Christine Dorsey (10 page)

“Is your chest hurting you?” Samantha checked his shirt for blood, but saw none. Still, she didn’t believe him when he shook his head.

“Well, it’s obvious you can’t leave,” Samantha heard herself say as she took down a mug to pour him some tea.

By the expression on her face as she looked around at him, Jake could tell she was as surprised by her statement as he was. He took a deep breath. “I think it’s best if I do.”

She couldn’t argue with that. Actually, she couldn’t imagine what possessed her to reverse her order that he leave. But she also couldn’t ignore that he could barely stand. And enemy though he was, she’d put a lot of energy into seeing him healed. Samantha didn’t want all her work to be for naught—at least that’s what she told herself. “Staying a few more days isn’t going to cause any more of a problem than you already have.”

Where had this woman learned her manners? She made him feel about as welcome as a weasel in a hen house. But then that’s probably what she thought he was. Jake considered denying again that he had anything to do with the man who’d been here the other day, but decided it was useless. She believed what she wanted to believe. He wore a gray uniform; thus he was out to hurt her.

Besides, he couldn’t keep his thoughts or his eyes off the plate heaped high with food on the table.

Samantha caught his gaze lingering on the tin plate with its rapidly cooling helping of meat and cornbread.

She didn’t want him taking meals in her house. But then she didn’t want him in her house period. Yet there was no denying he was already here. With a sigh, she pushed the plate toward him. “You might as well eat this. It doesn’t look like Will wants it.”

Jake hesitated only a moment. He knew she didn’t really want him here, and before the war he’d never have accepted such an ungracious invitation. But the war changed a lot of things, including his willingness to skip meals. Jake thought about explaining that hunger was part of the reason for his weakness. But she probably didn’t care.

If he had to guess, he’d bet she was thinking about her brother. She looked sad. He cut off a bite of beef, watching her a moment before he ate it. Was she going to cry again? Putting down his fork, he waited for her to meet his stare. “He’s just feeling his oats a little is all.”

Her eyes held his for a moment then she glanced away. “I don’t want to talk about Will with you.”

Damnit, she
was
going to cry. Jake took a swig of tepid tea. If he had any sense, he’d pick up the plate and make his way back to the barn. Eating at a table wasn’t worth this aggravation.

He never could stand seeing a woman cry. Lydia had discovered that about him even before they were married. And had become very adept at using that knowledge to her advantage. Not too often, though, he added to himself because it seemed disloyal somehow to think that at all.

But regardless of what his dead wife had done, this woman wasn’t trying to manipulate him with her tears. If anything, she was doing her damnedest to conceal how close she was to breaking down.

“Listen,” he said, ignoring his own advice to leave. “Rebelling against authority is something all boys do at his age.”

She shot him a look clearly meant to say mind your own business. But then her expression softened. “Did you?”

Jake grinned. “Sure. Now I didn’t have an older sister to bedevil. With me it was my pa mostly.” The grin broadened. “I wasn’t much older than Will when I decided to run away to sea.”

“Really?” Samantha studied him a moment through narrowed eyes. He didn’t strike her as a sailor. “Why?”

“Why?” Jake hadn’t thought about why for a long time. “Partly, I guess, because it was something I knew my father wouldn’t approve of. Don’t get me wrong. We got along fine for the most part. I admired him greatly, and loved him. But”—he grinned again—“he did seem to have me on a short lead.

“Anyway, the sea beckoned. I’d met this boy, more a man really, and he took me down to the taverns by the docks. Gave me my first taste of something stronger than wine. Then sent me upstairs for...”

Jake stopped, realizing he’d almost told this woman, this stranger, about his first sexual encounter. That would hardly make her feel better about her brother, not to mention it wasn’t something a gentleman discussed with a lady. “Let’s just say he introduced me to some new and enjoyable pastimes, and I figured they’d all be mine for the asking once I went to sea.”

Samantha swallowed. She hoped he couldn’t tell the way her pulse raced and her stomach tightened. He was telling her a story about when he’d been young, not much older than Will, by his own admission. And she couldn’t force certain images from her mind.

He’d been with a whore. When he was what, fifteen or sixteen? He hadn’t said it, but Samantha wasn’t completely naive. There was a house in town where whores lived. She’d seen them leaning out the windows. They wore bright colors and their hair hung down about their bare shoulders and they did everything they could to entice the men inside. Not that the men she saw go through the door looked as if they minded.

Captain Morgan had been to a place like that. He’d lain with one of those women, touching her and letting her touch him. When he was younger, his shoulders probably weren’t as broad as they were now. There wouldn’t have been the small lines radiating from the corners of his eyes, or the brackets around his mouth. But his lips were the same. They’d have been firm with the nice points on his upper lip like now, and his eyes—

Samantha sucked in air. He looked at her strangely, almost as if he knew her thoughts, knew how warm she felt inside. Knew she wasn’t thinking about him making love to a whore, but remembering what it was like to wake up lying beside him, her head on his shoulder. Quickly she glanced away. “Did you go to sea?”

“No. My pa got wind of my plans and came down to the tavern. Yanked me out of there and whupped me good. At the time I was furious because I thought he ruined my life. And of course I thought myself too much of a man to take kindly to my father’s—what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Tears were leaking out of Samantha’s eyes faster than she could blot them on her napkin, and she jerked out of the chair and turned her back. “I think you better go.”

“Now wait a minute.” Jake was out of his chair before he thought about doing it. Her shoulder was warm and soft when he touched it. “He didn’t really hurt me, you know. And I really wasn’t cut out for a life at sea. I—” Jake stopped. She was shaking her head and sobbing in earnest now. He turned her toward him, and though she stiffened, she let him. “What’s wrong?” he repeated.

Samantha pushed against his chest. “Go away.”

Jake didn’t know if she meant away from her, or from her farm, or off the face of the earth. But he did know that right at this particular moment she didn’t mean it. He pulled her to him. “Tell me,” he murmured into her hair.

Samantha sobbed. She shouldn’t be standing like this with him. But it felt so good to have someone to lean against. Someone strong. She buried her face in his soft cotton shirt and let the tears come.

Jake didn’t think she planned to say anything. Except for her soft crying she was silent for a long time. He held her close, running his hand over her hair in what he hoped was a soothing motion. He could feel the dampness of her tears, her body move against his as she breathed, and he tried to keep his thoughts on comforting.

“He whupped you,” Samantha mumbled into his shirt.

“I told you it didn’t hurt much.” Could she possibly be crying over a beating his father gave him over fifteen years ago? When she looked up at him, Jake knew how foolish that idea was.

“But he was there to do it. To keep you from making a big mistake.” Samantha’s breath caught on a hiccup. “No one’s here for Will.”

“You are,” Jake told her realistically.

“But I can’t... whup him... or do
anything
to make him listen to me.”

Apparently this admission was too much for her because Samantha sagged against him, new tears dampening his shirt. Jake’s arm tightened, and he rested his chin on top of her head. “You don’t need to whup him to make him listen. Will loves you. He’s just growing up, that’s all.”

She shook her head, the motion moving her body against his, and Jake felt his own stir with something more than the promise of comfort. She looked up at him again, her eyes large and crystal blue from tears. Her dark lashes were spiked with moisture, and her mouth was slightly open.

Jake didn’t know why he did it—if he’d looked for reasons he certainly wouldn’t have—but his mouth came down on hers. Gently at first for there were still thoughts of comforting mingled with the desire. But then he felt her warm breath, tasted her, and the passion exploded, blocking out all else.

He overpowered her. His arm locked her upper body to him, and his large hand cupped her head, digging into her hair and dislodging the pins holding her braid. His scent surrounded her, his taste filled her mouth, and she could scarcely breathe. Yet all she could think about was getting closer.

It was silly, she knew, but Samantha had an unmistakable urge to crawl inside him and let pure sensation pour over her. Her arms twined around his waist. She could feel him against her, rock hard, and she seemed to melt.

His mouth was hot and wet, intense, and it shattered her senses. Samantha wriggled against him, mindless of the open door, mindless of propriety. She only knew a coil inside her wound tighter, and only he had the power to release her from this maelstrom.

But he didn’t. As abruptly as he started the kiss, he ended it. Samantha clutched at his elbows when he pulled away, needing support to keep from slipping to the floor.

“I apologize.” Jake sucked air into his lungs. Samantha looked up at him, her expression as dazed as he felt. What in God’s name had possessed him? He’d meant to offer comfort—though why he felt the need, he didn’t know. But he’d ended up devastating them both.

Whatever happened between them was spontaneous and unexpected. Jake had been with his share of women. Even after Lydia’s death, there were times when the tension got to him and he sought release. But none of those times left him feeling this shattered.

He wasn’t sure he ever had. And that realization made him feel guilty as hell.

Stepping back, Jake glanced away, then steeling himself, looked back and met her eyes. “I really am sorry. I...”

Samantha shook her head and turned toward the stove. She didn’t trust herself to speak, and when she looked back, she knew it wasn’t necessary. The Rebel was gone. Crossing to the door, Samantha saw him stride into the darkness.

At one time she thought getting rid of him might be difficult. But Samantha had seen the expression on his face after he’d kissed her. He’d been thinking of the woman in the daguerreotype. And she had no trouble believing that he was sorry.

He’d be gone by morning.

S
amantha woke with a start. Again sunshine poured through her window, and she shook her head and moaned. She’d never been one to lie abed—with the farm demanding all her attention, it wasn’t possible—and she refused to start now. But more often than not lately she slept till well past dawn.

Throwing her feet over the side of the bedstead, she scurried across the downy, cottonwood floor and splashed water into the bowl. The mirror was ornate and chipped, a long-ago casualty of the trip from Boston. Samantha glanced at her reflection and groaned. She looked like she hadn’t slept a bit.

“Not far from the truth,” Samantha mumbled as she scooped water onto her face. After Captain Morgan had left the night before, she’d sat in the rocking chair waiting for Will to come back. After an hour or so she decided he wasn’t likely to show up with her sitting waiting for him. So she went to her room and latched the door, falling on her bed in an exhausted heap.

She thought she would cry. It seemed like a good time. She was alone, and heaven knows she was upset enough.

But she couldn’t keep her mind focused on the farm, or Landis Moore, or even Will long enough to summon up a tear.

All she could think about was Jacob Morgan and that kiss.

That’s why she hadn’t slept even after she heard Will come in and climb to the loft. That’s why she tossed and turned till her curls were a mass of tangles. Samantha unwound her braid and swiped the brush through her hair.

There it was again. She cocked her head to the side. She hadn’t been imagining the noise that woke her. Hammering. Will was hammering something. And he hadn’t had any breakfast.

Samantha dropped the brush and twisted her curls into a bun—quickly. Not because brushing her hair reminded her of last night... of Jacob Morgan’s fingers tangling in her—

“Stop it,” Samantha admonished herself. There was no reason to think of him again. She was certain he’d ridden off at first light. Off to Texas like he told Will... or maybe back to Landis Moore. Samantha shook her head. She didn’t think he’d go there. But he sure didn’t want to stay here.

His rejection after that kiss was obvious. Samantha didn’t have much experience with men, but she’d read that easily enough.