Winter's Touch (41 page)

She was not inclined to complain about much of anything these days. She had come too close to dying. She now looked at the world differently. At herself, at her life. At Carson.

She loved him. Now that her blinders were off, she knew that he loved her, too, whether he admitted it or not.

The people in town were no longer a concern. They accepted her now, as was proven when the Vickers family had come last week to assure themselves that she was recovering, and to thank her—so profusely that she’d been embarrassed—for what she’d done for their daughter.

There would always be people who scorned her because of her Indian blood, but no longer would she allow them to have a hold on her emotions or the decisions she made.

And she was taking Hunter’s advice and letting Carson and the others make their own decisions about wanting her in their lives.

Never had Winter Fawn felt more loved and more accepted. She felt as welcome here as she had been in her grandmother’s lodge, and it was a heady feeling to admit and accept that.

Crooked Oak had returned to the big camp along the river on the chance that Red Beard had brought Winter Fawn back to her grandmother. But there was no word on Winter Fawn, and Crooked Oak had not been greeted with warmth.

He would show them. He would show them all, when he found her. And he would find her if he had to search every white settlement, every farm, every ranch. She was out there somewhere, and she belonged to him. He would have her.

Another vision, that was what he needed. But he did not wish to take the time away from his search.

Man-Above decided to smile upon him by having his path cross with that of the Mexican trader Gonzales. If nothing else, Gonzales would give him a bottle of whiskey.

And Gonzales did. That, and more. Neither spoke the other’s language well, but between the few words and phrases they did know, with a little sign language thrown in, Crooked Oak was able to determine that Gonzales had seen Winter Fawn in the town called Badito at the southern tip of the Sierra Mojada.

“My good friend!” Crooked Oak was ecstatic. “I am in your debt.” He scarcely took the time to finish off the whiskey before he urged Red Bull and Spotted Calf to mount up and ride. Now he would not have to search every settlement, nor every house. Only those along the upper Huerfano.

Soon. Soon he would have Winter Fawn, and his destiny would unfold.

Winter Fawn had not yet told Carson that she had changed her mind and would marry him. She was grateful that he had not pressured her for an answer. But she would tell him. Soon. Just as soon as she found a way to tell him about her gift.

Would he be able to accept her then, as her own father had not?

He had to. He simply had to.

Her chance to explain came sooner than she expected. Sooner than she wished.

Saturday evening they had an early supper, finishing just after sundown. It was just Carson, Hunter, and the females, since the rest of the men had ridden for town. Innes had said he would be back later that night, but Beau and Frank would probably not return until Sunday evening.

It was Winter Fawn’s turn to wash the dishes. Gussie was doing something in her room, and Bess was out on the porch talking to Hunter. Megan was bored. She wanted to help Winter Fawn.

“Well, then, that would be fine. Let’s drag a chair over to the counter so you can reach the dishpan.”

Megan’s eyes grew big and round. “I get to stand on the chair?”

Uh oh. “Only for special reasons, and only if you have permission and someone else is with you. I’ll be havin’ yer word on that, lassie.”

Megan giggled. She loved it when Winter Fawn put a little extra burr in her words. “Ye’ve got it, lass.”

“Wot’s this I’m hearin’?” boomed Carson with his own imitation. “Has ma hearth an’ home been invaded by foreigners?”

“Aye,” Megan crowed.

“Off with ye.” Winter Fawn shooed Carson away with a dish towel. “’Tis wimmen’s work we’re aboot her, mon.”

“Ach, run oot o’ me own kitchen.” He winked, then strolled off toward his room.

“There now.” Winter Fawn brushed her hands against each other and turned back to the dishpan. The water should still be warm enough to wash the dishes, yet cool enough for Megan’s tender young hands.

“Up ye go.” With great fanfare, she helped Megan up onto the chair and tied the dish towel around her waist for an apron. “Here’s the stack of plates. Remember, now, one plate at a time, and carefully.”

“I remember.”

“And don’t forget to count.” Having her count each plate as she washed it had been Gussie’s idea to help Megan learn her numbers.

“I won’t. This is number one.”

Winter Fawn bit back a smile at the look of total concentration on Megan’s face. So earnest she was, so intent on getting each plate clean.

“You’re not supposed to watch me,” Megan complained.

“Sorry. I forgot.” Winter Fawn turned partly away and busied herself gathering the utensils from the table. From the corner of her eye she watched as Megan, tongue peeking out from between her teeth to help her concentrate, finished washing the first plate. Gripping it tightly in both hands, she lifted it from the soapy water and over into the second dishpan, this one of clear water for rinsing.

Having succeeded, she propped her tiny fists on her hips and gave a sharp nod of approval. “I did it,” she whispered. “Now, number two.”

Plate number two went into dishpan number one. Megan used the dishrag to scrub every inch of it a dozen times. She got so carried away once that water splashed into her face and down the bodice of her dress, making her giggle. When she was satisfied that the plate was at last spotless, she whispered one of Gussie’s sayings. “As clean as clean can get.” Then she held the plate up to make sure.

And, Winter Fawn knew, to see her own face reflected in the sparkling clean surface.

Winter Fawn saw the accident coming, but wasn’t able to move fast enough to prevent it. Megan’s hands and the plate were both slick from the soapy water. The plate slipped from her grasp and shattered against the rim of the dishpan. Pieces of plate scattered across the work table, the floor, and into the dishpan, sending up a small geyser of water.

Megan shrieked and started crying. “I didn’t mean to,” she wailed. “I didn’t mean to.”

Winter Fawn embraced her and lifted the girl’s hands from the dish water. “Of course you didn’t, lassie. ‘Twas an accident, that’s all. Hush now, don’t cry. You’ll make your pretty blue eyes all puffy and red.”

Megan hiccupped and sniffed. “It just slipted.”

“I know, I know. Sometimes that just happens.”

“I cut my hand.”

“Here, now, let’s have a look.” Already holding the child’s hands, Winter Fawn turned them over to check. Blood oozed from a slice across the palm of her right hand.

“Oh,” Megan wailed. “It hurts.”

“Nae.” Winter Fawn quickly slipped her hand around and covered the cut with her own palm. She felt the heat instantly, and the sting of the cut as the pain shifted from Megan to her. “You’re not hurt, not at all,” she crooned, hugging Megan to her with her other arm. “That silly ol’ number two plate just scared you, that’s all.”

Megan’s tears stopped instantly. “Oh, it’s hot.”

“Aye, hush now. There,” she said as the pain faded away. Cupping Megan’s hand in hers, she held it up. “See? There’s no cut there. You’re not hurt at all.”

Megan stared at her hand, then at Winter Fawn. There had been a cut, and now there wasn’t. Winter Fawn quickly dipped both their hands into the dishpan to get rid of the blood. She used her apron to dry Megan’s hand, then placed a kiss where the cut had been.

“Is it magic?” Megan asked, her face and voice filled with awe.

Unease crept across Winter Fawn’s shoulders. What could she say to keep the child from talking about it? Obviously telling her there had been no cut would not work. The girl had felt the sting and seen the blood.

Of course, since there was no trace of a cut, and the blood had disappeared into the dish water, no one was likely to believe a story about magic. But if she talked about it, Winter Fawn would be reduced to essentially calling Megan a liar, and she knew she could never bring herself to do such a thing.

“Aye,” she whispered. “’Tis magic, and a secret. If you tell anyone, it will never work again.”

“I mustn’t tell?” Megan whispered, her eyes wide. “Not
anyone
, not
ever
?”

“Not anyone.” Winter Fawn kissed the tip of her nose. “Not ever.”

“Okay,” Megan said with a grin, no longer whispering. She peered over Winter Fawn’s shoulder. “We mustn’t tell anyone, not ever.”

“So I heard,” Carson said carefully.

Winter Fawn whirled to find Carson and Gussie standing beside the table looking wary, confused.

“I declare,” Gussie whispered.

Panic seized Winter Fawn by the throat. Here was her opportunity to explain, finally, to Carson, yet all she could do was run.

“Winter Fawn,” he called as she flew out the door.

She did not pause. Ignoring Hunter and Bess’s startled expressions, she leaped from the porch and ran. With every pounding step, the word
freak
echoed through her head. Around the side of the house, past the garden, toward the sheltering trees along the river where the shadows of dusk gathered and offered concealment. Visions of two-headed men and three-eyed women waited for her, sprang out to point at her.
Freak. Freak. Freak.

“Winter Fawn!”

She closed her eyes and leaned panting against the wide trunk of an old cottonwood. She had not outrun him. Foolish to think she could.

“Winter Fawn, talk to me.” He placed his hands on her shoulders.

They were strong hands, warm hands. Powerful, capable. Yet they could be tender and gentle, too. Clever enough to drive the breath from a woman’s lungs and all thoughts from her head. Despite her fears, she felt her knees turn to water from wanting him.

“What just happened in there? What’s going on? Why did you run?” With a gentle tug, he turned her until she faced him. “Talk to me.”

She swallowed around a lump of fear. “What would you have me say?”

He dropped his hands and stepped back. “You can start with telling me what just happened with Megan.”

The distance he placed between them felt as wide as a canyon. One by one she felt her emotions shut down. Better that than to feel the yawning emptiness of realizing that she might never be able to cross that canyon and reach him again. He might very well not want her to. “I don’t know what to say.”

In the deepening shadows Carson saw the light fade from her eyes. She was withdrawing from him again. Farther this time, faster. More completely. He grasped her shoulders again. “Don’t do this.”

She blinked up at him as though he were a stranger. “Don’t do what?”

“Don’t shut me out.”

She smiled slightly. “I love you. Did I ever tell you that?”

His heart skipped one beat, two. Never had he expected to hear those words in a tone that meant good-bye. “No, don’t.”

Frowning she cocked her head. “Don’t love you?”

He recognized that blank look in her eyes now, and it terrified him. He’d seen it before in the eyes of men in battle, men who had seen too much, men who could no longer accept what was happening around them so they closed themselves off in their minds where the horror could no longer touch them. To see that same look in Winter Fawn’s eyes now made no sense. And that scared him all the more, because he didn’t understand what put it there. He gripped her shoulders tighter. “Don’t leave me,” he said fiercely, pulling her to his chest. “Whatever’s wrong, we can fix it. Don’t shut me out, don’t leave me.”

She was trembling. “I’m so frightened.”

He held her closer. “Of what, honey? What scares you so much?”

Her arms slipped around his waist and held him hard. “The thought of losing you.”

“No.” He kissed her forehead, her temple, her cheek. “You’ll never lose me. Never,” he added fiercely as he took her mouth in a kiss so possessive that she had to know, had to understand that she was his no matter what, and nothing would ever change that. Fear sharpened the edge of his passion and the kiss turned more fierce, went beyond possessive. He plundered, he ravished. With his mouth, his hands, he branded her as his.

“Yes,” she whispered harshly when he left her mouth to devour her neck. “Love me, Carson, love me.”

“I do.” He took her down right there on the ground and ran his hand up her skirt. “You know I do.”

When he touched her there between her legs, she cried out. Frantically she fumbled with his belt buckle.

He tasted his way up her jaw and to her mouth and pushed her hand away. In seconds his pants were undone and pushed down, her skirt up to her waist.

Carson had one thing on his mind. Possession. If he couldn’t get through to her any other way, he prayed this would reach her, prove to her that he wanted her in his life, that he loved her and would not easily let her go.

Their bodies joined, and primitive instincts ruled. It was hot and hard and fierce. No pretty words or soft touches. Only racing hearts and pounding flesh. Hotter. Harder. Faster. Flashes of light. Yawning darkness. Something powerful just out of reach. Coming closer. Closer. Until it was there in their grasp. It exploded around them, within them, and when it turned and slammed into them they cried out together.

When they could breathe again, when they could think, Carson levered himself up and pulled her onto his lap. “God, I’m sorry. I never meant to…” He kissed her eyes, her nose, her lips. “You deserve better than the hard ground for your bed. Are you all right?”

Still reeling, Winter Fawn nodded. “I think so.”

Carson smoothed a hand across her cheek. “Now do you understand what it’s like for me? You’re a part of me, you’re inside me, a part of every thought, every breath. Do you hear what I’m saying? I love you.”

This time when she looked up at him, there was no blankness in her eyes. They glowed with warmth and love. “I like the way you make your point.”

“I’m glad.” He kissed, her, this time with all the tenderness that was in him. “I
love
you. Whatever is wrong, we can face it. We can fix it, or we can learn to live with it, but I won’t let it come between us. Talk to me. Please.”