Beverly Jenkins (23 page)

His words made the hair on the back of her neck rise. She swung her head in his direction.

“The Reverend Whitfield married us a few days ago.”

“What?” The outburst brought pain. He moved to her aid, but her raised hand stopped him. When the crisis passed, Cara tried again, more calmly, to question him. “Now, what did you say?”

“Maybe we should put this off until you’re stronger.”

“Chase, tell me.”

He told her.

“I don’t believe this,” she stated flatly. “Sophie put you up to this, I’ll bet. Well, we’ll just get it annulled. It can’t be legal anyway.”

“It was my idea.”

Cara looked at him as if he’d grown a new head. “Why? You don’t want to be married to me, and I don’t want to be married to you.”

Chase’s jaw tightened. “I’m not exactly thrilled about all this, either.”

As much as she loved him, she refused to be in a loveless marriage. He’d only hate her in the end. “Then ride out. I can take care of myself.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, I would. It would save us both a lot of grief.”

Despite the rising tension in the room, a part of Chase could not help but smile. This woman had no intention of dying, not now. It made him happy on another level, too, because when she got strong
enough, he planned on strangling her for her treachery.

Chase’s prediction about her recovery proved correct. Two days later, Cara was sitting up in bed receiving visitors. She had little or nothing to say to her husband, and her attitude seemed to suit him fine.

Cara began to have second thoughts, however, after listening to Sophie’s account of why Cara had awakened here in the hotel instead of in her room back at the boardinghouse. When he came in later that day with a tray of lunch, she viewed him in a different light. He’d saved her life. “Did you really carry me through the center of town?”

He set the tray on her quilt-covered lap, then straightened. He viewed her speculatively, as if trying to discern her true motives, never once dropping the mask he’d taken to wearing since her recovery. “Yes. Why?”

She dropped her head, pretending to fuss with her food. “No reason except that Sophie told me how you took care of me. I’m just trying to say thanks.” She looked up. “Thank you, Chase, very much.”

“You’re welcome. Eat.”

He turned and strode out.

After a week of confinement, Cara grew weary of being cooped up. Her strength, although returning, did so slowly, but she wanted very much to go outside and feel the wind on her face, even if it was a cold, November wind.

She begged Chase to take her out.

“No,” he replied brusquely. “You can’t even make it to the water closet and back without breaking out in a sweat. No.”

For the next three days, he kept saying “no.” By the fourth day she’d had it.

When he came to bring her afternoon meal, she was sitting on the edge of the bed doing her best to get dressed. She’d already managed to put on a shirtwaist and skirt, and was now trying to roll on her long black cotton stockings. The efforts had cost her, but she ignored the weakness, her labored breathing, and the fine sheen of sweat glistening on her brow.

“What the hell are you doing?” Chase asked coldly.

“I’m going outside!”

Her efforts to don the hose caused her to pant. She felt faint and, angry and frustrated, threw the offending stockings aside. She’d go without them, just as she’d forgone her undergarments.

Ignoring his critical gaze, Cara pulled on her shoes and gingerly pushed herself upright. Her steadying hand against the wooden bedpost was all that kept her from falling flat on her face. Waves of dizziness passed over her. She shut her eyes until she regained her equilibrium and felt able to move.

“You are a little idiot, do you know that?”

“Either help me or leave,” she shot back.

Shakily, she made her way from the bed. Her legs felt like pudding beneath her. The door to freedom lay only a short few feet away, but it might as well have been in Texas.

Chase caught her just before she fell. When he lifted her up into his arms, she turned her head into his shoulder to hide her tears.

He placed her gently atop the bed, then began to undo the buttons of her shirt.

“What are you doing?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, you’re soaking
wet,” he pointed out. “I’m not going to let you make yourself sick again.”

She made no further protests as he methodically stripped off her blouse and skirt.

Chase could feel his loins slowly hardening at the sight of her lush nakedness. She hadn’t had a stitch on beneath the skirt and blouse; that fact alone should have garnered her a lecture—it was November outside—though at the moment, lecturing her was the farthest thing from his mind. During the long days he’d nursed her he hadn’t looked on her with lust even once. Saving her life had been his only goal. Now, however, all he could see were the ripe globes of her breasts, the curve of her hips that invited his touch, and the blackberry forest at the top of her thighs. “Get under the quilt. I’ll get you a dry gown.”

It took him a moment to find one in the dresser beside the bed.

Cara caught the old gown he tossed her way, looked at it, and said, “Chase, this gown—”

“Put it on.”

Irritated, she complied.

Right away Chase knew he’d made a mistake. It was flannel, yes. It had long sleeves, yes. But it was way too small and didn’t have a single button left. The worn fabric of the bodice fit so snugly, her breasts looked ready to spill out, and the tight-fitting halves barely covered the ring of her nipples. He clamped down on his jaw and closed his eyes.

To Cara’s surprise, he mumbled something about returning later, then left the room.

With a wealth of pillows at her back, Cara sat propped up in bed looking through the window at the falling rain. The dreary late November day
matched her mood. It was almost three weeks, since she had awakened with Chase bending over her, and all efforts to convince him, Sophie, and Sybil to let her walk around fell on deaf ears. She needed rest, they kept repeating. She hated being ill, and for most of her life had avoided it. Her only other serious malady had occurred during her first winter at Oberlin when she got the influenza.

Turning away from the window, she sank back into the softness of the pillows. She resented waking up and discovering she was married. That was a decision a woman was supposed to make for herself. She understood Chase had given Sophie and the others little choice that night. But it was ridiculous for him to argue that she would have been compromised by his staying with her in the suite. She was already compromised, for heaven’s sake. Virginia Sutton would not be reoffering the schoolteacher position just because Cara’s name was now Mrs. Chase Jefferson. Cara saw leaving town as the only solution to her problem. She was certain that when Chase came to his senses, he would see how absurd it was for them to be married. At that point they could dissolve this questionable union and go their separate ways. Yes, she still loved him, but he did not love her.

Later, she was mildly surprised to see Chase bringing in her evening meal. She hadn’t seen him in over a week. It seemed that bringing her back to life had been his only goal. Now her care had been turned over to Sophie and Mrs. Whitfield.

“When you’re finished, we need to talk.” He set the tray atop her lap and went out to the sitting room to wait.

While he waited he brooded over the events of the last two weeks. Sophie accused him of having
lost his mind taking Cara out into the November wind that day of his return, and she was right. His rash actions could easily have made Cara worse. He still couldn’t explain it, but knew that given the same set of circumstances, he’d do the exact same thing again.

Sophie called the reaction love; Chase didn’t know what to call it. On one hand, he was filled with rage about Cara’s plans to keep the baby a secret; on the other hand, he knew he’d battle the devil himself for that woman in there. He’d nearly bitten Sophie’s head off when she suggested he simply let Cara go. When he tried to explain his obligation to the memory of the child, Sophie had termed his intentions honorable and offered him nothing but praise for accepting his responsibility, but she cautioned him about trying to build a relationship based on anger, revenge, and honor. She further advised him to look deeper within himself for the other reasons he’d been so adamant about marrying a woman he purportedly didn’t love.

“You wanted to talk?” Cara’s emotionless voice broke the silence, and he turned from the fire to see her standing just out of the circle of light. She had on an ankle-length bed coat over her nightgown, but he could barely see the coat for the quilt she’d wrapped around herself to ward off the night’s draft. He hadn’t meant for her to come out here; they could have easily talked in her bedroom. “You shouldn’t be out of bed,” he chided softly.

Before she could reply, he walked over and effortlessly picked her up.

“I wish people would stop treating me like an invalid.”

He didn’t answer.

They crossed the room, and she expected him to
place her on the settee near the blazing fire. He did, only he sat down first, keeping her atop his lap. “Hold still,” he warned when she began to fuss. He adjusted the quilt so she’d stay warm.

Cara cold have done without this intimate seating arrangement. She didn’t put it past him to have planned this just to put her off-balance. “Is this intended to distract me?”

“Maybe,” he acknowledged, but his eyes held no teasing and his mouth was grim.

“You wanted to talk?”

“I do, and what I want to say is this: I married you to give you my name. That’s all. I don’t want a wife. I’m a soldier, not a farmer. I haven’t had roots since I was twelve, and pardon my frankness, I don’t plan on growing any now.”

His “frankness” was a slap in her face. She knew he’d married her only out of obligation, but to hear him air his displeasure so emotionlessly had not been something she’d anticipated. She felt at once angry and humiliated. “So what are you proposing?”

“I’m working on the arrangements now. I plan on rejoining my unit after the first of the year, but I’ll see to your welfare before I leave.”

He wouldn’t be staying. She’d known it all along, so why did she feel hurt hearing him confirm it? “Will you be returning?” She could be just as distant.

“Probably.”

And he looked at her in such a way that she didn’t dare ask when. She debated whether to tell him of her own plans and decided she would. “I’m still planning on going to California.”

“No, you’re not,” came the quiet contradiction. “You can either move to Fort Davis, Texas, with me, or you can stay here. Those are your options.”

“But—”

“No buts.”

“Then I’ll get this farcical marriage annulled!”

“Not while I’m alive.”

Frustrated, Cara wondered what it would take to get through to him. “Then why do this?”

“Pure selfishness.”

Cara frowned in bewilderment.

“Pure selfishness,” he restated.

“What’s to keep me here once you go running back to play soldier?”

His gaze hardened. “The fact that I’m the best damn tracker you’ll ever meet. I’ll find you no matter where, no matter what.”

“But why? You don’t want me!”

“Ah, but I do. That’s where the selfish part comes in. I do want you, Mrs. Jefferson, and I’m going to keep you.”

His cold voice and eyes brought on an uncontrollable shiver, and now she thought she understood. “Is this your way of punishing me?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Deadly.”

“You’d condemn yourself to a loveless marriage?” she asked quietly.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he redirected the conversation. “So decide. Are you living here or at Fort Davis?”

“You can’t possibly want an answer now. At least let me think about it before—”

“Now. Here or Davis?”

Cara realized she truly did not know this man. “Here,” she stated in dignified surrender. “I’ll stay here.” As her husband, he had
every right to make her follow him back to Texas. He could do whatever he wanted with her future, and no one would care. Besides, she didn’t know anyone in Texas.

“Were you intending ever to tell me about the baby, Cara?”

The question caught her off-guard. “Truthfully? I really don’t know.”

His jaw tightened. “Didn’t you think I’d
want
to know? Had a
right
to know?”

How could she explain to him all the turmoil she’d felt about the baby?

“Didn’t you think I’d want to know, had a right to know was my question, Mrs. Jefferson.”

“No, I didn’t,” she snapped, temper rising in response to his tone. “I said no ties, no commitments remember?” She then lowered her voice. “The pregnancy was my problem, not yours.”

He reminded himself she’d been a virgin and had no other relationship to use as a standard against which to measure what had gone on between them. She’d no way of knowing that the care and tenderness he’d shown her in bed meant something. “Tell me about Miles Sutton and that night you fell.”

“Sheriff Polk says it’s Miles’s word against mine since there weren’t any witnesses.”

Chase had heard the story by way of the sheriff, but needed to hear her version. He coaxed her to tell it.

When she finished, he was so quiet and still, Cara gave him a hesitant look over her shoulder.

He turned his gaze on her slowly, evaluating, assessing. His attention went to the scar above her eyebrow, a parting gift from the shoe of Miles’s horse. It had taken six of Sophie’s best stitches to close the gash; three inches lower and she would have lost an eye. He touched the needlework lightly. When it healed, a crescent would remain.

“I’m going to kill him, you know.”

She trembled in response to that deadly soft statement. Then, as he brushed his fingertip briefly across her lower lip, she closed her eyes. Cara wondered if this was what it meant to die for love. Because she was dying inside. He was a man literally taking away her life, and all she could think about was how good it would feel to have him hold her while she cried out her grief over losing their child.