Dorothy Garlock (33 page)

She moved down the path to the fence that separated the house and the barnyard, irresistibly drawn by the sweet, clear sound. Buddy got up and walked along beside her. She felt her heart still. A spell of enchantment engulfed her as if the lilting notes clinging to the evening air were coming from another world. The tune was
Home Sweet Home
, but it was
played with such expertise that Willa was almost stunned by the beauty of it.

She paused at the end of the bunkhouse when the music stopped. Then she heard someone singing in a low and whispery voice as if he were singing to himself.

Oh, bury me not—on the lone prairie,

These words came low and mournfully,

From the pallid lips of a youth who lay,

On his dying bed at the close of day.

The singer finished the song and sang another and another. The music continued after the singer stopped singing. She didn’t know much about music, but she did know that whoever was playing the guitar was a gifted musician and that he loved playing the instrument. The music washed over Willa in a soothing wave, drowning out her awareness of time and place.

Buddy growled, drawing Willa’s attention to him. The dog stood on stiffened legs looking into the pitch-black darkness between the cabin and the bunkhouse. A vicious snarl came from his throat and the hair stood up on his back.

“Come on, Buddy, let’s go.” Willa pulled on the hair at the back of the dog’s neck, but he refused to budge. “Buddy . . . come on.”

The dog’s answer was a loud, excited bark followed by a savage growl.

“Willa!” Smith’s voice—and he was coming toward her—running. “Willa,” he said again when he reached her. “What’s Buddy fussing about?”

“I don’t know. He saw something there behind the bunkhouse. I’m sorry we disturbed you. I . . . just came out for a while and I heard the music—”

“Stay here,” he said and gently pushed her up against the wall. “I’ll see what it is.”

Willa felt like a child caught eavesdropping. More than anything she wanted to run for the house.

“Howdy, ma’am. What’s the to-do ’bout?” Billy’s voice came out of the darkness first, then came Billy.

Embarrassment caused Willa to stammer. “I . . . don’t know. Smith went to s-see.”

“Ya was welcome to come over. I knew ya was here. Reckon Smith did, too.”

Willa’s mouth formed a startled “O” before she spoke. “You did?”

Billy chuckled. “Yup. Ya get used to shaders and shapes of thin’s. Ya showed light again the wall. Figured t’was you. The little filly’d not stood still so long.”

“Oh, my. I’m sorry. I was enjoyin’ the music.”

“Plays right pretty, don’t he?”

“I heard someone playing the other night.”

“Sant has a cravin’ for guitar music.”

Smith came out of the darkness as silent as a ghost.

“Find a fox after the chickens?” Billy asked.

“No. I thought it might be the silver lobo after the mares Sant brought in. It could a been a skunk, or a possum.” He squatted on his heels and rubbed Buddy’s head affectionately. “You’re a damn good dog. Do you know that? You didn’t run off to chase whatever it was you saw. You stayed to protect your lady.”

Buddy whined and licked Smith’s hand.

“Thin’s goin’ good up at the house?” Billy asked.

“I think so. Inez is a big help. Tonight I had to give Mrs. Eastwood a few drops of laudanum to keep her from thrashing around. She needs rest.”

“Her givin’ ya a peck a trouble?”

“She’s right mouthy at times.” Willa laughed softly. “But she’s been quite decent since I called her bluff and threatened to leave.”

“Guess she ain’t wantin’ ya to do that now. Night to ya, ma’am. Best I get back. Sant took off like a turpentined cat when the dog barked. Most likely he’ll come back spinnin’ some tall tale ’bout how he run off a grizzly ’stead of a little bitty old possom.”

“I’m sorry for the disruption, Billy.”

“Don’t bother yore pretty head ’bout that. Reckon Smith ain’t sorry a’tall.”

“Go on to bed, you old goat. I’ll be back as soon as I walk Willa up to the house.”

“You don’t have to do—”

“—Yes, I do.”

Smith took her elbow in a firm grip and guided her back past the cookshack and along the yard fence. Willa knew it had been foolish to lurk in the shadows and was afraid to guess what Smith must be thinking. Instead she simply allowed herself to feel his hand on her arm, guiding her along the dark path.

At the porch she stepped upon the first step and turned to him. His hand slid down her arm and clasped hers. Their faces were level.

“It was you . . . playing the guitar.” Her voice was soft and little puffs of warm breath caressed his mouth. “It was beautiful.”

Smith shuffled his feet, but couldn’t take his eyes from her face. “Any music sounds good when it’s all there is.”

“No. You like to play, don’t you? Did you teach yourself?”

“Yeah. Sant got me a book so I could learn the chords.”

“You play the tunes by ear.”

“I guess you’d say that.”

“I enjoyed it. There in the darkness it seemed to me that the music was coming from some enchanted land. Do you think that’s silly?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Did you know I was there? Billy said you did.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry—”

“—Don’t say that again. You’ve said it four times.”

“I have not!”

“You have. I don’t want you to be sorry you came out.”

“I’m not sorry I came out. I’m sorry Buddy interrupted you.”

“I’m not. It gave me an excuse to come over to you.” For a long time his green gaze was locked with hers and she was scarcely aware that she spoke.

“You needed an excuse?”

“Yeah.” He tilted his head and took a deep breath of air into his lungs.

“Why, for heaven’s sake?”

“Cause you scare the hell out of me.”

A look of bewilderment came over her face. Then she laughed—softly.

“You’re joshing me. You’re twice as strong as I am— even with a skillet in my hand.”

His face was still grave, and even in the semi-darkness she could see that his eyes held a tenderness.

“Oh, Smith—”

“Yeah. Crazy, isn’t it?”

“No . . .”

“I think it is.”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth and her heart seemed to stall before it settled into a pounding rhythm. Her hands were on his shoulders and she was unaware of how they had got there.

His arms circled her waist.

Helplessly she watched as his mouth formed her name.

He drew her against him.

His lips touched her cheek, and she knew they were coming to meet hers. Slowly, deliberately, his mouth covered hers, pressing gently at first while he guided her arms up and around his neck and then wrapped her in his. She leaned into his kiss as it deepened and floated on a sea of sensuality where everything was gently given and gently received. The touch of his tongue at the corner of her mouth was persuasive rather than demanding. She parted her lips and gave herself up to the waves of emotion crashing over her.

Smith moved his face back from hers and looked at her. Her breath came quick and cool on his lips made wet by her kiss.

“Willa . . . sweetheart . . . I shouldn’t have done that, but God help me, I can’t help myself.”

She was aware that his pulse was racing as wildly as hers. His face hovered over hers for several seconds. Then the soft utterance that came from his throat might have been disgust with himself when, at her invitation, his mouth came down across hers. She met the fervor of his passion with unrestrained response. Her mind whirled and her nerves became acutely sensitized. She pressed herself against him, her arms holding him with surprising strength. His hand had moved up to the nape of her neck, and his fingers threaded into the hair that tumbled there. He tore his mouth from hers and buried it against her cheek.

“Here I am, holding you, kissing you. I must be out of my mind.” His voice was ragged with an obvious effort to control his breathing.

Tears filled Willa’s eyes—the result of nerves strung taut and disappointment over his obvious regret at having shared himself with her for that brief moment.

“Then why did you do it?”

“I wanted to. I wanted to so damn bad it was killing me.” He moved his lips across her face and into the hair at her temples. His arms were still around her, his hand on the small of her back. “I don’t like this feeling I have for you,” he whispered in her hair, and she wasn’t quite sure she had heard correctly.

“What kind of feeling? Like? Dislike?”

“Like. More than like.”

“You don’t want to like me?”

“I should get the hell away from you before it’s too late.”

“Why? I’ll not make any demands on you.”

The flat of his hand moved down to the taut swell of her hips and pulled her to him with urgent force. Had she not been adrift in a sea of emotions, she would have felt the hardness of his desire pressing into the softness of her belly.

“Tell me I’m a worthless no-good cowardly drunk.”

“No!” she said fiercely. “I’ll never tell you that, and I wouldn’t believe it if a million people swore to it on their mother’s graves.” Her arms tightened about his neck.

“You said it once. And you were right.”

“Don’t remind me of that.” Her voice was impatient and there was an undertone of desperation. “You may not want to like
me
, but I like
you.
I can’t help it. I may even
love
you! So there! Does that make you feel better?”

When he made no reply, Willa wrenched herself from his arms and stumbled into the house. She closed the door so quickly that she left Buddy on the other side. Tears of frustration ran down her cheeks.

21

W
illa’s eyes feasted on the panorama stretching out before her. From Maud’s window she could see forest-covered slopes giving way to grassy plains and gently rolling hills. In the distance the sky was edged with purple mountains. The last three days had been cloudy with the promise of rain that didn’t come. But today there was a soft quality to the afternoon sunlight as it filtered through the clouds.

She loved this land: the space, the clean, uncluttered landscape, the sharp pine-scented air.

“What ’er ya lookin’ at, girl?”

“The land.” Willa answered absently. “It’s a beautiful land.”

“I wish . . . I could see it.”

“You will, Mrs. Eastwood.” Willa came to the side of the bed. “You should be able to sit in a chair soon. We’ll put one here by the window and Inez and I will carry you to it.”

“Poot!” Maud’s mouth closed like a trap after she snorted the word. “I ain’t havin’
her
doin’ for me.”

“I can’t lift you by myself. I’d hurt your leg.”

“Then I’ll just stay here.” There was an unmistakable stubbornness in the set of her face.

Willa laughed. “You’d best be careful. I might get the idea you like me.”

“Well, I don’t.”

Willa was sure she saw a twinkle in Maud’s eyes before she turned them away.

“Yes, you do. You’re too ornery to admit it. Ah, listen—the clock is striking. Isn’t that a beautiful sound?”

“I never told ya to fix my clock.”

“You were asleep and I couldn’t ask you. I’ll go down and stop it if you don’t want to hear it strike.”

“Leave it be. What’s done is done.”

“Would you like for me to get you a nice cold drink of buttermilk?”

“Why? Ya wantin’ to get outta here?”

“Partly. I need to visit the outhouse.”

“Go on then. But I ain’t wantin’ none of that damn buttermilk.”

“Are you saving room for another piece of Inez’s chokecherry pie? I told her to save some for your supper.”

“I didn’t like it. Too sour.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? We could have put more sugar on it. I’ll go now. When I come back I’ll read to you if you like.”

“I ain’t carin’ if you do or not.”

Willa smiled as she rounded the end of the bed. She knew Maud was enjoying James Fenimore Cooper’s tales of Leatherstocking. She had seen interest in her eyes. At first she had been angry and accused her of
stealing
Oliver’s books and vowed she would not listen. But after the first chapter, she had said no more about it.