Jane Bonander (9 page)

Nate still had trouble pinning the murder on Susannah. Not at first, maybe, but now that he’d come to know her, see her every day, he couldn’t imagine her doing it. Unless . . .

He swore and shifted to his side. He had to quit thinking about it. He had a job to do, damn it, and one way or another, he’d get it done.

But thoughts of Susannah crept into his head. The story he’d spun tonight had been to soothe her, to keep her from jumping out of her skin whenever the babbling Alvin Hatfield asked her about her “family” and her “man.” But a part of his own story surprised him Judith had never so much as picked up an ax, much less tried to chop a tree into firewood. That had been something he’d done only for Susannah. There was probably no deep, meaningful message, but he did know that something was different between them.

Now and then he’d felt her gaze on him as he worked, or when he washed up at the pump. He could read a jumble of emotions in that gaze. Fear . . . interest . . . curiosity. But always a wariness, despite everything else.

His feelings toward her had changed, too. Pity for what she might have gone through with Walker before making her escape had been replaced by compassion. And something else. Now, he found himself getting lost in her liquid brown eyes. More often than he cared to remember, he watched her walk, envisioning the body beneath the clothing, wondering how she would feel tucked close to his chest.

Ah, hell. Who was he kidding? So she was a woman whose dreams were as ragged as a beggar’s coat. So what? It wasn’t up to him to change that. And he’d begun to feel too damned protective, too. He couldn’t afford that, either, because it made him soft, and it could lead to something else. Something he was neither willing nor able to do anything about.

He had to stay focused on his goal, but it was getting harder and harder to do it. It was becoming obvious that the last thing he wanted to do was haul Susannah back to that bastard, Sonny Walker.

Harlan sat in the chair by the bed, watching as Sonny raped her. She tried to plead with him, beg him to pull Sonny off, but he just smiled at her, baring teeth that dripped blood. Sonny was ripping her apart, pounding into her, grunting like a wild hog, his breath sweet and cloying as it laved her face. She gagged. She was going to vomit. She turned to face Harlan, and he handed her a pair of scissors, also dripping blood. Sonny’s hands, bloody as well, clamped her shoulders, and she screamed as that part of him inside her grew until it split her apart.

She fought him. Tried to free herself The blood from his hands was sticky and warm, burning her skin like fire. The smell of him burned her nose.

He shook her shoulders. “Susannah!”

She surged from sleep, fighting him, desperate to get away. “No,” she lamented, “please,
no!
” He pulled her against him and held her tightly.

“Susannah, wake up!” It was a harsh order, whispered close to her ear. His hand smoothed her hair, her back, her shoulders as he tried to quiet her.

She came awake fully, her breath wheezing, her heart pounding. Now she knew who held her; she knew his scent. A different scent from the one that haunted her dreams.

Relieved, she pushed against Nathan’s chest. He released her, as if sensing her fears.

“Are you all right?”

His concern made her feel at once comfortable and ridiculous. She stared at the bed, trying to still her bounding heart.

“I’m sorry.” She felt foolish and vulnerable, then remembered where she was. She whipped around. “Corey?”

Nathan’s hand stilled hers. “He’s been asleep in my bedroll for an hour.”

The rain must have passed, for moonlight streamed into the room, carving his face in light. His eyes held pity, and she wondered what she’d exposed to him in her nightmare She glanced away, ashamed and afraid at what it might have been.

He touched her arm. “Who are you afraid of, Susannah?”

She pulled free and looked toward the window. The trees moved against the moonlight, reaching upward like scrawny, bony fingers. Like Ma Walker’s. She shivered.

“Everyone has bad dreams now and then.” He stroked her arm gently. “By God, I know I do.”

She took a shuddering breath and realized she was going to cry. Deep, ragged sobs clenched her chest and forced their way into her throat. Covering her face with her hands, she wept.

His arms came around her, and she went, hungering for comfort, aching for someone to care. She leaned against him, her hands still covering her face, and continued to cry.

He stroked her hair, tentatively at first, then more boldly. “It’s all right, Susannah. Cry.”

His touch and the gruff purr of his voice soothed her. Not since she’d been a child had anyone comforted her so, and never a man. It was soothing . . . so different from anything she’d ever felt.

Pulling herself together, she stopped crying and drew away from the warmth of his chest. She felt odd, strangely skittish having him so close to her in the darkened room.

With his thumb, he wiped her cheek, the tender gesture causing Susannah’s heart to ache with the poverty of need and she almost cried again. But she didn’t. Instead, she took his hand in hers, anxious to touch it, feel its warmth and gentle strength. Anxious to know a man who didn’t use his hand to punish, but to soothe.

Pressing her hand with his fingers, he brought it to his face; she touched the rough stubble of his beard. A moment, an ugly memory, encroached, and she tried to pull away, but he held her hand flat against his cheek until she no longer fought him. Her fingers, cold and clammy from her dream, warmed against his flesh. He began moving her hand slowly over his face.

“I’m just a man, Susannah, I’m not a monster. I would never hurt you.” His breath caressed her fingers as he brought them to his lips.

She felt the tingle of his touch all the way to her elbow, but his words frightened her. She wanted to believe. But words, alone, weren’t enough; they never had been.

He guided her fingers to the high, hard ledge of his cheekbone, then higher, to his forehead where she traced the scar, his thick eyelashes tickling her palm. “Who hurt you?” she asked, her voice soft.

“I got it during the war,” he answered, continuing to hold her fingers.

He brought her palm to his mouth and planted a whispery kiss there, sending Susannah’s heart into her throat and her pulse racing. Again, she tried to pull away, and again, he stayed her hand, pulling her toward him.

His face came close to hers and her breath caught in her throat. When his lips grazed her forehead, she gasped, unable to believe any man could be so gentle. As he planted slow, light kisses on her cheeks, she stiffened, but tried to fight it. She wanted to enjoy it. She wanted to, but . . .

His lips found hers. They pressed with an eager tenderness, and startled, Susannah pulled away. “No—”

The word came out a harsh whisper and she fought the nausea that squiggled into her throat. She was wild with fear until he released her, then she scrambled away from him.

With sad eyes, he studied her in the moonlight. “Who hurt
you
, Susannah? Who in the hell hurt
you
?”

She pressed shaky fingers to her lips, the fluttering memory of his touch still there, taunting her . . . haunting her. But she couldn’t give him an answer. And even if she could tell him
who
, she’d never be able to admit the rest of it. “Please.” Her voice was a ragged whisper. “Please. Just leave.”

She waited until he was gone, then she curled into a ball, unable to control the panic. He was a kind man. A compassionate man. But if he ever found out what she’d done . . . what she’d been
forced
to do, he would change. He’d be as disgusted with her as she was with herself.

S
usannah woke, disoriented. She reached out to touch Corey, then remembered what had happened the night before. She pressed her thumb and forefinger to her eyelids and allowed herself a brief moment of misery as she recalled the nightmares that had brought Nathan to her bed. The ones about Harlan she understood; the ones about Sonny she did not. Then again, she never tried to, for they were always vulgar and nauseating, and to examine them would undoubtedly make her as ill as in her dreams.

She felt a flush of anxiety as she slid from the bed and pulled on her wrapper. She was always so much more vulnerable at night, when it was dark. Her fears escalated, and new ones formed, preventing her from sleeping at all. All the ills of the world landed at her feet and nipped at her toes when she was sleepless in the dark.

She stepped into the main room, her gaze going to the door of her bedroom. It was still closed. Their guests were not yet up. Turning toward the fireplace,
she saw Corey, tiny and sweet, still asleep in Nathan’s bedroll.

A mixture of emotions swelled within her. To her surprise, the strongest wasn’t envy. It was pain. Pain that one day soon, no doubt very soon, Nathan Wolfe would be gone, and Corey would again be without someone to look up to.

But for herself, she wanted him gone. Perhaps not for the same reasons as she’d had before, because she no longer thought of him as someone who’d come to spy on her. She’d decided if he’d been sent by the Walkers, he’d have done something about it by now.
She was anxious for him to leave for other reasons altogether. She was beginning to like him, and that feeling was far more threatening. No one could know her secret, and the longer he stayed, the more tempting it was to unburden herself and share it with him.

She thought about her most recent nightmare, and Nathan’s raspy, soothing voice and his affectionate touch as he’d awakened her. She would always remember that. Always. She would capture the memory and hold it against her heart forever.

But the other . . . His attempt to kiss her had been so tempting. She was curious to know what it would be like to be kissed that way. But memories were still too fresh . . . too awful. She rubbed her hand across her lips, as if doing so would dislodge the vile memory of Harlan’s lips on hers, his tongue jutting into her mouth.

She looked toward the door just as Nathan came in from outside, carrying a pail of water. They stood without speaking, studying one another. A flood of emotions overwhelmed her; they were all pleasant, and she fought them.

Something deep inside her began to ache and she clenched her fists to her chest, willing it away, willing herself to feel nothing. Years ago she’d learned it was safer by far to feel nothing at all. And now she was confused by her feelings, for over these last few days Nathan had prompted her to feel something other than disgust for herself. It should have made her feel good; it frightened her, instead.

He crossed to the stove and filled the coffeepot with fresh water.

Susannah hurried to him and tried to push him aside. “I can do that.”

He held onto the pot. “So can I, Susannah.”

Annoyed, she mumbled, “Just because they think we’re married doesn’t mean you have to continue the pretense when they aren’t around.”

He released the pot but didn’t retreat.

Confusion tumbled over her. “I’m sorry. It’s just that—”

“You don’t have to apologize, Susannah. I understand.”

He still stood beside her, his size and his warmth disquieting. She was suffocating with feelings of pleasure, and her eyes stung with tears of frustration. “Do you always have to be so damned understanding?”

He chuckled, a deep, warm sound that oozed over her like warm honey. “I can’t seem to please you, can I?”

She wanted to apologize for her shrewish behavior. Instead she said, “I suppose I should thank you for saving my neck in front of the Hatfields last night.”

“You can if you want to.”

Puzzled, she turned. “Want to what?”

“Thank me.”

His infamous half grin cracked his mouth, and his eyes were warm. Susannah felt herself thaw. She wondered, as crazy as it was, if she couldn’t be half in love with him already. The way he treated Corey alone made her frightened for her feelings, and to have him look at her that way, like he had the night before . . .
Nonsense
!

“I still think they would have understood if you had explained that you’re just doing a few chores for me. All that . . . that foolishness about the way we met—” She remembered the story, the easy way he pulled her into his tangle of sweet lies.

“I was trying to protect your reputation, Susannah.”

She finished preparing the coffee, then turned on him. “My
reputation
? How will it look if that lie gets back to town? What in the world will those people think?”

Nathan shook his head and went to the window. “The Hatfields are going in the opposite direction. Everything will be the way it was once they’re gone.”

“But what if they . . . they run into someone on the road and tell them they’ve spent the night with us?”

Nathan went to the fireplace and stirred up the fire. “Then I guess everyone in town will think I’m your loving husband, finally, at long last, returned from the war,” he answered, his voice edged with sarcasm.

She’d been slicing side pork, but slammed the knife down and glared at him. “That isn’t funny My . . . my husband could return any day now, then what? Would they declare me a bigamist and . . . and . . . and run me and Corey out of town?” She was furious with him, but she wasn’t sure why. Of
course
he couldn’t be her husband, and of
course
her real husband couldn’t come looking for her, because, well, she’d killed him.

He glanced at her over his shoulder, arching an eyebrow at her. “Get any more hysterical, and our guests will have something else to talk about.”

She took a deep breath and turned back to the counter, pressing against it to still her quivering stomach. She searched for something else to say. “I hope Corey isn’t the reason you’re up so early.”

“No, I’m an early riser. Like you are.”

She tried to concentrate on what she was doing, but her hands shook. “Still, he . . . he can get pretty wiggly, and he was probably wet, too . . .” She could have bitten her tongue. How she hated reminding anyone that Corey was still in diapers! It made her feel like such a failure.

“I changed him before he crawled in with me.”

Corey’s diapers were in the bedroom where she’d slept. Heat flared into her cheeks. She wondered if he’d watched her, if that was the reason he’d heard her fighting her dreams.

“I . . . I’m sorry you had to do that.” With deliberate care, she sliced some bread, working hard to cut each piece straight, for it was something she’d never been able to do.

“I didn’t mind, but he’s getting a little old for diapers, don’t you think?”

She should have been angry and defensive, but she wasn’t. She stopped slicing and piled the bread into a basket. “Yes,” she answered, her voice barely audible. “I guess he is. But—”

“But, you want to keep him a baby for as long as possible, is that it?”

She whirled and stared at him. He had a smug expression on his face, as if he knew exactly what was on her mind. Well, he didn’t. He couldn’t. “No. That’s
not
it. It’s . . . it’s just that . . .” Oh, Lord. How did she explain to the man that she wasn’t equipped to stand up and teach her son how to pee? She felt heat stain her cheeks again, only this time it crept to the roots of her hair.

He pulled jam and butter from the cool cupboard in the corner and put them on the table. “I’d like to go fishing today.”

The vivid picture of him watching her at the river’s edge in her underwear heated her blood. “Who’s stopping you?” she answered tartly.

He shrugged, still studying her. “I thought you’d want me to finish the porch and leave.”

She coughed and cleared her throat, nervous sounds even to her own ears, and began putting together the ingredients for griddle cakes. She
was
anxious for him to leave, wasn’t she?

“I guess I can’t expect you to work all the time. After all, I’m . . . I’m not paying you.”

“Good. Because today’s the day. And I’d like to take Corey with me.”

Alarmed, she stopped what she was doing, concentrating, instead, on the pounding of her heart.
“Why?”

“Because,” he said, searching her face, “it would be good for him to get away from you for a while. And good for you, too.”

She wasn’t sure if it was an insult or not. She bristled anyway. “What makes you say that?”

“Now, don’t go getting your water hot,” he answered. “Just take my word for it. It’ll do you both a world of good.”

“What makes you an expert?” She wanted him to expand on his background, tell her more about his son. His family.

He glanced away, refusing to meet her gaze. “Take my word for it,” he said again, his voice soft, almost sad.

Something in his tone prevented her from pursuing the subject, although she was curious and tempted. She wanted to refuse his request to take Corey to the river with him. She wanted to believe she couldn’t trust him with her precious child, and if she chewed on it long enough, she knew she’d reject the idea outright. She trusted no one with Corey but herself. She hadn’t for a very long time. But was it fair? Hadn’t Nathan proved to her that he could be trusted?
Maybe it’s just an act
. Maybe. She was still torn between past memories and present realities. Ghosts and devils.

Suddenly Corey was awake, clamoring for his breakfast. When their guests came out of the bedroom, anxious to be on their way, Susannah shook off thoughts of Nathan and his cryptic answer. But as the morning slipped by, her brain still churned with questions.

The Hatfields left, and Nathan had Corey digging for worms, promising they’d catch a big fish for dinner.

Susannah’s agony had been written all over her face. Nathan knew she wanted to refuse to let him take Corey fishing. He also thought her very brave to finally acquiesce.

But her surrender to let him take Corey fishing hadn’t come easily. In the end, her apprehension had driven him to ask her to join them. She’d agreed, her enthusiasm evident as she promised to pack a lunch and join them at the river later.

“Corey? Time to go.”

Corey stood, a wiggly earthworm between his fingers. “Worm!” He gave Nate a happy grin.

“Hey, that’s a fat one,” Nathan answered, taking the worm and dropping it into the container with the others. “You ready to go?”

Corey nodded, wiped his dirty hands on his overalls, and grabbed two of Nate’s fingers. Nate gave him the container with the worms in it, and picked up the two makeshift fishing poles he’d found in the shed.

The tiny fingers beneath his own sent a tightness into Nate’s chest, a memory of other days . . . other streams . . . other picnics.

He forced it away, concentrating, instead on the moment he’d heard Susannah wrestling with her nightmares. He’d been in the room earlier, searching for a fresh diaper for Corey. He’d found Susannah asleep on her side, her covers pushed to the foot of the bed. No doubt that was what had awakened Corey, for the room was cold.

Susannah’s nightgown had been up around her knees, her calves bare to his gaze. They were shapely and white, and she had dainty feet. But all this he’d known from the day before. Still, one look at a woman like Susannah was never enough. He’d stared openly at the lush swell of her hip and the ample breast that rested in the crook of her arm, and he’d again felt a stirring where one hadn’t been for many, many years. And once she’d awakened, frightened and vulnerable, he’d been drawn to her further. For beneath the fear he saw a beautiful woman, all soft and warm and in need of comfort. And there was that fragrance, that sweet scent of woman that he’d missed for so long.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t had a woman since Judith died. He’d slept with women whose faces he couldn’t remember, and whose names he’d never known. But even that had been a while ago. Not that he didn’t miss the sex, it was just that he missed something else as well. Companionship. Closeness. Compassion. And passion. Ah, how he missed sweet, lusty passion.

Judith had always been eager, but not strong. Her sickly nature made it necessary for him to protect her. He’d even kept her safe from his strong, hungry needs, tamping them down, locking them away in a safe place in his mind.

Long before he’d gone off to war, he’d known they would never share passion. And he was a passionate man by nature, loving the intimacy one shared with a woman one loved. Judith might have been willing, but she’d never been able to give him a good, oldfashioned, sweaty roll in the hay. And he’d wanted it. He’d felt damned guilty that what they’d had together hadn’t been enough.

He swore. It had been a hell of a long time since he’d felt the lusty bite of passion. Just the thought of it stirred the coals of his desire. Watching Susannah at the river, then asleep, had started him thinking this way. Ah, hell. It was before that. The first time he’d seen her trying to fend off Eli Clegg, he’d admired her abundant curves. He’d known that kind of woman before, not in the Biblical sense, but he could spot them. Often their enticing curves cloaked a rich, carnal nature. But something awful had happened to Susannah, and around him she was always wound up tighter than a pocket watch. He wondered if she’d ever in her life experienced good, lusty passion.

“The river!”

Corey’s enthusiasm interrupted Nate’s thoughts. “So it is,” he answered, stopping at a boulder that sat near the water. He hunkered down and put a worm on each hook, then handed one of the poles to Corey. He
took the other and they went to the riverbank and sat on an old log near the water.

Corey sat, whistling softly to himself, but when a fish took his bait, he got so excited he almost dropped the pole into the water. Nate brought him between his legs and helped him bring the fish in. It flipped back and forth on the end of the line, causing Corey to squeal with glee.