Deborah Camp (14 page)

“God, I want a woman,” he muttered under his breath; then he got out of bed to stand forlornly at the window. He pushed the shutters farther open and leaned out so that the crisp air could dry the sweat from his body. He knew his bout of longing would pass—it always did if it wasn’t satisfied—but satisfaction was more enjoyable than enduring it. He didn’t have any choice this time. He’d have to muddle through it.

There was but one woman in the vicinity, and she wasn’t about to ease his peculiarly masculine ache.

“Cassie,” he whispered longingly, and just saying her name made him feel a mite better. She would laugh in his
face if he confessed that he thought of her often, especially in the middle of the night when his body talked and he was forced to listen.

He closed his eyes and his thoughts drifted back to the scene earlier when he’d followed his instincts and kissed her neck on the place where her silky hair grew in a swirling pattern. Her skin had been warm against his deprived lips and her hair had teased his nose and other senses. The moment his lips had touched her skin he’d realized his mistake and he’d drawn back, waiting for the stinging retribution of her hand against the side of his face. It hadn’t come.

Confusion settled in him as it had then when she’d risen from the floor like a curl of smoke and had drifted across the planked floor to the bedroom. She was out of sight only a minute before returning, a shirt hiding her delights. She had gone to the sideboard and had washed the dishes. Nothing was said about the kiss. No tantrum. No hysterical warnings. Nothing.

Why hadn’t she slapped him senseless? What had changed in her? What had changed between them?

The rest of the evening had unfolded without incident. He’d dried the dishes and put them in the safe, a cabinet with drawers underneath a counter workspace and shelves hidden by copper doors punched to let air circulate. She’d curled up on the cot and read silently from the Bible. He’d sat on the porch and listened to a chorus of frogs and crickets while he whittled, slowly transforming a block of wood into a bird dog at point. He and Cassie had pretended not to notice each other, but awareness throbbed between them. Rook had caved in first; he’d gone into the bedroom and closed the door with firm resolution, only to pace the floor like a prisoner in a cell and flop into bed like a grounded fish and think and think and think of her … of her … always of her.

Had she liked that kiss he’d dropped on her neck? Was that why she’d accepted it silently, meekly? Or had she decided not to knock him into next week because he’d been good enough to doctor her back? Maybe that was it. She’d allowed him that one concession. Just one. No more. If he
kissed her again she’d probably wallop him. Of course, he wouldn’t know for sure unless he tried again. Not the back of her neck next time. No, no. The side of her neck, where it curved gracefully like a finger crooking a come-hither command.

He looked toward the door with feverish intensity, his eyes sparkling with pinpoints of inner light. His tongue darted out to moisten his dry lips as he took one step, then another, toward the object of his thoughts … the heart of his lusting.

Where do you think you’re going?
an inner voice taunted and Rook stopped cold in his tracks, his hand outstretched for the door handle.
She’s asleep. You going to wake her up, kiss her on the neck, and then explain that you’ve got a hankering for a woman and you thought she might oblige you? Dumb ass! She’ll kick your sorry butt off her land and be right in doing so!

His groping hand fell limply to his side and he turned around, defeat sagging his shoulders. He fell across the bed, closed his eyes as sticky sweat covered him, and comforted himself. Minutes later his release came and, in those moments of shuddering self-indulgence, he saw Cassie’s face clearly in his mind’s eye.

Shortly after midnight Cassie had put a kitchen chair near one of the windows and curled up in it to gaze at the heavens and look for answers to questions she’d never asked herself until recently.

What’s it like being in love?

Is loving a man the original sin or the original pleasure?

What was wrong with her heart of late? Why did it jump and buck like a young filly?

What was that funny feeling in her stomach, writhing around in there at the oddest times?

Why did she blush every time anything was said to her?

When had her moods become tethered to his?

What made his smile so special? Why did it pull at her heart and unravel her emotions?

Did his laugh make every woman dizzy-headed or just her?

Could he hear her heart hammering when he was near?

Had he noticed her shortness of breath when he stood close to her?

Why was she acting so crazy around him?

The stars overhead looked cold and offered no answers. Cassie rested her chin on her bent knees and wished for morning. Night had become her nemesis, giving her too many idle hours to ponder her troubling thoughts and feelings.

A delicious recollection swept through her, and she shivered uncontrollably.

He’d kissed her. No doubt about it. She’d felt it. His lips had touched her neck and lingered there a few moments while her heart had climbed into her throat and a wave of … of something she’d never felt before washed over her. She’d tingled. She’d quaked. She’d glimpsed passion and liked the fiery colors of it.

Having no idea how to react, she’d simply risen to her feet and gone on about her business. She’d felt as if she were floating on air and she’d wanted to hum a sultry tune, but she’d kept the song inside her head and wondered where she’d learned it.

Cassie’s full lips tipped down at the corners. Crazy woman, she thought. That’s probably what he’d thought of her. Dumb as a chicken. That’s how she’d acted. Washing dishes as if nothing had happened while her body drummed a primitive beat that vibrated in the strangest places within her body—her temples, her breasts, her stomach, and lower. The tingling had persisted in those places until she’d felt itchy and hot all over.

She’d caught something from him, she reasoned as her gaze moved listlessly across the Milky Way. Not a cold or a rash, but something that had infected her down deep where she couldn’t reach but could only feel. She was infected, but what was the cure?

Cassie left the chair and stood in the path of moonlight. She looked down at the bodice of her gown, then brought her hands up to cover the swell of her breasts. Her hands
traveled down, pulling the fabric tightly against her body’s hills and valleys. She’d never looked at herself before, never studied her femininity, but she was suddenly fascinated by the pebbly thrust of her nipples beneath her gown and the gentle slope of her belly. When he looked at her, did he see these things? Was he aware of what her clothes concealed?

She placed the chair at the table again and sat on the cot, hugging her knees to her breasts as she inched back into the corner. Leaning her head against the wall, she closed her eyes and smiled as she recalled the first time she’d seen him, riding high in the saddle even though he was at death’s door. Strong constitution, she thought. That’s one of the things she liked about him; that and his smile and his dark, dancing eyes and his thick, raven hair and his gentle hands. So many things, she admitted to herself with an uncharacteristic giggle. She’d never studied a person so hard. People were people. Not that interesting … not until Rook. He had caught her fancy and whipped up her curiosity. She wanted to know everything about him.

Shock straightened her spine and widened her eyes. Why, she didn’t even know his last name! Here she was thinking how fascinating he was and how she wanted to know more and more about him, and she didn’t even know the common things like his name, where he was from, and what kind of people claimed him.

The door hinges sang out and Cassie whipped her head around, straining her eyes against the darkness to see what had disturbed the night. Rook filled the doorway.

“Something wrong?” she asked, and her voice trembled from the jumble of her thoughts and feelings.

“Uh … no.” He stood still, not moving a muscle, a sheet draped around his middle and falling loosely to his feet. “I thought I heard something. I guess not.”

“I didn’t hear anything.” She swallowed her own discomfort. He’d probably heard her heart beating and thought it was a herd of mustangs.

“Haven’t you been asleep yet?”

“Yes,” she lied. “I got up for a drink a minute ago. Maybe that’s what you heard.”

“Oh … yeah. That’s what I heard … I guess.”

Their gazes slipped away, slid back. Their lips parted to speak, then closed over the words. The silence was deafening, full of things that should have been said but couldn’t be uttered.

“Well, I guess I’ll go back to bed,” Rook said after a minute of unbearable quiet. “Are you going to sleep again?”

“Yeah, I reckon.” She inched down into the covers. “ ’Night.”

“Good night.”

His sigh wafted toward her before the door closed on it. Cassie caught it and sent him one of her own. Only after she heard him get into bed did she shut her eyes against the endless night.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Sure!” Cassie said too quickly, too brightly, too shrilly. She ducked her head and blushed. “Well, I’ve slept better. I don’t know what was wrong, but I couldn’t seem to drop off.”

“Me neither.” Rook looked toward the hills. “The coyotes were raising a ruckus.”

“Yeah.” Cassie nodded. “That’s probably what kept me up. Who can sleep when those scallywags are hollering and yelping all night?” She stepped back from the lean-to and studied it with satisfaction. “That’ll do, I imagine. I built a feed trough alongside the outhouse so’s you can give your horse some grain from time to time.”

“Thanks. It was mighty nice of you to build a shelter for Irish.” Rook had an insane desire to give her a kiss of gratitude. It was all he could do to turn away from her and pretend to be interested in the horizon.

“I wish Jewel would hurry up and get here with those chicks,” Cassie said, moving down a row in the garden. “It’ll be a relief when the garden starts growing and I’ve got my chicks.”

“You’ll have to keep an eye out for coyotes,” Rook
said, walking beside her in the next row over. “It won’t take long for them to catch the scent, and they’ll come down from the hills and have a midnight feast.”

“Not on my chicks. I’ll guard ’em all night if I have to, but those coyotes won’t get ’em.”

“Cassie …”

She glanced at him, her interest piqued by the lilting note in his voice. Was he going to ask about last night; about the kiss and what followed?

“Why don’t you want anyone around your father’s mine?”

Disappointment sent a frown to her brow; she gave him a cold, hard glare and hurried on. “Don’t go wasting thoughts on the mine. It’s worthless.”

“So you keep repeating,” he said, following behind her. “Cassie … Cassandra Mae Potter!”

She stopped and whirled to face him, arms akimbo and chin tipped at a haughty angle. “I don’t know
your
last name, Rook Abraham—?” She left the rest dangling.

Rook’s gaze traveled from her face down to her flower-printed blouse and tan skirt. Must be some of the clothes Jewel brought for her, he thought. She waited for him to supply his last name, which he couldn’t very well do. The Colton name was about as welcome in these parts as a drought.

“You look pretty this morning,” he said, playing on her vanity. “That blouse is mighty nice. Did you get those clothes from Jewel?”

His plan worked. Roses bloomed in Cassie’s cheeks, and she ran her hands down her skirt and smiled.

“Yes,” she said, breathlessly. “I figured I might as well wear them.”

“I’m glad you did.” Pleased with himself, he started for the cabin again. Better drop any talk of the mine for now, he cautioned himself. Give her more time to forget about him and his name and his—

“So what’s your last name?”

He cringed.

“What are you hiding?” she persisted, reaching out and grasping his forearm.

“Nothing.” He spun to face her. “The name’s Dawson,” he said, using his sister’s married name. “Rook Dawson.”

“Dawson,” she said, testing it.

“That’s right. Now, what are you hiding in your mine?”

She cringed.

“Gold?” he persisted.

“I told you it was played out,” she said, removing her hand from his arm and then tucking a lock of blond hair beneath her bonnet. “I just don’t like people poking around in it. My pa loved that hole and I don’t want strangers in it.”

“Since I’m not a stranger any longer, will you take me to it?”

“Why are you so all-fired interested in it?”

“I’m not.” He shrugged and glanced around. “I’m just restless. I want to eye some new scenery.”

She gave him a thorough once-over, looked off toward the woods, and sighed. “Okay, I’ll take you there.”

He knew his surprise had registered on his face when slyness flitted across hers.

“
I’ve
got nothing to hide,” she told him, then nodded toward the northeast. “Let’s go. But don’t expect much. It’s just an old mine full of dirt.” She led the way, with Rook close at her heels as she took the path through the dense woods.

“This is your land too?” he asked.

“That’s right.” She spoke over her shoulder. “All this. It’s good for nothing. Too rocky to plow. Even if you cleared the trees it’d be poor farmland.”

“What about grazing land?”

“Cattle, you mean?”

“Cattle or goats.”

“Naw. Not enough grass. It’s worthless, just like Pa’s mine.”

“Did your father build your cabin?”

“Yes, but he wasn’t much of a carpenter. I think I could do a better job. I’ve thought of adding rooms to it and putting a pump inside, but it all takes money, and that’s something we’ve never had much of.”

“What did Shorty do for a living?”

“Do?” She gave him a questioning look over her shoulder. “To make money, you mean?”

“Yes,” he said, chuckling. “Money tends to make life go down a lot easier.”

“We didn’t make money. We just lived off the land and mined.”