Lorraine Heath (10 page)

He knew that feeling. Damn, he knew that feeling all too well.

“When Mama died, I placed my ad to travel west and become a wife. I had to leave, to get away from the land that had soaked up my sisters’ blood, away from the memories. I need new memories to replace those that haunt me when darkness closes in.”

The thunder echoed around them, the lightning shimmered through the air, and the rain began to fall again, harder than before. She nestled up against his shoulder.

Houston removed his hat, giving the rain the freedom to wash over them, to wipe the tears from her face, and to ease the hurt in her heart.

The deluge prevented him from hearing her voice, but the shape of her lips revealed the words “Thank you.”

He could only nod and pray that when the storm ended, he would find the strength to let her go.

H
ouston stared at the roiling brown river and cursed last night’s storm. It lingered on the air, threatening to return, leaving gray clouds hovering low and a strong brisk wind toying with the prairie grasses. If the storm returned, it had the power to make the river impassable for days, leaving Houston’s options damn limited as far as he was concerned.

They could wait until the water receded and hope the storm moved on with no others coming to take its place. But they were already behind schedule. As it was now, they wouldn’t arrive when Dallas was expecting them. He didn’t think Dallas could afford to send his men out on a wild-goose chase, so instead, his brother would be pacing on his bad leg, staring toward the rising sun, and working himself into a slow simmering temper.

Or Houston could haul Amelia and the wagon across the river, and hope the good fortune he’d lost somewhere along the way would catch up with him. Not one thing had delayed him in reaching Fort Worth. Nothing should have delayed him in returning to the ranch.

He prodded Sorrel forward. The horse moved cautiously through the swirling water, but she didn’t hesitate. Houston trusted the animal’s instincts. If the horse had balked, he wouldn’t have pressed her on.

The cold water lapped at Houston’s calves. Crossing rivers had never been his favorite part of trailing cattle or moving from one spot to the next.

They reached the middle of the river. The small waves slapped at Sorrel’s sides, but the river itself wasn’t as deep as Houston had expected it to be. He glanced over his shoulder. Amelia sat in the wagon, worry etched along her delicate features.

Despite the cold water, her concern warmed him. She would soon become his sister by marriage, but he seemed unable to steer his feelings toward brotherly concern. They ran deeper, so much deeper. He pulled the reins to the right, guiding the horse back to the bank from which they’d come.

“What do you think?” Amelia asked as they cleared the water.

“I think it’s safe, but I want to take you over on the horse. Then I’ll come back for the wagon.”

“Why are wooden crosses lining the bank?” she asked.

He glanced toward the crude markers, made from tree limbs. “It’s not unusual to lose a man when you’re crossing a river, herding cows. Horse gets spooked, cows get spooked. Man goes under, can’t swim, the cows stop him from coming back up.”

“I suppose, then, that I should be grateful we’re not herding cows.”

“Yep. Reckon you should be.”

She gnawed her bottom lip. “Do you swim?”

“Yep.”

Relief quickly flickered in her eyes, trust soon replacing it. Dallas’s trust had been heavy enough to bear, hers seemed incredibly heavier.

He positioned his horse and held out his hand, anticipating the warmth of her fingers within his grasp. She slipped elegantly onto the back of the horse and wrapped her arms around him.

“The water’s cold,” he said as the horse skidded down the bank and splashed into the river.

Releasing a small gasp when the water rose up to their calves, she tightened her hold on him. “How many more rivers do we have to cross?” she asked.

“Not many, but this is the widest and deepest. It would have been better if we’d been able to cross before the storm.”

Sorrel momentarily lost her footing. Houston’s heart leapt into his throat, nearly suffocating him with the thought of Amelia’s falling from her precarious perch behind him, but she clung tenaciously to him while he held fast to the saddle horn, calming the horse with the pressure of his thighs, his sure hand on the reins.

He knew the moment the horse regained her footing. He urged Sorrel forward, breathing an unsteady sigh of relief as the water grew shallow. Sorrel struggled up the muddy tree-lined bank.

Reaching behind him, Houston helped Amelia slide off the horse. He shrugged out of his duster and draped it over her shoulders. “Why don’t you see if you can find some dry wood so we can warm up before we head out?”

With concern clearly reflected in her eyes, she rested her hand on his thigh. He would have sworn her touch latched onto his heart.

“Please be careful,” she said quietly.

He gave her what he hoped was a smile. He couldn’t remember the last time his face had broken into a real smile. The muscles felt tight, unaccustomed to the movement. He hoped he didn’t look ridiculous. “Got no choice in the matter. Dallas would have my hide if I left you out here all alone.”

She gave him a smile, a beautiful smile that made her green eyes sparkle and chased away the worried frown. The sight of it tightened something in his chest.

He prodded Sorrel back across the river. Once on the other side, he tied a rope to the saddle horn, his intent to lead Sorrel back across the river. He left the other end unsecured, simply threading it through his fingers along with the reins. He didn’t want the horse tethered to the wagon if something should happen. Every now and then, a strong rush of water had pushed against them as they’d crossed back over.

His more practical side told him to wait … but the side that housed his heart urged him to take the wagon across and get Amelia to the ranch as soon as possible.

He looked across the river. She stood on the far bank, watching him, not gathering wood as he’d told her. For some reason he couldn’t explain, it alarmed him and warmed him to see her watching, waiting for him.

He indulged himself for a moment and envisioned her standing within the doorway of his cabin, wearing that green dress they’d purchased in Fort Worth, her loose hair brushed to a golden sheen, the scent of fresh-baked bread wafting behind her …

He shook off the image. She’d be standing on Dallas’s veranda. Houston Leigh would be nothing more to her than a brother by marriage, which was as it should be. Women like Amelia belonged to men like Dallas. And Dallas had branded her as his long before Houston even knew her name.

With a slap of the reins and a coarse yell, he sent the mules moving slowly toward the river’s edge. The wagon teetered as it rolled over the uneven, muddy ground.

Houston whacked the reins over the mules’ backsides and yelled louder, urging the animals forward into the rushing water. The four mules moved sluggishly, dragging the wagon slowly across the river. Floating brushwood rushed rapidly downstream, spinning and dipping.

The wagon jerked to a stop. Houston slapped the reins and hollered. The mules strained against the harness, strained against the water. Houston was on the verge of jumping into the water in order to work the wheels free when the wagon lurched forward, a loud crack filled the air, and all hell broke loose.

A mule brayed, and the other mules no longer worked as a team. It flashed through Houston’s mind that something—possibly a snake—had spooked them.

Then nothing but panic roared through his mind as the wagon began to lean with the force of the current. He released the rope holding Sorrel and prayed the horse had the good sense to cross to the other side of the river. Then he prayed Amelia would have the good sense to ride the horse west.

A log traveling rapidly with the current rammed into the wagon. The mules screeched. Houston was losing control, losing control of the team, losing control of the wagon. He jumped into the river with the thought of gaining control by grabbing the lead mule, but the current was stronger, the river bottom slicker than he’d anticipated. His foot slid out from under him and he went under.

Amelia watched in horror as Houston disappeared beneath the raging current. When he surfaced, he plowed through the water until he reached the back of the wagon. He wrapped a hand around a wheel, then bent, his other hand disappearing under the water, and she wondered if he thought he could lift the wagon, free it, and push it across the surging water.

Then the wagon groaned and tilted further until it looked as though it might topple onto him. She balled her hands around his duster, silently urging him to leave the wagon, to escape the river. As though he heard her pleas, he began to fight the current. She barely had time to release her breath before she realized he wasn’t heading toward shore, that his destination was the mules. Helplessly she watched as he struggled to release the mules. An eternity seemed to pass before one mule began to wander toward the shore where she stood.

Amelia’s heart leapt into her throat when she spotted another log traveling quickly with the current. She screamed out a warning at the same moment that one of the remaining mules sidestepped and shoved its shoulder against Houston. Houston stumbled backward. The log rammed into the base of his skull. Once again, the current dragged him down.

Amelia threw off his duster and jumped into the river.

White light exploded in Houston’s head before the brown water sucked him under. He heard Amelia’s scream, and dear God, help him, he thought he saw her leap into the river.

He forced back the pain, forced back the welcome oblivion, and resurfaced to see her splashing in the water, screaming his name.

With long, swift strokes born of desperation, he swam toward her, fighting the current, fighting the fear. If she lost her footing as he had, she’d go under the murky waters … and find herself surrounded by the darkness that terrified her. No sunlight would filter through the churning river to guide her back to the surface. He wanted her to see another sunrise, to know again the feathery touch of dawn.

As he neared, he could see the fear darkening her eyes. Gaining his footing, he snaked out his arm, wrapping it around her waist and drawing her trembling body against his. The mud sucked at his boots as he hauled her to the bank of the river and collapsed in the mud, her body falling alongside his, her breathing labored, his own chest aching as he fought to draw in air. With the blinding stars dancing across his vision, he rose up on an elbow and glared at the quivering woman lying beside him. Her lips were incredibly blue in a face that was amazingly white. He pressed his wet body over hers, trying to warm her.

She laid her palm against his bristled cheek. “You’re safe,” she whispered.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” he growled, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

“I was going to save you.”

He threaded his fingers through her tangled hair. She’d lost her bonnet. She was damn lucky she hadn’t lost her life. “You little fool,” he rasped in a voice rift with emotion. “You brave little fool.”

His mouth swooped down to cover hers. Her cold, quivering lips parted slightly, and he thrust his tongue through the welcome opening like a man desperately searching for treasure.

And treasure he found.

He gentled the kiss because she wasn’t a whore whose body he wanted to use to gratify his lust. She was a woman whose warmth he wanted to relish as it seeped through his body, touching his heart as none had before her. He wanted to feel the gentle swell of her curves as they pressed against the hard planes of his body. He wanted—for just one moment—to be young again and innocent. To have no knowledge of betrayal.

Her mouth was warm and sweet, so incredibly sweet. And small, just like the rest of her. She tasted so damn good. He savored her flavor the way a man might enjoy a glass of fine whiskey, leisurely, allowing the whiskey to fill his mouth before releasing the brew, allowing it to burn his throat.

He touched his tongue to hers and heard her small sigh. She scraped her fingers up the side of his face and wove them through his hair. He’d lost his hat as well, and for the first time since he’d been wounded, he welcomed the absence of the shadows.

She smelled of the river, but still he caught the slight scent that was hers and hers alone. He longed to give his mouth the freedom to warm all of her, to kiss every inch of her.

She stopped trembling from the cold, and he could feel the intoxicating warmth as their bodies pressed together. Another tremor passed through her body, a tremor that had nothing to do with the cold. He deepened the kiss, his hands bracketing her face, turning it so he could better the angle and touch her mouth with the intimacy of a long-time lover.

Kiss her as he’d never kissed another. Kiss her as he had no right.

Drawing away, he gazed at her. Her eyes were dark with passion, her lips no longer blue, but red, a deep red, swollen from his kiss.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said in a low voice.

Hurt plunged into the depths of her eyes. Gingerly, he removed his fingers from her tangled hair. “I’ll get a fire going.”

He struggled to his feet and staggered to the place where she’d left his duster. He snatched it up, returned to her side, and spread it over her as she lay there staring at him. A coldness seeped through his flesh and wrapped around his heart. He went in search of something—anything—with which he could build a fire.

Amelia sat up and slipped into the duster, drawing it tightly around her. It carried his scent of horses and leather.

She touched her fingers to her trembling lips. She had always imagined that Dallas Leigh would be the first to kiss her. But she had never imagined the kiss would be like the one she had just received, would make her feel so warm, so scared, so safe. All the feelings jumbling around inside her made no sense.

She watched as Houston built a fire nearby. She waited until he’d brought the fire to life, just as he’d brought feelings to life within her.

She rose to her feet, walked to the fire, and knelt beside him. “I suppose I shouldn’t have kissed you back.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” he said, tersely, never taking his eyes away from the smolderingfire. “But I figure you were probably just scared and not thinking.”

“Were you scared?”

Houston felt his stomach clench. By God, he was terrified, more now than he had been when he’d seen her rushing into the river. That kiss had him shaking clear down to his boots.

He’d expected her to be sweet. He hadn’t expected her to be everything he’d ever dreamed of when he was younger and deserved dreams.

Damn Dallas! Damn him to hell for wanting women in addition to cattle, land, and wealth. Damn him for wanting this woman, for earning the right to have her.