Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (24 page)

Amy returned and held out a flat tin. “Here’s the salve. There’s a jug of vinegar over there under the food box. Be sure to wash the cuts out good with vinegar and water before you put the salve on.”

“Thank you,” Eleanor murmured. “I’ll get something for a bandage so it won’t get on his clean shirt.”

Eleanor climbed into the wagon and Amy moved over close to Rain. “Let me take a watch.”

“You can watch now. I’ll go to the creek and wash. I’ve got clean clothes in my saddlebags.”

“I’ll wash your dirty ones the first chance I get.”

Watching him go, Amy’s heart swelled with pride and love. She and Rain were together, and she was able to do for him. They worked well together, and she thanked God for the training Juicy had given her.

More and more often Rain touched her as he passed, as he had done when he left her just now. The warmth from the pleasure of his hand on her arm was still there, and Amy covered it with hers, holding on as if it were something infinitely precious. Sometimes she could feel him watching her; she would turn, their eyes would meet and hold and smile. At other times he looked at her with mocking tenderness, and still at other times his dark, fathomless eyes flicked over her and away, reminding her of the shy youth of long ago.

Amy’s heart soared when she thought of the soft words he had whispered in her ear, not over an hour ago.
I don’t like
any man looking at you the way that Frenchman did.

*   *   *

Inside the cabin, with the door firmly closed so that no light would escape, Eleanor dressed Gavin’s wounds by candlelight. The skin on his broad, muscular chest quivered more from the touch of her fingers than from the wounds or the cold. She gently washed the cuts on his arms, face and chest with the vinegar water, then smeared each with salve and bandaged them with strips torn from one of her clean petticoats. He sat on the box, his heart pumping wildly while the beautiful, fairylike creature hovered around him.

Gavin searched his memory for the last time a woman had done for him what this one was doing. It had been many years, so many years that it seemed to be in another life that he had felt a woman’s tender touch. There had been whores from time to time, but he had done the touching. They had been merely bodies he used to drive the devil from his loins.

While he had been at the creek, Eleanor had changed into a dark skirt and soft white shirt. Her hair was brushed and tied at the nape of her neck with a white ribbon. The shining dark tresses that hung to her hips brushed his bare shoulders and back when she turned this way or that while she administered to him. Her face was serious, her bottom lip caught firmly between her teeth. Gavin scarcely felt the pain when her fingers filled the cuts for watching the expressions flit across her perfectly formed features.

When Eleanor finished, she bent down in front of him until her face was level with his and stared at him intently.

“Gavin! Did you know that your nose is bent over to one side? Did that awful man do that to you?”

“No, lass.” Gavin’s wide mouth twitched, then broke into a slow, uneven smile that sent creases fanning out from his shining blue eyes and made indentations in his weathered cheeks. “That was done to me nose a long time ago.”

Entranced, Eleanor watched this unexpected transformation of his battered features. Hesitantly, she lifted her hand and gripped the end of his nose with her thumb and forefinger. She wiggled it back and forth.

“It’s there for good, isn’t it?” she asked with a look of confusion in her eyes.

“I fear tis.”

She straightened, still staring into his face, and tilted her head to one side as she studied him. “It suits you, though,” she said as if she had decided something of great importance. “Gavin . . . how old are you?”

“Why, I be an old mon, lassie.”

“How old?”

“I be thirty me birthday.”

“That’s not old. You’re only seven years older than I am. Aunt Gilda always insisted that I say I was eighteen. I’ve been eighteen since I was twelve.” Eleanor laughed. “Now, out here in the wilderness, it sounds so ridiculous. I’m twenty-three. Goodness! I’ve never said that out loud. Aunt Gilda would have swooned if she’d ever heard me.”

“I don’t be understandin’ what difference twould make.” Gavin got to his feet, trying not to wince as he reached for his shirt and slipped it over his head because he didn’t know what else to do or say. “My thanks to ye, lass.”

“Oh, Gavin!” Eleanor took his bruised and cut hand in both of hers, held his skinned knuckles against her soft cheek and looked up into his face. “My thanks to
ye,
” she said softly, with so much emotion he thought she was going to cry.

“Now, now, lassie,” he said gruffly. “Don’t ye be frettin’.” He put his other hand on the top of her head and patted gently. “Be off with ye. Ye’ve had a hard day, ’n the mon said we must be at the quay afore dawn.” Gavin blew out the candle, pulled the pole away from the door and opened it.

It was decided that Rain would take the first watch so that Gavin could rest. As Eleanor went to her bed in the wagon, Gavin threw his blankets down on the soft grass beneath it.

“I will be needin’ only a few winks, mon. Wake me when it’s me turn.”

“Are you turning in, Amy?” Rain was watching Amy reach into the wagon.

“No. I’m getting a blanket. I thought I’d stay with you for a while . . . if you want me to.”

“Foolish woman,” he teased and took her hand. “Come on.”

They left the camp and took up their vigil beneath the aspen where they had stopped before. The forest was motionless, blurred into darkness, but the little area around the cabin was visible. Rain stood his rifle, butt down, against the tree trunk, sank down on to the soft mat of long grass and pulled Amy down beside him.

“It’s getting cold. You’re going to be glad you brought the blanket.”

They sat for a while with shoulders touching. When he looped his arm around her to pull her close, she snuggled against his side. In silence they watched the shadows and listened to the sounds of the forest. Long ago Amy had developed an awed affection for the forest, marveling at its trickery, its beauty, and admiring its great towering trees. Tonight, because she was with Rain, she thought its awesome beauty magnificent. It wore a crown of a million sparkling stars. Heaven had never been nearer.

“What are you thinking?” he whispered.

“Lots of things. I was thinking about what Uncle Juicy said about trees. He said trees can live without man, but man would have a hell of a time living without trees.”

“What else?”

“I’ll not tell you now.”

“That’s two things you’re going to tell me later.”

“I haven’t forgotten. Talk to me. What did you do and think all those years you were away?”

“I thought about all the people at Quill’s Station. Do you remember coming to the barn the morning I left and asking me not to go?” His voice was a mere breath in her ear.

“I remember.”

“You kissed me good-bye. You smelled sweet and your body was soft when you pressed against me. I thought about it for months.”

She laughed softly. “I was so mad at you for going that for months after you left I’d call you a mule’s ass every time your name was mentioned.”

“Do you still think that’s what I am?”

“Sometimes.”

“If we didn’t have to be so damned quiet I’d tickle you,” he whispered with mock menace in his voice. His fingers found a spot beneath her breast and dug in. She wiggled, gasped, and grabbed his hand. Interlacing his fingers with hers, she brought it down to her lap.

“I can’t stand that!” She turned her face into his shoulder to silence her giggle. “Something dreadful happens when I’m tickled.”

“What? Tell me or I’ll tickle you again.”

“No. Please! That’s another one of those things I’ll have to tell you . . . later.”

“Amy, Amy—” He rubbed his fingertips lightly over her cheek, then grasped her chin and tilted her face up to him. “Sometimes I can’t believe this thing that’s happened to me. I want to be with you all the time, and when I’m not with you, I’m thinking about you.”

Amy felt light-headed with the exhilarating sense of release from a long nightmare. Her smile reflected her happiness. A sweeping tide of love for this man, this other part of herself, flowed over her.

“Does that mean you don’t consider me the pest you once thought I was?”

“It means, Amy-girl, that I’m beginning to wonder how I could possibly live without you.” The words came out huskily, his lips hovering a mere fraction over hers.

A shiver of excitement that was sheer heaven traveled down Amy’s spine. She felt tremblingly alive when his urgent mouth covered hers. He pulled her closer and her flat palm on his chest moved up to the back of his neck. His lips moved away and then back to hers as if he couldn’t stay away from them. He kissed her deeply and urgently, like a long-starved man. When he lifted his lips from her mouth, his breath came hotly against her cheek. She felt him take a deep, trembling breath before his firm mouth brushed hers again lightly.

It wasn’t enough.

“Ahh . . . damn!” It was a groan that ended as his lips, hard and intense, found hers again, bruising their softness. His arms crushed her breast against his chest and he held her as if she were life itself. Gradually his hold loosened, and then his lips were at the corner of hers, tracing a path to her eyes, then back to close over her mouth. His tongue was insistent, demanding that she meet it with hers. She responded hesitantly at first, then with welcome, and finally passion. She clung to him mindlessly, her hand sliding into the neck of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin, the strength of his shoulders, and the soft hair on his chest.

Amy came out of her trance of pleasure. They were both breathing raggedly and unevenly. Her leg was across his lap and she could feel the throbbing hardness of him through his buckskins as he shifted her leg to bring it up hard against him.

“Oh, darling! I’ve loved you for so long . . .” She scarcely realized she had whispered the words.

“You do this to me every time I kiss you,” he said simply, his voice a breath in her ear. His hand cupped her breast, his mouth opened over her lips, raking his teeth over their soft generous curves. The kiss fanned the flame of passion that burned in his loins and threatened to blaze out of control. She was his. This lovely, long length of strong yet soft woman was his. He liked everything about her body; her small rounded breasts, her smooth belly, her firm buttocks, her beautiful amber eyes. He felt that he knew her mind, her soul, her spirit as he had known no person other than himself. She had never known the touch of another man, and he vowed that as long as he lived she would be his alone. The thought sent a quiver of desire through him.

This feeling of tenderness was new to Rain. It was an emotion he had not felt before, and he wasn’t sure how to express it. He could only stroke the hair back from her face with unsteady fingers and kiss her lips time and again. A fierce desire to protect her came over him, and without realizing it his arms tightened until she could scarcely breathe. Here in his arms was more than he had ever dreamed of having. He wanted to take her immediately, thrust himself into her woman’s body, satisfy the hunger that gnawed at him and mark her as his own. But he knew that he couldn’t do that here. Reason dissolved the hunger that tormented him. She was too precious to him, too virginal and sweet. He wanted them both to taste the full pleasure of their mating. He pulled away from her, moved her leg from his lap and concentrated on trying to ease the ragged gasps that served as breathing.

“Rain?”

He knew she didn’t understand why he had put her away from him. He lifted her face with a finger beneath her chin. Their eyes locked, hers moist with confusion, his tender.

“Are you mine, Amy?” he asked softly.

“I’ve always been . . . yours.” Her fingertips gently stroked his jaw, his cheek, the hair at his temple.

“I think I’ve always known that.”

His words echoed to the very core of her being. She summoned all her determination to ask what she had to know. Her voice came out thin and weak.

“Do you . . . love me?”

He didn’t answer for such a long while that her eyes wavered beneath the intensity of his. Her lower lip quivered and, as she stared up at him, tears welled in her eyes. He lifted a finger and wiped away a teardrop that trickled slowly down her cheek.

“Ahh, don’t cry. I’m not much for words, and I’m trying to think of the right ones to say.”

“All you have to say is yes or . . . no.”

“It isn’t that easy. I don’t know exactly what love is. I’ve never used the word. I
like
things. I like the forest, the river, the mountains. I like to see young deer sailing over a deadfall, and I like taking a bath in a cool mountain stream. I like Farr and Libby—”

“Then . . . you
like
me?” The words came out, and on the heels of them a sob in spite of all she could do to hold it back.

“Please don’t cry, sweetheart. It tears me up!” His hand cupped her cheek, his lips sipped the tears from her eyes. “I think I’ve always known that there was a link between us. Christmas night when I saw you standing in the doorway, I had such a strange, peaceful feeling. It was as if I had finally come home, not home to Farr’s house, but really come home.” He kissed her forehead. “You have seeped into my soul—that’s what John Spotted Elk used to say to my mother. When I think that something could happen and you could be taken from me, I feel this terrible dread weighing me down so that I can hardly breathe. If that’s what loving is, then I must love you very much.”

Amy was quiet for the space of a dozen heartbeats. Then she was smiling through her tears, her eyes like amber stars shining up at him.

“You make me so mad! Why did it take you so damn long to say it?”

Then she was on her knees in front of him, her arms tight about his neck. She placed her lips on his, lightly at first, then with harder, deeper kisses. She kissed his eyes, his nose, his chin, then held his face to her breast.