Dorothy Garlock (13 page)

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Authors: The Searching Hearts

BOOK: Dorothy Garlock
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Buck was surprised at how confidently she walked beside him. They reached the end of the wagon, and Laura put her hand out and touched it. She seemed to know exactly where she was.
“Is there a moon tonight, Buck?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“My name’s Laura.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He was tongue-tied again and the absurdity of it made him half angry. Hell. . . .
“Would you mind if I touched your face?”
Buck stood frozen. The silence was long and breathless. Finally he said, “No, ma’am.” It was scarcely more than a whisper.
Laura’s heart fluttered, and she drew the tip of her tongue across dry lips. The blanket fell at her feet when she raised both arms, letting her hands move up his chest to his shoulders. The buckskin shirt was smooth and soft beneath her fingertips. Her hands reached his throat, moved up beneath his ears, and paused. She could feel soft, silky hair against her fingers, and moved them around to the back of his neck.
His hair came to the top of his shirt and was cut off bluntly as if he had used a knife.
The bold possessiveness of her actions, the sheer wonder of it, sent a thrill of excitement through her even while she made an effort to concentrate. Her fingertips wandered up to his eyes, traced the straight brows above them, then traversed the slope of his nose down to his lips. The moment crackled with unresolved tensions. Her palms caressed his cheeks and the firm lines of his jaw. Her senses were being led into open rebellion by the touch of her hands on his face.
They stood there for a moment, suspended in time. Then slowly, haltingly, she again slipped her hands behind his neck and let them remain there. It was a moment in which they both knew something had changed, forever. It was as sudden as that. She leaned against him. Buck could feel small firm breasts, warm clinging arms—and the intimacy of that contact sent waves of shock reverberating through him. Strange, tempestuous feelings were threatening to swamp him. As if compelled by forces stronger than he, he lowered his head and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.
Laura had no time to wonder at this new experience because his arms wound around her, and she was held so closely against him she could feel the hard bones and muscles of his body thrusting against the softness of hers through her cotton dress. The first gentle touch of his lips had awakened the bittersweet
ache of passion. A feeling, until this moment unknown to her, fluttered in her breast.
His hoarse, ragged breathing accompanied the thunder of his heartbeat as the realization of what he had done came to him. His hands grasped her waist to hold her away from him.
“Ma’am! Laura. . . .” He looked down into eyes that seemed to be looking into his. Her lips were smiling, and her arms refused to leave his neck.
“Thank you for kissing me. It was much sweeter than I imagined it would be. I never thought a man’s lips would be so . . . gentle. Did you like it?”
“Yes, ma’am!” Oh God, yes, he thought.
“I liked it, too. But I don’t think it would have been so nice with another man.” She could feel the pounding of her own heart in her throat and temples.
Mesmerized, he watched her face. There was no coyness or pretense about her. Her thoughts and feelings were uttered honestly as they came to her. He trembled with the desire to wrap her in his arms and crush her to him. Only her endearing, trusting acceptance of him prevented it.
She moved her hands to his cheeks. They were warm; rough whiskers lightly scraped against her palms. She laughed, and it was only a whisper in the night.
“I’ve never felt a man’s whiskers before. Well . . . maybe once before.” She sobered, remembering. “A man at the farm grabbed me and Tucker hit him with the shovel. I don’t like to think of that, but I’ll think about this, Buck. I’ll remember each
feeling, each sound. I feel so strange, so light and giddy. Will you kiss me again?”
God Almighty! Didn’t she know what she was doing to him? He couldn’t have refused her if his life depended on it. Their breaths mingled for an instant before he covered her mouth with his. There was no haste in his kiss. It was slow, sensuous, languid. He took his time deliberately, with closed eyes and pounding heart. She offered herself willingly to his possessing lips. She felt as well as heard the raspy sound that came from his throat when his lips left hers.
“That was even better!” Her arms slid down from his neck and encircled his waist. She hugged him to her. “Oh, Buck! I could stay here all night with you, but I’d better go to bed. I’ll not sleep a wink, though. Will you come and talk to me again?”
“I’ll come,” he breathed into her ear, and to himself he said, I’ll come like a tame bear with a ring in my nose.
“I’ll be waiting,” she whispered and slipped from his arms. The wagon was behind her and she stepped up onto the box and through the canvas opening.
There was nothing about the day that was different from the day before except that the wind was stronger, flinging up fine particles of grit, and Tucker’s hands, now in her best leather gloves, didn’t hurt quite so much where the reins had rubbed blisters on her soft palms.
They had moved out of the camp beside Pecan Creek at dawn while the Louisiana farmers were still around the breakfast fire. After the wagons were strung out along the trail, a troop of soldiers led by a big, red-faced captain galloped past and slowed their mounts to a walk some distance ahead of the train.
“What was that, Tucker?”
“The soldiers. I’m glad I’m not trying to handle the flag in this wind. Their captain must be a stickler for regulations.”
“Will they scout with Buck?”
“I guess so.”
“I’m glad. I don’t like to think of him being alone out there, even if he isn’t likely to run into Indians that lift hair.”
Tucker flashed her a dark look, but controlled her uneasiness enough to ask calmly, “Where did you hear that expression?”
“Last night. From Buck. He said we’re not likely to have Indian trouble until we pass Fort McKavett.”
This was the first time Laura had mentioned her meeting with Buck. Tucker had heard their voices last night and had feigned sleep when Laura came to bed. A feeling of disquiet settled on Tucker. Everything had gone wrong since they set out on this blasted journey. And now the scout, Buck Garrett, was after unsuspecting, childlike Laura. The fact that Laura hadn’t mentioned him until now was proof that she was already smitten with him.
“What other words of wisdom did our great Mr. Garrett have to offer?” Tucker asked sharply. She glanced at Laura’s face and saw her lower lip tremble. Instantly she regretted her unkind remark. “I’m sorry, honey! I didn’t mean to sound so waspy. But at the moment I’m thinking if we threw all men into a snake pit, we wouldn’t be able to tell them from the snakes!”
“It’s all right. I knew yesterday that you had a bad case of the drearies. Did you and Mr. Steele have another set-to? I hope it wasn’t over me this time.”
“Of course it wasn’t over you. You and I are just plain dumb when it comes to men, Laura. We simply don’t understand how their devious, conniving minds work.” Tucker drew a deep breath against the pain of remembering the whispered words that had set her heart to fluttering:
You’re mine, Tucker Red. You
belong to me. I can wait, love.
Damn him! Sure he could wait! He could wait for her because he had Cora Lee!
Tucker tried to put all thoughts of Lucas out of her mind. After all, there wasn’t anything she could do about it. What had taken place under the cottonwood tree was best forgotten. But her mind kept straying back to it like a tongue seeking a sore tooth.
“Don’t worry, Tucker.” Laura reached for her arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m not falling in love with Mr. Garrett. I like to talk to him and think about him, but I’m not foolish enough to dream impossible dreams.” Tucker dragged her thoughts back to Laura. “There’s one good thing about riding in the wagon every day,” Laura went on thoughtfully. “It gives you plenty of time to think.”
“About what?” Tucker asked teasingly, not liking the serious tone of her voice. “About the time we put the frog in old Mr. Claiborne’s coffee jar?”
“No, not that. I’ve been thinking about what the priest in Fort Smith told us about convents, and how they take care of girls like me. If there’s one in California, I think I want to go there.”
“What?” Shock and dismay made Tucker’s voice sharp. “You can just stop thinking about
that,
Laura Foster! You’re not going to leave me and go to a place like that. I’ll never. . . .” She was going to say more, but the huge knot in her throat made it impossible to go on.
“Don’t cry! Tucky, don’t cry! If you do, I will, and I don’t want to. Just think about it while we’re riding
along, and I’m sure you’ll realize it’s the best place for me. In the meantime, don’t get in a snit if I talk to Mr. Garrett. Nothing will ever come of it, Tucker. I know that. And he won’t take advantage of me the way you think. Somehow I think he’s more scared of me than I am of him.”
“Just don’t ever mention that convent to me again, Laura. I don’t want to hear another word about it!” Tucker wanted to say more, but her thoughts and emotions were tearing her apart. Damn that man for ever telling Laura the place for her was in a convent school where she could be useful! Useful! A willing worker bending over a washtub is what he meant. A drudge with nothing to look forward to! In just a few years she would be old and broken. Scalding tears stung Tucker’s eyes. Laura’s heart was the same as any other woman’s heart, her dreams the same. Her blindness didn’t alter that.
* * *
The day got no better as it wore on; if anything, it got worse. When they stopped at noon, Tucker and Laura carried water to the mules, then sat in the shade of the wagon to rest. Laura brought out the cold meat and bread she had wrapped in a cloth at breakfast. They fanned away the sticky flies with their sunbonnets while they ate.
When Lucas came riding down the line, Tucker wanted to get up and move into the wagon, but pride forced her to sit and wait.
He dismounted and squatted down on his haunches beside them and let his horse crop the green grass
that edged the dusty trail. He watched Tucker’s expressive face, puzzled at the hostility turning her eyes to sparkling green pools. Damn her! Damn all women! What had put the burr under her tail this time? He decided to force her to speak first.
She said the first thing that came to her mind. “What happened to the soldiers?”
“They rode on ahead and will wait up at Fort McKavett. Captain Doyle is annoyed with me because I won’t join up with the other train.” His eyes narrowed as he watched her.
“You don’t seem to be disturbed by the captain’s disapproval. Why don’t you want them to join us? I can’t see how it would do any harm.”
With a tight smile, because he knew she was deliberately being obstinate, he pointed out: “They’re overloaded, undersupplied, and ill-advised. They hired a scout. Let him earn his money.”
“I didn’t like him,” she commented vehemently.
“Neither did I. That’s the main reason I won’t join up,” he responded seriously.
“But what about the captain?”
“He gave me until we get to Fort McKavett to make up my mind.”
“And?”
“It’s made up.”
Tucker sat woodenly, not looking at him, but glad that the scout who had looked at her as if he were seeing beneath her clothes wasn’t going to be with the train.
“Are we making good time, Mr. Steele?” Laura asked.
“At the rate we’re going, we’ll be at the Colorado soon,” he began absently, his thoughts elsewhere. Recovering himself, he continued, “When Buck and I crossed the last time, we found a place with a good rock bottom. We have it marked, and if the river isn’t up we’ll be able to ford it. We’re going to set a faster pace this afternoon, just in case we can cross before nightfall. ’Course if the river’s up, we’ll have to wait till morning and raft it.”
Tucker couldn’t come up with anything to say, so she kept her face turned away. His presence, his voice, grated on her nerves. Dear God, how was she going to bear the rest of this journey? She looked at Laura’s troubled face and knew she should say something friendly to Lucas, convince her there was no serious contention between them. She was desperately trying to think of something when Lucas’s horse nickered and she heard the soft scuffle of hooves in the sand.
Buck rode up on his big sorrel, his hat in the crook of his arm, his eyes on Laura. He dismounted and went to where she was sitting beside the wheel.
“Hold out your apron, ma’am.”
“Buck?” Laura got to her feet, her hands twisted in the blue apron tied about her waist. “Buck?” she said again, her face showing her pleasure.
“Hold out your apron,” he prompted gently.
Laura grasped the sides of her apron and lifted it.
“What is it?” she asked when she felt the weight of something being dropped into it.
“Guess,” Buck’s voice teased her.
“I can’t, and I’ll drop it if I let go,” she giggled happily.
“Then open your mouth.”
She obeyed, and he reached into the apron and popped a large ripe strawberry into her mouth.
“Strawberries! Oh, Buck, it’s been years since we’ve had strawberries.”
Buck put his hat on and stepped back. Suddenly shy, and embarrassed that Tucker and Lucas had been watching, he raised his hand to his hat brim and nodded politely to Tucker. He took up his reins and turned to his horse.
“Buck?” Laura started toward the sound of his restless horse, and he quickly took his foot from the stirrup and came toward her, his hand reaching protectively for her elbow. “Thank you. Will you stay and help us eat them?”
“I ate my share while I was picking.” He walked with her back toward the wagon. “I’ll look for a patch down by the Colorado, and you and Miss Houston can go berry picking.” He left her and went to his horse without looking at Tucker or Lucas.
“Thank you, Buck,” Laura called happily. She stood quietly smiling until the sound of his horse was lost to her.
Lucas’s eyes sought Tucker’s, and he held them with his own in a question that had nothing to do with the two of them, but with what had transpired
between Laura and Buck. It was obvious to Tucker that Lucas was more surprised than she was.
Laura turned back to the two and broke the silence. “Have a strawberry, Mr. Steele.”
“Thanks, I will.” He selected one from the pouch made by her bunched apron. “It’s time to get moving.” He glanced at the gloves Tucker was pulling on, started to say something, then changed his mind. As if snared, his gaze lingered on her bodice where the worn calico clung moistly to her breasts. Tucker’s heart tripped and began to pound. He mounted his horse. A white grin slashed his brown cheeks. “’Bye for now, Red. You, too, Laura.”
“‘Bye, Mr. Steele,” Laura called, then said to Tucker, “I don’t know why I keep calling him mister when I think of him as Lucas.”
Tucker hadn’t realized how tense she was until Lucas was out of sight. She began to relax.
* * *
In the middle of the afternoon they passed a homestead. The house was built of limestone amid a stand of pecan and oak trees. It looked permanent and secure, with clothes hanging from a rope stretched between two trees, and a large iron wash pot boiling over a fire in the yard. A woman carrying a baby came out to stand beside the trail and wave as they passed. Her husband and son brought dressed smoked turkeys hanging from a rod to trade with Mustang for coffee and sugar. This was wild, new country—dangerous, yet beginning to be settled. Tucker wondered how the woman managed to live so far from society.
By the time the wagons reached the banks of the Colorado River, dark, heavy clouds were building on the horizon. A cool breeze fanned them, lifting Tucker’s hair and tugging at her skirts. The wagons gradually slowed to a halt as the first ones in line began fording the river.
Laura laughed. Her spirits had been high all afternoon. “Do you think we’ll cross today?”
“I don’t know. The trail turns up ahead, so all I can see are several wagons and a red bluff.”
An hour later they were still waiting. There was only one wagon ahead of them now. The wind, growing stronger, was pushing the thunderclouds swiftly toward them. Tucker would have liked to walk ahead and watch the crossings, but she was afraid to leave the restless mules in Laura’s care. Lightning flashed and there was a distant rumble of thunder. Shortly after that Buck came galloping toward them.
“Lucas says for you to pull out and let the next wagon pass. He’ll be back for you. I’ll take you across, Laura.” He wheeled the sorrel around and eased him up to the wagon. Laura stood on the wheel and waited for his hands to grasp her waist and lift her to sit across his lap.
Not even the excitement of riding with Buck could take the anxiety out of her voice as she called out to Tucker, “Be careful, Tucky. Lucas will take care of you, but be careful.”
Buck’s arms closed about her, and she hugged his waist with both arms. A great tenderness welled in him. She was so innocent and trusting in his arms.
“I’m so glad you came for me!” Her arms gripped him tighter, and her face found a place to nestle against his shoulder. “All day I’ve thought about . . . last night. It’s something I’ll remember forever.”
Buck swallowed, fighting the constriction in his throat. Never had he wanted anything as much as he wanted to protect this wonderful creature, cherish her, shield her from life’s cruel blows that could crush her bubbling spirit.
“Buck?” Laura said softly, suddenly worried because he wasn’t saying anything.
“I thought about . . . last night, too,” he said. Good God! He’d thought of little else. He was glad there was no one to see the naked longing on his face when he looked at her.
“I want to say this before we get to the river, because then I’ll have to keep still. Don’t think that I’m. . . . What I want to say is that . . . I don’t take it for granted because you come and talk to me that you’re courting me. Or that you’re interested in me the way a man who likes a girl is. I like to talk to you, but I don’t want you to talk to me because you . . . feel sorry for me. I’ve said this all wrong!”

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