Debra Holland - [Montana Sky 02] (32 page)

He took a fragrant, sweet bite. Hell, might even work with him.

Daniel bounced in his chair. “Can I have another piece?”

Samantha grinned. Reaching over, she tapped him on the nose. “No.”

Daniel’s face fell into boyish disappointment.

“There’s enough left that you can all have one tomorrow after supper.”

“All right.”

“Now get ready for bed, all of you. I’ll be up in a minute to hear your prayers.”

With visible reluctance, they scraped back their chairs.

Samantha playfully slapped Daniel’s bottom with her palm. “Move along now.”

Daniel skipped forward two steps.

“Say good night to Mr. Thompson.”

“Good night.” Not in a chorus this time, but close enough.

Jack paused. “Tell Mrs. Toffels we’re much obliged for the cake.”

Wyatt nodded at him. “I will.”

“Yep,” Daniel chimed in. “Sure was good. She can make us a cake anytime.”

Samantha laughingly protested. “Daniel.”

“Well, she can, Mama.”

“I’m sure she knows that, son. Now scoot up to bed.”

Daniel sighed and rolled his eyes, then followed the others out the door.

A clatter of footsteps on the stairs, then silence settled in. They were finally alone.

Wyatt took his last bite of cake, then scraped the side of his fork across the plate, capturing every bit of chocolate.

Samantha reached out and fingered a petal of one of the white roses in the cut-glass vase. The delicate scent drifted over. “I was so pleased when these bloomed. The bushes had looked so old and neglected, I wasn’t sure they would.”

“They’ve been around as long as I’ve known Ezra.”

“He must have planted them for his fiancée.”

“Must have.”

Silence stretched out between them, awkward and anticipating. Red crept into Samantha’s cheeks. She lowered her eyes.
Dark eyelashes fanned shadows across her cheeks. “I’d better see to the boys. It’ll only take a few minutes. Their prayers never last long. Why don’t you wait in the parlor?”

“I’ll just step outside. The moon’s a sight to see.”

Her smile hinted of vulnerability. “I’ll join you soon.”

Wyatt stood up while she left the room, then strolled outside. Pacing back and forth in front of the porch, he pondered his feelings about Samantha’s collection of wayward orphans.

Like the slow melting of the spring thaw, the idea seeped into his mind that he’d been mistaken about all three of the boys. He wasn’t quite ready to admit he’d been wrong, but the wind was blowing him in that direction. Maybe a good home and some loving attention…

The scars in his side itched. From long habit, he rubbed his palm over them, feeling the raised welts through the cotton of his shirt. From equally long practice, he shoved aside the painful memories trying to tumble into his thoughts.

Several minutes later, Samantha stepped through the door, wrapping a knitted shawl around her shoulders. “The boys were unusually cooperative tonight—no tussling, joking, requests for water, or last-minute need to use the privy.”

“Mighty smart, those boys of yours.”

“They are, aren’t they?”

Tired of talking about children when they could be pursuing more adult activities, Wyatt extended his arm. “Let’s walk to the river.”

“That would be nice.”

Her voice remained calm, but her hand trembled on his arm. He wondered if she was cold or reacting to his presence.

They trod the path in silence, only the sound of the rushing river and an occasional cricket to keep them company. The
nearer they came to the bridge, the more the damp scent of water increased.

They stepped onto the wood planking; it creaked under their feet. Wyatt turned her so, hip to hip, they could lean their backs against the railing.

Samantha caught sight of the glowing crescent, higher up now from when Wyatt had seen it earlier. “Such a beautiful moon.” She lifted her face to the sky, absorbing the heavens through her eyes, the listening stance of her body. The faint moonlight glistened on the pale skin of her throat, long and delicate like a swan, its texture as soft as down feathers.

He wished he could reach up and twist the moon and stars from their fixed patterns, intertwining them into a necklace. The stars would be diamonds glittering around her throat, the crescent falling between the cleft in her breasts.

Wyatt reached out and cupped her neck, sliding his hand up and down the smoothness of her skin. Her pulse skittered under his touch, and her eyes widened. His thumb traced the line of her jaw.

Her lips parted. He ran the pad of his thumb lightly over them. When he reached the corner of her smile, he followed with the lightest of kisses. Her lips trembled under his. He brushed his palm down her throat, stopping when he felt the ridge of her collarbone through her high-necked gown. He didn’t dare move farther.

His kiss deepened, and he slipped his tongue into her mouth. She tasted like chocolate. He ached with need.

Her fingers curled on his arm, tightening as she became more aroused.

To avoid the temptation of dropping his hand to cup her breast, he shifted his arm around her waist, pressing her toward him. The corset she wore under her dress walled him away from
her softness. Damn restrictive garment. But it served a purpose, forcing him to keep a harness on his ardor. Maybe that’s what corsets were made for after all.

Her head stilled to his chest. With a sigh she snuggled closer, slipping her hands inside his coat and around his waist. Body to body, man to woman. He smothered a groan, forcing himself to think of the fence that needed mending, the nails and lumber he needed to pick up to rebuild the school’s outhouse—anything to calm his racing blood. Minutes passed in the struggle. Finally he was able to wrap both arms around her and rest his cheek against the top of her head.

They lingered that way for a long time. Content, peaceful, right. At one with the night, the river, the land, and each other.

With her cheek against Wyatt’s chest, Samantha could feel the strong thump of his heartbeat and smell the warm masculine scent of him. Enveloped by his strong arms, she felt her cares drift away like bubbles floating on the current of the river. A dreamy lassitude weighed her limbs, but at the same time filled her with a kind of strength, a renewal. Spring with its hope and promise after a bleak winter.

She moved her hands, running them up and down his sides, feeling his muscles. On his right side, her hand smoothed across ridged scar tissue.

Wyatt stiffened.

She lifted her head to look up at him. “What happened?”

He hesitated for a long moment. “I was apprenticed to a blacksmith when I was fourteen—a drunken brute of a man. One day he picked up a poker and burned me with it.”

“Oh, dear Lord.” Samantha lightly touched the scars, wishing she could go back in time and protect him.

“Luckily someone wandered in and saw what was happening. Stopped him, got me to the doctor.”

“What happened then?”

“Ran away.”

“What about your family?”

Another long pause. “My ma was dead. Never knew my pa.”

“Did he die before you were born?”

“No. My ma worked in a saloon. Never even knew who my pa was. Once I was past being a little tyke, she became more interested in drinkin’ than in me. I just ran wild. Got in a heap of trouble.” He tapped her on the tip of her nose. “Didn’t have a Samantha to rescue me.”

She hugged him fiercely. “I would have wanted to.”

“I know.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, obviously thinking, then draped his arm back around her. “You might not feel that way when you hear the rest.”

She leaned her head back on his shoulder and squeezed him tight. “Tell me.”

“It’s not a pretty story.”

Inwardly Samantha braced for what she might hear. “I don’t expect it is.”

“There was a gang of boys mostly older than me. Lived in a run-down shack in a canyon outside the town of Maxwell. I ran away to join them. Some of them were just misfits, lookin’ for a home. But two of them were bad to the bone. And they ended up bein’ the leaders.”

He paused. A cricket chirped. The water gurgled.

Samantha ran her hand over his scars.

“Things weren’t bad at first. We did some petty thieving. But then they started setting fires.”

Startled, Samantha looked at him. “Fires?”

“First, insignificant ones like what’s happenin’ here. Then they got worse. At that point, I refused to join in. But they still made me act as lookout.” He ran his hand across his face.

She reached up to cover his hand with hers, holding it against his cheek. “What else happened?”

“I’ll live with the guilt of this until the day I die, Samantha.” He took a deep breath. “They got mad at one of the men in town—fellow owned the livery stable. Vowed to burn his house down. I refused to help. They beat me up pretty badly. Left me lyin’ there. I was in a lot of pain, but I should have gone and warned the man. But I didn’t.”

“Wyatt, you mustn’t blame yourself.”

“Their daughter died, Samantha. And I could have prevented it.”

The anguish in his voice twisted in her heart. “Oh, Wyatt. You were just a boy.”

“I was old enough to know better.”

“You didn’t have a lot of choices in your life.”

His tone turned bitter. “The ironic thing is that the worst time in my life led me to a better life. We were all caught. They hung the leaders. The rest went to jail. Because I was younger and hadn’t participated, they sent me to a childless couple in Nebraska to work on their farm. Good people, prosperous, and related to the minister. Eventually they adopted me. Left me their farm and their business when they died. I sold up and came here to start over.”

“Did they love you?”

“In their own way. They were older. Stiff and proper.” He tapped her nose again. “Not like you with your boys. But they saw to it that I had a good education. I’m mighty grateful for all they gave me.”

“I’m glad you had them.”

“Me too.” He looked up at the moon, and Samantha followed his gaze.

The moon had arched higher in the sky, riding a path of stars. A breeze sprang up, ruffling Wyatt’s hair. Samantha shivered.

“It’s gettin’ late.” Wyatt trailed his finger down her cheek, tracing the line of her jaw. “Guess my story destroyed the mood.”

She turned her head and kissed his fingertip. “I’m glad you confided in me. I feel I understand you better. It explains why you objected so strongly to the twins and Little Feather.”

“They stirred up memories I wanted to keep banked. And I was afraid for Christine.” He grimaced. “Guess I’m a mite overprotective of her.”

Samantha laughed. “Just a mite.” She half turned, slipping her hand through his arm. “Come on, let’s go back.”

As they walked, the silence between them thickened. Glancing at Wyatt’s face, she could see he’d withdrawn. She wanted to tug on his arm, pull him back to her. But she knew men had a way of going off inside themselves to think. And a woman had to let them be, no matter how much she wanted to talk.

Wyatt saw her to the door. She pushed it open and stopped. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Good night, Samantha.”

“Good night, Wyatt.” She wanted to say more, but didn’t know what. So she settled on a smile that wasn’t quite real. “Thank you for the cake. And for the talk…”

“I’ll tell Mrs. Toffels you liked it.”

He turned and walked toward the buggy.

Samantha stepped inside and shut the door. Lingering, she listened for the faint sounds of his departure. She dropped her forehead against the solid wood, feeling uneasy.

What was going on inside of Wyatt? Did it have to do with her? Was he regretting confiding in her? Regretting courting her?

Wyatt drove away from Samantha’s house, every muscle of his body tense with the effort of holding onto his feelings. He looked up to his right at the crescent moon and remembered how excited he’d been, driving over. Things sure had changed.

He should have known Samantha would accept the story of his past. Hell, with her generous heart, how could she do anything but? However, what if she changed her mind about him when she got to pondering over his words? He didn’t think he could handle opening his heart to another woman, only to have it broken by losing her.