Prairie Song (13 page)

“Always,” he answered as he pulled her against him. “As long as there is breath left in my body.”

Minutes later, Cherish passed through the passage to the basement of Hattie’s Parlor. She stepped into a large room without windows. Only the light from the open stairway door gave her direction. When she started up the steps, Brant didn’t follow.

“Good night,” he whispered as his hand released hers.

She turned to hold him one last time, but his shadow had melted completely into the blackness. She wanted to ask when she’d see him again, but she knew there was no answer to her question.

As she reached the top of the stairs, Bar appeared. His thin face broke into a bright smile. “So you’re the latest ghost who’s been hauntin’ this place.”

Cherish laughed.

Bar danced by her side, not knowing how to show her just how pleased he was about having her home. “Everybody was real worried about you, but when I heard you might be with Brant, I figured you were all right.”

Cherish caught the flittering boy and hugged him. He stepped back, embarrassed by the unaccustomed display of affection. “Miss Maggie’s gone with Grayson to look for you.”

Guiding him into the kitchen, Cherish ordered, “Fill me in while I fix something to eat.” She glanced over her shoulder. “You hungry?”

“Always,” he answered as he jumped onto the counter and started talking as fast as he could. By the time she’d fixed some food and they’d eaten, Cherish knew everything that had happened since she’d left.

Although she resented Grayson’s interference in her life, she was thankful for the guards at the front door. She was sure that whoever this man was, who was claiming to be Westley, he would be unable to get into the house. She excused herself and went upstairs, anxious to close her eyes and dream of being in Brant’s arms.

Grayson decided that riding next to Margaret ranked somewhere between being tortured by Indians and trailing a buffalo herd. When she wasn’t questioning his judgment in direction, she was referring to him as a “damn Yankee.” By late afternoon the sky had turned dark and brooding and so had his mood.

“We’ll make camp there.” He pointed to a cluster of cottonwoods.

Margaret followed but asked, “Don’t you think we need to make more miles? After all, they have quite a start on us and, assuming we’re going in the right direction, we’ll never catch them at this rate.”

Grayson gritted his teeth and swung from his horse. He was beginning to see why he’d enjoyed his job for so many years. For the most part he’d been alone.

She didn’t wait for him to help her down, but jumped to the ground and began unloading supplies. As she worked, she speculated on how he ever caught any outlaws if he always stopped so early.

When he set up camp she followed behind him, arranging everything in different order and explaining the practicality of each adjustment.

Grayson took his anger out on the slab of bacon in his pack. He cut into the salted meat with a vengeance, but didn’t utter a word.

As he gathered firewood, she questioned how wise a campfire would be in this open country. Wouldn’t everyone for miles see the flame at night? With each remark, Grayson threw another log on the campfire until it blazed high enough to roast a full-grown mule deer until it was well-done. He had no fear of an Indian or outlaw attack. It might be a pleasant diversion to being henpecked all day. He laughed suddenly to himself. If he were attacked by savages, they’d better kill Margaret outright, or she’d be telling them what to do and rearranging their camps as well.

The sun was setting somewhere behind gray clouds when they ate. She complained about the pork being too salty and the coffee far too strong to be healthy.

Grayson ate his meal in silence, then rolled onto his bedroll and pulled his hat low, ending, he hoped, her lecture for one night. To his relief, he heard her moving across the fire to her own bedroll with only the sound of the flames and the wind to touch his ears. He’d decided somewhere in the last ten miles that she was the most frustrating female in Texas, if not North America. He was beginning to wonder if she’d come with him to find Cherish or just to make his life a living hell.

Finally, her movements stopped and her breathing grew regular with sleep. He smiled to himself, knowing that the only prayer he’d have tonight was that she didn’t talk in her sleep. He let out a long breath and relaxed.

Hours later, raindrops splattered on Grayson’s hands, waking him instantly. He lifted his hat and studied the sky. With the instincts born of one who had lived most of his life without a roof over his head, Grayson grabbed his gear and headed for the shelter of the trees where he’d tied the horses.

By the time he’d returned, the splatters had become a drizzle. He stood for a moment over Maggie, debating whether to awaken her or allow the rain to do so. If she woke in a river, she’d have plenty to complain about. At least this was one thing today she couldn’t blame him for. Courtesy won over judgment as he nudged her softly with the toe of his boot.

She came alive like an angry bear, grabbing her blankets and running for the trees. By the time he’d collected her gear and followed, she was already huddled in the shelter of a huge cottonwood.

“Why didn’t you awaken me earlier? I could have helped you move everything. Won’t this erase any tracks we might find? We should have left yesterday.” She continued, but he’d stopped listening. A person can hear only so much before his mind just shuts off. He knew she was angry with him about lying to her and she’d taken the best vengeance—not with a clean wound to the chest but with a thousand tiny marks. Her badgering was pricking him an inch at a time, killing him drop by drop. Before they’d finished this search, he’d either be dead or a murderer—her murderer.

“Grayson, are you listening to me?” She pulled at his arm.

“No!” He looked down at her in the darkness. He could only see her outline, but he knew the shine of her ebony hair and the glow of her indigo eyes by heart. Her hair was free now and floating around her like a shadowy cloud. If he could just look at her with her mouth closed, he’d love her the rest of his life.

“I’ve had it!” She suddenly pushed at him. “Stop standing there like an innocent statue. If you’re trying to make my life miserable, you’ve succeeded.”

Like a flash of lightning across his mind he realized what he’d done. All day he’d taken the roughest trails, ridden harder than he would have pushed any other man or woman, and even blackened the coffee as if daring her to complain. Nothing made sense to him anymore. He understood why she was angry at him, but why had he tried to push her? He wanted her to accept him, to love him, yet all he’d done was make her dislike him more.

“And another thing, Captain Kirkland. Don’t you ever wake me with the toe of your boot again, or I swear you’ll be walking with a limp.”

Grayson’s sudden laughter angered her more. He realized how foolish a game he’d been playing. He’d had his pride hurt. All day he’d been pushing her, baiting her, so that he’d learn to hate her and be able to forget the hunger always burning inside of him.

“Stop that laughing!” She shoved him away from the shelter of the cottonwood and into the rain.

Grayson turned his face to the storm and roared. He’d been such a fool. She was never going to allow him to get away with an inch. And he was never going to allow her to get away from him no matter how many faults she discovered in him.

“You’ve gone mad!” she yelled above the rain. “First you don’t listen and now that mud-coffee must have polluted your brain.” She poked at him with her finger. “You’ve lost what little mind God gives Yankees.”

Grayson pulled her to him. “Quiet!” he shouted. She tried to jerk away, but he held her fast. The rain was falling on them both with shelter only inches away, but still he held her close. He loved watching the water splash against her cheeks and run down her face. The cold wind cooled his anger but whetted his passion.

He lifted her suddenly into his arms and returned to the safety of the tree. She shook the rain from her hair and turned her back to him.

“Everything you’ve said today has been right.” He knew he was talking more to himself than to her. “I thought if I could irritate you enough, you’d grow angry and I’d grow angry and maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t want you in my bed or in my life.”

Maggie spun around and shoved him. “Well, you’ve done a fine job, for I don’t want you at all. I want you as far out of my life as you can get. And as for in your bed, Captain Kirkland, it’ll be a cold day in …”

“Liar!” He pinned her gently against the aging tree trunk and ignored the jabs and kicks she so freely gave him. “You want me, Maggie. You can fight and kick and call me every name you know, but you want me as much as I want you.”

“I’ll have you know, I never …” She didn’t finish. His mouth came down on hers with all the force of the spring storm. He leaned back and lifted her off the ground into his arms, and she clung to him as she floated inches above the earth. Passion thundered in their ears as the white lightning of their love shook both of their bodies with desire.

When she would have turned away and broken the kiss, his lips demanded her compliance. Her fingers dug into his hair and all the world fell away except his arms. Her body made her the liar he’d called her, for every part of her wanted him and had since he’d first touched her. She could deny it to her grave, but there was no denying the way she fit alongside him. Her body moved against him, answering the years of need and longing in them both.

Slowly, he turned and lowered himself to the ground. He leaned his back against the tree and pulled her into his lap. His kisses had grown tender, satisfying a longing so deep inside her she was afraid to move for fear she might starve in a moment without him.

As his mouth finally moved from her lips to her neck, she whispered, “I hate you.”

His lips didn’t stop their journey, but continued along her throat. “Do you?” he whispered, biting lightly at her ear. “Do you hate the way I kiss you, or is it the way my hands move over you?” As he whispered to her, he moved his fingers along her legs and arms, branding her with his touch, forever charging the banks of her passion with his constant flow of desire.

His arms were no longer imprisoning her, but she didn’t pull away. He moved one finger down the opening of her blouse and pulled the first button free. “I think I inspire more than one emotion in you.”

Maggie gasped in shock as he boldly stroked her breasts with his hand. His laughter was warm and playful. “Tell me what direction to take now, Margaret. Tell me what trail to follow to make you happy.”

Margaret tried to push away. “Don’t make fun of me!”

He grabbed her hair in his huge hand. “Never,” he whispered, wondering what he’d done wrong.

She shoved away and stood, then realized she could go only a few feet without getting drenched by the rain. She folded her arms over her chest and tried to stop the blood from running at double time through her body.

Grayson stood behind her, wishing he could think of the right thing to say. He wanted her so badly that every part of his body ached, but he didn’t know what words were the key or what he’d done to cause her sudden coldness.

As he stood watching her, hating himself for not taking the time to understand how to make a woman happy, he heard her sobs—soft, deep sobs.

“Maggie,” he whispered. But she stayed turned away.

He forced her to look at him, but the shadows hid her face. “Maggie?” Suddenly all the hardness of the woman he’d spent the day with passed away and only softness remained. She crumbled before him. Her sobs tore into him like thorns.

He pulled her silently to him and she came willingly into his arms. “What’s wrong with me?” she whispered, and her words of pain stung him far more than her words of anger. “All my life I’ve heard men’s comments. I’ve heard them laugh at me and say I’m cold and bloodless. Even Westley told me he expected no feeling from me on our wedding night.”

She pulled at his shirt as her words ripped him apart. “He came to me all loud and drunk. I froze up, afraid to move for fear it might hurt more. Something is terribly, terribly wrong with me! Tell me what I’m missing that all the world seems to have.”

“Nothing,” he answered. “Nothing at all. You’re all the woman a man could ever dream of.”

There was no need for more words. He held her until she was warm and relaxed in his embrace. Gently, he kissed her salty tears away.

For the first time in his life he wished his hands were softer as they moved over her silky face. He tried to touch her as lightly as possible, for he didn’t want to scratch her with his callused hands. When his finger passed her lips, she opened her mouth to their touch and he could no longer resist the invitation to kiss her. His tongue slid into her mouth, brushing the sharpness of her teeth as he tasted her.

This time he wasn’t demanding a kiss, but giving, and she accepted willingly. He sat beneath the tree and pulled her down once more, only now he placed her knees on either side of him so that she faced him completely. He kissed her until she was sure she’d die from the beauty of it. Her head felt light and she clung to him to keep from falling backward. He was awakening something deep inside her that no one had ever tried to find.

Gently, his hands moved over her back, stroking her from shoulder to waist. Hesitantly, as his kiss deepened, his hands pushed lower until his long fingers covered her hips and pulled her gently against the center of his need.

Maggie jerked away, suddenly unsure, suddenly afraid. She’d had a man inside her before and it was not a thing she wished to repeat. She wished she could see Grayson’s dark eyes, but his face was only a plain of shadows.

He seemed to understand her fears, for his caress moved back to her spine and along the sides of her blouse. His kiss taught her of a joy and a pleasure she’d never tasted. With remembered skill, he drew her into his love play.

When she was floating in pleasure, he moved his hands to her waist and pulled her against his chest. “Open your blouse, my love,” he whispered into her hair. “Allow me to feel your softness in my hand.”

Maggie straightened her back and moved her fingers slowly to the buttons of her blouse. Hesitantly, she unbuttoned the long line of pearl buttons to her belt. As she worked, his thumbs circled at her waist.

Lightly brushing her camisole, Grayson moved his hand from her waist to her throat. The silk was soft in his hands but didn’t bring him the pleasure her flesh would. He pulled her once again to him. “Completely open,” he gently ordered.

Again she straightened, her hands trembling. She pulled the ribbons fastening her camisole until it fell open in a thin V to her waist. Her breath was coming in rapid, short gulps and she was thankful for the night. Her cheeks were hot from her own actions. Never had she been so bold. Never had she undressed for a man. Never had she felt so desirable. Grayson was a huge, silent man who was strong enough to hold her in his arms, and she wanted to please him. She wanted for one moment in her life just to be a woman in the arms of a man who needed only her.

Grayson’s other hand remained at her waist as he leaned to kiss her. She could taste the hunger in him, yet he didn’t touch her. With her shirt undone, she felt free. Timidly, she leaned against him, flattening her breasts against his chest. Again he kissed her until the world became only his arms. Slowly, his hands moved down once more to cup her hips and pull her to him. This time she pushed against him, unafraid, knowing that her action made his heart pound faster and his kiss deepen.