Hawk's Prize (16 page)

She obviously had done considerable riding, as was demonstrated by her easy control of her horse. It bothered him to think that she probably had not gone riding alone, and that any man with an ounce of blood in his veins, whether a Yankee or not, would take that opportunity to . . .

Forcing that thought from his mind, Drew concentrated instead on the present. Dressed like an angel or not, Tricia was a formidable young woman. He could understand Chantalle’s pride in her, as well as the disapproval she had not hesitated to express when Tricia told her flatly that she would accompany him when he traveled to see Willie’s folks.

Drew glanced again at Tricia. His leg was stiffening painfully, but he ignored it as thoughts of the night to come sprang to mind. He had been determined to leave Galveston to notify Willie’s family as soon as he was able. He had told himself that he would not allow Tricia’s presence to alter his plans, but the afternoon sun was rapidly dropping toward the horizon, and he was well aware that twilight was not long away. They would not arrive at Willie’s home before sunset, and they could not travel in the dark.

Drew’s brows knitted with concern as he looked at Tricia. Whatever her background appeared to be, she had proved to him that she was a proper young woman. He did not want to spend the night with her on the trail.

Responding to his glance, Tricia said, “It’s easy to see that whatever you’re thinking isn’t good—and that it’s
directly related to me.” She hesitated, her gaze searching his face as she asked abruptly, “What’s the matter, Drew?”

“It’s getting dark. We’re going to have to stop for the night.”

“So?”

“Even Chantalle realized what that fact will imply to others.”

“I told you, I don’t care what other people think. Besides, it’s a little late to worry about that now.”

Drew did not immediately answer her. She was right. He had been aware of the possibility of gossip when he’d agreed she could accompany him. So why . . . ?

Drew’s mouth twitched with annoyance. He was only fooling himself. What people would think was only secondary in his mind. Foremost were his own thoughts of what the night could bring.

Damn, as if things weren’t difficult enough.

But he had made his bed. He would have to lie in it.

Belatedly wincing at his unwitting double entendre, Drew directed his mind elsewhere.

Tricia moved quietly around the makeshift camp that Drew had set up for the night. When she had questioned him about their progress, he had responded simply that they’d probably reach Willie’s family sometime the next day. She hadn’t pressed him any further, aware of just how difficult that meeting would be.

Tricia watched as Drew hobbled their horses a distance from the fire and limped back toward her.

Limped . . .

Tricia said abruptly, “Your leg is bothering you, isn’t it, Drew?”

“No.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, you know.”

“I wouldn’t bother to lie.”

“Why are you limping, then?”

Drew’s strong features were tightly drawn when he turned back toward her and said, “My leg isn’t my biggest concern right now, understand?”

“I do . . . and I don’t.” As adamant as he, Tricia pressed, “You have a painful mission to accomplish, but I saw what your leg looked like when you collapsed. I don’t want to take the chance that’ll happen again because of neglect.”

“What difference does that make to you?”

“What diff—”

Tricia went silent as Drew pinned her with his gaze. She needed to be honest or he would see right through her, but how could she respond?

Could she confess that she was attracted to him in so many ways she could not explain; that because of him, she had begun feeling things she had never felt before; that her concern for him was no longer limited simply to the altruism that had driven her to remain at his side through those long first nights when his leg and his life were threatened?

Lastly, could she tell him that Willie’s death had affected her deeply, not only because of her affection for the young man whose endearing smile had touched her, but because she suffered Drew’s torment as well as her own; that she wanted—no, she
needed desperately
to lessen his feelings of loss whatever way she could?

She couldn’t, because she knew his next question would be,
Why?

She had avoided facing that question. She continued to avoid it as she responded with the partial truth, “Because whether you realize it or not, my time is valuable to me. I don’t like to think that I wasted my effort those first nights while you lay delirious in Chantalle’s house, or that you’re going to neglect your wound so that it will happen again.”

“That’s my business.”

“Not anymore.”

Tricia was uncertain of why Drew did not press her any further, but she was grateful as he instructed abruptly, “Put your bedroll beside the fire and go to sleep. We’ll be getting up at dawn.”

Tricia followed his directions silently. She caught her breath as he laid his bedroll beside hers. She waited, then released her breath when he turned his back toward her and was soon breathing evenly in sleep.

Mrs. Childers stared at him wordlessly as the hot midmorning sun beat down on them relentlessly. Drew remained silent, at a loss for words; Tricia stood equally silent beside him.

Drew had spoken little as Tricia and he resumed their journey earlier that morning. Myriad thoughts of the day to come had tormented him, and the sober mission had grown tenser with every mile. Willie’s homestead was small and proud. He had described the modest farm so well that it had almost been familiar to Drew as Tricia and he had approached it. In a way, it had almost been like coming home.

Now as he stood there silently, he recalled that he had ridden up to the front porch of the house as a small woman walked out to greet them with a smile; a graying man had approached from the corral. Drew hardly remembered dismounting and then lifting Tricia down from her horse. He only recalled the feeling of dread that had started deep inside him as he walked up the stairs.

What he did remember was that Myra Childers had looked up at him with eyes so reminiscent of Willie’s that it had been like a blow to the gut, and that anxiety had flashed briefly there, preceding tears as he said the words forever burned into his heart.

Drew mumbled inadequately as Willie’s parents gasped with grief, “I’m so sorry.”

Nathan Childers wrapped his arms around his distraught wife, ignoring the tears that streamed down his wrinkled cheeks. Drew felt Tricia’s presence beside him and he glanced at her to see that her cheeks were wet as well.

He listened as Tricia softly spoke, heartfelt words that came from the well of sorrow deep inside her.

Drew held his breath as Myra Childers turned toward him again at last. Her lips trembling, she whispered, “You said you’re Drew Hawk, Willie’s friend?”

Drew did not note Tricia’s surprise when he nodded his assent. He listened as Myra continued hoarsely, “Willie wrote us so many times about you. You were like a brother to him.”

Unable to say more, he managed, “Yes, ma’am.”

“He was worried about you. He said he was going
back to Galveston to find you because you had gotten separated somehow.”

Drew could not reply.

Raising her chin, Myra said in a broken rasp, “Willie valued your friendship as much as he loved his family and his country. I only wish that Willie could have been walking beside you when we met you for the first time.”

Those words rang over and again in Drew’s mind. Remaining at the Childers family farm as long as he could bear it, he finally mumbled an excuse for leaving and took Tricia’s arm to lead her back toward their horses.

Turning back to the aging couple, his heart aching for their grief, Drew shook Nathan Childers’s hand, and waited as Myra Childers bade Tricia a tearful good-bye before turning toward him. The ache inside him turned to a pain so sharp that it momentarily stole his breath as Myra abruptly hugged him tight against her motherly form. His throat thickened as s he whispered, “Come back to see us, please, Drew. That would please Nathan and me greatly, and Willie would be happy to know that you considered this house your home.”

Drew boosted Tricia up onto her saddle, then mounted as well before turning his horse toward the trail back to Galveston.

Twilight had turned the wooded trail into dark shadows that inhibited further travel. Directing his mount into a clear area, Drew pulled back on the reins and said to Tricia, “We’ll camp here for the night.”

He dismounted, lifted Tricia to the ground, and then turned his back on her, making himself busy setting up camp. There had been very little conversation between Tricia and him after leaving the Childers farm; he had gone over and over again in his mind his conversation with Nathan and Myra Childers.

His throat tight, Drew recalled the emotion that had clouded Willie’s eyes each time he had spoken about them. That same emotion had been reflected in his parents’ eyes each time they said his name. The love between them had been vividly clear.

Drew inwardly winced as he recalled his own parents—the mother who had deserted the family when their lives grew difficult; the father who had left them promising to return, but who had never been heard from again. In direct contrast, Willie’s family had been separated by miles, but their hearts had remained close. Drew would never forget Willie’s tales of his hearty welcome home.

He was glad Willie had had that—a welcome home. He’d had so little time afterwards.

It irked Drew that he had needed to tell Willie’s parents they must get a release from the Adjutant General’s Office before taking Willie’s body home. He supposed those were the rules when a murder investigation was being conducted in a city under martial law, but he knew it would not be easy for those two good people to petition a Yankee’s permission to bury their son.

Drew’s mind moved briefly to Colonel Clay Madison. Despite his dislike of the uniform the fellow wore, the officer had appeared sincere in his determination
to find the man responsible for Willie’s death. Under other circumstances, Drew might have liked the fellow who had held his gaze forthrightly as he expressed his condolences and promised to find Willie’s killer; but as things stood, he had no other thought but to avoid the colonel.

It didn’t matter, in any case. Drew would find the person who’d killed Willie, and he would not leave it to Yankee justice to see that the murderer received what was coming to him. The war had been long, and it had taught him many lessons; not the least of which was to take opportunity when it presented itself, for the chance might never come again. He would not forget that lesson when Willie’s killer stood in the sights of his gun.

But in the meantime, Willie was dead simply because he had been unable to turn his back on a friend.

That thought suddenly more than he could bear, Drew stumbled, then sat down on a log as grief overwhelmed him. He did not hear Tricia approaching. He did not see the sorrow that briefly convulsed her features before she knelt beside him and slid her arms around him.

So close to him, hugging him tight, she whispered, “Don’t . . . please don’t, Drew. I can’t stand to see you grieve.”

The pain inside Tricia was excruciating as she embraced Drew tightly. His strong body shook with the intensity of his sorrow, and she whispered against his damp cheek, “Your going to Willie’s parents . . . the fact that you traveled all the way there . . . that you
thought so much of Willie that you would not allow anyone else to break the sad news to them, meant more than you realize.”

Drew looked up at her, his expression fierce. “I didn’t do anything noble. Willie died because of me. It was only right that I should be the person to tell them.”

“You weren’t responsible!”

“Yes, I was.”

“No—Willie would be the first one to tell you that.”

“Willie . . . he was always too generous for his own good.”

“Is that the way you see it, Drew? What if I were to tell you that you’re a better man than you seem to believe you are—that Willie knew it and understood it, and that was the reason he came back for you?”

“Tricia . . . please . . .”

“What if I were to tell you I believe that, too, because I know you better than you seem to know yourself?”

“Tricia . . .”

Drew raised his eyes to hers, and Tricia’s throat choked tight at the sorrow reflected there. Sorrow ached inside her, too. It was a knot of torment that wrung her heart dry as she whispered, “Drew, please, don’t talk any more. I can’t bear to hear your selfrecriminations when I know they’re unjust. There’s only one thing I want from you right now.” Her eyes holding his directly, Tricia whispered a truth she had withheld even from herself as she said, “I want you to hold me . . . to show me that I’m the only one who can help you through this sadness—that there’s no one you want more than me.”

Drew went still. His eyes were moist, and the pain inside her clenched tighter. She said earnestly, “Make love to me, Drew. It will never be more right than it is at this moment. I want to be a part of you. I want you to know that whatever you feel, I feel it, too, because I’m linked to you in every way.”

“Tricia . . .” Drew’s voice was hoarse with emotion as he said, “I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity that I feel for you, Drew.” Her eyes intense, she added in a whisper, “Of all the emotions you’ve raised inside me, pity has never been one of them.” When he still hesitated, she added, “Maybe this will prove to you how I feel.”

Slowly, gently, Tricia pressed her mouth to his.

The touch of her mouth . . . the taste of her lips . . .

Drew’s arms slid slowly around Tricia. He pressed her warmth against him, just as he had dreamed.

His angel . . .

His mouth searched hers, desperate to taste its sweetness. His lips moved over the soft contours of her cheeks, her chin, only to move back, suddenly fierce when he covered her mouth with his again. He could not seem to get enough of her. His hunger for her was so intense that he devoured her with his kisses. He fought the restrictions of clothing in his desire to touch her more intimately, groaning aloud when their naked flesh met hotly for the first time.