The Barefoot Bride (12 page)

His eyes narrowed in resolution as his hand swept to the fastening of her breeches. This had to be done; he'd do it quickly and think no more about it. He still avoided her eyes as he went about his task, something inside him not wanting to see the innocent trust he knew was in them, and when the buttons were undone, he slipped his hand inside.

She fell back over his arm, her hair cascading to the ground. As his hand dipped lower, the fire she'd spoken of began to consume her. Instinctively, she arched her hips while she clung to his neck, and when his fingers sought and found her most secret place, the age-old beat of passion caused her to move rhythmically against his warm palm.

Saxon ignored the nagging voice of his conscience and laid her down on the mountain floor. With one smooth action, he slid her breeches over her hips and down her legs. He then removed his own clothing and, careful to elude her trusting gaze, he rolled atop her.

He didn't want to see her body, couldn't look at her face, and prayed she wouldn't speak. He wanted no reminders of who this was lying beneath him, guileless, unsullied. He prepared to do what he knew he had to do. He spread her legs with his own, his manhood soon finding the opening of the velvet sheath he would claim.

Chickadee tensed, and when she did, she felt him do the same. "Saxon," she said softly, "make it nice fer me. I know it's gwine hurt, but whilst yer a-doin' it, could you tell me more o' them thangs I like to hear? Maybe iffen I was a-listenin' to 'em, this wouldn't hurt as much."

He groaned. Dammit, why couldn't she be quiet for once in her life? And why did her voice have to be soft as summer rain?

"Saxon?"

He entered her slightly. Not far enough to cause her the pain she was worried about, but far enough for her to understand what he was going to do. Taking a deep breath, he pressed his lips to her ear. "Keely, relax. Open to me and remember how beautiful, how very special I think you are. Let your feelings go, and enjoy them."

She nodded and then trembled, her breathing irregular. Saxon's heart skipped a few beats. She was afraid, yet she had all the faith in the world in him.

He slipped to the ground and stared at the sky.

"Saxon? Is thur somethin' wrong? Warn't I a-doin' it right? I don't know much about sweetheartin', but I'll do whatever you tell—"

"I've got a headache."

*

Chickadee filled the cup and set the flask back down on the bedside table. "Drank it. It's fer yore headache."

Saxon took the cup and drained it. He wanted the whiskey more than whatever else was mixed in with it. Dammit to hell! What else
was
in it? His whole body shuddered as he swallowed.

"Yaller root's bitter, but thur ain't nothin' like it fer aches. Cherry bark tastes a sight better, but I'm plumb outen that. I'll make you a cold pack o' catnip leaves to set on yore head too. You can stay on the bed and rest."

"Couldn't I just have plain whiskey?"

"It's the yarbs that chase away the headache. The whiskey's only part o' the tonic."

He ran his hand through his hair, "Just give me a cup of pure whiskey. Better yet, give me the whole jug."

"You a drankin' man?" She handed him the liquor jug.

He uncorked it and took a long swallow. It burned all the way down, but he didn't care. "I am now." He took another taste, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked up at her. "This kind of whiskey is illegal. Did you make it?"

"Naw, I ain't got time fer thangs like that. George Franklin's got him a likker farm. It's hid real good though. Them fed'ral people's been up here lots o' times a-lookin' fer George Franklin's stills, but they ain't never found 'em. You ain't gwine tell on him, are you?"

"No. The way I feel right now, I may just go help him make more." He was beginning to feel numb.

"Thur ain't no bad likker, Saxon. Some's good, some's better. But you got to be real keerful with that though. It sneaks up on you. One minute yore a-feelin' good, and the next minute yore laid out on the floor."

Unconsciousness. That sounded just fine to him.

"Real strange how that headache come on so fast. Lay and rest or it's gwine git worser." She pushed him into the feather mattress. "I'll lay down with you."

"No!" He jerked out of bed and swayed. Tucking the jug of whiskey beneath his arm, he stepped outside. After sitting awhile on the porch step, he drank more of the corn liquor. It was easier to swallow the potent fluid now.

"Go back in the cabin, Keely," he ordered when she joined him.

"But—"

"Do as I say!"

She sat on the other end of the porch step. "You don't want to be with me no more, huh? You think I'm a bad-un, don't you? What we almost done today... It
was
wrong, warn't it, Saxon?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he lifted the jug to his mouth, and once again drank deeply.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I shouldn'ta let thangs go as fur as they did. But thur warn't no way I could hep it. I didn't have no control over—"

"I don't want to talk about it anymore." She was in no way to blame for what had happened that afternoon.
He'd
been in control of every feeling she'd felt.

Chickadee watched him carefully. "You didn't have no dang-blasted headache today, did you?"

"No, but I suspect I'll have one in the morning." He staggered into the yard. "That is if this whiskey doesn't kill me before then."

She watched him lurch down the path and felt her eyes sting. Angrily, she swiped at her tears and snapped for her wolf. "He's contrary tonight. Khan, and it'll ill him more iffen I go with him. He'll be gone fer good soon, boy, but he's still here now, so stay with him."

*

Saxon didn't know what was worse. The dirt in his mouth, or Khan's breath blowing in his face. Khan? Dirt? Daylight? Where the hell was he? Damn, how his head pounded! He wondered how he could get to the stream he heard behind him without moving.

"Khan, do me a favor." The wolf gave no indication he'd even heard the request. Nevertheless, Saxon continued. "Get hold of the collar of my shirt. You can do it, boy. Drag me to that water, and I promise I'll pay you back."

Khan's eyes closed to mere slits.

Despite the way he felt, Saxon managed to grin. If his friends could see him now—Lord, how they'd love this. Saxon Blackwell, face in the dirt, bargaining with a wolf. And all because of some freckled slip of a girl.

Groaning, he got to his hands and knees and crawled toward the stream. Stones bruised his knees, but no pain on earth could feel as bad as the pounding in his head.

Except maybe a rattlesnake bite.

The serpent lay curled up only inches away from his hand, its tail clattering. Saxon's eyes widened, but he remained absolutely still. Khan, however, rose and, head lowered, crept toward the agitated reptile.

"Khan," he whispered, "go get Keely."

If Khan understood, he didn't obey. He continued to slink toward the snake, his huge teeth bared. When he was a scant foot away, the rattler struck out at Saxon.

But Khan was faster, just as the serpent stretched out its body, the wolf lunged and grabbed it behind its head. With sharp, vicious movements he shook the snake, the rattler's body swinging so fast it was nothing but a grayish-brown blur. Saxon scrambled to his feet and took a few steps backward. As he did, he heard more soft clicking. Turning around, he saw another rattlesnake, this one bigger than the first. It too was curled up, ready to strike, and again he froze.

But an explosion of gunfire made him jump. His eyes never leaving the snake, he watched it writhe and die.

"Reckon iffen thur's trouble to be found, you'll find it, Saxon Blackwell." Chickadee lowered her rifle and ambled toward him. "Enjoy yore night outside?"

Saxon glanced at Khan and saw that the first snake was little more than bloody pulp. On shaky legs, he finally made his way to the stream, thankful it was so cold. "Save the sarcasm, Keely."

"Somebody's a-fixin' to git married."

Saxon tried to bring her into proper focus. Had he mentioned marriage to her last night?

"Them snakes is a omen, outlander. When you see two snakes at once it's a sign that somebody's a-fixin' to step offen the carpet." She waded in after him and put a flask in his hand. "Got this from Betty Jane this mornin'."

"More moonshine?" He turned chartreuse.

"Whiskey's the best cure thur is fer what's ailin' you, but no, thur ain't no likker in that. That's—"

"Never mind. Don't tell me." He drank it all. It turned his mouth inside out, as he had known it would.

"Come on back to the cabin, Saxon. Lunch is ready, and I reckon you could use somethin' in yore stomach."

"What happened to breakfast?"

"Et that hours ago. I come out here to git you, but you wouldn't move nary a muscle. I tole you to be keerful with that likker. It's so strong you can near about taste George Franklin's feet in it. He hoed the corn, y'know."

Saxon grimaced. "Don't tell me anything else about that rotgut. The mere mention of it makes me sick." As proof of his words the world began to spin, and the last thing he saw were Chickadee's arms as they reached out to catch him.

*

"If you say one word about what happened to me, I'll cheerfully wring your neck, Keely." Saxon had just awakened. He realized he'd passed out again, but even worse, he knew without a doubt she'd carried him from the stream to her bed. Plus, he was naked as the day he was born.

"Warn't gwine say nothin' about nothin'." She sat on the bearskin rug, shredding oak sticks into thin ribbons. "Ain't gwine do nothin' but set here a-broom-makin'. Ole broom weared out. Hate that it weared out too. A new broom sweeps clean, but the ole one knows whar the dirt is."

Lulled by her soft voice, he closed his eyes again. "What did you make for lunch?"

"That's breakfast a-simmerin'."

"But you said—"

"That was yesterday's lunch. You slept all day yesterday and clear through the night too. Now it's breakfast agin."

He rolled his eyes. Moonshine. Mountain poison. Well, Chickadee had warned him, and he hadn't listened. He got out of bed and noticed she didn't look away from his nude form. Boldly, her eyes made a thorough sweep down his body.

Chickadee knew she was staring, but the sight of him tantalized her. While he'd slept, she'd watched him, memorizing every line and shadow of his sculpted features, finally admitting to herself she wanted him in a way she'd never want any other man.

Saxon made her feel special. His touch, his words, and his sweet, mocking smile had awakened emotions in her she hadn't known existed. He made her feel like a woman, and that was something she'd never cared a whit about. But there was more to being a woman than taking pleasure in a man's flattery and courtesies.

There was making love.

And yesterday she had her first real taste of what
that
aspect of womanhood was like. Had it and wanted more. Saxon would be leaving soon, but before he did, she was determined he make her a woman. A complete woman in every way. And she'd live on the memories of their lovemaking for the rest of her life.

Surely there was a way to make those memories happen.

That in mind, she continued to inspect his sinewy body. "Reckon yore a-needin' to visit the outhouse, huh?"

He grinned boyishly and felt her eyes on him as he walked toward the door.

"Gwine out thar buck-naked, Saxon?"

"Who's going to see me?" Once outside, he stretched languorously and took in a couple of deep breaths. After his trip to the outhouse, he started back toward the cabin.

Chickadee had eyed him with undisguised longing a few minutes ago. He'd seen that smoldering look many times before and knew bedding her would present no problem at all.

But just as he had yesterday, he hesitated.
You're getting soft, Sax,
he berated himself.
Her emotions are like strings in your fingers, and you've only to pull them. She doesn't mean a damn thing to you. Do it, Sax. You 're a master at this. Bend her, take her, make her yours.

But what of her feelings? Could he take advantage of a girl as trusting and innocent as she? Would he be able to go through with it this time?

"Mighty fine mornin', ain't it?" someone suddenly asked.

He whirled. There on a stump sat George Franklin. "Heared tell you got yore first good taste o' corn likker, Saxon. I been a-farmin' whiskey in these here hills fer many a year, but I ain't never knowed a feller who tuk near about two days to come outen what it done to him."

Saxon didn't know whether to run into the cabin and grab his breeches or act as if he owned the world and had every right to wander around naked in it.

George Franklin smiled a toothless grin, looked down at the tanned hide in his wrinkled hands, and picked up a block of smooth, carved wood. "A-makin' Chickadee some shoes," he explained, wrapping the soft hide around the wood. "This here's a last." He held up the block of wood that resembled the shape of a foot. Saxon shuffled in the dirt and quite casually clasped his hands together, letting them fall to his groin.

"Chickadee could take 'em or leave 'em though," George Franklin went on. "Says shoes ain't nothin' but agger-pervokin' foot cages. But the thang is, she cain't never mem'ry to put her right foot in the right shoe and her left foot in the left shoe. I done tole that girl the shoes'll form to the shape of her foot, but she cain't never mem'ry. Sometimes women's jist like that, I reckon. Couldn't git along withouten ole Betty Jane or Chickadee neither, but comes times when I wonder iffen women shouldn't stay in two places. On thur feet in the kitchen or on thur backs in the featherbed."

Saxon nodded helplessly.

George Franklin smiled and swatted a bee away. "Womenfolks need a firm hand, the way I see it, son. I let ole Betty Jane git away with some thangs, but thur comes a time when a man's got to show them contrary females who's boss. Some menfolks ain't agin a-slappin' 'em ever' now and then, y'know. I wouldn't never slap one, but comes a time when they need to be larnt whar thur place is, one way or another.