Bride On The Run (Historical Romance) (8 page)

Protective rage welled in Anna’s body as she remembered the way Eddie had looked at Carrie across the supper table. She had weighed the wisdom of telling Malachi what she had seen, then decided against it. He had enough worries on his mind. But she would guard the girl, Anna resolved, and if the young lout so much as breathed on Carrie, she would have his hide.

Malachi had gone outside after supper and had not come back. Was he talking with Sam, telling him
about his new wife’s mysterious background and singing talent? Was he, with no ill intent, passing on the details that would put every lawman in the territory back on her trail? Anna turned over again and punched the pillow hard. What would she do if they came here looking for her? Where could she go? How could she get out of the canyon by herself?

As she pondered her dilemma she could almost feel the towering cliffs closing around her like a trap. Why had she come here? Surely she could have found other places, other ways to escape….

The creak of the kitchen door shattered her thoughts. Anna went rigid in the bed as all the old, well-honed instincts sprang to life. Fear shot through her body. Her muscles tensed as she forced herself to lie still. Then she heard the now familiar tread of heavy boots across the floor, and she realized that it was only Malachi.

Only Malachi.

For a moment she almost convinced herself that he had come inside to check on his sleeping children—indeed, his footsteps did pause at each of their doors, but only for the space of a breath. Those footsteps were coming closer now, slowing hesitantly as they neared her door.

Her pulse exploded as she heard the latch lift. Then the door swung quietly open and Malachi stepped into the room.

Anna lifted her face from the pillow. She could see him clearly in the moonlight that shone through the window on the far wall. He had removed his work shirt, but was still wearing his trousers and his long johns beneath. For a moment he slumped against the
wall, looking frustrated and tired. Then he straightened and cleared his throat.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Anna raised up on her forearms, taking the offensive before he could speak. “You have no business sneaking in here like that, scaring me half to—”

“Be quiet, Anna,” he interrupted in a raw-edged whisper. “Believe me, I’ve no intention of touching you, let alone harming you.”

“Then maybe you should tell me why you’re here,” she challenged him, sitting straight up.

“Why the blazes do you think I’m here?”

Anna sat back on her heels, gazing at him in the moonlit darkness of the bedroom. Her eyes traced the shadows that fell across his chagrined face. Then, as the answer suddenly came to her, she burst into giddy, ironic laughter.

“Shhh!” Malachi hissed. “You’ll wake up the children!” Then, when Anna continued to laugh, he added, “Anyway, I don’t know what you think is so damned funny.”

“You are!” Anna hugged her ribs, struggling to contain herself. “Sam Johnson doesn’t know about our sleeping arrangement, and you, bless your big, manly heart, have too much pride to explain it to him!”

“It’s not a matter of pride!” Malachi growled. “Anything Sam knows will be spread over half the territory in a week’s time. Whatever happens—or doesn’t happen—in this so-called marriage is between us, Anna. It’s nobody else’s business.”

Anna shook her head and wiped a mirthful tear from the corner of her eye. Malachi, she realized was
at her mercy. If she were to make a fuss and send him away, he would be humiliated to the core of his manhood.

She remembered the things he had said to her the night before. For the space of a breath she was tempted to take her revenge—but no, even she could not find it in her heart to be so mean-spirited. She sat back in the bed and clasped her arms around her knees. “Well, Malachi,” she said, “at least you might have knocked before you came stumbling in here and scared me out of my wits.”

He stared down at his shadow on the floor, then met her gaze again. “I was hoping you’d be asleep,” he said. “That way I could’ve just stretched out on the rug and slept until first light—which is still what I intend to do, if you’ll be quiet and leave me in peace.”

Without waiting for her response, he lowered his lanky frame to the braided rug that lay alongside the bed. Anna heard the scrape of his boot heels against the floor as he stretched out to his full length and settled into silence.

She burrowed into the quilts once more and laid her head on the pillow, but it was no use trying to sleep. If anything, she was even more agitated than before. Malachi had made it clear that he didn’t want to be disturbed, but his presence was no easier to ignore than if a great bull buffalo had wandered into her room and lay down beside her bed.

“Malachi?” she whispered into the darkness.

“What?”

“How long are Sam and his boy going to be here?”

She heard him sigh as he turned over, trying to accommodate his broad shoulders to the hard floor. “Depends on how long it takes us to clear the wagon road. Four or five days by my reckoning.”

“And then?”

“Then I’ll take the mules to Kanab, buy a wagon or order one, if there’s none to be had.” His belt buckle scraped through the rug as he turned over again, stoically trying to get comfortable. Anna stared at the moon shadows on the ceiling, her mind weighing the thing that lay between them, the thing Malachi had not mentioned. When the road was open and the wagon procured, she would be leaving his world for good. Their brief sham marriage would be over. Finished.

He was lying still now, frustration and discomfort evident in every labored breath. He had not asked for a blanket or a pillow. It was going to be a long, miserable night.

“Malachi?” Anna could feel her heart pounding as she spoke.

“What now?”

“This is a very big bed.”

He groaned. “Are you out of your mind, Anna?”

The sharpness in his tone hurt her. “I think your virtue would be safe if you were to lie down on top of the covers,” she retorted, hiding the sting. “Of course, I’m not strong enough to force you….”

She heard a muttered curse and, a moment later, he stood up, looming over the bed. “Is this part of the little wifely act you were putting on earlier?” he asked.

“No.” Anna sighed wearily and shifted to the far
side of the bed, smoothing the covers for him. “It’s just simple practicality. With you down there suffering on the hard floor, neither one of us is going to get any sleep. Now take off your muddy boots and lie down before I change my mind and throw you out of here!”

The bed creaked beneath his weight as he sat down on a corner of the mattress and tugged off his work boots, being careful not to drop them and make a noise that would alert his children. That done, he stood up and unfastened his belt, then hesitated.

“Don’t worry, you’re not going to shock me,” Anna said. “I’m no stranger to men’s underclothes.”

“Don’t remind me.” He dropped his trousers and stepped out of them. The faded union suit beneath was buttoned and revealed little more than the outline of the muscular body beneath.

Without another word he lay down on top of the quilt. The night air was cool, but if he felt it he did not complain.

Turning onto her back, Anna aligned herself with the far edge of the bed, pulled the quilt up to her chin, closed her eyes and willed sleep to come. But, if anything, she was even more restless than before. The masculine aroma of Malachi’s body invaded her senses, awakening a myriad of sensation—tugs and tingles she had no right to feel. She battled the urge to move closer, to curl against his side and lose herself in his protective warmth. Maybe then she would feel safe enough to sleep.

But Malachi would not welcome her touch, she knew. This bed was a shrine. He had shared it with the beautiful Elise, made love to her between these
very sheets. He was probably thinking about her now, wishing she was the one beside him.

It was a good thing she was leaving soon, Anna lashed herself. No new wife could hope to replace Elise in Malachi’s heart, let alone in his bed.

And heaven help any woman who let herself fall in love with him!

What had Elise been like, to make a man love her so much? Anna thought of asking, but Malachi’s breathing had already fallen into the steady cadence of slumber. And, incredibly, she could feel herself slipping away as well, spiraling outward and downward into darkness.

This had been a bad idea. A very bad idea. Malachi lay with his eyes closed, feigning sleep and struggling to ignore the hot bolts of desire that forked through his vitals like chain lightning, raising a spar that thrust against the crotch of his long johns. He could only be grateful that Anna wasn’t awake to see his condition. It would not be like her to blush, avert her eyes and hold her tongue.

With a silent curse, he eased onto his belly, burying the beacon of lust against the quilt. Beside him, Anna slumbered like a baby, the rhythmic little wheeze of her breath giving evidence that she wasn’t playing possum. Good thing. If she’d had any idea how much he wanted her, she would probably beat him senseless with the pitcher on the washstand. This was a brand-new definition of
hell
, Malachi reflected—being married to a beautiful woman he had given his word not to touch.

The night air was chilly through the back vent of
his long johns. Malachi felt a prickly wave of goose bumps creep over his skin. Tomorrow would be a hard day and he needed rest. But he was, he realized, too damn-blasted cold to sleep.

With a sigh, he rolled off the bed and stood looking down at Anna. She lay sound asleep, her hair a spill of tawny silk across the pillow. He ached to gather her in his arms and love her. But it would not happen. He would not violate her trust. And he would not risk the calamity of sending her away with his child in her body.

It would be all right, he assured himself as he folded back the covers and slipped between the worn flannel sheets. His loins might be throbbing with need, but he was a rational man. His mind was in full control of his actions.

The bed was deliciously warm. Malachi eased onto his back, steeling his senses against Anna’s fragrant, silken warmth. It seemed strange lying next to a woman again—especially a woman who was nothing like Elise. But it was not a bad strangeness. Not at all.

Anna stirred, whimpered, then curled onto her side like a contented cat. Her warm little buttocks pushed across the bed to nestle against Malachi’s flank. The sweetness of that simple contact almost brought tears to his eyes. He lay there in the darkness, afraid to move, fearful that he would awaken her, ending the bliss of having her so close.

Would she stay? he wondered sleepily. After all that had happened between them, could he think of asking her?

Malachi was still turning the question over in his mind when he drifted into sleep.

T
he narrow corridor was so dark that Anna could barely see her way. She drifted like a swimmer between walls of black stone, her feet just skimming the rough slate floor. All around her, she felt the cold, leaden presence of fear. Her instincts shrilled that she should turn around and go back, but she knew that she could not. There was something at the end of the dark passageway. Something she had to find
.

She forced herself forward, faster and faster, but the end of the passageway was no nearer than before. It twisted and turned, branching off one way, then another, into labyrinths of darkness
.

The wind was cold on her face. It moaned through the narrow space, the sound echoing off the walls like the cry of a child in pain. Anna rushed on through the terrible maze, drawn by that cry—a cry that tore its way into her heart
.

The blackness deepened. The walls of the corridor narrowed and shrank, the ceiling becoming so low that she had to crawl on her hands and knees. She clawed her way toward the cry, feeling it quiver in-
side her, filling her ears, her body. Far ahead, she could see a ghostly light—a chamber, carved into the end of the passageway. Anna’s pulse raced as she clambered forward, the cry clear and close. And now she could see that the only object in the chamber was a small wooden cradle
.

At last
…

The room opened above her and she struggled to her feet. Only then did Anna realize that the crying had stopped. She was looking down, not into a cradle but into a tiny pine coffin. Inside, a doll-like figure lay deathly still, ice-gray in its muslin shroud
….

Malachi awoke to the sound of weeping—not just petulant female tears, but racking sobs, so heartfelt that they seemed torn from the very depths of grief. As he came fully awake, he realized that Anna lay huddled against his back her body jerking with anguish.

“Anna—” He rolled over and, not knowing what else to do, gathered her into his arms. She clung to his chest, her face wet, her ribs heaving.

“Anna, it’s all right. You’re safe.” He cradled her close, rocking her as he might rock a crying child. She was so small and warm, so frightened. “Wake up, woman,” he murmured. “You’re having a bad dream, that’s all.” He pulled her closer, feeling the hourglass curves of her body beneath the threadbare flannel. Her arms slid around his neck, gripping him as if she were drowning in the depths and he was her only anchor to life.

“Anna…” His lips brushed her damp hairline, her closed, quivering eyelids. His throat tightened as he
felt her satiny legs tangling with his own and the fullness of her firm breasts, the nipples ruby hard against his chest. “Anna, don’t, we mustn’t…”

But it was the feeblest of protests. His body was burning with need, the pressure in his loins sweet and hot, all but unbearable.

“Malachi—” Her choked utterance of his name went through him with a poignant jolt. “Hold me,” she whispered. “Please hold me. I’m so cold….”

He kissed her wet mouth, tasting the salt of her tears. Caution shrilled that he should stop, at least long enough to find out what was wrong. But the hunger in him was a forest fire blazing out of control. His hands slid upward, over her taut little buttocks and along the smooth curve of her back, pushing away the crude flannel until he found his fingers brushing naked skin.

Anna moaned low in her throat. Her fingers raked his hair as he kissed her salty mouth and throat, blazing a trail downward until he was nuzzling the soft, white flesh of her breasts. Her nipples were like summer raspberries, sweet and firm. He slid one into his mouth, his tongue stroking and circling the puckered tip until she whimpered with need. Her hands pressed his head in against her as he sucked. Her hips writhed and twisted against the tingling ache of his arousal, setting off rocket bursts of sensation. Was he awake or dreaming? Was this woman really his wife? Did he care?

“Anna…oh, Anna…” His hand moved between her thighs and slid upward to brush the crisp golden nest that lay at their apex. She gasped as he touched
her, then pressed herself eagerly into the cup of his fingers—so moist, so warm—

At that instant all pandemonium broke loose.

The wild cacophony of barks, yowls and screeches came from the far end of the yard. Malachi was out of bed like a shot. “Damned bobcat,” he muttered by way of explanation to the startled Anna. “After the hens again.”

He jerked on his boots and, not bothering with trousers or apologies, bolted out of the house.

Anna sprawled across the rumpled bed, stunned by what had nearly happened. Her nightshirt lay open in front, its long tails rucked around her ribs, exposing everything but her arms. As she jerked the flannel across her bare body she could hear Malachi’s furious shouts from the yard, interspersed with the sounds of barking.

What had she done—or nearly done? She remembered the awful blackness of the dream, the terrible certainty of what she had known in her heart all along. She remembered her despair, the explosion of grief and then the tender comfort of Malachi’s arms. She had needed him—wanted him, ached to feel his hands on her skin, his powerful thrust filling her, his love healing her, making her whole at last.

Dear heaven, what had possessed her?

As she lay still, struggling to understand her own mind, she heard a whimper from Josh’s room. The uproar in the yard must have awakened the boy. He could be frightened and needing comfort.

Fumbling with the buttons on her nightshirt, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and pushed
herself to her feet. The core of her body still ached and quivered, but her head, at least, was beginning to clear. For that, she had a marauding bobcat to thank. She could only hope the blessed beast had made a clean getaway.

Josh was sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes and whimpering softly. Anna sank onto the edge of his bed and, acting on instinct, gathered the boy into her arms.

He clung to her, his curls soft and damp against her cheek. “What—was all that—noise?” he asked, hiccuping between the words. “It scared me. I want my pa.”

“Shhh,” Anna soothed, her fingers massaging the small, trembling back. “Your pa said there was a bobcat after the hens. He went outside to scare it off.”

The boy fell silent. Anna could almost feel him thinking, pondering what he’d just heard. “Was Pa sleeping in the house?”

“Yes.” She felt the sharp rise of color in her cheeks.

“With you?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” He settled against her with a little sigh. “I was dreaming about my ma,” he said.

Anna felt her heart contract. “Was it a good dream?” she asked softly, and felt his head nod against her breast.

“She was in heaven,” he said, “and she was smiling at me.”

Anna brushed her lips over a curl of dark hair that spilled onto his forehead, thinking how difficult it was not to love this little boy. “Tell me about your
mother,” she said. “I saw her picture. She was very pretty, wasn’t she?”

“Uh-huh.” Josh yawned and snuggled closer. “She used to sing to us and dance with Pa. She taught us to read, too, and made us practice sums and take-aways.”

“You miss her a lot, don’t you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I’ll bet your pa misses her, too, doesn’t he?”

Malachi’s son did not respond. He had fallen asleep with his head nestled against Anna’s shoulder.

Very gently she lowered him to the pillow. He was beautiful in the moonlight—as beautiful as his mother must have been. Anna tucked the quilt around him, then rose to her feet and, lingering a moment, gazed down at his sleeping face.

What would it be like to tuck in a child of her own? she wondered, then swiftly dismissed the question. A family was not in the cards for her, not now, not ever. She was a hunted woman. She had to be free to run at a moment’s notice, to change her name and alter her appearance, to lie, to cheat, to do whatever it took to go on living.

As she stole out of the room, closing the door behind her, the memory of her dream, still raw, closed around her like the grip of an icy hand. She felt the leaden weight of it, the awful, cold blackness of grief.

The bed would be warm, but she knew she would find no comfort under the quilts where Malachi had once made love to his beautiful wife. She had no right to any part of that bed, or to Malachi’s love.

Wearily she filled the coffeepot, put it on the stove and added a few kindling sticks to the embers beneath.
Then she sank down next to the table, where the children’s books and slates still lay, and buried her face in her hands.

Malachi used the dog to track the bobcat into the brush, but the trail ended where the crafty beast had leaped into the rocks. A quick inspection of the chicken coop revealed a broken board and a missing hen—one of the good layers he’d bought at a neighboring ranch.

He walked slowly across the yard, rubbing the back of his neck and feeling as cross as a wounded bear. If the cat came back, and it would, he’d have no choice except to set a trap for it. Elise had hated traps, and he wasn’t all that fond of them himself. But there was nothing else to be done. His family needed the hens and the precious eggs they laid.

In the east, the sky above the canyon had paled to the steely hue of a shotgun barrel. In an hour it would be light enough to wake Sam and his boy, grab some breakfast and head back up the trail to the slide. No use going back to bed—especially when all the temptations of purgatory lay between those soft flannel sheets.

It wouldn’t have been a smart thing, making love to Anna. He knew that now, with his ardor cooled to a low simmer. She was the wrong kind of woman for him and for his children. Even now, his mouth went dry with need at the thought of having her. But no, a taste of paradise wasn’t worth a lifetime of regret.

He stood gazing up at the fading stars, pondering what to do next. The wisest course would be to avoid the house altogether. Unfortunately, he had left his
pants on the bedroom floor. He had no choice except to go inside and get them. Malachi sighed and turned toward the house. Maybe Anna would be asleep. Maybe he wouldn’t have to face her.

The dog trailed behind him as he mounted the porch. He reached down and scratched the massive head. “Don’t worry, old boy, we’ll get that cat next time,” he murmured. Doubtful growled agreeably, turned around twice and settled onto the muddy rug as Malachi opened the door.

The aroma of fresh, hot coffee filled the kitchen. Anna was sitting at the table in the semidarkness, a lock of pale-gold hair tumbling over her face. Her hands cradled a white china mug. She looked tired, he thought, and sad.

When she did not speak, Malachi poured himself some coffee and took a seat across the table. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She hesitated, then shook her head.

“Should I apologize again?” he asked, knowing the words would stick in his throat. Holding her in his arms was something he would never truly regret. More to the point, what had happened in the bedroom had been as much her doing as his, and she had no right to pout and cast blame.

He was about to tell her as much when she shook her head again. Her eyes, red-lined from weeping, stared into the steaming cup.

“The dream, then?” he asked, less harshly than before.

Anna exhaled raggedly. When she looked up at him, pain was etched in every line of her beautiful face. “I never knew my father and barely remember
my mother,” she said. “I was raised in an orphanage, an evil place. To be a young girl there—”

She lowered her gaze. A shudder passed through her body. Malachi half rose, seized by the urge to go to her side and comfort her. Then she looked up at him again, her eyes so cold that he sank back onto his chair.

“The girls were preyed upon by the men who worked there—and by the older boys. One day when I was fifteen, a gang of them caught me in a dark hallway….” Her voice wavered and nearly broke.

“Anna, you don’t need to—”

“No. I have to finish this. I’ve never told this story to anyone. Maybe if I do, the truth will be easier for me to live with.” She laced her fingers around the cup and closed her eyes for a long moment, inhaling the redolent steam. Malachi waited, feeling the dark weight of what he was about to hear.

“When the matron discovered I was with child, she called me a wicked girl and locked me in an attic room. I stayed there the whole time, eating the bread and gruel she sent up and doing huge baskets of sewing. I became very good at sewing.” Her gaze flickered away, then came to rest on Malachi again.

“All those months alone, with no company except my baby—you might think it strange, Malachi, but I grew to love that poor, innocent little mite as I’d never loved anything in my life. It was mine—all mine, all I had. I would sing to it while I sewed and tell it little stories about what the world was like. Silly little stories—” Anna closed her eyes, the memory passing like a shadow across her face.

“When my time came, the matron sent for the midwife,
an old witch of a woman. It was a painful birth, I was so young and so small.” A sad little smile flickered around the corners of her mouth. “But all women have pain, don’t they? I was no different. But I tell you, I wanted that baby. I wanted to raise it, make a home for it somehow.”

Her throat worked convulsively and Malachi thought she might break at last, but her jaw tightened determinedly, and she continued.

“They’d given me laudanum—I was barely awake when the baby came. But I heard it cry. A strong, healthy cry, and I heard someone say it was a girl. Then the women took it away and told me to sleep. When I woke up—” Anna stifled a little choking sound “—they told me the baby had died. I begged them to let me see it, but they refused.”

Anna tossed the loose hair back from her face. Her hands shifted restlessly sloshing a few drops of coffee onto the open page of Josh’s arithmetic book.

“As soon as I was strong enough to walk, I ran away from that place,” she said. “And I’ve made my own way in the world ever since. I started by hiring myself out as a seamstress. Then, as I came of age, I discovered I could make more money singing—and not in churches or concert halls.” Her eyes glared into Malachi’s across the table. “I’m not a whore, Malachi Stone. But I sing in saloons. And if the atmosphere of the places where I’ve earned an honest living has rubbed off on me, I’m not going to apologize to anybody!”