Tender Touch (13 page)

“Makes ’em feel bigger and more powerful, I reckon. Men like that are cowards underneath. They’re scum. Shoulda left him the first time he belted you.”

“I know.” She sighed. “But it isn’t as easy as it seems. The money I inherited from my father became Barret’s the moment we married. I had nothing of my own except my jewelry and clothing. How would I have lived? I knew I’d never find another man who would want to marry me and I didn’t want to be a burden to my sister.”

“You were running to your sister when I met you. What happened, that you changed your mind?”

She shrugged. Her hands shook as she plucked a handful of grass only to toss it back down again.

“All right,” he said, “if you don’t want to answer that, tell me what made you think no other man would want to marry you.”

She gave an indelicate snort and said, “I know what I am, Col. An ugly giant of a woman with nothing to offer but a head so stuffed full of knowledge no man can feel comfortable with m
e unless I keep my mouth shut.”

“Dammit, woman, if you ain’t the biggest fool 1 ever met, I don’t know who is!” He lifted her chin and forced her to look him in the eye. “What do I have to do to convince you all men ain’t the same?”

She gave him a sad smile. “You could marry me, if I wasn’t already married.”

Chills snaked down his spine as he realized that was exactly what he’d like to do. Marry her and love her and protect her from scum like Barret Wight. All he could do instead was show her how precious she was. That and teach her to stand up for herself.

“Ain’t nobody on this earth who isn’t special in one way or another, Brianna. Everybody has something to offer the world, same as buffalo and hawks and skeeters, though I ain’t figured out yet what skeeters is good for. It’s the way God planned things. Marc Beaudouin has a special way with horses. That’s why he’s going to Oregon so he can do what he’s best at instead of living off his family’s name. Lilith, well, she’s a bit buffler-witted at times, but dang if she don’t cheer a body up, just being around her. Tom Coover can charm the rattles off a rattlesnake. Lavinia Decker, loud and bossy as she is, is a deft hand at healing.” He chuckled. “Even ole Magrudge has his own way of bringing joy to folks.”

“Huh! I doubt that,” Brianna muttered.

“That’s ’cause you haven’t heard him sing. Magrudge has a voice that could lull the devil hisself into turning in his pitchfork for a prayer book.”

“And me? What is my special talent, Col?”

“You? Said yourself you got a head full of knowledge. How many folks on this wagon train you reckon can read? I bet when they get to Oregon, these farmers’ll be looking for someone to teach their young’uns the things they’ll need to know in order to better themselves, like reading and ciphering and such. As for being tall, maybe God made you that way ’cause he knew children learn best from people they can look up to.” He chuckled, then sobered. “Maybe he just figured you’d need to be big to deal with all life was going to put in your way.”

Mosquitoes hummed in the silence until she said, “Do you truly believe all that?”

“Yep. One more thing—” He stroked one finger down a cheek that felt like the inside of a rose petal. “—ain’t never known a more beautiful woman than you.”

Moisture gathered at the backs of her eyes. She swallowed hard and blinked to clear her vision. There was no doubt in her mind what Columbus Nigh’s special talent was. He had a tender sensitivity more rare than rubies or gold, and much more valuable. “I didn’t even know men like you existed.”

He chuckled but the sound held no humor. “You can find plenty of men like me in any back alley of any town big enough to have one.”

“That’s not true. Why do you say such things?”

“Because right now you’re looking at me like I was a saint. I’m not. I’m just a man who’s been around a bit and knows how to judge people.” He rose to his feet, pulling her up beside him.

“One more thing you’d best keep in mind,” he said. “I agreed to see you to Oregon and I will, but I won’t be staying there. Reckon I been a wanderer too long to settle down now.”

He glanced up at the sky where storm clouds had obliterated the moon, creating total darkness except for the vivid streaks of lightning jabbing at the earth in the distance. “More rain coming. Best we get back.”

Confused by the intense emotions battling inside her, Brianna followed him back to the wagon. The rain struck the moment they arrived. He helped her climb in, tied the cover tightly closed behind her and dove under the wagon, grateful for the India rubber sheet she had insisted on buying to protect his bed from the dampness.

Rain pelted the taut wagon cover like a thousand fingers on distant drums. For a long time he lay awake, listening to the storm and wondering if Brianna lay above him in the wagon as sleepless as he.

How long had it been since he’d lain with a woman? Long enough that it wasn’t any wonder Brianna Villard felt so good in his arms. There was more to his attraction to her than that, but at the moment, he needed to convince himself differently. He tried to switch his thoughts away from her and found himself remembering Little Beaver’s young and trusting eyes the first night she had come to him.

Most of the tribe including her family had gone buffalo hunting, leaving behind only women, children, a few old men, and Columbus Nigh. He lay abed in the family tipi, staring at the stars through the smoke hole and thinking he should be leaving soon. His wound was nearly healed.

The only light came from the small central fire and at first he thought her part of the flickering shadows as she rose, silkily naked, from her bed like a bronzed Phoenix, and moved slowly toward him. Halfway there she stopped, letting his gaze drink its fill of her firm body, licked by the dancing flames until she looked sleek and shiny wet, ethereally sensuous and physically undeniable.

When Little Beaver knelt beside him, Nigh found his heart knocking inside his chest as if he were fourteen again, when a young whore had taught his virgin body all it needed to know about pleasing females.

Little Beaver’s smooth youthful face had smiled down at him, firelight glinting from the moist fullness of her parted lips and he remembered wondering if she’d ever been kissed. Between her arms, braced on the floor beside him, her breasts dangled like apples sweetened by the first frost, close enough for him to pluck. The buffalo robe covering him had become suffocatingly hot. Every nerve tingled with lightning flashes of heated anticipation. She crawled under his robe and he felt her breasts like soft fire on his chest. When her uninhibited fingers encircled his throbbing core, he was more than ready to take her and less than able to resist.

Even now, as Nigh lay in his bed beneath Brianna Villard’s wagon on the wet open prairie, he found himself fully ready. Only this time it wasn’t Little Beaver he wanted.

To wake up later to the sound of Brianna crying out in another nightmare came as no surprise. When he climbed in the wagon and went to put his arms around her, she fought him.

“It’s all right, Bri, you’re just dreaming.” He gave her a gentle shake. “Come on, wake up now.”

Her eyes opened. With a small cry she crumpled against him.

“Same nightmare?” he asked.

She shuddered. “No. Spiders.”

“In the wagon, or in your dream?”

“In the old fruit cellar.”

He suspected she was still dreaming, until she went on. “It was dug into a knoll down by the barn. Dirt walls, floor, everything. When Barret’s father had the new house built, a cellar was dug underneath, so the old one wasn’t used anymore.” She shuddered again. “When Barret learned I couldn’t abide spiders, he started catching them in the garden and letting them go in the old fruit cellar. It was his favorite punishment. He’d throw me in there and lock the door.”

She was crying now, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. He drew her tighter within the circle of his arms and tried to shush her. Her voice, when she went on, held an edge of hysteria.

“I tried not to cry or scream, but when I didn’t, he’d start talking about the spiders through the door, describing how they’d . . . how they’d crawl under my clothes, into my most . . . private places and bite and bite—”

“Shh, it’s over. He won’t ever be putting you in there again.” He kissed her forehead and stroked her back in soft soothing circles with his kind hands. “Go back to sleep now. I’ll keep the spiders away.”

She snuggled against him as he caressed her back and arm, and wished he could be beside her every night to banish all her nightmares.

Nigh leaned his head against the wagon and closed his eyes, trying not to imagine what it would feel like to sleep with her body entwined with his, naked flesh to naked flesh. Then he felt her hair brush against him as she lifted her head to look up at him. Her eyes appeared pale in the dim light and he thought he detected a quiver in her lips.

“Thank you, Col. Will . . .will you stay till I go to sleep?”

He cradled her face in his palm. “I’ll stay.”

Then he kissed her. She didn’t pull away, merely gazed up at him with those big blue-green eyes. He longed to kiss her again but knew he might not be able to stop there. So he contented himself with running his finger over her moist lips. “Go to sleep now.”

When she was nestled against him, her breathing slow and even, he leaned his head back, licked his finger and pretended he could taste the sweetness of her lips on his skin.

Chapter Thirteen

1 May 1849, Big Blue River

Dear Mrs. O’Casey
,

We have reached the Big Blue. Storms have left the river too swollen to ford so we have free time on our hands for a change. I take advantage by writing this letter to you.

You won’t believe what has happened. We had a visitfrom Kansa Indians, a pitiful people, thin and dirty and unkempt. Their chief, however, was unusually tall, with a powerful build and eyes that were frightfully fierce and penetrating. He offered my “brother” two ponies for me. I was so shocked I dropped a loaf of bread I was taking from the oven into the mud. Some Indian children snatched up the bread, wiped off the mud and gobbled it as though it were sugar.

Columbus refused the chiefs offer, of course, but Punch Moulton took advantage of the incident to cause more trouble about Mr. Nigh being a squawman. I find it extremely distressing to think of Columbus being married to one of those filthy women.

Three families here from another company have decided to return home. I send this letter with them to be mailed when they reach civilization again. Until next time, I remain your faithful friend,

Brianna Villard

She hadn’t intended to go anywhere near the dancing, but the lively strains of a fiddle, Jew’s harp, and mouth organ enticed her from her hiding place. Those on the sidelines clapped their hands and stomped their feet as the dancers swirled past, amidst flashing petticoats. The gaiety and laughter were infectious. Brianna couldn’t help wanting to join in.

She hovered on the fringes of the crowd, arms folded beneath her breasts, one finger unconsciously tapping out the beat of the music on her elbow. Then, in the middle of the twirling dancers she spotted Marc and Lilith, laughing into each other’s faces. Envy stabbed through her and the pleasure she had been feeling fled like mist in the rain.

Ever since the night Punch Moulton had beaten his wife, Col had found one excuse after another to stay away from camp. At first it was his need to take his turn at herding the loose stock, which he used as a means to force Brianna to learn to handle the team and drive the wagon. Then it was hunting, or scouting up ahead with Jeb Hanks. Other times she was certain he had ridden back to check on Barret.

Three days after Barret had attacked Brianna, a man visiting from a wagon company behind them had passed along a story about a man found deathly ill after being robbed by an Indian and left naked on the prairie during a storm. When Brianna questioned Col, he confessed that the man was Barret and that she wouldn’t have to worry for some time about her husband catching up with her, if the man survived at all.

Brianna knew Barret Wight was too mean to die merely from exposure. Her fear, knowing he would come after her again, only made her loneliness more intense.

Now, when she felt someone’s eyes on her, she turned in joyful anticipation, hoping it was Col coming to ask her to dance. Instead, she saw Magrudge weaving his way toward her through the throng. The wagon master was the last man she wanted touching her, even to dance. She ducked behind two wagons and came upon Dulcie Moulton standing alone, her extended abdomen lifting the hem of her oversized dress above her shoes in front while dragging in back. Beneath the ragged hem, the girl’s foot kept time with the music.

The two women smiled shyly at each other.

“I’m too awkward to dance now,” Dulcie said, with lowered eyes. “But I can feel the rhythm and pretend it’s me out there. That’s almost as good, don’t you think?” Brianna watched the dancers for a moment in silence. “Every bit as good.”

“How come you aren’t out there? I bet you dance real elegant.”

“Not really. I doubt I even remember how. I haven’t been to a dance since I was fourteen.”

Dulcie’s mouth dropped open. “Aw, a fine lady like you? I would’ve thought you’d been to plenty of fancy balls and such.” A look of horror flashed through her eyes. “Oh, I didn’t mean to be rude or nothing. I just, well, I thought all rich people. .. I mean—”

Brianna laughed. It felt good. “Money can’t guarantee happiness, or even knowing how to dance.”

“No, I guess it can’t.”

A moment of silence fell between them while they turned back to the dancers and their minds raced for something new to say.

“Evening, ladies.” Magrudge tipped his mangy top hat and bowed slightly from the waist. “Having fun, are you
?”

The ladies kept silent.

Magrudge focused on Brianna. Mostly, on her bodice. “Would you care to dance, Missus Villard? I’m light on my feet, promise not to trample your toes.”

“Thank you, but . . .
”

Pouting prettily, Dulcie came to her rescue. “You promised to keep me company for a bit.”

“Yes, yes.” Brianna jumped at the excuse. “I’m sorry, Mr. Magrudge. I did promise, and I’ve only been here a moment or two.”

“Of course, another time.”

“Yes, later . . . perhaps.” He rewarded them with an oily smile, tipped his hat again and left.

“Thank you,”
Brianna said when he was gone.

“Think nothing of it. Don’t know any woman who’d want to dance with that. He always makes me think of lizards or snakes.” Dulcie affected a shudder, hugging herself. “I bet if you touched him, your hand ’ud come away all slick and gooey like bacon drippin’s, only not as good smelling.”

Brianna laughed. After a while, she found herself studying Dulcie’s pretty profile. Although it was the first time she had spoken to the girl, she had felt a kinship with her since the night she’d seen Punch Moulton beat her. She longed to let the girl know she wasn’t alone in her situation, but didn’t know how. The more she thought about it, the more straightforwardness seemed the answer. “Dulcie, there’s something I want you to know.”

“Sure, Missus Villard, what is it?”

“You and I share something in common. You see, my husband was often very brutal with me, too.”

Bowing her head, Dulcie said, “You must have noticed my bruises. Punch ain’t all bad. He’s good to me mostly. It’s just that he’s got a bad temper and, well—”

Brianna took the girl’s hands in hers and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “I know. My husband had his good side, too. Look, I didn’t bring this up to embarrass you. I only wanted you to know you weren’t alone, that you have a friend who understands.”

“You mean that, Missus Villard?”

“Yes. And please, call me Brianna.”

“Thank you. I’m so glad. Oh, not that you got beat up, too.” Dulcie flapped her hands, rattled but happy. “I just meant it’s good to know I’m not the only one, sort of comforting, you know. Not that
. . . Oh, I’m not saying this right.”

Brianna gave the girl an impulsive hug. “Yes, you are. I know exactly what you mean. That’s why I decided to talk to you. It feels good to me, too, knowing there’s someone else who under
stands what I’ve been through.”

“Oh, I do. It’s awful, I feel .
.
. set apart from others, afraid they’ll guess, you know?”

“Yes, I made myself into a hermit,” Brianna said. “I realize now that Barret, that’s my husband . . . was my husband .
.
. he encouraged my reclusive ways for his own reasons.”

“Do you miss him?”

To say yes would make her sound insane, wouldn’t it? But if Dulcie didn’t understand, no one would. “I miss feeling that I belong to someone. I miss how important I felt when he needed me. And when he’d hold me, just hold me.”

“I know.”

The silence that fell between them was companionable, as though they no longer needed words to express their feelings, to share, to commiserate.

“Sometimes, when he’s being mean—” Dulcie’s voice was low and sorrowful. “—I wish a lightning bolt would smite him dead. But I don’t really, you know. I can’t imagine living without Punch.”

The revelry had lost its appeal. Together, they wandered through the darkness beyond the firelight, dropping a word here and there to fill the silence.

“If it hadn’t been for Col,” Brianna said finally, “I would never have had the courage to come on this trip, to try starting over. But I’m so glad I did. When we reached the prairie and I looked out on all that open space, I felt a freedom I’d never known before. I still feel frightened sometimes, but I keep reminding myself I don’t have to be, not ever aga
in. And that’s a good feeling.”

Dulcie smiled wistfully. “I think I’d be afraid of so much freedom. I need someone
to take care of me, you know?”

Brianna nodded. “I worry how I’ll survive when we get to Oregon City and Col goes on his way. But I can’t lean on him forever. I’ll have to find
a way to take care of myself.”

“Aren’t you tempted to . . . well, to latch onto the first decent man you come
across and get married again?”

They found themselves beside Brianna’s wagon. Nigh’s dappled gray nickered a greeting and she caressed his soft nose. The thought of the man made her feel warm inside, yet hungry, in a way she didn’t understand or know how to deal with.

“How can I be sure the next man won’t be just like Barret?” she said, though her mind refused to consider the idea that Col could turn out that way. “I think women like us have to be very careful to make sure we truly know a man before we give our hearts away. Col insists Barret couldn’t love me and treat me as he did, and in theory it sounds true enough, but I think there’s more to it than that. Sometimes it seemed as though there were two Barrets, the angry one and the kind one.”

“That’s exactly how Punch is! But I could never explain it to anyone else.” Impulsively, Dulcie threw her arms about Brianna’s neck, stretching on tiptoe to press their cheeks together. “Oh, Brianna, I’m so happy to know you. I don’t feel so alone anymore.”

“You’re not.” Brianna hugged her back. “And I’m equally as grateful to find you.”

Crickets filled the silence as the music faded and the dancing feet grew still. People drifted wearily but happily toward their wagons, knowing that tomorrow the long, hard struggle to reach their Eden would begin anew. “I’d better get back,” Dulcie said.

“I’ll walk with you. Punch may wonder where you’ve been.”

Dulcie hesitated. “He won’t like it if he knows I’ve been talking about him.”

“Then we won’t let him find out.”

***

Alone on the hillock where he’d spent the evening on guard duty, Columbus Nigh listened to the music and wondered if Brianna had joined the dancing. The image of her in another man’s arms, laughing up at him and flirting, while they whirled around on the grass, nearly drove Col mad. By the time he was finally relieved of duty, he was ready to storm into the midst of the dancers, throw Brianna over his shoulder and haul her off into the darkness where he could make love to her until she knew she would never belong to anyone but him.

The sight of her walking with Dulcie Moulton instead of dancing failed to completely ease his frustration. Her face haunted him every day, no matter how far he roamed from camp in an effort to keep from touching her. At night he dreamed about her and it was almost more than he could do to keep himself from leaving his rain-soaked bed to sneak into the wagon with her. The only thing that could put him out of his misery would be to feel her under him, to feel himself inside her, to possess her mind, body, and soul. Yet he knew that to give in to his need would be about as smart as confronting a grizzly in its own den. One of them would not come out whole.

The women had reached the Moulton wagon. Nigh saw Punch Moulton’s fists clench at the sight of his wife with the squawman’s “sister,” and felt his own muscles tense. Nigh couldn’t hear what was said, but he knew Brianna was doing most of the talking. When the man’s fists loosened and Nigh could see there would be no trouble, he shook his head in bemusement. If Brianna could handle a hunk of meanness like Punch, why had she allowed her own husband to mistreat her so badly?

Brianna waved goodnight and turned to follow her tracks back to her own wagon. Fifty feet away from her a man in a tall hat ducked between two wagons. The butt of a cigar glowed red in the darkness, then faded. The cigar’s familiar scent drifted out to Nigh as he moved to intercept Brianna. Smiling, Nigh stepped into the lantern light that spilled between the wagons knowing he was foiling someone’s plan.

“Enjoy the party?” he asked Brianna.

Her hand flew to her heart. “Col! I wish you wouldn’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Sorry. Dark enough out here to hide a polecat, if it weren’t for their stink. Mind if I walk along?”

“Of course not. You are my brother, after all,” she teased.

Nigh could almost hear Magrudge curse as they passed
.

“I didn’t see you at the
dance,” she said after awhile.

So she’d noticed, he thought, aware that his pulse had picked up.
Easy, squawman, don't get carried away.
“Guard duty,” he said.

“Oh.”

“Ain’t much on big doin’s, anyhow.”

Out on the prairie a coyote yipped at a lopsided moon that reminded her of Col’s odd little half-smile. She breathed in the sweet smell of applewood that clung to his clothes from the figures he whittled and wished she knew more about his life.