Crossings (24 page)

Helena lifted her cheek and pressed herself away from him. “I shouldn't have bothered you with my melancholy silliness. I don't know what got into me. I'm not a weepy woman.” Wiping beneath her moist eyes with her fingertips, she took in a shallow breath.

“A scare got into you.” Carrigan's hand rose, and he used his forefinger to blot a tear on the high point of her cheekbone. “Nothing wrong with being scared sometimes. You just had to cry yours out.”

“Well, I'm over it now, so you can let me go.”

Her pink lips were damp from the salty tears she just licked off. The compelling temptation to give her a thorough kissing knocked the wind out of him. But that one kiss would be all it would take for him to make her his wife in every way. The night on the haystack, she'd been willing until Eliazer had come.
But afterward, she'd stuck to her resolve with embarrassed blushes that hadn't fully convinced Carrigan she was relieved they'd been discovered.

Since then, Carrigan had had some time to think about the consequences of an affair between them. While he would merely be fulfilling a physical desire, she would be left to pick up the pieces when he left her. But those pieces were the very same ones that were tumbling down around them now. Whether Helena wanted to admit it or not, they were headed in a direction she was desperately trying to veer away from.

Carrigan needed a bath and a smoke. A minute to get away and clear his head. He was too dirty to be putting his hands on her. The left shoulder of her dress was now smudged with the blood from his cut hand. Jesus, there was also a vague hint of it on her cheek where he'd touched her. “Do you have a clean dress?”

Following his stare, Helena looked at her bodice. “Yes.”

“You better put it on.” The fabric of her skirt was still wet from the water she'd spilled on herself. “Might as well do it right and take a dunk in that lake.”

Her eyes widened. “It's too cold.”

Carrigan rose to his feet, his gaze fastened to the noticeable rise and fall of her breasts. “It's not cold enough.” He unbuckled his chaps and let them fall where he stood. Without a backward glance, he picked up his soap and a blanket, and brought them to the water's edge. Removing his holster, he kept the Colt within a comfortable reach. Slipping his arms from his vest, then unbuttoning his shirt, he had a decision to make. Either he could take a bath in a half-assed manner—as he'd been doing—or he could strip down all the way. Seeing as she'd already seen him raw, it wasn't a lengthy debate.

The waning sun was still warm in a sky burgeoning
with great masses of gold and purple clouds. As soon as his boots and socks were off, he flicked the top button of his trousers free with his thumb. The succession of five other flat disks followed, then he shucked his legs out of his pants. Naked, he bent to pick up the soap cake. Walking without self-consciousness, he went to the boulder and climbed on top. Then he plunged into the frigid water and drowned his carnal thoughts of Helena jumping in after him without a stitch on.

11

H
elena stared in disbelief at the taut muscles of Carrigan's backside. How could he walk so unabashedly in his altogether? The tight swells of flesh were paler than his back, which was a honey brown. His upper body was naturally darker in skin tone, but his bare behind proved, not by much. When he dove into the lake, she blinked out of her stupor.

The moment regained clarity again. She'd shown him her weaker side by crying in front of him, and it was painfully humiliating. But seeing the blood on Carrigan and not knowing the extent or seriousness, she'd thought he was gunshot again. She didn't want to lose him. Not because he was responsible for making Mr. Lewis and Mr. Wyatt treat her in a professional manner rightfully due any customer, and for saving her from ruination. That thought hadn't crossed her mind. The reason for her overemotional state was that she cared about him. He was family now. Her name would forever be linked to his, even when he wasn't living with her. She'd always be Mrs. Jacob Henry Carrigan.

Splashing water drifted to Helena's ears. She hadn't had a proper bath since leaving town. Daily she'd been soaping her face, hands, and the private parts of her body with a cloth. And each night she slept in a clean change of clothes. She'd brought a poplin skirt, two shirtwaists, and one dark dress. The blouses, she'd washed out, and they were fresh, but not ironed. After she'd shaken the dust from the gathers, the skirt was in good shape. The dress she had on now wasn't fit for another minute. A full body bath with her hair washed would be heaven. But Carrigan was in that lake, and she wasn't going near it.

Being in his arms had a dangerous appeal—one that would be deadly to her adamancy about upholding all aspects surrounding their premarital agreement. But she wasn't blind. She could see what was happening. She'd absorbed the looks passing between them and felt the friction of his hot touch. She'd heard the comforting tone of his low-spoken words meant for reassurance. The fundamentals of courtship had been there tonight when he'd held her whether she wanted them to be or not.

Helena thoughtfully chewed the inside of her cheek. She was a woman who'd listened to her heart once. She should know better than to become entangled a second time. Generous impulses and sentiments had no place in her anymore. And yet . . . chance kept whispering in her ear.
He's different . . . he won't care about what you did in the past. Take today for all your lonely tomorrows. . . .

They were here alone, and no one would know. Emilie could never guess. She'd seen that Carrigan had his own bedroom at the house and that they weren't living as husband and wife.

Helena hadn't given Emilie much thought since she'd been away with Carrigan. Knowing she was safe with Eliazer and Ignacia had been a source of Helena's peace of mind. But that didn't make up for the fact she hadn't paused once to worry about her
sister's welfare. Perhaps it was something Carrigan had said to her about letting Emilie grow up or else she'd hate her. Maybe this was a start. Maybe it was time for Helena to try and begin living again herself. She was painfully aware of how reserved she'd become over the years. How boorish and matronly in her conduct and speech, when she was barely twenty-one. Her smiles were infrequent, her laughter dusty. Why had she allowed such a thing to happen to her?

As soon as Carrigan started for the bank, Helena averted her gaze from him. When she detected his approaching footfalls, she turned her head. He'd wrapped the blanket around his middle and was going in the direction of the screen he'd put up. She came to her feet, the beat of her pulse thrumming swiftly through her body as she clutched the full blanket from off her bedroll. “I'm going in,” she said in what she hoped was a casual tone. “Could I borrow your soap? It would seem mine is used up.”

“I left it down there.” Water dripped off Carrigan's hair. He shoved the raven locks from his forehead with one hand, the other holding the gap in the makeshift towel together.

Helena nodded and walked to the lake. She didn't want to think about what was going to come later, because there would be no going back now. Only forward.

After picking up the soap, she chose a secluded area that was hidden from Carrigan's view. Here she undid her braid and disrobed. Her soiled dress pooled around her bare ankles, and she was left in just her shimmy, drawers, and petticoat. Since she only had these three pieces available, and since she would never commit to going into the lake naked, she held her breath and quickly ran into the icy water with her underclothing on. She made fast work of lathering her body and hair, vigorously scrubbing the curls until her scalp tingled. Her underclothes got a laundering while she was wearing them. Gooseflesh broke out on
her skin, and her teeth chattered. With a final dunk, she rinsed herself and was back on dry land just as the sun settled over the mountain peaks for the night.

Huddling into the warmth of her blanket, Helena gathered her clothes and walked back to camp feeling better and cleaner, but more nervous than ever. Before she could re-dress, the chemise, petticoat, and drawers would have to dry. That meant sitting by the fire for a length and allowing its dry heat to evaporate the moisture from her lawn garments. But she'd known this before getting into the water. The internal battle was hard-fought, but she'd closed off the argumentative side of her mind. With her decision came an impulsive nature she'd thought was all but gone from within her.

Carrigan looked up, but said nothing when she deposited her clothes in a heap next to her saddlebags. He'd put on trousers and boots, but nothing else except for a black neckerchief wound and tied around his left hand.

“Does your hand hurt?” she asked with genuine concern, though there was a forced nonchalance to her tone so he wouldn't comment on her state of dress—or rather, undress. She kept the blanket securely around her chemise-strapped shoulders and gripped in front with her shivering fist.

“As a matter of fact, it hurts like hell.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Cold water ran down her neck and tickled her between her breasts. Her nipples were tense, and not just from the icy lake.

“No.”

“Maybe the whiskey would help.”

“This being our last night out, I'd be tempted to get dead drunk.” His lean fingers felt his chin and made her notice he'd shaved in her absence. “And you don't prefer me drunk.”

A faint dizziness claimed her. Since when did he care how she preferred him? Before her legs buckled, she sat down. She felt her heart hammering beneath
her breasts while a host of thoughts tumbled through her brain. Had he guessed she'd changed her mind? Was he waiting for her to tell him outright that it would be all right if he made love to her?

After brushing off the sand that clung to her feet, she tucked herself neatly inside the blanket and used the excess corner to rub her hair. Trying to keep a note of calm in her voice, she asked, “What are we having for supper?”

“Whatever you want,” he drawled in the darkness.

His response undid her. There were only several food items on their list of a possible menu. But there were many others to choose from off a different kind of plate. And none were edible. Unless she counted nibbling on Carrigan's mouth or the flesh curving his sinewy shoulder.

“Leftover biscuits would be fine,” she replied, unable to meet his gaze.

“That's all?” His breathing was slow and heavy.

The blanket in her hand felt like lead. “That's all I want.”

“Is it?”

Helena lifted her chin, her hair falling next to her cheek. She couldn't find the voice to speak her feelings aloud. Her stomach pounded with tension.

“Is it?” he repeated, his persuasive lips beckoning her.

Her heart lurched. Carrigan was going to make her say it, and she hated that he was trying to coerce it out of her. The chords of her voice were rough and scratchy in her answer. “No.”

“What else?”

Raising her eyes to his, she wouldn't allow his strong and potent presence to disarm her. “You. I want you.”

Carrigan leaned forward. His unruly hair fell over his forehead, the top of his dark brows set in a questioning furrow. The lines bracketing his mouth were no longer so cutting, making his lips appear firm
and tantalizing. Extending his brawny arms to either side of her bent knees, he brought his face within a whispered breath of her ear. “I can't hear you.”

He was breathing more rapidly, his lips hovering next to her earlobe while awaiting her reply. She drew in a shallow breath of her own when saying, “I want you.”

“That's what I thought you said.”

His lips touched her, moving upon her flushed cheek and downward over the arched column of her neck. He kissed her, his nose against her skin as if he were consuming her very scent.

The blanket fell as Helena's arms stole around his neck, keeping him close. She had never touched him with a lover's hand before. His body was familiar from her doctoring, yet unfamiliar to her exploring caress. Cool and warm at the same time, his skin was smooth as fine marble. The stirring kisses he gave molded her lips to fit his as his practiced mouth roused the passions she'd suppressed for so many years. His tongue swept rhythmically into her pliant mouth in a hot, erotic way that made each pleasure point in her come alive. She became lost in the heated kiss, in the way his mouth ravenously took hers. Nothing would be slow and savored tonight. Things had gone beyond that. An urgency for a long-sought gratification was what drove Helena.