by Sharon Ihle
"Well, I wouldn't fret none about it," Zack said with as much nonchalance as he could muster in the face of such outrageous lies. "Y'all haven't been with us but a couple of weeks now. I expect things will start coming back to you in bits and pieces 'fore long."
"I hope so." Cain's gaze shifted to the stove, where he saw a short woman nearly as wide as she was tall working over a large cast-iron kettle.
"Your aunt Oda," Zack said just before calling to her. "Supper about ready, missus?"
She turned, giving a slight nod to the lawman. "Soon. Good to see you up and about again, Cain."
"Thank you, ma'am. I wish I could be a little friendlier, but I just don't—"
"You aren't about to hurt my feelings any. Don't give it another thought."
Silently watching the exchange between Cain and her mother, Mariah felt a shiver of excitement skitter down her spine. The lawman seemed to fill the inside of the tent, not just with his bulk, as he had in her bed, but with his very presence, making Zack and Oda seem incredibly small to her. And when he spoke! Even though Cain was very confused, completely unsure of who or what he was, his voice still commanded the attention—and unquestioning obedience—of all those within earshot.
She thought back to Bucksnort and the way the marshal had taken the crowd away from her father even before he'd shown his badge. The man was a natural, a force to be reckoned with. The kind of man strangers believed in. Before she'd been thinking only of testing her potion and getting him to do some of the physical work for her father. Now she saw a much broader use for the man and his talents.
"Why don't you sit a spell?" Zack said to Cain, pulling up a collapsible stool. "You really shouldn't even be out of bed yet."
"Thanks, but no. I can't rest until I know a little more about myself and how I came to be here. Would you mind telling me why I'm traveling with you folks, where I came from, and where we're headed?"
Zack hitched up his trousers, trying to make himself as tall as the tale he would have to tell. "Why, this is the Doc Zachariah Kickapoo Medicine Show. I thought you already knew that."
Medicine show? Cain recalled the bottles in the wagon, along with the fact that something about them disturbed him. "Have I been helping you out in some way, or—"
"Allow me," Mariah said, thinking of the perfect role for the lawman. Given the authority in his voice and his commanding physical presence, she was only surprised she hadn't thought of it sooner. With a genuine smile, she flashed her eyes and said, "Why, Cousin Cain—surely you remember how fast you were becoming the most popular feature of our show."
"I was?"
Zack lowered his voice to its most dramatic pitch as he said, "And profitable, too, son."
"Oh, yes." Mariah clutched her bosom. "The money has simply been rolling in since you joined up with us."
Cain closed his eyes and rubbed them, as if that might help stir up the embers of his memory, but his past was as blank as his present. He sighed. "Sorry, but I just can't seem to remember."
Mariah grinned. "See if this helps."
She dashed past Cain, winking at her father on the way, ducked into the wagon, and grabbed the props she was looking for. Garments in hand, she bounded back down the steps and launched herself up on the stool Zack had offered the lawman. After settling the stovepipe hat on her head, she fastened Zack's cape at her throat and then whirled, whipping the black satin garment into a dramatic frenzy.
When she came to a halt, the slick material still undulating around her, Mariah spoke in a deep, theatrical voice. "You, Cousin Cain, are the one." She pushed her ear forward with her hand. "What'd I say, y'all?"
"He's the one," Zack said, falling into rhythm.
"That's right. And he's the only one."
"Ayuh. The one and only."
Mariah threw her arms out at her sides and let her head fall back. "The one and only... Brother Law!"
"Can we hear it for Brother Law," Zack cried. "Healer of the sick and inflrmed."
Cain was astounded by the revelations and the manner in which they were delivered. Looking from Mariah to Zack, and then to Oda, he clutched his chest and said, "Hell in a whiskey barrel. Are you trying to tell me that I'm some kind of a... a preacher?"
Chapter 3
Navajo River, Colorado
One week later
Mariah took a deep breath of crisp mountain air, loving the heady scent of pine which seemed to saturate her to her very soul. This was an atmosphere in which she thrived and blossomed, no matter what the state of her mind. She was happy to be out of New Mexico Territory, even though at this time of year, its usually drab landscape was fresh with yellow Perky Sues and arroyos edged in delicate white flowers from the Apache Plume shrub. But here in southern Colorado, the land gradually evolved into a panorama of tall timber, bushy pinon pines, and lush valleys and mountain slopes carpeted with the blooms of bright lavender columbines. She was, in a word, home. And here in the towns of Colorado, the Penny family would stay throughout the entire summer and a good part of the fall.
Moving at their usual snail's pace, the family still had a two-day journey ahead of them before they would reach Pagosa Springs, some twenty-five miles north of where they'd spent the night. There they would put on their first really "big" show of the season, and Mariah hoped to work Cain into the act.
So far, she hadn't had much of an opportunity to train him. Her new cousin had gotten dizzy, and then passed out again shortly after learning about his role as Brother Law. When he'd finally awakened the following morning, he'd been sick to his stomach, and his memory of even the previous twenty-four hours had been sketchy at best. Zack and Mariah had insisted that the injured man remain in her bed until his brain had a chance to heal itself. And there he'd stayed, lying on the mattress in the medicine wagon for the past five days as the troupe moved north, Daisy lying on the floor beside him—little traitor that she'd become.
Except for her dog's odd and very irritating behavior, this arrangement had worked out fine for Mariah. She'd begun her cousin's medical "therapy" immediately, sick stomach and all. Leaving him with a bottle of love potion she'd labeled #20, she'd instructed him to swallow one teaspoon upon awakening and another each night after supper. Now, a week later, he had just under half a bottle left, but she still had no idea if the potion was working. Perhaps, Mariah thought, she ought to double the dosage. Either that, or make the next bottle "double strength." He certainly seemed physically strong enough to handle more medicine.
This morning, Mariah thought Cain had awakened especially full of vigor and energy, bright-eyed and confident of his physical condition, if not his mental abilities. He was, for all purposes, a clean slate just waiting for her to inscribe the missing information. She planned to begin filling it the moment the medicine show pulled out of camp.
The troupe, including Cain, decided to split the mules from here on out, leaving one to draw the medicine wagon with Zack and Oda aboard, and the other to haul the supply cart. Cain had assured everyone that he was more than able to handle the second rig, and Mariah decided that it would serve two purposes if she were to ride beside him. First, she'd be there to take control of the cart if Cain should fall dizzy again. Second, and even more important, it was way past time for Brother Law's lessons to begin.
While Zack and Oda packed the tent, Mariah put the pots and pans they'd used for the breakfast meal into a storage slot at the back of the supply wagon, and then wandered down the gently sloping hillside to the river, where Cain was putting himself together for the journey. She found him at water's edge, wearing nothing but a clean pair of snug-fitting jeans and his boots. His back was to her, his hands busy adjusting the small mirror he'd propped between the branches of a young pine. On a lower, thicker branch, he'd set a tin cup filled with shaving foam.
Mariah continued to approach him from behind, gliding through the sweet spring grass on her moccasined feet as if she were nothing more than a gentle breeze. When she'd gotten as close to Cain as she dared
without him catching her reflection in his mirror, she paused and watched while he lathered his face. His beard had grown thick and full over the past week, and if not for its deep rust color, she probably wouldn't have noticed that his hair was auburn, not dark brown as she'd first thought. It was particularly nice hair, coarse and wavy, a little longer, she thought, than he'd have worn it as a lawman, but not nearly long enough for his role as Brother Law. No, for that dramatic part, he would need to let those thick waves grow until they skimmed the tops of his shoulders, at the least.
Cain dipped the shaving brush back into the tin cup and swirled it vigorously, drawing her attention to his magnificent, broad shoulders. Mariah had never watched a half-naked man perform his ablutions before, or any man really, save for her father. She had to admit, the sight was stunning enough to take her breath away—in spite of what she knew, and disliked, about this particular man. She moved a little closer.
He tilted his head back and began to paint a thick coat of lather along his neck. His skin was smooth and dark, a nutmeg color which made him look healthy and robust, even though he'd just climbed out of his sickbed. She noticed a dusting of dark freckles along his shoulders and arms. Those and the way his thick muscles seemed to roll as he moved, bunching and expanding, drew her nearer and nearer, hypnotizing her. She welcomed the pull, felt a warmth wash over her, and even understood that it had been brought on by something she'd never experienced before—sexual desire.
Mariah knew that she would not be content until she actually put her hands on him; until she could feel those muscles bumping against the sensitive flesh of her palms. Of course she'd wondered about the goings-on between male and female from time to time, and even dreamed occasionally of what it might be like to one day have someone of her own, but Mariah had never been drawn to a man this way before or felt the urge to touch one so intimately. Had her potion somehow missed its mark and affected her instead of Cain?
She laughed to herself, casting off the ridiculous thought, transfixed by this "cousin" she both coveted and loathed. When she was but a whispered "Excuse me" away, she slowly raised both hands, hovering there above his magnificent body, until—
"What the—" Cain leapt to the side, wheeled around, and plowed his palms down the sides of his jeans, seeking, but not finding, the grips of his pistols. "Damn, Mariah. What are you trying to do? Scare my memory back?"
She laughed, the sound a low, throaty chortle. "Sorry, Cousin Cain. I just came on down to see how you're doing. Feeling all right?"
"Except for my pulse," he said, turning back to the mirror, "yes. I'm feeling pretty good."
Mariah had an idea that his pulse might have matched hers at that moment, but not for the same reasons. Hers was racing along on a flood of astonishment at those feelings of desire. But his startled reaction to her approach had jerked her out of her lusty musings and made her wonder about something else. How could she possibly be so drawn to this man, knowing what she knew about him? Had she begun to awaken sexually only to discover that she was an indiscriminate wanton, a woman capable of the most debased of matings?
In spite of these concerns, Mariah's gaze wandered to Cain's back again, and once more she fell under his spell.
What could be the harm in touching him? It wasn't as if he'd guess her thoughts—he didn't even know what his own thoughts were yet. And it might even serve as a kind of test to see how #20 was working.
Deciding it would be all right to allow this one indulgence, necessary even, Mariah brazenly reached out and let her fingers light on his right shoulder. The muscles stiffened beneath her touch for a moment, but then relaxed almost as quickly. As her senses tuned to his warmth and the slick, smooth way his skin melted against hers, she slowly dragged her hand across the expanse of his shoulders, squeezing here, rubbing there, allowing instinct to guide her. Aware only of the way his body felt below her fingertips, not of the man himself, Mariah gave a startled yelp when his voice came to her from over his shoulder.
"Mariah..." His voice was tight, guarded.
Her hands fell quickly to her sides, and when she looked up, she found herself caught in his speculative gaze in the mirror.
"What were you doing to me just now?" he asked, still staring at her reflection.
"I, ah... was just making sure your injuries have all healed. Your shoulders were kind of banged up, you know. I wanted to make sure you're as well as you're letting on, that's all."
Cain frowned, then returned the mirror to its original position and picked up his razor.
"No, wait." Mariah said as he touched the keen-edged instrument to his cheek. "Let me."
"Thanks for the offer, little cousin, but I'm really quite able to handle this chore myself."
"I'm sure you are, but I think we ought to try something different with you." She took the razor from his hand. "Ever wear a beard before?"
He thought hard for a minute, and then sighed. "I don't know."
"It doesn't matter. I think Brother Law should, and I know just the kind of beard that would be perfect for him." She glanced around the area, and then motioned for Cain to follow her to a nearby boulder. "Sit a spell," she said, pointing to the rock. "I'm going to transform you into the kind of fellah even the devil himself would believe in."
Cain grumbled but straddled the boulder and offered her his lathered chin. Holding her at arm's length, he warned, "I may not know a lot about who I was or what kind of man I used to be, but I do know this—if you should happen to cut me, you'll wish you'd left me on the side of the road to fend for myself."
After slowly moistening her lips, Mariah lowered her eyelids to half-mast and pinned him with a purposely smoky gaze. "Why, Cousin Cain, darling. I could never do a thing like that to you. You're much too important to me."
As he glimpsed into the depths of those incredibly beautiful eyes, feeling things he knew he had no right to feel, Cain suddenly couldn't be sure if it was genuine concern or a touch of insanity that was staring back at him. A sliver of fear poked at his chest, a sensation he was certain he'd rarely, if ever, experienced when dealing with men, much less women. "Maybe—" He cleared his throat, surprised to find that he could hardly talk. "Maybe I ought to just go ahead and do this myself."
"Don't be silly." Then, without another word, she gripped his chin to steady his jaw and neck, and drew the razor up the length of his throat.
As she worked, with the scent of sandalwood and of Cain himself swirling around her, Mariah became aware of the sting of sexual desire once again. This time, actual heat, not warmth, mushroomed inside of her, spreading even to her extremities. Her hands moved over the planes of his face, slipping and sliding through the rich aromatic cream, tracing the high ridges of his cheekbones, then slithering down to the chiseled hollows below.
She imagined exploring the rest of his body this way, and a little shiver coursed up her spine, bringing with it another burst of heat. Why nowhim of all people? He was supposed to be feeling this way about her. And besides, shouldn't the attraction a woman felt for a man be more selective than this, more logical somehow? She glanced into Cain's eyes, pleased to find him studying her with at least as much intensity. Maybe, she thought with a modicum of surprise, logic didn't have a damn thing to do with it., she wondered, and with
Cain held very still as she worked, acutely aware she was holding a razor near his throat. There was something reckless about her, and she still had a kind of crazed look in her eye. Had she noticed the desire he was feeling for her and decided to do something about her depraved cousin once and for all? He gulped, moving his Adam's apple, making it an easy target for her razor, and thought about pushing her away. That's when she leaned in closer, shaving beneath his nostrils, and all thoughts of escaping her touch evaporated as her two slender braids dangled against his bare chest, sweeping him like a pair of miniature brooms.
Cain glanced up, worried that she'd noticed yet another inappropriate reaction from him, and caught her gaze, along with the faint scent of cin
namon. Her breathing was rapid, certainly more rapid than he would have expected, and the violet color of her eyes had darkened almost to indigo blue. She looked as if she was flushed with excitement, maybe even a little...
No. That couldn't be the cause of her high color and all-around glow. They were cousins. What kind of a man was he to even think such a thing? She straightened abruptly then, breaking eye contact with him, and marched over to the tree, where he'd left a strip of toweling. When she returned and began to clean the remaining lather off of his skin, her breathing had slowed and her eyes were their usual color again. Had he imagined what he thought he'd seen?
Trying to look as casual and unruffled as possible, certainly far more than she felt, Mariah backed away from the lawman and studied the results of her efforts. She'd shaved him clean except for a strip of beard an inch and a half wide which ran from ear to ear, outlining the shape of his strong, angular jaw. Cleaned up, his eyes sparkling with vitality, Cain didn't look quite as harsh or cruel as he once had. In fact, if she were honest with herself, now that she'd taken a good look at him, she'd have to say that he wasn't a bad-looking man. But of course, she couldn't say it. And never would.
Aware suddenly that her cheeks were burning—and worse, that Cain had watched them catch fire—Mariah said, "I think that shave will do you just fine. Have a look and see if you don't agree." She handed Cain the mirror she'd picked up with the toweling and rambled on while he examined his reflection. "I tried to make your beard look a little like the one Abraham Lincoln used to wear, you know? It looks real honest-like. I'm thinking once we get you the proper clothing, folks are just naturally going to feel pretty much the same way about you as they did him. Like it?"
He shrugged, far more interested in—and confused by—her. "It'll do, I suppose."
"Good." Mariah lifted the hem of her skirt and turned toward the slope. "We'll be pulling out as soon as you're dressed and ready to go. Get a move on." Then, her cheeks still burning, she started up the hill.