White Nights (12 page)

He smiled, his eyes darkening with desire. “You know I want to kiss you again.”

At the low, seductive hum of his voice, Eirica’s pulse jumped. She swayed toward him. God forbid, but she wanted to kiss him as well, wanted him to stay. She liked his company. But she also knew she couldn’t have it both ways, not and be fair to him. Yet, that hint of promise in his eyes, her own body’s anticipation of another kiss, made her want to take what he offered. She stepped toward him. “James—”

James reached out and stroked the side of her face with the back of one hand. “Yes. But not now, not here. Just know that I will kiss you, and soon.” He fingered her braid. “You’re the fire my soul needs to survive.”

There was no doubting the sincerity in his voice. It touched a chord deep within her that left her feeling more confused than ever. Oh Lord, she wanted the comfort and security of his arms around her, more than she wanted security and independence. She craved the taste of his lips on hers and wanted badly to know what it felt like to be loved and cherished. Staring into his smoky green eyes, she longed to throw aside all her fears of the future and beg James to kiss her, right here, right now. She wanted the heaven his eyes promised.

James cupped one of her hands in both of his. He pressed an object, something small, hard and warm into her palm, then folded her fingers over it and kissed the curl of her hand.

“I’ve carried this stone in my pocket since the day I buried my parents. The man who gave it to me knew the enormous responsibility I was taking on by keeping my family together. He said I’d have many days of worrying ahead of me, but if I carried this stone and remembered that day, my determination, the vow I made to my parents as I buried them, I’d get through it. Trust yourself, he told me, and when you don’t know what to do, or where to turn, focus your problems on this rock. Let your instincts guide you.”

James paused, his thumb caressing the back of her hand, his smile wry, his eyes filled with sadness. Eirica held her breath, spellbound, waiting for him to continue. She had no trouble envisioning James at sixteen, standing proud, daring anyone to stop him from raising his siblings. Jessie had told her some of the problems he’d encountered when folks in the town thought him too young to take on that responsibility.

“Well, he was right. I had many doubt-filled days and long, lonely nights when I fretted myself sick till dawn because there wasn’t anyone to ask if I was doing right by Jordan, Jeremy and Jess. And when the worry and doubt got too much, I’d remember this friend of my father’s and his simple gift and even wiser words.

“I want you to have it, use it. Trust yourself, listen to your heart. I got through some difficult times, Eirica, and so will you. But unlike me, you don’t have to go it alone. I want you to know that.” He brought her closed hand back to his mouth to brush his lips softly over her inner wrist.

“Think of me tonight.” He released her hand, tipped his hat and mounted his horse. With one last look, he rode off.

Eirica watched until he faded from sight, her heart going out to that scared boy of sixteen who’d taken on so much and had so much yet to give. And the fact that he wanted to give that love to her both confused and frightened her. Eirica desperately wanted to be that woman.

An overwhelming need arose. It shoved aside all her other needs and vows. She was fighting a losing battle, had known it since the night they’d shared that incredibly tender kiss. She’d faced the inevitable in the following days when all she’d been able to do was think about his declaration to court her, and her dreams of their next kiss.

How could she resist this man? James wasn’t anything like Birk. Not even when Birk courted her had she felt this way. Over the last week, she’d had plenty of time to examine and ponder her growing feelings and her past. Honesty forced her to admit that she’d been eager to leave home, get out from under her father’s domineering rule. She’d have fallen for anyone who’d courted her with flowers, gifts and declarations of love.

But she was older now, wiser, right? Two needs raged inside her, fighting for supremacy—but only one could rule. If she gave in to James, she’d be loved and cared for, that she no longer doubted. But would it be enough? Would he, with his good intentions of taking care of her, taking charge, smother that part of her trying to emerge after years of suppression?

She didn’t know. She only knew what James made her feel inside was too special to ignore or deny herself. In fact, she hungered for more of those throbbing urges that had settled low in her abdomen when he’d kissed her. For the first time in her life, she knew what desire felt like.

But could she go further, past the kissing stage? She didn’t know. She didn’t fear James but she didn’t want him to see her body, to be touched by the ugliness that was part of her. Another reason for her to not marry James was her worry that James would find her lacking, inadequate if he made love to her. But at least he’d be gentle, wouldn’t he? Or were all men rough and mindless when it came to bedding their mates?

Realizing where her thoughts were leading, she reined herself in. Things were moving too fast, including her own desires. Somehow, someway, there had to be a middle ground, a way to have James beside her without sacrificing the woman finally free to emerge and spread her wings.

Remembering his gift, she opened her palm and stared at the polished, brownish-red rock. Both sides bore a worn groove in the center, testimony to the hours of worry James had gone through. Fisting her hand to keep the warmth—James’s warmth—in, she pressed it to her heart. And as she turned to go check on her children and start supper, she couldn’t help but think about his promise, that he would kiss her again soon.

Her stomach fluttered and she hoped it wouldn’t be too long before he kept that vow.

Charcoal-gray clouds roiled across the sky, dipping low enough to make the travelers feel like ducking. Without warning, jagged spears of lightning slashed the heavens in two followed by blasts of thunder. Hard on the heels of the initial breaking of the storm, torrents of water fell from the sky, lit up by one lightning bolt after another.

The suddenness and violence with which storms hit no longer surprised the emigrants, or even caught them unaware. Most were already safely ensconced in their tents, prepared to wait it out. Knowing it could be a short storm or one that lasted into the night, the wagon circles had been chained to keep the livestock inside, wagon tops lashed securely and food for a cold meal stashed in the tents. As it was still light out, most of the travelers used their enforced inactivity to nap or write in their journals. Overhead, streaks of lightning continued to zig across the sky before plunging to the ground to shake the earth.

Alone in her tent, using the precious oil in her lantern to work by, Coralie concentrated on taking small, neat stitches to form a delicate design on the satiny pink bodice in her hands. Sitting in a pile beside her, several plain, serviceable white linen baby gowns sat. Now she was glad her father had insisted she bring material with her. When he’d told her he’d packed several bolts of cloth, including some fine white linen, all carefully packaged to withstand the elements, she’d scoffed. After all, she’d thought then, if she needed clothes she would pay someone to make them for her. She held the small item up, pleased with her painstaking work.

Coralie shook her head and laughed at the irony of her situation—exactly the opposite of what she’d always imagined. She wished her father could see her now. He’d be surprised. Heck, he’d be shocked to see all the changes she’d gone through over the last few months. Lowering her needlework to her lap, a wave of homesickness took hold. She fingered the fine gold chain around her neck and the heart-shaped locket hanging from it, both going-away gifts from her father.

She missed him. Her father, ever the optimist, always had a kind word for others. His outgoing personality made his store back in Westport a warm and friendly place, something she’d never realized or appreciated. Most of all, she missed his hugs, those all-engulfing embraces that had always embarrassed her. She even missed his stern lectures when he declared that her “airs” were becoming a bit too much. Right now, she’d give anything to see him and tell him how much she truly loved him.

She’d oftentimes disappointed him, she knew. But he’d loved her no matter what and had done his best by her. She didn’t remember much of her ma who’d died when she was young, leaving Coralie and her brother to the care of their grieving father and stern grandmother who’d been firmly entrenched in Boston society—but she did remember the fight between her grandmother and father when he’d announced he was taking his children west to start over.

She’d cried, sulked and pouted when they reached Westport, but her father had been strong. He’d opened his store and settled to raise his children in what he deemed “real America.”

Coralie snickered. How unpredictable life was. Her father had come from farmer parents and here she was, married to a farmer as well. Full circle, she supposed. Ah, but what a farmer Jordie was. She giggled softly, recalling last night’s tender lovemaking after she’d told Jordan he was going to be a father.

He’d been ecstatic and then so very tender. Overhead, a furious explosion of thunder made her dive for her quilts. When the shaking of the ground stopped, she lifted her head. How she hated storms. “Oh, Jordie.” She wished he were there with her and not off with a bunch of stupid cows. It would be completely dark soon and she didn’t relish sleeping alone with a storm unleashing its power around her. Storms scared her, had always sent her running to her bedroom closet.

She couldn’t even call on Jessie to keep her company as her sister-in-law and Rook had ridden out to take food and coffee to the men who were guarding the cattle round the clock. Not even for food would Wolf’s men leave the herd. Over the last week, Jessie and Rook had even camped out there, closer to the men. Wolf was taking no chances that the herd might stampede again, especially now that the trail was much more crowded.

To keep her mind off the thunder crashing above her head, she concentrated on the small piece of pink fabric in her hands. A loud voice sounded outside, and Coralie hurriedly slid her project into a large canvas bag and shoved it beneath her pillow just as the tent flap opened and Jessie and Anne dashed in out of the rain.

“Hey, thought we’d join you if you don’t mind.” Jessie removed her gutta-percha poncho and sat, pulling out her own sewing. Anne did the same.

“We finally got away, left Rook out there in the rain to boss everyone around. The cattle won’t stampede. Let Wolf and them others stay up all night watching.” Jessie bent her head to her work, threading her needle and picking up where she’d left off mid-seam.

Coralie narrowed her eyes, taking in Jessie’s flushed appearance and flashing eyes and dry clothing which meant she’d been back long enough to change out of her wet things. “You big liar,” she snorted. “Wolf and James sent you back because they
do
think the cattle will stampede.” She’d never forget the frightening experience of having the herd stampede shortly after they’d left Westport. If not for Jessie’s quick thinking, they might have lost all their wagons; the cattle had been heading right for them.

The silence and set of Jessie’s jaw confirmed her suspicion. “Hey, it’s not so bad just being one of us girls, you know. At least we’re dry.” Coralie waited, surprised by her need to cheer Jessie up. She knew how hard it was for her sister-in-law to be excluded in activities that before her marriage, no one would have thought twice about.

After a minute’s sulk, Jessie grinned wryly. “All right. Wolf ordered me back. Said watching me almost die once was enough to last him a lifetime.” Her mouth firmed. “But, dammit, I’m as good as any of them, and he—and James—know it.”

“Doesn’t mean they want to see you put yourself in danger. Face it, sister dearest, you are a woman, whether you want to admit it or not. And men aren’t going to let a woman do anything dangerous, especially one who seems to land herself in trouble more times than not.” The last was said softly, gently even.

“You scared all of us when you were kidnapped.” Coralie’s voice hitched as she suppressed the remembered fear she’d felt for Jessie. Another change. She now looked up to her new sister-in-law and at the same time, felt protective of her.

Jessie still frowned down at her attempt at making Eirica’s baby a gown. “That wasn’t my fault. It just happened, that’s all. I was even on my way to find Wolf to tell him about that Wanted poster I saw at Fort Laramie. Not like I tried to take on that trio by myself.”

“Yes, but in true Jess style, you ended up in the thick of things anyway.”

“Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” Jessie sighed. “All right, I’ll make the best of it. Who knows, maybe I’ll ride back out in a bit to check things out.” Her impish grin made Anne and Coralie groan.

Anne pulled out tiny colored squares of calico that she was sewing into bigger blocks for a quilt. Coralie reached out and took one square and studied the patterns in greens and blues. “Ohhh, Anne, this is so nice. I wish I could make a quilt.” She traced the tiny squares with her finger.

The older woman smiled. “It’s easy, Coralie. I’ll help you. You certainly have enough material.”

“But I want to make baby clothes, too. She indicated a stack of four gowns all in white linen. Eirica’s going to need some bigger things, too.” She brightened. “Maybe I can do both. It’d certainly give me something to do when Jordie’s on watch.” She fingered the squares again with longing. “But a whole quilt would simply take forever.”

“Perhaps you and Jessie can do one together, with each of you doing portions to form a small baby quilt. Eirica will need more than one.” Anne deftly threaded her needle and looked at Jessie who was in process of ripping out a seam.

“Damn. Count me out. I can’t sew worth sh—” Sheepishly, she glanced up. “Sorry. But this is so frustrating.” She held it up. The seam was bunched and puckered down the back.

“Don’t pull so tight on the thread, Jessie,” Anne advised, taking the fabric and easing the seam with her fingers until it lay flat.

“And you want me to do a quilt? I don’t think so.”

“Yes you will, Jessica,” Coralie said, her tone brooking no argument. “We are going to do one together.” All of a sudden, she wanted to do all those things women did that she’d previously scoffed at and belittled, boasting that her father could afford to buy her ready-made clothing or hire out to a seamstress to make what she needed, like new curtains for her room. She didn’t want to pay some stranger to make her baby’s clothing. She wanted her child to use items made by her own loving hand.

Jessie glared at Coralie. “Anyone tell you that you’re bossy?” At Coralie’s pout, she rolled her eyes.

“Don’t bother. I guess I need to learn to do this. There won’t be anyone to do it for me when Wolf and I return to his home.”

“Thanks, Jessie. What colors should we use?”

“I don’t think it matters, Corie. I’ve got some old shirts we can cut up. Most are blue or brown.” Jessie stuck out her tongue as she concentrated on rethreading her needle.

Coralie shuddered. “No, not those colors, not for a little girl. I think we should use pink.” Coralie thought of the pink linen shift that matched the dress she’d saved for Oregon. It would be perfect, especially with the white linen. Eirica deserved something pretty for this baby.

“Blue and brown are just fine for a
boy,
” Jessie argued.

Another voice joined them. “Ah, figured you ladies would like a nice hot cup of tea, seein’ as how this weather ain’t gonna let up anytime soon.” Rook stuck his head in, interrupting Coralie and Jessie from their sparring.

Coralie grinned at Rook. “Did they kick you out, too? Or did you come back because you missed us?”

Rook lowered his thick brows at her. “Someone’s got ta be in charge here. I brought back the wagon. Wolf don’t want the supplies anywhere near them cattle tonight.” Anne reached out and took the sweetened tea from Rook so he wouldn’t get things wet by coming inside.

Jessie glanced up. “That bad? Maybe I should ride back out.”

Rook winced. “Can’t, lass. Yer husband took back yer horse ta keep ya put.
And
he gave me orders ta see that you stayed here.”

Coralie couldn’t help the snicker that escaped her lips at Jessie’s look of outrage. Fur would fly tomorrow. Luckily for them all, Jessie held her tongue, but her eyes flashed the promise of words to come.

Rook stared at the gowns Coralie and Jessie were sewing. “You lasses are doin’ a right nice thing.”

“Yeah, it’s a surprise, so don’t go telling her,” Jessie warned, her voice stiff with anger.

Eager to regain the light and friendly atmosphere, Coralie asked, “Rook, what do you think Eirica will have, a boy or girl? I say it’s going to be a girl.”

Rook fingered his white beard, sending drops of water flying. “Girl,” he said at length.

Jessie shook her head. “Nope. Boy.”

All looked to Anne. “What do you think, Anne?”

Anne shook her head and laughed. “My wish is for a healthy child, boy or girl.”

Rook chuckled. “Yer a wise woman, Mrs. Svensson, not ta get b’tween these two.” He backed out and saying good-night, he left Jessie and Coralie to their friendly bickering.

Rook made a mad dash for his wagon which was parked a short distance away. He was soaked to the skin and cold. He never bothered with a tent, preferring to sleep out in the open, unless it rained. Tonight, he’d sleep inside one of the supply wagons. Before he reached it, his feet slid out beneath him and he fell with a startled yelp.

He landed on his forearm. Pain shot through him. A dizzying array of stars floated before his eyes. Struggling to sit, he fell back. “Damnation,” he whispered, blinking against the steady fall of rain upon his face.

“What have you done to yourself, you old coot?”

Rook turned his head toward the sound of that hateful voice. Trust his luck to have
her
find him stretched out flat on his back. “Nothin’.” He struggled up, forcing himself to sit. He bit back the cry of pain when he tried to move his arm.

Sofia De Santis ran her hands down his injured arm, her fingers surprisingly gently as they probed his flesh. “It’s broken, you damn fool.”

“Well, thanks for the news, woman. Now, git away from me so’s I can git up.”

“And go where?” Sofia ignored his grumbling and called over her shoulder, “Dante, help me get him into my tent. We’ll have to set his arm. Fetch that sheet I’ve been using to make bandages.”

Rook blinked against the rain and the throbbing in his arm. “I ain’t goin’ ta go into yer tent. Wouldn’t be proper.”

Snorting, Sofia took her position in front of him while Dante went behind. Together, they lifted him. With Dante’s support, Rook managed to walk the few steps to her tent. “I’ll make a deal with you, Rook. If my reputation is tarnished, then I’ll let you marry me,” Sofia said.

They stopped just inside the tent. This time Rook snorted. “Not damned likely, ya old witch.” He bit back a moan as his arm throbbed painfully from wrist to elbow.

Sofia only lifted a brow. “I’ll fetch what I need. Dante, you get this stubborn old goat out of those wet things. Put him in my bed. I’ll take Catarina’s bedroll to your tent. The three of you will have to bed in there. Rook isn’t going anywhere tonight.”

Rook sputtered and protested but it didn’t do him any good. Sofia marched back out with an armful of bedding, leaving him with Dante who only shrugged.

“We’d best do what my
nonna
says. It makes life simpler to humor her.”

“That woman is a witch. She’s bossy and always interferin’, stickin’ her nose where it don’t belong.” He blinked against the pain. “Did I say bossy?” It was difficult to concentrate and when Dante started to help him undress, he didn’t have the strength to argue. In truth, he was starting to shake like a leaf, his teeth clacking together.