HisBootsUnderHerBed (10 page)

“I…I…”

He felt on the verge of imploding and knew he couldn’t hold on to his control much longer. “Say it, Rory. For God’s sake, say it!”

She arched against him and cried, “I don’t want you to stop.”

His lips reclaimed hers. Too hot and hard for more foreplay, he went for the jugular.

Her eyes were closed, and her breath quickened to gasping breaths when he slid his hand along her naked warmth to the junction of her legs as he reached for his fly.

“Rory!” Paddy called.

The shout was like a bucket of ice water poured on his genitals. “Oh, God, no,” he groaned.

Garth sat up and pulled her to a sitting position just as Paddy O’Grady came hobbling along the trail using a shaved limb as a staff.

“So here you be. You had me worrying, darlin’.”

“What are you doing up, Pop? You should stay in bed. I was on the verge of leaving when Garth joined me,” Rory said.

Paddy’s gaze swept Garth’s bare chest and then the shirt she was wearing. “And just what would he be joining you in, daughter?” he asked. Suspicion glittered in his eyes.

“In doing her laundry, sir,” Garth said and stood up. “If you’d care for me to do yours, we’ll be glad to leave and give you privacy.”

“Yes, Pop, the water’s cold, but refreshing,” she encouraged as Garth held out a hand and helped her to her feet.

“I don’t want a bath now.”

“Well then, sit down and rest, Paddy. Rory and I have been considering leaving the mountain, and we’d like to hear what you think of the idea.”

“I don’t think I could do it,” Paddy said.

“Pop, we could stop as frequently as you want. It wouldn’t matter to us how long it would take us to get back.”

“’Tis a good idea, darlin’, but I know me strength, and I’m ashamed to say I’ve not much of it. I’m feeling better by the day, so ’twould be better to wait for a couple days.”

Rory sighed. “I suppose so.” She stood up. “I doubt all my clothes are dry yet, but I’ll put them back on still damp.” She gathered them up and disappeared out of sight. When she emerged from the foliage, she handed Garth his shirt.

Their lingering gazes locked. “Thanks for the loan of it.”

“The pleasure was all mine.”

Paddy spun around and eyed him suspiciously. “Pleasure? What do you mean by that?”

“I mean what a pleasure it was to sit and have a quiet chat with your daughter, Paddy.”

For an instant the old man gave him a belligerent glare, then broke out suddenly into a grin.

“Tell me, lad, do you play chess?”

“Most of my life, Paddy.”

“Would you be doing me the pleasure of joining me in a game?”

“You’re on, Paddy. Look for me tomorrow.”

“That I will, me boy. That I will. Coming, darlin’?” Leaning heavily on his staff, he started back down the trail.

“Garth,” Rory said, “will you think over my proposition?”

“I will, if you’ll think over mine. I’m still for packing up and heading out right now.”

Before she could guess his intent, he lowered his head and kissed her again. It was a kiss to sink into, reheating the coals he had just been forced to bank. But that moment had passed, and common sense now prevailed. He broke the kiss and stepped back.

“We still have some unfinished business to settle, but thank you for a most pleasant afternoon, Miss O’Grady.”

For a brief moment, her startled look met the warmth in his brown eyes. Then she hurried after her father.

Garth returned to the cave, and for the next few hours collected more gold dust. The day had passed into night when he stopped and made a pot of coffee, fed and watered his four-legged companions, then sat down and chewed a stick of jerky. Deep in thought, his mind remained on the memory of the look in Rory’s eyes when he’d kissed her good-bye.

“She drives me loco with those expressions of startled innocence of hers,” he told the dog beside him.

“Good God, Saddle, the woman makes her living in saloons, stole my uncle’s map from me, and God only knows how many times she’s lied to me before and since.”

He was still feeling the frustration of the abrupt and unfulfilled ending of their lovemaking.

“Then she has the nerve to act like a blushing virgin because I saw her naked. If she’s so damn modest, what the hell was she doing bathing nude in the open to begin with?”

He bit off another bite of the jerky. “Then she actually accused me of intending to rape her—just because I peeked at her through a bush! Do you believe that, Saddle?”

He snatched up his cup, and then wiped some spilled coffee off his shirt. “I noticed she didn’t cry rape when she was enjoying it. If she’s a virgin, I’m the frigging Marquis de Sade! And I can get sworn affidavits of what a tender lover I am. Confidentially, that’s just between you and me, boy,” he said, aside.

“Saddle, the woman belongs in the theater. I’d bet every grain of gold in that pouch that there isn’t a role she couldn’t master if she had to play the part. Especially that of a quivering virgin on her wedding night, like she did today.”

Saddle got up and started to move away. “Hey, hold up there. Did I say I was through?” The dog came back and stretched out again.

“Sure, she’s a spunky little trooper and I admire that. But she’s dishonest, so how can I ever trust her? My brother Colt always warned me about women like Rory. But I never believed that some women are just born out and out no good, and believed that if you treated any woman with kindness and respect, she’d return that compliment. Miss O’Grady sure taught me different!

“So keep that in mind with the next bitch you meet up with, boy,” he said as he patted Saddle on the head. “Love them, but leave them.

“That’s why I’m letting Rory get away with what she did to me. I know all these weaknesses about her, but I still can’t help liking her…or stay angry with her. And the Lord knows I burn every time I look at her, but it’s not her fault that she’s so beautiful. I just have to keep reminding myself not to trust anything she says—because as well as I know women, I can’t tell when she’s working me or being truthful.”

Saddle got up again. “Okay, you’re right. It’s about time to leave.”

Garth dumped the coffee grounds onto a tin plate so they would be dry for his morning coffee, then saddled up Boots. Man, horse, and dog left the site to perform their nightly vigil.

The moon cast enough light on the crude trail for Garth to see well enough to ride slowly through the night. After a short distance, the light from the campfire became a beacon in the darkness.

Nearing the campfire, he dismounted and tethered Boots to a tree, and then moved into the concealment of the trees that rimmed the mountain’s edge like rows of sentinels.

He had been coming every night for the past week to make sure the O’Gradys were all right. Neither one of them seemed to grasp the danger that could befall them at any time.

In truth, he felt somewhat responsible for them. If he hadn’t told Rory about the map, she and Paddy wouldn’t even be here.

Maybe he should think seriously about Rory’s suggestion of joining up with them for the next couple days. That would make keeping a watchful eye on her a lot easier. He smiled. And being able to keep a watchful eye on him and Rory might make Paddy more cooperative. But it wouldn’t do that wily old man any good; the ball had been put in motion between him and Rory. And right now he’d bet the damn gold mine that little Miss Rory O’Grady would soon be lying in bed thinking about that “unfinished business,” too.

For about thirty minutes he watched the two move about their campfire, before Paddy disappeared inside their mine and remained there.

Rory had wisely built the campfire at the entrance to the mine. She went inside and built it up so that it extended fully across the entrance in the hope that the fire would keep any animal away, or any human from trying to enter the mine while they slept. She then disappeared herself, apparently retiring for the night. Garth figured he’d remain for another hour, and then return to his own mine.

Suddenly Saddle raised his head and let out a growl so low it was barely audible. Garth knelt down. The dog’s fixed stare was on the trees ahead of them. “What is it, boy?” he whispered. “What do you hear?”

Drawing the pistol on his hip, Garth moved toward the trees ahead. He trod very carefully to avoid any misstep that would reveal his position or alert whoever or whatever had caught Saddle’s attention.

For the length of a heartbeat he sensed, rather than saw, a movement in the trees. He expected at any second to face an adversary, human or animal. But whoever or whatever had been there had slipped away in the darkness.

Garth sat down and settled back against the trunk of a tree for the night, until the faint rays of a rising sun turned the darkness into a hazy gray.

Then he mounted Boots and returned to his mine.

R
ory had spent a restless night thinking about not only the situation she was in, but even more about Garth Fraser. The more she saw of the man, the more she was attracted to him. And those moments in his arms at the waterfall were the most exciting she’d ever known. Were his parting words a promise or a warning?

He was truly about the nicest man she had ever met. Not only that; she doubted he had a mean or dishonest bone in that handsome body of his. She had often seen pathetic excuses for men like Mo Buckman hit a woman for accidentally spilling a drink or speaking up to them.

She’d watched men cheat and even kill each other over a card game. Even her own father, whom she loved dearly, hadn’t hesitated to steal a map just because the opportunity presented itself. Most of the men she’d met would have killed Pop, if they’d caught up with them like Garth had.

Granted, one met the dregs in saloons, but Garth Fraser was a far cry from any of them. He not only wasn’t a violent man, but he had integrity and was a gentleman. He even treated prostitutes like ladies. Why, Shelia had told her Garth had even thanked her for her service, when most men considered the two dollars thanks enough.

Rory had no doubt he would have stopped his enflaming caresses earlier, had she told him to, but his kisses and touch thrilled her. That was the one thing she feared about Garth Fraser: no man she’d ever known had ever thrilled her like him. He was the kind of man she had always hoped to meet one day, marry, and have his children.

Garth had all the qualities that she had hoped and dreamed for in a husband. But even if they’d met under different circumstances, he had no desire or intention of settling down. His dreams lay beyond that horizon he was looking toward. He had places to see, mountains to climb, rivers to cross—and that pot of gold at the end of a rainbow yet to discover.

The wisest thing she could do would be to take his advice and get out of there now. Because as sure as the sun comes up in the morning, if she hung around him much longer, she wouldn’t be a virgin on her wedding night.

As she was gathering wood to make a fire, Saddle came trotting up to her. “Hey, what are you doing here, fella?” she asked, hugging him as he licked her cheek. Her heartbeat quickened when Garth appeared seconds later.

“Good morning,” she said, hiding her feelings behind a casual smile.

“Here, let me help you with that,” he said, dismounting quickly when she turned away to pick up the stack of wood she’d been gathering.

“That’s not necessary, Garth. I can do it myself,” she snapped. Driven by a feeling of guilt over the hopeless thoughts she harbored about him, she now released it in anger. Why did he always succeed in making her feel like some fragile china doll that would smash into pieces if dropped? No matter what he said to the contrary, or his belief that she was dishonest, it was beyond his capability to treat her unkindly.

“Uh-oh! What do you think, Saddle? Sounds like the lady hasn’t had that second cup of coffee yet.”

“Just once, Garth Fraser,” she lashed out, “I wish you’d do the same.”

“What is that supposed to mean? Are you angry because I tried to make love to you yesterday? You didn’t try to stop me.”

“Thank you for reminding me of that; it’s a good excuse to be angry. But that’s not my reason.”

“Then what is? Paddy get you riled up this morning?”

“No, he’s still asleep. You’re the one who’s got me riled.”

He opened his arms in astonished innocence. “What did I do?”

“Just one morning, can’t you get up grouchy and irritable like the rest of us? How can you wake up every day of your life with a smile? Even an innocent baby wakes up crying, hungry, and wet. But not you.”

“Crying, hungry, and wet? I should hope not.”

“No, indeed. Not Mr. Sunshine himself.”

He burst into laughter. “Is that all that’s bothering you? I thought there was a serious problem.”

She threw her hands up in a hopeless gesture. “That’s what I mean! Can’t you get angry, or tell me you don’t give a damn whether I like it or not?”

“But I do care,” he said. “I’m just glad to hear there’s nothing seriously wrong. Besides, you’re real cute when you’re riled enough to cuss.”

Rory glanced heavenward. “Lord, I can’t take much more of this.” She spun on her heel and stormed away.

Garth picked up the wood she had dropped and chased after her. “You have to admit you enjoyed it.”

“Enjoyed what?”

“My making love to you.”

She stopped short and glared at him. “In my lexicon, groping a woman is not considered
making love
.”

“And in my lexicon, Miss O’Grady, staring at a woman bathing nude in public is not considered
rape
,” he countered with an overbearing grin. “Furthermore, I do not grope or rape. I always love the women I’m with—at the time.”

“What a shame the feeling isn’t mutual.”

“Ah, but you’re wrong.”

She gaped at him in disbelief. “You’re serious?”

“Certainly,” he said smugly.

Rory shook her head sadly. “And what do these women reward you with in return, Mr. Fraser: swinging hips or agitated twitters?” She walked away.

He started after her again, and tripped. He and the wood went flying.

Rory turned around. “Oops, tripped over your tongue, did you?”

He raised his arms in the air. “Okay, I’ll cry uncle. You’ve got the last word.” He stood up and brushed himself off. Then, laughing together, they gathered up the wood.

“You’re welcome to stay for breakfast,” she offered as she stacked the wood in his arms. “The pickings are poor, but you’re welcome to share what we have.”

“I actually have a different thought in mind. How would you like to take a little ride? I’m hoping Saddle will lead me to that trout stream he visits every morning. It can’t be too far, because he’s never gone for a long time.”

He cocked a brow. “And think of how good a cup of hot coffee would taste with a piece of fried trout. So I packed up the makings for coffee and a couple of biscuits.”

“You baked biscuits?”

“Lady, you have no idea how talented I am.”

The prospect of fresh fish did sound appealing. “Did you remember a skillet?”

“Sure did, honey.”

“Then let’s get going!”

“That’s better.”

“Fish and biscuits do sound much better than fried potatoes.”

“Actually, I was referring to that lovely smile on your face now, instead of that scowl you were wearing. Good morning, Miz Sunshine.” He climbed into the saddle, then swung her up behind him.

How was a person to stay angry with the man!

“I thought you said this would be a short ride,” Rory complained an hour later. “We must have ridden at least three miles already.”

“We can’t stop now,” Garth said. “Besides, it can’t be much farther.”

Garth no sooner had gotten the words out of his mouth when he spotted the stream they sought. High above them, the snow-capped peaks of the Sierra Nevada mountain range stretched out before them farther than the eye could see. The source of the stream appeared to come from the nearest towering peak.

The stream abounded with silvery silhouettes flashing through the water. Garth waded in, and for several minutes tried to catch one of the fish bare-handed. He abandoned that method and returned to the riverbank, cut off a slim limb from a tree, then shaved off the leaves and whittled one of the ends into a sharp point. Within minutes he succeeded in spearing a fish.

Rory cut a strong vine from the foliage and strung the fish on it, then gathered wood for a fire. By the time she had a pot of coffee brewing, Garth had succeeded in adding five additional fish to the makeshift line.

“I think this is enough to get us started,” he said, pulling off three of them.

“That’s wonderful. We can take the other two back for Pop.”

As quickly as Garth scaled and gutted the fish, Rory filleted and fried them. Saddle trotted over to the fire. He’d been unsuccessful with his leaps and bounds to catch one of the slippery trout, so she tossed him several pieces of the savory catch.

“This was a wonderful idea,” Rory said later, when they finished the last bite of fish and last crumb of biscuit. “I can’t remember when I enjoyed fish so much.”

“I’ll catch a couple more for dinner. I imagine Paddy would enjoy them.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Garth. Where did you learn to spear fish? That sounds like what an Indian would do.”

“You learn a lot in the army that doesn’t have anything to do with fighting. If we were lucky enough to be near a fish stream between battles, we didn’t always have the time to sit with a pole and fish, so it came in handy to learn the art of using a spear.”

“You said your home is in Virginia.”

“Yes, Fraser Keep is located between the James and York rivers in southeast Virginia, near Williamsburg. It’s been my family’s home for eleven generations.”

“I can’t imagine being able to trace your roots that far back and know your family has lived under the same roof. I’ve only known my own parents and a maternal grandmother. I’m told I have an aunt and uncle in Ireland on my father’s side, but I’ve never met them. Are your parents still alive?”

“No, they died from cholera during the war. My brother Will’s six-month-old son died from it, too. There was no medicine available to help them.”

“I’m so sorry, Garth,” she said sadly. “The little I know about that war makes it all sound so tragic.”

“Everything about that war was tragic. It began in sixty-one, supposedly to preserve the union when the issue of states’ rights arose. Then in sixty-three, when Lincoln declared the Emancipation Proclamation, it suddenly changed and became a war cry to free the slaves.”

“At least some good came out of the war. I don’t believe that anyone should ever be sold into slavery.”

“You’re missing my point, Rory. The war was started over typical rotten Washington political jockeying. The issue of slavery could and should have been fought on the floor of Congress. Isn’t that why we elect politicians? And if abolishing slavery was the original intent for fighting the war, why wasn’t slavery abolished immediately in sixty-one when the war began? With the South having seceded, there would have been no opposition to vote against it, and it would have been pushed through immediately. So why did Lincoln wait two more years to declare slavery abolished?”

“What do you think was the reason?” she asked, surprised by his bitter intensity.

“Those Washington hypocrites were scared stiff to take such a measure sooner, in fear the Confederacy would win and they’d be drummed out of office. For despite the fact that the South didn’t have the money, manpower, industry, railroads, or navy that the North had, the Confederacy was winning the goddamn war.

“What the North didn’t have then was leadership. The Yankees couldn’t even find a decent military commander to lead them after General Lee turned down their offer, until they finally put Grant in command after a couple of years.

“There’d been a few minor wins by the Yankees, but General Lee and our other Southern generals outsmarted them and outfought them constantly, despite having only half the manpower and supplies. So the people in the North were beginning to doubt the wisdom of the war, and it wasn’t until Sharpsburg—the Yankees called it Antietam—in September of ’sixty-two that the war began to shift as the Confederacy’s manpower and supplies dwindled. It must have convinced those politicians they had a chance of winning, so they came out with the Emancipation Proclamation a few months later to rally morale with a new war cry.”

“Why did that battle make such a difference?” she asked.

“Because it was the first major battle that General Lee lost. It became known as ‘the bloodiest single day of the war.’ The Confederacy suffered the loss of almost fourteen thousand men killed or wounded, and the Yankees over twelve thousand. Think of it, Rory, twenty-six thousand men killed or wounded in one single day!”

Rory shook her head at the thought of the mammoth tragedy of it.

“And among those killed was a young private named Joseph Fraser, my brother’s sixteen-year-old son.”

“Oh, dear God,” she murmured. Rory reached for his hand and grasped it. “Your poor family. They lost so many loved ones.”

“Ours wasn’t the only family, Rory. There wasn’t a home in the South that didn’t suffer such losses. The following year in July, my youngest brother Andy died at Gettysburg, along with nearly sixty thousand others who were killed and wounded during that campaign—Reb and Yankee alike. They were all Americans. I recently read in the newspaper that it’s estimated that close to eight hundred thousand men died or were maimed or wounded before the war ended.

“When I let myself think about it, sometimes I feel a sense of guilt for surviving.” Anguish had replaced the warmth that she’d become accustomed to seeing in his eyes. “So no matter what you think, Miss O’Grady, I don’t wake up with a smile
every
morning.”

Then, as if wanting to change the mood, he leaned over and grinned. “Of course I might be able to if you were lying next to me when I woke up.”

Determined to keep him from slipping back into the dark mood, she answered pertly, “Unless that proposal relates to marriage, Mr. Fraser, I’ll decline the offer.”

“You’ve got a cold heart, lady.”

“No, I’m just saving myself for the man I love. Besides, I want to hear more about your life.”

“Such as?”

“You’ve told me the bad part of your life; now tell me the good part. Your childhood. What it was like before the war?”

“Hmmm.” He stretched out and tucked his hands under his head. “It seems so long ago. My parents, my sister and brothers. Life at Fraser Keep. The ancestor who built Fraser Keep came from Scotland and was one of the original Virginia colonists. My parents were born and bred Virginians. I grew up with five brothers and one sister. Will’s the eldest of us; he’s thirty-six.” He grinned broadly. “The old married man of the family. None of us would have had a home to come back to after the war if it weren’t for him. Then there’s Clay, he’s thirty-two. He’s the one I came to California with. Married a Yankee on the way.”