“I’ll sleep here, with him.”
Dixie tossed Rachel a quick look—one not nearly as hate-filled as her sister’s. “Nell took Martin with her.”
“Good,” Jason answered. “Then you can rest without worrying about him.”
Rachel glanced around the cabin. It appeared that Matthew’s crisis had erupted during Dixie’s chores, for there were dirty dishes in the sink and a scrub bucket on the floor, the mop leaning against the wall. There was also a basket of clothes on the floor near the fire. She didn’t know if they were clean or dirty, but she wanted to be useful. Dixie’s chores needed finishing, and if there was anything Rachel was good at, it was chores.
“Rachel? Are you coming?” Jason stood by the door.
She looked at Dixie, who was now asleep beside her son, then at Jason. “Was there something special we needed to do?”
“I’m going to check on some other people.”
Rachel glanced around the untidy cabin. “Do you really need me?”
He grabbed her arm and pulled her outside, his anger so evident that when he breathed out through his nose, he looked like a smoking dragon. “Dammit, either help me or leave!”
“Stop badgering me!” Her hand flew to her mouth and she gaped at him, stunned at the way she’d blurted out the words. This wasn’t like her at all. Not at all.
“Badgering you? Hell, woman, someone ought to. What are you afraid of now?”
“I’m not afraid of anything, believe it or not. Not even you! You’ve intimidated me from the very beginning, and I’ve mewled and blushed at every turn. Well,” she added angrily, “no more.” Words spewed from her mouth like vomit, and she couldn’t seem to stop them.
Taking a deep breath, she said in a softer tone, “It’s… it’s just that Dixie’s chores were interrupted when Matthew got so sick. It won’t take me long to clean up for her. That’s all I wanted to do. Now,” she chirped, sounding to herself like an angry magpie, “if you’ll stop browbeating me, I’ll get busy and be completely at your disposal when I’m finished here.”
Embarrassed at her outburst, she ducked her head, glancing at him quickly before going back into the cabin. He had the oddest expression on his face. Well, she thought as she slipped out of her warm cape, it was about time she stood up for herself. Staring at the fire, she smiled. My, but it felt wonderful! She had no idea why she hadn’t done this before. Long before, when her uncle first began belittling her. She folded her cape over the back of a kitchen chair. Maybe she wasn’t too old to acquire some self-esteem after all.
Crossing to the stove, she checked the kettle and found it full of hot water. As she poured it over the dishes in the dishpan, she felt his gaze on her. “Did you want to help?” she asked sweetly. “Scrub the floor, perhaps?”
Hearing him sigh deeply, she held her breath until she was sure he was gone, then she sagged, breathless, against the counter.
Jason had finally convinced Joseph to come in out of the cold. Sitting him down in front of the fireplace in his daughter’s cabin, he unwrapped the bandages on Joseph’s hands and arms. The skin was red and blisters had broken in a few places, but all in all, the pine pitch and the salve had done a good job.
He spread some special cream over the worst sores, then began rebinding Joseph’s arms with fresh gauze bandages. Joseph mumbled something and let out a snort of disgust. “Be patient, Joseph.”
He glared at Jason. “I am patient. I told the woman I was patient. Do I not appear to be a patient man?”
Jason bit back a smile. “No, you are not always a patient man, Joseph. Brave, yes. Patient, no.”
Joseph stared at him for a long moment. “John is wrong. The woman is not a bad person.”
Refusing to look up, Jason continued to bind Joseph’s burns. “What woman is that?”
“Two Leaf knows about whom I speak.” Slight derision laced his voice.
“Yes,” he muttered under his breath. “I know of whom you speak,” he mimicked.
“Do not make laughter of me.” Joseph’s voice was stern.
“I’m not humoring you, Joseph.” He couldn’t very well admit that “the woman” had suddenly discovered her voice and didn’t seem to know how to shut herself up. He wasn’t sure which way he preferred her—meek or feisty.
A slow smile spread across his face. Oh, feisty and peppery was infinitely more interesting…
“What makes Two Leaf smile like a tomcat with a mouse by the tail?”
Jason finished wrapping the burns and clapped Joseph on the shoulder. “You’re right, Joseph. The woman is not a bad person.”
“That is what makes you smile?”
Jason remembered her feeding Joseph his lunch earlier in the day. She’d been patient and caring. If she’d been afraid or repulsed, she’d hidden it well. Then, his thoughts turned to what she was doing now, bustling around Dixie’s cabin, her cheeks red and her hair clinging to her warm temples. He allowed his thoughts to linger on the daisy-tufted apex of her thighs, and suddenly realized that daisies no longer seemed appropriate. Quite possibly they’d been replaced by velvety red roses—complete with a few well-hidden thorns.
“Yes, old man. That is what makes me smile,” he answered, grinning foolishly.
After changing a dozen bandages, looking in on the newest babies, and doling out handfuls of lollipops, Jason was ready for a cup of coffee. Deep in thought, he rounded the corner of Dixie’s cabin and bumped against something hard. Whatever it was, he’d knocked it to the ground. He looked down and saw Rachel, sprawled on the grass.
“My God! Did I hurt you?” He reached out to help her up.
Rachel appeared to catch her breath, and when she did so, she gave him a dimpled smile. It transformed her, made her almost beautiful. He couldn’t believe he’d never seen her smile before, because if he had, he surely would have remembered.
She put her hand in his and allowed him to pull her up. “I’m fine, thank you. I’m… I’m sorry, I wasn’t even paying attention when I came around that corner—”
“No,” he interrupted, still dazed by his discovery. “It was my fault.” He continued to hold her hand in his. “You finished up at Dixie’s? Was there any problem with Matthew? I was just going to check up on him.” God, but he was prattling like an old woman.
“They were both awake when I left.” She stopped smiling, but continued to stare at him. Her light eyes with their sooty lashes intrigued him. Her skin, he noticed, was almost translucent. Now, because of her chores, her cheeks were pink and her lips full and inviting. Dammit, he had to taste her again. The itch in his groin exploded into an all-out craving.
He lowered his head and touched her mouth with his, hearing her sharp intake of breath and feeling it, soft and warm, against his face. But she didn’t pull away. Drawing back briefly, he saw that her pupils had dilated, and her lids were heavy over her eyes. Looking swiftly about him, he pulled her into the dark nook behind the cabin where they wouldn’t be seen.
Still gripping her hand, he drew it against his waist and around to his back, holding it there. She was small, but she wasn’t short. Still, he wanted her against him so their bodies would meet neatly, at the lips, at the chest… at the groin. Knowing there was a box behind her, he lifted her onto it. He gazed into her face, his blood heating and thickening as he watched the wary desire spread deeper into her eyes. The hood of her cape had fallen back, and wisps of rich, brandy hair framed her face.
Slowly, carefully, he touched his lips to hers once again. Her mouth was soft and compliant beneath his. He held back, wanting to bury himself against her, but sensing it would frighten her. Suddenly he heard her erratic breathing and knew what she was feeling wasn’t fear. The soft, sexy sound encouraged him and inflamed him. His mouth opened over hers and his tongue touched her lips. She opened for him, allowing him in, tentatively probing with her own tongue. She tasted sweet, wet, and desirable.
His hands dove beneath her cape, sli
ding up the sides of her blouse to the fullness of her breasts. She let out a small gasp but still didn’t push him away. The sensual groping was made more erotic by the dimness of the nook. He envisioned undressing her here, in this secret place out of doors, or just taking her swiftly and hungrily, her dress up around her waist and her thighs hugging his hips. His groin was full and hard.
As his thumbs moved over her nipples, he could feel them tighten beneath her clothes. She was making tiny, excitable sounds in her throat, and pressing her breasts against his hands. He ached with need. But when he finally pulled her hard against him and pressed himself against her abdomen, she stopped, suddenly stiff as a board.
Ah, dammit! He didn’t want to let her go. He moved away, but still gripped her waist with his hands and touched her forehead with his. Their breath mingled, warm, moist, and intimate, between them. He wanted more from her. More and more and more…
Abruptly she pulled away, shoving at his chest. “No!” Her voice held no indignant horror at the liberties he’d taken. It was a different sound, a sound more frightening to him than anger. She stared at his chin, unwilling to look at him. His touch softened, and he let her go. Before she stumbled away, she looked at him, and he was certain that her eyes were filled with fear.
Chapter Seven
A long table had been set up in the recreation hall for the evening meal. Jason strode into the room with some other men, sending Rachel’s heart bumping against her ribs. Quickly looking away, she busied herself by examining her hands, which were clasped in her lap.
His sudden presence forced a blush into her cheeks, reminding her that she hadn’t been able to get away from him fast enough just a few hours before. She’d thought of little else all afternoon. As she’d stumbled off like a silly twit, every nerve in her body had vibrated with fear—and desire.
Spending the remaining afternoon hours helping to prepare for the evening meal hadn’t been in her plans, but she’d done it with gusto. Anything was preferable to running into Jason again. Fortunately, she’d discovered he was busy with the other men, preparing for some kind of dance ceremony.
Now, with him sitting on the other side of the table, her heart pounded painfully in her chest. She didn’t have to look at him to know he sent an occasional glance her way. His gaze might well have been a branding iron, for it left her skin hot and tingly, as though it had been marked. Her skin always felt like that when he looked at her, but after what happened earlier, the feeling was intensified.
These emotions, these sensations were all so new to her. Had she been told she could feel so strongly for any man, she wouldn’t have believed it. Nothing had prepared her for this, not even her marriage. Just knowing Jason desired her caused her heart to want to burst free from her chest. It surprised her that no one could see what she was feeling.
Shuddering, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It mattered little whether she opened them or not. His beautiful face was there, imprinted on her mind. And he’d kissed her like he couldn’t help himself. Her. Rachel Kathleen Weber… the plain brown wren. She opened her eyes, shook her head, and frowned. Rachel Kathleen Weber—the witless, hopeless fool.
An elbow nudged her, and the child next to her passed her a basket of tortillas. She absently took one, dropped it on her plate, and passed the basket on.
She spooned a meat and bean mixture onto the tortilla, watching to see how others folded and rolled it to keep the contents from falling through. Having very little appetite, yet not wanting to dishonor her hosts, she zestily bit into the spicy tortilla.
As she ate, she listened to the sounds around her. Someone said something to Jason, and he laughed, making her stomach jump. She hadn’t heard him laugh until they came up here, away from Pine Valley. It was a deep, warm sound. A happy, contented sound. It made her wonder what he found so special about this primitive, poverty-stricken place.
“Hey, Joseph,” the woman on the other side of her shouted. “You ready for tonight?”
Across the table next to Jason, Joseph Hart nodded sagely. “I am ready.” He turned to Jason. “Two Leaf ready?”
Watching Rachel carefully, Jason nodded, and she wondered again at the use of that name. It was probably one the Indians had given him. She’d often heard that white men were given Indian names when they’d endeared themselves to a tribe. There was no doubt that Jason had endeared himself to this one, she thought, watching him laugh and joke with the others.
Before the meal, when she’d been told where to sit, she’d also been instructed that all of those not participating in the dance had to sit on one side of the table. The other side was saved for the men—the dancers, chorus, and all others taking part in the dance.
She had no idea what was going to happen; she’d been given no clue as to what this dance was about. That hadn’t surprised her, but before the meal, she’d seen Joseph off by himself having a smoke. Slipping away from the kitchen, she’d joined him in the shadows and shyly asked him what was going to happen.
He’d nodded, seemingly pleased with her curiosity. “It’s good that you ask, you know… But keep a mind that is open.” He’d puffed on his pipe, the glowing bowl smoldering like the mouth of a tiny volcano.
“It’s the Ghost Dance,” he’d told her. “My people know the world will be destroyed soon. The Whites have come.” He’d given her a slow grin. “I don’t mean to offend you, but now the world is no longer pure. The earth lodge,” he’d said, pointing to the circular semi-subterranean building across the road, “is where we will take refuge when the world ends. It is also our dance house. My son, John, is our Dreamer. He dreams the rules we dance to. Tonight we dance to celebrate all of our people who have gone on into the spirit world before us.”
She’d had a dozen questions for him, but decided she could wait. After all, she probably wouldn’t even be allowed to observe.
Now, as she watched the camaraderie on both sides of the table and the way everyone ignored her, she was pretty certain she’d be spending the rest of the evening alone.
Fully clothed, using her cape as another blanket, Rachel tried to stay warm in Dixie’s extra bed. Even with the fire blazing in the fireplace, she couldn’t shake off the chill. And Dixie’s cabin was quiet. The only sounds came from the crackling of the fire, her own breathing, and the purring of Matthew’s kitten, which was curled against her beneath the covers.
Had it not been for the constant, unchanging drumbeat and the chanting male voices from the dance house, she’d have sworn she was alone in the woods. Even the children were included in the celebration. But, she thought, shivering under the bedding, not an outsider. It made her feel a little sad, and that surprised her. A week ago it wouldn’t have occurred to her that she might wish to be included in an Indian ceremony. Heavens, a week ago she’d have been disgusted and sickened at the thought of it.
Wide awake, staring into the fire, she began to feel restless. Uttering an impatient sigh, she tossed back her bedding, slipped into her shoes, and pulled on her cape. Maybe if she went for a walk, she’d get tired enough to sleep.
With her arms pressed against her sides for warmth, she walked out into the frigid winter night. The cold air stung her nostrils, making her gasp when she attempted to pull in a deep breath. She made her way toward the dance house, noting that firelight flickered through the gaps in the vertical pine slabs that made up the walls. The drumbeat didn’t alter in rhythm. Stepping close to the building, Rachel peeked in through a wide break in the boards.
Jason was the drummer. He stood, his feet apart and his back straight. His hair, usually tied back neatly, hung to his shoulders in heavy waves. Though he wore no costume, his snug, dark trousers and white shirt with the billowing sleeves gave him the air of a pirate on the bow of his ship.
He stared, his face expressionless as he pounded out the monotonous beat. He fit perfectly into the primitive, tribal setting. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought he was as much an I
ndian as the rest of them. She watched, marveling at his strength. There hadn’t been a break in the drumbeat or the chanting for at least half an hour, maybe more.
The drum was a long, heavy slab of log and Jason stood on it, pounding one end with a heavy, elongated piece of wood.
In front of Jason stood a group of men, one rhythmically slapping some sort of rattle against his palm. He intoned an eerie chant as the others interjected rich answering sounds. All of the men stamped their feet to the rhythm of the drum.
There were two dancers in the room. Among them she recognized Joseph, wearing an extravagant costume. The skirt appeared to be fashioned out of tule rushes, and the headgear was made up of a mass of long, feathered spines. In the light of the fire, she could tell they were brightly painted in red and black. The headdress was enormous. She wondered how he ever made it into the dance house through the narrow corridor that served as the entrance.
The other dancer, the one who faced Joseph from across the fire, was leanly muscled. From the waist down he wore long white leggings that looked like underwear, and he was naked from the waist up except for a wide necklace that covered his shoulders. As he danced, the muscles in his thighs beneath the leggings bunched and rippled, and his chest and arms were heavily corded with long, hard sinew. His movements were graceful and strong, causing the feather-tipped wires attached to his headpiece to vibrate and quiver.
Glancing back at Jason, she found him watching her. Their eyes met, and Rachel’s heart leaped in fear and surprise. She stepped backward, wanting to get away before anyone else realized she’d been observing them. Abruptly, the music stopped. As she hurried away, she hoped it was an automatic break in the dance—not because they’d found her snooping.
Momentarily panicked, she ran blindly toward Dixie’s cabin. A hand grabbed her from behind, and she was stopped, finding herself pulled against a firm, hard, chest. She tensed, waiting to be punished for her actions.
Heat of a Savage Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book Two Page 11