Prairie Song (20 page)

“One move and it’ll be your last!” a soft voice whispered into his ear.

“Cherish?” Brant froze. He could have easily fought off an attacker, but all his senses halted any action. He could smell the sweet, fresh smell of her and feel her long hair brushing against his bare chest as she thought she was holding him down. Her breath was warm against the hollow in his neck and her touch was light as she slid her palm along the damp hairs of his chest.

He relaxed as he tried to understand her game.

“I said, don’t move!” She tickled his ribs with the knife as she spread her weight over him. “I don’t want to have to kill you, but I will.”

He felt her breasts flatten against his chest as her free hand moved into his wet hair. She pulled his face close against hers and whispered, “I need some answers and I need them now.”

Brant laughed, suddenly loving her game. He decided she’d either gone mad or found his bottle of whiskey, but either way the feel of her on top of him was wonderful.

“I’m not in the habit of answering questions at knifepoint.”

“Well, you’ll answer these, or you’ll scream in pain.”

Brant smiled in the darkness, for there was no hint of believability in her threat. “You’d make a terrible bandit,” he whispered.

She moved the cool blade along his ribs as if her slight action would in any way threaten him. “I’m tired of waiting. I was taking care of the wounded when most girls were learning to flirt. I don’t know what else to do to make you want me the way a man wants a woman.”

“So you attack me at knife-point?” Brant was trying to keep from laughing aloud.

“It was the last thing I could think of that might work. I’m tired of not feeling. I want to be treated like a woman. I want to be kissed like you kissed me on the train when you hadn’t even seen my face.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll just have to kill you. I can’t leave any witness around who saw me make such a fool of myself.”

Brant laughed and rolled over suddenly. The knife fell from her grip as he pinned her in the grass. He spread his hands out to hold her arms and rested his leg across her legs. “So you want to be kissed, do you? That’s the ransom for my life?”

She turned her face to him and he felt her reply in the softness of her lips against his cheek.

“I’m not sure I can stop with a kiss,” he whispered. “Once before you ran from me when I went farther.” His lips lightly brushed her cheek. “How could you think you’d have to threaten me to get me to kiss you? I’ve been living through hell trying not to touch you all week. I’m not sure I can give you what you ask without giving you a great deal more.”

Cherish strained beneath him, fighting to free her arms. For a moment, he couldn’t let go. He wanted her so badly; still, he had to tell her the truth before he started. She might be just playing a game, but he’d already bet his heart on the outcome. Reluctantly, he released her hands and raised himself off her.

But instead of rolling away, Cherish pulled him back down. Before he could stop her, she dug her fingers into his hair and pressed her mouth to his.

The touch of her lips exploded in his brain like a cannon fired at point-blank range. He tasted her lips and reason no longer mattered. He felt her arms holding him against her as her mouth opened to his.

Brant rolled to his side and drew her close. His hands moved down her back and he pressed her to him, unable to hide his need for her any longer. He explored her mouth as he felt her hands combing through his hair. He was lost in the wonder of her as his kiss deepened to a passion unlike any he’d ever felt. A thousand swims in icy water wouldn’t cool the fire that burned inside of him.

His hands could no longer remain still. He yanked the shirt free from her belt and ran his palms over the flesh beneath the oversized shirt. A fire within him made him want to hurry, yet a part of him wanted this moment to last forever.

Suddenly, he broke the kiss and sat up. It took every ounce of strength he had not to touch her, but he ran his knuckles across his mouth and asked, “Cherish, are you sure?”

Slowly, she moved beside him, her hair tumbled around her face, her cheeks red with emotion. Hypnotized, he watched as she unbuttoned the shirt and slid it off her shoulders. Her skin was pale in the moonlight. Her breasts were high and pointed with desire. She was like a statue of perfection and for a moment all he could do was stare. When she raised her eyes to his, her green depths were full of passion and mischief. “Do I have to find the knife,” she whispered, “to make you love me?”

Brant pulled her to him without any further hesitation. Half the lawmen in Texas could have been in the trees taking aim at him and he wouldn’t have noticed. Cherish was in his arms.

He made love to her with a need as wild as the state they lived in. Never in his life had he dreamed passion could be so all-consuming. He’d had women before, but being with them had been nothing like being with Cherish. The more he gave, the more she wanted. She needed to feel every level with him, completely, as if she’d been starved of feelings all her life and he was her only teacher.

He tried to go slowly, but the need for her was too great. When he moved atop her, and entered her, he felt her stiffen in pain, but her fingers dug into his shoulders and pulled him to her. For a moment he tried to withdraw, afraid he had hurt her, but she held him tightly and whispered his name.

When he exploded inside her, he thought his heart would stop beating. All the pain and longing in his life was swept away in one moment of paradise. He lay for a moment beside her on the ground and wondered how he’d been able to touch the stars without leaving the earth.

She curled her nude body against his and lazily kissed the side of his neck. “Thank you,” she whispered as if she didn’t realize she’d just given him the greatest gift in the world.

Brant couldn’t have talked if his life depended on it. He lifted her into his arms and carried her back to the dugout. In the warm darkness of the cabin he made love to her again, slowly and gently. He had only dreamed of loving someone this way, for never had he had the time or the desire to so completely possess a woman. Her body was a wonder to his touch, just as he’d known it would be. He took his time, moving over every part, loving the way she cried his name softly when he pleased her. Never in his life had a woman cared for him, and this one cried his name as if her need for him came from deep within.

Gently he brought her again and again to the edge of heavenly bliss and made her wait until she could stand it no longer and pulled him to her wantonly. When he moved inside her, he felt a lock twist around his heart and he knew he’d love her until the day he died.

When his passion was drained once more and Brant lay beside her too exhausted to speak, she rolled against his damp body. “Thank you,” she whispered again.

There were a thousand things he wanted to tell her, but his mind could no longer sort them out. He ran his fingers along her back until his hand rested on her hip. Kissing the wet hair away from her face, he leaned his chin against her forehead and fell asleep, sure that he’d died and gone to heaven.

Cherish rested her head on his chest and smiled as she listened to his slow, steady breathing. Her heart was full of love for this tender man and nothing could remove the memory of her night of passion. If he disappeared tomorrow, she’d had this night, this time, this love. She knew what it was to be totally alive and, for all of eternity, all time would be measured from this moment on.

“I’m going to let you out now, Mrs. Alexander,” the sheriff said while he moved a match from one side of his mouth to the other. “Your husband looks like he’s going to recover, thanks to your care for the past three days. I hope you understand I was just doing my job.” He looked a little nervous as he unlocked the cell door.

Margaret didn’t bother to acknowledge that the sheriff was talking to her. She lifted her medicine bag and jacket and walked out of his office without a backward glance.

Wart and Grayson were standing outside talking when she stepped into the sunlight. Wart removed his hat. “Good day, Mrs. Alexander.”

Margaret smiled at him. “Good day, Mr. Tucker.”

Wart fell into step with her, leaving Grayson to follow. “If you have any more trouble around your place, don’t hesitate to call on me to help. The sheriff thinks it was just a group of boys that got liquored up and decided to go on a treasure hunt. But if they give you any more grief, just call me. Holliday usually knows were I am.”

Grayson watched her thank Wart and cross the street toward home. She walked past him with no more notice than one might pay a hitching post. The woman could hold a grudge longer than a tadpole could tread water. She marched up the hill toward Hattie’s Parlor without even a glance back to see if he was following. He led his horse and walked behind her. He couldn’t remember closing his eyes for three nights. The simple act of combing her hair each evening had fired his imagination and pushed sleep behind other needs. Now he didn’t even want to talk to her. He knew she’d see the lines in his face and, knowing Maggie, she was probably making his life a hell on purpose.

When they reached the front porch, she turned around to face him. “I wish to thank you for helping with Cherish. It was kind of you.” Her face was its usual barrier of stone. The sheriff’s words about keeping a lover in her house had hurt her proper sense of values and Grayson’s failure to deny the charge wounded her even more. Never in her life had she questioned what was right and proper to do until she met this huge man who never seemed to have more than a few words to say.

She faced him now with icy blue eyes. “The sheriff tells me that Bar has been taking care of Hattie and that he’ll be back today to help me. I think you can go back now to your duties in the army, whatever they are. Judging from the number of times they contacted you at the jail, you are needed more by them than by me.”

Grayson thought he deserved a little more than a thank-you on the porch for almost getting himself killed. His tired muscles were slowly twisting with anger.

“Now, if you’ll just tell me where Cherish is, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“She’s safe.” Grayson tied his horse to the hitching post. He wasn’t about to tell Margaret that her niece was with an outlaw.

“Where?”

“With a friend,” Grayson said for a lack of a better term. “She’ll be safe and back in a week.”

“A friend of yours?” She raised her voice on the last word.

Grayson fought the urge to yell what he knew she was thinking:
Yes, another lying Yankee like me
. Instead, he said, “No, a friend of Cherish and Father Daniel, I believe.”

Margaret nodded as if realizing she would get no more out of him. “Thank you. I’m sure she’s safe if the woman is a friend of Father Daniel’s. Good day, Captain Kirkland.” Without a backward look, she turned and walked into the house.

Grayson was right behind her. He fought the urge to tell her that Cherish wasn’t with a woman friend, but decided he didn’t want to fight that battle on top of the one that was blowing full gale right now. “Good day!” he shouted. “Are you dismissing me? First you ask for my help and now you dismiss me like I’m little more than a day hand around the place. You do try a man’s patient nature.”

Margaret moved to the kitchen. “I asked for your help because of Cherish and I had nowhere else to turn. If what you say is true and she’s safe, then I no longer have need of your services. I thanked you. What do you want … pay?”

Grayson fought the urge to belt her across the room. He’d never hit a woman, but he might have to break his own arm to keep from it if she kept up this cold manner. He’d shoot a horse for being half as stubborn as her.

“Hell no, I don’t want pay!” He took a step toward her, but she moved away. “Maggie, you’ve come right back to this house. Don’t you understand? Someone is trying to run you out. Damn it to hell, half the town seems to want you out of here. Cherish is safe, but you’re not.”

“Stop swearing in my home, Captain Kirkland, and stop talking to me as if I’m a slow-minded child.”

“Stop acting like one.”

“I can take care of myself.” Her chin rose slightly. “I always have.”

“That’s right. No one’s ever taken care of Margaret. She can take care of herself. She doesn’t need anyone, does she?”

Margaret’s eyes were black with anger. “That is correct. I have no use for a traitor husband or a lying Yankee.”

“Well, I’m staying here to see that nothing else happens.” Grayson couldn’t remember folks ever saying that being stubborn was one of his top traits, but he was sure planning to cultivate it now. Damn, the woman was bringing out bad habits he’d lived thirty years without noticing.

“You are not staying here!” Her voice lost an ounce of control. “You’ve embarrassed me in front of the whole town. You’ve lied about who you were and then you’ve dragged my name through a gambling hall. I’ve lived my entire life without anyone ever gossiping about me. If you stay here with me now, everyone will talk.”

Grayson saw her point. He didn’t give a damn about what anyone said, but she did. All she’d had to live on was a paper-thin pretense of respectability, and she clung to the shreds even now. “Then come with me,” he said. “I’ll get you a room at Camp Wilson. You’ll be safe there.”

“No. Someone has to stay with Hattie. She’s too weak to be moved,” she answered. “This is my house, my only-ever house, and I’m not leaving it.”

He’d never wanted to hold her as badly as he did right now with her standing in the kitchen looking like she’d like to sharpen the knives on his bones. But she had her only house ever. Just about everything had been stripped away from her, but she still had her pride and he loved her all the more for it.

“Then I’ll sleep in the barn until Cherish gets back, but I’m not leaving you alone.”

For a long moment he looked at her, not seeing the stubborn woman before him, but only the little girl who’d never possessed a home of her own. If he could, he’d give her his family’s homestead back in Ohio, for it mattered little to him. This house, even with its curse, was all she had to call hers.

Hattie’s sudden shouts made them both jump. Margaret looked at him with stormy, dark eyes and said, “I have to take care of her now. She’s been here all alone for a while and is probably frightened. When I come back, I want you gone—off my property, and out of my life forever.”

“But …”

“I’ll not take in another liar.” For a moment she dropped her guard. He saw the pain her statement cost her, but she wouldn’t back down.

Before he had time to argue, she turned and disappeared into Hattie’s room. Grayson slammed his fist onto the tabletop and said every swearword he knew loud enough to be heard in every room of
her
house. The damn woman was determined to get herself killed. Oh, she could come to him to ask for help for Cherish but not for herself. She knew as well as he did that she wasn’t free to see him out in the open, proper-like, and she wouldn’t allow herself to be the kind of woman who would accept a favor from a friend for herself.

Grayson headed for the barn. He’d take care of the animals, then board up the downstairs windows so she wouldn’t have any unexpected company. If he had to, he’d sleep on the porch, but he wasn’t leaving Maggie alone with a crazy old dying woman and a boy. She may have always gotten her way in the past by bullying everyone around her, but he wasn’t giving in to her no matter how far she stuck out that proud chin of hers. She was the first thing in life he’d found worth living for and he planned to be with her, even if it killed him.

He walked across the yard, not noticing the gray clouds gathering above him. His mood was darker than any Texas storm and twice as deadly. Why did the first damn woman he’d fallen for since his wife died have to be so stubborn? All he wanted to do was take care of her and she acted like that was some crime he should be horsewhipped for. Someone should have explained to her that this was the way it was supposed to be and it looked like that someone was going to have to be him.

Three hours later she appeared at the barn door. She stared at him as he paused from sawing a board, and her voice rose above the wind and thunder. “Why haven’t you gone?” The day had turned ugly, with black clouds boiling along the horizon. The wind whipped at her gray dress in angry blasts of hot air.

Grayson laid down his saw but he didn’t bother to put on his shirt. “I’m not leaving you, Maggie. You know what’s between us is something too deep to cut out and I don’t give a damn what anyone says. You belong to me. You’re mine as completely as God ever made a woman to be and no promise you made years ago to a no-good stranger will change that.”

“I don’t want you or need you. I can manage for myself.”

He moved closer to her. She wasn’t seeing it the way she should at all. “I know you can take care of yourself,” he admitted to both her and himself, “but I’m not leaving.” He tried to sound direct and sure, but when facing a woman who always thought she was right, it was hard not to question his own logic now and then. “I will not leave you, Maggie. You mean too much to me.”

For the first time, Margaret looked like she was losing control. “There can’t be anything between us, Grayson. Don’t you see? It can’t be.”

“It was and it is.” He moved nearer. “I can’t stop feeling the way I do about you just because your dead husband shows up. Or because someone was wise enough to stab him.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Were you the one?”

Grayson laughed. “No, but I wish I had been. I’d have pushed the blade a little deeper. Was it you?”

“You know I couldn’t have done it. I was here with Cherish.”

Grayson looked her up and down as if assessing her. “Even if you had, you’d be no less beautiful.” He watched a strand of hair pull free of her bun and float in the wind about her face. He moved closer and ground his hands into fists at his sides to keep from touching her. “And my need for you would be no less.”

She was grasping for straws. “That’s another thing. You have this blind spot when you look at me. I’m not young, or beautiful, or desirable. I’ve never been and I never will …”

He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her against his bare chest. He stepped backward into the shadowy darkness of the barn where the wind could no longer tease her hair. “That subject is not open to discussion,” Grayson whispered. He would take almost anything from this woman, but not her questioning of how he felt toward her. Before she could pull away he drew her to him. His mouth covered hers with a fire that burned him to his core.

Ten years of loving no one had left him starved. He’d been little more than a boy when he’d buried his wife. He’d loved her, but not the way he loved Maggie. Her death had shattered his ideal of young love, but Maggie’s withdrawal was pulling his heart out by the roots.

His kiss was savage with need and hungry with desire. He locked her in his arms and demanded her response. Vaguely, he felt her try to pull away, but he twisted one hand into her hair and held tight. If he had a blind spot toward her, it was a breach large enough to engulf them both and swallow them for eternity. No one had ever been as important to him. She was not a luxury but a staple he couldn’t live without.

Trying to remind her of another time, when he’d thrust inside her with passion’s longing, he pressed her full length against his hard body. As she molded to his demand, his grip lightened. This was how he wanted her, all soft and waiting for his touch. He moved his open palm along her back, loving the way her body fit so perfectly against him. His hands spread over her hips and pulled her against his need.

Finally, the woman is coming to her senses
, he thought as his kiss deepened and his hands moved around her waist to cup her breasts.

With one violent shove, she was free of his arms. She stepped into the barnyard not even noticing the wind that whirled around her. Her indigo eyes were black with anger and liquid with pain. She clenched her fists against her sides and shouted at him as though he were half a mile away and not a few feet. “No! I’ll not let it happen again. I made one mistake in loving the wrong man and it cost me dearly, plus it almost cost Cherish her life. I’ll not allow myself to feel anything, ever again.”

A part of Grayson wanted to strangle her. She blamed herself for something no one could have stopped. Now she’d sentenced herself to a life alone because she was afraid. He wanted to pull her near and hold her, for he suddenly realized his brave Margaret was afraid to love—more afraid of loving than she was of facing the years ahead alone. Loneliness was a prison she’d lived in most of her life. Its walls were bare and its boundaries narrow, but it was the one place where she knew she could survive.

He stood at the barn door and watched her cross the yard. He’d fight the world for her, but he wasn’t sure he could fight her and win. He couldn’t hurt her anymore, even if he knew leaving would rip his heart out.