Shelter from the Storm

by Patricia Rice

  Politely retrieving his hat, Cash nodded and stepped over his victim’s prostrate figure. A yell from behind him caused him to pause and raise an inquiring eyebrow.

  “What’s your name, mister?”

  For the first time since he had walked into the tavern, Cash offered the semblance of a smile. “Cash Wickliffe, Sam. Tell Junior down there when he comes around that I still owe him one or two more of those, so he’d better not get too close next time.”

  He received some sardonic satisfaction from the unholy hell erupting behind him as he walked out, but as the thunder rolled overhead, Cash glanced at the clouds and felt triumph slip away. He had once dreamed of making that kind of scene, but the reality was more bitter than sweet. In those few hours at the table he had probably won more than his father had ever lost. It only served to prove how poor a man his father had been.

  But he had gained some information that might provide an even better revenge. Casting the heavy clouds another glance, Cash headed for the stable and the horse he had bought upon his first arrival. It wasn’t much of a nag, but he needed some transportation, and the mare still had a lot of stamina left in her. He hadn’t decided yet how to present himself to the planters who owned the horses he wished to acquire. But in the meantime he would take a look at that land he had reason to remember so well.

  The only land he had ever considered acquiring here had been Stone Creek Farm, but the temptation to possess Watterson’s farm was considerable. Watterson had been a lousy farmer and a worse manager. The old goat knew nothing of the land, and in consequence it had suffered from years of neglect. Cash didn’t think it had improved since he’d last seen it, but the opportunity to buy it for a song was tempting. The fact that Watterson was now dead and couldn’t appreciate the irony diluted the revenge, but it wasn’t an opportunity Cash could ignore.

  As he rode out of town and along the creek that had given the town its name, Cash tried several scenarios in his mind. He could buy Watterson’s farm and restore the house. The neighbors, out of curiosity, would have to come by. It was as natural as breathing for them to stop by and welcome a stranger. He could see the women now in their swaying skirts and fanciful bonnets, carrying homemade pies and baskets of aromatic bread.

  The picture tickled him endlessly, but he would have to give his name when he signed the papers. One whisper of his name would end their curiosity. He was no stranger to welcome, but a wolf to avoid. Born of a quadroon, white trash, with no place he could call his own. Why in hell had he come back here to these people who knew him for what he was?

  His mood shattered, Cash turned his mount off the road and through the fallen gates to Watterson’s farm. He had the money to make these people scrape and bow, but he had sense enough to know that revenge was a fool’s dream, a fantasy from his childhood. If he bought this farm, it would be because he could make something of it. He wanted to be recognized for himself, not for who his parents were.

  Which was like asking people to recognize him as a penguin when he was obviously a grizzly bear. Thin lips curling in a wry smile, Cash discarded fanciful notions and began to survey the remains of the abandoned farm to discover its worth.

  A quick look discerned that the house was nearly uninhabitable, the fences destroyed, and the barns in poor condition. No crop had been grown in this last year, and the fields lay in tangled skeins of honeysuckle and forests of locust trees. The pastures that should have fed horses had turned from lush bluegrass to stinkweed and thistle.

  With a touch of drunken masochism, Cash rode out the tobacco lane that had once housed his family and the other tenants in tar-paper shacks. Little remained of the community but a cracked and peeling lean-to. He stared at the crumbled bits of rotting wood and debris that had once been his home— now covered in Johnson grass and accented with an oak sapling—and he took off his hat and let the growing wind blow through his hair. He couldn’t very well call this coming home. There had never really been a home to come home to.

  Having paid his last respects to his childhood, Cash turned back toward town. Stopping to examine one last barn that promised to be a little more substantial than the others, Cash noted a slight figure riding across the lower pasture in his direction.

  The horse came from the direction of Stone Creek Farm, and curiosity had the better of him. He had been here only a few days, but he’d heard some of the gossip. The Kincaids were down on their luck, and the mighty Ward Breckinridge didn’t have what it took to turn it around. But Cash’s fantasies of Sallie took a long time dying, so he waited, remembering the golden girl in ribbons and laces on her proud mare.

  As he waited, Cash thought he recognized the horse as the old gelding Doc Broadbent had insisted on riding even when he had the brilliant stallion at his disposal. Cash grinned, and he waited eagerly for this touch with the past. He hadn’t looked the Doc up yet, no more than he had the Kincaids. He had naturally gravitated to the lower levels of his past, but perhaps things were turning around.

  ***

  Laura saw the lone figure beside the barn and debated the wisdom of approaching, but the gathering clouds and increasing wind warned of a storm about to break, and the horseman appeared vaguely familiar. Drawn by a curiosity she did not often display, she continued toward the only protection from the coming storm.

  Once the stranger took off his foreign-looking hat, she knew him instantly. In the saddle, he sat taller than she remembered, and his shoulders were broader and less lean than they used to be in Doc’s hand-me-downs.

  She knew enough about tailoring to recognize the expensive cut of his linen, and the silver thread embroidering his black waistcoat cost a minor fortune in this postwar economy. Cash had done well, but the shadow of yesterday’s beard on his jaw and the disheveled state of his overlong hair gave evidence that his character hadn’t improved with his financial status. As Laura drew closer, she studied his weary eyes dubiously, but she held out her hand in welcome.

  “Jonathan didn’t tell me you were back, Cash. Welcome home.”

  Cash grinned as he took her gloved hand in his and bent over it. “Miss Laura, it is a pleasure. I see you have grown into your hat.”

  He gave the rakishly tilted piece of fluff on her hair an approving look. It wasn’t new by any means, but it suited her.

  Cash had always looked at her as if she were real and not her cousin’s shadow, and Laura responded to his attention as she always had, with perhaps a little more of a thrill than she remembered. She withdrew her hand with some reluctance and studied the rakish lines of his face. Cash wasn’t handsome in the same way as Ward, but there was a darkly attractive cynicism in the angle of his lips.

  “I see your taste in horses has declined,” she replied without a hint of her usual shyness. She had come to know Ward as a brother and could speak to him with occasional honesty, although he continued to look at her askance when she did. With Jonathan, she had been too busy playing the part of courted lady to really touch on topics that required anything more than memorized lines from Sallie’s past. But she and Cash shared secrets that left them open to each other. That hadn’t changed, even if it had been over eight years since they had seen each other last.

  Some of the weary lines disappeared from around Cash’s eyes and his grin relaxed. “It was the first animal I could find that wouldn’t bow in the legs when I got on it. There seems to be a sad dearth of good horseflesh hereabouts. How can that be?”

  “The war,” she replied simply. “They took everything that could run, walk, or crawl into battle. A few made it home, but not many. Won’t you come back to the house? We’re likely to get caught in the storm, but it’s better than standing here waiting for it to happen.”

  Cash ignored the polite invitation as he studied the delicate features of the woman beside him. He remembered Laura as a rag-tail twelve-year-old too gangly for her gowns and too small for her huge eyes. Now that she was grown, those huge green eyes were still too large for her heart-shaped face, but they possesse
d an intelligence he hadn’t realized he had missed. The worn but neatly tailored riding jacket emphasized the smallness of her waist and the roundness of her breasts, and a familiar longing built inside him. He fought the feeling.

  “Doc makes a lousy correspondent, but I seem to remember him mentioning you running away to get married. Are you and your husband staying at the farm?”

  Laura took a deep breath at the bluntness of his attack. She had forgotten Cash’s directness, the one that so matched her own. She could wish now that he was more like polite society. No one else had questioned her point-blank on her past. She didn’t like to lie to Cash, but there was no way she could tell the truth. She smiled and patted the gelding’s head. “The war disposed of husbands as easily as horses. I’m home with Sallie and Ward now. And you? Have you come back married and prepared to settle down?”

  That was what Cash wanted to hear. And he wanted to see the flirtatiousness in her eyes. Perhaps he was more drunk than sober, but Laura Kincaid looked just right for all his wants of the moment. He had had a fair sampling of war widows through the years. He owed Laura Kincaid more than his life, and he would never trifle with her, but the honesty between them never allowed for trifling.

  If they both wanted the same thing, there was no point in denying themselves. And Cash recognized the look in her eyes. He had seen enough women look at him in that way to know what it meant. He had only to make certain he wasn’t misinterpreting it.

  “Marrying isn’t my style, and I’m still considering the settling-down part. What do you think the neighbors will say if I buy this place?”

  Laura grinned, and warmed by the approving male look in his eyes, responded with honesty. “They’ll curse the war and no-account upstarts and down their bourbon in two gulps instead of three, but you don’t really care what they say, do you?”

  “Nope. Do you?”

  “Not much. But being a dependent relative, I don’t let that get about very often. You’ll keep my secret, won’t you?”

  “I’ll keep anything you want to offer. You don’t mind my staring, do you? I can’t believe little Laura has grown into such a stunning woman.”

  The praise startled her, but it shouldn’t have. Cash was looking at her as if he wished to devour her. At the same time, he played the part of flirtatious gentleman, just as Sallie and her beaux had done all those years ago. Laura had never played that game, even with Marshall, and she suddenly understood the thrill. Cash’s words and the look in his deep-set eyes held seductive hints that had her heart pounding a little faster.

  “I thank you for admitting that I am a woman and not a little girl. People around here have some difficulty noticing. Perhaps it’s my size. But then, I suppose I should expect such words from the town’s bad boy. Have you grown into a bad man, Cash Wickliffe? What have you been doing with yourself?”

  She was flirting with him. Cash had never expected to see the day, but he wouldn’t lose the opportunity now. The scent of the chase was in his nostrils, singing through his blood. She wasn’t his usual type of woman, but right at this moment little Laura Kincaid had succeeded in burying hurt-filled memories. For that reason alone he would want her. But there were a dozen other reasons staring him in the face, starting with that petal-soft Southern skin. Damn, but he wanted to touch her.

  “I have grown into an exceedingly wicked man, madam. And it wouldn’t be polite to tell a lady what I have been doing. But I’d be more than willing to show you.” Cash raised one eyebrow and leered in a manner that produced an infectious laugh in response.

  “That’s terrible! Do you practice faces like that in the mirror? Oh, I am glad you’re back, Cash. It’s been terribly tedious around here, and I haven’t laughed like that in too long.”

  Cash didn’t want to hear the tears behind her laughter. Laura had always been a solemn youngster, but when she laughed, it was as if the heavens opened and sunshine poured down.

  “Then I shall have to come and cut capers on your front lawn and balance pails of water over doors to douse your callers and set you to laughing so hard you’ll fall into my arms from weakness. What makes you laugh. Miss Laura? I’ll provide the show if you’ll just tell me what you like.”

  He was smiling. She couldn’t remember the boy Cash ever smiling. She had never noticed the humorous curve to his lips, nor how deep and pleasurable was the gaze from his dark eyes. They were brown, she decided, with curious golden shadings in the depths. Their intensity caused a ripple of excitement in the vicinity of her rapidly beating heart— or lower. And a terrible thought occurred to her, one that she couldn’t hold back, and her body suddenly felt too full for her clothes.

  “I don’t know what I like. It’s been too long.” She was suddenly shy, but her words had a boldness that she’d never intended. They startled her, but Cash only smiled and touched her face. He wore no gloves, and his fingers were rough and callused against her cheek.

  “That’s a pity, Laura. You shame the stars when you laugh.”

  She hadn’t expected what came next either, but she didn’t resist when it happened. His kiss seemed the natural extension of these feelings swarming through her and of the look in his eyes as he bent toward her. This was Cash, and she trusted him. When his lips settled across hers, she closed her eyes and sighed with satisfaction.

  Besides Jonathan’s, the only kisses she had ever known were Marshall’s, and Laura couldn’t remember them being so pleasant as this. She tasted the whiskey flavor of Cash’s mouth, but the smooth tautness of his lips held her captive.

  She didn’t respond at once, and he grew creative, seeking, caressing gently, until she turned her chin more fully in his direction. Her breath left in a rush when his tongue touched hers just briefly. She reached for him then, sliding her gloved hand across his cheek, holding him a little closer so their mouths could meet more firmly.

  The excitement flowing from Cash’s lips to hers stirred the imps of Satan in Laura’s soul. This was Cash, a man she would trust with her life, but a man with reckless adventure in his blood, a man who had admitted he never meant to marry or settle down. She understood fully what he did, even as she parted her lips at the pressure from his.

  He thought her a widow ripe for seduction. He meant nothing by these kisses. She had learned that much from experience. Kisses didn’t mean love. Kisses didn’t necessarily mean affection. Men scattered kisses and compliments where they would to obtain what they wanted. Even Sallie’s husband, the wonderful gentleman Ward, used these little lies to hunt his prey. But even that knowledge didn’t stop her.

  The horses grew restless. Thunder clapped almost directly overhead. They couldn’t go on as they were. It was impossible to touch while clinging to a saddle and reins. Leaning forward in her sidesaddle was dangerous at the best of times; when she wasn’t under control, it was foolhardy. Laura reluctantly moved back from the temptations Cash offered, but his hand strayed to her hair, staying her.

  “We’re going to get wet, piquant. Do you have any objection to sharing a barn with me?”

  She didn’t understand the exotic Spanish, but the seductive timbre of his voice made his meaning as clear as if he had said “bed” instead of “barn.” Laura stared at him in alarm, but the look on Cash’s face was more tender than heated. No one had ever looked at her like that. She knew they needed the shelter of the barn. She knew she could stop him if she wanted. And she knew she didn’t want to stop him.

  She had a very good reason for nodding and accepting Cash’s hand as he assisted her in dismounting. Huddled between the two horses, he stood more than a head taller than she, and she didn’t dare look up to meet his eyes. A thick lock of coal-black hair fell across his dark brow as the wind picked up, and she had the urge to push it back. Lightning flashed in a brilliant arc above the pin oaks along the fence, and when Cash turned to lead the way into the barn, Laura offered no resistance. She was doing a terrible thing, but for a very good cause.

  Jonathan expected her to be a widow. He th
ought her an experienced wife who had known the passions of a husband and would be satisfied to settle for the affections of an older man. He thought he was protecting her. He would never have offered had he known she was still an untried virgin. He would insist that she find a younger man, that she be properly courted as befitted her station. And he would surely discover the truth on their wedding night.

  It was odd that she had saved her virtue for her husband’s bed, only to become betrothed to a man who would be horrified to know of it.

  She loved Jonathan. She loved his honesty, his carefully hidden sensitivity, his kindness. She didn’t love him with the passion she had thought she had felt for Marshall, but with a more mature love that didn’t require passion. She loved him and never wanted to hurt him.

  But what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Laura glanced diffidently to the silhouette of Cash’s angular face as they entered the mustiness of the old barn. Cash would never tell. She wouldn’t hurt Cash with the truth.

  It was odd, knowing these things, but she knew them with an instinct that she couldn’t deny, just as she had known what she had to do that day she set her dog on Cash’s assailant. Some things were meant to be.

  Chapter 9

  The first patter of rain against the unshingled roof startled Laura in her nervousness. The heavy clouds blocked any sun that might have entered, but in the dusky light Laura could see enough of Cash to imagine the question in his eyes.

  Not daring to touch him, she loosed her horse’s reins and lifted a hand to her hat, taking it off and smoothing her hair. The tension between them eased, and she felt more than saw his grin.

  “We’re as likely to get wet in here as out there. Are you having second thoughts?”

  “I can’t think of anyone with whom I would rather share a barn.” The words tripped off her tongue as if spurred by the devil. Laura wasn’t at all certain that she knew herself at this moment. There was still time to cry a halt, but she didn’t seem to have any intention of doing so.