When a Texan Gambles (13 page)

Sam tried to sound serious, but he could never remember feeling so lighthearted. She was a shot of fine whiskey to his senses. “But if you don’t tell me, how will I know?”

Sarah lay silent for so long, he didn’t think she planned to answer him. Then finally she whispered, “I’ll tell you if you break the rule. Otherwise, there is no need to talk about it.”

“Fair enough,” he agreed.

“And Sam?”

“Yes, Sarah?”

“I may have been married before, but it was nothing like this.”

“You mean your husband wasn’t stabbed and shot at or offered you the ground for a bed?”

“No, not that so much.” She stared up. When she finally answered, he could barely hear her words. “My first husband never asked me if I was cold.”

Sadness flowed liquid in her words, washing over Sam in the silence that stretched between them.

“Good night,” she mumbled and turned her back to him.

“Good night,” he answered, knowing sleep would be an elusive goal. The woman had a way of twisting feelings he thought long dead.

Fifteen minutes later he was convinced he’d be awake the rest of his life if she stayed by his side. “Be still,” he grumbled after she’d changed from her back to her stomach for at least the tenth time. “Didn’t
all
the other people you’ve slept with complain about your constant moving?”

“I can’t get comfortable,” she answered. “I’m not used to sleeping on a bed of rocks. And before you start trying to guess, I slept with Granny Vee because she was forever cold, my first husband because it’s a rule, and Bailee and Lacy while we were on the trail because we usually didn’t have the energy to search for firewood when we camped for the night.”

She could have saved her list; he had already known the answer. “There’s not much I can do about the rocks. Are you warm enough?”

“No,” she admitted. “I think the blanket shrinks as we sleep.”

He opened his arm and pulled her closer to him.

After a few tense minutes, her body relaxed and she pushed on his chest as if trying to fluff a pillow.

He ran his hand down her back and over the material covering her hips as he tucked her against him. “Warmer,” he whispered against the velvet of her hair.

“That’s one of the places you shouldn’t touch me,” she answered.

Sam removed his hand from her backside. “Oh.” He tried to sound innocent. “Thank you for telling me. You’ll remind me if I forget?”

“I will,” she answered, already half asleep.

Sam closed his eyes. He never dreamed a woman could be so complex, so innocent, so hard to resist. The women he’d let himself get close enough to know had always been hard with callused souls and eyes void of any sparkle. They’d played a game, a game with many more rules than Sarah knew about.

He moved his hand along her shoulder, then down her arm, enjoying the way she swayed with his warm touch. She might insist their marriage be in name only, but he’d be willing to bet her body enjoyed the feel of him as much as he enjoyed the nearness of her.

When he reached her waist, he slid his hand ever so lightly up the front of her dress until her breast filled his palm. His wife was definitely all woman. The material of her dress did nothing to hide the fullness within his grasp.

She didn’t move away, but only mumbled, “Sam. That’s one of the places.”

He smiled and took his time shifting his hand away. “Sorry, I’ll try to remember.”

She nodded and curled next to him. With her softness along his side, Sam didn’t need his hands to know the pleasure of her.

“Sarah.” He placed his mouth close to her ear.

“Yes,” she mumbled.

“I’ve a rule.”

“All right,” she answered, as if she were too far into sleep and beyond listening.

“You have to sleep next to me like this every night. I like knowing you’re safe. No matter what happens, promise?”

She didn’t answer, so he shook her shoulder.

“I promise,” she muttered, swatting at his hand as if he were no more than a bothersome fly. “Now let me sleep.”

Sam thought about how good she felt in his arms. He could experience her nearness with the slight rise and fall of his chest, and her slow breathing brushed against his throat.

He didn’t need her, he told himself. She was more trouble than anything. But maybe, for a short time, he could have another person in his life. He could pretend that there was a chance all the feelings inside him hadn’t died.

They could live like regular people did and not think about the day he knew would come when he rode away. He’d disappear to keep her alive while going back to the death of feeling nothing once more.

ELEVEN

SARAH OPENED HER EYES. DAWN FILTERED THROUGH the branches of the cottonwood trees. Quickly she buried her head beneath the covers, hoping to push the day away and sleep another hour. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt warm and protected all night long.

Sam’s large hand rested atop her middle as if he were claiming something he owned. She blinked away the tears. In truth, he did own her. He’d bought and paid for her before he married her. She was his just like she belonged to Granny Vee that day Harriet Rainy traded her away. Harriet hadn’t even said good-bye, she’d just shoved six-year-old Sarah toward the old woman’s wagon and yelled, “Hope the girl is of more use to you than she’s been to me. Her mother was probably no more than trash, but she unloaded the child on me and now I’m passing her on to you.”

Granny had smiled when she’d yelled, “Climb up, girl,” but she slapped the horse before Sarah was aboard. Sarah could still remember running to catch the wagon. Running to an unknown future, knowing only that it had to be better than the past.

Sarah rubbed her tears away on Sam’s arm she used as a pillow. She was still running to catch a future, still hoping it would be better than the past. “I’ll work hard,” she whispered. “I’ll make it better this time.” She felt like a hand-me-down that had been passed along from one person to another all her life.

Glancing over at Sam, she was thankful he still slept. She hadn’t meant to say the words out loud. He would find out soon enough that she talked to herself. The habit had always bothered Harriet, but Granny Vee found it funny. Mitchell, if he noticed, had never commented on the habit. He rarely talked to anyone much less himself. The week he had lost the farm, he’d simply told her to pack. Sarah had been in the wagon before he bothered to mention that they were going west.

The children moved around near the fire, pulling her back to the present. Sarah knew if she didn’t get up fast, they would help themselves to whatever they could find for breakfast. She stretched and kissed Sam’s whiskery cheek. “Good morning, husband.” Forcing herself to be bright, she added, “I’m going to like you this day whether you deserve it or not.”

She figured if she kept saying it, maybe one day she truly would. He might not have claimed the kids, but he had slept beside her without touching her, except for the few times he did so by accident. His good traits and bad ones were starting to even out. That was a beginning.

Staring at his sleeping face, she decided he wasn’t a bad-looking man. If anything he looked cold, like he’d never had a reason to smile. Sarah grinned, remembering how she’d felt him laugh last night. It had been too dark to see his face and she remembered no sound, but something she’d said had made laughter rumble around in his chest.

In his sleep he looked younger. At first she’d thought him over thirty, but now she wasn’t so sure. Without pain in his dark eyes or wrinkles across his forehead, he looked like a man midway through his twenties. How could a man become legend if he were truly so young?

She readied the pot of coffee and put it on the low fire. Stacking two cups close by, she then turned to pull bacon from the stash of food she’d stored in boxes in the wagon bed. She only unpacked what they needed, for she guessed Sam would want to leave as soon as they finished breakfast.

“Someone’s coming!” K.C. yelled. “I hear splashing.” All three children grabbed what they could carry and ran for the trees.

Sam sat up. He showed no sign of having been asleep as he reached for his rifle and stood. The cold gunman was back, she thought. No sign remained of the man who’d held her so gently in the shadows before dawn.

Sarah strained to hear something, but the morning fell silent except for the constant rush of river and the rustling of leaves.

“Go with the kids,” Sam ordered as he circled the camp.

“But ... ?”

He didn’t wait for her to argue. With movements swift and deliberate, he pulled her to the base of one of the trees and swung her up to the hiding place they’d found earlier, as if she weighed no more than a pitchfork full of hay. The children climbed up the vine wrapping around the tree like it was a well-made ladder.

“Got enough room up there?” Sam tried to whisper, but anyone in the clearing could have heard him.

“Plenty,” Sarah answered. “Are you coming up?”

“No, I’ll greet our guest.” Sam shoved two boxes of supplies up to Sarah. “No matter what, stay still and keep silent,” he said. “The apples are in one of those boxes, in case it takes a while to talk our company into leaving.”

Glancing at the children, Sam glared at them, silently warning them to also remain quiet. He returned a moment later with the rifle from the wagon and her shawl. “If our caller isn’t friendly, can you back me up with this thing?”

Sarah stared at the rifle. “No,” she answered honestly.

“Then you’d best stay hidden no matter what happens.”

She lay down with the children so that anyone looking up toward the colorful leaves would see only branches. She raised her head just enough to watch Sam moving about the campfire, picking up blankets and tossing them into the wagon. He dragged the buffalo robe through the sand. For a moment she couldn’t figure out what he was doing, then she knew. He removed all traces of any footprints besides his own.

As the splashing grew louder, she watched Sam throw the saddle from the buckboard over the horse he’d brought from town.

A rider rounded the bend and came into sight just as Sam pulled the cinch tight.

Sarah fought down a scream as she saw the newcomer pull his rifle from its sheath with lightning speed. He charged the clearing like a warrior.

Sam raised his arms to the back of the powerful black stallion and rested them against the saddle as if he saw no trouble riding toward him. He hadn’t bothered to strap on his gun belt, but let it hang over the saddle horn as though it were no more than decoration.

The stranger pulled in his mount as he reached land, but did not lower his gun.

“Gatlin!” the man shouted. “Stand down!”

“I’m not armed, Dalton,” Sam answered casually. “Come on in. I got a campfire burning and you’re welcome.”

The stranger rode up, his mount splashing water across the dry sand of the clearing. He was a big man, not quite as tall as Sam, but thicker. And several years younger, she guessed. A circled silver star sparkled on his chest.

Slowly, after looking around, the Texas Ranger lowered his Colt and climbed from his horse. “You alone?” he asked as his gaze swept the area.

“I am.” Sam sat on a box near the coffeepot, doing his best to act as if nothing were wrong with his leg.

The caller didn’t seem all that friendly as he stomped toward Sam. “Then how come you got two cups setting out by the fire, Gatlin?”

Sam didn’t seem to be that interested in even talking to the man. “I heard you coming half an hour ago. I figured if you were wading through that cold water, you’d be wanting something hot. Of course, if you’re not interested, I can put the other cup away.”

The Ranger conceded, but didn’t let his guard completely down as he neared. He had an easy air about him that made Sarah think he probably feared little. Like Sam, his clothes were dusty, but well made. They were not the clothes of a farmer.

The man squatted by the fire and waited while Sam passed him a cup of coffee.

Both men sipped the steaming liquid in silence.

Finally Sam had enough of the game. “Well, Jacob, you going to tell me why you’re here, or have the Rangers simply run out of anything to do and started riding along river beds?”

The younger man ignored Sam’s question. “Heard you got married the other night in Cedar Point.”

“Maybe.” Sam crossed his ankles in front of him as if he were doing nothing more than passing time.

“They say you married a beauty of a woman. Said she looked like an angel. They even claim she might be too frail to make it out here in this rough country. Your life’s not exactly easy being on the road all the time.”

“They sure do a lot of talking,” Sam commented as though he had no personal interest in what the Ranger said.

Jacob studied the clearing. “You have any idea where this wife of yours might be? Sheriff Riley would like to have a few words with her.”