Authors: The Searching Hearts
Dorothy Garlock (7 page)
She was clinging to him weakly. The seductive movements of his hands across her hips and back, molding her closer to the granite strength of his body, were setting off explosive charges. His lips left hers momentarily, then hungrily returned to capture them in a soul-stirring kiss as an insidious, primitive desire grew inside her and she became helpless to stop it. These wanton, abandoned feelings were strange to her, she was powerless to control them. Instead, they were controlling her, taking over and making her want the physical gratification of his possession.
It was Lucas who drew back and held her away from him. In trembling caresses his hands moved
over her back and shoulders as he peered down into her flushed face.
over her back and shoulders as he peered down into her flushed face.
“I never intended to kiss you like that, Tucker Red.” She bent her head and refused to look at him. His arms enfolded her once again, but tenderly, and her arms went about his waist and she stood with her face in the curve of his neck. “I’m just as confused as you are.” His voice was close to her ear. “Since the moment I saw you I’ve not been able to get you out of my mind. But I’ve got to. I’ve got to keep my mind free because I’m responsible for all those women. I can’t let anything interfere with that. I thank God you’re not one of the intended brides. I think if you were I’d grab you up and run off with you. You understand, don’t you, that there can be nothing between us on this trip?” His arms drew her close again. “But when we get to California, Red, I want to show you the mountains. They are cool and green and a man’s got room to breathe.” He lifted her face with a finger beneath her chin and kissed her gently on the lips, then opened them with his own, tasting their sweetness to the fullest.
Mindless, unconscious of time or place, Tucker let him lead her back down the row of wagons. She had let him carry her away into unknown caverns of desire, never dreaming she could be so totally abandoned in the giving of herself—or so hungry to receive all that was given back. At the end of her wagon they stopped. His hand left her arm and shifted to her jaw, his thumb tracing the outline of her lips.
“’Night, sweetheart.” It was a mere whisper, and with a disquieting glitter his eyes roamed her face.
“Good night.” Frustration throbbed in Tucker’s throat, making her words sound like a sob of despair.
She tried to turn her face away, but her head was already being lifted to his descending mouth. She resisted, only because of this mindless power he had over her. His mouth opened over hers in a series of long, drugging kisses, and she surrendered to the inevitable flash of wildfire raging through her veins. Then it was over, and he held her away from him.
“I don’t know when I’ll get to kiss you again,” he said in a voice husky with emotion. He stood silently, his eyes searching her face, then he pivoted on one heel and walked swiftly away from her.
Tucker stood there dumbfounded, her fingers pressed to her lips, glad there was no one to see her, glad she had the night in which to get her feelings for Lucas Steele under control.
There was someone who saw Lucas walk Tucker back to her wagon, someone who saw him kiss her but didn’t hear the words he whispered to her.
Cora Lee Watson lay in her bedroll beneath the wagon she was going to share with Mrs. Hook and her son. Not for anything was she going to sleep in that crowded space inside. She couldn’t endure that closed-in feeling between the boxes or the quivering gray canvas between her and the sky.
Cora Lee was pleased with herself. She had managed, quite easily, to join the train. Lucky for her the drummer she was traveling with was in Fort Worth at the same time Lucas Steele was. From the moment she saw Steele, she knew she had to have him. The town was buzzing with news about the train of brides he was taking to California, although he was camped a mile out of town and was closemouthed about it. Each time the stage came in and brought more women for his train, Cora Lee itched to join them.
Early this morning she had taken a horse from the corral behind the blacksmith shop and had ridden out
after the train. When the wagons stopped for the night, she had turned the horse loose, knowing it would find its way back to the Fort, shouldered her belongings, and walked into the camp.
after the train. When the wagons stopped for the night, she had turned the horse loose, knowing it would find its way back to the Fort, shouldered her belongings, and walked into the camp.
Lucas had listened to the partially truthful story about the brutal stepfather who mistreated her, and she had slid the neck of her dress down, showing him the deep, rough ridges made by his whip. Those scars had smoothed many paths for her over the last few years and were almost worth the pain she had suffered getting them. This time it had been amazingly easy. Lucas Steele was no different from any other man faced with a pretty, tearful girl with whip scars on her back. Cora Lee knew she was pretty, beautiful in fact. She doubted if there was another woman on the train half as pretty as she was, unless it was the redheaded woman Lucas walked back to the wagon.
Lying in the bedroll with her arms folded behind her head, she felt warm and beautiful and confident. And, as always when she felt like this, she thought about men.
Cora Lee hadn’t always known she was attractive. Her family was poor. Her father, a brutish man, had been eternally angry at a world that had given him so little. Perhaps because she was a girl and of little use on the farm, or perhaps simply because she had been blessed with beauty while he was cursed with poverty, he seemed to resent Cora Lee deeply and tended to make her the scapegoat for all his ills. Her father’s attitude and actions, combined with her mother’s ineffectualness and her sister’s indifference, had
convinced the young girl that she was worse than useless—and that likely no one else would ever want her around either. And at that tender age, she had no way of knowing otherwise.
convinced the young girl that she was worse than useless—and that likely no one else would ever want her around either. And at that tender age, she had no way of knowing otherwise.
Then another man had come into her life. . . . Her first lover had been almost as big as her father. She had not been a small girl herself, only a young one at the time—barely fifteen. He’d stepped out from behind a tree and told her how pretty she was. After a lifetime of abuse, Cora Lee was enchanted by his flattery. Sensing this, he’d continued chatting amiably until he was sure he’d won her completely. When he finally touched her, she melted and he bore her to the ground to have his way with her. That had been the beginning, and before long the kind words of several other hungry men had found their way into her heart. After a while, her covert activities had become a habit, almost an addiction, and finally men’s actions came to mean far more to her than their words.
By the time her father found out about his daughter, she was beyond caring about any morality he might belatedly try to force upon her. It was the summer she was sixteen when she got the beating that left the ridges on her back. A drifter had stopped by the house to get a drink of water. Her father was out, and her mother and sister were in the garden. Cora Lee found the man appealing in a coarse kind of way. He lingered, eyeing the bodice of her immodestly unbuttoned dress. She reached out and drew him into the house.
She was lying on her back on the floor when her
father came into the house. Satisfied and languorous, she was barely aware that the man had skulked out the door while her father was snatching the bullwhip from the pegs on the wall.
father came into the house. Satisfied and languorous, she was barely aware that the man had skulked out the door while her father was snatching the bullwhip from the pegs on the wall.
Now, lying beneath the wagon, Cora Lee shivered and stirred restlessly while remembering the whip on her flesh. She had no doubt that her crazed father would have beaten her to death if her screams had not reached her mother and her sister and they had not come to hang on the arm that wielded the lash.
She was forbidden the house. Her father said if she would rut like a bitch in heat, she would live like one. She slept on the hay in the barn until her back was healed enough so she could cover her nakedness, and then she left her home in a peddler’s wagon.
Cora Lee had some regrets, but not many. She had managed quite well over the years. There had been a procession of men, none of whom were ultimately important to her. It was only important that she have a man when she wanted him. She had become a little more selective when she’d realized she had something men wanted—and that she could afford to choose among them. It amused her to let them think they were winning something from her, subduing her, even while she was heartily enjoying the act—practically living for it. It was also exciting for her to know that some men even feared her because she showed them so plainly what she loved.
It had been a satisfactory way of life until she saw Lucas Steele. Just thinking about him, Cora Lee felt desire grow in her like a living thing.
* * *
Cora Lee’s eyes had not been the only ones to observe Lucas and Tucker. Buck Garrett had seen Tucker come to meet Lucas, had seen them walk away together, and had been awake when Lucas walked softly to his bedroll and lay down. He had never known Lucas to spend so much time alone with a woman. Could it be he was tired of being lonely and without female companionship? Was that the reason he had been so easily persuaded by the girl with the turquoise bracelet on her arm? He had expected Lucas to send that one on her way, for he had seen the desire in her eyes, and the way her lips had parted enticingly even while the tears were running down her face. It wasn’t like Lucas to be so easily taken in.
Lone Buck lay with troubled thoughts. He had always been alone, always lonely. He didn’t have the memories of a woman to warm his thoughts as Lucas had of Shining Star. He had never even known a
nice
white woman. His companions and the women he’d known had been mix-matches, trash, like him, and with them he had been locked into a certain pattern of behavior. He had been rowdy and wild and had fought and whored. It was expected of him. He was a half-breed.
nice
white woman. His companions and the women he’d known had been mix-matches, trash, like him, and with them he had been locked into a certain pattern of behavior. He had been rowdy and wild and had fought and whored. It was expected of him. He was a half-breed.
Only with Will and Lucas Steele had he ever been himself, and even with them he felt separated by some of the things he felt and thought. To no one, not even these two men, had he ever confided all his innermost dreams—dreams of a quiet life, and respectability—or his deepest fears and emotions.
Since his return from the year in Yuma Prison, the loneliness had consumed him. Most of the time he accepted it, hardly noticing his isolation, but sometimes, like today, it enfolded him like a dark blanket, smothering him. Lucas depended on him, had hired him over the protest of the men financing the train. But they—like most folks—saw him as merely an insolent, wild rebel, a lazy, shiftless half-breed who should have been left to rot in prison.
Since his return from the year in Yuma Prison, the loneliness had consumed him. Most of the time he accepted it, hardly noticing his isolation, but sometimes, like today, it enfolded him like a dark blanket, smothering him. Lucas depended on him, had hired him over the protest of the men financing the train. But they—like most folks—saw him as merely an insolent, wild rebel, a lazy, shiftless half-breed who should have been left to rot in prison.
Lone Buck swallowed against the bitter taste flooding his throat and turned his thoughts to the golden-haired girl he saw sitting on the wagon beside the red-haired woman.
The girl was blind! She couldn’t see! Oh, God, what must that be like? Never to see the mountains, the prairie, a herd of wild horses, a sparkling stream, a flock of ducks soaring beneath the clouds. Yet each time he saw her, she was smiling, her voice full of laughter. How could she be happy? He would like to talk to her, learn the secret to her cheerfulness. He would like to be near her, look at her, hear her voice. What did one say to a nice girl like that? Certainly not the sort of things one said to a whore, nor the hard, rough talk of hunting and drinking men.
Thinking about her made him feel all mixed up and shaky inside, bursting with surprised happiness and yet scared to death of having her find out about his past. No doubt she would think him a worthless half-breed. Still . . . he could not keep his thoughts away from her.
* * *
It had started raining during the night, a steady, gentle, but persistent, spring rain. By the time the mules were hitched and breakfast was finished, the ground was already slick with mud. The downpour, urged on by a chilly wind, continued all morning. But seldom did anyone complain about rain in this country; it meant not only water in the water holes and basins, but also grass on the prairie.
Lone Buck took up his position in front of the train. Lucas moved up to ride beside him. Neither man spoke; there was nothing to be said. Both knew that every day, every hour, every mile, would make the difference between finding water in the barren, wild country ahead or suffering the torture of being without it.
It was past noon when Lucas held up his hand signaling the slowly moving wagons to stop. He and Lone Buck rode ahead to a creek swollen with the sudden rain. They rode into the middle of it and looked upstream. A few dead, twisted branches came tumbling toward them.
“We can make it if we get a move on,” Lone Buck observed.
Lucas nodded in agreement and put his fingers to his lips, giving a shrill whistle. “Mustang will start ’em rolling.”
The rain had slowed to a fine drizzle. Lone Buck looked at the stream and back to Lucas. “Can the women handle the mules in this?”
“Lottie can. I’ll put the drovers on the other wagons.”
Together they rode back down the straggling line. Lucas called to the drovers to leave their mounts and climb up onto the wagon seats. Lone Buck led Mustang and his wagon across the creek, and Lucas fell back to urge the drovers to keep the other wagons moving.
“Keep moving! Keep moving!” he yelled. “We cross now or we’ll have to wait here for a couple of days.”
Buck came back down the line with Mustang riding on the rump of his horse. He took him to the rear of the train where Mustang swung up onto the seat and took the reins from Mrs. Hook. Lucas swung her son Billy off the seat and onto the back of his horse.
“Get Laura,” he shouted to Lone Buck. “It’s going to be rough going for these last two wagons.”
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