Frontier Woman (25 page)

All too soon Creed reached the bedroom. Cricket resumed her fetal position as soon as he laid her down. He left again to rummage as quietly as a thief through the dining room cabinets, where he found Amy’s store of medicinals, including her supply of laudanum. When he returned, he spooned some down Cricket’s throat, setting the bottle on the table next to the bed in case she needed more.

“Where does it hurt?” he asked.

“All over.”

Creed chuckled at Cricket’s emphatic complaint and shook his head. “Be more specific.”

“My belly . . . and my back.”

Cricket was in so much pain she didn’t realize at first what Creed intended as he sat down beside her and placed his hands on her back at the curve below her waist.

“Here?” he asked, his thumbs finding the clenched muscles with great accuracy.

“Yesssss.”

She tensed when Creed began gently but firmly massaging the tight muscles of her lower back under his fingertips.

“Don’t fight it, Brava,” he whispered. “Relax.”

Cricket could feel the tension easing as he moved his strong hands lower, just above the swell of her buttocks. His thumbs caressed in ever-widening circles. Slowly, the combination of Creed’s massage and the laudanum began to work. Her legs unfolded, and she was able to stretch out flat on her stomach.

As soon as she did, Creed let his hands roam. He soothed the muscles in her shoulders. He discovered the curve of her spine. He measured the span of her waist. He enjoyed the shapely firmness of her buttocks.

Cricket felt like she was floating. The pain had become no more than a memory, and it seemed entirely natural to enjoy the feel of Creed’s hands on her through her underclothes. She felt better than she’d imagined possible during the female miseries.

“Creed?”

“Hmmm?”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, Brava. It was my pleasure.”

Tomorrow, when the mellow mood induced by the laudanum wore off, she was probably going to be furious at the way he’d touched her. But Creed couldn’t deny himself that joy tonight. He slipped into bed and pulled her into his arms, so they fit together like two spoons in Amy’s silverware drawer.

“Creed?”

“Hmmm?”

“Shouldn’t you be on your own side?”

“Not tonight, Brava. Tonight touching is the only way I can help you. And I want to help.”

He splayed his hand on her belly and gently caressed her taut skin, working to ease the constricted muscle beneath it. Cricket snuggled her rump deeper into the pocket created by Creed’s groin and thighs and gave him sway to do with her as he pleased. She didn’t think about their closeness, she just enjoyed it. She felt peaceful, languorous, sheltered . . . and before she knew it, she was asleep.

When she woke in the morning, she was alone. From the look of the sun, it was nearly noon. She sat up and was surprised at how well she felt, although things were still a little muzzy. She seemed to remember Creed dosing her again with medicine in the middle of the night, like he would a sick horse. He’d stayed close to her, his hands constantly moving, soothing, taking away the pain.

Cricket flushed. It wasn’t as though she’d voluntarily slept in Creed’s embrace. It had taken the female miseries to put her there. But—and she was having far too many moments of this God’s-truth kind of honestly lately—it had been wonderful.

When the door opened to reveal Creed with a tray of food, Cricket felt a sudden shyness. After all, he’d been treating her for a delicate female condition.

However, there was nothing timid about Creed’s greeting. “Good morning! How’s the girl with the female miseries feeling today?”

Cricket blushed scarlet as she sank back down into the feather bed and pulled the covers up over her face. Husbands didn’t talk about things like that with their wives, did they?

Creed laughed heartily. He brought the tray over and set it down on the table next to the bed.

“Come on, Brava. Sit up and eat something.”

“I’m not hungry,” Cricket muttered from under the sheet.

“Sure you are. As a matter of fact, if you think about it, you’re probably starved.”

Right on cue, Cricket’s stomach growled.

“See what I mean?”

He obviously wasn’t going to leave anytime soon, and she
was
hungry. . . . Cricket slowly sat up, keeping the sheet modestly in front of her. “What do you have there?”

“It’s soup,” Creed said. “A broth, actually. I wasn’t sure how you’d be feeling.” He searched her face for a clue as to how well she’d survived the night, and their eyes caught and held. Something passed between them that hadn’t been there before.

Creed tried to ignore it, but couldn’t.

Cricket tried to identify it, but couldn’t.

Creed cleared his throat.

Cricket cleared hers, too.

She blinked once.

So did he.

But it didn’t go away.

Whatever it was crackled between them like lightning in a thunderstorm, and Cricket could feel her neck hairs standing on end. She searched Creed’s eyes for some clue to the mystery and lost herself in their depths.

Creed reached out a hand to touch Cricket’s face, to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. There was a tingling awareness between them, an imperceptible lure, like pollen to a honey-bee. The tugging attraction drew Creed’s attention to little things he’d never noticed before, like the way Cricket’s eyelashes curled on the ends, and the way her brows arched so symmetrically over her dove-gray eyes. And like a honey-bee, he wanted to taste the flower before him. He suited deed to thought, leaning slowly but surely closer to Cricket, until he’d closed the distance between them.

Cricket saw what was happening but was powerless to prevent it. As Creed’s lips settled gently on her own, she realized she didn’t want to stop him.

Creed sucked slightly on Cricket’s lower lip, then teased it with his teeth. His tongue traced the edge of her upper lip, and Cricket opened her mouth to give him freer access. It was an invitation Creed didn’t ignore. His mouth settled firmly over hers, and his tongue came to plunder the treasures within.

“Cricket, I . . . excuse me, I . . .” Amy wished she could take back her words and disappear, because it was obvious she’d interrupted something pretty important.

Cricket was mortified to realize how close she’d come to succumbing to . . . whatever it was husbands and wives did together. What on earth had come over her? She was still quivering from Creed’s kiss. She was glad she didn’t have to stand, because she was sure her legs wouldn’t have supported her.

Creed sighed and brushed a hand through his hair. “Come on in, Amy. I know Cricket would like a chance to talk with you. I’ve got to go help Tom at the gin anyway. I only stayed to make sure she was feeling better.”

“So you
were
sick,” Amy accused.

Creed and Cricket exchanged a look, Cricket begging him not to say anything, and while he didn’t understand her reluctance to share her problem with Amy, he was willing to abide by her decision.

“A little upset stomach,” Creed said. “She’s fine now, I think.”

“You’ll stay in bed, today, though,” Amy announced, “and make sure you’re all right.”

“I’m fine, Amy,” Cricket protested.

“I won’t hear differently,” Amy said in her sternest voice.

Cricket looked to Creed for help, but he shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “You wanted to keep secrets from her, so now you’re paying the consequences.”

“I’ll see you tonight,” Creed said as he left.

“I hope you’re going to feel better in time for the party on Saturday,” Amy said, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. “Oh, dear, that would be unfortunate, if you were too sick to come to your own party.”

Not as far as Cricket was concerned, but she had the good sense not to say so to Amy. Which reminded her that she still had to learn how to dance. Now, however, the thought of spending an entire afternoon being held in Creed’s arms was decidedly appealing.

Cricket refused to contemplate the changes in her attitude toward the Ranger. Their whole relationship was temporary, anyway, so what did it matter if she let herself enjoy his company? It wasn’t as though they were going to keep up this farce once Sloan was cleared of any wrongdoing.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Cricket said. “I know you have a lot of things to do, Amy, so don’t worry about me.”

“Are you sure you won’t get bored all alone?”

Cricket smiled. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll come check on you when I put Seth down for his nap,” Amy said.

“You don’t have to, really.”

“I want to.”

Cricket knew arguing was useless, so she gave in gracefully. “All right, I’ll see you later.”

Amy leaned over to give Cricket a hug. “You get well now, hear?”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Cricket called after Amy. Actually, she already was fine. But if she stayed in bed she’d have time to think, and Cricket wanted, above all things, to think about what had happened this morning between her and Creed.

For a start, she relived every moment of Creed’s kiss: the tightening in her breasts that streaked like an arrow right to her belly, the shortness of breath, that shivery feeling that took away her will to move and kept her quivering in anticipation of his next touch. Then there was the softness of his tongue as it traced the edges of her mouth, and its hardness as he thrust inside, dominating her senses. And there was the taste of Creed, still on her lips. She ran her tongue along her lower lip and tasted him there. She certainly didn’t want to wipe her mouth on her sleeve as she had once upon a time.

Cricket smiled. How the mighty had fallen. She had wanted Creed to kiss her. And it had felt so good. Look what she’d been missing all these years—what she would still be missing if it weren’t for Creed. At the moment, she was feeling decidedly benevolent toward the Ranger. In fact, she was feeling downright grateful. Yes, that’s what she felt. That must be why she was so willing to be touched. Of course, that didn’t explain her desire to touch the Ranger in return. There must be some other reason for that.

If she listened to Amy, there was a perfectly logical explanation for what she was feeling toward Jarrett Creed.

“No, that can’t be it. It’s just not possible.”

Cricket guffawed, a loud hooting sound, accompanied by a slap on her knee. “I don’t believe it!”

But it explained a lot of otherwise unexplainable things.

Cricket’s hoots got louder, turning into deep belly laughs. She doubled over with laughter and realized as she did so that, thanks to Creed, she was laughing today instead of moaning. She laughed until tears streamed down her face. And this was
so funny
she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to stop laughing.

She was in love with Jarrett Creed.

Chapter 17

CRICKET WONDERED WHY CREED WAS BEING SO mysterious about where he was taking her. After all, he’d made it perfectly clear they weren’t going to be more than five minutes from the plantation house, because he was concerned about the Comanches whether she was or not. He grasped her hand firmly and tugged her along behind him. They’d postponed her dancing lesson twice in the past week because of emergencies at the gin site. Here it was the day of the party, and she’d yet to take the first toe-tapping step. Creed had promised her she’d learn how to dance this afternoon but seemed bent on taking her for a wild goose chase first.

When Cricket saw the dense foliage through which Creed proposed to lead her, it looked impenetrable. When he shoved aside a tree limb as though to enter the stygian gloom, she ground to a halt. She’d wanted privacy for their dancing lesson, but this was ridiculous.

“Creed, wait.”

“Come on, Brava. It’s only a little farther.”

“There won’t be room to move in there.”

Creed turned to her and smiled. “There’s room. Trust me.”

It was a sign of how things had changed between them that she did exactly that. For the first few yards it appeared she’d made a mistake. Suddenly, the undergrowth magically disappeared, and she found herself in the middle of a kellygreen glade that framed a glistening pond, the kind with dragonflies skimming the surface, bullfrogs squatting on lily pads like kings on thrones, and lizards scurrying from stone to stone along the edge. Bluebonnets had sprung up in the surrounding grass, providing a pleasing purplish-blue blanket patterned with yellow butterflies, upon which a doe and her fawn reposed. The doe raised her head but didn’t bolt. Rather, she licked the fawn, as though confident no harm could come to them here.

“Aaaah. It’s so . . . so . . .”

There was no way she could explain to Creed with words the serenity she felt in this beautiful place, but Cricket turned, and their eyes met, and she knew words weren’t necessary. He understood.

“How did you find this place?”

“When I first came to Lion’s Dare after living among the Comanches, Tom set me to clearing away the brush to keep me busy. I saw a stag caught by its antlers in the branches of a low tree, and when I freed it, I noticed a path nearby in the undergrowth. It led here. After I found this place, I convinced Tom it wasn’t worth it to clear away all the brush in this hollow for such a tiny, marshy plot of land.”

“You never told him this was here?”

“No one knows about this place except me . . . and now you.”

“Oh, Creed.” Cricket spread her arms wide and whirled in a circle. Her skirt floated around her, curling and flipping to give an occasional glimpse of her shoes and even her stockings. She whirled faster and faster in delightful abandon, her skirt flying higher, her voice rising in peals of laughter at the effort it took to keep from falling down from dizziness. She twirled until she was breathless, and when she finally stopped, she found herself somehow standing directly in front of Creed. She curtsied impishly before him, almost losing her balance, the way things were still whirling in her head, and then held her arms out to him.

“Shall we dance?”

He smiled at her and answered, “My pleasure.”

Cricket was unprepared for Creed’s firm hand at her waist, even less prepared for the hand that clasped her own so surely. She kept her eyes focused on his chest and swallowed uncertainly. “What now?”

She hadn’t realized she’d whispered until Creed answered in an equally soft, husky voice, “Follow me.”

“There’s no music.”

“Sure there is,” he said. “Listen.”

What Cricket heard wasn’t music, exactly, but it was melodic. The low, steady buzz of insects. The croak of a bullfrog. The plunk of a fish as it jumped in the pond. The clarion caw of an angry bluejay. And under it all, the dulcet harmony of leaves rustling in the gentle wind.

Cricket followed as Creed began to move in rhythm to nature’s serenade. As the pace of their dance increased, Creed’s hand tightened at her waist, drawing her close to his muscular length.

“Mine,” he murmured in her ear. “You’re mine.”

Cricket knew his claim was only temporary, and that when his work was done he’d send her home. Caution suggested she ought not to lay herself open to the heartache she’d feel when he left her, as she knew he would. But she’d ceased to care what she ought or ought not to do. There was only Creed, and the need to be a part of him, and to make him a part of herself. She molded her body to his, became one with him.

Creed stopped dancing abruptly and took her face in his hands. He tipped her head up so they were only inches apart and let his blazing eyes speak for him.

You belong to me.

Somewhere in the back of her mind a voice warned that through such possession came male dominion. She fought an inner battle against acknowledging the depth of his claim. She felt herself losing the battle, yet did not wish to retreat from his gentle assault. She stood stock-still as Creed reached behind her back and took her long auburn braid in his large hands. Before she was aware what he intended, he’d removed her green ribbon and begun unraveling the thick, heavy braid.

His eyes warmed her, his voice gentled her to his touch. “I’ve wanted to do this since the moment I saw you.”

He gently threaded his fingers through her waist-length hair, gradually releasing it from its constraining fetters, as he’d released her from the ties that had bound her to Rip’s dream. The breeze picked up the silky strands and carried them in flowing freedom behind her and around her, while the sun reflected off their burnished copper glory.

He thrust his hands through her rich russet mane and tilted her head back to draw her lips up to his. He let the tension build, keeping his mouth a breath away from hers so their essences mingled until they became as one.

“You’re a beautiful, desirable woman, Brava.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Their lips were so close Cricket could feel the beginning of Creed’s smile. She curved her lips so they would fit his and lifted herself onto her toes so she could reach his mouth.

At the first touch of Cricket’s tongue on his lips, Creed’s whole body trembled. She withdrew her tongue slightly and savored the taste of him before she went back for more. Her tongue mimed Creed’s actions when he’d kissed her in the past, teasing along his lower lip and then slipping inside, raking his teeth and the roof of his mouth. She could feel his need, hard against her belly, could feel his heart bursting with excitement under the hand she had pressed to his chest. His tortured breathing told of the battle for control that raged within him.

Suddenly, Creed took over, and Cricket found herself being kissed by a man starving for the taste of her. His tongue invaded her mouth and claimed it as his own with an erotic promise of how he would claim the rest of her. His sinewy arms clasped her to him, and his hands cupped her buttocks as he drove himself against her. Just as suddenly he took her shoulders in his hands and thrust her away from him.

“Wh-what . . .?” Cricket was gasping for breath, afraid she’d been rejected and unsure why, when Creed’s deft fingers released the first button at the throat of her dress. Cricket’s hand reached up and covered his.

She searched his eyes and discovered uncertainty—and an agony of need.

“I’ll do it,” she said.

Creed’s hands dropped to his sides in tight fists. His eyes were hot on her as she slowly raised her hands to the shell buttons. As each button was released, the green linen fell away in aV from skin as golden as honey. Her breasts were swollen and crested beyond the confines of her chemise. Cricket ached, and didn’t know why. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry.

Whatever shallow bonds of civilized constraint had bound Creed broke. His hands reached through the seductive V and roughly forced the linen off her shoulders, binding her arms to her sides, as his mouth clamped onto one of the budding tips that had taunted him through her chemise.

The feel of Creed’s mouth and tongue suckling her through the wet cotton was so pleasurable Cricket had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. She couldn’t stop the reflexive arch of her body that gave him the access to her he sought. Creed’s mouth moved to her other breast, and this time she didn’t suppress her moan of delight. She fought the linen that bound her, seeking the touch of Creed’s silky hair, wanting to imprison him in her grasp and bind him as close to her as she was to him.

Creed’s hold tightened to subdue her until he realized she was struggling toward him, not away from him. His head came up and he rasped, “I have to have you. Now.”

His pupils were dilated, his golden eyes hooded, his gaze feral. It was as though she’d unleashed a hungry wolf and waited to be devoured by it. She wanted to provide the sustenance Creed sought, but she was suddenly, mindlessly afraid. Her body began shivering uncontrollably, and she couldn’t seem to stop it.

Before Cricket loomed another female hurdle, this one considerably higher than all the rest. Cricket was so certain she wouldn’t be able to get over it that she didn’t even want to try. She’d failed at every wifely task Amy had set, and she couldn’t bear to fail at this, as well. What if she couldn’t give Creed what he asked from her?

Her feminine confidence had been too freshly sown, the shoots were still too tender to support her. She couldn’t take the chance that Creed would test her and find her wanting, not even for the heaven on earth he seemed to be promising.

She took a deep, steadying breath, and said in a shaky voice, “No, Creed. Stop.”

At first Cricket didn’t think Creed had heard her, because his hold tightened rather than loosened. Then he shoved her away to look at her, and she saw the untamed passion in his eyes. She pleaded silently for understanding, but the ruthless man who stared back at her had every intention of taking what he wanted. She quailed before his fierce gaze, until the old Cricket, Rip’s brat, reasserted herself. She, by God, had no intention of giving anything to Jarrett Creed.

“I said no.”

Cricket’s violent refusal abruptly halted Creed’s ardor. He could see her breasts rising and falling in agitation, while her whole body stiffened. The sudden fear he’d seen in her eyes had been quickly replaced by stubborn determination. If her fear had remained longer, he might have sought out the reason for it. But in seconds, and for no plain reason he could see, the willing woman was gone, and he held in his arms his untameable
brava
. Of course, that only made her even more desirable to him, increasing both his frustration and his ire.

“You’re my
wife
. You don’t tell me no.”

“I’m your wife in name only. I’m your wife until you decide you don’t want me anymore. I’m your wife because you didn’t know what else to do to keep me from interfering with your plans,” she spat. “If you force me to do this now, I’ll kill you for it.”

He could see she meant it. Creed’s astonishment was exceeded only by his fury. He closed his eyes, struggling for control. When he achieved it, he realized he’d been ready to take her by force. He almost bellowed in rage at the thought of it. He loved her. How could he have come so close to taking her against her will? But she hadn’t been unwilling until . . . until she’d remembered the truth about their relationship . . . which he’d somehow conveniently forgotten. He opened his mouth to tell her how his feelings had changed but quickly shut it again. Only a fool would tell a woman he loved her when the woman so clearly didn’t return the feeling. He let go of his hold on her and turned away.

“Button yourself back up,” he snapped. “Unless you want to continue where we left off.”

The disgust in Creed’s voice was almost enough to make Cricket cry. Oh, how she wanted to cry! For someone who never cried, she’d spent an awful lot of time in tears lately. But then, lately she’d felt a lot less in control of her life than she ever had before. For instance, how could she tell Creed she loved him and wanted him, when she was afraid she wasn’t woman enough to be a wife to him.

When Creed turned back, she blinked quickly to hide the tears that threatened to spill.

“Do you think you’ll be able to manage your duty dance tonight?” he asked curtly.

“Yes.” Her voice was no more than a strained whisper.

“Then we’re finished here. We’d better get back to the house. I’m sure Amy could use your help to get ready for the party, and I’ve got work to do.” He walked away, not looking back to see if she followed.

Cricket took one last glance around the secluded glade before she bent to delve into the underbrush. Everything was as beautiful as when she’d first seen it, but somehow the magic had fled the place.

Cricket knew Creed was avoiding her when he sent Belle to the bedroom to ask for his wool frock coat, embroidered waistcoat, tucked linen shirt, and kerseymere trousers. He also sent the message he was going to dress downstairs so Amy would have time to help her with her hair. Cricket wasn’t fooled. She knew the real reason he was staying away was that he couldn’t stand to be near her after she’d acted like such a . . .
lily-livered coward
. . . in the glade. She cringed at the memory of how she’d shivered like a scared rabbit in Creed’s arms. Somehow she kept her composure while she collected the formal clothes and gave them to Belle, adding the neckcloth Creed had forgotten to ask for when he’d made up his list.