Anything for You (33 page)

Clamping his arms around her, he captured her lips, not letting her escape even when his breath burned swiftly into her mouth. Powerful passion erupted through her as their bodies merged into one. She was consumed by the sensations cascading from her through him and back to entwine them. Whirled out of herself, she fell into an eddy of ecstasy where the only sound was his gasp of rapture in the moment before she was lost in the very essence of their love.

Gypsy woke to the grotesque shadows sprayed on the wall. The room was all wrong. When she heard rumbling snores next to her ear, she smiled and rose to look down into Adam's face, which was smoothed with sleep. She rubbed her elbow. It was uncomfortable sleeping on the floor, although she had not noticed the discomfort of the pine boards while they were making love here.

“I love you,” she whispered and kissed him softly.

He murmured something in his sleep and shifted to reach for her. Smiling when she discovered that she remained in his dreams as he was a part of hers every night, she stood and pulled on her wrapper. As long as she was awake, she would stoke the firebox. Later he could wake and spend the time he would have used for that job to delight her again. She wanted to savor every moment, storing away each precious sensation for the time when she had only memories for company.

The floor was frigid beneath her bare feet as she tiptoed across the room. She was cautious not to slide her feet, because she did not want to get a splinter. She ran her fingers along the kitchen wall to guide her to where the stove glowed.

A man-sized shadow moved behind the stove. Was it real or a trick of the dim light? Someone was lurking there in the darkness. The intruder seemed to know his way about her kitchen. She hoped he would take whatever he wanted and leave right away.

She edged backward. The silhouette exploded toward her. A hand clamped over her mouth. A flannel-covered arm pulled her against a wide body. The sound of his fear was loud in his rapid breathing. Something cold and sharp pressed against her throat. A knife! She moaned against his palm, which was covered with icy sweat.

“No! Not you!”

Her eyes widened in horror. This was not the same man who had attacked her in the woods. This man's voice was deeper.

The knife quaked.

“Please let me go,” she whispered, although her words were muffled by his hand.

He mumbled something. As the knife lowered from her throat, she dared to take a deeper breath.

“Stay right here,” he whispered.

She nodded. To save her life and Adam's, she would do almost anything.

“Don't turn around.”

“I won't,” she murmured as he drew his hand away.

“Count to twenty. Then go back to bed.”

“I will.”

“Slowly. Count slowly.” Fear quivered in his aged voice.

“I understand. I—” She gasped when a sound came from the bedroom.

No, Adam! Stay away! Please!

Light spilled into the kitchen as her bedroom lantern was lit. A curse was spat in her ear, but the sound vanished as she shrieked in pain.

She stared at the bloody incision across her left arm. The knife clattered to the floor. The door crashed against the wall, and the man fled.

Her knees buckled as agony seared up her arm. Nothing had ever hurt like this. Her arm was on fire even as her fingers became numb beneath the black river of blood flowing over them. She heard a moan and an oath. Had she spoken? Or was it someone else? She could not guess.

Arms appeared out of the darkness and caught her. She collapsed against Adam, leaning her face against his bare chest.

“Gypsy, what is it?”

Slowly she raised her left hand. Blood glistened on her lacerated arm and surged across her arched fingers. She wanted to tell him what had happened, but could not.

His arm around her moved, flapping his unbuttoned shirt against her injured arm. Pain swept her at the inadvertent touch.

“Sit, honey.”

“Adam …”

“Sit.”

She folded up onto the hard plank, struggling not to faint. She moaned when he stepped away from her. She needed him. Without him …

When he caught her face between his hands, she watched his mouth move and struggled to concentrate on what he was saying. Somehow she managed to understand, “Where are your medical supplies, Gypsy?”

“I … I …”

“Gypsy, tell me!”

Light and dark merged and disappeared. She swayed on the bench. A new wave of agony stung her. She gasped as she saw Adam pressing a cloth over her sliced arm.

When she moaned, he whispered, “I'm sorry, honey, but I have to stop the bleeding.”

“I … know.” She gulped each word past the lump in her throat.

“Where do you keep your medical supplies?”

“Over the counter.”

“Wait here.”

Whether he was gone a minute or an hour, she could not tell. She battled not to drown in the anguish from the blazing river inching along her hand.

“Gypsy?”

Adam's face wavered before her as if he stood beyond a shimmering curtain. She put her right hand on his arm.

“I'm going to bandage this, honey.” Regret filled his voice. “It's going to hurt really bad when I do.”

“I know.”

“Scream if it helps.”

She closed her eyes as he lifted her left arm and wrapped soft cotton around it. When she had ordered the medical supplies, she never guessed she would be the one needing them.

As he twisted the material around her wrist, Adam asked, “Did he say anything this time? Or did he simply try to kill you?”

She started to nod, but her head threatened to fly off her shoulders. Wanting to wiggle her fingers to be sure they worked, she kept her hand still. “He said he didn't want to hurt me.”

“If this isn't hurting you, I don't know what is.”

“I think he meant it. I know Chauncey wouldn't—”

His hand gripped her wrist tightly. “What did you say?”

Wanting to deny her words, she could not. The truth had been in her head from the moment she heard him speak, but, in the midst of her terror, she had not recognized the truth. “It was Chauncey Lewis. But he wouldn't hurt me on purpose!”

“No?”

Without giving her a chance to answer, he strode to where his coat hung by the door. He reached into a pocket and pulled out something that gleamed malevolently in the meager light.

When he tilted the pistol to check its steel cylinder, she gasped, “Adam, you can't shoot him!”

“I'm not planning on shooting him.” He buttoned his shirt and tucked it into his denims, then shoved the gun into his belt and reached for his coat. “This will make sure Chauncey cooperates when I ask him to explain some things to Glenmark.”

“Be careful.”

He smiled grimly and walked to her. Ignoring the flaps of his boots, which slapped against his insteps on every step, he whispered, “Stay here. I'll send one of the flunkeys over to sit with you as soon as I have a chance.”

“All right.” Her head ached with the steady pulse in her arm.

“He won't be back, but …”

The uneasy timbre of his voice brought her gaze up to his taut face. “But what?”

“That has to wait until later. Now I have to catch up with Lewis before he hits the hay trail.” He caressed her shoulder before he hurried toward the door. Snow exploded into the room as he rushed out.

She stared at the table, unable to move. Wanting to deny the truth, she wondered where the madness would end. When it did, there might be nothing left of Glenmark Timber Company's logging camp—or any of them.

Morning light was glowing through the snow-coated window before Adam returned. Hanging his coat on its peg, he looked at Gypsy, who was standing at the stove. He sat at the table, and she put an empty cup in front of him. Picking up a quilted cloth, she reached for the heavy coffee pot.

“I'll do that, Gypsy.” He poured a cup for himself and another for her. “I'm not going to say you should be resting. I know it's a waste of breath.”

She went to the window and looked out to discover a crowd of jacks in the center of the camp.

Adam drew her back from the window firmly, but gently. “Gypsy, don't think about going out into that mob.”

“Mob?” Pain scorched the single word.

“The jacks aren't happy to find out one of their own killed two women and hurt you.” Adam checked the bandage on her arm. Shadows of blood seeped through the material. “You need to keep this on for a few more hours before we change it.”

“I thought Chauncey was my friend.”

“Maybe Lolly and Rose did, too.” When she flinched, he turned her against him and stroked her back.

The door opened, and Gypsy raised her head to see Per and Hank's tense expressions. They stared at her, clearly wanting to determine the extent of damage done to her.

Adam broke the strained silence to say, “Gypsy made some coffee and biscuits, so we might as well eat.”

“You made biscuits?” Per's voice was as close to anger as Gypsy had ever heard. “I don't care if you are the kingbee cook, girl! If you'd let Adam tend to the stove as he—”

“I made the biscuits,” she interrupted with a hint of her customary authority. “If you want them, eat them. If not, don't.”

The old man rubbed his hands in distress. “Sorry, Gypsy.”

“You heard the lady, gentlemen,” Adam said. “Help yourselves while I persuade her to rest.” When the men shuffled toward the table, he lowered his voice. “Do you want to sit here, honey, or do you want to lie down for a while?”

A shiver of distaste wrenched her away from him. “I'll be fine. Don't mollycoddle me.”

“Gypsy, it would make
me
feel a lot better to pamper you for a while.”

“It wasn't your fault,” she whispered, understanding his underlying pain.

“If I hadn't been sleeping instead of tending to the fire, you wouldn't have been hurt.”

Her fingers eased along the hard line of his clenched jaw. “My love, if you hadn't been sleeping by my side, we wouldn't know this joy.” Standing on tiptoe, she tilted his mouth over hers. She did not care if the flunkeys were watching. She wanted to be in his arms and know they were safe from the terror.

He kept his arm around her waist to steer her to the table. She leaned her head against his shoulder until he urged her to sit. In silence, she did.

“I'm fine,” she whispered. “Or, to be honest, I will be fine.”

The door opened again, letting in more cold. Bert wiped mud off his feet as he came into the kitchen. “Gypsy, you and Adam are wanted over at Farley's office. 'E said 'e wants to see you right away.”

A shiver ached across Gypsy's shoulder blades, and she was sure her face was whey-colored with fear. She let Adam assist her in putting on her coat. Saying nothing, she walked out of the cook shack.

“Honey, I can speak to Farley if you don't feel up to this,” Adam said quietly.

“If I can supervise my kitchen, I can listen to Farley's complaints.” Despite her boasting, she sighed with relief when he put his arm around her shoulders and helped guide her past the widening puddles. The sunshine was nature's warm apology for the late season blizzard. “We'll be leaving for the river drive in a few days if this weather continues.”

“Then we'll head for Saratoga.”

She smiled. “That sounds wonderful.”

“I've had enough of the north woods to last me a lifetime.”

“Me, too.”

He paused to stare at her. “Do you mean that?”

“Now. Come autumn, I may be itching to return.” Tapping the brim of his hat, she laughed. “Maybe not.”

“I think we should talk about this later.”

“Later?”

He entwined his fingers with hers as they continued toward the camp manager's office. “I'm going to have the stove watch tonight again.”

“You're going to exhaust yourself doing that every night.”

“You're going to exhaust me with your luscious loving, honey.” When she flushed, he chuckled. “Don't worry. We'll have plenty of time for sleeping and other things when we leave here.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

He laughed. “I like the way you think, honey.”

Gypsy's reply was halted when they stepped up onto the porch of the camp office. Glad that Adam did not release her hand, she let him open the door and usher her into the small room.

When Farley rose from his desk, she was astonished to see the camp manager wearing denims and a wool shirt like the jacks. Gray circled his eyes, and deep lines were ground into his face, which must not have endured the scrape of a straight-edged razor since the attack on her two days before. Whiskers could not shadow the strain along his lips.

“How are you doing, Gypsy?” he asked.

“I'll be fine,” she answered, as she had so many times. Glancing at Adam before looking back at Farley, she continued uneasily, “How are you?”

“How do you expect?” He leaned his hands on his desk. “What have you learned, Lassiter? Has he confessed?”

“He's admitted to smothering Lolly and killing Rose.”

Dampening her arid lips, she asked, “Did he say why?”

“Yes.”

“What was it?”

He stared at the floor. “He said they had flirted with him, made him want them, then jilted him.”

Farley cried, “Rose wouldn't have—”

Gypsy put her hand on Farley's arm. “Don't let him hurt you more. He must have imagined it all.” Glancing at Adam, she looked hurriedly away, but not before she saw he believed, as she did, that Rose had enticed Chauncey. Perhaps Rose had hoped to use that flirtation to get something more out of Farley.

Gypsy was surprised when Farley demanded, “And did he admit to attacking Gypsy in the woods?”

“No,” Adam said quietly.

“Then—”

“Then nothing.” Adam scowled. “We have enough to send him to hang.”