Bound For Eden (43 page)

Maybe he already had, Alex thought with a stab of fear. Maybe he'd told them while she was outside in the cold, as they sat there at the table in that lovely, homey kitchen. Maybe he'd told them about the night in the whorehouse, about the night in the river . . . maybe they all knew how shameless she really was. And how little he cared for her.

‘Hey,' Matt protested when he saw her beautiful eyes flood with tears. Instinctively he pulled her into his arms. In that way at least he was like his brother. Alex closed her eyes and couldn't stop herself from pretending that they were Luke's arms around her, that it was his hand rubbing comforting circles on her back. But she knew the difference all too well.

Matt watched through the window as Luke appeared on Isis and galloped off for town. He couldn't help but grin. This could prove to be a lot of fun, he thought, resting his cheek on the soft gold curls and narrowing his eyes speculatively. As long as Tom didn't go and get serious about the girl. He'd never seen Tom taken with a woman before and wasn't sure how smitten he was. Hopefully it wouldn't take him long to discover that the girl was besotted with Luke. Hell, weren't they all?

But, Matt thought, still grinning, he'd never seen Luke besotted in return before. Oh, he kept chasing about after that stuck-up Amelia Harding, but Matt would bet that he never lost control with her, not the way he just had with this beauty. And who could blame him, Matt thought with a sigh as he felt the lush curves pressing against him.

So why was his brother out there in the cold, and not in here enjoying these curves? What had happened out there on the trail? Something to make his brother stupid where Alexandra Barratt was concerned, that was certain. He wondered how long it would take for Luke to come to his senses. And how much fun he could have with him before that happened.

‘Would you like me to show you to your room?' he asked gently, pulling away before the curves drove him crazy.

Alex wiped at her face and looked at him, confused. ‘We're still staying?'

‘Why wouldn't you be?'

‘But Luke . . . didn't Luke . . .?' She drew a halting breath.

‘Luke didn't say much of anything,' Matt said truthfully. ‘Tom pretty much presented him with a
fait accompli.
Come on,' Matt said soothingly, ‘you've had a long day. I'll show you to your room.'

She followed him up the stairs, to a neat corner room. It had brand new mahogany furniture, the walls were creamy white, and simple curtains hung at the window. It was a comforting room.

‘Sorry it's so simple,' Matt apologised. ‘Luke kept all of these rooms pretty blank. I think he plans to decorate them, but it depends on whether he has boys or girls.' He rolled his eyes.

‘He planned the house?' Alex asked, watching as Matt drew the curtains for her.

‘Down to where every nail would go,' Matt said dryly. ‘And built it with his own two hands. He's always had a very specific idea about this place, and about who would live here, and
how
they should live here.'

Alex heard the faint bitterness in his tone and remembered Luke's stories about his brother. She also remembered how demanding Luke had been when he was teaching her to ride. ‘He can be domineering, can't he?'

Matt gave a short laugh. ‘To put it kindly.'

‘I guess I can too,' she sighed, sinking onto the bed. ‘It's not always easy being the responsible one.' She thought of the Gradys, out there in dark, and shivered.

‘Who is he responsible for?' Matt snapped. ‘I'm a grown man.'

‘But you weren't always.' Alex couldn't believe that she was defending Luke, not after the way he'd treated her tonight.

‘I'm not a boy,' Matt yanked her to her feet and gave her a short, hard kiss. ‘I'm as much a man as he is.' He slammed the door behind him.

Alex felt a swift piercing rage. Oh, these horrid Slater men with their unpredictable tempers and their habit of manhandling her. She threw the pillow at the door, completely unsatisfied with the soft sound it made as it flopped to the floor. She wished she had something to throw that would smash. Loudly.

Thirty-Nine

She was driving him out of his mind. Everywhere he went, she was there. When he went down to breakfast she was there – more often than not standing at the stove, with an apron tied around that neat little waist. When he went into the barn, she was there – usually trying to coax Adam to eat something. The boy was so obsessed with the horses that he barely remembered to breathe, let alone eat. Even at night, when Luke locked himself in his room, she was there. Some hideous quirk of fate meant that she'd been given the bedroom next to his, and he could hear every move that she made – her bare feet on the floorboards, the sound of the window opening, the bed creaking beneath her weight as she turned in her sleep.

And when he closed his eyes things were even worse. She came to him in dreams: wet, naked, the river rushing over her as she rode him. Waking, swollen and aching for her, it took every ounce of willpower he had not to burst into her room and take her then and there.

She'd only been there for seven days, but it felt like a lifetime.

He lay in bed, dreading going down to face her. Mealtimes were appalling. He had to watch his idiot brothers falling over themselves for her attention. Hell, every time she smiled at Tom he just about swooned. And today was Sunday, he thought darkly. Sunday meant church. This meant she'd be coming along to the Hardings' – where every man in the area would fall in a heap at her feet.

He scowled at the ceiling just thinking about it.

‘Give me your coat, Stephen,' he heard her husky voice calling up the stairs, ‘and I'll give it a brush for you.'

He pulled his pillow over his face, unable to resist a quick fantasy. They were leaving. She'd come up the stairs to see where he was.
Luke? You'll miss the service.
She'd turn to call back down to the others.
Go on without me; I'll wake him up.
They'd hear the door close. They'd be alone in the house.
Luke?
she'd call softly as she entered his room. He would be asleep. She'd come over to the bed. Her hand would give the sheet a gentle tug. He'd be naked beneath. She would reach out . . .

Such fantasies caused him physical pain.

He was the last one down to breakfast, so by the time he got there all the food was gone. The O'Brien girls were doing the dishes, while everyone else fussed about, getting ready to leave for church. Luke poured himself a coffee, although all that was left at the bottom of the pot was a thick sludge. Disgruntled he sat at the table and stirred sugar into his sludge.

‘Don't forget your sermon, Stephen,' he heard Alex call from somewhere deep in the house. The hair rose on the back of his neck and he scowled. Why couldn't he simply ignore her?

‘He'll forget it,' she was sighing as she entered the kitchen. At least he had his back to her. Although he could still see the flick of her skirts from the corner of his eye. Today she was wearing the muslin sprigged with little pink roses. Not his favourite. It was too sweet for his taste, and too virginal for her, he thought dryly.

‘Where's Adam?' she asked, as she hung Stephen's freshly brushed jacket on the back of a chair.

‘I think he's out with the horses,' Victoria said shyly, stepping into the kitchen.

‘Oh, Victoria,' Alex breathed, and Luke turned to look. Victoria was resplendent in a brand new dress of primrose yellow. She'd never looked prettier. Blushing, she pirouetted to show off her handiwork.

‘What have we here?' Tom remarked appreciatively, as he came into the room behind her. ‘There's a wildflower sprung up in the kitchen.'

‘You look mighty fine,' Matt agreed, elbowing Tom aside. ‘Ned sure knew which colour would suit you.'

A few days before Ned O'Brien had come back from town laden with bolts of cloth, each and every one of them yellow: sunshine yellow, lemon yellow, sherbet yellow; cotton the yellow of buttercups, muslin sprigged with yellow daisies, lawn striped with sunflower yellow; pale gold satin, and a silk the colour of ripe wheat. A veritable wealth of yellow.

‘Oh, Ned,' Victoria had exclaimed, her eyes growing wide at the sight.

‘You looked so beautiful in that yellow dress,' he told her nervously, ‘I hated to think of it lost in the Snake like that. Not when . . . I mean,' he gathered his courage and let the words flow from him in an anxious flood, ‘that night in Independence, when we danced, you glowed like a second sun.'

‘Byron?' Victoria guessed.

‘No.' He turned bright red. ‘That was just me.'

He was blushing again now as he watched her pirouette happily in the kitchen. Luke couldn't help noticing the faint envy in Alex's eyes as she plucked at the worn skirt of her pink-flowered dress.

‘You look beautiful,' she told Victoria sincerely, obviously mastering her envy, before gathering her bonnet and heading out to collect Adam.

A few minutes later they heard an ear-splitting scream.

Luke was out the door and bursting into the barn before anyone had quite registered what they'd heard. ‘What happened?' he demanded, his heart pounding. He half expected to find Gideon Grady's knife at her throat. His knees went weak with relief when he saw that she was unmolested.

‘We'll make glue of you!' she was shouting at one of the mules. She was holding her rear, and he noticed her skirt was torn.

‘He bit you?'

‘Of course he bit me! The beast hates me!'

Luke started to laugh. She looked so earnest, her feelings genuinely wounded by the mule.

‘It's not funny,' she snapped, as Tom and Matt burst in behind Luke, brandishing their rifles.

‘You frightened me to death!' Victoria scolded when she realised it was only a mule bite.

‘Well, it hurt,' Alex sulked.

‘Oh, your dress!'

Alex finally noticed the large tear in the back of her best dress. Her dismay was obvious.

‘I'll make you a new one,' Victoria said quickly, noticing the telltale shine of tears in her sister's eyes.

‘But what will I wear
today
?' Alex moaned. ‘My gray is dirty and the other one isn't fit to wear out.'

‘You'll wear one of mine,' Victoria said firmly, shepherding her from the barn.

Alex couldn't believe it. She'd washed and pressed her dress especially, and now this. She eyed Victoria's dresses glumly. ‘We're not the same size,' she reminded her sister.

‘I know. But we could try my navy skirt with a blouse. What else can you do? You don't want to stay home and miss Stephen's first service.'

There was that. Although mainly she didn't want to stay home and miss seeing what this Adelia Hardup looked like. She dutifully crammed herself into Victoria's clothing. The skirt was fine, if a little snug around the upper swell of her hips, but the blouse was obscene. It didn't button all the way up – the last button they could fasten left a scandalous cleavage on display.

‘Oh my,' Victoria sighed, tugging helplessly at the sides of the blouse.

What was she going to do? Why couldn't Adam own a nice white shirt? Alex's eyes widened as she was seized with inspiration. How hard would it be to find a white shirt in a house full of men? Stephen was wearing his only clean one, but Luke had lots.

She felt a thrill as she slid into Luke's bedroom. She paused to look around, curious. It was another simple, welcoming room, full of the same pine furniture as hers. Only in here the curtains were dark blue, and it smelled of leather, soap, and horse. A smell she associated with Luke. Feeling unbelievably wicked, Alex crept to the wardrobe, and sure enough there was a row of crisp white shirts. Hastily, she pulled off Victoria's blouse and tossed it on the bed. The collar of Luke's shirt was far too big, so she left the top two buttons undone. She had to roll the sleeves up to her elbows, as they were too long, but once she'd tucked it in and cinched Vicky's belt she didn't think she looked half bad.

It was certainly better than wearing a torn dress, she thought happily, snatching up the blouse. As she pulled it from the bed she knocked his pillow to the floor. When she went to replace it she noticed something small and crumpled lying on the sheet. It was a cream-coloured cloth rose. Alex picked it up, her heart skipping a beat. It was the rose she'd worn in her hair that night in Independence. The one Dolly had pinned in her curls to disguise her short hair.

What was it doing here, under his pillow? Alex felt the blood rush to her cheeks. He'd kept it? All this time?

Her fingers stroked the petals as she struggled with this new knowledge. Gently she placed it back on the sheet and rested the pillow on top of it. When she joined everyone downstairs, she was still flushed and flustered.

‘Is that my shirt?'

‘We're late,' Alex said abruptly, cutting Luke off. She gave Stephen a shove towards the door and dove for the wagon before Luke could protest.

She rode beside Stephen in the wagon, unable to tear her gaze from Luke's strong back. He rode ahead on Delilah, flanked by Tom on his paint and Adam on Blackie. Bringing up the rear, his heels dragging in the dust, was Matt, jolting along uncomfortably on Fernando's bony back.

Faintly, Alex could hear a slow and lovely two-step, and feel the phantom press of Luke's arms as he danced her around the square beneath the swaying coloured lanterns.