Caress of Fire (31 page)

“Meine Liebe,
where are you going?”

Irritated that Matthias needed her when she sought her husband, Lisette nevertheless stopped in her tracks. For a friend, Matthias could be as pesky as Tecumseh Billy.

“I'm looking for Gil,” she answered.

“He has gone back into town.”

“What for?”

“Lise, he doesn't confide in me. How would I know his purpose?”

Why had Gil left the herd again? There was no reason she could imagine, unless he wished to visit a saloon and cry in his beer.
Verdammt!
What did he have to cry about? The cattle drive was at an end, Hatch was no longer a threat, and he would become a father in a little over two months.

Yes, she had been coarse and deceptively receptive to Jimmy Two Toes, and Gil didn't want to hear her reasons, but her husband had many things to be happy about.

The saddle creaking, Matthias dismounted, and reins in hand, he walked toward her.

“Excuse me,” she said, trying to step around him. “I fancy a walk–alone.”

“He hasn't been good to you, has he?”

“Matthias, respect my wishes.”

“Except for my few days with Cactus Blossom, I've always wanted to be by myself. But I–” He paused. “There's a pond not far from here. It's a nice place to be with an old friend. Will you share it with me?”

She lifted her hand to brush the hair from her temple–Gil hadn't noticed that she had combed it loose for him. “I will,” she answered at last.

Matthias leading his mount, they found the pond. The horse drank from the water while frogs and crickets made noise. Lisette settled on the soft grass, with Matthias to her right.

Rather than have him pose questions, she asked, “What will you do, now that the drive is at its end? Will you rush back to Texas with the remuda and T-Bill?”

“It depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“My choice depends on what your husband does. I fear he'll leave you in Abilene, Lise, and if that comes to pass, I intend to stay and make certain you're all right.”

“Gil will take care of me.”

Recalling her husband's promises of a honeymoon in Illinois, of introducing her to his grandmother, Lisette choked down the lump in her throat. How long had it been since he had mentioned anything of the sort?

“You're blind where the Scotsman is concerned,” Matthias commented. “I don't think you even know that he has a chip on his shoulder.”

“I ... I know he has problems, but it's not your place to worry over them.”

“I do–because it affects you. All I want is your happiness. And Gil isn't making you happy. If I knew why, maybe I could help.”

“I don't need help.”

“You're wrong there.” Matthias drummed four fingers on his knee. “Lise, as long as I've known Gil, he's been a man possessed by some ghost.”

“His divorce hurt him a lot,” she replied after a minute.

“And you're paying the consequences.” When she said nothing in response to his comment, Matthias pressed her. “Talk to me, Lise.”

Feeling traitorous, yet gaining a bit of peace from bearing her hurts, she admitted the awful truth about Jimmy Two Toes and the buffalo valley. “... And Gil took it all wrong. He won't listen to me.” Her throat tightened. “How could he ever think I'd want that horrible Indian?” She hesitated. “I guess it's because he equates me with his former wife.”

“She was unfaithful?”

“More than simply that.”

She told him about Betty, and when she finished, Matthias said, “If he could forgive her, he could forget her.”

“A simple concept. A difficult thing to accomplish.” Lisette's hand moved backward to massage the small of her back.

Matthias scooted closer, his fingers pressing against her ache. “Your husband should be rubbing your pain away.”

The sole time Gil had taken such action had been in the meadow–the place where Hermann had been conceived. Did he have any understanding how difficult it was to be with child, especially one so large as his son?

There was a lot about Gil beyond her understanding.

Matthias' hand closed around a hank of her hair. “Remember when I used to tug on your–”

“Get your hands off my wife.”

Gil.
She sprang away, catching sight of her husband and Big Red. “I ... I thought you were in town.”

“Obviously.”

“I wanted to take a walk.”

“Did you, now?” Not waiting for her reply, Gil hoisted his arm and jerked a thumb across his shoulder. “Beat it, Gruene.”

Matthias pushed to stand. “You'd like it if I would just
get lost,
wouldn't you, McLoughlin?”

“I wouldn't shed any tears.”

The strawboss, his fist balled, said, “The night you married Lise, you promised to be good to her. You haven't been.”

“You have a problem with English? I said shove off.”

With pleading eyes, Lisette looked up at her old friend. “Go. Go now.”

“Is that what you truly want, Lise?”

“Yes.”

When Matthias was out of earshot, Lisette stood; it took an ungraceful effort. She closed the distance between herself and Gil. “What do
you
want,
mein Liebster?”

“Answers.” Grasping the pommel, he swung a leg over the saddle. His boots on the solid ground, he slapped Big Red's rump; the stallion galloped toward the remuda. “Lisette, why do you want other men to touch you?”

“The only hands I want on me are yours.”

“Don't give me that. Discounting Matt, you were acting the whore for Jimmy Two Toes.”

“I was trying to get an edge on him, and–”

“You would've gotten an edge on him, all right.”

She didn't think; she acted. Her arm arcing, the air resounding with the whang of her palm against jaw and bone, she slapped his face.

Gil moved not a muscle. The moon shadowed the set lines of his face.

“Damn you, Gil McLoughlin, I am tired of your brooding silences. I am sick of your acting the wronged husband. And I won't abide your innuendoes!”

“That so?”

“Yes. And I want you to know something. When I was in that valley with Jimmy Two Toes, I was scared to death. He had a gun pointed at me, and I thought if I could get hold of it, I could save our child's life.”

“Sounds convincing, but I'll never know if you speak the truth, since you don't have his ‘revolver' to prove your claim. And I never saw it. I know one thing for sure.” Gil's jaw tightened. “Since the last time I've known your abundant charms, I've caught you with two men. So, what am I to think?”

“When was the last time you wanted my ‘abundant charms'?”

“You don't want to know.”

An invisible knife slashed her chest and twisted in her heart. She whirled around, making for camp. Before she'd taken five steps, her feet quit moving. Her chin dropped. If the tables were turned, she would be just as angry as Gil, provided she'd twice happened on him in compromising positions.

Pivoting, Lisette asked, “Do you still love me, Gil?”

“I'm not sure.”

His answer hurt, but if pride kept her on the path to the campsite, they might never clear up his misconceptions, he might never express his love again. And mean it.

She wouldn't ask if he still wanted her. The answer, no doubt, would cause more pain. How long had it been since . . . ? The last time he'd wanted her, in the Osage village, their lovemaking had been cut short. He had to be just as frustrated.

Tonight, right here, right now, she would
make
him admit his longings, make him act on them. In each other's arms, they would chase away ghosts.

 

 

He wanted to be as cold as his heart, yet it had been a long time since they had been together. He stayed put. Reaching back and walking toward him, Lisette untied her apron. It fell to the ground. She wore the last of the two dresses Red Dawn had sewn. Damn it, he ought not to want her.

Yet she was still the woman Gil had fallen in love with, was still the woman he had taken to wife, was still the woman who crowded his thoughts, but what was wrong with him that other men's leavings held appeal?

What was wrong? For weeks, jealousy had eaten at him. If he'd been thinking right, he'd have known she hadn't set out to seduce that Indian, and he damned himself for not listening to her pleas. From the beginning. Yet . . . Two Toes was only part of the problem.

He had to do something. Gil's eyes lowered to her belly. “Give your child a break. Our coupling could bring its birth.”

“I'm not that far along. Monika told me that she and my brother were comfortable with lovemaking well into her seventh month.”

“Good for them.”

Her palm flattened against his chest, her fingers arousing his nipples. “It will be good for us, too,
mein Liebster.”

From somewhere, he marshaled restraint. “Why don't you call me
‘Liebling?'
That's what you called Jimmy Two Toes.”

“Do you forget that is what I also called Sadie Lou?” His wife pressed her stomach against his. He felt something move as she said, “I call animals by that endearment. You are my only beloved.”

Her heart strummed against her chest, against their child, as Lisette waited for her husband's response. “Gil, do you understand how much you mean to me? It's you I love and adore. And you've told me you love me, and you're not a man to lie.” Her blind faith faltering, she added, “Are you?”

“You ask too much, Lisette.”

The pain of his rejection washed through her when he shoved her hand from his shoulder, yet not ready to give up, she said, “I have been, and will always be, faithful to you.”

“Talk is cheap.”

“Then let's not talk,” she whispered. “We should . . .”

What could she do to heat her husband's blood to the degree of hers? She knew he enjoyed aggression; in the past she'd been rather clumsy at it. What could she do that would be different?

Unbidden, her mind wandered back to the morning in the buffalo valley. Did men really enjoy being kissed on ... ? It seemed shocking, yet when Gil had pleasured her, his actions had been anything but what should be expected of marital relations. Perhaps he would like her lips on Old Son. She certainly enjoyed it when his mouth caressed her flesh.

Her fingers worked on freeing him of his gunbelt, then she tugged the tail from her husband's shirt and released his britches' top button. When she touched her lips to the hair of his chest, her passions increased. She loved the feel of his taut form, the taste of his salty skin, the scent that was solely her husband.

She had to speak. “On our wedding night you made me take your boots off. Tonight I want to.”

“If you've got something to prove by stripping me, think again. I'm not interested.”

He could speak a million words, and if she let them, each would hurt her, so she buffeted her heart against anything but his bodily reaction. And her own.

“Old Son speaks the language of lovemaking.” Using her husband's arms as a crutch, she got to her knees. Gil tried to step back; she gripped his wrists. “I can't get your boots off unless you lie down.”

“Stop it, Lisette. I won't have you getting warmed by Matt, then . . .”

“You stop it, Gil. Matthias is my friend. You are my lover–my only lover. And that's the way it'll always be.”

“Promise?”

“I already have. At our marriage. And I'm true to my promises.” Her palm cupped the warm place of him. “Lie down,
Liebster.
I will take your boots off.”

“Damn,” he muttered, yet he reclined on the grass.

It was a small victory for Lisette, but she took it.

Her back to him, she straddled his legs. “Put your arms around my waist, as you did on our wedding night.”

His fingers curled around her sides, and she felt the tension in his grasp, yet there was something else in it. She felt the passion he wanted to deny.

Her palm smoothed over his knee. “Do you want to know what I was thinking the first time we touched this way?”

“I reckon you'll tell me, whether I want to hear it or not.”

“You're right, my beloved. Nothing could stop me from telling you how much I wanted to turn around and kiss you. I wanted your lips on mine . . . I ached for the lovemaking you sought on our wedding night.”

“But you wouldn't say so, since you didn't want me to find out you weren't pure.”

“You're right. But you'd fired my passions, Gil. Fired them from the first moment I approached you in Fredericksburg.”

“Just take off my damned boots and be done with them.”

She slid them off his feet, sent them flying. The fingers of one hand wound around five toes. The strangest thought assailed her: Would Hermann have such big feet? Heaven above, why think of their son at a moment like this?

She turned, aligning herself with her husband's muscular form. Despite his reluctance, he shivered with desire. Her lips pulled into a ghost of a smile; at least he wasn't totally insensitive to her “dubious charms.”

If only she could make him forget the past . . .

She unfastened his Levis. “Let me love you.” Unschooled in this new art of lovemaking, she took his shaft in her hand, then put pursed lips to the tip of it. The musky odor of his sex aroused her even further. Yet Gil tried to push her away.

Again she placed a kiss on him. “You don't like this? Have you not had other women do this to you?”

“For Christ's sake, you
are
innocent.” He chuckled, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “That's not how you do it.”

He taught her the art of pleasuring him, yet only a few moments passed before he groaned. “Stop. Stop now.”

She raised her head. “You still don't like the way I–”

“Damn it, honey, don't you understand? I'm near my peak.” He lifted her away from him, turning her to her back. “There's only one way to end what you started. And I pray God I don't do anything to hurt our child.”

A hum of pleasure escaped as Lisette felt him enter her. He was so big, so hot, so
hers.
This coupling lacked the intensity of their previous ones; she knew his caution had to do with her condition. She gained as much satisfaction, though.

“Are you all right?” he asked huskily, and cupped her jaw with his hands.

“I am.” Her fingers tightening around his hands, she looked up at him. His eyes were closed, his mouth set in a grim line. “But you're not.”

“You got that right. I'm thinking how neither one of us has an ounce of pride. You don't know when to back off, and I don't have the strength to keep you at arm's length.”

“Maybe that will keep us together until death parts us.”

“Maybe you're right.” He pulled her close. “I hope so.”

Nestled against him, she said, “I'm sorry I let Matthias get too familiar. And I want you to realize–I'm not Betty. You think about her a lot, don't you?”

“No.”

“Gil, I think you're not telling the truth.”

He disengaged himself from Lisette's arms, stood, and picked up his clothes. A light mist began to fall. “Come on, honey. We'd better get back to camp. Get dressed. You'll catch your death if you don't get your clothes on.”

It was chilly. But the cold part came from realizing that her husband spent too much time thinking about the past. Well, she could only do so much at once.

She pulled her dress over her head. “What will we do, now that we've reached Abilene?”

“Sell cows.”

“I mean, what are you planning for me and Hermann?”

He put his arms around her, kissing her temple. “I'm planning to make sure you don't name him Gilliegorm.”

“Does that mean you'll stay with me for the birthing?”

“Absolutely.”

Laughing in relief, she patted his taut buttock. “Oh, Gil, everything is going to be wonderful!”

Arm in arm, they returned to camp.

Attitude Powell called him away, though.

She climbed into the chuck wagon, spread the bedroll for the last time, and ran a brush through her hair. She counted twenty strokes before Gil thrust back the flap. Tension shot through the air, and her arm dropped as he climbed over the seat, anger in his motions.

“What's this about you paying off Preacher Wilson?”

“He was wanting to be with his family, and I didn't think you'd mind if I released him.”

“He could've gone to his family and gotten his money later.”

“I gave him his salary a day early. What's the wrong in that?”

Gil slapped his palm on the trunk holding his kilt and bagpipes. “Because I don't pay my men until
I
get money in my hands.”

“Surely you don't expect your saddle-weary cowboys to ride broke into Abilene.”

“They
were
going to get an advance on their pay. That's my policy. Now they'll have to wait upwards of a week for so much as a dollar.”

She turned up a palm. “You'll have plenty of money after you speak with the cattle broker.”

“Money doesn't change hands that quickly, Lisette. As I said, it could be days before I sell the herd.” Hunching his shoulders, he pointed a finger. “And you've just depleted our resources.”

Her mind's eye painting a picture of the depleted strongbox, she shuddered and muttered, “Oh, Lord.”

“Right. Oh, Lord. Since you like being the boss, do you want to be the one to 'fess up there's no money?”

“Maybe I could ask Eli for some of it back.”

“Right. I want to be a fly on the wall when you tell him, ‘Mister Preacher Man, could I be an Indian giver and take back some of my offering money? You see, my cowboys are wanting to spend it on booze and whores.' ”

She grimaced, but couldn't helping chuckling when she considered saying those things to Preacher Wilson. “Oh, Gil, we
are
in a fix.”

“Not we.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“You
are going to do the talking, boss lady.”

“Can I–Should I wait until we're in town?” she asked in a small voice.

“Do as you please. You always do.”

 

At first light the longhorns crossed the wide and shallow waters of Smoky Hill River, following the east bank of its tributary, Mud Creek. Shivering despite the warm morning, Lisette sat next to Pigweed and dreaded owning up to her mistake.

“We near 'bouts there, missus. Just a couple more hills.”

Because she'd given his salary away, she couldn't look at the chuck wagon's driver. Her eyes turning to the right, she got a first glimpse at the tracks of the Kansas Pacific Railroad. Like twin silver ribbons decorating green velvet, the rail line meandered up and over the eastern horizon. Something swelled in her chest, side-tracked her great anxiety.

“Oh, Pigweed, would you look at that. Isn't it beautiful? I've never seen railroad tracks before. Have you?”

“No, missus, I ain't. Do be purty, though.”

“It's the jewel at the top of our crown,” she whispered in awe. “After all these months, to finally see it . . .”

“It be nice, missus. But me, I'd rather see the inside of the saloon. I got a powerful thirst, I have.”

“Y-yes. Yes, of course.”

The wagon rolled over the tracks, the motion strange and jostling. Her limbs vibrated from it as well as from dread; she faced forward and got an eyeful of Abilene's outskirts.

A herd of longhorns were being corralled into a holding pen near the rail line. Beyond there, people and animals–horses, chickens, dogs–lined the streets of log houses and several buildings. The tallest, a three-story clapboard structure, had words painted across the top floor: Drovers' Cottage Hotel.

While she always had looked forward to a soft bed, this time she wasn't so eager. Besides, until Gil could sell the herd, they might not have funds for any bed, be it soft or hard.

Her husband rode up. Doffing his hat and running his forearm across his brow, he said, “Leave the chuck wagon at the blacksmith shop–tell Pete Miller to put the charges on my account. The boys and I will meet you there–later.”

The blacksmith's shop. The place where she must own up to giving Preacher Wilson . . . Once more she shivered. But collecting as much composure as possible, she squared her shoulders and sat straighter on the wooden seat. “All right. I'll be waiting.”

“Pigweed, you come with me.”

 

 

Hours passed. Late afternoon shadowed the street in front of Pete Miller's smithery. Perspiring in the summer heat, Lisette sat on a ladderback chair on the porch. From behind, she heard the forge's roar and the ping of metal striking an anvil. Each ping advanced her dread.

She wished Gil and the cowboys would hurry with penning the cattle so that she could get on with her admission.

Restless, she stood, walking up and down porch's creaking boards to observe the surroundings. Most of the activity centered at the stockyard. The street crowd had lessened, only a handful of people in view. There were, of course, quite a collection of horses tied to hitching posts fronting the town saloon, Ma Pinter's.

A skinny brown dog padded in front of her, his head lowered, his tail tucked. He lifted his nose, then wagged that tail at Lisette before going on his way. The mutt was the first canine she'd seen up close since Sadie Lou. Poor Sadie Lou. One casualty in a long list of them.

A stately woman exited the Drovers' Cottage, her step brisk. A cream-colored straw hat, fashioned in the bird's wing style and trimmed in blue velvet, sat at a jaunty angle atop her wealth of upswept silver hair. She marched down the street, toward the stockyard. A reticule clutched under an arm, she swung the other. Definitely, she was a woman with purpose.

Lisette found her infinitely interesting.

The woman neared her; Lisette guessed her to be about fifty.

Nodding politely and regally, she kept to her pace, saying, “Good day t' you.”

“Good day.”

The brisk steps slowed, picked up again, then came to a halt, the hem of her skirt swaying to display shoes of brown leather. Turning on the toe of one gaiter, the woman marched back and ground to a halt below the porch.

There was something familiar in the bright eyes and in the set of her mouth. Could it be possible that she–? Of course not. This woman was too young to be–

“Are you German, lass?” the stranger asked.

“I am.”

“Thought so from your accent.” A winged brow lifted as she studied Lisette's hand, especially the ring finger. “You wouldna be the wife o' Gilliegorm McLoughlin, would you?”