Winter's Touch (30 page)

Her father had returned, but he always left again.

Storms took people away.

He was out there now in the storm, her father. Along with her brother. And Carson.

Man-Above, keep them safe. Please do not take one of them into the storm.

Carson was ten yards from the house when the sky opened up and dumped on him. Cursing, he sprinted the rest of the way to the porch.

At least they’d finished. They had beat the brush and rounded up fifty-four head of cattle. There were more out there, and he would find them. But for now, they’d slapped the Double D brand on another fifty-four head.

They’d had plenty of men to hold such a small herd during a storm, but he was glad they hadn’t needed to. The damn critters could run from here to kingdom come, as far as he was concerned. They now wore his brand; he would find them again. There was no need to hold them.

They wouldn’t go far, anyway. Carson’s father had chosen this spot along the Huerfano because of the layout of the land. The surrounding bluffs formed a natural barrier—albeit sometimes miles away.

He hit the front porch and nearly slipped on the wet wood. Cursing again, he removed his hat and shook the water off as best he could before pushing open the front door.

As he stepped inside, thunder crashed and a flash of lightning over his shoulder illuminated the room. He shouldn’t have been able to hear the small intake of breath over the fury of the storm. He shouldn’t have, normally wouldn’t have bothered to look toward the sofa. But he did hear, did look, and everything inside him tightened.

Huddled into the corner of the sofa, Winter Fawn sat with her knees beneath her chin, both hands covering her mouth, and her eyes as wide as saucers.

Quickly Carson closed the door and rushed across the room. He crouched on the floor before the sofa. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

Her head jerked back and forth and a tiny whimper escaped her throat.

Carson put his hands on her shoulders. Her violent trembling alarmed him. “You’re frightened. Talk to me, Winter Fawn. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He couldn’t see her now; the room was as black as the inside of a cat. More than worried, he tugged off his gloves, then found her ice-cold hands, where they covered her mouth. As gently as he could, he forced her hands from her lips. “Honey?”

“I’m s-sorry.” A deep shudder wracked her. “It’s nothing.”

“What’s nothing?” he asked, trying to keep his voice low and smooth.

“The s-storm. I…don’t like…s-storms.”

“Ah, honey.” Forgetting his wet clothes, he sat next to her on the sofa and pulled her onto his lap. “Ah, honey,” he said again. She didn’t like storms. Who was she trying to fool? She was plain-ass terrified. She shook against him like a fall leaf barely hanging on in a high wind. “You’re safe here, I promise. The storm won’t hurt you.”

Her swallow was audible. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m all r-right.”

Carson held her for a long time, running one hand up and down her arm, the other stroking her back. Slowly it dawned on him that all she wore was a thin nightgown. He wished he hadn’t realized that.

Her tremors eased as the storm slackened.

“There,” he whispered in her ear. “Hear that? The thunder’s moving off. No more storm. Only rain.” His lips brushed her temple. “It’s only rain now. You’re safe.”

The small taste of her skin was not enough. He kissed her temple again, then her cheek, her jaw. When she turned her head, their lips brushed. Settling there, his mouth on hers, came as natural to him as breathing. With the music of the rain falling from the roof mixed with the soft sounds of their breathing, he kissed her.

Everything inside Winter Fawn stilled. Everything except her heart, which suddenly raced faster and pounded harder than a racing herd of buffalo. Starved for the taste of him, she opened her mouth and welcomed the invasion of his tongue, stroking it with hers, reveling in the soft groan that came from his throat.

With fingers trembling from eagerness now, rather than fear, she touched his face, his hair, and held his head in her palms.

Carson wanted to swallow her whole. He lost himself in the kiss, in her warm welcome. Had a woman ever responded to him this way? No, never. This was not something he would be able to forget. He wanted more of her. All of her. Without thought to where they were or what could happen, he twisted on the sofa and took her down until her back was pressed against the seat and he felt her breasts against his chest.

Suddenly a sound penetrated the heated fog in his brain. The creak of a floorboard.

He sprang upright just as the door to Gussie’s room clicked open.

“Carson?” his aunt called.

The hand he slid over Winter Fawn’s mouth served not only to keep her silent, but to keep her hidden from Gussie below the back of the sofa. “Sorry, Gussie, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I didn’t know you were back. What are you doing sitting here in the dark? Let me light a lamp for you.”

It was too dark to see her, but from her voice he determined that she remained in the doorway to her room. “Don’t bother,” he said quickly. Beneath his hand, Winter Fawn lay as rigid as a board. “Go on back to bed. I just want to sit her a minute before turning in.”

“I could put on some coffee if you—”

“That’s all right. I don’t want anything. Good night, Gussie,” he added, hoping, praying she would take the hint and go back to bed.

“Well, if you’re certain you’re all right, dear. You sound a tad odd. You might be coming down with something.”

“I’m just tired,” he told her, letting the weariness of his bones creep into his voice. “That’s all.”

After a long moment, she finally said good night and closed her door.

Feeling as though someone had pulled his spine right out through the top of his head, Carson fell limp against the back of the sofa. His hand slipped from Winter Fawn’s mouth.

God, that was close.

Then the irony of the situation settled over him. He was a grown man, the father of a six-year-old, and he was sitting in his own house. And he’d felt like an eight-year-old caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Winter Fawn was grateful for the shock that had held her immobile beneath Carson’s hand. From all she had observed, and from the things Carson had said, it was no more proper in the white world than it was among Our People for an unmarried woman to be seen kissing a man. For any woman to be seen kissing any man not her husband.

Not that young couples did not usually find a way to steal a kiss now and then. That’s what she felt like now, a young girl having barely escaped being caught stealing a kiss with a young warrior.

Ye feel that way, lass, because you did just barely escape.
She did not know whether to giggle like that young girl she might have been, or cry for the woman she was, who could not have the man she wanted.

Carson’s fingers touched her arm and pulled her up until she sat leaning against him with his arms around her. When he whispered in her ear, his warm breath sent shivers down her spine.

“Lord, I don’t want to let you go.”

“Then don’t.” She turned and slipped her arms around his waist. “Don’t let me go, Carson. Never let me go.”

“I have to,” he said softly. “I won’t have you exposed to talk because I couldn’t control myself and took you right here on the sofa in a house full of people.”

Winter Fawn shivered again. No, she did not want that either. In her eagerness for his kiss, his touch, she had not thought of the consequences. If he had not reacted so quickly, his aunt would have known she was here with him.

“Damn, I got you all wet,” he said, fingering the side of her gown. “Go on back to bed, honey, and get warm.”

She did not want to go. She did not want to leave him. But she knew she must. “Kiss me again, and I will go.”

With a soft groan, he complied. He kissed hard and fast, as if he could not get enough of her. Then he pulled away.

Long after she went back to bed, Winter Fawn lay awake, running a finger back and forth across her lips. She could still taste him there, a dark and dangerous flavor that made her yearn for more.

Carson, too, lay awake long into the night. For the first time in his life he felt an envy for men like Innes who spent most of their time in a fog, courtesy of the flask that seldom left his hand.

The next morning at breakfast Carson could not keep his eyes off Winter Fawn. He wanted to reach over and touch her, stroke her cheek, press his lips to hers. Last night she had been alive and on fire in his arms. This morning she would not look at him.

Winter Fawn could not bring herself to look at him. She was afraid, very much afraid, that she might beg him to kiss her again, right there in front of everyone.

This wouldna do. From the beginning it had been Carson saying they should not, could not make love, and her trying to make him forget the restrictions he had imposed upon them. But last night, as she had lain in bed and listened to the rain drum against the roof, she had remembered again that final morning on the trail, when he had taught her the pleasures of her own body.

She had wanted that pleasure again, with him, wanted to bring those same sharp, hot feelings to him. She had wanted it when he came to her on the sofa. Had Gussie not interrupted them, it might have happened. They might have made love right there.

And then what? Would they sneak around and hide, as though what they shared was something dirty? Or would he openly claim her as his lover.

His whore, you mean.

There. The word had finally formed in her mind. He had never offered her marriage. Had in fact been emphatic that she save herself for the man who would be her husband.

And he had been right. As much as she wanted Carson, she could not bring herself to become his whore. Such a thing was simply not done among Our People, nor, from what she knew, was it acceptable among whites.

What was she to do? Man-Above, what was she to do?

Carson was staring at her, watching her every move. She did not dare look at him for fear of weeping.

Look away,
she silently begged him.
Please do not look at me so.

But Carson couldn’t help it. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, but he didn’t know what. Was she sorry about last night?

Don’t let me go, Carson. Never let me go.

She couldn’t be sorry. The woman who had so desperately whispered those words against his lips could not now be sorry.

Suddenly the other men were pushing back their chairs and standing, heading for the door. Carson looked down to find his plate empty, but for the life of him he could not remember what he’d eaten.

“Carson?”

He blinked and looked up at Gussie.

“Might I have a word with you before you get busy for the day?”

Carson felt his gut clench. Had she realized Winter Fawn was with him last night? Had she guessed what they were doing? Had she heard them?

He squared his jaw and nodded. “Certainly.” He would not be scolded like a schoolboy. He was the head of this family now, and if he wanted to kiss a woman, he would kiss a woman, by damn.

He saw Gussie’s eyes flick toward Winter Fawn, then back to him and ground his teeth. He wouldn’t have her passing judgment on Winter Fawn over this, by damn.

“Let’s go out onto the porch, shall we?” Gussie asked.

“Yes,” he said, scooting his chair back and rising. “Let’s.” He followed her onto the porch and closed the door behind them. The sun was just creeping up over the horizon, but the sky was light.

Gussie clasped her hands together at her waist. “I don’t know quite how to broach this subject. I realize it’s none of my business, but…”

“What’s none of your business?” he asked tightly, sure he was going to regret it.

“Well, it’s Winter Fawn.”

“What about her?”

“Oh, now, see? I’ve upset you already and haven’t even had my say. No—” She held a hand up, palm out, to forestall his interruption. “I must say it. The poor girl simply must have new clothes, Carson.”

Carson blinked. “Pardon?”

“The doeskin is beautiful, but it’s becoming dreadfully soiled, and as near as I can tell, she has nothing else to wear.”

If ever a man felt like a fool, it was Carson Dulaney in that moment. Twice the fool. Once for jumping to conclusions about what Gussie had to say, but mainly for not realizing himself that Winter Fawn had no other clothes.

“I don’t know your financial situation, Carson, dear. I’m not sure that it’s any of my business. Please don’t take offense, but if money is tight, I have a few dollars I brought with me. Enough to purchase some fabric for a dress for her, if the settlement I passed on my way here has any. Or perhaps her own father should—no.” She sighed. “I’m sure that man doesn’t have two cents to rub together. His son could use some clothes as well. I’m sorry if I’m butting in—”

“Gussie, Gussie.” Carson grabbed her hands and squeezed them gently. “Stop apologizing. I’m the one who should be apologizing, to Winter Fawn and Hunter for not realizing…” He shook his head at himself. “I should have done something about this the minute we arrived. Today’s, what, Wednesday? How about we all go to town Saturday and do some shopping. And you save your money to spend on yourself. I’m not rich, but I can afford what we need.”

“Bless you.” She returned the squeeze on her hands. When Carson stepped off the porch and headed for the barn, Gussie stood for a moment looking out at the sunrise. She was proud of herself. That she was noticing and thinking of others meant she was putting her grief over Lucille behind her. Lord above, but Lucille herself would have scolded her good for neglecting the needs of others while wallowing in her own self-pity.

That was behind her now. Gussie squared her shoulders and turned toward the door.

“Mrs. Winthrop?”

At the sound of Mr. MacDougall’s voice, Gussie paused. Now here was a man she didn’t know quite what to think of. Try as she might to find something good about him, she could come up with nothing other than the fact that he seemed to have sired two beautiful children. He reeked of whiskey, even early in the morning. He wore those disreputable buckskin pants that looked stiff enough with grime to stand on their own, and that hair! Bushy red and grimy, all over his head and face, and way, way too long. She was still itching to get her scissors into that mess.