Prairie Song (19 page)

An hour later, Grayson propped his own chair against the wall by the door and leaned back, trying to get his huge body in some position where he could sleep. He heard Margaret moving about the cell taking care of Westley, but she never acknowledged his presence. If she needed anything, she politely asked Mr. Tucker.

Grayson cursed under his breath. The damn woman didn’t know when a man was trying to save her hide. He was bone-weary and madder than hell at the way she treated him, but the need for her still kept him from ever finding a comfortable position.

About midnight, the sheriff got tired of hanging around waiting for something to happen and decided to go over and try his luck at poker. Being a sheriff was his part-time job, with gambling being his true occupation. But one career helped out the other, and in a town this wild there weren’t too many men standing in line to wear a badge. Being the sheriff usually kept the game he was in honest, and being a gambler taught him how to read a man.

“‘Night, Sheriff,” Wart said as the sheriff grunted and left. The moment the door closed, Wart lay down on a cot in the back and started snoring.

Grayson swore again. Why was it that people who snored always managed to fall asleep first? He raised the brim of his hat enough to watch Maggie. She covered Westley and moved to the corner of the cell where her belongings had been placed on a small table. Slowly, with weary hands, she pulled the pins from her hair and shook the curls free.

Grayson fought the urge to go to her. He didn’t want another scene. Even though she’d allowed him to hold her in the dark out back, he knew she was still angry with him.

With long, graceful strokes she began combing her hair. The black mass waved past her hips as she turned her back to him. As the brush moved through the silky strands, Grayson could almost feel his fingers touching it. He remembered the night they’d spent by the stream. He remembered how she’d come to him all fresh and washed with her hair tumbling free. He could almost taste her mouth and feel the fullness of her breasts pressing against him. He wanted her a hundred times more than he’d ever wanted a woman but there were more than bars that stood between them.

Margaret’s mind might lock him out, but he knew he’d already shattered the walls surrounding her heart. Grayson smiled to himself. She was a strong woman, but in the end she’d surrender. After all, that was the way it was meant to be, and one of these days—soon—he planned to convince Maggie of that fact.

Brant carried Cherish through the tunnel with great care. He couldn’t believe that he was taking her with him. Holliday had assured him that she had no broken bones and that in a few days her wounds would heal. But Brant had never been responsible for anyone in his life except himself and the responsibility frightened him more than a hanging.

He’d traveled the back streets of Fort Worth all his life and knew how to slip from shadow to shadow without anyone aware of his passing. He moved as swiftly as he could without endangering his precious cargo. She was so light in his arms, more pleasure than burden. Yet each time he looked down at her brought pain, for he knew that eventually he’d have to leave her forever. What kind of love, or even friendship, could exist between an outlaw and a lady?

Somehow fate had allowed them to be together once again and he planned to enjoy the only slice of heaven he’d probably ever know. For one week she was his. All he had to do was keep them alive.

As he reached the mission, he saw Father Daniel crossing the yard with another man. The two men were arguing in low, snapping whispers. Brant melted into the shadows before they saw him. The last thing he wanted was another run-in with Daniel.

The priest’s voice carried through the night. “But what about the housekeeper?”

The man with him threw his arms up in disgust. “I told you, we found her dead near the opium huts., All we did was wrap her body up and throw it on the porch while the drunks were storming the house. You didn’t think we’d resort to killing women, did you? All we’re after is the list. As soon as we find it, then all that Alexander woman will have to worry about is the drunks and her husband.”

“I’ve told you before, if there were a list, I’d have found it by now.” Father Daniel was getting madder by the minute and Brant knew it would be only a matter of time before he lost control. But there was nothing Brant could do about it with Cherish in his arms.

The other man tried reasoning with the priest. “We have to get rid of that Union officer for a few days. With every drunk in town thinking there’s a treasure hidden in that house, there will be hell to pay if anyone finds that list besides us.”

“Fat chance of that. My guess is the thing never existed. As for Captain Kirkland, talk to Wallman, not me. He’ll think of something. So far, the only one he hasn’t been able to twist to his plan is Margaret Alexander.”

The men moved out of Brant’s hearing and into the mission. As silently as a cloud crosses the moon, Brant crossed the open area of the mission and entered the barn. He laid Cherish gently on the hay and saddled his horse.

Cherish made a little sound like an injured child as he lifted her into the saddle and climbed up behind her. He hesitated, not knowing where he could touch her without hurting her.

Tenderly, Brant pulled her against his chest and wrapped the blanket tightly around her. “It’s all right, baby,” he whispered.

She cuddled against him as they rode down the back trail of the mission and out of town. The moon was a huge gold piece in the sky, guiding their path eastward. She fell into a deeper sleep and didn’t wake until it was almost dawn.

As she stirred against Brant’s warm chest, he whispered, “We’re here.” He could have covered the distance in a few hours, but he hadn’t wanted to jar her, so he’d walked his horse and held her until his arms ached from cramping.

Lifting her to the ground, he carried her into an old dugout almost buried in the side of a hill. “I found this place by accident a few months ago. It’s shielded from view on three sides by ridges, and the cottonwoods have grown up so high by the creek you can’t see it from the front unless you know what to look for.”

Laying Cherish on a straw bed, he turned and lit a candle. “I figure this must have been someone’s homestead ten or more years ago and the Indians ran them out. Or maybe they just got tired of living out here alone and moved to Dallas.”

Cherish looked around the tiny, one-room shelter as Brant moved about. Three of the walls were dug out from the earth with the top and front made of logs. Even though the sun was coming up, the little home was still dark and cool. Cherish lay back on the small bed and smiled. The room reminded her of the homestead where she’d been born: cool and earthy. A dugout always had a way of welcoming folks—warm in the winter, cool in the summer. When she’d been a child she’d often taken her naps in the cool darkness of the dugout behind her home. Now, she stretched beneath the blanket and closed her eyes.

Brant settled them into the place while she dozed. He stabled his horse in the trees by the stream and split enough wood to keep them warm should the night turn cold. Then he cooked the handful of beans from his saddlebag until they were a thick, brown soup.

“Cherish,” Brant whispered as he stood at the foot of the bed. “You want something to eat?”

She looked up at him and smiled with the trust of a child. He could tell she was feeling better. The bruises on her face were fading and for the first time since the beating she was hungry.

They ate in silence. He wasn’t sure what they should talk about. He’d seen people, men and women, sit down to a meal together and talk quietly, but he’d never given much thought to what they would actually say. Finally, when she’d finished her second bowl of soup, he lifted a medicine pouch from his saddlebag. “I think I’d better change the bandage on your knee.”

“It’s not that bad.” Cherish looked embarrassed. “I’m not used to anyone taking care of me except for Margaret. I can change it myself later.”

Brant knelt beside her bed. “No. Holliday would have my neck if she thought I wasn’t taking the best care of you possible. That old woman makes up her mind about a person the minute she sees them, and if she likes you she considers you blood kin from then on. You lie back. I’ve changed a few dressings before.”

Nervously, Cherish leaned back in the bed and remained still as he lifted back the covers on her legs. More to calm her nerves than out of interest, she asked, “You’ve known Holliday long?” A smile lifted the corner of Brant’s mouth. “I’ve known her most of my life. She’s not as old as most folks think, but she’s danced to a few too many fiddles.”

“You like her?”

“Sure. She’s helped me out of a few tight spots, but her heart and friendship aren’t for sale.” Brant laid all the bandages beside Cherish. “I think she’d like to find a man to take her out of the business, but so far the only one who’s offered is the half-witted deputy in town.” Cherish leaned back and closed her eyes as Brant rolled his sleeves to his elbows and began.

Slowly, as if he were afraid he might hurt her, he pushed her nightgown up over her bandaged knee. She smiled as he gently unwrapped the wound.

“It looks like it’s healing nicely.” Brant’s voice sounded tense as he worked. “I’ll put some more salve on your leg and wrap it with a fresh bandage.”

Cherish watched him closely. “You’re acting as though you’ve never doctored a wound. I’m not breakable.”

Brant didn’t smile, but concentrated on what he was doing. She thought about how he’d kissed her with such fire the first time they’d met, and how now he seemed afraid to touch her.

He finished wrapping her knee and carefully pulled her nightgown back over her legs. “You need to rest.”

Cherish allowed him to pamper her by tucking the covers around her. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You’ve a very gentle touch.”

Brant knelt on one knee beside her bed. “Cherish, I don’t. Most of the time I’m around you I feel like I’m going to hurt you. You’ve got to tell me if I should do something and don’t. I’ve never spent much time around a lady like you.”

She didn’t hear him, for as soon as her eyes closed she was asleep. He looked down at her, thinking she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She was so perfect; she had no place in his life. Maybe, if they’d met back before the war, but not now. He’d killed too many men for the law to listen to his reasons.

Grabbing his bedroll, Brant moved out of the dugout. He spread his blanket by the door and lay down, welcoming the hard earth beneath him. What kind of hell had he gotten himself into this time? The most perfect woman he’d ever known in his life was sleeping a few feet away from him and he couldn’t touch her. If he did, he’d be all the evil names folks had always called him. He was an outlaw who’d stolen pretty near everything, from food when he was hungry to gold when he was broke, but he couldn’t steal her heart and he had no chance of winning it. Something inside him wouldn’t allow him to touch her against her will. The stolen kiss on the train had cost him dearly in days of longing. He’d never be able to live with himself if he took from her what she did not offer.

Brant swore under his breath. For once he had to be the good guy. He had to take care of her and see to her needs, and keep his passion locked up tight. When he’d touched her on the train, he’d frightened her. When he’d opened her blouse behind the barn, she’d pulled away from him like he was something evil and dirty. Well, he wasn’t going to see that look in her eyes again. He was going to live this week out without jumping on her like some love-starved cowhand who’d been lost on the range for a year. She wasn’t like the women he’d met before. She was the kind of woman he’d seen walking her children to church on Sunday, the kind who’d never even speak to him.

Laughing to himself, he tried to relax. Folks back in town would never believe Brant Coulter could be a gentleman for a week. He’d prove them all wrong even if no one knew but himself. He’d lived through months in a prison camp once. Well, he could sure as hell live through a week of looking at a beautiful woman.

Morning came before he was sure he’d fallen sound asleep. His body felt as if a buffalo stampede had trampled over it during the night. He rose and checked to see that Cherish was still sound asleep, then walked the fifty yards to the cottonwoods where a creek rattled over rocks.

Recent rain had made the water deep enough to come to his shoulders and Brant enjoyed swimming in the icy stream. The water cooled his blood enough to allow him to think about Cherish without wanting her body pressed beneath his own.

In the days that followed, Brant began to think that he was about the cleanest human that ever lived. As she got better and began to move around, the tiny, one-room house seemed to shrink. Every time he turned around he was bumping into her, or feeling her hair touch his shoulder, or standing so close that he could smell the wonder of her. Sometimes, when he was out in the open, he could feel the warmth of her body standing behind him even before he turned to look.

Everything she did made her more desirable. Because he’d forgotten to bring her any clothes, she’d taken to wearing a pair of his slacks and his shirt. The rope belt he’d tied about her waist made the outline of her breasts and hips more pronounced. In the evenings she liked to sit outside and brush her hair dry in the last rays of the sun. Brant would always stand several feet away and wonder if he would eventually die from longing to run his fingers through the golden strands. For surely it was as necessary as breathing or eating.

But the worst thing she did was a small gesture that most folks wouldn’t even notice, yet it drove Brant wild. Each night, after he’d watched Cherish all day and thought he could stand no more of her without having her, she’d come close to him and kiss him softly on the cheek. He’d ram his hands in his pockets and refuse to even move, as he felt her silky lips against his face and her tiny hand on his chest when she stretched to kiss him. She’d whisper, “Good night,” and turn into the dugout. He’d head for the stream like a man full of demons to be cast out.

On the fifth day they spent together, the wind was hot from the south and the air was dry. He could hear the leaves rustling in the cottonwoods like whispers on a warm day. In those five days, Brant hadn’t seen another living soul except for Cherish, and that had been a hell of a heaven. Every time he turned around she was closer to him than he realized. With the whole state of Texas to walk around in, he swore to himself, you’d think that they could go an hour without bumping into one another, or reaching for the coffee pot at the same time, or starting through the door at the exact same moment. Even when they’d eaten supper at the tiny table in the dugout, her knee had accidentally touched his and remained against his leg. She probably thought his leg was the table leg but Brant was very much aware of her touch.

Finally, the sun set, and Brant excused himself for the night. Just as he reached the cabin door, Cherish stopped him. She leaned into him and kissed him as she had every night and, as he had every night, he tried to ignore her touch.

He hit the water a few minutes later like a man who had been in the desert for days. The icy bubbles rose over him as he crossed the stream again and again, trying to use up some of the energy inside him.
Hell
, he thought,
if I keep this up
—
not eating, not sleeping, and swimming
—
I’ll look like one of those dried apple dolls little girls make in the fall
.

Exhausted, Brant climbed to the bank and pulled his pants over his wet legs. With the languor of a resting mountain lion, he stretched in the grass and allowed the wind to dry his chest. It felt good to press into the earth and become a part of nature around him.

He was almost asleep when he heard something move in the brush beside him. Before he could react, a sudden weight hit his stomach and a knife pointed against his side.