As if he knew what she’d been thinking, Hunter abruptly let go of her chin and took a step back. “It doesn’t look like you rattled anything any looser than it already was.” He picked up the bloodstained rag and stared at it for a moment. “Lucy, take Jemma back to Nette’s.”
“Really, I’m all right. I’ll stay and fold up these things and finish.”
“Please, Jemma,” Lucy took hold of her arm. “Let’s go on back.”
Jemma was about to protest again when Noah LeCroix sauntered over to stand beside Hunter, openly curious.
“I’m Jemma,” she said, not waiting for an introduction. “You must be Noah.”
The tall half-breed nodded but didn’t speak.
“Jemma, please.” Lucy’s hand tightened on her arm.
Jemma decided that Hunter might be able to avoid her this time, but she was going to talk to him later, even if she had to camp out on the doorstep.
Her head was pounding again. “I need to see you alone, Hunter.” Her gaze flicked over to Noah and back. “Whenever you have time.”
Hunter stood there speechless while Lucy helped Jemma with her coat and scarf. Watching the two of them leave together, he knew that if he lived to be as old as Methuselah he would never understand women.
“If I knew what went through their minds I’d have a woman of my own like that,” Noah told him.
“That one’s not mine,” Hunter said emphatically.
“No? You could’ve fooled me.”
Hunter didn’t like LeCroix’s smile in the least.
“I can’t for the life of me figure out why everybody around here keeps acting like there’s something between us. Hell, I haven’t even seen her in a week.”
“On purpose?”
Hunter hated the way he kept getting the feeling that his head had opened up and folks could look right into it.
“No, not on purpose,” he lied. It wasn’t easy avoiding Jemma, not with her living a few hundred yards away. He’d given up going over to Nette’s at night to visit, and had even taken to eating by himself in the empty trading post. Surprised that the self-imposed isolation wasn’t sitting well with his loner’s nature, he blamed it on Jemma.
“What’s she doing here?” LeCroix wandered over to a pile of tins on a table, picked one up, turned it over, and set it down.
“Hiding from something. Trying to make up her mind what to do next, where to go.”
“Like you.”
“What are you talking about?” Hunter stared at the man who had fought beside him at the Battle of New Orleans. Noah LeCroix was a recluse who lived alone in a treehouse built over the water on a nearby swamp. He came in contact with folks only when he was hired to pilot boats through the shoals or when he was out of supplies. Hunter envied Noah his life of solitude.
“I been hearing you say for years that you’re leaving here, but you don’t. I suspect you’re trying to make up your mind where to go and what to do next, too,” Noah explained.
He was right, but the moon would turn to cheese before Hunter admitted it aloud. Lately he’d thought of leaving just as soon as he knew Jemma’s condition, but every time he sat down to make plans, all he could think of was her. He spent too much time wondering who she was and what she was hiding.
“I know damn well what I’m doing,” he said, wishing he could sound more convincing, even to himself.
LeCroix walked over to the door and paused beside it. “I do, too,” he said. “You’re falling in love. Now are you going to get that gunpowder I need or are you going to stand there all day with that scowl on your face?”
An hour later, Jemma opened the door to the trading post again, stuck her head and shoulders inside, and looked around. Noah was gone. There was no sign of Hunter either. Rubbing her hands together, she shivered as she walked over to the fireplace to warm them. She heard a sound overhead and looked up in time to see Hunter step onto the ladder and climb down from the loft.
She slipped off her coat and began to stack the material he had refolded.
“Just leave it.” He stood halfway across the room without moving, looking as if he would rather be anywhere else. She felt awkward and hated the feeling. She forced herself to cross the room.
“You said you wanted to talk to me,” he said softly.
“You don’t have to worry about being responsible for me any longer. I’m … I’m not having a baby.” She looked at her hands.
“You’re sure?” There was no note of relief in his tone, which surprised her.
Jemma nodded. “Yes.”
“Well, then.”
“Yes. Well, then.” She lingered. Looked up. Caught something in his eyes she never thought to see there. Concern. Regret? Impossible.
There was more she wanted to say, so much more, but she knew she was only making him uncomfortable.
“Do you know how much you upset Lucy earlier?” she asked.
His brow wrinkled with a puzzled frown. “She’s scared of her own shadow.”
Jemma blinked. “She’s terrified of you.”
“Me? Why would she be scared of me? I’ve never done her any harm.”
“Look at the way you’re scowling right now. Sometimes you act like … like an overbearing buffalo. You frighten her speechless.”
“I don’t mean to.”
“I know that, but she doesn’t. She feels obligated to you for everything she has—”
“I don’t begrudge her a thing.”
“I didn’t say you did. I know you well enough to know you’d give her anything she needed … if you took the time to notice, which you haven’t. She’s outgrown her dresses and is too proud to ask for material for another.”
His expression had darkened, but he didn’t comment. Jemma rushed on. “A kind word to her or even a smile once in a while would mean a lot coming from you, Hunter.” She held her breath.
“I’ll talk to her,” he promised.
Jemma sighed with relief. “Good. I knew you’d understand. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to choose some material for a new dress for her. Nette said she’d help me cut one out and get started.”
“Is that all you need?”
“I don’t need anything,” she said softly, staring into his eyes, dropping her gaze to his lips.
“Nothing?”
She could feel a pull between them stronger than any river current they had faced on the journey, and wondered if he felt it, too.
“A kiss,” she whispered before she could change her mind. “That’s all.”
Chapter 14
“Just a kiss.”
She made it sound like so little. As if he would not have to bridge a huge gulf in order to grant her request, as if he wouldn’t have to let down his guard and go against every resolution he had made since he made love to her.
Jemma stood there waiting, staring up at him, expectation mingled with hope in her eyes.
“A kiss?” He almost choked on the word. “We’ve been down this road before.”
He knew she was up to something, but for the life of him he couldn’t fathom what it was. He broke out in a cold sweat. All he wanted was to drink in the taste and feel of her, to never let her go. His need went against everything he had convinced himself that he wanted out of life. God help him, he took a step closer as if his body and his mind were disconnected.
“I’d like to oblige you, but I can’t.” He slipped his arms around her. She stood on tiptoe, staring into his eyes. He gazed into hers. Her eyes were bright, blue, beguiling.
“I wouldn’t want you to do anything you don’t want to,” she whispered against his mouth. Her fingers curled around the hair at the nape of his neck.
He closed his eyes. Maybe if he told himself this really wasn’t happening. Their lips met, touched tenderly, opened. She slipped her tongue into his mouth and he almost came undone. Hunter clasped her tighter, held her to him, and kissed her long and deep and slow.
Jemma moaned and clung to him. Finally, when they were bo
th breathless, he lifted his head, reached up and took her arms from around his neck, held her wrists, and stood her a good arm’s length away.
“I don’t think we should ever do that again.”
“Sister Augusta Aleria would say that lusting in your heart is as great a sin as doing it,” she told him.
“But a hell of a lot safer. Do you mind telling me what that was all about?” Intent on hiding his arousal, he walked over to a small table stacked with all-purpose awls, hatchets, and small picks, stood behind it, and pretended to be absorbed in rearranging the items.
“I was curious about something.”
“I would think your curiosity has been well satisfied already.”
“It has now.” She wouldn’t stop smiling at him.
“And?”
“Do you have a pen and ink and some paper I might use?”
It was the last thing he had expected her to say. Speechless, all he could do was nod. What now?
“I need to write a letter,” she said without prompting. “I’d like to send it with the next party that comes through.”
He cleared his throat and stepped behind the counter. “I’ll bring them over when I come to talk to Lucy.”
“That would be wonderful, thank you.” She still didn’t leave, although she had moved to the door.
She continued to stare at him with stars in her eyes, the way a man dreamed a woman might one day look at him, if that man wanted to pay the price of keeping those stars bright and shining. The way she was looking at him made him as uncomfortable as if he’d been sitting on a hot poker.
He stared at her slender, pale hand where it lay on the door latch.
“It’s nice to know that that kind of a kiss doesn’t always lead to other things,” she said.
The door closed behind her, shutting him inside the empty trading post with little to do but let his imagination run wild on what delicious “other things” their kiss might have led to if he hadn’t had sense enough to call a halt to the whole episode.
Hunter crossed the room and took a jug of whiskey off the back shelf. He poured four fingers into a glass, then walked over to the hearth and stood there with the drink in his hand. He stared down at the glowing red coals.
Since the rainy night they met, Jemma O’Hurley had turned his world upside down; now, to make matters worse, he was forced to admit he was beginning to feel things for her that he had vowed never to let himself feel again. He tossed back the whiskey, felt it slide down his throat.
He was a man with far horizons to pursue. He wanted to explore like Lewis and Clark and Zeb Pike. No sunshine smile framed by a pair of beguiling dimples was going to keep him from his destiny.
A weaker man might succumb—but not him.
Not Hunter Boone.
There was no denying it any longer. Somehow, sometime between New Orleans and Sandy Shoals, she had fallen in love. She knew it as surely as she knew the sun would rise in the morning. What she didn’t know was what to do about it.
Staring off into space, Jemma dropped the door to the root cellar dug into the side of a slight rise and picked up the woven willow basket that she had filled with a dozen potatoes. Headed back to Nette’s, she let her mind dwell where it wanted to stay—on Hunter.
She was still warm and tingly all over, despite the November cold. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel his kiss and the way Hunter tasted, his touch, his gentleness. The soft warm glow from the fire burning in the trading post was the same heat he ignited deep inside her. Just as before, his kiss was magic. She would store it with the rest of her memories of him and uncover it as gently as one might observe a flower in a press. Even if Hunter had given the kiss grudgingly, he had given it. The memory was hers now, to cherish forever.
She had time to spare before she went back and began to peel potatoes for Nette to use for supper, so Jemma wandered down the path that led toward the forest. She took a deep breath and tipped her head back to see the open sky above the trees. Even the stark, bare branches held a majestic beauty. She could just imagine how they would look in full bud in the spring, then covered with emerald leaves during the summer.
All of her senses were brimming with life. Did Hunter feel the same way? Or was he back to puttering about the bundles, piles, and shelves stocked with goods as usual? Was he watching for river travelers without giving her another thought?
Or was his whole world upside-down?
If she had been confused about her destiny before, she was utterly baffled now. All things considered, she didn’t think it proper to pray to any of the saints for help—not even Valentine—not after the way she had felt with her breasts pressed up against him, not while she could still recall the more intimate details of the night they had made love as if it had been just yesterday. Certainly not while she still relished the lingering tingle brought on by his latest kiss.
No, appealing to the saints was definitely out.
She had gotten herself into this quandary; because of its passionate overtones, she would have to get herself out. She had left home looking for adventure and found far more—the caring, sharing, sheltering love of family, and even more surprising, she had finally experienced the heated, sensual stirrings of passionate, falling-head-over-heels-in-love love.
She hugged the basket tightly and wandered farther, threading her way between the heavy trunks of the maple and hickory trees. The ground was littered with twigs and leaves and decaying nuts. Melting snow still lay in scattered patches here and there, hugging the bases of the north sides of the trees.
She knew now that Hunter might not be able to resist kissing, but did she dare hope that she could ever get him to return her affections? He had confessed to being a loner, but she had since seen another side of him, one that he might not even know—or wouldn’t admit—existed. The others rallied around him, counting on his leadership. Lucy and the Boone children looked up to him. Luther let Hunter make the business decisions. Jemma had even heard Nette defer to him on occasion.
Unaware of her footing, she tripped over a root hidden by the leaves, lurched forward, and dropped one of the potatoes. As she picked it up, she realized it was time to head back to the house. Tucking the potato into the basket, she decided that she would watch Hunter and take her cue from him. She could share the discovery of her love for him with no one, not even Lucy.
She decided to head back and quickly realized she had strayed off of the trail. With a shiver, she drew her jacket closer and hugged the potato basket tightly. Determined not to panic, she walked away from the sound of the river, expecting to come back to the trail, but the farther she traveled, the more dense the forest became.
The first stars of the evening were showing themselves against the twilight sky. Afraid she had already wandered too far, Jemma stopped where she was and backed up against a tree.
Surely someone would realize she was missing. All she could hope was that they would look for her before night fell and she froze to death.
She’s going to be the death of me.
Hunter walked down the path that led away from the cabins, searching for signs that Jemma might have passed by. A few minutes earlier, Nette and Lucy had arrived at his cabin looking for Jemma, and when he said that he hadn’t seen her for a good hour, Lucy was certain the bump on her head had rendered her senseless and that she was deliriously wandering through the forest.
They didn’t take kindly to his jest when he told them he didn’t think that she was in possession of all her senses to begin with.
He told the women to send for Luther and to stay put, grabbed his gun, and hurried off to look for her. So far he hadn’t had any success.
“Jemma?” He called her name, whistled, and shouted, but there was no answer. Forging ahead, he took the path away from the river, cursing the fast-approaching darkness that would wipe out any chance of finding her footprints.
He’d gone a far piece, fighting to keep his panic at bay, when he heard a slight shuffling sound off to
his right. Unwilling to come face-to-face with a bear or other predator, he didn’t call out. Instead, he crept forward, rifle at the ready, listening intently.
He was two steps from entering a small clearing when, out of the blue, something hit him in the head so hard that his hat flew off and he nearly fell over.
“Shit!” He cursed aloud, forgetting the possibility of bears, and pressed his hand over the spot above his ear where a lump was rising. A potato lay on the ground next to his foot.
“Hunter?”
He spun around and saw Jemma standing just within the circle of trees, a basket clutched in her arms.
“I suppose I should be thankful you didn’t have a gun with you,” he said as she hurried over.
“Oh my stars, did I hurt you? I didn’t mean it, but I saw this dark, hulking shape looming between the trees and I thought … well, I thought you might have been an Indian, or a bear, so—”
“So you decided to bean me with a potato?”
“I’m so sorry!” She was fussing over him as if she really had shot him, setting the basket down, reaching up to examine the lump with her fingertips.
Leaning far too close, she brushed up against his arm.
Hunter stopped trying to dodge away and let her fret, using the cover of darkness to hide the fact that he was rising to the occasion of having her so near. Jemma carefully inspected his wound; then, as if she realized he had become still, she paused. Her arm was draped over his shoulder, her body pressed close. She had gone up on tiptoe so she could hold her hand against his head.
He heard the catch in her breath and felt her draw nearer. A quiet hush of expectancy heated the very air around them. Hunter closed his eyes, fighting his need, determined not to fall into the trap of kissing her again, knowing that this time it definitely would lead to other things.
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