Patricia Hagan (22 page)

In that instant, Holly knew what she wanted, and throwing everything else to the winds, she took the clover, pressed it to her lips, then tossed it into the night. “I don’t want champagne, Scott. I want you, your love. Now.”

Startled, Scott hesitated, but only for an instant. He gathered her close to him and she yielded, her soft breasts thrusting against his chest. His kisses came down, warm, devouring with passion.

He carried her to a small grouping of trees off to the right of the riverbank, a perfect shelter, a safe place for star-crossed lovers who had, at last, found each other’s arms. Gently, he placed her on the sweet-smelling grass and lay down beside her, kissing her neck, her shoulders. He moved the bodice of her gown down past her breasts, stopping to rain kisses on the firm, hungry flesh. “Be sure, sweetheart,” he whispered fiercely. “Be sure this is what you want, because this is all I can give you for now. I can give you no dreams, no illusions, just this moment.”

She understood. No marriage, no future, only there and then. She closed her eyes and pulled him down to her. His breath was hot, ragged, as he said, “I’m not letting you go tonight, Holly. I’m going to make love to you all night long, as long as you want me inside you…”

“All night, all day,” she whispered tremulously, wanting him more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. Boldly, she caressed his swollen member, cupping his firm, rounded buttocks with the other hand, pulling him closer. She opened her legs to receive him.

He entered her, a sword of victory, devouring her hunger with his own till they found, together, the ultimate glory…

Afterward, he held her tightly in his arms. She broke the silence by whispering, “I’m not sorry, Scott. Maybe I should be, but I’m not. Yet, you promise me nothing.”

Gently, he reminded, “You haven’t asked me for anything.”

They both knew they were skating around the subject. “I think we should just say what we mean, Scott. We should be talking of romance and love, yet we speak only of desire.”

He gave her a teasing smile. “Do you expect me to say I love you and I want to marry you?” He shook his head slowly. “Oh, no, Holly, not you. A husband is the last thing you want now—especially a Yankee soldier for a husband. As for love, I think we can both admit we feel something for each other.” When she didn’t answer, he said bravely, “I do. I feel a great deal.”

Holly nodded mutely. After all she’d been through with him, it was too hard to say “I love you.”

Finally, she drew in a deep breath and ventured, “I care for you. I admit I’ve fought against it, fought hard, too.” She turned to meet his warm gaze. “I’m still bitter about the war, yes. It does matter that you’re a Yankee. But…I’m not so stubborn as to say I hate all Yankees. I certainly don’t hate you.”

She pressed her fingertips against his lips, and he kissed her palm, then clutched her hand against his cheek. Oh, how he wanted to tell her how much he loved her, but the pain of betrayal was still too strong.

Wordlessly, they moved apart to dress, both surprising themselves with sudden shyness. Neither glanced at the other while dressing.

As Scott was buttoning his shirt, he looked up, froze. “Oh, no! Holly! It’s your cabin, I’m sure of it…”

She whipped around, half dressed, and saw brilliant orange flames against the black night sky. They seemed a couple of miles away—on her land. Grandpa’s land.

Scott quickly put his uniform in order, and she threw herself into her clothes. They reached the house. No one inside had seen the fire. As they rushed through the front doors and into the foyer, all eyes were upon them. The musicians stopped playing as Scott yelled, “Fire! I think it’s the Maxwell cabin! Any of my men here, come with me. Anyone else who wants to help, get moving.”

He turned to leave, but Holly clung to him. “You have to take me with you,” she cried. “It’s my home.”

Scott stared down into Holly’s anguished eyes. An ordinary woman had no business going along, but damn it… “Come on,” he snapped, pulling her along with him.

Jarvis got to the foyer too late to stop them. Claudia, sobbing, saw Roger coming in from the rear of the house and rushed to clutch the front of his ruffled shirt. “Go bring her back, Roger. She shouldn’t be there. Please, go get her.”

Very carefully, Roger removed Claudia’s clawing fingers from his shirt. He smoothed the front of his coat, lifted his chin ever so slightly and said, “Colonel Colter always thinks he can have his way, Claudia. It’s too late to stop him in this instance, but”—he gave her a tight, cold smile—“I assure you, this is the last time.”

Roger followed the other men outside, then. After all, it would look most peculiar if he didn’t go along to help put out the fire. Actually, he had seen the fire before Colter did, because he’d been standing a way down from where those two animals were thrashing around on the ground. He had a perfect vantage point from behind a tree, having followed them in the shadows from the time Colter had left the house. The fools. He’d seen Holly drunkenly, brazenly, flirting with Colter.

So be it, he decided with bitter resignation. At least now he’d learned there was another obstacle in his way. Scott Colter. And, like all the other obstacles, Scott Colter would be removed.

As for Holly, well, this changed the picture a little. He still wanted her, but now he wouldn’t have to be so gentle in his quest.

Roger Bonham was angry. Anyone who knew him understood that he was hell to be reckoned with when he was angry.

Scott and Holly would find out what hell was very soon.

Chapter Eighteen

Scott and the three other officers who had been at the party sped off on horseback toward the cabin. Scott led the way with Holly riding behind him, arms wrapped tightly around his waist, head pressed against his back, the picture of misery. Knowing what she would see, he warned, “There’s probably nothing left, sweetheart. All we can do is try to stop the fire from spreading to the woods.”

She made no sound at all, too miserable to speak. Norman had been right. He’d said there’d be trouble tonight, because they knew she’d be away.

Norman! Had he gone against her wishes and been on her land? And where was Sally? She hadn’t been seen all evening. “Oh, God!” she whispered hoarsely.

Quickly she told Scott her fears, and they rode even faster through the night, taking shortcuts through the woods while the men in wagons and carriages had to stay on the road.

Smoke stung and watered their eyes as they drew closer, and the sound of flames crackling screamed like an evil, devouring forest creature. They rounded the final bend and reached the cabin.

There was nothing left of it, only burning chunks of wood amidst rubble and glowing ashes. Holly slid from the horse, running toward the smoke and flames. He jumped off, grabbed her, held her back. “There’s nothing we can do for the cabin.” He shouted to the three officers just arriving, “Let’s get a bucket brigade going from the inlet there. The others will be here in a minute. We’ve got to stop the woods from catching fire.” He gave Holly a shake. “Get hold of yourself, damn it. There’s work to be done.”

“Buckets in the shed, there,” she called to the men.

Within moments the brigade was started, and soon the other men arrived, led by Jarvis, and joined in. Some trees had caught the flames, and had to be chopped down quickly before the flames spread to the tops of others. Several grass fires were burning, too, but these were brought under control quickly.

Holly carried a bucket, working as fast as the men, until Jarvis hollered to her, “You had no business coming out here, Holly. Colonel Colter will hear from me about going against my wishes, you may be sure of that.”

In shock, exhausted, his well-meant words of concern sounded like criticism, not like fear for her welfare. He saw the way his words had struck her and came over, awkwardly putting his arm around her. Gently, he said, “I think it’s obvious everything’s gone, Holly. I’m sorry. But there’s nothing more to be done here. I’m going to take you back so you can get some rest. You’re dead on your feet.”

She shook her head. “We still don’t know about Sally and Norman. They might be—”

At that moment, the officer Scott had sent back to Magnolia Hall to search for Norman and Sally rode up, calling, “Nobody’s seen ’em, sir.”

Holly began to tremble violently. Scott organized a search party of the men who could now be spared from fighting the few remaining flames. “Remember, they might be frightened and hiding,” he barked.

Tenderness and sympathy were gone. He was all military. Two people were missing and nothing else was important just then, not Holly’s home, not their lovemaking. He hurried away, snapping orders, and Holly stared after him for just a moment before she turned away to examine the smoldering ashes of her home.

It had never been much, just a rough-hewn cabin, but every one of those boards had been hand-cut and shaped by Grandpa. The furniture had also been lovingly carved by him. As she stood there thinking, she realized that the few clothes she owned, the little bit of money, all was gone. Everything hers was just…gone.

The tears began, and simultaneously she felt a hand on her shoulder and someone’s arms around her. She looked up at Neil, whose face was twisted in misery. “I just heard. I went to Magnolia Hall, looking for the colonel, and they told me. God, Holly…” He looked around, surveying the total destruction of her whole life. “I’m sorry. Oh,
damn.
” Embarrassed, knowing there wasn’t a thing he could say, he gave her another hug, then said, “I have to see the Colonel right now, Holly. I’ll check on you later and do whatever needs to be done.”

He hurried toward the woods, pushing his way into the weeds and brush, moving, he realized, parallel to the swamp inlet. Far ahead, he saw the torches of the search party. As he drew closer, he saw that they were standing in a semicircle at the water’s edge, torches held high. They were all staring down at the ground, unmoving.

He pushed his way through to stand next to Scott. On the ground were the bloodied remains of a Negro man and woman.

Scott spoke slowly, voice catching. “They shot them, or cut their throats. Impossible to tell now. Threw them in the swamp for the alligators. There’s not much of them left.” He drew in his breath, let it out slowly. “Get them out of here—and make sure Miss Maxwell doesn’t see them.” He moved away from the others, knowing that Neil had something important to tell him or he wouldn’t have come all the way out there. Out of hearing range of anyone, he snapped wearily, “Well?”

Neil was swallowing against the nausea that welled in his throat. He’d never seen bodies look like that, not even during the war. “Jim Pate’s in town. Says he’s got the information you wanted.”

Scott whipped his head up, excitement in his voice. “Did he tell you anything?”

“No. He said he was told to report directly to you.”

“Where’d you take him? Not to the barracks, I hope. I want him out of sight.”

“I know that. I told him to be at the Delta Hotel, room seven, at midnight. You’re going to have to move fast to get there by then,” he warned.

But there was Holly. “I’m leaving now,” he told Neil. “Go to Holly. It’s going to be hard on her, but I’d rather she heard about Norman and Sally from us. If she doesn’t want to go back to Jarvis’s, then bring her into town. Take her wherever she wants to go. Just stay with her as long as she needs you, understand?” Neil nodded briskly. “Let’s move.”

Scott gave his horse full rein. Pate’s assignment had been to track down a rumor that the father of one of the gold thieves was ready to talk. It seemed the old man had been “saved” at some fire-eating revival and wanted to confess all of his sins—one of them being that he’d sired a son who stole. One night, drunk in a riverfront tavern a few hundred miles north, he’d told his story to a bartender. He’d been overheard by a soldier who remarked to one of his commanding officers that it was strange to hear someone talking about a stolen Union gold shipment when there was no such thing, was there? The officer passed the unusual story along until, finally, it reached the ears of the right person. If the old man knew anything then, by God, things were looking brighter, as long as word of the theft didn’t get too far.

Vicksburg was asleep when Scott rode in. He tied his horse to the hitching post in front of the Delta, then went around to enter the building from the alley in back. It was almost midnight. The only signs of life came from the saloons.

He hurried up the creaking stairs, hoping Pate would be waiting. Slowly opening the door to room 7, he took one look, leaped inside and slammed the door behind him. “Lisa Lou! What the hell are you doing here?”

She was lying on the bed, a sheet pulled over her naked body, her clothes on the chair. Her long golden hair was fanned out on the pillow, an effect she had arranged carefully. Flashing him a practiced smile, she cooed, “Why Scott, you knew I’d be meeting you here, didn’t you? That’s why you left the door open.” She sat up, allowing the sheet to fall away from her thrusting breasts. “Maybe you were just
hoping
I’d come.”

“I want,” he said slowly, evenly, eyes narrowing, “for you to get dressed and get out of here. I wasn’t waiting for you, Lisa Lou.”

“No?” she raised an eyebrow. “Then who are you expecting, Scott? Surely not that ragamuffin Holly Maxwell. Why are you here? Who’s your whore?”

He wanted to say she was already one whore too many in his life. Gathering up her clothes, he tossed them at her, then stood back and waited, arms folded across his chest.