And One Rode West (20 page)

He swallowed, grit his teeth, and went down to the taproom. It was a southern establishment, one Jesse had known well before the war. Its proprietor had a way about him—he was a man willing to roll with the times.

Jeremy was the only one in the public room. The innkeeper served him whiskey, then left him alone. Jeremy sipped it slowly, determined to give Christa more time alone.

What would he do if she flatly disobeyed him? Could he drag her along anyway? And what about Jesse? Right or wrong, he would have leapt to Callie’s defense against Daniel if he hadn’t been engaged in battle when the two had met.

When he’d sat with the whiskey long enough, he rose and returned to his room. To his surprise Christa was dressed, and beautifully so. She was in emerald-green taffeta and velvet, an off-the-shoulder dress that displayed the delicate beauty of her shoulders and the rise of her breasts. Her black hair was pulled into a riot of curls at her nape.

She sat by the window again, looking down, even though the night grew dark.

He held still in the doorway, watching her. Then he entered the room, closing the door behind him. To his
surprise she turned to him at last. “Isn’t this flamboyant enough?”

He discovered himself swallowing like a schoolboy. “It will do nicely,” he said, then cleared his throat. “You’re extremely beautiful.”

She lowered her head. “For a Yankee’s whore,” she whispered.

“For his wife!” he reminded her harshly.

There was a knock at the door. He turned around. Jesse stood there. “Are we going to dinner? If you two would prefer to dine in—”

“No, no, Jess, thanks. We’re going to something like a barn dance, and I think you’ll enjoy it. You may know some of the men in attendance.”

Jesse was agreeable. If he noted that his sister was pale and wan he must have thought it had something to do with her missing her husband once again.

Pray God we leave it that way! Jeremy thought. He didn’t know what Christa would do once they reached the camp.

To his surprise, she did very well. She met Nathaniel first, and the two seemed to like one another immediately. He saw her eyes widen with surprise when Nathaniel first spoke, and he realized that she’d probably never met a black man without a southern slur to his voice. Jesse struck up a quick conversation with Major Weland, and Christa somehow wound up on Jeremy’s arm. They joined the two physicians, and Weland assured Christa that he would see to it that she was safely delivered of a beautiful baby, no matter where they might be.

“I’ll be—darned,” Jesse said, looking across the large canvas mess tent where they had gathered for the dance. “Excuse me,” he told the others. “That’s Jules Larson. He’s just turned twenty, I believe, but I thought he was fighting for the Confederacy at the end of the war. His family’s from the peninsula.”

Major Weland looked around Jesse. “The boy was a Confederate. He’s joined on with the U.S. Cavalry again. Lots of southern boys will be doing so, you mark my words. A horse soldier is a horse soldier. The war is over. We’ve new worlds to conquer. The West is the future!”

There were a number of ex-Confederates who were going to be in his regiment, Jeremy learned. When the dance wound down to the final moments, the cavalry band decided to pay a tribute to them.

The last song played was “Dixie.”

Jeremy watched Christa. She stood very tall and straight, and listened. She lowered her head, and he thought that tears must have sprung to her eyes.

But they had not. She lifted her chin. He thought that she had decided that she would cry no more for her homeland.

Pride was not such a terrible thing, he told himself. It had sustained many a man, many a time. If it would bring her west, so be it.

But she was so silent on the ride back to the hotel that he began to wonder again. He had determined that he would not press her that night, that he would leave her be.

But he could not bear to keep with that conviction. She had trouble with the hooks on her gown and he had to help her. When she stood in her corset and petticoats, he felt the familiar thudding of her heart, the ache in his groin. It would be their last night together for quite some time. He pressed his lips against her shoulder and inhaled the sweet scent of her. He didn’t know if she issued a protest or not, but he swept her up, petticoats and all, doused the lights with a snuffer, and made love to her.

There was nothing different. She did not protest, she did not respond. Frustrated, he lay in the darkness and wondered if he hadn’t made a horrible mistake. Then
he leaned on an elbow and gazed at her. Her eyes were closed, her lips were damp, slightly parted. Her breasts rose and fell and her body carried a beautiful sheen, highlighting its perfection.

No, it could not be a mistake. She was his. They had cast their fates together.

But he thought of her in the wilderness. A fear gripped his heart. Did he have the right to drag her through savage country?

Her eyes opened suddenly. She flushed, reaching for the sheets as she caught him staring at her.

He closed his hand over hers. “Leave it. We’ll be parted a long time now.”

She didn’t reply. Her lashes lowered. He sat up, then sighed. “Christa, don’t come. Stay in Virginia. You don’t have to join me.”

Her eyes opened again. She looked at him. “I—I don’t want to stay here!” she said softly.

He frowned, puzzled. “But—”

“I don’t want to stay. I don’t want—I don’t want to see those maimed, hopeless men! I don’t want to see the bastard scalawags tormenting the freed blacks and the whites who have been left with nothing. I—” She broke off. “I can’t stay here!” she whispered.

He leaned low, watching her once again. “So you would escape—even if escaping means facing the Indians with me. Aren’t you afraid?”

If she was, she wasn’t going to tell him.

“I’m tired,” she said.

He watched her for a moment. Then he slipped an arm around her and pulled her close. She stiffened instantly, but he merely smoothed her hair back.

“You’re tired,” he said irritably. “Sleep.”

In a moment, she relaxed. And he held her, thinking that she was incredible. So taut and wounded, proud and fierce—and so infinitely beautiful and precious. His enemy, his love.

He didn’t sleep that night.

They breakfasted at the crack of dawn, for he was to ride to the train station at the head of his troops. They moved so swiftly that there was no more time to talk, even though he could suddenly think of a dozen things to say.

They rode to the camp together, then he kissed her briefly, shook Jesse’s hand, and prepared to take his leave. He was at the head of his troops, the bugler was calling them all in and they were ready to ride.

He turned upon his mount to look down at Christa one last time.

She returned his stare. She hesitated a moment, beautiful, elegant in her white gown with the lilac flowers. She began to move, hurrying toward his horse.

They were about to move forward. He reined in instead. She continued to come. Then she hesitated.

He leaned down, sweeping her up into his arms. She seemed startled for only a moment, her arms instinctively curling around his neck.

He lowered his head and kissed her.

And for the first time she kissed him back.

He tasted the marvelous sweetness of her tongue, felt the gentleness of her lips. Felt the subtle movement of her body, the brush of her fingers against his nape. Heat rushed into him, suffusing his loins, his thighs, his chest, his arms. He could have held her forever, kissing her, tasting her, holding her.

She was kissing him.

Because she would miss him?

Or because he was actually leaving, and she had gained another month of freedom?

It didn’t really matter. A burst of applause rang out. His troops were certainly entertained. No matter what she was doing to his system, he had to ride.

Regretfully, he lifted his lips from hers. He searched
out her eyes. They were fathomless. He set her down gently upon the ground and tipped his hat to her.

“Take care, my love!” he said. She stepped back, her fingers against her lips. She raised a hand as he lifted his own, moving his troops out.

Within minutes, she was a beautiful blur in the background with Jesse at her side.

Yes, that was it. It was a show for her brother.

But she had kissed him back.

Damn her.

The heat would haunt him all the long days until he saw her again.

Nine

Autumn, 1865

Christa frowned, then scratched out the last sentence. She would be seeing him soon enough. Her stomach was knotting, and she was increasingly nervous.