Perhaps, if she believed strongly enough, the same magic could be worked on her gunfighter.
It was near dusk by the time they returned to town. It had been one of the best days of Jassy's life. They had taken a long walk, not saying much, but Jassy's insides had been aflutter with happiness. She had loved the feel of Creed's hand holding hers. His fingers were long and strong, his palm callused and warm. Time and again her gaze had strayed to his face, admiring his profile, feeling her heart swell with happiness when his gaze met hers.
They had stopped to rest beneath a tree. Jassy had made a daisy chain, but lacked the nerve to put it around his neck, afraid he would think it foolish. And then, unexpectedly, he had picked a wild rose and handed it to her.
Now she held the fragrant flower in her hand as he tethered the horses to the porch rail.
Creed removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair before settling his Stetson on his head again.
"I had a nice time, Creed," Jassy said shyly. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"Would you like to stay for supper?"
He meant to say no, but it came out yes, and when he saw the smile that lit up her face, he knew he'd made the right decision.
"You go on inside," he said. "I'd best get this horse back to the livery before old man Crowley accuses me of stealing one of his broomtails."
"I'll start dinner," Jassy said. Whirling around, she hurried inside. He was staying!
She had a couple of steaks frying when he got back. The rose he had given her was in a chipped glass in the middle of the kitchen table.
For a moment, Creed stood in the doorway, a frown on his face as he watched Jassy. She had tied an apron over her dress, and he could hear her humming softly as she turned the steaks. What would it be like, he wondered, to have a woman to look after him, to fret over him and fuss at him?
He swore softly. Now, where had that thought come from?
Jassy turned away from the stove, and her face lit up the way it always did when she saw him. He tried not to admit how much he liked that smile, which seemed to be for him alone.
"Sit down," she said. "Supper's almost ready."
He tossed his hat on the counter, dragged a chair out from the table, and sat down.
"You must be getting tired of cooking for me," he muttered.
"No, I like it," Jassy said quickly, then flushed. I mean, well, I like to cook, but Rosie eats out most of the time, and it's no fun to cook for myself."
She bit down on her lower lip, one hand fisted around a large wooden spoon. I do like cooking for you, Creed. I like having you here with me."
He swore under his breath, then admitted, reluctantly, "And I like being here."
"You do?"
"Honey, I wouldn't be here if I didn't." Honey. He'd called her honey! The word flowed through her, warm and sweet, and curled around her heart.
When supper was ready, she sat across from him, almost too happy to eat. They didn't say much, but the silence between them wasn't the least bit awkward.
When the meal was over, Creed went outside to smoke a cigarette while Jassy washed and dried the dishes. Then they sat on the porch together, his arm around her shoulder, while they watched the stars come alive in the sky.
"I'd better be going," Creed said after a long while, and when she didn't reply, he realized she'd fallen asleep.
Lifting her in his arms, he carried her to bed, removed her shoes, and covered her with a blanket. He was about to leave when she caught him by the hand.
"Stay," she whispered.
He looked down at her and slowly shook his head. I don't think that's a good idea."
"Please. I'm afraid to be here alone."
"Afraid? Of what?"
"Of being alone in the dark." Her hand held his tighter. "I . . . I had a nightmare last night, and I'm afraid to go to sleep."
"What kind of nightmare?"
"I don't remember. Only that it terrified me. I woke up crying, and there was no one here."
He placed his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze. "Sure, honey, I'll stay."
"You can sleep in Rose's room, if you want."
Creed shook his head." He bed down on the sofa in the front room." He kissed her fingertips, then let go of her hand.
"Thank you, Creed."
"No thanks needed, honey. You get some sleep now."
"Would you kiss me good night?"
He took a deep, steadying breath, then bent down and kissed her cheek.
"Good night, Jassy," he said hoarsely, and got himself out of there before he succumbed to the sweet temptation of pale pink lips and beguiling earth-brown eyes.
Chapter Six
Creed woke early the next morning, irritable after having spent a long, sleepless night on the broken-down sofa in the parlor.
Sitting on the edge of the sofa with his head cradled in his hands, he quietly cursed his desire for the girl sleeping in the next room. What was there about Jassy McCloud that sent his blood racing and made him feel as randy as a fifteen-year-old boy who'd just discovered that girls were different?
Hell and damnation. He should have left town weeks ago, yet here he was, playing nurse-maid to a kid with big brown eyes and soft pink lips . . . Except Jassy was no kid. She was young, there was no arguing with that, but she kissed like a woman who knew her own mind.
And that was his undoing, because no other woman had ever kissed him with such guileless passion, such innocent longing.
It was as seductive as hell.
He stomped his feet into his boots, grabbed his hat, and left the house, knowing he had to put some distance between the two of them. He'd check in on her later to make sure she was okay, and he'd spend the night again if she needed him, but right now he needed some time alone.
Outside, he threw a saddle on his horse and rode to the nearest saloon. Early as it was, there were a couple of old-timers hanging over the bar.
Creed ordered a bottle of whiskey and carried it to one of the tables in the back of the room. Sitting back, his feet propped on a chair, he poured himself a drink, then let out a sigh. No doubt Burton had found someone else to handle his problem in Black Hawk, Creed thought, and shrugged. He was tired of hiring out his gun, tired of putting his life on the line to settle someone else's problems.
Hell, he was just tired.
Taking the bottle, he left the saloon. He'd grab a quick breakfast over at the hotel, get some sleep, and then lose himself in a poker game for a couple of hours.
"Three queens." Creed spread his cards on the table, then raked in his fifth pot of the night.
There was some good-natured grumbling from the four other players, but Creed quickly dispelled it by ordering a round of drinks.
He glanced around the saloon while the man on his left dealt them a new hand. Usually there was nothing he liked better than a good card game in a smoke-filled saloon, but tonight . . . He shook his head as he picked up his cards. Tonight he'd rather be with Jassy, which was why he was staying right where he was.
The evening might have passed quietly if the man sitting across from Creed had just kept his mouth shut. But he didn't.
"So," Ray Braddock remarked, grinning. "How is she?"
Creed's face remained expressionless. "She?"
"Daisy's daughter. She as good in the sack as her old lady was?"
"I wouldn't know," Creed replied, his voice deathly quiet.
"Come on," Bruddock urged, "you can tell us. It's all over town that you two have been shacking up since Rosie took off."
Creed swore under his breath. "Is it?"
Braddock nodded. "So, how is she?"
There was a moment of silence and then, in the blink of an eye, Creed was on his feet, reaching across the table. Grabbing Braddock by the shirt front, Creed slammed his fist into the man's face, hard, twice, relishing the pain that splintered up his arm, the warm rush of blood that spread over his hands.
When Creed spoke, his voice was lethal. "If
you ever lay a hand on Jassy McCloud, I'll kill you.
Ray Braddock glared up at Creed, his eyes bright with pain and humiliation, and though he didn't say a word, gut instinct told Creed he'd better watch his back whenever Braddock was around.
Creed held the other man's gaze for a long moment, then shoved him back in his chair. "Remember what I said."
Creed's gaze swept over every man in the room, a silent warning blazing in the depths of his eyes.
Collecting his winnings, he left the saloon.
Outside, he drew in a deep breath and then, unable to fight it any longer, he headed for the ugly little shack in the alley.
She'd been crying. He knew it the moment he opened the door. And knew, with equal certainty, that he had been the cause of her tears.
It was time to cut and run, he thought, before he got in any deeper, before it was too late for both of them.
And then she was in his arms, and he knew it was already too late.
"Jassy . . ."
She buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder. His shirt smelled of lye soap and cigar smoke and man.
"I got up and you were gone," she said, her words muffled. I thought . . .''
"I know," he said, stroking her hair. "I know." He swore under his breath. When had his concern turned to caring, his affection to something deeper, something he refused to put a name to? And what the devil was he going to do about it? About her?
"Don't cry, honey. I'm here now. Please don't cry."
They rode to the valley again the next day. It had become their place, Jassy thought as they walked hand in hand toward the pool. If she could have one wish, it would be to build a house here and share it with Creed.
"Want to go for a swim?" he asked when they reached the pool.
Jassy glanced at the pool, then back at Creed. "Is it cold?"
"Not very. Are you game?"
She nodded. Turning her back, she removed her shoes, stockings and dress; then, clad only in her camisole and drawers, she slid into the water. Creed watched her swim for a moment, then removed his boots, socks, shirt and gun-belt and joined her in the water.
They swam and splashed until Jassy was breathless; then Creed helped Jassy out of the pool and they sat on the grass, letting the sun dry their hair and clothes.
I love it here," Jassy remarked. I wish we never had to leave. It's such a pretty place. So peaceful."
Creed nodded, but it wasn't the beauty of the land he was admiring. It was Jassy.
With a sigh of resignation, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She melted into his embrace, a soft moan whispering past her lips as their mouths fused together.
Creed drew in a sharp breath as Jassy ran her hands over his bare back. He heard her gasp with shock when her questing fingertips encountered the first scar. Her hands stilled for a moment, and then, very slowly, moved across his flesh, tracing each one.
"What happened to you?" she asked.
I was on the wrong end of a whipping."
She looked up at him, distress evident in her expression. "Someone beat you?"
He nodded curtly.
"Who?"
He let her go then, the pain of that whipping and the reason for it as vivid in his mind as if it had happened yesterday instead of almost thirteen years ago.
"Can't you tell me?" Jassy asked softly.
"I'd rather not talk about it."
She nodded, but he could see the hurt in her eyes.
"It was a long time ago, Jassy," he said.
"I understand."
"No, you don't."
"Then tell me."
"Jassy . . ." He cussed under his breath and then, with a sigh of exasperation, he pulled her back into his arms and rested his chin on her head. "When I was eighteen, I fell in love with a girl. A white girl. Her father didn't approve of me, and neither did anybody else in town, so we ran away."
He paused, remembering the joy he'd felt when Deborah had agreed to go away with him, to marry him. Sweet, beautiful Deborah Carey with hair as pale as sunlight, eyes as blue as a Colorado sky, and skin the color of fresh cream. Never in his life had he known anyone as beautiful; never had he dreamed that she'd learn to care for someone like him. They had made it as far as New Mexico before Gareth Carey and his men caught up with them. Carey had slapped Deborah several times, calling her an Indian lover and a whore, and then Carey's men had tied Creed to a tree and whipped him until he lost consciousness. When he'd come to, he was lying facedown in the dirt, naked as the day he was born. Carey had taken his clothes, his boots, and his horse.
"Creed?"
"We ran away," he said again, then shrugged, as if it no longer mattered. "We ran away, and we got caught."
"And her father whipped you?"
Creed nodded.
"Did you ever see her again?"
"No." By the time he had healed up enough to go after her, it was too late. Carey had sent her away. Creed had tried for two weeks to find out where she was, but it was as if she had disappeared off the face of the earth.
"I'm sorry," Jassy murmured. Gently, she touched her fingertips to each scar as if it were a badge of honor.
"Don't."
"Why not?"
He caught her hands in his. He hated being reminded of those scars. Nothing in his whole life had hurt as much, or been as humiliating, as that whipping.
"Creed?"
He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time and slowly shook his head. "It won't work, Jassy."
"What do you mean?"
He let out a long sigh. "You and me. It just won't work."
"Why?"
"You're too young, for one thing."
"I am not!"
"Then I'm too old."
She shook her head vigorously.
"Jassy, it's not just the difference in our ages; it's my whole life. I can't outrun my past." Suddenly restless, he stood up. I can't outrun who and what I am, not even for you."
A sigh of regret rose up from deep within him.
He'd been running his whole life, Creed thought bleakly. He had run away from the reservation when life got too hard, he had tried to run away with Deborah, and he was running now, running away from responsibility, running away from his feelings for Jassy.
"Forget it, girl," he said curtly. "I've got no future to offer you."
"I don't believe that!"
"Dammit, Jassy, what can I say to convince you?"
"Nothing, Creed. I know you think I'm too young, that I don't know my own mind, but I do." She met his ominous stare directly. "I know you care about me, whether you want to admit it or not. You need me, Creed Maddigan, and if you turn your back on me now, you'll regret it as long as you live."
A slow smile spread over his face as he stared down at her. "Is that what you think?"
"It's what I know. You'll never find anyone else who'll love you as much as I do, whowho needs you as much as I do."
She smiled up at him, a tenuous smile that wrapped around Creed Maddigan's heart and held on for dear life.
"Jassy, honey . . ."
Jassy took a deep breath. "I love you, Creed," she said fervently, and then her smile turned impish. "And I don't have a father for you to worry about."
He couldn't help it. He threw back his head and laughed. Then he took her in his arms and kissed her.
"I'm not making any promises," he said, hugging her tight. "But we'll give it a try, Jassy girl, if that's what you want."
Chapter Seven
The next five days were wonderful. For Jassy, it was like playing house. She cooked Creed's meals, washed his clothes, and mended his shirt. They usually slept late, then went out riding or walking in the afternoon. About nine o'clock, Creed went to the saloon for a few hours, because, as he said, he had to do something to earn a living since it seemed he was through hiring out his gun for a while.
For Jassy, the hours without him seemed to last forever. She always met him at the door, her heart swelling with gladness as
she welcomed him home. He continued to spend his nights at her house because he knew she didn't like to be alone, but he always slept on the sofa. A part of her appreciated his gentlemanly conduct while another, less honorable part wished he'd try to take advantage of her.
She spent the hours waiting for Creed to come home from the saloon by reading her father's books, losing herself in faraway places, imagining herself as a beautiful lady in distress and Creed as her brave knight in shining armor.
Now, sitting on the lumpy sofa waiting for Creed to come home, Jassy pondered their relationship. She hadn't known him very long, but after the last few days, it seemed as if they had always been together.
Hearing footsteps on the porch, she closed the book she had been reading and ran to open the front door, smiling because he was early tonight.
"Rosie!" Jassy exclaimed, the smile fading from her lips. "What are you doing here?"
"I live here, remember?" Rose retorted. She pushed past Jassy to drop her suitcase on the floor, then whirled around, her brows drawn together in a frown. "Just who were you expecting?"
"Me? Expecting?" Jassy shook her head. "No one."
"So that big smile was for me?"
Jassy nodded vigorously. "Of course. I'mI'm glad to see you."
Rose muttered a crude oath under her breath as she glanced around the room. The parlor had been swept clean, and the rickety furniture had been dusted and waxed.
Still frowning, she went into the kitchen. There was a new cloth on the table, together with a tin can filled with wild daisies. She opened the cupboards, surprised to see them stocked with food.
"You've been busy," Rose remarked, returning to the parlor. "Where'd you get the money to stock the shelves?"
"I . . ."
"You've had a man here, haven't you?" Rose demanded.
"No, of course not!"
"You're lying. Who was it? How much did he pay you?"
"Nothing, Rose, I . . ."
Rose took a threatening step forward. "Don't tell me you gave it away?"
"No!"
"You'd better not be lying to me," Rose warned. "You can only sell your virginity once, and I already know six men who are willing to pay a high price for it."
Madeline Baker - Lakota Renegade Page 5