Christine Dorsey (17 page)

“I—I thought you’d be asleep.” Samantha held the lantern high with one hand. The other she used to clutch the shawl at her breast.

“I’m not.” Jake’s eyes narrowed and he tried to make out her features. It was impossible. Her face behind the light was deep in shadow. His head fell back on the cushion of his folded arm.

It was a dismissal, pure and simple. Samantha shifted. Her arm was sore from holding the lantern aloft. She lowered it, her mind working frantically. Asking him to stay was not as easy as she’d supposed—and she thought it would be very hard. But he wasn’t making things any easier for her.

She wished he were completely dressed, then realized she’d seen him wearing a lot less. That thought sent hot blood to her cheeks. Still it was disconcerting standing there looking at him. His long form filled the stall. He wore his gray pants and his feet were booted and crossed at the ankles. But his shirt was unbuttoned and open, the flaps spread revealing a wide expanse of hair-sprinkled chest—and no white bandage.

“It isn’t raining, is it?”

After the silence that stretched between them, Samantha was surprised by his question. “No. Why?”

“Just thought you might have come to offer me the comforts of your roof.”

“No.” Samantha felt waves of temper rising and squelched them down. They hadn’t gotten on from the moment he regained consciousness, but he never was this rude. But then she wasn’t exactly all manners either. She had come disturbing him and had yet to give him a reason. Samantha opened her mouth to tell him and felt her courage slip another notch. Her gaze snagged on his scar. “How is your wound?”

Jake shoved himself to sitting, his arm dangling between raised knees. “Have you come to play Angel of Mercy again?” he asked, just making out the scowl that crossed her face. “Sorry, I’m all better.”

She turned on her heel so quickly, it took all Jake’s agility to make it to the door before she did. When he did, he leaned his forearm against it, blocking her exit.

“I apologize.” Jake dropped his forehead onto his arm. “That was uncalled for.” And he wished he knew why in the hell he was treating her like this. Their relationship had never been easy, but he’d never been hurtful. Regardless of the fact that she’d shot him in the first place, he did owe her for saving him.

But mean or no, driving her away was the best way to repay her. Because if she was feeling half the desire he was, being out here alone with him was the last thing she needed. He dropped his arm.

Samantha grasped the latch. Her knees were weak. She didn’t think her legs would carry her back to the house. She took a deep breath, but that didn’t help. The air smelled of him, rich and sensual. A lethargy crept into her limbs and she twisted her fingers in the knitted shawl to combat it. The lantern hung limply from her other hand, her skirt blocking most of the light, throwing his face into shadow.

But he was looking at her intently. Samantha could tell even though she could see nothing of his eyes but two glittering slits.

She hadn’t told him why she’d come to the barn. The realization struck Samantha just as she thought maybe... maybe, she could force herself to move. She swallowed. “I need to ask you something.”

“What?” His voice was low and huskier than she remembered.

Will was certain all she had to do was ask, but seeing him now, hearing him, Samantha’s doubts rushed to the forefront. But she wouldn’t give up without trying. That had never been her way, and now more than ever she needed to fight for what little she and Will had.

Her shoulders straightened, the languid mood of moments ago shoved aside. Lifting the lantern she studied his face. “I’d like you to stay on.”

“No.”

Relief from making her request was shortlived as his succinct reply sunk in. She watched his retreating back. His dismissal was complete.

It took Samantha a moment to realize it. When she did, anger flushed out any remnants of desire she’d felt.

“Why not?” She followed him to the front of his horse’s stall. His horse had eaten her grain and pastured in her paddock. And Lord knew, Jacob Morgan had consumed enough of her food to feed an army. She’d nursed him, for heaven’s sake! He owed her.

Never mind that she’d shot him in the first place. Samantha’s shoulders slumped forward. What was she thinking? Of course it mattered that she shot him. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t stay... just for a little while. But he wouldn’t even explain why. He moved to the far side of his bay’s head, rubbing her neck.

“I’m not staying,” was all he said in response.

“But you don’t understand. I... we need your help. Bundy Atwood—”

“Seemed pretty reasonable to me this afternoon.” Jake leveled a look at her. “He’s not the first man to return from war to find his intended has changed her mind.”

“What?” Samantha couldn’t believe what he was saying. She also was getting tired of holding the lantern. With jerky motions she hung it from a hook beside the stall. “What are you talking about?”

Jake gave a final rub to his horse, then turned toward his own stall. He wished she’d just leave, but he didn’t think that would happen until he explained himself. His wishes had a habit of falling short lately. Steeling himself he looked back over his shoulder. “I’m talking about a man being off to war for four years and returning to find there’s nothing left.”

“And you think that’s what happened to Bundy Atwood?” Samantha swallowed. Was that what had happened to Jake? Pushing that from her mind, she took a step toward him. She didn’t really care what had happened to him.

Jake shrugged, feeling a twinge of pain near his left shoulder. “That’s what Atwood thinks.”

“It’s just not true.” Samantha threw her hands up, resisting the urge to grab hold of his arm and shake some sense into him. “It didn’t happen that way. And what’s more, Bundy doesn’t believe it did. He lied to you.”

Jake shrugged again, then smoothed out the corner of his blanket-bed with his boot toe. He didn’t look at her. “I’m going to sleep now. I suggest you go back to the house and do the same.”

Another dismissal. Samantha heard her teeth gnash as she clenched her jaw. “And you’re leaving in the morning?”

“I said I was.” Jake shrugged out of his shirt. The honey-soft glow from the lantern brushed over his body, throwing his arms and chest into patterns of light and shadow. Samantha pressed on.

“He threatened me.” Her voice started low, almost calm, but intensified as she continued. “He said if I were nice to him, he’d see that my corn crop wasn’t destroyed.”

Jake, who’d felt the urge to do more than threaten her a time or two, grimaced. “Maybe he just wants to take care of you. But if you don’t want him, just tell him so and be done with it.”

“Are you crazy?” Samantha gave up the battle and grabbed his arm. His eyes narrowed as he looked down at her hand but she didn’t care. “Bundy Atwood is a liar. He makes a game of bullying innocent people and you... you believe him because he fought for the blasted Confederacy. Brothers in arms and—”

Samantha never had the chance to finish. Jake came at her so quickly, pushing her against the side of the stall, shoving the air from her lungs with his big body. His face was lowered, close to hers, and the vertical line between his brow deepened.

“Listen, I never asked to come here and get mixed up with you. And God knows I never asked you to shoot me. So why don’t you just wise up and let me alone. I’m no hero who’s going to come along and make everything right.

Atwood threatened you. Well, I’m sorry for that, but it’s not easy having everything you ever loved stripped away from you. Maybe he just wants to forget the war ever happened and start over.” Jake paused. “Something you’d be smart to do too.”

He stepped back, but was still close enough for Samantha to feel the imprint of his large body on hers. “He’s the one who won’t forget about the war. He’s—”

“Just tell me this.” Jake cupped her shoulders with his hands. “Did you ever promise to marry him?”

“Yes, but I—”

“But you what?” Jake’s scowl deepened. “You changed your mind, fine. You don’t want him sniffing around your skirts. That’s fine too. You tell him. But don’t think keeping me here is going to help. Because unless I get out of here, I’m going to be doing a hell of a lot more than sniff at your skirts.”

Samantha’s eyes flew open. Jake’s expression was hard, as if his face were chiseled in granite. Anger flared his nostrils, tightened the lines of his mouth. But in his eyes, Samantha noticed something more. The light of desire. It should have frightened her more than the anger, much more. Especially in light of his words. But she could only stand there, her back against the stall, her breathing shallow and filled with his scent, and stare.

He shocked her. Jake took one step back, then another, allowing her plenty of room to rush by him and make a beeline for her nice safe cabin. She’d pull the welcome cord, throw herself onto her bed, and hate him. And be a damn sight better off after he rode out.

But she didn’t move. She just continued to stare at him with those big blue—Jake took a deep breath—beautiful eyes. “What’s the matter? Don’t you believe me?”

Samantha tried to swallow but couldn’t. She opened her mouth to answer him, though she had no idea what to say. But it didn’t matter. Before she could focus on a clear thought, he grabbed her, crushing her against his chest and pulling her up to taste her mouth.

His lips were hard, unyielding, but the tongue that stole into her mouth was satin smooth and sensual. Samantha’s head swam. Occasionally a thought would drift by that she should stop him—or at least try—but then he’d shift his mouth, reaching farther with his tongue, and she lost any desire to do anything.

She was drowning in him. Her hands clasped his elbows to keep her from falling. No longer were her knees just weak; they seemed nonexistent.

And that was made all the more real when he pushed her away. His movement wasn’t rough or even harsh, but Samantha’s palms flattened against the stall side to keep her from falling. It was so sudden, this move from glorious sensations to the cold aloneness she felt now.

His breathing was shallow, nearly as ragged as hers as Samantha stared up at him with startled eyes. She should be shocked. She should force her legs to motion, send them running from the barn in virtuous haste. He wouldn’t follow. She knew that as surely as she knew she couldn’t flee.

“Now do you understand?” Jake made his voice gruff. She still only stared at him. He told himself to turn away. If she couldn’t leave, he should. A walk in the balmy air might help, might soothe his aroused state. But like her, he seemed rooted to the spot.

And then her hands, those same small hands that had nursed him so gently, came up, hesitantly at first, then with greater resolve, and locked around his neck. She rose on tiptoe, her breast pressing against his chest, and pulled him down to her.

Even as he succumbed, moving slowly toward the softness of her mouth, warning bells rang in his head.
Don’t do this to her. She may think she knows what you’re about, but she doesn’t.
But the sweetness of her lips obliterated the caution, and as his fingers locked in the tangle of her braided hair, only a faint buzzing rang in his ears.

Had it been this way before? God help him, he couldn’t remember. All he knew was the warmth and passion of her as he moved his mouth across hers. And then only touching her there wasn’t nearly enough.

Her neck was warm, her shoulders rounded as he followed a path down her body. His hands spread, curving around her ribs, finding the underside of her unfettered breasts with his thumbs. The swell beckoned, and as he crested the swollen mounds, Jake heard her sensual moan.

How he’d missed that sound, as pure and sweet as sunshine.

But there was more he’d missed, much more.

Jake’s lips skimmed across her cheek, nibbled the tip of her ear, then rushed back to taste again the honeyed mouth. And his fingers fumbled with the small bone buttons that ran from the starched collar to the tapered waist of her dress. Trembling fingers that had ofttimes been praised for their sharp, precise work now found so simple a task as unfastening difficult.

Her skin was petal soft beneath the plain calico gown, and pale as moonlight. Jake touched her tentatively, pulling away to watch her as his fingers trailed along her collarbone. Her golden-tipped lashes lifted slowly, seductively, and Jake sucked in his breath at the expression of longing in her eyes. Eyes gone dark with passion.

He knew then she wouldn’t stop him. If he didn’t call a halt to this madness, they would end up in the straw making wild, shattering love. But he couldn’t stop. Lord help him, he couldn’t.

Samantha ran her tongue lazily across her bottom lip. It felt tender and swollen and it tasted of him. She should have been repulsed. But she wasn’t. Oh my, how could she feel this way about a stranger... a Rebel. She knew almost nothing about him. He was a man who spoke of one thing while in the clutches of fevered sleep, and of something else again while awake. Yet she could no more stop what was happening than cause the endless prairie wind to cease.

His fingers dipped lower. They skirted the upper swell of her breasts, then hastened to undo the remaining buttons. His knuckles abraded her skin, then the threadbare cotton of her chemise. Her nipples tightened almost painfully and Samantha arched toward him.

The sudden yank of the dress and shift down over her shoulders made Samantha gasp. But one glance at his face as he stared at her bared breasts and she lost all thought of protest. The clear green eyes were nearly black, and the heavy lids made him appear more dark fantasy than man. His gaze scorched her. Her nipples hardened and thrust out as if begging for his touch.

His finger grazed the taut tip, then his tongue, and Samantha came close to swooning onto the straw-covered floor. His hands grasped her hips, and pulled her flush to his lower body as his head swooped down. His mouth surrounded her nipple with fiery, moist heat and Samantha cried out. Her head rolled to one side then the other as he feasted on her breasts.

Samantha longed to touch him but her arms were caught, held fast at the elbows by the fabric of her gown. She moaned his name and received a long, open-mouthed kiss in return. And then he was moving down her again, past the thrust of her breasts to the downy skin below. His lips skimmed across her; his bristle of whiskers sent tingles up her spine and she sighed.