"That God of yours made us what we are. It's natural that a man and woman—"
She took a deep breath, and he knew he'd lost the battle. "He's your God too, Shaw."
"I'm not like you." He gritted his teeth as waves of disappointment swept over him.
"No," she agreed. "You're not. But it's because I want you so bad that I can't go against my principles. It would be wrong. And if I break the laws I hold dear, I'll never forgive myself."
A long peal of thunder rolled overhead. The horses raised their heads and sniffed the air. Chinook began to paw the ground. Shaw could smell the coming fury.
"I mean it," Becca said. "I can't allow us to do something that we might both regret later."
Despite the sudden drop in temperature, Shaw's mouth felt as dry as alkali. Each breath was a struggle, but he still couldn't get enough air. What was it about this woman more than all the others that made his thoughts roll like tumbleweed before a gust? Hell, he hadn't even lain with a female since he'd gotten back from California.
He tried again to reach her, speaking as softly as he would to an untamed mare. "I'll do nothing you don't want me to, Becca," he said. "Please."
"You don't understand. It's not that I don't want to. I can't, Shaw. I can't do it. And I can't be with..."
"Shhh." He signaled her to silence. A series of jagged streaks split the western sky, but that wasn't what prickled the hair on the back of his arms. It was Becca that scared him. Wanting her and not knowing if he'd ever have her was what he found terrifying. He didn't just need her lying beneath him as he thrust into her. He needed to know that he'd wake up every morning and find her curled next to him, that he'd hear her laughter and see the love for him shine in those gray Raeburn eyes. "Storm's comin' fast. Mount up, Becca," he said. "It's me and that barn or get yourself drowned in a gully washer." Chinook shied as he jammed a boot in the stirrup. The wind laid a swath of brush low and spooked the horses.
"You don't give me much choice, do you?" Becca cried, urging the mare past him.
"I hope not!" Grinning, he spurred after her.
Chapter 15
The shadowy barn smelled damp and musty, but after the pounding ride through wind and rain, Shaw was grateful for the sturdy log walls and tight roof over his head. They dismounted, and he led both animals into the back stall and stripped off their saddles. Using handfuls of old hay, both he and Becca rubbed the horses dry before looking to their own comfort.
"We need to get warm," he said. "There's wood stacked under the overhang. See if you can find some kindling."
In minutes he'd scraped out a depression near the wide entrance and started a small fire. Becca crouched beside it, hands extended. He brought a coffeepot and an oilskin bundle from his saddlebags. "No coffee, but I've got a packet of tea and some sugar."
"You haven't got any real food in there, do you?" Becca asked.
"Pemmican. It's a mixture of dried buffalo and berries. The Indians—"
"I know what it is," she replied, catching the dry shirt he pulled out of the second bag. "I can't wear your—"
"Put on the damned shirt," he ordered. "You can wrap my blanket around you while your skirt dries."
Wordlessly, she took the garment, turned her back, and stripped out of her blouse. Shaw's throat tightened as he caught sight of her bare shoulders above the straps of her shift and stays. Quickly, she put on his shirt and buttoned it. It hung nearly to her knees, and the sleeves were so long that she had to roll them up. "Satisfied?" she asked. For an instant, he saw a glimpse of the old Becca in her sparkling eyes, the girl he'd considered his friend... and later, more.
"Not until you take off the skirt." He poked at the fire with a stick.
"Don't count on it." She returned to her place on the other side of the fire pit and began to take the pins out of her hair. "I'll keep my skirt and petticoat on, thank you very much."
"You don't trust me."
She raised her gaze to meet his. "It's me I don't trust, Shaw."
"This isn't the first rainstorm we've ridden out together."
She smiled at him. "No, it's not, is it?"
Once, not long after he'd started to shave, the two of them had gone up into the hill country in the fall tracking a lost steer. When it had started to thunder, they'd taken shelter under a rock overhang. They'd built a fire that day too, but he hadn't had to tell Becca to take off her clothes. She'd wrapped herself in a horse blanket while her dress dried. "You trusted me back then," he said. "What happened to change that?"
"I was a dumb kid. It didn't occur to me that anything bad could happen. You were my friend."
"A MacCade you trusted?"
She drew her knees up and linked her arms around them, getting as close to the fire as she could. "Things were easier then. I knew what I wanted. To catch a bigger fish than you, to learn to swim as well as you did, to find a blackberry patch nobody had ever discovered and pick a whole bucket of ripe fruit." She undid her hair and, using her fingers, combed it loose over her shoulders to dry.
No angel ever looked so beautiful.
"And now? What do you want now?" He passed her a handful of pemmican and a steaming tin cup of tea.
"Peace. No more fighting between your house and mine. My sister and her little boy coming home from church with us and sitting at Poppa's table for Sunday dinner."
"Nothin' for yourself?"
"Dry boots?"
He laughed. The rumbles of thunder were not as loud as they had been, but the rain beat down steadily on the roof. The faint scent of apple wood drifted up from the fire. He wanted to tell her that all he wished for lay within his arms' reach, but the words lodged in his throat. Just being here with her, alone, far away from his family and hers was immensely satisfying. But it wasn't enough...
She sipped at the tea and wiggled her toes, obviously taking pleasure in the warmth. Black stockings covered her feet and ran up under her skirt. He wondered if she wore garters, or if her stockings were tied to her corset.
Shaw slid closer and took one high-arched foot in his hands. She kicked him hard enough to hurt. "Damn it, woman! You needn't be so touchy!"
"Keep your hands to yourself, and I won't be. And I've asked you not to swear in front of me."
"You ask a lot of a man. No drinking, no swearing. No tobacco either, I suppose."
"Chewing or smoking?"
"You see a difference?"
"Nope," she pronounced. "Both filthy habits. When I have my own household, I won't tolerate them."
"It won't be a problem. I never fancied either."
"We're a long way from sharing a household." She tucked her stockinged feet under her skirt. "Or from sharing a bedroll, if that's what's in the back of your mind."
"Would that be so terrible?"
"It would." She tilted her head and looked at him through thick lashes. "I wanted to get away from you, Shaw. Since you came back, nothing's simple anymore."
"It isn't, is it?" He exhaled slowly. "Why do you think I came after you?"
"To bedevil me." She shook her head. "To lure me into a life of sin." She became suddenly serious. "How do I know?"
"I can't get you out of my head, Bec. I think about you all day and dream about you at night."
"And you'd like to get me on my back?"
"Maybe that too." Damn right, that too. His mouth was dry, his breath tight, and his groin aching for want of her. He cleared his throat. "If that was all I wanted, there's plenty of women who would serve." He paused and then went on. "Did you ever wonder why we hit it off from the first day we met?"
"We didn't hit it off. You called me a snot-nosed baby."
"But I gave you my arrowhead."
"And I kept it."
Abruptly, his mood changed. "Do you remember those lines of Scott's that went something like, 'True love's the gift which God has given to man alone beneath the heaven...'?"
She nodded and smiled. "You hated that poem. You always wanted me to read swords and archers."
"I've forgotten most of it, Bec, but I remember the last part. Do you? 'The silver link, the silken tie..."'
She blinked and averted her eyes, murmuring,"'... Which heart to heart and mind to mind, In body and in soul can bind.'"
He moved close and took her hand. "Marry me, Becca."
She stared at him in disbelief. "Is that supposed to be a joke?"
Emotion welled up in him, "No joke, Bec. I want you to marry me. Right now. Today."
* * *
She started to rise, but found herself oddly weak. She sank back down, stomach knotting, heart racing. "You finally got around to saying the word, did you? Marriage." She was stunned. She'd been so certain he'd intended something else—something more like the arrangement between his brother Leslie and his Fox Indian woman, Janie. "You always told me you'd never take a wife," she whispered.
"I had my reasons."
"Other than being a man who didn't want to be tied down to a family?"
"Nothin' as simple as that."
"I'm waiting."
"I wanted to..." Perspiration beaded on his forehead. "I haven't had the guts to tell you."
She stared at him, wondering what he could be hiding. Was he an outlaw? Had he come home with a price on his head?
"Maybe now... The way things are, it won't matter so much."
Icy fingers stroked her spine. "You've already got a wife?"
He grimaced. "Hell, no. It's me. I'm not... not a whole man." The words churned out of him, low and raw like clods of rocky soil. "Chances are that I'll never be able to father children."
"What?"
Shaw drew in a deep breath. "I had the mumps bad when I was four. Ma says that they settled... there. That she nearly lost me. She told me that fever burns out a man's seed."
"That's an old wives' tale," she said, not wanting to think it could be true. She didn't want a child, not now. Now would be impossible. But hearing that there'd never be a hope of having his baby brought a sharper pain inside than she would have thought possible.
"True enough. I been doin' what a man does since I was fourteen. Never got a woman with babe yet. Accept it, Bec; I have."
"You never said a word."
"Why would I? It's not news a man likes to spread. But I couldn't ask you to be my wife without telling you."
"I appreciate that." Why did she feel as though someone had punched her in the stomach? She'd always known that there was no hope for the two of them. Shaw had just asked the impossible. So why was she regretting babies from a man she couldn't have?
He nodded. "A woman has a right to expect kids from her husband. If that's a problem, I'll understand. But if you can live with it, I'd consider it an honor if you'd accept my offer."
"If things were different... If we could..." She tried again. "I always thought that a woman should put the man she loves first, children they might have second."
"All right. Good."
"I still don't believe it," she said. "If I hadn't been with you, I'd think you'd been drinking. I never expected you to ask me."
Shaw chuckled wryly. "It's a tough nut to bite, that's certain," he replied. "I've always been a man who likes his freedom. But you're stubborn. If I can't have you without doing it up legal like, then I'll take my punishment."
She made a helpless gesture and blinked back scalding tears. "You're safe, Shaw. I can't accept your offer. I want to, but I can't."
He touched her cheek. "Tell me you don't love me."
She shook her head. "Can't."
He lifted her hand and kissed the back of her knuckles tenderly. "I've broke my own vow against hitchin' up. I'm willing to give you my name. I'll care for you all the days of my life. What more do you want from me?"
She hadn't thought the pain of having Shaw ask for her hand in marriage could be so sharp. Once, when she was little, a wagon had passed through with a brown-haired woman and a girl just her age. The mother had held her pigtailed daughter on her lap and tickled her, and the child had laughed.
Rebecca had watched them, thinking of her own mama dead and buried... remembering, far back. Her memories of her mother were blurred and fleeting, but she could almost smell Mama's scent of lilac and hear the merry lilt of her laughter.
Poppa claimed that envy was a wicked sin, but she'd envied that girl her mama's touch. And she'd felt the hollow ache of knowing that she wouldn't see her own mother's smile again this side of heaven.
Shaw kissed her, a kiss so full of passion and promise that she swayed against him. Again he kissed her, and she forced herself to break away from him. "I love you," she whispered. "But I can't turn my back on my family. They need me."
"You think I don't?"
"It's too soon, Shaw. We've seen each other... how many times since you've gotten back? I can't—"
"I'm the same person I've always been," he murmured. "The one you've known most of your life."
A gust of wind blew in the open door, carrying scattered drops of rain. They hit her face and blended with her tears. "I can't take my happiness and forget what I owe them."
His eyes hardened to black glass.
"Shaw, please," she begged. "Try to understand."
"There's nothing to understand." He stood as tension heightened between them. "Either you love me enough to be my wife or you don't."
"It's not that easy." Sobbing, she rose and flung herself into his arms. She wanted him bad enough to trade her immortal soul for him, but she knew it couldn't be. "I won't take you from your own people," she said. "I can't. And I won't risk getting you killed to have you for a little while."
He held her for a long time, just standing there and whispering endearments into her hair. "I told you, Bee," he managed huskily. "I can't let you go. I came so close to losing you in that shooting between your family and mine. It made me realize that you matter more to me than anything in the world."
She sagged against him, weak and vulnerable. "It's not you, Shaw. It's me. I can't bring you anything but sorrow." She pushed away just enough to look up into his face. "What if you found out that my father really did kill your brother? What would you do?"
The fierce expression on his face told her more surely than words.
"He didn't. At least, I hope he didn't," she said quickly. "But it could be Uncle Quinn, or even Corbett, or one of the twins. Do you think I could stand it if you took your revenge on them? Could I sleep next to you, grow old with you, if you had their blood on your hands?"
He cursed again, and she winced at the anger in his voice.
"Don't hate me," she said.
He shook his head. "It's too tangled for me to see light, Bee. But if I take you away, if we leave Missouri and—"
"Run away? But the questions would follow us. Did you father Eve's baby? Am I sister to a murderer? Time wouldn't heal those wounds. They'd fester until what we feel for each other turned foul and rotten."
"I'll take you to Saint Louis. Eve can tell you the truth about her babe."
"Shaw..." She swallowed. "I shouldn't have mentioned that again. I believe you. I just don't understand why Eve would tell such a lie about you. I've never known her to lie to me."
"Your father drove her out, didn't he?"
"In a way." She exhaled softly. "He did and he didn't." The ache inside was a raw throbbing. "Eve made a mistake. She's not a bad person, but she's headstrong, and she's always been willful and a little reckless."
"Making her different from you," Shaw said.
She ignored his comment. "Poppa was angry and disappointed over the baby. But he stood by her. He tried to find her a husband once she began to show. If she was a married woman, folks would overlook a five-month child."
"Even a MacCade child?"
She frowned at him. "Poppa offered to deed fifty acres of prime bottomland to Clyde Thomas, Dagmar Hedger's hired man, to marry her. Clyde was willing; Eve refused. She said she didn't love Clyde and couldn't respect any man who'd give a briar patch child his name just to gain land he hadn't
worked for. She and Poppa argued half the night over it.
"After that, they hardly spoke to one another. Eve waited until the baby was a year old, then she packed her things and told us she was going to Saint Louis to get a job. Poppa laughed at her, said she'd coming running back in a month with her tail between her legs. They argued again, and this time Poppa said that if she went to the city, she'd end up selling her body to strangers."
His eyes narrowed. "She went anyway."
"Yes, she did. I tried to convince him to forgive her, to go and get her and Jamie. But Poppa's as stubborn as Eve. Getting either one of them to change their mind after it's made up is next to impossible."
"I've noticed that about your father."
"He's a good man, Shaw. I know what your family thinks him, but—"
"I don't want to talk about them. I want to talk about us."
"There isn't any us," she said. "There can't be."
"And you expect me to let you go on to Saint Louis by yourself," he said grimly.
"Yes. I do."
"It's not going to happen, Bee."
She took a step backward. "I can't be alone with you."
Sparks of anger billowed from his devil-black eyes. "You think I'd force myself on you?"
She shook her head. "No. But if we're together... I won't be strong enough—"
"Is there somebody else you'd rather have? Tell me true."
"No! Never." The notion was impossible. All the time Shaw was gone west, she had made excuses why she didn't like one man or another, when all along it was because there was no one else for her but him. "There never will be," she promised. "Only you."
"Me either." He ran a hand through his mud-caked hair. "So there's only one solution. We do like I said. We get married. I take you to Saint Louis. We can be together for a few weeks... for however long it takes for you to find your sister. For you to think things out."
"And later... when it's time to go home?" She stared at him bewildered. What was he saying?
"If I can't have you for always, I'll take what I can get. We'll be man and wife here. Then, if you still want to go back to your folks, I'll take you. You can go back to being Campbell Raeburn's spinster gal. None of them ever have to know."
The Taming of Shaw MacCade Page 17