The Ruby Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy) (15 page)

“Kit’s going to be all right, isn’t she?” Sarah asked.

The question tugged at his thoughts like a chain attached to an anchor at the bottom of the sea. “I’ve traveled throughout the world, but I’ve never met anyone, man or woman, with Kit’s tenacity. I’d be the last one to predict anything she might do, but I believe she’ll recover.”

“I was scared when she jumped into the river.” Sarah fiddled with her apron, ironing it with her hands. “The snake bite terrified me. Next time, and I know there will be a next time, Kit will likely give me an apoplectic fit.”

Cullen juxtaposed an image of Kit in the water and an image of the snake’s fang embedded in her leg. Something inside him bent and stretched. “I thought she was going to die. My heart was beating so fast I thought I’d drop where I stood.” He shoved in the last spoonful of stew and wiped his mouth with his handkerchief. “Thank you for the food.”

He leaned against the tailgate and crossed his arms. “When I started this trip, I thought I’d watch over her and protect her. Hard as hell to do when someone doesn’t want protection. I don’t believe Kit wants anyone to love her either, except maybe the children.”

“She’s been hurt, Cullen. Loving children is safe. She gives and they give back. But you’re like the land we’re traveling through—unknown and dangerous.”

He shoved away from the wagon gate with a level of anger that made him winch. “God, Sarah, I’d never hurt her.”

“That’s not what I meant by dangerous.” She placed the empty bowl into her basket. “Since that day in Independence when you rescued me from the overturning shelf, I’ve treated you like one of my boys.”

He gave her a teasing grin. “You speak to me like one of them, too.”

“Then I’m going to ask you a question same as I’d ask Adam. “What are your intentions toward Abigail?”

e gaHe Cullen gave her a rote answer. “She’s a fine woman.”

“But do you have feelings for her?”

If John or Henry had asked these questions, he’d have told them to mind their own business, but he’d never be rude to Sarah. “Marriage to Abigail will be profitable, the beginning of a political force in California. She’ll give my father the grandson he’s been hounding me for.”

Cullen gulped hot coffee and burned his tongue. “
Damn.”
He dumped the coffee dregs and placed the empty cup into Sarah’s basket. “I’d best go help Henry.”

She looked as if she had something else to say but thought better of it. Instead, she picked up the basket and left him alone to sort out feelings he didn’t want to deal with.

Cullen lifted the wagon flaps and gazed at Kit. Her hair was disheveled, her cheeks flushed. All she needed were swollen lips, and she’d have the look of a well-loved woman. A look he intended to paint on her face. God help him.

Chapter Fourteen

CULLEN KNOCKED ON the side of Kit’s wagon shortly before dawn the next morning. She didn’t answer. “Kit.” Still no answer. Should he go in? A chill of alarm said, yes.

The predawn air inside the wagon lay heavy with the scent of dew and vanilla. Kit breathed in a slow melodic rhythm. He relaxed. He should leave now, but the fey creature bewitched him. Even in her sleep, she cast an erotic spell.

The sheet had slipped to her waist exposing a pink silk camisole type garment with ribbon ties. Her nipples pressed against the silk. His pulse spiked at the tempting, delectable feast spread out on a banquet table. As if he willed her to wake, her eyes opened soft with sleep. Her hair looked tousled by a lover’s hands. He cleared his throat to remove the raw huskiness.

“Good morning.”

She yawned and stretched, seemingly unaware each titillating move was a siren’s call to come to the table. “Isn’t it early for visitors, or have you been waiting all night?”

“I slept outside.”

“You’ll cause a scandal if folks catch you here.”

“No one is up yet.”

She laughed, her voice coated with morning dew. “I’m fine.” Apparently unfazed over her near nakedness, she sat and ran both hands up and down her right thigh. “No swelling.” She unwrapped the dressing. “No red streaks either.” She eased her feet over the side of the bed and stood. “I’m starving.”

“Hunger’s a good sign.” Tight trousers provided evidence of his. “Now, that I know you’re going to recover I have a question.”

“I’ll answer what I can.” She gathered her hair into a tail and clipped it to the top of her head.

He made a hook with his finger and wiggled the digit suggestively. “Come here.” She turned toward him. “I’ve never seen anything like what you’re wearing.”

“Hmm.” Her eyebrow arched. “You’re accustomed to seeing women’s undergarments?”

He cleared his throat, again.

She laughed and playfully fluffed his hair. “I ordered them from a catalogue.”

“What kind of catalogue has undergarments?”

“Victoria’s Secret. Now, you need to go so I can dress and go help Sarah with breakfast.”

“I don’t think you should go anywhere. Rest your leg today.”

“I’m not an invalid and won’t be treated like one.”

He reached for her hands and held them between his own. “Are you sure you’re well?” 

 “I am, and you can stop worrying about me.”

He pulled her close. “I’ll leave you alone if you’ll kiss me.”

“That’s black—”

He pressed his lips to hers, swallowing her protest. Heated blood roared to his groin, and he held her firmly against him, skimming his hands down her back, burying his fingers in the cool silk. Her hair tumbled from its clip and vanilla scented tresses cascaded about her shoulders. He deepened the kiss, stroking the interior of her mouth, tasting her tongue while it explored his.

“Cullen,” she moaned his name. He pressed her closer to his arousal, rubbing her against him. All that separated them were his trousers and a slip of fabric. He could unbutton his pants and enter her, even if it meant ripping the silk. The way she rubbed against him in a crescendo of passion said all he needed to know. His skin tingled with expectation.

“Let me make love to you.”

She pushed back, breaking away from their kiss. “
What
are we doing? This has to stop. I can’t do this with you.”

His breath stalled in his lungs. “Your husband’s dead, Kit.”

She rubbed the scars on her neck. “Please leave.”

“Your body needs release, lass. Let me please you.”

“No.”

“How long has it been since you made love?”

Her face turned scarlet, and she dropped her chin. “I’ve never…made love.”

He lifted her head with the crook of his finger and gazed into her eyes. The level of fear he saw there made him wince. “Never?”

She pulled her head away. “It’s complicated.”

The air between them grew thick and heavy. “This is not complicated. What kind of man wouldn’t touch a desirable woman?”

Her tongue swept her lower lip. “The problem was with me. He wanted to, but—”

“Why?”

She grabbed her trousers and slipped them on. “He died before we got engaged.”

Her words swung like the trap door to the gallows. “You lied?”

“Not exactly, I mean…”

“But you’re not a widow?” He could feel his pulse beating in his wrists.

“It’s complicated.”

“You said that already, Kitherina MacKlenna.” He grabbed the back of the rocker for a foothold to keep from slipping beneath his rising anger. “Is that your real name, or did you steal his name, too?”

She flinched. “It’s
my
name.”

A rush of chilly air swept through the wagon, stirred up the scent she carried. He ignored the arousing smells.

She grabbed her blouse. “Go away. I didn’t ask for your help.” She gazed at him without blinking, her expression unreadable.

“Without help, you’d be dead by now.”

He’d caught her lying, just as he’d caught witnesses lying in court. She couldn’t or wouldn’t explain why she was passing herself off as a widow. That meant one thing. She was protecting a bigger secret. His arm and shoulder muscles knotted. He had seen innocent men hanged, and guilty men go free, all because of lies. He had no tolerance for liars.

None.

He rushed past her and jumped free of the wagon, letting go a halting laugh. “Unlike Odysseus, I will not bathe in the fullness of a siren’s song.”

Chapter Fifteen

ANOTHER WEEK DRAGGED by as the wagon train traveled through Nebraska’s dry and sandy grassland dunes. The ever-present dust tagged along as an annoying companion that made Kit itch and scratch. But Cullen’s parting words played in an off-key loop in her head. To her, listening to anything off-key was a form of mind torture.

Homer’s
Odyssey
had been required reading in high school English. What she remembered of the story and what she gathered from Cullen’s words, he thought she was tempting him. Hogwash. The last thing she wanted was a relationship with a womanizing, egotistical, overbearing jerk from the nineteenth century.

Fortunately, he was rarely in camp, and when he was, he kept his distance. In weak moments, she wanted to explain why she had lied about being a widow. But an explanation would lead to more questions she couldn’t answer truthfully. No point in giving him an opportunity to catch her in more lies. Besides, Homer exhausted her knowledge of Greek literature, and her repertoire of Shakespeare was sketchy at best. She wouldn’t be able to interpret his outbursts.

Even though Cullen occasionally acted like a jerk, she missed him. She missed his stories, his humming, and most of all his laughter. Other men laughed. So why did his laugh speak to her soul?

Because it harmonized with her own.

To avoid the dust, she and Stormy rode ahead of the wagon train. Soon, she could no longer hear the shouts of the men driving their oxen. She’d ridden too far ahead and needed to turn around. But as she started back, she noticed the sky, not because it was paint worthy, just the opposite. Mushroom-shaped, green-tinted clouds canopied the prairie.

“Hail.”
Fear crawled through her belly.

The children were with Sarah and safe from the approaching storm, but what about the animals. Tate and Tabor were with the girls. Hail would be tough on the oxen, but they’d survive. Out in the open, Stormy might not.

Up ahead there appeared to be an outcropping where she and her horse might be able to wait out the storm, but first she had to let Adam know where she was going. She raced back, waving for him to stop. “I need to get a bag out of the wagon.”

“Those clouds don’t look good, Miss Kit. You think Henry will circle up?”

“Probably. Secure the wagon and settle in. I’m going on ahead to find cover for Stormy. I’ll be back as soon as the storm passes.”

“Where?”

Kit pointed toward a ridge in the distance.

“You won’t make it before the storm hits. Let me tell Pa where we’re going, and I’ll go with you.”

“I can make better time by myself.”

“But— ”

“Adam, I have to go.” She filled a small sack with oats and grabbed her backpack with emergency supplies.

“How can I explain to Mr. Montgomery that I let you go?”

Normally, she carried guilt around like a well-traveled makeup bag, but she refused to worry about what Cullen would think or do. “He’ll probably hope I don’t come back.”

The dramatic widening of Adam’s big brown eyes told her he didn’t believe that was true. “I’ll be back before Cullen knows I’m gone. Don’t worry.”

Before Adam could raise another objection, she galloped toward the lead wagon to find Henry. He and two other men huddled together battling the wind for control of a map. “We’re in for a bad one,” he said to Kit. “We’ll circle here.” A gust of wind buffeted him. He braced himself against his horse.

The wind tugged at her hat, and Stormy danced anxious steps. She couldn’t keep up with both. She let the hat go. “I’ve got to find cover for Stormy. I’ll be back.”

“Don’t be a fool. You got cover here.”

“I do. Stormy doesn’t. This storm could kill him.” MacKlenna Farm treated its stallions like horses not pampered pets. Although they spent most days in their paddocks, they were never outside during a storm.

“Could kill you too, missy.”

“I’ve got to go.”

“Get back to your wagon, or I’ll hog tie you.”

Arguing with Henry would take time she didn’t have. She put heels to her horse and galloped off, ignoring his ultimatum to turn around.

A mile from the wagon train, she rode smack into a dark shelf of clouds, hanging close to the ground and blocking out the daylight. No cover. No protection. She’d made a horrible mistake. Fear no longer crawled in her belly. It sprinted.

A streak of lightening shot through the sky and struck a tree several yards away. Stormy screamed an almost human shriek of terror, reared, and climbed the air with his forelegs. His hooves hit the ground ready to run, but Kit yanked the reins and turned him in tight circles. Her adrenalin went haywire. Her body knew what her mind couldn’t wrap itself around. This was about survival. She and her horse could very well die.

She rushed into a gully with sloped sandstone walls. The rain shafts turned thick and white. Within moments, hail would fall from the sky. Thunder rumbled through the gully. Wind whipped around a patch of thick brush and thorny branches and revealed an opening in the side of the gully. A cave? She galloped toward it.

Reaching the spot, she grabbed a flashlight from her backpack and peered inside. The short hairs on her neck stood at attention as she flashed the light into a space half the size of a one-car garage. She saw no nests, droppings, or snakes.

“Come on, boy, I think it’s safe.”

The sandstone walls felt cool to the touch. The air held a musky, damp scent and the stale odor of burnt wood.

Stormy’s ears flattened against his head, his nostrils flared, and he stomped his feet.

“You’re okay, boy, you’re okay.” She rubbed his nose and sang a medley of Tim McGraw tunes until he cocked his rear leg and relaxed his lips. “Wish Tim’s music did the same for me.” If she could, she’d cower in the corner with her ears covered against the frightening tin-drum sound of the hail. But she forced herself to hover at the entrance and watch the baseball-size stones collide and explode in mid-air. Ice chips of fear sailed in her direction.