Belle Gone Bad (9 page)

B
elle slapped Mercy's hand away, jerked her blouse together, and scooted back. In all the confusion, she'd forgotten about her tattoo. Only a few people knew about it, and two of those, Tex and Hackett, were dead.

She felt betrayed. If she hadn't been caught by surprise, she'd have possibly found another way to confront Victoria. If he'd explained earlier, she'd have been prepared for possible trouble. If she'd understood his illness, she'd have found a way to turn events. Now she'd been forced to expose her deepest secret.

Irritation warred with practicality. She didn't want to let Mercy any further into her life. Yet everything that had happened since she'd met him appeared to be leading to this moment. She didn't like it. She didn't completely trust him. She didn't want to go forward. Yet she couldn't go back.

“Okay,” Mercy said. “If you won't tell me, I'll answer my own question. That's a Solar Cross, an equal-limbed cross set in a circle.”

“No.”

“Of course it is.”

She exhaled on a long sigh. “Now that I'm involved in your so-called curse, I suppose you'll want an explanation.”

“Yes, I do.” He leaned forward. “I've seen magical symbols, and you're wearing one.”

She gently touched the tattoo through her blouse. “This represents the Soleil Wheel.”

“What does that mean?”

“It's similar to an Indian Medicine Wheel in that it's symbolic of the Earth's elements and seasons. The right quadrant represents the East or Air. The lower quadrant represents the South or Fire. The left quadrant represents the West or Water. The top quadrant represents the North or Earth. And the Spirit is represented in the center where the bars cross.”

“That's beautiful symbolism.”

“And more important, powerful symbolism.”

“Why do you wear it?”

“I'm a Rattler.”

“A what?”

“Sun Rattler. I'm a descendent of the mystics of the Atlahtaw Nation of Turtle Island.”

“Turtle Island?”

“That's the original name for the United States of America.”

“You're Indian?”

“My mother's family.”

“You don't appear Indian.”

“I do if you know what to look for. My eyes are a mixed-blood color. My bone structure is another sign.”

He hesitated. “Does this mean you're a shaman?”

“Rattlers may also be called shamans.”

“Are you trained?”

“Yes. But I don't practice anymore, or I didn't until tonight.”

“Why?”

She sighed. “My mother died when I was young. Apokni, or Grandmother Rattler, raised me most of the time, but I also lived with my father. I learned to be a Rattler from Apokni and to be a bounty hunter from Tex.”

“At first that sounds incompatible, but you're helping others with both skills, aren't you?”

She nodded. “I'd never spent as much time as I wanted with my father, so when I turned eighteen, I left the Rattler world to be with him.”

“What world?”

“The Secret Order of Sun Rattlers seeks to preserve our heritage and our power. When the Atlahtaw Nation was defeated by Europeans, not many survived to continue our ancient way of life. Yet a number of priests and priestesses or Medicine People, whom we call Rattlers, joined other nations such as the Choctaw and Chickasaw and became renowned mystics.”

“I had no idea they even existed.”

“That's why it's secret and you aren't to mention it to others.” She didn't tell him that all was not perfect in the Rattler world. The Chief of the Sun Rattlers was a good leader. Yet he was opposed by Crawdaddy, a forceful and vengeful Sun Rattler with an outlaw empire. Crawdaddy continually tried to wrest away the rightful Chief's position for the power and prestige.

“I'll never tell. I'm too grateful for your help and too pleased that this Rattler world exists.”

“Apokni told me that one day my Rattler skills would be needed to save a life. And then I would renew my heritage.” She cocked her head to one side as she looked at him. “I believe that time has come.”

“I've no doubt you saved my life.”

“But you've had some type of mystic training, too, haven't you?”

He nodded. “My world is different from yours, probably not nearly as powerful, but not too dissimilar.”

“And Victoria is part of this world?”

“Yes.” He clasped Belle's hand between his palms. “You've heard of Spiritualism, haven't you?”

“Trance mediums. I've read newspaper and magazine articles about them. Haven't a lot of mediums proven to be fakes? They make money off the bereaved by pretending to talk with lost loved ones.”

“Some are fakes. Most aren't.” He hesitated. “I wouldn't tell this to others, but you'll understand. I'm a Spiritualist.”

“What does that mean?”

“Spiritualism is a social as well as a spiritual movement. We believe in the continuity of the personality after death. We're defenders of women's rights and health reform. We're concerned about too much authoritative structure in our society, but that makes us vulnerable since we don't build strong coalitions, particularly political ones.”

She nodded in understanding.

“Spiritualists are changing now. Younger ones are moving in new directions.”

“How do you mean?”

“In 1869, twelve thousand turned out for a two-day grove meeting in Massachusetts. About that time, eight thousand gathered in nearby Melrose for a five-day camp meeting. Spiritualists still flock in large groups to picnics and camp meetings, but not as many now.”

“Did you attend meetings?”

“My parents took me. I played with the other kids. I grew up in the Spiritualist movement.”

“And you liked it?”

“Yes. But many Spiritualists are moving to places like Oregon in the West to preserve their heritage.”

“And you're here in Texas and Indian Territory.”

“We want the freedom of those early camp meetings.”

“Maybe American women will one day win the rights, freedom, and power that most Indian women have had all along,” she said.

“I'm sure they will. I've seen their strength and determination.”

Belle squeezed his hand, feeling a deep connection with him that she couldn't have imagined when she'd first met him such a short time ago. On impulse, or perhaps to comfort them since they both traveled such lonely roads, she leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his warm mouth.

He smiled as he traced the shape of her lips with a fingertip. “There's something else about Spiritualists.”

“Yes?” She leaned into his seductive touch.

“Free Love.”

“F
ree Love?” Belle looked quizzical. “How free is it? Or do Spiritualists charge for it like they do séances?”

“No.” Mercy laughed, feeling warmth spread outward from his heart. He lifted her hand and kissed the soft pad of each fingertip. “Maybe Spiritualists should charge. We'd make a fortune to fund our ideas, although we've already made a lot of progress.”

“I don't understand.”

“Remember what I said about the importance of freedom?”

“It's why so many of you move out West.”

“Right.” He placed a warm kiss against the center of her palm. “It applies equally to our amorous relationships.”

“You don't get married?”

“Some do. My parents married to be strictly together. But others prefer no commitments or loose commitments regarding love.”

“What about children?”

“Our children are our light, love, and future. We take them seriously.”

“Then you
do
get married and create families to raise children?”

“Most do. Some don't.” He turned serious, clasping their hands together, entwining their fingers. “What's important is that we bring only wanted children into the world.”

“How do you manage that? Free Love must lead to babies.”

“We practice several techniques.” He squeezed her hand. “And there are always French caps.”

“What's that?” She untangled their hands. “You're making me sound naïve. I don't like it.”

“Never.” He recaptured her hand and stroked her soft skin with his thumb. “French caps serve the same purpose as gloves, except—”

“Please, I get the idea. You're starting to embarrass me. I've never had this type of frank talk with anyone.”

“Hackett?”

“Of course not!”

“Were you intimate with him?”

“Stop it.” She untangled their hands again. “I haven't even known you twenty-fours and you're questioning me about my love life. It's indecent.”

“No it's not.” He rubbed her lower lip with his thumb. “I've wanted you from the first moment I saw you. Only I didn't think I could be worthy of you.”

“You mean you were under a debilitating curse.”

“That, too.”

She lightly bit his thumb and then pushed it away. “You're just determined to keep me off balance.”

“I'm determined to make you happy.”

“Mercy, I'm a simple Texas lady. You are much too sophisticated for me.”

“I wish you were completely innocent, but I suspect you're not. I don't think Hackett was that big a fool.”

“He was no fool at all,” she said with a huff. “As a matter of fact, we—”

“Yes?”

“Now look what you almost made me say.”

He chuckled as he raised her hand to his mouth and touched her palm with the tip of his tongue, tracing a solar cross. He had his answer. It wasn't the one he wanted, but he doubted the Texas Ranger knew as much about love as he did about catching outlaws. When he felt Belle shiver, he smiled in triumph.

“Mercy, I'm serious about you getting some sleep.”

“How can I when I feel so good?”

“We've got days of hard riding ahead of us. I don't know what kind of danger we'll encounter, but I can guarantee we'll find it.”

“Or it'll find us?”

“Yes.”

He didn't want to hear it, but she was right. For now, he simply wanted to stay in this idyllic glade and let the world swirl around them.

“Maybe you're thinking you could go back now since you don't need Diana to cure you. That'd be okay. I'll find her.”

“No!” He grasped her shoulders and lightly shook her. “That's
not
okay. I won't send you out there alone to confront four outlaws. I don't know how much help I can be, but I'll wear that six-gun on my hip and I'll learn how to shoot it.”

“I won't turn down your help. I like to work with a partner. At some point, I might be so tired that I'd miss a track or an important clue in a conversation. I'll be glad of your backup.”

“You've got it. And you've got anything else you want from me.”

She looked steadily at him. “Is that because you owe me?”

“No. That's because I adore you.”

She glanced down, shaking her head. “You're embarrassing me again.”

He put a fingertip under her chin and lifted her face so he could look into her eyes. “I suppose big, tough lawmen don't say things like that.”

“They certainly do not.” She chuckled. “But I don't mind hearing it.”

“Good. I can guarantee you're going to hear a whole lot more.”

“You're a pretty fine man.”

“Thanks. I'll take a compliment any time I can get it.”

She smiled as she reached up and traced the contours of his face. “Not bad-looking, either.”

“Keep that up and you'll turn my head.”

“I doubt it. Not after all that Free Love.”

He chuckled, tucking her head against his chest and holding her tight. “Let's compromise.”

“How?”

“I'll keep watch. ”

“Are you sure?”

“You need rest as much as I do.”

She leaned back and searched his face with serious eyes. “I'd sleep if I knew you kept watch.”

“That's what we'll do.”

“Okay. But only a couple of hours.”

“Here.” He smoothed out her blanket. “Lie down beside me and get some rest.”

“Thanks.” She lay on her side, squirmed to get comfortable, and tucked her hands beneath her cheek.

He squeezed her shoulder, feeling indulgent. He'd let her sleep for now. She needed to be fresh to resume the hunt for Diana. But later, he expected she might like to experience a bit of Free Love.

And he'd be right there to entice her.

B
elle slowly awoke to the sound of a crackling campfire. When she opened her eyes, she saw a glimmer of grayness in the eastern sky. Dawn wasn't too far away. She felt rested, even light-hearted. Mercy lay curled around her with a hand possessively or protectively across her stomach.

At one time she might have been upset that he hadn't woken her or that he had fallen asleep during his watch or that he had the temerity to hold her. But she felt none of that on this glorious morning. Instead, she felt as if she'd come home. Was it using her Rattler power? Was it being with Mercy? Was it helping another? She wasn't sure. But after so much emotional pain for so long, she reveled in her feelings of peace and happiness.

“Belle, are you awake?”

She felt Mercy's breath soft against her check, his long fingers gentle across her stomach, and his shaft hard against her bottom. He left no doubt that he wanted her, and she felt an upwelling of longing in return. Perhaps what she needed was Free Love and a man who made her feel like a woman again.

“We've got Mama Lou's molasses muffins for breakfast. I can make cowboy coffee. I already added fuel to the fire so we'd have light and heat.”

She rolled onto her back and gazed at him. “I'm not hungry for food.” She reached up and cradled his face in the palms of her hands. “I'm hungry for you.”

He smiled a smile that spread across his face until it reached his luminous gray eyes.

She wasn't normally impulsive, nor did she take chances, but today she dug her fingers into his thick, auburn hair and pulled his face downward until his lips touched hers. A spark leaped between them. All thought fled as he kissed her with an intensity that swept her away on a tide of rising passion.

Mercy licked, nibbled, nipped her lips, and then he thrust into her mouth with his tongue. She sucked him deeper, twining with him, challenging him, encouraging him even as she rose up to meet him thrust for thrust. She hadn't realized how hungry she'd been for a man. Yet not just any man.
This man.
He was the one who had the ability to simultaneously soothe her soul and set her on fire.

He raised his head as he took a sharp breath. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

She unbuttoned the first button of his shirt. “Show me.”

“Do you think I'll remember how?” He smiled with a teasing twist of his lips.

“I'm willing to take a chance that you do.”

“If I forget anything important, remind me.”

“If I remember.”

He nuzzled her neck, tracing the long length with the tip of his tongue. “You smell good. Like lavender.”

She chuckled. “You smell like muffins.”

“What?”

“I believe you're wearing crumbs from last night.”

“Forget them and taste me.”

She was happy to do it. She unbuttoned the next two buttons of his shirt and pulled it wide to bare the hard muscles of his chest, sculpted into perfection when he'd carved wood with his strong hands. She dusted off a few crumbs, saw they'd stuck to her fingertips, and sucked them into her mouth.

“Taste good?”

“Yes, but I bet you taste better.”

“Why don't you find out?”

A light sprinkling of dark hair covered his tawny skin. She couldn't resist running her fingers through it. She moved lower beneath his shirt to scrape a nail across his nipple and felt it harden under her touch.

He groaned. “What happened to tasting me?”

“Give me time. I'm exploring.”

Abruptly, he sat up, jerked off his vest, flung it aside, and then reached for the buttons of his shirt.

“Let me.” She unbuttoned his shirt down to the waistband of his trousers, then stopped. “I've run into trouble.”

“More than you realize.” He quickly pulled out his shirttail.

She freed the last buttons and then watched as he shucked his shirt and cast it aside. Naked from the waist up, he was a tantalizing sight. Belle licked her lower lip, anticipating tasting him, touching his broad chest, moving lower to his shaft. With just that thought, she felt a deep, hot ache blossom and spread outward to engulf her entire body.

He straddled her hips before he leaned over and put his forearms on either side of her face. “Is this good for you?”

“Perfect.” She placed the palms of her hands over his nipples and squeezed the muscles of his chest. She was satisfied to hear him groan in response. She rubbed each nipple to a hard peak, feeling her breasts swell and her own nipples harden in response to his reaction. She felt desperate to taste him. She caressed the hard muscles of his shoulders as she pulled him close. She licked the tip of each nipple before sucking and nipping to her heart's content as she stroked down his back to clasp the taut muscles of his butt. This time his groan was louder. She gripped harder and moaned her own escalating desire.

“If you taste me much more, I'm going to melt,” Mercy said in a rough, raspy voice.

“Please melt.”

She stroked up his back to his shoulders, feeling the light sheen of sweat that now coated his sleek, warm skin. She licked his chest, reveling in the salty, tangy taste of him. Everything about him was winding her tighter and driving her toward a desperate need for release. She glanced up at his face.

He looked at her with gray eyes gone dark with passion, and then he lowered his face and planted a heated kiss on her lips.

She wanted more, so much more. She bit his lower lip, sucked it into her mouth, and nibbled until she heard him groan. Only then did she let him go.

He pushed up on his knees, smiling lazily at her.

She pressed both hands against the bulge in his trousers, shivering with excitement. She grasped the long, hard length of him through fabric. She toyed with him, feeling him grow harder under her touch just as she ached and burned and grew wet for him in her most intimate of places.

“Shall I taste-test,” she panted, “to make sure you're heated to perfection?”

“Much longer and I'll burn to a cinder.” He grasped her hands, shaking his head as if to clear it. “
Wait
. Are you sure you want to carry this further?”

Surprised at the seriousness of his voice, she glanced up. Pale light cast him in a golden glow. He appeared devastatingly handsome, but also sincerely concerned for her. Memories flooded back that revealed another man's lack of concern. Of all she'd thought to experience with Mercy, she'd never anticipated that he could be better at love than Hackett. Tears stung her eyes as she felt a double loss at what had been and what had never been.

“Belle?”

She shook her head, unable to speak. She mourned at the worst possible moment and felt her passion spiral inward, cooling as it went.

Mercy abruptly sat down, lifted her, and set her on his lap. “Too much too soon?”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and tucked her face against his bare chest, drawing in the scent of him, driving out the memory of Hackett.

“As much as I want you, we're not taking another step forward until I know that you're fine with this . . . with me.”

She looked into his gray eyes, blinking back tears. He wasn't upset with her. He was simply concerned for her. She wasn't used to tenderness. Not anymore. It made her feel weak when she had to be strong. She needed passion, simple and straightforward. Nothing more.

“I broke one of my own rules.” He spoke quietly while he gently stroked her long hair.

“Rule?”

“Never make love to a woman on an empty stomach.”