Weak Flesh (26 page)

He'd never before called her by the pet name her father used, and apprehension at the remorse in his voice drove away her sense of contentment.

"A fucking mistake, Goddamn it all," he muttered with heat this time.

He slid down to the edge of the cot, his feet planted on the rough shavings, his head in his hands. Over his shoulder he tossed a look of pure misery at her. "This should never have happened."

Shock rippled through her. Never happened? How could he say such a thing? "Don't be silly."

She forced her tone to remain light and pleasant, but after a dark moment of him merely frowning at her, tension grew into a giant ball of worry in the pit of her stomach. She admitted to her inexperience, but had she been so very
awful?

She worried her bottom lip. Why were such intimacies so complicated, she wondered? Then it dawned on her that Gage hadn't – hadn't relieved himself. Was that the trouble, then?

She scooted to the end of the bed and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing her naked breasts against his back. "Let me pleasure you this time." She nuzzled his ear and nipped the lobe.

He flinched and tightened his muscles.

Going by pure instinct, by some primitive knowledge deep in her womanhood, she caressed his shoulder with her fingers and lips and knew the heady feeling of his trembling at her touch. She roamed her hands down his arms and around to his waist and inched lower.

He jumped from the bed like hot oil had dripped on him. "Stop it, Meghan! This has gone far enough."

He didn't mean that, she thought. He'd thoroughly enjoyed arousing her. She wasn't mistaken about that. Now she wanted the pleasure of igniting him beyond control, of driving him mad with passion for her.

She raked her eyes over him, reveling in the sheer power of his naked body, every line and curve seated in masculine beauty. When he saw where her eyes roamed, he turned his back to her and reached for his drawers and trousers.

When he turned back, he was nearly dressed.

An eternity passed while she stared aghast at him and he pierced her with eyes gone cold as arctic ice and hard as steel. After a moment she drew her dignity around her, willed the color to leave her cheeks, and forced a casual shrug.

With supreme effort, she raised her brows and widened her eyes in studied casualness. "Well, I suppose you're not going to die after all."

#

Word reached Aaron Sharpe while he took an evening stroll down Main Street. The gossips, eager to whet their appetites with fresh fodder, reported that the Marshal and the little school teacher had sojourned to the Great Dismal Swamp.

Why, he wondered? What did Marshal Gage and Miss Bailey hope to learn there? He tapped his fingers in a staccato beat on the length of his trousers.

How could they possibly know what he'd done in the dark confines of the Swamp? What he kept there? What he enjoyed there?

His first instinct was flight. Leaving his unsatisfying family ties wasn't a hardship. He'd done it before with no concern at all.

Now he felt an uncontrollable urge to simply leave – take the considerable cash and gold he'd stashed, ride off north or perhaps even west again. He'd had such good luck there.

But why should he turn tail and run like a quivering rabbit because a slip of a girl and a beaten-down marshal thought they could trap him? Particularly now that Gage was ill. Snake bite, the rumor mongers said, although that was mere speculation.

Perhaps the Marshal would save Sharpe a great deal of trouble and die, he speculated. He wondered briefly if he could track the pair, find where Gage was laid up with fever or infection, and dispatch the two of them with no one in Tuscarora the wiser.

Such temptation, he mused, but he could wait for nature to take its course. With the wily Marshal out of the picture, he'd have little problem taking care of Meghan Bailey. He rather suspected he'd enjoy that adventure.

#

During the entire trip back to Tuscarora City Meghan chattered a steady stream of nonsense which Gage pretended to listen to. It was her defense, he knew, against the pain and embarrassment of his rejection. He deeply regretted hurting her, but surely she could see how impossible their situation was.

The set of her jaw and the stiffness of her spine, however, told him she couldn't. She was beyond reason.

After several miles he tried once or twice to interrupt the mindless banter, but she pointedly turned him aside each time. Her dark sarcasm pained him much more than angry shouts and recriminations could've, so he finally shut up.

Three quarters of the way home, however, he pulled the buggy to the side of the road and stared out into the dormant fields on either side, the reins in his hands. "I'm sorry, Bailey. Truly I am. I wouldn't have hurt you for the world."

He thought she'd weep, rant, rail at him and call him all manner of coward, but instead she lifted that small stubborn chin. "Don't be silly. You haven't wounded me at all. I'm not such a frail creature, you know."

She raised one perfectly arched brow and inspected her fingernails with calm deliberation. "After all, such – such liaisons are common in this modern age. They mean nothing and are best forgotten. Put it behind you, Gage. I already have."

Thus with a few slices to the heart the matter was ended.

No, not ended, he vowed. Postponed.

Gage didn't pretend to have a deep understanding of the minds of such complex creatures as women, but he'd had enough experience to know he'd crossed a terrible line. Betrayed a lifelong friendship and the abiding trust Dr. Bailey had placed in him.

Christ, even though she'd clearly wanted him, he shouldn't have given in, shouldn't have treated her to such common behavior. But recalling the splendor of last night, he couldn't be completely sorry.

However, if Bailey chose to pretend nothing momentous had occurred between them, to ignore the situation, he'd put it aside. For the moment, he promised. Until the investigation was concluded.

But eventually they'd have it out, he determined, because he'd never before felt for a woman what he did for her. Sometimes he couldn't breathe for thinking of how she affected him, even now with her practiced and careless manner.

Their coming together had meant something to her, too. He'd wager his soul on that. After the investigation, he vowed, and then he'd have a great deal to say to her.

He wouldn't let her forget.

Chapter 29

Meghan's father waited for them on the lip of the lawn when Gage stopped the horse and buggy in front of her house. Papa urged Tucker down and peered carefully into his eyes. "Into my surgery," he commanded. "You're not fully recovered."

Gage refused to lie down on the examining table, but conceded to sitting in the office chair while Papa listened to his heart and checked his respiration. "You ought to have rested another day at the Swamp," Dr. Bailey grumbled.

"We didn't want to worry you more, Papa," Meghan put in.

Her father grunted before turning an eagle eye to Gage's face, looking into his eyes with a light. "Well, Tucker, you're a young and healthy specimen of manhood. I suspect you'll live. Mighty damn lucky, too!"

Since Papa never swore, she knew he was greatly affected by what'd happened to Gage, regardless of how he blustered.

"Don't worry, Papa, Gage has the constitution of an ox. He's fine," she reassured him.

Gage looked darkly at her, but agreed. "I'm much improved, sir. Bailey's almost as fine a surgeon as you."

Papa looked from Gage to her and back again. Her astute father would know something was wrong between the two of them, but merely harrumphed and cut away the remaining threads of the trouser leg and examined the wound.

The puffiness had considerably decreased and the bite itself showed no infection. "Well done, Meggie," her father said, somewhat reluctantly.

"Thank you, Papa." She reached inside the medicine cabinet for the supplies she knew he'd need.

As he gave instructions, Papa cleaned the wound and changed the bandage. "Not as bad as it could've been," he grumbled. "You always were one for falling in the mud and coming up clean."

"Yes sir," Gage answered quietly, meeting Meghan's eyes with an unspoken question as her father bent to his work. She looked away quickly.

"Go home, Tucker," her father said to his patient when he'd finished. "Get lots of rest. Stay off that leg. Clean the area twice daily with this solution, apply ointment, and a clean bandage."

He handed over a bag of supplies. "See me in two days."

"Yes sir," Gage answered snappily, still probing her with those cool gray eyes, almost as if he blamed her for his present condition when all she'd done was save his life. Even her father had acknowledged her skill in tending to him.

When Papa gave one last annoyed look at the two of them and left the surgery, Gage stood gingerly and tested his weight on the leg.

"You're very fortunate there's no infection," she said primly. "You might have lost your leg, to say nothing of your life."

Gage glanced at the closed door. "Do you think your father suspects anything?"

She looked down at her shoes, remorse stabbing at her heart. "Probably not. He trusts me."

"And me," he reminded her, a sad sound to his voice.

"Especially you," she added, but could've bitten her tongue the moment the words left her mouth.

He leaned closer, tucked one stray curl behind her ear, and traced his thumb over her lips. "You saved my life," he whispered into her ear, sending shivers of pleasure down her spine. "Are we even now?"

She stepped back. "Even? What the devil are you talking about?"

"I saved your life once, remember? During the hurricane season of 1878. Now you don't have to worry about paying me back."

He was teasing her, she knew, but the intimate feeling of his warm breath at her ear made her long to lean against his large, firm body – she now understood fully exactly how firm those muscles were – and let herself fall into the sweet thrill of being in his arms.

She stiffened her resolve. She didn't know why he was being gentle with her now, but clearly Gage didn't want her and regretted the wonderful night of pleasure they'd experienced.

"I'm sure I've already paid you back for that childish event. Many times over," she added haughtily.

She shoved at his chest and took another step back. "Go home, Gage," she warned, "or you'll end up in the hospital with another bout of fever and chills."

#

Gage didn't want to return to the empty coldness of his solitary room to brood about Bailey. By the glare in those forest green eyes, he knew she wouldn't forgive him easily – but whether for embarrassing her or rebuffing her he wasn't sure.

No, he didn't want to spend a restless night reliving the wonder of Bailey's body. Instead, he stopped his gig in front of the Station House where Will Pruitt worked the evening shift.

Pruitt gaped as Gage limped up the stairs, torn trousers and all, and walked into his office.

"What happened, Marshal?" Will asked as he followed on Gage's heels. "God, you look ... all beat up."

"I feel like I brawled with a black bear." Gage sank heavily onto his chair and smiled wryly. "But it was only a rattlesnake."

"A rattler? It's true what I heard?"

"Yes, and I'm fine, as is Miss Bailey." Gage waved away further questions. "What's happened around the town while I was gone, Will?"

"Wade's mother tried to post bail for him."

"What?" Gage sprang unsteadily from his chair. "Christ, Pruitt, Wade was here in protective custody." 

"I know. That's why Henderson put her off. Said the magistrate would have to approve his release. Under the circumstances."

Gage sighed and sat back down. Thank goodness for Henderson's clear-headed thinking. "Sit down, Pruitt." He gestured to the chair opposite his desk. "Anything else gone wrong?"

Pruitt handed over the document without a word, his young face looking as though an angry parent would tan his hide at any moment. "I was doing the inquiry on Michael Hayes like you told me. I found that at the records office."

Gage stared at the information on the document, a marriage certificate. "Fuck it all," he said in disgust. "Michael Hayes and Ellen Carver were married? How the hell did they do that and keep it a secret?"

Pruitt shrugged. "If they were married and she was fooling around with James Wade ... "

"Motive," Gage replied, wondering if the young medical student had it in him to bash his wife's head in and shove her body in the cold waters of the Pasquotank.

#

While she and Gage had been gone, Meghan's father had acquired a new safety bicycle with the recently invented coaster brake. He demonstrated it, dictating that she could no longer roam the streets on foot. She'd either ride the cycle or be driven in his new motorcar, and he expected no argument from her.

Since Papa seldom spoke forcefully to her, she meekly agreed. At any rate she rather liked the machine once she became accustomed to the back pedal brake. She'd been eyeing the design of bicycle suits in catalogues and was sure she could replicate something that would be both modest and appropriate. She had no intention of causing her father more grief.

Nor did she wish to annoy Gage or draw his attention since he clearly wanted nothing to do with her now that they'd, that she'd ...

She tamped down the thought and pumped furiously on the treadle of her sewing machine. She would not go down that dark road again. If Gage didn't want her, well, he didn't, and none of her whining and mooning around would make it any different.

That didn't mean she would let go of her ideas about the investigation, however. Regardless of Gage's orders, she was a civilian – as he so conveniently pointed out whenever it suited him – and as such, she wasn't bound to follow his rules. There were still quite a few people to whom she could speak about the case.

She wasn't sure how, but she believed Mrs. Jolly and the Reverend could be forced to explain what secrets they were hiding. Mrs. Nolan could be confronted about her husband's clandestine, and possibly illegal, activities. Michael Hayes surely knew more about Nell's actions on the night she disappeared, and Jim Wade could be made to confess that he'd given Nell the ruby ring.