Violet Fire (15 page)

Rathe made a noise. “I won't look. Take off your stockings. There's no one here but you and me, Grace.”

She couldn't look at him. She was too red. “I'm fine, thank you.”

“Grace,” Rathe said, coming to kneel behind her. His tone was gentle. “I am not some farmboy.”

For a minute, she was confused, and then she understood what he was trying to say. He was an experienced man. He'd seen more than a few ankles, and many garters as well. Why did that thought make her feel miserable?

He whispered in her ear, “If you don't take off your stockings I'm going to throw you in the river!”

She had to laugh. “You wouldn't dare!”

“You are getting very brave, Miss O'Rourke!”

He wouldn't, would he? “Close your eyes.”

He sighed loudly, still behind her. Grace hadn't looked at him since she'd begun removing her shoes, but she was acutely aware of every move he made, and now she was waiting for him to retreat to his end of the raft. To her shock, he squeezed her shoulders and kissed the nape of her neck. Only then did he back away.

Her heart beat thickly in response to the tiny little kiss. She took off her stockings, carefully rolling them and placing them in her shoes. Then she dipped a toe in the water, wiggling it. She smiled. She stuck her entire foot in. She giggled.

Rathe shifted to sit beside her, dragging both of his feet in the river, one of his knees bumping hers. She glanced at him. He grinned back, kicking up and down. Grace put her other foot in and began swaying them aimlessly as Rathe was doing. It was truly glorious!

They drifted along in a companionable silence until the raft tilted. “Oh!” Grace cried, as Rathe threw his arm around her.

“You've got a fish,” Rathe said.

She slid onto her knees to see that one of the lines was taut. “Oh, no, it's your line, Rathe!”

“No, it's not,” he said, “it's yours. Quick, Grace, grab the pole. I'll help.”

She was excited. She took up the pole and felt the weight of her catch at the other end. “Now what do I do?” she cried.

Rathe was behind her. “Move it back and forth until you can swing the fish out of the water.”

It took some doing. The fish fought her. Rathe stood behind her, his hands on her waist, steadying her as she battled to pull in the fish. When it finally broke free of the water, an arc of silver, she cried out eagerly. “Look!”

“I see. It's a real grandaddy.” Rathe grinned, catching the line and then the fish. He held it up for her. “Well? What do you think?”

She was glowing. “My first fish! Can we eat it? Is it edible?”

“Oh, we're going to eat it, all right,” Rathe said. He removed the hook and placed the fish in the bucket. Grace began baiting her line again with concentration. She was so immersed in the process that she was not aware of Rathe's regard, suddenly serious and intense. When she looked back up after casting, he was his carefree self, flippantly winking at her, already sprawled out at her feet. She slipped down beside him, and thinking,
To hell with it
, she unbuttoned the top two buttons at her throat, baring her collarbone. Rathe turned his head away but she glimpsed his smile anyway.

The afternoon passed too quickly, and Grace was disappointed when they turned around to go upriver. She also found herself fascinated by Rathe's strength and stamina as he poled them back. He was tireless. He appeared to enjoy physical exertion. He put his entire body into it. A few times he caught her watching him but he didn't smile. His gaze held hers briefly, but potently.

When they arrived back where they had started, Grace didn't wait, she grabbed her skirts in one hand and jumped
into the knee-deep water. Rathe stared in dumbfounded amazement as Grace waded past him. When she got to the shore her skirts were soaked to her thighs and clinging indecently. She wasn't sure she really cared.

“My amazing Grace,” Rathe murmured from directly behind her.

She jumped, startled, not having heard him approach, and found herself in the circle of his arms. Instantly, her body responded, tightening, her pulse picking up its beat. “Rathe.”

“Did you enjoy yourself today?” he asked huskily.

“Yes.” She met his gaze fully, wanting to show him all her appreciation. “Yes, thank you, it was wonderful.”

He didn't smile. He slowly lowered his face to hers.

Grace didn't know what to do. She shouldn't let this happen, not again, but…His lips brushed hers, teasing and tentative and so very seductive. Grace felt herself relax, felt her lips part. And mostly, she felt herself wanting more of his kiss, more of him. As if sensing her desire, his mouth opened on hers, searching and testing and tasting. Grace began shyly returning his kiss.

His strong hands moved over her back and hips, hard and then soft. He pulled her against him. The feel of his full, hard maleness for the first time stunned Grace. Heat and lightning swept her. He made no attempt to move his hips away, no attempt to hide himself from her. Shock warred with sharp desire. Remember last night, she warned herself. If he would stop at a gentle kiss, why, she could handle that. But she knew him now, and she knew he wouldn't stop. If she gave him an inch he'd take a mile, or even more. She wrenched away with sheer determination.

“Stop,” she cried. “Stop it this instant, Rathe Bragg!”

He was breathing as if he had run a great distance. “I want you.” Her body quivered. “Ah, Grace, damn.” He ran a shaking hand through his thick, sun-streaked hair. “You want me too, you know you do.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I don't.”

He stared at her, then sighed. “You just won't admit it to yourself. You enjoy my kisses and my touch as much as you enjoy my company. We're good together, Grace.” His tone had dropped. “Very good.”

She turned away, wringing her skirts. She was shaken and confused. Again. He was a rake, of that there was no doubt—times like these proved it. But what about the other times, and the other sides of his character? If she was very brave and faced the truth, she'd realize that she did enjoy his company and his kisses!

They walked back to town in silence until Grace remembered that she had never broached the subject which was the very reason she had sought him out. “Rathe, I've been doing some thinking—about what we were discussing yesterday.”

He raised a brow.

“Our problem—Sheriff Ford.”

“I wasn't aware that
we
had a
problem
with Ford.”

“Ford is perpetuating all the injustices of the So—of discrimination, with intimidation and terror! You said so yourself! You agreed he has to be stopped.”

The same eyebrow lifted. “If I recollect, you did all the talking. I was merely listening.”

“Well,” she managed, “I assumed, as you did not raise any objections, that you were in agreement with my views.”

He smiled, showing off his dimples. “What you are up to, Grace?”

“Is it or is it not apparent that Sheriff Ford needs to be undermined?”

The smile faded.

She rushed on, clasping her hands tightly together. “Rathe! You could do it! If anyone could—you could! After all, whoever takes on Ford has to be as tough as he is and more importantly, unafraid! And you're not—”

“Whoa! What in hell are you getting at?”

They had both paused. “Won't you even consider helping me? I need someone to take a stand against Ford, to
make him act in accordance with the laws, to let him know that he can't get away with intimidation and violence! I know you don't really care,” she rushed on, despite his scowl, “but you meet the most important criteria.”

“You are out of your mind,” he said. “Number one, Ford's got a lot of support. Number two, why in hell would I want to butt heads with the sheriff? And what criteria are you talking about?”

She looked at him with a vast, reproachful disappointment. He shifted uneasily. “Are you afraid of him? That was the criteria I was referring to—I didn't think you were afraid of him.”

“I'm not!”

She cocked her head.

“You know damn well I'm not afraid of him, Gracie,” he snapped.

She was very calm, calm with the sure knowledge that she was moving him in the right direction. “You know, she said conversationally, “I had dinner at Sarah Bellsley's today.”

He twisted away abruptly. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I passed by the jail on my way back,” she said sweetly.

His gaze seared her.

“There were no sailors in there, Rathe. I asked the deputy. They were never arrested.”

It took him a moment to react. He cursed. Then he was striding down the street.

“Where are you going?” she asked innocently, not that she didn't know.

He shot her a dark look.

“Rathe, don't be angry,” she said, trotting alongside him. “If you think about it, surely you will realize that I am right. There is such a thing as law and order. That is why we have a government, a democracy. It's a gift given us by our forefathers.”

No answer. They were going uphill now, and he was starting to outdistance her. Grace gamely lifted her skirts
and lengthened her stride. “Don't the Negroes have the right to enjoy the benefits of our democracy? The War is over, Rathe. We are one country, one government, one people, with one set of laws! But Ford is imposing his own law and his own rule over this town! It is a perversion! He has to be stopped!”

Rathe bounded up the steps and into the Silver Lady Hotel. Grace was on his heels. “If you think about it,” she said, puffing, “you'll see that I'm right!”

He slammed into his suite and went right to the rosewood desk. He withdrew a revolver from the drawer and checked the chambers. Grace's insides clenched. “What are you doing?” she cried. “Why do you need the gun?” She hated guns and she hated violence.

“You think I'm going to go up against Ford without protection?” he asked grimly. “Think again.”

“But…but I didn't mean…violence breeds violence!”

He was striding for the door. “Too late, Gracie.”

She ran after him. “Rathe, if you threaten Ford with a gun—”

“Go on home, Grace.” His tone was harsh and resigned. “You've gotten what you wanted.”

“This isn't what I want!” she cried, stumbling down the stairs after him. “Not violence!”

“You couldn't stop me now no matter what you did. You were almost hurt, Grace, almost raped, right on a public street. Because of how I feel about you, I take Ford's failure to act very, very personally.” He strode across the lobby.

She ran after him. “But what about the vendor, Rathe? She was accosted too. She's not a slave anymore. She's a free woman, no different from me.”

“Is she free? If you think so you're dreaming and you'd better wake up. Slavery still reigns, Grace. Just in a different form, that's all.” He was moving down the street with long, hard strides, and she was skipping to stay abreast of him.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, because of coercion, sharecropping, and men like Ford, the effect is as if there was no Emancipation Proclamation.”

“That must make you very happy,” she said bitterly.

He halted abruptly, eyes glinting. “Now what are you condemning me for? I'm getting tired of your judgments, Grace.”

She flushed. “You don't care about the injustice those poor people have to face. You don't care if they're still enslaved, still chained to the same plot of land, the same
master
—after all, you fought for the Grand Old South! How could I ever have hoped to reform you!”

Rathe's expression was furious. “Let me set you straight, lady. Yes, I fought for the South, and I'm proud of it. If I had to do it all over again, had to face all the blood and death, all the destruction and mutilation, I wouldn't hesitate! I'm a Texan, Grace, and I'll fight for Texas without hesitating. I fought for her right to make her own laws, to decide her own future—not to have some Northern carpetbaggers telling us what to do! We never owned a slave in our lives. My mother is English and a firm abolitionist. So is my pa. We were all raised to believe that a human being owning another human being is a sin. But we had the right to decide ourselves whether or not to own slaves before the War, and we fought for that right in the War. We may have lost the War, Grace, but we didn't lose our pride! I'm proud to be a Texan, and proud to be a Southerner! And don't you ever think otherwise!”

“Are you proud of how the night riders terrorize this town?” she asked softly.

His eyes blazed. “Do you think I have anything to do with them?”

“Yes!”

He stared, incredulous and enraged all at once.

“I don't mean that you are one of those awful night riders,” Grace cried. “I mean that by not trying to stop
them, and Ford, and the discrimination, by doing nothing—you support them!”

He shook her off. “Go home, Grace. And take your crazy ideas with you. I have something to settle with Ford—and it's personal.”

They rounded the corner onto Main Street, Rathe striding straight up the steps of the jailhouse. Grace hovered nervously in the doorway. Ford was sitting at a desk in the middle of the room.

“You didn't seem to take our last conversation very seriously,” Rathe said, low. Grace could only see his back. He was leaning menacingly over Ford. But she could see the sheriff. He wasn't perturbed in the least.

Calmly, he spat a wad of tobacco at the floor. Then he grinned at Rathe. “Now what conversation was that, boy?”

“Miss O'Rourke was accosted yesterday. Or have you forgotten?”

“I didn't forget, boy.”

“Looks to me like you forgot,” Rathe drawled.

“Nope. I know how to do my job. Them sailors just up and disappeared. Guess their boat floated away.” He chuckled.