Rafe's Redemption (16 page)

Excitement crackled through her, puckering her nipples, dampening the throbbing flesh between her legs.

Rafe loosened the buttons holding her shirt, and nuzzled her neck, licked her collarbone.

“God, you smell good,” he growled. His tongue flicked the crevice between her breasts. “But you taste even better.”

Closing her eyes she clutched his head, held him in place, just in case he tried to stop.

“You like this?” he murmured, watching her.

“Mmm. Don’t stop.”

His eyes flared hot, needy before he dropped his head and licked the bruises on her neck.

Roaming, his lips left a wet trail over her chest, the rasp of his whiskers rough, prickly. She wanted to kiss him like this, taste him, run her tongue over his—

Oh! She arched. His mouth closed over her nipple, sucking through the fabric of her shirt. Breath whooshed from her lungs. She fisted his hair. Lightning shot from her breast to her wet cunny, a deep pulsing ache worse than anything she’d ever felt.

“Oh, excuse me.” Cecil’s choked apology yanked Maggie from a desire-induced fog.

Rafe stiffened, then tugged the blanket over Maggie’s chest and sprang to his feet. Heat swept across her face.

Cecil dropped his gaze, staring at his feet. “Um, Little Owl needs some water. I’ll only be a minute.” Rafe grunted an answer and moved to the fire, stoking it to a bright burn.

Why wouldn’t he look at her?

Cecil shuffled back to Little Owl, but Rafe still didn’t turn around, still didn’t look at her. The silence grew until Maggie thought she’d suffocate.

“Rafe?” she whispered. Was he angry?

He turned, but his eyes were shuttered. “That won’t happen again. We’ll leave tomorrow for my cabin. A fter I check things and let Moses rest, we’ll head south.” What was he talking about? Kisses, horses, traveling.

What just happened?

“I don’t understand. South? We were—”

“The soldiers Private Richards spoke of will come from Fort Craig. If they can make it, we can make it. A fort that large will have a stage station. It’s a longer route to St. Louis, but we won’t be fighting the weather.” Maggie nodded as cold understanding dawned. The other Rafe had returned, the one who avoided what he didn’t want to talk about.

But she did want to talk. “What about us?”

“Get some sleep.” He nodded to the blankets, then frowned, and his gaze snapped to Moses. “I’ll check the tunnel and stand guard tonight. You don’t have to be afraid of the major.”

Maggie narrowed her eyes. “I’m not afraid. A nd I’m not tired.” She threw off the blanket and reached for the saddlebags. “I’m going to draw for awhile.” Because she was too damn mad to sleep.

Rafe shrugged, then plodded down the tunnel.

Oh! That man made her want to scream. How dare he set her on fire, leave her wet and aching, her cunny pulsing with need, then walk away as if nothing happened. She wanted to hold him down and make him talk, make him tell her what he feared. Was it her?

Marriage? Did he think she’d trap him if they became intimate? Hah! There was no chance of that happening. A husband was the last thing she wanted.

She pulled the precious paper and pencils from the bag and tried to concentrate. She would not beg for his attention. If he wanted to deny them both pleasure, fine.

Fine, fine, fine. Maybe she’d find her own pleasure like the woman in the painting. She slipped her hand under her waistband, gasping at the heat, the pool of liquid, trapped within the folds of her cunny. Hidden beneath her curls was a sensitive button of flesh. One touch…Oh, God. Two made her bite her lip to keep from crying out.

This would never work. Cecil and Little Owl slept only a few feet away. She freed her hand and wiped the musky dew on her pants. Damn Rafe for leaving her a frustrated mess.

Stop thinking about him. Draw. Draw anything but Rafe.

Her hands flew over the paper. The first image, Moses standing in the snow, his long mane blowing in the wind. Next she sketched Wolf sleeping in front of a fireplace. He looked so sweet she smiled at the memory of their first terrifying meeting.

She pulled a fresh sheet from the bag, determined not to draw Rafe. She couldn’t. When she drew, her feelings for the subject were transparent. The thought of anyone seeing how she felt about him…

Hell, she wasn’t sure how she felt about him. Maybe his insistence they stay away from each other was for the best.

Cecil’s image filled the page, then Owl’s, locked in his embrace, his square chin rested on top of her dark head, his hands wrapped around her swollen waist. The love between them was easy to capture on paper, but impossible to explain.

Little Owl had something most wives—most women

—never had. Respect from her husband. If Maggie could find the same respect would she take the chance? She shook her head and reached for more paper. Owl was the exception. Maggie had lived through Mother’s castigation from Father, had heard Nettie’s story about the abusive husband she escaped.

The risk of giving your freedom to a man was too great. Even if the man was Rafe.

Maggie stared at the next blank sheet. She wasn’t going to think about him. He confused her. She would draw something else. Not his handsome face, or his thick, dark hair.

Both took shape on the paper.

She wasn’t going to think about his lips, stern, full.

Lips that could kiss the drawers off a nun. Maggie closed her eyes and groaned. Damn.

Well, maybe drawing him would free her from the erotic hold he had over her.

She smoothed the tip of her finger over his cheekbones, shadowing, softening the whiskers with a smudge, until they looked as soft as they felt. Dark, straight brows slashed over gray eyes. The color should have made him seem cold, aloof, but didn’t. She had seen them twinkle with laughter and darken with lust.

“Is that me?” His question rumbled over her shoulder.

She jumped, the pencil rolling to the ground. Why did she always get so caught up in drawing everything around her disappeared? She hadn’t even heard him return.

“It’s just a rough sketch.” She tucked it beneath the drawing of Moses. “This one is pretty good though, or this one.” She offered the one of Wolf.

Rafe knelt beside her, his gaze flicking over both.

“Yes. I like them both.”

“Then they’re yours. A gift.”

Rafe studied her, his eyes hooded and dark, exactly like she’d drawn.

“I want to see the one of me.” His hand brushed hers aside, until he tugged the paper free and stared at his own face. “Have you ever drawn yourself?” The words were so low she strained to hear.

“No. Why would I?”

He shrugged. “Could you?”

“I suppose.” She raised her chin. “But I don’t know anyone who wants one.” If he wanted a picture of her, he was going to have to ask. “Do you?”

His jaw hardened until she heard it crack. “Maggie.” He swallowed hard. “Maggie, we can’t do this. What we started earlier…it just wouldn’t be right.”

“I don’t expect you to marry me if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“That’s not it. You belong in St. Louis, and I can’t—

won’t—live there.” He coughed. “I belong here.” She frowned as he danced around his statement.

Hundreds of questions flooded her mind.

“Don’t you like St. Louis?”

“I like St. Louis just fine.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” He cringed, then shook his head and whispered, “Nothing. Can’t a man just prefer the open countryside to the crowded city?”

“Yes, but I don’t believe this has anything to do with where we live. I think—”

“Think what you want.” He shrugged and handed the sketches back to her. “But we shouldn’t kiss, or…or touch anymore. We have to concentrate on getting you home alive. I know a couple of people in St. Louis who might be able to help with Bouse and Michael. We can’t be distracted by…you know.” He waved his hand toward the blankets.

His words felt like a face full of cold water. His words hurt worse than riding through an ice storm, stinging her pride, cutting her confidence.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I remember perfectly well the danger I’m in.” She gathered her supplies and tucked them into the saddlebags. “Earlier…I was just scared, but I’m fine now. There will be no more kissing.”

“Good. We’re agreed then.”

“Yes. Good.” She snapped the bag closed, eyeing him through her lashes.

He stared until doubt shivered down her spine. Could he tell she lied?

“A ll right.” He sighed as if relieved. “We need to leave early and lay a false trail in case the soldiers come this way.”

What? Was he deranged?

“You’re going to lead them to your cabin?” Panic raced through her. If the major had his way, Rafe would hang! If the major had his way, she would be…Maggie shuddered.

“No. I’m just going to make sure they can’t find Cecil and Owl.” Rafe draped a blanket around her shoulders.

“Sleep, Maggie. You’ve had a hard day.”

“What about you?” Despite her anger, she couldn’t stop worrying about him.

He sighed. “Once and for all, I don’t need help. I can take care of myself.”

****

Maggie wanted to weep with relief as Moses climbed the last hill toward Rafe’s cabin. Her thighs chafed against the saddle in a final tug-of-war of agony. Bitter wind wailed down from the mountain, filling the silence Rafe had evoked. Eight hours of continuous rocking motion should have produced sleep, but no matter how many times her eyes closed, unanswered questions kept her awake.

Last night had been the same. What had happened in Rafe’s past? What guilt did he carry? The war? But what did that have to do with St. Louis? She was sure something had happened there, something that made him hesitate to return.

Maybe it wasn’t something as much as someone.

A woman? The idea knotted her stomach. Did he love some woman there, leave some woman there?

“Whoa.” His command jerked her from her thoughts.

Finally they were home. She frowned. When had this become home? It wasn’t. I’m just exhausted. A ny house would look appealing. A nd exhaustion had to be the reason she couldn’t stop thinking about Rafe. She just needed to eat and sleep. Then she would feel more like herself, more in control.

He slid from the saddle, then lifted her down. The silence between them had stretched to an uncomfortable level. She didn’t know how to make amends though.

Every time she spoke a wary look pinched his face.

He steadied her for a long moment, staring, as if he wanted to say something. “Maggie…”

Her heart caught in her throat. Would he tell her what troubled him?

Wolf bounded out of the barn and yipped in excitement, jumping like a puppy ready to play. Rafe stepped away from her, the moment lost.

“I think he’s glad to see us,” she offered.

Rafe smiled, the creased dimples running down his cheeks. He ruffled the dog’s ears. “How’s my boy?” Maggie stood back and watched. This was the real Rafe, the real man buried under the worry and strain of life. This was the man who tempted her.

“I’ll help you unload Moses.”

“No, go inside. I want to feed him and check the mule. Then I have to clean the chicken coop. I’ll be in later.” He turned his back before she could speak and stomped to the barn, tugging Moses behind.

Wolf cocked his head and whined. Maggie threaded her fingers through his soft fur, torn between chasing Rafe and letting him have his privacy.

“Come on. Let’s start a fire and make some coffee.” She pushed open the door and smiled at the memory of the first time she’d seen this place. It had seemed the most unwelcoming place on earth. Now she felt safe and relaxed. Familiar scents filled the air: the sharp cedar wood, the fragrant coffee beans left over in the grinder.

A nd Rafe. His arousing scent permeated the room.

Mindlessly she built a fire and started the coffee. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her they hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

Rafe had insisted they ride hard, traipsing back and forth, sometimes crossing their own trail, a trail so confusing the cavalry wouldn’t know which path to follow. Maggie prayed he was right. Even though she worried sick about Cecil and Owl, the thought of the major finding Rafe sent fear prickling down her back.

“Lots of eggs.” Rafe broke her morose thoughts. He set the basket on the table.

She smiled. “I guess that’s what we’re having for supper then.”

“Take your time.” He edged to the door. “I’ve still got chores.”

“Wait. Don’t you want coffee?”

“Later.” The door slammed on his answer.

So this was how he intended to spend the evening.

In the barn. A way from her. Fine.

She stirred up some spoon biscuits and started cracking eggs. Time alone would do her some good too.

A bath sounded heavenly, but that would have to wait until Fort Craig. Tonight meant another bucket and rag bath. A nother sleepless night of worry.

A n hour later, she washed up the dishes and heated a bucket of water. A fter scrubbing her body, she climbed into bed. Frustrated, she sighed and punched the pillow.

Did he intend to sleep in the barn? To what extreme would he go to avoid her? She wanted to help him, wanted to make him feel better, not make things worse.