Jane Bonander (6 page)

Suddenly she turned and their gazes met. The joy slid from her eyes and from her soft, luscious mouth, and she stopped laughing. She broke the connection first, dropping the ball to the ground and nervously wiping her hands on her dress. Corey ran across the grass and hid behind his mother’s skirt. The only one who appeared happy to see him was the damned dog.

“Don’t let me keep you from your fun.” Nate grimaced at the gruff sound of his own voice. Hell, he could intimidate without even trying. It had become one of his best honed qualities.

“No . . . no,” she said, hurrying to the steps. “I have to start dinner, anyway. Corey,” she said, turning briefly, “maybe you should come inside with Mama.”

Corey shook his head. “Corey stay out and play with Max, Mama.”

“I can keep an eye on him.” Nate saw the indecision on Susannah’s face; his offer didn’t appear to sit well with her.

She relented, but he could tell it was a hard fight.

The boy played quietly just out of Nate’s vision, yet Nate felt him there. Heard him, too. He could actually whistle. Occasionally he turned, finding the boy pretending to saw through a piece of wood with a twig. He was sorry he’d offered to watch him, for memories of Jackson haunted him again.

“Don’t hit! Don’t hit!”

Nate turned quickly, thinking Corey was talking to him. He opened his mouth to say something, then watched what the boy was doing. He held two sticks, beating at one with the other. Something unpleasant lodged in Nate’s chest.

“Corey help Mama,” he said, holding one stick aloft. “Papa bad to hurt Mama.” He snapped the other stick in two and left it on the grass.

Nate cursed under his breath and finished sawing the lumber for the steps. He knew very well that children had vivid imaginations, but what he’d just witnessed wasn’t the sort of thing a three-year-old child would make up. Flying elephants, animals that could talk, those were the imaginings of children, not a father beating a mother. He was afraid those scenes usually had their roots in reality.

He went to his saddlebags and removed a piece of the sandpaper he’d purchased, then began sanding the wood. He glanced at the boy, and his hand stopped, for the boy was aping him, using a leaf to rub a small piece of wood the size of a building block.

Nate’s hand shook and he felt a tug at his heart. At that moment, Corey had looked so much like Jackson, it had stolen Nate’s breath away.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, for Nate despised the emotions that floundered inside him, he tore off a piece of sandpaper and tossed it in the boy’s direction. Corey, so somber for a child, stared gravely at him with his big, brown eyes, then finally took the paper. Nate resumed sanding the boards and out of the corner of his eye, watched the child study his movements, then mimic them.

He stopped for a moment and ran his fingers along the wood. It was smooth. He glanced at Corey. Nate’s stomach churned and his hands shook again, for the boy was touching his small piece of wood with his chubby fingers, aping Nate’s movements.

With effort, Nate finished sanding, stacked the pieces against the cabin, then crossed to the oak tree and sat, resting against the trunk. The images he’d held captive in his mind for years began to stumble over one another to get out, and it hurt, damn it. It hurt.

Jackson had been a gift that Nate was certain he hadn’t deserved. When he was gone, Nate knew that God was punishing him, that Jackson’s birth had been a mistake. And Nate had carried the blame with him ever since. Somewhere, deep inside him, he’d always felt that had Jackson been born to another, more worthy man, he’d still be alive.

He glanced over at Corey, who had just settled himself alongside the stump of the tree Nate had chopped up the day before.

Again, feelings burrowed deep into Nate’s insides. He pressed his head against the tree trunk, then wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. Without a smile or a look of acknowledgment, the boy did likewise.

Nate sighed, extended his legs, and crossed his arms behind his head. Corey did the same.

Nate closed his eyes and fought the heavy emotion that clogged his throat. How many days and weeks before he’d gone of to war had he spent alone with his son, his wife too weak to join them? Out of necessity, they’d had such a special bond. God, how he’d hated to leave. But Judith had assured him she’d gained her strength after the miscarriage. She’d assured him they would be fine. . . . She’d
assured
him!

And every day he’d been gone, he counted the days until he would return. He’d felt guilty leaving, but that guilt had been nothing compared to the guilt he felt when he learned they’d been out gathering berries, and had been killed by marauding Indians.
That
guilt would never leave him. Never. He should have been home, protecting them. He should have been . . .

He cleared his throat, which was thick with emotion, and crossed one ankle over the other.

Corey uttered a choking sound and Nate looked over at him just as he attempted to cross his ankles, too, but his chubby legs weren’t quite long enough, and he had to bend his knees.

With a wistful smile, Nate shook his head, then picked up the jar of lemonade Susannah had left for him. He took a swig, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Without looking at Corey, he reached out and offered him some.

The boy rose and crossed slowly to Nate. He stopped just out of Nate’s reach and examined him with his big, serious eyes. With slow and deliberate steps he moved close enough to pick up the lemonade. Putting the lip of the jar to his mouth, he drank. It dribbled down his chin, onto his shirt, where it left a wide wet circle. He didn’t take his eyes off Nate as he carefully put the jar on the ground. His chubby forearm came across his mouth, as if to wipe it dry, then he returned to his tree stump. When he sat, his position was exactly like Nate’s.

Nate felt a fierce, not unpleasant tugging. Affecting a yawn, he stretched his arms high over his head. Corey yawned and stretched, too. They studied one another, Nate feeling a warmth tunnel deep inside where, for five long years, it had been so damned cold.

Still watching Corey, Nate jiggled his eyebrows up and down. Corey’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t quite smile.

Nate wiggled his ears—something he hadn’t done in years—and Corey giggled softly, exposing strong, white baby teeth and a devilish dimple in one cheek. The warmth inside Nate expanded.

He stood and stretched again, still watching Corey. “Well,” he said with another yawn, “guess it’s time for a little nap.”

Corey’s smile faded; he shook his head firmly. “No nap.” He went back to work, busying himself with his piece of wood.

Nate shoved some nails into the pocket of his shirt, picked up the hammer and the boards for the porch, and went to repair the steps, a smile lingering where for so long he’d had to force one to appear. For the first time in years, he felt a sense of relief, of sorts. Even pleasure. And peace.

Susannah stood at the window and clenched the hem of her apron, bunching it into a wrinkled mass. She didn’t like what she saw. A fierce wave of possession shook her. Who was this man to vie for her son’s affections? Corey was
hers
. She’d watched the exchange between them, amazed at Corey’s boldness. She’d almost gone out and hauled him away, into the house, to keep him safe. She hadn’t taken him and run from Missouri just to have some stranger lure him away from her.

Her good sense told her Nathan Wolfe had done nothing wrong. Her good sense whispered that because Corey was able to react toward the stranger without fear, he hadn’t been permanently affected by what had happened before. But her feelings and emotions kept getting in the way of her good sense.

As she hurried to the stove and lifted off the skillet of soup and dumplings, she realized that she’d never be able to forget the past. But that was all right. Someone had to stay alert and remember it so that what had happened before would never happen again.

The door opened, and Corey ran into the room. “I do wood like big man, Mama,” he chirped.

Susannah quickly rinsed a cloth and washed his hands and face. “I saw that, sweetheart.” When she finished, she stepped out onto the porch and saw Mr. Wolfe at the pump, washing up. She wanted to look away as he removed his shirt, but she couldn’t.

Muscles rippled in places she hadn’t known there were any. There wasn’t a place on him that wasn’t solid and firm, as though he’d spent his life working with his back and arms. The hair on his chest drew her gaze, for it was thick and brown, but concentrated in an expanse across his breasts, then dwindling slightly as it grew toward his navel. Nothing like Harlan’s sparse growth.

In spite of her inability to turn away, she still felt a jab of fear, for a man undressing before her had always meant just one thing. She’d never gazed on a man’s body with interest before—she’d tried not to notice it at all.

He must have felt her watching, for he turned and looked at her, sending a frenzy of nervous butterflies into her stomach.

She cleared her throat and pushed a stray curl behind her ear. “Dinner is ready.”

He nodded, turning away to drag a piece of soap through the hair on his chest. Susannah’s mouth went dry. How strange. How very strange that she even wanted to look at this man. But she watched anyway, hypnotized.

Harlan had been big, but he’d slowly developed a paunch over the years. The mere thought of his body had always made her sick with a frightened nausea that she was never able to stop. Though he’d gone soft, he’d still been strong enough to beat her up.

Nathan Wolfe certainly was powerful enough to hurt her. His tight, corded muscles looked carved from sandstone, and the blood vessels that ran the length of his arms appeared like blue veins of granite. But despite his strength, Susannah hadn’t seen him use it other than to chop wood.

She remembered the brief glow of pleasure she’d felt earlier when she’d taken his hand. She wasn’t used to these feelings; she didn’t know how to evaluate them much less cope with them.

When he ducked his head under the pump to wet his hair, she quickly went inside. She shouldn’t have been watching him at all. She didn’t understand why she had, for every day she swam against the current of fear that claimed her emotions where men were concerned.

She was sorry she’d asked him to stay. His presence would suffocate her. And the ease with which he seemed to attract Corey frightened and angered her.

Mr. Wolfe knocked at the door before entering, a gesture that surprised Susannah. She lifted Corey onto his stool, then went to dish up their food.

As she watched Mr. Wolfe split a biscuit, slather it with butter and share it with Corey, she remembered the dinner the night before. He hadn’t so much as scolded Corey for spilling his milk. What kind of man was this? Her feelings were such a jumble.

“Thank you for watching Corey,” she finally said, hoping to change the flood of her emotions.

He took another biscuit, devouring half of it. “I hope I didn’t scare him.”

“Scare him? Oh, no. You didn’t—”

“I think it’s my size,” he broke in conversationally. “And maybe the scar across my forehead.” He made an exaggerated frown and to Susannah’s surprise, Corey giggled. “Got that in a fight with a grizzly.”

Susannah gasped and pressed a hand to her chest. “You didn’t.”

He smiled. “No, I didn’t. But it’s a better story than the real one.” He gave Corey a quick wink. “If those things don’t scare him, then maybe my growl of a voice will. I usually frighten children and animals without even trying.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Women, too.”

“I thought you had a way with animals,” she answered, feeling a fluttering in her chest.

He swallowed a mouthful of dumpling. “I mean other animals. Coyotes. Bears. Mountain lions.” His eyes twinkled slightly. “All they have to see is my ugly mug, and they hightail it into the trees.”

“You’re not ugly,” she answered softly, truly meaning it.

“Tell that to my horse.”

She felt herself smiling. “Your horse?”

“He’s happy he’s always facing the other direction when I sit on him so he doesn’t have to look at me.”

Her smile widened. “You have a very clever horse.”

He studied her for a long, quiet minute. “And you have a very pretty smile.”

It disappeared, and she stared at her lap, confused. No man had ever spoken to her this way before, never given her a compliment, honest or otherwise.

“I noticed your ring.” His voice sounded casual.

Swallowing hard, she tried not to twist the band. “My . . . my husband is still missing. From the war,” she added quickly. Strange how much easier the lie came after many tellings. She looked at him then, and saw the doubt in his eyes.

“You don’t believe me.”

He leaned back against the chair and laced his fingers across his flat stomach. “Why wouldn’t I believe you?”

She was unable to keep from toying with her ring. “You seem skeptical.”

Again, he studied her before he spoke. “If I’m skeptical, it’s because I think any man who wouldn’t return to such a beautiful wife must be either dead or crazy.”

His words flustered her. “He’s not dead,” she answered a little too quickly. “I . . . I know he’ll come home soon.” She abhorred all the lies and wished she could end them.

Corey scrambled down from his stool and went to play with his blocks near the fireplace.

Susannah started to clear the table. She and Nathan reached for Corey’s plate at the same time and their fingers brushed innocently.

Susannah pulled away, startled by the warmth of his touch, and the current of pleasure that raced up her arm. The plate clattered to the table.

“I won’t bite, Susannah.”

Heat raced to her cheeks, then stole over her scalp. Flustered at his almost teasing tone, she forced herself to look at him. His eyes held a wary gentleness that was meant to soothe. Strangely, he had no way of knowing what she was feeling was not fear, but something else altogether, something much more frightening to her: a physical attraction that she’d never felt before and didn’t understand.

U
pon rising the next morning, Susannah heard Max moving around on the porch, his paws clicking against the boards. Smiling, she stepped to the door and opened it. Max lifted his head and woofed, his tail whacking happily against the porch floor.

She stepped outside and bent to scratch him. “Good morning, you handsome devil.”

“Thank you. And, good morning to you.”

Susannah gasped and stood, looking into the face of Nathan Wolfe as he climbed the porch steps. “Oh . . . I . . . I didn’t know you were already here.”

He leaned against the porch railing, flicked his cigarette away, and gave her a half smile. His gaze moved slowly over her. “And here I thought you were talking to me.”

His teasing unsettled her, giving her an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach. Little things about him—his gentleness with Corey, his willingness to work, the warmth of his touch—confused her.

Remembering how she was dressed, and how little it took to arouse a man, she tied the sash to her dressing gown tightly around her waist, then pulled the lapels closed over her breasts. She gave him a quick glance; he still watched her.

“I don’t ravage women,” he said wryly as he pushed himself away from the railing and started down the steps.

A hot flush warmed Susannah’s chest and worked its way slowly into her face. “How lucky for me,” she snapped smartly. She went inside and purposely slammed the door harder than was necessary, angrier with herself than she was with him. Constantly remembering how her life was before was ruining the life she had now. Harlan and Nathan Wolfe were about as different as two men could be.

With a slow shake of her head, she went into her bedroom to dress. Old sorrows were hard to bury. As much as she wanted to, she’d lived with Harlan too many years to just shut him out of her thoughts. He continually glided in, slithering about her memory like the cold, clammy snake he’d been.

Had she responded so smartly to Harlan, she would have been punched, kicked or . . . or raped. It had always been a vicious circle. Her response to something he’d said or done would anger him, his own anger would arouse him, then she’d be at the mercy of the punishing end of his fist, or the hard toe of his boot, or . . . or the other. And despite her desire to protect herself against the other, her pregnancy with Corey had slipped through her defenses. But she wasn’t sorry. Oh, God, no. She wasn’t sorry she had Corey.

Now, regardless of her desire to have Nathan gone, she spent an inordinate amount of time dressing. Still, when it came time to fix her hair, she barely glanced at herself in the mirror. For too long, she hadn’t liked what she saw. Black eyes . . . split lips . . . bruises along her jawline. And she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d actually looked at herself without clothes, but at least those bruises had been easy to hide.

She fastened the last hook on her blue cotton dress and opened the bedroom door. Momentarily, she stood as if frozen. In her mind, what she saw was Harlan bending over Corey, like he’d been that day she’d had to kill him. She felt a cold rush of panic.

“What are you doing?” She tried to keep her voice calm as she hurried to them.

Nathan must have sensed her fears. “Don’t get your knickers in a knot, woman. I’m just changing his diaper. What does it look like I’m doing?”

Susannah’s relief turned to anger. She roughly pushed him aside and finished the job, ignoring her shaky fingers.

“You . . . you don’t have to do that. It’s not your responsibility.”

He stood beside her, his thigh nearly touching her hip. “Sorry.” He didn’t sound apologetic at all. “But he was wandering around outside naked as the day he was born. I picked him up and brought him into the house and had to step over his wet diaper and pajamas to get to the door. He was obviously looking for you.” He was quiet a moment. “He found me.”

There was a cutting comment on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back. She finished pinning the diaper, then pulled Corey close, ignoring his attempts to get free.

“Ma
ma
, “ Corey whined, pushing at her chest.

Reluctantly, she put him down. Without glancing at Nathan, she went into Corey’s room and got his clothes. When she returned, Nathan was gone and Corey was just toddling toward the door.

“Corey, let me get you dressed, honey, then we’ll both go outside and play.” She was relieved when he came to her willingly.

But she fought an internal battle. Nathan Wolfe had quietly and effortlessly charmed her son. Her first instinct was to put a stop to it. She had to wonder if it was because she was afraid of the ghosts from her past, or the devils in her future.

Nate hammered the new railing to the cabin, then checked the soundness of the posts that held up the slanted roof over the porch.

There wasn’t much left to do, unless he could convince her that both the porch floor and the roof needed replacing. They did, of course, but somehow he knew she still wanted to get rid of him.

All morning his thoughts had been on Susannah. Something ugly kept clawing at him, ugly enough so that he didn’t want to examine it further, for then his own reasons for being there would make him feel dirtier than he already did. But what had bothered him were her unnatural reactions to normal, everyday situations.

When Corey had spilled his milk, Nate had seen both Susannah’s and Corey’s reactions before, in other people. The stark fear and the chilling panic. The rigid body stance. Corey’s uncontrollable shivering. Then there was the little scene Corey had played out with the two pieces of wood. . . .

He’d been in homes where beating one’s wife and children was an everyday occurrence. Some men did it because they felt they were within their rights to do so. Others abused their families out of personal frustration. Some men boasted about “letting the woman know who’s boss,” but that was often just talk. Still others, the most despicable kind, found pleasure and arousal in it.

A bubble of anger festered like a sore in Nate’s stomach, and he tasted the bitter tang of bile. Susannah had most definitely been slapped around, perhaps Corey had, too. Nothing.
Nothing
he’d been told about her appeared to be the truth. There were times when he wished he’d never stopped in St. Louis on his way home from the war, but by then,
home
was just a word. It had no meaning. And, damnit, Sonny Walker was smooth. Nate bet he could charm the fangs from a grizzly if he put his mind to it. Nate had put out the word that he was looking for work. He wanted enough money to make it home, and he didn’t really give a good goddamn what he did to get it.

He’d met Sonny Walker in the saloon during a poker game. Afterward, when he’d cleaned Nate out, they’d struck up the deal.

Walker had warned him that she was a “clever bitch, too damned smart for her sweet britches.” Time and time again Nate wondered if she was putting on an act for him. If she was, she was damned good at it.

Now, Nate was in a hell of a spot. He’d gotten part of his payment in advance, and he didn’t take money from anyone without finishing the job. He had to quit thinking about Susannah as if she were a victim. What Walker did with her or to her once Nate got her to Missouri wasn’t any of his damned business. Ah, but hell. There was that churning in his gut, warning him that to take her back to Sonny Walker would be a big, stupid mistake. But he couldn’t afford to think about it.

He was checking the lumber stacked under the kitchen window when he heard Susannah and Corey leave the cabin.

“Can we put our feets in the water, Mama?”

“Sure we can, sweetheart. Remember the place where the water is warm? Now, take Mama’s hand, and we’ll practice skipping. Do you remember the horsey song?”

Nate watched them retreat, Corey hopping clumsily beside his mother. Susannah held Corey’s fingers with one hand, and with the other, lifted her skirt to her knees and skipped gaily down the hill, singing the words to an inane song about a horse that could fly.

A crushing warmth invaded Nate’s gut. If Susannah was acting, she’d missed her calling, because he had yet to catch her out of character.

Max, who had been curled up in the shade, stood, shook his muscular body, then loped after them. He stopped, turned and looked at Nate, appearing confused as to where his duties were.

“Go on, boy,” Nate ordered. “Keep an eye on them.”

Max sprinted away, disappearing into the brush.

As Nate studied the remaining lumber, he realized he didn’t have enough to rebuild the floor of the porch. Susannah wouldn’t know the difference if he went into Angel’s Valley and purchased the wood himself.

He headed for town, then detoured slightly, taking the path to the river. He just wanted to make sure they were all right, that’s all. But when he heard Susannah’s laughter, a strange, not unpleasant twinge in his chest gave him momentary discomfort as he listened to the unbridled happiness in her voice.

Moving on, he also heard water trickling and splashing over the rocks. Then he saw them. Pulling his horse to a stop behind a grove of manzanitas, he
watched, and although he knew he was acting no more nobly than the peeping Eli Clegg, he couldn’t pull himself away.

Corey, whose clothes were folded neatly on the grass near the water, sat in a shallow pool of water, splashing and giggling. He tossed a stick downstream, and Max galloped through the stream, retrieved the stick and brought it back to the boy, who threw it again.

Susannah dangled her feet in the water, her dress and her petticoat hiked to her knees and her legs bare. Her arms were braced on either side of her, and her face was lifted skyward, her eyes closed against the sunlight. Dark fires shimmered off her hair.

“Mama! Come in! Come in! Come in!” Corey chanted, splashing rhythmically.

Pulling her feet from the water, Susannah drew her legs up and hugged them to her chest. “Oh, darling, don’t tempt me,” she said on a sigh.

Max hopped onto the grassy ledge where Susannah sat and shook himself violently, sending water spraying over her like a spring rain. She gasped in surprise, then her sweet laughter rang through the air again.

“Oh, Corey! Max got Mama all wet, anyway.” She stood, unfastened the hooks down the front of her bodice, and stepped out of her dress, dragging her petticoat with it. She pulled her chemise off over her head, leaving her in a white camisole and drawers, which had already been rolled up over her knees.

Nate knew he should turn away. He also knew he wouldn’t. Like a man thirsting for water, he watched as she stepped to the edge of the pool. Her fists were at her hips, pulling her camisole snugly across her chest. Even from where he sat, he could see the perfect outline of her shape beneath the thin garment. Her profile was magnificent. Her breasts were round and firm, jiggling deliciously against her camisole as she moved on the shore.

Nate’s eyes went to her generous cleavage as she bent over to gently scold the dog for getting her wet. Her breasts swung beneath the white, lace-edged garment, and Nate felt a delicious bite of hunger deep in his loins.

He forced his gaze away, only to find himself memorizing her rounded hips and long, shapely legs. He could see the faint outline of her stomach as it moved beneath her drawers, and he followed it down to the joining of her thighs. There, he thought, his mouth dry as dust as his gaze lingered, there is where she would have a luxurious nest of brown curls hiding her secrets. Her magical, feminine secrets . . .

Max galloped toward him and barked a greeting, shaking Nate from his dangerous musing.

Susannah quickly crossed her arms over her chest. They stared at each other for a long, taut minute.

Nate broke the tense silence. “I’m riding into town. Can I bring you anything?”

She shook her head, her eyes wide and her lips still open in surprise.

Nate touched the rim of his hat and nudged his mount toward the road, knowing he should have apologized for watching her, but actually not the least bit sorry he had.

Susannah sagged to the grass, her heart thumping so hard she was afraid her ribs would crack. What had she been thinking, shedding her clothes when she
knew
Nathan Wolfe was close by? But she hadn’t expected him to follow her. Spy on her.

She shuddered, a foreign mixture of pleasure and indignation making her knees weak and her stomach fluttery.

Max meandered toward her, his tail swishing the bushes and his “smile” intact.

“Don’t you smile at me, you . . . you mongrel,” she scolded. “You’re useless. Positively useless. A raccoon would make a better watchdog than you.”

He nudged her hand with his nose, prompting her to scratch him.

Susannah laughed in spite of her distress. Taking his ears in her fists and shaking them gently, she ordered, “Just keep away the bad guys, will you?”

After she and Corey had dressed and returned to the cabin, she formed the bread dough she’d mixed earlier into loaves while Corey slept. She kept conjuring up the picture of her and Nate staring at one another across the prickly manzanita. She also wondered how long he’d been there, peeping at her.

A flushing warmth heated her when she thought about it. She should be outraged. Her indignation should be thorough, for he had violated her privacy.

She moved her bread near the stove and spread a cloth over it. So, why wasn’t she angry? Lord, she wasn’t even upset. She was
crazy
, that’s what she was. Nathan Wolfe caused entirely unfamiliar feelings to stir inside her. They were more than pleasant. But they scared her.

She picked up a camisole she’d made for a local rancher’s wife, settled into a chair by the fireplace, and started some intricate hand stitching. Nathan had returned earlier and she could hear him outside, sawing more wood.

An hour had passed, and she was just putting the bread into the oven when she heard voices outside. Puzzled, she went to the window and glanced into the yard. She sighed, annoyed.

A buckboard had pulled up with an elderly couple in it. Nathan was listening as the man talked and gestured toward one of the wheels. Lord, the road near her cabin was becoming a thoroughfare. She pushed away her agitation, went to the door and stepped out onto the porch.