Jessie's War (Civil War Steam) (17 page)

“Where am I supposed to go?”

“My tent is large enough for
two,” Luke offered. He patted the flap to his tent.

She hadn’t even realized he’d
been watching her, but she should have guessed he would be. “Not if you were
the last man on Earth.”

“Then build your own wikiup,”
Cheveyo advised.

“You took all the wood to
make these two.” She motioned to his and Amitola’s shelters. “Besides, we’re
cousins. As you pointed out, it’s forbidden to stay in the shelter of a man
neither kin nor husband. Bradshaw is neither, but
you
are kin. Perfectly appropriate.”

“First, I’m your adopted
cousin, so while I’m a member of your tribe, your taking shelter with me is not
appropriate at all,” Cheveyo said, his voice calm and reasonable. “Second,
where are your blankets?”

“I—I don’t have any.”

“Right. There’s our second
problem. I am
not
sharing my blankets
with you.”

“I have blankets. I’m more
than happy to share,” Luke called out.

“Shut up, Bradshaw!”

“And I’ve already seen you
naked.”

“Shut
up,
Bradshaw!”

Cheveyo pulled Jessie into
the circle of his arms, and for the first time since he’d ridden back into her
life, she felt welcomed.

“Don’t look at me like that,”
he whispered in warning. “You haven’t won.” He kissed her forehead. In
Paviotso, he said quietly, “Go sleep with your man.”

She wrinkled her nose and
scowled at him. “Ugh.”

Cheveyo kissed each of her
cheeks. “I missed you too, cousin.” For an instant, she thought he might
relent. Instead, he kissed her once more on the forehead, released her, and
walked into his wikiup.

Which left her with the
choice of sleeping outside in the snow or sleeping with Luke.

She knew which one she
wanted.

Her breath fogged the cold
night air as she brushed snow off a rock, wrapped a blanket around her body,
and sat. The fractured moonlight reflected on the ocean of white snow
stretching out in front of her for miles. Beautiful and stark and deadly.

Behind her, Luke’s footfalls
were heavy as he worked his way through frozen sagebrush to get to her. “Jessie.”
He laid a hand on her shoulder.

Her heart danced when he
touched her, and she tried to ignore it. In the dim light, he was even more
handsome—something about the way the moonlight lit his features or the
way he looked at her, or perhaps it was simply the way he was.

Her fingers ached to touch
him, and because they did, she twisted her hands in her lap. If she touched
him, she’d want more. She’d forget why she was so angry with him, and would
risk falling for him all over again. She couldn’t lose him again. Once had been
bad enough.

But it wasn’t the bad times
she remembered when she looked at Luke. The light on his face reminded her of
those times he’d kissed her behind her father’s barn, his lips warm as they
pressed against hers, a tentative kiss that had warmed her in a way she’d not
known before or since. Her name on his lips reminded her of those times he’d
whispered her name with reverence in his voice, as if no one existed for him
but Jessie. Making her believe in him. In
them.

Lies
, she told herself, and tried to force
herself to believe the word.

“Bradshaw,” she acknowledged
in a voice as frozen as the fog of pogonip.

“This is ridiculous,” he
said. “Come into my tent. You’ll freeze out here.”

“Hate to repeat myself, but
not if you were the last man on Earth.” If he could lie to her, she would lie
to him.

“Bedding you isn’t high on my
list either, sweetheart.”

“You seemed eager enough this
morning.” She lifted an eyebrow.

“You’re a woman and you were
naked.” He scowled. “I’m a man and not that discriminating.”

“There you go again.”

Luke was quiet for a moment. “This
really isn’t going the way I’d planned. I’m starting to think these may not be
my finest moments,” he acknowledged gravely, and Jessie wondered if, in his own
fashion, he had just apologized. “But my company must be preferable to death
from exposure, don’t you think?”

“Maybe.”

He smiled and took her hand
in his, and electricity jumped between them. “Come with me, Jess.”

She pulled her hand away. “It
is forbidden for a woman to sleep in the shelter of a man neither kin nor
husband,” she whispered, quoting Cheveyo.

“We’ve already slept
together.” His voice didn’t hold the suggestiveness she expected. Luke cleared
his throat. “Last night, I mean. And just slept.”

“I knew what you meant.” But
it didn’t matter how he meant it. Either way, they had slept together. Her
earlier bitterness died. “But you don’t know what Grandfather will do—to
you, to me—if he finds out. You’re
white
.
You’re the enemy. You don’t understand. I can’t do this.”

But what Luke proposed was
not forbidden in the eyes of her people. According to custom, she’d become Luke’s
wife years before, when she’d given him the gift of her body.

She’d become Luke’s wife in
her own eyes, too.

“I’m not the enemy,” he said.
“Not his. Not yours. I’m just a man looking for answers.”

“Everyone’s looking for
something,” she said. “You don’t think that’s the excuse the miners used when
they took our land from us? Everyone was ‘just passing through’ to California
until the gold dried up. Then silver was found, and we fought wars over the
land, or what was under it. Men died on both sides, and still do. Grandfather
will never believe you aren’t the enemy. Never.”

“You talk like you consider
yourself native. I’m not your enemy, Jess. I only want to find your father,
like you do.”

“I
am
native, and this isn’t some altruistic adventure on your part.
You’re not doing this for me, or even for Pop.” Strange, how that small bit of
truth pained her. “You have a goal, and my father is part of that. If I didn’t
have the information you need, would you still bring me along?”

Luke was quiet for a time,
and she heard his answer in his silence.

“You mind if I sit here for a
spell?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Thanks,” he said, as if she’d
given him a different answer. He sat on the rock next to her, so close their
bodies touched. He adjusted his hat and looked up at the night sky, and out of
the corner of her eyes, she studied his profile.

She preferred not to think
about how much she had wished for a moment like this once, so she stared up at
the sky with him. The stars were bright, and she marveled at them. She’d missed
the stars almost as much as she’d missed the man sitting beside her.

“Remember the summer when you
taught me all the names of the constellations?”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Gideon
made fun of me for weeks.”

A smile flirted with the
corners of his lips. He reached for her, and she surprised herself by allowing
him to take her hand in his. His big hand encircled hers and he squeezed her
fingers. “Me, too.” He turned to her. “God, I miss him.”

Against her better judgment,
she leaned into him. She wanted to share his warmth, to share her loneliness
with someone who understood, who mourned Gideon as much as she did. Because no
matter what else Luke had done, he’d loved Gideon once.

She tried to convince herself
she allowed this platonic intimacy because there was no one else. Cheveyo made
it clear he didn’t want to reestablish the bonds they’d once had. She only
relied on Luke because he was
there
.

She could turn away any time
she wanted.

“Me, too,” she whispered.

He put his arm around her
shoulders.

He lifted her chin and their
eyes met. With the pad of his thumb, he traced her lips, and she didn’t pull
away. When he finally pulled her into his lap, she didn’t resist.

Leaning in slowly, he gave
her plenty of time to see the intensity of his eyes before he closed them.
Enough time to pull away.

His lips brushed against
hers, a taste of what he offered.

Reaching up, she touched his
face, the stubble of his whiskers rough beneath her palm.

He held her loosely as if he
expected her to jump up and run from him, and perhaps she should have.

Instead, she kissed him back.

Luke cupped her neck at the
base of her skull, tilting her head back to kiss her deeply, his tongue gliding
into her mouth, taking her lower lip between his teeth and sucking gently.
Never giving her a chance to get used to him, he teased her into wanting more.
Small laps, kissing the corners of her mouth, then plunging in, crushing her
lips with his before retreating, a combination of gentle and rough, sweet and
passionate. He kissed the underside of her jaw, her mouth, her eyelids, the
sensitive spot below her ear.

Her body contracted with
want, heat gathering at the juncture of her thighs.

“Jessie,” he whispered, his
lips against her ear.

She shook herself out of the
daze of desire gripping her, and discovered she had wrapped her arms around his
neck and fisted her hands in his hair. Pulling him closer. Her still-bruised
heart quaked, but her body hummed with anticipation.

All she had was
want
. Not reason or common sense. Not
even anger or fear. Only a desire so intense it hurt, a pain going beyond the
physicality of lust. It left her trembling and raw.

She allowed her shaking hands
to fall into her lap as she quivered under the force of all that need. “Luke,”
she whispered, and then hastily amended, “Bradshaw.”

Beneath her fingers, his
muscles tensed. He rested his chin on the top of her head. “You mind if we set
for a spell?”

Jessie pressed her ear
against his chest and listened to the drumming of his heart. His embrace was
warm and she was so tired. She didn’t want to fight anymore—not with him,
not with Cheveyo, not with anyone. She only wanted to forget for a moment and
go to sleep, though even that would be impossible. What passed for sleep in her
life were short catnaps broken by nightmares and the ever-present fear.

Luke stroked her hair.

She liked being in the circle
of his arms, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against her, reminding her
that he lived. That they both lived. She told herself it was because she had
been alone for so long.

For the first time in years,
she felt alive and wanted to stay that way.

“I guess that would be all
right,” she murmured.

Then she promptly fell asleep.

When Luke woke the next
morning, Jessie’s face was pressed into his bare chest. Her head rested on his
bicep, and he brushed his cheek against her dark hair, resisting the urge to
taste the salt of her skin and the sweetness of her mouth.

She inhaled deeply, and if he
didn’t know better, he’d think her content.

He knew he was.

Nothing felt more right than
having Jessie lie in his arms. The warmth of her body, her scent, it all
wrapped around him, clenching his heart in a tight fist. Though she was thinner
than she had been when he’d left, her body had filled out, become the form of a
woman.

The desperate thrumming of
his desire for her disconcerted him.

She was here, now. With him.

Her hand snaked around his
waist, brushing up against his flank. First on the waistband of his trousers,
then on the bare skin of his back. Luke nearly lost himself to the power of
that touch when he heard rustling outside his tent. As the tent flap opened, he
drew his gun and had it cocked before Cheveyo’s face appeared.

“This is cozy,” he said.

Luke decocked his weapon and
set it down. He rested his hand possessively on her hip, and she didn’t pull
away.

She kept her eyes closed,
feigning sleep, not acknowledging her cousin or addressing the fact she lay in his
arms.

“I guess it’s not quite so
forbidden when it’s cold, is it, cousin?”

Jessie made no move to
confront her cousin or his taunts. Cheveyo’s dark eyes mocked him, daring a
confrontation, and Luke, despite his better judgment, acquiesced.

He gingerly moved his arm out
from underneath Jessie’s head and stood up, her dark hair sliding over him like
a satiny sheet as he stood up to duck under the flap of the tent. The cold
morning air burned his skin, but he ignored it.

If anyone started this fight,
it would be Cheveyo, but Luke would make damn certain
he
finished it. His knuckles ached from clenching his fists.

“Are we going to have words,
Cheveyo son of Chayton?”

Cheveyo gaze shifted from
Luke’s face to the flap of his tent, and back. “I’m not sure I like the way you
were touching my cousin, Luke Bradshaw.”