Early Dawn (24 page)

“Really?” Eden searched for the constellation. When she found it, she asked, “How does the legend go?”

“The grizzly climbed high into the mountains, getting clumps of ice and snow on its feet. As it crossed the sky, bits of white fell away from its paws, creating the Milky Way.”

Eden gazed thoughtfully at the stars. “That’s a cute story. Who told it to you?”

“I fell in with an old Shoshone named Two Dogs who’d escaped a reservation. He rode the trail with me for about a month.”

“Was he good company?”

“Like me, he wasn’t much of a talker, but he did like to tell stories by the fire at night.”

“I like to do that, too. On hunting forays with my brothers when I was young, I always begged for stories after supper. Joseph liked to tell spooky ones and scare me half-silly.” Gaze still fixed on the Milky Way, Eden asked, “What happened to him? To Two Dogs, I mean.”

“He just up and left one day. Said he needed to take a spirit walk.”

“A spirit walk?”

“Yeah,” Matthew said softly. “He never explained what a spirit walk is, but I’m guessing it’s a prayerful time, maybe similar to a vision quest.”

Eden’s uneasiness had abated. Was that why Matthew had chosen to talk, because he’d sensed her nervousness? “Do you know any other Indian stories about the stars?”

“No, but Two Dogs did tell me that his people call the Little Dipper by another name, Little Bear.”

Eden turned onto her side to face him. In the firelight, his chiseled profile looked as if it had been carved from polished teak. “I wonder why bears play such a large role in their lore.”

He shifted onto his side as well. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because bears are so big and strong. Most Plains Indians revere the buffalo, too, probably for the same reason. They’re mighty powerful beasts.”

Eden searched his gaze until he lightly touched a fingertip to each of her eyelids to urge them closed. “Go to sleep, Eden. You need the rest.” He trailed the fingertip down the bridge of her nose, the caress so light that she wondered if she imagined it. “Sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams,” she murmured.

As Eden slipped away into the blackness of sleep, she felt Matthew curl his arm around her, and this time she didn’t find it alarming.

 

Matthew lay awake long after Eden fell asleep, his thoughts in a tangle.
Eden.
She was so damned beautiful with that flame-colored hair and those gorgeous blue eyes, and he was finding it increasingly difficult not to be aware of that every time he looked at her. When he’d returned to camp earlier, he had been bound and determined not to lock gazes with her again, but he had. Something about the girl turned his brains to mush.

When he tried to think of something he didn’t like about her, he came up blank. She was spirited, brave, and sweet, and he enjoyed her company far more than he should. Before meeting her, it had been so long since he’d laughed that he’d thought he might never want to again. Now he found himself smiling more times than not, talking more than he’d believed himself capable of, and searching for ways to distract her so she wouldn’t feel nervous around him.

“Beautiful Dreamer.” What had he been thinking to play that tune? When she’d sung the lyrics, he’d looked across the fire at her and thought,
Awake unto me
.

No more
, he told himself firmly. He’d made a vow over Livvy’s grave to find her killers and punish them, and even though he could no longer conjure up a clear image of her face, that was a promise he was honor-bound to keep. Perhaps, he thought groggily, Livvy had become less a real person to him than she was an idea that kept him going. Was that why he felt the need to draw his watch from his pocket occasionally, to strengthen his fading sense of connection to her? Without that sense of connection, was he afraid he would give up and go back on his promise to find her killers?

Matthew could no longer define his feelings for Livvy. He only knew she’d once been his whole world, and he felt obligated to continue tracking the Sebastians until he either killed them or died trying. He was almost asleep when Eden suddenly jerked and mewled in her sleep. He cracked open an eye, wondering if the weight of his arm was hurting her ribs.

“No!” she cried.
“No!”

Matthew pushed up on an elbow and grasped her shoulder. “Eden? You need to wake up. It’s a bad dream, only a bad dream.”

She came awake with a vengeance, her hands clenched. Matthew didn’t see the punch coming, and she nailed him right in the eye. Luckily the blow didn’t blind him, and he was able to grab her wrists to stop her from hitting him again.

“Eden! It’s me, Matthew. It’s only a bad dream!”

She shrieked and tried to twist away from him. “Don’t
touch
me. Get your
filthy
hands off me!”

She was thrashing so violently that Matthew feared she might do further injury to her ribs. To hold her still, he pinned her arms above her head and anchored her legs with his thigh.

“Eden, look at me. You’re safe. It’s me, Matthew. I’m not going to hurt you.”

A breath hitched in her throat, and she gazed up at him, her eyes glassy with terror. He knew the instant when recognition began to dawn. The tension drained from her body, and with a tortured gasp, she burst into tears.

“M-Matthew?” she sobbed. “Oh,
God.
I’m s-sorry, so s-sorry. I hit you. I’m s-so sorry.”

Matthew released his hold on her wrists, eased his weight off her, and drew her into his arms. “Shhh,” he whispered. “Don’t. I’m fine. It barely hurt.”

She made tight fists on the front of his jacket and buried her face against the side of his neck. “The Sebastians. I dreamed they had me again.”

Matthew curled a hand over the back of her head, threading his fingers through her thick, curly hair. “I know,” he said softly. “I know. But it was only a terrible dream. You’re with me now, and I’ll never let them touch you again as long as I draw breath.”

Her slender body jerked with the force of her sobs. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him almost frantically. “It was s-so aw-awful. Th-the things they d-did to me were so
awful
!”

“It’s over now, Eden. It’s over.”

“N-not in my dr-dream. It f-felt so real, Matthew. I c-could
feel
their h-hands on me.”

Matthew tightened his hold. He’d seen the things they’d done to her, and he couldn’t think of a single thing to say that might make her feel better. So he simply held her.

Later, Matthew couldn’t say how long she cried. He knew only that when she finally fell into an exhausted sleep, her lush body was pressed snugly against him. The front of her jacket had fallen open and so had his. The tips of her breasts felt like hot embers burning holes in his chest. He tried to ignore it, but the softness of her felt so damned good that he couldn’t. The next thing he knew, nature paid a call, and he had an erection throbbing against the fly of his britches. All he could do was clench his teeth and pray it would go away.

No such luck. At times like this, that part of his body seemed to be disconnected from his brain. He ached for release and yearned to find it in the hot, wet recesses of her body. But he knew it was madness even to think about it. When he could tolerate the torture no longer, he slipped cautiously from the bed, trying not to wake her. Then he grabbed his gun belt and the towel and headed for the creek, hoping the ice-cold water would cool his ardor so he could think straight again.

When Matthew returned to bed an hour later, his skin was as wrinkled as a dried grape, and he was chilled to the bone. He didn’t know what idiot had come up with an ice-cold bath as a cure for male arousal. It had worked—eventually. But it wasn’t something he looked forward to doing again. If he didn’t catch pneumonia, it would be a miracle.

As he drew back the blanket and joined Eden on the pallet, she murmured something in her sleep and gravitated toward him. A warning bell jangled at the back of his mind. He was only human, and it had been several months since he’d scratched his itch with a woman. But when she snuggled close, he didn’t have the heart to push her away. Instead he pressed his face against her hair and held her, hoping a certain part of his body would behave itself.

It was
not
his lucky night.

 

Matthew seemed out of sorts the next morning. Recalling her nightmare, Eden wondered if he was miffed at her for slugging him. She hadn’t meant to. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She’d meant to hit him, but only because she’d believed he was someone else.

As they sipped coffee together in silence, the sun rose higher in the sky, and the birds started to sing. Eden listened to them for a moment and then said, “Isn’t that a beautiful sound?”

Matthew scowled. “It’s only a bunch of birds, Eden. You hear them every day.”

She considered his disgruntled countenance. “Matthew, are you angry with me about last night?”

He gave her a sharp look. “What about last night?”

“About . . . well, you know . . . when I hit you. I never meant to. Honestly, I didn’t. When I woke up from the dream, it took me a moment to realize where I was and who I was with.”

His expression softened. “Of course I’m not angry with you. I knew when it happened that you didn’t know who you were swinging at.”

Eden let that stand for a moment. Then, unable to let it go, she asked, “What
are
you angry with me about, then?”

“I’m not angry with you about anything.” He leaned forward to slosh more coffee into his cup. “I’m just grappling with a personal problem.”

“Oh.” Eden poured herself more coffee, too. “Would you like to talk about it? Sometimes that helps—getting another person’s perspective, I mean.”

His incredibly blue eyes lighted with what looked like amusement, and he appeared to be biting back a smile. “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think talking it over will help me out.”

Eden set aside her cup to serve them each a plate of leftover beans, which they’d reheated for breakfast. As they ate, she said, “You’ve been such a good listener and have helped me so much. If you change your mind, don’t hesitate to let me know. That’s what friends are for, to listen and try to think of solutions.”

 

Matthew regarded Eden with a confusing blend of amusement and alarm. She was not only coming to trust him, but now considered him her friend? When he searched her blue eyes, he saw no wariness, only a heartfelt desire to help him deal with a personal problem. She’d probably drop over in a dead faint if he told her what was wrong—namely that he no longer felt certain he could trust himself to sleep with her.

Matthew tried to tuck into his breakfast with enthusiasm, but his appetite was off, and he knew the reason was sitting across the fire from him. How in the hell was he going to get through another several days with her in his care? They had only one bedroll, and she shivered from the cold all night if he didn’t join her in it. Until last night, he’d been okay with that, but now he felt like a short-fused stick of dynamite lying perilously close to a lit lucifer.

He couldn’t possibly tell Eden that. This was his dilemma, and it was up to him to deal with it, even if it meant playing a little five-fingered stud in the bushes every night, a prospect that Matthew found unappealing. What he needed was a willing woman, preferably one of ill repute, who’d be happy to accommodate him in exchange for a couple of dollars. Unfortunately, there probably wasn’t a saloon within a hundred miles, and even if there had been, he couldn’t leave Eden to fend for herself.

Matthew chose to ride in a different pattern that day, in a zigzag this time, moving in first one direction and then another. At one point, he came across the Sebastians’ tracks. He judged them to be at least a day old and felt confident that the gang wasn’t still in the area, but seeing the sign still raised the hair on the back of his neck. He chose not to burden Eden with the discovery. She was managing to keep the pace, but he knew it was costing her dearly. They weren’t in any immediate danger, after all, and she had enough on her plate.

By lunchtime, she looked as if she felt better, much to his relief. Then he heard her humming “Beautiful Dreamer.” At first it didn’t bother him too much, but after a while, he almost lost it and asked her to be quiet. Why that song, and
only
that song? Pretty soon, the tune had him grinding his teeth, the romantic lyrics drifting through his mind like a witch’s chant. He vowed to play his harmonica again that night, regaling her with every song he knew
except
that one so she would hum something else tomorrow.

Feeling irritated and all-over grumpy, Matthew caught himself getting cross with her when they stopped for a break that afternoon. While he was at the creek, watering the horses, he gave himself a stern lecture. It wasn’t Eden’s fault they were in this fix, and it
definitely
wasn’t her fault that his body had turned traitor.
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me
. He was losing his mind; that was it.

By the time the light started to fade, Matthew’s nerve endings felt as if they’d been rubbed back and forth over a cheese grater. Every time he contemplated sleeping with Eden again, his skin went clammy. What if she felt his erection and panicked? That would put both of them in a fine pickle. He couldn’t let her sleep alone unless he gave her his jacket for extra warmth—and if he gave her his jacket, he’d be the one who stayed awake all night. Her life depended on his keeping his wits about him, and that would be nigh onto impossible if he got no rest.

Matthew was searching for a suitable place to make camp when Eden suddenly called out for him to stop. He jerked around on the saddle, heart in his throat. As grueling as this ordeal had been for her, she’d never once asked him to stop. His first thought was that she was about to collapse, a fear that had dogged him ever since he’d rescued her.