Quicksilver Passion (44 page)

And then he cursed himself for his slip of the tongue. When he gave his word, he kept it. Well, she was safe until she consented and later, when she was well, he’d work on that. He bandaged her shoulder, pulled the damp clothes out from under her, and spread the blankets over her. What else should he do? He was no doctor, but he had helped the vet a little when he’d doctored Shawn O’Bannion’s fancy Tennessee Walking horses on the Shannon Place plantation.

He got a bottle of whiskey out and trickled a spoonful between her lips.
No,” she whispered,
no, Bart.”

Who the hell was Bart?
Cherokee shrugged and trickled a little more between her lips. She became even more agitated, mumbling and thrashing about in fear. Whatever good the spirits might do her was being canceled by the frightening memory the taste of liquor brought to her delirious mind. He gave up and looked at the bottle a long moment. Whiskey had never looked so good to him as it did at this moment. But he had sworn never to touch it again after what had happened that night when another blond beauty had gotten him drunk at Shawn’s country place.

Silver didn’t seem so completely unconscious now. Maybe he could get a little broth in her. His big fear was that he would cause her to choke. Gently, he turned her head to one side, put a few drops of broth between her lips, and watched her. It seemed to trickle down her throat and she swallowed. Good. Anything would help to raise her strength and get her warm. He spent over an hour putting broth in her mouth, a few drops at a time. Then finally, he ate a plate of stew himself.

It was dusk now and the storm seemed fiercer than before. The wind rattled the windows as if it were a monster trying to get inside. Cherokee went over and looked out. It was snowing hard and blowing in drifts through the trees outside the cabin. He cursed, feeling both helpless and guilty. Two old men were out in this trying to make it into town and here he was inside safe and warm.

The room was almost dark. Silver roused and murmured, obviously disturbed about something. He’d better check that wound again and make sure it had stopped bleeding. When he brought the lamp over by her bunk, she seemed to relax immediately and he put the lamp down on the crate by her bed. Was she afraid of the dark? And if so, why? There were a lot of things about this girl that mystified and intrigued him. He pulled the blanket back to check the bandage. Her creamy breasts moved as she breathed. Cherokee had to fight the urge to reach out and cup that fullness with his hand, stroke that rosebud pink nipple. He had just given her his word. Did it count if she didn’t hear it said?

I
heard it said, he chided himself without thinking. Of course he wouldn’t touch a wounded, helpless girl, but when her shoulder healed, he’d pay her whatever it took to let him lie on that smooth belly and kiss those breasts. Surely her reluctance was an act to lure men into paying more for her favors.

Okay, sweet Silver,” he said softly,
you win. Whatever money I got, you can have. Just once—that’s all I ask—and then maybe I’ll see you’re just a female after all, just like all the rest.”

Only she wasn’t like all the rest. He’d never met anyone like her before—soft, vulnerable mouth, eyes hard as ice. He wondered again where she’d come from, what her past was, and how that bartender figured into the picture. A girl as beautiful as this one didn’t have to sleep with an ugly ape like Al; she could have her choice of men.

He sat down on the floor by her bed, watching her face in the glow of the lamp light. After his father had deserted his mother for that saloon girl, his Indian grandmother had said all white women were whores. Cherokee had believed everything the old woman told him because she had looked after him, and was the only one in the world who cared about him.
E-li-si
. My grandmother, he thought in his language. Most of the others of their tribe had been taken away by force to walk the Trail of Tears to Indian Territory.

But Silver didn’t look like a whore. Asleep with her pale hair spread out on the pillow around her, she looked like a little girl or a wounded angel. His body was tired and cramped from sitting here, but he was afraid to go to bed. Suppose she took a turn for the worse or needed something in the middle of the night?

He reached out and took a strand of hair between his fingers. Fine as silk and the color of silver. He had a sudden vision of himself tangling his fingers in that hair as he took her. Then he was ashamed that he could think such thoughts about a defenseless girl. He had been a long time without a woman and his groin ached with need. But he had promised to look out for her and he had given his word.

By damn! What a stupid fool he had been to promise that when she was in his power and he could do anything he wanted to her. But if the boys were lucky, there’d be a rescue team on its way here tomorrow and she’d be safe back under Al’s shotgun tomorrow night while she recuperated in her room at the Nugget.

He got up and went to the window. Had the boys made it okay? For an instant, he was tempted to go looking for them, but he couldn’t leave her alone. His partners had been in this country awhile and were seasoned frontiersmen. If the weather got too bad, they might find shelter in the lee of a hill or brush pile and wait the storm out. There wasn’t any way for Cherokee to know what was going on out there. And if it kept snowing like it was doing now, a rescue team couldn’t get back up here through the drifts even if the boys made it into town.

He went back and stood looking down at her. The two of them might end up isolated here for days as her wound healed.
How could he handle her naked body, look at her beauty, and not break his word?

With a loud sigh, he sat back down on the floor by her bed. He wanted very much to take her hand, to comfort her. But he didn’t. She must be in pain and he wished he could bear it for her. Somehow, he wanted to put himself between everything and anyone who threatened her security or made her unhappy.

You must be loco, Cherokee
, he thought. Why are you getting so protective and possessive about a saloon whore just because she’s small and hurt and helpless? She’s not yours to worry about. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her against his chest, assure her that whatever it was in her past that scared her, made her afraid of the dark and being touched, he wouldn’t let it get her.

You’re safe, Silver,” he whispered.
No one or nothing is ever going to hurt you again, not as long as I have the strength to raise a hand to stop it!”

She didn’t move, and without thinking, he reached out and took her small hand in his. Immediately, the unconscious girl began to thrash and pull away.

By damn! He’d forgotten. Cherokee tucked her hand under the covers. He must remember not to touch her. She was afraid of being handled. Her soft, full lips looked so inviting, but he must resist the urge. He was going to be her protector, not her rapist. A frown crossed her face and she mumbled something, obviously disturbed.
What was she thinking? What kind of thoughts did she have?
Maybe she was imagining that she was shot and falling again. There was nothing he could do but sit here on the floor by her bed and watch her, and hope his partners were even now walking into the Nugget and organizing a rescue mission.

That Al would be fit to be tied, Cherokee thought, but after all, it hadn’t been Cherokee’s doing. The whole thing had been an accident.

She whimpered again in her sleep and Cherokee moved the lamp closer to comfort her. He wondered if she was in much pain and wished he could do something about it. Even if she didn’t drink, a little liquor would numb her pain. He got the bottle again and spooned a little between her lips.

Silver shook her head.
No, Bart. Please don’t . . . I won’t fight you tonight . . . no whiskey . . .”