Forbidden Fires (16 page)

“Nothing, I…”

“Come on, Caty, spit it out.”

“Do you remember when we went to town last Saturday?”

“Yeah.”

“I saw Abner Wylie.”

Rafe’s dark eyes narrowed slightly. “Where?”

“Outside the Mercantile store.”

“What did he want?”

“He said that I should have married him, that I
would
have married him if you hadn’t come along.”

“What else?”

She hesitated. “Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me, Caty.”

“He tried to kiss me, and I kicked him…there. You know. I told him you’d kill him if he ever touched me again, and he said he hoped you’d try.”

“Dammit, I will kill him!”

“No, Rafe! Promise me you won’t do anything. Please. It will only cause trouble.”

“Caty…”

“Please, Rafe, promise me.”

“All right,” he agreed reluctantly. “I promise. But if he ever lays a hand on you again, I’ll skin him alive.” Rafe’s eyes glittered savagely. “And I know how it’s done.”

* * * * *

Their days fell into a pleasant routine in the next few months. They rose early, had breakfast together, then Rafe went out on the range with the hands while Caitlyn took care of the household chores. Sometimes he came home for lunch, sometimes Caitlyn rode out with a picnic basket and they shared a quiet hour under a shady tree.

Dinner was Rafe’s favorite time of the day. Caitlyn proved to be an excellent cook and he complained that he was gaining weight. But it wasn’t the food itself he enjoyed the most, it was Caitlyn. She was a constant joy. He delighted in her smile, her laughter, the way she spoiled him. After dinner, they would sit in the parlor. Sometimes they didn’t say much; Caitlyn would be busy with the mending or a piece of embroidery while Rafe went over the ranch accounts.

But bedtime was the best time, and it came earlier and earlier each night as their passion for one another grew stronger. Rafe’s need for Caitlyn continued to amaze him. She was his now, in every way, and still his desire for her raged like a fire out of control. Holding her only made him want her more, possessing her offered only a brief respite.

And Caitlyn felt the same. She could not seem to get enough of Rafe. She needed his touch as she needed air to breathe and water to drink. His smile charmed her, his touch left her breathless.

And so the days passed swiftly. Summer gave way to fall as the leaves turned, clothing the trees in magnificent gowns of burnt orange, gold, and crimson. The horses grew shaggy, the cows grew fat with calves that would be born in the spring, and Black Wind’s belly began to swell. The barn had been rebuilt, bigger than before.

Hal and Wishful had decided to stay on through the winter and Caitlyn knew it was because of Rafe. They no longer considered him an outsider. He was good with the men, fair and honest as her father had been, willing to listen to their complaints and suggestions.

They harvested the last of the crops, filled the barn loft with winter hay. Caitlyn put up the last jars of fruits and vegetables and felt a surge of pride in a job well done when she looked at her cupboards, each shelf filled with neatly labeled bottles.

Winter came in a rush of wind and rain that shook the last of the autumn leaves from the trees and flooded the rivers. Rafe spent long hours outdoors when the weather permitted, checking on the livestock, making certain the fences were still standing, that the river was clear of debris.

The first snow covered the land in a mantle of pristine white. The river froze, and the cowhands began hauling hay to the cattle. It was hard work. Caitlyn hated to see Rafe go out in the bitter cold, but he wasn’t the sort of man to send his help out to do a job he wasn’t willing to do himself.

It was the best thing he could have done, Paulie told Caitlyn one evening at dinner. Rafe worked as hard as anyone else, and the men respected him for it.

A few days before Christmas Caitlyn said she wanted a tree. Rafe looked at her kind of funny for a minute, and then he grinned.

“A Christmas tree,” he drawled. “That
would
be nice.”

“You act like you’ve never heard of one before,” Caitlyn remarked, frowning at him.

Rafe chuckled. “Well, the Lakota weren’t much for celebrating Christmas,” he reminded her. “The last Christmas tree I saw was in a New Orleans brothel.”

“Rafe!”

“It’s true. The girls took Christmas Eve off and decorated the tree and then they sat around reminiscing about their favorite clients.”

“Did they mention
your
name?” Caitlyn asked, her voice faintly sarcastic.

“You bet,” Rafe said, winking at her.

“You’re not serious!”

Rafe stared at Caitlyn, uncertain how best to answer. If he told her the truth, he knew she’d be angry. A lie would be better, he thought ruefully, but he wanted no lies between them.

“It was a long time ago, Caty,” he assured her, the laughter gone from his eyes.

She had known the kind of life he had led in New Orleans, he had mentioned it before. But they were married now and knowing that he had made love to other women hurt dreadfully.

“Caitlyn, I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” she said, not meeting his gaze. “I knew you weren’t a saint.”

“Caty, don’t be angry.” His fingertips caressed her arm, making shivers of delight skitter down her arm.

“I’m not.”

“You are. You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

“Of course not.”

“Admit it, Caty mine. You’re jealous because I made love to other women. But it wasn’t like what we have, Caitlyn. It was never like this.”

“Truly, Rafe?”

“Truly.”

She snuggled into his arms, her head on his shoulder. Outside, the snow fell in large lacy flakes, but inside it was warm, so warm. He had not said the words she longed to hear, but he would. She knew he would.

The lamp burned low, and Rafe began to caress her, his eyes holding more heat than the hearth, his lips telling her better than words that he wanted her, needed her.

She surrendered her lips to his, vowing she would never be jealous again, never doubt his love. She would be the only woman in his future, the only woman he would ever want or need.

Chapter Thirteen

It was spring, and the trees stretched their arms toward heaven, their branches sprouting new growth. The grass poked its head through the last patches of snow, and the birds seemed to sing a little more brightly as they raised their morning hymns to the sky. Black Wind’s belly was swollen with the life she carried, and Caitlyn began counting the days until the foal would be born.

Scott and Paulie and the others began to ride into the hills and canyons to round up the cattle, driving the animals to the ranch where the calves would be branded and castrated before driving them to market. Her father had made a deal to sell eight hundred head to Fort Laramie, and Rafe was making plans for the drive. Those plans did not include taking Caitlyn along, but she had other ideas, ideas she wisely kept to herself for the time being.

Rafe spent long hours out on the range and she threw herself into a fit of spring cleaning, scrubbing the floors, washing the windows, shaking out the rugs, and airing the bedding.

There had been some losses during the winter, Rafe told her one night at dinner. So far, they had found fourteen dead cows and a couple of dead calves. Most of the animals had been caught in a blizzard up country and froze to death.

But such losses were normal and Caitlyn did not dwell on them. She spent a part of every day at the holding pens, watching the cowhands brand the calves. It was hot, dirty, noisy work. Dust filled the air, clinging to the cowboys’ sweaty arms and faces. The calves bawled for their mothers, the mothers bawled for their young, and the cowhands cursed long and loud as they wrestled frightened calves to the ground, burned the Circle C brand in their flesh, and castrated the males.

Usually, Caitlyn avoided the branding, but Rafe’s presence in the pen drew her like a magnet. He had quickly learned the ins and outs of handling a branding iron and she watched with pride as he worked alongside Scott, Nate, and Wishful. Unlike the other cowhands, Rafe worked without a shirt, his muscles rippling beneath his sun-bronzed flesh, igniting little fires of desire within Caitlyn’s breast. He was such a handsome man, such a joy to watch, tall and lean and rugged.

She made sure she had plenty of food waiting for him at the end of the day. He didn’t seem to care what she served him for dinner so long as there was plenty of it and lots of hot coffee to go with it.

After dinner, she heated water for his bath while she washed the dishes. More often than not, she washed his back, and that always led to his front, and the next thing she knew, she was in the tub with him, or lying on the parlor floor on the rug in front of the hearth. No matter how many hours he worked, he was never too tired for her.

He told her with words and kisses and long slow caresses that she was beautiful, desirable. She gloried in his touch, in the power of his body, in the sweet romantic words he whispered in her ear, in the way he cried her name as their bodies came together in the final throes of passion.

Oh, yes, she thought, marriage was a wonderful thing, and Rafe Gallegher was everything she had ever dreamed of even though he never said the three words she longed to hear.

It was on a cool spring night that Black Wind went into labor. Paulie summoned Rafe and Caitlyn and the three of them took a place inside the barn near the mare’s stall where they could watch her without being in the way.

The mare paced for about an hour, occasionally laying down, her legs thrust straight out, then rising to pace again.

Just when Caitlyn thought Paulie had made a mistake, Black Wind stretched out on the ground, straining mightily. There was a gush of water and then two tiny hooves slid into view, followed a moment later by a dark muzzle, and then the head and shoulders. Black Wind took a breather once the foal’s head had emerged, and then, exerting herself one last time, she expelled the rest of the foal from the birth canal.

Caitlyn felt tears well in her eyes as she beheld the miracle of birth.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Rafe murmured. He took her hand and squeezed it as the mare whickered softly to her foal. Scrambling to her feet, Black Wind sniffed the foal, then began to lick the filly’s neck.

“She’s as black as the ace of spades,” Rafe remarked.

Caitlyn grinned. “And those legs must be three feet long.”

“She’s a beaut!” Paulie declared.

Caitlyn and Rafe stayed until the filly had gained her feet and began nursing, then they bid Paulie good night. He would stay until Black Wind passed the afterbirth. While he waited, he daubed some iodine on the filly’s navel to guard against infection, and then he made a hot bran mash for Black Wind.

Caitlyn was subdued as they made their way back to the house.

“What is it?” Rafe asked.

“The filly’s beautiful,” Caitlyn said, choking back a sob. “Pa would have been so pleased.”

“Caty.” He took her in his arms as she began to weep.

“Oh, Rafe, I miss him so!”

“I know, Caty, I know.”

She pressed her face against his chest as her tears came faster, releasing some of the hurt in her heart. She had been close to her father. After her mother died and her brothers were killed, she and her father had turned to each other like two lost souls. They had grieved together and comforted one another, and in so doing they had forged a deep bond.

Gradually, Caitlyn’s sobs decreased and she became aware of Rafe’s hands stroking her hair, his strong, capable hands gentle as they soothed her.

“Pa had such big dreams when we started out,” Caitlyn said, sniffing. “He wanted to raise the best horses in the territory, to make a new home for my brothers and me after my mother died. He wanted to make the name Carmichael stand for something, build something he could be proud of. But he never got to see his dreams come true, Rafe. He died a little when the Indians killed my brothers, but he still had his dream. With Red and Black Wind, he found a new hope for the future and he began to think it wasn’t too late, that his dream of raising the best horses in the territory might still come true. And then those filthy savages killed him in cold blood.” Hatred filled her voice and dried the last of her tears. “I wish they were all dead, Rafe. Every last one of them.” Her anger vanished as quickly as it had been born. “I wish he could have seen the filly…”

She was suddenly aware of Rafe’s arms around her, of the fact that his muscles were taut, his jaw tight. For a moment she wondered what was wrong, and then she knew. The words “filthy savages” screamed inside her head.

She glanced up, her eyes begging for his understanding. She no longer thought of him as an Indian, but as her husband, the man she loved. But she could find no forgiveness in her heart for the savages who had killed her brothers and murdered her father and Luther. The West would be a better place if every Indian on the face of the earth was wiped out once and for all.

“Rafe…”

“It’s all right, Caitlyn.”

His words offered little comfort, not when she saw the anger in his eyes. He was half Indian and she knew intuitively that he could not separate himself from her words.

“I didn’t mean you were a savage,” Caitlyn said, wanting to erase the barely suppressed fury in his eyes. “I don’t think of you as an Indian anymore, I…” She bit off her words, knowing she was only making things worse. He was proud of his Indian heritage, proud of who and what he was.

Rafe released her and went to the hearth where he rolled and lit a cigarette. He could not blame Caitlyn for her hatred of Indians. She had ample reason to hate and fear them and yet, her words had filled him with anger and pain. People had scorned him and looked down on him his whole life because of the Indian blood in his veins. He had endured numerous insults, felt his anger rise when men called him a dirty half-breed. The women hadn’t been so bad. They had been fascinated by his Cherokee blood, titillated by the fact that he was a savage, forbidden, mysterious. He knew if he’d been short, fat, and ugly, they would have shunned him. But he had inherited his mother’s dusky skin, black hair, and ebony eyes, and Killian Gallegher’s charm and rugged good looks.

Rafe scowled as he gazed out the window. He was not unaware of his looks. Women had always fawned over him because they liked his long, lean frame and rugged countenance. He was not vain about his appearance; it was a fact of life, and if it had made him more desirable to the ladies, well, so be it.

He had thought himself past hurting, now that he had Caitlyn for his wife and a home to call his own. But her words had cut like a knife. Filthy savages. Was it possible that, deep down, that was how she thought of him, too?

He tossed his cigarette into the fire, watched it flame and die. He didn’t really have a home to call his own, he mused. The ranch belonged to Caitlyn; the deed was in her name. He was no more than a ramrod, making sure the men stayed in line, the work was done, things ran smoothly. Being married to the boss was just an extra bonus.

He was surprised at how bitter he was.

“Rafe.” He heard the uncertainty in her voice, the sadness, the regret.

“Go to bed, Caitlyn,” he said curtly.

She hesitated for a moment, wanting to go to him, to make things right between them again. But she could not bring herself to cross the short distance between them. He looked so angry. So unforgiving. So hurt.

She murmured a quick good night and left the room. She sat on the edge of the bed for a quarter of an hour, idly brushing her hair as she listened for the sound of his footsteps in the hall. But she heard only silence.

Slipping under the covers, she stared up at the ceiling, refusing to cry. Why was he being so sensitive and unreasonable? Surely he knew she didn’t think he was a savage! After the last few months, he must know that she loved him wholly and completely.

She heard the clock chime the hour and still he did not come to bed. Her eyelids grew heavy, heavier, until sleep claimed her.

When she woke the following morning, she was alone in bed. Glancing at the pillow beside hers, she was dismayed when she saw he had not come to bed at all.

Rising, she drew on her wrapper and hurried into the kitchen, hoping to find him. But the kitchen was empty. A lone coffee cup bore mute evidence that Rafe had been there earlier.

Discouraged, Caitlyn poured herself a cup of lukewarm coffee, then stood at the kitchen window, staring out. Darn her thoughtless tongue! He had every right to be offended.

Moments later she saw him ride out of the yard mounted on a big bay gelding.

A sense of depression settled over Caitlyn as she watched Rafe ride away. He’d be gone all day, riding the south range with Scott and Rusty Jordan. Why hadn’t he stayed for breakfast so they could settle the problem between them?

It was an effort to do the chores that day. Usually she made the bed and cooked and cleaned with a song on her lips, but today black depression followed her from task to task. She had no appetite so she skipped lunch, wondering if Rafe’s pride would fill his empty belly. He’d had no breakfast and would get no midday meal unless one of the hands had packed enough for two.

Late in the afternoon she went into the barn to see Black Wind and the filly. The filly was asleep on a pile of straw, but she woke up as Caitlyn leaned over the stall door. Caitlyn could not help smiling as the day-old foal scrambled to her feet and began to nurse.

“She’s a beautiful baby,” Caitlyn told the mare as she scratched her forehead. “Just beautiful.”

She spent another few minutes in the barn, then wandered outside. Red whickered as she passed his corral and she decided to take the stallion out for some light exercise. Perhaps an hour or two in the open would make her feel better.

Twenty minutes later she was riding away from the ranch.

It was a lovely day. The air was turning cool as the sun began to slide behind the mountains, but the heavens were a cloudless blue, the trees gorgeous in their new spring green. Scattered patches of wildflowers added spots of color to the greening hills, and the river was running high and wide.

She passed several head of cattle as she rode toward the pool and she made a mental note to tell Scott so he could round the animals up.

The pool was still, ringed with a carpet of new grass. She saw several squirrels scampering between the trees, heard the raucous cry of a jay.

Dismounting, she pulled off her boots and stockings and dangled her feet in the cold water. Red grazed beside her, enjoying the fresh grass. After a few minutes, Caitlyn took her feet out of the water. She had been contemplating a swim, but the pool was too cold.

She wondered if Rafe would be in a better mood when he came home that night. What could she say to appease him? She’d slept badly last night, missing his arms around her, missing his kiss that sent her off to sleep each night and woke her each morning.

She turned at the sound of hoofbeats and saw Scott, Rusty, and Rafe riding toward her, herding a dozen head of cattle. She felt her heart quicken as she saw her husband. Would he acknowledge her presence, or simply ride on?

She stood up so he would be sure to see her, saw him gesture for Scott and Rusty to go on ahead. Then he was riding toward her.

Caitlyn’s heart was beating rapidly by the time he reined his horse to a halt beside the pool, and she stared up at him, wishing she could think of something to say that would heal the rift between them.