Each Time We Love (5 page)

Savanna snorted. "Do you think
money
is
going to make any difference to me? Besides, as you well know, it was
no fortune I inherited from him—only a ramshackle house and a hundred
and fifty arpents of land with broken levees south of New Orleans, all
that remained of his family's plantation." Her face softened and she
smiled warmly at Sam, who, oblivious of the argument raging around his
grizzled head, was busily gathering up the dishes. "Oh, and Sam. He
gave me Sam and his family."

Sam grinned at her. "That he did, missy, and it was right
wonderful of you to have given us our papers! Fine thing you did
setting us free!"

Bodene looked impatient. "Yes, it was a fine thing she did,
fine, too, that she used what money there was to make the house livable
and insisted Elizabeth live there, but it is not fine that she persists
in living in this godforsaken hellhole or that you're abetting her pure
bloody cussedness!" Bodene was fairly shouting by the time he came to
the end of his words, his hold on his temper extremely light. The look
of amused tolerance that passed between Savanna and Sam was his
undoing, and smashing his fist against the table, he snarled, "Jesus
Christ! You're
both
crazy! Don't you realize that
one of these days Micajah, or someone like him, is going to catch you
by surprise, and if you survive—which isn't damn likely, knowing
him
—you'll
have been raped and abused, possibly left pregnant with his child—or
won't even know the father if his whole gang takes their pleasures,
too!"

Savanna's face went white at his harsh words and Bodene was
satisfied to see a flicker of unease in her beautiful eyes. Good! At
least she hadn't totally lost all sense of self-preservation. His rage
dissipating at the strained expression on her face, he said in a softer
tone, "I love you—it would damn near kill me if something happened to
you. Won't you let me help you?" When she didn't respond, he took heart
and added, "I know you've worked hard to reestablish yourself since
Stack Island sank in the earthquake four years ago, and I know you're
proud that what you've accomplished you've done on your own. But this
is no life for you. You're young! You're beautiful! You shouldn't be
wasting away here in a damned swamp!" He took a deep breath. "Pride is
a fine thing, just don't let it kill you."

Bodene's words bit deep and Savanna was painfully aware of the
truth in everything that he had said. She had always understood the
risks she ran, and while Bodene might think to the contrary, she wasn't
a fool! It was just that she felt more comfortable living in the
familiar surroundings and circumstances she had known from earliest
childhood. New Orleans with all its exciting pleasures fascinated her,
but it also made her uneasy and vaguely frightened. Campo de Verde was
certainly not a grand plantation—too few acres remained of the
once-vast Davalos estate—but with Bodene's help and money, the house
and outbuildings had been repaired and refurbished and the levees
rebuilt. With Sam's children, Isaac and Moses, and their families to
work the remaining land, her mother had a life of reasonable comfort
and semi-gentility. Savanna had felt constricted and smothered during
the five years that she had lived there with her mother, and at
eighteen she had stunned both Elizabeth and Bodene when, taking only
Sam with her, she had struck out on her own, returning to the small
tavern that Elizabeth had run on Crow's Nest while Davalos had been
alive.

Elizabeth had been devastated by the news of Davalos's death,
but to this day Savanna was still confused about her feelings for her
father. She didn't think that she had ever
truly
loved the dark stranger whom she had seen so seldom over the years, but
she had never forgotten those early days when he had been a source of
laughter and delight to both herself and her mother. It had been to
please him that she had learned to speak Spanish, hoping it would make
him proud of her—and it had. Even now, knowing what she did about him,
she remembered the pleased glow that had suffused her features when,
the last time she had ever seen him, she had shyly welcomed him in
Spanish and he had praised her accomplishment. But if she remembered
the good times, and there had been a few, she also remembered her
mother's tears and desolation when Davalos would once again desert them…

Pushing aside her unpleasant thoughts with an effort, she
smiled at Bodene and replied with forced lightness to his earlier
comment. "You worry too much, Bodene—you just can't face it that I've
grown up and don't need you to fight my battles anymore."

Bodene snorted and was on the point of replying scathingly
when the silver bell tinkled—once. The intent expression that suddenly
came into Savanna's eyes stopped him, and as the seconds passed, her
face paled, but her gaze remained locked anxiously on that silver bell,
almost as if she were willing it to ring again. "What is it?" Bodene
asked sharply, instinctively reaching for the short-barreled pistol he
kept handy at all times.

Tearing her eyes away from the bell, she swiftly reached for
the rifle she had held earlier, as well as another one she kept behind
the oak counter. Deftly tossing the second rifle to Bodene, she said
urgently, "The bell is our signal—Sam's in trouble! Bad trouble!"

"WHAT
THE HELL DO YOU MEAN, SIGNAL?" BODENE rasped as he
caught the rifle and instantly crowded against the wall, the rifle held
ready.

Impatiently Savanna hissed, "The damn bell! We have them
scattered throughout all the buildings with pull-ropes in handy places.
One ring means desperate situation; two, that someone looking like or
for trouble is approaching; and three, that strangers are nearing and
to be on the alert. Either Sam has somehow hurt himself or—"

"Or Murdering Micajah has returned," Bodene drawled coolly.

Savanna gave a sharp nod of her red-gold head and muttered,
"My, my, how clever you have become these days!"

A scuffling sound from the dogtrot caused both of them to
freeze. They exchanged a tense look and then Bodene melted into the
shadows and Savanna dashed behind the counter, hastily concealing the
rifle, but ready to snatch it up in an instant.

Twilight had fallen, and since they had been so busy
conversing, the candles and lamps had not yet been lit and the inside
of the small tavern was filled with murky shadows. Savanna could hardly
make out Bodene's large form in the corner, but simply knowing he was
there helped to calm the nervous tension that coiled in her belly.

Sam was suddenly shoved violently through the doorway of the
dogtrot, his face contorted by the pain in his right arm, which was
twisted cruelly behind him. A wicked knife blade was held menacingly
against his throat. Over Sam's shoulder, Savanna saw Micajah Yates's
stubble-covered face, his lank brown hair hanging almost to his
shoulders and a smug smile curving his too-full lips.

Micajah Yates was not precisely an ugly man, his eyes were
very blue and his coarsely handsome features seemed appropriate for his
big, burly build; but unfortunately, soap and water were not often
employed by him, and he had the most unappealing habit of
indiscriminately killing anyone who annoyed him or had the unfortunate
bad luck to cross his path when he was in a bad mood. At thirty-six
years of age, he was a well-known robber and murderer, and Savanna and
Bodene had been acquainted with him from the early days at Crow's Nest.

Unaware of Bodene lurking in the darkness behind him, Micajah
pushed Sam farther into the room and drawled, "Surprised to see me
again so soon, Savanna?"

Savanna's eyes narrowed, and leaning her elbows on the
counter, fervently grateful for the nearness of the concealed rifle,
she shrugged carelessly. "Should I be?"

"Now that depends," Micajah said easily, "on whether you
really thought you had bested me the last time I was here."

"Why don't you let Sam go and we can discuss it?" she replied
levelly, her slim fingers cautiously inching toward the rifle as her
eyes met Sam's.

Micajah smiled nastily. "Now, I don't believe we can do that,
sweetheart. If I let Sam here go, you'll try to shoot me with that
rifle you think you're hiding from me. Think I didn't learn anything
from our last encounter?"

Savanna took a deep breath and forced a smile, neither
stopping her movement toward the rifle nor admitting the truth of his
statement. "So what do we do now?"

Micajah's blue eyes roved hotly over her face and full bosom,
and at the hungry expression that leaped in their depths, Savanna's
mouth went dry with fear. It was with an effort that she kept her gaze
from straying betrayingly to Bodene, poised just behind the
unsuspecting Micajah.

"What you do now," Yates said, "is very slowly put the rifle
on the counter in front of you and come out from behind it, and if you
don't—why, I'm afraid I'll just have to cut this here nigger's throat,
and you wouldn't want that, now would you?"

Despite the tenseness of the situation, Savanna felt rage
billowing up, and her eyes flashed angrily. "And then?" she demanded
tightly.

He stripped her with his eyes. "And then," he said bluntly,
"you tie up Sam for me and we go upstairs for a few hours." He smiled
meaningfully. "If you're
real
nice to me, I might
not kill him when I'm through with you."

Rage got the better of her, and forgetting all about Bodene,
she suddenly swung the rifle up and into position, the long barrel
pointed at Micajah's head. Her voice thick with fear and loathing, she
snarled, "Go ahead, kill him—but be aware that before his body hits the
floor, I'll shoot you between the eyes!"

"No," Bodene said softly from behind Yates. "I insist, little
cousin, that you allow me that pleasure!" Brutally shoving the rifle
barrel into the middle of Micajah's back, Bodene drawled dangerously,
"And now what are you going to do, my dirty friend?"

His confident air having vanished and his expression decidedly
chagrined, Micajah laughed nervously. "Sullivan! I should have knowed
you'd be around somewhere!" Obviously hoping to escape with his hide
intact, and never one to argue when the odds were against him, Micajah
very carefully released Sam's arm and with equal caution moved the
blade away from Sam's throat. An impudent smile on his face, he
declared heartily, "Seems like you bested me again, Savanna!"
Apparently undaunted by his dangerous position, he added brazenly, "Now
how about we all put away our weapons and sit down and have a whiskey
together—just to show that there are no hard feelings."

Sam staggered away from Micajah and sank down onto one of the
chairs, cradling the arm that had been so viciously held behind his
back. Savanna's rifle never wavered and she asked anxiously, "Sam? How
bad is it?"

Sam grinned, albeit painfully, and murmured, "Not so bad,
missy! He surprised me when I went back into the kitchen—was all over
me before I even knew what happened. I'se be all right directly. Don't
you worry none about ole Sam."