Christine Dorsey (11 page)

“Well, I certainly don’t want him here,” Samantha mumbled, ignoring the memory of his expression when he backed away from her. She pulled on a clean dress, stepped into her shoes, and started for the barn.

First she’d talk to Will. She was sorry about last night, and intended to tell him so. Maybe she did “mother” him too much; it was hard not to since she’d been doing it so long. But he was growing up, as Captain Morgan pointed out—she guessed she should be thankful to him for that.

She and Will would work out their problem. The fact that he’d got up early and started work told her he was willing to try.

Samantha stepped into the glaring sunlight. Morning glories webbed their way up the porch supports, filling the air with their fragrance.

Heading for the barn, sidestepping the chickens that cackled at her feet, Samantha smiled. The hammering sounded louder now, a firm steady beat, and she wondered what Will could be making. Whatever it was, she’d be sure to show her gratitude. Will did a lot for the farm—she certainly couldn’t manage without him. She needed to let him know that more often. After she talked with Will, she’d fix him a grand breakfast of ham and griddle cakes with—

Samantha stopped short in the doorway. The inside of the barn was dusky, the muted light from the slits cut in the sod alive with dust motes. But not so dark she couldn’t see plainly.

And what she saw made her chin drop.

Will was there all right. He was sitting on the milking stool, a startled expression on his face, and a piece of straw between his teeth. But he wasn’t hammering.

Jacob Morgan was doing that. At least he was until he followed Will’s gaze and saw Samantha standing in the doorway. Then he simply stared at her, his eyes following a path from her hastily arranged hair to her scuffed shoes and back.

Samantha swallowed, feeling heat creep up her neck and spiral in her belly. He wore the same pants as last night, snug gray wool. Again both suspenders dangled down his narrow hips. His shirt was white, damp from sweat, and unbuttoned to reveal his muscled chest—that is, what wasn’t covered by his bandaging.

“Sam.” Will stood, spitting out the straw. Apparently he’d taken their argument last night to heart—at least enough to be uncomfortable about being here with Captain Morgan.

But Samantha really couldn’t think about Will right now. She couldn’t take her eyes from their Rebel guest. She was remembering last night—not the row with Will but the kiss afterward, and by the expression on the captain’s face, he was thinking of the same thing.

But it only took him a moment to regain his control. He shrugged toward the hammer in his right hand. “I took your advice about staying a few more days.”

Had she told him to stay? Samantha remembered saying something about his being too weak to leave, but that was definitely before the kiss. He hadn’t seemed to lack for strength then. Samantha pulled her mind back to the present. He was talking and she missed most of it. Something about fixing up a few things around the farm in payment for her treatment.

“That’s hardly necessary.” Samantha’s voice sounded strange, and she cleared her throat, wanting with all her heart to turn and run for the cabin. She’d pull the latch string and hide in the room till he left, and— “I’m sorry. What did you say?” Goodness, she had to start paying attention. She was acting even more foolish today than she had last night.

“I said”—Jake shifted his feet—“it might not be necessary but I’d like to do it. There are a couple of things that need—”

“We manage fine.”

What a prickly woman. What a damn prickly woman! Manage fine like hell. He saw the place. The garden was a mess, the fence near falling down, and how they kept dry during a storm was beyond him. The shakes on the roof curled and sagged.

And it sure wasn’t as if he wanted to get involved with her problems. He could just as easily get on his horse and ride west, weak or not. And he would have already if Will hadn’t come into the barn early this morning.

The boy had wanted someone to talk to—someone besides his older sister. And like it or not, Jake fit the bill. And it wasn’t as if he really minded. If his own son had lived... Jake forced his mind away from that painful course. He liked the boy. He understood a little more about the woman. And she was a damn good cook.

Besides, she couldn’t help it that he’d lost control of himself last night. Because deep down Jake knew that was the main reason he wanted to saddle up and move on. Not that it would happen again. He’d see to it that there’d be no more kissing. But she acted as if he’d thrown her to the floor and tossed up her skirts—and he was having a hard time keeping the whole thing from his mind.

Jake laid the hammer on the stool. “Look, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll stay on a few more days. And while I’m here, I’ll do a little work to help build up my strength.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you helping out?” She didn’t trust him any more than she trusted any of Landis Moore’s men.

Jake blew air out through his mouth. Maybe he should just saddle up and ride out. Forget about the boy, forget about the food. “Look,” he said when he calmed down enough to turn back to her. The defiant thrust of her chin didn’t salve his anger. “We seem to have our share of differences—starting with you shooting me down for no reason.”

“I had my reasons!”

“Maybe you thought you did. But I doubt even
you
believe them anymore.”

She couldn’t argue because, Lord help her, she was beginning to think she’d made a mistake. But she couldn’t tell him. She could only stare at him wide-eyed.

Jake shook his head and leaned back against the stall divider. Had he honestly expected an apology? Did he even care for one? He crossed his arms. There was no reason to push for something he wasn’t getting and wasn’t sure he wanted.

“It’s up to you.” Jake met her gaze squarely. “I can stay on a few days. Trade some chores for meals. Or I can ride out now.”

Samantha’s hands tightened around the folds in her skirt. He’d left the choice to her. From the corner of her eye she could see Will leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. From the expression on his face it was obvious what he wanted her to say. The decision would be easy for him. But then
he
trusted the Rebel. Even If she did concede he wasn’t a member of Moore’s gang, could she abide a rebel?

Samantha swallowed. “I suppose you can stay for a few days. Two maybe,” she added, wanting to set a definite time limit. “But...” Heavens, how could she say what she was thinking? What she’d been thinking about all morning. The answer was she couldn’t.

Crossing her arms, her posture mirroring his, Samantha nodded toward her brother. “I’m going to fix some breakfast. Will—” But the boy was way ahead of her and raced out the door yelling something about getting water from the creek. Charity trotted along at his heels.

No longer having Will as a buffer between them made Samantha realize how much she wanted—needed one. Will may not have said anything during their discussion, but she’d known he was there.

Now the musky air ripe with animal smells hung heavily between them. She knew she should leave, but he was staring at her and she couldn’t seem to break the spell. She could think only of last night and what it felt like in his arms. “I... I better...” Samantha straightened her shoulders. She was acting like an idiot again and she refused to continue.

Something needed saying—about the kiss last night—and she rushed ahead before she could think too much about it. “If you stay, there can be no repeat of...” She tried, but she hadn’t gotten all she had to say out before she looked at him. He arched his brow, and she went tongue-tied. She tried again. “No repeat of—”

“I’m not interested in anything but some honest work, a few meals... and staying to myself.”

“I see.” Samantha folded her hands. He obviously knew what she was trying to say and he agreed. Readily agreed. Why did she find that annoying? Taking a deep breath, she pushed that thought from her mind. “That’s good.” She paused. “Well, I’ll get to fixing breakfast.” Glancing over her shoulder, she added, “You’re welcome to come to the cabin to eat. If you want.”

Jake almost laughed at her offhand invitation. He wasn’t sure why she offered, but he was pretty confident she didn’t really mean it. Strangely, that made him all the more eager to accept.

He turned, giving the nail one final whack before glancing over his shoulder. “I’ll be up to the house directly.” Then he watched as she trudged out of the barn.

Unconsciously rubbing the area around his wound, Jake leaned back against the stall. Samantha Lowery was a strange one all right. A woman who’d shoot a man then spend days and sleepless nights nursing him back to health. Who’d tell you she shot you, then ask you to eat at her table to hide her fear.

A woman whose passionate kiss could leave a man wondering and longing for more.

Jake cringed at that. She did more than just make him angry. A hell of a lot more. This feeling had been creeping up on him for days almost too subtly for him to notice. But last night it erupted. And it was still there. Even while the woman stared at him, distrust filling her blue eyes, it was there. How could he feel desire for her? How could he feel it at all?

But the fact that he did, contrary to all reason, bothered him as much as the gnawing guilt it caused. It also made him determined to control this lust, to prove to himself he could, before he moved on.

Anyway, she wasn’t exactly warming up to him. She still acted as if anyone from the Confederate Army was the next thing to a criminal. Jake considered telling her why he’d joined the war, but decided against it. He didn’t care if she liked his politics. He didn’t care if she liked him at all. But even as Jake tried to convince himself of that, a little voice in his head questioned why he was staying.

~ ~ ~

Samantha burned the griddle cakes.

It wasn’t the first time in her life it happened. But it was the first time she didn’t have a good reason. The stove wasn’t too hot. No other work distracted her. She couldn’t even blame Will’s chattering. For he’d brought in the water then left again to see to the cow.

No, the only excuse she had was not an appealing one. She’d been thinking about Jacob Morgan. Thinking about his clear green eyes, the breadth of his chest, and that kiss. Always that kiss. Why had she said he could stay?

But she must stop daydreaming, Samantha decided as she mixed up another batch of batter, beating at the lumps of cornmeal. He’d be here only a few more days and she would simply ignore him.

Not so difficult, she decided a short time later while she sat at the table across from Will and the Rebel. All she had to do was concentrate on her food. Cut a bite of griddle cake. Dip it in the puddle of syrup she’d made from sugar and water. And eat it. Simple.

It wasn’t like she was being ungracious. She’d given Jake Morgan a stack of cakes and he had plenty of company. Will hadn’t stopped talking to him since they’d finished the blessing.

And it was all about Texas.

“I’ve never been there myself,” Jake said, wiping his mouth with the linen napkin.

“But you know how wonderful it is, right?” Will shot his sister a telling stare, which she pretended not to notice.

“Well, I know my brother liked it when he went there back in ’46. Told me once he wouldn’t mind going back.” Jake took another bite. He could say one thing for the woman, she knew how to fill a man’s stomach.

“Your brother fought against Santa Anna’s troops?” Will seemed near ready to burst with excitement.

“Yeah.” Jake grinned.

“Is he going to Texas with you?”

“No.” Jake lifted his eyes and met Samantha’s blue gaze. “My brother was killed at... Gettysburg.”

“Gee, Mr. Morgan, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Don’t worry about it.” His words were for Will, but his eyes never left Samantha. “That’s what happens in wars. And I told you, it’s Jake.”

“Sure, Jake.” Will took a big swig of milk, his swallowing the only break in the silence.

The Rebel was still looking at her, and Samantha wasn’t sure what his expression meant. He had lost a brother and so had she. Did he think that gave them some sort of common ground? No, Samantha corrected herself quickly. He wasn’t looking for common ground any more than she was.

Besides, the fact that their brothers fought on opposite sides just made their differences that much more pronounced.

Pushing back her chair, Samantha rose. “Does anyone want any more to eat? I can fix some more.”

“No thank you, ma’am.”

“Naw, Sam.”

Both males at the table spoke at the same time. Will didn’t surprise her. She’d seen him slip his last griddle cake to Charity, who devoured it in one huge canine gulp. And she was certainly used to his sloppy speech that resisted all her efforts at reform.

But she hadn’t expected the Rebel’s innate politeness. She expected him to be crude... like Landis Moore and his men. Samantha paused as she scraped her plate into Charity’s bowl. She was comparing Jake to Moore’s men, but she no longer thought he was one of them. The dog nudged Samantha out of the way. She straightened, plunging the dish into the wash pan.

“May I speak with you a moment?”

Samantha whirled around. She heard chairs scraping along the floor and footsteps and assumed Will and the Rebel had left the cabin. But she was only half right. Will was gone. Jacob Morgan wasn’t. He leaned against the door jam, watching her, his lips relaxed in amusement.

Samantha’s soapy hands flew to her hair. She couldn’t help the reaction, or the gray suds that splattered on her face. What was she doing? She didn’t care what her hair looked like for him, or anything else about him for that matter. Lifting her apron she gave her cheeks a swipe. “What do you want?”

She certainly was full of vinegar. But then he’d startled her, even if he hadn’t meant to. He’d just been too engrossed in watching her bend over to make sure she knew he was still inside. Jake shook his head. Watching her was the last thing he should be doing. The crease between his brows deepened. “I noticed some shakes piled in the barn.”