Patricia Hagan (8 page)

At least, she recalled proudly, she’d kept her aplomb that evening. Scott had bowed to her and kissed her hand, and she managed to compose a stiff courteous manner in time to acknowledge his compliments. Anyone watching would have thought she was merely a resentful Southerner forced to endure a Yankee. She could barely remember the pleasantries exchanged among Scott, her mother, Jarvis, and Neil.

Somehow, she had gotten through the agony and stayed at the party a respectable length of time before telling Neil she had a headache and wanted to leave, and, with a vague promise that he might visit her soon, she bade him good night.

After a sleepless night, she wrote a note to her mother, telling her she was going home. Then she had gone to the bank, where a friend of her father’s arranged a small loan. She bought a horse, a buckboard wagon, a few supplies, and went back to the shack in the swamps.

Here, protected by the tranquil waterways and woodlands, she vowed to make her future. She wouldn’t look back. She had made a mistake, but there was no need to be ashamed. She would go on, stronger now, never allowing herself to be weak again.

She sat on the porch, working as fast as she could in the sweltering summer heat, repairing Grandpa’s old nets. Last night’s crayfish catch had been good. She had taken it to old Mr. Lucas Purdy, whom she’d known all her life, and he’d taken her catch, with his, to sell in Vicksburg. She would have to save every cent because, to make a profit, she needed a boat. Grandpa’s boat had been lost to scavenging Yankees.

Her fingers were cut and bleeding from the net, but she couldn’t stop. It had to be ready by sundown. A dozen crayfish had been lost through one small hole, and their escape represented money she desperately needed.

She sighed wearily, wiping the sweat from her eyes with the back of her hand. Yesterday she had chopped up the parched, red earth of Grandpa’s garden plot. Thunderclouds in the east had promised rain late in the day, and she hurried to get the turnips and collards in. Mr. Purdy had said he’d use a little of her money to buy a rooster and a few hens for her, so she could have eggs.

Oh, there was so much to be done! She was so weary, and the day not half over. At night, she could fall across the bed, grateful as exhaustion dimmed the pain of her shame over that horrible night.

The sound of hoofbeats on the dry earth brought her to her feet instantly. It wouldn’t be Mr. Purdy, not at this time of day and not on horseback. Dropping the net, she ran into the cabin and scrambled up on a stool to take Grandpa’s gun down from its resting place above the mantel. Hurrying to the rear window, she peered out. Her blood ran hot with fury.

Pointing the weapon, she cried, “You stop right there or I’ll blow you back up North, you no-good Yankee!”

Scott Colter reined his horse in. His voice was soft as he called, “Holly, we need to talk. Put the gun down.”

Her gaze took in the despised uniform. “You just get out of here,
Colonel
,” she spat the word. “You’ve nothing to say that would interest me. Why’d you come here? To taunt me because you made a fool of me? Made me think you were a Southerner? I
was
a fool, wasn’t I?”

He dismounted.

She pulled the hammer back, the ominous click sounding in the stillness. “I’m not going to warn you again, Colter.”

“It seems you’re always threatening me with firearms,” he said, moving toward the cabin. “Now, if you want to hang for murdering me, go ahead, but make sure you don’t miss.”

Undaunted, she called, “I never shoot unless I plan to hit what I’m aiming at.”

If he felt any fear, it wasn’t evident. He continued to walk confidently toward her. He took another step, and another, and she fired, the bullet hitting squarely between his boots, kicking up a cloud of red dust.

“Goddamnit, Holly, you’re going to kill somebody,” he yelled, but he stopped walking. “Hate me if you must. I can’t do anything about that now. I came to warn you that you may be in danger. You’ll have to hear me out.”

“I’m listening,” she said.

“I’ve got informants in town. There’s a rumor going around that there are people who want to run you off this land.”

He had her attention. She moved the gun ever so slightly so it was not aimed directly at him. “Who would want to run me off? I haven’t done anything, and it’s my land.”

“I haven’t been able to find out who they are, only that they resent a woman turning up her nose at the Union the way you’re doing. Did you tell Lucas Purdy to let your fish catches rot before selling to Yankees?” he asked accusingly.

Holly nodded. “I meant it, too. I won’t do business with you bastards and nobody can make me.”

“For your information, Mr. Locklear almost lost his job at the bank for giving you that loan.”

She laid the gun aside and scrambled up to sit in the window. “It was a legitimate loan. He knows I’ll pay it back. Why should anyone care about that?”

“The bank’s board of directors felt he gave you charity. After all, you didn’t have any collateral, and you
won’t
be able to pay it back.”

“But he didn’t lose his job?”

“No, Jarvis Bonham signed for your loan.”

Holly gasped. “Damn him! I don’t need him interfering in my business. I can make it on my own, and you and everyone else in Vicksburg will find that out if you’ll just
leave me alone.
Now will you get out of here, please?”

He snapped, “You should thank Jarvis for saving Locklear’s job, you inconsiderate little brat.” His nostrils flared. “Damn it, woman, who in hell do you think you are, always with a chip on your shoulder? The goddamn war is over. Now listen to me.”

He moved closer. “It isn’t safe for you to be out here alone. A lot of people resent your attitude. Like it or not, there are those who just want peace. They don’t take kindly to the way you’re acting.”

She pushed a strand of burnished copper hair back from her face. “Look, I mind my own business, and I’d appreciate everybody giving me the same courtesy. That includes you.”

She twisted about in the window to reach for the gun, but Scott knew what she was up to and he was faster. Grasping her, pinning her arms at her side, he used his other hand to cup her face tightly. “You listen to me, you little spitfire. This is no place for a woman, especially a woman who’s raised the dander of redneck radicals who believe every Rebel sympathizer should be tarred and feathered. I want you to come back to town with me and move in with your mother. Stop courting danger, Holly.”

She twisted futilely in his grasp, raging, “You lying Yankee bastard, I’ll blow your head off! You can’t come here and tell me what to do. If my daddy and granddaddy were alive, they’d kill you for what you did to me.”

“Did to you?” He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, Holly, don’t play the scorned woman. You wanted it every bit as much as I did—and you probably enjoyed it
more
,” he added, goading.

How she ached to slap the arrogant smile from his face. “You took advantage of me, and you know it! I’d never been with a man before.”

He shook his head, laughing softly. “You were ready to find out what it would be like. I just happened to come along. It could have been anybody, maybe Neil Davis. He’s sweet on you, you know. He wanted to come out here with me today, but I wouldn’t let him.”

Holly continued to struggle. “Will you just get the hell out of here?”

“Not until I make you realize you have no right to blame me entirely for what happened between us. Listen to me, damn it,” he shook her roughly. “I wanted to tell you who I was, but I knew once you found out, you’d react just as you are now.”

Between clenched teeth, she said, “You got what you were after. And you knew I’d never let you put your filthy hands on me if I’d known you were a goddamn Yankee.” His fingertips began to move gently across her face. “Get your hands off me, Scott Colter, or I’ll kill you, I swear I will.”

“So much fire,” he murmured, lips brushing her cheek, then moving to her neck. “Wasted in anger. This much fire should burn only in bed…”

Holly fought him with all the strength she could muster. “You goddamn Yankee son of a bitch, I’d rather couple with a billy goat than have you touch me!”

He jerked his head back, and she saw raw, naked fury. “That does it. I warned you about that filthy mouth. If you were a man, I’d beat the hell out of you.” As easily as though she were a sack of potatoes, he tucked her under his arm.

Oblivious to her struggles, he carried her around to the front of the cabin, then paused to look around. “Ah, there’s what I’m looking for—good, strong lye soap.” He found a pail of water, then dropped her roughly to the ground. Lowering himself to straddle her, he twisted her long, thick mane of hair around his fingers to hold her in place, then proceeded to wash out her mouth with the soap and water.

When he was satisfied that she’d had enough, he got to his feet. “Next time, a good, sound spanking will go along with it.”

Holly gagged, spat, and scrambled to her feet. Hoarsely, eyes blazing, her whole body trembling with rage, she gasped, “You, you…”

Scott raised an eyebrow.

She bit back the words, and oh, they were some of the choicest. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she hated herself for the weakness. “Will you please just go? Get out of my life. Why do you go on tormenting me? Haven’t you done enough?” She turned away, not wanting him to see the tears spilling.

Scott was instantly contrite. Damn it, he hadn’t wanted to crush the girl’s spirit. “I’m sorry. Hell, I came out here to warn you there might be trouble, not to hurt you. But you had to let go with that temper of yours, and I just wanted to teach you a lesson.” He grabbed her and spun her around, and she wilted against his chest. He nuzzled her hair with his chin. “Holly, little sprite.” He gently wrapped his fingers in her long hair and tilted her head back. Crushing her against him, his lips found hers, warm, seeking. He tasted the soap and laughed. “Your kisses should never taste like soap, Holly, only like warm, sweet wine.”

Suddenly, Holly found herself laughing despite herself. “I have no wine, sir, only a mouthful of lye soap.”

Their eyes met, and for the flash of a single moment, the curtain of animosity was drawn aside. They were a man and a woman, aware of the intimacy they had shared. The teasing flames of passion ignited once more.

Their smiles faded simultaneously. Holly stiffened in his arms, but he did not release her. “How I wish we’d met another time, another place,” he said.

The curtain closed.

Holly shook her head. “I want to forget it. Go, please, and don’t come back.”

With a deep sigh, he moved away. “All right. If that’s the way you want it. If you need me, let me know.”

He walked away. Holly watched, a maelstrom of emotions spinning as she struggled to keep from calling out to him. There could not, she told herself, be anything between them except bitterness.

He mounted his horse, then looked at her. “Your mother knew I was coming out here and sends her love. Says she’ll get Jarvis to bring her out for a visit soon. Neil will be by to check on you. I won’t be back unless you send for me, Holly. I’ll leave you alone because you asked me to.”

With one last, searching gaze, he reined his horse about and rode away.

She watched him go, then returned to her net, working furiously. Danger? She could handle that. She had a gun and knew how to use it. She would not be frightened away from her home. To hell with Scott Colter. To hell with anyone and anything that stood in her way.

She lifted her face to the warm, gentle wind blowing in from the Mississippi River. She’d made Grandpa a promise, and she would keep it. She would live here in peace.

Besides, she reminded herself, there was nowhere else for her to go.

Scott rode on to Vicksburg, lost in thought. Would the devils ever leave him? Even before the war, before the treacherous Marlena, he’d harbored a deep, gut-wrenching suspicion of all women. Thanks to his mother.

Kate Colter had been beautiful, with coal-black hair and sultry brown eyes. Even as a boy, Scott had been all too aware of the way men in their small village on the Texas Gulf coast looked at her. His father had worshiped her. She could do no wrong. Ben Colter put Kate on a pedestal and knelt at her feet.

A bitter smile twisted Scott’s lips as he thought about the expression “crazy about” someone. His father had been crazy about his mother, all right—to the point where he really went crazy, when he caught her in bed with Wendell Polter. He had blown both of them to hell, then killed himself.

Scott had walked in on the carnage.

For a time, he’d been in a stupor, lost to the world around him. When his sister died suddenly from a fever, the local do-gooders wanted to send him to an orphanage and close the book on what they, by then, considered the trashy Colter family. Scott had run away.

The next fifteen years had been spent drifting, working at any job he could find to keep from starving, stealing when he had to. If the war hadn’t come along, he’d probably have wound up in jail. But being a soldier had given him purpose, for the first time. Climbing up the ranks to officer had been his salvation. For the first time in so long he couldn’t remember, Scott was at peace with himself.

Then Marlena Renfroe had burst into his life with the force of an exploding Parrott gun. Damn, she was beautiful. Tight, firm buttocks aching to be squeezed. Big, firm breasts yearning to be sucked and fondled. Hair the color of corn silk and eyes like fiery diamonds. She’d taught him ways to enjoy their bodies he’d never dreamed of and drove him crazy while she was doing it.