He’d been barely twenty at the time and must have cut a romantic enough figure to her eyes, romantic enough to inspire a budding young woman’s silly fancy.

  And she’d nourished it all these years. Only to come face-to-face with him here in Powder Creek—and then what? She’d found sharp disillusionment, that’s what. The object of her dreams and memories was ten years older and considerably toughened by life. He had nearly thrown her out of his town. She’d discovered that he’d married someone else and had a kid.

  So her girlish dreams had died a quick death, right?

  But then he remembered all those things she had said in the cool, misty darkness behind the schoolhouse, when she was
too tipsy from huckleberry wine to think about what was pouring out of her. Rebeccah Rawlings still had feelings for him, however she behaved outwardly. Were they just cold leftovers of those feelings of long ago, those girlish imaginings, or was it something more? Something deeper, truer?

  It didn’t matter. He had to stay away from her, as of right now. Or at least as of the morning. He wouldn’t leave her here alone tonight—he had given his word. But come morning he’d have to put a stop to seeing her, and kissing her. Why the hell had he been doing all that kissing anyway, he wondered angrily. He’d known from the moment she’d landed in town that she was nothing but trouble—and he was right. Now she was luring every two-bit outlaw this side of the Mississippi to Montana because of some deed to a silver mine she may or may not have.

  Rebeccah Rawlings was pure, unadulterated trouble. Wolf frowned at her sleeping form as she curled a hand beneath her cheek. Clarissa had caused him enough trouble to last a lifetime. Now he needed someone steady and uncomplicated and kind, someone who would help him give his son a calm, happy home. Rebeccah Rawlings, with her wild past and starchy airs and mysterious enemies, was the last woman he needed in his life—or in Billy’s.

  But now the hell of it was he’d have to find a way to protect her—and stay away from her at the same time. He couldn’t afford to encourage any schoolgirlish fancies she might still be clinging to. But he couldn’t leave her to stand alone against those low-down buzzards who were swarming down on her either.

  Give her no encouragement, he told himself, slipping his hand free of hers. She murmured in her sleep and rolled onto her back, throwing an arm carelessly above her head, an innocent, defenseless posture.

  Wolf reached out and smoothed a lock of hair from across her eyes. How could anyone who looked so sweet, so utterly, angelically beautiful when she was asleep, be so disagreeably tart-tongued and difficult when she was awake?

  It doesn’t matter, he told himself. You’re steering clear of her, remember? There’s Nel you’ve got to patch things up with, and don’t forget about Lorelie. Yet, though he enjoyed the company of both women, and found them each in their own way attractive, intelligent, and warm, neither excited him the way Rebeccah Rawlings did. Neither had her wit, her stinging tongue, her stubbornness, her furious independence. Or her courage, Wolf realized slowly. She’s been terrorized by outlaws over this silver mine for a while now, but she’s never asked for help. Never even spoken of it to a soul.